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vulturv0lans · 9 months

Note

If it's not too much to ask, can we have a soft dom diluc gently guiding a shy sub reader through her first time? (In desperate need of tooth rotting fluff and diluc being sweet lmaoo [with lots of praise ofc])

ok you know what anon i have been looking for something like this but i haven't found too many,,,thank you for the request!

word count: 2,960 (i got carried away again oops) tags: first time, references to diluc’s father/backstory/official manga, soft dom diluc, lots of love and affection and just overall sappy, porn with plot (lots of it), me crying (also lots of it)

m.list | diluc m.list | rules | inbox

the air is salty by the lake and his door rusty, yet you’re sure you’ve never need anything more.

when diluc brought you back to the winery for the first time, this was not what he had in mind. he had simply wanted to show you more, parts of him he had long hidden beneath the layers of his clothing and layers of walls he built up. but you are his lover now. you meet the maids that have been with him since he was a child, browse through the volumes that his father left behind, breathe the same air that he has always breathed inside the estate.

he was not planning to take you right there, on the four posted bed he claims but seldom occupies, on the second floor of the winery.

diluc was hesitant at first, leading you into the one place he holds closest to his heart. the master bedroom has not seen a visitor in ages. even the maids rarely enter except when they are asked to, because within these gilded walls and draped curtains is where diluc can truly feel at ease, no “mondstadt wine tycoon” or “master of dawn winery” or even “darknight hero” attached.

and before your eyes, he feels just as bare.

you had taken a seat at the edge of his mattress, arms supporting your weight as your eyes take in the surroundings. the wallpaper is a dark crimson red, damask patterns painted in black. the thick velvet of the curtains match the crimson in colour, yet the light seeping through the fabric and reflecting off of the golden tassels that touch the floor. the furnishings are simple, the large room otherwise empty save for a mirror, a wardrobe, a fireplace, and a desk filled with books.

yet it’s the paintings on the walls that catch your eye. one of them can easily be discerned as an exterior sketch of dawn winery, its signature red roofs a stark contrast to the rows of green underneath. off on the other wall is a portrait. a tall, greying man poses in the middle with two younger boys to either side of him, one with hair as blue as the twilight skies, and the other with hair red as blazing fire.

diluc follows your gaze to the painting, and suddenly the room feels too hot. before he can open his mouth to change the topic, you have already turned to him with an inquisitive look in your eye, and his heart softens. he cannot say no to you.

“that’s your father, isn’t it?”

he nods, choosing to offer no further explanation.

“what was he like?”

your voice is gentle, yet he is still taken aback. seldom anyone wants to know what crepus was like as a person, beyond just his title and position. for a few moments diluc is silent, pondering his answer. how could he summarize the greatest man he’s ever known into a couple simple sentences?

“he was kind. and very, very brave.” he says at last, “he made me the man that i am today.”

“i’m sure he was a great father,” you say quietly, not wanting to press further. diluc must have his reasons behind not wanting to tell the full story yet, and you’ll give him time. as much time as he needs.

“he was.”

when he looks at you again, your frame so small against the posts on his bed, he feels an unnameable emotion surging through him. you’re studying the painting with such an intense focus, as if trying to hear the voice of a man you’ve never met, trying to understand what others fail to even notice.

and in that moment, diluc is sure he has never been more in love.

he closes the distance between you in two quick strides, and you look up at him in surprise. he intertwines your fingers before pulling you up to your feet, your body pressing flush against his as you find your balance.

“can i kiss you?”

you smile at his question. diluc, ever the gentleman. even several months into your relationship he still asks for permission, and still kisses you like it was the first time.

it’s your turn to close the gap between you now, lips meeting his in a soft kiss. his hands find their way down the small of your back, then up your spine before settling on your cheeks, fingers tangled in your hair as he pulls you even closer, until you can feel every beat of his heart on your skin.

“i love you.” he whispers against your lips when he finally breaks the kiss for air.

“i love you, too,” you echo, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him again, hands clutching his arms for support. diluc feels his skin burn wherever your hands have been, and his love and tenderness suddenly becomes something more.

deepening the kiss, he backs you up until your legs hit the edge of the bed, before your entire person falls backwards into the plush mattress. you pull him down with you, until barely any space is left between his large frame and your own, smaller one.

he smooths out the stray baby hairs on your forehead before resting his against it, eyes searching yours for any signs of discomfort. you both know where this is leading, but diluc wants to be certain, absolutely certain that you're okay with this.

"are you sure?"

you nod before you have time to think. this is a step you're willing to take, and there's no one else you'd rather share it with. even so, small bubbles of anxiety rise from your stomach. will it hurt? will you be able to enjoy this? will he be satisfied, even with your lack of experience?

if diluc could hear your thoughts right now, he would be quick in dismissing them as the most preposterous ones he's ever heard. it would pain him to know that you’d ever fear of not satisfying him, even when he would put you and your pleasures before so much as thinking about himself.

you could never disappoint him, this he knows.

his lips find yours again and your doubts dissipate like the dark clouds after a storm. wandering hands begin unbuttoning and untying every piece of fabric in your way, desperate to reduce the layers keeping you from feeling his bare skin. your clothing clatter as they fall to the ground, diluc barely separating from you to discard his shirt before lowering back down to kiss you, not wanting to part from you for a second longer than necessary.

he's hungry for more, for you.

your hands find purchase on his toned arms, his skin almost too warm under your fingertips. he mumbles something that remotely resembles "off" into your mouth, and you comply almost too quickly, lifting your arms so he could take off your shirt and your bra.

diluc forces himself to hold back when your skin is fully exposed to him. lips glistening and chest heaving, you have never looked more beautiful to him, and he makes sure you know it. dipping his head to your neck, he trails a line of hot kisses down to your breasts, words of praise between every kiss permanently etched into your skin.

"you're breathtaking."

your face heats up as he slots himself in between your legs, hand lowering to your waist. your heart beats too loudly now, focus glued to his fingers hooking into your belt loops before quickly undoing the button on your pants. fiery eyes, hooded by lust and desire, search for confirmation, and you grant it. how could you not, when you burn for him so much?

diluc can’t help but groan out when your bottom half becomes exposed. his attention is quickly taken away by the thin material of your panties, damp and clinging to the wetness pooling between your legs, and he feels the sudden urge to bury his face there.

he runs a finger down your clothed folds and you jump, legs clamping together to relieve some of the pressure. with a hand on your knee, he holds your legs open to allow himself better access to where you need him the most. gently, he moves the soaked panties to the side, and the man fully has to sit back on his heels to drink in the sight before his eyes.

you’re so pretty, so sweet, so vulnerable for him, legs spread and pussy glistening with your arousal, all for him and him only.

he curses under his breath, heart swelling at how lucky he feels to be the one admiring your naked form. ignoring the increasingly uncomfortable bulge in his pants, he dives in like a man starved, flattening his tongue against your pussy to get his first real taste of you.

your back arches off the bed at the sudden contact, diluc’s moan of satisfaction sending delicious vibrations into the deepest parts of your body. his tongue works fast magic on your cunt, licking and sucking and kissing like you’re a five course meal, the slurping sounds in perfect harmony with your soft pants of pleasure.

“fuck, you taste so good, baby.”

the satin of his bedsheet is wrinkled and twisted in your palms as you grip onto it, diluc’s hands quickly reaching up to find yours, your fingers interlacing as he eats you out, the moment so intimate that for a moment you forget the vulgarity of it all and just enjoy being so close to him, physically and emotionally.

you’re growing close, and diluc knows it. despite his pussydrunk state, he forces himself to pull away, his chin now coated with your wetness, before shifting his body up to kiss you again. you moan into his mouth as you taste yourself, obediently granting access to his tongue when it swipes across your bottom lip. the room feels ten degrees hotter and it becomes harder and harder to breathe, until your need for oxygen finally overpowers your desire for him.

diluc’s eyes are alert when you gently push on his chest, his first thought being he’s done something you did not like. gently cradling his face in your hands, you say with a blissful smile the words he’s been longing to hear for so long.

“i need you, diluc.”

his last line of defense snaps and he lets his primal instincts take over, quickly ridding himself of his pants and undergarments before settling you against the plush pillows.

“are you absolutely sure-”

“yes.” you cut him off before he can finish, and diluc‘s ever-present confidence begins to waver. he needs this to be perfect for you.

swallowing thickly, he lines himself up at your entrance. you mirror his gulp as you notice for the first time how big he is, thick and girthy against your tiny hole.

“tell me if it hurts, please,” he asks, so much genuine guilt in his voice that you can’t refuse him an answer.

you yelp in pain when he starts to push in, his body immediately tensing up. only when you repeatedly reaffirm that you’re okay does he continue, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your collarbones and whispering apologies and affirmations into your skin as he slowly sinks into you, until he’s completely buried inside you.

“you’re doing so good baby, yeah? that’s it.”

he stills for a moment to let you adjust. but selfishly he wishes to revel in your tightness and warmth for a little longer, your walls so snug against his cock like they were made just for him. he already can’t get enough, and he hasn’t even started moving yet.

you’re the one to initiate the kiss this time, silently giving him permission to move. his thrusts are slow and steady, the tip of his cock dragging against every nerve ending inside you, sending electric sparks throughout your body.

“so tight for me,” he grunts as he picks up his pace, trying to control his movements as to not hurt you, even though a part of him wants to slam into you and fuck you until you’re reduce to a babbling mess begging for his cock. but one look at your face and he feels immediate guilt at his sinful thoughts. you’re so innocent beneath him, bottom lip caught between your teeth and your face scrunched up in pleasure.

he can’t ruin you yet.

soft moans tumble past your parted lips as he reaches down to rub fast circles on your clit. every last cell in your body feels like it’s on fire, the pleasure amplified tenfold from being in the presence of your lover, better than your own fingers could ever satisfy yourself.

you wrap your legs around his waist to pull him in even further, and diluc’s honour is reduced to barely hanging on by a thread.

“you’re taking me so good. so good for me.” he praises and you feel yourself gush around him, his words turning you on even further. it seems your earlier doubts were unnecessary, after all. you grow bolder, reaching up to dig your nails into his back, leaving red marks that claimed him as yours.

the stinging pain from your nails scratching against his skin sends diluc into another wave of euphoria, and he can’t hold himself back much longer. with a low grunt, he pins your wrists down above your head, dark eyes studying the microscopic changes in your expression as your hands are suddenly rendered useless, held down so submissively and at his mercy.

his eyes are fixated on the round of your breasts, bouncing so deliciously to the rhythm of his thrusts. a sudden clench of your cunt almost sends him collapsing on top of you, the tight grip he had maintained on your wrists now faltering from the feeling of your tight walls squeezing him. he curses, the profanity soon turning into praise again at how good you’re taking him, how pretty you looks, and how much he loves you, his words almost doing more to build the knot in your stomach than his steady, deep thrusts.

he leans back to sit on his heels as he lets go of your wrists, moving to hold your legs above his shoulders. you cry out when his cock hits your most sensitive spot from the new position, the sheets once again wrinkled under your tight grip now that your hands are free once again.

“fuck y/n, i’m so close.”

you lift your hips to meet his thrusts half way, all the thoughts in your head replaced by your blinding desire for your release. diluc shifts his weight to hold your thighs open instead, leaning down so he can be close to you before he reaches his impending high. he wants to hold you, to hear you, to see you chase after your high.

your moans and cries are growing more frequent, each more high pitched than the last. they are music to diluc’s ears, music reserved only for him to hear, his own low grunts a perfect harmony.

“i’m so close- gonna cum- please-” you babble, tears dotting your lashes, and diluc has never seen a more beautiful sight.

the sudden warmth of his hand on your neck makes you jump. he doesn’t close his fingers around your throat (though you secretly wished he would), instead his touch is fleeting before moving to cup your face. you lean into him almost immediately, his thumb wiping the tears that escaped, down the smooth skin of your cheeks, and across your bottom lip. he’s hovering so close to you that you can see every freckle on his skin, lips mere centimetres from yours that his every exhale becomes your next inhale, so intimate that you find it hard to believe that he’s kissing you so sweetly while maintaining a relentless pace.

he doesn’t want to hurt you, but he can’t hold back.

“cum for me,” he breathes into your parted lips, “i want to hear you.”

and you don’t need to be told twice. with a loud cry of his name you come undone around him, your slick quickly forming a ring of white at the base of his cock as he rides out your high, his pace becoming erratic and sloppy at the vice-like grip of your cunt.

“fuck,” he lets out a deep grunt as you repeatedly clench around him, the sound resonating from deep within his chest. his hands pat around the bed looking for yours, and soon after he locks your fingers together again he cums too, head buried in your shoulder and his cock shooting hot ropes into you, painting your walls white.

your legs are shaking as you come down from your high, your pussy so sensitive to any tiny movements that you almost cum again when he tries to pull out from you. the satin beneath you is soaked with a mix of both your essence, drops of white leaking from your sobbing hole when diluc finally pulls out.

he admires you in your post-orgasm glow, and not just at the sight of his cum leaking out of you and your pussy now moulded to the shape of him. it’s as if a soft silk has been draped over you, painting your features in glorious moonlight.

“you’re so beautiful.”

he breaks the silence that has enveloped you both while your breathing returned to normal.

you still find it foreign, the feeling of his compliments even as you’re spread out naked under him. as if sensing your disbelief, diluc repeats his words again, this time between wet kisses on your collarbone, etching his love for you into your body.

“so. beautiful,” he whispers into your skin, his heart swelling, “and all mine.”

note. me and who WHEN >:( also i hope you enjoy my subtle taylor swift reference at the beginning hehe m.list | diluc m.list | rules | inbox ♡

#luna writes ☽#genshin impact #genshin smut #diluc smut #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr smut #diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc

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derekhighwaytf · 10 months

Text

The Golden Boy

Dressed head to toe in Ralph Lauren, Rolex watch glistening on his wrist, Spencer Harrington was the spitting image of New England privilege. He truly had it all: money, good looks, intelligence beyond even his most high-brow peers. He was only twenty-one and had already published two best-selling poetry novels and was head of the most exclusive secret society at Yale. Once he graduated, he planned to propose to his most perfect girlfriend and, just like his father, have the most perfect son to follow in his footsteps.

But then he saw the lamp.

It was a family heirloom that had sat at Harrington Mansion for centuries, the only piece of metal in the house that wasn't polished daily by the staff. If his father had not been so adamant about keeping it untouched, then it probably would have been thrown out years ago, replaced with something shinier and newer, as had Spencer's last few stepmothers.

But his father was firm about the lamp. It was to never be moved, never be touched.

Spencer, however, couldn’t help but smirk at the idea. The thrill of the unknown added an edge to his usual smug demeanour. Despite all the whispered warnings and tales about the lamp, Spencer was eager to see what secrets it held. Without a moment of hesitation, his hands began to rub the lamp's worn surface. Suddenly, an otherworldly glow engulfed the room, and a cloud of dark, misty smoke spiraled out from the lamp.

The figure that emerged from the smoke was nothing short of breathtaking. He towered at an imposing height, muscles rippling beneath his bronzed skin. His jet-black hair fell carelessly onto his forehead, framing a face that was sharp and remarkably handsome. His emerald green eyes twinkled with a blend of mischief and malice. This being, whoever he was, was the essence of danger, awe, and power, and all Spencer could do was stare blankly at his form.

"Spencer Harrington," the figure addressed him, his voice booming through the room. Spencer recoiled, his smugness shaken by the figure's commanding presence. "I am Sakhir, born from this lamp and bound to its curse."

“Are…are you some sort of genie?” Spencer asked.

“A genie?!” Sakhir laughed mercilessly at such an accusation, letting his ominous chuckles hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "I am no wish granter, Spencer Harrington. No, quite the contrary. I offer not boons, but curses, to the ones who dare summon me."

Sakhir’s announcement echoed through the silence as Spencer stood silent, agonizing over what fate this “Anti-Genie” was about to bring upon him.

"You, Spencer Harrington," the Anti-Genie began, "Are a child of privilege, born into a life of luxury, a life you've never earned." The words were cold and hard, piercing Spencer's usual indifference.

With a sweeping motion of his arm, the Anti-Genie continued, "Your first curse, dear Spencer, is to lose all your family's wealth. You shall understand the hardships of those you've long considered beneath you."

Before Spencer could utter a protest, the room spun wildly. When his vision cleared, he was no longer in the lavish living room of his family's mansion. Instead, he found himself in a cramped, rundown apartment, its peeling wallpaper and old, worn-out furniture a stark contrast to the Harrington mansion. His preppy clothes had been replaced with a simple white wifebeater and jeans, a price tag still hanging off it – $4.99.

His Rolex? Gone. The comfort of his privileged life? Gone. And his scrawny, delicate body? Also gone. His pecs, his arms, his legs, they all grew massive and rugged, the result of a life filled with manual labor and hard work. A strange, cold sensation of shock washed over him as he realized he had become a stranger in his own life. The country club he’d gone to all his life was now replaced with a dingy bar, his regular hangout. The Harringtons, once the town's richest family, were now “low class white trash” as the town's elite would say.

Spencer stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror on the wall. The man staring back at him was still a Harrington, yet, so different. The physical transformation was a shock, but the sudden shift from a life of privilege to an existence of struggles was what shook him to his core. Sakhir’s first curse had already altered his life beyond recognition.

Disoriented by the sudden shift in his world, Spencer attempted to regain his composure. His pride, inherited from generations of Harringtons, refused to be quieted. The room may have changed, his clothes and surroundings might be different, but he was still a Harrington, goddamit!

Looking up, Spencer met Sakhir's gaze. "You think this changes anything?" he spat, the usual smugness on his face replaced with a defiant glare. "I'm still Spencer Harrington! You can't change who I am inside!"

His proclamation was met with an amused smirk from the Anti-Genie. "Ah, the naïveté of youth," he said, his emerald eyes glinting with an insidious joy. "Let's see about that, shall we?"

With another sweeping motion of his arm, the Anti-Genie said, "Your second curse, Spencer, is to lose all your intelligence. Your fascination with poetry, literature, art and all the delicate intricacies of high society will be replaced with a fondness for...simpler pleasures."

A rush of wind filled the room, and Spencer felt a throbbing pain at his temples. Suddenly, words that once came so easily to him seemed to slip from his mind. His tongue felt heavy, sentences becoming jumbled in his head. The eloquent Spencer Harrington, once the star of literary society and university clubs, could now only grasp simple words and phrases no longer than five letters. His thoughts were no longer about poetry or literature, but football, beer, and other primal desires. His IQ, once a proud 135, plummeted to a mere 80.

Spencer, now struggling to put together even a simple sentence, looked around the room. The literature and art that once filled his life were replaced with sports magazines, porno mags, and the stench of weed. His life was simpler, focused more on the here and now rather than philosophical questions or artistic appreciation. The weight of the Anti-Genie's second curse made itself known, his life further straying from the privileged existence he once knew.

Struggling to form a cohesive thought, Spencer could only stare in bewildered silence at the Anti-Genie. The very essence of who he was had been altered. He could no longer comprehend the deep, intellectual discussions he once relished, nor could he express himself with the eloquent vocabulary that had once effortlessly flowed from his lips.

“You done man?”

Smirking, Sakhir raised an arm for the final time. "Your transformation isn't quite complete, Spencer. Your final curse shall be to lead a new life, one more suited to your newfound disposition."

Before Spencer could protest, his surroundings changed once more. The cramped apartment vanished, replaced by a gas station's dingy surroundings. Spencer felt his casual white wifebeater and jeans shift against his body. Looking down, he saw a soiled uniform and the name "Sam" embroidered onto the nametag. He instinctively ran a hand over the coarse fabric, the reality of his new life hitting him like a physical blow.

But before he could fully process his new attire, a strange tingling sensation started at the top of his head. It was as though an invisible barber had started their work, the once lush locks that Spencer took immense pride in seemed to release themselves, slowly falling away from his scalp. He reached up, a sense of dread filling him as his fingers grazed over sandpapery skin. The locks, a testament to his vanity, were disappearing rapidly.

The sensation intensified, until all he could focus on was the odd feeling of his hair vanishing. It was as though each follicle was surrendering its hair without any resistance. The transformation was painless yet terrifying. Spencer tried to grab onto his vanishing hair, but his hands met nothing but scalp.

In a matter of moments his once beautiful hair, the last remnant of Spencer’s old, privileged life, a feature that had drawn many admiring glances and compliments, was gone. His head now reflected the dim lights of the gas station.

And then, the final blow fell. "From this day forward, Spencer Harrington is no more," the Anti-Genie declared, his voice echoing through the small gas station. "Now you are nothing but Sam Harris, the local town...let’s say “professional”."

Stunned, Spencer—no, Sam now—looked around his new environment. He found a joint and a lighter in his pocket, the smell instantly recognisable and comforting. As he lit up, he got a sudden craving for something else in his mouth. I mean, he was the town prostitute after all.

He opened up his phone and met up with the first person who’d give him ten dollars, which was chump change for Spencer, but more than enough for good ol’ Sam.

His old life was now a distant memory. He had no comprehension of his former intellect or wealth, nor the privilege he once wielded. The golden boy of the Harrington family was no more and all the locals looking for a new cumdump were all the happier for it.

#gay tf #mental change #muscle tf #bald #buzzcut #male transformation #tf story #himbo tf #himbo

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icy-bluez · 3 months

Text

Picture Perfect

Warnings: slightly suggestive, crack fic, fluff.

Characters: Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier

Synopsis: Weird / endearing pictures you have of them.

A/N: Icy has nothing to say cuz Icy currently has a smooth bren.

Rafayel

Man's got cake.

Nah, he's got a fucking bakery.

And you were extremely slightly jealous.

(Unless your thang be thanging too.)

You have definitely clicked pictures of his ass on multiple occasions, especially when he's wearing those fancy clothes of his, tight with swaying buttcheeks as he walks. And then you probably proceeded to spank it.

"Rafayel, I have a question." You ask while he was spacing out, sitting in front of a giant canvas full of beautiful hues of colours.

"...Yes?"

"If you fall on your butt do you bounce back up from the sheer plushness of the muscle on your rear en-"

Rafayel almost snaps his neck when he turns his face towards you with a loud dramatic, "Say what-!?"

Let's just say he got really flustered and you got to see for yourself if he really did bounce back up when he fell from the stool.

Besides that you also have a shit ton of pictures of him pouting or sulking because you're pretty sure he does the picture perfect pout better than you when he's just...well....sulking.

Xavier

Some...incredibly weird sleeping positions.

You were on your way out of Akso hospital one day and saw fur, fluffy and golden hanging out from the tree. You assumed it was a cat.

You reached up to grab it. The cat-human entity grunted.

You jumped away like a startled cat yourself, only to see sleepy blue eyes peek from under a lowered tree branch. Lo and behold, it was a wild Xavier. Snap, went the camera.

You definitely have pictures of his chest, like, how are they so huge and squish-able. You've also wanted to lick the sweat off his abs once in a while because he's just so damn muscular and glows like a goddamn glowstic- (concerned personnel are requested to not try this at home unless they are also in possession of a wild Xavier or similar-)

"Xavier. Shirt off." You ordered with a slightly unhinged expression on your face.

"W-whuh? Y/N?"

"Now."

"W-wait why-"

"Shut up and let me worship your knead-ables."

Don't pretend you did not relish in his moans after you were done with worshipping his body. It did not stop at his chest though, you definitely went lower.

PS: He fell asleep on his knees once, while he was hugging your legs and his head was on your lap. You clicked a picture and never let that one go.

Zayne

Zayne, pinching his nose bridge, sighing, his eyes closed and head leaning back against the couch. Before he could even register what was happening, he heard around fifty snaps of pictures being taken, going off from the side.

Zayne is just a very sexy man in general but you, as his girlfriend, obviously have weird/endearing pictures of him. Like the time he started gleefully laughing like a child. A giant cat was finally, finally being overly affectionate with him, licking his hands, neck and all over his face.

(Are we jealous? Yes we are!)

Zayne barely ever lets his guard down therefore little moments when he would fall asleep on your lap or just anywhere random in general after being thoroughly exhausted, you would take a picture.

You have definitely forced him into couple photoshoots with you. Asking him to put on cat ears with you, carry plushies on his shoulders, making hearts with your hands, drawing one half of a heart with a red lipstick on your cheek then smushing it against a reluctant Zayne's cheek to form the other half of the heart. That picture was now your lockscreen wallpaper.

Besides that, he had really broad shoulders and an impeccable stature. Not that you wouldn't peck it.

"Mm, can I?" You ask, seductively pulling his shirt open as you reapply your lipstick.

"Isn't this a bit too..."

"Is it a yes or a no?"

"...You can continue."

Now you also had a picture of Zayne flushed red and littered with lipstick marks all over his neck, cheeks, chest, abs, maybe lower. Definitely not because you were jealous of a cat.

Oh and he probably got his revenge as well.

ANTHOLOGY LIST

#zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace #zayne #rafayel #xavier #fanfiction #crack fic

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tameodesza · 10 days

Text

꒰ modus operandi ₊　⠀᱖⠀⠀꒱

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ Pornstar!Shawn x Director!Bret ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

♡ Summary: Bret had worked a lot of odd jobs throughout his career, but he never thought his film degree would lead him to the set of a porno.

♡ a/n: This ended up being way longer than I expected, as always. AO3 link.

NSFW 🗣️🗣️🗣️

Bret was a seasoned film director in Hollywood. He’d worked numerous gigs throughout his career – commercials, sitcoms, low-budget indie films, and a short stint as a cameraman for some obscure wrestling federation in his younger years.

He’d done it all – or so he thought.

When an industry friend called one day asking him to direct a project on short notice, he wished he hadn’t broken his rule of not answering his landline on his day off.

He’d barely gotten the phone off the hook when he heard the distressed voice over the line. “Bret! Buddy! Need a huge favor. My director backed out last minute. Can you fill in?”

“What happened to your guy?”

“Fucked off to Aruba. Something about his ex trying to serve him with child support papers. Now I’m out a director! Please, Bret. I promise it’ll be worth your while.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

Bret leaned a shoulder against his cheap wallpaper, pinching the bridge of his nose. He should’ve hung up right then. But work had been a little slow for him lately, and with his bills piling up, it was unwise to turn down any work.

Bret hid his sigh as he asked, “What’s it for?”

Bret almost backed out of the project himself once he learned the details. But he couldn’t turn down the money. It was almost three times the amount he made on his last project. So after a day of briefing and understanding his requirements, Bret pulled up to a discreet film lot second-guessing his life choices.

Now, Bret had worked a lot of odd jobs throughout his career, but he never thought his film degree would lead him to the set of a porno.

Red leather couches, neon lights, and a lingering smell of sex greeted him as soon as he walked through the doors. He looked like a deer in headlights as his eyes scanned the room. He was far from modest, but he wasn’t sure what to expect working in such a lewd environment.

Then his eyes landed on the star of this project – Shawn Michaels.

Shawn was one of the most popular adult film stars on the scene. Many dubbed him as porn’s ‘Golden Boy,’ a name he earned due to his beauty, charm, and onscreen performance that left his viewers lusting for more. He was a hot commodity, but his success hadn’t come without sacrifice.

Despite his profession, Shawn, in fact, did not bareback his way to the top. The rumor spread like wildfire early in his career when people speculated on his quick rise in the business. With the amount of people Shawn came across promising him roles for a quick fuck, the idea wasn’t farfetched. But Shawn liked to believe he still had a sprinkle of morals left and turned down every offer.

Instead, it took working on a handful of crappy deals, unsafe work environments, and sketchy underground projects that probably never saw the light of day for him to catch the eye of some important people. Through rounds of networking, he managed to get signed to one of the top agencies in adult entertainment, Heartbreak Talent.

With his agency behind him, Shawn rose from the underground and began working on high profile projects with some of the most popular porn stars in the business. No longer was he meeting up in some dude’s moldy basement, but rather an actual set with regulations. He began pumping out quality content and selling his own merch on the side to make more money. When he began getting invitations to attend events put together for the top stars in the business, he knew he’d reached the upper echelon of adult entertainment.

Shawn sat in his makeup chair dressed in nothing but a white robe. He never understood the need to powder his face when all he was going to do was sweat it off. But he’d long given up on trying to understand the things they did.

He trailed his fingers through his styled hair to fluff it up a bit but came to a stop when he spotted Bret’s unfamiliar face in the mirror. Fit, tan, pretty eyes, and curly brown hair? The man was gorgeous, Shawn mentally declared as his eyes tracked Bret’s movement across the room.

Shawn almost mistook him for an actor with those looks, but soon realized the attractive man was the director. Shawn was accustomed to working with the same few directors, so it was a rarity to see someone new. And luckily for him, the beautiful man was directing the final scene of his project – a three-part series centered on Shawn banging the pizza guy.

“Delivery!”

Shawn smiled as his eyes shifted to the deep voiced man walking up behind him wearing a cheap shirt with a pizza logo in the center. It was his favorite co-star, Big Dick Diesel. Favorite because working with him always felt easy and they made a lot of money together with their onscreen chemistry.

Shawn snickered, tilting his head back to peer at the man. “Glad to see you got your lines memorized.”

“It’s easy when it’s my only line along with ‘You ordered an extra large?’”

They laughed quietly between themselves. “Yeah, I’m not expecting to win any Oscars with these cheesy lines. No pun intended.”

The sound of skin slapping, leather squeaking, and exaggerated moans filled the air as Diesel jackhammered his dick into Shawn’s ass. Shawn rested against Diesel’s chest, allowing his body to be used like a toy while his eyes flirted with the camera. He gave another loud moan and threw his head back when Diesel wrapped a hand around his cock.

“Yes, big daddy. Fuck me, fuck me! Don’t stop. Fuck!”

Shawn was in his element, and though much of his onscreen performance was an act, Diesel was one of few co-stars able to squeeze a real moan out of him. But as seamlessly as the shoot was going, something had been bothering the blond. And the source was the man behind the camera.

Shawn was used to directors praising him throughout scenes, commenting on how hot he was, how great his ass looked, or how good he took dick. It was a huge boost to his ego and encouraged him to pull out more tricks for the camera. But between sucking off Diesel and riding the man’s dick into oblivion, Shawn couldn’t help but notice how quiet the new director was.

Instead of ogling over Shawn, Bret kept a straight face, only speaking when directing Shawn and Diesel to change angles. It was strictly professional, something that Shawn wasn’t used to. It had him second-guessing his performance, wondering if Bret was too nice to tell him if he was ruining the shot.

After a final hard thrust, Diesel abruptly stilled, filling his condom with cum as Shawn continued to ride him through his climax. The blond came soon after, and Bret never felt more like a perv as held the shot on the cum oozing down Shawn’s dick.

Shawn ended the scene with his last line, “How’s that for a tip,” a dopey smile plastered on his face as he gave Diesel a kiss.

Bret was gone as soon as he yelled ‘cut’, robbing Shawn of seeing his beautiful face once more. Shawn sank back into Diesel, letting out a slow breath as the man lazily wrapped his arms around him. He squinted when Diesel pulled out, never getting used to dismounting the larger man.

An assistant brought over a pair of robes, and after getting dressed they made plans to meet up at the bar later that night. Diesel was one of few people Shawn could fuck and go out drinking like nothing happened, something he cherish about their friendship.

Shawn was late to leave, choosing to freshen up at the studio since it was closer to the bar. Upon leaving the building, he was pleasantly surprised to find Bret standing on the curb waiting for his ride. Something told him to keep walking, especially because Bret seemed to be of few words. But that only made the blond that much more curious.

“Hey.” Shawn approached with a dazzling smile.

Bret was barely able to make eye contact. It felt odd having a normal conversation with the blond after seeing so much of him exposed. “Hey.”

There was a long pause that Bret didn’t seem likely to fill. Shawn shifted his feet in the awkward silence, pulling out a cigarette as a distraction. Before he could light it, he noticed Bret eyeing the stick. “You smoke?”

Bret averted his eyes. “Trying to kick the habit.”

“Oh.” Shawn swiftly put the cigarette back in the cartridge.

The conversation was drier than the Sahara desert, but that didn’t stop Shawn from shooting his shot. He moved closer to Bret, examining him with inquisitive eyes. He was cute, even cuter up close. “Have you acted before?”

Bret crinkled a brow. “No…why?”

“Oh, nothing. Just wondering why a pretty face like yours stays hidden behind the camera.”

Bret’s cheeks heated up, taken aback by the unexpected compliment. Shawn smirked, knowing he had Bret right where he wanted him.

But just then, Bret spotted his ride cruising up the street. He found his words, answering curtly, “I’m not interested in the spotlight.” Then he grabbed his camera bag, entering his brother’s brown Cadillac before it could come to a complete stop.

Shawn watched longingly as the car pulled off with even more interest in the mysterious director.

Bret eyed Shawn’s image in the rearview mirror with conflicting thoughts of his own. But his thoughts were interrupted when Owen asked blatantly, “So how’s the porn gig?”

Bret shifted his eyes from the mirror to Owen with a look of annoyance. “I really wish you wouldn’t call it that.”

“Pardon me. How’s the ‘adult entertainment’ gig?” Owen said with a shit-eating grin.

Bret sighed into his palm, wishing he hadn’t told Owen. He wanted to keep it under wraps, but with his car being in the shop, he had no choice but to let his nosy brother know why he suddenly needed a ride to an obscure location across town. The only comfort he had was knowing Owen would keep it to himself. Bret didn’t want to give his family another reason to clown him on his career choice. Though his parents were supportive, his siblings never believed he’d make it in Hollywood despite the success he’d had.

He answered flatly. “It’s a job.”

“Oh, it’s more than just a job-”

“Owen. Please. I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“…You’re no fun.”

“Think he’s straight?” Shawn seriously asked after slamming his shot glass on the counter.

Diesel smiled into his drink, knowing the director had caught Shawn’s eye. He shrugged. “Don’t know. Makes it a whole lot more awkward he’s shooting gay porn if so.”

“He’s so cute,” Shawn blurted. Subtlety had never been his expertise. “It wouldn’t be fair if he’s straight.”

“Talk to him and find out then.”

“I tried. Getting a conversation out of him is like trying to squeeze water out of bread. It ain’t gonna happen.”

Diesel snorted. “Well, maybe that’s a good thing. You know the number one rule in the business. Never fall for y-”

“Your co-star, yes I know.” He’d learned that the hard way with Marty. “But no one ever said anything about the director, Dies.” Shawn gave a mischievous grin and Diesel could only shake his head as he ordered another drink.

Bret was asked (begged) to work on a few more projects, many of which starred Shawn. Apparently, the previous director was still on the run, and Bret’s impressive camerawork made him the top choice for a replacement.

When Shawn realized that Bret was directing more of his films, that began his mission to find any stupid excuse to talk to Bret. He likened the man to an old car’s engine. He just needed to be warmed up before running properly. They needed to get on speaking terms and he’d woo the man in no time.

He pulled out all the stops - asking Bret which angle he looked better in, asking Bret to roll the footage back after finishing a scene, and asking Bret of his opinion on outfits he should wear, even though there were stylists on set with more qualified opinions.

The process was slow and steady. Bret remained standoffish for a while, finding Shawn’s chatty nature annoying at first. But with each attempt, it seemed that Shawn was able to get a bit more conversation out of the quiet director.

Shawn draped a robe around himself as he huddled closely to the monitor. He’d just finished up a scene with another top star, Hunter Helmsley, before making his way over to Bret. “Wow. My ass looks great.”

Bret glanced sideways at the blond, rolling his eyes with the shake of his head. He hadn’t known Shawn for long, but he was quick to learn of the blond’s self-obsession. Then he noticed Shawn’s sudden frown, his eyes laser focused on the screen. “What’s wrong?”

“Can you cut that in post?”

Bret scrunched his brows, looking back at the screen that showed Shawn on his knees blowing Hunter. “Why?”

“You don’t see that? The way my stomach folds there?” He pointed towards the bottom of the screen. “It’s unflattering.”

Bret looked closely, rewinding and pausing the video to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Honestly, Shawn looked fine. But the look in Shawn’s eyes told Bret the blond didn’t feel the same. It was an eye-opening moment for him as he realized the confident blond struggled with the image of himself.

“Shawn, I promise you it looks fine.”

Shawn gave a doe-eyed look. “Really?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Shawn looked back at the screen, finding it hard to believe. But he believed Bret was being honest. He was too blunt not to be. “Ok. I trust your opinion. Thanks, Bret.”

Shawn’s a genius. He was sure of it when he thought of a plan to get Bret alone. His agency had asked for him to submit some updated promotional photos to use on their website, and Shawn knew just who to ask for help.

Bret grew suspicious when he pulled up to the ‘set location,’ which was nothing more than Shawn’s high-rise condo. His mind raced on the elevator ride up, clashing against the slow classical music that played around him, as he speculated over the real reason Shawn invited him to his home.

Bret first toyed with the idea of it being a setup. Maybe he was going to get robbed of his expensive camera equipment. But, no. Shawn didn’t seem like the type of person to do that. Then he wondered if he had the wrong address. But that couldn’t be when the concierge had expected his arrival and pointed him to the direction of Shawn’s suite.

Once the elevator dinged, he settled on Shawn’s request being legit. He was due for new pictures, and Bret was great with cameras. Of course the blond would ask for his help. He was psyching himself out for nothing.

But when Shawn answered the door with his signature smile and messy hair, scantily clad in a see-through white silk robe with his lingerie slightly visible beneath, Bret was unsure of the blond’s intentions.

“Don’t be shy. Come in.” Shawn opened the door wider and Bret’s nose was hit with the inviting smell of his expensive cologne.

Bret entered hesitantly, but his nerves settled upon seeing the white backdrop in Shawn’s living room. When Shawn rounded him after closing the door, Bret pointed to his attire and asked, “Is this for the photoshoot?”

Shawn smirked as he walked backwards, opening his robe to reveal the white lace thong underneath. “Of course. What else would it be for?” Bret chose not to answer.

It started out innocently enough with Bret directing Shawn to flattering poses before taking a picture. But Shawn was a natural and didn’t need much direction. He knew just what his viewers would want to see.

Things took a turn when Shawn began flirting with Bret in his not-so-subtle manner. “Hey, can you pull this down a bit?”

Bret was busy looking through the photos when he glanced up to see Shawn on his knees with backside facing him. Shawn had rid himself of his robe, leaving ass cheeks exposed in his thong. He threw his head over his shoulder, waiting for Bret to take the bait.

Bret’s breath hitched before swallowing spit down his dry throat. It was funny, really. He’d seen the blond naked so many times, and in more compromising positions than the one he was currently in. But it was something about being alone in Shawn’s home that seemed so…intimate? Inappropriate? Yeah, that was it.

Or maybe Bret was thinking on it too much. The photoshoot was for porn promotional photos. It’s nothing out of the norm given the circumstances.

Bret cleared his throat. “Sure.” He set down his camera then walked over and kneeled behind the blond, unaware of Shawn’s growing smile. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of the thin fabric. “How low?”

Shawn turned his head inches from Bret’s face. “Just below the crack. Gotta leave them wanting more, you know?”

Bret gulped audibly in their close proximity, his eyes flitting between Shawn’s eyes and his lips. He was toeing a dangerous line and needed to stop himself before crossing it. “Right.” He looked away and turned his attention back to Shawn’s thong, tugging it down to Shawn’s liking.

It was hard for Shawn to hide his disappointment when Bret walked back to his camera.

Diesel knew Shawn was down bad when the blond called him over to drink at his condo that night.

Shawn nursed a bottle of Hennessy as he moped, “I don’t think he’s gay!” You’d think someone cut off Shawn’s hair the way he was in hysterics.

Diesel chuckled, “Because he didn’t fuck you as soon as he walked in?”

“Exactly!”

“Maybe he’s a gentleman.”

“Or straight, like I said.” He took another swig.

Diesel should have been more compassionate, but he thought this was hilarious. Shawn always got whatever and whoever he wanted. Always. This was the first time Shawn was so verklempt over a man not fawning over him, and frankly, Diesel thought it was a humbling experience.

“Well, I don’t think you throwing yourself at him’s the answer. Look at how long it took for him to say more than a few words to you. You’ve gotta take it slow.”

“I’ll lose a race to a turtle if I go any slower.” He flopped on the side of his couch, whining in the cushion.

Diesel rolled his eyes at the dramatic blond.

Bret sat at his desk looking through the photos he’d taken. Shawn made it seem like he needed the photos urgently, so Bret wanted to make sure he had some good ones picked out of the batch. His finger hovered on the ‘next’ button when he came across a photo that brought a tender smile to his face. It was an off-guard photo he’d taken of Shawn as the blond pulled a piece of lint out of his hair. It was a softer image of Shawn, one that wasn’t full of the lust his company wanted, but one that spoke of an innocence behind those lustful eyes. Bret thought Shawn looked prettiest this way when he wasn’t trying to put on for the camera.

Though it wasn’t obvious to Shawn, Bret was dealing with his own conflicted feelings towards him. Bret met many beautiful people in his line of work, and none of them compared to Shawn. But he knew better than to dip his toe in the water when it came to talent. He’d seen many men and women get blackballed in Hollywood as a result of onset relationships that went wrong. Bret took his career too seriously to risk it.

But he’d be lying if he said his mood didn’t lift when Shawn spoke to him. Or that he didn’t miss Shawn’s presence when he worked on projects the blond wasn’t a part of. Even if Bret didn’t have much to say, he just liked listening to Shawn talk, the blond always having an interesting story to tell.

He’d smile whenever Shawn complimented him, even more so when Shawn would shout triumphantly at the fact that he was able to will away Bret’s signature frown. There were also the few times when Shawn brushed past him and sent a wave of butterflies in his stomach that he tried to ignore. But the butterflies would soon dissipate after yelling ‘action’ and filming Shawn fucking or getting fucked by other men.

Shawn was at the top of their business for a reason. He was a showman, putting on a performance that would leave anyone watching with envy. Bret knew himself well enough to know that a fling between them wouldn’t work. He was a jealous man, something he wasn’t proud of. And with Shawn’s line of work, it would be a tough pill to swallow watching the blond share his body with someone else.

Filming Shawn with his well-endowed screen partners, like Diesel and Hunter, didn’t make Bret feel any better when he wondered if he’d be able to please Shawn all the same.

Bret set down his camera, coming to the conclusion that he needed to keep the blond an arm’s length away for both of their sakes. But that was easier said than done.

As Bret predicted, working on set with Shawn became much more difficult once feelings got involved. No matter how much he told himself to ignore it, seeing Shawn being taken by a man, sometimes multiple men at once, was hard for Bret to stomach.

It became even tougher filming rough scenes where Bret couldn’t discern if Shawn’s pain was real or part of the act. It took a mental toll on Bret because he actually cared for the guy.

There came a point where it was too much and Bret had to intervene.

“Cut! Let’s reset, guys. The lighting’s off.” Truth was Bret needed an excuse to give Shawn a break from the abuse his body endured.

His skin raised in nasty welts across his chest from the whip his screen partner, Undertaker, had been using.

“You ok?” he asked Shawn who laid on a table, breathing heavily. He seemed out of it but gave a shaky smile.

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

But that wasn’t nearly as bad as the time Shawn struggled for air as his co-star, Razor Ramon, forced his mouth down on his cock as he came, ignoring Shawn’s frantic taps on his thigh.

Bret was close to stopping filming, but just as he moved, Razor pulled Shawn’s back head, causing the blond to cough up spit and cum that hadn’t made it down his throat. What was even more bizarre was the fact that those around him seemed unphased as if they were desensitized to the brutality of what happened to Shawn.

Bret called for someone to bring over a towel and he helped clean up Shawn’s face. “I’m fine, Bret.” His voice was rough with misuse.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t sound like it. But before Bret could further question him, Shawn grabbed a robe and left the room without another word. Bret was concerned but gave Shawn the space he clearly needed.

Bret waited for the room to clear out to address Razor. The man had just zipped up his duffle bag when Bret approached. “You nearly killed him, you know that?”

Razor turned around with a lifted brow. His accent was thick, toothpick hanging out of his mouth as he said, “Listen here, chico. I don’t tell you how to direct. So don’t tell me how to fuck. If you got a problem with it, go back to directing insurance commercials.”

He flicked his toothpick in Bret’s face before stalking out of the room.

Bret realized there was something more between him and Shawn when they began hanging out outside of work. It started as Shawn asking Bret to spot him at the gym the one time Diesel couldn’t come. Bret should’ve said no, especially with how complicated things were with Shawn. And with how left the photoshoot went, there was no telling what Shawn would pull out from his hat of tricks. But how could he turn Shawn down when begged him with those baby blues.

Surprisingly, they’d done just as Shawn asked – spotted him. Nothing more. So when Shawn began asking Bret to join him on other outings, he didn’t see any problems with it. If anything, Bret looked forward to it. It gave him a reason to get out the house and experience new things he probably wouldn’t have had it not been for Shawn, such as wine tastings and apple picking. It was something so pure about seeing Shawn get excited about finding the juiciest apple in the orchard.

Through these outings, Bret got to see a different side of Shawn that only those closest to him saw. He got to know him not as the Heartbreak agency’s sex symbol, but as Shawn the person.

Having Bret’s company meant more to Shawn than Bret could ever know. As much of a socialite as Shawn was, he had very few real friends. It could get lonely sometimes when everyone was too busy to hang out with him. But Bret always seemed to make time.

It was during a morning hike that Bret learned the most about Shawn.

They sat down at a picnic table, needing a break from their hike. Shawn chuckled as Bret tried to hide his exhaustion. He handed over his water bottle since Bret hadn’t brought his own. “Here. Drink up.” Bret cautiously eyed the bottle and Shawn said, “I promise I don’t have cooties. Scouts honor.”

Bret snorted and grabbed the bottle. He took a few sips and handed it back. “Thanks. I should’ve brought my own. Wasn’t expecting it to be so hot today.”

“Oh, please. This is nothing compared to Texas.”

“Texas?”

“The accent didn’t give it away?” Shawn snickered and took a sip of water. “I’m from Texas. Born and raised.”

“How’d you end up out here?”

“The same as most of us – the age old tale of dreaming to make it as an actor in Hollywood.” He turned his head, looking at the Hollywood sign in the distance. “Except it didn’t work out for me. Or maybe it did, depending on how you look at it. It takes a bit of acting skills to do porn, right?”

Bret had never given much thought to what Shawn did before porn, but he hadn’t expected to hear he was a struggling actor. “How’d you get into adult entertainment?”

“I was desperate for money. I’d managed to score a few commercials, but the pay didn’t even cover half of my bills. One day, I saw this ad asking for a nude male performer. I wasn’t entirely sure what the gig was for. Something about taking candid photos, but I didn’t care. I needed the 300 bucks.”

Bret’s eyes widened. “Only $300?!”

“Hey, I told you I was desperate!” Shawn laughed loudly. “If it makes it any better, they upped the pay to $500 when I agreed to have sex on camera.”

It didn’t make it any better. “And showing up to a random location for sex didn’t scare you?”

Shawn waved a flippant hand. “It was fine. The ladies were nice.”

“Ladies?”

Shawn curled a brow, entertained by Bret’s reaction. “Is that so shocking?”

“Kind of. I mean, I just thought you only did gay porn.”

“I did whatever paid the bills. It’s a shame, really.”

“There’s no shame in that.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No. You did what you needed to survive and have been fortunate enough to make a living out of it. You should be proud, Shawn.”

Bret expected that to put a smile on the blond’s face. But a somber mood came over Shawn as he looked away with a faraway look.

Shawn whispered, “If only my family thought the same.” The words left him quicker than he realized. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get personal. Forget I said anything.”

“No, no, it’s ok.” Bret reached out a hand, breaking his arms-length rule as he placed his hand on Shawn’s shoulder. “Your family. Do they…are they not supportive?” He could relate with that.

Shawn gave a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nope…They disowned me. Dad wasn’t particularly happy to learn we had a porn star in the family.” He looked down at his hands, not wanting to see Bret’s pity.

“Oh, Shawn.” Bret rubbed his hand gently on Shawn’s shoulder in comfort. “How did they find out?”

Shawn sighed. “It’s embarrassing really. My dad’s neighbor called him over after finding a gay porn magazine under his son’s bed. I was on the cover, wearing nothing but a Christmas-themed G-string.”

Shawn had fond memories of that photoshoot. It was the first time he’d met Hunter, kickstarting their decade-long friendship. It just sucked that the memory was overshadowed by the events that followed.

“Once the secret was out, he cut off all ties with me. Said I was a cancer and needed to repent for my sins. Everyone else in the family followed suit and I haven’t spoken to them in nearly ten years.”

That was a hit to Bret’s chest. He couldn’t imagine the hurt Shawn had gone through. He had his battles with his own family, and he knew they’d have a lot of questions if they ever found out he directed porn. But he also knew his parents would never even consider disowning him. It bothered him that someone as bright as Shawn went through something so dark.

Bret scooted closer and said, “I’m so sorry you went through that, Shawn. You didn’t deserve that.”

Shawn struggled to believe that. He’d spent many years wondering why he couldn’t have gone for a normal job like his siblings. Wondering why he gave up so easily on acting when the going got tough. He brought his family so much embarrassment and shame, it was hard not to believe he deserved to get thrown out of the family. But Bret’s words brought him some comfort.

“Thanks, Bret.” He let out a breath, contemplating what he’d say next. “Since I’m being so honest, can I tell you something I haven’t told anybody else?”

“Of course.”

Shawn stalled. “I’m…I’ve been thinking about leaving the industry.” Bret’s eyes bulged at the announcement. “I know it’s crazy. Porn has done me a lot of good. It’s gotten me out of a rough place in my life and I’ll always be grateful. But,” Shawn sighed heavily.

Bret could practically feel the stress radiating off Shawn. “It’s taken its toll on you,” Bret finished for him.

Shawn looked relieved. “Exactly. I feel a little guilty saying it because I’m so lucky to be as successful as I am. But time is finite. Looks fade. And I don’t know how much longer I can depend on my appearance for money.”

Bret nodded. “That’s valid. What’s stopping you from making the jump?”

“I’m scared, Bret. I tried going the traditional route, working an honest job, but this is where it landed me. This lifestyle is all I’ve ever known. What if it’s the only thing I’m good for?”

Shawn’s eyes began to water, and Bret quickly soothed, “Hey. Hey listen to me. You’re worth so much more than this, Shawn. So much more. You’re the only one holding yourself back from making that leap. No one else is, but you. If you decide to stay in the industry, that’s fine. It doesn’t lower your worth as a person. But if you really want to leave, I will be here to support you 100%. I mean it.”

Shawn was touched, his eyes watering again from Bret’s kind words. He’d never had anyone put so much faith in him. He’d been afraid to tell his industry friends about his thoughts on leaving, knowing they’d selfishly want him to stay. And part of him thought Bret would feel the same way.

But the sincerity behind Bret’s words moved Shawn so much that he couldn’t help but kiss him in gratitude. The kiss was short, and Shawn was quick to pull away realizing what he’d done. “Shit. I’m sor-”

Bret placed a hand on the back of Shawn’s neck, pulling him into another kiss before he could finish. Bret shouldn’t be doing this. He really shouldn’t. It went against every rule of caution he set for himself. But he didn’t care that he was breaking the rules of professionalism. He didn’t care if Shawn would never be his. All he cared about was sharing this moment with a guy he’d grown to care about.

They were both breathless, eyes half-lidded when he pulled away. “I’ve been wanting to do that for some time.”

Shawn gave a bright smile as he internally celebrated. He couldn’t wait to rub it in Diesel’s face. “Me too.”

They hooked up as soon as they made it back to Shawn’s condo. The door had barely closed when Bret pinned Shawn against the door, liplocking with him until they both couldn’t breathe.

A trail of clothes was left on the way to Shawn’s bedroom, and they fell onto Shawn’s California king bed in a naked heap. If Bret was nervous about his performance, it didn’t show that night.

Shawn allowed Bret to take control, the blond responding positively to every intimate touch. Bret was so tender with him, something Shawn rarely experienced in his sex life. Every part of him was sensitive and for the first time in a while, sex didn’t feel like a job. He didn’t feel the need to perform or be over the top. He wasn’t having sex for millions of people to see, but for him and Bret only.

Every kiss, every moan, every plea for Bret to fuck him harder were all genuine. It was an intense moment for both of them, and they felt even more connected to each other when they came.

“I want to be with you.”

They both uttered those words at different times in the night – Shawn when Bret pinned him against the door, and Bret when Shawn laid on his chest dozing off in post-nut clarity.

Bonus (because idk when to stop writing lol):

🥀 Shawn doesn’t leave adult entertainment 100%. After getting with Bret, he cut out pornos entirely, but still participated in some semi-nude risqué photoshoots. He’d even posed in Playgirl one time. The crew tried so hard to get him naked, but Shawn wasn’t showing his dick to anyone but Bret. It was a good compromise. He could still show off his body but wasn’t getting fucked by other men. The money wasn’t as quick as Shawn was used to, but he still made a decent living.

🥀 The adjustment was harder for his peers more than it was for Shawn. They threw a big going away party and his friend Goldust pleaded for Shawn not to rob the world of ever seeing his perfect ass.

🥀 Shawn still got asked to make random appearances in videos, mainly by Goldust. They’d filmed many threesomes together, and the payday was always worth it. But he shut down every request as he didn’t want to risk anything with Bret.

🥀 Bret still directed porn here and there whenever his industry friend asked. But he eventually stopped when he received a short call from the man: “Hey. Our guy’s back. Turns out the kid wasn’t his. So he’ll be taking over the next project. Thanks for your help, Bret!”

🥀 Bret entertains the idea of him and Shawn making their own sextape. Surprisingly, Shawn was the hesitant one as he was no longer interested in having his intimate moments caught on camera. They tried it once, and watching the tape back made Shawn realize how hot they looked together

🥀 Out of all of Shawn’s filming partners, Bret thought Hunter was the oddest by far. Their scenes usually consisted of a mix between dad jokes and comedic sketches before blowing each other.

#divider cr: @plutism #hartbreak #shawn michaels #bret hart #wwe fanfiction #wwf #bret hart x shawn michaels #bretshawn #alternate universe #kevin nash x shawn michaels #triple h #big daddy cool diesel

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katsukiqx · 7 months

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FNAF Movie:

The year the movie seems to be based in is probably the early 90’s from the outdated stuff and the whole theme. We can clearly see the equipment used by Mike, the electronics, the wallpaper and all the old stuff revolving around the 90’s and where the original first FNAF game was based around.

The song played by the animatronics in the movie was in fact made in 1983, so some added detail put into the movie.

The movie has its own lore like how the books and games have theirs, but was based off “The Silver Eyes” it seems like, a FNAF book.

The animatronics act like children because they are, so of course they would happily build a fort and honestly, I wanna make one rn.

There were no scenes with the Puppet in it and was actually confirmed to be an endo-skeleton named “Tina” they had around the set.

Maybe Bonnie messed up on purpose while singing when Vanessa asked Mike to dance because he didn’t like Mike back then.

I have a theory that the child we see replacing Cassidy/C.C is in fact(maybe) William’s son. He’s got more than one child as we know of, so maybe in the movie, Golden Freddy is his son. Maybe not, but it’s a theory, especially since we see the poor child looking at him and Afton reaching out. It looked like pain and sadness on the child.

Mike’s Father is probably Henry. Just a theory. We know that Afton took Garret, but I doubt Garret told Afton any information, so he probably worked with Henry and knew what his kids looked like. Why would he have a reason to take Garret in the first place if he’s not at the Pizzeria? Besides, he might have used that child, as he used Charlotte. Killed because he wanted Henry to feel the same as he did. He may have taken Charlottes place. Funny how Mikes family looks similar to Henry’s. Plus, in the scene where we see an endo-skeleton being built, the man looked like Mike’s Father.

Abby will probably die in the next movie. It’s possible she will have an end just like Elizebeth did, or maybe instead she’ll become the puppet, but I doubt it. Can’t forgot to add more trauma and pain to Mike’s life, can we. (It’s a theory, please don’t come at me. I don’t like her either and seeing something resembling Lizzy’s death will free me)

Edit: the movie was set in the early 2000’s, sorry.

#fnaf #fnaf movie #fnaf 1 #mike schmidt #william afton #animatronic #five nights at freddy's #golden freddy #missing children #afton family #abby schmidt #henry emily #five nights at freddy’s movie #my theories #sister location #crying child #fnaf books

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whyareyouhere66 · 1 year

Text

JJ Maybank x Male Reader - You Are Home.

JJ Maybank *Outerbanks* x male kook reader [Sarah’s brother]

I did it, just like I said I would. Enjoy y’all. [Two more days till season 3!]

“It's always have and never hold

“You've begun to feel like home…”

[-The Fray, I’ll Look After You, 2005]

Outer Banks, North Carolina. More specifically, Figure Eight.

The air that whirled around him was warm, the island’s nonchalant charm lulling him into a sense of calm. Sure, the faint arguing that drifted in from downstairs was distracting, but alas- in Y/n’s tired state he wanted nothing more to ignore it, and stay in the welcoming breeze from the window sill of the large, white house.

In his hands he twisted and untwisted the cap of his water bottle, eyes still watching over the navy blue shadow reflecting from the sky. He tried focusing in on the sounds coming from outside, the wind’s song flowing through the ocean waves around the corner. However this proved to be more and more difficult, when he repeatedly broke out of his zoned out state and was dragged back into the growing yelling coming from Ward and Rafe downstairs.

Rafe’s persistent arguing, the frustration becoming more and more clear in Ward’s normally calm, manipulative tone.

“Hey, please let’s just-“

“No- no I’m done talking about this.”

“Let me finish, Rafe….”

Y/n let out a frustrated groan, after Rafe had blown yet another college interview it seemed Ward’s patience was bubbling down to the final straw, dragging the rest of the family into it as they heard and watched it all in the emptiness of the house.

Y/n forced his gaze away from the outside world, looking around at his dimly lit room. Perhaps he should go to see Wheezie, check on Sarah. He knew how the latter especially hated conflict, though Wheezie herself seemed more drawn into her phone recently.

But it was never a waste to check in.

The h/c boy steps away from the white window sill, closing and locking it as he’d been taught.

The bright lights from the hallway jumped at him, his eyes taking an extra moment to adjust as the downstairs argument became more clear. It seemed everyone in the house had been more on edge recently, Ward tensing at short conversation and Sarah beginning to pull away more and more.

Y/n himself had always found himself closer to the side than anything, both him and Wheezie often being sat on the bleachers while the rest played at the game. Ward could acknowledge them as his kids, drag them around to events and all, but they each knew that they were never his first priority.

Sarah, center of attention of course, had it all laid out for her since day 1. A legacy, a throne of you will, being built for her the day Ward laid eyes on her- his daughter, his child. She was his pride and joy, leaving the rest of the family to sit and applaud as he spoiled her.

Y/n used to fight for it, too. Being born solely a year prior, his naive, 6 year old mind could never grasp why Sarah had been deemed the golden child. He still couldn’t really, but overtime it became more and more clear that nothing would ever change. And while he still found himself there, by the same window sill he had been today, he looked out at the family’s extravagant garden and wondered- “why?”

Rafe was the same way. Being born first in the family he still found himself pushed off to the side, set to watch his father grow instead of growing there with him. However, unlike Y/n, he never accepted it. He clung to any bits or pieces of his father he had, wanting nothing more to impress the man.

But Ward Cameron was a hard man to impress, especially when it came to the majority of his own blood. And when you stumble as often as Rafe himself had, another rung in the twisted, family ladder falls.

The hallway, covered in old paintings and dainty floral wallpaper, led Y/n down its paths until he found himself at Wheezie’s room.

2 knocks, 3, and Y/n stands awkwardly in front of the tall white door.

“Wheezie?” He calls, looking at the floor with his hands shoved into his pockets. A ringing silence fills the hall, as he receives no answer.

“Wheezieeee, you alive in there?”

Curiously, the h/c grabs the golden handle and twists- peaking his head into the room.

Lights still on, he found his sassy little sister asleep on her bed- curled into a ball blended with the comforter. He paused for a second, wondering how she managed to sleep through the houses overwhelming ringing, as well as the mindless and repeated shouts from all around. But when his eyes landed on the small, white buds poking out of her ears and tangling with her hair he put it together.

“Smart kid..”

His hands slide up the wall, reaching the light switch before he flips it off.

“G’night, weirdo” he mumbles, closing the door behind him as his bare feet pad down the hallway once more.

It was at this point that Y/n decided against checking in on Sarah, knowing that not only their somewhat strained relationship would create an awkward tension, but also that the chances of her sneaking out her window again were far over likely.

So instead the teen trudged down the stairs, making a beeline to the kitchen to replace the water bottle he’d been fidgeting with just minutes before.

The further down the long staircase he walked, the more he was able to see of the rest of his family.

The tense fighting between Rafe and Ward had settled into the living room, stray documents and pamphlets scattered across fancy glass coffee tables as one man stood on each side.

They went back and forth, back and forth with the blonde boy starting, his father following closely in suite.

With the roll of his eyes, hand sliding down on the wooden banister, Y/n neared the bottom of the staircase.

“Dad I don’t need to go to college- I’m fine here.”

“Yeah? Yeah well I’m not Rafe. This is not…”

Rose watched on uncomfortably, sat in a stool next to the kitchen’s island. With an open laptop in front of her, and a half empty glass of wine, she stared on at the two with her eyebrows furrowed. Y/n could see her now, stepping off the final stair as he untwisted the lid of his water bottle. Back now turned to his father and brother, he could only see her in front of him.

The h/c heard voices rise, the urge to go back up to his room growing stronger in his mind.

“I knew I should’ve checked on Sarah-“

Just as he steps forward again, no less than 10 feet from the staircase, he heard it.

The painful slap, a harsh hit of skin on skin contact, echoes through the now silent room. He could see Rose’s eyes widened, sitting up straight suddenly as she stared in shock.

Y/n freezes, slowly and almost hesitant as he turns around in his spot.

Rafe’s face was turned away, mouth agape. Ward’s hand was still outstretched, a soft and lamented look filling his eyes as he seemed to finally realize what he’d done.

The fights had been happening for weeks now.

But never had it ever gotten physical- not once. Ward always took Rafe for granted, this was well evident in the claustrophobic walls of the Cameron house. But Ward had enough sense to not bring it to a physical level, his heart belonged to his family, he never purposely damaged that.

In a small moment of panic, Ward stepped away. His hand retracted, firm against his chest as he cleared his throat.

“Rafe-“

“Wow, dad…wow.”

The blonde’s voice is full of malice, chuckling deeply as he turned to look at the man. His voice lowers to a whisper again, eyebrows furrowed down.

“Wow.”

In the matter of a minute, perhaps two, Rose is up and rushing forward to stop the fight like she’d been wanting to for minutes on end. Blood rushed away from Y/n’s knuckles, his grip on the bottle tightened extremely. In the back of his mind he still heard them, Ward rushing to his own defense as Rafe riled himself up more. Rose’s desperate, annoying pleads as she stood between them.

But he wasn’t truly there, not present in the moment. His head screamed at him to leave, the need for fresh air bubbling over as he felt too fed-up with his family to stay another moment.

And so Y/n left, stormed out of the building before the other 3 could do more than notice him.

Swiftly grabbing the car keys off the counter, stuffing his feet into his shoes, the h/c rushed out to his car and ducked into the drivers seat.

He knew he hadn’t been the one to get slapped, the one to yell and scream in the fights. But if he had to sit in his room one more night, the air thick and heavy from this scrambled family’s tension he just might suffocate.

Trees blurred past him, eyes zoned onto the road ahead of him as his brain went into autopilot- driving him to the one place he felt he must be.

“JJ…”

The blonde boy, although a Pogue, offered him an embrace like no other. It should feel wrong, it’s supposed to be, but for whatever reason it didn’t, it felt right. Y/n could never recall how they’d come to be- in fact at the beginning the boys tried keeping it at “no strings attached”. But, they couldn’t help it- he felt like home.

JJ’s laugh, his voice, the warmth that would emit off his body whenever Y/n got too close. He wasn’t supposed to love him, his family’s reputation laid on the line- but he just didn’t want to stop himself. This wasn’t the first time one of them had run off to meet the other in the heat of the moment, sometimes in the middle of the night, others simply in broad daylight. It seemed the small compass engraved into Y/n’s brain was constantly pointing in JJ’s direction.

The more these thoughts flowed through Y/n, the more agitated he grew as he sought out the comfort he needed. His grip on the wheel was firm, mind a haze as he could see JJ’s near empty house coming into view. After the seemingly hundreds of times driving here, as if it was muscle memory, Y/n had barely realized he had made it to the Cut.

Y/n came to a stop in front of the house, taking a sharp breath. He snatched the keys from ignition, hopeful eyes leading him out of the car and onto the porch. That house, so different from his own, lured him in yet again.

All his thoughts seemed to fizz inside his head, bubbling and sizzling away so distantly, yet so present he could hear them still. Keys gripped in his hand tightly, fist knocking against the old door no more than 3 times before he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Answer the door, Maybank…” the teen mumbled, running a hand through his hair as his felt his muscles tensed in his shoulders.

Inside some shuffling was heard, the squeaks of door hinges alerting Y/n as he spun around to meet the blue eyed boy.

“Y/n? What-“

He looked confused, immediately taking note of Y/n’s dazed face and disheveled appearance. In the back of his mind, he felt he knew why Y/n was there.

Y/n opened his mouth to talk, stepping forward. JJ didn’t wait for him, jutting his head towards the door as to invite the h/c inside.

It wasn’t too long before Y/n was situated at the couch, fed up and frustrated. JJ followed close behind him, stopping at the door way almost hesitantly, for he’d only seen the boy act that way a handful of times. It was more recent that the two began to open up to each other, the intimacy they would share building an odd sense of trust, a safe space within each other that before they didn’t know they were capable of.

Though JJ had noticed that almost each time, it was due to something from that of the Cameron house. And so, he had a feeling he already knew what this was about.

The blonde moved forward from the door way, until he was standing in front of Y/n on the couch. The latter was almost doubled over, curled into himself with his elbows on his knees to hold his head up. His chest rose up and down heavily, fingers tangled with his h/c hair. JJ raises one eyebrow, sitting on the small table just a foot or so in front of the sofa.

“Y/n? Hello, you with me? What happened?”

Y/n sucks his teeth, hands sliding down his face.

“I’m so done with them, JJ.”

He didn’t have to say any names for the blonde to understand, it was almost always the same 2 or 3 people. And so he doesn’t ask any more questions, instead leaning closer to the boy in an attempt to give any sort of comfort.

JJ Maybank didn’t know too much about comfort, after all.

Years of not having the right comfort, not knowing how to give it, etc lead him to taking guesses, cracking jokes until one of the Pogues finally told him he wasn’t being helpful.

Perhaps, that’s why he always felt so attracted to Y/n Cameron.

“-I’m so fucking sick of it, they don’t,” Y/n pauses, trying to think of the right words to describe his mess of a family, “they fight, then pretend it’s all fine. And I normally can suck it up, or whatever, but I just- right now-“

He stumbles over words, frustration building up until he’s saying too many things at once to finish one thought, before another starts.

However he’s cut off, rambling suddenly turned silence as he feels JJ’s hands now cupping his face. The boy had leaned forward, sitting just on the edge of the coffee table, his face a mix of confusion and worry. Y/n’s shoulders drop, melting into the warmth of JJ’s hold.

“Hey, hey it’s alright-“ JJ comforted, finally getting a voice over Y/n’s thoughts. His e/c eyes finally move to meet the bold blues of JJ’s, swallowing a thick lump in his throat. “Just breathe, ok? I’ve got you now..”

Y/n listened, his shaky hands moving to rest on top of JJ’s, his face sandwiched in the middle. Eye contact never breaks between the two as the blonde coaxes Y/n into steady breathing, thumb shifting gently to rub comforting circles into his cheeks.

As Y/n finally feels a sense of stability, now much more aware of the floor under his feet and the walls that surround him, he laughs. It’s not awkward, much closer to embarrassed than anything, and it’s just enough to bring a small sense of relief into JJ’s system.

“I’m sorry, that was, sudden.” He laughs out, tilting his head up to the ceiling. But JJ doesn’t accept that, shaking his head.

“Nope- no. No saying sorry.” He states firmly, his blonde hair falling messily across his forehead. He stands up, bringing the h/c up with him. Their hands have now separated, leaving a lingering warmth across the other teen’s face where they had been before.

Y/n doesn’t even get a moment to protest, as JJ has already swung an arm around his shoulders and leads him to his bedroom.

“JJ-“

“Nope, nah uh.”

He turns around, them now standing in the middle of JJ’s messy room. “You-“ he jabs a finger into Y/n’s chest, “-just had a panic attack, amigo, you’re staying over here tonight.”

Y/n’s eyebrows furrow, a smile plays at his lips, amused. He no longer had any intentions of protesting, knowing that he didn’t want to leave anyways. Instead he turned around to watch JJ scrummage through his closet, following the boy’s figure with his eyes.

A minute passed, standing in comfortable silence. And as Y/n continued to stare at JJ, a playful grin pulled the corners of his lips.

“You just call me ‘amigo’?” He asked, tapping his fingers on the dresser.

JJ paused, turning to look at him over his shoulder.

“Yes, actually, I did.” He replied, grabbing a sweatshirt from the closet and tossing it to Y/n. Neither boy made a move to change, though, nothing else than Y/n pulling the old “North Carolina” sweater over his head and running a hand through his hair.

“And you’re giving your ‘amigo’ a sweatshirt? How sweet-“ he teased, JJ simply rolling his eyes as the incident merely a few minutes prior seemed to be left behind. JJ didn’t know why he gave Y/n that sweater, this was the first time he had done that. Perhaps it was something in the way Y/n:s eyes had been so red and wide before, he wanted to see comfort instead.

The blonde settled onto his bed, Y/n following close behind and kicking off his shoes. He laid down next to him, shuffling around as he falls into the pillows.

“Better not cuddle me, Cameron.” JJ joked, although said in a flat tone it wasn’t hard for Y/n to know he didn’t mean it. He would make jokes like that quite often, actually- Y/n already knew the outcome.

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” He jokes right back, getting comfortable on his side.

But then as the minutes go by, hands ticking away slowly on the clock, it was predictably JJ himself who began to inch closer and closer.

Y/n peaked one eye open, the warmth radiating from him so close, as his breath fanned lightly across his shoulder. Happens everytime.

“What were you saying, Maybank?”

“Shut the fuck up and cuddle me.”

Blunt, yes, but in no more than a split second Y/n found his legs entangled with those of the blonde, ducking his face into the crook of JJ’s neck as a strong sense of home overcame him.

This happened often, the teasing jabs that would only lead to such small space between their bodies. Though, that is how they liked it. Not even the beating heat of the summer could stop it, the restrictions that kept them apart in public but pulled them so close together in private.

Because in private, there was no one else but each other to keep them company.

#x male reader #jj maybank x male reader #outerbanks #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #JJ Maybank x Cameron reader #Obx

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soulmateszedits · 8 months

Text

⌜ Jibeom × Golden Child ⌝ ᓚᘏᗢ

┊ ❀ Simple

#jibeom lockscreens #jibeom lockscreen #jibeom wallpapers #jibeom wallpaper #jibeom #golden child jibeom #golden child lockscreen #golden child lockscreens #golden child wallpaper #golden child wallpapers #golden child #kpop #kpop wallpaper #kpop lockscreen #kpop lockscreens #kpop wallpapers #kpop locks #kpop golden child

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marvelmusing · 1 year

Text

Total Eclipse

Chapter One

Pairing: Darklina x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lord Morozova returns to his summer residence earlier than usual - accompanied by his new wife.

Word Count: 2.7K

My Masterlist

At the sight of the black coach, you drop your sketchbook into a secluded nook at the entrance to the church and take off, running back inside and heading towards the servants entrance.

As always, the minister scolds you for running, his stern words startling you, but you don’t pay him any mind as you continue to run. After stumbling through the back door, you weave by the girls pulling up weeds from the spot where their strawberries had been planted last week and leap over the old stone wall at the end of the garden.

Heart pounding, you follow the tracks carved into the fields by the farmer’s horse and cart, hoping that you can reach Lord Morozova’s summer residence before the coach arrives.

Growing up in Keramzin means that you know the fastest route to anywhere in the town and as a child you had snuck onto Lord Morozova’s estate countless times. He very rarely used the house there, aside from a month or so during the height of summer.

It is barely spring now. He’s here too early. The chill in the air hurts your lungs as you run but you can’t stop.

Mikhael and Dubrov are your closest friends. They had invited you to join them today on a visit to Lord Morozova’s house - a bit of fun for old times’ sake. Too busy with the mural you’ve been painting in the church, you had declined.

But at the sight of the Black General’s coach tearing its way through the town, you knew you needed to warn them.

There’s no sign of the coach as you approach the house, gravel crunching beneath your feet. Whatever window the boys had used to climb inside they must have shut behind them, so you pick the easiest one. Underneath the window to the drawing room sits a stone basin filled with flowers which you stand on to provide enough leverage to open the window and slip inside.

The curtains are soft against your skin as you wade through the thin white fabric adorned with shimmering golden threads that catch the sunlight beautifully.

The drawing room is a private space used only for entertaining Lord Morozova’s most valued guests. Silence greets you and despite the urgency that had fuelled you into running here, you can’t resist stopping to admire the room for the first time in years.

Tracing your fingers over the wallpaper, you’re surprised to find it as smooth and intact as when you last saw it. Dark blue, like the night sky, decorated with pale gold sketches of the summer constellations.

Some people say that Lord Morozova is descended from the Starless Saint. If that is true, this room is a perfect reflection of that heritage.

After hearing how quiet it is on this floor, you slowly make your way upstairs to search for the boys. The stairway is the same as you remember. A dark swooping beam of wood that curls in companion to the black metal rungs connecting it to the steps.

Those that don’t believe Lord Morozova is descended from a Saint are usually the ones who believe he is a descendant of the Black Heretic.

If his drawing room is that of a Saint’s then his bedroom is fit for a heretic. Almost everything is varying shades of darkness. Stained oak vanity table, wardrobe, and chair. His bedsheets are black, as are his pillows and the plush looking cushions that sit against the carved wooden headboard.

For a moment guilt tugs at you. As a child, Lord Morozova was more fantasy than reality. Some dark figure that was never seen. His presence had always felt almost ghostlike as you wandered through these halls. All those times you had visited, even as a rebellious teenager, you had never set foot in his bedroom.

Now, staring at his bed, he feels like a very real man. A powerful one. One that would not take kindly to some commoner breaking into his house - whether he used it often or not.

Heart pounding, you shut the door behind you, moving onto the next bedroom. Relief fills you at the sight of your friends, though that quickly fades into a mixture of horror and anger when you see the contents of a jewellery box lying spread out over the vanity table.

“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?”

Mikhael says your name in disbelief as he pockets an ornate looking necklace and a slow grin spreads over his face.

“You couldn’t stay away could you?”

Rolling your eyes, you move closer to them.

“Not when you two idiots are about to be caught by the Black General.”

They both freeze.

“What?”

“I saw his coach. He’ll be here any minute.”

Dubrov frowns.

“Are you sure? He’s never here this early in the year.”

Mikhael sighs with a smirk.

“Honestly, you see one black coach and you’re spooked. It’s a good job we didn’t involve you in this part.”

“This part?”

There’s no time for him to explain as the sound of a coach approaching at high speed reaches your ears. All three of you go still, hearts pounding as panic sets in.

“We need to go.”

Turning back to the door, you stop when you realise they aren’t following you. Instead, they’re both filling their pockets with jewellery.

“What are you doing?” you hiss.

Mikhael scowls at you.

“He won’t miss it.”

“Come on.”

Dubrov tosses the rest of the jewellery back into the box, fumbling as he returns it to its original position on a shelf by the window.

The three of you tear down the stairs as the coach wheels turn rapidly over the gravel outside. If you leave through the drawing room window now, they will see you.

“The library. Quickly,” you order them.

The old door creaks louder than it ever has before, and the new layout of the library takes you off guard for a few seconds. The sofas have been moved towards the centre of the room and your favourite armchair is now placed by the window – a perfect spot for basking in the sun.

You rush to the back of the library, opening up the window at the far end and pulling yourself out.

It’s a small jump but you land awkwardly, knees buckling a little and the gravel digs into the skin of your kneecaps even from underneath the fabric of your trousers. The boys follow you, Mikhael closing the window behind him before he jumps off the ledge. Both of them land better than you.

Hidden from the view of anyone at the front of the house, you rush towards the treeline, using the cover of foliage to circle around and watch as the coach comes to a stop.

The Black General’s silhouette alone is imposing, and a shiver runs through you at the sight of him. His dark eyes scour over the grounds as he holds out a hand for someone else to exit the coach.

“Who’s that?” you ask quietly.

The two boys duck down to follow your eye line.

“I hear a rumour he got married,” Dubrov muses. “That must be the new Lady Morozova.”

She’s beautiful. Despite the paleness of the spring sunlight, she practically glows. Her dark hair is tied neatly into an intricate combination of braids, and she smiles widely at him as her hand remains in his. Even from this distance, they look like a matching pair.

Mikhael tuts sympathetically.

“Poor girl. Imagine being married to a monster.”

You elbow him hard in the side and he winces.

“Ouch! What was that for?!”

“He isn’t a monster. He won the war for us against Fjerda.”

“Yeah but he’s still a Darkling. His ancestor created the Fold, and he has the same power. He could make another one, whenever he wants.”

Unfortunately, Dubrov doesn’t back you up.

“I heard he had one of his Grisha sew a man’s mouth shut. He died of starvation, after days of writhing in agony.”

“Dehydration would have killed him first,” you correct him, moving out from the bushes as the travellers disappear into the house.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Two days later, it’s approaching noon and your hands won’t stop shaking. Sighing, frustration claws at you as your paintbrush hovers over the face of Sankta Ursula. The minister had wanted you to start retouching the depiction of Sankt Feliks by this afternoon, but as your fingers continue to shake that goal seems further and further away.

Rolling your shoulder, you try to figure out what has you so unnerved. The church services that honour Sankta Alina are held twice a day - at sunrise and sunset - and you had missed this morning’s service. Perhaps your body is waiting for the minister’s scolding. Or maybe you should stop to eat something. The bakery had smelt particularly tempting this morning and you have a few loose coins in your pocket.

Then a shadow passes over your painting and you turn around, almost dropping your paintbrush when you see who has joined you in the empty church.

“Lord Morozova.”

He sits down on the old wooden bench beside where you’re kneeling on the hard stone floor. Dark eyes flicker over you, taking in every detail – the paint flecks on your skin and clothing, the tension in your muscles and the shadows under your eyes.

In turn, you take the opportunity to look at him. His kefta is a marvel up close. Despite the lingering winter weather, you have seen a few Grisha already sporting their silk summer keftas. Lord Morozova must feel the cold as you do, as he is still wearing his winter kefta. Delicate threads of black embroidery weave over the wool, accompanied by a small addition of golden threads. Is the gold a new feature? Something for his marriage perhaps?

As you realise you’ve been staring, your cheeks flush with warmth. Lord Morozova makes a dismissive gesture as you move to stand and possibly bow. You’ve never met a noble; you’re not quite sure how to interact with him.

“Please, don’t let me interrupt your work.”

A small smile touches the corner of your mouth.

“It’s fine, I was about to take a break anyway.”

He nods slowly, moving over a little for you to sit down beside him. Wincing, you stretch out your stiff legs. A few small bruises linger from where the gravel had pressed into your skin after jumping from the window of Lord Morozova’s library and the memory makes you nervous of his presence. His shoulder brushes against yours as you adjust your position on the bench.

“How long have you been painting?” he asks.

“I started not long after dawn this morning.”

The corner of his mouth twitches with the hint of a smile and something akin to laughter sparkles in his eyes. Heat flushes over your cheeks once again as you realise you had misunderstood his question. Shutting your eyes briefly, you sigh before running a hand over your face. The sound of his chuckle is a soft balm to your embarrassment, encouraging you to answer his question properly.

“But I’ve been painting for as long as I can remember.”

When your eyes flutter open, you find his gaze already on you. His thumb brushes delicately over your cheek and for a moment you don’t dare to breathe, stunned by his sudden proximity. A thrill runs through you at the brief contact of his skin against yours and something deep inside you calls to him, tempting you to lean into his touch. He is an incredibly handsome man, but this feels like something bigger than attraction.

His brows furrow as he withdraws his hand, rubbing at the speck of blue paint he had removed from your skin. Ducking your head down, you stare at the stone floor beneath you, worn and weathered by thousands of visitors over hundreds of years, as you try to slow your thunderous heartbeat.

“My wife is extremely fond of painting,” Lord Morozova says lightly with a tender smile. “Whilst she might protest against such compliments, I believe she is a highly talented artist.”

That draws your attention back to him. The rumours are true. He is married. As he speaks of his wife, there’s a fond edge to his voice and he doesn’t even look at you, clearly lost in thoughts of his beloved. Then he appears to rouse himself, glancing over at you as he continues,

“She wishes to repaint the ballroom in my summer residence, and though I have warned her it will be a trying feat she seems determined to prove me wrong.” There’s a hint of laughter in his voice, as if his wife is often eager to achieve the impossible. “She wants to paint the summer night sky - sunrise on the eastern side with sunset on the west.”

“That would be beautiful,” you admit softly, thinking of the ballroom in his house and imagining how you would create such an image.

A rich midnight darkness in the centre, fading into the soft yellow and pink of summer sunrise on one side and the warm orange and blue on the other side. Sparks of silver stars would be painted over the blackness, perhaps even accompanied by the height of the summer moon.

Then a frown creases at your brows.

“But you are right, ceiling paintings are rather taxing – especially on a scale like your ballroom.” His brow lifts slightly and you panic, stomach plummeting as you recognise the familiarity in your tone and hurry to stammer a justification, “It’s quite large, from what I’ve heard of it.”

“Do the townspeople often discuss the dimensions of my property?”

As you observe the hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth, your heart skips a beat.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but not a lot happens around here,” you remark drily. He chuckles quietly and some of the tension leaves you. At least Lord Morozova doesn’t appear to be suspicious of you.

After your escape from his estate, you hadn’t spoken to Mikhael or Dubrov. You don’t want to know what they did with the jewellery they had stolen, and your heart rate picks up again as you wonder whether Lord Morozova had noticed any missing pieces. Perhaps he hadn’t even entered that spare room yet, and never would.

A comfortable lull settles between you both, and despite the fact that he is one of Ravka’s most powerful men, you don’t feel anxious to fill the silence with unnecessary chatter. The sound of the minister calling out for you has you sliding down a little, hoping that the figure of Lord Morozova might shield you from sight.

Once again, Lord Morozova’s mouth quirks slightly in amusement as he observes your sheepish expression.

As the minister steps out from behind a pillar, his eyes bounce between you and the lord beside you. Saving you from the scolding that was without a doubt already on the minister’s tongue, Lord Morozova stands smoothly and offers his hand to the man.

“Lord Morozova, what an unexpected surprise.”

As the two of them discuss the history of the church and the service schedule over the course of the summer, you decide to use this opportunity to your advantage. Slowly, you tuck your supplies back into your cloth wrap, folding it carefully and tucking it against your body. Sticking to the shadows, you attempt to make a quick escape.

Before you can move two steps, the bench you had been sitting on creaks at the sudden lack of weight against it. Ever the optimist, you keep walking casually.

“Not so fast,” the minister says firmly and your footsteps falter. “You missed service this morning.”

Turning back towards the two of them, you find Lord Morozova’s scrutiny far more nerve-wracking than the minister’s.

“I apologise. I was working late and did my prayer before bed instead.”

He purses his lips together. Night prayers are for the Starless Saint, something the church feels is optional, unlike the morning service which had been for Sankta Alina.

“Remember to ask our Sankta for forgiveness tomorrow.”

“I will.”

He holds your gaze as he says,

“The candles on your Saint’s table are burning low.”

The cream candles used for Sankta Alina’s altar are always in abundance, despite the fact that the wax is mixed with flecks of gold leaf. You know which Saint he’s referring to.

“I’ll go to the market tomorrow.”

The two of you both know that the market doesn’t sell the black candles traditionally placed on the Starless Saint’s altar, but you’re not going to tell him where you get the candles from. He would never let you work in the church again, and this position is the only way you can afford to paint.

Lord Morozova inclines his head in a small bow, providing you with an out as he says,

“It was a pleasure to speak with you.”

Warmth spreads over your cheeks as you duck your head. Looking down at your boots, your reply lacks his elegance, but your words are no less genuine.

“It was nice to meet you too.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

#darklina x reader #darklina au #aleksander morozova x reader x alina starkov #aleksander morozova x reader #alina starkov x reader #the darkling au #alina starkov au #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader

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kpop-locks · 2 months

Text

꒰ ˀˀ ↷ jaehyun ; simple + edit ”♡ᵎ ꒱

like/reblog | @exolyxions

don’t repost our work or claim it as yours

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chernabogs · 1 year

Text

Kismet

Char: Malleus | Silver [baby] | Lilia Warnings: Some indication of post-war guilt Summary: An observer encounters a small change in his guardians home; the result leads to the murky waters of absolution and what can be seen as 'right'.

WC: 1.8k

(s.o to @curekibouka-writing for letting me scream abt this in dms 😭)

“Have you been forgotten already?”

The small wooden cottage is silent as death. Pots that hang down from a rack on the wall reflect the golden light of the dying sun on their metallic forms. Herbs and half-cut food lay discarded on a cutting board, the knife still resting beside them as though thrown down in haste. There’s a thin coat of dirt on the floor, and a broom leans against the wall like someone had intended to clean at one point but never got the opportunity to. Despite this, a fire burns in the hearth, its green flames crackling merrily, oblivious to the absence of an audience to watch its dance.

At the end of a short, dark hallway—decorated with paintings and cracked wallpaper—a door sits slightly ajar, and a low, melodic voice speaks from within. The creak of wood rocking back and forth detracts from the heavy air as a slumbering infant is watched by a pair of curious green eyes.

“You are an odd one, are you not?” A flash of white in the darkness—fangs being borne in a manner not hostile, for once—as a pale hand continues to rock the cradle. “Too young to know what is going on just yet.”

The infant has soft strands of silver hair on his head. His body is swaddled lovingly, his crib devoid of toys or anything that may do him harm; the one who attended to this infant was someone who had experience in the realm of child-rearing. That, the curious observer could tell. His head tilted in the shadows, as though listening to something, while he continued to rock the cradle slowly.

“For what reason has he brought you here?” The observer asks, knowing full well that the answer would not come. The infant below continues his peaceful slumber. “He never told me you would be coming. He has always told me these things.”

There’s a hint of bitterness in that voice, almost like a child rearing for a tantrum because their parents refused to give them something. The pale hand tightens momentarily, and the motion is enough to cause the infant to stir in his sleep. The rocking motion stops and the whole room falls into silence. A slow exhale comes from the shadows when the infant continues to slumber, and the rocking motion begins once more.

“Then again, he is forgetful. If you manage to survive, you will learn that quickly.” A pause, and then, “if.”

Those green eyes narrow a little as they continue to watch the infant. The baby’s small, pale hands open and close as though grasping for something. The observer reaches out and presses one finger against them, almost curiously, and the infant grabs onto that finger by reflex. A low chuckle escapes the observer as his gaze lights up with renewed interest. He leans close, holding his breath as he does so, and when he catches sight of the infant's ears he jerks back, eyes wide now in shock.

“Oh.” The observer allows the infant to hold onto his finger as the baby begins to stir, the observer's motions rousing him from his sleep. When the baby looks at him with a half-awake, almost drowsy expression, auroral clashes harshly with green, and the observer looks away.

"Goodness… what is he thinking?” the observer murmurs, rocking the cradle slower now as the infant awakens. He lets out a soft noise, drawing the observer’s attention again, and when they look at each other once more, the baby giggles a little in delight.

The sound makes the observer’s stomach twist.

“Is he trying to prove something?” A hint of suspicion carries over in those words as the slow rocking continues, and the infant watches the man with interest. “I thought he had moved on… he never told me about it. He said those days were gone. So, why…?”

The sound of the cottage door opening draws the observer’s attention, and in one quick motion, the green fire burning in the hearth goes out. A heavy silence hangs in the room as the man stares at the slightly ajar door, his hand for some reason tightening its grip on the infant's cradle as though prepared to move the child to safety should something happen. Measured footsteps echo in that decaying hallway; slow, deliberate steps. Another breath joins the mix. The observer’s eyes narrow, until;

“Malleus. You know they are searching for you, right?”

Malleus exhales slowly as the door is pushed open, revealing a familiar figure behind it. His long hair is tied back and he wears the uniform that Malleus has seen him in a thousand times before; the spindles rest on his hips, the belts wrap around his body, and the sword rests on his back in an intentionally intimidating manner. Red eyes flash with interest as they look between the prince and the infant who still holds his finger.

“Becoming acquainted with Silver, are you?” Lilia asks, his words carrying a slightly teasing tone as he shrugs the sword off of his back and rests it against a nearby chair. Malleus watches him in silence as the green flames roar to life in the hearth once more.

“... Silver,” the prince finally says, his voice sounding hollow and disinterested as he looks back at the infant. “How… creative.”

“You know me—the most straightforward Fae one will find.” Lilia laughs softly to himself as he continues to remove the weapons and accessories he’s required to wear. Each one that’s taken off feels like a weight is being lifted from his shoulders; today was simply another reminder to him that his time in this role is coming closer to an end.

He cannot be General Vanrouge forever, after all.

“Pray tell,” Malleus speaks again, breaking the brief silence that fell between them as he continues to watch Silver. “Is it guilt, or is it genuine?”

Lilia glances over his shoulder at the prince, pausing in his removal as he does so. He raises a single eyebrow as his gaze takes in the boy’s body language. Not hostility, not rage; just… hollow. He exhales in a curt sigh as he reaches up to pull his hair free of the pony tail. “Elaborate.”

“Where did the infant come from, Lilia?”

“The forest,” Lilia replies calmly as he moves to stand beside the boy. When Silver sees the other man, his face lights up in the innocent delight that infants possess, another happy sound coming from him as his feet kick restlessly. Lilia’s own lips curl into a warm grin; Malleus’ do not.

“Robbing cradles is something we Fae have long stopped doing,” Malleus counters, his thumb brushing against the back of Silver’s small hand. The infant continues to coo and babble up at the two, unaware of the weight of their conversation. “You told me so yourself.”

“He was not taken from a cradle; I found him on the forest floor. In a basket, if you must know.” Lilia raised his eyebrow again as he glanced at the prince.

“Do you intend to give him to a human family?” Malleus’ voice still held a hint of detachment to it. Lilia remained silent. This, alone, was enough of an answer for the boy. “Lilia, you cannot—”

“And why not?” Lilia asks, his voice not sharp, despite his choice of words. He reaches into the cradle to smooth his hand along Silver’s head, still smiling slightly as he does so. “Why should I not simply raise him as mine?”

“Are you punishing yourself? It is a cruel act to raise a human child as a Fae—cruel to yourself, cruel to the child,” Malleus begins, before falling silent abruptly as Lilia gives him a sharp look.

“I am not punishing myself. I am doing the right thing by ensuring that Silver has a home. I will do it right. I can raise him well.”

“Then is it atonement you seek? An absolution for the past?” Accusation laces the prince’s tone. In the cradle, Silver squirms a bit, as though beginning to tune in to the emotions within the room. “You cannot achieve righteousness through a singular act of charity.”

“Nonsense,” Lilia says, his voice finally stepping into the low tone of warning he so rarely uses with his prince. Malleus’ jaw shuts with a definite click as he looks down at his guardian, his gaze burning with a demand for answers. Lilia exhales slowly. “It is not an act of charity. I can… I will take care of him. And if the day comes where he wishes to find his own people, then I will do right, and I will let him go.”

“Will you? You of all people know the pain of letting something go once it grows to matter so dearly to you. It is not an easy act.” There’s a story behind the words Malleus chooses, one that only he and Lilia know; one that spans centuries, long before Malleus hatched in a cold, empty room, with only his guardian there to cradle him close. Alone—just like Silver had been in those woods.

“I will do it right,” Lilia repeats, still smoothing his hand over Silver’s head in a soothing motion. Malleus watches the two, watches the soft smile playing on his guardian’s lips, and sighs as he feels Silver’s hand squeeze his finger.

“... how many are searching?”

Lilia lets out a curious hm? at Malleus’ question, and so he clarifies.

“How many are searching for me this time?”

“A unit. I would advise you to become more creative in your exits if you intend to continue visiting.” Lilia smiles again before retracting his hand. Silver coos in response, earning a soft laugh from the man. “I would wager you have at least a few hours before they finally put two and two together and knock on my door.”

Malleus’ lips curl into a pout as he wiggles his finger, causing Silver to laugh again. “How terrible.”

“Dinner, then?” Lilia counters, smirking over at the prince. Their previous conversation has already been set aside, and Malleus can tell that his guardian has no intention of bringing it back up again—nor should he. The prince winces at his guardian’s words.

“Even more terrible,” he grumbles. Lilia scoffs before turning and approaching the bedroom door.

“Do bring Silver with you when you decide to come to the kitchen.”

A brief look of panic crosses Malleus’ eyes as Lilia vanishes into the hall, leaving him with the happily babbling baby in the crib. He looks down at Silver, looks into that innocent face, and his expression smooths into one of sympathy as he sighs.

“Goodness… what is he thinking?"

#twst #twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #twst malleus #silver #twst silver #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia

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