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1800titz · 11 months

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Hi friends! I’ve been sitting on this for about 3 months now and had the spontaneous urge to share. More lengthy authors note is over on wattpad. ٩(◕‿◕)۶

This one is going to be a long, chaptered fic, and here's the first chapter!

Also, big thank you to Miss @freedomfireflies for her help brainstorming <3

WC: 6.5K

Harry thinks that prissy, pretty little princesses stowed away in his cabin, tied up with ropes like haphazard, shibari interpretations, outweigh all chests, upon chests, of dainty sapphire emblems and chunky pendants of gold. This particular …treasure, in fact, is worth far beyond her weight in pure gold. A sight for sore eyes, too. Still sopping from the sea, her low-cut neckline clinging to her flesh and her skirt sheerly draped over her parted thighs.

It’s a nice view.

Seren doesn’t know how she’s ended up strapped to some horribly uncomfortable stool in a rocking room that’s wood, ceiling to floor.

Well.

She knows that the boat she was on was a victim of piracy. She knows that the ship, aimed for Holland, met an unsightly demise at some point, in open ocean, between Rotterdam and Harwich. She knows she’d been in a cabin of the Mary when the first strike landed, when flames erupted over the forecastle, when the deck turned to screams and a beautiful morning of calm skies, wisps of white she’d admired minutes prior, meant virtually nothing to the tightening in her chest.

The pirate leans back against the wall. His eyes, like emeralds, wind over her shape. She grits at the balled fabric between her teeth, chest heaving. He’s a man — a man’s man, unlike in appearance to the men she’s used to spending her pastime around, back home. The kinds who wither at the sight of the wrong fork at the dinner table or something, and turn their noses up at the thought of carrying something heavier than forty pounds. The kind whose hair coils pristinely, seemingly solidified rock in place. The kind who carry umbrellas to ward off the glaring rays of the sunlight as they stroll through the courtyard of shrubbery in their fancy shoes and fancy garments. This man is not that type of man.

He’s different, she can see it just in the way he carries himself. He’s not scared to get his hands dirty, he’s not scared to do the work. The crest of his left cheekbone wears a scar, a nick, so small she wouldn’t see it had he not stepped into the buttery beam of the daylight cast through the little window on the precipice of wall and ceiling, particles of dust dancing in the makeshift spotlight. His fingers, adorned with chunky rings, his hands — they’re calloused, like a laborer. She can see it from her view. His garb is simple, clad over his skin for purpose and comfort, solely.

But simple isn’t the term she’d deem best to describe him, not with his myriad of accessories, from the trinkets glinting from his holster, to his plethora of rings, to the mysterious, rusted key that dangled in the glen between his pecs. That one’s highlighted against bare skin in the vale of his haphazardly unbuttoned shirt. From there, she can see ink over his torso, carved in shapes over swarthy flesh. All sorts of pictures; beaks, and wings, lines of careful shading and others of jet emphasis; thicker, deeper sketches in contrast.

He’s clean shaven, which is unlike any pirate Seren’s ever heard tall tales of. His mouth is pink, cushiony in shape, and when the corners of his mouth turn up, dimples wink awake beside the curl. An even slope of a nose, and jade irises that brew with mischief. Seren can almost see the way that the flinty shade would brew with a storm, like the sea. If he wasn't a pirate of the boat that’d throttled her own, sent it spiraling into the ocean as nothing but husks of chipped wood and dying ember, maybe she’d find an alluring quality to him. But it’s not food for thought.

“Should we try again?” he prompts, in his tantalizing cadence.

When she’d heard him speak, for the first time, she was floored. An Englishman. An Englishman, youthful and spry, sailing a pirate ship, and pillaging when so much more could be in the books for such a man. So much potential, wasted. What a crying shame. She’d heard of pirates, of brutish criminals from her homeland, but they were always, for some reason or another, older, unprepossessing, scarred and crude with unkempt beards and a lack of morals, too far gone to redeem. They had eyes much too hungry for riches, and lewd, groping hands that were much too focused on flesh. Seren eyes his hands. They’re colossal. He hasn’t touched her in that way, not like that, but the lazy smirk over his plush mouth, the way his irises rake over her neckline, down the meshified front of her dress — that practically urges her not to count her blessings too soon.

When he squats just ahead of her, watching her in pause, his eyes glinting with this sort of condescension, because she’s indisposed and at his whim, Seren wishes her legs weren’t bound to the legs of the chair. She’d kick him, if she could. She’d scream, and kick, and claw, and—

“Are you going to start shouting again? Is that what you’re thinking about?” he murmurs, the corners of his mouth buckling. When she’s unable to respond, for obvious reasons, the man cups his palm over the shell of his right ear and twists his head a tad, leaning towards her a smidge.

“M’gonna need an answer, if you’d like to me to un-gag you. M’specifically gonna need a no,” the pirate prompts, a jesting air to his tone that Seren would love to crush. Her chest is still heaving from the last screaming fit, from the first time he’d tugged at the rope pressing to her cheeks and pulled the smushed fabric off of her tongue. His mouth twitches wryly.

He plants his forearms onto his thighs, casting his gaze to her as he weighs out the options, lips crooked, but eyes narrowed, just a bit, in a way that wordlessly suggests she comply.

“Let’s give this another go.”

When the man digs his forefinger under the abrasive rope and yanks it down, over her chin, and then plucks at the outside of the makeshift gag, Seren doesn’t nip at his fingertips. She’d tried that, the first time, but he’d retracted before her teeth could come into contact, his mouth jolting at the fire within her he’d underestimated. She expected a smack, she’d expected her neck to twist as her cheek bruised in response to the attempt, but he’d just stuck his tongue against his cheek, all mirthy, until she’d started to scream. Then he’d gagged her again.

So.

That was a failure.

The second the back of her throat meets the air, rather than the garbling cloth, the young woman starts screaming. Again. He’d kind of expected it. It’s a very lovely attempt, she’s quite loud, and all, but unfortunately, her efforts are sort of moot. That kind of thing tends to happen when you’re miles, and miles, and miles out in the open sea aboard a ship of men who work for the opposing team. Harry would clap if he wasn’t putting on a show of tucking a finger into his ear at her shrill cries. Eventually, he just watches her, letting her scream for a bit, and she holds seething eye contact as her help rises in pitch.

“Okay— alright,” Harry shakes his head, balling the cloth, daubed with her saliva, and shoving it past her lips haphazardly. She attempts to spit, but can only wriggle as he presses the rope back over her mouth like the task is effortless.

For a moment, neither of them say anything. The princess can’t. Harry tuts.

His tone carries notes of amusement when he tells her, “You’re quite pitchy. D’you know that?”

Seren stares him down.

“Have you got rocks in your head?” his lips nearly jolt up at the blunt nature of his own inquiry. They don’t. “I tell you not to scream,” he waves with an arm, “you scream anyways. I say, let’s try one more time, because— you know. Maybe you didn’t get the memo, the first time.”

The princess watches him talk, bemused. He gestures with his arm like a tired parent, stressed and lecturing a menacing, little child.

“And you yell again. So I’m wondering, have you got rocks in your head?”

Seren says nothing. She does wriggle in the restraints, like his question has insulted her enough to launch at him. But she stills when he squats ahead of her, once more, her heart hammering behind her ribcage.

“Who’s going to rescue you?” the pirate asks. It’s obviously rhetorical, and he knows she can comprehend that much. When the roll of her chest slows and she settles back, he can see it in her eyes that his point has left her crestfallen. His mouth quirks, and Harry presses again. “Who?”

When he knows that the message has sunk in, when she stares at the wall behind him, blankly, the only evidence of her consciousness being her glazed over gaze and the flare of her nostrils on every inhale, Harry sighs down at his palms and shakes his head.

“I’d just like a chat.”

Seren twists her head away. As much as the binding over her neck and face allows for, anyways. Harry tuts.

“So glum. You’re alive, aren’t you?” he cocks his head, voice low, “You’re not at the bottom of the sea. Not like your little boat.”

Those words hit a nerve, he can see it in the way she side-eyes him, the flame reignited, kindling in her scorching gaze. The pirate nods down at his hands, twisting a ring with a ruby red gem, like a shitty mockery of a moment of silence.

“It can’t possibly be comfortable, sitting with your mouth full, like that. And you must be thirsty, what with all that saltwater you were gargling,” he raises a shoulder, a coy reasoning to his speech.

Seren doesn’t want his stupid water. He’d probably poison her, have his way, and roll her off the ship, back into the raging waters he’d pulled her from. Harry blinks. She doesn’t offer an inkling to show that she’s willing to comply, but he stands and reaches for the rope, digging the pads of his fingers under the binding, over her cheek. His forefinger brushes the corner of her parted lips.

“Third time’s the charm.”

Though, he doesn’t sound the least bit convincing, not even to his own ears. He cradles the square of cloth between his fingertips and listens to her screams for a moment.

And then he startles her when he starts to harmonize with her screeching pleas. The first one is enough for her vocal chords to stutter, for her to jolt back in her seat, alarmed.

“HELP!” Harry calls, stretching the vowel outweighing her own scream in volume as the young woman’s own dies off, and the princess balks, startling in the ropes at the sound. He takes a pause for a deep breath, and screams again, “HELP!” banging on the wooden beams over the ceiling, bumping with his palm loudly, in an outrageous display that’s clearly meant to taunt. The sound of him striking it, alone, causes her to jump in her restraints.

He’s unhinged. Seren is convinced. Her spine straightens out like an arrow, and her shoulders square as she ogles the bizarre display, watching him strike over the ceiling, the walls, stamp the soles of his boots against the floorboards. After a second, he settles down. His hand is crooked against one of the beams overhead, and his gaze roves over her slowly. Purposefully. The corners of his mouth curl up sardonically.

“It’s not a very nice sound, is it?”

He’s deranged. His screws are loose, Seren decides, her eyes still wide as the racing pace of her heart settles in her chest — but any man who sinks ships for fun, in the open sea, who sails and pillages, and murders innocents with a hunger for riches, has screws loose. These aren’t insightful revelations. Maybe she’d just expected him to be less …bizarre, in their interrogation. He was going to get his answers out of her — they were his, they were going to be, and there’s no kidding about it — but the young woman is unsure of what answers he’s looking for or why. Why, why, why. Why did these pirates sink her boat? It was nothing but a small ferry in comparison to the opposing monster of a galleon. It wasn’t even a merchant ship, there were no riches to be stolen. Ironically, the pirate reaches a hand out, and Seren fidgets until his fingers clasp over her ruby pendant. He lifts it from her skin with prodding fingertips and a gaze of scrutiny.

She won’t give him answers, the princess decides. Whatever dialogue he may want from her, she won’t comply. She doesn’t know what he has in store for her lack of subservience, but she doesn’t care. She will not bend her will for this mangy brute.

“This is a pretty piece.”

Loose tendrils, clumped wetly, sway as she jerks her neck to tug the pendant from his grasp. She fails. His digits twitch and flex over the pendant, and the chain digs into the skin at the back of her neck with the faulty motion. The corners of his mouth quirk up as the princess makes an mmph.

That’s a pretty sound.

“M’not going to steal it. What kind of a man do you take me for? We’re good men here, on this ship,” the pirate declares, a sort of vehement passion to his statement, but the crook of his mouth says it’s an unlikely story.

So do the remnants of her boat, somewhere at the bottom of the sea, Seren thinks dryly. Maintaining eye contact, he lets the pendant settle back between her collarbones. It is a pretty piece, Harry wasn’t lying. Real gold, too — no princess would wear something less. But he’s got no need to pilfer it from her. Every molecule of her being, every cell, will pay out tenfold the cost of the necklace. It’s with that thought that he fixes the gag back into place and leaves her, trussed to that chair in the cabin.

“Ta,” the pirate bids in his slow roam towards the door, a glance aimed over his as he tucks his fingertips into the belt holstering his array of daggers, one handle bejeweled. The look he fixes her is sure, the kind that’s relaxed, but showcases that his word is final and will be the outcome. “Chat soon.”

Fun fact; being tied to a shoddy, little wooden chair for hours on end fucking blows. Especially when your hands are bound, in such a way where the rope weaves through the pegs of the back of the chair, keeping your joints wrung together tightly. It’s really aggravating to have a coarse rope, its weaving splintered with pinprick-y tufts, stuck up over your cheeks to hold some sordid rag in place between your teeth.

It’s safe to say that the experience is not one of Seren’s most favorite past-times. She’s not sure how much time has passed before that heavy wooden door creaks open on its hinges, again. Only a few hours, it must be. The crack of a window behind her hasn’t broken with nightfall, though the light cast through its opening has dimmed, if only a little.

It’s the same pirate as before. All glimmery jade and the bare vale of tanned skin from the unbuttoned sector of his shirt, where she makes out a faint dusting of chest hair, between his pecs.

The princess is still a gorgeous view, in Harry’s opinion. Her thighs are still splayed, but her cream dress has dried some, now, and so has her hair. It’s wild, mussed and frizzy. A half-soaked clump rests over one of her eyes.

“Hello to you, too, darling,” he says in response to the glare she fastens him with through the one that’s visible, like instant daggers. The corners of his mouth crook. He ambles toward her with a steel cup of …something. Something mysterious, something unknown, something she eyes warily up until the point where he’s towering over her. The young woman tears her gaze away, casting it up to his handsome face, instead.

He pries and tucks his digits up under the rope that’s settled over her cheeks and drawn ruddy hues, but he pauses before he pulls it down.

“Y’gonna get loud?”

Seren doesn’t say anything. In fact, she sort of can’t, which is quite nice, Harry thinks, but she doesn’t even make a garbled sound to appease or amuse him. The captain is thankful for what little fragments of peace he’s been granted before he’s forced to endure her ludicrously grating screeching. He weighs his options for a moment, but ultimately, tugs.

Of course, the second he’s pulled the cloth out, the young woman is screaming, of-fucking-course she’s screaming. And at this point, it’s so obviously a ploy to irritate him, and Harry would laugh if the whole display wasn’t so vexing. There’s a tick in his jaw when he sets the lip of the tin cup to her parted, strawberry mouth, roughly — and he wouldn’t be so rough if she wasn’t so fucking loud — and tips. Instantly, that shout is garbled by liquid. It morphs into a cough and a much more tolerable string of sputters, as water leaks over and drenches down her chin, her chest, the front of her dress.

“There we go,” the pirate says, the smooth baritone of his cadence louder over the fit of her coughing, “Attagirl. That’s much better.”

He doesn’t tip more of the beverage into her mouth — a ransom on a princess who’s drowned in her own lungs is worth virtually nothing — and lets her cough and sputter a little longer. She strings together a sequence of breaths he deems good enough, before he smushes the rim of the metal cup back against her bottom lip.

“Drink,” Harry advises and nudges the tin back in a way, again, so that the liquid sloshes and spills out into her open mouth.

This time, she doesn’t cough. She expects it, the water. The princess affixes her top lip lower to siphon the beverage and takes a few swallows. Harry watches her throat bob, and he watches a little rivulet escape, too, dribbling down the corner of her mouth in a little streak. It drips down her chin, down her neck. His pupils follow the trail. He gives her a little break part-way, once the tin is close to empty and her neck is craned back with the swallows. He draws it away. Good. That was good, nice and easy. As easy as it could be, given the circumstances.

Except she fixes him with this horrible glare, again, as he pulls the cup away. This glare that speaks volumes, this glower that should warn him of his error before he lets it happen. Harry doesn’t catch the drift. Only a glimpse of her cheeks puffing before she puckers her lips and spits the remnants at him, coating the bottom-most half of his linen with a mist of the water. His belt too, and a bit of his trousers.

And then her mouth is empty and she’s just scowling at him, head tipped down in a way so that the chunk of her frizzy tendrils settles back over an eye. Harry doesn’t waste a second before angling the cup, miffed, and flinging what little water is left in the cup right back in her face.

And the way her eyes screw shut, the way her lips fall open in silent appall the second he returns the energy, (except, he’s far more polite, in his humble opinion. He doesn’t spit at her like an improper animal), when she’s doused in the chilled liquid, and it coats the face-framing layers of her hair, her lashes, and drips down her chin — that’s the highlight of his day.

He doesn’t instantly fix the gag back into her mouth, or slip the rope back over her irritated skin. He watches her, his jaw set, and when the young woman opens her eyes, she sees that storm brewing, manifesting — the kind she’d only imagined prior, in the flinty green of his irises. Like he’s harnessing his own composure. But then he takes a step back, and just. Leans against the closed door. Like he’s scoping her with his gaze. Like she’s just this shiny thing for his sight to pore over.

And Seren thinks that feels worse than if she were to face the bite of his skin against her own, the swat of his palm against her cheek. She’d rather that, honestly.

Her skin is cold from the water. She’s still sort of reeling that he’d done that, to begin with. He’s drumming the pads of his fingers against his bicep, over the nearly-sheer, cream sleeve of his shirt when he asks, a serious note of authority to the molasses of his speech, “Do you know who I am?”

Seren curbs parroting the question wryly. As much as she’d love to tell him her father will torch the ship he rides upon and hang every member of his crew, him and his stupid fucking dimples included, she’s sure that all she’ll receive in response is a grating twitch of his pink mouth.

“Hm?” he prods, making a show of cupping a palm behind his ear and steering his torso forward a smidge, half-expecting her response to be a series of shrill cries, for the hell of it.

Her answer is not one he expects. Frankly, the man doesn’t expect an intelligible response, the history of her opting for incoherent shouts, considered. But she speaks, afterall. It’s soft in decibel, feminine, and pleasant — her voice, unlike the aimless yelling he’d become accustomed to. Even still, it carries that undeniable note of derision.

Seren tells him, “Someone …terribly disturbed.”

Harry almost can’t help the way his cushiony mouth quirks.

Almost.

“Disturbed?” he scoffs, sardonically mirthy, “She spits at me like a fucking …filthy animal, and I’m disturbed. Aye, I’m disturbed.”

The princess makes daggers with the gaze she sends in his direction. He lets her simmer in the wake of the light insult, for a moment, just drumming over his bicep, his mouth twitching in a kind of way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m the captain of this ship,” Harry supplies softly, jade narrowed.

There’s a twitch to her face then, something that slots by and withers in the blink of an eye. Something like recognition. And, fucking finally, Harry thinks — he can practically hear the angels croon at the crumbs of reception, from her, to his authority.

“That means,” he motions out with the cup, his other arm still crossed, fingers wrapped about his waist now, “I’m in charge.”

His voice is soft-spoken, a croon that spells it out for her, if she hasn’t already caught the drift.

“I’m in charge of this ship. This crew,” he takes a step forward, ducking his chin as his eyebrows tip up a bit, “And you. And that means I’m in charge of what happens to you. So don’t you think it’s in your best interest to behave?”

If he expects her to bow down and kiss the toes of his scuffed boots, the young woman doesn’t bite the bait.

“You’re nothing but a mangy sea brute,” Seren declares, then, her chin held audaciously high, despite the ropes binding over her breasts and the foreboding ocean that sways beyond, with ravenous threat. He could lug her off onto the deck and chuck her off the plank, tied just like this.

He doesn’t.

He just stays leant against the wall, arms crossed over his bare chest.

“Mangy sea brutes,” the pirate weighs her words, nodding slowly as he purses his lips in deliberation. And then his brows pinch together, “that’s quite insulting, actually. I take pride in my appearance, I’ll have you know.”

“Mangy,” the young woman confirms, venom in her tone.

The pirate props himself up and off, taking a languid step, each syllable of his cadence laced with condescension, “Now, rugged—“ and open mouthed smirk, a nudge with his chin, “I’ll accept. You don’t think I spend time in front of the mirror, darling? Mangy. What a rude word. I wasn’t aware that Siren, Princess of Essex was so abrasive.”

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes when they flash to him — something like sharp surprise, mottled with pique. Like she didn’t expect him to know who exactly he was harboring upon his ship. The corners of his mouth crook. She’s seemingly appalled that he’s done his research. The glint of shock is gone, as soon as it shows itself.

“Oh,” the captain takes a slow step forward in this sort of way, as if his body language is entirely meant to taunt her, hand in hand with his tongue, “I see. You thought I didn’t know who you were. Just some nameless, pretty little thing on my ship.”

It’s a purposeful dig — the mispronunciation of her name. It’s only a vowel off, it could be chalked up to simple error, but it’s blatantly to mock her. Really, it’s a funny little dub since she enjoys spending so much screeching like the nuisance of a blaring alarm that just won’t shut off. It’s meant to demean her, to belittle her, because not even her name, blue-blooded and all, is worth correct pronunciation. That’s what she seems to hone on from the whole revelation, Harry finds.

“Seren,” she corrects with bite, that same glower she’d worn prior reincarnated.

The man takes another step. He cups behind his ear, and Seren promises herself that the moment she’s freed, she’ll personally chop off his stupid fucking ear for all the times he’d cupped behind that shell of it that way, so condescending. “What was that?”

“Seren,” the young woman scowls, “Seren, Princess of Essex.”

He pauses, a cinch in his brows with this patronizing nod, like he’s weighing her correction, and then he tells her, motioning with an arm as the cinch relaxes, “Siren, Seren. Tomato, tomato.”

He motions with his palm nonchalantly. She wants to bite at his fingers. She doesn’t.

“How dare you?” the young woman says instead.

Harry’s mouth quirks. How dare he? What a pompous inquiry, molded by prissy lips.

“How dare I?” the pirate repeats, and then just lifts his shoulder in a casually apathetic shrug. He takes a third step forward, raspberry lips smug and curled, “I just… dare.”

And before the princess can voice her obnoxious protest, he shoves the cloth into her mouth and tugs up the rope, plucking a garbled sound of anger from her in the process.

The silence is wonderful.

By the time Harry returns to her for the third time, it’s well past nightfall. Light stops leaking from the crack of the window. Seren watches the shift, the way it rolls as the hours tick by, in the room. It morphs from behind her, its bright gold slipping into a darker orange, mottled with pink, and then dimmer, and dimmer, and dimmer, as minutes leak away, until all that’s left is dusk and the glow of the moonlight.

The door creaks. She almost doesn’t see it, but she hears the pad of his boots over the wood and twists her neck to catch the sight of his legs as he steps through the threshold.

“Honey, I’m home,” the pirate calls.

Her eyes strain their sockets to catch the moonlight cresting off his cheekbones as his head dips, the dimpling that rises awake beside the corners of his mouth as they turn up at his own jest. He’s holding something. The captain winds around her, through the coat of darkness, and settles somewhere she can’t see. A thump, like something being set onto a table. Then, soft breaths fill the void of the silence. A strike of a match. Her eyes are forced to adjust to a warm, buttery glow as the little beam of fire, merged to a lantern, and then another, sends gold bouncing wall to wall.

That’s when Harry sees that she's managed to make a home for herself on the floor, the chair she’s been restrained to tipped on its side. He almost doesn’t think anything of it, for a split second, but then, as the pads of his digits work buttons through their slits to disrobe, the pirate casts his gaze up for a double take. A twisted coil of satisfaction blooms in his chest as he observes her, the thought that whatever faulty maneuver she’d made to escape had resulted in this, and, well. That makes something joyful and mean bud.

Seren listens to his boots, the step of them slow against the floorboards, until she sees him towering over her, in her peripherals. Her pupils shift.

“Comfortable?” his brows climb with emphasis. The work of his fingertips over the buttons on his shirt are sluggish. Tired. She notes that motion, too — that fact that he’s actively shedding clothes. Nonchalantly. And it must show in her eyes, then. Something vulnerable, something uncomfortable, something raw, and petrified, because, yeah, she’s a petulant, little princess strapped to a chair in his cabin, against her will, and she fights him tooth and nail in every instance that he comes to visit her. But she’s a princess strapped to a chair, against her will, and it’s nightfall, and his skin is growing more bare, square inch by square inch, as the seconds pass.

He must note that — whatever that shows, because the quirk of his priorly mirthy, strawberry mouth slips a tad. And then his features shape something relaxed. Something tired, again. Like he’s too worn.

The sarky comment has those same traces of exhaustion seeping into it as his dismissive gaze disengages, honing on the work of his digits as he loops the final button through, “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. You’re not my type.”

The cloth slips apart, showcasing more skin. A line of hair from below his belly button, in soft, dark wisps that melts off behind his belt. Sturdy muscles of his abdomen that ripple as he moves, chin ducked—

His palms cup over the belt of holsters, and that clinks as he discards it, too, winding around to, she assumes, set it somewhere. And then, more skin to pore over when he returns, the sharp cut of a V, decorated with laurels, emphasized by the low hang of his trousers. He cocks his head down at her, like he’s contemplating. Contemplating what, Seren’s unsure. He moves out of her line of sight again.

Her arm aches. She’d tipped over onto it what felt like hours ago, and it’d taken the brunt of the fall, lodged against the side of the chair with the situation of her joints being married in the bindings, behind her. She’d managed to roll forward on her shoulder, just a tad, so that the press against it wasn’t constant, but it still fucking hurt. Her palms, down to the tips of her digits, were numb, she had this heinous crick in her neck, and she’s sure that the moment she’s able to stand her tailbone will hurt like hell. If she’s ever allowed to stand again. Maybe he’ll hurl her into the open ocean, strapped to this godforsaken chair, afterall.

For now, he just hauls her up. His touch — warm — skims the opposite arm before his palm wraps over the beam over the back of the chair and tugs, leveling her with ease. The young woman squeaks against the gag as she hovers, terrified to drop straight onto the limb again. She doesn’t. The pirate sets her straight with a tired grunt. His sight scales her arm, the one she’d toppled onto, and Seren can’t see, but she assumes it’s not in the most pristine condition. And then his touch smooths over the ache, a crease over his brow bone as his eyes pry, and she bristles.

His mouth twitches, but it’s tired. Tired after having to deal with her, tired from whatever he’d spent his time doing beyond the cabin. Tired after sinking her ship and taking her hostage, Seren thinks bitterly. How exhausting. And Harry takes his hand away.

From her new, upright view, she can see that little metal cup — the same one he’d brought her hours earlier. He’s set it onto the table, and she knows it wasn’t there before, which means he’s brought it with new water. Seren turns her head to face it. It’s the most she can manage given that she can’t tell him what she wants, what with the gag and all.

“Thirsty?” he notes, chin over his shoulder in her direction as he shimmies the sleeves of his shirt off. Seren eyes the expanse of naked skin as it expands, from cuts of muscle to ink sunk into the flesh of his arm. Certainly, if she wasn’t before.

The princess doesn’t answer. She can’t, and she’s not going to resort to a string of pathetic hums to get his attention. The captain sets his shirt onto the table in a pile of disarray, beside his belt, and takes the cup. When he makes his way over to her, Seren’s eyes don’t follow his figure. And for a moment, there’s only a deliberative sort of silence. She doesn’t look until he talks, until his tone is far more serious than she’s heard thus far.

“If you spit it at me again, I will personally make sure you lick it back up, off the floorboards.”

And wisely, she doesn’t spit the liquid back up at him when he tugs the gag free and tips the rim of the cup against her mouth. Seren doesn’t doubt he’s the type of man to follow through on his words. But that’s not why she drinks — she drinks because she’s fucking thirsty. Her tongue’s gone dry, and the back of her throat pinpricks with an uncomfortable soreness, and because the lukewarm liquid feels good spilling down her throat. She cranes her neck back, throat bobbing, and doesn’t stop until he’s pulled the cup away himself, and a little rivulet of water dribbles down the corner of her mouth. She takes a big gulp of air and expels it.

And then, with angry sorts of eyes, the princess declares, “I’m hungry.”

“You’re hungry,” the pirate mirrors, but it’s only wryly amused — his tired, sardonic smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and he sets the cup back onto the table with little urgency to get her food. “We don’t offer room service.”

“You haven’t fed me once today,” Seren declares indignantly when he winds behind her, out of sight. And then there’s a sigh and a creak, the kind that seeps from mattress springs compressing. “This is— this is cruel, I’ll have you know. This is torture, this is—“

“Thank you for your honest review, we’ll make sure to take your feedback into account,” Harry chimes at her in true, facetious fashion, scrubbing over his eyes with a palm as he knees his way onto the bed. And then the pirate tells her, with a more serious note to his drawl, before she has a chance to interject with another complaint, “If you’re going to talk all night, I’m going to put your gag back in until the morning.”

Seren doesn’t say anything. Finally, she doesn’t say anything at all, and it’s splendid. It’s peace and quiet, and all he hears, for a perfect moment, is the creak of the wood and the subdued roar of the waves.

“I don’t want to stare at the wall,” the princess speaks, eventually, like a petulant child. “Why am I staring at the wall?”

“Because …that’s the way the chair’s facing,” Harry responds, matter-of-factly and almost instantly, sure that a note of irritation has managed to teem into the words despite his best efforts. He will not let her know that her efforts of poking are chipping at his composure, he won’t.

And for another moment, Seren doesn’t say anything. He lets his eyes drift shut.

“I want to face you,” the princess says, eventually, and her tone implies she’s taken the bridge of silence to build the phrase up into something more demanding, something royal and authoritative. If he wasn’t so fucking tired he’d laugh.

“You want to watch me sleeping?” she hears the pirate from behind her, his honey-smooth drawl grown raspy and lower from, seemingly, exhaustion, “That’s an odd request.”

Her brows furrow as a scowl paints her mouth. The bed creaks in the gap of quiet. Every hair stands on end when, suddenly, he’s inches from her, his presence looming and warm from behind, with calloused fingertips brushing the side of her neck in their venture towards that godforsaken gag.

“Just turn me!” Seren shrieks, “Just turn me, and I’ll be quiet!”

He doesn’t put the gag in. He winds around her, hand still on the rope, his features shaped with apathetic seriousness, “If I turn you because you want me to turn you, what good am I at putting my foot down? Hm?”

Seren blinks up at him.

“Please,” the princess tells him, hushed and earnest, “I don’t feel …safe.”

His brows twitch. There’s something that blooms in the jade at her admission, but it flits by, gone as quickly as it’d appeared. And then his brows furrow, and he looks absolutely exasperated, the subtle downturn at the edges of his mouth emphasized with the roll of that same jade. The pirate scoffs, and his boots stomp over the wood, each step an inclination that his frustration has leaked into his body language.

“I told you—“ the legs of the chair screech against the floorboards — he doesn’t even grunt as he maneuvers her with ease, the motion rough like it’s a chore, “—that you’re not my type. Not everybody wants to fuck you, your highness.”

Seren blinks, pupils poring over the priorly unseen sight of the opposite end of the room. A slit of a window, brushing the edge of the wall that merges into the ceiling. A bookshelf of literature and knickknacks. A dresser, a queen-sized mattress on the floor. The pirate still looks absolutely miffed when he walks toward the table with the lantern, bare shoulders squared and the muscles in his back rippling. He sets the light out, kicks off his boots, and falls into the bed unceremoniously.

It’s a victory.

And for a moment, Seren thinks he’s just going to wordlessly roll over to avoid her prying gaze. He doesn’t do that. They bask in the crash of the waves outside, the darkness, and their quiet breaths. He’s got this knack — Seren’s learned. This skill of morphing from sarcastic and teasing to broodingly serious, and it’s mercurial, sort of. She wonders if this brooding side’s what’s brought him to lead an entire ship.

“Be quiet now,” the pirate drawls from the sheets, in that broodingly serious cadence, “If I hear another word, I’ll personally carry you out onto the deck, and you can sleep in the chair out there.”

The man rolls over to face the wall. Seren doesn’t say another word for the rest of the night.

#pirate!harry #pirate au #piraterry #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles x oc #dom harry styles #harry styles #harry styles dirty fanfiction #enemies to lovers #harry styles enemies to lovers

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choidaisy · 8 months

Text

where mingyu finds memories of his first girlfriend and decides to send her a message upon realizing she is nearby (part 1)

Part 2 here

words: 1,892 warnings: not many, just mingyu feeling nostalgic and regretful about past choices a/n: i think im a bit sad after writing this, i wish i could hug mingyu

Upon awakening at dawn, Mingyu felt an unexpected urge to revisit the past. The day promised to be busy with a looming show, but he decided to dedicate some time to organizing dusty relics that had rested for years in his closet.

As he pulled boxes from the dark hideaway, one of them caught his attention in a peculiar way. "I didn't even remember you were here," he chuckled, releasing a sigh of nostalgia. He sat on the floor, unraveling the treasures buried in layers of memories.

The lid of the box, when lifted, unleashed a specter from the past. Photographs, yellowed and blurred as if the previous decade had wrapped them in a nostalgic veil. Mingyu held one of them, observing with eyes that absorbed every detail. A smile, immortalized on paper, evoked long-dormant emotions.

Among the relics, a crumpled and aged letter captured his attention. The faded ink gave the words a melancholic tone, as if time itself had intertwined them with sadness. Unfolding it, Mingyu encountered handwritten messages, a distant voice echoing through the lines on paper.

Each item taken from the box told a story from ten years ago, a time when the world seemed simpler, and smiles came more easily. The room, once bathed in morning light, transformed into a theater of shadows and longing, where the silent echo of the past filled every corner.

Mingyu, sitting on the floor, embraced his memories as if holding a part of himself that had been left behind. The clock on the wall, like a silent witness, marked the present, but the open box cast a bridge to a persistent past.

Thus, he spent the morning immersed in the melancholy of recollections from a decade ago, a journey through time that left scars on the fabric of his soul, like indelible marks of a sad song echoing beyond the decades.

Mingyu's gaze lifted towards the ceiling as a specific photograph emerged from his memories. He closed his eyes, leaning against the wall. The image captured a moment of genuine laughter between him and Y/N, an instant immortalized where worries were forgotten in the face of her amusing words. A bittersweet smile illuminated his face, contrasting with the frozen joy in the photo.

Mingyu's mind traveled back in time, recalling how Y/N had the gift of eliciting laughter from him at every turn. Nostalgia enveloped him like a mist, and he found himself smiling in a different way than that depicted in that old picture.

"How must she be these days?" he questioned amidst the shadows of the past. He decided to explore the virtual world in the hope of finding traces of her life. He opened Instagram, typing her name in the search bar with a tentative expectation.

And there she was. Y/N's account, though not abundant in photos, revealed the path she had taken over the years. Mingyu scrolled through the images, witnessing fragments of a distant life. She had grown, distancing herself from the scene they once shared.

The photographs told silent stories of adventures and growth, of laughter that now echoed elsewhere. Mingyu, lost in the visual narrative, felt the distance that time had imposed between them. A sigh escaped, echoing in the quietness of the room as he absorbed the metamorphosis of the one who had once been the constant source of his joy.

He opened photo after photo, immersing himself in the visual narratives that composed Y/N's life. He read comment after comment, each word resonating like a melancholic melody that transported him to a time that no longer existed. "Damn, why am I doing this to myself?" he wondered, a storm of emotions churning within him. On impulse, he turned off his phone screen, trying to distance himself from those bittersweet memories.

He closed the virtual box that was her profile, and with a heavy sigh, he promised himself that it was time to close this chapter of the past. The day progressed slowly, each second feeling like an additional weight on his shoulders. Mingyu became entangled in the whirlwind of emotions, struggling to find a peace that seemed elusive.

When night settled and the show in Seoul finally came to an end, Mingyu remained backstage, the energy of the stage still pulsating in his veins. A persistent intuition whispered in his ear, urging him to reopen her profile. A mixture of curiosity and self-destruction led him to succumb to the silent call.

The screen lit up again, revealing Y/N's world in a way he couldn't avoid. The past resurfaced in digital colors, the photographs a window to a time he thought he had left behind. Mingyu found himself scrolling through the images, a roller coaster of emotions sweeping over him as the silent backstage of the show became the backdrop for a personal drama unfolding before the cold glow of the screen.

Y/N had posted a story, an update that hadn't existed before. Mingyu took a deep breath, feeling his heartbeat quicken as he embraced all the risks of being caught snooping on her social media. "What the fuck is this?" he exclaimed, the intensity of his voice echoing and surprising those around him.

"What's going on, Mingyu?" Wonwoo asked, showing surprise at the sudden reaction.

"Oh... sorry, guys," Mingyu stammered, distancing himself from the group still stunned by what he had just discovered.

Sitting on a bench, disbelief written on his face, Mingyu fixed his gaze on the phone. "Y/N, are you here? Were you watching our show?" he whispered to himself, as if uttering the words made the situation more tangible.

Without giving himself much time to think, Mingyu decided to respond to the story. "You here?" he added a shy emoji, a mix of surprise and anticipation that shone through the typed words.

The night stretched on, a tapestry of anticipation woven with threads of uncertainty. Mingyu, immersed in the anticipation of a response that felt surreal, watched the hours drag on. Before heading home, he joined the other band members, sharing a few glasses of beer in a ritual that would normally be synonymous with relaxation and laughter. However, his mind was elsewhere, more focused on his phone than the lively conversation permeating the table.

Even amid laughter and toasts, Mingyu was shrouded in a cloud of thoughts, lost in his own reflections. Tension hung over him as his eyes occasionally drifted to the device, eager for a notification that had yet to arrive.

It was then that Mingyu made an unusual decision. He was the first to say goodbye, breaking the tradition of staying until the end. The night continued for the others, but for him, the journey back home was marked by a heavy silence and an anticipation that stretched beyond the visible night horizon.

It was around six in the morning, and Mingyu was still tossing and turning in bed, desperately trying to fall asleep when a notification flashed on his phone. "Mingyu...?"

She had finally responded. Without thinking much, he initiated a voice call right there, in the Instagram direct messages chat.

"Oh... Mingyu. Is everything okay?" She answered with a cautious voice, a tone laden with surprise and concern.

"Hm, hey Y/N, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called, I just..."

"Did something happen?"

"I just... thought about you all day... I'm sorry." He scratched his head, words coming out in a thread, his voice choked with emotion, an echo of the restlessness consuming him.

"Are you drunk? Your voice sounds (pause) weird (pause) and it's like six in the morning..."

"No, I'm not drunk... I'm sorry, Y/N. I'll hang up, I shouldn't have done this." There was a tense pause, a contained sigh in his voice, echoing regret. The girl on the other end of the line sensed the vulnerability in every word, the complexity of what was unfolding in this unexpected conversation.

"No, Mingyu... Stay on the line, I'm just surprised... It's been so long since we last talked. I thought it might be an emergency or something."

"Yea, quite a while... Almost ten years?"

"Something like that... How are you? Did you have to wake up early today?"

"Oh... actually, I haven't been able to sleep yet..." A pause to take a deep breath. "And you, why are you up early?"

"I'm at the airport, heading back home..."

"Oh, so you didn't move back to Korea?" Sadness echoed in his voice as he verbalized the realization.

"No, just passing through..."

"Ah... I was really surprised when I saw you were watching my show."

"My niece is a big Seventeen fan," she explained.

"Daennie?" That's how he used to call little Shin Dae years ago. "God, she was a little kid... She's, like, twelve now?" The question arose gently, an attempt to map the years that had slipped away, even though distance had kept them apart.

"Yea" she laughed from the other side of the screen. "She's almost my height now."

"That's crazy..."

"Yea, time flew by... Mingyu, how did you find my Instagram?"

"Oh, about that... I stumbled upon a photo of us yesterday morning... I got curious about you and looked you up... Don't think I'm a stalker or anything."

She laughed on the other side of the screen, a gentle laugh hovering between nostalgia and the present.

"Y/N, I miss you, you have no idea how much..." he confessed. "You know, you'll always be my first girlfriend, my first love... I regret my decision so much."

"Mingyu, you didn't decide alone, it was the wisest choice. You know that."

"Honestly, I don't know if it was worth it."

"How not? You're living your biggest dream."

"But you're not here with me..." The last sentence slipped out like a sigh, heavy with a lament that echoed between the words, outlining a wound that time hadn't completely healed.

"Mingyu, don't do this." She heard him let out the sound of a sniffle. "Mingyu? Are you crying?"

"I'm sorry for saying these things, Y/N... I just wish I could go back in time and make different choices; I would have found a way to make both things work well."

"You would have regretted it, Mingyu. Look at how you're a star now."

"I regretted the same way."

"Mingyu, listen to me... We were very happy together, but our story happened at the wrong time. We were young, but we had an important choice. We did the right thing." She paused. "We grew up well."

"And will our story ever happen at the right time?"

"I don't have the answer to your question." Her response hung in the air, a sincere confession that floated between the uncertainty of the future and the certainty of the past. Silence became a delicate bridge between two hearts that, even at a distance, still shared an intertwined story.

"Y/N, I always thought I couldn't have you, that you're someone I should forget, but..." He was interrupted by the girl who spoke hastily.

"Mingyu, I need to hang up; I'm boarding now... we'll talk later."

"I wanted you to know that..." The call ended. "I still love you." Mingyu murmured to the silence of the phone, the words lingering in the void like an unspoken sigh, while the sound of farewell echoed in the distance between them.

Part 2 maybe? let me know :)

#svt fanfic #svt imagines #seventeen #svt #svt fluff #svt x reader #mingyu #kim mingyu #mingyu x reader #mingyu x y/n #mingyu x you #mingyu fluff #mingyu scenarios #mingyu fic #mingyu imagines

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dewdropdinosaur · 6 months

Text

The Whole Being Dead Thing

LUCIFER X READER (PLATONIC) Summary: Lucifer is your father and to say you have been distant the past 7 years would be an understatement. Being the sarcastic owner of a murder business doesn't exactly make the family reunion even more enjoyable. Warnings: Some cuss words and a gun --> Reader is similar to Blitz from Helluva Boss. Rating: PG-13 Can't remember who requested this but here you go!

In the bustling streets of Pentagram City, where sin and redemption intertwined in a chaotic dance, there lurked a figure shrouded in darkness. Y/N, the eldest daughter of Lucifer Morningstar, once roamed. Born into a lineage of darkness and power, she was destined for greatness—or so it seemed.The disappearance of her mother, Lilith, shattered the fragile bonds that tied Y/N to her family. Amidst the turmoil and whispers of betrayal, she made a choice that would alter her destiny forever. With a heart heavy with unresolved pain, Y/N turned her back on her kin and vanished into the shadows, leaving behind her legacy and her birthright.

Long had it been since Y/N departed from the opulent corridors of her father's domain. With her heart heavy and her resolve unyielding, Y/N ventured into the abyss of uncertainty, carving her path through the crimson-lit alleyways of Pentagram City.

In the shadows, she found her solace, her purpose. She became a legend whispered in hushed tones—a silent specter weaving through the fabric of the city, a master of the art of assassination. With meticulous precision and deadly grace, she built her empire, brick by blood-soaked brick, until her name became synonymous with fear itself. Starting her own business built on assassination both inside Hell and up on Earth, Y/N essentially ruled the criminal underworld of Hell. Her own kingdom, not given to her by birthright, but by hard work and a penchant for blowing shit up.

Years passed, and Lucifer, the fallen angel turned proprietor of the infamous Hazbin Hotel, watched over his kingdom with a heavy heart. The absence of his daughter weighed upon him like an anchor, a constant reminder of the rift that had torn their family asunder. After the disappearance of his eldest, Lucifer then distanced himself from his youngest; believing himself the one to blame for everything leaving. He missed his daughter, though he would never admit it openly. The pain of her absence lingered like a wound that refused to heal, a constant reminder of his failure as a father.

However, as time wore on and Hazbin Hotel grew - Lucifer reintroduced himself into Charlie’s life and they became reconnected and virtually inseparable. Charlie, being the optimistic being that she was, decided that if one family reunion was going so well, another should follow. Drafting out a letter to her older sister in bright pink ink, the note was mailed and received.

After weeks of debate, Y/N finally relented. Maybe seeing Charlie after all would be nice, just the two of them. Putting on her normal outfit: white tank top, black leather jacket, and black jeans along with combat boots; Y/N marched to the hotel. Knocking on the door, Y/N straightened her top. However, what greeted her was not her energetic sister but instead Lucifer, who stood with wide eyes.

Time seemed to stand still as father and daughter locked eyes, a thousand unspoken words hanging heavy in the air between them. For a moment, the world faded away, leaving only the echo of their shared past and the weight of their estrangement.

Charlie, the ever-optimistic princess of Hell, stood beside Lucifer, her gaze shifting between the two with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Sensing the tension thickening in the air, she stepped forward, a beacon of warmth amidst the shadows.

"Y/N," Charlie finally spoke, voice high pitched as she reached to embrace her sister. "It's been too long."

Y/N's expression remained impassive, her mask of stoicism betraying no hint of the emotions that roiled within her. She nodded, acknowledging her words with a silent understanding.

Y/N's gaze was steely, her demeanor guarded as she faced the father she had long forsaken. The awkwardness between them was palpable, a tangible barrier separating them even as they stood mere feet apart.

"Y/N," Lucifer finally spoke, his voice a mix of longing and regret, "it's been... too long."

A flicker of emotion crossed Y/N's face—a fleeting vulnerability that was quickly masked behind a facade of indifference. “Hi, dad.”

Lucifer shifted uncomfortably, sensing the palpable tension hanging in the air. "How have you been?"

Y/N's lips twisted into a bitter smirk. "Oh, you know, same old, same old. Just running a famous murder stick in the depths of Hell. How about you?"

Lucifer winced at the reminder of his daughter's chosen path, a pang of ick gnawing at his insides. "I've been... managing," he replied evasively, unable to meet her gaze.

“So after 7 years that is all you have to say to me? 'How have you been'?”

“Well, I--is that a gun!?"

Sighing and tapping the glock strapped to her thigh, Y/N spoke “Yes, dad. it's a gun. Sheesh, for sin incarnate you really are such a downer. Get it? Downer, cause like you go down on people...oh whatever.

Charlie, you got a bartender in this place right? Cause I am gonna need a shitty drink if y'all are gonna be a tough crowd."

Charlie, sensing the awkwardness and unable to get sex jokes thickening, attempted to lighten the mood. "Well, uh, why don't we sit down and catch up? I'm sure there's plenty to talk about and yeah…we have a bartender.!"

Y/N's laugh was hollow, devoid of mirth, completely avoiding her father in favor for his sister. "Sure, why not? I've always wanted to hear about the latest happenings in the Hotel for lost souls. So tell me sis, how’s life been mhmm?”

The reunion was awkward, fraught with the weight of unresolved grievances and unspoken apologies. Yet, amidst the awkwardness, there lingered a glimmer of hope—a flicker of light amidst the darkness that had shrouded their relationship for so long. Alcohol made Y/N much friendlier anyway.

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buckrecs · 1 year

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I was looking through your masterlist and I don’t think you’ve done this au….

Bartender bucky or tattoo artist bucky, honestly idc which one you choose to provide recommendations for(if you do)!:)<3

Tattoo Artist!Bucky

masterlist | req masterlist

I did tattoo artist!bucky this time, but if you send another req I am very willing to do bartender!bucky too😉😏

ONESHOT

Jacks and Sunshine by @rookthorne

You were the warmth and light to Bucky’s shadows and brooding nature – a match made in heaven, and it was a miracle that a certain someone realised as much.

Soft by @softlyspector

Bucky and the reader have been together for a few months. She wants him to stay the night with her, but he’s reluctant.

fingers by @buckycuddlebuddy

you couldn’t take your eyes off of his hands.

Sting by @adrinktostopyourthirst

TattooArtist!Bucky praising you during a session.

tattoo parlor by @alisonsfics

the beautiful artwork and craftsmanship wasn’t the only thing that kept you coming back to bucky’s tattoo shop.

american tattoo by @seventven

steve and bucky run a tattoo shop together in brooklyn. y/n, a friend of steve’s, decides to get inked. only bucky is present at the shop and he’s about to close it for the night.

inked by @buckys-black-dress

A Little Cover-up by @butwhyduh

You get a tattoo.

make it count by @serpienten

It’s cold and rainy when Bucky sees her for the first time. Within three minutes, he’s under her spell.

Starstruck Beginnings by @rookthorne

Shopping in your favourite art store with Bucky brings back the memory of your first encounter, and after so much time has passed, it was with fondness that you looked back on just how starstruck you were in his presence.

SERIES

A Touch of Ink by @deamstellarus

After a breakup with your ex, you decided to move to the small town where your long-time friend Sam lives, hoping for a change of pace and starting a new chapter in your life. You were prepared for a slower paced lifestyle, quaint diners, and a change of scenery. However, you didn't expect to be swept off your feet by two stunning pairs of blue-grey eyes.

Paws and Pins by @matchamunson

In which Bucky runs into the owner of the animal shelter across the street from his shop. (Social Media AU)

Fight For You by @revengingbarnes

Brooklyn, New York. At the annual local boxing championship, Y/N is the leading medical specialist on call. It’s a whole new environment, and despite the drastic change, she loves it. Bucky Barnes is the reigning boxing champion of Brooklyn. Virtually undefeated, this tattoo artist by day, boxer by night is someone that is now fighting his way into Y/N’s head. And she’s helpless in front of his winning streak.

Skin on Skin by @navybrat817

Hottie and Sugar

#bucky barnes fic rec #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes smut #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes modern au #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #tattoo artist!bucky #tattoo artist!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x baker!reader #bucky barnes social media au #bucky barnes smau

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nilsavatar · 1 year

Text

DAY 9 - ACCIDENTAL STIMULATION

Parings: Rotxo x Fem!human

Genre/Warnings: NSFW/MDNI +18, no use of Y/N, SMUT, accidental stimulation, rubbing, fingering, sexual tension, olfactophilia (Rotxo turns on by smelling arousal) praising (baby boy/pretty boy/good boy), Aubree (reader) is slightly older, cursing, edging, sub-Rotxo, size difference. All characters are AGED-UP.

Summary: the research for an octopus-like species turns into a totally different search.

@acts-of-pastel you mentioned you wished for a Rotxo x human. I hope I have met your expectations☺️

Word Count: 3k

Masterlist - Request a fic

The ilu were funny. Prankster, playful creatures, and very affectionate, even with the few humans in Metkayina territory. They reminded her of dolphins in the way they behaved. In fact, just like dolphins, they had established a bond of friendship with the people of the reef.

However, Aubree had overlooked one crucial detail: the sticky skin.

The Ph.D. student had stood on the back of a Pandora animal before, but they had always been land creatures. So, her small size was inconsequential as long as she could grip tightly. The problem with the ilu lay precisely in that. No matter how much strength she put into her legs, she promptly slipped off the back of the mount. Did she press a little with her right knee? That’s when the left would lose its grip and her weight would unbalance until she fell into the water. Ditto if she did the opposite. Squeezing simultaneously with both was out of the question; she didn’t have long enough legs.

The only solution was to ride with an expert, and fortunately for her, Rotxo had been generous enough to offer to carry her himself. She could not have taken Ao’nung’s constant shenanigans. The woman was here to work, not to be ridiculed.

So here they were, on the beach, the salty smell of the ocean filling the air. Rotxo, already astride his ilu, gently extended a hand to her, while Aubree stared skeptically at the animal, wondering which way to mount.

“I’ve got you,” he repeated to her for the millionth time, his kind lips not losing their friendly smile for a second.

That boy was far too good and patient. An angel. The exact opposite of his best friend, she thought and wondered how on earth those two got along. She, in his place, would have gladly pulled off that annoying smirk with which he strutted around.

Really unbearable.

However, her thoughts were not consumed by her bitterness towards the future olo'eyktan. She had a mission: to take a sample of sagittaria ink.

Skuka, the local name for these 1.2 m nautilus-like creatures, had traits similar to terrestrial mollusks, octopuses, squids, and grinders. An incredibly unique species among the aquatic creatures cataloged on Pandora, but one about which very little was yet known because of its shy nature and the ease with which it camouflaged itself among corals and reef bottoms. Despite its bright purple hue, the skilled cephalopod expertly altered its color.

The similarities between Earth and Pandora were nearly overwhelming, despite their existence in separate systems. The universe was not meant to host life. To find it in its vastness, to receive confirmation that we were not the only ones, was a rarity; an exception that confirmed the rule. Yet, encountering the identical elements duplicated, albeit in a chaotic manner and frequently in colossal proportions to meet the tastes of a feeble human within an alternate ecosystem? It was awe-inspiring, a virtual impossibility.

Pandora's name had become synonymous with achieving the unachievable.

Sagittaria proved incredibly elusive, resulting in a scarcity of publications about it; near to zero. All that was known was the extraordinary special ability to oxygenate not only seawater, but also freshwater. However, just recently, Aubree had set eyes on it for the first time, on an unfortunate specimen caught by reef fishermen, inevitably ending up on the communal dinner menu. While cleaning, the woman noticed a black pouch that they saved to use as a condiment.

The animal’s defensive ink.

This gave her an idea. If she could analyze the fluid secreted by a live specimen, they could find the answers they were looking for about this curious creature. By chance, the fisherman who had caught the previous octopus was none other than Rotxo, leading her to approach the young diver.

“We gotta go skuka hunting if you're still up for it. We don't have forever,” he said with a slight insistence, dirtying his voice. Her hesitation was making him lose his patience. And the man’s patience was infinite.

Aubree checked one last time that her scuba gear was working and, with a heavy sigh, approached Rotxo, who wasted no further time in lifting her by weight, putting her in the saddle, and anchoring her to his chest with one hand so large that it practically covered her entire abdomen; his thumb pressing on her sternum, placing it right in the middle of her breasts.

Rotxo’s nose curled, tasting a strange note in the air. His mind drew a blank, yet the familiarity was indescribable. It had the sweetness of a ripe fruit, with a touch of spiciness that intoxicated him and caused him to search for the source. He probed carefully. In Aubree's perspective, he appeared to be investigating the absence of predators, unaware of the information her body was betraying.

The completely accidental and unexpected gesture sent a bolt of electricity coursing through her entire body. Like a lightning splitting a tree in two. A thunderbolt that had started where his index finger had pressed on her left nipple (right at the level of her heart, now threatening to explode in her chest) and had ended in the deepest part of her belly. Here an immense heat had sprung up, she was sure had reached her cheeks as well. She never believed that the day would come when she would give thanks for wearing the full mask of the eco-pack over her face. Suddenly, she no longer felt the visceral chill of the ocean penetrate her bones. How could she when all her senses were exclusively focused on the huge man behind her?

When a stronger breath of wind hit them, a whiff of that smell hit him again, along with a scent he knew well.

The scientist’s sugar shampoo.

He had been groping her boob until that moment and, like an idiot, had not even acknowledged it.

With a sudden realization, his orbits split apart, revealing the shock on his face. What he had perceived were her subtle pheromones, barely discernable to most, but not to him. Aubree was ... aroused? For him? Right now, out of all the times. Why? Wasn’t it abominable for human to feel attraction to an alien? Perhaps she was into big stuff.

Great Mother, Rotxo, what the hell are you thinking?

It was a misunderstanding. It had to be. It didn’t make sense. And finally he noticed. Recorded the soft roundness under his palm and that he had held the whole way.

It will surely be embarrassment. He judged the trail of pheromones, not finding the courage to believe there really was more to it.

Not to upset her further, Rotxo slid his hand further to her side and pushed back a little, but this only caused the woman to slip back by the force of gravity, landing precisely on his lower abdomen.

Holding back from moaning was impossible; the parting line in Aubree’s bottom fit his growing erection wonderfully.

The woman was about to apologise by pushing further forward on the ilu’s back when a tight, burning grip on her side silenced her.

“Do not move.” The depth of his voice made her head spin, as if she were about to faint, a soft ringing filling her ears. She wasn’t sure of her voice when shakily she called out to him.

“Do not talk. Just—,” he exhaled a heavy breath, his voice equally uncertain, “Just do nothing.”

With both palms, he smeared the human on himself — the action already tremendous for his willpower, as all her weight pressed deliciously against his lower abdomen —, then lowered his face to her head, until he buried his nose in her hair. He sniffed her like a cat examines a salmon mousse. Ravenous.

But that wasn’t enough. He wanted more. He needed more.

With trembling fingers, the diver found the zip of her wetsuit and tugged it as far as he could. She shivered, her back suddenly exposed to the cold, but she did not have time to register it, for her body was already in the grip of another kind of shiver. More intense and visceral, which went hand in hand with the hot puffs that escaped from the Na’vi’s nostrils as he explored her bare epidermis. As he did so, he glued her even more tightly to himself and her beautiful ass hit him again, now irrefutably erect, and Aubree missed a beat. Her head grew lighter and lighter, her body more and more uncontrollable. Rotxo’s moans went hand in hand with the dance of her hips.

Rotxo made her feel the outline of his canines on one shoulder, while his hand slid along the outline of her intimacy until he found her swollen clit. Sensitive and erect. She let out a whine. She felt him smile as he rubbed the thick, tight fabric, giving her a pleasant but insufficient friction.

Unsatisfied, Aubree levered the animal’s back to give herself a harder push backwards that made him blow something incomprehensible. His hand crept inside her wetsuit, happily surprised to discover her completely unclothed underneath as he pinched at her nipple, glancing up to catch the moan leaving her plump lips.

So that’s what she liked. Sweet, filthy little thing.

Satisfied, her back immediately arched and his hands planted themselves on the one remaining on her pelvis. He smiled around her, thrilled to be right. She pushed her ass against him and he groaned, his cock stiffening more than it already was. Fuck, at this rate, he would probably cum through the loincloth, untouched, but he restrained himself.

“Rotxo,” you mewled. A shiver snaked down his spine at the sound and couldn’t hold back another groan that made the girl look up at him with a racing heart. “Feels good,” she bit into her lip, thighs pressed together.

After more lapses, tugging at her nipple and a playful bite at her shoulder, he approached her face. His gaze fell on her lips, a little reddened and covered with her own saliva. Swollen, eager.

Fucking mask.

The other hand quickly found its way to her womanhood, leaning into her as he let her guide him.

He passed her clitoris, teased her fleshy folds and insinuated a fingertip towards the deepest part of her pussy, finding it already magnificently wet and wide. He wore the sensitive ring that tightened around his finger, as if it eagerly sought to trap him, causing a sigh louder than the rest. An unequivocal invitation that he was damned if he was going to refuse it. He pushed the first phalanx lazily to stretch her walls, helping them adjust to a size she had never experienced before. Then he reached for the knuckle and finally found himself sucked in whole. Each millimetre covered corresponded to a higher-pitched cry until Aubree became a whimpering mess.

He couldn’t help wondering how she would act when it was his cock’s turn to sink into her. She would be unconsciously transfixed on him. A dark laugh echoed in his windpipe at the mere thought.

“Put another one in.”

It took him a couple of seconds to register that she had spoken. “What?”

“Put a-another finger.”

“Do it, baby boy.”

“Syulang (flower), I don’t want to hurt you.” He actually wanted to, to be honest. If he hadn’t risked dismembering her, he would have shed his tewng (loincloth) and her diving suit long ago, and slammed her on his cock. But he had to constrain himself, prepare her properly. She was just a little human. Beautiful and fragile, like a crystal.

Shit, that pet name was all he needed to make his knees go soft. He could do nothing but succumb. With no little effort, a second finger took its place next to the first. The burning that pervaded her was almost unbearable, intense, yet addicting. Her mouth was dry because of time she remained wide open in a scream of both pain and pleasure. Small tears formed at the corners of her eyes.

“Right there!” The sweetness of her voice stimulated his excitement even more because every time she made a sound, a fresh wave of her perfume blanketed him. It was exhilarating.

He couldn’t help but let himself get a little cocky, smirking to himself, running his tongue over his lower lip. The obscene sounds coming from her cunt should have mortified her, but nothing of the sort came to mind as she felt her release coming up and teasing the surface.

She tried to hide her loud moans by biting her lip until it bled, but watching his hand disappeared into her scuba wetsuit, his fingers pumped into her and his thumb twirled over her sweet clit made her head spin. Doing it in the middle of the ocean made the action even more naughty, wild. He was driving her crazy. She couldn’t recall ever being touched so sublimely.

Sooner than she had expected, Aubree’s thighs trembled from the aftershock, trying to come down from the climax. She lay back on his chest and gasped, trying to catch her breath. She stared at the sunny sky for a moment, her mind baffled by what had just happened.

When she finally composed herself, she rose again to stare at him. Her eyes flashed with mischief. She licked her lower lip with excruciating slowness before biting it, giggling. “My turn.” She was still smiling, little smile lines at the corners of her lips and eyes, when she anchored herself to the saddle for support and began to languidly rub her ass against his covered shaft.

His cock was so big and heavy, she could feel it even through the fabric. Hard and throbbing. He let out a broken moan, staring at her with hooded eyes. Even without a skin-to-skin touch, it was absolutely incredible; the material gave that extra friction that made him fall into a spiral, and for a moment he considered not taking off his tewng at all.

As she approached the point where Rotxo needed her most, she moved her hands to support her pelvis. She imagined having him inside her. Ripping into her spongy walls in a deliciously painful way, before fucking her stupid. He was so big that she would surely cum several times in a row.

“Please don't stop.”

Who would’ve guessed he was the begging type? Aubree smiled devilishly, giving herself a more mighty momentum, only for him to throw his head back.

“Relax, pretty boy.” He was struggling to hold it together. Just having her ass on him was enough. He couldn’t even imagine what her mouth would feel like. Him hitting the back of her throat, filling it with so many streams of seed, making her swallow every single drop of it. Fuck, and your pussy. Just at the idea, pre-cum dripped to patch the cloth.

She stooped a little more to change the angle. His aquamarine eyes were fixed on hers and a hand rested on her back to steady her. Or perhaps to keep him grounded. He groaned. She gasped in surprise when Rotxo grabbed her butt, keeping her there.

His dick pulsated. The veins were more evident than before. He was close. “Be a good boy and cum for me.”

“N-no,” he said, eyebrows coming together and lips parting. He looked away from her only to kiss her back, nibbling at the soft skin.

“I know you need to cum.”

“I’ll do anything you want, but please, not like this. I can’t...” his fingers dug into the flesh of her bottom, moaning louder now.

“Don’t worry, pretty boy. Just let it go.”

His hips stuttered as he stifled a moan, no longer knowing where to put his hands. She rubbed herself against him faster and he gasped, moaning hopelessly, almost choking on his own saliva.

His long, prolonged wailing was because he had shot his sperm entirely into his tewng, like an inexperienced kid. His cock throbbed and twitched as he continued to empty himself, his thighs quivering. He used an arm to cover part of his face as he emitted low whines.

“Don’t make that face. I’ll pull another one out of you.” Her playful smile made him hard again. She was so... so alluring. Charming and seductive. He hadn’t planned to fall into her hands, but there he was. Ensnared by her mesmerizing stare, he couldn't break free. He was left speechless, grappling for something to say. Every fiber of his being yearned for her, an insatiable hunger that could not be denied.

She moved up, leaning forward to stretch a hand between his legs to reach his aching erection, taking its heavy length in her frail hand. He let out a shuddering breath, blinking as he felt her tease the tip of his cock.

“Strip.” Fuck, he was about to lose it again.

Her name sounded heavenly coming from his beautiful lips, his eyes already begging her to keep doing what she was doing.

But suddenly Aubree’s gaze changed. Her head snapped to one side toward the seabed, too deep for her to really see it. Yet something had caught her attention.

A purple blur moved sinuously but funny against the current.

The woman’s eyes glittered as she trudged back into her wetsuit.“Rotxo, a sagittaria!”

“What?”

“A skuka!” she sat back down, her back to him, ready to chase after the cephalopod. "Come on, now," she said, her tone laced with impatience.

“But, but…” He was so stunned that he couldn't find his words.

She threw him a wink. We'll finish this up later on. You'll get a sweet reward if you fetch that skuka for me.”

He couldn’t believe that between him and an octopus, Aubree would choose the octopus. A fucking octopus!

But with the tantalizing prospect of being profusely thanked later, he swallowed his huff and commanded the ilu to set off in pursuit of the mollusc. Already anticipating his prize.

Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!

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sevenpoyo · 1 year

Text

school headcanons for because i only got 3 more weeks

margo’s is so long even tho she got like 2 minutes of screen time bc i love her so much and she’s my gf

Margo Kess, 1610Miles, 42Miles, Gwen Stacy, Pavitr Prabhakar

margo kess / spiderbyte

ain’t shorty on zoom in the movie?

my girl dont attend class, she once shut down the entire blocks power so she would have an excuse to not be in class

eats in class all class everyday, only shares with you

takes really good notes and never studies them

like???? ma’am??? share???

all her electives are programming related and she pretends to busy while playing centipede all day

sends you 50 links to stuff you might like while ur in math

she got papers that let her opt out of gym

no matter how much you beg ur gonna be alone in gym and she doesn’t feel bad about it

popular with no friends type

like everyday 50 ppl stop you both and say hi

she only knows like 5 of their names she can’t stand half of them niggas

empty ass backpack like she got one notebook and one binder

all a’s and b’s like bitch how

her memory is absolutely ass but she can remember every story you told her or stuff that happened when y’all hang out

don’t ask her what she did in her class

don’t ask her if her class also has a history test

she don’t know

she don’t care

but she do know that when you were 8 your cousin burned ur thigh while y’all were playing iron vs knife fight

(u were dumb as hell for picking knife everyone knows iron always wins)

i looked it up on her word everybody uses those virtual avatars

she’ll shit on your class choices so damn hard

she just likes making fun of your choices fr

like half of ur conversation go;

damn i’m tired

u was up doing stupid shit last night you don’t get to complain

stfu that’s why ur a bitmoji

that’s why ur granny beat ur ass for something your brother did when you were 9

i hate telling u shit

then stop telling me shit

(i have no clue how accurate this is to her character but i need to write about her i’m in love but damn it’s long)

1610 miles / spider-man 2 lmao

book bag full locker full but never has a pencil

writes notes assignments and homework in paint pen ink don’t ask this nigga for notes

(he gets nigga treatment but not my queen margo bc i got favorites)

he miss mad classes but somehow still solid attendance record???

somehow always present in the record he miss 40 days and get caught on like 6 of them

unless his mom make breakfast and lunch on her day off for him he eating the most random shit from the bodega closest to visions

like what do you mean you got a cosmic brownie and a cold chopped cheese from last night ? it’s literally 7 in the morning no i don’t want none

makes you hype him up every time he slap boxes people and he’s so ass at it

he be ashy with no lotion atleast 5 times every month it’s embarrassing

he calls visions his white people school to his parents and his friends

once he said it to gwen and they sat in literal complete silence for like 10 minutes

prolly took music theory because he thought it would be easy and switched out of that shit so fast

i’d be so mean to him for enjoying physics

like this nigga trying to make something of him self

lil einstein ass nigga

he understands color theory but can’t explain it

12 half full sketchbooks but at school he literally draw on computer paper he don’t let the sketch book leave his bag

i know he’s ass at watercolor, he always spills shit, the colors always end up brown

try’s to be interested in your class choices bc he wants to know stuff he can talk about with you

when you first meet he can’t take meaner jokes bc he thinks that you mean them

but one day he’s gets comfortable, and brutal

no one in your life is safe when he looses a video game

except your mom

rio taught him better than that

42 miles / the prowler

comes to school with no school related supplies in his bag unless you count art stuff

finds a pencil on his way to class

has a change of clothes, rat tail comb, 3 bottles of water, a camera, a flashlight, lotion and cocoa butter.

like bro ur going to Ap Art not a camping trip

once he pulled out a griddle and and pancake mix and y’all started making pancakes in class

forgets his metro pass every day and gets so pissed ab it

runs into people in the hallway bc he’s never paying attention

idk if he goes to visions but if he does he calls it his white people school with his full chest to anybody even if they’re white

he be leaving halfway through the day all the time like bro you miss algebra 2 every damn day

uncle arron always talking him out of school with some bullshit reason

bro’s had his tonsils out 8 times on the school’s records

He will get ur parents to put his uncle on ur pickup list and you will be out of there with him

he will YELL if someone step on his shoes no matter what the situation like the school could be on fire and he fighting in the burning building

also his uniform is so pristine

his pants stiff

that button down is bleached ironed pressed and allat

this mfer is an online shopping addict u just know he be on amazon in class

will offer you the weirdest food combos like no i don’t want to put tajin mangoes on my beef patty i’m sick of you nigga

not school related but he’s super good with kids (both miles fr) but he’s the #1 little cousin defender and apologists

he ride for them always one of ur little cousins could sucker punch u and he be like

‘they just want u to play with them’

he takes a preforming arts class for fun prolly

loves sports but doesn’t play one understands the stats well and would help if you played one

wakes up at the asscrack of dawn on weekends

SICK ASS COSTUME FOR HOLLOWEEN IK THIS NIGGA LOVE HOLLOWEEN

plans costumes for school spirit weeks but always checks to seen if he’s gonna be the only one wearing a costume for it

never eats lunch unless his mom makes it he be hungry all day and be complaining

his socks are never in uniform (yes some uniform schools have sock rules)

gwen stacy / spider woman / ghost spider

idk what to call her

she has every snack you could ever want in her lunch bag

hates her music theory teacher

she literally has the most pristine locker with a calendar and a mirror and all that shit will write down test for you and important dates for the both of you

goes to school plays and shits on the story, like she ain’t pay 5 dollars to be there

some of her teachers hate her

like ma’am ur beefing with a whole 16 year old rn

she hate english teachers but love creative writing teachers

she keeps all her books in her locker never brings them home never brings them to class

always comes through with an extra pad no matter what

she also always has hand sanitizer

in like 4 extracurricular after school things and complains so bad

ur starting to hate that shit to ur sick of hearing it like girl quit then

10/10 cameraman she has every fight and every drama in 10khd and she will share them if you ask

she chews her pens and nails

has her drumsticks out always teachers have banned her from taking them to their classes

can watch tv on her phone but look focused you think she’s paying attention but then you look over and she’s watching good luck charlie

pavitr prabhakar / spider-man india

always late for class never in trouble

always eating and sharing food and never in trouble

how is he blessed like this? it ain’t fair

eats from the school vending machines or begs other ppl to share

will always have and share the homework answers no matter what he’s an angel

his sock always have holes in them like sir please get that shit together

gym try hard ik goes insane in football/soccer

very encouraging for shit u don’t wanna do he believes in you

you him and Gayatri talk so much shit but are somehow all well liked

he tells you what teachers are dating (he can just tell)

he has toothpaste in his bag for some reason?? i can just feel this one

his aunt will let you come over after school she’s so sweet to you.

always got a job at school assemblies

he’s reading poems or shaking hand or leading in the school pledge or something

Pav’s is short because i have no fucking clue if school in India is different form america and Barbados

#miles morales x reader #42 miles morales #margo kess x reader #gwen stacy x reader #pavitr prabhakar x reader #pavitr my beloved #atsv x reader #atsv spoilers #spider byte x reader #the prowler x reader #42 miles morales x reader

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pelorsdyke · 23 days

Text

making a new pinned post to neaten up my fic links! my name is k, i love writing wlw ships, and ill be so real with you rn a lot of them are rarepairs. find me here on ao3. my tumblr fic tag is here, and I often post wip peeks for tag games.

some ships I’ve written once or twice include: spemily (pll), buffy x tara (btvs), jackienat (yellowjackets), donnajoey (the west wing), maggie x sophie (leverage), and wayhaught (wynonna earp). I also wrote a lot of ronance (stranger things) during the s4 era.

marjan marwani & nancy gillian (911 lone star):

who will come into my kitchen and be hungry for me (test kitchen au)

and love isn’t a fact, it’s a hunch at first. (paul helps marjan come to terms with her feelings for nancy)

and your keys, your ring of keys (marjan starts to realize some things about herself, with the help of an oc. lesbian marjan)

underneath your hands I become poetry (some celebratory sex after tommy announces nancy will take over as interim captain while she’s away. inspired by the bts pic where nancy appears to be wearing a name tag that says captain gillian)

your essence is the ink in the word forever (nancy has tattoos. marjan notices.)

so swing your hips and do a little dip (nancy, marjan, and tarlos go to a gay bar)

I will do my best to get it right (nancy and marjan’s first anniversary plans go awry)

I’m gonna love you for a long time (marjan’s lesbian flag hijab, but also just like. 1k words of established fluff)

I’ve been under scrutiny (you handle it beautifully) (marjan and nancy are actors on the firefighter show austin 126. nancy may have a tiny baby crush)

everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it (post-canon, nancy thinks about moving on. it’s kind of terrifying.)

lucy tara & kate whistler (ncis: hawai’i):

the room is empty, and the window is open (a spiderwoman lucy au, the tumblr tag for the series is here)

february, the thirteenth (kacy celebrates valentines day early, as per lucy’s way of handling holidays)

blue scooby-doo fruit snacks and unrequited love, probably (high school au kacy flirting)

sit down, breathe, and just listen (post-3.04, kacy talks about marriage and promises)

in response, your glorious laughter (a snapshot of a sweet married kacy early morning)

hear the desert wind roll by (kacy first meeting cowboy au, pwp)

one single thread of gold tied me to you (kai buys lucy a virtual meet-and-greet with her celebrity crush, kate whistler. it turns out they may be a little more familiar with each other than lucy’s remembering.)

hen wilson & karen wilson (911 abc):

I did think, let’s go about this slowly (karen and her instinct to let insecurity drive her decision-making.)

I wanna get stuck in your head (some soft henren fluff about parenting, flirting, and finding the time to talk to your wife.)

#nancy x marjan #kacy #henren #spemily #buffy x tara #jackienat #donna x joey #maggie x sophie #wayhaught #ronance #fic tag #mine

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thenatashamaximoff · 1 year

Text

Whispers In The Dark; Ch. 2

Summary: When a casual one-night stand develops into a deeper, forbidden love, you and Wanda try to keep your relationship a secret as you navigate the challenges of balancing your growing emotions with the fear of being caught.

Pairing: Wanda x Reader

Warnings: 18+ (nsfw), mentions of death

Words: 6,174

✎ | ❁

┌─────────────ᗢ─────────────┐ @diaryoflife @women-am-i-right @creatively-analytical @obsessed-with-wandamaximoff @beforeoursecrets @iliketozoneout @olsensnpm @hoefnagel521 @chasingmaximoff └─────────────ᗢ─────────────┘ ┌─────────────∞─────────────┐ @myfavoriteficss @pinkytoecrust @cyncity32 @romanoffomixam @peachbear88 @magicallymaximoff @therealmeari @peggycarter-steverogers @ba-romanoff @natashabelovas @morbid-gaymer @reminiscingtonight @when-wolves-howl @idontknownemore @natashasilverfox @sayah13 @fuxk182 @scarletwitchofthewilds @natashamaximoff69 @wuwu96 @jsonebraincell @whendarknessturns @marvel4liferz @red1culous └─────────────∞─────────────┘

“Yes, sir.” You seemed to have stopped listening for a while now. You weren’t sure what he had said. The words had jumbled in your mind, making it difficult to comprehend the meaning behind them. You wondered if you had even articulated your response clearly, or if it had come out as unintelligible gibberish. It was as if the random noise in the back of your throat had escaped, mimicking speech without conveying any coherent message.

On the desk in front of you, Alexander Pierce’s face appeared on the computer screen. As your boss and the higher authority within the organization, his presence demanded attention and respect. Yet… you were struggling to do just that. For what was probably the gazillionth time in the span of twenty minutes, your eyes slowly shifted away from the virtual meeting to land on the folder resting amidst the scattered papers that littered the desk’s surface. Wanda Maximoff’s name was emblazoned in bold, black ink on the tab, enticing your curiosity. It seemed that the comprehensive dossier on her had arrived just before this unexpected meeting commenced. You hadn’t had a chance to explore its contents, as other pressing matters took precedence.

You had hoped that it would’ve faded into the recesses of your mind, much like the other neglected folders resting amidst the sea of unpacked boxes in your apartment. Yet, its persistent presence refused to be ignored, exerting what felt like a gravitational pull on your thoughts, compelling you to explore its hidden contents.

The allure of the folder became too enticing to resist any longer. With a mix of curiosity and trepidation, you reached out… but the moment your fingers grazed it, you were snapped back to attention by the mere sound of her name rolling off of Alexander Pierce’s tongue. “It has come to my attention that you sent Wanda Maximoff on a highly sensitive operation this morning.”

“Yes, sir.” The fog that had clouded your thoughts began to dissipate, replaced by a renewed sense of alertness. You recalled the mission you had assigned her earlier, a covert operation of significant importance. “The assignment involved retrieving Loki Laufeyson, Thor’s brother,” you explained, making sure your words were clear and coherent this time. “Agent Maximoff’s unique abilities made her a valuable asset for the task. As far as I’m concerned, she executed it with precision and achieved the objective successfully. The man in question is sitting in one of our… rigged capsules.”

Pierce’s scrutinizing gaze remained fixed on you, his expression unreadable. “I hope you understand the gravity of the situation, Director,” he stated sternly. “Not only are Maximoff’s powers still relatively unknown and untested, but she also has a past that makes it difficult to trust her. We cannot afford any mishaps or breaches in security.”

You maintained a composed demeanor, acknowledging the seriousness of Pierce’s concerns. “I understand the gravity of the situation, sir,” you assured in a steady voice. “While Agent Maximoff’s powers may be unfamiliar to us, she has demonstrated her loyalty and commitment to the mission. Her past may raise questions, but she has been thoroughly vetted and deemed fit for the task.”

Pierce’s expression remained wary, but a hint of curiosity flickered in his eyes. “Vetting can only provide limited assurances,” he cautioned. “We must tread carefully when dealing with individuals of such complex backgrounds. Their loyalties can… shift unpredictably.” His eyes were guarded behind a steely look as his words hung in the air, underscoring the delicate nature of the situation and the potential risks involved.

You met his gaze head-on, unyielding in your resolve as a determined spark ignited within you. “I’m well aware of the risks, sir,” you responded firmly, your tone brimming with conviction. “Agent Maximoff’s past may be complicated, but her actions thus far have shown dedication and commitment. She successfully apprehended Loki under the radar. I entrusted her with a mission, and she exceeded all expectations.” Leaning forward, you rested your elbows against the top of the desk, emphasizing your earnestness. “I understand the need for caution, sir, but how can we expect someone to earn trust if they’re never given the opportunity?”

You could’ve sworn you caught Pierce’s expression softening, but he was quick to catch it, steeling himself once more. “You have an optimistic view of her,” he remarked, though his wariness remained visible in his tone. “Just ensure that your optimism doesn’t blind you to potential threats. Keep a close eye on her, Director.”

“I will exercise vigilance, sir,” you assured him. “The safety and integrity of this organization are my utmost priorities. We will monitor her closely and act accordingly should any concerns arise.” As you spoke, your attention was momentarily captured by the sound of your office door swinging open and then closing. Your heart quickened its pace when you watched Wanda confidently stride into the room, maintaining eye contact over the top of the laptop while sitting against the arm of the couch, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. The intense energy between you was palpable, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of anticipation.

Pierce’s voice brought you back to the present, jolting you out of the spell Wanda’s presence had cast. “Very well, Director,” he acknowledged, his tone authoritative. “I trust your ability to handle this matter with the necessary caution. Keep me informed of any significant developments.”

You nodded in response, slightly struggling to keep your voice steady and determined, “Yes, sir.”

With those parting words, the screen flickered and Pierce’s presence dissipated, ultimately allowing you to turn your gaze back to Wanda, who was still resting against the couch, a small, enigmatic smile playing on her lips. You closed the laptop slowly, deliberately, allowing yourself a moment to collect your thoughts. The room seemed to buzz with an electric charge, and the intensity of the connection between you and Wanda lingered in the air.

No matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you knew you had to… you couldn’t deny the magnetic pull between the two of you.

“I wasn’t aware I had an open-door policy, Miss Maximoff,” you remarked. As you casually adjusted your position, leaning back in your chair, your arm subtly slid across the desk with your movement, purposefully disrupting the already-scattered pile of papers to conceal the folder containing her dossier.

She chuckled softly, lowly, yet you heard it all too well. “Well, Director, I couldn’t resist the temptation to see you in action,” she replied, her voice carrying a teasing undertone.

A playful spark seemed to ignite within you, and you found yourself leaning forward just as she was slowly moving to stand. “Is that so?” you retorted, a glimmer of excitement unwillingly dancing in your eyes. “Perhaps I should enforce stricter rules then.”

Wanda’s smirk grew more pronounced, and she began closing the distance between you with calculated steps. “Or maybe,” she offered, her voice low and suggestive, “we can find another way to bend them just a little.”

Your eyes darted to the laptop, remnants of the video call with Alexander Pierce slipping into your mind. The weight of your responsibilities bore down on you, reminding you of the delicate balance you had to maintain within the organization. The lines between professional conduct and personal inclinations blurred in the presence of Wanda Maximoff.

The air crackled with suspense as she rounded the desk, pushing against the top of your chair until you were fully facing her. Once again, the weight of responsibility is completely forgotten. Your jaw dropped open, a word on the tip of your tongue, yet no sounds could be heard when Wanda gently lowered herself onto you, straddling your lap as her fingers gripped the back of your neck. Your movements were automatic, your hands resting on her hips as you seemed to have trouble looking away from her emerald irises.

“Wanda…” You were trying to say her name with authority, trying to warn her that she shouldn’t be doing this, but your body sold you out. Instead, you said her name wanton, as if you were begging for more because, fight as hard as you can, Y/N, you did want more.

And her low, breathy chuckle told you she knew that, too. “I told you,” she whispered, bending slightly so her lips brushed your ear. “I was more than willing to wait to finish thoroughly.” She took your earlobe in between her teeth just as she drove her hips against you, pulling a gasp from your throat while your stomach twisted like a coil.

Your grip on her waist tightened with need, and you gave in to the feeling pushing against you. With one quick maneuver, your lips were pressed into hers, swallowing her moans as your hands guided her rutting. Your insides throbbed with desire, your fingers danced up her shirt as she took over her own motions, and the way she moaned your name into your ear had you gasping. You turned in the chair, Wanda bracing herself against the desk behind her, and the movement seemed to brush some of the scattered papers off of your desk and to the floor.

“Touch me, Y/N,” she whispered, panted, begged. It sent shivers up your spine.

You obliged, allowing the tips of your fingers to ride the supple surface of her abdomen until they reached the hem of her bra. The skin under the garment was warm, and she was groaning the moment your touch skirted over the area she desired to be touched the most. Her chin tilted back as you leaned forward, exposing her neck to give you more access as your lips brushed across it like a feather.

“Wanda, I’m…” Your words trailed off as a sudden clap of thunder reverberated through the air, jolting you back to reality. The sound seemed to echo in your ears, its intensity leaving you slightly unnerved, yet Wanda appeared unfazed by the disturbance. The moment you pulled back, she pushed forward, pressing her lips to the soft skin just underneath your jaw. It was like flipping a switch, plunging back into the captivating allure of Wanda’s touches and the sensations they bring. However, reality wasn’t going to let go of you that easily, reclaiming its hold as a series of sharp and loud knocks resounded throughout the room.

Unlike earlier, Wanda wasn’t as willing to part ways this time. She released a deep, irritated breath as she swiftly climbed off your lap mere moments before the door opened. A woman popped her head into the room, her eyes bouncing back and forth between you and Wanda for a moment before finally settling on you. She looked familiar, her name making an uncomfortable itch appear in the back of your mind as she fully entered the room.

“Ma’am,” her voice broke through the hazy enchantment, serving as a reminder of the woman’s identity. You recalled her from earlier in the day, realizing that she had requested your signature for… something, yet her name seemed to elude your memory. “There’s an urgent matter that requires your immediate attention.”

You pressed your lips together, scratching the back of your neck before you moved to stand up. Now that Wanda’s body wasn’t pumping adrenaline through you, exhaustion seems to be sneaking up on you pretty quickly. It was evident in your eyes, but your movements didn’t lack confidence as you followed the woman (whose name you can’t remember for some awful reason).

As she guided you down the corridors of the compound, the clamor of raised voices grew louder. Surely this was the urgent matter the woman had mentioned.

Rounding the corner, a scene unfolded before you - a swarm of SHIELD agents surrounding a central figure, their attention fixated on the source of the commotion. It was none other than Thor Odinson, radiating an unmistakable aura of anger and frustration at the heart of the gathering.

“I demand for my brother to be released at once!” he commanded, his furrowed brows displaying deep frustration and determination. His body turned, eyes searching the growing crowd, seeking an authoritative figure. “Loki belongs in the prisons of Asgard, not held captive in some mere human penitentiary! Show me to him!”

“That’s not happening,” you declared, the sea of agents parting at the sound of your voice. It was instant that Thor’s piercing blue eyes snapped onto you, eyeing the way you stood as tall as you could with your hands gripping your hips, projecting an air of superiority. “Your brother stands accused of grave crimes against humanity. He is required by law to face consequences, whether or not he is a god or the adopted brother of one.”

“And he shall see to those consequences on Asgard.”

“He didn’t seem to last very long in your prison,” you countered, your arms firmly crossing over your chest as you held your ground. The tension in the hall thickened as your words hung in the air “Considering he’s here and not there, did he get early release for good behavior?” Thor’s eyes narrowed, his gaze intensifying, while faint chuckles floated from the onlookers. Your focus remained on his intimidating presence. The soft laughter ceased just as quickly as it came to be, swallowed by the weight of the situation when he took a small yet heavy step forward, his expression becoming sterner.

“Where’s Fury?” Thor’s voice was laced with a mix of suspicion and urgency. The mention of the former director’s absence seemed to ignite a spark of concern within him.

You cleared your throat, your tone unwavering as you met Thor’s fiery gaze. “He’s no longer with us. Unfortunately for you, Mr. Odinson, that puts me in charge.” Authority floated around you as you stepped forward with confidence despite the anger displayed on his face. “Loki stays here.”

The area grew quiet, the anticipation hanging thick in the air. All eyes were fixed upon the clash of wills between you and Thor, the atmosphere crackled with tension as the two of you stood locked in a silent battle of determination. The fate of Loki hung in the balance, and it was clear that both of you were determined to defend your respective positions.

“Loki is my brother. My responsibility,” Thor announced, his voice growing deeper and more forceful. “I’m not leaving until he is at my side, and anyone who stands in my way will face their own consequences.” The agents in the room exchanged uneasy glances, recognizing the potential for conflict that loomed before them. Some even slowly moved their hands to rest on their sidearms, and you could feel your stomach twisting tautly with nerves. Hopefully, it doesn’t come down to that.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself against the mounting pressure. It was clear that Thor’s determination had escalated, and finding a peaceful resolution would be an uphill battle. But you couldn’t allow the situation to escalate into violence or compromise the safety of those nearby. “I understand the bond you share with Loki, Mr. Odinson,” you finally said, your tone steady despite the growing tension, “but we cannot allow personal attachments to undermine our duty and the security of innocent lives. We must consider the results of releasing Loki into an environment where he has proven to be a threat.”

Your decision was met with an intense gaze, his grip on Mjolnir tightening, sparks of electricity crackling around him. The crowd held its breath, awaiting his next move.

“Stand aside,” Thor growled, his voice filled with anger and resolve, “or face the full fury of a god.”

Your heart raced rapidly, beating against your chest as he seemed to stand taller before you, but you stood your ground, refusing to be intimidated. “Violence is not the answer.” You lifted a hand in an attempt to calm him down as you added, “We must find a way to resolve this without causing harm to anyone.”

The air seemed to tremble with the unspoken clash between the two of you. The agents watched on, their loyalty divided between their duty and the power emanating from Thor. At that moment, you realized that finding a compromise would be even more challenging than anticipated. The fate of Loki, the security of the organization, and the potential for a confrontation hung in the balance, awaiting a resolution that could satisfy both duty and familial bonds.

Heavy silence suffocated you as Thor’s gaze bore through you, his muscles tensed and ready for action. It wasn’t a debate anymore, it was a standoff. A battle of wills that threatened to tip over into chaos. The weight of the decision rested upon your shoulders, and the outcome would shape the course of events to come.

It was a moment of unexpected intervention. As Thor attempted to wield his hammer, a surge of red energy surrounded his wrist, hindering his progress. His mighty strength rendered ineffective against the force, causing his brows to knit together with rage, his pupils narrowing even further to mere crumbs. His gaze shifted behind you, and you turned to witness Wanda, her eyes ablaze with a fiery crimson hue, exerting her own power to counter Thor’s aggression. You found your stomach uncoiling when she met your stare with a soft, easy smile.

Hushed whispers filled the air as the two powerful beings struggled against each other, the agents watching in awe and apprehension, unsure of how this unexpected turn of events would unfold.

“Release me!” Thor’s voice boomed, his demand filled with indignation and defiance.

You felt a renewed sense of empowerment surge within you, a willful smirk curling your lips. The tables had turned, and you held the upper hand for now. With a determined gaze, you stood your ground, undeterred by Thor’s wrath. “Not until you calm down,” you declared, voice steady and commanding. It was a bold move, challenging the god of thunder himself, but you were resolute in your stance. The safety of everyone involved and the preservation of order was paramount.

Thor’s expression shifted from anger to incredulity, his eyebrows furrowing deeper as he grappled with the unexpected resistance he faced. The room crackled with charged energy, the clash between power and authority hanging in the balance. “I’m calm,” he finally said.

Wanda’s crimson eyes locked with yours once more, a silent understanding passing between you. She released her hold on him, and Thor straightened his form as his eyes danced back to you. He stared at you for a moment, feeling as if he were sizing you up, or as if he were forming another plan in that brain of his to get his brother back. Either way, you didn’t back down.

“Very well,” he conceded, his voice tinged with disappointment. “But know this, Director, I will be watching closely.” He turned on his heels, the crowd of agents instantly parting to give way as he marched away. The presence of the Asgardian gradually faded, his departure leaving behind a lingering sense of tension in the room.

You nodded, clapping your hands together while you announced, “Back to work, everybody.” As the agents returned to their normal rhythm, dispersing to resume their duties, the weight of the confrontation slowly lifted from your shoulders. You turned to fully face Wanda, but your gaze slowly drifted to Coulson lingering behind her in time to catch his small nod before he left.

“That was very impressive,” Wanda mused, struggling to hide the mischievous smirk that played upon her lips. With each sly step she took towards you, your heart quickened its pace, climbing up to your throat, unable to escape the intensity of the moment. The darkening depths of her eyes added an electrifying allure, casting a spell upon your senses. “It takes a special kind of courage to challenge a god, especially one consumed by anger.”

The surge of pride coursed through your veins, straightening your posture and bolstering your confidence. With a casual shrug, you maintained an air of nonchalance, even as you found yourself drawn closer to her magnetic presence. “I wouldn’t be a very good director if I cowered away at mere inconveniences, Miss Maximoff.”

She responded with a whimsical hum, her playful head tilt accompanied by the tantalizing sight of her teeth capturing her bottom lip. Her eyes glistened with desire, casting a bewitching spell that ensnared your senses. Lost in the haze of her allure, your arm instinctively reached out, compelled to gently sweep away the stray strands of hair that adorned her cheek. For a fleeting moment, you forgot your surroundings - that you weren’t in the solitude of your office, nor the seclusion of her apartment - until an abrupt chirp shattered the illusion. Your phone, a stark reminder of reality, jolted you back to your senses. Like a switch being flipped, full control over yourself snapped back, causing your breath to hitch in your throat as you hastily stepped away from her. The passionate darkness in her emerald irises wavered, replaced by a tinge of disappointment as you cleared your throat, forcing yourself to avert your gaze and reach for your phone.

The spell was broken, and the weight of your responsibilities crashed back down upon you when you read your boss’s name on the screen, serving as a harsh reminder of the boundaries that needed to be maintained. The boundaries you are constantly neglecting.

“Excuse me, Miss Maximoff, but duty calls,” you uttered, your voice betraying a hint of reluctance. As you lifted your eyes to meet hers once more, a strange sensation washed over you, causing your legs to momentarily falter. Lost within the depths of her captivating gaze, you found yourself trapped in a trance unlike any before. The usual desires, seductive playfulness, and mischievous glints were replaced with something different - something softer, more powerless.

In that brief instance, vulnerability danced in the depths of her eyes, as if revealing a hidden side that had previously remained concealed. It tugged at your heartstrings, stirring a mix of emotions within you. The allure remained, but it was laced with a yearning for connection and understanding. It was a vulnerable invitation, silently pleading for you to acknowledge the unspoken depths of her being.

However, duty compelled you to tear yourself away from the enchanting pull. With a resolute sigh, you mustered the strength to regain control over your legs, willing them to move forward. Yet, the memory of that moment lingered in the recesses of your mind, leaving an indelible mark upon you.

You could feel her eyes on the back of your head as you walked away.

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“Come in,” you announced automatically, barely lifting your gaze from the papers scattered across your desk. The routine had become second nature to you: someone knocked, you acknowledged their presence, signed whatever document they presented, and swiftly dismissed them. Your hand instinctively reached out to receive the clipboard, expecting the familiar weight of papers to land in your palm. But the footsteps approaching your desk seemed unusually slow, causing a flicker of curiosity to interrupt your monotonous rhythm.

Lifting your head, you found yourself locking eyes with Coulson. To your surprise, his hands were empty, folded neatly across his chest as he fixed an expectant gaze upon you. The absence of paperwork left you momentarily puzzled, prompting a question to escape your lips.

“Am I missing something here?” He maintained his composed stance, the air in the room growing heavy with unspoken revelations, and the gravity of the moment enveloped you. “Out with it, Coulson,” you pressed.

“Mr. Pierce is waiting for you in the conference room.” He met your gaze steadily, clearing his throat as he patiently waited for your mind to process his words.

Confusion furrowed your brows for a brief moment before surprise widened your eyes as you frantically sifted through the papers on your desk, searching for your phone. Desperation laced your voice as you hastily denied the imminent arrival. “No, he’s not due until tomorrow,” you protested, a touch of desperation seeping into your words. “It’s-”

“Ten in the morning.” Coulson interrupted your frantic search, his head tilting to the side as he observed your panicked movements. The unspoken thoughts that passed between you were evident in his expression. No, you hadn’t gone home. No, you hadn’t slept. Yes, you were doing all this paperwork Pierce sent over last night. Yes, your mind had been consumed with thoughts of Wanda Maximoff. The weight of your responsibilities and the unanticipated turn of events collided, leaving you reeling with a mix of exhaustion, longing, and apprehension.

In the corner of your eye, a glimmer caught your attention, obscured beneath the papers on your desk. Relief washed over you as you successfully fished your phone out of the chaotic pile. However, any fleeting sense of triumph swiftly dissipated when you glanced at the screen. Coulson’s words echoed in your mind, confirming Pierce’s untimely arrival and a wave of anxiety surged through you. The details of this meeting eluded you as if shrouded by a foggy haze.

Without a second though, you sprang to your feet with such haste that your chair careened into the wall behind you. The loud thud punctuated the urgency of the situation, emphasizing the disarray that mirrored your racing thoughts. Time seemed to accelerate as you quickly gathered your composure, determined to face the impending meeting, even if you couldn’t recall its purpose.

You exited the room, the door slowly sliding shut behind you, leaving your deputy director alone. However, it didn’t take long for a realization to dawn upon you, prompting a swift about-face. Sheepishly, you poked your head back into the office, a contrite smile adorning your face. “Where’s the conference room?” His finger pointed in the direction you needed to go, and with a nod of gratitude, you swiftly disappeared once more, determined to find your way to the meeting.

Upon reaching the conference room door, the sound of laughter emanating from within caused your muscles to tense up. One laugh was unmistakably Pierce’s, characterized by its gruffness and rigidity. However, the other laughter resonated deep within you, igniting a warmth in your gut that was undeniable. The mere sound of her laugh had the power to captivate you, making you hesitate to open the door and disrupt the harmonious melody unfolding on the other side. But you quickly snapped out of your daze, remembering that Wanda Maximoff should not be engaged in friendly conversation with your boss.

With resolve, you entered the room and confirmed your instincts. Wanda was indeed immersed in a cheerful conversation with Alexander Pierce, both of them sporting smiles. You forced one of your own, but as soon as you met those sparkling green eyes, your grin became authentic. “What’s going on in here?” you inquired, closing the distance to the occupied table.

“There you are, Director. Please, take a seat and join us,” Pierce greeted with unexpected cheerfulness, a major difference from the stern man you’d spoken to through the computer not that long ago. He gestured toward the seat next to Wanda, and you reluctantly settled into the chair while attempting to maintain a noticeable distance from the woman. “Where have you been hiding this one from us?” He looked toward Wanda, whose face had grown brighter when she saw you. “She’s an absolute delight! And she’s already ours for the taking.” Soft laughter lingered in his voice, leaving you intrigued about their earlier conversation.

The sight of Pierce’s ease and comfort with Wanda - as if they were old friends - immediately after issuing a strict order for you to monitor her due to a lack of trust in the new Avenger sent waves of unease rippling through you. It was disconcerting to witness such a stark contrast in his behavior, as if the order had been mere words with no real significance. Your mind raced with questions, trying to comprehend the motives behind his contradictory actions. Did he genuinely trust Wanda more than he let on? Or was there a hidden agenda at play? Doubt gnawed at you.

Wanda chimed in playfully, answering on your behalf while keeping her eyes trained on you, “Oh, Y/N just loves keeping me for herself.” However, as she spoke, Pierce’s demeanor shifted abruptly, returning to his usual strict professionalism. He studied Wanda intently, causing her to divert her gaze from you to meet his scrutinizing one. A knot of anticipation formed in your stomach as you watched him silently analyze her.

He cleared his throat, shaking his head for a moment before turning to you. “I’m impressed by how you handled the Loki situation,” he confessed. A glimmer of pride shone in his eyes, contrasting with his rugged expression. “It was your first assignment, a significant one at that, not to mention. To be honest, I wasn’t sure you had what it took, but I’m not one to shy away from admitting I was wrong.”

Leaning forward, Wanda placed a gentle hand on your shoulder and spoke, her voice filled with admiration, “It’s only been a day, but I think Y/N’s been doing a wonderful job so far.” This time, your smile remained forced as you subtly shifted your shoulder, discreetly removing her hand from your touch under Pierce’s watchful eyes.

“I can handle anything thrown at me, sir,” you commented in an attempt to divert his attention.

He cleared his throat, his eyes dancing back and forth between you and Wanda for a quiet, tense moment before asking, “Do you let all your agents call you by your first name?”

“No, sir-”

“I don’t see how that’s really relevant here,” she interrupted, not mincing her words. You swallowed the thick saliva that had formed in your throat, the knot in your gut beginning to grow tighter. “I believe that she-”

“Agent Maximoff,” you interjected swiftly, your voice firm, trying to regain control of the situation. You avoided meeting her eyes as they flickered toward you. “That’ll be all for now.” The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, with Wanda watching you, Pierce observing her, and you staring at the table, desperate to dodge all eyes.

“Yes, Director.” You winced subtly at the tone of her voice, ultimately telling you that she was not pleased with your dismissal. Surely she wasn’t one to hold a grudge over something so minute… right?

Pierce adjusted his suit jacket as she made her way out of the room, leaving the two of you alone. The sound of the door closing resonated in the quiet before his voice finally cut through it, “I’m not questioning your ability to do this job, Director.”

“Hasn’t even crossed my mind, sir,” you assured.

“I mean, you’re the first female lead since the fifties. I have the right to be cautious.” His smile appeared forced, lacking the sincerity it held when you first entered the room. The tension returned, and he seemed to fully revert to his usual self. “I came here to ask about your plans with Loki.”

“We have him contained in a specially designed confinement capsule aboard the Helicarrier,” you began, your voice steady and composed. “The cell is equipped with a failsafe. Any attempts to escape or breach the containment will trigger a rapid descent mechanism, dropping whoever is in the cell a significant distance.” You glanced at Pierce, ensuring that he was following your explanation. His eyes narrowed slightly, indicating his focus on the matter at hand. “I made it clear to Loki about the consequences of any efforts of escape,” you continued. “The knowledge of imminent death should serve as a deterrent and discourage any further disruptions or attempts to regain his freedom. My plan for Loki is to keep him imprisoned to prevent any further damage to Earth.”

Pierce nodded, slow and precise movements, but you sensed by the way he leaned back that he was ready to voice his concerns. “You want to keep him locked up for the rest of time?” He scoffed, a humorless laugh crawling out of his throat as he shook his head. “Loki has caused substantial damage to New York, costing us billions of dollars.”

“He has also taken just as many innocent lives,” you quickly claimed. “It’s not about the money, sir. People-”

“That’s beside the point,” he interrupted. “Keeping him locked up isn’t enough.”

Your eyebrows knitted together deeply as you eyed him, trying to get a good read on his face, but he was a closed book with no chance of getting it to open. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not sure I understand what you’re implying.”

Pierce’s gaze solidified, his tone growing more serious. “What I’m implying, Director, is that simply containing Loki isn’t a long-term solution. We need to consider more permanent measures to ensure he can never pose a threat again.”

A flicker of concern crossed your face as you contemplated the weight of his words. “Are you suggesting…?”

He leaned forward, his voice lowered. “I’m suggesting we explore options for a more definitive resolution,” he explained.

Your breath caught in the back of your throat, the earnestness of his proposition sinking in. “You’re talking about… terminating Loki?”

His expression remained impassive, but there was an underlying intensity in his eyes. “I didn’t propose such an extreme measure, Director.” He shrugged loosely, a sly smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Loki is a prideful god. He views humans as insignificant and feeble creatures. It’s only a matter of time before his arrogance is bound to make him disregard your warnings and… attempt to escape his rigged prison. If he chooses that path, we cannot be held accountable.”

You paused, allowing his words to sink in, fully aware of the subtle subtext beneath his statement. It was a strategic maneuver to absolve himself and the organization of any responsibility. By framing Loki’s demise as a consequence of his own pretentious choices, he aimed to keep your - and his own - hands free from the stain of his blood.

The knot in your stomach - the one you had thought had dispersed at Wanda’s departure - reappeared, only this time it launched itself into your throat. The way his eyes gleamed with a sinister glint made you feel nauseous. “Sir, I understand the severity of Loki’s actions, but we must also remember our duty to uphold the principles of justice and due process. We cannot become judge, jury, and executioner,” you argued.

His gaze bore into yours, his voice unwavering, “We can’t afford to let sentimentality cloud our judgment. Loki has proven time and again that he is a danger to global security. We must be willing to consider all options, even if they are difficult.”

The weight of his words pressed upon you, and you knew you weren’t going to convince him otherwise no matter how hard you fought. Still, you didn’t plan on giving in so easily just yet. “Then we must exhaust all alternatives, explore advanced containment methods, and leverage our resources to ensure the safety of both our agents and the world.”

Pierce’s face hardened, the lines etched deeper into his features. “Director,” he began, folding his hands on top of the table between you and him, “there will come a point where we have exhausted all options. Don’t you think it’d be a waste of time, resources, and money to only end up at the same outcome?” He smiled lightly, a wicked tinge to the expression. “We cannot shy away from that possibility.”

Your eyes locked with his, a silent battle of principles and pragmatism. You had gone head to head with the God of Thunder and won. Yet, here you were, butting heads with a mortal man and on the verge of losing. “I refuse to believe that we must sacrifice our values is the only path to achieving the greater good. It is our duty to explore other solutions, to seek justice and preserve life - all lives. We cannot embrace the mindset that justifies shedding blood. There must always be a line we will not cross.”

His gaze softened ever so slightly, a flicker of begrudging respect crossing his features. “I must admit, Director, your unwavering dedication is commendable.” However, the smile that lingered on his lips revealed his underlying satisfaction. It was evident that you had officially lost this battle, succumbing to his ability to see to it that you would never step foot inside a SHIELD building for the rest of your life. “I expect a comprehensive report in my email by the end of the week.” He swiftly rose from his seat, adjusting his jacket with deliberate movements. “An autopsy report,” he clarified his tone laced with a chilling edge. A twisted smile played on his lips, the sinister glint in his eyes sending a shiver down your spine. It was a reminder of the darkness that lurked beneath his polished exterior.

With that final unsettling gesture, he exited, leaving you alone with the weight of his demands.

#wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #maximoff x reader #scarlet witch x reader #wanda #maximoff #phil coulson #shield #reader insert

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robo-dino-puppy · 11 months

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For something a little different than my usual virtual photography, here's my project for the Horizon Creation Celebration hosted by @horizon-events!

I'm really happy with how it turned out - and I'm excited to see everyone else's creations! More info below the cut ↓

I had this leather bag that I found at a thrift store, but it had somebody else's monogram on the front that I never liked. I always planned to do something about it - and I thought adding the medallion from Rost's armor would be the perfect project. The stitching of the medallion required the most work by far, but I also added a little Nora-inspired feather-and-bluegleam charm to the strap.

I didn't buy any supplies for this - everything was sourced from things I'd already collected (...hoarded?) in hopes of using them in a project someday.* The medallion uses reclaimed leather from an old purse, some blue cord I'd saved from... somewhere, and red cord of similar provenance. A stiff piece of plastic from packaging serves as interior support, and a strong magnet is currently holding it to the bag. I may attach it permanently, but I didn't want to yet in case I decided to use the medallion somewhere else!

All the feathers were found on the ground - there's an obvious jay feather (Steller's jay's in my neck of the woods), a white feather (most likely from a gull) that I colored with alcohol ink, and what I believe is a pelican feather - you can barely see it behind the purple one. The cords holding the feathers were all from my stash as well.

The "bluegleam" is a quartz point colored with glass paint. I'd had an idea for sculpting and casting the bluegleam cluster Aloy wears on her Frozen Wilds armors, but I wasn't able to get a finished product I was happy with. I'm not giving up on it, though - hopefully I can manage it someday!

*Which, honestly, is a miracle. I finally used stuff in a project! See, keeping interesting things is more than just adding to clutter!

#HCC 2023 #HCC #horizon creation celebration #surprise! break from virtual photography #horizon art #(not really art more like craft but I already have that tag so...)#it's really too bad the other idea i had for the bluegleam didn't work #i spent so much time sanding lol #if i had a vacuum chamber/pressure pot setup i think i would have succeeded #but i don't #i could also break it into parts and make several molds #but time was running out and the medallion was the real focus of the project so i put it aside #it was my first time doing a fandom event like this!#life has been a bit exhausting lately so there were some challenges #but it was fun and i'm glad i did it!

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fake-married-my-dead-fiance · 5 months

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I really wish they'd done a better job writing the villains in Queen of Tears because they just don't make a lot of sense.

For example, Moh Seul-hee. She has a very long-term con going to try to take control of the Queens group. Cool. But when Hae-in was like 8 (?) she tries to murder Hae-in and her brother, or maybe just whomever tried to go out on the boat. Fine, whatever. But then she never tries again ever? She lives with them another 20 years and never tries murder again? Why not? Because Soo-cheol is under her control through Da-hye but Hae-in remains a wild card. Why not murder Hae-in after she rejected Eun-sung?

It just doesn't make sense. It'd make more sense if the boat thing had been a random accident. Or it would have made sense that she was poisoning Hae-in instead of the illness being Magic Cancer, because Hae-in has brain cells and cannot easily be controlled.

I think enough virtual ink has been spilled over how delusional Eun-sung is so I won't even go there.

#queen of tears #rant #write villains that make sense!#give them clear plans and motives!#not just twists

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dejwritesarchived · 2 years

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀─── ⠀ ⠀⠀ wicked games⠀ 〳 ⠀ a.hayakawa ‵

❪ ♡ ❫ ─── ( synopsis ) the story of japan's biggest rockstar aki hayakawa

♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — reading discretion is advised: female reader, her/she pronouns, female anatomy, rockstar!aki, therapist!reader, written with black reader in mind, drug usage, alcohol usage, mentions of rehab, dark content, obsessive!aki, panty stealing, panty sniffing, not even going lie don't know nothing about therapist occupation so i apologize now, mentioned bi!aki, solo masturbation, implied oral (m.receiving), implied missionary position, mentions of relationships with himeno & angel, aki's thoughts in italics, wc: 4k, loosely inspired by wicked games by the weekend. can also read & leave kudos on ao3 pls.

♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — entry for @okhotel #XO♡. thee collab

HIS LEGS SPREAD APART AS HE LISTENED TO THE LADY IN FRONT OF HIM TALK. His dark eyes couldn’t stop looking at how her lips looked as she articulated every syllable of each word that rolled off her tongue. Or she would constantly switch legs to cross them so that he couldn’t get a glimpse of the panties she wore. To Aki Hayakawa’s guess, they had to be red, Fenty brand, seamless because it was tacky to wear a pencil skirt and have the seam to your panties showing—and very easy to push to the side to see her pussy lips glisten with her own slick.

What the fuck, Aki? Why are you having these thoughts about your therapist, you fuckin’ perv.

“Mr. Hayakawa, did you hear me?” Her head tilts to the side, wondering where he stared off to.

Aki clears his throat as he adjusts himself in his seat. He leans back to make himself comfortable—spreading his thighs slightly before sighing.

Once again, they’re traveling down to her lips as she repeats the question he somewhat hears. The vivid image of her pretty mouth wrapped around his cock swirled around his head—like a carousel that goes around and around. The thought of how the flat of her tongue could lick at the one vein that pops up on Aki’s cock when he’s hard. Or how those kissable lips would place a kiss on the tip of his mushroom-shaped tip, collecting his salty precum effortlessly. She’ll probably sound so pretty as she gags on his cock. She’ll look even more stunning with a thick cum shot on her face.

Fuck, Aki—there you go again.

“Your relationships with Angel and Himeno? They seem to be very prominent relationships in your life.” She says. “With Angel being your bandmate. Himeno being a longtime friend..”

“They were, but they left. Just like everyone else,” Aki let out the most depressing sigh before his eyes met with the woman in front of him. “But, I moved on. You have to do it when you’re an international Grammy-winning rockstar.”

“Did you?” Her eyebrows raised curiosity as she rolled her black ink pen around her fingers.

“Did I, what?” Aki asked.

“Get over them? If you don’t have the proper time to heal from someone leaving your life, you’re prone to turn to toxic things to help you temporarily cope rather than heal,” She explains.

Aki’s mouth went dry hearing that statement come out of her pretty mouth. The same mouth he just was visualizing his cock was buried in. He sinks further in his seat—realizing that he did cope in such an odd way regarding his past relationships. Himeno broke up with him, and he turned to drinking. Angel left him, and he turned to partying and drugs. He went to defend his actions, but the timer went off, indicating that their hour together had ended.

“I have spoken to your manager and hope to get at least two more sessions in before you go to rehab, Mr. Hayakawa.” She says. “From what I’ve been told, you’ll most likely have a different therapist, but If you’re comfortable, I can set up where we can meet virtually.”

“I would prefer that.” Aki fiddled with the silver rings on his finger before standing up. His hand went up to rub the back of his nervously. “I wish you were stuck listening to my problems all the time.” His crystal blue eyes met with hers as she chuckled at his statement.

“Goodnight, Mr. Hayakawa.”

“Goodnight.”

Their time together always ended like this. Just Aki staring at her as his crystal blue eyes examine her lips and then eye her up and down—then he’ll leave with the lewd image of how she’ll look without clothes on. It was sick that he imagined her like that. She was so kind. So sweet, delicate, endearing, and the list goes on. Sadly, despite her kindness in a world that hated his guts at the moment—he deduced her to be a sexual object. That’s because you’re sick in the head, Aki. Everything you touch, you ruin.

He pushed his hands further into his leather jacket, fishing for his box of cigarettes and lighter. He placed the nicotine-rolled stick in between his lips and lit the cigarette. His eyes stared at the shiny silver lighter engraved with his name—a present from Angel that he held onto even when it was on the verge of being used up. It was the last thing Aki had that reminded him of him. You would hold onto a little lighter if one of the people you’ve loved left you, wouldn’t you?

Aki saw his driver perfectly in the parking lot waiting for him. He is watching a lousy football game when he is supposed to call Aki immediately after his therapy sessions to ensure he doesn’t go exploring around the city. That was a specific task from Aki’s manager after his last sessions with another therapist—Aki landed a very exclusive TMZ story of his dangerous and toxic behavior. It wasn’t that bad. He only nearly cracked his skull in half because he was drunk and attempted to skateboard. Also, maybe he tried to have sex with a stranger too. That night was a complete blur.

“It’s been such a long day, but it’s Friday. Let’s go out for drinks.” He heard a familiar voice.

His eyes glanced toward the laughter and saw her—his therapist.

“Y/N, you’re the therapist of that insane rockstar Aki Hayakawa. You need it more than us.” Another woman says. “I mean, have you read the shit TMZ says about him? What has he done? You’ll probably need a session when you’re done with him.”

Aki’s fist clenched at the words that were being said about him. His head hung low as he lost his appetite to finish his cigarette. He let it fall to the ground, and his foot crushed it.

“He’s a nice person. You guys aren’t his therapist, so you wouldn��t understand. Who is buying the first round of shots at Mickey’s?” She linked arms with her co-worker and eventually walked towards the other parking lot.

Aki now walked to his driver so quickly. The dark-haired rockstar nearly startled the older gentleman when he climbed into the car. He would lean forward, smiling at the man. “Can we make a quick stop before you drop me off?” He gives the man driving him around through highs and drunken hiccups a cheeky smile.

“Your manager made it clear that I must take you home immediately, Aki.”

“That’s no fun. I’ll be quick. I’m just dropping in to say hello and then leaving. It’s just a bar I found out an old friend works at.”

Aki was good at three things. Sex, songwriting, and lying. He honestly thought lying was his best quality about himself. After all, he was sure all celebrities were good at it. Lying and saving face so your precious fans won’t view you as something else despite behind the scenes & signed NDAs, it was completely different. No matter what good morals you had in Hollywood, as long as you were a part of the celebrities—you had some dirt on you.

His driver sighed before he buckled his seatbelt. “I’m giving you fifteen minutes. If you’re not out in fifteen—”

“You’ll call my manager, and he’ll throw me back into rehab. I know the story already,” He says with a smile.

He told his driver the same bar that Y/N would be at. His ears perked up after hearing the GPS state that the bar was only ten minutes from their location. Aki was thinking about what he could say to her. Perhaps buy her a drink before she lectures him about how this environment wasn’t the safest considering his sobriety streak. Yeah, that pretty mouth of hers is going to lecture me.

The weekend for nine-to-five workers who needed a drink to hype up their relaxing weekend started some bar. His driver parked in the crowded parking lot of the bar. Aki assumed that it must have been Friday rush hour for the bar. “Just fifteen minutes.” His driver says to him before he goes back to watching the sports game he was previously watching.

“Uh-huh, sure.” Aki sarcastically admits while he climbs out of the car.

Aki walked into the bar and instantly searched for her. He ignored the murmurs of strangers who immediately recognized those crystal blue eyes from his first album cover. When he spotted Y/N in the back of the bar all alone, he knew that this was the perfect opportunity to latch onto his prey. She was alone, enjoying her Friday evening off—sipping her drink and bopping her head to the music playing. Before he could even step away, two women approached him. One of the women eyed him before the alcohol she consumed finally made her realize who she was standing in front of.

“Oh my god! You’re Aki Hayakawa! I love your music!”

Aki wasn’t sure how a person’s shrieks of excitement could also come out like a horrible slur. He forced a smile on his face glancing in the direction of Y/N. Mentally cursing at himself when he sees some guy approach her. Fuck, there goes your perfect opportunity. Get rid of him, Aki. Get him away from her.

“Can we get your autograph?” The other drunkenly asked.

“How about you find me a sharpie, and I’ll sign where ever you ladies like,” He gives them a grin and watches as their cheeks glow as bright as the pink blush sprinkled on their heated cheeks.

As if he had just assigned them to save the planet, the two of them disappeared into the crowded bar to let Aki continue his journey to claim his prey. The closer he got to Y/N, she finally noticed who was walking towards her, and her smile from the friendly conversation with the guy next to her dropped. She placed her drink on the table where she was standing and decided to bridge the gap between herself and Aki.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Her tone of voice came off as demanding, disappointing, and dreadful.

Here come the lecture and the lie.

“I’m here to meet a friend that’s in town.” Aki’s eyes soften, just like the lie he just told.

“And you couldn’t meet in a cafe or something?” Y/N asks. She didn’t even let him finish his sentence before she’s gripping at the sleeve of his black leather jacket to drag him toward the entrance.

It was a poor excuse to try to get him to bulge, “I’m not going to drink. Plus, I kind of miss the atmosphere of a bar. It reminds me of the old days when my band first started.”

“But your sobriety, as your therapist—I just don’t think this is safe at all. This friend of yours doesn’t per se have your best interest if they want to meet here of all places. Where the hell is your driver?.”

Aw, she actually cares about you.

Aki’s eyes glanced at the bar, searching for something that could cause him to stay. So that he could spend more time with her, his ocean-blue eyes twinkled, seeing the unattended pool table in the corner of the bar. “I’ll go home. Let’s just play one game of pool. Just one game.”

He watches as her lips part to argue against his decision. He knew her so well that she knew he would go back and forth with her until he got what he wanted. She pointed out that he did that a lot when communicating with people when they first met. That meeting didn’t go quite well, but it did help them grow to where they are right now.

Well, when you put it that way, Aki, you make it seem like you are together. You’re not…yet.

“I don’t even know how to play pool.” He hears her say.

“I can teach you,” Aki says. “It’s not that hard.”

He watches as her plump lips part to speak but is interrupted by the two girls from earlier—the group of women huddles around him with so many questions and comments. Not only did they find a sharpie marker, but they also brought their whole group of friends with them. Aki even could see the glare that Y/N was giving him as he was just signing women's boobs left and right. Before he could even autograph the last person, Y/N grabbed his wrist to drag him towards the exit.

“It’s time to go,” She yells as she drags him out of the bar.

When the crisp air hits both of him, he watches as she glances around, searching for his driver. “We’re going home. That environment was not safe for you. You know this, Aki.” She sighs.

As soon as Y/N spotted the luxury car, it didn’t take much as she dragged Aki towards it. She opened the door to let him climb in first before she followed behind him. She sit down next to him after giving his driver her address. The situation felt so familiar to him. His manager once dragged him out of a bar an hour before he had a concert. Yes, he had to cancel the show and nearly got dropped from his record label.

The car ride to Y/N’s place was filled with Y/N asking his driver many questions and somewhat scolding him about even letting him stop at a bar. Aki couldn’t help but chuckle at her words until he could feel the car stop.

“Goodnight, Aki. Be sure to go straight home after this. No more pit stops at any—.” Her words were interrupted by Aki.

“Can I use your bathroom?” Aki asked.

He didn’t have to use the bathroom. Just another plan to let Aki be in her presence, just a little longer. He watches as she rolls her eyes and just nods. They walked into her apartment complex, and he noticed how Y/N greeted everyone who bypassed them. Even down to the little kid hugging their father’s leg as they were in the mailroom. She was so kind. So pure.

“This seems like a nice place to stay,” Aki says as they step into the elevator.

“It’s okay. My neighbor tends to give me baked goods when she’s going through a breakout so that I could give him a listening ear.” She says. “I accept them because the guy makes some pretty good brownies.” She chuckles.

Aki chuckled, and his lips even formed a smile. When the elevator door started moving, the two were standing in silence. Aki’s hand itched to ask if she was seeing anyone. He didn’t see any wedding ring, but he didn’t want to be blindsided by a man in Y/N’s kitchen sipping orange juice out of the bottle when he entered her place. But Aki had to respect her boundaries. He followed her to her apartment, and when she unlocked the door to let the two of them in.

When Aki stepped into Y/N’s apartment, he took in his surroundings as he walked further into Y/N’s apartment. He took in her apartment, and instantly he felt at home. The lingering smell of lavender traveled up his nostrils as he glanced around the place, completely starstruck. His blue eyes scanned around the place, taking in the family photos on the wall, her massive book collection, and even her cat that brushed against his leg to get familiar with him.

“The bathroom is down the hall on the left, right near my bedroom.” She says as she slides her feet into the house slippers and kneels down to pick up her cat.

Aki nods as he watches her kiss her cat's head and mumbles about giving them some food. He made his way to the bathroom, even though he didn’t even have to use the bathroom. He selfishly wanted to savor every second with her, even if that meant pretending to have to use the bathroom. As Aki turned on the sink water, he couldn’t help but stare at himself in the mirror. He did look much better compared to months ago. Formerly, Aki didn’t look like himself. His skin was much duller as if he was two seconds away from his death. His eyes used to droop like he had difficulty sleeping on tour. Since he stopped drinking and doing drugs, he was slowly becoming himself again. Himeno and Angel would have loved that.

As he finished washing his hands, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was because of her. He had gone through so many therapists that he had lost count and his manager grew a headache even having to find another therapist. Y/N made him feel so comfortable. He enjoyed talking to her and being in her presence so much that he could tell he was getting attached. Obsessively attached.

It’s best not to get attached, Aki. She’ll leave you. Himeno did it. Angel did it. What makes her so different?

“She’s different. I know it.” He mumbles as he collects one of the spare hand towels that Y/N folded neatly on the shelves.

He was just drying his hands and ready to drop the towel in the basket that was in the bathroom until a particular piece of clothing caught his attention. His eyes stared at the red lace fabric as his teeth nibbled on his lower lip. A sigh of desperation exited his mouth before he eagerly dug his hand into the basket to collect the red thong on top of the laundry in the basket. He shoved the fabric deeply into his pockets and made his exit. His steps were quick towards the door to avoid Y/N, who was in the kitchen. He didn’t even bother to yell out a goodbye with the newest precious souvenir in his pocket. His heart pounded so quickly, similar to the feeling of him being on stage performing. How can such a little task like stealing your therapist's panties give off the same adrenaline rush from snorting a line of coke and then going to perform for millions of people?

It’s because you’re getting attached, Aki.

Aki Hayakawa could have any person in the world except for her. His therapist. The old him would have been furious at the thought. How can someone like Y/N not pick up that he was interested in her? Aki tonight had to respect her boundaries, respect the rules. So instead, he would only continue to live in his own delusions as he lay in bed at night staring at the ceiling. The crescent moon twinkling through the curtains and the wind blowing against his window caused his room to feel a bit colder.

I wish she were here.

Of course. Y/N could keep him warm. In many ways, he could think of it, but it was one particular way he couldn’t escape. No matter how often he thinks about something else, his mind keeps going to one vivid image. He bet she enjoyed missionary. She probably enjoyed seeing the men who pleasured her face quiver in pure bliss as they were balls deep inside her. Aki would have loved it. The mere thought caused his cock to grow hard instantly. He shifted in bed uncomfortably—realizing that his boner would bother him until he did something about it. It wasn’t like he could call up his ex-flings for a late-night hookup. In his third session with Y/N, he had already established that both of them hated his guts. Then it was beyond a reach to call Y/N. She was so clueless about his feelings toward her.

He rolled over on his back to stare up at his ceiling. The thought of her moving around in his mind caused his skin to be decorated with goosebumps. The way her lips curled into a smile sent a chill down his spine. The sound of her laughter and voice was like an intoxicating drug he didn’t want to let go of. How could she make him feel this type of way?

His slender fingers toyed with the grey sweatpants band covering his lower half. Due to the discomfort of his boner, Aki had kicked the thin grey-colored sheet off his body. The only thing that could be heard in his room was the sound of his faint breathing before he uttered a curse word and eventually rolled the sweatpants down his toned thighs. Aki’s kicking the sweatpants and boxers off quickly before making himself comfortable. He grabs his other pillow and places it behind his head to get a better view of what he is about to do. Just as Aki was about to let his hand clutch upon his cock, he remembered the little treat he had stolen from Y/N’s place that night he took her home. His lips curl into a devious smirk before he reaches in the dark oak-colored nightstand next to his king-sized bed. His hand grabbed the red lace thong he hand took as a souvenir to remember his favorite therapist.

Gosh, you have hit a low, Aki. But that’s okay. You’re so close to becoming a better person for her.

He collected some spit from his mouth before palming his cock. In Aki's mind, he just couldn’t stop thinking about her. He wondered how she did it. Does she let her plush lips suck on the tip while she glides her hands up and down the shaft? Does she ensure it’s covered in as much saliva as possible because the messier, the better? Any way, she did it, turned Aki on. Subtle groans reverberated by his lips as he guided his right hand up and down his shaft. He attempted so badly to mimic how he thought Y/N would do it. His left hand palmed at the red lace in his hand as he groaned out whines of Y/N’s name with each stroke of his hardened cock.

“Fuck.” Aki breathes out while letting his head fall back on the fluffy pillow propped behind his head.

His eyes watered due to the intense pleasure that felt much better than the temporary high he chased when he did drugs. This just felt so much better to Aki. It was better than the euphoric feeling after taking molly. It was better than the mellow feeling after smoking weed.

For another five minutes, Aki was palming his cock until he could feel the pit of his stomach on fire. He was so close to cumming, and he knew it would be so much of it. The grip of the red thong in his left hand was just as tight as how he massaged his pink-shaded tip before stroking his shaft once more. His eyes darted to the red thong in his hand. The thoughts he had in his mind were so sinister he knew that Satan himself was shaking his head. This was going to make him cum. He just knew it.

He brought the lace piece of fabric to his nose; the only thing he smelled was her. A comforting scent that brought him at ease but turned him on even more. If Aki concentrated hard enough, he could feel his cock twitch in the immersive grasp he had it in using his right hand. Palming it quicker than usual as he sniffs Y/N’s panties. His breathing grew uneasy with each pump of his cock. His thumb massaged his tip once more, imagining her doing this to him. That it was her who was palming his thick cock just the way he liked it. He inhaled one last sniff of Y/N’s panties before his body was forced off the pleasurable cloud of cumming. Thick ropes of cum shoot out Aki’s cock; just like he predicted, it was so much of it. He wasn’t sure if it was because he felt like the scent of Y/N’s panties was an aphrodisiac or if he was just a fuckin’ a hornball. Maybe, it was both.

As Aki finally came down from his temporary thrill, he stared up at the ceiling, completely out of breath and exhausted. His eyes glanced over at the red thong intertwined in his left-hand fingers.

Gosh, I will miss that woman when I go away.

TAGS — @maydayaisha @eiflawriting @sailewhoremoon @nanichi0 @sailewhoremoon @stunnababyyabyyy @godessofbucky @chosoguapo @zcmbi @euhmae25 @shamelesshoefairy @takemichiluvr @catherineng0909 @fushisslut @alien-arlert @lexiinanime @xphntmhvx @diorlov3er @atesumu @caribbeanwifey19 @yooniluvbot444 @planetmarz @noriken @jellymantra33 @softimgyu @maginxlia @4522-08 @444yeager @fushisslut @hyuene @ilygetou @soumies @sirenh4ll @dior-fawn @sintiva @sindicas

#aki hayakawa x reader #chainsaw man x reader #csm x reader #anime x reader #anime smut #chainsawman smut #csm smut #aki hayakawa smut

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darklydeliciousdesires · 24 days

Text

Little Earthquakes - Chapter One.

Besties! I was thrilled with the response to the prologue, thank you all so much! :) So, now the story starts properly. Sit back and get comfy!

Previous chapters - Prologue

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed.

Words - 3,972

Warnings - 18+ throughout. Minors DNI!

Immediately, her mouth dropped open. “Oh my flippin’ god! Hello!” There he was, the cute lad she’d been in the same class as at school. Except now he was even bloody cuter than he’d been at fifteen. God, those cheekbones were virtually criminal. And his eyes, wow! Had they always been that beautiful a shade of green, and she’d simply never noticed? “I thought I recognised your name when I was looking at your work, but I couldn’t place how, and where from, and I’m babbling, and oh my god, you’re Kelsey Chapman! I remember you, too!”

She then turned to take in Chris, her mouth falling open yet again. “Chris Lawrence! Stop it, it’s a bloody Fulham Green Academy reunion!”

“How are you, Holly? All good, ay?” he spoke, side eyeing Nathan and beaming, watching how he stood scratching the back of his neck. He always did it when he felt uncomfortable, usually when he couldn’t hide in his hair, being that his cascade of waist-length brown locks were all tied back. So, Holly still had the same effect, it seemed.

“Yes, yes I’m good, thanks! It’s so nice to see you all,” she replied brightly as Nathan arrived with her.

“Ready?” he asked, gesturing towards his station.

She scrunched her nose a little. “Crapping myself to be honest! Right, where am I kotching?”

“On the table. Lie back and get comfy, unless you’d rather sit up. Either way, I just need you to place your foot flat and bend your knee so I can press the line drawing on, check it flows okay and make sure you’re happy with it.”

She’d emailed a few ideas to him, speaking the magic words that any tattoo artist liked to hear, that she trusted his judgement over what he came up with. Her only guide was that she wanted all the flowers to look like they were climbing up from her foot to her mid-calf.

Since he specialised at realism, each flower would look just as she’d requested, like it had been painted on. The line drawing was a guide for him to work to only, so he could then freehand them into the allotted space. Once pressed into place, Holly took a look and confirmed she was happy, beginning to swallow hard.

“Just take a few deep breaths, you’ll be fine,” he assured her. “It hurts, but not half as badly as some people make out.”

“Says the man who nearly cried when I tattooed his ribs,” Kelsey called from her station, poking her tongue between her teeth.

“Shit off,” he mumbled, looking back at Holly a little sheepishly. “Made my eyes water a bit, but any chance her over there has to make me look like a twat and she takes it.”

“Love you!” her over there chirped, loading the needle with more ink. All Kelsey based disturbances aside and he began, doing a small section to the side of her foot and pausing. “All good?”

Oh, no. It felt like somebody was dragging a hot knife through her flesh, but she nodded and smiled all the same. “Fine, yeah. I’m good.” He knew she wasn’t, but he was too nice to call her out on it.

“So, you’re Holly Jenkins now?” he asked casually, remembering her name in the emails they’d exchanged. Of course, she’d be married. Women as beautiful as her didn’t remain single. “How long have you been married for?”

“I was married for ten years, but we divorced last year. I haven’t gotten around to changing my name back as yet,” she spoke, resting her arm beneath her head.

“Oh, sorry,” he replied, looking away briefly, watching her mouth twitch slightly.

“Don’t be, I’m happy about it. I don’t think we were as well-suited as I once thought, so it was for the best, really.”

“Hm, yeah,” he breathed, circling the top of the first petal, noticing her foot tense a little. To be expected. Foot tattoos weren’t the best. “I understand that. My wife and I separated three months ago after I reached the same conclusion. Proper shit, but that’s life, ain’t it?”

“It is, and I’m sorry too, that you’re going through the same thing,” she offered, wincing slightly. “I can give you the number of a good divorce lawyer?”

He laughed, a small burst of air through his nose. He could certainly do with one of those, to be fair. “Appreciated.” Continuing, he noticed she remained tense, pausing, patting her ankle softly with his black gloved hand. “Relax, ‘kay? Hurts more when you’re tense.”

“I’ll try. Sorry, I probably look like a right knob to someone as heavily tattooed as you, y’know,” she confessed, Nathan beginning again.

“Don’t mean I’m immune to pain, and it does hurt, like I said. Trust me, though, you don’t look like a knob. Had a girl in here two weeks ago who literally screamed like she was being murdered. Proper put me off, I'm telling you.”

It reassured her a little, that her wincing and tensing was definitely at a lower level where reactions were concerned. He remained silent for a little time longer, Holly looking all around the studio, taking it in. It was a relaxed vibe, very dark academia in style with its black walls, dark wooden floors and counters, an abundance of artwork, plants dotted around everywhere and Edison lightbulbs suspended above each of the three stations.

What caught her eye the most though, well, it was the man tattooing her. Back at school, it had always surprised her, just how lovely she thought he was, so cute with his shoulder length hair and big, green eyes. Even though it was all tied back in a half pulled through messy man bun at the nape of his neck, she wagered it was a lot longer now, but the bottle green eyes were still just as beautiful. Even more so going by her reaction at first seeing him, in fact, his eyelashes also impossibly long and inky. And bloody hell, the pout on the man. Those lips? One hundred percent kissable.

“What are you doing for work these days, then?” he asked after a further few minutes of silence, loading the needle with dark red ink for the next flower.

“I’m an illustrator,” she began, noticing that the pain was getting a little less. Well, either that or she was becoming more used to the hot scratches goring at her skin, one of the two. “I mainly do adult colouring and children’s books, but I also contribute for other literature and cover art as well. I just accepted a role doing the digital art for a woman’s E-Magazine, too, which has been great so far.”

“Yeah? That’s proper sick,” he enthused, pausing to smile up at her. Oh, that smile. It lit up his entire face. “You were always really talented. Those little cartoon guys you used to do, I loved them. That unicorn dude, he was ace.”

She could barely believe he remembered them after so long, those pictures she’d submitted on her GCSE display. “As if you remember him! Sparky the unicorn.”

“Sparky, yeah, yeah. That was him.” In truth, he remembered exactly what the cartoon character of her creation had been called, but he didn’t want to look like a weirdo by remembering such an innocuous detail after so many years. Especially not after her surprise that he’d remembered it at all.

“So, how long have you been tattooing for?�� she then asked.

“Right out of uni, more or less.”

“Yeah? Wow, long time, then. Did you end up going to Loughborough like you wanted to?”

Oh, so she’d remembered something innocuous herself too, then. “I did, yeah, yeah.”

“I remember you telling me. Well, you wrote it down.”

She began to chuckle, her soft giggle making his stomach tingle pleasantly, even more so when it loudened at watching him pause and close his eyes tightly for a few moments, laughing softly though his nose. “The legit shame of it.”

“Oh, come on! You weren’t that bad!” she cried, laughing more the further his cheeks pinked. Damn, he was so cute.

“Weren’t that bad? Holly, I couldn’t pissing speak!” He paused there, giving her a few seconds to compose her giggles. She couldn’t. Her beautiful laughter only spurred his further, both sitting there in soft fits at the memory of his fifteen-year-old self, so stoned he was rendered mute.

“Or walk by the end of the night either,” Kelsey offered from across the shop. “Had to give him a fireman’s lift to the taxi!”

Oh, the shame. “You needn’t bloody chip in over there, Chapman,” he snorted. “I can do a good enough job mortifying myself, by myself, thanks.”

“Sharing is caring!” she beamed, Nathan muttering as he continued and moved onto the next flower.

“How you holding up?”

“Fine, getting used to it,” she confirmed, watching him smile.

“Trust me, it won’t be your last. You get bitten by the tattoo bug. Seldom anybody who’s ever had them stops at just one.”

“Which was your most recent? Can I see?” she inquired.

“Hmm, only if I took my jeans off,” he confessed.

“You little tease,” she joked, winking. “Where is it? Anywhere naughty?”

Was she... no. No, no. She wasn’t flirting with him. Why the hell would she? He knew he was reasonably attractive. Hell, he’d gone from zero to sex in five minutes with someone just thirty minutes before, but seriously. Holly Madden, or Jenkins as she now was, flirting with him? No.

“It’s on my lower hip,” he confirmed, “cover up of the ex’s name.” Thanks to Kelsey, where Lisa’s name had once lay was now covered by an old school style black panther crawling its way up to his hipbone, a definite improvement now his wife no longer had any prominence in his life.

“Do you do any of your own tattoos?” she asked out of curiosity, Nathan loading more violet onto the needle.

“Have done in the past. I did my feet, but I’m not that great at tattooing myself. I do most of my own piercings, though. Save a couple.”

“How many do you have?”

He thought for a moment, counting. “Twenty-one. Used to be twenty-three, but I took my eyebrow ones out.”

“And where are they all?”

“Eight in my left ear, six in my right, one nostril, lip, two in my tongue, both nipples and one in my dick.”

Immediately, she gasped. “Crapping hell! I bet that bloody hurt!”

It would be fair to say he’d nearly gone through the roof. “Yep, a solid eight out of ten on the pain scale.”

“Why on earth would you do something like that? And have two in your tongue? I bet that was painful, too!” she cried, shaking her head in amazement.

“Same answer for both,” he smirked. “It’s purely a sex thing.”

“Can I see them?” she asked, suddenly kicking herself as her stomach plummeted, her cheeks colouring. “The tongue ones, I hasten to add!” Oh, the depth of her cringe. Shit.

He laughed softly, poking his tongue out and giving it a very rapid wiggle, the two black studs tapping against his teeth.

Her eyes rounded, making an impressed little hum in the back of her throat. “Bloody hell. A man who can move his tongue that rapidly doesn’t really need any further enhancements, if you ask me.”

“I know, but I like to show off,” he smiled, winking. Oh, oh yes. He could trust it. They’d definitely fallen into a little playful flirting. “What about you?”

She felt a bit vanilla, compared to him. “Just my ears, one in each lobe and one at the top of my right. I always said I was going to get something else, too, but I never know what.”

“Well, when you make up your mind, you know where I am,” he smiled, returning his focus to her tattoo.

She couldn’t help herself. “You do seem particularly apt at sticking needles in people, so yes, I think I’ll trust it to you.”

And neither could he. “Not just needles.” Again, he winked, Holly smiling a little shyly, definitely enjoying the exchange. Oh, and why the heck not? She was thirty-four-year-old single woman eleven months out of a terrible marriage. Why not flirt with the hottie doing her tattoo for her?

“You little devil!” she giggled, Kelsey and Chris exchanging knowing looks from their respective stations, watching their friend enjoying the hell out of himself in flirting up a storm with his teen crush. It was quite surprising for them to witness, since earlier that day aside, he wasn’t overly brash with it. He still wasn’t even then, but he definitely had something about him that exuded a bit more charm than usual.

At close to the hour mark, he gave her a little break, covering the tattoo for her with a piece of taped on kitchen paper so she could pop outside and make a phone call, taking his gloves off and grabbing his large vaping mod, going out to stand on the other side of the front door, blowing out plumes of sweetly scented vapour.

“What is that?” she inquired, moving to his side once her phone call to her friend Kate was done, confirming that she’d be on time for their dinner plans later that evening. “It smells delicious!”

“Strawberry bubble gum,” he replied, taking another lungful he blew out in a huge cloud ahead. “Because I’m a massive fanny who needs his nicotine with a nice flavour.”

“Ahh, are you using it as a quitting smoking aid?”

He shook his head. “Nah, I’ve never smoked cigarettes. They smell vile and make you stink, but after all the shit with my ex, I needed something to de-stress a bit, so I took up vaping.” He paused. “I’m aware that makes me look like a proper massive twat, but it is what it is.”

She giggled softly. “No, it doesn’t. When I’m drunk, I buy those disposable vapes sometimes. They’re awful, and I know they’re bad for the planet, too! Drunk Holly cannot be held accountable, though.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, same as drunk Nathan. He’s a pissing liability,” he chuckled. He paused, looking at her, the way she smiled at him, a sudden uprising of courage kicking him sharply. “Speaking of drinking, you busy later? Me and them two inside are heading to that bar just over the other side of the park tonight, Wolfpack. You fancy meeting up?”

“Erm...” She quickly worked out times in her head. She and Kate were meeting at six, dinner could likely be an hour and a half, and they had said they’d go on someplace else afterwards. With the borough of Brent, where they currently were only just under twenty minutes via car from her home borough of Hammersmith, it was entirely possible that she could. “Yes, alright then. That’d be great!”

His stomach all but caved in on itself with excitement. “Cool. I’ll be in there from about seven, ‘kay?”

“Alright,” she beamed, feeling little darts prickling her tummy. “I’ll be there later; I have dinner plans with my mate first. Mind if I bring her along, too?”

Blowing out another cloud, he shook his head. “Nah, no worries.” He might’ve appeared cool on the outside, but within, he had fireworks going off in his chest. He felt fifteen again, and as soon as Holly had left the shop half an hour later, it showed.

“Blud, why you bouncing?” Chris asked, just the three of them all between clients, Nathan tapping the pen in his hand begin the counter as he bounced on his heels.

“Has she moved away from the shop yet?”

Kelsey turned to peer through the windows. “She’s just got into a black cab.” As soon as he heard that statement he jumped up and down a few times, punching the air.

“Fucking got a date with her! She’s meeting us later! A few more air punches followed before he composed himself, taking a deep breath through his nose. “And I’m back to being a calm adult.”

His friends shared a look, Kelsey thinking how adorable his excitement was. It was nice to see. He’d been bordering on morose at times since his split from Lisa. “Only taken you nineteen years, but you got there in the end, eh Gilly?”

“Better late than never.” he replied, misting his station with antibacterial spray, his next client due to arrive at any moment. That client was a guy he’d originally met over in Dublin, who he’d reconnected with back in London a while ago. Alex was a gargantuan rugby player in the middle of having a full Japanese themed back piece done by Nathan, the appointment taking up the rest of his afternoon until they shut at 6:30pm.

They worked long hours at the shop, Closed Sunday and Monday, but open from 10am – 7pm Tuesday to Thursday, and 10am – 9pm on Friday, 9am – 6:30pm on Saturday. With nowhere else to be since the dissolution of his marriage, Nathan had begun booking people in late on other weeknights too, giving himself something to take his mind off the fact that he was separated and truly didn’t really want to be.

Well, that was only half true.

He was very glad to be free of Lisa after how things had ended between them, but he’d liked being married. He really wasn’t the type of guy who was into playing the field, hence why his friends had been so alarmed at the speed he’d ended up shagging the girl earlier that day.

In Nathan’s defence, he’d been horny. Very horny, and maybe just a tiny bit lit from the shot of vodka he’d had that morning upon waking, something to soothe his hungover brain. He made a point of never working under the influence, taking too much pride in his work for that, but one shot wasn’t the end of the world, and it had definitely helped him feel more human again.

After finishing up the latest section of the huge dragon head upon his client’s back, he went and had a few more tots from the bottle of vodka in his fridge before taking a quick shower and changing, meeting his friends back in the shop before they locked up and headed across the park to Wolfpack. Cue Nathan to spend the next hour trying to play it cool, but failing miserably. Whenever anyone female entered the bar, his eyes snapped over, checking to see if it was Holly. Much tapping and neck scratching ensured.

“Gilly, you’re going to give yourself carpal tunnel. Stop riffing!” Kelsey advised him, pulling his hand away from within his masses of hair. Immediately, he began drumming his fingers on the table. “Such a jittery boy!”

He cringed slightly, looking perturbed as anxiety corded through his entire body. “Can’t help it, bruv. She’s too hot for me! I mean really, proper gorgeous, she is. And she’s meeting my scruffy rocker arse. Can’t cope, Kels.”

He was so adorable. “Oh, no, no, no. There’ll be none of this. You, my friend, are bloody lovely. If I had to shag a guy, like if my life depended on letting a penis near me, I’d choose you. You’re a hottie, so stop sitting there looking like a deer caught in the headlights, and scratching like you’ve got the same amount of ticks as one!”

“Still wanna hide,” he muttered, laughing at himself.

Nathan was usually so chilled out, it was very odd for her to see him in any other way. Hell, the man had managed to score with a girl in less than five minutes just hours before, not that she really wanted to dwell on such an out of character occurrence too heavily, though.

“Why though?” she cried gently, shaking his arm. “You were vibing so well with her earlier, and now look at you! Working yourself into a state.”

“Yeah, but that was on my turf and now I just... ahh, pissing hell. Where’s Chris with those shots?” Turning his attention towards the bar, he could just about make out the sight of his bald head, thankfully appearing to be somewhat close to getting served. It was a very typically busy night. “It’s because it’s her. I’m telling you, she’s too hot for me.”

“For the love of the virgin Mary’s bicycle!” she exclaimed, making him snort laugh. It was always ‘for the love of the virgin Mary’s’ something or other with her, and it never failed to crack him up. “Calm down, stop scratching your neck and just breathe! Where’s zen Nath? He needs to come back.”

The back of his neck continued to receive a good scratching. “He’s otherwise engaged.” Looking towards the doors, he saw two women walk in, his heart hammering. Not her, thankfully. He needed the next round Chris was buying to arrive before Holly did.

Thinning her lips, she contemplated her next statement for a moment. “This isn’t anything to do with Lisa, is it? She didn’t say anything rotten that’s dented you, did she? Because Jesus Harold Christ, I will knock her through the floor if she did.”

Trust his favourite butch battleaxe on earth to be so protective. She always had been, and if you didn’t know how sweet and gentle Kelsey was, her sheer size alone cut her from a very intimidating cloth. He’d witnessed her knock out fully grown men in the past.

He huffed slightly, raising his eyebrows before sinking the rest of his pint. “She said plenty of rotten things, but we don’t speak of her any longer.”

Truly, Kelsey had hit the nail on the head. It was a little bit of his estranged wife’s nastiness making him nervous, but mostly it was a Holly specific. She was the girl he’d fancied from the ages of eleven to fifteen, and even though he was a grown thirty-four-year-old man, seeing her again had reminded him of being fifteen and way too shy and awkward to make a move on her.

Luckily, Chris arrived back with a tray of drinks, buying them two pints and two shots each, save going up again with how packed the place was. Nathan’s two shots of Jägermeister had been sunk before he’d even sat down.

“Blud, easy now!” he exclaimed, Nathan grimacing at the taste, but enjoying the warm feeling of the alcohol spreading through his chest. “You can’t be getting all wreck up before she even gets here, fam!”

“I can and I will, bruv,” he joked, taking a big gulp of his fresh pint, his eyes once again flitting to the entrance. This time, it wasn’t a false alarm. “Oh, hell upon hell. She’s here.”

His heart thundered in his chest at seeing her, her eyes scanning the crowd, smiling and waving when she saw him. God, she looked great. She was dressed casually in a figure-hugging black bodysuit with a high neck, her toned arms on show, and a pair of wide legged green trousers with very high heels that boosted her height up more than the flipflops she’d been wearing that afternoon.

“I’m legit having palpitations.” he muttered, Kelsey wrapping her arms around him and kissing his forehead. By the time she arrived with him, he’d calmed down a little bit, Holly introducing her friend Kate to them all, the women taking a seat. Immediately, Holly began sniffing the air.

“Oooh, what’s that lovely smell?” Sniffing around some more, she leaned closer to Nathan, identifying him as the source. “You smell delish!”

“Thanks.” He would say that was the moment he calmed down, but no, because the way she viewed him so appreciatively, Nathan felt anything but. In a good way, though.

#original fiction #original stories #original story #smutty fiction #smutty story #smutty stories #romance story #romance fiction #romance stories

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bookwyrminspiration · 11 months

Text

KOTLC Graphic Novel: B&N Virtual Event Summary

There are no spoilers

Shannon Messenger was accompanied by Stuart Gibbs, author of Spy School and other series, who asked the questions

Enjoy!

Event's theme was Iggy Celebration--Shannon chose to wear dark blue, as it's secretly her favorite Iggy

It's officially called Dark Blue Iggy in the books, but the actual color nomination from fans was "tardis blue". She couldn't use that for potential legal issues, but she knows it's actually Tardis blue, making it her favorite

Shannon can't take credit for Iggy's changing color

She'd made him pink in book 2, and so a fan at an event asked her what color he'd be in the next book

Shannon asked her what color she wanted him to be. This fan, dressed in head to toe purple, leaned in and very seriously said "Orange." So Iggy was orange

Opened it to fans after that--but sadly never got the name of that one fan to thank her properly ("Whoever you are girl in purple, thank you!")

Book 10 doesn't have an official release date because Shannon's still writing it (as fast as she can!)

Iggy's color options for Book 10 are still undecided as well

Shannon thanks everyone immensely for their patience; "it's my focus! I want to get to them as fast as possible," but she also wants the book to be good and worth the wait

"Naive Shannon thought the later I got into the series the easier the books would be to write. WRONG!"

she has so many planted seeds to keep track of and constantly feels the pressure to one up her previous books

"I kinda wish I'd set the bar a little lower from the beginning"

She can't make a perfect book; there's always going to be someone who doesn't like something

She's reached the point of realizing her plans, and it's a delicate balance. You don't want reveals to feel like they came completely out of left field, but also don't want them to be like "I guessed that six books ago"

Finding the balance between feeling earned and still surprising is a daunting task ahead of her; it's more labor intensive than she thought it'd be

Stuart Gibbs points out that even if it takes a while, Shannon gives us a lot of book per book, so it's worth it

Shannon never intended to write such long books; she used to say every time that the next one she'd get the hang of being concise and it would be shorter, but everyone stopped believing her by book four

Was a graphic novel adaptation ever part of her plans? Secretly yes--she started as an art major and loves seeing illustrated versions of her characters. The highlight of her year is the cover art, and graphic novels are entire books!

It was on her author bucket-list, but she wasn't sure it'd would be possible; some books just don't work as graphic novels and they're expensive for publishers

When she found out she got the adaptation she "did a happy dance I was very grateful no one could see"

How involved were you in this process? Very involved, since her publishers know she has an art background

They let her pick from writers who auditioned--she wasn't sure that was a great idea because she didn't know if she could be objective; "no, I wrote it this way because it needs to be this way!"

Celina "knocked it out of the park" with her audition

For Gabriella, the artist, she was exactly what Shannon was looking for; she wanted a new style--Jason Chan (the cover artist) is incredible, but she wanted the GN to be distinct and more illustrated

She describes the GN as "like Disney meets manga," cartoonish but not

Shannon gave notes on rough drafts, inked pages, and colored versions--she's sure they got sick of her notes by the end of it

She remembers thinking "certain Keefe jokes MUST make it in," but then seeing them in the visual format they realized "huh, this joke isn't funny anymore"

Anything that surprised you about the process? Definitely some of those Keefe jokes not working, but also the fact they had to split it. At first she thought they could work it all into one, but emotion takes longer to convey visually, and they were "robbing the heart out of the book" by trying to fit it in one

Shannon jokes everything she writes ends up longer than they expect

Do you have any idea about part two? It's in the works, but it's a herculean task for the artists, so it all depends on them; "do not blame them at all! this is a daunting, daunting, massive work load"

Shannon owes Gabriella "all the cookies ever"

it's a very tight timeline, so they'll share the release date when they have it, but for now just let the artist do their thing

Was it weird to spend so much time with book 1 again? Forget anything? Want to change anything? There were some sentences she wanted to rewrite--"a book is never done, it's just due"

Thought about adding Gisela in book one, since she wishes she'd introduced her then; she always knew she'd play a huge role, but thought it'd be more clever to not introduce her until she was ready to bring her into play.

Now she disagrees with that decision and wishes she'd been there from book one, but decided that "it's not bad the way she did it, but it would've been more elegant" so she didn't change it

Does Gibbs have anything he would change about his book? He says you don't always know which characters will catch on, some some that become important he wishes he spent more time with in the beginning--"if I'd done this in book one, I couldn't done this in book 7!"

Any movie news? Hollywood is so much hurry up and wait, a ladder with thousands of rungs; they got caught at the script stage when the writer's strike happened, and even though the strike ended that doesn't mean the gears start turning again immediately.

the script is the most important thing, especially since KOTLC would be a very expensive movie, so the more solid the foundation the better the chance they have of getting greenlit

Her fingers are crossed; she wants a movie/show, but she wants it to be a good movie/show

Fans often don't realize how much work it is and how out of the author's hands it is

Reader questions! (name spellings are to the best of my ability)

Celiana: what advice do you have for young authors? Focus on writing and enjoying that part of the process before publishing! Publishing is stressful and complicated

Shannon throws the question to Gibbs. He says a lot of the times fans tell them they don't like their writing, it's their first draft. "Well that would be the problem."

Very few people hit it out of the park on their first try. Editing is a super important part of the process!

Shannon writers her books weird (editing intensely as she goes because she's always behind on deadlines, and hopes to go back to normal one day), but before that she'd have 2 or 3 drafts each. Book 1 was draft 20, Exile was draft 3, Everblaze was 2.

Gibbs does about 10 drafts each (though admits his outlines process isn't nearly as rigorous as Shannon's)

Shannon reached a point where she said "I don't think I'm smart enough to do this alone anymore!" Her books are like houses of cards, and she simply doesn't have time for the drafts to fall apart

She and her team frequently painstakingly plan things out--and even then sometimes have to scrap things. Remember that scene we rigorously went through last week? "it's not working! Now what?"

Mary Claire: Was it hard for you to find a publisher? Yes. First she got an agent, as that's important when traditionally publishing. She got her at draft 13--said that while she loved the book and its idea, you could tell this was Shannon's first book.

They went through a few edits and thought draft 15 was the one, but she got LOTS of rejections

her confidence was shaken, and draft 16 turned into a mess

At draft 18 it was sold, and then they went through 2 more versions with an actual editor; "so so much rewriting..."

Gibbs tried to get published as a kid, but was rejected throughout all of his schooling, so "to heck with this! I'm going to Hollywood to write movies"...which was actually pretty similar

he came back to writing 15.5 years ago during the last writers strike--"hey maybe I should try this book thing again"

They don't share their experiences to scare you; it's worth it, but you have to love writing to be an author given how much work and rejection it is

That's why Shannon says to enjoy the writing stage as long as you can; you need to fall in love with writing and with your story and truly believe in it

Were you always reading as a kid? Writing stories? When did you decide to write a book? Shannon was very focused on art as a kid and wanted to be a Disney animator, but her art doesn't work for that; she can't draw what's in her head, she can only copy, which "makes me about as useful as a camera"

She thought she could learn the skill, but couldn't in art classes; she realized she was always going to be frustrated if she kept at it

She'd started college at 16 and now her life plan was falling to pieces, so her mom advised her to take a class for fun

it was a film class, since she thought she'd be able to watch TV for school

she was, but her teacher also encouraged her to go to film school since she could finally bring things out properly on the page how they were in her head

"You have a lot to learn, but I see something in you." "Cool, I'm a film major now. Answered!"

Turns out film is too collaborative for her and she wanted more control; "there's those book things, I guess I could try those."

She doesn't regret the journey

Addie: How do you et the ideas to write? Shannon wishes she had a tree that sprouted money and great ideas, but really ideas are everywhere and it's a matter of paying attention.

You don't need your whole idea all at once--can be small like "I wonder if that hat...wasn't a hat at all!"

She knew she wanted to work with elves, and she knew she wanted to strip the magic from the story in favor of sci-fi/superhero logistics. The rest came bit by bit

Some days she couldn't write fast enough, others it was "oo, what if they wore capes?"

Elizabeth: what do you do when you have writers' block? Shannon doesn't like to call it that because that makes it seem scarier than it is; to her it's just being stuck, and she plays the "what if?" game

What if I got rid of the previous scene? What if they went here instead? What if, what if, what if? Open yourself to new possibilities

Gibbs is a big going for a walk person for when you're stuck. We all get stuck, not just young writers. he also likes hiking--walking but not coming back for a while.

At this point a poll was sent to the audience asking them to choose between 5 pairs. Bolded won with percentage included afterwards

Teleporting or light leaping? (63%). Eternalia or Mysterium? (63%). Bathe a T-Rex or Pet a Verminion? (55%). Telepath or Empath? (62%). Cape or No Cape? (60%)

Shannon's surprised the Keefe fans didn't pull through with the Empath vote

No matter what Shannon writes, someone's going to be unhappy, so she started pulling back on appealing to fans and prioritizes what fits the story

Marissa: Will Iggy ever go back to grey? That's up to the readers! Shannon leaves it completely in our hands, so if we ever nominate and vote for grey, she'll write it.

Shannon thanks everyone for reading and being patient, as she's writing as fast as she can

When a book is released she usually celebrates with a dessert; she ordered a bunch of fall flavor donuts from Krispy Kreme today, so she's not sure if she'll save one for tomorrow or get something new

It's dangerous that she can just push a button and donuts will show up at her house (doordash)

Gibbs and Shannon hope everyone love the graphic novel as much as they do--and stay tuned for part 2!

#kotlc #kotlc graphic novel #i feel like there's less new knowledge than usual in an event but that makes sense #since a graphic novel adaptation is very different from a new book #anyway. hope you enjoyed and find some of this interesting or useful!#i've pared my notes down a little so there's a few things that didn't make the cut #but i think it's still pretty thorough :)

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