#i feel like all are strong candidates in their own way and i need to turn to the masses for answers

[anantaru]

GENSHIN + NUT IN ME NOVEMBER

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — who cares about NNN? your boyfriend and you certainly don't!

— ꒰ including ꒱ — neuvillette, scaramouche, childe, wriothesley

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — fem! reader, breeding kink, slight size kink, unprotected sex, very messy & lots of cum, they're a little mean & tease a lot, pussy drunk genshin men

— ꒰ NEUVILLETTE ꒱

from the current appearances, neuvillette could hardly indulge in the magnificent view emitting from underneath his large body— and the handsome man was just about to open his mouth, precisely to spell out those candid words and praises into your ears when you're prompt in your own gentle ministrations by wrapping both arms around his neck to shush him before a mere word could slip, tickling the fine hair on the back of his head.

"it seems— ugh, like we've lost," neuvillette was barely capable to say anything out loud without in his words resulting in crumbling apart when you squeeze around him tighter, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head in pleasure at the way you were gripping him, your lungs feeling like they stretch out on each new whimper, whine and writhe as he fucks you in sheer desperation.

a faint outline of a groan exudes from the both of you when he bottoms into you again— while now, what was slow at first, meaning just gentle and slow thrusts in and out of you every so softly to build up the fizzing pleasure on your wet insides, soon manifested into something else, the rapid shoves making your things tense tight, your used cunt merging into his stiffened erection as you shake beneath him.

your face squeezes into that of deep pleasure, your nose puckered around the bridge and brows knitted together when your climax was right around the corner to trigger something unnamable in your stomach, a sinking fieriness that almost appeared to be as strong as to numb the salacious thrusts and grinds that were becoming messier, so greedy and harder to tame.

you hear it, those lewd noises, and your body reacts to them as well, a quivering murmur to his tone as soft tremors of neuvillette's groans exhale from his mouth and slip right into your searing kiss— because you see now, you're in control of his mind, and at this rate you're practically begging him to go harder on your cunt with each smack of his hips convulsing on your core when he slants back into you to press his delicate lips against yours, pushing his tongue in between as your slick smears along the thin skin of his shaft, your walls throbbing and turning with each new wave of unforgiving thrusts of his hips splitting you in half.

— ꒰ SCARAMOUCHE ꒱

"why did you even believe i would consider going without this for a whole month?"

oh, who would've thought? but this happened to be way easier for scaramouche, more delicious and empowering than any reluctance or guilt when the both of you haven't even gotten through one day of november without practically being all over each other— your hips arching into his strong thrusts forward, fingers curling into the disheveled bed sheets as your soft insides clench up around his rigid erection. 

"i thought it'll be— fuck, it'll be fun!" you attempt to reason with your boyfriend, although sweetly smirking against his lips demanding entry into your mouth as you began to pepper searing kisses on them, your tongue teasing into his warmth to lap across his wet muscle, your skin sticking against his own as his hips roll back and forth your clenching hole, breaking through your thighs squeezing together with fierce need.

scaramouche breaks the kiss at once, "look at me," he demands, visibly swallowing before taking a deep breath, his voice surprisingly low, a pinch of a rasp tottering on top of your lips as his tone was evidently wrapped inside the limit of a domineering cocoon fully consisting of vicious pleasure.

"you know that's no fun," you tremble as you shake under his looming body, his hips pressing in deep, in fact, so deep that you were now full of him, crowded as your pussy made his pace stutter, your hole overflowing with his throbbing cock and altering the steady stream of pleasure running through your veins, his grin only widening at the feeling of how much you liked the way he fucked you so desperately.

"but this is fun, wouldn't you agree?" scaramouche made sure to convey each of his words with a new, even stronger, sharp thrust into your warm hole as his balls tighten against you, the heaviness of his length pressing through your solid ring pulls your body in a tremble, your face now buried in the curve of his neck as you climax with a loud cry of his name, the sudden compression of your pussy making it harder for him to contain himself as he cums hard as well, spilling hot white ropes of sticky cum deep inside your pulsing spots that the heaviness of him made you wince softly.

"this— oh this feel so good." kuni mumbles against your lips with a large smirk manifesting on his handsome features, grunting as he continues to pound sloppily into you, "you feel so good," his hips treasuring how your cunt continuously throbbed around his shaft as you close your eyes due to exhaustion, breathing out heavily at the same time, "all mine."

— ꒰ CHILDE ꒱

"ajax, i don't— ahh, think that's what no nut november is about,"

you really do not have to tell childe— and the salacious thoughts he had about breaking the little bet between you was clinging on to his brain ever so vividly, until he simply could not resist himself and split your thighs underneath him the second he stepped home, pressing his slender fingers into the flesh of your ass as he moves you back and forth on his length, the hot breathes he expelled going hand in hand with each new thrust controlling your frame, his heaves fanning against your skin as his delicious traces invade your psyche and cloud your mind.

"you wouldn't say?" there was a curve in his voice, one that made his sentence sound all the more mischievous and deadly as childe clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

you know you're done for when his hips suddenly pick up on pace, as if he wanted, no, needed to show you that he was very much aware that he was breaking the rules of such silly little bet, every massive shove amplified by the enduring limbs in his muscular frame, your inflamed pussy squelches loudly with the wet smacks of his hips giving you no time to rest.

you whimper, if you can even call it that because in truth, it was a desperate attempt of a pathetic little sob, your glasslike eyes beclouded with deep-rooted bliss— and ugh, the harbinger was just absolutely intoxicating, it's totally unfair! and you were reacting just the way he wanted you to as you found yourself to indulge in his maddening fragrance penetrating your tottering skin, your nose buried into his neck as you inhale it deeper, sneakily teasing your fingers into his silken hair.

it only needed a couple more thrusts before you unravel underneath his looming shade at the same time as the tightened bubble in childe's stomach snapped in two, thick and heavy whites causing havoc inside of your pussy when you feel his tongue push into your mouth as to drink in your filthy moans, swallow the desperate attempts to signalize just how fucking good he felt when he pushes his load all into your little cunt to keep it there, the delicious pleasure on your lower area weighing you down the bed as you're nothing but a tremble left, your hole tensing every so often before he pulls out to watch the sweet mess he made on you.

— ꒰ WRIOTHESLEY ꒱

a flavorful multitude of skilled touches deeply dwell inside of your swelling sensitivity— with one trace in particular that sought out to reach the deepest parts of your responsive nerves.

wriothesley turns the air in the room heavy within the period of a single heart beat as he presses into your hole, the lewd squelches of wetness slapping against each other overcrowding the room as he fucks you with his weighty cock— a thin sparkle of sweat persisting over his chiseled chest as you squeeze roughly at his shaft, sending him deeper into you.

but wriothesley needed more, he had to make it somehow messier than it already was— because careful now and listen close, but the duke had found your overly irritating talk about being so dear confident about going a whole fucking month without doing this a little bit insulting, in fact, have you already forgotten what kind of emotions he was able to awake within you with nothing but his cock fucking you filthily until your thighs tremble on either side of him?

now, your bodies were sticked up together, the scent of lewd sex hanging in the air and mixed with the glazing scent of cologne and sweaty musk enticing the duke to fuck you harder, his once precise thrusts developing into sloppy and desperate movements, your skin practically on fire when he races through your walls with each squeeze of your cunt knocking the air from his lungs.

your fingers slide through his matted hair, your body lost between the pressure of his thick shaft dragging along your sensitivity as your arousal smeared all over his base, drenching the sheets below as he feels his balls tighten, he's so close, his body suddenly even heavier against your own as he slants himself forward, your erected nipples rubbing across his chiseled chest when he pins you down at once, leaning into you until merely a hairbreadth away.

"isn't this so much better, hm?"

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[messylustt]

kissing drabble based on this writing prompt request

your fingers tightened around your mission report as you made your way into miguel’s office. as always he’s stood, busy swiping and tapping at the multiple screens, different lights reflecting onto his monotoned face.

“uh, miguel?” you call. your sweet tone has his ears perking up as if he’s some dog. like always a scowl sets on his face at his own reaction to you. “mission report.” you slightly hold up the file in your hand as he finally turns his head to look at you.

cold. that’s all you feel and that’s all you see in his expression. maybe if you looked close enough, dared to actually look him in the eyes you’d see something far from a considered ‘chilling’ word. he lets his body drop down in front of you, grabbing the report.

“did you catch him?” miguel asks, briefly flipping through the papers. “i think i’d be pretty ballsy coming in here if i didn’t” you lightly chuckle.

miguel glances up his expression not having shifted as you press your lips together, quieting yourself. “yes, he’s all locked up”

“good. lyla.” he calls, the bubbly ai appearing by his shoulder “add this to the reports”

she mockingly salutes, earning your lips to quirk up a fraction, before she disappears with your report. “any troubles?” miguel’s almost strict undertone, makes your almost smile fall.

“none that needs accounting for.” there had been a small incident where the anomaly had gotten a hold of your wrist watch. it’s now partially smashed, and in the hands of hobie. you didn’t think you had the best of luck when it came to miguel so you decided it best to let hobie try and fix it before alerting miguel of your mistake.

“hm.” miguel hums, his gaze darting. what you didn’t know was that miguel couldn’t help but let every detail of you sink in. every time he saw you his eyes traced the same path. and when his gaze trailed along your wrist he paused. “where’s your wrist watch?”

you look down at your bare wrist. “oh, i just took it off. got a bit…irritating.” miguel’s eyes narrow as you try not to visibly gulp. “so, uh, if that’s all…” you go to step back, but miguel’s hand reaches out, his fingers wrapping around your wrist, simultaneously pulling you back (even closer than before), as his hand brings your wrist up to his face.

you slightly stiffen at the contact, brows furrowing. miguel brushes a claw over your wrist earning your muscles to twitch. he takes note of this. and drawing back your suit he’s presented with a discoloured bruise, wrapped around your arm in a circle. “what’s this?”

“normal…anomaly catching…injuries.” you say, your tone attempting to sound convincing. miguel’s claw brushes back along your wrist, his gaze now narrowed.

“it’s where your wrist watch was.” miguel states.

“as i said, it was getting irritating.” you subtly try to pull your hand back, but miguel’s grip is strong and strangely persistent.

“you lost it.” miguel remarks.

you scoff. “no i didn’t lose it.”

then miguel clocks on. “you broke it.”

“alright well — i didn’t break it.” as if that would change much. miguel met your gaze with a slight raise to his brow, as you sigh. “i didn’t mean for him to get to it. i just got too…close. and then he was grabbing my wrist. broken wrist watch, bruised skin, so on.” you mutter. “but it’s handled.”

“handled?” he still hasn’t let your wrist go.

“yeah, it’s getting fixed. and it’ll be as good as new soon.” you remark standing a little straighter.

miguel’s gaze hasn’t shifted from your eyes, his focus a little too intense. “why were you so close?”

“sorry?”

“the anomaly. why’d you need to be that close?” miguel elaborates.

“oh, well…uh…we needed a distraction.” you mutter out, not meeting his gaze. “so, that the other spiders could get all this guys gadgets and stuff. so he’d be weaponless.”

“and?” miguel pushes.

“and…i seemed to be voted the best candidate.”

“to do what, exactly?” everything about miguel hasn’t wavered.

you slightly nibble on your lower lip, actually a fraction embarrassed by this. “just to, you know…flirt…a little bit.” you instantly wince as miguel’s grip on your wrist tightened.

“i’m sorry?” he remarks, coldly.

“as a distraction. it surprising worked…for a bit. before he clocked on when I leant away and — ”

“leant away?” for the first time you can actually catch a proper emotion in miguel’s tone. “how close were you, y/n?”

your tongue brushes along your teeth. “like…” you demonstrate by lifting your hand in front of your face, and slowly closing the distance.

as miguel watches just how close you had gotten, his jaw clenches. “so, you’re telling me that in order for you to catch this anomaly you brought him this close…” miguel provides his own demonstration, pulling you in by your wrist as you slightly stumble into him, your faces inches apart, making your breathing hitch. “is that right?”

you slowly nod. “we catch dangerous anomalies, not flirt with them.” he says.

“it was only so that we could catch him.” you say a little too quietly as your breath hits miguel’s face. “right.” he mutters, his tongue dragging along the roof of his mouth, clearly agitated.

“and what was your plan after the flirting? i mean if you got this close, i’m sure you would have had a plan.” miguel’s tone is dripping with mocking as he tries not to snarl out the words.

you assume that he’s pissed because it undermines what the spider society is made for. when in reality, miguel just doesn’t want a man to be close to you. “you aren’t stupid, y/n. usually this kinda distance…means something.”

you’ve noticed the change in your breathing, as you stare at miguel. if you leant the smallest fraction forward your lips would be touching his. “so, is that what you planned? to kiss him?”

you can’t help but feel flushed at his words, your embarrassment clear. “of course not.”

“you said you leant away.” he begins to lean forward, your lips parting a fraction as your mouth salivates. “is that right?”

you quickly nod. “he’s an anomaly. i wouldn’t have just…kissed him.”

“mhm.” but miguel isn’t stopping, his lips now slightly parted in front of yours. “just because he was an anomaly?”

your silence makes miguel’s grip shift to your back, forcing you to arch into him, as a small misstep of breath leaves your lips. you’re now extremely close. “no.” he answers for you. miguel doesn’t know how he’s gotten you this close, but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to step back.

“you wouldn’t have kissed him because you don’t like him.” he speaks slowly, almost telling you that that’s how your answer should be. “you don’t like anyone right?” his claw has shifted from your wrist to a small strand of your hair. he’s now too far gone.

“what?” your eyes are fluttering as you stare at miguel, still inches away.

“i'll admit...you're peeking my interest....and that's not good…” he mutters out, half speaking to you half getting it off his chest.

you’re in shock, miguel’s lips now faintly brushing yours, mouth open. “not good at all…”

but before he can finally close the distance a loud bang resonates around the room, from what sounds to be the opening of a door. you immediately manage to shove miguel away, fixing yourself. you tried your best not to look flustered as peter emerges. “hey, miguel — oh, hey, y/n.” peter smiles, oblivious to your heaving chest and miguel’s deathly glare.

[killsaki]

implode — there’s only so many feelings one can hold in, especially with bakugou blood in their veins.

bakugou katsuki x little sister!reader

6.7k | minors dni | read on ao3

cw / tw : incest, drugging, hinted noncon gangbang, scummy!denki+sero+kiri, aphrodisiac, weed, alcohol, fingering, creampie, reader calls bkg ‘bubba’.

is it hard being the sibling of a prohero?

of course! they disappear for days to weeks at a time—leaving for training, meetings, press events, and then for missions. you go from having them all to yourself, to sharing them with the world. from being their number one fan, to merely feeling like one amongst a million. and there’s so many things to worry about, from them going to work and never coming home, to a villain coming after you out of spite of being captured by said sibling.

those all sound logical answers to the question, normal ones. hence why you’ve practiced saying them so many times in case anyone ever asks.

but, truly, you knew most of those were things you’d never have to worry about. not when you’re the younger sister of none other than bakugou katsuki.

your brother being, well.. himself, was enough to keep any thoughts of danger from your mind. he was too fast, too strong, too skilled, too protective for anything to ever happen to either of you. but this peace of mind only gives room for you to dwell on other things.

like the social media ‘famous’ girls who just don’t shut up about how hot your brother is—which shouldn’t bother you so much, not in the stomach churning, phone gripping way that it does. and you could blame your intense reactions on the fact that you have to see it literally every time you try to scroll down your timeline, or that it’s just weird that your brother is suddenly getting so much attention.. but that's less believable than the first excuse to you.

and then there’s the out of context candids posted in tabloids of him saving civilians, who understandably look at him so longingly, and then there’s a picture painted of him as some kind of bachelor. to make matters worse, said online articles become almost impossible to escape no matter how much you try—partially thanks to your old school ‘friends’ sending them to you asking for all the details to share with their group chats, as if you’d tell them.

to top everything off, your brother, as doting as he is, never has time for you anymore. despite how you live with him, have your own room and bath in his unnecessarily large condo, and even have a card to his bank account for anything you could possibly need—still, you rarely see him. he’s so consumed in his work, from partols to missions, and when he’s not on the clock he’s forced to do press and modeling for whatever goodies they want to slap his picture onto.

and you could never hold that against him, not when he’s been working towards this his whole life. but still, having just a moment with him could cure all the thoughts that hang heavy in your mind daily. just a second to be reminded that your brother is yours, all alone. that you’re the only little sister he’ll ever have, the only girl he’ll ever need.

luckily for you, a day comes that your brother gets a day's break—more like he’s forced into a vacation as he never takes any days off. and he’s able to lounge about, meaning that he’s sitting on the couch in sweats and bouncing his leg waiting for someone to call his phone saying he can finally come to work as if being away from it was excruciating. you could giggle at the thought, what person besides katsuki would rather be out fighting petty criminals than relaxing on their own couch.

“did you hear me?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed slightly as he looks over at you.

you shake your head, too caught up in your thoughts to realize he was even speaking to you.

“the guys want me to go over for a bit. i won’t be gone long.” he repeats before turning back to his phone screen as he finishes typing.

your heart jumps into your throat. tonight was exactly what you’d been longing for, time with just the two of you, so you could reassure yourself the importance of the role you have in his life. so that you could have katsuki all to yourself. so that you could pretend for just a little while, that he’s just your brother again, not the hero you have to share with the world.

“i wanna go too.” you spit without thought.

he shoots you another look, lifting a brow as he blinks at you. “i want to come hang out too.” you say again as you chew at your lip, unable to back out of the situation your loud mouth has already gotten you into.

“no.” he replies back coldly, pushing himself from the couch before stretching his arms up, revealing the bottom of his toned stomach as he does so. “there’s going to be a lot of people, and drinking.” he looks at you out of the corner of his eyes before mumbling on. “and denki’s gonna be there.”

you snap your gaze up to him in confusion about the mention of a certain friend of his. but, he doesn’t let you get any questions out, heading off towards his room to get ready to leave. you pad right behind him, arms crossed while you walk, letting out huffs every few minutes just to remind him how you’re not going to give up. you sit on his bed as he collects an outfit to wear and little things he needs for a shower, noticing how he avoids making any glances in your direction.

it’s not until he’s already fully showered and starting to dress himself that he cracks, groaning as he looks at you.

“go fuckin’ get dressed.” he orders with out any actual malice in his tone. “once i get in the car, i’m leaving.”

your brother is many things, but a liar is not one.

so, you race to your room, tearing into your dresser to slip into that one outfit you’d been holding onto, hoping to wear the next time you’d gotten the chance to go on an outing with katsuki. though, you’d pictured something with more room for alone time, you suppose it would work at a party with his old friends too.

you’d just finished touching up what you need in the mirror as you hear his car engine start up, giving you only seconds to force yourself into your shoes and jog out to his car.

“you stay by my side until we leave.” he looks over at you, while you reach over your shoulder for the seatbelt, his crimson eyes squinted warningly. “i mean it.”

he didn’t mean it.

it’s not even half an hour after you arrive, barely finished shoving your way through the sweaty bodies crowded in someone’s living space, hardly enough time enough to adjust your ears to the shitty music and screams of laughter—something catches your brother's eye, to which he leaves you in the hands of his old classmate. ‘be back in a minute’, he says, pushing you into the red head’s side. but it’s not a minute, it’s been thirty and you haven’t managed to spot the blonde mess of a head, not even from your seat on the kitchen’s counter over the crowd merely feet away.

“what’s wrong?” kirishima raises his eyebrows slightly at you from behind his solo cup.

“just expected to be with kats’,” you huff, fingers twiddling with the end of your skirt. “kinda the only reason i came.”

he nods, glancing down into his drink before peering over his shoulder.

“want a sip?”

you know that you shouldn’t, how mad your brother will get at the both of you if he shows up to find you wasted and slung over his best friend.

“it’ll help you relax, at least until he gets back. i won’t let you drink too much, i promise.”

you can’t resist the small smile he gives. he’s so warm, safe. being with him is almost the same as being with katsuki, almost.

one sip turns into two cups, and suddenly it’s not just you and eijiro anymore. sero and denki showed up somewhere along the way. but, it’s fine, you think. they’re heroes alongside your brother, and they’ve known him long enough to know any better. only, in your slurred thoughts, that voice in the back of your mind starts to hope otherwise.

they’re all undoubtedly handsome, the three of them much taller than you despite the height difference amongst themselves, and all so strong. there’s sero with his shaggy black hair, signature grin and pretty ring clad fingers that grip the cup he’d been babysitting since he’d walked over. denki and his pretty pink lips he never stops running his tongue over, his slightly whiney voice and golden eyes that just get so much deeper when he looks at you. and then of course, kirishima, who’s just so unreasonably big, length and width—wait, that's… not the right words. but now you wonder—

“what are you smiling about?” the blonde asks from where he’s propped on the kitchen’s island across from you.

you shake your head, biting your lips when you realize how caught up in your thoughts you let yourself get with them still right in front of you.

“i was just thinking.” you let out, trying to look anywhere but at kirishima.

“thinking about?” the voice pipes in from beside you, resting his head on your arm as he leans back to look up at you. your heart races a bit when you can physically feel how close he’s gotten to you without you realizing.

“yeah, you’ve been so quiet. not really living up to the bakugou name.” sero shakes his head with fake disapproval.

“my brother’s not that loud.” you giggle, knowing it's a lie before it even hits your tongue. “i was just thinking about how i never see you guys, you’re so different than you were when i met you back at the graduation.” you sigh. “he never lets me go out with him when you guys invite him.”

you miss the look that hanta and kaminari share, how the corners of the blonde's mouth perk up for a split second before he paints on a confused expression.

“when do we invite him out?” he asks, tilting his head slightly when you look up at him.

you nearly mimic the movement when you register his words.

“always?..” you ask, but glancing at the dark haired man and the red head who share the same confused expression, you don't need an answer. “but he… i’m so confused.”

you can only blink, staring at the black side of the fridge, thinking back on the rare nights that he gets off with enough time to do anything besides shower and sleep. how he’d knock on your door, letting you know he was running over to one of ‘the guys’ house before it got too late. he was never gone too terribly long, but that’s just how your brother is. you always thought he literally only went to say hi and came home—wanting to get enough sleep for another full day of hero work. that’s the only thing that made any sense.

“hey, don’t worry about it.” kirishima’s large hand has somehow found its way to rub soothingly at your side, arm now wrapped behind your back.

“i’m sure he could’ve meant midoriya or something.” denki still wears a straight face, speaking with faulty concern.

sero stays quiet while he pulls out his phone, scrolling through something and finally starting to sip out of his cup.

“i should go try to find him.” you go to slide off the counter when denki speaks up again.

“i think you should stay with us.”

the words send a gut wrenching feeling to your core, your body screams to get away, but you fight it.

“why?” you dumbly ask, the smallest bit of curiosity keeping you.

“your brother’s busy.” he shrugs, bumping sero’s shoulder with his own.

the long fingers you were admiring minutes ago faint against yours as he hands you his phone, the screen showing a man you recognize unmistakingly as your brother, dressed in the outfit he’d worn tonight. his arm snug around some girl's lower back, ducked down with his mouth to her ear, the camera’s quality is shitty but even so, you can still see the way their bodies are pressed together. you feel your heart sink, though, you’re not entirely sure why.

you let yourself get slotted back into kirishima’s side, finding a sense of comfort in the weight of his arm around your shoulder as they walk you to the glass doors at the back of the house.

“don’t looked so bummed little baku’!” denki shoots you a grin. “we’ll keep you entertained for the night.”

the air is warm outside, not helping to cool your cheeks that are still hot from the alcohol. the four of you end up sitting on some cushioned benches near the middle of the yard, surrounded by small bushes. it’s much nicer than being inside, but you’re not entirely sure why they brought you out here. not until sero pulls out something rolled and a lighter. you watch as he puts it between his lips, lighting the end and inhaling til the end burns red without the flame. you forget to look away whenever he exhales, giving him the chance to catch you watching him.

“you want to hit it?” his voice suddenly sounds like silk, acting like ties as it’s doing everything to pull you in despite the way your nerves are still screaming at you.

“i’ve never smoked before.” you laugh awkwardly. “my brother would kill me.”

he flashes that big toothy grin, shaking his head for the who-knows-what time that night and you know you’re in for it whenever you see your brother again. but just for this second, you think it’ll be okay.. if he’s busy with some girl when he told you he’d be by your side for the night, then you can have fun with his cute friends.

“he doesn’t have to know.” sero pulls you back to the moment in front of you. “come here, i’ll teach you.”

you’re moving without thinking, giggling again at the way he shoo’s denki from beside him so that you can sit. he teaches you how to breathe it in easily, but how not to take too much. and you do exactly as he says, letting him put it on your lips, you pull in a slow but shallow drag. holding it until he tells you to let it out.

“good girl.” hanta smirks, the warmth of his hand holding your jaw as he moves the damp paper back to your mouth. “now do it again, just like that.”

you listen, thinking nothing of it. thinking nothing at all, actually. you can’t. the flood of warmth lingering in your veins from those drinks that you’re just realising were much stronger than you thought and the clouds now fogging your consciousness, too much to form any kind of thought.

“here, try this.” you hear from the side- no, in front of you. denki’s leaned over with a diamond shaped candy on his palm.

you hesitate, but not able to talk, body already working overtime to remember how to breathe properly.

“it’ll just make you feel good, i just took one too.” he reassures, gesturing again for you to grab it. if you could feel your body right now, you’d feel every single inch of it aching to run. you’d feel that same feeling in your stomach as it started to churn. maybe you would’ve listened this time. but instead all you can feel is the race in your chest as you eye the light blue against his pale skin.

“c’mon.” kirishima’s showing off his sharp teeth with how wide he’s grinning, trying his hardest to be just as reassuring as he was to get you to drink with him a while ago. “we’re your brother's best friends, you know we wouldn’t let anything happen to you.. even if he is busy.

you take another deep breath, nodding. right. katsuki wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

“let me.” denki’s suddenly standing over you, candy- pill pinched between his fingers, a grin just as big plastered on his face. “open up.”

you miss the devilish intent hiding behind those smiling faces. you miss the almost telepathic conversation they all have in the glances they share as you flutter your pretty eyes closed, letting your tongue fall out for denki to drop the pill on. it hits your taste, dissolving almost immediately. you swallow the bitter grainy bits, grimacing as you only have your spit to get it down with.

“give it just a few minutes.” the blonde speaks again, much more eagerly this time. which should alert you, all of this should.

you could blame it on the alcohol you have a low tolerance for, on the weed you’ve never smoked, on the fact you trust anyone who attaches their name to your brothers. but really, it’s because you’re dumb. you don’t think anything bad can ever happen to you. not like this. not when your brother is so close.

“it’s kinda warm out here.” you mumble, shifting uncomfortably on the padding. you feel the heat across your cheeks and down your neck, skipping to your stomach that warms slowly, trickling down between your legs and across your thighs. “think i want some water.”

you slowly push yourself to stand, body feeling heavy as you move. you don’t catch how they all follow right behind you, until sero—no, denki’s arm slinks its way around your waist as you walk. he pulls you away from the path back to the glass door and towards the gate in the big wooden fence.

“it’s too hot in there.” he tugs you again when you weakly attempt to pull away. “kirishima’s place isn’t too far from here. we can just hang out there while you cool off.”

you shake your head, mind racing to how badly you just want something to drink, and to be with katsuki. mentally cursing out the stupid girl in that picture for taking your brother away from you, for stealing his attention when you’re the one who needs it. and you curse yourself, for not listening to his warning when he said denki would be here.

“denki.” you drag your feet, doing anything to attempt a fight against the push of his much stronger hands. “what was that? the…” it’s hard to think, even harder to push those thoughts into words and say them aloud “the pill. what’d you give me?”

“i told you,” he smirks, glancing behind you and nodding one of the men over. “it’s just to make everything feel better.” stepping aside, kirishima’s heavy arm replaces denki’s, locking you under it and forcing you forward. your heart races at all the implications that could have. you don’t even notice you’re shaking until he wraps his other arm around you, bending his head down to graze the shell of your ear, whispering into it

“it’ll make things easier,” something about his tone makes you want to vomit. “just don’t think about it, pretty.”

“don’t get too friendly, dude, i’m the one who set this up.” denki bites, pulling his keys out as the four of you near a car. “there’s no way you get first.”

sero snickers again, sighing as kiri opens his mouth to snide back about how he’s been waiting two years and that you should at least get to pick that much. you can’t really make it out anymore, all you can hear is your own heartbeat banging in your ears.

you try and struggle out of his hold, which only makes them all laugh in turn and your heart falls into your stomach. you’re with pro heroes, if anything bad is going to happen to you here, at their hands, there's no way you’re going to fight your way out of it.

sero’s fingers wrap around the handle of the car’s back door when the voice booms out your name down the small hill the house is sitting on.

you can physically feel kirishima tense up and his heart start to race, you can hear the way sero and denki stop breathing in unison. you can even picture the way they all freeze without having to look, you can imagine the absolute fear in their face as they stand there, gaping at your brother.

his red eyes dig into you before taking a second to glance at the men around you.

“why do you look so fucked up?” he barks out, brows furrowing deeper with each step he takes towards you. “where the fuck were you guys about to go?”

he’s eyeing kirishima now, tugging you by your wrist out of the red head’s hold and into his own, gripping you as if he lets go, you'll get stolen away.

“she said it was hot in there.” kirishima shrugs awkwardly, face stiff.

“and who the fuck said you could take her anywhere?” bakugou tilts his head face twisted dumbfoundedly at the boldness his old friend suddenly seems to have.

“my place is just up the street she wanted to—“

“and why the fuck do you have her around denki?” you can feel bakugou’s skin grow hotter to the touch with each word he spits. or maybe it's you that’s getting hotter. god, it’s fucking hot.

“i didn’t drive.” he shrugs again, breaking eye contact to look over at the other blonde.

“she’s not a baby bakugou, she can be around whoever she wants.” kaminiari says smugly, like the idiot he is.

“i’ll kill you.” your brother doesn’t hesitate with this threat, and it wipes the smile off denki’s, raising his hands slightly in defence.

you use the hold he has on you to wrap your arm around his, feeling a great sense of relief pressed against him.

“he didn’t touch you did he?” katsuki’s voice is still gruff when he talks down to you, but you don’t mind it.

you know that he did technically touch you, but not enough to hurt anything. and if you answer truthfully it’ll just drag this out even longer, and all you want is to be wrapped around him. so, you shake your head, and you hope he doesn’t hear the way they all sigh in relief.

your brother doesn’t say anything else, just pulls you away towards where he’d parked. the second he turns around, you peek back at the men. kirishima has his head tossed back, hand over his chest as he takes in a deep breath, sero, leaned against the car shoulders shaking with laughter while denki curses and slams the driver side door shut.

“i’m hot katsu’” you whine when he unlocks the door for you.

“how much did he let you drink?” he scoffs, leaning across you and buckling your seatbelt for you as if you’re unable.

you huff, watching his strong arms reach over your body. his warm chest coming down to press into yours, that you find is so sensitive. so much so that a small whine escapes your throat before you’re able to register it he’s already pulled back looking down at you. one hand on the top of the car as he leans over, eyebrows pinched together.

“‘m just hot, bubba.” you assure, face burning in embarrassment and whatever else was setting your body on fire.

he immediately blasts the AC as soon as the car is on, and in the second that it satiates the burning under your skin, you remember.

“who was the girl?” you question, voice somewhere between shaking and slurring. you shouldn’t be asking, there’s no reason for you to do this right now—or at all. “the one you left me to go see.”

katsuki just stares ahead for a second before his jaw tightens.

“and where did you see me with a girl?” he asks blankly, like he already knows the answer.

“sero had a picture. they said you were busy, that’s why i stayed with them.” you answer truthfully, hoping he’d driven far enough to not want to turn back.

“i didn’t know her, sero at introduced us.” he scoffs, scowl resting on his face as he keeps his eyes focused on the drive.

the heat begins to dig into you again, the cool blow the ac’s aid only a temporary fix.

“why? why didn’t you come look for me? text me?” he asks, his short fuse burning already.

“you were busy.” you reply shortly, too focused on the ache going on in your lower half.

“and? if i knew that shit face was going to try fucking with you we would’ve left as soon as we got there.” he shakes his head, voice raising only slightly.

“you were with a girl, katsu! i didn’t want to interrupt.” you throw your head back against the cool leather, smoothing your hands out over your skirt, across the tops of your thighs as if that would help.

“you’re my little sister, that’s completely different.” he scrunches his face up as he glances between you and the road, the same thing he does anytime anyone says something he thinks is the slightest bit dumb.

“is it?” you ask.

“yes.” he snaps back. 

“so if i wasn’t your little sister, you wouldn’t care?” you mumble, shifting at the warmth you feel start to spill into your panties. “or if i wouldn’t have come with you tonight, would you have left with her?”

he sighs, exasperated.

“what the fuck are you saying right now?” he keeps glancing at you, rushing a reply.

“why did you leave me to go see her?” you groan. “why didn’t you stay with me? why didn’t you wanna just be at home with me?”

he only gets your name and a curse out before you cut him off, the heat itching at you becoming too much.

“katsu’ ‘m so hot.” you mewl, raking your hands down your body, reveling in the momentary coolness under your own touch. you can feel the way he stiffens slightly next to you, but the previous tension is out the window, almost forgotten.

“i have the ac on.” he states, keeping his eyes on the road as you near the building the two of you call home.

“it’s inside katsu, ‘m hot on the inside.”

he stops the car with a jerk in the middle of the parking lot, snapping his head over towards you.

“what did they give you?” his question is sharp, voice filled with anger once again.

“denki gave me candy—no, a pill.” you toss your head side to side, thighs rubbing together mindlessly. “to make me ‘feel good’—make everything, no—something feel good that’s what they said, but i just hurt.”

you can hear death threats spill out his mouth as he watches you squirm in the seat.

“i’ll take you to the hospital.” he mutters, putting a hand on the shoulder of your seat to look behind him as starts to back out.

“no!” you whine, grabbing his hand and pulling it to your lap. “i don’t want doctors touching me.”

he keeps his eyes on you as you put his palm against your inner thigh, watching how you keen against the seat when his skin touches yours.

“want you to help me, bubba, please.” he pulls his hand from you, face contorted with.. something before he’s rubbing his palms over his face and pulling at his hair. you realize what you just asked and for the umpteenth time tonight, your heart sinks. but this time you're sure that if you stood, it’d be sitting on the seat underneath you.

“i’m—katsuki, i’m sorry.” you start to babble out apology after apology, which soon all runs together and becomes broken as you tear up, voice cracking every other word.

the blond throws his head back, hard. quickly changing gear and moving his car into a private parking spot. you’re still crying when he pulls your wrist, strength easily shifting you over the middle console of his car and into his lap.

“tell me that you need my help.” he blinks up at you, holding your waist just above his lap. 

you nod, hoping it’ll suffice, but it doesn’t.

“i need you to help me, katsu—no one else can.” he drops you onto his lap, fingertips digging into the softness of your sides. “please, make it better.” you breathe, shakily. 

he uses his hold to drag you across his lap, the friction making you drop your head onto his shoulder. pleasure shooting up your spine, small whines of his name getting lost in his neck as he keeps grinding you down onto him until your thighs start to shake, your moans turn into breathless whines and you’re crumbling against him as you make a mess all over his jeans…

the two of you sit in panting silence for a few minutes before he tells you to move, that you need a shower. and like you always do, you listen. following him inside and discarding your clothes from your still buzzing body in silence. but as soon as the showers water hits you, you’re burning again. the ache between your legs coming back stronger than before, the burn in your stomach twice as hot and the need is too much.

you don’t hesitate to make your way right back to his room, body still nude and dripping all over the floors as you do. but you don’t care—your brain and body only knows one thing right now and it’s that you need your brother.

“what are you doing?” he strains, turning his head back towards the drawer he was sorting through as soon as he takes in your naked body standing at his doorway.

“i still hurt, katsu.” you whisper, not caring if he heard you or not. just wanting him to give you more than what he gave earlier.

“i already helped.” you can hear pain in his voice and it makes you want to cry. you wish you didn’t put him in such a position, that you would’ve just been grateful and stayed home—but you need him, it’s all your mind and body can tell you, you need him.

“help again.” you practically demand, craving him too badly to be embarrassed or think much at all about what you were doing. your hands land on his shoulders and pull yourself up to kiss at his neck trying to entice him.

“i can’t.” he groans low, but doesn’t attempt to push you away, letting you drag your lips across all the skin you can reach.

you don’t say anything else, not until you manage to pull him down by his hair to look at you.

“make it better.. like you always do.”

it’s the pebble that cracks the glass, his hands grip your waist and all but throw you onto his mattress. you only have a moment to gasp before he’s hovering over you.

“say it again.” he commands, voice rough as one of his hands makes its way to the apex of your thighs. your eyes flutter at the vibration of his words against your chest, the knot in your stomach already tying itself.

“make me feel better, bubba, please.”

there was a reason behind why he’s left the condo the few times that he does get to sit in the house, a reason why he doesn’t want to be alone with you for too long. it’s not that he doesn’t have any restraint, but he’s known thatif something ever happened, where the little sister that has always been the exception his selfish attitude asked him to do anything like this—even without whatever the fuck it was that denki gave you—he’d do it.

he drags a heavy finger along your slit, up to your still swollen clit making you gasp against his lips as they ghost your own. he teases only for a second, not able to bare you being in pain when he’s there to do something about it, just like he’s always been. he uses your excessive slick to rub harsh circles over your clit, it sends your eyes rolling back, it’s so much more practiced than the pathetic frottage he pulled in the car.

“need more, katsu, please.” you push your hips into his hand with the little bit of strength you have, desperate for as much as he’ll give you.

he drops his forehead to your shoulder this time, looking down as he moves his fingertips to your entrance, pushing two in without warning. he immediately works away with them, curling into your swollen, most sensitive wall and fucking into you with a strength that could only be possessed by such a high ranking pro hero. your wetness sticks to his knuckles with every pull before it squelches obscenely loud when he pushes back in.

“kiss me, katsu.” you whine.

he brings his lips back to yours, red eyes flickering between both of your eyes for a moment, waiting for you to take it back. you don’t, instead, sliding your hands from where they sat on his shoulders up to twist into his hair.

“you can pretend ‘m someone else… just please kiss me.” his fingers pause their movement for a moment, and he pulls away. you start to whine, from the loss and out of fear you’d said something wrong again.

“why would you say that?” you trip over any word that hits your tongue. but you don’t need to speak, he does it for you. “i don’t need to do that,” his fingers pick their pace back up, drawing wonton moans from you that you wouldn’t be able to bite back if you tried. “not when i’ve always pretended everyone else was you.” he admits.

your heart leaps in your chest just as he presses his mouth into yours, the kiss is littered with teeth and spit—but neither of you can find a reason to care.

the familiar feeling starts to coil in your stomach, your hips moving on their own down on his hand to chase the feeling of ecstasy but it never comes, you cry out as the pressure fades.

“more.” you cry softly against his lips, keeping your eyes screwed shut so you don’t have to face any look that he might give you. “‘need you.”

but, he complies, tugging himself out of the sweats he’d thrown on after his shower and kicking them off to be dealt with later. he doesn’t waste any time teasing, rushing to give you what you want—what you need, to make his pretty little sister feel good the way he’s been cursing his brain for imaging for the longest time.

he lines the thick head of him up with your already stretched hole, dropping back down to your lips as he eases in. the pop of the head of him pulls a gasp from the both of you, but he doesn’t give you time to adjust to it, knowing with how you’ve been aching to be filled all night that you can handle the stretch. which is exactly what he gives you, his fingers were nothing in comparison to the girth of his cock.

it stings, making your eyes tear up, and drags whine after whine from your throat. katsuki catches them in his mouth, swallowing them and shushing you while he continues to push in until he’s at the hilt. you babble out senseless ‘thank you’s while he pulls back slightly, never separating your hips and his own by too much. his hips make a circular motion, grinding back into you slowly, pushing the trimmed light colored pubes at the base of him against your ever throbbing clit and making you squeal from the pleasure of it.

he repeats it over and over, curved length of him dragging along your g-spot until youre twitching, your mouth hangs open, sounds falling against his lips as he drinks all of them in. your hips rise every few strokes trying to meet him, to egg him on to go harder, to give you more without having to ask for it, but he just wont. keeping his slow, sensual pace, as if he was fucking you at his own leisure and not because you basically forced yourself onto him

“love you, bubba.” you whisper drunkenly, lips dragging across his soft ones as you speak.

his hips stutter at your words, strong arms move from holding himself over you to grabbing the underside of your knees and pulling them slightly, wrapping your legs around him. “ah- my katsu.”

“keep telling me.” he grunts, sliding his hand down to your waist where your thighs fold over them. “tell me i’m yours, say that you’re mine.”

he finally picks up his antagonizing pace, hips still swirling into yours, pubic hair scratching against your bud with each push. the head of him presses deep against that spongey spot with each sway, heavy balls sticking to your leaked juices as you chant out the i love you’s like a mantra, like it’s the only meaningful thing that you’ve ever said. it’s not long before your legs start to shake, his cock hitting all of the right nerves in your throbbing cunt.

“don’t stop.” he repeats when your mouth drops wide open, orgasm creeping up on you.

“mine! you’re mine!” you cry as your vision turns white and your walls spasm around him. “‘m yours, all yours, bubba.” you whimper as the ache in your cunt becomes the pain of overstimulation.

your words and the steady throb of your clamping cunt ultimately bringing him to his end with you. you feel the heat simmer down as he fills you, warmth spilling out even as his cock still plugs you. and you couldn’t be more thankful for denki being such a scumbag.

you don’t have enough strength to stay awake past that, all of your energy left with the last orgasm. at some point you wake up, you’re clean between your thighs and cuddled up on your brother's warm chest. you shift only an inch and you could feel him jump awake to pull you closer, leaving a kiss on the top of your head before you drift back to sleep with small smiles on both of your faces—happy to be your brother’s girl.

a / n : obligatory bkgs little sis tag : @vampireloverz <33 thank you stevie for inspiring me to write this in first place!!!! +++ happy birthday to The Guy !!!

reblogs + feedback appreciated !

[annwrites]

eating from your hand ♛. • . 

— pairing: larys strong x (legitimized) BastardTargaryenFem!Reader

— type: one-shot

— summary: during rhaenyra's betrothal celebration, larys & rhaenyra's elder sister share a small moment

— tags: fluff, mutual pining, angst

— word count: 1,024

You scan the crowded room, desperate for an escape. But it's all too much—the music, the dancing, the people, the strong scents of food and perfume, the obnoxious man at your back, still trying to vie as a candidate for your hand—you feel far too overwhelmed to concentrate. Until your eyes finally land upon Larys—who's standing across the room, his eyes already focused on you—gesturing for you to come to him.

You turn back to Lord Jason one final time, interrupting his speech about gold and castles—or perhaps it was golden castles, as if all you could possibly care about is wealth—and force a smile. “Thank you for your offer, Lord Jason, once again. But I'd like to spend the remainder of my evening in the company of friends. I hope you enjoy the rest of yours.”

Before he can say anything further—can wrap his arm around your waist—you're already forcing your way through a throng of people.

When the crowd finally breaks—dance partners separating for just a moment as the music mellows and then begins to swell again—you move as quickly as possible through them, finally reaching the other side of what has now become a ballroom.

When you finally make it to Larys, you're nearly out of breath, simply from the prospect of having almost been caught in the middle of a buzzing crowd.

He reaches up, cupping your cheek in his palm. “Are you all right?”

You nod. “Thirsty.”

You both sit and Harwin goes to hand you a mug of ale, but Larys shakes his head at him, his expression disapproving. Larys instead hands you a chalice full of water and you drink it down greedily, a few drops sliding down your chin. Larys brushes them away with his thumb.

“Would you like to tell me what that was all about, then?”

Instead of immediately answering, you instead wrap both your arms around his left one and press your forehead against the tip of his shoulder. Your heart is still pounding, so you wait until it has calmed before you bother trying to speak again.

“Do I need to have Harwin break something on Lord Jason?”

You giggle when you hear Harwin's reply. “You know I will.”

You shake your head, gently resting your cheek against Larys' upper arm. “No. He was just proposing.”

He begins to sputter, choking on his wine. Harwin slams his hand against his back, forcing him to finally swallow and then inhale a ragged breath.

“You alright there, little brother?”

Larys nods, fervently.

When he looks at you again, you're staring at him with an alarmed expression. “Are you sure-”

“Just went down the wrong pipe.” He states before taking a sip of water and grimacing.

He faces you then. “He proposed? Was your father aware he was planning this?”

You shake your head. “I...I don't know. Perhaps? It felt more like he was simply making me his second choice. Rhaenyra is to be married in the next few days. She's the one he wanted, but now will never have. So what better way to still get close to the Throne than to...”

You shake your head. Always the second choice. Always an afterthought. Always expected to be submissive and obedient. Perhaps that's why, when he spoke to you, he did so in a way which made it sound as if the matter was already settled. That you already belonged to him.

Did he truly assume you would just agree so easily? Then again, who else would want you?

Rhaenyra. It was always Rhaenyra that men seemed to desire. Never the bastard. Never you. It didn't matter that you were legitimized.

Larys places a finger under your chin, tipping your face until your eyes are looking into his own. "And what did you say?"

There's something within his expression, deep within his eyes—a feeling you can't place. Worry? No, surely not. You're just his friend. He would never...

But, even in spite of that knowledge—that you would never be more to him than just a companion to take the occasional walk with, to sometimes have dinner with—you sit even closer to him, pressing yourself into his side.

"I made sure to mention how I'm his second choice. He tried to assure me otherwise: that I'm the one he's wanted all along, but I'm not quite that gullible. I couldn't get away from him fast enough."

He nods, releasing a breath. "So, you do not wish to marry the Lord Lion?"

You shake your head. "No," you say, barely a whisper.

But you wonder if perhaps you should, anyway. He may be prideful and arrogant, but he would make a good match, nonetheless. You do not wish to spend your life alone. And you wish desperately to one day be a mother. No one else had yet offered their hand to you. This may be your only chance.

You look across the room to where Lord Jason now sits beside his twin. He's handsome, you consider. And they say the West, especially from atop the Rock, is breathtaking. You could find contentment there, with him. Probably...

Rhaenyra had already been difficult enough in your father finding a match for. You do not wish to be the same. If he orders you to wed the Warden of the West, you will do your duty. Which you always resign yourself to.

Larys kisses your hair, then presses his forehead against the side of your head. "What is it, My Love?"

You shake your head and he leans back to look at you. You force a feigned smile. "Nothing."

"You should eat something," he says while handing you a cracker with cheese atop it. You take it from him, popping it into your mouth.

"Good?"

You nod, picking one up and holding it in front of him, smiling as he eats out of your hand. He always makes your heart feel lighter. You decide to think no more of golden lions and second choices tonight. For once, you can live in the moment around you.

[wittlesissyb4by]

The Blowout (New Story)

Prologue:

Linda scratched another name off the list, setting the pen down against the pad with a click and using her now free hand to pinch the bridge of her nose and rub her eyes, letting out a hefty sigh. How was she ever going to find someone? The last few candidates just didn’t feel…right. But who was right for this sort of thing? Perhaps she was reading too much into it. Maybe she needed to just accept the next person that came her way. Male or female. Males could do the job too right? Or maybe she didn’t need anyone at all. She could do this on her own.

She went to the kitchen and poured a glass of iced tea. Kevin was still sleeping upstairs, she could hear his snores from down here. At least that was a small victory.

She made her way back to the foyer and almost dropped her glass.

“Hi.” The beautiful girl said, “Sorry!” She laughed, “I didn’t mean to scare you! But the door was open and I wasn’t sure if I should knock.”

Linda didn’t say anything. Her mouth still hung agape. This girl was absolutely gorgeous. The light through the windows seemed to radiate off her bronze skin, her perfectly manicured nails tossed her blond hair behind her shoulders majestically as she flashed her pearly white teeth.

“I’m uh…here about the ad?” She laughed again. She seemed proud, strong, confident, and not the least bit uncomfortable, she commanded the room. She reached out her hand, “My name is Emily.”

“Oh…uh…right!” Linda stammered, remembering her manners, “Uh, Linda. I’m Linda McCreary. Please, have a seat.” She gestured to the chair across from her before taking her own, picking up her notepad. She felt more comfortable once she sank into the cushions.

She cleared her throat, trying to figure out where to begin. “So, I assume you’re here about my husband?”

Emily nodded, “If your ad is to be believed.” She sat straight up with her hands laced perfectly in her lap, maintaining that glowing smile. Her breasts were perfectly round and perky, Linda remembered when her own looked that way. Gravity had taken its toll now that she was in her thirties, but they probably never looked that good. 

Linda blinked, snapping herself out of gawking at this beautiful girl. “So then I guess you know he was one of the Selected…” she trailed off, looking at the ceiling, thinking back to a month ago, then shrugged, “I’m not sure why he was…chosen.”

Emily simply shrugged, as if she had all the secrets. “Let’s just say there are a series of parameters that probably deem him more…suitable.”

Linda had a feeling she knew what those parameters might be, but she continued on. “So then you know.” she said, “You know he wears…”

“Diapers.” Emily finished without even blinking. “Yes ma’am.”

Linda breathed a sigh of relief. Why did that make her feel so much better now that it was said out loud? Some of the other candidates she interviewed acted like they had no idea. Do they not watch the news? Did they even pay attention to the details of her ad?

“I can assure you Mrs. McCreary,” Emily smiled, “I am very well qualified.”

“Oh?” Linda said, sitting back, raising her eyebrows in surprise, “And what makes you so sure?”

Emily still showed her teeth, but her lips curled into a slightly more sinister grin. “Let’s just say I’ve been taking care of men in diapers since I turned 21.”

“And how old are you now?”

“25.” Emily said proudly. 

Linda blinked, trying to comprehend. “But the law was only passed a few months ago, and it's only been a month since The Blowout, how were you–”

“There are a lot of pervy men out there, Mrs. McCreary.” Emily chuckled, but not impolitely. “Believe it or not, before The Blowout, there were men that would pay to be put in diapers by girls like me.”

Now that she mentioned it, Linda had heard of men like that. DBAL’s or something. The first time she heard about it was on some show called “My Strange Addiction”.

“That would have to be like one guy out of a billion though, right?” Linda reasoned, “It can’t be that common.”

Emily laughed the hardest she’d laughed since she’d arrived. “You’d be surprised.”

Linda didn’t know what to make of that. “So these men would pay you to…”

“Not just men.” Emily said, shaking her head, “some girls like to wear diapers too, but those were more rare. Not because girls wearing diapers is more uncommon than men, they just have much less trouble finding someone to diaper them. However, some of my biggest clients were not the ones wearing diapers, it was their spouses. Some didn’t want to deal with their husband’s fetish, didn’t want to change diapers, or just wanted nothing to do with them at that point and wanted me to watch their little hubby while they went out. They all effectively paid me to ‘babysit’ their husband for them.”

Linda blinked, “Like I’m thinking of…”

“Like you’re thinking of doing, yes ma’am.” Emily finished for her once more. How was someone her age so put-together and confident? How had she gotten so mature for her years? Especially about something like this.

“I graduated from DYU with an ABC Degree and a specialization in Feminization,” Emily said, reading her mind. “I can administer enemas, corporal punishments, tease and denial, timeouts, early bedtimes, and milkings if you desire. I will change as many diapers a day as you deem fit–wet and/or dirty–and I will make sure he is fed, read, and in bed at whatever time you choose.”

Linda struggled to process all of that. She was blown away by how resolute this beautiful young lady was. “Well that all sounds wonderful,” she said, not quite sure she knew what all of those words meant, “but I should tell you he can be rather…difficult.”

Emily shrugged as if that was expected. “How old is he?”

“37.” Linda sighed. “And I have to say it’s a bit of a shock for him to suddenly be back in diapers. I guess I just didn’t see this coming. Neither did he, obviously, and he’s…not adjusting well.”

“A lot of them aren’t,” Emily nodded knowingly, “but these are the growing pains of  change and progress.”

Linda supposed she agreed.

“What kind of things is he doing?” Emily asked.

She shrugged, trying not to cry. “Throwing stuff, slamming his fists, yelling…lots of yelling…”

“Like a toddler throwing a tantrum.” 

“Yes!” Linda laughed, not putting those pieces together until now.

“Do you shock him?”

Her lips pressed into a line, and she exhaled. “Not as much as I should. I guess I’m just…afraid to hurt him.”

“I know it isn’t fun,” Emily said, sympathizing, “but it’s like training a puppy, sometimes it takes a little discipline to properly train them. Even if you don’t want to hear the yelps, it’s for their own good.”

Linda nodded, knowing she was right, but she still had more to get off her chest. “I know he’s supposed to be using his diapers but…”

“But what?”

“It’s not worth the fight.” Linda sighed, “I know it’s the law that he has to wear them–and he does, but only because I threaten to call the MOPS on him again–but sometimes I let him…use the potty. Well, all the time actually.” 

Linda immediately clapped her hand to her mouth. She shouldn’t have said that. She knew the law. She could get in big trouble for letting him use the toilet.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. McCreary.” Emily said, hardly batting an eye, “I won’t report you. I know how tough it can be. But I can assure you: that’s why I’m here. I know exactly how to use both positive and negative reinforcement to get your husband acting right and using his diapers like he’s supposed to. By the time I’m through with him, he’ll be your obedient, bouncy, babbling little baby boi that makes boom booms in his diapers. And, if you want, I can even make him your little baby gurl!”

Linda gasped. “You can do that?”

“Oh yes, Mrs. McCreary.” Emily grinned, her face had a wicked gleam to it, “I can do that and more. I can make your husband a prissy little sissy, a pink pansy, and a mewing little maid. I know how to get him cleaned up and, most importantly, I can train him to keep the house clean for you.”

That did sound amazing. This was all too good to be true. “But how much will it all cost?”

“My going rate is $2,000/week.” Emily said matter-of-factly.

Linda’s eyes widened. “Oh…well, that’s…pretty steep.”

“I assure you my services will be well worth it, Mrs. McCreary.”

Linda fiddled with her nails, nodding while she ran the numbers in her head. “I start my new position on Monday.” she said, thinking out loud.

“Oh really? Where at?”

“Kevin’s company. I will be taking it over. Well, officially. I’ve been running more things than he has for several years now. He was just a figurehead, because men wouldn’t listen to women in those positions, but I guess that is changing now.” she bit her bottom lip, “Which is why I will need some here as a nanny or babysitter or whatever you want to call it, but unfortunately your prices are a little too high. I like you, Emily, but I don’t think I can–”

“The government will provide financial assistance.” Emily said, cutting her off. “They will take care of most of it.”

Linda blinked in surprise. “Really?”

“Oh yea,” Emily nodded, “Part of their way of rolling out the program. The Blowout is happening, the Matriarchy is taking over, and they want to ensure there is proper funding to keep their new little pamper packers in their place!”

It was the best news Linda had heard in the last month. She was finally going to get help, real help, until she could figure out how to do this whole “Mommy” thing. 

Emily reached out a reassuring hand, placing it on Linda’s leg. “I know this has been a lot for you, Mrs. McCreary, but I assure you things will only get easier. Especially with my help!” she smiled, then gave her leg a playful pat. “Plus, the law states that you are officially back on the market! Are you excited??”

That got Linda’s mind on something else. “If i’m being honest? Very much so. Kevin has been quite…neglectful of me and my needs the last few years.”

Emily nodded like she was a therapist hearing out her patient. “Go on.”

“Well he never took me out, never did anything romantic, leaves all his shit all over the floor, drinks all the time, and we would rarely have sex. He was way more interested in spending hours watching porn!”

Emily smirked, “probably difficult for him to do the latter now, isn’t it?”

That got Linda laughing. “I have to say, the main thing I like about this whole Blowout is the cage they put on that little dick of his! I don’t quite understand the reasoning for the diapers, but chastity making him flustered and frustrated is quite the sight to see!”

“And it will only get worse over time!” Emily agreed, “But don’t be afraid to use his orgasms to your advantage. I will too, if you deem it appropriate.”

Linda didn’t quite know what that meant yet, but she already trusted Emily to make the right decisions.

“And as far as the diapers go…” Emily continued, “the reasoning is to humble them. I’ve changed a lot of diapers Mrs. McCreary, and let me tell you: nothing absolutely breaks a man’s psyche like having to piss and poop all over themselves. Even worse is having to beg a superior female for a chance at a fresh diaper. Men aren’t complicated, they’re very easy to control. If you control their orgasms, you control their behavior. If you control their bodily functions, you control their mind. Your husband will break, Mrs. McCreary. They all do. Men have spent far too long acting like babies, it’s time we finally treat them like one!”

It was a rousing speech, one Linda was nodding along with the entire time. She fiddled with the chain around her neck. “I feel really good about this. I think you’re the perfect candidate to take care of Kevin and treat him the way he needs to be treated.” She unclasped the chain, and removed one of the tiny keys dangling from it, handing it to Emily, who smiled wickedly as she took it. “You’re hired!”

To Be Continued

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is a new story I'm writing that I'm excited to delve further into. I just posted Chapter 2 on my Substar, so if you like where this is going, go check it out! Thanks for reading!

[kairiscorner]

question of the day: who would fall the hardest if they ever fell in love?

well... i've got 4 candidates in mind, and i think... (3/4)

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

miguel o'hara. — guilty of falling hard for you.

summary: for all of his life, he's never felt the need to be in love or to love, he's never felt the rush, the surge of electricity coursing through his body when he's close to or with someone he even remotely finds spending time with enjoyable--until you happened, you came, and everything changed. pairing: miguel o'hara x gn!reader genre: fluff as FUCKKKK

miguel o'hara is a stern, serious man; nobody would approach him for anything unless it was absolutely necessary. he made it clear he didn't want to be spoken to by anyone unless he specifically requested to speak to them, he's that professional when it comes to those he works and associates with. though when it came to you, all professionalism it out the window–in private, at least.

miguel o'hara swore to himself that connections and attachment were the last things he needed right now. all that he needed was the safety of the multiverse to be ensured, and that would be it. it didn't matter to him what would happen next or what would happen to him, just not other people getting hurt at his expense or if be could help it. but thankfully, ever since he met that extremely wonderful, strong, kind, and compassionate somebody in his life that changed his everything... he had a new, more personal reason to want to keep the multiverse intact, on top of his other reasons, you were one of his only reasons to keep going.

miguel o'hara is a practical man, he doesn't do things that warrant sentiment, at least not anymore. though little by little, he noticed that you've always done things for him–such simple, everyday things he and other people could do for themselves–make coffee for him, buy him some treats you know he likes from your home dimension, and share with him little trinkets you want him to have or think he'd like.

miguel o'hara was moved, very gradually, by your little acts of kindness and generosity for him. in a way, he's felt the need to do the same for you in return, but all his attempts have been awkward; he refuses to acknowledge your words of thanks outwardly–just nodding or looking away from you and muttering a 'you're welcome' under his breath–and he struggles explaining why he got you those things or did those things for you, well, he always explains, even when the act itself is self-explanatory.

miguel o'hara wants to let you know that it's never his intention to come off as a big, scary grizzly bear of a man; he's just a guy, a guy who has anger issues and finds a lot of things wrong with himself that you find–for some reason–beautiful. "why are you romanticizing my flaws?" he'd ask you with a genuinely puzzled look and questioning tone; he'd never use the word 'beautiful' to describe his own plethora of mistakes, regrets, and reasons why people don't find him approachable or amicable–but you do, for whatever reason that may be.

miguel o'hara didn't think he'd find himself in this situation, being spoken to with these kinds of words–it doesn't feel real, he doesn't feel worthy of this kind of treatment. he's done many bad, irreversible things in his life; unknowingly hurt many, many people with his actions. hearing you say that it's not his flaws that you find beautiful, but rather, it's the fact that he's trying to correct the failures from those flaws he has that's beautiful.

miguel o'hara is perplexed, and he feels a little whirlwind in his stomach and his heart feels a little lighter; he feels... strange, though a good kind of strange–he doesn't want this foreign feeling to end, yet his mind keeps telling him to disengage, tell you not to keep praising him like this–because he knows, he'll fall for you even more than he already has.

miguel o'hara can't believe it, he admitted it to himself: he's fallen for you, he's still falling for you. this scares miguel even more than you can imagine; he's hopelessly, utterly, very much in love with you. you being a strong, capable, and respectable member of his team is one factor in him finding you so amazing–but you being a kind, gentle person towards him is a whole nother thing that made him spiral into this whirlpool of emotions for you.

miguel o'hara wakes up every morning thinking about you, spends the rest of his day with you in the front of his mind, and ends his day with you as his final though before drifting off to sleep–with you being in every one of his dreams ever since you two became close.

miguel o'hara never goes on with the rest of his day without the the feeling and memory of you being carried in his heart–he can't even begin to understand how through your constant smothering of kindness towards him did he become... fond of you. he has never felt this compelled to be near someone, to have his mind casually and involuntarily storing adjectives and compliments to describe you and how you you can be.

miguel o'hara is undoubtedly conflicted about what he should do to quell the feeling, because even though he wants to avoid it at all costs and to ignore that it's there, he desperately wants to be near you and hold you close to him–you're all that's right in the multiverse to him, and if you being kind to him is just in your nature and not because the multiverse decreed you to be so, he's even more in love with your pure and clean heart and soul and he wants to be with you all the more.

miguel o'hara tries to do everything he can to ignore the nagging of his heart and listen to the rationalizations of his mind; you're better off without him, and he's better off not feeling anything for you, even if it means he has to bury it–like he does with all other feelings he has–and never speak of it again to properly hide it from everyone, including himself.

miguel o'hara, though, just can't avoid you. he can't avoid your constant presence in his daily life, he can't avoid your tender, giving self–and he can't avoid you because you're permanently living in his mind rent-free, and you work with him. he doesn't want to avoid you, he just thinks that's what's best for you–but if you have no problem being near him, treating him like a friend as opposed to a mere colleague, and complimenting him in areas where he's confused and conflicted over and helping him grow as a person... then maybe the multiverse is cutting him some slack for once and giving him a chance to... to love, and to love deeply, passionately, and truly for the first time in ever.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @ophanimgold @fictarian @yuridopted0 @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer General Profile

Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer x fem! reader

Tw: stalking, kidnapping, heavy manipulation, threats of violence, threats of assault, mind breaks, Stockholm Syndrome, mentions of non-con, non-consensual touching, mentions of somnophilia, mentions of cum, threats, Chrollo has a god complex but what else is new, Uvogin is mean to you but he doesn't mean it I promise!, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy! 

DARLING PROFILE:

Smart

His darling doesn’t need to be a genius or anything like that, but they do need to posses a certain degree of intelligence.

Chrollo considers himself a well-read, cultured man, and he feels that his partner needs to match his level of worldly awareness, of cognitive ability. It doesn’t need to necessarily lie in the same fields as his own (though he can’t deny that it would be absolutely wonderful to have a darling who enjoys the same types of literature as him, the same philosophers, the same composers), but they must have a certain area that they hold an above average amount of knowledge in.

He finds intelligence attractive, and what initially causes him to develop an interest in his darling is largely due to the showcasing of this knowledge and smarts. He’s entranced the moment his darling opens his mouth, eagerly hanging onto their every word and nodding along, actually finding himself enjoying speaking with them.

He doesn’t have to pretend to be interested in their words for his own gain, rather finding himself genuinely wondering about their opinion on this or that, curious like a child.

He finds his darling fascinating, and a smart darling will get him falling faster, harder, deeper, to the point where Chrollo develops into a love-starved, desperate man who wants to learn more and more and more, aching to become an expert of his own in his favorite field; his darling.

Creative

Similarly, a darling who leans more on the creative side is a perfect match for Chrollo. It doesn’t matter where this creativity finds its medium – perhaps his darling is particularly artistic, enjoying expressing themselves with the arts.

Maybe they love to paint, watercolors and acrylics seeming to come alive under their fingers. (He’d melt if he found a work of him, the colors making him sigh and dreamily trace the lines, joy swimming in his heart that they painted him, that he means enough to them that he’s taken a starring role in their hobby.)

Perhaps they enjoy photography, documenting small, beautiful moments in life. (He’s always trying to look his best around his darling, keeping his neck tense and posture strong, so that if they did take a sneaky, candid photo of him, they’d enjoy what they see.)

Perhaps they play an instrument, melodies ringing out and making Chrollo smile and nod along. (Learning his favorite pieces would make him struggle to not reach out and place a gentle kiss to their forehead, letting his hands wander down their shoulders and cupping their breasts, telling them he’d love to repay the favor and learn their favorite things as well.)

Maybe they enjoy knitting or crocheting, making all kinds of creations that Chrollo finds endearing. (He’d expect them to make him something, of course, subtly demanding he receives something so that when he’s away, he’ll be able to keep a piece of them with him, something made with love and care and specifically for Chrollo Lucilfer himself.)

Cooking, sewing, writing, anything and everything can fit into this category – Chrollo really just likes that his darling is thinking of him, that they spend their time doing something that makes them happy, and if he gets to be involved, all the better.

He’ll even push his way into their hobby, learning all that he can about it with eager fingers, wanting to impress his darling and make the activity into something they can bond over – a way to spend time together, a way to get them all by his side and happy, never, ever wanting to leave.

He just loves them so very much, after all.

Observant

While it would be difficult to find someone more calculating and cunning than himself, there’s something alluring about a darling who is more observant than those around them.

He likes the idea that his darling is just able to pick up on things, their eye more trained to assess those around them, to understand their motives and notice the things they do.

It’s a sign of intelligence, and once Chrollo’s obsession has formed, he’s purposefully doing things he’s hoping his darling will notice, all with the hope that they’ll spend time wondering why he’s always fiddling with his ring finger, or letting his eyes flick to them. It’s like a game to Chrollo, and he finds it beyond entertaining to watch his darling in action, seeing their expressions flit across their face as they try to interpret his odd behavior.

There’s just something that attracts him towards darling that are able to perceive their world for more than it is – he views himself as better than everyone else, a sort of God among men, but a darling that has this trait rises above the countless below him, standing out alone as a superior being, someone worthy and perfect for him.

He’s egotistical, after all, but a darling that can at least kind of match his observation skills is something that will attract him to them – whether that’s good or bad, one can’t say.

Witty

His darling certainly doesn’t need to be a comedian, but someone who can keep up with his thinly veiled banter would cause his interest to spike.

His words are almost always tinged with just the slightest amount of snark, the slightest bit of condescension that seems to be present no matter who he’s talking to.

Perhaps it’s a result of his own pride or self-confidence, but regardless, a darling who can not only pick up on this but also respond with a bit of snark as well would make him momentarily pause, before laughing a bit and wondering just how far he can push them. It excites him to have a darling who can keep up with him, bantering back and forth, and once his infatuation develops, this is one of his favorite things about his darling.

He loves that speaking with them is endless entertainment, hence how often he tries to goat them into conversations. He’s always, always asking them questions, often designed to get them speculating, philosophical questions that he’s genuinely curious to know their answer to, and in the process he gets to have a sort of playful discussion, something that makes his heart race a bit in his chest.

He just likes his darling’s ability to think on their feet, only reinforcing their intelligence and making him fall deeper, harder, more soundly.

It makes him want to keep that wit all for himself, to not let anyone else have the pleasure of indulging in his darling’s words – they’re his, and the longer his obsession festers, the more he believes in that sentiment.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Dependent

Much of what fuels Chrollo’s obsession for you is selfish in nature.

Initially, he’s interested in you because you make him feel something, some strange emotion he can’t quite place. He’s running through all the possibilities early on, wistfully trying each emotion on before discarding it.

Does he want to use you? No, you wouldn’t be especially useful - you’re not all that developed of a nen user, if one at all, so you’d just be wasted effort.

Does he want to steal something of yours? No, you don’t have anything of particular value, nor are you an important individual.

Does he want to kill you? No, something about the thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

He’s stumped at first, genuinely unsure of what you’re making him feel, but it’s not until he spends more time with you that he begins considering options that are more foreign to him - that is, that he may have developed more positive emotions towards you, less manipulative and more yearning.

He contemplates whether he’s fallen in love - the books he’s always perusing make love sound so obnoxious, virtuosic, grandiose, and Chrollo can’t quite say he agrees. What he feels for you is ultimately overwhelming, surely - but it’s also much more subtle, slowly taking root in every aspect of his life seemingly without him even noticing. What used to be hours spent searching out new heists and items to steal becomes twinged with just a hint of your presence.

Small thoughts in the back of his head wonder whether you’d like the diamond necklace displayed in this gallery, or how it’d look against your pretty skin, sitting in the hollow of your throat.

What used to be solitary evenings spent reading in candlelight become small daydreams about what you’d think of his current philosopher’s theories, whether you’d indulge him in hours of philosophical discussions, what your opinions on the perception of self are. What your perceptions of yourself are, and, more importantly, what your perception of him is.

It’s not too overwhelming at first; he’s mostly able to control himself, that ever composed stature of his kept carefully in place.

The thoughts are mostly just fleeting, odd off-handed curiosity about you that he doesn’t worry too much about. It’s interesting, mostly, that you’ve gotten to him at all - and it’s this, really, that drives his desire to learn more about you. The fact that you continue to become more and more intertwined with his thoughts leaves him anxiously aching for more, wanting to see the extent to which you’re able to make him feel - something he’d always thought was more or less impossible.

And what you make him feel is so, so very good; his palms are a bit clammy when he sees you, gaze raking over your figure and noting how well your shirt fits your curves, dark eyes eagerly scanning the title of the book you’re reading out of. He’s a confident man, of course, but at the prospect of approaching you and discussing the literature, he can’t help but swallow, tongue sneaking out to lick over his lips.

He feels a strange sense of peace when he’s looking at you, taking in the way the sunlight shines off of your face, the way your clothes frame your body, how your lips quirk up into a smile when you see the little bunny that hops along the grass in the public park. It’s small things, mostly, that get little butterflies fluttering in his chest – and it’s these little fleeting moments of happiness, of contentedness and fascination that lead him to believe what he’s feeling for you could be the ever famous love – or, at least, some variation of it.

Is it love when he’s letting a smile cover his features as you scrunch your brows and huff when you can’t get that stupid jar open? The way you stick your tongue out in concentration and squeeze your eyes shut is  honestly adorable, forcing Chrollo’s eyes to linger on your face just a tad bit too long.

(He can’t help but imagine how you’d thank him so profusely if he opened it for you; he’d even go so far as to roll up his sleeves, exposing his smooth forearms that he knows women can’t resist. Do you fall into that category? Would you be transfixed by his strength, his physical appearance, his smooth voice when he tells you that next time call me first, please, I wouldn’t want you to struggle…)

Maybe it’s the way you look so disheveled in your oversized t-shirt and ill-fitting lounge pants as you shuffle about your apartment, completely unaware of the camera he’d had Shalnark place in your living room. You look comfortable, and there’s something about seeing you so vulnerable, so raw that gets him breathing a bit heavier.

(More than once a thought has, seemingly out of the blue, surfaced where you’re starring and wearing a dress shirt of his – white, stiff material just barely hiding the outline of your breasts and the curve of your hips, tantalizing and looking so very right on you. If that were to happen, Chrollo has already made peace with the fact that he’d hold out on washing that particular shirt – just until he’s gotten the chance to slip it on himself, occasionally sniffing the collar and getting something heavenly, something that can only be described as you and him together.)

Chrollo honestly isn’t sure what it is about you that’s gotten to him to develop feelings - he’s intrigued, earnestly trying to understand it, but as time passes and he finds himself spending more and more time simply thinking of you, he finds himself caring less.

It’s happened already - he’s in love, he’s certain, and now that he’s in that position, the only logical thing to do is pursue you. And while he tells himself it’s all because he wants to learn more about how you’ve managed to trick him into falling for you, really it’s all because he absolutely has to. The longer his infatuation goes on, the less time he can spend away from you, and the less he can justify the strength of his feelings.

He becomes restless when you’re not in his sight - his hands are shaking slightly, thin brows pinched together, every muscle in his body flexing involuntarily. His temper is heightened, irritation brewing in his chest even if he doesn’t mean it – he’s snapped at Nobunaga by accident, his words just a bit harsher, a bit more clipped when telling him the meeting time for the next month.

When he’s not been around you for long periods (a day or so), he just feels like something’s missing, something he can’t quite place. There’s a you shaped hole in his chest, and it turns Chrollo into something of an addict going through withdrawals - he’s become too dependent on the way you make something warm bloom in his chest, and the moment he’s without it, he’s counting down the seconds until he can return to you, return to the calmness and serenity of being around you.

And when you smile at him, answer his questions, brush your hand against his when he hands you a cup of tea, Chrollo can’t help but shiver slightly, his content smile twitching up at the corners ever so slightly. It’s addicting, the way you make him feel so alive, so strangely happy, so light and bubbly and horribly enslaved to his emotions. But while he’s never known himself to a weak man, he thinks he’d be okay with you being his Achilles heel - as long as you smile at him, let him stare as you talk away about your day, let him brush his knuckles against your cheek and whisper that you’re so warm and frail, Chrollo could care less.

He could care less about most things, really, once you step into his life - as long as you don’t leave him, that is. As long as you don’t abandon him, taking you and the feelings you ignite within him with you.

You wouldn’t dare, he’s sure of it. 

Possessive

Tying into his desperation for you to stay under his thumb and by his side, Chrollo can’t seem to shake the way anger flares up inside him whenever another man interacts with you. He knows it’s irrational - it’s possible to have interactions with the opposite gender without ulterior motives; he regularly speaks with Machi, Pakunoda and Shizuku without any goals aside from Troupe business.

And yet, he just can’t forget the way he knows some men are - viscous, disgusting, cruel, vile in a way even Chrollo isn’t. He may be a mass murderer, mentally unstable, unhealthily in need of being in control and a pathological thief, but he’s never harassed a woman before. He’s never sneered at one, groped or touched them in a sexual way without their consent, and he’s only ever seduced a woman with the intent of getting information out of her.

But others?

He knows others are probably just as in love with you as he is - you’re beautiful, intelligent, sweet and oh so perfect, truly a naive, painfully unaware little bunny in a world full of wolves. And wolves will pounce, even if the bunny is already in another’s jaws - just the thought of another man attempting to intervene and seduce you themselves is enough to get Chrollo’s jaw clenching ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing a bit and his fingers clasping around his nen book just a bit tighter.

He’s territorial, unwilling to share the way you make him feel with anyone else - only you can bring him the happiness he craves, so therefore only he is allowed to be on the receiving end. He hates the idea that another man could start chatting you up, throwing false compliments and sweet words your way, buttering you up and trying to steal you from right underneath his nose. It makes his fingers itch, the sense of control he harbors over you slipping slightly. It scares him, if he’s being honest – an emotion he hasn’t felt since he was very young, scavenging the streets of Meteor City.

He loves the way you’re able to make him feel, but this particular emotion he very much doesn’t like, nor does he enjoy the way jealousy pricks at his heart when another man glances at you. It leaves his blood boiling, every inch of his body feeling unbelievably hot, his muscles tensing up over and over.

And yet, Chrollo is a man of opportunity – while it may be torture to see you with another man, something excruciating in ways Chrollo has never experienced before, this is a good chance to paint himself in a better light. It’s a good opportunity to sway your perception of him – particularly if the man isn’t wooing you successfully.

Before he’s stolen you away, he’s quick to observe how men approach you, with suave smiles that make you visibly nervous, your high pitched responses to his questions vague and obviously constructed for your escape. It makes some weird sort of protectiveness spring up into him, but he holds himself back. He wills himself to wait just a tad bit longer, to elongate the discomfort you’re feeling because this will only really work if you’re desperate for an escape route. It’s torture, watching, but Chrollo holds on – until he decides you’re fearful enough, his long strides towards you not nearly as quick as he’d like.

Words will slip from his tongue before he can even really think, always placing himself in between you and the man, physically separating you as he quietly but firmly tells the man off, mentioning something about how unchivalrous it is to corner a defenseless woman.

Honestly, as shocked as you’ll be that Chrollo just emerges from the shadows so often, you’ll be incredibly grateful for his presence and intervention - which is exactly what he’s hoping for. He doesn’t like the way his possessiveness eats him up, but there’s something to be said about making sure that he saves you, making sure that you perceive him as your protector and someone to trust.

It’s an insurance thing, more than anything, because there’s nothing that calms Chrollo quite like knowing that you like him, that you’re associating positive emotions with him. It makes pride swell in his chest to think that you perceive him as some sort of guardian angel to you, and while it almost makes him pity you, it just makes his job easier.

It makes it easier to constantly be trailing you (you’ll never catch him, however), and to get you falling for him just as strongly as he’s fallen for you. If you hold him in a position of power, he will be exploiting that power and control - he’ll be subtle when he starts isolating you, the power trip making him giddy because now no one will talk to you. It makes the corners of his mouth twitch up when he sees that notification on his phone, your contact flashing across his screen.

(It’s just your full name, though sometimes he’ll play with the idea of adding a star next to it, or perhaps a diamond or crescent moon - it’s too childish for him, but he’ll often type it out and quickly delete it, only to retype and repeat the process.)

It makes him feel good to know that you’re contacting him, that you reached out to him, meaning you’re thinking of him and not someone else. He’s leaving small hints of his presence in your apartment; a copy of his book that he ‘accidentally’ left there last time you invited him over for dinner, a watch of his (that he stole, of course, but you don’t know that) that you keep neatly on your dresser and glance at every morning, marveling at how pristine and silver it is.

He’ll leave his leftovers in your refrigerator from nice evenings out, internally cooing at the way you finish them off yourself, liking that you’re wanting to finish his food, obviously not disturbed by the fact that his mouth may have touched a bit of it. He’s trying to stake his claim on everything around you, no matter how big or small it may be, just to get you thinking of him.

(Of course, he’s also a fan of staking his claim in ways you’re less knowledgeable about - he’s even spent nights at your apartment, dark eyes appraising your pretty, sleeping face, spending hours simply staring before wandering around your room, picking things up and digging through your drawers. Sometimes, on days when Troupe business has him feeling just a bit stressed, or he has to deal with particularly important but irritating individuals, he’ll even settle himself beside you, sitting in your desk chair and letting his black slacks fall to his knees, palming himself and shakily exhaling. He’ll caress your cheek with one hand, letting a strained, breathless smile slip across his face while his other hand relentlessly tugs and flicks around his cock, eager to see the way you’ll look with white splattered all across your pretty face. He’ll clean it up afterwards, mostly – it can’t hurt to leave a bit on your lips, right? Just so that you’ll taste him in the morning? Just so that he’ll be with you all night, all day tomorrow, so close?)

He’s possessive in the worst way possible, and while it manifests itself as seeming chivalrous and even a bit endearing, it’s anything but. There’s nothing cute about the way he religiously thinks of you, his every free moment spent watching you or speaking to you with the smoothest, most attractive voice he can muster.

There’s nothing sweet about the way his hand lingers on the small of your back, just a tad bit too insistent when he's guiding you through the crowd, making sure you don’t stray far enough away from him to let air flow between your bodies.

There’s nothing flattering about the way he gazes at you as you slowly wake up in his hold, with no memory of how you got there, no memory of where you are, no memory of how you’d changed into a pretty, billowy nightgown, and no memory of him, at least of the tattoo across his forehead or the carnal look in those eyes.

He’s a possessive freak, and once he decides you’re his target, there’s really no chance of escaping. So don’t even try.

Manipulative

He’s good at getting what he wants, and that mixed with his natural charisma leaves pretty much everyone he encounters susceptible to his charms. He’s spent his whole life studying human emotions, interactions and what drives people, and as such he’s got a pretty good understanding of how to exploit others, how to find the cracks in their armor that leave them putty in his hands.

It’s almost fun, in a way, like a puzzle Chrollo becomes extremely skilled at solving flawlessly. But when it comes to you? Well, no matter how adept you are at seeing through people, no matter how levelheaded or careful you are, Chrollo will be getting you wrapped around his little finger, completely bending to his will.

You are certainly no exception to his charms, if only because Chrollo is trying extra hard with you, the genuine drive to get you visibly bashful at his compliments and craving his touch nearly driving him to insanity. And honestly, you probably won’t even realize it – he’s subtle, giving you a small push here or there with little comments about the people around you, or about habits he wants you to break.

When you’re out together shopping around at stores much too expensive for you (courtesy of Chrollo smiling at you and requesting you let him buy you something, because it would mean so much to me, and I know you’ve secretly been yearning for that new dress), he’ll gently chastise you about how you shouldn’t talk to him anymore – don’t you see the way his eyes are on your chest rather than your face?

(The sales clerk who had been helping the two of you was most certainly not ogling your breasts – but even if you bring it up to your companion, he’ll just sigh softly at you, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and murmuring that he knows men better than you do, that he can see right through them, just trust me, he would’ve given anything to have you alone.)

The comments will be small but plentiful, designed to get you listening to him and coming to think of him as right, as much smarter and more observant than yourself, something that Chrollo will use to his advantage. He does love you, in some twisted, sick way, but Chrollo’s idea of love is distorted, warped and made ugly by the way he treats you.

He knows it perhaps isn’t the classic method of wooing you, but there’s nothing wrong with twisting the situation just to make sure that his desired outcome sees fruition. He doesn’t like lying to you, and would prefer to always be truthful (to an extent, at least), but he understands that it’s what has to happen in order to make his long term plans a reality – in order to get you unconditionally devoted to him, just as he craves.

It’s unhealthy, but Chrollo doesn’t mind; which is why he’ll be putting to use every possible tactic he can think of to get you returning his feelings, all twinged with just a hint of manipulation, just to get the right seeds of thought planted in that pretty little head of yours.

He’s buying bouquets of flowers every week, sent to your address by hand with a note attached in big, loopy cursive detailing how gorgeous you are; haikus he writes describing your eyes, your hair, your figure and your laugh that get your neck and cheeks feeling warm, the flowers always your favorite colors. (The note also generously makes use of the word ‘my’, preceding nearly everything pertaining to you – my darling, my beloved, my angel, my future.)

He's dressing himself to the nines, with his shirts and pants always pressed and pristine, his cologne noticeably but not too intense, just the slightest touch of gel in his hair, all just to make sure he look as attractive and presentable as possible. He knows women find men in casual business wear attractive, and he’ll purposefully choose white dress shirts with the sheerest material he can get away with – just so that when the light hits just right, you’ll see the hard lines of muscle underneath, his abs and pectorals standing out and straining against the fabric. (He’s always making comments about how other men dress when he’s out with you – claiming that there’s wrinkles in their clothing, that wearing such bright, obnoxious colors are unbecoming of a true gentleman, that their watches and jewelry are obviously fakes, even that he’s seen that shirt for sale and it’s a laughable price – some men must not care much for beauty, and if they’re willing to purchase such low-quality items, imagine how poorly they must treat their partner.)

It’s a constant with him, as if he’s actively looking for every opportunity he can to make himself look better compared to those around him – call it a result of his possessiveness, or maybe some weird, unhealthy craving to get your praise and admiration.

Regardless, it’ll eventually have you slowly seeing what he means, finding yourself nodding along and agreeing with his words, even if you’d never have independently formed such a thought. It’s a slow process and will take a while to work, but Chrollo watches with intent, bright eyes and bitten lips, satisfaction oozing out of him because he’s got you right where he wants you, and sweet little you doesn’t even know.

Of course, once he’s stolen you away and permanently attached you to his hip, his manipulative tendencies don’t just magically disappear. Oh no – if anything they grow stronger, because now that you’re truly isolated, it’s just so much easier to mold you into the perfect version of yourself, all needy and dependent on him just as he wishes. It’s easy to get you believing things about those on the outside, using tactics like ignoring you or limiting your freedoms in order to get you caving to his desires, to get you listening and hanging on to his every word like it’s God himself speaking.

And really, Chrollo likes that imagery – that he’s your god and you’re his devoted little follower, worshipping everything he says and making him feel good, important, wanted in a way he’s never experienced before. (Although, in reality, the roles are more flipped – you’re his god, the one thing he comes crawling back to no matter the situation, his unending devotion to you rooted so deeply inside him that not even his soul is unaffected by you. He’s written poetry about the idea, entertaining it through writing, but he’s always quick to rip the pages out and crumple them, not enjoying the uncomfortable sense of truth in the words.)

So while Chrollo’s feelings for you do resemble love in some ways, his methods and expression very much doesn’t – he’s not afraid to lie t you in order to receive the results that he wants, and really, it’s best not to bother fighting him. He will prevail, no matter how to try and keep your head on straight, and it’s just easier for the both of you to not try, to not attempt to make sense of the mixture of lies and truth he feeds you. It’ll save you both time and energy, and Chrollo would really, really appreciate your cooperation – you’re cute when you’re being defiant, but it grows old.

And while Chrollo would never lose interest in you, he’s not above making you believe that he has – if it gets you obeying and letting him rest his hand on your hip (dipping down to firmly grip and squeeze at your thigh too, if he’s lucky), Chrollo will do anything it takes, no matter how depraved or violent.

Anything at all.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Chrollo, while liking to view himself as being above other men, is only human. He’s still a man, one with an intense, disgusting obsession with you, and the moment that your attention is threatened, the human side of Chrollo becomes very apparent.

It’s difficult to look at him and see it, but internally he’s simmering with jealousy every time another man approaches you, to the point where it becomes difficult to focus on anything else except you, except the way that you’re looking at someone else, talking with them and breathing the same air as them. It’s horrible, and even more so than the idea that you’ll be stolen away from another man, Chrollo doesn’t like the fact that this scum thinks he has to right to even be in your presence.

You’re perfect, in Chrollo’s eyes, and he hates the fact that others get to be around you so freely, even when that privilege is something should belong to him and him only. It angers him how other men don’t seem to understand that you’re already taken and claimed, your fate decided the moment Chrollo decides he wants you.

You’re better than everyone else, a breed above, and he's always just a bit worried that you’ll somehow be tainted by talking with other men, like your perfection will become marred when others look at you.

So, Chrollo does what he feels he must – he must interfere, even if getting closer and closer to the scene has his heart pounding, anger swimming through his veins in amounts he’s never, ever experienced. It’s cathartic, in a way, to have such sudden bursts of emotion, but as his dark gaze focuses on you, he decides that what you make him feel, all the warmth and dizziness and disorientation, is much better than the jealousy sitting heavily in his gut.

He’ll, of course, take his time; he’s opportunistic and wont’ simply waste the chance to further build his positive image in your mind, but waiting is absolute torture. He’s digging his nails into his palms with every moment he’s forcing himself to wait, dark gaze unblinking as he stares at the two of you, mentally berating the man and thinking of the thousands of ways he could torture and kill him. And once he thinks it’s finally, finally time, he’s not wasting a moment and approaching the two of you as fast as he can. It's easy to enter into the conversation, picking up something the man has said.

His voice is smooth and sure, a complete contrast from the stranger attempted to pick you up – your head turns sharply when you hear him, relief flashing over your features at a semi familiar face.

He’s maybe a regular at a café or diner you enjoy – you’ve seen him around, chatted lightly a few times, only really knowing his name and a few of the books he’s always reading.

And while Chrollo knows this, he can’t help the way his heart practically soars when he sees how visibly relieved you are for his presence. His fingers twitch with the intention of reaching out and cupping your cheek, but he refrains himself.

The man, however, doesn’t seem nearly as pleased by his sudden arrival – he’s scowling slightly, brows tucked inwards as he growls out sorry, but we’re having a private conversation.

Your relieved and awed expression suddenly returns to a grim and fearful one, and internally Chrollo feels his anger flare. His face is still neutral, however, as he responds carefully and calmly that he’s making you obviously uncomfortable, and it’s the chivalrous thing to do when I see a woman being harassed. The man splutters slightly, shocked at Chrollo’s forwardness.

He tries to argue back, claiming you were answering his questions, being polite, so evidently you must have wanted him, right?

You’re unimpressed, shrinking back further away from the man and instead subtly getting closer to Chrollo, something he notes with a distinct sense of pleasure. Chrollo doesn’t let up, however, continuing to inform the man that you don’t want to be there, that you aren’t really interested when he offers to show you his apartment that he swears is the best thing you’ll ever see.

You’re grateful, and as weak and lame as it makes you feel to have Chrollo fighting this particular battle for you, you’re glad he showed up. He always seems to show up, really, just when you need him – it’s almost magic, you think, how he seems to know when you need help. The image of him as your savior makes your cheeks feel warm, the girlish thought embarrassing but oddly accurate.

 Eventually the man leaves, huffing and muttering under his breath about how you weren’t even all that pretty anyways, and Chrollo feels his eye twitch, a small flick of the wrist inserting just a bit of nen into his shoulder.

Not enough for the man to feel it, but just enough so that he can keep track of his whereabouts. You’re immediately thanking him profusely, embarrassed about how inept you’d seemed, some small part of you hoping you didn’t look as pathetic as you felt.

But he doesn’t seem to mind – if anything, he’s silent, allowing your rambling to continue on, those dark eyes meeting yours and holding your gaze. It’s intense, but as your voice dies off after the fifth ‘thank you’, he only softly smiles.

Of course, his voice is low and nearly demure, making a shiver roll down your spine, it’s no trouble at all. I’d help you out anytime you need me.

He can tell you’re flustered, and while he wants nothing more than to revel in the sight of you looking bashful, twiddling with your thumbs and stumbling over your words, he knows he has to leave. He needs to leave, really, so that he can check over his book of nen, flipping to the page where that the location of that piece of scum that had bothered you was.

He bids you farewell with a twinkle in his eye, looking over his shoulder as he turns and walks away. You look so pretty, standing there and staring at him, trying to hide the way your mouth gapes open, and Chrollo bites his lip ever so slightly, closing his eyes and reveling in the way his chest feels all warm and airy from just the sight of you. Soon he’s turning off the street where it had all happened, immediately stepping into an alleyway and flipping open the book.

The nen signature leads him to a dingy apartment – surely not the beauty he’d been boasting to you about – and Chrollo nearly snorts as he sees the man throwing back his head, drowning the beer bottle in hand. No one else is in the apartment, he finds as he slips through the front door, which is ideal. He’s quick to conjure up his giant nen fish, a smile slowly spreading across his lips as the man suddenly freezes, unable to move as a fish moves to nibble at a toe, teeth biting and crunching through bone.

It doesn’t take long – maybe ten minutes or so, but Chrollo enjoys every moment of watching the man slowly get eaten alive, those dark eyes wide and excited. It’s euphoric, really, and as he remembers the way the man had nearly had the audacity to touch you, to touch what was Chrollo’s, he can’t stop himself from chuckling slightly.

It’s only after the fact, once all is said and done, that he notices his hands are shaking, his cheeks a bit sore from smiling for such a long period of time. It’s only then that he hears how his heartbeat is loud in his ears, blood pounding as the excitement and satisfaction of seeing the sofa now empty, not a spec of blood ruining the upholstery.

He wishes he could have killed him by his own hand, perhaps stabbed him a few times, burned him alive, maybe even drowned him – but this is better, because now when you watch the news you won’t see some horrible, mangled body.

And once he’s stolen you away, it’s better if you don’t see the gruesome ways that he’s killed – how will you continue to look at him with such adoration and love in your eyes if you do? And Chrollo couldn’t stand to not have you gaze at him with anything short of fondness, admiration, desperation.

He closes the man’s apartment door, making sure to lock it, before tapping into the nen wedge lodged into your own shoulder – seems you’re walking home now. Perhaps you’d like some company from the shadows.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Chrollo is extremely methodical with his approach towards seducing you.

He’s careful to present himself as a gentleman, a classically chivalrous man with his dark features and smooth voice. He’s never tried to genuinely make someone develop feelings for him before – it’s only ever been for a job or to place someone into the palm of his hand, but with you it’s different.

He’s actively trying everything he can think of to make you like him, pouring through romance novels to find common themes, trying all manner of approaches and tactics so that you’ll only associate him with happiness and nerves.

And frankly, Chrollo will absolutely get you falling for him. By the time that he feels he’s ready to steal you away, you’ve probably developed a massive crush on him, your feelings strong and difficult to ignore. Really, you can’t be blamed – he’s a master manipulator, and while his romantic experience is dismal, it’s not so hard to find out your favorite flower and leave a bouquet at your door. It’s not so difficult to send expensive perfumes or jewelry to you, attached with a note detailing what it is about the piece that makes him think of you.

You’ll nearly be in love, something that he’s worked extremely hard to cultivate. It hasn’t been easy, holding off all this time. There’s been more opportunities than he can count where he could’ve so easily swept you into his arms and took off into the night, never to have you seen again by anyone but himself.

He’s had to physically restrain himself more often than he’d care to admit from reaching out and grabbing you, tucking you so tightly against his chest that you can’t breath as he boards the airship, the Troupe standing guard outside your new bedroom to make sure you don’t get any funny ideas. You’re laughably weak compared to him, and while it sometimes causes Chrollo to worry for your safety, it’s ultimately an asset to him.

Because now that you’re completely under the impression that Chrollo is the perfect man for you, it’s all so much easier to relocate you without a fuss. It all happens much faster than Chrollo had expected, however – all too soon you’re seeing blurry images on the television news one night, the cereal you’d been eating forgotten as you take in the familiar earrings, the dark eyes, the forehead tattoo he’s always written off as a family tattoo.

You’re in shock, eyes wide as you listen to the anchor list off the multitudes of crimes the Troupe has been accused of, and for a moment you refuse to believe it’s true. That’s not Chrollo – not your Chrollo, the man who picks you up at 7:00 sharp for the dinner date he’s reserved at the fanciest restaurant in town.

That’s not your Chrollo, the man who opens doors for you and pulls out your chair, almost placing a hand on the small of your back to guide you through large crowds. He could never murder someone – could never be the cause of the some hundreds of lost lives the TV claims he’s responsible for.

But then you hear a sigh, that familiar voice murmuring out that it’s really all just so unfortunate, I was hoping to gain your favor a bit more. Alas, the façade is up, I’ll make sure to pack that sweatshirt you love so much. Please, love, don’t struggle too much. There’s a pinprick in your neck, those dark eyes the last thing you see before blackness surrounds you. Chrollo can only mournfully look down at you, having caught your unconscious body in his arms.

It’s a good opportunity to run his fingers over your lips, to trace the shape of your nose, to press a surprisingly sweet kiss to your forehead. It was inevitable, but I’m sure you’ll forgive me eventually. We’re made for one another, after all.

Once you’re trapped with him, a few things will become very apparent to you very quickly. Firstly, Chrollo is a criminal – the dashing man you thought you knew is not real, his true personality slipping out almost immediately. He’s no longer attempting to hide the reality of his work, discussing new jobs and elimination plans over the phone in the same room as you, not mincing words when he tells the mystery man to make it messy, the more blood the better.

Second, he’s a very important man. He’s constantly being phone called, stepping out for this or that meeting, making decisions you don’t even understand. The very few people he’s ever let you meet almost seem to revere him, unconditionally bowing to his word and only addressing him as Boss.

Third, he’s much stronger than you’d realized, the odd pressure he seems to radiate growing and ebbing at various points in the day. You’d seen the way he’s merely flicked his wrist and a man that had seen the handcuffs initially around you was suddenly headless, sliced clean off without so much as a sound.

Lastly, Chrollo Lucilfer is desperate. Despite being kidnapped, forced to jump from hotel room to hotel room firmly attached at his hip, there’s never been a lull in the way that he demands your attention. There’s never been a free moment where he’s not looking at you, that same small smile quirking on his lips that used to fluster you but now only makes your gut twist. He’s always asking you questions – some are easy, surface level and don’t require effort on your part. He’s asking what your favorite color is, what your favorite breakfast foods are, if you prefer to wake up early or sleep in.

(He already know the answers, but he likes hearing you say it.)

Some are more difficult, making you consider your words before you speak them. He’s asking you whether you’ve ever dreamed of what your wedding venue will look like (he of course pushes for details, mentally noting everything and imagining it alongside you), what you would name a pet cat (either solid black or solid white fur, you pick), asking you to jot down a few of your favorite songs so that he can compile a playlist for you, as you have limited electronic access (the playlist is really for him, so that when he’s away on missions he can still feel like he’s with you, but that’s besides the point).

And then there’s the ‘why’ questions – these are the hardest, his eyes boring into you as he asks you why you claim to love your friends, why you’re fighting him so hard, why you think life itself even exists. They make you think, and while you don’t want to answer, Chrollo will keep pushing and pushing and pushing, using your words against you and slowly taking away any privileges you’ve managed to earn.

It’s not worth the fight that ensues if you ignore any of his questions, so you’ll answer as succinctly as possible, choosing your words carefully and watching for his reactions. Mostly, he just likes to hear your voice – knowing there’s no one else in the room, so you’re talking to him and only him, thinking of ways to respond to what he asked you.

He likes to know your opinion on things, each and every word you utter only furthering his fascination with you, contradictions in your thoughts popping up right and left. Mostly, as a captor, Chrollo is really just omnipresent. He’s always there, dark eyes trained on you and listening to every little thing you say, watching every little thing you do, commenting on what feels like every thought you have.

It’s exhausting, the way he’s constantly hovering, the way he’s constantly on the look out for any kind of interaction with him, and at first you’ll find yourself growing tired, afraid, frantic to be alone.

You’ll eventually explode, yelling at him and telling him to leave you alone, to disappear, to just get away from me, you monster! He’s silent as your words sink in, his face carefully neutral, before he laughs softly, shaking his head a bit.

If that’s what you wish, he’ll ominously tell you, walking out the hotel room door and locking it behind him. It’s wonderful, the first few hours without him – finally some time to yourself, to really cry or scream or just ponder your new life.

But after a day or two passes, thing start changing – you don’t like Chrollo, you promise, but it’s sort of lonely without him. The hotel room is big but empty, his missing presence louder than the silence. You’ll slowly find yourself starting to miss him, wishing he’d come back and continue asking those stupid questions of his, to brush his fingers against your cheeks and thighs, to gaze at you with that deranged but enamored look in his eye.

By day five, you’re frantic for him to come back, taking to sitting in the corner and staring at the door, persuading yourself that he’ll have to return sometime, that eventually he’ll come back to you, that he won’t just leave you alone to die.

And when he does, ten days after leaving you fully alone (minus the cameras placed in the room), he’s shocked to feel the way you rush in for a hug as the door swings open. You’re wrapping your arms around his torso, burying your face into his chest, and Chrollo can’t help but blink widely down at you, lips parted but no sounds coming out. He knew the loneliness was getting to you, but you’d never initiated physical contact like this before. Was it an act of desperation, or was it because you were missing him?

 Did you ache for human contact, or did you ache for his contact?

He’s not sure, but he finds himself humming and returning the gesture, letting a hand pet your hair as he asks you if you missed him, if you’d gotten lonely, if you’d like to lay down for a bit with him. You’re not as clingy after you pull away from the hug, but Chrollo doesn’t care – you lay with him, a good two feet of space between your bodies, but it’s progress.

You’re more open after that, not flinching away and snapping at him when he reaches out to touch you. Instead, you’re almost leaning into his touch, enjoying it – which leads to another key aspect of being Chrollo’s captive; the touching.

He’s not invasive with it in the beginning, but as time passes you’ll notice the way his hand is always lingering at your waist, his fingers drumming against your skin. You’ll realize he’s always shuffling closer to your body, dissatisfied with the space between you. You’ll get used to the way he asks for a kiss before you both fall into slumber, his arms snaking around your middle and pulling you back against his chest as he sighs into your ear.

The rational side of you is enraged, disgusted by his attempts at romantic and intimate touches, but a part of you that grows larger with every passing day stops caring, slowly accepting that Chrollo is all you have left now, and that you should take advantage of every ounce of affection he’s willing to show you. It may not be real (though the obsession that gleams in his eyes certainly is, as is the blood that sometimes stains his pale chest when he returns home from a few days away), but it’s something.

It’s enough that you can almost overlook the way he keeps you trapped in the hotel rooms, stuck by his side, with only your books and himself to entertain you. You can almost forget the way he’s freely admitted to killing for you, nonchalantly threating family members if you try to escape, telling you he’ll hear about anything and everything you do because nothing can hide from him.

Eventually, you’ll stop caring – your life is easier now, all the stress and worries of independence gone, and Chrollo couldn’t be more pleased that you’re settling down, or mellowing, as he likes to say. You’re closer to realizing your true purpose with him – to continue to give him that warmth he craves, to continue to let him kiss and hold you, to let him steal every ounce of your attention and time.

He’s a thief after all, and now that you’re his, he’s entitled to take whatever he wants.

PUNISHMENTS:

While Chrollo is, overall, a somewhat lenient captor, he does have a few strict guidelines.

Firstly, you are to never ignore him. To ignore him would mean a rejection of his feelings for you, and while Chrollo is normally a cool, level-headed man, the second you even encroach on any actions that could be considered a rejection of a his love, of him, he’s clenching his jaw and doing his best to not lash out, keeping his temper and check and calculating ways to make you recognize the consequences of your actions.

Secondly, do not try to escape. He’s lucid enough to understand that once you’ve first been kidnapped, you’re likely to try everything in your power to escape. It doesn’t matter how deeply your feelings for him have formed – it’s only human nature to not enjoy being trapped, which is why he’ll have to train you, to make sure that you correctly acclimate to your new life with him, to your new future.

And lastly, you must never attempt to hurt him. Of course, you could never do any real damage, but the sentiment will hurt him more than he’d care to admit – by reaching out and wishing him harm, you are, once again, rejecting him. You’re displaying a desire to wound him, and he absolutely cannot have you thinking that you’re in any position of power or control in your relationship with him.

(You are, of course, because Chrollo’s dependence on you is really quite pathetic and sad, but you won’t be aware of the depth of his feelings for you until very, very late into your time with him. He’s good at hiding this, if only because letting you see him vulnerable would mean letting you have a sliver of control over him, a concept that terrifies him to his very core.)

Those three things are really the only ways to set Chrollo off – he’s generally pretty adaptable, able to read you like a clock and understanding what you’re thinking merely by watching your facial expressions, and because of this he won’t often punish you. He doesn’t like the idea of disciplining you, instead preferring to simply manipulate you into thinking and feeling the way he wants you to. But, if any of the three rules are breached, Chrollo finds himself resorting to more extreme measures, doing what he feels is necessary to garner the results he’s looking for.

Even so, he won’t ever rely upon physical means to punish you – he doesn’t like the idea of you being injured or hurt, and it would be a hassle to mend the damage hurting you would cause.

So, Chrollo defaults to more manipulative measures, punishments he knows will leave you crying and terrified, inflicting more psychological rather than physical damage. It’s the only way he can get what he wants, after all, and Chrollo has always been determined to get his way – even at the expense of you, his most prized possession.

When you’re staring at him with such hard, pained eyes, it almost makes him feel bad for a moment. Almost, if only because your words are replaying in his head, the tone and wavering in your voice making pause for a brief moment.

You’d said you hated him, that he was a monster, that you were unhappy being with him. It was all things Chrollo had already known, of course, but it certainly didn’t feel good to hear them come from you, nonetheless.

He just sighs, looking at you with that same belittled, heavy gaze, telling you to calm down, darling, don’t say things you don’t mean.

This just angers you more, it seems, because soon you’re nearly screaming, throwing a pillow or two at him as you yell that you’re not lying, you sick fuck! I hate you, I will never love you, I will never need you! Please, you have to let me go, I can’t stand being with you any longer!

What you’re saying isn’t even particularly harsh – he’s heard much, much worse from his victims over the years, searing words insulting his intelligence, his appearance, his morals, his past, everything and anything. And yet, there’s something about hearing the words coming from you that makes him flounder a bit, a sinking feeling in his gut making him stand up straight, appraising your shaking, heaving form across the room. It’s silent for a few long moments, before he simply adjust his jacket, pulling the lapels slightly and turning his back to you. Very well then, if that’s how you feel. As you wish, my dear.

And with that, he’s slipping out the hotel door, disappearing to who knows where. You’re left trembling in anger, your breathing unsteady, but before you can think you’re rushing to the door, wiggling the handle violently and sucking in a sharp breath when you feel that it’s unlocked, practically begging you to throw it open and leave this godforsaken hotel room.

As you rush away, sprinting down staircases and down never-ending hallways, you’ll distantly know that this is probably a trap. Chrollo wouldn’t just let you go, you’re sure, especially with such suspicious time. But you can’t stop yourself from taking advantage of the opportunity, deciding that even if it is a trap, the few brief moments of freedom that you’ll have will be enough to warrant it all.

And yet, as you push through the front doors and take a look around the busy, bustling street you’ve stumbled upon, you nearly sob. You have no idea where you are, the landmarks totally unfamiliar, but you’re free, feeling the sunlight on your skin without Chrollo’s presence pressed into your side, his cold fingers pushing into your hip or shoulder. You don’t have any money and have no idea where to go, but your legs are moving faster than you can think, wandering through the city along back roads and side streets.

Hours quickly pass by, exhaustion beginning to settle into your bones as the sun dips back behind the horizon, leaving the city in shadows and quiet aside from the hum of cars and the bustle of city goers. It’s only once you’re stumbling through an alley that you hear it – him, to be specific.

At least, you’re pretty sure it’s a man – the footsteps are obviously trying to be quiet, but they’re not doing a good enough job to go unnoticed by you. He’s breathing loudly, too, and as you glance over your shoulder, eyes wide and scared, you don’t see anyone.

You’re sure there’s someone there, that they’ve followed you down this alleyway, and as you press your back against the slightly wet brick wall of the building behind you, you feel your heart practically about to beat out of your chest.

Who was there?

 It’s silent for a moment, before a short laugh is barked out, the man emerging from behind a dumpster. Shadow falls over his face, making it impossible to see his face, but you do see his size. He’s a monster of a man, bulky shoulders easily above your head, muscles bulging along his arms and under his pants. A wild bed of hair sits atop his head, and you feel yourself freeze, fear eating away at your heart.

You can’t move as the man comes closer, face still hidden in the darkness, and it’s only when he comes down to punch at your stomach do you realize what’s about to happen, panic engulfing your senses as his fist comes closer and closer and closer – It sucks the air right out of  your lungs, making you wheeze and gasp for breath, knees slamming into the concrete below you as you gasp and struggle to regain your breath.

The man laughs, a timber, horrible sound, but stops abruptly at the distant sound of sirens. He curses under his breath, and you feel his eyes on you, daring to look up at him in between your fits of coughing.

You’re lucky, bitch, he starts, voice gravelly as he begins backing up. Next time I’ll get you, the cops won’t be coming and I’ll show you why weak little things like you shouldn’t be in alleyways late at night – makes it hard for me to resist ya, and I think you’d look even better without that ugly ass nightgown you’ve got on.

And with that, he’s sprinting down the alley, running away even as the sirens get further and further away. You’re left to lay on the cold, wet ground, having regained your breath but letting tears stream down your face. You don’t want to admit it, but you’d been hoping that Chrollo would magically appear, just like he always does. You’d hoped that he would’ve stopped the stranger’s punch, that he would’ve saved you just like he used to.

The thought of Chrollo makes you flinch, but you can’t stop yourself from wondering if maybe he was right. Maybe he’s right that you can’t take care of yourself, that you’re too weak for this world, that you’re better off with a monster like him (quoted directly from him, with that signature smirk of his) rather than the everyday men.

You curl up, knees to your chest for a while, before your up again, wandering and trying to retrace your steps back to the hotel you’d run out of only hours ago. Eventually you’ll make it back, and as you wait in the lobby, rubbing at your now dirty and bruised body, your eyes will flick across every person entering and exiting, before you begrudgingly make your way to the elevator, riding up tot eh floor you knew your room was on.

It takes everything in you to knock on the door – his door, but eventually you do. And when he opens it, a small hello trickling past his lips, you can’t help but let out an ugly, gaspy sob, rushing forward and wrapping your arms around him. It feels horrible, disgusting, so very good to feel how he returns the hug, gently patting your back and smoothing down your hair, a soft hello my dear making your shoulders shake.

He won’t ask too many questions, letting you inside and nearly forcing you into the shower, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Even when he’s got you wearing a fresh set of soft, lounging clothing (with a neckline just a bit too low to cover your collarbone, something his eyes are often drawn to), you can’t find it in yourself to ask. He’s talking to you, after all, asking you if you enjoyed your time in the real world, if it was as grand as you’d hoped.

 His eyes are twinkling, and although the apology you offer up isn’t as loud or insistent as he’d hoped for, it still makes him smile, his throat bobbing as he loudly swallows.

The conversation is over for the evening, and it’s only after you fall asleep (in his bed, he notes with a somewhat shy smile and a shaky exhale) that he pulls out his phone, pressing the contact name and smiling at the dial tone.

Thank you, Uvogin, he starts, letting a hand run very lightly over your leg under the sheets. This favor won’t be forgotten.

OVERALL DANGER:

9/10

The thing that makes Chrollo a dangerous yandere is less his violent tendencies, and more of the way you nearly won’t recognize yourself after being with him for long enough.

Of course, he loves you – a sick, messy, disgusting love that he quickly grows addicted to. He finds you irresistible, fascinating and growing drunk off the way your body fits with him, but he’s still a criminal. He’s still a mass murderer, singlehandedly responsible for the deaths of more than he can count, and he will not be suddenly listening to commonplace morals once his feelings for you form.

There’s no such thing as bad to him – he views you as his woman, his partner and his most precious, cherished possession, and as a result he has absolutely no qualms about doing what he wants to you. He’s manipulative, lying to you just as often as he tells the truth, making you feel as if you’re going crazy because you have no idea what’s real and what’s fake.

He’s possessive, slowly isolating you and barring you from any contact at all with anyone he deems a threat to your future with him, or anyone at all, really. He doesn’t want you to grow feelings for another man, and has no issues with cutting off your contact with everyone in your life that you hold dear. He’s always got that same look on his face; a small, prideful smile, his dark eyes so impossibly wide and sparkling as he stares at you, every ounce of his attention focused on you and only you.

He’s terrifying, and while you’ll more than likely develop feelings for him before you know of his true self, you’ll begrudgingly find those feelings doesn’t entirely dissolve even once you know that he’s a crook and a perverted, horrible man who’s stolen you away. You’ll probably still find him charming, still thinking his hair looks soft enough to touch, still finding his hands (littered with a fair share of veins) drool worthy, even when you realize how many have likely died because of them.

You’ll hate yourself for it, but you will eventually find yourself growing just as dependent on Chrollo as he is on you – and really, that’s exactly what he wants. He wants you to need him, to yearn for him and crave him, if only because he feels all that for you and more, and he needs to make sure he has you under his thumb, so that your pretty smile and lovely voice and heavenly body are never not by side.

Things would grow ugly if you were to ever be snatched away from him, corpses piling up and his own sanity slipping away until he can hold you in his arms once more, pressing his lips messily, desperately against yours, hearing you say his name with that lilt you always do.

Chrollo needs you, and it’s best if you just give in – you may essentially be ending your own life, but you’re giving meaning to his and saving so many others. So, so many others.

[taraa-dactyl]

𝖀𝖓𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖋𝖎𝖊𝖉 𝕸𝖎𝖈𝖗𝖔𝖘𝖕𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖘

Masterlist

A/N -> Horny on main for this mf, heads up idk how to write steamy scenes and this is slightly unedited because im writing this at 5am.

Pairing -> Jake Sully x f!Reader

Summary -> Set during the events of Avatar (2009) Jake Sully is your escort through the forest as you complete fieldwork, he unknowingly comes into contact with a potent plant that causes ruts in Na’vi.

Warnings -> nsfw, p in v, cunnilingus, sex pollen, not enemies to lovers but nuisance to lovers, Na’vi!Jake x Human reader, ruts. MDNI

word count -> 2.6K

You’d been swamped since your return back to work, taking two weeks for yourself was definitely worth it to protect your sanity and reduce the chances of a burn out. However, now in an attempt to make up for the work you had missed you found yourself working late nights and early mornings, nose practically pressed to your tablet as you wrote up papers on your samples. 

You were finally given the green light to complete your own fieldwork on the condition that you had an escort with you at all times, most commonly an avatar driver. Norm was good company because you were able to bond over your mutual passion for science and the Na’vi culture. You did tend to grow exasperated when he monitored and micromanaged your work, committed to doing your work by the book, rules set by the RDA. 

Grace was way too busy to babysit you as you picked and trifled different plants and herbs, when she could be connecting with the Omatikayan people. Which left you with Jake, the perfect candidate as he was not only an avatar driver but also had a military background. 

It wasn’t that the two of you didn’t get along but you tended to butt heads over your work, he didn’t understand why your field of research was botany when scientists could be better utilised studying and researching the Omatikaya, clearly a connection and new respect for the people had formed since training with Neytiri.

Obviously he had no room to talk as he wasn’t even a scientist but that didn’t prevent him from voicing his opinions, which was definitely exacerbated by Grace and Norm’s allegiance to you.

Which brought you to this, trudging through the forest following the map downloaded on your tablet with a disgruntled ten foot tall Jake grumpily following behind you, muttering to himself about how he clearly knew more about the Na’vi because of his connection with the clan, despite you having years of training and study before you were allowed to go on the mission. Egotistical asshole. 

There was no arguing with Jake because it seemed like no matter what you said to him to defend yourself was met with laughter, clearly enjoying riling you up and getting a reaction out of you. Skxáwng didn’t feel like a strong enough word for him. 

“Are you nearly done, I need to check in with Grace before I go train with Neytiri. We’ve been out here for nearly an hour, surely you have everything you need by now.” He’s borderline whining as he playfully swats overhanging leaves out of his way.

“Calm your damn tits, I’m nearly done, it just takes a while to actually extract the samples.” You huff out with a roll of your eyes.

“Ugh I don’t have time for this, I’m supposed to go hunting with some of the warriors today.” His whining is endless, you think to yourself.

You attempt to stifle your anger with a sharp inhale. 

“You are more than welcome to leave, so I can get this done in peace. Besides, Hell’s Gate is nearby.”

“Mmm, actually I can’t. In case you haven’t noticed Grace will have me by the balls if I just leave you out here. Also you’re practically defenceless out here.” His patronising ends with a snort.

Unimpressed, you side eye him. “Well, in case you haven’t noticed, you may have an Avatar body but you're still human underneath that.” He doesn’t want to admit that it causes a pang within him.

He doesn’t respond, just walks past you to lead the way, pulling a rather large branch out of the way, waiting for you to walk through.

You finally set your equipment at the base of a tree where unruly moss sprouts and prepare your tools to harvest it.  

Jake continues to babble on behind you voicing his dissatisfaction and urges you to hurry up. You ignore the grunt he lets out when he sags to the floor, which soon turns to exaggerated sighing. You’re so focused on your work that you don’t notice when he runs his fingers over the plants around him with abandon. A patch of cerulean blue growths hidden from your view when you first walked into the clearing are the first thing he touches, enjoying the texture on his fingers as he picks at it and rubs it between his thumb and forefinger. 

You only pull out of the trance that you find yourself in when focusing when his sighing ceases, the sudden silence a forewarning. 

Jake stifles the urge to burst out laughing when he sees the size of your widened eyes, almost bursting out of their sockets.

“What? I’m letting you focus.” The blue coats his fingers now.

“Oh my god.”

“Oh my god what?” His prominent eyebrows knit together.

“Oh my god.”

He’s alarmed now. “Can you say anything other than oh my god?”

“Jake those are microspores, why would you touch a random plant?” Your voice is a whisper as you stare at him in disbelief.

“Eh it’s fine, it’s just a random plant.” He shrugs.

“No! It’s not fine, that random plant has spores on it that can trigger Na’vi ruts!” You exclaim, thumb and forefingers pinched together as you enunciate each word. His understanding of the situation dawns on him. 

“You mean- like the horny animal thing?” Not how you would describe it but you nod anyway.

You voice your thoughts as they run through your mind. “Okay, okay, I’ll take you to Grace-no what could she possibly do? Maybe the Tsahik or healers, surely they have a treatment to prevent it. Ok, yes.” You nod in finality.

Your tools are swiftly packed away as you usher Jake towards Hometree with urgency. He follows you blindly as you drag him by the forearm, he’s careful to slow his steps so he doesn’t bump into you. 

You find yourselves jogging through the forest with abandon, no longer attempting to clear branches and debris from the path. Jake’s steps begin to slow as you’re about halfway to Hometree and you glance back in confusion. 

“I don’t think you understand the severity of your predicament, we have to get you to the Tsahik before it kicks in.” You tug on his arm in an attempt to get him moving again. When you turn to face him, his large chest is heaving in an attempt to get enough air to his lungs. 

He licks his lips and breaks it to you with a shaky sigh, “I- I won’t get there in time, listen to me closely I need you to get to the Tsahik and tell her what is happening, tell her I sent you and ask for an escort back to Hell’s Gate.”

“What! No, c’mon we’re almost there.” Your confusion is palpable.  

He says your name to gather your attention. “If you don’t leave now, I won’t be able to control myself…around you.” He’s hesitant to add the end of the sentence.

You don’t budge, mind already made up.

“Jake, I’m not leaving you. we’ll work something out, surely a hunter or someone wandering will find us.” You’re urging him to go along with you.

His lips part and quiver as he finds the words to say. “I’m…out of time, it’s starting. If you don’t go now I will not be able to restrain myself.” 

You double down on your stance and come to a decision, “Fine, then don’t, because I’m not leaving.” You hold eye contact in the hopes he will understand your meaning. Thankfully he does.

He attempts to say something but quickly abandons it, bending at the waist to pull you close to him, chests flush together. His glazed eyes stare into yours hazy with lust, a final questioning for permission. A searing and hungry kiss is all he needs before his palm grasps your jaw, in an effort to deepen the kiss. Your lips part, his tongue enters and you’re hyper aware of your shared breaths mingling and intertwining with one and other. 

You’re almost embarrassed by how quickly you feel the effects of Jake in your senses, his masculine scent invades your nose, comforting and enticing all at once. You’re almost dizzy from his strong chest and muscled arms pulling you as close as possible. Weak knees force you to rely on him to hold you up and keep you from toppling over, surrendering to his hold. You’re thankful you can’t form Tsaheylu because he would feel the immediate reaction the stimulation has on you, nipples swelling and pressing against the thin material of your shirt, a slick wetness growing between your folds. 

He’s hesitant to pull apart from the kiss, finally concedes and forces the words out. “This is not how I wanted to do this. I wanted to take you out, wanted to take care of you.” He’s distracted by your lips, his breaths puff against your swollen lips. You glance up at him in confusion but let the thought go when he delves back into you.

He cups your cheeks gently as he plants all the passion and lust he’s clouded with onto you. You're forced to hold onto the backs of his hands as he walks you backwards till you’re leaving against the smooth bark of a tree. 

Now that you have some stability he parts from your body, planting kisses down the slopes of your face arriving at the innermost sensitive skin of your neck. He kisses, nips and suckles causing your eyes to fall shut once again and you can’t control the breathy gasps and quiet moans that escape through your parted lips.

Your head thumps back against the bark resulting in Jake’s new focus being your heaving breasts, that he has to admit look enticing. He abandons his task and is quick to grope at them before giving up and scrambling to pull the hem of your cotton shirt up and over your head. The folds of your skin and weight of your breasts jostle, he takes a moment to take in your form in all of its glory. Soft and delicate in comparison to his hardened warrior physique. 

His plump lips attach to your perked nipple, sucking and licking over and over until the sensitivity takes a hold of you, producing a moan from you. You want to smack him when you feel his lips quirk into a smirk, instead settling on running through the long tresses of his hair, groping and palming his queue. He whimpers, and now it’s your turn to smirk. Large hands trace down your ribs then stomach, kneading and pushing into the skin.

He pulls away from you, swiftly dropping to his knees, now level with your crotch. He looks up at you sending you a comforting smile that turns cheeky when he slides his hands around and gives your ass a squeeze. You blush and can’t suppress the shy smile that takes over your features.

You want to laugh and simultaneously aw while he scrambles to untie your boots and slide them off your feet.

All his focus is put on pulling your belt open and popping the button of your tactical pants, promptly sliding them and your underwear down your legs and holding the backs of each calf as you step out of them. 

Finally bare in front of him, he places a wet kiss to the space above your mound and slinks down to lick up your slit, lapping up and down before finally landing where you want him. Darting his tongue in fast circles on your clit and sucking softly which changes pace every so often. He continues on the seconds trickling into minutes before finally pulling away, your slick stringing from his lips. He goes back to pepper a few more kisses along your pussy, before pulling away again with a shake of his head.

“No, I’m going to have you around my cock when you cum.” There’s no room for argument when he pulls at you and moulds you into the position he wants. Your back is pressed into the forest floor, legs pulled apart and bent. His patience wears thin and is apparent when he pulls roughly at the ties of his loincloth, removing the offending material. He spreads the sticky fluid around the tip of his cock and pumps it, hips stuttering into his fist.

You’re entranced by the stripped pattern around his member, large and pulsating and prepare yourself.

The spores have full control of him now desperation and lust all culminating in him yanking you further closer to him by your thighs, he finally has you where he wants you. He slides his cock against your sticky folds, grinding on you before pulling back and aligning his head with your entrance. 

As he pushes in slowly, careful to not hurt you, the stretch is delicious pulling a loud high-pitched moan from deep within you. Heat flares all over your body, your eyes close in ecstasy as he pushes further and further into your wet heat. When he bottoms out and your clit is flush with his skin you take in a breath in an attempt to compose yourself. 

Slow pumps in and out give away, he’s unstoppable now, a brutal place that reminds you he’s under the effect of this carnal rut. He burrows into your neck placing more kisses across your glistening skin.

A resounding wet pap occurs every time he pushes back in, slick and sweat coats both of your skin, blending together, and you don’t know where he ends and you begin. He’s everything you’ve ever known and all you want, there are no words to describe the passion and connection you feel, undoubtedly reciprocated by him.

Grunts and moans echo throughout the immense forest, pure pleasure and fulfilment between the two of you. You’re hiding your face in his neck, it does nothing to muffle your moans and unrelenting gasps. 

You both make the steady climb to the apex of your orgasms, pleasure building steadily in the pit of your stomach as he hits the soft spot deep in you over and over, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. 

He reads you so easily. “I’m not pulling out.” There’s no room for argument, though realistically you don’t have one.

All you can do is nod against him as you stammer out that you’re close.

You finally reach your peak, pulsing and clenching around his cock, somehow more slick runs down his length and a long drawn out moan is inescapable. You look up at him wanting to memorise the lines and groves of his face, the white dots and freckles spread across the bridge of his nose. He stares deep into your glassy eyes and lets out a stuttering breath, eyebrows raising when he joins you at the peak. 

Warmth spreads within you as his hips stutter against you, gasping breaths intermingling, enjoying the remnants of the shared orgasm. 

When you both stop grinding and moving against one another's body, you remain like that, coiled within each other soaking up the aftermath. When he’s ready to move, he pulls out with a final deep groan, potent seed slowly dripping out of your sensitive cunt and trickles down to your puckered asshole.

“Beautiful.” He mutters with appreciation.

You untangle from one another and he shapes your malleable form onto your side and settles behind you, face nestling into your neck, sweat cooling. You both lie there in the afterglow, clouded with pleasure and slight surprise about what just occurred. He places another kiss to the notch at the back of your neck, sighing in content. 

After a couple of minutes lying there basking in the exaltation, you break the silence. 

“What did you mean this isn’t how you wanted it to go?”

The haze of his rut has subsided, and he’s finally able to conceive a coherent thought. He chuckles before answering, “I was gonna wine and dine you, that is when I could grow up and stop annoying you.” 

“I’m definitely a lot less annoyed with you now.”

[cloud-starlight]

Sniperspy in my mind (and partly in the comics) have this solidarity of being complete Loners in comparison to their team. I see this kind of compatibility with them where they can finally have someone with the same “get it done efficiently” mindset that a lot of the other mercs don’t have or have less of.

The ISTJ INTJ solidarity is real and they encompass it perfectly. Spy is like *this guy is so weird and has no class but I can totally get behind his dedication to efficiency* and Sniper is like *this guy is frivolous and attention-grabbing but he is an expert at keeping his emotional distance* and like. they are both attracted to eachother because of that. they have finally found this other person who they can see themselves in.

but then they have the problem of no attachments. but… what happens when theres nothing about the persons character/personality you disagree with? sure there are differences in lifestyle but it’s not too drastic. Sure Sniper likes hunting while Spy would prefer looking through clothes magazines, but there’s no difference in moral lifestyle. It’s like, theres finally someone they can both let their guard down around because neither of their guards *actually* go down. They’ll still be alert, no matter the situation.

so, they go on a few couple road-trips around the west coast/midwest. they find ease around eachother, they have similar views, they can make fun of the same people, and they can find an escape from their jobs.

Then, here comes the problem for Spy. Keeping yourself detached has always been a typical strategy for spies, but does it really apply to everyone? Theres this dedication to keeping yourself a shrouded mystery, because no matter how earnest someone says they are when keeping secrets-you can never completely tell. And hes always had this way in relationships (romantic or platonic) where he’s with someone, then he cuts it off. no questions answered, no calls taken, no letters returned to sender. He’s gone. It’s the way of things as a spy, right? The job is done, the relationships are done. But, is this a dance he’s going to be wanting to do until he dies? Theres only so much time in a man’s life. (and a smoking one at that, but i digress)

He likes fancy clothes, he likes chance, he likes problem-solving, and he likes planning. He likes it so much that he’s willing to put his own life in the hands of his own mind, and his abilty to act on instinct.

Now, with this new indefinite contract where he battles alongside 8 other men in various locations across the globe in a decade old fued between two brothers, he wonders if he’ll even need to *cut the ties* of this job/era in his life.

he has one of the most innovative and smartest doctors at his dispense to heal any disease or wounds he has, he has good pay, and freedom to be his own person *in the most mysterious way possible* and he gets to boss around and insult his coworkers with no repercussions from the employer. He lives in a constant state of planning against his own clone! (which he believes to be the best candidate to fight against)

So when this like-minded wilderness man comes to save him from his social boredom, should he stop himself from forming an attachment? It’s only human after all, emotional bonds are a pillar in human nature. But, is it worth it to give into something he hasn’t been with for at least 20 years just because he *thinks* he won’t have any other job? He truly believes, if he does allow himself to have strong emotional connection with Sniper, he may never be able to cut the tie, he’ll get too attached.

Now, for Sniper, there’s this dilemma where he’s never had a relashionship to cut off. His parents passed pretty recently, and he’s feeling lonely! How are you supposed to brush off the feeling that you could have a genuine connection with someone like you? Maybe… just keep up the battlefield rivalry and keep getting pissed at this annoying invisible guy who keeps ruining your shots by stabbing you in the back, but then, theres this belief that he’ll always be there to mess up your plans, and that is still a sense of security. How is it that Sniper should have no connections strong enough to deter him from planning to kill them, but still mentally function as a person?

In my mind, Sniper and Spy found eachother at the perfect spot for connection, they are both starting to question their own needs, even if it’s in different ways. Sniper lost something, and Spy hasn’t had something for a long time, but is just now questioning it.

It’s a scary dance for both of them, of course, but it’s not a dance to easily keep yourself from doing. It’s the most emotionally invested either of them have been in a romantic relationship, so how you just end it? how do you just say “no, no more.” and then see the person you know you love on the battlefield and not say anything?

[copperbadge]

Sam, I must know what sort of things Gerald blogs about on his Tumblr. How old or active is his account? Is his identity a secret?

It's actually a reference to an older post where @dignitywhatdignity pointed out there was no way Ger wasn't on Tumblr. :D Reproduced my response below -- first, Photogram:

I can picture Jerry’s Photogram in my head very clearly because I’ve had to research the children of rich people and their fucking obnoxious instas, and Jerry’s is probably equal parts expensive cars, club glam, and scenic vistas, but mainly because that’s like…what you do. It’s just kind of the done thing, like wearing a shirt when you leave the house. 

Update: Gerald's photogram has shifted radically -- he still treats it as a Thing You Do but especially now that he's a dad it's a lot more Parenting Lifestyle stuff. Because a few of my friends have had babies in the last two years and I had to research the babies my fictional characters were having, the algo now thinks I have baby fever, so I get a lot of Parent Influencer content, and I bet Gerald does a lot of sly fun-poking at that stuff. Like, posting a photo of a bottle warmer and a bib-washing tabletop machine with commentary like "You cannot buy any of this in the shop I don't have, but if you're going to buy one stupid thing as a parent, buy the bib washer. Not a single shirt you own will be unstained but the bibs will be immaculate."

They don't post pictures of Serafina, though -- there are a couple of official portraits for PR reasons but day-to-day that shit is locked to friends and family only. (There are special websites for this, I have friends who use them, it's pretty neat.) The only time random candids of her are out there are usually when someone snaps Michaelis toting her around Fons-Askaz with her cousins -- the "King Emeritus and Royal Ducklings" are becoming a very familiar sight. At least once a week Michaelis takes Noah and Joan out for an afternoon in town with Sera in a snugli and the twins in a stroller. Don't ask him about his stepson and grandkids unless you really want to hear about them.

Meanwhile he also definitely has a secret super-weird tumblr and nobody can figure out if he’s roleplaying or shitposting or what when he posts stuff like “The family groupchat is all well and good until it starts heavily impacting local politics.” Are those horses really his or is he just visiting a barn? Is that…a photo of a plate full of appetizers at “My cousin’s latest house party” with Angela Merkel in the background? He certainly has some strong feelings about Princess Diana and equally strong feelings about Tsar Nicholas. Why is he one of only three people the official Eddie Rambler tumblr follows?

Gerald's tumblr has also slowed down since the diagnosis and becoming a dad, but the content is still random as hell and more authentically wild than his photogram. Again, no photos of Serafina, but it's very evident that whoever is running that particular tumblr has had a kid, or is pretending they have. He gets asks accusing him of faking shit for clout and every time he does, his response is simply to write the ask on a sheet of paper in longhand and photograph it in front of a famous European landmark and/or political figure.

Alanna tolerates this because it does keep him out of mischief and sometimes he takes Serafina with him to whatever landmark he's visiting, and she gets to have a quiet apartment to herself for a while.

(”Eddie Rambler’s on tumblr?” someone asks, and someone else replies “Name me one other TV chef brave AND stupid enough to be on tumblr” and then you realize it is in fact the official Eddie Rambler tumblr saying that.)

Eddie doesn't post to his official Tumblr anymore because he rarely has time and doesn't need to do the self-promotion, but Katie in Communications checks his inbox once a week and brings him the most entertaining asks to respond to. He's currently hovering somewhere around the level of Neil Gaiman in terms of "Famous people who are inexplicably on Tumblr."

Ultimately there develops a running joke that Jerry’s tumblr is run by either a) an upper-class vampire (rude) or b) the elected king of a micronation on the Mediterranean coast with a name nobody can spell (super rude!) 

One time Gerald accidentally pocket-posted a blurry selfie to his Tumblr but it was so poorly focused and clearly accidental that a bunch of people got mad at him for violating the privacy of the Duke of Shivadlakia. He had to pretend to have a week-long beef with himself to save face. He eventually got Noah to take a selfie with him, blanked out Noah's face, and then claimed the Duke had forgiven him and here was a selfie with him as proof.

It's a hard old life, being Duke of Shivadlakia, but someone's got to do it.

[eclectiaa]

Like a Movie (ft. Diluc Ragvindr x Fem!Reader)

Note: This turned out longer than expected, though it isn't long by any stretch. I've been having a craving to write for Diluc for a while now, so I'm glad I finally could! Happy reading! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Content: In which Diluc hires you to 'play' his girlfriend.

The first time you met Diluc Radvindr, you fell for him immediately...

Hotel Debord's grand Mondstadt opening was an unmistakable success. The ballroom was transformed into a lavish party space, complete with an endless array of gourmet food under the sparkling chandeliers. Diluc Ragvindr stood in one corner, brows furrowed as he watched his father attempt to introduce him to yet another socialite. Crepus was all smiles, but Diluc could see the desperation in his eyes as he tried to play matchmaker. It didn't help when one party—your own son, no less—was so unwilling.

The latest candidate sipped on her cocktail and giggled at every word, making Diluc want a very long drink from his own glass—anything to drown out the noise of the party tonight.

"Excuse me," he said after finishing the rest of his cider in one go. "I need to refill my drink."

He snuck off for the bar before Crepus could protest.

It was just another typical night for the scion, but the same could not be said for you. An influencer friend had dragged you here tonight. As she grabbed your arm, bringing you closer to the crowded bar, you couldn't help but feel out of your element.

You were out of your element in these fancy clothes... among these elite guests. This was compounded further after your friend effectively abandoned you, giggling along to a black-haired musician the last time you saw her.

Before you could call it a night, a man with slicked-back hair and a lingering gaze approached you. It wasn't long till he was making inappropriate comments. When you finally put your foot down, he refused to take no for an answer. Now you were pissed, scene be damned.

"Can't you see she's not interested?"

Except a voice behind you spooked the guy straight. "M-Mr. Ragvindr—"

"Scram."

The man didn't need to be told twice, walking away without even looking in your direction.

"...I could have handled that, you know," you found yourself saying. Was it too much liquid courage?

"You looked like you were handling it great."

That snarky tone did nothing for your mood. You whirl around, a retort on your lips, only to come face-to-face with sharp golden eyes and fiery red hair. It was packed, sure, but you hadn't realized how close he was. Flustered by the sudden proximity to the unfairly handsome man, you took an unsteady step back.

Except your ankles caught on your flowing dress hem, and you tipped backward with a yelp.

The man reacted on instinct. His arms locked around your waist, yanking you tight toward his chest. Your relieved gasp rang in his ears, and Diluc Ragvindr looked down at you, regarding you with unveiled amusement lurking in his gaze.

"Just like you handled that."

"You—"

"Diluc!" Crepus's jovial voice boomed. "I've been looking for you—"

He stopped short, eyes blowing wide at the sight of his reclusive son wrapped intimately around a dazzling young lady. A wicked grin spread over his face as he clapped. "Well, well! What do we have here? You should have just said that you had someone! I have to tell your mother."

"Wait—" Except his father was long gone. The red-haired man felt an ache in his temples. Then he locked eyes with you, still snug in his arms. "...Great."

The second time you met Diluc Ragvindr, he proposed...

"We have to stop meeting like this."

Strong hands caught your shoulders, steadying you after you smacked right into a broad chest turning the corner. You look up, an apology on your lips, only to meet the intensely golden eyes and blazing red hair from your incident at Hotel Debord.

"What, are you stalking me?"

Diluc looked mildly offended. "No," he offered placidly, gesturing to the burly men who had stopped a little ways from you. "But they might be."

"Shit."

In your reunion, you'd forgotten about your father's debt collectors following you down the street. You'd been dodging their calls for a while. It wasn't your gambling habit, after all.

"We've gotta—" You looked up at the handsome man urgently, but he simply waved at the collectors. It was funny; they looked as confused as you were.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?"

"What are you—" you started to hiss. You didn't know who this rich boy was, but he was about to get robbed. Except with a few biting words, mysterious bodyguards, and a flash of cash, he sent them packing.

"Now..." he surveyed you for a moment, and you shivered under his gaze. The frigid November air didn't help either. "How about some coffee?"

The third time you met Diluc Radgvindr, you went steady...

"I'll do it."

You felt like you'd signed a deal with the devil with how his lips curled up in a smirk. He was a handsome one, though. "I knew you'd come around."

"You had no way of knowing that," you countered, shifting uncomfortably. You weren't that easy to read.

Diluc leaned back in his Herman Miller office chair, regarding you with a hint of amusement. "So we're in agreement—you pretend to be my devoted girlfriend for, say...six months. In return, I'll take care of your father's debt in full."

You frowned, shifting awkwardly as you stood in front of him. "Just a few fancy parties and smiling for some photos? That's all?"

"I may also require your company for the occasional business dinner." His gaze turned wry. "But I promise to make them more exciting than they sound."

Your thoughts spun over the security his offer provided. With a bracing breath, you lifted your chin. "Okay, Mr. Ragnvindr, you've got yourself a deal." You extended a hand to seal the deal, unable not to add a playful, "Though I'll still expect proper compensation for putting up with your undoubtedly high-maintenance self."

His much larger hand engulfed yours, palm pleasantly warm. "I would expect nothing less." His intense golden eyes glinted. "I look forward to...getting to know you better, Miss [Last Name]."

In the first month, you met his parents...

You inhaled deeply, trying to steady your nerves as Diluc's flashy sports car glided through the grand entrance of Ragvindr Manor. As he confidently strode up the marble steps, you couldn't help but feel a knot form in your stomach at the thought of meeting his parents—Crepus and Celia. You, a girl from nowhere, suddenly dating their only son? It was hard not to tremble at the thought.

Except they embraced you warmly. They were all bright smiles, and you could see genuine joy in their eyes as they welcomed you—the first girl brought home by their usually distant son—and felt a wave of guilt. You were lying to them. This was all pretend.

As the warm tea poured into your cup, Crepus's boisterous laughter echoed through the room. The jovial atmosphere eased the tension caused by Diluc's usually brooding demeanor.

Afterward, you joined Celia in arranging colorful roses, her gentle touch and encouraging words wounding your heart. "It's been so long since I've seen my son smile so freely," she said with a tender pat on your hand.

Under the moon's soft glow, Diluc drove you home in his sleek car, his usually stoic face now adorned with a small but genuine smile thanks to his parents' joy.

And as your heart fluttered at the thought of being able to make him smile like that, you realized you could definitely get used to it.

In the second month, you went on a festival date...

Warm light radiated from the delicate paper lanterns that hung above, gently swaying in the breeze as you and Diluc strolled hand-in-hand through the lively Windblume festival grounds. You couldn't help but notice the faint click of cameras in your peripheral, capturing every moment of your public outing with Diluc Ragvindr, the elusive scion.

When he suggested this 'date' to publicly confirm your new relationship status, you never expected him to actually win you an entire array of festival prizes at the game stalls!

"Who knew you were such a marksman?" you teased, hefting the oversized dragon plushie he had shot down for you.

Diluc smirked, guiding you toward the towering Ferris wheel shining in the dusk. "I'm a man of many skills."

You quirked a brow. "Humble, aren't we?"

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, and he glanced at you with a mischievous twinkle in his golden eyes. "Go ahead, take in the view," he said, scooting closer to you on the bench as the Ferris wheel began to ascend. The lights of the fairgrounds below created a magical backdrop as you shared this intimate moment at what felt like the top of the world.

In the third month, you went to a party...

The sound of champagne flutes clinking echoed throughout the grand ballroom as the glittering chandelier above cast a warm golden glow on the guests. Diluc expertly weaved you through the sea of people, introducing you to important figures along the way, hand always comfortingly on the small of your back. Your heart pounded with nerves as you tried to make a good impression at their group's prestigious annual charity gala.

When a hand landed on your shoulder, you turned to meet a single icy blue eye glinting with mischief.

"Well, aren't you a vision," Kaeya Alberich purred, oozing so much overblown charm it made you snort. You knew he was trying to get a rise out of his best friend. He hadn't been made privy to the 'contract' after all. You ignored the uncomfortable pinch in your chest at the thought of the fast-expiring arrangement.

The navy-haired man brushed an exaggerated kiss to your knuckles while waggling his eyebrows at his friend. "Care to ditch tall, glowering, and angry over there for a spin around the dance floor with me instead?"

Behind you, unseen, Diluc had gone utterly still, eyes promising murder on his infuriating childhood friend. Kaeya just smirked.

"Another time, perhaps," you giggled. "Who knows what tall, glowering, and angry will do if ditched."

"Very funny," Diluc muttered sardonically, taking the half-empty flute from your hand and putting it on a waiter's tray. Then he held out his hand. "Let's go."

You danced until you could barely stand the next morning.

In the fourth month, you faced reality...

You sat on the bed of his penthouse apartment, staring numbly at your phone. The tabloid headlines screaming gold digger and sugar baby occupied every newsstand in the city.

You wanted to sink into a hole and never come up. Hot tears blurred your vision as you imagined the disappointment on his parents' faces. They must have seen the fabricated quotes that painted you as after Diluc's—their—money by now. You knew exactly who was behind it—all for a quick payout to momentarily escape his crushing debts, no doubt.

You felt a comforting pressure on your shoulder as Diluc's strong hand grasped it. His expression was fierce as he locked eyes with you, his anger evident on your behalf. "Don't let these filthy rags bother you," he said, determination burning in his voice. "Everyone who knows you—everyone who matters—knows these are lies. I'll make sure the truth comes out, I promise."

You nodded, grateful for his reassurance. Yet, you still felt the claws of humiliation and self-doubt trying to drag you down. "I just... it reminds me of how little I belong, you know... in your world."

Fingertips tenderly tilted your chin back up. Diluc's golden eyes shone with empathy. "My world's not all that it's cracked up to be." He brushed a loose strand of hair from your cheek, touch lingering. "It can be incredibly lonely."

His thumb grazed your skin, and you shuddered out a breath you didn't know you were holding. You found yourself leaning into his touch, seeking solace in his presence. Diluc's arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a tight embrace that felt like a fortress against the chaos outside.

All that mattered was the two of you, entwined in a world of your own making. His body pressed against yours, igniting a fire within that threatened to consume every ounce of doubt and fear.

In the fifth month, you got away...

Seeking solace from the public eye after tabloid turmoil, Diluc surprised you by whisking you away to his family's secluded mountain cottage.

As your sports car raced down the forest highway, unease knotted in your gut. There was only one month left on your initial arrangement. This trip felt like Diluc's farewell gift to polish off your fake relationship before politely departing your life. You swallowed hard against the ache forming at the thought. You had realized your own feelings too late.

Diluc's smile slipped as he guided you inside the quaint cabin, misreading your quiet melancholy as lingering upset over media lies. His shoulders sagged under an invisible weight—it was his fault.

At first, you had quiet conversations centered around books plucked from the shelves or playful debates on recipes to try. Still, an undercurrent changed every glance, every subtle brush of fingers reaching for the same log by the fireplace.

One moonlit night, as you sipped wine, Diluc's gaze lingered on you over the rim of his glass. Golden eyes burned with intent that stole your breath.

"Thank you for staying by my side..." A calloused fingertip traced delicate lines down your wrist. "It's meant more than you know."

You felt your heart flutter at Diluc's words, his touch sending shivers down your spine. The crackling fire and the subtle glow of candlelight created an atmosphere that seemed to amplify the growing tension between you. The air hung heavy with unspoken desires, the weight of emotions threatening to spill over.

Then, it all came crashing down. "So, for this week at least, let's... try to forget and enjoy the peace."

He simply meant the tabloids, but to you, it sounded like goodbye.

In the sixth month...

Every day felt a little harder to breathe than the last. The end was coming, you knew, but it was hard not to savor every little moment that you could with him.

As you strolled through the upscale department store, your heels clicked against the marble flooring. You were waiting for him, hoping to make this final "date" here memorable. However, as you turned a corner, the sound of a high-pitched laugh caught your attention.

In the far corner of the room stood a familiar socialite, her perfectly coiffed hair and designer outfit drawing all eyes to her. She had always been openly interested in Diluc, not caring about his relationship status. Your heart sank as you watched them interact from afar, knowing it would soon be over between you and him.

He stood with his back turned to you, and as you approached, you could see a hint of a smile playing on her lips. Delicate fingers adorned with perfectly manicured nails rested lightly on his broad shoulder, and she tilted her head up to meet his gaze with a practiced air of charm.

You stopped in your tracks, your throat constricting at the sight. Dressed impeccably in an elegant outfit and sporting flowing blonde locks, she exuded a sense of effortless sophistication that made you feel completely outclassed. Your eyes met hers, a piercing shade of grey, and you couldn't help but feel intimidated by her presence next to Diluc.

With a quick pivot, you rushed down the busy streets without looking back.

Eventually, your phone started vibrating incessantly in your pocket. The texts piled up, each one asking if you were okay and why you missed your scheduled meeting. You finally responded with a brief lie, claiming that you were sick and slept through the appointment.

You didn't know how to face him.

You didn't know, but you knew that you had to.

It was with this resolution that you made your way to his office. They were familiar with you by now and waved you up to the elevators. To your surprise, you met familiar grey eyes as the doors reopened on Diluc's floor.

She sneered unpleasantly, "It's you." She sounded unimpressed. "Well, enjoy yourself until moving on to the next one, I guess."

It rubbed you the wrong way, but the fury at the multitude of tabloid headlines came rushing out at once. "You don't know anything!" you snapped. "I love him!"

"...What?"

Your head snapped to the side as you heard footsteps approaching. Diluc and his father, Crepus, stood in front of you. You didn't even register their expression as a mix of fear and embarrassment washed over you. You turned to run away, but Diluc easily caught up to you by the stairwell.

With a sudden jerk, he took hold of your wrist, his fingers closing tightly around your skin. He pulled you close, his body pressed against yours, and his lips crashed onto yours in a passionate and fiery kiss. Your heart raced as sparks shot through your body, leaving you breathless. The moment's intensity overwhelmed you, and all you could do was lose yourself in his powerful embrace.

...you found forever.

[anantaru]

What would be genshin men(of ur choice) reactions when you leave them hard and desperate?

Also love ur work💗

including. wriothesley, ayato

cw. you leave them hard and desperate, lots of teasing, dry humping, needy & dom genshin men, fem! reader

— ꒰ WRIOTHESLEY ꒱

from your yielding touches to the pliant bends of your hand palming wriothesley's bulge, he finds himself leaning back into the pillows with one arm lazily concealing his flushed expression. the room felt hot and sticky too, and with each never-ending squeeze of your palm stroking his clothed cock, he throbs in your hand.

for some reason, watching wriothesley slowly falling apart because of you was surely addictive, consuming as it had no grounds being that attractive, that desirable— in fact, his pants were still on, only his belt had been unbuckled to somehow soften the harshness of his shaft straining against the rough material.

"fuck— you always know how to get me real good," wriothesley huffs out with a messy grin, mumbling the unspoken words of love in every moan as his breath hitches and falls into his words.

you lean your face into his neck to smear a couple wet kisses on the skin, "’just need you baby, can't take it like that forever,"

your warmth on his neck was setting his loins on fire, and your eyes following his every twitch and turn was purely mesmerizing as wriothesley began to hump your palm, repeatedly bottoming into your hand as you nibble on his jaw— the lewdest, most desperate faces manifesting on your boyfriends handsome features, "i want you s-so badly," he groans, barely, before you slope your lips from his jaw to the shell of his ear.

"ahh, that was fun!"

you giggle apathetically, "gotta go now baby, see you later," and stop your movements, stilling your hand before pulling it off his groin and by that point, wriothesley could barely breathe evenly nor keep his eyes open for a longer period of time, although now he looks at you in disbelief as you move from the bed towards the drawer to grab your stuff.

"huh, fuck— w-what?" he hisses, the pain in his groin aching,

"babe? wait, babe."

you sigh innocently and lick your lips, "yes?"

wriothesley can tell now, finally, understand what this was all about and no, he wasn't mad or anything, not at all, despite his pulsing cock still being hard and erected, he found himself plotting his revenge already.

the man smirks, and it sends a sudden shiver down your spine as he moves from the bed towards your pretty frame, silently cradling your cheek in his palm and stroking the flesh with his thumb,

"going to get you back for that one thousand times worse, you understand?"

— ꒰ AYATO ꒱

"you like playing with fire, i see," ayato murmurs softly as you grind your clothed pussy against his throbbing member— his arms tightly enclosing your waist as you're comfortably settled on his lap, slowly watching the strings of his strong, powerful demeanor trail apart.

"y-yes," you whine, "i need you so badly, please," pseudo innocently pretending to be at his full mercy as you sob into his neck, your hips gradually picking up on pace as ayato moves you back and forth his straining erection,

he smiles with a firm nod of approval, "do you think you can handle more of this?" ayato asks, pursing his lips together when you roll into him particularly hard— and it felt so good when you angled your pussy into him in that candid way, evidently noticing it inflict something deep on his frame as his eyes roll into the back of his skull.

"of course," you mewl out, drool escaping past your lips, "i can go as long as you want, baby, pinky promise," your words and affirmations catch his muscles within a tremble.

jocularly, the man smirks, squeezing the fat of your ass before making it jiggle underneath his large palms, "i am delighted you feel that way, sweetheart,"

ayato shudders as the tips of your fingers scratch down on his scalp when you push his gaze towards your own, your plump lips ghosting over his jaw as it makes his cock throb.

the yashiro commissioner was so mindless now, piece by piece succumbing to the strapping pleasure as he breathes deep into his chest, his shuddering hands clawing into the flesh of your hips to keep you steady on his shaft.

by now, you can evidently tell his thudding groin has made an entire mess of his boxers, his pre cum smeared everywhere, it's just so filthy and delicious at the same time— in essence, to turn such a commanding, powerful man into something like this was fueling your ego to a much surpassing extent.

you will probably never get over this.

"archons, ayato, you're so nasty, baby," you coo at him, before smiling, "but that's fine, you see, i'll just finish this up later, okay?" you swiftly swathe away his arms and push yourself off his lap as the man shudders from the sudden loss of your heat on his cock.

"hold on, wait," ayato gawks at you, his jaw practically on the floor as he cups his groin and pushes down to maneuver away the sticking garment from his cock, hissing out— and you're hearing how desperate and needy your boyfriend was by just how filthy he reacted to rubbing his own shaft, almost unable to stop,

"w-what's the meaning of this?"

"you see, i am late for work," you claim and put on your jacket— and in obvious truth, you weren't late at all and ayato knew that as well, he wasn't stupid, you were probably going to arrive there a lot earlier now,

"not this again," ayato sighs, "how did you make me fall for this a second time?" he swipes his tongue against his lips as he realizes that you managed to use him like a marionette, and you adore being his puppet master, just yearned to amuse yourself with those cunning charms on him.

"but i'll see you later?" you ask without airs, eyeing the exit before ayato grabs a hold of your wrist, daintily moving you back on his lap.

"easy now," he whispers before tapping his lips once, twice, with his pointer finger, reminding you that you had forgotten to give him a goodbye kiss.

he grumbles, "you can't just go like that, without properly saying goodbye," the man continues, sassy nuances in his tone, "you will definitely see me later, love,"

your legs writhe a little from the situation he had you in— and seeing your boyfriend like this, despite his facial expression still being bathed in bliss, he never let go off his dominance that it was almost enough for you to give in.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[flying-nightwing]

If I May (pt. 1)

Fuck it, Pride & Prejudice AU

This was hastily written while I was up in my feelings after re-re-re(x5) watching the movie (2005) because I needed a Mr. Darcy-esque Jason fic or i would have died. This is therefore extremely self indulgent. I'm also very rusty so forgive me if some parts aren't smooth. Expect a part 2 soon. And as always, enjoy!

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Word count: 3705

Warnings: none

Summary: You are a merchant's daughter who's trying to live a decent life, even if it means forsaking your own happiness. However, one short meeting with a stranger on a balcony sets you on another path, and you're not sure how to feel about it.

Gold light, marble floors. 

Violin, harpsichord, laughter. 

Sapphire eyes and mahogany hair, a blur of diamonds and pearls. A hundred feet dancing and twirling to the melody, the rustle of fabrics moving along with them to create colors and shapes out of a dream.

A night that seemed to never end. 

Your corset was too tight. You curtsied your partner as the music came to an end, excusing yourself for a moment. You had to get out of that crowd, to get away from the man in front of you. You made your way toward the balcony, your pushing becoming less and less ceremonious as you went. Your breathing was shallow yet couldn't be fast enough as gloved hands rose in indignation at your less than ladylike behaviour. 

Hadn't you reached the glass door when you did, you believed you would have cried. The sudden cool air allowed you to take a deep breath as you threw yourself forward, holding your hands out on the rail to catch yourself. You closed your eyes and took a moment to gather yourself, then turned around and gently closed the door, effectively muffling the new song that started with a roaring cheer from the crowd. 

Slowly, you returned to the rail and guided your stare to the night. The sky was clear and the stars were bright, but it didn't ease your mind like it always did. 

It was all wrong. 

Everything was wrong.

Your father passing away, your step brother giving you an ultimatum to marry this season or join the Sisters, as he had no intention to keep you on his newly inherited estate, your mother who was still sickly and bed ridden. 

You weren't poor by any means, but you weren't a part of the high society either. Your status was decent, and your name was respected enough to earn a good match. But with your father's unexpected passing and your step brother's petulance, you came with a bed ridden old woman to take with you, and that displeased many of the potential marriage candidates for you. 

So when one began courting you with the full knowledge of your situation, as in, knowing your mother would move with you to his estate, you didn't resist. You reciprocated the courting, and danced with the man at every ball, and walked with him in the gardens. He wasn't particularly beautiful, he was a bit on the older side, and his interest appeared to be lying in the fact that he had resigned himself to settle, to marry the least ugly woman with the least trouble following her. 

But he was also from decent money, with a respectable name and estate, and he most likely wouldn't treat you badly, which is more than you could have hoped for in such short notice. 

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You practically jumped out of your skin at the voice coming from behind you. With a shriek of terror, you slapped a hand on your chest and spun around, your eyes stopping on the stranger that seemingly appeared out of thi  air on the balcony with you. He held up his hands in front of him while his mouth curved in a cryptical smirk.

“Easy there, forgive me for scaring you” He spoke as he slowly stepped forward. As he came closer and into the light, you took in his features. His voice had been low and smooth, perfectly fitting his strong jaw and black hair, you decided. He was quite young, around your age if you had to guess, but his ocean blue eyes reflected a wisdom well past his age. They were hypnotic, you also concluded as you forced yourself to look away before drowning in them. You cleared your throat. “Running away from the party?”

You blinked rapidly at his words as they brought you back to Earth. “Well, just–Not running away, it's a lovely ball–”

Your mouth kept going on its own. You had no idea who that man was, or what was his relation with the family who hosted the ball. You didn't want to accidentally insult him.

You felt your face heat up when you noticed the amusement dancing in his eyes, or the smile he was trying to hold back. Luckily, he spoke before you could babble anymore. 

“It's fine, I was running away from it too” He supplied as he went to stand by the rail beside you, no doubt aware of your eyes on him. “Dreadful affairs”

You let out a quiet breath, glad you wouldn’t be judged for wanting a break. “I don’t find them to be so bad… Usually”

His scoff was half hearted. “Some pretty boy broke your heart?”

You knew he was saying this as a joke, his relaxed posture and humorous tone said as much. Still, it stung a nerve you didn’t even know was sensitive. It reminded you that you’d never get to experience the regular courting, the regular game of yes-no-maybe the other girls your age would go through. You were aware it was a strange thing to wish for–drama and heartbreaks that is–but simply knowing you were robbed of it made you sad. 

He definitely noticed your shift of attitude, because his good mood dropped into concern. “Wait, some pretty boy did break your heart?”

You shook your head. “No, no not that” You hesitated before speaking, but he patiently waited for you to do so, so you went for it. After all, you had never seen this mysterious, handsome man before, and you’d probably never see him again. You took a deep breath and turned to face the stars. “My father died in the winter. My mom has been sick for a year now. And when my step brother inherited the estate, he told me that I had until the end of the season to marry and take my mother with me”

He frowned. “My condolences” He said, eyeing you carefully. “But I believe someone looking like you shouldn’t have trouble finding a good husband”

You laughed humorlessly. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you” You mumbled as you glanced up for a second. He seemed confused. “I am on the lower side of my social class. My step brother will not give a dime for the wedding. I come tied with a sick mother. I could be the most beautiful thing in the world and I would still be a prospect for desperate men and old widowers”

He waited for a moment before speaking. “And you know this because you have one, don’t you?”

You nodded slowly. 

“I’m sorry”

“What for?” You tilted your head. “You’ve had no part in it”

His eyes found you and you glanced back, looking at his partially shadowed face. For a moment you could let yourself daydream that he was the one who’d propose to you in the upcoming weeks, that he would bring you in his kingdom far away from your step brother and this miserable marriage that would await for you. But then, you had to return to reality and forget your little fantasy. This man wasn’t yours to claim. 

“I’m sorry that you won’t be able to live your life the way you desire” He said, seeming more genuine than anyone you’ve ever met. “Everybody deserves a chance at happiness. I hope you may still find it despite of everything”

You tore your eyes from him as your vision blurred, as you did not want to let the stranger see your tears. You hastily wiped them off, and when you looked to where he stood again, he was gone. You glanced around, searching for any trace that he hadn’t just in your imagination, but the stranger was nowhere to be seen. You blinked, returning your eyes to the stars for a minute. You recomposed yourself and smothered your dress, then returned to the ball. 

—

“I still can’t believe we got an invite” You said as the carriage crossed a stone bridge. The sun was going down and the countryside looked positively marvelous.

Your step brother scoffed at your words, like they were a ridiculous claim. “Of course we did. The Duke obviously recognizes the importance of my business. Now that I’m in charge, I have made much better decisions than the old man, and it’s blooming like never before. In no time, I’ll become a proper lord, a baron. Or even a viscount”

You bit your tongue not to answer that it was your father who built the business, your father who made the right decisions years ago, your father that allowed him to reap the fruit of his labour. “I’m sure he does, and I’m sure you will”

“By the way” He eyed you cryptically, ignoring your lack of enthusiasm. “Has Mr. Degras shown signs he would propose soon?”

You opted to look outside instead of meeting his eyes. “Yes. The marriage is pretty much certain, as he is not courting anyone else and neither am I. But I think he’ll wait until just past midseason to actually propose, not to suggest anything untoward about the whole affair”

He hummed, disinterested. “Yes, well, the sooner the wedding, the better. Wouldn’t you say?”

“I would” Your reply came mechanically. You did not especially look forward to your marriage, but moving far, far away from the man in front of you did sound appealing right at this moment. 

“Good” 

The scenery quickly changed and you couldn’t be bothered to listen to your brother ramble about his business. A manor greater than anything you’ve seen before appeared through the neatly trimmed trees of the property, and you gasped at the sight. There were many other carriages, all much more grand than yours. 

No sooner than later, you pulled to the entrance. A valet opened the carriage door, and your step brother all but pushed you back on the seat to get out first. With a muffled oof, you pulled yourself straight again and followed your step brother out. The valet offered a hand and an apologetic glance, helping you step down on the gravel. You returned a smile to him, following your step brother from afar.

If the outside was grandiose, then the inside of the manor was totally mind blowing. You couldn’t help but gawk in awe at the details on the structure, and the intricate decoration. YOu barely noticed the crowd chattering along the foyer. You however began questioning the reason for your invite the more you explored the manor. It didn’t take an idiot to see that the people around you were draped in visibly more expensive fabrics, and their behaviour was distinct from the ones you were used to. Your suspicions that you hardly belonged there were only confirmed when you stepped in the grand ballroom, where literally none of the other families of your status were present at all.

Then, you saw it. Or rather, you saw him.

The Duke was standing proudly at the front of the room. His black and yellow-gold coat striking out from the crowd, but not as much as his sharp features. But he wasn’t what caught your attention, probably unlike anybody else present. It was the stoic face of his tallest child beside him, head high and shoulders square, glance forward and unmoving. On his dark red coat were multiple military decorations, and on his face, multiple scars the night’s darkness did not reveal the first and last time you met. 

Your jaw involuntarily hung open at the realization. The handsome stranger you laid all your afflictions upon just a few weeks earlier was in fact the son of the most powerful individual in the country that wasn’t a King. You felt your neck and chest heat up in embarrassment at the only thought of airing out your problems to someone like him. You knew the stories of his military service, the alleged torture and the constant brushes with death, everybody in the country had heard them. Your struggles in comparison were jest, and you felt like a whiny child to have complained about them to him specifically. 

His watchful eyes then settled onto you, betraying absolutely no feeling of recognition whatsoever, and you’d believe he didn’t recognize you at all if it hadn’t been for the slight tilt of his head, acknowledging your presence. You blinked and looked anywhere but to him, then blended in the crowd. Even then, you felt like you couldn’t if you tried. You felt gazes and whispers falling upon you, wondering who you were and what you were even doing in such a ball. No matter where you went, you couldn’t escape them. 

You finally decided on joining the dancers, believing it would help shift the attention off of you. You danced one song, then another with gentlemen that didn’t stand out to you; which was preferable for you. Unfortunately, your peace didn’t last very long. Because when you looked up to your next partner for the third dance, you came face to face with a distinct black and gold who was already bowing before you could escape. Your spine went rigid as your wide eyes met his steady ones, and before you could blink, a pleasant smile wrote over his previously stern expression. You didn’t know which one terrified you the most

The music began and he bowed to you, and you hurried to return a curtsy. You felt practically everyone stare on you as you took the first steps of the dance, carefully spinning around each other. He was the first to speak.

“I must apologize for my son’s poor manners” He said, and your eyebrows raised in half panic. What did he mean by– “He was the one to insist on inviting you and grace us with your lovely presence. He should have been the one to dance with you the first moment you stepped on the floor, but unfortunately, he is rather… stubborn, I’m afraid”

You did not know how to answer this, your jaw going up and down without any sound coming out. A small frown came over his brow, but it wasn’t deep enough to cover the light amusement of his features. 

“Ah” He replied, a knowing sparkle in his eyes. “He did not tell you about it, did he?”

“I knew nothing of the sort” You confirmed in a small voice. “4I am truly sorry to intrude, I know I am not part of the nobility–”

“Please, do not apologize” He gently cut you off. “You were invited, were you not? Therefore no intrusion whatsoever was committed. And between you and I,” He paused, leaning a bit forward as the dance steps brought you respectfully close. “I would be willing to bet your specific presence is much more wanted than anyone else's here tonight”

There you went, speechless once again. The dance finished, and with a respectful bow, the Duke parted ways with you to return to the front of the room, where a figure in red was definitely missing. You looked around the room, but didn't find your stranger anywhere. That until, you went to step away from the floor and collided with a strong, red coated chest. Your eyes followed the buttons up to find his jaw clenched hard and his eyes still fixated on a point beyond your shoulder. 

Mechanically, his hand lifted up. “May I have the next dance?”

You looked around you as a hush fell over the room, and you deducted it was a rare occurrence for the young lord to dance if everybody was staring at you in disbelief. Not wanting to cause more of a scene, you managed to find your voice. “You may”

Carefully, you placed your hand in his and let him guide you back to the middle of the room. His bow to you was stiff and uncomfortable, but his steps were light and precise, practiced and repeated until it became a second nature. Yet, his expression was displaying something far from ease. 

“For someone who thinks balls are dreadful, I must point out that twice i’ve met you, and twice it was at a ball”

A tiny scoff shook his shoulders, but not his stoic expression. “Both times out of absolute obligation, I assure you”

“You were more chatty last time” 

“Merely an effect of a glass too many of red wine”

That was no way to speak to someone of his status, but he didn’t seem to have any intention to correct you.

“I didn’t know it was you”

He knew well what you meant. I didn’t know it was you that night. “That’s because I chose not to tell you”

“You must think this is hilarious” You muttered against your will, but it just had to come out. There was a rage suddenly boiling inside of you and it came up too quickly for you to effectively rein it back. “Having a merchant’s daughter spill her insignificant secrets to you, then invite her to a ball she very clearly doesn’t belong to, showing her everything she’ll be missing, then making sure everyone notices it too. Poor deluded girl gets a pity dance with the Duke and his son. Are you entertained enough, my lord? Or should I trip and humiliate myself just a little bit more?”

His eyes widened a little bit more with every word, leaving him with a frightened and wounded expression one would find on a scolded child. In this precise moment, neither the smooth, mysterious stranger on the balcony nor the stoic soldier was staring back at you. You almost didn’t notice when the song ended, but you didn’t miss your opportunity to storm away, pushing past the crowd and trying your best to ignore their whispers on your way out. 

After a few flights of stairs, you finally found a way out in the gardens. The fresh air was like a breath of relief, and the soothing cool of the air was welcomed on your skin. You walked until you found a pond and sat on the bench, glaring at the reflection of the moonlight in the water. You spiralled deep in your thoughts, until you heard your name being called in an unfamiliar voice.

You jumped onto your feet and spun around, coming face to face with an elegantly dressed woman, her blonde hair beautifully cascading down her shoulders. You recognized her as one of the figures standing beside the Duke at the front of the room, but she didn’t have the air of arrogance you’d have expected her to bear. Instead, she seemed kind and confident, the type of person one wouldn’t mind sitting down with for tea and a good conversation. She smiled at your apparent wariness.

“May I sit with you?”

You nodded, then remembered she was probably also outranking you. “Yes, of course you may” 

You waited until she rounded the bench and sat down to sit back. For a few minutes, she didn’t talk, she just observed you. 

“You’re sure as pretty as I believed you’d be”

You blinked in surprise. Out of everything you believed she’d say, this was definitely not it. “... Thank you?”

Her smile widened, but she didn’t add anything on the matter. Instead, she jumped into the topic she was probably here for in the first place. “He upset you, didn’t he?”

Your eyes snapped forward and your back straightened. “Did he tell you to come and make it worse?”

Instead of being insulted at your dry rebuttal, she simply laughed and brushed her hand. “Not at all, the poor fool’s probably still standing frozen where you left him. Listen, I came after you to check up on you. He’ll be fine, but I wanted to see if you were”

Your eyes reluctantly found hers again. “Why?”

She sighed. “With all his lack of tact, Jason meant well. All he said to us is that you told him you enjoyed balls, and that you deserved a night for yourself. Neither I or the Duke knows anything beyond that. He might have been clumsy in handling it, but rest assured, mocking you was the last of his intention”

You heard all of what she said, but somehow, your brain got caught on one specific word. One specific name. “So, his name is Jason”

She tilted her head to the side. “You didn’t know?”

You shook your head. “We heard the stories, but nobody could agree on the right name” 

“Oh well, he is going to be pissed that I robbed him of his grand introduction, that’s certain” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle along with her at the absolute ridiculousness of your situation. You liked her, you decided, but just as your handsome stranger–no, Jason–you didn’t hope to get attached. Then, something came up in your head, making you frown.

“How do you know my name?” You asked. “In fact, how did anyone know my name? I never told him”

She smiled at you again, the glint in her eyes telling you there was a secret you definitely didn’t know about dangling about your head. Come to think of it, it was the same as the one you had observed in both the Duke and his son’s eyes. “The Duke has his way”

“Okay?”

She shook her head and changed the subject. “Do you want to know a secret?”

Your eyes narrowed. “... Sure”

She leaned forward. “You were the only person who received an invite for tonight” She revealed, and before you could call out her lie, she beat you to it. “I swear it’s true. Everybody you saw tonight just assumed they were invited, because of their own vanity and self-importance. You, on the other hand, are the only person that was actually wanted here. Do with that information as you may, but please, don’t be too harsh on Jason. He really did mean well”

You nodded slowly, watching as she stood up. “Well, this has been a pleasure”

“Likewise” You mumbled back, staring at her expectantly. 

“Stephanie” She filled in. “Stephanie Brown”

“Have a nice evening, miss Brown”

“Oh, I will” She grinned wolfishly. “Good night”

“You… too…” You watched as she walked away, leaving you to ponder this last conversation alone in the gardens.

[none-shall-caricature-me]

What exactly is Albert's plan ? Why is there a picture of him and Monsieur M together ? Why does Albert seem to dislike M in it ? How are TWDAK and VTSOM lores linked ? What is the deep, thematic significance behind Albert's views on Vincent ? What exactly are the dream eaters ? Buckle up, this will be a multi - part analysis and we'll have to go in a sequence of steps.

Ok, recap of the basics first. Albert's dream therapy ability is basically some neuroscience - based technology that allows him to hijack people's brains for a while - that is how he is able to communicate with total strangers and influence his office environment, affect a monstrous appearance, give jumpscares and control his victims' fates in their dreams. It explains the bizarre, nightmarish feel of TWDAK.

Then what do the dream eaters do ? How are they made ? Let's go step - by - step into my explanation :

Albert very deliberately administers nightmares to his dream therapy candidates to select an 'army' for his grand plan to revive G2 district. Those who succumb to fear in the nightmare and blindly obey all his instructions perfectly as self - preservation essentially give up control of their fate. They let him decide their fate in their dream.

Now, dreams reflect a person's personality too - they are our memories and neural connections rehashed and mix - and - matched. Albert taps into a person's psychological wiring and instincts through the therapy.

Which means that the 'patients' who obey him out of pure fear are likely to be paranoid and passive when faced with unfamiliar dangers. Therefore, he can easily manipulate and control them using their fear. This could explain the dream eaters' lifeless, gloomy appearance and perpetual silence - it's like they're frozen in a constant state of fear. It's why they're perfect soldiers for his army- they won't rebel, and they are willing to 'eat' victims and follow orders to save their own selves.

You can't control a nightmare. Like any dream, it is formed by your random memories and instincts, random brain connections firing and combining. It's a situation where you're helpless to your psyche, to your subconscious. In Albert's therapy, it's a situation where you're helpless to HIM. How you react depends on your long - honed psyche, who you are deep down.

Think about your nightmares. To give my own example, I've had nightmares about being eaten alive by cannibals, being bombed, being unloved and alone, serial killers, my family and myself becoming evil and harming one another, etc. In some I remember fighting back. In others I was powerless and gave up.

Those like Taylor, who fight back despite being stuck in a horrifying situation they can't understand, show that they have a strong, hopeful outlook somewhere. They use logic as best as they can to do whatever they can. That's why they'll contribute to a G2 that has many pioneering, exceptional citizens.

Why do the dream eaters 'eat' victims ? Why are they 'hungry' ? Why do they need to 'eat' at all ? What happens to a victim who gets 'eaten' ? This is very meta - I think, since in the game everyone you get eaten Taylor urges you to try again and the game loops back, those who get 'eaten' get stuck in the nightmare. They're stuck until they either obey and become Albert's army members, or rebel and get spared. The purpose of dream eaters is to ensure the candidate can't escape till they prove their worth either way. That is Albert's plan for G2 - use the dream eaters to test people's worth, make them either useful to him as testers for other candidates, or leave the 'exceptional' ones be to hopefully improve G2.

What else do the dream eaters do besides acting as a test for candidates' worth ? Is it possible that Albert can do some Inception - style shit, influencing powerful people's decisions by implanting ideas into their psyche ? Is that how he plans to change G2 ?

Remember VTSOM ? Monsieur M's plan is to replace the 'inferior' human species with the much faster, smarter, stronger, modifiable cyborgs. That's his idea of improving life forms and the world. Whereas Albert's idea of improving G2 district is NOT by rejecting humanity but by finding and embracing its exceptional side. He taps into people's subconscious to find the brave, the fearless, those who can retain sense and logic under extreme stress. And that's why Albert dislikes M. M rejects humans totally, deriding them at many points in VTSOM. But Albert sees that humans can be pretty awesome, or atleast useful.

Now, the link between Albert and Vincent. Albert says that Vincent had great potential, but he saw him let it go to waste. Keep in mind the points above, and now remember - Vincent used to be someone who would rebel against society, accept loneliness because he wouldn't compromise on his principles and beliefs. He used to be brave. But then, he grew tired of loneliness. Which is all well and understandable to Albert, except that then Vincent, in his desire to belong and to be accepted at Myers, became a total slave to them. He committed atrocities he didn't want to commit, abandoned his principles and vision for change, because he was deathly scared of ending up alone and unsupported. He could've changed things, he had the aptitude and the attitude, but then he became just another brick in the wall of corporate selfishness. Another pawn for everything wrong with society. That's what Albert means when he says that Vincent wasted his potential. He gave into fear and lost himself. He had not a flight, not a fight, but a 'freeze' reaction to the threat of ostracision - blindly obey the very shady Monsieur M, hoping M would spare him because he licked his boots.

THIS IS MY ORIGINAL ANALYSIS / THEORY. DO NOT DARE TO COPY, REUPLOAD OR REPOST. REBLOGS ARE WELCOME.

[beauttifullife]

Together.

"Does that mean Freya will have two moms?" Joffrey asked, his innocent curiosity cutting through the moment like a knife. Just as I was taking a sip of my wine, I nearly choked, coughing as Freya stirred grumpily in my arms.

Rhaenyra's eyes widened in disbelief at her youngest son's bluntness—a trait I couldn't help but think he had inherited entirely from her. It was a moment of poetic justice, watching her grapple with the candidness she often displayed, even if it came at my expense.

"Joffrey," she began, her voice a mixture of surprise and a hint of amusement, "that's not—”

"But it is, isn’t it?" Joffrey pressed on, oblivious to the weight of the conversation we had just navigated. His face lit up with excitement, eyes sparkling as he looked between us. "Freya will have you and Elizabeth both! That’s like having the best of both worlds!”

Rhaenyra paused, momentarily at a loss for words, and I could see the tension ease from her shoulders, replaced by a reluctant smile.

“Yes, I suppose you could say that,” she finally replied, shooting me a glance that was both exasperated and affectionate.

The corners of my lips turned upward, warmed by the unanticipated joy that filled the room. Joffrey’s innocent enthusiasm was infectious, reminding us all of the love that bound us together, despite the complexities of our situation. I cradled Freya a little tighter, feeling the gentle weight of her against me as if she were the embodiment of hope itself.

"And we'll take care of her, right?" Joffrey continued, his expression serious now, though his eyes still shone with that childlike brightness. "We’ll make sure she has everything she needs."

I glanced at Rhaenyra, but before she could answer, I found myself speaking, my voice steady, filled with conviction.

“Absolutely,” I said, meeting Joffrey’s earnest gaze. "We will protect her, just like we protect each other.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rhaenyra turn toward me, her expression softening in a way that made my heart ache. There was something in her eyes, a depth of emotion I wasn’t sure I could fully grasp at that moment, but I could feel it—her gratitude, her trust, her love.

Lucerys, his earlier confusion now replaced by a wide grin, nodded enthusiastically.

“Yeah! We’re a family now, right?” His voice was full of certainty, the kind that only children seem to possess—the unwavering belief that family, no matter how unconventional, would always hold strong.

Rhaenyra’s smile broadened as she turned her attention to her sons. There was a radiant mix of pride, love, and something deeper that glimmered in her violet eyes as she gazed at them, but when she finally answered, her eyes weren’t on them—they were on me.

“Yes,” she said, her voice soft but resolute. “We are a family.”

The words hung in the air like a promise, heavier than they seemed. A warmth spread through me, a quiet assurance that, despite the chaos and uncertainty that surrounded us, this—what we had here—was real. It was something we could hold on to, something that could carry us through the battles ahead.

Freya stirred in my arms, her tiny fingers curling tighter around my thumb as she let out a soft coo, as if she, too, was claiming her place in this newfound family. I looked down at her, then back at Rhaenyra, and for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to believe in the flicker of hope that sparked within me—a hope that maybe, just maybe, we could survive this.

Together.