#if i attend i am bound to see you and him and them

[charliehoennam]

karma's kiss

a/n: @harmonity-vibes requested a smutty lil fic with anthony because he is foooooine so here it is

Pairing: Anthony Saint Claire x F!Reader

Summary: Anthony finds himself swindled by a con-artist and tracks her down to get his own justice.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, dark themes like rough sex, asphyxiation, stealing, dub-con, smut (let's remember anthony is not a nice guy like our sweet little adorable professor so read at your own risk)

SHARING IS CARING SO REBLOG IF YOU LIKE IT

The bar you’re in is far different compared to the dive bars you started in your early years.

Your job isn't the kind you include in resumés, but it's paid your bills since college and you've managed to work your way up to a more high-end clientele.

Sitting at the bar, you can feel eyes boring into your side as you sip your daiquiri.

You smile at the bearded man, waiting to see if he'll approach you first. And, indeed, he does taking your smile as an invitation.

"Staring isn't very polite, you know" you smirk setting your drink on the bar as he sits next to you.

"Well, can you blame me? A beautiful woman like you in a dress like that is bound to get some attention, right?" he smiles slyly.

You smile pretending to be flattered by his compliment. It's nothing you haven't already heard before. It might be just bait that he tells all the girls he meets to get what he wants out of them, but you have to admit it feels a little nice coming from someone as attractive as he is.

In order to hide your real name and identity, you give him a fake name as you hold your hand out to shake his.

"Anthony," he smirks shaking your hand lightly before lifting his whisky for a sip. "Are you here with your husband?"

He glances down at the fake wedding ring and band on your finger. There is no husband. You just wear the rings because you've found it makes you more intriguing to most men.

You never really understood why, but if you had to guess, you'd guess it must have something to do with the chauvinistic idea of conquering something that's not theirs or that belongs to another man.

It doesn't exactly surprise to see a gold band on his finger too.,

"Are you here with your wife?" you retort.

"Touché," he smirks raising his glass to your witty observation.

"I'm not here with my husband, but he does know I'm here."

"Your husband lets you go out alone dressed like that?"

"We have an open relationship."

Anthony's smile stretches from ear to ear. Attending underground sex clubs, he's no strangers to forbidden kinks. They arouse him. Your beauty attracted him, but now, you have his full attention.

"That's interesting. You don't hear that every day," he smirks. "Tell me more about this relationship. I'm intrigued."

"Well, once a week, he allows me to go out on my own. I like getting to meet new people and he likes watching me get fucked by other men."

Your bluntness has his cheeks turning pink as he beams with amazement.

"So it's a kink?"

"I prefer the term alternative modern lifestyle," you smile mischievously at him. "Keeps the marriage spicy."

"I can imagine. And how's it work huh?"

"I go out, find a very attractive man," you explain glancing at his lips and making no effort to hide it. "We talk, drink, kiss and I take him home to fuck me in front of my husband."

"Seems simple enough" he smirks catching your glance at his lips. "How do you choose the man?"

"Consent is the most important factor, of course. If he's not alright with that, then everything stops. But I tend to gravitate towards those that are more pleasing to the eye."

"And are there candidates yet?"

"The night is still young. This is still my first drink and I'm already interviewing one," you reply with a cheeky smile.

"Oh, my. I am very flattered," he chuckles pretending to be surprised. "I'm very interested. Although I've never done anything like this before."

"You'd be surprised at how many have."

"I'm guessing a lot?"

"More than you think. Open relationships are becoming more and more common and accepted nowadays."

It hardly takes him any further convincing. You can tell by the way his legs and hips squirm in his seat he's turned on by the sole thought of it.

Moving to a more private table, you sit in the corner of the high-end bar sharing details about what you and your husband enjoy.

Anthony is up for anything. Just the thrill of fucking you in front of your husband already his dick leaking with anticipation.

The hardness in his pants is noticeable when you place your palm on his crotch after he tells you how big he is when you ask about his size.

Granted he is perfectly sized and thick, it doesn't change any of the plans you have for him.

You invite him to come back to the motel you're staying at under the guise you and your husband always go out of town for your escapades to avoid running into people you might work who wouldn't understand your lifestyle.

A sexual deviant himself, he knows just how well it is to have to hide your sexual fantasies and desires from others.

In the backseat of a taxi on the way to the motel, his lips are all over yours mauling yours as his head tilts to the side. His tongue wrestles for dominance between you. The thumb on the hand on your neck strokes your cheek.

His touch warms you from the inside. You can't let yourself give in, but it doesn't mean you can't enjoy it while you can.

You have to focus. This is our opportunity to get what you need.

Your hand glides down his chest under his leather jacket towards his crotch. With a firm unexpected squeeze to his cock, he moans into your mouth.

The driver can't help but glance at the rearview mirror, torn between stopping you from getting too heated and letting you go on to enjoy the show.

You palm Anthony's cock over his jeans. You have to admit, the man does have a nice size that makes your panties wet.

Reveling in your touch, his knees spread to invite you in as his torso adjusts to face the front.

"You like that, huh?"

"Can't wait to get my mouth around it."

"Why wait?" He smirks darkly.

Taking a glimpse at the driver, he immediately looks away and back to the road when your eyes meet his in the mirror.

You smirk back at Anthony as he unbuttons his jeans and pulls his cock out.

Lowering into the darkness of the backseat, you lean down to take it into your mouth, letting your tongue swirl around his tip to lap at his precum.

Anthony closes his eyes as his head dips backwards at the welcomed warmth of your mouth. With one arm stretched along the backseat, he uses the other to rest his hand against your bobbing head.

Too lost in the sensation, he doesn't notice or feel your hand sneaking into his pocket to steal his wallet.

The thrill of accomplishing your mission excites you enough to add a little more enthusiasm into the blowjob until the driver clears his throat to get your attention as the car rolls to a stop.

"We're here. That'll be 8.50."

"I got it" you say quickly to stop Anthony from looking for his wallet.

Taking a 10-dollar bill from your bra while Anthony tucks himself away, you hand the money to the driver and thank him telling him to keep the change.

Climbing out of the cab, you lead him to your room fumbling for your room key.

Anthony follows you inside and takes a look around. The room is nothing fancy as expected but it has a double bed which is all you need. Or so he thinks.

"My husband is on his way. He'll be here soon. Why don't you get comfortable while I freshen up real quick? I'll be just a minute."

You smirk sliding your hands up his chest to gently push at his black leather jacket.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he smirks down at you with lustful eyes.

As he shrugs off his jacket, you walk to the bathroom. While he takes his shoes off, you quickly race to the back wall of the bathroom to open the high shower window. You pop off the bug screen and let it fall to the ground. The collision makes an echoing noise and catches Anthony’s attention.

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself.

Using the ledge of the dingy tub, you pull yourself up into the window and see-saw on the sill. You planned the escape; should’ve also planned the landing of it.

Your heart races when Anthony knocks on the locked door.

“Hey, sweetheart. Everything ok in there?” he questions growing suspicious.

Your legs flail in the air, knocking the shower rod and one of your high heels down. The clattering encourages him to throw his shoulder against the door to bust it open. Pushing yourself forward, you hold your arms out to soften the drop to the ground outside just as Anthony is able to break inside, catching a quick glimpse your feet just before they slip out of view.

“Hey! The fuck are you going?!” Anthony shouts bewildered as he pats his pockets for his phone and realizes his wallet is gone so he darts to the window, standing on his toes to pop his head outside.

It dawns on him that this is a set-up. Everything you told him was merely a lie to get him alone. And now he’s stuck in a run-down motel with no way to chase after you.

“Hey! Get back here, you little fucking thief!”

Giggling to yourself with his wallet in hand, you quickly limp toward the car you’d left in the alleyway behind the motel specifically for your get-away.

He tries to climb out through the window and, although he’s much better at it than you, you’re already speeding down the alleyway and onto the road when he stands up. He tries to run after you, but he knows his feet are no match to your car.

“Fuck!” he shouts angrily as he pants.

Standing in the alleyway, he quickly whips out the cellphone you thankfully managed to leave behind and types in the digits of your license plate in his digital notes before he can forget them.

Once they’re saved, he goes through his list of contacts which – unfortunately for you – is rather long and full of assorted figures. Some, which thanks to his night job in an underground sex club, happen to be people in powerful positions. Judges, lawyers, law enforcement. You name the job and he’s guaranteed to have someone of the area in his pocket.

Cashing in a favor with a sketchy local sergeant of the police department, Anthony asks him to notify him as soon as they get a hit on your plate. The sergeant doesn’t ask any questions. Anthony wouldn’t answer him with anything other than a threat of blackmail if he didn’t, but the less he knows, the better.

It takes a few days, but Anthony eventually gets a call informing of the car’s whereabouts and original owner. He’s not surprised to know it’s not you.

Assuming you live practically on the run, moving from motel to motel, he knows he has to act fact but still cautiously. There’s still quite a bit that he doesn’t know about you like if you work with any other parties or if you impose any danger. And if so, what level of danger could it be?

With a recently purchased gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans, he sets his helmet on and speeds off to the illegally given address. He lurks from a distance and waits until you finally leave the room.

He keeps his distance from you, but decided to stalk you as you go about your day, buying groceries and clothes with his money. There wasn’t much pocket money, but you were able to clone his cards and identity to cash up a couple thousand.

He could’ve stopped you and cancelled all his cards, filed an official report. But you’ve would known and been caught before he’s had the chance to make you pay. And a couple thousands aren’t going to cause a lot of financial troubles for him, thanks to his fairly wealthy income from the night job.

As you go about your day, you can’t shake the feeling that someone is onto you. You keep looking over your shoulder, but there’s no one there. No one that you notice, at least. But then again, you always get this feeling after a theft.

You head back to the motel where you’d left your car. After a theft gone right, you always opt to get around on foot with the most important things in your bag at the slightest sight of a cop. That way, if anyone is onto you, it could provide you some time to get away.

Assuring the motel is safe, you head to the room you’d paid to stay at for the night and unlock the door. But just as you open the door, you instantly feel cold metal press against the side of your head. Your groceries drop and scatter on the ground as you hold your hands up.

“Don’t get smart again. I found you once and I can find you again.”

You can’t see the face of the figure, but you can tell it’s a man and you’re almost certain who he is.

“Close the door and step away from it.”

You don’t have much of an option. Run away and he’ll find you again. Or worse, shoot you down in the parking lot of this crappy motel and that’s not how you want to die.

With your hands carefully raised, you slowly close the door with your foot and walk deeper into the room just as ordered. You keep your back turned to him as he locks the door and face him only after he says you can.

You don’t have much of an option. Run away and he’ll find you again. Or worse, shoot you down in the parking lot of this crappy motel and that’s not how you want to die.

With your hands carefully raised, you slowly close the door with your foot and walk deeper into the room just as ordered. You keep your back turned to him as he locks the door and face him only after he says you can.

The newfound power intoxicates him. It swells him with an authority that he's never felt before. You, on the other hand, are filled with fear. You try to play it cool to avoid letting him know that you're actually scared.

"I want my money and my documents back."

"I can give your documents back and all the copies I've made. But the money is already gone. I already spent it."

"Well, it seems like we got a bit of a predicament here, doesn't it?"

"I can pay you back, but it's gonna take some time."

"I don't have time," he lies. "I want it back now."

"I don't have any money now. Why do you think I do this?" You sigh. "Look, what if... I paid you back some other way?"

"What other way?"

You lower your hand to unbutton your white shirt and reveal your lacy bra.

"This is what you wanted in the first place, isn't it?"

His eyes lower from your face down to your chest. He stays silent, considering your offer but his gun stays aimed at you. 

"It was..  it still is."

"So why don't you put that away and take what you want?"

A sly smirk grows on his lips. His eyes darken with a sudden and familiar lust that revisits his being.

"I'm gonna keep this, just in case." He stated walking over to sit on the bed, manspreading his legs as he keeps the gun pointed at you.

"C'mere. On your knees."

Glancing at the weapon, you take slow steps to approach him and kneel between his knees.

"You know what to do. You did it so well before. Don't be shy now." 

You nod and raise your shaky hands to unbutton his jeans, pulling down his zipper.

Feeling the end of the barrel rest against the side of your head, you carefully release his dick from it's confine. It's not quite hard as before, but its getting there with you under his will.

You hold his dick up to take him into your mouth, lathering his member with your spit.

"Eyes up here, sweetheart."

His order is your command which you obey. You don't know what he's capable of and you don't want to find out.

Looking up at him, he relishes in the contrast of your teary eyes and dirty mouth full of his dick. He takes his free hand and threads his fingers into your hair, holding it back to keep it away from distracting you. How thoughtful, you think sarcastically.

Anthony's moans and groans fill the room as he breathes heavily, cock twitching with every bob of your head.

The grip on your hair tightens with every twitch. After forcing himself to the back of your throat, you buy yourself sometime to breath by licking up the backside of his heavy cock and swirling your tongue around his dome, putting your saliva pool against your plush lips.

"Fucking Christ" he groans deeply as he watches your mouth working its wonders, his angry cock throbbing with desire.

"Take them off" he orders nodding at your clothes.

Obeying his command, you slowly stand between his knees and unbutton your pants. He tisks as you move too fast.

“Slow… and turn around for me.”

You turn your back to him and slowly push your pants down, gliding your palms over your cheeks as you undress just to tease him a little. You figure you might as well enjoy it.

He smirks at the sight of your matching panties and admires how they perfectly hug your curves. As you bend forward to push your pants down to your ankles, he takes advantage of your position and trails the edge of his gun down the split of your cheeks.

Your body tenses at the touch of cold metal. You remind yourself to take calming breaths to keep yourself together.

“Nice fucking ass you got here, sweetheart,” he simpers, poking the barrel at your clothed cunt from behind. “Bet you got a cute pussy too…. Show me it.”

You gulp and lift your trembling hands to slide your panties down to reveal yourself to him. Although Anthony is undoubtedly attracted, you don’t trust him. The fact that your life is essentially in his hands is still in your mind. You comply to his orders, but you pray that he doesn’t hurt you too much. Not enough to be fatal at least.

“Atta girl.” He says removing the gun from between your legs. You quietly sigh in relief.

“Now come on over here.” Anthony stands behind you and presses the gun into your side.

“On the bed. Face down.”

Accepting your fate, you climb onto the mattress and lay on your front. Out of your view, you hear the jostling of his belt as he removes it with one hand and climbs on top of your legs to lock you in place. Setting the gun beside his foot, he takes the belt and tightens the leather tightly around your wrists.

You wince as the leather pinches your skin, but he doesn’t seem to care if it hurts you. You can feel his emotionless eyes on you, so you turn your head to the side to avoid look at him.

He climbs off of you and the bed, but he stays close. You try to zone out as you listen to him undress.

Walking around the bed now completely naked, he kneels down to pet your hair and wipes a tear from your cheek.

“Listen, sweetheart. I’m sorry for the scare. I’m not gonna kill you, alright? I’m not a monster.”

You nod looking up at him confused.

“I’m just gonna fuck you. Really, really hard. I think I deserve to get my money’s worth, right? Even you gotta agree with me on that.”

His words don’t exactly ease you, but the promise that he won’t shoot you dead is enough. After all, he doesn’t have to. It’s not like you can simply go to the cops to report him anyways.

“Ok,” you agree. “C-can you just please put the gun away?”

“I can do that. But don’t get smart. Deal?”

“Deal.”

He walks back around the bed and takes his gun to set it on the nightstand. You feel like you can finally breathe after what seemed like hours holding your breath.

You feel his weight on the mattress as it dips beside you again. He pulls you up by your arms and stands you on your knees.

“I want you to do something for me first. Sit on my face. Can you do that?”

You’re almost surprised by his request and the contact on your wrists as he unbuckles the belt, letting your wrists go just to bind them again but in front of you this time. He wants to…. pleasure you?

“I’ll make you cum if you’re a good girl.”

Once he’s on his back on the bed, you straddle his head carefully and lower your hips down to meet with his hungry mouth. With your ass spread by his hands, you lean forward to place your hands on his taut abs for balance.

You can’t hold back the moan you release as he licks a long-wet stripe from your hardening clit to your puckered ring of muscle. The hands that keep your cheeks apart squeezes into your flesh when his tongue begins its work on your pussy.

Anthony just can’t enough of you. Your taste is wonderfully delicious to him that he just has to fuck you with his tongue. And the position allows him to flick at your sensitive nub, making your walls slick.

“Jesus, fuck!” you gasp as he toys with your clit bringing you closer and closer to the brink. You’re so turned on although you feel like you shouldn’t be. He held you at gunpoint. This is wrong. So wrong, but it feels so fucking good.

His beard heightens the sensitivity between your legs as his nose pokes at your asshole. He pulls your hips down against his face harder, restricting himself of air.

“T-That feels so good!” you whine with tears prickling at your eyes feeling the pleasure snaps in waves throughout your body.

You’re not sure what comes over you, but you find yourself leaning forward to wrap your mouth around his cock again. The burning heat that bubbles from your core provoking yet another orgasm has you so hot for him that you need to suck him off.

He chuckles surprised by your sudden urge as he lifts your hips up to hiss out in pleasure. It doesn’t take him long to start thrusting his hips violently up, shoving his cock down your throat. He stops suddenly and pushes you off him, feeling himself close.

Shoving you onto your back, he spreads your legs and eagers aligns his dick with your hole before pushing himself into your wetness.

His hips relentlessly thrust against yours as he pounds you raw. The sounds of your wet cunt squelching around him make your cheeks warm as you realize how wet you really are for him.

The lecherous stare down at your body proves he’s getting closer. He pants as he watches your breast bouncing free from your bra. Eager to feel them, he stills and tear the bra in half to expose you completely.

He growls dipping his head to grope and maul at your breasts. Your skin burns with his prickly beard and rough teething kisses.

With one hand squeezing your breast, the other sneaks around your neck. He squeezes your neck and throat, choking you as he restricts your oxygen. His hips drill you into the mattress as you watch him, slowly losing your conscious.

Anthony looks like he’s been possessed by something else and it scares you a bit. You claw at his wrists as you feel the pressure in your head weighing heavy. Your eyes roll to the back of your head from the combination of pleasure and pain.

You gasp for air as he finally releases your neck and fills you with his heavy load, spilling into your pussy in hot ropes.

He pants as he eases his cock out and into you again, admiring how his cum trickles out from your hole and coats his cock.

“We’re gonna have a very long night.”

“Night?” you question. Could you even last a night with him?

“I told you. I want my money’s worth.”

[sanatomis]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩 ── 𝐀 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄!

a child is bound to feel neglected when they discover no one bothered to show up for their science fair, especially when all their peers have someone to dote on them. it seems fushiguro megumi is no exception.

content. female!reader with she/her pronouns, feminine nicknames (princess), established relationship with satoru, slight angst with a happy ending.

notes. nobody was there when i presented my end of the year research-project as a 14 year old, so megumi (age 7), baby, i'm gonna make sure there's someone there for you.

࣪taglist. | series masterlist.

Megumi never really cared about science fairs. To him, they’re just a regular afternoon at school that he’ll have to sit through until he’s finally allowed to go home. He may think of them as unnecessary—as he does not believe in a good reason for parents to come to the school and marvel at their child’s (very much mediocre) creation—but he has never had a strong opinion towards them. They were just. . .there. 

He didn’t pay them much mind, and that exact indifference turned out to be the motive behind the very serious crime of putting a flyer in the bin. 

“Look what I found!” 

There’s a sense of annoyance that bubbles up in his stomach when Satoru puts the invitation to the science fair in front of him. Megumi’s brows furrow, and he purses his lips—leave it to him to find something he doesn’t want to have found. 

“Hm?” You hum, and lean over to look. One of Satoru’s fingers taps impatiently on the flyer, as if it’s saying ‘look, I caught him hiding something!’. Megumi briefly contemplates biting the digit clean off. “Science fair. . .Is this yours, Megumi?”

While reading, you put the bowl of rice back down onto the dinner table, and Tsumiki gingerly grabs it upon return. You mouth the words as you do so, and the boy nearly gags when he watches Satoru’s lovesick gaze at your little quip. It’s so disgustingly sappy, he nearly forgets you asked him a question. Nearly, as it had induced just enough anxiety into him to make him remember. 

“Mhm,” he mumbles, and pokes a piece of chicken with his chopsticks. 

You stop reading at his confirmation. There’s a sad look in your eye, it forms quickly and is instantly directed at him. Megumi doesn’t like it. Especially since he’s most likely the cause of it. “Why didn’t you tell us?” You ask, and he finds himself at a loss of words. 

Why didn’t he tell you? In all honesty, it just didn’t occur to him to do so. He has never cared about science fairs, nor has he had people who attended them for him. Most times, they are for parents only—so try as she might, Tsumiki was never allowed inside. Megumi eventually stopped bringing them up. He felt a little sorry for all the failed attempts his sister (very lovingly) made. But now. . .well, yes, why didn’t he tell you? 

He doesn’t know the answer to that. 

“Didn’t think of it,” he says eventually, because he knows you’ve been trying to get him to talk more; verbalising his feelings, is what you called it. 

You frown at his answer, and it makes him wonder if he said the wrong thing. A quick glance between you and the man at your side is shared. Megumi thinks that can’t be good. 

“It says it’s for tomorrow evening,” you tell Satoru, and push the flyer over back to his side of the table. “Are you free, then?”

Satoru pauses. He’s not free, Megumi knows he isn’t. Not because Satoru told him so, but because he listened to the phone call he had a few hours ago. It’s bad manners, he knows—he can hear you in his head, and he shouldn’t have done it. But, Satoru talks so loudly, he should simply quiet down if he doesn’t want others to hear. 

“I sure am,” he says then, and Megumi tries to hide the surprise on his face. He’s lying. Liar. Liar. Liar. It’s all that goes through the boy’s head, but he doesn’t say it out loud. 

He does wonder why Satoru lied, but he quickly gets his answer when he sees the happy smile that breaks out on your lips. “That’s great!” You say, and place one of your hands on his. Seemingly delighted, you look at Megumi. “We’ll be there.” 

“It’s nothing special,” Megumi says. His voice is clear this time, as opposed to his previous mumbling. Once again, he hears you in his head. You’re allowed to make noise. “You really don’t have to.” 

“Nonsense,” Satoru chimes. 

You continue his sentence. “We’ll be there.” 

We’ll be there. 

We’ll be there. 

We’ll be there. 

. . .So, where are you? 

Megumi isn’t too proud to admit that he’s currently desperately looking for the blabbermouth you call your boyfriend. It’s not because he’d rather have him here than you, but his white hair makes for a stark contrast among the crowd. It’s so very easy to find, and yet it’s nowhere to be found. He’s not here, and that, by extension, means you probably aren’t here, either. The realisation hits him harder than he thought it would have. 

For some reason, there’s a deep sadness. He thinks it’s a little silly. Nobody has ever shown up before, and he was fine with that. Being alone isn’t new to him. None of the situation he’s currently in is surprising, and yet Megumi has to fight off the tears welling up in his eyes. Why is he feeling this way? This hasn’t happened before. 

Megumi doesn’t care about science fairs. But, if that were true, then why do all the children and their parents suddenly make the room feel smaller? He swallows. All his classmates are darting around the room, chattering and motioning towards their projects while their parents gawk in feigned awe. As they always did. Except now, he feels something akin to resentment boil from within. His hand balls up into a fist. 

There isn’t a good enough reason for him to feel so disappointed. The position he finds himself in isn’t unfamiliar, and he knows Satoru was initially called-in for a mission somewhere in Ginza. Something came up, that’s all there is to it. Megumi knew better than to get his hopes up, or so he thought. How pitiful.After all this time, he still hasn’t learned.

And suddenly, he’s four years old again, and crawling into the crumpled bed sheets of his father’s ever-so-empty bed. He’s holding onto the fabric as if it’ll slip through his fingers, and stifling his quiet sobs with the pillow that doesn’t carry the same comforting scent any longer. It hasn’t for months now. Megumi keeps hoping that one day, it will. Tsumiki peeks into the room, and he pretends not to notice. He’s four years old, and has no parents, and absolutely no idea why his father left without him. 

Why was he forgotten? 

There is a lump forming in his throat. Its imminent appearance lulled him out of the faded memory, and into the present—the present, where he is, once again, forgotten about. Perhaps that is simply the tale of Megumi Fushiguro. 

“Mom, look! I added the glitter to it just as you said,” a girl speaks from the booth next to him. “What do you think? It’s pretty, right? Do you think it’s pretty?”

Her mother laughs, and pets her head once the girl starts tugging on her arm. “Mhm, it’s beautiful, darling. I’m very proud of you.”

Megumi doesn’t necessarily want to cry. Though, when his eyes water momentarily, there’s very little he can do about it; he feels even more powerless when his bottom lip starts trembling. He once read that blinking rapidly will make one’s tears disappear like snow before the sun, except that article mustn’t have taken the feeling of heartbreak into consideration. It doesn’t matter how much Megumi blinks, the first tear falls down his cheek a few seconds later. 

“Huh? What’s this? You really need to work on your handwriting, Megumi, your name is barely rea. . .” 

A part of him is convinced that the universe has it out for him. There is no other reason for the constant waves of misfortune that strike him. Sniffling, he looks up at the man in front of him—and the worst thought he has ever had surfaces. He is so very happy to see Satoru Gojo. 

Satoru’s eyes widen in shock upon seeing the water staining the boy’s cheeks, but even then Megumi can’t find it within himself to feel embarrassed. Not at this moment. With teary eyes, he blinks up at the tall man that snatched him up from the street like he was some discarded piece of free furniture.

“Where’s. . .” he croaks out, but gets interrupted rather quickly. 

“She’s talking to your teacher,” Satoru says softly. It’s a new tone of voice, one Megumi vaguely remembers as the one he normally reserved for you. This is making him uncomfortable—even a blind person would see that, but Satoru still tries. “Hey, it’s alright, buddy. She’s here.” 

The pat on his head nearly feels awkward. . .No, it does feel awkward. Satoru is petting him as if he were gently pressing a buzzer. It’s not even remotely close to the soft caresses you use when soothing him back to sleep, but it still brings him some strange sense of comfort. Megumi doesn’t swat his hand away. 

“There, there,” Satoru mumbles, and crouches down to his height. It’s a little silly to see such a man all folded up, his legs too long to look normal. “There was an accident a little further down the road. It took us a little longer to get here.”

Megumi lets out a shaky sigh. The petting stops shortly after. It’s quiet for a little while after—even if the room is filled with adults and children alike. Satoru looks at him, and he briefly wonders how you’re able to withstand looking into his eyes for as long as you do sometimes; Megumi thinks the blues will blind him soon. He gulps. For as annoying he might be when speaking, it turns out that Satoru Gojo is much more unnerving when he’s silent—silent, and looking right at you. 

Adorned with white lashes, Satoru’s baby blues pick Megumi apart at the seam. The boy has the brief idea to ask what he is thinking, but then decides against it. 

“Are you okay?”

The sound of his voice startles him. He hadn’t expected him to speak any time soon. 

“Megumi,” he calls out. “Are you okay?”

Is he okay? Megumi doesn’t know for sure. There are a lot of emotions he went through these past twenty minutes, and he isn’t entirely convinced that his brain was able to process them all. But for now—for now, he at least feels okay. 

Megumi nods. It’s all he does, not confident in his ability to verbalise his thoughts at the moment. He sniffs again. He’s okay, things are okay. 

“Good, that’s good,” Satoru mumbles, and his eyes dart towards the right side of the room; towards the door. He clears his throat, and one of his fingers carefully makes its way towards Megumi’s cheek. “That’s good. She’s here now, see?”

Megumi visibly perks up, and, while still a little shaken, starts searching for you. As soon as he lifts his head up, there’s a soft brush against his skin. He wavers for a moment, confusion on his face once he realises Satoru brushed some stray tears away. The two look at each other once again. Why did he. . .

“Oh, there you are, lovie,” you say, relief apparent in your voice. It never takes you long to embrace Megumi—you once said he’d be stuck in your arms forever if you had your way. The boy moulds into you, and his anxiety dissipates as soon as your perfume hits his nose; the scent comforting him. “I’m so sorry, there was an accident, and all roads were blocked, and. . .God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting for so long.” 

You cup his cheeks in his hands, and Megumi suddenly feels under scrutiny. It’s as if you’re searching for any inkling that your late arrival had caused him unease. It clicks, then, why Satoru did what he did. He’s a buffoon most of the time, but it seems there are some working cells left in his brain—when it concerns you, of course. Megumi is very thankful for him now. Though, he will deny ever feeling so. 

“Alright, princess, let him breathe,” Satoru says, the usual light lilt to his voice has made a return. There’s a small smile on his face as he watches you fuss over him. “Don’t you want to show us your project, Megumi?”

The mention of his project catches your attention. “Oh! Yes, will you show us, Gumi?” 

One might think you’re speaking about some grand architecture design rather than a small, barely functioning science project. That is, if they took the look in your eyes as anything to go by. The boy glances between you and Satoru. Megumi then decides that, yes, he would like to show it to you—he always has wanted to show them. 

You weren’t his parents, but you were at his side. And when Megumi looks at the near-giddy excitement showing up on Satoru’s face, and the unconditional support on yours. . .he thinks that may just be enough. 

He nods, and finds his words again. 

“I—I will, yes. Follow me, please.”

© MADE BY SANATOMIS — please, refrain from stealing, copying, or reposting any of my works.

taglist [based off the last fic in the series, let me know if it’s no longer wanted]: @torusdoll @sad-darksoul

[caelivir]

red lips, dying for a kiss | rayne ames

— synopsis. in which rayne discovers that red lip combos are his weakness.

— pairing. rayne ames x fem!reader

— genres. university au, friends-ish to lovers, rayne has a little bit of a crush

— word count. 2.3k

— warnings. very brief violence mention in the beginning, alcohol consumption (rayne and reader are 21 in this), making out (i tried to keep it brief), ooc rayne but he’s kinda drunk so

— notes. breaking theme for this one but it’s okay. i wanted to drop this on valentine’s day… clearly that didn’t work out. also as i go to post this hidden lights reached 1k notes which is absolutely insane to think of. thank you for giving it so much love. anyway, happy 100 followers! thanks for sticking with me. enjoy!

dedicated to all the rayne girlies. i pray we find (or already have) a man like him. ♡

ryoh’s parties are always a bad idea. rayne can’t count the number of times something has gone wrong. cops show up. someone locks every single bathroom from the inside. a dumbass jumps off the roof and into the pool. any incident you could think of has probably happened. the last one rayne went to nearly got him screwed over when he fought against a guy picking on his brother, and it was not pretty (for the other guy) to say the least.

from that moment on, rayne had made the decision to never attend another one of ryoh’s parties. it doesn’t matter who begged him or what the circumstances were. no one was going to change his mind on that.

unfortunately, ryoh grantz would not have that. it took three days and a two hundred dollar bribe to convince rayne to go because who would he be if not taking advantage of the rich.

so that’s where he finds himself now, standing in a circle with his friends as music blasts in ryoh’s mansion. they talk about who knows what as rayne wishes he could go home. he has to see it out though because this would be the easiest two hundred dollars he would ever make.

his second red solo cup of the night is filled with some unknown (but surprisingly delicious) concoction that sits untouched. he swirls the cup around in his hand, his eyes darting around the room for an escape.

rayne chugs his entire drink down, setting the empty cup on the first surface he finds before mumbling an excuse of having to use the bathroom, not caring whether his friends heard it or not. he stops by the kitchen to rummage through a cooler, skin freezing as he digs through the ice. he finds two cans of a beer brand that he likes.

he weaves through the crowd in the living room, trying his best to not bump into anyone or spill any drinks because the last thing he needs is another altercation.

unfortunately for him, life always has a curveball in store for him.

“hey, look! (y/n)’s here!” someone had yelled, causing people to push closer towards the front door. the flow carries him closer despite his protests.

the half blonde finds you easily. it’s hard to miss your bright smile, even in a room surrounded by dozens. a crowd surrounds you and your group of friends. they greet you with hellos, offer drinks, and fight for your attention. you try your best to address everyone as you and your friends inch closer to the dance floor.

rayne knows you. your friend groups overlap often so he was bound to meet you at one point. you're popular around campus, known for your friendly nature, kind acts, and most of all, you're known for your beauty. he hears about a new attempt to gain your affection almost weekly. you never seem to accept them for some odd reason. it doesn't matter who it is. the d1 basketball prodigy? the rich girl in your philosophy class? they'd be rejected all the same. your lack of care for relationships has sparked up rumors, but even those never seem to faze you.

as for his opinion on you, rayne acutally likes you, which is a rare feat considering that the half-blonde cannot stand the presence of most people. but in this case, he likes you. he has the smallest of crushes that he wouldn't dare to admit to anyone except his brother, maybe.

in the times your paths had crossed, you had been an easy person to be around, never doing anything to irritate him and always trying to include him in every conversation and activity. it makes him feel all warm inside. the thought of it brings the ghost of a smile onto his face.

he also can't deny that you are indeed one of the most beautiful people that he's ever come across. you would have to be a fool to try and deny that. it's a little shallow on his part to like you partly for your looks, but he can't help it when your smile has the power to blind angels.

"rayne?" your head tilts, surprise written all over your face. he locates two shots in your hands. "woah, i'm surprised you're here! people said you wouldn't come to these anymore!"

rayne is barely to pick up the sound of your voice over all the music. "got paid to be here." he speaks loudly, avoiding yelling as much as he can.

"well, that's one way to get someone to come to a party." you giggle.

it's at this point where rayne closely inspects your face. his eyes are immediately drawn to your lips, colored in a combination of reds. he's never seen it on you before, and paired with the rest of the makeup on your face, it stands out, commands attention.

and it looks… really fucking good. rayne takes the sight of you in fully. yeah, you look really fucking good tonight. the half-blonde gulps, forcing his eyes back up to your face.

"take this with me!" you urge rayne, holding out a plastic shot glass to him.

unwilling to bring himself to say no to you, rayne sighs, accepting it. the two of you raise your glasses up in a silent toast before pressing the plastic to his lips, tilting his head back, and letting the alcohol slide down his throat. it burns. it tastes horrid on his tastebuds. the half-blonde scrunches his nose in disgust, and you take the empty glass from him, how you went unbothered by such a disgusting beverage is beyond him.

as much as rayne wishes he could be with you, he desperately longs to find someplace quiet. the bass of the music pounds against his head. "i'll see you around, (y/n). have fun tonight. be safe." rayne says.

"oh okay. see you rayne." you frown, but maybe that's just the lighting messing with him. he swears there's disappointment laced in your voice, but that could also just be the alcohol playing games with him.

rayne makes his way upstairs. he prays that he won't barge into people having sex. luckily for him, it's still early, and the room that he chooses, the one at the very end of the hall, is empty. he relaxes the moment he locks the door as if a weight was being lifted off him.

the half-blonde sets his unopened beers onto the nightstand and lies on the made bed. he stares at the ceiling for fifteen minutes, contemplating his life choices. his thoughts drift to you and your gorgeous lips, but he’s quick to dismiss them. when he’s finished with that, he cracks open his first beer, leaving a ring of condensation on the nightstand, and opens up his phone.

the next hour or so is spent watching compilations of bunnies and sipping on his beers. it’s perfectly fine like this. save for the bass of the music bouncing against the walls, it’s peaceful. he feels the effects of the alcohol he drank humming in his veins. it puts him into a lighter mood. however, that peace is disturbed when there’s a loud pounding on the door.

“what the hell?” rayne mumbles under his breath. did someone confuse this room for the bathroom? the half-blonde pulls himself out of bed, unlocks the door, and cracks it open just a little bit to see who it is.

“rayne, is that you? oh my god, please let me in.” you beg, clasping your hands together in prayer.

confused, but without any complaint, he allows you into the room, shutting the door behind him and locking it.

you practically collapse on the edge of the bed, and rayne can sense that something is amiss.

“are you alright?” he asks cautiously, standing a foot away from you.

“do you ever just get sick of people?” you ponder suddenly, shooting to sit straight up.

“sure.” rayne shrugs, still unmoving from his spot.

“you can’t tell anyone i told you this,” you point at him with narrowed eyes, voice slurred. “swear you won’t.”

“i won’t.”

“good.” you nod. “as i was saying, i get so sick of people sometimes. being popular is fucking exhausting. i don’t know how much longer i can keep up with this. i swear i can’t enjoy things on my own time without people barging in or commenting on it.

“i can’t sit on a couch to catch my breath without people wanting to talk to me. not that that’s bad of course, i love talking to people, but christ, just back up a bit. like can’t they just take a hint and realize that i don’t want to talk? do you get that?”

rayne nods. “must be rough.”

“it is,” you groan and then sigh, standing up to dust off your clothes. you stumble from dizziness after having gotten up too fast. however, you shake the feeling out. “sorry, i shouldn’t have dumped all of that on you. that was a stupid thing to complain about.”

“no, it wasn’t.” rayne argues. “people who are always in your space are fucking annoying. i would know so there’s nothing wrong with feeling that way.” at this point, he could tell the alcohol is doing its number on him, making him more vocal and bold.

“do i annoy you, rayne?” you ask, eyelashes batting at him, this innocent worry behind your eyes. it drives him mad.

“no.” he says sternly, inching closer, his gaze falling to your crimson lips. that damn red lipstick. he wonders what would happen if he were to mess it up. what would happen if he were to ruin that precise lining of color? what you let him cross that line? in his tipsy state of mind, he wants to find out.

“are you sure? because i know whenever we see each other i kinda cling to you, but if that bothers you, just let me know. really it’s no-” you ramble before rayne cuts you off.

“i want to kiss you.” the half-blonde mutters. his eyes stare deep into your own. your eyebrows raise in shock.

"huh?"

"i want" rayne's hand flexes at his side as he exhales, resisting the urge to touch you. "to kiss you."

"why?" you whisper so quietly that he almost didn't hear you.

maybe this is a reckless decision. maybe he shouldn't be risking a friendship with a drunken mind, but honestly in the moment, he really couldn't care less. he can regret it in the morning if things fell apart.

"i like you." rayne admits.

a moment of silence falls onto the room. you stare and stare, sinking your eyes deep into rayne’s as his confession weighs further down onto you.

“oh thank god.” you exhale, pulling rayne in by his shirt.

rayne practically melts into the feeling of your lips, soft against his own. he can taste faint traces of alcohol on you. he places his hands on your hips to press your bodies together. his palms explore your figure, circling around your lower back, trailing upwards to your ribs and back down to your waist. your hands entangle themselves in his hair, eliciting a soft groan out of him.

kissing you is a feeling like no other. it’s straight euphoria, maybe even something greater than that. the butterflies flap violently on his stomach. fireworks ignite his blood. being with you is like soaring across the sky.

you deepen the kiss, exploring each other with such desperation that it makes you dizzy. his tongue moves against yours in perfect sync, as if it were a choreographed dance. by the time you pull away to catch air, you and rayne are breathless, huffing as the half-blonde rests his forehead against yours.

you beautiful red lipstick is now smeared across your mouth, staining at the corners and below the chin. rayne pulls his head back. his fingers graze over your lips, admiring the mess. he’s sure it transferred onto him as well.

“you got something right there.” you joke, pointing at him.

“shut up.” he whispers. however, a smile breaks out onto his face, betraying his words.

“so,” you say, snaking your arms around the half-blonde’s waist. “the rayne ames has a crush on me? i never thought i’d see the day.”

he hums as confirmation. “would i be wrong to guess that you like me too?”

“no.” you grin. “in fact, you’d be one hundred percent right.”

“wonderful.” he mutters, leaning in for another kiss. you turn your head, having him miss your mouth entirely.

“i’m starting to believe you only like me so you could have a make out partner.” you tease, causing the half-blonde to sigh at your antics.

“i like you because you’re kind.”

he pecks one cheek.

“because you’re fun.”

he pecks the other.

“because you’re intelligent.”

he presses his stained lips to your forehead.

“because you’re so beautiful.”

rayne kisses the tip of your nose.

“my beautiful, (y/n).” he mumbles with a barely noticeable slur, cupping your face.

“you should drink more often. i like this side of you.” you comment, looking up at him with a gaze that drives him crazy.

“please just let me kiss you again.” rayne quietly begs, his mouth centimeters from yours.

“kiss me whenever you want.” you whisper before colliding with him once more.

in the morning, ryoh has to pick the lock to get into the guest bedroom. he stumbles in pissed off and ready to blow up on the person who dared to put him through such a hassle.

however, the sight he walks into flips his mood instantly. ryoh finds you and rayne tangled in each other’s arms completely knocked out. upon closer inspection, he notes the matching lipstick stains on both of your mouths, and a knowing smirk spreads across his face.

the blonde man pulls out his phone, snapping pictures in different angles to solidify this moment in history.

“he better thank me for this.” ryoh says to himself before walking out and shutting the door behind him.

[honeyhoshi]

you do it naturally

summary: the hiding, the secrets, and staying back to watch him shine has never been an issue. until today.

it’s the night before the biggest show of his life, but it’s soonyoung's turn to show her that he’s her biggest fan.

this is a part of the playlist universe

genre: social media au/trad fic hybrid, solo idol au, celebrity x non-celebrity

wordcount: 4,606

pairing: solo idol!hoshi x afab!reader

warnings: discussions about self-esteem issues, body image/weight, feelings of jealousy, plenty of frustrated tears, afab reader, female anatomy, fingering, squirting, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, crying during sex (good!!), dirty talk (lovingly), pussy drunk hoshi (canon), implied chubby/bigger reader

author's notes: unfortunately i am horribly in love with hoshi so this is my humble contribution to his smut tag

As someone whose life revolved around sugar, butter, and flour, this was a new world. The tension in the air is palpable and the flurry of activity is so different from the kind of rush you’re used to. You’re nearly tripping over your feet trying to catch up to the member of the staff who's been sent to assist you. This must be so out of their scope of work, it's almost embarrassing how clueless you are to all of this.

It’s been three years since you started dating Soonyoung, and while you’ve never missed one of his shows in Seoul, this is your first time attending one of his rehearsals. He’s notorious for being laser focused and demanding of his team, making sure everyone remembered their collective goal of an amazing show. You never wanted to get in the way of that or to be considered a distraction. 

In fact, that’s always how you’ve operated as his girlfriend. You understand where you stand, what your role is, and when it’s time to work, you will stand back and let him shine.

But when you make it to the front of the stage, taking a seat close to Soonyoung’s managers after giving them a friendly smile, you can’t help the wave of pride that comes over you as you take everything in. The stage is massive, the largest Soonyoung’s ever had, and over thirty dancers are on stage with him as he adjusts the blocking and tweaks steps.

Then he catches your eye.

His eyes disappear as he smiles and you can’t help but do the same. You fight off the urge to wave, wanting him to get back to what he’s doing knowing full well they have limited time to go over everything before resting for the evening. You can’t take your eyes off him though. Preparations for concerts usually take him away from you for weeks at a time, and with the scale of this one, you hadn’t seen each other in the flesh for a month.

Just seeing him in front of you now already makes you feel sated.

“Can we do another run of the new song with the pair choreo. We just want to see which works better,” the director calls from the tech booth.

“Nari-ssi, please come up. Everyone else, take 5,” the choreographer on stage with them calls into her mic.

Soonyoung had mentioned he was debuting a new song at the concert. It was something he and Jihoon had worked on last minute that he couldn’t stop talking about, wanting to drop hints but also saying he wanted it to be a surprise for when you would see it at the show. He had dropped the topic dead a few weeks ago.

Nari bounds up the stage with a glorious spring in her step, bare faced but glowing. Her practice clothes fit her like a glove and her overall vibe gives off the energy that she herself was an idol.

That ugly feeling starts to simmer in your stomach as what you suppose is the song starts to play. The intro is slow and sultry and the sweat in your palms starts to grow uncomfortable. Only an idiot wouldn’t understand the sensuality of this song from the get go.

The love of your life is standing right there but you can’t take your eyes off of Nari as she finds her blocking before the verse starts. Nari smiles at Soonyoung and makes a comment you can’t hear from your seat. You feel sick.

Soonyoung and Nari are facing each other with one of his hands on her chin, lifting her gaze to him. His other hand is resting on her slender hip and in a three count from their choreographer, they move in unison.

“Three, four, five, ‘oh baby, cause I’ da, da da!”

The MR only covers the backing vocals but still you know that’s Soonyoung’s crooning and matched with the way his and Nari’s hands and bodies move, you’re transfixed. Horribly.

You avert your eyes, unable to focus and try to play it off as replying to an urgent message, but you’re startled when you hear a loud “SOONYOUNG FOCUS!”

Your head flies up to find Soonyoung staring you down from the stage, eyebrows furrowed and looking, dare you say, nervous.

“We need to see how this is actually going to look like tomorrow, so please let’s put more effort into this. Poor Nari’s giving it her all, Nyoung-ah.”

Soonyoung tries to communicate with you wordlessly but your unwillingness to keep eye contact makes it difficult for Soonyoung to get whatever it is across.

The music plays back again and they return to their starting positions and you know he’s turned it On.

The look on his face, the focus in his eyes. This is what he looks like when he’s locked in, and when his body starts to move, everything falls away.

But Nari.

They move seamlessly, sensually, and just Right. She matches every beat, wave, and touch he gives her. And gives back that same sultry energy with a flick of her wrist, dip of her hip, and when she leans her head back on his shoulder, allowing him to move her body to the music.

You could never move like that. You could never fit in his arms like that. 

The song ends and the dancers around them hoot and jeer and Nari blushes as she and Soonyoung finally break their grazes, breathless.

They would never cheer for you like that.

This has never gotten to you this badly. Usually, the distance between the two of you allows you to compose yourself when things get muddled in your head, able to piece yourself together when the fear and insecurity claw up your throat. But your usual proximity is nonexistent and the gap has been closed.

Being with an internationally acclaimed artist meant busy schedules and only being able to squeeze in the littlest dates every now and then. You had time to prepare for those, give yourself the pep talk of It’s been three years. If he wanted you gone, he’d have said something by now.

In preparation for the show you two had made prior plans you would stay with him, an impromptu long weekend “getaway” you had put in at work almost 3 months ago. But now it feels like you’re trapped. You’ve been short with him since his rehearsals wrapped and you’d met up with him in his private dressing room. You could only stomach to say surface level good jobs and you’re always so amazing!

There’s no way he hasn’t picked up on it yet because the air in the car was nonexistent. It was stifling and you could feel the waves of anger simmering underneath Soonyoung’s skin, just waiting to burst forth the moment the two of you were alone.

He knew something was wrong. He always knew. 

The ride up the elevator to his unit felt like the longest and shortest elevator ride of both of your lives and the second Soonyoung had let you into his place and locked the door behind him, you wanted to cry.

“Can we finally talk about this?” He starts. 

“What?”

“Babe.”

“Soonyoung.”

“Are we really doing this?” He sighs, exasperated.

You feel bad. But the sadness is gnawing at your head and heart and neither are working correctly.

“We’re not ‘doing’ anything, Soonyoung.” You say as you toe off your shoes and put down your bag before facing him.

And what a glorious face it is. He’s always been the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. He looks best like this, you think. Soft and free of makeup and tired and home.

“I’m sorry,” you start, face beginning to crumple and the sting of hot fresh tears threaten to spill.

“No, no, no, baby. Come on, come here,” Soonyoung’s scrambling to pull you into his arms, “Hey, hey, shhh. Look at me, talk to me.”

He pulls her face into his hands and tries to lift her gaze towards him. But she fights and tries to keep her head down.

“Baby, you have to talk to me, okay? You have to talk to me and tell me what I did wrong, hmm?” He respects your refusal to look at him and instead hugs your head to his chest, resting his chin atop the crown of your head.

Soonyoung wraps his other hand around your shoulders and maneuvers the two of you to lay on the couch, You’re still sobbing, large tears falling from your eyes and dampening the shirt he’s wearing.

When he moves to lay down on one of your favorite spots to cuddle in his home, you freeze in his arms, sobs stopping and shoulders going rigid. You push yourself off of him, hands going up to brush the tears off the face.

“No, no, I’m too heavy, I'll crush you.” It is almost business-like how you snap back into this cold tone.

Soonyoung stops, sits up straight, “What are you talking about?”

You groan, “Soonyoung, I don’t want to get into it. Please, you’ve had a long day, tomorrow is going to be—“

“No,” he cuts you off, “We don’t get to talk about tomorrow until we talk about today. Until we talk about what’s going on right now.”

“Soonyoung—I just. I don’t know how to talk about this. I’m just blowing things out of proportion. It’s nothing, I swea—“

“It isn’t nothing, though, is it?” He says, softer now. He reaches up for your hand, “You’re upset. You’ve been upset since I saw you after rehearsals. We have to talk about this, baby. We promised each other we’d talk things through.”

Your eyes sting again, a fresh batch of tears ready and threatening to make their appearance. That sharp feeling in your nose is there, any second now.

“Tell me how I can make it better, baby.”

The dam breaks and you fall boneless into Soonyoung’s embrace. You straddle his lap and wraps your arms around him, pressing the two of you chest to chest.

You bury you face in Soonyoung’s neck and let out a shuddering sob.

“I’m sorry, I’m being so, so immature and so unreasonable. You didn’t do anything,” you say, still slightly unintelligible from the tears.

“You’ve never done anything that’s made me sad or angry, Soonyoung. It’s me, it’s me and my stupid brain.”

“Hey, hey, no. Please please don’t say that, hmm? Let’s work this out together,” Soonyoung coos.

“I-i-i just felt so horrible, Soonyoung!” You finally cry, “She looked so beautiful and perfect and just so RIGHT in your arms and God, the way you two moved and how everyone watched the two of you.”

Soonyoung pulls away, grasping you face in his hands and finally locking eyes with you.

“I know I said I’m okay keeping this a secret and keeping everything simple and under wraps, and it’s fine! I promise, it really isn’t that.”

“Then what is it, baby?”

You’re quiet for a bit as Soonyoung traces the path of your tears with his thumbs, wiping them away.

“I’ll never be able to do what she can. Nari. I’ll never look like her or act like her or move like her. I can’t even dance with you without looking like a fool.”

Soonyoung feels his heart sink. His own eyes start to grow bleary and when he blinks a tear falls to his cheek. He drops his head to your chest and breathes you in.

“I’m sorry—“

“Oh no, Soonyoung it isn’t yo—“

“I’m sorry that things have gotten this far that you’ve grown to feel that way. I’m sorry because I know in some way or form all of this has become that and I didn’t catch it.”

When he lifts his head, tear tracks mark his pretty face and his nose is red.

“But you have to know,” he starts, eyes very serious, and not daring to look away from you, “You have to know that you are everything. You are everything to me. You’re even more than that.”

“And we are going to dance. Oh we are going to dance all the time. I am going to dance with you in the kitchen when we’re waiting for focaccia to bake, we are going to dance in the bedroom when we change the sheets, and we are going to dance when I marry you. And everyone will have their eyes on you and they will clap and cheer because just look at the woman I love.”

“Soonyoung—“

He stands with a start and you instinctively wrap your arms around him, elbows hooking over his shoulders. His hands are under your thighs, fingers pressing into the soft flesh. He’s carrying you into his room.

The lights automatically flicker on as he enters and kicks the door closed behind you, “In fact, baby, why don’t we start now hmm?”

“What, start what?”

He grins and any semblance of sadness has vanished from his face. He smiles and something in your heart is elated.

“Dancing, of course.”

Soonyoung is known in the industry as an ace — able to sing, rap, compose, choreograph, and above all things, dance. And dance with you he does.

The way he can make your body move is unexplainable because once he placed you at the center of his bed, he’d strummed at your body, mouthed at your pulse and had gotten you out of your top and jeans before you could even fully comprehend.

His mouth is hot on yours and he breathes in your air as soon as you exhale and you’re growing lightheaded as his hands continue to undress you. In an attempt to get some air in both your lungs, he pulls away to frantically tear his shirt over his head, not daring to take his eyes off you. He flings it over his shoulder unceremoniously, not a care in the world where it lands and makes quick work of his sweatpants. 

“What, you thought you’d get lucky tonight?” You quip at him, “Even when you knew I was feeling tilted?

He’d gone commando.

“Good mood, bad mood, whatever the fuck mood, I want you,” he laughs as dives back in to kiss you.

His hands are everywhere, like he doesn’t know what and where to touch, wanting to feel you everywhere before settling on the thickness of your thighs. He spreads your legs slightly so he could slot himself in between them, cock pressed perfectly to your center. 

And then he grinds. The head of his cock nudges perfectly at your clothed clit and you let out a mewl.

“There you go, let me hear you,” he groans into your ear, “Y’sound so good for me, sweetheart.”

“Soonyoooouung,” you can’t control the drawn out moan of his name. After everything you’re pent up and everything feels too much already.

He lets his mouth trail wet, open mouthed kisses from your jaw to your neck as his hands busy themselves undoing the hook of your bra. He scrambles to get it off of you and immediately pulls one nipple in his mouth, nipping and soothing it with a slow lave of his tongue.

He grips your other breast in his palm and squeezes, biting his lip at how your flesh molds to his touch.

“Fuck your tits are fucking perfect.”

This man was groping and grinding against you, and you blush as he compliments your breasts.

He continues kissing down the valley between your breasts and you hold your breath as he starts pressing his lips onto your stomach. It dips and springs back as he moves and your eyes zero in on the deeper colored lines of your stretch marks. There are more on your thighs to match.

But he makes no comment. 

He instead groans whenever he stops to suck a bruise and to run his tongue over the mark he’s made. 

“You’re so,” he starts, almost breathless, “You’re everything.” He laughs at his own inarticulate thoughts before hooking his thumbs into the elastic of your underwear.

He pulls them off and moves back up to press a deep kiss to your mouth, “I want to make you come three times, love.”

“What?” You’re dazed.

His right hand moves down to trace your ass and hook under your knee so he can spread you open.

“First, I’m going to fuck you open on my fingers,” he breathes, “then when you’re nice and wet and open for me, I want you to sit on my face, alright?”

With all his talk distracting you, you’re suddenly startled when you feel his thumb on your lower lips, starting to spread you apart.

“Then when you’ve come all over my face, I’m going to fuck my come into you, just how you like it. Right, baby?”

He slips in two fingers into you with no warning and you keen, high and wanton and uncontrollable.

Soonyoung is rough and quick when he fingers you and no matter how slow and sensual the lovemaking is, this will always be fast, hard, and messy.

While one hand is busy pumping two fingers into you, the other pinches your clit and quickly rubs, wanting your first orgasm to come as quickly as possible.

Your lower lip is close to bleeding as you try to keep your voice down but Soonyoung only chuckles when he sees your attempts at restraint.

“Baby we’re soundproofed in here. Make all the noise you want.”

You want to slap at his chest playfully at least, get him to feel some semblance of shame, but just as you try to make some quick remark, his fingers brush that spot inside of you and he presses down hard.

You’re unable to hold in the scream that rips through your throat as his arm flexes and he roughly thrusts his fingers in and out of you.

You clench your eyes shut as you finally let him have your first release. It’s almost explosive and you spill messily all over his fingers and arm, his other hand making a bigger mess, spraying drops of your release letting them fly further.

Breathing comes hard but he’s already pulling out of you and moving your body around until you’re on your knees.

Soonyoung lays on his back and tugs at your hands to grip at his headboard, “Fuck I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Soonyoung, what if—“

“If you want to stop, we’ll stop. Just say the word,” he says, propping himself up with his elbow.

“You have to do the same,” you say shakily, still trying to get your bearings after the mind blowing first orgasm.

“Unlikely, but you know I’ll tell you everything, love.”

And just like that he lays back again, looking more eager than you could have ever imagined. You kneel over his chest and slowly inch upwards before lowering yourself over his mouth.

Soonyoung’s always loved eating you out. He loves when sex is wet and messy and loud. He loves the taste of you and making so much noise while he’s pressed up against your pussy it almost seems like he’s the one getting release.

Every flex and curl of his tongue has you whimpering and you can’t help the way you throw your head back as his nose nudges at your clit, still sensitive from your first orgasm.

He coaxes this second one slower but it hits you just as strongly as he continues to mouth at your core even when you’re crying and shaking from the sensitivity. You almost topple off the bed as you climb off Soonyoung to lay back next to him on the bed.

You turn your head to Soonyoung and the entirety of his lower face is wet with your release and your face burns. But Soonyoung is aglow with arousal and just so much love.

He coaxes your mouth to meet his own and it is a reprieve from how quickly he moved for you to reach your high twice in such a short period of time.

You can taste yourself on his mouth but it makes you groan as his tongue pushes its way to mingle with your own.

Despite the desperation at which you both moved, this is slow and quiet. Just you lips moving against each other and the sheets rustling fills the space.

Soonyoung pushes himself off the bed cautiously, desperate to keep his lips on you as he positions himself between your thighs.

Just like that a switch flips and the urgency to have him starts once more. He pressed his cock against your entrance and let the underside slide against your wet cunt. It offers you little relief, the friction hardly enough to get you there.

He pulls away and brings one hand to your face as the other holds him over your body.

Soonyoung’s hooded lids and glazed eyes are a sight to behold. His hair is damp and the shorter strands that frame his face are plastered onto his forehead. There’s a bead of sweat that’s clinging to the cut of his jaw and you ache to press your mouth to it. 

His thumb traces the curve of your cheek, the plumpness of your lower lip, and slowly he’s pressing the finger between your teeth. You press your tongue against the pad of his thumb and wrap your lips around the finger, and suck.

God, I love this man. I will always only love this man.

“I love you,” he gasps as he finally presses in and sinks into you.

Any other day and it would be embarrassing how close you both are to the edge, but you both know that his evening was far from normal. Your heart is hammering in your chest so hard you feel like it’ll rip itself out of its confines. Everything feels too good and too much and you want it. You want this every single day if you could.

Soonyoung sits up and uses both hands to grip onto your hips and to brace himself. What he does next makes your head spin.

“I’m so close, baby. You gotta say it.” He stands on his knees, changing the angle slightly. Then he lifts your hips just right and the noise you let out as his cock sinks into you perfectly is completely pitiful.

“Say it.”

“Soonyoung!” you cry out. It’s a sob, really. Depraved, almost, in the desperation and the raw fucking feeling thats burning through your nerves.

“Just say it baby, you know the words. Say it and I’ll make good on the very last fucking promise I made tonight,” he says, the edge in his voice making itself known. He wanted to make this evening soft, slow, and for every movement to have meaning. But he has always been hungry.

Hungry for the stage, bigger venues, brighter lights, more challenging steps, and of course for you.

He breathes in through his nose sharply and tries to exhale slowly and paced, “Just say it baby, I know you can.”

“You’re mine.”

“That’s it. I’m yours. I’ll always be yours.”

The years of precise practice and this industry expertise has made the man you love into the most exquisite lover.

He thrusts quick and deep and the undulations of his hips have you seeing stars and tearing up once more. He’s everywhere, in your eyes, head, lungs, heart and you’ll be damned if you ever let him go.

The insecurities and the problems and the people will always be there, they will always cause uncertainties but this is one thing you will always be sure of. You will always be sure of him.

Soonyoung comes with a cry of your name and the most beautiful gasp against your mouth as he pumps you full of his cum, pushing you over the edge and he swallows the cry you let out.

He pulls away to press breathless kisses against your face and any other part of you he can get his lips on mumbling, “I’m yours, I’m yours. I’ll always only be yours.”

It starts slowly, warm, and comfortable. The rustling of the sheets and the hot wet press of his mouth slowly coaxing you into that soft space of barely awake, but able to slip back to sleep if you stayed quiet enough.

“I gotta go, baby,” is Soonyoung’s whisper, cheek resting atop your head. 

You hum in response, not fully coherent to put together words after he’d pulled endless strings of moans and cries from your lips the night prior.

He presses a kiss to your hair, “Didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye. I’ll see you tonight, gorgeous.”

You feel the way the bed dips and the blankets move as he goes to stand. He slips on his shoes and, unable to leave so easily, moves back towards the bed and kneels by where your head rests on a pillow.

“I love you, think about what I said last night, okay?”

You tried to keep yourself collected, keep the frantic energy sizzling in your veins at bay. Soonyoung had put on the show of his life, something that happens just a few times in a performer’s life, you’re sure. Pride had swelled so grandly in your heart. You had been so lovestruck watching him that it felt like he could see you whenever he had turned his head in your general direction.

Backstage is still abuzz from the end of the show. You’re sure people are still running around making sure the egress goes smoothly, that all the fans are able to exit the stadium safely. But everything comes second the moment you hear his voice.

“Has she been escorted from her se—“

You can’t help it. You’re so happy, so excited, and so in love with him. You’re running toward him. He’s changed out of his encore outfit and into a sweater—oversized the way he likes them— and sweatpants. He could slip into bed any second now it looks like.

“Soonyoung!” You call out, stealing his attention.

He turns to you and the most breathtaking smile spreads on his face and you throw yourself into his arms. He catches you and you wrap your legs around his slender waist.

“It was amazing, you’re so amazing. Congratulations, oh my god!” You’re blabbing, you can feel your mouth going a million miles an hour but you can’t stop.

You pull him into a crushing hug as he gently puts your feet back on the ground, keeping your arms around his neck.

“And that new song, Jesus you weren’t kidding, it’s so good and the choreo! The way you moved! You changed the choreo last minu—“ In a split second, his lips are on yours and you can’t help but smile against him.

You break away, breathless when you remember, “Soonyoung, everyone can see.”

He gives you a silly quizzical look, “Only thinking about that now and not when you jumped into my arms?”

You’re speechless. He’s right.

“I’d be happy if everyone knew,” Soonyoung says simply and pulls you in again for another kiss.

When you pull away, you suck in a large breath and say, “Okay.”

There’s a small smile that he can’t hide as he asks, “Okay…? To what, exactly?”

You blush and bury your head in his chest. You want to while, he’s so annoying.

“To everything. To everything you said last night,” you mumble into his chest, trying to muster enough confidence to keep going.

“Okay, I’ll move in with you. Okay, I’ll tell all my friends about you. Okay, let’s make us public.”

-`✮´- if you've come this far, thank you. if you’d like to drop a like or reblog this, it would mean the world to this new author!

[fancyfeathers]

Rain and Dirt (Yandere Rex Lapis/Zhongli x Goddesses!Reader) Chapter One, Rite of Descension Sequel to The Moon Will Sing and Time Alone Summary: Stories are told of Rex Lapis the God of Contracts and his darling the Goddess of the Moonlight, but what people do not know is the truth of what their relationship really is. People think at Rex Lapis’s death that his wife would be the first to weep, but what if she is the first to smile.

You were allowed to be on your own during the Rite of Descension festivities, with the condition that you would be in Yujing Terrace during the event proper. Your husband had you dressed up this morning before he left, the dress was all too familiar to you, it was the same dress you were wearing when you were taken by him thousands of years ago, he kept it, and perhaps had someone restore it, Cloud Retainer perhaps. The dress was practically the same except there were skin tight sleeves added underneath the billowing sleeves of the dress. They were there to cover the markings on your body, a gift from your husband that matched him and that bound you to him, like those physical chains did all those centuries ago.

“You look as beautiful as you did all those centuries ago, my pearl.” Your husband spoke, but you can’t respond due to a brush running over your lips as your husband applies your lipstick. 

“Thank you, but Zhongli, you know I am able to do my own makeup.” You said as Zhongli set the brush down and picked up a cloth to wipe the bits of lipstick from the corner of your mouth. He chuckled as he pushed the cloth against your skin.

“I know, I know my love, but it’s an important day and I want you to look perfect.” He set down the cloth and walked across the bedroom to the dresser, letting you look in the mirror and you did look beautiful, like the same you did all those years ago. You watched as Zhongli grabbed a box off the dresser and brought it over to you. He leaned over and kissed your forehead, while setting the box on your lap. “I have to leave now, I will see you soon. I love you so, my dear.”

“Goodbye Zhongli.”

You never said I love you back, because that would be lying…

You watched as Zhongli left the room, and you heard his footsteps going down the stairs, then the door opening and closing, but no lock. Looks like he kept his word, like he always did.

You look down at the box on your lap and reached down to the note on top of it.

This reminded me of the night we first met, I hope you like it.

Of course it wasn’t signed, it didn’t need to be. You pulled off the lid and you saw laying on velvet, a hair pin with glass glaze lilies being the statement piece of it. Seems like Zhongli wanted you to look perfect if you wanted to be in the harbor during the Rite of Descension.

—————————

You walked the streets of Liyue, going from booth to booth, seeing for the first time how much the people of the city celebrated this occasion. Everything felt so alive to the time you would normally spend with the adepti around this time of year which was always so depressing and lonely. 

You stopped at the booth of a small jewelry business, you were surely not short of pocket change with who your husband was. You were looking through different necklaces and chatting with the shop owner when you heard a high pitched voice call out from behind you.

“Excuse me ma’am?”

“Hm?” You turned to see a small floating girl behind you and a blond woman who wore clothes that you did not quite recognize. “May I help you two?”

“Oh yes, we were wondering where the Rite of Descension was taking place, neither of us are from here and it’s our first time witnessing it.” The floating companion explains and you smile and nod.

“It’s my first time attending the Rite as well.” You laughed a bit nervously as you answered, which made them look disappointed. “Don’t worry though, I have resided in Liyue Harbor for quite some time, I can show you where it will take place and perhaps show you around the harbor.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to do all that, ma’am-“

“No, no, it’s not a problem whatsoever, I actually quite enjoy helping people, especially when it comes to helping the people of Liyue and travelers who wish to know more. Just let me finish up here.” You smile and turn back to the shopkeeper and make an exchange for a necklace and the mora you carry. You tuck the necklace in your bag before turning back to the traveler and her companion down the street.

“So what’s your deal, miss… actually I don’t think we ever got your name.” The floating companion spoke, making you realize you never introduced yourself.

“I am (Name), and honestly I just like to meet new people, I do not often get to discuss much with others besides my husband and a few old friends.”

“Oh so you’re not a miss at all but a missus since you’re a married woman.”

“That is correct, but you may just call me (Name), no formality needed.” You nodded and smiled as you spoke. “But what may I call you?”

“My name is Lumine and this is…” she gestured over to her floating companion with a playful smirk coming across her face. “Is my emergency food.”

“Paimon is not emergency food!” 

Both you and Lumine chuckled at that, look that cleared up the name problem. As you led the traveler and Paimon up the stairs, through Yujing Terrace Lumine finally asked you a question.

“(Name), do you know anything about Rex Lapis, apparently the people here quite adore him, what do you think of him?”

What do you think of him? How were you supposed to honestly answer that question, what I’m all of Teyvat would be your answer? Lie and make yourself look like another citizen of Liyue, or be honest and give this traveler a clear picture of who this land’s archon actually is. One felt wrong to you morally, the other could get you into quite a bit of trouble with your husband or even the people of Liyue if they heard you say such things about their beloved archon…

“I… I do not know if I am the right person to ask that question, but perhaps in due time I may be able to answer it.”

What else were you to say? The truth? Lies? Either way it felt you were trapped, at least this answer gave you time to think…

And thought you did…

You thought as you showed Lumine and Paimon where the Rite was taking place…

You thought as people made offerings to the Adepti and Rex Lapis…

You thought as Ninggaung started the proceedings…

But your mind went blank as you saw a draconic body fall to the ground with a crash. Everyone was in shock as the dust settled. You quickly realized that this was the draconic form of your husband, the one who had forced you to marry him, the one who tore you away from the Liyue you knew, and the one you thought about.

You could only watch as Lady Ninggaung approached the body and kneeled down next to it, looking it over. It felt like you could not breathe, like your heart had stopped when she finally stood up…

“Rex Lapis has been killed! Seal the exits!”

The panic of the crowd only covered up your shock and relief when you heard those words…

You were finally free…

After over two thousand years, you were free.

Chapter Two

[bellewintersroe]

Daniel Ricciardo x HornerDaughter! Reader

Part 9 oooo couldn’t leave you guys hanging but I’ve been away the past week sorry for the long wait! No smut in this chapter, but pure tension and angst, mentions of heartbreak& sadness (obviously). Mentions of Panic attack.

After Daniel attends his first race back into AlphaTauri, she finds herself spending less and less time around him. She finds it necessary, but uncomfortably painful. When the two do bump into one another there’s, of course, a thick tension between the pair. Could things get anymore awkward? Possibly not, both of them know the feelings have not changed, and with Daniel’s previous admission out in the open, she’s tormented to the point of publicly breaking down.

After the most relentless few days had passed, y/n was awkwardly watching Daniel from the sidelines whilst he raced with Alpha Tauri. There was a semi relief/ semi disappointment that she was spending less time with him, a constant pain lingered deep in her chest and she felt as though somebody had sucked the life from her. She never believed she’d do the cliche thing of not eating, barely sleeping, crying into the pillow- but god, she was a wreck over a man she’d spent not even that much time with. To her, Daniel was the one that got away. Or- well, he wanted to…

She didn’t congratulate him after the race, she didn’t even see him, ensuring she was away from the grid the whole time. Her family picked up on it, so the next few days she endured the most awkward, tension filled appearance at a test drive, constantly on edge that Daniel would be around any corner. Of course he wasn’t. Daniel was just trying to keep his head focused on driving- his happy place. The minute he stepped out of the car he knew he’d be unconsciously searching for her, only for her not to be there. Maybe he would catch a glimpse at the back of her head, craning his neck to watch a little longer before she disappeared. She didn’t look good either. Not that she looked bad, but she looked tired, her lips were constantly tugged downwards and Daniel swore he hadn’t seen her smile in days. Truth be told he despised himself, what he did, what he said. He’d made a huge fucking mistake and now he wished all her pain would translate onto him- he wasn’t sure if he could carry anymore than what he was feeling, but he’d sure rather it be his pain than hers. On one mild Thursday in Belgium, she’d finally made an appearance with Kelly and P, down into the grid to have an explore. Kelly wasn’t stupid, she knew something was going on but couldn’t press. Y/n had always loved spending time with Penelope, practically seeing her grow up, so she was bound to put a smile on her face. And she did.

“Are you coming to my birthday?” The small girl questioned up, “I am.” Y/n smiled, “and I’ve got a surprise present for you as well.” She squeezed her hand as P giddily jumped around.

“Did you hear that, P, more presents?!” Kelly smiled down to her young one who bounced around excitedly. Y/n wished she could momentarily be that young and happy again- a depressing thought she quickly shook away, cringing at her dimness. At some point, she’d zoned out, not realising that Max and Daniel now stood right in front of them- her. Daniel, and her- fuck.

She could feel the gasp that got caught in her throat, trapping the lump that rose from her chest. Fuck. They shared not even a second of eye contact before she tore her eyes away, back onto the floor ahead of them. “You alright, y/n/n? I haven’t seen you in a few days.” Max spoke, giving her a quick hug. Daniel stood there awkwardly, the tension rising in his body as he fumbled with his hat, something he always did when he was nervous. “I’m good, are you.” Good. Ha, that was definitely a lie, she’d slept a grand total of 26 minutes last night, now she was running on absolutely nothing but water and a few bites of a sandwich she couldn’t bare to stomach. She offered no explanation of her absence, Daniel would know exactly where she was and why she’d been MIA.

“Great, yeah.” Max shuffled, feeling a little awkward at her clearly forced smile. Their conversation fell flat, unusually. Normally she’d be full of life and chatter, but now she just seemed to fall flat. Daniel’s eyes gazed over her, watching her with the saddest eyes as she hugged her jumper tighter around her frame. She seemed upset, blinking rapidly and breathing a little faster than normal. Daniel’s eyes constantly broke from the conversation between Max, Kelly and, P, onto the girl ahead of him.

Of course, she was having a breakdown mid conversation. Something as small as a picture of Daniel coming up made her tear up, now he was right in front of her, the devastation she’d been bottling up, mixed with the pure physical and mental exhaustion had caught up on her. She was working herself up beyond repair, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill. Fuck.

“I’ll just be two minutes.” Deciding she couldn’t stay there much longer, she politely excused herself, rushing off into the distance. Space, now, and fast. Y/n felt the tears practically explode from her eyes and begin pouring her face as she hurried to find a bathroom. It was all very dramatic.

She wasn’t quick enough. Not when a voice came hurrying after her. Daniel knew he couldn’t just stand and watch her run away like that. It was his wrongdoing, and although chasing after her would probably only make things worse, he couldn’t leave her upset, he wanted to at least try.

“Y/n.” He sighed as she spun around, startled by the Australian voice. He was the last person she expected. “Daniel, I’m sorry, just-“ her hand waved in a gesture for him to leave as she struggled to blubber out anymore words. Her breathing was shallow and she could feel the furious racing over her heart against her chest. Not a panic attack. Fuck, she hated these things, how quickly she’d lost her breath, how panicked she felt, and now it was happening in front of Daniel.

“Hey, hey. Just breathe deep for me.” Daniel stepped closer, recognising her laboured breathing as a panic attack. It felt like he’d just been kicked in the gut watching her this distressed. She paused, attempting to soothe her breathing to stop the attack quicker than it started.

Unable to prevent it, he reached over, placing a hand on an upper back, a gentle gesture to provide the comfort she needed. She needed- but she didn’t want. “I’m- I’m fine, Daniel.” She gasped, the whimper in her tone not convincing as he watched down to her, his chest knotting harshly.

“You’re not. Just take a minute, it’s okay.” The soothing of his hand over her smaller back soothed her. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, feeling Daniel’s touch was the best thing she’d felt in days. Her lips blubbered as she wiped at her eyes desperately. There was a couple more moments of her shallow breathing, a minute, five minutes? She didn’t know, all she knew was that Daniel was right there, comforting her through something she’d regret later.

“Sorry.” She exhaled, slowing her breathing as much as she possibly could until she was in control over her body again. “Sorry.” She repeated, becoming aware of her surroundings. Her hand dropped from her forehead and everything became visible again. Daniel was there, he’d just seen her having a literal panic attack. Fuck.

“Don’t be sorry.” He looked so sad, so startled and concerned. She could hardly meet his eye. “Don’t be sorry, y/n, are you ok-“ before Daniel could even finish, she was assuring him, “I’m fine. I’m fine.” “You’re not…” Daniel sighed as she wiped at her teary eyes. “I’m sorry.” He then muttered, watching the downwards pull of her lips. “I’m so sorry…” she was crying now, properly, something Daniel couldn’t bare. He thought he might cry too as he blinked away harshly at the tears that filled his eyes. He wanted to give her a hug, but he thought that was overstepping a boundary completely.

“It’s fine.” She repeated, voice hitched and unconvincing. “I just- I need to go.” She waved into the distance. “Let me drive you back-“ “No. It’s fine.” She had already set off walking, stupid idea, walking through the unknown streets of Belgium with tear stains drenching her face. “Y/n, you’re not walking back alone.” Daniel put his foot down, sighing in a way she found it difficult to say no to.

The whole car ride back was silent apart from her occasional sniffle, it was awkward to say the least. Daniels chest was heavy with wanted conversation, with a need for her, but it just wasn’t the right time. He should’ve never told her he loved her, he knew he’d probably hurt her feelings way more by admitting that.

Pulling up outside the hotel, she couldn’t be quicker than to unbuckle her seatbelt, an odd sense of longing stabbing at her heart when she stole a singular glance at Daniel. It was the most she’d look at him all day. a

“Thank you, Daniel.” She whispered, his breath hitching as all he could do was watch her walk away. She could see the sadness in his eyes, but averted her gaze. The quicker she was out of that car, the quicker she could rid of those dread awful feelings she got around him. If only a girl could control her feelings, wouldn’t that be life changing, huh?

————————————————————————

@mccall-muffin @benbarneslut @dinodumbass @allabouthappiness @ricciardhoe-3 @headinthecloudssblog

[yngjwonluvr]

𝗨𝗡𝗘𝗫𝗣𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗗𝗟𝗬 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗦 // ʏᴀɴɢ ᴊᴜɴɢᴡᴏɴ

pairing: non-idol! jungwon x fem! reader

genre: smau, fluff, enemies to lovers

warnings: swearings, mention of humiliation, goofy jungwon

wordcount: 868 not proofread

author's note: Happy Sunday, y'all! Got nothing to do so I made this. I know it's boring ++I'm not good at writing but still did my best. Hope you guys like it!

synopsis: In the competitive world of business, longstanding rivals Jungwon and (oc) are forced into an uneasy partnership when their families orchestrate a merger to save their companies and make a stronger bond. Complicating matters further, they find themselves bound by an arranged marriage. They have to face their rivalry and determine whether there is true love between them or if their marriage is doomed to fail as they work through the difficulties of combining their personal and professional lives.

“What?!?! But dad-” I was about to make an excuse about the information that I just heard when my dad cut me off, saying “You can’t say no, dear; you already signed the partnership contract.” He said, making me sigh. “But I didn’t know that it was going to be him who would be my partner for this project.” I reasoned it out. “But dear, a contract is a contract. No more excuses, okay? Whether you like it or not, you’ll work with him.”

I nodded and left my dad’s office, feeling defeated by the fact that I had to work with my longtime enemy, who’s known for his looks, intelligence, and wealth. I guess you already know him….yes! The one and only YANG JUNGWON. He’s the son of my father’s friend. But Dad and Uncle being the best of friends doesn’t make me close to Jungwon. Instead, annoyance and anger took over. Why? Because he rejected me harshly and freaking embarrassed me 3 years ago at their house party when I told him that I liked him, and he answered, saying, "I don't like spoiled brats," and started laughing with his friends. And from that day on, I started hating him to the point that seeing his face made me want to break his bones.

‘Aish, I’m stressing myself more just by thinking of him.’ My thoughts were interrupted when I heard my secretary call my name. “Yes, Lia? Do I have a meeting later?” I asked. “Oh, no, Miss Yn. Your mom just wanted me to tell you that you guys are going to have a family dinner at the Yang's residence later at 7 pm,” she stated, which made me roll my eyes. “Aish, again? Alright, I’ll take note of that. Thanks for telling me.” She smiled and bowed before leaving as I went to my office to continue the work that I had left when my dad called me to his office.

“I bet the partnership will be our topic tonight,” I sigh.

----------------T I M E S K I P—--------------

I flinched when I heard my phone ringing. I groaned before answering the call without looking at the caller’s ID. “Hello?” I started. “Oh, Yn dear, are you still planning to attend our family dinner tonight?” the person on the other line sweetly asked, which made my eyes widen. It’s Jungwon’s mother. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry auntie, I must’ve fallen asleep while doing my work and didn’t notice the time,” I explained. "It's okay, dear. Take your time. We are not rushing you," she assured. "Okay, Auntie, I'll just pack my things and call Dad to fetch me." I said, "No need, dear. Take your time; I already sent someone to fetch you there since your parents are here already." Auntie said. “Okay, Auntie, I'll be leaving now,” I said, informing her that I needed to go. “Alright. Take care, dear. Bye,” she hung up, as I left my office and went to the parking lot.

I was peacefully walking in the parking lot while using my phone when something hit me—a candy wrapper. “Oopss,” my eyes automatically shut, and I felt like it rolled back inside my head. “What the heck are you doing here, Yang Jungwon? ”I turn around and see him grinning so widely that my blood boils in irritation. “What's with the full name, Missy? And chill, am I not allowed to see my lovely business partner? "He answered with a smirk while leaning on his car hood. Hearing his last two words pissed me more. "I am not working with an arrogant man, like you." He chuckled and played the lollipop in his mouth. He took the lollipop out of his mouth and offered it to me. "Do you want to have a taste?" he asked. "Yuck," I said, turning my back on him as I started walking away. "Hm, planning to ditch the dinner? "Jungwon asked. "Nah, not this time," I answered as I continued walking.

"Then should we go? "He asked, which made me stop walking and turn to face him again. "What did you say? 'I asked, wanting him to repeat what he said to make sure that I heard it right. "I said, if we should go already?" he repeated while walking towards me. "Huh? What do you mean, "if we should go? Yang, "I asked confusedly, "Oh, mom didn't tell you? "Tell me what? "I asked back. "Tell you that she asked me to fetch you." Jungwon answered my question with a smirk, holding my hand as he started pulling me towards his car. "What??? But why him, Untieeeee?" I whine while trying to escape from his grip as he laughs. "Yah, let's go; it's already 6:40," he said. "I know, and I don't want to go with you, Yang," I protest. "But you don't have a choice," he said while opening the passenger seat door. He made me sit there and go to the driver's seat. "Plus, we're going to be late. My wife doesn't like being late, right?" he added while giggling as he started driving.

‘Right, business partners also mean you are in a fixed marriage.’

[charmsandtealeaves]

Hockey and Headaches

Sequel of sorts to this @jilymicrofics  (which will be becoming a micro-oops at some point in the future once I've finished my other current WIPs). Written for @jilychallenge 2024, Muggle May. Prompt: University Football/rugby/field hockey training is open to the public, on a very hot day star player A takes a shower from a water hose and B walks against a lamppost because B might have been staring. Partner @eastwindmlk

Read on AO3.

“I still don’t see why I have to attend a bloody hockey match when I could be having a lie-in,” Peter grumbled, shuffling along a good three paces behind the rest of the group. The bags under his eyes were a deep purple, his hair uncombed, and he still had a ketchup stain down the front of his shirt from the night before, completing his look of hungover dishevelment. 

“Pete, it’s one in the afternoon. You did have a lie in for fucks sake.” Remus rolled his eyes and gave him a disdainful look. 

“It doesn’t count if you didn’t go to bed til 4 am!” Peter bit back.

James was beginning to wish they’d left Peter asleep and drawn a dick on his head, given he had done nothing but whinge since they’d left his place. Pausing only briefly to throw up into some unfortunate person’s hydrangea bush after Sirius had wafted a Gregg’s sausage roll under his nose. 

“Oi! Can you stop bickering and focus on the task at hand, please? We’re here so Remus can introduce me to his hot friend. We’ve just got to spot her first.” James grinned, scanning the crowd of fellow Hogwarts Hockey supporters for a flash of red hair. 

“One, her name is Lily which you know, two she’s not my friend per se. We have a working relationship that I’d rather like to maintain because she’s good so please don’t be an arse. And three, she’s probably already on the pitch by now.”

James stopped abruptly and Peter slammed into the back of him. “The pitch? Wait, you mean she’s on the team?” 

Remus sighed. “Yes, James. That’s why I suggested we ‘bump into’ her here.” He stood on his tiptoes and craned his neck to see over the rows of supporters. “The girls are warming up, so we want to find a good vantage point before the game starts.”

“Right-o, let’s get near the front!” James bounded off, forcing his way through the crowd and not caring who he jostled, Sirius hot on his heels. 

Reaching the pitch guard rail he had a much better view of the players on the field. He spotted Lily almost immediately towards the eastern end of the pitch, her red hair tied back in a ponytail and face scrunched in concentration. She was running warm-up drills with another member of her team, passing the ball back and forth between each other while a third player, a blonde, tried to intercept them.  

There was a spray of sand from the artificial turf as the blonde’s stick skidded across it before connecting with the ball. Lily cursed loudly and rubbed her face against the shoulder of her shirt, undoubtedly trying to free flecks of sand that had lodged themselves in her eye. 

James kept walking east along the guard rail, his eyes fixed on her as she made her way over to the sidelines blinking rapidly and swearing under her breath to where a coach was waiting with a length of garden hose. His gaze was still fixed on her and the hose water that was carefully being trickled down her face and the front of her shirt, when he collided, head first with full force into a floodlight lamppost.

[darling--angst-archived]

Hello!! For the 100+ follower request

Id like to request cloud 9 (1) Chuuya and romantic if possible

Congratulations on over 100 followers <3

Cloud 9

Pairing: Chūya Nakahara x Fem! Reader

Type: Oneshot

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Not proofread

Synopsis: Chūya Nakahara grew to love his assistant just like how she turned out to loved him.

A/n: I'm feeling pretty useless and a bit suicidal right now :) semester starts on the 1st day of August so I'll be pretty busy after that. I am sorry if this isn't what you looked for..

Was in my drafts for who knows how long because Tumblr had an error and my drafts wouldn't save...

Event // PM.Masterlist // M.Masterlist

The five tall buildings in the center of Yokohama casted a shadow on the moonlit streets. It was the buildings owned by Mori corporation and where the rulers of the night lies, you are not foreign to them just as they are to you. The automatic door opened and you walked in, a few members showed respect by greetings and you did so too. Your black boots hit the tiled floor while walking towards the elevators, putting in the floor number, you took your phone out of your pocket and dialed a number. The phone in your hand slowly rang, and the elevator closed.

"Sir?" You called his name and could hear his slurs on the other line.

"(name).?" Oh how you loved to hear his voice, hearing your name slip out of his lips made your heart falter.

"Sir, pardon me but where exactly are you?" You tried fo gain back your composure. "Thank heavens he can't see my face right now" you thought to yourself, feeling hot in your face.

"I'm here at a bar, why?" He muttered between hiccups.

"The boss sent me a message to inform you about a sudden meeting. Osam-I mean the former executive Dazai Osamu is held captive in the dungeon, his execution is already on date" the elevator rang and opened, stepping out, you headed to your office; while he continued to listen.

You could feel his anger from the other line while he gritted his teeth upon hearing his former partner's name. You stopped by your office and grabbed a document before closing the door, releasing a thud.

"When's the meeting?" He asked, it seemed as if he really was sober now.

"About three days from now, but it's preferable for you to return the day after tomorrow. After all you do have some matters to attend to in Yokohama, boss said that he'll call you later" You entered the elevator once again and waited for his response.

"I'll return be there tomorrow, answer me if I call alright?"

"Yes sir, good night" You hung up, putting your phone on the pocket of your overcoat. Leaning on the elevator wall, you blushed. Excitement is an understatement of how you felt right now; you could finally see him after a few weeks during his trip overseas.

You put your hand over your chest and began to feel your rapid heartbeat.

"This is wrong.. I'm his secretary and he's my boss, nothing more.. nothing less.. a professional relationship" You struggled as you said the last words, and before you knew it you reached the dungeon.

Clenching the document in hand, you walked down the stairs, the smell of of blood reeking on the air. Your eyes fell to the captive, his arms hanging on the wall and wrists bounded in chains.

"How much do you plan to risk your life , Dazai?" You asked his 'asleep' form, walking near him you noticed the slight twitch on his finger before gently slapping his cheek.

"That really hurt" he opened his eyes to your form.

"Good." You rolled your eyes before brushing away the strand of hair on his face.

"You're so cruel... You do know that you'll be a traitor if you helped me"

"I know." You let out a breathless sigh before removing the bobby pin on his hair and handed it to his hand.

"Reach for my right pocket." His tone of voice was demanding but nonetheless you did what he asked.

"What's this.?" It was a bracelet, it had a flower pattern with a few glass-like-jewels was on top and in the color of gold, on the back it had his and your small initials written on it; as if to prove you it wasn't stolen.

"A bracelet duh!"

"No I mean why.?"

"I missed your birthday for four years didn't I?" He softly smirked before you lightly punched his shoulder.

"...you still owe me three gifts." You muttered before putting the bracelet in the pocket of your overcoat.

"Yeah.."

Silence engulfed the room before she decided to break it.

"Get your stupid ass ready, Akutagawa will beat you up for tomorrow once he knows that you're held captive. You have only tomorrow before that tiger gets captured" You turned around to the stairs after picking the lock of the chains on his feet.

"Ouch. So Akutagawa will come here after capturing Atsushi-kun huh." It was more like a confirmation than a question but yi still answered.

"Yes if that tiger's name is Atsushi"

"Hmm.. But how did you know I'll be here?" He smirked and you continued to go up the stairs.

"Because I know you" You said before you slowly fading into the distance.

"Thanks (name)"

You left the dungeon, went back to her office, and left your overcoat on the couch. Locking the door, you flopped onto your chair and started your computer, you typed and typed, before you knew it; it was already morning. Glancing at the bracelet, it shone while it was hit with the bright sun, then you decided to put it on. Your phone suddenly started to ring just in sync when you slid your arms on your overcoat. Looking at the contact caller, your heart skipped a beat.

"Sir.?"

"I'm going to arrive at the airport soon. Be there with the files" He ordered, his tone of voice was hoarse and demanding.

"Yes." You slightly nodded as if he could see you. With that he hung up, and you sighed. For you that call was more like a reminder that you are nothing but his assistant even if he never knew of your lingering feelings; but it won't make any changes. You left the building and went in your car, driving to the airport.

Chūya's POV

He hung up and his phone dropped to his lap. He heavenly exhaled and looked to the window, as if to hide the blush that crept up to his cheeks.

"How nice it is to hear her voice.." He thought to himself, he felt like pulling his hair out at how stupid he felt for extending his trip to not see her. How foolish he really was..

Ever since he met her a few years back, he grew to love her. He was enchanted by her intelligence, her beauty, her fierce nature, he loved everything about her. He was overcome with excitement when he finally became an executive because it meaned that she could be his assistant, and he would able to see her everyday. That was when he noticed that it was love...

Upon hearing her voice, he wanted to get drunk on it. He wanted to wake up with her beside, while shuffling through her hair just as she did back then to his former partner. He liked her and it was only an understatement, he wants to give her the world and everything she wants.. and now he could finally have his chance to finally do so.

He glances at the small blue box with a ribbon above it. It was a bracelet, one that was a souvenir from his trip, and a gift to you; his only hope for you to accept it along with his feelings.

~Time Skip~

You sat on a small bench and waited for Chūya. You tried to read a book but you couldn't focus because of how fast your heart was beating. No matter how you tried you couldn't get over him, flipping the page to a new chapter, you heard someone call out your name from behind. Looking over the bench, you could see your boss just behind you.

"Ah! Sir" You bowed lightly before continuing to apologize frantically. Ignoring your rambles, his eyes found it's way to your right wrist, and four capitalized letters shone and his eyebrows furrowed upon seeing what it was. 'D.O' and your initials.

"Sir.?" You asked him snapping out of his trance.

"hmm.? Do you need something?" He smiled at you, trying to hide the anger that built up when he realized whose initials those were.

"Uh. No.. I'm just asking if you want to go now" You fiddled with your fingers at the awkwardness.

"Then let's go." He tried his best not to sound angry but it came out more demanding and rude. He internally scolded himself at his pathetic attempt at covering it up, it was likely that you got upset by his actions. You laid your head down before fully responding with a quiet whisper.

"...yes"

The drive was quiet, you were focused on driving and he was looking out the window. You gave him quick glances using the mirror, his features is completely visible to you by such angle, the sunlight hit his ginger hair, it was a sight to behold. Looking away, you could feel your heart skip beats as you turned your focus back on the road. Just then, a pair of ocean eyes landed on you. He couldn't help but clench his fists tight when the bracelet was hit by the sunlight, making it shine. When he was about to look away, his eyes met your by the mirror.

"Do you need something sir?" You turned your eyes on the road, hoping he wouldn't see you blushing.

"Ehem. Yes.. I have a question for you." He tried to look away to hide his red cheeks.

"Ask ahead, sir"

"Why do you still call me by 'sir' and not by my surname or first name?" Truth be told, that was a question that lingered in his mind ever since he left for the trip. "and why do you call that bastard by his first name?" A question that he could never ask you since it may make you think that he was weird for trying to interfere with your personal life.

"I-its only proper for me to call you that since you're my superior" You tried your best to smile but to be honest you wanted to call his name in a honey-like tone, not that you knew he wanted to do the same.

"You've known me ever since I joined the mafia; besides, I call you by your first name for a while now and it's only fair for you to do the same" He nonchalantly explained, trying his best to convince you.

"Okay.. Chūya-san" Your voice was quiet and meek but enough for him to hear. His eyes lightened up before he cleared his voice and looked away.

"Just don't call me sir anymore. It's awkward" He tried to hide the smile that unconsciously crept up his lips, crossing his arms and legs he looked at you.

The drive was silent once again before you lightly chuckled at his reaction, the car was stopped with the heavy traffic, and you turned around to face him.

"I'll keep that in mind Chūya-kun" You smiled at him, your hair fluttering as you turned around. He blushed and muttered a small "whatever" before looking away again, his mind painted with the scene that happened moments ago.

Your mind was flooded with thoughts before you snapped out of it when you heard the traffic lights buzz.

"Oh! Also here" You reached for some files on the car's compartment and handed it to him. "It's a brief review of what you missed and some missions that the boss plans to send you to" You went back to driving after he took the files in your hand.

"Mhm" His expression changed and he looked more serious just as he looked at the files.

After that nobody spoke a single word. You drove to the mafia while he flipped through the documents. The silent breathing from you and the heavy exhales from Chūya is the only sound heard in the car, except the rustling of paper. You broke the silent by muttering a small "We're here" just in sync of you hitting the brakes. The car door released a small click when you opened it, you were about to step out until you felt a gloved hand pull you back.

"Chūya-san?" You stared at him with widened eyes before he let go of you and cleared his voice.

"Ehem! Here! I bought it because it reminded me of you" He reached for his pocket and handed you a small blue box.

"A.. gift.?" Your lips parted as you stared at the box in hand.

"I know that I'm very hard to put up with as you boss, and I realized that I want to—" He struggled to finally say the last words, a scenario playing in his head where you decline his feelings and things will become awkward with you and him.

"—I just.. I want to say say that I really appreciate you hard work" He thought that he finally had the courage to say those words just as he practiced in the mirror but something different came out of his lips.

"I see thank you, Chūya-san" You faintly smiled at before you came to a realization. "We should probably go.." "ah yes.."

That was how the day ended, no important events happened afterwards. You just went and arranged some documents and he attended to the boss's needs, you forgot to open his gift.

Chūya's POV

Another day passed and I was still not able to confess to her. I couldn't get my mind off the bracelet that was on her wrist. A thought that lingered in my mind for too long was"Why did she have a bracelet with his and her initials on it?" Yet, no matter how much I thought of it, I couldn't afford to ask her that, nor to ask her to be my lover.

I woke up in my bed, looking beside me was no one but a hope that I will be able to get the answers to my thoughts and questions. My driver picked me up and I headed to the dungeon, where my former partner is held captive.

"Well isn't this a sight to see... Don't you think so, hmm... Dazai?" Chūya emerged from the shadows and slowly went down the stairs, monitoring Dazai.

"Oh. It's you."

"Hey what's that supposed to mean?! Don't forget that you're the prisoner here shitty Dazai" He pulled his hair closer to him before letting go and turning around.

"Yeah whatever. What are you doing here Chūya."

"I'm here to give you a piece of my mind!" He said before kicking the chains the dangled above his head and punching him in the gut.

"Hmm" Dazai smirked before taking out a pin.

"So you could've escaped no matter what happens huh."

"Of course! And you're not here to give me a piece of mind aren't you?" He stated before Chūya halted and furrowed eyebrows.

"What the hell are you saying-" "You're here to get answers regarding (name) aren't you?"

"What are you on-"

"You want to know why she has a bracelet with my initials don't you?" He stood silent, and Dazai began explaining.

That was the last straw for Chūya. He barged into your office without a word with clenched fists.

"Chūya-san? What are you–" You stood up with widened eyes, but before you could say anything, he pulled you in for a tight embrace.

"Damn it! I love you okay?!" He pulled away, and turned to look at you with determined eyes. You stood still, not processing the words he said. The atmosphere became tense, he wondered if it really was right that he confessed to you, but before he would apologize and leave you blurted out something from shock.

"What. The. Fuck." You lightly slapped your cheeks and he sent you a worried look.

"Excuse me, can you say that again Chu?" The nickname made him blush but he complied nonetheless.

"I love you (name). I don't want to lose you to anybody else other than me. I want to make you the happiest woman and I-" He closed his eyes out of embarrassment but he quickly opened them as he felt your lips against his.

"If this is a dream I don't want it to end" You let out a breathless whisper.

That was the day that a love was formed. A few years passed since then. Dazai became the wingman to their relationship by planning it from the dungeon, and now it was their five year anniversary.

"Hey Chu sorry I'm late." You sat down across Chūya and he faintly smiled.

"It's fine doll. You look beautiful" He smirked before leaving his chair. His eyes fell to the bracelet that he gifted you four years ago. He unconsciously smiled, feeling proud of what he did back then. Now you were wearing a gift from him and not Dazai's, and that was enough to make him feel accomplished.

"oh. Thank you" You raised an eyebrow at what he was doing until he knelt and reached for his pocket.

"(name).. you are a blessing in my life that I thought I didn't deserve. Would you by wife and let me have the pleasure of having you in my life for the rest of my life?" He looked at you with glimmering ocean eyes.

"Chūya Nakahara.—" You said in an endearing tone.

"I feel at Cloud 9 with you, and I wish to spend my entire life with you beside me." You smiled at him before he put the ring in your finger and hugged you in a tight embrace after he kissed you.

He buried his head into the crook of your neck before whispering something that made your heart falter, "I love you—"

"I love you more" You kissed his collarbone before he pulled away and kissed the back of your hand.

"—and I will always continue to love you"

A/n: I am very sorry if that took a wrong turn... I'm currently bedridden right now so this took a long time to make.

[autisticlancemcclain]

prev chapter

———

“I’m not going to fucking dinner with him.”

Hunk balks. “You’re – uh, pardon?”

“I refuse to sit down and do something civil with that jackass,” Lance repeats. “I would genuinely and truly rather swallow glass.”

“You could swallow food,” Hunk points out. “I used to work with the head cook. He’s an oven now, but I have on good authority that he can still make literally anything, and no one makes food like him.”

Choosing to ignore the statement about the cook and the oven, because what the fuck, Lance stands and starts ruffling around the small room he’s taken refuge in. It does indeed look like servant’s quarters, small and homely, but it’s well-made; sturdier than anything Lance has ever been in before. The walls are beautifully smooth plaster, and the floor is polished wood. The bed is creaky from age but in no danger of cracking or falling. The quilt is old, but not too worn, clearly stitched by someone who knows their way around a sewing needle. The entire right-most corner of the room is a window, dark now with either the newly settled night or years of grime, but the craftsmanship of the window and its frame are clearly evident. There’s even a ledge just barely wide enough to sit on at the base of it.

It’s no giant room with a canopy bed and more windows than walls, but…well. Lance was half-convinced he’d be bound in a tower or outcasted to the stables, so he’ll take it.

“Colleen brought that little almond cake thing –”

“Financiers.”

“– with the tea, so I should be fine for the next four days.”

Hunk raises an eyebrow. Or, well, part of the decorative wood top of him moves. Whatever. It looks like an eyebrow, Lance is calling it an eyebrow.

“That was one single tiny cake the size of a child’s fist. And it took you what, a whole day to get here? There’s no possible way you’re not hungry, and you’re certainly not going four days without food.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t hungry. I just said I’m not eating with His Royal Headass.”

For several moments Hunk says nothing, just stares with his eyes narrowed, scrutinizing him. Lance is used to this look, and the long sigh and “what am I going to do with you” that follows it, and as such is entirely unphased, holding eye contact with his hands crossed stubbornly across his chest. 

But Hunk doesn’t do that. Instead he opens the doors on his chest, revealing several shelves on one side and a rack on the other, all filled with beautiful, rich fabrics. Lance can’t conceal the sharp inhale of intrigue, and Hunk’s smirk promises it does not go unnoticed.

“Come on,” he cajoles, shimmying a little so the fancy clothes sway. “Even if you don’t like the prince now, you might learn to tolerate him. Besides, you get food and to dress up. Who cares about the company?”

A knock interrupts Lance’s response. A moment later the heavy wooden door pushes open, and Adam pokes his head in, clockhands twitching.

“Dinner is served,” he says pleasantly. Lance notices that his voice is strained. 

“I’m good,” Lance says. “Tell Prince Hairball to enjoy himself.”

Hunk makes a strangled noise, and Lance gets the distinct feeling that if he had hands he would be cradling his head in them. 

“But – you must – you’re meant to attend,” Adam stammers.

Lance feels kind of bad for putting him on the spot like this, but not bad enough to actually go and force himself to sit through what he knows will either be the most agonizingly awkward meal of his life or a dramatic screamfest, so he shakes his head and turns away. 

The door’s gentle click shut follows Adam’s hops out of the room, and then the room descends into silence. Very suddenly, Lance feels the urge to cry again rise up in his throat, but luckily he manages to shove it down, turning to sit by the window instead. The only thing he can see out of the dark glass is his own reflection, but he stares through it, imagining that just outside the window is his town, with its well-loved storefronts and stalls in the square, the overtrodden stone paths, the rolling hills of farmland, and most importantly their crumbling brick house. He imagines that he can hear the creak of the waterpump as the twins gather the jugs of water for the day, the gentle mooing of Kaltenecker in response to Blue and Red’s neighs, the clank of his mother in the kitchen, the grunts of his brothers and father working out in the fields. They’ll all be asleep now, long asleep, but he pretends anyway. 

“What?!”

Lance startles at the booming yell that rings through the castle, bouncing and echoing off the stone walls.

“Oh, here we go,” mutters Hunk. 

Seconds later, the walls start to shake ever so slightly, accompanied by the sound of pounding footsteps and sharp claws scratching the polished floors. Quieter but no less frantic are the clank and hops of something trying desperately to keep up. 

Lance grits his teeth when the stomping finally reaches his door, and a great fist pounds on the wood. 

“You were told to come to dinner!” roars a voice.

Lance doesn’t even bother entertaining the demand with an answer.

“Try asking gently,” urges another voice, muffled in a whisper. “Maybe you’ll be surprised.”

“He doesn’t deserve gently.” The words are so low and growly that they’re barely intelligible. “He waltzed into this place with an attitude. Why do I have to be the gentle one?”

A third voice snorts. “Believe me, you won’t be.”

Straining his ears, Lance hears a deep, carefully controlled breath. He can feel Prince Keith’s tension from through the door.

He smirks. The satisfaction of his fuming is more filling than a proper meal, honestly.

“Would you please,” Prince Keith grits out, measured, “come to dinner.”

Lance opens his mouth. Hunk looks at him sharply, a very clear warning, so Lance pauses, rolling his eyes and reevaluating. 

“No, thank you,” he says as politely as he can physically manage.

“You’re coming to fucking dinner!” Keith roars. “Come out or I’ll – I’ll break the door down!”

“For fuck’s sake, Keith,” Shiro says sharply. “You’re supposed to live with him for the rest of your life. Can you try to avoid traumatising him?”

“Not traumatised,” Lance calls out helpfully. “Also not coming.”

Keith’s cut off-shout of frustration is, honestly, almost enough to make Lance want to open the door, just to see if his eye is twitching.

"You can't stay in there forever."

"I can, actually."

He can’t remember ever feeling this much pleasure in pissing someone off before. He tends to swallow things down to avoid making things worse for himself, at least until he can slip off with Blue and take his frustrations out with his bow. But there are no real consequences for his smart mouth, here. Sure, Keith will scream and shout and make threats, but Lance has carefully watched the way Shiro and Adam coral him. He’s heard news of every other fiancé leaving after two months. They need someone, for whatever reason, and as things are looking, Lance is their only option, as subpar and bottom-barrel as he may be. 

There’s a strangled sound from beyond the door, and Lance imagines the prince with his head in his hands, desperately trying to calm himself down. 

“It would give me great pleasure if you would kindly come downstairs and join me for dinner.” 

There’s a pause, and then the distinct sound of someone getting smacked in the back of the head. 

“...Please.”

Lance pauses, considering.

“No.”

For as much fun as he was having, he still jumps out of his skin when both Keith’s fists pound on the door as he roars again, a louder sound than Lance has ever heard, and gouges his claws through the wood so deeply that Lance can see the shining pointed edge of them.

“Fine!” His claws rip out of the door and there’s a sweeping sound, as if his heavy cloak brushes harshly along the floor as he whips around. “If he doesn’t eat with me, he doesn’t eat at all!”

He stomps off, slamming several things to the floor in his wake, shaking the foundations of the castle with his rage until he gets far enough away that his tantrum finally fades into silence. Lance scowls when he realises his hands are shaking and clenches them into fists, shoving them deeply into his pockets.

"You know, he might not be that bad if you get to know him."

"Fuck that. I don't want to get to know him."

"Maybe if –"

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says harshly upon Hunk’s look.

“I wasn’t going to ask you too,” Hunk says quietly. “I don’t –" He sighs. "I know this can’t be easy.”

Lance feels guilty immediately. “Oh.” Hunk is the only person in his life, besides maybe Veronica if sisters can count, who has called himself his friend, and here Lance is, making life harder for him. Fuck. “Sorry.”

“Sit down, you walking disaster,” Hunk says fondly. “I have literally never seen him get that mad, and I knew him when we were kids. You are talented. Here.” A ball of yarn flies out of one of the drawers on Hunk’s side, nailing Lance in the face.

“Hey!”

Hunk smirks. “Come get the needles or I’ll launch those, too.”

He’s pretty sure Hunk is joking, but on the off chance he isn’t, he rushes to the drawer and grabs the needles himself before sitting back on the bed. He feels all the ugly feelings – the rage, the sick satisfaction, the confusion, the homesickness, the ache – start to melt away with the familiar smoothness of the wooden needles in his hands, the weight of the heavy wool. He has no idea how Hunk has figured out his affinity for the craft – most men don't bother with it, he knows – but he’s grateful regardless. 

He falls into the rhythm of the stitches. He has no idea what he’s going to make yet, but right now he just needs to do something familiar. If he hates it, he can just undo the stitches and restart. It’s not like he has anywhere else to be. 

Halfway through the skein, his stomach rumbles loud enough to echo through the room. He ignores it, because he made a very stubborn point and he intends to stick to it, but after the sixth time it happens in as many minutes, he concedes to the point that the stubborn point he point may have been, if he considers all possible angles, a poor one. 

He clears his throat. “So, uh, you said you had a friend who was an oven?”

Hunk snorts. “Yes, you bullhead. Head down the hallway, turn left twice and right once, it’ll lead you to the staff entrance of the kitchen. Colleen should be attempting to wrangle Katie to bed, but other than that everyone should be available to help you out.”

Quickly setting down his knitting, Lance heads for the door. 

“Wait, Lance.” Hunk’s face is very still when Lance turns back to face him, something serious in his eyes. “Don’t veer off from the path I told you, okay?”

“Why?”

“Just – don’t do it, Lance. I don’t want you to end up in the west wing, or things are going to get bad in here.”

If Lance is being entirely honest, he has no desire to deviate from Hunk’s directions. At least he didn’t. If Hunk hadn’t said anything, it probably wouldn’t have even occurred to Lance to go to the west wing anyway. This is the second time he has been warned away from the west wing, now. If Lance was curious before, he’s burning with it now.

But Hunk is his friend, and he’s doing him a favour, so he bites his tongue and nods his head and walks down the way Hunk instructed him too. It helps that he’s ravenous, and is more focused on food than anything. 

But he won’t lie and say that he doesn’t have to force himself away from dark hallways and beckoning shadows.

———

next chapter

[kallie-den]

True Renaming

A lesbian witch makes a mistake and accidentally summons an incubus instead of a succubus... but decides that she can fix "him" with just a few tweaks to the demon's true name

This force-feminization story was written for my patrons, based on the results of one of the polls I regularly run on Patreon!

If you like my writing, please consider supporting me on Patreon!   For less than the price of a cup of coffee each month, you can get   immediate, early access to everything I write - along with exclusive stories and the ability to vote on what I write next. Your support helps  me keep writing and is greatly appreciated   <3

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Ardat, incubus, took a moment to stretch as the brimstone smoke cleared, savoring every little sensation that came with being incarnated in a physical body - the cool air, the sound of his own heartbeat, the little strains of exertion as he experimentally lifted his arms. It had been too long. Far too long. Ardat had existed for eons, but summonings were becoming rarer and rarer. Now, finally, he was free to roam and corrupt the Earth once more.

Well, not free. Not yet. He had been summoned into a magic circle; a ring of symbols and salt that kept him bound to the spot. But that was merely a minor inconvenience. All Ardat needed to do was convince his summoner to lower their guard a little, and he had plenty of experience with that.

He was, after all, a sex demon.

Now that the smoke had almost cleared, he could just about see them. Ardat stroked his goatee, attended to his short, tufted, black hair, and plastered a winning, charismatic smile on his perfectly formed face. He struggled to keep it there when he noticed the expression his summoner was wearing.

Overwhelming frustration and disappointment.

That was a surprise. Ardat had been greeted in many ways - with awe, lust, shock, self-righteous contempt. But who would be disappointed with a sex demon they’d bound to their will and summoned from the bowels of hell itself?

A woman, for one. A goth, for another. The look of utter, icy disdain on her face looked like it was fixed there permanently, accentuated by her jet-black lipstick and thick, immaculate eyeliner. She had long, silky, black hair - plainly dyed - with layers of deep blue visible underneath, and her clothing was all fishnets, lace, and asymmetrical, flowing folds of black cloth. Her look was - in Ardat’s opinion - a little tacky, but she undeniably carried it off well, and her figure was on the softer, rounded, better-endowed side. Aradat certainly liked that. More for him to enjoy.

“Master,” Ardat said, his voice a low purr. He offered a low, theatrical bow. “Might I have the pleasure of your name? All the better to serve you, of course. Although I must confess a slight, ulterior motive. I desire to confirm my suspicion that your name is just as lovely as you are.”

It was a good line, and one that had made many would-be witches blush throughout history. So, Ardat had been hoping for a better response than an angry, disgusted: “Tch.”

He tilted his head, confused. “Excuse me?”

“It’s Lenora,” she said, with an air of clear reluctance. “I guess.”

“Have… I done something to offend you, master?” Ardat asked cautiously.

Lenora groaned and made a gesture like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re an incubus.”

“Of course.” Ardat took a moment to refresh his grin. “I am Ardat of the Second Circle. I am accomplished in pleasures far beyond the average mortal ken - and I am at your disposal, body and soul.”

Lenora simply rolled her eyes. “You don’t get it. I’m a lesbian.”

Ardat’s smile immediately faltered. “Then… if I may ask… why did you-“

“Because you were meant to be a succubus!” the witch exploded. “I wanted to get my mind blown, and I found an old grimoire talking about this ancient sex demon. ‘Ardat of Ur’. A succubus! And now I get… you.”

“Ah,” Ardat said awkwardly. “Well, gender and grammar in ancient proto-Sumerian can be a little tricky.”

Lenora glared daggers at him. “Now what am I supposed to do?”

“Master, I’m sure you know that labels are just words,” Ardat attempted, making his voice a thrilling, husky growl and arching his back to present his bare, sculpted chest to the witch. “Whatever you may consider yourself, why not try allowing me to please you? I’m sure I could find a way to change your feelings. Everyone’s a little flexible, under the right circumstances. Maybe you just haven’t found the right man.”

From the look on her face, he immediately knew he’d chosen the wrong tactic. “Gross,” Lenora spat, even more disgustedly. “Try that again, and I’ll banish you before you can blink.”

“Wait!” Ardat said hurriedly. “Don’t send me back! Not when I… when I have so much to offer you, that is.” He tried to sound simpering and pleasing; maybe she’d like that more. “I could easily help you to summon a demon a little more fitting for your tastes. Now, if you’ll just let me out of this magic circle, I’ll-“

Lenora snorted a laugh. “Nice try. But no. Part of the reason I’m so pissed is that, as you well know, I can’t attempt this ritual again until the next lunar-venusian conjunction. Which is also the reason I can’t afford to send you back to Hell.”

Hearing that gave Ardat the twinge of hope he needed. “Then, surely there must be some service I can perform for you, master,” he purred. “Simply name your heart’s desire, and I will happily provide - for the right price, of course.”

“I don’t think-“ Lenora abruptly broke off, and then started thoughtfully at Ardat. Hope swelled in his demonic chest. “Actually,” she began thoughtfully, “maybe there is something I can do with you.”

“Yes?” Ardat asked, cautiously optimistic.

“I do have you here, even if you’re not quite right,” Lenora mused, pacing across the room. “And I do still have an itch I could do with scratching.”

Ardat let out a filthy laugh. “I’d be more than happy to assist, master,” he purred. “I knew you would prove to be open-minded.”

Lenora threw him a dangerous look, but it faded from her face almost immediately, replaced by a wicked, satisfied smirk. Somehow, that worried Ardat much, much more than her anger.

“Open-minded? No,” Lenora said. “I’m just going to fix you.”

“F-fix?” Ardat’s worry was growing.

“Fix,” Lenora confirmed, grinning. “Succubus, incubus, how different can they really be? Anyway, that whole thing is way too binary to be real. I’m sure it can’t be so hard to turn one into the other.”

“Turn into-“ Ardat let out a nervous, incredulous laugh. “Very funny, master.”

“Oh, I’m not joking.” Lenora’s grin was steadily taking on a crooked, malevolent quality. “I’m a witch. A damn good one. You wouldn’t believe what I can turn people into.”

“That’s not the problem,” Ardat explained, sighing. “Demons aren’t like people. Who we are - our bodies, our personalities, our genders - aren’t, for want of a better word, malleable. They are unchanging; ontologically fixed to specific lingua-symbolic entities - better known by your kind as our ‘true names’.”

It was a little surprising that a witch capable of summoning a demon didn’t know that much, but Ardat wanted to make sure to nip this absurd notion in the bud. He needed to guide Lenora towards something he could truly tempt her with.

“Your true names, huh?” Lenora laughed and reached for an old, leather-bound book resting on a nearby table. “Like, for example… this?”

She flipped it open to a bookmarked page and held it up for Ardat to see. It sent a cold shiver down his spine. His true name was written in the pages.

Most people wouldn’t have recognized it as such, or as a name at all. It wasn’t in words - English words least of all. Instead, it was a complex, intricately-interwoven symbol, expanding to fill an entire page of a huge grimoire with headache-inducing artistic and geometric figures. And yet, it was his name. ‘Ardat’ was the corresponding vocalization, although, from a demon’s perspective, it was crude to the point of ugliness in how little information it truly conveyed. The symbol on the page in Lenora’s book told and defined everything about the incubus, from beginning to end.

Which was very, very bad.

Knowledge was power, both figuratively and literally. It didn’t mean Lenora could pull off the kind of insane transformation she seemed to be set on, but knowing Ardat’s true name meant there was plenty she was capable of. He was going to have to tread extremely carefully.

“Where did you get that?” Ardat hissed.

“It’s from ancient Sumeria,” Lenora answered, throwing him a smug, nasty look. “You see, my ancient proto-Sumerian is actually fucking great. I just misinterpreted one little part of your true name. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again. I had to pay a pretty penny for this grimoire, though. Time to see if it’ll all be worth it.”

“That…” Ardat sighed, exasperated. “You still can’t turn me into… well, into anything! That isn’t how this works. True names might be written in ink, but I can assure you, they’re metaphorically set in stone. There are only a handful of artifacts in existence with the power to change them.”

“C’mon.” Lenora started giggling. “You can’t just set me up like that twice in a row.”

Ardat’s heart sank. “S-surely you don’t-“

This time, she reached for a small, wood-carved box and opened it. Inside was a candle that looked ordinary at first, but when Lenora lit it with a well-used lighter, the wax started to glow with an unnatural, purple phosphorescence.

“An ur-candle,” Ardat whispered reverently.

Fuck.

“Let’s take it for a spin, shall we?” Lenora said. She set the grimoire bearing Ardat’s true name down on the table and lifted the ur-candle menacingly towards it.

“Wait!” Ardat called out in alarm. He’d only heard whispers about what was about to happen, but those alone were enough to terrify him. But he fell silent once Lenora tipped the candle, and allowed a little of its wax to drip onto his true name.

Ardat froze. He could feel something; an unnameable sensation that held him in its grip and made his head feel like it was going to split open. It was as if something was touching his very soul, especially when Lenora picked up an iron stylus and used it like a pen to move the molten wax around on the page. Disconcertingly, the ink underneath it, dried for thousands of years, started to bubble up and move with it. And just like that, his reality was rewritten.

It only took hold slowly, with the first changes beginning after the wax on the grimoire’s pages had already set, but its pace quickened rapidly after Lenora held up the book for Ardat to inspect. His true name, the sigil that was the incubus’s very being, was different now. The changes were slight and subtle, and to most people they would have meant nothing. But to Ardat, it was everything.

Only, that was no longer his name. The sigil now sounded out as something different. It would be-

“Aridat,” Lenora pronounced, in a strong, clear, commanding voice. “Your name is Aridat.”

Aridat’s head sheared, and they shook their head in futile denial. “N-no.”

“Your name is Aridat,” Lenora insisted.

“My name,” Aridat grunted through gritted teeth, straining to hold on to at least this, to at least the word, “is Ard… Ar… Ari…”

“Your name,” Lenora repeated patiently, “is Aridat.”

“My name is Ari… dat,” Aridat found themself agreeing, a pained look on their face. “No, it’s… my name is Aridat… Ard… Aridat.”

The new sound was such a small thing, like a breath, and that made it so poisonously easy for it to slip in between the consonants, making its presence felt only in how much softer their name suddenly sounded as it left the incubus’s lips.

“Aridat,” Lenora nodded. The grin on her face was now one of lurid, sadistic fascination. “Good.”

“My name is… Aridat?” Aridat was losing their conviction. It was hard to remain defiant when reality itself had turned against them. They could feel an immense pull toward acceptance like a lead weight on their shoulders.

“Aridat,” Lenora repeated again. The witch tilted her head, amused. “You’re even starting to look like an Aridat.”

Her comment drew attention to something Aridat had been trying to convince themself wasn’t real: the way their body suddenly seemed just as molten and pliable as the wax of the ur-candle, ready to be changed, reshaped, remolded. The sensation was almost imperciptible, though. So subtle it was almost like nothing was changing at all. Aridat had to force themself to truly notice what was happening to them. Their face was softening and rounding out, and their goatee fell from their face in wisps as it disintegrated into nothing. Aridat’s hair had grown inches in seconds, and their body lost its overbearingly masculine silhouette as their shoulders narrowed and their hips widened. They even became shorter.

Ardat had been manly. Strong. A straight woman’s fantasy brought to life. Aridat, it turned out, was androgynous. Even elfin.

It just went with the name, somehow.

“My name… is Aridat,” they said slowly. This time, Aridat’s voice was heavy with acceptance. It felt good to embrace it, just like it felt good to breathe after forcing yourself to stay underwater.

Their name was Aridat. It just was. And they were a them, apparently.

“Fuck,” Lenora breathed. “That was so hot.”

Aridat, still recovering from having their identity rewritten on a spiritual level, was shaking with rage. Reality had changed but, crucially, history hadn’t. They still remembered what they’d lost. They’d been Ardat. They’d been manly and strong. Now, just looking down at their body was accompanied by a hot lick of bitter humiliation. And it was all because of this accursed witch. If not for the magic circle marked on the ground, Aridat would have had their hands around her throat.

“Aridat,” Lenora said, “how do you feel?”

The worst part, the very worst, was the way their new name being called felt. It made their ears prick up and instinctively caught their attention. Aridat was their name now, and like it or not, they answered to it.

“I… feel…” Aridat replied slowly. How did they feel? It was impossible to say. Their head was a swirling mass of contradictions. Memories that didn’t match reality. Old instincts that didn’t match their new personality, which seemed somehow more passive. More pliant. “I… don’t know.”

“That makes sense.” Lenora nodded thoughtfully. “It looked wild. I’m sure feeling it is even crazier, even though I was trying not to scramble you too badly. Although…” She looked Aridat up and down pointedly. “Maybe I wasn’t ambitious enough.”

Hearing that made Aridat’s blood run cold. “W-what?”

“Don’t get me wrong!” Lenora held up her hands in mock sincerity. “You look great, really. Normally I wouldn’t be so picky. I can roll with androgynous. But tonight I was really looking for something more on the ‘succubus’ end of the spectrum.”

“Fuck you,” Aridat hissed.

“I’m sorry!” Lenora’s grin was already breaking through her face. “This isn’t an exact science, you know. But now that I’ve tested it out, I think it’s safe to say that we can push this just a little bit further.”

“Wait!” Aridat begged as she lifted up the ur-candle again. They couldn’t let her change them any further. This was bad enough, but at least their old identity, their old name, was still within sight. “Stop, you can’t-“

Lenora ignored them, and tipped more enchanted wax onto their true name.

Aridat immediately felt it again; that terrifying sense of displacement as their true name began to flow like fresh ink. It was ice-cold and shockingly intimate, and made them uncomfortable aware of all the ways they were being changed. It made them feel thin; so thin that they’d fold like paper under their own weight.

The sensation doubled when Lenora took her pen to the molten wax. This time she was more daring and less careful, streaking the wax and ink across the page in huge strokes. Aridat felt each one in their soul, even as they felt that name, newly-given, already beginning to slip away.

Once she was done, Lenora looked up. She was clearly proud of her penmanship, and looked at the incubus thoughtfully.

“Your name,” she said, in that slow, deliberate way, “is Aridata.”

Aridata’s heart skipped a beat. “C-c’mon,” she whined. “It’s n-not.”

“Your name,” Lenora said again, more firmly, “is Aridata.”

As futile as it might have been, Aridata couldn’t help but try to fight it. “My name,” she struggled. “Is… Ar… Aridat.”

Even that, though, was surrender, and they both knew it. Aridata still remembered the name ‘Ardat’, but she couldn’t bring herself to claim it. Not anymore. It wouldn’t feel right. She wouldn’t sound sure enough. But hearing her insist she was ‘Aridat’ now brought a maddening smile to Lenora’s face and made the demon feel weak.

And the way it came out of her mouth was just as bad. ‘Aridat’, but with a new openness at the end; a hint, a wisp, a breath of something yet to be sounded out.

“Your name is Aridata,” Lenora insisted simply.

Her words rippled over Aridata, making her shiver with their rhythm. “My name is Ari… Aridat… a… Ari…”

She was on the brink. Both of them knew it.

“Your name is Aridata.”

“My name… my name is… A-Aridata.”

As before, it was an incredible relief to say it. Aridata. That was her name. A-ri-da-ta. It sounded so different now. So light. That treasonous little ‘a’ appended to it, a whole syllable of femininity, opened up the entire name, making the harder consonants before it a mere prelude.

Aridata. It was a girl’s name.

Aridata knew what that must mean. She reached up and touched her face, and found it different. It was her face, and it wasn’t. It wasn’t changing; an old, defunct reality was simply washing away, revealing a newer reality that might always have been there. Aridata’s face was softer now. Less angular. She had wider eyes, petite brows, and a far less pronounced jawline. But that was absolutely nothing compared to what was happening to the rest of her body. Suddenly, Aridata had wide hips and curved thighs and, most distractingly of all, the distinct swell of breasts on her chest.

“Wow,” Lenora commented, wolf-whistling. “Now that’s more like it.”

“Fuck. You!” Aridata spat, and was shocked at how girlish her voice sounded. She couldn’t manage the same level of vitriol and spite as she had earlier.

“Maybe, soon.” Lenora giggled. “You know, that outfit suits you much better now.”

Aridata looked down at herself and almost choked. She was wearing the same clothing as before - black, tight-fitting, leather pants, and nothing else - but with her appearance it felt very different. She had gone from suave seducer to something much more butch, or perhaps tomboyish. Her hair, now mid-length, fit with that too. The whole thing felt like a pointed mockery, and that should have made Aridata violently angry.

Instead, it made her blush.

It was something about her chest. Having breasts, even small ones, made being topless feel very, very different. It made Aridata feel exposed; she was suddenly conscious of the air on her skin, and even more conscious of Lenora’s gaze on her body. Everything about it was undignified. Even succubi preferred tempting, alluring, suggestive clothes to simply going topless! Instinctively, Aridata moved to cover herself and started looking around for a stray item of clothing she could use. Only the look of mirth in Lenora’s eyes stopped her.

What was she doing? Aridata wasn’t some kind of blushing maiden. She was… a man? That didn’t sound right, even in her own head. But she knew she had to try and keep hold of that version of reality.

“What’s the matter?” Lenora teased. “You weren’t shy like this before. Isn’t that interesting?”

“Hey!” Aridata huffed. “That’s not-“

She broke off. She’d huffed. Since when did she huff? That wasn’t like her at all. Except it was now. Even her mannerisms were suspect. The things Lenora could do with her candle and Aridata’s true name went far beyond the superficial. Her mannerisms, her personality, her memories - all of them could be rewritten with no more than a stroke of a pen.

“Don’t worry,” Lenora said mockingly. “I enjoy you being more ladylike.”

“I’m. Not.” Aridata had to fight to keep her voice deep and even. “I-I’m a man.”

Lenora just looked at him pityingly. They both knew how false it sounded. Aridata’s voice was too high, too light, and the inner convictions of her nature were telling her otherwise, robbing her words of their conviction.

“Uh-huh,” Lenora replied, deadpan. “And who’s gonna believe that?”

“I…” Aridata spluttered. “I…”

“Then again,” Lenora added, making no attempt to hide her mockery. “Maybe you have a point. This look is good, but it’s not really what I was after. It’s more ‘female incubus’ than ‘succubus’, if that makes any sense.”

Aridata’s blood ran cold yet again as she realized what Lenora was hinting at. “N-no, wait!”

She wasn’t expecting Lenora to tilt her head and look thoughtfully at her. “OK. I’m waiting.”

“I…”

Aridata found herself speechless. She doubted anything she might say could dissuade Lenora, but there was too much at stake not to try. However, she wasn’t going to beg. She wasn’t. Aridata - Ardat, Ardat, she reminded herself - never begged. She tempted, she offered, she bargained, but she never begged. That just wasn’t how this was supposed to go. So… what could she offer? There was only one answer, however stomach-churning and humiliating.

The former incubus did her best to strike an alluring pose that showed off all her feminine assets. It came to her worryingly naturally, and she was effortlessly able to bend forward, back arched, chest pushed out, hips swaying, and put something approaching a suggestive half-smile on her face.

“I…” Aridata said falteringly. “I could… please you. Like this.”

She just had to hope that would be enough for her lesbian captor. Perhaps it almost was. Lenora had the look of someone flipping a mental coin. Once she made her mind, though, her eyes glinted wickedly, and Aridata knew she’d lost.

“Close,” Lenora conceded. “But I think we can do better.”

Before Aridata could argue, she once again tipped the ur-candle’s wax onto Aridata’s true name.

This time, Lenora didn’t even wait for the wax to settle and congeal before she started speaking. There was eagerness in her eyes, put there by unquestionable arousal.

“Your name,” Lenora announced, “is Aridatya.”

As she spoke she made it so, using her stylus to draw the wax across the grimoire’s page in big, thick strokes, obliterating the reality Aridatya had only just been growing accustomed to and replacing it with another.

“It is not!” Aridatya tried to insist. “My name is… is Ar… Ari… um… Arida…”

It was getting harder and harder to fight it. Her head was a swirling morass of different names, all of them so similar, all of which felt right and all of which felt wrong. But a new one had just appeared, echoing like a gong, sounding more and more right with each passing moment.

“Your name is Aridatya,” Lenora repeated. She sounded so firm, so sure, whilst Aridatya wasn’t sure about anything.

“My name is… Aridatya?” it came out like a question, and so Lenora nodded in agreement.

“Your name is Aridatya.”

Aridatya found herself nodding too. “My name is A-Aridatya.”

She just couldn’t bring herself to say anything else.

“That’s right.” Lenora’s stylus was still moving across the page, etching details in ink and wax, inscribing all the details of Aridatya’s soul.

“Aridatya…” Aridatya said it slowly, testing how the name felt on her tongue. Her name had become so long, so luxurious. That little ‘y’ made it sound even more feminine, and somehow fancy. Perhaps even exotic.

And… that was her, wasn’t it? It seemed to suit her perfectly, even though she would have struggled to say why. Did that mean she was exotic? Fancy? Feminine?

No. No, of course not. Ardat had never been those things, and that should have settled the question. But it didn’t. Ardat wasn’t real. Not anymore. There was just Aridatya.

Aridatya balled her hands into fists and scolded herself. She couldn’t let herself think that way. She was an incubus. A man, as remote as that now seemed. She had to remember that. She had to remember that none of this was right. She had to.

“It’s quite a name,” Lenora remarked, finishing her handiwork with a flourish. “Aridatya. I think Aridatya is very, very confident in her femininity. Don’t you? Aridatya sounds like a real girly girl to me. The kind of succubus who really revels in it.” Her smirk turned crooked once more. “At least, that’s how it looks in my handwriting.”

“W-what?” Aridatya was stunned as she felt changes washing over her. Nothing was more unsettling than feeling her reality alter. The changes themselves kept slipping beneath her notice; rather than experiencing the transformation directly, it was like she was always noticing the way reality had always been.

In this case, that meant noticing that her hair was longer, and that she was now wearing something different - a long, flowing nightgown, tailored to accentuate a body that was far, far more feminine than she remembered. Those were Aridatya clothes, apparently. It meant noticing that her face was slender and lips full, and her eyes adorned with smoky, sultry makeup. But more than that, it meant noticing how she felt.

It meant noticing that she liked it.

“No!” Aridatya cried out, desperate to give voice to her disgust before it fled. “That’s not right! I hate this.”

“You do?” Lenora feigned surprise, but couldn’t hide her amusement. “But you’re so pretty now.”

The heat, the warm glow of praise that Aridatya immediately felt, was dangerous. Preening was instinctive, as was posing pleasingly and shifting her weight from side to side to accentuate her hips. It took precious seconds for Aridatya to catch herself and plaster a scowl over the thin, devilish smile that had come naturally to her face.

“S-shut up,” Aridatya snarled, torn between forced resentment and reflexive pride.

“C’mon,” Lenora wheedled. “Aren’t you everything a succubus is supposed to be?”

That was a potent compliment, poisonous and sinister in how affirming it was. A succubus was supposed to be beautiful, feminine and seductive, and Aridatya felt like all of those things. So it was undeniable, wasn’t it? She was everything a succubus was supposed to be. The only thing telling her was the faint memory of deeply-buried false reality, fading by the moment.

“I’m an incubus,” Aridatya tried to insist. “Not a succubus. An incubus!”

“Aridatya,” Lenora said pityingly, “do you think anyone seeing you now, anyone at all, would believe that?”

The succubus’s cheeks turned crimson. She looked away and cast about for anything she could use as ammunition. There was precious little left, but Aridatya’s thoughts quickly turned to what was between her legs. It had always been the very pride of her manhood.

“Oh, I see.” Lenora giggled. “You’re thinking about that, are you?”

Now, Aridatya paled. Had it been that obvious?

“I was thinking of letting you keep it, you know,” Lenora remarked, lifting the ur-candle again. “But if you’re going to be difficult about it…”

Aridatya truly turned as white as a sheet as she watched one single drop of wax fall onto the page.

Compared to before, it was nothing. Lenora was careful and subtle with her stylus, too. All in all, the change she made didn’t even amount to a single letter. It was an accent at most; a simple change in pronunciation, barely audible. Aridatya was still Aridatya. But it was enough, and after several horrid moments of anticipation, the succubus felt a new reality wash over her.

And it brought with it a cunt between her legs.

Aridatya gasped and whimpered at the sudden, aching loss which drove home just how much dignity and power she’d lost. Her name, her face - those things were precious, yes, but losing a part of her body that was so symbolic and fundamental for an incubus was even more of a violation. With her hips and thighs still shifting to accommodate her new anatomy, Aridatya squeezed her legs together, hoping to feel something solid between them. Instead, she just felt a sharp, shock of pleasure race up her spine from the unfamiliar stimulation to her new, sensitive pussy.

It was humiliating, and worse, the demon couldn’t suppress a low whine of pleasure. Lenora, of course, just laughed at her plight.

“My, my,” the witch commented. “Enjoying yourself already?”

“Shut up!” Aridatya huffed. She was incandescent with shame and rage, and she couldn’t do anything about it. She couldn’t hide. Couldn’t flee. Couldn’t stop what was happening to her.

“C’mon,” Lenora giggled mockingly. “Don’t you kind of like it?”

Aridatya had to look away because the truth was that, on some level, she did. Somehow, having a cunt instead of a cock just felt right. It made her feel more like herself, perversely; desirable and sexy in all the right ways for a succubus like her. Knowing that she’d been an incubus minutes ago and had a dick seconds ago didn’t help. It made her seethe with rage and burn with humiliation, yes, but it didn’t make having this body feel any less deliciously affirming.

So, instead, the contrasting emotions inside Aridatya - new and old - were forced to curdle and mix together as reality fought for a stable configuration. They became complimentary, mutually-reinforcing. Her humiliation became a pleasure all of its own, sinful and tempting, spiking her arousal even higher. Her anger, directed so singularly at Lenora, twisted and became a very different kind of craving, one that was predatory and carnal.

A succubus’s hunger.

It was a heady, dizzying cocktail of feelings to be struck with, and it made keeping Aridatya’s identity straight harder than ever. Instinct was taking over. It infested her body language, making her pose and preen and smile, directing all of her hellishly tempting appeal straight at Lenora. The witch was clearly amused and enticed in equal measure.

“Wow,” she remarked, cocking an eyebrow. “Maybe that was the magic ticket. Feeling a little more agreeable now?”

“Absolutely,” Aridatya replied, her voice a vicious purr. She was desperate. She couldn’t let this go any further. She needed Lenora to let down her guard.

“Fascinating,” Lenora breathed. For a moment, occult curiosity took over, although the color in her cheeks made it clear her interest was far more than just academic. “I suppose it is the lynchpin of the succubus/incubus distinction - in some schema, at least - so it makes sense it would have rather dramatic ripples.”

“Dramatic,” Aridatya echoed pleasingly. She bent forward, showing off her new assets. Her tits had become impressively large and pert, and it was dawning on her that she could use that. That she knew how to use that. “Hey, so how about that itch you needed scratching?”

“Yeah?” Lenora couldn’t help but stare, Aridatya noticed with pleasure. “You’re interested.”

“Oh, I just can’t wait to sink my teeth into you,” Aridatya cooed. She giggled. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

The plan, of course, was to seduce her, and then, once she released Aridatya from the magical circle, subdue her and force her to undo all the changes she’d made. At least, that was what Aridatya was telling herself. In truth, it was rationalization as much as anything else. Beneath it all was a simple, heartbeat-drum of need and desire, driving her towards Lenora’s warmth.

"Wow,” Lenora breathed. She wasn’t so quick-witted now. Aridatya could tell she was succumbing to her own desires, now that her summoned demon was in a form far, far more agreeable to her tastes. “But… sink your teeth into me? That sounds a little…”

“C’mon.” Aridatya tried to affect a high-pitched, feminine voice. It came effortlessly, and she was as dismayed at that as she was pleased with her success. “You can trust me. I just want what you made me want.”

Lenora almost went for it. Almost. But in the end, she pulled back and shook her head. “I wish. This version of you is pretty great, if I do say so myself. But… I can tell this isn’t going to be a good idea.”

“N-no.” Aridatya’s smile faltered.

“Perhaps I’ve been going about this the wrong way,” Lenora mused. “It’s not enough to make you a succubus. Not anymore. You’ll still remember what I did, at least a little, and you’ll still want revenge. I need to address that.”

“My… memories?” Aridatya was aghast. How could she fight that?

But Lenora shook her head. “No. Something deeper: your past.” She lifted the ur-candle and toyed with it in her hand, an egomaniacal smile playing across her face. “A true name is such a potent thing. It contains everything about you. Even your very history. Change that, and there’s nothing to remember.”

“Wait!” Aridatya called out, as Lenora started to tip the candle, but she already knew that wouldn’t stop her. Her next word tasted like bitter tears. “P-please!”

She didn’t beg. For all that had changed, that remained true. But this was her limit. This was the end. And so, Aridatya begged.

It didn’t matter.

This time, the way Lenora altered her true name was anything but subtle, even if it was artful. Using her stylus, she worked wax and ink all over the grimoire’s page, inscribing a fresh pattern that seemed to make the entire sigil shift into a bold new configuration.

“And,” Lenora murmured as she worked. “Why not push a few other things a little further, too?”

The sight made the succubus’s head throb, especially when Lenora looked up at her and said:

“Your name is Arideniya.”

“My name is… is Arideniya.”

This time, Aridenya didn’t bother to fight it. She just let her new reality wash over her, and accepted whatever her new self turned out to be.

It felt good, as it turned out. Arideniya couldn’t even perceive the changes as they occurred. Each one etched itself into her memory and her past, as if things had always been that way. Aridenya was left completely, blissfully ignorant of the fact that once, maybe, for a different version of herself, things had been very, very different.

Her tits had always been this huge. Her cunt had always dripped enticing wetness down her thighs when she was turned on and hungry. She’d always been a succubus, a woman, an embodiment of female sexuality, ready to feast on any mortal who came within reach. And when they were around her, they wanted to be feasted on so very, very much.

Arideniya didn’t just feel feminine. She felt powerful, and she took to her power like it was second nature. She stood tall, practically filling the room from floor to ceiling. Her horns were a crown upon her head, and her clothing was royal robes, no less revealing and suggestive for their grandeur. As the wax dried, Arideniya looked down at Lenora like a queen looking down at someone presenting themselves as tribute.

“Master,” the succubus purred, her tone anything but submissive. “Allow me to show you true pleasure.”

Lenora started to sweat from sheer temptation. Her magic circle offered scant protection against the raw, mind-bending power of Arideniya’s presence. She was overwhelming in every sense. She was any mortal’s fantasy given form, and Lenora was far from immune.

“W-what,” the witch struggled to say. She was drooling, but her mouth sounded painfully dry. “This isn’t… I didn’t mean to…”

“Oh, yes, you did,” Arideniya countered. “This is exactly what you wanted. Exactly what you summoned. I’m all your handiwork, Master. It’s time to enjoy me. Time to take down this silly little circle.”

Lenora twitched abruptly, like she was struggling not to obey. Temptation was overriding her reason. Arideniya’s wicked grin widened. She had no particular animosity towards this mortal - but she needed to feed, and she liked to drink deep.

“I don’t u-understand how…” Lenora stuttered, flustered. She took a single step towards Arideniya, taking her perilously close to the magical circle’s boundary, before something seemed to click in her head. “Oh. Oh! I know what I did wrong.”

She stepped back, and hefted the objects in her hand - a leather-bound grimoire and a strange-looking candle. Arideniya’s eyes flew wide as she noticed it. The object seemed to trigger a memory from another life.

“Is that a-“ was all she managed to say before Lenora once again tipped the candle wax all over the grimoire.

This time, Lenora wasn’t artful or sparing. She poured as much wax as she could, obliterating almost all of the succubus’s true name in a single gesture. The succubus was rooted to the spot as a strange, unearthly sensation swept through her, making her mind flash white and robbing her of all sense of self and purpose. The sensation only grew stronger when Lenora started writing with her stylus in wax and ink, replacing some of what had been blotted out and altering what remained.

“It was obvious, really,” Lenora murmured as she worked. “I was too focused on what I wanted to change. Lost sight of the big picture. I was adding, each and every time. More letters, more sounds, more changes stacked on top of changes. I made a name that was impressive. Magnificent. Powerful.” She grinned. “But I think this will do the job just fine instead.”

The succubus standing before her just stared, dumbfounded, struggling to comprehend the meaning of her words.

“Your name,” Lenora told her, slowly and deliberately, “is Aria.”

“My name…” Aria echoed, “is… Aria!”

She brightened as she said it. It felt so right, and the rightness of it made her giggle a pretty, air-headed giggle. Aria licked her lips and arched her back, and reached up to jiggle her own, massive tits experimentally. Doing that made her giggle even harder.

“Maaaaster,” she drawled, pouting. “Don’t you wanna, like, fuck me?”

Lenora laughed. “No need to worry about hidden agendas now, I think,” she said. “So - time to make a contract?”

“A contract?” Aria snorted. “That stuff is soooo boring. Um… let’s see… I’ll give you whatever you want if you’ll, like, make me feel good?”

“Deal,” Lenora announced. She stepped forwards and used the tip of her shoe to erase the boundary of the magical circle on the ground. As soon as it was broken, Aria bounced on her, kissing and squeezing and groping with overeager lust.

Lenora laughed, and her laughter soon turned to moans. It was time to get that itch scratched.

---

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[padfootdaredmetoo]

Hey, hope you're doing well. Idk how to to do this cause I haven't ever made a request but I saw your requests are open (if I'm not mistaken, if I am sorry to bother), but what do you think about a Oneshot from Grace's POV. Her thinking Tommy will still be inlove with her but he's moved on and she's perceiving everything between them.

Its okay if you can't but I'm curious. Love you're writing.

Hey Love,

Thanks for waiting so long. Hope you enjoy! <3

Warnings: Grace being Grace

“A martini please” She batted her eyelashes enjoying running up a tab that was going to be paid for by someone else. After some research, she was happy to find that Tommy Shelby would be attending this club, and the stars aligned in her favor as her husband was tied up at a work thing. Normally he was gone for most of the night and even if he got home early, his feelings were soon to be irrelevant to her. 

Grace wanted two things. Tommy Shelby, and his children. Her current marriage had proved that there was only one man for her and he was a half hour late to this club. She could get whatever she wanted with him now, whispers of his name and accomplishments were reaching as far as America. He was slowly taking over like she knew he would deep down. 

Now all she needed was a baby and her spot next to him would be cemented. This wasn't going to be a difficult task knowing how broken he was when she found him, he was unlikely to be recovered from her departure from his life. 

In this red dress, he was bound to be all over her. She took a large sip of her martini. 

A large group entered the club and she knew immediately that it must be the Shelbys. They never did classy as well as they thought they did. 

She sat looking at her drink on the bar, she wanted him to find her.

There were lots of laughs and cheers over the music. Arthur came over and asked the bartender for bottles of whiskey for the table. 

“Big celebration tonight, boy!” He boomed completely oblivious to her presence. He took the bottles out of view and she wondered what they were so happy about. 

The night dragged on and finally, she allowed herself a peak at the corner of the club. It was dim and the music was loud but still, she could see him there with a woman tucked under his arm. 

He was leaning back with a cigarette in his hand, the other resting on your shoulder. You weren't anything remarkable. Looking at John’s wife sitting next to you it was obvious the woman helped you with your makeup. Your dress was nice but not anything like hers. Certainly too plain for such a club or event. 

Pathetic. 

Tommy would notice soon enough and make his way over. Then she would have the pleasure of watching you crumble under the unavoidable weight of his lack of loyalty. She gave a coy smile at the thought and lit a cigarette. 

You weren't a threat in the slightest so she turned to face the family, leaning back on the bar. She kept her posture loose and inviting, waiting for his eyes to find her. 

Instead, he let out a laugh at something you’d said. He pulled your face close to his and placed a kiss to the top of your head. Esme picked up your hand and was whispering something to you that made your cheeks go crimson. Obviously, you’d embarrassed yourself so badly that even Tommy was laughing at the girl.

You shook your head and then Esme was pulling you out of your booth and onto the dance floor. She watched with curiosity. Why would you dance with her and not Tommy? 

You both laughed loudly as you danced around in the crowd. You both looked ridiculous but Tommy had his gaze on you as he and John talked about something. After the song ended you both piled into the table. Climbing back into the booth, Tommy’s hands prevented you from moving past him. Keeping you there on his lap. 

Tommy raised the bottle. 

“To the world's best accountant!” He said loudly and the family let out a big cheer. 

You and Esme were clearly drunk as the woman poured whiskey into your open mouth right from the bottle. More laughs erupted. 

She’d had enough waiting but that’s when Polly caught her eye. The woman stared at her with a cocky glare that put her off. The only way to get Tommy’s attention would be to go over there and talk to him. Clearly, he hadn’t seen her sitting here. 

Polly turned her attention to Tommy and mouthed her name. She watched to see his body language change. The way you would slip from his grasp. How he would walk over here and leave with her on his arm. 

But he didn't move. His eyes went back to your face listening to what sounded like a story about an exam. Just waiting for the story to be over, then he would come. 

Time dragged on, another martini. 

You got up from his lap and he stood up, his hand finding your low back and guiding you toward the balconies. This would be as good as it gets. 

Grace got up from the bar and made her way to the balcony. 

_________________________________________________________

You stood there looking up at Tommy, his eyes were so proud. Weeks of studying and worrying and yet you passed all your university classes. You delighted in his attention as the cold air wrapped around you. 

The balcony door opened to show, who Esme had whispered was Tommy’s Ex. Pale yellow hair, and a glossy red dress. She was older than you in more ways than one. She looked like she was carrying a great burden. 

“Tommy can we talk.” Her Irish accent was soft and her words thick with sadness. You almost felt sorry for her, you would have if she hadn't betrayed the family and fucked Tommy up so badly. 

“Sure.” He said cooly, his hand on your waist tightened to keep you in place at his side.

“Alone?” 

“Nah, she’s my better half. What can we help you with?” 

“I’ll be in London for a while. I thought maybe we could talk about what happened, things are complicated right now -” She let her words trail off and you knew in your gut this was some type of act. 

“I would invite you for dinner but we’re leaving on a trip tomorrow. Such bad timing.” You said politely. She never looked at you, even when you spoke. Her eyes were fixated on him in a way that made you want to throw her over the balcony. 

“Pity,” Tommy said. “Enjoy your time in London.” 

She looked even more defeated, a large contrast to the glare she was giving you from across the club all night. She handed Tommy a piece of paper before leaving, giving him a nod. 

“The fuck was that about?” you whispered. You took the paper and opened it. All it had was her accommodations in London. 

“Ah.” She expected him to drop me off at home before falling back into her arms. 

“Do I need to worry?” You said in a coy tone. 

“Not in the slightest.” He said pulling you into an embrace. Esme and John came out with eyes full of questions. You gave the paper to Esme. 

“What is she expecting a foursome?” She made a sound of disgust before crumpling the paper and leaving it in the ashtray. 

As you drank and partied to celebrate your success, you knew she was back in her room pacing. The faith in her ability to hold Tommy down wearing away hour by hour.

[vesper-tinus]

hello ! hope you're doing good and excited for xmas! :) could i request a first meeting between reader and koenig. with reader also being in the military? thank you

Hello! I'm doing good, thank you for asking, and I hope you're doing well too! The holidays are a lovely time of year, and I am always happy to see snow :)

Let's see what I can whip up for you! Fair warning, I do not remember much from my German lessons in school 😉 As always, thank you for requesting!

𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭. König x Reader

Summary: You're picked for a joint mission alongside KorTec, for what reason, you do not know. You don't like being kept in the dark, but you do like being in the company of a tall Austrian. Keywords: First meeting, reader is military and a sniper, a damn good one at that, reader's callsign is "Cipher". Wordcount: 1254

Translation Notes: "It was good working with you, let's stay in contact?"

You’re sitting in a truck bound for base. From there, you’ll take a helicopter to what can only be described as copious reports and questioning. You, alongside two others from your unit, were handpicked for a joint mission alongside KorTec. You'd received no explanation as to why you were operating with contractors, nor were you in any position to question it. It’s all been very off the grid from what you’ve been able to piece together.

König is leaning back in his seat, strong arms folded over his chest as he sits in stoic silence. Not that there was much to talk about—none of you in this vehicle are friends. The mission is over, accomplished, and no one wants to waste energy trying to talk over the loud volume of the engine.

Your attention, once more, falls to König (as it often has), and you’re suddenly reminded of something he said to you two days ago. Two days ago when you were squatting in a make-do sniper’s nest of your own making. Comms were silent. You were waiting. Trained eyes monitoring the area with a hawk’s precision, breath steady, scope steadier. 

“Cipher, how copy?”

Your earpiece buzzes to life with a subdued voice, almost calming in its softness. König, you think. King. 

“Solid copy. I’m eyes on. Whenever you’re ready,” you respond, voice unwavering as you trail the head of your target through the scope—one of them, anyway. You’ve been sitting in this nest for hours. Even just the possibility that you could finally get some action, spurs your heart to life. 

“Breacher up, König take point.” A third voice joins, one that you can pinpoint belongs to Zero. “Cipher, dispatch the guards and keep us updated on movement. We’re going in.”

“Understood. Bullet drop in three, two… one.” Your first target is down, and the second soon follows. You don’t need to watch the entrance to hear the door being kicked down. It’s not your business, anyway, you and your scope have other matters to attend to. You meticulously comb over the outside with an assassin’s precision, eventually letting another body join the first two. A fourth, a fifth. The ruckus from the door caused alertness, but thankfully, you’re an expert in clean-ups, and no actual alarm manages to sound. 

You have no eyes on the inside with the exception of the vague talking keeping you updated over comms. It’s one of the downsides of being appointed to sniper duty, but the fact that you’re outside alone means that your skills speak for themselves. They trust you. For now. 

“You could become a contractor for KorTac, Cipher.”  

You’re not certain what prompted this, but it has remained in your mind ever since. 

When you confronted him after the takeover, König seemed surprised that you managed to hear him amidst the chaos over comms. Nobody else did. What followed was a conversation that ranged from his fascination with your speciality—being a sniper—to his own attempt at becoming one, only to be denied. He asked about your experience in the military, and you compared notches on your weapons. The conversation carried on, and part of you wished the pickup would be delayed just so you could continue talking with him. He offered you a müsli bar, which you accepted, and he purposefully shielded you from the ceiling light when you wanted to rest your eyes. You hadn’t asked, but he did it anyway, and it made you feel appreciated. You got the impression that he was often dismissed by others. Either due to his height or his silent demeanour, but once you got him talking, he could talk even the best conversationalist in circles. That’s what it felt like. 

Your knee knocked against his thigh as you laughed at one of his jokes. You were sitting side by side. He’s funny. Time passed, and when pickup arrived, he offered you a hand to help you up. You smiled, eyes locked on him as you took his hand in your own. “Much appreciated, König.” You spoke your words slow and deliberately, his name rolling off your tongue with meaning. 

His eyes widened. 

As you’re pulled to your feet, König’s hand steadies you by the waist, large palm coming to grip your hip bone, and you seize the opportunity to heavily lean against him—testing the waters, so to speak. Your hand stretched open across his broad chest, and you hear him swallow a breath, eyes still wide, but his attention is solely focused on you. He’s not looking away.

The truck comes to an abrupt halt, and you’re shaken out of your memories. 

All good things must come to an end, you think as you all pile out of the vehicle. Most contractors scatter as soon as their boots hit the ground, and part of you finds it rude, but you’re too tired to be a good example. There’s really only one person you’re interested in saying farewells too, anyway. 

He seems to have the same ideas as you, cause he lingers near the exit of the truck, seemingly in no hurry to disappear like the rest of his team. Was he waiting for me? 

“König,” you say, attempting a light tone despite your exhaustion. 

You offer your hand for a shake, shoulders squared as you flash the man your best smile. While not a focus of your military duty, you’ve been trained to value diplomacy in missions requiring cooperation… Nevermind your personal interest in the soldier before you. 

König briefly glances at your hand, but you needn’t wait long before his larger palm grips yours in a firm shake. 

Right, you should say something. You’ve been practising for this. Sort of. The German dictionary you found discarded in one of the bunkers was not ideal, but you believe you have managed to form some sort of coherent sentence. It’ll be smooth, you think—you hope. You clear your throat.

“Es war sehr schön mit dir zusammen zu arbeiten, lass uns in Kontakt bleiben?"

A pregnant pause fills the air between you. 

Fuck.

You said it wrong. There’s no other explanation. Lord knows your accent was probably all over the place, not to mention the grammar itself. He probably speaks with an Austrian dialect, of course he does, which makes your bastardised German all the more silly to his ears. Great job.  

Your hands are still firmly locked together, your grip more feeble than König’s. He might as well be holding your hand hostage with how weak your hold is. A part of you is thankful he is holding you steady, but another part of you wants to slink into the helicopter, the sound of your clown shoes echoing behind you for all to hear. 

When you think all is lost, you feel him squeeze your hand. Not roughly, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. He leans down, just a tad—his tall body still towering over you—allowing you a better view of his eyes. Those expressive eyes of his are squinting pleasantly, almost mischievously. He is smiling, you know he is. It makes your heart skip a beat. 

“...it was cute that you tried.”

Doublefuck… you are so into this man.

A mild-mannered chuckle breaks your thoughts. It’s not a boisterous sound by any means, but it echoes in your ears anyway, rattling your skull. It’s a beautiful sound. Genuine. Personal. Just meant for the two of you. With your cheeks flushed, you await with bated breath. 

“Jo, eh. Let us stay in touch, Cipher.”

[assortedseaglass]

Borne & Bound - II

[Masterlist]

Aemond Targaryen x OFC

Summary: When Prince Aemond insults the commander of the Braedel cavalry, Viserys sends him to their kingdom so that he may learn the art of diplomacy and do battle with the commander herself, the spirited Lady Geowyth.

Content Warnings: Strong Language, Violence, Smut, Canon-typical Sexism, Mentions of Incest¸ Mentions of Sexual Assault

Word Count: 3.3K

When Geodred Beridan smiled, the apples of his cheeks rose and pinched wrinkles formed around glimmering, beetle-black eyes. The smile was broad and often accompanied by a droll remark or gentle laugh; a shock to those who did not know him, for his broad shoulders and oaken height disguised a gentle-natured and respectable soul whose purpose, so he believed, was to live in kindness and good humour.

As he moved along the Red Keep’s stone walls, many a gentleman stopped to shake his hand in greeting, and many a woman smiled demurely as he passed. The heir to an independent kingdom and commander of their army, he stood tall and sure, feet firmly rooted wherever he found himself. As swift as he was to laugh, he was as quick with the sword. In his presence women found safety and assuredness. Men, counsel and quick wit. In short, when kindly Geodred Beridan had cause for alarm, it was not long before others’ anxiety grew and when he was in a good mood, those around him could not help but join in his merriment. This was most common in the case of his sister.

He found her in her chambers that morning, sat at a small vanity and fixing her hair as a maidservant talked gaily of her time at the Red Keep.

“-mostly, I am with the Princess. She’s ever so gentle. Couldn’t tell you who she takes after,”

Geowyth laughed. “She must be a wonder indeed if she finds herself in your good graces,”

“How do you mean, my Lady?” The young girl was turning down Geowyth’s bed.

“In service of the royal family, you must have seen it all. Every member of this household, the family and those who serve them, at their best and worst. I know I could not see the worst of people and still sing their praises.”

“As I can attest!” Geodred stepped into the room, arms folded across his broad chest. The maidservant curtsied to him. “Is that why I have not had a good word from you since we left Braedel?”

“Alma.” Geowyth addressed the maid. “Spend a week travelling across Westeros with my brother and I promise not even you could find something to defend.” At this, Geodred threw back his head and laughed. Alma smiled nervously. She had been sent to attend Geowyth as she had come with no maid of her own. Indeed, in Braedel the fashions were far simpler and practical than those in the capital and Geowyth had no need of a maid to dress her except in the case of her court duties, wherein any of her uncle’s maids would do. Geodred tutted at his sister and spoke to the young girl.

“Alma, is it?” The girl nodded. “Well, Alma. My sister is to be on her best behaviour during our stay.” Geowyth rolled her eyes and stood from the vanity. “As you seem such a good judge of character, I shall come to you at our visit’s end for a full report.”

“For Alma, I shall be as good as gold.”

Through her giggles, Alma asked if there was anything else the Lady of Braedel needed. At Geowyth’s declination, she excused herself from the room, eyes roaming over Geodred as she did so.

He watched his sister as she moved about the small guest chambers she had been granted. Her dark hair, usually down or plaited simply and been drawn back from her face in ornate braids. One hand fidgeted with the skirt of her burgundy dress as the other ran over the pages of the books open on the table at her bedside. She was muttering under her breath.

“Your hair is different.”

“Is it alright?” She span around, hand flying to check the braids.

“I have never known you to care-”

“Every girl cares. I asked Alma to do it in the Targaryen style.” Geodred nodded at his sister, a sad smile crossing his usually bonny face. Geowyth continued. “We both know that soon you will rule Braedel, and I will take your place as commander. I am fully aware that my attendance at this council is to prove to our uncle, and the rest of the kingdom, that I am capable.”

Geodred took his sister’s hands in his, and together, they made their way from her room towards the council chamber. “Are you nervous?”

“Very.”

“Don’t be. All you have to do is observe.”

“It’s being observed that makes me nervous.” The pair nodded their heads to a passing Maester as they carried on their progress. Geowyth heard from her brother the unmistakable huff of air that gave away his attempt to contain a laugh. “What?”

“As long as you mind your tongue, all you have to do is stand behind me and look pretty. And,” he continued as Geowyth opened her mouth to protest. “If you have anything you wish to say, counsel me first. They do things differently here. Look at Princess Rhaenyra.”

Even in the independent island kingdom of Braedel, tale of the princess’ deposition in favour of her brother sent ripples of fear throughout their society. Even more so when all but three of the Beridan family perished and eyes turned to Geodred and Geowyth, the sickly king’s remaining heirs. Could these children, one of them a girl, rule the kingdom? Perhaps the mainland way was better, do away with the women and leave it to the men.

The two fell silent, haunted by the ghosts of their family, and the task left to them in the wake of their deaths. The closer they edged to the heart of the Red Keep, that is, the Throne Room, a great din of noise fell on their ears. Servants scurried to and fro, preparing the cavernous chamber for the King’s name day feast. Breaking from her brother, Geowyth darted to the open doors. Tables adorned with candelabras, flowers and fabrics ran the length of the hall. Atop the vaulted steps, another table had been drawn across the room, lined with ornate chairs for the royal family. Geowyth counted eleven, twelve including the seat edging the table. It was as she was recounting the names of the royal household in her head that Alma hurried past with a basket of fabric. Catching each other’s eye, Geowyth nodded to the sword-strewn throne at the head of the hall.

“A little over the top, don’t you think?” At this, Alma smirked and hurried to join her fellow maids.

“Geowyth.” Geodred’s face had turned serious. “Widercwedan.” Let’s go. She took her brother’s arm once more they rounded the corner to the council chamber. Many men were already filing in, Lannisters, Baratheons and Hightowers among them.

“Deos forhtlic?” Who’s afraid? Geodred let go of his sister and she settled into place behind him.

“Not I,” she whispered to him, and together they entered the chamber.

Whatever Aemond Targaryen did that day, he could not escape this ghastly feast. Ser Criston was unable to spar with him in the training yard, as all King’s and Queensguard were either with their patrons or on duty. The library was not immune to the hubbub of the castle, and the volume of Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms he sought was missing, alongside the one book with any mention of Braedel. His mother had even forbidden him from riding Vhagar, such was his inclination to assure her he would be back within a few hours, only to return in a few days. And so it was that he found himself at his father’s name day feast, shunted to the end of the royal table, bored stiff by the day’s idleness.

Nobles stood around the royals, chattering excitedly as stewards and footmen removed tables for dancing. The band had not stopped their playing, and a few of the younger noblewomen were already jumping with glee. Indeed, at his own table Rhaena and Lucerys stood hand in hand, ready to lead the evening’s festivities. Aemond watched the boyish red of Lucerys’ cheeks grow as Rhaena inched closer to him. Watched how he beamed at the people below them, and how they smiled back. Saw how his father gazed, misty eyed, at his grandson. The scar beneath Aemond’s eye patch prickled with pain and he pushed his goblet away, no longer inclined to drink. A pale hand closed around the cup, and the chair beside Aemond screeched along the floor as a dead weight fell into it. Aegon raised his eyebrows to his brother and brought the cup to his lips. For a while, neither spoke. They settled instead, to watch their guests.

Jason Lannister was speaking spiritedly to Borros Baratheon, the latter sat somewhere between annoyance and fascination. Ser Tyland, bounced on the balls of his feet in embarrassment. The princes’ Hightower aunts and uncles had already found themselves a seat, watching Alicent with pride or else gossiping with Beesbury and the Tyrell delegation. Aemond sighed. He had not the proclivity for this aspect of royal duty; socialising. Nor dancing, for that matter, but he understood it from the not-so-subtle hints of his mother that enough was enough. The Baratheon girls were terrified of him, and the incessant giggling of the other young noblewomen was driving a headache. Perhaps Helaena would dance with him. Aemond turned his head to see her seat already vacated. Ah. Jacaerys had stolen her to the dancefloor.

The brothers watched her, all sadness fading from her face to be replaced by joy. The hesitancy that had lingered about her since marrying Aegon faded into some semblance of contentment as she danced with her nephew. Under the candlelight, her skin glowed gold and her hair shimmered like spun silk. It buoyed Aemond, to see her happy. When the dance was done, Helaena clapped the band with girlish light-heartedness, and began chatting animatedly to someone at her side. At first, Aemond believed it to be Jacaerys. It was not until his nephew took a step sideways to whisper in the ear of Lucerys however, that Aemond saw Helaena was not speaking to her dance partner, but the young lady of Braedel.

The woman’s hair, though darker than Helaena’s, was similarly styled. The long, frizzy strands of it cascaded down her back, a singular braid keeping it from her face. As they spoke to each other, their hair bustled about them and in the firelight looked like embers and sparks of flame. Where Helaena was bedecked in yellows and golds, the lady by contrast wore blue and bronze, and her eyes, that had rendered Aemond so completely speechless the day before, burned orange. It took Aemond a moment to realise how he could see their extraordinary colour from where he sat, but when Helaena led her towards the royal table, he saw the smearing of charcoal that lined them. Unlike the other ladies of court, who had enhanced their delicate beauty with rouge and powder, this woman had seemingly run her thumb in coal and brushed it across her face. Looking to the where her brother and the rest of her party stood, Aemond saw that they too wore this strange streak of black across their eyes.

“Are you not going to ask about the council?” Aegon had finished another cup and was growing bored of Aemond’s silence.

“As you are going to tell me, I see no need.” Still, he watched his sister and her companion. They approached the top table and Helaena took a seat next to her brother-husband. The Braedel woman curtsied before the king and queen, uttered something to which Viserys smiled, and made her way towards Helaena’s outstretched hand. She curtsied to the princes, Aegon briefly nodding in acknowledgement, and settled by the princess.

Over Aegon’s increasingly slurred babbling about the council, Aemond watched Geowyth. Though their voices were low, the two women spoke quickly, Helaena most of all and Geowyth’s eyes shone as she listened. Aemond noted that when Helaena momentarily withdrew, Lady Geowyth leant closer, or else held her hand near his sister’s in encouragement. Never had he seen Helaena so open with a stranger.

“- council’s just a load of old wankers trying to beat each other off, in more ways than one-”

The two women laughed at something. Helaena’s light like a bell peal, Geowyth’s hearty like her brother. Something akin to gladness settled over Aemond.

“-Aemond is a far better rider than Aegon or I, I think.” Every sense in Aemonds’ body keened. At Helaena’s words, Geowyth glanced to him. She smiled brightly as their eyes connected. Aemond looked away. Damn.

“- and it’s a wonder grandsire made mother marry father. You’d think, with the way he carries on, it would have been him in the wedding dress.”

“Aegon, please.” Aemond was finally starting to enjoy the day, intrigued by the woman before him. The last thing he needed was Aegon’s vulgarity.

“-though I must say, Lady Geowyth, the council was made much easier by your presence.”

Aemond’s head snapped up. Surely not. Was Aegon so drunk he couldn’t tell the tired old council from young noblewomen? His eyes flickered to Geowyth, shock shadowing his sharp features when he saw that the lady was smiling.

“I shall whisper it, for I don’t want to offend the court,” Geowyth leaned forward, eyes gleaming from beneath a curtain of hair. “But you must not have had a great deal of good company if you found my presence pleasant.” She punctuated her statement with a wink at Aegon as Aemond found his voice.

“You were at the council?” Geowyth smiled at him in gentle affirmation. “Why?”

Geowyth had not expected the bluntness of his query, but knew that sooner or later questions from the rest of the court would follow the council. Indeed, even some council members, namely a certain golden-haired lord, asked King Viserys the question as Geowyth flanked her brother’s seat at the table. She turned to the young prince, serious but still smiling and said simply, “I am my brother’s heir.”

“But second in line to the throne?” It sounded more like a question than a statement, a hesitant ponderance, as though he were trying to solve one of Helaena’s riddles.

“Yes, but with our uncle so unwell-”

“-and your brother is to marry soon, is he not?”

Realisation dawned on Geowyth. “Your Grace, Geodred is indeed to marry, and he and Folchild will rule well together. But if all those above us will it, he will have heirs long before our forebears take him. No, when our uncle dies and Geodred assumes his position as King, someone will need to take his place as commander of the renward.”

“I’m sorry?” The words were sharper than Aemond intended. The slight aghast shake of his head as he spoke irked Geowyth, but she clarified her meaning nonetheless.

“I will take my role as commander of the cavalry.”

“You?”

“Yes?”

“A woman?”

“Yes.” Though her voice was indignant, Geowyth felt she had been slapped. A clap of laughter escaped Aegon as his eyes darted between his brother and Geowyth with glee. Beside her, Helaena picked at the skin on her palm. Despite only being mere inches shorter than Aemond, Geowyth felt herself shrink. Already, the doubts of the kingdom were knocking at Braedel’s door. She steeled herself against the fire glowing in her chest. “I know it is hard to believe, Your Grace, when your dear cousin and sister were swept aside so easily. But that is not how things are done in Braedel.”

The hall became chill. Aemond was certain a gust of wind had ripped through the chamber and he looked briefly around. Nothing was changed. The guests were revelling in the royal splendour. His siblings were still at his side, one nervous and one neurotic. But when he looked back at the lady before him, he found the source of his discomfort. The light of nearby candles flickered in her amber eyes, and something of the would-be warrior woman haunted her face. Seven Hells. He tried to recover. Not to sound like a bitter child or obnoxious ass, but interested.

“And do you find yourself to be as adequate a rider and swordsmith as your brother?”

“Would you ask the same of your dragon riding sisters?”

“Sister.” His voice was firm.

“Pardon?”

“She is no sister of mine.” He grew silent, and Geowyth didn’t need to ask which sister he meant. She’d seen how he’d looked at Helaena. How he was looking at Princess Rhaenyra now, across the hall. Her eyes followed his and, as they scanned the crowded hall, landed upon her brother. He would make a good king. He could sense trouble, for he was looking at Geowyth with a mixture of assessment and warning. “Deos forhtlic,” she heard him say. It would not do to make enemies of the King’s children on the second day of her visit. Swallowing whatever retort was pressing against her lips, Geowyth tried a different tac.

“Do you dance, Your Grace? Perhaps you will join the princess and I in the next? I have seen many a girl looking hopef-”

“You’ll note, my Lady, that I only have one eye.” Aemond cut her off before she could finish and he was astonished when she began to laugh.

“Do you dance in circles?”

Aegon laughed louder than he had all evening, the wine in his goblet slopping onto the table. A little of the red splashed the sleeve of Aemond’s doublet and he looked down slowly. When his eye returned to Geowyth’s, it was cold and unamused. He looked down his eagle nose at her, steadying his feet as though readying for a fight, and Geowyth found herself breathless at the power that suddenly radiated from him. For the first time in her life, she felt truly small. She turned to Helaena. The princess had resumed the picking of her hands, her shoulders stooped and mouth downturned. She would not look at her new companion. Without a dance partner, and her pride decidedly dashed, Geowyth retreated into the crowd towards her fellow horse lords. Aemond’s gaze followed her, body humming with embarrassed rage.

“Shame you weren’t born in Braedel, brother.” Aegon slapped Aemond on the back as he made to hunt a more rakish kind of revelry. “You’ll just have to make do with being my spare.” Aegon made his drunken trail through the crowd. The newcomers bowed before him. Those used to court life at the Red Keep turned away, among them Ser Westerling and the princess of Dragonstone. Ser Harrold was deep in serious conversation with the Braedel beast Herumbrand, no doubt discussing military strategy and their glory days, and as Aemond watched them his Targaryen blood ran cold. For beside the guardsmen stood Rhaenyra, smiling at the guard who had always favoured her, and Lady Geowyth, her eyes bright with self-satisfaction as with a laugh, she turned away from him.

Notes: Split this in two so I could get a chapter out.The first sentence begins the same way a Far From the Madding Crowd. I love Thomas Hardy and I think his description of character is amazing, so I used it as a way to open the chapter.

In this world, Vizzy T is still alive, and Rhaenyra was ousted as heir when Aegon was born. I’ve said before that this will not be a canon compliant story. The background of the Beridan family and why Braedel keeps to itself will be revealed soon. Sorry it's taking so long, I'm not myself at the moment - will correct any mistakes when I've had a good night's sleep. Hilde x

Renward = horseguard/cavalry

Tags: @arcielee @mefools @bladeofdreadfort @glitterandgoldfinds @heimtathurs @ewanmitchellcrumbs @babyblue711 @wingeddeliciouscanonrebel @greenowlfactif @fantasias-creativebubble @httyd-marauders @sirenangelroyal

[arokel]

Catfooted

Fandom: The Boys in the Boat Pairing: Don Hume/Bobby Moch Words: 804 Rating: G Notes: Bobby really was on the UW fencing team! I took one three-week fencing unit in middle school PE so I am of course an expert in the sport as you can see from this fic.

Don knows he sticks out like a sore thumb in this crowd. He’s clearly not a fencer - he’s got the wrong proportions, for starters, and the UW fencing club is small enough that he’d stand out as a new face anyway - and he’s even more clearly not a fencer’s girlfriend.

Not that all or even many of the women dotted among the seats in the fencing courts have boyfriends among the team, unless fencers have a much more bohemian understanding of relationships than rowers do. But most of them seem to have at least inclinings that way, if the way their eyes track the lithe bodies of the fencers as they shake out their wrists and push their sweaty hair off their foreheads is any indication.

Don only has eyes for one of them.

He’s always known Bobby is athletic - Bobby keeps up with the rest of them on their training runs when his lungs allow, and what meat there is on his slender limbs is mostly muscle. But he’s never seen Bobby move like this. Graceful, predatory, catlike in the way his feet barely touch the ground before he’s bounding away with a delighted laugh, challenging his opponent to give chase. The wire helmet obscures his expression, but Don can see it perfectly in his mind’s eye: bright grin flashing, cheeks flushed in triumph and exertion, eyes alight with the thrill of the game. It’s beautiful.

Bobby’s opponent does something complicated with his foil and the girls beside Don murmur in appreciation, but Don’s attention is fixed on the way Bobby twists easily out of reach and parries with a direct, no-nonsense block. It’s so very much like Bobby that Don can’t help but laugh quietly to himself, even if it makes the girls glare at him. Let them think he’s amused by their sighing and pining; they can’t know that he’s just as besotted.

He and Bobby aren’t dating, per se. Don doesn’t know how that would even work, given how dangerous it would be for them to be seen in public that way, or to spend any more time sequestered in Bobby’s room with the door locked than they already do. But they’re doing everything else. So even though he’s only attending Bobby’s match as a friend, he feels a kinship with those girls in the stands who do have a sweetheart in the running.

Except that unlike them - Don can only assume - Don has felt that wiry body under his hands, has seen just how far those flexible hips can bend and twist and writhe atop Don’s. Bobby’s sweat-soaked hair and flushed face is familiar to Don for far more intimate reasons than fencing. Watching him now with that knowledge is mouth-watering.

Bobby looks like a wet dream come to life when he bounds off the court, shaking his hair out of his eyes and pushing the sleeves of his jacket up to his elbows. His gaze seeks out Don in the stands and he grins as he makes his way over. He, too, has no eyes for anyone else.

Don wants to tell him congratulations, or even a simple hi, but his mouth is suddenly too numb to form words. Up close, he’s almost too beautiful to look at.

“Cat got your tongue?” Bobby says, coming to a stop at Don’s feet. His chin is tipped up in teasing challenge, his lips chapped from breathing so hard, and Don can do nothing but nod. Bobby smirks. “Well, tell her to give it back. I’m kind of fond of it.”

“You were,” Don manages, face flaming. “You were. Out there. Very…”

Bobby’s laugh is delighted. “Why, thank you. I’ll take that as the compliment I assume it was meant to be?”

“Very much. Thank you for letting me come,” Don says. He feels on firmer footing with pleasantries rather than the veiled but very public flirting Bobby started them out with.

Bobby’s grin softens and his eyes dart down to his feet for a moment, shy, before he looks back up.

“Thank you. It was - I’m glad you could make it. I’ve got no girl to cheer me on, so…” He clears his throat. “But who needs a girl when I’ve got you, right?”

It should sound like a consolation, and it does hurt a little to hear. But Don also hears in it the truth of what Bobby really means: Bobby would date Don too, if they could. He’s fond of just a bit more than Don’s tongue.

"Yeah. You've got me."

Bobby beams. Then, alerted by some noise, he looks back over his shoulder and sighs. “I have to go change; I’ll see you back at the house. Find that cat in the meantime, maybe?”

Don watches him go, smiling like a fool. He knows the girls can see it, but he doesn’t much care.

[chevvy-yates]

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⚠️ READ:

Please do not repost/reupload any of my art here or to any other platform, or I will be forced to do anything to get it annihilated.

A little more visibility over on my pillowfort on this post.

This is part of Garnet's birthday. Ryder did not only show up to give him a present, he also showed bc it was also CCR, so ofc course they had a little fun.

My hc is that this is maybe a year before Ryder gets to know Thyjs. So, for those who wonder why I portray Ry now with Garnet like this: Ry hasn't been bound in a relationship several years after he and V broke up in 2072. There's a huge time spawn where Ryder just wanted to have fun and this fun often happened to be with Garnet as both enjoy having an active sex life without the neccessity of being in a relationship. And since CCR is a sex-positive event therefore it is not unlikely you see them making out too.

So, on Garnet's birthday ry said "Tonight I'll tease you and please you, Falco." and Falco doesn't say no to that invitation. x)

more about the process of taking the pic (and further thoughts) under the cut

I don't have taken any more pics with them being naked nor doing the nasty as I currently do not have much time and still miss the nibbles replacer of nsfw Ry npv (it already needs to be updated anyways), so I took these pics half via amm and half pm mode poses.

Ry is amm spawn, Garnet is normal player V after I placed an amm spawn of him to get Ryder in his position. Spawned Garnet's head did clip into Ryder's bc of the joytoy expressions so I had to change for pm mode Garnet in the end after Ry got freezed. But I'm keen to try it out when I have more time.

I would love to do this already with Ry and Thy as well but something tells me to wait with it as they are slow burn and I am waiting for further mods to appear and I am thinking about to commission a custom Sandevistan for Thyjs, but not sure to whom yet.

I also decided, that when I take Chrome Chamber Rave pics I'll give them this texture with that frame and the added 18 to it so you notice it is CCR themed. Taking pics is not allowed in there for the attenders but there's some official photographer who walks around and is allowed to take pics but he needs to ask first and those pics are kept private. And this pic of Ry and Garnet is also one of those.

And if you visited the pillowfort post for the landscape version of this pose, yes Ryder often does go raving almost naked. That's why this event is so strict. On the dancefloor its required to keep certain parts packed in/censored e.g. by pasties. You will feel more than happy with less clothes on you because it's fucking hot inside. And when you want to visit the playroom you do not have to take of that many clothes anymore. It's not a must to walk around like this. You are still allowed to wear pants and e.g. shirts bu they have to fit to the concept. Not everyone wants to walk around almost naked but you have to keep in mind, that a lot of them actually do that there.