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jarofstyles · 2 months

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Flower 3

Hi my loves! I am so excited to give you guys an update on our flower petals. Don’t kick my ass for the ending xoxox

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WC- 5.3k

Warnings - talk of kink, mega sexual tension, daddy kink if you squint really hard hehe

Her head was still dizzy even after sitting in the front seat and letting him out the bags in the back. She did her job as good passenger and placed the coffees in each cup holder, but she was spinning. Her hand still tingling and warm from how he held it through the parking lot like it was common practice, like he was her boyfriend.

Would he want to be?

He’d already said he didn’t do hook ups. Gia had pointed out that he wasn’t normal around her and Sarah had agreed. Fuck, he just spent over two hundred on her and didn’t bat an eye. Maybe he did, and maybe she was itching to find out what sort of questions he’d want to ask.

Weirdly, she wanted him to cross lines. He was always so polite and sweet, despite his dirty jokes at times when he was tipsy. With her, he was usually the poster child of a gentleman. He took care of her and did all sort of sweet things to her, leaving no question about if he cared about her or not. . The words he had said on the car ride here about a guy being sweet out in public and a freak in the sheets echoed around her head as he climbed into his seat, making the thoughts start to dissipate.

“Aren’t you jus’ the best little passenger princess.” He snickered, putting the keys into the ignition. Her eyes tried to ignore the way the little smirk on his face bade her stomach buzz, but it was a hard thing to look past.

“I could have spit in your coffee. You never know.” Her tease was met by him picking up the cup, looking her dead in the eye as he took a sip. Oh. Well then. “You sicko.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged his seatbelt on after his little display. “But turning the radio on doesn’t mean you are safe from my questions.”

“I’m not trying to hide from them! I just don’t like awkward silences and I’ve no clue what you’re gonna ask me so I was making sure we weren’t in danger of one.”she sniffed, pointing her nose up a bit. It was a bit of an act considering she was, indeed, trying to hide a little bit. In fact, she was incredible anxious to know what he was wondering about. “Go on and hit me with one.”

“Alright. When did you start reading those types of books?”

“Those types.” She scoffed at the phrasing. It was a relatively tame question with a not so savory answer. “Make me sound like it’s something crazy. But the answer is way too young. Probably 14, 15. I checked one out at the library. To be fair, the first time I didn’t realize it had anything like that in it. I just liked the cover and it seemed nice. One BDSM adjacent book and unsupervised internet access search later and I was finding out all sorts of phrases I didn’t need to know.” It was hard to say if she regretted it now, but she did think it was a little early for that. Then again, most guys her age then were doing their own exploring so it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

“Hm. Interesting… did you ever get caught with one of them at that age? I’d imagine your parents wouldn’t love that.” No, they most certainly would not.

“Thank god, no. It would have been mortifying. Now I know that my mother has her own little stash with the shirtless guys and the historical romances though, so it wouldn’t have been like she had a leg to stand on anyways.” That was something she was still thankful for. “Did you ever get caught watching or looking at something?”

From the wince on his face, he absolutely did. “Yeah. It’s just as bad as you think it is. It was my dad, which is only marginally better than it being my mother, but he didn’t seem very phased. I think I was more embarrassed than he was. He never brought it up, but I remembered to lock the door each and every time after that.”

“Oh, that’s rough.” Y/N hissed in sympathy. “My parents worked a lot so it was easy for me to just explore things I shouldn’t have back then. Since you’re older than me, was it online or the magazines?” She was teasing, but he rolled his eyes.

“Magazine, actually. I’m not that much older.” Five years, but it was enough to make a difference in how they grew up. “Don’t tease me. I see the age gap shit you’re reading.”

“It’s just fun and games.” She assured, brushing her hand over his shoulder playfully. Again, initiating touches. “Besides, I do like an older man so I’m not gonna make too much fun. Considering you did see the books I grabbed.”

He had been very interested in them, it seemed. Interested enough to hover and let her body feel his heat against her back, the burn still there if she let herself think about it too long.

“Yeah, actually I was gonna ask- which one are you the most excited to read?” It was a nice question, middle of the line- but she had a feeling he was trying to gage something.

“Hm. Reaper, that’s the biker club bad boy protecting her from a stalker one, or the Highest bidder. I’ve heard so much about both of them. I know the smut is good in Reaper because I’ve read snippets, but the jury is still out on the second one.” They had both come highly recommended so she was excited to see if they were going to live up to her expectations. “I do like a good dark romance. It’s kinda hard to explain to people because some things you can enjoy as a fantasy but know in reality it isn’t really ethical, but they won’t get that.”

“I do get it, actually.” He nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. “S’kinda like if you roleplay in bed or something. No one thinks you should actually be in a student professor relationship, but the premise of it is hot. A lot of it is like… power balances, kinda.”

The ease Harry had of understanding sort of took her off guard. Y/N knew he was intelligent and had spent plenty of time with him to know that was the truth, but a lot of people she knew didn’t quite understand the layers there was to it.

“Yeah, actually. It is a little similar to roleplay, I hadn’t thought too much about that as a comparison.” Now she definitely would. However… the fact that he had brought it up raised a whole new crop of questions… along with the fact she could see a slight shift in his body when she mentioned it. “Is that something you’re into, then? Roleplaying?”

Her eyes watched as he tugged on his lip, using his one hand to steer the wheel while the other seemed to be self soothing a little bit. His forearm looked particularly good in this light, the veins standing out slightly as he squeezed over the leather.

“Mm, outed myself a little with that one didn’t I?”

“A bit.” She giggled, crossing her legs. The question remained on what it was that he liked to roleplay? Was it the teacher thing? Nurse? Doctor? Something more risky? Now that she’d allowed her brain to entertain the not so safe for work thoughts about the man, it was difficult to filter them.

“I do enjoy it, yeah. It’s fun. It doesn’t need to be crazy or anything, but it’s fun to spice things up. I haven’t done a ton of it but it is an interest of mine. I feel like you can explore things with it being safe and being with someone you actually trust, so it’s easier to actually enjoy it.”

The explanation made perfect sense. Partially she was relieved that he seemed so intelligent when it came to sex, considering….

“Safety is big. One time a guy decided to choke me but he didn’t know how to properly do it.” She winced at the memory. “Bruised my neck. He felt really bad afterwards but it was obvious he hadn’t done any sort of real research into it and it was never discussed beforehand. Do I think it’s hot? Yeah, but not when it feels like someone’s about to crush my windpipe.”

“Christ.” Harry sighed, exasperated at the story. It looked like he genuinely was astounded by how bad the guys she had been with had behaved. “I feel like that’s kink 101, innit? You learn how to spank and choke without causing the real damage. Fuck, M’sorry that happened to you. Did it make it hard to enjoy it again?”

“For a little while, yeah. Like you said before, hookups aren’t really my thing anymore either but when I was more into the scene I made sure they either knew how to do it or didn’t do it at all. Sucks, considering it can make you feel ten times better.” It depended on the person for sure, but for her? The head rush made it so much better when she came.

“Yeah, I can only imagine. I’ve never really had a horror story like that for me. Anyone I’ve been with knew how to do it and I figured it out early on, but I did have one girl who tore up my back really bad. Not in the sexy way with marks for a few days, but one got infected and it was a whole thing. I like pain, but not something that’s gonna actively harm me later. I don’t think she meant to do it either but sometimes those nails are sharp.”

Y/N squirmed slightly in her seat as he let out that little bit of information that she clung to. Humidity between her thighs wasn’t exactly something she had planned for today but it seemed like Harry had a manual on how to make her squirm. “First, I’m sorry that happened to you too. I feel like you’ll be able to know you’re doing too much and it shouldn’t ever be tearing up actual skin- unless you’re into that but obviously it wasn’t for you.” She winced, knowing it must have been a bitch to take care of. No one could properly do much for a back thing on their own. The whole reach around thing- a mess. “You can tell me to fuck off this time, but are you into both? The choking, then being choked too?” There was no better way to ask it without being direct, even if it made her feel a little weird to say.

In the drivers seat, he bit his lip to stifle a grin before sneaking a look at her. “What? You think you’re the only one who should have that sorta fun?” Relieving the restraint, he let himself smile at her before his eyes took the road again. “I do, yeah. Both. It just feels good, doesn’t it? The head rush sort of thing. It’s intimate if you do it right. For either person, it can feel like… I dunno, like you’re theirs and they’re mine in that aspect. If it’s done right, it can be the thing to push you over the edge. Trusting someone with their hand around one of your most vulnerable points, it’s a bit thrilling- intimate.”

Y/N knew Harry had some experience, knew he would probably be good in bed just in how he handled her in general. He was attentive and sweet, checking in with her, but unafraid to do what he wanted. He’s dragged her into his lap and rested his chin on her shoulder, easy to ask her for a cuddle and to play with her hair- but he’s been respectful about the whole thing. Part of her wishes maybe he’d maybe be a little disrespectful at this point.

There was no doubt in her mind that Harry knew how to fuck. Just from these conversations alone, she knew he could handle himself. But knowing he was pretty dirty, the knowledge of him liking choking on both fronts, it made her feel hot under her collar. “Mm. Nice to know.”

The response hadn’t been though through, because there were definitely connotations to that- but she let the words tumble out of her mouth without thinking. Her eyes widened as she looked down at her lap, going to open her mouth to respond something else, but the man beat her to it. As usual.

“Is it?” He hummed lightly. “I’m glad you find it amusing.”

“I mean, it is.” She had already dug herself a hole. “I just always thought it would be you doing the choking, I never considered the other way around”.

“You’ve thought about it before, huh?” The smirk was audible in his voice, making her cheeks burn. God damn it all and her slip ups. Harry made her flustered and nervous rolled into a slightly bold ball of dangerous curiosity.

There were a few ways she could’ve gone about it. Denial was the biggest one, but she’d already gone this far. Didn’t she want to push past the friendship boundary? The way her throat felt tight with him so close behind her at the bookshop while he asked her about her books, how she’d placed his hand on her inner thigh for him when they were out last night, she wanted to go further past the established boundaries.

“A few times.”

Her reply was breezy, though she certainly didn’t feel it. The swirling anticipation was bubbling in her tummy, a fluttering bundle of nerves expanding heat through her body. The atmosphere in the truck had been a little tight before, but it had been slowly morphing into a sexually tense mess.

“Mmm. Nice to know.” Mirroring her prior response, she chanced a look at him. One hand still on the steering wheel, vein still making an appearance in his forearm making an appearance from the sunlight glazing inside the truck. But this time, his stubbled chin dipped into a dimple, a light smirk coating his lips and he was rubbing his hand over his denim covered thigh. His hands, god his fucking hands. They were sexy, sexier than she knew a man’s hands could be. He worked with them, so sometimes he had a few cuts or bruises on them, but he kept his nails trimmed and they were clean most of the time she saw them. The cross tattoo stuck out against his skin, tucked between his thumb and index finger.

Impulse control didn’t exist as her finger reached out to trace said ink, running the tip of her nail over the symbol. “I dunno if I ever told you how much I like your tattoos but- I do.” She admitted lightly. “I love tattoos. I’ve always wanted to get some but I’ve been afraid.”

Harry cleared his throat, stopping at the light to look down at her finger running back and forth on the top of his hand. The nail lightly running over the black ink on his sensitive skin, her eyes taking in the same thing. There was no move to remove his hand, letting it stay still as she continued the hypnotic movement and allowed her eyes to move up to his face.

“Yeah?” His voice was slightly hoarse, showing that she did indeed have some effect on her. The confidence was building as the car ride went on, each little confirmation that he had affections over her making it easier for her to feel the motivation to keep going. Keep poking and prodding to see what would get him to snap. “It’s uh, it’s like…” The satisfaction of making him lose his train of thought had her a little drunk with power, moving her fingertips to his ring to twist it around. “It’s not that bad, for me. I like pain, but it’s like… irritating, maybe. There’s areas you should go for a first time, nowhere directly over bone. My sternum hurt but like… yeah. S’not that bad. I’ll take you to my artist if you want.”

“Would you?” Y/N wasn’t stupid. She knew her cadence, the sweet way she said it would elicit a specific type of reaction from him, but that’s the point. “That would be so sweet of you, H. Maybe I’ll take you up on that. I think…” The trail of her fing moved up and down his hand and towards his wrist. “You do a lot for me, you know? You’re so kind and helpful, you help me out at my places and I think maybe we don’t hang out outside of that as much as we should. Do you know what I mean?”

“I agree.” He nodded along to her statement. “Well- I hope you know I don’t mind helping you or anything, cause I don’t. I really like doing things for you. It feels nice.” That could be a loaded statement if she thought about it too long. Harry powered through it though. “But I would love t’hang out with you more individually. I know what you’re sayin’. S’a little annoying when we go out and people interrupt our conversations.”

Y/N giggled at that because, well, they probably shouldn’t be having those conversations of philosophy at the bar and then get annoyed the friends they came with interrupted them, but it seemed like Harry didn’t really like sharing her attention much as it was. “I agree. So rude.” It was obvious she was teasing him a little, squeezing him lightly before her attention was caught by him turning into the car park. “Oh, shit. We’re here already?”

Part of her was sad because the sexual tension was so delicious and she had been a little hopeful he’d snap, but she really was hungry.

“Yeah, but it’s okay. We can keep talking inside, then I’ll bring you home.” There was another pause as she could see him trying to figure out how to say something else. “Uh, or if you wanted, you can come over and swim for a bit? You left your swimsuit there the last time I had the cookout and I’ve been meaning to give it back.”

Y/N felt herself resist the urge to squeeze her thighs together. There was that preexisting knowing that if she went over to his place there was a very little chance they’d actually go swimming. It was hard not to get on her knees and nudge his prick right into her mouth even in the car, but maybe this was what edging was like. “Sure! Everytime we hang out at my house you find something to do.” She raised an accusatory eyebrow at the man. “Something to fix. Maybe I want all the attention for once.”

“Oh yeah?” He met her eye with a brow raise, making her realize she had accidentally been suggestive… but fuck it.

“Yep.” She popped the last letter of the word before opening her car door and slipping out. “Let’s go! I’m hungry!”

——

The tension wasn’t exclusive to the car.

It didn’t break when they walked in, it didn’t break when they sat down to order and it didn’t break as they ate. If anything, Y/N was being a tease for one of the first times in her life. Brushing her foot over his leg, keeping her eyes on the menu when they browsed it, sucking some of the chocolate from her milkshake from her fingers, bumping their feet together, it was thrilling.

Harry’s eyes were dark, almost constantly on her. Y/N could feel his stare when she looked away, either to her food or when she had walked to the restroom to refresh herself. Her poor panties were completely useless now, but taking them off would do her no good. There was no doubt that this whole trip together had been working her up, but Harry had no problem in making it worse.

After insisting on paying the full bill, Y/N walked a little bit ahead of him to try to get to his truck- only to be stopped by a hand on the back of her neck. Firm and controlling, he slowed her down to his pace. “I told you, I like t’open the door for you. So stop bein’ a brat because I didn’t let you pay and just say thank you.”

And, oh- fuck. Y/N could have whimpered from the way he talked to her, rounded eyes looking up at his with her lip poking out slightly. His eyes were a darker shade of green and his jaw set in a way she hadn’t seen before. Had she been moving her hips a little more to see what he’d do? Yeah, a little. But it had to be a culmination of the fact that she’d been working him up all day and purposely acted up to see his reaction.

“Sorry, daddy.” The apology held some sarcasm as they approached the truck. “Didn’t know I had to- oh!” Y/N choked out a gasp as she felt his hand release her neck, instead twirling her hair around his fist and stopping her straight. Her breathing hitched as she felt his lips come closer to her ear, the closeness of the man that had tormenting her poor body all day without even touching her cunt making her shiver.

“Don’t call me that unless you want to be bent over my fuckin’ lap. Lots of attitude today from you, baby.” Baby? Oh, shit. The threat, the heat of his words, the grip, all of it had her knees feeling weak. “You’ve been a goddamn tease all day and I’ve been playing nice, so unless you want t’see my already thin fucking patience snap, I suggest you behave for me. Yeah?” The girl took too long to answer, apparently, because he tugged on her hair again to make it sting a little bit. “Asked you a question.”

“Y-Yeah. I can.” Her voice weakened by the shock and pure arousal, she couldn’t form more than that as he unwound her hair from his fist, demeanor changing instantly with a soft kiss to her cheek.

“There we go. Amazing!” He lightened up, opening the car door for her. “Wanted to hear that story about your neighbor and their Chihuahua, so why don’t you tell me that on the way to my place?”

Y/N didn’t know how he switched to easily, how he wasn’t shaky and pressing her against the bench of his truck to show her exactly how impatient he could be, but she assumed he just had more control than she did. There was no more questioning in the grand investigation on if Harry was interested in her or not. It was safe to assume he was, and she was going to use every bit of that confidence to her advantage when they got back to his place.

She’d behave for now. Let him help her into the car and tell him the story of the yappy thing that liked to eat baby carrots from her hand, be a good girl until they got to his house and the door was closed behind them. After that, though? All bets were off.

——-

Harry’s house was a lot more rustic than hers was.

It resembled a log cabin which really did attest to his whole lumberjack appeal. Contractor, wore flannels and tee shirts, his hair was a bit unkempt sometimes and he had that facial hair he grew out and shaved whenever it felt right. The wraparound porch was something she was eternally jealous of, along with the huge stone fireplace and step down living room. He had impeccable hardwood floors and an open concept bottom floor, skylights in the den and a back deck with a view of the mountains that would make anyone jealous. His pool was built into the hillside, his deck housing a jacuzzi and lots of seating as it sprawled down the length of his house.

What was even better was knowing he’d put most of the grunt work into it. He bought the house and remodeled the whole thing, added onto it, renovated every nook and cranny while keeping the integrity of it. He worked with his hands and it was one of the sexiest things about him, she found, and that itself had her clenching her thighs as he opened the front door with her bags of books hanging off his arm.

They were not light but he carried them like it was a bag of feathers. Another thing that made her feel out of her mind with hormones.

Her brain hadn’t been able to stop repeating the way he had reacted to her playfully calling him daddy, how he had helped himself to her hair and took control of her. How he’d been sweet with her after, giving her cheek a chaste kiss before helping her into the car and listening intently to the story of the neighbor and her dog before letting the music turn up and them sit in their own silence.

She wondered if he had been thinking about it too.

Once the door was open she was happy to follow him inside, the smell of lemon hitting her in surprise. Usually it smelled like pine and something a little more musky. Like he could read her mind, he placed the bags on the foyer bench as he toed off his boots. “Had the housekeeper come by earlier today, it’s the cleaning stuff.”

“Housekeeper?” Y/N blinked a few times. “Since when?”

“Since 3 months ago. It’s twice a week, a woman comes by to clean the house for me. I do the normal upkeep but m’usually busy, y’know? Don’t have a lot of time to do the deep clean- and if I’m honest, I’ve got no desire to.” He laughed, hanging up the over shirt he brought in from the truck over the coatrack.

“Ah. I don’t blame you. That’s the only thing I find chenging about having my own place.”

She could technically afford a housekeeper but it wasn’t something she needed. “I kinda like doing deep cleans. I do them on Sundays and get everything ready the week. If I had your place I’d be excited for it. It’s so beautiful in here.” The compliment was an understatement. If she could have any place, it would be this one.

Sure the long driveway was probably a little scary at night and being in the woods would take a little more getting used to, but she’d seen the sunset from his deck. It was breathtaking.

“Well, you’re welcome to do that whenever you want.” He teased, taking the keys from his pocket and putting them on the hook. One of his toolboxes sat on the floor next to the shoe rack, slightly open. It was just so… Harry of him. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, I’m okay.” She shook her head, looking back up at him. His broad shoulders and his pretty eyes, arms crossed over his chest as he looked right back down at her. It was easy for the heat to come back between them as she took a step forward, reminding herself it was the time to be brave. Her second heartbeat between her thighs was nearly demanding it of her. “I wanted to ask… what was that all about? In the parking lot?”

Harry winced slightly, looking away from her as a blush covered his cheeks. Not the reaction she’d expected, but it was interesting nonetheless. “I… that was out of line of me. I shouldn’t have touched you like that. I’m really sorry, Flower. It was inappropriate and I don’t-“ his eyes went back up as her hands covered his forearms, lightly tugging to get his crossed arms to drop.

“Harry…” she sighed. “Why are you apologizing? Hm?” It was her turn to get into his personal space, stepping into his form and running her hands up his arms.

Those built, inked, perfect arms that reminded her just how strong they were all the fucking time. Her hands clasped together behind his neck, allowing herself to lean into his body as she swallowed her pride and gave herself permission to go for it. To just fucking do it. “I didn’t complain, did I? Didn’t tell you I was uncomfortable?”

“No…” he said slowly, hands frozen by his sides as he looked down at her like he was slightly confused. Almost like he didn’t believe it.

“I wasn’t uncomfortable. I looked like that because when you grabbed my hair and spoke to me like that… it let me know what kind of man you are.”

“And what kind of man do you think I am?” His voice dropped, eyes hooking on to hers as his hands slowly dropped to her hips. The grip was light, curious, but his palms were warm and large and fucking perfect on her body.

“I think you’re the type of man who can fuck me right. You’re so sweet all the time, H. So nice t’me, you make me feel safe and appreciated and beautiful… you always compliment me and refill my drinks. But I didn’t realize you don’t treat the other girls like me. You don’t grab them and put them in your lap. You don’t kiss their necks. You only do that to me.” It was a relief to know that much. “And I’ve been a little oblivious to the fact you’ve been trying to touch me differently, but I think that’s enough of that. You liked to hear about my books, paid for them, paid for my lunch… kinda acting like a sugar daddy today, hm?” Her hair fell over her shoulders as she arched her head back, the firm wall of a man keeping her up as she did so.

“I didn’t do it for you to touch me, Y/N- I promise.” He assured quickly, which was sweet. She already knew it though.

“I know you didn’t. You did it because you’re a provider. You help me in so many ways, you’re the best man I’ve ever met. You’d do it for me over and over again, even if I didn’t catch on because you’re just good. So fucking good to me, and today….” Biting down lightly on her lip, she let out a quiet groan. “Today you drove me crazy. Kept touching me lightly and didn’t press too much, gave me all the answers I wanted and were so respectful about my own. It just let me know that it wasn’t stupid of me to like you. You’re the type of man who can take care of me. Aren’t you?”

The question was answered with a low groan and his mouth falling on hers. Full and soft, he caught her lips with his own and exhaled against her as he hummed. Fucking finally. Pulling apart with a soft click, he let out a laugh of disbelief. He couldn’t believe he was kissing her, that she was saying all of this- and neither could she. “If you let me, I will. I’ll take care of every-fuckin-thing you could ever want, baby. You’ve been driving me crazy since we first met, and I was patient but… you’re right.” Another kiss melted her, the grip on her hips not so gentle anymore. “I am a provider. So let me provide you with the pleasure I know you need.”

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blasphemecel · 5 months

Text

Michael Kaiser — Mean

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 6.4k TYPE: Fake dating, This is not fluff or angst but a secret third thing (with a cheerful ending) WARNING(S): Depersonalization/identity issues

The first time you meet Michael Kaiser, you get a bad impression.

Yeah, sure, he doesn’t have the most stellar reputation, anyway. You’ve met all sorts of unpleasant people in your life and he manages to disappoint even when the bar is so low, the only way to go lower is through digging.

You don’t exchange a word with him, but rather you have the misfortune of having to listen to him talk throughout the entire meeting. He starts countless arguments, some valid to an extent. You can tell he’s just doing this because he’s addicted to the sound of his voice and speaking to people like they’re unimportant specks of dust all while commanding their attention. There’s no point to his fussing either because he ends up signing the same contract you do.

Waste of your goddamn time — he might as well have not signed it and saved you the trouble, since the ordeal ends up lasting three hours because of him.

Maybe you should’ve not signed it yourself, but your PR manager was salivating at the idea of fake dating as a publicity stunt, especially with Kaiser who’ll be posing with you for a photoshoot in a few months, so you said ‘whatever’ and here you are. In this predicament with an insufferable man you imagine you won’t get along with, which already predisposes you to never giving him a chance.

___

The first time you speak to Michael Kaiser, you unsettle him.

It’s unlike him to feel disturbed, let alone at the slightest thing. He’s met all sorts of sickos, so he considers himself unflinching in the face of anyone who has anything off about them.

But he’s fifteen minutes late to the ‘date’ you’re supposed to use as a tool to subtly launch your fake relationship and he’s expecting a scolding. Kaiser spots you and heads in your direction, taking the seat in front with a shitty smirk and an ingenuine, half-assed apology on his lips.

What he gets in response is a blank look — almost… unimpressed, which naturally someone like Kaiser takes as a challenge and already sets the tone for the rest of the conversation — and it’s as if you’re staring into his soul. Then in an instant your expression flips to convincing joy, your warm smile contrasting his snide one, and you say, “Let’s act like we’re really stoked.”

A chill runs down his spine. On a logical level Kaiser knows you’re faking it, but it looks real, and that’s what he finds freaky. Also, the speed.

“Let’s not,” he says. “You’re weird,” he adds after you don’t respond.

You don’t react to this information either and settle for maintaining your smile.

The barista decides to spare him from having to look at you while you don’t say anything. He’s pretty sure you’re doing this deliberately, to torture him. When you attempt to order something, he talks over you and asks, “Can you give us one of those shitty milkshakes with two straws in them?”

She stares at him in bewilderment. “We don’t sell those,” she says eventually.

“Can you make one?”

“No…”

“You’re scum,” you tell him, dropping the happy facade. Again, the quickness strikes Kaiser as disturbing. Then you give her a valid order, and he asks for water since they offer that everywhere and he can’t be bothered to read the menu. After the barista leaves, you say, “I could have lactose intolerance.”

“You could. I could be trying to kill you.”

“I don’t know if a milkshake would be enough to kill me.”

“Maybe I was trying to give you a stomach ache,” he concurs.

You don’t dignify that with a reply either.

Kaiser tries to speak with you again, “I really fucking hate milk.”

“Then why’d you do that?”

“To embarrass you, of course,” he says, like he’s revealed to you the natural order of things.

“Hm.” You consider this new information. “I’ll definitely think of a way to get back at you.”

The lukewarm threat seems to amuse him more than anything.

Then you proceed to have a hostile few hours together in public as instructed. You end up throwing napkins at his face.

Kaiser isn’t good at pretending to be in love. The only such image he seems capable of projecting is one of a middle schooler who’s failing to find a balance between playful and mean. Though it also doesn’t matter to you because you mostly teeter on the edge of mean, slightly left of apathetic. Nothing really matters to you.

___

For your second court-ordered date with Michael Kaiser, your manager tells you to get caught holding hands with him at a park after the cafe meeting doesn’t spark much controversy. The notion itself has you scrunching your face, but you don’t complain about it or voice your opinion.

Again, he’s late picking you up by a not negligent amount of time, leaving you to stand in front of your building, motionless and impatient.

Instead of announcing his presence in a more acceptable manner, Kaiser blares the car horn until you realize it’s him. After you crawl inside the passenger seat, you turn to look at him and see that he looks very pleased with himself. It’s obnoxious.

“I hope we die in a car crash,” you greet.

“We won’t.” You don’t know why, but his brain interprets this as an opportunity to brag. “I’m an excellent driver.”

He’s not. Somehow you make it to the park without getting into a catastrophe — which, as established, you wouldn’t have minded.

You exit at the same time and Kaiser frowns at you by the time he circles his way around to you. You don’t care enough about what’s bothering him to raise a questioning eyebrow let alone ask, but he tells you, “I was going to open the door for you and then offer to help you up. You ruined everything!”

You roll your eyes. “How gallant.”

“Get back in,” Kaiser says, pointing (as if the gesture will be enough to convince you to play along). “Let’s redo it.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. I have a vision for these kinds of things, that’s all.”

“Your vision is trashy and uninspired,” you reject promptly.

Kaiser seems to be the first person in the world who finds your attitude funny rather than objectionable because he grins at your response. But he’s more so looking at you like you’re a bug he finds fascinating in comparison to the rest, without any real respect or acknowledgement.

“I admit maybe it was a bit cliche,” he says. “Would’ve made me look good, though, if someone caught it on camera.”

You smile that ghoulish smile again and grab his hand like you were told. His fingers are cold and yours even more so, making the grasp clammy and uncomfortable while you begin your stroll. You don’t even know what you’re supposed to talk about with him. Soon enough, you scowl, both the silence and the sensation of getting touched proving too much for you to hide your displeasure, even though Kaiser seems content with letting the silence fester.

“Oh? Why’d you stop? I’ve started enjoying your creepy masquerading.”

“I’m disgusted,” you say.

“Disgusted,” he repeats. “By what? Me?”

“It’s making me sick. Who knows where your hand’s been or what you’ve done.”

Albeit visibly offended for the first time if the lack of an annoying smirk is anything to draw judgments from, Kaiser drops it first. Your arm hangs by your side again, limp.

“Let go, then. Or do I need to do everything myself?” That’s quite a dramatic sentiment coming from a man who has done nothing all day besides a short drive and taking a few steps.

“But my manager said-”

“Who cares? I think my manager’s lucky I agreed to this bullshit in the first place,” Kaiser says. “By the way, my hands haven’t been in any sewers or anything to warrant this reaction, thank you very much.” He must be the type of person who only ever says thank you as if being grateful is some big joke.

“I’m not being literal. I know who you are and what people say about you. My disgust is conceptual.”

“Flattering.” Kaiser’s pleased again with the mention of this tidbit, like the mental image he’s getting of you searching him up gives him immeasurable amounts of satisfaction. One thing you’ve come to notice about him since your last outing is that he’s shameless. “You’re not special, though. Lots of people know who I am.”

“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re scum.”

“Do you usually talk to people you barely know in this way or is it preferential treatment? I’d love preferential treatment, but the other option is amusing too.”

“Usually,” you say in a monotone. “That’s why I don’t speak much. More so supposed to be looked at rather than heard, and so on.” You finish off your explanation with a flippant gesture. That’s what it’s like for you — ‘shut your trap, it ruins your appeal.’

“Well, I-” there’s an emphasis on the word ‘I’ because Kaiser always thinks his opinion matters, “-think your worldview is pathetic and embarrassing. What’s the point of being looked at if no one will listen to you? How can you be fine with that?”

Fair point. You concede in your head, but don’t commit to agreeing with him out loud. “You’re not special either. Most people gross me out.”

“You hurt me this time.” He’s sneering, though.

After a while of walking, you find yourself sitting on a bench next to him. A few pigeons strut around near your feet, bobbing their heads back and forth, almost catching a groove. “If I had any bread, I’d feed them.”

“I’m not surprised you’d feel interested in such a commoner’s activity,” Kaiser says, as if he is somehow superior to you for not wanting to participate in this.

“Vile,” you say, voice still neutral. You’re not looking at him either, attention glued to the birds.

He doesn’t know which part of it you find dismaying — was it the class shaming or what? “So you like pigeons, but you hate humanity. You’re one of those.”

“I don’t hate humanity,” you say. “But nature is repulsive by default. It’s not amoral. When we’re cruel and ugly, that’s a conscious and opportunistic decision. Every day CEOs throw their employees and workers under the bus for more profits. Someone’s getting murdered as we speak. We’re faking a relationship to attract brand deals. I’m getting sick just thinking about it.”

“Get a hobby instead of thinking about stupid shit like that. Caring about how ugly and bleak everything is won’t get you anywhere,” Kaiser… advises.

“Look at the pigeons.” You’re watching the one with the missing claws, wobbling and struggling to get around. “Humans domesticated them and then abandoned them. I love flora and fauna. They’re interesting and exist much more differently than we do.”

“Does that mean you like my tattoo then?”

“Not everything needs to be about you. It’s not like people will forget you exist when you don’t force yourself to be at the center of conversation.”

This stings him the tiniest bit. Either you’re probing into an insecurity or he’s reading too deep into what you’re gathering from your conversations with him. “If I wanted to have a pseudointellectual conversation, I wouldn’t ask a vapid model to psychoanalyze me.”

“Your opinions are unoriginal and stereotyped just like your ideas about romance,” you say, finally turning around to face him again with those haunted eyes. He’s unamused now, clenching his jaw and all. “A stupid athlete wouldn’t be my first choice for a ‘pseudointellectual conversation’ either.”

“You look down on others and judge them, so what makes you so different from all those ‘scum’ you hate? How are you exempt from your own standards?”

Do you realize you’re displaying similar behaviors to those you’re scolding him over?

“Well, there’s a simple explanation for that,” you say. Kaiser is expecting an argument or something, but you kind of floor him with your follow-up. “It’s called hypocrisy. I’m probably just as disgusting as the average person.”

“Your life must be miserable if you look at everything through this lens. What was the phrase, rose colored glasses? Yours must have shit smeared over them.”

You shrug then make a 50/50 motion with your hand. “My life’s neither good nor bad. I’m indifferent on the subject.”

“Uh huh.” Kaiser considers this, then his lips twitch up, and then his smile broadens — it’s snide and smug again, and you come to the realization that he probably doesn’t know how to smile in any other way — before he inches a little closer to you. Not enough to brush against you, but enough to count as an attempted provocation. “I think people like you shouldn’t be considered alive. Legally speaking. And if we’re being figurative, you’re obviously already dead.”

You frown at him, since he’s kind of right. The fact that Michael Kaiser has the capability to discern truths you don’t want to hear rubs you the wrong way.

“Speaking of birds,” you start, deciding to change the topic, “you remind me of a peacock.”

“Wrong.” He’s pouty now. You find the expression cute, but when you catch the thought you throw up in your mouth a bit, so you ignore it. “I’m clearly a swan.”

“The fact that you have a preference when it comes to what animal you’re considered is sad.”

“And you’re entertaining. Let’s hang out again soon even if those sorry fucks don’t suggest it.”

You find it bewildering how he calls his PR manager’s input a ‘suggestion’ and seems to think he can do whatever he wants. Which, maybe he does, seeing the way he conducts himself. You’re also tempted to tell him to make up his mind on whether he enjoys your company or not, but there are more important matters right now. “We’re not supposed to do that, I don’t think.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that.”

“Why this desire all of a sudden?”

“It’s what I want.” What impeccable reasoning. “I think I can make you enjoy yourself,” he says. “Don’t get me wrong. Not for your merit or anything stupid.” Kaiser offers what you’d describe as a flamboyant hand wave in the air, demeanor laced with complacency. “I think it’d make me feel really charitable and generous if I can manage to add something to your depressing life. Give me a chance to try.”

“Word of advice,” you scoot away from him to the point the edge of the bench is digging into your ass and it honestly hurts, “you’re not gonna get anywhere with that attitude. How you phrased it disgusted me again.”

Kaiser finds your favored terms interesting. Everything is sickening and disgusting and vile and scummy from your perspective. Deep down for reasons he doesn’t want to ponder, he can relate.

“Great. You’ll come around soon,” he promises, with the confidence of someone who thinks this is a game he has a high chance of winning.

___

Kaiser makes it a point to inflict his presence onto you as much as he can afford to with your schedules, even though there’s no need for it. Not that you refuse him either. He’s kind of interesting to keep around, in his own Kaiser-ish way.

Earlier today he invited himself over to your house. He’d decided you need to come up with a story about your ‘relationship,’ but didn’t wanna discuss it through text messages. Apparently he has an interview coming up and wants to be prepared in case they ask him about you.

“How did we meet?” you ask, sitting on the other side of the couch and leaning against the armrest, away from him.

The answer is immediate: “I saved you from a burning church.”

You question what other fantasies this man could probably have because that’s the most absurd thing you’ve ever heard. Your voice somehow remains flat despite the bewilderment when you ask, “Why?”

“Because it’s flashy and dramatic.”

“But if anyone searches it up, they’ll see there haven’t been any… burned churches?”

“You’re such a killjoy.” Kaiser sighs. “It makes it sound mystical.”

“No it doesn’t,” you say, rather flippant about the entire thing. “It makes you sound like a pathological liar.”

“I like your sense of humor.”

“Thanks, but I’m not kidding about this.”

“Then what do you think it should be?” Kaiser asks. Obviously the purpose of this inquiry is to criticize your choice of scenario — even you can anticipate such a predictable move.

You roll your eyes and then look away from him in contemplation. You hadn’t really thought about it, since you don’t do interviews, and therefore you don’t need to concern yourself with hypotheticals on the matter. “Some kind of party, maybe. Post-match celebration?”

“Makes sense,” says Kaiser. “Doesn’t compel me, though. Boring.”

With a hum, you try to imagine what would both appeal to Kaiser and sound realistic. Though he doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’s swayed by practicality. “I went with someone else, but you swept me off my feet so hard, you stole me away from them.”

“I guess it sounds plausible enough while still having an element of fantasy.”

“Is the idea of me liking you the ‘element of fantasy’?”

“Yeah… That’s why I want it.”

You didn’t expect such a response. It has you looking at him weird. You do so often anyway, but now you do it for longer as if trying to glean something. In response Kaiser tells you to take a picture since it’ll last longer. The reply seems extraneous and distracting, and that only makes you feel more suspicious of him, which is weird since you’re not sure what you’re even inferring.

___

Officially it’s your fifth date with Kaiser, unofficially it’s the tenth. This time you’re holding up a frog in your open hands.

He doesn’t know what the point of all the nature-themed outings is — maybe to make him seem down to Earth in the public eye since he’s become notorious for how insufferable he is? Either way he doesn’t care, and he’s not the type to wander at landscapes, but your affinity for ugly animals is kind of cute.

The frog isn’t some special one either. No crazy colors or anything, just a regular green tree frog (according to your expertise). You let it jump onto your palms, since apparently touching their skin is bad for them or something. Kaiser scrutinizes it in distaste, staring down into its big eyes while it croaks. “So you can handle a disgusting amphibian, but you can’t hold hands with me.”

“I see you’re still thinking about that.”

“Well, it was insulting. And besides, it’s never happened to me before.”

“You’re not so bad. I don’t think I’d vomit if we brushed against each other anymore.”

Kaiser seems curious but nonetheless pleased with this development. “Why the change of heart?”

“Because you listen to what I say,” you tell him.

He somehow resists the urge to piss himself laughing at the sound of that. “Your standards are so low. It’s so sad that it’s funny,” he says. Maybe he would’ve dedicated some more time to teasing you over it, but he comes to a realization which immediately lifts his mood. This must mean he’s in your good graces somewhat, and not many people seem to fit there, so that makes Kaiser special to a degree. Right?

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.”

“Who would’ve thought someone who looks the way you do would come out like this?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I think you were one of those kids who, like, shoved sticks and leaves in mud and called it a potion.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean now?”

Kaiser lets out an annoyed sound, tired of elaborating. “It means I think you’re strange.”

“Hmm, I bet you do,” you say. “There’s a quote I like: ‘It is no measure of health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society.’”

“Yeah, and I bet that’s the kind of message you love. What’s it from?”

“Interesting story,” you say. “This is Jiddu Krishnamurti’s most famous quote, but it doesn’t appear in any of his books. Allegedly he said it to some other guy.”

Kaiser blinks and nods, maybe trying to keep a pretense of having the slightest concept of what you’re on about. “Whatever, got it. I can’t remember the last time I read a book. Maybe I’ll check him out.”

“You don’t seem like you’d be interested in that type of thing,” you say, staring at him as if you’re trying to figure him out.

“Actually, I am. Can you stop taking every chance to insult me?”

“I’m not. At least not on purpose… So, what are your hobbies, anyway? You never told me.”

“I practice. What do you take me for?”

You furrow your eyebrows at him. “That’s it?”

Kaiser opens his mouth to justify himself even though there’s no need to be defensive — maybe it’s that he feels like he’s lacking in some department after you bring your attention to it with your little response and generally Kaiser hates to be insufficient. But before he can argue and try and talk himself out of whatever perception you have of him now, an interruption happens.

The frog, which had been lazy and content with merely existing in your grasp, springs without any warning. It leaps out of your fingers and lands on top of Kaiser’s head.

Today you learn Michael Kaiser screams at an ear-shattering frequency when he’s startled. Soap opera level of shock and overreaction.

___

It is when you’re eating at a trashy place for lunch that Kaiser’s looking at his phone, which you find rude since you’re supposed to be spending time together and whatnot. He eats like a pig, too, not graceful at all — you wonder what his fans would think if they saw him with crumbs over his mouth and sauce on his chin. Good material for a public embarrassment campaign, you think.

But it’s in that moment that he finally wipes himself with a tissue and reaches out to all but shove his phone in your face. “Look, we’re so hot!”

You grace the picture with a dismissive glance before looking back down at your meal, disinterested. You already know enough about Kaiser to assume he’d get a kick out of power couple fantasies. And other power fantasies. Really, you find it pathetic.

It was something out of the photoshoot he was showing you, his favorite you presume. Even someone like Kaiser, who has conventional features, isn’t perfect when it comes to these unreasonable standards. He’d been way too stiff next to you while he posed and though his face is symmetrical, his expressions tend to stray to one side, and obviously it’d been corrected.

There’s a mismatch between you on the covers and your image in the mirror. Maybe your brain is exaggerating the disconnect, but every time you see them, it’s like staring into an airbrushed, distorted amalgamation. In other words, you prefer avoiding both the edited products and your reflection whenever you can.

“We don’t look like that,” you say, offhand about his enthusiasm as you are with most things.

Kaiser scoffs and then very blatantly tries to compare between whatever version of you he has on his phone and the you in front of him. There’s not a single good thing you can say about his decision — it’s making your skin crawl just knowing it’s what he’s doing.

“Close enough,” he deems after careful examination.

“I don’t think it’s me.”

“It’s quite literally you.”

“I don’t think anything is me. Like I’m just what I see. My perspective, my point of view. You get what I’m saying?”

“No?” Kaiser says, laughing at you and your apparently strange affliction.

“Well if not that, you have to admit things captured on camera aren’t real.”

“What are you talking about,” Kaiser asks in a flat tone, which leaves it as something less than a question. A few more snickers escape him and he’s grinning at you like a bastard — if at first he regarded you as a slightly more fascinating bug than the rest, by now you must be his favorite, the rarest… A tree lobster. “You make no sense.”

“It totally makes sense. Imagine we’re having sex-”

“What kind of stupid come-on is that?”

“It’s not a come-on, I’m explaining. So, imagine we’re having sex-”

“In what position?”

“Whatever you want as long as it works for the scenario. Anyway, imagine we’re having sex-”

Kaiser laughs harder and then attempts some seductive sort of expression which doesn’t land with you. “I’m imagining it,” he informs.

“Shut up and let me get to the point. Imagine we’re having sex and I’m recording it-”

“Wow, I didn’t take you for such a pervert? Not that I hate it.”

“-so I’m looking at you through the camera lens. The phone’s between us. I’m not, like, in the moment with you. My mind’s absent, it’s all digital. So if you think about it we’re not even really having sex.”

“... You’re losing me even more,” Kaiser says after some contemplation, finding the fantasy unpleasant all of a sudden with this new spin to it. A moment passes during which he takes another big, possibly exaggerated bite, but he at least has enough decency to chew and swallow before adding, “I think you just have a problem.”

You roll your eyes, wondering if he even entertained the thought, but shrug since it doesn’t matter in the end. “Why are we always talking about how I’m weird? If anything, you're eccentric, not me.”

Kaiser wrinkles his nose in offense at the notion and makes an incomprehensible hand gesture in the air. “No. I’ve turned out totally normal. Don’t put me at your level.”

A lot of curiosities spin around your head concerning Kaiser’s behavior whenever you meet and you’re yet to find an answer. What does he want? Clearly he’s comfortable with and used to wanting, but what is it? Attention? Money? Fame? Status? All, none? Will it ever be enough? Is it even the kind of hunger which can be satiated?

Who is he when he’s not playing this ridiculous character?

“I can’t get a read on you,” you tell him.

“Well, you’re socially inept. I doubt you can get a read on anyone.”

“So are you.”

Kaiser feigns hurt over this. He does that a lot. Maybe he finds it hilarious, maybe the performance is all for shits and giggles — who knows.

“I want to dissect your head,” you say after a while of silence.

“Really? That’s what you wanna do with me?”

“Mhm. With a scalpel. I’d make an incision around your temple maybe.”

“My beautiful and demented angel, is that your way of saying you wanna get closer to me?” The sentence comes out mocking with a paper thin smile, but there’s a sense of admiration in it. What for? You raise an eyebrow in visible confusion at the… nickname, but Kaiser doesn’t elaborate. To take away from the tension(?), he announces, “You’ve got something stuck between your teeth,” pointing at your mouth all amused.

___

Kaiser had an ulterior motive in accepting that deal. Though wording it this way makes it sound like some calculated, opportunistic, sinister scheme, when in reality it’s nothing beyond immature and a little humiliating.

Of course, in true Kaiser fashion, when looking to meet someone, he goes straight for the most convoluted option. So when the stupid idea came up, he agreed, even if he put on a bit of a show at first and acted irritating. Confessing to wanting friends is so embarrassing. He’d rather shoot himself at point blank or perhaps commit an act of auto-defenestration than admit the real reason for participating, much less in front of you.

Despite the jabs, you’re also not bad at all. Calm and uninvolved in anything that upsets him and without any expectations towards him.

At first he found your indifference derogatory, but as the months have passed by, there’s a sort of comfort in knowing that he could’ve been some random guy off the street and you would’ve probably treated him the same. In front of you he is neither on a pedestal nor someone to be knocked down on his knees. More Michael than he is Kaiser.

Things have been teetering on a dangerous edge lately. His mind is wandering off towards you again, more and more often each day. Like maybe he’s excited for the next time he sees you or something else repulsive in a similar vein, a giddy feeling bubbling in his stomach. Is this what it would’ve been like to be a little boy with a crush?

Generally he prefers not to socialize with background characters. So he doesn’t know why it’s while he’s having some benign daydream about you that some newbie he hadn’t bothered remembering the name of decides to interrupt him. Besides, it’s inconvenient, he was supposed to be leaving and this guy is blocking the changing room door.

“I heard you’re banging a model,” he says, as if they’re good pals or some shit. Kaiser is also mostly immune to annoying locker room talk since all the other psychotic men he knows are too busy being as fanatical as him to waste time on something as useless as objectifying someone to pass the time, yet here this lowlife is.

Kaiser regards him with a judgmental side eye — for a second too long, almost television-style — and tries to move and sidestep him. “Why do you care? Pathetic cuck.”

“Woah, don’t be like that. I just thought it was funny. I’ve heard about that person before, would’ve thought it would be more of a hit it and quit it type thing. Yet here you are, still together.”

The emotion that zaps him is almost disorienting. Kaiser bruises easily, but it’s all about him. There’s never been much room for anyone else in his mentality of suffocating self-absorption, a depressing way to try and compensate for anyone who’s ever wronged him. Right now, though, he’s feeling anger on someone else’s behalf. A borderline exotic situation.

“So I was curious if that thing about loonies being the best at fucking was true? I’m assuming it is ‘cause I don’t know why else you’d stay with a schizoid.”

In the heat of the moment, when he’s pissed off, Kaiser is not the most poetic wordsmith. Thankfully politeness and civility are sensibilities which elude him. Without a second thought or any regret, he makes use of his water bottle still in his hand and dumps the entire contents of it over his head before elbowing him out of the way while he’s still confused.

___

You really don’t want to be having this conversation.

For fuck’s sake, you’re on break. And isn’t that supposed to mean relaxation? Yet the other model for the shoot today has been bugging you with unpleasant questions, putting you on the spot.

“Isn’t he a narcissist, though?” she asks, refusing to let go of the topic no matter how unresponsive you’ve been.

“I guess? Maybe. In a way…”

“You’re sooo… I don’t know. Like, you don’t even sound sure about what you’re telling me.” She narrows her eyes at you, leaning in a bit closer. “Aren’t you scared of him? Or is it ‘cause you’re so sheltered, you don’t know not to mess around with guys like Kaiser?”

Scared of him? It sounds ludicrous. At worst he’s whiny.

“He’s harmless,” you say. “Just a little rude and preoccupied with himself, that’s all. Actually, he’s an interesting and attentive person.”

She covers her mouth and lets out a sound of amusement, apparently now finding you more convincing and therefore dropping her worries. “He was saying you guys are suuuuuuuper in love with an interview.”

Not too engaged with the topic — since it’s about whatever lies Kaiser told the interviewer to entertain himself — you ask, “Is that what he was saying?”

“Yep. Didn’t you watch?”

“No.”

“Fine. Maybe he’s ‘interesting and attentive.’ I mean, I don’t believe it, but whatever. What about you, though? Do you like him, let alone love him? Can you even like anyone? I mean, shit, you know how you are. So, like, can you? Are you suuuuuuuper in love?”

You avert your eyes. “Yes,” you say. It’s true. You do like Kaiser well enough, probably more than you should. “And stop making assumptions about him and me.”

“What if I don’t stop? What are you gonna do?”

That’s… A very good question because there’s nothing you can do at the moment. Seems like a good opportunity to weaponize your reputation of being a deranged serial killer. “I’ll lick your eyebrows.”

You don’t know if your delivery is persuasive or not, but the idea you’d do such a thing must come off as believable enough because she makes a strange face before backing off.

___

You despise being in situations. And making decisions.

There’s a stupid PR meeting again. Your manager, who you think should move onto writing trashy novellas instead of administering poison to your career just because his imagination is overactive, proposed a new stunt. With the fake relationship running its course, you were discussing ways to publicize the ‘break up’ and he suggested a cheating scandal. Not to mention his great idea had you as the cheater — you swear he’s praying on your downfall at this point.

Maybe because you’ve been treated as some kind of fucked up creature incapable of thought and trustworthy decisions, something insentient, you would’ve went along with it like always. Even though you know you’d look bad, the point is to make noise, and it would be a scandalous story if not anything else. Another indignity doesn’t matter much on an endless list.

Then Kaiser in true Kaiser fashion declared that he wants to keep the relationship going. To you, such an act of flippant defiance is unthinkable.

But obviously this forces you into a position where you need to pick between your options. They’re all staring at you, waiting. Kaiser is smiling at you from across his seat like you’re in on a joke with him. Anxious, you say, “I’ll think about it,” and stand up to leave.

You’re sweating because somewhere within you wanna announce ‘Yeah, I wanna keep seeing Michael Kaiser,’ but it’s so preposterous.

Kaiser doesn’t chase after you (though it’d be his style to do such a thing solely for the drama), but he catches up to you by the time you make it outside of the building, approaching the parking lot.

“Hey. Hey! Hey, stop ignoring me. Heeeeeeey.”

God he is such an annoying pest sometimes. You turn around to face him, snapping, “What?! What was that about anyway?”

“No, what’s with you? What is there to think about? You don’t want to look like a clown in front of the world, do you?”

You’re looking at Kaiser again like you’re trying to figure out a mystery. He always wants things, but what does he want from you? There has to be a reason for this. Otherwise, he should’ve been fine with the separation instead of trying to prolong it.

“Listen,” says Kaiser, a little apprehensive at your silence and expressionless gaze, “I can tell you barely tolerate your shitty job and that you probably don’t like the moronic idea your anthropomorphized cyst of a manager came up with, so why aren’t you protesting it?”

Those are objective enough observations. However, “Anthropomorphized cyst…?”

“You’re changing the subject,” Kaiser huffs, irked. “And by the way the fake meek act isn’t cute at all. They’re making money off of you. Tell them to fuck off and die and stop acting like a hostage.”

“This is very inspirational and all, Kaiser, but how about you tell me why you wanna keep the fake relationship going?”

“Doesn’t matter. If you don’t want that either, you can say we’ll settle for ending it instead of-”

You cross your arms. “Again, your attempts at a pep talk are adorable and appreciated, but you’re changing the subject now.”

“They’re not adorable. I’m right. Say I’m right.”

“Fine, fine, you’re right,” you relent with a roll of your eyes.

Kaiser smiles snidely and clasps his hands behind his back. “Thanks,” he says in a sarcastic tone. Then you expect him to entertain your question, but he doesn’t, leaving you in an uncomfortable staredown against him and his stupid ‘beautiful glowing blue orbs’ ass eyes.

“Answer me,” you demand.

“Your unpleasant personality and reclusive ways have bewitched me.”

…

“… What?”

“I won’t repeat myself,” Kaiser says with too much attitude considering the situation. Like, he just spoke out one of the most absurd sentences you’ve ever heard.

“Do you have a brain tumor?”

The outrageous suggestion makes him scoff. “Really? You think I need a brain tumor to like you?”

“Maybe,” you say. “Should’ve let me operate on you when I offered.”

“You’re mentally disturbed,” he replies like the fact turns him on or something.

“So were you asking me out or what?”

“Yes? No? Yes. Yeah, fine, I am.”

“Do you search up ‘personality’ on porn sites?”

“Come on, be serious. I mean what I’m saying and I want to give things between us a try. Do you?”

You cringe as if admitting your feelings or overall being in touch with them in the first place is a physically painful sensation, but in your defense you think you might throw up. “Yeah… Yeah, okay, I’ll tell him tomorrow. My manager, I mean.”

Kaiser swings an arm around your shoulders, visibly pleased with the way this is all going. He sings, “That’s the spirit.”

What had he wanted from you? Affection and care, apparently. You think back on when you’d called him ‘disgusting’ and a foreign guilt overcomes you since you don’t usually lament the remarks you make during your misanthropic hissy fits.

Is it fine for someone such as yourself to also indulge in wanting? Hesitant, with shaky arms, you embrace him around the middle, the gentlest of hugs. Kaiser freezes for a moment as if he’s unsure what to do when he’s not the one initiating things, but eventually returns the gesture. Melts into it, even. Two existences brushing against one another, at first glance contrary yet perhaps similar in many ways.

When you finally pull away from each other little by little, Kaiser says, “Let’s elope now.”

You sigh. “You sure have a way of making everything sound way more exciting than it is.”

(He drives you back to your place, but still sucks at driving. Chivalrously, he avoids crashing the car, though.)

___

Yall I was drinking light yellow tap water for a few daysdo you think somethings gonna happen to me ?

Btw I hate this but it's finally finished after like around a month so whatever lol I' M FREE

#michael kaiser x reader #blue lock x reader #kaiser x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x reader #michael kaiser x you

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tadpolesonalgae · 1 year

Text

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 3

Azriel x Third-oldest-Archeron-sibling!Reader

a/n: I think reader is beginning to realise something was up with Azzie’s behaviour…

Apologies if you’re not a gold-jewellery person (I’m not either, don’t worry)

warnings: general angst because you sickos love it for some reason (it’s affectionate, I swear), Pity Party by Melanie Martinez vibes, Elain

word count: 5,501

-Part 2- -Part 4-

You keep your eyes shut, hoping to waste another few hours, sleeping.

You want this day to be over as quickly as possible. It could never go fast enough.

Twenty-two.

Once, it was a third of your life—a quarter, if lucky. Now it’s a mere spec. A pebble beside a milestone. What is twenty-two in the face of immortality?

Awareness zips across your skin, feeling the soft drag of cotton against your toes; the warm wrap of your nightdress against the backs of your thighs. Remember how fingertips felt scraping up the skin, and tuck beneath the duvet, curling into a tight ball. Seconds tick by, slow and painful, each dragging its feet through a swamp of mud, tip-tapping and traipsing their dirty boots through your mind. You won’t get back to sleep.

But you don’t move, either.

Weighted like a stone in bed, bones made of lead, pressing you into the mattress. Even your sheets feel like soft shackles, binding your body like fine rope. A silky cocoon of your own making.

The sun rays slide down the wall, slithering across the rug, finally extinguishing as midday dawns in the city. Still, you don’t move.

Sweat beads beneath your arms, trickling down to your elbows, gathering behind your knees, saturating the sheets, making them sticky. It’s not enough to make you shift. You remain lying in the puddle of discomfort.

You push deeper beneath the duvet, temperature rising as the cotton clings to your body, sticking to you when you move to roll over. Frustration bubbles, and fizzes, then tears drip down your cheeks. They roll back into your hair, falling into your ears, and you sob harder.

The imagined smell of clean pillows, and crisp sheets revolves in your mind, and still you stay. Living through fantasy, counting the seconds.

Afternoon hits, and you’re still in bed.

Rolled onto your stomach, salty water sliding down your under arms, you turn the page. The parchment is dry, leeching moisture from your fingertips, making them feel pruny. The tears start rolling again.

Evening begins, and you’re stomach sobs with you, gnawing on your bones, as though eating itself with hunger. Sweat has dried, leaving your skin clammy and suffocated. Finally the thoughts start rolling in. The humiliation of rejection further dampening your cheeks. Merely picturing hazel eyes… You shut the book, and struggle out of bed.

The sheets are indeed tangled, wrapping and binding your limbs to the point you simply drop to the floor, hitting the wood painfully, skull clunking as your elbow whacks the bed frame. You lie still for more minutes. Wallowing. Eventually drag yourself out of the mess.

First, open the curtains wider, taking in the orange and pinks of the sky, the full, billowing clouds fluffing the cobalt… Blue siphons glitter behind your eyes, water spilling as your lip wobbles. They blaze with vibrant fury, simmering with unfathomable darkness, and the curtains snap shut.

You remove your night dress, throwing it into the wicker basket, dragging yourself to the washroom as your head pulses and aches from lying down too long. Heat ravishes your skin, a fresh wave of sweat coating your body. Water washes over your back, pouring down your front, bathing you until clean. Not an ounce of grime left marring your body.

You try the windows again, the heavens filled with orange and blue, purply-greys rising with the oncoming night. How have you nearly slept away the day? And yet it’s still not over.

Voices echo from somewhere below you—the kitchen. You cover your face with your hands, exhaling heavily. They’re all there. All waiting just beneath you. Knees nearly buckle.

Heart spikes in your chest at the thought of…

Birthdays used to be wonderful, full of gifts and vibrant colours, smelling of fresh flowers and tasting syrupy and sweet. Now they’re wretched and dull, a pressure around your throat as another year ticks by and nothing’s changed. You’ve done nothing. Sat around, taking up space, draining money, expending resources. And nothing to say for it. Just a stack of books by your bed, selling second after second, minute after minute, draining the days away. Draining the years away.

Muscle trembles, bones crumbles as you land on the floor, curled into a ball before the mirror, unable to look at the waste you’ve become. Everything has a function, everything has some sort of purpose, some duty to fulfil, executing their actions with mechanical precision. Moving because they have to. It’s what they’re formed to do. Yet bring choice into the equation, and everything stops. It becomes unreliable, and uncertain. Unpredictable.

So much choice it’s overwhelming. So many pathways, so many decisions. So many conclusions. Everything would be so much simpler if will was subtracted from the sum. Leaving you with narrow walls to keep you on course, the gust of wind propelling you forward. Without those things, your actions are your own, and you’ve plummeted from the path.

Mind buzzes and whirrs, firing off thoughts and clipped phrases, one blending into another. Chaos and mess fusing in a liquid covalent bond, linking their talons through sinew and cartilage. Hooking into your brain. Ripping into the tissue. Licking their fingers clean.

Three knocks tap to your skull, tripping through cartilage, tumbling to stone.

“Hello?” You call, forcing your voice to be even. Balancing out waves, crests and troughs synchronising.

“Are you going to be up soon? I haven’t seen you all day!” Feyre.

You scowl, hunching over yourself, nails raking through your hair, pushing the dried tails from your face. “I’ve been up for a while,” you reply, shortly, “reading.”

“Well, we’re having dinner together tonight, and it’s nearly ready, so come down soon!” She calls back, and you can imagine the way her ear is inevitably pressed flat against the door. Busybody, like the rest of them.

When you don’t reply, she steps back, walking away down the hallway, returning to the kitchen where the laughter blares and bubbles.

You slump over, spilling across the floor as you lie, limp. Strength falling from your muscles, as though they’re delocalising from your flesh and bone. You imagine sinking your hands onto your thighs, how your meat would come apart like perfectly prepared pulled pork. How your gluons would simply release; allow you to dissolve onto someone’s plate, drowned in gravy and dusted with rosemary.

Thoughts ebb and flow, trickling through your conscious like thickened cake batter over the edge of a mixing bowl, dripping from the table to splatter on the floor. Only to be wiped away seconds later, cleanly obliterated. Tiny explosions blow behind your eyelids, prickling until salt stings and spills.

The sun sinks, darkness settling like a veil over the city, horizon dimming to deeper, inky greys. Shoulders ache, bones grinding against one another, catching muscle and flesh between them. Still you lie, unmoving. Light, shallow breaths evenly dripping from your lips.

Another set of knocks in the same cadence. “Food’s ready!” She calls. The words thud dully in your ears, landing at the dried up base of the well. Prevented from settling deeper. “Will you be down soon?” She asks hopefully, voice blaring through your carefully cultivated silence. “Be down soon,” you call back, letters automatic and mechanical. Precise and unthinking. Words lilt and inflect, while your features remain stiff, eyes unseeing as they stare out.

She traipses away again.

Your mind falls back to sleep.

Tumbling through portals, falling into vortexes, tripping down tunnels. Flying through secret hatches in time, spilling across horizons and shooting up, up, up into the atmosphere.

Thoughts waver and crumble, disintegrating into galaxy coloured sprays of starlight, swirling and exploding like the movement of the Starry Night. Feyre had showed you that one, once.

When was the last time you’d had time to spend with any of them, individually? Now with Nyx around, her attention is spread thin. Navigating wife, sister, and mother. High Lady, too.

Mother, Wife, High Lady. Then Sister.

Maybe you were being harsh on her. After all, what do you know about having so many roles to play? Having achieved all those titles, fulfilled each one and continuing to do so while avoiding jeopardising another. Would you be able to handle what she does? A year younger than you. Already with a husband and a child. A whole Court at her fingertips.

Are you done with the nosey speculation into other people’s relationships, or is that how you’ve found yourself filling your time?

You blink, his voice ringing in your mind.

Is that how you’ve come to preoccupy yourself? Complaining about her success? What happened to being happy for her achievements? To being proud of your sister? At what point had it become a competition?

When had you started comparing yourself to them?

A stone sinks in your gut, plummeting through your stomach, dropping to your toes. Do you really fill your time by examining them? Analysing their relationships, dissecting their dynamics?

Go on, he’d said. Go on and tell me why I’m undeserving of her.

It had really come out so wrong. You hadn’t even planned on confessing to him. Had planned to keep it all to yourself. To wallow and drown, quietly, in your own secret corner.

You think you’re deserving of me?

He replays on an invisible symphonia, spinning through your world, making you dizzy as the sound whirls.

You think you’re deserving of me?

I think it’s cruel to continue asking after her when I so obviously answer every question you have just so you might pay me a little more attention.

Well done. Just open up your chest for him. Hand perfectly poised to pull your life’s muscle from your ribs. Instead he’d left it intact, an open wound to fester and turn gangrenous over time. To scar, deeply. To burn and burrow its way into your marrow. To turn bone deep, so you can begin to understand what you’d struck at.

You’d be better off turning your damn affections somewhere they’d actually be appreciated.

If you were even half the female she is, I’d be tempted to show a little interest.

How quickly the conversation had turned sour. How quickly it had flown off the pathway. How quickly blades had been drawn, poison tipped arrows fired.

At least she has someone interested in getting her into bed.

I doubt you can say the same.

A triptych of knocks lands on your door, making you flinch.

“Are you still coming down?” Feyre calls, “the food’s going to start getting cold!”

It takes a moment for your limbs to unfreeze, unstick themselves from your mind’s trap. “I’m—…” You’re not going down there. Not into that room, filled with so many people. She calls your name, a little confusion shining through, dragging you from your haze.

“I’m getting tired, Fey,” you manage back, not quite disguising the bone-deep fatigue that’s riddling your body. “I think I’m just going to go to bed,” you call.

“Oh…” she sounds surprised. A little crestfallen. “Are you sure? I mean, I haven’t seen you in a while, and we’re all down there, so…it would be nice. To spend time with you.”

You’re quiet, unable to formulate an appropriate response. You can hear her hesitating, too.

Then. “Can I come in?” She asks softly.

You freeze up, taking in your state. Clean, but messy. A few too many things out of place to be okay. Before you can skilfully deny her, she continues on. “I—… There are some things I want to ask you about.”

Her voice is soft, and quiet. Navigating High Lady and sister. Maybe you don’t give her enough credit. Then again, she should obviously be playing your sister right now.

“Let me put some more clothes on,” you respond with, swallowing as you get to your feet, picking up a few books here and there; grabbing your sheets to return them to the bed. Quickly, you shuck on a dress, tying your hair back into a neat-ish knot. “Okay,” you call, “I’m dressed.”

The door swings open, and her eyes scan the room, darting about before settling on you. She’s dressed nicely—she’s always dressed nicely. Whether it’s a jumper and slippers, or some kind of gown, she always looks lovely. Disgustingly put together. “What is it?” You ask, feigning sleepiness.

She shrugs casually, closing the door behind her. “I wanted to see how you were doing,” she explains, walking over to your bed. “Can I sit down?” You nod in response, then hesitate. “Maybe take the chair. It was boiling last night.” Her lips lift, a faint smile on her mouth, blue-grey eyes sparkling, “it was, wasn’t it? Rhys is going to show me how to put a temperature-maintaining ward around our bedroom. Nyx severely dislikes the heat.” Her voice lilts with laughter, and it’s easy to forget what she’s gone through. So easy to disregard every bloodied fragment when you see that smile.

“So?” She asks, conversationally. “How have you been?” You wince and her brow dips almost imperceptibly, “I really want to go to bed.”

“Oh.” She blinks. Nods slowly. “Okay.” She seems slightly upset at your not-so-subtle dismissal. At least it was gentle.

Feyre stands, runs her eyes over the stacks of books beside your bed, “have you read all these?” A heavy sigh blows from your chest, posture dissipating as your spine slouches, “Feyre…”

“Right. Yes. If you’re sure,” she says, watching you carefully. Intently. Eyes sharp. “I’m very sure,” you reply, managing a weak smile, hoping fatigue will cover for you.

She nods then, heading for the door. She stops, and you nearly groan.

“It wouldn’t…I mean, would it help if there were less of us?” She asks slowly. This time, you do groan. “Oh my gods, Feyre. I am tired. Please let me sleep.”

“So you’re not coming down at all? Even just s few minutes? Be with everyone for a bit?” She pushes, and irritation bubbles in your chest. You want to be done with this conversation. You don’t deign her with an answer. You’ve said what you want to, you’re not going to repeat yourself.

“If Azriel wasn’t there…” she says softly, taking a hesitant step toward you. You stiffen, blood freezing. “What do you mean.”

Feyre blows out a breath, brushing down her top, smoothing the nonexistent creases. “I’m not blind,” she murmurs, eyes latching onto you. “You’ve been off these past few days, and Elain—”

“What did Elain say?” You ask, skin leeching of warmth. Feyre pauses, watching you quietly. “Feyre,” you say, a little surprised at her hesitance. “If Elain said something, it’s fair for me to know.”

She sighs again, “I need you to be calm. I don’t want to argue with you. Not today. Not any other day, but particularly not today.”

“Sure. That’s why you brought this up when I’m obviously tired and irritable,” you shoot back.

She just observes you steadily, unfaltering. It makes you want to shift, and fidget. “Tell me what she said. I’ll be calm,” you say, finally, quieter than before. Still, she’s silent. Watching, weighing, judging. Busybody.

Finally, she opens her mouth, and her words nearly knock you off your feet. “She saw you in the library. Heard what you said to him.”

The floor opens up beneath you, and you spiral down. She heard your conversation with Azriel.

The nosey bitch. She had no right to pry like that. And then to bring it to your sister. The youngest of all of you.

How much more humiliation do you have to take?

“She what?” You whisper, unable to speak through your anger and hurt. Feyre gives you that look again, calming, steady, scolding. “You said you’d be calm,” she reminds, quietly. “Please keep your voice down.”

“That was none of her business!” You explode, voice raising as your hands scrunch into fists, sorrow giving way to rage. “And none of yours either, High Lady.” You spit out the title, so betrayed, and confused, you begin to switch off. It’s none of their business. They’re your emotions. Yours. Not things to be traded, and gossiped about. To be tossed around over some family dinner.

“I’m worried about you,” she says, brows curving with concern. “We all struggled with the cauldron. We struggled through the war, and everything that came after. But you’ve never shown any signs to warrant anxiousness.” Pain glimmers in her eyes, watching you steadily from across the room. Your room.

“Don’t use that as an excuse,” you bite back. “Don’t use it as an excuse to stick your nose into my life like that. It is my life.” Your voice wobbles, but remains strong, blaring through the space. “What happened between me and him is none of your concern. My relationship with Elain is none of your concern. Stop trying to find an issue with me. Something for you to fix, and put back together, so I can become part of your pretty, perfect family, too.” You nearly shout the end, vision blurring around the edges.

She blanches a little, “you need to quiet down. I will not be shouted at. You’re a grown woman, you can talk to me like one.”

“Treat me like one!” You nearly scream back, tears spilling. Her brows knot together, looking confused and disappointed. “I act, just like you,” you cry. “I’ve dealt with my own issues. I’ve kept them to myself. I’ve made. sure. not to be a burden. To you, or to anyone.” The words spill out, one after another. Brutal, and jagged in the light.

“I’ve been as cooperative as I can, I give answers if I have them, and I look for them if I don’t,” you sob, thinking of all the times he’d asked a question about Elain, so you’d repeated them back to her, stealing that information back for him. “I’ve never gone mute like Elain, I never sparked up like Nesta, I never spiralled into a depression like you. I kept myself intact. All by myself. And yet I’m the one everyone treats like a girl?” You shake as you cover your face with trembling hands, a small crack finally appearing in the damn you’ve been consistently reinforcing.

You push away your tears, trying to shut off the waterworks, finally meeting her glazed eyes. They clear when they realise you’re watching her.

“I can manage what happens between Azriel and me. It’s my business,” you repeat, the odd tear spilling as your lip wobbles. “I know I’m nothing compared to Elain. I know Mor would outshine me if I were next to her,” you cry, breaths heaving in and out in frenzied, uneven pants. Feyre’s eyes glimmer with pain, and she steps closer, arms widening a little. A silent offer. You ignore it.

“I know he doesn’t—” A sob cuts you off, lungs spasming as more walls break down, dissolving with the torrent you’ve kept at bay. Your shoulders hunch, eyes squeezing shut as you bite your lip.

“Nobody ever does,” you cry, softly, wrapping around yourself, back curving as you fold in on yourself. “He doesn’t even—… He’s never asked anything about me, but he knew…” I’m never the first choice.

Maybe the competition had been going on for longer than you’d realised.

Your voice grows softer, and her shoulders loose their tension, silence stretching through the room. Utter, devastating silence.

Not even a single, muffled laugh.

Your heart drops, stomach rising up into your throat.

You take a step forward, eyes wide.

Then vanish.

You reappear exactly one floor below, the silence not fitting in with a group of eight preternaturally still bodies. Seven pairs of eyes turn to you, filled with guilt. Almost instinctually, you seek out the darkest corner of the room, hazel piercing into you. Sharp and accusing.

You stumble under its intensity, flicking between the remaining pairs of eyes that seem to be pulling away from you. Lips part is surprise, flitting from violet, to grey-blue, to cocoa, returning to hazel.

“Good evening entertainment, huh?” You whisper, lips trembling. You don’t even know who to look at.

The High Lord opens his mouth, but Nyx begins screaming, shrill and cutting in the quiet.

Your jaw snaps shut, comprehending what just happened.

A heavy breath of air puffs from your lips, before you winnow yourself back upstairs.

Feyre’s already given you your privacy by the time you return.

————

A clock chimes somewhere in the house. Three in the morning.

The forced laughter and quiet shuffling of people had vanished around one. Two hours ago. Your stomach growls in the darkness.

How long has it been since you last ate?

You shake your head, not caring. You’re hungry, so you’ll get food.

On quiet feet, you pad into the hallway, peering both ways before tiptoeing down the corridor, listening for the sound of movement. Nothing. Silently, you descend the stairs, walking along another corridor that leads you to the kitchen. Stop in the doorway.

A cake lies on the table in the living room—adjoined to the kitchen. A polite pile of presents is stacked neatly beside it, a dull ache pressing down on your chest. Even from across the room, you can make out the pretty details. The pure white fondant, the foundations to the wobbly yellow and orange marigolds made from icing sugar, royal blue frosting squiggling the boarder, artfully dripping down the edges, like tears spilling over.

Stepping closer, the flaws become apparent, clearly decorated by people unaccustomed to creating cake toppings. The uneven petals, a dash of light blue marring the white fondant, the obvious blending point between yellow and orange. You wonder how long it took the three of them.

Sighing, you take a seat around the table, a single candle magically appearing and lighting atop it. You murmur thanks to the house, take a deep breath, and sharply puff the air out. It extinguishes instantly. Smoke drifts up in shadowy strings, the red ember winking out, and you pull the candle from the cake. A small knife appears at your side, and you cut a small chunk from its centre, getting the better part of a marigold at its tip.

It’s good—not too sweet, not too dry. Has weight to it, pleasantly spongy. The flavour lovely and—

Your vision blurs as you taste the vanilla, tiny pockets of jam infused throughout the cake. It’s the same as the recipe Elain practiced in cupcake form for a month. Practiced and persisted endlessly. Sampled until you both deemed it perfect.

No, you don’t forgive her for eavesdropping, for tattling to your sister, for being the reason the whole family now knows about your messy rejection. How unappealing you are. But she’d made this perfect for you, had practiced this recipe to death…and it counts for something.

You finish off the slice, ignoring the slight salty flavour that occasionally dripped over your lips, choosing to focus on the taste of the bespoke cake, instead.

Sitting a while in silence, thinking about everything that’s happened, you put it aside. Shift awkwardly toward the neat stack. Almost immediately drawn to the small royal blue gift box. It fits in your palm and you don’t need to read the note to know who it’s from. A tule bow is tidily pressed on the lid, shifting through vivid purples, reds, and pinks. Azriel’s gift.

It is stupid to be excited for his present?

You bite your lip, and shakily remove the top, peering down at the deep blue, satin cushion. A fearful smile lifts the edges of your mouth—disbelieving.

Inside the petite box, nestled within the plush pillow, are a pair of pearl earrings. They’re fashioned into small tear-drop like stones, golden hooks appearing at their crest. You pull them carefully from the cushion, holding them up in the moonlight, staring in wonder. They’re simple, yet elegant. An understated, subtle kind of beauty. The kind you only notice when you look closely.

You admire them for minutes, before raising them to your ears, neatly sliding them into the tiny holes. A comfortable weight, fun to play with, and tug on. You’re already in a better mood than when you came down here, a quiet smile on your lips as you remember their pretty shine.

Moving onto the next one, you begin filing through the gifts: A romance book from Nesta; from anyone else, it would have been obnoxious and self-centred, but you know how much she adores those books, and wants you to experience their happiness.

From Feyre, a miniature painting: Starfall rendered in blues, yellows, and oranges, in place of the irradiated greens and iridescent golds.

A silver embossed bookmark from Rhysand (spelled so you’ll never loose or misplace it, he’d written), making you smile.

From Cassian, necklace, a circular glass pendant hanging on the bronze chain. Peering into the glass, you can make out a small map of the world, containing the courts, the continent, and Hybern. Stretching down to the Mortal Lands too—acknowledging your past.

A small pot of crimson nail polish from Mor, coupled with a pink lipstick, making you laugh quietly. Attached is note saying she owes you a shopping trip—promising not to hijack it for clothes; to let you wonder about the various book stores.

And a 10,000 piece jigsaw from Amren—you can hear the challenge radiating from her as you pull the ribbon away.

All wonderful; all thoughtful. The seven pairs of guilty eyes that had been listening out of concern.

You rest your face in your hands, unable to resolve their opposites. The eavesdropping, but the clear attention they’ve all paid. Even if you’re in Rhys’ Inner Circle, you’d always thought you were somewhere measuring the circumference. Apparently they disagreed. You’re just as at its centre as they are.

Hot, wet droplets splash onto the wooden table, and you sniff quietly, taking long minutes to expel the sadness from behind your eyes. Finally, once they’ve dried, you reach toward Elain’s present. You’re not sure you want to see what’s inside, with how complicated your relationship has become. Still, you pull the lilac bow loose, raising the lid from the box. You stand up to look what’s contained within.

Your eyes bulge from their sockets, jaw dropping open as you see what’s inside. Slowly, carefully, you raise the mechanism from the padded inside of the box, setting it reverently on the table. Only then do you allow your hands to shake.

Sat politely before you, is an orrery.

Fingers tremble as you touch one of the planets, pushing it gently. When it moves, the cogs at its base align with one another, clicking together as each of the globes move harmoniously, spinning at their assigned paces. You wonder how accurate the spin is, what machinery they’ve used to delve so far into the universe. How wonderful it must be to live and explore.

Tears splash onto the table as you stare at the contraption. So incredible, rendered with such loving care you could cry. You are crying.

You peer closely, picking out the planet you’re on, how the world is carved into it: the land, the equator, no split lying between the previous human and faerie realms—the wall now gone. You thumb at the other spheres, staring with wide eyes as you trace small indentations made in their surface, peering and spinning the moons that rotate each. It’s utterly breathtaking; you have to blink away more wetness.

Seconds tick by, minutes draining in the blink of an eye. A clock chimes four in the morning and you’re still studying the mesmerising mechanism. How many centuries of research have created the stunning contraption? How many people dedicated their lives to discover the knowledge that is now rendered so extraordinarily before you? The detail is mind blowing, the loving rendition of the solar system, sitting on the table in a kitchen. Absolutely incredible.

You scan the array of gifts—the thoughtfulness and care that has gone into each and every one. The attention, the affection. All pieces of yourself, like looking at tiny fragments of your soul.

Muscles stiffen, eyes flicking to the empty, deep blue box. The royal blue cushion that you’d smiled so widely at. How giddy you’d been. It shrivels and warps besides the other gifts, an insult to compare them. While their gifts are clearly bespoke; unique; picked out with you in mind, the pearls…

Sorrow flushes your cheeks as you thumb free the earrings, staring at the demure jewellery. Beautiful, feminine, expensive…

Painfully generic.

A final smack in the face.

“You’re awake.”

Eyes flick up to meet cocoa. Lashes damp. Pearls tucked back in their box.

Elain walks forward on silent feet, gliding across the floor until she’s the other side of the table. Her eyes flick down to the cake, and a faint smile appears on her lips, “you had a slice.” She smoothes down her skirts, elegantly descending into a seat, “happy birthday.”

Pressure heats behind your eyelids, vision blurring, then spilling over. You bury your face in your hands as you sob, teeth biting into your lip as you try to quiet them, attempting to stop the cries that are leaking. You sniff, rubbing your skin until it feels raw. Hot and irritated from brushing tears away. Elain sits quietly, waiting for you to ready.

Once the sobs have dulled enough, you dry your eyes once more, looking at her. “Why did you tell Feyre?” You manage, throat wet, voice a little nasally from crying. Nose blocked. “Why did you listen?”

“She was worried. She asked about you, and I mentioned you’d seemed startled finding me and him in the library,” she answers calmly.

“It was none of your business,” you moan quietly, brushing away more tears. “You had no right to eavesdrop on us like that.”

Elain’s brow furrows, “I didn’t eavesdrop. All I heard were the things you said to him while I was in the room.”

You blink once. Twice.

She sighs. “I left as soon as I was out. You were in need of privacy.”

“But Feyre said you saw…what happened in the library,” you stumble, unable to bring yourself to say his name. “I did see you in the library. When you came in. And then I left.”

You blink again.

She hadn’t heard anything you and Azriel had said to one another. That was why he’d looked so accusatory. You’d gone and opened your mouth while everyone was listening. And your reaction…it didn’t make him look good.

Tears spill again as you bury your head in your hands. Shoulders shake and heave with sobs, hot liquid running between your fingers as they splash into the pool on the wooden table. He’s probably furious with you for being so oblivious. He would have noticed immediately. You cry harder.

A hand lands gently at your back, rubbing in soothing patterns. Staying beside you until you calm down. “I’m sorry…” you cry weakly, voice rasping in the silence. “I’m so sorry, ‘Lain. I thought… I’m so sorry…” Tears drip-drop steadily, but you regain control of your voice. “It’s okay,” she murmurs, and you feel her slide into the chair beside you. How long has it been since one of you cried in front of the other, unprompted? You can’t remember.

Maybe that’s what has you standing from your seat, pulling Elain with you as you cry into her. She’s stiff for a moment, then her arms slide over your shoulders, your own wrapping around her back, allowing the tears to pour. The world naturally leaning toward chaos.

After what feel like forever, you step away, drying your eyes once more.

“How are you feeling?” She asks gently, hand on your shoulder, thumb rubbing soothingly. “Better,” you sniff, managing to keep your eyes dry. They’re going to puff up badly, though. You snivel again, pushing the loose hairs from your face, wet with tears. “Thank you for the orrery,” you manage, softly. “Really. It’s so… I can’t even begin to explain how incredible it is. How great a gift it is. Thank you.” You hope you can at least begin to have her understand how much you love it through the sincerity in your voice. So she can hear it, even if you can’t explain it.

She smiles faintly. “I’m happy you’re happy.” It’s so Elain you nearly start crying again. “Nuan made it—she’s very skilled in her work.”

Nuan, who’d created Lucien’s eye. She must have…

Her eyes flick away for a moment, as if reading the question in your gaze, but return. “He and I… Things aren’t as tense as they once were. We’re… We’re doing better.” You stare at her, lips parted.

So she’s no longer after Azriel.

A wave of horror crashes over you as you comprehend the thought. Repeat it in your brain. Subconsciously, she’d been your saboteur. You’d seen her as competition, convinced you had to be better to keep his attention. How infatuated you’d become.

Two years you’d wanted him. Two years of late night thoughts, secret wishes, and strict obedience to him. Two years of living for someone else.

Such an idiot.

You’d been so happy to give as much as you could. To be as compliant and accommodating as possible. And he had fully taken advantage of that.

How much more is there for you to realise about him?

How much further does this have to go?

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

CBMTHY Taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @sakurafrost3-blog @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay @i-am-infinite @wannabewolf @thegirlintheshadows101 @kennedy-brooke

#CBMTHY #CBMTHY Part 3 #Azriel #azriel shadowsinger #Azriel angst #angst #acotar #multi-part fic #Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You

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inkdrinkerworld · 1 year

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Imagine being with remmy for so long that if you were to get up to help him in something he would just say “princess…” and give you a look and you would sit down

He would be so happy he’s so cute

You do it just to see how long it’ll take him to react.

Sirius and James are over to watch the footy match you’ve all been excited for.

You’d all been to anxious to actually go into the stadium to watch it- you’d never gone for the entire competition so the superstition was that your attendence would result in a loss for your team.

Remus is on snack duty while you were setting up the sofa- your ‘l’ shaped couch is kitted out with two throw blankets, pillows to scream into you and you’ve set the air on the coldest it can go.

Sirius and James have already commandeered one blanket and two pillows, wringing them like their lives depend on it.

“Fuck,” You hear Remus mutter and you turn around in your spot.

“I’m coming Rem,” Sirius snorts as you rush to stand, only to be met with your boyfriend who’s already in the living room.

“Princess,” he mumbles, handing you your bag of malteesers and Vanilla Coke, Sirius his bag of crisps and James, his Pepsi and sour ropes. “Sit down.”

You pout as you take your seat again, but you’re not really annoyed. Remus had been doing this little bit since you’d first got together.

He doesn’t want you lifting a finger more than you have to, and he knows you love it as well.

“Dunno why you try, angel.” James says as he nibbles on the sour end of the rope, face twisting as the lactic acid touches his tongue.

“Cos she likes his grumbly voice like a sicko.” Sirius states it matter-of-factly as he opens his crisps.

You flick his ears before Remus sits between you, pulling your legs to his lap.

“Do not,” you mutter, holding the malteesers bag out to Remus who doesn’t object to opening it for you. “You think you know everything Black.”

Sirius pulls your toe- letting you know he’s heard you until Remus bats his hand away.

“Here princess,” Remus steals a couple ‘tax’ malteesers, watching you maneuver yourself a bit closer to him as the game starts. He knows Sirius is right because you never actually try getting farther than standing to help him, but he’s good at keeping secrets- plus he adores it to no end.

#remuslupin #remus lupin #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin one shot #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin fic #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x black!reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x yn #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin blurb

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yandere-sins · 1 year

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Okay, what if the beta is just so defeated that they 'accept' being the omega's 'alpha' in one condition. Never feature him on his work ever again, or even more, delete all of the content featuring him. if the beta is sly, he could add that he is too jealous that they see him being so sexy and he wants to monopolize all of that when they mate, he doesn't want them to see their private intimacy, but in reality he doesn't want the sickos to see him

Oh gosh, I'm just imagining the two of you cuddling on the couch (or well, the yan climbed on your lap and forced you to actually participate in life and not space out for once), and for some reason, they decide to give you their phone, pushing it in your hand. Maybe the omega wanted to 'show' you a specific comment on their video, but in the end, they allow you to keep scrolling to your heart's content while they cuddle with you. The omega can clearly see how horrified you are as your read all these nasty comments from people wanting you to fuck them, too, after seeing your 'debut' video. But your captor enjoys it, especially when you bloom to live, gasping and frowning, embarrassment written all over your face.

Everything you read is vile and disgusting, especially when it reminds you of how you were used and forced to do these things that so many perverts pay for and 'enjoy' watching. You throw the phone away and, with tears in your eyes, beg the omega to delete the video and make these disgusting people stop commenting on you, your body, or your 'performance', never having realized just HOW famous the omega really is. It's bad enough that you have to live under these conditions, but you should at least have a say about what people are allowed to see of you.

And the omega, well... you know they planned all of this. They wanted this breakdown to happen because frankly? It's gotten a bit boring with you shutting down most of the time. The yan wanted to get a rise out of you, wanted their beloved beta to beg and squirm and almost cry, so the omega can play the little hero and kiss your tears away, promising they will delete it if it bothers you so. Like a good partner. Because they love you.

That is if you do something for the omega in return.

You have no idea what you're agreeing to when they ask you to 'become' the alpha they know you are. At that moment, you cannot imagine the cruelty of submission it takes for the omega's wish to come true. Of course, the yandere is overjoyed to hear all the little promises about you trying to behave like an actual alpha and your very cute tactics to gain some brownie points with the omega.

They know you're only talking big when you say how jealous you are about others seeing you two. How you don't like it when strangers can see your lovely omega, and that you want them all to yourself. Really, for a moment, you made the omega's heart flutter as if they were still a teenager with a crush. These are all the words they ever wanted to hear from their lips, and when you try so hard to be 'alpha', kissing the omega awkwardly, they just melt into you.

But it's not enough.

You got to do a bit more than that, 'Alpha'.

They'll demand you to take them to the nest, prove that you can be what they want while promising on everything holy that they'll delete all the videos if you step up to the challenge. The omega is squealing in delight when you force yourself to pick them up, carrying them down into the basement, to their nest. To the place you've been avoiding like the pest since your drug-induced rut, your knees shaking as you stagger down the stairs. Gosh, they are so happy.

All they need to do is click the little button inside their pocket so that the dozen newly installed hidden cameras turn on, the lifestream starting simultaneously. They are so happy to finally get a real mating bite, a true lover's kiss, and another amazing million in their bank account when their viewers get what they always wanted: Something real.

And you are none the wiser as you do your due diligence, a massive grin on the omega's face from knowing their plan worked perfectly, their toes curling as moans echo out of the love nest.

#omegaverse #yandere!omegaverse #yandere omegaverse #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW

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poppy-metal · 2 months

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coming off of anon to share my thoughts here. this is a loong one but hear me out…art as joe goldberg from the tv show YOU. meets you at a tennis match or the campus bookstore and thinks you’re just so wonderful and gentle and kind, so it’s not his fault when he follows you home and watches you through your bedroom window. there are sickos out here who could hurt you, and you never seem to close your blinds. what if some pervert was watching? so he makes sure to look out for you and keep you safe <3

eventually he finds out everything about you. what you like. where you go in your free time. the friend group you have who can never cherish you like he does. finds a way to weasel his way into your life. suddenly he’s showing at the coffee shop you go to every tuesday (he recognized the background from one of your myspace posts). he’s at every party you attend, every study break you take in the library, and always finds a way to brush it off as a “coincidence”. to him…it’s fate. you two are meant to be. so what if he rushes it along a bit? he’ll make the effort for you. and you think he is just so kind and caring so of course you entertain him a little. you give him the time of day, he’s such a good friend after all.

spends hours pouring over books and articles concerning your major, just so he can ask you questions about it later. makes it seem like he’s so inquisitive to know more about your super interesting degree and begs you to explain it, even though he’s known the answer for weeks now.

at night he’s furiously pumping his cock to the polaroids he snapped of you one night when your window was open and you were undressing for bed. he has to have you. the universe has put you two together, you’re his soulmate.

that is, until he finds out you have a boyfriend. he’s reeling. that fucker must have manipulated you somehow, how else could he get into your good graces like that before art did? art thinks about your boyfriends’ hands on you and resists the urge to cut them off.

weeks pass and your boyfriend’s gone missing! they found his car near the beach during spring break and everyone’s convinced he probably went for a drunk swim and drowned. of course he would. he’s that stupid. art makes sure to be the shoulder you cry on. helps you put up every poster, attends every candlelight vigil. squeezes you tight when you break down. invites you back to his dorm for some chamomile and to vent, and art is so warm and so soft to you.

art thumbs away your fat tears and tells you not to worry, whispers everything he knows you need to hear. you’ll be fine, it’ll pass. he’ll come back to you, and if he doesn’t then a girl like you is bound to be swooped up by mr. right anyways. maybe your boyfriend wasn’t as good as you thought he was. maybe he wasn’t for you. maybe he skipped town because of the pressure. you guys have been fighting lately, right? you didn’t tell art that, but he has great intuition (he hid behind a tree and listened to you two have a bout 2 weeks ago). maybe your boyfriend wanted someone else. maybe he didn’t even love you, and you shouldn’t be worrying over him. you deserve more.

art fingers your cunt while you’re curled up in his lap. your hands are gripping onto his shirt so tightly but gosh, your pussy is choking him even the more. your orgasm washes over you and he cums in his pants just from the sight. it’s even better than he imagined.

but then you feel sooo guilty. your boyfriend’s missing! he might come back to you! it was a mistake you say, flushed and embarrassed and you scramble l back to your room like a frightened deer. art decides there and then that keeping your boyfriend blindfolded and tied up in his basement isn’t enough anymore. he’s going to kill that motherfucker the very same night. after all, he can’t be showing back up and ruining all art worked so hard for.

art is so kind ❤️

#ask #I LOVE YANDERE!ART BARK BARK BARK #kill my boyfriend!!!!! kill him !!!!!#art donaldson smut #tw dark content

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baldursgate3tempobsessed · 9 months

Note

Prompt: Ascendant Astarion and Consort Tav going on a decades long honeymoon just leisurely traveling from place to place because they want to and not because they have to (and leaving chaos in their wake).

Fluffy evil chaos pairing? I'm into this!

CW: Bad people doing bad things. And an attempt at some gender-neutral soft-coreness so nsfw elements. I like basically uh, made the new epilouge a fluffier verions like a psycho im sorry writers 😅 You're vision wasn't lost on me but a good idea is a good idea. Also spoliers for epilouge. And like still bad, murder, nsfw, sicko psycho blah blah blah. Probably inaccurate lore.

Astarion had grand visions for his future. How could he not? After everything he had accomplished. A past slave turned usurper, amassing a power that his old master could only dream of. He had gone from a pathetic, scuttling whelp prowling the city streets to being free. Utterly and completely. With no brothers or sisters to compete with, the entirety of Cazador's estate was at his disposal.

And then there was the best part, the only reason he had managed to be here in the first place. The best and perhaps only good thing to ever happen to him. His very reason for living. You.

And now, you were so much better than who he had first met. He had loved you before the change, of course he did. But the depth of feeling you shared now was beyond comprehension. He owned you, body and soul. You were shackled to him for all eternity, forever blessed with the knowledge that no secrets were possible between the two of you. You weren't equals, no. Far from it. How could you be when you had been so willing to degrade yourself for him? But you were something better. Soulmates, fated by every unholy power that existed. You belonged to him, as he did to you. His ownership just... manifested in a more literal sense.

Not that it mattered. The difference between the two of you was miniscule in everyday life. He was too busy enjoying you to worry over petty power struggles with the center of his universe. No, Astarion wasn't wasting a single moment of his newfound freedom. What was the use of endless power if he wasn't going to have a bit of fun?

So while Astarion had plenty of aspirations for regional, and perhaps world domination (in his wildest dreams), he decided that he could start on that whenever. Eternity was a long time, and he saw no reason to start it at a sprint. Not when he had the time and money to enjoy you fully, both of you parasite and responsibility-free.

The first six months were spent solely into being cooped up together, exploring each other in every way imaginable. It had been one thing to fall in love on the road with adrenaline pumping in your veins. A near death experience on every horizon, versus quiet and peaceful nights together, with nothing to do but enjoy each other's company. Astarion was nearly surprised at just how easily he fell deeper and deeper in love with you as the time passed. Everything. You're body, you're mind, you're voice, you're charm, he was starving for all of it, at all times.

It had been a lovely six months, only interrupted by an impromptu reunion from Withers. It had been interesting enough, but the exposure to others just made Astarion realize how unwilling he was to let you go quite yet. No, his plans for Baldur's Gate could continue to wait. Instead of beginning his plans, he asked you to name anywhere in the world that you had dreamed of visiting. And he took your answer and ran with it, solely because he could. So off to Neverwinter you went, the both of you still sickeningly in love on the way. It was such a silly trip, mostly spent with you obsessing over their famous gardens and flowers. A subject that would have made Astarion’s skin crawl in a past life. But… seeing you smile as you sniffed every flowered plant you could find was too endearing for him to resist. It helped that you were very… open to his own interests, no matter where the urge may struck.

It was quite thrilling, to be powerful enough to get away with anything. He hadn’t been above killing anyone who saw your more public escapades, but for the few who he spared, he had more than enough coin to keep their mouths shut. You spent longer there than Astarion had ever anticipated, but things had just happened. The two of you bought a house on a whim, tired of inn prices when you could create your own home for a combined less gold. Before he knew it, you were buying the property next door as well, opening shop for your mage and witch brews. It was a fine enough life, interesting enough to hold Astarion’s attention when you both opened up a side business, a small but lively assaination agency.

It was fun, killing those who were totally powerless to fight against him, deserving or not. Funnier still when he was able to do it with you. There had been so many blood filled nights that ended in lust-filled moans, Astarion would never fail to remember those years with an intense fondness. Nearly eight years passed before the two of you moved onto the next area, stopping for a few years in the countryside just for the hells of it. It was nice to take breaks from society to just enjoy each other, a tradition the both of you would keep throughout the decades.

Your next stop was Waterdeep, with an unfortunate encounter with Gale himself. Unfortunate being that you still considered him a friend, and somehow convinced Astarion to help him with his next scheme. He was once again on the topic of stealing ancient magic books, enticing them with the promise of sharing their knowledge. One that he followed through on, but also one that took six years to keep. It had been… an experience to travel with Gale for that long, even if most of it had been working separately while communicating. But still, the constant communication had been trying, even if the knowledge you both received has been more than worth it.

But with that, you had no reason to stay. The two of you moved on, taking a break from the larger cities to explore smaller, more ancient areas. It was quite the experience, with some villages being as dull as a box of rocks, and others exposing magical secrets beyond what his old self could ever comprehend. It was through investigation into life in rural Faerun, and a fascinating one at that. One that only ended in three villages being burned to the ground and five murderers. All within the span of ten years. How much more of a peaceful time could one ask for?

It was nearly too peaceful, enough to finally drag Astarion out of the pleasant stupor he had been in. Everything in life for the past three decades had been wonderful and beautiful. But it was time to move on to better things. He had greater plans for the both of you, visions of your names staining every history book known to man. And it would all begin with securing Baldur’s Gate.

He told you as soon as he was sure, more than ready for your worried response, “Are you sure we can?”

The two of you were in bed together, your arms loosely draped over each other’s bodies. Your life of leisure had made you doubtful, a symptom that Astarion had expected.

He sighed, tightening his hold on you as he answered, “Of course darling. With me by your side, there’s nothing to doubt.”

“But… I like what we have. Will… will we always just be doing plans for regional domination?”

Astarion almost rolled his eyes. He hadn’t survived this long to be naive to the benefits of leisure time.

“Whoever said that vacations would never come into play?” He asked with a smirk, leaking in to kiss your cheek, “I swear you’ll have plenty more years alone with me darling, you can be sure of that.”

That seemed enough to appease you. You sighed, a tell tale sign that you were willingingly giving in, “Okay. Do we leave tomorrow?”

“Not until I make a few more arrangements,,” Astarion said, “You’ll know when it’s time.”

“Okay,” You nodded with a yawn, more than used to your future being semi-unclear. But that was okay. You knew to trust Astarion with your future, just one more thing that he loved about you, “Just try to give me some warning.”

“I’ll try,” Astairon lied, more than prepared to swoop you up in the middle of the night if the urge called for it, “Now rest darling. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

“I love you,” You sighed before letting your eyes slip closed. Instantly following with your natural instinct to obey.

Astarion smiled to himself as he watched you fall under, murmuring under his breath, “I love you too my treasure, more than you’ll ever know.”He meant it with every fiber of his being, the seemingly only constant of his existence. Maybe it was closer to an obsession than the pure love that people dreamed about, but he couldn’t care less. What you had was better. And with you by his side, anything was possible.

#astarion #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav #you'll pry my long posts out of my cold dead hands #ascended astarion #long fic #spoilers #i am making bad man romantic but he still bad #like canon?#I don't know her #two more to go~

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starbabyg · 2 years

Text

From the Window | Jack Hughes smut

Warnings; smut, voyeurism (Jack being a lil peeping tom) + also thinking about making this a mini series cause I wanna do different versions of Jack/different outcomes I couldn’t settle on how I wanted this to play out ughh

***

You knew he could see you. Your window was in the perfect view shot from his balcony. With its large window panes and no obstructions, he could see right into your room. But you liked that. It became a habit for the two of you. Jack coming out to his balcony to get a glimpse of you as you changed in front of your mirror and window. This daily routine started one early evening as Jack went out to his balcony to get some fresh air, just to sit outside and look at his surroundings. He watched the street, people walking by, until his wandering eyes landed on your bedroom window, and subsequently you changing looking for the perfect outfit.

‘Why the hell is she changing with her curtains wide open?’ He thought as he continued to stare at you while you pondered if the bra you were wearing went with the top that was over it. Your head titled to the side, holding up a couple different tops before you tossed them to the side. Jack felt like a creep, but he was too intrigued with what he was seeing to stop and go back inside. You shook your head, taking off the shirt. The bra just had to go. You slipped off your bra, making Jack’s eyes widen and his cheeks flush, he couldn’t believe what the hell was going on in front of him. ‘Jesus I’m just like that stalker guy from You.’

It was all adorable to you really, you saw the whole thing from the corner of your eye. The little gasp leave his mouth, the disbelief on his face, the way he was contemplating on leaving because he knew it was wrong. You didn’t know him personally, but you always had a little crush on neighbor boy who lived across the street. You’d see him leave his place, walking down the street only to come back with a sandwich from the neighborhood deli. You would catch him running around the block, sometimes shirtless when the weather was too hot. Would you have been completely weirded out if it were any other guy? Yes. But Jack had pretty privilege and you gave him a pass.

You changed into a lacy bralette, it was cup-less but your boobs just looked so cute nice and snug in it. You decided to play a little game with lurking neighbor boy, who never took the bait and made a move. You gave ‘em a nice squeeze, looking at yourself in the mirror before turning towards the window, looking straight at Jack. You pointed at your tits, mouthing ‘This one?’, before slyly taking it off and putting on a mesh balconette. ‘Or this one?’ Jack just stood there, mouth agape. Was this really happening? Or was his mind just that sick and perverted that his voyeuristic tendencies has got his mind seeing things? He blinked a couple times, trying to wrap his brain around getting caught and put in this situation. You rolled your eyes, what is with this boy? Jack just turned his neck and scanned the street, he was so embarrassed he had to look anywhere that wasn’t your bedroom window. But by the time he looked back, you were gone. Maybe he was just seeing what his gross imagination just wanted to see. He sighed before walking inside, he could never show his face on his balcony again.

Jack plopped himself on his couch and ran his hands down his face, recollecting himself after his sicko self just got caught peeping. ‘I’m a sick sick person,’ he thought before a knock on his door shook him out of his thoughts. “Hello—”, Jack was too stunned to speak, seeing the girl from the window there at his front door. In her hands the two bras that she was trying on.

“It’s you, from across the street,” his voice was meek and his cheeks were rosy. He felt his face getting hot. You surely had to be there to call him out for being a pervert. Probably gonna get a restraining order as well. You’d probably be leaving with bruised knuckles and giving him a black eye as a parting gift. And maybe that thought turned Jack on juuuuust a little bit.

“Yup. Me from across the street. It’s you from the balcony. Enjoy the little show?” You had a smug look on your face, enjoying seeing him all flustered.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to watch me? You know this isn’t the first time I’ve seen you watch me from your balcony,” You perked up your brow.

“It’s not even like that I just happen to–”

“Happen to be watching me as I change? It’s become our little ritual. Don’t deny tradition,” you teased him. “Can I come in?” You didn’t even wait for an answer, you laid a delicate hand on his chest before playfully shoving him out of the way and making your way to his couch. “You know I asked you a question, why didn’t you answer?”

Jack turned around, still confused that this was truly happening and not just a sick dream, “I didn’t know you knew I was watching you. I look like a creep. I’m kind of embarrassed. Like really.” His hand made its way to the back of his neck as he sorely rubbed it, somehow thinking that would diffuse the tension he felt.

“You’re lucky I’ve always had a crush on you, if you were anybody else I would have marched over and cussed you out,” you poked his shoulder, getting handsy with him, “But back to my question, which bra?” You tilted your head to the side and gave him a sweet smile, holding a bra in both hands.

“I–I don’t know um,” Jack went back to stuttering. He looked down at your chest, your nipples prodding through the thin material of your tank top. Ugh how cute he was in this babbling state.

“You need a little refresher?” You slowly took off your tank top, gauging his reaction as you slipped on the laced bralette once again. “Does this one look cute?” As you asked you trailed a delicate finger up and down the valley of your cleavage. You grabbed Jack’s hand, audaciously placing it on your tit. “Well don’t be shy, how does it look? How does it feel?”

Jack gave it a squeeze, “They’re perfect. Really,” he put his other hand on the other one. Jack didn’t know what good deed he did to deserve to be in this position, but he was thanking God indubitably.

“But do they look better in this one,” you took the bralette off and slowly slid on the straps of the balconette before clipping it in the back. Your breasts sat nicely on the underwire, your nipples being fully seen through the transparent fabric. Little lace flowers adorned all around them. Jack just couldn’t take any more of this teasing.

“I think they’d look better in my mouth,” Jack yanked the bra straps off you, enveloping one boob in his large hand and the other going straight in his mouth. Jack swirled his tongue around your nipple before giving it a harsh suck. You couldn’t help but let out a loud moan. The pressure he was putting started to make them sensitive to the touch.

“Fuck,” you let out between strained moans, “I never got your name.” Your hand made its way to the back of his head, pushing it as to keep him in that position.

“Jack,” he grunted before moving on to your other boob. “And you?” His tongue was truly something special, with every flick and swish and swirl you were slowly reaching nirvana. Was it possible to orgasm just from nipple stimulation?

“It’s–fuck– y/n.” Your eyes were closed in pure bliss. Nothing has ever felt better for you. This boy was just an angel.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” Jack started to lead kisses down your navel, still squeezing your breasts as to not leave them unattended. After all, they were the star of the show.

You laughed at that, “Cute and corny huh.”

“Shut up, I’m still a little nervous. I can’t believe this is happening all because I got caught looking at you through your window,” he chuckled, giving you a soft bite before tugging down your shorts and underwear. The girls had their play time, now it’s time for mama.

Jack used the pad of his thumb to play with your clit, nice soft circles as he stared at the marvelous sight in front of him, “So pretty, never in a million years did I think I’d get to see the girl across the street splayed out on my couch.” He left a kiss on your clit before diving straight in. The attention he was giving your nipples was directed straight to your punani. This boy was just talented with his tongue. He knew exactly where to lick and how fast to go.

“You’re fucking amazing. I should’ve confronted you sooner if I knew you could give head like this,” you started to grind into his face a little bit, yanking at his auburn locks to gain more friction. If his head were any indication of how good he could fuck then lord were you in for a treat.

“Yeah, you really should have. I could’ve just been fucking you like this everyday,” Jack pulled down his shorts, giving his dick a couple pumps before teasing your entrance. He rubbed his tip on your clit, tapping it a few times before he hastily inserted himself inside of you. At this point you were seeing stars. The way he was hitting the back of your walls, the way he slammed right back into you with each long stroke. You could really fall in love with neighbor boy at this rate. Jack’s hands gripped your hips roughly, using you as something to lean on as his tilted hips snapped against yours. He was drilling you straight into is couch, and you couldn’t help but feel like the ultimate pillow princess with the nasty treatment he was giving you. He looked so sweet and innocent you were surprised at how he fucked you into oblivion.

“You feel so good wrapped around me,” he grunted into your ear before he started leaving sloppy kisses on your neck. Each one given with pressure that would surely leave a mark. Jack sped up his rhythm, giving you that familiar knot in your stomach.

“I–I’m gonna cum. Fuck–” You moaned, gripping his arms and looking Jack straight in your eyes. That look you gave him drove him right over the edge, motivating him to fuck you faster and harder. You tried your hardest not to scream and scare the neighbors, but your mission failed as he hit your G spot. You let out a string of moans as you rode out your high, in a hazy bliss.

“Fuck that was hot,” Jack came shortly after you, the sight of you orgasming doing it for him. “Yup that just solidified my crush on you. Marry me at this point, we can go to the courthouse right now it reopens in five minutes,” he laughed.

“Five minutes? That would make it almost three–oh shit I gotta go,” you remembered the reason why you were getting ready in the first place, you had planned to go to the movies with your best friend. You scribbled down your number on a little note pad Jack had laying around, still topless as you scurried about trying to find those damn bras.

Jack was just lounging on the couch, admiring you in all your glory, still in awe he had his once untouchable muse in his living room. “I think you should go with the lil bralette. Looks cute seeing the little edges poking out from the top and the straps too. In my personal opinion.” Jack handed you the second bra that you were looking for, motioning for you to come closer to him. “Arms up,” he smiled as he placed the bralette over your shoulders and adjusted it so it fit properly.

“Thanks, Jack,” you smiled as you felt his still unfamiliar name roll off your tongue, “Call me sometime.” And with that you rushed out his place and hurried across the street to yours. It wasn’t even five minutes later when you heard the honk of your best friend.

You quickly grabbed your bag and ran outside, still looking a mess from your little rendezvous. Your hair was up in a sloppy bun, no makeup done except for the now smudged mascara around your eyes. You shut your front door, looked up and could see Jack, once again on his balcony, smiling as he inconspicuously gave you a look of knowing.

Your best friend rolled down their window, “Jesus, what the hell happened to you?”

You smiled with a sigh before hopping into the car, “You don’t even wanna know.”

***

Ughhhh I wanna write longer fics but I’m not used to posting on tumblr I’ve been a Wattpad girly for almost a decade now for writing sighhh.

#jack hughes smut #Jack hughes #jack hughes one shot #jack hughes dirty #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fic #hockey #hockey smut #hockey fic #hockey imagine #new jersey devils smut #new jersey devils #nhl #nhl smut #nhl imagine #quinn hughes #Luke hughes #umich hockey #umich boys

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rhimestonetalks · 8 months

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White Raven

Warnings: Dark content, spit kink, creepy behavior, non-con, cumming like everywhere, overall shitty Leon, mentions of stalking, he's rough with it, mentions of previous non-con, mentions of kidnapping (only at the end), breaking n entering, borderline somnophilia, abuse

A/N: I've shared this idea with someone b4 but now i'm going into FULL description bc yummm icky Leon

For the past two weeks, you've been waking up every morning with drool leaking from the corners of your mouth. You assumed you just had a habit to drool a lot in your sleep so you started leaving tissues on your bedside table so you can wipe that drool away when you wake up. It became a recurring thing that you just got used to. You saw nothing wrong with how much drool there was when you woke up, it seemed normal to you. It became normal to you. Unfortunately, it was anything but normal. The truth was much more sickening that you could possibly imagine, more sickening than anyone could imagine, and you were about to find out that truth in the worst way possible. At 3:00AM, the time typically associated with demons. They aren't far off on their assumptions honestly.

You barely awoke to the sound of your bedroom door creaking open. You were only half awake, your eyes still closed but your ears listening to the sounds in the room. Think of it as a defense mechanism, a safety protocol your body had set in place. Not like it would ever help you. It was only when whatever was in here started walking towards you did your eyes open just a little. All you could see in the darkness was a figure slowly starting to creep onto your bed.

You closed your eyes again, assuming it was just some sleep paralysis demon your brain conjured up to scare you. You've experienced this once or twice before and you knew you could ignore it to make it leave so of course you'd close your eyes and silently prayed it would leave. It didn't go away though. It wasn't going to go away. Not yet, not now, and probably ever. It's hand gripped your jaw and forced your mouth open. Why could you feel it? They've never touched you before and you really didn't expect it to be this realistic. In fact, it was unnerving. Your heart rate picked up and you tried not to breathe. You were sure it would disappear if you displayed no reaction.

but it didn't. It didn't go away. and now you were terrified. In a panic, you opened your eyes only to see a man. This wasn't sleep paralysis. Someone had broke into your house and was now on top of you. Out of nowhere, he spat into your mouth which he held open with his rough hand and suddenly everything clicked. You haven't been uncontrollably drooling for the past two weeks. This man had been entering your house and spitting over and over into your mouth.

Now your brain was in fight or flight mode. You weren't just going to sit back and let him do this because what the fuck? You were quick to try push him off but, unfortunately for you, this guy had a quick reaction time and he was incredibly strong. You didn't even have time to react by the time he had your arms pinned down with just one hand. You kept trying to struggle free, not wanting to see what happens next.

"Stop fucking struggling, it'll hurt more," he says with anger evident in his tone. You recognized that voice. Where did you recognize it from? Who knows. Who cares, frankly, he's clearly a sicko. "Get off of me!" you yell out and all you get in response is punched and fuck it stung. It dazed you for a few short seconds and all you could feel was blood slowly falling from your nose.

The daze didn't last long because you snapped back to reality when he started pulling your pants down. Oh fuck no. You started struggling again and, in response, he wrapped his hand around your throat, choking you. It wasn't long before both his and your pants were off and you knew that meant only one thing.

"It's your fault for struggling, if you had just sat there and taken it like a good girl we wouldn't be here," he says but you're too dazed to process what he's saying, you're just trying to breathe. He wasn't gentle at all. He had no respect, no moral, no fucks to give. He had been through hell and he believed he deserved all the gifts in the world, including you.

He thrusted in without any prep and, god, it hurt like hell. He was rough, and cruel, and he only cared about his own pleasure. His hips were ramming against yours and you were incredibly overwhelmed. Maybe you should've listened to him, maybe you should've just sat there and taken it. At least then he wouldn't do this and you could've just moved countries the next day. Oh god, now you were being manipulated into blaming yourself. You couldn't help it, not when all you could feel was him fucking you with no remorse while choking you to the brink of passing out. Could this count as torture? It should.

"I'm gonna make a fucking mess of you," he spoke through grunts while keeping his fast pace. You were sure you were about to cum but that was short lived when he pulled out and stroked his cock a few times before cumming all over you. Fucking.. gross. "I hope you didn't think you'd get to cum, you've been nothing but a bitch to me," he spoke again while looking down at you. Maybe he was a sleep paralysis demon, he certainly was a monster.

He spat again, right on your face and even had the audacity to use his hand and rub it around. You felt disgusted, humiliated, and worthless but, at least it was over, right? Wrong, his hand around your neck suddenly tightened and you started seeing black dots in your vision.

"I'm gonna keep you locked away with me so I can use that tight little pussy everyday," he said and the last thing on your mind was how absolutely fucked you were before you felt him thrust right back in.

Link to my profile :3

#leon kennedy #resident evil #smut #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy fanfic #resident evil smut #leon s kennedy #re6 leon #re6 smut #dead dove #nasty fic #rhimestone talks

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blixabargelds · 1 month

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The superstar prompt was so sweet and special, really enjoyed it, you are such a talented writing.

I’m so curious about bucky and buck in this world, like how’d they meet or what their relationship dynamic is like or how it changes with time. Very excited for anything that you write.

thank you so so much i’m sooo overwhelmed that ppl seem to be liking it (elo too, i’ve been feeding all this back to them!) especially considering we’ve not posted any fic yet jgkgk we must have about 20k+ written but it’s all out of order bc we’ve extensively planned the whole thing and just keep writing bits we want to most instead of chronologically 😭 we really kept joking that it would have like 5 readers max when we finally start posting it but seeing that that’s not true we are working on being more organised lmaoo

they meet at a gig. john (vocals), rosie (guitar), and curt (drums) are punk band the b17s that need a new bassist. it’s kind of love at first listen for gale, and he ends up joining and leaving wyoming with them (he cannot play bass. rosie teaches him. he’s a very dedicated student and gradually becomes an animal on stage).

john n gale are head over heels. throughout the whole thing even though things get pretty bad and they probably should split about 70 times they never do and their love is really the whole thing that guides them through everything to the (eventual, very eventual) happy, not perfect but god happy, ending.

their dynamic changes many times, especially when gale gets into drugs with john (he was squeaky clean and sober when they meet). it changes depending on the drugs they’re doing too (gale on coke- euphoric until the months long comedown. john on coke- tense. john on heroin- distant. gale and john on heroin- inseparable, invincible, sharing one soul. gale on heroin- living on completely separate planets).

a lot of bad shit happens as you’d imagine. three (four?) overdoses, lying, arguing, one attempted murder (not between them lol). one actual murder (also not between them lmfao). two rock bottoms as low as you can go.

it’s also filthy. they fuck like insane people. in bathrooms, in bedrooms, in their makeshift studio, in their van, in clubs, at gigs.

and there’s so much love. they are so so in love despite it all. and they get off drugs in the end.

it’s not fluffy. the whole thing is for the sickos for sure. but it isn’t brutal all the way through. there’s a lot of genuine sweetness. it’s also really funny in parts. i’m really so touched that people are interested we did not expect that. it’s become wildly important to both of us. we are both addicts, and we love addicts so so deeply it’s a kinship like nothing else i’ve known to be able to write candidly about things a lot of people turn away from in discomfort and to turn to each other and say ‘writing that was rough’ or ‘writing that was so fun’ or ‘writing that made me horny’ or ‘writing that really made me want to do x again’ and your collaborator saying ‘well don’t, do it to john and gale instead’ and saying ‘yeah, that would feel a lot better’. and so far it has.

#superstar #frankiefic #masters of the air #clegan #mota #cw drugs #cw addiction

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rustingways · 2 months

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I just had an interesting thought or maybe its stupid, feel free to ignore this if you think so😂 But in the books Armand is nearly killed by a poisoned blade, right? And in the show it says he nearly died from an illness. Wouldn't it be interesting if 'the illness' was actually the poison. What if it was from the blade and he still had the scar? I just think that would be so interesting. Also imagine Daniel tenderly kissing that scar😭

I went to answer this this morning then watched in horror as my entire post evaporated while switching apps, so here’s take two!

If you haven’t read TVA, yes, Armand’s death is brought about by a poisoned blade. Without getting too bogged down in the why, chapter six opens with his duel against Lord Harlech and Armand admitting he’s not great with a sword, but not knowing what else to do in the moment. He gets caught once on his left arm. And once on his face. Unfortunately for Harlech…

Amadeo is coveted for his beauty. Armand describes this as vanity, but I think this scene can be interpreted as Harlach infringing on Armand’s sense of worth by slicing his face, and Armand abandoning any sense of self-preservation to retaliate (winning him the duel). The poison overwhelms him in less than a few days.

In the novels, there’s a HUGE emphasis on how flawless, poreless, smooth, and increasingly firm vampiric skin is, likened to satin or marble. Daniel’s human teeth can’t pierce Armand’s skin, and Lestat describes feeding from Akasha as breaking through a crust or shell. I think the movie adaptation addressed that with eerie makeup choices (pale white skin and vivid blue veins) but I suspect the series has foregone that particular aspect of vampirism, as it can quickly devolve into a focus on how pale they are and how they become paler over time. I think the show has chosen instead to convey the visible uncanniness of vampires with their eyes (aggressive contact colors, giant pupils, Armand’s…. shivery eye thing), which strikes me as a good and sensible choice, and permits for a diverse cast without making any…questionable or outright racist choices with the lore.

BUT the show has established that being turned heals wounds with Claudia’s turning. Not Louis’ version (or rather, Claudia’s), but Lestat’s. Covered in burns and not a mark to show for it post vampirism.

I think the implication in the show is that Amadeo was suffering some sort of wasting illness before being turned. Possibly he was suffering for months to years before being turned (unlike the few days of poison). Had a poisoned blade left some sort of disfiguring facial scar on Amadeo, it ABSOLUTELY would’ve reduced his worth to Marius. But it’s INCREDIBLY likely that Amadeo’s worth was already somewhat reduced in Marius’ eyes by the time he was turned in the show, especially given Armand’s “meatier in the forearms” comment.

But… you can certainly poison someone slowly over time in a way that seems like a wasting illness, can’t you? This delightful post links to a whole essay deep diving into a particular character featured in both TVA and Blood and Gold and certain… motivations she might have in that regard. Nothing confirmed, of course, but you might be on to something, anon.

That being said, an AU where Daniel does get to tenderly kiss Armand’s scars 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 you must be trying to kill me. I really hope we get to see some tenderness of theirs in the future, but I expect the upcoming season to feature them at their most fucked up, tbh. I won’t be complaining. I will be enjoying it. Very much. Like a sicko.

Thank you for the ask, anon, this was a fun breakdown to think about!

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #iwtv spoilers #book spoilers #interview with the vampire amc #amc interview with the vampire #iwtv series #iwtv s2 #amc iwtv #iwtv amc #armand #the vampire armand #vampire armand #armand the vampire #daniel molloy #rw.vamp #rw.ask

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qu0rky · 4 months

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I like Dottozhu. I like Dottozhu very much.

Canonically they have never met, and probably never will meet. But i still like it.

The moral dilemma, Baizhu may be the only man Dottore is sweet to, because how could anyone hate Baizhu.

Baizhu is beautiful, i know it, you know it, Lee Knows it (get out of here, wrong fandom buddy), and Dottore should know it as well.

Two doctors who practice in VERY different ways, but two doctors nonetheless. They could bond over that.

Dottore finds out his pretty liyuan boyfriend has a child, Dottore does not mind. Qiqi gets another dad.

But let’s imagine they met when they were much younger.

I like to believe a certain someone attended the Akademiya as well.

So they meet as students, have a falling out after graduating, Dottore goes sicko mode, they meet again, the spark is still there. One could not deny. Dottore may be a piece of shit but he would not fumble this badly. So he takes his chance.

Don’t mind me, just planting this little seed in your head

#if this is wildly inaccurate idc #have never kept up with the genshin lore i’m sorry it’s too much #dottozhu #thinking thoughts again #genshin impact #baizhu #dottore #qiqi #joint fatherhood

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pocketwei · 9 months

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hii do you perhaps have any dofuwani fics recommendation. I've checked out the the ao3 but I really don't seem to like anything there after scrolling thru the most kudos'd works... I feel like you (and a few other artists) get them and I wanted to read things in a similar tone as your art and so far I'm in the trenches bleeding out. like obviously no offense to any of the writers it's just that all the like modern highschool loving dad croc and etc aus are not for me... OTL I hope I'm not sounding rude and thank you for your time!

oh anon come rest your head upon my bosom.... I got you anon..... as a fellow slave to canon-compliance I, too, know the pain of sifting through pages upon pages of AUs, not that there's anything wrong with them but I just can't imagine these sickos working a 9 to 5 in a suit...... thank you for thinking my vision of dofuwani is trust-worthy, this is vain on my part but it genuinely means a lot <3 OK rant over here are the goods, in no particular order (always mind the tags but I figure if you asked me for dfwn sacred texts you're probably a fellow sicko):

that was now and this is then. by ghostwit (M): one of my favourite ever, perhaps even my favourite. About a long relationship, about twisting each other inside the skin, about being formative to each other in ways so deep and intertwined that they can't seem to tear one apart from the other. And despite it all* (*the murders and the hatred and the irreconciliable flaws and differences of their Ego (philosophical) and the unbearable, unacceptable vulnerability of understanding), they are, somehow, unforgivably and incomprehensibly, in love. *smashes head against pavement, it cracks open like an egg, spilling millions of dofuwani thoughts everywhere

no better irony by ghostwit (E): shichibukai meeting sidequest...... excellent characterisation like everything Haze writes (it's just The Best dofuwani there is..... read everything he wrote please). I'm so fond of them in that fic in a way that's like. watching stick bugs in a terrarium. You don't understand them and they don't understand you but you're just happy they're having fun. You wouldn't join in for anything in the world though.

like i need a gaping headwound by ghostwit (M): loguetown era dfwn, Haze back at it with formative years and the fresh sprouts of insanity in these two. So so so good.

nothing in this world that's quite prescribable by ghostwit (T): the opening of this fic is perhaps one of my favourite scenes ever. Vulnerability and odd transparence that only drunken disinhibition allows. Which is rare for these two. Absolutely adore this one.

honestly you can and should read everything Haze has written for these two they're just so AUGHHHHHH

black & bloody & rotten & perfect by revolvermonkcelot (M): perfect capture of the fine line between (????love, perhaps) and insanity they walk on. Absolutely fucking insane about this one, the reverence and sacrality of their whole thing, the Indulgence:tm: and permission that can be revoked (for Crocodile is mercurial in his vulnerability), but that is somehow maintained in a delicate and incomprehensible equilibrium. + absolutely incredible undertones of wani (trans)identity crisis, the imperceptible yet meaningful and constant change of the Form... Head in hands

Just a taste by marimoes (M): perfect perfect perfect characterisation, little gestures that betray familiarity. Perfect on all accounts

Swallow by revolvermonkcelot (M): my roman empire. Absolutely perfect Wani characterisation, it's The Wani for me. Exploits perfectly the essential dfwn dichotomy of "one entity tumbling down and the other rising up, meeting halfway through in the eye of the storm, in a singular moment". Classy cannibalism that ties to the no-less essential concept of consumption, to be/become whole again. The reason why they somehow stick together is because of this primordial longing for something, for understanding perhaps, for beauty sometimes, for belonging. Fcuking hell I love them so mucj

A Bird and His Cage by doctornemesis (E): read this one a long time ago but it's in my bookmarks so I trust past me's judgment and tell you it's amazing

From Dressrosa with Love by Sibilans (E, on-going): incredible atmosphere, perfectly depicts the post-golden age rotting glamour of Dressrosa. They are particularly unhinged in this one.

i wanna hurt you just to hear you screaming my name by stealth-black-leg (Kiir_Bee) (E): I'm running out of steam for long meaningful comments but this one has top tier characterisation.

That's it!! Don't forget to comment and leave kudos to give writers the love they deserve <3

#mei speaks #fics recs #these are so so good #pspsps dofuwani enjoyers come get ur food.....

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wiredust · 4 months

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the dead boy detectives agency as ballet dancers

ok this is purely self-indulgent and is really only a result of me trying to smash two interests together + george saying he took ballet classes for edwin's character

edwin

that one dancer who's so intimidating at the bar and has a meticulous stretch routine. by the time it's center he's doing ALL the combos, both for guys and girls. not the coolest outfits, usually just a plain white shirt, black tights. sometimes he wears a leotard but still has black tights/leggings over it ALWAYS.

his favorite exercises are anything adagio, but everyone agrees his jumps are gorgeous & he has the most perfect double tour.

every girl's favorite for partnering classes because he's so stable and can lift anyone up without trouble.

fave move: attitude promenade / least fave move: cabriole back

crystal

totally a jumper, especially loves big jumps. she's that dancer that seems intimidating at first, but then she goes up to you to give a little advice/correction and it turns out she's an actual sweetheart. always wears cool leotards with wacky patterns, and does her hair up in a different way for every class.

that OR she trained classically for a couple years but ultimately leaned more into contemp/modern with a little bit of neoclassical.

fave move: sisonne ouverte / least fave move: lame ducks (step over turns)

charles

always layers up during class but by the end he's just in a tank top in shorts. he loves small jumps and fast exercises. that one dancer at the end of the class who keeps doing a la seconde turns even when there's no music, and just casually does 5 pirouettes at a time. literally the cleanest entreche sais ever, and adds beats to every jump even if he doesnt need to.

he's also be that one guy in partnering classes who (if you're a girl) tries to spin you like 6 times even if you have no more momentum. super strong too and it would be so easy to just lean on him when balancing.

fave move: brush jete / least fave move: developpe center

niko

always the cutest outfits !! adorable leotards with matching legwarmers, skirts, and a bunwrap. adage girl with extensions and arches that everyone's jealous of. definitely a gaynor minden girly. she literally has the cleanest turns imaginable it's superhuman.

fave move: fouettes, like a sicko / least fave move: coupe jete

monty

he's a musical theater kid, obviously. (though i could see him having some classical training up until middle school or so)

#yes month is part of the dbda #dead boy detectives #dead boy detective agency #the dead boy detectives #edwin payne #charles rowland #niko sasaki #crystal palace #monty the crow

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chumpovodir · 6 days

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Your last post reminded me of one of my favorite Isaactor fanarts on Pixiv <3

(the little 2009 in the corner makes me cry)

There is no context to this. The title is "don't betray me", and one of the tags says "why did you leave Isaac's side?". The whole vibe is delightfully yandereish, I'm imagining a scenario where Isaac won against Hector and dragged him to some dungeons to make sure he will never leave him behind again :3c and he's desperate, he's staining himself with Hector's own blood, but Hector... doesn't seem too troubled.

I don't know, I just love how it leaves so much to the imagination, but most of all I haven't seen much of possessive Isaac in the Isaactor fandom while to me it's pretty obvious. Hector crawled away to die alone precisely to deny him the warmth of a mutual death? Well, Isaac will kill the both of them so that they'll spend the rest of eternity together in Hell <3

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

thankyouthankyouthankyou for the food i am *inhaling* this.

let me just. put the rest of this under a cut these two make me absolutely insane and i need to ramble about it

ok, first thing: the fanart because holy shit this is like the perfect microcosm of how i view their relationship. and i just have to talk about their faces, in particular:

it's beautiful, your honor

it would be so easy to visualize this piece of artwork with their expressions swapped - Isaac looking down at his prisoner with a wicked, satisfied sense of glee, Hector looking up at his jailer with a pained grimace, terrified of what's to come next and knowing full well what Isaac is capable of. your typical seme-uke dynamics in a kidnapping/whump-type yaoi plotline, in other words (or Lenector *coughcough*)

but the fact the artist chose not to go that route? delicious and canon, imo.

if it weren't for the blood in the part i cropped above, this would look like a heartfelt embrace by two lovers who have finally confessed their feelings for one another~

but then you see the rest of the image and immediately understand: there is something deeply wrong with both of these people, which perfectly fits my vision of Isaactor, for reasons i'll go into more detail a bit later.

and speaking of the blood, isn't it interesting that, here, Isaac has chosen to injure Hector in a way where it's obvious he's hurt, but not so much so that Hector is actually bothered by the physical pain? it's almost as if... Isaac has such a deep understanding of Hector's limits and is deliberately restraining himself :) or perhaps, he can't quite bring himself to hurt Hector in any meaningful way...? :)) well, he wouldn't want to break his favorite toy, right :)))

Isaac, who calls himself "fearsome and cruel". Isaac, who swore Hector would suffer "a most gruesome death". and yet, when he finally has Hector in his grasp, all he can do is hold on to his friend for dear life and affirm to himself that he's real, he's actually there, and this time, there's no escape for him.

and for Hector's part in this interaction, i think that look on his face is a knowing one - knowing that the worst pain Isaac could ever inflict on him has (killing Rosaly) already come to pass, that nothing Isaac would be willing to do at that point could ever come close again. it's the smug arrogance of someone that is finally seeing his friend's true feelings for him in full display, and choosing, in his powerlessness, to hurt him back by not only not reciprocating, but actively rebuff him, at the cost of his own wellbeing, and taking a sick sense of satisfaction away from that very tiny victory over Isaac.

they're obsessed with each other, your honor. just two stubborn sickos choosing to spend the rest of their limited lives making the other as miserable as they can stand to expend their exhausted willpower to, now that any other meaningful relationship they had has been snatched away <3 the absolute worst outcome in a court-mandated denial of divorce <33

the tl;dr i'm imagining for this situation would be: Isaac loves to hurt Hector. Hector loves to watch him fucking try. toxic yaoi at it's finest~

and of course, we can't ignore in a post-CoD scenario like this where both Hector and Isaac live, but Hector lost, it would mean Isaac has made the conscious decision to not bring his Lord back. i wonder what that says about Isaac's priorities :)

second thing:

Isaac's ass. that's it, that's the point i wanted to draw attention to. you and i both know Isaac is as flat as a board back there, but we'll be thankful anyway to the artist for giving him a little bit of definition where it counts 🙏

next thing: the use of the term "Yandere" to describe Isaac's possessiveness? literally perfect but i'm so hesitant to apply it to Isaac bc of the fandom's long track record with using it as a denigratory term when referring to how his character lacks depth ala your stereotypical "psychopathic jilted ex" villain

even people who don't subscribe to that reading tend to only defend him based on a technicality, ie "Isaac isn't actually Yandere, because Yanderes start off being normal and showing affection in an acceptable manner before it warps into obsession!"

and that's the rub for me, i don't think Isaac was ever really normal about how he felt about Hector, which I will now try to explain my viewpoint on:

so first off, i'll address this post i made over a year ago where i first explained my vision for them and, how, for the most part it still remains true.

in hindsight, i would really only add that this is how i view their pre-CV3 relationship, which is basically the most positive and healthy it will ever be. but in a hypothetical post-CoD scenario like the above, where they're both so broken by trauma and ravaged by Dracula's curse? then yeah, pile on the abuse lmao

anyway, i think the crux of Isaac's problems is that he truly does love Hector, and he's cognizant of it - and that scares him. because he can't separate the idea of loving his friend from loving the Lord he swore loyalty to before Hector ever came into the picture. his view of love is a zero-sum game (god i hope i'm using this term right), whereby if he claims to love Hector, then it must mean he doesn't love his Lord. add to this the idea of Isaac centering his whole identity and life purpose on serving Dracula and you start to understand why this is such a distressing revelation for him.

and how does he deal with it? well he doesn't, of course. lmao.

but ahh, the thing Isaac hates the most about himself is his humanity, and it's that same humanity that causes Isaac to be ruled by his emotions. and boy, does he feel alot of things whenever Hector is around~

he loves Hector, but hates that he causes Isaac's loyalty to his Lord to waiver. he's so proud of Hector becoming such a capable practitioner of the dark arts, thanks to his guidance, but hates that he's now overshadowed Isaac's own accomplishments and standing in their Lord's eyes. and it just goes on and on like that, this constantly alternating, hot-and-cold feeling towards Hector that he can never properly square away (at least, not without a heaping load of therapy) that feeds into his obsession with him.

and i think the possessiveness that eventually bubbles to the surface then stems not from a selfish desire to simply have Hector all to himself, but as damage control for Isaac's fragile sense of self - he reasons that it's Hector's actions that cause the friction in his everyday life, and, eventually and however indirectly, the total downfall of his safety and stability. so his "solution" amounts to something like "control Hector, and he can never have that kind of world-shattering power over you ever again" (the fact that he gets to make Hector suffer is just a tasty bonus~) just. a very fear-based, self-preservation type of reaction from the most animalistic recesses of his brain in response to what are very human emotions. which makes for the best kinds of dysfunction and drama imo :3

so yeah, Yandere is definitely one of the vibes i was going for but like. in a verrrry specific reading of that term lmao.

and also, since you've given me an opening to talk a little bit about that piece i wrote, here's more context to it:

i wrote it over a year ago after being inspired by a similar Isaac-centric piece that i swear i found on ao3 - it was basically Isaac killing time in the 3-years prior to CoD, channeling his obsession with Hector by creating a replica of him as an Innocent Devil, then promptly destroying it, with all his complicated feelings sprinkled throughout.

there was actually supposed to be a bigger scene written around Isaac's monologue, taking place when he was possessed by Dracula during the final fight with Hector, and it was supposed to be something like his faltering consciousness reacting to what was happening around him (with the implication that because Isaac wasn't really dead-dead, since Hector never landed the killing blow, that was the reason the transformation failed and Hector was able to defeat Dracula. so again, Hector's fault :^))

in the end, i couldn't quite hack it, but those 9 sentences basically encompass this utter mess of a human being i adore~

#i apologize for the length of this thing lmao #they just make me soooooooo ill <3 #one day i've got to make a proper headcanon/analysis post about how i view Isaac #if only to convince people he has more depth than people give him credit for #castlevaniaposting #castlevania #castlevania curse of darkness #akumajou dracula

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