#it seems like it should be common courtesy to me???

[arrowpunk]

If I had a nickel for every time someone was weirdly possessive over my OCs and continued to use them even after we lost contact and got upset with me when I politely asked them to please stop. I would have 3 nickels. Which isn't a lot. But it's annoying as hell that it's happened even once.

[ellecdc]

All's Fair in Love & Chaos (IV)

fourth installment ( I - II - III)

a short blurb style mini-series in collaboration with @unstablereader no real plot, just vibes and comedy.

Synopsis: soulmate au, everyone's soulmate's initials become visible on their wrist when the last person in the bond 'comes of age' (I've left the age ambiguous because their may be mature insinuations later on in the story). As luck would have it, and much to everyone's horror; it appeared that you, Barty Crouch Junior, and Sirius Black were soulmates

poly!DeathStar x fem!reader

“This is getting confusing.” Peter whined petulantly as the Marauders stepped into the Great Hall and surveyed the various tables. “We used to just wake up, go to the Great Hall, and sit at the Gryffindor table.”

“It’s good to broaden your horizons, wormy!” James offered with a hearty pat on Peter’s shoulder. 

Luckily for them, it appeared that everyone’s respective soulmates were sitting at the Slytherin table this morning. 

Unluckily for Sirius, it appeared that everyone’s respective soulmates were sitting at the Slytherin table this morning. 

“Nothing but the best for my girl!” Marlene proclaimed as Dorcas rolled her eyes fondly. 

“What? Did you buy her the best medication for your various sexually transmitted diseases?” Sirius taunted as he sat down beside you earning him a heavy kick in the shin courtesy of Marlene’s combat boots.

“Don’t be crass, Black.” Dorcas drawled. “She’s throwing me a birthday party.”

“A party?” James chimed in. “When? Where? Are we invited?”

Marlene playfully (though extremely aggressively) shoved James in the shoulder, which James had to massage when she was no longer looking as Dorcas answered him.

“Yes, yes. You’ve all been invited. Or, rather, your soulmates have been invited, and they were told to bring theirs, so.” 

Peter harrumphed as he poked around in his porridge bowl. 

“You’re invited too, Pete; don’t worry.” Marlene called over, earning her a smile that seemed to take a bit too much effort from the Gryffindor boy. 

“Where’re you throwing it? Gryffindor?” Remus asked Marlene.

“No, we’re going to have it in the Room of Requirement! Really deck the place out.” Lily answered for her, pulling out a heft binder that was well and truly over-flowing with party planning paraphernalia. 

“That’ll be fun, yeah? I can pick you up from your common room and we can go together?” Sirius asked you then, only to hear a derisive scoff emanate from your otherside.

“Fat chance, Black. I was here when the invites were shared, she’s going with me.” 

You opened your mouth to interject when Barty pulled you into his side. “Isn’t that right, treasure?” 

“I don’t know why I should have to lose out on my date just because Remus took so bloody long getting out of bed this morning.” Sirius argued over the top of your head. 

“The early niffler gets the gold, Black. I don’t make the rules.” 

Sirius let out an incredulous laugh at that. “You absolutely did make that rule! And every other rule in this sodding relationship! I have to walk around on eggshells sharing her with you.”

“And what do I do? Hm? This isn’t exactly a walk in the park for me to have to listen to your constant nagging and pestering when I’m simply trying to enjoy some quality time with my soulmate.” Barty sneered. 

“She’s our soulmate.” Sirius corrected quickly. 

“Yeah well I’d bloody like to fix that.” Barty muttered.

The entire table was stunned silent when you suddenly slammed both of your hands down onto the top of the table and stood abruptly. 

“I’m tired of this.” You beseeched as you climbed over the bench and stared defiantly at both Sirius and Barty who were now looking up at you in shock. “I am sick and tired of the bickering and the surveillance and the trade offs and the schedules. I'm tired of it! I’m living my life on some timetable that revolves around you,” said as you pointed at Sirius before moving your finger to Barty, “and you. And at the end of the day, there’s no time left for me.” 

You took a shuddering breath but soldiered on, grabbing each of the boys’ wrists (quite painfully, mind you) and flipping them over to expose their soulmate marks. 

“Yes I am both of your soulmates and you are both mine, but you are also eachother’s.” You released their hands and took a step back; your formidable glare falling into something more pained and vulnerable as you began picking at the skin of your nails. “And until you two realise that, or until you can at least pretend to get along for my sake, I don’t want to hang out with either of you.”

Sirius felt like the air had been knocked right out of him as you bent down to retrieve your bag and began walking away. 

“Sit down.” You hissed as you spun around, watching both Barty and Sirius slowly lower themselves back onto the bench. 

You looked as though you were going to turn around and leave again, but your eyes caught onto one member of the group.

“Peter.” You called much more gently than you’d been speaking to Barty and Sirius. “Would you like to go to Dorcas’ party with me?” 

“Yes!” Peter whispered excitedly, which was nearly drowned out by the protest that was going to come from Sirius before a hand smacked itself over his mouth. 

You smiled softly at Peter before you turned and left the Great Hall with not so much as a single glance in Sirius’ (or Barty’s) direction. 

James let out a slow whistle as Sirius shook the hand that was over his mouth, finding himself even more aghast to realise it had been Barty’s.

“Junior! Get your sodding hands off of me!”

“It wasn’t exactly pleasurable for me either, Black.”  He spat back. 

“You should have said something! Now she’s going to the party with Peter.”

“Yeah, yeah. We can kill him later.” Barty muttered indignantly. 

“I don’t want to kill one of my best friends! I want to go to a bloody party with my girl!” 

“Yeah well, your girl doesn’t want anything to do with you.” Marlene taunted with a smile on her face as she leaned into Dorcas’ side. “That was kinda hot, actually.” 

“Bugger off, McKinnon.” Barty and Sirius spat in unison, only to glare severely at one another.

“Merlin’s tits; is this what you’re every time you’re around each other?” Lily asked incredulously, to which Sirius quickly said “no” at the same time Barty replied “pretty much, yeah”. 

“She must be a saint, then; I would have dumped the two of you by now if I were her.” Regulus added in a bored tone, never looking up from his copy of the Daily Prophet. 

“Yeah well, we’re all thanking our lucky stars not to be matched up with you, Reg.” Barty sneered, earning him a snort of laughter from Sirius before he realised what he’d been doing and immediately went back to scowling. 

“Pettigrew!” Barty called as he leaned around Sirius. “100 galleons to not attend the party with Y/N.”

Peter looked equally fearful for his life and resigned to his death. “I don’t want to stand her up…”

Apparently, even Barty didn’t have the heart to have you - poor, shy you - attend a party solo. “Buggering fuck, fine.” He spat as he stood and grabbed his bag. “Pick me up in the Slytherin common room at eight pm sharp. And for the love of Merlin, bring me a sodding boutonniere!”

The group watched as Barty disappeared around the corner and the Great Hall returned to its normal volume. 

“He does know this is a semi-casual event, right?” Marlene whispered to Dorcas. “Boutonniere's aren’t required nor encouraged.” 

Dorcas simply snorted and returned her attention to her breakfast. “Marly, you come to learn to pick your battles when it comes to the likes of Barty Crouch Junior.”

But when Sirius turned his attention away from the door of the Great Hall, he saw her staring directly at him. 

“Duly noted.” He muttered as he loaded up his plate in resignation. 

Looks like I’m going on a date with Junior. 

… 

Never in a million years would Sirius have ever bet even a single knut that one would find him standing outside of the Slytherin common room dressed in his best trousers (that absolutely hugged his arse in all the best ways) and a simple button up shirt that he failed to button up all the way, leaving a sinful trail of skin along his chest. 

Yet, here he was.

Standing outside of the Slytherin common room, dressed to impress awaiting his date…who was none other than bloody Barty Crouch Junior. 

Sirius honest to gods thought about obliviating himself and just going back to his dorm for, say, maybe ever? But Barty chose that moment to step out through the door looking utterly delectable. 

“See something you like, Black?” He taunted with a haughty grin, causing Sirius’ eyes to narrow challengingly. 

“I don’t see Y/N around anywhere, so no.”

Both of them sighed as they considered each other. 

“Well?” Barty asked then.

“Well what?”

Barty scoffed and rolled his eyes dramatically. “Circe’s tits, aren’t you going to tell me I look nice? You Black’s have horrid manners.”

“You’ve not told me I look nice!” Sirius retorted.

“I didn’t run to the nearest loo to pour bleach in my eyes; you’re so hard to please.”

“Merlin’s saggy balls- let’s go.” Sirius muttered as he turned on his heel to head all the way back up the stairs he just came down towards the Room of Requirement. 

“Uhm, aren’t you forgetting something?” Barty asked as he grabbed Sirius’ wrist. 

“What, you want to hold hands on our way up too?”

“My boutonniere you git.” Barty replied as he pointed to his chest. 

Sirius gave a dramatic eye roll of his own as he pulled a small box from his pocket and returned it to its original size. 

He carefully pulled out the selection of flowers and batted Barty’s hands away when they reached for them.

“What in the bloody hell are you doing?”

“You don’t pin your own corsage, Junior.” Sirius responded tiredly. “Purebloods raise gentlemen afterall.”

Barty fell quiet at that as he watched Sirius’ face as he pinned the flowers to his black button up. 

“Green? ‘Cause I’m in Slytherin?” Barty asked derisively as Sirius admired his work. 

Sirius’ eyes flit up to Barty’s before falling back to the corsage. 

“Green because of your eyes, Junior.” Sirius admitted quietly before he turned on his heel and headed up the stairs. “Hurry along; I want Y/N to see us walk in together looking like perfect tens.” 

And though Sirius couldn’t see it, he could certainly feel Barty’s gaze fall down to his perfect arse as he took two stairs at a time. “Speak for yourself, Black. I’m an eleven.” 

The party was well underway by the time Sirius and Barty made it up to the Room of Requirement which was, indeed, well set up for the party. 

Sirius knew it was likely more thanks to Lily than it was to Marlene, but he also knew Lily would likely let Marlene take all the credit for it.

“Where is she?” Barty asked, leaning into Sirius’ side so he could speak into his ear. Sirius fought back a shiver as he made for the familiar sight of the bar table. “No idea, but I’m gonna need a drink.” 

They found you not long afterwards; Sirius’ heart nearly stuttering to a stop when he spotted you twirling around with Peter looking so carefree as you threw your head back in laughter and caused Peter to do the same.

And by the way Barty’s jaw fell slack, he was sure he felt much the same. 

“She’s kind of perfect, isn’t she?” Sirius asked then, watching as you and Peter reorganised yourselves for a new song.

“Kind of perfect? You’re way off, Black.” Barty shot back, but when Sirius turned to give him an incredulous glare for being so damned contradictory all of the time, he was surprised to see a soft smile on his lips.

Ah, Sirius thought, humour - I know a thing or two about that. 

“Should we show her what she’s missing tonight?” He asked Barty then, ridding himself of his cup and holding his hand out to his date for a dance. 

“It’d be my pleasure.” Barty said with a smile as he accepted Sirius’ hand and followed him to the dancefloor. 

“Is she looking at us?” Sirius asked as he fought every single urge to look at you.

“How could she not? We’re the hottest couple here.” Barty responded easily, surprising a bark of laughter from Sirius.

“Did you just call me attractive, Junior?” 

“I may find you completely horrid and annoying but I’m not blind, Black.” Barty bit back, though Sirius could see a blush forming across his face. 

“Don’t you two make a handsome couple.” Lily offered as she floated by, offering Sirius a wink as she headed for you. 

“Keep your eyes off my date, you trollop!” Sirius teased with a smile, relishing in the pleasantly surprised look adorning your face when you spotted the two of them dancing together. 

“She’s looking!” Sirius whispered at Barty then. 

“Don’t blow it, Black.” Barty hissed back, pulling Sirius flush against him. 

Sirius rolled his eyes (albeit fondly) and opted to rest his head against Barty’s shoulder.

“Does this mean the two of you are, like, together now?” James blurted then, surprising Sirius and causing him to straighten up and break away from Barty as if he’d been caught doing something naughty.

“What!? Of course not.” Barty snapped quickly.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sirius added.

James’ eyes flit between the two of them as his brows inched closer together. “Really? ‘Cause it sort of look-”

“Well, you should probably get your glasses checked, Potter, because what it looked like was two blokes who share a soulmate working hard to ensure their soulmate doesn’t up and leave them.”

“Right!” Sirius agreed quickly. 

“Listen; do I think Black always looks like an off-duty model? Sure.” 

“And do I think Junior is by far the hottest bloke here? Sure.”

“Exactly! I could do much worse than Black, here.” 

“And do we make one hell of an attractive couple? Yes.” Sirius paused when his yes was chorused by Barty. “But that’s all it is.”

“That’s all it is.” Barty agreed with a shrug of his shoulders. 

James considered the two of them a moment longer before letting out an inelegant snort. “Sure; whatever you say.”

“He doesn’t get it.” Sirius said simply then, turning back to Barty to continue their dance.

“You’ve got dumb friends; can’t even understand two attractive people not being completely revolted by one another.”

And Sirius couldn’t help but agree; James really was dumb if he couldn’t see that Barty was, indeed, the hottest bloke at this party (Sirius excluded, of course).

[kivino]

BIG GUY || SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY X GN!READER

my masterlist

ao3 link to this fic

Word counter – ~1,8k

Tags/Warnings – Fluff, a bit of miscommunication and jealousy, nothing much.

Summary – Ghost takes a liking to the nickname you give him, but struggles to understand just how much he likes it.

A/n – I’m still struggling with my school projects so wish me luck, I made this instead of making a video for my language class lmao, enjoy! i’ll add the ao3 link a bit later.

upd. link added for ao3 enjoyers!

It didn't miss anybody, the way Ghost seemed more easygoing and light-hearted on certain days, letting recruits get away with a bit more than usual. Coincidentally, it was right after various interactions with you, be it training or sparring together, doing reports, moving some shit around the base, or just hanging out in the common room. Nobody could just figure out what it was about your interactions that lifted Simon’s spirits so high, which was notoriously hard, courtesy of how gloomy or menacing the man usually appeared. But the answer was quite simple, really.

“Thanks, big guy. Always a huge help.” Simon catches your small smile as you pat him on the shoulder and nods, barely containing his joy, he’d hate to make it too obvious. He was wearing a balaclava after all, and the smallest stretch of the fabric on his cheeks and around his mouth could easily give away how joy spread itself in his chest at the affectionate nickname.

Big guy. Big guy. Your big guy.

Nickname reserved only for him, exclusively from you. Of course, Ghost knew he’d be larger than your average soldier, and that regularly got acknowledged by others, but something about you calling him like this made it different. That pleasant warmth inside, which reminded him of the sun, or that stupid fluttering in his stomach, was…unusual to say the least. It made his mood better almost instantly, an interaction he eagerly, but silently looked forward to each day. Something about you calling him a big guy made his head spin, swimming in the endless clouds. Something Ghost hasn't felt in a long time and didn’t think he’d ever experience.

It was easy to let down his guard around you, you stripped him of the metaphorical armor just like this, with an effortless joke and that godforsaken pet name thrown in somewhere in the conversation. And just like that - Ghost’s low laugh rumbled in unison with yours, heart missing a beat when he looked into your eyes that sparkled with something unknown and captivating. It felt…good. New. And so fucking warm, Ghost felt like he was about to suffocate.

You were the newbie, your reputation preceded you but Ghost didn’t pay much attention to all the rumors swirling around on the base, like some suspicious soup in a boiling pot. He had better things to do. Like following you similarly to a lost puppy, maybe staring intently right at you with his huge brown eyes, if he was feeling brave. Or lingering somewhere around, just to make sure you’re adjusting alright. After all, all of you soldiers have to look out for each other, right? Right. Definitely.

It felt good to finally be able to just laugh and play around with someone, who didn’t seem scared shitless by his presence, mask and, well…everything about him, that seemingly drove people away. Not that he didn’t understand the reasoning for that – quite on the contrary. But you were probably just built differently, drawn to the weird, unappealing, and scary. Maybe Ghost should feel lucky that you were like that. And truth be told, he did. He liked it and he liked you.

Ghost could only hope that he lightened up the things for you the way you did for him. To ask and dig deeper would probably be too much, Simon could still feel that caution and tremble at the mere thought of trying to grow closer to you and spend even more time together. Like he’ll put a curse on you the moment he decides to open up a bit more and show you at least some inner workings of his mind on a more intimate level than just some stupid puns, or gossip and discussions about the way you spent your day. Although they were certainly pleasant, with you giving him a subtle, understanding smile from across the table, while steam from your coffee mug made it seem so domestic and wholesome like Ghost was in a dream. So, Ghost kept what little distance he could, despite his wishes, and hoped that you take your time and be patient with him.

That is until he overheard something that startled him, to say the least.  

“Well, your jokes are a bit too much for me, big guy.” You say, letting out a clear, loud laugh, as you patted Soap’s chest. Scotsman straightened up almost immediately in front of you, a proud toothy smile beaming on his face. Now Ghost felt like he just got punched in the gut, for some reason. Annoyed and on edge in a split second. But why? He truly couldn’t seem to pin down the reason for the surge of anger and something bitter in his chest, bubbling right under his skin.

It was probably nothing worth his attention. Just something weird with his body, exhaustion from the training, muscle cramps...or whatever it could be. In any case, running headfirst into dissecting his mind for something so small and minuscule? Ridiculous, really. Completely unnecessary. Of course, Simon knew that both you and Johnny weren’t saints, two rascals more like, but he had no obvious reason to feel this bitter stinging inside of him, that slithered and slipped around, followed by tightening of his throat and bobbing of his Adam’s apple. He swallowed loudly, trying to wash down that gross aftertaste on his tongue hours after he saw that interaction. And the fact that he couldn’t get it out of his head was telling enough, that he was, in fact, bothered by something.

So, Simon decided to do what he did best. Bottle it up. But then it just kept sitting in his head, that nasty feeling still eating him from the inside out. It didn’t help that he started seeing you talking with Johnny more often, while Simon unintentionally avoided you, still buried deep in his thoughts and contemplations about what caused him to feel the way he did. Of course, he couldn’t help but eavesdrop. And there you were. Laughing with him. Calling him “big guy”. Again. This only caused Simon to become more cranky and unfriendly, taking his frustrations out on poor privates who’ve never ran so many laps in their entire lives.

The only people Ghost was outright cruel and merciless to were his enemies. He wasn’t the friendliest guy, of course, but everyone noticed when the lieutenant who usually would crack jokes and dumb puns at the expense of others at most suddenly started to get annoyed at smaller mistakes more, using harsher words and overall look like he was down in the dumps. Nobody dared to talk about the subject though, so Ghost was left terrorizing the privates and recruits, having lunches in his office and avoiding areas where he knew you’d be at certain times of the day from your long talks before. Which, of course, didn’t help him to understand what was wrong at all.

So, all Ghost was left with were his own thoughts. He didn’t feel jealous of you interacting with other people before. You were never his, so he had no right for that at all. But there had to be something else that pushed Simon to where he was now, tired, unsatisfied, and craving at least a passing smile and a short “Hey there” from you. So that the two of you could sit down somewhere together, and you’d talk about some irrelevant nonsense, and then you’d open your mouth again and call him “big guy”. It didn’t feel fair that Johnny got to be called that. It was Simon’s nickname. From you. Wait-wait-wait, hold on a second.

The sudden revelation as to why exactly Ghost was feeling that way when he saw you talk with the sergeant hit him like a damn bus. Fuck, that is childish. Weird. God, Simon feels like a damn creep. Getting upset because of a damn nickname, way to fucking go, you oaf. This felt confusing. Irrational. Absolutely fucking stupid. To think that something that simple threw him off so easily. That’s human relationships for you. Now it felt like he needed even more time. Not to make it complicated. Not to hurt you and himself.

Regardless of his wishes, he didn’t have any more time to think when he was soon approached by you, a concerned frown adorning your face, along with a look full of sympathy and understanding. Ghost already dreaded the conversation that hadn’t even begun. And he wasn’t even the one reaching out first. Which makes it even more embarrassing.

“Hey, Simon. I have something I want to talk about with you.” You, bless your heart, probably thought something terrible happened in Simon's life when in reality he was just running away from you and his feelings like a whole wildfire was chasing him. The only correlation he could think of is dumb teenagers, which is…remotely fitting with his recent behavior. “I’ve noticed you’ve been kind of…avoiding me? Did something happen, or am I just overthinking everything?”

“It’s stupid, really. Nothing you should be worrying yourself about.” Ghost blurts out before he can even think. Great, now he can only tell you the whole truth, without the options to back out or lie. But it was truly so unusual for him because Simon never expected to get attached to a nickname and to you.

“Well, let’s hear you out. I won’t judge.” Again, with your perfect reassuring smile and your calming presence. Simon lets out a deep sigh, his throat itching from what is about to ensue. He knew he was going to embarrass himself, but he just couldn’t bring himself to lie. Which would’ve been so much easier, instead of baring his true feelings in front of you.

“Well, your nickname for me…You know what I’m talking about.” Simon’s tone is deep and gruff as he tries to conceal that uncertainty in his voice. You appear to be listening attentively, your eyes trained on him, head slightly tilted to the side, which makes his heart melt. You give him a confident nod at the mention of the nickname, and Ghost continues. “I want you to call only me like that. And I mean, only me” He can see your eyebrow rising, your expression more teasing than questioning. There we go, now you’re going to mock him or laugh at him. Just perfect.

“Sure thing, big guy.” A shudder runs down Simon’s spine from your words, a sweet, saccharine feeling immediately blossoming in his chest. Oh, he had no words to describe how hard he missed it. All his worries lifted immediately. You didn’t find it weird. In fact, from what Ghost could tell by your satisfied expression, it was quite the opposite of the reaction Simon initially expected. Which was extremely relieving. He would hate to lose your intriguing relationship to the miscommunication of his own making. “Could’ve just said that you wanted it reserved just for you.”

Oh, it wasn’t just the nickname that did it to him. But it’s a bit too early to tell you that.

check out my masterlist for more fics or send me a request/comment!

[luminoustarlight]

As Fate Would Have It | Chapter Three

Lines are beginning to blur between you and Anakin.

◂ chapter two ▸ chapter four

rating: mature | pairing: dilf!anakin skywalker x afab!reader | wc: 5.2k | read on ao3

warnings: alcohol, age-gaps, body image insecurities (anakin), sexual fantasies/content, swearing, a little bit of mean anakin

“Tell me everything! Is he everything you thought he’d be? Totally dreamy? All stoic and boss-like? Oh, what does he smell like? Expensive?” 

Your best friend has barely taken off her shoes before bombarding you with questions about your first day working for Anakin Skywalker. You give her a welcoming hug before taking her hand and leading her into the living room. “Come on, I’ve already opened a bottle of wine.” 

Two empty glasses stand next to a middle-shelf Pinot Gris on your coffee table. Sabine takes it upon herself to pour the wine and pulls the granny square blanket from the back of your couch over her lap. She looks like she’s settling in for a bedtime story. 

“Okay, I’m ready. Lay it on me.” 

You situate yourself on the opposite end of the couch and slip your legs under the blanket. You take a small sip of wine before attempting to answer any of Sabine’s questions. Your first day at Skywalker Enterprises went by in a blur. Meeting your boss was not at all how you imagined it would go. It was all so clumsy. Anakin seemed more like an embarrassed school boy than the confident CEO you were expecting. He looked like he saw a ghost when he saw you sitting behind your desk. And then, in the car on the way to his house, he addressed your butt. 

“Let me know if your butt gets too toasty,” he said. It was so incredibly adorable because you could tell he let a little bit of his guard down when he said it. Obviously, he didn’t mean to. Because no sensible boss should talk about his assistant’s butt. Especially not when you’ve only just met each other. You found it endearing. 

But then, after the initial awkwardness faded and you continued talking to each other throughout the day, there was a sense of familiarity about him. The structure of his sentences when he spoke reminded you of someone. You’re just not sure who. 

“He’s not really what I thought he’d be like.”

“How so?” Sabine asks. 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, unable to explain the stirring of feelings and emotions in your chest. “He’s… he was sort of awkward when we first met. Like, stuttering and fumbling over his words. Almost as if I made him nervous.” 

Sabine nods slowly with her eyes narrowed. “Go on…” 

“Well, that’s crazy, right? The fact that I could’ve made him nervous?” 

“Not necessarily. Look at you. You didn’t have a successful OnlyFans page for nothing.” 

“Yeah, but he’s in his forties,” you emphasize. You remind yourself of his age nearly every minute to remember how inappropriate it is to be attracted to your boss. Applying for the job was such a bad idea. What made you think you wouldn’t be attracted to him when you saw him in person? Your cheeks get hot as you think about him rounding the car to open your door once you got back to the office after dropping off his son’s pants at school. It was just a common courtesy, not a sign of interest. But damn, was it nice to be on the reciprocating end of something gentlemanly.

“And he’s a dad! I shouldn’t be making dads nervous,” you add. “I mean, I saw a picture of his wife at his house. She was stunning. Stunning, Sabine. High cheekbones, a nice straight nose, a gorgeous smile…” 

“Wait, he’s married?!” Sabine sets down her glass. 

“Widowed.” 

“Oh,” Sabine says sadly. Then her eyebrows perk up. “Oh.” 

“Don’t,” you hold up your finger. “Don’t give me that look. He’s my boss.” 

“But you like him,” Sabine sings. “And from what it sounds like, he likes you too.” 

You cannot let Sabine put the idea of Anakin Skywalker, engineering millionaire, having a measly little crush on you. Because it’s absolutely absurd. He’s him and you’re… you’re just a girl who was uploading videos of herself masturbating for money just last week. Not that there is anything wrong with sex work. It’s empowered you in so many ways, but it was time to find something a bit more steady and reliable. And less physically taxing, to be perfectly honest. 

“Sabine, be serious. I-” your phone pings with a distinct tone that makes you pause. 

New Message from Skyguy81 

“Oh, my God,” you say. 

“What?” Sabine asks. 

“It’s Sky,” you answer her while opening the message.

Sabine eagerly crawls on top of you to peer at your screen. “Sky as in Rich Guy Sky? Did you upload a new video or something? What did he say?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I haven’t uploaded anything since last Thursday. Get off of me so I can read his message.” 

Sabine retreats to her side of the couch as you begin reading to her. 

“I thought about you at work today. I thought about you more than I would like to admit. You have no idea what you do to me, Honey. No idea what I would do to you.” Your tongue feels like sandpaper and your heart is in the bottom of your throat. 

“Oh, shit!” Sabine exclaims. “You’ve got this boy whipped! Honestly, you should just keep making videos for him. He was your best tipper, anyway.” 

“He’s never… he’s never messaged me out of the blue before.” You chug down the last of your wine, thinking you may need some liquid courage for whatever conversation is about to unfold between you and Sky. 

“He wants you,” Sabine says simply. “Make it happen.” 

“I can’t just meet up with someone from OnlyFans. It’s an episode of Dateline waiting to happen.” 

Sabine rolls her eyes. “Don’t be so cynical.” 

“I’m not being cynical, I’m being logical,” you counter. You’d be foolish to risk your life by meeting up with Skyguy81. No matter how nice and genuine he seems over private messages. No matter how much money he has tipped you. There is no guarantee he’s not absolutely creepy and going to kidnap you.

Okay, so maybe you watch too much true crime. That’s why you have to balance it out with The Great British Bake Off. 

“I don’t know. I’m just saying,” Sabine finishes her wine, “you never know. He could be the love of your life.” 

You’re quiet as you contemplate the love of your life. Sabine is the romantic. You’re the realist. You have a hard time believing there’s one person in the world who you’re destined to be with. How do you explain Anakin losing his wife? Was she the love of his life? Is he not supposed to move on and potentially find happiness with someone else? None of it makes sense to you and it’s quite possibly because you’ve never been in love. 

And the image of the person who you might like the opportunity to love is entirely unavailable. 

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.

.

It’s times like tonight when Anakin wishes he didn’t raise such inquisitive, curious children. Leia is simply chock-full of questions about her dad’s new assistant. When do they get to meet her? Soon. Is she old like Auntie Dorothy? No. Does she like vintage Disney movies? (Anything before 2010 is “vintage” to Leia). I don’t know. 

Luke, on the other hand, was very disappointed to learn that you were in the car while his dad dropped off a new pair of pants. “You made her wait in the car like a dog?” 

Anakin snorts. “I wouldn’t quite say like a dog, Luke. I was gone for less than five minutes.” 

“Did you at least roll down the window? So she could have fresh air?” Leia joins in on the comical idea of their dad leaving his assistant in his car like a pet. 

“That’s enough out of you two,” Anakin says through a grin. These 9 year olds, man. What is he going to do with them? 

Luke and Leia nod, going back to stabbing their dumplings with their chopsticks. 

“I have one last question.” Leia watches her dumpling precariously dangle on the edge of her chopstick. 

“What is that, princess?” Anakin asks.   

“Is she pretty?” 

Anakin’s pulse is going to burst. It’s a simple question- one that always seems to be on the tip of Leia’s tongue. She wants a woman figure in her life. Soon, she’ll be at the age that is easier to navigate with a maternal presence. Anakin is really not equipped to talk her through menstrual cycles. 

But it’s the nature of who his new assistant is that makes him feel so exposed. He can’t very well tell his children you’re the most beautiful woman he’s seen since his wife. And he definitely can’t tell them that you’ve been in his life not since this morning, but since three years ago when he downloaded OnlyFans. 

Anakin cleans the corners of his mouth with his napkin while he formulates an appropriate response. He’s kept his answers short and simple because if he thinks about you for too long, your figure seeps into his vision, your voice burns in his ears, and he’s unable to focus. 

He feels like such a sleaze for getting hard just by thinking about you. You are so much more than a sexual object. And trust him, he can’t wait to learn about all that makes you you. But morals be damned. He wants you desperately. 

“Yes, Leia. She’s quite pretty,” Anakin finally answers. 

Leia can’t help but dance excitedly in her seat. “I can’t wait to meet her.” 

“I could’ve met her today,” Luke mumbles. “If Dad hadn’t locked her up in the car.” 

Anakin is laughing now. “I have a feeling you are going to be bringing this up for a while.” 

After dinner, the kids clear the dishes and load what they can into the dishwasher. Meanwhile, Anakin does something either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. 

.

.

.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

I thought about you at work today. I thought about you more than I would like to admit. You have no idea what you do to me, Honey. No idea what I would do to you.

Now being 10 pm, it’s been 3 hours since Anakin— or rather, Skyguy81— sent you that message. 

And you still haven’t replied. But you read it. 

And the fact that you’ve read the message but decided not to reply makes Anakin feel so incredibly foolish. What was he thinking? What was he expecting from you? More meaningless flirting? 

Except now it’s not meaningless for him. He’s not sure if it was ever meaningless. But now that he knows who the woman behind HoneySuckle is, it’s completely different. You have a name— which he had to look up in employment records because he’s convinced he actually blacked out when you introduced yourself. You have passions and interests, favorite snacks, and a go-to karaoke song. He wants to know it all. 

And even though he’s going to see you tomorrow, he couldn’t resist the urge to message you on OnlyFans. But since you’ve opted not to reply to him, he’s now wallowing like a teenage boy. 

Ridiculous. He’s better than this, goddamnit! 

Finally deciding to stop staring at his phone, Anakin strips down to take a shower. It’s hard for him not to feel disappointed when he looks at himself in the mirror. Arguably, he’s still in great shape. He lifts weights at the gym at least twice a week, sometimes three if he has the time. He doesn’t have a beer belly, which he considers an accomplishment at his age. But he does have some extra fat around his love handles. He has sun spots on his shoulders from the countless pool days when the twins were younger. And then there are the undeniable lines around his eyes, which are incredibly prominent when he smiles. 

Anakin has never felt particularly insecure about his image before. He’s accepted that his body is not the same 20 year old body it once was. But there’s a new nagging insecurity in the back of his mind.

Is it good enough for you? 

Anakin turns on the water in the shower, needing to wash away all delusions of you and him ever getting together. As soon as he steps one foot on the tile, his phone buzzes. He grabs his phone off of the counter and his heart rate immediately ticks up. 

Hi Sky, I’m sorry for the delay. I had a friend over. Here’s a special little something for you ;) 

Attached is a picture of you on your bed, sitting on your heels with the thin straps of your panties pulled over your hips. You’re lifting an oversized t-shirt above your breasts, which also expertly hides your face. Right. Because you don’t know that he knows who you are. 

Still, the picture was worth the wait. It’s almost embarrassing the way his cock is already standing upright, the tip pressing against his lower abdomen. He focuses on your hard nipples, picturing himself enclosing his mouth around one of your mounds. He’s rolling his tongue over your bud while massaging your other breast. Your hands are in his hair and you’re anything but silent. You’re moaning his name, begging for more, whining for him to put his cock inside of you. 

Anakin is too preoccupied to even reply to you. He gets himself under the steady stream of hot water and grabs the base of his length. Now he’s picturing you on top of him, tits bouncing in his face while you fuck yourself on his cock. 

“Mmm, yes! Anakin, please. Feels so good.” 

Your hands are pressed against his strong chest for support. He loves you like this— in control but still pathetically needy for his dick. “How much do you love it?” he asks. “Tell me how much you love this cock inside of you.” 

You throw your head back when he slaps both of your ass cheeks. He grabs onto your flesh firmly and your cunt clamps around him while you proclaim it to be the best feeling in the world. “I love it so much, Ani. Nobody's cock feels as good as yours.” 

“Damn right,” Anakin grits. He holds your chin with a strong hand, forcing you to look at him. “This pussy is mine. You understand that?” 

“Yes, sir,” you moan as Anakin bucks his hips up, hitting deep inside of you. “Only yours.” 

“Yes, sir,” huh? That’s a new kink unlocked. Anakin presses a palm on the shower wall to steady himself as he cums. It’s anything from pretty. It happens suddenly and quickly, thanks to the vivid images he was creating in his mind. He bites down on his bottom lip to keep from moaning too loudly. But your name is rolling off of his tongue effortlessly. As if it’s always been in the recesses of his mind, just waiting to be said intimately and passionately. 

He tries to list off the hundreds of reasons why he should never utter your name in a less than professional manner while shampooing his hair. 

You’re his assistant.

You’re significantly younger than him. 

The power imbalance (see 1 and 2). 

That’s all he can come up with for now and it’s enough. Nothing good will come out of pining for you and fantasizing about you. It still doesn’t stop him from messaging you back after he gets out of the shower and settles in bed. 

Now I feel guilty for not responding sooner. Thank you for the spectacular photo. It is unfortunate that I had to take matters into my own, ahem, hands. I would have much preferred to have your help. 

You flatter me, Sky. Do I really get you that worked up? 

Impossibly so. 

When you said you thought about me at work… What exactly did you mean? 

To be perfectly blunt, you were bent over a desk with your skirt pushed over your ass. I was fucking you well and hard, with my name being the only thing falling from your pretty lips. 

Anakin lets out a heavy sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. Why does he keep putting himself in situations that result in an erection? He just needs to have a good fuck. Get it out of his system. Yeah, that’s what he’ll do. But under no circumstances will it be with you. 

I think I’d like that very much. 

Goddamnit. Anakin needs to stop while he’s ahead. While he’s not succumbing to jerking off for a second time tonight. This was a disastrous idea. Because now when he sees you at work tomorrow, he’s going to think about how you would like for him to fuck you over your desk. Except you don’t actually know that it’s him who wants to fuck you over your desk. 

Maybe in another life. 

Anakin leaves it at that. He puts his phone on do not disturb and attempts to get some reading in before going to sleep. He also prays for G-rated dreams. 

.

.

.

The morning fog of late November in Northern California is still hanging in the air when you get to work at 8 am. Anakin won’t be in until he drops off Luke and Leia which means he should arrive around the same time he did yesterday. It gives you an hour to go through voicemails, reply to emails, and brew a pot of coffee in the breakroom. 

Ben Kenobi arrives shortly after you, sharply dressed in dark blue slacks, caramel leather Oxfords, and a white collared shirt with small polka dots that match the color of his pants. 

“Good morning, Mr. Kenobi,” you greet.  

“Please, call me Ben. No need for formalities around here,” Ben replies. “You’ll soon see we operate very much like a family. There will be shouting and likely some name calling, but it’s all in the name of love for engineering and innovation.” 

“Got it,” you nod. “It’s just that Dorothy always called Mr. Skywalker by, well, Mr. Skywalker. And yesterday he didn’t tell me to call him otherwise.” 

Ben strokes his nicely groomed beard. “Interesting. Well, I suppose you can continue to address him as such until he tells you to call him Anakin. Which I’m sure he’ll do this morning when he gets in. Have you brewed the coffee yet?” 

“Not yet.” you stand. “I wanted to check messages first, but coffee is next on the list.” 

“Excellent.” Ben follows you into the breakroom. “How are you enjoying your time here?” 

“Well, it’s only been a day,” you remind him with a light lilt to your voice. “But it’s been good! Everyone I’ve met is super friendly.” 

Ben leans back against the counter, crossing his ankles and arms over his chest. “And you and Anakin? You two getting along? He’s not giving you too much trouble, is he?” 

You nearly spill the coffee grounds as you bring the spoon up from the container to the machine. “No!” you say a little too loudly. “I mean, no. He’s been very nice. Quiet, but nice.” 

“Anakin? Quiet?” Ben almost laughs. “I’ve never heard that word used to describe Anakin before.” 

“Oh.” you continue scooping grounds into the machine. How many spoonfuls are you supposed to put in? You’ve lost count. Maybe two more for good measure. You’d rather make the coffee too strong than too weak. Nothing is worse than weak coffee. “Maybe I caught him on an off day. He did seem a little weird when he brought me to his house. And then I sort of told him off in the car…” 

This gets Ben away from the counter and walking over to you. “You did what?” 

“Well, I mean, I didn’t tell him off per se. I just asked him to give me a chance. It seemed like he’d already made a decision about me and we’d only known each other for a couple of hours.” 

“Good for you,” Ben replies. “Anakin is headstrong but he can be reasoned with. If the reason is worth being reasoned over.” 

“Am I?” you ask. “Worth being reasoned over?” 

Ben appears to give you a once over and then nods once. “Yes, I’d say so.” 

“Thanks…” you say with uncertainty. Ben takes himself and his briefcase to his office, which is the next door over from Anakin’s. He leaves you alone in the breakroom with a dozen questions. Was Ben assessing your appearance? Surely not for himself. He’s insanely in love with his wife— the mayor. Then who for? Anakin? No. No way. 

The coffee has begun to brew— the nutty notes of Philz Philtered Soul bringing you back to your college days. There’s one in walking distance from campus and you and Sabine spent every finals week there chugging back Mint Mojitos and Mocha Tesoras. 

Those days were not that long ago for you. For Anakin, on the other hand… 

You shake your head, effectively shaking thoughts of Anakin taking any interest in you away. And why would he have an interest in you? He’s bound to have a list of more age-appropriate women he can bring home to his children. 

Stop thinking about it. 

But it’s so damn hard not to. A forbidden office romance with your boss who’s 20 years your senior? Yeah, it’s cliché and sort of sounds like the plot to a porno but it’s sort of fun, too. As long as you keep yourself in check, what’s the harm in pretending like he’s secretly in love with you and wants to take you home? 

.

.

.

When Anakin gets into the office, he doesn’t even greet you before saying, “Call Rose. Tell her to come as soon as possible.” 

So much for him being nice yesterday. Now he won’t even look at you. “Who’s Rose? What- what is the appointment for?” 

“You don’t need to know what it’s for,” Anakin snaps. “Just find Rose in your little phone book, call her, and tell her I need to see her immediately.” 

“Y-yes, sir,” you say while thumbing through the contacts Dorothy left behind for you. Without another word, Anakin goes into his office and slams the door. 

What the hell was that about? That was once again another awkward morning of Anakin slamming his office door after talking to you. You thought you left work on good terms yesterday. What changed? 

.

.

.

Rose Montgomery arrives 47 minutes after you call her. You hear her Louboutins clicking on the floor before you see her. Your eyes trail up from her long legs to her slim waist and perky boobs until you reach her face. Good Lord. She is strikingly beautiful. Her fiery red hair falls in loose curls over her shoulders. As she walks closer to your desk, you are drawn to her perfectly round green eyes. She’s like the real-deal Jolene from Dolly Parton’s hit song. Seriously, did she grow up being called Jolene solely based on her looks? 

“Aw, look at you,” Rose smiles down at you. “You must be the new Dorothy.” 

“I suppose I am.” 

“Aren’t you just the most adorable thing.” 

Uh… What the hell are you supposed to say to that? “I’ll let Mr. Skywalker know you’re here.” 

“No need,” Rose informs. “I’ll let myself in.” She begins to walk away with an extra sway to her hips. You want to hate her but she’s got such an air of confidence that you actually want to be a little more like her. 

“Oh, um, actually I’m not sure about that,” you come out from behind your desk. “He seems to be in a mood so I don’t want you barging in his office to make it worse.” 

Rose turns on her heels and purses her lips. “Actually, sweetheart, I’ve known him longer than you and this isn’t my first ‘appointment’ with him. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to go make his mood a little better.” 

Okay. Now you hate her. With that, Rose leaves you standing outside of Anakin’s office with a dumbfounded look on your face. Is that… is she… a booty call? 

All of the insinuations are there; from the air quotes around “appointment” to the way she said she’ll make Anakin’s mood better. Coupled with her outstanding looks, you’ve decided that Rose Montgomery is a friend with benefits of Anakin Skywalker. You trudge back to your desk and do your absolute best not to think about what’s happening behind your boss’s door. 

.

.

.

At the sound of his door opening, Anakin quickly closes his computer tab and turns off the monitor. He pulls his headphones off of his head and puts them in the drawer. 

Rose is none the wiser as she drops her Birkin bag on the table beside the chaise. “Ugh, who is that child you have sitting behind Dorothy’s desk?” 

“My new assistant,” Anakin answers through a dry throat. Rose sits herself on his lap and drapes her arms over his shoulders. She begins playing with the ends of his curls, which normally, he would enjoy. But he really just wants to get this over with. He draws down the zipper of her black dress while she kisses along his jaw. 

“She seems incompetent,” Rose says between kisses. “What is she? Like, 15?” 

Anakin twirls Rose’s hair around his fist and yanks her face away from his. This makes her gasp with pleasure, and despite his annoyance, he loves the reaction he gets from her. “I didn’t fucking ask you here for your opinion on her. Do not talk about her again. Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” Rose breathes. “Where do you want me?” 

“On your knees.”

.

.

.

When Rose leaves Anakin’s office, you can absolutely tell she and Anakin had sex. Did she even bother looking in the mirror or her phone camera before coming out? She avoids looking in your direction at all costs and knowing how awkward those walks of shame can be after a one night stand, you decide not to watch her walk to the elevator. 

You busy yourself in a filing cabinet until you hear Anakin’s door open again. You tell yourself not to look up because if you look up at him you might actually burst into tears. Which makes absolutely no sense to you but you feel that stinging in your nose and you’re trying to think of the time you got Panini because at least those were happy tears. 

Anakin says your name. 

Damnit. Get it together. You take a deep breath and plaster on a smile. At least he doesn’t look like he just had sex. His hair is combed back the same way it was when he walked in and his clothes are wrinkle free. “Yes, Mr. Skywalker?” 

“Would you like to go get lunch?” 

It’s only 10:45 but of course, he’d be hungry after having sex. “Oh, sure. What can I get you?” 

“I meant me.” 

You furrow your brows together. “Sorry?” 

“I mean us. You and me, together. Fuck,”  Anakin mumbles that last part. It’s like he loses the part of his brain that forms proper sentences when he looks at you. Think back to the car, Anakin. Things weren’t so bad in the car. Wait, yes they were. He told you to tell him if your butt got too toasty. 

You can’t help but smile as you start to see the Anakin who let his guard down in the car. He’s nothing like the Anakin who walked into the office this morning. “You want me to get lunch with you?” 

“Yes. If you would like.” 

You grab your thrifted black leather bag and your coat off of the back of your chair. “I think I’d like that very much.” 

I think I’d like that very much. 

That is the second time you’ve said that to Anakin. 

On the drive to the farm to table restaurant he suggested, he thinks about telling you the truth. That he’s Skyguy81 and you’ve been messaging each other for three years. Oh, and that he’s seen you naked. 

He weighs all of the pros and cons and all of the ways the situation could play out if he tells you. He decides the only way it’s going to end is with you quitting and never wanting to see him again. Telling you who he is is out of the question. 

Your face is buried in the menu, effectively blocking you from looking at Anakin. Your nerves are irritably on fire as you sit knee to knee with your boss. You go out to lunch with someone to talk. To get to know them. But you have no idea what to talk about with him. Either he’s super blunt or incredibly awkward and you don’t know what to make of it. 

Could Sabine be right? Does he have a crush on you? Do men in their forties even get crushes? 

“You are awfully quiet behind there,” Anakin finally says. “Are you hiding from me?” 

You slam your menu down nervously. “What? Oh, no. Just… looking at all of the options.” 

“I’m kidding,” Anakin chuckles. “If it helps, Leia likes the poke rice bowl. Luke likes the flatbread with artichokes. And I normally just get a burger.” 

“Wow, a 9 year old who likes poke? You’ve got some interesting kids.” 

“You have no idea,” Anakin replies bashfully. He really calms down when he talks about his kids. Maybe that’s your key to him. Keep him talking about his kids. 

“Well, I think I’ll try Leia’s favorite. Do your kids enjoy trying different types of food?” 

Anakin gives you a noncommittal shrug. “I suppose so. I didn’t raise them to be picky eaters. They eat what I eat. We had dumplings last night. They’re shit at using chopsticks but it makes for an entertaining meal.” 

You laugh along with him, feeling yourself relax the more you see Anakin relax. “I love dumplings!” 

“Yeah? We’ll have to have you over some time for dumplings, then.” Anakin doesn’t even realize what he’s saying until it’s hanging between you, awaiting your response. 

“That would be nice,” you admit. “I can’t wait to meet them. Of course, you know… if they even want to meet me.” 

“Are you kidding? Luke almost threw a fit over me leaving you in the car yesterday. And Leia… well, Leia gets excited about any new woman in my life. I mean, not that you’re my new woman, just you know, in terms of you being Dorothy’s replacement and-” 

You place your hand over Anakin’s without a second thought. And it’s more than just skin on skin. It’s electric. You resist the urge to pull away because the overwhelming feeling almost keeps you from saying: “It’s fine, Mr. Skywalker. I get what you mean.” 

Anakin is looking down at your hands and you wonder if he feels it too. Or if it’s entirely inappropriate to put your hand on his and he’s going to go back to being standoffish. You remove your hand from his and sit on it. 

“You don’t have to call me that,” Anakin murmurs. “Mr. Skywalker. I would much prefer you to call me Anakin.” 

You look up at him timidly. He’s being sincere. One corner of his lips are quirked up to form a sideways smile and your heart— your stupid, stupid heart adores it.  Perhaps there is harm in pretending like your boss is in love with you. Perhaps keeping yourself in check is going to be a lot more difficult than you thought. Because now that you’re on a first name basis with Anakin Skywalker, you fear simply being his assistant is not going to be enough.

◂ series masterlist ▸ chapter four (coming soon)

[sanzaibian]

I look at my watch, it’s already 3 PM. He is one hour late, although I feel that he’s not as much late as he is not coming.

I sigh, and go back to the locker room. I wanted to surprise him by waiting in the lobby shirtless, but after so much time loitering and being told off multiple times by the staff, I guess I must cut my losses. I knew that he wasn’t all that fussed about me wish for a second date in the gym, even if he seems to be a health nut, but still, ghosting me like that really hurts…

As I walk next to the mirrors in the locker room, I look at my body.

Honestly, with a body like that, guys should be drooling and yearning to be my boyfriend ! Yet, when I go on Grindr to find dates, I can only find people who will take me for a quick fuck, and never agree to anything further along… And this is why, no matter how fat my muscles are, how much hair is dusted on my body, how symmetric my face is, or just… how conventionally attractive to a gay audience I may be, I find myself waiting for a whole hour for a prince charming who will never come.

With a disappointed face, I walk towards my locker. By now, it’s no use to try and squeeze in an actual workout in addition to that whole hour full of variants of nothing – not that I really want to work out at all. However, as I reach my locker, I suddenly notice Ilham standing there in gym clothes, that he has presumably just put on.

I guess you can call him a friend ? In the barest of sense ? We do talk sometimes, only the bare minimum, but he’s always the one who leads the conversation… Well, you can’t fault me he’s so ridiculously hot without even trying, it makes me feel self-conscious even when I look how I look ! And, as if on queue, he notices my gloomy expression, and immediately confronts me about it.

“Hey Vítor ! Good workout ? Why do you look so sad like that ?” He asks, way too energetic for the situation. - Ah, it’s nothing, I had a gym date, but I was ghosted…” I answer succinctly. I don’t want to dwell on it too much. - Oh…” I can almost see the gears turning in his head, as he tries to makes sense of what I say, before he gets it. “Oh ! I’m so sorry, bro ! What a bitch to abandon you like this ! Ya know, I know a few girls I could hook you up with, I’m sure they wouldn’t do that ! - I’m sorry, girls won’t do.” I smile at his answer. “Once again, I’m gay ! - Sorry bro, I forgot again ! I swear I can make up to you !” He apologies.

He’s Azerbaijani, and due to how homosexuality is seen over there, he has a really hard time conceiving of masculine gay people. But he tries, and that’s by far the most important.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry ! But I won’t hold you up too much, especially since I already butchered my workout by waiting for him.” I urge him, as I do want to come home sooner than later. - Oh, too bad… then see you next time, bro ! Have a good afternoon ! - Have a good workout !”

He smiles to me while I wave him goodbye, visibly trying to empathize with me, before leaving the locker room in a small trot. This is how far our “friendship” goes, just simple courtesy when we see each other in the gym, which isn’t often since I don’t have a lot of time to go in the first place, and nothing beyond. I could likely try to deepen our relationship, but I feel we don’t actually have much in common, since he’s much more of a social butterfly than I’ll ever be, no matter how eager he may seem to get to know me, with all of these allusions of making me meet people or inviting me to parties.

Finally reaching my locker, I open it and find inside all my regular clothes, my phone and my other belongings, as expected. However, I also find a small piece of paper inside.

Curious, I examine it, and notice that there are actually stuff written on it. Handwritten. A secret message ? In the gym ? That’s weird…

It reads :

“You with no name and no house, do not forget who you are.”

I try to find a signature of any kind, but I do not find anything but this… warning ? poem ? I don’t really know what it’s supposed to be…

But whatever it is, it doesn’t seem to have much substance. I guess it’s not that important for me to take further notice of.

I stick the piece of paper inside my bag and take my clothes. I’m happy to have thought of taking two sets of clothing, since with loitering this long in the lobby, the staff needs to see me leaving, even if it originally was in order to have something to wear for the after-workout date. So I change, I stock everything in my bag, and leave the gym, bidding farewell to the staff at the same time.

Once I’m out of the gym, I look around to find somewhere secluded enough. I wouldn’t want to do anything in public, after all. So I walk around a bit, until I find a public bathhouse, in which I enter, since it is perfect for what I’m about to do.

See, I have quite a big secret… or rather, you know the secret, but you don’t know why it is a secret…

Suddenly, my muscles start mellowing out, my abs fading, while the rest seem to deflate. My pecs start retreating inside my body while my shoulders narrow, losing at the same time all the muscle mass making them fuse into my neck. My v-line disappears, my calves and my arms thin out, and I’m losing mass all round. At the same time, the light dusting of hair on my torso starts thinning out, just like my big beard, losing loads of length until only a few short hairs on my lip and on my chin remain. My hair also grows wildly, covering my forehead in messy coiled hair, losing any order it may have had. And as both of these processes come to an end, I lose a few centimeters of height, while my face rearranges to become more square, my facial features arrange themselves in a less symmetrical way, until it all becomes… well… not a model’s face, just a normal guy’s face.

Here is the secret : the guy that was in the gym wasn’t the real Vítor Nunes. This is the real Vítor Nunes. Just a normal guy, a bit skinny-fat, a bit twinky, a bit nerdy, but most of all an unremarkable guy. And that normal unremarkable guy gets out of his big clothes to go into his small clothes, complete with jeans and a red t-shirt. When everything is secure, I go back out to the street to head to the cafe I go to every time after the gym.

I think I owe you an explanation.

The way I look right now is the way I always looked – well, minus aging. However, one day, about a year ago if my memory serves me right, I suddenly gained the ability to transform. I still don’t know what caused it, but all of a sudden, when I concentrate, I can change my body to reflect what I have in mind.

Of course, I’m gay, so my first instinct when I discovered this gift was to give myself big muscles, and so they magically grew. God, I loved it, it was so exciting to see my muscles swell in the mirror, it’s really a one-of-a-kind experience ! However, this is also when I learned of the limits of this power : it’s actually really uncomfortable to maintain another form for too long, especially when it’s quite far from my normal form. If you have that experience, it’s a bit like when you are in high heels, everything starts to become tricky to do (don’t ask me how I know that). That’s why when I tried to become a woman, it was so uncomfortable I could barely remain like that for a few seconds before I made my boobs go away. Therefore, while I have access to a very hot persona, I can’t maintain it forever, meaning it’s not actually that useful aside from some kind of party trick.

However, the temptation was always too strong.

I used to be a virgin, both in sex and in romance, and the dream of prince charming was a reoccurring one, especially for someone as lonely as I am. However, with this power, I could spend some time in another body, in a body in which I could look like god amongst men. And so, the Vítor Nunes you saw, the one well-thought out to be as attractive for gay men as I could think of, was born. And it’s using his body that I lost my virginity in what could be its own sub-story.

But it never went beyond that, a quick one-night stand, even though I looked very hot and not very picky. I don’t even know what I am doing wrong ! Like, sure, when I’m on dates, the other guy always wants to directly fuck, but still ! Suddenly, someone hails me.

“Hey ! Vítor ! You hear me ?”

I’m jerked out of my thoughts, and quickly cobble an answer.

“Oh, er… hey, Satoshi ! I… didn’t notice you here ! - Well, I noticed.” He answers me, dryly.

He’s always been quite dry with me, and I don’t know why. We go to the same university, and are in the same curriculum in writing, although most of our classes reflect our different paths throughout this degree. So we talked in the few classes we had in common, but nothing more, really. I guess he’s the closest person I could classify as a “friend”, and even that is a stretch. Recently, though, he’s been acting quite weirdly. I know that he’s started attending the gym, and he’s also bleached his hair. I wonder if he is trying to impress someone or what...

“What are you doing in this part of town ?” He asks me. - Oh, I… I was just at the gym, I want to be healthier, you see…” I half-lie, hoping he will be convinced. - I see…” He looks at me, squinting. He doesn’t seem convinced. “Well, what matters is that you become the real you. Now, I’m sorry, but I need to go. Bye.”

What ? What was he mumbling ? I look at him as he continues his way opposite to where I’m heading. He seems to be in quite the hurry, I wonder where he’s heading… Recently, he hasn’t got a lot of time, I always find him almost avoiding talking to people, and always disappearing once class is dismissed. Is gym this much of a time-eater or does he also have something I don’t know of ? … N-not that it interests me this much, of course, that’s his own private life !

Ugh… To save myself from my own thoughts, I enter the cafe and go at the back of the file. When I’m finally at the counter, I go to order, before the woman behind the counter, Sandra, recognizes me. I’m a regular at this cafe, after all.

“Hey Vítor, I didn’t expect you this early ! - Yeah, I had something to do with someone, but he never showed up.” I once again lie by omission, though I admittedly give her a more accurate picture. - Oh, I’m so sorry for you !” She brings her hand on her mouth to empathize with me. She’s always been very expressive. “But speaking of people not showing up, I’m guessing you want an americano, like usual ? - Yes ?” I answer, unsure where she’s heading with this. - Well that’s great ! Because a kind soul actually bought you one !”

Smiling, she gives me an already prepared americano, to which a piece of paper is attached, that I take with a confused look.

“And… to whom I owe the honor ?” In ask her. - Well, that person asked to remain anonymous ! But they told me that you should be able to piece together who they are thanks to this piece of paper I attached !” She answers, radiating in glee. Yeah, she also loves drama. - Okay… well, give them my thanks if you see them, I guess…”

I wave her goodbye and take place at an outside table. Another piece of paper ? It must be a coincidence, the consequences of it not being are way too scary for me to dwell on too much. Yet, when I read it, these consequences seem more and more like reality…

“For you really have a beautiful self, especially when you show your true face.”

It’s the same handwriting as the note I found at the gym ! Plus, when putting the two pieces of paper, it really does seem to be directly talking about my transformations… But who is it, and what do they want from me ? How did they find out about my secret ? And why this sudden… flirty tone ?

I sigh, and quickly drink my coffee. Due to the fact that it has already been prepared, it means that it’s a bit colder than usual, meaning it’s easier to drink. Wait… if it’s barely colder than usual… does this mean that the one having ordered it was here barely a few minutes ago ? But if it’s so, then how could they have slipped another piece of paper inside my locker ?

The caffeine starts hitting my brain, making me mull over the facts and imagine who could be the one to deliver these notes. Whoever they are, they seem to know my routine, since they knew that I would go to this cafe after the gym. It means that it’s very likely someone I know, or at least someone whose face I have already seen. They also have been witness to one of my transformations somehow, so they’ve likely hung out at the gym… or been one of my earlier dates perhaps ?

Everything is confusing, I just cannot find a way to make sense of all of that ! And… what will happen now that my secret is revealed ? Am I suddenly going to become a lab rat, as my weird condition is revealed to all ? Am I going to have to perform weird or even illegal tasks to stave off outing of my power ? Am I going to be recruited by a criminal organization in order to perform heists as an unknown person ?

Looking at my empty cup, I understand I’ve now gone too far in my thoughts. I’m likely not going to be coerced by a criminal ringleader to commit crimes. That’s ridiculous.

I dispose of my cup and head home. I’ve seen enough today, and I really need an actual break. So I take the bus, a few connecting ones until I’m finally back where I live. Before entering, I quickly go to check if there’s anything in the mailbox. And as if on queue, there is, some random account statements and other official stuff… and another of those papers.

They know where I live ! Now I can actually be scared ! For sure they’re going to make me do crimes or intern me inside a research center, I know it ! Shaking, I take out the piece of paper, and read it. It is written with the same handwriting as the others, so it confirms the fact that they do know a lot about me, but… er… eh ? Here is what it says :

“You are always worthy of love, so never forget the above.”

Wait wait wait, from the beginning, the flirty was what it was all actually about ? It is a love declaration ? … I guess it does rule out the criminal possibility… So who could it be ?

Thinking about it… It can’t be Sandra at the cafe, her shift wouldn’t let her go in the gym when I was there, and she was the one saying that they bought the coffee and left me the message. It can’t be Satoshi, although he could have bought me coffee, he couldn’t put the message in my locker, since I didn’t see him entering the gym, and he was actually walking towards the gym when I saw him. Plus, he’s so dry with me I’d think he hates me before I’d think he loves me. It can’t be Ilham, although he could have put his message in my locker before I entered, he’s currently at the gym, so he couldn’t buy me coffee. Plus, to my knowledge, he’s straight, and he’s still learning English, so he couldn’t have written such a complicated “poem”.

And I didn’t see anyone else during my little trip, so it could literally be anyone else !

But wait… looking back at the three pieces of paper, of the sequence they put together… it reminds me of something… I open my door and quickly make my way to my computer. I need to check something. To check a certain creative writing homework I had in first year.

And finding it… yes. I was correct. This is directly taken from it. The homework we did in duo back in first year of college. It’s weird… is it… really him ?

I close back up my computer, put down all of my stuff while continuing to mull over this revelation. But all of my thinking leads me to one conclusion and one only : I need to call him. So I take out my phone and do just that.

“Hello, Vítor ? Why do you call me ?” He asks, picking up almost immediately after me calling. - I just wanted to ask… do you remember our creative homework, back in first year ? - Yeah, I do, of course I do. - And… have you recently used it for anything ?”

I hear a sigh. Of course I was right.

“So you understood that it was me. I think we both have things to say to each other, so let us meet. - I guess we do.”

And so I go back out of my house, back to where it all started. Back to the gym. I walk for a bit, take a few buses, and when I’ve finally arrived, none other than Satoshi was waiting for me in front of the gym.

“Hello again, Satoshi.” I hail him. “So, you said we had to discuss ? - Yes. Let me be clear at first : I know that you have a muscular alter-ego that you can become. I don’t know why, or how, but I know you do. - How… did you know ?” I ask, a bit anxious, while he smiles at my question. - Well, you see… since the beginning of the year, you’ve been quite absent, and it made me quite worried.” He began recounting, feeling in his way of speaking way more personal and warm. “Honestly, while at first I thought to myself that you can have your own life, and that I shouldn’t interfere with it, your presence started to feel… missing.”

Huh, I didn’t know that I turned him down this much when I discovered my power. I thought that everything was just going as usual, only talking while in public transports and all… Yeah, I guess since I started going to the gym to get hookups, I changed my route after class, meaning that it overlapped less… I didn’t consider that…

“So, one day, I decided to follow you. Discreetly, of course, until you went to that gym. I… I didn’t know why you would go in there, but following you, I saw you entering a changing room… and out left a muscular man. It doesn’t take a genius to understand that it was you. - So this is how you understood that I had powers… - Yes. But this is not the end of my tale. Because I then thought of why I cared so much about you not being available. It wasn’t the first time someone would more or less abandon me out of the blue like that, but it was the first time I was this agitated. Especially because our relationship wasn’t that deep, all things considered. This lead me to the conclusion that I… er... want to spend more time with you, and made me realize that… in truth… er…” He blushes, suddenly trailing off and having a hard time to articulate clearly. “That… that I’m in love with you.”

Although I expected it, I still blush. He’s so straightforward ! And… it’s so unexpected, all things considered ! I guess I still had in mind the possibility that he was just trying to hype me up, somehow ?

“And what really angers me most,” He continues “is that you are overt there trying to be as ‘masculine’, as ‘beautiful’ or anything else to woo people, even though you’re already great the way you are ! And how you sabotage yourself by catering to this image of yourself you invented, going to the gym and all…”

I don’t know what to say. I guess I’ve been really focused in being as much of a gym rat as I could, else my cover would be ridiculous…

“Is it like that ?” I can finally manage. “That people don’t bye the muscular self I have ? - No. I- I don’t think that’s it. It’s more that you do it too well, so they don’t see you as anything more than a gym rat. I guess it all feels wrong and not personal, because it’s not you ! You’re forcing yourself to be someone you’re not ! B-but… since I have the privilege of knowing who you really are… I want to say that the real you is more. It’s beautiful, and warrants love…” He says, blushing even more. - H-how are you saying this with a straight face…” I answer, smiling, while being swept by the wave of awkwardness he radiates. - I’m not… But I really want to tell you what things really are. Because you deserve it.” He takes a large inspiration. “So. Do you want to go out with me ?”

By now, I fully knew what was coming.

And I know my answer.

“Yes, I do.”

“Hey, I’m home !” I announce, coming back home.

However, I do not find any answer to my call, even though Satoshi is supposed to come to my house this evening. He’s likely not there yet, I’m sure taken by his work, meaning that it’s going to be at least a small while until he makes it here.

I smirk. I know what to do to him. He will hate that, but it will be way too fun an opportunity to pass up. So I go to my room, completely undress, and take out some of the special clothes I still have stashed in the corner of my cupboard. In particular, I take out a very big par of jeans, the kind that would usually never fit me.

Then, all of a sudden, I feel my muscles tense up. They’re pulsating, getting progressively bigger and bigger. My pecs are the most noticeable of all of them, rounding up and sagging down in big globes attached to my torso, but everything else gains in mass. My shoulders crack as they’re pushing apart, muscles growing between them and my neck, and a light dusting of black hair starts appearing on them. They descend all over my body, on my torso, beneath my armpits, in my crotch, and on my legs. My crotch also embiggens, the hose hiding inside taking more and more place, while on the rear side my ass cheeks firm up, and gets bigger just like the pecs upstairs.

As it all happens, my face also itches, as the little hairs that are on it start growing, elongating my face at the same time. These hair grow all over my chin into a long beard, while on my lip they only grow denser. At the same time, my face rearranges to become more conventionally attractive, more symmetrical, and my hair starts shortening a bit, and becoming more well-kept.

As the last few details of my transformation arrange themselves, I put the large jeans on, not even bothering to put on underwear before that. Yup, that’s very sexy alright, he’s gonna hate that ! And so my muscular self takes place in the living room, waiting for his beloved to come.

Because this time, I know my prince charming will come.

================================================

Hey ! A story (that was again hard to write) for the last few hours of Pride Month, if it's even still on in your part of the world ! ^^'

I hope we in the TF community can recognize all the colors of the rainbow and all the letters of the acronym, including bi (and similar identities) and trans people ! And I also hope that we can all help to build, each to our ability, a better and more tolerant world (especially in the face of the rise of hateful ideologies around the world, yes I'm quivering at the results of my elections ^^')

So yeah, happy pride, everyone !

[euphemiaamillais]

keeping the peace — snowjanus x reader

caught stealing at the hob, two peacekeepers decide its up to them to give you a punishment… only, it’s nothing like you were expecting.

cw: 18+//dub-con//power play//blowjobs//piv sex//spitting//impact play//sejanus’ guilt complex//mentions of sex work//peacekeeper!coryo and peacekeeper!sej//dark!coriolanus snow//district 12!reader

you hadn’t meant to do something that caused so much trouble, really. you thought that it would go unnoticed, taking an extra coin you’d found on the bench at the hob, and saving it for your little brother. but when you’d looked up, you saw two peacekeepers watching you slide the coin into your pocket.

your heart sank inside your chest as they met your gaze. their faces were painted with stern looks, and you cast an apologetic glance, backing away slowly. you prayed they wouldn’t report you.

‘what do you think you’re doing?’ the blonde one questioned, clutching at your wrist before you could steal away.

‘nothing,’ you murmured, trying to shake off his grasp, but he was too strong, grip tightening like a noose around your wrist.

‘doesn’t look like nothing, does it, private plinth?’ he gestured to the black haired one, who seemed to have a kinder disposition.

unfortunately he didn’t offer any more courtesy than the blonde peacekeeper, and shook his head.

‘i saw her take something,’ he remarked.

your lips quivered, and you glanced around, hoping someone would intervene. but you were far away enough from the throng of dancers that nobody would bother to help you out. messing with peacekeepers could be a death sentence.

‘it’s mine,’ you lied, but attempted to maintain a straight face.

the blonde one had backed you up into the wall, clucking his tongue at you like you were a common criminal. his breath was hot as he leaned in against your ear.

‘doesn’t look like yours, hm? don’t think a little district slut like you would have much, not unless you’d whored yourself for your earnings,’ he spat, watching as you trembled against the wall.

his friend laughed a little, watching as the blonde taunted you. it was awfully quiet out here, if you tried to scream nobody would hear you, not over the sound of lucy gray’s melodic singing and the sound of the covey’s guitar.

‘please, let me go,’ you begged, whimpering as you felt him press himself into you.

he shook his head, laughing at your foolishness. you could feel something hard digging into your thigh and wondered whether it was the holster for his gun or the bulge forming as he watched you squirm beneath him.

‘what do you think, sej, should i let her go?’ he mused, a devilish grin crossing his lips as he watched you turn into a terrified little fawn.

how pathetic.

‘oh, i don’t know coryo…’ he seemed to have some doubt clouding his eyes, and you cast him a look of plea, hoping he would take mercy on you and convince his friend to let you go.

your wrist ached from the way the blonde peacekeeper was clasping at you; hard enough that you could feel a purple bruise forming beneath the skin.

‘i think she needs to be searched for stolen goods,’ coryo, if that was his name, licked his lips hungrily as he eyed you.

you felt his hands creep up your skirt, grasping at your bare thighs and giving a sigh. he felt the smooth expanse of the skin, his touch cool and menacing as he slid further up the apex of your thighs, barely missing your panties. it was humiliating, really, the way he was pawing at you like you were some sort of whore. at least if you were, then perhaps you’d actually have earned that coin.

‘nothing here,’ he murmured, removing his hands from your thigh and now sticking his hands up the loose fabric of your blouse.

you weren’t wearing a bra, which he took notice of immediately, blonde brows cocking in surprise, and he let out a low groan as your nipples reflexively perked up from the cool sensation of his hands. you hung your head in shame, cheeks painted a deep crimson. sejanus, the other peacekeeper, could barely look at what coryo was doing to you, though his hardened cock was proof that he wanted nothing more than to teach you a lesson, just like his more malicious friend.

‘please, if you want the coin, it’s in my pocket,’ you whimpered, hoping he would leave you alone if that’s what he wanted.

you couldn’t ignore the heat that burned between your legs, and pressed your thighs together to help quell the feeling. but it only spurred things on, the friction making you have to stifle a gasp. coryo was still caressing your breasts, a low groan escaping his lips as he fingered the soft skin.

‘don’t want the coin, stupid slut,’ he muttered, removing one hand to reach out and slap you clean across the cheek.

your eyes stung, cheek burning red from the impact of his mark. sejanus came up behind coryo and tried to pull him away, shocked that his friend had struck you. but still, sejanus couldn’t deny the fact that you looked so pretty, tears trickling down your cheeks as coryo’s hand roamed under your blouse.

‘what do you want, then?’ your lips trembled as you begged the question. he removed his other hand from your breasts, but his knee had driven between your legs so that there was nowhere left for you to run.

‘oh, i don’t know,’ his pearly teeth glinted against the dim light of the alcove. ‘i think you need to be taught a little lesson about respecting authority.’

sejanus swallowed thickly as he watched this interaction. while he felt bad that coryo was taunting you, he couldn’t help but feel aroused at the thought of them sharing you, teaching you that you couldn’t get away with disobeying peacekeepers.

your eyes drew wide as you realised what he meant, and you began to shake your head frantically. besides the regrettable relinquishment of your virginity to billy taupe the summer you were sixteen, you’d hardly been touched by a man before, let alone two men at once. although the thought of them touching you made your heart pound with fear, you couldn’t deny the way your core burned.

‘so pretty,’ coryo cooed as he stroked your cheek, pressing his hard bulge against the smooth expanse of your thighs. ‘such a shame you decided to take something that wasn’t yours.’

‘you should really know better than that,’ sejanus scolded, his heart racing as he followed suit from coryo.

a small smile flickered across his lips, and he leaned in over coryo’s shoulder, brown eyes dancing across your frightened features. poor thing, you were so pathetic as they cornered you. but deep down, they could tell you wanted it, and it was only confirmed when coryo’s fingers reached for your panties and felt how they’d been soaked through.

‘fucking hell, sej, she’s wet,’ coryo scoffed in disbelief. the other district sluts he’d defiled had never been so susceptible or so desperate for his cock, they whined about how big he was or begged him to stop. you were different.

‘really? huh, guess she wants us after all,’ sejanus murmured, tucking a stray curl behind your ear.

you whimpered, coryo’s fingers brushing against your clit. you hated how your body was betraying you, how it felt so good as he touched you. your face burned again, and the subtle bucking of your hips revealed how much you were enjoying his touches.

‘what a slut, getting wet at the thought of being fucked by two peacekeepers,’ coryo clucked his tongue. ‘bet you did it on purpose, huh? wanted to taste our cocks so bad that you stole that coin from right under our noses, knowing we’d take you out here and fuck you like the whore you are.’

‘no,’ you whispered, mouth dry.

coryo pulled his fingers from your clit, and a frown scampered across your lips from the loss of sensation. he pushed you down, hard, your head knocking a little against the wall, and kept his hands on your shoulders. now on your knees, you could see both of them straining in their pants, cocks achingly hard. you shook a little.

‘c’mon,’ coryo grabbed your chin in his hand, pushing your face towards sejanus. ‘want you to suck him off.’

sejanus raised his brows, surprised that his friend had relinquished his own pleasure for his, but he was so hard that he couldn’t think straight. after all, it wouldn’t be so bad if you had gotten wet over the thought of it, right?

‘please,’ you begged as coryo forced your hands to unzip sejanus’ pants, but coryo just laughed in his golden, capitol tone.

‘sluts don’t get a say, especially not thieving ones either. you need to learn to respect authority,’ coryo hissed, forcing your fingers to tug down sejanus’ boxers.

his cock sprung out, and as much as you wanted to deny it, you could feel your mouth watering at the sight of it. he was thick, not above average, but the girth made your thighs tingle at the thought of taking him in your mouth. you felt coryo’s hand pushing your head forward, and you scrambled to grip your hand at the base of sejanus’ cock.

sejanus groaned as you gave his head an exploratory lick, and then pushed the tip into your mouth. the flat of your tongue salved over his veiny cock, taking him in further. he fisted his hand in your hair, breath heavy as he tried not to push you down against his cock. your mouth already ached from the girth of him, but you wanted to obey them both for fear of what they’d do if you didn’t.

coryo praised you, palming himself a little as he watched you take sejanus in your throat. you did it so prettily, plump lips wrapped around his friend’s cock, eyes fluttering as you glanced up at him for reassurance. sejanus’ own eyes were shut, but you took it as a sign to keep going with your ministrations.

‘good girl,’ coryo cooed as you took sejanus further down your throat, the sound of your gagging turning him on some more.

sejanus’ cheeks went red as he realised he was already nearing his finish—you were actually the first girl to take him in your mouth, not that he’d dare tell anyone. but it just felt so good, better than his hand ever could, and he let out a breathy groan as the feeling of your tongue sliding up and over each vein on his cock.

‘fuck,’ he muttered, his balls tensing as you took him further in your mouth, tip pressing against the back of your throat.

he came undone in that moment, hot spurts of cum spilling from his cock. he pulled out in a haze of abashed shame, tip still dripping with cum. you took him back to your tongue, and licked up the drops of his load.

sejanus’ body tensed at the feeling of overstimulation as your tongue licked him clean, brushing against the sensitive skin, but he couldn’t believe how good it felt, watching as your wide-eyes took his cock like the dumb whore coryo said you were.

once you were done and he tucked himself into his pants, he seemed satisfied. coryo didn’t believe you had learned your lesson yet, however, his cock straining in his pants at the sight of you on your knees, plump lips still wet from all the saliva that had dribbled down your chin.

how fucking pathetic. a stupid district whore. that’s all you were to him; something to be used, a hole to fill.

coryo pulled you up, shoving you back against the wall. your head tingled a little with the impact, and when you lolled a little to the side coryo grabbed a fistful of your hair and tugged it, sending a stinging pain across your scalp.

‘ouch,’ you murmured, bottom lip trembling at the tingling feeling that danced across your scalp.

in response to your complaint, coryo slapped you again, and tears sprung to the corners of your eyes. he only laughed in response, cock beginning to leak a little in his boxers as he watched a few tears leak free from your eyes. sejanus’ lips curled up in distaste, but coryo’s ire was something he feared, so he said nothing.

‘don’t fucking disobey me!’ he snapped, pushing your hands back against the wall; pinning you there with one leg delved between your thighs.

shamefully, you were wet, and he could really feel it. you’d gotten more wet than when he’d stuck his fingers in you; must’ve gotten off from sucking sejanus’ dick. whore, he thought.

‘gonna take my cock now, yeah?’ he cooed to you like you were stupid. you did look dumb though, eyes all fucked out from sucking sejanus’ cock, and the way you were trembling beneath his touch.

you nodded, heart pounding in your chest. coryo unzipped his pants and freed his cock, holding it at the base like it was some prize to behold. he forced you to look at it, and your brows lifted in awe at the sheer size of it.

‘think you can take all of me, hm?’ he taunted, teasing the tip of his cock along the wet patch in your panties. you gasped, clutching at his back. he seethed at the intimate gesture and you dropped your hand.

feeling a little left out, sejanus came to stand beside you, and gave your hand a little squeeze when coryo wasn’t looking. you could see slight pity in his eyes—the way coryo was treating you was harsh, like you were nothing more than the spittle on his shoe, but it wasn’t as if he could do much about it. he offered you a few kind gestures in the hopes that you could see that not all peacekeepers were cruel.

you let out a mewl as coryo tugged your panties down, laughing at how fucking wet you were. slick had soaked right through them, and when he shoved your skirt up he clicked his tongue in disbelief. your folds were practically glistening with want; all for him.

‘look at her, sej,’ coryo sighed. sejanus couldn’t help but cast his eyes down, and he drew breath at the sight of your pretty cunt. he wanted nothing more than to have it for himself, but he knew coryo wouldn’t let him. well, at least not tonight.

before he could bury his cock inside of you, coryo grabbed you by the chin, long fingers cold against the heat of your skin, and forced your mouth open.

‘gonna be such a good girl for me, hm?’ coryo murmured, delving his thumb inside your mouth, feeling the sticky saliva coat it.

you could only nod, resting your head back against the wall with nervous fatigue. it was torturous, wondering what he was going to do to you, and you could feel both their eyes boring into you, and just how exposed you were. like you were nothing better than a slut who took coin for her services.

coryo forced your mouth open wider, and spat right into it, the warm mixture hitting your tongue. it took everything in you not to gag, but the way his rage brimmed in his eyes caused you to swallow, fluttering your eyelashes flirtatiously to pretend as if you enjoyed it.

‘look at that, sej,’ he bragged. ‘stupid district slut finally starting to understand who’s in charge here.’

coryo laughed, and sejanus gave a small chuckle, but the way his lips twisted into a nervous frown suggested that he did not exactly share the same sentiments as his friend.

satisfied that you were learning to become obedient, coryo shoved his cock in, watching as you squirmed at the feeling of him stretching you out. you were so tight, and billy taupe hadn’t exactly measured up to coryo, who you guessed was about eight inches; so it stung a little.

‘fuck,’ he cursed, burying himself right up to the hilt inside of you. ‘wish you could feel how fuckin’ tight she is, sejanus. ‘spose she could be your first, if you wanted.’

sejanus’ cheeks coloured, embarrassed, and you offered an apologetic look—well, as much as you could in your state. you were grasping at coryo’s shoulders, core burning as he bucked into you. it was one hell of a punishment, but you supposed it was better than being taken to their commander.

coryo furrowed his brow as he saw your eyes flicker shut, and he gave your hair a tug, causing them to flutter open as your mouth stretched around a cry of pain.

‘fucking look at me, slut!’ he scolded.

you forced your eyes to stay open, although the tears were stinging at them, salty droplets brimming at your waterline.

‘don’t know why you’re whining so much when you’re such a fucking slut,’ he grunted as he thrust into you. ‘bet you’ve taken lots of cocks before, huh? stupid district whore.’

the tears were streaming down your cheeks now, disgusted by his insults, shame burning in your face. sejanus was sympathetic, but you could see he kept his gaze down, watching coryo fuck you. you hated that your body was enjoying this, the sound of your wet pussy squelching as he burrowed himself deeper inside of you.

‘n-no,’ you shook your head, and coryo only laughed in response. you felt pathetic; worthless as he fucked you.

‘don’t fucking stutter,’ he said, slamming his cock into you and causing you to cry out in pleasure. another betrayal.

your breathing grew heavier as you felt a knot growing inside your stomach—the feeling of your own pleasure building. you did everything you could to stop the pleasant tingling at your core, but as coryo slammed into you, you couldn’t deny that it felt good. he knew what he was doing, and yet he was so cruel towards you.

‘see, sej,’ coryo boasted. ‘this is how you take a district girl. you need to learn—especially with this one. they’re no good, thieves and sluts; in this one’s case, it’s both.’

sejanus hissed through his teeth, trying to alert coryo to the fact that he too, was district. though you didn’t know that. coryo ignored his friend’s lack of enthusiasm, and turned his attention back to you.

he was nearing his finish, balls begging to be drained as they slapped against your perineum. you were doing so well, really learning your lesson, because you were gasping a little in pleasure, legs trembling as you soaked his cock.

‘think she’s coming, sej,’ coryo alerted his fellow peacekeeper, who could see it himself. ‘you gonna come round my cock, huh? show me that you know how to take orders now?’

completely fucked out, you let yourself go, unfurling around him. you hated yourself for it, giving him the satisfaction of your own orgasm; he’d gloat about it forever. fucking the thieving whore into submission.

‘good girl,’ he cajoled, brushing the sweaty hair out of your eyes.

he stilled for a moment, readjusting himself, your bare ass rubbing against the wall, hurting a little from the scratchy stuff it was made of. coryo let out a deep groan as he slid himself back in, the new angle providing him little time before his release.

he thrust haggardly, grunting and clawing desperately at your arms, until he felt himself come. hot spurts of cum spilled themselves inside your pussy, and you let out a whine at the sensation; dreading what would happen if you got pregnant. you hadn’t thought that out, you should’ve begged him to use a condom or something, the selfish bastard. you doubt he would’ve though.

‘there you go, taking all my cum like a good girl,’ he mused, pushing his seed back into your hole with a few extra thrusts.

sejanus swallowed thickly at the sight of coryo’s cum trickling down your thighs, and felt a deep sense of shame welling in the pit of his stomach. after all, wasn’t it a little corrupt to fuck you as a punishment for your crimes? a simple fine would’ve been enough, but coryo had this base urge, this need to corrupt the girls of district 12 to satisfy his needs.

‘i think you’ve learned your lesson, hm?’ coryo titled his head as he lowered you down.

your knees buckled as you adjusted to the feeling of being on the ground again, and the excess of your fear still trembling through your body. coryo bore a smug grin, and put your clothes back on himself, as if you were too stupid to do it on your own.

your thighs were so sticky, and you seethed from the way they pressed together, but at least your skirt covered the evidence that he’d just had his cock in you. you were too embarrassed to admit that you’d enjoyed it, no matter how much he had taken advantage of you. sejanus had been sweeter, but you could tell he felt some amount of mortification for his actions. coryo on the other hand, was proud of himself. proud for teaching another district slut a lesson.

you dug into your pocket for the spare coin, and placed it into coryo’s hand, gazing up at him anxiously. he laughed, twirling around the 25 cent piece. it was worthless to someone like him, you supposed.

‘keep it,’ he remarked, placing it back into your hand. your cheeks burned in embarrassment. ‘you’ve earned it.’

[osaemu]

KAMISATO AYATO: BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME!

.ೃ࿐ modern!au: you run into your ex-best friend's brother after a long time

contents: fem!reader. use of she/her pronouns. ayaka's a little ooc. this was supposed to be 800 words but ended at over a thousand..

author's note: comm'd by @/kruinka, thanks for the trade!!

"shit, i'm so sorry—"

you look up sheepishly at the man in front of you, wincing when you see the dark, coffee-scented stain on his crisp white shirt. your face burns in embarrassment as you trip over your words, coming to a halt when you see his face.

a name registers in your brain, but you don't actually connect it to him until he clears his throat and starts to speak. "ah, don't worry about it. i have a lot of these shirts," he says awkwardly. 

kamisato ayato.

your ex-best friend's older brother.

ayato tilts his head, soft blue eyes surveying the brown liquid dripping down his chest before looking at you. thankfully, there's no sign of recognition in his face as he offers you a comforting smile. "really, there's no need to look that horrified. you're fine."

"i'm so sorry," you mumble, setting the half-empty coffee cup on a table nearby before snatching a couple napkins and stiffly handing them to ayato. "i should go."

you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and start turning around before he calls "wait," essentially forcing you to stay back. ayato studies your flustered expression intently, and unfortunately, luck doesn't seem to be on your side today.

"you're my sister's friend, right?" he asks, looking down at you thoughtfully. you bite the inside of your cheek and force yourself to shrug. it'd be rude to leave now, especially since ayato's made that connection between you and his sister.

he dabs one of the napkins on his shirt, but it only makes the brown spread from his shirt to the cuff of his sleeve. you curse profusely in your head, but common courtesy forces you to take another napkin and help him out.

"so," ayato continues, "what did that mean?"

you pause, looking up at him with a confused look on your face. ayato smiles ruefully and clarifies, "why'd you shrug?"

shit.

"oh," you say nonchalantly, busying yourself with folding another napkin and soaking the coffee from his shirt into it. "nothing."

"really," ayato deadpans, slipping his hands into his pocket. "am i supposed to believe that?"

"really!" you insist, pressing the napkin into his chest a little harder than you meant to.

the truth was that it wasn't nothing — in fact, far from it. you and ayaka had a pretty bad falling out, and worst of all, it was over him. 

just under a year ago, you had offhandedly told another friend that you sort-of liked ayaka's brother (even though he was older than you by a couple years). it wasn't supposed to be a big deal, but of course, word got around that you found you had a crush on your best friend's brother. naturally, ayaka was pissed, but in your eyes, it wasn't a big deal and it wasn't even a real crush.

but rumors change stories, and what once was said to be a crush was now viewed as true love. people told ayaka that you wanted to marry her brother, and as word got around more and more, the stories just kept getting worse.

you never did find out if ayato heard the rumors. maybe ayaka told him, or maybe she didn't see the need to bother her big brother with matters as trivial as you.

"it doesn't look like it was nothing," ayato presses, a soft lilt of amusement coating his words. "tell me, pretty please? i'd love to get some dirt on my little sister."

ayato grins, widening his eyes playfully as he begs you to tell him. "c'mon, you just ruined my shirt. the least you can do is tell me what happened between you and my sister."

you shake your head, and ayato groans stubbornly. "you owe me," he tries, but you still don't reply. "please? it can't be that bad."

"oh, it's bad," you say dryly, flicking two soiled napkins into a nearby trash can. "i wouldn't want to ruin your opinion of me this soon."

ayato scoffs, removing his hand from his pocket and grabbing your chin. a little hm? escapes from your lips, and it makes ayato laugh. he eyes you pleadingly, and although you know enough about him to know that this is all just a means to an end, your heart still skips a beat at the way his cool fingers grasp at your skin.

"what are you—"

"tell me," he breathes, cutting you off as he leans in teasingly. ayato knows exactly what he's doing, and the way he sees it, there's no reason why he can't make his sister's friend (or not) blush just a little. it's cute, really, the way your breath catches in your throat. and maybe the way he can practically see the gears turning in your head makes him smile.

"ayato," a familiar voice calls from the coffee shop doorway. "what's taking you so lo— what is going on?!"

you stumble back from ayato, eyes widening in surprise at the all too familiar voice of your ex-best friend. ayaka pauses for a second, surveying the scene before narrowing her ice-blue eyes at you. 

"so, ayato," she says, resting both of her hands on her hips. ayaka turns to her brother and glares at him. "wanna explain why you're flirting with her?"

ayato laughs and gestures at the coffee-colored stain on his shirt before turning to you and offering an apologetic smile. "looks like i'm the one who should get going. we should do this again sometime."

he waves bye, and you nod in response. ayaka gives you a suspicious look before looping her arm in her brother's and sweeping him away. they gradually fade into the distance, and you eventually leave.

a couple hours later, you recieve a text.

hey it's ayato, got your number from ayaka

you wanna treat me to boba tmrw? then you can tell me everything ;)

[2truehearts]

✦ — BUT DARLING, YOU ARE THE ONLY EXCEPTION.

✦ CHARACTER/S︰ijekiel alpheus & lucas from wmmap (who made me a princess).

✦ SYNOPSIS︰love can bloom and burn in any heart at the first sunlit-brindled brief—whether it be bounded by duty, ice, or disbelief; as long as that epitome of affection is you, they suppose they can make an exception and make some space—or in which they fall in-love with you first glance and sight.

✦ CONTENT WARNING/S︰nothing other than one swear word (fuck), & the general fluff and infatuation (from the character/s) + everything is proofread with the wc 200 - 300 each.

✦ A/N︰making my debut as a manhwa writer on main is not the ideal move but idk where to post it okay (side eyes the 2367838 sideblogs under this one/silly (also the title is inspired by "the only exception" by paramore <3 it's bleeping awesome go and give it a listen!!))

IJEKIEL IS NOT ONE TO FALL IN LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT, to have his world still for a few seconds while his heart overrides and blood races to the forefront of his cheeks—but dear heavens, were you the only exception to that rule bound by duty and a planned future in his chest. you surely weren’t the epitome of grace or as enchanting as the gods, but to him you were enough—more, than enough, truly.

he first met you in an arrangement of his father and your parents from your vague childhood—but oh, how he remembers every second of that first meeting. when the doors opened to you bowing in front of him with a barely-hidden smile of excitement curving the tips of your mouth to look at him with big, bright eyes of wonder staring directly at the copy of the sun—not once backing down to blink or burn away from awe and fluster. so ijekiel does that instead.  his skin flares with the color of blooming carnations, sunlight-prickled hues wide from childish panic at the sudden increased beating of his heart.  was something wrong with him? he felt light-headed and dizzy, stomach twisting, tossing and turning as if he was about to faint from merely seeing you presented before him like the finest muse of a pristine piece of art, incomparable to anything else other than itself. what should he do? should he compliment you? should he act indifferent and use a practiced smile? his mind is trying to adjust to the drastic changes of his swayed heart, but the boy just can’t seem to do just that when he’s faced with a fairytale protagonist right in front of him—and he blinks, catching something from the corner of his eye—and is brought back down to earth when he sees his father’s questioning gaze. then, bows with a smile, greeting you further in to sit down and perhaps enjoy a cup of tea with him?  you said yes out of common courtesy, but that only made his smile grow wider.

LUCAS FIRMLY DOES NOT BELIEVE IN LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT, like come on—who believes in love like that these days? naive little kids? newly adolescent noble ladies? men of high and poor status? it’s simply too . . . unlikely to actually happen in his eyes. the butterflies when you meet “the love of your life’s” eyes? could be the early signs of constipation. the flush in your cheeks when there’s too much prolonged eye contact with them and the dizziness of your heart and mind? could be an oncoming migraine, headache, or a sign you're being possessed by some evil spirit, y’know? anyways, enough joking aside—the point is, he finds the subject some far-fetched fairytale that is highly impossible even with the magic he has—that is, until, you waltz into his life. the things he feels when he's around you is something that could be described as a contradiction. the first gazing into your eyes turns the world upside and back again, the first brush against your fingertips suck all the air out of his chest, the first chuckle that he manages to rouse from deep within your giddy joy paints him a shade darker than his eyes from head to toe—holy fuck were there a lot of firsts that made him experience everything and anything all at once; with most he can't even explain properly without sounding so . . lovesick. god do you make him sick to the last bone with whatever sorcery you possess. in short; when in love, lucas is everything that correlates to being stupidly infatuated and is constantly reeling himself in by a hair’s breadth back to the surface when you smile, laugh, or simply exist next to him—like, can you imagine how utterly moronic it is to see how degenerate he’s become from before you?! . . . but, if it makes you happy, he’ll gladly be idiotic for the rest of his life (though, that depends if you're gonna annoy him or not).

✦ — @khasmies 2023.

[mixelation]

wait here's something weird and kind of niche i wrote a while ago

sakura's POV, meant to be a build up to itasaku but barely contains a hint of itachi

From Sakura’s point of view, it goes like this. 

She takes a call from the Office of Public Health, which is located in the Fire Country capital and is a civilian institution. They theoretically have no power over anything Konoha does, but occasionally Sakura has to field angry calls about Konoha shinobi spreading diseases long distance, or putting things in public wells, or that one time some idiot chunin squad caused a landside that wiped out a major delivery of medicines to a rural province. 

“Konoha Hospital, Haruno speaking,” Sakura says, plastering a fake smile across her face even alone in her office. 

“Ah, yes, is this the…” The voice on the other end pauses, and Sakura hears the shuffling of papers. “Lead Medical Jounin?”

The woman says this like she can’t believe it’s a real title. But as of two months ago, it’s Sakura official, very important, and extremely high ranking title. It’s come with more annoying phone calls than she anticipated. 

“That’s me,” Sakura tells her. “To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

The woman on the other side is head of Fire Country’s tuberculosis response team. She’s calling because of several very worrisome cases of TB across the Western provinces. 

“Multi-drug resistance is common in Water Country,” Sakura replies airily. She would rather people not be getting MDR-TB in general, but also, this is not her job unless this lady is about to tell her they tracked it to Konoha shinobi. 

Just to be sure, Sakura continues, “As you should know, Konoha includes an annual TB screen for all active shinobi, and a full course of antibiotics for any infected shinobi. Is this, perhaps, a courtesy call that we should be on the lookout for resistant strains?”

“It’s not coming from Water Country,” the woman tells her hotly. “We don’t know where it’s coming from. Contact-tracing hasn’t worked. These towns aren’t even on normal trade routes.”

Sakura’s cheeks are starting to hurt as her fake smile broadens. “Ah, well, if you require Konoha’s assistance, the more appropriate office is Mission Requests–”

“No traceable contacts paired with no obvious source,” the woman interrupts, “is almost always shinobi, Haruno-san.”

Sakura purses her lips, smile failing her. She just said they made sure anyone catching TB on the job was screened for and treated. She knows years ago that Tsunade had to handle some fiasco where a select few Konoha-nin were spreading an STI all over the place, but this situation is different. 

“What exactly do you want?” Sakura asks, voice hardening. 

“We’re auditing you,” the woman says. “I have an order signed by the Daimyo.”

Fuck, Sakura thinks. 

Sakura attempts to dump the audit on Tsunade. Tsunade laughs in her face. Sakura does manage to get approval for funding more overtime for medical ninja and staff to deal with it; Tsunade rarely argues against dumping money into the hospital or Medical Corps. 

Several thousand TB tests later, and many hours of Sakura organizing and photocopying records to prove they really were screening everyone, and she is royally pissed. Also, tired and probably malnourished from resorting to cup ramen for dinner too many nights. The audit is time consuming, and it doesn’t excuse her dealing with numerous other crises the hospital has just by virtue of being a hospital, on top of all her usual duties. 

Ms. TB Response Team deigns to make the trip down to Konoha to go through their audit. She looks exactly how Sakura imagined her on the phone: chin-length graying hair gelled into place, thick-rimmed glasses, a lab coat over a blouse and pencil skirt. It takes her and two other team members three days to go through the documents Sakura offers, and then another day to tour the labs to make sure they’re adequate. 

Ms. TB Response Team seems disappointed when they find nothing. Sakura doesn’t not want to harm a civilian woman just for doing her job, as annoying as it is. But she does sort of want to throw her desk through a window and yell I TOLD YOU SO. 

“This is good news,” Ms. TB Response Team says eventually, seated across from Sakura’s desk, “although inconvenient.”

Inconvenient? Sakura wonders, struggling to keep her smile in place. Yes, from the capital’s perspective, it would be a really convenient explanation if it were just Konoha ninja spreading TB around. They’d have their source and then also the ability to demand Konoha do something about it. 

But also: Tsunade’s Konoha doesn’t do this shit. Not with something as easily detectable as TB. 

“I’m glad we could assist in your investigation,” Sakura replies, surprising herself at how smooth her voice sounds. “Will that be all?”

“Mm, no,” Ms. TB Response Team responds, pushing up her glasses on her nose. “Perhaps the parameters of the audit were unclear. We’d also like to see your records on missing-nin movement.”

Shit, Sakura thinks. 

This one she really does get to dump on Tsunade. She’s positive of it as she opens the office door and gestures Ms. TB Response Team inside. 

Usually a small group like a disease response team wouldn’t be able to convince Konoha to share highly classified information like this. Another Kage probably wouldn’t let them at it, end of story. But Tsunde is a doctor first and Hokage second. She looks at the reports on MDR-TB, leans back in her chair, groans, and mashes the palms of her hands into her eyes. 

Multi-drug resistance means the bacteria do not respond to two or more of the available anti-TB drugs. This makes them difficult to treat, and untreated TB has a high mortality. They can’t let this spread. 

“Fine,” Tsunade eventually says. Ms. TB Response Team perks up. “No, I’m not letting you at our records. But I’ll let you have Sakura.”

Sakura immediately tenses, and the floorboard cracks underneath her as she shifts her position.

“Shishou,” she starts. 

“Sakura can go through the documentation and report back relevant findings,” Tsunade continues. “I assure you she’s highly competent.”

“Shishou,” Sakura repeats. “I have other important duties. Surely another shinobi is more suited to–”

She just got this position, and four out of the six months she’s been doing it have been this stupid audit. She doesn’t even have her feet under herself properly.

Tsunade eyes her levelly. “Learn to delegate,” she says. 

Several more floorboards crack when Sakura stomps out of her office ten minutes later.

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

gevivys (beauty) │ Chapter 5: Resolve

terms of endearment ��verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Daemon returns to King's Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn't expecting you - the revelation changes everything.

Hello, all! I know, it’s so soon! But this one is a cobbled-together piece of stuff you’ve already seen, just padded out a bit more. I figured I might as well push it on out now, so here ya go! Featuring Jason Lannister for the very first time, to finally bring all this shit together a bit more cohesively. As always, thank you to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs​ for reading though this and reassuring me it isn’t total shite!

TRIGGERS: incest, purity culture, age gap, general Daemon grottiness, allusions to non-consensual sexual situations.

According to most, Daemon Targaryen is a man in possession of little capacity for feeling beyond what is required to partake in lechery and barbarism. He knows himself; his disparagers are not entirely wrong. Except for one important, essential truth—he would die for his family. He loves his family.

Love, as he understands it, is what he has always felt when looking upon his brother, upon Rhaenyra. No matter the strife that has torn him from his kin time and time again, he can freely acknowledge that such sentiments will remain everlasting.

A kicked hound is one most loyal, he thinks with no small degree of bitterness. Or perhaps the meanest hound is more loyal. Either way, I am the hound—and my master, the king.

Love is what has wrenched harsh and twisting in his heart whenever he laid eyes on you, a toddling girl-child eternally eager for the cossetting attentions of your uncle, your kepa—and he had always been kepa, never Viserys, no, your father had never received an honour beyond being called ‘papa’ like any common pauper—now a stranger in so many ways.

The garden and the morning repast had served to ignite the wellspring of all his wildest desires, delivering to him seemingly all he had ever wanted in a prospective bride—young and beautiful, obedient and good-tempered, Valyrian of colouring and of status. But you had seemed smaller than your younger self, trapped in a prison of your own making, hidden beneath layers and layers of chaste courtesy and painstaking banality. And then, accompanying you to the Dragonpit had given him a curious glimpse into the power you kept hidden, the ancient strength of your lineage slipping through the cracks in your genteel veneer.

Regal. Arcane. These are the words that had come to mind watching you interact with your mount, none other than the famed Cannibal himself. Something of the majesty of the Conqueror lay within you, waiting for the necessary spark to kindle the flame. Your exchange with Athfiezar—your silent fearlessness, your devotion to your savage beast, your unassuming poise—reminds him that, for all your equally meek and mild-mannered nature, you are still Targaryen. You are still his sweetling.

It is this that elicits a consuming curiosity to know more.

You are an interesting puzzle, a strange contradiction, one whose buttermilk skin and pert teats and spit-shine lips should herald as a welcome to sample the delights hidden by the fabric of your darling little gowns. Yet, you act not as a silly young thing learning of her sway over men—teasing with fluttering lashes and bit lip and lilting tone as Rhaenyra had—but as a docile girl disinclined to press the limits of propriety as all maidens do. You ride the most savage dragon in the known world, and yet there is no such quality in you that echoes your mount’s disposition; instead, a loveliness that is near to cloying, pure and unadulterated and surely too good to be true. You are a fucking princess, and yet you are perfectly content to fade into the periphery, drawing little notice to yourself and seeking none from those around you, not even your own blood. A scholar, quick-witted and erudite, but somehow still so sweetly unknowing of the depravities that rule the minds of men who lay eyes on you.

You fascinate him. And his newfound realisation does not lessen his temptation to fuck you—to ply you with praise and charm and no small hint of avuncular affection (the reminder of your shared blood thrills him to the bone as always) so that, over time, you might be swayed to give your maidenhead to him—but, rather, that it results in a metamorphosis, a muddling, his longing mingling the base needs of the flesh with a rekindling of his fondness for you.

Which is why he cannot stand the presence of Jason Lannister.

“Why are you entertaining this farce?” Daemon asks, fists clenched at his sides. “A pompous fuck like him has no business anywhere near her.”

“Whatever is the problem, brother?” Viserys says distractedly, hunching over his miniature of Old Valyria and studying the replica of the Targaryen manse on the outskirts with intent. “Jason Lannister is Lord Paramount of the Westerlands. By any standard, I would think he is the best contender for her hand.”

That fucking model of his. Daemon resists the urge to smash the king’s stone city into rubble, though doing so might grant him the attentiveness he is sorely lacking from the man. “Are you not hearing me? He’s an arrogant cunt. He’d bore her in a sennight, let alone whatever hellish span of time an entire marriage would last.”

Viserys hums noncommittally. “She will make do”—he waves Daemon off—“as all noblewomen must when their fathers command them to marry. That is her lot in life. Besides, Lord Jason is one of the wealthiest men in the realm, and I am told he is rather pleasing to a lady’s eye. She could do worse than he.”

His brother’s remark is a fair one—of the trio, Jason is the preferable choice. And what a fucking miserable choice it would be.

He rolls his eyes. This is going nowhere. “And Tyrell? Your idiot son? Are they the ‘worse’ you speak of?”

Between that foppish peacock, his spiteful little twit of a nephew and the prancing lion, the latter just barely scrapes by as the best of the bunch.

“Enough, Daemon.” The king sighs, finally deigning to look up from his pile of rock. “These are the suitors she herself has chosen. I care not for the particulars, only that the girl should be wed before her eighteenth name day. Each of them possesses some quality I am sure she finds worthwhile…” At that, he pauses, brow furrowing. He squints up at Daemon. “What is your interest in the matter, anyway? It has naught to do with you.”

Shit. Daemon makes an evasive comment—something about sullying the purity of their noble lineage—and departs as quickly as he can, eager to escape the risk of Viserys’s suspicion falling on him. It would not do for the man to suspect his intentions toward yet another of his daughters.

He does not intend to seek you and the lord out, truly, but it nonetheless does not surprise him to realise that, upon freeing himself from the wrathful spiral of his own musings, his feet have taken him to the very same garden where he had first laid eyes upon you again after so many years, where you are now enduring the attentions of the insufferable Lannister patriarch. On this occasion, Cole is nowhere to be seen, and the entry is instead guarded by one of the Cargyll twins.

Daemon spies you on the path just inside, a careful distance placed between you and Jason. Though he cannot make out your expression from his vantage point, he observes well enough the flourishing bow the lord proffers in your direction, the polite curtsey you extend in return, his smug prancing step as he leaves your company. He sees the manner in which your shoulders droop, your head bowing as you turn to wander past the great tree and out of sight. My poor girl.

And then his view is blocked by a garish wash of red and gold.

“Prince Daemon,” Jason says with a haughty simper. With a curt nod, Daemon wordlessly returns the salutation. His lack of warmth is noticed. The Lannister lord hesitates for a moment before returning to his condescending civilities, forcing a relaxed stance. “I was most glad to hear of your return.”

He doubts that. There is little love lost between him and the lord. Jerking his chin toward the garden, he asks, “Leaving so soon, are we? I had thought the entire afternoon was devoted to this little outing.”

Jason chuckles awkwardly. “Well.” He scratches his beard. “The princess has another engagement to attend to. Something about a tutor.”

Thank the gods for that Lysan fellow. They had never met, but Daemon is certain he’d like the man well enough.

“Doesn’t concern you?” he asks, scarcely bothering to conceal the scepticism from his tone. At the confusion on Lannister’s face, he clarifies. “That she’d rather spend time with her tutor than with you?”

“Why would it, my prince?” is the answer, self-assured as ever. “He is old, and frail. Best for her to spend as much time with him as she can before she leaves for Lannisport.”

That genuinely irritates him, and not simply the notion of you being shipped off to the lurid monstrosity that is Casterly Rock. Even he knows that your meetings with your tutor are less obligations and more gatherings of friendship—your spirit would surely crumble if you were denied your dearest companion after being coerced to marry.

Daemon suppresses a sneer. “Your confidence is… admirable.” If misplaced, he wants to add.

“There is little competition to be found,” Jason says with a toss of the head. His tawny hair rustles in the gentle breeze, giving him the appearance of the sigil his house has claimed. Fucking ridiculous. Then, the man has the audacity to clap a palm against his arm. “Never fear—I shall take utmost care of her. She’ll want for nothing as my lady wife.”

He shrugs off the over-familiarity, stepping out of reach. “For a time, perhaps. And in a decade? Two? A princess of the realm has no business playing nursemaid to her husband in his dotage.”

He is older than I, he thinks. And if she is truly considering him above the others, then…

“I might be the eldest of her suitors, yes,” the man says, a tense smile disguising his offense poorly. “But I have a rather substantial inheritance, unlike the Prince Aegon, and my constitution is more… pleasing than the Lord Tyrell, I’m sure.” His mouth curves into a knowing smirk at that, leaving Daemon with no uncertainty as to what he really means. That little— “I would not dismiss Jason Lannister from the competition just yet. She will choose me. I suggest you accustom yourself to reality, Prince Daemon.”

He grunts dismissively, incensed. There is no reply he can give in this moment that won’t incite the Lannisters to break faith with House Targaryen; and so, he chooses to remove himself from the odious man’s presence entirely, stalking past with nary a word of farewell.

You sit where your younger half-sister had a scarce moon’s turn ago, eyes fixed toward your lap, turning an ornament about with your small fingers. As he nears, the lion salient glimmers in the sun, gold against gold in dazzling vulgarity. Of course, he’d gifted her something with his own fucking sigil on it. What a worthless bequest.

When he calls your name, you hardly react. Your gaze flickers up to him for a mere moment before falling once more, resuming your surveyance of the item in your grasp. There is a pensive expression lingering in your frown, the crease in your brow. It tells him all he needs to know of your true feelings for the Lannister lord, regardless of the man’s own delusions.

“Why—you look positively miserable, sweetling,” he says, settling himself beside you. You glance up at him again, sullen pout puffing out your lower lip. Though your disposition is so downtrodden, it is tempting to press his thumb to that lip, to push inside and feel the wet warmth of your tongue pulse against his flesh in a coquettish tease. “Not enjoying being courted? The gifts, the attention, the romance…”

You take the bait beautifully. Starting at his reference to the pendant in your hold, your nostrils flare exasperatedly. “No. No. I—I just—” You stop, shaking your head. “Never mind.”

“Go on,” he cajoles gently, lowly. “Tell Uncle Daemon.”

It is all the encouragement you need. “There is little romance to be found in this—this charade.” You sigh, eyes fixed on some minute detail past his head. He’s struck by the melancholy in your voice. “These men—Lord Jason, Lord Denys, Aegon—they do not want me. They want an idea of me. A Targaryen bride with pale hair and Valyrian blood. One who will give them children they shall make little effort to raise, a silent doll to clasp onto and show off at feasts and balls… as though possessing me is somehow meaningful. They do not—they do not see me.”

It’s here your voice cuts off strangely. He wishes it hadn’t, for he finds himself enthralled by the mournful monologue that paints a picture of the loneliest girl in King’s Landing. There is something yearning and haunted in that saccharine stare of hers, he thinks. A babe with her arms held out, wailing at the world as it leaves her abandoned in the crib. It’s an eerie echo of a conversation that took place a decade prior, though the lead role lacks the infantile petulance of the previous star.

He finds himself retracing those steps almost without realising.

“Idīnnon dēmalio syt verdilla mērī issa. Dīnakson toliot, gaoso gaomagon kostas.” He is testing, prodding, waiting for what might result from his efforts. Marriage is only a political arrangement. Once you are wed, you can do as you like.

The words make your cheeks flush fetchingly and your brow wrinkle once more, glancing back at him apprehensively. Pretty pink girl with a pretty pink blush; how far down does it spread? You swallow—pause—look away, wrestling with a thought. You peep back up at him.

“Se skorverdon jessivo aōt kesrȳsi jiōrtas?” you ask with surprising cynicism. You exhale loudly, staring at some fixed point in the distance. “Ābrazȳri buttā, riñar daor, mērpāves… Tolī jaelan.”

And how much joy did this bring you? you say. A wife you hated, no children, loneliness… I want more. The quiet longing in your voice is palpable.

He grimaces at the mention of his bronze bitch—he’d rather not know how widespread the knowledge of the circumstances around her… accident… had been in the wake of his departure.

“What is it you want, then?” he asks, switching back to the Common Tongue, the corner of his mouth already contorting in anticipation of the naïve response. True love, a happily ever after… We don’t get to have happy endings, he thinks to himself.

“I want someone who loves me,” you say, pressing on crossly at the huff of laughter that escapes him. “I never said I would love him!”

The pessimistic elucidation takes him aback. Again, it is not exactly what he had been expecting. Full of surprises today. He tips his head consideringly at you, inviting you to continue.

You hesitate for a moment.

“I… They say my father loved my mother. I believe it, but—” You swallow, the corners of your mouth turning down as you mull over your words. “They say he had a choice when baby Baelon was born. That he could cut her open to get the babe out, but that it would mean her certain death.”

Gods above. Where in the seven hells had you learned that piece of information? Viserys had kept the circumstances of Aemma’s death under tight wraps, never even deigning to mention it to his own brother. It was pure happenstance that one of the maids he enjoyed fucking at the time had been present on the unfortunate day.

Your eyes glisten as you speak, limpid pools of lilac glowing like fire in the light. “I do not think I could ever choose my own life over my child’s—but they say he did not even ask her, that he just… held her down while they—How could I ever trust a man to raise the babe I bore him if he would be willing to butcher his own wife in her childbed?”

He watches as you clench your eyes tight, set your jaw and exhale a few shuddery breaths. When they blink open, they are no longer so tear-bright. Daemon suddenly admires you for it, for the way you so ruthlessly suppress weakness. He wonders how often you’ve been made to force back your pain for the good of your family.

“What happened to your mother was a terrible tragedy, sweetling.” He reaches forward to finally grip your small, pale hand in his. It is cold and dwarfed entirely by his own. “But you cannot live in fear forever.”

You make to pull your hand away. He closes his grip tighter upon it, coercing you to look up at him properly.

“When hope is gone, what choice left is there but fear?” It is a whisper, carried on the breeze, and the thinly veiled misery pains him in the chest, right in his heart.

I thought that beating thing was black and dead by now, he thinks to himself.

You shake your head, smile. The picture of the melancholy maiden fades from view as you affect an appearance of energy once more, gentle and muted as it is. “I know my father loved my mother, and so love is no guarantee of loyalty. But it would be helpful, I think.”

“You see love and loyalty as intertwined, then?” he cannot help but ask. He is intrigued by this rare showing of spirit, of vitality, a resurrection of his baby niece from long ago. It is you, finally—his little girl, only now you possess the curves of a gold-gilded whore and the thousand-year gaze of an ancient, arcane being.

“Do you not?” Your head is tilted like an inquisitive bird’s, artlessly assessing. “You cannot have one without the other. Loyalty without love makes for an easy traitor, and love without loyalty makes for an unhappy marriage.”

He laughs again at the latter part of your pronouncement. A sweet, trusting little filly waiting to be broken in.

“There are many ways to love someone, princess.” He ogles you shamelessly, savouring the affectation of outraged bewilderment painting your countenance. “I imagine you’ll find few of them in the marriage bed.”

He waits for you to question him—to ask him what he means, to ask him to explain, to teach you, show you—but instead, you pull back, taking all the warmth from his palm with you.

“I dislike your implication, Uncle,” you say stiffly, returning your hand to your lap and nestling it between your thighs to retain the heat.

Fuck.

He backtracks raising his hands in a jesting show of defeat. “I meant nothing by it, gevivys.”

Beauty. It is an apt title. An underwhelming one, even. Surely there is little else more beautiful than the sight you make here, now, a rich blush spreading along the unblemished expanse of your chest—regrettably enclosed by pale damask just above the protrusion of your tits—the planes of your throat, not quite travelling up to decorate your cheeks.

You sigh. “You never do.”

Daemon lets the conversation lull, deciding to instead look upon the little revelation before him. You are an interesting puzzle, one whose decorum in the face of his gentle compulsion—that same persuasion he had so often utilised to get fetching girls to strip bare for him and show off their equally-as-fetching cunts—had instead left him lacking. The body of a slut and the mind of a scholar, all wrapped up in wide eyes and honey-sweet words and wild hair the shade of Old Valyria. Of home.

A wild thought seizes him. If he leans forward, he could do it. He could grip you by the back of the neck and pull you to him, press his lips to yours and coax you past your panic and fear and into a hot, sweeping rhythm, a push and pull of tongue and teeth that would set you both alight. And from there, how simple would it be to murmur pretty praise as he lowers you down, raises your skirts up, cleaves you open until your blood wets his cock with the proof of his claim, incontestable, not even by the king himself? The deed would be messy, perhaps distressing and no doubt painful, but it would solve several issues at once. He would be free to do as he likes with his lascivious desires after you are made to wed him, and you would be free from your pitiful suitors and given a husband worthy of you. In time, the hurt and shock and fright would fade, he knows it.

He could. He could. He—

The spell is broken. Your attention is diverted by the yells of a dark-haired boy as he bowls his way to you, throwing himself across your lap with a cry of your name. Daemon tries not to glare at young Lucerys as he tries to roughhouse with you. Having somewhat learned the schedules of his family, it baffles him somewhat that the child is not at his daily lessons. Should Laenor not have him now?

The thought must conjure the man himself, the Velaryon scion appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Laenor’s expression is forbidding as he strides over to you and his son, silver locs swinging with the velocity of each step. With his glare affixed to his face, he reaches a hand down to you in silent command, staring daggers at Daemon all the while.

What the hells is his problem?

You take hold of your goodbrother, bewildered, and allow him to tug you gently from the bench beside Daemon. Lucerys slides from beside you with a rustle, easily revolving around to dart toward the grass. You are already grabbing at the boy’s wrist to stop him running off.

Daemon watches Laenor attempt to rearrange his countenance into something less violent. “Would you take Luke off to the training yards, sister?”

A look of vague incomprehension crosses your face at the question. At least she senses the oddity, too, he acknowledges.

Laenor’s head turns down to where he sits, and it is then that it dawns on him that his nephew-by-marriage has very possibly been watching him stare at his baby niece’s tits for longer than he can claim plausible deniability of.

Ah, shit. The darting, mistrustful gaze suddenly makes sense.

“Of course, Laenor,” you say sweetly, biddably.

Daemon cannot help but wonder what else you might comply with if gently persuaded. He glances up at you from where he sits, smirking as you turn to him.

“It seems we must part for now, sweetling,” he tells you. He ignores Laenor’s grimace from behind you.

“It does.” You shift lightly. It is clear to see that there is something about your shared conversation that has unnerved you. The notion sends a trail of perverse excitement through him. He wonders what other reactions he might prompt out of you with gentle teasing. “I—thank you, Uncle. For listening.”

The words are honest, free of artifice. It is surprisingly warming to hear. When you make to depart, he calls you back.

“What—no goodbye kiss for your beloved uncle this time?” he asks, hoping he’ll bait you into action. He determinedly disregards Laenor’s huff, eyes trained on you as you swallow with trepidation before quickly making the short few steps back to him.

Your knee settles on the seat beside him, clearly meant to be no more than a brief resting place so that you may carry out his implicit request and leave—if not for the way in which your skirts gather around your leg in a manner assured to result in your toppling over should you attempt to rise without fixing them. Daemon turns his head to yours as you free yourself from the tangle. Up close, closer than he would ever dare get usually, he can see each lash that frames your eyes, the hairs that sprout from your brows, the slick cherry bloom of your mouth—a whisper-sweet gather of plump, plush fruit he wants, needs, to take a bite from.

Would you let me, little girl? he wonders.

You gasp, a short little breath of surprise, and lurch away lightly at the closeness. A brave little thing, you return to him, pressing those precious petal-soft lips to the skin of his cheek. Your covered breasts press involuntarily against his arm.

Fucking hells.

“Sȳz bantis, kepus.” Good evening, Uncle, you say in that light little accent of yours, an unintended provocation of his basest yearnings.

With that, you bundle the boy up in your capable little hands and make for your destination, the Cargyll knight falling into formation behind you.

“Care to explain—well, all of that?” Laenor asks.

Oh—yes. Daemon pushes himself from his seat, deliberately stalling while he thinks of a response that isn’t what the fuck how the fuck when the fuck and why.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he says idly, slyly, glancing over at him.

“No!” His goodnephew leans forward into his space. He is taken aback by the vehemence in his tone, uncharacteristic of the bumbling, affable man. “You don’t get to do this to her. Not this one. Not this time.”

“Whatever do you think I plan to do to her?” Daemon laughs, wondering at the answer himself.

Whatever would she let me do to her?

Laenor sighs, steps back.

“Look.” He nudges him to walk alongside as they make for the garden’s entry. “She’s not one of your whores, Daemon. She’s just a girl. She’s not the type to play your twisted little games, so leave her be—please.”

He is warmed by the defence of your goodbrother, an admission of familiarity and care that is sure to have flourished since the man’s entrance into the family some years ago.

“What makes you think I have any intention of—how did you put it—playing games with her?” If he were a little less honest with himself, he would be affronted by the manner in which Laenor has jumped straight to an accusation. But Lord Flea Bottom’s reputation is inescapable, even after so many years. “Perhaps my objective is pure and wholesome.”

“Right.” Laenor snorts, shaking his head as he folds his hands behind his back. “You’re far more likely to fall in with her horde of suitors than to believably claim familial interest.”

True. And yet… why not? He’s conceived all manner of plots to satiate his wants, from drunken fumbles in the dark to his half-baked impulse from but a moment ago. Unlike his previous conquests, though, he doubts the need will dissipate after a single fuck. You are too important to him—his precious girl turned darkest desire, the only woman he could ever deign to carry on his line with.

Viserys has been pressuring him to seek out a bride. He mightn’t be happy with the prospect of his brother asking for his daughter’s hand, exactly, but there is surely no debate that he is the best contender. Not Jason. Not Denys. Not fucking Aegon. Daemon. And, well, if the asking should go poorly—how simple would it be to whisk you away to Dragonstone, to speak the vows and seal the deed before it can be undone? There is no risk this time, no Iron Throne to lose, no treaty or agreement that cannot be broken…

He can see it now. Your sweet little face peering up at him, marked with his blood, lip dripping red with the pledge of entangling your souls together in savage Valyrian custom. Your pretty little eyes wide with maidenly shock as he breaches your untried cunt, tight and pulsing and hotwetwarm, binding you to him irrevocably. The slow waddling of your gait as you round with child, his child, his sweetest babe bringing forth life of her own, belly ripe with seed and leaking his spend—

“Laenor,” he says slowly, eyes glinting as his lips upturn in a wide grin, “I do believe you have the best ideas.”

Read the story on AO3 here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42100623/chapters/120880855

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[avaetin]

I had a Jasico idea.

In which Jason is the new kid, and Nico is one of the popular kids.

“There’s a few things you should know if you want to survive here,” Dakota informed him, his tone serious.

Jason limited his reaction to raising one of his brows in incredulity. Somehow, he doubted playing by the pre-established rules was a matter of life or death as his fellow sophomore was making it out to be. Nonetheless, he listened out of courtesy.

“First of all, stick to the status quo. Don’t ever upset it. You said you’re here on a scholarship, right? Academic or sports?”

“Academic. But I play sports as well,” Jason replied vaguely.

“If you’re good, stick with the jocks. If you’re average, stick with either the jocks or the brainiacs. If you suck, stick with the brainiacs,” Dakota cut straight to the point. “It’s cool if you want to hang out with Reyna since the two of you are friends. But, for your sake, unless you’re joining the student council, try to keep her at arm’s length. She’s the president of the student council; you’re the new kid. You’re going to draw unwanted attention to yourself just by being close to her.”

Jason didn’t like that. It explained a lot of things he observed so far, though, like how every group of individuals he encountered seemed to either belong from the same club or share a common interest. Even Reyna, for her part, was hanging out with her people from the student council. It was like everyone was subconsciously being careful; that one wrong move could potentially tip some carefully constructed societal balance they established.

How disappointing.

Jason was looking forward to making and having a diverse group of friends. To be told that he could only choose one or the other was very upsetting.

“There’s an exception though, which brings us to my second point: If you’re part of the Royalty, you’re free to mingle with anyone you like,” Dakota continued. “However, we’re not allowed to speak to them aside from school-related reasons.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not related to any royal family,” Jason answered.

“No, you got it wrong. The Royalty is a group consisting of the most popular kids. There’s Luke Castellan and Silena Beauregard, the seniors. Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase, the juniors. Last, but definitely not the least, Nico di Angelo, the sophomore,” Dakota explained, his voice sounding almost reverent.

“Nico di Angelo?” Jason looked surprised. The odds of someone else having the same unique name was unlikely. It had to be that Nico. “He’s popular?”

“What are you insinuating?” Dakota questioned, his eyes narrowed as he regarded Jason in a little less friendly manner. “Of course, he’s popular. He’s our precious prince. Have you ever seen someone as beautiful as him?”

Well. Now that Dakota mentioned–

“You know what, nevermind,” the sophomore dismissed whatever Jason had to say with a wave of his hand. “Whatever it is, I don’t care. Just so you know, each of them have their own fanclubs, so you better be careful about what you say from now on. Some students get pretty hostile when you badmouth their idols. You’re lucky it’s just me this time.”

The longer they had this conversation, the more Jason was getting convinced that playing by the rules was a matter of life and death. Jesus, what school did Thalia dump him into?

“Since you don’t like our prince, this seems redundant to mention, but just in case: Don’t get involved with Nico,” Dakota warned him.

Jason frowned in response, “What do you mean? Is Nico into some shady business?”

“What? No,” Dakota denied immediately, his tone returning to normal. “Don’t get involved with him in that way,” he tried again, awkwardly wiggling his eyebrows to get his point across. Jason got his point the second time around, his cheeks burning at the implication.

[vertigoed]

tinder || satoru gojo

PART 2 out

gojo: do you want to have sex?

you stare at your phone with a mixture of disappointment and disgust. this satoru gojo that you matched with was truly a wasted potential. he was your ideal type- tall, massive shoulders and muscly forearms with a pretty face and beautiful blue eyes. every photo on his profile looked like an editorial just by his aura that oozed from the screen.

seriously? not even a hello, how are you? you think to yourself and a sigh escaped your lips, wondering if you should delete him.

normally you would instantly unmatch the guys who asked such vulgar questions upfront. usually, you don't even bother replying, but this time, you found yourself replying to this 30 year old man.

a part of you enjoyed the shred of attention given by this stanger. even though you knew he probably sent the same message to every women he's matched with and fucks anything with a hole.

the man was atrociously stunning, the type to have you squealing on the bed when you realised he swiped back on you. the type to have, without a doubt, thousands of matches spamming his inbox with beautiful women all over the globe asking to meet up with him.

your heart beats fast as you press send.

you: no

you knew you were just playing hard to get, he was probably aware of that too. you wouldn't be surprised if he didn't answer. but within a couple minutes, you get a notification.

gojo: well that's unfortunate

gojo: i really wanted to be with you

your heart pounds faster. you were ashamed at the fact that you were blushing over a stranger asking you for sex. he didn't even have the common courtesy to ask what your interests are, let alone ask how your night is going. you were better than this, right?

you: it's unfortunate that you're such a pervert.

he begins typing back straight away.

gojo: do you want me to take you out on a date before or something?

your eyes roll at how cocky he sounded. this man obviously knew he was attractive and could get away with saying anything he wanted. you chew on your lip as you type your response.

you: obviously why would i sleep with someone i don't know?

gojo: you'll like me though

you decide you'll wait a bit before you reply, not wanting to give him too much validation. you go on his profile, raising an eyebrow at the vague description he had.

Satoru Gojo, 30

occupation: sensei

i like quick texters

perfect, he can wait two hours then, you think to yourself and placed your phone down. it was hard for you to ignore the buzz of your phone, instead you try to focus on the anime playing on the tv screen.

you found yourself checking the time every ten minutes or so, until you couldn't resist seeing what he said.

gojo: let me take you out then and we'll see if you let me fuck you

this time round, something else inside of you fluttered. you hold back the smile creeping on your face, fingers hovering over your phone as you thought of what to say.

you: i dont like to meet strangers without getting to know them first

you had a slight feeling he was going to give up by this point as he just seemed desperate for a quick fuck. even though the man was irresistibly hot, he could be a deranged serial killer so you had to play it safe.

gojo: wanna facetime then?

your eyes widen, your hands instantly reaching to your bed hair as you read his message. there was no way in hell you were going to facetime him. you gulp and toss your phone to the bed again, not knowing what you were going to say.

an hour passed and your phone buzzed again.

gojo: stop playing hard to get, it doesn't work on me

you smirked and typed your answer: it's working isn't it?

gojo: facetime me or you're a bitch

you: i guess i'm a bitch then

gojo: can i call you other names when i fuck you?

your mouth drops at his obnoxious message. you feel yourself tingle at the thought and that truly made you hate every fibre of your being.

normally, guys like satoru disgusted you. turned you off, made you want to gag. as your eyes were glued to the television, you were deep in thought, questioning your entire morals and self esteem. were you really going to let a random man objectify you, just because he was hot?

you look at his profile photo again and you don't even realise that foolish smile you had. i guess a face like that gets a free pass, you think to yourself.

you: we shall see

-

PART 2 out

masterlist

[gongalicious]

Please stop

Me and some other fans have noticed an uptick in some disturbing behavior from some Vinesauce fans and I want to speak up about it. Please, stop making sexually explicit posts/art about Vinny and Joel. I know for a fact both of them have stated their discomfort about this content throughout the years, and yet I keep seeing people either drawing them in a sexual way or just posting fucked up shit about them on public platforms. If you feel the need to ask me for proof of them saying that, you are part of the problem. They shouldn't have to say that they don't want people making explicit posts about them, that should be common courtesy. If you don't want to stop, I can't stop you. But at least don't publically tag your delusional fantasies for everyone else to see. Keep it to yourself. These are real people, with real lives, and real feelings. Online fandom may have made it seem acceptable to act like this in recent years, but it's not. IT IS ESPECIALLY WRONG WHEN THEY HAVE ALREADY SET THEIR BOUNDARIES ABOUT IT BEFORE. It's disgusting that so many people think it's okay to go past someone's personal boundaries for their own pleasure. Real, living people are not your OCs that you can dress up and parade around in whatever way you want. If you want a character that you can make that kind of art about, make an OC. Find a TV show or movie. A book, a comic. Anything else. And, If someone asks you to stop doing something that makes them uncomfortable, listen to them. It's that simple. I recognize that many of you are young and have been conditioned to see this stuff as normal, but the sooner you grow out of that the better it will be for your own life and relationships. If you are a full ass adult and still think acting like this is okay, then I don't know what to tell you. It doesn't make sense that so many of you claim to be fans and care about people while repeatedly doing things that make them uncomfortable. They are regular people and deserve to be treated with the same respect as anyone else. If you would probably get in trouble for sexual harassment in real life, don't say that same shit online. Respect people's boundaries in the same way you'd want them to respect yours.

[oxygenbefore1775]

rotten endeavour

➼pairing: zeke x reader

➼cw: very grumpy zeke (he has his reasons), both of them are emotionally stunted idiots, tame mentions of injuries, canonverse

➼summary: worrying about zeke is a rotten endeavour sometimes but you persist anyway

➼wc: 4,3k

➼a/n: for a better understanding it's best to read this post first since this explains what boo-boo happened to zeke cuz he never explains it in the fic itself (fr, i mean it)

“You are the last person I'd come to for this.”

The first time you hear the words, they sound like a poorly veiled taunt, another reminder of the distance Zeke maintains between himself and you. Even when he chooses you, he ensures you're not honored by it.

“Usually Pieck or Porco assist me—”

But they're away on some military exercise, leaving you as the only option to him — the undesirable option. Even now, you sense it. In all the time you've been talking, never once did he turn to face you. His gaze constantly glosses over your features, fixating on anything in the room but you.

A surprisingly cold tone for someone hoping his beckonings would succeed in swaying you. His aloofness would gain him no favor, especially now, when you are the only one he could consider for help. Your favor — the word has a nice ring to it — and with it, your control over the decision. 

You cross your arms over your chest, pondering your options. 

“So you want me to walk you from the Titan research facility back to your home, that's all?” you lay it down plainly.

Rarely one for being interrupted, Zeke seems almost glad to hear you sum up his request concisely. A quick nod is all he deigns to reply with, as if his ability to answer with words has deserted him.

Surprised by his lack of rebuke, you quirk your brow at him. 

A short walk to the facility and back might exhaust an ailing elder, but certainly not the Chief of the Warrior Unit. You can’t help but to wonder what the possible explanation for this could be. Yet for the first time, you finally feel yourself in the position to demand one, instead of going along with his excuses as it often happens. 

“And what is the reason for this?” Your voice is on the verge of shedding its stoic tone. It feels almost wrong to ask something of him, not when he always keeps his answers so close to his chest, but you must persist. If he hopes for any of your help, he should give some common courtesy a try. 

It takes effort to cast your glance his way, silently demanding that he meet your eyes. To his credit, he obliges, but there isn't a sliver of the seriousness you had hoped to see.

“Should there be a reason?” he counters with a quip unbefitting his current position yet somehow so predictable, which brings your blood to a boil. 

Lacking the mood to entertain his antics, you do not relent in your inquiries. “With you, there usually is.” You don’t hide the skepticism in your blunt statement. 

At last, the finality of your reply compels a shift in his disposition. He glances at you, as if sizing you up, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he quickly looks away. As much as you’d like to brand it a silent re-consideration, you know him far too well to expect an immediate pliancy.

And it doesn’t come. 

He sighs, poorly hiding (or mimicking?) the exasperation you, apparently, have had the insolence to cause him. “Maybe I just want some company. Ever think of that?” You shoot him a look full of disbelief but before you can reply in the frankest way possible, he piles on, “Besides, aren’t you the one with the morbid fascination for my position? I thought you’d appreciate the chance to show me off.”

Even now he won’t say a thing. You wish you had enough annoyance in you to roll your eyes at his flippant tone but it all has burnt out and turned to simmering anger. Oh well, he is the only one to be poorer for it. You linger in your eloquent silence — a sign that Zeke would usually welcome, considering the plentiful history of your constant bickerings. But today it must have instilled him with something beyond the bland interest of having traded words with you. 

Before you are able to catch it, though, he turns away. The match, taken out of his pocket, hisses and burns, and the room is soon filled with the putrid scent of nicotine, the fog of smoke shielding his features from you. A cheap ploy, not to mention unpleasant for your senses. You are about to leave and free yourself from its presence when he suddenly speaks up. The next thing Zeke says is coated with a sentiment you never thought him capable of — nervousness.

“So, will you come?” Something in his voice falters, adds a yet unspoken urgency to his tone, and it urges you to hesitate, but not enough to break your silence.

You shoot him an inquisitive look in hopes to see the hint of the seriousness in his demeanor, but instead, he feels the need to ask you again, this time resorting to calling your name in his question. You can’t believe the distress you’ve caused in him with your lack of response alone. 

You purse your lips. Fuck him and his stubborness. 

“Sure.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

He'd better express some sincere gratitude, and lots of it, for you sacrificing your only day off to assist him. Especially when the morning weather has left you yearning to wait it out in the warmth of your bed, not forced to endure it at the gates of the research facility as you are right now. The Marleyan soldiers haven’t allowed you in since — as if you need yet another reminder — you have no official relation to Zeke that would sanction your immediate presence.

Yet annoyance seldom takes deep roots in your heart, even if its target is as persistent as Zeke. If anything, the only thing that seems to stir the ire within you is the intensity with which he plagues your thoughts even at this hour. Stuck waiting at the gate, pondering about him is left as the only way to pass the time. 

Zeke would rather die than ask you for a favor. Barring the unlikely scenario of him developing a newfound fondness for your aid, there are only a few reasons for his shadow of an attempt to break down the walls around him and actually seek you out. One particular reason seems to lie over there, in the caverns of the facility where they could be doing who knows what to him. But what? What could instill him with more dread than being vulnerable for once?

With each of your guesses more sinister than the other, it takes you time to notice the gate screeching as it opens behind you. The sound of his steps is light but somehow his voice is even lighter when he greets you with the same loud words of his.

“Now, aren't you a welcome sight, patiently waiting for me all those hours of the morning? One might mistake this commitment for something only a spouse is capable of.” A hint of sneer finds its way into his tone but drops just as quickly. “Shame that the resemblance alone couldn’t secure your entry past the gates, where I very much needed your company.”

Before you can take in the sight of him, a retaliatory quip already leaps off your tongue. “You can tell that to the soldiers standing at the gate. While their sentiments mirrored yours, the words they chose to express to me were far from mindful.” 

Only then, you look at him. 

Zeke is pale, and awfully so. As if they have drained him of all the blood his body had to offer back in those sterile rooms. He himself, however, seemingly refuses to acknowledge his condition as well as the unprompted reaction of shock that it has elicited from you. 

Perhaps the thick fog this morning has distorted your perception of colors, you muse to yourself. If he himself doesn't display any concern for his own well-being, then you shouldn't either. However, you choose not to seek comfort in this excuse for an explanation. The faster you get to Zeke’s house, the less time you’d get to spend in his company, already pestering as it is.

Fearing that you may slip and mention his deathly complexion out loud, you decide to speak no longer, instead signaling him to take off. And he, for a change, lacks the rebuke to call you out on it. At least this one time you'd enjoy the ‘peace’ of his company, you note to yourself with distasteful glee — only to become disgusted with yourself moments after. It’s wrong to think that way — if not of Zeke Yeager, then at least of the honorary Marleyan.

His gait is neither fast nor steady. For every three steps you take, he manages only one — and even that requires a significant effort as he drags his feet and takes his sweet time before making the next move. If you weren’t there with him in the early hours of the morning, you would think that he is walking in the dark. Not devoid of basic compassion, you shoot him a tentative look. For all you know, darkness might be all he sees right now. In all the time you've been watching him, his eyes have never strayed from the invisible spot he’s fixed on.

As you walk side by side — or rather, as you slow your pace to match Zeke’s — you flinch at the sudden feel of his palm brushing against yours. It’s not just the touch, already as rare as it is for your… connection, but the coldness of it that surprises you. Somehow unaware of this, he persists in finding your palm repeatedly, unaware of the subtle withdrawals your hand makes time and again to evade the clammy grasp of his trembling fingers. He’s too close. He’s never been that close, for that matter.

Just as you are about to turn your head to him to voice your quite justified confusion with his unprompted proximity, you hear the soft rustle of his voice. 

“You wouldn’t be thrilled at the prospect of lifting my two-hundred-something-pound body off the pavement if I were to collapse right here,” he says, his blue eyes appearing haunting against his pallid face. “Better to take care of this now, while I’m still in the right frame of mind to warn you.”

The loquaciousness is of no help to him, especially now, when he looks like this. Yet his words still have a sway over you. Your gaze averted, you take hold of his arm instead of his hand. 

It’s quite difficult to walk now, with you fused together at the side and him eagerly leaning his weight onto your frame. At times, you contemplate sending daggers his way, but your intentions are swiftly repelled by the sight of his half-closed eyes. His lids twitch ever so slightly, as if his whole body is held in tension. 

You've never seen him in such a state. If it's true, if he really is in pain like you suspect — no display of nonchalance can fool you on that — it still leaves you perplexed. A rare witness to his injuries, considering all of them that you see on him quite so happen to be the ones you inflict upon him yourself in the heat of the moment, you are nonetheless keenly aware of one telltale sign betraying his hurt — a sign currently hidden from your view. 

Clouds of steam — not one visible to your eye. You want to ask but you're too apprehensive of his answer. If he will be able to answer you at all, given his state, that is. 

Just what have they done to him? 

How fortunate for you both that only a small distance lies between the research facility and Zeke's home. 

You come to a sudden halt at the sight of his front door. In a mere moment, he will disappear behind it, dismissing you to continue on your way. And afterward? You can't anticipate that someone so accustomed to enduring frequent physical hardships would possess the knowledge of proper self-care. His default course of action would likely be to wait it out — whatever ‘it’ may be. From what you can see, ‘it’ has only worsened for him.

“Now would be the absolute worst time for you to go back on your promise,” Zeke hisses through his teeth as your nails dig deeper into the flesh of your palm in hesitation. “Not just a few steps away from the house.”

“Watch me,” you shoot back momentarily, fiddling with the keys.

In a way, he is correct. It's just the level of your commitment to the promise that he is wrong about.

Standing at his doorstep, you ponder the sentiment that has driven you here. Perhaps you linger a bit too long for Zeke's liking. With the seclusion of his house so within the reach, he feels bold enough to reject your assistance and stagger past you. No, you would never feel such worry for Zeke Yeager, the thought settles in your mind. The holder of the Beast, though, is another matter entirely. There’s no strings attached to the concern a conscientious citizen would express about the well-being of the invaluable warrior, his regeneration be damned. A sense of relief washes over you as you pinpoint the exact reason for your lingering presence. You are simply here to watch over him, the honorary Marleyan, to ensure he doesn’t have the indecency to deteriorate further. That’s all there is to it.

He doesn’t object as you follow him into the house, he’s too preoccupied with making his way to the couch. Each step is unsteady, as if he's channeling all his focus into placing his feet just right. A grunt escapes his lips as he collapses onto the couch, his coat and boots still on. He buries his face in the crook of his elbow, away from the cold white light streaming in from the street.

The shallow ragged breaths he takes mirror the fluttering beats of your heart as you stand near the doorway, in an abashed contemplation of his form. 

“Why are you still here?” he murmurs, likely hearing you go deeper into the room to close the curtains rather than near the exit like he’d prefer. 

“Well, how do Finger or Galliard usually proceed when it comes to this point?” you counter, a soft rebuke finding its way into your voice. 

He takes his time to answer, spacing his labored breaths between each word. His response is laden with a finality you’re expected to pick up on. “They do precisely what they’re asked and leave,” he hisses. “Do you get a kick out of doing exactly what I told you not to?”

His voice, though quiet and almost breathless, still persists, as if his silence might jeopardize his perceived victory in the confrontation you two — apparently — are having. As much as the barbs of his words beckon your counter quip, you can’t find it in your heart to entertain it. There is no bickering to be had with the man who’s a hair’s breadth away from passing out from pain.

“And what then? What do you do after they’re gone?” you inquire further, emboldened by the lack of possible retaliation on his part.

Silence is the worst that he's capable of at this hour. And that's all you hear first, until a whisper reaches your ear. 

“This. Precisely this.”

You find no pleasure in being right, because it means that every time — and you don’t dare to venture an exact number — he’s been in the caverns of the facility, he’s been recuperating the same way he is now. On his own, with an injury apparently too grievous even for his regeneration to heal. "Zeke is no stranger to the mutilations his body has endured during his years of service to Marley, yet you’ve never heard of a single wound rendering him to the state you find him in right now.

“Oh, how viscous of me, then,” a smirk starts but fails to form on your lips as you struggle to keep your nonchalant composure, approaching the couch he is laying on. “Taking care of a man who’s too helpless to resist my nursing advances. Only a monster would be capable of such cruelty.”

Your remark doesn’t elicit any reaction from him. The serene expression of his features you’re so used to seeing is now shattered as you pry his arms away from his face to get his glasses off. Ever averse, he opens his eyes the moment he feels your touch on his skin. 

“What a rotten endeavor you’ve chosen for yourself,” he speaks with a sullen strain in his voice, “to pity me.” 

In the dim light, it’s hard to see clearly, but it appears that even his eyes have lost their usual brightness. Only the shadow of a smile that he manages to crack remains the same, ever playful. As much as he feigns annoyance, the inordinate amount of attention you give him still amuses him. 

“Not true. It’s not true,” you rush to counter him.

As if the redundancy would make your lie any less obvious.  

He doesn’t fight your advances anymore, not with words nor attitude, as he closes his eyes again and lets you slide the glasses off of him. The metal frames have left red dents on his nose and forehead, even more visible against his pale face now. His hair, a mess of damp locks clinging to his forehead.

Lying down seems to have provided some relief from the pain, whatever its nature may be. But not much. His ragged breathing and shivers ravaging his body are dead give-aways of that. He must be concealing from you the true extent of his suffering.

His voice rustles once again, but even in the deathly silence of the room, you have trouble discerning his words. Thus, he has to repeat himself, much to his chagrin. “A smoke, give me one.”

“I don’t think that—”

“I think that you are still here because of some noble notion to ‘take care’ of me,” Zeke lashes out in a whisper that somehow manages to sound brimming with frustration despite its weakness. “And the only thing that I want right now is a good smoke, so be so ‘caring’ as to give some to me.”

It’s strange to see him crippled with pain to such an extent. Maybe that’s why you pay no mind to his unusually quiet yet all-too-familiarly barbed outburst and refrain from mirroring his retorts. 

He finishes the first cigarette in under a minute, reducing it to a stump between his trembling fingers in a few deep drags. With his lungs saturated in nicotine, a semblance of calm finally settles into his breathing. Despite yourself, a sigh of relief escapes your lips at this sight. Without missing a beat, the second one is ignited. Nicotine is all he breathes. 

“I'm sure that there's something more interesting in the house to stare at other than this couch.” The puff of smoke carries his words. 

His hint falls on deaf ears. A begrudged plea is all you can recognize in the sound of his voice. 

You ponder for a minute, casting your gaze towards the very thing he'd like you not to look at. Perhaps it would be a good bet to let him endure the pain in the comfort of solitude with you keeping a close eye on him from another room. At least that way he will have to expend energy on healing, instead of employing a fruitless tactic to hold back his grunts and keep a straight face, like he is trying now. 

He doesn’t need you. He wants you gone. Even with the gravity of the situation in mind, you can’t help but to let his attitude cut deep. Broken and suffering, he wouldn’t dream of letting down his guard for you.

Fine. You’ll allow your sentiments to mirror his, then.

“Indeed,” you feign agreement. “It’s not like you’re a sight for sore eyes right now, anyway.”

You mean to hurt him, even just a little bit — a semblance of retaliation for what he’s put you through on this endeavor — but his emotionless facade doesn’t even budge. If anything, he appears glad at the mere mention of finally getting some alone time.

You infuse your voice with feigned incredulity to a painful extent, grateful that he's in no condition to pick up on it. “Well, I suppose even the shelves in your room could be a more welcome sight than this, especially with what happens to fill them.”

A flimsy excuse to leave his side, but he’s all too happy to take the bait. Your veiled ultimatum is accepted without a moment’s consideration as Zeke immediately shoots back.

“Yes, a lot of deficit stuff to read, so help yourself. Now get out.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Cooped up in a room filled with the rarest books Zeke has collected from invaded cities for the past hour, you find yourself caring less for these spoils of war than you'd like to admit. All your thoughts are of the living room, of the warchief’s broken form on the couch.

You rush to the living room as soon as you hear his grunts still. For the briefest of moments you consider the possibility of him being dead, the regeneration having failed in ridding him of this invisible ailment, yet brush off the baseless assumption. Marley wouldn't do anything to cause the death of their wonder-warchief. Not for another five years at least. 

You have proven yourself right in the end. Without your persistent presence, his guard has dropped enough for him to fall asleep. A considerably better outcome to staying awake and aware of the pain. 

Entering the room filled with blue smog, your attention is immediately drawn to the ash-covered patch of flooring near the sofa. It all still smokes, fills the air with the nicotine stench from no less than half a dozen stubs, the smell so potent it stings your eyes, making them brim with tears. In the poisonous haze, it takes you a moment to make out the amber glint still nestled between his pale fingers — a lit cigarette, burning away. The ember laps at his skin, singeing and instantly steaming anew with regeneration. You ensure to take it from him and stub it out in the ashtray nearby. His body doesn’t need any more damage beyond that of the original mysterious ailment that’s led to his chain-smoking in the first place.

You have to admit there's a touch of morbid curiosity, if not concern, compelling you to contemplate his features and the impact that the shock from the last few hours has had on them. Usually his sleep is far too thin for this fit to work out in your favor. But now he barely registers your presence even as you sit down at the very edge of the couch beside him.

Even in his nicotine-fueled dream he fails to find rest. His body’s still full of pain-born tremble and tension. Yet you have to admit that he does look less deathly than a couple of hours ago. Neither pallor draining his complexion nor sweat beading his skin seem to be the case now. 

You’re glad, almost relieved even, to see him find some semblance of peace. With his body’s regenerative abilities, it's only uphill from here. At least until the next time he has to return to the facility. 

Another time that likely won’t come for you, given how your recruitment happened. And along with it, any chance for your curiosity to be sated, if it ever truly existed. No amount of pressing on your part would make him consider divulging any explanation for his compromised state to you — pressing that you are too prideful to conduct in the first place. 

In the quiet of the room, disturbed only by the sounds of his breathing and the occasional noise of the city coming from outside, you can’t keep your thoughts at bay. So you turn to him once again. The sight of his features, still heavy with sleep, brings you twisted comfort that you may sit here with him for a bit longer. You study him closely. For a moment, you’re even tempted to reach out and brush the hair from his forehead but restrain yourself. 

The redundancy of your altruistic intentions is truly laughable. A man of his gifts, known to be undeterred by the multiple loss of his limbs, would want for nothing when it comes to his health, let alone your feeble attempts to take care of him. And yet despite his regeneration, there’s a part of you that wants to help, no matter the futility of your efforts. But you know better than to expect gratitude or even acknowledgement. Zeke is not one to show vulnerability, and most certainly not one to thank you for witnessing it. 

And in the end, you’re always the one poorer for it.

The warchief’s quarters are much more quaint than yours, but there's no comfort in being here now. You recall the very reason you decided to stay instead of leaving immediately. With your intentions fulfilled and his sleep growing lighter, you desire to leave more than ever. You don’t want him to wake and his first words to you to be yet another remark at the sliver of affection you have for him. He doesn’t get to hurt you any more than he’s done today.

Only fools harbor hope — you care to remember that after the years of knowing him. But for your persistence today, you’ve been given a glimpse of the other Zeke. Even now, you can see a bit of that in him as he lies there, curled up on the couch, wincing ever so slightly at the light pouring in from the open front door. Once again, you stand at his doorstep in a moment of weakness, pondering one last thought before leaving. Maybe you're fine with being hope’s fool.

[heartylunalys]

My lord

Prince Hal x black princess!reader

a/n: I’m back and I’m happy to show you this fic that I couldn’t wait to post, I wanted it to be a one shot but I thing I’ll make a 2nd part, tell me what you think about it! Sorry if the language is not perfect I’m not English so it was hard to find the perfect words for the situation

my masterlist

*⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅**⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀

genre: fluff, smut

words : 3k

warnings: smut !! slight racism( not from Hal!) slight misogynistic (not from Hal!), a little god complex lol, Hal and reader being fast at acknowledging their feelings

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You glared at your father, seeing him bow in front of the England King who was looking down at the two of you, clearly waiting for you to show some type of courtesy.

“Excuse me for the behaviour of my daughter, she is young and foolish.” your father explained to the man in front of you and a scoff escaped him.

“Being young is not an excuse, my youngest son, Thomas of Lancaster, is a respectful and obedient child.” He smirked in the direction of his son, looking at him with pride. “You should educate your daughter Sir, if she keeps this attitude no sane man would want to marry her.”

You maintained your calm and fought yourself to not roll your eyes at him and his stupid son.

“It's a pleasure to finally work with people from overseas.” The king of England said with a condescending attitude, clearly looking down on your father and his kingdom. Your father didn’t even bother to tell him that he wasn’t a representative of all overseas, he was a calm and wise man, knowing that you shouldn’t bother to be angry at fools. You, on the other hand, didn’t have his patience and as the time flew you only wanted to slap this petty king in the face and go back to your country where people had a lot more manners.

——

You were sitting at the banquet, clearly uncomfortable, everything was so different from your ways.

“You’re beautiful,” began the young son of Henry IV, sitting right next to you, “We never see people like you around here.” He stated and with his smile you understood that it was supposed to be a compliment. You nodded with a polite smile as the boy kept glancing at you throughout the night, trying each time to find a reason to talk to you.

“Well, look who decided to show up.” Exclaimed the King bitterly. Everyone turned their head to the majestic wooden entrance door, seeing a young slightly curly haired man, standing there, confidence but also annoyance and strength radiating off him. “Seems like my fool of an heir has decided to show up for once. What is bringing you here?”

“Your invitation father.” The man blankly stated as he sat at your table and you now had the occasion to look at the integrality of his features. Even if his hair was slightly long you could still see his defined jaw and cheekbone. He had a tired gaze, with dark circles decorating his greenish eyes and even if you knew that it wasn’t decent, you couldn’t help but let your eyes travel to his neck and collarbone, seeing the dark marks dotting his skin. The prince seemed to have decided to abandon all of his duties to enjoy the various pleasures of the common people.

“I’m glad you finally decided to leave the mud and prostitutes.” Henry IV muttered to his son who didn’t answer, only the way his jaw clenched indicated that he had heard his father’s remark.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity for you, Thomas left your side to go dance with some duchess, which left you the time to breathe a little bit. Thomas was a gentleman, representing perfectly how a prince should behave, but he was smothering you. Most of the guests were dancing so the table you were sitting at was almost empty. As you scanned the room, your eyes catched the eyes of the oldest King’s son who was already watching you. You quickly derived your gaze, hoping he wouldn’t mind you. However, the man saw this exchange as a good moment to approach you and before you even knew it he was now sitting in front of you.

“I’m sorry to intrude like this,” he began, his low voice pleasing your ears, “I know I never come in this castle but I’m sure I’ve never seen you before.” His eyes were lingering on your every feature.

“It’s because it’s my first time coming here Sir.” You said and watched a little smile forming on his face.

“Well, what a pleasure to meet you Lady..?” He let his voice trail, waiting patiently for your name while he took your hand gracefully in his.

“Y/n.” You answered, your breath was slightly cut off by the tender kiss he laid on the back of your hand.

“Lady Y/n, I’m Hal.” He smiled, his eyes almost felines and you just nodded, his hand not letting yours go. You found it odd to see that he wasn’t bragging about his title, all of the people you met here were obsessed by their nobility.

“If you allow me, Sir, I’d like to retire and go get some rest.” You asked even if you planned to leave no matter the answer he gave you.

“Of course beautiful, sleep well.” He playfully said and you refrained from laughing which made him smile.

Your room was spacious, and well decorated. A guard had escorted you and a maid was staying near in case you needed any help. That, plus the pretty prince you had the chance to meet was making you relativize on this little stay. As you hopped in the bath the maid had prepared for you, you couldn’t stop your mind from thinking about the mysterious prince that brightened up the annoying banquet. Thinking about the softness of his hand around yours, you let your hand travel slowly to your core, taking your time to caress your chest and thighs before finally letting your fingers play with your clit, imaginating that it was his long and delicate fingers. You let out a soft sigh at the memory of his delightful mouth on your flesh and wondered how his lips will feel in all these inappropriate places of your body.

After your relief you wrap yourself in your towel, using all these foreign products to oil your body before finally putting on your night clothes.

The next morning the maid woke you up by pulling the curtains to let daylight enter your room. The warmness in the room was enjoyable but you wish you could stay a bit more in your sheets.

“The prince of Wales requests your presence, your Highness.” The maid sweetly said as she served your tea before preparing your clothes for the day.

“Where should I meet him?” You asked without even taking in the fact that it was perhaps inappropriate to meet the prince alone in what seems to be a private meeting.

“He’s waiting for you behind your door, he asked me to demand your permission to come in.” You couldn’t believe how this man was, he really didn’t care about etiquette did he?

“Then tell him to come in.” At your words she opened the door, revealing Hal who wasn’t even dressed up for the day. He seemed so normal that you almost forgot the formalities.

“You can leave us.” You sweetly said to your maid as she slightly bowed before leaving. Hal immediately jumped on the occasion to approach you as you were sitting on your bed watching him.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you, you were clouding my dream.” He announced with a sultry voice, “my Lady, you are all I have ever sought, and if having you means accepting my noble life, the tasks and obligations that go with it, then I will. I’ll do it just to carry you on the throne and to call you my queen. I’ll do it to be able to make love to you every day passionately, to see you bear my heirs. I know it’s indecent, I know it’s not how we’re supposed to do it, I should demand your hand to your father and I promise I will. Love me Lady Y/n, please, I’ve done a lot of things that someone like me shouldn’t have done but I will abandon it all for you, for your love. I don’t care what the people will think about us, I don’t care what the kingdom will think. The only thing I can care about right now is you and the immense crave for your affection I have. Love me, let me take care of you like you deserve it, let me be your lover, even your worshipper if it means I’ll have even a little fragment of your attention. I know we just met but I’ve never felt this way for anyone before.”

The curly haired boy was panting, and so were you. It was all so sudden but horribly delicious. His hands had found yours during his speech and your nails were now scratching softly his skin as your eyes glossed on the way his lips were slightly quivering or his hands were shaky or even how his eyes were full of hope and a glint of passion was drowned in them.

“Sir…” your voice was so small, you even had difficulty hearing yourself, “This is so wrong, so wrong on so many levels.” His face dropped at your words. “At the same time it’s so delightful to hear you say all of that out loud-” Before you could add anything else his soft lips were on yours, moving slowly, lovingly. His tongue was playing with your bottom lips and the sweet sounds of your whimpers and slight moans could be heard. Your voice was making the prince completely wild, now sucking and biting your bottom lip to hear more of it. His hand was now on your thigh, his hand grabbing your dress to the point where his knuckles were now white. You took his hand in yours, slipping it gently under your dress, making him sigh of pleasure at the touch of the softness of your skin. He gently separated his lips from yours as you admired the now plump and rosy aspect of them.

“Let me have you.” His voice was almost begging you and you were ready to give yourself to him but a shy knock at the door stopped the magic of the moment.

“Come in.” You frustratedly said and immediately wandered off of Hal, fixing your dress as he looked everywhere but at his brother accompanied by guards. Thomas cleared his throat in embarrassment and confusion, not understanding why his older brother was in your room, on your bed.

“Lady Y/n, I was wondering if you’ll be pleased to go on a walk with me, I could show you the castle.” Thomas gently asked, watching his brother weirdly from time to time.

“Oh…” You discreetly eyed Hal, seeing the way his jaw clenched and his dark gaze was fixated on his younger brother. “I… Yes Sir Thomas,it would be my pleasure.” You said reluctantly, your nobility showing. Hal stepped out of the room, anger clearly radiating from him as he purposely bumped into his brother.

—

“Was my brother bothering you in your room? If it’s the case you can tell me, I’ll make sure that it doesn't happen anymore, he has no manners or respect.” Thomas stated as he was slowly walking with you through the castle.

“Not at all, he was just making sure I had everything I needed.” You lied and the prince next to you attentively watched your side.

“You shouldn’t be involved with him, he has damaged our name by his many scandals, he is not a man of good faith. I wouldn’t want him to tarnish your name with his inappropriate behaviour.” You quickly understood that Thomas was suspecting his brother to want to have sex with you, and even if you wanted it, the fact that he noticed that embarassed you.

“I don’t think your older brother is capable of such a thing.” You immediately answered and the boy scoffed

“He is reputed in all the country for his many mistresses. Initially he was the heir of my father but with how he abandoned our kingdom to his now life of debauchery, I have a chance to become Henry V.” He proudly announced and you politely smiled at him even though you didn’t care about what he was saying.

“You should give a little more credit to your older brother my Lord, I’m sure he has his own reasons to act the way he does.” You gently said and Thomas reluctantly nodded.

——

You asked to receive your dinner in your room even if it surely offended the King that you didn’t sit at the table to eat with him and his other subjects. You were too tired to speak or act like you cared about the King’s life and decided that eating alone was the best solution to not be rude to anyone around the table and disrespect them.

As you finished eating, you looked at yourself in the mirror, eyeing every jewellery that decorated your body. Some of them had just been gifted to you by the youngest prince of England and you couldn’t help but think it was a way of courting you and you didn’t like that.

You didn’t even hear the door of your room opening before feeling Prince Hal’s hands on your waist, admiring you in the mirror with loving eyes.

“How did you manage to enter my room?” You asked, smiling at him and he returned it immediately.

“Even if I’m not appreciated in this castle I’m still the prince.” You slightly laughed and Hal’s hand toyed your new necklace. “Is this a present?” He softly asked before you enveloped his hand with your.

“A present from your brother.” You simply answered and Hal scoffed before delicately taking off the necklace of your body. Before you could say anything a beautiful gold necklace replaced the old one and Hal laid a gentle kiss on your neck.

“So much more beautiful.” He proudly whispered as he turned you around, his hands on your waist, admiring you like you were some sort of goddess that he wasn’t even sure he could touch.

“Thank you Hal.” You shyly smiled.

“Are we finally giving up on manners?” You nodded before wrapping your arms around his neck and saw the way he smirked while looking at your figure.

“Please, don’t make me regret this.” You simply stated, your eyes lost in his with a loving stare.

“I was craving to see you tonight at the table, you’re the only reason I stay at this castle you know” a little smile decorated his lips

“ I can neither understand nor bear English manners, no offence” Hal simply nodded before taking your hand in his.

“Myself, cannot bear English manners.” Hearing your laugh, Hal looked attentively at you, admiring the woman who stole his heart so fast. “My lover, my beautiful lover, your beauty is almost painful.” His hand was now on your cheek, watching your loving eyes.

“You’re flattering me.” You said as your fingers found their way to his curls.

“I would never be, I would never lie to you my dear. The words you hear right now are the words of a man in love.”

“And the look you’re getting now is the look of a woman in love” you lovingly said and Hal gently pressed his lips on yours, kissing you tenderly, showing all his love to you.

Your hands were now on his neck as your lips moved perfectly in sync. It was so bad but felt so good. You knew that If anyone saw you like that you would be dishonoured but the idea of getting caught only made you more aroused.

“Hal,” you whimpered as his lips traveled from your mouth to your throat. He shushed you as he smiled against your skin, biting it softly but retaining himself to mark you.

“God I can’t wait to be married to you so I can show the entire world that you’re mine, I’ll show everyone what a filthy good girl you are to your King.” Hal whispered in your ear and seeing him like that was making you completely question your virtue and if it was even as necessary as people made you think.

“I thought from your behavior that you didn’t want to be King.” You managed to let out and Hal chuckled.

“How can I make you queen, my queen, if I don’t accept my obligations as an heir to become the King?” He playfully asked and stopped his kisses and before you could protest he simply locked the door. “Let me please you.” He lustfully said, waiting for your approval before guiding you to the luxurious bed of the room. Your nightgown wasn’t covering anything and Hal’s eyes were immediately captured by the view of your hardening nipples. His imposant hand captured your breast, massaging it softly, loving the soft sound you were making from such a little action.

“May I?” He asked his other hand ready to slip under your dress.

“Please my King” you moaned and his hand touched the wet patch of your undergarments. His fingers danced on your cunt, teasing you to hear you beg.

“What do you want?” His sultry voice asked, a playful smile on his face, clearly loving torturing you.

“I want you to touch me.” You said and he made an unapproving sound.

“Aren’t you supposed to beg for your king to please you?” His emerald eyes were now piercing your skin.

“Please, your Highness, I’m begging you, I need release, I’m begging you to please me.” The words escaped your lips with difficulty from how your mind was fogged with desire.

“Such a good girl, a good whore for her Lord.” It was easy to spot the double meaning of his sentence, he seemed to be like his brother said “not a man of faith” and you liked it.

“I’ll always be a good whore for my Lord.” You said, looking at him through your lashes and felt his fingers finally move, touching perfectly your bundle of pleasure, toying it, caressing it exactly like you needed.

“Let me taste you” he told you in his desperate tone and when you nodded he licked your folds, tasting you like he always wanted to. He was hungry, hungry for you as he passionately kissed your cunt, acting like your moan was some sort of drug keeping him going.

“I need more, please”.

He playfully humed. “What more do you need?”

“I need you to fill me up” Hal chuckled before entering one of his slender fingers in you.

“More, more, please” you begged him, wetness pooling between your thighs as his mischievous smile was on your clit. A second finger found your pussy before he began pumping in and out perfectly. His mouth was always sending shivers down your spine as he licked you so greatly.

With his other hand he was palming himself,needing desperately the relief, you were making him crazy and his dick was too hard, he needed to fuck his own hand, moaning and groaning against your cunt.

“My Lord…” you moaned as you felt your high wash over you. At this moment you saw the way his hips were moving even more desperately as he came with you, moaning the name of the woman that seemed to have bewitched him.

“God I’m in love with you” he said after laying next to you, caressing softly your cheeks as you tried to come down from you high. “Let me marry you.”

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a/n: like, comments and reblogs are always appreciated! :)

I’m taking requests! Check the rules first

I created this blog to allow black girls to feel more comfortable with reading x reader, as a black person I saw how much we weren’t really represented in the fanfic community

Tag list: @timotheel0ver @track0526 @s-we-e-t-t-ea t-ea @thebetawolfgirl

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This is my work, please don’t repost it, translate it or take it without my permission.

Published the 01/12/2022

[y-rhywbeth2]

Fun things I'm slapping on my Durge as I fully lean into the outsider (evil/fiend subtype) category and the concept that Durge is/used to be Bhaal because if the writing can try and tell me that Wyll Ravengard is an actual devil despite bringing in none of the themes or consequences of what that means, nor treating him mechanically as anything but a regular human with horns, then whatever the writing says on the matter of outsiders vs mortals is 100% meaningless and I can do what the fuck I want:

A silver allergy (but they're reacting to the silver itself, not the traces of other metals in the alloy) A trait devils and bhaalspawn have in common is their weakness to silver (a metal associated with good and purity and etc). While that technically refers to damage reduction when injured, I like the idea that it also causes supernatural allergic reactions and causes burning/itching and hives and stuff.

Weirdly dark veins Going off that thing where Bhaalspawn blood may be black and viscous - I won't go that far, but the idea that it's weirdly thick and sticky and darker in colour than it should be sounds fun.

Black eyes, possibly including the sclera. Because I've always loved that particular dream from BG1 where Bhaal manifests as a raven: "You drop your gaze back to the water so as not to see [your foster father's corpse]. The raven is gone, but your own image remains. Your eyes are black, like those of a bird. 'Like father, like child,' the reflection says." (Logically, the average raven technically has dark brown eyes and white sclera, it's just that the iris is so much bigger. Whatever.) There's also room for the glowing molten-lava flames-of-Gehenna type eyes, courtesy of the Ravager avatar, but I feel that might be a touch melodramatic. I like my subtle creepy.

The ability to grow facial hair despite mechanically being an elf The Ravager has a beard; I can only assume Bhaal had one if he's putting them on his avatars. Vel likely won't grow a beard, but he can have the occasional 5 o'clock shadow as a treat.

Pallor Just drawing inspiration from the Slayer, which was a walking corpse, the dude just looks perpetually dead/ill despite his apparent good health (technically the Slayer is described as "ivory white" I'm just going to note that down as a flowery way to say "looks like it doesn't have a functioning circulatory system")

Instinctual knowledge of specific languages. Sort of like dragons and draconic sorcerers are born knowing draconic, and devils abyssal. As basically a minor reincarnation of Bhaal, Durge instinctively knows Netherese and Infernal (Bhaalspawn seem to align closer to devils in nature than any other outsider). Because I can and I want to.