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demonicbaby666 · 1 year

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Tres

One shot | Once Upon a Time Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Pairing: Regina Mills x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Words: 3.8k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, masturbation, biting, oral, fingering, edge play, strap-on use (r!receiving), spanking, degradation, dom/top!Regina, sub/bottom!reader, mommy kink (tiny bit), praise.

Summary: When Regina walks in to find you waiting for her, she’s not too pleased to discover you’ve started a certain activity without her. In retaliation she decides to play a little game.

A/n: Is this the most descriptive and well-worded piece I’ve written? No. Is it proof read? Also no. But I wrote it super fast, and at least it’s seggsy, so… also the first time I’ve used ‘mommy’, which was a little giggle moment. I digress, have fun reading!

It was close to 5:30 pm, and you knew what that meant. Regina would walk through the front door like clockwork in the next couple of minutes. Henry was sleeping at a friend's house, so you had the place to yourselves and intended to make the most of it.

You sat in skimpy black lingerie on Regina’s bed, back against her headboard, waiting. Black is, of course, her colour, but god, did she like it on you too. Just imagining the look on her face as she entered through the door excited you. On previous occasions, she’d shown little restraint when demonstrating her appreciation for coming home to one hell of a sight. Hands worshipped every inch of your body. Being impatient, you let your hand drop between your legs, imagining what you wanted and knew Regina would do to you.

Pushing two fingers into your underwear, finding you were already wet from the sheer memories, you slowly circled your clit, closing your eyes as a small fire grew in your lower abdomen. It was an unspoken agreement that you weren’t supposed to touch yourself, not if Regina hadn’t said, yet knowing you would be caught breaking a rule only spurred you on. You thought of Regina’s slender fingers that, night after night, filled you, her brown eyes that watched you give into her time and time again, and her lips that silenced moans and screams so loud, she thought even a silencing spell couldn’t dampen them.

At the sound of someone clearing their throat, your eyes fluttered open, revealing the face painted in your mind - though it didn’t do her beauty justice.

“And what are you doing?” Regina asked, standing in the doorway with her hands folded over her chest. Her expression was bone-chilling.

Your skin burned brighter now you’d been caught. The want to look anywhere but at her jarred through your body, but you knew she would disapprove and kept your gaze trained on her, “I was waiting for you…” you started, guiltily biting your lip, “but I got impatient.”

The anger in her eyes turned to a menacing predatory stare that dropped to your hand, still wedged in your underwear. And she smirked, “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

Regina sashayed to the bed and began crawling over you, “Fuck yourself like the little slut you are,” she whispered in your ear before taking the doughy flesh of your earlobe into her mouth and nibbling on it.

A groan broke from your throat at her gravely tone; it resembled the sound of stones scrapping along each other, shooting a bullet of pure lust straight through your chest. You could have come from her filthy words alone but followed her instructions. The angle made it difficult to achieve the fast pace fucking you craved, so you settled on running two wet fingers over your sensitive clit in a fluid motion. Small moans slipped from you, and as they grew in volume, Regina’s boldness grew too.

Her lips travelled the length of your jawline, leaving behind rouge lipstick residue. The gentleness morphed into an unquenchable thirst when she reached your lips. Regina’s tongue ran the entire length of your top lip, then your bottom, coating them in wet warm saliva. She puckered her lips and blew on them. A cool sensation tingled from your lips, working into your bloodstream and sending shivers along your spine. You drew in a shuddering breath before leaning up to deliver a hungry kiss. Her teeth bit down on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, a reminder that, though your hands were seeing to your own pleasure, she was still the one to give the orders.

As your fingers continued to circle your clit, growing faster in pace methodically, Regina kept you occupied - swirling her tongue in and around your mouth. She moved the black lace over your chest to the side, revealing a pert nipple that quickly captured between her fingers. Your hips jerked at the sudden pleasurable pain that channelled through your body, but thankfully, the weight of Regina’s body held you down. Your clit throbbed with each movement, thrumming in time with your rapid heart rate.

When your lips were rendered useless, too preoccupied with releasing gargled ‘yes’s’ and ‘fuck’s,’ Regina moved down. Your throat fell victim to a brutal attack of harsh kisses and bites that would surely leave marks. She painted a line of red blotched down to your chest, where she swiftly took your swollen nipple into her mouth and sucked.

Your breathing was laboured, jaw shaking with each moan and whimper. The coiling in your stomach had reached an all-time high, and Regina recognised the sides of your impending orgasm right away. Her hands cupped your breasts, flicking your nipples with her thumbs while bringing her lips to your ear, “Are you going to cum for me like a good girl?”

The word ‘yes’ never made it to your tongue, your fingers and Regina’s sultry voice pushing you over the edge before you could answer. Muscles tensed all over your body, your fingers stilled over your clit, and your chest heaved pointlessly, trying to trail in gasps of air.

Regina pulled back slightly so she could watch you catch your breath. Her stare made you feel so small, but that had never been a bad thing. There was a comfort in knowing she was in charge and that she’d never let anything happen to you unless, of course, she was the one inflicting the desired damage.

“My turn,” she devilishly smirked, and before you could stop her, she had your underwear off, placed one hand by your head and two fingers buried deep inside your cunt, “we’re going to play a little game.”

A gasped shriek was all you could spare after having just come down from your high, “Whenever you get close,” she said, looking directly into your eyes, sliding her fingers out with painstaking slowness, “you tell me to stop.”

Your eyes widened in response. It was an impossible punishment, and something told you Regina had set this game up to see you fail miserably. That way, she could dish out her ‘justice.’

“We’ll do it three times. Then if you’re good,” she bent down, letting her warm breath tickle your lips and thrust her fingers back inside you, hard, “I’ll fuck you senseless for however long you want.”

From that point on, you were determined. Three? You could handle three. But then her fingers started moving, and suddenly three started to feel more like a hundred, and the possibility of cutting one orgasm short already felt like too much of a challenge.

Regina showed no signs of being in a rush. Why would she? She wanted to make this last, make you suffer, reduce you to whimpering aimlessly and begging for her. Of course, you wanted to hate her for it. Instead, it made you wetter than ever.

Your hands gripped firmly to the bedsheets, battling between pushing them away and pulling them towards you repeatedly, not knowing what you needed more at that moment. When Regina caught wind of your conflicting actions, she chuckled. The cruel mockery sent another wave of arousal to flood between your legs as her fingers pumped in and out of your pussy. Every attempt you made at quickening the pace was reprimanded. She’d slow down, almost to a halt, until you’d ceased all movement and only then would she resume. It was pitiful, and you knew it. You’d whine, and she’d ‘tsk’, shutting you up instantly. Your only outlet was the ruffled bedsheets and the pillow you used to silence your protests.

Taking pity on you, Regina increased her vigour. Her fingers curled deep inside you, massaging the spongy lining of your g-spot, knowing it would push you right over the edge - had you not been playing this little game she’d set up, you would have cum then and there.

You knew what you had to do when you felt the tension reach an all-time high, “Stop!” you screamed.

And she did. Regina waited a few moments before pulling her fingers out, smirking when your pussy clenched around them - clearly unsatisfied and wanting more.

“One down, two to go,” She said, kissing lightly on your temple. She looked down at you, and her eyes softened, “Colour?”

“Green,” you shakily breathed out. Reaching down, you fiddled with the buttons of her slacks, and she did the rest, pulling them off and throwing them somewhere across the room, leaving her in just a silk blouse and underwear.

The softness faded from her eyes, mischief replacing it. A grin lined her lines. She leaned down to your ear and muttered, “Good.”

Her lips lowered to yours, taking them into a fierce, passionate kiss that knocked the wind out of you. It was easy to fall into the moment, let your hands wrap around her waist, feel silk tickling your stomach, and smell Regina’s signature sharp perfume. Her tongue slid over your lower lip, and you followed her lead by opening your mouth. It was wet and messy and just the way you liked it.

Slowly, the kiss stopped with her moving further down your body. First, to nibble and suck on your neck, then to your breasts, where she took your bra off and lathered your nipples. Her tongue ran over and around them. She’d suck one into her mouth and release them with a pop. Meanwhile, you were happy to lay back and enjoy the show, encouraging her actions with appreciative sighs and hums. Moving south along your stomach, she pecked what felt like every inch of it. Finally, when you’d started to feel impatience and excitement bubble to the surface, the mayor’s hands came to rest on either side of your thighs. She bowed down, ass perched in the air whilst she teased kisses along your inner thighs.

Begging was useless; she’d only prolong the torment, yet you found you couldn’t stop letting out a small whimper followed by a soft ‘please’. If she heard the slip, she let it pass, instead choosing to wrap her arms around your thighs and secure them over your hips.

The open window let in a cool breeze that circulated the room and made the sweat on your body cold. It calmed your racing pulse, and you closely monitored the tension easing from aching muscles, happy to forget about the upcoming torture of halting your pleasure, even if the reward would be worth it.

This lasted for all of ten seconds before the draft coming in was forgotten, and Regina finally ran her tongue through your drenched sex.

You were no stranger to the magic Regina could perform with her tongue, which was why you relaxed and enjoyed the slow licks along your slit, the gentle sucking on your clit and, with one hand, gripped onto the headboard above you, the other brushing Regina’s hair off her forehead.

The attention to your clit was now alternating between sucks and licks. Sometimes she lay her tongue flat and slithered it over the hardened nub. Other times she'd use the tip of it to run stiff circles or figures of eight over it. Traipsing fingers through dark hair, you made every effort to contain screaming out. Your body desperately wanted more than what was being bestowed.

After minutes of endless torture, she prodded your entrance with her two middle fingers, only pushing them in halfway and pulling them back out. She repeated this process until you got too impatient and unintentionally tried to push yourself down onto her fingers. This attempt was unsuccessful, what with the force she used to push your hip down into the bed.

When you looked down, her eyes were glued to you, and still, they held that dominance that told you things would move at her rate, and there’d be no two ways about it. You’d have been annoyed if it wasn’t for the fact it - having control ripped away from you - only turned you on more.

It felt like your whole body had been submerged in boiling water, the slick salted lining of sweat had all but coated your body, and your breath was uncontrollable. There was no hope in holding back moans and mewls with your body being worked up and deprived all at once. No coherent thought seemed to be in your head. The only thing you knew was Regina, and Regina and Regina.

Finally, her fingers pushed all the way, and your hand flew from the headboard to join its twin in her hair. A loud cry echoed across the room, and you felt Regina smirk over your aching clit. She took the bundle of nerves into her mouth and ran her teeth along it. A gasped moan left your parted lips. This time it was broken off with a near scream as Regina started to pump her fingers in and out of you rapidly.

You sprang upwards on the bed and loudly panted, “I’m going to, I’m going to cum. Fuck!”

Prying her tongue away and stilling her fingers, she looked at you with a raised brow and said, “You could have gone a few extra seconds, dear.” Nevertheless, she waited for you to calm down before removing her fingers and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

By this point, you were practically dripping onto the bedsheets. An ache had spread to every inch of your body, and you yearned for all the teasing to stop. If not for the gentleness that appeared between moments of unrest, you’d have thrown in the towel. Yet, the small kisses she dropped over your stomach, the tender smile she gave you, and the way she nuzzled her head in your neck so that you could breathe in her hair motivated you to push ahead and persevere.

Absorbing this spike in affection, your fingers ran through brunette tresses. Closing your eyes, you let your worries float out the window into the late afternoon breeze.

This time Regina moved slower. She wedged her thigh between your legs and started a slow grinding motion. The abundant slickness present easily allowed for the movement. She didn’t protest or hold your hips down when you matched her actions, so you kept going. Kneading your breast between her hands, she lowered her head down and took your left nipple between her teeth and bit down lightly on it. A balance of pain and pleasure set your body alight, and you found your hips moving faster.

Maybe it was the intensity of the moment, the shift in atmosphere that thrummed through your body - warming your chest and distracting your mind - but you didn’t stop Regina when you felt that familiar tension home in your lower abdomen. Instead, it continued to reach its peak until it was too late, and you’d let out an alarmingly loud moan that bounced around the room and, more importantly, bellowed in Regina’s ears.

“Did you do what I think you did?” she asked, her voice having a bite to it that drained away the pleasure of what had happened, leaving fear and a sense of disappointment behind your actions. There was none of the gentleness you’d previously observed, and whilst that scared you, it also struck an excited note in you.

Taking your silence and lack of eye contact as an admission, she shuffled backwards on the bed, kicked her legs over the side, and continued in the same menacing tone, “Come here.”

You did as told, muttering apologies that Regina paid little to no attention to. You shuffled forward and stood on your knees next to the edge of the bed.

Taking you over her knees, her hand made firm contact with your left ass cheek. The slapping sound rang through the room, travelling straight back to you, waking up the submissive side within you that would do anything to please and putting any thoughts of disobeying to sleep. A series of harsh slaps left you whimpering and deciding whether to beg her to stop or to keep going. But then Regina’s palm made swift contact with your cunt, leaving behind a delicious sting.

“Oh god,” you moaned. The burn around your clit was near maddening, and you were sure if you didn’t get some proper relief soon, you’d die, “Please, Regina.” You begged.

“What do you want, baby?” her voice dripped with power.

“I want you to fuck me.” You whined, “Please fuck me.”

“Stay there, and don’t move.” She commanded, sliding back and off the other side of the bed. You heard rummaging and things lightly dropping to the floor but couldn’t see much from the position she had you stay in. The bed dipped beside you, “Suck.” She growled.

Turning your head to her, you saw Regina had now stripped down to only her panties. Fastened to her hips was her favourite harness - on it the second biggest dildo she owned. The sight of it made your lips water and your clit twitch. Powerful, she didn’t need a thrown or a crown. This was enough to remind you she was a queen and you a lowly subject.

“Fuck,” you muttered, crawling over and holding onto her hips.

Bringing your lips to the tip of the faux cock you slowly opened your mouth and sucked the tip in. Although the brunette could gain pleasure from this, simply by using her magic to make her cock real, you knew this was another demonstration of dominance. The thought caused you to moan and show Regina just how willing you were to please, so you took her entire length into your mouth and began bobbing your head.

Before long, Regina had her hands in your hair as you lubed up the strap, taking it repeatedly to the hilt, then back out again, over and over.

“You look so pretty sucking mommy’s cock.” she mused, pulling your head back and cleaning the spit off the sides of your mouth, “Such a good girl.”

Staring up at her, you couldn’t help but feel a little pride rise in your chest and had to bite back a smile. You let it slither across your lips when Regina pulled you up and crashed her lips onto yours. Her hands circled your waist whilst her knees moved forward, guiding you towards the head of the bed. Once your head hit the pillow - promoted by a little push from Regina - plump lips found your neck and sucked your pulse point so hard there was no chance a mark would not be seen the following day.

Fingers danced over your chest and torso, light enough to pry small giggles. Suddenly, her hands found your hips, and she flipped you over so your stomach and breasts lay flat against the bed. With her firm grip, she tugged your hips up and held you in place as she moved forward and back, teasing your cunt with silicone.

You stifled a groan into a pillow and allowed Regina what fun she wanted. Eventually, she relented and eased the tip of the strap into you. It was thick and almost painful, but the stretch was welcomed with a grateful whimper. The mayor was kind enough to take it slow, pushing in inch by inch with a steadiness that kept the action unhalted and natural.

She guided her hips back, then slammed right back into you. The scream you let out was undoubtedly audible from outside, but you couldn’t care less. She kept fucking into you like that, pulling out slow enough that you felt the bumped veins on the dildo glide over your inner walls, then, with a sudden push of her hips, filled you completely. After a while of this, clawing at the bedsheets, pillows, anything you could get your hands on, the fast-paced action you craved had you trying to wrestle against Regina’s hold on you so you could take matters into your own hands.

“You want me to fuck you hard and fast?” she spoke in a sultry voice, “Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” you whined.

She quickly picked up her pace, “Tell me who you belong to. Tell me who gets to fuck you like this.”

“You!”

“Who else?” She shouted, her hips moving at double their previous speed.

The bed rocked and squeaked. Your attention remained on the cock mercilessly thrusting in and out of you.

“Who else?” she barked, delivering a swift slap to your ass.

“No one! Only you!” You screamed.

The ridges inside the strap-on meant Regina was getting as much pleasure from this as you were. Each moan you let out was followed by one of her own. She loved fucking you from behind, watching her cock disappear in and out of your pussy, and you, too, couldn’t deny the position had its benefits. For one, when she increased her speed, keeping her thrusts strong - much like she was doing then - the dildo would slide perfectly along your g-spot. The pleasure was insurmountable. The next day, you often found you could barely walk, not that it mattered when memories of the things Regina did to you were floating around in your mind.

Repeatedly, she pounded into you, the base of the cock slamming against your clit, driving you closer and closer to coming.

Getting the question out was painful because all you wanted to do was let go. “Can I come?” You shakily begged, the words coming out broken and pathetic.

“Come for me, baby.” she cooed.

Her voice alone did it. Your walls clamped around the dildo. Regina continued, prolonging the pure bliss of the powerful orgasm that shook your whole body. She held you up when your knees buckled, refusing to stop her wanton hips from fucking you with reckless abandon.

“Regina!” You loudly moaned, thrashing your head against a pillow, “Fuck! I’m going to come again!”

She didn’t relent. Instead, she trashed her palm time and time again over your ass, sending stinging pleasure through all your nerve endings. Together you cried out each other’s names, nails dug into your hip bones as you both simultaneously found your release.

She slumped down on top of you and unbuckled her harness, carefully pulling it out of your spent cunt. Regina placed it on the bedside table to be dealt with later. As she lay beside you and breathed heavily, she slung an arm over her eyes and smiled.

You scooted over to her and lay your head on her chest, drawing lazy shapes over her stomach and breast, “That was amazing,” you chuckled.

Clasping her arm over your shoulder, running soft fingers through your hair, she smirked and looked down at you, “What makes you think we’re finished?”

You met her eyes and saw that same mischievous look you so adored, “I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow, am I?”

Her smirk curved into a full-blown grin, “No, I don’t think you will. You deserve it for starting without me.”

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yellow-berrys · 2 years

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dote on me | sirius black x fem!reader

summary: you are completely oblivious to the way sirius black dotes on you, and think that the way you're infatuated with him is completely one-sided. but he begs to differ.

warnings: mentions of a bad childhood, mentions of smoking, drinking and illicit substances

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Sirius Black makes you nervous and he darn well knows that. He uses those consuming grey eyes of his, filled with enigmatic interest, to his advantage. He only needs to focus them on you for a considerate amount of time for you to start burning up like a wildfire. And his nose, it’s pointed and perfect, leaving you wondering just how unfair life can be. His cheekbones are high and structured, light hitting them at glorious angles. His lips are devoid of much red. They’re this cool plum colour that looks like it’s lip gloss all the time but really isn’t. His skin is framed by smooth black hair, and the layers in his haircut are so pretty it prompted every other guy in his life to get the same one. It drives you mad that he was born with this face and that hair. It’s simply unjustified.

It would be fine if he was just a pretty face. But it’s not. It’s simply unacceptable just how nice he is. Sometimes you wish he isn’t a gentleman and that all the rumours about him being a player with a million tattoos were true, because you’re envious and adoring of him.

And like anyone, he definitely has a vice. People think it’s cigarettes for him but he definitely does not smoke. And he doesn’t drink. At parties, he’s cradling a cautiously poured glass of lemonade instead. And he definitely doesn’t do drugs, because he hangs around Remus Lupin and there’s no way he would be allowed to if he did. Remus is a little sickly sometimes, and his body is very sensitive.

He likes to say his vice is chasing things he’ll never have. Like his childhood. He thinks he has regained that. Now, maybe it’s some sort of romance. All his life he’s been mooned over. People love him, mostly because he’s beautiful, and they offer him burning hot love all the time. People think he’s one for angsty, fiery passion. But Sirius thinks that fires never last, they’re too easy to disturb and taint everything with the unpleasant smell of smoke. James once did one of his stupid Women’s Weekly quizzes on him, the one with the “Tell me your favourite colour, and it’ll tell you what other people think of you, tell me your favourite animal…” questions. Sirius had laughed, thrown his head back and answered in a complete stupor. “Black, maroon if black isn’t an answer, dog…” James had asked him what his favourite body of water was and Sirius had said “A lake.”

He had spent summers of his broken youth dipping his toes into the pretty lake by his family’s home in France, escaping from the whirlwind world inside the walls of Walburga and Orion’s chateau. It didn’t make him cry more when he cried, because it would welcome the tears into the gently flowing water.

James had smiled, “Why?”

Sirius had told him, “It’s gentle, relaxing, peaceful. The one in France was so enveloping and soft. I felt safe there.”

“Chateau?”

“Yep. I used to go out there as a little boy. It was so quiet out there and it felt like heaven, so fluid and open.”

“Hm,” James had studied the words underneath, squinting his eyes, “Ooh, that’s how you feel about love. Never knew you were the romantic type, Pads.”

He had laughed.

James had asked you too. You had giggled, “Did you steal Lily’s Women’s Weekly again?”

He grumbled, “Not again.”

“I like ponds with little koi fish swimming in them.”

“Why?”

“It’s calm in a joyful way. It’s safe and there’s always rays of golden sun and it feels so delightful and promising. Lucky too, I guess. Oh! And it’s so pretty by a koi fish pond.”

James had grinned and left promptly.

Sirius thought it was strange when he had first met you. He hadn’t ever had these feelings before, and it took years for him to shove them aside and focus on his studies, friends and mischief-making. But you were affiliated with Marlene, you were always around in some way. You and him became friends and Sirius felt those feelings resurface again.

He groans into his hands as he runs it across his face.

“Why?!” he asks Lily, who is watching amusedly.

“I’m sure you can’t help it,” she says primly, “But what if you could help it?”

He looks at her inquisitively.

“What if you acted on these feelings? It isn’t half-bad of an idea. You’re grown up, Sirius, and if you still like her that means it’s real.”

“She doesn’t like me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“What if bad things happen?”

“What’s the worst that could?”

“Death.”

“You’re already halfway there,” she rolls her eyes, “Give it a shot, maybe love will make you less sad.”

“I’m not sad!”

“Whatever, start loving, Sirius.”

She picks up her Women’s Weekly magazine and starts reading. “Ooh, there’s this quiz-”

Sirius groans.

–

“Hey darling,” Sirius strides into your apartment. Good start, he thinks.

You’re sprawled on the couch, grinning as you FaceTime Marlene and Dorcas. When you see him, you look up, surprised.

“Marlene’s in Vegas,” you say, “Didn’t she tell you?”

Marlene did tell Sirius, and even offered that he come with her and Dorcas.

You flip the camera to Sirius, and even in blurry, low quality, Facetime video he’s still very handsome.

Marlene screams, “What is that monster doing in my apartment?”

You grin, “Marls, he was looking for you.”

“Actually,” Sirius tilts his head, and if you weren’t so thick you might see the smitten look in his eyes, “I’m here for you.”

You frown, “For taxes? It’s only the start of the month. Besides, the IRS will never tail you, you’re too rich for that.”

“Can’t I spend time with you, pretty girl?”

It’s flattering, but it seems too abrupt to be genuine. You brush it off with a laugh.

“Get a load of you,” you roll your eyes, “What do you need?”

“I need you,” he attempts and the confession, although seeming flirtatious and joking, brings a smile to your face.

Marlene chortles, “Guys- I-I-I-I’m…cutt-ing…ou-ou-ou-t.” She fakes it and it’s obvious, but the FaceTime ends and Sirius sits opposite you now. He’s pretty even at seven in the evening and it makes you very nervous.

You stand up, uneased, and make towards your bedroom.

“Where are you going?”

“Oh,” you gesture to an old pile of clothes, “Marlene cleaned her wardrobe out before she left, so I decided to follow suit so then we can donate them.”

“Why’re you leaving me?” he pouts.

“You want to…stay?”

You’re so puzzled and your heart is beating far too fast for your liking. It goes pitter patter like the rain outside. It’s exhausting. The feeling might be addictive, like a good old fashioned crush, but it’s always playing with you. It feels avaricious to love someone out of your league, worth more than you have ever been.

His sudden showering of affections and doting on you, you think, is because he’s lonely. He doesn’t live with James anymore. You empathise with him, but only because you think you’ll know what that feels like in a month when Dorcas and Marlene move in together. But it really isn’t. Sirius actually thinks that you deserve all the heavy-handed loving in the world, and he always has. His apprehension towards him being the person to do the loving is slowly fading away as he sees the shy smile on your face.

“If you’ll have me.”

And you turn your head around so he doesn’t see you blush, “Okay, I’ve been meaning to get a second opinion. Whenever I do this I do it with Marlene.”

You try things on by the mirror in your bedroom, instructing Sirius to look away when needed. He isn’t much of a help at all, because he thinks you look good in everything. Which is just certainly not true.

On a whim, he suggests that because he isn’t aiding you successfully, you should help him on his own closet. In the end, you wind up in his apartment.

Sirius has never boasted about what he has at all, mainly because he isn’t proud of it. By what unethical means his trust fund has come from, he doesn’t even want to know, but he’s grateful for it. You’ve only ever seen his living room, kitchen and his small powder room, and they’re lavish and capacious to no ends. Everything subtly screams wealth and luxury. His bedroom is no different. A large bed sits in the middle, framed by expensive paintings. There’s a well made ebony table in the corner, spotless and tidy. The two armchairs in the room are, whilst clearly faux-leather, intricate and of the sort of taste cultivated only by time. A copy of the original Call of the Wild sits on a table. A bookshelf is on one side of the room, grey, stretching from the floor to ceiling. You run your fingers along the spines of the book. They’re all special editions. A simple chandelier (what an oxymoron) dangles in the middle of the room, and you find the ceiling is gilded with plaster and gold. Pictures of friends and family adorn the white walls.

His walk in closet is humongous. You gasp as he opens the door. It’s double the size of your living room. The clothes are organised by colour, style and season and there’s a considerable lack of colour. In the middle sits an accessory table, with dozens of gold watches and silver necklaces. Delicate rings and bracelets all are displayed. A glass cabinet with bottles of cologne and perfume stands next to it. The only ones you can recognise is something that resembles the Ralph Lauren logo and Dior, and then again it isn’t even the one Johnny Depp uses.

He smiles sheepishly, ashamed that he has such nice things, “I did use my own money on this. Euphemia helped me fix it up.”

“It’s beautiful, Sirius,” you’re almost afraid to touch anything. You don’t think you belong in such a gorgeous world. You don’t think you deserve it.

Sirius beams at you, “Guess there’s not a difference between it and you, then.”

Your face warms. Sirius is already taking clothes off the racks, whilst you stand awkwardly. He’s chatting, talking about where the clothes came from and who gave them to him and why he likes it so much. Your shoulders relax and you look at him like he’s the only thing that matters. So far he’s through all the things he deems necessary for him to live.

“And this jumper,” he holds up a pristine Ecru crewneck, offering it to you, “Is from when I went to visit Machu Picchu with James. When we left, one of the ladies we had been staying with gave us both a handmade jumper.”

You hold the fabric delicately in your hands.

“It’s alright. It’s just clothes, darling, you can do whatever you like with them.”

He’s so nice it hurts and you grin at him endearingly, “Thanks, Sirius.”

An adoring smile finds its way onto his face as he turns to pick up the next item. You put the sweater in the “KEEP” pile.

“How did this get here?” he laughs as he pulls out a bright yellow crewneck, with a little emblem etched on the side. Immediately he tugs it on, grinning as he surveys the bright colour in the mirror.

You’re blushing away because the colour suits him so well and makes him look way softer than he usually does.

He sneaks a glance at you in the mirror, and when he sees your lack of eye contact with him he frowns.

“Are you okay?” he asks you.

“Yeah. Yellow looks really nice on you, Sirius.”

“Does it?”

“Mhm. I don’t know, it makes you look…cuddly?”

He doesn’t smirk like you expect him to, but swivels around and smiles at you again. He knows he looks like he loves you. He doesn’t mind. You’re just sitting there, confused at why he’s doing this. It’s weird and sudden and it’s definitely something he would do.

Maybe this is his new favourite jumper.

He throws it in the keep pile. You tut disapprovingly and rearrange it gently. Seeing a t-shirt, he takes his own shirt off, letting it fall to the floor. You cover your eyes, not wanting to intrude on his privacy.

Sirius is midway through putting the shirt on when he laughs. “It’s okay, princess, I didn’t ask you to look away. I don’t mind. Unless you do, then I’ll change over there.”

You peek your eyes at him, and Sirius hopes that he’s not imagining your pupils blown slightly.

And you didn’t think he could get more perfect, but he is. His muscles are toned and defined, and slightly strained as he slides his shirt on. Gosh, he makes you feel inadequate. He can’t know you want him, so you grin as if you’re unaffected.

“That’s cute,” you nod.

And the process repeats. Sometimes he takes off his pants too, leaving him to just his boxers that cling onto him in an ungodly way.

“Are you done?” you ask, eyes covered tightly by your hand.

“Yeah.”

Sirius is dressed in a suit, the tenth one tonight, “Do we like this one, or the grey one?”

“I like the way this one fits, but I like the grey colour more. But I think the dull dove blue one was the best because it brings out your eyes.”

Sirius makes a mental note to get the grey one altered. He chucks away some old sleeping tees, and a bunch of band hoodies he doesn’t wear anymore. He also gets rid of one of his expensive sweaters with a cable knit and a button up shirt, a bunch of sweatpants and this hideous sweater vest that his Aunt Thelma gifted him for his 17th birthday.

He thinks maybe you might like to wear some of the things he has in his wardrobe–Euphemia picks them out with him and she represents a small portion of women. He lugs the bag of clothes to his car, and when he’s back, he sees you cross-legged on an armchair, typing on your phone.

“Sweetheart, what do I owe you?” he asks.

Your eyes are wide as you stare at him, “For what?”

You put your phone down on the side table.

“For helping me?”

“Nothing, Sirius, nothing at all. It’s my pleasure, really.”

“Do you want to take some of my clothes? I have more than enough.”

You look inquisitively at him, “You don’t mind?”

“‘Course not.”

You go home that night with two of his fancy jumpers, he insists, and one big button up shirt, and a bunch of other stuff he is adamant you should take too. You call Lily. Her voice comes out muffled on the other end.

“Hey Lily!

“Mhm, I’m well, how are you?

“He’s not that bad, I’m sure. You do know he took your Women’s Weekly–

“I’ve already done that quiz.

“Right, well, I don’t think Sirius is fine, in his own right.

“No! As in the sad happy fine, not the cute handsome fine.

“Well- no- I- I don’t think he’s not fine- I mean - Okay whatever. Is he alright? He keeps on acting weird.

A long pause.

“You know something, don’t you, Red?

“It’s kind of strange. I mean, he offered for me to take one of his- I don’t know, the Ermenegildo Ze-

“Yes, that! One of those jumpers.

“Are you sure? That’s what he is normally? Isn’t he usually bad-boy cool guy? Not dorky weird compliment giver?

“Alright, fine.

“Bye, love you!”

You survey the pile of clothes for any trace of a prank. Nothing. You take out one and inspect it suspiciously. Then, your intrusive thoughts get the better of you and you sniff the material carefully. It smells really nice. You chuck them in the wash just in case Sirius has popped one of his silly prank gadgets into the pockets or beneath the collar.

The next time you see him, Lily has called you to tell you she and James are going to Vegas to join Marlene and Dorcas. They’re celebrating a championship. She invites you, but you decline, not liking the idea of tailing behind the two couples and intruding on the romantic atmosphere. Sirius is all alone, and Lily tells you to ‘please go and check up on him’.

The apartment seems okay. It’s spotless like it always is, smelling of air freshener and Sirius’ cologne. It doesn’t look like Sirius is going through something rough at all. Sirius might not even be home, so you’re about to leave when you hear music coming from a secluded area of the apartment. You sneak into the corridor and the door is ajar. A beautiful black grand piano stands, Sirius sitting at it, playing the finest tune you’ve ever heard. The sounds reverberate gently through the room, and it’s divine. It’s joyful and skips on merrily. His eyes are closed and his lips are turned up. It makes you think that maybe he’s thinking of someone.

He stirs a little at the noise and you pull back. He gets up from his chair and peeks his head around the door. You’re wearing his jumper over some sweatpants. It’s so pretty on you, falling oversized.

He laughs, which brings heat to your cheeks, “Do you want to come in?”

“You’ll let me?” you gasp, “But you don’t even let Dorcas come in, and she’s a cello-ist.”

“You’re special,” he winks and you blush. You must look like a motley of colours- florid and pink. But you don’t mind, he makes everyone nervous and you’re not special, which puts you at ease.

You perch on the cushy chair as he plays a lilting song. You hum, approving, “What’s the song called?”

“Love,” he says and you agree. The song plays like what love feels like.

It’s so soft, and warm. Combined with Sirius’ lavender and honey cologne, it makes you drowsy. He notices your eyes are barely open, and instead of ending the song, continues to play the same melody over a lighter bass. When your breathing becomes steady, he quietly rises from the piano and scoops you up, knowing it can’t be comfortable to sleep in a chair. He carries you to his own room, where he tucks you into his bed. You’re murmuring unintelligible things. He leaves and continues playing, before Lily calls and he knows he should be in bed, because it’s morning in Las Vegas. Thus, he shuts his piano and drapes a soft velvet across it. He falls onto the couch and listening to Lily’s calming method to waking up, he falls asleep.

In the morning, you’re in a vaguely familiar room. The sheets are silk and the ceiling is fancier than an art gallery’s. You yawn, stretching. The clock next to you detects the motion and flashes a dim white. Of course it’s an analogue clock, reading 5:00 am. You remember shutting your eyes slowly in the piano room, the news had been playing on the TV earlier. So you had fallen asleep at seven. 10 hours, more than enough. You quickly get up and make the bed. After using his fancy skincare products and brushing your teeth with a spare toothbrush you find packaged up, you hear soft snores coming from the living room. Sirius is there, phone by his side.

You pout at how much of a gentleman he is, retrieving a blanket and carefully placing it on him. Then you prepare a smoothie, with the fourteen-million ingredients he has in his giant fridge, and leave it in there with a note. But Sirius wakes. He’s always been a light sleeper.

He leans blearily over the couch, “Sweetheart?”

“Good morning!” you chirp.

“Why do you have to be so gorgeous at five in the morning?” he slurs. You raise your eyebrows. He’s really always very flirty, and you’re used to it not being genuine by now. He sways out of bed and into the bathroom. You hear the running of a faucet, and sit down on a kitchen chair, checking your phone. Lily has blown it up.

TO: REDHEAD

REDHEAD 7:31 p.m. sooo, how is he??

REDHEAD 7:43 p.m. hellooooo babes????

REDHEAD 8:00 p.m. are u ok ??

REDHEAD 8:05 p.m. ANSWER ANSWER ANSWER

REDHEAD 9:47 p.m. I’m calling sirius

REDHEAD 10:00 p.m. omg YES GO YOU OMG

5:30 a.m. what

5:30 a.m. he was playing the piano lils and i fell asleep

REDHEAD 5:31 a.m. ok keep telling urself that <3 i mean has he ever let us sit in when we asked???

5:32 a.m. i told u he was acting strange

You grin as you see some of the videos she has sent you. One is where James and her and celebrating, him beaming like he always does. She looks madly in love with him. You screenshot and send it to your email so you can print it out later. There’s another of Marlene and Dorcas doing the spaghetti thing at a Michelin star restaurant. They look as if they’re having a wonderful time. It makes you realise that you’re craving something like that too, only not in the wild world of Vegas. You already have something like it, but it’s so one-sided and your heart can’t stand it. You wish someone would just, dote on you. And genuinely, because there’s no way Sirius Black means it.

You express these feelings to Marlene when she’s back, moving boxes and taping things up.

“I want to love someone, Marls. Who loves me back, so don’t even say Sirius.”

“He doesn’t act like that around everyone else, you know.”

“He does! Besides, what makes me so special, Marlene? He could have anyone.”

She laughs, “Oh goodness have you got a lot to learn.”

–

Marlene and Dorcas invite you to their housewarming party in their house. They say it’s perfect for a family and they want to start one whilst they’re young. It’s quite a large gathering for a housewarming party, and the inside is buzzing with excitement. You’re talking to some of their colleagues- Alice and her boyfriend Frank on the couch.

“And we’re planning a trip to Ibiza for next month,” she blinks up at him lovingly and he does the same. It makes you subtly raise your phone as if you’re getting a message and type, before quickly flashing a photo of them whilst they’re gazing into each other’s eyes.

Sirius spots you grinning away, like you want what Alice and Frank have. He sidles in next to you.

“Hey darling,” he smiles and you smile back, “Hi.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Alice asks.

“Oh of course! I thought you would already know him,” you put down your drink, “Alice, this is Sirius. Sirius, Alice. Frank, Sirius. Sirius, Frank. They’re planning a trip to Ibiza and were voted Best Couple in high school.”

They’re both intimidated by Sirius, you can tell, but Sirius smiles, “Nice to meet you Alice and Frank. How long have you been together?”

They cheesily smile at each other, “Seven years and going strong,” Alice flashes her wedding ring.

Marlene calls you over to the kitchen island, where she is mixing drinks up, “Hey darl!”

“Sup, Marls.”

“Need a drink?”

“Just pink lemonade,” you hold out your cup. A boy comes around the table, smiling at you. Marlene smirks a little.

“Y/n, this is CJ. He’s a footballer, and a damn good one.”

You grin, outstretching your hand, “Hi CJ, nice to meet you.”

He shakes it heartily, “Likewise.”

“What team do you play for?”

“Oh, just a local one,” he rubs his neck bashfully, “I’m not that good.”

CJ, whatever it stands for, is handsome, with bright green eyes and curly brown hair. He’s sweet too and has this shy air around him that’s impossibly good natured. He’s Emmeline’s to-be lover.

“Try me.”

“Liverpool,” he says meekly.

“Oh, you’re the Cruz Johnson! How’s football for a living?”

“It’s great, actually,” he chuckles, dipping his head to whisper secretly into your ear, “Though this beer is actually some recovery drink, so could be better.”

You laugh.

He grins as he takes a sip and makes a funny face, “So what do you do?”

You tell him and he nods, “Impressive indeed. How’d you meet Marls here?”

“She and I were classmates! I wore her down eventually, she used to hate friendship.”

“Oh tell me about it. I met her at the football club, where she was playing for the ladies’ team. And the first time the coach tried to congratulate her she just rolled her eyes. He was filthy.”

“Oh?” your eyes are sparkling with mischief.

“When he dislocated his cheekbone a few weeks later, she told him she could ski on them if she tried. Anyway.”

You purse your lips in amusement, “Am I allowed to laugh at that?”

“He looked like this,” Cruz makes a face and you giggle.

Sirius is watching this all with a very sour look on his face, feeling very jealous.

Cruz takes another sip of his drink, “So, who are you here with?”

You’re confused, “No one? I mean, unless you count Marlene, but she’s with Dorcas. And my friend Emmeline too.”

At the mention of Emmeline’s name, his eyes light up, “About her…”

“She’s single and she does like green eyes,” you pull him near the wily, tall Emmeline, who blushes shyly as she sees Cruz, “Besides, I think she has a thing for you. Ever since, you know, you crashed into her and spilled your coffee on her favourite shirt,” you joke.

He blushes, “Gosh, you still remember that? Will you send me the name of the shirt so I can buy her five more? I know I already replaced hers but I still feel so bad.”

“Awh. That’s very nice of you, Cruz. Here,” you hand him your phone, “What’s your number?”

Sirius is watching you, hands tense around his cup. He decides to go up to you.

“Hey darling,” he says lowly into your ear, making you jump and your cheeks heat up.

“Sirius!” you berate. Cruz is watching with a knowing smile as he hands your phone back. You quickly text him, “Okay, sent it.”

The two guys are sizing each other up. You can sense their hostility.

“Now, boys, be friendly. Cruz, do not worry, Sirius is only friends with Emmeline, and Sirius, don’t worry, Cruz won’t try to pick up Regulus.”

You feel both of them relax. Cruz grins at Sirius, “Nice to finally meet you, man.”

“You too!”

“And don’t worry, I don’t have feelings for her either.”

You’re silently eavesdropping on the conversation whilst texting Emmeline. You sneak a look at Sirius, who has an unnatural pink on his porcelain skin.

“C’mon green-eyes, aren’t I obvious about it?”

Cruz agrees, “Too much so.”

“Anyway, I’ll let you get to Emmeline, Cruz.”

He stumbles, grins at you and waves at the same time, “Thanks, mate.”

“No problems.”

You watch as he goes and makes a fool of himself in front of Emmeline, who likes it. You turn to Sirius, eyes still watching them. You’re still painstakingly lonely. Tonight you think you’ve third-wheeled at least three couples, and set up two. Even though Sirius is there, he’s just a constant reminder of what you can’t have.

Sirius can see it in your eyes. He doesn’t know how much more he needs to do. Lily wants to know though.

“Soooo, lovely,” she begins and you narrow your eyes at her.

“I swear I didn’t take your cookie cutters and destroy them whilst trying to make clay sculptures with Emmeline and Cruz,” you put your hands up. Lily raises her brows and you murmur a quiet, “Oh no.”

“My cookie cutters that you gave me?!” she yells.

“It’s fine, I’ll get you new ones.”

She sighs, “Right. Anyway, Sirius Black.”

“Sirius Black,” you say slowly.

“Mhm. Are you ever going to tell him you like him?”

“No, I don’t even like him.”

“You don’t?” Lily feigns surprise.

“Nope.”

“Is he cute?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he nice?”

“Yeah.”

“Well?”

“He doesn’t like me like that, Lils,” you scold.

“Why does he call you ‘darling’ then? He has to.”

“If he did, that would be embarrassing for him. Gosh knows he’s too good for me. If he likes me, I would question why because he could probably do better,” you shrug, “I’m confident, but not completely blind.”

“Okay. So if he liked you, you would want to date him?”

You reply meekly, “Yeah.”

“I think you should tell him, though,” Lily sighs, “Better you than anyone else doing it.”

You ponder for a moment, “True,” you sigh, “He’ll be nice about it.”

Lily squeals, “I’m planning your wedding!!!”

You knock on his apartment door, reconsidering for the last time whether you want to do it or not.

Sirius opens the door, looking confused and handsome, eyes bluer than usual.

“Hi,” you breathe.

“Gorgeous, to what do I owe this sudden visit?”

“I just wanted to see you.”

“Really?” his eyes are glistening.

“Yeah.”

“Come in then. Mind the mess, taxes.”

You hum, “Need help?”

“Actually, yeah. Should I write off…”

You sit down, distracted by the papers flying everywhere, taking a pen and starting to write. Your mission is almost forgotten after you finish helping him with his taxes, smiling satisfiedly at the hefty return he receives.

“Good,” you grin, admiring your work, “I’d say this is a successful tax file.” He swipes his tongue over his teeth, so attractively and seals the envelope, setting it down on his stack of things he needs to post.

“Package to Marlene and Dorcas, papers to…” he rambles, pacing out his thoughts, “Oh, and my portfolio. Can you check if they’re alright to send in?”

“Portfolio?”

“Oh,” he turns red, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully, “Someone asked me to model for them?”

“When?” you gasp. He hands you the envelope, and you carefully pry out some photos.

“A week ago,” he murmurs, “Can you check these aren’t too…much?”

They’re glossy between your fingers and smooth, candid shots, some staged and every single one of them belongs on the cover of Vogue. It’s strange, the pictures of Sirius should be in a magazine, famed and lovely, but he’s right here. Nervously fidgeting around. He’s so tangible right now. You reach out to skim your fingers over the photos, then stretch them out to touch the skin near his lips. He’s taken aback but leans into your touch.

“I think they’re perfect,” you fold the envelope over, handing it back to him.

He’s still looking incredibly ashamed of himself.

“Why do you look so sheepish?” you laugh, “Stop that! It’s alright.” You surge to hug him, “It’s amazing, Sirius.”

Sirius hides his face in your neck, “I feel like a show-off,” he mumbles and you laugh.

“Sirius, it’s honestly alright. You’re not, far from it actually. It’s okay to have nice things.”

“I’m sorry. I’m being a wimp.”

“It’s fine, I understand. These feelings are completely normal, but that doesn’t mean they’re true. If I had a staggering net worth of a few hundred million and never told you, would you think I’m a show-off?”

He shook his head.

“Exactly,” you smile at him, “Now do you want to go to the post office? It closes in half an hour.”

He nods, “‘Kay.”

The post office man greets him with some flirting, and he sets down his stack of parcels, ignoring him to go sign some of them.

He looks over to you, “You’re his…” he studies your face, “friend?”

It makes you feel small and judged. You chew nervously on your lip, unconsciously stepping towards Sirius. You know you couldn’t possibly pass off as his girlfriend, but it’s an ugly reminder you don’t need. Sirius smiles politely, “These three are in a letter card, but can we get them to be delivered…”

After he pays, you try not to make it seem like you’re in a rush to get out. He notices, of course he does. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“What did he say to you?”

You stay quiet and Sirius does too. He drives to his apartment and sits down on his couch. You follow. He’s silent.

“He said something about us,” you break the fragile silence, “About me.”

“What?”

“Well he looked at me and then asked if I was your friend after giving me a once-over.”

Sirius shrugs, “Aren’t you?”

Your heart falls, “Well–. The thing is–, look, I’ve been meaning to tell you this, but I kind of– scratch that, I have this massive crush on you and probably more,” you wince, “Please be nice about this.”

He looks positively shocked. You can’t tell if it’s good shock or bad shock.

You grimace, “And please can we stay friends?”

“You think I’m rejecting you?” he almost scoffs, lifting you easily into his lap. He’s so close you could count the colours in his eyes. A charcoal, a light cerulean, a tinge of yellow ochre, “After all my countless advances, the gifts, even inviting you into my piano room whilst I played, I couldn’t, sweetheart,” he says softly.

“Haven’t you noticed I haven’t ever dated anyone since two years back? That I pretty much have been begging to be noticed by you these past years,” he continues, “All because I want to be yours. Because I couldn’t even think of wanting anyone else. I like you so much.”

“Hey Sirius?”

“Mm?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You already did.”

You huff, “Can I kiss you?”

Before you can do anything, he’s grinning as he presses his lips to yours, smiling into the kiss. When you break apart, he's still grinning. He thinks he will be for the rest of his life.

“Whoa,” you say as you grin at him.

He hugs you tightly, “Please never say we should be friends again.”

You nod, “Never.”

2K notes · View notes

plzfeedmebread · 2 years

Text

Resplendent

word count: 1220

Pairing: Neteyam Sully x Female! Metkayina! Na'vi Reader Tags/warnings: Fluff, angst, bittersweet, established relationship, adult reader, adult Neteyam, no smut Summary: Neteyam quietly watches you from the shore as you perform a ritual dance in the water, to the utter delight of your daughters.

Author's Note: Set some time after the big battle. Also moved those events further ahead. You and Neteyam are mated and have children before the RDA attacks the reef. Got inspired by the song~

Sa’nu - mum, mommy

Tahni - bioluminescent freckle

Close your eyes.

Deep breathes.

Remember the moves.

Remember the words...

Your heart thrums in your chest almost painfully. You take a deep, slow, calming breath; placing a hand over your heart.

“Sa’nu? Are you okay?”

You open your eyes, looking down to meet the gaze of your youngest daughter. The cool water of the sea comes up to her neck. Sweet thing. You told her, she and her sister could watch you from the shoreline. But they were persistent to be as close to you as possible. The water barely reaches your hips.

You offer a soft smile, reaching down and affectionately stroking her hair.

“I’m okay…Don’t worry my little star. Mommy’s just nervous.” The 5-year-old beams up at you with a toothy grin. Your 6-year-old beside her pats you on the arm.

“You practiced aaaaall the time! You got this.” She offers you her own encouraging smile. You give her an appreciative nod before facing the shoreline once more. You return your face to neutrality, closing your eyes once again.

You hear the disturbance of the water as your daughters move a bit to the side to give you more space to move.

With one final calming breath, you open your mouth and begin the song cord of your family.

---

Neteyam stands under the shade of a nearby tree on the shoreline. His arms are crossed as he watches the three of you.

The evening breeze carries your voice to him. He stands up straight when the sound hits his ears.

When you sing, it reminds him of the melody of birdsong in spring. No matter how many years may pass between you two, every time he hears you play the instrument of your heart, he feels like he could fall in love with you all over again.

He takes in your form as you start swaying in the water, admiring you from top to bottom.

Your hair, thick and long, reaching all the way down to your knees; you and your sisters spent what must have been hours, braiding it into the intricate patterns now adorning your head.

Even from this distance, he can still make out the faint markings of the tattoos framing your face. Though today you also have a thin line of white painting the centre of your face. You could have mud smeared all over and he would still find you to be the most beautiful woman; you have him convinced you are blessed by Eywa herself.

You arms move slow and with purpose through the air; attuned with the words as they fall from your lips.

Your soft lips.

How he wishes he could kiss you right now.

You dip down, submerging your arms into the water. In one fluid motion, you rise back up to your feet, the motion you perform with your hands and arms bring water up with you as you rose. Your arms are stretched out to your sides as you pirouette.

Neteyam’s heart skips a beat as he watches you, and it’s as if time itself slows, just so he can drink in the beauty of your very being.

With your back to eclipse, your front is cast in shadow.

The water falls around you in a shimmering curtain of rain. The last light of eclipse hits the smooth stones woven into the fabric on your chest; causing a cascade of colours to dance across your skin. And when the sun disappears, your tahni come to life like the brilliance of dawn.

It’s one of his most favourite parts of your body. Though you had the scattered stars as did all Na’vi, for reasons he attests only to being blessed by Eywa, you have thin bioluminescent swirls weaving itself around your arms, chest, and all down your legs. To him it’s like a faint galaxy glittering in the night.

He recalls fondly the memory of him knowing each and every star on your body intimately.

And in the fading light of the day do you shine before him. Resplendent as you are in the day, so too will you dazzle the world around you in the darkness of the approaching night.

His heart throbs something fierce when you open your eyes after dipping into the water once more. Even behind the curtain of water, or the netting of the fabric draped over your head, your eyes glow with a fierceness he knows all to well. It pierces his very soul, a warmth sweeping over him.

He drinks you in more as you bend your form this way and that. He wishes he knew the intricacies of your dance; understood what each fluid motion meant, the significance of each swish of your tail, or the ways you angle your hands and bend your fingers.

You close your eyes as you near the end of the cord song.

As you perform another twirl, you playfully swat the water with your thick tail, splashing your daughters.

Their uncontrollable gigging brings a smile to your face. You open your eyes as you continue to dance, giving them a loving look. They’re splashing each other with reckless abandon as they try to imitate your moves. You can’t help the unrestrained laughter their antics bring you.

Neteyam laughs quietly to himself as he watches his girls playfully flay about in the water. Every day since their birth he’s given thanks to both you and the Great Mother for blessing him with such miracles. He hadn’t thought it was possible to love something as much as he loved you.

He feels a stray tear fall down his cheek. But he doesn’t move to wipe it away. Instead he continues to smile as he watches your song and dance coming to its conclusion.

You turn to face the horizon, and his gaze drifts to his girls.

They’re singing something he can’t quite make out, but he loves the sound nonetheless.

And when their eyes meet his, finally noticing his presence, they wave at him wildly, giggling all over again.

His smile grows wider, and he offers them a small wave back.

---

One final pose, and you hold the final note of your song, eyes still closed. You hold that note until your lungs and throat burn.

You hear the excited cheers of your daughters as they shower you with praise. Your breathing is laboured as your heart pounds in your chest, but you offer them a bow and a small smile of gratitude.

You turn yourself to the horizon before you finally open your eyes. The ritual dance has come to and end.

You rub the cool ocean water on your cheeks, in your neck, and down your arms; all in an effort to cool you down from your laborious activity. You breath deep in from the nose, and slowly exhale through your mouth, calming your rapid heartbeat.

The girls still giggle beside you, resuming their unrefined dancing; now also singing their favourite lullaby in lieu of a songcord.

Sufficiently cooled off, you turn your head to your daughters to admire them in their silliness.

Your brow nits in slight confusion though, when you see them waving at something behind you, giggling all the while.

You turn around, curiosity in your eyes.

But the shoreline is just as empty as when you arrived.

---

Author's Notes: It was a private funeral dance 😢

896 notes · View notes

riordanness · 9 months

Text

better than revenge — [k.jones]

wordcount: 2.1K

warnings: none???

requested: no

“C’mon lass, you get what you want, and I get what I want.”

I raise my eyebrows at this. “Oh?” I question, sipping from my goblet, keeping my eyes on him.

“What do I get out of this?” I ask, my voice hard and my gaze resolute. If I knew one thing, it was to never let down my guard, never show weakness.

The man laughs, tips his head back and gulps the rest of his alcohol down. He looks me in the eye. “I’ll let you live, lass… and I’ll even throw in a few pieces of gold for your trouble.”

I stare at him for the count of four.

“Deal.”

Hours later, under cover of nightfall, I tiptoe down the docks. My leather boots are soft and worn from use, and I have perfected the art of silent footsteps.

My fingers curl around the hilt of my sword, ready to pull it from its sheath the moment I perceive a threat of any kind.

I silently go through my mission once again, knowing full well a single mistake will result in my death. If the pirates aboard this ship don’t get me, the man who sent me on this mission surely will.

I have a simple goal: sneak aboard the Jolly Roger, find a magical compass, and get out alive.

My eyes rest on the ship itself, its name painted in cursive letters right on the waterline, so as the ship moves slightly on the waves, the words appear to dance.

I slip forward, seeing no one on deck. With one swift, fluid movement, I place my right hand on the starboard railing, then I use the momentum from a scissor kick to propel myself from the dock to the deck, dropping without a sound onto my feet.

I quickly shift my body to the shadows, crouching down and moving fast, getting to the doors leading to the lower deck.

Opening it, I slip inside, shutting it quietly behind me. I hadn’t spent the greatest amount of time on boats in my short life, and I haven’t the faintest idea of where to search for a compass of all things.

Luckily for me, I have a locator. I pull it from my pocket now, a shiny white stone, glowing faintly. Apparently, the closer to the compass I get, the brighter the light will shine.

I turn in a slow circle, and when I face the corridor to my left, the brightness of the stone becomes more obvious, in a way I can’t describe. It didn’t become literally brighter, exactly, but it was suddenly very clear which direction I should take.

I follow the stone’s magical light, until it leads me to a small desk inside what I think is the captain’s chambers. Luckily for me, no one is at home. I’m daft. the entire ship is empty. The crew must be out for a night at the pub, and good for me too.

I yank at the top drawer of the desk, its hinges crusty and rough. When the drawer finally slides open, my eyes come to rest on the only object inside.

A golden compass.

I smile, and reach towards the compass. The metal is cool to my touch, and my fingertips glide over it as smoothly as if it was polished merely moments earlier.

I lift it up out of the drawer, dangling it in the air in front of me. I stare in awe, watching as the compass catches the light, glittering and flashing. Rainbows dance across the chamber’s walls, filling the room with colour.

I am just about to drop the compass into my dress pocket, when a voice behind me scares the daylight out of me.

“And what exactly do you think you’re doing?”

I whirl around, shoving the compass into the deep pocket of my skirts. It was safest there; the pocket easily missed due to the many folds of my skirts. I draw my sword, and stare at the dark figure lurking in the doorway.

Shadows dance across his face, distorting his features. He’s tall, and I can tell his sword is also drawn, the blade catching the light of the only lamp in the room. My eyes drop to the lamp on the desk beside me. Without thinking, I blow out the flame.

It’s completely dark. I use this to my advantage, running fast at the doorway, crashing into the figure. We both land hard on the floor, and I scramble to my feet, ready to run.

But then, hands grab at my waist, hold me fast, and my hopes of escape crumble.

“You aren’t getting away that easily, love,” an accented voice whispers in my ear, before something hits my head, and I remember nothing else.

•••

My head pounds, and I dread opening my eyes. When I do, I immediately cringe in pain as light seemingly floods my vision, increasing my headache by tenfold.

I push myself up to a sitting position, taking in my surroundings. I’m in a bed, a simple woven blanket over me. I’m still in my normal clothes, which means no one changed me, thank goodness.

With a slight gasp, I hastily check my pocket. Of course, no compass. I shouldn’t have even dared to hope it remained in my possession. Of course that pirate would have taken it back.

Speaking of that pirate, I frown. Turning over all the events of last night (or what I assume was the last night; I’m not sure how much time has passed since I was knocked out; or even what time of day it is. Whoever’s cabin this is, they clearly hate windows), I shiver slightly. The memory of that voice in my ear, whispering seductively…

I shake myself, and climb out of the bed. I must find that compass, even if I am now a prisoner on this bloody pirate ship.

I leave the cabin, finding my way down the corridor, trying to find the familiar door that leads to the upper deck. When I finally find it, I can hear voices from outside. Pirates laughing and shouting and jeering at each other. At least half of the voices are obviously drunk.

My choice is a simple one, but I still hesitate. Remain a prisoner on this ship? Or risk dying in the battle across the deck?

My father always used to call me his little daredevil, before he died, so I decide to live up to his nickname for me, and push open the door.

The moment I step onto the deck, into the harsh sunlight, the chatter all around me stops. A dozen pairs of pirate eyes gape at me in curiosity. I wonder how often a woman has been on this ship.

Suddenly, someone drops down in front of me, swinging off a top with one hand, and landing on his feet. Startled, I take a step backwards, almost losing my balance.

The man straightens, and locks eyes with me. He smiles, but it’s not a nice smile. I mean, it’s nice. He’s fairly attractive, but his smile leaks devilishness.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, love,” the man says, and I would recognise that voice anywhere. He’s the man from last night, the man who knocked me out.

“I’m Killian Jones,” he continues. “Or as I’m not commonly known as, Captain Hook. To whom do I owe the honour?”

My eyes narrow suspiciously. I am a girl who has tried to steal from him, and yet he seems unaffected by this fact. My guard is instantly up, and I prepare for a fight.

“You are going to let me go,” I say stubbornly, wishing badly that I had my sword. I hadn’t noticed it right away when I’d awoken, but they’d taken it from me. “And I require your golden compass as well as my freedom.”

Killian Jones stares at me for a moment, then throws his head back and laughs.

His crew joins in the laughter, some pointing their fingers at me, some jeering and making stupid noises and gestures.

I roll my eyes at them. I have no time for men who aren’t my father. They’re a troublesome species that require a great deal too much effort for my own personal liking.

The captain gains his composure, and stares at me, rather dumbfounded.

“Love, there’s no way in hell I am giving you this compass, just like that.”

I narrow my eyes. “Then fight me for it. A duel. Winner gets the compass.”

Killian Jones raises an eyebrow at me apprehensively. “I don’t fight women. At least not with a sword.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Then this’ll be an easy win.” I step quickly towards one of the crew members, elbow him in the chest and pull at his sword at the same time, yanking it from its sheath as he stumbles backwards.

I launch an attack on Killian, my sword coming down on his head. In a flash, he brings his arm up to stop my blade.

My sword clangs against metal, and I stare in shock at what should be Killian’s hand… but isn’t. Replacing his hand is a shiny hook, which has caught my blade mid-air.

I blink in surprise. “You…”

“Yes, I know,” Killian sighs. “Captain Hook isn’t just a catchy nickname.” With his other hand, he gently pries my fingers off the hilt of the borrowed sword.

“Now, love, you’re going to stop attacking me, and do what I say. Or else you’re not going to get a very happy ending.”

I stand, deflated, and watch as he tells a crew mate to tie my hands together, and lash me to the main mast. I slump to the ground, a heavy feeling of defeat clouding over me. I watch in silence as Killian and his crew go back to their loud, joyful drinking. I seem to be forgotten, just like that.

I grit my teeth in frustration, but am suddenly aware of how loosely my bonds have been tied. Clearly, the crew member Killian Jones elected to tie me up was more than a little bit drunk. I smirk to myself as I wriggle my fingers, working at the poorly made knots.

Once my hands are free, I still, watching carefully, planning my escape. Most of the crew have wandered below decks now, and only Killian Jones and another man with a red beanie over his messy hair (who I guess is first mate), stand against the ship’s railing across the other end of the Jolly Roger.

Killian seems to bore of the first mate, and dismisses him, waving his hand at the man. The man disappears into one of the doorways at the back of the ship.

I wait, silent, hoping Hook will follow his mate. He doesn’t seem to have any plans of doing this. For a while, I just sit and watch him as he leans his back against the railing, picking at his metal hook, running his forefinger up and down it, tracing the sharp edges.

“You alright there, love?”

The break in silence startles me so much I barely hear the question. “I–what?”

Kilian looks up, meets my eyes, and smirks slowly, his chin tilting up a little as he does so. His tongue traces his upper teeth, his eyes studying me hard.

“I can’t let you go, you know,” he says.

“Why?” I refuse to believe him. There has to be a way for me to get out of this. Silently, I curse that random, awful man in the tavern for getting me into this mess. Even for a bit of gold and my life, I doubt this is worth it. A whole lot of hassle for not much gain, it was starting to seem.

“Because,” Hook replies, apparently not wanting to elaborate.

I roll my eyes. I am done with this rubbish. I stand quickly, my ropes dropping to the deck.

Killian’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t seem especially surprised at my escape. “What exactly are you going to do now?” he asks me, a glint in his eyes. Whether it’s from amusement or pure evil, I don’t exactly know.

“Get out of here and kill you,” I say, eyes narrowed.

He laughs. “Okay, love. You do that.” For a moment, he does nothing but play with the hilt of his sword. Then he looks up at me. “You know, you could always join my crew.”

I frown immediately. “What do you mean? Why on earth would I do that?”

He smirks. “Because… I want you to.”

I stare at him, unsure if he’s serious or joking. Then, I make a dumb decision and decide, “Why not.”

#killian jones #ouat #ouat fanfic #fanfiction #killian jones x reader #once upon a time #ouat x reader #captain hook #hook x reader

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historiaxvanserra · 1 year

Text

Ruin

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Summary: Velaris is beautiful but under all the pomp and ceremony it is a den of hedonistic desire. Since you arrived you have tried to hide from that desire. But tonight, Azriel just might be your ruin.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: drinking, dirty talk, teasing, unprotected sex, pinv, public sex, rough sex, slight blood kink if you squint and I think that's it.

This is the first part of a 2 part fic but they can be read separately. Part I here.

The room is ablaze with electricity. It’s humming and pulsing and coming alive with the movements of the patrons. It’s palpable. The air is thick and sweet, tainted with something darker. The marble floor is awash with dancing bodies and you find yourself entranced in the sway of the waltzing sea, the people pressed against one another twisting and contorting, like columns of technicolour seafoam. Your body moves in similar a similar fluid motion as the current sweeps you up. For a few moments, you allow yourself to get lost in the primal give and take of the dancing tide and the sound of hypnotic music is enough to calm your jittering nerves.

The lavish reception at Rita’s seems exhume decadence. The glittering chandeliers cast the room in an amethyst glow and as you wade through the crowds the eyes of males and females alike seem to stand in silent judgment, lingering over the curve of your hips and unusually low neck line. In makes you feel exposed. As though you are a sacrificial lamb and they hungry wolves baying for blood.

The world of The Night Court is a world away from your home; a colourful oasis into which you had been welcomed with open arms. But, under all the grandiose and ceremony of Court life, Valeris was a den of iniquity. One you felt compelled to avoid lest you surrender yourself to your most base desires. Tonight, though you had acquiesced to Mor’s pleading and Cassian’s knowing glances and agreed to be initiated into the seedy underbelly of Velaris’ nightlife.

Or as Cassian so eloquently put it to Nesta, We need to get her laid.

In reality, you don’t think that their goal is to get you laid at all. Only to tear down the walls you had built so tall that no one could seem to climb. It’s touching really that your friends want you to feel comfortable enough around them that no want is too taboo to confide in them but growing up where you had untamed desire is a dangerous vice and lust a short-lived fire that threatened to burn those walls to ash.

The mirrors are hung in a long line along the back wall of the club, their reflections felt like a taunt. Like holding up a mirror to your own perverse desires.

Looking at your own reflection you hardly recognised yourself; the chandeliers shadowed light becoming entangled in the siken tresses of hair that is usually tightly braided, now falls freely, and the dress that Mor had selected melts into the curves and contours of your body in a way that leaves little to the imagination. This woman before you is not the lamb she is the wolf.

In your inebriated state, you press your empty glass flush against your chest, the cool glass drawing the fire to the surface of your skin, as you observe the main room from your spot in the corner. By now, the rest of the Inner Circle has trailed one by one into the private lounge next door looking for a reprieve from the glare of neon light and the rhythm of the music. The alcohol had done its job in setting your throat ablaze and the fae wine pressed its burning kisses against your skin, staining your cheeks with a gentle blush.

It’s then that your eyes find Azriel. He’s standing against the bar with a Female whose face is concealed from view, she’s lithe and willowy and you try to fight the feeling of jealousy that burns through you then. Try not to think about him taking her hips in his beautiful hands as she thrusts lucidly in his firm grip. Or what her garish cobalt dress will look like on his bedroom floor.

You’d been a goner from the moment you arrived in Valeris with Feyre and Lucien. For months you have hidden away from him. Played the meek and studious exile all the while longing from afar for a man who you think you could love if only he’d let you.

Tonight though, you feel as though your inhibitions had been utterly compromised. Perhaps its the alcohol running hot in your veins or the way he looks at her under his darkening amber gaze but it’s a deadly combination of wanton desire and weeks of unspoken longing and the threat of ruination lingers on your mind.

Azriel is handsome in the way an angel might be; lust incarnate and devastatingly beautiful, with an almost sordid quality to him, that hinted at unspoken sacrilege. He looks at home here, in the thick of it, soaked in the neon glow, his signature sly smirk ghosting his lips. In these indulgent moments, you think that he is the only thing in this room worth looking at. In the cool light, he looks almost ethereal. His onyx hair is tousled purposely, the longer strands of hair curling away from his face and his eyes look like molten gold in the shadowed light. He has since shed his outer tunic and was left in a white undershirt, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows and in the summer heat, it clings to him like a second skin.

It’s hard not to think about him like this; he’s sex personified. He’s built like some great Adonis with a face that could launch a thousand ships. But he’s not just beautiful. That’s the complicated part. He’s more than meets the eye; he’s dark and brooding, with a kind heart and sad eyes. He makes you want to sink to your kness and pray to him in reverence until he sees in himself what you see in him.

You find yourself turning over Rhys’ words in your head. Azriel has a great many lovers. He’s just better at hiding it than the rest of us.

Okay, so maybe he isn’t that lonely but none of them ever last that long. Of that you are certain.

It’s Cassian’s laughter that rouses you from thought as Mor motions for you to follow her into the next room. You trail behind her somewhat reluctantly as she takes your hand in her own. You venture deeper into the masses of bodies as Mor tightens her hold on you.

You cast your eyes over to Azriel once more only this time he is looking back. From here he is only an arm's length away as he shouts over the music. Only it’s futile and his shouts fall on deaf ears. Instead, you gesture to him that Mor is here. You point at the entrance to the private room and he seems to nod in acknowledgement before holding up a finger to you. Only before he can finish signalling to you, Mor’s gentle tug on your arm sees you gone from him once again.

Having reached the other end of the bar you and Mor separate before venturing further into the private area of the club.

“There you are,” Rhys says, opening his arms to you and drawing you into a friendly hug, “we wondered where you might have gotten to.”

The private room of Rita’s is reserved just for the Inner Circle only. It’s smaller than the main room but more inviting. The chandelier casts the room in a honeyed glow and the walls are hung with rich oil paintings and portraits rather than the mirrors and cold, neon light of the main bar. It’s quiet and cool and the frosted glass doors offer some privacy from the club beyond.

You shift uncomfortably as the group looks at you expectantly for an explanation for your absence but you offer none. Your throat seizes and the familiar heat of embarrassment pools in your stomach.

“Never mind,” Nesta says reassuringly as she pats the empty seat next to her, “you’re here now.”.

Cassian casts you a sidelong glance before opening his mouth to speak.

“We’re going to play a game,” he says, the devilment clear in his voice, “do you want to join us or just stare at Az all night?”.

“Sure, I’ll play,” you say opting to repress the thought of Azriel from your mind lest you look like even more of a lovestruck fool.

The booth in the middle of the room is a large, crescent moon shape, the seats are upholstered with emerald green leather and the table is a complimentary black. The table itself is high and round and set with enough drink to supply an army. Rhysand and Feyre are seated in the middle of the booth, his arm draped over her shoulder in a lazy show of affection and they share one cup of wine. Cassian and Nesta are sat to the side of Feyre and Mor, Amren and Emery pile into the opposite side next to Rhys.

You pay them little mind as you slide into the spot next to Nesta, who presses herself closer to Cassian as the group settles in.

“Right, the game is Truth or drink,” Cassian announces happily, the perverse implication clear from the look in his eye, “Mor you can start.”

Just as Mor begins to open her mouth to speak she is interrupted by the double doors swinging open unceremoniously. In the doorway Azriel leans languidly, he’s covered in a thin veil of sweat and he has forgone the first three buttons of his shirt, exposing the taut muscle beneath.

“I brought a guest,” he says in his cool tenor as the beautiful Female from earlier strolls in, with an air of confidence, verging on arrogance that irks you to no end.

You avert your eyes feigning ignorance until his commanding shadow looms ominously over you. When you crane your neck to look at him he’s already staring intently at you, his eyes meeting yours; soft ochre and flecks of molten gold. The booth strains under his hulking mass as he slides in beside you. You’re nearing delirium when his sculpted thigh presses against yours and the beautiful Female takes her place perched on his knee.

You cast him a sidelong glance and you swear he’s smirking at you. He brings his cup to his lips, drinking deeply before speaking to the group.

“Shall we play?” his voice is dark and laced with menace.

Mor clears her throat before turning to Nesta and asking her first question which Nesta answers with ease.

The group has been passing their questions back and forth along the row and at some point you let the inebriation take hold. Letting go of your inhibitions has you confessing to playing truant to practise with Cass, cheating at game nights and having your own small collection of dirty books stashed away in the library, much to the amusement of the group.

‘Not so innocent now, eh?’ says Mor over a glass of wine.

‘And to think!” exclaims Rhys, cluthicng at imaginary pearls, “I thought you were the good one”.

‘Dirty girl’.

At your side Azriel stiffens against you, his calloused hand sinking beneath the table, his fingers accidentally ghosting the exposed skin of your thigh. You try to catch his attention and in silent protests but he is not looking at you, his eyes are trained dead in front of him as Rhys asks the question.

“Come on then Az,” he starts with a jovial chuckle, “Have you ever had a sex dream about one of us?”.

“I have.” Azriel admits, his voice is loaded with indecency.

Mor sends you a smirk as she points to you and one by one, seven sets of eyes turn on you as you drink.

Azriel still will not look at you.

“Truth or drink,” Mor starts, “Have you ever imagined anyone in this room when reading your one of your books?”.

You swallow hard then. Mor isn’t playing fair at all. You had confided in her your most shameful thoughts and now she was trying to play matchmaker while the object of your desire sat at your side with another woman in his lap.

The eyes of the group linger on you expectantly. You know their game and you don’t care to play it tonight.

“Um I-i,” you start, your voice wavers with uncertainty. You drink deep again and hang your head low in lieu of confession.

As the game continues your mind begins to wander and you abandon yourself to the thought of Azriel. His hands were deliberate and rough against your thigh. His chest and how its all taut muscle and raw power. His low growl as he sinks into you for the first time.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, hm?” the whisper comes low in your ear, his voice is laden with transgressive desire.

Your eyes seek out Mor’s in the small room but she seems all too interested in the game that they are playing now. Instead, you will play him at his own game. Your eyes are trained forward and Azriel turns back.

“Tell me, darling,” he implores you, “who is it you think of?” his voice is measured as he slides his big palm to your thigh.

“All those late nights in the library,” his breath is hot and accusatory against your neck and he sinks hisa calloused finger along the soft flesh of your thigh, “I wonder.”

He lets the implication hang in the air unanswered as the female on his knee draws his attention back to her. She’s fussing with her dress and saying she wants to dance. The commotion draws the attention of the Inner Circle and it’s then you catch Mor’s eye. You must look thoroughly frustrated as she raises her eyebrows at you in question. All it takes is a glance in Azriel’s direction and Mor seems to grasp the situation. She slips from her place between Amren and Emery and begins to move in time with the faint hum of the music next door. Her body is beautiful, graceful and tempered as she turns to the stranger hanging off Azriel’s arm and holds out her hand to her.

“Dance with me, sweetheart.” it’s not an invitation but a command to which the woman obliges happily. You send Mor an apologetic smile as she backs out into the darkness of the club next door.

As the door closes on Mor the group quickly resumes their previous conversations and once again you stare ahead at the paintings hung on the wall, trying your hardest not to look Azriel in his eyes lest he see the truth. That he will be your ruination.

“Is it Cassian perhaps?” he asks, eyeing his friend as he laughs loudly at something Rhys is saying.

Looking at him through half-lidded eyes you shake your head and attempt to put distance between your body and his. He only laughs to himself leaning in closer.

“Mor?” he presses, inclining his head to the door, “Rhys even?” he continues.

“Amren?”, there’s amusement in his tone.

“No?” His hand resumes his assault on your thigh daring to climb higher and higher with every heaving breath you take. He buries his head in the crook of your neck breathing in your scent like it's a lifeline.

“Feyre? Nesta?” you’re silent, as his finger finally reaches the apex of your thigh under the material of your dress.

You look at him now. His eyes are like wildfire and his pupils are blown wide; he looks like a fallen angel. Divine and annihilating. And there, in the sulk of his bottom lip, you are reminded of the pull of your body to his. It’s instinctual. A need.

“Then that just leaves…” you cut him off before he can finish.

You stand abruptly drawing the attention of your friends who all look between you and Azriel confusion written on their faces as you push past him and slip out of the booth and into the night.

It’s witching hour and the club is saturated in hues of inky blue and indigo. The floor is awash with dancing bodies. The atmosphere is oppressive and the smell of lust lingers in the air. It’s savage and indulgent. You brace yourself against the wall, pressing your forehead against the cool surface of the mirror, looking at yourself through dark lashes; shame and arousal still hot in your veins. Your breathing is deep and slow, your cheeks are flushed and your hair falls in haphazard waves around your shoulders. You are no wolf, little girl.

You feel his presence before you see him. He cuts an intimidating figure in this light. He’s tall and hardened by rejection and white-hot fury burns through him. He meets your eyes in the mirror; they’re glinting and profane against the black. He stalks towards you with a resolute coolness entirely his own. His approach is unchrateristically lax. Feigning surrender. It’s a trap. This you know; one you will let yourself fall into.

He’s a wolf and you are a lamb being led to the slaughter.

He reaches out a sculpted arm to cage you between the mirrored wall and his rippling frame. He smiles then as he slides in behind you. He’s all potent power and brute strength that encircles you completely. Shrouding you from view.

His head sinks into the junction between your neck and collarbone and drags his teeth along the skin there. A threat. A promise.

The neon lights colour you in shades of pink and blue and over the blaring music the sounds of drunken whispers are a savage rhapsody in the stilted air. In the reflections the bar is littered with glasses and bottled of wine and at the far edge of the room you can see Mor and the girl that Azriel has long forgotten dancing by the bar.

Suddenly, his hips thrust sharply into your ass and you have to brace yourself against the mirror as you’re pressed flush against the wall. Your shock comes out in a sharp inhale. Azriel chuckles darkly at that.

His hand gently brushes the hair out of your face, gathering it in his fist before tugging at it gently. Turning in his bruising grip you look up at him like you look at the sun. Reverence and agony.

He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and forces your gaze forward.

Arousal pools between your thighs and you press them together desperate for some semblance of release.

“No, darling,” he says, “I want you to watch.” he elaborates tapping the mirror with two sturdy fingers for emphasis.

You make eye contact with him in the reflection. Your gaze is unyielding and defiant as he comes to whisper in your ear again.

“Do you think you can do that for me pretty girl?” your consent is all her needs. You can’t utter a single word but a look passes between you that says what words cannot.

Please.

“Fuck” he says, “I can smell you from here.”

The thought sends rippling waves of pleasure right to your core, the friction of your thighs doing nothing to quell the dull ache for him.

Despite the layers between you, you can feel the hard length of his cock pressing against your ass as he roughly thrusts against you. You angle your hips away from him as he pushes you against the wall a second time, the cold railing digging painfully into your hips.

Azriel frees you from his grip, taking his free hand to tear his member from his leather breeches. The sound breaks through the haze of lust and suddenly you are painfully aware of the people around you. Although, no one has cared to notice any of the depravity that has passed between the two of you. If they have they haven’t said as much.

“Azriel-I” you stop yourself as he looks at you, taking his hardened length in his hand and stroking the head, coating it in the first beads of sticky pre-cum.

Azriel hisses sharply, throwing his head back in unbridled pleasure before taking you in his rough embrace again, searching your eyes for a hint of protest and when he finds none he uses one arm to spin your around so that your cheek is pushed up against the mirror held in place by the pressure of his fingers tangled in roots of your hair.

He hurriedly gathers the swathes of fabric that separate you and in one swift movement presses his naked hips flush to yours. You feel his cock like cool marble against the bare skin of your ass. He lets the material of your dress fall freely now, covering your sin. He uses the same hand to snake under your dress, his hands pressing odes into your thighs as he had before under the table. Only now his hand doesn't stop only climbing higher and higher until-

“Fuck Azriel,” the gasp tears through you as he reaches your pubic bone before sinking lower, spreading your folds, gathering your wetness and drawing it up again to rub slow circles into your most sensitive parts. His circling is deliberate and poised, his fingers knowing what you body craved almost instinctively. It sends electricity through your body, enough to bring you to your knees if not for Azriel holding you upright.

The ghost of a smile graces his perfect face and he presses a kiss to your pulse point.

“I need you to be quiet, y/n,” he sighs into your shoulder as he peppers kisses along the exposed planes of skin, leaving a trail of angry red marks in his wake.

“Can you do that for me?”, he asks, raising an eyebrow in question through the mirror. But it’s not a question. It’s a dare.

You take another look at yourself in the mirror; you’re pressed against it, your eyes veiled with this a desperate ache. It’s almost tangible. It’s intoxicating and all consuming and any notion of shame or self-respect had been abandoned the minute you laid eyes on him tonight.

You could be quiet.

Your vow of silence is all he needs to continue.

He continues down to the curve of your shoulder as his mouth roams freely now. His teeth on your neck feel like divine absolution. Or maybe damnation. All the while the scarred pad of his thumb presses deft circles between your thighs, the contours and ridges of scarred skin providing all the necessary friction to send you into delirium as your orgasm rages like a tempest through your body. His name, one fierce on your tongue comes out broken. You whisper it. Like prayer. Azriel.

“I thought I told you to be quiet.” he reprimands, it comes out in an almost broken pant pressed against the clammy skin of your shoulder.

“If you are,” he offers, “I’ll let you come on my cock.” his voice is different now; no longer the cool, low tenor he wears so well. It’s filled with the dark promise.

That this will be your undoing. Your ruin.

His movement is hypnotic as he takes your delicate throat in his hand, his fingers nipping cruelly at your jaw and the flesh of your cheeks so that your mouth opens for him. You moan gospel around his fingers as your eyes meet in the reflection.

So you will let him ruin you.

He touches you with urgency now as he gathers the shroud of fabric about your waist, letting the cool air fan the tops of your bare thighs. He uses your hip as leverage, angling your body away from his granting him access so that his long fingers trace a agonising line down the seam of your aching cunt.

His length is hard and punishing against your tightness as he sinks into you for the first time tonight. Azriel burns. It’s blasphemy but the thick tip of him fills you in a way that, when he is gone from you, you feel hollow.

He growls in your ear as he is sheathed to the hilt, your walls a velvet vice that flutters around him so beautifully and he swears no one could have foretold that bliss could feel so profane. His hazel eyes blaze golden as he sucks at the skin of your throat. His kiss is vehement, devout, fervent. His relection watches yours and you swear that when his eyes meet yours at the same moment his teeth draw blood from you, you see a God looking back at you. The bite is ravenous and your blood pools like rubies in the valley of your breasts. He moans into your neck, your blood staining his lips and you know there is beauty in the bite.

Then he starts to move and oh Gods!

He fucks like a seraphim. All pleasure and pain; brought together in perfect unison, melting into one another as he begins to seek his redemption in the flutter of your walls around his cock. Scarred hands kiss hymns up your sides. He sanctifies your body. Worships you in the way a devil worships sin. It’s hedonistic and pleasure-seeking. Greedy and his.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he whispers it like a vow into your skin, bringing a hand to flex around your throat before dropping it again, “so good for me.”

You feel the pad of his thumb pressing sharply into your folds, drawing moisture upwards from where his cock threstens to split you in two. His circles on your clit align with the punishing pace that he is fucking you; it’s savage and feral.

“Look at me when you cum on my cock.” he commands.

You crane your neck to look at his face. Devastating and elegant. But he only laughs cruelly, twisting your back towards the mirror. Your mouth forms a perfect ‘O’ as his reflection meets your gaze.

So you watch him. He’s surrounded by shadow and framed by the neon light of the club; his hair falls in raven tresses, the longer stands, becoming damp and curling away from him, his jaw is set like perfect marble and he stands tall and statuesque behind you. He bares his teeth to you, nipping at your ear as he resumes his assault on your clit.

Through the reflection, you can still see the dancing sea as it rages into a tempest as if goading you to reach your peak before the wave breaks against the shore. The liquor runs hot in your veins and your gaze hardens on the woman at the bar and her vulgar cobalt dress.

Azriels breath in your ear comes in sharp rasps that cut through the haze of jealousy as he buries himself in you again.

“Takin’ my cock so well.”

“Azriel I-” The words dissolve like sugar on your tongue as his wild eyes bore into yours.

“You need to come, baby?” he coos in your ear. It’s perverse the way it sounds on his lips.

You nod in his direction, it's desperate and any altruistic desire you may have had is long gone. You’re drunk on his touch and chasing your release above all else. So you surrender yourself to him completely.

“Then come for me.”

“Want to feel you come on my cock, darling” It’s all the permission you need.

Coming undone around him is a fall from grace. It’s desperate; all teeth and tongue as he presses his lips to your bare shoulder blade with an ardour akin to worship. In those moments where your world melts away like some psychedelic fever dream you are reminded of the fervid desire that holds you both in thrall as he fucks you through the waves of your orgasm as it comes crashing down around you.

Muscles spasm and contract and Azriel refuses to yield to the orgasm that tears through you, setting synapses on fire and leaving wildfire in its wake. You brace yourself against the mirror once more to stop your legs from giving way. He takes you firm in his arms, one hand kneading the skin of your hips roughly and the other holding you by the throat as his orgasm begins to take root.

The world frays at its edges as he buries himself so deep in you that you feel the thread that runs from his body to yours go taut. It snaps into place as the hot ropes of his come spill into your tightness.

In the quiet moments that follow he says your name; whispers it. Recites it like poetry. You cast your eyes onto his reflection. He’s looking at you now and there, through dark, romantic eyes you relish in a heaven that only exists when he is looking at you.

You’re not sure how long you stay this way, wrapped around his softening length, as fingers rub delicate circles into the swell of your hips and his lips leave almost kisses running from your ear to the tip of your shoulder.

And then he is gone from you, pulling out of you with a pained growl, as he lets the material that once separated you fall back into place. He smooths the fabric of your dress, his hand firm and calculating as it grazes over the sensitive skin of your hips and ass.

The remnants of your shared orgasm pools between slicked thighs as Azriel comes behind you again, taking you by the shoulders so that you are facing him now.

His smile is easy now and his voice is filled with his usual careful tenor he twists a loose curl in his finger before brushing it from your face as he starts to speak.

“Let's get you home now, darling”

He takes your hand in his and places the other on the small of your back as he guides you through the winding crowds and out into the cool night air.

Velaris at night is beautiful; it's alive. The stars are hung in the sky with care, each a brilliant white that glints against the canopy of twilight and pearlescent cloud and the moon is ghostly and annihilating. From here you can see the House of Wind as it stands monumental on the distant horizon. You could get used to this.

The stirring of the body next to you draws your attention back to Azriel. He’s looking at you again. Like he wants to ruin you. Like he wants to love you.

So you will permit to him put his lips upon yours once again, and let him learn to hold your throat in one hand and your heart in the other.

You know then that he has ruined you.

#acotar #acotar smut #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x female!reader #azriel headcanons #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel smut #azriel acotar #a court of silver flames #a court of wings and ruin #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses

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bidisastersanji · 10 months

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Let's twist it around for once and make Zoro the one who gets his gay awakening by meeting Sanji: 1950s america Zoro x Sanji AU where heavily repressed Zoro lives in the suburbs in a marriage of convenience with his best friend Nami- they're both content with this situation and they both think this is the closest thing to love and attraction they can feel for someone of the opposite gender so it makes sense.

But then some new neighbours move into the house right next to theirs-a brother and sister (how odd to live together- but then again they're foreigners, so maybe that's why?) and Nami drags Zoro to the window to watch a lithe, beautiful, blonde man and his elegant blue-haired sister (who's wearing pants- the neighbourhood gossips will have a field day) move their boxes into their new house.

Zoro is transfixed by the man's fluid movements and rippling thigh muscles as he leverages his legs to haul heavy things around. His mouth dries as he unbuttons his shirt and now he can see his sweaty tanktop clinging to his form and how his high-waisted pants accentuate his slim waist. He must do some kind of sport or calesthenics- Zoro has always been a great sports and sportsman admirer- that's why he pays such close attention to the male form. He should ask him what it is, maybe he could join- Nami clears her throat and snaps him out of his thoughts, and he notices a faint flush on her cheeks and how her eyes flit back to the blue-haired woman's form as she reveals what the very little information that' been going around concerning the new owners of the block's most luxurious house.

Sanji and Vivi are bisexual cousins from France/France-occupied Maghreb but claim they are siblings to help smooth over their odd living situation. They moved to the states as young adults looking for emancipation and freedom, and have been enjoying, partying and making lots of friends in queer spaces here, but now that they're in the latter part of their 20s want to have a proper house (with a pool) to be able to host their friends and relax a bit more.

The next day Nami makes a welcome dish (totally not an excuse to see that gorgeous woman again) and drags him along to introduce themselves and welcome the 'siblings' to the neighbourhood. Once again Zoro feels his attention completely captured by the blonde man's...aura- he's never met a man like this before, he has a way of swaying his hips as he walks, an elegance in the way he holds his cigarillo, and his suit is more colorful (maroon) , and better tailoured than any business man's. His laugh makes Zoro's belly feel funny- but it also makes him a bit angry for some reason. He can feel something tight and confused in his chest and Nami ends up apologising for his rude behaviour once he and the man accidentally start not-so-politely bickering. (Zoro's compliment of the maroon suit comes off as a sarcastic insult that Sanji doesn't let slide, and there's just something about him that gets on his nerves).

Vivi invites them to their housewarming party the next weekend.

During the week, Zoro gets the opportunity to exchange a few more words and banter with the blonde- Sanji, he'd learned, while he gardens after work and works on his car. Sanji calls him a mosshead (he has some trimmings stuck in his hair), and he makes fun of the giant Duck-shaped topiary the blonde is trimming.

Nami discloses all the gossip she gathered to Zoro, and it sounds like most of their neighbourhood will be staying clear of this rather..queer pair.

He and Nami attend the party anyways, too curious and eager to interact with them again

The party is full of very colourful, artsy, cool people- many of whom Zoro feels he wouldn't know what pronouns to use for- but the booze is good, and the music is good, and he'd promised Nami he'd be on his best behaviour. He sulks in a corner and at first watches her talk excitedly with some oddly dressed women, some with extremely short hair, but his attention gets snagged by Sanji dancing with his friends by the pool. The reflected light shines on his body and make him glow

a drag queen called Iva (close friend of Sanji's) sits down next to him and teases him and tells him to go for it but Zoro is so deeply repressed and unfamiliar with even the concept of queerness that he doesn't even catch what Iva is hinting at.

It's only later, when he's lost and looking for the bathroom, when he opens a wrong door and stumbles on Sanji kissing another man, that he finally understands that this is a thing. He'd only vaguely heard about people liking the same gender, but it's not something he'd ever thought about at all. He's a confused, swirling mess of emotions, red in the face with embarrassment and anger (and jealousy) as he storms away, telling Nami they need to leave.

additional thoughts:

Sanji was kissing Pedro because he needed to get it out of his system after thirsting over his 'straight and married' hot neighbour all week- why did the mosshead have to work in such a tight white t shirt in his yard

Lots of scenes with Iva where Sanji bemoans his curse of falling for straight married men

Lots of misunderstandings between Sanji and Zoro- definitely lots of bickering when they keep getting forced to hang out because of the girls

Sanjis annoyance about Zoro stems from the impression that Zoro isn't treating Nami 'right', like a lady, and of the love and devotion he feels she should have from her husband- also he'd promised he wouldn't fall for another straight man so he keeps trying to tell himself he's just angry on behalf of Vivi who he can tell is head over heels for the ginger

Zoro is annoyed at Sanji for fawning over women and being prissy and cocky when he knows that he saw him kiss a man so what is up with him (he's actually just really jealous and angry and repressed and doesn't know bisexuality is a thing yet)

There should be a pool scene where Zoro gets insanely distracted and confused and turned on by Sanji in a speedo

Jobs: for Zoro- maybe car dealership owner/mechanic, Sanji is definitely something creative- maybe a fashion designer, a photographer, stylist, or straight up the classic restaurant head chef. Nami is a housewife but she would definitely have something on the side going on. Vivi could be a magazine editor or a big shot writer? a diplomat?

obligatory scene where they both drink too much and reveal things- Zoro reveals he and Nami have never slept together or done more than kiss at their wedding and Sanji is so confused but also so hot for his incredibly built neighbour he's been doing his best to keep his hands off of, so he kind of flirts and asks if he'd like to know what a real kiss is like

Zoro is stunned into silence but his body leans forward despite himself and Sanji kisses him silly

They pretend it never happened and both think the other forgot

Zoro breaks one day and admits all the naughty thoughts he's been having about his neighbour to Nami- she cry laughs and says she's been having the same about Vivi (except they already figured their shit out) and she was waiting for the right time to tell him but this makes it all so much easier if it's the same for Zoro

Zoro understands that he's super duper gay for Sanji and likes him romantically so he immediately runs up to his house to tell him how he feels

Zoro and Nami both live happily ever after as each other's beards, each with their own bisexual foreigner to call their own.

#zoro x sanji #zosan #roronoa zoro #zosan fic idea #black leg sanji #sanji x zoro #1950s zosan au #1950s zosan #thoughts?#not sure if this vomit of ideas from my brain even reads right haha #hope it's ok #but yeah i just would love to see it this way this time around #zoro being oblivious to his very gay feelings #while sanji is a man comfortable in his bisexuality desperately trying not to fall for a married man again

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aeriona · 1 year

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I literally hit 300 followers while writing this so here you go: Here is a study I've done on the various sapient species of Splatoon! Drawing them all in their entirety would take too much time, so I've stuck to just some hands. besides, it looks cool.

Quick note: Keep in mind that the art i’ve done for each group is a generalisation, there is an ABSURD amount of variation between different species so if you want to use this knowledge for your own stuff then literally go nuts! There are basically no rules!

Anyway, This is a very long and nerdy post, so strap in.

First we have the Cephalopods. This includes Inklings, Octolings and Nautili. (I made seperate sciencey-art posts for each a while ago). These guys are cold-blooded, have no bones, blue blood and suckers on the end of each finger (except nautili, cause they’re weird.) These suckers are quite strong especially in Octolings, which can use them to cling to walls and even ceilings. Squid also have sucker-teeth, these retractable, chitinous rings inside each sucker that vary in length and sharpness between species.

Inkfish (excluding nautili) have 3 main types of skin cells;

Chromatophores, which allows for colour-changing

Iridophores/Leucophores, which gives the skin an iridescent effect

Photophores (some squid only) which can produce a blue glow.

Instead of bones, they have a unique system of muscles called a hydrostatic skeleton, which uses fluid pressure (in this case, ink) as a support structure. Blood is used too, but mostly ink cause they have so much of it (once again except Nautili, as they have no ink at all). This means that these guys are super bendy, they can stretch and contract their limbs and even turn their heads nearly 270 degrees!

Next we have both Cnidarians and Echinoderms. (I've excluded crustaceans cause idk how to draw them lmao sorry). These groups include jellyfish, anemones, sea slugs, snails and urchins.

Similarly to cephalopods, they’re all also cold-blooded and lack bones, instead having similar hydrostatic system for support with varying strength between each class. For example, Anenomes have super robust supports in their legs thanks to calcified rods in the fluid cavity, however jellyfish are extremely floppy as they have extremely weak hydrostatic muscles.

On a side note, Jellyfish and Anenome are also unique, as many species have cnidocytes in their various arms and tentacles. These are cells that when stressed, will inject a venom that varies in strength from a bee-sting to literally killing you.

Urchins are similar, as each finger is tipped with a brittle spine that can not only inject a weak venom but also break off into your skin, leaving behind nasty shards that cut you up from the inside. Fun.

And then there’s Sea Slugs/Snails which are literally the sweetest little people alive, they have no natural weapons at all apart from their poisonous flesh. They don’t even have teeth at all! They’re just slimy little buddies who love you! However, urchins are immune to their poison as they eat them. Sea Slugs are actually an urchin’s ONLY source of food (they get sick/weak eating anything else), and this has resulted in quite a lot of legal and criminal issues. It’s whole other can of worms.

And finally, fish. Fish are actually the ONLY people in the entire Mollusc Era to have proper bones and red blood, literally everyone else has either an exoskeleton or a hydrostatic system, with either blue blood or none at all. Damn fish and their weird joints.

Cartilaginous fish (sharks, manta rays) have cool, rough skin that’s kinda unpleasant to touch, whereas the most of the remaining species fall under the ray-finned fish (basically everything else) category, and they are covered in shiny scales.

Also eel, there is no hand. Because eel. I’m very funny.

And with that, I have concluded. I’ve done a lot of research on this stuff so if you have any questions at all or if you want me to draw some more diagrams/related artwork, please don’t hesitate to shoot me an ask! I love talking about/drawing this stuff so it’s of no inconvenience!

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adobe-outdesign · 2 months

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are there any neopets/colors/combinations thereof you have a really strong opinions about but haven’t had the chance to review?

(I'll do Peophins for this one as I feel like I like them more than most and there's no requests in for them right now.)

I'm always amazed that Peophins aren't more popular than they are. They are one of the most beautiful 'pets by far—Neopets as a whole have pretty stocky, chunky anatomy, but Peophins are abnormally thin proportionally, and surprisingly anatomically accurate to real horses compared to something like the Uni. This gives them a natural elegance, which a lot of colours build upon.

Peophins are also really strong conceptually, taking inspiration from mythologies like the hippocampus. Even if you don't know what that is, the mere idea of an aquatic horse with a tail instead of back legs and fins along their ears is a very unique and easy design to grasp. Little things like the plates on their snouts also add to the uniqueness of the design.

The only thing that's bad about Peophins (other than the fact that underwater Neopets like them don't get much NPC rep) is that their basic colours are kind of terrible. They have the base color and yellow accents, but then turn around and have a really off-putting second color for the mane and a random green spot on their forehead gem, creating a mess of a palette. It would've been much better if the green gem was either yellow or the base color, and the mane was a neutral lighter tone. Thankfully, most other Peophin colors fix this issue.

Peophins benefited heavily from conversion, as their old art was extremely dated. In addition to overall art quality, the anatomy was also improved to be less lumpy and things like the ears and mane were improved proportionally.

Favorite Colours:

Tyrannian: Tyrannian's caveman-like designs are not something I'd usually refer to as pretty, but the Peophin knocks it out of the park. The dark streak down the back and the underbelly combined with the fur makes it look a lot more like a prehistorical seal-esq creature, and little details like the mask being made out of stone are perfect. The mane is also quite pretty and adds a much needed pop of color.

Both the UC and converted versions are great, though I'll give the UC a minor edge for having a slightly more unique shape to the ears/fins and having the tail elements be more visible.

Royal: What I like about royal Peophins is that they take the idea of the Peophin's head plate and gem and expand on it, both by wrapping it around the ears to make a kind of crown and by adding lots of complimentary jewelry. I also like how the robes flow nicely with the body and make logical sense for an underwater creature. Both the royal girl and boy are good and match each other well, though between the two I do like the royal girl a bit more just because of the lovely palette.

Stealthy: Slightly unusual for a ninja colour but still very cool, the stealthy Peophin feels like it was also made with the water in mind. Lose-fitting cloth ninja robes are replaced with water-friendly mesh, and there's a bunch of metal holding bands that compliment the usual head plating. I also think that it's neat that they have a tie around their mouth similar to the reins of a normal horse. Also, the unclothed base, while much simpler, is also pretty nice.

BONUS: I'm normally of the opinion that faerie pets are best with markings, whether they be swirls, layers of color, or speckles, so that they're not just a normal Neopet with wings attached. However, while I would've loved to see some light pink swirls around the hooves and tail of the faerie Peophin, it still looks really nice. This is mostly because the lavender base is complimented by pink and silver accents, making it different than a basic Peophin.

Also, the UC/styled version is stunning; the pose is super fluid, the shading is really good, and the slightly different, more defined anatomy in the face really adds something. The converted version is still nice enough, but the wings are a bit too small and washed out color-wise, having lost the yellow dots in them.

They also screwed up the wing shape a bit; it's easier to see in the original Battledome poses, but the wings are one single wing that should run down the back rather then overlapping. They only overlap in the styled art because of the perspective on the tail that isn't present in the converted version.

#neopets #neotag #peophin #neopet reviews

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enderham · 5 months

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Some Aventurine headcenons:

- He can't swim properly (never got to learn)

- He has a lot of plants and hires someone to take care of them when he's away. His place looks like a jungle and his balcony is overflowing with them, that's where he spends most of his time when he's in Pier Point. (If there's a cold season in Pier Point his balcony has a sliding glass window that turns it into a greenhouse)

- Thankfully offset by the plants, the rest of his IPC accommodation is just as gaudy and luxurious as his outfits. It's somewhat eclectic because he chooses decorations by process of 'ooh shiny/cool' but there's a clear preference for art nouveu and art deco even though he probably wouldn't know that's what it's called.(He likes the interior design of the reverie but doesn't know why) It's in a luxury apartment block and he had to finesse his way through the chain of command to get it approved for him.

- He genuinely likes green, it's not just cause of his stone(he's wearing the wrong shade anyway) (yeah, the plants)

- He'd wear a lot of colour and jewelry even if he weren't "rich" or maintaining an image(based on the splashes of colour on little Kakavasha's Avgin clothes)

- He doesn't have an actual birthday on file. It's logged as the day the IPC "acquired" him. The only reason he knows the standard system date is because of the massacre. The Avgin calendar is different from the standard system one, so the documentation of the Katican attack was his only way of finding out. Since finding out, all he does on his birthday is burn a Knot of Cyclicality and say a prayer. He's no longer sure if it matches up with the Avgin calendar's Kakava.

- Since he gives out money like it grows on trees and I can imagine his project plans are fairly fluid that would mean that so are his budgets too. It makes me wonder if he's got money on off-shore accounts someplace in the galaxy the IPC hasn't reached yet.

-Converseley, the jewelry he's wearing could be his final asset. I can imagine that watch to be worth at least enough to sustain one person for a year(especially on worlds with a lower cost of living). The bracelets could buy you a vehicle and his other accessories are pocket money, all in case he's gotta run.

-He can drive and he wants to learn how to pilot a ship but the IPC is barring him

-He'd never sell the earring tho

-He also carries his family's heirlooms (the shirt, necklace and charm) everywhere he travels, also in case he has to run. I believe only the most dire of circumstances would stop him from retrieving them. (I also think the charm is the earring so these two are basically the same headcanon)

- Back to the swimming, he's both afraid of submerging his head under water(having to play dead in a pool of blood, probably thinking you'll drown in it does that to a kid) and drawn to large bodies of water.

-His gloves conceal scars on his hands from the chains he had to use as a "tool"

#wow this got worse as it went didn't it #that was not my intention at all lmao #ok ill warn for #canon typical violence #aventurine #honkai star rail #hsr aventurine #hsr

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charlie-baxter · 12 days

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First Times

monster x human, ftm/trans male!human, strap-on sex, forked tongue, aphrodisiac body fluids

“What if I’m not good with it?” Jack says, after sliding the harness on and buckling it tight. “You’re so used to people who know what they’re doing, and I’m… I’ve never done this before.”

The leather is soft and smooth, and it sits against his skin tightly. If he focuses on that, on the cold metal buckles just starting to warm up against his skin, on the way that Ardour looks splayed across their bed, Jack can just about forget the way his hands are trembling.

And god, Ardour looks good. She’s a gorgeous woman, so gorgeous that it takes Jack’s breath away sometimes. She’s all rounded curves and soft stomach, dark hair that reaches to her mid back, always dressed in the perfect complimentary shade. Right now, the delicate lace bra and panties are a soft, cool slate grey, and against the dark red of her skin they look perfect.

Right, dark red. Because she’s more than a woman. If the shade of her skin didn’t tell Jack that, the delicate, curled horns emerging from her forehead would. So would the long forked tongue that he can see press against her black-lined lips as she looks up at him, hunger burning in her eyes.

When Ardour speaks, her voice is warm and husky.

“It will be good,” she reassures him. “Because it’s you. And I want you.”

She says it with the tone of voice of somebody who absolutely truly believes what she’s saying. And that’s enough to make Jack believe it a little too. Enough to briefly forget all the boyfriends who scoffed when he asked if he could top, enough to forget all the evenings he’d spent on his laptop desperately trying to find evidence that somebody out there might want somebody with his desires, enough to forget how he’d only managed to come to Ardour with a request when he was several pints in.

For a moment, he forget it all. All there is in the universe is him and Ardour and this dark, cushion covered, LED-lit bedroom. It smells of jasmine and vanilla, and it feels like the most inevitable thing in the world as he steps forward, kneels in front of Ardour’s bed, and presses a kiss to her lips.

When they first got together — first started whatever this thing between them is — the kisses had been what had surprised Jack the most. Sure, he’d known about it in theory, known that succubus saliva increased sensitivity. But knowing in dry, scientific terms was different from feeling it, knowing the exact way his body would suddenly feel warm and heady. She tastes of cherry lipgloss and hellfire smoke, and as she opens her mouth and bites on Jack’s bottom lip gently, he reaches up to cup the back of her head. Jack tangles his fingers in her curls, lets his eyes drift close, and lets himself just feel.

Her teeth let go, and Jack wonders if what he can taste is blood, but there’s no time to question properly. Not when that long forked tongue is finding its way into his mouth. He moans, not just against her but into her, and he can feel the smirk Ardour flashes against his lips.

Her dark eyes are wide and dilated when they part for air, her breath quick. Jack’s is quicker still, and he knows what his eyes must look like, round and bright as the moon.

“Come fuck me,” Ardour says. And Jack knows he could back out, knows there’s still space for him to decide this is too much and say no, but Ardour’s voice still makes it sound like a command. “I want you and that big harnessed cock inside me.”

Jack does as she says. He’s kneeled between her legs, the crushed velvet of Ardour’s bedsheet’s soft against the exposed skin of his thighs. The toy is long and wickedly curve, the colour so perfectly matching the tone of his skin that it’s like it was made specifically for him, and when he rubs the head against Ardour’s folds, he can’t look away from the sight. Ardour moans, quietly, and she’s so wet and dripping that all Jack can think about is sinking his harnessed cock into her. And when her legs wrap around his hips and pull him closer, that’s what happens. There’s briefly a pressure pushing back on him through the leather of the harness and onto his t-dick,. But a moment later the resistance is gone, her pussy stretching and letting him fill her up.

To begin with, Jack’s movements are clumsy, and he knows it. He’s driven by instinct, by this primal need inside him to grind his hips inside her. But he’s a quick learner, and when those legs around his waist start to guide him, he follows them. Long, rapid strokes become slower, more targeted, and Jack realises — as Ardour’s breathing becomes heavy and ragged underneath him — that inside her, that curved head is perfectly placed. His breathing is heavy too, his brow covered in sweat, but right now he doesn’t care. All there is in the universe is him and Ardour and the space between them.

“I love you,” he manages, the words stuttered and stammered between heavy breaths. That pressure against him through the harness is back, building as he rolls his hips. He doesn’t think he can come, but he knows that if he can this is the start of it, that long slow build into ecstasy. Underneath him, Ardour smiles, flashes the sharp points of her teeth, and snakes a hand between their bodies to stroke at her clit.

“I love you too,” she purrs back. Her free hand reaches up, long nails raking against the skin of Jack’s back, and he gasps at the sensation. “Now make me come around your cock.”

Jack doesn’t think he can come from the pressure, but this is better. Being hilt-deep inside of Ardour, feeling her legs around him and hearing her heavy breath, knowing — as the hand between them speeds up — that he’s bringing her closer and closer… god, it’s a thousand times better than a brief burst of his own pleasure could be. He can feel her need, feel that he’s driving her towards release with each movement.

When he gives one last snap of his hips, the nails on his back dig in. And then the rest of Ardour moves too, clinging to him even as her legs shake and her body jerks and her lips let out a strangled cry. She’s warm to the touch, so warm that Jack wants to melt into her and never let go.

“That,” she manages, when she’s come back down to earth. “Was fantastic.”

And Jack — still floating off the high of how good and right it felt — smiles and nods.

#monster fucker #monster x human #transmasc #ftm nsft #transmasc nsft #charlieposting

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captainclickycat · 3 months

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So the other day I came up with an idea for a Wooden Overcoats themed escape room.

(There's a bit more to the story vis a vis me having a slow work day and having taken an ADHD medication didn't want to waste it so I spent the time learning about ciphers and stuff and I felt like this knowledge would be best applied to escape room design, but anyway)

It would be a cool premise, I thought. The idea would be that you're a new hire for the Funns and you had to get a corpse ready for the funeral on time, and if you ran out of time the family would switch to Chapman's. So in order to properly customise the funeral, you'd have to find out all about the deceased, by uncovering information in the form of old grainy polaroids, diary pages, newspaper articles, recipe books and so on. Like there'd be a bunch of wacky hats scattered about the room and you had to find out which wacky hat was the guy's favourite, to bury him in. Also you'd have to arrange the embalming fluids by colour and pick the right flavour.

And maybe even if the Overcoats thing was too niche, I reflected (and anyway wouldn't one have to like... get the rights, or something?) maybe just a funeral home themed escape room in general. Loosely inspired by WO, perhaps, with the odd little homage reference, but in broad terms just a room in its own right with more of a generic theme.

It would, I reflected, be fun and sort of zany in a morbid way, but also very poignant. It wouldn't just be about death, it would make you think about life, and the legacies we leave behind, and the kind of connection you can end up feeling with someone you've never really met in any literal sense as you learn more about them and the kind of life they lived. It would be fun on a surface level - wacky hats and everything - but also sort of subtly philosophically thought provoking. And then I imagined trying to explain this to someone who didn't get the reference.

What I'm getting at is I'm beginning to understand how Antigone felt when she was trying to explain the concept behind Memento Mori.

#wooden overcoats

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cilil · 4 months

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𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 | 𝐀 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐬

AN: My last one for @feast-of-horns - for now. The Turgon x Caranthir sequel I promised will be coming, just at a later date. Thanks for reading and being patient!

𓄌 Characters/pairings: Námo x Vairë 𓄌 Synopsis: Námo and Vairë try out their own version of predator/prey play. 𓄌 Warnings: Smut, shapeshifting (Námo with female parts) 𓄌 Oneshot (~1k words) | AO3

"You know," Vairë said, spinning silver threads with four of her six hands while a fifth caressed the back of her husband's cool hand. "I have always been fascinated by this feast Oromë is so fond of."

"Have you now?" Despite his usual neutral tone and posture, there was a faint hint of humour colouring Námo's voice.

"Indeed." She hummed to herself, watching the motions of her hands as she dwelt on the thought. "We may not be hunters like he and his people are, but I would be lying if I said I couldn't comprehend the satisfaction of..."

Skillfully, Vairë looped the thread around four index fingers and pulled it taut.

"...catching something pretty just right."

Námo observed her with the calm amusement of one who already knew the outcome of the conversation and was merely waiting for it to unfold.

"I suppose you do, though your prey is both less corporeal and less flighty than Oromë's," he mused. "Yet thus far you speak in riddles. If there is anything you would have of me, you must ask."

"You would make me spell it out and show you, you who knows all and forgets nothing?" Vairë scolded playfully. "But I don't mind."

Her sixth hand replaced the fifth, clasping Námo's, while the thus freed hand rose to his face. Gently, she turned his head and pulled away his veil.

"I think I would like to capture you, my beautiful husband."

Indeed, he was breathtaking underneath his veil, as Vairë thought whenever she removed it. Features too beautiful and ethereal to ever seem as stern and unforgiving as he was often seen, a face frightening only in its irresistible allure and divine grace.

Námo smiled at her. "You already have. I shall be all yours."

It was all the encouragement Vairë needed. Her four hands holding the thread spun around hastily, faster than the eye could see, yet with the precision of a true master of her craft. She then threw it at her husband like a net and crooked two index fingers as if to direct it as it wrapped around his wrists like a silvery snare.

Reminiscent of a spider web, it floated in the air, thrumming with the power of her will and her music, and Námo kept smiling even as his arms were secured in place and his feet lifted off the ground.

"Wonderful work as always, beloved."

"Thank you."

Vairë willed the nails on one of her hands to turn into claws and raised it, ready to strike and devour her food like a spider discovering prey in its web.

"Tell me, what will I find underneath those robes of yours?" she purred.

"Whatever it is that you wish to find," Námo answered.

"You already knew that as well, didn't you?" Vairë let out a chuckle, then cut his robes open with vicious efficiency.

She was going to fix the damage later if she felt like it; there were prettier things she could find for her husband to wear than those plain black robes.

Námo's fána was, as it had always been, less corporeal than those of other Ainur, almost ephemeral in the way he willed it in and out of existence within the blink of an eye. Some of its features remained ever the same, most importantly his tall, slender figure, his long, almost spindly legs and the ghostly pallor of his smooth, cool skin. Yet other features were ever fluid, changing and shifting at will.

His hips were narrow as usual, but between his legs Vairë was greeted with the gentle slope of a vulva. Her eyes lit up in excitement — she had desired to bed her husband in such a manner for a while. For even though Námo aligned more with male temper and often presented accordingly, he was just as, if not more beautiful than any lady she had seen.

"You saw my thoughts," was all Vairë said as she knelt down in front of him to examine.

"Such is my nature." Námo spread his legs without needing to be prompted. "My flesh exists only for your pleasure, I need it for nought else."

"At this point you are asking to be devoured."

"Perhaps I am, yes."

"In that case, I shall."

Vairë moved closer until she was kneeling between Námo's legs, caressing his thighs as she rested them on her shoulders. When she kissed his folds, she was reminded of a water lily with its petals closed, delicate and hiding its true beauty, and determined to coax it into opening up to her.

Námo sighed. He was a quiet lover and not prone to outbursts of passion, but Vairë could tell he was sensitive. Almost as if he had never been touched before. Which he had been, though not in this form. The sense of novelty fanned the flames of her desire.

She took hold of his thighs and began to enjoy his new fána. First quick, teasing licks across his folds to explore. Then bolder, dipping her tongue in-between, pushing inside, searching for the sensitive little pearl that would ensure his pleasure. A gasp, a tentative moan. She could feel it now, right against the tip of her tongue.

Entranced by the wonderful timbre of her husband's voice, Vairë continued. Námo was panting now, trying to adjust to the new sensations he was experiencing.

Unfortunately for him, his wife wasn't merciful. She could feel his muscles twitching and traces of his arousal leaking out of him, wettening her lips and chin like morning dew.

Oh how she loved him. Vairë could do this all day.

Circling her tongue around his pearl, she carefully pushed one finger inside Námo, then two. He was tight but not entirely unused to penetration, he had taken her before in a different shape.

"Please..." she heard his voice in her mind.

"You are begging already?" Vairë neither slowed down nor withdrew, instead taking it as encouragement to thrust her fingers in and out of Námo.

Whatever he had meant to say in response never came as his fána was overwhelmed by pleasure and driven to an early climax, leaving him speechless.

It was only then that Vairë granted Námo a break.

"Coming so fast?" she teased. "You do realise I haven't even started yet?"

He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes.

"Take me as many times as you see fit, beloved, as is your right after a successful hunt."

Thanks for reading! ♡

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