#like yeah those actors look the part! could they all act the part! No! Could the writers write! Not Consistently!

[faroresson]

Thinking about them (The Avengers but specifically in Avengers Assemble (2013-2019))

[steddielations]

nsfw, actor eddie, hair and makeup artist steve, sub top

The downside of Eddie having a bunch of tattoos is that he has to sit in the makeup trailer longer than anyone else getting them covered, along with his character’s makeup. 

The plus side is he gets more time with Steve. 

They have this game. It started on Eddie’s first day. He was all wired up with nerves because it’s his first time in a lead role on a big production like this.

Every nightmare scenario of how he could screw up was running through his mind. He couldn’t sit still enough for Steve to give him the wavy hair and facial scars that his character has. 

Eddie kept apologizing and Steve was great about it. He asked Eddie about the heart on his arm with “Wayne” across the ribbon and distracted Eddie from over-practicing his lines, busy telling Steve all about his uncle who raised him and where they’re from. 

Eddie killed it on set that day, and pretty much every day since then. He loves acting, he loves fully immersing himself in the story he’s telling. This role is the biggest of his career so far, but it’s not even about that, he loves the character he’s playing, he meshes well with the director and has chemistry with his co-stars.

But Steve is his favorite part of this whole deal.

Eddie ran out of tattoos for their little game of telling Steve the story behind a different one every day. They never ran out of things to talk about though.

But Steve takes his job seriously and he’s good at it. He explained once why he likes doing this. It’s an art, getting the right look for the right character, or the right person, connecting with and taking care of whoever’s in his chair.

He explained it all while he was running his fingers through Eddie’s hair in those perfectly practiced strokes. Steve’s very good at his job, that’s why it feels so nice when he touches Eddie, even if it’s just work, because Steve cares about this. That’s why it’s easy for Eddie to be lulled into bliss when Steve’s fingers are so gentle on his scalp.

And, okay Eddie’s not made of stone, and he has eyes so he has a thing for Steve. A crush, but there’s a line there. This is work. They’re co-workers, despite how many pretty smiles and lingering looks are exchanged. Eddie won’t cross that line.

Until he does. 

It’s an accident. He never would have done it on purpose. 

Steve’s fingers are just so talented. Eddie’s eyes are closed, he was having another fit of nerves earlier so Steve took extra time with his hair. It put Eddie in a space so relaxed that he feels like he’s floating when Steve’s hand twists in his hair with the perfect amount of tension. It feels so intentional. The moan just slips out.

Eddie apologizes like crazy afterward, he feels terrible. Steve is a picture of professionalism, he’s charming and fun but he runs the makeup trailer like it's the navy and he takes his shit seriously and Eddie crossed a line. 

But Steve just shushes him, guides him to sit back in the chair and says it’s alright. 

Eddie blinks in disbelief but Steve just looks at him. 

It’s a look. 

A look that Eddie can’t stop thinking about for the rest of production.

It’s a look he sees again on his last day on set.

Eddie already shook everyone’s hands and said his goodbyes. He's just stopping by his trailer one last time to make sure the assistants got all his stuff cleared out. 

When he opens the door, his stomach flips, finding Steve waiting inside for him.

“You wrapped filming today,” Steve says in place of a greeting. But his smile and the way his arm is languidly stretched over the back of the couch is inviting. 

Something tells Eddie to lock the door before he goes over to sit next to Steve.

His gaze is even more intense up close. Eddie feels Steve’s eyes on him everywhere, like he’s just eating Eddie up. 

“Yeah, I did,” Eddie says, a tad nervous.

He doesn't want to make a move he can’t take back in case he’s wrong about why Steve’s in his trailer looking at him like that. He doesn’t want to be one of those douchebag movie stars that assumes everyone wants him and he has a free pass to hit on the crew. He’s sure Steve’s had enough of that bullshit.

“We don’t work together anymore,” Steve simply states.

“I know, it sucks,” Eddie laughs a bit sad because he really is, “Sorry if it’s weird to say, but I’m gonna miss you.”

Steve’s eyes shift between Eddie’s and then down to his lips, making his heart stutter in his chest.

“No it’s a good thing,” Steve says and Eddie’s brows knit in confusion. “It means I can do this finally.”

Eddie thinks he’s watching his daydreams play out the way Steve starts leaning in. 

It’s only real when Steve’s lips press softly to his.

Just once, so light, long enough for Eddie to catch on that it’s happening, then Steve pulls back before Eddie can reciprocate.

Steve chuckles faintly at the dramatic frown Eddie’s pulling. 

Then Steve’s hand cups Eddie’s cheek, his thumb stroking Eddie’s face as he tells him, “We can stop there and keep it professional and say our goodbyes. Or I can climb on your lap and give you something to remember me by.”

Eddie gulps. Steve’s offer and his silky voice and his perfect touch that Eddie’s already so addicted to is such a heady mix, making it hard to form words. “Yes, climb me— I mean, option B.”

“Yeah, honey, you want that?” God, Eddie always blushed hot when Steve called him that casually in the makeup trailer, now he’s melting hearing Steve say it like this. “Well, go on and take your pants off for me.”

It happens in a syrupy warm blur. Eddie sheds his jeans and underwear like he’s told and he’s rewarded with a gorgeously naked Steve Harrington in his lap. He’s allowed to touch, only after Steve has threaded his fingers through Eddie’s hair more reverently than any time before, like something precious in his hands, and kisses Eddie deep and hard. 

Then Eddie gets to nuzzle the chest hair that’s been driving him crazy peeking out of Steve’s shirt every time he leaned over. Eddie gets to touch Steve’s soft strong thighs, feeling the smatter of hair leading up to his ass that’s been driving Eddie even more insane trying not to stare at. Then he slips his fingers in and moans into Steve’s mouth when he feels the hard bulb of a plug nestled inside Steve.

Steve pulls back from the kiss, smiling and smearing his thumb over the spit on Eddie’s lips. “Yeah, I’m so ready for you, Eddie, baby, you have no idea.”

Eddie’s practically drooling watching Steve take out the plug and get a bottle of lube from between the cushions and a condom, oiling up his hand. When his fist wraps around Eddie’s cock, Eddie helplessly bucks into it, but Steve’s solid thighs pin him down. That makes his mind lust-foggy and his eyes flutter up at Steve, who bites his lip watching Eddie as he lines up to his hole.

“Mm... you know how bad I wanted you?” Steve sounds relieved as he sinks down on Eddie’s cock. “You know how bad I wanted to climb on your lap when you were sitting in my chair. You know how starry-eyed you get when you’re drifting? Just from me touching your hair, so fucking cute.”

Eddie’s just a mess of moans, Steve is so hot and tight around him. It’s too much with all the sweet praise to really comprehend that Steve knew all those times he was getting spacy.

“It’s so easy to put you down.” Steve’s breath comes harder, not letting Eddie move as he starts to roll his hips. “Such an actor, high strung all the time but that’s okay. It’s your passion. That’s sexy. Been dying to hold you down and ride you until you can’t think about anything but me, though.”

Eddie gasps out a groan when Steve tugs sharply on his hair, being right about everything that Eddie’s into so far. It’s no secret that Eddie’s intense, just a different kind of intensity in the bedroom than with his craft. 

Steve seems to get it, seems to know that Eddie needs everything hard and relentless with the way he’s bouncing on Eddie’s dick. He can feel the strength in Steve’s hips, dying to feel them fucking into him too, mouth watering at the sight of his thick cock jumping with all the movement.

“You’d let me tie you down and use you, hm?” Steve asks, drawing Eddie by the hair into a biting kiss that just barely grazes the surface of what Eddie would let Steve do to him. “I know. I’d fuck you up so good if we had time, baby.”

“Steve, holy shit,” Eddie practically sobs, fingers digging into Steve’s ass.

“You close, honey?” 

“Fuck, yeah.” 

Steve suddenly cups his face, just a tad rough and Eddie thought— hoped for one hot moment— that Steve was going to slap him. Just the thought is enough to make him do what he's supposed to, “Can I?” 

“Mh-hm just keep looking at me,” Steve strokes Eddie’s face as he circles his hips and takes Eddie deep. “Wanna see those pretty eyes when you come inside me.”

Eddie does as he’s told, his gaze falling half-shut as he lets go, spilling into the condom like he’s pumping Steve full.

It’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him, followed by the second hottest thing when Steve kisses his slack mouth as his warm heavy spurts of come land on Eddie’s belly.

While Eddie’s coming down, he lets Steve shift him onto the couch. He gets some tissues and then pulls Eddie to lie on his chest because of course he would, he’s Steve.

“Was that enough to remember me by when you get all big and famous?” Steve asks after a while, trailing his knuckles down Eddie’s bare arm.

Eddie looks up, seeing the first glimpse of hesitance in all of Steve’s practiced smoothness.

So Eddie leans in and assures him between pecks on his lips that slowly turn to smiles pressing together. “Nope, think we gotta do it again. And again. And again.” 

[happy74827]

Real Life Fairytale

[Robby Keene x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You tried so hard not to be that girl, but the more you were around him, the more you were convinced clichés could be a good thing.

WC: 712

Category: Fluff, First Kiss

Since Cobra Kai coming back later this month, here’s some fluff with the Marty Mcfly of karate.

『••✎••』

It was a typical cliché, and as much as you hated it, there was something that still pulled at you. Something that pulled you right into the arms of none other than Robby Keene.

Your relationship had been rocky at best; it had started out with him pickpocketing your purse and the two of you becoming friends because, at the time, you believed he was simply returning what you lost.

Of course, when your friendship officially became a friendship, he told you the truth and apologized. LaRusso had offered him a job, and everything he did suddenly became about changing his life and earning his place. He wanted to prove to his father that he was more than just some punk-ass kid from the wrong side of the tracks.

So, how did that bring you to where you are now? How did a guy like Robby Keene, dressed up in Marty McFly attire, become the center of your universe?

The Halloween Bash, of course.

Originally, the entire group of friends, the past feud between Robby and Miguel, had long been forgotten, so they decided to do one big group costume. Demetri thought it would be a good idea to go with the Power Rangers, which was fine, except for the fact that Eli was the only one who actually wanted to be a Ranger. Everyone else was either not impressed or completely clueless about who they were.

In the end, the group split off into their own individual costumes, and that's how you ended up with your favorite movie being used as the basis for your outfits.

It took a lot of convincing on your part. I mean, the dude looked practically identical to the real actor; he was the obvious choice. Throw a Walkman on him, and boom, the costume is perfect.

He blamed it on the hair, which it technically was. Ever since he ditched Dora's cut with Diego, he just became that geeky kid who freaked at the word 'chicken.'

And in all honesty, you truly believed he hated that word, too. Eli said it to bait him once, and he did not go down easily.

It only took you an hour to convince him, but after a while, he relented, and the costume was finalized.

So, obviously, when the two of you walked in with swag that only the 80s could pull off, you stayed for about an hour before Robby got bored and decided ice cream was the cure.

Now, the two of you were sitting on the steps of an apartment building, eating a gallon of ice cream and talking.

You swear, you didn't mean for it to happen, but the way he looked at you with those soft, blue eyes and the smile that could make a nun blush, you found yourself leaning closer.

"I had fun," he spoke quietly, his words dancing over your lips. "Even if I do look ridiculous."

You giggled. "Well, isn't that why we have Halloween? To look ridiculous?"

He shrugged and leaned closer, his eyes searching yours.

"You don't look ridiculous, though," you continued. "I think you look pretty good in a life preserver."

He grinned. "Yeah?"

It was something about the way he said that. The way you could hear the smile in his voice, but most of all, the way he looked at you when he said it. Like he was looking for permission to continue with what was already happening.

So, you answered by leaning in, connecting your lips with his, and giving him all the permission he needed.

His hands instantly flew to your hips, tugging you closer, and you found your own hands wrapping around his neck, deepening the kiss.

It was perfect, just like the movies. You regretted dressing up as Doc Brown, though. Not only was the radiation suit itchy, but you were acting like Jennifer Parker, and you didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Still, with the white hair off and his headphones finding their home around his neck, you figured maybe you'd force him to keep that part of the costume because, the way he was looking at you, you didn't want it to end.

You were sure it wouldn't, not any time soon.

[cheapshrimpysheep]

You Will Stop the Wedding! - Leona Kingscholar

SUMMARY: YOU were the one being kidnapped by Princess Eliza to marry her. How would he react and how would he save you? With the aggravation of he already having a crush on you.

CHARACTERS: Leona Kingscholar  x Reader

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Declaration

WORD COUNT: 870 words

Riddle Rosehearts / Leona Kingscholar / Azul Ashengrotto / Jamil Viper / Vil Schoenheit / Idia Shroud / Malleus Draconia

Rescuing You - Deuce Spade; Jack Howl; Floyd Leech; Kalim Al-Asim

COMMENTS: What have I done? Why did I commit to writing this? And why did I write so much? Why was I so inspired? There were seven of them! Why do I do this to myself? So yeah, this took me a long time. But I hope it was worth it, for me and for you.

CONTEXT: Someone was kidnapped to marry some ghost princess and might end up turning into a ghost too. And he just found out that someone was you.

Leona couldn't care less about someone being kidnapped by a delusional princess, until he finds out that the student who was kidnapped was YOU.

He is shown to be more interested in the subject after that, which makes the other Housewardens question and some even messing with him. Probably Vil and Azul. He tells them to shut up.

He ends up not being part of the first groups, being in the last. Why? Because this is important, it is your life that is at risk after all. So he first needs to analyse those ghosts to know the best way to act. If it is necessary to risk losing pieces, then let them be pawns.

The whole time he acts like he's not doing this for you. As if he just wanted to prove that he could solve this in an instant. When it's the last group's turn, the other three who are with them end up staying behind to stall the guards. And he is the only one who can reach the ceremony hall.

And he follows the plan. He says to stop the wedding and the reason why the princess should marry him and not you is: “Unlike everyone who tried to woo you and unlike the person standing with you at the altar right now, I am actually royalty. Weren't you looking for a prince? Well, you have one right here. Now you just need to exchange that herbivore you have with you for me.”

The princess said he had good arguments, but she also showed that she didn't really like Leona's presumption.

“I apologize. I'm just trying to show you that I would be the more suited partner for you. The person you chose to be your partner doesn't even want to be there with you. Doesn't even like you.”

She gasps! And she starts to defend herself saying that it's a lie, that there is love for her in you, you just needed a little more time.

“Sorry to be the one to break the bad news to you, Your Highness, but that's not how it works. It is not after marriage that love arises. It is not with money and wealth that love arises. At least not true love. You should find someone who sees beyond that. May they see you for who you are and not for what you have. Someone who doesn't care about titles. And only then, maybe marry them. Knowing that with or without your kingdom, they will stay by your side.”

The princess admits that what he says makes sense and is wonderful. But wouldn't something like that take a long time? Someone who can prove that they would stay with you no matter what. How would she know when she found them? And then, the guard who is in love with her decides to declare himself. And that whole ending of the princess realizing that she loved him too happens, they get married and happily ever after.

After everything, he took the time to brag to the others about having solved the problem and saved them all and the school. Some of the others still comment that that speech was very interesting. Maybe true? But with all his pride, he continues to say that just goes to show what a good actor he can be. He just doesn't get Vil's roles because he's not interested. “You would wish.” Vil replies.

When everyone was leaving and only the first-years were left to clean everything, Leona calls you for a minute. “So the ring ended up not being needed in the end. Tsk.” he comments “Here, you can have it.” He throws the ring towards you like throwing a coin in the air. “You never know if there are more single ghosts out there looking for a herbivore partner. Ha ha ha.”

He likes to mess with you, so you mess with him back. You say you wonder if the ghosts are the only ones who would like to have you as their partner.

“Are you implying that I'm also interested in you?” He smirks. In response, you ask why he would go to so much trouble to save someone he doesn't care about. “Did I ever say I didn't care about you?” He says, still smirking, but then adds: “Before I really know you don't count.”

Slightly fed up with all these mixed signals, you tell him that if he wants to tell you something now would be the time. Especially because if he just continues with those comments, you will simply accept the excuses he gives and understand that he really doesn't like you that way.

“Are you going to tell me that you don't like it when I'm hard to put up with?” he keeps saying with his smug face.

You turn to drop the conversation and walk away. After about three steps, he grabs your hand, stopping you and then pulling you towards him. His other hand on your waist.

“Fine, fine. What if I told you that whole speech was about you?” Maybe if he repeats it, looking into your eyes, you'll believe it. “Unfortunately for you, Savanaclaw is a dorm of actions, not words.” And he kisses your lips.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[flowerandblood]

Play with my heart (1/3)

[ modern actors • Aemond x Strong • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, sexual tension, unprofessional behavior ]

[ description: He gets the main role in a series about a great family and dragons, which could change his career. He is set to play the uncle and love interest of his childhood friend. When he meets the actress who plays her role, he begins to lose track of what is an acting and what is his real feelings. Sexual tension, grumpy, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: Yeah. I talked about it and I did it. You don't even know how much fun I had doing this. Of course, my characters play in a series whose script is an exact copy of my story The Fall from the Heavens. In this universe, Aemond (playing the One-Eyed Prince) and Rhaenys (playing the Princess) are of course not related – the other characters are also just actors. This three-part series is my gift to all fans of the original series, thank you so much for your support. "Rhaenys" in this story is her artistic pseudonym which she use instead of her real name. In this chapter you will see her Instagram photos without any face reveal, just treat it like some moodboard of her modern look. You can read this as a standalone story.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Despite his resistance, his grandfather said this series could be his big chance. Because what's the likelihood of a big production looking for a tall actor with a scar over his left eye?

The white line running from his eyebrow to his cheek was a reminder of when his nephew smashed a bottle next to him, the shards of which shot upwards as he leaned over it. He lost the sight in that eye at the time, but got a new artificial one that looked almost identical to the real one.

"The director became interested in you when I described your appearance and character to him. It's a leading role, Aemond." His grandfather continued, clearly excited. He, however, felt only discomfort at his words.

"It's a fantasy series. Dragons, gowns and knights. Romance, on top of that, between an uncle and a niece. I don't know. It's…" He started and didn't finish, running his hand over his face.

It sounded idiotic and he felt he would have made a fool of himself in front of millions of viewers who would forever remember him in the role of the cripple prince in an incestuous relationship.

"At least read the script." His grandfather didn't give up and placed a thick volume of stapled white pages in front of him.

Resigned, he spread himself comfortably on the sofa in his flat in the evening and began to read. He pressed his lips together when he saw that it all started with a flashback – the characters of the prince and his niece were still children at the time and were to be played by younger actors.

There was no cloying or exaggerated sweetness in the story or dialogues that he had expected. What surprised him was the moment when his character lost his eye and the fact that he decided not to speak to his betrothed for eight years.

He thought it was a bit of an overreaction, but perhaps in those days men approached their honour in this way.

Then he got to the scenes where their adult characters appeared and their first scene when they see each other in the courtyard. He imagined what was happening as if he was watching a film, them, throwing glances full of pain at each other, and him, unable to bear it, attacking his opponent in rage.

To his surprise, the next scene, the scene in his chamber turned into a love scene that made him hot – and then, just when he thought the rest of the plot would be a soap opera, his character suddenly became aggressive and cold again, destroying everything they had managed to accomplish.

He thought curiously that he liked how complicated and unpredictable the Prince's character was, how hard he tried to suppress the feelings he felt for this girl, how confident he was at the same time, with so many complexes and hatreds inside him.

He was intrigued.

He decided he would go for an audition and to his surprise, the next day he received a call that the director had decided he was perfect for the part.

He got the lead role in the series.

His grandfather, as his agent, contacted the production and it turned out that they wanted to rehearse scenes between him and the actresses who would play the Princess. He was to appear in the studio in a setting specially prepared for this, which would resemble the Prince's chamber.

They were to portray the scene in which his niece comes to the Prince's chamber on the evening they see each other for the first time in eight years.

There were no wigs or costumes prepared yet, so he was given something of a substitute, a simple leather tunic and boots, and a black eye patch that had been designed specifically for his character earlier and was already finished.

The lights were turned off, leaving only the lamps for illumination and the candles and fire lit all around. He looked towards the fireplace, fiddling with the knife between his fingers, recognising that this would add an air of unease to the scene.

"Action!" The director shouted, and the door opened. He looked to the side and spotted a tall, black-haired girl. Her lips curved in pain at the sight of him, as if she was suffering greatly, but he thought in the back of his mind that her facial expression was exaggerated.

"Did you received my letters?" She asked in a trembling voice, looking at him with her chin raised high.

This was not how he imagined her, but he decided to focus on his role, rolling the knife between his fingers.

"Yes." He replied coldly and dispassionately.

The girl swallowed hard.

"Have you read them?"

"Cut! They see each other for the first time in eight years. They feel anger, fear, disbelief! Give me something more than theatrical indifference and tears." The director called out, making both him and the girl in front of him swallow hard, embarrassed.

"Action!"

It seemed to him that it went on forever. Girls similar to themselves went in and out, and he repeated the same line over and over again, feeling nothing.

He was in character as much as he could, taking his role very seriously, trying to identify with it, but he couldn't bring up the feelings he was supposed to have for this girl who, after all, was supposed to be the love of his life.

He sighed heavily, adjusting the eye patch over his eye when the director said that there was another rehearsal ahead of them. He nodded his head to let him know that he was ready.

"Action!"

The door opened, but the girl who stood in it looked at him for a moment with big eyes, as if she didn't recognise him. There was something endearing in that gaze. She turned behind her, as if she was afraid of being seen, and immediately closed the door, breathing loudly.

At last, real acting.

She turned towards him, as if she was afraid of him, and he pressed his lips together, involuntarily looking at her body hidden only beneath a thin nightgown, her slightly wavy, long dark hair falling freely over her shoulders.

Her face was gentle, warm, her eyes large, her lashes and eyebrows dark, accentuating her charm.

She was silent for a moment, her lips trembling, as if she wanted to say something but couldn't.

"Did you received my letters?"She muttered softly in a hopeful voice, from which he felt goosebumps pass along his back.

"Yes." He whispered, his voice soft and low.

Yes, he thought, give me something I can work with.

She swallowed loudly and clenched her hands into fists, shifting from foot to foot. She shook her head, her eyebrows arched in pain as if asking how he could do this to her.

"Have you read them?" She asked, and he pressed his lips together, tilting his head back and snorted under his breath, turning the blade in his hand. She jumped up, horrified when he slammed it suddenly into the armrest lying beneath his hand.

"Yes, my Lady Strong. I have read them all. Many times, here, in this chair." He murmured mockingly, looking at her with slightly parted lips, lifting his chin in a gesture of superiority.

He was sure the director would interrupt, but he let them continue.

The girl lowered her gaze, her body quivering as if she was about to cry, an expression of humiliation, pain and shame on her face from which he felt heat in his heart.

Her gaze suddenly changed. She swallowed hard, as if she had also swallowed his insult, and moved ahead of him, pretending to walk towards the bookshelf.

He pressed his lips together and looked at her over his shoulder, measuring her with a furious, cold stare.

"Do you often visit men like this?"

She turned to him with a look as if she wanted to kill him, her hand dropping as if she had run out of strength after what she had heard.

"Have you no shame?" She asked coolly, the way she said it, the look in her eyes made him feel a cold sweat on his back.

"Cut! That was fantastic, thank you!" Said the director, and she blinked, the expression on her face turning from cold and disgusted to a wide smile full of joy, her gaze warm and welcoming.

"– you were amazing – I had goosebumps –" She whispered as she walked past him and giggled, waving goodbye to him, disappearing out the door a moment later.

When it turned out a few days later that she had got the role, he breathed a sigh of relief. The director had told him in a phone conversation that he could feel the kind of tension on camera that he expected from their characters and that this was it.

He was ashamed to admit it, but he agreed with him.

She was good and pulled the most subtle, intriguing expressions from her face with ease.

Although he didn't usually do this and resented his grandfather for forcing him to create an official instargam account, which was almost dead anyway, he used it to find her. At first he thought Rhaenys was her name, but then the producent told him it was her stage pseudonym.

He did not know what he thought of this, finding that it was an approach to acting that he was not fond of, but he decided not to judge her hastily, being a very private and withdrawn person himself.

Finding her turned out to be child's play, and he felt like a voyeur, scrolling through all her posts on her wall one by one, wanting to get a sense of who he would be working with, or at least that's how he tried to explain this unnatural curiosity to himself.

He snorted involuntarily in amusement upon seeing her Pikachu shirt, thinking with a kind of admiration that she had a distance to herself that he lacked.

She apparently wasn't afraid of harsh judgement from the outside world, of someone saying she was childish or immature, retaining a kind of innocence he hadn't seen in any actress in a long time.

Usually, like him, they created themselves, how they wanted to be perceived, making from their characters a style under which everything else was adjusted.

He felt a strange kind of satisfaction that he couldn't explain when he didn't see her in any of the photos with any man in an embrace or position that might indicate that she had a boyfriend.

He thought this would make it easier for him to get into character and not feel remorseful – although of course it was only his job – that he was touching someone else's girlfriend.

Although he was not convinced about this project at first, he was now beginning to feel excited at the thought that this really could open the door to his career.

All the way up to the start of shooting, he had been preparing himself to actually get into the character mentally, reading the script again and again, trying to understand Prince's character, unintentionally identifying with him more and more.

With his pain, his shame, his longing, his despair, his unfounded, cold, calculating irony and aggression.

While not everyone applauded the method acting, he felt the need to understand the character he was playing, to get inside his head, to become him in some way, to properly portray his emotions.

He and his grandfather flew to the hotel a few days before shooting to acclimatise, attend rehearsals and costume fittings. He met the actor, Aegon, who would play his brother-king, and Jace, who would play the Princess's older brother, and although he was an aloof man, he quickly found common ground with them.

Looking at the size and number of sets, the scenery created especially for one or two scenes, he felt the grand scale of the whole project and thought with excitement that he would be a fool if he refused.

When the make-up artists and stylists applied the wig on his head, his leather tunic, his breeches and his eye patch they said he was made for this role. When he glanced at himself in the mirror, he found in disbelief that he really did look like a different person and he liked what he saw.

He looked dark, menacing, malicious.

Just as he had imagined.

They met formally for the first time at, much to his liking, a session with a woman who he understood was a psychologist and was supposed to take care of them when it came to approaching intimate scenes and their comfort zone.

They shook hands with polite smiles in a way that was a tad too official, but there was something heartfelt and warm in her expression and her bright eyes that made him feel a pleasant sensation in his chest.

He tried not to grin as he saw her wearing a Pikachu t-shirt, the exact same one she wore in one of her photos on Instagram.

The woman invited them with a hand gesture to sit across from her on the couch as she sat on the other side, in an armchair.

"As I understand it, you have both read the script and your director's suggestions and know that there will be scenes involving you touching your naked bodies or exposing yourself in front of each other." She said calmly and they nodded their heads.

"Okay. I'll start by asking if you have any questions or concerns." She continued, but they were silent.

"I will be with you during every scene of this type, offering you advice and support. You have the right to say if you feel uncomfortable, if you are made to feel bad by a certain type of touch and you don't want to repeat the scene in the same way. The director wants you both to feel safe here." She added, and they nodded their heads.

"Do you have any barriers, things you're sure you don't want the other party to do? Touch in places that you find unacceptable?" She asked, and he remained silent, but looked at his partner out of the corner of his eye, curious.

He saw that she pressed her lips together, as if she wanted to say something but was afraid to. She swallowed quietly at last, fiddling with the material of her black tracksuit shorts.

"– I – let's just say I'm not experienced in this kind of scenes – it's hard to say where my comfort limit is – what should I do if, for example, we're in the middle of filming and I feel unwell? –" She asked uncertainly, looking at her with her big, bright eyes.

The woman nodded.

"– of course, you should then stop the filming – it would be a good idea if you just agreed between you beforehand what you plan to do, where you plan to touch each other – this will help you to prepare in advance for what is going to happen, to say what causes your concerns –" She replied calmly.

The girl smiled and let out a quiet breath, as if something in her answer had reassured her.

He saw her for the second time during a party at the hotel that the series' production organized for them, so they could get to know each other better and relax before the first day of shooting.

Like him, she was dressed plain, in long mid-thigh length, fluffy sweatshirt and woollen cream, overknee socks, while he, as usual, was dressed all in black.

She approached him to greet him for a certain out of sheer courtesy, he however appreciated her professional demeanour. When she asked if she could sit with him and the people from production he involuntarily moved over on the sofa, making room next to himself, which she accepted with a smile.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye while chatting to the set crew all evening, a few drinks were enough for him to loosen his tongue a little and start talking like a normal person.

He furrowed his eyebrows, feeling the whisky already humming heavily in his head when he saw her get up from the table and go to the toilet, leaving her half-finished drink with them.

He figured he'd wait with his assessment of the situation until she returned, but to his dismay, surely enhanced by the alcohol, he acted rather dramatically, pushing the glass away from her as soon as she sat back down next to him and tried to reach for it.

"Never leave your drinks with strangers in this business. Always take them with you." He said as if he were her older brother or father.

She blinked, horrified and ashamed, clearly not even thinking that anyone among the people around her might want to hurt her, but he knew this environment better than she did.

Seeing the look on her face, he pressed his lips together.

"Believe me. I heard this kind of stories. They put pills in your drink, tell you they'll help you back to your hotel room when you start to feel worse, and the next day on set they tell you that if you say anything to anyone, you can go back where you came from."

They stared at each other for a moment in uncomfortable silence and although the people around them were laughing, she seemed to be experiencing some sort of shock.

"Do...do you know such women personally?" She mumbled, and he shook his head, playing with his glass between his fingers.

"No, thank God. But I've heard hundreds of stories like that. I'm not trying to scare you, I'm just trying to warn you. For your safety." He added, feeling for some reason like an idiot who was now lecturing and moralising her.

She nodded quickly, however, her gaze filled with a warmth and understanding that made his chest hot, though he blamed the whisky he'd drunk for his condition.

"Yes, you are right, I should be more careful. I'm glad I'll be working with someone like you." She confessed with a kind of embarrassment that surprised him, playing with the material of her woollen knee-length socks.

He looked at her, spread out comfortably on the leather sofa, realising that there was so little room at the table that their knees were pressed against each other.

When she said she would go to sleep, for some reason he offered to walk her to her room. She smiled broadly at his words and they set off together for the lift, exchanging quiet, non-committal remarks on the way.

There was something about her demeanour that made him feel at ease, her gentleness, openness and the alcohol humming in his head made him more daring when it came to spoken words.

"You made a great impression on me during the auditions." He hummed and she looked up at him, her eyes shining with joy.

"You don't even know how much these words mean to me. You were wonderful, convincing and charismatic. I hope I won't disappoint you." She said.

"Mmm." He hummed and flinched as the elevator doors slid open on the floor where their rooms were located. They walked out into the hall in silence, the warm look in her eyes that she gave him over her shoulder made him feel hot.

"– see you tomorrow –" She said and he nodded.

"– sleep well –"

The first scene they were to play, although it was only in the fifth episode, was when they returned to her chamber after speaking with her stepfather following negotiations about the succession to the throne.

Their dialogue was about what they really thought regarding what had happened in the past – this scene did not contain intimate moments and was meant to help them get into their characters well.

She walked into the room, which was also a large medieval chamber immersed completely in darkness and smiled at the sight of him. He nodded his head in greeting.

She approached him, all beaming with happiness and excitement, a nightgown on her body and a thin robe thrown over her shoulders.

"You look amazing. Wonderful characterisation." She said softly with a sincere cordiality from which he felt warmth in his heart.

"Thank you." He replied calmly, not knowing what more he could answer.

"I am the one who wants to thank you. For what you said yesterday. I guess I needed to hear this." She said, giving him a warm look full of gratitude that made him feel relieved.

"Forgive me if I was too harsh." He whispered.

"You were not." She said calmly.

He nodded and grunted, swallowing heavily, being sober having problems again with putting his thoughts into words.

They looked up at the director who ordered that they were about to go to the first shot where they were lying on the bed, so they took their places next to each other on the sheets.

He felt the stress gripping his body, the tension at the thought that there were dozens of people around them looking at them and judging him.

He had been given this role with ease and now he had to prove himself.

"Action!"

He shuddered as he felt her hand on his and looked up at her – her face was frighteningly close to his, pleasantly smooth and soft, a warmth in her gaze from which he ran out of words.

"Speak to me, uncle. Don’t lock yourself in your mind." She whispered to him, as if these words were meant only for him, as if she really cared about him, missed him, loved him.

He looked at her with his heart pounding fast, thinking with horror that he had forgotten his line.

"– I will –" She whispered.

He swallowed hard and closed his eyelids, trying to turn his fear into an expression of regret and rage on his face.

"I will never understand how could you leave me then." He hissed through clenched teeth, looking at her again, pain in her gaze, as if his words had really surprised and hurt her.

"– that was never my intention –"

"– then why? –"

"My mother then told me to let you rest and calm down. That the guards wouldn’t let me visit you anyway by order of the Queen."

He snorted, looking at her with both disbelief and frustration. He blinked, smelling her pleasant scent, and realised that, just like in the script, she must have rubbed her skin with some vanilla oil.

He looked at her lips, pink, soft and full, and for a moment he forgot again what he should say next.

What was happening to him?

"It doesn’t matter." He muttered finally. "I needed you when it happened."

He saw her furrow her brow, her lips tightened in pain.

"I needed you too." She said in a trembling voice. "When Criston Cole held my cheeks as your mother’s guards poured moon tea down my throat. I wondered at the time if that’s how you felt."

He was impressed to see real emotion in her gaze – pain, grief, shame, fear. He didn't know why he lifted his hand and touched her cheek – he thought it was idiotic, but she followed it up and grasped his fingers in hers, kissing gently the inside of his palm.

He cursed in his head feeling his manhood pulsed softly in his breeches.

He put his arm around her waist and snuggled her into his chest as scripted – her hands embraced him, her face pressed against the hollow of her neck.

He seemed to feel her puffy little nipples through the fabric of his shirt before the director shouted ‘cut!’.

They pulled away from each other, looking up at him, rising on their elbows.

"– I liked it, but I would change the ending – I know it's not in the script, but the moment when he touches her cheek begs for a soft, tender, innocent kiss – can we try it that way? –" He asked, and they nodded and grunted, embarrassed.

She returned to her earlier position, trying again to bring to her face the same sadness, pain and grief he had seen seconds before.

"I needed you too." She said in pain. "When Criston Cole held my cheeks as your mother’s guards poured moon tea down my throat. I wondered at the time if that’s how you felt."

He looked at her for a moment with a gaze full of regret and touched her cheek again, running his thumb over her jaw. She kissed his hand as gently as before, cuddling her face into his rough skin, closing her eyes. She sighed quietly as he drew her closer to his face, her warm breath enveloping his skin before his fingers weaved into her hair, forcing her to lean down.

They clung to each other in a slow, shy kiss with the quiet click of their saliva, her plump, fleshy lips tasted of some sweet strawberry lipstick, deliciously soft, warm and wet, their breaths shaky and excited.

It seemed to him that time stood still; her touch was tender and full of peace but also the certainty of her affection, her soft fingers gently trailing over his jaw and cheek, caressing him as if she wanted to give him a sense of security.

Something about her closeness reassured him, and his broad hand stroked her head as if she were a small child, brushing gently her lower lip with his own, a quiet, shy sigh left her mouth.

He swallowed loudly, terrified as he felt his manhood swell and throb at the sound, at her closeness, at her taste, craving more.

They finally pulled away, her forehead pressed against his temple as his knuckles ran over her warm, soft cheek, something in her gaze he couldn't name.

"Cut! I loved this!" Their director called to them and they let out a loud sigh of relief, as if they had accomplished something very significant. His partner smiled at him.

"Everything's all right?" He asked, somehow condescending towards her, afraid she wouldn't tell him she felt uncomfortable even if she did.

She blinked, surprised by his question, and leaned over him as the crew discussed with each other whether they wanted to change anything in the shot.

"Why are you asking?" She asked lightly, curious, as if she didn't understand what he meant.

There was something intimate about how close her face was, her pleasant scent filling his lungs.

"We didn't talk about this before the scene. You know." He replied, not knowing what else to call what he was thinking about. Her eyes widened as if what he said scared her.

"– oh – no, no – I feel fine – but it's very kind of you to ask –" She whispered warmly, laying her head next to his on the pillow, pressing her forehead to his temple.

"– I feel safe with you –" She said softly into his ear, her words intended only for him.

He swallowed loudly at the thought that this could be a huge mistake on her part.

[runaeveena]

intense meta acting boot camp was actually the best decision they made for filming band of brothers because those actors truly Truly embodied the characters so much so that they physically look different from any other character they play like if i look at any picture of donnie wahlberg anytime in his career i am filled with apathy and disdain EXCEPT for when he is on screen as carwood lipton. you ask me whos my special man that i wish was my mom and i point at his potato ass head, you say "that's donnie wahlberg" and i say no that's band of brothers real life character carwood lipton and you say "bro that's donnie wahlberg he's in blue bloods" and i say no no no thats lip that's my mom and he's having speirs' baby and you say "what" and i point at real life character ron speirs and you say "is that matthew settle? from gossip girl?" but im not even listening anymore because i can't acknowledge these actors existing in anything outside of the 2001 masterpiece band of brothers and then you say "arent these real life people? dont you think youve crossed a line in how you interact with the fictional portrayal of these real people who felt vulnerable and embarrassed about the most traumatic part of their lives being made into a ten part television series?" and i say yeah that's all true, a character is bordered by an outline of historical fact that influences the way a writer or researcher who never met the man can perceive them and then mold personality traits to fit into something palatable for a story that can only try to achieve the truth because all media is art at its core. maybe the real men felt a mixture of relief and disappointment that their lives and stories were not accurately shared, and that's why there's about fifty books about them, but really the reason why there's so many people who are willing to read those books, who want to know more about these men's lives, is because the series showed us a snapshot of ordinary lives being celebrated, and those ordinary lives were crafted, honed, and acted so well because those actors did the most work they could to make each character feel alive and special. even if they weren't accurately portraying the real men, i continue, they are nonetheless influenced by them, literally taking their direction in how to behave and the final product of the show lives on as its own entity, separated from the real people, yet connected by a moment that happened eighty years ago. you nod a bit, "and that's why you're okay writing donnie wahlberg mpreg now?" and for the last fucking time its not donnie wahlberg anymore dale dye beat that name out of him for the entire duration of filming it's LIPTON

[love-toxin]

would yandere Charles Xavier...baby trap his beloved?

OH......YEAH!!!! <3

(cws: DDDNE, fem!reader, crazy fucked up n-con, babytrapping, drunk sex, drugging, pregnancy talk, jealousy, dirty talk, super manipulative yandere charles)

I'm thinking Days of Future Past Charles again....the yearning. The loving glimpses of the life with you he let slip through his fingers. Every day that he's without you is painful, but when he finds you again, he's complete.

There's no way he can let that happen again. Ever. You belong to him. You're part of him. He's become so disillusioned by your reappearance in his life that he can't focus on anything but you. If you let him, all he would do is make love to you every day, kiss you, hold you in his arms, sweep your feet out from under you and carry you wherever you wanted to go. Even when you plead with him to stop taking the drugs, he's just so hooked on the feeling of being there for you that he wants his legs more than his powers. Plus, the sex is incredible when his mind isn't filled with thoughts and worries, and he can move around as freely as he wants. And part of it is perhaps willful ignorance--there's a quiet part of him that doesn't want to hear any negative thoughts in your head. He wants to live in the blissful delusion that you're just as obsessed with him as he is with you, that you want all the same things he does.

And one of those is, well...home. Charles is tired of the people he loves cycling in and out--he's sick of losing people and watching everything he cares about slip away slowly. He has a place to call home, but nothing to fill it with that's distinctly his. It's been a shelter for so long, for Raven, for the X Men, for his students, but he craves something more. Family.

But you can give him that. It would be a blessing, wouldn't it? On good days he watches the way you move, how your eyes light up with your laughter, the sun setting a glow over your skin. It's crude, but he can't help it; you would look so good pregnant. You'd get a cute waddle in your walk, a bump, and you'd have to rely on him so much more to help you when you're far along. He could put a ring on your finger and try for your first the very same night--nobody has to know you haven't had the wedding yet, and who would even care?

When you start having sex regularly, on the daily now that Charles has his muse back, it's obvious he's being risky. Coaxing you into letting him slip the rubber off, so sincere as he promises you he'll pull out...but each time he gets close, so close, that you have to keep your wits about you just to make sure you cry for him to slow down before he lets it get out of hand. The twitching and pulsing and throbbing inside you is so good, but you know Charles is acting strange about doing it unprotected. You gain a sense that he's hiding something but you want to trust your beloved, so you neglect to insist on using condoms again.

That's your own mistake. Charles tries to convince you to let him cum in you, at least once, but he gets more insistent around the time you should be ovulating. It's even harder for you to resist him at that time, but you manage to hold your ground--until he resorts to truly dirty tactics, and gets the two of you drunk while you've got the mansion all to yourselves. As usual, he's handsy right off the bat, kissing you while his belt buckle digs into your soft thigh. He just barely manages to guide you upstairs while he stumbles himself, laughing and cackling along with you as you lean on each other and teeter about the corridor like the drunken fools you are.

As it turns out, Charles is a pretty good actor. And as badly as he feels about it initially, mixing that powder into your drink really did make it easier for him to get his way--you're already fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, and when you trip and fall back against the floor as you stumble into his bedroom, all you can do is giggle dazedly with your eyes closed like you're floating on cloud nine. As he crawls on top of you to help you up (with no intention of actually doing so) he's deft in hiking up your skirt, and though in your drunken state you're conscious enough to tease about him not being as wasted as he seemed, your addled mind has no idea just how true that turns out to be.

When his buckle finally comes loose and he's slowly sliding it in, it's paradise. Your body is willing and your mind is void of common sense; you're barely staying awake as he takes you right there on the floor, skirt pooled around your hips as Charles mutters praises under his breath. "Right there, so tight--such a good mother, you'll make such a good mother, darling-" He can't stop, he might just be addicted to your drugged pussy from that moment on. It's foul, it's disgusting, it's wrong, but when he hitches his hips right up against yours and sucks in a deep breath, knowing you can't say no to what he's about to do, he feels more at peace than he has in years. His shoes squeak against the hardwood as he struggles to pin you down, your limbs twitching and flailing erroneously while he's working on making you a sweet little baby to take care of in the future. Charles eventually resorts to holding your head down with his palm, your cheek pressed to the floor that vibrates with the strength of his thrusts into your pliant body.

"You need this," he mutters under his breath, fighting the guilt settling in his chest at your growing whimpers for mercy. "Last time you ever fucking leave me, whore."

Mmh. Well, maybe he's a little drunk after all. The anger at your disappearance still simmers near the surface, and that betrayal isn't one so easily forgiven. You should be trained out of it so you never make that mistake again. Perhaps becoming a doting mom will fix that defect in you, just as he hopes it fixes the deranged, vile forces inside of him that would have him lure you into something as debased as this. With every plap of his hips growing sticky with your slick, Charles can sense those urges screaming out for him to make you his.

In a haze, he orders you to shut up, to stop that incessant whining and try to enjoy what he's giving you. When you try wiggling your hips away, feebly attempting to escape the pleasure growing harder to resist, he yanks you back on his length and bruises your tits in his rough hands as recompense. If he wasn't intent on impregnating you, he would flip you over and show you how mean he can really get--but he has a job to do first, and he won't let you out from under him until you can't walk without spilling his seed. Even if Erik never laid a hand on you during these long years apart, you still chose another man to scamper off with, and that will never happen again....not if you're all swollen with his baby.

"I-I'll swallow it, Ch-Charlie-" You slur, trailing off into mindless blabber as he bends your knees back to your chest. So cute. You think you can talk yourself out of it, but he's already there--already bursting at the seams with the promise of new life, already biting down on your neck like a hound as the heat overwhelms him and fills you with ropes of thick, virile cum. So potent your body already eases to welcome him in, and your walls tighten and clench when he pulls out, like you don't want to spill even a drop.

You're so fucking drunk, you can't even keep your head up. You look a right sloppy mess, laying there with your skirt pulled up and cum pooling underneath your hips, as if you're some used sex doll that's been kicked under the bed after serving your purpose. But Charles would never think of you that way, and he wants you to know that; Erik may have stolen you away and poisoned your mind against him, but he clearly abandoned you too once he'd taken everything he wanted from you. Yes, he may have taken advantage of you now in a sickening way, but it was for a good reason, wasn't it?

Yes, it was for all the right reasons. Charles has to tell himself that to stave off the guilt that follows, the tension in your shoulders when next he touches you and the fear of him that may never go away. Soon, you'll see that his efforts have borne fruit. And when you tear up and collapse in a panic at the result of the test in your hands, Charles, your Charlie, will be right there to soothe you with promises that everything will be alright.

[comfortless]

so. please consider: König is a prince (yeah we aren’t going full king this route, maybe he has an older brother or some complications having the throne to himself but either way he has some power just not all of it lol) and reader is part of a performing troupe that usually acts out plays outside of the castle. he goes out to watch them and becomes so desperate for her that he gets /her/ to perform as /him/ when the plays are about his heroic deeds or whatever.

i have had this idea stuck in my head for days and i just know you can bring it to life 🩵

the evil little König in my head took over. no one look at me. 🥩🏰

prince!König x fem reader.

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. dubcon. mentions of adultery (not committed by reader or König), corruption kink (virgin!König), cunnilingus, light roleplay, scent & praise kink, smut (piv), reader is kind of evil here (König still manages to be worse), allusions to abduction.

“You are certainly lovelier than my wife, the Queen!”

He had his sword drawn, not high enough to elicit panic, but just enough to know that yes, there was a very present threat. This could be a bloodbath in an instant. Speak another word — he won’t refrain. He feels his teeth grit, grating, ash in the mouth and in the air.

The actors are unaware where they are stood on stage, and the mass of bodies surrounding barely take note of their Prince. A phantom. Loathed thing that he has always been. More hated than even their lecherous, stupid king. There’s only one thing he’s good for and it’s never been politics; there’s no need to garner up public appeal when your stage is a foreign field littered with blood and corpses.

Another insult to his poor mother and the city could be one too.

From a small wooden booth acting as a prop depiction of a brothel, steps a woman. Barefoot, bare flesh, the only thing she wears is a breast band and a loincloth of finely stitched lace. She isn’t a whore, not in truth, but she looks the part of the women his men rush to the second they’ve returned home. Ale and sex in abundance, and he’s never had the focus for the latter after a round of the former.

He watches as she sways, draws her hand to her forehead and bats her lashes while her other trails up her thigh to the hem of the piece concealing her womanhood. She stops with a laugh, turns to the crowd with sparkling eyes and says, “You lot should not cheer! The Queen surely deserves better than a womanizing fool!”

König’s never been one for plays, how tactlessly they slander the royal family and make jest of current affairs. This troupe, though… he thinks it’s done in taste. Or maybe it’s just her.

Even as the aging performer with his weathered face and messy gray beard acting the part of his father rushes to the pretty thing on stage and paws at her waist, König can not tear his eyes away.

The scene reaches its end when the brothel is burned, enacting something horrible the king had done several springs ago. Bereaved, the woman returns to the stage and bares her breasts, monologuing so sweetly as she feigns tears for her fallen sisters.

König swears to be nothing like his father but he still finds his trousers fitting more tightly at the sight, not foul enough to touch himself here, if ever at all. His heart aches with each fragile word spilled from those plush lips, and his cock demands further engagement with each gentle sway of her body and heave of her round tits.

His sword slots back into place at his hip when the scene comes to an end: the crowd a storm of laughter, the fire of the torches illuminating the street flickering, the actors dissipate behind the wooden stage, and all at once the play is over.

Tactless and impulsive, he thinks to thank her for not furthering the set-up for a joke, looks the part of a proper fool when he makes his way backstage where she’s sat wiping away carmine from her cheeks. The actress’ eyes go wide and hazy when she catches sight of him towering over her, the cloth and mirror slipping from her hands to rest on the table.

Of course, she takes it as a warning, asks him if he would prefer they only act out the current affairs— the recent siege of the southern kingdom, maybe? Or a story about the harvest festival? The gods or beasts? Anything she can sputter out to the man she easily recognizes as being the Prince.

König only finds himself further endeared when she dips her head as if ashamed and moves to conceal the bare skin of her stomach as though it would be insulting to see her in such a state of undress.

He excitedly tells her about the siege, of how he slaughtered those treasonous men and so valiantly brought their women and children to the capital to live much more honest lives, boasting while she looks on in acute, wonderous horror. That’s what he chooses, even pulls his hood from his face and drops it into her lap when he tells her she has to play his part.

The actress explains to him, docile and sweet, that she’s never played a male role and certainly lacks the stature to accurately represent him of all people. To which, he laughs, bids her a farewell with a flick of his wrist and wanders back out into the cobblestone and muck to finish up his patrol of the city.

A fortnight later, she returns to the stage in hastily put on armors, his veil hanging proudly about her head, a wooden sword clasped tightly in her hands. The crowd watching laughs at her expense as she tries in earnest to perfect the way she imagined his sword must have danced during that siege. The male actors fall with each tap of the weapon’s tip, and her voice takes on a forced, deeper tone when she speaks her praises to the kingdom she’s pilfered glory for.

König only sees fire, not in the flames of torches but lain out before him, a heat that courses from the picture of this beautiful little doe on stage straight down to simmer in his chest, his stomach. She’s so cute, pretending and doing her best just to appease him that he finds himself backstage again once the play concludes.

It’s just to talk, to congratulate her on a wonderful performance. He even presents a hefty sack of gold coins to her when she returns his veil, and she marvels at the donation, takes each piece and turns it in her fingers for a time before setting the little bag on the table.

Her brow scrunches for a moment before she settles on offering her hand out to him, fingertips ghosting over his upper thigh, loitering on the armor shell protecting him and drifting further up until he takes her hand and interlocks their fingers. Surely then, the actress comes to realize that her prince is as pure as the sisters in their temples.

She breathes out a laugh and shakes her head.

“I mean to pleasure you, my Prince,” she says, less meek now and more insisting. Her hand draws back to remove the prop armor from her body, eyes never leaving his own.

Though he considers the woman’s offer heavily, pulse stampeding and heart aching, he does eventually will himself to voice a weak refusal.

Never does he keep himself holed away from her for long, even after; König returns for each play whilst his men go about patrolling the city for prowlers and thieves. He watches each performance and continuously seeks her out backstage after. They talk each time, with him offering his suggestions and her clamoring for excuses as to why, no, she isn’t fit to play his role for another fight or some drab court meeting.

Finally, the same song and dance proves too much.

This night, there is no play and König still finds himself in the room cluttered with set pieces and props. The other actors have gone about seeking their own affairs for the evening; bedsides to coax comfort from or mugs of ale and bowls of bone to drown themselves in whilst gambling away the coins the hungering crowd has thrown their way.

She sits with him, perched up on her little table wearing nothing at all. Her skin is lit aglow by candlelight, the incense burning bathing all in the welcoming, warm comfort of lavender and rosemary. There’s ash in his chest again when he finds himself at her side, already aching with a want that should not exist, one that he would deny in full with bared teeth and blurry vision.

Only, she doesn’t prompt him with questions when her palms splay flat at the chest of his tunic, just grins like a wolf given a fat leg of mutton when she feels him begin to tense. She assures him that she’s only teaching him to act after demanding that he kneel, catches his jaw atop her hand and guides his face between her thighs where he then pants and groans at the foreign, enticing scent.

It awakens something in him, something bathed out and buried in blood, the very same that courses through his veins like a violent river now. A feral look and an iron grip on her hips that would leave bruises is all she gets. All until she hisses out the words, “I am your princess and you will do as I ask.”

The first lick is hesitant, clumsy, his stubble grazed over her most sensitive parts as he slips his tongue across the smoothness of her slit. He doesn’t have an idea of what he’s doing, only enacting the vile things he’s heard men about the castle speak of, how to properly take a woman apart and push her to not only want, but to need.

Mostly, she’s unimpressed.

When he gathers her taste on his tongue, he becomes a man possessed, ripped away from duty and sovereignty and brought down to the lowness of mere swine. He groans into her cunt, laps and suckles at anything his tongue and lips can touch, savors the sight, dewy and swollen when he presses a kiss to the bud that finally does get her to purr.

“Sweet boy..,” she coos to him when her hands find his hair, petting him so gently as he continues to lap at her clit. “You’re taking such good care of your princess, yes?”

His mind blanks entirely, driven forward with a renewed, feverish vigor as he dismantles her wholly with a drooling mouth and an unrelenting stare. Rationality should have pulled him away before it ever got to this point; she’s a peasant, and he can’t run amok fathering bastards and condemning himself to Hell for a simple woman. But that’s all beaten back by her taste, the way she writhes in his hold, keeps whispering her praises and lacing those soft fingers through his hair… no amount of devils or men could pry him from her cunt.

Only she does when her voice comes in a pant and her grip tightens to pull him back. The table, his face, all sticky and wet with what must have been her very essence, drawn out by a man lacking experience but so unknowingly eager.

“Take off your clothes,” comes her next demand, one he obliges with a great hesitance.

The tunic is pulled away with shaking hands, the tie of his trousers next. He mutters a curse below his breath when his cock springs free, so erect and angry it looks painful. The tip drools just as much as that fluttering heaven between her legs, pearly beads of preejaculate leaking down to stain the fabric and further condemn him to this impromptu fate.

He jerks when she wraps her hand around him there, whines when she leans forward to kiss its head.

“I can’t…” His voice sounds weak to his own ears, pathetic and miserable as he makes a mock attempt at prying her away with a gentle press to her shoulder. “My princess… we should not.”

He’s almost certain she’s a devil herself sent to exact some punishment upon him when her lips curl up into a grin and she lies back with her knees drawn to her chest. She speaks such words to him then that he would not dare to ever repeat, songs only the unknown could sing. An angel, perhaps, when she slips a finger into herself to demonstrate to him just what should be done… there, with panting breaths and whispers of heaven.

And finally, when his cock throbs and kicks at the sight, all resolve is entirely lost. He positions himself over her where she guides the tip of his manhood to her slit, praises his size when his hips give an involuntary twitch and he slightly dips into her, sampling her warmth and the resistance from something so thick pressing into her.

His world crumbles at the sensation, cobblestone replaced by the raging heat of brimstone and an obscene lust that clouds his mind and leads him to spear her open to his hilt.

He finds holiness in their union, bites back a roar when her walls tremble around him. She only laughs when his teeth find her shoulder, only sings more hymns into his ear as he fucks into her cunt at a reckless, brutal pace. The words don’t register, far-away and distant amidst the roaring tide of sensation. She’s so tight, so wet and yearning, quivering beneath him and clawing down his back.

“We shouldn’t, hm?,” she whispers in his ear, teeth grazing the lobe. His strokes become even sloppier, each thrust stuttered and heady when the sound of her voice pulls through the haze of bliss. “My sweet boy is so good at this, though…”

His voice is nearly a wail when he loses himself fully then. He holds the back of her thighs, fucks himself through an orgasm that leaves his head spinning and his body shaking as though he’s come down with some wretched fever. And perhaps he is ill, because he can’t bring himself to think of anything more than the divine rapture of stuffing his seed into the warmth of her pussy, can’t bring himself to pull his cock out of her even when he begins to soften.

His face is buried against her neck, professing his endless love as he breathes her in and ruts into her over and over until his cock is once again stiffened and drooling inside of the very cunt he would die to keep.

Surely, when her troupe begins to pack to drift further out into the kingdom for their performances to be seen… he could accuse them of slander, have the old man playing the part of the lecherous king executed, the others thrown into rat-infested cells, and the little princess tethered to his bed to warm his heart and his cock.

He will kiss away her tears, tell her that all could be forgiven if she would only let him make an honest woman of her.

[slowd1ving]

ACT III: PASSION ✦ . 　⁺ VIL SCHOENHEIT NSFW

Vil Schoenheit and second place aren't supposed to be a thing. He's supposed to be the very embodiment of perfection, so why the hell is someone else's name usurping his crown on the Potions leader board? In which our starring actor cannot quench the flames of academic rivalry and resentment that consume him, nor can he fathom the enigma that you are. gn! scientist! reader warnings: contains nsfw but only later, angst with a happy ending, spoilers for book five, canon-compliant violence

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Scene I: Ember . 　⁺

He’s finally going to be number one, and have the stage all to himself. This is what he tells himself as he washes his face in the evening before the poison assessment.

“Mira, mira, at this moment right now, who is the most beautiful of them all?” Vil murmurs as he gently pats his face dry. It’s been ages since he’s last asked - between photo shoots and schoolwork, he’s barely had time to remember to ask.

“Neige LeBlanche,” the robotic voice echoes from his phone. Vil’s contemplative expression twists into one of scorn. Of course. It’s always him, isn’t it? No matter. He’ll beat both Neige and you very soon. He’ll conquer the stage and make it his.

“Tomorrow,” Vil promises his reflection. Tomorrow his luck will change. The two of you will both be on equal footing.

Surprisingly, these past few weeks have been somewhat enjoyable. You’re a competent manager, he’s forced to admit. It’s almost… fun, he supposes, especially when he sees your eyes tracing his movements across the ballroom. He doesn’t know why he craves that attention; his veins dance with fire after each practice in your presence.

He sets down his face towel on the vanity and rises. He can’t possibly distract himself with you the night before he finally overcomes you. It’s time for his evening tea anyway. Surely the lavender will soothe his turbulent mind. The floorboards creak as he steps out of the room.

Barely any light passes through the narrow corridor leading out of his room. Vil’s hairs almost jump out of his scalp as he feels a warm body collide with his, before callused hands grasp his wrists with a surprising gentleness.

“God, I’m sorry,” Vil almost screams as he hears your voice in the darkness. It’s strangely intimate, with your hands still fumbling around his wrists. He can feel his pulse accelerate, surely with rage, surely-

“Vil?” if he could see your face, he’d be sure you’d be squinting with those furrowed brows. His body stiffens under your touch; he knows you can feel his tension like a tightly coiled spring. “Is that you?”

“Yeah,” he’s not as composed as he should be. Pull yourself together. Your hands let go abruptly, and he hears your footsteps shuffle backwards inch by inch. He doesn’t know why he feels this pit in his stomach.

“My bad for bumping into you,” you brush past him, suddenly better adjusted to the dim lighting, it seems. “The storeroom’s right next to yours.”

Then, you’re gone. Vil lingers in the corridor, still surprised by what happened. He makes his way to the kitchen slowly, still feeling the lingering embers of your touch on his skin. It’s not quiet in there - he’d give a whole lot of thaumarks to sit and brood in silence for a bit, but nothing seems to be going his way today clearly.

Rook’s furiously penning something on the kitchen table, no doubt another poem of his. Some things never change. Kalim sits draped over the table with a hand of cards laying despairingly in front of him. The offenders who caused this misery are none other than Ace and Grim, who look ever so pleased with their own hand.

“Ah, Roi des Poisons,” Rook’s greeting causes eyes to turn towards Vil. “Have you thought of a prize yet?”

“Prize?” Grim’s eyes light up with interest; beside him, Ace’s expression is a mirror of that cat’s. They really are two peas in a pod, even if they vehemently deny it. “What prize?”

“Yeah, what prize?” you chime in from behind Vil. The tone of an instigator is present in your voice as you brush past Vil once again - he’s suddenly hyper aware of his surroundings. You survey the kitchen, slapping down a colourful deck of cards on the table. “Rook?”

“The prize for the poison assessment, bien sûr,” Rook explains, peering at the cards you’ve brought. “What is this- Uno? What’s that?”

“There’s a prize for the poison assessment?” you tilt your head in confusion, swivelling to Vil inquiringly. At the same time, Vil spots Kalim and Trappola look at each other with very intently pondering expressions.

“Is this the same assessment used to choose the Pomefiore housewarden?” Ace blurts out. His brows are clearly having a disagreement with each other with how far they’re furrowed. “Why would the Prefect be involved in that?”

“Surely.. Did you challenge Vil for the title of Housewarden?” Kalim swivels his head to you with anticipation in his voice. You frown and hold up your hand. Why haven’t you told your friends about this? Do you not realise the true magnitude of this assessment?

“Other way round,” your reply is accompanied by that annoying shrug. Clearly, that dim-witted Grim lacks basic comprehension skills.

“Henchman, has he challenged you for the seat of Prefect?” Grim’s smug question is met with silence. Trappola’s clearly struggling to contain his laughter.

“Huh?” you stifle a laugh behind your hand. “No, I was just challenged.”

“Why the hell would anyone want to be Prefect of this place?” Trappola chokes out. Vil can’t even bring himself to be surprised - of course they’d focus more on this dump of a place than the extremely rare poison assessment.

“We’re getting off topic,” you interrupt the fits of giggles Ace has somehow dragged Kalim into. “What prize would I get, since I can’t exactly take your seat?”

“More importantly, what does Vil want?” Ace glares at Vil. He hasn’t really thought about it; the taste of victory feels like it’ll be more than enough. Vil glances at you, noticing the way your expression’s become contemplative. He hates it. He hates the way you look at him with those eyes full of thought, full of knowledge, full-

“He stands to gain victory,” Rook remarks from the table. “For some, pursuit of success and achieving that is the greatest prize one can hope for. Vraiment, c’est beau, the tenacity of it all. Isn’t that right, Roi des Poisons?”

“That’s so stupid,” Grim blurts out. “You’re doing this for a feeling?”

Vil is silent. He’s thinking.

“Yes,” Vil concurs. “I will be satisfied with the taste of victory as my prize.”

“That’s it?” Grim’s sceptical voice is starting to irritate him. “What about you, henchman? Remember, he’s got a buncha thaumarks from acting and whatnot. Milk him for all he’s worth.”

“I’ll decide what my prize will be when I win,” you meet Grim’s eyes levelly. Vil can see the urge to argue rise up within that demonic cat, but ultimately the cat backs down seeing the conviction in your stance.

“How wonderful,” Rook praises. “J’adore t’assurance, trickster.”

“Thanks, I guess,” you pull out a chair beside Rook, sliding over the colourful pack of cards you unceremoniously dumped on the table earlier. Upon closer inspection, they seem to be brightly coloured with markers and fineliner. Homemade cards? “Now, let me explain to you the wonderful game of Uno…”

Your voice fades to nothing as Vil wordlessly slips out of the kitchen. He can’t even remember what he came here for. He’s forgotten it all. Pale gold hair falls out of its perfect arrangement as he desperately runs his fingers through his hair to distract him from his heated face. Surely what he’s feeling is hatred right? Surely he’s not replaying your rough touch on his wrists over and over in his mind?

The door is shut with a swift kick behind him. Vil stands in the solace of his guest room in Ramshackle. The only sound to be heard is the muffled chatter from the kitchen below and his heavy breathing. He should sleep, right? Sleep’s embrace will wash all his feelings away, right? He sinks onto the bed with all the odd assorted blankets toppling from their carefully folded pile. Sleep won’t come easy tonight, he can already predict.

He’s right.

Scene II: Blue Flame . 　⁺

His dreams are turbulent at first; kaleidoscopes of nightmares and death grip his mind, most of them caused by his signature spell. Only the impression of fear remains as the backdrop inside his mind eases into a canvas of a rich sanguine.

Something within him blazes alight.

The mirages of his dreams have never been so brazenly- His train of thought is completely derailed as he feels warm lips press against his wrists in chaste kisses, lingering for only a few seconds. Vil’s heart skips with anticipation as whoever it is gently clasps his wrists, so familiar to what happened earlier that he cannot help but look-

There you are.

Your expression is positively enchanting with how you look at him like that. Like he’s the most beautiful being you’ve ever seen. It’s not enough. He needs that look permanently engraved onto his optic nerve - the soft smile you give him is causing his mind to go hazy, the soft smile you give whenever you’re in the middle of lab work. It’s full of pure adoration and glee and he wants nothing more than to look up on that charming visage forever.

“Please,” his voice sounds distorted and muffled. The scarlet haze of the background slowly morphs into his familiar room at Pomefiore. And you - you’re above him, pressing him into his very bed. A teasing expression paints itself on your face as you kiss his jaw; all your movements are agonisingly slow. You treat him with care, sucking and nibbling on his collarbone while he’s seeing galaxies unfurl behind you. He’s so utterly gone.

You’re deftly unbuttoning his dorm uniform shirt while he gazes at you with what he can only imagine to be starry eyes. It’s carefully folded neatly beside him before he can blink. Warm hands caress his body; he can feel the rough, callused skin brush against his waist and shivers. Your body hovers above his, just barely brushing over him. More, he wants to ask, please, do anything, but his lips betray him and he cannot get any words to leave his mouth. This languid pace you’ve adopted is nothing short of torturous. He can only hope his pleading eyes convey the message.

He lies on the deep blue sky of his cape, submerged in the midnight silk as you finally close the gap between your body and his. Whatever he was thinking about flies out of the window when he feels the warmth of your lips on his - finally. Vil’s eyes flutter closed and his hands clasp around the back of your neck so he can press himself into you further and further. Hyperaware. That’s how he feels right now, so much that he can feel your muscles tug your lips up into a smile. He can feel the way your hand wraps around his waist to pull his pelvis onto yours. He can feel the way your other hand presses down into the bed so you don’t fully sink onto him. He adores the way the two of you fit into each other.

“You’re the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen,” you murmur into his mouth. Vil hasn’t realised just how much he’s longed to hear those words until a heavy weight suddenly lifts from him. Curse his racing heart. Curse his flushed face. Curse you for making his soul do leaps and bounds. “Allow me to take care of you.”

You press your mouth against his, still keeping that maddening pace. Vil’s slowly coming undone from just this. His legs part as your knee slots between them. The whine emerging from his throat is muffled by your tongue in his mouth. Any self-control he might’ve had is beaten to a bloody pulp when your knee applies more pressure, and suddenly he’s grinding up against it to chase that high. The warm feeling of pleasure is slowly spreading throughout his stomach; he’d never thought he’d see the day where it came from you of all people.

Stars. That’s what plays behind his eyelids as he closes them, overwhelmed by the pleasure of being practically devoured by you. Your deft scientist’s hand moves from where it’s nestled in the slope of his waist and moves to his chest, where it lazily draws circles around his nipple. Vil lets out a strangled moan at the divine sensation of the rough pads of your fingers. More. He needs more of your touch. He needs you, he needs-

Vil wakes up with a rough start in his bed, breathing heavily. What the actual fuck. It’s completely dark outside and he can feel the uncomfortable sensation of sweat accumulated at his thighs and back. He grabs his phone from where it lays carelessly on the nightstand.

3:02 AM.

Details of his dream come flooding back to him vividly. He can feel a crimson flush bleed onto his cheeks like red ink. Not only has his sleep been interrupted, it’s been interrupted by you. Try as he might, he can’t get the image out of his head. Deep shame settles in his very bones - he can’t be thinking about his rival this way. He hates you, damn it! He hates the way you looked at him, as if you knew about the bottomless chasm of insecurity within him and still adored him nonetheless-

He covers his face with his hands with a groan, digging into his soft skin. He can’t spend the rest of the night wallowing in misery, not when there’s the poison assessment literally hours away. Whatever shame and other, inexplicable feelings pertaining to you, that will all be dealt with after the poison assessment. After he’s gone back to sleep.

3:13 AM.

Of course it won’t be that easy to slip back into the recesses of his slumber. Not when his mind is still plagued with you. Embers of desire still burn deep within his stomach; all he craves right now is to be touched. Sharp pain blossoms on his bottom lip as he bites down to suppress the small groan rising in his throat. He wants to scream. How dare the universe play this cruel joke? How dare his subconscious ruin his night sleep? His beauty sleep?? Not once in the past few years has his slumber been interrupted this badly.

His eyelids squeeze together and he forces his breathing to calm itself. Surely he can just act out the part of someone sleeping like a log, then his body will follow? Method acting. He forces his body to tense up for several seconds, then lets his muscles unravel to stimulate a relaxed state. He’s so tired. That must’ve worked, right?

The landscape of his mind is dark grey; he fades in and out of consciousness. He’s been trying to keep his mind completely clear to no avail. The half-slumbering state is broken instantly when his bed creaks underneath him. Annoyance builds within him as he slams his hand down on the goddamn mattress - he’s not even surprised by the appalling conditions of the room, but at least let the goddamn beds be goddamn functional-

3:35 AM.

The light of the phone almost blinds him when he picks it up. Overwhelming frustration thrums through his veins. Half an hour has been wasted, all because his subconscious put you into his dreams. Shame drips over his very being as he realises that the deep desire within his stomach still hasn’t been quenched. It’s gnawing away at whatever self-restraint he’s got. Vil wants to scream at the absurdity of it all. He who can woo millions with his performances, he who is world-renowned for his acting, he who can enrapture the hearts of those who surround him - he cannot even deceive himself and quash these desires.

He can’t even take a cold shower to take care of his problem. It would just disrupt his night’s sleep even further - he cannot afford that at all when the assessment tomorrow requires him to have razor-sharp wits. Biting his lip, the shame of what he’s about to do drenches him from head to toe. Of all nights…

His manicured hand carefully wanders down his body. Best to get this over with as quickly and with the least amount of effort possible. The tight fabric of his pants over the crotch is swiftly discovered by one hand, whilst the other creeps in under his shirt. He’s once again thankful that he’s been given his own room in the crumbling dormitory (and especially, especially thankful Rook’s room isn’t in the general vicinity).

A strangled moan leaves his throat and into the cotton of his shirt from where he’s stuffed some into his mouth. The stimulation his hand is giving him through the fabric of his pants feels heavenly after all the times he’s suppressed any form of desire. His other hand is circling his nipples, though it doesn’t feel as good as the rough friction of your-

Stop. Vil forces that thought out of his mind, choosing to concentrate purely on his body and the way his hips move upwards to chase that delicious high. It doesn’t take much to have his mind unravel from the pleasure, especially after that earlier- Again, he forcibly removes all thoughts out of his brain to focus on literally anything else.

Muffled groans escape his lips as he speeds up his actions, pushing his mind to that brink. His chest rises and falls faster and faster; he wants nothing more than to draw his pleasure out at the same agonising pace you- He does his best to ignore that, actually. The pressure created by his hand increases, forcing more and more noises out of his throat. His back arches in pure ecstasy. That all-consuming pleasure is finally within his grasp. His legs squeeze together as he finally lets go.

The sensation of the warm rivulets moving across the fabric brings him crashing back to reality. Shit. He’s not one for vulgarity, but it seems you’ve finally influenced him to break that habit. He’ll have to clean up properly in the morning, but he absolutely has to do something about the pants. He swiftly heads to the adjourning bathroom to change his garments and wipe himself down.

3:55 AM.

It’s almost four when he sinks back onto the bed, wracked with shame but finally, finally, his body listens to him and he can finally sleep.

He doesn’t remember his dreams after that point at all.

Scene III: Interlude . 　⁺

Vil doesn’t even look at you in the kitchen while he prepares a smoothie with the rickety blender that’s wobbling precariously on the counter he’s left it on. Your presence makes the back of his neck prickle.

“What do you mean you’ve got the poison assessment to do with the Housewarden of Pomefiore of all people?” Jamil’s flabbergasted voice resounds behind Vil. Seems like Jamil’s only just now found out about the challenge, and it’s elicited the only correct response to hearing about it.

“What is that shrug supposed to mean?” Vil can almost picture that priceless look of horror on Jamil’s face while you nonchalantly stuff your face with breakfast and shrug. “Do you have any idea what a rare occurrence this is?”

“Chill out,” your voice is only a mumble as Vil hears you chew between words. He can’t bring himself to turn around and shoot you a disgusted look like he would’ve done any other time. Curse you. “I dome think it’s that big of a-” you swallow loudly here. “-deal.”

“Right, I’m going to ignore that for the sake of my sanity,” Jamil’s voice is clearly on the verge of snapping. “One day that laid-back attitude will bite you in the ass.”

A flurry of sputtering and coughing behind him lets him know that you’re laughing right in Jamil’s face. It’s very interesting to hear the normally composed young man also unravel at your annoying nature. Your idiocy knows no bounds, it seems.

“Sorry,” you don’t sound sorry at all. Vil pours out his smoothie, listening to Jamil’s muttered expletives.

“Bonjour, trickster,” Vil turns just in time to witness Rook’s lips meet the back of your hand as you let out a small giggle. His eye twitches.

“Bonjour to you too, Monsieur Chapeau,” Vil stares incredulously at the two of you, before Jamil voices exactly what Vil’s thinking.

“Since when-” Jamil’s furrowed brows finish off the question for him. Why the hell were you suddenly acting like Rook? And why the hell were you accepting his advances with that laugh?

“C’est vraiment un beau jour,” Rook looks around the kitchen with a pleased smile plastered on his face. “The air of competition is such a tantalising scent.”

“Glad to see there are multiple clowns not taking this seriously,” Jamil mutters, once again an extension of what Vil’s thinking.

“I am taking this seriously,” you pout, draping your chin onto the palm of your hand. “I’ve already packed up my equipment ready to go to the lab. I hate how there’s no cars here though.”

“Cars?” Jamil blinks. “Nevermind, I don’t want to-”

“Henchhuman!” Grim’s annoying yowl disrupts whatever semblance of peace was in the kitchen before. Vil once again feels that reprehensible eye twitch emerge again.

“Whaddya want?” your mouth is full of food once again. Vil doesn’t even bother to hide his disgusted scowl as you loudly swallow once again. At least you have the shreds of decency to cover your mouth while you speak, unlike a rowdy little Epel he knows.

“Make sure you beat his ass, henchhuman!” Grim’s enthusiastic cheer leads to you petting his head expeditiously, while both Jamil and Vil look at the weird interaction with nothing but incredulity.

“You bet,” your smile is sharp with competition as you look at Vil. He almost chokes on his smoothie when he meets your eyes. There’s nothing friendly in that gaze; he can feel the competitive fire with him blaze up in all its glory. Finally, he can feel the pure resentment build up, the way it should be.

“Not if I crush you first,” Vil’s smile is as sardonic as he can manage, but you don’t flinch away from it. Grim shudders beside you, remembering the whooping he got from Vil several weeks back with Ace and Deuce.

“Keep dreaming, pretty boy,” you tilt your head to the side slightly, and Vil feels your words impact him as the back of his neck flushes beneath his hair. Curse you.

“I’m adoring the fierce competition,” Rook marvels, glancing between the two of you with wonderment. Vil tears his eyes from you to watch as the hunter’s expression becomes one of exalted joy.

“I’m not,” Jamil cuts in. “Get a room.”

“Mornin’, Prefect,” Epel yawns as he comes into the room, Kalim being a few steps behind him. “G’luck in the assessment. Beat that snobby wuss.”

Vil doesn’t even know what to scold Epel for: that flagrant disrespect or his elocution. So he just ignores it, exiting the kitchen as it slowly fills up with more people. He needs to calm his racing heart before the poison assessment rolls round.

He needs to get you out of his head, as soon as humanly possible.

Scene IV: Poison . 　⁺

Acrid smells meet his nose as Vil strides into the laboratory that’s almost exclusively used for matters such as these. Traces of his own poison assessment still cling to the air, with the species of fungi he used all those years ago being one of the more prominent scents.

You’re already there with your equipment - thankfully, none of the huge clanging machines present in your lab are there. However idle-brained you present yourself literally everywhere else, he’s sure you’ll have meticulously checked with Crewel that all your equipment meets assessment regulations and ensures fair play. After all, you didn’t have to tell Vil anything about magical resistivity. You especially didn’t have to put yourself at a disadvantage just so the two of you would start off on equal footing.

He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised by your noble nature.

Perhaps you would’ve been better suited if you ended up at RSA. He’s loath to admit it, but you’re a far cry from a lot of the twisted individuals at Night Raven College. His train of thought is cut off by Crewel’s entrance.

“Good luck to both of you pups,” Crewel’s voice hasn’t got that usual sharp edge in it. He seems to be genuinely rooting for two of his best students. Vil finds himself oddly moved.

It’s not yet time. Vil’s hands work quickly to unpack his own utensils on his workbench, stationed several metres opposite yours. His eyes sneak glances at you: the way your goggles are slightly lopsided, the way your lab coat is properly buttoned for once but still covered in that awful doodle-embroidery (seriously, where the hell could you have found the time-), the way you’re wearing bright pink rubber gloves. All these aspects are carefully documented and filed away in his brain, much to his behest.

His own lab coat is completely wrinkle-free, with his goggles designed to not only protect his eyes completely, but to match his face shape as well. The rubber gloves he sports are a tasteful deep blue that matches his dorm uniform. He knows he cuts an elegant figure in the lab outfit. Yet you don’t even spare him a glance, like you would otherwise in a lab setting. In fact, your face lacks its normal joviality that’s present when normally doing lab work.

Is this how you look when you’re in your lab back home? Your gaze piercingly meets your utensils and equipment, checking meticulously for any sort of flaws or issues. The movements you make don’t have that usual lackadaisical quality; instead, you handle everything smoothly and with grace. Have you been putting on a performance the whole time? Vil feels his throat dry up at the revelation. It’s awfully off putting, the way he’s never seen this expression on your face before. Sure, your eyes are still filled with passion, but this is the first time he’s seen you this focused.

You’re serious.

His blood pumps with a renewed vigour. You’re finally taking him seriously. Heavy thumps resound throughout his ears - it seems his heartbeat matches the anticipation he’s feeling. Beneath it all, a trickle of fear is stimulated by the frigid expression you wear. He has to beat you, no matter the cost.

“Before we begin, I’ll go over the rules,” Crewel announces. He’s sitting at the desk with several papers neatly spread before him. It’s almost identical to Vil’s last experience. Vil sees you place down the cloth and antiseptic you’ve been using to disinfect your bench before beginning, and don new gloves.

“You both have exactly three hours to create your most potent poison. Raw, or up to 20% refined ingredients are the only ingredients allowed here. Magic is only permitted for the use of the potion. Memory spells and any interfering with your opponent's potion are prohibited. The use of notes, flashcards, and anything of that ilk is also prohibited. This room is purposefully designed to ward off foul play,” Crewel concludes, looking between the two of you. His eyes soften. “I’m sure both of you will compete fairly and proudly as befitting of my pups.”

With a wave of his hand, a three-hour timer appears on his desk. Smaller, translucent timers also appear to float in front of both workbenches. Vil steels himself. With a deep breath, he coaxes the adrenaline to course through his cells. Success. His wits are razor-edged, and he can almost feel each neuron firing.

“You may begin,” Crewel’s words don’t cause you to scurry around like the previous Pomefiore housewarden. Instead, you carefully take out a balance and some beakers. Vil realises he’s watching you instead of beginning. Curse this. Curse you for distracting him yet again.

His scalpel swiftly dissects Solemn Nightroot as his first ingredient. The acidic juices slowly drip down into his pristine measuring cylinder. His recipe for most potent poison has remained unchanged; the only refinement, really, is that of his signature spell he used last time to imbue the poison with the most deadly curse he can conjure up. His potion last time was as perfect as it could be, being 94 points while his housewarden’s only had 90 points. Stupid magical resistivity. He’s not going to hold back.

Vil’s movements are perfect as he carefully double-strains the acid, then adds chlorine to kill off any microbes that would absolutely interfere with the next ingredients he plans to add. He breathes in the comforting gunpowder smell of fire spells as he lights his Bunsen burner with a careful swish of his hand. He pours the Nightroot into a beaker, opening the flame into a roaring blue one. He takes his container of Arrow Monkshood to the oil extractor at the corner of the room, taking solace in the whirring of the machine.

Over in the other corner, he can see you working with the fume hood. Strangely, beside you is a microscope and a Petri dish. He’s got no time to dawdle, so he heads back while the oil drips into the container he’s set underneath it. The fractional distiller is tucked away in the corner of the lab, and he sets it up on his workbench. The fraction he’s hoping to extract from the oil unfortunately has a boiling point of 350 degrees, so it’s going to take a while to get there. The oil’s poured into the distiller and the flame gets going. He’s got a few seconds to catch his breath and watch whatever the hell you’re doing.

You appear to be… incubating something? Not only that, you’ve got a decidedly assured stance. You know exactly what you hope to achieve with the poison. Vil feels a shiver run down his spine. His poison may not be enough - he has to evolve. That 94 threshold is simply not enough. What had you said a few weeks prior in your lab? “Plus, my refinery skills are so unbelievably sexy.” He doesn’t doubt it, not with all the whirring machinery that you’ve deftly hooked up together. Just a few tweaks - he needs to have only the purest ingredients within that potion to even scrape past your level.

He separates the fraction and takes it to the lab’s refinery machine; from what he can see, it just looks like a regular distiller, but it’s probably got a built-in magical filter to purify the specimen put in. The wait time goes by in a flash as he checks on his boiling Nightroot acid, slowly adding in powdered raw Devil's Claw berries - aptly named for their odd, teardrop shape that tapered off into a curved point. He adds the powder until it’s in excess then waits until the solution is cooled down before filtering.

What’s left before him is a pitch-black solution that’s now only missing several key ingredients: colourful frog poison, the Arrow Monkshood essential oil, and his signature spell. Innovation. He needs to change the way he thinks to beat you. Luckily, he thought ahead and brought some belladonna berries. Last time, the naturally secreted poisonous mucus from the colourful frogs wasn’t refined either. He brings the berries over to the juicer, watching the deep purple liquid pour into the flask. Next, he takes both the mucus and juice to the distiller, removing the beaker of distilled oil.

One hour and thirty-four minutes remain. He’s practically almost finished, but he can’t let himself get overly confident. There are still several steps to complete in the correct order. Meanwhile, he can barely tell what you’re doing as you wear a different pair of what seem to be magnifying goggles. You’re also wearing a respirator mask with tubing streaming outwards behind you. In your hands, you seem to be prodding the Petri dish you’ve procured with what appears to be electrical wires. There’s about five various colourful pieces of apparatus set up, all containing bubbling potions. You’re incomprehensible, you know that?

Vil doesn’t even want to know what the hell you’re doing. He turns back to the distiller, placing the mucus in one compartment, then the juice into the one below it. Fragrant essential oil wafts upwards from the Arrow Monkshood beaker. Cautiously, he carries it back over to his workbench, setting it next to the pitch black solution in the beaker. It’s slowly measured out and stirred into the solution meticulously. Even as it is, it should be graded at a rough 70 points.

The purified juice of belladonna berries is boiled into gaseous form and captured as such. Wisps of Vil’s magic wraps around the test tube it’s in to ensure it stays as bubbles and keeps the energy levels of a gas. The purified mucus is added straight in, with seven equal parts and seven counter-clockwise stirs in between. Finally, he can siphon the jet black solution into the exam flask, before adding the gas into it. The bottle is sealed with the exam provided cork and shaken gently. That cork won’t come off until it’s arrived safe and sound at the Research Institute for Curses and Poisons.

Thirty-nine minutes remain. Plenty of time to visualise the strongest curse he can imagine and infuse it into the bottle. Vil resists the urge to sit down and break one of the cardinal rules of lab practicals. Standing meditation will do. But before that, he has to clear away the equipment. It takes a quick five minutes, plus some magic, until he’s tidied everything up. Now, he can focus.

He peels off his rubber gloves, setting them aside on the bench. Direct contact is essential for Fairest One of All to work. Deep breaths. He clasps the warm flask between his hands. Eyes closed. A painful death to whoever is unfortunate to partake in this fatal drink. It’s not enough. Vil musters up all the shame, rage and resentment within him. I hate you. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t actually hate you. A loveless, lonely death to whoever’s lips this poison touches. The ugly monster within stirs. Forever shall the person sleep. It’s almost cathartic, to unload all that onto the flask he clasps.

He cracks his eyes open to observe the colour change - the abysmal black churns into a neon toxic green, bubbling menacingly within. It’s his best poison yet. Vil knows this. The only question is whether it’ll be enough.

Twenty-four minutes remain. Vil sticks a label with his name, age and house onto the little flask. It makes a satisfying thud when he places it onto Crewel’s desk. The only thing he can do until time’s up is sit in silence until you’re finished.

Vil watches you, slightly flabbergasted as you pull out a cocktail shaker to quickly mix your ingredients. Are you secretly a goddamn bartender? Somehow, you strain the suspicious, colour changing liquid directly into the narrow flask without letting any of the potion drip out. Your deft hands grab a test tube without even looking and precisely decant half of it into the flask, gently swirling it all the while.

Whatever was in the Petri dish is unceremoniously scooped out and shoved into the flask. Vil watches along in bemusement as you cork the flask and stand back proudly with your hands on your hips, before efficiently clearing up your station.

Fifteen minutes remain. Your station and home equipment is back to looking squeaky-clean. Another thud is heard as you place your own flask beside Vil’s. It’s strangely.. intimate, Vil observes, seeing the two creations touch side by side.

“A quick explanation of how the poison works so we can test the efficacy,” Crewel shows a rare smile on his face as he looks at the pair of you.

“My poison sends the victim into an eternal sleep in the span of approximately three seconds depending on body weight,” Vil explains briefly. “The actual stages of death are designed to feel completely isolating.”

“Wonderful,” Crewel picks up the potion with the same proud smile. “You’ve beat your five second average. What about you, pup?”

“My poison is a virus that acts by removing the victim’s magical resistance completely, before causing total cell annihilation within two seconds,” you explain slowly, clearly suppressing your excitement with the way you’re wringing your hands into the hem of your lab coat. Vil almost shudders at your enthusiasm at creating a piece of biological warfare; he’s glad it’s limited to this assessment.

“Virus? I can’t say I’ve ever heard of a poison utilising that particular medium for this assessment. People always tend to go with fungi as the pathogen,” Crewel comments with interest. “How have you engineered that?”

“Electrical fusion between rapidly multiplying viruses and my cells,” you gesture to the little Petri dish in the biological waste bin. “I chose the fastest magical one and boom- you’ve got a nasty little concoction that can be spread through both the air and liquids.”

“Marvellous,” Crewel holds your shimmering potion to the light, noting the colour changes. “I’ll also be sure to take your resistivity study papers with me to the Institute.”

“Thanks, sir,” you beam proudly. Vil can’t even bring himself to dislike you at that moment. You’ve worked hard, he’s seen it all too clearly.

“Scurry along, pups. You’ve both done a wonderful job,” Crewel shoos both of you along with an extremely proud expression. “I’ll send your equipment back to Ramshackle.”

“Thanks,” you call, turning your head as you exit the classroom. Your expression is giddy; Vil can see the urge to holler and skip within you. Your goggles are pushed back on top of your head, and the sun is gently kissing your features. For once, you don’t ignore him, chatting his ear off as if the two of you were friends.

It’s finally over.

He’s done what he can. He’s pushed himself to the limit to beat you. Now all that remains is Neige.

“Then I was absolutely sweating balls when I saw my little viruses not behaving properly,” you yammer, gesturing wildly. “Luckily I had my electrodes, or they might’ve crawled everywhere, y’know?”

Vil does not know. In fact, he doesn’t think he even wants to know. Ignorance truly is bliss.

He’s enjoying this sense of normalcy. In most cases, he rarely ever gets the chance to experience this. It’s part of the isolating experience of striving to be the most beautiful. His actor and model colleagues look at him with envy, and his fans with fervent adoration. But you, you’re undaunted by his beauty and treat him like he’s not some distant being.

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re still a prick,” you ramble on. Vil is once again glad you don’t like him because of his attitude, rather than his beauty. “But this competition was really fun.. I’m glad you challenged me.”

Vil blinks owlishly in surprise.

“Any thoughts on what you’d want as a prize?” Vil finally adds to the conversation. Of course he’ll pull through, but in the small possibility that you might be the winner (that innovative virus might sway the panellists, after all), he’s curious as to what you’ll select.

“Worried I’ll beat you?” you grin at him. It’s not the friendly grin you give to your friends - really, this one looks more like that troublesome Floyd Leech’s - but he’ll take it nonetheless. After all, the two of you aren’t friends. You interject before he can even think of a response. Of course he’s not worried. “I still haven’t decided. Money’s not really something I care about when my potions are so lucrative.”

Well, that’s decidedly not a relief. Vil can only imagine the horrors you might ask of him. Curse this. He should’ve done this Azul-style, with a clear contract to make it binding.

“I’m not gonna ask for your heart on a platter or anything, geez,” you mimic his widened eyes. “Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“I’m not,” the lie slips off his lips like butter. “I’ve no doubt that I can fulfil whatever you desire should you win.”

Curse his poor word choices. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes widen even further in surprise. Curse whatever implication he’s just made accidentally, especially after last night.

“Oh?” your lips tug upwards, barely missing a beat. Vil’s heart races, but he just stares you down impassively. “I’m sure you can.”

Your drawl makes him want to explode into little pieces and wriggle away. He loathes this feeling, loathes the way you make him want your attention, he loathes everything about that malicious smile you sport.

Curse you.

[misguidedasgardian]

Blurred Lines (2)

2. All in

MASTERLIST

Summary: You don’t know how you got to the point where Jace was just… living there with you… you liked it though

Warnings:  Cursing, cheating, adultery, talks about body shaming, therapy, misogynistic undertones (“man of the house” and whatnot), Harwin is not a good person on this… and Jace isn’t either, implied tampering with birth control, spy cameras, a bit creepiness, alcohol consumption, reader is a bit drunk in some parts, masturbation, fingering, inappropriate relationship, smut, oral sex (m receiving)

Wordcount: 4.9k

Notes: OH MY! things are heating up, I really don’t want to drag this along hehe, I want to just get to the good part

He knew that he had to bid his time, that he needed to draw you in, but as he sneaked a peek at you, he got so tempted…

He had picked a movie called “the boy next door”, in which a separated woman who is going through a divorce, moves to a small town where she starts an affair… with the 20 year old boy next door. You looked away at the very hot sex scene between them

The mom was interpreted by a famous actress, a singer, a hot, mature one.

You were acting so coy, looking away, Jace got painfully hard just by looking at you. You had “made yourself comfortable”, wearing some black cotton leggings that did nothing to hide your delicious thighs and ass. and that sweater too big for you

Now you were curled up on the couch, nursing your beer.

Jace could bet you thought it was hot, that’s why you were so embarrassed, the best part is that he was older than the guy in the movie, and you were way younger than her…

Jace always thought it was creepy how there was a huge age gap between you and Harwin, and a much lesser one between you and him. 

“You didn’t like the movie?”, he asked, making you jump. You laughed coyly

“It’s good”, you muttered, nodding and taking a sip, “a bit kinky Jace”

“Oh right”, he mocked, you were twenty nine, a week shy of turning thirty, you were not an old woman, you were barely getting started 

Why couldn’t you see that?”

He put on his best puppy dog face

“Yeah, it’s awkward”, he muttered, turning towards you, “can I ask you a question?”, he asked, when the actress was whining about her cheating ex-husband

“Yeah”, you said, smiling encouragingly at him

“What happened between you and Harwin?”, Harwin, not dad, he couldn’t have you connecting those dots tonight 

You took a sip of your second beer

“It’s complicated Jacey”, you said softly

“I’m sure you can work it out”, he said dismissively, he was being risky, but he needed to know, he needed to know by your own words what happened, and then he could exploit it 

“I’m not so sure”, you whispered, taking yet another sip of beer, Jace had you exactly where he wanted you

“Why did you kick him out?”, he asked then

“Jace..”

“What did he do that was so bad?”, he said innocently

“Well. we drew apart last year and… well, he was feeling lonely I guess, I was too occupied with Aerea…”, Jace blood was boiling, he couldn’t believe was he was hearing, you were trying to soften the fact that the bastard had cheated on you, only for him to hear, his son

Gods you were so fucking good

So nice

He couldn’t wait to keep you full of his cock, because if you kept that up, you are never going to refuse him once he starts fucking you 

“He felt lonely?”, he couldn’t keep the ruse up for long, “what does that mean?”

“Jace I really don’t want to speak ill of your father”, you whispered 

“He cheated on you, didn’t he?”, he asked, and to you, he was appearing completely heart broken, like he just learned his hero had done something terrible

Jace should be an actor

“Well…”

“What a cunt!”, he cursed

“Jace, he is your father!”, you chided, “he cheated on me, not you”

“How could he?”, he continued, “how could he cheat on you? you are beautiful, smart, funny, hot as hell”

“Jace!”, you said, embarrassed that he would call you that… hot as hell. what a joke

“Why would he?”, he asked again, “he must be insane!”

“Well Jace, my pregnancy wasn’t easy, and women bodies change when they… get pregnant, and after they give birth”, you whispered, remember sadly how Harwin loved to make the baby, but not as much once she was about to be born or already here, when your body started changing 

“You can’t be serious!”, he snapped, “you are blaming yourself?”

“I shouldn’t have told you”, you said, feeling guilty

“I’m glad you did”, he made his play, he placed a hand on your shoulder, and your raised your gaze again to look at him wide-eyed, “he has never stopped disappointing me, this doesn’t surprise me”, he admitted, “but I’m glad I can be here for you”

“Thank you”, you said, smiling softly, he caressed your arm

“He doesn’t deserve you, or Aerea”, he whispered, “come here”, he was all in, you smiled and happily scooched over to his open arms, to hug him

A seemingly kind, warm gesture

“I’m glad you are here Jacey”, you whispered 

“I’m glad to be here to keep you company”, he said against the top of your head, “you deserve better, a man that cares for you, desires you, takes care of your daughter…”

“Thank you Jacey, and I have to say, you and your brothers will always be welcomed in my home”

. . .

Tonight had gone way better than he expected

Through the camera in your room, Jace could you tossing and turning in your bed, it was still hot outside, you were sleeping in these flimsy cotton shorts, and you accommodated yourself placing the sheet between your thighs, you bend your back, popping out your ass

Fuck

He was already hard

He took out his cock, already weeping, and he started squeezing it and stroking

You were right there

Just two rooms over

He could go, open the door, rip your shorts off your body, and fuck you

He know you’d love it, you were so deprived of physical love and affection

He needed to exploit it

He touched himself at the visual of the two of you, when you hugged him over the couch, he imagined you raised your head then, looking up at him with those doe eyes of yours, he imagined grabbing your jaw and devouring you, kissing you hungrily.

He thought about pushing down on your back and him jumping over you, ready to eat you whole, ripped off your clothes and go at it right on the living room

He imagined how tight you would feel around him, as he snapped his hips into you over and over, oh! the sounds you could make, he had to cover your mouth with his big hand, to not wake Aerea

As he looked down at your desperate face, when he finally finds that spot inside you, your eyes would roll off to the back of your head, as he’d feel his hand wet with your saliva, your mouth open in desperation against his palm

Those tits of your, finally released from his prison, would be moving to the rhythm of his thrusts 

His big, fat cock in and out of you as he fucked you as deeply as he could go 

But once he started he would stop there, he would release you, taking himself out of you with no warning, making you whine and cling onto him, begging him for more

He knows he had you then

So he would grab you roughly, he wanted to see your ass now, he would turn you around so you’d be in all fours for him, and he would fuck you again, your round ass there in his grasp… your skin jiggling when the thrusted into you

Fuck

It was embarrassing to admit how fast he cummed, knowing you were just a few feet away from him

. . .

Soon another week ran past, Jace was coming and going from your house to his, now he couldn’t point blankly stay in your place, he had to return to his own home

But he came back… regularly

It was true, at least, the business part. He had invested most of his savings on this enterprise with his friend Cregan Stark, but it was just so perfect to use it for his own benefit

Apparently your interview had also played out, because now you were working, Aerea was in daycare, and Jace was currently on a videochat with his friend and business partner

“Well Jace, normally I would be against my best friend baby trapping some woman but phweet”, he whistled, “she is delicious”

“Isn’t she?”, he purred, he felt so proud of himself, he had sent his friend pictures, boasting about you like you were already his, and you somehow were, in his mind, “She is so fucking naive, and sweet, gods!”

Cregan laughed through the computer 

“Damn, and how do you plan on getting her though”

“Well, the devil’s in the details, I already have access to her place, her daughter…”

“You half sister”, mocked Cregan

“Already calls me dada, and adores me, I’ve already made myself indispensable at her home”, he continued, “she is totally dependant on me to do all the “toughest” things around the house” 

“Good good”, he purred, “so after it is all done.. what are you going to do?”

“Well, our company is going to be up there isn’t it?”

“You plan on moving her here?”

“When we start our relationship…”

“When you knock her up you mean..”

“I don't think she would want to stay here near all the people that know us so…”

“Good”, his friend seemed pleased

He heard you coming in the house then, and Jace got jumpy

“She is here, gotta go..”, he whispered

“Well Jace, good meeting, I’ll send you the details of the first shipment”

“And I will have those sheets for later…”, he said, continuing their conversation from before 

“Great”, you waved at him from behind the counter, and he smiled back, Aerea came rushing in

“DADDY!”, She greeted, and Jace couldn’t be happier, he grabbed her and showed her to Cregan through the camera

“Hi”, greeted Aerea

“And who’s that?”, teased Cregan, “Hello sweetie, she is a sweet little thing, looks like you Jace!”, he said loudly, winking at his friend, Cregan chuckled as you looked surprised

“Doesn’t she?”, he teased

The call was ended short after, and you looked a bit conflicted, Jace could tell 

You didn’t like the fact that Aerea called Jace “daddy”, it wasn’t healthy, your child needed to know, to remember her father, or else she was going to get all confused 

Luckily, Harwin had agreed to take her, the weeks he had his kids, so he could get help from Jace and Luke, and it was easier on him…

Perhaps he wanted some weeks off to see her… or others

Not that you’d care

You start putting some things you bought after work around, and you smiled fakely at Jace as he approached

“Need help with something?”, he asked, he had noticed you ahd bought a couple of bottles of wine, you were going to have the first week to yourself since… forever and a hot bubbly bath with a cup of whine and some strawberries with chocolate sounds like the remedy to all your problems

“It’s fine Jace”, you said softly, “Harwin is picking you both any minute now”, you made him remember 

He looked somewhat disappointed

“Right, this is his first week with Aerea, right?”

“Right”, you smiled

“Actually, I have a bunch of work to do, do you mind if I stay the night again?”, he asked

He was risking it, he thought

You could use some time alone, you thought yourself

But those big eyes of him, made you smile

You had all week

“Sure”, you said, faking another smile, he smiled back at you sincerely.

He didn’t like that fake smile on your face

He could tell he had overplayed it

“I’m gonna keep working…”

“Sure”, you said, you then turned to Aerea, “Let’s get you packed sweety, wanna go to papa?”

The little girl’s face lit up

“PAPA!”, she exclaimed, reaching for you, as you were going to take her to him

“Let’s go darling”, you whispered sweetly 

You felt Jace’s gaze as you walked down the hallway

He growled, frustrating, and he realized he had to change his strategy

He sat back in front of the computer and he finished his work, it didn't take him more than twenty minutes 

When you appeared back, you had a large bag in your hands, and Jace changed his plan right then, he put wavy his computer and gave you a smile

“Turns out I didn't have much work as I thought”, he said, “I’m done, and I should go to my dad’s”, you smiled then sincerely

“That is great,I know that I shouldn’t had said what i said, he is still your father and he loves you and cares for you deeply”, he smiled and nodded

You heard a honk outside

“There’s papa!”, Aerea applauded

Harwin might be a shitty husband, but he was not a shitty dad, Jace had to admit, replacing him was not going to be as easy as he thought

You were nervous as you led your little girl outside, it was going to be the first time you saw Harwin since you split

He walked to the door with a soft smile

“Hey darling”, he said, looking straight at you, and then he turned to Aerea, who jumped into his arms

“Hey”

Jace thought he was going to be happy to witness this debacle, but it wasn’t weird or angry, you were actually smiling tenderly at the fucker

“Jace, you are here”, muttered Harwinm, surprised, “thanks for keeping my girls company”

That was a low blow for everyone there

You stomach sank, but Jace got so angry

He didn’t deserve calling you his 

“We should go”, muttered Jace, grabbing Aerea, and you thanked him for it, to distract her, or else she was going to start crying when she realizes you are not going

You waved him goodbye as they got in the car and drove away

You loved your daughter with all your heart, but Gods if you needed a break from all of this

You had bought like a ton of chocolate, wine, strawberries, your favorite pasta dish, you even went as far as to go to the grocery store and buy yourself those “spa” bundles, that include a candle, a very bubbly soap, a nice soft loofah, and body cream for later

So you did exactly that

You got comfortable, got rid of your clothes, until you were in your underwear (a lacey little thing you had bought to entice Harwin), and you put a soft robe on top, just to cover your modesty. 

You cooked your pasta, with your favorite sauce, you poured some wine in your cup, as you watched from the kitchen your favorite show. And when it was ready.

You ate it with pleasure, congratulated yourself because it was as good as you wanted it, so delicious, very creamy. 

You poured more wine

then you watched some more twenty minutes episodes of your favorite soap opera and THEN… you melted the chocolate, cutted some strawberries, and with a bottle and cup in hand, you went to treat yourself to the bathroom

You filled the tub, you put in the entirety of that bubble bath and you sipped your wine happily until it was full, then you undressed, dropping pieces of clothing anywhere.

Despite what happened with Harwin in the last years, today, you were feeling particularly sexy, perhaps you were ovulating or something.

You undressed like the sexiest man alive was there, watching your every move, and then, you got into the tub, moaning to express the wonderful time you were having, the hot water instantly relaxing your tired body 

Oh shit you forgot the music

No matter.

The warm up for the tub had been so nice that, now you were horny, very horny. 

Your “sexy man” was watching, so you decided to give him a show, you dipped your finger in the chocolate and brought it to your mouth

Immediately the delicious taste invaded you

Your other hand went to one of your breasts, your nipples already hard. Oh fuck you were going to enjoy this

It had been a while since you felt like this… 

Since your baby-making months…

You placed a chocolate covered strawberry in your mouth, and moaned at the taste, and at the feeling of your fingers pinching your nipple softly

You were so horny, your hand traveled down the waters over your belly and you were ready to really treat yourself 

And then, just about when thing were starting to get truly fucking good

You felt the front door opening loudly. You heard a familiar voice calling your name

SHIT! JACE!

You gasped, as it was just down the hall, and the door to the bathroom was wide open, and your underwear was in the hallway, and by the soft candlelights coming from the bathroom…

“WAIT!”, you pleaded, “I’m in the bathroom!”

“I’m sorry!”, he lamented, you heard him getting closer

“Jace, don’t come in please”, you whined, your hand until over your pubis, gods, this was going to be so good.

And yet…

The need didn’t go away being almost being caught

“You good?”, asked Jace, just by the door

“Too good Jacey”, you said, not being able to hide how disappointed you were

“I’m sorry I interrupted you”, he sounded entertained, he had clearly saw your underwear there

“Did something happen?”, you asked

“Harwin and I had a huge fight, I’m so sorry I… should have called you, or gone home, but… the only place I deemed safe is… well… here”

You sighed, loudly

“Jace you caught me in a bad time”, you admitted

Oh he knew exactly what you were doing, and he timed it just perfectly

As you looked at the space of the open door, your breathing quickened

Jace was right there

And that didn't turn you off, it did the opposite

You almost got caught masturbating on the bath by the hottest twenty one year old you had ever seen 

But you shouldn’t, you whined to yourself

And as you looked down at the empty bottle of wine… at everything set up for your pleasure…

But you wanted the real thing

So so badly

You didn't realize though, that your “mental” whine, sounded for a real, a moan that got Jace’s blood rushing to his cock, and that made him take a single step, to watch you -in real life and not on his cellphone-, in that tub

You were looking at him wide eyed, as he had your panties on his fist, the ones from the hallway

“Jace?”, you called, you look like a deer in headlights, you didn’t hide, you didn't shrieked and demanded him to leave 

You just looked at him, with desire on those beautiful eyes of yours. 

Jace growled at the sight of your soapy breasts, peaking over the water, of if he could just take a picture of this moment

You had never been so beautiful

The whole scene looked like a renaissance painting

He grabbed his phone, he couldn’t resist, and snapped a picture

You didn’t even flinched, you even moaned one more time, your chest sticking out 

“You look so fucking gorgeous”, he admired, not being able to act any longer, this was it, it came sooner than expected, but anticipated nonetheless 

“Jace”, you called, but it wasn't accusatory, it was indeed, a call

He walked until he kneeled by the side of the tub

“When I said I was going to help you with whatever you needed, I mean… anything”, he teased with a wide smile.

You rubbed your tights together shamelessly, not trying to hide it, and Jace smirked darkly 

HIs hand disappeared under the water, down your leg and then

You moaned wantonly, like a common whore when a single finger grazed your folds

One touch, and you spread your legs wantonly

How long has it been?

Way too fucking long

“We shouldn’t”, you managed to muster, even though you spread your legs wider like a whore, he only laughed, not believing it for a second

“We shouldn’t… we fucking have to”

He was your stepson

Fuck

You forgot about it pretty quickly when he latched his lips to your, devouring you, taking your breath with only one lock of lips

He fucked you with two fingers, first softly, until you moaned and turned in the tub, asking for more, begging for it.

“You like it when your stepson fingerfucks you?”, he teased

“Yes!”, you admitted, because to you, this was only a dream, this couldn’t be happening, not really.

“Aren’t you a dirty little whore, uh?”, he kept teasing, “fucking men more than a decade older than you, you should be with someone who can keep up with you”

“Someone like you?”, you whined

“Fuck yeah like me”, he said, twisting his fingers until he found what he was looking for, then your eyes did traveled to the back of your head, just like he imagined it

And when you were about to cum…

He released you

“Mmmm why?”, you whined, tears in your eyes

“Because you had been such a tease”, he growled, you are going to beg me to fuck you”, you moaned, “I’ll be waiting for you in your room”, he whispered dangerously, and left the bathroom

Now you could put a stop to this right now, or you could get into your room and get your back blown out just like you needed it

The decision was pretty easy to make

You got out of the tub, dried yourself slowly, not daring to even touch your pussy, then you put on your rob, you could see Jace from the bathroom, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at you with a smirk on his lips

Where was the sweet boy you had met the past few weeks?

Nowhere to be found

And that made it even more easy to do

You walked slowly, teasingly, your eyes on him, his eyes on you

You didn’t even cared to think about the consequences of this actions

You didn’t care

A primal need had taken a hold in your body, and you they were going to get sated

This was the culmination of years of sexual neglect… you didn't even dare to think about how wrong this was…

“Jacey”, you moaned, testing the opening of the robe, “are you sure?”, you knew your body wasn’t perfect, and yet, you had him here, looking at you like that, eating you with his eyes darkened like those of a hunter about to pounce

This wasn’t happening…

So it didn’t matter

It was all a dream

It had to be

it was definitely not the pills jace had replaced your birth control with

It was not the wine

It was a dream

“I can’t take it any longer”, he muttered, grabbing you by the fabric, ripping your robe from your body, grabbing your hips and drawing you to him, until you straddled him on the bed

You felt his… thick cock right under your pussy, and you moaned, wanted to feel it for real

“Oh yeah, rub yourself on me, you needy little thing”, he whined, he was so fucking sexy, as he looked up to you with those dark eyes, and chiseled like features 

He was wearing soft gray cotton pants, that did nothing to hide his monster cock

“Please Jacey”, you whined

“What?”, he teased, “you have been a really bad girl, you know? flaunting all of this in front of me, not even giving me a taste…”, his eyes trailed your naked body over him, his greedy hands grabbing and squishing everything he could get his hands on

You rubbed yourself on him shamesly, needily 

“I need you”, you whined

“Oh I know you do”, he growled.

You decided to take matters into your own hands. you separated from him a bit, just enough so you could grab the hem of his pants and lower them, releasing his…

Oh fuck

So you weren’t lying to yourself, it was big and thick, and already so hard, and leaking

All for you

“Mmmm”, you moaned, in anticipation, as you took it with both your hands, it felt so heavy, you couldn’t even wrap your hands around it

“Use it”, demanded Jace, you started rubbing him, pumping him, making sure to use his own precum to lubricate him.

“So big”, you barely recognize yourself, you didn't know what was happening, you wanted him so badly it hurted you

“Is all yours baby”, he whined 

If it was yours, you were going to do as you wanted, you dropped to your knees between his thick thighs, as Jace looked down at you with devotion

Only two of his fingers and he had you on your knees for him

He couldn’t even wait to see what was going to happen after he fucked you

He moaned, dropping his head back when you gave him a kitten lick at his tip

“Fuck”, there was no way you could fit it all in your mouth, so you used both hand to massage him as you took care of his tip, “yes just like that”

You moaned approvingly, trying to get as much as you could, but it wasn’t much

“You like sucking cock don’t you?”, he asked, his voice thick

“Yes”, you released him, only to answer, and then you took him in your mouth again, sucking his tip

“Shit!”, he cursed

He knew you were going to be… open… for it, but he never expected this, it was better than anything he could have imagined 

You wanted to please him, and he didn't rush you, yet, you tried to take more and more each time your head bobbed up and down

Not even half

But Jace stopped you

“I need you”, he demanded, he stood up and helped you up too, you undressed him at his request, taking his hoodie, shirt, and getting rid of his pants until he kicked them off of his feet

He looked down at you, until he grabbed you, drawing you to him

Your naked bodies collided as your lips with his

He was hungry for you, his tongue immediately asking permission to enter and you gladly granted it

It was dirty, wrong, and you fucking love it

This is a dream

This is a dream

You were a tangle of limbs, as you fell to the bed, but you wanted to resume where you left, so you make sure he accommodate himself on the bed 

Your marital bed

His cock rested over his stomach, as you accommodate yourself over him

“Take it slow darling”, he whined, you grabbed his cock still wet with your saliva.

Oh he so wanted to taste you

But tonight, it was all about you using him

You accommodated yourself over him, lining his thick cock with your entrance, and then, you lowered yourself

You moaned when he entered you, the stench was a bit painful, but you were so wet, it felt incredibly delicious

“Tell me darling”, he said, looking up at you, his hand grabbing your hips, squishing the skin, “who is this making you feel so good?

“Mmmm Jace”, you whined, taking another inch inside of you, you moved your hips in circles, easing him into you, it felt so good, to feel him rub against your insides, he was filling you so good.

“Who?”, he demanded

“Jace!”, you cried out, when he retrieved himself, to punish you for something

“Who’s this cock that your are fucking yourself with?”, he asked then

“Yours!”, he slammed down, making you take all of him in one movements, “AH fuck!”, you cursed, “So full”

“This is nothing”, he teased, “I want to see you full of my cum”

Gods those words enticed you to keep moving your hips, fucking yourself on him, until you found the angle you needed, for him to bully your special spot

“It feels so good”, he whined, “your pussy is so fucking tight”

“Your cock is so big”, you babbled, now going up and down

“I know, and it's all yours”

“All mine?”, you asked

“Yes, is this pussy mine?”, he asked, easing your clit with his thumb, making you shriek 

“Yes!”, you screamed

“You sure?”, he teased

“Mhmh”, you moaned

“Good girl, as long as it is only mine, you can have this all you want”, you started going back and forth with your hips, making Jacaerys draw his head back… but he couldn’t come just yet, he grabbed you, and with a shriek and a single smooth movement, now he had you under him

“Enough, now we are making thing my way”, he growled

And he started thrusting so hard into you, the bed started creaking dangerously under you, the board slamming against the wall

“Ah”, you whined, your pussy tightening so hard, squeezing him, jace had to work hard not to cum tight then and there

“Take it”

He couldn’t believe this was happening, this must be a dream…

You cummed, hard, didn’t even try not to, it was too much…

And Jace cummed right after, filling you with his cum

You didn't even think about the consequences, there was not going to be any…

This was just a dream…

He took himself off of you, and immediately you felt his seed dripping out of you.

He chuckled darkly, with one of his fingers, he collected it and pushed back inside you, with your moan resounding all over your room

“You are mine now”, he demanded

Sleep was taking you, you were exhausted…

And Jace only hoped this was enough to breed you, not like he didn’t want to have you more times… 

But the sooner the better…

Right?

I'm going to be honest, I was going to cut it right before the smut, and then I thought, I couldn't do that to you all

muahaha

She folded pretty quickly but I mean, who wouldn't?

taglist!

@champomiel @urmomsgirlfriend1 @sweethoneyblossom1 @lukepattersin @ladylyanna91 @snowflake-latte @bruher @bellstwd @inesven @iamavailablesstuff @haydee5010 @happinessinthebeing @agqrtz @ajanauia @joliettes @lightdragonrayne @ivoryluvs @fairysluna

[redbatchedcumbermayned]

It all started under a duvet held up by an oar

Not so long ago I emailed Chris Tester, the voice of Heinrix van Calox in Owlcat’s recently released CRPG Rogue Trader, and asked if he would like to sit for an interview with me. Having some experience in interviewing people I like, most famously Oscar winner and all-around sweetheart Eddie Redmayne, this was not a completely nerve-wracking endeavour. And within a day of sending my email, Chris said yes. And what a pleasure it was interviewing him: Chris was so generous with his time, that the agreed upon 30 minutes turned into 50 minutes as we brushed upon many topics from his start as a theatre actor to his first voice-over role in a video game to his recently discovered hobby of playing D&D. Of course, we also spoke about all things Warhammer 40k, his new found fame brought on by voicing Heinrix and the insights he could share about the character.

I will publish this interview in three parts over the next week in text form and with the accompanying audio file (the audio quality is not spectacular but tumblr limits uploads to 10MB). If you quote or reshare, please quote me as the original source.

Part 2 of the interview

Part 3 of the interview

Fran: Thank you very much for taking your time.

Chris Tester: That's no problem. No problem at all.

F: So then let's start. You graduated in 2008.

CT: I did. Yes.

F: You started out as a stage actor. Did you always want to become a stage actor or an actor in general? Tell us a bit about your career.

CT: I always wanted to be a stage actor. Yes, as soon as I knew that I wanted to be an actor, which probably wasn't until I was a teenager. But yeah, my first passion was always the stage, and that was kind of borne out in my career. I would have been open to TV and film of course, if it had come along, I'm a huge fan of TV and film as well, but I never got an audition for any TV or film work.

I think I literally did about three short films in my 10, 12 years of actually professionally acting, and it is one of those industries where the more you do of one thing, the more you seem to find yourself doing the same thing to a degree. So yes, watching Shakespeare from an early age was one of my first passions.

And that was what first planted the seed of wanting to do it myself. The whole aspect of live performance is still something that I'm very passionate about. Up until 2020, when the world changed, I was trying to do two or three theatre shows a year, but since 2020, I haven't been near a stage and I doubt right now, especially with the way that the UK theatre scene is going, that I'm going to be back on stage anytime soon. I am resigned to that, but at some point in my career, I know I will be on stage again, because I can't live without it, but only for the right thing, both financially, but more importantly, creatively.

F: Your production company is currently on hiatus?

CT: I was the producer of a theatre company, which was run and was the baby of the director of the company, a guy called Ross Armstrong, who's one of the most talented writers and directors that I've ever worked with. I was helping out with a lot of the administration stuff so that he could still put me in plays. Instead of creating my own work because I'm not a very good writer or the best writer in the world, I support those people who will write me good parts. So yes, it is currently on hiatus, but never say never, we would always be looking to get back. It's difficult right now. It's difficult for all of us, because arts council subsidy, that way of being able to fund stuff, is drying up. We were doing a national tour of the UK when we were doing that [with the support of a subsidy]. There's even less money, there's even more people. I won't bore you with anything more than that, but it's kind of tough. We'd like to come back, but in the right way, and that's tricky to negotiate.

F: It's always hard as a stage actor to earn a living.

CT: Well, I've been spoiled by voice-over as well, and whereas when I was in my 20s and 30s then you're all about your art. And of course, I'm still all about my art, but I'm also about my wife and my cat and the mortgage and the bills and wanting to have nicer things to a degree as well. I've come to terms with that and voice-over does facilitate that as well as it opens you up to different roles and working with different people. So, I can't complain.

F: It's quite similar with making a living as a writer, because with a steady income you get used to a certain standard of living and once you have obligations and bills to pay, I think the stress on your mental health being creative and having all the stresses of regular life thrust upon you brings with it a challenge.

CT: It's a cliche we can very easily fall into: if I'm suffering, then it means I'm an artist. And that's not necessarily very true. It very often means that the art that we create only reflects one aspect of our lives, and it's usually a very tortured one. I am also about having wider experiences and broadening myself out. Whereas I think when I was in my twenties, I was thinking a bit more like: Oh, I'll experience the world and life through my art and just purely through my art. Whereas now necessarily I need to have a life outside of it as well, and then I can justify like I have the life so that I can feed my art or not, whatever. You know, I'll be a better artist by having a bit of a life outside of it. Maybe.

F: But that's what your twenties are for.

CT: Yeah, indeed.

F: Doing the crazy stuff, doing the band stuff 

CT: Yeah, yeah, exactly. So, there was certainly an aspect of that in my twenties.

F: So, what brought you to voice acting or voice-over work initially?

CT: Money. Video game stuff is kind of sexy and cool, and I'm a gamer, so that's important. Before I was a video gamer, I was a board gamer and off the back of that, I was a voracious video gamer, partly because I wasn't very good at team sports at school. I was always the person who was picked last in the football team. So that becomes part of your identity for better or worse. But video games, I was pretty good at, not amazing, but I was pretty good at, and I enjoyed it. And it gave me a different form of escapism as well, and off the back of that I always had an interest in them. 

So, the very first voiceover job was a video game: Dark Souls, which is quite a big franchise. At that time, I was your very typically jobbing actor. My acting agent came in and said: I got something for you. And so, I went in with that. But it was only in 2016, 2017 that I realised it was something that you could actually do yourself. People had recording studios at home and they were contacting people directly, not just going through agents. Because I'd basically written to the same 20 voice agents in the UK, mainly in London for like eight years in a row and not received anything. So, you keep knocking on those doors hoping. 

Before I'd even graduated from drama school, I'd burnt a CD and made these cases with my headshot on it and sent them all off at what at the time felt like great personal expense and didn't get anything for eight years in a row.  So, I was a bit like, I'm obviously doing something wrong, but I don't really know what, because I'm doing these workshops and getting good feedback. Then I found out through a couple of online courses, that there were ways and means of doing it myself, and that was a bit of a game changer for me, and within six months of having started, I was earning more through voice work than the bar job and the box office job that I was doing combined. Within six months, I was kind of like: “I gotta quit because I'm actually holding myself back from things.” So that was quite a big shift.

F: Somewhere you said, you started out under a duvet and with an oar.

CT: Yeah. On my website, I do have an image of it. [Dear reader, I could not locate this elusive photo] I literally had to take the duvet off my bed and put it into the living room, which was the quietest space in my then shared flat. I also had to wait until after one flat mate had watched TV and another one had used the table that had their washing on it. One of my flat mates had stolen an oar from some night out and that was perfect in order to be able to erect it over my head and the duvet as a frame. 

I did probably the first four or five months of voice recording like that. Probably about 10, 15 voiceover jobs that I actually got paid for, I was using that because it worked well enough. Since then, I've gone through various different iterations of a setup in the bedroom, to a setup in the hallway, to my current setup. In 2020 we moved to our first house, and this is the spare bedroom which I've had converted into a studio, which means my cat can be here asleep on me or near me getting fur everywhere, but it's fine. I can thrash around and I've got natural light to work in at the same time, which I find quite important. [Pictured below Chris' current setup.]

F: Very pretty. That's good. Guide us through a typical day of yours, if you like.

CT: Oh, sure. I mean, there is no typical day. And yet, and yet, and yet. A typical day for me is, because I am spending the vast majority of the day sitting in this room or somewhere close to this room, because I may need to record at short notice, because the vast majority of jobs are quite short notice. My priority is exercise for mental health more than anything. I've got some weights at the bottom of the garden, and I will get up first thing, and I will go there and I will do that after breakfast. And that's my minimal routine of physical activity done. 

And then I'll come back, and this is so rock and roll. Now what I do is, I spend like an hour on LinkedIn. And that's what you dreamed of as a creative person. Isn't it as an actor? I spend time on LinkedIn regularly every day, because it's a really good networking place for a lot of my types of work, and first thing in the morning, I'm a bit mentally sharper. So that's when I come up with a quick post that may be inspired by a bit of content that I've made elsewhere. That probably takes about 20 minutes and then I spend another 45 minutes to an hour engaging with people and saying hi and introducing myself and asking questions, whether that's with video producers or game developers or documentary makers or pretty much anything and everything. There are a lot of people who are active at that time. And so I do it.

And then after that, if I already have some recording lined up, then I'll prioritise mid-morning, because I've warmed up physically a bit more then, and I'm focused. So, you're going through the scripts, annotating the scripts, recording the scripts, editing the scripts. But then there could be live sessions at any time within that as well. I try to keep hours from nine till six. But occasionally, like with Rogue Trader, that was recorded at various different times of the day because we had people in New York, we had people in mainland Europe, and we had people in the UK. So all different time zones, so that can happen at any time. 

And then I try to do other kinds of bits and pieces of marketing whenever I've got free time to. I do use really exciting productivity hacks, like time blocking. Again, not something that as a creative individual, I was like: Oh God, this gets me so excited, because it doesn't, but it works. It's finding a system that works for you, but still has a certain kind of flexibility and fluidity. I'm trying to make sure that I get outside of the house, and that kind of stuff. 

Recently, over the last year, I’ve started doing audiobooks as well. That long form type of thing is quite nice to be able to dip into because sometimes you don't record for two, three days. You don't get the work. Nothing’s coming in. So, you’re marketing, but it kind of connects you back to the performance side of things to go: I can do a few chapters and you know, that kind of thing. So that's probably it. I try to formalise it, but you know, every voice actor’s day is radically different. There are people, some of the biggest names, going into different studios every week or every day. I very rarely, despite being based in London, I very rarely go into external studios. Like I would say 99 percent of the work I just do from home.

F: So how do you find the right voice for the specific type of voiceover work you do, maybe start with how did you find Heinrix's voice?

CT: Thankfully, Owlcat sent through quite a detailed casting breakdown. So, you get a picture, and that's pretty crucial, as well as a short bio, in terms of the background of the character, but not too much, because you have to sign an NDA, a non-disclosure agreement. But even if you do sign an NDA, I think developers are always slightly hesitant of giving you too much info about the game because things could still be changed. But I think I did get a picture of Heinrix, if not in the first audition, then certainly on the second one. From that you immediately think about the physicality and what might affect the voice, and there was also some direction in terms of what they were looking for. Anybody who has heard the character and me, they do not sound radically dissimilar. There's not a transformative process that I needed to go through, other than his sense of authority and the space that he takes up and the sureness that he has in that he has a kind of divine right from the emperor, so that level of confidence being brought through.

The other part of the audition was about the void ship [the Black Ship] that he'd been raised in and the horrors that he'd seen. And you as the actor have to do the detective work to go like this is showing another side, the more vulnerable side, the side that underpins all of his life choices up to this point. It's essentially playing the opposite to a degree. So it was kind of knowing when to let those elements bleed through a little bit. I think I had probably about a page worth of scripts, quite a lot of script actually to audition with. 

But I don't like to listen back to it a lot, because I think you get into your head. My biggest thing is stage work where it's ephemeral. You say it once and it could be different the next night. The whole point is that there's no one definitive way of doing things. Not quite the same with voice acting, where it's being recorded and you've got to get used to hearing it back. But I try not to overthink it. Just like record it two or three times with different impulses and then review and go like, those two seem pretty contrasting. I'll send those along and hope and then never hear anything back unless I do.

[transmutationisms]

Hi do you have any brainy thoughts on the disney movie inside out (and the sequel). My family and i went to go see inside out 2 today and i kind of hate it. Theres something about presenting an office, its warehouse and all the associated mechanisms as the objective truth of our minds that i dont especially like, but i dont really care about that ultimately. But what i do hate is the idea that we all feel the exact same emotions which can each be neatly identified and delineated, to the point that they act as entirely separate people in our heads. People who dress and look the same no matter who you as an individual are outside of extremely surface level changes (maybe). But I'm having a hard time articulating precisely what I dont like about it. In your studies have you read about like ... the taxonomy of emotions or sensations ? Many therapists value the idea of each emotion being readily identifiable with a name. They have charts about it. It feels all in service of an understanding of ourselves rooted in flawed psychological frameworks. One in which the literal "mood disorder" exists

congrats on the only disney anon i would probably ever answer. yeah i saw the first inside out in like 2018 or 19 really stoned and this also pissed me off. in general when people start trying to present living things in really tidy taxonomical schemata i am immediately suspicious; what's being done is not 'reading' this or that out of nature but actively interpreting a phenomenon according to some set of predetermined rules or distinctions. in psychology this especially gained popularity toward the end of the 18th century and into the 19th: the notion of discrete brain 'functions' was the foundational assumption of phrenologists, and also intimately tied up with the idea that 'emotions' / affective states could be neatly distinguished, delineated, named, and ordered.

it's a really curious sort of dualism that ends up taking hold, esp in much of the anglo and german literature, where you the subject are configured as, on the one hand, a conscious experience resulting from your material brain, and yet, on the other hand, distinct enough from that very brain to experience a kind of dysphoric disjunction from its operations. in inside out, this is dramatised quite literally, as a conflict between the protagonist and the independent entities that 'are' her emotions (where the medium even allows each to be protrayed by a different actor!)---a better work might interrogate this schizophrenic conception of selfhood and ask, for instance, if such a portrayal of a split self is intended to resonate with many people's everyday experience, what is it that distinguishes the 'pathologically' fractured consciousness, and what does this suggest about what's at stake for those who seek to understand affective experience by naming and categorising it...?

& i do also find the warehouse metaphor odious haha. such a throwaway choice on the part of the filmmakers, but one that really speaks to both a failure of imagination (all forms of social organising must be one that i am already familiar with, even in a fully fictional and animated story) and a somewhat disturbing conception of human interiority (i would argue there's a continuity here from using the labourer-owner metaphor in a dramatisation of the mind, to broader attitudes about human dominion over 'nature').

[whoisthispersonwow]

Hello people of tumblr! :)

I am not used to using this app but I thought i would give it a shot as the fandom works featured here are straight up the best things i've found on the internet, and the community seems just AMAZING on all regards!!! So I thought, yk, that I would share my ideas for this AU fic that perhaps maybe I would write sometimes...... idk....

Actor Bucky x Model Buck

Set in the 90s, this AU follows this rough outline : despite the 90s being a time of counterculture for the youth, (grunge, alternative movies being pushed forward and towards larger audiences) and being out of the 80s and all it entails (glam rock and so on) there was this paradoxally reinforced idea of masculinity (leather jackets, men having to be "strong", etc.) and lattent ideas of homosexuality being a "bad, filthy thing" in some places, interlinked with the misinformations concerning the HIV epidemic (if you're gay, you'll get AIDS, you'll die in a few months, all this stuff), which causes the Bucks have to hide their relationship from the public in fear of retaliation and backlash.

Buck is a male model, in a decade in which supermodels are emerging, and put on a pedestal : it's a decent job for him, despite not being a Claudia Schiffer or a Kate Moss (as female models, especially in that decade, were getting paid way more than male models, and overall just represented couture houses more than men did.). People know his face, he's had a few campaigns, but it's not enough to make him one of the A-list celebrities, not that he minds. He's slimmer than what is the norm for male models, but compensates it with his face : it is his strength as much as his weakness concerning bookings. He is known by his peers as this wise and generally kind man, not overly flairy as people can sometimes be in their industry, and overall very discreet about his personal life. He is extremely professional, a master of his craft that knows exactly what is expected of him at any time.

Bucky, on the other hand, is an actor. Freshly discovered among the rest of a new generation of actors, he climbs steadily and surely his way to the top, and has people from all over the USA watching his career with interest. He acts in movies which in our timeline would feel like "The Matrix" ; "Trainspotting" ; "Fight Club", and all of those sorts of very "mainstream yet still posessing their bit a flair" movies. He's extending his choices and taking more risks, ones that could perhaps lead him to great rewards (not that he is especially looking for it : Bucky would be content to act in a short movie by a middle schooler if it was done with love and passion.) Charming, bubbly, he is loved by many of teenage girls (and others, ofc :p). Everyone has a story about Bucky, be it good or bad. "Oh yeah, he bought me a car when mine broke down" says a make-up artist on a set. "He got so drunk he forgot I was here and punched me square in the face when i got up to pee" says his friend Curt Biddick.

(i made an ugly ass moodboard for the vibes)

-> now i'm gonna dump random infos for no particular reasons

TW : mentions of drugs, alcohol, homophobic cliches.

-They met at a party/gala of some sort for a brand, for which Buck modeled and Bucky was ambassador : it didn't click right away, but closely enough for it to feel like fate played a part in it.

-Buck is kind of excluded during parties as he's fully sober, whether it's from drugs or alcohol : a rarity, in the modeling world, and often not a welcome one.

-Bucky on the other hand, is a bit too much of a party monster : he drinks a lot, perhaps snorts a little cocaine in the bathroom, takes a little speed... Which GREATLY concerns Buck.

-Bucky is as cocky in his confidence and his career as he fears (and represses A LOT) the possibility of everything tumbling down and just going back to being nobody (THIS MAN NEEDS TO BE LOVED BY EVERYONE)

-He's terrified that fame will change him, that he will become a parody version of himself, that people will only know and like the version of himself he presents them and nothing else, not seeing his worth as a person, as an individual of flesh and feelings.

-Between the two of them, he's the one who desperately wants to tell the general audience about their relationship, not caring about the consequences, because in his eyes, love is love, and there sure as hell ain't nothing wrong with loving Gale Cleven, and people should know that he loves him, that they love each other, that they're a pair, that life only ever feels complete when they stand side by side, hanging in each other's orbits. They sometimes argue over this.

-Buck, on the other hand, wishes for their relationship to stay a secret, as he fears if it was to be known, it would taint Bucky's image, this very manly, confident and suave man, mingle it with dumb cliches (in a gay couple one is a "Folle" and the other has to be effeminate, because they're like GIRLS yk) and that it would basically ruin his career, tarnish his talent and hard work, get him blacklisted from most studios/directors and only perhaps offered type-casted roles in homophobic movies written by straight men. Buck could not stand seeing the love of his life being disgraced in the public's eyes, just because of some dumbass cliches, because of his love for him.

-Marjorie (Marge) covers for Buck. She's his front : They are seen dining together and huddling on benches by paparazzis, giggling and talking as they walk in the street, and that's enough. Their story makes people dream, these two young people who grew up together and fell in love, still a couple until this day, still loving each other as much as they did on the first day... They are a lavender couple (when both member of a relationship are queer, and use their couple to cover any suspicions) which helps making Buck and Bucky seem like just buddies. Marjorie is most likely not famous, or if so, she'd be more of a writer than anything else.

-Bucky is EXTREMELY jealous and FUMES whenever he cannot kiss Buck in public, touch him, do his little Bucky things, make Buck feel his. Despite that, he's sort of reckless and allows himself gestures that would not fly were the two men not viewed as pinacle of masculinity and a great example of brotherly love. Buck can't even bring himself to ressent him for it, and does not hold it against him : he too wishes they could hold hands on red carpets.

-Bucky is basically a disaster waiting to happen at some point, a pressure cooker dangerously whistling : he bottles everything he feels, just grits his teeth and says he's fine when dark times arise, drowns himself in alcohol and wishes to forget about his worries, thinks about simpler times when he had none at all. Gale stays by his side, no matter what, no matter his terrifying relationship with alcohol and the memories of his father.

-They live together, despite the risks : Buck couldn't bear having to say no to Bucky when he bought their appartment with a huge check from the royalties he earned over his first blockbuster. It is approprietly cozy : most of the decorum is Buck's doing, but Bucky's things still find their ways in there ; baseball posters, pictures, awards and silly little drawings on stick-it notes... It feels like home, to both of them.

-They probably have bought some sort of ranch or farm, somewhere, to run away from the city when things get crazy : they bask reverently in the fact that there, nothing they do or say matters, watching the sunsets on their patios, enjoying the melody of nature without any civilization.

That's pretty much it for now, I'll most likely add things later! :D I'm begging you to excuse any mistake I made, i'm just a poor French person trying her best. Don't hesitate to tell me how you feel and stuff, I am so nervous to make this post you can't imagine lmaoo

To end things, I guess I'll just post an extract of a wip, a written transcription of a fake interview Bucky probably had on some talk show!!! :]

[onceonafullmoon]

Atropine (Whenever I look at you)

Yan! Dazai x Gn! Reader

Reader wears a skirt but has no set gender

Warnings: obsessive behavior and thoughts: bordering on worship, stalking, abusive relationships, kidnapping

Beast! AU implied, from Dazai’s POV so I tried to incorporate the writing style of No Longer Human at some points, also… Happy Valentines!!

Well, it was fine, after all he had a lifetime of chasing you in his arsenal and he felt it was only fair that he had a lifetime of keeping you to match. (Of course, it really wasn’t fair, but since when did the rotten care for fair? That was only for the viritous and right… like you.) Yes, he had all of this lifetime to keep you, and he’d be damned if he let anyone else feel you in any sense including sight, as undeserving as he was.

It all starts in the middle of October, with the biting wind brushing past him and the aroma of cinnamon hovering in the air.

It’s October when he sees you again, although, technically speaking, it was actually the first time he’d set his eyes on you.

Your hair is longer than it usually is—

(“Really, I don’t understand why you don’t get rid of those bangs, isn’t it hard to fight with all that hair in your face?”)

—and you’ve allowed yourself a more stylish outfit than the ones you usually wear—

(“…yeah but skirts are impractical, I’ll flash someone.

…W—what do you mean “good”?! Your such a—!”)

—and you seem more relaxed than you usually are (were, he corrects, were), probably attributed to the fact that you’re not an agency member anymore.

It really shouldn’t surprise him, when he sees you, because of course he would eventually.

But it’s enough to make his heart stop.

Because despite the fact that so much had changed, your same shining smile remained, a testament to your nature, comparative to that of the natural wonders.

You were like the river, rapids would falter and the very ground before you would ebb and weave throughout, but you were a constant.

The universe was a funny thing like that.

As if it were taunting him for his past decisions, for his mistakes, mocking him for his very existence with each step you took away from him, brushing past him like he was nothing.

And he was, wasn’t he?

Both in the literal sense to you and metaphorical sense to himself.

What a wretched joke.

Even he couldn’t bring himself to play the part of the clown and laugh.

Instead, he just stared at you, longingly, in the way that a lovesick school boy would stare at his first love, at your fluttering skirt as you brush by his table without a second thought.

But that wasn’t quite the right way to describe it either, as his eyes held a certain darkness to them, one that was inconsistent with the innocence of a first love.

Because it was him and he was tainted and rotten and the dregs of society and nothing he did was without ulterior motives. That deep carnal desire, the feeling of want, it burned him, it made him feel alive, he wanted you, he wanted you so badly.

In any way possible, in every sense.

And it was almost sickening, the ease at which he was able to conjure up all those images in his mind, like flickering through memories of moments that hadn’t yet occurred, and hopefully would not (but who was he kidding, it’s not like he could resist you).

A cozy domestic scene, the way you would smile that heart achingly nostalgic flustered smile as he pulled you in for another lingering kiss, despite half hearted protests about being late for your work, and then pulling you in for one more just for good measure.

The way you’d laugh at his clowning, the way that he effortlessly made himself into a fool with that contagious laugh of yours, that he would forget that he was anything else in that moment but a jester for your amusement.

Comforting him on the days he couldn’t keep up his act anymore, when he left his stage to show you the pitiful actor he really was, with the tired eyes and the dead expression that he couldn’t bring himself to change.

“I’m sorry.” He’d say, and he’d say it with whatever was left of what honesty remained within his garbage infested soul.

But he wouldn’t need to, because of course you’d pull him in closer to you, both in your arms and to your heart, because that was the type of person you were, the kind sort of naive person he’d dream about ruining, only to find that you were the one to stain him in the end.

At least, in that dream you were.

For the most part, you weren’t so lucky, and maybe that’s why even despite his own knowledge of his debauchery he tried to hide those thoughts deeper inside himself.

But in the end you were still such a precious little thing, weren’t you?

Another scene, a club you exit from in the middle of the night, the smell of cigarette smoke and sweat heavy in the air as he gazes at your slightly stumbling form.

(You’re not drunk, you’ve never really been a drinker after all, but you never could walk in heels very well either.)

And he’s trouble, as he always was (and forever will be), so when he sees you, a pretty young thing with a bit too much innocence in your eyes, he closes in like a shark would on a drop of blood.

He’d greet you with a slight grin on his face, and laugh to himself as you startle at his voice, before greeting him in return with an uncomfortable smile.

You’d say something about wanting fresh air, and he’d be able to tell from just one look at you that you were lying, that the club was never your scene and you were just searching for a way to distract yourself, or perhaps you were just putting up with something you detested for a friend, you were always too sweet like that.

Whatever it was, he could tell that you were right out of your element, and he wasn’t one to miss out on an opportunity presented to him.

“Need some company?” He’d ask, the smirk on his face a little too wolfish, but it was far too dark for you to see anyways, so you’d agree.

And you’d talk and talk and talk, talk into the hours of the night, until you forgot the reason for your nerves to begin with. Until you found a friend within the jester persona that he portrayed, laughing at the antics he put up solely for the purpose of entrapping you.

He’d leave with your number of course, and he’d keep up this charade with you for months, years even depending on how cruel he felt.

One way or another you’d end up letting him come home with you, after all he knew you too well (and he always would, in any form you came to him), and he’d savor every second of the moment.

Perhaps it would be your first time.

(It was, more often than not in all of his indulgent little fantasies, it was something about taking something from you that he could keep forever that did something for his perverted self.)

But perhaps not.

Either way he would be satisfied with having the chance to indulge in your sweetness just once, your taste, your scent, simply just your feel as he made you come undone for him for as many times as he fell for you (which was simply impossible to count).

And then… he would leave you.

He’d leave just as quickly as he came, a ghost in the night, finding a largely perverse delight in the way that you’d falter so suddenly after his absence, the anguish you feel coursing through you.

Because as disgusting as it was, he loved every corner and crevice of you, he loved you when you were at your highest of highs or your lowest of lows, and he loved you as you were smiling as much as he loved when you were sobbing.

And he’d come back of course, because he could never really bear to leave you, but he’d never stay for you, he’d always leave you on the precipice, wondering whether you ever really had him to begin with.

(And of course you really did, but how could he resist you when he knew you were staring at your wall at midnight, eyes bloodshot from crying, wondering if you were ever going to see him again.)

Because he loved when you were a mess, didn’t he?

He loved when you were begging on your knees for a pathetic thing like him, not because he liked feeling greater than you, but because he loved seeing that beautiful bittersweet expression on your face.

But that wasn’t all of it, that wasn’t the true depths of his depravity.

The final act remained after all, and this one was the most vile and disturbing of all.

It starts off the way he sees you presently, a civilian with far too much beauty catches the eye of a sleazy mafioso in a cafe that paid tribute to the local chapter.

You don’t know of course, most people don’t, but those who do watch with baited breath as he gets up from his stool in the back to saunter over to you with a deceptively disarming grin.

He’d excuse himself and ask if he could have a moment of your time, and you, the angel you were, would let him with a confused smile on your pretty little lips.

He’d flirt with you for a bit, make you grow flustered with that sweet little embarrassed smile that you’d hide your face in your hands to hide.

But this time he wouldn’t need your number to see you again.

After all, with so much power in his hands, why would he need anything as impermanent as that?

It wouldn’t be so hard to find out where you lived, where you worked, where you liked to frequent your weekends at, where you liked to spend time with your friends, who you were friends with, who you detested, (and god forbid) who you loved.

Nevermind the little details about your favorite color and what your favorite book was, after all he already knew those things by heart.

It wouldn’t be hard to schedule an “accidental” encounter with you, brushing by you as you peruse the shelves of your favorite bookstore (its funny how some things would never change), and you would look at him with your pretty lips parted in surprise before you’d smile at him, not so much charmed at his persistence than the causality of a second chance.

It was funny how that worked, how a moment seen as a romantic twist of fate could quickly turn into a chilling horror if only the light was shown on the truth of the matter.

But he would have no reason to reveal that bitter truth to you yet, so he would keep quiet and simply smile at you in turn.

Chances and chances and chances would pile up on top of eachother as he would seek out any sort of way to endear himself to you… and then, when you found yourself finding the slightest bit of trust in him, he’d pull away that final layer and reveal himself wholly to you when he would finally take you for himself.

He could imagine it very well, your betrayal, your anger… all of it when you’d find yourself in a room unfamiliar, bound and gagged as he would monologue joyfully about every little thing he had planned out from the beginning.

And better yet, the sense of horror you would feel as he would continue rambling about all the things that he was going to do now that he had you.

Finally, he’d pull off your gag and watch as you would stutter out your words rightfully calling him out for what he truly was all this time.

He’d look at you as you tear up, a grin on his face, although if you really looked at him, you’d see it was really just empty, simply a mockery of emotion.

“That’s right, I am a monster. The very worst one.” He’d say softly before he would make his advance on you and then…

And then indeed. Because he already had several ideas on what to do, depraved things that he would subject you to, but the only question was which ones…

Well, it was fine, after all he had a lifetime of chasing you in his arsenal and he felt it was only fair that he had a lifetime of keeping you to match.

(Of course, it really wasn’t fair, but since when did the rotten care for fair? That was only for the viritous and right… like you.)

Yes, he had all of this lifetime to keep you, and he’d be damned if he let anyone else feel you in any sense including sight, as undeserving as he was.

Those tormented emotions that only he could bring to light didn’t really belong to him, but he would savor them more than any other could possibly imagine. And he was sure to believe in that if nothing else.

So, with that he pulls himself from his most rousing daydream and sets his sights on you sitting at your little table, a coffee at your lips and your legs crossed showing the slightest hint of skin as your skirt subtly rises, and pulls himself up from where he sits to make his way over to you.

“Excuse me, may I have a moment of your time?” He asks as he finally crosses that short yet impossible distance to meet you.

And you.

You blink up at him with those breathtaking eyes and those lashes that catch the evening sun, and you say.

“Um… well, sure. What is it?”

Despite the shame he should feel, his lips hook up into that same mischievous smile, because of course you would.

“...I just wanted to say that you’re the most breathtaking person I’ve seen in my life.”

And when you smile that sweet little embarrassed smile, he feels a perverse thrill running through him.

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 43)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Age-Gap,

Over the next few weeks, Cillian seemed to be in a better mood, and, if anything, he was even more affectionate than he had ever been before. He showered you with compliments and affection, making you feel loved and cherished. And yet, you couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that something was off. He was acting weird lately and you were not entirely sure why. 

"I am just over this Award stuff already, you know. I am sorry," Cillian muttered after you had asked him once again one night he was visiting you and, since you knew how much he hated all this publicity and travelling around, you didn't push the topic any further. 

"I know you do, but you only have five or so more ceremonies to go," you teased him, trying to put a smile on his face.

"Yeah, and I can't wait until they are over," he replied with a huff. "Fuck, I am getting too old for this shit."

You laughed, but you could sense the weariness in his voice. You knew that acting was his passion, but sometimes, it seemed as if the constant travelling and promotions were taking a toll on him. You moved closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist as you looked up at him.

"You aren't that old though, Cills," you reminded him with a soft smile, your finger tracing the lines that formed between his eyebrows.  "Now tell me, how did the suit fitting go today?" you asked, changing the topic as you looked up at him, waiting for another huff of annoyance to escape his mouth. But instead, he smiled, a proper wide smile that was so bright and genuine that you couldn't help but follow suit.

"It went well, actually," Cillian said, his tone light as he leaned down to press a soft kiss on your forehead. "It's black," he then told you. "I mean they are all black, which is another thing I do not understand," he chuckled. "Why do I need a different suit for every fucking event?" Cillian groused, shaking his head slightly.

"Because you are nominated for an award at each of those events and I suppose it's important for your image?" you asked, raising an eyebrow as if challenging him. Cillian chuckled and ran a hand through his hair.

"I suppose, but it's so fucking wasteful," Cillian told you before pulling you even closer, knowing that, for the next few weeks, he would be away even more often than he already had been since Christmas which, due to Mara having been sick, you had spent together on your own.  "I know, but hey, you are a successful actor and everyone expects you to dress the part," you reminded him gently, even though you secretly agreed with him. You didn't like the way that the entertainment industry placed so much emphasis on appearances.

Cillian sighed but nodded, understanding that you were right. "I guess," he murmured, his arms tightening around you before he changed the topic. "I wish you and Mara could come with me to LA tomorrow," he told you softly, as he ran a hand up and down your spine.

You sighed, wishing more than anything that could be possible, but knowing it wasn't. "I know and, if Mara wasn't so little still, I probably would. It's just too hard to travel back and forth with a baby," you told Cillian before reminding him that you would be joining him for the Academy Awards next month, for which Cillian had arranged his mother to travel with you so that she could look after Mara while you attended the awards ceremony with Cillian.

He smiled at you in relief and you couldn't help but notice how much that small gesture made your heart flutter. 

The Oscars were an event that you had agreed to attend with him after him begging you to and you were extremely nervous about it. You  had never been to such a big event before, and you were worried about not fitting in. 

Being a famous actor's much younger girlfriend, you were acutely aware of the scrutiny that would be cast upon you at this glamorous event. And as you looked at yourself in the mirror every day, you couldn't help but feel self-conscious.  You looked nothing like the glamorous actresses that would be attending the awards ceremony with their equally glamorous partners. You were a young, shy, innocent woman who had just become a mother, and you couldn't help but feel out of place.

But Cillian had been nothing but supportive and encouraging, reminding you every day how beautiful and amazing you were. He had even arranged for his own stylist to dress you  for the awards ceremony, insisting that you would look stunning in whatever she picked out for you.

You smiled at the memory, your heart fluttering as you looked up at Cillian. “I wish you didn’t have to go,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

Cillian sighed, his eyes meeting yours before he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “I wish I didn’t have to go either,” he murmured, his arms tightening around you. "I much rather be here with you and Mara," he added in between kisses that stole your breath away.

"I know and I love you for that," you murmured, your fingers tracing sharp lines of tension along his sculpted jawline. "I love you so much."

He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of your breath against his lips, the weight of your body against his, and the sound of your voice saying those three words that meant the world to him. He pulled back slightly, holding your gaze for just a moment longer before his lips sought yours again, deepening the kiss.

His hands roamed over your body like a moth to a flame, finding the soft curves of your hips, the firm reason that brought sharp gasps to your lips.

You ran your fingers through his hair, the strands soft and smooth between them.

"I want you, Cillian," you whispered, breaking the kiss to let your lips glide along his cheek, tasting the salt of his skin. His chest rumbled beneath your touch and your nipples hardened with the pounding rhythm of his heart beneath your fingertips.

"Let's go upstairs," you whispered, your breath hot against his ear as you trailed your fingers down his torso.

"How could I possibly say no to you?" he asked, his breath hot against your ear as he spoke before, finally, following you upstairs.

"You can't," you giggled, sensing his arousal.  The intensity in Cillian's eyes was undeniable and, before you knew it, you found yourself in bed with him, naked  and sweaty from the anticipation.

"Fuck, you are so beautiful," Cillian said, his voice low and husky as he ran his hands up and down your body.

You could feel the heat radiating from Cillian's touch and, as his fingers roamed over your breasts, you couldn't help but moan with pleasure. You loved the way Cillian touched you, like you were the only woman in the world.

"And I love you so fucking much," Cillian groaned, leaning forward to kiss you.

His tongue delved into your mouth, tasting you as if you were the sweetest nectar.

You moaned into his mouth, your hands roaming over his back, feeling every inch of him, committing him to memory.

Cillian's arousal was evident as his cock twitched against your thigh, and you couldn't help but reach down to wrap your fingers around it. He gasped as you began to stroke him slowly, feeling the velvety softness of his cock in your hand.

"Fuck, Y/N," he groaned, breaking the kiss as he looked down at you with a desire-filled gaze.

Without releasing his cock, you rolled onto your back, pulling Cillian with you.

He moved over you, his eyes burning with need as he positioned himself at your entrance.

You could feel the tip of his cock probing at your wetness, and you moaned with anticipation, the thought alone causing a slickness that trickled down your thigh.

Cillian groaned, his hands gripping your hips, rendering you helpless as he slowly pushed inside you.

"Fuck, Y/N, you feel so good," he breathed, his hips rocking gently as he adjusted to your tight heat.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, wanting to feel all of him.

Cillian's grip tightened on your hips, and he began to move in earnest. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close and letting go of all your inhibitions.

Cillian's fingers wound through your hair, pulling your head back and exposing your throat to his eager lips. He kissed and bit at your neck, leaving wet, red marks that made you moan with pleasure. 

"Oh god,"  you cried, writhing under him, your body begging for more as he thrust harder and faster.

Cillian's breath was hot and heavy against your skin as he panted with the exertion of pleasure, the sound of their bodies slapping together filling the room, a rhythmic, primal symphony of desire.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Cillian growled, his movements quickening as he neared his release.

"I am so close, Cillian. Don't stop,"  you begged, your words coming out in pants.

"Never," he growled, his hips snapping forward as he drove himself even deeper inside of you.

Your bodies moved in sync, a dance as old as time itself. The bed creaked beneath you, a symphony of pleasure playing out before you.

Cillian's hands gripped your hips tighter as he felt the familiar sensation of his orgasm building deep within him.

"Cillian, I'm going to come," you cried out, your fingernails digging into his shoulders.

"Come for me, baby," he growled, his thrusts becoming erratic as he felt his own climax building.

You cried out his name as your orgasm tore through your body like a tidal wave. Your muscles contracted around Cillian's cock, pulling him even deeper inside of you as he groaned in ecstasy.

Cillian's hips stuttered, and he pressed deeper into you, his orgasm slamming into him as he filled you with his seed.

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as you both panted and trembled in the aftermath of your intense lovemaking.

Cillian rolled onto his back, pulling you with him so that you lay sprawled across his chest, your breathing slowly returning to normal as you listened to the pounding of his heartbeat against your ear.

You could feel the sweat drying on your skin, and the ache between your legs was a constant reminder of the pleasure they had just shared.

Cillian's tongue found yours, and the two of you kissed passionately, tangling your limbs together as you savored the afterglow.

Eventually, Cillian pulled away, looking down at you with a soft, lingering stare. "I love you so much, Y/N," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"I love you too, Cillian," you responded, your voice just as tender as his, not knowing the secret he was holding from you. 

Tags:

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[ineffably-smote]

Macbeth, David Tennant - A very subjective, spoiler and emotion filled review

Just walking out of seing Macbeth at the Donmar and I have Feelings. Unsurprisingly, I primarily went to see it because David Tennant was in it. I love the play, big fan of Shakespeare but the trip to London was most certainly motivated by a very specific actor. Hence the highly subjective review. Fortunately, I also happen to quite like Macbeth. We studied it at school, and it holds a special place in my heart (back then, Hamlet was my favourite Shakespeare play but honestly, after tonight, I’m not so sure anymore. Anyway, I digress). It was my first time actually seeing an actor I’m a fan of in real life, so obviously the entire time my brain was just going oh my god that’s David Tennant oh my god that’s David Tennant like I actually could not comprehend it. The man I’ve spent hours staring at on a little screen is suddenly real, and right there. So yeah, that took me a hot second.

(Excuse the piss poor image quality, I took this with shaky hands without looking or bothering to focus the cam)

The Staging

Still starstruck and a bit dazed, one thing really really stood out to me: the staging. It was so, so good. I knew it was going to be minimal from the pictures I had seen, and it was, but it was also so insanely real. There were barely any decorations, and half the cast and the musicians were hidden behind a glass screen doing background noises and gestures. From where I was sitting I could not see them much, but could definitely hear them which added to the overall atmosphere. The stage was also really tiny, and the play benefitted incredibly from it. All the action was happening in one tight space that had been put to use incredibly well, particularly the banquet scene but I’ll come back to that because it deserves its own paragraph.

The way they chose to do the soliloquies was so fitting - all the actors start to move in slow motion - everyone else slowing down and just the characters speaking moving was so good, it made sense.

The Headphones

I’m a bit mixed about the headphones. They were amazing for the vibes, we could hear whispers and they really heightened some of the emotional speeches in the play - because when someone is struggling with guilt and trauma it makes sense for them to be mumbling rather than yelling. So that was really great. However, especially in the scenes where the actors where yelling/ loud I preferred to take them off a bit cause it felt more real that way. I’m so used to hearing actors voice on recordings, it does hit different when you can hear them for real. But, as I said, personal preference and that’s what’s nice, you can take them on and off as much as you want.

Famous Speeches

There were three speeches I was quite interested to see how they were going to be adapted - scorpions and dagger for Macbeth, and out damned spot for Lady Macbeth. These are classic, everyone knows the words, the plot but they managed to make it feel real in a new and touching way. I think here the headphones were quite helpful because they allowed the actors to actually whisper parts of those lines. They were so subtle, so embedded in the text they felt so natural which imbued them with all their power. I saw in a review Cush Jumbo’s out damned spot speech be described as “haunting”, and I wholeheartedly agree.

The Macbeths

I didn’t like Macbeth, the character, very much when I first learnt about him. His actions didn’t make sense to me, I couldn’t quite comprehend in my 21st century little brain how he went from I’m super loyal to the King to I will freely murder children for shits and giggles. But now, now I understand. It makes sense, it’s believable. And that’s a mix of the acting choices and teh overall setting. Like the opening scene, instead of presenting Macbeth as a glorious hero, he is presented to us as a traumatised hero. He spends the first few minutes washing the blood of his clothes, haunted by noises from the battlefield. And that sets the themes quite nicely, not ambition, as Tennant specified in an interview, but guilt and trauma. There are so many ways to interpret Shakespeare, that’s the beauty of it, and I think this version of Macbeth just resonated more with me (maybe because ambition I don’t quite understand but guilt I am intimately familiar with? Or maybe because it was David Tennant? I don’t know, probably a bit of both). Tennant delivers a convincing Macbeth. Yes, you can see his ambitions play out, but also his fears, his guilt, and that makes him into a complex three dimensional character that you want to understand.

And I absolutely loved this version of Lady Macbeth. Not just a powerful woman who bullies her husband into become an evil murderer (because again, here we can see traces of that in Macbeth from the start), but an ambition woman in love, with her husband, with power, and not quite healed from the trauma of loosing her child. Again another review said she is more of an enabler than a manipulator and I quite liked that description.

My Favourite Scenes

God the banquet scene. The one with the ghost of Banquo. An absolute masterpiece. I did not expect that scene to hit that hard. It was raw, it was powerful and even if Tennant was facing away from where I was sitting, even without seeing his face I could feel the emotion, the whole audience could. In a video essay on Tennant, @davidtennantgenderenvy highlighted how in almost every role he played, there is it is the classic Tennant breakdown moment, and breakdown moment it was. Not with tears, not as expressive as he sometime is but just enough for a King trying to hold it together but fear and guilt breaking through. I was absolutely overwhelmed and it was beautiful. The set up for the scene was amazing too - there were ceilidh, celebrations, I adored the contrast between these fast pasted scenes and guilt ridden whispers of the couple. And the way everyone sat down around the stage and suddenly it looked like a banquet table ? Just perfect.

Another really cool moment, less on the emotional side but more on the visuals was when Macbeth goes to get the second prophecy from the witches. Almost the whole cast is there, running around, moving, almost dancing and it gives the whole thing a mystical atmosphere. There’s smoke, Macbeth falls, is carried up high Jesus style, cowers, rises, it’s so busy and insane all the while there are whispers and whispers in the headphones - it manages perfectly to feel like a mystical moment.

Descent Into Madness & other cool things

For Macbeth, having the kid running around scene after scene, haunting him, and then scene where he kills him - GOD it’s powerful. Lady Macbeth’s descent into madness was so well characterised, I also loved the glass on the background that locked away some of the cast. Just wild. The actor that played Malcom actor was also really cool, and Macduff and Ross, big fan of all of them.

Overall I am overwhelmed with emotions. Tennant is truly one of my favourite actors - from Good Omens to Staged, Jessica Jones, even Harry Potter but also Mad to be Normal, Nativty, There She Goes, Around the World in 80 days, Doctor Who (god I’ve started a list, never start lists cause you’ll forget people) and so, so many more, I was truly beside myself with excitement and expectations for tonight. And it did not disappoint. I do not want to leave the theatre and I pray they release a recording of this because I want it imprinted on my soul.

(Side note: I don’t know how to use tumblr very well, for some reason whenever I try to reply to ppl it posts from my other blog? Anyway @raquel-and-sergio is in fact me)