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sillyteecup · 2 months ago

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Nowhere But You

Terry Richmond x black!o.c

Warnings:

18+

Swearing/Cursing

Smut

Oral (female receiving)

The greed they talk about in the Bible😔

Word count: 4463🧍🏾‍♀️

A.N: I'm not a monster so here's a little band-aid for "Requiem For My Lover". Anyway, if you've read any of my stuff then you know that I don't write fluff. Because I don't really know how to. So I don't know if this counts as fluffy, but I'm giving Mila a break. Now, what I lack in the sweetness department, I try to make up for with filth. So sit back, relax, and enjoy some Milaverse shenanigans where there are only 3 constants: Mila, Terry, and smut.

~Tee��️

-SoMiLa/Ring Finger.

T.R

One would think that being a Grammy award-winning artist and having a painter for a husband would make Mila some sort of a visual art connoisseur; or at least mean she at least understood it. But neither were true. In her 29 years of life, Mila had been to many an art gallery. Be it on a date or for her sister’s friend’s exhibitions, she never truly grasped the concepts of any of the works she had laid eyes on. Other than being pretty artworks, they sparked nothing but confusion in her regardless of how long she stared or how many artists and coordinators explained.

Until she met Terry. Suddenly the art began to make sense, invoking all kinds of different thoughts and feelings. And maybe it was vanity, but an artwork that centered her was the only kind that could capture and hold her attention hostage.

Although she was a household name in the music industry for her entrancing voice and soul clutching lyrics, she was shrouded in mystery. Her fans and the public had been grasping for straws for anything personal regarding the enigma that was SoMiLa. All they had to speculate over was the music and the rare interviews. Terry was no different. Critics, peers and fans alike would jest about how they could count on their fingers how many times he had made public appearances. The number would come to dwindle when he and Mila moved in together, both prioritizing a quiet and private life together over their public images. Even though they had been spotted out together a few times over the last 7 years, fans couldn’t tell if they were together or just close friends. This sparked a years-long movement of fans analyzing the rather cryptic lyrics in her love songs and his paintings that centered the same black woman who always somehow resembled Mila. The pair remained silent, not confirming or denying anything. Not out of secrecy either; they just had no desire to entertain the public.

Then came the release of her latest album, "I Rich(MoNd)". With the added bonus of the famous "T.R" signature across the originally hand-painted cover art. But the real icing on the cake? The final track being titled “T.R/Ring Finger.” The public was sent into a frenzy, but the couple paid them no mind, continuing with their lives in private while everyone fretted over the long awaited confirmation of their relationship.

“Don’t tell me you named it after-” Mila gasped as she marveled at her man’s latest creation.

“Our song? You’re my muse, I’m yours. It only felt right,” Terry said from beside her.

Terry’s newest exhibition, “RiChMoNd,” consisted of personal works that symbolized his adoration for and marriage to Mila. Thus none of the works were for sale. They were however available for public viewing at his Johannesburg museum, “Heart of Richmond.” The museum housed many artworks. Some were favorites from his mother’s collection, others were the very few that Mila remotely got and liked, and the rest were works by Terry that he refused to sell. The exhibition also served as the opening of the latest addition to the gallery, also titled. “I Rich(MoNd)”. A passion project he had been working on since he had proposed 4 years ago.

Despite standing in an entire gallery of works devoted to her and their love, the image of the semi-faceless black woman intrigued her. Aside from the boho locs, the subject’s resemblance to Mila hid in the more intricate details. From the tiny mole above the deep-thought induced dimple, to the scars that painted memories of her childhood over the cocoa skin of her arms and the single raised thigh that was visible. Glimpses of her personality appeared as the pens sticking out of her locs, the lit J tucked between her full two-toned lips and the way the white sheet draped over only a fraction of her body. Laid up in an unorganized space full stationary and opened CDs, tinted by the red hue of the sun was the exact reflection of Mila’s writing process. Complete with the song that not only perfectly encapsulates the way her husband inspired her, but also won her 5 new Grammys.

While Terry was a man of very few words, his hands always found ways to say the most endearing and intimate things for him. Their families joked about how stoic and quiet he was for an artist, but Mila knew better. Terry’s love language was only understood Mila, a canvas, and every crevice of the house he had fucked her into.

“You’ve done it again. It’s amazing. All of it is perfect,” Mila said appreciatively.

His breath lightly brushed her skin as he leaned into her. “Not as perfect as the woman that inspired it all,” he whispered between light kisses behind her ear.

It didn’t take much for Mila to have Terry bricked like the third little pig’s house. He had been absolutely taken from the very moment he had laid eyes on her and only grew to fall in love with her and everything about her. All she had to do was open her mouth to breathe and Terry would be on his knees before her. The way she looked at the moment didn’t do his self-control any favors either. As much as he didn’t care for what the media thought of him or their relationship, he still wasn’t one to get caught up in a scandal. But damn, the way the exposed parts of her soft, mocha skin in that backless wine-colored satin gown invited him, silently goaded him into throwing all rational thought away. If the cost wasn’t a possible snapshot of him making love to his gorgeous wife in the middle of an exhibit modeled after his love for her, he probably would have ripped that dress off right there and then.

Cameras clicked behind them, reminding them that they weren’t in the safe bubble of their home where they were just Terry and Mila Richmond. Now they were SoMiLa and Terrence Richmond, music’s prodigal son and the new age Basuiat. The public’s favorite unicorns making one of those prized rare appearances before disappearing back into whatever hidden mythical realm for who knows how long. Although conscious of the attention, Terry kept his nose buried in the skin of her neck and his hands planted firmly on her waist. As far as he was concerned, their love had never been a secret: everyone had just either been too blind or dumb to see it. Not that he cared either way.

“Fuck baby, I need you,” he rasped needy in her ear.

Although her own arousal had begun to make itself known and was begging Terry to just drag her out of the building so he could turn her every which way all over their Bryanston home, Mila understood that he still had some work to do. And if the boner digging into her lower back wasn’t enough of an indicator, Terry’s erotic declaration was definitely a sign that she had to be the smart one. Otherwise his agent, Sandra, would have both their heads for weeks to come. Neither of them feared the cut-throat agent, they just didn’t have the energy to have her yelling down their throats for a week.

“And you can have me T, but first you have to find Sandra and then get through this opening night,” Mila replied, biting back a moan at the unrelenting kisses on her sweet spot.

His grip tightened around the satin covering his wife’s waist as he let out a disgruntled grunt. “Man fuck Sandra and all these people. Let’s get out of here so I can taste you. Make you feel good, hmm?” he hummed against her now goosebump riddled skin, a natural green light from her body that contradicted her words.

“How about you make me feel even better by keeping me by your side while we make tonight a success? Then I'll let you taste every single part of me all you want, loverboy,” Mila said, objecting to her own deep desire for the man that threatened to consume her whole.

“Promise?” Terry asked, moving his affectionate attack to the other side of her neck.

Mila raised her pinkie for Terry to interlock with his. “Pinkie promise.”

Terry texted Sandra to open the doors and have everyone gathered in the center immediately. He wanted this over with, and he wanted to do it quickly. He had a wine colored bowl of a chocolate dessert waiting on him. The kind that had a creamy center and melted on your tongue. And Terry was never one to deprive himself of his favorite treats, let alone the one next to him.

As the guests poured in, Mila helped Terry straighten out, smoothing his jacket and wiping his glasses. She placed them back on his face, gracing him with a proud and grateful smile. Despite his lips barely moving an inch, the corners of his eyes crinkled as if he were grinning. Such little expression covering so much emotion. Emotion only Mila could read, like her own secret diary.

Still, it was a miracle that this man could paint because he was terrible at expression of any other form (that wasn't affection for Mila).

Having become accustomed to large crowds, Mila had grown indifferent to all the eager eyes focused on her and Terry. They stood in the center of the gallery, hand in hand, as they waited for everyone to settle down. Right behind them stood Sandra who was nursing a glass of champagne to ease the nerves and whispering animatedly with her best friend, and Mila’s manager, Sid. The couple’s mothers and teams chattered excitedly among themselves about the direction of the night.

“Good evening everybody. My name is Terrence Richmond and I wanna welcome you all to the grand opening to the latest, and dearest to my heart, vessel in the Heart of Richmond, a passion project that I’ve put my all into because a tribute to my literal heartbeat and our love deserves nothing less: “I Rich(MoNd)”,” he announced, garnering loud applause from the crowd.

He waited for the clapping to subside before continuing. “I would like thank each and everyone of you for taking time out of your busy lives to celebrate with me this ode to the love of my life, Somila Richmond.” Another round of applause sounded through the room as Mila stepped into the imaginary spotlight that was the audience’s admiration and his loving gaze. She shone them a grateful smile before stepping back to place short but yet desire filled kiss on Terry’s lips. The low growl that rumbled in the depths of his chest had her fighting the urge to deepen their kiss and have him show the room just how much he loved her. But she was the rational one, so she pulled away, but not before sneaking a light swipe of her tongue over his lip. The only reaction she had dragged out of him was a sharp inhale and his nails once again digging into her waist. She retook her place beside him while he finished his relatively short intro speech.

He implored everybody to enjoy their evening, watching the crowd disperse into the gallery. Almost immediately the press swarmed in with their cameras, beckoning the power couple’s attention for a photo op for their websites, blogs and magazines. Terry had banned microphones from the opening, stating he would only be giving interviews starting the following week. This decision was influenced by Mila during his meeting with Sandra a month ago at their Phuket home. Her reason was that Terry would be too tired from planning and setting the gallery up, and her man’s health was a top priority. The public would wait till he was at least somewhat well rested and that was that.

“Abagqibi na aba? It’s been 10 minutes and I, personally, get tired of smiling,” Mila hissed through what was slowly becoming a strained sneer.

“Imagine how tired I am,” Terry gritted through his teeth, cracking Mila’s sneer back into a genuine grin as she bit back a chuckle.

One of her favorite things about doing press with Terry was his absolute disdain for smiling and how much of a grouch it made him during photo ops. If she was lucky, he’d start cussing like a sailor any second now.

“Alright, that’s enough!” Sandra called out, earning disappointed groans and protests from the disgruntled photographers.

“That’s a lot of complaining from people that haven’t been kicked out. You guys getting ungrateful with me now?” she demanded as she stood before them with her hands placed on her hips and an expectant glare. That seemed to silence them as they also ventured into different parts of the gallery.

Terry and Mila both instinctively relaxed as the cameras disappeared into the crowd. Terry flexed his jaw while Mila stretched her neck. Terry’s hands came to the rescue, gently grabbing and twisting at Mila’s chin and cranium till a tiny crack signaled a job well done. Mila mouthed a grateful thank you right as Terry placed gentle kisses on her cheek and forehead. Sandra approached the pair, smirking as they gathered themselves.

“Where would you two be without me?” Sandra asked sarcastically, making Terry roll his eyes.

“Scary Terry over here would probably be in jail for massacring a gaggle of photographers because they dared to ask him to show some tooth,” Mila quipped, earning chuckles from their managers. Terry just scoffed as he absentmindedly rubbed circles on her shoulder.

“Like you weren’t complaining,” he deadpanned, his unamused glare making Mila giggle like a schoolgirl.

“You’re so cute when you’re grumpy,” Mila gushed with a playful elbow to his side.

The corner of Terry’s lip twitched into a smirk. “I’m even cuter when I’m eating you out till you cry.”

Sandra’s features scrunched up in disgust before strutted away, muttering something about finding Sid and the champagne. A flustered Mila on the other hand, smacked his bicep, only earning a wider smirk as a reaction from Terry. “Kanene wena woyikwa zintloni,” Mila sighed with a click of her tongue.

Terry took her wrist into his hand, gently pulling her into him. His palms cupped her face, angling her upwards to meet him for yet another soft kiss. Only this time her lips felt like they were being claimed as his by his. His hands had taken refuge back on her waist, keeping her body flush against his to make her feel his growing arousal. Thank God for the long wrap-around coat his stylist, Tori, had picked out for him. Although the matching slacks were a little loose around that region, Mila doubted they would have fared well on their own. With a gentle tug of her lip, he pulled back, leaving Mila in a semi-lustful haze.

“Let's get out of here. I'm not asking this time,” his tone, although barely above a whisper, left no room for argument. Luckily for the two of them, Mila had none left in her. Especially when he had stolen her breath and common sense a mere moment ago.

She nodded, offering a breathless “yeah” as he led her out of the building, not bothering with any formalities. Either way, his job for the night was done. He'd just text Sandra to handle the rest of the night.

With Mila in front, and Terry trailing right behind her like a bear-sized pup, they quickly paced to the car. He hurriedly opened the passenger door to their Rolls Royce, ushering her in and making sure she was safe inside before making his way to the driver's side and starting the car.

One hand gripping the steering wheel with purpose and the other firmly perched on Mila's thigh. Halfway through the trip, Terry had begun to regret his insistence that they drive there and back themselves. He stupidly ignored the possibility of wanting to turn his wife inside out on the way back. Now he had to give all of his attention to the road while ignoring the temptful gaze piercing threatening to veil his judgement. He was only able to spare her the occasional squeeze of her leg, resulting in a subtle clench, a light gasp, or her fingers brushing against his knuckles.

The usual 29 minute drive was cut to 19 as Terry basically drifted into their driveway like he was Dominic Toretto. He wasted no time, moving like a man on a mission from the driver's seat to retrieve Mila from the passenger side. A quick shuffle and a fumble with the keys later, they were in their living room, locked in a tangled frenzy of wandering hands and spells against each other's lips.

“Where?” he breathed against her.

“Anywhere. Fuck, right here,” she moaned into him.

He hoisted her by the backs of her thighs, placing her gently on the suade couch. He knelt before her and slid the scarlet So Kates off her French-pedicured feet, placing soft kisses up her ankle to her calf. Repeating on the next foot, his heavy lidded gaze found her needy one.

Her chest gently rose and fell under the top of that dress. That dress that took him three steps back from God whenever he laid eyes on her that night. Her deep cherry lined lips were agape as she welcomed the last few regulated breaths for the night. All these shades of red, like the blood pumping through his veins, into his hardened cock, goading him into fulfilling every sinful thought that had crossed his mind since they had left the house.

“Sandra…you need to-”

“She's a grown woman, she'll be fine. I need to attend to more pressing matters,” he interrupted, as he pushed her dress up to her hips and guided her legs open to reveal the thin lace material covering the aforementioned matters.

Red. The thong was red.

“But T, the gallery-your work-” Mila breathlessly protested, earning a sharp smack to the back of her thigh.

“It can wait. My princess’s pleasure on the other hand can't, and if she can't understand that then I'm going to have to gag her for the night,” Terry stated.

“Do you want me to gag you princess? Do you want to deprive me of hearing that beautiful song of you coming undone? Are you trying to punish me Mama?” he asked, tone dripping of lustful sincerity.

Mila's head shook frantically as she reached for the hands clamped around her calves. “No baby, I want you to hear me. Need you to touch me, please.”

Terry's head tilted to the side, feigning confusion at her request. “But I am touching you sweetheart. Is there something I'm doing wrong?” he was taunting her into specificity, and he knew she wasn't far gone enough to understand that.

“Fuck, Terry just touch my pussy please!” she breathed out, beginning to lose her patience for his games. He had insisted they leave early so he could make her feel good. Now was the time, and teasing just simply wouldn't do.

At her command, Terry’s fingers hooked beneath the thin waist straps of her racy underwear. Instinctively, Mila lifted her hips slightly for him to pull the only thing in the way of him feasting on her, down her legs. He tossed the thong over his shoulder as though it were a nuisance, not caring where it landed. Mila’s hand reached behind his buzzed head, angling him to meet her in a careless gathering of lips dancing against one another.

Her tongue slid into his mouth, occasionally brushing against his own in a claim of dominance. He groaned into the kiss, the sharp tips of her acrylics grazing his nape and pushing him into a delirium that only grew his hunger for her. Like a psychic. her teeth sunk into the plump flesh of his bottom lip, daring him to consume her as she had just done to him.

The sense of duty his military father raised him with, overtook him as he reluctantly pulled away from the soft, cherry flavoured appetizer. Like a panther in the night, his bright irises zeroed in on his meal as he grabbed her legs and reeled her in for her reckoning. Mila’s shaky gasps and growing whimpers hit his ears like music. Melodies he controlled with the varied pressures of his thumbs on her clit. With every stroke and light brush, her pussy leaked with a call for Terry to devour her whole.

His index and ring fingers joined the fleet, greedily plunging into her entrance.The curve of his digits against her walls rewarded him with a lewd cry for more, and who was Terry if not a dutiful husband. Daring to tear his gaze from his treat, the sight of Mila’s needy state cracked the stained glass window that was his self-control. Her hooded eyes burning with wanton, her cherry stained lips trembling, and the rest of her features idle from the pleasure only nurtured the unholy lust scorching him from the inside out.

“I’m the luckiest nigga on earth, no doubt about it. You’re so fucking perfect Mama,” the curl of her lips paired with the light giggle his words elicited drove Terry’s fingers even deeper into the valley of her sex.

“Teeerryyyy!” her honeycombed voice, accompanied by the squelch of Terry working her pussy like a fiddle, cried as her head flew further into the back of their couch.

Between watching her unravel on his fingers and watching said fingers take a swim in the frothy center that awaited his taste buds, Terry was beginning to grow impatient.The fragile glass of his window was falling apart as her desperate song for more backed by the raw instrumental of her pussy being prepared just for him, dealt devastating blows. But with the way she screwed herself around his digits as her walls clenched, the light at the end of the tunnel appeared. She would cum soon, and then he would feast on her as if he were a death row inmate and she was his last meal.

“Terry I-”

“I know Mama, just let go. Let me handle the rest. Let me take care of you,” he coaxed as her juices thickened and whitened into the creamy delight that consumed his more sinful thoughts. Her eyes clenched shut, prompting a sharp smack to her thigh. “Come on Princess, I need you to look at me. Need to see those beautiful eyes process what I’m giving to you,” he cooe’d.

And there they were; beautiful brown eyes spiraling through mindless pleasure while Terry’s words and fingers carried her through to the other side of the bridge he had built her by hand. The bridge called “mind-scrambling pleasure”. The end of it being Terry’s insatiable hunger for his Princess. The center of his being. His wife. Somila Richmond.

Feeling her come down, Terry slowly retracted each finger individually, savouring the labored gasps and strained whimpers he drew out of her. Each finger was immediately cleaned off by Terry’s tongue. A satisfied groan vibrated in his throat, eyes closing as he enjoyed his little taste test. The thought of how close he was to tasting the real thing sent a rush to his head and his dick. This woman had no idea how much of a crack fiend she had turned him into.

“Y’know Mama, if it were up to me, I wouldn’t need trivial shit like food, water or even air. You’d be all I need to survive-no. You’d be all I need to live,” his words of praise were punctuated by kisses of worship against the soft skin of her inner thighs.

“I love you…so fucking much T,” Mila declared breathlessly, making Terry’s heart flutter.

His loving gaze, carrying a predatory undertone, connected with her love-drunk one. His heaven on earth sat before him. The only woman to ever have him on his knees; not sexually, but in full submission of his heart, mind and soul. Everything he did was for her, and the moments like these? With her lost in pleasure he had hand delivered to her (although sometimes out of greed) professing her love to him? These were the moments that made life feel worth it. Because what would his be if it weren’t the one he built with her?

“I love you too Mama. More than you could ever comprehend.”

Having said his grace, Terry pressed his forearm to her hips, pinning them to the velvet seat cushions without breaking eye contact. One thing he just couldn’t have interrupting his meal, was uncontrollable squirming. His knowledge of Mila’s body was extensive enough for him to anticipate and plan for such…inconveniences.

He watched her watch him have a few quick laps at the mess he had created. The remains of her previous orgasm were always the first focus. In tandem, the thumb on his free hand began to massage her clit, coaxing her pussy to increase his supply.

His tongue dipped into her sex, scooping through anything it could taste. The once smooth, lewd sounds sliding from her lips became indecisive erratic cries. As the tip of his tongue swirled through her entrance, the pressure of his thumb increased, as if opening a faucet. Uncontrolled grunts vibrated against her entrance as her essence kissed his taste buds and flowed down his goatee while her body writhed and shook from unbridled pleasure.

Terry wasn’t even in the business of overstimulation, he just had a tendency of feasting on her like a madman. The way his tongue would rearrange her mind just by pressing deeper into her pussy always blossomed a few seeds of pride in his chest. His lips had begun to glisten, matching Mila’s now glowing skin from the sweat she was working up.

He momentarily swapped his tongue and thumb, the coarse, flat pressure on Mila’s nub sending ripples through her body while his thumb worked her back to where he needed her to be. Flat pressure turned to light flicks, and Mila turned to mush as another orgasm tore through her with a guttural moan.

More creamy froth coated Terry’s thumb, telling him to switch back. The onslaught continued as Terry relished the taste of Mila’s undoing while Mila dissolved into a body of incoherent whimpers. Like the glutton she had turned him into, he went for thirds, then fourths, cleaning her out of every orgasm he could claw onto. But alas, his jaw could only take so much, and his tongue could only flex for so long.

Finally releasing her, Terry got off his knees and stood at full height, only then being reminded of the raging boner he had developed back at the museum. Unfortunately his greed had delivered him his comeuppance rather soon. Mila was a twitching mess of nothing but pleasure and vibes on the couch. The bun her locs was in had come undone, leaving them in a sprawled high ponytail. A clear sheen covered her face and the dark brown skin glowing iridescent under their dim orange light. The lip liner had faded but the cherry lip gloss remained, keeping her plump lips soft and smooth.

Still absolutely perfect.

“Fuck, I did too much didn’t I Princess?” he chuckled hoarsely, earning nothing but a mere incoherent mumble in response.

If Terry were a lesser man, he would take more than necessary. He would take the monster prowling in his slacks and fuck her till she didn’t even know who he was. But he wasn’t. He was a man of honour. One that at least accepted consequence when met with it. So he gently scooped her into his arms and carried her bridal style into their ensuite bathroom.

He would just use the hand that was complicit in his gluttony to get himself off. A small price to pay really.

#terry richmond #terry richmond smut #terry richmond x black!oc #terry richmond fic #terry richmond fanfiction #aaron pierre #sillyteecup writes #black fanfic writer

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wolfsong-the-bloody-beast · 2 months ago

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More thoughts on Lucanis x Neve romance, from a Rookanis enjoyer, with love.

(Grab a snack. This is long.)

What I'll be focusing on in this post: Extra info and fun facts about Lucanis and Spite that I have gathered during my playthroughs. The consistency of Lucanis' writing between his romatic relationships with Rook and Neve. Addressing some criticism I've seen to be common. These are my thoughts and opinions.

As I said in my previous post about this topic, I enjoy seeing affectionate Lucanis from the external perspective, because it gives me more insight into his character. Of course, this isn't restricted to just romance, but that's what I want to focus on in this post. (It's too long as it is.) I also have to admit that I'm not exactly a Nevecanis shipper myself (not a big shipper in general), because I simply prefer romancing these characters myself, but I do think that it's a good thing that in my other playthroughs where I explore other options, besides my favourite, Lucanis has someone to make him happy, and I can personally think of nobody better for it than Neve, and Neve also deserves the world. I think it's good that they decided to pair some characters up, when unromanced, so that the group is more lively and doesn't feel like Rook's harem. Also, I tend to reblog whatever artwork of these characters that I like, regardless of whether I'm personally into the pairings or not, and regardless of whether they're possible in the game. Whatever you ship, we're good. As long as we're having fun. But that's beside the point of this post. I'm rambling already.

In my previous post, I ended my commentary with my thoughts about the dialogue cutscene that happens right after Inner Demons, where Rook finds Lucanis preparing dessert either for them or for Neve, depending on whether Rook romances him or not, and the similarities and differences of how each is handled and how each relationship develops until that point.

One thing that I didn't really touch upon is that if Rook saves Minrathous instead of Treviso, we don't get to do the Inner Demons quest, but we still get the dessert scene. So, only briefly. As most of us probably know by now, if Rook sacrifices Lucanis' home, they are cut off from his romance. Neve is not. I'm not going to delve deep into the nuance of that here. Suffice to say that Lucanis is in a vulnerable place after the Ossuary, almost a full year of physical and psychological torture, he's struggling for control of his own body with what most would consider a demon, he thinks his grandmother is dead. His abuser is still somewhere out there. He only has revenge, Treviso, and Illario left, and his cousin acts damn weird, on top of it all. If Rook makes the decision that also dooms his home, it understandably breaks his heart, even if he realizes that Rook is not to blame for what happened. He's lost pretty much everything at that point. (By the way, have you seen blighted Treviso? That place is utterly fucked. I don't think many people could process that in a healthy way.) Meanwhile Neve is in the same position as him when that choice occurs and is just as dependent on Rook's decision as he is. She is ultimately also not the one that makes the decision. It makes sense that he bonds with her over it rather than with Rook. (No, I don't care if you use a mod to make the romance happen anyway. Private mod use is none of my business.) I'm definitely not saying that one choice is better than the other, of couse. They're two different flavours of terrible. Neve is also hurt by the decision to sacrifice her home town, but she's also tragically used to struggling against the system alone and to people not showing up, and it feels like she still has at least something to hold onto. Minrathous is in terrible state and the future of the whole country looks grim, nobody knows what the consequences will be, but at the very least Dock Town stands. Hal is alive and selling treats. Some of the little people she cares about are still there. Neve's a different person with different problems to solve, and she can still find it in her heart to fall for Rook, which is amazing. But anyway...

---

What other sweet and interesting things have I learned from their romance?

Lucanis can recognize Rook by the sound of their footsteps.

We know that from walking in on him in Neve's office where he's alone, waiting for her.

Spite yells at him to talk to his sweetheart!

By saying, "Well, not just Spite," Lucanis is definitely referring to himself here. He wants to try and be more open about his feelings and Spite clearly tries to motivate him to be more proactive.

You can bet Spite yells at him to talk to Rook, as well.

Either way, we find out that Spite is supportive of Lucanis' relationship and even encourages him to act on his feelings. (Seriously, Lucanis beating around the bush must be so frustrating for a spirit of Determination.) I think that from this we can safely say that Spite also likes Neve. Enough to encourage Lucanis to court her.

Of course, we already know that Spite likes Rook a lot, and I imagine that most of us Rookanis lovers already headcanon Spite pestering Lucanis to express his feelings for Rook anyway. Or something similar. However, I don't think it's actually confirmed during a playthrough where Rook romances Lucanis. So, here, Spite canonicaly yells at Lucanis to woo his love interest.

A lot more yapping under the cut.

Once again, in this scene we see how Lucanis doesn't really have a lot of confidence in himself in this department. He keeps mentioning how he's not really good at sweet talk, which is very much in line with what he says during the previous scene where we catch him preparing the dessert before. In total, he says something to that effect at least 3 or 4 times in the game - that all he knows is knives and coffee, that he's not the charming type, that he isn't good with words, etc. (That's not what I personally think about him, but that's what he obviously thinks about himself.) He's not beating the wet cat allegations any time soon.

As I said in my previous post already, I noticed that some consider Lucanis' writing to be inconsistent between his romance with Rook and Neve. And we're all entitled to our opinions, of course. But I'd like to explain why I do not think that is true. Again, that is my perspective and my opinion.

There is one variable here that is not often taken into account here, and that is Rook. Well, two, actually. Because I think we also need to keep in mind that the scene where Lucanis' romance with Neve locks in happens quite some time after Inner Demons and the scene that occurs right afterwards where we catch Lucanis preparing the dessert. In that scene, he is still very much a wet cat, regardless of whether he's preparing the dessert to woo Rook or whether it's for Neve. (Not a bad thing to remember here is that falling for somebody seems to be rare enough for Lucanis, as he's never been in a relationship before, and he has already once before been rejected after trying to court somebody with a gift.)

First of all, if Rook is not present during the follow-up scene where the lock-in for Lucanis and Neve is supposed to happen, if the player for some reason decides to skip it, Lucanis does not express his interest to Neve and, tragically, may later regret this, should something happen to her. It makes sense that he would still have feelings for her, even if he never confessed. Love doesn't go away like that, just because you never put it into words. Also, I know this is a video game mechanic, but I still consider it part of his characterization that he needs his partner to either be very perceptive (like Rook during the scene after Inner Demons) or in this case get cornered a little to actually express his feelings in this complicated phase of his life. It makes sense when you look at how this scene plays out. Rook being there for the start of his romance with Neve is important - either it puts him a bit more at ease, or more on the spot, or a litte bit of both. Either way, it helps them work it out. (It also makes sense that it is Rook that basically spells it out to the player during the previous scene, after Inner Demons, that Lucanis has made a dessert specifically for them, if romanced, because they understand him and what he's trying to say, but the player may not, because Lucanis tends to deflect and put himself and his efforts down. He clearly has a lot of insecurity in this department and Rook is good at untangling it.)

As I also mentioned in my previous post, it's clear that when Lucanis made the first dessert, he clearly didn't express his feelings for Neve then, because... well, we get their romance lock-in here, in this scene, so much later. (I got this scene after Blood of Arlathan. That's pretty late in the game.) Neve also explicitly states that this is the second time he's made her favourite kind of pie.

With Rook, they figured it out and officially started dating on Lucanis' first try. (Or the first pie? Haha.) However, with Neve, this is his second attempt to express his feelings. This is one of the reasons why I think Lucanis' writing is consistent, and why I previously said that his romance with Neve may actually be slower than with Rook. They take longer to actually start dating and Lucanis is very much a wet cat all the way until this point.

And even in this scene, you can see that Lucanis drops the treat and coffee in Neve's office and is almost ready to evacuate again!

He just... keeps saying that.

That's so him. The Demon of Vyrantium, the legendary slayer of blood mages and Venatori, the master assassin, the demon-powered killing machine that made a near immortal eldrich horror bleed, on the verge of retreat... from his love interest, because he may know how to kill a man with his bare hands in a hundred different ways, but sweet talk? Nah, that's scary.

Except this time, Rook is there to provide emotional support (or peer pressure, haha). They already know all about his feelings for Neve. Especially if the Inner Demons quest occurs. And they can so tattle on him, if you so choose. Each of those options is pretty cute and/or funny.

No, I'm making you look great. You'll just have to trust me on this, Lucanis.

But most importantly, seeing Lucanis getting tangled in this situation, Neve finally says something. Either she finally figures it out, or more likely she just finally acknowledges it. She's a seasoned detective. She observes people all the time. Of course she would notice that he's trying to treat her special. However, from Neve's romance, we also know that she herself struggles with her own issues, namely with letting people close, so this is a significant step for her, as well. It makes sense that it takes them longer to bond, when Lucanis struggles to express his feelings and Neve tries to avoid catching feelings, or at least acting on them, for fear of things going wrong. And while Neve's bonding with Rook shows more of her internal struggle to let herself finally have something, we have to simply accept that the companions simply aren't and can't be as front as centre as the protagonist in such a game, so we can't delve into their inner workings as deeply in that case. (Funny, though, how I've never once seen anyone say that Neve's writing here is inconsistent. Almost as if it only matters when it's our Antivan male lover...) There are always going to be differences in how characters are handled in companion x companion romance vs protagonist x companion romance. Their romance is very much side content that's supposed to make them feel a little more real. It's also worth noting that Rook's lock-in scene with both Neve and Lucanis happens way earlier than this scene between them. But here, they both had a lot of time to let their feelings stew, so they can finally reach this point. However, Neve still warns him that she's not going to make his life easy. A light reference to what happens when you romance her with Rook.

I've seen some upset over the fact that we learn that Lucanis hangs out with Neve at night if he courts her, as if he doesn't with Rook. But we already know this from Lucanis' romance with Rook! Remember?

We know that Lucanis and Rook hang out together around midnight, as well! That's not new information, but I wanted to include it, because I do think (and will keep repeating that) Lucanis' writing is pretty consistent between the two romances. Lucanis loves to be around his partner. We know that from both his romances.

This is what he further says about Rook when romanced.

Which means that he will likely sit nearby like a content cat while Rook sorts out and reads their mail out loud for both of them or whatever. He doesn't care what they're up to. He wants to be there with them. It's implied that Rook and Lucanis read together. "Nearing midnight: Reading," only appears in that particular entry of his log book when he's romanced. They stay up at night to spend time together, as he also writes down in his log book. And it makes him happy, "just being around them", which you know not only from his words but also the tone of his voice when he talks about it in that banter.

Anyway. Because Neve finally acknowledges that Lucanis is clearly trying to spend time with her for a reason and admits that "maybe" she likes that (The woman also can't express her feelings to save her life, bless her.), Lucanis is pleasantly surprised (He says, "Really?" and sounds happily taken aback.) and responds warmly and enthusiastically afterwards, because of course he does. Because IS THIS SUCCESS??? LET'S GO! He gets giddy about it, and it's cute.

Neve.exe briefly stops working. Then tries to play it cool. Nothing to see here.

Encouraged by his unexpected success (He was almost about to run away!), he musters a bit of charm here, haha. From the coffee date with Rook early in the game and the scene where he almost kisses them when romanced, we know he has it in him, but at this point in the game he doesn't really seem to believe it himself. He repeats it over and over. He tells that to Emmrich at least twice. ("I don't know what [Rook] sees in me," is sort of a sad thing for him to say when you think about it, honestly, and when you look at his romance lock-in with Rook, it's a pattern. He doesn't believe he has much to offer.) He tells that to Rook when not romanced. He says it in this very scene. Yes, he's an adult. He knows what flirting is and what it entails. We all know he can pull it off. Whatever. But he clearly doesn't seem to believe that he can do it, or that he's good with words, and seems to be more comfortable expressing himself in other ways, especially at first. However, now that he knows that the person he cares for actually likes him back, too? Hell, yeah, he's unstoppable now. Heh, sort of anyway. When you think about it, his charm here and elsewhere, for most of the game actually, comes from him being earnest, not suave. Just him being himself. I think that's demonstrated on the couple of lines above. Telling Neve that she makes his life better and that he hopes he has more charm than this is not some killer move. It's just him being honest and enthusiastic after finding out she actually likes him back, and that ends up being sweeter and more charming than whatever flirt line anybody could possibly come up with. It also seems to me that once he knows that the affection is mutual, he does turn into a sweet talker, as we see on his later interactions with both Rook and Neve. But he does it in his own way.

Once again, it's important to remember that this happens quite late in the game. This is not the scene after the ordeal of Inner Demons where he prepares the first dessert, still rattled. This is possibly after all his quests have been resolved, his grandmother saved, etc. (For me, that is the case anyway.) This is why Lucanis' demeanor here is a bit more relaxed in general.

I do not think that means that his writing is inconsistent. We merely see another side of him under different circumstances.

---

Now, I'd also like to talk about some of the banters they have together afterwards, because there's some fun information there, and they're also what I've seen some complaints about.

To me, the "inconsistencies" boil down to interpretation. Simply put, it depends on whether you can imagine two adults spending quality time together without having sex.

If somebody likes to interpret the banters as Lucanis and Neve being that intimate, I think that's perfectly fine... unless they also get super upset about it and make it a whole problem. I think the banters are written in a way that let's you interpret them how you please, which in Lucanis' case is a great choice, in my opinion. As far as I'm concerned, they handled it well.

It's sort of what a lot of us do while romancing him with Rook, as well, because there's enough space left for interpretation. While Lucanis' dialogue cutscenes with Rook are mostly tame, there's also enough space for the player to headcanon whatever level of intimacy they please for the rest of the game, because there's nothing to confirm or deny that.

Personally, for my own playthrough, I like to imagine that Rook and Lucanis share those shy, fleeting touches Isabela mentions after they officially start dating, share their first kiss after Lucanis' last quest/outing, and slowly get more physically intimate overtime, but make love for the first time after Tearstone Island, like it is in the game. So, as far as I'm concerned, I already have this idea of (slowly) intensifying intimacy with time for Rook and Lucanis. That's how I personally like it, and I think that any other headcanon people come up with for their own playthrough that pleases them is great - whether they imagine that Lucanis and Rook don't get intimate at all until the bedscene happens in the game, or that they break his cot in the pantry the same evening they share the dessert, or something in between, or something else entirely. Is the note in his log book about them having a pleasant late night chat or did they cuddle? Something else? Up to you.

My point is, you can easily do the same thing with the romance between Lucanis and Neve, because the banters are so unspecific.

Let's look at the most cheeky ones I've found.

Neve: So you and Spite are friends now? Can't say my money was on that one. Lucanis: I would've lost that bet too. Neve: If it lets you sleep at night… Unless this clears the way for new and different midnight brooding. Lucanis: I wouldn't put it past me. Neve: Well, find me at midnight and we'll test the theory. Lucanis: (Chuckles)

What does this banter tell us? It tells us that they spend time together late at night. But we already know that! From their romance lock-in scene. ("You find me at midnight just to talk.") I think this banter is a reference to that. How you imagine they spend that time, that's entirely up to you. If you imagine they're fucking their brains out, and you like that, cool! If you imagine they're sitting side by side, having a pleasant time, looking through Neve's case notes, and you like that, cool. If you think they're just starting to get physically intimate, cool. Because the banter does not say.

Taash: Hey, Lucanis. Lucanis: Yes? Taash: You and Neve? Lucanis: Yes. Taash: Nice catch. Lucanis: Thanks.

He's just as cagey as he is when Taash talks to him about Rook, by the way. It continues...

Taash: And Spite's good with her? Lucanis (Spite): No talking. When. Her hat comes off. Go play with wisps. Taash: 'Kay.

This one made me laugh.

But what does it actually mean? It tells us that Lucanis sets some boundaries with Spite. He's in love. He's in a relationship now. Of course he at the very least thinks about the possibility of getting intimate.

This can again be interpreted as Lucanis and Neve already being intimate in some way. Which also doesn't necessarily mean all the way - I swear that sometimes, it seems to me that people forget that cuddling and making out and other non-sexual forms of intimacy exist. Or it could mean that Lucanis has simply considered that this is where he wants the relationship to go sooner or later, and so he's told Spite, "Hey, if this situation occurs, be quiet and give us some space." This one definitely sounds more spicy and it shows that Lucanis obviously thinks about these things, but more than anything it shows that he asks Spite to give him privacy. Again, I feel like this is up to the player and what they want it to be.

I would also like to disagree with the narrative I have seen somewhere before that Neve rejects Spite. That's not the impression I've got from the game at all. I've never once caught Neve having a problem with Spite when she and Lucanis are in a relationship. (Though I don't yet know what happens during their romance when Minrathous is saved, because that's where I'm currently romancing Neve myself, but even then I haven't really seen her say anything that would suggest that she has a problem with Spite.) Most importantly, Spite clearly likes Neve. He even suggests that Lucanis should bring her flowers from Lavendel, which is adorable.

Seriously, his romance with Neve makes it almost seem that Spite is more competent at wooing somebody than Lucanis is sometimes, which is just so funny. This little guy, trapped in a world utterly alien to him, barely understands what feet are, but he knows you bring people flowers to show affection. I love him so much. While Lucanis' reaction shows he's probably never had an example of a healthy relationship of any kind for reference in his entire life. (Actually, from his reaction it seems to me that he perhaps simply doesn't yet know if Neve even likes flowers as a gift. Insufficient data.)

Either way, I think that when Lucanis loves Neve, Spite loves her, as well. It's not Neve who sends him away to have more privacy. It's Lucanis.

"BUT I WANT LUCANIS TO GET FLOWERS FOR ROOK, AS WELL!" Look at me. Listen to me. You give that man some damn flowers. He cooks for Rook. He prepares sweet treats for them. He invites them for coffee dates. He makes coffee or hot chocolate for them, and even though he himself doesn't even like tea, he makes sure it's in the Lighthouse for them. He would kill for them. You give the man flowers. Or rather, I'll tell you what to do: You go to Treviso, visit Fletcher, and buy that fancy tea (coffee) set for Lucanis after you lock his romance in, and you'll get that little cutscene where Rook gives it to him. Enjoy his romanced response. Call me crazy, but I think that's sweeter and more satisfying than the one line where Spite has to suggest giving flowers to Neve to him and Lucanis reacts like he's not even sure that's a good idea, haha. It's something wholesome and more normal that Rook can do for him to express their affection for a change, besides standing by his side through his struggles. But anyway.

Maybe it's because I like to imagine (my) Rook and Lucanis getting intimate at that point in the game, as well, and/or because I don't think that when two adults are alone in a room together, it necessarily means that they have to immediately get naked, those banters don't bother me, nor does it seem to me like the writing is inconsistent, especially because of how open to interpretation it is. If you leave your own assumptions out of it, the banters really don't say that much. They confirm for us that Lucanis has spicy thoughts, which I personally think is cute, and which I'm also pretty sure is already part of many people's headcanon for their Rook x Lucanis playthroughs anyway. They confirm for us that Lucanis enjoys spending time with his lover. And that he tries to communicate his boundaries to Spite.

I think it's also important to realize that these are two companion characters and we don't actually get any other romance scenes between them than the one described above, so they had to give their relationship some depth pretty much exclusively through banters and some rare mention here and there, just like they do it with Taash and Harding. (By the way, I also haven't seen anyone say anything about any possible inconsistencies with Taash and Harding, either.)

From the other banters, we find out that Lucanis asks Neve what her favourite dish is, and after she tells him, he promises to try and prepare something like that for her.

Lucanis: Neve, do you have a favourite food? Neve: Whatever you're cooking. Lucanis: There must be something. Neve: I might have a weakness for seafood and candlelight. Lucanis: I'll see what I can do.

He's clearly willing to learn and actively puts effort into his relationship. That's a trait that definitely also applies to his relationship with Rook. We know that because he remembers their favourite drink, makes sure it's stocked in the Lighthouse, and later prepares a matching treat. (He may even ask Emmrich for a recipe.) His love language clearly is food and quality time together. (And stabbing people for his lover, as is particularly clear from his romance with Rook.) That's how he seems to be most comfortable showing affection.

He also tells Neve that, during the Inner Demons quest, she was there to "sort of" help guide Rook through his mental prison. Neve tries to be cool about it and again ceases to function when he's earnest about it, which is always funny (and understandable).

Lucanis: Neve. In the Fade with Rook and Spite... you were there. I mean, not you, but... you know what I mean. You helped Rook. Sort of. Neve: Sort of? Well, isn't that flattering. At least I'm on your mind. Lucanis: You are. And not just then. Neve: I... oh. Well, then.

And he says he's not good with words.

Neve: I need to go through my notes later. See what the Shadows might find useful. Lucanis: Need company? Neve: No. But I'd love yours all the same. Lucanis: Then I'm yours.

Again, they talk about spending time together. That's definitely his thing. Lucanis also gives Neve similar "I'm yours," that he gives Rook. When you visit him in the pantry, he may say to Rook: "Did you need me? I'm yours." It couldn't be more clear that he's ready to be wherever Rook is, regardless of what they're doing, as well.

Also, a version of this banter exists before Lucanis and Neve start dating and possibly before dealing with Aelia. More casual, but similar vibe.

Lucanis: You don't sleep much, do you? Neve: More than you, but little enough. Still looking over everything on Aelia. Lucanis: If you need fresh eyes, I'm awake anyway. Neve: Maybe. If you don't mind the company. It comes with wisps. Lucanis: Wisps are nothing. Besides, you're better company than Spite. Neve: Really? Rumour has it I'm a pain in the ass. But that's if you ask Tarquin.

I think that's what Neve references when she says, "You find me at midnight just to talk."

All in all, the banters between Lucanis and Neve, and with a couple of other companions, during their romance simply hint at them having a loving relationship and spending quality time together. Consider that they had to squeeze their whole relationship into a few lines of banter and an occasional mention in dialogue and somehow make it believable, because unlike Rook and Lucanis, they don't have whole quests, outings, and many other interactions inside and outside of the Lighthouse, to develop their relationship.

Lucanis' relationship is definitely flavoured by his partner, whether it is Rook or Neve, and it's good that it's not completely the same for both couples, because they're different individuals, but I also don't really find any actual inconsistencies in their characterization between them.

I do agree that some of these interactions are super sweet and I would absolutely love it if we had some more of them between Rook and Lucanis and the other companions, because honestly I could easily listen to a hundred more, but it's also necessary to acknowledge that Lucanis and Neve are two companion characters and the few banters, one short cutscene, and a rare mention here and there, are all they get. And I think it's perfectly sufficient for them as NPCs. The interactions are lovely. They're clearly good for each other. But I also don't think they're actually getting anything extra in comparison with Rook, and I'm just honestly a bit baffled by the noise about it.

Rook as the protagonist has great chemistry and dynamic with Lucanis from the very beginning, thoughout the whole game, as I already to some extent described in my previous post. This post is already way too long without me getting too much into it here. But Rook has the benefit of being able to do Lucanis' quests, go on outings with him, be there for him during all the important moments (e.g. his grandma's funeral arrangements), have various interactions in the Lighthouse (e.g. Lucanis attempts to kiss them way before the dessert scene comes up) and outside of it. The Inner Demons quest is, in my opinion, the most intimate thing ever while doing his romance. They have banter together and with the other companions about their relationship and other things. We know they spend quality time together. Besides travelling everywhere side by side outside of the Lighthouse so often, they get together late at night, read together, are coffee buddies (or whatever drink you've chosen). Lucanis insists that Rook stay and tell stories while they drink with Davrin, wanting to hear a story from their life that he's already heard from others before, just because he thinks nobody tells it as well as Rook. I don't think that loses its meaning just because it's also a friendly interaction. Lucanis writes into his log book about them. He yells at Illario when he injures them. Etc. Etc. I really don't think there's any reason to hate on Neve, be jelly, or argue which relationship is more "canon". (For fuck's sake.)

Not to be patronizing or anything, but we, as a fandom, do remember what canon is, right? As in, actually established facts about the setting. As in, humans, elves, dwarves, and qunari are the races populating Thedas. Alistair Theirin was at the Battle of Ostagar. Magic and dragons exist. Treviso is in Antiva. Then there's personal "canon" that we each create for ourselves and those are wildly different. (And that's great about them!) For some, that means that e.g. the Hero of Ferelden died killing the Archdemon. Or that Hawke sided with the mages. Or that the Inquisitor exiled the Wardens. Or that Rook tricked Solas. Romances and optional relationships between NPCs fall into the category of personal "canon". Let's not forget that. It's so stupid to argue about which relationship is more legit when it literally depends on the player's choice. This is a reminder aimed especially at the part of the fandom crying that Neve's romance with Lucanis somehow invalidates Rook's romance with him.

As for them reusing small bits of Lucanis' romance scenes with Rook for his romance with Neve. Mostly this just means that he mentions her in like... two dialogues, maybe. It doesn't bother me, because to me that is the smart move, because it saved them time that they could invest into something else, probably more significant. I think it would bother me way more if they actually put unnecessary time into creating a lot extra content for them when I could have it instead. Maybe it's just me, but I don't think it takes anything away from Lucanis' romance, because his romance and dynamic with Rook, overall, is delightful and consists of so much more than one short cutscene and a couple of lines.

Again, I'm not here to argue with anyone. Mostly, I think. I'm here to offer my perspective and also information for those who haven't seen Lucanis x Neve for themselves, don't have time for multiple playthroughs, or whatever, but are interested and/or want to know more about Lucanis for their headcanon.

Now, I'm going to end this rambling here, otherwise I'll keep adding to it forever. Pardon any mistakes or nonsense, I can't bear to read this all again, haha. If you've read all the way here, thank you so much for putting up with my bullshit. That's crazy.

#Dragon Age #Dragon Age: The Veilguard #DATV #Veilguard #Lucanis Dellamorte #Dragon Age: The Veilguard spoilers #DATV spoilers #Veilguard spoilers #I feel insane for having written all of this not gonna lie #it was supposed to be a short comparison #how did this happen #I just started one day and kept adding to it #what am I doing with my life?

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ilooklikeaburntchickenugget · 9 months ago

Note

helloo! idk if youre taking requests, but if you do i was thinking of revenge era gee with fem reader who is also a well know singer. like shes on tour and does some festival mcr is playing at and shes really mainstream so the guys dont have high expectations on her music but then they watch her play and they're like "fuck, she actually does know what shes doing" and somehow her and gee exchange numbers and start texting all day long bc theyre both on tour

idk if this makes any sense tbh.

i saw one picture of ts on the red tour that looks like if it was taken with a shitty flip phone and thought of this somehow

anyway, feel free to ignore this and have a good day :D

Title: Happily Ever Accident

A/N: Hey y'all I know it's been actually forever but I saw this in my inbox and thought it was cute so managed to somehow write this amidst midterms season. Idk how but it happened. It's also not thoroughly proof-read because tbh I'm tried and lazy right now. But here's some content for y'all for once. Also, side note, but as I was writing this I was visioning reader as a Sabrina Carpenter-esc figure. Just in the sense of popularity, stage presence, etc. Pairing: Gerard Way (circa mid-2005) x F!PopStar!Reader Word count: 7,978 words Warnings: Swearing, mentions of insecurity

Low expectations. The constant standard he had set for almost every single festival his band was expected to play.

It wasn’t that Gerard didn’t like other people’s music, or festivals for that matter, but considering the label had cornered them into a small handful of non-genre restrictive ones he was annoyed. The culture, the vibes, the people- this was not his place. Not his band’s place, for that matter.

But commercialism was the name of the game, he had learned that early on. He was lucky enough the label had allowed their last album to be artistically driven by him, from songs and lyrics to the artwork on the cover. But there is always a quid-pro-quo in the entertainment industry. And playing at a mainstream festival was apparently one of them.

They wouldn’t have agreed to this had their last music video not gone over budget by a significant amount, and now they were paying the price. On top of that the label had encouraged them to be in public, watch other bands play from the VIP tents. Gerard narrowly lost his shit after trying time and time again explain that they needed time to prep for their show, get in the proper mindset, and that would take all the morning into late afternoon when they were finally on. The label exec begged to differ, giving no ultimatum.

“Fucking hell, if we have to listen to another fucking basic pop artist I’m going to lose my mind.” Frank sighed walking through the festival grounds. The group was by no means blending in, as three security guards stood around them and they could easily hear and see people left and right gawking at them as if they were circus animals.

“Good fucking luck with that.” Ray replied. He was never the sarcastic type, if anything he was the most mature and level-headed. So when he had enough, everyone knew it was bad.

“We have one more.” Gerard too sighed, sticking his hands aggressively in his jean pockets. “Then we’re off the fucking hook.” The group took sighs of relief out of sync.

“Who is it?” Frank asked, seeming halfway curious.

“Uh-“ Gerard stopped, checking his phone to see what their manager had texted them. “Great. Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

“Fuck me.” Frank sighed. “My head is going to fucking explode. Listen, I like all music, but I cannot do this much commercial, manufactured pop.”

“I don’t know, her stuff doesn’t seem as bad as some of the others.” Mikey chimed in for the first time.

“How would you know? I’ve only heard her shit in Targets.” Frank speedily replied.

“Social media, I guess. Enough sound clips from her songs have blown up to make them pretty hard to miss.”

“I’m still keeping my expectations low.” Frank shrugged.

“It’s the last one, try to be somewhat positive.” Ray replied halfheartedly.

“We’re never going over budget on anything again.” Gerard quickly added, turning a corner to the next stage’s area. “I can’t fucking do this.”

She got nervous before shows. She was great at hiding it. But in the last few weeks every festival she was playing had crowds growing bigger and bigger. From what her manager had communicated to her approximately two minutes ago, she had the biggest recorded crowd so far for the second day.

Staring at herself in the mirror of the green room, she pushed every bad thought out of her mind. She even closed her eyes and imagined all the bad energy within her swooping out of her body in swirls of dust and being replaced with positive rays of sunshine. It might’ve been stupid, but it worked.

She opened her eyes, putting on her signature smile, looked herself up and down, reminded herself that she was incredibly sexy at the moment, and b-lined it for the door.

Anxiety be damned, her ambitions had gotten her this far and would get her further, she knew that much. She was happy at this point to be thrown into the group of “pop girlies” currently dominating the charts, because it meant she was catering to an already large fan base, and proving others wrong in their assumptions too.

Give a girl some platform boots, a tight outfit where the tops integrity around her chest was questionable, and a microphone- then you’ve got a pop star.

Gerard stood there amazed. He could not fucking believe it.

Three songs in and he was mesmerized. He wasn’t sure if he was more shocked with her or himself. He was trying to rack his brain for reasons to not like this, and blank answers came up time and time again.

To begin with, her songs were substantially above average for pop. They had creative instrumentals, catchy sounds, and her lyrics were truly the star of the show.

But then he took into account her as a person. She was quite attractive, sure. He had seen her enough online and in magazines to see at least that much, but he was sure most of the male population and a decent amount of the female population also saw that. But here, in this light, in that tight little outfit that showed off all the right things just enough to give a good idea, but still leave a good amount to the imagination, he was falling head over heels.

He was almost flustered with her perfection in his eyes, having to catch himself to make sure wasn’t staring like a dog at a bone. After all, there were enough people around to know him and take photos, which would lead to massive and weird speculation online that he simply didn’t want to deal with.

And her stage presence was empowering. She was confident, not selfish. She was sexy as much as she was innocent. She was clear in her intentions and messages, just as much when she left some ideas not fully complete to leave people longing and wondering.

Suddenly he understood all the teenage girls in the audience. She was fucking incredible.

“Told you.” Mikey said next to him with a smirk. It was hard for Gerard to look away from her, but he did. “Don’t always believe stereotypes man. You out of all people should know better.”

“That really wasn’t so bad after all.” Frank shrugged as the group walked back to their own green room, hidden in an array of tents set up on the edge of the festival grounds.

“Yeah, but standing in the heat for that long was exhausting.” Ray commented next, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. He was always tense until they got all the equipment set up and knew everything was going to go right.

“I don’t know man, that last show kinda rocked.” Mikey responded. “Been trying to tell you guys that not all pop artists are that bad.”

“Well, a lot of them are.” Frank quickly rebutted. “However, you are right, that last one was incredible. I just thought having a girlfriend who obsesses over pop music had gotten to your head.” Mikey rolled his eyes.

Gerard was silent, partially because he didn’t really have anything to say, and partially because he was hanging on to the last show. He learned through years of art school and sketching under cubicle lights that some of the best art was clear as day yet still left you thinking. That was how he felt at the moment. Dwelling in the really astounding feeling he had.

She had single handedly proved a lot of his fallacies wrong. And he saw with his very eyes how she managed to go from half the crowd being into her to the master tools her voice and movement had that puppeteer the crowd like a pro. Who was he kidding though- she clearly was a pro.

Turning a corner he was so lost in his thoughts, his body in auto drive and his vision turned to the cement ground. He knew he needed to stop thinking soon, get in the right headspace for his own show- and then he bumped into something.

His body lost a bit of its control as his right arm collided with something a bit smaller than him. Suddenly he regained all his consciousness as his stabled his footing again, turning his body to see what it was.

And there, low and behold, in those damn platform boots and an oversized hoodie that went so far down her thighs it was a dress, was the very woman who had captured his mind just minutes ago. She was lingering within him, and now she was right here.

Fate works in strange ways.

“Shit, I’m so sorry-“ She began, regaining her own balance as she clearly took more of a hit than he did given that she was shorter and had boots that, despite looking like they weighed a ton, he doubted helped to ground her any more.

“No, that was my fault.” He quickly interrupted, growing embarrassed as she looked up and he realized he had managed to be rude to her in the last 30 seconds not once but twice. “I should’ve been looking out.”

“Me too.” She calmly replied with a small smile, handing this with so much grace and calmness compared to his internal panic.

This close she managed to look even better than on the screens. Photos and videos didn’t do her beauty justice. She looked almost like a doll- near perfect features, beautiful hair, and a smile that was so comforting and cute and graceful. Her makeup was almost as perfect as it was when she went on, but her mascara was ever so smeared around the corner of her eyes, her lipstick fading, and hell- his mind couldn’t help but wander to a place where he wondered what it would be like if he had put her in this state. And then he shut those thoughts up as quickly as they appeared, choosing instead to wonder how anyone could be more perfect.

“I um- I better get going and leave you guys to get to your show.” She quickly said, but froze up not even a moment later, her eyes growing wide with embarrassment of her own. “Shit that was weird wasn’t it? I don’t know you but- well I do, kinda, but like not personally. I mean knowing your music and band and-“ she stopped talking not knowing what to say, her body almost shrinking in a sense of even more embarrassment. “Fuck. I’m gonna shut up now.”

Gerard gave a chuckle and a smile of his own. He felt better now that both of them felt embarrassed.

“No, it’s okay.” He replied. “We’re just coming from your show, actually.” Somehow she froze even more. He could tell under that huge gray hoodie her muscles had tensed further.

“Oh, uh, I hope you enjoyed it.” She softly smiled, polite but seeming almost nervous. Why was he so bad about talking to women, especially pretty ones?

“It was phenomenal, actually.” He replied, nervous himself and instinctively rubbing the back of his neck with one of his hands. There was already a thin layer of sweat connecting back there from standing in the heat for so long. But he didn’t care about that nor how he would survive the heat on his stage later- all he cared about right now was not completely fucking up this interaction with the woman in front of him.

“Are you just saying that to be nice?” She asked with a pouty lip as she clearly questioned the integrity of his response. He rapidly shook his head.

“No, of course not. I don’t lie- ever. If anything I went into the show not knowing much- not in a bad way, I mean kinda in an ignorant way if I’m being honest, and you just- fuck, man, the way you controlled that crowd was so exciting and empowering. It truly was incredible.”

Her face looked like a damn puppy dog begging for a treat. If he weren’t human he would have definitely melted by that look. Big eyes and a genuine smile, her cheeks big and emphasizing her reaction.

“That’s really sweet, thank you so much.” She replied, yet again with grace that he wished he had in these moments. “I um- while I would love to talk more I need to take a shower. I feel so sticky and just- gross. But it was really nice talking to you. And thanks so much for watching me, I really appreciate the feedback.”

His heart broke just a bit.

“Yeah, of course.” He replied, and before he could think he blurted out. “You’re more than welcome to come to ours as well, I mean I’m sure you have the artist VIP tent access, but if you wanna get closer I can definitely arrange a barricade pass for you.”

Her eyes lit up and glowed in a way he wished he could see every single day.

“That’s amazing!” She replied. “Would it be selfish to ask for one more too? My best friend is here and she likes you guys too-“

“Consider it done.” He smiled as she smiled back. “I’ll have my manager send them over to your trailer.”

“Thank you, that’s very sweet of you.” She replied.

“It’s the least I can do. Returning the favor of watching your show and providing feedback.”

“Does that mean I need to take notes for yours and give them to you too?” She asked with a playful smile. Just now he noticed the water bottle in her hand with a straw as she took a sip and damn- he quickly erased all the dirty thoughts that rushed into his mind before it was too late.

“Only if you want to.” Where had this confidence in him come from? He didn’t even know. But right now it was working, and that was all that mattered. Yet again, his body thought before his mind as he said, “Give me your number and we can arrange a meetup. To, ya know, exchange notes and whatnot.”

She seemed flustered, but hid it well. However, the red blush growing on her cheeks and her face that froze yet again for a mere moment told him maybe she wasn’t all that good at this either. But hey, there was a learning opportunity for both of them, he supposed.

“Sure.” She said, as he grabbed his phone, handing it to her as she quickly typed it in.

Y/F/N Y/L/N it read on his screen, the line of numbers under it.

“It was nice meeting you, Y/F/N.” He smiled.

“You too-“ She said, but stopped herself. “I know your first name but I don’t want to say it before you do because that’s creepy.”

He let out a genuine laugh.

“Gerard.” He said.

“Gerard.” She replied. “I’ll see you later, Gerard.”

“So what you’re telling me is Gerard Way wants to fuck you?” Lacey asked her. But she supposed this is why people had best friends- to be both supportive, honest, and borderline crude all at the same time.

“I don’t know if he wants to fuck me-“

“He wants to ‘exchange notes’ on your shows? Code words for ‘come back to my trailer and let’s have sex’.” She said with confidence, sitting down and scrolling through her own phone as Y/F/N changed into a solid black hoodie and jeans to not make her presence obvious. Their show was not about her, and she hoped her presence wouldn’t make it about her.

“Well, I don’t just fuck guys. And I’ll be happy to tell him that if he tries. But he seemed very sweet, and all the interviews of him lean towards him being a very nice guy.” Y/F/N responded quickly, borderline defensive.

“Nice guys can have hookups too, ya know.” Lacey said. She wasn’t wrong, but Y/F/N swore this felt different.

“Regardless, that’s not happening with me.”

“Preach, sister.” Lacy said with a bit of pop in her voice. “If what you’re saying is true, it did sound like you have him wrapped around your finger.”

“We talked for like two minutes. I barely know him, he barely knows me.” Y/F/N rolled her eyes, expertly reapplying her lip gloss in a small mirror.

“Do you know that amount of men after your shows that would fall on their knees and beg for you?” Lacey asked, finally looking up from her phone to make eye contact in the mirror.

“Whatever.” Y/F/N sighed. “I’m just excited we have barricade to a My Chem show. How long have we been wanting to see them?”

“A solid year.” Lacey admitted, standing up to find her shoes. “I’m still not over Gerard Way wanting to fuck you, though.”

Y/F/N was sure rumors would be circulating by morning. As soon as she entered the VIP barricade area alongside Lacey, there was a sudden eruption of screams, and as she looked over a sea of phones were taking photos and videos of her. She gave a polite smile and wave before turning back around towards the stage, hoping as soon as the band got on the attention was going to divert away from her.

Damn her for thinking having a black hoodie on with the hood up would prevent this.

Within minutes though, as the lights on the stage went pitch black and screams from the entire crowd erupted she knew that finally she could just enjoy seeing a band she really liked play from right in front of her. Perks of being a pop star or whatever.

She had to admit that the in-person performance easily knocked any of the recorded ones she saw online out of the fucking park. And while Gerard Way had always been objectively attractive, and happened to be the skinny sad white boy that was her type for whatever reason, he looked really attractive in this light. Like a new skin of confidence took over him. Maybe it was the tight black skinny jeans or fake bullet proof vest with no shirt on under it that perfectly sculpted his lightly muscular arms- and damn the hands. Masculine hands were one of her weaknesses. And his very much fit into that category.

So did she have any notes after the show? No, actually. It was exactly what she had expected, but two fold. She was left amazed and energized as they walked off.

If he really wanted to compare notes with her he was going to be sorely disappointed in the lack of notes she had.

That night did not end with them sharing notes about the others show. Instead, it ended with them sitting on a grassy patch of the festival grounds when it emptied out talking about anything and everything. Gerard had quickly realized how multi-faceted of a person Y/F/N was. Every preconceived notion he had of her was torn down by her random knowledge about random things, her admissions to cringey teen phases she had, cute childhood stories, dichotomy of family and how difficult that could be to navigate.

She was fucking perfect inside and out. And he knew he couldn’t lose her.

In an assertive nature he decided to text her more through the next week. She was on tour in one town, and he was in another. But that didn’t matter. Every other day, or three days apart maximum, they would call from their hotel rooms, or from outside his bus, and talk. About everything. Their days, their histories. What they ate, what they did or didn’t like, who they saw, where they were next, what they wanted to do, asking the other about cool things to do in the city they were in for that day.

And finally, a little less than two weeks after they met, they had that talk.

“So what are we?” She asked over the phone, sitting on her bed and nervously picking at her brightly colored nails. She needed to know before she got too attached and her heart broken further down the line when she was way deeper in than she was now. Not that rejection now wouldn’t hurt- she was trying to save herself from more potential hurt later.

“Seeing each other?” He asked. “I mean, no pressure- we can always take it slower.“

“I would like for us to be ‘seeing each other’.” She replied with a smile growing on her face.

“Great, then we’re seeing each other.” He decided, she could hear the small smile in his own voice despite not seeing him.

“We have a four day break coming up.” He mentioned on a call. A few weeks had blown by, and things felt very normal between them given how abnormal their situation was.

“Okay.” She replied simply, wanting him to go on.

“I want to come see you, if that’s okay.”

“Okay.” She replied again, not hesitant- but a mixture of excited and logistically starting to play a mind puzzle about how this was going to work.

“Just okay?” He asked, now sounding more hesitant himself but equally as confused.

“No, I just mean- like, yes, please come, I really want to see you, but if people see us together again, I think it will kinda be obvious. I- it’s not that I don’t want to show you off, but I kinda like the direction we’re going in now. I don’t want public speculation or opinion to fuck that up.”

Even in a fucking baseball cap and sunglasses at her show, people would grow suspicious of that figure in the secluded family/friends area. They would equally as quickly figure out, judging by the firestorm online caused by her presence at their show the night they met, who it was. And then they would be official without actually saying anything. Just by being together.

She wouldn’t mind being official to the public, eventually. But she wanted more time to have just them to herself.

“I can stand off to the side behind the stage.” He offered.

“Your view is gonna suck.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Okay then.” She replied affirmatively.

“Okay?” He asked for clarification.

“Yes, okay.” She softly smiled with a giggle. “Come to the shows, I even have a hotel room booked one of the nights.”

“Oh fancy.” He replied with a chuckle. “Lookin’ forward to it.”

She shouldn’t have been nervous. He had seen her perform before.

Well once- the first time they met, and then twice on TV in the last few weeks since her career had managed to blow up even further. But this felt different. It was different.

She knew he could now have expectations of her. What if he didn’t like something, or got the ick from the way she danced or what if she fucked up? What if she tripped on stage for the first time or bumped into something or forgot a lyric or her voice went out-

“On in two.” She heard one of the stage techs say, peeking their head through her green room door. As if one queue, she heard a roar of screams from the direction of the stage, queueing that her little intro video had started. Despite still playing smaller venues, at least ones smaller than arenas, her label had actually been willing to put quite the production into her tour after realizing that her stage presence and personality was one of the things that charmed audiences so much.

She gave herself one final look over in the mirror. Her opening outfit was standard- a body con number decked out in black sequence with red accents and her infamous knee high boots that were plain leather, but that she had begun to notice were also being worn more commonly by fans to her shows. It was one of those trademark things that made her feel more like the pop star she was growing to be. At least the headlines called her that.

Taking her hands, she fluffed out her hair a bit more giving her light waves more volume, dropping them, closing her eyes, and reopening them in her stage persona.

She walked out of the door beginning her strut with the sense of confidence she only gained to this level when she knew she was going to be on stage. As she approached side stage, her bedazzled microphone with her initials on it in small rhinestones at the bottom was waiting for her with one of the stage assistance. She gave him a small smile and nod as a thank you, taking it delicately and wrapping her hand around it firmly.

Her in-ear monitored queued up with her sound guy, Jeremy, who gave her the 20 second warning. She allowed herself one final deep breath, realizing this was her time to shine. Even if he was here for the first time watching her as the guy she was seeing, and just generally in a new light, she recalled meeting him for the first time after a show, figuring if she could impress him once maybe she could do it again.

After all, the version of herself that managed to get his attention in the first place was the one who was about to step into the spotlight in a mere three seconds.

Sweaty, hot, tired, worn, happy. The best ways to describe how she felt almost every night coming off stage.

She felt great about this show. The crowds she was dealing with were getting better at each stop, she figured it was venues being sold out and her rapid growth as an artist that was to thank for their enthusiasm and their increased screaming of her own lyrics back to her.

But what made this show so special was seeing him in one of the boxes up and over from the crowd. He kept a low profile with a plain t-shirt and baseball cap, standing next to Lacey through the entire duration, but the occasional eye contact they made was what kept her going.

He was always at least smiling at her. If not he was beaming, or nodding, swaying to the music, and her favorite was when he was so focused on just her that she caught his lower lip being bitten, his eyes glued straight onto her. She knew she always had most if not all of the crowd in a trance- but tonight his attention was the one she really wanted.

She giggled at something her manager had said as they walked through the back hallways of the venue, sipping on her bottled water through a straw and trying to regain as much hydration and energy as possible. As the turned a corner toward the green room, she paused and gave a big toothy smile as she saw him at the end of the hallway.

There was Gerard, still in his relatively incognito outfit, and a full smile as their eyes met. As fast as she could manage to run in her boots, she made her way down the hall and collided with his torso, breaking out into a fit of giggles as he hugged her back.

“Did you like it?” She asked first, letting her chin fall on his chest as she looked up at him with big doe eyes hoping for a good answer.

“You fucking killed it.” He said affirmatively with a smile, leaning down to give her a quick kiss. “You’re absolutely insane out there. Such a natural- fuck, I wish I had half the confidence and ability you do when I’m on stage.”

“Oh stop it!” She playfully and lightly hit his shoulder as she backed away to walk back to her room with him. In the process he swiftly grabbed her hand in his, intertwining their fingers which made her smile even more. “Don’t give yourself any less credit- you’re a fucking beast on stage.” He leaned down and gave her a kiss on the head.

“But nothing like you.” He replied, holding the door open for her as they entered back in so she could change.

She quickly and stealthily changed into a shirt and sweatpants, sitting down to take her makeup off, or at least that’s what she would typically do. But as she sat and looked at herself in the vanity mirror, catching a glimpse of him in the back scrolling on his phone, she wasn’t so sure she felt all that confident with him in person without all of this on.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, catching her in a trance. Damn, why did he have to be so good on picking up these things?

“Nothing.” She said with a soft smile. His body language with a raised eyebrow implied he definitely did not believe that. “I just- should I take my makeup off?” She asked turning to him. He gave her an even more confused look.

“Is it what you normally do?” He asked and she nodded. “Then yeah, take your makeup off.” She didn’t move, still staring at him. “Baby, what’s wrong- actually?” She groaned.

“It’s so stupid.” She admitted, now looking away from him. “I just- I don’t want you to like, I don’t know, not like me without this on.”

He looked a bit shocked and confused at look, but it quickly melted into sympathy.

“Sweetheart, take your makeup off.” He requited with a sweet tone. “I promise you, I will not view you any differently without makeup on. That is such a minor thing. And I’m not with you for your looks- I mean, you are fucking gorgeous- but that’s with or without makeup.”

“Fine.” She replied, grabbing some of her cotton pads and makeup remover, then going to town on delicately running them over her skin and cleaning everything off.

Once she was done, only a few minutes later, she grabbed her bag and regular shoes, slipping them on and getting up to approach him where he leaned next to the door. As soon as she was a few inches from him, he delicately took her face in his hands.

“See, just as gorgeous as always.” He softly smiled, giving her a soft and passionate kiss. She offered a sheepish smile and a growing blush on her cheeks.

“Thank you.” She nervously replied. “We gotta go though- I’m fucking starving.”

“Holy shit.” She said, taking another forkful of pasta and placing it into her mouth. “This is so fucking good.”

“Mhm.” He nodded in agreement taking a bite of his own. It was nice to have some company to actually eat with, and not just pull out her laptop to watch a show or call her parents who were halfway across the country. Now, she had her boyfriend laid across the bed sideways in front of her as she sat criss cross at the head.

“You want a bite?” She asked. He looked at her skeptical for a moment before nodding, allowing her to grab another few pieces, giving them to him.

“Well, shit.” He sighed with a smile. “That is fucking amazing.” She nodded in agreement. There was a brief moment of silence that followed.

“I hate that we have to go back to being, like- normal.” She said. It was one of those thoughts that just spilled out without her even thinking.

“Hm?” He asked, looking up with his eyebrows furrowed.

“Ya know, like being apart for so long.” She said with a tight smile. “We’ve barely spent any time together in person but every time we do I want to spend more and more- and we can’t.” He sighed, putting his fork down in his container.

“I know, baby.” He softly said, taking his now free hand and placing it on her bare thigh, rubbing small circles into the skin with his thumb. “But it’s only another month- then we’re on break and I’ll come be with you as long as you want.”

“Gee, you should get a break.” She said with a serious face. “You need to go home and settle for a few weeks and be with your family and friends there who you haven’t seen in fucking forever.” He shrugged.

“I’ve had all the time in the world to make relationships with them- I want to continue to build ours, and if that means going on tour with you than so be it.” He replied with confidence.

“Even if we do that people will speculate and- we would have to go public.” She explained.

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“No, but,” She took a moment to think, making eye contact with him again as his eyes begged hers for answers. “I don’t want to keep you or us a secret. I would love to show and brag about my super cool, super talented, super hot boyfriend to the world, but I want to keep it private.” He smiled lightly and nodded.

“Then let’s do it.” He said, affirmatively. “We’ll take it at your pace. Whenever you’re ready, I’m ready.”

He had been on tour with her for a full week. And it was becoming unbearable how many things were circulating around.

It started at the first show he came to- a solid handful of people had noticed him and put a name to the face, despite his attempt to remain to himself. A small firestorm erupted online over the alleged rumors. The headlines abusing taboos and cliches of the “pop princess and rockstar” trope that made people go crazy.

Then he actually began coming on tour. She wasn’t sure she had been happier on any other leg of it, until he was there to watch every show, and take her out when she had breaks to his favorite spots in each city, and then end the night in her queen sized “suite” on the back of her bus if you could even call it that. She had even bought more storage bins for under the bed to make room for his things.

But people didn’t need to see all the stolen and sudden kissed, or hysterical fits of laughter, or constant touching that were soft reminders of the other. They didn’t need to know about all the photos they had taken of each other, or the memories made, or the lyrics and words that began filling her songbook as she wrote almost exclusively now about him. At least yet.

But on day nine of them being on her tour together, she couldn’t take the speculation anymore. She couldn’t ignore all the photos taken of him at her shows, or the videos that replayed her not-so-obvious smiles and slow hip movements while making direct eye contact with him. In all fairness, she wasn’t trying to hide it.

People could see moments and snippets of their love. But she wouldn’t let them see the whole thing.

“What d’you think?” She asked, the back of her head leaning against his shoulder as they both looked at her phone. It was a simple story draft for her Instagram of the two of them just a few nights ago walking into a gas station. Not the most romantic thing, but her makeup artist had managed to catch it at one of their stops late at night.

The lighting was perfect and almost vintage aesthetic, offering a slight blur to the photo. It was the two of them holding hands as they walked in, both with hoodies and sweatpants on. Only half her face was shown, brightly smiling up at him, and only the back of his head was shown as a mop of slightly messy slightly put-together black hair.

“I love it.” He said with a small smile, giving her a kiss on the top of the head. In the bottom corner she had just put a small black heart, meant to be a small clue.

“Okay,” She smiled. “I think I’m gonna post it.” She said, looking up at him. “You okay with this?”

“Of course.” He genuinely smiled back. “I don’t mind at all.”

Before she could second guess she hit the post button, immediately turning off her phone and throwing it to the edge of the bed.

“It’s done.” She said with big eyes and a giddy tone. “Like, we’ve confirmed.”

“Mhm,” He nodded with a small chuckle, “We have confirmed.” He leaned down to give her a soft kiss, not even a few seconds later his phone buzzed.

He reached over to grab it, smiling at the screen, and showing her.

I was wondering when you guys were gonna post something. Mikey had sent. It’s been fucking long enough.

She should’ve stopped staring after a few seconds, but she couldn’t help it. She rarely felt this confident in herself, but just as quickly as the adrenaline boost of self love hit her, the sobering of imperfections came knocking too.

Dressed in a long green strapless dress that was built to just fit her, she looked and felt like a Barbie. Her makeup team had really done quite an impressive and good number on her face, exemplifying all her good features perfectly, and covering up or minimizing the ones she didn’t like so much. Her hair hung in a low, sleek pony tail against her back, her nails for once long with extensions that would be removed for sure in the next two to three days.

“You’re absolutely perfect, ya know that?” She heard him, turning around to find her boyfriend with a big smile as one of his hands placed itself lightly on the small of her back. She softly smiled up at him, and he swore his heart skipped a beat and nearly sent him into cardiac arrest the way her big eyes stared right into his.

“Not necessarily, but thank you.” She responded in a small voice. She always got nervous before events- he learned that quickly after having to be on text and call standby as she repeated her own self-doubts while spiraling about things going wrong. No one would have ever known- her presence on carpets, stages, and everything in between was flawless.

And now here they stood for the first time together doing this. Him in a traditional and well-fit suit, her in the dress that would put anyone else wearing the color green to shame. He gave her one good look up and down (what was realistically the dozenth already), relishing in the fact that he was merely an accessory to her- and was blessed to be one at that.

There were already rumors circulating everywhere about the potential for them to show up together tonight. It was the ideal place to hard launch, and after dating for just over six months it finally felt like a good time to let the world see them together in all their glory. She was feeling more confident in him, and he was honestly just along for the ride- a very happy passenger too.

“How do we act?” She asked next, his hand still sat on her back as she leaned more into him so their bodies were no more than two inches apart.

“Like how we normally act.” He replied confidently. “I’m not sure anyone will be genuinely surprised- people have been expecting this.”

“When people set expectations about things they don’t know, it typically doesn’t work out the way they want.” She replied quickly.

He knew better than to ruin her hair or makeup, but at this moment he couldn’t see her for that, so he leaned in without hesitation and gave her a soft kiss as an attempt to calm her nerves.

“We’re not here to appease to anyone’s wants or expectations of us.” He explained in a tone just above a whisper, as if they weren’t the only two people in the room. “We’re here to be with each other- not to explain us.”

It was a relative blur, and she thanked the blinding lights of paparazzi that overtook her vision and senses as soon as they took a single step onto the carpet together. She had never heard the two of their names meshed together so many times in such a short period of time. It felt weird to hear them coming out together from other people’s mouths- but it also felt reaffirming.

His hand had initially snuck around her back, resting itself on the other side of her waist and pulling her close to him. The slight warmth from his body made her feel okay, an emotion she typically had to forcefully place at bay here but was tamed solely by him.

They gradually moved their way down at the instruction of the event staff, and narrowly at the last stop he leaned in to whisper to her, hiding his lips behind the back of her head to not let anyone get a chance to overhear what he was going to say.

“I think I have a new appreciation for my name when it’s next to yours.” He said with a small smile, pulling away and looking down at her.

She couldn’t help herself but to break out into a bigger smile, one that wasn’t posed for the cameras but more authentic. She usually hated her full smile, the cheekiness and roundness of her face making the pictures look unbearable to her, but in that moment it didn’t matter. She playfully nudged him a bit as he resumed his position with his arm around her waist, but this time she placed her hand on his chest, angling herself towards him.

He authentically smiled, not expecting it, and had to resist the urge running deep within him to kiss her. But no one here deserved to see that part of them- no one here deserved to know her like he did.

“New album stuff?” He asked, walking over to the living room with a “new” cup of coffee in his hands (this was his third refill in the last two hours). She nodded from where she sat on the floor, back against the bottom of the vintage arm chair she fell in love with and insisted on having to decorate their new place. Their place.

Gerard had always respected her boundaries with her music. She was being incredibly secretive about her upcoming project- despite it essentially being finished from what he had gathered- but he also knew incredibly well how labels worked. And despite both of them being in the industry, her upcoming album was expected to be gigantic. Both in the reception of it and in the work itself.

“They just began pressing all the vinyls.” She smiled up at him.

“When are you gonna see it?” He asked back, sitting down on the couch and leaning over the coffee table to grab his sketch book and pencils again.

“Hopefully within two weeks.” She shrugged. “That’s if everything goes right. Not that I think it won’t- there’s just… a lot.” He looked up for his eyes to meet her, giving her a sympathetic look and nod.

“Regardless of how it goes, you have worked your ass off for this.” He explained. “Critics will always say shit because they’re jaded and subjective. Most of them haven’t even made music. And your fans are gonna love anything you put out.” She softly smiled back.

“Thanks.” She said. “I can’t wait for you to hear it.”

“Don’t you have the entire record on your computer?” He asked, eyeing the laptop that sat in her lap. She rolled her eyes.

“It’s not that simple.” She replied, closing it and getting up. “Besides, I want it to be a surprise.” She finished, walking over to him and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“So are you flattered or what?” Their manager approached where he sat on the bus. He was so lost in the trance of finding the necklace that she had been dying to get for ages online as a surprise album release gift that he didn’t hear a thing.

“Hm?” He asked looking up at him.

“You’re the muse for the number one song on Billboard right now.” His manager replied with a small smile, arms crossed over each other.

“Right.” He awkwardly responded.

He was, indeed, the quite obvious muse for her first single, which happened to somehow skyrocket on the charts as soon as it released and within a few days was impossible not to hear. Whether it be radio, playlists, grocery stores, social media- the damn song was everywhere.

By no means was he upset, he just wasn’t expecting it. He was actively figuring out how to deal with the amount of empty and comical threats he got from fan accounts saying they were fully prepared to fight him if it meant even a shot at being with her. Also, while he had approved of the lyrics she had showed him (well, specifically the incredibly, borderline obvious, suggestive ones) it still made him feel a blush grow on his face when he heard them over and over again.

And the fucking cherry on top was the music video. At this point, he had seen her in many different ways, doing many different things (if you catch the drift) but as soon as he watched it he felt like he was falling for her all over again, ten-fold this time. It also made him begin to seriously question why the fuck you were with him, and simultaneously wonder if all the manifesting bull shit the merch girl was telling them about was something he should look into given that he needed some form of magic to get someone so out of his league.

“Good luck when the album drops, man.” His manager smiled, “Can’t wait to see all the teenage girls that want to band together and fight you.”

Gerard didn’t drink anymore and hadn’t for a while. But he did stare with a smile as she took a shot of tequila and her face immediately grew into a sour and twisted expression.

“Fuck that was worse than I remember.” She said through a small cough, grabbing the water by her and downing a chunk of it.

The low-key album release party was being held at their place. It was primarily close friends, the one producer she worked with on the record and her engineer, then the band as well as some of Gerard’s friends. Despite it being small, the place was buzzing under the dimmed lighting as there was consistently multiple conversations happening in the background, solid laughter mixed in too, and her album playing track by track in order softly in the background.

She sat on the floor, back against the couch, in a simple shirt and jeans, him right behind and next to her sat on the couch. She wasn’t drunk, but was definitely tipsy as she laid her head on his jean clad knee. He looked down at her with a smile, running a hand through her loose hair.

“I love you so much.” She smiled up at him. “Thank you for being such an incredible muse.”

He had been complimented plenty of times by critics, reporters, fans- but nothing even came remotely close to that comment.

“Baby, this is all you.” He insisted with a smile back. “We wouldn’t be here if you weren’t so damn incredible at everything you do.”

She sighed happily, closing her eyes for a moment.

“I’m so fucking glad you bumped into me.” She said. “I was so pissed at first and so tired and hot and sweaty- I thank the universe everyday for making that happen.”

“I do too, sweetheart.” He said, letting his smile melt into a sincere and content one. It only felt right. “I do too.”

#my chemical romance #gerard way #my chem #my chemical gee #my chemical gerard #gerard way x reader #gerard way fanfiction #mcr gerard #my chemical romance x reader #mcr x reader #mcr fanfiction #mcr #gee way #gerard way x you #gerard way x y/n

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borathae · 8 months ago

Text

↳ Index [Day 19 - Free Use]

Pairing: sub!Taehyung x Domme!Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU, polyamory!AU

Kinks: living room sex, free use kink, guided male masturbation, handjob, edging, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, creampie, cock riding on the sofa, rough carrying sex against the window, semi-public sex ‘cause of the window, masochist!Tae, sadist!Reader, hair pulling, face slapping, degradation (slut), choking, “forced” finger sucking, subby boy tears, slight dollification, praise, squirting, very brief cunnilingus, lots of begging, he kneels at one point, strength kink cause of the carrying sex, soft & loving aftercare

Wordcount: 5.1k

a/n: inspired by this ask your idea was just too powerful, i was too inflicted by it not to write it gngnng this kink screams Sanguis!Tae so you are getting it with him gndfng have fun besties ❤

Taehyung has an apartment in Paris. Although “apartment” puts it lightly. It is in one of the city’s many old buildings, stretching over the last two floors and with a roof terrace nestled into the architecture. The apartment has high ceilings and old wooden floors. The furniture is a mixture of antiques and modern design pieces and wherever one might look, there is some sort of artwork presented. The main lights are rarely turned on because Taehyung has every room set up perfectly with ambient lights. On the first floor, one finds the entrance space, the main living room, the kitchen and a big dining room, a bathroom, a separate toilet and two guest bedrooms. Upstairs is reserved for a clothing room, another bathroom and the main bedroom while the rest of the rooms are turned into art studios of all sorts. The apartment is so distinctively Taehyung. Itis cozy, homey and filled with art history and you are currently spending your days in it.

You and he left the estate behind to go on a romantic two-on-two trip to Paris. It is always bittersweet to leave the others behind, but you dearly needed some alone time.

You have been in Paris for seven nights by now, tonight is the eighth, and you spent most of the time together. Ever since yesterday however, you and he have been spending less time together as normality in the apartment settled in. You didn’t mind. It is nice to live together and go about your day to day life.

Taehyung has been at home for most of today, sculpting in his crafts room. You spent most of the day outside, cruising the secret shops of the supernatural world for some ingredients. One can never be stocked up enough for potion making.

It is already dark when you come home, locking the door and kicking off your shoes.

“Chéri, I’m home!” you call out in French. You are currently learning French and Korean with the help of your boys. Up until now, it’s been going really well.

Taehyung appears in the hallway.

“Chèri, hello. How are you?” he greets you and says something you can’t understand quite yet.

“Say that again?”

He repeats it slowly, pointing at your bags.

“Ah! Yes, I got a few things. Seriously though, I underestimated how quickly natives speak. I felt lost sometimes”, you tell him in English.

“I understand, but you managed to communicate well?” he asks you in English as well.

“Yeah, thankfully. I can give you a haul of the things soon, but I really gotta pee.”

“Don’t let me keep you from it. I shall carry the bags to the living room in the meantime. Or do you prefer them to be somewhere else?”

“No, the living room is perfect. You’re a darling. Thank you”, you say and hurry away before it is too late.

Taehyung is watching television again when you join him. You changed out of your outside clothes into a comfortable lounge set and freshened up. Taehyung put the bags on the coffee table, currently watching a French cooking show as he enjoys a glass of blood.

“That looks delicious.”

“It does?” Taehyung asks, glancing at the blood in disbelief.

“No, not the blood. The food in the show.”

“Ah, this makes more sense. Indeed, it looks rather appetizing. Shall we dine out tonight?”

“No, it’s okay. I ate a burger before coming here.”

“I see. Tomorrow then.”

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

You climb on his lap, facing him. Taehyung shifts his eyes from the television to you. You take the glass out of his hand and put it on the coffee table. Then you turn the show off, looking at him with a flutter of your lashes.

“What is this?” he asks, studying your body. The lounge set you chose is expensive and a present by him. It hugs your curves seductively, making it difficult for him not to stare at your breasts. He isn’t subtle in his struggle. You like that he isn’t.

“I have a question for you”, you say, playing with his soft hair at the nape of his neck.

“You do?”

You nod your head.

He cocks his left brow up, “go ahead, darling.”

“Do you know the concept of free use?”

He widens his eyes, fingers twitching on your waist and thighs tensing.

“Darling you”, he begins, having to laugh breathily, “of course I do, but I do not understand why this is of importance right now.”

“Because I’m going to free use you right now.”

“You are?” he croaks, tugging on his shirt collar because he suddenly feels hot beyond compare.

“Mh-hm I am. I need an orgasm.”

You look into his eyes deeply. This is his chance to stop this. This is your silent, yet to him obvious, question for his consent. It won’t be spoken by you because you want to play into the entire free use aspect, but Taehyung knows your signs well enough not to need words. He can stop this right now and whenever he needs to.

He doesn’t want this to stop. He is very down to fuck you. Very down. Ever since you sat down on his lap looking so pretty in your set, his mind has been spiralling.

“O-okay”, he stutters, nodding his head.

The consent was given.

“That’s what I thought. Not that I would have accepted anything else anyway”, you say and slip off his lap.

“Darling, heavens”, he gasps, stomach tingling unbearably.

You open his pants, truly wasting no time. Taehyung moans softly, lifting his butt so you could undress him. You do it hastily, throwing his pants to the side.

So now his lower body is bared while you kneel in front of him. He is completely soft, of course he is, and his breathing is still at a normal speed. You ought to change both of these things very, very soon.

“You’re so pretty when you’re soft, darling.”

“Thank you, oh heavens.”

“You know that I’m gonna have to make you hard though, don’t you?”

“I do.” He opens his legs. “Do whatever you need to do, I can take it.”

It is needless to mention that whatever is still in his borders of comfort, which you respect deeply. He feels safe in saying such big words and engaging in such a “dangerous” kink with you because of this respect.

“Of course I’ll do anything I want to you, darling. You don’t have a say right now, remember?”

His cock twitches slightly. You smirk, rubbing his inner thighs.

“Of course you know. The one who is in control is me and you are meant to be my little play doll.”

“Darling”, Taehyung whimpers, thrusting his hips against nothing. His cock twitches again, growing harder.

“You’re my doll, Tae. All mine.”

His cock twitches into a semi hard boner, fingers gripping the edge of the sofa. You know exactly what to say to rile him up. Calling him a doll, reducing him to nothing but this will always be one of his weaknesses.

You purr, rubbing your hands over his sculpted thighs as you flutter your lashes up at him. His skin is so soft, the hair which covers it tickles your palms. You could eat him up.

“Isn’t that right, darling? Are you my pretty doll?”

“Yes, Owner”, he whimpers, nodding his head vigorously.

“Mh-hm you are, such a pretty doll. My pretty doll with his pretty, little doll cock”, you coo, letting your lips ghost over his cockhead without ever touching it.

It leaks and twitches as Taehyung whimpers above you. He is growing rapidly, breathing heavier. His hungry eyes are glued to your lips, every nerve in his body waits for the moment you decide to take him into your mouth.

Closer. Taehyung holds his breath.

Closer. Taehyung tries not to puck his hips up. A good doll would never.

Closer. He can practically feel your lips on his tip. The memories of all the times he was nestled in your warm mouth come rushing into his mind.

Closer. Your breath tickles his cock. He throbs in anticipation.

Closer. Now. It is finally happening. Taehyung closes his eyes and rolls his head back in preparation.

“Actually. I changed my mind.”

He doesn’t want to open his eyes at first, scared to face his reality. In the end he has to however, facing your wicked smirk and burning eyes.

“I don’t wanna suck your cock, it’s boring.”

“What?” he gets out, eyes widening in pleading.

You stand up, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“Masturbate yourself.”

It takes him a moment to conceptualise what you just asked him to do and once it finally sinks it, Taehyung swears he might never recover. He moans just for your pleasure, wrapping his left hand around his semi-hard cock to pump it quickly.

“No, no, no. Slow down.”

He obeys even if it means that there is something missing. He moves his hand at a normal pace, looking up at you like the good doll he currently wants to be. It feels good, but could be better.

“Slower.”

He obeys, eyes glazing over in agony. This isn’t enough. He is barely moving his hand around his cock, the stimulation is way too little for someone as needy as him.

“There we go. That’s more like it”, you purr, watching him hungrily.

“Owner”, he gets out, trying to make up for the loss of speed by keeping his touch focused on his tip.

“Is it not enough, mhm?”

“No”, he keens, shaking his head.

“Mhm, poor doll. How does it make you feel?”

“Restless.”

“Restless? You seem pretty restful to me.”

He squirms, widening his eyes in begging. It amuses you and so you chuckle.

“You’re funny, Tae.”

“Owner please”, Taehyung begs, fluttering his lashes.

But you ignore him, staying silent. You watch his hand as it touches his own cock. He is so slow. You know how much this agonises him. Taehyung might pretend to be a patient, proper gentleman but you know him, you know his most naked, disgusting truth. He is greedy, he is impatient and he likes it rough. You watched him jerk off a hundred times before, watched how he practically tortured his cock to an orgasm. This right now is a different kind of torture to him. The kind which makes him desperate.

Good.

You can’t really explain what made you want to torture him all of a sudden. You blame the good day on it and your jeans rubbing your pussy as you walked around Paris. Or maybe it is Taehyung in his low cut shirt and hid dark hair messy. Something made you horny enough to want to be with Taehyung this way. To want to use him as you please.

His cock is already harder than when he began. He is breathing heavier, eyes pleading you silently.

“It’s working, isn’t it?”

“Not enough.”

“Poor doll. Does your doll cock need more?”

“Yes”, he whimpers, growing harder. He squirms, “please.”

“Mmh”, you bend down and grab his balls. They were squished on the sofa first but Taehyung lifts his hips in reaction, allowing you a good grip on them. You roll them in your fingers, fucking him with just your eyes.

Taehyung whimpers, lips parted and droopy eyes staring into yours. Like this, you can smell his sweetened breath and taste the memory of all the kisses you shared.

“Your balls are so heavy, darling. I want them to empty everything inside me.”

His balls tighten, his poor cock throbs in his hand. Taehyung moans your name, chasing your kiss which results in you straightening up again. He whimpers, eyes glazing over. He wants your kiss like he wants air.

“Faster.”

He obeys gladly, writhing on the sofa.

“More.”

“___”, he moans loudly, throwing his head back in ecstasy now that it finally, fucking finally, is enough. It feels so good. His cock is hard instantly, pulsating between his long fingers.

“Use your second hand as well.”

Taehyung wraps it around his base, cursing in French because it feels way too good.

“What did you just say?”

“I said. Heavens on fucking earth, this feels good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes”, he mewls, rolling his hips up into his fists. His meaty thighs are trembling, his chest is heaving up and down quickly. He is throbbing like crazy in his hands, tip glistening in bliss.

"Take it away.”

“No, please.”

“Take it away. Now.”

“You’re cruel”, he croaks, obeying groggily.

“Mhm I am. The cruelest”, you murmur, scanning your eyes over his leaking cock. His tip is flushed and his veins swollen. He is so wet, so hard. You can’t wait to sit on it.

“Please, it hurts.”

“Poor you, awww.”

You undress, only keeping your jewellery on. You feel so sexy like this and Taehyung’s hungry gaze makes these feelings even stronger.

You touch your own torso, feeling up your curves until landing on your tits. You knead them, purring softly. Taehyung opens and closes his mouth in hungry gasps, tongue almost dripping saliva.

“What do you think of me, doll?”

“That you are the most beautiful woman to have ever walked this earth.”

His praise pleases you, making your heart flutter.

“You know exactly what to say, you darling you.”

“Please”, he breathes, rolling his hips against nothing.

You close the distance and push at his chest to make him fall against the backrest. You climb onto his lap, wrapping your fingers around his cock. The other palm you present to him.

He eyes it in confusion, squirming under your weight because you are moving your hand around his length and it feels so good to him. Your palm is so warm, the pressure you use just right.

“Spit on my hand”, you order, wiggling your fingers impatiently, “don’t let me wait.”

He obeys with a mewl, unable to catch his breath afterwards.

“There we go, so wet”, you purr, spreading it on his cock in slow, sensual strokes.

Taehyung’s eyes fall closed halfway, his lips part. It feels so good to be touched. Your fingers and palm are so soft, stroking the most sensitive spots on his cock. Your pussy is on his thigh, marking his skin. So wet and warm. It drives him insane to be like this with you.

To make matters even worse for his poor sanity, you pucker your lips and spit on his cock in a thick, heavy drip. You pick it up and mix it with his own spit, using it to pleasure him.

Taehyung curses in Korean for a change, head dropping against the backrest and fingers dimpling your hips.

“What did you say, darling?”

“Fucking hell, it feels so good”, he croaks, squirming his hips needily.

“Mhhmh it does”, you coo, twisting your hand around his messy cock. “Now you’re getting wet. Your doll cock is so wet for me.”

“Ah! Please!”

“There we go”, you ignore him and lift yourself to align with his cock. You sink down, taking him inside easily. A deep purr rumbling in your chest lets him know how good it feels to you.

Taehyung shoots up in surprise, hands gripping your buttocks and eyes widening in shock. He wants to say something, but you silence him by stuffing your slickened fingers into his mouth. All four of them with your thumb under his chin.

Taehyung gurgles, eyes going cross and mouth instantly working to suck you off.

“Perfect, keep sucking”, you encourage him, moving your hips on him in a way which is pleasurable for you. Judging by his needy moans around your digits, it’s pleasurable for him as well but that’s not important right now. You are doing this for yourself, you are doing this because you want it. Taehyung is only supposed to be your dildo and a pretty thing to look at.

And oh how pretty he looks with his mouth gagged by fingers and drool dripping down his chin. His cheeks are flushed and wet from the tears he spills. Said tears also stick to his lashes in little pearls. You press down on his tongue, twisting your hand deeper.

Taehyung gags, eyes going out of focus and body trembling. You let him suffer for three seconds, then finally pull out. Taehyung gasps for air, grasping your waist in relief. The relief isn’t for long and then you already have your wet hand around his throat, squeezing down on his veins. And Taehyung can’t keep up with all the sensations, body reacting against his control.

He grows inside you, shaking as you make him see stars with only your hand.

“That feels so good”, you moan, chasing the growing pleasure. You love when he fills you out to the very brim. The stretch is addicting and his size allows for your deepest spots to be pleasured as well. You chase the warmth by pressing yourself closer, clit grinding against his groin each time you roll your hips.

Taehyung moans under you, fingers trembling around your waist and thighs shaking. He is very sensitive when he is with you. He is normally very proud of his stamina, but when you play him like this, he turns into an excited little teenager who climaxes after only a few minutes. He is giddy, turned on and completely ruined, trying to think of anything else to keep himself from climaxing without your permission.

The fire in your eyes and the strength of your grip lets him know that his disobedience would not be appreciated. Now granted, Taehyung loves punishments, especially your punishments, but he hates disappointing you. He hates it so much that he would rather miss out on getting punished than disobey you. Which makes this a lot harder for him.

“It’s too much. Too, too much.”

“I don’t care, shut up”, you spit and stuff your fingers into his mouth again.

Taehyung gags at first but begins sucking eagerly soon after, cock throbbing inside you and eyes spilling new tears.

“That’s better”, you lull your words, head foggy. The view is turning you on so much, sitting on his cock is so good. You can’t do that for long, you never can. You love being with him that climaxing is so, so easy. Knowing that he is close makes it even harder not to entirely break around him. But then. Why should you hold back? You have no reason to drag this out. You came here to get an orgasm nothing more, you don’t have to impress Taehyung.

You let go of your pride and fall into the sensations, rolling your head back and arching your back as you dance your hips on his in a fast, sensual rhythm. Your toes curl. His cock goes so deep, rubbing your favourite spots.

“That’s it. That’s fucking it”, you moan, smiling drunkenly as around you the air is dancing in ecstasy.

Taehyung’s desperate mewls around your digits are like music to your ears. He is probably crying right now, but you don’t care to check. You are high, so far gone in the warmth.

“You’ve got the best cock, doll. So fucking good…”

Taehyung is breathless, not only because you are stuffing his mouth, but also because of you. You are so beautiful, glowing in the ambience lights as you arch and bend your body in the most feminine and sensual display of pleasure. If only he could take pictures with his eyes. He is starstruck. He sucks on your digits with even more eagerness, running his hands along your body just so he could memorise it in the current position.

He cups your breasts, rubbing your nipples.

“Yes fuck”, you moan, arching into his touch. You tug him closer and slip your fingers free. Taehyung needs no words to understand, latching his eager mouth onto your nipples to pleasure them eagerly. He switches between both sloppily, soiling your chest with his drool.

“Tae, darling”, your voice is high in pleasure, body shaking atop of him. This is it. You slam your hips down, convulsing around his big cock.

Taehyung groans, dragging his slickened tongue over your nipple while his long fingers dimple your flesh.

“Now. Yes”, you keen, falling back as your high finally hits you.

Taehyung supports you easily, following your movements as his strong hands hold you safely. He sucks on your nipple eagerly, trying his hardest not to bite down on it. It is difficult because you have him so close to his own orgasm.

“Yes wow”, you come down, lifting yourself off of him instantly.

“No darling please”, he gasps, trying to tug you back.

But you act uninterested. He can sense in the way you move, see it in the way you breathe, that your orgasm left you shaken and that you are just pretending not to be affected. You climb off his lap, trying your hardest not to tremble.

“Darling”, he tries, hands slipping from your hips as you step back.

You don’t answer him, turning your back to him to leave.

“Jagiya”, Taehyung whimpers in Korean, grabbing your hand.

You turn, looking down at him.

“What? Can’t you see that I’m busy?”

He is panting, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. His cock is so hard and swollen and so, so clearly edged, still glistening from your juices.

“Please don’t leave me like this. Please.”

“Why shouldn’t I? I got what I wanted.”

“Please.”

You slip your hand from his shaky hold and turn to leave.

“Jagiya please”, he begs in both languages, falling to his knees and grasping your shirt.

“Oop”, you wobble, almost losing balance. You turn from the momentum, holding his grabby hands for support. “What is this supposed to be?”

“Please, I know you don’t want to leave either. I’ll be good, I’ll be so good to you please”, he begs, looking up at you snotty and teary eyed.

“If you actually wanted to be good, you’d let me leave”, you say, doing a shitty job pretending that he leaves you cold. He knows you so well. Of course you don’t want to leave. Slipping off of him was the hardest thing you ever did, but sometimes you just gotta hear him beg.

“Please”, he sobs, hugging your waist and burying his face in your stomach, “please, I’m begging you.”

You gulp, feeling dizzy. His arms stretch the fabric of his shirt, bulging and tensing from the strength he grasps you with. He looks so pathetic begging on his knees and you get off to it so fucking good.

“Let me go”, you order in faux annoyance.

“Please”, Taehyung pleads and increases his own patheticness by slipping his hands under your shirt to scratch his nails down your back. And as he does that, he tilts his head back, connecting his mouth with your pleasured cunt.

“Tae”, you gasp loudly, loosing balance for a moment which you find by grabbing huge bundles of his thick hair. He has so much of it that it spills out between your fingers in such thick bundles you cannot even see your fingers in his locks anymore. “Holy fuck, Tae”, you moan, throwing your head back as you stumble closer to his face.

His desperation is so obvious in the way he licks you. He drools like an animal, unable to decide whether to suck the soul out of your clit or lick her senseless. These are definitely not the actions of a gentleman, these are the actions of a gentleman ruined by pussy way too good. This is the kind of head only someone brought to his limits gives, of someone who thought he could handle being used but who ended up way too weak for his goddess of a woman.

Taehyung lifts his head when desperation hurts in his heart and cock, drool dripping from his chin and fangs on full display. Thick strings of spit still connect him with your cunt, they are so heavy in consistency that they almost look slimy in the lights, only breaking apart once he begs again.

“Please, I can’t do this please.”

You furrow your brows and tug on his hair. He moans, tilting his head back with a roll of his eyes and his messy lips parting. Like this, you bend down so he can taste the poison of your words on the very tongue he used to almost steal your sanity.

“You’re a fucking slut.”

“Yes, the biggest”, he agrees with you in a pitched voice, nodding his head.

You tug harder, eliciting a pained whimper from him.

“Exactly, the biggest, most pathetic slut ever.”

Taehyung spills tears and tries to beg again. In French this time around because you have his brain scrambled enough that he can’t decide in which language to think.

“Please I’m sorry please.”

“You should be. Pathetic slut”, you spit and release his hair just so you can strike him across the cheek.

Taehyung moans, cock twitching so aggressively you almost pity it. Look at it, looking so desperate for something to keep it warm. Taehyung chases your hand after the slap, eyes looking at you even if they are constantly tearing up.

“You liked that, didn’t you?”

He nods his head.

“Of course you did, you slut”, you say and slap his other cheek as well for symmetry.

Taehyung reacts in a curse, instantly following it up with a beg. Korean this time around.

“Please I’m sorry I-I’m a slut, I can’t do this please.”

“Fine”, you give up, “it’s not like I can get you to shut up.” You sigh in faux annoyance. “Go ahead, I guess. Get your reward.”

“___”, Taehyung moans and is instantly standing up, swooping you off your feet just to push you down onto his thick cock. He bottoms out in synch with your back hitting the cold glass of the living room window, forcing a gasp for air out of you. You arch your back, grasping his hair just in time before he begins rutting into you like a needy animal.

“I love you”, he moans, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “I love you. I bloody love you.”

You wrap your limbs around him, face nuzzling into his shoulder and toes curling in electric pleasure.

“I love you too”, you get out, fingers grasping his thick hair. “Keep going, you’re so good. Ah fuck, you’re so good.”

“Urgh darling, I’m yours. I’m so fucking yours”, he spits, obeying your orders with eager, restless hips.

It feels so good to finally move, to finally fuck you how he craved to do. He doesn’t do it for himself, he does it for you because he knows that you love it. You love when he is rough, when he is strong and fast and when he drills his huge cock into your dripping pussy until you feel like passing out.

“Yes mine”, you croak, pulling him closer with your legs, “grinds Tae, grinds.”

“Yes, Owner”, he obeys, burying his cock as deep as he can go before he begins grinding you on him. He moves his hips for it, using his strength to move your body in the same rhythm.

“Ah! Wow, holy fuck”, you get out loudly, dropping your head against the window as you writhe in his arms. You twist his hair, pussy throbbing around him.

“You’re beautiful. You are so beautiful. And you feel so good. Darling, you feel so good”, he chants, spilling tears at the view of you.

“This is making me cum again, ah!”

“Let go, I’m yours to use. I’m all yours, this is all for you.”

“Tae”, you arch your back, grasping his face as the last thing you do before you orgasm a second time. It feels so much more intense than the first one because Taehyung is fucking it out of you and he is so goddamn good at that.

“Yes, thank you. Oh darling”, he whimpers, trying to slow down.

“No faster! Now!”

“I will climax if I-“

“Shut up! Faster!”

“Empress”, he sobs and obeys, picking up the same speed than before.

“Tae!” you scream, writhing in utter ecstasy as he finally brings you to the peak you craved. You squirt around his cock, soiling his legs and the floor this way. And Taehyung is a goner. With his eyes rolling back and his head dropping into your breasts, he climaxes against his will.

“I’m sorry”, he whimpers, filling you with his hot seed until it leaks out of you.

You can’t be angry at him, not when you enjoy it so much. You believed this moment couldn’t get any better until you felt his cock paint your walls. Finally you feel it, finally he is emptying his balls into you. Just how you ordered him to do.

“Good doll, such a good doll”, you mewl, entirely gone in the blissful heaven you and he share.

“Again, it’s so good”, Taehyung wails because your praise ruins him. He thought that you would be disappointed, but you are proud. You wanted him to orgasm. Oh, he wants to fill you even more and he does, pumping into you until you feel warm in your stomach and his balls are truly empty.

He uses the last of his strength to hurry to the sofa and then he drops into the pillows with you on top of him. The two of you are filling the silence with heavy panting, staying glued together as your bodies are just a little stiff in shock. This was way more intense than you planned it to be. Is it truly this addicting to be with each other?

You are the first to recover just enough that you can at least lift your head. He meets your gaze with barely open eyes, messy hair sticking to his sweaty forehead.

“Good boy”, you praise.

“I love you”, he gets out.

“I love you too”, you say and smile.

Taehyung retorts it, giving your hips a tender squeeze.

“Are you okay? I know I was mean to you. How is your face? Did I slap you too hard?”

“Everything you did was perfect. Thank you so much.”

“This is so good to hear”, you say and nuzzle your nose into his cheek with a cute sound.

Taehyung has to giggle because of it, face scrunching up into the brightest boxy smile and eyes closing. His chest fills with warmth, his stomach flutters.

“Wow, I’m so obsessed with you.”

“You are?”

“Mhm, so obsessed. I missed you today and I just…I saw you and needed you. I don’t wanna be apart from you, Tae darling. Being with you is paradise.”

“Yes it is”, he agrees and turns his head to steal a surprise kiss.

“Mhm”, you let out, startled at first before you purr and kiss him back. Your fingers lace themselves deep in his hair, he hugs you against his chest and like this, you fall into slow kisses and tender touches, making the paradise last so much longer.

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decagondice · 8 months ago

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༓ The Land of Tears ༓

༓ 'I did not know what to say to him. I felt awkward and blundering. I did not know how I could reach him, where I could overtake him and go on hand in hand with him once more. It is such a secret place, the land of tears.' [The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry]

༓ Pairing. Pilot!Sukuna x F!Reader

༓ Synopsis. Stranded in an unforgiving desert after a failed landing, Sukuna—a seasoned pilot with a reputation for resilience—struggles against dwindling water, searing heat, and the relentless toll of survival. Each day, he labours to repair his plane, but as his strength fades, so does his grip on reality. Haunted by mirages of his beloved wife, Sukuna finds solace in her ethereal presence that grows clearer as his body weakens. She appears by his side, her touch gentle and soothing, guiding him through each agonising day. Unaware that her image is easing him toward death, Sukuna clings to the hope of returning home.

༓ Content. 'The Little Prince' inspired, sfw, F!Reader, Pilot!Sukuna, Angst no comfort, Normal AU, Sukuna is weak and slowly dying, Reader (his wife) appears as a mirage, Slightly depressed Sukuna, Emotional distress, Loneliness, Mentions of death, Mentions of sickness (?), Main character death, Not proofread.

༓ Word Count. 1.7k

༓ A.N. 'The Little Prince' has always been a favourite of mine and never fails to make me cry, I was inspired by the Pilot's allegory in the desert. I was torn between three endings, but in the end I went with this one (though it did give me a sense of grief reading and writing this piece). Adding to the pot of disaster, I was listening to 'Forward Beckon Rebound' by Adrianne Lenker (which I highly recommend!), so it made this whole piece even more depressing.

[Artwork by Luc-Olivier Merson - 'Rest on the Flight into Egypt', 1880]

The desert stretched like an endless golden sea beneath the bleached sky, each wave of sand a blurred horizon that offered no promise of shade. Sukuna, once known for his indomitable spirit and steady hands in the cockpit, now stumbled through that unforgiving expanse. His eyes, bloodshot and raw, strained against the blinding light, and his cracked lips whispered prayers to nothing. He could still taste the dust in his mouth, dry and metallic, and feel the slow, punishing weight of the sun pressing against him.

The engine, a faithful beast that had carried him over oceans and deserts alike, lay dead and silent beneath a gaping sky. He spent that day trying to fix it, his gaze blurring over bolts and wires. Hours passed as he turned each screw, checked each wire, and cursed his luck until his voice grew hoarse. But as the sun dipped into a pool of red along the horizon, Sukuna knew. He knew he was stuck in a vast stretch of sand and silence with no one but himself and the sun’s unforgiving fire.

When the stars finally broke through the blackness of the sky, he lay on his back beside the plane. The sand still radiated warmth, but the night was soft, a balm compared to the blistering day. Exhaustion pulled at him, and he let himself drift, lulled by a steady, familiar ache, thinking of her.

He pictured her asleep at home, backlit by a sliver of moonlight, her hand stretched to his side of the bed. His chest tightened at the thought of it—the long, tender fingers that would sometimes trace his jaw in the early morning hours, her hair spread across the pillow, her faint jasmine scent clinging to the sheets. He closed his eyes and imagined her there, waiting for him, until sleep claimed him.

༓ ༓ ༓

The mirage came to him first on the second day, or perhaps it was the third—time had begun to melt like wax under a flame.

He awoke with his mouth as dry as the sand beneath him, and each step felt heavier than the last. Beneath his feet, the sand sifted, unsteady and shifting, refusing to hold him. He squinted at the sun, already harsh and fierce in the sky, and knew he’d need water soon. Sukuna scanned his supplies—a few rationed tins, a handful of hard biscuits, and a single canteen of water. It wouldn’t last. Nothing did in a place like this.

He worked on the plane again that day, but his hands were slower. His mind wandered, drifting away to images of her—his wife, the light in his life, the very anchor that had kept him steady through every storm he had faced. She appeared as she always did in his memories: poised, eyes bright with laughter, and a kindness that softened even the harshest edges of his mind. He saw her just out of reach, flickering in the haze, her silhouette almost shimmering as if woven from the light itself. At times, he almost saw her beside him, her image dancing on the edge of his vision. But when he turned, she was gone, and he was left to the desolation.

As dusk fell, the mirage came, clearer than before.

This time, she wasn’t a distant blur. She was close enough that he could see her hair, tied back loosely the way she always wore it around the house, a faint smile at the corners of her lips. She knelt beside him as he sat on the sand, her face soft in the evening glow. Sukuna swallowed hard, ignoring the painful scratch in his throat, and closed his eyes, fighting the strange urge to reach out.

When he opened them again, she was still there, watching him.

“Are you real?” he asked, his voice rough as gravel, searching her eyes for an answer.

She smiled, but her eyes were quiet, unreadable. Her hand hovered near his cheek, fingers curling in a faint, unfulfilled promise of comfort.

“Sukuna,” she whispered, her voice like a breeze drifting across his ear, delicate and full of warmth, calling him back to her as though he could turn around and leave the sands behind.

It was enough to make his heart skip, enough to bring a dull ache to his chest. He blinked, and when his vision cleared, she was gone, leaving him with nothing but the whisper of her name hanging in the air.

༓ ༓ ༓

The next day was crueler.

He barely touched the plane. Each movement was agony, the sun an unrelenting hammer against his skin. His water was almost finished, and he could feel the fatigue sinking deeper, winding itself around his bones. The world around him swayed with the heat, sand blurring into the sky, twisting in strange, undulating shapes.

And then, as he struggled to stay conscious, he saw her again.

This time, she was walking through the desert as though she belonged to it, each step steady, her expression soft, serene. She was closer than before, her outline vivid, almost solid. He reached out, but his hands closed around empty air, the warmth of the mirage fading beneath his fingers like grains of sand.

“You can’t be here,” he said, his voice hoarse and low.

She only smiled, a sad, gentle smile, and knelt before him, close enough that he could see the line of her jaw, the soft curve of her lips. Her fingers reached out as though to cup his face, and this time, he swore he felt the faintest brush of her skin against his cheek, cool and soothing against the raw heat lulling his pain to rest. When he pressed his face into his hand, trying to wipe the grit from his eyes, he swore he smelled her—lavender and faint jasmine—mingling with the wind. It made his heart ache and pulse faster all at once, a memory wrapped in the cruelty of desire.

He wanted to ask her how the garden was, whether the roses were blooming, if she had been wearing his old jacket the way she liked to on rainy days. But his voice grew fainter, and his mind cloudier. His vision dulled, and he wondered if he was truly seeing her, or if she was simply a memory that came to haunt him, waiting in the sands to guide him somewhere he could not return from.

“Rest, Sukuna,” she murmured, her voice echoing softly in his ears. “I’ll be here.”

༓ ༓ ༓

Each day grew harder. His water ran out. His food dwindled to crumbs. His strength waned, but still, he kept trying, his hands shaking as he attempted to repair the engine. But his vision blurred, his focus fading in and out, and by the fifth day, he was no longer certain what was real.

She came to him more often now, her presence both a comfort and a torment. She was always just there, always just out of reach, her eyes filled with a sorrow he couldn’t understand. He wanted to touch her, to hold her, to tell her everything he’d kept buried—the love he’d never spoken, the quiet dreams of a life they’d planned together. But the desert held him back, binding him to the sand and heat.

On the sixth day, he gave up on the plane. His hands were too weak, his mind too clouded. He spent the day lying in the shade of the wing, watching her as she hovered by his side. Her eyes traced his face, lingering over every line, every scar. He could feel her love, her sorrow, as though she were laying it across him like a shroud.

“Sukuna,” she said softly, her voice thick with a sorrow that struck something deep within him. He wanted to answer her, to tell her to hold on, that he was almost home. But the words caught in his throat, and he could only close his eyes, feeling her presence settle over him, soft and warm.

As the seventh day dawned, he knew he wouldn’t see another. He could feel it in the weight of his limbs, in the hollow ache of his chest. The desert was silent, the world still, and he was lying on his back beneath the wide, endless sky streaked with the faintest touch of pink.

She was there again, kneeling beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder. In the desert silence, he could feel her fingers, solid and warm, tracing gentle patterns against his skin, leading him away from the pain, from the hunger gnawing at him. It was as though her presence was a balm for his tired bones, her touch a whisper from a life that grew ever more distant. His eyes flickered open, and he found himself staring up at her, his heart swelling with a strange, quiet peace.

“I’m almost home,” he whispered raggedly, his voice barely more than a breath. And though the words felt empty on his lips, she only nodded as if they were true, her gentle expression never faltering. “Stay.”

She didn’t answer, but her hand moved to his cheek, her touch soft, soothing. And as his eyes drifted shut, he felt her lean closer, felt the press of her lips against his forehead, a final, tender goodbye.

The desert was a fading haze around him, dissolving in the softness of her presence. Her shoulders trembled as she wept. He wanted to reach for her, to soothe her as she had soothed him, but his limbs were too heavy, his voice gone.

In his last moments, he thought of her waiting at home, her hand stretched across the bed, her eyes filled with hope as she looked out into the night. He wanted to tell her not to wait, that he was finally at peace. But the words were lost, and all he could do was let go, his final breath a soft murmur of her name. A quiet relief filled him like a river, washing away the endless sand, the thirst, and the ache.

When he opened his eyes again, he was home.

A.N. Sometimes....Sometimes, I do this to myself. (¬_¬") Anyways, in this piece, reader is still alive and waiting for Sukuna at home, whether she figures out/hears about what happened is for you to decide. However, if you like feeling pain, she might just never find out what happened to him and stays waiting and yearning.

I was not planning to release this today, however I saw it in my drafts and started working on the cover image which slowly motivated me to release it. I was very, very close into making reader dead, but another time in a different setting. I have that planned, whether a shorter piece or a lengthier piece I don't know yet (I had an idea of one but it slipped my mind...). My other ending was a happier one, where Sukuna survives and returns home safely. Unfortunately, I wanted to feel pain so I chose this ending -_-

Thank you for reading!!

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therussiancourier · 21 days ago

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Introduction post!

It's annual time to remake it. :]

Hello there! My name's Nick, nickname's Kepch (he/him). You can call me by any, I'm fine with both. I'm an artist and a bit of a writer, most of my artworks revolve around my OCs (LC and Fallout ones). I don't really moderate my posts, there's probably some weird stuff going on, total shitposts and other less important things (my actual drawings)

TAKE A LOOK AT THIS POST, PLEASE. THANK YOU

Fandoms: Right now I'm obsessed with Lethal Company (going strong for a year, hell yeah) and I adore Fallout with all my heart. But for now you'll probably ever see only my Lethal OCs.

You can contact me on Discord (@/kepch) or Telegram (@/kekpch)! I enjoy talking to people, so shoot your shot :D

I LOVE asks and requests (you can send 'em, but I don't promise I will actually draw 'em. Still, it'l be nice to see :])

I post my animatics and other small things on my Youtube channel and I VERY RARELY stream on Twitch.

My art tag is #kepch doodles (and more about other tags below)

Okay. So, more about the art tags!

#kepch rants - that's how i'll tag my talking posts. Any ones. Yes, the NSFW ones probably too.

#kepch doodles - yk, my doodles! All of my artworks get under this tag

#kepch writes - for now empty, but you can guess what it's for :D

OC TAGS!

I will shortly explain every important to me OC. Stick with me.

LETHAL COMPANY OCs:

#team 1560 - one of my main LC teams and one of the oldest ones. Idiots try to make the quota while their boss is actually not a boss. And one of the members is getting stalked by a masked. Not all of the arts with members of the team get under this tag

#oc rory winfield - a paranoid man in his 40's, slowly losing his sanity, doesn't trust anyone. Had some...strange connections to a masked one.

#oc randall moore - the one and only boss of 1560! Charismatic, but somewhat dumb.

#oc kris - just kris. Has issues with his temper, takes it out on entities. Protective of Arthur, not really talkative. Sweet inside.

#oc arthur mccoy - talkative energetic person, slow but stay in facilites late! Collects the most scrap, knows Kris longer, than they are in 1560. Hates dogs, I wonder why?

#oc vic reese - an investigator! Actually, a journalist. Tries to get as much information about the Company as possible, really curious.

#oc tucker - ? a masked one. Obsessive, quiet, stalking. (later in the story is apart from 1560 lore. Has his own thing going on)

OTHER MAIN CHARACTERS (the ones I roleplay as with gulp Austin:3)

#oc 76 - a weird guy, leader of his team of two people (@/idleray-av' Clyde). Talks about work, thinks about work. Is there anything behind this employee-persona?

#wade davidson - a funny guy that doesn't really five a shit. (goes in pair with @/idleray-av' Damien)

#oc chet - sadistic prick. Loves hurting things, loves hurting himself. Closed off person, has hard time showing positive emotions to anybody (poor @/idleray-av' Terrance that is stuck with this fella)

tucker is also a character I play as. fucking hell i hate him (and is with you know whose Klaus)

OTHER MINOR CHARACTERS

#oc offense orange - a masked cowboy outlaw. Do I have to tell you more? The coolest guy here.

#oc blake harper - a rude, but in a weird sense caring convict. Was sent to the Company for murder and unsuccessful robery

(a BITCH - austin)

#oc will cooper - a political prisoner. Works with Blake. An engineer and a quiet opinionate man.

#oc barbara hill; #oc chito garcia; #oc sierra ward; #oc penny; #oc bob williams (one team, total idiots); #oc asya

FALLOUT OCs:

#oc nick harston - sort of a moron. My Fallout 3 main character. Mean, loud, stands with his opinion. Can't die even if he wants to. Kind of unfortunate. Stubborn, but caring

#oc ethan retliff - quiet, not emotional. My previous Fallout 4 (but now Fallout: New Vegas) main character. An artistic person that lost a major part of his memory. Dumb at times, not charismatic, awkward. A liar and can't help it

#oc sharona bunker - my another FNV main character. In one timeline she's a positive and fair person, in another one she's pessimistic but still fair. Poor gal has gone through everything there is

#oc sapiens dei - an adventurer that collects all the information about the old world. Charismatic, real unique, gets what he wants. Wants to rebuild the world and make it perfect! Somewhat of a hypocrite

there's much more fallout ocs of mine (which you can find by fnv, fo3 or fo4 tags probably) but I'm too lazy to actually give 'em a tag! I'm a good father!

That's it. Lord save me

#kepch doodles #meet the artist

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arcadia-of-pluto · 10 months ago

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Twist of Fate; Chapter Five

Pairings; LADS OT4 x reader

Word count; 3,000

Themes; isekai, eventual smut

Rating; 18+ for swearing and some mature context

Notes; As always, horrible described combat scenes. Also, a reminder for the text emojis, 💜 is Rafayel and 🩷 is Y/n

Also, I will be working on other stories and oneshots in the future! I just want to get this story rolling and then I'll begin writing other things.

Prev || Next

Masterlist

A few days later, Rafayel finally shoots you a text.

💜 :’miss bodyguard im in need of ur services’

💜:’theres a specific material I need to finish my artwork and only U can help me find it!’

Finally the message you were waiting for. You take a deep breath before sending your message back.

🩷 :’I'll have you know, I've been charging you half the usual price for my services. This better be worth it.’

💜 :’aww dont be like that! Come on over Ill tell you the details when yuo get here.’

You get dressed and head out, saying goodbye to Estelle on your way out.

Once at Whitesand Bay, you step into Rafayel's art studio and, of course, he's on the floor. You already know what's going to happen but you step forward regardless and put a finger to his nose to make sure he's breathing. “Rafayel?” you say, confused at how he was texting you one moment and now he's asleep. You look around the studio, noticing paint cans scattered all across the floor and unfinished paintings with the word ‘Lemuria’ written in the corner.

You go to tap his shoulder and he catches your wrist, causing you to jump in surprise and knock over a dirty water cup which bleeds onto a nearby canvas, revealing an ocean sunset. “Oh hey, you got here sooner than I anticipated.” Rafayel sits up and lets go of your wrist before holding his hand out, “Pull me up?” He tilts his head to the side with a smile. You sigh, shaking your head as you take his hand, but he has other plans and tugs you down with him.

“Rafayel!” you angrily groan as your knees hit the floor, your hand landing in a puddle of baby pink paint next to his head. “Are you crazy?” You ask, anger evident in your tone as you met his eyes from above him. “Mmh, only a little. Anyway, now that we're more comfortable, I need your help getting something.” He rests his hands underneath his head, making himself comfortable.

You roll your eyes and push your body up with one hand so you’re sitting next to him. “And you decided that was the perfect position to ask your question?” You raise a brow, shooting a pointed look at the baby pink paint on your palm. “I get it, it's not a good look. Let me take you out first,” Rafayel chuckles before saying, “Go wash your hand off, we can go to a café or something and talk.”

Once at the café, you sip on your drink as he explains what he's looking for is called a coral stone. He's painted with it before and he needs some more. It’s apparently a really important material for his next painting. “Look I-” But Rafayel shushes you, holding a finger to his lips as he spots something behind you. “There's someone here.”

“Is it someone from the N109 Zone? Why are they targeting you anyways? It makes no sense.” You scratch your head, annoyed at all of the interruptions, and he looks away for a moment, “I… refused to paint something for a big shot and, I guess, I pissed him off.” He shrugs before turning his head to look back at you, “Look, I know you said you want to get into the N109 Zone, so how about we work together, yeah?”

“I've been pretty busy these days…so I'll think about it.” You run a hand through your hair and then tap on the table with your nails. “Should we bait this guy out and see what he wants?” “Sounds fun, Miss hunter.” Rafayel smiles, before you both get up when a group of highschoolers are exiting the cafe and go straight down an alley where you ambush the guy.

He says he's a reporter and that a man who Rafayel sold a painting to died and the reporter was wondering if somehow Rafayel's paintings had killed the man. If you remember correctly, this was the same man who had a mermaid skeleton on display in his home so…maybe this is good riddance. Wait- or did Rafayel really kill that man because he had a lemurian skeleton in his home?

You both end up letting the man go but, before you do, Rafayel breaks his camera and you head back to Whitesand Bay together to look at the sunset. “Look, you don't have to say anything..Just come to the pier tomorrow at 10 if you're willing to go with me. And don't forget your promise.”

“What promise?” You tease before you reply quickly before he gets pouty, “I remember, don't worry.” It was the promise to be his bodyguard. “But if you do come tomorrow…I have an idea on how to get into the N109 Zone. The Nest is an information hub so we could…bait out Onychinus.” Rafayel turns to look at you and tilts his head to the side. “Sound good? I'll pull some strings and get you a Hunting day invitation, anything else you do after that is on you though.”

“You'll just have to show me how to be bait.” You say before you nod your head in agreement. “Deal.” You shake hands and go home to get up bright and early tomorrow.

You stretch your arms up in the air and yawn as you walk across the pier on Whitesand Bay. As you rub your tired eyes, you notice a tall man, that wasn’t Rafayel, standing on the pier. “Oh, hey Mr. Thomas.” You greet Rafayel's manager, who was a tired looking man. “Just call me Thomas. You know…I've never seen Rafayel this excited before! He's been like this since you've been around.��

“Oh really now?” You raise a brow, laughing before Rafayel steps in-between you both. “So you ready for our dangerous mission?” You ask and Thomas peeks around Rafayel with a look of shock on his face, “Wait, I thought you said this was a date!”

After this, the two of you hunker down into the small boat and begin to row toward the island in the distance. “Why couldn't you have gotten a motorboat?” You groan, tilting your head back as you aid Rafayel in rowing the rickety wooden boat. “Zayne said sun exposure to my scar may make it worse.”

“Zayne?” Rafayel raises a brow and scoffs, “on a first name basis with someone other than me?”

You pause, before internally cringing at your slip up. You throw a hand up in the air as you speak, trying to calm his dramatics. “He's my doctor. I've known him for a few years, remember?” You look away from him, not wanting to talk too much on that subject since you weren't sure what would happen.

“Hmm…Well, since you didn't ask yesterday or today, we're heading to Hat Island.” Rafayel says after a few moments of silence with a pout on his lips. “That one island that's riddled with wanderers? The one that everyone is told specifically not to go to?” You question before scoffing, “Huh, maybe I should charge you more.” “Don't be like that, cutie. The protocores from the wanderers here would be great to use as paint. Oh and the coralstone..it's said to be from Lemuria so that's why my paintings with it have illusion properties.” He decides to provide some exposition and you try to row a bit faster. “Anyways, you can't have all of the protocores, I have to submit some to the Hunter's association.” You grumble and the artist in front of you grabs your hand that's rowing. “Slow down, you're gonna make me seasick.”

After about thirty minutes of rowing, the island was finally close but it seemed like the boat was slowly falling apart. “Should we swim the rest of the way?” You worriedly ask, not fully confident in your swimming capabilities, since you can only doggy paddle and not actually swim. “And mess up my suit?” Rafayel retorts and you roll your eyes, “It's better than staying in a sinking boat.”

“Fine, we'll swim once we're closer.” The purple haired man reluctantly agrees as he notices more water seeping into the boat. “The boat will probably be fully submerged by then,” You comment, but continue rowing nonetheless.

Once on the island, you check your watch. “Hmm, it seems like the biggest fluctuation is on the other side of the island.” You say as you wring the water out of your hair. “We'll probably be here the whole day.”

You decide to shoot a quick text to Xavier, asking if he'll feed Estelle dinner tonight and then send another to Zayne, asking if he can reschedule your doctor's appointment for the day after tomorrow. “Alright, let's get going.” You start walking but pause as you notice Rafayel isn't following and has a pout on his lips. “What's wrong now?” You sigh and tilt your head to the side with your hand on your hip.

“You were texting other men with me right next to you.” He hmphs and crosses his arms over his chest. “Relax, Raf,” you roll your eyes with a smile, “I was asking my doctor to reschedule my appointment and my neighbor to feed my pet.”

“You got a pet?” The artist was suddenly interested, but you shushed him as you heard a twig snap nearby.

“Relax cutie, there's nothing around-” Rafayel suddenly lets out a yelp and hides behind you. “It's a monster!” He peeks over your shoulder and you let out a small laugh as you spot a small orange cat. “It's a baby! Come here, baby.” You crouch down and hold your hand out with a smile.

“A baby? That's an evil creature with razor sharp teeth and claws.” Rafayel hugs himself and shivers as he tries to stay far away from the little kitten.

“He's harmless.” You say as you hold your hand out toward it and the cat stood there with wide eyes before the fur on his back bristles and he hisses at you before taking a swipe at your hand. The man next to you moves forward and his hand gets scratched instead as he grabs yours to make sure you were unharmed. “Ouch- see I told you it was evil. I'm gonna die now that it scratched me!”

“Kill the dramatics, Raf.” You say with a laugh and you grab his hand to look at it. “It's barely even bleeding…Do you need me to kiss it better?” You tease and Rafayel raises an eyebrow with a mischievous smile playing across his lips. “Oh, would you now? I'll only feel better if you kiss me- I mean, my hand.” “Are you sure?” You muse before leaning forward to press your lips against it, keeping eye contact with the man before he gets too flustered and looks away.

“That's enough.” He clears his throat, pulling his hand out of your grasp as his ear tips turned crimson. “Let's get a move on and we might be able to leave before the sun sets.”

Once you both get to the other side of the island, the sun is already low in the sky and said sky is beginning to turn orange. “So much for leaving before sunset.” You sigh, kicking your feet as you walk along the beach before your watch beeps. “A wanderer?” You pull up the map, confused. “But where-” “There.” Rafayel points toward the ocean, “Looks like it's gonna pop up soon.”

From the readings on your watch, this was going to be a big wanderer. Hopefully the fight won't be too difficult.

The large, blue bird-like creature rises from the ocean and you take your guns out of their holster. “It's oddly pretty.” You comment before the bird lets out a shrill noise and flaps its wings shooting out blue feathers that embed themselves into the ground.

You roll out of the way, landing on one knee and you fire a few bullets into the creature. “Rafayel,” You shout and he gets the idea. He runs over and you take one of his daggers, flipping it between your fingers as he takes your second gun. You launch yourself into the creature with Rafayel's knife, still charged with his fire evol, digging into the bird's chest and you drop down through the air. Rafayel’s dagger cuts the wanderer from chest to belly but once you get its feet, it kicks you into the water.

Rafayel grabs his weapon in one hand as you fall and then catches you as well, one arm around your waist as water swells around you both. If his evol is fire, how is he using water?

The cut on his cheek heals and you can't seem to stay conscious to see him finish off the wanderer. Instead, you feel yourself sinking deeper and deeper into the murky depths. A feeling of nostalgia washes over you as you feel a panic spread through your chest. You seemed…terrified of drowning but you have never been afraid of water before. Trauma doesn’t suddenly form so where did it come from? You want to cry for help but the moment you open your mouth, salty water fills up your throat and your body forces you to try and breathe. “Help me..” A memory almost resurfaces in your mind, but it’s put to a pause whenever you notice a faint red mark appear on Rafayel’s chest. Why wasn’t he coming to help you?

Though as your consciousness finally begins to fade, you could've sworn you saw Rafayel hesitate to save you. Then, the next moment, he's swimming toward you with a fishy tail? Whatever, it's probably just you hallucinating- is what you'd think if you didn't have any prior knowledge. You already knew Rafayel was lemurian, which is just a fancy way to say mermaid. He was from Lemuria, think of it like Atlantis but it's always been underwater. It was a city lost to time with Rafayel being one of the only inhabitants left, save for the other few people who escaped to land.

The next time you open your eyes, you're back on the beach next to a small fire. Your head was resting on Rafayel's thigh with his coat over your shivering body. You blink a few times before rubbing your eyes as you sit up and put your arms through his coat to wear it properly. It's dark out, you assume a few hours have passed since fighting that bird wanderer. You glance over at the artist and tilt your head to the side. “You…nevermind.” You shake your head before instead saying, “Did you get what you needed?”

“Ah, the bird dropped a pretty little protocore.” He holds the blue gemstone between his fingers as he shows it off, “annnd I also found some coral stones while you were out.” He puts the protocore away before pulling out a rectangular card. He hands it to you with his index finger and thumb. “Here.” “Is this..?” You take the card from him and open it up.

Invitation to Hunting Day. D-3

“Ah, so it's three days from now.” You unknowingly let out a sigh of relief and Rafayel raises a brow, “Are you scared now, cutie?” “Not really. I'm just reluctant to trust you.” You hmph, crossing your arms over your chest. “I saw how you hesitated to save me.”

“You saw but-” He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I didn't hesitate…I just hadn't killed the wanderer yet.” He looks away and clears his throat before slightly glancing back at you, “Did you…see anything else?”

“I did but…we'll talk about it later. It doesn't seem appropriate right now.” You say before you sneeze and wrap your arms around your waist. You hear a familiar hiss and you turn to look in the direction of the noise. “Oh, the baby is back.” Your face looks brighter compared to a few seconds ago. This time, the kitty lets you pick him up. “You are such a cutie.” You rub your face against his fur before kissing him on the head. You can hear Rafayel scoff beside you and grumble under his breath, “I can't believe I'm jealous of such a vile creature.”

“What was that?” You ask, turning your head to look at him. Your cheek still pressing against the kitty's soft fur.

“Nothing.” He clears his throat. “Thomas should be here momentarily with a boat and then we can finally go home. Are you going to take that creature with you? You shouldn't show it affection if you're just going to leave it behind and forget about it.”

You let out a heavy sigh. You know exactly what Rafayel means when he says that, even if he assumes you don't. He's putting himself in the cat's shoes- um, paws.

“Raf…” You press your lips together and pat his shoulder as you stand up so he can't see your face. “I'm not going to leave you.” Your hand squeezes his shoulder as you hold the cat to your chest. “I'm taking him with me..maybe my neighbor will want him and I'll still be able to see him all the time so…I won't forget about him either.”

Rafayel makes a noise in the back of his throat. You're not sure if it's from surprise or if he was overwhelmed with emotions, but he stands up and wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “Just let me…stay like this for a minute, yeah?”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, this was the closest you've been to any of the male characters- to your friends, you could say. You take a deep breath before nodding, “Take as long as you need, I'm not going anywhere.” Rafayel's grip around your waist tightens and the two of you stay like that until the spotlight from the nearing boat lights both of you up, and Thomas brings you both back to the mainland.

---------------------------------------------------

You know, I just realized that I said I would update every weekend buuuttt I never said how many times I would update 😎 Twice. Probably twice. I feel bad since most chapters, until later on, will be 2-3k words so posting two chapters gives yall at least 6k to read and that makes me feel better. Anyways, hope you enjoy and be prepared we're getting closer and closer to Sylus!

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fudgelling-away · 1 year ago

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Dating Start!

The visual novel fan game.

I watched the gameplay on YouTube.

All possible choices...

The writing under the cut starts with exclamations of my distress, and ends with a coherent commentary on how experiencing such virtual scenarios can benefit the player.

I don't think there are spoilers... Other than the fact that you can go multiple ways through the game.

The genocide route plus the attempted pacifist route afterwards.

HORRIBLE.

OMG.

And when you try to do the pacifist route again? Did you see how it ends?

MY GOD, NO. No. no. no no no.

What a sickening turn of events. This is... Ugh, I am nauseaus even thinking back to it.

No. No.

Ewwww noooo what the f-

I have been upset for DAYS after watching it. And the pictures and the dialogue is still burned into my mind.

TERRIFYING.

DISGUSTING.

EVIL.

Congratulations to the creators - and I mean it.

That is... so well made. Just... perfect punch after punch after punch to your heart. The creators ripped me apart into pieces.

Great job - again, not ironically.

That is a very, very well made game.

They knew exactly what to do to make it as painful as possible. To get all tears out of the player and to traumatize them for some time.

It's not brutal or cruel in a mindless way, no. No, no. It's way more intelligent than that. It creates such a horrific scenario, paired with the horrific pictures, that I don't think I'll ever forget it. And I only saw a YouTube video.

In comparison to Dating Start!, the normal UT Sans fight is like a happy picnic in the park.

"But it's just a game, aren't you overreacting?", you could ask. Well, no. I am enjoying artwork like pictures, movies, games to get immersed into it and experience it all. If I keep my shield up and do not allow myself to feel what the characters are feeling... then what's the point?

What's the point of even approaching art if I refuse to feel any of it?

So Dating Start! is obviously a game, but if you imagine it being a reality, imagine yourself holding that knife, it gets so painful that I want to wail and scream my lungs out.

That being said, I appreciate artists who create these kinds of difficult works so much.

I believe we choose a variety of art for ourselves because we need different stimuli. If our life was 100% fluff, we'd drown in it and become numb.

So we consume angst, tragedies, horror and other unpleasant works.

We consider those scenarios.

We think of the possible choices.

We come to terms with our worldview, or challenge it.

We grow.

We process those real emotions and learn so many things about ourselves and problem solving.

We keep developing our sense of conscience.

--------

And, to sum up I will say something to make sure I am understood correctly:

Let people explore all sides of humanity within the safety of their fantasies.

It is NOT possible to judge a person by what they create and what art they enjoy. Human mind is not black and white.

Choosing to perceive it like that: "violent art = violent person" is INCREDIBLY IMMATURE. Ridiculously childlish and small-minded.

So I am absolutely NOT judging anyone who for one reason or another enjoys doing the genocide routes in games. I enjoy to be the "bad guy" in games as well.

No judgement from my side. That should be... obvious, but I think it's not, so I am making sure to include that in my post.

#dating start #sans #merciless route #genocide route #sans battle #my ramblings #sansnomaly

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hoseoksluna · 1 year ago

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HEAVEN-SENT | knj

pairing: idol!friend!namjoon x f. reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.8k

summary: when a certain bad experience with a guy makes you run to namjoon, he heals you and changes you once and for all.

warnings: lack of willful consent in a way, crying, religion, smoking (namjoon smokes a cig, reader vapes), the context of this fic is of sexual relations though none are described, heavy daddy issues.

note: after i sat down to write last chapter of berries, i discovered that i simply couldn't because of what happened to me this week. there was nothing left for me to do, but to run to namjoon in my head and let him heal me. yes, unfortunately, the events that i wrote about in this fic happened to me. the dream, i had it last night. and the consolation in the form of words in the fic, i constructed it from everything my friends told me. to be honest, i feel deeply healed. i finished it in two hours or so and i feel so much better. now, like the reader i put myself into, i'm gonna take a shower and wash everything away. i'll be able to write berries after that. i love you, guys. sorry, if this is triggering in any way. i just needed to get it out.

“I think I heard… God in that dream.”

Your words create a wisp of tenderness in the air. Saddened, moist with the tears that sting in the back of your eyes. The sun of the summer has descended, hid beneath the city—and you feel as though the same occurred in your life, despite the fact you’re being held by someone who holds the skyscrapers and the manufactured greenery in between like a burden on his shoulders and could easily stop its departure if only he looked up to the heavens with puppy eyes.

God would’ve nodded. Flicked his fingers. The source of light and warmth would’ve paused, stared down on you, shone a little more mercifully. Beckon you out to breath in the fresh air, breathe in the protectiveness you find yourself to be in the middle of.

God protected you from a boy who had different intentions from you, led you into the arms of a man who’s able to take your pain and transform it into an eternal artwork of beauty and importance. A harmonious poetry, mixed with English and Korean, flooded with colors akin to the ones your eyes would stumble across on a field of wildflowers.

It’s where you are right now. No blanket, just the soil, the blossoms, the warmth from Namjoon’s body, your bruised knees and rawly abraded elbows—your injury from earlier that the boy feignedly kissed, but didn’t care much about. A means to get you into bed, nothing else. A banana vape in your fist while Namjoon holds his cigarette backwards, shielding the smoke with his palm, even though you’ve told him multiple times that you didn’t mind it.

You smoked so much of them with him within the hours you spent here and didn’t receive any sort of alleviation from it that you grew a certain distaste for it in your mouth. Settled for the sweetness of your vape. Enjoyed it as much as you enjoyed Namjoon’s closeness and a sense of safety that he radiated as he let you rest your head on his clavicle, leaning his entire weight on just one hand, and nothing else.

So unlike the boy, who would’ve kissed your feet if you let him take the endeavor further like he wanted.

You were on a first date with a boy you didn’t even know for a week. With a boy who stuck his tongue down your throat. Almost fondled the most private parts of your body, had you not stopped him. And who didn’t drive you home after.

The prose of the shallow, insolent face of a young male, who didn’t want to be provided with your love and empathy, who kissed you to shut you up, in fact. And the demons of your brokenness, conspired with your father complex, manipulated you into believing that he was moved by it, rather than repulsed by it as his only objective was getting you comfortable enough so you willingly give over something that doesn’t belong to him.

Your purity. Your private parts. Your femininity.

Two days later after the date, you had a dream. While you slept beside your best friends who spent the night smoking with you on the stairs outside of their apartment, helping you realize the truth—popping your bubble of pink vapor gained from the kiss and the male attention you’ve always had so little of. Many dreams swam past your sleeping consciousness, but only one resurfaced upon waking up.

A large beige room; a man standing in the middle of it as he made your bed while you stood clutching your pajamas to your broken, dejected form. You were looking at him, regarding him from head to toe. From his shortly cut, blond hair, to his broad shoulders and toned, muscular arms that would lift you without blinking. From the tank top he wore, to the dark shorts. And once you viewed the same bruises on his body that were on yours, concealed from his sight and awareness, you heard a gentle voice inside your heart. A voice, entwined with the purest form of love, which told you that this was the man you were supposed to be with, not the boy you were seeing.

You listened to the voice, obeyed it in a way that you didn’t quite understand—silently, tenderly. While you internally quivered in fear in regards to the male species. You were frightened of the man who was taking care of you—not because of who he was or what he potentially had done or would have done, but because of a very simple reason.

He was a man.

And you didn’t trust them.

Not anymore.

Namjoon was different. Namjoon was a man who was your friend for the longest time. A poet who nurtured his life. Who viewed the world’s secret poetry and sought it in every way he could. He was as much like you as you were like him. But you weren’t his and he wasn’t yours.

It wasn’t written in the prosaic constitution of this wretched world; and never will be.

He’s not the man in the dream.

He never made your bed, although he would if you needed it. But his heart doesn’t belong to love. It is tied to the arts; tied to the people he takes care of, works hard for. His heart belongs to his voice.

And his voice was silenced in deep indignation when you told him what happened to you. He’s known you for years; he’s known of your lack of manliness in your life—has supported it for as long as he’s walked beside you. Wrote you poems about how perhaps that’s what life is. Aloneness and the arts, the heartbreak if it crawls inside and what you do with it after. You’ve read them, worshiped them, obeyed them, even though your need for love always persisted within you.

And it led you here. Back to him, needing his poems, although now your deeper brokenness asks for his recitation.

But he’s still silent.

Not silent to your pain, however. Not silent to the tornado in your sternum that makes you pause between your words due to its intensity. That makes you look at the leaves of the grass instead of the earth within the pools of his eyes. But you can feel the strength of his indignation that is mightier than the whirlwind in your bones. And it’s warm, so terribly warm, growing warmer the longer he looks at you, in spite of the lowering of the heat of the sun and the evening sweeping past the field, the coldness of the soil as if it never had been touched by that heat.

Like you, almost.

“I think it was him who told me that,” you continue, brushing your thumb over your yellowing bruise upon your knee from your injury. “It’s why I remember the dream so vividly. Why it made me never want to see the guy again. Why it suddenly made me understand why my friends reacted the way they did when I told them what happened.”

You believe it, and nothing could cover your belief due to its force—its quiet, tender force that graces you with a little bit of strength to be here with him, to be able to share it with him with the said understanding and calmness, calmness so akin to nothingness.

How delightful it is, that state of emotions.

You feel as though you’re telling the story of another person. Perhaps Namjoon has done it in you by letting you talk without interrupting like your friends did. They outburst so colorfully and it made you feel so small and so stupid. Namjoon did no such thing—through his silence he put great meaning into your story.

And it feels nice. More than nice. You appreciate it with the little you’re able to feel towards a man.

“Why did you let him kiss you again?” Namjoon asks, softly, breaking that nearly long season of his silence with the kind of gentleness that only he’s capable of.

He must be a different breed, you conclude. One you’ll never have the opportunity to know, intimately.

Your mouth rounds in a faint pout because you know your answer, and sheepishly you camouflage it by taking a puff of your vape, expecting the banana flavor to give you the courage you need in order to say it.

You hear Namjoon follow you suit, sucking on the bud of his cigarette before he puts it out in yours and his makeshift ashtray—a bottle of water that you both drank. The hiss and the dying out drives you quicken your scrambling of bravery and you don’t really know where that vague sense of impatience comes from.

Namjoon is anything but impatient.

You sigh, taking another puff, blowing it into the wind, watching it where it takes it to. Wish you were taken elsewhere, too. By an invisible hand that means well. Take you to a place of joy and respect, of devotion and care.

You wonder if a place like this exists, at all.

“Because…” you trail off, the tornado in you thickening, threatening your calmness and you can’t stop the blooming of your pout, the deepening of it, either. “Because it was my first real kiss with a guy and I wanted experiences like that. I wanted to live. I wanted to have what everyone else has so easily.”

A beat of silence. The tornado enlarges. And you feel as though you were in the middle of it, not the other way around. The raw truth, you’ve said it. Thank God you said it to a person that knows he must handle it with care. It’s the reason why you ran to him. Why you invariably do.

“But he didn’t have your consent. He didn’t ask for it, so he didn’t have it. He just grabbed your head and kissed you. And because you wanted experiences doesn’t mean he had your consent.”

You furrow your brows, out of step with him. “It was me who kissed him at one point. I even bit his lip.”

For some reason, your uttered words cause you to look at him. With his arms wrapped around his knees and hands interlocked, he scowls. His scrunched brows cast a shadow upon his marble face, upon the thin line of his tightly pressed lips, and you fear you did something wrong.

“Did you kiss him because you wanted to kiss him or did you kiss him because you wanted experiences?”

That question shocks you and you can’t speak. You swivel your head back in shame, tipping it, and you twiddle your thumbs, the answer raw and obvious, out in the open without needing any transportation of words.

You felt comfortable with the guy. Had chemistry with him that would run deeper if you were on the same page as him. But there was something about him, which you still can’t pinpoint, that built a translucent wall between your heart and him. You didn’t find him attractive enough to kiss. You didn’t expect to be kissed either by the end of the date. But you went on with it for one sole reason.

The tornado explodes through you and Namjoon can feel it.

He places a hand on your shoulder. Makes you look at him with that singular gesture and your eyes well with tears, the residue and effect of the explosion.

“Never, and I mean never, do that again. Never do things that you aren’t innately hungry for and never do them in order to live a life you think you should,” he says and it’s a proverb that must be written in the book that had opened within your dream. “I don’t believe in God, but I do believe that you were protected from that piece of shit, who had the audacity to put his hands on you.”

And there it is, the recitation of a different poem, one you didn’t quite want, but find yourself to be in need of. Your tears flow without direction, dripping onto the petals of the violet and pink wildflowers that brush against your legs with every breath of the wind.

And you nod.

Maybe they needed it, too. Maybe that’s why you’re here, why God put that lesson in your life that made you run to Namjoon. He took your hand and gave you a role.

To be a helper of his.

Quench the thirst of the flowers and quench yours, too, through that work.

“No one is allowed to think they can touch you like that on the first date. I know how guys think. They think that because they paid for you, they paid for your body—and I’d kill them for that if I could,” he breathes out, waggling your shoulder to emphasize the importance of his words. And you breathe them in, consider them the scolding of a father, one that is done out of love and care and one that is good for you. Not meant to harm, not meant to express the voice of his upper hand. It’s meant for you. For your well-being. “He was dead to me the moment you told me you had to stop his hand from going further down. And the moment you told me he didn’t drive you home at night. That’s not someone you experience life with. That’s someone you walk past.”

You nod and you sob, weaving your way into his step, believing his words—the depth of them, the meaning of them, the end to the sentence piercing your heart because that’s how you met the guy. He stopped you on the street and chatted you up. Gave you a false sense of comfort and safety.

Namjoon kisses your worth over and over again, clutches your brokenness and puts it together with his gentle touch—all through his grip on your shoulder, through the verses of his poem.

He doesn’t dare to go further. Because he’s respectful, because he’s older, because he cares for you, regards you as human and not a piece of meat meant for satisfactory purposes. Thrown away after the deed is done.

You take mental notes of those attributes. Write them somewhere upon your flesh to remember later on.

Respectful. Older. Caring.

The antonyms of the boy you were seeing.

“Someone will come along who will serve life to you on a silver platter. He will find you and he will respect you. Will be afraid to touch you because of how golden you are; afraid to stain you. He will love you and only then will you love him back. That’s how you’ll know he’s the one. He’ll love you first,” Namjoon recites on, your tears dropping onto the back of his hand and trickling down his fingers. He grasps your hand and you feel the liquid of your understanding on his skin. Somehow it locks it in. “He’ll wait before he kisses you. And you’ll be filled with so much longing to kiss him that you’ll feel like bursting. That’s how it should be.”

You nod for the last time, overwhelmed, but changed. You believe the tornado won’t find you for a long time—for as long as Namjoon is here.

“Don’t rush. Do what you love to do, your hobbies. Read. You’re not missing out. You’re living already. You’re alive. You’re experiencing life, even if it means you’re doing it in the company of your friends, in a platonic realm. It counts.”

The last stanza.

He hugs you. Grateful, healed, reassured—he seeps those new attributes in you by giving names to them as he wraps his arms around you and you perceive that’s precisely what you’re feeling.

Grateful. Healed. Reassured.

And you perceive he showed you how love is meant to be expressed. The man does it first.

And when a storm rolls in and the wildflowers startle against your skin, Namjoon walks you home. Doesn’t leave until he knows you’re safe inside.

Heals what he didn’t break. Reteaches what you’ve been wrongly taught.

You’re living. You’re alive. You repeat those words to yourself as you undress yourself and wash away the wrong touch from your body, this time with great consciousness and will. And the vapor from the water, different from the one that was conjured from your madness of falsely living, seals in Namjoon’s touch on your skin, writes upon it the stanzas of his proverb.

You’ll remember them the next time.

And there will be a next time because you’re living. You’re alive.

Namjoon is a different breed because he must be an angel, dressed in white as he was. A helper just like you, ordained by God he doesn’t believe in for you.

Otherwise he wouldn’t be in your life at all because while you quenched your thirst, he filled up your hungry belly.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth.

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#namjoon fluff #namjoon scenarios #namjoon angst #knj x reader #knj fic #rm fluff #rm fic #bts scenarios #bts writing #namjoon x reader #namjoon imagine #kim namjoon #rm #bts rm #namjoon x you #namjoon x oc

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fayes-fics · 2 years ago

Text

Enthralled

Pairings: Vampire!Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader x Thomas Dorset

Summary: You and your new husband invite a handsome stranger to your rooms, but all is not as it seems...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, dom/sub undertones, bisexual male characters, slash content, oral sex (f to m, m to m, m to f) blow jobs, deepthroat w smidge of breathplay, facesitting, edging/orgasm control, vaginal sex, anal sex, simultaneous penetration, multiple orgasms, biting, bloodplay, blood-drinking.

Word Count: 9k

Authors Note: The reader remix of this story. A gothic-ish Halloween threesome with Vampire!Benedict. This is my first foray into writing slash content. If you are looking for a plot or backstory, this will likely disappoint; it's just an excuse for vaguely spooky, unrelenting smut - I cannot celebrate a holiday any other way lol. I wanted to choose a minor show character as the husband, and Dr Dorset screams secretly adventurous to me. Please heed the warnings above; this is pretty full-on. If you proceed, I hope you enjoy! <3

Credits: Thanks to @colettebronte for advice and betaing and @eleanor-bradstreet for her Vampiric expertise. Artwork includes edits made weeks ago for this story by our dearly departed @bridgertontess. Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Benedict smells it long before he ever sees you.

Fresh blood, sweet young bodies in the flushes of arousal; it makes him hungry in every sense of the word. The almost painful need to feast and fuck. He inhales deep, lewdly, letting the tempting scents fill his being. He pulls on his cloak and goes out to find you.

—

Mrs Dorset.

You practice the name, sitting at the vanity table of your rooms at the inn, feeling cosy in the soft candlelight glow as the autumnal wind howls portentously beyond the window. The quill scratches the paper as you loop the letters, learning the structure of your new name as it flows under your hand.

“What are you doing, my love?” Thomas rounds behind you, returning to your rooms with steaming hot tea as promised.

“I am practising my new name,” you reply proudly, twisting to look up at your husband of merely two days as he places aside the tea tray, squeezing your shoulders lightly.

“Oh, I see, that is… well, that is wonderful,” his cadence wavering. It seems as if he is embarrassed at how something as simple as your desire to write his name could make him burn physically, the glistening, dark, looped strokes causing a primal wash of possession. His fingers flex instinctually, mapping your collarbone, your flesh irresistible under his fingertips. You squeak as he rocks his body into your back, something insistent pressing into your spine.

“Husband,” you drawl, meeting his eye in the vanity mirror. “Are you aroused?” Your question isn't judgemental, but pure curiosity and desire, leaning back into him.

“Yes, darling wife. You have my name. It is…. Appealing,” he answers honestly, a touch winded, his fingers trailing lower over your warm skin onto the swell of your breast.

Your eyes flash in the reflection, and then suddenly, you spin around on the stool and bury your face into his trousers, nuzzling his hardness. His growl is deep and wracked. So utterly undone by how forthright you can be with your intentions.

You look up at him, fluttering your eyelids as you pluck open his trousers determinedly, push down his underwear, and wrap your hands around the back of his thighs to draw him even closer. Immediately you encase his tasty warm cock in your mouth, so very keen for him.

He groans to the ceiling as if disbelieving in his luck.

—

Benedict finds himself outside the quaint country inn barely a quarter mile from his country home. No wonder he could smell it so strong.

As he stares up at a mullioned window, russet leaves swirling around his feet on this cold, crisp night, he sees the glowing candlelight signifying the room’s occupation. Indeed, it is the only one lit as such on the first floor. He surmises the couple are likely newlyweds, perhaps passing through the area on their honeymoon—the first ones who have done so since he was turned a few months back.

While he has trained himself on the scent of the people in the proximal area and taught himself they are not food, he is powerless to resist this. Them. From scent alone, they are in their twenties, and right now, they are engaging in something carnal. He can smell ripe juices swirling in the air along with the thronging of their hearts, blood coursing. It makes his cock strain painfully against the wool of his britches.

He never used to be like this—a creature of such base instinct. Yes, when human, he had his fair share of lovers of all persuasions, but it had been an occasional bacchanalian indulgence. Now. Now, he can barely contain himself. His tongue licks around the point of his fang, tasting the air, knowing without a doubt they will be under his thrall within moments of meeting and lost in a temporary reverie of how he will enjoy them.

—

“Y/n….” it’s throaty, raw, wrecked, a hand buried in your locks.

His taste is strong in your mouth as Thomas flops back upon the bed, utterly sated after he finds completion. You had pushed him backwards from the vanity table onto the edge of the bed and sunk to your knees before him, eagerly taking him into your mouth, motions wanton, brazen, your skill and enthusiasm blossoming under his few days of tutelage. Learning his body and needs; learning to use your tongue in ways that make him breathless and unerringly grateful.

You delicately wipe your chin of his seed with a handkerchief and rise to your feet as gracefully as you can as he lays there panting, staring at the velvet drapes over the four-poster bed, his mind blanked out from pleasure.

“Husband,” you coo in a light tease, “I do believe it is now time we took dinner; 'tis nearing 7pm.”

Thomas pouts, looking as if he wants to feast only upon you, not mere food. The grumble in his stomach, though, gives away his status, and your giggle makes him sit up reluctantly, tucking himself back into his trousers and righting his clothes.

“I suppose sustenance is required,” he smiles indulgently, standing up and wrapping you in his arms. “If only to provide energy for our later activities,” he adds teasingly into your ear; a light shiver runs through your being as he says it.

“Then let us eat, Dr Dorset,” you murmur into his jaw, running a hand down his waistcoat. Feeling light as air, you gigglingly tumble down the hallway and staircase to the public house below, wrapped up in each other’s arms, barely noticing the tall, cloaked figure as it slips in through the main door.

—

Benedict nods to Jenkins, the publican and innkeeper behind the bar; locals always having an open invitation to drink and dine any night of the week. Tonight, the public house is deserted save for a regular - drunkard Willie, propping up the corner of the bar as ever - and the newlywed couple now ensconced in an alcove by the roaring fireplace.

He sets eyes upon you both properly, and his insides almost feel warm. You are both beautiful in ways that make him ache. The man is tall, fair of face and built handsomely. You are just his type of woman physically with a spirited mien that looks like you would be the very best kind of challenge to tame. He longs to strip you both naked and run his tongue down your healthy contours, revel in your bodies, coursing with life.

Taking the brandy awaiting him on the bar, he glides towards you, flicking up his velvet collar as he does so, knowing of his powers and how to wield them to his advantage when needs must.

“Welcome to Wiltshire,” his opening gambit, smooth and dusky, raising his glass.

Both you and Thomas look up, startled at a handsome stranger’s interruption to your intimate conversation. Still, Benedict doesn't miss for a second how both of your eyes dilate rapidly.

“Thank you, kind sir,” Thomas Dorset stumbles, raising his glass without thought in a silent responding toast.

“Please call me Benedict. May I join you?” his ask is unfaulteringly polite, but with a lopsided grin, he has long learned is his ticket to everything he may want in this world.

Dorset immediately gestures for him to do so, despite himself, and Benedict slides smoothly onto the bench seat across from them with a dramatic swish of his ample velvet cloak.

“And you are?” he smiles at you both expectantly.

“Oh, where are my manners!?” Thomas decries as if snapping back to reality. “I am Dr Thomas Dorset, and this,” his arm wraps tighter around your shoulders, “is my wonderful new wife, Mrs y/n Dorset.”

You smile at Benedict; he can sense your apprehension at this stranger joining them but also hears your heart fluttering just a fraction harder as he meets your gaze. Can smell the uptick in your bodily response, a new tang to your natural scent that speaks of piqued interest. He knows with just a few well-deployed lingering looks and chosen words, he could throw you over the table right here in front of your husband and fuck you so well you would beg him for more. Again, he is grateful for the cloak he wears, hiding the bulge in his clothing that has barely slaked since your arrival to the area.

“It is so wonderful to meet you both,” he drawls, running a finger over his bottom lip to draw attention to his mouth. If you stare long enough, the thrall will be so easy. “What brings you to our fine village?”

“We are passing through on our way to Cornwall for our honeymoon,” Dorset confirms what Benedict already suspected.

“This is rather off the beaten path to such a place,” Benedict states dryly with a wink, knowing he is reeling you in with every word he utters.

“Indeed,” Thomas concedes, “my new wife insisted we come via this route to allow us to call upon her sister during our journey.”

Benedict smiles, subtly scenting your bodies as you and Thomas lean in without realising, falling under his spell.

“Well then, I insist I purchase your dinner and drinks this evening,” he declares, watching bemused as you both attempt to remonstrate. “I will not accept no for an answer,” he appends, victory glowing as you acquiesce, not realising this will be the first of many permissions you will grant him tonight, all being well.

—

You chew upon the venison slowly, one eye on your additional party, still unsure why he has chosen to join you and, indeed, pay for your meal when he apparently is not eating himself. Engaging you in conversation that seems peculiarly beguiling and dangerous all at once.

He is undoubtedly attractive. Hazy blue eyes under a mass of chestnut hair, a pale-skinned face with exquisite sharp lines. Feeling guilty to admit it silently, you find him just as attractive as your husband, maybe more so—something so hypnotic in how he holds himself, moves, and speaks. Finding yourself drawn to him, a stirring in your underwear that you swear he can sense. Every time a little frisson runs through your body, his head unerringly swings towards you, a slight curl in his luscious lip, like he is smelling your arousal and thinks it the tastiest treat in the world.

You could swear he is trying to steal you from your husband - and to your horror, you realise you would absolutely let him - except… his attention is just as rapt upon Thomas. Benedict’s gaze is just as covetous when he speaks. His tongue flicks the corner of his mouth as your husband casually leans back and crosses his legs—as if Benedict is scenting his body, too. It's confusing but intoxicating, as if your wine is laced with a far more potent substance.

—

Benedict knows he has won you both over before you put down your dessert spoons, now hanging on his every word.

“Let us repair to somewhere more intimate for a nightcap,” he suggests, and your joint responding consent is instant. “How about your rooms here at the Inn?”

Were you in your sound, sober minds, it seems unlikely you would invite a stranger to your rooms, but as it is, you enthusiastically do. Benedict snags the remainder of the brandy bottle from the bar as he settles the bill.

“Friends of yours?” Jenkins frowns, vaguely intrigued.

“Everyone is a friend yet to be made, Jenkins,” Benedict answers, intentionally vague.

Jenkins rolls his eyes. “Bloody poets…” he is heard to mutter under his breath, but Benedict lets it pass. If the man invoked the name Byron, perhaps he wouldn't have. Might have stolen a chicken or two from the coup outside to exsanguinate in revenge.

Benedict trails behind you, both pleasantly inebriated now, holding the wood panelling as you negotiate the narrow corridors of the inn to your rooms, inhibitions lowered. He knows you are just in that sweet spot where you will be so open to suggestions but not so out of your minds to be a pointless fuck, unable to respond. There is nothing less appealing to him than a lifeless, limp, unconscious being. Yes, easy to feed upon, perhaps, but no challenge. The only thrill he gets these days is that of the chase. Of the crackling potential of any moment, human hearts beating wildly in his presence, blood pumping hard—that is what brings him exhilaration.

—

Dorset fumbles the heavy iron key in the lock, leaning into you as you giggle along with him. The attractive, imposing man stood patiently behind you, seemingly sober, which is impressive given he drank more than you both. Still unsure what is possessing him to allow this, Thomas nevertheless feels compelled to do this man’s bidding, to allow this whatever he wishes.

It may be a secret he has kept from you, but Dorset is not immune to the charms of a handsome man. In his youthful days at Cambridge, he had many a clandestine encounter with his fellow students. Late drunken nights of experimentation. He knows the power of a man’s touch, enjoying the taboo feeling of being taken roughly, clawing the mattress as he is mounted without mercy. A man's body may differ greatly from a woman’s, but it is no less of an attractive wonderland.

Little does he know just how soon you will learn of that predilection.

—

You twirl around the room as the men take a seat and pour more liquor, feeling ebullient, basking in the heat of the fire on this cold autumn night, dizzy and fizzling with energy. You feel the gaze of both men, knowing both track your moments from the wingtip chairs they inhabit. Your insides feel ripe and pulpy, compelling you to be daring, a peculiar impulse to strip and dance naked in front of them.

There must have been something in my drink. Surely?

Your husband interrupts just as you think to act.

“Darling, come sit with us,” Thomas appeals, patting his knee enticingly.

He would never typically invite you to sit upon him in the company of a stranger, but everything about tonight feels different, so you allow yourself to be swept into it. To see what may arise with the handsome, mysterious visitor.

You float over and sigh as you fall into Thomas’ lap, the heat of his leg seeping through your dress, warming your bottom. He pulls you snugly into his lap, bumping a stirring hardness and without a doubt, you know this evening will go somewhere you never expected…. And yet, you can't wait for it to do so.

“Isn't my wife beautiful?” Dorset slurs, his breath hot on your ear, turning you both to face Benedict in the chair next to you as if he is seeking his approval for his choice of spouse.

“Indeed she is,” Benedict responds, dark and silky, a shiver tracing down your spine as he voices it. “As are you handsome, good sir,” he adds, and you know they are very much out of your depth as you feel the same shudder pass through your husband's being beneath you.

Oh, good lord, who is this man?

—

Benedict sees you reacting to his voice, sees the ripple in your beings, hears it in your breathing, and knows he has you fully enthralled. You are his to do precisely as he wants now. Tumbling images flash through his mind as to how he can have both of your bodies—sweat and skin, blood and bone, moving together in a carnal symphony.

His instinct is to take you and then your husband. He can see the willingness there, but he’ll need more enticing to allow that dormant flame to be relit. Perhaps watching you, his new wife, give yourself so readily will be just the nudge he needs to submit, also.

So when Thomas turns to Benedict, offering you on the plate that is his lap, he decides this is the moment to strike. Downing the rest of his glass, he stands and tugs at the string of his velvet cape, which falls to the floor with a heavy whump… to reveal his fitted cropped jacket and tight britches, tailored in black fabric like a second skin, giving away everything about what he has to offer.

He hears your sharp inhales at the unmistakable tented outline.

“Desire is such a funny thing, is it not?” he rumbles, moving closer, and your legs fall apart on instinct, the air suddenly filled with a potent scent of your arousal that makes his tongue itch to taste.

“In what way?” Thomas hitches, his hands grabbing your waist reflexively as Benedict can hear his heartbeat in his breathy cadence.

“You both want me, and yet you offer your wife to me first,” Benedict assesses cooly, raising an eyebrow as he takes a step closer, watching you squirm as your eyes are transfixed on his cock.

“I did nothing of the sor…” Thomas’s response dies on the spot as one long, slender finger lands on his lips, hushing him, a sharp fingernail resting under his nose.

“We both know you did,” Benedict argues laconically, “And lucky for you…” Benedict almost chuckles as you gasp when his other hand cups your jaw. “…She wants me too. Right now, her thighs are soaked with delicious slickness; I can smell it,” he states casually, holding you both.

“Is that true?” Thomas inquires, side-eying you but not moving under Benedict's finger.

“Yes,” you exhale shakily, unable to peel your gaze from Benedict's face now he has tilted your jaw up to him. “I want him, husband,” you confess raggedly, not knowing why you are voicing it. “And I want you to watch, to participate.”

Benedict chuckles again. “Of course, you do, little one. You love him, even if you are tempted by the fruit of another.” He traces a knuckle down over your chin, your throat, where your pulse is beating wildly, pausing on your clavicle. You know your eyes are wide and beseeching, begging for more.

Benedict swings his gaze to Thomas, then leans in. “If you truly love your wife, you will kiss me right now,” he taunts, his lips hovering so close, “give her a good show; I need her trembling before I take her.”

Come on, sweet prince, dance with me.

—

Thomas can barely comprehend what is transpiring. But he doesn't want to fight it. The man’s finger is cool on his lip as he poses the question. You are writhing deliciously in his lap, making his cock swell painfully against the cleft of your bottom. The next decision is inevitable, fated.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

He gently purses his lips and gives permission by bussing a featherlight kiss onto Benedict’s finger. The predatory smile that unfurls across the man’s face doesn't seem human, more akin to creature than man.

Then his jaw is tilted back, and his world swims as the man closes the few inches between their faces and kisses him. It's biting, hungry, desperate. A skilled tongue rolls over his, and Thomas feels a groan bubble up from deep inside. Possessed, overwhelmed, taken. Benedict tastes like sin but something odd like decay, too, at the edges of the fragrant brandy—some tart undercurrent that is wholly otherworldly and unnerving.

Thomas feels as much as he hears your moan. Feels the weight of your gaze glued to their faces, no doubt seeing a peak of their tongues entwining. Feels the weight of your body in his lap, moving rhythmically, grinding insistently, tilting your hips forward brazenly to drag your clit over the creases in his trousers. Your shameless want and desire are potent and arousing. Even as Benedict’s kiss steals his breath, a faint voice in his head gnaws about your actions being as inexplicable as his, but it's mostly drowned out by the roar of blood pumping hard in his system, seeming so loud around this man, as if he is in tune with it somehow.

As Benedict pulls back, Thomas's vision swims, awash with sensation. He watches, dazed, as the pale man turns and captures your mouth just as covetously.

—

You have only known the passionate kiss of one man—your husband. Yet a mere three days after your first mind-blowing experience of that, you have another first. Your first kiss with another, a whole other creature, not that you can likely comprehend. Unaware of the dance with death.

When Benedict turns and seizes your lips, you peep in surprise. But he swallows the noise, opening your mouth with his tongue, the kiss instantly intense. It's more of a take than the pliant dance you usually share with Thomas. A plundering that floods your senses and steals every breath from your lungs leaving you feeling shaky, unmoored, and taken somewhere dark that is metallic and brimstone. His kiss seems at once ephemeral and infinite. No wonder your husband looked dazed. As Benedict withdraws, the smile on his face is rapacious.

He suddenly pulls both of you to your feet, like ragdolls for him to puppet. Wrapping you up in a joint embrace, he whispers for you both to strip before releasing you just as swiftly, taking a seat on the edge of the imposing bed. As if in a trance, you begin undoing your own clothing.

“Nuh-uh,” Benedict clucks, holding a halting hand that you instantly obey. “Undress each other, my precious ones,” he elucidates, wanting a show.

Your heart thrums as you turn to your husband and he to you. Invisible strings seem to direct your frantic movements as you paw at each other, fabrics tearing in your swift pursuit of skin. You only stop panting wildly and staring when nothing is left, both frowning in confusion at the flurry and intensity of it.

What on earth just happened?

Uncertainty roils oleaginous in your stomach as if, on a gut level, your body is trying to send a warning signal. Still, at the same time, it feels detached and far away, as if your mind is in another realm, a place of edgy desire and boundless pleasure.

—

“Well, that was quite the brief show,” Benedict pipes up, bemused. “Not that I am complaining,” he adds, smirking, his eyes raking you both greedily as he runs a casual finger down his cheek.

Your bodies are ideal, as he suspected. The man is tall and lithe, not unlike himself, his skin pale and smooth, his cock, aroused and leaking, springing from a small thatch of hair that tapers to a narrow point under his belly button. So far, so similar. His cock is nice, sizeable but not intimidating, and weirdly he feels pleased for the woman. It is not as good as his cock; he's a Bridgerton, for Pete's sake, but entirely up for the task of bringing satisfaction to anyone who interacts with it. You are his ideal shape, your contours reminding him of a violin. And such an apt metaphor, your strings so ripe to be plucked, to be properly played, perhaps for the first time.

But mostly, what he tastes thick in the air of the heated room is your fluids. The rush of fresh blood pumping vigorously from your hearts, pulses elevated by the thrall. Sticky, sweet, and life-giving for him and you both. He is so glad he feasted on local farmstock before picking up your scent; otherwise, you would both be dead right now at his feet, lifeless and pale, every drop coursing through his mouth and swirling in his stomach like the indulgent meal your very hearty lifeforce represents. His hunger is slaked just enough that lust is his primary driver, at least for now.

He opens his mouth, engaging all the olfactory senses like a feline. Since he passed, his ability to pick up scents has been both a blessing and a curse, but right now, the best possible outcome from the dreaded experience.

Thomas’ precum is deliciously sharp, perhaps a shade too much. Benedict makes a mental note to offer him the luxury of some pineapple should this entanglement last longer than tonight, with them both still upon this mortal plain. You would undoubtedly be grateful for the improvement in his flavour, too.

As for you… his mouth froths. Your scent is sin itself to him, honeyed but also sharp like an undeveloped apple still clinging to the tree. A swirl of flavour in the air so plush, it takes all his willpower not to throw you to the ground and drink from between your legs. Knowing it would only take a blip, a momentary loss of careful control, to sink in his fangs, mixing your juices with your blood, what an absolute symphony of flavour that would be.

He realises he is staring at you both, panting lasciviously, lost in the jumble of scent and potential. You awaiting his next order, not even realising yourselves in suspended animation.

“Dorset, lie in the middle of the bed,” Benedict orders gruffly, drawing himself to his feet and standing aside.

Thomas does as bidden, his cock bobbing as he climbs onto the raised mattress and settles as instructed, looking at Benedict bright-eyed, awaiting any subsequent command.

“Watch me,” Benedict tutors you, then he crawls over your husband and, without preamble, takes the man's cock deep into his mouth as Thomas howls like he did for you earlier tonight.

—

Thomas almost hits the ceiling as his cock is suddenly surrounded by strong suction, vacuumed into Benedict's mouth. In fact, Benedict keeps sinking, and Thomas pants in shock as his tip slides into the man’s throat, something he has not had in many a year. The tightness, the pure depth of sensation. It seems strange the man does not need to take a breath or even fight as if there is air in his lungs, but dammit all to hell if this isn't already the most exquisite blow job of his entire life. Benedict apparently has no gag reflex; holding him deep, a mind-bogglingly long tongue unfurls to curl around his balls and lick covetously, a wet muscular stroke over his most sensitive skin that has his fingers curling into the sheets. He cannot school the booming, guttural groan. If he had not come merely an hour ago, thanks to his dearest you, he would likely be embarrassingly close to orgasm already; this man’s skill stupendous, another edge that doesn't seem human.

Thomas looks over frantically to you, his eyes bulging in shock, and he groans again at the sight of you. Your mouth hung open, lips rosy and damp, you have your fingers buried between your legs now, and there is a faint, lewd, wet sound as you invade your cunt with your fingers, just as he taught you on your wedding night. The sight before you is too beautiful and arousing to resist; you know your nipples are puckered, and Thomas’s tongue longs to run over them.

He wants to fuck and be fucked, sandwiched between you, his ravishing vixen of a wife, and this devil of a man, sucking his very life essence via his cock, intent on draining him dry. Just as Thomas feels a flush all over his body and a tightening in his sac, Benedict pulls up and away, smirking victoriously as he twists towards you, ignoring Thomas’ huffed, wretched pleas.

No! No, please, please do not leave me in this state!

—

You self-consciously whip your hands away from between your legs, and your eyes cut to Benedict as he addresses you.

“That is how you ensure your husband here never leaves you, little one,” he coos, running a thumb provocatively around his drooped lower lip, licking his thumbpad of every flavour. “Now it's your turn; show me what you can do.”

Benedict reaches out a draped hand. You take it, his touch light, helping you hop onto the bed to join them. He snatches your other hand and brings the fingers you had buried in your cunt up to his nose, sniffing lewdly.

Oh my god, this man is feral.

“I'm glad you enjoyed the show so much,” he smirks, running his nose up and down each digit. “Now I am going to taste you, darling girl,” it's low, akin to a threat. “You will sit on my face as you take his cock in your mouth, but do not let him come. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” you breathe, scarcely believing what he says. Benedict scowls slightly as he drops your hand.

“Don't call me sir, call me Count,” he snaps.

“Yes, Count,” you amend dutifully, and his smile, yet again, is devilish.

“Good, now ensure your husband is mindless with need while I provide you the same favour,” he purrs and slides under you with balletic grace.

Butterflies roar in your stomach as you feel the sharpness of Benedict's cheekbone press the skin of your inner thighs, draping yourself forward into your husband’s lap and tentatively licking a strip up his weeping cock as he mumbles your name weakly and moans.

Then you scream as a muscular tongue parts your folds with a force Thomas has never subjected you to. Whip-like, lashing your swollen clit with determined spirals before plunging lower and pushing far into your cunt, further than your husband's tongue has ever dared. Your groan is smothered as you take Thomas’ tip into your mouth, needing the distraction. Benedict’s hands grasp your hips and pull you down forcefully onto his face, his nose jammed against your pubic bone. Thomas has never been this engaged, devouring, a violent delight. You garble a curse around the cock, hurtling towards ecstasy as Thomas’ whole body tenses under you.

“Don't let him come,” Benedict reminds, words gusting hot over your slit, sensing what the man’s body signifies better than you do.

You pull off and breathe raggedly, staring up at your husband’s wrecked pleading face, where he leans on the headboard.

What is this? You mouth at him, nearly scared of how good it feels to ride Benedict's face so brazenly.

—

“Do not stop; use him, darling,” Thomas practically snarls through gritted teeth.

He is utterly enthralled by seeing another man taking you somewhere wild and untamed. The look of equal parts shock, fear and bewildered pleasure on your face is a picture he wants to remember forever.

He groans as you follow his advice, wrapping a hand loosely around his cock, a tease that makes his brain itch, as you concentrate on riding Benedict's invasive tongue, biting your lip, moaning vocally.

Yes, this is the best kind of sin.

Thomas mutters words, barely cognisant of what but compelled to urge you on. To take from this mysterious man so willing to give to you both, so far asking nothing in return, still fully clothed himself.

The jagged edge of his denied orgasm licks insistently at his mind, begging for release but paradoxically wallowing in the jangling ache of being so close but denied. Making him unable to think straight. As a doctor, he usually prides himself on keeping a cool head when all around may lose theirs, but tonight…. Tonight feels so peculiar. Out of the ordinary, out of control, out of his mind. And somehow craving carnality like a bestial creature, clawing at the bed, watching you be debauched by the same man who made him equally mindless.

—

Benedict cannot get enough. This wondrous pair. The husband was so responsive to his throat, and now you are bewitched just the same. Writhing your nub shamelessly over the tip of his nose, your juices trickling copiously down his nostrils to coat his throat as he plunges and twists his tongue inside you.

He wants you both so close to ecstasy, so close you can almost taste it, but not let you just yet. The thrill of how utterly base a human can be when dangling over the edge of lust fascinated him before… but now? Now, it’s his primary driver—to make a beast out of man, woman, any human, for them to feel one ounce of what he can. That heightened state when you crave something—so frenzied every base instinct emerges, shows your true nature: growling, greedy, hungry.

So when he feels the telltale ripplings in your cunt, he rapidly withdraws, and as predicted, you cry out, the sound ringing up the walls. He smirks, grazing your inner thigh with his fangs, the urge to sink into your soft skin and drink your other crimson nectar thronging in him.

Not yet, not yet.

The calm voice centres him, even as you keep moving, attempts to frottage yourself vigorously over his face, whimpering, desperate to push over the edge you are circling.

“Shh shh, sweet one,” he soothes, pulling out from under you as you pant wildly.

His hand rests on your lumbar spine to quell you. You slow, whimpering, collapsing forward, burying your face in your husband's lap, his cock leaking on your cheek, your hips swaying in the air. Both of you are shaking, sweaty and overwhelmed.

That’s it; we are getting there now, my darlings.

—

This doesn't feel right.

That voice is whispering again, but Thomas brushes it aside, ravenous, rooted in his body. Yearning to know what is next, a willing marionette in this sinful theatrical.

His mouth goes dry as he watches Benedict slide off the end of the bed and tug at his clothing, buttons popping open until lithe alabaster skin glows in the soft, flickering firelight. Shadows play over lean, muscled torso. He is beautiful: lean, virtually hairless, carved like a marble statue, just as pale and smooth. In fact, his beauty seems too ethereal, like his skin is no longer capable of tanning in sunlight. Still, Thomas longs to touch him, run his tongue over the sharp lines, and kiss every stunning contour.

“Y/n…” Thomas softly shakes your shoulder as you are still whimpering facedown in his lap. When you weakly raise your head, he nods for you to turn over and see the show you have been missing, Benedict now reaching for the buttons on his britches.

Lethargically, you flip over, your head cradled in Thomas’ lap as your eyes fall upon the man, and you inhale sharply. Benedict seemingly stares you both down as he lowers his britches, a smirk on his face entirely immodest. And when the material relents, you understand why.

Thomas’ cock pulses against your neck at the sight. He knows you have seen precisely one cock in your life, his, and this may come as a shock. It's larger and prettier, objectively than his own. You nuzzle him, biting your lip as you twist to look back up at him, eyes wide with concern.

“You can take it, darling,” he reassures, intuiting your apprehension as his knuckles brush calmingly over your cheek.

”As will you,” Benedict adds darkly, addressing Thomas. You watch your husband visibly gulp. Then you do the same, tongue feeling too large in your mouth, as Benedict mounts the bed and crawls predatory over your body, a sinful, crooked smile that is at once gorgeous and scary, that cock bobbing ominously as he draws nearer.

—

You feel butterflies under your ribs, unable to look away from his cock, suddenly nervous about the idea he might fuck you. Thomas is a perfect fit; it never hurts and feels designed to bring you gratification, but that?

It might be too much.

“Don't pretend you don't want me, little one,” Benedict boasts, edged with a darkness that is almost chilling.

“I-I do,” you stutter, unable not to speak the truth, your legs falling wider open reflexively.

“I know, I could smell you from 500 yards away; it drew me in like a clarion call,” he sighs wistfully, and it doesn't sound like he is exaggerating.

Benedict roughly grabs both of your legs and pushes them up and apart, making you gasp. Leaning over, he draws Thomas into a sinful kiss above you, making you mewl slightly at the sight, a burn in your tendons from the position, head now pulled out of Thomas’s lap onto the mattress.

“Hold her ankles,” Benedict orders over Thomas’s lips, gesturing to take over the hold. “Keep her wide and open for me, my prince,” he purrs as he leans away to slide a pillow under your shoulders, your head tilted backwards.

“Why like this?” you ask falteringly, feeling odd staring at Thomas's thigh upside down.

“So your husband can easily use your mouth as I fuck you, little one,” he explains calmly, hands now raking your flesh as he pulls you into position.

Nerves flare brightly in your belly, Thomas’s grip around your ankles harsh as he holds you so wide open. Then, there is intense pressure around your weeping hole. You whimper, your body quivering at Benedict’s attempted entry. He reaches up and touches your temple with two fingers, and the strangest thing happens; a preternatural calm soothes your mind, breath slowing, body pliant, racing now with nothing but want.

“Good girl,” Benedict tutors as he slips inside your body, the invasion blunt, the stretch as thrilling as it is raw.

He keeps pushing, the heat and size so much you can think of nothing else, even as Thomas shuffles closer, his cock nudging your chin, also demanding entry.

For someone innocent merely days ago, you willingly, excitedly, let both men slide into you at either end, your husband stealing your breath as he invades your mouth deeply, Benedict pushing you so wide you can feel him moving below your belly button as he bottoms out.

You feel them lean in towards each other above, Thomas sliding deeper as the sound of them kissing fills the air. You ache to see them, their mouths hot and entwined, but all you can do is close your eyes, swamped in sensation, so much hypnotic heat and scent. Fingers, you don't even know whose, pinch your nipples as both whisper your praises as they start to move in tandem, rocking into and out of your body in the same rhythm. They start slow, allowing you to draw breaths around Thomas' tip before he slides deep.

The drag of Benedict’s cock makes you moan; you can feel every contour and vein, your channel clinging tight to him, a noise of slickened suction as your body struggles to accommodate him.

But they begin to move faster, and you have to breathe through your nose, the insistent press of Thomas’ balls giving you limited air. The struggle makes it heady and soporific, like you can’t get enough and wants to die right here with both men buried deep inside you. You writhe as pleasure courses in your veins. Already pushed so close to coming, pliant and obedient to their use.

—

Benedict looks down upon the filled body of the woman beneath him and groans. Your cunt, such a tight wet vice surrounding him, delicious squelching sounds as he plunders you with increasing speed. Your plush lips wrapped around your husband's cock, your throat exposed and dewy with sweat, his teeth itching to sink into the vein bulging prominently as you fight to take him as well as swallow and breathe. He can’t help but reach down and run a sharp-pointed fingernail over your diaphragm, fascinated by the play of delicate muscle and bone as you ripple under his touch.

“Such a good little thing, and only recently plucked; you are a lucky man,” Benedict opines, his voice gravelly even to his own ears, looking up again to the man in front of him.

“Yes, I am,” Thomas agrees, and Benedict sees the imploring look in his eyes, begging for another kiss.

“Come here, sweet prince,” Benedict murmurs, feeling a spike of victory as Thomas effusively leans in, lips glistening, flushed and plump.

As they kiss anew, Benedict runs a fang over that juicy lip, wanting to sink down and bite, feeling his life force pulsing so strong right there underneath ripe, fleshy fibres. Thomas's hands twine around Benedict’s neck, his tongue tentative, asking for entry, and Benedict swirls and sucks upon it greedily, only breaking when he hears your attempted gurgling of words, your hands wrapped around your husband’s fuzzy thighs, requesting reprieve.

“Slide deeper; make her take it just a touch longer,” he growls into Thomas's ear, teething his lobe. “She will be feisty, but the lack of air will deliver her so close to rapture,” he counsels as Thomas thrusts and holds still. You start to struggle with muffled calls of increasing urgency. “Now slide out,” Benedict advises moments later, and Thomas follows his bidding.

Benedict moans as your whole body judders as you gulp deep breaths. “Perfect. Oh, my prince, you should feel how tight she gets when she’s fighting to breathe; dear god, it’s the best kind of pain.” He stutters, tone deep, wrecked, stupefied by the grip of your convulsing cunt.

What a perfect little thing. I want her as mine.

—

Thomas is also panting, the tightness of your throat squeezing him so close to orgasm for what feels like countless times tonight. He falls back against the headboard instead. To watch. To watch you, his once angelic wife, be taken, wrecked, destroyed by this gorgeous creature.

Your eyes shoot open as you realise he has withdrawn.

“Husband,” you reach a shaky hand up above your head, glad when he takes it, watching your body roll with each punishing thrust Benedict takes, his eyes seemingly fixed upon the hammering pulsing in your neck as you ratchet higher, his tongue slipping out of his mouth in a wanton glistened point.

Just as you are pushing your hips into each thrust, screaming with ecstasy, Benedict pulls out, and Thomas feels your anguish as you suddenly cry out, your whole being heaving with unmet needs, eyes pleading.

“Do you miss my cock already, little one?” he preens, trailing your own musky juices over your belly as he teasingly passes his cock over your heated skin.

You nod viciously and growl, Thomas barely recognising you—a creature reborn of pure lust and submission. Craving this man in a way that makes jealousy and want war uneasily in Thomas’ gut. You have never been this feral for him, your husband, but yet he completely sympathises, feeling the same pangs of want to be taken, wrecked, destroyed endlessly by this thing resembling a man.

“Alas, that is your misfortune, my beautiful thing, for ‘tis your husband's turn now,” the cold glint in his eyes and the harsh lines of his razor-sharp cheekbone glowing as yet again he leaves you a whining, whimpering mess, your body leaking, your voice hoarse, more wild animal than woman. As Thomas lifts his gaze from you writhing to Benedict, one thought haunts his very being with a growing disquiet.

What exactly are you, if not man?

—

You feel inhuman, something clawing at the edges of your mind that feels like madness. A desire to be possessed by this man. Your insides branded as his. So when he withdraws just as you are fluttering once again, it feels like insanity, like sandpaper drags over your brain, your toes and fingers stiff from flexing so hard in utter wretchedness.

This is ecstatic torture.

“Please, my Count,” it’s forlorn, ragged, almost not recognisable as your own voice, your throat still sore from the harsh tip of your husband's cock.

“No, little one, it’s only right you should take your husband's seed, not mine,” he clucks, even as he rakes his hands covetously over your sweaty body, his tone sounding reluctant as if trying to convince himself as much as you.

“Sweet prince, claim your wife,” he calls, clamping a hand around Thomas's neck, compelling him to slide over you.

He does as bidden, and you groan as the familiar stretch of your husband's cock overtakes your senses. Not nearly as punishing or brutal as Benedict, but curved perfectly to glance at that spot inside that makes you clamp down and scream with every pass.

“Darling,” Thomas's familiar voice whispers in your ear, and it’s a balm you need, centring you on him and his lovely face, moving over you in a surging wave.

“Thomas, my love,” you call, wrapping your limbs around him and taking comfort in his embrace, his body, familiar and musky, a flavour you know well dripping on your tongue as you kiss his salty neck, mumbling encouragements, your heels digging into his bottom.

Benedict watches you from behind, and when you look beyond Thomas, you see eyes inky black with desire, fingers ghosting Thomas’s back as if wanting to flay his skin open.

“Are you ready for me, my prince?” Benedict purrs in a way that makes even you shudder, unable to look away from his tongue as it slides into Thomas’ ear.

—

Benedict reaches for the vial before Thomas even moans his weak assent. The smell of clove swirls as he unseals a small vial and pours it down Thomas’ crack.

He can taste how much Thomas wants this, a heavy fug of desire in the air that is his pheromones begging more than his words ever might.

Thomas shudders, and his movements falter as Benedict slides a finger between his cheeks and swirls the oil over his heated skin, over his puckered hole and his balls.

Benedict can feel the weight of your stare over Thomas’s shoulder. Intrigue and desire. You have likely never seen a man fuck another man. Certainly not your husband. Certainly not while he is inside you.

Little one, hold on tight.

—

Thomas is staring into your eyes when Benedict’s cock slides between his cheeks, demanding entry.

He knows he has stilled his movements, and his breathing is ragged and uneven as that long-forgotten breach occurs. He groans loudly; it's the largest he has ever had inside him, and the burn is intense.

“Are you alright, my love?” you call, holding his face delicately and stroking his cheek.

“It’s intense, my love,” he answers through gritted teeth and a shaky exhale as Benedict keeps inching slowly into him.

He’s never had his cock buried in someone while being fucked before; intense exhilaration and so much stimulation. To fuck and be fucked simultaneously.

When Benedict bottoms out, Thomas collapses onto you, his elbows sinking into the mattress under your armpits, his hands clenched in fists over your breasts.

You reach for one and pries open his fingers, silently bringing the hand to your mouth and kissing then sucking his fingers as if his cock, a tease that titillates and distracts as Benedict starts to rock in and out of him. Thomas cannot look away from your mouth, your pleading eyes no doubt telegraphing your devotion and lust.

My darling wife…

—

You feel the moment Benedict moves within your husband, his motion a catalyst to the slide of Thomas's cock within you.

He has found a way to fuck us both.

It is all your mind can think as you watch your husband's face contort a thousand ways, rapture and fear, his whole body becoming a puppet stuck between you and the Count.

“Can you feel that?” Benedict growls, staring you down, eyes black now.

“Y-Yes,” you stumble, seeing something wild in him that genuinely scares you now, your tummy oily even as your clit twinges with pleasure, your husband's cock being driven into you at a pace that you know will make you come within moments.

“Good… don’t you dare look away from me,” Benedict growls when your eyes stray to Thomas.

You obey but watch with growing disquiet as he smiles wickedly wide. Two extended ivory fangs glow in the low flickering firelight. His tongue licks over them provocatively, drawing your attention.

What in God's name?

“God can’t help you now, little one,” Benedict sniggers ominously, and your heart pounds that he can read your mind. “Indeed I can,” he winks, making you gasp.

You are trapped. Trapped under your almost rag doll-like husband, his groans gusting hot into your neck now as he is slumped over you, being fucked so harshly by Benedict, hips snapping as he stares you down, pointed nails scraping down Thomas’s back, his entire mien a sinister seductive leer.

“You are mine, both of you,” Benedict declares. It’s dark, possessive, unearthly.

Confusion rips through your being as, for the first time, you see something other than man—a creature. Utterly terrifying, beguiling, erotic. A shadow moves over his face that is all menace and not of this world. Yet, at the same time, your body is so close to ecstasy, a taut thread holding all your muscles so close to breaking. Horror, fear, lust, and want are a continuous swirling loop in your very being.

Time slows, treacle-like, as you start to convulse despite yourself, taken over the edge by the carnal push and pull of Benedict fucking your husband into your body. Clinging tight to Thomas, you watch in slow-motion as Benedict leans down, those fangs looming large. Then, you feel a searing, sharp pang as they make contact with the meat of your arm, where it is wound around Thomas’s neck. Utter terror grips your heart, even as a flood of chemicals so strong courses into your bloodstream. Strong suction over the wound has you screaming, pure unbridled ecstasy, euphoria coursing in every fibre even as it dawns on you far too late precisely what he is.

VAMPIRE!

—

Benedict has only known immortality for a few months when he tastes his forever. Your blood floods his mouth, and it is the nectar he has been seeking since his turn. The thing that calms and sates him. The sweet delight that means he will never leave your side: he is yours. He will feed from others, for sure, but he is imprinted upon you forever now. He shall always be careful never to drink too much to kill you; he needs this taste more than anything, and just a few drops will be enough to keep him sustained.

“My goddess,” he moans, making your eyes pop open, fear but something else, too, swimming in your depths. It's not revulsion; it's anything but–it's yearning, even from your trance-like bliss.

He stops sucking before you lose too much blood; it’s just enough to make you light-headed and extend your rapture. He can feel you convulsing, Thomas’s limp body a conduit for your intense orgasm. Buried deep in Thomas, closing his eyes and feeling the pulses as you milk your husband’s cock, him just awash and pliant, sandwiched between you.

Benedict feels from inside the moment Thomas breaks, feels his balls contract and his pelvis ripple as he groans loud and long, his seed forcibly painting your insides. It’s futility to resist the urge to feast again. Meeting your hungry, consuming gaze as you crest a secondary wave, he sinks his fangs into the nape of Thomas’s neck, the man calling out lustily. And as he sucks greedily, Benedict falters and moans hard. It's like Thomas’ flavour is the other puzzle piece he needs. The ying to your yang. Together, the taste in his mouth is a symphony. A magnum opus, what feels like the very reason he now exists such as he does.

“My prince, my king,” he garbles, roughly suckling from Thomas's neck, watching the crimson line of blood ooze down his spine and licking it covetously, wantonly, his very purpose.

And it's the catalyst that flings him into the cauldron too, a shuddering snap that consumes his whole body and has him coming so hard he cannot hold himself on his knees anymore, slumping onto Thomas, panting as he empties, a visceral unloading that feels like the very best catharsis.

—

You have never known paradise like this. A continuous loop of thrill; every time you think it is over, you feel first your darling Thomas and then your beautiful nightmare Benedict come, and it pushes you over another precipice. Each is as precious and encompassing as the last.

The weight of them both slumped upon you as the shudder is something you cannot withstand, and you have to call out in protest. Somehow almost preternaturally, they rearrange around you, a tangle of limbs, sweat, cum and blood entwined like a knot of vipers as you all find a comfortable hold, panting hard from the exertion.

“What are you??” you demand, ragged, staring Benedict down around Thomas, who seems to be hovering semi-conscious, his face a picture of complete rapture.

A finger traces down your cheek as he does the same to Thomas, which you track askance.

“Darling precious, you already know. I’m your worst dream masquerading as your perfect fantasy,” he chimes. “And I am yours forever.”

“To which of us do you speak?” you gulp, barely able to form the words; your whole world tilted and forever changed.

“You see, therein lies the beauty,” Benedict smiles, running the edge of his incisors first over Thomas’s neck as he groans drowsily, then yours, making you inhale sharply. “I speak of both of you.”

Thomas twists and places a sleepy, sated kiss on you and then Benedict.

“Enthralling, is not, my love?” Thomas slurs, nuzzling you both. “We have our very own creature of the night.”

“You knew?!” you stutter, disbelief warring with every other emotion alive in your body.

“Mmm,” he hums peacefully. “I knew on some level from the moment he kissed me. And yet here we are. Hearts still beating, bodies utterly sated. This is the best possible outcome. I, for one, cannot wait for every adventure with our delicious Vampire,” Thomas lazily pats Benedict's cheek, who smiles and kisses his temple.

You are rendered speechless.

“Come on, y/n, my goddess,” Benedict goads, his tone dusky and irresistible as his lips ghost your husband’s, his long pale fingers smearing a droplet of blood into your breast, spidering over your flesh in a way that already has your cunt swelling again. “I am yours. And I can give you such pleasures every night,” he promises.

Well, that is perhaps the most enthralling prospect of all.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #vampire fanfiction #thomas dorset #thomas Dorset fanfiction

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sleepy-spacetronaut · 7 months ago

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Pilot Project : Vogelfrei, a Gravity falls Fanfic Idea

(POST DATESTAMP: post started on December 8, 2024)

Start note: If some of you remember my post about a potential fanfic with the Handyman Bill Au , then I have great news! Not only have I settled on a title, but the story is lining up for a potentially elaborate sequel! While the first story will mostly be written in a traditional sense, I decided to experiment with comic making for the follow-up story. After mind-boggling hours of search for a pleasant closure to the initial story (for which leaving an open ending seemed tasteless), making a sequel was a rather exciting idea. From all the stories I’ve ever wrote, rarely any had been turned into a duology, let alone one in comic format. Additionally, the sequel will require a lot more world building, unlike the first story, it will loosely follow the bases of the gravity falls books (TBOB and the Adventures) rather than the show.

Fanfic Idea in Brief Details

Title: Vogelfrei/ Pilot Project Vogelfrei

Placeholder title : Tears So Hot They Make The Universe Burn (No comment about the terrible acronym this title would have gotten.)

Expected length : ~15-20K words to begin with (book 1)

The plot : see here for a draft of the plot idea, however it is not up-to-date -> a fresh version with an adequate summary will be posted later.

Pairings? : Billford(One-sided then QPR), Fidauthor (Also QPR) Melody/Soos, Fiddleford/Stanley, Ford & Old Goldie* (briefly).

*canonically, Ford is married to the golden statue because of Stan usurping his name, no one’s happy about it. They get a divorce, much to Stanley’s dismay.

Production: what to expect ?

To start, all the energy I get and pour into making fanfiction is bestowed upon me by coffee, the hyper fixation frenzy of an ADHD brain ,and the reading of amazing fanfiction that inspired me to further my ideas into actual, tangible stories. I will do my best to get the story plot down as text before the enchantment of the fixation flies away, as if I ever lose the interest,the whole house of cards comes tumbling down.

Pacing of the production : I have both the general outlines for Vogelfrei and its sequel ready, with a little luck I will get the first story down through the winter holidays, if not, it will stretch until around June for the completion. The sequel will be produced immediately after the first story is finished.

Comics and artworks: I have recently experimented with 6-10 panel comic strips on my iPad, but I am better at making traditional art. So there will be digital and paper drawn doodles peppered here and on AO3 once the process is started. I will have separate batches of art, one which will contain art directly related to the plot , and another with ‘extras’, labeled accordingly.

Answers to any other inquiries you might have

TBOB and Gravity Falls series compatibility -> will I get spoilers?

If you’re new to the fandom and haven’t seen the whole series yet, I suggest to finish it first and skim over the GF wiki , for context of how Bill ends up in the Theraprism. I haven’t gotten my hands on much of TBOB except some pages and ideas here and there, therefore it probably wont be much of a spoiler—There however will be lots of contradictions, especially with TBOB.

2. Audience ratings

Both are 16+ in my opinion, if you are younger and choose to read regardless of the warnings, that is up to you. Thought keep in mind there will be a significant amount of swearing, some depictions of substance abuse (alcohol mostly, but also some other stuff), self-harm, violence (verbal and physical) and suicidal thoughts (briefly towards the end the first story). In any case, I will add a CW/TW notice when time comes.

3. Asks/Fanart

Questions, comments, music suggestions and fanart are all very welcome! I’m mostly writing this for myself to satisfy cravings, but I’d be glad to know that it also made someone else smile.

End note : Soon the winter holidays will begin and so will my writing, hopefully, I will get the time to do half of the story. I will post here and on AO3, but most of the art will link back to my blog. If , in the end, the story gets to monopolize my tumblr, I will make a separate blog for it to keep this one from getting too cluttered. If you have any questions or comments, feel free to ask!

P.S.: In parallel to this story, I am working on another Gravity falls Au, called Rewind the Timeline, for which I intend to write a short historical fanfiction which will span from the late 18th century throughout the 21st century. It will be focused on Bill’s perspective a lot more than Vogelfrei, which will have some shifts in point of view. You can find the fic idea on my pinned post.

#gravity falls #fanfic writing #writing #fic ideas #gravity falls au #bill cipher #standford pines #stanley pines #fiddleford hadron mcgucket #PilotProjectVogelfrei #gravity falls headcanons #human bill au #handyman bill au #I’m excited to start writing !#this will be a heck of a ride #digital drawing

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l8rs-gat0rs · 2 years ago

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You got some time?

Pairing: Carol Danvers x AFAB Spider person!reader

Warning(s): smut ;) , flirty Carol, reader is also kinda a flirt, CAPTAIN KIIIINK, Carol using her powers in you in you, degradation, moderate fluff, Dom Carol is a warning itself.

Summary: The Captain's got some free time on her hands and so do you, you decide to have a night out because superheroes don't get many of those. As the night goes on, Carol decides time isn't the only thing she wants her hands on and you have the exact same idea.

Word count: 3.4k

I know, I know, I have requests to finish but my brain would not let me write them until I finished this one. I will get to the requests soon! I swear😔

Happy kinktober btw!!!! One of the best times of the year if I do say so myself😌 I obviously didn't participate in all 30 days bc I've tried in previous years, and it did not work out Haha, but here's at least one fic for Kinktober before it ends!

Side note for story purposes: I know a lot of people have their own spider personas with suits they made for them, which might I add, I've loved looking at all the artwork of! Buuuut, just so one or two of the scenes make sense, the reader's mask is kinda like Jessica drew's. The one in the comics, not across the spider verse just so we're clear. Like, the nose, mouth, and chin are open and the reader's hair is out from the top.

~~~~18+ MINORS DNI~~~~

You swung through the streets of Queens, smiling as you saw people point at you excitedly.

You were doing your evening rounds and all was looking quiet, thankfully.

You swung onto a rooftop and landed gracefully.

You had to say, you loved New York City. You grew up with the sounds of cars honking all night outside your window, you found it to be charming rather than annoying.

On top of all the warm memories and friends you made in the city, one of your favorite things in the world, nothing could beat the view of the sun setting behind all the buildings and skyscrapers from a rooftop.

"It never gets old does it?" You heard a woman's voice behind you.

You turned around as she landed, recognizing her voice.

"Carol" You smiled.

"Hey spider girl." She smiled at you, using one of your titles endearingly.

"Captain." You said right back.

If you weren't staring at her so intensely, you wouldn't have caught the slight falter in her confidence as she looked away, clearing her throat before looking back at you.

However, before you could comment on it she locked eyes with you once more and spoke.

"I'm kind of jealous you've had this view all your life." She spoke quietly, moving to stand next to you and gaze over the view you had previously been looking at.

You turned around and smiled.

"Yeah, well I bet nothing beats space." You smirked and nudged her with your elbow.

She chuckled, turning back to look at you.

"It's not all that, lots of emptiness and darkness if I'm being honest, and I miss the people."

She turned back to the sunset before continuing.

"I like this much better." She sighed.

The sun shone a beautiful golden light onto her face. As the wind blew through her hair, the sun made it shine even more golden than it already was.

"Yeah, me too." You said softly.

She turned to you and smiled, a faint blush reaching her cheeks as she realized what you meant.

"Ew you’re so cliché," she punched your arm lightly, causing you to laugh.

"So everything clear on your front?" She asked, turning to you.

"Yup, just finished my evening rounds. There's no sign of any supervillains, and I left a guy webbed to a pole for the cops. Surprisingly quiet other than that." You shrugged.

She chuckled causing you to smile at the sound.

"Well, it's all quiet on my end as well, sooooo...." She wiggled her eyebrows at you.

"Soooo?" You responded curiously.

"Come on! We finally both have some free time, let's do something together!" She exclaimed.

It was true, you usually didn't have free time, and when you did, Carol wasn't free.

After thinking about it for a minute, you agreed.

"Alright, what did you have in mind?" You smiled, causing her to jump in the air and clap.

"How abouuuut, we watch a movie?" She pitched after calming down.

"Hmm okay, what kind of movie?" You asked absentmindedly walking up the side of the water tower that was on the roof.

Carol lifted her head to watch you as she mused.

"What about a rom-com?" She asked with faux innocence.

You stopped in your tracks as you stood upside down from under the water tower.

You attached a web to the underside and slowly descended, still upside down, till you were in front of Carol, her eyes following you the whole way down.

"A rom-com you say?" You smirked.

"Yeah, why not?" She shrugged.

"What's with the smirk?"

"Nothing, nothing....So is this like...a date?" You swung lightly, your hair swaying with you.

"So rom-com equals date to you?" She smirked.

"No, but you specifically asking me to watch a rom-com with just you, feels like a date."

"Okay, then what if it was a date?" She shrugged.

"Then I wouldn't be mad" You smiled, still hanging upside down, but stopping your swaying.

"Then it's a date." She said, moving closer to you, while watching your lips.

"Isn't this a bit cliché?" You whispered with a playful smile, referencing her earlier comment.

"What, you want me to be upside down too?" She joked.

You laughed before stealthily turning yourself upright and landing on the floor, letting go of your web.

"I mean we haven't even been on the date yet, Danvers." You chuckled.

"Fair enough, I can wait." She said coolly.

"Who said I was kissing you at all tonight?" You shot back.

"I just have a feeling," she smirked before turning to walk away from the water tower.

You followed her, smiling at her confidence.

"You look good in the mask by the way." She added, not turning around.

Your face felt hot at her unexpected compliment.

"Th-Thanks" You cursed yourself for stuttering.

She looked over her shoulder and smirked at your response.

"No problem, so, I'll meet you at the theater on 37th avenue?" She asked, turning around to face you and slowly walking backwards.

"Yeah, sure." You confirmed.

"I'm gonna wear something nice tonight." She shrugged nonchalantly.

"Wow, the great Captain Marvel dressing up all for me!?" You gasped, over-exaggerating your reaction with your hand over your chest.

She stopped walking backwards.

"Not for you, it's just been a while since I dressed up." She rolled her eyes.

"Come onnnn, admit it! It's mostly for me." You smirked and crossed your arms as you finally stood in front of her.

"Well I'll admit one thing, you're special." She winked.

You felt your chest swell with warmth and you smiled like an idiot.

"Alright then, I'll dress up a bit too." You thought about what to wear.

"Oh? That sounds promising." Carol smirked before you saw her body start to glow with energy.

"See you soon?" She asked with a raised brow and she started to lift off the ground.

"See you soon, captain." You smiled and saluted her.

She smirked before flying off the opposite way of you.

"What. A. Woman." You sighed aloud to yourself with your hands on your hips before swinging towards your house.

When you get home you fretted over what to wear.

You didn't wanna go overboard, but it was a date, Carol also said she was dressing up...

You settled with a red button up, the first 2 buttons unbuttoned, tucked into black jeans with suspenders, topping it off with your favorite black chuck Taylors.

"Wow I look so gay." You chuckled to yourself.

You stepped outside your house and put your portable suit that Tony gave you in your pocket.

You didn't like wearing it that much, preferring the suit you designed yourself, but hey, when duty calls....

You got into the Uber you had ordered and gave the driver the address of the theater.

When you got there, you saw Carol already waiting outside, and boy did your jaw drop.

She was wearing a suit with a bow tie, her hair was in waves, and she topped it all off with shiny black dress shoes.

Her eyes lit up and she smiled when she saw you get out of the car.

"Jesus Christ Carol, I thought I was gonna be overdressed." You gaped at her.

She looked at you with a smirk.

"You look extremely good, trust me"

"And you look like you're going to a movie premier." You laughed.

"Hey, like I said, I don't get to dress up often. This was just hanging in my closet collecting dust." She gestured to her suit.

"Well in any case, you look absolutely stunning, Carol." You smiled at her, barely managing to keep your jaw shut as you glanced over her once again.

"Thank you, you as well. That outfit really...suits...you" She winked, giving you a nudge.

You rolled your eyes at her pun referring to her own outfit.

"God, you are so corny." You rolled your eyes playfully.

"Come on, you loved it." She laughed.

You cracked a smile.

"Okay yeah, it was cute." You laughed along with her.

"Oh, so you think I'm cute?" She smirked.

"Oh shut up! Lets just go buy the movie tickets before all the good seats are taken." Your face heated up, grabbing her arm and pulling her into the theater as she laughed, letting you drag her.

The two of you bought tickets to a rom-com that was currently playing in theaters.

People stared at the two of you, or maybe just Carol, but nobody had the guts to come up to either of you when they saw her hand around your waist.

You made your way into the theater with minimal distractions, the only one being a little girl saying hello to Carol and high fiving her.

You had smiled fondly at the cute interaction.

"I'm actually excited, I wanted to see this movie if I'm being honest." You explained excitedly.

"Well then, I'm glad we came." Carol said as you made your way to your seats.

The two of you had come in a bit late so the lights were dim and the trailers were playing.

When you sat down Carol immediately held your hand, causing heat to slap your face as you looked at your intertwined hands.

She smiled at you as you looked up to meet her eyes, which were already watching you.

"You're adorable you know?" Carol confessed to you in a hushed whisper.

"I could say the same thing about you." You smiled.

She smiled back, but before she could say anything else, the theater went dark and the movie began to play.

"Oh shit it's starting!" You whispered excitedly, moving your attention to the screen.

The two of you watched the movie mostly in silence, occasionally, you would feel Carol's thumb lightly brushing your hand, or you would make an energetic comment about whatever was happening in the movie.

You were secretly a movie buff, and Carol thoroughly enjoyed getting to see that side of you revealed.

When the movie ended, you filed out of the theater along with everyone else and it was dark outside.

You looked up at the moon, shining brightly through the clouds.

"We should do this more often." Carol broke the silence, bringing your attention back to her.

"What, go on dates?" You chuckled.

"I mean of course, but also, Just you and me, hanging out, no pressure, no crazy aliens coming after us, no big fights, or catching criminals. Just, having a good time. It's nice." She smiled.

Your heart warmed at the sincerity In her voice.

"Yeah, I'd like that too Carol." You grinned at her, stopping in your tracks and putting your hands in your pockets.

"And... I'd even go as far as to say I like you." You said softly as you smiled at the ground.

You looked back up at Carol and she had the biggest grin on her face and her cheeks were flushed.

You laughed loudly at her silent reaction.

"What?"

"I like you too." She simply said.

"I like you a lot." She moved closer toward you causing your heart to flutter.

"So what do you suppose we do about it, I mean, now that it's out in the air and all that." You nonchalantly waved your hands in the air.

She chuckled as she walked towards you until she had you backed up into an alleyway you hadn't even noticed you were by.

Before you could get a word out, she grabbed you by the arm and pushed up against the wall, kissing you passionately.

You practically melted into the kiss.

"Oh, I've been dreaming about that." Carol said breathlessly as she pulled away lightly.

You didn't say anything for a moment, your brain still processing what had just happened.

"Wanna come over?" You asked her quickly just as she was about to speak up.

She cocked and eyebrow and smirked.

"I'm down."

You practically dragged her down the street before hailing a taxi that was parked on the side of the road.

"Are you working?" You asked the driver through the window.

He nodded and you got in the car, Carol getting in after you.

"Someone's in a hurry." Carol smirked, putting her hand on your upper thigh.

Your head shot down to look at her hand as you saw it glow with energy, you felt it warm your skin through your jeans.

You looked at her, biting your lip to hold in a groan.

As soon as the Taxi stopped outside your apartment, you thanked the driver and got out of the car.

You walked to your apartment holding Carol's hand the whole time.

You pressed the elevator button and got in, thankfully no one else was in there.

There was a charged silence between the two of you as you watched the numbers on the elevator until Carol broke it.

"You want me to fuck you? Hard or soft? Fast or slow?" Carol said with a confident smirk.

Your eyes widened as you looked at her and she cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh shut the fuck up, Danvers." You grabbed her and smashed your lips against hers, moaning lightly.

You felt her smile against your lips before you heard the ding of the elevator, causing the two of you to quickly separate.

You speed walk to your door, ripping your keys out of your pocket, almost dropping your Stark spider suit before you shoved it into the keyhole and turned it, unlocking your door.

Carol pushes you inside and slams your back into the door to close it.

You let out a gasp as the motion winds you and Carol has an open lusty smile as her lips barely touch yours and she reaches next to you to lock the door.

After locking the door, Carol makes quick work of untucking and unbuttoning your shirt, feeling up your body.

She lets out a little excited sound as she watches you react to her touch.

"I know it was only our first date and kiss today but, I would like your permission to absolutely ruin you tonight." Carol asks, looking into your dazed eyes.

You nod without hesitation.

"Do anything you want to me, Captain." You groan.

You watch as her eyes get wild and a lustful expression graces her face.

Carol attaches her lips to your neck and immediately starts marking you. You feel her moan against your skin as she sucks on it.

Your moans fill the space of your apartment even more as she squeezes your chest underneath the sports bra while she works on your neck.

Once she is satisfied with her work, she plays with your hardened nipples as she whispers hotly into your neck, her warm breath contrarily leaving goosebumps on your skin.

"You're so pretty like this baby." She moves her thigh in between yours and pushes you down onto it.

You gasp out as you start moving your hips against her muscular thigh.

"Mmm that's it, just like that baby."

You watch as she pulls back and holds you up against the wall as she watches your hips working her thigh with her mouth hanging open.

You slip your hand into her pants and she lets out a moan when you start rubbing tight circles on her clit.

Carol closes her eyes in pleasure and moans loudly as you slip your fingers into her already soaking wet core, moving your hips fast against her thigh as she jerks her hips against your fingers.

Before the two of you get too lost in the pleasure Carol halts her movements, as well as yours. Before you open your mouth to protest, she looks you in the eyes and you see that they've darkened, her pupils blown out.

"As much as I'd like both of us to cum right here, right now, we should take this to the bedroom." She chuckles breathily as she pants.

"Mmmm, a modest lady huh?" You smirk as she helps you stand up straight again before you lead her to your bedroom.

"Hey, it's our first time, I want it to be amazing." She holds your hand.

You look at her and smile as you lead her into your bedroom, your heart feeling warm from her revelation.

"Me too," you nod.

"But I also need you to fuck me like... really bad." You add.

"I can absolutely do that " Carol smirks as both of you start to remove your shirts.

"Tell me how bad you want it." Carol whispered in your ear.

"Fuck, I want it so bad..." You groaned, your forehead falling against her neck as you breathed heavily.

Carol pushed you till the back of your knees hit the bed and you sat down, looking up at her.

"Fuck, those eyes... tell me princess, you want my fingers in you?" She asked, cocking her head as she slowly got down on her knees in front of you.

"God yes, I want your fingers-"

Before you could even finish your sentence, Carol had pulled your pants down and moved your underwear to the side, shoving two of her long fingers into you.

You gasped, your mouth hanging open while you stared at her with furrowed brows.

"I already knew the answer." She smirked.

"God, could you just shut up and-"

She pushed her fingers in deeper, all the way to her knuckles and you let out a choked moan.

"hmm? What was that baby?" She held her smirk, still standing on her knees.

You laid down, your back hitting the bed roughly as you slid down a little, pushing your core closer to her.

"F-fuck you.." You gasped as she pulled her fingers out and pushed them all the way back in, reveling in the wet sounds.

"Shit, I could listen to your pretty pussy all day. You'd like that wouldn't you? Me fucking you all day?" She cooed.

You nodded aggressively, panting as the pace of her fingers started to quicken.

"Yeah? Oh I know, you love being fingered like a slut huh?" Carol started to pant.

You don't know what came over you but you moaned loudly,

"C-captain!"

Carol's eyes went wild and you felt warmth and a little buzz inside you.

You gasped out,

"Holy fuck!!" Your legs felt like they were going numb.

"Call me that again." She growled lowly, the pace of her fingers quickening.

You looked down at her and saw her hand glowing, before letting your head fall back and arching your back.

"Captain, fuck... don't stop." You moaned loudly.

"That's right, let your captain know how good she's making you feel. I can feel your slutty pussy practically sucking my fingers in." She moaned.

And she was right, you could feel yourself clenching around her fingers tightly as you rapidly approached your high.

"Yeah, oh god, I'm- you're gonna make me cum, Captain... Please... It feels so good, you make me feel so good...Please make me cum." You moaned in between pants.

"As you wish, princess." She smirked, her fingers combined with the warmth of her inside you sending you over the edge.

Carol continued thrusting her fingers deep inside you, watching your face as you writhed in pleasure, your back arching off the sheets once again as you grabbed the sheets tightly and moaned loudly with your eyes shut tight.

When it was too much to bare due to the sensitivity, you pushed at Carol's hand and she obediently pulled her fingers out.

You watched as her hand stopped glowing and watched her hungry eyes as she panted while examining her fingers coated in your juices.

She brought her fingers to her mouth and stuck her tongue out a little, barely putting her fingers in her mouth.

Once her fingers touched her tongue you watched with furrowed brows and your mouth hanging open as she moaned loudly, closing her eyes and sticking her fingers all the way Into her mouth.

She swirled her tongue around her fingers for a couple of seconds before pulling her fingers out of her mouth with a pop and meeting your eyes.

"Baby, you taste fucking amazing." She breathed out.

You groaned and let your head fall back on to the bed as your breathing started to fall down.

You felt the bed dip next to you and you turned your head, meeting Carol's warm gaze.

"How was that for our first time?" She smirked.

"I think it could've been better." You shrugged jokingly.

"Oh? Well, I guess that means it's time for round two."

#fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction writer #carol danvers smut #carol danvers x female reader #carol danvers x reader #carol danvers x you #captain marvel x you #captain marvel x reader #kinktober

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starlightiing · 1 year ago

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LANDOSCAR || 115 || Medical AU

Title: 115

Pairing: Landoscar

Summary: “No reason to be nervous, Mr. Piastri.” Lando assures him innocently enough, but Oscar can sense something in his tone that matches the devious glint in his eye. He is going to be sick. He’s going to be sick all over Lando’s very nice white coat and very stylish pinstripe pants and then he is going to have to leave with his tail between his legs and ask to never be seen at this facility ever again. “Take a deep breath or two, it should help calm your heart rate.”

Physician's assistant Lando, and awkward patient Oscar, at your service!

Notes: Based off of one of the very first conversations @watercolor-hearts and I ever had. She drew this absolutely stunning piece to compliment our conversation, and so I chose to write a little something short based off of it and the artwork as well. Click here to see her amazing work!

**also, I am aware how unprofessional this does get at the end. I am not going for realism, I am going for fanfiction and fun**

Oscar is not particularly a fan of the routine physicals he’s forced to endure. The usual doctor they send out is dull and very obviously uninspired by his job (and maybe even by life, if Oscar is being honest), and the whole session is so stiff and boring that he finds himself counting down the seconds until his torture is over.

He understands the necessity of routine physical exams as an athlete, and he respects them, but he doesn’t have to like them.

He’s currently sitting atop a cold, uncomfortable metal exam table (which is pretty preposterous, they do make them with padding nowadays) and swinging his feet a bit as he waits impatiently for the doctor to make his appearance. At least, if nothing else, the room isn’t stark white and scented like a profane mixture of alcohol and disinfectant. The walls are painted more of a warm beige, and unsurprisingly, the accents in the room are a strikingly familiar papaya color - Oscar expects no less from a McLaren-affiliated facility.

The door finally swings open with a click, and Oscar’s attention snaps over from the incredibly interesting smudge on the wall to greet the doctor. He takes a breath to speak, but the words die in his throat the moment his brain registers that the person who has just entered the room is not his normal doctor at all.

No, this doctor is very different. He’s far younger, to start, and just a bit taller as well. Instead of a receding hairline and wisps of gray hair desperately clinging to life, this doctor has a full head of dark ringlet curls that look as though they’ve been freshly styled. There is a dusting of facial hair on his chin and above his upper lip (which is actually curled into a smile, also unlike the usual doctor), and his eyes are bright and friendly. Really, he is the exact opposite of the man Oscar expected to see, and perhaps he’s a tad grateful for that.

He swallows thickly, forcing away all of the thoughts that have started ganging up on him in his mind about just how attractive this new young doctor is - because that isn’t professional, for either of them, of course - and offers a smile.

“Morning.” Oscar finally grits out, and now the attention of those bright eyes is focused directly on him. Fantastic.

“Good morning, Mr. Piastri. My name is Lando Norris, and I’m one of the physician assistants here. Doctor Lowery was feeling a bit under the weather today, so I hope it’s no bother that you’ll be seeing me instead.”

“Not a bother at all, actually.” Oscar assures him, sticking his hand forward to offer a handshake. A bit of a habit, that, but Lando doesn’t seem bothered as he grabs Oscar’s hand and shakes it firmly. Of course it would be firm. Why wouldn’t it be firm?

“Excellent. So you’re just here for a quick head-to-toe, yes? Any complaints going in that I should know about before we start?” Lando asks, and Oscar watches as his fingers fiddle with the bell of the stethoscope that’s looped around his neck.

“No, no complaints. Strictly routine - orders from McLaren and all.”

Lando nods, slow and forceful like he may understand exactly what Oscar is talking about, before looking down at the tablet in his hands and reading over some data. Oscar watches him carefully, admiring the crinkle at the corner of his eye as he smiles, clearly happy with whatever it is he may be reading on the screen of his tablet.

“Good. Looks like the nurse already took your vitals - heart rate is sixty-seven, oxygen saturation at ninety-nine percent, and blood pressure is one-ten over seventy-four. Couldn’t ask for much better than that, really.” Lando says, placing the tablet down to the side and stepping forward to prepare for the exam. He reaches into the pockets of his white coat, pulling out a pair of bright orange (of course) gloves and fitting his hands into them without much of a fuss. “I’ll be quick, I promise. I know you would rather be anywhere else than here.” Though Oscar chuckles like he is in absolute agreement with that statement, the entire atmosphere of this exam is far more welcoming and perhaps even a bit exciting when it’s conducted by a doctor who is friendly, understanding, and - well, attractive. Attention from an attractive man is not something Oscar gets to indulge in frequently, if ever at all, so he has every intention of eating this up for the short time he gets to spend with Lando.

“By all means, take your time.”

Lando grins at that, just a soft and fleeting thing that Oscar happens to catch because he cannot stop staring like an absolute certified weirdo, but it makes Oscar’s heart flutter in the strangest of ways and he isn’t sure he likes that just yet.

The exam itself is horribly routine. Lando checks his eyes, ears, and throat. He tests Oscar’s reflexes, palpates around his abdomen, listens to his abdomen, among a whole myriad of things that Oscar is so used to at this point that he barely pays it any mind. The only thing, embarrassingly, he can focus on are the moments where Lando’s hands are against his skin, regardless of them being gloved. He can still feel the warmth of Lando’s fingertips through the thin rubber and it sends shivers down his spine that he physically wrestles to keep from letting loose. Also, he notices that Lando is horribly thorough (horribly, because that means a lot more time and attention is spent on Oscar than he’s used to and it’s making his heart race uncomfortably). A wonderful trait for a budding physician’s assistant, to be sure, but not a help at all to Oscar’s current predicament.

“Alright, I’ll just have a listen to your chest and back, and I’ll be able to send you on your way to your next set of tests.” Lando announces, pulling his stethoscope loose from around his neck once more. He still has that precious little smile on his face and Oscar is having a hard time discerning if he’s simply polite, new, or enjoying this form of light-torture that he’s unknowingly subjecting Oscar to.

“You sound eager to get rid of me.” Oscar says, flicking his gaze up to meet Lando’s. That polite little grin breaks out into a full blown smile and wow, okay, Oscar was not quite ready for it to be that bright and beautiful. Horrible idea, should have kept his mouth sealed shut. Should have smiled and nodded. Should not have made the cute physician’s assistant beam like a ray of sun

“Not at all, actually. You’re my first and last for the day, so I have all the time in the world.” Lando replies, fastening the tips of his stethoscope into his ears. “I’m quite new here, so my patients are limited for the time being.”

New. That makes a whole lot more sense to Oscar, then. He nods in understanding, sitting up a bit straighter on the examination table to better prepare for the next part of the exam. “Yeah, I’m quite new as well - in terms of what I do, anyway. I’m obviously not a doctor or anything, but I reckon you’re doing a good job. You’re a lot friendlier than Dr. Lowery, anyway.”

“As I aspire to be,” Lando laughs, a cheerful little sound that Oscar won’t soon forget, “Though I don’t think it's particularly hard, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“I didn’t need to hear it from you, I’ve suffered through being his patient for the last few months.”

“Dear oh dear, I’m not going to incriminate myself any further, then.” Lando fastens him with a rather playful expression, but Oscar chooses not to read too deeply into it. They are professionals, after all. Being very, very professional. “Now, I’ll start with your lungs first. Just breathe normally until I tell you otherwise, please.”

The press of the stethoscope against his back is cool, but not unpleasant. There’s only a slight hitch to his breath when he feels the tips of Lando’s gloved fingers scrape against his skin, otherwise he does as he’s instructed to do and he breathes normally. He can feel the diaphragm move around to a few different spots on his back, before Lando clears his throat.

“Deep breath, please.”

Oscar obeys, and then he does again, and again, and again. The stethoscope is then moved around to his chest on the right side and he’s asked for one last deep breath, before it’s slipped off entirely for a moment.

“Okay, good. That’s all clear. I’ll listen to your heart now, if that’s alright?” Lando asks, to which Oscar nods and offers a very helpful but painfully awkward, “Mmhmm.”

The diaphragm of the stethoscope is gently placed against his skin once more - this time over his heart. His traitorous, evil little heart that he can feel is beating much, much quicker than its normal pace. He has to hold back a sigh when he sees Lando’s brows furrow in concern, and he knows at that very moment he’s been outed. There is no possible way to hide his heartbeat from a physician’s assistant of all people, and there is no possible way for him to slow its pace down without alerting Lando, either.

Lando continues to listen for a few moments, moving the diaphragm around to a few different points, before he finally looks up and meet’s Oscar’s gaze, “A bit nervous, as I hear?”

“Yeah…” Oscar flounders lamely, unable to come up with a decent excuse or explanation for his wild heartbeat. And, to top it all off, he can feel a light blush warming his cheeks.

“No reason to be nervous, Mr. Piastri.” Lando assures him innocently enough, but Oscar can sense something in his tone that matches the devious glint in his eye. He is going to be sick. He’s going to be sick all over Lando’s very nice white coat and very stylish pinstripe pants and then he is going to have to leave with his tail between his legs and ask to never be seen at this facility ever again. “Take a deep breath or two, it should help calm your heart rate.”

“Right, of course.” That had been Oscar’s original plan, thwarted in favor of not drawing Lando’s attention to his little predicament. Too late for that now, so he supposes there’s no real harm in giving it a try. He takes two very pointed deep breaths, ones that he chooses to hold in his lungs for a count of five seconds and exhale out slowly. Not once does Lando remove the stethoscope, and Oscar assumes he is simply monitoring to make sure his heart rate actually decelerates.

The look on Lando’s face tells him that it does not.

“Well, it was worth a shot. I will just assume this is a bit of white-coat syndrome and not something that happens frequently for you?” Lando asks, flipping the stethoscope over by clicking the bell into place. He then presses it back to Oscar’s chest, eyes meeting his gaze as he waits for a response.

“That’s a fair assumption. I never have issues with my heart normally.”

Oscar isn’t sure if it’s something he said, or if it’s merely the implications of his words, but Lando offers another bright, toothy smile and by god, he has the most adorable little gap in his front teeth that Oscar has ever seen. These are variables that do not help his predicament. These are variables that make things much, much worse for him. He should not be admiring Lando’s perfect little springy curls, or his ridiculously beaming smile with the gap in his teeth, and especially not his bright eyes that sparkle with every grin and crinkle at the corners when he’s amused. He feels like he’s been tossed into a raging river without a safety vest and he’s about to plummet down a ten-story waterfall.

“Well, the good news is - despite your high heart rate - everything else sounds completely normal. Heart sounds are clear and distinguishable, and I didn’t hear any murmurs or bruits. Not that I’m too surprised, you are a professional athlete after all.” Lando says, pulling the earbuds out of his ears and looping the stethoscope back around his neck. Oscar hopes it’s for good this time, his heart has had enough of this downright tomfoolery, really. “Clocked you at around one hundred and fifteen beats per minute though, and I’d really like to see that come down below one hundred before you leave.”

Oscar has to blink back shock as Lando reads out his heart rate. One hundred and fifteen is a number he typically only sees doing warm ups or light exercises, but never when he’s sitting at rest. The utter embarrassment is startling, but Oscar knows if he can just focus for a damned minute, on anything but Lando and his ridiculously attractive face, he can pull himself back together in enough time to run out of this appointment and never look back.

“One-fifteen?” Oscar parrots, just making sure he’s heard Lando correctly (even if he knows he has). “I reckon I can fix that, just give me a second.”

Lando raises an eyebrow at Oscar, but gives him a nod of encouragement to do whatever it is Oscar thinks he needs to. Oscar decides to lie himself back across the expanse of the examination table and look up directly at the ceiling tiles above him. Once in position, he takes three more of the same deep breaths he took only a moment ago. This time, however, Lando’s face isn’t right in front of him. Lando isn’t touching him. His heart rate isn’t being consistently monitored. And, a fun talent he’s learned being an F1 driver, he can clear his mind at the drop of a hat when he needs to - so he does.

At the end of the last breath, he can feel the way his body relaxes against the metal table beneath him. It must have done wonders for his heart rate, because he can’t hear it hammering away in his ears anymore and his mind is at much more ease. He sits himself back up, purposefully avoiding looking at Lando’s face, and holds a wrist out to him. “That should do me.”

Lando’s fingers immediately press against the pulse point in his wrist, and Oscar dares to look over for even the barest hint of a moment. Lando’s lips move ever so slightly as he counts beneath his breath and, for fuck’s sake, that is going to mess with his reading again. It’s going to, he knows it –

“Eighty-one. Pretty impressive how quickly you managed that.” Lando comments, sliding his fingers away from Oscar’s wrist to grab for the tablet he left abandoned at the beginning of the exam. Oscar hates the way his wrist feels so cold now, but the relief of being able to manage his heart rate under the scrutiny of someone who is at illegal levels of attractiveness is far more palpable for him. He offers a triumphant nod and lets his shoulders relax, kicking his feet in the dead air for a moment or two.

“Meditation, mate. Another key component of being a good athlete.” Oscar isn’t sure why he chooses to speak again, or what force of nature decided it would be a good idea. Lando’s eyes flick up from the glow of his tablet screen and meet Oscar’s gaze again, and he’s flashing that stupid, stupid, stupid little smile.

“Good skill to have, mate.” Lando retorts, putting emphasis on the endearment. Oscar wants to pass out on the floor, unconscious, and pretend this day never happened. “I’ve never been much good at it myself.”

No, no, no. He knows better. He knows better than to entertain the idea. He knows better than to take a breath to speak, or to part his lips. He knows better, and yet, “I’d be more than happy to help you out sometime.”

Unconsciousness is not enough. He needs to be locked in a room twenty feet underground for one to six business days to think about what he’s done.

The surprise on Lando’s face is immediate. His eyebrows shoot up, clearly not expecting such a bold offer, and his lips hang open awkwardly in shock. He seems, momentarily, at a loss for words, and the longer the offer lingers in the silence, the more Oscar wants to crawl up inside of his shirt and hide away from the world.

Oscar is an idiot. He knows Lando cannot accept these sorts of things - he’s a professional after all.

“Uhm,” Lando hums after a few more moments of painfully awkward silence. His cheeks are dusted a bright pink now, and his eyes dart away from Oscar’s face to something apparently very interesting in the far corner of the room.

“No, I’m sorry. That was really forward of me and I know you can’t accept it. It’s okay.” Oscar says, in an attempt to remedy this horrific situation he’s caused. “I know you-”

“So that wasn’t white coat syndrome then, was it?” Lando cuts him off, eyes snapped back to drilling holes in Oscar’s soul.The comment catches him off guard, and he blinks a few times at Lando before tilting his head. “I made you nervous, didn’t I?”

“Lando…I don’t want to get you in trouble-”

“Oh you won’t. Just know that once I put my phone number in your phone - let me see your phone by the way - I can’t see you as my patient anymore. You’ll go back to Dr. Lowery for the rest of the foreseeable future.”

Oscar’s eyes are wide in complete and utter shock. The tone of the conversation has changed so suddenly, his brain is reeling to try and catch up. Lando’s hand is outstretched towards him, palm-up and expectant, and so Oscar fumbles to grab his phone from the table and swipe his thumbprint over the lock before handing it over.

“You - That – just like that?” Oscar sputters, a bit lamely, at that. He watches Lando tap against his phone as he adds his contact information in, and then the device is handed back to him with a brilliant, megawatt smile.

“Just like that. And you better not leave me hanging, Mr. Piastri.”

It’s funny, Oscar thinks, just how ridiculous his life can truly be sometimes. A quick glance down at his watch (which Lando must have pointedly ignored, now, Oscar realizes), shows his heart rate back up at one-fifteen and climbing. He needs to get out of here before he decides to somehow make a further fool out of himself. He’s already gotten more than he bargained for and an overall good result from both his physical, and his poor attempts at flirting with the cute physician’s assistant. It’s time to quit while he’s ahead, and claim the win for what it is.

He looks up at Lando and flashes him a megawatt smile of his own. It’s every bit warm and bright and delighted, and his heart flips in his chest when their eyes meet and Lando offers him a very disjointed, two-eyed wink. Of course he wouldn’t be able to wink properly, of course he just continues to spiral into the realm of ‘illegally adorable.’

Oscar sighs, sliding himself down from the examination table as he prepares to leave. Not that he particularly wants to, he would stay here with Lando all day if his schedule allowed for it. But sadly, cruelly, it does not. The universe can only afford him so much grace.

“Wouldn’t ever dream of it, Mr. Norris.”

#oscar piastri #lando norris #landoscar #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf #f1 rpf fic #writing #my writing #save #save tag

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thrumbolt · 9 months ago

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Small guide to art posts on Tumblr:

I'm writing this because I keep seeing more and more beautiful art with absolutely terrible presentation on my dash. Presentation that is so bad it makes me sometimes not reblog the post even though I love the art itself. Call me superficial, but the presentation is part of the art as well and usually these posts also have less notes than you'd expect for the quality, so it's probably not just a me thing. That makes me sad and I want everyone to get the attention they deserve so here are my tips on how to present art on tumblr:

Put the image first, then add a small description - NOT the other way around. So many art posts have people yapping and yapping, only to then post an image in the middle of a wall of text. Don't do that! Have you ever been to a museum? Descriptions and titles should be small and below a piece of art. That's because you want to center the art as your main piece in your post.

If you have a long description or context, put it under a cut. Honestly, that is how everyone should do with long text. Nothing worse than making people scroll endlessly if they don't want to and it's also what makes people hesitate to reblog long posts. Short descriptions also give the benefit that people outside your fandom corner will be more inclined to reblog your art as well!

So generally keep text short and clear if possible. If you didn't draw the art, credit the artist above all else! I keep seeing people who commissioned something confused for the artist and it's fucking annoying. No one truly cares if you paid someone to draw something, everyone just wants to know who drew it. Also please for the love of all that is holy, do not pair your art with an embedded spotify link to a playlist. If you really want to share music, put it under a cut as well or in a hyperlink. Last thing you want is some ugly ass album cover to take away from your art!

No colorful fonts. There's a reason the majority of tumblr has ignored them ever since they were conceived (I remember the update! I was there!) and it's because it's ugly as sin and in the terms of artwork, it usually distracts from the piece as well, even if you try to color code. It's also the easiest way to out you as a newbie :D

If you have more than one page/piece in a post, consider the arrangement carefully. You do not have to accept the tumblr default - you can rearrange! In general, if it's not that many pieces, it makes sense to post them below each other rather than side by side. Make people look at your art that you spent so much time on! It's allowed to be eye catchy! If you have a more horizontal piece with short sides, consider adding a detail shot or two to lengthen your post so people don't accidentally scroll by.

Please, please stop using the huge title font in art posts, I beg you.

And that's basically it. In the end you can of course post however you like - it should please you first and foremost after all. This is just meant as tips and tricks of someone who has reblogged and posted art for over a decade on this hellhole of a page now. Some things newer people might not be aware of.

#I have mostly seen these things in the acotar fandom haha #but not exclusively!#acotar #acotar fanart #fandom woes

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djarinsbeskar · 2 years ago

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HERE, THERE BE MONSTERS: THE MINOTAUR PART 3

A/N: Me? Updating within a week? Surely we're in the wrong timeline, but believe it! This update is indeed a canon event, as is our poor nymph's first encounter with the brutality of the Minotaur. Once again, special thanks to @astroboots for the beta and cosntant hype! Artwork by machiavellicro on deviantart!

Pairing: Minotaur!Din Djarin x Nymph!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ NO Minors)

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: gross misuse of mythology, gore, horror, suggestive themes. Reminder that this is a MONSTER FUCKING fic, so be warned for future chapters.

NOTICE: If you want to keep updated on when I post fic turn on notifications for @djarinsbeskar-writes c:

prev | next

Day 4

Something was out there.

Maybe you were naïve to assume the size of the labyrinth would ensure you wouldn’t cross paths with the monster who made his home here, and for several days, you didn’t.

A gust of wind made you whimper and curl into the pocket of space between raised, gnarled roots of the tree you’d taken shelter in. Burying your face in your knees to wait out the gale, you berated yourself for the nth time for thinking the forest would be a better bet than the maze.

It was so, so much worse.

At least in the maze, there was only four directions, and it was easier to tell when things changed. In the forest, it was next to impossible.

Half the time, you suspected you were the one being altered, not the labyrinth. As though, by some divine power, the wind was sweeping you off to a different part of the prison to disorient you anew. But nothing was crueller than the moments the wind changed nothing.

You knew you should be grateful in those moments, but it had the opposite effect.

It plagued your mind with paranoia, leaving you doubtful of the route you planned to take, your vision tunnelled on trying to find every little difference with frantic eyes and a pounding heart.

Was that tree always there?

Had the next left turn always been that far away? Was it even left? Maybe it was right…

Does the ground feel more uphill than before?

It was hell, and a few days within its snare made you feel aged beyond your cosmic eternity.

But that wasn’t the worst of it… because like all prisons, there was always a gatekeeper.

Something was out there…

Instinct had sent you hiding as you scavenged for fallen walnuts and bramble berries to fill your empty stomach. Like one of Artemis’ deer, your head had snapped up when a sudden hush fell over the land. An unnatural disquiet that was imperceptible at first until you looked up at the organic awning of leaves and branches, none of which were making a sound as they rustled against each other.

A warning breeze disturbed the litter of leaves around you silently, causing goosebumps to erupt with molten adrenaline all over your body.

You hid in the first place you could find, slight enough to fit into such a cramped space entirely, the only perk to a disadvantageous physique that was continuously punished by the unrelenting environment.

Cold water drenched your spine now, locking your bones in place and refused to let you move even as your muscles complained from how small you made yourself huddled between the roots.

And then… whispering.

Humans?

“I’m tellin’ ya,” the voices were faint, far away but still too loud in the oppressive silence, “this dust is comin’ from somewhere.”

In the air, a heavy oppressive presence poisoned the air. Your eyes widened, trepidation coating your tongue in fluff.

Whatever was out there, whatever you sensed, was not them. Your stomach sank at the realization; they were doomed. Walking passengers of Charon… their sacrificial coins blinding them to the death they were walking into.

How did they not feel the atmosphere shift? The potency of malice thickening to a point it felt like even the blood in your veins was congealing, so tight you just knew the tension would have to burst eventually. But too skittish to give your position away lest you suffer another humiliating encounter as you had in the village, you were forced to wait them out and listen.

“We need food, not dust.” The other human grizzled.

Dread draped over you as your eyes dropped to your muddied feet where your toes curled into the dirt. A faint glimmer of stardust surrounded where you sat and doubtlessly littered anywhere you spent any prolonged amount of time in.

“Are ya kiddin’?” The footsteps stopped, your heartbeat following. “Look at how this shit glows. It could help us navigate this hellhole. Outside’a havin’ the strength and sword to kill the beast, tha’s the most valuable thing we could have in this place.”

Oh, merciful gods… you lamented, burying your face in your hands.

Your fear and anxiety were so heightened here that, unbeknownst to yourself, a fissure had formed that allowed your essence to escape. Your astral soul was instinctively reacting to the burden of stress placed on your physical body and expelling stardust tracks in a bid to guide you home.

But here, in this netherworld, even it didn’t know what direction to lead you and ended up falling in a flurry of cosmic snow that did the opposite of help. Indeed, it led everyone in the labyrinth to you.

If those people found you…

If he found you.

The thought surfaced just as you realize the voices had halted.

They finally noticed, the atmosphere a tightly drawn back bow and their hurried steps the trigger to finally release it. Suddenly, the vacuum of silence was dispelled, the rustle in the canopy a battle cry of nature and the thick foliage a shield of leaves that continued to separate you from the light of the stars.

The hairs on your arms stood on ends, a drag of fingers up the back of your neck that resulted in a violent shiver when you glanced behind you, paranoid. You inhaled shallowly; lungs suddenly starved of oxygen as though you’d been holding your breath since you first hid.

Maybe the land wasn’t the only thing affected by whatever caused that silence to fall.

And then, as if to prove its iniquitous presence, the silence was finally filled with a dreadful sound.

Crunch… crunch… crunch…

Your stomach dropped into a pool of freezing water, blood pounding in your ears as your heart hammered wildly. The weight behind those footsteps… it wasn’t human. It wasn’t divine. Not even Hephaestus with his mighty hammer and full belly carried the power of this new presence. Every footstep sank into the detritus littered forest floor, telling you in no uncertain terms that whatever was out there… was huge.

Monster…

A tumult of noises, animals fleeing as they were possessed by their instincts, resonated through the air.

Crunch… crunch… sniff… crunch… crunch… crunch… sniff.

Tears welled in your eyes.

You knew, on an instinctive level, what was up there. The very thing that gods and mortals alike spoke about in whispers, a warning tale to scare naughty children into obedience lest they find themselves where you were now.

The Minotaur.

Fear like you’d never known before – not when you’d first been thrown into the labyrinth or even when you were dragged before the Queen of Gods herself – overcame your senses as it consumed you. It eradicated your identity in an icy riptide of terror, dragging you under until only your fear floated and became your entire existence.

A horned silhouette stretched across the treetops in front of you, a shadow among shadows. Darker than the blackest hole and just as hungry to destroy anything that came close to it.

He was close…

You covered your mouth to silence the sob that sought to escape you, unable to blink as you witnessed the shadow of the bull-headed monster hunting you grow as he moved.

He turned his head, a wide muzzle exaggerated in his profile and distorted by the disorderly wall of trees that created a mismatched canvas for his shadow. You watched the silhouette lift his head towards the sky, intentional, measured… followed by another series of sniff sniff sniff.

You didn’t even realize the tears were falling before they pooled in the crevice where your hands were folded over your mouth, tracking down your cheeks in a constant stream as a bugle blared in your mind, resisting the existence of such a nightmarish creature even as you saw his shadow with your waking eyes.

Closer he walked, crunch crunch crunch, his shadow growing from the bovine head to the body of a man—strong, broad shoulders large enough to carry those horns and the defined curve of his muscles evident even through the flatness of his silhouette.

You were trapped.

Bark dug into your back as you pressed as far back into the roots as you could, silent and wishing you possessed the wood nymphs’ ability to sink into the trees themselves for protection. But your salvation was out of reach, far above the trees and cloud cover that the twinkling light of stars couldn’t pierce.

A bellow—bullish and remarkably, with tones of a human voice undercutting it, echoed throughout the forest. The wind carried it farther than it ought to have travelled, in service to him and reminding all who dwelled within this prison, just who the jailor was.

Did he know?

You tucked your knees and feet tighter against your body, eyeing the treacherous trail of stardust in front of you. He only needed to catch sight of the gleam and it would lead him directly to where you hid, cornered against the roots.

You could risk it and run. Either into the maze or up one of the trees, but you had little faith in your speed given your only experience with running was in pleasure. In coy chases through the trees that ended with you sprawled in some meadow with your hunter’s cock buried inside you, claiming the prize you presented.

That train of thought led you somewhere taboo in your mind, somewhere sinful… somewhere you shouldn’t linger as the image of a bovine beastman doing just that flashed across your mind.

You shied away from it, confused by the sudden rush of adrenaline that banished the cold on your skin. There was a harsh exhale above you, he smelled something.

Get a grip, you scolded yourself harshly. This wasn’t some flirty chase of your own design… where your pursuer even seeing you, let alone catching you was at your will. This was different.

Here, with him… you would be running for your life. And if he ran you down…

What prize did a Minotaur want? Was it the spilling of blood like legend would tell? Was it something more carnal… like all those of flesh and bone desired?

No.

The only other option you had was to remain still and pray he moved on, so you never had to find out. Every step closer he took to the precipice of the roots you were under, however, diminished that hope and when you could practically smell the musk on his skin and fur, hear his exhales, and see the billowing clouds of condensation from his breath, you tried to make peace with the fact that you’d been caught.

But it was not to be your end.

Another bellow proved to be your salvation as the noise broke the courage of the other poor souls hiding close by, those who had followed your stardust and who you initially thought long gone.

Your heart seized at the sound of them scrambling out of hiding and running, their ragged breaths overshadowed by a ferocious snarl as the Minotaur’s shadow whirled around. Instinct overtook him, or luck was on your side, his heavy footfalls charging – too fast – after their fleeing forms and away from you.

There was no relief though, not when the sudden scream some distance away warned of you meeting the same fate if you didn’t move now. The screams were cut off as suddenly as the drop at the hangman’s gallows, that same cruel wind carrying the wet gurgle of flooded windpipes to you.

It chased you as you pulled yourself out of your hiding spot, fleeing the carnage and praying you could put enough distance between you and the carnage. At least until the wind picked up again and dropped you somewhere else in this maze of madness.

For surely you were going mad… because no matter how fast and far you ran, there could be no other reason that anything other than fear or revulsion should fill you at the thought of that murderous brute.

You hoped you were going mad… to justify the inkling of attraction that continued to simmer low in your navel hours later.

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