#the rest of them were like set dressing to him. they barely registered.

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

At first I was like: would Emmet think literal children are being cowards here in this situation at the warden/leader meeting? And then I remembered that in his time literal children are out there challenging people on the roadside to battles and wandering all over the countryside and taking down terrorist cells. So maybe his expectations are a teensy bit skewed without him fully knowing why haha.

tbf irida's also, kind of, a child here, though not AS young as lian (or sabi obviously) so if she was responsible enough to approve the kidnapping then other kids are probably responsible enough to dunk on her for it. also, lian's bff is a six foot tall mantis with axes for hands so it's not like he doesn't have Backup

[luvmila444]

can u make a story where chris takes reader on a shopping spree in victoria secret and he watches her try on underwear sets in the fitting room until he can’t take it anymore and fucks her! ☺️☺️

Victoria’s Secret- C.S

…………………………………………….. ☆ ★ ………………………………………………

Chris sturniolo x fmreader

summary: going on a shopping spree takes an unexpected but please try turn as chris becomes eager with lust after seeing you in a new set on lingerie.

content warning: SMUT; p in v; unprotected sex (stay safe!); cumming inside; mirror sex; dom chris; fingering; public (kinda?); cum eating; ass slapping; no use of y/n; ‘ma’ nickname is used

word count: 1.6k words

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Considering chris has almost completely destroyed and ripped apart every good piece of lingerie you have owned, you were always desperate to buy new pairs. This was never an issue for you though because the way wearing sexy lingerie made you feel so confident and hot and was always worth it, along with the absolute awe stuck state that was Christopher Owen Sturniolo when he saw you all dressed up pretty and slutty for him. 

You had considered making this a surprise for your boyfriend but chris was quick with stuff like this and had almost begged to come with you to pick out his favourite pairs of underwear on you. You could almost never say no to him so of course he came along with you knowing he would pay for everything. 

You were in the dressing room of Victoria Secret trying on the many pairs of scandalous and revealing pieces as possible. When it came to a beautiful pink set you had been dying to get after seeing it in the catalogue, you had been almost too eager to put it on. However, the clasps at the back were different and now you had tried everything you could to attach the back of the bra, but it just would not come together. Chris’s was right outside practically on the edge of his seat waiting to see each of the sets, he wouldn’t mind helping you put this one together…would he?

“Fuck…Chris, could you help me in here for a second, please?” You asked so sweetly it was almost like honey dripping from your lips and pouring into the desperate boy's ear. He didn’t even register himself standing and making his way to the dressing room that you had concealed yourself in.

 Stepping inside, chris seeing you almost completely naked for him, yet concealed in such beautifully expensive fabric. You looked so perfect, like something right out of the magazines. The shade of pink you wore complemented your skin tone so nicely, bringing out the blush on your cheeks from the shyness you had felt from Chris’s powerful and dominant stare. He loved the image before him. You stood facing the mirror, your hair over one shoulder to expose your bare back and the unclasped bra, which you gripped in your fingers, awaiting Chris’s help. He couldn't take his eyes off your body in the reflection. 

His hands reached down and pulled together the clasp slowly, encasing your breasts in the expensive fabric.

"Thank you." you brushed down the sides of the body, adjusting it into place to allow it to become more comfortable. "What do you think?" Looking up at Chris behind you through the reflection. His hands slid up over your ass, up your sides, resting on your breasts to give them a squeeze.

 "I think..." he leaned down to run his hands back over your curves again, "I'm about to rip this to shreds and have my way with you."

You smiled through the mirror, shaking your head at him. "Oh, stop. We're in public. Seriously, what do you think of the set?"

A wicked and playful smirk spread across his face as his hands fell on your hips. He fiddled with the sides of your pink lace panties teasingly feeling your sides over the fabric. He shoved his hand into the front of them, his large fingers instantly finding your clit. He stroked over it in slow circles, watching your face contort in the reflection. Chris’s other hand found its way back up to your chest, reaching in to grab a handful of your breast.

Feeling moisture pool between your folds, he dug deeper between your legs, shoving two fingers inside of you. You yelped at the feeling. "Now, now, ma, you have to be quiet if we're going to do this." He whispered in his playful voice. You bit her lip, nodding at him eagerly in response.

His fingers pushed further into you, finding their home pressed against her most sensitive spot. You leaned back to his chest as he crouched forward to accommodate for their height difference.

You looked like you were being tortured, the way your face scrunched up as he jabbed into her. He felt you starting to drip onto his palm and your walls clench.

Pulling his fingers from you abruptly, he spun you around by your shoulders to face him. Looking down at your cleavage, he grew angry by the fabric covering you from him. He grasped the part in which had covered your beautiful tits from him and yanked in open, ripping the bra in half. "Chris." you cried, jaw slack by the shock of what he just did.

"It's a fucking piece of material. I'll pay for it." He twisted her back around to face the mirror, now enjoying the view so much more. Picking up his movements, you let out a needy sigh. "Now, be a good girl for me and cum."

"I will." You whispered in a pathetically whiney voice. "Just don't stop. Please."

You felt his cock, as hard as possible pressed against your ass. You rubbed back onto it, eliciting a low breath to escape from his lips. "Ahh fuck, ma." Were Chris’s last words before pulling your underwear to the side, listening to the seem tear, and fully enter you from behind. You haven’t even seen or heard him get his cock out, but he must have been fast from how desperate and eager he had seemed after he say you.

He gripped your waist tightly and he watched you both in the large mirror of the dressing room. He pounded into you relentlessly watching as your perfectly carved ass bounced of of him. 

Chris sent a light quiet slap to your ass cheek and you felt like you were in literal heaven. Your head fell back onto his shoulder, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you gripped his arms that held you close to him. 

“No ma, look me in the eyes while I’m fucking you,” he said in your ear so low that nobody else would hear. Your mouth fell open, awaiting a loud moan which was quickly muffled by Chris’s hand.

Your ass continued to bounce on his dick, as chris loved his mouth from your ear to the side of your neck, beginning to suck harshly at your delicate skin, while still remaining eye contact in the mirror in front of you.

“Fuck, chris baby, i-im gonna cum…f-fuck,” your words although still slightly muffled were perfectly clear to chris while he felt you clenching and tightening around him. You struggled to hold your eyes open as Chris’s hand moved up from your waist to your exposed tit and began to play with your nipples.

"Cum. Now." He had stated so clearly as he pinched your sensitive bud.

You did. Instantly. That was your breaking point. You squeezed him tight, gushing down on his cock, dripping over him. He kept his grip tight over her breast to hold you up while she wiggled up against him this now making chris reach his climax as well, shooting hot spurts of his cum into you. You stared at him through the mirror, the sight of him alone helping her along and intensifying your climax. You bit down on her lip as chris removed his hand to muffle her moan that still lingered on your lips, but a small one slipped out but it was too quiet for anyone around you two to hear. You both rode out your orgasms together, continuing to remain under each others intense stare. Panting heavily as you came down, he slipped his cock from your pussy and released his tight hold on you. Blinking through your haze, you leaned up against the wall, body weakened from your intense release.

Chris stood back admiring his work. He lifted his hand to his mouth, covered in the sheen of you cum which he had wiped from your sensitive folds. He licked each finger and his palm, lapping up any taste of you he could get. His eyes rolled back at the taste. His favorite. The one he couldn't get off his mind all morning while he tried to work in a room full of his brothers.

"Did that answer your question about the set?"

You let out a laugh, running your fingers through your hair. "I'll need another one now that this one is destroyed." Pulling the shreds of fabric off your shoulders.

You're both piled up everything she wanted and took it to the register after getting dressed back into your regular clothes. The cashier gladly rung everything up, pleased by your haul of clothing. Bralettes, corsets, garters. All of it to your taste of course. 

 At the end of the transaction Chris remembered the wad of fabric in his hand.

"This too." He dropped it onto the counter, staring smirking at the woman behind it, daring her to question him.

You turned pinker than the set placed infront of you when she stared down at the rumpled piece of lace. She felt bad for Chris' unapologetic behaviour, but this was very usual for him to flaunt you and the work he had done infront of everyone.

Without saying a word, she rang up the shreds of the dress. Swiping the sleek black card from Chris’s Prada wallet, she thanked you, mainly chris who had payed for everything, for your business and sent you on your way.

The second your feet hit the sidewalk; you busted out laughing at the interaction. She figured the poor lady would be scarred for a while over it. Falling into Chris’s side as you both giggled to each other. 

Fuck, you loved your days spent with Chris

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

A/n: i have been meaning to write this for literally the longest time ever (since i saw the request)!! I loved this idea so much but was just sop busy that i havent written in agesssss!! Pls send more requests because i loved writing this .

Ily my angels 💞

Tag list: @gamermattsgf @lovingmattysposts @mattsrootbeer @myl0vef0rj0hnny @luv4kozume @liz-stxrn @mattestrella @strawberrysturniolo @strniohoeee @itzdarling @skyslondon @3iysian @robins-scoop @chrizz333 @sstvrnioloo @chrizz333 @sturnioloenthusiast @mattslolita@annamcdonalds67 @mixvchelle

[improbable-outset]

📂 𝐄𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐦í𝐚

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎3 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.3k

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: kissing, SMUT, PIV sex, unprotected sex, pregnancy sex, nipple play, cum play. MINORS DNI🔞🔞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You’re not the only one experiencing cravings during your pregnancy.

It was the first time Miguel came home to see you in a summer dress during your third trimester. You would usually wear sweatpants paired with a tank top or a t-shirt that would always be too big for you, in an attempt to hide your growing belly.

But now Miguel could see every curve and crevice of you. The dress reached upto your knees with the thin cotton adorned with floral prints, hugged the shape of your body. But the real charm was the ribbon that was added around the waist that accentuated your blossoming bump.

He watched as you bent over the counter top, the fabric tightened as you stretched further and struggled to reach the edge with the wet cloth to wipe down the surface. You huffed while resting your palm on your stomach, a thin film of sweat coated your face, making you glow under the warm kitchen lighting.

After a moment, Miguel finally drew himself closer to you, his hands gently gliding over the soft fabric of your dress as he placed them on your waist. You hummed inquisitively, acknowledging his presence. The faint smell of disinfectant and soap lingered from your skin as your eye bore up onto his.

“¿Qué pasa, amor?” It was easy for him to get lost in the sweetness of your voice, especially hearing you talk in Spanish. Even hearing you curse angrily, the feistiness with the edge you’d carry in your tone was still attractive. He could already see you after giving birth to his child, after hours of labor and pain and you’d still mumble soft words of affection to your baby’s ear that cradled in your arms.

“Your dress.” He simply replied back, his hand trailing up to reach the spaghetti straps that rested on your shoulder, looping his finger beneath the string.

“You like it? I thought I’d treat myself to one of the dresses from the maternity clothes section today.” You seemed unaware on how radiant you looked right now, especially with your bare arms catching a kiss of the setting sun.

“It’s phenomenal on you.” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear with his soft exhales ghosting over your soft neck. He knew by the shift in your gaze, his compliment didn’t reach you completely. He turned you around so you finally faced him, his hands on your belly.

The impending arrival of your child has brought with it subtle signs of motherhood and visible changes in your body. The stretch marks that accommodated the growing belly, the ever-present sheens of sweat and the swelling of your feet that made it hard to walk sometimes - these were all part of your everyday reality until the big day arrived.

Although you were both amazed by the life growing within you, you couldn’t help but feel unattractive which Miguel wasn’t surprised by. You were never obsessed with your appearance but these changes were bound to make you feel a little more self-conscious. However, the dress you were wearing was a hopeful sign.

Miguel found the connection you shared more profound now more than ever and he continued to remind you that you were carrying his child which made you more beautiful to him as well as the journey you were sharing.

He hooked his finger under the strap again, this time dragging it down your shoulders until the top of the dress hung loosely over your breast and did the same on the other side.

“Miguel…” you breathed but it sounded distant and it didn't fully register in his mind. His focus was solely on the straps that fell completely off both arms, the dress slipped off the top now exposing your breasts. Watching them grow along with your belly made Miguel’s libido flare.

Carefully, he cupped his hand over one, grazing his thumb over the hardened nipple. He knew you were more sensitive now so he handled your chest with care. The barest touch would have you whimpering. He heard your groans as he kept fondling with your breast, a sharp exhale leaving your lips.

Gentle.

He watched your dress loosely cling over your swollen stomach. He knew it wasn’t going to fall to the floor so he tugged the fabric and pulled it over your head before he lifted your bare body on the countertop.

“¡Ay Miguel! Not here. I just cleaned the counter.” You scolded lightly, but the grip you had on his biceps contradicted your protest. You wanted it as much as he did.

“I’ll clean up the mess after. Just let me have you now.” He was already tugging your undies, feeling the pool of your arousal staining the fabric.

“You’re unbelievably needy, you know that?” You watched him as he kneeled down to reach your cunt, your belly now blocking your view.

“I don’t see you complaining, querida.” He purposely breathed heavily over your clenching cunt, making sure you felt the hot air from his mouth in an attempt to tease you. Your hand feebly reached around to his hair, running your fingers over his locks in a silent plea to continue. Your other hand leaned against the counter behind you.

His tongue ran over your folds before reaching your swollen clit. He attached his mouth and started sucking on the sensitive bud, keeping a firm grip on your thighs. You tasted different now compared to when he ate you out before he knocked you up. Slightly sweeter than before. He could feel you tugging on his lock and attempting to pull him in closer to your cunt. But he was more firm and he wanted to take his time with you.

As he pulled away, a few strings of saliva were connected from your fold to his lips that he quickly wiped away. His cock was painfully hard behind his digital suit and he was sure you already noticed.

With a few taps on his watch, his suit disengaged, each pixel fizzled out in cobweb shapes.

Both your elbows rested on the counter as you locked your gaze onto him. He loomed over you, hands on the counter and leaning in before his lips found yours. The kiss was soft and sweet but carried a depth of emotions. He felt your swollen belly press against his torso as he leaned in closer, deepening the kiss. Breaking away from your lips, his gaze fixated on you as he brushed a lock of your hair behind your ear.

So soft.

He held onto your waist and pulled you in until his cock was inches from your cunt. Pre-cum was already leaking from the tip and twitching in anticipation. Slowly, he pushed himself in and felt your walls caress each inch of him. You were already throwing your head back, one hand gripping onto his arm to steady yourself.

He could feel every pulse from his cock rubbing against your silky walls and flesh, squeezing him just right. Your body swayed helplessly over the countertop, taking in every thrust from his hips. He groaned as he was lost in a haze, completely aroused by how your wet cunt was pulling him back in greedily with each withdrawal.

Finally with his peak crawling up to him, he made sure he reached in deep, but not too much that he’ll hurt you. He felt a sudden rush from his cock as his seeds spilled inside of your swollen womb, reaching every crevice and coating your walls.

With a shaky breath, he pulled out of your dripping hole. As expected, his seeds didn’t stick, instead leaked out of your folds, spilling onto the counter. The post-nut clarity he was experiencing nearly made him forget his promise of cleaning up his mess.

“See why it wasn’t a good idea fucking me on the counter.” You quipped, smearing your fingers over his cum that continued to spill from your folds. Miguel groaned, his senses were coming back to him now and he could feel the newfound frustration settling in.

“Cállate.” He mumbled while grabbing the wet wipes from the shelf. “You’re lucky I had to be gentle with you, amor” he lowered himself and kissed your thigh before cleaning up the surface.

“Next time, we’ll stick to the bed.”

[shadowdaddies]

I Need You Most

Azriel x Reader angst → smut

for this request

warnings: smut below the cut, light bondage, shadow play, masturbation, p in v sex, oral f!receiving

You stormed into the bedroom, not bothering to hold the door open for Azriel who trailed closely behind. Practically ripping the shoes from your feet, you tossed them in the closet and reached around to loosen the ties on your dress.

Scarred hands gently covered yours. “Let me help,” your mate murmured, pulling the strings on the corset that you couldn’t reach. 

Before he could loosen the ties any further, you whipped around, face flushed red with anger. “Do not touch me right now,” you seethed, maneuvering around him back into the bedroom. Ignoring the awkward feeling of your half-done corset, you grabbed the book from your bedside table and moved to sit in one of the chairs by the hearth. 

Azriel slowly walked out of the closet, ever the cautious and assessing spymaster as he watched your movements with interest. Once you had taken your seat, he sat in the chair opposite you, hazel eyes burning into your skin as you struggled to focus on the pages in front of you.

“My love, can you tell me what’s wrong?” Az pressed gently, leaning forward with strong arms braced on his knees. 

Forcing yourself to bite back a bitter laugh at the question, you took a deep breath and set the book down. “You really don’t know why I might be upset, Azriel?” At his confused expression, you continued, “It seems as though you have a talent for noticing everything except me.”

Azriel’s eyes simmered with barely constrained anger at your digging comment. “If you would care to stop speaking in riddles and be straightforward with me, that would be much appreciated. I may be observant, but I am not daemati, love. I cannot read your mind.”

Shadows grew darker around Azriel, oscillating with the palpable irritation in the room. But instead of sticking to their master, they moved to join you. Cool whisps of darkness curled around you, giving cool caress to your heated skin as Azriel watched, guilt suddenly registering on his face. He knew that if his shadows were on your side, he was truly in the wrong.

“I’m sorry, angel. Please just tell me what is wrong so I can make it right.”

You relaxed slightly at his apology, tension thinning as you studied your mate’s worried expression. “You are away so often, Az, and I knew that would be the case when I accepted the mating bond. I love you for who you are, and I wouldn’t want to change that. But it’s hard for me when you leave me, and then hardly notice me when you are here.”

Azriel loosed a soft sigh, understanding exactly what you meant. It was a conversation you’d had before, that you sometimes felt second to his spymaster duties. He’d been working hard to show you that that wasn’t true, but coming home from this last mission was too exhausted to notice how much you needed him.

“You don’t understand how much I miss you. I think I need you more than you need me, and I feel pathetic for it, Az,” you admitted.

Azriel’s face fell, the Illyrian leaving his chair only to kneel in front of you, eyes pleading as warm hands rested on your knees. “I need you. Like air, I need you. I don’t know how I lived before you, and I’m sorry that I make you feel anything less than the beautiful, perfect mate that you are.”

You could feel Azriel’s love through the bond, pure adoration and longing sending electric sparks through you, at odds with his warm touch on your thighs, where you hadn’t felt him in so long. 

Suddenly, your face was flushed with a different kind of heat, and Az’s eyes darkened as the scent of your arousal grew. A knowing smirk stretched across his lips, the crooked smile showing off one dimple. 

“You beautiful, cruel female. You like when I’m on my knees for you?” he purred, voice rough as his hands slipped further between your thighs. 

You fought to keep your breaths even, eyes flicking to the chair where Azriel sat moments ago. “My love, I adore when you are on your knees, but I still don’t think you understand how badly I needed you today,” you teased, the sentence taking on a different meaning with your sultry tone that shot straight to Azriel’s cock.

Curling one finger beneath his chin, you lifted in gentle encouragement for him to stand before nodding towards his chair. “Sit, Azriel.”

As though the shadows could read your thoughts, they followed Azriel to the chair, twining around his wrists and ankles. Hazel eyes were blown so wide they appeared black, the scent of your mate’s arousal so strong it was dizzying. 

“I missed you,” you whispered, standing from your seat and dropping your corset in one smooth motion. The fabric was tossed to the side, your hands pulling at the sleeves of your chemise. “I missed your touch, your warmth,” you continued, the remainder of your clothing falling in a pool at your feet.

Azriel’s breathing grew rapid, chest heaving as his hardened cock strained against his pants. “I needed you, but you stayed just out of reach, teasing and taunting me,” you drawled as you relaxed back into your own chair, eyes on Azriel as you hiked one leg over the arm of the seat, baring your glistening pussy to him.

He audibly groaned at the sight, pulling helplessly against his shadows as they stayed secure to the furniture. “Please, my love. Let me take care of you,” he gritted out, eyes glassy with desire.

Humming nonchalantly, you allowed your hands to wander over your body, fingers skating delicate touches over your sensitive areas. “You may take care of me once I think you’ve learned what it feels like to need me, to be truly desperate for my touch,” you replied, flashing him a wild grin as you dipped a finger into your entrance.

Pulling out your finger, you held it up to show off your slick in the firelight, eyes fixed on his reaction when you slipped the digit into your mouth, moaning dramatically as you sucked it clean. Releasing your finger with a ‘pop,’ you slid the wet hand down your body, toying with your nipples before resting above your core.

“This is what I do when you are not here to pleasure me, Azriel,” you breathed, gathering wetness on your fingers as they found your clit, rubbing slow circles there. 

“I use my fingers,” you continued, thrusting two fingers inside of you with a moan, “and I pretend they’re yours. I pretend it’s you, hitting that perfect spot inside of me.” Curling your fingers towards that spot, you moaned Azriel’s name, bucking your hips as you shamelessly chased your high in front of him. 

You heard him grunting and groaning in his seat, his need for you only turning you on more, which he seemed to realize. “Good girl. Move your fingers a little faster, just like that. Can you rub your clit for me?” he breathed, in awe as you obeyed his commands, letting him guide you to your orgasm.

Your eyes flew open as you crashed into your high, body writhing against the sofa when you looked to Azriel, jaw dropping in ecstasy while he watched you with a white knuckle grip against the restraints. 

Breathless, you relaxed into the cushions, a lazy smile on your features. “That is how desperate, how needy I am for you,” you whispered. 

“But it’s never the same. I crave your touch, your love,” you confessed, bare body shining with a thin sheen of sweat as you moved to stand just out of Azriel’s reach. “It’s a delicious torture, this power you have over me - at least when you’re there for me when I need you. Does that make sense?”

Azriel swallowed thickly, hips rolling in any attempt at relief. “Yes, it does. I need you, too, love. To take care of you, to touch you, to love you.” He strained again against his unrelenting shadows, and you smirked at the tendrils of darkness and their loyalty to you. “Let me touch you, please,” his hoarse voice begged.

“Not quite yet, Az. Soon enough,” you promised, moving to straddle his lap, body pressed firm against his. “I want to take advantage of this moment,” you admitted, fingers threading through onyx locks to pull him in for a passionate kiss.

Starting soft and slow, the kiss quickly grew frantic into a clash of teeth and tongues, bodies desperately writhing against each other in search of friction. Your lips left his, trailing down his jaw - kissing, biting, licking the skin along his neck. Hands quickly unbuttoned his shirt, new wetness pooling between your thighs at the sight of his toned chest.

“Fuck,” Azriel gritted out, cock twitching from the feeling of your slick soaking through his pants. You smirked, kissing down his chest until you arrived at the waistband of his pants, kissing along the lines of his muscles there.

“Up,” you murmured, Azriel obeying to lift his hips so you could slide his pants down, his leaking cock hitting his stomach as he groaned in relief. 

Straddling the Illyrian once more, your fingertips brushed teasing strokes along his cock as he cursed and pleaded incoherently. “I love you,” you whispered, rubbing his tip against your folds before sliding down his length, your moans swallowed by his lips on yours.

“Fuck, I love you so much,” he muttered, hips thrusting up to meet you as you bounced on his dick. Rolling your hips forward and back, you felt him hit every inch of you with each thrust. 

The pleasure was too much, legs growing shaky as you grew weak above him. Shadows sensing the shift, they released their master, Azriel wasting no time before grabbing your hips and jackhammering up into you.

Limp, your head feel against his shoulder as you took everything he gave you, nails scratching his back and torso as you hit another orgasm. 

Azriel’s thrusts grew sloppier, his breathing hard in your ear when you felt him twitch inside of you, his warmth filling you up as he came. 

“I missed that,” you muttered, shifting to press a kiss to his shoulder where your head had been resting. 

“Oh, this night is far from over, love,” Azriel purred, hand sliding under your ass as he picked you up and walked to the bed. Tossing you onto the sheets, he quickly grabbed your thighs, warm hands running along the sensitive skin. “I wanted to worship you, and I will until you are begging me to stop,” he growled, shadows twining around your wrists to pull them taut over your head.

A shiver of delight coursed through you, squirming under your mate’s hold as you prepared yourself for a long night. 

[heartchoi]

tutor ㅡ c.sb

pairing: tutor!soobin x fem!reader

wc: 1.1k

warnings: dom!soobin, sub!reader, clothed sex, unprotected, creampie, slight overstim, dirty talk, cockwarming, pet names, dacryphilia, (Kind of) dumbification, a bit of possessive soobie at the end

(continuation of this blurb)

originally, soobin was supposed your english tutor.

however, you think that you’ve gone too far to consider soobin as just your tutor now. not after this.

it’s quite unclear how you’ve gotten yourself here; sitting on soobin’s lap while his huge cock rests inside you, filling you to the hilt. a discarded stack of books are pushed onto the side of your desk, a witness to the situation you’re both in.

soobin bounces his leg, laughing at the way you whimper, clamping your walls on his dick immediately. “please,” you gasp. “don’t tease, soobin- fuck!” you whine, soobin bouncing his leg again. “do you want me to fuck you?” he asks, mock sympathy in his voice.

“tell me, pretty girl.” soobin turns your head gently to face him, flashing a dimpled smile once you meet eyes. god, it’s hard to believe that this is the man whose huge cock is buried deep in your guts. “tell me, how badly do you need me?” he rolls his hips slightly, the tip of his cock pressing against a spot that had your eyes rolling back. “can’t speak? i haven’t even fucked you properly yet.”

soobin chuckles at the effect he has on you, a mess already and all he’s done is let you cockwarm him. “i’m sorry, baby.” he whispers. wet tears filled your eyes from desperation and the pleasure of just having his cock inside you. you’re only able to blink before the tears drop, and stream down your face in tiny wet streams.

soobin kisses the tears away gently, softly apologizing as he promises to fuck you like a proper man should.

soobin kisses the tears away gently, softly apologizing as he promises to fuck you like a proper man should.

carefully, soobin sets aside the stray pencils and pens that littered your desk, opting to put them in a ceramic pen holder nearby. he lifts you easily before setting you on the desk.

you’re finally allowed to get a good look at him as you face soobin, his cock throbbing inside your heat. hair messily framed his face, strands falling in between his eyes and nose while his dress shirt continues to cover his figure. a few buttons have been undone at the top, courtesy of your desire for him. his jeans and belt were barely halfway down his thighs, clear evidence that you both were too horny and impatient to undress fully.

damn. he looks nice.

soobin brings an arm under your thigh. lifting it slightly over his shoulder. his free hand reaches up to grab one of your boobs, kneading the flesh.

“are you ready for me? i won’t be gentle.” he says, eyes boring into yours. you gulp, nodding your head. a fresh wave of arousal wets his cock. soobin hums, pulling out until the blunt head rests in between your folds before plunging himself right back in. the powerful thrust rips a cry out of you, there was no way he wasn’t going to fuck you stupid by the time he was finished with you.

"ah, you're tight." soobin groans out, bucking his hips into yours. "might fuck you like this every time i see you. maybe you'd actually pay attention to your lessons, hm?"

the words barely registered in your head, already too cock drunk to think straight. "thats what you are, isn’t it? just a doll for me to fuck into place." soobin hums. you whine incoherently, agreeing to whatever he said despite the fact you don't know what the hell he's talking about.

the only thing on your mind is how fucking huge his dick is, gliding smoothly inside you and hitting all the right places.

soobin's husky voice continues to feed dirty thoughts into your ear, the raspy tone sending vibrations through your body. his hips barrel into yours repeatedly, the sound of skin slapping becoming louder and louder. strings of wetness connect the two of you, the fresh waves of slick from your pussy covering both your thighs.

a tight knot forms in your stomach. tears flow down your face again, the pleasure too much for your body and mind to handle. soobin grins as he presses his forehead against yours. "does it feel too good, baby?" he asks. "i know, my cock just feels so good, doesn't it?" soobin brings a thumb to your cheek, wiping away a single tear. "what do you want, pretty? use your words. i know you can do it." he stares straight into your eyes, never breaking the eye contact. the man wants nothing more but for you to tell him directly what you want, it seems.

"i..." you stutter. "i wan.. want to come. p-please." soobin flashes a toothy grin, an innocent face compared to the way he changes his pace inside you; rutting into you like it's the end of the world. "is that so? come on my cock then."

soobin delivers a few more thrusts, and your vision turns white from how strong your orgasm is. by the time you come to, theres an increased wetness between the two of you, soobin's thighs covered in your sweet nectar.

and yet, he's still fucking you.

the sensitivity makes you moan, telling him that it's "too much" and that you "can't handle it." soobin hushes you, pressing a finger to your lips. "wait for me." he says, sternly.

soobin's thrusts grow harsher and harsher as he nears his climax. theres no way he hasnt dug into your stomach at this point, you think. his movements become rougher as well, groping your tits and sucking hickeys on any fresh skin he can get his hands on. "you're mine now, baby. no one can fuck you as well as i can." he growls. the newly possessive nature of his makes you moan out his name.

"fuck, you're so hot. you don't know how long i've been waiting to do this. say my name again." he demands. "s- soobin!" you cry out for him. soobin's thrusts falter, becoming sloppier and sloppier as he lets out a loud, breathy moan into your ear. "good girl."

minutes feel like hours when he finally gasps, pushing himself inside of you as far as he can before he fills you. warm, white ropes of cum paint your insides, marking himself inside of you. soobin pants exhaustedly, pulling out his softened cock before flopping back into the chair behind him.

"fuck."

[crownremonique]

Escape Call

Pairing: Tim Bradford x Waitress!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: When a man asks you for help while working, you decide to make a call that might just end up changing your life.

The restaurant was fairly quiet as you neared the end of your shift. It had been a long one, draining you to your core, but anything that waited for you back home wasn't the definition of relaxing in any way. Your tiring days of dealing with snobby customers usually ended in studying for the many mock exams of med school.

The small bell hanging atop the entrance rang, signaling the arrival of a new set of customers, which you hoped would be the last for the day. It was the man who caught your attention first, dressed impeccably in a suit and tie. He had an expression on his face that you couldn't quite place, but it definitely wasn't happiness. A woman entered behind him and followed him to the table he was seating himself at. Unlike the man, she seemed to be quite happy about being at the restaurant.

Convincing yourself that this would be the last table you would wait for, you walked over to them with a pair of menus and greeted the pair with a warm smile.

“Hey guys, what can I get started for you today?”

“I'll just have a water, thanks.” The man said while flipping his menu closed, never bothering to read any of the items on it.

“Are you sure honey? You're not gonna order anything else?” Not giving him a chance to respond, she continued speaking “Well, I'm gonna get something low carb, maybe something like a salad? Gotta watch my weight, y’know..” She trailed off, eyeing you top to bottom.

You felt appalled by her snide comment, but chose not to offer her anything but a tight lipped smile. You left the table to give the cook her order and started working on his glass of water, silently observing the pair sitting across.

The woman was talking expressively while the man just seemed bored. He looked tired, resting his chin on his palm, barely looking at the rambling woman.

You heard a ding from the kitchen, and placed their orders on a plate, walking over to them. You noticed the man writing something on a tissue and folding it up. You were just about to turn around after serving them when you heard a high pitched cry.

“What is this? There's peanuts in this! I can't eat this! I'm allergic” She yelled at you, eyes wide like you had purposely tried to poison her.

“Ma'am I am so incredibly sorry, I didn't know you were allergic-” You couldn't finish your sentence, interrupted by her bowl of salad smashing the ground. You dropped down quickly to collect the shattered porcelain, glancing at the man. He looked horrified, sending an apologetic glance towards you.

After cleaning up and getting the karen a new salad, you hung out by the counter, trying to subtly observe the pair. You saw the man get up from his seat, saying something about using the men’s room, and walk over towards you. He handed you the folded tissue paper discreetly and walked past you to the restroom. You unravelled the note and saw a phone number:

Save me, Please.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

You watched as he walked back to the table and sat down. You knew exactly what he wanted you to do, He needed an escape call. You fished your phone out of your pockets and dialed the number, watching his phone vibrate on the table. He picked it up, and you waited silently on the other line.

“Hello? Yes this is him…. Mhm……What? Oh my god, I’ll be right there!”

He got up hastily, collecting his wallet and dropping a few bills down to cover the tab, and quickly apologised to the woman before rushing out of the restaurant.

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

You finished clearing the last of the tables and got your bag to head home. Today had been an eventful day, and the stranger you had seen for no more than an hour, was running on your mind since he left. You bid farewell to the cook and the guy at the register and stepped out into the cool night.

You felt a chill run down your spine, though you weren't sure if it was from the cold or because of the figure leaning against the alley in the dark. You took a step back but heard a familiar voice that made you stop.

“I was wondering when you would be off your shift.” The man spoke, coming into view.

“Escape call.” You said, letting him know that you recognised him.

“Yeah…I was desperate. Never going on a second date with her again.” He concluded.

“Second date? I thought she was your girlfriend. Heard her call you honey so i assumed..” You said as you started to walk alongside him.

“Oh no, just a blind date my colleagues set me up with. I'm Tim by the way. Could I get the name of my rescuer?” He held out his hand, looking at you expectantly. You offered him your name and shook his hand, relishing the softness of his palm.

He repeated your name wistfully, as if it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. You felt your cheeks redden, even if it was only your name he had said. You could only wish your house was farther away.

You both walked the entire way to your house, conversation flowing easily between you two. You learned that he was a cop, which made sense for no apparent reason. His personality was strong and graceful, drawing you in closer than you ever imagined was possible. You could have talked to him forever if you could, but all good things had to come to an end, just like your walk.

You eventually reached your doorstep and slid your key into the keyhole, careful not to wake up your roommate. you pushed open the door, turning back to face Tim. His eyes refused to leave yours, twinkling with a feeling that you could only describe as longing. Your mouth felt dry as you waited for him to say something. He placed his hand on the door, keeping it open.

“Is there anything I can do to repay you? for being my saviour today?” He asked, eyes darting between your eyes and lips.

You felt a smile spread across your face. Maybe you wouldn't have to say goodbye after all.

✨️

[inkonparchment]

sentinel - re4r bodyguard!Leon x college student!reader.

Leon decides it's time for a self defense class.

cw - suggestive themes.

"This is stupid," You spit, folding your arms across your chest defensively.

Leon holds his impassive expression, refusing to relent despite hearing you call this session stupid for the entire day. It was Sunday morning, clock reading '7 AM' when he had unceremoniously thundered at the door of your dorm, looking very amused at your disheveled appearance when you had thrown open the door, insults lined up on your tongue.

He had told you to dress for the gym and then disappeared before you could hurl a singular insult at him. He may have gotten you out of the comfort of your warm bed on a Sunday (you groan heavily at the fact) but you were under no obligation to make this easy for him.

You had made sure to huff and puff very loudly throughout the walk to the gym, throwing dirty looks over your shoulders at him that he didn't seem to notice, suddenly very interested in the trees, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder.

The gym is empty when you show up, the guy at the reception nearly sleeping away with his head resting on his palm. He pays him no mind when the two of you enter, you staring at Leon in shock as though he had grown an extra head when he makes a beeline for the boxing ring.

You thought that maybe this was part of his insisting fitness routine that he makes you keep up, always countering with 'do you want to end up like those horror movies protagonists who can barely run for five minutes? no? that's what I thought'. But this was insane, him gesturing to you with his head as he parts the ropes, making it easy for you to enter.

"This isn't stupid," Leon sighs, "This is necessary. Please get in."

You roll your eyes, stomping your foot in annoyance before clambering up and through the ropes. You come to stand very close to him, the collar of his zipped up jacket neatly tucked under his chin as he looks at you plainly, unaffected by your scowl.

You resist the urge to splay your fingers at his chest, almost seeing yourself reflect in his eyes. God he feels warm, the sensation reminding you of your comfortable bed, almost lulling you into him, whispers in your head to melt into him and- what the fuck?

You snap out of the haze, the tips of your ears growing hot as you hastily whirl around on your feet and grumble away to the corner diagonal from his. You shake the thought of him from your head, vision plagued with the image of him from the carnival. This could be worse, much worse.

And oh it is.

After shrugging off your athletic jacket and hanging it from the post, you turn around to face him. It is only then does your mind truly register what he's wearing, the gravity of the situation slapping you across the face with a harsh smack and chasing away any sleep.

Leon had shed his jacket too revealing the black compression shirt, the Under Armour logo snug at his chest, the dip of his waist highlighted by the grey sweatpants hanging at his hips. Your mouth runs dry, mind unable to comprehend a single thought as you watch him stretch dutifully.

His hands intertwined with each other as he raises them to the sky, his biceps rippling and bulging against the sleeves, head jutted forward making the bangs fall in front of his eyes. It's good that he can't see you, see how you're almost drooling at the sight of him stretching so casually, setting you on fire with a simple tug of his hands.

Leon brings his arms down, shrugging away his hair to look at you standing so dumbfounded in the middle of the ring. "Stretch," He commands.

And your body goes into autopilot, your resilience heeding away to his authority. Your brain catches up late, exasperated with how pliant you had become, waking your sleeping muscles, averting your eyes to gain some composure. This was going to be a long day.

You feel the vibrations through the floor, gentle and slow as Leon stalks towards you. You take a step back in panic, heart lurching at his sudden proximity. He stops at a distance away from you, grateful that he isn't flooding your senses.

"So," Leon begins, tilt to his head, a twinkle in his eyes, "Why are we here?"

"Aren't you supposed to tell me that?" You mimic his head tilt, hands planting on your hips. He doesn't budge, eyes boring into yours, a tugging sensation at the bottom of your stomach. "Ugh whatever. You're gonna show me how to punch?"

"It's called self-defense, sweetheart," He says it with sarcasm, Leon changing his stance, legs kicked open and holding his hand, palm facing towards you. "You need to be ready for anything. I'm not expecting you to fight anyone off, just enough to catch them off guard. Now c'mon, show me how to punch. We'll work from there."

Well, well, well. The day has finally arrived, the day when Leon asks you to punch him freely with no consequences. You feel your pent up rage flood your entire being, anger making you see red hot. Anger at being up so damn early on a Sunday, anger at how he's looking at you, anger at how effortlessly good he looks and most of all anger at yourself for wanting to know how he feels under your delicate touch.

Oh, you'll show him how to punch alright.

You work quick, stance changing to make sure you're balanced and centered, balling your fist like you've been taught, pulling your arm back and mustering up your entire body weight into it, swinging at your hips in the way that's been engraved into your brain and you let him have it.

You aim for his face, deliberately missing the open palm that he clearly wanted you to strike. You revel at the way his facial expression changes, panicking as he sees your fist hurtling at his face. He moves quick, bringing his hand up to where you're targeting his cheek, your fist connecting with his palm with a loud smack. The movement clearly catches him off guard, not anticipating the force of your punch as he staggers back, eyes blown wide as a giggle rips from your throat.

You stand up straight, laughing at his bewildered state. "Oh baby, you're not the first person to teach me self defense," You tease, not paying attention at the nickname that slips out, missing the way Leon's shoulders tense.. "You're gonna have to up your game."

A dangerous thing to have said, you realize, when you notice the glint in his eyes. It sets off a tiny danger alarm in your head and it thrills you, muscles tensing in anticipation. You know he won't hurt you, brain muddling as it tries to think if it's because of his job contract or because of some other reason. The mental gymnastics is what makes you slow to move when he lunges at you, quick and speedy like a viper.

Exhilaration shoots through you in an instant, trying to twist away from his grasp, breath quickening at the sudden motion as you successfully avoid him. Ridiculous, you think, no way he didn't willingly let you dodge him. He's somewhere behind you, trying to look back over your shoulder when you suddenly yelp. Leon's arms snake up around you, one against your waist and one going around your neck.

His touch is scalding, arms taught against you, holding you firm against his chest. Your hands shoot up to grip at his broad forearm on your waist, fingernails digging into his skin, unsure if you want to pry him off or press him even harder against you.

"I can surprise you in ways you can't even think of," The timber in his voice is low, rumbling deliciously against your ear.

Leon feels so dizzying, tugging your head back against his shoulder, his bicep flexed against your neck hard enough to keep you in place but not enough to cut off your oxygen. He dips his head close to yours, hot breath fanning your ear as he presses his nose into your cheek. Your heart is beating maddeningly against your chest, breathing so erratic, matching with Leon's. He pushes you closer into him, making you bite your lip harshly to stop the noise that threatens to spill out.

You feel so overwhelmed, unsure what to concentrate on; his hips against yours, his bicep around your head, his fingers digging into your waist or the way his head trails down to your neck, his hot lips leaving a trail of fire in his wake grazing against your skin.

You involuntarily flutter your eyes close, backing into him further, his hold tightening on you, almost afraid to let go. His bangs tickle your jaw as you arch your neck to give him more space to trace his lips over you, nose buried deep. You don't even know when you had brought your hand up, sliding with ease into his hair and tugging him closer, the hitch in his breath sapping the strength from your legs.

This is wrong. You should stomp on his foot, elbow him in the ribs and then slap him the face for touching you like this. Touching you in a way you don't think you ever have, in a way that has every thought wiped clean from your mind until all you can think about is him.

Electricity shoots through you when you feel his teeth graze against your throat, the motion making you tug away your lips from your teeth as a moan echoes through the empty walls of the gym. "Leon..." You whimper, almost sounding like a pleading servant at the altar.

His name slathered in your breathy moan sobers something up in him, shrugging your fingers away from his hair as he straightens up, loosening his hold on you. He backs away from you quick, eyes trained on the floor, "We'll do this later. Just do your normal routine."

And you suddenly feel cold, feeling empty as he rushes away, back trained strictly to you as he crouches down and fumbles with his bag. Embarrassment grips you as well, face growing hot as you snatch your jacket from the pole and nearly run to the treadmill at the furthest corner in the room.

[kywaslost]

Sebastian Wakes Up a Non-Morning Person Reader

A/N: Here’s another fic! Still a female reader, just because that’s what I write best. This time reader is Ciel’s sister, age is up to you. Hope this turned out ok!

You shouldn’t be surprised at this point. Two years of Sebastian waking you up at the same time every day, and you were still annoyed every morning. It was never because of Sebastian himself, he was always so kind and gentle towards you, especially when waking you. You just weren’t a morning person.

You barely registered the soft knock on your door before it opened quietly, barely making a sound as Sebastian stepped into the room, wheeling a cart with today’s breakfast and morning tea. You stayed fast asleep, face down in bed. You were so relaxed and comfortable. Your comforter was darped just right over you, your pillows were the perfect temperature, and you were laying in a position that just felt to peaceful that you never wanted to move.

Sebastian pulled back the curtains across from your bed, letting the sun’s early rays cast themselves into the room. You shifted ever so slightly to hide your eyes from the light, burying further under your pillow.

Sebastian quietly moved beside you, saying a soft, “Mistress, are you awake?” When the butler received no recognition from you, Sebastian decided to give you an extra few moments of rest as he prepared your tea and set up your breakfast. Then he sat on the edge of your bed. Resting a warm hand between your shoulderblades, Sebastian rubbed your back gently to wake you as comfortingly as possible. “Miss Phantomhive, I am afraid it is time for you to wake up.”

You groaned softly, slowly pushing yourself up onto your shoulders. Your hair fell over your face as you looked around the room, seeing Sebastian beside you. You sighed, dropped your head, then pushed yourself up to sit on your heels. Flipping your hair out of your face, you sat there for a moment.

Sebastian rose from the side of your bed, smiling to himself about your behavior. This was a daily occurrence for him. “Today’s breakfast is (fav. breakfast), your favorite. I prepared it especially for you. I hope it is to your liking.” As he picked up the tray, you moved to sit properly on your bed, letting the tray be placed over your lap. You began to pick at your food as Sebastian searched your closet for an outfit for the day.

“Mey-Rin is ill today, so I will be dressing you, if you are comfortable, of course.” The butler turned to you, then draped a f/c dress over the end of your bed. You only nodded, taking a bite of your food.

After Sebastian dressed you, he led you over to your vanity to do your hair for you. You watched him through the mirror as he gently brushed through the tangled mess that was your hair, then setting the brush down and beginning to braid it. When he was finished, he offered his arm to you, standing beside you.

“May I escort you to the gardens, Miss Phantomhive? I believe it will be just what you need to fully wake you up.”

Speaking for the first time this morning, you groggily said, “Of course. Thank you,” as you took his arm. You hated mornings and everything that had to do with them, Luckily for you, Sebastian knew just how to make them even the smallest bit better.

[blessedwithabadomen]

The Hands of Temptation

Oli Sykes x Reader x Noah Sebastian • smut 🔥 • 3.7k words

Hi!! This is my first time writing both Oli and Noah because I've been bloody obsessed with them since they started this tour together and I'm already working on a longer story with several chapters because I'm nowhere near done with these two!! I hope you enjoy this, comments and reblogs and asks would be lovely and soooo appreciated 💗

•••

Taking time off from work to follow a tour wasn’t exactly anything new to you. Live music had been your saving grace for years and you’d basically started travelling to see shows as soon as you’d turned old enough to rent hotel rooms. It was a lifestyle you were well adjusted to. This tour, however, still held a sense of excitement and novelty that wasn’t even remotely comparable to those you’d done in the past - mainly because this time, you were following your boyfriend’s tour.

Your train had gotten into Cardiff terribly late, leaving you to hop into a cab immediately and all but dump your suitcase in Oli’s dressing room before roaming the venue to find him. You waved to several people you’d gotten to know over the past months you’d been dating Oli until someone pointed you into a direction that seemed promising and then finally, finally the arms you’d been missing so much were wrapped around your body.

In fact, you had barely registered that you had found the right place when you were pressed agains a solid chest, strong hands keeping you in his embrace, a familiar scent infiltrating your nose. You relaxed into him immediately, a soft sigh leaving your lips as you let all tension go, holding onto the man you loved.

“Missed you so much,” he mumbled into you hair, pressing a soft short kiss to it before letting you go. You finally took all of him in.

He was prepared for the show already, dressed in his stage outfit, in all red, a cropped jacket and nothing underneath. You let your hands run over the skin on his belly, moving upwards to rest them on his chest. He smirked down at you, only reluctantly taking hold of your wrists and removing himself from your touch.

“Love, if you don’t keep your hands off me, I’ll never get on stage.”

You made a second attempt, allowing him to let go of you just for you to immediately reach for him again, but he was quicker. With a surprisingly smooth move, he had you pinned against the wall behind you, hands over your head, lingering close but not touching in any other way than to keep you still.

“Don’t pretend like you’re not enjoying this,” you teased back.

“That’s why I need to keep you at arm’s length. Because in a minute, I’ll be enjoying this too much.”

Oli pressed his lips to yours, soft and strong at the same time, and you wanted nothing more than to deepen the kiss, but as quickly as he was on you, he was gone again.

“Now be a good girl and behave. Until after the show.”

The door flying open was as unexpected as it was shocking, making you jump slightly under Oli’s grip. Both of you turned your heads toward the intruder, which turned out to be none other than Noah Sebastian, looking like a deer in the headlights. Oli didn’t even pretend to let go of you a little.

“Wrong fucking room, Noah,” Oli shouted, but not without a grin on his face. It seemed to pull Noah out of his stupor. He shook his head, clearly amused at the situation, giving you one more look before shutting the door again.

But oh, you’d seen something in his eyes.

•••

It was over halfway through Bring Me The Horizon’s set, which you were watching with awe and love from the side of the stage, hidden away from the view of everyone apart from the band itself, when Noah made his next appearance. You knew from Oli that he was going to go on stage with him for Antivist, but he was a little early and you couldn’t help but wonder if you played a part in that.

“Noah, but I think you already know that,” he said as he offered you his hand. Your eyes travelled over the tattoo there, how it made his large hand look almost delicately beautiful, before taking it. You almost jerked away when his skin touched yours, an electric current making its way through your body and ending right between your legs.

When you looked up at his face again, you knew you weren’t the only one who felt it. He quickly pulled back, as if your touch was fire to his skin. For a moment, you genuinely questioned why. Then you remembered he had seen you with Oli. He had no reason to know it was fair game still.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you were staring at each other when a stage hand appeared out of nowhere to let him know he was going to be on in a minute. All you could do was quickly tell him your name in return before he took his place, put on his mask, and seconds later, walked out onto the stage to roaring applause.

The two of them were a force to behold together. You couldn’t take your eyes off them. Their voices, their performance, their energy. You wondered how all of it would translate to an entirely different domain.

•••

For some reason, you were still backstage. The show had ended a little while ago and usually, Oli would be impatient to leave, get you to a hotel room and do everything he’d been promising to do for you for weeks, but instead, you both lingered. You were in his lap, leaning against his chest, his hands possessively tracing over your legs, and when you saw Noah take a seat opposite you, you wondered if this had been Oli’s plan all along.

Noah had buried his head in his phone, but you could easily see him glancing over the edge of the screen again and again. You noticed a movement from your boyfriend, a cough, and suddenly the backstage room was empty bar the three of you. Oli pulled you a little closer. You could feel his heartbeat against your back and you wondered if it was the same for him.

“Trust me?” he asked, as if it was any question at all. If there was one thing our whole relationship centered around it was the idea of full, unquestionable, all-enveloping trust. It had always been detrimental for you, but being in an open realtionship now, there was simply no way for it to work without it. So yes, you trusted him, fully, with your whole being. Whatever he was planning, whatever he wanted to do to you, with you, for you, he knew your limits as well as your kinks and fantasies. So you melted into his arms, ready and willing for him to take the reigns.

“Good show, Noah,” Oli turned to him. Any secret spying over the edge of his phone screen was immediately abandoned to openly stare back at your boyfriend… and you. It removed all other thoughts from your brain, your ears suddenly unable to take in the small talk they were pretending to have, as you felt yourself coming alive under Noah’s eyes.

Under Noah’s eyes and Oli’s hands. His fingers were toying with your fishnet tights, pulling at the strings and letting it snap back against your skin, the warmth of his hands seeping through, becoming bolder, moving all over. There was no break in the conversation, no sign that he was affected at all, as he put his hands on the insides of your thighs, spreading them apart, but you could feel him against you, growing harder already. Noah gulped audibly which would have gotten a chuckle out of you if Oli hadn’t chosen that moment to toy with the soft fabric of your hotpants.

Noah was apparently losing the gift of speech quickly, as his sentences made less and less sense, ridden with fillers and pauses, eyes flicking up and down your body. You were happy to indulge him. Spreading your legs a little further still, Oli chuckled into your ear, obviously amused at you being so eager, and let his fingers slip under the crotch of your shorts. It was a tight squeeze that had you gasping at the sudden intensity of his touch, even through your panties, but it had the desired effect on Noah, who stood up rather abruptly, then sat back down as the realisation dawned that his pants left nothing to the imagination anymore, a pillow thrown into his lap. You couldn’t help but sigh at the idea of getting a little closer to the very thing tenting his fabric now.

“You wanna fuck her, don’t you?” Oli said, voice still fully under control as his fingers moved slightly against your heat. “Seen the way you look at my girlfriend. Were you gonna do anything about that or just go back to your room and jack off?”

Noah was back on his feet now, wincing slightly as he held the pillow closer, as if it made any difference at all, a defensive stance as he took a step back. “Listen, Oli, I’m sorry, I know she’s your girl, I wasn’t-”

Oli’s laugh stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Sit the fuck down, Noah.” In his apparent confusion, he did as told. “I love this one more than anything,” Oli said, pressing a quick kiss to your hair that added a flutter to your stomach that, for once, had nothing to do with his hand between your legs. “But you know how it is. We don’t always see each other a lot. Tour, recording, her work. So we’ve got an agreement. When we’re apart, we’re free to fuck other people. Well… we’re not apart right now, but we might try something new. Isn’t that right, love?” You could only nod, more than ready to go with whatever he was planning. “Don’t you wanna take Noah here back to our room? While I watch? Bet he can fuck you real good.”

Noah’s pillow was all but forgotten. You didn’t know him very well, but he didn’t seem like the type to be lost for words very often, but now, not a single sound managed to leave his mouth as he stared at you, Oli’s hand between your thighs, Oli’s face, back to yours, as if waiting for someone to jump up and call it all a prank.

When it didn’t come, his reaction was clear.

“I’ll call a taxi.”

•••

Hooking up with a stranger wasn’t new. Hooking up with Noah Sebastian while your boyfriend was sitting in an armchair in the corner of the hotel room watching your every move proved to be very different. His eyes seemed to be burning holes into you and if you had been any less sure that he was more than into this, it would have made you self-conscious.

But Noah was looking down at you with hunger and desire and it made your skin prickle in a way that had you anticipating his every move.

“No kissing on the mouth,” you explained. It was the one rule that you and Oli had given each other and you’d never disregarded it. As far as you knew, neither had he. “Apart from that…” You slung your arms around his neck, pulling him slightly down to you, letting your breath hit his ear as you spoke. “...do with me whatever you like.”

He didn’t wait for any further invitation. His lips were on your neck, a soft kiss turning into a bite within seconds, his arms wrapping around you, hands coming to rest on your ass. You sighed into him as your fingers tangled into his hair, but he didn’t indulge you for long. Walking you backwards, step by step, you felt him lift his head away from you, only for him to push you onto the bed with such force that the mattress bounced under your body once, twice, before settling down.

Without letting you out of his sight, Noah started undressing. Your eyes were trained on him as he took off his shirt, revealing a body that had you even more impatient for what was to come, followed by his trousers, revealing a growing hard-on. You instinctively sat up, reaching out for him, but he gave you a simple look that had you listen to every word he didn’t even need to say.

When it came to undressing you, he abandoned all thoughts of being gentle. Your shirt was all but ripped from your body before he went to work on your shorts, pulling them down along with your fishnets. A gasp left your mouth as his fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs, right where Oli’s had been just a little while ago.

Oli.

Your eyes wavered away from Noah as you turned your head toward your boyfriend. Oli had slid down the seat a little, eyes considerably darker than the last time you’d looked at them, mouth slightly open, palming himself over his trousers. He was a fucking vision.

“Eyes on me,” Noah barked, immediately making you turn back as he roughly pushed the cups of your bra down, not even bothering to remove the piece of clothing completely as his mouth descended on your breasts. You arched against him enthusiastically, hands back in his hair, as he flicked his tongue against your nipple, fingers massaging the other, then bit down on it with such sudden ferocity that you gasped and moaned all at once. Switching to your other tit, his movements remained unpredictable, keeping you on the edge as he varied between soft touches and harsh treatments.

“You love it, don’t you,” he mumbled against your neck as he peppered it with love bites that would surely bruise by tomorrow. “Having him watch us. Knowing I’m gonna fuck you until you scream. Knowing I get to touch all of you. That I’m gonna be the one to make you come undone. And all he can do it watch and wish it was him.”

All you could do was babble in nonsensical agreement, grasping at whatever flesh you could find, unable to focus on anything in particular, with his mouth on your neck, one of his hands still on your breast as the other started tugging at the waistband of your soaked panties, his dick hard against your leg. Your thighs wrapped around him on their own accord, you were barely aware of it, until he chuckled in your ear, calling you desperate. You knew you were. You didn’t mind. You knew Oli loved you like this, too.

“Can I eat you out?” The change in tone from Noah almost gave you whiplash. It amazed you how quickly he could switch from dominant, almost mean, to careful, attentive to you comfort. You nodded enthusiastically. Your panties were being dragged down your legs. “Spread those thighs for me, show us how wet you are.”

It was only when Noah slid down your body that you realised that Oli had not only gotten up from his seat, but had gotten rid of a majority of his clothes too, only his boxershorts remaining, one hand vanished underneath the fabric as he stroked himself, positioning his body closer to the bed to get a front-view seat of what was happening. You couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly, but having another man go down on you, touch you, kiss and bite the insides of your thighs as your boyfriend watched, so obviously turned on by the sight of it all, had you feeling close to climax long before Noah actually slipped his tongue into you.

It was unexpected. You had anticipated it on your clit, perhaps sloppily licking against you, but instead it was inside of you and fuck, he knew what he was doing.

You could have spent eternity with his head between your legs, but as good as his tongue and his fingers were against and inside and all over you, you desperately needed more. Clawing at the back of his head, you pulled him up, groaning at the sight of his chin, his mouth covered in your wetness. It almost made you want him to continue.

“Please, Noah,” you whined instead, “more, I need you.”

You didn’t know where Oli had kept the condom, but it was being handed to Noah the second he moved, as your boyfriend climbed onto the bed next to you. Leaning down to you, he put a hand on your throat, lightly enough not to choke, but with enough pressure to let you know he was there. It distracted you enough that it came as a surprise when you felt Noah’s dick push against you. Your legs fell apart once more and as soon as he started entering you, you were reduced to nothing more but a moaning mess.

“Fuck her hard.”

Noah didn’t hesitate. As soon as he filled you up, he set up a hard, punishing rhythm that had you moving up and down the bed with every thrust. He was so big inside of you that you were sure he would be able to split you in two if he tried and you loved it. His groans were spurring you on further, lost in the way he was trying to hold on as he fucked you, your boyfriend’s hand still on you, then another hand on your clit, you weren’t sure whose, it didn’t matter. You felt yourself getting closer, closer, but it wasn’t quite getting you there, so close to the edge but something was missing, your nails clawing at whatever you could find.

“Kiss her,” Oli decided.

Noah almost faltered in his rhythm, almost.

You looked up at Oli, questions filling your brain as your brows furrowed, wanting to ask if he was sure about this, if he really wanted to cross that line, making sure that he wasn’t just saying it in the heat of the moment, but he nodded and you believed what you saw in his eyes. It was all you needed to grab onto the back of Noah’s neck and pull him to you, his lips meeting yours in frenzied movements as he never ceased fucking you roughly.

It worked immediately. With his mouth on yours and his tongue still carrying your taste, he gave you a searing kiss that had you falling apart. Just like he had told you earlier, you almost screamed as you came onto his dick and he relentlessly fucked you through it until you were whimpering, begging for a break, your whole body shaking.

“Fuck, love, I’m gonna need to shag you,” Oli groaned. “You’re so fucking hot.”

Noah pulled out of you, almost leaving you crying at the sudden emptiness, and your mind was still a whirlwind as two sets of hands started manipulating your body, pushing and pulling at you, with care but firmly, until you were in the desired position.

“Gonna suck me off while he fucks you?” Noah asked. He was sitting in front of you now, stroking his large dick, begging you to do for him what he had just done for you, as Oli pushed you on all fours, ass up toward him. You couldn’t even answer Noah before your boyfriend entered you. There was no time for you to come down or for your body to recover as Oli started fucking you, aided by the wetness Noah had caused between your thighs. You quickly nodded at the younger man, moving his hands away to envelop his dick with your mouth.

He shouldn’t have tasted that good, he really shouldn’t have, but as he started rutting up against you, all you could do was relax your throat as much as possible and take him deep, swallowing it all, enjoying the heaviness of it on your tongue. Noah’s hand in your hair pushed you down further. Oli had no qualms about taking what he needed either. His fingers were digging into your hips, holding you just the way he wanted you, thrusting into you again and again to the point where you knew you’d have trouble walking tomorrow. It immediately made the fire in your belly start up again, rising to a crescendo in record time.

“You gonna come again?” Oli grunted from behind you. “You gonna suck him off and come on my dick?”

You wanted to nod, you wanted to answer him, but all you could do was hum in agreement. The vibration was enough to set Noah off as he came, low groans accompanying him coming down your throat in spurts, and you did your best to swallow it all, licking him clean when he finally let go of your head. Oli immediately doubled his efforts, fucking you faster and harder and you didn’t think it was going to get any better until he told you to touch yourself. You obeyed.

Squeezing around him was all it took for Oli to shoot his load. Holding you tightly in place, he chanted you name as he filled you up. You came again, sobbing, your arms failing to hold you up anymore, fully collapsing on the bed. He carefully pulled out, making sure you landed safely on the mattress, harsh fingertips now soft.

You knew you needed to get cleaned up, get settled properly, but exhaustion and pure satisfaction came over you in equal waves, so you stayed, lying on your front, a serene smile on your face. Oli was next to you, on his back, turning his head just enough to grin widely at you. Taking your hand, he left a sweet kiss on your palm.

There was some shuffling behind you and when you lifted your head just enough to see, you realised that Noah was halfway out the bed already. Quickly reaching out for him, you stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Hey, don’t go.”

He looked back at you and Oli. He was entirely fucked out but now that the passion was fading, he seemed almost insecure at intruding.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna-”

“Whatever my girl says goes,” Oli commented.

Noah only took one more second before dropping back into bed with the two of you, slinging an arm around your middle and hugging close to you.

“Wouldn’t have taken you for a cuddler,” you grinned as Oli mirrored his movements from the other side, effectively caging you into the safest embrace you’d ever known.

“I’m sure there’s a lot left to find out,” he chuckled.

Oli laughed from behind you. “Good thing we got the rest of tour to have fun with that.”

[carolmunson]

a thousand times a day | rockstar!eddie

fall frenzy req by @saltystormyx: 'I'd like to request a mini-fic with your rockstar!eddie au character. I'll leave it totally open to whatever you want to write.'

fall frenzy set list

back in action with a couple we haven't hung out with in a while! it was nice to get to revisit these two in some way. i had a different story for them to start -- something dirty and slutty -- but i just couldn't get into it. i needed something cozy for them. perhaps now that the seal is broken we can venture into some more slutty stuff between these two at some point. welcome to an early thanksgiving with the munsons before they were married.

tw: 18+, mostly very fluffy, some references to drug abuse, some references to using/addiction/getting clean. otherwise, two hotties in love. reader isn't referred to as 'stella' in this fic but the last name 'rink' is used a couple times to refer to reader and her family.

November, 1992

"I just, ugh honey I feel so awful to cancel on them." You blow your nose into a tissue but also direclty into the phone, making Eddie pull the receiver away from his ear for a second. You called in hysterics from a shoot in New York that you have to do pick up shots in Georgia and the earliest flight back they can manage is on Thanksgiving; leaving your plans to go back upstate to celebrate with your family in the dust. The flights had been paid for, even Wayne was making the trip to Syracuse to celebrate with you and yours. It was finally going to feel normal now that Eddie was three months clean and things had settled down some. He wasn't touring and they were only in the early stages of writing a new album and even then, the band spent most of their nights in the home studio instead of going into the city. Every now and again he'd come upstairs to grab more Pellegrino's out of the fridge and give you kisses on the cheek while you went over potential scripts.

Depsite having moved back at the beginning of November and back to falling asleep tied up with each other, you hadn't put your ring back on yet. It sat resting on your jewelry stand in your dressing room, as shiny and perfect as ever. Your bare ring finger sat as a reminder to him that he's not there yet; that he still has so much to prove -- but he meant what he said. You were gonna be his wife one day.

"Baby, it's okay. They're gonna understand," he assures softly, "It's not like you're doing it on purpose; they know you can't just not go." "It's just s-so stupid. An-an-and it's the first -- fuck, Ed it's the first one without Dad and I just feel so bad for my mom having to look at two empty seats and I don't know, babe. Like, I just feel like I'm r-ruining everything," you choke on your words, fully blubbering into the phone, make up smearing down your cheeks onto the hotel pillows you're leaning against. "You're not ruining anything sweetheart," his voice soft but firm, "You want me to get on a flight to you? I'll go right now."

"N-no it's okay," you sniffle, "I'm meeting up with Simone and getting dinner and we're gonna red-eye back home so we can get ready for Atlanta."

"Oh, so I get to see you tomorrow morning?" he grins, feeling selfish almost at how much he loves hearing your time away from him is cut so short.

"Yeah," you sniffle again, his heart pangs, "Probably really early."

"I'll have breakfast ready for you, okay? What do you want?"

"Um," you shrug to no one, "I don't know. Waffles." "Okay," he smiles, "Waffles it is."

The call home was less sweet; your mom understood but you could hear the dull ache in her voice. The subtle sadness mom's have in their register that they try to mask with an airy laugh -- years of feigning their own disappointement from life barely lived. She knows you're busy and she understands, she tells you a million times. You hear it but you don't feel it; you know she'd rather you blow it all off to come home again and see your family.

You'd rather blow it all off to see your family. Eddie had only seen your childhood home once -- quaint in size, snickered when he saw that you grew up with two guest rooms. He knew you grew up with it made, but you never made it so clear. You had walked through the trailer park to visit his old stomping grounds like you knew was growing up poor was like. Maybe you were a good actress after all.

He had waffles ready when you got in at five in the morning, who knows when he woke up to start. The Belgian Waffle maker you got sent as a wrap gift two years ago was finally out of the plastic, box still on the kitchen floor. Batter dripped down the sides and next to it a serving plate of a small mountain of waffles.

The pink stains on his fingers give a hint to who sliced all the strawberries and other fruit. Separated and glistening in the crystal bowls you really only take out for special oocasions.

Three cans of whipped cream sat at the end of the counter, one already opened with a small peak puffing out. 'Ya gotta try the product first, it's the whipped cream tax'

He's so silly. You missed his silly.

You're not home for very long, a couple days before you start packing for Georgia and you spend it all in his arms. Meals together, sitting on his lap in the studio while he tries out new melodies, you even spent one night curled up in the living room to watch a pay per view fight of Harrington's. Their friendship was finally starting to heal up after Eddie's last relapse.

He pouts when you get ready to leave, shrugging your coat on after you put the cordless phone down to confirm your car. You pout back at him.

"Don't give me that face, you're making me feel worse," you frown.

"M'just gonna miss you," he says quietly, "It's lonely here when you're not around."

"I know," you nod up at him. You don't mean for the comment to sting, but it does a little. It's not like he didn't want to be there with you this past year.

He leans down to kiss you, both hands reaching up to cup your cheeks.

"Don't be sad," he mumbles, nuzzling his nose against yours, "We'll have a nice Thanksgiving together when you get back, just us." "What about Wayne?" you ask, heart panging at the though of his Uncle eating alone. "Don't worry about it, sweet thing," he lets his lips linger against yours again for just a moment, "Wayne'll be okay."

The flight had never been more turbulent. Atlanta had never felt more cold.

You hear the phone ring and ring for the second time only to get the tin-like sound of your mothers voice again, 'Thanks for calling the Rink's! We aren't able to come to the phone right now; but please leave your name and number and we'll call you back. If you're trying to reach Stella Rink, please contact her publicist at Starmade PR Corp.'

"Hi, it's me -- again," you say into the receiver, "I'm sure you guys are busy cooking or have the game on but um, I just wanted to say happy Thanksgiving guys...God, come on, I know you're there. Just pick up!"

Your voice wavers, "I'm sorry I couldn't make it I just --" "NOW BOARDING FIRST CLASS - FLIGHT 7995 TO LOS ANGELES."

You feel a slight pull on your arm from Simone, sighing while you hang up the pay phone to make it to check in.

"They hate me," you mumble. "They don't hate you, Rink," she assures, hand soothingly skating up and down your back, "They know what your life is like." The flight is long and you sleep during most of it, the sad pit in your chest spreading through heavy in your body. You couldn't wait to just be home and eat take out on the couch with your man; have him whisper sweet nothings of reassurance while you pout in the glow of the TV.

Rain pours in California, which is not common but of course happening on the day you feel so awful. You hope that they at least called the house; that Eddie had messages to relay to you; anything so that the guilt didn't eat you alive.

You make it home faster than usual; everyone home with their families leaves less people on the road. You tip the driver triple the fare after he helps bring your bags to the door -- holiday cheer already flowing in your veins.

To your surprise, Eddie opens the door as you go to unlock it, his smile evident on his face. He's dressed cozily, black on black Corroded Coffin sweat shirt and matching pants, socks scrunch down on his ankles -- tattoos covered outside from what peek out at the wrists.

"Happy Thanksgiving, baby," he grins. He takes your bags, putting them to the side in the lobby while you kick your shoes off at the door. He pulls you in to a tight hug to his chest and even through the laundry detergent you can smell the food from all the way out here. Aromatics, butter, garlic, rolls, turkey -- it smells like comfort, it smells like home.

"Did you cook?" you ask with hopeful surprise, "You made like, a whole thing?"

"I did the dinner rolls and I bought all the food; but I'm kind of shit at that home cooking stuff so I called in some reinforcements," his laugh is grizzly with smoked cigarette gruffness.

"Come on," he ushers you forward, taking your hand while you walk through the entry way and down the hall towards the kitchen. His hand is warm and worn, still slightly clammy while the nervous teenager in him still stumbles over dealing with you. Being with you. Loving you.

The kitchen is busy, people bustling and moving and at first you think he must've just hired a team but then a flash of your mom's red Thanksgiving apron catches your eye. Your neice's giggle rings through the echoey walls. Your sister Luna sits at the breakfast nook with your nephew to keep him out of the way, helping him with a coloring book from deep in your stash downstairs.

"Wait, what?" you ask outloud. Your mom looks up, a smile in her eyes when she sees you. "Happy Thanksgiving, honey!" she smiles big, both of your sisters getting up and following her while they flock to you, a group hug of Rinks in the entry way of the kitchen. You heart swells in your chest while you feel them surround you, smell the familiar fragrance of your mom's perfume; your sister's shampoo. It had been so long, too long.

"What're you guys doing here?" you ask, tears welling up in your eyes while the emotion takes you over. You try to sniffle back the tingle in your nose while a cry comes on. "Well, Ed called us when you left for Atlanta and asked if we wanted to all come here," your mom answers, "He got all our flights and everything."

You look over your mom's head to see Eddie leaning up against the fridge, wiping his own tear away off his cheek to see you so happy.

"You were so sad, angel," he shrugs, "I didn't want your holiday to feel so lonely. So y'know -- I got everyone here for you instead. Can't have my baby sad on Thanksgiving."

Your lower lip wobbles when you look at him, his soft gaze while your sister's go back to their previous tasks, "Let me help you bring your bags up."

When he says help he means he takes them all in one trip, you take note that all the guest rooms have been set up. Your family already unpacked and lived in like they've been here a day or two. By the looks of their suitcases they'll be here through the weekend. Your heart swells again. "Where's Wayne?" you ask quietly while you make it into your room. He pops your bags by the entry way of the dressing room to unpack for you later, coming up close to you to press a kiss to your cheek. "He's out back smoking the Turkey and listening to Alice's Restaurant on a loop," he chuckles, "He just drinks beer and hangs out -- definitely has a little crush on your mom though."

"Oh my god," you giggle back, "Well she's very pretty, I get it." "He's got a real soft spot for your neice and nephew," he nods, running a hand over the top of your head, "He's gonna be such a great grandpa."

"I bet he is," you bite your lip for a moment, thinking about a future where that's true. Where you have rockstar Eddie Munson's babies. You wish you could report all of this to the papers instead of whatever shit they put in the tabloid rags about him. HANDSOME ROCKSTAR FIANCE SAVES THANKSGIVING FOR AMERICA'S SWEETHEART!

People would read that, right? You'd read that.

"Was it a good surprise?" he asks, "It wasn't too much to spring on you I was nervous th--" "This is perfect," you nod, "It's so perfect, honey. You're perfect." "You're perfect," he counters, arms wrapping tight around you to give you a tight squeeze, "Why don't you get yourself together and I'll meet you downstairs. I gotta set things up in the dining room, things'll be ready to plate soon."

"Okay," you nod, pulling your airport best off over your head while you watch him disappear back into the house.

Dinner was one to remember. You hadn't felt the true familial magic of the holiday since you were a kid and suddenly it had flown back with a veangance.

In true Rink fashion, the after dinner digestif of Irish Coffee followed you all down to the inhome theater to watch Miracle on 34th street; the little ones and Eddie nursing hot cocoa with way too many marshmallows pouring over the tops of the mugs. "I don't have to have one," you assured him, squeezing him arm gently while you looked at the cup in front of you. "Don't worry about me," his voice calm and confident, knowing he was only going to make it half way through the movie before falling asleep anyway. Most of your family did except you and Wayne who was surprised to find out he was making his way to California instead of upstate New York.

"Couldn't find my good winter boots so it turned out for the best, I guess."

Your sleepy family finally roused, your older sister getting the kids set up in their own room downstairs before she made her way up to her room. Luna and your mom following suit upstairs, Wayne following soon after.

You and Eddie clean up the small theater and head to the kitchen to assess the damage of what needs to be done. Eddie gave house keeping the weekend off to spend with their families; so for the first time in a while dishes like this were all on the two of you.

Thank god for dishwashers and a good Bing Crosby Christmas record -- you're able to clean up the kitchen in no time; stealing kisses in between songs, getting lost in a dance or two.

When you get upstairs to your room you're both exhausted; but not so tired that your eye don't linger when he starts to undress. You know you don't have the energy for the night cap he'd like but it's nice to watch him; the dip of his waist, the way his shoulder blades move under his skin on his back. "Still hungry, Rink?" he winks; heat flames your cheeks.

"No, no, I'm just -- y'know," you shrug innocently, "You look good, baby."

"Thank you," he hums while he changes into a pair of boxers for bed. You make your way into your dressing room and slip into a little night gown for the hell of it, silk and lace so he has something nice to wake up to -- something to show how grateful you are for putting this together.

When you crawl into bed next to him in the still of the night, one arm wraps around you instinctively. Heaviness dips into your eyes at the touch, it's always so hard to sleep without him there. Your hand smooths over his chest when he feels it; the drag of metal across his skin. His hand comes up to take yours and his thumb reaches up to search for it; breath catching in his chest when he can confirm it.

You put your ring back on.

"Really?" he whispers into the dark, "Yeah?"

"Yeah Munson," you nod into the crook of his neck, "Gonna be your wife one day."

[pixelmensupremacy]

Hi Mai 💗 Could I request “hey, lean down a little- i want to give you a kiss.” with Connor? The cuteness is 💕

A/N: Thank you for requestiing this, dear! I got kinda wild writing this. I hope you enjoy it!

Word count: 0.5K

Warnings: GN!reader, Deviant!Connor, not proof read, kinda suggestive, so MDNI

Bright amber was set ablaze on the circular diode on his temple, his brows were furrowed together- a mimic of shock and confusion he had picked up from (Y/N) along his infamous path of deviation. The call of his name immediately anchored his attention to the familiar voice he had registered in his CPU- the one of his beloved partner he associated with nothing but the best of sensations, intense, yet inexplicably pleasant. Cocoa brown pupils were focused on them as they were standing on their tip toes, their hands latched onto his shoulders, balancing their weight against his.

“May I help you?” thirium raised to his cheeks as he questioned, his arms reluctantly rested on the small of their back- yet another human-like interaction he became accustomed to throughout his experience with the whirlpool of sensations called deviation and even so more throughout his relationship with (Y/N). They stayed silent and instead tightened their hold on his shoulders, bringing him closer to them as much as they could, yet his lean, slender figure was still towering above them, throwing a shadow- shaped after his flawless features- across their face.

“Hey, lean down a little- I want to give you a kiss.” Their voice was quiet, demanding, yet assertive all the same, clearly giving out the invention behind their strange antics. Connor was frozen; his CPU froze, causing him to blankly stare at them as they gazed back at him in anticipation, a glimmer of innocent expectation shone behind the (E/C) of their irises as their finger nervously fidgeted with the collar of his dress shirt.

“Okay.” The words were barely audible as he himself was a tad bit reluctant to the motion that brought him so many different and intense emotions; despite having been in a committed relationship with (Y/N) for as long as he had come face to face with the experience of emotions, Connor was still getting used to the different aspects of intimacy and kissing was one of them. The pillow soft flesh of their lips brushed against the synthetic ones of his own, sending electric shockwaves across his systems. They hummed in delight, only enhancing the already intense sensation, yet their fingers slithering in his neatly combed back locks was the last string that brought him to the edge of blissful oblivion. An uncontrolled gasp drowned in the base of his vocal box, muffled by (Y/N)’s tongue pressing against his unintentionally stimulating the sensors of his synthetic tongue.  Even if he wanted, Connor coulnl’t battle the strong sensation of bliss that washed over his system akin to a tidal wave of pleasure that flooded his program with alerting notifications, warning him about consequences he could care less about now that his partner’s soft, muffled hums resonated against his sensors. He found himself cling to their smaller form, lifting them off the ground and instead bringing them closer to him; the warm of their skin pulled him in akin to a moth to a flame. He enjoyed himself- maybe a bit too much.

divider credit

[charlizekkelly]

little mortal

Yandere prompt: “Let me go, please.”

Pairing: Reader x Deacon Frost (Blade 1998)

Word Count: 923

Authors note: Guess who rewatched Blade and needed to write something for this man because he’s criminally unappreciated…yup. Me. I’m clearly a whore for murderous vamps.

Silence clamoured in her ears, deafening and resolute as her heart collided with her ribcage and her gaze darted across the room in search of an escape. The white walls were devoid of windows, the frigid tiles beneath her bare feet polished and gleaming as her stare locked on a door moulded into the walls and she rushed toward it.

Her fingertips skittered over the seamless design, trembling despite the tight grip she held on her emotions as she tried to find a way to open it–to escape. To live. The white-bathed room unnerved her, drenching her mind with a terror she longed to dispel because she knew it wouldn’t save her.

Not now.

Not when his lackeys had tossed her into the simply furnished room, left to await his appearance like he hadn’t been waiting months to drag her into his domain.

Moreover, she knew she shouldn’t have hesitated in fleeing the city when she’d had the chance. She should have left without looking back. But she didn’t, instead, she’d fooled herself into believing that he’d lose interest. That he’d forget about her. That Deacon would let her go like she had foolishly assumed. How wrong–naive–she’d been to believe that he’d discard his twisted interest, that he’d lose sight of what he’d set his mind on. 

Her head swivelled to locate a phantom sound, focus shifting away from the door as she crept around the simple seating area and her footsteps echoed across the room. Something shifted in her peripherals in the same moment she froze in the middle of the room, the open doorway bathed in the room’s white light as she turned to face the slate-eyed brunette who leant against the door frame. 

His features seemed sharper, more intense than the last time she’d seen him from the opposite side of the club. His irises were as grey as the ashes of an inferno, alight with a disconcerting quality that trailed across her skin when he stepped into the room and his navy-blue dress shirt rippled with the fluid movement.

A sharp breath shuddered past her lips, ghosting the walls as she skittered several paces back with each step he took in her direction. Desperate to create space between herself and the dark-haired vampire who’d tracked her every move in the months after he first laid eyes on her at the club–his club. Her heart jolted in the caverns of her chest as Deacon’s lips curled into a dangerous grin at the sound. 

“Oh, sweetheart. You’re not afraid of me, are you?” He drawled, continuing his approach like she sought to keep the distance between them.

“N-no.” She said, shaking her head as if it’d purge her body of the terror she felt. 

Deacon cocked his head, gaze sparking with a baneful glean. “No?”

“No,” she repeated firmer than before as she squared her shoulders and her back collided with the wall.

Dread borrowed within her chest as she glanced at the wall, turning ever-so-slowly back to Deacon when the weight of his gaze seemed to sink into her and she startled as his proximity registered in her mind. Mere centimetres separated them as she swallowed nervously and moved to slip away from him before he moved quicker than she could comprehend. 

A mocking tut filled her ears as his hand wrapped around her bicep, steering her backward until he caged her between himself and the wall, elongated canines catching her eye as he peered down at her with a grin. Deacon released her bicep in one breath, and in the next, his fingertips trailed a salacious path from her arm, across her chest, to the column of her throat.

Her eyes widened a fraction before she schooled her features into a mask of frigid disinterest. Like his hand wrapped snuggly around her throat or the way his opposing hand rested upon her waist and bracketed her against the wall didn’t scare her. That he didn’t scare her.

Deacon’s stare appraised her silently, chest pressed to hers as his scent of cedar and cigarette smoke filled her lungs and his honeyed voice reverberated in her ears. “Not so fast. You don’t get to leave now that I have you.”

“Please.”

His dark eyebrows arched, head lowering so his lips brushed the shell of her ear–the danger of his proximity shunted to the forefront of her mind. “Please what? Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

“Let me go, please.”

A low hum emitted from the depths of his chest as his lips pressed a possessive–claiming–kiss to the junction beneath her ear and the beginning of her jaw. “I can give you anything else, little mortal, but I won’t give you that.”

Her gaze darted across the plains of his face, searching for the answers she sought as if it was etched into the ivory tone of his skin. “Why not?”

“Because I can’t do that.”

“You can. Just–please let me go.”

His head lifted from the crook of her throat, eerily grey irises locked on hers. “No.”

“What?” She pressed, a frown etched across her forehead.

“You’re mine, little mortal, and you’re not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.”

And before she could react or try and fight him off, his grasp tightened on her. The hand wrapped around her neck tangling in the tresses of her hair, tipping her head back as his unnatural canines sunk into the flesh of her throat and her screams of agony rented in the marrow of her bones.

[btsficsandsuch]

Hey I wanted to request a taehyung × reader where they perform together on stage like a special performance and then he proposes her in stage only

Hope you like it! I think I have two of these requests so I only wrote one story.

Future Mrs.Kim

You were as nervous as you possibly could be. Tonight was your first major arena concert. You’ve always performed at little venues not really confident in your ability to sell out an arena but with the encouragement of your team you decided to give it a try and you were shocked when you managed to sell out a 30,000 seat venue in just a couple days. Your manager walked in and let you know there were twenty minutes left until you were expected on stage so you grabbed your phone and quickly dialed Taehyung’s number but yet again he wasn’t answering. Unfortunately he was on the other side of the world doing a promotion for his solo album and couldn’t be at your performance. You would think that your boyfriend would at least answer his phone on one of the most important days of your life, but this was the seventh time you’ve tried him and all of them went to voicemail.

You opted to send him another text instead,

You: Hey Tae, I was just hoping to hear your voice before going on stage. I’m extremely nervous but now I’m getting worried that something bad happened to you. I hope everything’s okay. I love you.

Quickly you got a text back in return,

Tae: I’m so sorry Y/N. I’ve been really busy today but I’m safe. You’re going to kill it!! I wish I could be there. Call me as soon as it’s over.

You felt a little relief knowing that he was okay but you wish you could’ve spoken to him. Before you could respond your manager came in and told you it was time so you quickly stood up and smoothed out your dress before making your way to the stage.

It only took a few songs for your nerves to settle. The crowd was electric singing every one of your songs, you loved bringing that kind of happiness and joy to people. You were about half way through your set when you were hit with a wave of sadness because the next song you were scheduled to sing was your first single that you ever released.

A duet with your now boyfriend Taehyung. You’ve never sang the song without Taehyung but your team was adamant that you sing it since it was one of your biggest hits so you gave in. The plan was for you to sing your verse and Taehyung’s would be played over the speakers while a prerecorded video played on the big screen.

You began your verse doing your best to hold back the tears at how much you missed your boyfriend. You got through the chorus and turned around to see the video of Taehyung singing his verse but instead the camera panned to you showing your confused expression. Then from the back of the stage you saw someone walking out wearing a tailored green suit and you instantly recognized the sparkly green microphone. The crowd also registered what was happening and the arena erupted into screams.

Unable to hold the tears back any longer you began to cry from joy as you watched Taehyung walk out to the center of the stage singing his verse beautifully. You managed to walk over and join him doing your best to sing along with him through the sniffles. When the song was over you wrapped your arms around his neck while he grabbed onto your waist before giving you a kiss. “I thought you were out of the country. What are you doing here?”, you asked.

He smiled, “I wouldn’t miss your big night for anything Y/N.” You felt a million emotions all over the place which only escalated when you watched Taehyung reach into his jacket pocket before getting down on one knee. He took your hand in his and said, “I know this night will always be memorable to you but I wanted to make it just a little more if possible. I love you so much. I knew from the minute we first performed this song together that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. Y/N will you marry me?”

The crowd began to cheer so loudly you could barely even think straight. You smiled and looked down at Taehyung who had the biggest smile you’d ever seen. You were overwhelmed with love and excitement but managed to nod your head yes before pulling him off the ground and giving him a kiss. He placed the diamond ring on your finger before giving you another kiss and turned to the crowd.

“Alight everyone, continue to show Y/N love for the rest of the night. The shows not over yet!”, he said before giving you a wink and heading off back stage. You did your best to get through the rest of your set still feeling like you were on cloud nine. Once you finished your encore you quickly ran backstage looking for Taehyung. Before he could even speak you jumped into his arms placing kisses all over his face while he carried you back to your dressing room. “Come on future Mrs. Kim, let’s get changed and head home.”

[evita-shelby]

Not so different

For @peakyswritings and their fic's first anniversary!

Luca x Eva ft Nina Ferrante x Tommy

It was considered improper in Luca’s family to wear black to a wedding, but Eva’s husband had not said a thing about it, so she continued her custom.

Besides, the dress was a work of art and Eva had cultivated that image of otherworldly being thanks to the high pedestal Spinietta had placed her on.

A living saint who will be interred in the Vatican with her godfather and the lucky man she chose as her husband.

The Ferrantes were allies, possibly distant kin on his mother’s side and when Riccardo was told what Stefano had been up to, the Boss had to send his witch and his most promising Capo.

“Leave it to Shelby to make trouble.” Luca shook his head with a laugh after she regaled him the full story the jilted ---but relieved--- bride and her sisters had told her as they welcomed them to their home. “He always had a thing for Sicilian girls, when I lived in England everyone knew he’d marry Greta Jurossi, God rest her soul, no matter how much her father tried to drive him away.”

Luca knew the groom, a Romani gangster from his father’s city whom Luca and his brother had grown up with. It was Tommy Shelby’s own aunt who had been Luca’s sweetheart when he was a young man, something that Eva did not mind.

Not because the witch has overcome her jealousy ---the day Eva no longer wants to wring a woman’s neck for getting near her man will be when she is dead and gone--- but because Luca knows better than to trifle with her. Much like Birmingham and New York, there were quite a number of women here he’d slept with, but Eva’s baby fever ensured her husband barely even registered his exes were there.

“How did you manage to sleep with so many women in this village, if you have only been here twice?” the witch asked knowing he’d have nowhere to run sitting here in the pews as they waited for the mystery bride.

“Good girls like bad men, pussycat.” He smirked with his olive-green eyes sparkling with pride. “Why do you think Tommy is marrying his host’s daughter and not the one selected for him?”

They don’t continue speaking about Luca’s irresistible charms when the bridal procession begins. Even with the veil covering her face, Eva knows the girl is a beauty, one with a soul to match it and more than met the eye.

There was also that Nina had a spark of rebellion, something that set her apart from her cousins even if they shared looks and traits. Men like Luca and Tommy seek someone who challenges them, who intrigues them and cannot simply conform to the standard their societies have for women.

Italy is not so different than Mexico.

Though Eva had a vastly different upbringing, she was still expected to marry and have children and have no other dreams than keeping tradition. Eva was lucky that her family flouted convention and ensured she had the same education as a man and that she had as much freedom as a son would.

Nina Ferrante had her parents who loved and protected her even when she went against the grain, Shelby will be the man to let her have the independence a spirited woman like her desires.

As long as the Changrettas and the Shelbys remain tenuous allies, Eva would wish them all the happiness in the world and the fortitude to survive its troubles.

It is not until much later when they are properly introduced.

Luca takes the lead knowing he is being sized up by Shelby, and yet as they stand there viewing each other as potential threats, Luca’s congratulations hold a note of sincerity. They weren’t always enemies, once upon a time the Changrettas and the Shelbys were friends and neighbors before they were rival gangs.

“My family sends their congratulations as well. My stepmother was very happy to know you were able to find happiness after Greta’s passing, especially with someone more deserving than the barmaid and the whore your brother tried to marry.” Luca has two intentions with his words, the first was to hurt Shelby for sport and the second to give the bride a heads up should Shelby take up old habits.

A different person could tolerate infidelity, but in families like theirs an infidelity could cost the offender their life. Even if the bride forgave him, the Family would not.

“I have seen the two of you will be happy together, the two of you were meant to find each other. I hope you can visit us in New York soon, though not as lovely as Sicily, it has its charms.” Eva smoothed things over with the newlyweds or did what she could to assuage Nina’s fears.

The bride thanks her, though still unsettled by Luca’s words and Tommy Shelby’s change in demeanor.

They do not meet again until John Shelby leaves Angel beaten and bleeding on the shop floor. And all because Shelby’s secretary had become involved with Luca’s younger brother.

Shelby did not rein in his brothers when asked and now this was escalating to something no one wanted. You would think this business with the Russians would give Tommy Shelby a chance to keep his family on a leash until it was over.

“He wants your father-in-law’s territories; Lizzie is just an excuse. I fear he doesn’t understand the scale this war could be.” Nina, now older with children, an Oxford education and accustomed to her role as Mrs. Shelby, does not beat around the bush as they meet for tea in Birmingham’s city center.

“Your husband is as resilient as a cockroach, dear, he has cheated death so many times he and his brothers think they will do so again. If this war happens, I will be forced to take part for my husband and children’s sake and I promise you, it will wipe the Shelby name off the face of the earth.” The witch would give up her soul for Luca’s victory, if this war came to pass, there is nothing she would not do to ensure their enemies are all dead.

Luca has no qualms killing children, and whatever feelings he had for Polly Gray won’t save her either. If Angel or his father were hurt or killed in Shelby’s pursuit of power, no one, not even the family cat would be spared.

“What can we do to stop it?” the Italian woman asks swallowing her fears and seeking a better course forward. She has not lost her spark of defiance, or else she wouldn’t be here behind Tommy’s back.

“The same thing our families have always done to secure peace and prosperity, we bind our families through blood.” The witch sips her tea as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening there. Eva’s grown too used to negotiating truces with her status as the deity advising the Spinettas. “Though it will be a while until our children are old enough to marry each other, you have a young brother-in-law and I have an English cousin worth her weight in gold. Lizzie’s marriage to Angel will be part of bargain, or Shelby will have no allies when the Russians fuck him over.”

“They used to call me a witch back home, you know.” Nina takes it all in stride. “They ate their words when they met you and saw all that Stefano and his family had said was all true. The Spinettas are right to fear you, you and Luca could easily take the crown from them.”

The witch smiled, “Oh these mortals have a way of branding what they don’t like as witchcraft and when the real thing arrived at their doorstep, they found themselves too scared to speak.”

She’s the strega who will curse them to the deepest pits of hell or the benevolent santa who will make all their wishes come true. She is not Eva to anyone save her family these days.

“But, yes, we do plan on taking their crown. Your husband can have England if he helps us take America.”

[13as07]

Tiggie #2

(Itachi Uchiha)

[Artwork is not mine! Credit to cytosine]

Requested by: Anonymous

Word Count: 3,815

Warnings and/or Pre-Notes:

I was too lazy to look up Genma's parental statues so surprise they're dead; sorry, not sorry if it's not canon

We're going to pretend Minato didn't do the Reaper Death Seal cause I got tired of researching and cause I'm the author and said so :)

———————————————————————

Itachi's fingers shift around under the table, in search of my wrist again. "You know she can't answer that question," he grumbles toward his father, shooting down the chief's newest question about our mission this afternoon. His fingers slide over my wrist, squeezing it once or twice before letting me go again.

"Your father is just trying to get to know your new friend, Sweetie. It doesn't help that you haven't told us much about her," His mother mediates, placing down a plate of crackers and cheese before turning back toward the supper she's cooking. "We don't even know her name."

"Oh, it's - "

"Tiggie," Itachi cuts me off, making his father's and my eyes glance toward him. My name is very much not 'Tiggie' and he knows that. What the hell are you on right now, Itachi?

"Tiggie?" His father repeats, stone eyes back on me. Well, at least I know where Itachi gets his death grip sight from. "Your parents must have lacked... futuristic thinking skills."

"Dad."

"Fugaku," Itachi and his mother say at the same time, shooting the same glare at the man across the table. "Don't mind him, Sweetie. He's just old and set in the past," she says, this time setting down a pitcher of juice. A couple of grumbles come from her husband but he doesn't comment on my 'name' again.

     Itachi's hand moves again, bumping against my leg before wrapping around my wrist for the hundredth time. When his fingers slide into place, the uncomfortable fear causing light to flicker through my senses before the room goes dark like the night sky. Instantly I drop my head down, staring at the table. It looks about the same, with a few aging marks present now.

"Anyway, Tiggie," Fugaku starts, making me panic more. "You're on the same squad as Itachi, your family must have some decent skills."

"Ya, my older brother is a bodyguard for the Hokage. More specifically Lord Fourth, but he served under Lord Third now," I answer toward the table, glancing my eyes to the left.

Nothing is there, no Itachi despite his hand clinging to my wrist and no sign of his mother even though I can hear her clinking around the kitchen. I quickly glance to the right, my stomach dripping at the sight. Itachi's parents are kneeling on the ground, the tip of a sword poking out from between them.

Do I look? Do I not look? I should look, I should see what's going on. What if they're being murdered? What if it's an attack on Itachi's clan? What if it's an attack on the village?

"That's impressive. An older son protecting our leader and a younger daughter in one of the top anbu squad. Your parents must be proud," Fugaku says, his spot being a void when I glance up. What do I do? How do I get out of this scenario? Detach Itachi?

"They were, yes," I mutter, taking a peak to the right again, lifting my head higher this time.

"Were?"

The question barely registers, the whole of my mind taken up by the person on the other end of the sword. My telling is that of Itachi murdering his parents, of his parents willingly dying at the hand of their son, of him dressed in his anbu uniform soaked in blood with his mask resting on the top of his head.

"Hey? Are you okay?" Itachi asks from my side, his hand dropping my wrist to shake my shoulder.

"Um... ya," I mumble, shifting to look at where I think he is in reality.

"Your... eyes," he mutters, dropping his hold on me. "You... what is... dad?" He continues, hand cupping my face to shift it toward his father.

While my head is kept in place, I shift my eyes to the side again, a gag surfacing as I watch future Itachi slice his mother's throat. My hand jumps up, covering my mouth as I try to use my breathing to settle my churning stomach.

"I didn't know there were any dojutsu users in the village aside from the Hyuga and our clan. Well, and Kakashi," Fugaku mutters, the sound of him shifting leading the touch of his fingers to my cheek. "What is it that you can see with those eyes of yours, child?"

"Uh... it just... just snips of the future," I mutter, not able to pull my eyes away as I watch the future version of my friend kill his father as well.

"Fukagu, stop pestering the young lady."

A swat follows the statement, along with a groan. "You didn't have to smack me with the spoon, Mikoto. I'm just curious how her eyes work."

"She is our guest. Tiggie is here to get to know us and eat, not to be questioned about her abilities. Leave the girl alone," Mikoto bites back, smacking her husband with the spoon again.

A small boy runs through my vision, causing future Itachi to panic for a moment before evening out again. "I didn't know you had a brother," I mutter, watching the boy fall to his knees, clinging to his head as he freaks out.

"How do you know that?" Itachi mutters, the feeling of his hand waving in front of my face mixing with his words.

Future Itachi walks out of the room, the ending light of my vision following before the sight of present Itachi's hand fills my view. "I just had a vision of him is all," I mutter, rubbing my eyes in circles a few times. "What's your brother's name?"

"Sasuke," he answers, his face replacing his hand when my eyes flicker open. "He'll be joining us soon." Itachi smiles softly at me before shifting back in place.

"Are you alright, child?" Fukagu asks, eyes intense as he looks at me, curiosity swirling in them. "What did you see?"

"Fukagu!" Mikoto yells at her husband again, hands on her hips as she glares at her husband.

"Just Itachi and Sasuke... having a sibling... dispute," I mutter, trying to find a way to be truthful without giving too much away.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do with this vision. Do I tell Fukagu? Mikoto? Itachi? Genma? Do I tell the Hokage? Do I ask the Captain for guidance? Maybe I misunderstood what happened. Though it's pretty impossible to misunderstand Itachi murdering his parents. Why would he do that? When does he do it? It has to be sometime soon since he didn't look much different than he does now.

"Hmm..." Fukagu hums, letting his eyes close. "How unusual. Our boys tend to get along. They're pretty inseparable, though I suppose with age they're more likely to draw apart."

"I guess so," I mutter, shifting away when Itachi tries to grab my wrist again.

———————————

I can feel Itachi's eyes on me as he trails after Dog and me. It's been a few days since my dinner with his parents, since my vision, and I haven't decided what to do about it.

     I have decided to avoid him as much as possible, which has been a little difficult. We work together so I'm mandated to spend time with him every day. Even though I've had the Captain walk me home recently, Itachi still trails after us, two or three paces behind like he doesn't believe I'll get home safely without him. He keeps trying to talk to me, which I don't ignore, but I do try to keep it short and swallow.

     "What is going on with you two?" Doggie asks, leaning a bit closer to attempt to keep our whispers between us.

     "Nothing," I mutter, shifting away. I've been on edge about touching another person since the dinner party. I even refused to hug Genma before he left for another mission this morning. I feel bad about it now, but I didn't want to take the chance. On the plus note, he should be home tonight so I'll make sure to hug him extra tight when he's home.

     "Tiggie, I know - "

     "Thank you for walking me home," I cut him off, waving goodbye before dashing down the road toward my house.

     The Captain stalls for a moment before turning around to leave. Itachi doesn't do the same though, strolling down the street after me. Despite his dedication, I slam my front door in his face. It's not nice and I know that, but I still can't deal with him right now, even if he hasn't done anything wrong... yet.

     "Tiggie," he calls, knocking on the door I'm resting against. "I don't know why you're upset with me but I am sorry for whatever I did."

     "You can't be sorry for something you don't know about!" Or something you haven't technically done yet, or might not ever do.

     "Well... I guess. Tell me what I did then. Was it my dad? I know he can be a dick," he continues to talk, knock after knock following his words. "Let me make it up to you. Tiggie, please?"

     Slowly I give in, pushing myself off the door and gently turning the handle. "I don't want to talk to you right now," I mutter, clinging to the cracked door as I peek out of it.

     "Why not?" He asks, leaning against the door but being careful not to push it open. Itachi's eyes peek back at me, the darkness of them pooling in the center, sending shivers down my spine. They look so soft, so concerned, but terrify me so much. "What did I do?"

     "You're going to kill your parents," I spill out, unable to hold it in any longer. I need to tell someone, even if the someone is the murderer I saw in action. "And you'll make Sasuke freak out, which makes sense seeing your parents dead and all," I mutter the last part, resting my eyes on the ground, finally being able to pull my eyes apart from his.

     "What?"

     "I don't want to talk about it," I mutter, starting to close the door.

     "You have to!" He yells, hands slamming against the door and shoving it open. I jump back, eyes snapping around the front door to take note of the kunais hidden in its frame. "I'm sorry. I didn't... I'm sorry I scared you, I didn't mean to. I just... I..."

     I shift forward, sliding my fingers under the frame, toying with the edge of one of the knives. "A lot is going on with the clan and... I need to know what you saw. I need you to see more!" Itachi rushes out, panicking as he leans forward to cling to my shoulders. "I just... Tiggie," he mutters, taking a few deep breaths. "I'm going to tell you a secret. A like, my clan will wipe Genma and you off the face of the planet, secret and... in return, you tell me what you saw."

     "How the hell is that a fair deal?!" I shriek, tugging the knife from its spot and swishing it at Itachi.

     He catches it with no issue, clinging to my wrist in his usual softness but keeping my arm in place. "It's not and I'm sorry, but I don't know what to do and I'm guessing you don't know what to do either. We could help each other like friends are supposed to do."

———————————

Itachi's chest slowly falls up and down as he sleeps, arms wrapped around me like I'll run away while he sleeps. I might have if I wasn't wrapped so tight.

     Genma's footsteps mix with the rerunning sound of my conversation with Itachi. The conversation terrifies me. The thought of a civil war breaking out terrifies me. The thought that this is a setup by Itachi or his clan or both terrifies me and makes me worried they're going to use me as some sort of fortune-telling compass for their coup. At the moment though, the thought of Genma catching a boy in my bed terrified me more.

     I tug at Itachi's arms, managing to untangle them from around me. The boy stirs a bit but ends up turning over instead of waking up. I let out a soft sigh as I climb out of my bed, leaving him alone as I quietly make my way out of my room.

     "Oh, there you are, Peanut. I was just about to check your room," Genma greats, tiredness present on his face as he makes a fresh pot of coffee.

     I head towards my brother, trying my best to not make my movements seem panicked. I curl against Genma's chest, arms tightly around his waist as I bury my head into him. "I missed you."

     "I missed you too, Peanut," he mutters, pressing a kiss to my head and wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

     "But?" I ask, picking up on his tone.

     "But I'm just stopping home for a change of clothes and some coffee. I'm heading out on another mission in thirty minutes."

     "Really?"

     "Really," he mutters, pressing another kiss into my hair. "I should be home in two or three days. Raido will be over in the morning to chill with you while I'm away."

     "Great," I grumble, nuzzling my face against him. I should tell Genma what Itachi told me. Genma could keep me safe, could keep the village safe. Or maybe it'll make everything worse. I don't know what to do.

     "You should get back to bed. I'm sure you'll have a busy day tomorrow. I love you, Peanut."

     "I love you too," I mutter, squeezing him tighter before slowly pulling away. "I'll see you in a couple of days."

     My heart pounds as I make my way back to my room. It pounds even more when I creak my door open, being met with glowing sharingans. "Sorry, Tiggie. I didn't realize it was you," he mutters, turning the glow off before he flops back down. "Come here."

I slowly crawl back into bed, Itachi wrapping me up instantly and tugging me down. He flips us around, using my body to press himself into the mattress. "What are you doing?" I mutter, clinging to his shirt, not sure if I want to tug him closer or shove myself off of him.

"Sasuke usually crawls into bed with me at night and curls up on my chest. It feels weird not sleeping like that," Itachi explains, one hand rubbing my back and the other one knotting in my hair, laying my head on his chest. "Just... lay down until I fall asleep, please."

"Alright," I mutter, letting myself relax against him. "You should go home."

"If I go home I'm taking you with me."

"You should go home alone."

"That's not an option. We sleep here or we sleep at my house."

I let out a sigh, not having the energy or willpower to fight him. "Alright, we can stay here, but just for tonight."

———————————

My nerves bounce as I walk into the locker room. Itachi was gone when I woke up this morning, which was good because I don't know how I feel about him. I don't know what I feel about the Uchiha coup, or about what I saw, or about him spending the night last night. On the other hand, I was a bit sad when I woke up and he was gone.

     "There you are," Captain calls when I walk through the door, shoving my duty report into my hands. "Border watch is down two people so I signed Itachi and you up to fill in. Report to the Hokage in an hour," he races out before ducking out of the room, two or three members following after him.

     "Great," I mutter under my breath, beelining for my locker. I pop the door open, exchanging greetings with Squirrel. "What's your duty report for the day?"

     "I'm working as Hokage palace guard. How about you?" She asks, fixing the straps of her vest.

"Boarded watch."

"Oh that sucks," she mutters, leaning against her locker as she talks to me. "So what's been up with you and the - "

"Good Morning, Tiggie," Itachi's voice butts in, a soft squeeze left to my shoulders before he settles in front of his spot.

"Never mind," Squirrel mutters, a teasing glance sent my way as she smiles. I roll my shoulders a few times, trying to shake off the feeling of Itachi's hands on them. Seeing him and feeling him touching me again makes up my mind for me; Itachi and his clan scare me and I want nothing to do with them. "Just kidding to my 'never mind'? What's going on with you two?" She asks, now looking confused as her eyes flicker between the two of us.

"Nothing is going on. Stop worrying about it," I mutter, focusing on getting myself dressed.

"If you say so," she says, pushing herself to her feet before filtering out of the locker room, leaving Itachi and me alone.

"Tiggie," Itachi calls, his voice right next to my ear, soft and soothing. How could this man ever be a murderer? "I want to thank you for letting me spend the night and apologize for leaving you alone this morning," he continues, hands ghosting over my hips before they fall away.

"It was no problem. There was stuff that needed to be cleared up," I mumble, trying to ignore the shivers twirling from the spots Itachi touched. "We should get going. The Hokage is expecting us," I add, grabbing my mask and turning to head out of the room.

I crash into Itachi because of his closeness, him standing a lot closer than I was expecting. His hand catches my wrist like usual, eyes wide looking down at me, and lips crashing against mine. "I am sorry," he says slowly, moving even slower as he pulls away from me, fingers tightening his hold. "This is not how I spent the night imagining kissing you. I will make it up to you alongside making up for leaving you in bed alone."

"What?" I ask, being dragged forward as Itachi heads for the door. He stops in front of it, positioning his mask on his face before snatching my mask from my hand, and starting to place it on my face.

He stalls for a moment, my mask half covering my face, blocking my eyes because of its position. Itachi's lips brush against mine again, this time soft and gentle, unlike the surprise kiss. "That will have to do for now. I will give you a better kiss when we do not have a duty to fulfill," he mutters, tugging my mask into place before dragging me out of the room.

———————————

Itachi sits on my bed, dressed in a casual shirt and pajama pants, as he looks over his notes. Our 'just for tonight' accidental sleepover was ten - or was it eleven? - weeks ago. He's gotten a good feel for when my brother is around or not. If Genma is home, he sneaks in at some point in the night, which kind of freaks me out. If Genma is away Itachi comes and goes pretty freely. Now that I'm thinking about it, I wonder if he's using his Anbu clearance to check my brother's whereabouts.

"My..." he stops for a second, blinking slowly before focusing on the sheet in his hand again. "Tiggie?"

"Tachi?"

"I have an idea... a really bad idea," he mutters, his hands tightening and relaxing around the paper he keeps reading.

"An idea for what?" I ask, turning my head so I can look at him better as I lay on my bed.

"How to hopefully stop the coup."

"Oh," I mutter, sitting up straight. "And what might that idea be?"

     His jaw clenches and relaxes a few times, in the way I've noticed he does when he's trying to keep his sharingan off. "There's a rumor about this jutsu that... brings back the dead."

     "How is that going to help?" I ask, resting my head on his shoulder so I can read over the paper as well. The word 'reanimation' is scribbled on the top in sloppy almost doctor-like handwriting.

     "The whole coup planning started after Lord Fourth died. Do you know why?" I shake my head no before settling it down again. "The village believes the clan is behind the Nine Tail attack."

     "That was five or six years ago."

     "I know. The only person who knows what really happened that night is Lord Fourth. He was busy, you know, saving the village so he didn't have a chance to tell anyone what was happening... before he died."

     "So...?" I ask, not quite sure where Itachi is going with this.

     "So, if I can figure out how to do the jutsu, we can bring Lord Fourth back and have him clear everything up with the village. If tensions from the village loosen, maybe the clan won't feel like we need to do the coup. You could hopefully come to a peaceful conclusion."

     This sounds incredibly dangerous and dumb. Itachi wants to make a zombie Hokage talk to the village and just hope that fixes everything? How long will it take to learn this jutsu? How will time be bought until he can fulfill his plan? "What if it doesn't work?"

     He stays quiet for a beat or two before turning to look at me. "Almost everyone in the village, the council included, thinks we caused the attack. If the council hears from Lord Fourth that it wasn't our fault, they'll lose one of the main biases against us. Then they'll have to be more peaceful, more understanding. Besides, Lord Fourth will make a statement or something to the village so the council can't cover it up. It'll work... it has to work," Itachi whispers the last part like he's just as unsure about the situation as I am.

"If you say so," I utter, tugging my touch away from him before lying down in bed again. "How are you going to learn the jutsu?"

"I believe it's in the forbidden jutsu scroll. I'm going to break in and look over with my sharingan so I can memorize it."

"What?!" I shriek, sitting up straight again. "You can't do that! You can't do a forbidden jutsu! What are you thinking, Itachi?"

"Oh, yes. How dare I break a rule to save the village from civil war," he mutters, moving his papers off the bed, and leaving them piled on the floor. He shifts around, arms around my sides before he rests his head on my shoulder. "It's just an idea," Itachi whispers, nuzzling his head against me. "I'll talk it over with Shisui, he'll be able to help me think it through."

"Okay," I whisper back, toying with his ponytail.

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[powerfulscribbles]

In Need of Aid - A G/t Elden Ring fic (4)

Prologue | Chp. 1 | Chp. 2 | Chp. 3 | Chp. 4

Chapter 4: Mercy

->Read the chapter on ao3 (registered users)<-

Chapter summary: Varré tends to Valyssa's wounds, discovers the truth behind the creation of the potion and plans his future moves.

Warnings: mentions and implications of physical and psychological torture, someone gets their throat sliced, very minor character death.

This story contains g/t stuff, so if that's not your thing it's in your best interest to click away! Thank thee kindly~

Words: 6,3k~

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As Varré appeared in his apartment with Valyssa in his embrace, a velvet pillow in cardinal color on his desk was already prepared for her. That’s where he placed her, like a delicate flower just picked from a garden, in a relaxed but composed sleeping position, her arms resting beside the torso.  

After changing back to his war surgeon attire, his mask back on his face, he ignited the wooden logs in the fireplace with some flint stone, the small flames starting to make their appearance to heat up the room.

The soporific grease should do its job for at least a long night’s duration. There is more than enough time to set up everything properly.

First of all however, let’s have a look at those wounds of yours.

Sitting on a wooden stool, he leaned forward towards the unconscious knight, his pale golden eyes immediately drifted to her slumbering face.  

She looked so peaceful, asleep like that. Her small chest raised and descended as she breathed, the movement barely visible.

Come to think of it, this was the first time he had seen her without her armor plate. Only her gauntlets, arm pieces and greaves had remained on her. And due to her current size, her weight was now almost irrelevant. He could lift her up like nothing, just as he had done just now, while attempting the same endeavor with her full body armor on her normal height would’ve required a great effort.

Admittedly though, it’s as clear as day your need of a brand new breastplate. Evidently Yura and that loathsome merchant did what was best in your interest and removed it for your safety.  

Despite the concern however, the surgeon could do nothing but stare dreamily at the sight.

So delicate and frail… But strong enough to bring a demigod to his knees...

His thumb caressed her uncovered neck, brushing over her muscles and warm skin; he could feel some scars sticking out.

These are old. One can only wonder the weapons and the enemies that inflicted them upon her…

He inspected her back as well, and the lack of her sword didn’t surprise him too much.  

No wonder you couldn’t defend yourself back in the cave… but it doesn’t matter. I will tend to that.

Now, let’s not allow our mind to wander too much here.

He inspected her arms, hands and legs first, in search of unseen drops of crimson that would suggest any kind of bleeding. They looked undamaged, covered by her armor.  

Moving on, her torso and abdomen were covered in a single dirty bandage line that was clearly too big for her. Bloodstains highlighted where her wounds were, and they went from her chest to her waist.

Considering the rest of her armor, it’s very likely she was wearing the chest plate as well during the fight. But knowing the nature of Nerijus’ weapon, the blood slashes from his jagged dagger surely ignored the solid layer of metal and immediately impacted the skin and flesh underneath.  

He absent-mindedly clenched his fist. That half-wit will pay for this. The thought was soon brushed off for the moment.  

On a closer inspection, however, Varré noticed her arming jacket had not been removed before patching her up, and it was then underneath the dressing.

Although it appeared like a clumsy method of attending after someone’s wounds, it was clear that whoever took care of her after Nerijus’ invasion had prioritized preventing excessive blood loss from occurring.

He sighed at the sight. As much as he despised Yura, at least he did his best to save her life.  

The bandage needs changing, allowing the arming jacket to be safely removed and the open wounds treated properly.

So Varré opened a drawer from his work desk to remove a loupe and its leather belt, along with a few cotton bits. After wearing it, he focused the lenses on her face. They highlighted some visible bug bites on the low side of her cheeks and chin, and many more were present on her neck.  

Damage from the flies contained in swarm pots. Nerijus wasn’t lying in that regard, at least.

Though the lacerations don’t look infected, they would likely put her in danger if not properly disinfected. Those flies’ fangs are prone to be as unforgiving as they are painful.

“As much as it pains me, I can’t have you bathe in these conditions” he whispered.

His hand slipped into this pouch by default, rustling into it to grab the tiniest pair of scissors he owned.  

“So we’re going to do it my way.”

With extreme carefulness and at the slowest pace, he severed the bandage by left and right. He removed it with care, placing it aside.

Now the worst part had to come. Her arming jacket looked like it was glued to her skin, especially by the bleeding area. Big spots of crimson color marked the bleeding spots.  

It seems I have no other choice but to cut that as well. Forgive me dear. I promise to repair it myself as soon as I’m able to.

Any attempt at taking it off from her could’ve hurt immensely. So at the very same slow pace as before, the scissors cut through the jacket from her waist to her shoulder.  

Peeling it off despite Valyssa being in a deep slumber was a risk, but Varré made sure to moisten her skin and the fabric with a small chunk of cotton imbued in water from a nearby wooden bowl. So when the white mask finished to lift it off of her, not even a whimper left her lips.

The surgeon sighed in relief.

Brilliant. And now that’s out of the way, let’s see how the major injuries are doing.  

Two large slashes marked her abdomen, and another reached the lower side of her chest and ended above her belly button. They didn’t look like deep cuts, and thankfully the bleeding had already ceased.  

His eyes also fell onto some noticeable bruises, some more recent than others.  

It’s a wonder you could walk at all… How come you were even able to flee like that?

A golden object dangling by her hip caught his attention. It was half-empty of a miraculous drink.  

Ah, the flask of Crimson Tears. That explains it. And top of that, it alleviated a good amount of pain, allowing you to recover. Even for a moment.

And oh, how could I ever forget those wretched Warming Stones? Pitiful.

He huffed, standing up and heading to the closest cabinet to gather another bowl, some Herba leaves and a few short branches of Eye of Yelough.

Grabbing a mortar, he added the ingredients and crushed them together into a fine, dark-greenish paste.  

He then poured some water in the bowl, and after soaking another cotton wad the white mask began to clean the slashes and the rest of her exposed skin, with very delicate movements.

Once he was finished, he gently applied the moist compress on the bites and wounds.  

This should lessen the pain and close up the cuts faster.  

And finally, an appropriate dressing for you, he thought, opening another drawer to grab some bandage. With the minute scissors he cut a strip of it in a thin line, then carefully wrapped it around her middle. He finished the job with a slim iron pin, to hold the bandages in place.  

Varré smiled satisfactorily.  

There. All’s been taken care of.  

A gurgling sound coming from the ground behind him caught his ear, and he raised from his stool in response.

A Sanguine Noble appeared from a pool of blood, carrying a big tome adorned in polished gems in his long, slender arm.  

“Oh wonderful, you retrieved our priest of blood’s Masterbook. Did you have any trouble… forcing your entry in his private rooms?”

The surgeon was surprised at the negative response from the noble servant of blood, as he shook his hooded head.

“No? And how were you able to break in, then?” he inquired.

The robed noble showed him an old key, and leaned in to whisper something in Varré’s ear.

“You have found it amongst Nerijus’ belongings after he was searched? How peculiar. It must have fallen into his possession through foul means” the surgeon commented observing the key.  

“Well then, your job is done. In the name of the Luminary, I thank you for your patience and cooperation” he said, soon turning to the creature in the dark robe.

Though Varré glanced at Valyssa for one moment before he stopped the creature in his steps.

“Actually, one more thing. I need you to summon me the dynasty blacksmith, with haste. And in case he laments the late hour, make sure to inform him that it’s an urgent matter.”

The Sanguine Noble bowed politely as he acknowledged the order, before sinking back into the scarlet pool he came out of.

And that’s been settled as well.

Returning to his work desk, he reached another drawer to draw out a measuring tape, a piece of paper, his quill and the inkpot.

Before Festus arrives however, I’m keeping note of your sizes. So he doesn’t have to handle you more than necessary.

He did his best to avoid raising her from the pillow, measuring all the lengths and widths regarding her torso, waist, shoulders, neck and upper thighs singularly, and writing them down one at a time.  

Done, he concluded. 

Well then, let us focus on this famed Masterbook in the meantime. In truth, only Esgar should be allowed to consult it and leave writing on it, but given the circumstances he would turn a blind eye to the violation.

The white mask removed the seal from the adorned tome, and opened it carefully. From the way the ancient pages looked, the book must have been around for no less than a few hundred years.  

Inside were copious prayers and canticles, dedicated to the Mother of Truth, written in blood with different handwritings.

This tome must have been passed from priests of blood to their successors for generations. Such an admirable dedication to our Lord and his cause.  

Nothing however, not even the most recent pages, mentioned anything about blood magic experiments.

Mh. Something is amiss…

And that’s when he realized. The rear end of the book cover appeared inexplicably swollen. Less attentive eyes would claim it a form of deterioration in the material, but it looked too unnatural to be a product of decay.

With a click, a part of the gem-mounted cover opened, and a pocket-sized leather notebook fell out.  

Oh? What’s this now?

The surgeon raised the newfound object to inspect it. Only a thin leather thread held it closed, and it was slightly worn out.

Could this be…

Upon undoing the knot and checking the pages, the change in ink and topic was immediate.

“Day 25 of the 4th month in the year of our Almighty Lord.

After months of research, today is the day I will start experimenting to create more blood magic, and expand our weapons for the dynasty.  

I’ve been interesting myself in the wonders of primal glintstone. A source of magic so close to the power of the Formless Mother… It requires more attention.  

The old sorcerers of yore would slice open their hearts with blades to imbue a primal glintstone with their soul, losing their lives in the process. Those blades would then remain coated in their own blood.  

So, what if there was a way to channel blood magic into a primal glintstone, but without harming the caster?”

A journal? Esgar’s, from what it seems. How intriguing.

The surgeon skipped some pages and went on ahead.  

“Day 15 of the 5th month of the year of our Almighty Lord.

The primal glintstone experiment was a success. Out of the 5 second-generation albinaurics I had picked, I was able to extract their souls from 3 of them, their mercury-like blood coating the glintstone. The other 2 instead have perished in agony. It’s a shame. But no one is going to miss them, or even notice that they’re gone. I’ll let the dogs clean that up, and then find some more guinea pigs.

More albinaurics fit just fine; their nature of creatures created by human hands makes them more easily replaceable than human test subjects, and more optimal candidates for this kind of experiments as well. Not that humans will be exempt from them in the future, of course.

Now, I will try to extract their souls from the primal glintstones. If my calculations are correct, given that they were taken forcefully from their respective host, coating them in blood while chanting the right enchantment will make them turn into pure, malleable magic. Perfect to be utilized as I please.”

The albinaurics? They’re creatures under the Luminary’s protection, Esgar knows that too well. They shouldn’t be involved or forced into participating in harmful experiments! Didn’t he have any other option?

“Day 2 of the 6th month of the year of our Almighty Lord.

I have been discovered. The Bloody Finger Nerijus approached me in the chapel today, to ask why the albinaurics that I would bring in my chambers never came back out. And here I thought I was being discreet…

I did my best to dismiss him, but he insisted. He wanted to know if I needed them to create new spells, or develop some alchemical formulas. I wasn’t pleased by this sudden interest of his in my works. But he demanded the truth. And in exchange for his silence, the final product of my experiments. Or else he’d report me to the higher ranks for harming and disposing of the albinaurics.  

Even if he has no conclusive evidence, if they searched my apartment they would eventually find out everything. But I only told him what he wanted to know. I can’t have a dodgy Bloody Finger blackmail me and meddle with my affairs, oh the arrogance. He’ll hear what he wants to hear, and I’ll hand him the most innocuous product of my research.  

To run with the hares and hunt with the hounds, as they say.”

The surgeon glanced at the poor Valyssa for a moment, and at her wounds now covered in the dark green compress.  

Innocuous, yes… but to whom?

He shook his head in disbelief.

Let’s get to the bottom of this.

“Day 18 of the 6th month of the year of our Almighty Lord.

The Luminary came to me in a dream, and ordered me to locate his Shackle and bring it to the dynasty. It’s a great honor, one that takes the priority over everything else. So I’m putting all my experiments to a halt for the moment.

All that can be said until now is that the potential of primal glintstone is almost endless, if only limited to the acquirement of souls. And even then, after several attempts I finally managed to extract an unique potion, the very first product of my research.

It took some time, and ulterior tests, but whoever drinks it will have their size severely reduced. Its effects are even more effective in case of blood loss, thanks to the innate characteristics of primal glintstone and the blood that functioned as catalyst for the creation of the pure magic.

Although a shrinking draught might sound flimsy, it’s a good first step in the right direction to develop more potions and different blood magic sorceries. Especially with taking into consideration the fact that if actively combined within a potion, an albinauric’s blood can block out all healing because of its so specific nature.  

However, it can’t be handed to Nerijus without its antidote, which would completely reset the potion’s effects. And even though I didn’t have the time to gather the ingredients needed for its preparation yet, I’ll be listing them below.  

Either way, Nerijus was informed about the potion and given a general idea of how it functions. Now he only has to be patient enough and await my return, if he really wants it that badly.  

I’m departing tomorrow for the city of Leyndell with my good pooches Slasher and Mauler. Despite my mission, I’m looking forward to make my way back to the dynasty and develop new blood incantations and tools. The shrinking potion is really just the beginning for the Age of Blood."

The next pages were all blank, except for the recipe of the antidote. That confirmed the last time Esgar had written on his journal was the day before he left for the Altus Plateau.

I see. This is the final proof that Nerijus stole the potion. And there’s no antidote? Mh.

How are we going to proceed, then?  

Varré’s eyes focused on the slumbering miniature woman next to the tome. He gently picked her up and leaned in, as to speak with her.

You’re not going to remain this small until Esgar is back from the capital, this I promise you.  

The underground area of the city is a terrible maze, and don’t see why we should stay in idleness until then.

“I’ll create the antidote myself. Finding the right ingredients for the recipe shouldn’t be too hard. So, what is needed then?”

“Antidote:

•    The hardened tail of two glintstone fireflies, to reinforce the bond between life and glintstone;

•    Some chunks of crystal cave moss to purify the drinker’s blood from the diminishing potion;

•    A vial of troll blood that would revert its effects and enlarge the victim’s back to normal;

•    Some of victim’s blood, of course;

•    And finally, a few arteria leaves that would channel the antidote faster through the veins.”

Mix them all together and enchant the final product with a spell: a tribute to the Mother of Truth that craves wounds. Only then the antidote could be safely drunk.”

The surgeon put the rust-haired woman on her pillow again and took note of the ingredients and the procedure. Most of them we not too difficult to find, exceptions being the rare arteria leaves and the troll’s blood, very challenging to obtain.

And he did find himself frowning at the line about Valyssa’s blood.

How very unfortunate. We shall wait to gather more blood from you however, my lambk-

Suddenly, the sound of approaching footsteps resonated in the empty corridor. Varré shut the Masterbook and swiftly inserted the journal back into its nook, stuffing the list of ingredients for the antidote inside a pouch from his belt.

He also made to sure to move a stone bench that was near the wall closer to the middle of the room, right before his desk.  

Not too long after a knock reverberated from outside his apartment door.

“Come in” the surgeon spoke, carefully raising his mask to wipe his forehead with a cloth.  

The Sanguine Noble he had sent on his way earlier slithered inside, followed by a lumbering lesser Omen dressed in a thick leather apron. His various cut horns, present in different spots of his body, stuck out.  

“There you are. I’ve been awaiting you.”  

“Apologies. The forge needed cleaning and the usual tidying up” the blacksmith excused himself.

“Do not be concerned about it. Please, have a seat” the white mask spoke, gesturing the bench in a welcoming manner. He then eyed the Noble with a quick nod that they were allowed to leave, and the Sanguine servant did just that, disappearing in the usual blood pool.  

“Don’t mind if I do” the Omen said quietly, sitting down on the designated seat.

“… So. I think we can drop the formality and get more acquainted now” the blacksmith suggested, getting comfortable. “What do you need, Varré?”

The surgeon did not answer but approached his desk, picking up Valyssa from the velvet pillow as delicately as possible to show her to the Omen, whose eyes moved onto.  

“So this is her… She looks even smaller than I thought.” Festus commented. "Is that a birthmark on her left cheek?" he observed.

“Mh. It is. I’m surprised you already know about her” the white mask pointed out, looking at the Omen with curiosity.

“Words of the incident must have spread so swiftly through the dynasty: in fact, only a small handful of high ranking members are supposed to be aware of what has transpired” the man concluded. He then focused on positioning Valyssa in a safe spot on his neck drape against his chest, where he supported her with a hand.

“To be fair, it doesn’t happen very often that a Bloody Finger is dragged to a prison cell, fighting like his life depended on it, cursing and screaming like a crazed revenant. So news spread like the plague” the Omen joked.

“That being said, to me is only natural to feel curious about… uncommon incidents” he kept going, showing his massive teeth as he grinned amusedly. “And it would be hard to believe that a Tarnished one had been reduced to the size of a little girl’s doll, if I didn’t have her right before me as we speak.”

“Nerijus had that coming to him. He has to learn the consequences of his actions. If hunting down fellow Tarnished as he pleased with neither rules nor discipline was what he was really after, he could’ve joined the Recusants at Volcano Manor instead. Becoming a Pureblood Knight is a serious matter, all but the chaos and mess he has caused” the golden-eyed man affirmed with a stern tone.

“I have to agree. She could’ve easily died by his hand, and that would’ve caused great damage to the dynasty.”

“It’s worth mentioning that Nerijus had been toying with her instead of going for the killing right away, hence the shrinking in size. And his stall was consequently foolish enough that it gave the Hunter Yura the time to save her and defeat him. Though I’ll question her once she awakens, to confirm my suspicions. She appeared in extreme distress about the invasion even when I came to collect her", Varré continued, deciding to sit down behind his desk again.

“Also, I gave order to slip a couple of frenzied, starving rats inside his cell as he sleeps through the nights in pitch black darkness. Do you think he'll appreciate the surprise?” the surgeon smirked, amused at his own idea.

“Oh, I’m not too sure” the Omen joked as he grinned. “Small Fingercreepers were a good option as well. Or some skeletal slimes, those are nasty to get rid of without some kind of fire source.”

The suggestions seemed to please the masked physician.

“Indeed. I have something else planned for him, but I’ll await for confirmation from my dearest before acting. After all, a good vengeance must be served cold…”

“And all of this because he went against the dynasty’s laws for Bloody Fingers” Festus declared.  

“Correct. He was to inform a superior before heading out on an invasion. But since revealing who you’re invading is mandatory, he decided to skip the whole procedure entirely and go behind everyone’s back. Violet Finger Eleonora’s and mine, if we want to be more specific.”

“How so? And might I ask, is there some kind of… bureaucracy, for invasions?” the blacksmith queried.

“A list of Tarnished who are not to be bothered with invasions exists since the dawn of Luminary Mohg’s illuminated reign. And our dear Valyssa’s name had been written in it, as I have current plans to anoint her as a Pureblood Knight. Other names include our own, and those of other allies through the Lands Between. Nerijus should’ve picked another target entirely” Varré explained.

“Though one can’t injure a Bloody Finger sibling themselves. It’s strictly forbidden. To solve disputes and matters, a council composed by me, Violet Bloody Finger Eleonora and Esgar administers justice and decides to punish those who commit crimes such as this. And if we are lucky - or the culprit misfortunate enough, in my perspective - we are then blessed with the radiant Luminary’s presence, and it would be him overseeing the specific case and eventual trial.”

“I understand now. I had never meddled with this stuff, but it’s very good to know. Going back to the main topic though. What’s my role in all of this, Varré?” the blacksmith finally asked the surgeon, waiting for an answer.

“Right. I’m aware that what I’m going to demand from you might result in a complex chore, despite your remarkable skills.”

“I did craft your Bouquet, a very detailed weapon. I remember it like it was yesterday: a fine masterpiece of a mace. One of my best works.”

“I share the same thought. However, this time, as strange as it might sound, I want you to forge a tiny greatsword and a chest plate for her. As of now, we are unaware of whether she might need them for so long, but she should be provided with such until she’s in that state. And I imagine it’s not going to be a simple task for you, as I’ve said”.  

“The greatsword shouldn’t be too complicated. I have some scraps-“

“No, it must be perfect, in mint condition. Well crafted and in the best material you can find. I will not have her settle for raw, discarded materials.”

“Alright then. How heavy would she prefer her own armor? Is it coming with tassets? Have you measured her sizes already?”

“Mh. Personally, I’d prefer it to be quite as robust as her previous one, if possible. She still is a vagabond knight after all. Though maybe she’d appreciate it being slightly less heavy, to give her more mobility. So yes, make it lighter, and give her some leather tassets like her previous did, and she has her own steed. She will surely appreciate them.”

“And as for the sizes, I’ve already measured her, they’re all written on this sheet right here. But I thought you hoped to give her another look with your expert eyes, as a specialist” the man said right as he handed the note to the Omen.  

The blacksmith gave it a quick read and put the piece of paper away in a pocket of his leather apron.  

“Sounds good to me. I’ll have a final look for good measure, to memorize the proportions of her figure. I’ll hold her-“

“No. I would rather do it myself, if you don’t mind” Varré insisted, causing the Omen to stumble back, even if slightly.  

“Mh. If you insist…” Festus hummed, leaning towards the white mask who raised the diminished Tarnished closer to the blacksmith, who inspected her with expert eyes for a few minutes.  

“All done.”

“Excellent. Thank you for the fundamental aid provided” Varré said, retracting the tiny woman back to his proximity.  

“It’s not too big of deal. And it’s only time I started paying my debt” Festus admitted. “Say though, crafting her sword and armor will take at least a couple of days. What are your plans until then?”

“We’ll stay put for a couple of days to organize our journey, and so she can rest” the surgeon asserted. “She needs all the time she can get to heal and regain strength, before we leave to search the way to adjust her size permanently, as it was before.”

“Oh, she’s coming along? Despite her… shortness?” the Omen asked, skeptical.  

“As much as expectedly dangerous the journey is going to be, she cannot possibly remain all by herself. She is wounded, with no means to defend herself, nor to provide nourishment. There are no utensils that would complement her size yet, and she can’t be trusted to anybody but me” the surgeon spoke, his sighing leaving room for a quivering, quick smile that couldn’t be seen by the Omen and left his lips right away.  

“She needs to be around familiar face after all she’s been through. That will effectively keep her calm and prevent any agitation” Varré continued.

“Oh yeah, I see how it is… Being stuck to 4 inches must… bite, honestly” the Omen spoke.

“You’d need to be dependent on someone else for protection and help. And on top of that, battling demigods would be very problematic, if not impossible. They’re of huge size already, but to her they’re colossal” Festus declared dejectedly, only to break composure immediately after and let out a soft chuckle.  

“Though can you imagine, her challenging General Radahn, the Starscourge, at her current height? Charging against that red-maned beast on foot?”

The Omen stifled a laugh. “She’d be less influential than a pesky dragonfly to him!” he continued, finally giving up and cackling deeply.  

Varré scoffed, crossing his arms in disappointment.

“Do not dwell on that thought too much, be respectful: she is not that reckless of a Tarnished knight. And in case you have forgotten already, she owns a horse. An unique, horned spirit steed.”

“I doubt she will even approach Caelid soon: passing through that place is challenging indeed. Not to mention how unwelcoming it presents itself, corrupted and devoured by the scarlet rot. Instead, I am keen to believe that Rennala, Queen of the Full Moon would be the next shardbearer target on her list”, the man added.

“In any case. Now that you’re here and you’re such in a lively mood, assist me with carrying this heavy armor” the surgeon ordered with a colder tone, gesturing to the banished knight armor he previously wore, before he picked up the bow and the quiver full of arrows with their tips imbued in the lilac substance. “I’ll take these instead.”

“Of course. You’ve been picking up archery again, Varré? It’s been some time since the last time you’ve practi-“

“No, not at all. But making use of sleep-inducing arrows was the only safe method to extract her in safety and not have the enemy’s eyes immediately pointed towards us” the man interrupted him. “The dynasty doesn’t usually incorporate sleepbone arrows in their equipment. And we do not ever leave witnesses. Instead, the armor serves as a decoy. Is that clear?”

“Mmmmm, got it.” The Omen looked at the white mask, mortified. “So. Where are we going?”

“To my medical shack in Liurnia, where we will prepare all things necessary for our journey. Are you ready to come?”

“I am, yes.”  

“Let us be on our way then.”

~ ° ~

“Varré?”

“What is it, Festus?” the physician asked, hiding the bow and arrows under his bed, where the Omen had already placed the banished knight armor pieces.  

“Uhm. My apologies for making fun of her, just now. She must have had a horrible day, maybe one of the worst of her life. And I trust her to be a strong Tarnished, if she really defeated a demigod such as Godrick. I did not intend to offend her skills”, the blacksmith apologized.

“Mh. I appreciate your words. As she would. And I ask you not to underestimate her because of her current situation. She’s a valuable Tarnished, in more ways than one.”

“I understand. Thank you for forgiving me. It won’t happen again.”

The white mask looked at the Omen and hummed. “We shall see. Either way, are you familiar with the frozen corpses, kept in the cold chamber at the dynasty undergrounds? Do you think there is one of a man left still? I need it to accompany the armor decoy.”

The Omen shook his head. “Unfortunately I hardly ever check the area. I couldn’t say.”

Another hum came from the surgeon. “Do not worry. I will find an alternative.”

A desperate knock made their heads turn towards the shack’s wooden door.

“Doctor, doctor! Are you in? Please, it’s an emergency!” a young man’s voice came from outside.

“That sounds like my cue. Good luck Varré, I will see you soon” Festus whispered, but the white mask stopped him before he could leave.

“Wait. Do me another favor, once you’ve departed. Ensure to switch the frenzied rats in Nerijus’ cell with something else, every few days. Nothing too harmful, he mustn’t expire while I’m away. And have some of his meals... disappear, occasionally. We wouldn’t want him to bore himself too much after all, would we?” Varré whispered back, with a soft smirk that matched the one carved on his mask.

The Omen grinned back. “Right, I’ll do that. Goodbye for real now then, Varré.”

A dark crimson portal opened before the blacksmith, closing after he passed through.

“Doctor, please! A man is severely wounded!! He’s losing blood!!” the agitated voice outside howled once more.  

His eyes fell on Valyssa. Her figure was still resting in his neck drape. They couldn’t possibly catch sight of her.

“Coming, just a moment” Varré exclaimed, as he moved some big vials out of the way in a cabinet to place the Tarnished behind them.

He didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of being temporarily separated from her, but he couldn’t risk any more unsolicited attention drawn to her.  

After covering the armor pieces and archery equipment under his bed with a linen cloth, he approached the door.

As soon as Varré lowered the handle, two men – Tarnished, from their looks – rushed in, inviting themselves inside before he could say a word. They were wearing soldier armor and carried a bleeding person, a cleric of some kind judging by the blindfold, the wooden board around his neck and the rugged tunic. The surgeon rushed to their aid, helping them bring the unconscious man to the medical table, where they set him onto.  

Praise the Luminary. I concealed her just in time.  

“Forgive us, we know the hour is late. We were traveling together, but ran into an ambush set by bandits not too far from here. This prophet got the worst treatment, he’s lost a lot a blood already. We were all out of healing items, away from a site of grace, and the only one with curing capabilities was the wounded right there.”

As Varré listened, he checked the senseless heretic’s state. His pulse was almost imperceptible, the skin was pale and clammy, the heart rate very high and his breathing way too fast and ragged for comfort.

The rough fabric of his robe was drenched in blood in the abdomen area and in his upper back. Examining the rips in the cloth, the surgeon saw a deep cut in his belly, and that he had been struck between the shoulder blades, presumably from an unexpected stab from behind.

“Unfortunately, there isn’t much that can be done. He’s lost too much blood already” Varré said in a serious tone, as he raised his gaze to look at the two concerned men.  

“B-but… There must be something you can do!” one of them complained, getting too close to the cabinet where the ampules were kept and checked some out. “Don’t you have some healing remedies-“  

“Gentlemen” Varré said, raising his voice all a sudden. “I cannot say it any other way: your companion is on the brink of death. Nothing could save him now. The only thing that remains to do is releasing him from pain in the fastest and most humane way possible. Allowing him to rest in peace.”

“… A-alright…” the soldier whimpered.

“Good. I’m going to ask you to say your last goodbyes to your perishing friend now, and to step outside this very shack as soon as possible until I say otherwise” the physician in white recommended, trying to keep a polite tone.  

The two warriors quickly nodded, and approached their mate somberly. One caressed the cleric’s shoulder and the other simply watched without saying a word, but his wet eyes and cheeks and his lips contorted in gut-wrenching grief betrayed his emotions.

Not long after the Tarnished stepped back and turned their backs to both Varré and the dying man, leaving the shack and closing the door behind them.

Well then, the surgeon thought, slowly drawing out his Miséricorde that he always kept hanging by his hip.  

With a stoic expression, he covered the bleeding man’s mouth with his gloved hand, using the weight of his own body to pin him against the medical table and swiftly slashed his throat with the sharp dagger. The prophet squirmed slightly despite his unconsciousness, but the umpteenth blood loss and the fatal cut eventually had the best of him and he stopped moving completely.

He cleaned the blood off his blade and sheathed it back in its scabbard. The blood from the wound and the table was wiped away, and a white cloth was then applied to the body, covering it completely.

“It is done. You may return inside, gentlemen” Varré spoke.

“The corpse will be cremated, to avoid the spread of diseases. You may retrieve his ashes in a pot in a couple of days.”

The two Tarnished nodded, one wiping away the tears from his distressed face and the other was visibly struck in pain but said nothing, instead reaching into his pouch to retrieve some runes as payment, that the white mask was glad to receive.

“Thank you. Take care of yourselves. Until next time” the white mask said as he dismissed them.  

As he made sure they were far away, he retrieved Valyssa from behind the vials, covering her with the neck drape again.  

“Such impetuous Tarnished, weren’t they? They could’ve seen you, had they examined the phials more accurately. Not that I don’t acknowledge their grief, I really do. But it would have put you, and me, in an awkward situation indeed.”

And the body issue has been resolved as well. He looked down at the lifeless corpse of the prophet.

“You should’ve seen how much they were weeping for you, your companions. They must have really liked you. Your memory will live on in their hearts. You will be missed and remembered dearly. It is something to be proud of”, the man spoke.

“And what do you know? You’re even the same height as me. The perfect substitute. I won’t even need to head back to the Palace one more time.”

The surgeon stroked the sleeping woman’s figure with his thumb.

“The wind is blowing once more. Everything is finally pointing in the right direction, as it should.”

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