#this is the perfect description of two of my ocs and their relationship

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Hello,

I have a writing prompt for Michael Kaiser (Blue Lock): Kaiser gets into a pr relationship with an actress and they eventually bond and fall in love.

I think he would have a hard time because of his feelings of worthlessness, but this guy has so much potential, I swear, I love him so much.

If you want to go for a "dark side of Hollywood" type of concept, imagine: a young girl who was raised under the pressure of becoming "the perfect star" and surrounded by the chaos of the industry (Idk, the movie Black Swan comes to mind, or the typical representation of Marilyn's life, something along the lines). I think he could bond with someone who is in a similar mind space as him, but who externalizes it differently, remaining kind and such. He definitely needs someone who is empathetic and can see through his insecurities, and I really like the concept of two characters who are hurt helping each other heal.

If you don't want that much drama, scratch the idea of a hurt oc. Think about someone with an "entrepreneur" mindset: someone ambitious, confident, and level headed, who (again) is empathetic and would call him out and help him grow (I'm thinking about sae, but emotionally competent lol).

You don't really have to go for any of this though, it's just meant to get you inspired to write something for my boy Kaiser. I hope it's not too much. Also, there's no rush at all!!

Thank you in advance. I hope you have a good day 🩷

── THE INSTRUMENT

Synopsis: Michael Kaiser is like a rose, and you are the songbird he cannot bear to lose.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Kaiser x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.8k

Content Warnings: fake dating trope, implied/referenced abuse, call me tabito karasu the way i assassinate kaiser’s character in this, open ending, relationship dynamics many would consider…interesting…

A/N: hiiii anon ty for requesting!! i hope that i wrote kaiser in a somewhat satisfactory way 😫 this is my first time writing for him so idk if i got him right 😓 also i have NO idea why but for some reason i decided to write this in the present tense which i literally have never done?? so if it sounds off that’s why 💔 i’m so sorry i really don’t know what possessed me SKDJFSHKL

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

It’s hot and like a bruise, your first phone call with Michael Kaiser. He’s that brand of aggravating and just shy of painful to speak with; morbidly, you wish for the conversation to manifest as some kind of actual injury, perhaps on your upper arm, so you can poke at it until it is tender and blooming. But of course, that sort of thing isn’t possible, so you amuse yourself by tapping your fingers against the counter and considering what you might eat for dinner.

“Did you hear me?” he snaps when you do not respond to his proposition immediately. He speaks with an accent, clipped and short, lending severity to his words even when he’s saying nothing of note. “Miss L/N. It’s in both of our best interests to cooperate.”

He’s not wrong about this. It’s the only reason you’ve stayed on the call for as long as you have — it’s in your best interest. It’s the same for him, too, and the thought almost makes you laugh, because who would’ve expected your interests and his to ever align?

“Of course I heard you,” you say, twisting open your bottle of water, taking a sip and idly wondering if he can hear an accent when you speak, too. It’s difficult for you to notice your own, but maybe to him, you sound as odd as he does to you. “You should learn patience, Mr. Kaiser. Such a heavy request you’re making of me, and yet you demand my answer immediately?”

He huffs. “It’s not something you need to dwell on.”

“It might be,” you say, though it’s not at all. Your mind was made up the moment he asked; everything after that has been nothing more than a ploy to irritate him. You’re good at that, at irritating people. Michael Kaiser is not an exception.

“Miss L/N,” he says again, something like a darker version of pleading creeping into his tone. “Your answer. Now.”

“Well, you already knew before you asked, didn’t you? Naturally, I’ll do it,” you say. “It’s a mutually beneficial partnership. Though I expect you to really try your best, Mr. Kaiser, or else it’ll all be for naught.”

“I could say the same to you,” he says.

“Between the two of us, who is the actress?” you say, chuckling when he is silent. “I am sure that I will be convincing. It’s you who I worry for. Hiding your true feelings has never been one of your strengths, has it? Or you wouldn’t be speaking to me at all.”

“Shut up,” he says after a moment has passed. “I doubt your acting skills are anything to brag about.”

“I know you’ve watched my movies,” you say, and when he doesn’t refute this, you beam. “Have you really?”

“Only because someone I know suggested I should,” he says. “If I want to love you, then I have to understand you. That’s what he told me.”

“And what did you think?” you say.

“I thought that I don’t plan to love you at all, and then I told him as much,” he says, the force of his eye roll transmitting even over the phone. You’re not sure if he’s acting deliberately obtuse or if he really thinks you care about this inane conversation he’s describing, but either way you sigh, because his answer is so telling of his personality.

“I was talking about my movies,” you say.

“I don’t prefer the genre,” he says, and then he’s hanging up with a promise to call you later, if he is so inclined. He doesn’t tell you not to call him, but you feel like he implies it, so you vow to set your phone aside and pay him no mind for the rest of your evening.

I’m dating Michael Kaiser, you type in the body of your email to your manager, who you are certain will be so delighted by this news that he will combust spontaneously upon hearing it. You want to type it again, this unbelievable turn of events, so you do. I’m dating Michael Kaiser. Then you delete the repetition, reverting it once again into a formal email, instead of a giddy celebration over an event which should not prompt giddiness or anything resembling it.

It’s a relationship meant to salvage his ruined reputation and boost your career in one fell swoop, and so it’s a relationship that can only work if it’s formed between you two in particular. He, who is a foul-mouthed soccer prodigy, known better for his crass treatment of others than any actual skills he may possess, and you, a rising star who will do anything to be famous and are already of a serviceable status to be seen with him.

Despite your burst of excitement, the prospect of dating Michael Kaiser isn’t actually a thrilling one. The rumors of his horrid demeanor aren’t rumors, and you know this well, albeit through secondhand accounts. Cruelty is the way that he operates, his so-to-speak basal mode, and because it is so intrinsic to his being, you do not fancy that he will deviate from that malicious rule, even for you.

But you are accustomed to a false existence. Donning a facade and masquerading as a person who you are not is the only thing you are good at, are good for, and this time is no different than every other. You will put on the mask of a woman who is loved by Michael Kaiser, who has tamed that mad emperor and turned him into her sweet pet, and you will once again fool the world into believing you.  

He’s doing an interview today. You’re only aware because he texts you right before and tells you to turn on the TV to a channel you’d never choose if you had a say in the matter. But you’re intrigued and he refuses to explain further, so you do as he commands and find yourself watching as he reclines back in a leather armchair and smirks at the host, who’s clearly nervous.

She’s pretty, her hands shaking but her expression serious. You’ve never seen her before, which means she’s new. Of course, that’s not a surprise; only someone very inexperienced or very stupid would invite Michael Kaiser to their show, and she does not seem to be particularly stupid, so her affliction is the first. 

“Um, Mr. Kaiser, it’s a pleasure to have you with us,” she says, like she cannot quite believe that he is actually there, or like she is afraid of what he might take offense at, or some combination of the two.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he says, all roguish and self-assured, which is such a contrast to his typically surly demeanor that you have to commend the girl for keeping her composure.

They speak at length about his soccer career, throwing around words you do not understand and do not care to. It’s so boring you almost power down the television and tell him you think as much, but then the girl clears her throat, her face turning a comical shade of red as her fists clench the paper she’s been reading off of.

“This last question is from our viewers, but it’s personal, so if you don’t want to answer, then it’s not a problem,” she says, squirming in her chair, probably hoping he does not humiliate her. It will be bad for her career if he does, even if by now everyone knows what kind of person he is.

“Go on, then. I feel like we’ve built a rapport here, so I don’t mind it as much if it’s from you,” he says. It’s a perfectly packaged sentiment. His PR team must have tortured him into this new persona. You try to imagine it — it’s definitely a humorous thought, picturing the Bastard München representative slamming Michael Kaiser’s face into a bowl of water for every snarky comment he makes. Unrealistic, though. They would never risk compromising his performance like that.

“There’s rumors that you’re seeing Y/N L/N, the actress. A source who claims to be close to you both mentioned it online, and people can’t stop talking about the possibility. Neither you nor Miss L/N have addressed it, though, and our viewers were hoping you might…?” She cringes back, already preparing for one of his tirades, but he only smiles genially and winks at the camera. You remind yourself to tell him later that he’s laying it on too thick, even if you are enjoying this new character that he’s playing up for the sake of it.

“Y/N L/N? I’m shocked that you think I’m handsome enough to date someone like her,” he says. Your phone buzzes — it’s your manager, crowing about how impressed he is with your ‘boyfriend’ and his presence of mind. 

“So it’s a no?” the interviewer says, almost hopefully. He’s mysterious when he shrugs, mysterious and more than a little coy, as if she’s flattering him and he’s too shy to accept the praise.

“If Miss L/N ever deems me to be worthy of her, then it’s a yes in a heartbeat,” he says. It’s an excellent setup for his redemption, and the girl plays into it so beautifully that you tell your manager to send her flowers or some chocolate at the earliest possible opportunity.

“I think that you’ve shown yourself to be an excellent candidate today,” she says.

“Have I? I’ve really been trying to prove myself,” he says. Dreamy sighs ripple through the live studio audience. Someone whistles. It’s all very romantic and fairy-tale-esque, although he is far from being any kind of prince.

“You’re doing great,” the girl assures him. “I’m sure that, if Miss L/N is watching, she’ll have no choice but to be smitten.”

“If she’s watching? Oh, the thought didn’t even cross my mind,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. You shouldn’t have doubted him and his audacity; he’s fallen into the role as if he were born to play it. “How embarrassing. I’ve just confessed to her on live television without even knowing if she’s interested…”

He’s actually blushing. You are doubly awed — he’s a natural-born talent. It’s a shame that he’s devoted to soccer; he could make it out like a bandit in the acting industry.

“No, no, don’t be embarrassed. How could she ever reject someone like you?” she assures him. How, indeed! At the moment, you are so pleased that you could kiss him. He’s better than any co-star you’ve ever had to work with, in that he is making your job exponentially easier instead of exponentially more difficult.

“If she really is watching, then I can only pray she heard you say that part,” he says, waving in greeting, presumably at you. “Hello, Miss L/N. I really admire you, so if you find me at all agreeable, then I would quite like it if you would say yes to the date I’m going to ask you on.”

He’s made the world swoon and your social media mentions triple. People are begging you to say yes, to give him a chance, to see how he has changed. They want to live through you, and you will let them.

When he calls you, you tell him you were thrilled by his performance. This causes him to shoot back that he finds you insufferable and condescending, to which you say that it’s what makes you and him such a perfect pair. Then you recite an address, and he asks you what you’re going on about. You answer that it is the place where you will have your first date, and then you hang up before he can respond, just so that you can deny him the chance to do it to you first. 

Cameras flash in your faces as you enter the restaurant your manager has booked a reservation at. Michael Kaiser’s arm is wrapped around your waist, and it’s nauseatingly domestic, the kind of scene that would be the cover for one of those coming-of-age movies your agent loves booking for you. You wait for the frantic sound of camera shutters to slow, and then you tug on his sleeve.

“What is it?” he says. It’s quiet enough that no one else can hear, which is why it’s devoid of any warmth, but you are unruffled.

“Your tie,” you say. “It’s not crooked, but we will pretend that it is, and I’ll fix it so that there is something sweet to accompany the tabloid articles that will come out tomorrow.”

Your hands reach for his neck, and he does something you do not comprehend — flinching back, he shakes his head. When he realizes he’s done this, he grits his teeth, like the anger can make up for the temporary weakness. You do not press the issue, merely furrowing your brow and gazing up at him, doing your best to ensure that your eyes remain soft, so that the exchange is not misinterpreted by the parasites around you.

“No,” he says. “Do something else, but leave my tie alone.”

“Alright,” you say. It’s not sensible for you to argue, and anyways it doesn’t matter much what you are doing, as long as you are doing something. Humming to yourself, you adjust the lapels of his jacket. The cameras go off again. You pretend like you do not notice, like the world consists of only you two, and then you interlace your fingers with his, allowing him to drag you into the restaurant behind him.

It’s your turn to be interviewed. You’re wearing a dress, your legs crossed at the ankles — it’s demure and practical and prevents anyone from leering at you, so it’s been a habit of yours for quite a while. The interviewer is female, though, which calms you a bit. She’s older, around your mother’s age, and the wrinkles on her forehead remind you that you should call your parents and arrange for them to meet your doting boyfriend.

“Miss L/N, I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am to finally meet you!” the woman says. You think her name may be Anne, but she hasn’t introduced herself to you yet, so you’re not certain.

“You are too kind. If anything, it’s an honor for me to be here,” you say. The audience really likes that, when you are humble and shy and so darling. It’s palatable and easy for them to digest, or that’s what your manager tells you. 

“Tell us about your upcoming projects,” she says after giving you the appropriate amount of praise for your charming personality.

“I’m currently shooting a new romantic comedy, but I’m afraid it’s all very hush-hush, so I can’t say too much about it. I think you all will really enjoy it, though, and I’m looking forward to the day that we can discuss it at length,” you say. 

The conversation goes on like that for a bit, but you know she’s going through the motions because she has to, not because she wants to. There’s only one question she cares to ask, but if she just talks to you about your boyfriend and not your own accomplishments, then she’ll be blasted online as an anti-feminist. You hear quite frequently that this is akin to suicide in the world of marketing, so you can’t blame her.

That doesn’t stop you from having some fun. When she’s exhausted every possible avenue of questioning you about your future plans and past successes, you make as if you’re going to stand up and leave. Panic leaps across her face, and you snicker.

“We’ve spoken at such length about my acting career. You can’t possibly have any more questions about it, hm? You probably know more than my manager does!” Your attitude is balanced out by the joke. The audience laughs. It’s a fine line that you walk, but if you do not have the chance to act sharper every now and again, you believe you will die — internally if not externally — so you take such risks when you can justify them to yourself.

“You’re dating Michael Kaiser now, aren’t you?” she says. It’s a rancid curiosity she hides with a motherly type of concern. You brush off your legs, recross them, and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I am,” you say. You don’t have to play the games that he did; you both are established now. Official. A bona-fide couple. Anyways, it’s more appealing if you are outright with it.

“How has that been? You’ve really made a difference in that young man’s life, it seems,” she says.

The best way to lie is to tell the truth. “Yes, I suppose I have, but he has made an equal difference in mine. He is as good for me as I am for him; truly, I never understood what it meant when my parents called each other their ‘better halves’ until we met.”

In an hour, there will be thousands of posts online about this. If Y/N and Michael break up, then I don’t believe in love anymore! Maybe soulmates are real! Couple goals! These are the kinds of captions you are anticipating. The two of you will send screenshots to one another and laugh about how gullible the world is, and then you will strategically plan which comments to like and posts to favorite so that your message goes through. That’s the extent of your relationship with him, really, at least when the two of you are alone. The detachedness makes things much easier than they otherwise would be.

“There’s a popular theory going around that the two of you have had a secret wedding already. Is it true? Am I speaking to Mrs. Kaiser at the moment?” she says, eyes glittering like a vulture’s. She’s ready to pounce on any hesitation, any brief indecision that you might show, but you have spent more time in the spotlight than in your own parents’ home, so you don’t even waver.

“Marriage! I think we’re a bit too early in our relationship to be considering such things, and a bit too early in our lives to be rushing into major decisions like that,” you say. “If and when the time comes, you’ll be the first to know, but it won’t be for a while.”

It won’t be at all, actually. This relationship is not going to last for more than another month. Once the buzz surrounding you two dies, you and he will quietly split. It’ll be as if you never met in the first place.

Your phone rings as you’re leaving the studio. The caller ID says that it is Michael Kaiser, and the thought that he was watching your interview in the same way you watched his makes you feel odd.

“Hello?” you say.

“I’m not gonna marry you. Never-fucking-ever. If you’re expecting a ring, then put it out of your mind.”

“I wasn’t,” you say. “How else would you have liked me to answer that question?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Neither of you hang up on the other — you don’t think you can summon the wherewithal to, which is out of character for him but typical for you — though you both also don’t speak any further. He stays on the line while you drive home, breathing softly like he is sleeping, but you are sure that he is not. The point of it is lost on you, but then you drive into a tunnel and the call ends on its own, so it’s moot anyways. 

Your parents are excited to meet Michael Kaiser. They’ve read up on him extensively, watched all his interviews and even his game highlights. Your mother calls you the night before just so she can gush to you about how handsome he is, how you’ve really done well for yourself this time around. Her approval is nice to have, though superfluous, like a luxury soap or perfume. 

Your father is the one who suggests you all go golfing. You don’t know how to play, and neither does your mother, but you recognize it’s his attempt at connecting with who he thinks is your boyfriend, so you accept. You’re not sure if Michael Kaiser knows how to play golf, or really anything besides soccer, but he is game enough to come that you suppose he must.

It’s warm out, the sun beating down on your father’s brow as he lines up the ball with his club. Michael Kaiser stands on his left, and you think he’s somehow beautiful in this lighting. Not beautiful how your many attractive coworkers are, but in a manner which is distinctly him and therefore utterly irreproducible. His body is lean and graceful, his hair shaggy and gold, though he’s dyed the tips blue in what you’re sure is a statement. The shade matches his eyes, and also the inked roses on his neck. You have long ago come to the conclusion that the flowers are also a part of that same statement, but you have yet to discover what that statement might be. 

“He’s an improvement from that last boyfriend of yours,” your mother says, leaning back so that she can pour the last few drops of soda from her empty can into her throat. You and her are sitting together in the golf cart, seeking refuge in the shade of its plastic roof, sharing the drinks that your father had bought for himself and forgotten about the instant he stepped onto the golf course.

“He is,” you say. That’s not an exaggeration, nor is it something incredible. Your last boyfriend was an old classmate of yours who loved your celebrity more than he loved you. Michael Kaiser doesn’t love you, either, but he is honest about it, and you do not love him back, so there is no resentment between you and him.

“I like the way he looks at you,” your mother says. There’s a hiss as she opens a new can of soda. It’s a vice, but whenever you remind her of it, she dismisses you. She wants to have fun while she’s on this earth, apparently. Maybe drinking five cans of soda in one sitting means her life will be shorter, but life without soda isn’t worth living anyways, or something like that. The reasoning is stupid, but you know she is loyal to it, so you have to accept it. “It’s refreshing. So gentle. You’ll be talking to someone else, and he’ll just be staring at you like he can’t quite believe you’re his.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” you say. 

Your mother is about to say something else, but she is interrupted by a loud whoop. Michael Kaiser has hit a hole-in-one, and before you can tell him to stop embarrassing himself, your father is cheering, throwing his arms around him and calling him son.

“Your father likes him, too,” your mother said. 

“Oh, he needs to stop that! I can’t believe he’s making things so awkward,” you say, getting up to reprimand him before realizing that there is an entirely foreign sheen to Michael Kaiser’s eyes as he rests his chin on your father’s shoulder. He is not quite smiling, but it is a close approximation of the expression, and when your father ruffles his hair and says that it may have been beginner’s luck but he’s proud regardless, the curve of his lips becomes deeper.

You don’t understand, but you don’t need to. You may have facilitated it, but the moment belongs to him, and your presence is as unwanted as it is unnecessary.

You sit back down and take a sip of your mother’s soda. She grins knowingly and says that you look like you are in love, too. You don’t have the heart to tell her the truth, so you hum noncommittally and say that you might be.

You are growing fond of Michael Kaiser. It isn’t a slow realization — actually, it hits you very suddenly one day. He hands you a bouquet of flowers before opening the passenger door of his car for you. You ask him why he’s brought you peonies instead of roses, and he says it’s because he despises roses. It’s such an absurd answer and he says it with such a straight face that you have to cough in order to disguise your choked laughter. 

“Those must be some other kind of flower, then,” you say, pointing at but not touching his tattoos, at the delicate petals which fold over his pulse, azure and bright and silky. 

“No, those are roses,” he says, his knuckles growing white on the steering wheel. Normally, you wouldn’t ask further, but today you want to prod at his bruise of an existence, so you turn the music down and hug the peonies to your chest.

“But you despise roses,” you say.

“It’s a good reminder,” he says. “No flower lies quite as well as a rose does.”

That is when you are certain that you are partial to him. It is an unavoidable fact and also a treacherous one, but true notwithstanding. 

You put the peonies in a vase of water when you get home that night and hope they never die, although you know that they will be gone within the week. It’s how time works. The peonies will die and you two will break up and you’ll have nothing but a bare kitchen counter and thoughts of his intricacies to remember him by. 

There are no paparazzi around on the night when he wraps your hands around his throat. You are alone with him, sequestered away in the living room of his mansion, a bowl of popcorn shoved between the two of you while a movie plays in the background. This seclusion defeats the original purpose of the relationship entirely, but you sense that that original purpose is no longer fully applicable, so you do not refuse when he calls you and demands you come.

There’s a blanket tossed over your legs, the brilliant colors of his soccer club’s emblem faded from repeated washes. It’s warm, and if you were not busily eating most of the popcorn, you’d pull it up around your shoulders. As for Michael Kaiser, he’s facing the screen, his hair tied back in a knot, a pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his nose and reflecting the visage of the lead actress as she laughs. You observe him as you snack. You’ve seen this movie before and didn’t really like it, so you’re not missing much. He’s more interesting by far.

“I know that woman,” you say, so that he has to acknowledge you.

“Hm,” he says.

“She’s a jerk,” you say. 

“Sounds like your kind of company,” he says. You scoff, because he’s not wrong. He keeps watching the movie, and you keep watching him, until a thought occurs to you.

“Can I call you Michael? Even when it’s just us two,” you ask. He purses his lips. The actress screams. Her character has just died, but the scene is poorly shot and even more poorly acted, so it’s not as heart-wrenching as it should be. You would’ve done better, but your agent doesn’t want you taking any gory roles, and your manager agrees. In his professional opinion, it’ll ruin the doll-like persona you’ve spent so long cultivating. He’s probably right. It’s hard to adore a doll once you’ve watched it die so gruesomely.

“You can do whatever you want,” he says.

“Okay,” you say, swallowing another mouthful of popcorn, the salt lingering on your tongue long after the popcorn itself is gone. “Michael.”

“Yes?” he says.

“Nothing,” you say. “I just wanted to say your name.”

“Okay,” he says. “Y/N?”

He’s never called you that in private. Of course, when you’re out and about, he must refer to you with such familiarity, but in private you’ve never been anything but Miss L/N. It’s a change but a good one. You don’t want to ever be Miss L/N again. Not to him.

“Yes?” you say.

“I’m trying to watch this movie,” he says. “It has high ratings, so be quiet and allow me to finish.”

“It’s shitty,” you say, yawning and leaning back against the mountain of pillows you’ve created for yourself. “Overly gratuitous with its use of fake blood.”

“Right, because that’s a cardinal sin,” he says dryly.

“Sorry, but it’s hard to enjoy films when you know how they’re made,” you say. He picks up the remote and pauses the movie. You blink, because that’s about the last thing you expected from him. Then he turns the TV off entirely and you realize you’ll probably never be able to predict what he does next, so you should stop trying already.

“I know how movies are made,” he says.

“Did you have a secret acting career you never told me about?” you say. It’s a joke, but you also wouldn’t be surprised if it’s true. He’s taken to performing like a fish takes to water, and every day you tell him he should quit soccer and devote his life to cinema because of this uncanny skill.

“Not me, but my mother was an actress, and my father was a director,” he says. 

“Was?” you say.

“Maybe they still are,” he says. “I don’t know. We’re not on speaking terms.”

“Why not?” you say. He takes your hands in between his, and you can make out immediately that his instinct is to hurt you, to press his fingertips into your wrists so hard that they leave marks. It’s to his credit that he fights back the urge, fights it back and arranges your palms against his carotid arteries. His jaw clenches and his pupils dilate as he waits for you to realize; when you do, you rip your hands away for fear of wounding him further.

“Don’t pity me,” he instructs you, unpausing the movie like nothing happened. “And don’t ever bring it up again.” 

Now that you have his permission to refer to him only by his name, you develop a strange fascination with saying it. He’s amused by your new fixation, answering you in a lilting tone every time you call for him.

According to him, you are like a small nightingale, always warbling, always happy, fluttering around beside him and changing his mood for the better. Well, if you are like a nightingale, then he is like a dog, and you tell him as much when you are sitting across from him at a coffee shop.

“A dog?” he repeats, his face pinching. He’s just taken a swig of the black coffee he always orders, but you know his disgusted expression isn’t a symptom of the beverage’s bitterness. “Take that back.”

“Not in a bad way,” you say. Your own drink is sweet, so you sip on it slowly to prevent a stomach ache. “I’m not calling you pathetic. I just mean that you are amiable and lively. It’s a compliment.”

“It’s not who I really am,” he says. “Have I deceived even you? Amiable? Lively? Remember why this entire scam began in the first place — because I am neither of those things.”

“Right,” you say. “A peacock, then. Terribly vain and entirely alluring.”

He relaxes and raises his cup to his mouth again. He’ll be up late tonight, he always is when he has coffee, but it never stops him from drinking it. “That’s better.”

The reminder that whatever you have with him is not real stings more than it should. You throw away your drink almost untouched, which does cause him to raise an eyebrow, but thankfully he refrains from commenting. It’s a relief, because you don’t even know how to explain it to yourself, let alone him.

He walks you to your front porch and waits with crossed arms as you fish for the key in your purse, shoving it in the lock once you have it in your grasp. His farewell when you open the door is stilted and abnormal, so you stop him with a hand on his arm before he can go.

“Michael,” you say. You’ve never said his name like this before. It comes from a place raw and deep within you, a place that you are certain is purple and black like a wound. You say it like you love him, and you think it must be because you do.

“Yes?” he says. It’s the way he always responds to you, his voice like a song, a small smile on his ordinarily strict face — though today, he is not smiling. Instead, he is frowning, like he has come to an understanding that he would have rather not reached.

“Never mind,” you say. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” he says. He drives away, his car disappearing around the corner, leaving you standing alone in the still-open doorway and wondering how you will survive the day when he disappears permanently. 

You’re not sure what it is about him that makes pretending difficult, but suddenly, it’s a struggle for you to maintain your aloof front. You find it disconcerting, that he has taken this aspect of your identity and rendered it entirely null and void; it’s even more disconcerting that he has done it unwittingly and unsympathetically. If you loved him any less, you would hate him, because he has stolen who you are and left you blind and fumbling, but you fell for him, and the way you landed broke something fundamental, so that it is impossible for you to get back up. 

“I think that I love you,” you say. You are on his couch again, and there is a movie playing again, which is all too similar to a past scenario that you think about when you are lonely. Tonight, it’s some soccer documentary that you find so tedious you are driven to irrationality. 

He drops the glass of water in his hands; you reach out and catch it before it can spill, setting it on the table in front of you. 

“What?” he says. You shrug.

“I love you,” you say again, and you’re flippant about it because you’re not telling him in the hopes he loves you, too. In fact, you know that he does not, so you are using him as a confessional; after all, the minimum he owes you is sharing the burden of this sin.

“There’s no one around,” he says. “You don’t have to lie. It won’t gain us anything.”

“It hasn’t gained us anything in a long while,” you say. It’s true — your relationship isn’t trending anymore, and most of your dates are in locations where you will not be recognized. 

He stands up. The documentary continues as he paces, and a referee blows a whistle while he tangles his fingers in his hair and pulls. You stay on the couch, your eyes following his erratic movements, your hands folded in your lap.

“No, you don’t,” he says.

“I don’t what?” you say.

“You don’t love me,” he says. He wants to sound callous, you are sure of it, but the effect is lost on you. He sounds more lost than anything.

“But I do,” you respond. “Who are you to tell me I don’t?”

“Don’t,” he says. “Stop it. This instant.”

You laugh incredulously. “Do you think it’s that easy? I wouldn’t feel like this in the first place if it was.”

“Why?” he says. He’s still pacing. It’s like watching a tiger in a zoo. You want to study him, but he demands your attention in a different way. “Y/N. Why me? Why at all?”

“The reasons don’t matter, do they? I can tell you, but they won’t change anything,” you say, shrugging. “If you find yourself in the kitchen, bring water back for me. I’m thirsty.”

“Drink mine,” he says, pointing at the cup you had narrowly saved from disaster. “And quit your avoidance. Tell it to me plainly. Why?”

“Because you are you,” you say once you have drained half of his glass and your tongue is not quite as papery. “It’s a series of things; there’s not just one concrete reason. You hate roses and only drink black coffee. My mother thinks you’re handsome and my father is convinced you’re a golfing genius. You are a dog but also a peacock and then again an emperor. Don’t ask ridiculous questions and expect me to answer them when I cannot.”

“I’ll hurt you,” he says. “I’ll hurt you, Y/N, and I don’t — I don’t want to. You’re the only one who I don’t want to hurt, so just give up. It’s for the better if you do.”

“You won’t,” you say. “I don’t think you can.”

“Of course I can,” he says. “It’s the one thing I’m capable of. The only way I know how to love someone is by hurting them. I’ll do the same to you if you let me, and if you’re telling the truth, then you will let me.”

“Because I love you?” you say. “You think I’ll let you hurt me because I love you? For shame, Michael. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Please,” he says. It’s a word he’s never said, not to you and not in his life. Its weight hangs before you, pulsating in the air like it’s tangible. “If I love you, I’ll destroy you. And then you’ll leave, and it’ll destroy me.”

It’s a selfless desire that he’s disguising as a selfish one. You’re good at pretending, but you’re not good at telling when others are. That much is obvious, because if you had any talent at the latter then you would’ve seen that he’s loved you for as long as you have loved him, maybe longer. He loves you and so he’s urging you to flee, to destroy him before he can do it to you first.

“Damned if I do and damned if I don’t, huh?” you say, exhaling and finishing off the rest of his water. “Listen to me.”

“No,” he says. His obstinance is endearing, but you throw a pillow at him instead of cooing like you want to. He catches it and tosses it back. It lands beside you with a thump. You pat it for emphasis.

“Yes,” you say. “I love you.”

He plugs his ears with his fingers. “Nope.”

“I love you, I love you — hey, I know you can hear me!” you say.

“La la la,” he shouts over your voice, sticking his tongue out petulantly. “I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you!”

“You’re cruel,” you say. “I won’t deny it. I know who you really are, Michael Kaiser. You possess cruelty in spades, but it’s in the way that a rose does. You have grown malice like thorns so that no one may come near your heart, and you think these thorns will tear me apart when I extend my hand past them. What you aren’t accounting for is that I have done so already. I have reached your heart and still I am intact. Now, what is there to cause me harm — a mere flower? But a flower can’t cause anyone harm, least of all a person such as myself. You can’t, or more importantly you won’t. I believe that you won’t.”

He stares at you. The soccer team in the documentary still playing behind him scores, and the crowd roars in approval. You stare back at him and wait.

“I hate roses,” he finally says. “I hate them a lot. They’re the worst kind of flower.”

“I don’t know about that,” you say. “I quite fancy them.”

“They prick your fingers,” he says.

“Not if you are gentle,” you say. “Not if you understand them.”

He buries his face in his hands. “Go home, Y/N.”

You do as you are told, flagging a taxi and shivering while you wait for it. You wish for things to be different, but the amount of unfulfilled wishes you’ve made outnumber the stars in the sky, so you add this one to the list and vow to move on.

You have no desire to leave your bed the next morning, but you are also hungry, and your hunger wins out over your despair. You muster up the energy to roll out of your sheets and trudge downstairs, but you are miserable as you do so. You are utterly miserable, and the fact that you are only worsens the feeling, trapping you in an endless kind of loop.

When you enter your kitchen, you are surprised to see a pot of flowers sitting innocently on your counter. You didn’t put them there, so you should feel afraid, but they’re roses, and they’re the same arresting shade as the sky, so you don’t. You only grin, slowly and then all at once as you begin to giggle helplessly.

There isn’t a card or an explanation provided, but you don’t need either. You already know who they are from.

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven In Your Eyes || Masterlist

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC (Heaven Lavey Shelby)

Additional content/Info: CLICK HERE

Fic Summary: He meets her at church one dreary night, guided by her singing. Her name? Heaven Lavey. White ivory hair, fair porcelain skin, and petite shape, this almost ethereal creature is Arthur's strict opposite. Yet, all it took was one dive into her heavenly eyes for him to be convinced God has sent His sweetest angel to save his bastard soul. The two lovebirds, obsessed with each other, are determined to live their love no matter people's judgments and no matter the dangers of a Peaky Blinder's life. They are together through the best and through the worst.

But behind her holy appearance and sweet facade, Heaven Lavey is dangerous. With rumors of witchcraft and murder, her shady past weighs on her shoulders. And if she is a blessing for Arthur Shelby, she will soon prove to be a curse for those who dare to stand in her and her husband's way. Even Thomas Shelby himself.

She is Arthur’s Angel, but don't get fooled by her doe eyes: for the rest of us, she is the White Devil.

And by extend, you are too.

Why? Because Heaven Lavey… It’s you.

TW: Major character death, explicit sexual content, canonical violence, graphic description of violence, blasphemy, witch trials and burning of innocent women, dependent relationship (if Arthur and Heaven are happy in their relationship, they are obsessed and possessive, which leads to bursts of violence and deifying from Arthur. By no means I am claiming their relationship is healthy, but it is what works for them)

ACT I.

♢ Ch. 1 || Heaven in Your Eyes

♢ Ch. 2 || Never Did, Never Dared

♢ Ch. 3 || Something Wicked This Way Comes 🔞

♢ Ch. 4 || Dead Bird at Witchin Hour

♢ Ch. 5 || The Hell in His Eyes

♢ Ch. 6 || The One They Should Have Burned

♢ Ch. 7 || Of Matches and Gasoline 🔞

♢ Ch. 8 || Tango on Broken Dreams

ACT II.

♢ Ch. 9 || For Whom the Bells Toll

♢ Ch. 10 || Closer to Heaven or Closer to Hell? 🔞

♢ Ch. 11 || When The Bridges Burn

♢ Ch. 12 || As They Always Did

♢ Ch. 13 || Cross My Heart and Hope to Die

♢ Ch. 14 || Pure As a Lamb 🔞

♢ Ch. 15 || Women Like Me in a Men's World

♢ Ch. 16 || Après Moi le Déluge ( c o m i n g . . .)

♢ Ch. 17 || ( Il Diàvulu Biancu)

♢ Ch. 18 ||

ACT III.

♢ Ch. 18 ||

♢ Ch. 19 ||

♢ Ch. 20 ||

♢ Ch. 21 ||

♢ Ch. 22 ||

♢ Ch. 23 ||

♢ Ch. 24 ||

♢ Ch. 25 ||

♢ The series can be longer.

Some events from the show are taken and obviously reworked. Yet, except for a few quotes and scenes, everything else is imagined by the author.

Related works - in chronological order-

♢ From Blood We Will Grow

♢ To Bark and Bite

♢ Kaiser Meeting Cyril (requested)

♢ A Bone to Pick With It (requested)

♢ Perfect Lines

♢ Savage Daughter

♢ A Slice of Us (Modern!HYE)

♢ Love Ritual (@zablife's celebration)

♢ The Woods Whisper 1, 2 (Halloween Horror)

♢Little Lamb 1, 2, 3 (Yandere!AU)

Moodboards and other content

♢ Playlist

♢ Moodboard Aesthetic

♢ Moodboard Chapter 6

♢Heaven In your Eyes Act II trailer

♢ Moodboard Chapter 12

♢ Heaven in your Eyes chapter 16 trailer

Looking for more? Check out Heaven's masterlist I and II.

Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @cherubswhispers @he6rtshaker @bemyqueenofdarkness @cljordan-imperium @cjarbo @red-riding-wood @rysko @lokigirlszendaya

[la-petite-lapin]

Double the Love | Part Six*

Double the Love masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x female civilian!OC Word Count: 2.5k Series warnings (may change between chapters): 18+ Minors DNI, angst, mentions of death, mentions of violence, injury description, explicit sexual content, polyamory, M/M/F, Tali meets Simon, oral sex (M+F receiving)

The guys let off some steam

I stare up at Ghost's face, intense hazel eyes narrowing at me through the holes of his balaclava. For once, I'm almost scared of him. Almost.

"Ghost..." Johnny says, his voice hushed. My gaze darts across to the Scotsman to find him crossing the living room. He slows to a halt next to Ghost, placing a gentle, comforting hand on his shoulder, "maybe we shouldn't do this tonight, eh? You've just got home. You need to let off some steam."

Ghost's eyes darken, not once leaving mine. "I'll let off some steam alright."

My heart is pounding in my throat now; my palms sweating and my legs quivering with anticipation. I press my thighs together, seeking some kind of relief. But it's not enough.

No. I want to know what he has in store for me. Even if I regret it later.

"Ghost..."

Johnny moves to Ghost's side and they share a look, Ghost's heavy gaze finally releasing me from its hold. A whole conversation is exchanged between the two of them in silence - a series of head tilts, and meaningful looks.

"Ask her nicely," is all Johnny says.

Ghost grunts and nods, turning his full attention back to me. "Alright, Tali - nicely - will you let us take you to bed?"

There's nothing nice about his tone. It's rough and gritty and entirely Ghost. Full of quiet, masculine rage, and bold, lustful promise. And it's oh so appealing.

It's been so long since I last had sex with anything other than my own hand or a fancy plastic toy. And it doesn't seem like Ghost is in the mood to be particularly gentle. For a split second, I start to doubt if this is really what I want.

But then I look at Johnny; his bright blue eyes full of hope and adoration. I know that he won't hurt me. Neither of them will. And I've never been surer of anything in my entire life.

I nod and - with a shaking voice - I say, "Yes, you can."

"Perfect." Ghost's voice is gruff and smug as he presses in closer to me, crowding in until we're standing chest-to-chest and I'm craning my neck up to look at his face. "Johnny?"

"Hmm?" there's a vacant hum from him as he steps up behind Ghost, bracketing him between our bodies. He drops his head to press a kiss to Ghost's black-clad shoulder.

Ghost turns his head, capturing Johnny's lips in a chaste kiss through the mask. "Go sit down. I think I need to make Tali understand a few things before we get started."

Johnny's eyes widen for a second, a look of surprise flashing there for a second before his eyelids lower. Lust glitters in his blue irises as he looks down at me, leaning across Ghost to drop a kiss to the top of my head. "I'll be in our room when you two are ready. Don't make me wait too long though, aye?"

The apartment is completely silent as Johnny pads out of the room. I can hear the muted thud of their bedroom door closing, and then it's just us. Just me and Ghost standing out in the living room, the dark promise of making me understand hovering in the air between us.

If I wasn't wet before, I definitely am now.

"So," Ghost starts, drawing my full attention back to his towering frame, "apparently we haven't been clear enough, princess. Apparently, you think we're just playing with you, or we haven't been open enough about what our relationship is... but that ends now. Got any questions?"

I bite my bottom lip and his eyes trace the movement with a predatory keenness. "Are you and Johnny bisexual?"

"Bingo. Anything else?"

"You... you want to fuck me?"

Ghost barks out a gruff laugh, pressing himself against me. Oh. I can feel the steel-hard length of him against my stomach. It eliminates any lingering traces of doubt I might have held, filling me with a calm, confident certainty.

My eyes are half-lidded, my lips parting as my breathing starts to get heavier. He presses himself against me for a couple more seconds before easing back, eyes pitch black and his own breathing fast and rugged. He's made his point, and he knows it.

"Does that answer that one?"

I nod, pressing my thighs together even harder.

"Ghost..."

His eyes flutter to a close, and he shakes his head, tipping it back. "That's not my name, Tali. Don't call me that anymore." His eyes open once again, and he fixes me with a look. The fondness and warmth there almost floors me. "Call me Simon. Please."

My breath catches in my throat.

"And take off my mask. Please."

My hands rise up to his jawline, slowly but surely in case he changes his mind. My fingers find the edges and I pause, waiting for his go-ahead. With a gentle nod, I dip my fingertips under the thick cotton and slowly pull it away from his face.

I don't look immediately, feeling the weight of the mask in my hand. It hangs limp in my fist, still warm from his skin.

And when I do look... God.

He's the most beautiful man I've ever seen. My eyes find his; the only familiar feature in this new landscape. But then I start to branch out. His eyes are surrounded by a hasty smear of black paint, fading out around his thick, straight eyebrows, and crossing the bridge of his slightly crooked nose. It looks like it's been broken a couple times, but it's charming and adds to the rugged appeal of his face. His jawline is sharp and prominent, covered in a light dusting of dirty blond stubble that matches his hair; the slightly curly locks dipping down onto his forehead.

And then there's his mouth. Plush, full lips that would look almost feminine if not for the thick, harsh scars curving up from both corners, each about an inch long. They stand out; pearlescent against the rest of his skin. There's another scar trailing from his left cheekbone to just above his eyebrow too, and my eyes snag on it before dropping down to a smaller one bisecting his bottom lip.

He is perfect. To me, he is flawless.

I raise a hand to his face, placing a single finger on the tip of his nose and dragging it down to the centre of his bottom lip. I don't dare touch the scars; fearful that I might trigger a horrible memory for him. Instead, I cup his cheek in my hand, running a thumb along the curve of his cheekbone.

"Simon," I say his name, testing it in my mouth. It's going to take some getting used to. I exhale a long, slow breath, trying to tamp down my horniness and appreciate how significant this moment is. For me. For him. For us. "It's nice to finally meet you, Simon."

"It's an honour to meet you too, Tali. It's been too long."

He covers the hand resting on his face with his, pulling it to his mouth and pressing a tender kiss to my palm.

The warmth and urgency comes rushing back to me with that one, simple gesture. Sucking in a short breath, I lock my eyes onto his and drop the mask onto the floor. His eyes flicker with interest.

"Now," I say softly, "should we go and find Johnny? I think we've let him wait long enough."

I can't get down the hallway quick enough, Simon hot on my heels as I giggle, amused as he gives chase.

I throw the bedroom door open with a thud, barely crossing the threshold before Simon gathers me up into his arms. My feet leave the ground as he growls playfully against the shell of my ear.

"Nice to see that you two talked," Johnny offers from the bed, his tone drenched in amusement.

I look up to see that he's reclined on the bed, stripped down to a pair of grey joggers. The thick gauze bandage that covers his injured ribs stands out against his tanned skin, and there's a cocky smile playing on his lips as he watches the two of us. He makes no effort to move from his position.

"We did," I confirm, still trapped in the cage of Simon's muscle-corded arms. "You have a very pretty boyfriend."

"Pretty," Simon grumbles next to my ear. I turn my head to see that his eyebrows are raised, and I soak every inch of his expression in. Seeing him without the mask is going to take some getting used to, but I love it. "Fucking pretty, love?"

I nod shamelessly.

A beat passes before I lower my tone, batting my eyelashes at Johnny as I say, "So are you guys going to fuck me or what?"

"Yeah?" Simon growls.

Johnny licks his lips. His palms run down the lengths of his thick thighs, drawing attention to the impressive tent in his pants. My eyes are locked on his as I exhale a breathy, "Yeah."

With that, I'm on my back on the bed. Johnny sidles up behind me as Simon approaches the mattress with slow, methodical strides. He pauses at the edge, stripping himself of his black tactical gear and trousers. He stands there in black boxers and a t-shirt, the thick length I felt pressed against me in the living room standing proud, straining against the material.

The room is dim, illuminated only by the warm glow from my bedside lamp, adding to the relaxed atmosphere as Johnny trails a hand along the side of my body, trailing over my breast. He stops when he finds a nipple, peaked and stiff, in the absence of a bra. I hear the sharp intake of breath he makes, followed by, "You'll never guess, Si. She's not even wearing a bra. Teasing us like a naughty lass."

Simon's hands find his waistband, yanking his boxers down. His erection is on full display, standing to attention. It's thick and long, curved slightly upwards; the tip flushed and pink. It makes my throat dry, all the moisture heading south.

"Can I come over to the bed?" he asks, voice soft and respectful. It makes me even hotter.

I nod my consent, but he still doesn't move. "Yes."

That does the trick. Slowly, he makes his way to the edge of the mattress and kneels on the bed. "Come here," he commands, pupils dilated. "Take off your shorts and come here."

I shimmy out of my shorts and flimsy lace underwear but stay at the head of the bed, relishing in the feeling of Johnny's hands roaming all over me. "You come here," I command, feeling more than a little bold.

Simon growls. "Demanding little princess. Putting me through my paces, yeah? Showing me who's boss?"

I nod as Simon crawls up the bed, leaning over me to kiss Johnny. I tip my head back to watch, soaking at the sight waiting for me. Their mouths are locked, tongues flickering into each other's mouths as Simon grabs Johnny by the back of the neck, pulling him even closer. After several seconds, they release one another and Johnny goes back to running his hands over me. This time, there's the addition of his mouth sucking marks against the skin of my throat - nipping with his teeth then running his tongue over them.

Simon eases back down my body, turning his attention to my legs; my knees drawn up towards my chest.

"I wonder," he grumbles, tone dripping with desire, "if you'll sound even louder with us than when you're alone."

And, with that, he parts my thighs with firm hands and bows his head.

I want him. Gods, I want him.

He presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to each thigh, taking his time in a thinly-veiled effort to drive me insane. His breath is unbearably warm against me, my own exhales leaving my mouth in small, shallow pants.

"Fuck," I groan. In a moment of desperation, I reach a hand down and tangle it in the golden strands of Simon's hair, pulling him into me. His dark, answering laugh vibrates against my already-sensitive pussy and I let out a tortured whine. "Please."

And he obliges. Pinning my hips to the bed with one strong forearm, he's a frenzy of teeth and lips and tongue. He's like a man starved, giving me exactly what I want.

My skin heats and I claw at the neck of my shirt while Simon works away, not slowing down for even a second as I barrel towards an orgasm at break-neck speed. Chuckling indulgently, Johnny helps me out of the fabric's confines, leaving me completely bare and still all too warm as I writhe against them.

I come in a blinding haze of ecstasy, shouting my pleasure with a loud moan.

When I come back to my senses, Johnny is stroking my hair, brushing it away from my face. Simon is kneeling over me, his mouth and chin glossy with moisture and eyes wild.

"That was so fucking hot, Tali."

"Think you can go again?" Johnny's voice rings out from behind me and I realise that I'm slumped back against him, his other hand still resting lightly on my breast.

My throat tightens and the tingle between my legs makes itself known once again. I can so go again, but first... there's something else I want.

"Can... could I watch you guys?"

Simon's jaw slackens. His eyes meet Johnny's - who offers him a shrug - before they both turn to me, looking amused.

"What do ye want to see, lassie?"

"I want to see you suck Simon's dick."

Johnny smirks, pressing a bold kiss to my lips before rising up from his spot. I lean back against the headboard, watching on as Simon settles into a seated position at the edge of the bed. Johnny kneels down between his legs, and a look of adoration passes between them as I angle myself to get a better view.

Johnny places a loving hand on Simon's bare thigh, squeezing once lightly. "Are ye ready, darlin'?"

Simon barely has time to nod before Johnny's head is dipping down, taking the base of Simon's erection in one hand to steady himself. His mouth follows; his lips wrapping around Simon's length and taking inch by inch into his throat with ease.

Simon's head tips back, a deep groan spilling from his throat as Johnny works him reverently. His tanned fist moves in time with his mouth; occupying what Johnny can't fit. I lean back into the pillows, my hand falling between my own legs as I play with myself in lazy, unfocused motions, enthralled in them.

"Fuck, Johnny. Just like that." Simon's groan echoes around the room. His hand drops to Johnny's hair, not to push his head, but to tangle in the longer locks of his hair. It's loving and tender; beautiful and intimate.

I can't tear my eyes away from them - not even for a second - until Simon throws his head back and lets out an Earth-shaking moan. Johnny's head stops bobbing and he resurfaces, swallowing and running the back of his hand across his mouth. When he's done, there's a cat-like grin on his lips and a hazy look in his eyes.

Simon crawls back into the middle of the bed, laying down next to me. His chest heaves, spent from his fun. "Want to stop?" he asks gently, his skin dotted with sweat and carrying the beautiful, heady scent of salt and wood-smoke.

A smile finds my lips and I find myself shaking my head, locking eyes with Johnny as he rises back to his feet. "I never said I was done."

"Jesus, you're fucking insatiable," Simon groans, his tone only half-teasing. His head meets the pillow with a heavy thud.

Johnny, on the other hand, only smiles; a hungry glint in his eye. "I'm not complaining."

a/n: hey guys! happy monday :) hope you enjoy part 6 and the shameless smut. I figured the slow burn has ran for long enough, and we deserve some of the good stuff! what would you be interested in seeing in the next part? - much love, lapetitelapin

[callsigns-haze]

Out of All: Chp 5

Jake Seresin x OC! Anna Bradshaw

Brothers' Best Friend Series! Follow along as these characters navigate the treacherous waters of love, loyalty, and desire, all while facing the ultimate taboo: falling for your sibling's best friend. From heart-pounding moments to steamy encounters, this series is a rollercoaster of emotions that will keep you hooked until the very end. Brace yourself for intense romantic tension, sizzling chemistry, and enough drama to keep you guessing. Are you ready to embark on this captivating journey?

This chapter includes explicit sexual content with detailed descriptions of sexual activity and intimacy between characters. Scenes depict physical intimacy, including kissing, touching, and biting, with characters described in states of undress. Emotional intensity is explored, encompassing themes of longing, desire, and vulnerability, with brief references to past trauma. Characters may be shown consuming alcoholic beverages, and mature themes such as casual relationships

SMUT

It's been two weeks since your panic attack and excuse of being sick.

For the past few weeks you and Jake have been sneaking around. He's perfectly fine with knowing your Bradley sister and your fine with him being your older brothers wingman. At the start it was weird, it felt like I'm some way you were lying to Bradley even though he had no way of knowing but now it was more fine.

Jake and you made up a sort of schedule. You'd meet Wednesday, Fridays and Sundays. Not every week and not all those days but those were the day the two of you were available and possible to meet. Sometimes it worked that you'd only meet once a week on a Friday so next time you'd see him only for the following Sunday.

This week the day fell on a specific date which let's put it nicely…scared you. You didn't know if he'd still meet or if he would want to in the first place. The next date turned out to be valentine's day. But you and Jake technically have no feelings towards each other which complicated things more. You told Jake about the situation that you didn't know I he still wanted this to happen but he said you could come over.

This kind of situation was an experience for you and Jake. You'd try things you've never done before in the past and this was one of those things. You are extremely nervous. Jake has ate you out many times before but the idea of sitting on his face was a little scary to you. You're not sure why you are so nervous. Maybe it's the fact that you find sitting on someone's face to be uncomfortable. But Jake assured you you're going to love it

"Ready?" Jake asked from his position on the bed.

"Think so." you reply back with a nervous laugh.

Jake can see you're nervous, so he sits up and reaches to embrace you in a hug. A very naked hug. Well, Jake has on boxers but you on the other hand are completely naked. "You're going to be fine. You'll love it. I've never not had a girl enjoy it by the time she finished sitting on my face." You just nodded and relaxed into his body. You knew you were being silly. Why wouldn't you enjoy it. Jake's mouth has done wonders to your pussy every time it goes near, so of course you'll like it.

Jake breaks the hug and lays down flat on his back in the middle of the bed. "Alright, come on. Hover your perfect little pussy over my face and hold onto the headboard for support." Jake demands in a relaxed manner. You do as you're told, trying to forget about your previous nerves. Once your pussy is right over his mouth, with your legs on both sides of his head, supported by your knees, Jake asks, "I'm gonna start now, alright?"

You love how Jake always asked for your consent to touch you. Makes you feel good knowing he'd never do anything you didn't want done to your body. Makes you comfortable knowing you can fully trust someone with your body. "Yes, I'm ready." you reply back. Jake brings both of his large hands to your waist and pulls you down onto his face. Now your pussy is directly on his mouth. First, Jake lays subtle kisses around your lips. His intentions aren't to be teasing but more so ease into it. He wants you to be turned on as much as possible.

At first, you can't look down at him. Too scared to see what this situation looks like, so you just lay your head on your forearm that's resting on the top ledge of the headboard. Right now the gentle kisses he's giving to you around your pussy are delightful. Feels really nice, but you do wish Jake would hurry up because your clit is getting to the point of throbbing. You're just so turned on at this point. Just as you were silently praying he'd do more, Jake swipes his tongue in-between your slit, collecting your clear arousal on his pink tongue. You jump slightly, but his tight hold on your waist doesn't allow you to go very far.

"Mmm, taste so good for me love." Jake mumbles beneath you. His hot breath fanning over your glistening pussy, making shivers run up and down your spine. Then Jake wastes not another second before putting his tongue where he knows you want him most. Your clit. He gently strokes your clit with his tongue, making you just about whine. You're so incredibly sensitive right now. Repeatedly, Jake cat licks your tiny clit, giving you oh so much pleasure.

"Ughh." you moan out.

"Shh love. Relax your muscles and don't be afraid to put your body weight on me." Jake speaks while centimetres away from your throbbing clit. You actually take him up on his offer and lower some of your weight on his face because you realized just how much tension you were holding in your upper body for support. When you do this, Jake takes the opportunity to enclose his mouth completely over your clit. His mouth does wonders you think to yourself. It's so warm and his tongue is so gentle with your most precious parts.

While the entirety of your clitoris is in his closed mouth, Jake does subtle sucking motions. Similarly to how a baby sucks a nipple. He can feel your clit pulse in his mouth and he loves it.

He loves everything about your pussy. The way your arousal taste. The way your pussy lips are shaped. The size of your clit; small but not to small. He loves it all. Jake also loves how reactive you are to his touch. Every lick he makes on your sensitive nerve, you moan and groan and Jake knows those are your pleasure moans. He can always tell the difference in your I'm in pain sounds to your God this feels so good sounds.

Jake alternates between suctioning his mouth on your clit to licking it with the tip of his tongue. You can feel your stomach muscles tighten with every motion he puts into action on your vagina. A few times he'll swipe his tongue back in-between your pussy lips to collect more of your dripping liquids to bring back up to your clit, swirling it around. You feel overwhelmed but in a good way.

You reckon because you're sitting straight up, all the blood is going straight to your pussy, making the whole thing so much more sensitive then it would be if you were lying down flat.

When you feel you're near your climax, you get the courage to glance down to see the actions Jake is doing to your core below. You lift your head from its position on your forearm and look down to see Jake looking right at you. You make eye contact and you feel like you could burst on the spot. His green, glossy eyes, with his long eyelashes staring into your sole.

You wonder if he's been watching you the entire time. Studying your perky breast and the way your chest heaves when he sucks or licks particularly hard. Then you move your vision slightly back some to making eye contact with his mouth. You study how his mouth is working you to orgasm. Jake's perfectly swollen red lips around your clit, turning you on even more just by the sight. Then he suddenly releases you from his mouth, making you whine, and says in a panting voice, "Ride me tongue."

"What?" you respond, confused at his request.

"Move your hips back and forth on my tongue. Like when you're riding my thigh that you love so much."

Jake sticks his tongue out flat and you start moving your pussy back and forth on it. Each time stimulating your clit. Now that you're more comfortable, you keep eye contact with him, focusing on the pleasure his tongue is giving you. After a minute or two of riding his soft, wet tongue, you moan out in broken breaths, "I think I'm about to come. Oh god I'm gonna come."

When you say that, Jake presses one hand to your lower back and his other to your lower stomach and pulls your body down as much as possible. Then he once again encloses his mouth on your tiny clit, sucking is with the most suction he's done so far. All the sudden, with how powerful his mouth is sucking on your clit, you come. Out of instinct, you reach down and grab a handful of his blonde curls and pull it tight. You know Jake loves to have his hair pulled during sex, so he doesn't mind at all. Actually enjoys the slight pain it brings. Then you push your body down as hard as possible to get the most pleasure possible.

You eventually have to screw your eyes shut because the orgasm is so strong your vision goes blurry. Your thighs are shaking around his head. You try and rut your hips against his mouth but his hold doesn't allow you to anymore.

This whole time, Jake still looks up at you. Watching your every move. Every facial expression. Every sign of pleasurer. Makes him feel good knowing he's the cause of your euphoric state of mind. As you come down from your orgasm, Jake releases your now enlarged clit from his mouth but still kitty licks it a few times to elongate your orgasm as long as possible. When you feel so sensitive it's almost painful, you jerk your pussy away from his mouth and stand on your shaky knees.

You open your eyes and see Jake staring up at you with a big grin on his face. The face that's shining from your cum. Your chest is heaving heavily. There is beads of sweat on your hair line. You are so relived but exhausted at the same time. Jake takes the back of his hand and wipes your cum off his face, then he takes a hold of your waist and pulls you down and over his body.

Now you're laying directly on top of his m chest with your face burred in his neck, trying to control your breathing. Jake pets the back of your head and runs a hand up and down your naked back.

A minute later, Jake breaks the comfortable silence with asking, "So…., how was it."

You pick up your face from his neck to look at his face and reply back with a happy smile plastered on your face, "So good."

"Good, I knew you'd like it," he cups each of your breast in each of his hands.

After that, you and Jake have a few more rounds till you properly collapse beside each other. Both of your sighs are the only sounds in the room but Jake breaks it, "How did Bradley let you out this whole night?"

"My friend is out of town and left me her keys to feed her cat so I told him I was going to go feed it and watch movies."

"Chick…. what about the cat?"

"Fuck!'

tagging:

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@djs8891

@hookslove1592

@emma8895eb

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@dizzybee03

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@lynnevanss

[cliozaur]

When you run out of your canon-era fanfics, you start looking for AUs and crossovers. And it’s such an enormous topic to discuss! I would like to start with some recs (we're talking Valvert fanfics, of course). Some authors are just so good and creative when it comes to AUs.

A Change of a Bizarre Kind by M_Moonshade (set in MsM) – I will never shut up about it! It’s a crossover of Les Mis and Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. It’s written amazingly well and has a non-linear narrative. Javert fighting for control and losing it is breathtaking. One of my favourite fanfic Javerts! Caring and overprotective Valjean is what most of us love. Fantine survives and is the only reasonable person around those two. And they have adventures! Dr. Jekyll is, of course, a perfect villain! One of my favourite Valvert fanfics.

What Sort of Devil also by M_Moonshade (set in Paris). This time Valjean is a vampire, self-sacrificing and caring. Javert is exercising and excelling in self-deception. They have even more adventures, and this time Thénardier is the villain. The author’s style is, as always, excellent, and the author’s comments are hilarious.

The next three fics took me time to dare to read. AUs and descriptions can make you dumbstruck, but they turned out to be excellent pieces: well-written, thoroughly thought out. The AUs are well-designed, logical, and well-explained. Javert and Valjean both have recognizable characters, excellent at teasing each other. Their dialogues are highly entertaining and amusing. These fics are good from the point of view of historical details – if the author decides to be anachronistic, it’s for a reason, and it’s explained.

Guard’s Law, Con’s Heart by Xythia (set in Toulon, but it’s 1823). To be honest, I only risked reading it because of Toulon. It’s described as a BDSM universe, which initially did not inspire me. But I gave it a chance and never regretted it. This universe has its rules, and they are not what you expect. They influence social structure and traditions, and it’s all explained and well-used for the plot. Something bad starts happening at the beginning, but Javert arrives on time to stop and prevent it. He takes responsibilities he himself did not expect. Then Javert and Valjean interact and communicate with each other, and it’s such a pleasure and entertainment to follow their exchanges! And I usually do not appreciate OCs, but here I enjoyed them.

Winter Wolf also by Xythia (set in MsM). I already knew what to expect from the author, so even the obscure AU of Sentinels and Guides did not stop me. I had never heard of this AU, but it was not difficult to figure out what it is. A bit slow at the beginning, but then it gets excellent. Signature dialogues, development of relationships, adventures. And one of the best young Cosettes ever written. She is really an amazing little creature.

Eggy series also by Xythia (set in Toulon, and it’s again 1823). This time, one of them (Valjean) is a dragon-shapeshifter. But even as a dragon, he is unmistakably recognizable as Valjean. The world of people and dragons has its history and rules, and they are very well explained. Signature dialogues, good OCs. It really may sound strange as an AU, but it’s worth reading.

[trickphotography2]

TrickPhotography2's Masterlist

Welcome! This blog is 18+, please respect this.

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Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

D-Day (Jake Seresin x Reader series)

After finding out his girlfriend is pregnant, Jake is ready to move in and get married. The last thing he expected was to be hit with a six-month deployment at sea and missing the birth of his first child. (Jake x Reader, no y/n used)

First and Goal (Jake Seresin x Reader)

Hangman hosts a college football day for the Daggers, only to have Payback bring a history making Angel. (Hangman x female Reader fluff, no use of 'you')

Overtime (Jake Seresin x Reader, First and Goal pt. 2)

It was just supposed to be a football game. But then Hangman took Syla up on her invitation to watch the Blue Angels perform at the Miramar air show. A month after meeting and facing the last home show of her career, the history making Naval Aviator invited Hangman to visit her in Pensacola. She didn't actually expect him to accept. Payback definitely wasn't happy.

'tis the damn season (Jake Seresin x OC series)

After six years away from home, Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin was finally going to make his parents happy and surprise his family by spending Christmas in Magnolia, Texas. Introducing his pregnant fiancee to his family is a culture clash, with rural Texas meeting California influencer. Though unhappy in his relationship, Jake knows he has to buckle down and do the right thing with a baby on the way.

The last person he expected to run into was his high school sweetheart and the one that got away, Julie.

After almost a decade apart, Jake and Julie can't help but feel that old familiar spark. Even with the realities of their lives pressing in, they can't help but wonder what might have happened if just one of them had fought for their relationship all those years ago.

The Perfect Match (Jake Seresin x Reader one shot)

Every third week in March, fourth year medical students find out where they'll be going for their residency. A quick 2.2K word one-shot of Jake's girlfriend going through that process.

we can't be friends (but i'd like to just pretend) (Jake Seresin x unnamed Reader [Ladybug] one shot)

Jake's not entirely sure how the bet came about other than being too drunk and maybe a little bored at the Fourth of July party. But after shaking on it with Yale, he agrees to help the new WSO - Ladybug - out with her crush on Rooster and figure out how to get the two of them to the Navy Ball together. With four months to get it done, it'll be simple. But when the reserved aviator is harder to get to know than expected, Jake has to push her to get out of her own way.

Robert 'Bob' Floyd

(Every Step You Take) I'll Be Watching You (Bob Floyd x Reader one shot)

Bob disliked Friday team nights at The Hard Deck but knows they're important to the squad. That is, he disliked them until Penny hires a new summer bartender who gently pushes him to try new things. But when he comes in to find the police asking for her, the last thing he expected was to find himself protecting Evie. Trigger warnings: stalking, attempted assault. (Bob x Reader [Evie], no physical description)

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Santa's North Island Delivery Service (Bradley Bradshaw x Reader one shot)

Stuck at work, Bradley is missing his daughter's first Christmas Eve. But when the squadron decides to turn the hanger into Santa's Workshop, the pilot is able to sneak away to spend a little time with his girls. (Inspired by a true story; Rooster x Reader Christmas fluff)

Wanna Dance with Somebody (Bradley Bradshaw x Reader one shot)

When his girlfriend of three months ditches a night at the Hard Deck after a rough day, Bradley knows just what to do to cheer her up.

[elvendorx]

The Remus and Sirius height discourse has become so loaded. Today I saw a post claiming that viewing Sirius as taller than Remus means that one supports jkr? (What?)

Canonically, Sirius is taller than Remus. That's just a fact. And I understand that some people don't care about canon, and that's cool!! But even if you don't give a flying fig about canon, that does not make the view that Remus is taller than Sirius any more valid than the reverse, and you can't go around telling other people that they are wrong, or worse, bad people for not agreeing with a version of the character that exists in your head?

Look I get that it would be annoying to have people inject an "ahem actually..." on posts that are clearly based on headcanons. I get that. But that is the natural consequence of taking the names/tags of characters from popular fandoms and using them for your own OCs, and the fact that these fans jump to "they must be horrible people!" as opposed to "they might be confused about my relationship with canon" is... something.

As someone who is neurodivergent, I find that the fandom that claims to love diversity has very little tolerance for people who don't understand the unwritten rules about when canon is and isn't allowed to be used as a reference point. (Somehow, we still hate Snape because canon, but all other canon is garbage?) Sorry for the rant, I'm just tired and confused.

don't be sorry at all, i think this kind of thing needs to be talked about because at its worst, this rhetoric is an attempt at emotional manipulation and censorship. nobody is ever going to 100% agree even with the exact same words on a page - this is the entire literary criticism field, most of the time variation in readings are a good thing but this isn't even a "reading", because it has no bearing on the characters, they just are or aren't a certain height, so it becomes a tool for personal agendas - "if you think sirius was tall, you're a fascist". even though those two facts are not connected, because sirius' height is never anything more than a physical description of him. and it's glaringly obvious that the people who fixate on this aren't interested in sirius as a character, just as a vehicle for their own fantasies/validation.

this is the problem that comes from people trying to put dynamics & personalities that they want to see onto characters who don't fit those moulds. the height thing doesn't actually matter, it doesn't change anything in the narrative, but it summarises the attitude towards canon which for me summarises critical reading & reading comprehension as a whole within hp fandom. i don't think canon is perfect and i don't think it's sacred but i don't understand why you would engage with something that you have to twist out of recognition in order to enjoy it.

part of the fun of fandom, for me, is finding the limits and boundaries while maintaining recognition. at the very least, even if you change everything else, character has to be consistent. you have to recognise who you're working with otherwise what are you doing here? other authors are writing and have written exactly what you want, so why do you need this character with a history and motivations and a distinctive personality to be the ideal version of you/the partner you want (because lbr, that's it!). i'm not saying that people can't use their imaginations and bend things, i do it, and people can do that by bending characters out of recognition if they want. i don't get any enjoyment out of that or see the point in it but i'm not going to try and stop people. it's the flagrant dismissal of logic and evidence that i think is a more dangerous stance when applied more widely.

it's ALWAYS the people who want remus to be taller and sirius to be tiny who have 10 million personal reasons why they need it to be that way around despite it being clear that sirius is specifically tall, and remus is of such average and nondescript height that it's never mentioned. it's nobody else's responsibility to validate anyone's projections onto a fictional character, and your personal reasons for wanting a character to behave in a way that they wouldn't isn't anybody's responsibility. i don't think these kind of people see the irony in how they're trying to force their view on everyone else even though there's direct contradiction to it, yet are claiming that people who go with that feature from the text are violent fanaticists or something.

when you question why it makes such a difference to the "big strong remus and baby boi sirius" people, it comes down to "it's cuter" or "it allows me to simplify m/m relationships into tough and cute and use physical attributes as symbols rather than thinking complexly about personality traits and dynamics." the height thing is basically one step away from top/bottom discourse and just because someone identifies as queer or relates to a character doesn't make it unproblematic. if you need to see a character who represents your specific circumstances, find one or make an original one, imo. it's not an entire fandom's job to validate individuals and it's manipulative to suggest that someone else seeing a character according to the way that character is explicitly described is an act of hatred or violence or something.

apologies if this turned into a rant of its own - i don't CARE that sirius is tall but the attitude towards minor, basic facts is wild to me. it makes no difference to me but idk why you would take being taller than snape away from sirius bc he clearly enjoys being able to tower over him. if i did want to argue that sirius' height makes a difference in the text, i'd say that sirius is tall because padfoot is also a large creature and there seems to be some kind of reflection of the human in animagus forms, whereas the whole werewolf thing is something inflicted externally rather than something that comes from within the person so remus' human height isn't reflected by his lycanthropy. but that's a whole other question i would have to research more.

[clumsy-jiminie]

ɪɴᴇᴠɪᴛᴀʙʟʏ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ | ᴘᴊᴍ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇɪɢʜᴛ

❝ ᴍɪꜱꜱ ᴍᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ❞

↣ summary :: Kiara Smith had dreamed of true love for as long as she could remember. from being obsessed with the Disney princesses who found affection in the strangest situations to dressing up as a bride from kindergarten to fourth grade. it was the only thing she ever truly desired, so much so that a pleasant smile and kind eyes could have her smitten in seconds. right when she thought she found the one, a chance encounter with Park Jimin—the city’s famously perfect fuck boy with a smile so warm and a heart of ice—has her feeling quite the opposite. he knocks her off her axis and derails her life as she knows it, yet the universe seems to have another plan for the two.

↣ rating :: 18+

↣ genre :: fluff, angst, smut, e2l, slow burn

↣ pairing :: business owner!jimin x fem!artist!oc ft. taehyung

↣ word count :: 4.5k

↣ chapter warnings :: mature language, mentions of pining (?maybe?), angst with little resolve, descriptions of a small panic attack

↣ notes :: this is a pretty tame chapter tbh minus taehyung being an asshat but what’s new? maybe kiara is finally opening her eyes?? jk is the best of the best here he deserves a crown

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

if you have any questions, comments, or concerns PLEASE don't hesitate to message me or send me an ask! my inbox is always open. 💖

"I miss the days where I was young and naive. I thought the perfect guy would come and find me. now happy ever after, it don't come so easily."

- all I want, olivia rodriguez -

ｓｐｒｉｎｇ

It's been days since Jeongguk swept away Kiara. Days since she heard anything from Taehyung. Days with tear-stained cheeks. Days of fighting with Jeongguk for her phone because she desperately wanted to contact her boyfriend, she wanted to reach out first and forget about this whole thing. Forget about him ignoring her. Forget about him taking her car and leaving her stranded. Forget about him single-handedly ruining date night.

But Jeongguk was a good best friend—a fantastic best friend—and wouldn't let Kiara have her phone until she realized the importance of the matter.

It took days. It was like kicking a nasty drug habit, and love was one hell of a drug.

After the third day, Kiara couldn't help but sit with her thoughts. Jeongguk locked her phone in a safe box that only he had the code to so she wouldn't do anything stupid while he was gone. She sat on the couch, sinking into the cushions from the overuse throughout the years. The 24-year-old played with her fingers, staring at nothing as her thoughts consumed her. 

When did things take a turn for the worse? They fight more frequently over the smallest of things. She knew couples fought, which was healthy for the relationship, but why did it leave her with a sinking feeling in her gut? The woman never saw her parents fight this much—maybe they were strategic with their disputes—but when she did, her father always came home with flowers for her mother. Her mother would smile brightly, lighting up the room while her father fell in love all over again.

Taehyung never did that for her.

Even in the beginning, once they moved out of the honeymoon stage, arguments were often left unfinished. They would become shells of themselves as they avoided contact with each other. Kiara would have to fake smiles around her friends so as not to worry them. After a few days of silence, she would reach out to the man, and all seemed right in the world once again.

No flowers, no I'm sorry's, and no falling in love all over again.

Was this how it would always be—their arguments left unresolved with her always putting her feelings aside to reconcile? Why did it seem like these disputes chipped away at her soul more while the other party remained untouched?

How was she going to fix this?

Why did she have to fix this?

By day four, she had become numb to the thought of Taehyung. Kiara was carrying the weight of their problems by herself and didn't want to anymore. She took off the load, tying it up with a pretty little box until she eventually returned. The woman was in the city, within walking distance of her friends. Being out here happened less than she would've liked. Until further notice, Taehyung didn't exist to her. She tried to ignore the freeing feeling, knowing it was only a temporary patch on their relationship problems.

"No, no, no!" The dark-haired woman yelled at Jeongguk's television screen. It was 8 in the morning, and she had no concern for the occupants who lived there. She got on her knees from her original sitting position, desperately mashing her little fingers on the controller.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" She exclaimed as she watched the screen, her eyebrows folding inward. She inched closer to the screen as if it would help her. "WHICH ONE OF THESE ASSHOLES SENT A BLUE FUCKING SHELL?!"

The attack knocked her back a few places, but there was still time to reclaim her title of first place. She stared up at the 60" flat screen as silence fell over her, using every ounce of focus she had. She aimed for every box on the track, using the random items with precise skill until she returned to the top. It was the final lap, after all, and tensions were high.

"Down in front," said Jeongguk from behind her.

"YES!" She barely heard the man speak as she secured first again. She was only a few seconds away from the finish line. That was all until Kiara listened to the familiar beeps of something trailing behind her, trying to hit her. Her eyes widened as the red shell crashed into her cart right before the finish line.

The attack was fatal, knocking her back to fifth place.

“WHAT THE FUUUUUHHHHCK!!” The voice that came out of the woman's body barely seemed human. It was deep and guttural, starkly different from her soft and silky tone.

Jeongguk couldn't even hold back the cackle that ripped from his throat. His head flew back into the couch cushions while his hand held his tensing stomach. His eyes shut, deep crinkles forming next to them as his cheeks started to burn from the muscles of his face holding in place for too long.

"You're such an asshat for that!" She yelled while turning back to look at him. "You couldn't accept second place?!" Her amber eyes burned a hole into the grinning man.

"H-Hey!" He stammered through laughter. Once his sounds of joy finally died down, his eyes met hers while his lips fell into a straight line. He cocked a brow at her, "Do I look like someone who comes in second?"

"Right now, you look like a dickhead."

"Don't be an ass because I beat you fair and square."

"Fair and square?!" She repeated, her depth going up an octave. "I had that race, and you know it!"

The man's structured lips formed into a playful smirk. He leaned forward, exposed biceps subtly flexing as he rested his elbows on his thighs. His hands hung between his legs gracefully as he stared at Kiara.

"Is that why you came in fifth place, sweetheart?"

If this were any other woman, they would've been on their knees already for the man. Everything about Jeongguk was attractive—from the piercings that accentuated his lips and eyebrow to the tattoos that covered his entire left arm down to his hand, obsidian hair tied up into a messy bun most of the time, and his built physique. He had large, dark eyes, a straight nose slightly on the larger side, and baby-pink lips. On top of physical looks, he was an absolute sweetheart. He was protective of his friends and gave to anyone who needed help. It was apparent why he got girls with ease and rarely got rejected.

But he was going against Kiara, and all she did was stare back at the man. Her expression was unreadable, so he was caught entirely off guard when she suddenly reached out and grabbed Jeongguk by the collar of his tank top. With his eyes growing wide like a deer in headlights, she pulled him down to the floor before he could process what was happening, making the man forget how strong she was for a moment. As his back hit the ground, she swiftly got on top of him, straddling his hips. The woman grabbed a pillow off of the couch and began to beat the man with it senselessly.

Jeongguk laughed from underneath her, trying to block his face with his arms. Somewhere between the attack, he managed to grab the weapon from her and tossed it across the room. Kiara glanced back at the small pillow slumped against a wall before looking back at the dark-haired man under her. 

And for a second, the world had frozen in time for Jeongguk.

As his eyes locked with the woman above him—eyes golden like a summer sunrise, hair natural and wild like a lion's mane, his shirt draped over her body like a dress with a faint playful smirk tugging at her lips—he felt his heart pang. Like he was shocked with a defibrillator and brought back to life. He heat rushed to his face, flushing his cheeks with a pretty pink.

Kiara didn't notice.

Thank god she didn't notice.

She just reached for another pillow from the couch and continued her attack.

"K-Kiara!" He stammered again through fits of laughter. He tried to grab the pillow again, ignoring how his heart felt in his chest, but failed. His desperate attempts motivated the girl to increase the intensity of her hits, hearing a satisfying thud every time the plush object connected with him. This satisfaction didn't last long, as Jeongguk finally grasped the pillow and threw it with the other.

Their eyes met again.

"Looks like you're out of ammo," Jeongguk said with a smirk, his hands absentmindedly landing on her thighs. Her skin was soft to the touch and surprisingly warm. Why did he suddenly want to hold her?

"I wouldn't speak so soon." The dark-haired woman raised both of her hands.

He cocked an eyebrow. "You're gonna fight me?" Before she could respond, he let out a loud scoff. "You know I take MMA, right?" She nodded. The man was expecting her to back down, but instead, he felt her fingertips at his sides, tickling him. Jeongguk's eyes widened as he burst into laughter, squirming beneath her. He tried to grab her hands but couldn't get a good grip. "Fuck!"

Kiara laughed maniacally, giving the man exactly what he deserved—sweet revenge. Maybe he'd think twice before costing her a win in Mario Kart next time.

Suddenly, Jeongguk gripped onto her shirt, pulling her down on top of him before he rolled them over. The swift movement made Kiara discombobulated, allowing him to grab her hands and pin them above her head. Soft pants parted from his lips as she looked up at him with innocent, doe eyes—like the evil woman didn't just subject the man to pure torture. She pushed against his restraints, back arching in the process, causing Jeongguk to tighten his grip. In this position, he could only think about one thing. And he couldn't find himself to care about anything else at this moment. All he saw was Kiara's amber eyes looking at him like he was the only one who mattered in the world. He needed to shove those thoughts—those feelings—into whatever box they came from.

"You good?" He asked, chest heaving up and down slightly.

Kiara looked up at him, eyes flickering over his pink cheeks, hair falling out of his messy bun and into his face. "Are you?" She countered, smirking playfully at his appearance. She knew that look. She would catch his eyes lingering over her repeatedly and would ignore it every time she did.

Jeongguk let out a weak chuckle, the grip on her wrists loosening until they disappeared completely as he leaned back. At the same time, Kiara propped herself up onto her elbows. "Yeah," he breathed. "I'm good, couldn't be better. Uh….” He looked away from the girl, deciding that anything but her needed his attention.

A door suddenly opened, followed by heavy footsteps and a loud yawn.

Thank goodness.

"Y'all are so damn loud," said a tall man as he walked into the living room. Sporting a t-shirt and some blue stripped boxers, he plopped down onto the couch. His raven hair was sticking up at all angles from a rough night of sleep. His skin was pale pink with a little beauty mark underneath his left eye.

"Don't act like you weren't up anyway," Jeongguk said as he stood up. He offered Kiara his hand, pulling her up as well.

"Well, how could anyone sleep with y'all rolling around the place like you're having sex!"

The pair let out equal sounds of disgust. "Oh, shut up, Yugyeom!" They both groaned.

"I'm just saying!" Yugyeom countered as he looked at the couple. "Honestly, when are you two gonna finally get together? You know I've been an avid Kiakook shipper since meeting you guys."

"You know she has a boyfriend," Jeongguk stated as he rolled his eyes. 

"So? What's a little obstacle gonna do? Aren't y'all fighting anyway?" Yugyeom asked as his dark eyes settled on Kiara.

"I don't see why that matters," the girl said with a shrug.

"Oh, but it does!" Yugyeom grinned as he leaned forward. "See, if you guys are on the rocks, my boy Jeongguk could swoop in and save the day; then you guys can get together, and my Kiakook dreams will be fulfilled!" Heat rose to Jeongguk's cheeks, staining his face with pink once again despite the glare he was sending to the other.

"It's not gonna happen," Kiara deadpanned as she stared at the paler man.

"Who's to say it won't?" Yugyeom argued with a raised brow.

Kiara fell silent for a second, folding her arms over her chest as her brows lowered. "Jeongguk doesn't like me like that, right?" She turned to look at the man next to her, who was staring at Yugyeom.

When their eyes met, Jeongguk's heart skipped a beat. "Right," he quickly agreed while reaching up to fix his hair. Kiara knew him too well for her own good. She knew whenever he played with his hair, it was a tell.

Ignore it.

"Anyway," Jeongguk cut through the growing silence, feeling as if his roommate and best friend already knew the truth. He walked over to the bookshelf and pulled down a solid black metal box. After inputting a code, it unlocked, and he grabbed the phone from inside it. "I think you've earned this back." He tossed the device to Kiara, and she caught it between her hands. "I gotta take a piss," he announced before walking off to his bedroom.

"He's so bad at lying," Yugyeom chuckled as he stood up. He reached outward, stretching his long limbs while emitting a groan. "He's madly in love with you."

"Bro, shut up," Kiara rolled her eyes as she fiddled with the phone in her hand. Deny. Deny. Deny. That's all she could do at the moment. Between the rollercoaster of her relationship, dealing with Park Jimin whenever he decided to intrude on her life, and keeping Luna a secret, coming to terms with the fact that her best friend of over a decade could have feelings for her…, it would make her brain implode right now. She could only have so much on her plate before it shattered beneath the weight.

The skinny man shrugged her off. "It's only a matter of time, Ki!" He said in a sing-song voice as he got up and left the room.

Kiara sighed deeply before glancing down at the phone in her hands. Her brows furrowed for a moment as she stared at the device. Turmoil was bubbling inside her—half of her saying she shouldn't care while the other half cared deeply. She was scared that her assumption was correct. That Taehyung didn't bother reaching out to her at all—that he didn't care where she was. How could he not worry that the bed was empty whenever he arrived home and remained empty for four days afterward? This was her boyfriend, and he had to care, right?

Wrong.

When she unlocked her phone and scrolled through the notification banners, her heart sank further into her chest. Kiara scrolled back to that night, seeing only text messages from her group chat with her girlfriends, Aimee, and a missed call notification from her mother. She even opened up her text app, hoping that she possibly muted her notifications from him in a drunken rage.

But there was nothing.

Not a missed call.

Not a text message.

From Kim Taehyung.

Tears prickled at her eyes, threatening to leave and stream down her cheeks in hot waves. She looked upwards, blinking them away.

If he doesn't care, why should I? Why am I the one saving this relationship?

Just as she debated whether or not she should reach out and give that man a piece of her mind, her phone began to ring. She looked at the device, causing her heart to race a mile a minute. She contemplated, knowing she shouldn't for her sanity, but feeling like she should hear what he had to say. She clicked the green answer button and put it to her ear.

"Darling."

And with only one word falling from his lips, the woman was done for. Just like that, she fell back into the cycle of Taehyung without any resistance. Her heart swelled, all the negative feelings from the moment earlier melting away into nothing. The word alone was kryptonite, and how his deep voice said the pet name so effortlessly was like a shot of dopamine straight to the brain. She sighed in relief, sounding like the word "Hello."

"Hi." She could hear Taehyung smiling on the other side of the phone so clearly that she could picture his full lips forming that boxy grin she loved. "Where are you? You haven't been home for a couple of days."

Her heart outweighed her mind, ignoring that he noticed she was missing but didn't care enough until now to see where she was. Love was a sick thing. "I know, I'm at JK's place."

"Tell him why." Jeongguk's voice boomed through the quiet living room, sending a chill down her spine. Her eyes slowly trailed to him, meeting his glare. He leaned against the doorframe to his room, arms folded over his chest. "Tell. Him. Why." He spoke slowly and clearly, his tone more profound than before.

Kiara only nodded once, wrapping her free arm around her midsection. "Be-Because you left me at the restaurant."

Taehyung let out a soft sigh. "I know, that was so fucked of me, but I was so angry by your actions."

"That's not a reason."

"What? It is—"

"That's not a reason to endanger my safety. What if something happened to me? What if I didn't have a mind to call JK?" Kiara's heart started to race in her chest as her fingertips clutched the soft material of Jeongguk's shirt. "Would you have been OK with that?"

"I—" he paused for a moment before sighing deeply. "No. It would tear me apart. I'm sorry, Kiara."

A smile cracked on her lips, and the grip on her shirt began to lessen as she felt her heart swell again. Maybe he did care. "I forgive you."

"So when are you coming back home?"

Kiara's brows furrowed. He could miss her and wanted her next to him. But something in her gut was telling her it was not that, that it was something less pure. "I'm not," she answered before fully processing anything. It was almost like it was instinctual.

"What?"

"Not for a while," her tone started to get soft as she looked down at her feet. "I'm still a little upset and need more time to process." The fact that he waited four days and five nights to reach out didn't sit well in her stomach. If the roles were reversed, she would've been blowing up his phone on day one.

Maybe that was her problem.

"But I apologized!"

"And? Taehyung, I could've been kidnapped because of your actions!"

The reality was finally setting in for the woman. If she hadn't called Jeongguk, who knows where she would be right now? Someone could've picked her up, offering her a ride home, and that would've been the end of her.

"My actions only happened because of your attitude!"

Kiara's jaw dropped to the floor, uncertainty swirling around in her abdomen. It was still her fault. Of course, it was. She chose to drink, thus choosing to mouth off at him. If she stayed silent and played the good girlfriend, she would be home by now.

"Still," her voice fell to just a whisper. Her throat tightened as she held back the urge to let rivers of tears flow down her cheeks.

Taehyung huffed, signifying that he was growing tired of this conversation. "Listen, I'm sorry you made me so angry I had to leave you. All I can do is apologize, and you've already forgiven me! Just come home, please. I miss you."

Kiara's breathing quickened as she listened to the bullshit spewing out of his mouth. She looked at Jeongguk, who looked like he was ready to drop everything and take a ride out to Long Island to beat some ass. His jaw set, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek as his arms folded over his chest. As if the anger emitting from Jeongguk spread to her, she gripped her shirt again. "Miss me some more then," she said before hanging up on the man.

Kiara panted softly, placing her hand on her chest as if it would slow her racing heart. Jeongguk looked at her with wide eyes, his once-set jaw now hanging. "Ki!" He screamed, causing Kiara's eyes to dart towards him. He had a broad smile spread on his lips. "FUCK YEAH! Do you know how long I've been waiting for you—" Jeongguk looked at the woman, who suddenly started crying. She was on the verge of hyperventilating as she crumbled to her knees. He ran over to her, pulling her sobbing self into his hard chest. He rubbed her back gently, "What's wrong?" He asked softly.

"I-I just don't know how long I can keep doing this. Everything is always my fault," the girl sobbed, absolutely breaking Jeongguk's heart.

His brows furrowed as he clenched his jaw. What did this man do to her? "Nothing is your fault, Ki. What he did was beyond wrong, and the fact that he's trying to blame you for it is sick."

She didn't say another word, for her mind convinced herself she did wrong. No matter what Jeongguk said, nothing would change her mind. They wouldn't be fighting right now if only she held her tongue.

"I love him, Kookie," she sniffled, "I love him so much. I just want him to know that nothing else matters than him."

"Ki," he mumbled. This relationship was getting out of control. Her mindset was fucked, and he didn't know how to fix it besides telling her to leave. And she wasn't going to do that. This wasn't the first time she cried in his arms on his living room floor, and it sure wasn't going to be the last.

Jeongguk pulled away from Kiara, whose sobs had quieted down to soft sniffles and whimpers. He cupped her face in his large hands, wiping away tears from rose-stained cheeks and trying not to melt at glittering amber eyes. It was heartbreaking to see her cry. She had one of those faces that made you want to cry along with her.

"Why don't you come out with me? Clear your head for a little. We'll stop by Little Latte, and while I'm at work, wasn't there a yoga studio you wanted to try?" Kiara nodded a little despite her cheeks squishing from Jeongguk's hands. He couldn't help but smile. "OK, you can get a class in, then we can stop by Mario's on the way home. Sound good?"

Kiara inhaled deeply, knowing her best friend knew best. If she declined, he would've dragged her out regardless. Otherwise, she would soak Jeongguk's pillow with tears until she cried herself into a nap, then repeat the process. Pushing through these negative emotions was the best way for her to process them. Kiara knew that. Jeongguk knew that. She hated that he knew that.

"Fine."

It was the most positive response she could muster up. Jeongguk didn't allow her time to debate, practically lifting her off the ground and shoving her to his bathroom. He gave the girl 20 minutes to get ready, including a shower. Kiara barely had enough time to properly sulk before Jeongguk barged in, blasting That's My Best Friend by Doja Cat and Saweetie while singing along remarkably loud. Kiara tried her hardest not to laugh at the man who impressively rapped each lyric with the same energy as a five-month-old puppy.

Jeongguk had dragged her out of the apartment complex soon enough, hand in hand, tattooed fingers laced with non. The cool air nipped at Kiara's exposed skin, but it was insufficient to cause discomfort. She tried to keep up with the long-legged, chipper boy, but in the back of her mind, all she could think about was Taehyung.

Not that she had enough time to think about him. Little Latte was a hop, skip, and jump away from Jeongguk's apartment, which explained the cafe owner's distaste as he walked into the quiet shop. 

"Hey! You're 15 minutes late, Jeon!" Mr. Choi yelled out, and all Jeongguk could do was offer the man a childish smile full of mischief and wonder. Kiara hid behind the taller man as much as she could. She hated Mr. Choi seeing her like this.

"Sorry, Mr. C., but I brought your favorite person!"

Kiara softly cursed the man as he stepped to the side, revealing her before she slowly looked up at the man.

"Good morning, Mr. C."

The man's face sank, instantly recognizing the sadness hidden in Kiara's features. "Aw, my child, come here." He outstretched his arms to her, prompting the small girl to drag her feet close enough to the man for him to embrace her. She inhaled shakily. He smelled warm—like toasted cinnamon and freshly roasted coffee beans. Mr. Choi had the best hugs, especially when her family was far away. He patted her back gently like a father would.

"Do you want your favorite?"

Kiara nodded as she let go of the older man. He gave her a single nod before returning behind the counter to get to work. She wasn't a coffee person, hating the bitter taste it left on her tongue, so her favorite included a hot chocolate with fudge drizzle and extra whipped cream. It didn't matter if it was a thunderstorm outside or 100 degrees; Kiara would consume the beverage regardless. 

She waited to pay, and Mr. Choi always fought her on the matter. And as always, Kiara shoved whatever money she owed him, plus a few extra dollars, into the usually empty tip jar on the counter. The dark-haired woman took her drink, walked to her usual seat by the window, and watched the shop come to life. As she sipped on the chocolate goodness in her cup, licking away whatever whipped cream got on her top lip, she watched the store buzz like a beehive. All types of people from different walks of life gathered at this shop. Some just needed a quick cup to go. Some grabbed a pastry along with their drink and stayed a while. Some had textbooks and notebooks with laptops, studying for something important. Others had just a good book that they enjoyed reading.

People-watching had always made Kiara feel better for some reason. It made her seem less significant in the grand scheme of things. She would forget about her problems as she pretended to know others. There was nothing wrong with a bit of escapism now and again.

After finishing her drink and watching Jeongguk interact with the customers for a little while, Kiara finally felt OK enough to continue her day. Yoga clears the mind. But before she got up, she grabbed a sticky note and pen that was on every table and left a small message for her future self whenever she would return.

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

[starstruckunknown-princess]

Black Rose

Summary: The fateful night in the Spring Court as told by Tamlin’s younger sister, Niamh. 

Pairing: Rhysand x OC (Niamh, pronounced ‘Neev,’ no physical descriptions)

Warnings: Slap, discussion of murder, implications of sex

Notes: Hey y’all! This is my first time posting for the ACOTAR-verse. Let me know what you think! Reblogs/notes/likes are much appreciated!

Part 2

Two pairs of wings, one pair smaller than the other, both ink black and unmistakably Illyrian, hung over the mantle in her father’s study. 

Niamh couldn’t breathe, her mouth gaping in horror at the sight. A spring thunderstorm raged outside, rain pelting the tall windows and thunder rumbling. Lightning flashed, casting perfect shadows of the wings on the wall behind them.

“Do you see,” her father’s voice hissed from behind her and she whirled around to face him. He sat in one of the plush chairs, swirling a glass of blood-dark wine, Tamlin stood behind the chair, his eyes downcast in shame. “Do you see what the Night Court gets for humiliating us?”

“Hu-wha…Father, what have you done?” she choked out, mouth dry as a desert. He’d had Tamlin wake her from slumber and bring her to the study, now she knew why. To stare in sickening awe at the wings of her ex-future in-laws. 

“They were supposed to be that bastard Rhysand’s wings,” her father explained as if he were simply talking about the weather, not the murder of two innocents, “but I thought this would send a better message.”

Niamh gulped; she knew she didn’t want the answer to the question, “What message is that?” 

“That the Spring Court is powerful. That the Spring Court has sharp teeth and jaws that snap and that no one defiles the princess of the Spring Court and gets away with it.” Her father’s emerald gaze burned her like acid. He rose to his feet and prowled toward her, towering over her like a great redwood. Niamh couldn’t help but tremble slightly; her father’s wrath was usually reserved for her older brothers. She had rarely seen it before tonight, which made his quiet, simmering rage all the more terrifying. “Do not lie to me, girl. You’ve made yourself worthless to me, especially since the Lord of Night changed his mind on your betrothal. How am I going to marry you off now?” 

Niamh’s gaze landed on Tamlin — he was the only one she’d told, the only one she felt she could confide in about her relationship with his friend. They were friends, how could Tamlin have betrayed both his sister and his best friend in one fell swoop? 

“W-we were…we were betrothed,” Niamh offered weakly. 

The sting of the slap bloomed and the room tilted in her vision before the sound hit her ears. She toppled over, barely catching herself in time to not hit the edge of the hearth. Her eyes began to water while her cheek burned. She felt a trickle of blood run down her cheek, racing the tears down to her chin. Tamlin was by her side in a moment, steadying her until she shook him off. 

Her father’s voice was steady and deep, like the roar of magma underground. “You will remain confined to your room until your mother and I decide what to do with our whore of a daughter.” 

With that he winnowed away, leaving his two youngest children to stare at the wings above the mantelpiece. 

“Niamh, I-”

“How could you?” she demanded, interrupting her brother, “How could you tell him?” 

“I didn’t know it would-” Tamlin tried to reach out to her, his own hands shaking slightly, but Niamh threw him off. She rose to her feet and shoved at her brother’s chest.

“But you did, Tamlin, you did know! You knew because I told you in confidence, because I begged you not to say anything!” 

“You also know what Father is like,” Tamlin defended. “He was angry about the betrothal being called off, of the humiliation that brought on our court. He’s been waiting for a chance at a power play against the Night Court, and I hoped if he knew about you and Rhys he would have the upper hand that he wanted. I thought that meant forcing along the marriage or an alliance, not this!”

Niamh scoffed, unstoppable tears falling down her face. “Your pathetic desperation to gain Father’s approval got two innocent females killed, Tamlin! Are you proud of yourself?” Tamlin opened his mouth but Niamh held up a hand to stop him, “I don’t care. I won’t hear any more bullshit justifications. Besides, I should be getting to my room; wouldn’t want Father to be angry with me.” 

She made sure to ram into Tamlin’s shoulder on her way past him, even though she knew that due to her smaller stature it wouldn’t affect him much, if at all. Still, getting the last word was a small vindication that helped tamp down the rising tide of guilt. 

When she reached her room, she used her ability and grew a thick bramble of black roses over the door. She made sure to wrap the handle in particularly thorny stems so that anyone trying to enter would think twice about it. 

Alone with her thoughts, she moved toward her window and sat on the sill. The rose garden went on for acres upon acres and was so peaceful at night. She wished she could wrap herself in that peace because she knew she’d gotten all the sleep she would that night. Every time she shut her eyes, she saw the wings and her chest clenched painfully. 

Rhys’s mother and sister had been nothing but welcoming during Niamh’s betrothal tour of the Night Court, introducing her to the various leaders of Illyrian camps and making sure she was comfortable. His mother had offered tea and biscuits and warmer gloves and very much behaved like Niamh’s own mother, doting on her during her entire stay. His sister joked and gossiped with her, along with their cousin Morrigan, and the three young females had formed what Niamh had thought to be the beginnings of friendship. 

Her heart ached at the memories. Her heart ached when she thought of how Rhys was feeling, what he must be going through. She wished she could see him, even though he most likely hated her now. Her heart ached for that, too. 

Soon after she sat down it felt as though her ears filled with cotton. Not that she minded; it was easier for her to zone out. An hour or so later, the feeling had disappeared just in time for her to hear a knock at the door.

“Go away, Tamlin,” she said, not bothering to look over her shoulder until she heard the splintering of wood and a crash. She jumped up, assuming a defensive stance.

Light from the hallway framed a distinctively Illyrian set of wings, as ink-black as the ones in the study, though still attached to a tall male form. The ruins of her door lay between them, and the tension in the male’s posture screamed fight.

He took two long-legged steps into her room and she gasped at the sight of him, illuminated in the moonlight from her window. His blue-black hair was disheveled, pupils in his violet eyes were near pinpricks, and his golden skin was paler than the last time she’d seen him. Something had changed about him, but it wasn’t until the sweet-scented tang of magic hit her nostrils could she tell what it was. 

“High Lord,” she whispered, a hand coming to cover her mouth. He reeked of the blood that stained his black clothes — the blood of her oldest brothers, her father — but also of power, heady and intense. She couldn’t help but fall to her knees and avert her gaze. 

His footsteps approached, slowly working his way toward her. Niamh remained still, expecting a killing blow and a quick death. Instead, Rhysand reached down and gently guided her chin upward so she could look at him. 

“Did you hear anything?” he asked, voice low and surprisingly gentle. She saw his pupils return to normal size as he regarded her with concern, sweeping over her form while she still knelt in front of him. 

“No,” she answered breathlessly. “Rhys, I’m-” 

“Don’t. It’s all over now. Tamlin and I are High Lords.” 

Tears sprung into her eyes for the second time that night. If Tamlin and Rhys were High Lords, that meant both of their fathers were dead. Two families almost completely annihilated within the course of a day. 

“Just make it quick, Rhys, I know I don’t deserve it but please,” she whispered, closing her eyes and letting the tears fall. Again, her expectation of brutality was met with the gentle touch of his fingers. This time, the pads of his thumbs wiped away her tears.

“Sweetrose,” he said, crouching down so they were closer, “I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to take you with me.” 

She searched for words; none came. Too many questions buzzed through her head, like bees in a hive. Try as she might, she couldn’t catch one long enough for it to form a coherent thought. 

Rhys half-smiled, and she felt his presence in her mind. The bees calmed. He was good at that. One by one, he answered her questions. 

Yes, I’m sure I want you in the Night Court.

No, not just because you’re Tamlin’s sister.

Because I love you. I want you.

I wanted to marry you. Still do.

It’s not your fault.

None of this is your fault.

I love you. I love you. I love you. 

Once her mind calmed, he slid out of it as smoothly as he entered.

“Come with me, Sweetrose,” he asked, rising to his full height and extending his hand down to her. He was offering her a choice, something she wouldn’t have if she stayed here with Tamlin as High Lord. She knew in her heart of hearts that her brother loved her, but he wouldn’t hesitate to marry her off for his own benefit. If she stayed, she would never have true freedom. 

She reached up and took Rhys’s hand.

[icedmatchatae]

Hello! Welcome to the Matchalist🍵 where you can read the stories and sip the tea I share with you all. More drinks of choice—ranging from teaspresso shots and lattes—are being developed, so they will be revealed soon!!

Please note that I created these fanfics myself. I do inform if I’ve been inspired by and if stories are based on movies, songs, ideas, etc. Almost all of my stories are rated mature. If you’re under the age of 18, please do not interact.

Stories are written purely for creative purposes. Main OC/Readers are presented as afab! as it’s coming from my perspective and what I affiliate with. Physical descriptions and appearance of OC/Reader are left vague to leave creativity up to the readers’ minds. If descriptions are applied, it pertains to the plot. BTS are written as fictional characters. In no way, shape or form, are they like this in real life. I do not own HYBE or Bangtan themselves. Feedback (even constructive criticism) and comments are always welcome!

All rights reserved for ©️ icedmatchatae 2023 (｡●́‿●̀｡) Please do not repost, copy, translate, modify, or steal any of my work. Stories are only on here and AO3.

「ONE SHOTS」

⋙ Cien Años (a, f)

Hanahaki AU A sad story of two best friends who loved each other for different reasons.

TBA…

TBA…

TBA…

「ONE SHOTS」

⋙ Best Lover (f, s)

Secret Established Relationship AU, PWP Though hiding a relationship had its struggles, you and Jimin made it work. Which meant learning about each other, knowing the way you both function, understanding flaws…and teaching Jimin how to be the best lover he can be for you.

「SERIES」

⋙ No Kisses (a, f, s)

Football AU, Enemies to Lovers, Frienemies with Benefits It’s championship week! The most anticipated week of the school year; however, leading up to the events, you and your council must collaborate with the football team to promote school spirit and pride. Unfortunately, you’re forced to work with your number one enemy, Football team captain and fuck boy, Kim Taehyung, known for having a mysterious “no kisses” rule.

⋙ Glimpse of Us (a, f, s)

Idol AU, Ex-Childhood Best Friends BTS’s V has been living a lavished and successful lifestyle, but underneath all of that, Kim Taehyung is far from the perfect image the media and fans made him out to be. All he wants is to relive the feelings of happiness and purpose in his life, but how can he when he left behind those memories years ago? The same memories, he hopes to see a glimpse of.

「ONE SHOTS」

⋙ Good for Me (f, s)

Bad Boy AU, PWP You went home for the weekend, leaving a pissed-off and bruised-up Taehyung dry and devastated. So what does he do?—follow you home. Insane? Probs, but you’re always good for him so why not?

「ONE SHOTS」

⋙ Please Teach Me? (s)

Supernatural AU You’re a succubus who doesn’t know a thing or two on luring men, and it doesn’t help that your first task in training is to get the most egotistical fuck boy in the human realm in bed, Beta Tau Sigma president Jeon Jungkook.

↳ Please Love Me! (Sequel to Please Teach Me?) (f, s)

Supernatural AU, Friends with Benefits By thirsty popular demand, I present to you a small sequel to Please Teach Me? Your succubus self has been going back and forth to the human realm to be…friends with benefits??? With your first task, Jeon Jungkook. Though you only see it as him, finding the good in his humanity, and helping you with your training, Jungkook suddenly thinks otherwise. Yet, he’s in denial.

Updated: March 2023

All rights reserved for ©️ icedmatchatae (｡●́‿●̀｡)

[deepspacedukat]

Long Distance

Muahahahahaaa!!! 😈 Er, I mean...uh...Enjoy! 😇🫶

S’Talon is a Romulan OC created by @bigblissandlove1. This story was written/posted with their permission. Go check out their story, “The Raptor’s Descent” if you haven’t already! That’s where S’Talon came from!

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

S'Talon (OC) x Reader

[A/N: This is smut, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: Implied interspecies sex, implied Human/Romulan sex, masturbation, established relationship, a message home turned sexy, S'Talon sends a naughty message to his lover, sexting but make it Star Trek, innuendo, graphic descriptions of sex, sexual fantasizing, discussion of a sexy photoshoot.

~*~

"Computer, lock the door and initiate No Interruptions Protocol," S'Talon ordered as he stepped out of the sonic shower in his quarters. With a towel wrapped around his waist, the Riov strode over to the viewport beside his desk.

The stars whizzing by in all their luminous glory made him think about the vastness of the universe...and how he was so far from you.

He wouldn't be away for much longer, though. This mission may have taken him to a far-off sector for nearly a month, but now that he was on his way home, he was allowed to break his communications silence.

"Computer...estimate time of delivery of a subspace message to my home from here," he requested bracing a hand on the wall beside the viewport. The cool metal was brisk and soothing against his skin as the Riov contemplated his situation. He'd written to you every day since his departure, and as soon as the communications blackout order had been lifted, he'd transmitted everything at once, along with an apology for the delay.

"Subspace message would be delivered to that location in three days, seven hours, and twelve minutes."

That was two days before the T'Met would be in orbit once more. Perfect.

"Computer, record and encrypt a subspace message to be delivered to my home," S'Talon said smiling out at the stars. The answering chime signalling him to begin had become quite familiar to him over the course of the last month. Allowing the warmth of his love to fill his voice, he thought of you...imagined talking to you as he began his message. It was audio only, but perhaps tomorrow he'd include a video.

That was a wicked idea, especially given the path of his thoughts tonight.

"Good evening, e'lev. Well, it's evening for me, but by the time you get this, it should be early morning. Oh, I can picture how beautiful you look even now. By my reasoning, you'll be hearing this message when you've just managed to force yourself out of bed and replicate some breakfast." The Riov couldn't help the fond laugh that spilled from his lips. "Ah, my darling girl...I have said it before in my correspondences over the course of this journey, but I wish I could be there now to make waking easier. It's so very hard to do so alone."

S'Talon walked slowly over to his bed, removing the towel from his waist as he did so.

"E'lev, in my absence from you, my thoughts have been growing steadily in one direction, just as a flower grows toward its source of light. Every day, the knowledge that I will soon be in your loving embrace once again has brought me more comfort than a man in my occupation deserves," he murmured.

There was a time when he would've been loath to admit that he harbored even the smallest conscience-driven doubt about his position with the Tal Shiar. He loved his service to the Empire - truly, he did - but he knew that each mission had the potential to ask of him some difficult tasks. Murder, torture, tasks that made it hard for a person to sleep at night...but it was all in the name of the safety of his people.

The sacrifice was worth it, but he wasn't too big of a man to hide his feelings from you, his partner. This mission in particular had required him to perform several difficult tasks, so he relished the prospect of being able to lose himself in your arms and forget what he'd done.

"You'll be pleased to know that even though lightyears separate us, I've found the time to create several sketches of you from memory." As he spoke, he opened the little black sketchbook and thumbed to the drawing from the night before. "The latest has you in the same lovely pose you were in when you last coaxed me into our bed. The quilt tangled between your legs, caressing your abdomen and just barely concealing your breasts."

The mere memory sent blood rushing to the southern portion of his anatomy, and he let out a wistful sigh as he sat on the bed. He knew you'd be able to hear the quiet rustling of the covers - in fact, he counted on it to set the tone.

"I'm afraid my thoughts of you are becoming less civil by the second. Even when confined to remembrance, your touch is as a siren's call to this poor sailor of the stars," S'Talon admitted as he recalled the way your hands had skimmed over the hard, muscular plane of his back. By the time he took a shaky breath, the ache jutting up from the apex of his thighs had become too much to ignore. "How cruel I am to have been away from those sumptuous thighs and loving lips for so long..."

He palmed his throbbing lok as he imagined the soft look you'd give him when he was home again. You'd welcome him easily as you always did, and his heart would flutter with how intensely he loved you for your infinite patience.

"I'll make it up to you. Would you like that? A Riov kneeling at the feet of his Human mate, caring only for her pleasure..." He'd done so countless times before, but he couldn't help himself. There was no sweeter nectar in all the universe than the lust that flowed from you so freely as he made love to you. A devious idea popped into his head, and he smirked as he reclined in bed. "In fact, allow me to make a small apology prior to my return. If you've pressing matters to attend to this morning, I'd recommend you pause this recording and resume it this evening. I promise I won't be offended."

He waited a couple of breaths just to make sure she had time to consider her obligations, then continued.

"Why don't you go into the bedroom and get that vibrating toy of yours? It'll make the rest of this so much more enjoyable." S'Talon had used that toy on you several times over the course of your relationship, learning exactly where to place it and what settings made you writhe. A hungry hum poured from his lips as he squeezed his now-dripping lok. "I know you sleep with my pillow cuddled up against your chest when I'm gone - don't think I haven't noticed that it's drenched with your scent when I return. It's alright, e'lev. Don't you know by now that your scent is as intoxicating to me as mine is to you?"

S'Talon closed his eyes and let out a quiet moan at the memory of your thighs clamped around his head, practically drowning him with both your pleasure and your scent.

"In your last message, you admitted to having kept a particular tunic of mine to comfort you in my absence. Well, my darling, I have my own confession to make. Have you noticed that a certain blue pair of panties have mysteriously gone missing?" He smirked as he pictured the surprised 'o' her lips would form as she processed his words. He slid open the drawer to his bedside table and pulled the lacy garment from within. "You haven't lost them, I can assure you of that."

You'd worn them the day before he departed, and he'd taken them quietly from the laundry basket while he was packing. The brush of the soft fabric against his skin reminded him so vividly of your whispered assurances that you loved him...that you'd wait for his return with bated breath.

He'd known you were the one long ago, but your patience during his longer missions was what convinced S'Talon that he was the most fortunate man in the galaxy.

"In fact, they've been quite useful during my absence, but let us return the focus to you." The Riov smirked. He knew you would be nibbling your lower lip by this point in the recording, and he longed to make you whimper himself. "It should come as no surprise that your are on my mind constantly. The sweetness of your affection is like a drug to me, and I am sorely overdue for my next dose. Do you know what I'm going to do as soon as I get home? I'm going to tease you as mercilessly as you teased me when you sent those utterly delectable boudoir holo-images of yourself last week."

S'Talon had opened the images before playing the message, and he'd become hard as a rock instantly. With your hand barely covering the softness between your legs and one of his silk scarves laying over your peaked nipples, you'd given the holo-imager the most seductive look you could muster. And it wasn't just a single image, oh no, you'd sent him a sequence of images that catalogued some solo fun, ending the bunch by blowing the camera a kiss.

He let out a low laugh as he recalled how utterly, devastatingly hard you'd made him and how loudly he'd called your name that night.

"You didn't think I'd just let you get away with that, did you, e'lev? Oh, I'm going to make you scream until your voice is gone," he moaned as he squeezed his length harder, rubbing it in long strokes that spread his precome over his need. "Perhaps it's time for me to retrieve my spreader bar and handcuffs. After all, your begging is so beautiful. Will you do that for me, e'lev? Will you let me touch you and tease you and bring you to the edge until you plead with me for your orgasm?"

He'd done so before, and the two of you had spent nearly two days in bed. The cry of his name tumbling from between your lips had been utterly entrancing.

S'Talon continued his current missive for a mere few minutes before he felt a familiar burning need.

"Forgive me, e'lev. I won't last much longer tonight. My imagination has been vivid and obscene all day, and now...now that I'm able to simply allow myself to feel...to touch myself thinking of you, I...c-can't..." he trailed off with a shout as his orgasm tore through him. Warm ropes of his seed splattered over his chest and abdomen as he convulsed in pleasure, imagining you riding him.

What seemed like an eternity later, he'd finally caught his breath, and he pulled himself together long enough to end his message to you.

"I will be with you in a few more days, and I shall have a very important question for you. Until then, dream of me, dearest, as I will of you. Jol-ao au."

He ended the recording and moved to clean himself up. A few moments later, S'Talon smirked as he laid back against the headboard. He'd have just enough time to send you one more communique before he returned.

"Computer, send message."

He spared a glance at the drawer where he hid his gift for you, hoping that you'd like the Aldebaran Firelight Gem he'd substituted for the traditional diamond. He certainly though it was more fitting given how brightly you lit up his life.

~*~*~

Romulan Words:

e'lev = darling

Jol-ao au = I love you

~*~

Taglist:

@akamitrani @android-boyfriends @attention-bajoranworkers @bigblissandlove1 @darkmattervibes @emilie786 @horta-in-charge @live-logs-and-proper @slutty-slutty-vulcans @starrynightgardens @toebeans-mcgee

[earthtooz]

hello! i love your works so much everything you write is perfect! i stopped writing more than a year ago but reading your works inspired me to write again 😊 it’s crazy how we are the same age but our level of writing is completely different, yours blew my mind 🤯🤯🤯 (in a good way!!!!!) i was wondering if you could give me some tips to improve my writing as i feel like i’m lacking in many departments (if you’re comfortable in doing so, ofc!) thank you! ❤️❤️❤️

this ask was send march 5th, and i'm happy to report that four months later, for the first time in a while, i think i'm finally at a point in my writing where i'm confident giving out tips that are not generic and stock standard. i do not know if anon is going to ever see this, but i hope you do, and i hope that you're still as inspired to write as you were when you sent this :) a lot can happen in four months!!

i'm just going to get straight into it. you'll find that the further you go, the more... catered the advice might be to you (it's long, and maybe a bit rambly, but i hope it’s useful in some sort of way 🥲)

# ONE - THE MOST BASICS:

the most DEVASTATING thing you can do for your writing is not have a purpose for each scene or snippet you write. give your scenes a point, don't let them be just images that you sit on the document to take up space! are you trying to prove that character x oc's relationship is growing? are you trying to show that it's breaking apart? are you trying to set up the character as someone who's beginning to fall in love and hates it? give everything a purpose. every word must be linked to your intention.

you know what they say about chekhov's gun, if you are going to mention some little thing, give it a purpose later! you mention reader likes sweaters? let character give them a sweater! this works in many-a-ways.

this all comes down to the planning, which i would give tips on, but i'm writing this part too late. i'm also trying to keep this first part brief because this is a very long post.

for english speakers, the second most devastating thing is to not know your grammar LOL (i cannot criticise those who speak another language as their first! kudos to you, keep doing what you're doing.)

# TWO - FIND YOUR STYLE: easier said than done, but it's an essential part of any art. writing takes time, and only time will evolve your skill and therefore, your style. if you do not like what you write off the bat and believe you are 'lacking' in some departments (no such thing, there is room to improve instead of being 'incapable' of doing something), then i always turn to some of my favourite authors, whether they are published or another fanfiction writer, turn to them and study them. DO NOT PLAGIARISE, just try and emulate what you see from their works and put them into your works, with your own sense of individual style.

i have my list of esteemed tumblr writings that i look up to, as well as writers that i adore. ocean vuong will always be one of my favourite writers, i listen to him frequently when i am stumped by my own writibg. he has this sort of creative aura that drips of his own idiosyncrasy that inspires me every time i try to listen to him, him just speaking calms and invigorates me so much.

so yeah, find your writer, and learn from them :)

# THREE - THE 'DEPARTMENTS': the departments that i have included are:

characterisation

dialogue

description and artistic expression (this one is long, bear with me.)

like i said earlier, there are indeed departments are writing that we all have room to improve in. i will talk about the few that i might find specific to fanfic writing because i am nothing like an actual author :,)

characterisation: a fickle little thing T^T the worst thing ever. to characterise properly means you know the character like it's your own, but in fanfiction that's just truly not possible :,) so i can try and give you my own tips on how i deal with characterisation.

listen to the english dub (or your first language) - DON'T CRUCIFY ME. PLEASE. BUT LET ME SPEAK. for my fellow fluent english speakers, listening to a dub in a language we do not understand can only go so far in the way we understand a character. when listening to english, we hear the intricate ways of their tone and personalities work, and what kind of dialogue best flows with them (toji fushiguro is excluded from this. never listen to that man's english dub.). when i was writing for bakugou- he's not the hardest character to understand, but with the help of the english dub, the dialogue that i wrote for him flowed a lot easier than if i had just tried to internalise his jp dub. he's gruff, and rude, and cocky, and his english va captures that in quite an adorable way! ofc you can never just ignore the original, the original is there to provide you the blueprint, but sometimes a little help explaining the blueprint goes a long way !!

characterisation can also be perfected through the subtle changes in dialogue that you see. a big part of character is how they talk, and even just the subtlest of changes can go far. let me start with the example "this is a really bad idea." if i were writing itoshi rin, then i would change the sentence fit to his speech and embody how he'd actually react to a 'bad idea'. he's curt, doesn't say more than necessary, and unashamed to be cold so he'd probably just say "this is stupid." before walking away LMAOO if i were writing someone like gojo, then the sentence also changes too. he doesn't mind talking and adding more to his point, so i would write something like: "you sure? this doesn't seem like the brightest idea." and if i'm really trying to sell a romantic relationship, i'd add a 'sweetheart' there or something.

dialogue: this is a personalised experience, so as is everything in writing. i have been complimented on my flow and dialogue a lot of the time but in truth, i am merely having a conversation with myself in my head. i try to become the character i am writing about and then i just chat with myself :3 it can be that simple. dialogue does not need to be something you over-complicate, i am my own, ethical character.ai.

description and artistic expression: look, i can't say much on this one except that you're all on your own. i am still trying to perfect my own skills in this department because this is perhaps one of my most vexing parts of writing. i truly am just not... as poetic and imaginative as i want my words to be, but i am trying and i am improving.

my biggest tip regarding description and artistry is: if the reader can imagine it, you don't need to write it. you don't need to fill in the gaps with actual scenes, if your characters are walking through the park as a filler for getting from destination A to B, then that park scene does not need to be as descriptive as A or B. a mere 'you took a shortcut through the park' will suffice. or even better, just go straight from A to B.

say my 'A' scene is starting at a cafe, and my 'B' scene is going to the mall, you could just go 'calling for the waitress to get the bill, you then find yourself in the mall within 15 minutes'. spend time on the gaps that require a bridge to cross, not the gaps that you can merely step over.

these kind of things appear in your planning and admittedly, i don't even plan ROFLLL but i have primary scenes that i have sketched out which i sometimes add to. like spider webs, when going from one thread to another, sometimes the journey is not all that important if it does nothing for your plot.

again, i find inspiration in a lot of the writers i look up to. a recurring motif is something i love adding, whether that be dialogue or a recurring item that symbolises something (like the hairband in between love and lies - a nagi fic). techniques like motifs or an extended metaphor add a lot of depth in your writing that you can't find otherwise. you can also omit going too over the board with reader's emotions too, or just the character's. if it's obvious that they are angry, sad, happy, you don't need to go too far in detail about said emotions.

another so crucial thing is to take note of the things you see in real life and apply it in fiction. the most mundane of things you are doing can have beauty in words.

are you at the beach? why don't you take a look around. tell me about the people that sit on towels, minding their own business. tell me about the way the sun sits high in the sky, unforgiving and burning before going into the main plot.

are you sitting on a bench, killing time? tell me about the breeze you feel, or perhaps the heat that overwhelms you. tell me about what you hear- bikes, children laughing, whilst you're waiting for your date to show up- all of these minute things, so long as you don't go overboard, will matter a lot to the imagination of the reader!

# FOUR: TAKE CARE OF AND LOVE WHAT YOU WRITE writing will always be hard :,) not a single draft goes by where i do not find inconsistencies and flaws, but i love them all the same. i love the drafts that i read over once and posted and i also love the drafts that i poured blood, sweat, and tears into. neither of them are more special to me because they were all born from a simple idea.

to look back on what you wrote and going 'i can do this better now' is beautiful, no? i love the end product for what i learnt on the way.

i know me giving this advice is kinda hypocritical because you'll find me going 'i hate this' in the tags, and you can choose to believe me or not, but i adore all of my stories the same. some of them i just hate that i couldn't give them the attention and love that they deserved, which shows through in the end quality. not that you guys seem to care, it's all in my head sometimes lMFAO.

# FIVE - KEEP THE POV CONSISTENT: now we are getting to the tips that i've been learning myself recently. how funny is it that i learnt this whilst reading from a writer that i so admire?

whilst reading a long fic, i noticed that the flow is satisfying because there was no swap of perspectives. the character was in the focus the whole time and the reader was the reactor, the catalyst being the character's actions and internal dialogue. on the other hand, the reader's thoughts and feelings being in the spotlight can also be significant.

i had always known that keeping the pov consistent would influence your writing, but i never knew how much.

which pov you might want to choose is all intuitive. writing is intuitive- every other tip that i have revealed is all intuitive and i'll cover more of this later. more importantly right now, which perspective you want to execute is all on you, and no one else. if you know your character, your storyline, and your skills, you will simply know how the story shall go. it is just as powerful to write it from reader's pov as it is the character's because it comes from your knowledge and authority as the writer!

# SIX - LEAVE THE COMFORT ZONE: this kind of returns to tip four. sometimes the only way to evolve is to do something we are bad at and that advice applies to writing too. writing is a path set by previous writers but it is not one that we have to follow all the time, why take a shortcut when the long way is prettier, and more rewarding? your journey of improvement is dependent on what you realise and give yourself opportunities to improve in.

for example, recently i have been trying to improve the depth of my descriptions and- don't laugh, but the way i've been doing so is as followed:

i input myself into the scenario, i empathise with the characters within the scene and i describe it. maybe it's emotional and the character can't look you in the eye because they don't have the heart to, not when their chest is filled with a smoke that is so unbearable that all they can focus on is not turning to ashes. maybe it's a happy scene and all you can look at is the character. maybe it's confronting, and the only thing you can think about is defending yourself against their clenched fists that will never actually hurt you, but you know damn well can break your walls in one swing. leave the comfort zone, write new au's and new dialogue pieces, write new metaphors and similes and use rhyme, listing, repetition- just try something new every time and let it be meaningful to the story.

# SEVEN - GIVE YOURSELF TIME. like the growth of your muscles or the mobility of your limbs, or the way your hands flow along the canvas or keyboard, writing is a skill that can only be improved with time. fanfic writing is intuitive and completely reliant on your own tastes.

i can sit here, speak for ages about writing, but the only way you can learn is to do. i have people who see what i do and praise me for being one of their favourite writers, and as honoured as i am every time, i am merely born from the six years i have put into this craft, as well as the hours i put into writing and planning what they see. if you could see the behind the scenes, you would go 'what the fuck am i looking at' LMFAOO.

when i write and then i reread and i know what it is missing, but i cannot speak about this like it is easy, like i have not spent the past few years of my life consistently writing for various characters and growing along the way. to be fair, you don't need to take six years to get good at writing, it can be a very smooth process! i don't think i was the brightest cookie at 12 ngl but i took my characters and rewrote them into different scenarios and here i am today, at 18 and (marginally) better.

as long as the urge is there, worship it, take the step and write. then post, if that is a step you want to partake in. simple as that :)

that's all for now! sorry this is so long, now that you've reached the end, i just wanted to say that i have no authority over what you produce and how you do it. these are simply just things i've learned along the way and i hope they can provide you some sort of revelation.

[mistydeyes]

Hi! I'd like to request something about my OC and Ghost. I'm writing a fanfic about my OC, and to know her better I'll link my headcanons to her https://www.tumblr.com/gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot/718834905462751232/sergeant-christine-riot-vega-task-force-141?source=share

I'm feeling a bit down with life and my fic so I thought I'd request something about them to cheer me up. Of course feel free to not answer or not do it, it's perfectly ok!

If you decide to do it, I'd prefer something fluff/smut (smutty fluff? fluffy smutt? :D ). My fic is a slow burn and although there are signs (and I have their first kiss already written), I'd love to see something with them already established. In my head, although both are deeply traumatised (both having undergone torture and lost their families) their relationship is surprisingly healthy.

Again, should you have other questions, or just discard this completely, it's completely fine. Thank you for reading!

This is my first time writing something like this but it was so fun! Literally love a good fluffy smut ;) Please go check out their OC! The amount of detail they put into it is amazing :)

a scarlet red dress

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summary: Inspired by @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot and their OC, Sgt. Christine "Riot" Vega There are a myriad of whispers that plague the relationship between Ghost and Riot but many don't know what they do at home. What starts off as a slow morning, eventually turns into one of passion and muffled moans.

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x OC!

warnings: NSFW CONTENT AHEAD (18+ only please), swearing, sexual descriptions

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

The Lieutenant and the Sergeant, a duo known for their fierceness in battle and for taking out targets before they even saw what was coming. Whispers flowed through the ranks of the two masked soldiers and Price smiled when he heard them. Although he had only taken her on due to the praise of Soap, she had quickly proven herself to be worthy of marching alongside the 141.

Along with the rumors of their position, whispers also floated around about their trysts outside of the unit. At first, it started with crude comments from all genders about their relationship status but soon they divulged into some observations keen recruits made. "Did you see Lt. Riley has a ring as a necklace? I saw it yesterday in training." "Nah how about Sgt. Vega, look at her left hand there's a tan line from having a ring on it." While their relationship was only known to their squad, it was clear that everyone had some suspicions.

Simon and Christine didn't care, they both had experienced the crude gossip in their time. What many people got wrong was the idea that Riot and Ghost had 1. been married for years and 2. were lovesick puppies on and off base. Ever since they first met, Christine and Simon were both content with a relationship that was slow, painstakingly slow. Even when the idea of marriage was proposed, it seemed like a formality as they acted as one unit together. They also both were not ones to put their entire love story on display, if you were a recruit you would just think they were close colleagues.

Regardless of all of that, Simon and Christine did share some tender moments while on leave. Most of the time, it was filled with silence and reading as they struggled to adjust to a calm home instead of an active warzone.

As Christine finished another chapter of her book, she closed it gently and laid herself on Simon’s chest. She held his face gently as she saw his dark eyes flick around the words on the page. The sun shone into the room and she admired the way he looked in this light. His hair and stubble appeared perfect against his skin and she ran her fingers along his chin. He placed a protective hand on her back and continued to read his novel. “Do you ever get bored of this routine?” Christine asked and Simon glanced down at his wife. “Can’t say that I do,” he replied curtly and went back to whatever chapter he was on.

“Simon, let’s do something spontaneous,” she suggested and quickly grabbed the book out of his large hands. He looked at her questioningly as she thought of a nice activity for them. She peered at the window and noticed the sun shining brilliantly in the England spring warmth and decided on her plan. “A picnic,” she whispered. “You can’t be serious,” he replied as he looked at her incredulously. She only nodded in response and went to their bedroom to change.

Christine’s closet was barren, only having a few outfits and such. That wasn’t a surprise for both her and Simon as soldiers tended to travel light. She flipped through a couple of options before she found what she was looking for. A scarlet red sundress. The reddened linen contrasted with her skin perfectly and it was something she wasn’t used to wearing. She pulled it out gently and inspected it for any wrinkles. Finding none, she changed into the fabric and examined herself in the mirror. It had been a dress she wore on one of her first “dates” with Simon and it still fit perfectly against her muscular form.

She smoothed out the ankle length dress and smiled at herself. As she turned to walk to the kitchen, Simon was standing in the door frame. “Fucking hell!” she yelled as she was caught by surprise. She took a gasp of breath as Simon stared at her, a new hunger in his eyes. He looked like a bull as he eyed the red fabric lustfully. “I have a better idea than the picnic,” he said and slowly closed the door behind him.

Christine slowly approached him and they met in front of the bed. He quickly went to grab her waist and bring him closer to her. “I love that color on you,” he said, huskily, and gently kissed her. What started as a soft moment eventually divulged into a whirlwind of hungry kisses and muffled moans. Christine’s hands flew to Simon’s back as she tugged gently on his grey t-shirt. He similarly grabbed her thighs and explored the exposed area underneath her dress. After breathless moments, he held on to her thighs and picked her up to place her on the bed.

As Christine eyed her husband, he looked at her splayed on their duvet. Her blonde hair laid perfectly on the cream sheets and her dress added a sensual pop of color to the bed. He took off his shirt to reveal his chiseled figure as Christine eyed him lustfully. He gently got on top of her and moved the hem of her dress to reveal her dripping to his touch.

“May I?” he asked and she flirtatiously pushed his head lower and lower. She gasped when Simon teasingly blew cold air on her flushed core and pushed her long legs together in response. “I want to see all of you, Doll,” he commanded and put his hands on her ankles to expose her.

He slowly got on his knees and pulled her thighs to the edge of the bed. Christine was shocked at the action but Simon left her little time to recover. With one hand gripping her chest and palming the red fabric, he began to leave hickeys on her inner thighs. His stubble rubbed against her as her mind flooded from the pleasure she was receiving. Simon used his hands to gently push up her dress further. He wanted her to see the extent of his actions. “Please,” she whimpered as Simon teased her center and continued to grip her fragile body.

Immediately Simon’s lips were on her core and her body arched in response. His tongue moved desperately between her folds and Christine couldn’t help but moan at every flick. She could feel herself become undone when Simon teased her entrance with his fingers. As he placed hot kisses on her clit, he used her wetness to slowly massage her hole.

As Christine’s breaths grew more erratic and her moans become louder, he plunged two fingers into her. She reflexively tightened her legs around his head as she saw his strong arms pump in and out of her. Simon held her breasts as he continued, curving his fingers in just the right formations. The room was filled with Christine’s pleasure as he continued. She gripped the sheets as she could feel her climax approaching. Simon’s hand moved to her waist as he brought her closer to him.

This was what did it for Christine as she screamed in ecstasy, Simon’s hands becoming constrained by her spasming insides. He felt her thighs tighten around him as she slowly recovered.

As Christine’s breaths slowed, she shook as Simon caressed her cunt gently with his tongue, making sure to clean up the mess he had made. He pulled the dress back down and moved her to lay on the pillows. He laid next to her and allowed her to ride out her pleasure. As Simon looked into Christine’s eyes, she devilishly climbed on top of him. She sat teasingly on his lap, knowing that they would be having a day of fun as Simon let out a restrained moan and lowered her waist down his lap.

[sassykattery]

Lover's Feast

Listen, sometimes, I don't write the stories, my inner horny demon does. And for some reason, that demon decided we needed vampire smut, so here you go. Drink up.

CW: features afab/fem oc! Altaira who uses she/her pronouns. Smut: fingering, unprotected sex, piv with creampie. Blood play and blood drinking. Explicit descriptions of sex. Yandere behavior.

Pairing: Diavolo x oc! Altaira [established relationship]

Third person POV, Vampire AU

Other characters: Barbatos

Synopsis: Haven't we all been told not to do something and we do it anyway? Well, sometimes that leads to... unexpected circumstances.

A/N: This story is not canon to Altaira's original fic, however, there is quite a bit in this story that reveals some elements of her fic. So, in effect, this is a Vampire AU that is related to the original story.

"I hope this room is comfortable for you, Altaira," Barbatos said with a bow. She looked around at the darkened room, a lone, rather large bed against the opposite wall, some couches laid about, a couple of bookcases. Diavolo had invited her over for the first time since they started dating, and as late as it got, he invited her to stay the night.

"It's lovely, tell Diavolo thank you for me," she replied with a slight smile, turning back to the butler.

"Very well. My lord and I ask that you remain here for the night, and should you need something, simply message us. We would hate for you to get lost," he added.

"I will," she agreed.

With that, Barbatos shut the door and left the human to her own devices. She began to explore her quarters, perusing the books along the shelves. Many she didn't recognize, clearly written by Devildom-native authors. Finding one that seemed interesting, called "A Tale of Twin Flames," she took it with her and lounged upon the chaise to read it.

The story was that of two lovers, they who had been separated by circumstance upon the creation of their shared nature by the probability of the universe. One flame found themself in the throes of commonality and mundane living. This flame traversed their life completely unaware of the other, finding each stepping stone upon their life's mortal circuit as an act of surviving. The other flame fell upon the immortal circuit, tossed like an angry sea between duty and heartfelt desire for who, this flame didn't know. This flame was completely aware of a missing piece, and upon every other fire it encountered, there was no spark, no ignition.

It was on one fateful day that the flames met, the immortal fire unknowingly finding the familiarity it had been searching for since childhood, an attachment unlike a moth to its flame, no, not a detrimental one. This association of flames was like taking two pieces of a grand puzzle, both fitting perfectly together in the middle, completing a wider picture than either could conceive. This sort of thing could only be described as a perfect union.

Altaira found herself waking up suddenly, laid back against the chaise. She didn't realize she had fallen asleep, and when she looked at her book, she realized she had finished it. Setting it aside, she stretched and came to her feet. She quickly realized she needed a bathroom.

Thinking she knew where it was and hating to bother anyone else just to go, she changed into her pajamas quickly and made her trek out of the guest room. It took some time, but she did eventually find one. She could've sworn the one she had been in before looked different, but she was happy to find it nonetheless.

When she was done, she left and looked around, realizing she had no idea what wing of the castle she was in as dim as it was. She wasn't entirely sure how she even found her way over here. Uncertain but unsure where anyone was to even ask for help, she began walking around. A chill ran over her as she walked the halls, and she rubbed her hands over her upper arms, trying to warm up. The paintings lining the halls kept her company as she watched them pass by as she continued her trek.

"Altaira," an airy but low tenor voice called out to her, making her jump and turn around.

"Diavolo! You spooked me," she replied, looking at the darkened silhouette of the prince. He stepped forward and she could see him slightly better, still in his RAD uniform.

"I apologize. You are up rather late," he replied softly, his lids lowered as he looked at her with a neutral expression.

"I fell asleep by accident," she replied, studying him.

"I see. Since you are awake, would you accompany me to my room? I wouldn't mind your presence, and I'll take you back to your room when you wish to retire again," he offered smoothly, taking a step closer and gesturing toward the rest of the hallway. She looked and guessed his room was that way.

"Sure."

Very lightly, his hand came to her back and guided her to follow him. She did so, walking beside him as he led her to his room, which was only two doors down from the bathroom she found.

Once inside his room, he closed the door quietly and locked it without her noticing. He walked over to a sofa and gestured for her to sit. Sitting a respectful distance away, he turned toward her and crossed a leg, reclining back.

"Thank you for letting me stay here. I've had a good time," she said, filling the silence.

"Of course, I'm always excited to have you here. Is your room comfortable?" He asked, leaning forward and pouring a glass of Demonus from the decanter on the coffee table next to the sofa. He handed the first glass to her and then poured one for himself.

"Thank you, and yes, it's perfect. I even enjoyed one of the books I found," she replied with a small smile, then taking a sip. This Demonus was a cherry red color, different from the champagne or blue colors she was used to seeing. It had a darker taste to it compared to others she had tasted.

"What book?" He asked, sitting back, looking relaxed but keeping his gaze wholly focused on her.

"A Tale of Twin Flames."

A charming smile laced his lips as he brought the glass up to his mouth. "Yes, that is a favorite of mine as well." He finished the glass quickly and poured another while she swirled hers.

"I wouldn't mind reading more by that author," she added, looking up at the prince through her lashes. He finished his second glass of Demonus and set it down, leaning in closer to her.

"I'm sure I could acquire them for you. What was your favorite part of that story?" He asked, nearly in a purr now as he took in her form.

"I enjoyed it the most when they met for the first time," she admitted, looking away and smiling as she remembered what she read. "The way the author described their first interaction like puzzle pieces who never realized they could fit with someone else so perfectly."

His gaze softened further as he continued to watch her, his head tilting.

"And the way the author just beautifully portrayed their..." she stopped herself, realizing she was getting carried away and locking up.

"Go on," he commanded in a deeper pitch, causing her to look up at him again. She felt the heat radiating off of him with how close he was, and with the way he was watching her so intently, her cheeks began to burn.

"Um... Sorry, I lost my train of thought," she lied, feeling shy now.

"I see. And, what did you think of the ending?" He continued to ask.

"Oh! Yes, I quite liked it. I wasn't sure they were going to stay together, but I'm glad they did," she answered. "I would love a sequel some day."

"The author is a good friend of mine. She took the inspiration of the story from me," he admitted.

"Really? So, is there going to be a sequel?" She asked excitedly, inching closer to the prince now.

"That all depends," he murmured.

"On?" She tilted her head.

He was silent for a couple beats, looking at her closely again. Suddenly, she looked down at her hand when she felt his lay upon hers. When she looked up again, his face was maybe an inch from her face. Her gaze flitted between his and his lips, as they were so close to hers. The warmth coming from him was so inviting.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she let her body come forward to collide with his. Their lips met, starting fires deep within themselves. Her scent had already filled his senses the moment she walked into his space, enveloping his every thought in a smokescreen of her. But the second her lips were on his, that increased beyond a tenfold as her body came alight. He could feel her heart rate pick up, something else he noted when he got closer to her. It was thunderous now, and he could almost feel it thrumming against her chest even with the limited space between them.

She pulled away first, breaths labored. He had forgotten she likely needed to breathe. But now he was too far into it, finding his appetite for her ever-growing in her presence, especially when her body was signaling every response that she wanted him, too.

"I, um..." she barely whispered, studying his gaze. She felt his fist curl beside hers, and his brows furrowed with his lips forming a thin line. "Are you okay?"

"I think it's time for you to retire," he responded firmly, bordering on anger.

"Oh-oh... Okay," she quickly got up from the sofa, her touch leaving his behind.

Without looking back, after unlocking the door, she left, walking quickly around the halls until after at least fifteen minutes that she finally found her room. She slammed the door and threw herself into her bed, wondering what she did wrong. Looking at the time, she realized it was still the very early hours of the morning. Determined to forget about what happened, she turned off the lights and tucked herself into bed.

Dark dreams plagued her. A feeling of uneasiness kept her from a restful sleep. In her dreams, she was followed by a presence, unsure if it meant to do her harm or not. She was constantly looking behind her, feeling its ominous energy latched onto her like an appendage, unable to leave her be without its own undoing.

A gasp escaped her lips just as her eyes finally opened, released from her dreams. But what she found to hover above her proved to be just as alarming. She could feel hands on either side digging into the mattress, forcing it to dip around her. It was pitch dark in the room, but she could feel the body trapping her in place.

"Apologies," a familiar yet gravely tenor stated.

"What are you doing, Diavolo?" She asked timidly.

"I was watching you sleep. It seemed you were having fitful dreams," he confessed.

"Why? Why were you watching me sleep?" She asked, a bit more panicked-sounding.

"I couldn't find my own rest after the touch of your lips. You left an impression," he replied.

"But you seemed angry," she added.

"Because I was trying to control myself. You were... tantalizing," he answered. "But I found myself coming to find you for more, and I ended up here, watching you."

"Tantalizing?"

"Surely you've figured it out," he purred, still a voice in the dark, surrounding her completely. "Tell me, Altaira, what was special about that book you read earlier? About the male lead?"

"He was... immortal," she replied, piecing together what he meant. "But you're a demon, not a v–"

"The two words do not have to necessarily be exclusive to one another. Demons and vampires, and their colloquialisms across many languages, have been interchangeable descriptions of the immortals who feed off the souls and life forces of others for millennia," he informed her, a slight smile to his voice now.

The instant the information sunk into her, she froze, her heart rate hiking up even higher.

"I promised myself I wouldn't touch you in any such way, for your sake and mine, unless you asked for it. I wouldn't even indulge in a kiss unless you initiated, my darling," he added.

She shifted around then, and though she couldn't see him, his view of her was perfectly clear, his eyes adapted to complete darkness.

"Can– can we have some light?" She asked nervously.

Instantly, a candle on the dresser in a far corner went alight, and dimly, she could finally see the Demon Lord holding himself above her, now in a black silk pajamas set.

"So... You're not angry at me?" She asked quietly, searching his face. He looked the same, and though his gaze was largely no different, she was starting to understand the hungry looks he gave her.

"No, darling. Never," he answered, taking one of his hands and leaning onto the other to caress her cheek.

"Then... can we kiss again?"

His smile came back, an ease influencing his gaze. "Of course."

Lowering himself to her, his lips encaptured hers, and again, her body was lit again, as if every time they touched, he was setting her ablaze.

"Hold me," she mumbled against his lips, kicking the blankets down.

Once he had access, he slid his arms beneath her and pulled her into his embrace, kissing her all the while. Holding her was like holding a flame; he was almost afraid he'd smother her. But her warmth and movement made her all the more enticing, the way she molded perfectly against him. She kept her hands on his shoulders, squeezing them lightly to get his attention.

"Mm?" He mumbled, breaking their kiss.

"I need air," she chuckled. He chuckled too and sighed contentedly. Without thinking, one of her hands came to rest on the back of his head, and while craning her head to fit into the junction of his neck, his did the same into her neck.

He gave a short grunt and squeezed her tightly, feeling her pulse point right against his cheek.

"My love," he growled. She pulled away to look at him, his eyes now fully dilated and cheeks flushed.

"Oh," she muttered.

"You're incredibly hard to resist," he mused in a deadpan.

She chewed her lip for a moment and decided to be brave. "I'm sorry, I suppose I'm curious... Are you... Well, do you want to... drink from me?"

"I suppose one could put it that way, yes. Although, I would say I would like to be intimate with you in such a way that it feels good to the both of us," he suggested.

"It can feel good?"

"Indeed," he replied with a slight smirk.

"I wouldn't mind trying," she replied quietly, wide-eyed.

"Please do not feel obligated. Don't do this to appease me," he murmured, tucking some of her hair back and looking at her fondly.

"No, this is something I want. I desire you in the same way," she answered. He smiled and kissed her again, thus more passionately to demonstrate such desire to her, too.

Breaking away, he looked more serious now. "You may back out at any time. Please, speak up if you need to," he informed her quietly.

She nodded, and he began unbuttoning his silk sleep shirt, watching her. Her hands flew up to his to stop him, allowing her to take over. She brought his hands down to her to reciprocate, to touch. Her arms raised up to allow him to pull her top off. The rest of their garments were discarded. The two admired one another wordlessly, breathing in the intoxicating beauty of the other.

"Is it messy?" She asked earnestly.

"It can be, but no, it won't be here," he answered, backing off and taking her arms to guide her upward to sit on her knees.

"I don't like seeing my own... blood," she admitted, nearly whispering the last word. He then sat back on his rear and guided her to straddle his lap.

"Then you won't," he assured her. His arms encircled her form, keeping her close against him.

"And will this... do anything to me?"

He chuckled again, caressing her back and curling his fingers through her long blonde locks.

"No, sweet girl," he answered. The prince's demon form fleshed out into existence, his wings fully unfurled, horns just inches from her own head.

"Beautiful," she murmured, stroking his face with the back of her hand.

"There are none as lovely as you, though they wish they were," he replied in a deeper pitch. "I can scarcely believe I have you like this." He then tilted his head forward to whisper against the shell of her ear. "And I have no intention of letting you go. You are in your entirety all mine."

A shiver ran down her spine, making her skin prickle. When he pulled back to look at her again, she merely ran her fingertips down his neck and chest. "All yours," she repeated back. A smile adorned his handsome face again, his gleaming golden gaze entrancing to her.

"But..." he started to say with his hand sliding beneath them, his other hand shifting her slightly in his lap, his fingers coming to brush her mound. "From this moment forward, this is definitely only for me to consume, to taste, to experience, make love to," he said before leaning in to whisper again, "And to fuck."

On that final word, his lithe fingers had rubbed against the slit of her lower lips, causing her to gasp softly, her hips rolling forward into his touch and force more of his palm against her heat. He chuckled darkly and began rubbing his fingers in circles over her lips, eventually sinking into her folds as warm slick began to pool on her heat.

"So good for me," he murmured. She simply moaned in reply, holding onto him again as he began working her clit, earning more moans from her. In a smooth tone, he added, "Just focus on this, how good I make you feel. Not a single person can do what I can for you."

If her moans weren't indicative of her pleasure, then her hips rolling incessantly certainly was. His free hand gently pressed her forward into him so he could nibble on her ear lobe, diverging her focus as he whispered,

"When you are in the height of your ecstasy, I will truly taste you, consume you. It will be sharp for merely a moment, and then it will be numb for another..." He then nipped at her while his free hand caressed her back. "Then you shall feel my bliss entangling with your own."

His words made her whimper and buck her hips, trying to gain a foothold of stimulation from his fingers.

"Please," she whined pitifully.

Obeying her, one of his fingers sank lower to find her softened entrance, ready for whatever he wanted to give her. Sliding in was easy, so warm and wet. He groaned in her ear to feel it, ready for that same feeling to be on his cock. Finally ready to take control, her hands found purchase on his shoulders as she began to rock her hips, finding relief with a smile on her face as she chased her pleasure.

"So amazing," he whispered, watching her please herself on his hand. "That's it, little darling, take what you want from me, it's yours."

Her eyes barely cracked open to look at him, and he loved that lust ladden gaze she held for him, hazy and somewhat coherent. He adjusted his hand, pulling back slightly to offer her another digit, and she gladly rolled herself onto them. Another wanton moan escaped while he tilted his head forward to kiss her, swallowing her sounds for only his consumption. He felt her walls begin to tighten, contracting down around his fingers.

"Fuck, I want your cock," she moaned out as her head rolled back.

"Mm," he half-chuckled, half-groaned. "I've been waiting for this."

He pulled his hand away when she stopped moving, leaving her empty for just a moment as he took hold of her rear in both of his hands. Once she was properly adjusted on his lap, he guided her up, the tip of his leaking cock nudging her lower lips. More whimpers and cries escaped her lips as they worked together to guide his cock to slip through her folds, making her slick run all over it. It was merely a tease for her but already so intense for him to feel her heat against his.

With her raised like this, he barely tilted his head up to look at her with an almost pleading gaze. "Tell me you want this, that you want me."

Her lustful gaze softened, still hazy, though. "I want you, so, so bad. I want this with you. I want you to taste me," she reassured him.

Letting gravity aide him, he slowly sank her down on his cock while he grunted out his pleasure, just as she whined hers out. Though he could never enter heaven, surely this was far better than anything any "god" could offer him. It was perfect. Divine. Other worldly. He was filled with more liquid hot desire as she lurched forward to kiss him again, so hungry for more and more of him. Devious little darling, he thought.

Seemingly an eternity later, she was fully impaled on his cock, throbbing and aching inside her, just as she ached for him, too.

"You feel..." he murmured, his eyes nearly rolling back as she squeezed him with her hot, wet, soft cunt. "Fuck, you're perfect."

"So full... I love it," she mumbled blissfully.

"Mm," he hummed with a smile. Taking hold of her hips, he started a slow pace of grinding her in his lap, forcing out more moans from both of them. It was intense for both of them, and she was squeezing him that much tighter.

"Dia," she whimpered. "Close."

"Already? My poor little darling, were you aching for this? For me? Was this all you could think about?" He teased her softly. She nodded and whimpered, looking slightly up at him with teary eyes.

"You just feel so good," she replied quietly.

Carefully and slowly, he planted kisses trailing from her lips to her jaw and down her neck. He ran his tongue up her neck to nibble at her ear, tugging on the lobe playfully. He did this all the way around, getting her accustomed to his ministrations. It worked as she gradually rolled her head back and exposed more of her delicate flesh to him. He continued to guide her hips into a rhythm they both enjoyed.

"Beautiful and delicious," he mumbled against her neck, just below her ear. Her scent was completely taking over his senses, filling his mind with only thoughts of her, her body, her sounds, her taste.

"Please," she cried out to him, moving her hips of her own accord, grinding down harder. His hands moved to grab the round lobes of her ass, squeezing them.

"Just a little more, sweet dove. I want to savor this," he answered her cry. "I promise I'll take you there, just a bit more."

Hot fiery bliss ran through her nerves as it was, making her shine with a slight sweat, her hands curling into the locks on the nape of his neck. Her breathing became deep and ragged. He read her body like a novel, each sign of her nearing orgasm a page to turn as he watched her start to build to it.

Leaning toward her once more, he whispered, "So good for me. Every bit of you is exquisite, the only one deserving of such bliss. I want to give it all to you, princess."

"Please, please, please give it to me," she whimpered. "I need it. I need you, all of you, give me all of you."

"Ohhh..." he moaned out, suddenly feeling his own pleasure surging.

Feeling his cock begin to pulse, she quit fighting the release that wanted to so badly break through her body. In a swift movement, her hands on the back of his head pulled him toward her, his face buried in the side of her neck.

"Take me there, please, Diavolo."

Unable to fight himself either, he dropped the restraints he was holding in his mind, letting them fall into the chasm of euphoria he was about to jump head-first into. He started thrusting up into her viciously, no longer proliferating his own inhibition.

"Ahh! Oh! Yes! Right there!" She screamed out to him. "I'm gonna cum!"

And just as he felt her walls clamp down on his cock, he felt the ache in his throat, a tightening he only experienced when he was on the verge of tearing something apart. It was dry and urgent, needing to be drenched in her. Following the instinct, he pressed an open mouth kiss just above the anterior jugular vein. His hold on her tightened to keep her still for a mere moment before sinking his fangs in.

Altaira gasped and jolted only slightly, feeling hundreds of icy pinpricks into her flesh, but it quickly faded as warmth and a numbing feeling glazed over the area. In the very next instant, she experienced her own undoing, coming apart with a low moan, limply pulling at his hair. Her walls pulsed and milked his cock for everything he had.

Diavolo grunted as he consumed her life's essence. Indeed, she was as sweet as the forbidden fruit, just like he knew she would be. A soul like hers could only be inhabited in a body just as delectable, and he was her insatiable devotee. It took a few moments for him to focus again, realizing she was cumming all over his cock, and that combined sensation of her orgasm and her confectionery of crimson in his mouth was his own undoing.

Her peak was just starting to plateau when she felt his release deep inside her cunt, and he was right: she felt his bliss intermingle with hers, the doubly designed connection intertwining into one feeling, one singular sensation. From where he was consuming her, divine warm ecstasy flowed out to the rest of her body, sending more orgasmic pulses up her spine and down her legs. Every nerve was alight, and there wasn't an inch of her body left unaffected by the fire she felt within.

He drank her in as slowly as he could allow himself, wanting to savor this moment and sear it into his memory for eternity. His hands left her rear in favor of wrapping around her back, pulling her in as close as physically possible and no longer thrusting up into her. Her pleasure became his, too, only heightening both to infinity.

They stayed like that for a while, the image of unholy and immortal lovemaking. The vampire, a demon, devouring the essence of his first human, the only creature ever brave enough to offer herself in such a way. Though she had every reason to be scared and run, she stayed.

Feeling protective, his wings came around to encircle them, blocking the outside world from intruding on their nearly-ceremonious act of love and adoration.

All too soon, Altaira felt the euphoric warmth dissipating and her heart rate starting to slow, as if she was drifting off to blissful sleep. When Diavolo felt her body start to feel slack and limp, he broke the connection, receeding his fangs and licking over the puncture wounds to lace the area with magic and close them up.

"Altaira," he murmured, holding her head up with one hand and caressing her face with the other.

"Mm?" She barely responded.

"Are you still with me?" He asked, coaxing her awake.

"Yeah..." she mumbled again. It was hard to focus, but she could feel the effects slowly fade, letting her become more and more coherent. "I'm here," she added softly. A dreamy smile took over her lips, and finally, she cracked her eyes open to look at the darling prince.

"There you are," he cooed, admiring her state and enjoying how happy she looked. "How was that?"

"Wonderful," she murmured.

He gave a small chuckle and helped her to move around, removing himself from her and laying her back against the mattress. Reverting to his regular form, he reached over to the tissues and proceeded to clean her up first. Once he was done, he started to grab his pajamas but heard her whimper.

"Don't leave."

Wide-eyed, he turned and saw her barely sitting up on her elbows, looking confused. A smile laced his lips again as he dropped his pajamas and slid back into her bed.

"You want me to stay?" He asked in a husky tone.

"Always."

He felt a twinge in his heart at that, gathering her up in his arms as they laid on their sides. She immediately melted into his grasp, her head tucked into his chest and neck. He felt her start to drift again, sleep taking root.

"Forever more, I will stay with you," he replied, stroking her hair.

"And you shall stay with me. Here. Forever, lover."

---

Thanks for reading!

Post made by sassykattery. Do not repost. Reblogs and comments appreciated.

Tags: @bite-sized-devil @delphi-dreamin

[artificialwizard]

Venting and rambling about ai art discourse

Feel free to ignore this + this isnt an invitation to argue back and forth with me about ai

My tag system on main for years now has been

#art = abstract art

#representational art = all non-abstract art

( + #dreamscape = art that can't be neatly categorized as abstract or representational + art that reminds me of dreaming )

Bc at the time I created this tag system i was very fed up with abstract art and modern art being dismissed as Not Real Art by some assholes and i wanted to put abstract art first in my space and have representational art be the one that needs a descriptor to differentiate it from "normal"/"real" art

Currently holding myself back from doing something similar to be petty about the never ending ai art backlash/discourse

Haven't been posting my abstract art or ai art online much lately but i still make a lot of both (+ getting back into writing and prob won't be posting much of that either). Sharing art online, other than with close friends, seems like hell to me rn.

Maybe someday i'll start posting my art again it just sucks that anytime i go on any social media from discord to youtube theres an 80% chance i see people shitting on the artistic mediums that i'm most passionate about

And its not like the ai hate train has slowed down the rancid attitudes around abstract art lol, not that I'd stop making AI art if abstract art was more respected

Abstract art is the easiest and most rewarding way for me to express myself creatively and it gels so well with my perfectionism issues bc perfection is Not the point (except when it is, but then its an artistic choice not a constant obligation for every piece). A piece about grief doesnt need to have perfect straight lines or symmetry, the art can be messy if it suits the tone I'm going for.

And AI image and music generation is very exciting to me! I've always been curious about what it would be like getting to see the creation of a new way of making art and its been very cool being able to somewhat follow AI innovations since 2018 and then get to experiment with it myself once more ai tools became accessible!!

Whether im the ai art im making is abstract or representational, i love not having full control over the result! I love bouncing ideas back and forth with the AI. I love having to combine my visual art skills and my language/description skills.

I use midjourney et al. the same way I'd make my OCs in dressup games while brainstorming ideas. Mindless doodling that can often lead to writers block breakthroughs.

I also use midjourney et al. to make quick vent art when I'm feeling strong emotions just like I'd do in my sketchbook or in my digital art apps.

And sometimes i'm using ai to spend hours trying to make something very specific i want to create.

Idk its all just tools to me. Midjourney. Paint Tool Sai. Pen and paper. I get the same joy/relief out of making art with all of the above

Im not aiming for fame or money, i make 0-200$ a year from art, usually 0. I just want to have a little corner of the internet to share my images and reach a handful of ppl who appreciate them and want to discuss abstract & ai art with me thats it. Im not coming for your art job, i dont allign myself with corporations aiming to further disadvantage workers in artistic industries or artists who freelance

Anyway reason #2 i slowed down on posting art is grief has been kicking my ass these past 4 years. Lots of deaths in the family + death of a friend. some relationships were fractured and im grieving those as well.

Reason #3 is started full time library job in november 🎉 its wonderful and its exhausting and im still finding my rythm after years of being chronically un(der)employed and/or in college, but hopefully once life settles down more ill have more and more time to spend on art and writing

Havent vent posted in ages and it feels weird doing it on one of my art blogs so im going to end this with two of my recent(ish) pieces on grief, first made in onelab (not ai, android art app i make 80% of my digital art in) and second in midjourney

Thanks if u read all/most/some of that :)

Think i just needed to be like "man this sucks" so i can move on to "anyway! Art time >:)"

[ocrpfinder]

🌀 intro: eighteen plus request for fandomless ocxoc roleplay, zombie apocalypse plot, using animated faceclaims or descriptions only. i am twenty three and use any pronouns.

🦋 writing: roughly 200-400 words, equal to 1-2k characters, third person pov. discord only, no tupper & i prefer to set the server up for us. replies once a week is perfect but i dont mind once every two weeks. chatting ooc is encouraged, but i don’t make playlists or pinboards for my roleplay. just casual chat here and there.

🫐 plot: fandomless zombie apocalypse storyline, loosely based on the walking dead. would love for our two oc’s (yours a male, mine a female) to be strangers (or alternatively 🪦🕊️ and be siblings or parent & adult child) and stumble upon a community that isn’t safe, spend time there until they uncover their secrets, end up barely getting out, being alone again until they stumble upon a new community that is safe to stay at, and start building up a life there. multi muse would be awesome, as i would love to include side characters in this.

🪼 oc: looking to use my new female oc, lex. she’s all on her own in the apocalypse, and runs into your character, where they have more of a enemies to friends sort of relationship. they get on one another’s nerves but they know it’s them against the world so they have to work together. my girl, lex, is intuitive, imaginative and good at problem solving. she’s caring and somewhat has some medical training (she’s a veterinarian but it’s “basically the same” in an apocalypse, or so she says) grew up on a farm with her grandparents before leaving for college. shes also resentful and manipulative, being good at lying, sneaking around and getting her way, but has a hard time forgiving and forgetting others wrong doings.

🧿 pairings: mxf only. looking to pair her with a male around her age, who’s more hotheaded and impulsive, a younger male who is trusting and naive and needs her to care for him or an older male who knows how to care for himself, and is annoyed with having a younger girl following him around. PLEASE have an oc already fleshed out in google docs or elsewhere. this makes things so much easier, but it’s not a requirement. again, open to 🪦🕊️ like incest and possibly even 🍪 for the younger male x my oc or the older male x my oc, but that is not required. i’m okay with no dark themes for this roleplay as well.

💤 outro: if interested please leave a like, or better yet, reach out! also open to taking on more threads, different ideas and even doubling. dms are open!

.