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supercutszns · 29 days

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sweet on you | jason grace

wc + pairing: 1k, jason grace x f!reader

notes: short-ish jason blurb while i chalk up some of my beefier fics (& my 1k celebration thank u again)<3 this is my first time publishing for him so hopefully this isn't too ooc! i need to let myself write shorter stream of consciousness things,, all fluff, just jason taking your makeup off after a party <33 also its set at chb because i said so

Whenever Jason washes off your makeup, he acts like it's his sworn duty.

You’re a little hazy as he wets a cloth in the sink, repositioning himself between your legs that hang limply off the bathroom counter. You keep scanning his face for any trace of weariness or urgency. After a long day of camp duties, the last thing you think he’d want was to clean up his drunken girlfriend after a secret party. But he’s as kind and patient as ever, and you don’t know if it’s your heart or the alcohol talking, but you are deliriously in love with him right now. He’s a leader—a brave, powerful demigod—but he’s only that good because he’s gentle. That's what you see, anyway. Everyone loves him for a reason, but you're still sure you love him most.

You got drunk. You got anxious. But it’s more than worth it if Jason takes care of you after. Even under these fluorescent bathroom lights, he’s beautiful.

“Why thank you,” he says, a bemused smile on his face.

You blink. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Sure did.”

The scar on the corner of his lip lifts as he kisses your cheek. You hum pleasantly, and you feel the ghost of his laugh before he pulls away. “Close your eyes for me?”

You oblige. In seconds, you’re greeted with the warm press of a towel on your face. Jason keeps you in place with his hand cupping your chin. “Let me know if I poke your eyes, okay?”

“If you do I’ll just bite your finger.”

“Awesome.” He works on sweeping the cloth over your skin to drag off all that makeup. You wait patiently, happily, indulging in the occasional idle chatter and the steady brush of Jason’s thumb underneath your chin. Every pass of his fingers against your face lulls you further into your haze. He’s warm, methodical, sweet. He switches the cloth to a different side and drags up your cheekbones. Your brain is mush with alcohol and appreciation.

“‘M sorry I got carried away, Jace,” you mumble, head swaying involuntarily. “Didn’t need to come get me like this.”

His soft laugh swims in your ears, and he lowers himself a bit to see you better. “Trust me, I wasn’t doing much. The only notable thing this evening was crossing the hundred-page threshold in my book.”

“Is it good?” You slur, toying with his dog-tag necklace you’d gotten him for his birthday.

He tilts his head, “Eh. Alright. I still like taking care of you more, though.”

You must be beaming stupidly wide, because Jason shakes his head with a smile, and he wraps his arms around you to kiss your jaw. “Besides, you’re sweet on me when you’re drunk.”

The feel of his lips would have shut you up in any normal circumstance, but your idiotic thoughts only heighten. “Sweet on you?”

“Mmhm.”

“That’s a thing?”

“Yes! They … people say it.”

His cheeks flush red in that insanely adorable way, and he presses his face back into your neck. “They said it in my book,” he mumbles, and you laugh so hard he has to shush you.

He goes through the rest of your rather particular skincare routine as per your instructions. He’s seen you do it a thousand times, but you repeat the order anyways just to be sure—although it’s likely you’re jumbling up your words and taking too many pauses for any of it to come out coherent. He takes his time, focused intently on the planes and ridges of your skin. If you were any more sober you’d probably be self-conscious, but sometimes his thumb runs across your cheek with a tenderness that has nothing to do with your serums.

Once all’s said and done, your skin refreshed, you’re practically snoozing on the counter. “Sweetheart,” Jason hums, winding arms around you once more, “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Only if it’s with you,” you yawn, cheek smushing into his chest.

“Well, that’s a given.”

He’s smiling again as he runs his hands down to your thighs, so you can loop your legs around his hips. “Hold on, okay?”

You oblige, relishing in the curl of his biceps against your sides as he hoists you off the counter. Usually you’d be hesitant to let him carry you around with you clinging to him like this, but your capacity for embarrassment had vanished about two drinks ago. You hear him chuckling into your hair as the breeze tickles your face, although it's far less severe in his arms.

Camp’s practically deserted this time of night so Jason has no problem getting you into his cabin. He puts you down on his lonely bed in a sea of marble, lit with nothing but the warmth of his reading lamp. “Thank you, baby,” you murmur as he helps you out of your clothes and gives you a shirt of his own. The way he smells reminds you of morning mist as he ties your hair back.

Soon you’re in your favourite place in the world: drowned in blankets on a cool summer night in Jason’s bed. You’re nestled snug against his chest, letting the fog in your mind settle as he traces shapes on your back beneath your shirt. Transfixed by the ebb and flow of his breath, you can’t help but press your lips to his collarbone, lazy chapstick kisses spooling onto his skin.

“Y’re right,” you mumble, “I am sweet on you.”

Jason laughs quietly, setting down his book. He taps on your chin to draw you out of his chest, leading you to his mouth. You’re giggling and falling into him before you even kiss. He tastes like sweet mint as he cages you against him with his arms, nothing but gentle. “Love you,” you whisper with a plucky smile.

He kisses your forehead, “I love you.” He disposes of his glasses and turns off his lamp, sinking the both of you down onto the mattress. “Get some sleep, angel.”

You must be a lot better at following instructions than you thought, because you smother yourself in his warmth and you’re sure you’ve never slept better.

#perrie’s fics #jason grace x reader #jason grace #jason grace fic #jason grace x you #pjo x reader #pjo fic #jason grace blurb #jason grace imagine #jason grace fluff

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starrierknight · 6 months

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𝟎𝟐𝟕. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝❟ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡

You don’t work or play by the rules. So what if that’s unfair? This is a dog-eat-dog world, and the losers get left behind.

MASTERLIST | KINKTOBER 23' | AO3

wc— 4.4k

Pairing— femme fatale!dom!gn!reader x CEO!sub!nanami

cws/tags— dub-con, blackmail (non-consensual filming), sadistic & manipulative reader, reader is gn but has the femme fatale personality, handjob, denied orgasm, very dialogue heavy, petnames (“mister”—it’s ironic, I swear), seduction, porn w/ plot, nanami is def ooc but we move

Stepping into Nanami Kento’s office, you were greeted by an aura of opulence. Mahogany desks and leather chairs exude sophistication. Sunlight filtered through expansive windows, casting a warm glow on plush carpets. A massive desk stood at the centre, impeccably organised with high-tech gadgets. Bookshelves held volumes on leadership and success. A cosy seating area boasted a plush sofa for informal discussions. Crystal decanters held aged spirits atop a sideboard. The atmosphere is both commanding and comfortable, a reflection of power and accomplishment, much like the CEO himself.

“You're late,” Nanami said, his voice monotone.

His words slid out with the click-clack of his keyboard, his gaze fixed on the screen as he typed away. You stepped into the room, the gentle swish of your clothing brushing the air as you approached.

“I'm not late,” you responded, your voice a composed counterpoint to his. “You’re just early.”

The subtle rustle of paper on the desk danced beneath the weight of your words. A faint huff of a sigh escaped him, a sound as controlled as his meticulously timed schedule. Disciplined. Unflappable. A smile ghosted across Nanami's lips, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“You're my personal assistant,” he murmured, his voice carrying the weight of authority, “and I'm the CEO, ergo, I am always on time.”

"My, my," you remarked playfully, "Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today."

You glided across the expanse of the office, the soft rustle of your steps harmonizing with the gentle fluttering of a neatly organised stack of colour-coded papers as you set them down in a tray. A wry smile tugged at his lips.

"You're well aware that my patience for idle chatter is limited, and yet you persist in indulging in it," his voice rippled, a controlled undertone of exasperation tracing each syllable.

A subtle sigh slipped from your lips, and you found yourself easing against the edge of his desk, a connection between you and the polished surface. His fingers danced across the keyboard, a symphony of clicks and clacks that held his full attention, leaving you in the periphery.

"Any luck in your pursuit of the elusive mole?" Your words held a touch of frustration, "It's as if the leaks are gaining a life of their own, more persistent with each passing day."

In response, Nanami emitted a contemplative hum, a low note that resonated like distant thunder. "No luck so far," he mused, his voice a steady rhythm. "I’m having the matter investigated."

“You keep saying that, but nothing’s changed. You’re no closer to finding them, are you?” you spoke with a hint of weariness.

"That's classified information," he responded absentmindedly, his attention still tethered to the computer.

A wisp of frustration danced through your tone, like a fleeting shadow cast by a cloud passing over the sun. “I’m your personal assistant. I work for this company. Don’t you think I should know?”

"No," his response fell with the weight of finality, a single syllable that seemed to close the door on any further discussion. “Oh, and please rearrange my appointments and schedule them to be spread out over next week. Make sure they’re at quieter times,” Nanami's voice rolled out, a desert breeze carrying his words with a touch of dryness.

His instructions hung in the air, like a solitary tumbleweed drifting through the vast expanse of conversation. Tense. Stiff.

“Right. Of course, I’ll handle that,” you said with a tight smile.

✦•···················•✦•···················•✦

As you stepped into Nanami's office once again, the day's familiarity seemed to have taken a toll on him. The air felt different, thick with a weariness that hung around him like a heavy shroud. Unlike his usual poised stance, he now slouched in his chair—an uncommon sight that hinted at the cracks beneath his composed exterior. His blazer lay discarded, and his tie now hung in a relaxed loop, an admission of defeat.

"Hey, mister?" your voice was a gentle note, carrying with it a touch of casual familiarity.

A low, almost exasperated groan rumbled from his throat. "I've reminded you before not to address me like that," he muttered, his response laced with a note of resigned annoyance.

Your lips curved into a playful smile as you ventured further into the office, a glimmer of mischief dancing in your eyes. "You know, deep down, you don't mind it."

A heavy sigh accompanied his response, a mixture of exasperation and resignation. "I assure you, I do indeed mind it."

Your retort danced through the air like, a sing-song lilt that brushed against his ears. "Oh, but I beg to differ. It's just one of those little things that make our interactions all the more interesting, mister."

A grumbled complaint slipped from his lips, a muttered protest that bore the weight of his vexation. Your soft laughter swirled in response, a ripple of amusement. Despite his discontent, there was a subtle warmth in the air, a familiarity that seemed to soften the edges of his irritation.

Taking purposeful steps, you approached his desk with an air of ease, your movements a graceful choreography as you began to tidy the scattered papers, pens, and stationery that lay strewn across its surface. You leaned your phone against a stack of folders, propping it up. The soft clinks and rustles of objects finding their proper places formed a familiar symphony of order being restored.

Seated now on the edge of his desk, your presence became the focal point of the room as you regarded him with a tilt of your head. Your gaze held a mixture of intrigue and amusement, a silent reminder that amidst the rigors of his role, a moment of reprieve was found in your interactions.

“You’re looking a little worse for wear. Is something the matter?”

Nanami’s response was a heavy exhalation that held a burden of weariness too profound to be carried by mere words.

"Another breach occurred not long ago," his words carried the weight of a confession, spoken with a tinge of resignation. His eyes remained closed, a refuge from the world's chaos that seemed to press upon him relentlessly. "This time, it's worse. The most sensitive data yet has been exposed to the public. PR is grappling with the fallout, and Finance is in utter disarray."

"And so soon after the last one," you murmured, the words gentle. “You look tired, mister. Have you been taking care of yourself?”

He rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers, a gesture of both fatigue and frustration, and at last, his eyes lifted to meet your gaze. Even from a distance, the telltale shadows under his eyes were evident, testimony to the toll his responsibilities had exacted.

"Don’t call me that," his voice emerged rough and worn. Exhausted.

Undeterred, your inquiry persisted, soft yet insistent. "So, tell me—have you been caring for yourself?"

A moment of stillness hung in the air, punctuated by the weight of unspoken thoughts. Then, his reply emerged, a sentence that bore the weight of conviction. "My primary duty is to safeguard the company."

A playful glint sparked in your eyes, and your expression shifted into a mockingly stern glare. You smoothly slid off the edge of the desk, your movements fluid and graceful, as you began a deliberate saunter towards his side of the desk. With each step, a subtle sway graced your hips, a movement that was both confident and teasing in nature. The air seemed to carry a touch of lightheartedness, a momentary diversion from the weight of the situation at hand.

A theatrical tsk escaped your lips, carrying with it a sense of exaggerated disappointment to playfully scold him. "Oh dear, dear mister. Letting yourself go to ruins is simply unacceptable. As your ever-watchful PA, I can't stand by and let you suffer."

With purposeful steps, you rounded the desk, your movements fluid and deliberate. The air seemed to hold a hint of anticipation, a quiet thrill woven into the atmosphere.

As you stood behind his chair, your hands found their way to his shoulders, their presence an assertion of care. Your touch was confident, fingers dancing with practiced skill as they worked to knead away the knots of tension that had taken residence in his muscles. He stiffened beneath your touch, a reflexive reaction to the unfamiliar sensation, yet your assurance seemed to melt the resistance away. While surprise lingered in the air, there was also a sense of yielding, a quiet acceptance of the relief you offered.

Nanami's words carried a note of reluctance, a protest against the unexpected intrusion of your care. "I didn't ask for this," his voice murmured, a touch of reservation threading through his words.

A knowing smile curved your lips, your fingers working with practiced ease as you continued to knead away the knots in his shoulders. "You didn't need to ask," you replied smoothly, your tone carrying a touch of reassurance that seemed to seep into the very air around you.

A brief silence settled between you, punctuated by the rhythm of your touch. Then his voice emerged once more, a murmur tinged with both realization and resignation. "You're my PA."

"And what does PA stand for?"

His reply held a touch of understanding, a recognition that seemed to settle the matter. "Personal assistant."

"Exactly," you whispered, “I’m your personal assistant.”

You let the silence hang in the air. Your hands continued their gentle ministrations, the cotton fabric of his shirt crinkling beneath your fingertips. As your fingers traversed the landscape of his shoulders, they encountered the subtle contours and defined edges of a physique sculpted by discipline.

Time seemed to melt, a river that flowed at its own unhurried pace. Slowly, the tension in him began to yield, a reluctant surrender that mirrored the reluctant acceptance in his posture. The weight of his responsibilities seemed to wane, at least momentarily, under the soothing spell of your touch.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, a melodic note that floated through the air as your hands continued their soothing dance.

"You really ought to take better care of yourself, mister," your words held a touch of playful admonishment, a reminder woven with concern. "Your muscles are like a stone wall."

The response that came was curt, his voice carrying a note of irritation as he pushed back against your insistence. "I'm fine, and I've asked you not to address me that way."

"How many nights have you found yourself working overtime again?" Your question hung in the air like a gentle nudge, an invitation for him to acknowledge the reality of his situation.

A pause, and then his voice emerged, a touch gruff yet revealing of the underlying truth. "It doesn't matter."

A note of knowing crept into your voice, “Doesn’t matter? You hate working overtime.”

"I'm the CEO, and I must prioritize what's in the best interest of the company, regardless of the personal cost."

A contemplative hum escaped your lips as your skilled fingers traveled to his neck, where tension seemed to have found another stronghold. His reaction was a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, his gaze meeting yours with a furrowed brow and a hesitant parting of his lips that hinted at a forthcoming objection, yet it remained unspoken.

The soothing pressure of your fingers worked its magic, coaxing the knots to unravel beneath your touch. As you continued your massage, a question emerged from your lips, gentle yet probing. "So, if you don't take care of yourself, then who takes care of you?"

Nanami’s response held an air of stubborn independence, a declaration of self-sufficiency against the encroachment of care. "I'm an adult. I don't need anyone to look after me."

Your voice dipped to a murmur, a whisper that seemed to bridge the gap between you and him, and your warm breath brushed across the nape of his neck. "Who takes care of you?" you repeated, your words a gentle caress against his skin.

His response, however, was unwavering, a declaration that seemed to echo with an unyielding determination. "I take care of myself.”

A playful smirk curved your lips as your fingers wove through the strands of his sleek, blond hair, a gesture that seemed to stir a reaction deep within him. His breath caught in his throat, a shuddering exhale that betrayed the impact of your touch.

“Some things are better done by yourself… some things.”

You leaned in closer, your presence enveloping him as the back of Nanami’s head nestled against your chest. The warmth of your body radiated against his back as your skilled fingers continued their massage, now tracing delicate patterns across his scalp. Your nails grazed along the tender areas, setting off a cascade of sensations that seemed to quicken his breath.

The combination of your sinuous touch and the implications woven into your words created a heady tension in the room. His heart responded with an erratic beat, a rhythm that threatened to betray the carefully impassive expression he wore. Yet, he remained composed, a façade of control in the face of the enticing distraction you presented.

“Is it hard?”

His breath hitched, and he coughed. “P-Pardon?”

You let out a soft, knowing laugh. Leaning closer, your lips brushed the delicate shell of his ear, your words a sultry whisper that set his skin ablaze. “Being CEO. Is it hard, Kento?” you murmured, uttering his name with a familiarity that had been absent for far too long.

It was as if a barrier had crumbled, a threshold crossed, and the effect was electrifying. The weight of his name on your lips seemed to hang in the air like a revelation. After a year of playful nicknames—of godforbidden “mister”—and dances around formality, this simple act held a weight of significance. Oh, his name had never sounded so sweet in his entire life.

With an effortful composure, he replied, his voice carrying a veneer of forced calmness. "It's perfectly within my control."

The sound of your voice, the proximity of your breath, seemed to amplify the tension in the room. He closed his eyes, as if seeking refuge from the turmoil that swirled within him, struggling to steady his breathing.

But your words, like a siren's song, continued their subtle seduction. "Stressed, Kento?" you purred, the name a velvet caress against his ear.

As your hands slid down, tracing the contours of his neck and finding their way to the concealed muscles beneath his shirt, his heart quickened its rhythm. A smile, hidden from his view, danced upon your lips, a sign of the satisfaction you derived from the effect you had on him. You pressed a kiss upon the sensitive skin just below one of his earlobes, a gesture that sent a shiver through him. The tension in the room seemed to thicken, the air electrified by an unspoken desire.

“Don’t do this,” he whispered.

“You want me to,” you murmured back, “And you want it badly.”

Your hands continued their exploratory journey, tracing a path of tantalizing sensation down his chest, each touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. They ventured lower, gliding over the firm expanse of his abdomen, mapping the contours of his physique.

As your fingers descended further, they encountered the defined muscles of his thighs, your touch igniting a web of sensations that seemed to pulse through his body. He remained still, his breathing now increasing, his body responding to the magnetic allure of your touch. The room pulsed with a charged energy, begging to be acknowledged.

His hands closed around your wrists, putting a halt to the tantalizing journey of your hands, but they didn't push you away. The tension in the room hung thick, a precarious balance between restraint and desire.

"This is a workplace," Kento protested, his voice carrying a note of caution.

A playful spark danced in your eyes as you retorted, your words dripping with a seductive undertone. "Who says this won’t be for work?"

With a tantalizing grace, you lowered your head and pressed your lips to his neck once more, trailing kisses along the warm, sensitive skin. Your tongue and teeth teased over the surface, each movement a deliberate exploration that sent a shiver of longing through him.

“Oh, c’mon. You know you want it. I can feel it—you sure as hell can. Why deny yourself the satisfaction?” you murmured into his ear.

You lightly bit his neck and he gasped, his heart skipping a beat, and his grip on your wrists faltered. You took the opportunity to slide your hands to his thighs again, caressing the inner and most sensitive parts. He made some noise of desire in the back of his throat, his breathing growing ragged.

A low, sultry chuckle accompanied your whispered words, the sound a velvet invitation that seemed to stir the air around you.

"Don't be coy," you murmured into his ear, your voice a honey-like whisper that washed over him. "You want this as much as I do, Kento. I can feel it, and so can you. Why deny yourself the satisfaction?"

Your teeth grazed his neck lightly, a tantalizing nip that sent a shiver coursing through him. His grip on your wrists faltered, and you seized the opportunity, your hands slipping back to the sensitive terrain of his thighs. Your touch was delicate yet insistent, caressing the innermost and most sensitive parts. A guttural sound of desire escaped him, a primal expression of longing that mingled with his ragged breathing. The office walls seemed to close in around you, as if the world outside had ceased to exist, and it was just you and Kento’s desire.

A low, tormented groan escaped him as his eyes fell shut, his internal struggle evident in the furrow of his brow. “This is so wrong.”

Your voice was a velvet caress as you posed your question, a tempting proposition that seemed to hang in the air like a forbidden fruit. "Is pleasure so wrong, Kento?" you purred, "Don't you deserve this?"

Desire ignited like a blazing fire, consuming every trace of resistance that had remained. As your dominant hand found its way to the growing bulge concealed by the fabric of his trousers, he couldn't help but release a breathy groan. His hips, almost imperceptibly, moved in response, a subconscious plea for more. Desire coursed white-hot through him, pooling between his thighs.

His hoarse mumble was a plea, a desperate attempt to reassert control in the face of mounting desire. "You should stop," he rasped, his voice trembling with a mixture of longing and restraint.

Your laughter, low and seductive, rippled through the air, brushing against his ear and sending shivers cascading down his spine.

"You don't want me to stop," you countered, your words a teasing assertion that seemed to strip away the last shreds of his resistance.

Kento's hands gripped the armrests of his chair with a desperate intensity, his knuckles whitening as he fought to maintain his grasp on composure in the face of overwhelming temptation.

Your words were a siren's call, a sultry enticement that seemed to draw him deeper into the vortex of desire. "C'mon now," you coaxed, your voice a velvet temptation, "You want me to touch you, to make a mess of you, to take care of you like no one else ever has."

With a confident touch, you rubbed the growing bulge between his thighs more firmly, causing his breath to hitch and a shuddering groan to escape his lips.

His voice emerged, a whisper of uncertainty and longing. "Y-You'll take care of me?"

You met his vulnerability with a promise that dripped with seductive allure. "Yes," you affirmed, your words a whispered caress, "Like no one else ever has."

Or will… You smirked.

As you unzipped the fly of his trousers and began to tug them down his strong thighs, Kento obediently lifted his hips to assist you in the tantalizing descent. The anticipation in the room was palpable, the air thick with desire.

The hard, throbbing length beneath the thin fabric of his boxers was damp along a certain path, evidence of his heightened arousal. Your finger pressed against the dampness, and Kento hissed sharply through his teeth. It was as if a current of electricity shot through every nerve in his body, pooling at the base of his spine, aching need pulsating within his throbbing cock.

With a tantalizingly deliberate movement, you pushed his boxers away, unveiling the long, aching length of his erection as it sprung free from its confinements. His breath caught in his throat at the sudden sensation of freedom and your touch.

One of your hands ventured down his body, seeking the source of his arousal, and you began to stroke him with a measured pace that balanced comfort and intensity. A deep, throaty moan escaped him, and he couldn't help but push his hips forward ever so slightly, a silent plea for more, tempered by the fear that you might pull away if he was too insistent.

His eyes remained shut, his body leaning into you as if seeking the reassuring pressure of your chest against his back. Every stroke of your hand sent waves of pleasure rippling through him, building an exquisite tension that threatened to tip him over the edge.

Your words dripped with wicked allure, a sultry taunt that sent shivers of desire racing through him. "You can't even deny how badly you need this," you cooed, a wicked smirk gracing your lips, your voice a seductive melody.

“Please…”

A guttural plea escaped him, his voice strained with longing as he groaned, his brow furrowing in desperation. Beads of perspiration formed on his skin, glistening in the office light.

Your touch was a maddening tease, the soft pad of your thumb tantalizingly swiping across the aching head of his cock. It was a taste of what you could do, a whisper of the pleasure you could elicit, the gentle pressure of your fingers a torment that electrified his sensitive length.

Kento's breathing grew more ragged, his body quivering with anticipation and desire. Every stroke of your thumb sent jolts of pleasure coursing through him, a tantalizing promise of the ecstasy that lay just beyond reach.

His hips bucked urgently into your hand, a desperate quest for the all-consuming release that eluded him. A guttural moan erupted from his lips, echoing through the room, and you silenced it with your free hand, your fingers pressed against his lips. In his ear, you whispered teasing, shushing sounds, a sensuous torment that only served to stoke the flames of his desire.

The tension in the room was palpable, a relentless crescendo of longing that seemed to spiral upward with each passing moment. His body quivered with anticipation, his heart raced, and he could feel the precipice of his orgasm looming ever closer.

"You know," you breathed, "I've waited a long time for this moment."

As if to emphasize your words, you slowed the pace of your hand, your touch a slow, torturous caress that seemed to drive him to the brink. He groaned in response, his head hanging low, his hips stubbornly seeking the pleasure that danced just beyond his reach. The room seemed to hum with desire.

In the throes of ecstasy, just as the climax threatened to wash over him, you removed your hand with cruel precision, a disdainful gesture as you wiped it casually on the shoulder of his expensive shirt. Kento all but cried out at the sudden loss of sensation, his whole body shuddering in response.

He groaned in frustration, his eyes filled with pleading confusion as he looked at you, the desperate desire still flickering in their depths. The room seemed to hang in a suspended moment, a tableau of torment and longing that left him on the brink of fulfillment, yet denied the release he so craved.

Your laughter, low and sardonic, filled the room, a taunting echo that seemed to reverberate in the air. With a saunter, you circled around his chair, moving to his desk and retrieving your phone, which had been propped up against a stack of folders. The video on the screen was ended, freezing the moment of his desperate longing.

"Quite the performance, Kento," you taunted, your words a playful mockery that laced with satisfaction.

The boundaries of the office had been breached, and the power dynamics had shifted in a way that left no room for doubt—you openly held the upper hand.

With a bold flourish, you lifted your phone high, turning the volume up to ensure every nuance of the recorded encounter could be heard. You skipped through selected sections of the video, each moment meticulously chosen to capture the essence of the temptation and desire that had unfolded within the confines of the office.

As the video played, the room seemed to resonate with the sounds of his seduction, his pleas, his moans—each intimate detail laid bare for him to witness. There was no avoiding it; the evidence was undeniable, and it hung in the air.

His chest rose and fell with the turmoil of emotions, and a betrayed expression contorted his typically composed features. The question escaped his lips like a lament, a whispered plea for understanding: “Why?”

Your posture exuded an air of casual indifference as you leaned against his desk, a playful tilt to your head that underscored your enjoyment of his discomfort. His question seemed to hang in the air, unanswered, as you chose to focus on the task at hand.

"So, Kento," you murmured, your tone a seductive tease, "What should I leak next: more of the company's closely guarded data, or this scorching little video?"

A mixture of disbelief and regret tainted his muttered words. "How... H-How could you?"

Your laughter was a sharp retort, a mocking response to his question. "How could I? Oh, Kento, you're so fucking naїve."

His gulp was audible, his voice barely above a whisper as he ventured, "How much is it you want, exactly? What's your price?"

A sly grin curled upon your lips as you leaned closer, your words dripping with seductive allure. "I want everything you can give me."

a/n: he (effectively) lost his job by getting a handjob LOL. poor guy. jokes, idc, this was written out of spite. Happy Kinktober :3

this work belongs to STARRIERKNIGHT . please refrain from plagiarising any of my works and do not repost/translate/modify/copy onto any platforms.

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nights-at-crystarium · 6 months

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Fragments - episodes 27-30 author notes

You can find similar breakdown posts on older episodes in my pinned!

I make these notes as I work on an episode, however, people have been so attentive and observant with their comments that I started a tag fragments feedback where we dive even deeper into themes and interactions in the comic. These comments are a blessing, often pointing out things that my own brain doesn't register.

Obligatory ShB spoiler warning.

Episode 27 begins with a chat about the original weapons that are merely a stylish-looking convenience for them ic and for me ooc, so that I don't have to draw them lugging their weapons around.

Essentia's just a name for Vivi's spear, not like the whole concept. I introduced it around the beginning of the ShB arc. Alisaie's weapons have no name yet, there's a possibility to do something cute referring to twins.. I shall think of it :3c

Look at this child being all smug for having been able to help recreating something previously thought unique, and, um, flirting.. In her own way.....

Vivi be like, sigh, "ah, back on her bs already... Better indulge her while she's still in a nice mood".

Alisaie's left arm's stronger than both Vivi's. As a dragoon he doesn't only use magic to amplify his jumps, if it works on legs, why not extend it to arms as well? Not unlike what monks do, minus the actual physical training. Basically he cheats with magic in real fights. A casual friendly duel isn't worth expending aether, so he only relies on his actual strength :'>

He also can't do friendly duels because his Echo only telegraphs hostile attacks. A friend would stop before his blade cuts him, so Vivi's kinda blind, only relying on his own average skill. A legendary hero that's no fun to spar with if you're remotely competent.

..Which has no negative effect on Exarch's fanboyism.

Several people said they look forward to said sparring session, and I felt like I failed them because I had no plans to follow through with this. Then I thought some more.. Do we mean every little thing we say or think? Sometimes it's just distracted nonsense. If every action and word were hooks/setups for the story, it'd feel artificial. This's just my opinion, but some scenes have to have idle chatter and musings for realism.

Vivi and Alphi look like door-to-door salesmen, yet the Chais are buying multiples of whatever they sell.

This's a looooooongg post, under the cut we go~

A random thing that thematically belongs here, but didn't make it in the comic: Vivi ended up being more freaked out by Eulmore than Amh Araeng.

Feo "privacy breach" Ul :> They greet each other so casually that it's clear, this's far from being the first time.

One of my personal fav panels so far. People loved the "crystal mystel" so much but I can't take credit for that! My brain's full of soup that's a mix of everything canon and my own generous additions, but I THINK one of the pixies calls him that ingame, sometime post 5.0.

You probably didn't know that you needed more Exarch and Feo Ul interactions till now, I've got you covered. Their scenes will take time to trickle in, but they EXIST and go back as far as their first meeting.

Exactly what happened.

One more episode where Vivi doesn't utter a word, but it doesn't feel like that.

Tank!Exarch fanclub, +1 member. Vivi's pleasantly surprised by the sudden shift in Exarch's demeanor. He genuinely admires him here. "Lead me anywhere daddy".

Ready for a guild wars 1 (one!) joke? No? I'm making it anyway. Lyna casts gaze of contempt (effect: removes enchantments on target foe)

She's such a good daughter with great intuition. She feels uneasy about this way before Vivi feels anything at all. He just looks. Perceives. He has eyes, dammit! And Exarch has those stupid sexy sandals and shiny crystal arm and stylish flowy robes and he's generally kinda cool? It's official, it has begun: Vivi's attracted to Exarch here.

Zooming in super close to bring your attention to his thigh gap <w<

A closeup for the hell of it C: His eyes have a natural faint glow that's just there, it doesn't mean anything, like, genuinely.

Vivi tries to appease Lyna. He has no idea why she keeps glaring at him, probably still not trusting a stranger. He uses his charm as a casual manipulation. Unfortunately, Lyna falls for it. For now.

As per msq, Exarch's kneeling, not collapsing (although that would've been just as fitting tbh). While still not trusting him too much, Vivi slowly begins to respect a reputable ruler and a skilled fighter, and WHY IS HE KNEELING MY LORD GET UP?! Vivi hates being treated like some sort of a messiah. That pushes him further inside the box of being a mythical figure, and denies his humanity.

Normal colors and lighting!! For one episode....

The scene on the left isn't meant to feel cozy and inviting, while the right one is. Sickly, cold, washed out colors vs darker and warmer ones. I'm putting a lot of thought into this, just wanted to celebrate it a lil C:

Episodes 28-29 show Vivi and Exarch's ways of handling unexpected personal hostility. Vivi casually whips out a V and a silly grin, while Exarch.....

He tried, okay?!

A thing on their positioning in this scene that I didn't plan consciously, it just happened: Exarch's framed by the Crystarium, appearing more aligned with it, while the elf pile's surrounded by an idyllic natural frame. Something something about the greenery meaning life, and Exarch looking a bit out of place here.

This's our first, but not last encounter of an imagination theater :>

The dragons are goofy on purpose. Well, sort of. I can count on one hand the amount of times I drew non-humanoid creatures, and the tone here doesn't demand anything super serious from me. Also it makes sense in-character, Exarch probably never saw a dragon up close.

Take a good look at this lil shit. I indulged in illustrating his badass moment before pointing the "camera" away for a while. We're heading into the Il Mheg arc that lasts for months and has no cats ;w;

Vivi's iconic Protagonist Grin >:D

Also, Ryne. Just to keep your expectations grounded: while I personally like her, she has no relevance in this story, and very little screentime. I'm currently having Eden raid brainworms, might write a scene or two related to that, but we're talking many years into the future. Until then, she doesn't do much.

ShB cast's diverse and extremely fun to explore, but if I went on tangents the comic would literally never progress. Gotta be honest, I'm already terrified that some readers might drift away before reaching the wolgraha part of this wolgraha comic. I don't wanna rush OR dilute the main plot too much, if that makes sense. Also, just like in real life, you probably don't form perfect connections with every member of your social circle, some people grow closer than others. Vivi has next to no connection to Minfilia/Ryne, he also stays away from little girls after one of those ended up becoming his lifelong problem *snorts and points at Alisaie*

Desires, and feasting on them? A dungeon meshi nod? More likely than you think.

Feo Ul, sprawled out on his chest like that, visually resembles a burning heart.

Emet antithesis :3c

Imagine loving your pet so much that you let him do this. Feo Ul isn't moved by the physical act AND the joking accusation.

While seemingly slacking for a dozen episodes, Vivi formed bonds with Feo Ul and Ardbert, and thus secured the future of the two stars. Now he has friends that aren't his coworkers first and foremost, that he genuinely wants to fight for. This's what makes him tick as a hero: a quiet plea of a friend, not even asking him directly, a stark contrast to being dragged around and cried at for help. If Vivi's introduction to an entity (person/group of people) is "they suffer, they need help", he shrugs it off. Everyone suffers and needs help, he can't split into thousands of vivis to please them all.

He's only truly motivated to help, or empathizes with those who he gets to know through other means. Take Ardbert, his strange behavior on the Source, then reintroduction that's confusion and companionable snark, but not wailing for help. And Feo Ul, they hang out with him just because, they're safe.

He may not run off to fight the local Lightwarden this instant, but when he gets around to it, he's earnest for a change.

This's all I have for now, thanks for reading!!

#shb spoilers #ffxiv #ffxiv: fragments #fragment ii: new world old friend #fragments talk

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onekingabove · 22 days

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"What do you want? Make it fast, I have more important things to do.

you want to talk-? with me? hah.

do you really not have anybody better to have idle chatter with? pathetic.

I'll entertain you. but you owe me."

// ooc //

( any and all asks are allowed, nsfw included. admin has a right to ignore asks if it's uncomfortable, though it'll be rare. if you have an ask for admin, please make it obvious. no gore or images that may trigger others in the askbox, I will skip over it. I hope to receive asks.

also runs @disgracedprodigy + @kittyboymafia + @queenmackerel + @hailninetail and always promoting @winechuuya . check them out!! )

anon list

#ask beastzai #beastzai #beast dazai #bsd rp blog

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risingsol · 5 months

Text

im really here to make the same shitty joke but moment of birth eqwoiw

#;idle chatter ✦ ooc #//was told 'thats not enough' wetoiuwe

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oceanic-recollection · 1 year

Note

Gives everyone some homemade biscuits as well, fresh out of the oven

<FDM> oh Fuck yes. a little treat for me...

<BVQT> What an exotic delicacy! Thank you, anon!

#not as fresh as it's been two days...#still yummy im sure #dew seems ooc bc he is quoting smth. autism powers #and quiegg is jus being a lil silly:]#only them bc only they have the soubp #bvqt #fdm #idle chatter #anon #ask #art

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inkybloom-luv · 8 months

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Scandalous lion

@leonistic this is on you and your silly social media scandal sjahbsbsbs enjoy <3

Don't even care if it's ooc, which is a slay

756 words

♪~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♪

Idle but uptight chatter filled the room. Tonight was, for better or worse, a political dinner that Leona was somewhat forced to attend. Only somewhat because it was indeed his partner, Soru, who had made him go. They were, in fact, convinced this dinner would help with the economy around one of the borders of the Sunset Savannah. At least he was in attendance along with Leona, seated next to him too, so the oversized housecat would actually stay for the dinner. The adults were making important conversations when that nobleman's daughter, who was also in attendance, spoke right up to talk to Leona, out of boredom or whatever her motives were.

"So you're the second prince? You're hardly seen anywhere I thought you'd be slightly deformed or something like that.", she said, twisting her hair around her finger before continuing to speak "But you sir seem to be the opposite, you look quite good."

"Thank you. Your choice of dress is.. pleasant" Leona responded, rather reluctantly but politely. It was a woman speaking to him and he did receive a compliment. Though he usually did not care much for manners, tonight had to work. Why was he so set on it working out? Soru said they'd be his pillow for an entire day. For that, he'd even attend classes for a day.

They continued to eat, though most of the conversation making was left to Soru, simply because the young lady their age seemed to be trying to make moves on Leona. He didn't appreciate them, neither of them did. It wasn't like they were officially dating in the public eye, Leona just really didn't want to deal with that mess yet. Though whatever was happening now sure didn't help, since the flirting between the guest's daughter and him was not a mutual thing. Through sheer coincidence and perhaps foolish ideals on the noble's end of the line she kept saying all the wrong things, it was honestly quite embarrassing. Initially there was a press conference after this in a room adjacent to the dining hall they were using. The one they were in right now was larger to accommodate more people. He'd leave if the young lady continued, but that would leave Soru behind. In that moment, for whatever reason, be it a dust particle or someone, like ruggie, talking about Leona, he sneezed.

"I'd say king of beasts bless you, but I believe he's already done so." She said to him. "Listen, your highness, how about you and I take a walk together after dinner?" She asked, which he denied, but she didn't want to take that no for an answer it seemed.

Unfortunately that seemed to be the straw that broke the camel's back. He got up wordlessly, picking up Soru and throwing them above his shoulder.

"I was trying to be polite and let your sad attempts at flirting slide but no means no and I am not interested. I already have a lovely partner with which I am leaving. Good. day." He said, clearly through gritted teeth and bared fangs, taking long, proud and quick strides that reeked of aggravation.

He didn't care that he would be walking through a room where the press was waiting, not even when he threw open the door and in a single moment of uncalculated and rash thoughts, took a mic and with a stern voice he spoke into it.

"Listen up, this here is my partner and I don't want to be with anyone but him..!"

Sweet as those words were he did get smacked in the back by a slightly raging Soru, who could not believe that he just did that in front of a live camera feed before running off. It was so out there that Soru even brought it up again in his bedroom right as he laid down on them with basically his whole weight. He groaned against her stomach in response.

"'m not taking any more of that crap. People who don't take no for an answer should get bent." He almost growled. Really all he wanted to do now was hide in his lover's arms and maybe he could do that. Just until both of them realised the giant media scandal that was building up now, thanks to Leona's rash actions. I mean, who'd have guessed that Leona Kingscholar of all people would suddenly show up with a lover, nevermind one that seemed to be nonexistent, seeing as there were hardly any records of them at all.

#moots!! <3 #soru! 🍞#inky's works #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x oc #leona twst #leona twisted wonderland #this was based on a joke

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yanderes-galore · 1 year

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romantic (if thats even possible w her, tbh😅) tex w/ a gn reader? if not tex, she can always be swapped out for whoever you want😊

Based on her backstory, may be a little different than the usual yandere I do. This is different from my first Tex variation, I hope it's better.

It's left open due to Texas's nature, my revised version shows she wouldn't act on her obsession that much and instead it expresses in a different way almost undetected. I hope this portayal is closer to the character.

Spoilers for Halo Red vs Blue, takes place around Freelancer Saga yet altered from the original.

Anomaly

Yandere! Agent Texas Scenario

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, OOC, Overprotective behavior, Slight stalking, Jealousy, Texas doesn't understand her emotions, Darling's oblivious and doesn't understand her either, Violence, Swearing.

Agent Texas, one of if not the most skilled Freelancers in the program. She's superior in combat, engineering, and stealth compared to other agents. You never knew why or how she got so good, coming from seemingly out of nowhere into the program and in missions.

It wasn't your place to know.

Really, you knew nearly nothing about Tex. For the longest time you didn't know she was even a girl until she spoke. You... just never really communicated with her.

You two never had a reason to talk outside of training.

Even when you trained she easily kicked your ass. You'd end up flat on your back with her staring at you through her visor. You can feel the disappointed stare from her.

It's like she's telling you to do better.

You try, you really do. You're training all day every day in an attempt to get your name up that board. You know you won't be as good as Tex, yet you just want to be decent.

You never seemed to understand her. Not only did her supernatural strength elude you, but her behavior did too. You were never all that close with her...

So why does she stare at you?

It's like that's her form of communication with you. While you're doing your own thing, other Freelancers report Tex looking in your direction. It's like she's observing you....

It seemed harmless enough.

You didn't have beef with her. Not that you knew of, anyways. She may just... notice you training?

It's just another Tex thing you don't understand....

The first time she actually came up to you was when you were training alone. It startled you to hear her voice.

"Hey."

Keeping her greeting brief, she leans on the wall while watching you.

"Need a partner?"

"What? So you can rub it in my face you're better?"

"Maybe. Wouldn't a training session improve us both?"

You stop what you're doing, turning to her and sighing.

"Well... if I'm gonna improve at all on that board, I might as well learn from the best."

It was then you properly "bonded" with the Freelancer. By bonding, it was just idle chatter as you were thrown around like a sandbag. By the end of it you were wincing everywhere

"You need to be faster... also, if you can't improve that, at least try stealth."

"Damn... what are you, a robot?"

Tex stares at you for a moment, watching you get off the floor.

"... quit joking. When are you practicing again?"

"Uh, well... tomorrow with Carolina-"

"Carolina?"

"Yes..."

"Then I'll join you."

"I don't think Carolina would enjoy tha-"

"She can deal."

Agent Texas after that session always wished to train with you after that. Part of you wondered if she liked seeing you get tossed around by her. It didn't matter if you had plans either.

She'd excuse it as you practicing duo exercises.

Tex's fixation on training you was just another Tex thing you didn't understand.

Although you were beginning to learn her patterns. She was always strict on your mistakes... yet strangely parental and caring towards you in her own way. She wasn't soft, but she wasn't as cold as you thought either.

The others were getting upset when Tex kept inserting herself into your training time.

"Agent Texas. Agent (Y/N) is scheduled for SOLO sessions today."

Agent Carolina would scold her, Tex brushing her off.

"Oh please, you both could use some training from me. I'll wipe the floor with you."

Then there's other times where you could train with someone as gentle as York or North Dakota... Tex would still suggest you all come at her.

You were starting to tire of this. What did you even do to catch her attention? Plus... the staring never stopped.

Even when you talk with other Freelancers she stares. She gets annoyed if it's someone like South Dakota, Maine, or Wyoming....

Tex seems rather tame and calm when talking to you, though. To others it's as though she had a soft spot for you like Carolina. If it was brought up... she gets defensive.

Through training, you and Agent Texas grew closer. You always saw her as a close companion, a sister in arms. She saw you as... well, she wasn't sure.

She's never been very well-versed in the relationship field. If this is what she thinks it is... she has trouble expressing it. She's just... unable to? It's not really in her coding.

Instead... this is the closest she gets to processing these new feelings towards you. She wants to train you... to make you stronger. She wants your attention on her... strangely enough. She also doesn't like other people training you-

They won't do it right.

Her feelings towards you come across as platonic, bordering on romantic. She's overprotective of you... she cares for you.

You're special to her and she doesn't want you to do anything stupid.

She's happy when she sees you work so hard with her. You may struggle to match her, yet you've grown used to her and her behavior. You're extremely close.

Almost inseparable.

In truth, Tex can't help but stare because she admires you. She likes that you make an effort. She appreciates your attempts at getting stronger.

She also acknowledges your weakness, however.

Deep down... she fears one wrong mistake will kill you. As a Freelancer, you'll always be hunted. She wants you to be able to defend yourself...

So she's here to help you.

She'd never admit how she feels out loud. It's best to keep that hidden.... She instead shows her care for you in her actions.

While she isn't affectionate, you still see her as family. Even if her behavior is strange at times... you care for her similar to how she sees you. You just wish she'd stop hovering around you at base.

Tex is usually independent. Despite this, you're almost never seen without her. The Director has even started to notice this.

Just when you thought you understood her... she does something else weird.

You had recently started to become more involved with North Dakota recently. Something that has caused changes in Tex. You've noticed she has more aggression lately.

"Just how close have you been getting with (Y/N)?"

"Woah, Tex, no need to interrogate me! Me and (Y/N) have just... been talking more lately."

"Don't pull that with me... you like (Y/N), don't you?"

"Why's that matter-"

"Tex?"

At the sound of your voice, Tex stops talking to North to look at you. That was when you started noticing the aggression. It also made you wonder... if Tex thought more of you than you thought?

You're reading into her too much... must be.

She just trains with you. She's like a sister to you. She's just... overprotective, that's all.

But why doesn't she trust North of all people?

"Hey, pay attention."

Tex calls you back from your thoughts, making you look up from your seat.

"H-Huh? Oh sorry, Tex."

"Doing better or did you hit your head too hard?"

"Yeah... I'm good."

"Then let's go again, another round."

Confusing you, she pulls you up from your spot and helps you stand. Her touch is gentle yet still forceful. As you both depart and get in your positions, you look at her through your visor.

You're looking too much into Tex, after all, not many could understand her.

She's just being Tex, maybe North and her had a fight?

Everything's fine... all you should focus on is training with her.

You trust Tex, she's helped you so much in the Freelancer program.

Why would she ever harm you or the others?

#yandere halo red vs blue #yandere halo rvb #yandere agent texas

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simplytheevebest · 2 years

Text

Spiraling

Alternate titles: "I'm Having a Bad Day, so Guess What? So is Farah" or "I Use a Lot of Metaphors." I'm so sorry Farah my darling. Apologies if anyone seems OOC.

Like clock work, the summer months draw to a close, the hazy, quiet warmth of Alfea's halls reignite with the bustle of returning staff, catch-up chatter filtering through the formerly empty space. Lazily attended-to paperwork now reaches priority levels. Farah's mornings start no earlier but she's required to actually start: no more quiet cups of coffee, watching the sun rise, admiring a certain Specialist's early-morning training from the safety and anonymity of her suite. She rises with efficiency now, the familiar routine of dressing and pinning up her hair with the same meticulous detail she used to pay to her battle armor. Every year for the last sixteen years, the time arrives when she must return to duty and schedules with more rigidity than she allows herself during those free months. Sixteen years of complacency, sixteen years of a familiarity she's taken for granted.

This year is very much the same, at least in theory. The paperwork takes greater precident than before; she doesn't have an assistant to handle deliveries of inventory anymore but Sky and Terra and Sam are more than happy to help, especially if it means she isn't the one lifting the boxes of books and carrying Ben's floral samples. Saul's early morning training sessions still take place, though not as early as either of them is used to. Now when Farah wakes, Saul is there with a cup of coffee ready and waiting, a silent support and appraisal of her well being before he leaves her side. The changes feel subtle in that they slide seamlessly within Farah's typical return-to-school routine. But then the day before students arrive dawns and Farah wakes feeling not entirely herself.

She wakes too early, the sun barely reaching above the trees and a deep unidentifiable ache in her bones and muscles that have felt too strained in recent days. She can hear the steady beat of rain on the roof, a welcome and anticipated summer shower Ben's been praying for; it's also the cause of her pain, and she rubs absently at her knee, another at a twinge in her once-broken neck, marking the time on her bedside clock: four-thirty-six in the morning. Plenty of time to fall back asleep, but she's not going to, she knows that.

She swallows the pain killers dry, moving on stiff steps from the bed to the bathroom, easing back beneath the blankets to stare at the ceiling while Saul slumbers peacefully beside her. And as the light creeps across the carpet, her mind wanders, edging closer to that dark dip she usually teeters far enough from the edge not to risk falling in. Typically, Saul is there, physically if not also mentally, with a firm grip on her waist to haul her back as needed. Her hand is never empty for long, not with her students so eager to reach for it. She's kept busy enough that the cliff's edge isn't a worry; it's a barely-there precipice. But this morning, her mind is idle. This morning, her heels stray so close to that steep mental drop she can imagine the crumbling stone beneath her feet.

Another year, and she barely survived the last one. She technically didn't survive the last one. They'd finished the year strong, a school united in loyalty and grief, but the fear had still been palpable, a virus spreading through the students that'd remained until the end, not pulled out by their parents or recovering beyond the walls that'd housed their trauma. Farah has done her best not to dwell, to put one foot in front of the other for the sake of the others, if not also herself. If she allows herself to dwell, she'll spiral.

She's spiraling.

How is she meant to look the students and staff in the eye and promise protection? How is she meant to encourage moving on from last year when she can't? How can she expect their trust, their respect, considering how drastically she's failed them? If a single student shows up at all, it's an undeserved reward for her incompetence. She doesn't deserve to even hold the title of headmistress after everything she's been through, everything she's done or not done. The secrets kept, lies told, fear and mistrust fostered. It's her fault. It's all her fault. She would weep, if it weren't for the all-encompassing numb weariness that settles over her the longer she succumbs to the gravity of her own thoughts.

Saul grunts, a long, slow breath drawn through his nose that signals his return to consciousness; Farah feels the familiar warm hum of their bond waking with him, and she clamps down on the darkness of her thoughts with an iron fist. By the time Saul blinks at her with a sleep-clouded gaze, his smile is soft and lazy, no indication he's aware of her hovering breakdown.

"Morning."

"Good morning."

"You're up early," Saul glances at the clock: six-thirty. Farah musters up a smile that isn't completely forced.

"Not by much," Farah lies; she switches off the alarm, set for six-fifty.

Saul takes advantage of her shifted position to wrap an arm around her waist, hauling her closer to press a kiss to the shell of her ear.

"Everything alright?"

The confirmation she knows he's looking for, that she's not alright, catches in her throat. He rests his chin against her collarbone, that look on his face she knows he gets when there's no one else to see them like this, like he thinks she's hung the moon and stars. Now is not one of the times she feels the warmth of such a look, however: it leaves her feeling guilty and ashamed and undeserving. She so badly wants to confide in him, knows in her heart and her mind there's no reason she can't, but she can't. She wants to, but the words won't come. They swell and stick tight behind her teeth, a silent dam she doesn't have the energy to rebuild, today of all days. Because as soon as she starts, she won't be able to stop, and the words will tumble and flow, gain momentum like the proverbial snowball, and the tears will follow, and she can't afford it, much as she may want to. Not today.

She's careful to keep her mind clear, as gentle and calm as the waves she practices picturing to calm the tumultuous thoughts of others threatening to invade and quiet her mind. It's a practice she's used since her own Alfea days, before Rosalind's more extreme methods took over, and a trick she's implemented again just recently when the sudden resurgence of her magic was too overwhelming following her resurrection. The levity in her tone is forced, but not detectibly so when she smiles at the man she adores, and who adores her right back, knowing she's breaking his unsuspecting heart keeping this bottled up. When he discovers her ruse, as he's likely to, his anger will be non-existent, his disappointment crippling, and his own hurt more painful than any wound she's been afflicted with.

"I'm fine."

She follows her words with a kiss pressed to his nose and a smile he returns easily.

"Coffee?"

"Please."

He sits up, then presses his full weight to her chest so he can pepper her face with kisses until the weight in her mind eases and she's swallowing back her mirth. She indulges him in a proper kiss, watches fondly as he slips a shirt over his naked torso and disappears into the kitchen. She hates how quickly the smile drops from her lips, but she can't help it. Not today.

"...missing a batch of aconite but not to worry there, it hasn't been swiped, I've got an invoice from the company about a delay and- Farah?"

She blinks, aware in that simple action that her lids have dipped lower than is acceptable for a conversation with a colleague, let alone a friend. It's exhaustion, plain and simple, and as the morning hours drag on the effort of holding her head high grows harder and harder. The rain lashes hard against the windows, a mirroring of her overwhelming emotions. She clenches a fist loosely atop her checklist, woefully unfulfilled, and manages a bland smile for Ben.

"I'm sorry. I am paying attention-"

"You and Saul," Ben gripes, "No appreciation for the finer details of horticulture."

It's a joke, a tease, and it doesn't fall flat, but it slides easily beneath the cracks in her emotional armor, poisoned with unspoken things she doesn't hold Ben accountable for not saying because she knows he wouldn't. But she hears them all the same, those venomous adders snaking into her mind reminding her of her failings as a friend not to humor Ben in this most basic of interests, something he shared with dear Rose. But now with her gone, why, knowing the pain of her passing, does Farah find it so difficult to lend an ear? Beyond inventory, beyond invoices and potion supplies, why does Ben put up with her?

She's still spiraling, riptide drawing her out to sea, caught in a current of her own making. She keeps her head above water by sheer force of will, but she's slipping.

"Farah?"

"I'm fine."

The lie falls easier from her lips with every additional time she utters it, twice more to Saul at breakfast when he'd caught her staring out the window at the rain, and once even to Terra, the bewildered earth fairy tossing out steadying hands when her pseudo-aunt almost walked straight into her, brows furrowed in concern as she'd asked after the mind fairy's well being. Farah, far more familiar with lying to her students, hadn't hesitated a second before reaffirming -a futile attempt to convince herself, too- that she was "fine."

Ben's brows are furrowed just like his daughter's, gaze a little too lingering, a little too appraising. Farah forces her smile to be softer, but it feels strained, and she purses her lips to cover it. Storm clouds are gathering behind her eyes, between her temples, rumbling with upset and the strongest pressure for tears she's felt yet. She takes as slow a breath as she dares through her nose, careful to keep it steady. She's prepared to brush the moment aside, perhaps confirm exhaustion, as Ben is probably expecting, but her friend beats her to the punch. The invoices are set aside and he rummages through the pocket of his forest green cardigan, handing Farah a handkerchief she knows has dried many a childish eye of crocodile tears. She takes it, with the robotic instinct of one being handed something regardless of her puzzlement as to its offering; when she turns a critical eye to Ben, his smile is soft and sad.

"You're crying, my dear."

Despite the handkerchief clutched in a vice-like grip, she swipes her free hand across her cheek, feels both the trickle that replaces what she's just removed and the dampness on her fingers. The breath she takes now is shuddering and she dabs at her eyes with the handkerchief futiley, the evidence of her tears releasing the flood she's been holding back all morning.

"I don't know why I'm crying. I don't know what's wrong with me," she admits, trying to brush the moment aside -should she blame hormones?- but Ben tuts, coming around the side of her desk to rub soothingly at her back.

"Nothing's wrong with you," because he knows what she really means, and the admission has her tears falling harder, faster, as she knew they would, silent grief turning to stifled sobs Ben muffles against his shoulder when he turns her to him for a hug.

"Nothing's wrong with you," Ben repeats, "I've had a feeling this was coming."

"How could you possibly have known that," and it's less a question than a demand for an answer because she doesn't do this. She doesn't fall apart for no good reason. She feels Ben's chuckle against her cheek, his hands still tracing soothing paths up and down her arms.

"Because I know you, Farah, and I know when you're upset. Saul mentioned you weren't quite yourself this morning, but he didn't want to push you if you weren't ready to share."

And she feels foolish now for thinking he wouldn't have noticed, for no one knows her as well as Saul Silva, and vice versa. She huffs not-quite a laugh, throat blocked with emotion and nose stuffed with congestion. She draws back from Ben's embrace, sniffing hard and dabbing at her eyes again, smudging mascara across the faded fabric.

"I'll wash it," she murmurs forlornly, fingers toying with the fraying edges and Ben chuckles again, crouching to take the handkerchief and wipe her eyes properly.

"And it'll certainly come out. Rose charmed it herself never to stain."

"Everything is tarnished," she murmurs in weary explanation, and Ben leans back, arms draped over his knees.

"How so?"

"Rosalind. Everything," Farah waves a hand noncommittally, "Alfea was meant to be a safe space, a place the children could learn without fear, but it isn't, not anymore. I've failed them. I abandoned them to her influence and neglected to adequately pick up the pieces left behind."

"Might I ask that you not be quite so harsh on my best friend?" Ben demands, and Farah blinks, more startled tears tracing clear tracks down her cheeks.

Ben stands to lean one hip against her desk, "You see, she's had quite the terrible year, confronting demons from her past, digging up old traumas, not to mention having herself dug up after she was killed by her former mentor. It's in my best herbologist's opinion that you go easy on her."

"Ben-"

"Might I remind you you couldn't walk on your own power a few months ago?" Ben continues, "And not even moments after you woke from your inconceivable resurrection you were demanding information on the well being of your students. You nearly gave yourself a stroke worrying after Bloom, and you nearly gave Saul and I a coronary sneaking off as you did after Rosalind a second time. And you nearly died again. For good Farah. I don't know that you fully grasp the consequences of your own martyrdom."

"It was never my intention to be a martyr-"

And there's a bit more strength in her disagreement, but Ben interrupts again.

"Intention is nine-tenths of the law," he quotes sagely, "But in this case that one-tenth holds far more weight. You may have intended the outcome of Rosalind's first attack, but you had no way of anticipating the nature of her second. And I don't know that you've let yourself think about it. No," he corrects, "I know you haven't. Because you've never given your feelings any consideration when there are others involved, and now it's all catching up with you."

Ben ducks his head to catch her eye, and Farah feels shame heat her cheeks at the realization she's been avoiding his gaze.

"There is nothing wrong with you," Ben repeats, again, "There is nothing wrong with prioritizing the feelings of others, but there is also nothing wrong with allowing yourself to feel your own feelings. And nobody blames you, nobody thinks less of you for it. You're allowed to cry and be upset at what is quite an upsetting thing."

"I am upset," Farah confirms with another sniff, fingers twisting the handkerchief Ben had returned to her.

"As you should be."

"I was terrified."

"Quite understandably."

"I feel so useless and- overwhelmed," and the tears begin anew, Ben reaching for her again without hesitation. It solves nothing, not really, but it's cathartic, and Ben's right, it's overdue. Like unblocking a culvert destined to be refilled with debris, but for the moment, her mind feels refreshed, troubled waters running clearer with the silt settling back on the river bed.

"Do you feel better?" Ben asks when the well has run dry, and Farah does feel well enough to pout, respond indignantly:

"No."

But then she sighs, fingers catching at the pins in her hair when she tries to run a hand through it; she contents herself with twirling those loose curls around her face, twining them round and round her finger.

"Yes. But I don't know why."

"You don't have to," Ben advises, "Sometimes it isn't about deciding why something helps, only that it does. There's absolutely no reason why hot chocolate and biscuits at midnight helped Sam and Terra with nightmares, but it did, no matter what the parenting books said about sugar and bedtimes. It's enough that it makes you feel better, it doesn't have to make sense."

Farah sighs, confronted now with itchy eyes and paperwork sure to irritate them further, and far fewer hours left to accomplish all she needs to before the start of term. But before that same feeling of overwhelming can creep back up to block her throat, Ben speaks.

"I believe Saul should be finished setting up the training grounds," he cranes his neck as though he can see out the window, but they both know he can't. "I'd say it's time for a cup of tea, a snack, and then we can put that 'headmaster' title to good use and have him tackle some of this. No reason you can't share the load."

"No," Farah concedes, "That sounds perfect. Thank you Ben, I mean it."

"I know. And you're welcome, my dear, any time."

I have no explanation, other than I have been having A Day and somewhere along the way it just got to be too much for no explainable reason, but suddenly everything was so much worse. And then I cried and felt so much better even though nothing changed because I always remember what the mother in Princess Diaries says which is "you've been hurt, so you just cry, okay?" And sometimes you just need that, even if you don't know what hurt you. Anyone else have days like that? But I thought you know who else might feel this way? Farah. And then I self projected so many words. And I know the prequel book said Farah only cried once at Aster Dell, but I reject that.

#eve best #fate the winx saga #ftws #fate winx saga #fate: the winx saga #farah dowling #saul silva #rob james collier #ben harvey #fate fanfic #long post #farah dowling x saul silva #farah x saul #silrah

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montcumbry-gaytor · 9 months

Text

Nepenthe. chapter 01

act one : tacenda

THIS IS A OC INTEGRATION FOR THE WITCHER, IT IS NOT A X READER FIC.

- another rewrite , blurghh idk if I'm gonna post this one or if I'm gonna keep writing it until I consider it perfect, anyways I have nothing better to do so!! yah!

tw for : mentions of cheating, canon typical violence, geralt is a bit OOC, angst, brief sex scene but not smut, mentions of scars.

(n.) things better left unsaid; matters to be passed over in silence.

I can smell the rain in the air, it's heavy and carries an uncomfortable humidity with it, I can feel it soaking into my clothes and run down my silver blade, droplets running down onto another's skin.

But how did we get here? perhaps the beginning can explain.

I am Kael of Tossaint, a Witcher of the school of the Viper, I am currently eighty-two in this point of time, but this feud begins in my younger years.

I loved him then, sometimes I think I still do, the wolves were like family, and Geralt was more than a lover, but a friend.

My times at Kaer Morhen never felt out of place, thanks to Vesemir, maybe our ways of the Witcher "Lifestyle" were in some ways strayed, but Vesemir assured that not even witchers can be alone.

He was correct then, but now I'd like to think he'd be wrong, but hes not.

Geralt was a slow burn, taking time before he even chose to speak to me.

"You're going at it wrong."

He sighed, his arms crossed as he was watches me attempt ( and fail ) the wolves course, I hiss out a remark, staring him down as he progresses in doing it himself.

He's smooth, he's done it a hundred times before, From his head to his feet, everything is coordinated like a dancer, I thought he looked handsome when he was focused.

Time passes, we are now close friends, I climb the old, worn out tower to meet him, his arms crossed loosely as I pull myself up, wiping sweat from my brow.

Idle chatter meshes into that of frivolous flirting, and that into a cheeky peck on the lips of which I gave him, that he returned with fervor.

We are now lovers, we return to Kaer Morhen every winter, recovering and enjoying each others presence, occasionally traversing into the woods to hunt with each other, never a dull moment.

I stick an arrow into a large buck's thigh, it squeals before bolting off, I draw my arrow, and release as it curls around trees, piercing the animals nape.

"Impressive."

He says, raising from his crouched position behind shrubbery, he looks dashing even in the dirt and grime, i watch him as he skillfully wraps up the kill and straps it to his horse, it was Vesemir's turn to cook.

Old stories chattered across the tables, Geralt reminds me he'll be leaving in the morn' for the spring.

"I know, I'll see you in winter, My love."

I reply, resting my head on his shoulder, the food sits warm in my stomach.

It's summer, I hear from an employer that Geralt is in town, working with a court witch, I have decided to find him and pay him a visit before I'm on my way, he's in a inn on the outskirts of town.

Her voice meets my ears first, before the familiar grunts of Geralt follow, and I realize that they are moans, breathy and calling out my lovers name.

I am furious, but I do not pursue those feelings and turn my back on the wooden door, her moaning Geralts name doesn't let up in my mind.

I come to Kaer Morhen in the fall, I've done successful works and made good coin, but the dread of summer still wells in my stomach.

I tell Vesemir I will not be returning to Kaer Morhen, that I've appreciated this home and love he's provided, he is like a father to me, one I can never truly have.

I have not returned to Kaer Morhen since that day, it's been half a decade, I am deep in a tavern as I scout out a man I've been asked to formally take out, he leaves his table to pay his tab, before promptly grabbing his items and rushing out.

He knows his time has come.

I follow him in the shadows, slithering just where I can fit, not even my breathing makes noise.

Which is why I notice heavy footsteps tailing me, stalking in the moonlight as if I am the prey.

I cannot take my victim's life if I am the victim, I will find him later, I will just have to make up for the lost time.

I round the corner, and then another, I can feel it's gaze on me like wildfire, burning through the back of my head.

And when I turn that last corner, I am gone, I am the shadows, When he turns I know exactly who he is, it's not like I could forget.

It's quick when my foot plants into the center of his back, he has no choice but to tumble onto his rear, propped up by his hands as my shortsword grazes his chin.

"Geralt."

I hiss and I feel it begin to rain, quickly becoming a downpour, but I do not let my sword budge, watching as his golden eyes narrow underneath his furrowed brows.

"Kael."

He replies, it's a mix of anger and relief, he attempts to push my blade away, but I nick his fingers as I resist.

"Where have you been?"

He asks, his thumb running over the pads of his fingers, the blood running with the rain.

"Far enough from you, Is what I thought."

I answer, tilting my sword back and forth, forcing him to let me gaze at his features, he hasn't changed a bit, if he has grey hairs it's not like i would be able to tell.

"But why, Kael?"

He speaks once more, his Adams apple bobbing as he takes a short, uncertain glance at my sword, watching me pull it away and sheath it behind my back.

"Why would your lover disappear for five years, and admit to avoiding you.. hm, no clue."

I say, it's obvious he never knew, you'd have to find Vesemir one day and thank him for his disclosure.

"Kael."

Geralt growls, he's growing impatient, though he has no right to be.

"Don't do that Geralt, may I remind you I'm the one that kicked you on your ass."

I spit, I have to brush my dark hair away in order to see him clearer, I can feel his eyes gloss over my features.

"I'm shocked you didn't even notice I was there, Was sensing other witchers not in your mutation?"

I add, straightening my posture as Geralt begins to stand, he dusts off his leggings before broadening his shoulders, squaring off a stare that's one of confusion and a glare.

"What are you talking about?"

He growls, stepping towards me with frustration, he places his hands on my shoulders, a move he did often when he was worried for the one he did it to.

"Triss? was it?"

I say, I can feel the hurt burn in my chest, searing into me as I cannot deny it, his jaw clench as he now knows what this is about, I can see he's unsure where to start, I do it for him.

"In Mortara, I had heard you'd been around, Sought you out myself, but I'm right in saying I wasn't the only one doing so."

He squeezes his eyes tight, and opens them as if he was no longer supposed to be here, as if this was as one awful dream.

"Discretion goes a long way considering you never sought me out."

I add, I run a light finger over the scar that rests on the bridge of my nose, waiting for his reply.

"It was one time, Kael, I don't love her."

Geralt says, his head lowering to meet my gaze, as if searching to see if his words stuck.

"One time is enough to break someone you do, though."

I say, brushing his hands off my shoulders and turning, letting out a quivering breath before meeting Geralts gaze again.

"And it's funny that I can't keep you off my mind, because I hate you, so much."

I continue, my voice barely above a whisper as I have seemed to have forgotten exactly where this encounter came from, my hand snaking up to cup Geralts cheek, he leans into it and I retract.

"I'm sorry, Kael."

"You'd better fucking be."

I snap, I can feel the grit in my teeth, he drags his tongue over his dry lips, his eyes wolfishly dragging over me, he's hungry, and I can't decide whether to let him starve or feed him until he swells up and explodes.

And I crave him too, the uncanny warmth he brings is a burning desire, hes has left me broken, so why do I want him more?

That question lingers as I bring myself up to press my lips to his, he reciprocates it, his hands crawling up my figure, his palm cupping my jaw, pulling me closer to him.

There's a feverish hate boiling in my stomach, I cannot help but love him despite his wrongdoings, an error in my judgment, I can't help but sway with his movements.

When we pull away, He goes first, and I open my eyes to scan his face, my brows are furrowed and I let out rapid breaths, almost in disbelief.

"Shit, I hate you."

I sigh, rutting my nose to his forehead as my eyes close again, it reminds me of when we were younger.

It's wintertime, I've been in kaer morhen since late fall, Geralt is arriving on his tall horse, when I see him I dash out, He hops off his horse to embrace me, it's a familiar warmth I've missed, He tilts his head down, and I rut my nose into his forehead, It was a mesh of the greetings between your schools.

Geralt doesn't reply to my remark, he just holds me close to his chest and lets out a deep breath before he looks down again, his eyes glancing in the direction of the inn I was at before.

I can tell what he means and nod, following him closely as we make our way back, he keeps an eye on me like I'll disappear, I dislike it but find it endearing anyhow.

When we get into the inn, Geralt ignores the staring, he always seems to do that, he simply grabs my hand and pulls me to his room, he's quick to shut it behind me and lock it.

His hand brushes my hair away from my neck, his fingers play with the strands of grey, his lips kiss just where they can reach, before his other hand pulls the collar of my sweater away to kiss down further.

When he tires of leaving kisses, he unlatches the belts holding my pauldrons on, he doesn't toss them, but he doesn't gently sit them aside either.

He makes quick work of the leather belt that rests on my stomach, tossing it away.

He's more gentle with the swords, He knows i would be with his, he sits them by the foot of the bed, and doesn't make any further movements.

He's waiting, he's asking, he wants to know if I'm not caught up in the moment or if this is something I truly want.

It takes me some time to answer, I finger the hem of my sweater with uncertainty, but in the end I pull it clean over my head, it reveals a forest of scars, ones of fire, barbs, claws, swords, and arrows, deep in my skin.

He takes his time to kiss and run his fingers over each one, he whispers their origins under his breath, though I couldn't care for his dragging.

"Geralt."

I rasp, He understands, and makes quicker work of his own armor and clothes, his muscles flex as he pulls clothing away, left in just his leggings and not much for the imagination.

He tries to take my hand, but I slip it up his shoulder and guide him to the bed, which he lays into, resting his weight on his elbows.

I pull my trousers away, the braies hug my hips as they're untied and pulled down as well, Geralt eyes me with something I can't describe entirely.

The sex is quick, my mind is filled with uncertainty which makes it drift away at times, Geralt notices but keeps silent, rutting into me nonetheless.

In the end I find myself held close to him, but my back faces his chest, my mind slowly eases into sleep as I can't help but stare into a wall, my thoughts running absentmindedly.

In the morning, I'm the first to wake, and I slither away from the witchers grasp, though he wakes in the process, watching as I dress.

"Sorry to wake you."

I say, pulling my trousers up and pulling the drawstring taut before tying it back into a small bow.

"Where will you be going to next?"

I ask, slipping into my boots as I wrap the leather strap around my lower legs

"Posada, In Aedirn."

Geralt said, rolling on his side, his medallion dangles from his neck as morning light that spilled in from the windows bounces off of it, I stay silent for a moment, in consideration.

"I will ride with you."

I say, fastening the belt tightly around my waist before strapping my pauldrons and swords to me, and then my hip bag and dagger to my right thigh.

"Hmm.."

Geralt hums, before rolling onto his back once more, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, I take the moment of silence to hold the end of the leather strap in my teeth while I wrap the other end around my lower arm.

"I wasn't asking."

I say firmly as I pull the ends of the leather taut, assuring they would stay in place.

"Kael."

Geralt says, he's now behind me, seems to have snuck up while I was distracted, he rests his chin on the padding of my left shoulder, I can feel him unclothed behind me, and smack his hip.

"Get dressed."

I hiss, he knows it's not hateful, but does as told, the silence holding us in a fond embrace, I have not forgiven him, but there's always time to consider it before we reach Posada.

GOLLY I loveee how I wrote this >:) I'm saying this waayy before I even post this that way I don't just delete my work and re-write it all, and just proof-read and touch up my writing.

I'll most likely post this once I have the second and third chapter in the barrel 🤷

#the witcher oc #the witcher netflix #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt #angst #jaskier #dandelion #oc fic

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