#after explainations and resolving everything between each other | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

popamolly · 2 months

Text

‘INTERNAL REDEMPTION’ LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR

summary. (y/n) continues to spy on Lucifer, preying on the little vulnerability that allows he allows (y/n) to see. Unbeknownst to both of them there is something blossoming with each conversation and shared stolen glance.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR

warnings. lucifer morningstar x stripper!fem!reader, eventual smut, mention of death, slow burn, biblical references, sex work, sexual themes, trauma, abuse, murder, slow burn, 18+ minors dni

author’s note. italics is for a flashback, just wanted to let everyone know if that isn’t made clear in the text, i finished this up at like 2am. enjoy sinners <3

Lucifer held you captive with his words for hours. Explaining everything you wanted to know about him and his army of ducks. That wall was slowly crumbling as was his resolve. Though that seemed to be in the back of your mind as you found yourself intrigued by him and his story— ultimately finding out that the King of Hell was actually quite charming in his way.

“So these ducks are a manifestation of sinners,” You look toward him as if to confirm his words and when Lucifer nodded you continued, “Every sinner in Hell? No wonder you have so many.”

“And this isn’t even half of it,” Lucifer smiles proudly as he hops up from his chair, gesturing toward the rubber duck piles that almost reached the ceiling, “There are more at my amusement park.”

“I see, I guess I am just trying to understand why ducks of all things?”

“Spiritual progression? Rebirth? New beginnings?” Lucifer taps his chin in thought before shrugging, “A mere duck can mean a lot of different things that’s why, plus they are cuuuuteee!”

You laugh, a real genuine laugh, which was a sound you haven’t made in a long while. The King wasn’t so bad once you got know him. If anything he was an ideal king that you would read stories about. You wanted nothing more than to listen to him talk for hours more.

“What?” Lucifer got a bit self conscious, realizing that his excitement might have came off a bit nerdy or childish, “It’s silly isn’t it?”

You shake your head to ease his insecurities with a lopsided smile, “No, I just had this version of you in my head and seeing you now, in person..it's completely changed now that I have met you.”

“I hope that’s a good thing.” Lucifer chuckles. He fiddling with the top of his cane as if he was scared to meet your gaze.

“It is.” And for a moment you forgot why you were here. If you had to chose between the V’s and Lucifer when it came to deciding Hell’s fate, Lucifer would win by a landslide— but Lucifer wasn’t the one who owned your soul, “Tell me more about Charlie. Your face lights up whenever you speak of her.”

“She is my pride and joy!” Lucifer boasts proudly, “She has this whole Hotel thing going on apparently. I’ve been poppin’ in here and there to help her ya know, being an awesome dad and whatnot.”

“And what of this hotel?” You ask, leaning a bit closer to Lucifer as if he would tell you a secret, “Does she really believe that she can redeem sinners?”

“Yes, she…she does,” Lucifer sighs after a moment, turning away from you to run his fingers through his golden hair. A heavy weight clearly on his shoulders as he thought of his daughter and her fairytale like dreams for Hell. It hurt his heart to know that he couldn’t do more for her. He knew he could make whatever dream of hers come true except for the one she wanted most. This was a whole other thing entirely. This was something between Hell and Earth and the lines have always been blurred— he would never be able to cross it even he wanted to.

“You don’t sound too sure..” You chose your words carefully. There was a tiny crack in his wall of vulnerability and you wanted to crack it some more, “Do you doubt Charlie?”

“No no no! Pfffft, Of course not!” Lucifer quickly says before sighing in defeat, raking his fingers through his blonde hair, “I don’t doubt her..I just— I don’t think she understands the weight of what she is trying to do. I just l don’t want her to end up hurt over this.”

“If all else fails then she will know that you were there for her,” You say, placing your hand on his shoulder reassuringly, “All you have to do is believe in her, even if you don’t believe in her dreams.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Lucifer turned to look at you. A split moment in time where the world seemed to stop and it was just you and him. Your words might have came from your own selfish need to stay on Valentino’s good side but your kindness remained true. It became clear to you that the King was nothing more than a prideful man that was trying his best. Not only for his daughter but himself and for Hell. In the short time that you knew him it was something that you quickly learned to admire, “Yes, well,” Lucifer clears his throat, his cheeks flushing slightly under your intense gaze, “Thank you for the company. It was nice to…open up a bit.”

“Of course, your majesty,” You nod, taking that as your cue to leave the King to his Kingly duties as the time you two spent together had made day turn to night in an instant, “I will leave you to your duties.”

“Right! My duties! I am a very very busy man! So many souls to collect, tons of sinners to kill, people to torture, the list just goes on…haha!” Lucifer wanted to jump out of his own skin and slap himself silly. Curse him for his rambling, why did he even feel the need to impress you? A lowly sinner that meant absolutely nothing to him.

“if you ever need a friend or,” Your fingertips grazes the doorknob to his bedchambers with the tray of empty plates in the other arm, “…A listening ear, you always call upon me.” Offering one last smile in the King's direction, you slip out into the hall, closing the door behind you softly.

Lucifer couldn’t help but feel how his room suddenly felt cold now that your warm presence was gone. There was a certain emptiness in the air that reminded him he was truly lonely. \

“So the King of Hell’s daughter wasn’t joking about the redemption of sinners,” Vox sneers over the tiny screen of the voxtech watch he gave you, “And whatever the reason for the Radio Demon to be by Charlie’s side, it surely only benefits him.” The watch screen slightly glitches from Vox laughing, “Redemption of sinners?! How stupid is that?”

“It could be possible,” You say, making the watch on your wrist glitch some more.

“If I wanted your opinion bitch, I would ask for it!” The static noise was starting to ring in your ears, its material overheating in the palm of your hand, “Whatever the case is, I need you sucking Lucifer’s dick by next week if we are going to get any valuable information out of him, do you understand me?”

You bit down on your bottom lip, tears stinging at the corner of your eyes from feeling guilty about getting close to Lucifer under such circumstances. Your paths should have never even crossed. You both might be in hell but you were in entirely different worlds. There was this unspoken connection you two shared the moment your eyes met and it was just enough to get the guilt eating away at you.

“Or do I have to tell Valentino that his favorite obedient girl is being defiant?”

“No, I—”

“Good, I’m so glad we have an understanding. Now go get me some actually good information I can fucking use!” With that Vox hung up the call, making you let out a deep breath that you didn’t know you were holding in. You toss the watch to the floor angrily, dropping your head into your hands. This was all just a stupid pointless mission. One that had no satisfying end or results because there was nothing to say. There was nothing to report back. The King, Charlie, and those around him was plotting to do more good than harm.

You leaned over to turn the faucet off, stopping the hot water from filling the porcelain tub completely after nearly overflowing it from being too lost in your thoughts.

Slowly, you began to slip out of your clothes, neatly folding them and putting them aside before stepping into the hot water, the stinging pain hardly anything you would flinch from. That stinging pain felt good, it reminded you that you were present in the moment even when you wanted nothing more than to just to disappear.

Closing your eyes to relax, you sink deeper and deeper into the water until you felt your mind slowly drift elsewhere.

With a melodic hum, you turned the page to your book, intrigued by the ancient text and words of God. Surrounding you were scrolls and other relics that you stole from the council’s library, eager to learn more about God and his mysterious ways. It was all you could do in Heaven after all, live blissfully but you were bored of that. Instead of thriving off the golden city’s pleasures you always found your head in a book, a simply pleasure that you’ve grown to love.

“Boo!” Lucifer suddenly pops down in front of you. Startled, you toss your book up, which he catches with ease, “What ya reading?”

“God’s texts Lulu, what else?” You try to grab your book from him but he holds it above your head, slowly inching upward with the help of his wings to show that he was taller than you. He wasn’t but you’d like to humor him every now and again, “Lucifer! Give it back!”

“Wouldn’t you much rather see the gift I brought you instead of reading a boring book?” Lucifer wiggled his eyebrows in jest, an amused smile tugging at his lips.

“A Gift?” You stopped jumping for your book then, your wings tucked back into you with a curious glint in your eyes. Lucifer gave dramatic pause before presenting you a green apple. He tossed it to you and you caught it in your delicate hands, smiling at the kind gesture. “An apple, how romantic.”

“Is it not to your liking?” Lucifer played along with your teasing remark, circling around you as he playfully grabs and twist your hair around his fingers in such a loving way that it had your heartbeat quickening and you breath falling short, "I thought I'd give you something a little bit more nontraditional."

It took everything in your power not to swoon over a damn apple because it wasn't just an apple to you. Lucifer would go out of his way to bring you things whenever you two would meet up at your secret spot under a new sprouting tree. There was something sparking between you two and you weren't sure how long you would be able to avoid it as you were a hopeless romantic. Lucifer had such a way with words that whenever he spoke it was if he was building palaces- cathedrals even. Between that and that charming warm smile, you knew you wouldn't be able to deny your feelings for much longer but until he admitted it first you weren't going to say anything. Call it stubbornness but you simply didn't want to be mistaken and absolutely sure that your feelings for him were one hundred percent reciprocated.

"Next time get a red apple," You said, finding that hidden resolve within you once again as you smirked at him, "They're sweeter."

"Are they now?" Lucifer stopped circling you to stand only inches apart from your face. He was so close that you could feel his breath against your lips. A ball of anticipation formed at the base of your stomach, making you feel as though you have swallowed butterflies, "(Y/N).." The angel in front of you swallowed a lump in his throat, his own body betraying him as he backs you up against the tree, lips only barely touching one another, "Can I kiss you?"

You were breathless. Lucifer had officially sucked out all the air from your lungs- or so it felt like, "Yes." And with your consent, Lucifer crashed his lips to yours passionately. He invaded your mouth and all of your senses. You melted into him, relaxing against his body as you brought your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. It was as if fireworks went off in your head. Even the sound of distant ringing of the bells had you questioning if it was truly meant to be.

You suddenly pulled away from Lucifer, "Bells.."

Lucifer blinks at you dreamily, "You hear them too? It's perfect."

"No, Lucifer, the bells! I'm late for afternoon prayer!" You shove him out the way and continue collecting your things. You have been late to afternoon prayer for the past two weeks and were already walking on a thin line with the Seraphims, you couldn't afford to be late again, "I have to go."

Lucifer pulls you back to him with a slight frown, "So soon? But this might be our last time together for awhile. I have that council meeting today."

"For what? Don't tell me this about your dreams and aspirations?" By the way Lucifer looked away from you you knew it was exactly that, "You can't bring that to the council members, they will see it as a threat to everything they have built."

"And have you ever asked yourself why that is? They should embrace change, not run away from it." Lucifer says, his facial expression serious, "I can prove to them that change is positive, something good!"

You shake your head, "Don't be a fool Lucifer."

"Why can't you just support this? Support me? Is change so bad?!"

"If it's going to cost you your life Lucifer, then I can't support it." You place your free hand on his check. The pad of your thumb grazing his soft skin comfortingly, "I won't support you in this."

Silence falls over you two and for a moment you thought that your friend had finally seen through to reason but it was the exact opposite. Your heart broke and you knew that your support was the one thing he ever wanted from you and you denied him that. There was this quiet heartbreak you felt in your chest, realizing that you had lost not only your lover but your friend as well.

Lucifer's hand comes up to grip your wrist, gently pulling you away from him, "With or without you, I will do this. I will show them. Show everyone." You could only watch as he turns from you and flies away, leaving you to be covered by his shadow and retreating back.

"That pride of yours," You whispered, hands clenched tightly into fist at your sides as you felt tears leave your eyes, "Will be your downfall, Lucifer."

You sat up in the water suddenly, gasping for air as you felt someone violently shake you. You sputtered and coughed up what felt like a lung, water trickled down and into your eyes making your vision blurry for a few seconds before you could blink them away to focus on the person who was kneeled next to the tub, concerned clearly etched across their face as they looked at you. You blinked away the water, the blurry figure now forming into none other than Lysandra.

"Goodness, dear! Do you know how dangerous it is to fall asleep in the bath?" Rushing to grab a towel that was hanging on a rack, Lysandra lets you put all of your weight on her as she helps you out the tub, wrapping the fuzzy warm towel around your nude body, "You're lucky I saw the water coming from under the door! What on earth were you thinking?" "I had the strangest dream.." You start to say, breathless and panting but Lysandra shushes you, helping you dry off and get warm as she leads you out the bathroom, fully intending on not leaving your side for the rest of the night.

"Hush, your mind must be in shambles poor thing," The elderly woman leads you back into your bedroom, "A nice cup of calming tea should do the trick. Now stay here and don't move."

You were still in shock to even register your current reality anymore. That dream you had felt too real, almost as if it had just happened. Why was Lucifer in it? Why were you an Angel? Why were you in heaven? You dismissed it as nothing more than your mind playing tricks on you. This only happened because of your growing connection to Lucifer. It was nothing of importance right? Dreams come from imagination- but there was a part of your mind that knew that dreams could also stem from memories.

@pyromaniac-on-caffeine @froggybich @punching-pentagrams @elleofdragons @futureittomainn @cryptidghostgirl @yelinmarceline @sunnydays-funnydays @theperfectmangovoid @ag-cookiebat800 @lil-bexie @haunt3ddo0ll @hamthepan @delightedtosee @astarionsjuiceboxgirl @fanfictionfans-stuff @hannahrose130

Be sure to leave a comment & let me know if you want to added to the tag list for this story so you’re updated whenever I drop a new chapter! xo

512 notes · View notes

meggtheegg · 6 months

Text

FNAF Movie Theory...

I'm pretty sure there's still one major plot twist in the universe of the movie that's been set up for a sequel but hasn't actually happened yet. Heavy spoilers under the cut:

After watching the movie in theaters and then revisiting a few scenes on Peacock, I'm still kind of convinced that Mike Schmidt is Michael Afton.

Here's my reasoning. A lot of the characters spend time acting like they know something the audience/other characters don't, and those things are...mostly resolved. But some of them just...kind of aren't.

The main thing that sticks out to me is William's whole storyline. Starting with the scene where he offers Mike the job, his behavior is almost explained by the movie's logic. He sees Mike's name, seems...kind of deeply upset, looks at him very closely, stands to get coffee, and has a moment of visible internal conflict. Then he instantly offers him the Freddy's job. The way the movie frames this, it seems to be saying that he recognized the name of one of his victims, realized this was the kid's brother, and decided to kill him right then and there. Which is passable as an explanation, but it has a lot of holes, if you look deeper.

Why would William so instantly recognize a fairly common last name as the brother of some kid he killed that wasn't even anywhere near Freddy's? Why did he kidnap/kill Garrett in the first place, in some random forest in Nebraska? Why did he see the name on the file, then immediately stop and examine Mike's face so closely, when Mike's memories/dreams pretty clearly show that they never saw each others' faces when Garrett was taken? Why did he send Vanessa to "keep Mike in the dark" if he purposely gave him the job to get him killed? Why not have the animatronics kill him right away? He didn't know that Mike was searching for the man who took his brother, and while he could have maybe guessed he was still actively haunted by what happened based on Mike beating up a guy that he thought was kidnapping someone, it still feels like a weird choice to go and hire him, then just have him do the job with no issue for a few days.

As for Vanessa, we see that she's been cleaning up William's messes for years. Why is Mike the one she changes her mind and stands up to her father for? There's no implied romance between the two and no particularly meaningful connection beyond them both having family issues. I guess she cares about Abby because she's a kid, but kids getting hurt clearly never stopped her from helping her father before.

And, on a more meta level, this is Scott and his storytelling style we're talking about. The man puts plot twists inside of plot twists and everything always ties back into the Aftons, somehow.

So, here's my theory: I think that Mike is William's kid, but Mike's mom left Afton when he was young and remarried the man that Mike thinks is his father.

It seems convoluted and maybe cliche, but if it's true, then suddenly there's an answer to all of those questions. "Michael Schmidt" isn't exactly an eye-catching name, unless you had a kid named Michael and your ex-wife married a guy with the last name Schmidt. Garrett's kidnapping, then, becomes an act of intentional, petty revenge rather than an extremely random coincidence. Giving Mike the job and sending in Vanessa suddenly becomes about piecing together how much he knows and figuring out if he's worth trying to reconnect with or is just a threat that needs to be killed. (It feels worth noting that William is as far as I can remember the only person to call him Michael in the whole film. He also very pointedly never says "Schmidt" until he's decided to kill Mike and suddenly announces his full name out loud. If he went by Michael as a little kid, that is what William would default to calling him, but if he took the new husband's last name, that would be like like salt in the wound that he wouldn't want to voice. By finally saying it out loud, it feels like he's making the decision to fully separate himself from Mike.)

As for Vanessa, if Mike is her brother, it makes sense that he would be the person she'd turn against William to save. It would be weird for her not to tell him, but she could also be trying to protect him, in some way. There's never any mention of her mother, and it seems like it's just been her and William for a long time. Also, ending the movie with her in a coma feels like a strange narrative choice, but it makes sense if she knows information that's purposely being kept hidden for the sequel.

Of course, it could just be that the movie has kind of messy writing and I'm trying to fix it because I want there to be a deeper reason for it. Maybe there is no Michael Afton in the movies, or maybe he's off chilling and doing his own thing somewhere and we'll see him in the sequel. Only time will tell.

#fnaf movie #fnaf movie spoilers #five nights at freddy's #five nights at freddy's spoilers #michael afton #mike schmidt

895 notes · View notes

cherrychilli · 1 year

Text

Caught

Happy New Year, everyone! Have some smut to celebrate.

Steve Harrington smut, AFAB Reader, secret relationship

Summary: Car sex with Steve turns awkward when you end up getting interrupted by one of Hawkins' finest.

A/N: Idk, I’ve just been obsessed with the idea of getting caught with Steve so I had to write this up quickly and get it out of my system.

Warnings: Minors DNI, NSFW, Dom Steve, degradation, dirty talk, P in V sex, unprotected sex (don’t do it), a mention of reckless driving (don’t y’all dare)

Characters are 18-19(referred to as ‘teens’ below)

Not proofread

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed this fic! (I love reading all of your comments and feedback, it really makes my day <3 )

Wordcount: 1.6k

The whole thing might have been your fault.

You were the one who initiated the kiss that night, not moments after you insisted that Steve park his car at the isolated forest clearing off the main road. You were the one pawing at his shirt, gathering fistfuls of the material and hurriedly settling into his lap. And you were the one urging his hands on your body, slipping them underneath your dress to glide over your hot skin.

“Please, Steve? I want it now”, you whine petulantly against his neck, sucking rosy bruises into his skin before slanting your lips over his.

“Baby, I really should get you home before your dad knows you’re out”, he manages to let out the corner of his mouth between your heated kisses. He means to do the right thing and explain that this was too risky, but the way you’re grinding your core against his crotch does everything to make his resolve waver.

You’d been dating Steve in secret for a couple of months now and despite how happy and proud you were to call him your boyfriend, it just wasn’t time to introduce him to your family quite yet. Having a strict father meant that you had to be extra careful but you both found that the sneaking around had added to the overall excitement.

“Can’t go yet- need to have your cock inside me”, you mewl into his ear.

Steve groans back in response. He always found it impossible to counter when you started talking like this, all needy and unrestrained. Your skirt rides us your thighs and your panties grow wetter as you pull the top of your dress down to reveal your bare breasts underneath.

Steve takes a quick moment to stare, decidedly throwing caution to the wind at this point. “Shit- we’ll have to make this quick”, he mumbles, one hand hurrying to undo his belt while the other groped at your tits.

You’d been known as somewhat of a ‘good girl’ in town. Polite, did well in school, reliable, so on and so on. The kind of daughter that would make any parent proud. As much as you didn’t mind being labeled a ‘respectable young woman’, it did bore you madly at times. Sneaking around with Steve made you realize just how much you liked doing the kind of things you were always told ‘decent’ girls shouldn’t.

Things with Steve started out nice and slow. He was the perfect gentleman but the soft lingering touches and chaste kisses didn’t cut it after a while. Eventually you started lying, telling your father that you were helping out at the local volunteer center when you were really out with Steve, letting him touch you in ways no one else had before. The more you got to know each other, you discovered the kind of things you liked. Some of it came as a surprise, even to you. You liked it when he got firm with you. Some moderate manhandling was more than welcome like having his fingers wrapped around your throat as he kissed you or being bent over his lap, waiting to feel the sting of his hand coming down on your ass. As someone who’d often been described as proper and pristine, you knew it’d come as a shock to anyone who found out just how much you liked having Steve spit into your mouth or how much you enjoyed the feeling of having his cum warm your skin. Every time he’d finish on places like your thighs, belly, breasts or ass you’d go so far as to refuse letting him clean you up entirely, haphazardly pulling your pretty clothes back on and letting his release stain the material.

One of your favorites was when Steve got a little mean with his words. You liked it when he admonished you, reminding you just how far you’ve strayed from being the ‘good girl’ everyone thought you to be.

“Bad girl, lying to your poor father just so you can sneak off and let me fuck you”, he’d grunt into your ear as he had you bent over his kitchen counter, house all to yourselves with Mr. and Mrs. Harrington out of town again. “Probably still thinks you’re his sweet, innocent princess”, he’d taunt, spanking your ass and squeezing the tender flesh as he thrust into your dripping cunt. “He has no idea what a dirty slut his little girl’s turned into”.

You raise your hips when Steve gets his cock out of his jeans, pumping it a few times before pulling your panties to the side and lining up with your waiting entrance. Your nails press into his shoulders as you sink down his length, moaning as you take him right up to the base. “Fuck- Steve, you feel so good- please start moving”.

With one hand on your hip he begins to work you on his cock, thrusting up into you as he grunts out, “greedy little pussy you’ve got babe- didn’t I fuck you enough last night?”

“Need more- please Steve, need you to fill me up again”, you whine shamelessly.

Minutes pass and you’re bouncing on his cock in a frenzy now, mouth falling open in a sultry moan when you feel him nudging your cervix. “Please please- fuck! Yes- Daddy!”

A wolfish grin spreads across Steve’s face, cocking an eyebrow up as your tits bounce in his face. “Daddy, huh? Since when- “

You cut him off with a quick smack against his shoulder. “No no, Steve- Stop!”. He ceases thrusting to turn and look out through the rear window, following your panic-stricken gaze.

“Oh fuck…”

The both of you had been too preoccupied to notice the Hawkins Police Cruiser pull up just behind Steve’s car and an officer already walking over to the driver’s window.

There’s no time to separate, Steve grabs at your waist, pulling you flush against his chest and tucking your face into his shoulder. In the middle of the scramble, he manages to pull your skirt down over your ass and throw his jacket over your back to help shield you. He’s still inside you, you’re both painfully aware of that fact when the eventual tapping against his window comes. Your blood runs cold at the sound of an all too familiar voice filtering through the minute gap, gruff and so very imposing when Steve has no choice but to roll down the window,

“Alright, break it up and go home you two”

“Yup- right on it- sorry, Chief”, Steve grits out through clenched teeth in the most deferential tone he could muster even though the tension is causing your velvety walls to clamp around his cock.

“Get back to your separate homes”, Chief Jim Hopper clarifies in the same indifferent and bored tone. Years of Police work has made him all too accustomed to situations like this. His gaze idly scans the surrounding area because he doesn’t need to peer inside to know that it was Steve behind the wheel, having already recognized his car. Neither does he have to guess what had been going on inside based on the way the BMW had been rocking when he first pulled up. Not his first time dealing with a couple of horny teens messing around in places they shouldn’t.

“Take the girl straight home, Harrington, you got that? and don’t let me catch you out here again”

Steve’s eyes momentarily flick to the gun holstered at Hopper’s waist, swallowing hard before replying. “Sure thing Chief, but could you maybe give us a moment to uh- get decent?”

Hopper sighs, deep and long and tired. “Two minutes. I better see you driving out of here in two minutes” he warns sternly and with that he’s walking back to his cruiser and begins reversing back on to the main road.

Steve waits until the headlights grow dim in the distance before speaking.

“Wow, your dad’s never in a good mood, is he?”

You pry away from Steve to swat at his shoulder again.

“That was too close!- I really thought he might recognize me- he could have killed you! Both of us! and how the hell are you still hard?”, you mean for that last part to sound reproachful but your tone betrays you, awe clearly evident behind your words.

“Are you kidding me? You’re lucky I didn’t cum in you right in front of him with the way you were squeezing me”, he laughs.

You blush madly at the thought.

“Steve! That’s so…”

“Dirty?” he smirks back and you melt.

It’s maddening having him so deep inside of you, long, hard, thick and throbbing.

Maybe two minutes might just be enough?

You can tell that he’s thinking the same, inching closer to your face.

You both abandon the idea when you hear the sudden blaring of the cruiser’s horn sounding off from the main road, your last warning to hurry up and get out of there. You pull away quickly but reluctantly from Steve’s lap, clothing yourself in a hurry before ducking out of sight when you drive past your father’s cruiser.

Cautiously sitting back up when you see his car disappear in the rearview mirror, you can’t help but feel sorry for Steve when you eye his erection straining against his jeans. You want to make it up to him after being the one who wound him up in the first place.

“Steve, I’m sorry”

He smiles back at you softly, “don’t worry babe, let’s just get you back before he finds out you were gone, alright?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, wringing your hands in your lap as you watch trees whip past and contemplate for a few moments.

Your face suddenly lights up, confident that you’ve come up with the perfect solution to cap off your rocky night with Steve.

“How about I suck you off while you drive me back home?”, you purr, voice sugary and eager.

Steve nearly veers off the road when you say it, fingers tightening over the steering wheel as he tries not to cum in his pants.

You’re definitely not a good girl anymore.

#steve harrington smut #stranger things smut #steve harrington x reader #stranger things #steve harrington

4K notes · View notes

leighsartworks216 · 6 months

Text

Moon Blood

Astarion x gn/fem!Tav/Reader

(Basically anybody who experiences periods can read this I just don't know what to tag it as)

Tav is described as having irregular periods and a heavy flow, which I know doesn't really leave it open to everyone. But it's true to my experience, so I'm sure some other irregular-period people can also appreciate this

(Also it's just a really self-indulgent story I wrote for me lmao)

Warnings: blood, blood drinking, period fic, references to sex, swearing

Word Count: 1,210

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You roll over in your bedroll again, groaning as quietly as you could as you clutch at your abdomen. An aching pain roiled just below your belly. And there it seemed determined to stay for however long it deemed fit.

Your moon bloods were always a shock - you never knew when they would happen and you never knew how long they would last, because the gods seem to think it’s funny to make it so relentlessly inconsistent. Not to mention how heavy they could be. After everything you’ve faced on your perilous journey so far, this was the fucking worst.

The pain rises to a peak. All you can do is curl in on yourself, hugging your stomach as tight as possible to will the pain away. Does it help? No. But there’s nothing else that could… Well…

You feel like an idiot when you knock on the wooden post outside Astarion’s tent. You were pretty sure he already knew of your problem, if the restlessness whenever he was near was any indication. You couldn’t imagine the temptation, but you could admire his resolve. That wasn’t why you were here.

He calls a muffled ‘Come in’ and you push aside the canvas door. You see the change instantly. The way his eyes darken with the scent of blood, his smirk more predatory than usual. You begin to wonder if this was a bad idea.

“Hello, darling,” he purrs, low and seductive. His book is set aside in favor of standing to greet you in the small space. His hands slide around your waist, nails pressing lightly into your spine. He leans down, pressing his nose to your pulse as he whispers, “You smell delicious.”

You clear your throat. “As tempting as that is…” You step back slightly, and he doesn’t try to stop you. Instead, he pulls his face from your neck and rests his hands at your sides. One more step and he would let you go entirely. “I just want to cuddle.”

He huffs, face scrunching in annoyance. “You come in here with a banquet between your legs, and all you want is to cuddle?” The irritation can hardly be read as genuine when his thumbs begin to rub circles into your hips soothingly.

“Mhm. My cramps and back are killing me,” you explain. You gesture back outside the tent. “I could go ask Gale, if you think you’ll be too tempted.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he hisses, but it’s an empty threat.

He pulls you with him back to the pile of pillows he was lounging in before, sitting down and leaning comfortably against the pile. You stopped, standing just before him, even as he nudged your hip toward him, silently telling you he was ready for you to join him.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright with…” You don’t know how to phrase it in a way that doesn’t sound strange. But your need to make sure he is comfortable wins out above everything else. “With smelling the blood all night?”

His eyes soften as he smiles. The tinge of animalistic hunger still lingers behind it, but your dismissal of his preposition has pushed it toward the back, almost entirely hidden. “I’ll be alright. I’m not starved enough to lash out at any moment, I swear.”

You frown. “You know that’s not what I’m worried about.”

He chuckles despite your scolding. “I know.” You give him a pointed look and he rolls his eyes with a sigh. “Yes, dear, I’ll be alright smelling your blood all night. Now are you going to stand there all night?”

Assured in his comfort, you finally lay down, draping yourself over him, legs slotting between each other and arms holding each other close, and your head resting on his chest. The first few times you cuddled like this, you were worried your weight would make him uncomfortable, or worse, remind him of his 200 years of abuse. But he insisted, when he didn’t want to be cradled to your chest, of course.

He rests a hand at your lower back and begins working his fingers into the aching muscles there. You sigh and relax further into him. He doesn’t need air, but his chest still rises and falls with slow breaths. It’s disconcerting without a heartbeat to accompany it, or it would be if it was anybody else. But it’s Astarion, and instead the sound of his breathing alone was soothing.

You rest there for a moment, eyes closed. The position you’ve taken eases some of the pain, hand-in-hand with Astarion’s nimble touch. For now, the pain is a little more bearable.

You lift your head to look at him. He’s already looking at you, soft and at ease, eyes round with affection. “If you want to, you can eat,” you tell him. You jump to add, “From my neck.”

He chuckles. “Thank you for clarifying,” he teases.

“Well, like you said, I’m here with a banquet. I don’t want you to suffer just because I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m hardly suffering, dear,” he assures. “But I will take you up on your offer.”

You smile as you tilt your head, exposing your neck to him. He sits up, shifting you as he does until you’re eye-to-eye, before he buries his face against the nearly-faded marks he’s left. He continues to rub your back as he uses his free hand to cup the back of your head, keeping you in place and steady. He takes his time to press kisses all around his target. Your moon blood makes you taste sweeter; your skin smells so enticing. But he can savor it later.

You only get two warnings he’s about to bite: the hand holding your head tangles its fingers in your hair, holding you more firmly in place, though still being gentle about it; and the flat of his tongue running along the old punctures.

The sharp pain of ice in your veins never lasts. His mouth sucks and tongues at the punctures, drawing your blood out with practiced ease and drinking it down greedily. You close your eyes and relax into it. You trust him. And the odd feeling of your blood being pulled from your veins like liquid through a straw and the dizziness that accompanies it is much more bearable without vision.

Once he’s had his fill, he pulls his mouth off your neck and licks languidly at the last few drops until your blood clots. He slowly lowers himself back into the cushions, careful not to worsen your light-headedness with the motion. You rest your head back on his chest like a rag doll, limp and tired. He cards his fingers through your hair a few times before simply wrapping his arm around you. He mindlessly continues to rub circles into your back, keeping the pain at bay for you to sleep.

You try to speak through half-intelligible thoughts as exhaustion and comfort begins to claim you. Mostly ‘thank you’s, though a heavily slurred ‘I love you’ surfaces once or twice. He gently sushes you. And then you’re fast asleep, as if speaking was the only thing keeping you awake.

And in the morning, well, he’s more than happy to take care of you.

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @mheerdraws @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @phantoms-fandom-blog @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars

567 notes · View notes

villainsandvictimsalliance · 1 month

Text

I see mixed reactions on chapter 417. Some good meta about the connection between Tomura and Deku, opposite opinions about Nana Shimura, the usual speculation about what will happen or why certain things have happened so far.

I need to take a shower, but after that I'm back in full force here to explain what I think of it all.

Meanwhile, take these kinds of summarized items about what I think of the leaks:

At Tomura's core, what happened with the Shimuras is not a memory. It is constantly happening in real time, like a ghost loop. What happens there has real consequences.

At this point the story can't be even more obvious about the fact that Tomura hates Deku because Deku is everything Tomura could have been. They are each other's twisted reflections, two sides of the same coin. At the same time, they unconsciously admire and want to save each other, 'cause they see themselves in there.

Deku has taken Tomura's place and he's facing (in short) all the rejection and the attacks Tomura faced. The villains in Tomura's mind don't only want to break Deku's resolve, but also question his true motive. It's an echo of what they did to Tomura before.

The focus on Nana Shimura this chapter shows that heroes are only human. Even the strongest of them failed against AFO. They were fighting mostly alone! The only reason Deku is winning is because he has an army behind him. We're seeing how the cycle of abuse is not a thing of heroes and villains, but a thing of human failures that accumulate 'til they fester into the biggest problem.

Tomura and Deku have a private connection. This is not a thing of entertainment for the public. This is their story as the successors of AFO and OFA. No one knows their burden or the extension of their fight.

Actually a bit insane over how Horikoshi portrayed Nana and Kotaro's relationship in this chapter. Nana was the wound Kotaro couldn't get rid of.

Nana takes responsibility for what she did, but more important than anything, she was allowed to do something about it even if she was too late. She went back to her home, to her family. After 15 years, she's finally there to stop Kotaro from hitting Tenko. The loop is shattered. It is happening.

Tomura is not the only one going back to her origin. Deku is regressing along with him. By the end of the chapter, Deku is in his middle school uniform. They are becoming children together!!! They are going back to their most basic forms!!! That's how we're going to reach the panel of kid Deku extending his hand to kid Tenko (maybe?)

#bnha 417 #mha 417 #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha leaks #mha leaks #bnha manga spoilers #league of villains #lov #shigaraki tomura #deku #midoriya izuku #shimura tenko #nana shimura #kotaro shimura

55 notes · View notes

yourneighborhoodporg · 6 months

Text

The Guardian

Chapter 1: The Accident

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: trials of war (general suffering), sleep deprivation, crash landing, light injury, abandonment (if you squint), angst, fluff, humor, trio banter

Summary: As the Clone Wars officially commence, General Kenobi begins to suffer the consequences of burning the candle at both ends with back-to-back responsibilities constantly at his heels. When the council makes a concerning announcement in the middle of a mission, Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Ashoka are forced to drop everything and travel to Coruscant. Fate, however, has other plans— you.

Song Inspo: Sign of the Times — Harry Styles

Words: 5.7k

Next Chapter

Series Masterlist

Only the dead have seen the end of war — Plato

Obi-Wan Kenobi was…displeased.

The General’s arms remained loosely folded across his chest as he leaned back into the passenger’s seat. The robes being used as makeshift blankets shifted in response. He tried to calm himself with a deep breath as the next round of turbulence threatened to rip the shuttle apart, but Obi-Wan couldn’t ignore the slight prickle of his auburn beard when the skin underneath grew more sensitive from anxiety. A sigh escaped his lips. He rested his eyelids, head falling back. The aching Jedi thought back to only a few days before. Obi-Wan and Master Yoda finally recovered Anakin and the new Togruta Padawan on Tatooine after the two successfully returned Jabba’s son Rotta. The Separatist kidnapping plot was a failure.

He remembers finding it odd back on Tatooine, as he waited on the transport for Yoda’s arrival, that the Grand Master found it necessary to personally accompany him and a number of clones on the assault transport tasked with retrieving the duo. His head heavy with sleep was easily distracted by the implications of Yoda’s presence. So much so, that the native Coruscanti failed to notice a certain, nearly 900-year-old Jedi’s arrival. As a wise Master Jedi often does, Yoda sensed Kenobi’s confusion the moment his feet met with the transport floor. He eyed the younger Jedi for a moment until their gazes suddenly met. Kenobi respectfully clasped his hands behind him, nodding at his arrival.

"A new mission, you and Anakin have.” Master Yoda signaled the transport pilot to take off with the motion of a hand as he turned to scan the hilly sand dunes. Obi-Wan matched his stare, wondering if there was something out there; some wisdom the older Jedi gleaned from the three moons in the distance.

Kenobi raised each eyebrow in intrigue as he glanced down at the shorter man, ignoring how the sand around the transport billowed from its ascent. “Oh? What does this mission entail?”

Yoda’s eyes remained locked on the landscape, back facing him. “Explain, I will. Collect Anakin and his young padawan first, we must”

The trip from The Negotiator to Jabba’s palace was quiet, but short. Kenobi was interested in seeing if Anakin and his new Padawan resolved differences so clearly displayed on Christophsis. Despite Anakin’s well-known stubbornness, he had hope. From what little he saw, Ahsoka seemed to have that bright, fiery personality needed to challenge Anakin’s own. His musings were soon answered as the transport neared the palace. Even from hundreds of feet away, it was clear to Obi-Wan that Anakin and Ahsoka seemed to have reconciled, with bright smiles that stood in stark contrast against Tatooine’s muted, emotionless environment. He was pleasantly surprised to sense the first drops of respect between the two, like fresh rainwater after millennia of drought.

As the transport began its landing protocols, Obi-Wan closed his eyes to rest his mind. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. The bearded Jedi felt an air of… perception in the force. Likely Yoda’s wise prediction of this outcome from the start. Master Yoda always had a profound understanding of Jedi connections— which Master-Padawan assignments would work best, which younglins were friends and foes, and, most recently, which Jedis could collaborate in addressing the intricacies of politics, and the horrors of war.

The transport displaced the swirling sand below as they made their final descent. Obi-Wan glanced at Master Yoda when the transport touched down and settled. As if on cue, Master Yoda stepped onto the hot sand and moved toward the duo. While Obi-Wan followed and neared Anakin and Ahsoka, the strength of their connection became increasingly perceptible, challenging Kenobi’s composure to keep a neutral face. He was pleased.

Yoda glanced between Master and Padawan. “A new mission, you are needed on. Rejoin your battalions and travel to Naboo, you must”

As the four boarded the transport and headed back to Kenobi’s ship, Master Yoda informed the trio that the 212th and 501st had been called to Naboo to collect vital medical supplies for a planetoid in the Outer Rim, known as Polis Massa. Their main medical facility, aiding in the treatment and sanctuary of war victims, was experiencing a concerning depletion of medications, bacta patches, and other stock. The sudden arrival of a large planetary entourage of refugees has disrupted their timeline of available reserves from months to merely a week. After a general representative shared these concerns with the Senate days prior, Naboo Senator Padme Amidala graciously offered a large donation of medical supplies to keep the facility functional and the refugees safe. The Jedi were tasked with the transport, and due to the scale of the cargo, two warships were needed.

Obi-Wan’s mind jumped to his recent experience on the young senator’s vibrantly lush and florid planet. He remembers how The Negotiator and The Resolute’s arrival on Naboo was met with noticeable excitement. It began while discussing offloading logistics with the lead Commander.

“General,” Commander Cody glanced back down at the datapad in hand. “This manifest won’t make that timeline possible. Even if we assign every available trooper, it will take at least a week to fully load the cargo. Most of the crates with medication or medical devices are too delicate for the average loadlifter. And many of our troops aren’t trained in handling this type of equipment.”

General Kenobi sighed, gently stroking his chin in contemplation. At the time, the situation certainly posed an unfortunate fate for the refugees who were desperately waiting for these supplies. The issue was not new. The General, Commander, and other troop leaders had spent the entire journey from Tattoine to Naboo attempting to solve this very problem. Having had mere hours of sleep in the last few days, the General had difficulty allowing his mind to reach out to the force for any new ideas to aid in the formulation of a plan. The slight, sharp pounding in his right temple returned, an unfortunate, reoccurring experience that began when he boarded The Negotiator on Tatooine.

Suddenly, as if the Maker himself heard his doubts, Kenobi registered the click and persistent whirring of an opening cargo bay door. What piqued his interest and encouraged Kenobi to turn and assess the situation, however, was the sudden cacophony of loud commands, conversations, and footsteps behind him. Both General and Commander pivoted toward the scene, Cody lowering his datapad in distraction as Kenobi rested his hands on his hips in surprise. There were what looked like thousands of dockworkers as far as the eye could see, all in various states of loading The Negotiator with the medical supply crates. It was not a far-reach to assume that Anakin’s warship was receiving similar assistance. Kenobi shook his head, nearly kicking himself for ever doubting the efficiency of a mission involving Naboo.

“That’s some Senator, huh?” Commander Cody relayed as he gawked at the extra manpower, likely arranged by Padmé herself.

Kenobi smiled at the site. “Your eyes do not deceive you.” Cody called out to a few clones and motioned them to follow as he approached the crowd of dockworkers, orders at the ready.

With the generous assistance of Naboo’s finest citizens, a lot of commands from the confident Commander, and a weary General helping where he could, the starships were fully loaded and cleared for departure in less than a day, much to the bewilderment of Commander Cody. He made sure to remind the General as they made the final cargo checks that even though the pickup on Naboo was exceedingly fast, the offloading process would certainly take a week with Polis Massa’s lack of cargo staff. This, Kenobi could accept. At least with all the cargo already on the planet, the facility could coordinate with the Commander so to prioritize which supplies were offloaded first. The most desperate patients would have what they need in time.

The journey from Naboo to Polis Massa allowed General Kenobi to carry out a new set of duties. These were the first moments in the last few weeks in which he was finally free to file his reports. That meant many meetings, many questions, and writing every small detail down.

War between the Republic and the Separatists rarely left time for moments of respite, and the General was beginning to feel the effects deep in his bones. Occasionally, the head pounding returned. But what truly concerned Kenobi was how the lack of sleep began to play tricks on his mind. Formulating complex thoughts almost felt like drowning, and his mind seemed more easily swayed to the past. Kenobi remembers how this experience pressured him to finally concede— this last report would need to be followed by rest.

As the warships approached the asteroid field and the General completed the finishing touches to his final report, Kenobi received an urgent meeting request from Master Windu with the notation ‘sensitive.’ He remembers entering the empty war room, taking a deep breath from the exhaustion slowly creeping across his shoulders, and accepting the call on his Holopad. The blue, semi-transparent holograph of Mace Windu appeared before him. Only as his figure’s bright blue shine emanated a strong glow into the room did Kenobi realize he’d forgotten to turn on the lights.

“Master Kenobi, a pleasure, as always.”

“Master Windu.” Kenobi greeted.

He paused for a moment, just a moment, but it was long enough to indicate how long the last few days had truly been.

“I hope you’re getting some rest after the events of Christophsis and Tatooine.”

“As much as is possible, Master. The 212th and 501st have been called to deliver vital medical supplies from Naboo to Polis Massa.”

“I am aware. It may settle your mind to know that your time in the Outer Rim will be coming to a close shortly. All active-duty Jedi have been temporarily recalled to The Temple.”

Kenobi immediately grew concerned, especially when he noticed how the elder Master’s eyebrows creased ever so slightly. He frowned. “Master, may I ask what influenced this decision?”

“We will discuss it once you and Anakin arrive in the next few days. Please continue your mission to Polis Massa. The Council requests that once you arrive, you and Anakin arrange for transport back to Coruscant. Your battalions can unload the cargo themselves.”

Kenobi nodded. “Understood.” Once more, he paused. This time unsure if it was fatigue or apprehension. “Should I be concerned?”

This time, Windu embraced the silence, only offering the General a challenging stare.

“Please inform Anakin of this development. We will see you soon, Master.”

With that, Master Windu ended the communication, plunging Obi-Wan back into the darkness. As he remained in that dim, quiet war room, the General was left with a new, deep weight on his chest.

The General rubbed his face with a hand. Rest. He needed rest. Obi-Wan allowed his mind to briefly concentrate on his commitment— he would sleep as soon as the report was finished. It would only take a few more moments, he reassured himself. Then, the General would finally get some much-needed shuteye.

Kenobi relaxed. He was moments away from returning to the datapad when his mind wandered once more. He thought back to his conversation with Master Windu. This type of request from The Council and its level of urgency was unprecedented since the Separatist conflict began. It was difficult not to theorize about the severity of any event that would require the recall of thousands of Jedi. And it was moments like these where he would ask himself what Master Qui-Gon would do.

Obi-Wan tossed those thoughts to the back of his mind, shaking himself out of his stupor. These mild anxieties would disappear as soon as he rested his body, he knew that. And he was certainly looking forward to it. But first, Anakin.

He remembers how Anakin answered his Holopad request faster than expected. It wasn’t that Anakin was ever derelict in his duties, but he sometimes struggled with communication. Admittedly, it was usually because the man was too busy engaging in another risky, dangerous, or outright insane course of action.

However, this time, he answered. And no number of streaky lines in the holograph could hide the smirk spread across his face when his eyes met Obi-Wan’s.

“Miss me already, Master?” He crossed his arms while addressing his former Master. His longer hair shifted and head tilted slightly to the side.

Kenobi shook his head. “Hardly, The Council has called for all Jedi to return to Coruscant, including you and I.”

Anakin scrunched his nose as if a rancid plume of spoiled Giji stew entered his nostrils. “What for?”

“Unknown, but we are to arrange for transport back to Coruscant once we arrive on Polis Massa.”

Anakin nodded. “Got it.” Once more, he grinned. “Don’t worry, Master, I’ll find us a shuttle that will get us back in no time.”

Anakin ended the transmission, once more freeing the darkness to engulf Obi-Wan. His eyelids drooped. It took every strength not to immediately collapse to the floor and sleep. Just as he began to weigh the pros and cons of such an action, there was a sudden knock at the door.

“Yes, come in.”

Commander Cody entered, seeming somewhat out of breath. “General.” He breathed in once more, slowly and deeply. “Apologies,” he exhaled. Kenobi sensed threads of guilt from his person. “I’ve come to tell you that we’ve arrived at Polis Massa.”

The General smiled. “Thank you. I will be there in a moment.” As the Commander exited, Kenobi turned away from the door and back toward the black depths of the room. He sighed.

Another violent shake of the ship’s hull yanked Obi-Wan out of the past. Eyes shooting open only to rest in crinkled annoyance as he side-eyed Anakin in the pilot’s seat.

“Anakin, if I had known that you’d choose a shuttle barely cleared for travel, I would have made my own arrangements.”

Anakin huffed as he negotiated with the Emissary-class shuttle’s controls. “This wasn’t my first choice either, Master.”

Another loud rumble reverberated throughout the cabin. “I thought you were one of the better pilots in the Jedi order?” Ahsoka’s irritation poured from the backseat and flowed around the senses of the two senior Jedi. Obi-Wan stifled a laugh as Anakin’s frown deepened. His grip tightened around the throttle.

“There was no way for me to know that the only available ship capable of galactic travel on that planet was decommissioned hundreds of years ago.” He groaned. “They don’t even make parts for this piece of junk anymore!”

“You call this capable?”

“Snips…”

Despite losing any hope of sleep with the stress of traveling in a rusted space bucket, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but playfully add to Ahsoka’s antagonizations.

“She has a point, Anakin.” He motioned at the hull. “For someone who boasts about their engineering talents, I would have thought that this trip would be smoother.”

Obi-Wan and Ahsoka were sure that if they’d looked over at the frustrated pilot, they’d have seen steam blasting out of each red-tinted ear framing Anakin’s flushed face. Without any retort, he let out a defeated huff and refocused on navigating the trio out of the Outer Rim.

Ahsoka snickered as Kenobi used this cue to once more lean back and close his eyes. But despite how much his body ached for rest, his mind wandered to The Council once more.

Then, there was an explosion.

Obi-Wan was shocked into consciousness. He sat up quickly, knocking off some of the robe blankets. Alarms blared and red lights flashed. “What happened?!”

“Something hit the ship. Sublight engines are damaged.” Anakin began to frantically negotiate with the shuttle’s controls, looking increasingly concerned as he continued. “Whatever it was, I have no control over them anymore.”

“Can you fix them?!” Ahsoka yelled out, trying to be heard over the commotion.

“Working… on… it,” Anakin gritted. But despite each new attempt, the shuttle continued to hurtle in a dangerous direction.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan warned. “You’re taking us directly toward the gravitational field of that planet.”

“I know!” Anakin yelled. He continued to fight with the controls. Eventually, he jumped up and stumbled over to a viewing window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the damage from the side.

He sighed, still examining the engines. “Well, whatever it was, it’s permanently changed the direction of the engines.” He glanced back at Obi-Wan and Ahsoka with a look of dismay. “I can’t fix them. We’re going to crash.”

“Do you always crash the ships you pilot?!” Ahsoka exclaimed as she began to brace herself for the planet’s gravitational pull.

Anakin ignored her. He returned to the controls in hopes of making their crash landing as soft as possible.

Obi-Wan crossed his arms and sighed as he felt the new root of a gray hair form. “Always a joy flying with you, Anakin.”

The deafening noise of the croaking hull reached an all-time high as they entered the atmosphere. The three passengers began to sweat, the heat of their reentry taking its toll. As they passed the planet’s cloud layer, the craft’s violent shaking achieved its peak.

If Anakin gripped the clutch with any more strength, it would’ve surely splintered. His teeth clenched and eyes remained alert as he mumbled his internal calculations out loud, a slight pause in between each one.

“700 meters, 600 meters, 500 meters…”

As they rapidly neared the planet’s icy surface, Anakin yanked the controls toward himself and down. What remained of the engines wined out a high-pitched drone as the shuttle struggled to level out with the planet’s surface.

“400 meters, 300 meters, 200 meters…”

Ashoka looked away, nails digging into her seat as Kenobi tried to blanket the three of them with a protective force barrier.

“100 meters… brace yourselves!”

The engines’ wine accelerated in intensity and volume as the craft’s belly made contact with a snowy bank.

The impact’s shock finally gave General Kenobi the longest rest he’s had in days.

—

The soft heat of the Tauntaun’s fur warmed your fingers with each stroke as you plunged your hands across her muscular chest. She huffed in contentment, hot steam shooting from her nostrils into the subfreezing air, and across your face. The sensation tickled your cheeks. A giggle bubbled up from your stomach as you rested a cheek against her warm frame. You briefly think back to when you were both young. You absolutely could not stand her smell when you first met her, but companionship has its way of encouraging two beings to attune to each other.

Moments like these in the desolate, icy graveyard of Hoth always helped you recharge after hours-long scavenging trips. You turned and took a few steps away from your steed to look out at the horizon, readjusting the sack of lichen that hung across your shoulder. You knew that you needed to start heading back to the shelter. The trip would take an hour, and night was beginning to creep across the horizon. What’s more, the edges of your boots were beginning to dampen from hours in the snow. At least you had your thick Wampa cape, which encased your body in warmth.

Another huff, this time disgruntled, sounded behind you.

You turned to the beast with a smile. “Oh Meetra,” you sighed. “I’m tired too. We’ll head back soon.” You reached up and scratched behind her ears. The Tauntaun relaxed as the tension in her muscles began to release.

Suddenly, a deafening boom sounded from above and behind you. You flinched, your body shocked out of Hoth’s calm surroundings. Meetra, equally startled, tried to pull and sprint away, but you grabbed the reigns tightly, keeping her calm. You spun around, eyes glued to the sky as a mechanical moan emanated from the atmosphere, its source still invisible in the blue sky. But in an instant, a gray, round shape with smoke trailing behind shot through a cloud and barreled toward the planet’s surface. You watched as what looked like a ship tried to level its descent miles away. In the back of your mind, you hoped that your dear friend, who you last saw years ago, was not inside. Within seconds of that thought, the ship made contact with the ground. A blast of sound and burst of snow left in its wake.

As you watched thin trails of smoke begin to billow in the distance, you felt a sudden pang in your heart, and pull to the wreckage. There could be survivors in desperate need of help, you thought. Maybe they needed medicine, or bacta patches. You contemplated the emotions of whoever may have lived through such a brutal incident. Scared, hopeless, confused— you could identify with those sentiments.

But it didn’t take long for the warnings you’ve heard all your life to creep into your mind. If you broke your agreement, you knew you might regret it. Not just for your own sake, but his too.

“Stay safe. No unnecessary risks. I’ll return soon.”

“I promise.”

A grumble escaped your lips. You agreed to stay out of trouble, to wait. But it’s been so long. Years. Nearly a decade, if you followed the stars correctly.

Then again, he knew your nature. He accepted long, long ago that you were too curious for your own good. He probably thought to himself, as he watched you grow, how your kindness, determination, and sympathetic soul were sure to get you into trouble.

You knew yourself, and you knew he was right. But you could not stand idly by and watch. He’d understand.

You turned back and took a few strides toward Meetra before slinging a leg over the Tauntaun’s body and mounting her bare back. You kept a tight hold of the reigns and angled her head toward the crash site.

“Let’s go girl.” You clicked your tongue twice, signaling her to move. “Let’s check it out.”

Meetra vocalized as she took her first stride forward. Her feet crunched the freshly dusted snow, stamping large tracks behind you.

—

Obi-Wan felt cold air blow across his face and ice dust his fingertips long before having the energy to open his eyes. Slowly, but surely, he tested the movement of his toes, knees, and elbows before checking his sight. Obi-Wan groaned, rubbing his face before assessing one eyelid at a time. Blinding sunrays poked through a small hole in the viewport, lightly burning his eyes. A groan escaped his throat.

Once his vision readjusted, Obi-Wan was able to glance around the cabin. The shuttle was delicately balanced on its right side, gravity attempting to pull them down to the shuttle’s edge. The hull creaked and moaned as snow continued to escape through the viewport hole, adding to the light blanket of ice around the trio. Obi-Wan turned to his left and saw that much like himself, Ahsoka and Anakin were thankfully not thrown from their seats, likely due to the elder Jedi’s last-minute force shield around them. Their arms and legs hung toward him, following gravity’s pull. As he examined the two more closely, Obi-Wan could tell that Ahsoka had regained consciousness only moments ago. Anakin seemed to be in the throes of coming around, his head bobbing side-to-side in discomfort.

“Is everyone alright?” Obi-Wan cleared his throat after his voice cracked.

“I think so,” Ahsoka responded. She began to rub her montrals as if responding to a migraine.

“Here.” Obi-Wan tossed her one of the robes that had fallen to the ground. “It will be colder once we exit.” Ashoka silently thanked him as she slipped it on.

“That wasn’t too bad.” Anakin was suddenly wide awake, an air of contentment emanating from his force signature. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes as he tossed him another robe, this time without warning. Anakin caught it easily despite the distraction from patting himself on the back for his personal definition of an easy landing.

Ahsoka’s eyes narrowed. “What would have been good was not crashing in the first place.”

Clearly, the young Padawan was equally in deep need of real respite like the rest of them, Obi-Wan thought. As their conversation continued, he finally found the energy to stand, taking this moment to observe the hull.

“Well too bad, Snips.” Anakin retorted as he shrugged on the thick cloak. “We’re already here.”

Obi-Wan sighed as he assessed the damage. “Is it repairable?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure.” Anakin stood and hiked up to the shuttle’s exit, using the force as support against the gravity actively pulling him down. The mechanical creaks and cracks heightened with new movement. Ahsoka grabbed her armrest and jumped over it toward the door. Obi-Wan took a few wide strides to follow. Once the three reached the wall that was now the ceiling, Anakin opened the door with a click and whoosh.

The cold bite of an air blast attacked their faces and pockets of exposed skin. Anakin shielded his eyes from sudden bright light and surveyed his surroundings. His former Master and Padawan peered out from either side of him. The trio stood there for only a moment, staring out at miles upon miles of empty terrain, ice, and snow banks.

Anakin jumped out, gently landing on the surface ten free below. Obi-Wan and Ahsoka swiftly followed with equal elegance. As Anakin made his way toward the engines to assess the damage, Obi-Wan used the moment to scan their surroundings further. The sound of Anakin ripping off panels and testing the shuttle’s internal mechanisms echoed off the naked ice patches dotted around them.

He closed his eyes, reaching out cautiously with his mind to feel the area’s energy. There were clusters of forces, small and animal-like, scattered miles away, with one group especially concentrated in a cave, the entrance of which Obi-Wan spotted a few miles West. He relaxed, feeling comfortable enough to deepen his connection with his surroundings.

Obi-Wan’s head tilted and eyebrow raised when he felt particularly strange activity to the South. There was an extremely weak force signature, almost like a dying creature. But it didn’t feel like the sensation of a semi-sentient being. There was depth, conflict in the shaky signal.

He huffed, eyebrows creasing as he attempted to dig his heels deeper into the fleeting feeling. But just as he was getting a better grip, the life force disappeared. Maybe it truly was just a small animal, meeting their Maker.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes. The bright light reflected off the snow and into his retinas.

He knew which planet they had crash-landed on. It shared its name with this system. Nevertheless, he enjoyed using these unexpected moments as a learning opportunity.

“Do you know what planet we’re on?” He said as he turned to look at the young Togruta.

Ahsoka pondered his inquiry. She observed the region, surveying the planet before looking down at the sleet encapsulating her feet. She lightly kicked some snow as she formulated her thoughts.

“Hoth, right?” She questioned.

Obi-Wan smiled. “Very good.” He turned back to the distant ice cave, hoping to get a better sense of the creatures within. It was possible that they might emerge to investigate the excitement of their crash landing. The boom was likely heard from miles away.

“I remember reading about the Skell beings on this planet.” Ahsoka mused. “They refused to choose a side during the old civil war. Instead, they attacked everyone within moments of seeing them.” Her voice stuttered as she finished. The cold was beginning to affect her.

Obi-Wan was pleasantly surprised. “I’m impressed by your knowledge, Ahsoka.” He made sure to raise his voice a little. “Clearly, you took your studies more seriously than Anakin.”

“I can still hear you!” Anakin yelled from behind the engines and he stood up, followed by a sharp clang. “Ow!”

“It looks like you could use a hand.”

Obi-Wan whirled around at the sound of a new voice as Ahsoka followed suit. His eyes met a figure with y/h/c hair and piercing silver eyes that glimmered in the sunlight. The figure sat atop a large, furry beast with two horns framing its round snout. A sizable white furred drape wrapped around their torso and hid their legs.

“Hello there.” Obi-Wan greeted.

Hearing all the commotion, Anakin peaked around the back of the shuttle, rubbing the back of his head in defeat. Curiosity paused his assessment, pushing him to join the others.

The beast huffed and lightly stomped its feet at the presence of strangers. The stranger hushed the animal, stroking its neck to calm it before throwing a leg across its back and demounting.

“I saw your ship crash a few miles back.” They explained as they took a few strides forward. “You should know that recreational hunting on this planet is illegal.”

“We’re not hunters...” Ahsoka clarified.

“Just travelers who lost their way.” Obi-Wan cut in. The young Padawan has yet to learn that these days, strangers fear the Jedi in the Outer Rim. Best to remain anonymous.

—

“Well, you better find shelter soon.” You advised. “The surface temperatures drop too low for non-indigenous beings to survive after sundown.” Everyone seemed alive and healthy when you arrived, you thought. You sensed that the trio before you was more than capable of handling their own affairs from this point forward, so you turned and walked back toward Meetra, satisfied with your investigation.

“Do you live nearby?” The older, bearded man quickly asked. You paused. You knew you shouldn’t indulge the questions of strangers, but curiosity got the best of you. You spun to face the man. He took a few steps toward you. “Is there a village somewhere? We have yet to find signs of civilization.”

Your friend’s voice echoed in the back of your mind.

“Stay safe. No unnecessary risks.”

You took a step back.

The older man paused mid-step as he analyzed your features. He silently apologized by gently lowering his foot back beside the other. The man smiled, likely hoping to make you more comfortable.

“No village.” You paused, internally sighing. You wondered whether you would regret this decision, despite knowing deep in your bones that it was the right thing to do. To help them. To guide them toward survival on this planetoid death trap.

But then your mind pulls you back to your promise. A promise you intended to keep. Still, you had thrown away any semblance of cautiousness hours ago when you first decided to explore the wreckage, you reasoned.

You eyed the hunk of metal once more. It certainly was beaten up. But despite the many dents, holes, and obviously mangled engines, the fact that it wasn’t a pile of parts was simply a miracle.

“I’m surprised your ship suffered such little damage.” You exclaimed, glancing back at the trio. “I wasn’t expecting to find a ship at all with your reentry.” As you finished, you noticed the younger man’s frown at that comment.

The bearded gentleman smiled. “We were very lucky.”

The whistling of chilly wind filled the brief silence. It whirled around the four of you, threatening to take all of your cloaks off your very back. They were sure to perish if they remained out here for any longer.

You internally groaned, knowing that you’ve already made your decision. No avoiding it now.

“There’s no village.” You took a deep breath, hardening your face in case this group was not who they said they were. Best to seem somewhat tough. “But you’re welcome to accompany me back to my shelter. There should be room for everyone.”

The bearded man’s eyes brightened at the gesture. “That is very kind of you.” He seemed sincere.

You could see that the young Togruta behind him also relaxed. She seemed to be especially affected by the cold as she lightly shook. The idea of a warm place to rest surely put her mind at ease. The younger man seemed somewhat surprised, but equally content.

You relaxed at their innocent features, and grinned. “It will take a few hours so we better leave now.” You turned again and walked to Meetra’s side before pausing once more. You faced the trio. “I only have one Tauntaun and she can only carry two people at a time. We’ll need to take turns.” You climbed onto your steed.

“Sounds good to me!” The younger man blurted out. He lightly jogged up to the Tauntaun with a relaxed countenance before jumping up and mounting the steed behind you. You could tell that their younger companion was annoyed with their compatriot’s blatant gall. The man glanced over your shoulder. “My name’s Anakin, by the way.” His toothy grin caught the light.

You chuckled, glancing over at the young man. “Nice to meet you.”

“This is Ahsoka.” The bearded man motioned to the young girl. “And I am Obi-Wan.” He placed a hand against his chest.

Their bright spirits lightened your soul. “It’s a pleasure.” You steered Meetra around toward the shelter far behind you. Clicking your tongue, you began the journey.

“So this shelter,” Anakin started. His head returned to hover over your left shoulder. “You don’t happen to have any century-old shuttle parts or schematics…”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan warned as his march met Meetra’s pace to your right, Ahsoka in tow.

Your bright laughter filled the air as you further relaxed. When you looked back at Anakin you noticed Obi-Wan’s comforting smile out of the corner of your eye. “You know…” you teased. “You may be in luck. Useless centuries-old knowledge is probably all I have.”

Anakin seemed satisfied with your witty retort as he leaned back with a pleased utterance. In your peripheral, you could see Obi-Wan’s interest was piqued by the lift of his eyebrows. He looked out West, into the distance, clearly contemplating your words.

After a moment, his gaze shifted back to the caravan, catching your eye. His features lightened. “I believe I missed your name.” Obi-Wan challenged.

You turned back toward the path ahead and smiled. “Y/n.”

“Hmm.” You glanced back at his vocalization. He stroked his beard while his gaze returned to the West.

“Y/n”

109 notes · View notes

searchingforakeythatdoesntexist · 6 months

Text

"Come and get us. If you dare..."

...Work in progress...

#my art #art #good omens #aziracrow #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanart #ineffable husbands #this is how I want to see them is S3 #after explainations and resolving everything between each other #my own nightingales are about some perfect eagles #fighting for their life and love and everything else #There is an “US”#and they'll fight for iT #my Good Omens Art #Elenthya&GoodOmens #ElenthyaAndGoodOmens

27 notes · View notes

chahnniesroom · 9 months

Text

tenderness | chapter 5: a little too much

[noun] /ˈtendərnəs/

1. the quality of being gentle, kind, or loving

2. the feeling of pain, aching, or soreness

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: in a world where soulmates are rare and precious, you don’t know why the universe has decided to give you one. you never could have imagined that they would be an idol, and one that you worked with at that, or the challenges that would arise from your bond.

chapter word count: 3.4k

chapter warnings: arguing

a/n: just wanted to say thank you so much to everyone who has liked, commented, and reblogged tenderness! i appreciate every interaction so so much!

also, happy stay day!!

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter | read it on ao3

As preparations for the tour ramp up, so does the amount of time you spend working.

You’re still doing double time, assisting with schedules while staying up late at our desk to reply to emails and finalise details for the tour. You resort to alternating between sipping on tea and energy drinks to help you stay awake long enough to finish all your work. Even though you don’t like the way they make you feel, jittery and sometimes nauseous, it’s the only way that you’re able to meet your deadlines. Everyone on your team is feeling stressed these days and not even the snacks that the company sometimes provides are enough to bring a smile to people’s faces.

The only person that consistently stays later than you is Chan. He has practically become a permanent fixture in his studio and you’re starting to just barely meet the minimum recommended Charging times. It’s not bad enough that you’re concerned, you just watch what you’re eating and make sure that you’re getting enough calories to keep your energy levels up.

You keep a more careful eye on Chan’s diet too, although you don’t interfere because you know he has his own goals for the condition of his body. You make sure that the snacks and drinks he likes are always provided during schedules, that there’s always food available to eat in his studio, and bring dinner to him more often than not.

The two of you are on good terms, even if you don’t have a chance to hang out as often doing anything other than working or eating. In fact, you’re probably closer than you were before. Chan doesn’t treat you any differently, but there was a deeper understanding that was shared between the two of you.

You’re relieved that after so many nights you spent worrying about Chuseok, you no longer felt like you were hiding something from him. There’s an unspoken agreement not to bring up anything about your eomoni’s treatment of you. You don’t think that you’ll ever see eye-to-eye on the subject, but you had expected that. You know how bad your relationship looks from an outsider’s perspective, but to you it’s complicated in a way that you don’t know how to put into words.

—

The first concerts for the tour were held in Seoul, so you didn’t think that you’d be as heavily involved. You’re honestly not too sure what to expect from your first time helping out backstage, but you never could have imagined the chaos.

During the first night, everyone was relieved that things went relatively smoothly onstage, but there were a lot of small problems that had to be resolved on the fly and need to be relooked at again. It means that, although the audience and the members had a great time, all the staff were exhausted by the end of the concert. You spent most of the time running back and forth basically as a stagehand, as it was too short notice for you to explain fixes for many of the issues that came up and easier for you to just do it yourself. You hadn’t realised how involved you were in the run of show, but over the months you had become familiar enough with all the little details that to be busy all night.

Cleaning up was another beast. Everything had to be packed away after each concert, but it seems like all the equipment has multiplied and there aren’t nearly enough containers to put them into. With all the troubleshooting, things weren't where you thought they would be or had been modified and could no longer be stored the way they were previously. It felt like a more intricate game of jenga with costumes, accessories, and equipment that were thousands of dollars.

Debrief was at least a chance for a physical break, but it’s another hour of discussion with your team on what could have been improved and what went well before you’re allowed to go home. You fell asleep in the car ride and Eunsung has to shake you awake when he drops you off in front of the dorms. You’re severely tempted to close your eyes during the elevator ride, but force yourself to stay conscious. You barely make out a greeting to the members, before collapsing on the couch, grateful to finally be sitting.

At least they’re all in an infectiously good mood, even if a few of them had cried from all the emotions during the encore. Their boost of energy cheers you up a bit and after a bit of time resting, you’re happy to join them for a very late meal. They eagerly recount everything that happened during the concert and talk over each other trying to share funny stories of mishaps or entertaining things they noticed in the crowd.

As tiring as it was for you, you think that it’s all worth it. It’s been a while since you’ve seen the members so excited, and as you were exiting the arena, there were a number of Stays that you had encountered, all of them equally as thrilled.

—

Working in the office is reprieve from the craziness of the concerts. The second show was fairly similar to the first, but a bit smoother and with that it was more fun. You knew better what to expect and found yourself enjoying the chaos instead of getting swept away. But even though you enjoyed the experience overall and are still looking forward to the rest of the tour, you now have a better appreciation for the quiet. You're definitely relieved that the initial tour planning gave a bit of time between the Seoul, Japan, and international concerts.

The next month before you have to leave for Japan is critical, not just for you but also the members. It feels like you barely see any of them outside of the company anymore. Even though they've just had a comeback recently, they're already preparing songs for the next one and juggling that with attending brand events, doing solo interviews, and photoshoots for magazines.

Chan has never complained about any of it, but you know that their growing popularity means more pressure and that's taking a toll on all of them. 3Racha spend hours going back and forth perfecting portions of songs before sending them for approval, more members try to get involved in songwriting, and everyone devotes their free time to vocal lessons, dance practice, and working out.

You know that they've been offered more days off, but were adamant to keep the schedules as tightly packed as possible. You're proud of them and understand why they've chosen this, but you're also concerned. The only thing you can do is support them and cheer them on, knowing that doing your job well will help them do their job.

—

It's just before 12:30 in the morning when you finally decide to save everything and turn off your computer. Although you're used to the long days and late nights, an early morning schedule means that you have to be back at the JYP building by at least 6 am to prepare, an hour earlier than the call time for the boys. You quickly pack your bag and make your way down to Chan's studio, where he's doubtlessly still working.

Sure enough, when you knock on his door and gently ease it open, Chan has his headphones on and barely nods a greeting before focusing back on his laptop. Knowing that your presence is enough of a signal for him to get ready to leave, you flop down onto his couch and pull up your thread of texts with one of the company drivers.

You feel guilty but the recent cold weather and ever present threat of sasaengs camping outside of the building mean that he's used to all the late night requests. A fan had recently cornered Chan as he had left one day and had later posted about their encounter, leading to an increasing number of people loitering around the main exit, hoping for a glimpse of any of the members. Although there hadn’t really been any issues, it was enough that the JYPE had sent out a company-wide email about being more vigilant on keeping track of who is walking in and out of the building, as well as more security for the time being.

[12:32 am - sent]

Sorry, Chan-ssi and I will need a ride back to the dorms soon!

[12:34 am - received]

K. Just let me know when you're ready and I will pick you up.

[12:34 am - sent]

Thanks! You're the best! I'll let you know when we're about to head down.

Satisfied, you switch to one of your guilty pleasures, scrolling through Twitter.

Your first account had been created before you worked at JYP and was used to keep up with some of your friends. You had made your second account when you started working with Xdinary Heroes as a show of support and also to get more insight on the fans to better cater to them. Now, that account and the newest one you had for Stray Kids were purely for fun. Sure, it was sometimes useful for work to see what piqued interest the most and what people were complaining about, but you mostly wanted to see people's reactions to content, it saved you money from subscribing to Bubble, and you could bookmark fanart that you thought the members might like to see.

You didn't post much and if you did, made sure nobody would be able to deduce that you were part of the staff. Your profile was generic and you followed a mix of Korean, English, and Japanese accounts, as well as some of the popular translation ones.

Everyone was excited for the upcoming Japan tour dates, especially after the recent Seoul concerts. The preview for the Japanese merch had just been released today so it dominated your timeline. Even though you haven't been on in a few days, you're glad to see there's still a lot of posts from the concert and that so many people, regardless of whether they were able to attend, enjoyed the show.

Technically you had been there and there were a few screens scattered around that were streaming what was happening on stage, but all the staff were so busy that you had only been able to catch a few glimpses of the performances. Based on your conversations with other managers and coordis, it would continue similarly for the next few concerts as new issues arose and would have to be solved on the spot. You were hoping that you'd have a chance to be part of the crowd for at least one night sometime this tour.

After scrolling for about 15 minutes, you lower your phone a little bit to peek and see what Chan's doing. He’s still working on a song and doesn’t look close to stopping. You frown, usually he’s pretty good about wrapping up his work shortly after you arrive.

“Channie-oppa,” you call, keeping your tone light. “Are you almost done?”

“Yup,” he says absentmindedly, not even pausing in the work that he’s doing. You stare at him for a moment, but give him the benefit of the doubt. You know there’s more pressure on him than usual, there’s looming deadlines for their next album and limited time to do everything with preparations for the rest of the concerts. Even if it means sacrificing a little bit of energy, you don’t mind giving him some extra time.

After you notice 15 more minutes have passed, you bite your lip, not wanting to interrupt again, but also wanting to get home to rest and Charge for as long as possible. With a press junket scheduled to start early in the morning and continue for most of the day, you know that Chan has a long day ahead of him, and that yours was going to be even longer since you had to arrive before the members to help set up everything.

It’s when the driver you had contacted sends you a text asking for an estimate on when you want to be picked up, that you decide to speak up.

“Hey, how much longer do you think you’ll be?”

“You can go home first,” Chan says instead of answering your question.

"Tomorrow your schedule starts-" you start to explain, but get cut off.

"I know," Chan says, sounding annoyed. He finally turns around to face you and tugs his headphones off roughly. "But this is important, I need to finish as much as I can right now, okay?"

"I’m saying this for your benefit. You'll be able to work better after you rest. I think it would be good if you took a break tonight."

"I'm good now!” he snaps. “I'm really good now. I was also good when you were not here. When you weren’t my soulmate. I worked as much as I wanted. I did things I liked. Even without you, I was fine every day."

"I- '' You swallow hard and look down, biting the inside of your cheek hard. Without anything for your hands to do, your fingers find a hangnail on your thumb and pick at it. "I just want to help you."

"Thanks, I don't need it,” he says, exasperated. “You really don't have to do these things for me. I can order my own dinner. I can choose when I want to work and when I want to stop. If I need to check my calendar, I can look it up by myself. You aren't family. You aren't my girlfriend. Yes, you’re a manager for Stray Kids. Yes, you're my soulmate, but you don't have to…. try to do everything, you know? It’s enough for you to just live your own life and do your job as a manager, but you don’t have to do anything extra.”

You make a small noise of acknowledgement, but the sound comes out with difficulty. Your throat is tight and aching while your nose is starting to stuff up, making it harder to breathe normally. You blink rapidly to keep your vision clear, eyes stinging. You know crying won’t do anything to change the situation except maybe make it worse, but you can’t help it. You’re almost glad when Chan continues on without waiting for a reply, as you don’t think you’d be able to say anything if he wanted you to.

“I know you think you know what this industry is like after 3 years, but you don’t. I was a trainee for 7 years, I’ve been an idol for longer than you've worked here. I know better than anyone what my limits are. You've told me how controlled you felt when you used to live at home, but sometimes I can’t help but think that some of your eomoni’s methods have rubbed off on you. I don't need someone constantly nagging me about this and that. I don’t need you bringing me food just because you think I need it. I don’t need you reminding me about schedules. I don't need you sitting around my studio trying to get me to go home when I'm not finished with my work. And I definitely don’t need or want you telling me when I should be taking a break, resting, not working, sleeping, all of that. Please, please, can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I’m sorry.” Your voice sounds wet and thick and cracks in the middle of your words. Not knowing what else to do, you bow in apology and are grateful that your face is hidden when you realise that the tears that have gathered at the corners of your eyes have finally fallen. You wipe them hurriedly, feeling mortified, but Chan hasn’t even noticed, already turned towards his laptop and with his headphones back in place. Even though he can’t hear you, you still say, “I’ll just go ho- back to the dorm now.”

As expected, he doesn't reply.

You must have subconsciously backed up when Chan's tone had risen, because you were now only a couple steps away from the exit, making your retreat easier. You close the door behind you as quietly as possible and beeline to the bathroom.

The harsh glare of the fluorescent lights hurt your eyes and exaggerate the redness of your face when you stand at the sink and stare at yourself. Where the skin was worried away on your thumb, there are now smudged beads of blood that you wash away. You splash your face with water to wipe away your tears, then press a soaked paper towel against your eyes to try to cool down the swollen skin there. When you look at yourself in the mirror, you almost laugh at the pitiful expression that stares back at you. It reminds you of all the times you did this when you were younger after conversations with your eomoni, meticulously applying make-up to hide any signs of weakness. You had gotten better over the years, at cleaning yourself up carefully and preventing yourself from crying in the first place.

After blowing your nose, you leave and head toward the building’s lobby. You don’t think that you can face anybody else tonight, so you text the company driver again, telling him that you’re getting a ride with someone else but that Chan would probably still need to get a ride home a bit later. You don't wait for confirmation before locking your phone and dropping it into your bag.

For once, you’re grateful for the cool air as you step outside the doors, the usually biting winds feel refreshing against your hot skin. At this time of night, there aren’t many people around, which means nobody pays attention as you start walking towards the dorms.

You take deep breaths to try and calm yourself down, pressing your cold hands against your cheeks which are still flushed with emotion.

You feel humiliated. Had you really come across as that desperate and overbearing in your interactions with Chan?

One of your eomoni’s favourite ‘reminders’ to you growing up was that you were too much.

You were too emotional, too dramatic, too sensitive. You spent too much time daydreaming, imagining a future for yourself that would never happen. You were too open with people, too trusting.

People don’t want that, she would say. They want you to be polite and quiet. You can have opinions, just keep them to yourself. You spend too much time doing whatever you want and not enough time listening to what people are telling you to do. You're expected to be obedient. Don't overstep.

It hurt to know that maybe there was truth in her words. It was clear now that you had done more than overstep.

Chan had sounded stressed, angry, and his tone had been cold, much sharper than you had ever heard before. He had been cruel, even. But what had caught you off guard the most was the deep-rooted frustration that you had heard. It meant that this likely wasn't the first time that he had thought these things, it was just the first time he had shared them with you. It was a wound that had been festering and he was just now exposing it for you to see.

You hate that you had caused that.

You also couldn’t help but feel embarrassed by your display of emotions in Chan’s studio. You hoped that he hadn’t noticed, but found it hard to believe that he couldn’t tell your voice was more choked up than usual. You used to pride yourself in having full control of your emotions, but had found yourself caught off guard so many times since you had met your soulmate.

You had become too soft-hearted and you hate that too.

Mechanically, you let yourself into the dorms and complete your nighttime routine as quietly as possible. All the other members are home, but their doors are closed and lights are off. Exhausted and emotionally drained, you curl up on your side of the bed and close your eyes, willing yourself to fall asleep quickly.

The wound on your thumb stings.

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter | read it on ao3

150 notes · View notes

it-happened-one-fic · 4 months

Text

Ink and Magic - Tactician of the Scalding Sands

Author Notes: Part 4 of this sort of halfway non canon compliant what if with the overblots and their aftermath! A lot of what I said for part 1 counts for this section too. This isn't exactly romantic. in fact, I would say it counts as more platonic, but it certainly can be taken as shippy. This will also be a series, though the Diasomnia section won't come out until that entire matter is resolved in game. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Spoilers for Book 4: Schemer (Tactician) of the Scalding Sands!

[Heartslabyul] [Savanaclaw] [Octavinelle] [Scarabia: Youre Here!] [Pomefiore] [Ignihyde] [Diasomnia: To be released]

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ fic series/ Can be platonic or romantic/ fluff/ angst/ comfort/ Spoilers for Scarabia overblot.

Word Count: 1809 Words

The blot monster strained upwards, its giant arms reaching up towards the sky, before it burst apart, splattering ink everywhere as Jamil stood, fighting to stay upright even as everything fell around him.

Scarabia students were collapsing everywhere as his spell gave way under the immense pressure of the blot monster being defeated, but even then Jamil strained against this defeat.

A frustrated cry ripped itself out of him before he spoke; his breathing labored as he slowly began to succumb to exhaustion, “I was finally going to be number one…”

He stumbled forward, his arms trembling as he looked up first at Kalim before he continued, his voice shaking with emotion that he usually restrained, “I was finally going….”

His gaze shifted and his dark eyes met mine, causing me to go still as he held my gaze with an expression that contorted his handsome, but usually neutral, face into an expression that spoke purely of frustrated anguish.

And that was when I felt it. The familiar pang of sorrow that would spur me forward even as Jamil finished speaking, “To be free….”

I was in motion before he’d even finished his lament and began to pitch forward toward the floor. Distantly, I heard Kalim cry out something akin to my name, but he went ignored as I rushed towards Jamil’s already limp form.

I caught him in my arms with a grunt, the weight of his plummeting body forcing me to my knees even as Floyd and Jade appeared on either side of us, one’s mismatched gaze meeting mine before a loopy smile curved across his face. Floyd.

I felt arms supporting me from behind as I was eased the rest of the way to the hard ground. And this time, I did briefly fight it.

I didn’t know why this kept happening, but I shared Ace’s concerns about my connecting to each other overblot victims. But it was too late. I was already slipping away into the dark place where all would be explained.

It wouldn’t be long before I learned exactly what had driven Jamil to the breaking point.

But what greeted me wasn’t darkness this time. Instead, I found myself frowning at an unfamiliar room where two easily recognizable boys were playing a game.

A younger version of Kalim looked up, his wide red eyes sparkling as he gazed at Jamil. Even as a child, his face was full of affection and joy as he leaned towards his playmate, “Hey! Let’s play, Jamil! I’m gonna beat you this time for sure!”

The small Jamil let out a sigh, already worn out from playing whatever game it was that Kalim wanted to continue, and let out a tired protest, “This again, Kalim? You know I’m just going to keep winning. Can we play something else instead?”

Kalim hardly had time to react to Jamil’s tired words before the darker-haired boy had received a harsh rebuke from the two adults present, whom I quickly realized were Jamil’s parents. After all, they looked so similar….

“Jamil! Don’t you take that tone with Master Kalim!”

I cringed in sympathy as the woman swatted at Jamil while the man apologized profusely to the young Kalim, who was looking in startled confusion between Jamil and the two adults, “Master Kalim, thank you for playing with our son.”

Kalim looked perfectly confused and startled as Jamil’s mother also turned to him, a nervous smile on her face, “You’re kind enough to share your company. Truly you’ve been brought up well.”

The woman had barely finished speaking before I heard Jamil’s voice from right next to me, just like the other overblot victims had been when I’d seen their memories.

“My very first memory as a child was seeing my family bow before Kalim and his parents. I couldn't stand the sight of it.”

His tone was calm, just as I was so used to hearing it be. But what progressed through his memories and narration was deeply entrenched resentment. All towards the cheerful boy who called Jamil his best friend.

It made me wonder exactly how much of who I’d been interacting with was the real Jamil and how much was carefully faked. But in the end, no one could be as calm and unperturbed as Jamil had pretended to be.

I listened and watched patiently, though, learning about Jamil and Kalim’s shared past scene by scene of this odd black-and white-film made up of Jamil’s memories.

Apparently Jamil had been forced to always be second best…

And in many ways, his frustrations reminded me of Leona’s, save for the fact that Leona’s dissatisfaction seemed… Well, more aged.

Plus, unlike Jamil, Leona’s trouble seemed to be more fueled by the fact he couldn’t succeed. Jamil, on the other hand, seemed more upset that he couldn’t show his numerous skills and talents. Instead, he always had to let Kalim shine while he remained in the background. A vigilant shadow to Kalim’s brightly shining presence.

And perhaps all of it was made worse by the fact that Jamil’s bitterness was tainted by what I could see was clearly genuine affection.

It was obvious from his voice and their interactions that, despite everything, Jamil really did care for Kalim. And how could he not when I could quite literally see the amount of love Kalim held for his retainer?

He was frustrated because Kalim was what was holding him back, and it was obvious that he desperately wanted to hate Kalim. It was also obvious, though, that Jamil deeply cared for the young man who was always cheerful and supportive of him, even if Kalim didn’t realize that he was the one holding Jamil back.

As scenes of Kalim repeatedly talking about how Jamil was the one he trusted most, Jamil’s facade started to crack.

“We’ll keep helping each other out, Jamil!”

The break was restrained at first, with only a slight bit of tenseness to Jamil’s voice as he spoke, “Stop.”

But Kalim didn’t stop. He couldn’t hear Jamil, and he couldn’t see what he was putting his retainer through as he smiled sunshine through each memory.

And then the last one came. Different from the others in that Kalim was actually showing some seriousness towards his friend, as he smiled in an almost sad way that clearly spoke of how much he meant the words that came from his mouth.

“I know you’d never betray me, Jamil.”

There was no restraint this time as Jamil almost screamed his response, his voice cracking with weighty emotion as he all but pleaded with Kalim, “Just stop!”

I almost grimaced at the raw pain in his voice. Because, as much as he might like to pretend otherwise, I could clearly hear it in his voice and see it in his memories. Jamil didn’t hate Kalim. He may want to, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

And the fact that he couldn’t truly hate Kalim made his situation that much worse.

After all, just like so many adults had said in Jamil’s memories, Jamil was clever. He knew Kalim wasn’t really at fault. Rather, it was the situation.

“Kalim, your mere existence means that I…. I… I have to live my whole life deferring to you!”

I almost flinched at his yell, directed at nothing as the black and white image of Kalim faded out so that now only darkness was visible as Jamil finally broke down.

But I understood it now. Jamil was wracked with guilt, frustration, and pent-up hatred that he couldn’t direct at anyone.

By the end of the narration, Jamil had almost completely broken.

The last thing I heard was his quiet, broken voice from out of the darkness yet from right beside me, where I couldn’t see him, “I… Even I… I wanted to be number one, too.”

My eyes flew open as I inhaled in slight surprise at the bright lights overhead, and the first thing I heard was Kalim sobbing Jamil’s name and Grim grumbling about something.

Jamil didn’t wake up immediately, though, and I slowly realized that I was lying on the floor with his arms wrapped loosely around me.

I pushed myself up, my arms still trembling ever so slightly as I shifted into a sitting position, unable to fully extract myself from Jamil’s hold.

“Ah, Angelish, you’re awake,” Azul's voice came from behind me, but he soon stepped around me. Causing me to look up at him as Floyd and Jade slowly slipped away from Kalim’s side, where he knelt next to Jamil.

Azul’s gaze flickered between me and Jamil before at last coming to rest on me, “So, did it happen with him too?”

I nodded silently, looking down at Jamil’s peacefully slumbering face before speaking quietly, “Yeah… I saw everything.”

Azul pursed his lips at my soft words but straightened, beckoning Jade and Floyd over, “We monitored you while you were out. While we couldn’t wake you, you also didn’t seem to be in any danger. However, it did seem like you were enchanted or something.”

I opened my mouth to respond, half-touched that the three of them had kept a check on me, but I stopped as Jamil groaned slightly and rolled over, one arm sliding off my lap while the other remained curled around where I sat.

“Where am I?” He even sounded groggy as his eyes flickered open and, surprisingly, quickly, landed on me.

I smiled slightly at him as he slowly sat up, his eyes widening as soon as he spotted me before he frowned and a guarded expression appeared on his face.

And he wore that same frown and kept glancing my way during the entire, lengthy explanation. In fact, it wasn’t until Kalim offered to be equals with him and suggested that the two of them should start off as friends once more that Jamil’s focus finally left me so that he could tear into Kalim.

I cringed in sympathy for the pale-haired boy, but I also couldn’t say that I was upset to see Jamil finally letting loose.

After seeing his memories, I’d been concerned about the two young men’s relationship and had wondered how they would move forward. Being totally clear with Kalim would be necessary, and, unfortunately, that would mean Jamil snapping at him sooner or later.

And, as soon as Jamil’s gaze met mine after telling Kalim that he wasn’t going to hold back anymore and would never throw another competition again, a small part of me wondered if he somehow knew about my concerns.

But my worries about him and Kalim weren’t the only thing on my mind. The more it happened, the more I was beginning to wonder what it was that drew me to these young men who overblotted and why I got to see their memories and hear their thoughts.

91 notes · View notes

wasjustred · 1 year

Text

See Me After Class - NSFW Larissa Weems x f!Reader

Summary: Your new boss pays you a visit.

Pairing(s): Larissa Weems x femprof!Reader

Warnings: Smut, under-negotiated dynamic, Mommy kink at the very end if you squint, cunnilingus (reader giving), fingering, orgasm denial, dom!Larissa and sub!Reader

Word Count: ~3.4k

Author’s Note: My first reader insert as well as my first attempt at smut! I hope y’all enjoy - feedback is always welcome (and greatly appreciated, especially as this is an un-beta-ed work)! ♡ ╱ AO3

“You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit.”

You allow the air to settle before prodding your students, perched comfortably against the front edge of your desk. “Someone explain for us what Lord Henry meant by this.” The usual array of hands shoot up, eager and willing as they are, swaying discreetly in anticipation of being called upon. It’s everything you had hoped for before starting this job; you spent weeks prepping lesson plans and brushing up on Outcast literature before your official interview had even been scheduled, losing sleep and your appetite equally over the thought that you might not secure the position, and almost more so that if you did, the students wouldn’t take to you. But this sight… it is as reaffirming as any. With a modest hope of hearing from someone new, your eyes roam the rows and columns of seated students. But it’s an unexpected figure who draws your attention to the far back:

“Principal Weems.. Please, indulge us.” You gesture widely with an open palm. Your nonchalance frankly betrays the anxiety her presence brings. Another observation so soon after the first? And so early in the term? You have to wonder if one of your students has complained, or perhaps another professor. Were you doing a bad job? Were your lessons subpar?

It’s clear, though, that despite her authority Weems is embarrassed to have been caught, even more so to have been called out on it so unceremoniously. Perhaps you’re not as powerless here as you thought.

“Well,” The blonde pulls back her shoulders and levels her gaze on you. “It has been a minute, but if I’m not mistaken, I do believe Lord Henry was referring to Dorian’s seemingly virtuous nature in comparison to his own glaring hedonism. By all accounts, we desire and are captivated by the things we refuse ourselves.” She continues, arching a brow, “I believe Lord Henry also said that ‘the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself’. It is both a warning and a call to pleasure.”

Any surprise you might have felt at Larissa’s adeptness, any residual apprehension at her presence, is easily overpowered by the sudden and shameless wave of heat that comes to rest between your thighs. She must notice as she grins wickedly at your attempt to play it off, crossing one ankle over the other and lowering the open book in front of your lap.

“Very good. I’m glad to see your Nevermore education paid off.” Sparse chuckles crop up from your students as the final bell announces the official end of the school day. They waste no time in rushing past each other towards the door, and you’re glumly aware that your calls to read the next two chapters for class tomorrow fall on deaf ears.

“I didn’t realize Mr. Wilde was still part of the curriculum.” Larissa follows the steps down past your students’ desks and comes to rest in front of you, hands clasped behind her.

“And yet you’ve proven yourself to be a remarkably apt student. Impressive.” Your eyes twinkle. The degree at which you have to tilt your head back is not an unpleasant one, stretching muscles that had already been whining after the hour-long class session. You break eye contact briefly to reach behind you and toss the worn copy of today’s topic on your desk, and in that short timespan Larissa evidently decides to test your professional resolve.

“Remarkable students are rewarded for their diligence, are they not?” You swivel back to her, brows raised. … intriguing. Hot, even, you have to admit.

“Was it diligence, or pure luck?” Larissa scrunches her nose at this response, clearly - amusingly - displeased.

“I’ll have you know I’ve been reading at the pace of your lesson plans.”

“So you did know Mr. Wilde was ‘still part of the curriculum’?”

“... I don’t appreciate your tone, Ms. L/N.” Larissa looms over you, forcing you back against the edge of your desk. Your hands instinctively shoot out behind you, white-knuckling the oak in an attempt to keep yourself steady (both mentally and physically). Your brain rapidly ricochets between processing how little space remains between the two of you and the fact that the school’s headmistress, your boss, Larissa, has taken to following your lessons plans of her own volition.

“All due respect, you do pay me to read between the lines, Principal Weems,” you respond. She seems delighted with this, a puff of warm air landing against your lips as she chuckles. Your fingers twitch against your desk. If you stretched them out, there’s a chance you’d reach her, brushing against the clothed expanse of her thigh.

“You have a very interesting understanding of what you’ve been hired to do here.”

“Oh?”

“Mhmm.” Larissa closes the leftover distance, reaching long fingers up to grasp the tip of your chin. It feels like whatever air you can get here, eye-level with her chest, is trapped in your lungs. “.. look at me, darling.”

It takes everything within you not to moan once you meet her gaze and realize she looks absolutely ravenous: pupils blown, tongue running slowly along the length of her bottom lip as she watches you. Chest rising and falling in time with her rapid heartbeat.

“Oh.”

Your lips meet in a hot, desperate clash of tongue and teeth, no indication as to who’s moved first. You grasp wildly at her forearms, shoulders, neck - any stretch of skin you can dig your fingertips into, pushing yourself up as tall as you can to reach further into her. A phone rings somewhere off to your left and you grunt, shoving the contents of your desk off to the side in a clatter. Larissa laughs.

“Eager, are we?” Before you can form a coherent response she’s making a grab for your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the top of the desk and parting your legs as she comes to stand between them. A shiver rolls through you toe-to-spine as her fingernails drag tantalizingly - painstakingly - up your sides, rounding out at the tops of your shoulders and coming down so harsh along your back you’re positive she’s marked you through your blouse. You whimper despite a valiant effort not to, eliciting a devilish smirk from the blonde.

“Larissa, th-the door. Please.” She’s nothing if not sensible, immediately abandoning the space between your legs to switch the lock with a satisfying ‘thunk’. The less pronounced sound of a shade being drawn reaches you, as well, before the steady refrain of her high heels against linoleum. You keep your eyes trained on the climbing rows of seats before you, the anticipation of her sudden touch, unforeseen, curling deep within your stomach.

Her footfalls grow slower as she comes to stand behind you. Just over the sound of your own heavily beating heart can you hear her breathing, pitchy and shallow, in the expanse above your head. Neither of you budge. A tingle on your right tells you she’s on the move, hovering at your shoulder. The suspense tightens in your core as you imagine her phantom touch in the very places you ache for her–––and you tighten your grip on the desk’s edge in order to suppress the urge to spin around and jump her.

A passing group of muffled voices - students - evidently inspires Larissa to act first, however, as she clamps a hand over your mouth and pulls you flush against her, back-to-front. Her breath is hot on your neck.

“Shh, sh… Not .. a .. peep, Ms. L/N…” You nod against the force of her grip on your face, biting back the impulsive desire to take her fingers into your mouth. It’s only when her other hand sneaks around the softness of your waist, sinks down, down, and under the hem of your skirt that you realize exactly what she has planned for you. It’s bold, especially for someone like Larissa, whose dedication to this school and its students comes before all else–––which prompts you to wonder what kind of day she’s had and if she’ll be taking it out on you, one frustration at a time.

The thought makes you squirm. A pool of wet heat’s collecting between your legs at her touch and she finds it with a swiftness, applying a searching pressure along the entire length of your sex, humming against the shell of your ear when her fingertips meet the strip of dampness there.

“Such a slut,” she rumbles. Your teeth come down hard onto the inside of your cheek, eyelids fluttering on their own accord the moment Larissa nips at your earlobe. Christ, she’s already ruined you. She sweeps the satin of your panties aside and immediately presses a finger against your core without warning, and your entire body jerks at the feeling, hopelessly attempting to choose between pressing itself further back into her warmth or to thrust itself in the chase of her fingers. You’re left somewhere in the middle, head braced against her shoulder while your hips slide against the top of the desk towards her touch.

A flash of blonde and bright red swoops into your peripheral at the same time that her hand shifts to cup you: “I’m going to remove this hand now,” her nails dig sharp into your cheek, “but if you make so much as a whimper…” The threat tapers off but her meaning is clear: there’s a punishment lurking there that you won’t enjoy. You nod again, shakily this time as your chest heaves.

“That’s my darling girl.” At your assent her hand migrates from your mouth to the swell of a breast, kneading harshly in tandem with the rolling movements of her other hand, the heel of her palm pressed against your clit, fingertips resting just at your entrance. Any dignity you may have had is quickly fleeting; Larissa’s intoxicating, overwhelming, robbing you of all sense with just her fingers. You reach a hand behind you to grip the back of her neck, urgent as you search for some semblance of relief. The word ‘please’ balances precariously along your tongue.

It almost slips out when she sinks her teeth into your shoulder, hard, and simultaneously buries two fingers into your cunt. Every ounce of breath left in your lungs rushes from you at once as she sets a punishing pace. The distant thought that you’re both somehow still fully clothed echoes against the back of your skull, but it’s overrun by the sensation of her fingers tightly curled inside you, nearly rocking you with their force. Simultaneously, she presses absent, open-mouthed kisses to the skin almost broken by her teeth, drifting to the space where shoulder meets neck, below your ear, the edge of your jaw.

“You’re mine.” Larissa’s voice is coarse with desire. It’s a new declaration, tongue flicking out with her words as the taller woman twists a nipple between her fingers. She’s claiming you for herself, hardly a month into the term, and you’d be entirely out of your mind to complain. Suddenly the number of times your eyes have met during staff meetings, the lingering touches when she passed by or handed a paper off to you, her willingness to compliment your work at every turn has taken on new meaning.

Her thumb seeks out that little bundle of nerves, hitting each new wave of pleasure that the pumping of her fingers brings with excruciating accuracy. You’re so close, throbbing, and when her hips buck and collide with your back your breath hitches, indistinguishable from a squeak, … and it’s then that you realize you’ve ruined it.

Her fingers stall inside of you abruptly, the others that are clamped around your nipple finding a sudden homeostasis of pressure.

Shit, shit, shit.

“I’m s-sorry, I––” You’re on your back, no longer supported by her weight, her fingers roughly pulled from you.

“I gave you very clear instructions,” she all but growls, staring down at you now.

You swallow. Loudly. Your legs are shaking at the loss of her touch, teetering still on the edge of an explosive climax.

“If you’re not going to listen,” Larissa grits out, hiking her dress up over her thighs, “then you’re not going to cum. Now earn it.” Without another word she yanks you back by the shoulders and moves to straddle your face, hands planted at either side of your waist. It takes only a second to right yourself–––and then you’re wrapping your arms firm around her thighs, flattening your tongue along the slickness of her cunt.

No underwear.

She had every intention of being serviced when she came to your classroom unannounced, greeted your students, faked literary smalltalk. You’re a toy to her, a pet she knows with absolute certainty will kneel when called. Fuck. You could bring yourself over that edge with her taste alone. A natural tradeoff.

Larissa jolts above you and you lap at her with a renewed fervency, sliding the tip of your tongue between her folds, plunging into her as deep as you can from this position. The heat of her soaks your face: she’s sharp and metallic, a lingering note of something deliciously tangy. You’re going to taste her in your dreams for weeks after this. You’re vaguely aware of her hand on your chest as you alternate swirling your tongue along her, rolling in waves, and sucking her swollen clit into your mouth hungrily.

“Tch, right there, darling,” she murmurs, pitching her hips as she rides you. “That’s it.” Her voice trembles at the pace of her increasingly frantic rocking, breaths coming in heavier than before. Your smugness at unraveling her so quickly, so efficiently, is surpassed by the raw desire that rushes to your core when she weaves a hand through your hair and uses it to balance herself against your face, to more thoroughly fuck herself into reckless abandon.

One of your hands adjusts to squeeze a handful of ass, the other still fastened tightly around her thigh. The supple skin there twitches and you know she’s close, doubling-down on your devotion to her clit. You have a feeling you know what it’ll take, and with a gentle scrape of your teeth you’re rewarded, savoring the juices that flow from her as she clamps down on your face, quaking. She sounds heavenly as she cums: Larissa whines into the collar of her dress, breathing in short, sharp bursts that come in a heady mix of gasps and whimpers. There’s no disguising what’s happening to anyone on the outside; you entertain the bemused thought that in punishing you, Principal Weems has violated her own rules at least once over.

It takes her a moment to dismount but you pass the time in contentment, nipping at her inner thigh, tonguing the arousal there, gathering the residual cum in your mouth. Just like ambrosia, fucking nectar. When she does finally lift herself away from your mouth, she has to grip the desk with both hands.

You take it as a sign of a job well done.

Your eyes follow her, upside down still from your position, as she pulls her skirt back down over her ass and shimmies into place, smoothing her blouse down with it. When she meets your gaze, there’s a deepening blush spread across her cheeks.

“Well. You’ve certainly proven yourself capable of following directions. There’s no excuse as to why you can’t continue to adhere to any rules I provide, hm?” If it were that easy you wouldn’t have found yourself on your back in the first place, but there’s no doubt she’s fully - perhaps gleefully - aware of the fact. In an effort to abide by those rules you only nod in response, wary of what a verbalization will bring you–––but this rule is evidently a time-sensitive one, indicated by her bemused smirk.

“You may use your words now, pet.”

“I’ll follow directions.”

“I’ll follow directions what?” Larissa approaches again, a softer air about her now despite the firmness in her voice, and eases you up with her hands beneath your shoulders. She turns you to face her, guiding your legs up and over the top of the desk. When she looks at you expectantly, you respond with an honest hesitation.

“I–– I’m not sure what you like to be called.” You’re not sure what you’re expecting her response to be either, but what you’re met with is a dazzlingly grand smile.

“You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” You suck in a sharp breath; that went straight to your cunt. You can feel the warmth unfurl across your face at the praise and purse your lips in a rare lapse of shyness. “Mistress or Mommy – whichever your preference.”

The instinct to whimper is an ardent one. You’re exceedingly aware of the backwards order of things, only now discussing titles and retroactively negotiating, no prior agreement on limits or safewords, but it’s too little too late to pretend you’re bothered by it. No one’s ever accused you of listening to your brain over your libido, and Larissa’s looking far too smitten with you to start changing that now.

“I’ll follow directions, Mommy.” Her hands come up to cradle both of your cheeks, thumbs working gently over the blush that still remains. You’re promptly reminded of how she felt straddling those very same cheeks and feel all the blood rush to your face once more.

“Thank you, darling.” Your hips wriggle in anticipation when Larissa leans in to brush her lips against yours––but she’s instead reaching around you to grab a tissue from your desk. “Here,” she says, rubbing at your chin with a delicateness only she could muster. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You watch as she works in silence, tilting your head to and fro with her prodding hands, studying the faint wrinkles beneath her eyes and along her forehead. The right corner of her lips draws downward as she focuses, tongue peeking out in concentration. Her brows raise, just minutely. There’s something of a twinkle in her eye when she wipes away your ruined lipstick.

She’s beautiful.

“What?”

“–––Hm?” You freeze at the same time her hand does, though Larissa proceeds within the matter of a second like she never stopped, a renewed smirk lined in crimson.

“Beautiful, is that so?” You imagine your face matches the color of her lipstick, and not due to a frenzied makeout session. She doesn’t seem perturbed by the admission, however … may in fact even enjoy your little slip-up, so you might as well own up.

“.. Yes. Is that alright?” She snorts but covers it just as quickly with the back of her hand.

“Of course,” which translates to: Do you really have to ask?

Larissa pulls away and tosses the tissue into a wastebasket beneath your desk, still smiling rather haughtily. Her hands clasp in front of her as the image of the consummate headmistress falls back into place. At this point you think she’s figured out that disregarding your own orgasm isn’t much of a punishment when you so thoroughly enjoyed ravishing her; no doubt she’ll have something far less agreeable lined up for the next time you disobey.

“I enjoyed this.. ‘private lesson’ on the nuances of literary hedonism. Perhaps we could schedule another? If you’d be amenable?” It’s largely symbolic––this will happen again. And again. And possibly again. But Larissa’s offering something valuable to you: The power to decide how, when, and where this will play, if at all. The gesture doesn’t escape you.

You slip off of the desk and take slow, measured steps towards her, coming to a rest with less than a foot between you. A hint of anxiety slips through her otherwise flawless mask and you reach up nearly on tiptoe to smooth it away. “I’d like that. Maybe a coffee date is in order first,” which translates to: God yes please, but we are going to have to discuss things before we make a habit of this. Larissa releases a relieved breath and nods, covering your hand with her own.

“The Weathervane? Thursday, during your lunch period?”

“Sounds perfect.”

She leaves soon after you schedule your next rendezvous, but not before settling you into a breathless haze with a series of intense, bruising kisses, her hands snugly fitted into your back pockets.

One orgasm that wasn’t even yours and you’re already whipped. God help you.

#apologies for any mistakes! i tried my best :')#larissa weems x reader #larissa weems x female reader #larissa weems imagine #larissa weems x y/n #larissa weems #principal weems x reader #principal weems imagine #larissa weems x f!reader #larissa weems smut #larissa weems reader insert #larissa weems x you

677 notes · View notes

callsigndragon · 1 year

Text

Seeing Red | Ch. 9: Missing firsts📲 ✍️

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x ex-wife!Reader (Call sign: Red Queen)

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: a new meaning of the 'there was one bed' trope, mentions of death, abandon, sad feelings, Jake guilty era continues... and Beau Cyclone Simpson.

Masterlist on pinned

There’s a tingling feeling in your heart when you read the words ‘our son’. You shouldn’t feel like that; you know it. But Liam is happy because he gets to see his dad at last—that’s something you can’t ignore.

If he’s happy, you’re happy.

Your mom has been asleep for at least one hour, extremely tired after all the driving she has done today. You tiptoe to Liam’s room, which is actually your room because you didn’t expect your mom and baby to appear out of the blue. They were supposed to be here tomorrow. And Charlotte had clear instructions: never bring Liam to Top Gun.

But Jake has always been in Charlotte’s heart. She thinks that Jake had a good reason for getting a divorce. Maybe your mom thought that bringing Liam to Top Gun would make Jake regret every single second he had been away from you and ask for forgiveness. You don't know why she is still trusting him. You also assumed that he had a reason for leaving your life and that once the problem that had caused him to leave was resolved, he would return, explain everything, and you would be happy ever after with the son who was growing inside you.

He never came back. And by the looks of it, he’s not going to give you an explanation, either. It’s okay. You don’t need to know. You honestly don’t want to know. Knowing the reason might ease the relationship between you two, and you can’t allow yourself to fall for this guy again.

Again? As if you had ever stopped feeling something for him.

And if those feelings had faded away during the last two years, seeing him lying down in bed with Liam sound asleep over him, his face hidden in the crook of his dad’s neck, doesn’t help a lot.

That’s the image of a loving father.

“I can’t move,” he whispers, kissing Liam’s head. “Not that I want to.”

You smile a bit, walking closer to the bed, and lie down next to him. “It’s funny because I never thought this would be your reaction after meeting Liam.”

“You thought I’d leave?”

“Honestly?” He nods. “Yeah, I thought you’d leave again. But your dad instincts took control over your body.”

Jake sighs, hugging Liam closer. “You know I’ve always wanted to have a family.”

“That’s why I named him Liam.”

“Thank you for that.”

There’s a silence after his words. It’s not awkward. Silences have never been awkward with him.

“You told him who I was.”

“Every kid deserves a dad, Jake.” You grab Liam’s hand, his tiny fingers closing around yours. “And you’ve always been a good man to me.”

“Until I wasn’t.”

“You’re never gonna tell me why you left me, right?”

“I can’t, Red. I literally can’t. Just… Just know that if I had a choice in the matter, I would have stayed with you. Always.”

You shake your head. “Let’s not talk about that.”

“Tell me about Liam. What does he like?"

“Well, he likes planes,” you chuckle.

“Guess that’s in his blood.”

“Yeah… He likes cars. But not cars in the sense of automobiles. The movie Cars.”

“Tell me his favorite character isn’t Mater.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you that.”

He groans. “That’s Rooster's favorite character.”

You bit your lip. “Why do you know that?”

“We watch a lot of movies with Payback’s kids.” He confesses, grabbing the blanket and covering Liam’s body. You help him, making sure that Liam’s arms stay under the blanket, but he moves them again, one grabbing Jake’s hair, the other searching your hand. “Sweet baby.”

“Yes, he is. He also likes chocolate. Bluey. Dogs, of course. And his grandma.”

“I also love his grandma.”

“I swear, if she was younger, you would have married her.” You joke, trying your best not to laugh.

“I don’t know. Your father would have come from death and killed me.”

“Oh, yeah. They loved each other so much.”

“Are you… seeing someone? Because explaining why the father has suddenly appeared will be interesting."

“No… It’s kinda hard to date when you're a single mom. I don’t even have time to read a book; how am I supposed to date?”

“It’s bad that a part of me is glad that you’re single?”

“It is. Are you single?” You close your eyes and mentally facepalm yourself for asking that question. Why do you care?

“It’s kinda hard to find someone to date when you had the perfect woman in front of you and had to let her go.”

A tear slides down your face. Fucking idiot, why does he say things like that? “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“No, no, please. I’ll shut up, okay? Stay here.”

Something tells you to leave. That you should go and sleep on the sofa, creating the distance you need right now.

You are proud of yourself for being a very strong woman. Always doing the right thing, following the rules, thinking before acting.

But if the world ended in this exact same moment, this bed is where you'd like to be.

"Was it Valentine's?" He asks, somehow closer to you, his breath tickling your skin.

"What?"

"When we made him."

"Oh. Yeah, it was on Valentine's."

"So his birthday is in November?"

"14th"

"Nine months exactly?"

"A perfectionist"

"Just like his mama." You both say it at the same time, and Jake's laugh makes Liam stir in his sleep.

"Mama?" He raises his arms, looking for you.

"Shhhh, baby. Mama's here. Wanna sleep with Mama?" Liam nods, and Jake moves him, so he is now lying down in between the two of you, his face pressed against your chest. He falls asleep in seconds.

"You should get some sleep." Jake says, looking at the time on his phone. "I'll leave early in the morning."

"Stay and have breakfast with him. Told him that you make the best pancakes." You close your eyes, slipping into Morpheus' arms.

It's weird, because you could swear the last thing you remember is someone's lips pressing against your forehead.

"Can you explain to me why I am in a toy store at 9 AM?" Payback groans, sipping from his coffee.

"Cause you're the only friend with kids I know and I need advice." Jake reminds him, comparing the two Mater toys in his hands.

"Another Mater boy?" The taller man laughs, and now it's Jake's turn to groan.

"Mater, Mater… He's not that cool. Doc Hudson. That's a good character!"

"You always go after the fatherly figures, Jake. Doc, Mufasa, Tony Stark... Do you, perhaps, have daddy issues?"

"I love and respect you, but I'm not going to stop myself from throwing this toy at your head." Jake warns, raising the toy.

"I bet you wouldn't throw that if it was Tony Stark."

"I hate you." Jake looks at the toy; it doesn't seem to have small pieces that could break. "Okay, this one's good." He leaves the toy in the cart and keeps walking down the Cars section.

"Did you really not know she was pregnant?"

Jake had been waiting for that question since he parked in front of his house one hour ago. The other daggers would also ask him along the day, is something inevitable.

"No, she was like… almost three months pregnant, and all her symptoms showed up when I left. I can assure you there wasn't a baby bump or anything the last time I saw her."

"Man, that sucks. I don't know how I would feel being in your place."

"Wanna know how it feels?" Jake turns around, holding his gaze. Reuben would never admit it, but Jake looks like he's about to cry. "I'll never know how it felt the first time he kicked his mom's belly. I'll never know what it feels like to run to the store at 3 AM because the baby is craving strawberries. I never went to childbirth classes. I didn't read a book about how to raise a kid. I wasn't there when she went through labor. I missed his first laugh, his first steps, and his first words. How the fuck did I end up hurting a son I didn't know I had?"

"I don't think you hurt him, Jake"

"Can you be sure that Liam didn't cry, not even once, asking for his dad?"

Payback knows how improbable that scenario is. Kids cry, asking for their parents. Of course, Liam had cried asking for his dad.

"Jake, you didn’t know. You're not the one to blame, and neither is Red. She did what she had to do."

"I'll never blame her. She tried to contact me,butd she couldn't because I blocked her. Dammit, I'm such a dickhead."

Payback chuckles. "Stop it. What's done is done. Just try to be part of that kid's life for the next 16 years."

"Only 16?" Jake frowns. He wants to be in Liam's life as long as he breathes.

"You never know what your son might do when he turns 18."

"18? His 3rd birthday is in six months, and I'm already panicking."

"Oh, first-time fathers are so cute."

"Stop joking and help me find more toys, please."

"Okay, what else does he like?"

"Bluey."

"A boy with taste." Payback concedes, walking with his friend to look for more toys.

"Where's Liam?" Mickey whines when you enter the briefing room.

"Well, hello to you too, Garcia." You laugh. "And Liam is at daycare. My mom was so tired that I left her home to rest. Poor woman spent all day driving yesterday."

"But he's coming, right?" Bob pouts. How can a man so tall pout like a baby?

"You all want to meet him?"

Mickey, Bob, Nat, and Rooster nod at the same time, smiling like idiots.

"You can come over this weekend and have dinner with me and Liam."

"I'm gonna meet my nephew." Rooster fist bumps, and you're about to chuckle when you notice that Payback, Jake, and Javy are missing.

"Where are these three? Mickey, where's Payback?"

"Dunno."

You take a deep breath. Second day being the team leader and people are already arriving late.

Your phone pings, and you look at it. It's Jake.

Just when Jake sends you the last message, your phone turns off, completely out of battery. Amazing. The beginning of a great day.

Almost an hour later, Jake, Javy, and Payback are still missing. You’re supposed to prepare for a special class that Dagger Squad needs to teach to the new Top Gun students. But without three pilots here, it is hard to move on.

The door opens, and you’re sure that Jake’s stupid smile will be at the other side, but what you see is Liam running inside the briefing room, looking for his mama. Cyclone appears behind him.

“OH MY GOD IS HIM.” Mickey screams in joy, scaring poor Liam, who starts to cry.

“Mickey, why do you have to be so loud?” Bob smacks him.

“Hispanic people are loud, I thought you knew by now.”

“It's okay, baby. What are you doing here?” You whisper to the baby, calming him down.

“He started crying and calling for his mom. They couldn’t reach you, so they contacted me.” Cyclone explains, playing with Liam’s hands. “And we played for a while with some planes until he calmed down, right buddy?”

“Planes are cool.” Liam agrees, nodding.

“Oh, god. My phone turned off an hour ago, and Jake was supposed to bring me a charger. I’m sorry, baby, Mama’s phone didn’t work.” You say while kissing his head.

“It’s otay. Boo is cool.”

“Who’s Boo?”

“I think that’s me. Cyclone was a hard word for this little guy, and Beau turned into Boo.”

“Thank you so much, Cyclone. I’ll make sure to keep my phone charged from now on.”

He waves it off, smiling. “Don’t worry. And please call me Beau.”

“Well, thank you again, Beau. But now I’m in a bit of trouble. What am I supposed to do with you little trouble maker?” You tickle him, the sound of Liam’s giggles making everyone in the room smile.

“You’re still planning tomorrow's class, right?”

“Yeah, we’re missing a few pilots. They’re bringing me some reports I needed.”

“And you sent…” he turns around, looking at the people in the seats, counting which are the missing pilots. “Three men for such a simple mission?”

“Seresin is involved. You need one to stop him from creating chaos and another one to actually do what they’re supposed to.” You are trying your hardest to cover for him, because he really had to go buy toys on a job day.

“You could have just sent Payback.”

“And have to see Hangman’s face all morning? No, thank you. Now that he knows who Liam is, I won’t stop seeing him for the next 16 years.”

Cyclone laughs. “Yeah, it’s true. You told me before.”

“She told him before?” Nat whispers to Rooster.

“I saw them talking in front of his office this morning.”

“It’s Cyclone trying to make a move on Red?” Bob mutters, and all of them look at the Vice Admiral with loathing in their eyes.

Jake may be a dick, but there’s no denying that he loves Red and that he would do anything for that kid.

Cyclone is now public enemy #1.

Tag list: @purplevortexx @shrimping-for-all @caitsymichelle13 @callmemana @abaker74 @starkleila @topgunmenbefinebruh @blue-aconite @tayrae515 @alexxavicry @xoxabs88xox @mercurio23 @smells-like-perfect-senses @dempy @djs8891 @indynerdgirl @countryclubswifey @lauenderhaze @avaleineandafryingpan @poppyalice2001 @emorychase @wildxwidow @agentwayne17 @shanimallina87 @khaylin27 @fudosl @rhirhikingston @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @ducks118 @teacupsandtopgun @impossiblebaglecowboyfreak @marissat1998 @blairfox04 @phoenix1388

348 notes · View notes

reduxulousoctopus · 14 days

Text

Okay, have just finished Courage and now I feel like I gotta write my review of "the Morpherine episode" lol

Before we get into it, I have to say I'm a bit disappointed by the Sentinel plot after what happened during the finale of season one.

To recap, it turns out that the Sentinels are abducting world leaders because their programming told them to defend humans from mutants, but because "mutants ARE humans," Mastermold interpreted that to means their mission is actually to defend humans from themselves by taking control of the world. Brilliant way to resolve that arc, and a clever subversion of both the human bigotry that created them AND Xavier's/the X-Men's mission to promote equality between humans and mutants (because the Sentinels are still their enemies even while technically agreeing with them).

So having the Sentinels, especially Mastermold, just be generic mutant-hunting robots again is a let-down, especially without any explanation. They could have kept the Sentinels as the villains for this episode without ignoring all that, y'know? Ah, well. More superficially, they also changed the voice of the Sentinels for some reason? They just sound like guys now, it's weird.

Alright, that's enough of the actually respectable media analysis, let's get into what we're really here for:

While I didn't notice any bombshell lines like "Or maybe it's love you're missing?" in this episode, there were plenty of cute moments. For the most part, nothing they do really steps outside the bounds of best-friendship. For example, Logan is the only one who hugs Morph to welcome them back, but that's not particularly suggestive of anything besides a confirmation that the two of them are closer to each other than they are to the other X-Men.

That said, as soon as Wolverine and Morph are alone, there's a moment where they're both watching some drone footage of the factory they're going to investigate--or, at least, they're supposed to be watching the footage. Instead, the two of them keep staring at each other, then quickly glancing back at the screen as soon as they notice the other one looking. It's like they both know they should be focused on the mission, but all they can think about is each other and the fact that they're finally back together after so much time apart. Or they understand each other so well and have that kind of chemistry where they can have an entire silent conversation just by looking at each other.

There's also some dialogue during their mission together which could be interpreted as slightly flirtatious:

Wolverine: "Still haven't lost your touch, I see." Morph: "Just like riding a bicycle."//"Looks like you haven't lost your touch, either. [laughter]"

It's wild that Wolverine--the jackass who once loudly demanded "Yeah, who? No deserters in this crowd!" after Cyclops tried to subtly explain that some mutants (Rogue) might want to be "cured" (Rogue) and live a normal life (Rogue) because their powers cause them so much pain and isolation (Rogue Rogue he's talking about Rogue she's literally sitting right next to you, catch a fucking hint!), and made fun of Gambit for reacting with alarm at the sight of a (deactivated) Sentinel--is so openly concerned for Morph's emotional well-being after realizing that Sentinels are involved. Like at one point Cyclops even has to step in like "the Professor's just been abducted by giant robots can you shut the fuck up about Morph's feelings for one second???"

We get yet another scene of Logan reacting to Morph's scent, this time as a direct parallel to the one in 'Till Death Do Us Part when he first realizes that Morph's still alive. There's something so weirdly intimate about Logan being able to identity people by scent, considering how closely smells are tied to memories and emotions. Add the fact that Morph's shapeshifting powers can change everything except their scent, so that means Logan can always recognize them no matter what they look or sound like-- it's so good. And the writers must have agreed, because they put in more scenes of Logan tracking or recognizing Morph by their scent than anyone else (at least at this point in the series, we'll see if anyone catches up).

When Morph does their usual shtick, Logan's right there grinning from ear to ear like a doofus. Sir calm down, you're one step away from giggling and twirling your hair around your finger. This is kicking your feet in bed writing "Mx. Morph Howlett" in your dairy type behavior, stoooooop.

Wolverine calls Morph "kid" a couple times this episode, the flip-side of Morph calling him "old man" in Whatever It Takes. Morph also calls him "big guy," which is cute.

Speaking of names, I think this is the first episode where Morph calls him Logan instead of Wolverine. While crying, too, which-- how dare you?? Like yeah, a moment of intense emotion is exactly the correct time to have one character switch to using a more personal name for another character, but also it hurts my feelings so stop it. Look at Wolverine's face, show-writers, you made him sad too.

Morph's very pretty brown eyes get a lot of focus and close-ups in this episode. I wonder if Logan misses seeing them more often now that Morph's going for the inhuman blank-eyed look in '97.

Not relevant, but I have to mention how much I love Wolverine's line-read of "keep your shirt on, puh-rettay boyuh." lol I don't think that's a Canadian accent Mr. Dodd but I do appreciate it thanks. Bringing it back on topic though, at the end, the heartbroken delivery of "Morph, wait!" when Morph takes off to go back to Muir Island is so freaking sad. His voice even breaks a little on the word "wait". He tried so hard to bring Morph home was so happy to finally have them back only to to lose them again and I

So anyway. Yeah. The hype is real. I was disappointed by the Sentinel plot, but that isn't really the focus of the episode. Despite my complaints, the time they could have spent explaining why the Sentinels are back to hunting mutants would have cut down on the exploration of Morph's character, their terribly-timed attempt to return to active duty, and their relationship with Wolverine.

And although nothing explicitly "shippy" happened between them in this episode, Whatever It Takes already established (in my opinion) that there was something not-platonic going on between them before Morph's supposed death (whether they were in a romantic relationship, friends with benefits who caught feelings, had a mutual attraction they never acted on, etc).

With that context, I think their interactions in this episode could be seen as an example of what they're like as a couple. We get to see their dynamic, how they banter, what names they call each other, an example of something that they argue about (Morph feels like they're being babied by Logan's over-protectiveness), an indication of how sentimental/outwardly affectionate they are (Morph mockingly asks if Wolverine's "going to get all mushy on me" and Wolverine answers "I don't get mushy"-- you know, like a liar), and so on.

I'll probably have more to say about this episode later but I've literally been up all night and need to go to bed before I pass out at my desk lol

#morpherine #wolverine #morph #x men

33 notes · View notes