#sort of??? maybe???? not sure what the current consensus is

[cypressure]

silesaurs

#silesaurus #dinosaurs #sort of??? maybe???? not sure what the current consensus is #paleoblr #paleoart #procreate #digital art

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Dragon On The Tower Roof.

Pairing: Yandere!Malleus x Reader (TWST).

Word Count: 4.2k.

TW: Fantasy AU, Mentions of Blood/Bruising, Mentions of Injury to Reader, Implied (Consensual) Sex, Possessive Behavior, and Manipulation.

Malleus met you at the base of his tower.

With a single movement of his wings, he descended from his perch and landed in front of you – placing himself between you and the stone behemoth. Had you been a more imposing figure, a knight or a prince or the general of some distant army, he would’ve cut you down the moment you entered his valley, but your only armor was a thin rucksack tunic and your only weapon was a rusted sword – the tip of its chipped blade currently planted in the ground as you struggled to keep yourself on your feet. He could smell blood on you, although he couldn’t be sure if its source was the jagged, poorly bandaged wound on your calf or the dark stains painting your humble clothes. You were clearly not a knight, much less a prince, and if you were a general, your army had abandoned you long ago. Altogether, you were not the most intimidating nuisance he had ever had to dismiss. He might’ve been grateful, had you not been a nuisance at all.

In the past, his visage alone had been enough to make even the bravest adventure abandon their quest, but your weary eyes only glazed over his black-scaled wings, his spiraling horns, the slit pupils of his unnaturally green eyes. You acknowledged him with a slight nod, putting more of your weight on your makeshift aid. “I believe I’m here to slay you, dragon.”

His greeting, likewise, came in the form of a bowed head, a narrowed gaze. “And to rescue the prince, I assume.”

You shrugged, the gesture alone threatening to cost you your balance. “I’m sure they’d prefer if I didn’t. I think they’ve got someone else for that – a lord, or maybe a king. Someone more befitting than a filthy criminal, surely.”

At that, Malleus felt the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of his lips. Novelty was rare, this far into his everlasting life, and he could not say he’d ever had a prisoner sent after his head. “What sort of crime gets you sent to the lair of a monster?”

You brightened at the question. “Thievery,” you answered, pride overshadowing your exhaustion. “I could either face you or let them cut off my hands and, well, I find those to be quite essential to my burgeoning career.”

This time, you earned an airy laugh, a reflexive flick of his tail. He took another moment to evaluate you before speaking. “You are tired, thief.”

It wasn’t a question, but you answered regardless. “It was a long journey. You aren’t an easy monster to reach.”

“And injured, presumably by the fangs of some great beast of legend.”

“Right again.” You paused, then added, “If there are any legends about wolves, I mean.”

“And hungry.” Your smile fell. When you failed to respond, he went on. “May I invite you to share a meal with me before our battle?”

He watched as you swallowed, as you straightened. Your sword was pulled from the ground and allowed to hang limply at your side as you stared up at him with such a hopeful expression – his heart, had it not been so terribly calloused, might’ve broken at the sight alone. “Well,” you started, your humor gone in exchange for pure, unabashed desperation. “I suppose I can’t refuse such a kindly offered invitation.”

With no further conversation, he stepped to the side, raising his staff to the tower. After only a moment, the endless cobblestone pulled away to reveal a simple, wooded door – already open and awaiting his entry. Smiling, he motioned for you to follow him, and without protest, you obeyed.

~

You ate, to put it politely, like a starving animal.

There’d been an attempt at decency when you first sat down at the opposing head of his banquet table, a gallant effort to make use of the flatware arranged into neat, never-ending lines on either side of your plate, but what little energy you had for such pleasantries was depleted quickly as your attention was dedicated entirely to the whims of your empty stomach. Countless other dishes decorated the table – ranging from fine delicacies fit for the pallets of kings to common staples even the lowest of peasantry would’ve been familiar with, but Malleus was content to nurse a goblet of dark, herbed wine as he watched you bask in the feast.

Only after you’d gotten your fill did you seem to remember that you had company, your expression taking on a sheepish note. “This is what they brought me to trial for. Trespassing, I mean,” you began, and Malleus hummed in acknowledgement. “It was a baron’s manor – not quite a castle, but close to it. I heard he had the most beautiful gardens on this continent, and at the time, it seemed unreasonable to have to wait for an invitation just to take a look.”

“I thought you were a thief?”

“You must have the wrong person. I’ve been many things, but never a thief.” You leaned back in your chair. “I’m afraid I’ve always been too tender-hearted for that kind of thing. I could never stand to insult my hosts.”

“Such a considerate guest I have,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “I suppose I won’t have to worry about being robbed blind if I let you stay the night, then.”

You shook your head, feigning ego. “I would never, dear dragon. Your reclusive prince, on the other hand—”

Whatever you might’ve gone on to say was swiftly replaced with a sudden gasp as every torch within sight burst into a pillar of vicious emerald flame, casting the dining room in a blinding, sickly green before dying out just as abruptly as it’d erupted. Malleus let out an exasperated breath, bringing a hand to his temples. “My apologies. My patience has grown—” He cast a wayward glance toward the ash now seared into the stone walls, the ceiling. “—thin, over my time here.”

You allowed a beat to pass by in silence, then another. “Your prince,” you said, finally. “Is he important to you?”

“I can think of nothing I value more.” The answer came easily, even if the intensity of his sentiment surprised him. “An old friend asked me to ensure his safety. I’ve performed my role dutifully ever since.” The taste of blood rose into the back of his throat, but he drowned it out with another long sip from his goblet. “They used to send entire armies to reclaim him, then lone knights, then the occasional adventurer. You might be the first human to come seeking my head in two or three decades.”

Your smile took on a shy lilt, your eyes drifting to the table. “I wasn’t really supposed to come after you, either. Most people just take it as an exile, but they gave me a sword, and…” It was your turn to laugh, now, to be surprised with yourself. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I thought, even if I don’t get to rescue any princes, it could be nice to see how much of the fairy tale is true.”

“And you’re satisfied with what you’ve found?”

“Not entirely,” you admitted. “But I’m glad I met you, dear dragon.”

After some hesitation, he pushed himself to his feet and closed the distance between you. You stiffened, your gaze flitting blatantly toward the sole exit, but you didn’t attempt to flee as he pulled the closest seat in front of you and fell into it. “May I see your leg?”

You were far more than reluctant, but complied. The material of your travel weary trousers was pulled above your knee, the strips of fabric you’d attempted to fashion into bandages cut away with his own pitch-black talons. The wound was worse than he’d assumed, more severe than he assumed. Ragged skin stretched from your knee to your ankle, harsh puncture marks littering what little flesh was still in-tact. The stress of your journey had prevented the brunt of the damage from healing, and even without the use of his advanced senses, he would’ve been able to feel the heat radiating off of your skin, the first signs of infection beginning to set in. You were lucky you’d made it to his tower before the fever spread. His territory was cruel to the most resilient of creatures, and you seemed far from resilient.

“I have a salve in my collection that should aid in your recovery. That, paired with a few days of bed rest, should have you on your feet again in a week’s time.” Not a lie, but not far from one, either. He’d mended worse with a snap of his fingers, but there was no reason you should have to be burdened with such knowledge. “If you can find it within yourself to share a roof with a monster and delay our duel yet again, I can provide room and board while you recover.”

Your laugh was bright and strained. “You’re terribly kind to someone who came here to take your life.”

“And you’re very trusting of a creature who could easily end yours.” He let his pointed claws scrape over your bare skin, prolonging his evaluation. “Think of it as a show of my gratitude. My time here is well-spent, but tends to pass slowly. Visitors, whether benevolent or malicious, help to color my days.”

“Then I will have to be the most colorful visitor you’ve ever had,” you chimed, your grin renewed with fresh vigor. Clearly, you were not the type of mortal who could go long without a task. “I’ll make you wait on me hand and foot and bend to my every whim, until the thought of encountering another human being makes you sick. When I’m done, there might even be a dragon in this tower worth slaying.”

His only response was a steady nod, a low hum. He stood and, in the same motion, hooked one arm under the bend of your knees and another around your waist, lifting you into the air before you had the chance to so much as think to pull away. Instinctually, you attempted to re-balance yourself against him, and Malleus couldn’t help himself – laughing as he pulled you to his chest. “If I am to dote on you to the point of sickness, then let me start now. You’re in no state to walk on your own.”

You opened your mouth as if to complain, but anything you might’ve said was deemed too unimportant to warrant the effort. Your smile softened, your eyes falling shut as you rested your head against his shoulder. You lingered there, quiet and content, as he carried you through the halls of what would come to be your home.

~

Your prescribed period of bed rest came and went. Your bruises healed, then your leg (although you still tended to limp during particularly heavy rainstorms), and your exhaustion was replaced by a buzzing sort of restlessness. He never asked you to leave, and after some time, you seemed to stop expecting him to. You spoke rarely of your past (aside from the ever-changing series of events that led you to his tower, of course) and never of your future. When Malleus was in one of his more indulgent moods, he allowed himself to believe that, when he did catch you looking in his direction with such a glimmering worry in your eyes, you weren’t afraid of him, but of the possibility that he might send you away.

Despite your claims of spoiled houseguests and encumbered hosts, he was only driven to near-madness once while sharing your company. It’d been shortly after you instated yourself as a resident of his tower, rather than a fleeting visitor, and took to exploring your new dwelling without reservation. It’d been his own fault, really. He’d forgotten to warn you away from the upper wing, to resketch the protective runes he’d long-since allowed to fade, but such rationality had escaped him as he stood in the doorway, his mind empty and his eyes trained on your kneeling figure. He watched, paralyzed, as you raised a hand, reaching towards the marble slab, and then he was behind you – the points of his talons grazing the skin of your throat before he managed to restrain himself, curling his fist around the collar of your shirt, instead. Without warning, he hauled you off your feet, ignoring the half-choked shriek you let out in response.

His eyes fell to Silver, searching for any signs of harm, of disruption. Of course, Silver was unchanged. His colorless hair remained fanned over his velvet-cushioned pillow, the silk sheets and hand-stitched quilts still folded neatly at the foot of his bed – waiting to be put to use when the weather turned in autumn. Malleus took a moment to observe the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the gentle movement behind his closed eyes, before letting out a breath of relief and turning to you. “I don’t recall giving you permission to enter this chamber.”

“Sorry, I— I was just looking around, and I saw the flowers on the door—” Silver’s own craftsmanship, preserved from the ravages of time by Malleus’ spell work. He’d painted them as soon as he was old enough to hold a brush, along with matching murals on his bedroom walls that hadn’t survived the passing ages. “—I got curious, that’s all. Is this the prince I was sent after?”

Malleus set his jaw, straightening his hunched posture. “…it is,” he answered, eventually. He let go of your collar and let you stumble onto your feet. “His name is Silver. I never knew him by any titles.”

Malleus’ gaze shifted to you, but your eyes remained fixed on Silver. “He’s beautiful.”

Despite himself, he felt the edge of his lips turn downward. He rested a hand on your shoulder, and you seemed to recover from your daze, turning to face him with a hopeful smile. “Do you know when he’s going to wake up?”

Malleus felt a coil of heat form in the back of the throat. The taste of ash laid heavy over his tongue, but he swallowed back his guilt and forced himself to respond. “In another hundred years, perhaps,” he mused, his tone melodic and detached. “There’s no known cure for a curse like his.”

A phantom of disappointment flickered across your expression, but it was suppressed quickly. Rather, you turned your attention outward – to the heavy, woven curtains draped over each crystalline window. “Will you help me let in some light? I hate to insult your taste, but it’s terribly depressing in here, and—” You brightened, taking him by the sleeve and tugging gingerly. “We don’t want his highness to have any nightmares, do we?”

With some reluctance, Malleus nodded. “Light, but nothing else.” When you failed to acknowledge him, he caught you by the wrist, squeezing with just enough pressure for your smile to falter. “Light, but nothing else. Do you understand?”

Your eyes darted back to Silver, but only for a moment. He was thankful for that – for your restraint. A second longer, and his true nature might’ve overshadowed his better judgement. “Of course, dear dragon. Nothing else.”

He inhaled sharply, then let go of you altogether.

It was a choice that, in the approaching months, he would only come to regret.

~

“This is what they banished me for, you know.”

“This?”

“Yes, this exactly.” You propped your chin on his chest, positioning yourself to more easily card your fingers through his hair. He let his eyes fall shut, basking in the warmth of your affection, of your bare skin pressed into his. Your clothes laid discarded on the grass around you, one of his wings bent and raised to shield you from the harsh light of the setting sun. He would have to get you back to the tower, soon. He’d always been indifferent to the deadly chill of night, but you – in your precious, delicate mortality – were not so durable. “Actually, not quite – I don’t think I ever made it to this part. It was the first time I’d ever attended a royal ball, and I happened to dance with a young lady so breath-taking, I couldn’t help but drop to one knee and dedicate my heart to her the moment our hands touched.” You sighed, feigning remorse. “Little did I know that she was the princess that ball was being thrown for, and so moved by my passion, she refused to let me out of her embrace until I agreed to marry her. Of course, her father – the king, as the fathers of princesses tend to be – couldn’t have that. It’s a shame, really. We would’ve made a gorgeous couple.”

Malleus pursed his lips, fighting back a smile. “And what does that make me? The next scorned lover of a silver-tongued rouge?”

“Oh, no. If you asked me to marry you,” You propped yourself up, pressing a kiss into the curve of his jaw. “There’d be nothing in the world that could stop me, dear dragon.”

Your hand fell to his cheek, and wistfully, you lulled him into a kiss – shallow but lingering, punctuated with a playful nip at his bottom lip. You pulled back with a smile, another quick peck to his cheek. You moved to say something, but he interrupted you, as mournful as he was to cut off such a precious moment so callously. “I found your wildflowers.”

Immediately, your expression fell. “I made sure not to—”

“I know, beloved, I know.” You knew better than to lay a hand on Silver. Your small bouquet had been left on the corner of his bed, another additional chain of asters and lavender braided into one of the longer strands of his waist-length hair. As much as he wished he could say he was only concerned for Silver’s well-being, it wouldn’t have been the truth. Something else, something darker, had accompanied the discovery – something it would be better for you to stay ignorant of. “We’ve talked about this. Silver is vulnerable, in his current condition. Even the simplest luxury is an unspeakable risk.”

Your shoulders dropped, your body going slack against his. You bowed your head, burying your face in the dip of his shoulder, and despite his frustration with you, he didn’t push you away. “I’m sorry. It just feels so cruel to let him suffer alone.”

“He’s never been alone.” His tone was more curt than he’d meant it to be. “He’s always had me.”

“I know, but—” He expected you to raise your hair, to flash him that brilliant grin. Instead, you only settled against him, speaking softly into the crook of his neck. “He just seems so sad.”

Malleus took a deep breath, clenching his eyes shut.

Then, before he could let himself think better of it, he wrapped an arm around your waist. In one fluid motion, he turned you over – leaving you on your back, one of his knees planted on either side of your waist, your form tucked safely underneath his. His kiss was less gentle than your own – that deep, aching sort of hunger overwhelming his cautiousness as his tongue raked over yours, as he groaned unabashedly into your mouth. You returned his affection emphatically; your fingers soon knotted in his hair, your eager touch preventing so much as the thought of distance between your body and his. Because there never would be distance between you and him. Because there was no reason you should ever have to be taken away from him.

Hours later, when the last traces of light had faded and the stars were painted in swirling patterns across the sky, he would carry you back to his tower – unconscious and pliable in his arms. That would be the first night you spent in his bed, and as he laid there with you, he couldn’t help but imagine how wonderful it would be if you never left.

~

The runes carved into Silver’s door were redrawn, Malleus’ enchantments refreshed, and your bittersweet sympathy slowly rotted into a distinctly bland melancholy. You didn’t speak of him (Malleus could only wonder how you ever managed to speak of anyone when so many of his marks so often decorated your skin), but he noticed new scratches around the well-rusted lock on Silver’s door, caught you braiding chains of daisies and crowns of marigolds with no intended recipient in mind, and at night, you tended to slip out of his hold and wander. Sometimes, he waited for you, lying awake as you hunted for whatever solace there was to find in the empty halls of an ancient tower. Most nights, tonight, he chased after you.

He found you in a window near the tower’s highest room, laid across the wooden sill, your back propped against the empty frame. He didn’t ask to join you – wordlessly lowering himself to the floor at your feet. As if by reflex, your hand fell to his horns, your thumb tracing over a particular ridge near the base as you broke the quiet. “Have ever told you why I’m here, dear dragon?”

Countless times, but he still played along. “Who has my heart been stolen by today, beloved?”

“A murderer,” you said, hollowly. “And not a particularly clever one, at that.”

He waited for you to go on, to spin some elaborate tale of love and loss and betrayal and poor humor, but you only lapsed back into silence, your gaze turning back to the pitch-black valley. He watched your vacant expression for a moment, then another before letting his eyes fall shut and resting his cheek against your thigh.

~

Malleus had expected there to be more anger than this.

You were in a similar position to one you’d taken the first time you stumbled into Silver’s chambers – kneeling beside his marble bed, your ever-weary eyes fixed on the unknowing object of your adoration. The only difference was that, today, Silver’s hand was raised to your lips, now slightly parted in shock. He didn’t have to guess at the source of your astonishment. In front of you, Silver was sitting up. His posture was unsteady, his eyes barely open, but the obvious was undeniable.

He was awake.

To think, there was something of merit to Lilia’s stories of true love after all.

Rather than anger, rage, pure and undiluted fury, an odd sort of calm settled over his blank mind as you snapped in his direction. Your astonishment turned to horror in an instant. “Malleus, I didn’t— I was only trying to—”

He put you out of your mercy quickly. He raised his staff and, propelled by some unseen force, you were torn away from Silver’s bedside and thrown against the nearest walls – the force of the collision far from fatal, but enough to leave you limp and unconscious. With your safety ensured, he stepped forward, approaching Silver. He was awake, but only just. So many decades of uninterrupted sleep would not be so willing to release him from their taloned clutches without a struggle, and there was a certain dream-like lull to the way his eyes skirted over the limited scenery before settling on Malleus, his features immediately softening in relief. “Malleus?”

“I’m here.” Malleus allowed himself a small smile before bringing the end of his staff to Silver’s forehead. “You can rest, brother.”

There was just enough time for the edges of Silver’s lips to turn downward before he collapsed back onto the marble slab. Malleus would arrange him later on. For now, his attention turned to you.

He gathered your crumpled form in his arms and carried you through the halls of his lonely tower, before stepping into the clear air and fresh heat of the valley. He laid you in the tall grass and, after taking a moment to appreciate your peaceful expression, brought a hand to your face, cupping your cheek tenderly. The spell came to him instinctually, but he took his time, mourning the loss of your time together with each mumbled word. That was a silver-lining of immortality, though. Infinite time allowed for infinite repetition, and he couldn’t imagine giving up the opportunity to fall in love with you again.

When he was done, your eyes fluttered open, a smile quickly finding its way to your lips. “Hello, dragon.” You gazed darted to either side nervously, your mind struggling to catch up with your clever tongue. “I would love to introduce myself, but it’s the funniest thing – I can’t seem to remember what I’m doing here.”

He bit back a smile. You tried to force yourself into a more dignified position, but barely managed to get an arm underneath you before pausing, wincing, reaching for the back of your head and coming away with blood smeared across your fingertips. Malleus did what he could to hide his delight.

“You’re a thief. You injured yourself attempting to scale my tower. It was an impressive effort, but tragically unnecessary.”

This time, he couldn’t hide the wide, simpering grin that came to rest across his lips.

“I was always going to invite you inside.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #yandere twisted wonderland #twst x reader #yandere twst #twst imagines #malleus x reader #yandere malleus #yanderecore #yancore

[nalyra-dreaming]

About DM, having read som theories and speculations of yours and others I would love to add some of my thoughts and hear what you and @virginiaisforvampires and @cbrownjc thinks - if you are interested :)

1. Armand clearly reacted to Louis offering Daniel the Dark Gift, and reacted even more strongly to Daniel basically saying “No, thanks”. On the surface it seems in the latter instance that he was just offended by Daniel’s verbal barb, but I’m sure this is actually clever obfuscation by the writer/director/actor, no?

2. Given 1) and the foreknowledge of DM, Daniel responding ”A cure for Parkinson’s” when Armand (as Rashid) asked if Danial has everything he needs could be an unfired Chekhov’s gun…?

3. What really is/will become Armand’s endgame? I actually believe that it is as it seems, that Louis is the driving force behind this second interview. And that Armand actually be still be somewhat angry/resentful following the (presumed) breakup of DM. I think you speculated that Daniel might have wanted to leave to live a life since Armand refused to make him a vampire? While Armand might have wanted to spend the rest od Daniel’s mortal life with him? This would explain the charade, it being a way for Armand to either try to stop Daniel’s memories from resurfacing (per his request?) as well as Armand’s attitude in season one (as he seems annoyed with Daniel at times). Daniel’s terminal illness might be changing Armand’s mind however (á la DM), as previously suggested. Honestly? A part of me want to see some sort of fucked up Dracula situation, where it becomes clear gradually in a terrifying manner to Daniel that he is trapped by this ‘monster’ who claims to know him better than he knows himself/knows what’s best for him. The latter seemingly being a version of the dynamic playing out between Armand and Louis currently.

4. How will Daniel feel about Armand following season two? I think Daniel’s view of life and of the vampires has been shown to be quite different than to back in the 70s. His view of Armand must surely also be influenced by hearing of Louis’ bloody history of him? As he will presumably get to know Armand chiefly from Louis’ story and be quite critical of him - even viewing him as quite sinister as he realizes and gets Louis to realize the part Armand has played in tampering with their memories and Claudia’s death. Of course Armand is participating in the interview so his perspective will also come to light, and Daniel seems according to the trailers at one point be talking to Armand one-on-one. So he’s open to listening. I believe that Daniel’s view of Armand will be quite negative - even following the return of his memories, at least initially. That putting these memories and feelings together with his current view of life and view of Armand will be anything but simple. I would guess at this point that the romantic nature of their relationship is something that will be revealed very late - maybe even be a cliffhanger for the next season (together with other stuff).

5. A more nuanced view of Armand. However it wouldn’t completely surprise me if Louis, and possibly Daniel, somewhat consensually agreed to have some of their memories tampered with. I think Louis on some level after Claudia’s death might, due to his intense grief, wanted to emotionally “run away” so to speak. And that this series basically began with him for some reason or another now feeling ready to confront the past. So Armand’s seeming malevolence as a mind-manipulator will potentially be tampered by these facts. However Daniel will now presumably together with Louis find out about the role Armand played in Claudia’s death. Daniel’s empathy for Claudia is somewhat limited though, understandably as he has the human perspective and does, quite rightly, not excuse her murderous ways. But he might dislike Armand due to the self-serving aspect of the trial? Or maybe not?

6. At this point, I don’t think Louis and Daniel have been in a serious romantic relationship. I wouldn’t be surprised if they hooked up or something similar but Louis seemed very genuine and definitive in welcoming Daniel as a friend he met once/or a few times years ago recording the tapes. If he was hiding a past history and/or romantic relationship from Daniel I think he would behaved differently. Of course he could also not remember, but I don’t think that’s the case here.

7. I guess what I’m most curious about is what kind of dynamic will take form between Daniel and Armand during and immediately following season two? I would love to hear your thoughts. Also the Dracula comparison was not my idea but something I’ve read somewhere here. So sorry for long post! Love your blog!

Hey!

Glad you like! <3

Sorry this took a moment (the answer is also a bit longer^^)

He did. And yes, it might contain obfuscation, but mostly… I think Armand was almost afraid that Daniel would accept the gift from Louis. Maybe Louis offered before, maybe he did not, but Armand surely didn’t. And… Armand loves Daniel. Ultimately Daniel will be his only fledgling. There is a level of possessiveness to that, of course, and also to the not-healed bite marks on Daniel’s throat, which more than likely did not just stem from Louis’ attack (because Armand would have needed to heal Daniel there at least a bit, and over the following 12 years he bit Daniel often). I think there are a lot of things at play. For the book readers it is a nice little easter egg on various levels (both Daniel’s and Armand’s past together and also Armand’s personal past being referenced), but also something more hinted at, something we have not been shown yet. Though, given the title of that music part (Alice is in her third trimester) a while back - maybe we will get to see it. Something must have happened to make Armand let Daniel go, and the repeated refusal in the books served to open a rift between them. I could easily see that happen here as well. That said, it would mean that we will get a LOT more DM in s2 than thought so far… and I’m not sure that will be the case. What I could easily see is Daniel reminiscing (or getting memories back) about the moment he “got his shit together” as he called it in s1 - but I do not think we will get all of what that entailed yet.

Most certainly :) I think he’s already getting it. Fareed is not there to play around after all^^.

I have speculated that the aforementioned rift that developed through Armand’s repeated refusal to turn Daniel will lead to Daniel seeking other … comforts. But I think it would actually need a big reason (like a baby…) to make him struggle for real - and I could see someone else then decide to end that struggle. Put an end to the hunt/relationship because it was not good for Daniel, ultimately, and because Armand could not be moved. As per Armand… I think Armand did acquiesce to Louis’ wishes to have Daniel redo the interview, and he likely was not happy about it. I mean, imagine how it would be to see the love of your life... and said love of your life does not remember you. Verbally throws things at you. It must be a wild mix of feelings for Armand, from annoyance over helpless love to utter devastation. No wonder he tried to literally hide from it. I do think Armand was already aware of Daniel’s sickness - the aforementioned medicine by Fareed he is getting - that had to be prepared. Planned, designed. Researched. Whatever it is they are giving him is not what they claim it to be (the side effects don’t match), and… given Daniel is not stupid he might hone in on that pretty soon. Now, in the books there is a pharmaceutical empire that is led by a powerful ancient vampire, Gregory, and he and Seth (who is Akasha’s son and Fareed’s lover/maker) are roughly on the same level. Seth, but mostly Fareed, builds whole research centers for the vampires. There is a LOT of potential for the show to hook into that, and I actually think both the more physical sex and the absent death sleep during the day are thanks to Fareed. If that will ever be spelled out? No idea, but the first is something Fareed already makes happen in the books and the second is something he plans to remove… so I do think that is connected. I think whoever is orchestrating behind the scenes (coughs prime minister coughs) wanted to help Daniel to live long enough to maybe reconcile Armand and Daniel. And for that Daniel needs his memories back. If that is Armand though… the show will tell :)

Well, I think it will be the same as in the book when the memories come back - Daniel will realize that he “loved this thing”, this monster, despite everything. Despite knowing what Armand has done. That is part of the horror, that the lover overshadows everything he knows, and that he is, in a way, helpless against that. Oh, I’m sure there will be a development of feeling, of course. But ultimately Daniel will realize that he loved Armand - absolutely, totally - and then eventually he will realize that he still does. And that will make him just as confused and vulnerable and hurt, and emotional as it makes Armand.

I can easily see Louis saying something like “I want the pain to stop” or something similar, and then Armand taking that as his cue to interfere. The thing is, Armand back then… is not the Armand in Dubai. DM happened in-between and it changed him. So when Armand likely “tinkered” with Louis’ mind back then it was more to serve himself - when he “tinkered” with Louis’ mind later on it was likely to help Louis. However he did and what that tinkering might entail. So yes, Daniel might challenge him on his part in it all, of course. I am counting on it, actually. Because Daniel is there to pull the truth out of Armand - that is (part of) why the interview is being redone. And of course that will shape Daniel’s view of him further - only the feelings won’t care for that view when they come back. Armand was quite the “villain” in the earlier books - that changed a bit with the later ones. But he is still a coven master, and Lestat calls him “ruthless” in the books. The show will present both Armands to us in direct confrontation - and I bet the emotions of the audience will be just as tumultuous as Armand’s and Louis’ and Daniel’s own are by this confrontation.

Oh, Daniel and Louis… probably got along really well and even intimately during those 12 years. I think Louis definitely has a personal connection to him, much more than in the book. It’s a weird relationship triangle they have there, and soon Lestat will be added to the mix - and I bet it will be revealed that Daniel has met Lestat before (as well).

I think after s2 Daniel will still be an old man, still be the interviewer, the chronicler. But remembering much, much more, and therefore challenging whoever else is on that couch then (I expect Lestat) a lot more as well. For example wrt episode 5. I would bet real money that we will get episode 5 in s3 from Lestat’s POV. Because by now I think there was nothing random, or unplanned about it. This show is a puzzle, and we have had only a few pieces. I think Armand and Daniel… will be very … raw with each other. Emotions are high, vulnerability as well. There will be intimate moments, but also rejection. Daniel’s view on eternity will change at some point, and probably rather rapidly with the memories coming back. There will be anger at the meddling. Daniel is no pushover. He will challenge them, and especially Armand. At some point he will realize that he does not need to ask - he can demand, to an extent at least. And that will change the dynamic once more.

It will be very, very interesting to watch^^.

#Anonymous #asks #ask nalyra #amc iwtv #iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire amc #iwtv amc #iwtv 2022 #interview with the vampire #louis de pointe du lac #armand #loumand #the devil's minion #daniel molloy #devil's minion #lestat de lioncourt #the brat prince #iwtv lestat #future season speculation

[overleftdown]

saltburn and consent; an investigative tangent

felix, venetia, and farleigh all consider sex to be transaction rather than emotional. you can see this in the casual way felix approaches sexual intimacy. you can see this in the way farleigh is described to use sex as a tool. you can see this in the way venetia uses sex to fulfill her need for validation. i'd like to explore how this sort of... complicates consent, within these on-screen dynamics.

i'm going to start this off with venetia. in venetia and oliver's first one-on-one interaction, you can see that oliver doesn't yet understand what to do with venetia. he plays his normal, unimposing, nervous, slightly awkward but well-intentioned character. venetia is the one to lean forward, pushing and testing oliver's boundaries. you can infer from later scenes that venetia enjoys testing the boys felix brings back to saltburn. part of this is venetia's own neglectful upbringing; she's starved of attention and therefore validation. she needs to be appealing, and she needs people to want her. this dynamic tangibly twists once oliver has been handed venetia's vulnerability by elspeth.

what is important to understand about this film is that sex is more so about emotion than physicality. this is portrayed in the way that emerald fennell avoids any nudity or exposure in her sex scenes. this is portrayed in the way that oliver exhibits no real confidence until he knows where others are vulnerable. he's unable to exude any strictly sexual dominance; he can only step into his dominance when he knows why these people hate themselves. so, when oliver is given insight into venetia's psyche, he is being given her vulnerability. to me, the sex was merely oliver's way of stripping a wire raw so that a current could effectively travel, so to speak. this is where consent gets tricky. oliver was non-consensually given any real power he had over venetia prior to the actual sex. if oliver had simply slept with venetia without knowing her insecurities or mentioning them, he wouldn't have had any power of her.

now, farleigh. what's interesting is how this dynamic of power, vulnerability, and sex shifts even more with "quickstart." farleigh didn't want oliver's pity, or sympathy. in fact, he recognized that this vulnerability was taken from him by oliver. he might've thought that felix confided in oliver about farleigh's troubles, or maybe he knew that oliver had eavesdropped. either way, oliver entered that conversation believing that farleigh would be just as insecure and starved for validation as venetia (i'm sure farleigh is, but we all react to our misfortune differently). i think the difference between farleigh and venetia in this area is quite interesting. both of them use sex as a way of gaining something. venetia is using sex to fulfill her need for validation, while she grows more and more bored by the material world. she's not afraid of losing anything, she desperately needs to gain something. farleigh does everything to maintain what is tangible, accessible, and real. he sees the material world as an extension of his security, using it as both insurance and escapism. farleigh is constantly terrified, constantly weighing the positives and negatives of his actions.

so, here is oliver, who has yanked the sheet off of farleigh. this is the exposure. instead of biting oliver's proverbial carrot, farleigh does the same to oliver, and in front of everyone. farleigh, just like oliver, understands the power of vulnerability. this is the sort of nightmare where you're suddenly butt naked in front of the whole school. later that night, oliver wills up the confidence to attempt to dominate farleigh, to tame him. again, this isn't just sexual domination. this is "if there's anything i can say to them... if i can help in any way, just ask." this is "we both know i could ruin everything you've worked so hard for. we both know i can help or hurt you." or, at least, that's how farleigh understood it. oliver was planning to ruin farleigh's life no matter what farleigh agreed to. "are you going to behave?" was never just a kinky line to throw around, it's meant to be a threat. what's funny is that oliver already planned to follow through, regardless of whether farleigh decided to "behave." coercive, and painfully hopeless for farleigh.

of course, that isn't to say farleigh wasn't aroused by whatever power play oliver was leaning into. the same goes for venetia. i'm mostly explaining why it's not healthy, or safe, or sane, or consensual. is that not the point of the movie? to question what we find attractive? to stare it in the face and talk about it?

moving on to felix. i'm not really sure where to go with this. i talked about saltburn and its depiction of privilege on an earlier post. to sum it up, farleigh and venetia both have some privilege over oliver, while oliver has some privilege over both farleigh and venetia. oliver has absolutely nothing over felix. both of them are white, both of them are men, and felix happens to be richer than oliver. this is why oliver is... so pathetically desperate for felix. he's obsessed with what he cannot have, control, or dominate. oliver is the vulnerable one, oliver is the one that is eventually laid bare in front of felix. a liar, a manipulator, and pathetically desperate for felix's love. so desperate for someone so powerful to love someone like him.

and, once felix knows this, oliver kills him for it. he fucks the dirt felix is buried under, just to feel like he's taking something after felix took his secrets. oliver understands the power of vulnerability. oliver understands that sex is easy once you've already stolen what really matters from someone. oliver saw the connectivity of human nature and used it, twisted it, just to pull himself closer to felix. oliver's northern star, who he never truly got to have.

#saltburn #saltburn 2023 #oliver quick #venetia catton #farleigh start #felix catton #rararara #this one is poorly written but it's been a long night #i mostly just needed to get this out of my system #it's kinda hard to argue with someone who just says “well they didn't say NO” #guys SAFE #SANE #AND CONSENSUAL #dub-con does NOT EXIST #“ambiguously consensual” #gnawing at the bars of my enclosure #this movie makes my eye twitch #tbh #in the most living way possible.

[chickenparm]

Reduction (Albedo/Reader)

header GRACIOUSLY and SEXILY made by @drawlypsy. the full version is a bit uhhhhh eyesemoji, so it'll be posted on their patreon here.

---

AO3 LINK

MASTER LISTS

Albedo/Reader (no pronouns or body parts mentioned, but kinda f-coded) 7,693 Words - NSFW (m!Masturbation, consensual voyeurism, semi-public sexual acts, cum swallowing, pining)

---

Windblume has always been a bit of an odd time of year for you. 

Sure, there’s a bit less of your typical workload. That is, your usual duties when it comes to the Knights of Favonius are put on hold since you’re more administrative than the sort of knight that goes out on patrols. That’s just your niche, that’s where you’ve fallen in. 

However, there are certain other tasks you’ve silently taken on for yourself that have gone unsaid and unannounced, but are just implicitly known. Namely that for the past two years or so, you’ve served in an unofficial capacity as the liaison between most solicitors and the Chief Alchemist, Albedo. 

It’s not like you sat down and decided all at once that it was going to happen this way. It’s just that over a gradual amount of time you wound up being the best person for the job. It certainly helped that you got along swimmingly with his assistant, Sucrose, and could discuss matters with her rather easily. 

So, unofficial secretary or not, for better or worse you’re the one most people come to when they need to ensure that something will make it directly to Mister Albedo’s hands.

And that’s really just fine with you. Despite only ever seeing each other in passing and having never exchanged words beyond a few scribbled notes back and forth passed via Sucrose and occasionally Timaeus, maybe you’re a little fond of the man just based on what you’ve heard from Sucrose herself when she mentions him. 

Albedo is kind. A genius, honorable, creative, and patient. Sucrose’s words paint a picture of a man that worms his way into your brain and has made a home for himself despite not even knowing what his voice sounds like. 

It’s as you serve in this unofficial position that it becomes apparent that Windblume is an oddity. Because during most days of the year, Albedo has his admirers but they’re happy to do so from afar. Something about the festival of Love and Freedom truly brings out the boldness in those who hold a torch for the Chief Alchemist. 

The point of the matter is that you wander into your office and your desk is piled high with gifts that aren’t meant for you. Each one holds a little note, explaining that this is their Windblume for the Chief Alchemist and they would so appreciate it if you made sure he received it. Jealousy curls in your gut, before it’s swept away immediately. 

You have nothing to be jealous about. Albedo isn’t yours in any capacity - not as an employer, nor a friend, and certainly not a prospect for romance. 

Sucrose arrives not long after, her eyes widening at the sight of the desk. This was a similar situation to last year, though it almost seems to have doubled in magnitude from the prior Windblume. Nervously, she laughs and says, “I don’t suppose these are for you?”

“No, you know exactly who.” Your voice is monotone and deadpan as you finish piling the gifts into a neater stack so you have a bit of space to work. Officially you’re not required to work today, but you just want to get a little more caught up before you enjoy the festivities. With a little sigh through your nose, you turn to look at her with your hip leaning on the desk. The pile wobbles from your movement. “You might need to hire out a cart to get these up the mountain to him. Let me know when your next trip is, and I’ll get that sorted for-”

“A-actually, um, Mister Albedo is in the city currently. Perhaps he could come get them himself?”

That’s a terrible idea. If only because you’d have to be here to let him in your office, meaning you’d have to likely share conversation. And if he’s as polite and kind as Sucrose touts him to be, there’s no way you’re coming out of that interaction with anything less than a big fat crush. 

As you open your mouth to offer the weak excuse that you’ll leave your office key with her so you can tactfully avoid crossing paths with Albedo, Sucrose seems to remember something and reaches into her coat to pull out a neatly folded envelope. Hesitantly, she offers it, as if she can read your mind and understand the inner turmoil you’re currently wrestling. 

“He also asked me to bring this to you. Before you read it, I’ll have you know that I… assisted him in writing this. I really think you shouldn’t turn it down, if only because he’ll be disappointed.”

That’s ominous, and you really don’t like it, but you accept the envelope anyway. Sucrose shifts a bit as you carefully unfold the envelope - it's on nicer paper, with care put into it instead of the usual hastily-folded scrap papers she passes off to you. This has effort.

Thank you for your help… Appreciate your hard work… get to know you better… dinner, my treat… look forward to your answer-

“Sucrose, what is this?”

It’s obvious, at least to the green-haired woman, but she humors you in her patient way with a smile that feels far too mischievous to ever look at home on her face. You don’t like it. “Just between you and me, it took him three days to write this out. He went through nearly an entire sheaf of parchment paper.”

“That doesn’t answer my question…”

“I don’t mind answering anything asked of me, but don’t you think this one is a little obvious?” Sucrose’s smile morphs from mischievous to simply sweet, like the sort you’ve seen her wear when watching the kittens outside the Cat’s Tail. “Mister Albedo wants to take you on a date.”

A date. A date. A date.

It rattles around in your head, threatening to blow up like one of the Klee’s bombs that shake the panes of your office windows a little too frequently. You lean a bit more heavily against your desk, and the pile of gifts topple and lay forgotten on the floor. Sucrose immediately bends down to begin organizing them again, her voice soothing to the point of almost being missed in the rush of blood pounding in your ears.

“It’s not my place to reveal any of his feelings, but I think you should know that this isn't something out of the blue.” Sucrose decides to just pile the gifts on the floor next to your desk, rather than precariously on top. “He’s rather busy, and tends to get lost in his interests to the point of putting off other matters that aren’t directly in front of him.”

And as she looks up at you from over her glasses, there’s an excited, knowing glint in her eye as she explains, “I just might have… kept putting you in front of him. Mentioning you, making sure he reads your notes, even if they’re inconsequential or meant for me. Maybe it was a little underhanded, and I’m sorry if I overstepped. But if I didn’t do something, then the two of you would just orbit around each other without ever-”

Sucrose stops sharply, realizing she’s rambling. Clearing her throat, she stands straight and folds her hands behind her back in a show of common bashfulness from her. “A-anyway, I really think you should accept. You don’t have anything to lose, and if things work out, well… I think I’ve talked about him enough that you know what I hypothesize the outcome would be.”

Of course she’s planned this out like it’s some experiment. Yet, you know just as well that she’s also done this out of a genuine place of caring. Barbatos knows that she’s intuitive to pick up on the way you eagerly listen to her when she talks about him, and she’s known Albedo longer than she’s known you, so surely she would know his feelings on the matter as well, right?

And that begs the question of if there ARE feelings to speak of, or if this is offered out of some misplaced obligation. 

Your eyes travel back down to the letter, trailing over the words he’s written about how he’d like to “get to know you better” and a part that you’d skimmed over in your panic that details how he’s been interested in you for a while.

Tomorrow. The date he’d like to take you on is offered tomorrow evening. That’s just enough time to overthink things and get yourself in a pretty ridiculous jam, and with only a second longer of hesitation you reach for your desk to find some paper to respond to him with. Sucrose smiles wider than you’ve ever seen her.

—

Sucrose never stays longer than she has to on Dragonspine. Really, if it weren’t for the letter she’s holding in her hands, Albedo is certain that he wouldn’t see Sucrose until their designated meetup time in Mondstadt proper tomorrow. 

But there she stands, at the mouth of the cave his lab is situated in. Bundled up from head to toe, only her eyes peeking out between her scarf and her hat, and in her gloved hands is a letter on paper he shouldn’t be so familiar with. 

Except he is, because it exists in abundance in the locked drawer of his desk here. Pages and pages of it, each one marked with handwriting that he has no right to be so fixated on. But he can’t help it - it’s akin to an addiction, one that he logically could and should detach from. 

Hundreds of years have gone by and not a single one of them has been marred by distracting feelings quite like this. At first, he wanted to discard them, but then his interest was piqued in terms of learning its intricacies. It was when he started to ferret away your little notes - every single one - that he realized perhaps he’s made a misstep.

“They answered!” Sucrose says, tugging the scarf down with a smile that’s wide and brilliant. It’s almost as if she’s more excited about the whole situation than he is, but it only serves to nudge his own heart into a slightly quicker tempo. If Sucrose is excited, that must mean she knows the content. And if she’s happy about the contents, then that surely means…

“Thank you, Sucrose. You didn’t have to hurry back straight away. Tomorrow morning when we were meant to meet would have been fine.”

Sucrose opens her mouth to answer, but then shuts it with a flush on her cheeks. Albedo can see the wheels turning in her mind as she realizes he’s right, and a bit sheepishly she stammers, “I-I was just excited to let you know, is all.”

Albedo can’t fault her for that. Sucrose has done him a great service by hurrying back with this letter, and entirely out of the kindness of her heart and a vested interest in the situation that has unfolded thanks to her prodding.

And he knows she’s had a hand in it. Albedo may be unfamiliar with navigating relationships like friendship, and even more woefully inadequate at anything even suggesting romance, but he’s not blind enough to overlook the way she’d mention you often, or the way she’d suggest he personally write a note back to answer a question you pose rather than send Sucrose along with just his verbal answer. 

For all the mysteries in the world, some of them just aren’t a complete shot in the dark. And Sucrose’s good-natured meddling reveals all the secrets he might want to know. She wouldn’t have bothered with any of this if she wasn’t entirely sure that you were harboring some sort of fondness for him.

It’s with this surprisingly comforting thought in mind that he accepts the letter, then pointedly pockets it to read when he’s alone. Investment or not, Albedo is well aware that perhaps his reactions to your letters should be embarrassing. That isn’t something he experiences often - he can’t remember the last time - but he’s extremely uninterested in testing if today would be the day he learns what that feels like. 

Sucrose does her best to not seem put-out. But she knows that he knows what the contents of the letter are, and Albedo humors her by at least averting his eyes to the ground with a smile. She can interpret it as one of gratitude, or she can see it for the happiness it truly is. Neither answer would be wrong, he supposes.

After a short time, Sucrose returns to Mondstadt. Albedo is left blissfully alone, and for good measure he makes sure to wait a sufficient amount of time before striding with purpose across the cave to all but force the lock of his drawer open. 

Inside are the stacks of paper he’s grown fond of. Some of them are worn, as if he picked them up and looked over them often. Setting the letter on the desk, he reaches for one of the most worn pages, where the creases have grown thin from being folded and unfolded, over and over. 

Enclosed is the shipment of Cor Lapis you asked me to source from Liyue. I took the liberty of opening it to ensure all was accounted for. Everything seems to be in order. 

And just after you’ve scribbled your signature, there’s an addendum that he favors with almost reverence. 

Sucrose told me it’s your birthday tomorrow, though I should say today by the time you read this. So… Happy Birthday, Albedo! I hope you have a wonderful year, and that my well-wishes keep you fortunate until I can offer them again on your next birthday.

The addendum is longer than the original note. Perhaps it’s because you lost track of yourself as you wrote, or maybe you considered your wishes of happiness to him to be more important than the report on Cor Lapis that has since been used up. Albedo likes to use his thumb to cover the top of the note, and imagine that you simply sent this without a purpose beyond you thinking of him on the day of his birth. 

For all the kindness and honor that people seem to tack on to him when describing his traits, he wonders how they’d react if they knew how incredibly greedy he was for a speck of your attention.

With a steadying breath, his exhale releasing in a chilly cloud, Albedo places the letter back in the drawer and reaches for the envelope. With a steady, practiced movement, Albedo unseals the hasty wax melted against the flap and is well aware of how ridiculous he must look with the way his breath comes in short little pants.

Albedo, the letter starts, and his throat is already dry. I was surprised to read your letter that Sucrose brought. I’ll admit that this is sudden, but I’m far from displeased or uncomfortable with the offer. In fact, I find myself smiling even as I write this. Is that silly?

No, it isn’t, but only because the corners of his own lips threaten to upturn into a smile as well. 

I’ll admit that I’ve been curious about you. I’ve heard a lot from Sucrose as well as idle chatter that I’m sure you know all about, but I don’t think that paints an accurate picture. I’d like to learn these things for myself, and directly from you, if that’s not too forward.

Albedo pauses, a short huff of amusement leaving him as he closes his eyes. The tips of his fingers press against his forehead as the letter falls to the desk. Forward…? If only you were aware of the things he’s done before, the action he’s about to repeat yet again with this letter clutched in one hand while the other is occupied. 

Shakily, he sits at the chair that’s been pushed into the desk, taking the letter up again in his right hand. Once more, he reads over your opening words, pausing at how you tell him you’re curious about him - how curious, he wonders? Curious enough that you’d overlook the way his hand curls against his thigh, his thumb brushing against the tip of his hardening cock through the fabric?

Or perhaps you were curious enough that you’d participate. The very notion makes his mind screech to an abrupt halt, his thoughts falling stagnant as his eyes drift down and he squints at the space between his parted knees. 

For a moment, he can imagine your hands wrapped around his thighs, just above his boots. Albedo can picture how you’d slide your hands up, up, up to the clasp holding his pants together so you could take his cock in your hand. As his own fingers wrap around his length, he shamelessly imagines that they’re yours instead, and that the latent chill in the air is from you blowing your breath across the precum smeared along his tip. 

With shaking, barely-focused eyes, Albedo continues to read that which he hasn’t gotten to, yet. 

I’ll gladly meet with you tomorrow evening for dinner. It will be the highlight of my Windblume festival. Albedo’s eyes flutter for a moment at the reminder that you’re willingly spending time with him during a festival notorious for its connotations of both friendship and romance. Your next words cause him to tense, his hand curling tighter around himself as he strokes slowly. 

I hope it’s not too forward, or that I’m reading too far into things, but I can’t help but think of this as a date, and I’d like to treat it that way if you’re open to it.

A date. A date. A date. 

Albedo lets out a choked sound as he hunches in on himself, his shoulders rolling forward as if to protect his body from an incoming blow. Instead, the rise of sensations come from the inside, centered on the way his hand increases its pace and he desperately wishes that he knew what you sounded like so he could recreate these words in his head with your cadence and tone. 

And that he could imagine what your moans might sound like as you take him into your mouth and onto your tongue. 

Admittedly, I’m not the best at reading people and their intentions, so I hope that you will be honest with me about what you’d like from me, and I’ll be frank with you in turn. I think that’s fair, don’t you?

Albedo is rather skilled with multitasking. It takes all of that built skill for him to not crumple the paper in his hands as a sharp breath leaves his lungs like a punch. If only you knew what you were asking, if only you knew what he was doing right now. Albedo can’t imagine you’d want to be in the same city as him, much less sitting at the same table. 

Whether you ask for honesty or not, Albedo wouldn’t dare tell you about the depravity that’s conjured in his mind. Not that he’s ashamed, far from it. At its basest level, this is just a normal bodily function that he managed to pick up despite not being quite entirely human. No, what he would be ashamed of, if he could manage that, are the exact thoughts going through his head. 

Thoughts of you kneeling between his thighs, pleasuring him with your mouth until tears prick at your eyes and your breath is stifled in your throat. Images behind his clenched eyelids of you sprawled across some bed in some room where neither of you will be bothered, naked and willing and looking so alluring that it stirs feelings in his gut that he wasn’t sure he was ever created with the purpose of experiencing. 

Perhaps the only shame in any of this is that it’s really all just superfluous and selfish. That there’s no purpose in this. It’s not like he can naturally reproduce, and being swayed by things such as feelings of affection or desires of the carnal sort are little more than a distraction to the purpose laid out for him by his master.

Anyway, I appreciate your invitation. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow - I can’t wait.

Albedo’s teeth grit as he bends enough to press his forehead to the desk harshly. With a sharp hiss between his teeth, the sound in his throat being strangled by his own refusal to let loose completely, his hips jerk into his hand one final time before his hand grows slick with his own release. It promptly cools on his hand as he falls back in the chair and focuses his gaze on the ceiling of the cave. 

With a clearer head and the looming thought of tomorrow on the horizon, Albedo can’t help but realize for the first time that he would get this close - both to you, and his own form of insanity.

—

You really shouldn’t be as nervous as you are. He is the one that approached you, meaning he must already be interested. But writing that letter had felt like displaying your internal organs under a microscope, especially with the little bit of gall to tack the label of “date” onto the whole affair. 

But Sucrose said - promised - that you weren’t misinterpreting anything at all. That Albedo wasn’t asking this of you as an acquaintance or a friend but a… romantic prospect.

The mere thought of it makes your skin warm and your hands shake just a little as you straighten out your clothes before lacing your hands together on the small table in front of you. This was the place he mentioned - a balcony just off Mondstadt’s main square, attached to Good Hunter. It’s a private place, with a cloth-covered table and little flowers laced around the balcony’s railing. A candle sits in the middle of said table, lighting the area enough that it would create a warm atmosphere if you weren’t alone right now. 

Those nerves come and go, and for now they’re here in full force as you fight the urge to pick at your cuticles and bounce your leg to release the built-up energy. Certainly he wouldn’t stand you up. At the very least, he’d somehow get word to you if he couldn’t come, right?

But how do you know that? Because you certainly only know hearsay and conjecture based on the words of others and Sucrose. Maybe he secretly is the sort of man who would stand someone up, and his unfortunate “victims” never say a word because they’re just as embarrassed as you-

“I apologize, I hope you weren’t waiting long.” Albedo sounds almost breathless as he steps through the balcony’s door, shutting it with a quiet click behind him. When he turns to look at you, it’s with a small, apologetic smile. Guilt settles in your stomach for ever thinking ill of him. 

Internally, you grab yourself with both hands and give your brain a good shake to manifest some sort of response to him. “No, I haven’t been here very long at all.”

Albedo’s eyes shift to the candle sitting on the table, and you follow his gaze. It’s the staff’s usual protocol to place a new candle for each patron that sits down, and this one is burnt a quarter of the way through already - nearly an hour since you’ve arrived, it seems. But you’re not about to let him feel bad about it, and gesture with a hand for him to take the seat across from you. 

“Seeing you now makes it feel like I was never even waiting in the first place.” Internally, you absolutely cringe at the cheesiness of it, but Albedo’s expression goes slack for a moment, before he averts his eyes with the faintest blush.

Gingerly taking his seat, he answers, “I’ll endeavor to make any future waits a little more bearable, nonetheless.”

Future waits. As in, more occasions to meet with him in the future. Meaning he might want to continue this. Your heart skips uncomfortably, and you mask it by hiding a smile behind your fingertips.  Despite the attempt, Albedo’s eyes are trained on you with a single-minded focus, as if he were committing the sight of this to memory. 

From anyone else, you’d feel uncomfortable with such rapt attention being given to you. Albedo is an exception, it seems. Rather than anxiety prickling over your skin at what your viewer might see, it’s almost immediately apparent that with Albedo, he’s entranced down to the very way his gently-curved smile seems distracted. 

Sara brings up your meal not long after, saving you from having to think too hard about small talk. It’s the daily special, though you’re far more interested in the man across from you than any sauteed matsutake or bolognese. As the two of you tuck in, you take a moment between bites to venture, “Can I ask you something, Albedo?”

“Of course. I’m an open book - read at your leisure.” Albedo’s answer is nonchalant, showing no signs of the nerves you feel. Perhaps because he’s naturally calmer, or this sort of thing doesn’t bother him. Confidence must come rather easily to him, you think. 

Taking a moment to arrange the words in an order that makes the most sense of your rattling thoughts, you pose your question. “Why did you choose now for us to meet like this, rather than sooner? I suppose I’d just like to know what the turning point was. We’re strangers, but we’re at least tangentially known to one another.”

Albedo hesitates, his fork mid-spin around the noodles on his plate. His face falls vacant for a brief second, as if he were deeply considering what to say. It’s a little concerning; this shouldn’t be something to think so hard about. But far be it from your place to dictate which things he puts importance on. 

He doesn’t keep you waiting much longer. 

“Sucrose speaks of you often, and if I had to make a claim, it would be that the same is true in that she’s brought me up to you many times.” Albedo places the fork down against the edge of his plate, carefully avoiding any sauce getting on the handle. Even off-handed and distracted, he has a deliberate sort of grace to what he does. 

At first, you think he’s going to reach for his glass or water, or to lace his hands together on the table. But instead, he slowly, slowly reaches to where your hand rests on the surface. It’s as if he’s giving you time to deny it, to deny him, and you hold your breath and go still in fear that any single twitch will give him the wrong impression. 

Through his gloves, he’s warm. Albedo seems to inspect your hand for a moment before cradling it oh so gently in his palm, his fingers curled around securely. All of this is done with a stiffness that speaks of lack of practice, as if he’s trying something so simple for the very first time. Thankfully, his words are a little more smooth and even. 

“Relationships aren’t easy for me to navigate. I find it troublesome that they have the potential to deteriorate so quickly without regular upkeep in the form of spending time or effort on one another.” Albedo’s eyes are trained on your hand, on the way his thumb presses into the back of it and makes a slight indent on the skin. “My few friendships are made through necessity or close enough quarters that it’s no extra burden to attempt to cultivate closeness.”

Teal eyes snap up to yours with a sharpness that nearly makes you flinch. A breath leaves you, fingers curling around his hand, and he thankfully doesn’t misinterpret this as you wanting to part. Instead, he finally makes it to the point he was trying to make, and the answer to your original question. “I think of you often, and I realized that perhaps the version of you in my head is inaccurate to who you might truly be. In short, I simply thought it time to attempt to get to know you as a person, and not an abstract concept in my head that I’ve grown fond of.”

A few things stand out to you. 

First, that ultimately the turning point was… nothing? Just a whim, it seems. That’s just fine, considering he’s a busy man with a lot on his plate. Really, your only gripe is that he could’ve said something sooner but… so could you. 

The other is that he thinks of you often. Often. Perhaps it’s overstepping, or pushing a boundary, but your curiosity is too strong for you to hold back the question of, “How much is often?”

A question like that comes with the expectation of some form of embarrassment. For both you and Albedo, except between the two of you, you seem to be the only one that’s flustered in any capacity at this line of interrogation, as light as it might be. Albedo is under no obligation to answer nor even tell the truth, but he draws his lower lip between his teeth to stall for just a moment until he decides that the best answer must be the truthful one. 

“All current dating systems use a three-hundred sixty-five day calendar spread across twelve months, with approximately thirty days in each of those months. With twenty-four hours in a day, and while I don’t require much sleep, it should still be accounted for… I’d give a rough approximate guess of sixteen instances in a given day?”

Your mouth falls open in undisguised surprise, but Albedo is simply staring at the table with his free hand on his chin, as if he truly were puzzling out the answer to this. As your mind tries to comprehend the audacity of such honesty, Albedo drives the point home. 

“I suppose it depends on a given day. I’m reminded of you plenty and it’s not as if I’ve made any attempt to not think of you. Though on a slower day I’d say the frequency is increased, perhaps it could be counted as a single instance stretched over a long period of time rather than smaller segments.”

“Albedo…”

“Even things that hold no connection to you somehow spark thoughts when I’m not engrossed in something else, but when I’m not focused on my research it’s almost as if it’s become my default thought, especially when I’m alone-”

Albedo stops, you stop, the world holds its breath as the very poignant implication is laid out on the table. Weakly, he attempts to remove his hand from yours, but your fingers squeeze his palm enough that he can’t pull away with an attempt so meager. He doesn’t try again. 

Breath leaves your lungs in a little exhale, one that sounds almost like amusement but more close to disbelief, you ask in a quiet voice. “What sorts of things do you think of me?”

“How you smell.” Albedo answers without hesitation, possibly without even a second thought. “What you’re doing at any point in time. How your day has gone. Whether you’re taking care of yourself, or working too hard. The exact color of your hair, what your eyes would look like if you smiled.”

“And… when you’re alone?”

Once more, his breath catches in his chest mid-inhale, and he looks at you without embarrassment or fear. It’s almost suspicion. Like he couldn’t understand why you would pose that question, or why that would even interest you. 

Or… he doesn’t believe that you’d be amenable to what comes next. But, he did say he was an open book, and that implies he’d answer any question. After finishing his breath, he uses that very air to answer, “That’s not something that should be discussed so openly. That’s a sufficient enough answer that you should understand exactly what it is that crosses my mind at those times.”

Oh, you certainly do. Your throat goes dry, your fingertips go numb with how hard you’ve been gripping his hand without realizing it, and you struggle to put your rambling thoughts in an order that makes sense to even yourself. Night has fallen, the only light coming from the half-burned candle on the table, and the breeze makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. 

Amidst everything jumbled in your head, you’re only able to procure one solid image, and that’s a conjured-up scene of this man sitting in a snowed-in cave on Dragonspine, surrounded by alchemical tools and sparse furniture, sitting in a chair just like this one with his head thrown back and his hand around his cock. 

Would he be silent? Or would he carelessly make sounds while knowing that no one is close enough on that mountain to know what he’s doing? And then, a second thought wheedles its way out next to that picture of a ruined Albedo, a silent whisper wondering what he imagines you doing to put himself in this state.

As if on autopilot, your mouth moves before you have any chance to stop it and think about what it is that you’re asking. Dread creeps in as you say, “Show me.”

“...Show you?”

Too late to back down now. It’s all or nothing, though you find yourself not quite as bashful as you might’ve been, considering he technically approached this topic first. Your subconscious mind just took it where you both seemed to want it to go. Albedo’s eyes dart to the right, then to the left, almost as if he’s making sure no one is on the balcony with you. 

Of course, there isn’t, and you realize that he’s not simply doing that. Albedo is checking vantage points, looking for prying eyes, making absolutely sure that there’s not one single soul that could catch a glimpse of the two of you. Then, those pretty eyes lock back on yours, suddenly serious in a way you haven’t seen from him yet. 

“Say it outright, or I won’t believe you.” Albedo grips your hand just as tightly as you do to him. And when you take a little too long to make your voice cooperate, he leans in closer. “Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”

Any number of things cross your mind. Admittedly, you’re not entirely innocent in that you’ve never had thoughts about Albedo in more compromising positions. You’ve definitely thought about him before, in a number of different ways, in a variety of situations. 

None of them have ever been quite like this, and of all the requests you greedily want to make of him, you simply wet your lips with your tongue, just a subtle movement that catches his eyes, and you request the most prevalent thought in your mind. “Show me how you touch yourself when you think about me, Albedo.”

The breath squeezes from his lungs in a quiet laugh that is tinged with partial amusement, partial awe. Like he hadn’t expected you to hold on to your nerve to ask this of him. But he’d mentioned it, he brought it up, he was the one that planted this thought in your head. So really, it’s up to him to rectify the problem. 

Albedo’s hand slips from yours, moving to his lap to work at the fastenings while his left hand rises to his face. Using his teeth on the middle finger, he tugs the fabric off to reveal his hand - smooth, just as pale as the rest of him. With his index and ring finger, he pinches at his tongue for a moment before reaching over to snuff out the candle, sending the two of you into relative darkness. 

The legs of his chair groan against the wood floor of the balcony as he shifts himself to the right, just enough that you have a view of exactly what he’s doing with that ungloved hand of his. His index finger and thumb wrap around the base of his cock loosely, the remaining fingers cupping the rest of him. A single bead of precum wells at his tip, barely visible in the light of the moon, and it takes everything you’ve got not to bunch the fabric of the tablecloth in your hands on reflex.

At first, you think his lengthy pause is for some sort of anticipation, or delayed gratification. That perhaps he’s teasing you with this, now that he’s got you where he wants you. But then he looks at you through eyes that have suddenly gone dark and half-lidded, with just the faintest hint of desperation wavering just out of initial sight. 

Albedo is waiting for you to say something, to confirm that you’re still comfortable, or to tell him to put himself away and never bother you again. It’s some convoluted way of verifying your want for him, though perhaps done a little too late. Regardless, you most definitely do want him, and your voice feels as if it’s not your own. 

“Show me what I’ve been doing to you.”

It’s nothing like a thread snapping, but more of a gradual unravel as his fingers curl around his length and his upstroke is done with agonizing slowness. His thumb sweeps across the tip, sweeping away that bead of arousal and spreading it with a lazy, practiced movement. Albedo has done this before; you’re certain that it must be numerous with how easily he relaxes into the chair.  

He’s not embarrassed in the slightest. Not about himself, not what he’s doing. If there’s any shame to be had, it had solely been concerned about your feelings on the matter, and your request had all but dissolved those reservations into thin air. Now he’s looking at you unabashedly, first at your eyes, then down your shoulder, across your chest where he lingers for a little too long to be anything but lascivious. 

There’s very little you can do to force yourself to look him in the eye. Not when the movement of his hand is so fluid, and the first little sound leaves the back of his throat before he can strangle it. 

That one slip-up on his part has you so distracted that you nearly miss how he murmurs beneath his breath, shoulders pressing against the back of the chair. “This is it. Here’s what you reduce me to.” Albedo’s voice is barely above a whisper, intimacy lacing his words with the darkness surrounding you. 

He’s barely started, and he already is flushed from the stimulation, his chair creaks as his hips jerk up toward his fist. “You’re all I can think about, this is the first-... the first time I’ve been so enamoured.” A huff of air, that turns into a low, throaty sound. Then, “Do you understand now?”

Mutely, you nod. Your tongue feels as if it’s stuck to the roof of your mouth, your hands stiff from how hard you’ve clenched them into fists to keep from reaching out to touch him. All that’s in your mind is an endless deluge of desire and hunger and greed toward what’s being displayed so wantonly before you. 

At the sight of your acceptance, of your stunned and hungry silence, Albedo is spurred on to squeeze harder, to go faster. Even as his head rolls back, just like that image your mind conjured not so long ago, his eyes remain on yours as if that’s what’s doing this to him more than any action he could picture in his mind. 

You want to do something. Passively observing is far from satisfying for either of you. Maybe it’s a little too bold, or too fast, but Albedo doesn’t make a single move to stop you when you slide from the chair to your knees, then across the smooth wood floor until you’re right between his parted knees. 

The dryness in your mouth is gone, replaced with pooled saliva at the thought of how easy it was to come over here and take what you want. Albedo is offering it so freely, willing enough to do what you want that he’d openly touch himself in front of you like this. 

Low, nearly inaudible, you ask, “Have you imagined me like this?”

“Countless times.” Albedo’s voice is sharp as it grinds through his clenched teeth. “And in… as many other ways as you can think of.” 

“Do you want me to-”

“No.” He says sharply, his free hand finding a place at the top of your head, as if he expected you to go against that demand and do whatever you pleased with him. Surely he wouldn’t mind too much, but his next words hammer home his intentions. “Next time. You asked me to show you. So, just observe.”

Inches away from him, you can see the little details of every stroke, the prominent vein growing more stark as he gets closer, the little ways he shifts his fingers to catch on the edge of his tip where he likes it the most. More than anything, you want to cross the small gap and drag your tongue along him, if only to verify that the way he tastes correlates to how pretty he is when his mouth opens again to ask, “Open your mouth for me?”

Not even a first thought crosses your mind, much less a second as you open your lips and push your tongue past your teeth, just in time for the first rope of his release to land squarely on your tastebuds. As much as you want to close your eyes and relish it, you stubbornly look him in the eye and memorize the way his subtlety is preserved down to the very way he simply bites his lip and furrows his brow as he comes undone with such little effort. 

Albedo’s hand trails from the top of your head, down your cheek, then to your chin to encourage you to keep your mouth open for a moment longer. As if he were imprinting this moment to his memories, he openly marvels before he lets your chin go in a silent command for you to do as you wish with what he’s given you. 

A simple swallow clears things up easily, and if it wasn’t what he wanted, he doesn’t quite show it with how his exhausted expression turns pleased and stays that way. 

Sweeping your thumb across your lower lip, you remove any excess before shuffling back and away from him. Silence lingers for a moment, almost awkward with how heavy it feels, before Albedo haphazardly puts himself away and kneels in front of you. Without warning, he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

It strikes you that you’ve done things a little out of order, but that doesn’t stop you from nodding just enough that he can see it in the darkness of the balcony. His gloved hand curls around the back of your head before he pulls you into him, a bit clumsy in the dark but he finds a rhythm that works for both of you soon enough. 

You don’t particularly have many prior experiences to go off of, but if what he says is true, he’s as unpracticed as you. But it’s almost intrinsic the way he shifts a little to the left, lets you take a moment to breathe, matches your pace when you go faster or back off. If you were a little more sentimental, you’d nearly think the two of you were made for one another - but it’s too soon to be making any claims like that. 

For now, you just accept this push and pull for a moment before he finally lets you gently push him back and away from your embrace. Short of breath, your voice is thin as you murmur his name in a question. That one word could hold any number of subtexts about what exactly you’re unsure about, and it’s serendipitous that he somehow picks the exact one you meant. 

“I want to explore more of this.” And almost as if he realizes he’s getting a little ahead of himself, he adds, “If you’ll have me.”

If you’ll have him. Such a ridiculous thought, considering you’re kneeling on the floor of some balcony in Mondstadt with the taste of him on your lips in more ways than one and his hand still cupping the back of your neck like you’re something fragile and worthy of being coveted. 

It’s not dark enough that he doesn’t see the way you nod in response. Something akin to relief passes over him, palpable enough that even you feel its effects. “That’s… that’s great to hear. To be honest, I hadn’t thought of the outcome if you’d said no.”

“You… didn’t think any of this through?” Bemusement laces through your words, and for the first time you actually see some semblance of real embarrassment in his expression. 

“No, but I admit that this wasn’t exactly how I expected this to go.” His hand on the back of your neck squeezes, almost as if he’s trying to reassure you rather than himself. “Should we get you home? It’s getting late.”

Without the candle, you’re not sure how much time has passed. But the bustle of the city below has dulled, and the moon sits a little higher than you remember it being the last time you looked. At first, you want to say that you’ll be fine getting home on your own, that you don’t want him to be wandering the streets so late himself, but then the most secretive part of you whispers again of the possibilities. 

It’s late, it’s dark, it’s getting a little cold out. Surely Albedo wouldn’t be averse to walking you home and coming inside for a while? And if you lose track of time and he needs to stay for the rest of the night, well… Will he really complain, when this is so obviously playing right into his hands? 

When you nod, accepting his help to your feet, there’s a knowing look in his eye stating quite clearly that perhaps you share the same motives concerning his offer.

#genshin impact #albedo #genshin albedo #albedo genshin #albedo gi #albedo x reader #mind the a/n for the content tags #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #please god don't ask for a part 2 #if it happens it happens #don't put that evil on me though

[worriedvision]

Okay so how about Albedo getting closer to reader in hopes of learning a bit more of romantic social interactions and ques. Once he's a little more confident he tells them truth. I'm excited to see the angst you can come up with 👀

This will have spoilers for the event currently going on in-game, gender neutral reader. Unhappy ending, Albedos quite cold here because of the nature of his actions. I also made him tell the truth through the reader overhearing a conversation... Forgot to remember Albedo was supposed to come to the reader to admit it oopsie

--

You're known to be lonely by many citizens of Mondstadt. It was known to you deep down, and the Windblume festival intensified your lonely feeling. Every year, you saw confessions as you would carry out your usual work.

This year was different.

Albedo had approached you, asking for you to walk with him. Usually, you'd think this was some sort of prank. However, you knew that Albedo wasn't exactly the most social person either. You figured it was worth a shot, doing this 'allowing someone to get close to you' thing with him. He was awkward at the start, something you found very relatable, and you formed a comfortable friendship.

He did, however, slowly start to make more moves. Nothing solidly romantic, but from Albedo it certainly suggested something more. Paying for your meals, walking with you when he could, talking to you more often than he would with anyone.

It felt nice, you were letting your walls down. You planned to make more moves, and you were walking by yourself as you thought of what he would like.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Albedo?" You hear an unfamiliar voice ask, clearly not understanding something. "This isn't a normal thing to be doing."

"I say keep going." Another voice chimes in. "If you stop now, it will leave them high and dry if you ask me."

"This is all in the name of research..." Albedo states, you hiding behind a tree to listen in. What research was this about? Was this about you? Nothing was particularly interesting about you.

"I would recommend a bouquet of flowers." You hear the man with tall ears state, looking in your direction for a split second. "I'm sure they will appreciate it. However, I still think this is quite cruel on the person in question. Didn't you call them a non-consensual loner?"

Ouch, that did sound like a way of describing you.

"Well,_ has very low standards due to their lack of companionship. I figured that, given the bar, I would be able to find out more about this." Albedo explains.

The other man glances over, seeing you hiding behind a tree mortified that you heard your own name in that conversation.

"Surely you consider them a worthy lover, given the fact you're still talking to them fondly." The man states.

Albedo shakes his head, and he explains that he had no feelings for you. He was merely gauging your reaction and noting down anything that works.

"How about we talk over a meal about this?" Tighnari asks, giving you a sympathetic look before walking in the opposite direction from you, Albedo and Cyno following.

--

The next date Albedo takes you on, he gives you a bouquet of flowers. You can't help but glare at the flowers, tearing up.

"Do you like the flowers, my love?" Albedo asks. Clearly, this was an idea that was not his own. Looking into his eyes, you do not see the love you held for him.

"No, I don't." You respond.

"Oh, is it an allergy? Perhaps I can-"

"Let me guess... you can 'add this to your research notes on how romance works'? Or maybe 'try to find out what flowers I am not allergic to for the purpose of catering gifts to me'?" You state, louder than you expected to come out. People look over, surprised to hear all this.

"Please, my love. Keep your voice down." Albedo jests.

"No, I won't." You stand up, Albedo trying to hold you in his arms to soothe you. "I'm a human being. I heard your conversation with those two last night, they were suggesting ideas for you. You made it clear you do not hold any of these feelings, and I am embarassed that I stupidly let you in." You grit your teeth. "Jot that down in your notes, Albedo. Jot down that faking a relationship and giving someone a false sense of love is cruel and hurtful. Jot down the fact you chose specifically when everyone else has something happy going on to ruin my self-esteem further by faking your feelings."

You storm off, not daring to take a glance back as you go back home to wallow in your own self-pity.

#albedo #albedo x gender neutral reader #albedo x reader #gender neutral reader #cyno #tighnari

[cathchicken]

Ok so here is my view regarding the betty and Simon stuff from the finale, cause. I got things to say (spoilers ofc)

basically I am satisfied with the direction they went with Simon, him choosing to accept Betty how she is and learning to move on and find that he is worthy of staying alive even without her is good. Tough, but good. Also the little detail of the Betty statue being golbetty now is nice reminder of that too. Now, for Betty? I’m not sure… when I watched the scene where she says goodbye, it hurt but it made sense. She is letting go to do her own things.

But, then it shows her destination changing to a demonic place, and her becoming golbetty. It makes me think. Is she really happy with this reality? Simon is safe but, even if she’s fairing well as golb, I don’t actually know if this is truly what she wants for herself. I feel like if there’s a season two, maybe expanding on Betty’s true ending would be interesting… I don’t want her to change “back” or be with Simon, necessarily. I want her to become what she wants for herself.

Now ofc, what she really wanted was to keep Simon safe. And as Golbetty she also saved ooo. Maybe she is happy with this, that she can protect the people she cares about. But again, I feel like it… isn’t fair for her. It’s reality, it’s not like we can go back in time and change that. That was the main point of the bus scene anyway. But moving forward, and thinking about Fionna’s “shouldn’t we get to die as ourselves?” line makes me feel that this isn’t Betty’s end. Simon and Betty have reached a consensus and understanding of the flaws of their relationship and how they should move on. But for herself… Betty is still sort of left in the dust.

Now I don’t think this loose end is a bad thing for this season. Like, the whole season was about Simons struggles and Fionna’s. Betty was a very minor character and if anything it makes sense if her current issues are left untouched for now. If they do plan to extend the series in some sort of way, which seems possible, I feel like this Betty conflict might have been intentionally left unresolved. Because hell yes, I would absolutely take a season/mini series dedicated to specifically wrapping up Betty’s story.

I’m not sure how that would fit in specifically in Fionna and Cake though..? Because besides Simon, Fionna’s story was. Wrapped up pretty tightly. I can’t think of anything a second season could do to expand her world more… hmmmm….

All in all, the finale was really good to me. Episode ten definitely felt rushed but they had the right ideas, so I’m not too disappointed. Although I felt like Scarab was a bit underwhelming… he didn’t feel like a big threat to me in the end. Sort of a shame. Oh well. But hey, it leaves me wanting more!! Cause I can’t get enough of this series haha. Or maybe just adventure time in general :)

Edit: also I forgot about this. Erm what is she doing here, it looks like she’s changing form..??? What does it mean WHAT DOES IT MEAN

Like guys there HAS to be more to her story. There’s gotta be.

#fionna and cake spoilers #fionna and cake #text post #theory #(sort of)

[jennawynn]

Starfield

I think I finally got rid of the "have to play as much as possible" brainworms, which is good. It's a Bethesda title. You basically know if you'll like it or not based on that one fact. It is solidly Bethesda. It is Skyrim/Fallout in Space. I like Bethesda games. I still play Fallout and Skyrim sometimes...

HOWEVER...

Things I wish it had... because where else can I shout this into the universe? You think I'm gonna go do it on Twitter? Ha. I don't think any of these are THAT egregious, either.

I love that I can be a space trucker or a miner and don't have to go be a hero somewhere. I don't love that you HAVE to kill people to get there. Like even just to get off the moon. Give me the potential for pacifist playthroughs, Todd! Or at least the option to skip the opening once you've done it. Or an alternate start where you have to earn a ship or SOMETHING. (Sometimes in Skyrim I'll just make an NPC who picks flowers and does alchemy to afford nights at the inn and food to eat, no killing, no nothing... so seeing that I can set up a mining outpost and take jobs to be a delivery driver/passenger vehicle or to sell to starports is A+ in my book.)

Tag for trash/sale in inventory. Sometimes I know I want to keep a thing. Sometimes I know it's just junk. I wish I could tag for trash/sale and then a) be able to see those in a sortable list to determine what I'm getting rid of first when I go over weight and b) sell it all at once at participating vendors.

Speaking of, SORT BY WEIGHT/VALUE. I *think* it's available on PC, but I'm on xbox and the UI is (necessarily) different. But I still think it should be an option. You KNOW how we play, TODD. You know we sit there to determine which junk is the best value for the weight while we're getting under max capacity mid-dungeon. Make it easy on us.

Land vehicles. Some of those POIs are _so far away_ and a) you make it so we can't sprint constantly and b) you space things out really far. It makes it a chore to explore and get those juicy surveys done. I almost _always_ max out a biome's survey options before I get to the first trait. Give us a speedier travel option, please?

Less suicidal companions. I can't tell you how many times I've sat there shooting at a pirate when my companion comes over and stands RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME and then complains when I accidentally shoot them. Maybe don't stand where my bullets are!

This is a much less common complaint than the others, probs, but when you have a chameleon spacesuit and you try to shoot... you can't see your ironsights/reflex scope. You have to go to third person or a scoped weapon to be able to see where you're shooting. So like... maybe just DON'T hide the sights? Or put a reticle up just so we can actually use the armor?

I suck at space combat and I'm not sure why. So I don't have a solid suggestion here, but that does seem to be the consensus- people don't know how to space combat because the system is either not good or not explained.

Oh that reminds me- BETTER TUTORIALS. I was EIGHTEEN hours in before I realized I completely misunderstood the lockpick minigame (which is a huge improvement fwiw).

Level ranges on the mission boards so you don't end up in a level 15 starfighter combat when you're level 5.

Current inventory counts on crafting/vendor screens. I need to know if I have 400 of a thing in my cargo bay before I buy/build another 30, please, without needing to back all the way out, check my inventory, then come back in. Or do an inventory spreadsheet. Which I totally didn't do. Promise.

#starfield #wishlist #xbox #video games #if any of these are fixed on the pc ui #let me know!

[eldritch-spouse]

WAIT JESUS CHRIST PINNIE HAVE WE EVER HAD A FIC WITH FANK-E??

I mean- *COUGH*- I've searched high and low and I've come back from a fruitless voyage... Now all I really want is a little something where Fank-E just drills into their S/O's pussy/ass real nicely... Holy shit, vibrating intercourse combo tho 👀

Or just... Fank-E and his S/O vibing. S/O teaches him stuff he can't learn on the web, Fank-E watching in awe as his little squishy does something any normal human being does, showering his lil qt in praises, failing miserably at flirtation, whatever the fuck- I never realised it, but I'm starved of Fank-E content,,,, :c

[Ahahhh yeah, there's some characters I should write for more, tbh. Also, I want to apologize in advance, because Fank-e exclusively speaks in broken l33t and your reading experience will be most painful... Fem reader.]

TW: Starts as dub-con, becomes consensual.

" 4Nd D1S h3r3 1s t3H G4rD3N! "

You blink, still very much holding onto the rave stick you were gifted. It's quiet outside, foggy, but peaceful. This might be the best part of the tour yet.

The tour your captor is giving you of the place he intends to keep you in. Because that makes sense. That's totally not counter-productive. Maybe he's just that cocky that you won't make it. The nerve. Well, for now, you're just happy to not be inside anymore. Inside that horrific, reality-defying building, where everyone is committing the wildest atrocities you've ever seen and looking at you like you're a slab of meat or a fucktoy on legs. You know, deep in your heart, that the only reason no one laid a single hand on you throughout this "tour" is because Fank-e had a hand on you the entire time. A strong hand, in fact, the type of vise grip that would sooner dislocate your shoulder than allow someone else to pry you off his grasp. Much as it is depressing to think about the current situation, you're safe, for now.

And to think that, in the end, you survived thus far not because of your self-defense classes, not because you're fast or strong or witty, but in fact, because you were dressed for a rave party. That's right, you got abducted as you were leaving for a party, dressed to the nines in typical bright eyesore fashion... You remember the terror of being lumped into a truck with a bunch of other random humans, whose whereabouts are unknown to you currently, of being dragged and pushed inside this fantastical building, a myriad of strange monsters evaluating all of you like discount products.

Then this fucking sore thumb of a robot shows up, speech like a buzzing alarm, covered in swirls of color, making goo-goo eyes at everyone before he squeals like a dying animal at the sight of you. You were scooped out of the horrified crowd like a plushie plucked by a claw machine. And that's when you met Fank-e, who is essentially your savior. Is he aware of that? Debatable, but staying in his good graces might be a good bet, which is why you're not trying to dash out right now. You're sure he could catch up quickly anyway.

A large gray hand swipes before your face.

" KUuc00, AnY0N3 TH3R3?? "

You jump, naturally. " Ah? Yes, I'm just... Curious. This part seems much calm- "

SCREE-

As if the cosmos had heard you, before you could finish that sentence, an ear-piercing shriek cuts through the air. And, seemingly out of nowhere, a grayish monster creature collapses on a bed of flowers. Flowers which, for some unknown fucked up reason, run away from the impact. Yeah. Okay. Nonetheless, you've never seen a critter like that. It's made of stone? Horns? Holy shit, is that actually a gargoy-

Something else plummets on top of it. Another monster who just launched itself... From the roof? This one's like some sort of overgrown flower, with a long meaty neck and a fluffed tail. The gargoyle howls in what you assume is pain and the two start brawling, all teeth and claws and raw fury.

Nevermind, this entire fucking place is cursed.

A tiny flower with legs brushes past your ankle as it runs away and you scream, launching yourself at your captor. Oh God. Oh fuck. You hate this entire place. It's haunted. It's vile.

" H4H4, u R 5o S1LLY! :P "

Large servos clutch you harder against the robot's frame. The previously tiny blush lines on his visor have turned bright pink, increasing in size. You wonder if that's a conscious choice from him, to emote things that are normally involuntary in people. You don't know how that makes you feel.

The large... Machine? Appears to sense your discomfort, giving you a couple of mildly uncomfortable head pats while the two of you watch half-feral monsters attempt to gut each other.

" Fank-e? " You think that's his name.

" Y3s? "

" Is this... Normal? "

" Tot4LLY. " He says this with the most serene expression ever.

" Uhuh. "

A couple of minutes pass, both garden-variety abominations butting heads violently. You're not the only ones watching, at least one odd deer-thing and several other gargoyles are looming in the distance. Fank-e is cheering someone on, but his speech patterns are already so jumbled normally, you can't hope to make out what he's saying when the robot's excited. What the fuck is your life anymore.

At some point, a loud groan cuts through the air. It sounds exasperated, transmitting the burnt-out energy of a babysitter who really hates their job. You have no choice but to gawk when the bench, who you could swear was just that, unfurls into a gangly mess of gray limbs topped by a massive, tooth-filled chest. What in God's name is that one supposed to be? How can Fank-e be so calm?!

The creature, whatever the fuck it is, lumbers past you and the robot without a single glance, heading towards the wrestling pair. Just as you think it's about to eat the smaller ones, the thing lets out a raging snarl of a noise, long arms prying gargoyle and... "Plant" aside. The stone monster has several dents and something has been stabbed into the green one's leg. The chest-headed monster sighs, groans, then sets the winged one down, making a dismissive "shoo" motion. The gargoyle appears to huff, a glare spared towards the hissing thing wriggling in protest before it clumsily takes flight.

Oddly enough, he- Well, it has no breasts and wears a long loincloth, so you're assuming it's male- Doesn't release the long-necked menace, trudging back the way he came with the thrashing being at arm's length.

" g00d J0b, 5yB! " Fank-e offers a thumbs-up when the monster passes by, making it sigh and nod towards the robot. You can finally see his glowing yellow eyes, submerged in a sea of damp darkness. They're inside his mouth, ew. Regardless, he's staring quizzically at your figure and you don't like it.

What did he call this guy again? " ... Syb? "

" mhM! " The robot nods. " he'2 my K0w0rK3r! "

Coworker?! That fucking dude?! " Ah... "

" ... Her. " Syb grunts quietly, jolting the ever-loving Christ out of you. A shackled wrist rises to point at you. Honestly, you just want distance from the croaking, twisting thing in his other hand.

" R19hT! " You're pushed forward a bit, much to your displeasure. Syb glances at you with weighed ambivalence. Oh God, is he going to hand you to this massive, toothy creature? " Syb45t1AN, 7H1s 1S mY qt-π! "

Both you and the other blink. " Uh... I'm your what? "

Sybastian shakes his head, as if having decided that he's not going to waste more time trying to comprehend the situation, sparing you another look, a painful one this time. Probably because you're wearing very bright clothes and it's still dark outside. In fact, both you and Fank-e must be eyesores to literally everyone right now. The monster nods and drags the screaming critter in his arms out of sight. Ah... Well... That's that then.

You turn, glancing out of curiosity to try and see what'll happen next, but are swiftly halted by a pair of hands on your hips dragging you back towards a metal body. Fank-e's head curls into view upside-down, the crude green face on his visor twists to be at the right angle however.

" U'r3 T3H Kut3St 5ku1shY 3v3r! "

Squishy? Couldn't this jackass just... Well, you don't know, install Microsoft Sam as his voicebank or something?

" Thanks... "

He laughs, grabby hands quickly groping at several sections of your form. There's a bit of child-like wonder at first, but it quickly turns into a lascivious action the more he's allowed to knead at your tummy, run cold hands up your sides and play with your tits through the fabric. You're frozen, unsure if you should let this go on. Would he stop if you told him to? Is there a benefit to this? He's... Kind of cute, in a really quirky way. But you're not here of your own volition and he's ultimately part of the problem.

" i k4'Nt w4IT 2 5h0W U 2 4ddy! " The robot interrupts your internal dilemma. Who's "Addy"? You don't want to admit it, but being palmed so eagerly by this perverted idiot looking at you like he's starstruck is arousing you. Maybe it's the accumulated adrenaline of all you've gone through tonight, maybe it's loneliness, you did want to make friends at that party... Or it could just be you looking for some sort of escapism.

Eitherway, you stop squirming when Fank-e's digits poke at the edge of your black ripped shorts.

" my 5kU1Shy... " He murmurs, or at least that's what you think it was meant to be, he's still rather loud. His fingers drum pensively on your skin, the expression on his visor winks at you while the hem of your clothes is teasingly flirted with. You just met this dude, in the worst possible circumstances, and yet, you're seriously considering letting him do this. Amazing.

Reality snaps through the fog of hormones and you glance around, suddenly feeling very exposed in spite of still having your outfit fully on. " Wait- Hold on, someone'll see... " Maybe that strange chest monster will come back. Now that you think about it, people aren't subtle about what they're doing inside this establishment either. But it still feels risky, wrong-

Kinda hot. God damn it.

" LM40, wh0 c4r3S? " A static-filled cackle rings out, you're half-convinced he's being loud on purpose now. " 1'm N07 SH4R1n9. ;P "

That's not really the confirmation your logical side wanted to hear, but the hormonal one that always kind of wanted to show off is howling in approval. His hand suddenly zips into your shorts.

" Fank-e! "

" O0P513 d41sy~! "

Bastard.

With a burning face and an equally heated situation near his hand, you cave. " Fine! Make it fast. "

The figure on his visor turns into a heart. " 1S 7H@ 4 ch4lL3n93? "

No. No God, it is not.

Nonetheless, the robot appears to take it as one, because your panties are quickly shoved out of the way and he's tracing at your lips with fast, greedy little motions. The sudden stimulus makes you twitch, but when corralled against a comparatively hulking frame, there's not much space to squirm with. As soon as Fank-e makes the trip back to your clit, there's the faint sound of a click somewhere, then a jolt of sensation.

Holy shit, his fingers vibrate. Because of course they do. Why wouldn't they? This guy sounds like he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to have somet- " Ahn! Ohh fuh- "

Maybe it was a mistake to tell him to "make it fast", the pervy machine isn't sparing you any gentleness in terms of intensity. He doesn't even have to move his servos much, you're already clenching your legs and shaking lightly.

Robotic humming is heard from somewhere, you're not really too focused on that, until a phone is shoved in your face. It's sudden enough to make you peel back and bonk your head on a metal chest, to which Fank-e laughs.

" H3re! 1 w4n7 U 2 P1Ck 1. "

A muddled mind struggles to keep up, until you realize what it is that you're staring at. Dicks. More specifically, attachable, artificial genitals with a variety of designs. Several sizes, with gradients and textures and- Fucking Hell, could he stop fingering you for two seconds?! That's a lot of options though, you feel yourself getting wetter just thinking about some. All of them appear to have the same "port" so to speak, something you presume means they're compatible with him. He has a dick then. Huh. Good.

Wait, focus- He wants you to pick.

" Uuhhhn- " Did he just turn the intensity up again? Son of a bitch, you can't even think.

Fank-e frowns at your lack of answer, though the emote is wiped off as he seemingly gets an eureka moment and starts typing something furiously, albeit accurately, with his free hand. Lord, you just want to come already.

" 0h!! i Kn0, u wan7 1 0f 7h3S3 7H3N? :3 "

The phone is pushed back into your line of sight. Instead of cocks, you are now glancing at a sea of what you can only describe as "robussy". Just as colorful and weirdly customizable as the male set. But why- Oh, he thinks this is your preference. Honestly, who cares? If he can make you feel this good with basically no effort, you're sold no matter the set.

" I- A-Ah-! " You attempt to speak through the digits now gliding mercilessly against your g-spot, only succeeding in gasping and tearing up. " C-Can we pick mmf- Later? " You're going to browse all of those like a family dad does the morning paper.

" 5ure 7H1n9! "

His thumb joins the party, nudging at your clit in a position only someone incapable of cramping their wrist could ever achieve. Already dripping and moaning, it's only a matter of seconds before you buck your hips, clang against his upper body and probably make a very embarrassing expression while clipped moans and whimpers carry you through your very fast orgasm. Those fingers never cease, Fank-e appears to be silently studying the process.

In this dazed state, you could never hope to spot the tiny red dot at the corner of his visor, indicating that he's clearly recording the events unfolding.

The robot only stops when you start nearly hyperventilating from overstimulation. Holy shit. You've never come that hard that fast before.

A thankfully clean thumb smooths something on your cheek. Ah yes, another sticker, as if you weren't already half-covered in them. " L0L KuT3. <:] " He comments on the look of your disheveled face.

Before you can even try to start righting yourself, the robot's hand is off your shorts and he pushes your legs apart slightly, adjusting position so that something can wedge between them.

Is that...

It's quite literally a rainbow-colored cock. The size makes you gulp.

" 1 Be7 1 k4N d0 f45t3R TH4N th@. "

Oh boy.

#Fank-e oc #have you ever created a character solely to inflict pain on your readers? I have. <:] #literally incomprehensible speech

[unquietspiritao3]

Looking for a beta reader!

Hi there. I’m currently working on the outline of my next long-ish fic and thought now might be a good time to start asking around if anyone is available to beta for me, since I don’t have a beta reader in this fandom yet. More info on what I’m looking for below the cut!

Ok, first, this fic is a direct sequel to Should’ve been obvious, so you’d need to be familiar with that one and the Obvious’verse (but I sort of assume you are if you’re following this blog, lol). This includes being comfortable reading and commenting on all the kinks I include or mention in that ‘verse, because I’m not sure yet what exactly will get included here. Everything is safe, sane, and consensual, of course.

Second, I’m looking for someone I can send each chapter to as it’s completed. To give you an idea of timing, I generally write about 2600 words per chapter, and finish 1-2 chapters per week, depending on how busy I am. I’m currently estimating this fic will be about 40k words, so will take about 2-3 months.

Before diving into the longfic, though, I’d want to do a test-run beta with one of my short WIPs (~4-6k words), just to see if we’re a good fit, so don’t feel like you’re making a really huge commitment right away!

In terms of actual beta services needed, I’m primarily looking for someone to catch me overusing words (I’m really bad at that), and to help me ensure the character motivations and emotions make sense, like maybe let me show you different versions of ideas to see what works better? And just to be a general cheerleader/poke me in the butt if I get stuck.

Please let me know if you’re interested!

[englass]

Cry For Us

Pairing(s): Yandere? Seed Bros x Reader

Warning(s): Low mood, Depressing thoughts, Manipulative behaviour, Yandere/Possessive behaviour, Non-consensual touching (nothing explicit), The Seed Bros being themselves, terrible dialogue. 

Word Count: 4,195

A/N(S): Gonna start this off by apologising to @derelictheretic , @fadedjacket and anyone else that I’ve not responded to a WIP Day tag for over the last couple of weeks; I’m so sorry! 😭 Please take this finished piece as part of my apology and belated WIP Day contribution, even if it Is no longer an actual WIP anymore ❤️

- - -

It’s another one of those nights.

The house is cold and empty and so, so dark. So reminiscent of the home which houses your poor, fragile soul. Lights off with hardly an echo of feeling, thoughts non-existent as you just sit there, curled up tight in the corner of your couch and swamped by your jumper. Too large for your short frame, but comforting. Your only comfort. The closest thing to a hug you can get.

There’s a terrible headache that won’t ease. No tears to accompany it, except a bone deep weariness. Your limbs heavy and your mind painfully void of thought. And every time you try to think of something there’s another pulse behind your eyes, another ache within your head that makes your eyes sting with the threat of tears.

They don’t fall though. They never do. They’ll just make the headache worse.

It’s not like you have anything to cry about anyway. It’s just...

It’s just another one of those nights. Another one of those days. Another one of those weeks.

You should have known, really. Should have known that after months of feeling fine that you’d eventually crash. That your mood would slowly liquidate between your fingers and you’d be left empty handed, lost and made hollow save for a persistent headache and a draining fatigue. Stuck to bone and muscle and soul.

Melancholy.

Pure, soul crushing melancholy.

And as always you’re not sure what's caused it. Too many things maybe; nothing at all perhaps. It’s a gradual descent. A small misstep and then you’re stuck. Like quicksand. And like quicksand the only thing you know to do is to stop moving. To let it run its course and hope that it won’t pull you any deeper. That you’ll get out of it, eventually.

That knowledge offers little comfort though.

Body aching you shift, feel the cold touch the places you’ve kept warm and feel the cold places your warmth hasn’t touched. A small sound of discomfort whining lowly in your throat, briefly stretching out your legs before pulling them close again. Hands staying safely protected within the arms of your comfort jumper, fingers kept warm in the crook of your elbow.

Settling, you place your head gently on the arm of your couch, rubbing your cheek into the hood of your jumper. Thrown over your head not long after deciding on your current resting place.

That must have been hours ago now. It was the early evening when you first sat down, and now the sky is dark and the moon is out.

With a deep sigh you pull your hood further over your head, the cold quick to chill your fingers before they retreat back inside your jumper. The thick fabric obscuring your view save for part of the coffee table in front of you, a half empty cup that has long gone cold.

It’s a waste. You should probably drink it, even if it won't taste great. Or dump it down the sink. But you don’t. You just stare. Blink slow and breathe deep and just stare.

You aren't particularly religious. Don’t know if there is some sort of higher power out there, not convinced you’d be able to comprehend it if there was. But times like this you wondered. Times like this you wondered if that higher power was out there, if it knew of you. Knew of the questions you had: of why you were like this, why it felt like you were losing yourself, why you were slowly spilling out onto the floor and unable to soak up the pieces; why you became like a cracked and empty glass, unable to hold even a millilitre of happiness.

You know no one will hear you, that no one would answer you if you were to ask, let alone some divine entity, but still... you still wanted someone to hear you. Still wanted someone to answer you no matter how unlikely. You just wanted someone to tell you what to do, to give you the answers and teach you how to fix this broken part of yourself. You just wanted someone to be there for you, to acknowledge and accept this broken husk that you become.

You just wanted someone to hold you, to keep you close and safe and to not let go.

You just want someone to love you--

Vision slightly blurred and a wet whimper catching, dying in your throat, your body freezes up as you hear the distinct click of your front door, followed by the creaking of your floorboards. Can just about hear a subtle thunk beneath the measured groaning of your crappy apartment. Heart rate picking up, cold digging deeper, headache throbbing with every continued noise that shouldn’t be. That doesn’t belong.

After all, you live alone.

With a sniffle you slowly turn your head, cautiously eyeing the doorway, burying further into yourself as some distant part of you absently wonders if the ghost you sometimes swear you live with (or maybe that’s your lonely mind playing tricks on you) is about to walk into the room.

You wait with bated breath. Release it with a whine that sounds so terribly loud to your pulsing head as a shape fills the doorway.

No, you realise with widening eyes and a shaky echo trapped in your throat, it’s so much worse than any ghost.

Even with the room bathed in darkness, only split apart by the cracks of moonlight cutting sharp incisions into the shadows, you can’t mistake the man in your home. His tall and bulky frame completely takes up the space of your doorway. Always so intimidating, but even more so now, with you at your most vulnerable, frail and weak, and with the shadows and pale moonlight striking harsh and menacing lines across his scarred features.

Jacob Seed is not a man you ever wanted in your home.

For an agonising moment nothing happens, the both of you just existing in the same room. Staring at him with a different breed of cold settling over you as he carefully takes in your surroundings, too-blue eyes that almost seem to glow with the light of the moon reflected in them, unhurriedly scanning over everything before landing on you.

His sudden sigh startles you, makes you flinch and creates a pitiable sound within your throat. Head hanging for a second before he shakes it gently, looking back up at you with a look you don’t quite have the mental wherewithal to understand.

“‘Seems they were right, after all,” he observes thoughtfully, the deep timbre of his voice rumbling within your head. “You’re close to breakin’,” he takes a meaningful step towards you, “aren’t ya, pup?”

Distantly, buried somewhere beneath the blanket that has smothered all that you truly are, muting everything inside to a far off echo, you feel you should be offended; so boldly being laid bare like that. Flesh torn back to reveal how soft and squishy you are. How fragile; how weak. But you can’t quite reach it. Can’t grasp the shame that should come with being called out like that, feeling like it’s just a hairbreadth away but yet still so far.

Even your fear feels distant; sedated and so unattainable.

The way the imposing man practically prowls towards you, head high as he looks down at you, should scare you. Make you get up and run, attempt to try and put distance between you, but you barely feel a whisper; drowning in complete apathy.

What would be the point anyway? That’s all it will be: an attempt. You know you’d barely make it to your front door before he’d grab you. And you already feel so tired. So drained and just… empty. No energy to really think about it, let alone take your chances.

Nothing has really happened yet you already feel so defeated. So done. So ready to go to sleep and pray that tomorrow will be better. So ready to just lie back and accept whatever fate has in store for you. So ready to just give up… that you already have.

Jacob stops beside you. Watches you as you watch him before you close your eyes, turn your head away to hide within your hood. A hand venturing into the cold to grab and hold it down over you, another wounded sound slipping through closed lips.

Listening, you focus on the sound of your shaky breaths. Can make out the sound of Jacob’s calm breathing and the shifting swish of fabric. Can hear and even feel the slow dip of the space next to you, tensing at the unexpectedly weary sigh from the man now sitting at your side.

“I’m not here to hurt ya,” he smoothly rumbles, “if that’s what you’re worried about. We’re just concerned, is all.”

You huff a breath through your nose before you can stop yourself, but thankfully Jacob doesn’t seem to take any offence. Merely replies with a hum.

“They’ll be here soon. Johnny’s been pitching a fit ‘last few days. Been driving me and Joe crazy with how much he’s been fretting over ya,” he says with a breath of a laugh.

Another sound slips from you, weak and exhausted, as the hand holding your hood down slips beneath it. Warms itself against your forehead and eases the ache within your skull, if only for a second.

Something moves behind you, lays itself across the back of the couch, but you pay it little to no mind. Too busy focusing on the numbness in your toes, the hidden shivers over your body at how cold you feel. Trying to search for some sort of word or emotion to throw out there. Nothing comes though, and instead it just creates another ache in your skull.

“Then again,” he continues, oddly conversational, “me and Joe have hardly been any better. We just have a different way of showing it.”

Apparently whatever has placed itself behind you is not intent on letting you ignore it. Feeling it move and then a small jolt of a tug that has your hood being carefully pulled away from you. “Not this time though,” eyes opening to look at the man next to you, his bright eyes easily catching your dull ones. “For once we’re all in agreement about what we need to do. Question is, ‘you gonna let us?” He asks, eyebrow raising at your blank stare.

With a flutter your eyes close again, unable and unwilling to keep the contact. Maybe he’ll go away if you ignore him. Maybe he’ll put you out of your misery. He has done for many others, if the rumours are to be believed.

A sharp click of a tongue and a mumbled “guess not” is all the warning you get before your hood is unceremoniously dropped back over you. A gasp and startled protest tripping over your lips as a hand suddenly wraps itself around your shoulders, tugs you sideways as another hand hooks itself under your knees and quickly drags you over into your assailant's lap. A clear fizzle of panic getting your stiff body to struggle pathetically against his hold.

“Goddamn-- calm down will ya, pup? Already told you I’m not gonna hurt ya. You don’t have to be so fucking stubborn...” He grouches, hand kept firm around your shoulder to pin you to his chest, his other hand slipping out from under your knees to instead steal beneath your skewed hood and hold your head against him; fingers carding through your hair as he does so.

Your breath stutters at the contact, a mistiness entering your vision. Body tensing, pulling your legs closer, curling up into yourself as well as unintentionally into the man holding you. Faltering as you feel just how warm he is.

“There ya go. See? Nothin’ to worry about. You’re okay, pup. It’s alright. You’re alright…”

You can’t remember the last time someone held you like this; comforted you. Just let you be without asking too many questions, without needing some sort of explanation, without making some sort of comment about how you feel. You can’t control it. You don’t know how to stop it. It’s not your fault that you’re fragile. It’s not your fault something is missing. It’s not your fault that part of you is broken. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault…

Lip trembling you take a shuddery gasp of a breath, squeaking as your throat tightens. Head pounding as you fight to keep the tears at bay. Hands slipping from the arms of your jumper to disappear into your middle pocket, one hand finding its way back into your opposite sleeve as the other bypasses it. Stays hidden within your pocket to sneakily clutch at Jacob’s shirt. Soaking in the warmth of his skin beneath the material as your hood cushions your cheek against his chest.

“Don’t hold back, honey. It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re so strong, d’you know that?” he hushes, “So brave to keep on fighting, even when you want nothing more than to stop. You’re so exhausted, aren’t ya pup? Well, you don’t have to carry that burden alone anymore. It’s okay to rely on others. It’s okay to let go. It’s okay to cry every once in a while…”

You shake your head, breaths getting deeper and quicker as Jacob continues to stroke your hair, words of praise and comfort murmured above you, vibrating from him into you as you try to focus on the pain in your head instead of him. Focusing on all the reasons why he’s wrong, why you can’t trust him, all while desperately trying not to cry. You don’t want to cry. You don’t want to. You can’t, you shouldn’t.

The opening of the front door startles you slightly, makes you try and hide yourself deeper in Jacob’s bulk, pulling your hood over your face and trapping his hand against your head as you hear the quick footfalls of your latest intruders.

“Well, you two took your time,” is Jacob’s gruff greeting.

There’s an answering scoff, quickly overshadowed by a patient, “We had a few urgent matters come up that needed our attention. How are they?”

Joseph, you realise anxiously, fingers tightening in your hold over your hood and Jacob’s shirt.

The oldest brother grunts with a noncommittal shrug, “Could be better. They barely put up a fight when I grabbed ‘em. Haven't moved since.”

“Jacob,” is Joseph’s gentle admonishment.

“What? You expect me to see ‘em all curled up like this and not do something? Don’t be a fool, Joe.”

“You shouldn’t have forced them though, brother. We all know how skittish they are about being touched.”

“Funny, I don’t remember you havin’ a problem with that when you suggested this little intervention. What was it you said again? Something about exposure…”

There’s a strained sigh, exasperated.

The conversation between the brothers fades into the background as an echo of suspicion takes up your periphery; unsure why Joseph is trying to take some sort of high ground when you know that he’s the touchiest of them all. The fact that he -- they are aware of your dislike of being touched and would still do it anyway doesn't help your currently subdued distrust towards the men, either.

Swallowing thickly you carefully readjust yourself, legs stretching out a few inches before yanking them back as something brushes against them. A choppy whine becoming lodged in your throat as you feel something -- a hand? -- place itself on your knee, taking a steady hold of it.

“Ah ah, easy there! My, you really are jumpy, aren’t you? It’s okay though. You don’t have to be so scared anymore, my dear. We’re here now,” John, you tremble. “Can I see you? Will you let me? I just want to see your pretty face…” The couch dips at the added weight, thumb rubbing indiscernible patterns into your knee as soft fingers ghost over the back of your hand. Easing around and into your palm, applying a coaxing pressure as he pries your hand and hood away from your face.

With a low noise you hesitantly open your eyes, blinking against the honeyed glow of the lamp John must have turned on behind him. Defiantly keeping your eyes down as you notice and feel him start to invade your space, leaning in until he’s almost over your lap as he desperately tries to meet your eyes.

The barest hint of betrayal colours you as Jacob stops stroking your hair, grazing over your cheek with a soothing touch before loosely slotting his fingers around your neck, thumb and pointer finger resting uncomfortably on the angle of your jaw. Raising your head to look at his brother as you whimper plaintively, unable to break away the moment John’s ocean deep eyes catch your own.

A boyish smile lights up his face. Eyes twinkling with an adoration you’ve never seen before as they drink in your weary expression. Softening and turning sympathetic the longer he looks at you, the more he takes in. Colours layered with a gleam of understanding that makes your chest tighten.

“Oh, sweetheart,” lip wobbling you sniffle, trying to ignore his tone as he releases your knee. Hand cradling your cheek as the other manages to wiggle your hood free from your grip, pushing it away from your face and then taking your hand in his, drawing it close until he can press his own cheek into your palm. Beard scratching at the sensitive skin.

“Look at you,” he coos sweetly, “You’re so perfect for us. Why don't you cry? I can see that you want to. I bet you look even prettier when you cry too. You know there’s no shame in it, right? We won’t judge you for it, we’ll never judge you for anything. We just want to help you, darling. To look after you. Don’t you want that? Won’t you let us? Won’t you let us love you?”

Your lips twist, eyes stinging as your vision starts to blur again. Only just seeing the sudden feverish hunger that flickers to life in his eyes at your reaction, a predatory shade churning their colour darker as he slinks closer. A whimper shared in the space between.

“Oh. Oh. Yes, yes that’s it darling! Just like that. You’re being so good for me, so good. It’s okay to cry, sweetheart. It’s okay. You know we’ll look after you, right? We’ll protect you, I promise we will. We always will. You’ll never have to pretend again. We’ll keep you safe. We’ll take you home and you can have whatever you want, whatever your heart desires. I’m more than happy to spoil you, just tell me what you want. Anything you want and it’s yours, you just need to tell me. You just need to rely on me, only me. I’ll take such good care of you if you let me love--”

“John. That’s enough.”

He freezes. Takes a shuddery breath as he realises how close he has gotten to you, his mania driving him deeper into your (and Jacob’s) space until his nose is almost bumping yours. Shades of colour shifting like tempestuous waves as he turns to his brother with wide and glossy eyes, his rapturous tone switching to a high and petulant whine.

“But Joseph--”

Joseph shakes his head, lamp light casting a glare across his glasses as he takes a step forward. “I know you want to help them, John. We all do. But you must have patience. You shouldn’t pressure them so.”

John furrows his brow, mouth opening with a retort before he’s beaten to it. A harsh scoff sounding out above you.

“Yeah, you only say that cos you wanna be the one to say the words to ‘em,” finally letting go of your jaw Jacob’s arm drops to your lap, fingertips brushing absently over your hip. Throwing a challenging look, “ain’t that right, Joe?”

Joseph levels his brother with a flat stare.

“All I am saying, Jacob,” he enunciates purposefully, smoothly navigating around the coffee table until he stands before you all, eyes shielded by yellow lenses as he gazes neutrally down at his older brother, “is that we don’t want to cause them unnecessary stress by being impatient and rushing into things. They’re dealing with enough as it is. We do not want to add to that.” Blue eyes made green shift to you. That unnerving calm of his, so self assured and righteous, mellows; his scrutinising gaze turning deceptively gentle as he smiles serenely at you. Hand placed atop your head, “Not more than we already have.”

His touch is heavy, domineering in how you can feel the intentional press of him. The smallest application of pressure threatening to bow your head. It makes you feel all the more hopeless. That yawning absence of thought and those swaddled remnants of emotion growing all the more noticeable. The lack of despair that you know you should be feeling, being so cruelly cornered like the wounded animal you are, drives the wedge in deeper. The involuntary acceptance weighted down by your vacancy of care, the captivity of self.

Because that’s what it is, isn’t it? Thoughts and feelings, all that you are, locked away in a place that you can’t quite reach. On the other side of a door that you don’t have the key to. Lost in a building so dark and vast that you see no end in sight; a compass without directions that does nothing but spin; straining to listen to the faded grinding of gears somewhere further beyond. But the room never changes, the compass never stops, the sound never gets louder no matter how much you try. Just stuck. Just still. Just a void that shouldn’t be.

It should make you sad. There’s an echo of that sadness, trying to breach the disconnect, but once again you can’t find the source. Can’t take hold or fully embrace it. Just aware that it’s there, like background noise you don’t pay a thought to. And even if you wanted to, you wouldn’t be able to find it.

The only thing you do feel (other than a persistent headache) is tired; in every capacity.

Too physically weak to battle your way out of Jacob’s hold. Too mentally drained to analyse John’s every word and intonation. Too emotionally defeated to dread whatever intentions or warped plans Joseph has in mind for you.

This was planned, you know that much. And as Joseph steals your face away from his brother – John’s hands migrating to rest at the nape of your neck and splaying across your collarbone with his thumb to your throat, Jacob’s hands constricting in they’re hold as the one at your shoulder falls to join the other snaked around your waist – that tell-tale sting pricks your eyes again.

The world begins to blur around the edges as Joseph bends over you, angles your face heavenward to look directly up at him. Teary eyes forced to meet the blue turned green of your self-imposed saviour. His warm breath fanning over you, intently watching the fluttering of your lashes with every half blink you make; trying so hard to keep the tears at bay, so hard not to cry in front of him. In front of any of them.

You know they'll take advantage. Watch as you fall apart at the seams and the stuffing comes loose, act as if they didn’t brandish the scissors that tore your stitching out as they sew you back together. You know they will. Your vulnerability is prime meat for vultures like them.

Silently displeased by your show of restraint, Joseph’s stare sharpens. Turns razor-edged as he tilts his head with an unreadable expression. Grip constricting as he keeps you still, dissuades the need to fidget before you can act on it, observing every twitch with a critical eye. As if you’re a puzzle he’s trying to figure out how to conquer.

You can’t say you’d be surprised.

Something must show on your face because his gaze eases, takes on an edge so tender and warm that you feel as though you're being embraced by eye contact alone. It’s so raw that you feel yourself quake, fault lines threatening to come apart; stitching fraying and soft fuzz peaking out just as you feared they would.

And Joseph smiles.

He brushes your skin. Thumbs caressing your upper cheeks, further still until he’s so close to one of your eyes that you can’t help the instinctive reaction to protect it. Feeling the resistance of your lashes brushing his skin as you attempt to guard such a vulnerable part yourself from him.

But as his thumbs ease away, settling with cupping your face instead of ghosting over your eyelids, your breath stutters as you glimpse Joseph's smile grow into a grin, a gentle coo on his lips as you realise your mistake far too late; skin warm then shockingly cold as the air touches the tear line now running down your cheek.

A flash of emotion, poignant and real, lances through you:

Fear.

#honestly i forgot to give this piece a title in my drafts so hopefully this one i threw onto it encapsulates the fic well enough #and that the guys come across okay #was totally going for comfort over character accuracy admittedly #but i still feel bad for doing them dirty with the dialogue lol #and i'm rusty too! #been a hot minute since i wrote anything proper #so please forgive me 🥺 #also #anyone catch that opening reference to another depressing fic of mine? #i was going through another low phase at the time #so decided to reference the first one i did #they're not related though #just come from the same low place #fc5 #far cry 5 #jacob seed #john seed #joseph seed #poly seed #seed bros x reader #reader insert #my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #fc5 fanfic #fc5 fanfiction #comfort fic #kind of?

[chemicalalice]

Fic: Play For Keeps - Kinktober Day 12

Title: Play For Keeps

Summary: Luke doesn't think of you as a prize to be won. But his brother does.

Pairing: Luke Tillerson x female!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, consensual and unconsensual exhibitionism/voyeurism (one partner knows, the other doesn't), unprotected PinV sex, vaginal fingering. Please be mindful of yourself and do not read if this content bothers you. 18+ only! Minors DNI.

Word count: 3958

AN: Outer Range shows that Trevor is an asshole. But I don't think they meant for him to be as big of an asshole as I make him. *shrugs* Oh well! Sorry Trev! (Thank you @maria-allegra for the pic of Luke!)

In moments like these, when Trevor had his hand on your arm and his 'aww shucks' grin plastered on his face and Luke wanted to punch Trevor's smug face in, he had to take a deep breath and remind him self of a couple of things.

1) Trevor was a playboy who would hit on anything female with a pulse. You knew that and weren't stupid enough to fall for his charm.

2) Trevor was his brother, and Luke loved him very much; even if he was a complete douche bag 90% of the time and they probably wouldn't even associate at all if they didn't share blood.

And 3) Trevor didn't actually know that Luke was head over heels in love with you, not just looking for a quick fuck.

Luke wasn't actually so sure of that last one. What Trevor did know was that Luke was interested in you, though. Very interested. So the fact that Trevor still pursued you even though he had a different girl in bed each night made Luke see red.

Luke knew you weren't some prize to be won. He cared you too much to disrespect you like that. But if that was how Trevor saw this? As some sort of game? Well, this time Luke was playing to win.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You liked Trevor Tillerson, for the most part. When you you first moved to Amelia county all those months ago you didn't know a single person. While you were looking for a change, a fresh start, it was still lonely. There were many nights that you would sit alone at the bar, maybe order dinner, maybe just have a few drinks, and then head back to your quiet little house. Until Trevor.

You knew he was looking to get into your pants when he first struck up a conversation with you, but he didn't keep you isolated, focused solely on him. Instead, he brought you back to his table and introduced you to his brothers and the other girls that were sitting with them. Surprisingly, those girls ended up becoming close friends, so you would always be thankful to him for that.

Maybe that thankfulness was why you were currently entertaining his attention. That or the dry spell that you had been stuck in for the past year was finally getting to you. Either way, you didn't slide your arm away when he rested his hand on it, fingers curling gently around your elbow is a subtly possessive manner. As if it was a done deal that you would be leaving with him that night even after all the other nights you had managed to slip away from his grasp. Maybe it was.

Or at least, that was until Luke appeared, leaning in between you and Trevor to throw some money on the bar. Trevor was forced to pull his arm back to accommodate his brother's body, and you smiled into your drink as Trevor scowled at the other man.

That scowl deepened when Luke clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Beth and Maria are demanding your attention over at the pool table. They want to play a round. I don't know how much longer they will take no for an answer."

The scowled switched back to a smile as Trevor turned to face you again. "Don't go anywhere sweetheart, I will be right back as soon as I am done with this game and we can continue this conversation."

You gave a slight, noncommittal, dip of your head in response, your eyes meeting Luke's as Trevor moved away. "That was subtle."

"I figured I should step in and save you from whatever shit Trev was spewing now," Luke responded with a grin. He waved at the bartender. "Buy you a drink?"

The ice in your empty drink knocked against the glass as you tilted it in your hand. "I guess one more wouldn't hurt."

"So what line was my brother giving you tonight," Luke asked after the bartender set a new drink in front of you.

You dropped your chin to your hand as you gazed at the man in front of you. "Hmmm...he was telling me how he would love to take me out on an ATV ride on your property; show me the true beauty of Wyoming. It didn't sound that bad, surprisingly."

Luke scoffed. "The ATVs?! Nah, you need to see it on horseback. That is the only true way to experience it if you haven't before."

You laughed at the way his nose had crinkled in disgust. "I didn't think you Tillerson boys rode horses. I thought you were 'modern' cowboys, doing away with the outdated past and embracing technology and all that."

You liked the way Luke's eyes creased in the corners as he smiled at you. "Honey, this is Wyoming. Of course we have horses. It's just faster, and easier, to use the ATVs for daily use." He paused to take a swig of his beer, eyes never leaving yours. "I'll tell you what, how about you let me take you out tomorrow instead? Horses and all? It's the least I can do to make sure you get to truly appreciate what we have to offer here."

"Gonna show me what a real cowboy you are?" you teased, cocking one eye brow at him.

His eyes darkened, smile sliding into a knowing grin. "Only if you let me, sweetheart." You picked up easily on the double meaning in his words. He was probably just teasing you right back. You could feel your face heating as he waited for your response.

"What time?"

The grin stretched back into a smile. "Come out to my place, 10am. I will have everything ready."

"Alright then." You gave him a small smile before tipping the rest of your drink into your mouth. "I'm going to call in a night. Say goodbye to Trev and Billy for me, would you?"

He caught your hand as you stood, surprising you and raising it to press a chaste kiss your knuckles. "Good night, darlin'. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow." Oh, he was good.

You were so flustered by Luke's easy seduction that you didn't see Trevor glaring at the two of you from where he stood by the pool table.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You saw Luke as soon as you drove up to his house. He was standing out by the barn, two horses already saddled up and tied to the fence rail. Your stomach clenched, and you weren't sure if it was at the sight of the horses, or him.

"'Morning." He was smiling as he greeted you, and that smile only got bigger as he sensed your unease. "You nervous?"

"A little," you admitted.

"Oh come on now, I thought you were country girl; just from up north."

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "Yeah, I am I guess. But from where I come from everyone has a boat, not a horse, and we wrangle muskies not cows. More backwoods than prairie."

"Well don't be nervous. I picked out the nicest gal we got for you. She is super easy to ride. We are going to have a good time." Luke assured you. The smile never left his face, and as you looked at him, you realized it was one of the first times you ever saw him looking so happy, the normally worry lines on his face smoothing out until they practically disappeared. You knew that despite Trevor being the oldest, Luke shouldered most of the responsibilities of the ranch. You sensed pretty early on how seriously he took those responsibilities, and how much they weighed on him.

After he had helped you up on your horse, you watched as he mounted his own, trying not stare at the way his ass filled out his dark jeans as he swung his leg over the saddle. He looked good; from the hat down to the boots, it was like a girlhood dream come to life.

The day was perfect for a ride; the crisp fall air balanced wonderfully with the warmth of the sun. Conversation flowed easily as Luke pointed out different plants and animals as you rode. It was easy for you to see how much he loved his land. And it warmed something in you to see him so peaceful. You wondered if he had ever shared it like this with someone else before. The way he talked, his obvious excitement, had you guessing he hadn't.

After about two hours he had you stop and dismount, and to your amazement he then proceeded to pull a full picnic out of the saddle bags strapped to his horse; complete with a blanket, cloth napkins, and bottle of wine.

"This is quite some tour." You we're leaning back on your elbows, eyes closed and face tipped to towards the sun, relishing it's warmth.

"Oh sweetheart, I'm pretty sure this is a date. Just been trying to think of best way to ask." He sat with one leg tucked under him, the other propped up, his arm resting on the bent knee, twisting his wine glass back and forth in his fingers. The grin on his lips was seductive, almost lazy, but his eyes were heavy with intent.

You wondered if he would bridge the gap between you, press you down into the blanket spread over the long grass and kiss you. That spot between your legs was hot with longing, but you knew you would never be brave enough to make the first move.

"I suppose we should probably start heading back," he murmured before you could respond, eyes finally dipping away from yours. You nodded in agreement, even though disappointment flooded through you.

The ride back was just as nice as the ride out, although now it was heavy with Luke's admission. You would be lying if you denied that you had been interested in Luke ever since you were first introduced to him. He was smart, handsome, and hardworking. But despite all the times you talked or met at group events, you could never tell if he interested in you back, or just being friendly. Now every word you exchanged seemed primed with potential. You couldn't remember the last time you had enjoyed yourself so fully or so easily with a man. It made you want more.

When you arrived back at the house, Luke helped you off your horse one last time and then led you into the barn, where you stood awkwardly as he began removing the saddles and other tack. "Are you sure I can't help at all?" you offered, knowing it was, in essence, pointless. You didn't know a thing about what he was doing. He shot you a grin and a wink, no doubt thinking the same thing.

Luke was silent as he worked, and that silence slowly began to eat away at the confidence you had slowly felt building throughout the day. It was a bad habit you had yet to break; your mind always going to the worst places as self-doubt crept in. Did he regret what he had said? Did you mistake what he had said? Maybe he had been taking pity on you, inviting you out today; knowing how painfully single you were. Maybe..., worst of all, maybe it was all a joke to him?

You cleared your throat. "Hey, I had a really good time today. You really didn't have to do all that. I should probably let you get back to your day, though. I don't want to take up any more of your time."

Luke dropped the saddle he had been holding onto its rack and then turned to you, eyes narrowed. You opened your mouth, ready to apologize (For what? You weren't sure. Another bad habit), but your jaw clicked shut as he quickly closed the space between you, backing you up against the bench behind you.

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair off your cheek as he smiled softly. "Stop thinking so loudly. I wanted to take you out today. I couldn't think of a better way to spend my day."

And then his hand was sliding through your hair and cupping the back of your head, pulling you to him. It was soft; his lips brushing gently against yours, coaxing you to relax, to open your mouth to him, to allow him to deepen the kiss. You moaned softly as his tongue pushed past your lips, licking into your mouth. You moaned again and he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours. "You gonna let me show you what else a real cowboy can do?"

You nodded quickly, almost frantically, as you reached up to pull his mouth back to yours, your confidence returning in a rush. It was his turn to moan. He tugged at your hips, hoisting you up onto the bench. He was already hard; and you could feel it, pressing up against your belly as he moved.

His hands immediately fell to your pants; tugging at your belt, thumbing open the button, dragging the zipper down. Through it all, his mouth never left yours. You lifted your hips, allowing him to tug your jeans down to your ankles. The wood of the bench was rough on your skin where your panties didn't cover, but you didn't care, not when your hands were fighting with Luke's own belt.

He finally pulled back, voice rough when he spoke. "Let me." Your mouth went dry as his pants fell to the ground, underwear following shortly after. Jesus. You couldn't think of a better looking way to end your dry spell.

Luke pushed himself in between your legs, his hands falling to your thighs. One thumb hooked in your panties, pulling them to the side, allowing him slide a finger into you. He groaned, cursing as he felt how wet you already were. "Is this ok?" he panted, eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt or discomfort.

You hesitated briefly, not even meaning to, and he swooped in to kiss you again. "Its ok if its not. We can stop," he said.

"No, I don't want to stop. Just....its been awhile," you admitted. You could feel your cheeks heating in embarrassment at the admission.

Luke, however, didn't seem to mind. "Jesus, baby, that's ok. I'll go slow, ok?" You barely had time time to nod before he was pushing another finger into you, stretching you open for him as his thumb began to rub slow circles on your clit.

It felt good. Too good. You were already keyed up from the want you felt for him, the want that had building all day; and it had been so long since you had been touched by another person that at the very first curl of his fingers inside you you were moaning his name and clenching around his fingers as you came.

He withdrew his fingers, staring down at you in wonder. You wanted to curl into yourself, humiliation at how easily you had fallen apart coursing through you. But he didn't let you sink into that feeling. With the hand that wasn't covered in your cum, he cupped your cheek, coaxing you to look at him.

"You are the most gorgeous thing I have ever laid my eyes on," he breathed, and his voice sounded almost reverent. "I'm gonna take care of you baby. I'm going to make you feel even better."

He pressed closer to you, his cock sliding between you folds, catching at your entrance and then the pressure as he began to push in. You expected more resistance, but you were already so wet and relaxed from your orgasm that he had no problem in sinking into you.

You whimpered as he bottomed out, almost overwhelmed at how full you felt. He waited only the briefest of moments before he drew back and then plunged in again, starting up an unhurried rhythm. You arched against him with a gasp. Luke's thrusts we're smooth and deep, and he was focused on searching for that spot that would make you see stars.

He wrapped an arm around your back, pulling you closer to the edge of the bench, closer to him, so that he could change his angle. You cried out as he did, your arm shooting up to wrap around his shoulders as an anchor. He knew he had hit the right spot by the way your moans turned breathy.

"You feel so good, baby. So fucking good," he murmured, lips brushing against your forehead.

Movement, caught out of the corner of his eye, pulled his attention away from you. Trevor. Standing in the doorway. Luke's met his eyes, watched as realization set in as he took in the scene before him; watched as his brother's hands curled into fists at his side as that realization turned to anger.

Luke knew, somewhere, far back in the deepest reaches of his brain that he should stop; that he should curl over you to shield you from his brother's view. Knew that if you were aware you were being watched you would be horrified. But in that moment, rational thought was silenced by something more primal, by the dark and possessive part of him that wanted to stake his claim and scream Look! This is mine! You can't have her. You can never have her.

"Look at me," he demanded, voice rough and panting as he stared down at you, and he had to bite back a groan as your eyes immediately flicked up to his. Such a good girl for him. He began to fuck into you harder, each thrust wobbling the bench you were perched on. "Does that feel good? Do you like that? Gonna cum all over my cock for me?"

"God! Yes!" you moaned in reply, trying to brace yourself the best you could against the way he was pounding into you.

"Tell me you're mine. Tell me you won't let anyone else touch you like this." He didn't know where the words were coming from. He had never been like this with a girl before. But with you, he needed it; needed to know that you were his, that you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

"Yours, Luke." It was practically a sob, pulled out of you with every push and pull of his cock in your cunt.

He could feel your thighs start to tremble. Could feel you start to tighten up around him. Good. He wasn't going to last much longer himself. Not with the way you felt. Not with the way you looked. Not with the way you were gasping beneath him as you cried out his name in pleasure as you came.

"Fuck! Fuck!" Luke jerked back, pulling out of you, his cock barely removed from tight heat of you cunt before he began to cum, spilling hotly against the smooth skin of your inner thigh. "Goddamn. Fuck, baby," he panted, his head dropping to nuzzle against your hairline as his cock still twitched against your thigh with the remnants of his orgasm.

When he finally dragged himself away from you, Trevor was gone.

Luke reached around you, his hand on your hip keeping you balanced, and grabbed one of the picnic napkins that had been set there while he was unpacking. He carefully wiped your leg clean of his spend before he helped you stand, and waited until you both had your pants pulled up and belts buckled before he leaned back into you, cupping your face gently in his palms as he kissed you.

Now, in the aftermath, he felt worry twist in his stomach. Worry that his words had upset you. Worry that is was too much, too soon, too presumptuous. Worry that just because you had him feeling in a way he had never experienced before with any other woman, that you didn't feel the same.

His eyes were soft, hesitant, as he dragged his thumbs along your cheeks. "I'm sorry if I came off a little...strong. You kind of had me loosing my mind. But I meant it; that I want to be the only one you see. It's, uh... it's been a little while for me too. Nothing had ever really left right before. Not like this. And I would really like for this to be something serious. I want that with you."

You smiled back, a wide, beautifully blinding thing, and Luke felt the tension in his chest ease and relief, happiness, take its place. "I'd like that too," you replied softly, gazing up at him in wonder.

He couldn't stop himself from capturing your lips his his yet again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The whiskey glass was dangling loosely in Luke's fingers as he stared out of the window, at the sun starting to set over the mountains in the distance. Normally he found sunsets beautiful, but always tinged with melancholy. They had always represented the end of another empty day. Tonight, it felt different. Tonight, he saw the beauty, but didn't feel the sadness.

The light had almost completely faded by the time Trevor finally made an appearance. Luke didn't bother turning to face his brother. He didn't have to. He could feel the fury pouring off the other man.

"What the fuck was that today, huh?" Trevor hissed. "You know I have been trying to get with her!"

Luke's jaw clenched in anger when his brother mentioned you, his fingers tightening on the glass he held. "She deserves more than being just another one of your pump and dumps, Trevor."

"Oh and let me guess, you're the fucking golden boy that deserves her? That why your last girl dumped your ass for me?" Trevor's words were delivered with a nasty sneer, one that had Luke once again seeing red at the complete and casual disregard his brother had for him.

He wasn't thinking when he swung out at his brother, his fist landing solidly on the other man's jaw, knocking him back. "You fucking stay away from her, you hear me? Don't touch her, don't even talk to her. You are done with her. I am not going to let you fuck this up for me."

Luke's knuckles stung as he glared at his brother, waiting for whatever Trevor was going to say next, just knowing that his bother had something else cruel to say.

Trevor spit, saliva and blood mixing as it hit the hardwood floor. "Whatever man. You can keep the bitch. Although I'm sure you won't be able to hold on to her long. Poor, serious, boring Luke. I can wait. I'll enjoy plowing that sweet pussy all the more now."

Luke loved his brother. That was the only thing stilling his hand, keeping him from launching himself at Trevor again as the other man stalked away. Luke loved his brother. It was something he needed to constantly remind himself of, every single time Trevor opened his goddamn mouth.

He took a deep breath, forced himself to slow his breathing. It didn't matter what Trevor said. Luke knew you better than that. Knew you were the one he had been waiting for. Had known it since he had first laid eyes on you.

He took another breath and pulled his phone from back pocket, hitting your name in the messaging app.

Thinking of you.

The reply came quickly. Thinking about you too. I can't wait to see you again tomorrow :)

Me too. Goodnight sweetheart. Sweet dreams.

The sun was completely gone now. The room dark. But the glow from the phone screen was enough to light up the smile on Luke's face.

#outer range #luke tillerson #luke tillerson x reader #kinktober 2022 #tppkinktober2022 #fic #chemy writes #outer range fanfiction

[mrs-steve-harrington]

20 Questions For Fic Writers

Tagged by @elder-flower <3 Thank you for tagging me! You're awesome and I really enjoyed reading all your answers. I hope that it helped remind you that you ARE a writer (and a good one at that) despite the creative slump at the moment.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

205 (204 are currently visible, one is waiting for an exchange to reveal)

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

685,919

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently Stranger Things and The Babysitter and hoping to get back into more Free Guy after taking an anonymous comment a little too personally to the effect of no longer being able to write that fandom without shame

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

a place where I feel at home (Stranger Things) (34,455 words) Day Four: Green With Envy (Stranger Things) (2,825 words) it's (not) just food (Stranger Things) (3,016 words) didn't mean to be too much (Stranger Things) (3,663 words) Mystery Spot Misunderstanding (Supernatural) (23,850 words)

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to! For one, I really do appreciate anyone taking the time to let me know they enjoyed my fic, however they choose to express that (keysmashes, emojis, "I liked this", etc all make me smile). For another, I know a lot of people won't comment at all if they see that the comments don't get replies. Alas, I am human and often forget. Recently I've replied to some comments years after they were left. I should do another replies sprint soon...

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably this one: Trust (Free Guy (2021)) (7,755 words) It's a non-con/abusive relationship fic and the end has Keys sort of realizing just how fucked up everything is and realizing he can't even really remember his old friends' faces and yeah. Angsty!

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Hmm, I've got quite a few happy endings under my belt despite how difficult they are... Wow this was so hard I had to consult a friend. I have fewer happy endings than originally thought. Going with this one, though! a place where I feel at home (Stranger Things) (34,455 words)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not on them, no, which sort of surprises me considering what I've posted the last year or more. But also I'm blocked by like half of the fandom so I imagine I wouldn't see much of it myself anyway

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do! One of my goals a few years ago was to get more comfortable writing it and I like to think I've managed that. I've even joined the smut4smut exchange multiple times now! As for what kind, um... Non-con is where I'm most comfortable, so quite a bit of that. But also surprisingly some totally consensual stuff, too. A lot more m/f these days, which is NOT easy when you are squicked by basically all the words for lady parts but I do my best to work around it. There's a sprinkling of m/m in there as well, though less so recently!

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I do! Not often, although I think of them a lot. It's not really "crazy", but I think it's a little more out there than my other posted one. can hardly feel the cold with you (1,808 words) It's a Stranger Things/Until Dawn crossover featuring Steve/Mike/Jessica because I hardcore ship Steve/Jessica and Jessica and Mike are soulmates so I couldn't leave him out.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I'm pretty sure my fics ended up on that one... Idk was it a Russian site? Some site was stealing a bunch of fics and I think I found some of mine there

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I can remember!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I started on one with @urisarang but never quite got past the first part. I'd still like to continue that fic someday but it's hard?? And I like to think our Free Guy series of fics set in the same universe should count!

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

It's really hard to say. All time? I don't think I have one. Maybe a Harry Potter ship or two since that's the only fandom I go back to on a regular basis for reading. To write? I guess it's Stoncy. Feels hard to say for sure because I'm really bummed out about the fandom and season 4 and it's made it harder for me to enjoy writing them. But I still love them.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

More than I could list here. I have so many, I even found one I forgot existed at all the other day. But for this one, I'll say probably the WIP set after Steve and Nancy were stuck in the Entity's Realm (where they are in Dead by Daylight the game). They're home and safe but Steve is isolating himself because he and Nancy were sleeping together while trapped and he "knows" it never meant anything except finding comfort in the familiar so he needs to stay away so Nancy can be with Jonathan and her family. It also features them both having trouble remembering to eat bc eating wasn't necessary while they were trapped in the other universe. I just reread what I've got last night and love it. But I don't think I'll ever figure out how to continue or finish it :(

16. What are your writing strengths?

Introspection. I am most comfortable writing what's going on in someone's head and like to think I'm good at it.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue, plot, action, anything that requires thought and/or effort.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I don't have an opinion, I guess? I don't write anything where it's come up before.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Supernatural!

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Hmm, there are a couple that I really like. Favorite right this minute... Caught between two:

anything (anything) for you (Stranger Things (TV 2016)) (5,373 words)

It's a very self-indulgent stoncy fic where Steve is desperate enough to stay with Nancy that when he proposes that she date them both and she thinks he wants to also date Jonathan, he doesn't correct her. I know I wrote it but man, I love the angst of Steve forcing himself into situations he is super uncomfortable with. Dub-conning himself in a way both Nancy and Jonathan would be very upset about if they knew but for totally different reasons than Steve's convinced himself over.

the devil on my shoulder (The Babysitter (Movies - McG)) (2,740 words)

Years ago, I was determined to write as many words as possible for NaNo. I asked ppl on tumblr to send me prompts to write for them so I would have ideas to work from. This fic came from me taking the chance at tagging my plea with The Babysitter and I'm so glad they sent me the prompt because this might be the fic of mine that I have reread the most maybe aside from the one mentioned above. It started out as a fic where Bee encourages Cole to break the rules to manipulate him into being on her side, but it turned into something a little different than that. I don't know how to put it into words but I just really love it. (Too bad there is not much of a fandom out there for those movies haha)

Tagging: @stevethehousewife @urisarang @tkwritesdumbassassins @readythefanons

#thanks for tagging me! #stranger things #supernatural #the babysitter #ketwan #elder-flower #twenty questions #tag game

[rolling-restart]

from Eden - part 2

Pairing: Mark Webber/Oscar Piastri

Tags and Warnings: Age difference, mentor/protégé relationship, trans male character, fluff, Mark is not a pervy old man here, domestic fluff, mild blood, virginity talk, cunnilingus, safe, sane and consensual, moral conflict, mention of transphobia.

Status: Incomplete

Summary: Oscar raises the stakes. 

AS YOU WISH

“No waaaaay!”

They were sitting silently on their phones in the living room. The news of Imola being cancelled couldn’t have come at a better time since either of them felt like leaving their little nest, at least as Mark saw it, and going to face the big scary world. 

“One less race to screw up, nice!”

Mark sighed. He knew there was no way to make Oscar feel better about his current situation. A bad car would affect anyone’s confidence and unavoidably, you would start to feel like the car wasn’t the only thing that is wrong. Mark knew it wasn’t true because he witnessed Oscar’s phenomenon through the years. The kid was capable of much more than he was allowed to show with that shitbox and he could only wish that this didn’t affect his confidence permanently. 

There was no further surprising news as far as Mark knew, so Oscar’s exclamation across the couch startled him.

“What?”

“That’s so embarrassing!”

“What is embarrassing?”

Mark pretended not to be nosy and want to snatch Oscar’s phone from his hand to see what was that fuss about. He would, realistically, never do that and appearing too curious always spoilt Oscar, ruining Mark’s chances to reveal what was going on. So he tried to be nonchalant. 

“God, he is desperate!”

“Oscar…”

“Logan just sent me a dick pic.”

Mark was stunned but he was quick to collect himself and correct his expression. This was fine. They were just kids fooling around. There was no reason to burst out. 

“Oh… Did you ask for one?”

Mark silently congratulated himself for not reacting in an embarrassing way. If he overreacted and got angry, Oscar would be taken aback. The reason why Oscar shared a piece of such information with him was because he trusted Mark to react reasonably and maybe also he saw Mark as a friend rather than a cold-hearted adult. If Mark reacted like a worried parent, Oscar would treat him like a worried parent and not let him into his private life at all. Which would be fine, and appropriate at a surface level. Maybe Mark took their proximity for granted and this wasn’t how things should go between a mentor and a mentee. Either way, it was almost instinctual for him to hide this burning feeling inside him he didn’t dare to name.

“Nupe, he just sorta, sent it.”

“Isn’t it a sort of crime?”

Oscar rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“God, Mark, no. I mean not the most pleasant view but I would hardly classify this a crime. But you know what’s criminal? The audacity!”

Mark didn’t share Oscar’s lighthearted reaction. In his opinion, what Logan did was quite disrespectful and he deserved to be told off. It definitely had nothing to do with Mark’s own feelings. 

“Do you and… uhm… Logan have something going on?”

To his relief, Oscar made a disgusted face.

“Ewww, no. What do you take me for? Fooling around with a trumpie? God no.”

“Huh.”

Mark knew he was about to be caught. His indifference was so fragile, so artificial that it was only a matter of moments before Oscar spotted him.

“Also, it is nice of him to just declare what he has in store. So that I didn’t have to waste my time to just be disappointed by this.”

Mark grimaced at the sudden shock of the phallic image shoved at his face. 

“Oscar, what the fuck. I didn’t want to see it.”

“Me neither, so we can suffer together. Also, he is rather small, should I tell him that? Or should I just answer with ‘Eww.’?

Mark couldn’t help but chuckle. For a shy little guy, Oscar was sure cruel and petty when he wanted to be. 

“I mean, why not? He should’ve known better than sending you unsolicited dick pictures.”

He tried his best, his true best to not pour his annoyance in his voice and he wondered how plausible his nonchalance was.

“Are you annoyed?”

Oscar’s expression could only be described as mischievous and Mark felt like a deer caught in headlights.

“I mean, I don’t like the fact that a stray yankee bothering my driver with inappropriate pictures.”

He was doing fine. It was okay. There was no way that Oscar could hear the motivation of jealousy in his disapproval of the situation. Why was he jealous, anyway? Oscar was a free adult and had the right to exchange inappropriate images with whomever he wanted. Mark had no jurisdiction in that portion of Oscar’s life as long as it didn’t interfere with the other things. He had to act accordingly with his position if he didn’t want to be revealed for his true annoyance. 

Honestly, even though he wasn’t maddened with jealousy, he was quite rattled. He knew Oscar wouldn’t plausibly pursue a punk like Logan while he had to be focused on his performance. Additionally, Logan wasn’t the most appropriate, moral example of the motorsports youth and he remembered instances of his bigotry more than once. Even though Oscar would give him a chance, which he wouldn’t, Logan would blow it by being rude and puritan nature. Oscar was… tough, and he could handle himself but it didn’t mean that he wasn’t too precious to go along with tomfoolery of ungracious boys. The thought of putting Logan into his place in a dark alley of the paddock the next time he saw him which included grabbing him by the nape of his neck like an unruly cat and throwing him into a puddle or something delightfully played in Mark’s mind. 

It wasn’t jealousy. It was definitely not jealousy. You could say it’s protectiveness, believing that no one deserved Oscat but it was a harmful point of view as well. What if Oscar came across something that genuinely made him happy? Would Mark be okay with it then? Was the problem actually Logan being an unworthy candidate? Mark knew the answer. 

All those overly excited kids, would they know how to make Oscar happy? How to make him feel loved, and protected? Would Oscar trust them enough to climb to their bed to cuddle when he needed it with the same exhibit of vulnerability? The mere thought made Mark’s stomach turn. He couldn’t expect Oscar to stay single forever. It wouldn’t be good for his emotional development and in the end, he could start believing that he is not indeed likeable, which would be a disaster. Mark wasn’t a selfish man, he would never let Oscar suffer the consequences of his own feelings. 

“It’s nothing serious. He is just fooling around. But he doesn’t have any chance since he genuinely asked what I have in my pants.”

“He did fucking what?”

“Yeah, it was nothing big. We were both drunk and he was being handsy and he blew it for  himself. You should’ve seen his face when I told him off. He has like, no manners.”

“That little bastard, I’ll kill him.”

“Mark, noooo…”

Oscar reached to Mark’s forearm as if Mark was going to get up to actually beat someone up. Mark loved it. There was a primal satisfaction in… defending someone’s honour like that.

“And he also apologised later.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Maaark, don’t be a grumpy old man.”

Even though there was a genuine concern for Mark’s aggression, Mark could feel that Oscar was somehow enjoying the situation. He was, by no means, a damsel in distress but Mark understood why it was pleasant for him. Mark just needed to keep the dose in control. 

“Is it how the young people do it nowadays? Just shoot a picture of your junk and call it a day?”

Oscar rolled his eyes and removed his hand from Mark’s forearm. The ghost of his fingerprints scorched Mark’s skin. 

“I don’t know. I don’t particularly flirt around. I have a lot of work to do.”

Mark couldn’t stop his eyebrows from raising. He knew the kid was with him almost all the time but the insecure side of his brain was always telling him that he must have been having some fun behind his back. 

“I like that. But don’t miss the offerings of the youth.”

His words were genuine, even though it hurt him to accept them. If there was anything that would hurt Mark more than seeing Oscar with someone, was seeing Oscar unhappy, alone and wasting his youth. This was a pleasant relief from his constant self-blaming. He cared about Oscar’s well-being more than his own peace of mind, which made his intentions, well, somehow genuine.

“Oh yeah, as if I have any time. Besides, maybe I am just waiting for the right guy.”

Mark’s cheeks were burning. The right guy. He had to stop the voice from the back of his head screaming ‘I am the right guy!’. He knew he wasn’t. The age wasn’t right, the occasion wasn’t right. He couldn’t be arrogant enough to believe that he had everything Oscar needed. 

“Huh, then it might be a while. This industry is filled with assholes who don’t think of anyone but themselves.”

He knew it was right. He had his share of disappointments and he was old enough to know that everyone indeed had their own agendas that only have a limited space for someone else’s happiness.  

“Maybe. Maybe there are some actually good guys among them.”

Oh, the ever-trusting youth. 

—---------

Mark was thinking that one disaster was evaded when another loomed heavy on him. He was tidying the living room and adjacent kitchen while Oscar was showering after his workout session. They promised his PT that Mark was going to police Oscar’s physical activity in exchange for leaving them be. It wasn’t a chore. Mark attentively spotted Oscar at the small gym in the basement of his place. 

“Come on, one more set.”

Oscar especially hated the neck exercises and Mark couldn’t blame him for it. It must have been the least favourite exercise of any driver due to the level of discomfort it brought. He pretended not to gaze at his flexing muscles under the strain. Oscar has always been a bit small among his peers. He swore that he was taller than all the other kids before puberty but while the other kids kept growing, Oscar’s height stood still. Puberty blockers also halted his growth a little, stranding the kid at a slightly below-average height. Oscar was totally comfortable with his height and very maturely, focused on his muscle development instead. 

“It’s an advantage, like Yuki, you guys are much lighter than the rest and it gains you at least a couple of tenths because of it.”

Mark never knew whether Oscar was actually comfortable with his figure but he never audibly complained. Despite the puberty blockers, with a lot of hard work, he put on a considerable muscle mass and caught up with the rest. However, his considerably smaller size never ceased to invoke Mark’s protective instinct when Oscar was pushed physically.

Mark was done with the kitchen when Oscar emerged from the bathroom with nothing but a towel around his waist, dripping water everywhere. Before Mark could protest, He collapsed on the couch, sighing with relaxation. His skin was reddened with the steam of the hot water Oscar insisted on using, despite everyone in his health team’s protests. He was damping the couch and the cushions but Mark decided to just leave him be and tried not to gaze at his glistening chest and exposed thighs.

Oscar seemed unbothered to be almost naked in Mark’s presence and was busy with his phone while Mark fluffed the cushions on the armchair. Despite his best efforts, Mark’s gaze lingered on him.

“What the hell did you do to your legs?”

Mark couldn’t hide the alarm in his voice, startling the poor kid. It wasn’t for nothing, though. Oscar’s calves were smooth, smoother than normal and were spotted with red droplets of blood. 

“Uhh.. Oh.”

Oscar saw the blood too and leaned forward, almost banging heads with Mark.

“Did you try to shave?”

Oscar was trying to wipe the little droplets with his towel, revealing more of his flesh without noticing. Mark kept his gaze fixed on his lower legs and prayed to god.

“Uhh, guess I did.”

“You should be more careful, wait. I’ll get something.”

Mark disappeared into the steamy bathroom, almost slipping to his death with the puddle Oscar had the habit to leave after showering. He found the soothing cream in the bathroom cabinet and returned to the living room.

“Don’t you know how to shave without leaving razor burns? You should be more careful.”

Oscar pulled his legs against his chest despite the risk of revealing himself further. It only exposed more of his thighs, which were also spotted by blood droplets and a red rash. 

“I… ugh… I thought I was being careful.”

Mark shook his head and handed the tube of cream to Oscar. 

“Uhh… Can you please…please put it on? Blood makes me sick.”

The alarm bells were blaring in Mark’s head. Surely Oscar wasn’t doing it on purpose. He, as a matter of fact, knew that seeing blood made Oscar faint from first-hand when he had a bicycle accident last year. The moment he saw the blood on his kneecaps, the poor kid just turned sheet white and went limp. It scared the hell out of Mark at the time, screaming Oscar’s name to bring him back to consciousness. Now, if Mark started searching for a different meaning in the kid's request, he would be misplacing Oscar’s trust and he honestly wouldn’t know how to live with it. 

“Okay, extend your leg.”

His eyes were fixed on Oscar’s left knee to avoid seeing anything he wasn’t meant to see. He kneeled in front of the couch, almost to pray for nothing to go sour about the thing he was about to do. It was all for Oscar, he specifically asked him to do it. He couldn’t deny the kid anything he wanted even if he tried. For now, he just needed to keep himself in control and not touch anything more than he strictly needed to.

Oscar didn’t seem too shy when he extended his leg coquettishly and placed his heel on Mark’s thigh. Without thinking, Mark wrapped a protective hand around Oscar’s delicate ankle. He cursed at himself but Oscar didn’t seem to be fazed. Mark wetted a piece of napkin to first clear the blood droplets with shaky hands. 

“You know,”

His voice was high with the heaviness of the moment. He cleared his throat.

“You know you shouldn’t shave upwards, that’s why you burned your skin.”

“Hmm…”

Oscar’s eyes were fixed on where Mark touched his skin. Mark couldn’t tell apart whether the flush on the kid’s chest was because of the heat of his shower or from something else. Nevertheless, he spread the cream delicately on Oscar’s lower leg, careful to cover all the rash.

“You shouldn’t put moisturiser or oil when it’s like this, just the soothing cream.”

The way Oscar almost purred in response shouldn’t have taken Mark by surprise. His touch must have been nice, delicate and relaxing on the kid's body. Nothing too different from the massage he receives from his physio. The frustrating thought that the physio might have shared his thoughts while helping Oscar relax during recovery made Mark’s blood boil. 

Any other person would be drooling over this opportunity of being this close to a magnificent creature like Oscar. Mark was swallowing thickly to avoid that but it all felt in vain.

“Aaand all done. Try not to sweat too much while it heals.”

Mark wiped his hands on the napkin and sat back on his heels. Oscar was looking directly at him, a mildly amused expression on his face. To Mark’s horror, he parted his legs a bit further, letting the towel shift to expose his upper thighs. While not as bad as his lower legs, they also had some irritation on them.

“Uhm… I shaved a bit further.”

Mark closed his eyes and sighed. That was it. This was the fruit of his journey of self-control, morality, love and gentleness. This must have been the end of the road. This must have been the end of the plausible deniability. Was Oscar aware of what he was doing? His mannerism and that annoying expression on his face said yes but could Mark trust his guidance? Did he know what he was doing?

He remembered his teenage crushes and how safe and entertaining it was to just yearn from afar. Was Oscar aware that stopping the yearning would open the gates of hell, for both of them, to an uncharted land, and nothing would be the same? Did Mark want everything to be the same? Was he that much of a masochist that he would rather watch Oscar with someone else for his own good and claw at the walls in his empty hotel room?

And what would happen if they crossed the line? It wouldn’t change much in the beginning but if Oscar, in the end, got bored of him, how would he survive not being wanted after having the taste of Oscar lingering in his mouth?

Wasn’t he the adult who had to have control of the situation and not let things develop thus far? Was granting Oscar’s every wish worth pushing them both off the edge of an abyss?

But if not me, then who?

But if not now, then when?

He hated to be arrogant but he was almost sure that no man could love and care about Oscar as much as he could. It made the betrayal worse. It was a betrayal of his position of mentor. Oscar didn’t know what he was doing but he just trusted Mark because he had no other choice. Could Mark live with this fact?

I would love and protect him forever, I promise.

The primal side of his mind had never been louder and nothing was easier than just accepting what was presented to him. 

Oscar was an adult. 

He was only 22.

Is he yours?

He was meant to be. But was he giving Oscar any choice in this? Kids were supposed to be stupid and make bad decisions. Was he so long gone in his lack of self-control that he couldn’t stop enforcing this behaviour?

He had to respect Oscar’s decisions, though, and if he decided that he wanted Mark, who would he be to refuse?

He is your responsibility.

And yet they were there. Maybe he should’ve stopped looking at the intimacy he was craving as a desecration, as breaking something precious. He would never do anything to hurt Oscar and his heart would be the safest with Mark.

But what if the only thing the kid wanted was sex? Could Mark live with it without feeling like a disgusting pervert? Could he take only what he is allowed and let him go when it is the time?

He didn’t think so but he had to if that was the case. It was too early to conclude anything. Either way, they couldn’t let anyone know about it, whatever it would be until Oscar got older. Could either of them live with this secrecy? Mark would walk on lava and smile if Oscar asked him to but didn’t Oscar deserve something better? Someone he can show off to the world?

Again, he was just assuming what Oscar thought and felt. He knew the kid enough that he must have thought this thoroughly before acting. If he guided someone for so long and didn’t trust his decisions in the end, what kind of mentor would he be?

Oscar’s breath hitched with urgency. He must have seen the hesitation in Mark’s face and his body started to tremble ever so slightly with anticipation.

“Please, Mark?”

Mark squinted his eyes and then looked at Oscar with a fond smile. 

“Sure thing.”

He squeezed more of the cream onto his palm and proceeded to smear it on Oscar’s firm, pale thighs. He couldn’t help but squeeze his meat gently. In response, Oscar whimpered so sweetly, making his dick jolt in interest. It shouldn’t have been so easy but Mark was beyond blaming his body for the temptation lying in front of him, literally.

Oscar moved his towel a bit further, which was already barely covering anything and Mark fixed his eyes solely on his thigh, carefully applying the cream, maybe even massaging a little. He knew if he just looked, it would be there, Oscar’s offering. But it was too early, too soon and not soon enough.

It was getting difficult for him to work with the towel when he started working on Oscar’s other thigh. Oscar didn’t make any move to move it away this time. Mark knew he was expecting him to do it. Even though his desire was scorching his insides, Oscar didn’t know about it and it was only natural for him to look for a sign of being desired. Mark wished he could just telepathically convey his feelings to Oscar and then immediately changed his mind. It would be too much, overwhelming and even scary for the kid. 

“Can I?”

His voice was too loud in the thickness of the moment. Oscar nodded impatiently. This was it, then, the point of no return. Mark moved the towel away with trembling fingers. 

Here it was, beautiful and dainty like a barely bloomed peony, glistening a little, and also a little bit red and irritated like the rest of Oscar’s lower body. Oscar’s breathing got shallow and it twitched involuntarily, making Mark’s mouth water. So Oscar planned this, even shaved for it. He wasn’t sure whether the razor burns were part of the plan but they were there and there was no return from there. 

“Oh, Oscar…”

It took everything out of Mark to not just faceplant on Oscar’s pussy. It would be so easy, Oscar wanted it too but he had a job at hand. He dutifully ignored the strain in his trousers and started applying the cream on the neglected thigh.

“Mark, please, please…”

“Please what, dear?”

He had to be careful not to tease too much. Now his face was between Oscar’s thigh, he knew there was no going back. He would kill and die to be back there again once he left. He would destroy anyone who wanted to be there instead of him. 

He inhaled the sweet, sweet scent of him. It was a mixture of his shower gel, shaving cream and an intensified version of the sweet smell of Oscar’s skin. He remembered it from cuddling with him, hugging him after a race and now it was so close that Mark couldn’t go anywhere but forward.

“Please touch me there, please…”

Mark smiled gently and proceeded to push his legs a bit more apart, exposing his core. God, he really was beautiful everywhere. He kneaded the meat of his upper thighs gently, making Oscar shudder. His big, tanned hands looked so large, so out of place around Oscar. Without thinking too much over that, Mark planted a kiss on Oscar’s inner thigh. Oscar whined, trying to scoot closer to meet Mark’s face. Acknowledging his impatience, Mark decided not to drag.

First, he planted a tentative kiss on Oscar’s labia, so light that it wouldn’t even cause a beard burn. The poor kid’s skin was irritated enough. Oscar wailed and squeezed his thighs around Mark’s head. Mark had to forcefully spread them apart.

“Hold your legs up, now, love.”

The way Oscar immediately slipped his arms under his knees to hold them up almost made Mark groan. Oscar, his Oscar was already so good, so obedient for him. Oscar’s blush got deeper. Mark knew he was feeling much more exposed than before in this position and it was exactly his objective. He supported his hips with both hands and spread them a little. There wasn’t an inch of Oscar hidden from Mark now. Mark licked his lips and blew a little air on his clit to see his reaction. 

Oscar, predictably now, moaned like he would die if Mark didn't go ahead and touch him. Mark caressed his labia majora with a tentative finger. He was so impossibly wet with anticipation.

“Can I go on?”

“Yes, yes, fuck, Mark please.”

Mark dragged his finger torturously slowly onto his clit, drawing another moan.

“There, Mark, there.”

Mark couldn’t help but smile smugly. 

“Now I will put a finger in, is that okay?”

“Yes please, ple-oh wait!”

Mark was frozen in place with the panic in Oscar’s voice.

“What’s it? Do you want me to stop? I can stop whe-“

Oscar shook his head frantically.

“No, no it’s all good but uhm, I think… I think there is something you should know.”

Mark’s brain was on fire with anticipation.

“What is it, baby?”

“I never did this before. I thought you should… you should know.”

Mark was motionless for a moment. He knew the kid wasn’t fooling around too much but he honestly wasn’t expecting this. This didn’t change the action but it changed the nature of everything. Oscar was trusting him with a lot of things and at a normal time, Mark wouldn’t hesitate to deliver. But this was… He was terrified to no end now, that something would go wrong. However, he tried to calm himself with the larger implications. He couldn’t nullify Oscar’s gift to him. It was so precious, more precious than anything Mark ever owned. The trust the kid put in him, the trust that Mark would make it good for him, take care of him, that he wouldn’t take advantage of it. Mark felt his eyes water.

“I understand. I don’t mind at all but are you sure you want to do this with me, dear?”

Oscar nodded before Mark could finish his question.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Please Mark, please just put your mouth on me, fuck me, I don’t know, I don’t care. Just do something please.”

Mark planted another kiss on Oscar’s thigh and spread his pussy again. If those were the terms, Mark wanted to take care of the implications later. Instead, he planted a kiss on Oscar’s labia.

“So beautiful for me…”

Oscar moaned, pressing his hips further. Mark licked a flat stripe all over it, holding Oscar’s hips in place with a strong grip.

“God, please, please more.”

Mark spent a bit of time teasing, licking around Oscar’s insides and returning to his clit before he started sucking. Oscar whimpered so sweetly, so sinfully. Mark wanted more. His dick was trapped helplessly in his trousers and wasn’t going to see light until he satisfied Oscar thoroughly. 

He tasted so nice. When people said someone’s pussy tasted sweet, he never agreed because it simply didn’t taste sweet. But with Oscar, it was better than sweet. It was brain-numbingly addictive, abundant and generously spread all over Mark’s face. Oscar’s high-pitched moans encouraged him more and he started his merciless assault on his clit.

Oscar was writhing, losing his grip under his knees. It was almost like he was trying to get away from it and push for more at the same time. Mark understood and pushed the back of Oscar’s legs further, folding his small body in two. His hands were almost covering the surface of his sweet pale thighs, making Mark go insane with the possibilities. Could he fuck him by holding him up, folded like this like a ragdoll?

He couldn’t be distracted yet. He had to give everything he had to the job at hand to give Oscar the most mind-blowing orgasm he ever had in his life. He wasn’t going to look for anyone else after this. He was going to know that Mark was everything he needed.

Oscar’s head was thrown back so it was impossible to see his face but the noises he made didn’t leave anything for doubt. The kid was euphoric under his touch.

“Like that, just like that please.”

If it was a younger Mark, he would idiotically go faster after Oscar’s statement but he was old enough to know that it just meant go on exactly like that. Mark’s rhythm didn’t falter.

It took him a while to bring Oscar to the brink of relief but when he did, he stopped.

“Mark, please don’t tease, I’m so close.”

Mark smiled at him, stubble glistening with slick.

“As you wish.”

He restarted with a renewed vigour and before he knew it, Oscar screamed his name like a scarlet ribbon ripping the fabric of the night sky. There were colours, voices and shapes. The universe’s heart was beating right under Mark’s mouth. It was the only thing that ever mattered and that was ever going to matter.

Oscar’s body went limp under him and Mark gently lowered his legs. He flowed into Mark’s lap like a cool, refreshing water stream. He was mumbling something that he couldn’t make sense of. He picked his relaxed body up in bridal style with ease and placed him in his own bed before he fell asleep.

He went to grab a wet rag to wipe Oscar clean and he returned to the sleeping angel in his bed. Mark’s ministration must have drained all the remaining energy in the kid after the workout session. 

He hesitated for a second before putting an oversized t-shirt of his on Oscar. Waking up completely naked could frighten him for a second and Mark didn’t want him to get cold. Oscar didn’t consent to sleeping in the same bed together explicitly but Mark was afraid of making him feel unwanted and abandoned if he instead placed him on the guest bed. As a compromise, Mark stayed on his own side of the bed, without touching Oscar, giving the kid room to sprawl.

He was still hard but he felt exhausted with the severity of the inner conflict he just had. He couldn’t have relieved himself next to Oscar and he was too lazy to go to the bathroom. It needed to wait and it surprised Mark to see how little he cared. All his needs could wait in the face of Oscar’s needs and feelings.

That kid was going to be the death of him.

#nsfw. #mark webber/oscar piastri #mw #op #from eden: mw/op fic

[damienthepious]

calling this a mini fic commentary, the parenthetical after "Someone in the River nearby his body." in chapter four of the water that fills. mostly i want to hear your thoughts on like. what Normal, Non Rilla humans think of damien, and any little traditions the people that live nearest to him have regarding him

[ask me for commentaries about bits and pieces of my ficssss]

yes!! im sure it will be... mini. beacuse i am SOOOOOO good at being concise. ahahaha. ha.

[(Not the first time this has happened. People are curious, by nature, and though Damien does not know what he looks like, sleeping on the riverbed, he is certain that it must appear strange, to those still on the shore.]

god he even describes himself as "sleeping" the boy knows on some level that he's existing in a dream....... and. well. yeah! i BET he looks pretty heckin strange! he looks like frickin death-sleep snow white but soggy! an undecaying body pillowed on the riverbed! even for an actively magical world, he's an oddity.

[They come to look at him, at times. They drop flowers into the current, or coins, or they pour wine.]

okay so here's the thing: i don't think there's a general consensus on Damien, not least of which because the people who visit his body...... aren't all human? there is WILD variation on responses, I think.

There are definitely people who are scared of him, because... i mean, it's freaky. undecaying body in the river. it's unnatural, sure! and people can get scared of things they don't understand. Some people are scared of him, but i don't think anyone has acted on that successfully just yet, partially because the water he's in isn't the easiest for swimming. Rilla had to use weights and a rope to get down to him and back up safely.

Other folks... have made the right connection, and assume that the body has something to do with the River Ghost. Some think he WAS the body, some think that the ghost protects people because he couldn't protect the body. Both are true, in their way. Some of these people are the folks that Damien saved from drowning over the years, and they like to thank him with little gifts. It's mostly small things, i listed flowers, coins and wine, i do thinks that there are also like... floating candles, incense on the shore, fruit and honeycomb and that sort of thing. Just little thank-yous. Most of the folks who thank him, both human and monster, are the locals, and they know that the River Ghost looks out for them. A little bit of thanks is the least they can do.

[He sees fires on the bank, on rare occasion, dancing light through the silver water.]

I do think that on holidays to do with St Damien specifically, folks might maybe party on the riverside, perhaps. Or maybe people who were saved might come back one year after they're saved, to tell the river what they've done with the gift of their lives. their stories. I think Damien did hear a few of these; it was a bit overwhelming for him and likely to knock him into the unconscious dreamspace for a while, but... he does love a good story.

[They do not trouble him.]

quite the fucking opposite. It's the closest to actual COMPANY that Damien had, the whole time he was down there. And who's to say whether or not those prayers and thanks and offerings... had any effect on him. DAMIEN certainly doesn't know.

[Even those that have tried to dive towards him- well, for the most part they require saving, because this part of the river is turbulent and dangerous, but- even the strongest of swimmers could not touch him if they wished.]

This also helped build his little mythos tbh. oops. like...... Yeah the actual water picked him up and put him down on the shore. No, didn't even get close. He was fully five feet away when the current TURNED AROUND and deposited him.

[His second skin would not allow it.)]

The thing about magic in this world, is... it works based on DESIRE. on WANTING. Damien was, previous to this story, not in a place where his desire for contact and his desire to live again outweighed how safe he felt in the River. And-

okay, Damien says quite a bit (in narration) about how he isn't afraid, much, anymore. He doesn't FEEL fear the way he used to. But the thing is, the thing is,

you don't CLING to being safe and secure unless you know what it is to NOT be those things. There is a fear IMPLIED in Damien's affection for his current position of safety.

Damien didn't want to be touched, didn't want to leave the River, before. But he's recently come to terms with the fact that he's... very, very lonely. He has Rilla on the brain, even if he doesn't know that it's her diving down. He wants something, and he's approaching the point of wanting something else more than he wants to be safe.

Rilla just kicks things along, as she so often does 💖 And good thing, too, because... well. It's impossible to say how safe Damien actually would have been, if some knights came along with Intent To Slay.

#asks #anon #elle's fanfic meta #the water that fills me #sage damien

[wrrrenff]

Berry Blast

General Mills Cereal Mascots Boo Berry x F! Reader Synopsis: Struggling to fall asleep was common. Tonight though, you had an interesting reason to stay awake. Warnings: 18+, Smut, Fingering, P In V sex, Ghost Sex, Somnophilia, Consensual Somnophilia, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Sleep Sex, Crack Relationships

Picture credits to the owner!

It felt like an eternity but you finally fell asleep. You’re not really sure what time it was when you, but you guessed it was around 3am. Lately your sleep hasn’t been too great. You try to go to bed at a decent time but for whatever reason, it feels like somethings been keeping you up. You hear strange noises, see things in the corner of your eye. If you didn’t know any better you’d think your house was haunted. As unfortunate as your sleep schedule has been, at least you wake up to the reward of your favorite cereal, Boo Berry.

As your body went deeper and deeper into sleep, you finally felt at peace. There were no dreams tonight. Much like tonight, you never really had dreams, just fade to black and two seconds later it’s time to wake up. Tonight however felt… different. The darkness seemed… longer? Well, what could you do? If this is what it takes to get a good night's rest, then so be it. Here you are, embracing the dark. Nothing to do but wait for morning to roll around.

. . .

Hmm….

. . .

Mmmhff-uuuck

. . .

Odd. You could’ve sworn you felt something brush your clit just then. Not a physical touch, more like a cold pressure. Maybe I’m having some sort of weird sex dream? Yeah, that’s gotta be it. It’s been a while since you’ve had one of those. Might as well give in and enjoy it. Just as you accept your brain's choice of dream, you feel another cold pressure on your clit, this time longer. It almost felt like your clit was being rubbed but again, not physical touch, just pressure. You could feel your body leaning into the made up touch.

Your mind was reeling. You felt so good. Suddenly it felt like something plunged into you. Like phantom fingers. You felt whatever it was curl inside you and thrust in and out, occasionally brushing where you’re most sensitive. You were panting. Pressure was building within you. The thrusting sped up, edging you closer and closer to release. Just as the pressure was about to make you cum, you gasp awake from your slumber and see a white blur hovering over you. Was that…? No, it couldn’t be. The mascot of your favorite cereal was currently fingering you. If you weren’t so deep in the throes of pleasure, you would be terrified right now. You chose to put aside the fact that a fictional supernatural being was making you feel so incredible and let your mind and body succumb to your climax. Boo Berry kept fingering you through your orgasm as you shook violently from the pleasure. He slowed to a stop and you just laid there breathlessly staring, trying to make sense of what in the hell is going on right now.

“Are you re-”

Before you could finish, Boo Berry somehow turned your body and propped you up on your hands and knees. You tried to protest but as soon as you started to speak you felt something large and girthy slide into your cunt. Just like his fingers, it didn’t feel like anything was actually there, but it was the same pressure (and pleasure) a dick would feel like. You couldn’t believe he was able to penetrate you through your pajamas!

Boo Berry didn’t give you much time to think of supernatural logistics and started roughly thrusting in and out of you. Your pussy was still tight from cumming only minutes ago. It just made the feeling that much more intense. You had to brace yourself on your headboard from how much he was rocking your body.

Boo Berry grabbed your hair and lifted you up so your back was against his… chest? It didn’t matter. This position totally changed the angle he was hitting you at. You let out a long string of curses. Boo Berry was only encouraged by this and started pounding into you harder. His other ghostly hand made its way to your breasts, grouping and pinching, making your back arch and causing him to perfectly hit your g-spot.

You load moans only spurred on the fruity spirit and he kept thrusting into that sweet spot. You were getting close. As you started to get lost in the pleasure, you noticed that your furniture started levitating slightly. Was.. Boo Berry close too? Just then, Boo Berry moved his hand from your breast to his clit and started rubbing. Yep, he’s definitely close.

You came. Hard. Harder than you ever have before. The mix of excitement and fear made you lose control. A few more thrusts and Boo Berry was cumming too. Your furniture crashed down from the air. You were then dropped onto your bed, out of breath, eyes closed just trying to wrap your head around tonight's events and ground yourself. That when it hit you. The smell of … blueberry(?) hit your nose. Your eyes cracked open but much to your dismay, the spirit was gone. Just his scent lingered.

Exhaustion hits you hard and you soon feel asleep. That night you dreamt only of spector that visited you and gave you one of the best, most thrilling experiences of your night. You only hoped he’d visit again.

#fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #fanfic writing #my fanfic #general mills #cereal #smut #boo berry #boo berry x f! reader #boo berry x reader #somno fantasy #crack fic #idk what i was on when i decided to write this but here we are #im so so so sorry