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amissavis · 8 months

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“If the path to hell is paved with good intentions, as they say what do we do if we’re already there? What then? I suppose we could always watch it all go up in flames.”

◇ Threads ◇─◇ About ◇─◇ Connections ◇ ◇ Headcanon ◇─◇ Mirror ◇─◇ Musings ◇

✦ Trigger warning: Tw death, tw violence

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Emmeline Vance

ALIAS/NICKNAME: Emmy, Emms, Snake (those that dislike her)

AGE: Twenty One

BIRTH DATE: September 23rd, 1957

BLOOD STATUS: Half-blood

AFFILIATION: Order of the Phoenix (torn/struggling)

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis-Female. She/her

CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS: Hogwarts, Slytherin Dormitory

OTHER: Vance Manor, Flat in Knockturn Alley

OCCUPATION: Student at Hogwarts

PETS: Barnaby (male, great horned owl)

WAND: Ebony, phoenix feather core, 12 1/2 inches, unyielding

PATRONUS: Chestnut Stallion

BOGGART: Losing her loved ones

RELATIONSHIPS

PARENTS: Ismelda (muggleborn) and Alusius Vance (pureblood).

SIBLINGS: None.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: None.

OTHER FAMILY: None known to her.

CHILDREN: None.

EDUCTATION:

SCHOOL: Hogwarts

HOUSE: Slytherin

YEAR: Tenth

MAJOR: Potions (considers swapping to Herbology)

EXTRA CLASSES: Defense against the Dark Arts, Charms, Care for Magical Creatures formerly, Arithmancy

EXTRACURRICULAR: Chaser for the Slytherin Quidditch team, Charms club, Ancient Runes, Potions Club, Dueling club, Arithmancy

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English, Italian

PHYSICAL TRAITS

EYE COLOR: Dark Brown

HAIR COLOR: Black

HEIGHT: 5′5

SCARS: Thin lines spreading like roots from the palm of her right hand up in the inside of her wrist due to dark magic firing back

PERSONALITY

INTELLIGENCE: High. Adaptive.

SKILLS: Wandless magic (minor, practicing), Flying (decent), Dueling (practicing, decent)

POSITIVE TRAITS: creative, resourceful, determined, caring, proud, observant

NEGATIVE TRAITS: desperate, impulsive, impatient, reckless, deceptive at times

MBTI: INTJ

Before Hogwarts

✦ Born September 23rd, 1957 on a stormy fall night ✦ Father was a pureblood with five generations of purity when he married her mother, thinking he could simply move on as though nothing happened and his choice didn't affect anything ✦ Emmeline grew up raised like the other purebloods but early on noticed she was treated differently at times. Despite that she holds the same education as the other purebloods ✦ Due to the events of her childhood in which her mother was seen as the issue, Emmeline developed a hatred for her mother and begun to see her as the issue and reason why things were bad ✦ Absolutely adored her father and lived to make him proud while being her own person ✦ Mother was Hufflepuff while her father came from a line of Slytherins ✦ She spent years playing in the gardens of the manor, always finding something new to explore. Whenever she wasn't out in the gardens, she could be found in the library, trying to learn all she could about magic

During Hogwarts

✦ When the letter to Hogwarts arrived she was absolutely thrilled and ready to go ✦ Was sorted into Slytherin without the hat giving much a second glance toward any of the other houses ✦ Got along splendidly with her house mates, fitting in with the usual crowd and while she wasn't a bully due to being quieter at times, certainly hung around the standard group ✦ Lost her mother during her second year as a potential victim of early purist actions but was to disconnected from the person that gave her life to care much about it. It simply became something slumbering under the surface as she moved on with life. Seeing her mother pass on allowed her to see thestrals. ✦ Joined the Slytherin Quidditch team in her third year, playing as a chaser for the team ever since ✦ Made sure the fact that she's a half-blood wasn't known to everyone. Eventually keeping it quiet simply became not talking about it which leaves her amused every time someone mistakes her for a pureblood ✦ Excelled at Potions, Herbology and Defense against the Dark Arts while absolutely hating Divination ✦ During her eight year she lost her father with rumors claiming that it was Death Eaters during the early day. It was too early to know anything for certain and so it was passed off as a tragic accident. It changed how Emmeline viewed the world around her. ✦ Afterward, she started siding with the Order. At first out of anger and a need to take down whoever took her family away but gradually she learned that the world wasn't entirely black and white as she originally thought. She is still a snake, despite it all ✦ Every now and then days come during which she struggles with the choice as she sees those she considered friends still as her friends and family. At times it makes her choice quite odd and view rather twisted ✦ When the time to pick a major came, Emmeline opted for Potions. Always having had an affinity the art of brewing all kinds of concoctions, it seemed like the obvious choise ✦ More recently she's played with the idea of swapping majors to Herbology or doubling down on both, though as she finds it may be the more useful since both align with her interests and work together hand in hand.

Future Plans

Emmeline is currently considering a career with the ministry. While she certainly has a love for herbology and a tendency to delve into the dark arts and other areas she should not be in, curse breaking for the ministry in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement seems the most suited to her liking as it brings her closer to the Dark Arts while allowing her to work with the aurors.

Headcanons (more here)

✦ Emmeline chose the Order after what happened to her father but every now and then struggles with her choice as she feels torn between the world she called her home and the world she's now facing ✦ Her favorite flowers are lavender and tulips, making purple and yellow her favorite colors ✦ Emmeline always has a scent of lavender about her. Not a day goes by when one could go by without picking up the soft touch of the floral scent in the air ✦ Owns a Great Horned Owl called Barnaby that she's had ever since she started her time at Hogwarts. It was an early birthday present from her father ✦ Emmeline hasn't been back to her father's manor ever since she lost him in her seventh year ✦ When Emmeline connects with someone, be it friendship, kinship or love, she becomes someone entirely loyal to them with a fierce need to protect while allowing them their own space. When feelings arise therefore, it is not uncommon for the witch to simply not speak of it at all ✦ For a while after her father's death, Emmeline kept looking into various people around her to see if she could find a connection with those allying with the other side. By now that knowledge is used in part to protect them

#when the wild wind blew she began to fly;; emmeline #the scent of old books mixed with the softest stain of ink;; about #nox;intros

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stellaectus · 8 months

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“If the path to hell is paved with good intentions, as they say what do we do if we’re already there? What then? I suppose we could always watch it all go up in flames.”

◇ Threads ◇─◇ About ◇─◇ Connections ◇ ◇ Headcanon ◇─◇ Mirror ◇─◇ Musings ◇

✦ Trigger warning: Tw death, tw violence

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Emmeline Vance

ALIAS/NICKNAME: Emmy, Emms, Snake (those that dislike her)

AGE: Twenty One

BIRTH DATE: September 23rd, 1957

BLOOD STATUS: Half-blood

AFFILIATION: Order of the Phoenix (torn/struggling)

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis-Female. She/her

CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS: Hogwarts, Slytherin Dormitory

OTHER: Vance Manor, Flat in Knockturn Alley

OCCUPATION: Student at Hogwarts, Majoring in Potions (with consideration of swapping majors to Herbology)

PATRONUS: Chestnut Stallion

RELATIONSHIPS

PARENTS: Ismelda (muggleborn) and Alusius Vance (pureblood).

SIBLINGS: None.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: None.

OTHER FAMILY: None known to her.

CHILDREN: None.

EDUCTATION:

SCHOOL: Hogwarts

HOUSE: Slytherin

EXTRACURRICULAR: Chaser for the Slytherin Quidditch team, Charms club, Ancient Runes, Potions Club, Dueling club, Arithmancy

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English, Italian

PHYSICAL TRAITS

EYE COLOR: Dark Hazel

HAIR COLOR: Black

HEIGHT: 5′5

SCARS: Thin lines spreading like roots from the palm of her right hand up in the inside of her wrist due to dark magic firing back

PERSONALITY

INTELLIGENCE: High. Adaptive.

SKILLS: Wandless magic (minor, practicing), Flying (decent), Dueling (practicing, decent)

POSITIVE TRAITS: creative, resourceful, determined, caring, proud, observant

NEGATIVE TRAITS: desperate, impulsive, impatient, reckless, deceptive at times

MBTI: INTJ

Before Hogwarts

During Hogwarts

✦ When the letter to Hogwarts arrived she was absolutely thrilled and ready to go ✦ Was sorted into Slytherin without the hat giving much a second glance toward any of the other houses ✦ Got along splendidly with her house mates, fitting in with the usual crowd and while she wasn't a bully due to being quieter at times, certainly hung around the standard group ✦ Lost her mother during her second year as a potential victim of early purist actions but was to disconnected from the person that gave her life to care much about it. It simply became something slumbering under the surface as she moved on with life. Seeing her mother pass on allowed her to see thestrals. ✦ Joined the Slytherin Quidditch team in her third year, playing as a chaser for the team ever since ✦ Made sure the fact that she's a half-blood wasn't known to everyone. Eventually keeping it quiet simply became not talking about it which leaves her amused every time someone mistakes her for a pureblood ✦ Excelled at Potions, Herbology and Defense against the Dark Arts while absolutely hating Divination and struggling with Care for Magical Creatures ✦ During her eight year she lost her father with rumors claiming that it was Death Eaters during the early day. It was too early to know anything for certain and so it was passed off as a tragic accident. It changed how Emmeline viewed the world around her. ✦ Afterward, she started siding with the Order. At first out of anger and a need to take down whoever took her family away but gradually she learned that the world wasn't entirely black and white as she originally thought. She is still a snake, despite it all ✦ Every now and then days come during which she struggles with the choice as she sees those she considered friends still as her friends and family. At times it makes her choice quite odd and view rather twisted ✦ When the time to pick a major came, Emmeline opted for Potions. Always having had an affinity the art of brewing all kinds of concoctions, it seemed like the obvious choise ✦ More recently she's played with the idea of swapping majors to Herbology or doubling down on both, though as she finds it may be the more useful since both align with her interests and work together hand in hand.

Future Plans

Headcanons (more here)

#when the wild wind blew she began to fly ;; emmeline #the scent of old books mixed with the softest stain of ink ;; about #nox;intros

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giantsreach · 1 year

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❛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 — i am so much more than i was. this is what i was meant to be. ❜

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐊𝐄. he had a stare like a templar, drive like a warden, and more skill than sense. and i’ll not say a bad word more than that, because i'm still here and ruddy kings aren't. — and that's because of men like him trying.

⌈ about … full dossier … rules below ⌋

o1. this is an indie, selective, and 18+ carver hawke ( dragon age 2 ) roleplay blog. interactions will be solely for people i am in mutual follows with. i will not be following non-rp blogs or blogs without some form of rules, nor will i interact with gender bends/cis swaps or duplicate muses. i'm unfortunately very opinionated about carver and i'd hate to nitpick another person's interpretation.

o2. before he is hawke’s brother, carver is his own character. i usually follow the decisions i choose for carver. within my main verse, carver is a warden on the friendship route; his templar verse is to be used at my discretion.*

( *templar muses may assume carver’s templar verse as the default for ease of interaction. )

o3. please do not use super small text with me. my eyes are bad with a real gnarly astigmatism. on that note, i know it's extremely popular right now, but i'm not interested in writing with those double- or triple- spacing their posts. i struggle to read it and won't force myself through trying.

o4. if you ask for a starter and i write one for you, please like the post so that i know you’ve seen it. if you don’t, i’ll probably send it to you via im, you’ll say you saw it, i’ll mention my rules and just generally have a lowered opinion of you. same goes for ask memes.

i don’t really care about reblog karma. send memes only if you want replies. i’d rather not waste my time because the common convention is that it’s polite to leave something in someone’s ask box before you reblog.

o5. tag your nsfw, ooc, and vagueblogging. don’t follow otherwise.

i’m a qmoc who’s been in darp for years and i know how this fandom gets about its white male faves and white elves and white mages. uwu i’m tired of white roleplayers co-opting radical language to post uninformed cold takes for a fandom which revolves around some eurocentric fantasyland written largely by and for white audiences.

tl;dr if you’ve got #magerights in your about but hate vivienne, don’t follow me.

o6. i am non-exclusive and tentatively multi-ship, but i will likely only with one of any character and prefer mutual ship exclusivity.

more information on ships/shipping here!

o7. if you have triggers that should be tagged, please let me know. the tagging system on this blog boils down to subject tw / cw. i tag the essentials such as nsfw, gore, death, etc. as they occur, if they do at all.

o8. thank you for making it through my rules! i’m thomas ( he/him/his ) and i’m really not that much of a stickler, i promise. i’m twenty-seven, engaged, and operating as a legal assistant by day, no-skill gamer by night. i pull some wacky hours, so expect low activity.

⋙ 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬.

on warden carver vs templar carver.

on malcolm’s absence in carver’s life.

on carver and his views on mortality.

on carver’s mundane aspects.

on carver’s attitude towards the templars, especially in act i.

on carver’s dislike of anders.

on carver’s attempts at befriending fenris.

on the potential carver and merrill had.

#( pinned post. )#( not for rbing etc. )#dragon age rp #da rp #bioware rp #( <- adds that bc i can't be assed to make a promo however. )#skyrim rp #tes rp

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astrolamia · 3 months

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Reading the manga and trying to imagine how the story would be different if Mikumo was a girl.

I like to imagine Kitora would be harder on her for being a female captain with lower trion levels but mostly cause she would want her to succeed. But also the jealousy with Torimaru being her mentor would more intense lmao.

And Mikumo would have such a plain fashion sense, mostly cause she doesn’t keep up with fashion, that Konami and Usami would try to change it. Mikumo himself doesn’t seem to have hobbies or friends in the beginning. Wishful thinking that she would be apart of something like gymnastics or ballet after (maybe before) initially joining Border (before Kuga shows up) which helps her mobility in her trion body. Maybe instead of constant sweat drop she doesn’t like to keep still and fidgets.

I have many thoughts on how a genderswap could change Mikumo but I worry to much on treading into OC territory. World Trigger doesn’t really have romance, expect Yuzurus crush on Chika, so I don’t think that would change with a female Mikumo. She’d be too busy to notice or think about that. Her interactions with guys wouldn’t be any different from regular Mikumo.

Also the mangaka said he names the characters by thinking what the parents would name them so I have no idea what her first name would be. I saw Osami was a girls name by looking up names that start with O but it's to similar to Usami in sound so it's a no go for me.

screencap was referenced for this image. Plain line art cause I can’t color.

#world trigger manga #world trigger #mikumo osamu #genderbend #gender swap #cis swap #tw genderbend

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envysnest · 9 months

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Snakeskin (Sephiroth/Reader) (ch. 6/?)

AO3 / Pillowfort

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13

Tags: First Time, Reader-Insert, Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet Ending, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Frank Discussions of Past Rape/Abuse, Everyone is Queer, Canon-Compliant (if you squint), Pre-Crisis-Core Seph, Slow Burn, i continue to disappoint my friends and family, sephiroth is a virgin and in this essay i will, Reader is a Cis Woman, fluffy sex, Praise Kink, Gratuitous Biochemistry

Summary:

You are a young biologist, fresh out of graduate school, working in Shinra's R&D Division under Professor Hojo. You had long since given up on finding a partner and starting a family, preferring instead the company of your cell samples and your scientific instruments.

As the conflict in Wutai worsens, you strike up an unexpected friendship with a First Class SOLDIER.

(Sephiroth/Reader Slow Burn)

TW's for this chapter: Drankin'/alcohol.

---

Almost all of your closet was in piles on your bed. You held up a pink blouse and stared at yourself in the mirror.

A few years ago, you jumped at the chance to mark your body as yours. Tendrils of the Lifestream climbed up your belly, over your sternum, between your breasts, flowering to life over your ribcage. The tattoo artist chose a vibrant green ink that seemed to glow against your skin. A matching tendril of vines and flowers climbed up your left arm from cuff to elbow. The pain of the needle had been exquisite, tearing you open from collarbone to groin in a baptism.

You usually buttoned your collared work shirts up high enough to hide the tattoo. Some of your blouses threatened the tattoo's edges, but unless someone looked closely, they wouldn’t be able to tell you had tattoos at all.

You swapped the blouse for a turtleneck. Even so, you didn't need high-level executives asking awkward questions about what it meant, or if tattoos hurt. Worse still was Hojo himself: he didn’t need any more excuse to cut you off at the knees. No, best to wear the turtleneck.

You nodded in satisfaction and turned from the mirror. It was already 7 PM; you were running late.

The honeybee charm felt leaden in your back pocket. You hadn’t bothered to wrap it: Sephiroth needed to understand that this was not a gift, but a simple repayment of earlier kindness. A favor for a favor.

After this party, you could be alone again.

---

The 63rd-floor cafeteria was bustling. Meager streamers dangled across the floor-to-ceiling windows; cardboard snowflakes drifted along the glass. An enterprising intern had tied gold balloons along the stairway leading up to the employee lounge. Grating holiday music blared from the jukebox. Already, the space was packed with administrators, scientists, engineers, and others across all of R&D. Judging by the volume, most everyone was tipsy and intent on getting sloshed.

You gave your coat and bag to the (overly-enthusiastic) coat check attendant and scurried through the crowd. No sign of the 1st-Classes yet. You waved feebly at the few people who greeted you.

Hojo was holding court by one of the windows. You opted instead to scale the staircase. The open bar and refreshments tables came into view, and you sighed in relief. The crowd was sparser up here, less peppered with people you recognized. If you managed to hide up here, you wouldn't have to make nice with anyone you didn’t want to see.

Without thinking, you snatched a glass of champagne off of the bar and took a swig. It was heady, expensive stuff, airy in your throat as it went down. You nursed your champagne as you walked the seemingly endless food table: a cheese plate with more offerings than you could name; a selection of fruit; endless varieties of sushi; tiny vegan sliders with company flags on red toothpicks. An ice sculpture of the Shinra logo dominated the table, swimming in a bowl of red punch that reeked of sake even from where you were standing. An enormous sheet cake sat at the end of the table amongst the desserts:

35 YEARS OF EXCELLENCE SHINRA R&D

It already had generous portions sliced out. Evidently, you had missed some opening ceremony.

“Professor!” A warm hand landed on your shoulder: Lazard in a light-up reindeer sweater. “Glad you could make it.”

You smiled. “Sir.”

He gestured towards your glass with his own. “Already filled up, I see. Smart girl.”

There was a foolproof script you followed at company events: be more excited than you actually were, drink more than you wanted to, and don’t talk work. You smiled gamely, lifted the champagne. “It’s the best part of being here, right?”

“Agreed.” The two of you clinked glasses. Lazard gestured towards the food table. “Eat, drink, be merry. Don’t let me keep you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Someone shouted for Lazard towards the sofas on the other end of the lounge, and Lazard drifted away. You sighed in relief and took another gulp of champagne.

The paper plates were laughably tiny; you could barely squish three cubes of cheese and a couple of crackers together. Someone had opened up the outdoor balcony; winter air danced around your shoulders as you browsed. Outside, you could hear people laughing, smell the acrid tang of cigarette smoke. You popped a cheese cube into your mouth.

A furor erupted downstairs; half the lounge rushed down the staircase. You retreated into the shadows.

There they are.

Applause and shouting greeted the 1st-Classes downstairs. You picked at the cheese on your plate, your champagne going lukewarm in your hands. Maybe, while everyone was occupied, you could go see what they had on offer for sushi before it got too warm.

As you picked through the food table, the crowd moved up the staircase, murmuring with excitement. You willed yourself not to turn around, becoming very interested in a spicy tuna roll. Just play nice, you thought to yourself. One hour, then you can go home.

Thankfully, the crowd seemed to disperse upon hitting the lobby. Several other people joined you at the food table: other scientists, some 1st-Classes you had never seen before. Yun clapped you on the back, causing you to lurch forward and nearly drop the dragon roll you had picked up; by the time you set it on your plate, he had disappeared into the crowd, his husband in tow. You gulped the last of your champagne and made for your secluded corner.

Sephiroth’s voice cut through the roar of the crowd: “Hey, you.”

His black sweater looked just this side of too tight on his frame; without the pauldrons, he looked much smaller, almost manageable. His hands were bare; he rubbed them together against a blast of cold air from the balcony.

“Hi.” You put the empty champagne glass on a side table, where a nameless waiter immediately whisked it away. Sephiroth’s eyes followed it.

He cleared his throat and gestured after the waiter. “Need a refill?”

A trick question. You glanced behind him, at the drink table. The adoring crowd had decided to disperse just before this exact moment, leaving you to fend for yourself. Near the balcony, Zack was chattering away to Angeal, who looked less than interested. Genesis was engaged with a gaggle of women from engineering.

Was Sephiroth the type of man to spike a drink?

You grimaced. Every instinct in you told you not to accept drinks from other men, no matter how friendly. The shoulder-to-shoulder cluster of people in the lounge wouldn’t make you safer; if anything, it would provide him with cover.

You looked back at Sephiroth. He blinked at you, one hand still pointing towards where your champagne glass had been. How long had you been standing there, thinking this over?

“Yes,” you said. “I would love that.”

He seemed to deflate with relief. “Don’t go anywhere.”

You craned your neck to watch him go. The swarm parted like water to let him pass, a few employees looking up with adoration in their eyes. The bartender almost fell over themselves to pour him a fresh glass of champagne. Sephiroth smiled and pointed towards you, saying something imperceptible.

When the attendant followed his hand, they looked straight through you. You shrunk back against the wall. Even with Sephiroth’s influence, you were invisible: just a nobody, unworthy of his attention.

Focus. Watch the drink.

You shoved the entire dragon roll into your mouth and put the plate aside. The bartender reached into a forest of clean champagne glasses, seemingly at random, and poured a fresh glass of champagne from the same bottle. You exhaled slowly.

Again, the crowd parted to let Sephiroth through. When he was within reaching distance, however, the crowd snapped closed: back to its impenetrable, tipsy chaos. For all you could tell, you may as well have been alone.

He leaned in as he handed you the glass. “Necessary provisions.”

You took it gratefully. When Sephiroth turned to examine the crowd, you wafted the glass under your nose: yes, that was champagne, seemingly untampered with. You took a small sip, and the alcohol exploded into light on your tongue, the same as the last glass. You were safe.

Your voice was hoarse when you spoke. “I think this is nicer than anything I could ever afford.”

Sephiroth snorted. “You are criminally underpaid.” He gently shouldered his way to the wall and leaned against it with you. You shied away, putting a hands-width of distance between the two of you. If he noticed, he didn't seem to mind. “What do you usually drink?"

You took another sip of champagne. His attention felt too bright, like an underplate sun beaming directly at you. From across the lounge, you heard Zack’s tittering laugh. “Just, um. Whatever’s on sale? I don’t know.”

Sephiroth didn’t respond to this. You fiddled with the glass stem and continued. “I used to want to like, drink for a living.” Oh, that sounds awful. You felt him turn back to you, and you waved your hands. “I-I mean. I wanted to like, use my degree to brew alcohol.”

He laughed, low and sweet. You felt warm, or was that the champagne? You couldn't afford to get drunk here. “How interesting. Anything specific?”

“I, uh.” You looked up. He was leaning towards you; you could count the freckles on his nose. You looked away. “I kind of wanted to work on a vineyard.”

“You probably would’ve gotten more sunshine there.”

You honked with laughter and covered your mouth. “I would give anything to just, like. Run away sometimes.” Bubbles crawled along the sides of your champagne glass; you watched them go. “Like, join the circus, without actually joining the circus. You know?”

Zack’s voice came from somewhere around the cheese selection. “Smile!” The flash of a camera phone went off in your peripheral; you squinted. Sephiroth seemed unfazed.

God, but he was close. You weren’t this interesting. There was no way. You braced yourself for the inevitable up-and-down, the leering look, the step closer--

He cleared his throat and nodded. “I do know. I…” He looked away, seemed to roll the words around in his mouth for a moment before thinking better of it. “…do know that feeling.”

When he turned to you, his eyes were wide, searching. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so boyishly young. You clutched your champagne glass to your chest like a shield.

Sephiroth’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip and— curse you— you looked. He opened his mouth. “You look—“

“There you are.”

The two of you turned at once, and your stomach dropped. Hojo was stomping towards you. Unlike Sephiroth, he had to push and shove his way through the crowd, sending people stumbling. Some openly glared at him in his wake.

“Professor—“ you started, but a wall of muscle blocked your vision.

Sephiroth, casually, almost imperceptibly, had stepped ahead of you.

At first, it seemed as if Sephiroth had merely stepped towards Hojo; you knew better. From Hojo’s knowing grin, he knew it, too. You hazarded a glance up; Sephiroth’s warm demeanor from earlier was gone, replaced with a cool, stony neutrality.

When he spoke, his voice was like ice. “Hojo. I was just about to step away and go look for you.”

Hojo switched his champagne glass to his other hand and pointed to you, peering up at Sephiroth. “I was hoping to speak to my employee.”

“I’m afraid your employee’s not feeling well at the moment.” Sephiroth crossed his arms and looked down his nose at Hojo, who laughed.

“What, is she your pet?”

You stepped forward. “I’m alright, Seph. What is it, Professor?”

The two men stared at you in shock: Sephiroth, looking like you had slapped him, and Hojo, looking as if he had just won the largest teddy bear at the carnival.

Your heart pounded in your chest. You hadn’t meant to say that aloud: it was just how you referred to him in your mind. It wasn’t a pet name, surely not, just a way around his long name, Sephiroth, a mouthful at the best of times—

“Say your peace,” Sephiroth said to Hojo, but he didn’t step aside.

Hojo straightened his glasses. “It’s quite confidential.”

“We’re in the same department.”

You raised your voice above them: “Professor, what was it you wanted?”

Hojo scowled. “I merely wanted to ask after your protein pull-down. Any luck?”

Of course Hojo would want to talk work during a party off-hours. You put on your most polite, work-friendly smile. Above you, Sephiroth rolled his eyes and looked away. “It seems to like glucose receptors,” you bit out, “but we won’t know until we repeat the pull-down in triplicate.”

Hojo seemed pleased by this and took a sip of champagne. “Well. And what repetition are we on?”

“The second one,” you replied, resisting the urge to grit your teeth as you said it.

“Very good, Doctor.” Hojo put his free hand behind his back and smiled up at Sephiroth. “See?” He patted Sephiroth on one broad arm. Sephiroth didn’t respond, eyeing him warily. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

A random engineer slung his arm around Hojo’s shoulders and, before you knew it, he was whisked away.

Sephiroth turned to you. “Are you alright?”

You couldn't look away from where Hojo had touched Sephiroth. He was like a god, and Hojo...

Hojo didn't care.

Your mouth twisted. You shook your head. “Yeah. Why?”

He huffed and tipped the champagne down, swallowing the entire glass in a few swift gulps. As he set down the glass, he said, “I’ve seen what he does to his employees. I’m just concerned for you.”

“What does that mean?”

But Sephiroth was already walking away. His hair fell in his face, obscuring his expression from you.

The memory of the bee in your pocket hit you like a bullet train.

Now or never.

“Seph. Wait.”

He started. There was no way he had heard you over the din of the crowd, even with his superior hearing; you couldn’t shout that loudly, and anyway, why would he care what you had to say? He surely had better places to be.

And yet, miraculously, he turned to you, something gentle in his face you didn’t recognize. “Yes?”

You stuttered and reached into your back pocket. You had to do this quickly, or else you’d never work up the nerve. You couldn’t afford not to settle the score.

“I, um.”

Sephiroth raised an eyebrow. Your pulse rang in your ears.

Now or never. Now or never.

You bit the inside of your cheek and thrust the honeybee towards him. “For you.”

He reared backwards as if the charm was a piece of live materia. For a tense second, he stared at your hand, surprise etched into every line of his face. You shifted from foot to foot.

When he spoke, it was soft, wondering, just loud enough to be heard over the din of the crowd: “You made that?”

“Y-yes. It’s got, um…” You reached behind the charm and pulled on the tiny chain behind its abdomen. Sephiroth started violently as it spread its wings with an audible click. “I t-th-thought of you? When you said the-- the bracelet was p-pre-pretty and, well.” You shook it at him. “Happy holidays?”

“You…?”

Sephiroth reached out, and tenderly (ever so tenderly) he took the charm from you. Your bare hands brushed, and you felt yourself rock forward onto your toes, as if there was an invisible string in you, some live wire he had tripped. That was right, you had to tell him that you were unavailable, but—

But you couldn’t. Not when he cradled the charm so close to his chest, not when he tilted his head as he examined it like a newborn.

“Thank you,” he said, and when he looked up at you, he grinned. The bridge of his nose crinkled with joy.

Oh, you couldn’t.

On the contrary:

You had it bad.

It felt like your limbs decided not to work all at once. You leaned back against the wall to steady yourself, trying to look as casual as possible when you were this close to passing out. “I added a pin back,” you said, and oh, he actually turned the charm over to look. “It locks, so. You can. Put it on stuff, I don’t know.”

He looked over his shoulder. The party whirled on around you two.

When he turned back to you, he nodded. “I’ll wear it under my uniform.” He tapped his right pectoral, just over his heart. “Right here. If I lose it, you get a free punch. Sound fair?”

“A free—” You sputtered. “Oh my God! No! I wouldn’t do that!”

His nose crinkled again. “I’m completely serious.” He put the charm in his front pocket; you didn’t miss how his hand lingered over it, as if he would lose it if he didn’t touch it. “One free punch.” He held up one finger. “I’ll hold you to it, Professor.”

Your cheeks hurt; you were smiling, you realized, so much it made your eyes water. It had to be the champagne. “Fine,” you said. “One punch. Deal.”

He turned away from you. “The bet’s on.”

You watched him melt into the crowd. Your champagne had gone warm again.

---

THE INTERLOPER RETURNS! Dear members of the Silver Elite, Surely you all remember the mysterious woman who sat with Sephiroth at that board meeting? She has been spotted again, just in time for the holidays! The two were inseparable at Shinra’s holiday party. Inside sources tell us only high-level scientists and executives were allowed— along with 1 st -Class SOLDIERs and their guests, of course. Though our beloved angel entered and left alone, the two were spotted canoodling at the snack table by themselves. Could Sephiroth’s time alone be finally over????

There was an envelope on your desk Monday morning. You shrugged off your winter coat and draped it over the side of your cubicle wall. Just like the first envelope, there was no return address or any sign of the sender: just your name and office number, typed, on a sticky label.

You sat down in your chair. Inside this envelope was a five-million gil invoice for mako supplements. SOLDIERs had pre-allotted doses of mako sent to them in glass bottles; the amount varied based on R&D’s experiments (or the whims of upper management). Dosage instructions were printed on the bottom in bold, terrifying font:

REFRIGERATE UNTIL READY TO USE ONLY DRINK 1 BOTTLE PER DAY. SIGNS OF MAKO SICKNESS INCLUDE: LOSS OF APPETITE, LETHARGY, HIGH BLOOD SUGAR, SEIZURES, MUSCLE WEAKNESS, AND LOSS OF CONSCIOUSNESS. IF YOU FEEL WOOZY, DON'T WAIT: CALL YOUR SUPERVISOR!!!!

A blue postcard peeked out between the second and third pages. You shook it out onto the desk.

THE JUNON CANNON. The blue, endless ocean stretched out beyond the golden cannon. The sun was high in the sky; seabirds flew in formation in the distance. The photograph had been taken from the very tip of the cannon; below it was a fifty-foot drop onto the cliffs.

You turned the postcard over. The same elegant, looping scrawl dominated the left-hand side of the card:

This is an older postcard. Forgive me, but I’ve always wanted someone to send it to. I’ve scaled the cliffs below this picture a few times. The gulls like to nest in-between the rocks. The cannon itself is hard to look at, especially with the ocean looking so beautiful underneath. I daydream about it falling into the water forever. Maybe that’s my ‘run away and join the circus.’

“Professor?”

You shoved the card back into the invoice, heart pounding. How long had Marcie been standing there, watching you read this postcard?

Marcie was too short to look at you over the cubicle wall, preferring instead to peek around the corner at you, one brown eye and a delicate hand barely visible. She had her trademark nervous frown.

“The samples are gone again,” she said.

You pressed your fingers to the bridge of your nose. “Again?”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not you,” you sighed. “I know who took them.” Hojo. Again.

“Do you want me to look at 029's cells instead?”

“No,” you snapped. Marcie jumped; you kicked yourself for frightening her. In a softer tone, you added, “No, I’ll do it later. Can you just get me the data you took last week?”

Marcie shuffled past you into her cubicle. “I still need to process it.”

“That’s fine. You spend the morning doing that. No rush.”

You pulled up the Shinra instant-messaging app and clicked on Hojo’s name.

>> Did you need 017’s lysate?

Hojo’s reply was instantaneous:

>>Yes. We took a few of 017’s cells from cryo as well. Will that be a problem?

A chill ran through you. Could Hojo have seen J - 180 - L - 9177? Could he tell you had messed with his samples?

Hojo’s icon blinked on the screen, awaiting your response. You typed:

>>No problem at all. We’ll push to tomorrow.

>>K.

You slouched forward and pressed your forehead to your crossed arms.

---

When the SOLDIERs returned from their latest mission, the lab emptied out. You looked up from your laptop as everyone rushed outside to the 60th floor escalators.

When you saw Sephiroth ascend the escalator in the window, you stood up so quickly the blood rushed from your head, and you steadied yourself on the bench. His usual crowd of admirers swarmed him. As he bent down for what you assumed was the five millionth selfie he had had to pose for that day, you wandered over to the windows, arms crossed around yourself.

When he straightened up, he craned his neck towards the lab windows, searching. You caught his eye.

The two of you stared at each other over the crowd. You lifted a hand and waved.

A smile tugged at Sephiroth’s lips, and he turned away. His hand moved to his chest and tapped the space over his heart. To any onlooker, it would have been a simple, throwaway gesture: nothing more exotic than an itch or a minute adjustment of his coat.

You gasped despite yourself, and just like that, he was gone: back into the throng of fans, back into the mob, away from you.

---

When you looked up from your RNA samples, the lab had emptied out completely. You checked your watch and groaned when you saw the time: 6:29 PM. You had promised yourself you would go home at five today; you had gotten lost in your work again, and the cells didn’t even need feeding or dosing. You wiped your forehead against your shoulder. Beyond you, the 60th floor was empty, some of the motion-sensitive lights already going dark.

As Shinra drew closer and closer to the holidays, the building became emptier and emptier. You had noticed several of the cubicles sitting empty that morning. This late, you usually saw a few stragglers, middle managers and overworked interns, talking in low voices on their way to the escalators or staring blankly at their phones. The quiet of the lab pressed in around you.

Sephiroth hadn’t approached you since returning from his last mission days ago. You tried not to take it personally: he was likely exhausted and in need of sleep. Lazard may have even shuffled him to another mission. You ejected a pipette tip and capped the tube of RNA, gently inverting it back and forth between thumb and forefinger to mix its contents.

He seemed more a show pony than a man: always observed, always in demand. You couldn’t stop thinking about that tired, resigned look in his eyes when he was in the middle of a crowd. He had seemed so happy when he saw you watching him.

The door to the lab opened. Speak of the devil.

You turned in your chair. “You’re—“

But the person at the door was not Sephiroth.

You stopped mid-word, still holding your RNA tube.

Genesis kicked the lab door shut behind him. “Professor,” he said. The smile on his face made you feel cold.

“It’s past six,” you called to him. “Everyone’s gone home.”

He tucked his hands behind his back, that satisfied smile only growing wider. “I saw the light on,” he said. "Is now a good time?"

Something in your mind was itching, clawing against the walls, screaming at you to Get out, leave immediately, it’s not safe, you’re not safe. You watched in horror as Genesis proceeded to ignore you, taking a slow walk against the lab windows. The click of his boots seemed overly loud against the instruments droning on in the background. You drew a mental map between yourself and the lab doors. Could you even outrun a 1st-Class?

You forced yourself to set the RNA tube down in its rack before you dropped it. “Did you need something?” you asked, and you hated the tremble in your voice.

Genesis pursed his lips and shook his head. “I just wanted to visit,” he said.

“You can come back during business hours. It’s just me here.”

“Actually,” he drawled, “you are the woman I wanted to see.”

You stared at him as he made his way slowly towards you. He seemed to move like smoke around the islands dotting the wide open lab: a dark parallel to how Sephiroth had moved through the holiday party. You felt stuck to your chair.

“Have we met?” you asked; your voice cracked on the last word: m-y-et.

“Where are my manners?” He stopped ten feet away and bowed, long coat sweeping across the tile floor. “Genesis Rhapsodos, 1st-Class.”

“Okay,” you said softly. “I’m—“

“I know who you are.” Genesis straightened and adjusted his gloves. That damned smile. “My good friend has many a nice word to say about you.”

You willed yourself to turn back to your samples. “You’ll have to remind me.”

“I think you and I are both aware.”

“Maybe.” You felt like you were going to throw up.

Genesis sighed. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him cross his arms and lean against a lab bench, dangerously close to where you tested blood samples. “Sephiroth is distracted by you, you know.”

You reached for a fresh pipette tip. “Okay?”

He barked out a laugh. “‘Okay,’ she says. I know you two are becoming close.”

“We’re just…”

What were you?

You tilted your head just slightly. Genesis pounced on your hesitation:

“Just. Just what?”

“Just work acquaintances. We don’t really know each other that well.”

“Is that why he visits you nightly?”

“I…I don’t know why he does that.”

“You’re humble, aren’t you, Professor?”

You pressed your lips together and drew your RNA into the pipette tip.

“No wonder Sephiroth’s sweet on you.”

And suddenly, it felt like he had dumped a bucket of ice water on you. Your lungs collapsed in on themselves; practice and experience alone kept you from dropping your pipette.

“Excuse me?” you wheezed.

An expression of delight crossed his face. “You didn’t know?” Genesis seemed to dismiss that thought the second it struck him, and he scoffed. “Perhaps he isn’t as obvious in his affection. He’s usually very straightforward.”

Your mind spun. It took all of your self-control not to eject your sample onto the lab bench. You turned back to your tube and ejected the sample so violently that it splashed up the walls of the tube, nearly spilling over.

Genesis laughed when you swore under your breath. “Distracted, are we?”

You grit your teeth. “No.”

He leaned back against the wall and watched you work. You kept your head down, trying your damndest not to lose your sample from being flustered.

Genesis continued, “He’s not the most used to romance, unlike some of us. Several before you have tried and failed.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Sephiroth is truly a man committed to his work. I’m surprised at what he sees in you.”

“Genesis,” you snapped. Never mind that you could feel heat creeping up your neck; never mind that you were hunching further and further in your chair, trying to make yourself small. “I know you’re just trying to help, but I’m really stressed out here, and you’re distracting me.”

He continued as if you hadn’t spoken. “A mousy scientist and Shinra’s greatest warrior.” His voice was low. “Who would’ve thought you’d be the one to sway him?”

“Genesis.”

Genesis huffed and straightened up. “Well. I’ll leave you, if you wish.” He pressed a warm hand to your shoulder. When you stiffened in fear, you could see him smile in the reflection of the fume hood window. “If your work is so important, I’ll tell him to stop annoying you, Professor.”

“No need, actually,” you said, voice icy. You wanted to hit him: 1st-class-status and HR be damned. “I’ll talk to him.”

When Genesis refused to move, you added, “Alone.”

Genesis removed his hand. There was a warm impression left in its wake, even through your lab coat and blouse; you rolled your shoulder, trying to get rid of it.

It wasn’t until the double doors to the lab swung shut with a bang that you relaxed.

Sephiroth’s sweet on you.

You stared at the dozens of tubes in front of you, your meticulously organized lab notebook. Somehow, you could still feel Genesis’s warm hand on your shoulder, and bile rose in your throat. Sephiroth almost never touched you.

But the bill always comes due.

You screwed your eyes shut, opened them again. Yes, there were the tubes and the notebook, just the way you left them. You dropped your pipette and pressed your thumb to the inside of your hand. Your breath was shallow; dread welled up in you. Surely this was Hollander playing a trick— perhaps to undermine and cripple Hojo’s department? You knew Hollander and Genesis were friendly.

But Genesis was Sephiroth’s friend; his only friend, along with Angeal, if rumors were to be believed.

Why would Genesis humiliate his friend for political gain?

Why you?

Shouldn’t I be happier?

You looked up at the lab windows. Even without Genesis there, you couldn’t help but feel small. Helpless. Men like him were good at that.

When you picked up your pen, your hand was trembling.

Go to next chapter >>>

#momofics #snakeskin

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fakehelper · 3 years

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i think gender swap events suck bc that almost always implies that there are only two genders and don’t consider how trans characters could be effected by that but like there’s no reason why you can’t just do a body swapping event that is completely random and isn’t inherently transphobic hsdfkjahjk

#transphobia tw #like you can do a body swap without trying to be like 'oh gotta make sure every fEmALe is in a mALe boDy and viSE vErSa' bc #like do i even have to finish that sentence #like really #just throw all the names in a generator #that isn't based on gender #there are things weirder about being someone elses body than the hyper focus on genitalia and gender #but honestly this is coming from a cis person so i could def be wrong and if any non binary or trans person has thoughts #probably better to listen to those #but i just saw something abt a gender swap event on my dash in the year 2020 so #just had to check in and see if y'all were still doin that #not mentioning the one i saw bc i just noticed i read it wrong jhfgskef and they do mention more than two genders #but the point still stands

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captn3 · 5 years

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can we just: genderbending is bad and transphobic please dont do it

#memo's ted talk #tw genderbend #rant #you're valid if you didnt realize they were transphobic. its just.......#it needs to be more known it's a bad thing?#cause i see them all the fuckin time #cis-swap isn't an excuse either #it's still like. really transphobic #people who still do it and have heard people say it's bad really upset me as well #just... Please. Stop

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smile-first · 6 years

Photo

🎲💖😈

#cuphead #cuphead dont deal with the devil #king dice #the devil #snake eyes #devildice #dicedevil #traditional art #traditional drawing #inking #aesthetic #pastel #tw smoking #my art #mine #they are married #and they love each other #no one can tell me otherwise #cis swap

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detectiverickitubbs · 6 years

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What Could Have Been: Fan Fiction ~ Ricki Tubbs ~

Fingertips slide across the raised laces etched across the leathery skin. “Go wide!” She jovially instructs. Her arm pulls back, pump fakes, and then five fingers release their grasp. The football takes to the air with a surge of power, though Ricki was mindful not to lob it so hard it would be difficult for the other to catch.

The sound of warm laughter that greets her efforts nearly causes her heart to swell so much that it seems like it will spring forth from the confines of her chest. “Look at me, Moma!! Look at me!” The young boy goads, his fingers outstretched to make the catch. His dark eyes glow with such a passion they almost appear the shade of warm copper.

“I see you, baby! I see you!” Tubbs reassures him with ease. For in all truth, her gaze was transfixed on nothing else. She races across the field of winding green grass to be closer to him.

Ten tiny digits welcome the football into their grasp. A championing but toothy grin stretches from ear to ear upon his face as the football is brought to his small chest and he races for the end-zone. “I got it! I got it! Moma, I got a touchdown! Did you see how fast I was going?”

He was a natural. Well, perhaps, all mothers were inclined to think that about their baby boys. Ricki lets out a whoop of joy. “I did! You were going soooo fast even I couldn’t catch you!” She fakes puffing for air just for the sheer enjoyment of her son. Although, she is quick to recover. “You know what this means?” She scarcely gives him enough time to respond before shouting “Vegan Ice Cream, Vegan Ice Cream!” She opens her arms to him.

Angelo runs to be held in her receptive arms. Yet, he never makes it. The boy’s features vanish into a swirling pillar of smoke sprayed with glass and debris. Flashes of an overturned crib, are followed by unending replays of the terrible explosion. In the batting of her eyes, her infant son had been snatched from her life.

Agony seizes over Tubbs’s slender figure as she lets the fiery inferno scorch her skin. Whisps of dark grey sting at her eyes as she searches the mangled heap of metal for her most prized treasure. The shattered remains of her heart turn cold with the realization that there was nothing left to salvage. His young soul had been liberated all too soon from this cruel world.

Angelo would truly never know the joys of playing football, the art of speaking, nor spending precious time with his mother thanks to the same family that had killed her brother Raphael.

Soon his tiny white casket would be buried and with it, all the dreams of motherhood glories. All she had left to cling to were the tattered dreams of what could have been.

#detectiverickitubbs #tw: mentions of death #Miami Vice #fan fiction #CIS gender swap: Rico Tubbs #since rico jr was named after his father Angelo is named after his #one shot #tw: death of an infant #I promise I will fix this up later if it needs fixing #right now my family is priding themselves on annoying the hell out of me by talking over my thoughts- practically in my ears #my heart aches for Tubbs and the things she could have done with her son

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chxrrylime · 2 years

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❝ prompt: dry humping. ❞

↪ 1763 words — 18+ / SMUT — tw for spanking, mention of bruising, semi-public sex, face fucking, and pain play.

Content tags — cis male dominant reader / cis male submissive Keys / analingus, blowjobs, leg humping.

You groan as Keys pulls your pants down to your knees and begins to lap messily at your hole. You press your face against the cool metal of the stall door—one arm supporting you while the other reaches around to grip tight at his slicked hair.

He moans pathetically against your saliva-slick skin, going where you guide him, the frames of his glasses crooked and digging into your ass as you push him downward to mouth sloppily at your balls.

You can’t help but huff a laugh at the needy little noises he makes. You’d instructed him to keep his hands wrapped around your ankles, but he still whimpers and whines like he’s the one being touched, his hips bucking up into nothing in a desperate search for friction.

“You’re gonna get us caught,” you chide, pressing his face harder against you as his tongue dips into your hole. He groans wantonly, the vibrations sending a tingling up your spine, his lips stretched wide to lick as deep into you as he can get, “you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Getting caught? Letting everyone in the office know you’re my bitch?”

He whines high and reedy in the back of his throat, doubling his efforts—more enthusiasm than skill. He’d only lost his virginity to you a few months ago, nevermind everything else he’s still learning, but the desire he has to make you feel good is enough to cancel out the inexperience. His glasses clatter from the bridge of his nose onto the floor as you yank him away.

You quickly turn and press your back against the door, gripping your leaking prick in your free hand before pushing it past Key’s panting lips without warning. He chokes and sputters to try and adjust, hands squeezing tight at your ankles as you guide him up and down your cock—careful to keep from thrusting too deep, knowing how sensitive his gag reflex can be.

It’s only been a few minutes and Keys already looks fucked out—staring up at you with big half-lidded eyes, gaze fogged over as his jaw hangs slack, letting you use his mouth—saliva and snot dripping down and collecting at the tip of his chin, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. It’s one of the things you love about him; how easy he is.

He mindlessly reaches to palm himself through his jeans, cock straining against the inseam. Your eyes narrow at the movement, gripping at the root of his hair to yank him off of your cock, causing him to cry out.

His eyes widen a fraction in realization, his hand shooting to grip back at your ankle.

“What’d I tell you, Keys?”

“I-I’m sorry! I just—” he sputters, face flushed crimson red. His eyes flicker back down to your cock, trying to push forward against your grip to take it back into his mouth in hopes of appeasing (or distracting) you.

He whines again, more petulantly this time as you yank him back by the hair once more.

“Up,” you mutter, threatening, letting your hand slide from his hair before signaling him with a nod of your chin. He shivers at the tone, having to take a moment to calm his nerves before slowly rising on shaky legs, gripping at you to keep steady.

You swap places with him, positioning him to put his palms flat to the metal door, kicking his legs apart until he’s spread wide.

You undo his belt, pulling his jeans down just below the cleft of his ass, leaving his boxers as a thin barrier. He tenses expectantly, breath hitching as you soothe your hand over his cloth covered ass, groping and kneading at the flesh there.

“I—I wasn’t thinking—“ he tries, pretending to plead even as he presses back against your palm, “please, y-you know I’m sorry.”

“I know,” you respond harshly, voice quickly turning to a mocking coo, “you get so stupid when you’re horny,” you rear back as you speak, hand coming down against his ass like punctuation.

He bites his lip hard in order to muffle a shout, his whole body rocking forward with the force of the blow. His cock kicks and spurts pre where it’s trapped in his briefs as your hand comes down again and again, alternating just slightly to keep from abusing the same spot over and over.

You groan at the thought of what he’ll look like later tonight when he spreads out naked in your bed—he’s always bruised so easily, and you can’t wait to see the light purple and black decorating the pale skin of his perky little ass.

The both of you freeze as the door to the bathroom swings open. You press close to Key’s body, listening to him trying to school his panting as you press quiet little kisses just below his ear. You tamper down the urge to murmur little praises; to tell him how good he’s doing for you, how well he’s taking his punishment.

Luckily the person is only in there to quickly wash their hands, not bothering to glance at the last stall before they leave, the door swinging shut and returning the bathroom to its eerie quiet.

“Y/N?” Keys whispers. You can feel his heart thumping in his chest right beneath where your open palm rests.

You hum thoughtfully, glancing behind you. You move to close the toilet seat before sitting down. Keys watches you from over his shoulder before hesitantly turning around, leaning against the door with a furrowed brow.

You snap, drawing his attention before pointing down at the floor in front of you. Keys locks eyes with you, taking a deep shuddering breath before slowly lowering to his knees, awkwardly shuffling forward with his jeans still hanging low on his hips, mindful to keep from crushing his glasses still discarded on the tile floor.

He keeps his gaze down as you comb through his sweat damp hair, careful to keep his own hands still on the top of his thighs. He’s still hard, tenting the front of his boxers, the fabric where his cockhead juts up soaked dark with precum—nearly transparent with how damp it is.

You slowly stroke your own cock, watching Keys watch you, his cheeks flushed and eyes dazed as he follows the movement of your hand. His hips start to involuntarily hump into the air again, small little thrusts that match the pace of your hand, his nostrils flaring.

“Straddle my leg,” you instruct, nudging his thigh with your shoe. His brow furrows for a second, eyes snapping from your cock to the side of him, shifting over so he’s nearly on top of your left foot.

He looks up at you, seemingly unsure, “like this?”

You nod, grinning shark-like as you press your leg forward, basking in how he moans at finally having contact on his aching prick.

You rock your leg a few times, continuing to stroke your cock as Keys makes small little circles with his hips, rutting his crotch against you.

He whines when you still your leg, both of his hands coming up to grip at either side of your leg, still grinding ever so slightly against you.

“C’mon, baby, hump my leg,” you urge, your free hand tangling in his messy hair once again.

You arch your foot up to push him forward. He lets out a whimpering gasp as the tip of your shoe rolls over his balls and vaguely digs against his hole. He presses his face to your thigh, plump flushed lips parted as he drools against you, gripping hard at your calf, his hips really starting to pick up pace.

You groan at the site of him, thrusting stiltedly against your leg, groaning and whining while his fingers grip tightly at your pants. Your hand moves quicker, sliding wetly up and down your length, thumb swiping over your cockhead to rub your pre into the hot, throbbing flesh.

“I—I-I’m gonna cum!” Keys wails, voice cracking. His movements change from harsh, measured thrusts to quick little grinds up and down your leg.

You don’t even manage to get a word in before Keys is crying out, breath stuttering as the warm wetness spreads out across the front of his boxers, darkening the fabric with his cum. He groans, giving a couple last weak twitches before stilling.

You only allow him a few moments to recuperate before you’re dragging him by his hair, earning a surprised yelp as you yank him to move back in front of you, “tongue out,” you say, voice strained with barely held back arousal.

He lets his jaw fall slack, tongue lolling out with a lazy ‘aah.’ You shift forward on the seat, slapping the head of your cock against his tongue with a wet plap before letting it rest there, stroking down your slick shaft as he stares up at you with big, dazed, tired eyes.

You only need a handful of strokes to get there, as pent up as you are. Your eyes slam shut as you come with a low groan, balls drawing up tight and hips stuttering the tiniest bit as you spill your load into Key’s eager mouth.

He dutifully waits, keeping his tongue out as you come down from your high. When you finally blink open your eyes again you take a firm grip of his chin, leaning over to spit onto his tongue, earning a raspy whimper in return, his eyes fluttering shut before snapping back open.

“Swallow,” you say lowly, pressing up on his jaw. He pulls his tongue back into his mouth before gulping down, wincing slightly at the salty taste, “good boy,” you coo, patting his cheek affectionately. You glance down at his dirtied boxers and smile softly, “you made a mess, baby.”

“Y-yeah,” he breathes out, shifting at the uncomfortable sensation of his release hard and tacky against his crotch.

“Gonna keep you like that, I think. C’mon, pull your pants up, let's go.”

“Wait, what? Seriously?” He asks, a mix of surprise and annoyance flitting across his put-out features.

“Yeah. How about I’ll ride your pretty little cock later—only if you’re good about it, though. Alright?”

Keys huffs, glancing down at the ground as if he has to think about it, relenting with another over dramatic sigh, “fine.”

“Good,” you grin, pulling him up by his arm, a million filthy thoughts already running through your mind about what you two might get up to back in the safety of your apartment.

#walter keys mckey x m!reader #keys x m!reader #walter mckey x reader #free guy #mine #smut #keys x reader #personal prompt

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