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judethejudas · 1 year

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COD MW2 Ghost x Stripper! Male! Reader

It’s my first time writing in a longtime and my first ever Tumblr account, so why not make some disrespectful smut as a first using the latest eye candy to hit the gamestore. And I'm sorry if there are any spelling errors, it's 5 am and I'm too lazy to proof read. I am also a man, have no fear, or do.

WARNING: contains sexual themes, degrading, male insert only MINORS AND FEM ALIGNED DNI.

(s/n) = Stripper Name

“Jesus fuck, what the hell are we doing here, Soap?”

The scot let out a laugh, knowing he had left out an important detail concerning their entertainment for the evening. Ghost was told that this night was to consist of booze, his buddies, and pretty girls dancing on a pole.

Well, there was going to be booze and his buddies.

But pretty girls on a pole?

“I’m not gay.”

“Well neither are we but we figured we just had to treat you to one of the best clubs in town.. And besides, it’s not just men in there. Sometimes girls go in there too.”

“You’re all as good as dead.” He grumbled out as the rest of 141 laughed.

“Get in there already, don't keep 'em waiting.” Price laughed, leading the men to the entrance.

With Ghost, there wasn’t too much to see out in public. He still preferred his privacy, especially when he was out with his team. He wasn’t wearing his balaclava, but he had a black mask to cover his mouth and nose.

Kept the mystery and he thought it would work like a charm with the women he would’ve met.

Would’ve.

Fucking Mactavish the fruit king himself had to ruin it.

After the men passed the bouncer, they were in the club.

Hm. It looked like your average strip joint.

Nothing too out of the ordinary.

Oh, except, there were scantily dressed men with their ding dongs just nearly ripping out of their undies.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“After a few drinks it won’t be so bad.. and who knows? Maybe you’ll find someone you like.” Soap winked at his friend before heading off to the bar to sit. Ghost quickly followed after, not wanting a male stripper to set his target on him. They could probably sense how awkward he was feeling and try to ‘comfort’ him.

He doesn’t feel quite ready for that.

Once the men took their seats, they ordered their poison of choice. Ghost ordered a particularly strong drink and downed it all in one go.

He would need it.

“So, Simon, we have just one more little surprise for you. You don’t even have to pay for it.” Price snickered, as did the other men. All except Ghost, of course.

Dear god no.

Ghost was about to seriously protest the little game Soap was playing but then he felt a hand hold onto his shoulder. He quickly turned to see who it was.

Oh boy.

It was a man. A stripper man. Wearing nothing but black, short briefs and suspenders across his chest connected to his underwear. A bow tie around his neck and… bunny ears.

“I was hired to entertain a glum looking man tonight by your friends. You feel like coming with me to the back, sweetheart?”

“Oh yes he would like that very much indeed.” Soap gave his poor friend a nudge off his seat and into the welcoming arm of the playboy bunny— to which his hand was then taken and lead to the back rooms for a private dance.

There was hellfire in Ghost’s eyes that was burning directly to Soap as he was taken away— to which the Scottish man only raised his glass to his teammate with a laugh.

Entering the neon purple lit door, Ghost’s ears were met with different beats of music coming from the closed rooms they passed and very dim lighting. He assumed that the strippers and their clients were having their private parties, and now it was his turn.

Fucking Soap was going to regret this.

“Hey— listen, I’m not.. like anyone else here, alright? This isn’t my line.” Ghost muttered in embarrassment, attempting to cling onto what dignity he had left before coming into this place.

“Of course, if you’re comfortable with your sexuality then what do you have to worry about, huh? It’s just a little dance.” You giggled, turning into your own private room. There was a sofa that hugged against the walls of the small room and nothing else.

Just you and him.

“Oh, my name is (s/n) by the way. I know your team calls you Ghost but if you wanna go by anything else, let me know.”

You made your way to the digital screen on the wall to put on your music of choice. The light was better in here so Simon could also get a better look at what he was about to get into.

He honestly thought you’d be one of those tight, little dainty looking men he saw out in the front of the club.. but no.

You were taller. Taller than he was. Possibly 6’4 and very well built. Like you hadn’t skipped even one day at the gym. You didn’t look like a stripper at all. If anything they should have hired you as the bouncer.

Ghost couldn’t help but wonder if the rest of you was just as big.

Was that gay of him to think about your dick size or just natural curiosity?

“You ever had a lap dance before, lieutenant?”

“Well, not by a man, and definitely not one that looks like you I can tell ya that.”

You chuckled, your hand coming up to rest on your hip.

“I get that a lot actually. Sometimes I think I’m in the wrong profession but..”

You took a few steps closer to Ghost, backing him up towards the sofa and getting very close to his body— where just an inch of air separated you.

“Sometimes I can’t help but enjoy it.” You mumbled in his ear, before pushing him down gently to sit on the sofa.

“But I do have to lay down some rules, big boy. Number one, no touching me. That’s my job. Number two, don’t ask me to marry you or tell me you’re going to take me away from all this. I’m fine right where I am. And number three..” You said the last part as your leg was propped up just beside Ghost’s, revealing your crotch a lot more.

“Don’t take your eyes off me.” You winked, getting closer to him to the point you were sitting on his lap, legs on either side of him.

Ghost held in his breath as your hands came up to roam his body. They touched from his sides and travelled upwards to his pecs and shoulders, giving his solid body parts a massage.

“So tense.. you should try relaxing a little more.” Your voice was just below a whisper and eyes darkening with lust. Ghost definitely wasn’t taking his eyes off you now, especially since you were literally on top of him.

“You can understand why that might be difficult for me, yeah?” He replied, which made you chuckle.

“Just breathe for me, baby.”

Then you started your dance. Grinding against him to the beat of the music while your hands came up to teasingly play with your suspenders.

You would caress his body and whisper dirty things in his ear. Even slide off his lap to be kneeling in front of his crotch. Your hands would spread his legs and you’d give him such a pretty, horny stare that made Ghost’s breathing hitch.

Thank god for the mask hiding most of his reactions to you.

“Fucking hell.” He mumbled under his breath.

You stood up, snapping the suspenders off and tossing them to the side while Ghost could only sit there and watch you intensely.

You turned around, showing your ass to him and giving it a few shakes and slaps. Your head looked back at him and smirked, before sitting on him again with your back to his chest and grinding again.

“You in the military then? I know the men you came in here with but this is my first time meeting you.. so cruel of you to keep me waiting for so long, Ghost.” You breathed out sensually, your hand coming up to cup his masked cheek. He had to admit, the way his code name came off your tongue made his blood rush somewhere..

“Believe me. If I knew you were here then I would’ve come here myself.”

Now there was a change in attitude.

“Mmm, I would’ve loved to have all that time with you. You’re making me feel so hot.”

“Does that mean I get to touch you then?”

Your eyes looked back to him and found his own staring back at you, just as dimmed with a longing that couldn’t be satisfied with just a dance.

Not once have you ever let a man touch you in this club. You were very strict about your rules and the bouncers definitely were too. You two could get in quite a bit of trouble.

“Touch me.”

His arms immediately went to circle around your waist, his hand touching your half hard cock through your underwear. Then he started rubbing it.

You moaned, pulling his mask down to give him a deep kiss as you kept grinding on him.

Any other time Ghost wouldn’t allow some stranger to look at his face, but when he felt your tongue touch his, he simply couldn’t find a reason to care.

He turned you around so you were facing him again and you resumed the rutting against each other. Your tongues clashed together and the breathing got much heavier. You couldn’t help yourself anymore, he was just so hot and his voice was doing so much to you. How could you resist?

“Fuck.. fuck, Ghost. Please..” you moaned out in between kisses, your cock fully hard and erect. Ghost was feeling the pressure in his pants as well and went to unzip his own trousers.

“Call me Simon.” He panted, then took your cock out of the confines of your briefs and started stroking it. So, you were big down there after all. A whole 10 inches with pre cum already coming out from the tip.

You grunted, pushing into his touch and immediately losing yourself in the pleasure he gave you. His hand felt so much better than your own, and you wanted to return the favor.

Your hand went down to take his dick out too, and what an impressive size he was as well. About 9 inches long and so very hard.

“You look so pretty like this.. touching my cock and grinding against me like a little submissive slut.” Ghost groaned out, still not believing how such a large man like you could be acting like a whore. For him. It was so hot.

You whimpered, feeling yourself get closer and closer to release as his strokes became more erratic.

“I’m gonna cum.” You squealed out, pushing into his hand more quickly and panting like a bitch in heat.

Then he suddenly took his hand away and took yours off of his own length.

“What.. no, S-Simon please, I wanna cum..!” You cried out, trying desperately to grind against him again to get more friction.

“Get on your hands and knees right now, I wanna fuck you from behind.” Ghost demanded as you bit your lip, trying to contain your excitement as you got into his desired position on the couch and pulled down your underwear.

His hand came down to give you a slap on your ass and you gasped.

“You’ll have to forgive me since I’ve never done it with a man, but I have a feeling I’ll get the hang of it real soon. Just be a good boy for me and keep that pretty ass in the air.”

“Yes, sir.” You breathed out, and graciously accepted his two fingers that were going into your mouth. Your tongue swirled around his digits to coat them in spit.

Once they felt ready, Ghost took his fingers out and immediately started prodding your asshole.

You gasped, feeling one finger slip in as well as the other.

“Oh fuck..” You moaned, pushing back against his fingers to make them go deeper. Ghost groaned at the sight and started fingering and scissoring you, prepping you for something much larger.

“Mmhhh Simon, I want it. Please put it in, I can’t wait anymore.” You begged for his cock, looking back at him with desperation. Ghost could just cum at the sight of you right now.

“You got it, baby.”

He spit in his hand and started stroking his cock, lubing it to the best of his ability as to not hurt you.

You were practically drooling at the sight of his dick behind you, all wet with saliva and rock hard.

You felt his tip enter you and you groaned, before feeling a few more inches sliding in.

“Fuck.. you’re so tight.” The British man sucked a breath in between his teeth, this was a squeeze he never felt in his life. And it was incredible.

The rest of his length was pushed in until you were completely bottomed out. God, it’s been so long since you were filled like this.

You felt a slap on your ass and you moaned out loudly, hiding your face in the couch.

“Start moving, bitch.”

And you listened to him. Your ass moved back and forth obediently to push against his dick. You felt his hands holding onto your hips and helping out by thrusting in and out of you.

“It feels so good..” You moaned and squealed whenever he hit your prostate, your back arching so your ass was more in the air and Ghost gave it another slap.

“You like my cock, huh? I’m practically a fuckin’ stranger and you’re taking in my dick so easily.” He talked down at you in such a sexy way it made your heart race. He was grunting as his pace started to speed up and you nodded profusely, mumbling about how you were his little slut and his only.

“That’s right. There’s no one else who’s going to fuck you as good as this.”

The sound of skin against slapping skin was getting louder and louder. The breathing only got heavier and your moans mixed with his deep grunts were much more common. Before, he would hit your prostate on occasion but he was ramming into it dead on now.

“I’m close.. come on and show me your face, pretty boy.” Ghost panted pulling his cock out and stroking himself quickly, standing up on the floor so he towered over you.

You got onto the floor and on your knees, jerking yourself off as well as you stared at him with tear soaked lashes.

What a gorgeous sight you were.

It was enough to make Ghost’s cock spurt with warm cum and right on your face. You gasped and moaned, feeling your own sticky release coating your fingers and dripping onto the floor.

The two of you were out of breath but knew you had limited time before the bouncers would be checking.

You both spruced yourselves up and Ghost helped you clean the mess off your face, giggling as he apologized.

“Don’t be sorry, I had a lot of fun.. and I hope to see you sometime again.” You smiled as he put his mask back on.

“You can count on that, love.”

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:)))) hope you guys enjoyed it

#cod #codghost #ghost #simonriley #codmw2 #mw2 #mw2ghost #ghost x male reader #ghost x reader #smut #ghost x male!reader

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after-witch · 2 years

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Underneath the Surface [Mahito x Reader]

Title: Underneath the Surface [Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: You spent an awful lot of time staring in the mirror. If Mahito looked past the flesh that you were so eager to pinch, he could see bitterness and hatred writhing underneath. But it wasn’t bitterness and hatred towards others. It was bitterness and hatred towards yourself.

Word count: 1887

notes: mentions of body weight and disordered thinking regarding food, weight and eating; bad end for reader

You spent an awful lot of time staring in the mirror.

It wasn't especially unusual, at least when it came to his observations of human women. And some men. But the way you stared in the mirror was different from the way other women Mahito watched, always looking pack that soft fleshy surface into their soul, seeing the cracks and moving, pulsing life underneath.

Compared to them, you were more critical than admiring. You often pinched the sides of your body, grabbing the fleshier parts of your stomach or hips or arms, all the while muttering things about yourself, complaints and insults and worries. He could see wisps of curses curling around you at times, and if he went past the flesh that you were so eager to pinch, he could see bitterness and hatred writhing underneath.

But it wasn’t bitterness and hatred towards others. It was bitterness and hatred towards yourself.

Utterly fascinating! Simply intriguing! He wanted to know more. Why did you do it? When did you start doing it? How many curses had you unknowingly created with the negative energy pulsing from your soul every time you stepped in front of a mirror, turning this way and that, completely consumed with yourself? Your hatred for yourself was different than the hatred that bore Mahito. He wanted to know it, to understand it, to hold it in his hands and play with it.

And, of course, he wondered… what sort of experiment might you make?

He pondered all of these things and more as he watched you stare at yourself in the mirror. He didn’t enter your home yet. He hadn’t needed to. Instead he stood outside your bathroom window, which you didn’t bother curtaining off.

Could you see him? You never looked his way, so it was hard to tell. Most people outside of jujutsu sorcerers couldn’t, of course, but there were a few exceptions… He couldn’t wait to find out which category you fell into.

His vantage point from outside gave him a perfect view whenever he felt like observing you some more. Human rituals could be so silly, and he did love to be entertained.

In the mornings, he watched you strip off all of your clothes and step onto the machine you kept on your floor. Every time you stepped on it, it gave a different number. Up and down, the numbers went. The number usually made you frown. Some numbers made you grin, though. It was cute, the way you cared so much about something as silly as a number. Humans cared about the dumbest things.

He’d asked Geto about it, who told him it was a “scale” and that you were measuring how much your body weighed. What a silly thing to measure. Why care about something as ordinary as that? But it was good to know, information he tucked in the back of his mind.

Perhaps he should get a scale and measure the humans he played with. How little could they weigh? How much? It could be fun! You were already giving him ideas, and he hadn’t even taken you yet. You were a delight! He reminded himself to thank you for it when he finally did more than watch you through the window.

It would be soon, he thought, when he took it behind simply watching. He was bored of just watching you. He hoped you wouldn’t get boring too quickly once he took that next extra little step. It was always disappointing when a toy became dull fast, when the shine of their entertainment value wore off, leaving him searching for something new to keep his mind occupied.

–

You stared at yourself in the mirror for the thousandth time that morning and wondered if the slight weight gain was noticeable in this particular dress. Should you change? Maybe you should wear the other nylons, the kind that came with a built-in smoother that would tuck your tummy down a little more. Maybe you should stick to a blouse and trousers. Maybe you should just stay inside. Maybe you should skip lunch.

You sighed and pressed your palm to your forehead. No, no, no, you wouldn’t starve yourself. You tried to eat sensibly, to listen to what your doctor told you about the risk of starvation diets, the importance of feeding your body wholesome and nutritious food, blah blah blah. Of course, your doctor was a man breaching the age of 70, and he didn’t understand the pressure you were under.

You pursed your lips and turned around again in the mirror. You didn’t look so bad from the front, but from the side…

You pressed your hands on your stomach and pushed it down.

“Just be thinner,” you murmured. “For fucking once.”

It wasn’t the first time you uttered those words. You were sure it wouldn’t be the last.

“The number made you frown today. Was it that upsetting?”

Your entire body jerked in primal horror.

There was a man in your bathroom. There was a man in your bathroom and he was standing right behind you. You could see him in the mirror, and time seemed to slow to some great thick sludge as your brain tried to process what you were seeing. His body was warm behind you, but it was an unusual warmth, something heavy that contributed to the feeling of sudden thickness in the bathroom.

Your body suddenly caught up with itself, unfreezing and pumping with adrenaline, but you saw his eyebrow quirk and his grin spread as he wrapped his arms around you in the moment you attempted to bolt.

“Ah, ah,” he said, voice teasing. “We didn’t even get to play yet! I don’t want you to go now, especially since you can see me. Don’t be mean.” He pouted, his voice matching the expression on his face. His arms gripped you tighter, and you could feel the strength behind them. He could break your ribs if he wanted to.

You froze. You swallowed. Your throat hurt. Your heart raced. You wanted this to be a dream, but it wasn’t. It should have been. But it was as real as anything.

“Wh-wh-wh…what do you want?” Your own voice was hoarse and shaky and terrified.

“Wh, wh, wh what do you want?” he mimicked, upping his tone to mock yours. And then laughed, delighted as anything, mouth stretched in a grin.

You stared at the two of you in the mirror. Your skin looked suddenly sallow and sick, slick with sweat from fear. The man’s features slowly seemed to sink in as he held you, his long fair hair, his dual colored eyes, the stitches present on his body.

He seemed to catch you staring, and his smile softened.

“Oh, do you think I look good? I’ve always wanted to ask, but most of the humans who see me are trying to kill me or begging for their lives.” He quirked his lips. “Of course, I don’t care what they think. But it’s nice to know!”

His words made your stomach sink harder. Begging for their lives? And what did he mean, most of the humans?

“You’re a… you’re not… human,” you say, words slow, stilted. If he wasn’t a human, then he was…

One of his hands reached up and poked your cheek.

“Well, you’re a bit slow, aren’t you? That’s okay.” He gripped you again, and spun you around, so you were facing away from the mirror. “I like you anyway. But you didn’t answer. Do you think I look good?” He tilted his head, and it was such a childish gesture that it made your brain feel like it was short circuiting.

“I don’t…” You had nothing to do but stare up at him, and your racing brain supposed he might have been attractive in a “terrifying man suddenly appears in your bathroom and won’t let you go” sort of way. But you doubted he wanted to hear that. And you did, despite your aching fear, still have self-preservation. So you answered.

“Yes?” Your eyebrows furrowed in confused fear. Why was he asking this? Was he going to kill you? Why didn’t he just get it over with, instead of behaving so strangely?

He released you and in a sudden flurry of movement, you saw him clap his hands, tapping his palms in glee. “How nice of you to say! I had a feeling, but I needed someone else to confirm it, you know?”

He suddenly looked overly serious, tapping his chin with a finger, pouting his lips outward in a comical and deliberate gesture. “I really have to thank you. But how… ah, I know!”

He turned towards you again, and he grinned, and it scared you enough that you took a step away from him. But there was nowhere to go in your small bathroom, and all you did was press the bathroom counter against your back.

“You said you wanted to be thinner. I’ll help you!”

You didn’t have time to ask what he meant.

His hand pressed against your waist and you felt the most indescribable agony as reality shifted and warped, as you felt something deep inside you snap and begin to pull and twist and tighten. There was nothing but pain in your thoughts, hot and searing, and then everything went blurry and wrong and you could no longer think at all.

–

Mahito took a step back, pressing himself against the tub, to get a better look at his handiwork.

Your soul stretched so nicely! It was easier than he thought it would be, especially considering it was his first try. You could be a bit thinner, though, like you apparently wanted. Your face was so silly now, gaunt on the bottom but bulging on the top, your mouth open as the thing-that-you-now-were groaned insensibly.

Your eyes were bugging out, bloodshot and terrified. Which was the norm, but he wanted to see if he could get them back in proportion again. He might need to reshape your skull a bit more for that, too. Maybe if he did, you could see him proerly. Could a transfigured human think enough to compliment him again, the way you’d done earlier when you said he looked good? It was something to keep in the back of his mind while he played with you.

He’d never made a human so thin before! It was fun. You reminded him of candy he’d taken from a shop once. What was it called? Oh, right. Taffy! You were stretchy and thin, like taffy. He wondered how far he could stretch you once he got you back home, where there was more room. His hands itched as he thought about pulling you further and further, seeing just how thin you could get. You really were going to be a fun experiment.

He hitched his arms around your deformed shape, enjoying the feel of your transfigured soul in his hands, but then something on the floor caught his eye and he paused.

“Oh, right,” he said, smiling to himself. And then he leaned down and picked up your scale from the bathroom floor. It would be fun to use it on his experiments, and this way, he wouldn’t have to bother about getting one from a store. You really were a source of inspiration!

“Don’t worry,” he said to you, or rather to the grotesque moaning creature that you’d been turned into.

“We can still use this every morning!”

#mahito x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #afterwitch writes #just mahito being mahito #pay attention to the note!!

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annoyinglandmagazine · 8 months

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All is Fair in Love and War

Summary: Beren could not have come to Nargothrond at a worse time. For while Beren and Luthien are absorbed in their legendary romance they are about to inadvertently cause the resolution of a much more precarious one. Alternatively: Finrod makes bad choices and Curufin will most definitely be holding a grudge

The moment he’d seen that ring once again Finrod had been overjoyed at the unexpected reunion with the people of his Barahir, publicly embracing him and welcoming him to Nargothrond unequivocally and pointedly ignoring the sense of foreboding in his mind and the daggers his cousins were glaring at his back. Well one cousin in particular, but he could allow Curufin his petty jealousy, a degree of possessiveness was to be expected with a partner as flirtatious as himself. There was nothing too out of the ordinary there.

However when he spoke to Beren his mood changed swiftly and any pretence of joy was stripped from him at the word ‘silmaril’. He looked deep into his eyes, so alike Barahir’s it made him want to weep, and knew that there would be no persuading him to reconsider, to find another love. No, the way he spoke of the princess of Doriath with his voice never once failing to seep with adoration at every word, the way he presented their marriage as the only possible course of action, he knew that this was a kind of all consuming love that he wasn’t sure he’d ever witnessed before.

This was a love that they might burn all of Beleriand to the ground for, though he was more familiar with that kind, and also that they would put naught before, not their people and responsibilities nor any others they held dear in their hearts. There was nothing in all of Arda that they would not do or give up for each other. And for all talk of elves having but one love he’d never seen anything like it, not even between his cousins who would most likely massacre cities for each other but could only love through covert letters and the rare co ordinated visit out of a sense of duty. Certainly not between himself and- well.

He looked at the ring Beren held in his palm and knew that it bound him and yet felt the clutches of another ring just as fiercely as he reached into the folds of his robes to discreetly hold it, as he had so many times in this past week but never with so much dread. Nervousness yes, but never dread.

When he slipped into his chambers he was exhausted and weighed down by the knowledge that there would be no easy course of action for him to choose and certainly not one that would please all, gesturing for all his attendants to retire for the evening with a false weary smile. He was already shrugging off his court robes and ready to collapse onto the bed when he noticed he was not alone. Leaning against his intricately carved headrest sat the fourth son of Feanor, sharpening the blade of that dwarven dagger he held in such high esteem until it was as sharp and shining as possible by any crafts known to the peoples of Arda.

He continued to twirl it about his fingers as he lifted his eyes momentarily to send a suspicious glance towards the elf entering the room.

‘Is there something wrong?’ This was his opportunity to explain the situation, to try to convince Curufin of the course of action he should and was obliged to take, how they could turn it to their advantage and perhaps make this a great triumph for all their people. That would go down well.

‘All is well, no need to let your reservations towards our guest get ahead of you cousin,’ he said casually as he moved across his room to lay aside piece after piece of jewellery in their separate boxes with great care to give himself time to find out what tack he should take.

After deliberation he decided on changing the topic to one that would no doubt prove a good distraction and convince even skeptical Curufin that his demeanour was little changed. He changed his tone to a familiar teasing one as he began to unlace his tunic, ‘Why if I didn’t know better I’d say you were still harbouring some jealousy towards Beor. But surely the great Curufinwë could never be so petty, I must be imagining things as us flighty Teleri are so prone to do,’ he turned to shoot a playful grin towards the now glaring Curufin.

The breach of the Quenya ban here and only here was one concession he admitted he felt little regret over, after all was it so dreadfully unreasonable for Curufin to not want the sweet nothings whispered in his ear tainted by an unfamiliar name, by a reminder of the loss and theft of his heritage. Was it so unreasonable for him to want the same?

Curufin laid the dagger on the nightstand with a little clink and began to unwind his braids for the night as an alternate way to keep his fingers moving, ‘I am not, nor have I ever been, jealous of that pathetic mortal. You had an insignificantly brief dalliance with him for some perplexing reason, most likely pity, and such matters do not bother me in the slightest. Don’t be absurd,’ he refused to look up at Finrod in petulance as he had finished undressing down to his small clothes and sat facing him on the bedspread.

‘Curufinwë,’ he murmured gently, hovering nearer his ear so he could feel the shivers it illicited, and he twined his hand with paler narrow fingers as he ever so slowly pulled them out of the mass of half unwinded black silk and onto his lap, making a point out of dragging his own through it as he did so. Curufin finally raised his head to meet his eyes, looking deep into Finrod and seeing none of his misgivings, only deep affection.

This was not a wise course of action, to cling to something he wouldn’t be permitted if the nér before him knew all the facts, it was taking advantage of him in truth to withhold such vital information and still get an unasked for joy out of this stolen moment. Playing with a Feanorian’s emotions and trust in such a manner was possibly the most dangerous thing he could do, but then inviting one into your bed was already incomprehensibly reckless, the several daggers no doubt on Curufin’s person right now could attest to that, but allowing the heart to get involved was something entirely other.

On a tremendously ill advised impulse Finrod pulled away to a beautiful exhalation of laughter from Curufin at the perceived teasing which only solidified his resolve as he strode over to his jewellery cabinet to find it, as he’d planned to for many months in many ways, in many settings but never in circumstances such as these. He’d had months to do it but he knew he wouldn’t have months more, he knew if he didn’t do it now he never would, that this door would be permanently shut. Out of the many ways he had planned to do it this had been one, in his chambers with Curufin sitting on the bed with a knee drawn up to his chest and the candlelight burning low and lighting his face softly until the harsh features became something fond and gentle, he knew that he would most likely never have a night such as this again.

He walked back towards Curufin and dropped to his knees at his side, taking a pale hand in his and bringing it to his lips, receiving a smile of mild curiosity from the other nér ‘Findarato are you quite alright, darling? If you wish to be on your knees before me I shan’t object but perhaps you may find a more suitable part of me to kiss in such a position?’

The suggestive commentary was issued without anymore bite than subtlety, Curufin was still rather new to it after all, if he were in the mood to make love tonight Finrod would get round to it relatively soon, he was never one to be patient once they were alone and Curufin had smiled at him like that. That was not his goal here though certainly would not be unwelcome later.

He took several deep breaths and only the clumsy flirtation made up his mind for him as he slid the ring out of his pocket and held it out. It was a simple thing but of exceptional quality, mithril with a precious ruby setting, if he were to try and get elaborate about it there would no doubt be mistakes, invisible to most of course but not Feanor’s shadow, the one who had grown up in the forge of the greatest smith in history. Proposing to him with a flawed ring would not be a pleasant experience.

Curufin’s lips parted in shock when he saw it and it took a few moments for Finrod to speak and take the final plunge ‘Curufinwë Atarinkë Feanorion will you-’

‘Is this a fucking joke?! Because if it is Findarató, I swear to the Valar they will never find the fucking body-’

He cupped his chin and Curufin closed his eyes briefly and breathed slowly at the touch. ‘I mean it, truly. We most likely won’t be able to tell people but we could find somewhere, a field for all I care, and bind our souls to each other for all eternity. To make you mine and I yours, that is what I wish. Will you marry me?’

It was delusion. Even if by some miracle he said yes tonight he would be cursing Finrod’s existence tomorrow. That night would never come, they would never have that, if it hadn’t been this it would have been something else some other conflict of interest or betrayal. They were not meant to love each other and in every eventuality they ended their stories the same way they started them, hating all that the other stood for and chose to do with their life. They were not Beren and Luthien.

But just tonight, with the way Curufin leaned in to kiss him soundly in answer and slide down off the bed into his lap, winding his arms about his neck to deepen the embrace as Finrod held his waist and lost himself in the softness of his lips and press of his narrow frame, he slid the ring onto his lover’s finger and allowed himself to pretend.

However many hours later he was lying in the disheveled silken sheets with an even more disheveled Curufin sleeping on his chest, hair now fully undone and lying across all the pillows and sheets in a striking contrast of black strands against bare pale and golden skin, golden hair and white sheets. He looked so happy and at peace in his sleep, none of the nightmares that often haunted him anywhere in sight, and Finrod felt a tear slip down his cheek as he knew he would be sleeping alone after tomorrow. He brought his lips down and kissed a pale, smooth shoulder before attempting to find some rest himself.

When he found the rumours of a coup brewing they did not surprise him and nor did finding his chambers empty that night and somehow colder. Well almost empty. On the nightstand rested a single ring and a crudely made dagger, clearly made in a moment of anger so unparalleled that craftsmanship was temporarily cast aside in favour of sending a message (if it had been Feanor the hatred in his veins would only have amplified his skills but this was not Feanor). No, they were not Beren and Luthien. But as he cast his mind to the glowing light of lamps and candles casting the shadows of two hands intertwining in the night on the walls he knew that it had been as close to love as he would ever find.

#silmarillion #tolkien #curufinrod #curufin #finrod #finrod felagund #angst #nargothrond #beren #lay of leithian #Quenya ban #Bed sharing

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thesuetyouforgot · 3 months

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What do you think of the German comedian Loriot? And about the TV show 'Sketch History'? I absolutely love both, and 'Sketch History' reminds me of Monty Python soo much (the team must have been majorly inspired by them). They really nailed the humour and came up with their own recurring characters and creative sketches. I wish I could translate all the sketches into English and show them to an international audience 😅

Omg I LOVE Loriot! Especially the TV series/the sketches. I could write entire essays about it. Did you know that he actually stole from Monty Python quite a bit? (I will put a paragraph on that below the cut bc I've wanted to talk about that for years now lol but feel free to just ignore that part)

Sadly I'm not the right person to talk about Sketch History with. I dislike that show so much for no apparent reason. I just really don't enjoy it and never found it that funny tbh, it's so far off my humour... I'm sorry. But after hearing your praise I will definitely give a few of their sketches another chance now and find out if they maybe remind me of Monty Python as well. Do you have any recommendations for which sketches are the best/most like Python?

And thank you for your ask! :)

Now, what did Loriot "steal"?

Most famous example is the Wrong Interview Partner sketch in which the wrong person (with an ordinary job) accidentally ends up in a TV studio, getting asked the questions which were intended for someone with an extreme job. (In one version it's a deep sea diver and in the other one it's an astronaut, can't remember which one is by whom.) Why is this one 'famous'? Because John Cleese himself spoke about it, pointing out that it really is copied in an obvious way.

A really obviously stolen sketch is the 'Superscope' sketch introducing a revolutionary new invention of an extremely wide screen on which you can watch entire races without a single cut or camera move. Since it's just a tiny strip of white across your TV screen you can't even hide that it's stolen. (In one case it's a horse race, I believe, and the other one a 500m sprint?)

Another one which is less obvious but I still believe was inspired a lot by Monty Python is the beloved "Das Bild hängt schief" in which a salesman is to wait in a room until someone has time for him and in the meantime -due to butterfly effect really- accidentally demolishes the whole interior piece by piece. Monty Python has a sketch where we have someone waiting for someone in a room, too, but in this case he ends up accidentally killing everyone of the staff who enters that room. (That would probably have been too extreme for German TV, while the need to correct a wonky hanging painting is way more realistic. But I wouldn't be surprised if Loriot did get inspired by MP.)

The last one is something that could also be wrong because I might have mixed it up in my memory but MP has the Hide and Seek Olympics. And in a little Loriot intersection we see a reporter (unsuccessfully) looking for the Hide and Seek finalist, too, if I remember correctly.

On the other hand I think it's not a bad thing. It was a normal thing to do: You see something you like in another country and try to bring it to your own people, too. It's been done with songs, game shows, anything... Its just interesting because at that time Monty Python's Flying Circus wasn't even that famous and loved in Britain itself. So knowing of its existence and deciding to use some of their material is quite fascinating to me. (The wrong interview sketch by Loriot was aired one day prior to the airing of Monty Pythons Fliegender Zirkus in 1972. The other sketches weren't aired until 1976 though.)

#monty python #loriot #asks #marcus-the-ant #Sorry. accidentally ended up using your nice ask for my self indulgent rant

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elysianslove · 3 years

Text

shameful lust; suna rintarō

synopsis; he’s off limits in every way, but that only makes you want him more. based off of this, this, and this. the smut is inspired by my bunny anon’s birthday idea :) bunny, you know the one :)

pairings; brother’s bsf!suna rintarō x fem!reader

genre; porn with kind of plot lmfao

word count; 5.5k what the fuck??

trigger warning; age gap (not specified, & everyone’s 18+), masturbation, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, humiliation, praise, mini panic attack, link for the lingerie (slight nsfw warning)

it started off innocent, as most things do. you were sixteen when you first felt the butterflies nestled deep in your stomach, the drop of your heart, the heat of your cheeks, only around him. you’d thought it was a natural reaction; after all, you’d known suna rintarō since, quite literally, forever, and you were a growing girl, hormones imbalanced and thoughts as confusing as ever. it was normal, completely ordinary to feel as nervous as you did whenever his hand so much brushed against yours, or whenever he’d barely glance your way to offer a small, teasing smile.

it meant nothing, of course. you were just a young girl, sixteen, desperate to lose yourself in some sort of fantasy. a silly crush on your brother’s best friend was nothing strange, and definitely inevitable.

it would go away.

you’re eighteen when the feelings don’t go away, and when they begin reshaping into more— impure thoughts. the more you see of him, the more hyperaware you grow of everything that he is. suddenly your eyes easily find the small strip of skin revealed when he stretches his arms up, and suddenly you can’t help but constantly think about the way he sits, legs spread so wide as if to... accommodate something. suddenly your thoughts always find their way back to the way he’d hugged you goodbye, arms squeezing you so tight to him, allowing you to feel every ridge and ripple of his muscles, and the way he had ruffled your hair and his hand, so large, so easily sinking into the strands— and you’re left wondering what else his fingers could do in your hair, to the rest of your body—

it’s bad. it’s really bad. every day you try and convince yourself it’s innocent, and every night you prove yourself wrong when you find yourself on your stomach, face buried in your pillow and teeth biting down on it, mouth dampening the cloth as your fingers rub harshly at your clit and sink into your dripping cunt— all with his name falling off your tongue as you heave and cry. every night you think about how much thicker his fingers are in comparison to yours, how much longer, how they’d feel inside of you, curling within you. you know he’s dexterous, insanely good with his hands. you’ve seen the way his fingers fly across a keyboard or tap urgently at a gaming console. you know it, and it in no way helps in calming your frustration.

it’s bad, of course, but you live with it. after all, he is in every way off limits. a lot older than you, and much more experienced, suna would have to lose his mind before he ever thinks of you the way you think of him. what would a girl like you have to offer a guy like him anyways? your shaky hands and clumsy mouth? your tight cunt that can barely fit two of your fingers? you’d only leave him unsatisfied, and leave yourself utterly humiliated.

worst of all, however, you can’t imagine how devastated, how betrayed, your brother would be if he’d caught you fooling around with his best friend.

so although you’re yearning to say fuck all and fuck him, you don’t, because it doesn’t make sense in the slightest for you to do so. you continue to make due with what shirtless image of him or that time he slept over and went commando, waking up at the same time you had and his — his dick was hard— you could see—

fuck.

you need to grow up.

as you sit with your back to your headboard, your knees bent up and swinging slightly, two simple knock erupt on your bedroom door. it’s late afternoon, the sun’s brightness dimming slightly, casting your room in an orange glow. in all honesty, it’s soothing.

looking up from your phone momentarily, you call out for the person knocking to come in, your eyes returning to your screen once more.

“hey.”

at the sound of the awfully familiar voice, your head snaps back up and you lock your phone, looking up with newfound excitement at the man standing at your doorway. “hi,” you return with a smile, sitting up and crossing your legs.

suna smiles back, walking into your room with one hand tucked behind his back. “your brother said i’d find you here,” he explains, walking towards you.

you quirk a brow, curiously and amusingly smiling as you ask, “whatcha got there?”

he’s quiet for a moment as he walks over to your side of the bed, maneuvering in a way that doesn’t reveal what he has hidden behind him. you twist around on your bed, leaning on your knees to face him properly, and it’s just when you lift up slightly to settle comfortably that he leans down, bends over to get close enough to whisper, “happy birthday, pretty girl.” he gives you not another moment to process how close his face is — how close his lips are to yours — before the hand behind his back comes around between you.

tucked in his hand is a medium sized bag, not related to any sort of brand, so you assume it’s a simple bag he’d gotten from a convenience store. that would really only mean one thing— that he’s gotten you more than just one gift. you can’t see what’s in it since there are colorful papers stacked within it, obstructing your view, but you’re still flustered at the mere thought he’d even considered to buy you a gift. it’s not unusual; suna, every year on your birthday, has gotten you a gift, yet it’s usually more so a gag gift than anything. some inside joke of yours, maybe he’d pay for your dinner, things like that. never a full on, thought out gift.

“you didn’t have to,” you say, settling back down on your knees and hesitantly taking the bag from him.

he waves you off, disagreeing. “course i did; you’re nineteen now.”

you roll your eyes. “wouldn’t eighteen be more special?”

“fine,” he decides, playfully taking the bag from your grasp and pulling it to him. “guess i’ll just give this to someone else then— maybe your mom—“

“suna!”

at your reaction, he laughs boisterously, and against all odds, you find yourself smiling too. quickly, you reach out for the bag again, pulling it back to you.

“open it when you’re alone,” he disclaims, almost as if in warning.

warily, you eye the bag.

“sure.”

you try to be quieter when unboxing suna’s gift, but the paper’s scrunching is just so damn loud. after cursing it out, you finally rid the bag of its first layer of paper, and are met with a scented candle and some lotion. basic, expected. there‘s a card there too, and when you open it, there’s a note in his messy handwriting, reading out a simple happy birthday— and a good couple of yens too. money, a candle, lotion.

so basic.

there’s still more paper beneath, but you don’t expect it to be for anything except decoration, not for—

what the fuck.

What The Fuck?

your two hands dip into the bag, reaching out for the final gift, grabbing it by its straps and—

holy shit, he got you lingerie.

it’s so— sheer? you don’t think an inch of you will be properly covered, even with the lingerie on. it’s properly transparent, with only the intricate lace designs to modestly cover you. when you dig into the bag, you find the panties to match the bra and— well, it’s pretty, you can’t lie. there are dark, almost flowerlike designs all over, and it’s a deep black, nearly blue or green. there’s also a garter belt, but there aren’t any stockings in the bag to attach to the clips. maybe he’d expected you to take care of that?— ah no, you stand corrected. there are stockings.

fuck, he thought of everything didn’t he?

but more importantly, what the fuck does all of this mean?

burying the lingerie deep inside the bag again, and making sure to cover it up with the paper, thoroughly, you place the other gifts and the card back in and on top, before putting it aside on your bed.

and now, to gather your fucking thoughts.

you had to text him to thank him for the gift, obviously. but there was no way he’d accidentally misplaced the lingerie there. it was deliberately placed, with the way it was folded and tucked neatly, underneath an extra layer of paper above and beneath it? yeah, definitely on purpose. but— why? had he taken notice of your feelings towards him? was this his way of making fun or... reassuring you they were mutual?

god, what the hell are you thinking.

snatching your phone from your bedside table, you check the time.

2:01 a.m.

okay, everyone‘s bound to be asleep by now. hopefully. you eye the bag, so cautiously one would assume there’s some sort of killing machine within it. you contemplate. shake your head. no. the gears twist. yes.

no.

yes. no. yes. no—

fuck it, it’s yours anyways, isn’t it?

you snatch it loudly, rushing off to lock your bedroom door, then rushing to close the blinds, tightly, surely, then rushing to turn the lights off and turning the small lamp by your bedside on instead. what else are you meant to do with lingerie other than, well, put it on? it’s rational, you think, obvious.

it’s fine.

stealing one last, deep breathe, you dump the contents of the bag again, and pick out the lingerie.

it fits.

it fits perfectly.

the bra is snug against your chest, pushing at your breasts but not digging in uncomfortably. your nipples peak through what‘s revealed of the mesh, and when they stand perky and hard, you blame it on the fact that you‘re half naked. the garter belt wraps tightly around your waist, not squeezing to the point of discomfort and pain, but not loose that it’s a nuisance, and the clips that hang from it are attached to a pair of stockings that stop mid thigh, squeezing at the flesh. finally, a pair of panties rest on your cups, cupping your ass perfectly. it too is sheer, and god— you can see so much of you.

is this— what he would‘ve wanted?

you can’t deny that you do look good. it shows your figure off appealingly, and coupled with some dark lipstick, your messy hair, and the slightest smudge to your day’s eyeliner— would— would he have wanted you like this? all dolled up for him?

is this what suna likes?

doubting the fact that you’ll ever have the courage to put this set on again, you grab at your phone, clearing the area before your mirror, then sitting down at the edge of your bed. might as well enjoy it while it lasts, shouldn’t you? posing in the mirror, you appreciate the way you look, the way the dim lighting complements the atmosphere, the way the piece hugs your body and shows you off. you look so good.

so good— for him.

reveling in this surge of confidence, you snap a good amount of pictures, posing differently in each of them, taking them at different angles. your camera roll overflows with them, and as you fall back on the bed, hair splayed out on the mattress, you smile proudly at the pictures.

do you look good enough for him to see?

the thought strikes you suddenly; it tickles at the pit of your stomach, makes your knees bend and your toes curl.

should you?

the messenger app is open at the text messages between you and him before you can think, a picture of you uploaded and ready to send.

should you?

you tuck your lower lip between your teeth, mulling it over anxiously.

no, you most definitely shouldn’t.

quickly, you swipe out of the messenger app, and onto safari. porn it is.

you should‘ve turned the ac on. fuck, it’s hot.

3:10 a.m. 45 minutes since you’d put the lingerie set on and had your mini photoshoot, ten minutes since you’d started masturbating. everything’s still in place except for the garter clips, which have snapped off of your stockings at some point in the past few minutes, but you pay it barely any mind as your legs spread wider, one hand dipped beneath your panties, the other pressing hard against your mouth, trying to keep yourself quiet.

it’s not that you generally had a problem keeping down your noises. your home was constantly filled with people, and you’re almost always sexually frustrated at the most inconvenient times. this time, however, it’s different. it’s different because you’re wearing a lingerie set that suna picked out, that suna bought for you, that suna gave you himself. would he have wanted to watch you touch yourself like this, dressed up so pretty? or— would he have wanted to fuck you while—

shit, you’re gonna cum.

you let out a broken moan, bleeding into a desperate son, muffled barely your hand. your fingers fuck into your cunt faster, squelching lowly as you arch your back, pressing your palm harshly against your clit.

“ugh, hngh,” you whine, squeal, wrist aching. “fuck, rin— please—“

you’re so loud, shit, shit, shit.

beside you, your phone dings! loudly, alerting you of a message received, but you can’t stop, not when you’re so close. it dings again, and again, but you continue to ignore, chasing your own high so desperately, faster, faster, faster. the coil tightens, your body tenses, mind hazing over and eyes rolling back— so close, so fucking close.

“well aren’t you a doll.”

your eyes snap open, and you only manage one second to process who the fuck and what the fuck before your hips are trembling and twisting, and your legs are shaking so awfully as your back arches deep. the moment you hear his voice, so deep and clear, looming just by the edge of your bed where you lay spread, fucking yourself, you cum— and you’re convinced you have a humiliation kink. you didn’t cum because you’d simply been close— you came because you heard him catch you.

in your post orgasmic daze, you pant deeply, chest heaving, rising and falling rapidly as you try to catch your breath. your fingers pull back from your panties, falling to the bed, sticky and wet, while your other hand falls from from your mouth, drool and spit dripping from the corner of your lips.

“aw, you ruined the set.”

you sigh. “rin.” the way you say his name isn’t in a way that’s calling out for him, but neither are you scolding him nor brushing him off for teasing you. you’re just simply trying to process the fact that he’s here.

“i like it when you call me that,” he admits, and in a second he’s falling over you, hands bracing and steadying him beside your head, keeping himself hovering at a small distance. “why do you always insist on calling me suna?” he wonders, head tilting curiously.

blinking slowly, you breathe in, and out, and ask, “what are you doing here?”

above you, he shrugs. “you were the one that sent me those—”

immediately, you’re pushing him off you, sitting up all too quickly as you reach out for your phone. you shakily unlock it, typing in your password and opening the messenger app. he’s right— shit. you could’ve sworn you’d deleted the photo, because you’d explicitly decided just how stupid sending it would’ve been.

well, look at you now.

“that wasn’t— oh my god, i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to,” you stutter, turning your body towards him once more, but avoiding his gaze, your body, only barely having just cooled down, heating up once more.

“oh?” he tests. “was it not meant for me?”

“no, i—“

he’s smiling all too wide for him to not be getting off on your embarrassment. at the thought of that, your eyes unintentionally snap up to him, to his crotch, where beneath his sweats is a bulge, and god, it’s like all those nights ago where you’d seen his dick through his sweats and he’s big, he’s so big—

“just where do you think you’re looking?” he sneers, hand all of a sudden gripping your chin, tilting your head back up and forcing you to finally, for the first time, meet his eyes. they’re dark, almost sinister, as they narrowly glare at you, begging you for explanation.

your mind’s no longer clouded over, all pleasure dissipating from your veins, pathetic humiliation replacing it. “i’m sorry,” you mewl, eyes tearing up at the look on his face. of course he was disgusted. just as your stupid crush on him was natural, so was his reaction. “i’m sorry, please don’t tell anyone,” you beg, lower lip wobbling.

his grip on your chin tightens as he furrows his brows. “tell anyone?” he questions. “about what?”

had he not— heard you?

he says your name, firmly, deeply, in a way that has you stifling your sobs and biting your bottom lip to stop its quivering. patiently, you wait for him to speak, to say anything, until finally, he asks, “do you want me to fuck you?” and your heart stops. “yeah?” he continues, his other hand reaching for your wrist, your hand, the same one that’s still sticky with the evidence of you. slowly, as he brings his lips closer to yours, fingers slipping so that he’s squishing your cheeks tightly, he leads your hand to his crotch, to where his dick is painfully hard beneath his sweats. your initial touch is featherlight, and he doesn’t fully press your hand to his clothed cock, but still, just the smallest, tiniest feel of him has the lust in your veins thrumming alive. “you think you’d look pretty—” he pauses, lips hovering by yours, eyes searching for any sign of hesitance or resistance, “sitting on my cock?”

“i’m sorry,” you apologize again, but he swallows it by finally, finally, pressing his lips to yours. his lips are so soft, softer than you’d imagined and fantasized a thousand times over, as they press against yours, managing to pull the softest moan of surprise and pleasure from you. you’d forgotten, in your moment of shame, just how much you’d craved suna rintarō. just how often you thought about him, those same fingers gripping your chin to be buried inside of you, those pretty lips sucking on your tits and clit. “want you so bad,” you hiccup, kissing him back. “so bad.”

he hums, amused, pulling back. licking his lips with a grin, as if tasting you, his hands leave you entirely, reaching for the hem of his shirt as he lifts it up, freeing himself of the piece of clothing. “don’t you think i know, sweetheart?” he teases, daringly. at the sight of your eyes widening, he nods with a dramatized serious expression, tutting as he adds, “so dirty, thinkin’ ‘bout me like that.”

you whine again, hands lifting up to obstruct your face from his view as you fall back on the bed, body bouncing slightly. “stop,” you plead, not for him to pull back but for him to stop reminding you of just how wrong it is to feel the way you do. still, you spread your sticky thighs for him when he presses his hands to your knees, and you shiver at the feel of his fingers tickling at your skin. “i’m sorry.”

“that’s okay, pretty girl,” he reassures you, faux sweetness dripping like honey off his tongue. he leans in, carefully slow, hands following the curve of his body and yours. “i want you too.” he smiles mischievously, leaning close once more. “so bad,” he mimics you, lips hovering right above yours before he kisses you once more. you want to pinch his arm for outright mocking you, because really, how infuriating can he be? but it’s impossible to want to do anything but desire him in every possible way at the moment, especially when he presses himself harder against you, hips slotting between your legs and clothed cock brushing against your dripping panties.

“rin,” you plead, hands clawing at his back, grasping at his shoulders. god, his skin is so warm.

“yes?” he drawls, wet lips kissing the corner of your mouth, trailing easily to your jaw, and down to your neck. patiently, he waits for you to speak.

with a trembling voice, you ask, “be quick. please.”

a little stunned, suna pauses his ministrations at your neck, but it’s barely for a second. because moments later, he’s grinning sinisterly into the crook of your neck, sucking hotly as he replies, “sure thing.”

you do want to take your time. you want him to stuff his face between your legs and sink his fingers so deep inside of you. you want him to force your mouth down on him, want to bury your face in your lap till you’re choking and gagging on his cock. you want him to take his time stretching you for his cock before he sinks inside of you, letting you feel every single inch and ridge of his dick until he bottoms out. you wish. you wish.

but you’re desperate, and needy, and frustrated, and most of all, you’re not even sure if this is real. you’re scared to blink and have him disappear all of a sudden. you’re scared to wake up with soaked panties and no gift from suna, no suna above you, hard cock pressing against your cunt, only the same suna from all these past years, the same suna you pine over at a distance, wanting but never having.

so you whimper so quietly, “be quick,” again, because he’s still too slow for your liking.

his fingers grasp the sides of your panties, pulling as quick as he can, sliding them down your thighs, watching as the cloth rolls at the urgency as it slides past your knees, your shins, your ankles, legs lifted high up. at the final loop around your right ankle, as suna flings it off, he kisses at your ankle, gripping it tightly and using it to spread your legs.

as your legs spread, your pussy, soaking from both your past orgasm and this unbelievable build up, spreads too, glistening and dripping for him. his eyes easily fall to it, and, with that same glint in his eyes, he grins, and licks his lips again. “wish i could have a taste,” he admits to you, shuffling closer and bending your legs closer to your chest with one hand. the other hand frantically pushes at the hem of his sweatpants, tugging it low, beneath his balls. “god, i’d have you sit on my face for hours.”

he’s going to kill you.

he’s going to fucking kill you.

at his words, your cunt pulsates and clenches tightly, hole glistening as you moan. you hope he doesn’t notice, but he does, somehow, and he laughs, too fucking loud. “you liked that, hm? bet you’d look so cute,” he spurs you on, and your entire body trembles.

you wish to say something, to find the courage to belittle him, degrade him, remind him that if you’re in the wrong for wanting this then so is he, but it’s so hard to find your voice. it’s like he’s stupefied you completely, reduced you to this dumb, wordless, horny mess. god, fuck, it’s embarrassing. you can only watch with wide, tearful eyes and quivering lips and trembling legs as he spits on his hand and fists his cock, quickly, getting himself all nice and slick for you. his cock is— he’s so big, fuck. if you’d been shocked feeling him beneath his sweats, well, your entire body’s rigid with anticipation now.

just as promised, suna’s quick. with one hand pressing and steadying firmly at your lower stomach, right by your hip, he guides his cock to your cunt with the other, wasting no time by pushing in. no way, no way, no fucking way.

how is he fitting?

“ease up,” he orders sharply, forcing more of himself inside of you.

in response, you bring both hands up to your mouth, clasping them tightly above your lips. you remaining quiet is as impossible as ever, with the way he’s stretching you so wide for him, so you press down harder with your hands and throw your head back as he sinks in deeper, and deeper.

“aren’t a good girl?” he praises sweetly, his other hand mirroring the one on your hip. he watches as you lower your head again, lifting it up slightly to look between the two of you at where he’s fully bottomed out, buried deep inside of you. “feel good?” he wonders, even if he knows the answer. your head falls back again and you nod with your eyes squeezing shut. “feel so full, yeah?” you’re glad he’s speaking for you, because you doubt you could find your voice at the moment, even if you tried.

you nod again instead, urgently, just as he pulls out until only his tip remains inside of you, before pressing back in quickly, thrusting into you suddenly. the sight of him above you is better than anything your mind has ever made up, hands squeezing at your hips tightly, both ensuring you keep your legs spread for him and keeping himself up, steadying himself as he fucks into you. his arms bulge and the muscles in his abdomen tighten and tense with every thrust. his chest, so flushed red; his hair, a little sweaty, a little messy; his brows, furrowed deep in concentration; his lips, wet and red, so fucking red, his tongue jutting out slightly as he picks up the pace, as he thrusts faster, harder.

and best of all: the noises he makes. he’s shameless, fucking into you with abandon, moaning and grunting and whining for you, like he’d been the one yearning, pining, and not you. and, you suppose, with the way he’s fucking into you right now, that there might’ve been some truth in his words, that he’s wanted you just as bad, that this wasn’t some pity fuck— poor little girl, his best friend’s sister, sending him lewd and inappropriate photos because she’s so desperate, she can’t help but lust after him, every single day.

his hands squeeze even tighter and he grunts, gritting his teeth sharply. “fuck, m’already close,” he grunts, and somehow, that makes your heart swell, pride deepening. “cunt’s so fucking tight, shit.” you’re making him say those words, you’re going to make him cum so quick, it’s you. you.

when his hands crawl up to your breasts, squeezing and kneading through the bra, your hands fall to his forearms, gripping so tightly and digging your nails into his skin. “please, please, please, cum inside,” you beg, trying to be as quiet as you can. “please rin, please.”

the bed creaks with the effort and speed of his thrusts, your body bouncing as his cock fucks deep into your cunt. his head bows in, smooth hair swinging forward as he curses. “are you— hm..hngh—sure?” he asks, and you nod so rapidly you feel dizzy, arching your back as much as you can to get him deeper inside of you. he’s a mess of curses and pants as he fucks you even faster, one hand remaining at your breast, grasping tightly, the other lowering to your wet clit, rubbing furiously, messily, clumsily.

no words are exchanged as he desperately circles your clit with the rough pads of his fingers, squeezing and kneading your breast as he angles his hips, trying to get you to cum before he does. and just as as before, just as he’d caught you earlier, your body starts to tense up, shaking in anticipation as your orgasm draws closer and closer.

but there’s something— different.

“rin!” you yell out, still half-whispering in an attempt to keep quiet. your eyes well up as you call out for him again, your orgasm unbearably close. “rin, feels weird— oh m—”

he only just barely manages to shove his hand against your face before you’re screaming, throat aching and scratching as you thrash beneath him. around his cock, your cunt spams and clenches down tightly, cum splashing and spraying all over his lower stomach and past his cock to his balls. you’re still thrashing, still squealing and screaming, and he’s spilling inside of you, filling you up impossibly, his cum splashing and dripping as it mixes with yours.

“holy shit,” he breathlessly marvels, hips still rocking and grinding against yours as he helps the both of you ride out your highs. “you ever—“ he steals in a breath, steadying himself slightly, “—cum this hard?”

you’re sobbing, hiccuping and mewling and whining and crying, your body impossibly sensitive. tears stream freely down your cheeks as you sink into the mattress, feeling quite literally like jelly. slowly, suna pulls his cock out, trying not to get distracted by the way your cunt squeezes out some of his cum, and instead focuses on you, his hands cupping your cheeks softly.

“hey, hey, eyes on me,” he encourages, kneeling above you as his thumbs brush at your tears.

“m’sorry, ri— suna,” you heave, hands grasping his as your eyes water again, fresh tears joining ones that are yet to dry.

“what for, sweet thing?” he asks gently. when you start to lift yourself up, he leans back, sitting on your bed, giving you space to get comfortable. he watches with worried eyes as you furiously rub at your eyes with your palms and the back of your hands, as the tears never stop flowing. shit, did he fuck up somehow? he calls your name again, cautiously reaching out for you. when you don’t reject his touch, his heart settles, just a little. “tell me what’s wrong?” he offers again, and you sniffle.

“are you not disgusted?” you ask, voice wobbly and cracking.

his brows furrow, and he cocks his head. “because you... squirted?”

you slap at his arm with a roll of your eyes. “no, suna.”

“when did i lose my first name privileges?” he asks, dramatically shocked. again, you roll your eyes. well, at least the tears have ceased. softening slightly, suna sighs. he’s shit at this. he’s worse than shit at this. talking in general? awful. talking about his or someone else’s feelings? he’s sure the devil would be better comfort. still, he can’t just— leave you. he’s sure that would make things a thousand times worse.

and honestly, neither does he want to leave you.

“i can’t read your mind, pretty girl,” he reminds you, and momentarily, you look away.

until you inhale sharply, and meet his eyes again. “it’s okay...” you begin, trailing off as you attempt to gather your words, before continuing, “that i feel this way for you?”

at your words, at the much needed clarity, suna sighs in relief. so that was it. “more than okay,” he promises you.

you nod in understanding, before prodding further, “not weird?”

he thinks it over, before answering. if he’s honest with himself, the most he’d felt with you was sexual attraction. he liked the way your tits bounced when you ran to greet him or the press of your ass against his crotch when you passed by him to get somewhere. he liked— he liked thinking about your body, your lips, your hands. it’s why he sent you that lingerie set, the one that sits so pretty on your body right now. not that he’d been expecting you to send him anything, and he’d even anticipated that you might feel disgusted, might throw it in his face and slap him too. but he knew you better. suna was observant. he knew more than he let on, more than anyone could imagine. if he hadn’t realized your eyes on him in the past years, he must be blind.

still, he’s not sure if it was ever more, or if it is more. but, he supposes, it’s not an unimaginable feat. he thinks that maybe, there is a chance. he likes you, sure; you make his belly twist and his heart jump. but is he going to risk leading you on?

he doesn’t know.

he settles for, “good weird.”

your face is the definition of a question mark. “what the hell is good weird?”

“your face is good weird,” he retorts. it’s a bad comeback, terrible actually, but his face is flushing a dark red, and he needs to get away. you’re flustering him and it’s pissing him off.

“that’s so mean!”

yeah, the devil would’ve been better comfort. he wasn’t around though, so he made sure suna had been sleeping over that night instead.

worked in your favor didn’t it?

end note; my godddddfhksfhbskjbsb ,,, sorry if you found mistakes this took me all day and im not assed to proofread <//3 but i hope you liked regardless!!

#suna #suna smut #suna rintarou smut #suna x reader #haikyuu smut #suna rintarou x reader #rintarou smut #suna rintaro smut #suna rintaro x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader smut #hq smut #sal's thirst tag <3

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the-bau-quinjet · 3 years

Note

heyyy. I know you’ve been doing marvel a lot, but if you could do one with morgan and the reader? Based on amplification and it’s the reader who gets sick instead. thanks!

Finally

Warnings: some mentions of being sick (cause... you know... anthrax), angst and fluff :)

Word Count: 2735

a/n: My first Morgan fic!! I love him so much! This one took me a while because 1) I feel like I'm not that good at rewriting episodes, and 2) I wanted to get Derek's character right. Hopefully it's not too terrible! I hope you enjoy!! :)

Masterlist

"Rossi, Prentiss head to his office. Morgan, get Reid and L/N from the hospital and check out his house." Hotch instructed as soon as Dr. Nichols was deemed a reasonable suspect.

It wasn't long before you, Reid, and Morgan were pulling up outside of Dr. Nichols house.

"It's clear so far. I'll let you know when we're done checking." One of the CDC techs said through a walkie.

"We should look around a bit." Reid started down the driveway, gesturing for you and Morgan to follow.

"Ow!" You flinched away from the rose bush, shaking your hand in an attempt to lessen the pain.

"You good?" Morgan eyed you, overly concerned about a small scrape.

"I'm fine. Promise." You winked, walking past him and Reid to check for anything out of the ordinary in the backyard.

"I don't understand why you haven't asked her out yet." Reid looked between you and Morgan. Unfortunately, Morgan was saved from answering by the sound of his phone ringing.

"Hey, princess what do you have?" Morgan greeted Garcia, glaring at Reid.

You continued to explore while Derek and Reid talked to Garcia. It wasn't until after you entered the shed-like building that you thought maybe the CDC should check for anthrax out here too.

By then it was too late.

"L/N?" You could hear Morgan calling you. "Y/N!" It was clear him and Reid were approaching the door you just walked through.

You ran back to the sliding glass door, slamming it shut and locking it before either of them could stop you.

"What's wrong?" He frantically ran up to the door.

"Get back! No, don't come any closer." Your eyes flitted between the two agents, landing solely on Derek when you muttered, "I'm sorry."

"Y/N, open the door..." Derek's typically powerful voice nearly broke as he watched you shake your head.

"I can't. I- I'm already exposed." You shook your head resolutely, convincing yourself this was the right move. "I'll look for anything that could help in here. It's the best move."

"Y/N, you need to go to the hospital." Derek put more power behind his words with hopes of convincing you.

"The hospital won't do anything for me. Nichols could've made a cure, and if he did it's probably in here." You tore your eyes from Derek, hoping Spencer would help you convince him. "Reid, tell him I'm right."

He looked conflicted, eyes flitting between you and Derek.

"She's right. The cipro isn't working on anyone infected. Her best chance is to stay in there and find something useful." Reid looked reluctantly at Derek.

"Then you better find a cure in there." Derek whispered, eyes lingering on you before he finally turned away to call Hotch.

"Morgan, Reid. How's L/N?" Hotch questioned immediately, forgoing any greeting.

"White powder all over the room and the air was blasting." Morgan responded quickly. He made brief eye contact with Hotch before turning to walk back to the door.

The general barked out instructions for a decontamination team and cordoning off the area.

"Get her in the ambulance." Hotch directed Morgan and Reid.

"She won't." Morgan felt his heart rate increase at the thought of you staying in there any longer. "Said she's more helpful inside than in the hospital."

"Nichols is dead, looks to be about 2-3 days." Reid added on.

Just then Hotch's phone rang.

"L/N?" He answered on speaker.

"I really messed up this time." You let out a dry laugh.

"You need to get to the hospital." Hotch tried to argue.

"I know Morgan and Reid already told you I won't go. There could be answers in here." Your stubbornness was showing. "I need to figure out who killed Nichols."

"Y/N-" You cut Morgan off before he could try to convince you to leave.

"I think he had a partner." You decided to refocus the conversation on the case rather than yourself.

"I'll get Rossi and Prentiss to ask at his office." Hotch sighed in resignation.

"Good, I'll keep looking at everything in here."

You hung up before anyone could argue further. You shoved your phone into your pocket, immediately going back to look through papers and lab equipment around the room.

As you worked inside, you could hear the CDC team setting up outside.

Watching through the windows as people in full hazmat suits prepared to enter the room you were in made everything feel more real.

You pulled your phone swiftly out of your pocket dialling the number you knew by heart.

"Hi." Garcia's voice was quiet when she answered the phone.

"No funky greeting? I'm feeling a little jipped." You tried to joke with her, but it fell flat.

"I can't be my normal, bubbly self when you are where you are." Again, her voice was quiet.

"Garcia, can you do something for me?" Your voice was steady, masking the emotion about to pour out of you.

"What? Tell me what to do and I'll do it." She frantically moved around her desk, ready to do anything you requested.

"You know how a few weeks ago, you were joking about my crush on Morgan?" You asked slowly.

"The one you swore didn't exist? I remember." Her voice was laced with confusion at your topic change.

"Well, um, do you think you could record a message for him?" Your breaths were unsteady as you thought about saying goodbye.

"But you're gonna be fine." She spoke with authority, as if saying it made it true.

"I know, but, um... just in case. I want him to hear it at least once." Your voice broke.

"Okay. Um, whenever you're ready." She listened as you spoke to Derek.

"Hi Derek. Um, I kind of have a secret to tell you, but first I want you to know this isn't your fault. I'm the idiot who walked into the lab. It's on me. I guess I just want to make sure you hear this from me at least once." You cleared your throat, thick from emotion.

"I, uh, I think I'm maybe, just a little bit, um... in love with you." You felt the tears fall from your cheeks. "You're my best friend. You've always been there for me when cases hit a little too close to home or even if I'm just having a bad day. You never fail to make me smile, no matter how hard I'm trying not to."

You wiped at your cheeks roughly, trying to focus on the message.

"I've wanted to tell you for a while, but I never knew how. I guess I'm glad I walked in here for one reason. It finally pushed me to tell you how I feel."

You chuckled again, but there was no humor in it.

"I'm, ah, I'm really sorry if this is goodbye." You paused, unsure if you had anything left to say.

"Y/N?" Garcia questioned if you were still on the line.

"Prep the victim for transfer." You could hear Dr. Kimura entering the room, preparing to begin treating you.

"I've got to go." You hung up without another word, trying to rid your face of any evidence of the tears before facing the doctor.

"How are you feeling?" She questioned once you were in view.

"I'm actually feeling okay." You nodded, trying to convince yourself it was true. She eyed you like she didn't believe you, but nodded with you anyway.

"Alright, how can I help?"

You spent the next few minutes explaining Dr. Nichols profile. Dr. Kimura set off to look for the cure while you continued trying to figure out who killed Nichols.

"L/N, stick with me." Morgan's voice sounded through your phone, drawing your attention away from the stack of papers in your hand. "Prentiss and Rossi don't think the partner is from work."

"Okay, um..." You went back to the bigger desk. "He's got course syllabi and outlines dating back to the 80s." You glanced around the room, eyes catching on the other desk.

"A student..." You trailed off, mind moving a mile a minute.

"Talk to me." Morgan drew your attention again.

"Derek, I think it's a student. There's two desks, different organization on both. The smaller one has what looks like a dissertation that Nichols could've been grading. He wouldn't open his lab to a scientist, but he might for educational purposes." You prattled on, more and more information fitting the theory.

"I'll get Garcia to look at science students." Morgan gestured for Hotch to call Garcia. He was about to hang up when you corrected him.

"Wait! The paper, it's more about social policies surrounding an anthrax attack, not the actual science of it." You spoke quickly, trying to hold in an impending cough.

"Okay, political science and social studies majors then." Morgan trailed off, waiting for your response.

"Good. That's good." You coughed slightly, listening to the sound of his breathing.

"Garcia's got a match." Hotch nodded to Morgan before heading toward the SUVs.

"Y/N, you got everything you could in there. Now get the hell out." He practically begged.

"Sure thing, Derek. Bye." You hung up right as Dr. Kimura walked back toward you.

"His inhaler! It could have the cure, right?" She looked to you for approval.

"They're checking out Brown's house." Derek watched as they hosed you down.

"Go help them." You coughed slightly, wincing at the cool water.

"They've got plenty of help. I'm staying with you." His eyes never left yours.

"Please." You looked him in the eye. "They're about to strip me naked and hose me down. As much as I know that's something you want to see, I don't think I look my best right now." You joked, watching the way he averted his eyes slightly.

"Y/N, I-" You cut him off again.

"I know." You smiled softly, gesturing for him to go. "Now go help catch him." You kept your eyes on him until he was out of sight.

Turning back to the conversation happening in front of you, you watched as Dr. Kimura instructed another hazmat team member to get the inhaler tested for the cure.

"It makes sense for the inhaler to have the cure." Your mind felt fuzzy as you thought it over. You moved to grab your head, something catching the attention of the doctor.

"Agent L/N, did you cut your hand?" You glanced at your hand, remembering the rose bush outside. You nodded, eyes widening ever so slightly at the now blistering cut on your hand.

"Let's move." You were quickly cleaned of any lingering traces of anthrax before she directed you into the waiting ambulance. "Are you still feeling fine?" She questioned while taking your vitals.

"I'm doing great. I flea foon. I fill fon." You muttered, eyes rolling back in your head.

"Driver, faster!" She called to the front of the ambulance as you started coughing blood.

"Are you eating my jello?" You cleared your throat as you eyed Derek sitting next to your bed.

"Yes I am." He stared directly into your eyes as he ate another spoonful.

"Well, is there more?" You pouted, eyes still lingering on the cup in Derek's hands. He laughed in response.

"What happened?" You slowly moved to sit up, eyes flitting around the various machines in your room.

"The cure was in the inhaler. The other patients are in recovery, and you are going to be just fine." The way he smiled when he said 'just fine' had your heart aching. He just looked so relieved.

"Brown?" You continued your line of questioning.

"We got him. It's over." Derek's soft smile remained, eyes flitting around your body as if he were making sure you were actually okay.

"Well, that's a relief." You took a deep breath. "There's actually something I want to tell you."

He raised a brow, a small smirk playing at the edges of his mouth.

"Oh, yeah? Does Garcia know anything about this?"

You felt the blood rush to your cheeks, eyes widening in horror that he had already heard the message. "Oh, um, I mean, technically yes. I didn't- I wouldn't have told her before you if I didn't think I might die!" Your voice was rising in pitch, panic surging through your body.

"Woah, babygirl, slow down." His previous smirk shifted into another look of concern, although he still let out a small chuckle. "She just told me to ask you about a message. That's all."

"Oh." Your mouth stayed in the 'o' shape for longer than necessary, your body's way of stalling what you were about to say. "You haven't heard the message?"

"Nope." He said with a pop. "Care to enlighten me?"

"Well, I guess I have to since you brought it up." You rolled your eyes, messing with him.

"Hey, now! You started it." He clearly had you beat, so you just blurted it out.

"I think I love you!" You threw your hands over your mouth, eyes wide now that you'd confessed to your best friend that you're in love with him.

"That's what the message said. I thought- I mean there was a strong possibility that I was going to die. I didn't want that to happen without me having told you how I actually feel."

Your eyes were focused on the edges of the hospital blanket where your fingers were twisting a loose thread.

"Can I hear it?" His question confused you, causing you to look at him with a furrowed brow. "The message I mean?"

You nodded slowly, texting Garcia to see if she could send it to you. The chime of a text coming in happened almost instantly. You didn't hesitate to hit play on the recording.

I, uh, I think I'm maybe, just a little bit, um... in love with you. You're my best friend. You've always been there for me when cases hit a little too close to home or even if I'm just having a bad day. You never fail to make me smile, no matter how hard I'm trying not to.

I've wanted to tell you for a while, but I never knew how. I guess I'm glad I walked in here for one reason. It finally pushed me to tell you how I feel.

I'm, ah, I'm really sorry if this is goodbye."

The message cut off abruptly at that point.

You could feel your heart pounding as if it were trying to escape your chest.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize it sounded so sad." You smiled, though your eyes were watery. "I mean, I guess it makes sense since I thought you would only hear it if I died." You continued rambling, eyes looking anywhere but at Derek.

"Y/N?" He prevented you from muttering any other embarrassing words.

"Yeah?" You winced, trying to prepare yourself for his rejection.

"I love you too."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said any-" You abruptly stopped, the words you heard finally catching up with your brain.

"You- you love me too?" You whispered, eyes finally meeting his.

"I do." His smile was wider than you've ever seen, and so, so pure.

"Oh." Your mind was having a hard time comprehending the gravity of what just happened. Luckily for you, Derek knew exactly what was going on when he leaned in to kiss you.

It took a second for your body to respond, but as soon as it did you could feel the butterflies swarming in your stomach.

Despite how new it was, everything felt right in the world when you were kissing Derek Morgan.

He only pulled back when you gently pushed him away, a wide smile on your face as you sucked in deep breaths of air. The two of you stared at each other lovingly, just enjoying the presence of one another.

The sound of a throat clearing coming from the doorway shocked you out of your trance. Reid stood leaning against the doorframe, a smirk on his face. He uttered one word, perfectly encapsulating your own feelings on the situation.

"Finally."

permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman @madewithsebstan @sebastnstn

Criminal Minds tag list:

@mac99martin @goldeng1rl8 @measure-in-pain

#derek morgan x reader #derek morgan x you #derek morgan x y/n #derek morgan #derek morgan fic #criminal minds fic #derek morgan fluff #derek morgan one shot #derek morgan angst

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ichorai · 3 years

Text

frozen hearts, flaming arrows ; p.sh

parts ; one. masterlist. two coming soon.

pairing ; fire!seonghwa x ice!reader

summary ; two enemy clans. one icer healer, one flamer soldier, one brewing war. love was never meant to be a part of this. but then again, when is love ever supposed to be a part of anything?

words ; 7.3k

warnings / includes ; cursing, violence, a make-out scene !!, future suggestive / mature content, hwa being sexy as always, ANGST okay this is a lot of ANGST and hURT, enemies to friends to enemies to lovers trope lol

a/n ; bet yall didn’t see this one coming lol but yea pls enjoy !!! im rlly excited for this series omg !!! im sorry this part was rlly short and kinda bad kkdfjdf but this is just the beginning and i swear part two will be much better !!

A snowflake glowing a luminescent blue lazily floated above your palm, multiplying into several others until you held a mini-flurry in your hand. You walked past all the frosted-over trees, huffing in deep breaths of cold air as your boots stepped over piles of unblemished snow and crispy dead leaves.

Being a healer was exhausting. Though you were still fairly new to the job, you couldn’t help but lay all the blame on yourself for being incapable of saving a life today. You just… hadn’t expected there to be that much blood. Icers had thicker blood for a reason; it wasn’t usually a problem. The head healer tried to reassure you that you did everything you could, but you couldn’t stand to be in the medbay for much longer. You needed air.

And that’s how you ended up here, head spinning dizzily as you stomped through the wintry grey forest, releasing out a frustrated groan from the bottom of your lungs.

“You’re dangerously close to our territory, Icer.” The sudden deep-timbered voice had you flinching so harshly you hit your head on an icy tree branch. “I’d watch my step if I was you.”

Breath caught in your throat, you watched with wide eyes as the Flamer stepped out of the shadow of a tree. He was undeniably handsome; his irises were dark, flecked with a fierce gold the same hue as the edge of a fire, his slicked-back hair a nightly black, and a curl of his carmine lips that was nowhere near friendly. An obvious insignia of a red flame was embedded into his unwrinkled jacket, a clear sign of this man being from the Fire Tribe.

“I’m sorry. I hadn’t realized I was so close to the border.” You murmured, backing away slowly. The small snowflakes that you had accumulated in your palm quickly dissipated into the air, but miniscule particles of snow still floated around you, no doubt a result of your quaking nerves.

Noticing this, the man watched curiously as a snowflake drifted by him. He raised a finger towards the ice crystal, a small orange flame bursting out of the tip. The snowflake melted into a droplet of water, falling to his feet. You noticed the snow had melted away from him in a large circle around his shoes, now standing in a patch of wet grass. Even from the great distance between the two of you, you could still feel the wavering heat pulsating from this strange man.

“What are you doing so far away from your people?”

You knew you shouldn’t be talking to a Flamer stranger. They were dangerous, and it was common knowledge that Icers and Flamers weren’t on the best terms as of late.

“I couldn’t be there anymore,” You whispered, just loud enough for him to pick up. At his raised eyebrows, you continued on. “I’m a healer. It was a lot of pressure not to mess up.”

He nodded, his curiosity getting the best of him. He stepped closer and asked, “Then why are you a healer?”

“Because I’m good at it.” The words came off far too snobbish for your liking, so you quickly added in a sheepish tone, “Also because I like helping people.”

The two of you fell into a queer silence, before he nodded, somewhat satisfied with your answer. The Flamer turned his back to you, “I best get going now. The lands aren’t going to patrol themselves. Run back to the rest of your people, Icer.”

You could feel his heat retract as he walked away. More snow fell to cover his tracks, as if the strange man with flaming eyes was never there.

It wasn’t until the same time the next day that you found yourself strolling towards the forest, back to the same spot last night, feet acting to their own accord. You paused in your steps when you realized where you were heading.

Would you really risk getting a Flamer angry at you for getting too close to their borders again? With not another thought, you pushed back the doubts and walked onwards… it wasn’t like you actually crossed the border. There was a large grey strip of forest land that belonged to neither tribe; it was far too costly to maintain and the forest gave them nothing but bugs and piles of dead leaves.

Much to your surprise, the man was already there, watching you with those glowing eyes of his. “What are you doing here?” He hissed.

“I can ask you the same thing,” You retaliated, arching an eyebrow.

The cold wind whistled as it blew past you, but you were planted firmly to the ground. He, on the other hand, grimaced quite obviously as the breeze tousled his neat hair about, sending dark strands careening into his eyes.

“I’m Y/N,” You said with a small smile. Although he pulsated with heat, that only made him feel the frigid sting of the cold wind all the more. At the sight of his shivering form, you wondered just how bad a Flamer can be.

He eyed you suspiciously before stepping forward quite boldly, sticking out a hand, “I’m Seonghwa.”

There was a strange arrhythmic thump in your chest. Now that he was so close to you, the lilith-hued snow around your feet started to wilt away as well, your cheeks flushing at the sudden rise in temperature. Icers weren’t very good with heat, that was obvious.

And when you took his hand, it was as if he was the coldest thing you’ve ever touched. But that couldn’t be it… you couldn’t really feel the cold much. Nonetheless, you gripped his palm unflinchingly, staring him dead in the eye. It became like some sort of challenge, but the both of you knew that you had obviously won. Seonghwa winced at how freezing your fingers against his were.

“Do you come here everyday?” The Flamer asked once he retracted his hand from yours to shove into the warmth of his pocket.

“Yesterday was my first time. I wasn’t planning on coming back today, but I just ended up here on instinct.” Your boot scuffed the pristine snow, avoiding the way his gaze seemed to quite literally burn holes into you.

Seonghwa frowned slightly. Funnily enough, the same exact thing had happened to him. He wasn’t on patrolling duty today, so really, he had no cause to be out here. He could be curled up with a book in front of a nice, warm fire, instead of standing in the snow with an Icer, of all people. Gods, he must be crazy.

“So… what are you doing here?” Your seemingly innocent question had Seonghwa struggling for words.

In all honesty, he had been curious whether or not you’d come back. An Icer healer in the Grey Forest was more than enough to pique his interest. Nothing remotely gripping ever happened in the Fire Tribe (other than the various men and women who threw themselves at him whenever they got the chance). He hadn’t actually expected you to come back.

“I’m… hunting.”

“It’s illegal to hunt outside of your tribe lands, everybody knows that.”

“Who said I was hunting for an animal?” Seonghwa crossed his arms over his chest to try and look somewhat menacing, but you just grinned. “I was looking for a book I lost.”

You hummed slightly, “Right.” As you waved your arm about, little snowflakes seemed to trail after you, and Seonghwa watched in masked fascination. “Can’t you just admit that you came to see me again?”

“Who’s to say that it’s not you coming to see me?”

“Hmm, let’s just say we both came to see each other. I’ve never seen a Flamer up this close before.”

Seonghwa blinked down at you with wide eyes, as if realizing just how small the distance between the two of you was. His cheeks reddened quickly as he cleared his throat into a fist, stepping backwards and almost slipping on more snow. When he attempted to sidestep the large wet puddle he’d created because of his rippling heat, his foot caught onto a tree root and he tumbled backwards. Snowflakes clung onto his dark hair and he shivered yet again. You tried to conceal your sniggers behind a palm, but Seonghwa still seemed to notice, his blazing eyes narrowing in mock-offense.

“You’re enjoying this,” He stated with an accusatory tone.

“Of course I am,” You replied through muted laughs. “I’m sorry. I would help, but I’m afraid I’d only make it worse.” To emphasize your point, you shook your hands slightly, blue crystals of snow whirling about.

Seonghwa’s fiery eyes seemed to soften at this. He pushed himself up to his feet, now shivering so harshly that you could hear his teeth chatter. You’d only known this Flamer for less than two days and yet he’d already managed to tug at your heartstrings.

“You should go back and get warm. I’ve read about Flamers and their immune systems… you guys are absolute babies when it comes to the cold.” Out of instinct, you reached out to touch his arm, like you did to most sick patients. But of course, you paused just before the tips of your fingers brushed against his jacket, curled your hand into a palm and forced it back down to your side. “I wouldn’t want you getting a fever just to see an ordinary Icer.”

Seonghwa cracked a half of a smile, shaking his head in disbelief.

But when he spun on his heel to leave, you called out before you could stop yourself, “Will I ever see you again, Seonghwa?” He stopped in his tracks without turning to looking at you. Stomach coiling into a tight knot of tension, you awaited in the palpable silence, a heavy lump forming in your throat.

“Next time, let’s go somewhere a bit warmer, yeah? Meet me closer to Flamer territory, by the river next to the largest tree in the Grey Forest. If you get to see me shiver, I get to see you sweat, Icer.” And then he continued on his way, until his lithe form disappeared behind the misty haze and the frosted shrubbery.

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Just what were you thinking, agreeing to meet with a Flamer? Were you always this stupid or had you just realized now? You couldn’t believe you were spending your free time with some random Flamer from the Fire Tribe.

Thoughts of doubt swirled about in your head as you wove your way through the Grey Forest. The low rumbling of the river had you gulping down a large lump in your throat. It was already far too warm for you liking, the little snowflakes that buzzed around your head slowly melting away in water droplets. You didn’t think you’ve ever been this nervous before; not even back when you performed your first major surgery. There was just something about Seonghwa that you couldn’t stay away from… like when your Nan used to tell you no sugar candies before bed, it only made you crave for them all the more.

By the time you spotted Seonghwa leaning against the large tree, you were panting heavily, perspiration marring your skin.

“Fancy seeing you here,” The Flamer chimed, seeming to be in a much better mood now that the tables have turned. He seemed quite at ease, not a bead of sweat to be seen. “Already worked up quite a sweat, have we?”

Pathetically, you lifted your arm to conjure a small snowball, proceeding to press it against your head for cool relief. It quickly melted into a slushy of ice and water, dripping down your hair. You frowned, while Seonghwa grinned in return.

“Not so fun, is it?” He teased while you kicked off your boots and dipped your feet into the river, moaning in relief at the slightly cooler temperature of the water. You wished to make it colder, but much to your disappointment, the water wouldn’t crystalize because of how quickly it was rushing by.

Seonghwa crouched next to you, but still kept a decent length away, picking up rocks to skip across the river. For that, you were grateful, because if he made you any warmer than you were at that moment, you would’ve gotten up and stormed back to Icer lands.

“The first time we met,” You started after flicking water onto your face to cool down, making Seonghwa glance at you with curious eyes. “You were telling me to go back to my territory. But now, you made me come closer to Flamer lands. What’s up with that?”

“I don’t know,” He answered honestly. “You’re just… not what I thought an Icer would be like. It made me curious.”

“And what did you think we’d be like?”

A small shrug lifted his shoulder, “Cold. I mean, not that you aren’t, but cold as in… your hearts would be frozen over as well. I grew up with stories of Icers freezing Flamers to death and placing them in their gardens as statues. But you don’t seem like you’d do that kind of stuff. Especially when you told me that you were a healer.”

“For me, everybody knew the story of how the Fire Tribe would lock the Icers they captured in a sealed room, and the snow they made would melt and they’d slowly watch as the room filled with water, unable to turn it into ice because it was too damn hot. And eventually… they’d drown.” At the last few words, you frosted over your fingers and dunked them beneath the waters’ surface.

Seonghwa’s horrified expression made you chuckle slightly.

“Well, for the record, we don’t do that. We aren’t barbarians.” His words were said huffily as he crossed his arms and turned fully to fix his rapt gaze on you.

“I know. It was merely a silly childhood legend.”

The hours dribbled away fairly quickly, you and Seonghwa exchanging tales of your childhood that only increased in absurdity the farther you recounted. He told you about his friend, San, and how they once snuck into Wind Tribe territory to steal rare Gustberries that only grew in the harsh fields of the Breezers. You told him of Hongjoong and Wooyoung, the former being your closest friend and the latter constantly getting himself hurt. Laughs and giggles and the quiet hum of the river filled the silences in between the gaps of your vivid conversations. The more time you spent talking with him, the more you found yourself growing fond of the fiery-eyed man. Who would’ve thought?

By the time the sun had already set, you and Seonghwa were sitting much closer than when you had first sat down, his heat pulsating through the air in waves. To be honest, you didn’t quite mind the subtle warmth after you got used to the initial shock, but you knew you were pushing your limits. An Icer shouldn’t be out in high temperatures for this long.

You pushed yourself up to your feet, head swimming dizzily as you sucked in lungfuls of air. Slightly concerned, Seonghwa reached out to help you find your feet, but he pulled away at the last moment, just as you had last night. The tables really have turned, you thought in mild amusement.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m… fine…” You swayed on your feet slightly, pressing your cooler palm against your warmer-than-usual forehead.

“Come on, let’s get you back to the cold. You guys are absolute babies when it comes to the heat.” He said, mimicking the same exact words you told him yesterday. A weak laugh slipped past your lips, as you leaned against a tree branch.

Oh, everything was just too hot. You’ve been out of the snow for too long…

All of a sudden, the world was flipped onto its side, damp grass pressing against your face. You could barely register Seonghwa startled yelp before everything went dark.

“Hey. Icer, are you okay? Icer! Y/N, come on, I put you back in the snow, I don’t know what else to do.”

Though your head pounded as though someone had whacked you with a tree branch, you could just barely make out Seonghwa’s concerned tone. When your eyelids fluttered open, you were met with the sight of the Flamer’s handsome, yet alarmed face.

“You okay?” His words came gentle and soothing.

Puffing out a small sigh, you nodded tiredly. Being back in the snow felt much better, “Yeah. Thank you,” You croaked out sheepishly.

Seonghwa beamed down at you, before shuffling away so as the snow around you wouldn’t melt. But just as soon as the smile graced his features, it quickly dissipated into a frown, “Don’t scare me like that,” He practically scolded. “You win, okay? Next time we can stay in the snow.”

Breath caught in your throat, a heavy blush laid over your cheeks, “Next time? You just can’t get enough of me, can you?”

“No, I suppose not,” Seonghwa said somewhat nonchalantly, shocking you.

“I… well, thank you for the, well… uhm, getting me back,” You stumbled over your words the longer Seonghwa stared. Oh, what was this man doing to you? “I have some… healer things I need to do… so, I best get going… erm -” Without another thought, you pushed yourself onto your knees, snow crunching underneath your breeches as you leaned over towards him.

He was so warm. His face, especially, once you brushed your far-cooler lips against his cheekbone. The Flamer reared back with a ridiculous, startled expression, eyes comically wide. One of his hands came up to clamp against the cheek you kissed, mouth opening and closing but no words coming out.

“It was really nice talking to you. Thank you again,” You murmured while hiding a grin behind your palm. With that, you turned on your heel and left the blushing Flamer alone in the snow.

From then on, you saw Seonghwa practically every day. Oftentimes, you’d meet in the snow and stroll through the Grey Forest until it got far too warm and the both of you would have to turn back. The moment he’d see your skin dampen with sweat, he’d have the two of you abruptly changing course, steering away from the heat of the Fire Tribe. You thought that was incredibly thoughtful of him.

Once, Seonghwa discovered a more shallower part of the river that you could actually crystalize to keep yourself cool. That day was a good day. You had gently taken his scorching hand and tried to help him run across the ice before his heat could melt it away. The two of you left soaking wet, boisterous grins painted across your lips.

Hongjoong, being your closest friend and all, was constantly questioning and badgering on about where you went every afternoon. After all, you were a healer and your tribe needed you. But, however selfish it was, you didn’t want to stop seeing Seonghwa… he made you feel things no person from the Ice Tribe had ever made you feel.

The more you saw him, the more you had the urge to yank his stupidly sharp jawline towards you and shove your lips onto his. You’d imagine the way the warmth radiating off his skin would feel underneath your frigid palms and lips. You thought back to the second-long cheek kiss you gave him a couple months back, a fond smile tickling at the corner of your mouth.

“What’re you thinking about?” Seonghwa asked from beside you, nudging you slightly. Over a long course of time, the pair of you grew more and more comfortable with one another, inching closer and closer with each meet-up. At this point, you were practically sitting on top of him, one of his legs intertwined with yours and your head laying on his shoulder, the both of you leaning against a frosted tree trunk. Seonghwa smelled of sweet, burning sugar with a heavier scent of roasted coffee beans. He also often complained about how cold you were, although his tone was always fairly light and lacked any true bite.

“Nothing,” You were quick to say, pulling your head away from his shoulder to peer up at him.

Shrugging off your strange attitude, Seonghwa glanced down at you with excited eyes, “You wanna see a new trick I learned?”

Without awaiting your answer (because he knew you’d say yes anyway), Seonghwa cupped his hands together and pulled them away to produce a thin orange flame morphed into the shape of a shooting arrow. You watched in rapt fascination as the fire-arrow spun in the air when Seonghwa whistled sharply. Then, he pushed it away to embed itself into the tree across from you. The tree’s dry bark was quick to catch aflame, but you flicked your hands and caged in the fire with frost, the orange dying out into the blackened wood.

“Learned that during archery,” Seonghwa beamed down at your bemused expression. “You know, only the best Flamers can morph their fires into shapes. It takes a lot of concentration.”

With no effort at all, you twirled your fingers to make an intricate rabbit out of ice, whiskers and fur and all, holding it out to Seonghwa with a minuscule smile. The Flamer scowled slightly, and touched the tip of his finger to the clear crystal, watching it dribble into liquid through the gaps of your palms.

You rolled your eyes to the side before leaning your head back onto his shoulder with a content sigh, “Don’t you compete with me, Park Seonghwa. You’ll never win.”

Much to your surprise, he didn’t bother to argue, and instead pressed his warm nose into your frosty hair, humming, “Yeah, yeah. And who was the one that fainted in the heat again?”

“If I recall correctly, you’ve caught more than three colds just this year! And it’s only the fifth moon, too!”

His hands suddenly darted out to tickle your midriff, to which you squirmed away with a smothered laugh.

“Hm, wanna put it to the test? I promise I’ll go easy,” You said teasingly once you managed to capture his wrists. You could feel his pulse rapidly thumping against the pad of your thumb.

“I don’t know… I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“Trust me, you’re not the one that’ll be hurting.”

“Oh, you’re on, Icer.”

The two of you stumbled onto your feet and you held yourself up in a defensive stance. With a faint smile, Seonghwa mimicked your position. Admittedly, it wasn’t a very fair fight; you were a healer and he was a well-trained fighter.

But nonetheless, you were the first to throw, a frozen ball of ice the size of your fist hurtled towards him at top speed. Seonghwa was quick to react, blasting the ice with orange flames until it melted mid-air. You frowned and lithely dodged behind a tree when he reconjured his fire arrows and sent them after you. In retaliation, you quickly brought up a thick ice barrier with a laugh, smothering the thin lines of fire away with the sole of your boots.

The air was chock-full of his crackling flames muted by your snow, crystalline icicles dripping from nearby tree branches, and lame taunts tossed back and forth by the both of you as you play-fought for another couple of minutes.

Seonghwa might’ve had the upper hand in combat, but you knew how to play dirty. Just as he was stepping forward, you sent a sheet of slippery ice to slide underneath his boots. With a bewildered expression, Seonghwa flailed about for a moment, the small fire he prepared in his palm dying down to glowing embers, before tumbling down into the snow.

“That was low, Y/N,” The Flamer huffed out whilst trying to catch his breath against the pale white mound of snowflakes, glaring at you with playfully narrowed eyes. You were glad to see that he wasn’t actually angry at you.

“Do you call defeat, Seonghwa? There’s no shame in admitting it, you know!” Your jaunts were light-hearted as you walked closer to him and Seonghwa found himself grinning despite the cold stinging his skin.

Sticking your hand out to help him up, Seonghwa eyed you for a moment with an indiscernible expression, his playful nature fading away into something you couldn’t quite decipher.

Instead of pushing himself up, he suddenly pulled you down with him, a startled shriek leaving your lips and echoing across the Grey Forest. You fell on top of him with a grunt of pain, meeting his glowing amber eyes with your confused ones. During your hazy moment of puzzlement, Seonghwa tugged you closer, his warm palms curled around your forearms gently.

And then, without further warning, he kissed you. This one was nothing like the first kiss you gave him. That one was merely an innocent peck on the cheek. But this one… this one held passion and furtive desire and yearning. The both of you most definitely wanted this, it was quite clear by now.

Your senses were overwhelmed in the best way possible. All you could smell was him, the heavy undertone of roasted coffee beans sending your head into a cloudy daze. Your lips were slanted against his hot ones, noses of starkly opposite temperatures bumping against one another in your moment of desperation. You weren’t sure where to place your hands, so you balled them up against his jacket, just close enough to feel the hardness of his chest underneath.

For you, everything was hot, searing with a need for more as his plump, warm lips laid over yours. For him, however, everything was cold. The snow beneath was a mild annoyance, and yet he was willing to bear through it for you. You were equally freezing, but Seonghwa welcomed the cold for once, a dangerous ache that would grow to be lethal if neither of you were careful.

A small, frosty sigh left you when he pulled away for a second to stare at you with those intense eyes of his. You stared back with part-confusion and part-longing, lips agape. That apparently set something off in him, because he sat up with you straddling his hips, hands now encircled around your midriff as he kissed you more passionately, leaning forward so your back arched into him.

This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Why were you feeling these emotions for a Flamer of all people? Why couldn’t you have just stayed within your own tribe? Turmoil churned about in you as you kissed him in somewhat of a frantic manner. You hated yourself for loving it so much.

The second time he pulled away, you were both gasping for breath, lips swollen and clothes rumpled and askew. You could tell he wanted to kiss you again, and probably a thousand times after that. To be frank, that was all you wanted as well.

But you knew this had to stop. And so, when he leaned forward to capture your lips with his again, you flinched none-too-subtly and slid off his lap. An expression of genuine hurt flickered across his handsome, reddened features. A twinge of guilt gnawed away at your stomach as you got up onto your shaky feet.

“Go home, Seonghwa,” Was all you could find yourself saying with a hoarse voice. “You’re going to catch a cold again.”

You couldn’t look at him anymore. And so, you left him laying crestfallen in the snow, hurriedly making your way back to Icer lands, small blue snowflakes trailing behind you and cold tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

The next day, Seonghwa didn’t show up. You waited by your usual meet-up place, gnawing on your lip anxiously, glancing every which way in hopes of seeing the raven-headed Flamer. In the midst of your worrying turmoil, more and more snowflakes emanated from your skin and it didn’t take long for them to accumulate by your feet, completely covering your boots in a pristilline white blanket. You stepped out of the feather-soft pile, opting to impatiently trudge about in an attempt to steel your nerves.

You hadn’t been able to sleep that night. Seonghwa’s heartbroken expression was imprinted into your mind, leaving you in a mess of guilt and regret and anger.

Why did you have to push him away? Seonghwa, your first non-Icer friend, shoved away as if he meant nothing. You released a frustrated groan, smacking your palm into your forehead.

It made sense that he didn’t want to see you. If you were in his shoes, you probably wouldn’t leave your room and have the light of day touch your face for a whole moon. The idea of Seonghwa upset just didn’t sit right with you. Nonetheless, you could do little else than bide your time for him, however much you hated waiting.

He didn’t show up the next day either. Nor the one after that.

By the fourth day of waiting, you started to feel twinges of discouragement, but you never gave up, determined to set things right with Seonghwa. The niggling thought of him never showing up was one that often pestered you while you patiently awaited his return, although always quickly shoved down into the corner of your mind. You didn’t want to think about what you would do if you never saw him again.

It took just over a week of waiting for him to come back. At that point, you hadn’t thought he’d come back at all, reluctantly accepting that you’ve ultimately ruined your friendship with Seonghwa.

And so, imagine your surprise when his voice rang out through the trees, your name rolling off his tongue smoothly, “Y/N.”

Startled, you flinched so hard that your head hit a branch that hung lowly on the icy tree you were sitting beneath. It reminded you so much of the first time you met him that you couldn’t help but crack a smile after your initial pained grimace.

“Seonghwa,” You gasped, eyes round with shock and mouth agape. “You’re… you’re back!”

The excitement in your voice didn’t go undetected by either of you, but his features were set in stone, unmoving and neutral. Those blazing eyes of his seemed to bore holes into you, and you felt strangely naked underneath his gaze. You noticed that his appearance was more disheveled than ever, eyebags dark and hair not neatly slicked back like usual. He looked broken, but far too proud to admit so.

“Seonghwa…?” You stepped closer, the frosted leafy foliage crumbling under the pressure. This man was someone you deeply cared about, and you knew he felt the same about you.

So why was he staring at you like you meant nothing to him?

A shiver ran down your spine, a sensation that only Seonghwa could bestow upon you. Which was ironic, because the cold feeling that tickled down your spine was ignited by a man with powers of fire and heat.

You and him didn’t belong together. That was clear as day by now.

“Seonghwa,” You mumbled again, reaching out to him once close enough.

He shut his eyes as if looking at you were torture. It stung more than you liked to admit, so you retracted your fingers, clenching them into a fist and dropping them back by your side awkwardly. The air was so tense, so utterly uncomfortable, you could feel the crack in your heart splinter into more branches.

“Stop saying that.”

“Saying what?” Your bottom lip trembled. This wasn’t the Seonghwa you’ve grown to be so fond of. This man scared you. You had half a mind to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense back into him. Where did your Seonghwa go?

An angry huff escaped his lips, misting visibly out of his carmine lips. The very ones you kissed a little over a week ago.

“You can’t… just… don’t say my name. Please. We can’t be like that anymore. We can’t do this. We can’t keep seeing each other.” Seonghwa’s stoic mask disintegrated into raw emotion. He looked to be on the verge of tears, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you mirrored the same exact expression.

There was a part of you that wanted to yell and scream and throw sharp icicles at him until he had no choice but to run back to Flamer territory. Anywhere, as long as it was far away from you. The other, more rational part of you, whispered that he was right. After all, you were the one that pushed him away first. It was only fair.

A broken bone won’t heal if you keep putting pressure on the wound. Being a healer, you couldn’t just ignore your own teachings.

But for just once in your life, you wanted to be selfish. You wanted to hold Seonghwa tightly in your grasp, no matter how dangerous it was. You wanted to call him yours, and you wanted to be his. You wanted to kiss him again, despite the small action being the ultimate downfall for the both of you.

And so you found yourself croaking out, making sure to emphasize his name, “Seonghwa, you know just as much as I do that there’s something here between us. You can’t just ignore it and toss that all out the window!”

His face screwed up in an effort to keep the onslaught of tears at bay. Perhaps what he felt for you wasn’t yet as strong as what he’d call love, but he wasn’t very far from it. He cared too much for you, so much more than anybody else in his life.

He needed you. And because of that, he had to let you go. Fraternizing with the enemy wasn’t something to be taken lightly. If his tribe knew about this little escapade of his, they’d have his head and would finally have a good enough reason to declare war. Regardless, it was only a matter of time. The Fire Tribe has hated Icers for centuries and centuries, teetering on the brink between neutrality and complete bloodshed.

“We have no choice,” The words were said in a low tone, rumbling deep down in his chest. Seonghwa shuffled closer, so close that you could feel his familiar heat wavering against the ice once again. You longed to reach out and place your hand on his chest, feel his heart thumping against his ribcage frantically, just as yours was. “Do you know what they’d do to you - to us - if our tribes found us together? It’s too risky, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt.”

“I’m a healer. I can take care of myself! And we can just stay careful like we always have. Besides, people rarely come into the Grey Forest anymore!” Your words came out fast and jittery and panicked. You thought that you had already come to terms with losing the man that stood in front of you, but you were far from acceptance, you knew that now.

Seonghwa carded a pale hand through dark strands of hair, “I’m sorry, were you not the one that told me to go back home? You started this. You wanted this!” He was so agitated that when he swung his arm back to his side, small crackles of fire lit up his fingers.

Something inside you snapped, “I most definitely did not! It was just… all too sudden and I needed time to think. Now that I’ve already thought, there’s no need for us to run away and never see each other again! You’re overexaggerating, Seonghwa.”

“No, you don’t get it. Don’t you know, Y/N? Our tribes are verging on war. We’re supposed to be enemies, you and I. Don’t be daft!” His voice raised a notch or two louder, and you found yourself shrinking into yourself.

Tears pricked your eyes and you looked away from his fierce gaze, “We don’t have to be a part of that. We can just -”

“Just what? Pretend? We can’t play picnic in the forest and act like our people aren’t planning to slaughter each other!”

“You know what?” You shouted so loudly that the birds nesting on treetops fluttered away, a mass of dark wings and agitated squawks. “If you want to walk away from this relationship, from me, then go ahead! I won’t stop you. Fuck you, Seonghwa. Fuck you for throwing this away the moment it became something more.”

“You were the first to push away!” He protested, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

“Well, I’m sorry!” You cried out, furiously swiping away the tears that dribbled down your cheeks. “I’m sorry I was scared! I’m willing to try again, but you’re not giving me the chance. I waited for you every day, you know.”

“I know. I saw,” He said, suddenly quiet. “I’m sorry for making you wait.”

The two of you stared at each other defiantly, heavy breaths misting the air in front of you. His nose was tinted a deep pink, no doubt because of the cold.

“I’m leaving,” Seonghwa said after a long while. “And you shouldn’t come back here. Ever. I need you to know, Y/N. I’m doing this because I care about you. I expect you to do the same for me.”

Then, after casting you a forlorn expression, he tore his blazing eyes away and stiffly swiveled around in the snow. A gust of wind tousled his hair and he blew out a sigh of pale white mist. The cold made his nose red, and you subconsciously noticed the way he shivered slightly, brushing snowflakes off his sleeve. You’d miss that.

You’d miss him.

His heat grew fainter as his long strides took him further away from you. Your tears had crystallized on your cheeks uncomfortably, a frozen reminder of what you’d lost. You had half the mind to storm right up to Seonghwa and force him to stay here, by your side. That was the child speaking within you, however, and you were no longer a child.

Flicking the solidified salt water on your cheeks away, you did just the same as Seonghwa had minutes ago, trudging your way back to Icer lands. Little did either of you know, the two of you cried fresh tears along the whole journey back.

The last time you ever stepped foot in the Grey Forest was just the day after. Your eyes were puffy and aching, hair a terrible mess, and a wax-sealed envelope was tightly clutched in your hand.

There was a chance that Seonghwa would never come back. In fact, it was most probable that he’d never get the precariously written letter you left by the usual meeting place, considering what he told you yesterday.

Fond memories sunk its sharpened claws into you, stealing away your breath as you cupped both hands over your mouth, overwhelmed in every way possible. You were far too drained to cry, having emptied away all your tears the day before.

And so, you brushed stray snowflakes off the periwinkle-hued wax stamp, placing it down by the tree stump where Seonghwa usually sat.

Then you muttered a quiet, broken goodbye, stomping back to Icer lands. You were never going to see Seonghwa again.

Dear Seonghwa,

I know you told me to never come back. I won’t, I promise. I just wanted to leave the letter because… we never properly got to say goodbye, did we?

Well, congrats, you big dummy. You’re right. You always were, and you always are. We were never supposed to be friends. I mean, I suppose we’re enemies now, aren’t we? It was quite the foolish fantasy we had going on there, huh? I get it, we have to stay loyal to our respective tribes, we can’t risk getting caught, so on so forth. I just hope that when war is declared (which doesn’t seem to be long from now, to be quite honest), I won’t see you on the battlefield. I don’t think I’d be able to handle that.

So, I guess this is goodbye. It’s a little hard to believe that I won’t ever get to see your stupid face again. Remember when I threw a snowball at you so hard that it broke your nose? You panicked and blood went splattering everywhere and it didn’t stop until I got you to calm down. For a highly-ranked Flamer soldier, I’d expect you to be less squeamish at the sight of your own blood. It’s alright, though. As a healer myself, blood still freaks me out just a bit.

I thought I ruined your pretty face for all the poor ladies and gents who were mad in love with you back at the Flame Tribe, and I felt so guilty. And then you smiled! I remember feeling envy and astonishment at the same time because how the hell could one look pretty while smiling through a broken, bloody nose?

I’m glad I didn’t ruin your face, though. You’d probably get really mad at me if I did. But you would’ve forgiven me eventually, right?

Frankly, I don’t know if I deserve your forgiveness for what I did. And no, I’m not talking about hurting your precious face (they say a once-broken nose makes a man more attractive!). I’m sorry for pushing you away, Seonghwa. Really, I don’t know what I was thinking. I was scared and I needed time to think. I hope you understand that. If you don’t, that’s okay as well.

If I could rewind time, I wouldn’t have stopped kissing you. I could’ve carried on for days and days and days on end. Did you know that you’re the second person I’ve ever kissed? Don’t ask about the first, drunk Wooyoung isn’t really something to brag about. Well, for the record, you were the first kiss I actually enjoyed. Congrats.

Of course, all this doesn’t mean that it was entirely my fault. I waited for you for a week, and you did nothing but hide behind trees and watch. That was real shitty of you, to put it plainly.

I’ll miss you, though. I’ve never felt this way about any Icer and I doubt I ever will. Of all people to set my sights on, it just had to be a Flamer. What rotten luck we have.

Goodbye forever, Seonghwa. Stay safe, alright? For my sake.

With much love,

Y/N.

Seonghwa read the letter through so quickly that his pupils seemed to be moving at lightning speed. Then, with a numbed heart, he read it a second time, this time much slower.

By the third time he reread each of your carefully handwritten words, warm tears of salt water were running over his cheeks. His face had grown considerably hotter, the salty liquid steaming misty tendrils against his skin. He was angry. So, so ridiculously angry. At himself, at this stupid rivalry between the tribes, at you for being so goddamn perfect. Of course you’d managed to squeeze in jaunts and jokes in a farewell note.

There was a part of him that wished he’d never come back to the Grey Forest and found the letter. Fat droplets of his tears trickled down his jaw and soaked through the parchment, marring the intricate ink characters. With a gentle sigh, Seonghwa brushed the dampness away and stiffly flicked his wrist.

The letter burst into glowing orange flames. And Seonghwa watched on, stifling down the urge to break down into a fit of chest-wracking sobs, until your goodbye was nothing but a measly pile of blackened ashes on his palm.

#ateez x reader #ateez seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x reader #ateez #park seonghwa #ateez smut #seonghwa smut #park seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #ateez x you #ateez fanfiction #ateez seonghwa #ateez fantasy au #ateez imagines #ateez angst #seonghwa imagines #park seonghwa x you #ateez fanfics

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

Text

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 8

Original Title: 二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 8 - This Venerable One Gets Punished

Mo Ran lay in bed like a dead fish for three days. Just as his wounds started to heal, he was summoned to Red Lotus Pavilion to do manual labour.

This was also part of his punishment. During the punishment period, Mo Ran couldn't go down the mountain, but he also couldn't just laze around. So he had to help out the sect and do some drudgery.

Generally speaking, these errands were things like: helping the cafeteria lady at Mengpo Hall wash the dishes, scrubbing the three hundred and sixty-five stone lions on the pillars of the Naihe Bridge, transcribing extremely boring archive files, and so on.

But what kind of place was Red Lotus Pavilion? It was the residence of that bastard Chu Wanning, known as the cursed place called Red Lotus Hell.

Few people in Life-Death Peak had been there, and everyone who had been there left with either their legs or their arms broken.

Therefore, in addition to Red Lotus Hell, Chu Wanning's bedroom had a more grounded nickname: Broken Leg Pavilion.

There was an inside joke circulating around the sect: "The Pavilion hides a beauty, and the beauty holds Tianwen. Enter the gate of broken legs, know the suffering of getting your legs broken. If you want your meridians broken, go to the Elder Yuheng."

There was once a female disciple who wasn't afraid of death. She was bold enough to lust after Elder Yuheng's beauty. Taking advantage of the dark night and high winds, she sneaked to the Southern Peak and climbed onto the eaves, intending to watch the Elder bathe and strip his clothes.

As you can imagine, the female warrior was beaten within an inch of death by Tianwen, crying for her father and calling her mother, and lay in bed for no less than a hundred days.

And Chu Wanning also declared that, if anyone else dared to commit another crime, he would carve out the eyes of the perpetrator himself.

Do you see? What complete nonsense! What puzzling behaviour! What a heinous man!

Within the sect, there used to be innocent silly girls who thought that, because they were women, Elder Yuheng would pity them and show compassion. They were always laughing and joking in front of him, trying to attract his attention. But ever since the elder whipped that one female hooligan, no one dared to hit on him anymore.

To Elder Yuheng, whether it was men or women, he didn't have the disposition of a gentleman. Other than a good-looking face, there was nothing redeeming about him - this was how Chu Wanning was viewed by the disciples of this sect.

The junior brother who had delivered the summons looked at Mo Ran with sympathy. He tried to stay quiet, but in the end, couldn't hold it back: "Brother Mo. . ."

"Hmm?"

". . . Elder Yuheng has such a bad temper. No one who went to the Red Lotus Water Pavilion came out able to stand. Maybe you could see if you could say your wounds haven't healed and beg Yuheng Elder to let you wash dishes instead?"

Mo Ran was very grateful for this junior brother's bodhisattva heart, but he didn't agree.

Beg Chu Wanning?

Forget it. He doesn't need to get beaten by Tianwen a second time.

So he strenuously put on his clothes, dragged his feet, and walked reluctantly to Life-Death Peak's southern peak.

Red Lotus Pavilion, Red Lotus Hell. There wasn't a single person in sight for a hundred li around Chu Wanning's residence.

No one wanted to go close to his residence. Chu Wanning's bad taste and uncertain personality made everyone in the sect stay far away from him.

Mo Ran was a bit nervous. He didn't know what Chu Wanning would make him do as punishment. His thoughts ran wild the whole trip to the southern peak. After passing through the dense bamboo groves, large swathes of beautiful red lotus came into view.

It was early morning, the sun rising from the east, reflecting a splendid shine on the horizon. The red lotus stalks in the pond stretched towards the flaming clouds in the sky, complementing each other; magnificent. At the edge of the pond, a curved zig-zag bridge led to the pavilion standing in serene silence. Behind it was a curtain of waterfalls streaming down the mountain, the fine crystal water droplets raining against the rocks at the bottom. The watery mist created by it evaporated into the air, light gleaming through the fog, creating a sense of enchanting tranquillity.

This is what Mo Ran thought about this:

Gross.

Wherever Chu Wanning lived, no matter how beautiful it was, would always be gross to him!

Just look at it, so arrogantly extravagant, a true waste of extravagance, in fact. The disciples’ dorms are all closely connected to each other and they don't take up much surface area. And then there's the mighty Elder Yuheng, who occupies a whole mountain by himself. He even dug three large ponds and filled them with lotus flowers. Although, these lotus flowers are special varieties and can be refined into immortal medicine, but—

This is getting off track, the place was not pleasing to the eye. He wished he could burn down Broken Leg Pavilion with his torch!

All he could ever do was silently criticize this place. Given that he was only sixteen* this year, he was no match for Chu Wanning. Mo Ran showed up outside Chu Wanning's residence regardless. He stood at the door, squinted his eyes, and put on a sickeningly sweet demure, pretending to be the ideal disciple.

*(T/N The original text flips between all these ages. Mo Ran is just guessing how old he is so that's why it keeps going to 14/15/16)

"Disciple Mo Ran here to greet his master."

"Yes, come in."

The room was chaotic and disorganized. The cold-blooded demon Chu Wanning was dressed in a white robe. The lapels were folded high and tightly, giving off an air of purity and abstinence. Today, he had his hair in a high ponytail, covered with a black metal hair ring. He sat on the ground fiddling with a bunch of mechanical parts, biting a pen he had in his mouth.

Casually glancing at Mo Ran, with the pen still in his mouth, he said vaguely: "Come here."

Mo Ran approached him.

It was no easy feat. Considering there were no benches or tables in this room, artwork and metal broken wood were scattered everywhere.

Mo Ran's brows twitched. He had never entered Chu Wanning's room in his previous life, and he had no idea that this well-dressed beautiful man lived in such a mess. . . He was at a loss for words.

"Master, what is this?"

"Night Wanderer."

"What?"

Chu Wanning was a little impatient, probably because it was inconvenient to speak with a pen in his mouth: "Night Wanderer."

Mo Ran silently glanced at the mess of parts on the ground.

His master was hailed as Shizun Chu, and it wasn't just out of vanity. Speaking honestly, Chu Wanning was a very powerful man. Whether it is his three god-grade weapons, his cultivation techniques, or his machine-building skills, he was clearly worthy of being defined by four words: "the peak of excellence". This was also the reason why he had such a bad temper and was so difficult to serve, but the major cultivation sects still tried to fight over him for those skill.

Regarding the "Night Wanderer", the reborn Mo Ran was well aware of it.

It was a kind of machine made by Chu Wanning, cheap to make but had strong combat power. It can guard the ordinary people in the lower cultivation world from ghosts and demons at night.

In his previous life, the well-made Night Wanderer had almost become a must-have machine for every household. The price of one was equivalent to a broom, and the effect was much easier to handle than the Grinning Door God.

After Chu Wanning died, those Night Wanderers still guarded the poor families who couldn't afford a high-level cultivator. This compassionate heart, coupled with Chu Wanning's affection for his disciples. . . hehe, it really makes Mo Ran despise him.

Mo Ran sat down and looked at the "Night Wanderer" which was just a bunch of parts at this time, and the past flashed through his mind. He couldn't help picking up one of the Night Wanderer's limbs and grasped it in his hand for a closer look.

Chu Wanning clipped a few components, finally freeing his hands. He took the pen out of his mouth and glared at Mo Ran: "That one was just finished with tung oil, don't touch it."

"Oh. . ." Mo Ran put down the machine. He put his fake smile back on still looking cute and completely harmless. He asked with a smile, "Shizun summoned me here, are you planning to let me help?"

Chu Wanning hummed: "Mm."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Clean up the house."

Mo Ran's smile froze. He looked around at the room that looked like it had been hit by an earthquake: ". . ."

Chu Wanning was a genius in immortal cultivation and an idiot in life.

After picking up the fifth broken teacup that had never been swept up, Mo Ran finally couldn't stand it: "Shizun, when was the last time you cleaned your house? My god, it's so messy!"

Chu Wanning was looking at his drawings, and didn't look up when Mo Ran spoke to him: "Almost a year."

Mo Ran: ". . ."

"Where do you usually sleep?"

"What?" There must be something wrong with the drawing. Chu Wanning was upset and looked even more impatient than usual. He rubbed his head and replied in a huff, "Of course it's the bed."

Mo Ran glanced at the bed. It was piled with all kinds of machines that had been mostly completed, as well as a bunch of tools such as saws, axes, files, and so on.

Seriously, how did this man sleep without cutting his own head off?

After working for most of the day, the sawdust on the floor had filled three dustpans, and the white towel that had wiped down the bookcase was ten times more black. By noon, he had only cleaned about half.

Fuck Chu Wanning, this person is really more poisonous than a leeching woman.

Cleaning a room didn't seem like much of a punishment, it didn't really seem like hard work, but who knew that it was such a ghastly place that hadn't been touched in a year? Not to mention that he was covered with wound. Even if he was healthy now, he could shorten his lifespan by half going through all of this!

"Shizun. . ."

"Hm?"

"Your pile of clothes. . ." They'd been stacked there for about three months.

Chu Wanning finally got one of Night Wanderer's arms attached. He rubbed his sore shoulder, looked up at the robes on the suitcase, and said coldly: "I wash them myself."

Mo Ran was relieved. Thank goodness. But he was still a little curious: "Really? Shizun can wash clothes?"

Chu Wanning glanced at him, and after a while, coldly said: "What's so hard about it? Throw them in water, soak them, take them out, and dry them."

". . ." After hearing this, he really didn't know any girl who would keep lusting after Chu Wanning. Mo Ran truly thought that it would break the hearts of dozen of women to find out how disgusting this man really was.

"It's getting late. You can accompany me to the dining hall and finish the rest when you get back."

There were people coming and going from Meng Po Hall, and the Life-Death Peak disciples were eating together. Chu Wanning grabbed a lacquered wooden tray, took a few dishes and sat in the corner silently.

From where he was, no one sat within twenty feet of him.

No one dared to sit too close to Elder Yuheng, for fear that he would get upset, and they would get a lashing from Tianwen. Chu Wanning himself actually knew about this, but he didn't mind. A cold beauty sat there, gently eating the food in the bowl.

But today wasn't like usual.

Mo Ran was brought by him, so naturally he had to follow him.

Others are afraid of him. So was Mo Ran, but he had already died once, so Chu Wanning was nothing in comparison.

Especially after the fear of first seeing him had subsided, the hatred of Chu Wanning from his previous life slowly emerged. So what if Chu Wanning was powerful? In his last life, he still died by his hands.

Mo Ran sat down in front of him, calmly chewing the sweet and sour pork ribs in the bowl. He crunched on the bones then spit them out into a pile.

Chu Wanning suddenly slammed down his chopsticks.

Mo Ran stopped for a moment.

". . . Can you stop eating with your mouth open?"

"I chew the bones, how am I supposed to do that with my mouth closed?"

"Then don't eat the bones."

"But I like to eat the bones."

"Eat around them."

The two quarreling voices grew louder and louder, and some disciples were already peeping at them.

Mo Ran fought the urge to throw the rice bowl over Chu Wanning's head. He pursed his lips, and after a while, he narrowed his eyes, and a sweet smile appeared at the corners of his mouth.

"Shizun, don't shout so loudly. Others might hear, won't they laugh at us?"

Chu Wanning has always been thin-skinned, and his voice really softened. He whispered: "Get out."

Mo Ran burst out laughing.

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

"Hey, Shizun, don't stare at me. Come on, let's eat. I'll try to be quiet."

Mo Ran had laughed enough and started playing nice again, the sound of his chewing much softer.

Chu Wanning gradually went back to gently eating. Seeing that Mo Ran was bring obedient, his face slightly relaxed, no longer looking so bitter and upset. He lowered his head, eating his green beans and tofu with grace.

After a long pause, Mo Ran started to do it again.

He didn't know what was wrong with him. In summary, seeing Chu Wanning in this life, he wanted to make a fool of himself and do whatever he could to make him angry.

So Chu Waning found that although Mo Ran did not chew loudly this time, he began to grab the ribs with his hands and eat them, sloppily eating with greasy hands and sauce-covered fingers.

Chu Wanning's blue forehead vein popped. Endure it.

He lowered his eyelashes. He didn't look at Mo Ran, and focused on his own meal.

Mo Ran didn't know if he had gotten too carefree or forgetful while eating, but he accidentally threw one of the gnawed bones into Chu Wanning's rice bowl.

Chu Wanning stared at the messy and hideous rib bone, and the surrounding air so condensed and frozen it was visible to the naked eye.

"Mo Ran. . . !!!"

"Shizun. . ." Mo Ran was quite frightened. He wasn't sure whether what he said sounded true or fake. "That. . . Uh, I didn't mean it."

Probably fake.

". . ."

"Don't be angry, I'll take it out for you."

He really stretched out his chopsticks, stuck them into Chu Wanning's bowl, and quickly picked out the bone.

Chu Wanning's face was pale, like he was about to vomit.

Mo Ran batted his eyelashes, and there was a pitiful grievance on his delicate face: "Shizun, do you dislike me?"

". . ."

"Shizun, I'm sorry."

It was just that.

Chu Wanning thought to himself: Why do you need to be restrained with the junior disciples?

He gave up the urge to summon Tianwen to hit Mo Ran. His appetite was gone, and he got up and said: "I'm full."

"What? Is that all you're going to eat? Shizun, you've barely touched your food."

Chu Wanning brushed him off: "I'm not hungry."

Mo Ran's heart felt like it was as joyful as a flower, and he still sweetly said: "Then I won't eat it anymore. We can go back to Red Lotus Hell - ehem, go back to Red Lotus Pavilion."

Chu Wanning narrowed his eyes: "We?" There was a mockery in his eyes, and then said, "Who is the other person you're talking about? Disciples and their Shizun have respectable relationships and you will address me in the proper manner."

Mo Ran carefully kept his expression, his eyes curled up with a smile, well-behaved, sensible and cute.

However, in his heart he was thinking: Respectful relationship? Proper manner?

Hehe, if Chu Wanning could know what happened in his previous life, he would know - in the end, Mo Weiyu was the only one deserving of respect in the world.

No matter how noble and arrogant Chu Waning was, he was still a piece of mud under his boot. Didn't he depend on Mo Ran's good will to survive?

Stepping quickly to keep up with his shizun's pace, Mo Ran still had a bright smile on his face.

If Shi Mei was the white moonlight in his heart, Chu Wanning was the broken fishbone stuck in his throat. He needed crush this thorn or swallow it, and it will corrode away in his stomach.

In short, during this new life, he could spare whoever he wanted.

But he would never spare Chu Wanning.

However, Chu Wanning didn't seem to want to spare him so easily.

Mo Ran stood in front of the library in Red Lotus Hell, looking at fifty rows of ten-story bookshelves, thinking that he must have heard wrong.

"Shizun, what did you say. . .?"

Chu Wanning replied lightly: "Dust all the books in here."

". . ."

"After dusting, catalogue them."

"..."

"I will check back tomorrow morning."

"!!!"

What!!! Was he supposed to stay overnight in Red Lotus Hell??

But he had planned to meet with Shi Mei, and even asked Shimei to change his medicine at night!!!

He opened his mouth to plead his case, but Chu Wanning didn't bother paying attention to him. With a wave of his wide sleeves, and turned to exit the library, and, incidentally, closed the door of the library in a haughty manner.

Mo Ran, who's date had been ruined, sat in his boiling hatred of Chu Wanning - he wanted to burn all Chu Wanning's books!!

No!

After thinking it over, he thought of something even worse. . .

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

#the husky and his white cat shizun translation #the husky and his white cat shizun #chinese bl #chinese novel #english translation #yaoi novel #yaoi #danmei novel #danmei #mo ran #chu wanning #2ha novel #2ha #2ha translation #ranwan

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nashibirne · 3 years

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London Calling - 1

Yes, I'm still in my August phase and I'm not even sorry...I just can't stop thinking about the sexy mf and so this idea crossed my mind and turned into a storyline. I have to admit I'm even more nervous about posting this than usual because it's a little different from what I've written before and I really hope it's not going to bore the shit out of you. If you like this although the tension between August and my ofc builds slowly, please let me know. I appreciate every single comment, reblog and/or like! Thanks 💜

Pairing: Augut Walker x OFC (Lu Johnson)

Words: ~3.0 k

Summary and A/N: This story plays with the thought of "what if…" What if August Walker had taken another road? What if he had turned into John Lark for completely different reasons? What if he had found love before becoming a bitter, disillusioned man?So the events of "London Calling" take place about ten years prior to MI:Fallout and August Walker hasn't joined the CIA yet, he's an FBI Agent and his new mission in London that lies ahead of him is going to be a challenging one. Maybe it's even going to change his life.

Warnings: 18+! This story deals with the topic of a toxic/abusive relationship, gaslighting and problematic behavior of one of the protagonists in general. Please don't read if these topics trigger you or make you feel uncomfortable. Luckily I've never been in any kind of toxic or abusive relationship, so I lack personal experience but I hope still do this sensitive topic justice.

English is not my mother tongue but the lovely @sillyrabbit81 was so kind to be my very helpful and patient Beta! Thank you so, so much, bunny 🐇💜 You have no idea how much I appreciate your support, your encouragement, your help and the fact that you took the time to proofread this. (Edited by me, so there might still be mistakes and they're all mine)

📖 You can find my other fics on my Masterlist 📖

Credits: I don't own August Walker or anything related to MI:Fallout. Pics for the moodboard from pinterest, face claims: Lu - Hannah van der Westhuysen, Adam - Freddie Thorpe. FaceApp helped me with making August look a little younger

Taglist

@lunedelorient @inlovewithhisblueeyes @willkatfanfromasia @hell1129-blog @mis-lil-red @agniavateira @kebabgirl67 @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @summersong69 @taebfada @xxxkatxo @artandotherdelights @notabronte @littlefreya @luclittlepond @eldarwen333 @meowpurrbooks @marantha @liliumdream @enchantedbytomandhenry @greensleeves888 @witcherfanfics101 @margauxmargaux07 @radaofrivia @m07belzen @a-little-counter-esperanto @starstruckkittyangel @mary-ann84 @sillyrabbit81 @emelinelovesjc @wheretheriversrunintothesea @lam0ureuxq @kingliam2019 @pandaxnienke

So...now...off we go...story under the cut!

"London? Are you kidding me, Kyle?"

August Walker stopped pacing the room with an incredulous frown. He raised his eyebrows, his blue eyes fixed on the other man's face.

"Absolutely not," his superior and close friend of many years said slowly, drawling both words more than necessary to stress that he wasn't joking. "They want you in London."

"What about my promotion? You gave me your word. You wanted me to finish Operation Old Bridge and that's what I did. You wanted Tony Salerno's head on a silver platter, that's what you got."

August's voice was surprisingly calm, his expression blank but his gaze was blazing with anger and frustration. His hands were balled into fists and he only opened them to lean on Kyle's wooden desk, which was very tidy, except for the piles of case files that slowly grew larger than him.

"Damn, Kyle, I risked my life when I went undercover and joined this Mafia mob."

"I know, August, but unfortunately my hands are tied. Interpol wants our best undercover Agent and that's you. Just this last job and afterwards you can happily join the CIA." SSA Kyle Langdon leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his neck with a sigh and an apologetic shrug.

"That's exactly what you said last time. Do you expect me to believe you?"

"As I said, it's not my doing. Manchester contacted Bill because the NCB needs help, blue notice, August. You know that we cannot say no and that means...London calling, man," Kyle pointed out with a smile. "You should be grateful, it's a great opportunity. So just do your job there, return and get your promotion."

"Why don't you just send someone else and I get my promotion right now? We have many great undercover agents. Craig for example. He's crazy about British pussies. He'll love London." August straightened his tall body before crossing his arms in front of his broad chest that was forced into a white button down shirt and a black suit jacket.

"No, Craig cannot go because they want you in this operation. They asked explicitly for Agent August Walker. That's a huge appreciation of your work and a big compliment. You're only 27, August, not many FBI agents are this well known and respected at such a young age." Kyle sat up straight, mirroring August's body language.

"I don't give a shit about their respect and appreciation. I know my worth and I know I'm your best agent. I've worked very hard to get where I stand now... just one step away from becoming a CIA agent," August said angrily, his brows furrowed, his eyes dark. "Fuck, Kyle...why use an American agent in a purely British matter in the first place? They could easily…"

"Listen, August," Kyle cut in and he got up and walked around his desk to face his friend, "the thing is, I am not asking you to do this, okay? It's not a request, it's an order. There's no room to negotiate."

He gave him a friendly smile to temper his words before placing a hand on August's shoulder. "No hard feelings. It's…"

"It's the job. Yeah. I know." August took a step back and nodded his head slowly, curling his lip. He had heard his boss say these words so many times and he hated that line although he was perfectly aware that it was the truth. That was the way it worked. They got orders, they did the job, no matter what. He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a moment, feeling a bad headache brewing behind his forehead.

"I have already talked to Sloane about this. Erica seconds the motion by Interpol because she wants you to prove yourself in another operation abroad. If you are successful you will be part of her team. It's simple, Walker. Just don't fuck this up."

"I've never fucked anything up,” August snarled, clenching his teeth, his jaw grinding.

"See, that's exactly why they want you,” Kyle answered with a triumphant smile.

****

"Lu!" Adam Mayfield knocked impatiently on the bathroom door. "Get ready. We're going to be late." He glanced at his Rolex with an annoyed sigh before he straightened his tuxedo jacket and adjusted his bow tie for the umpteenth time. "God damn, this meeting is important." He banged his fist against the door again and rolled his eyes when he heard her muffled voice behind the bathroom walls. "Just a minute, Adam."

Although he was really a little angry that it took her so long to get ready, they weren't actually late, in fact there was more than enough time to meet up with his clients at The London Opera. He had just said that to make her hurry up. Lu had the tendency to dawdle around, she got easily distracted and it was his responsibility to help her with that bad habit and usually it worked well.

Compared to the woman she was when they had met at a party more than five years ago, she had improved her behavior a lot, thanks to his efforts and his strict education. She had been common as muck when they started dating, an ordinary working class girl, smart but not a bit sophisticated, pretty but with no sense of fashion or taste, ambitious but without any connections. He had changed that, he had moulded her into the beautiful, stylish, refined and cultured woman she was now. She was his work, his success, his pride...she was his.

When the door of the bathroom that was adjacent to the master bedroom finally swung open, the welcoming sight of his fiancee interrupted his thoughts and picked up his spirits immediately.

"Wow, this was worth the wait." He eyed her up and down with a smirk and leaned in for a kiss but she stopped him with her hands pressed against his narrow chest.

"No, you're gonna ruin my make-up, darling." Lu smiled at him and spinned around to present him her dress. The black, belted Burberry gown was elegant and classy. High-necked on the front but with a low back that showed off lots of her perfect, lightly tanned skin. Chaste and sexy at the same time, just the way Adam liked it.

"That dress is stunning, baby. You look wonderful." He grabbed her by her waist and pulled her close to leave a sensual kiss on her slim neck while his hands wandered to her ass where they rested for a moment before they squeezed her firm cheeks. "I really hope you're not wearing any panties."

Lu freed herself from his embrace with a frown and stepped in front of the large wall mirror opposite of their king-size bed to check her reflection one last time, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Of course I'm wearing panties. We're going to the opera with your VIP clients." She walked to her dressing table and took the diamond-encrusted, leaf-shaped brooch Adam had given her for their five years anniversary on New Year's Eve. "Would you help me with this?"

Adam took the piece of jewelry from her slim hand and pinned it carefully on her dress, right above her heart. He kissed her tenderly but his expression was stern when he spoke. "Strip it off."

Lu's eyes grew wide. "What?"

"You heard me. Get rid of your thong. I know you're wearing one of these slutty, tiny g-strings to make sure your look is flawless and your underwear doesn't show under your dress." His face hardened slightly, yet his voice remained soft and smooth.

"But…"

"Don't test me, Lu,” he said slowly, still smiling but screwing up his beautiful grey eyes. "I want you naked underneath that dress in case I want to have a little fun with you tonight. I mean, we both know Rigoletto is gonna be boring as fuck, we may need a little distraction." He gave her a lewd smirk and with a tiny frown and a raise of his brows he motioned her to be obedient. "You don't want anything to get in my way, do you? Not even a little piece of lace, right?"

"Of course not, Adam," she answered softly with a smile she had to force onto her lips. Lu reached under her dress with shaking hands and pulled down her panties till they hit the floor so she could step out of them carefully, making sure they wouldn't get tangled up in her stiletto heels.

"Good girl," Adam said with a wolfish grin and with a sly smile he added, "you know what, baby? I think I'm going to have a little fun with you just now. My clients can wait."

Lu didn't even try to argue with him, knowing exactly that she was in a no-win situation. She closed her eyes and turned around, lifting up her dress, when she heard him unzip his fly.

****

While Adam Mayfield was fucking his fiancee in front of a mirror in one of the most exclusive penthouses in London, August Walker was having a bad coffee, sitting at a table in the plain and pretty ugly meeting room of their FBI department at the J. Edgar Hoover Building in Washington DC, listening to the explanations of Kyle and the lead of 'Operation Brutus', Christine Carpenter. He didn't like her much but he respected her competence and her leadership qualities and most of all he trusted her with giving him the perfect fake identity for the job in London.

"So, what do you have for me, Chris?" August looked at her with a smile, but his eyes gave away that he'd rather be somewhere else.

"Well, let me just explain the background first, okay?"

She pressed a button on her laptop and the handsome face of a young man appeared on the screen behind her.

"This", she nodded at the picture, "is Adam Arthur Clive Mayfield, 27 years old, only son of Alfred Mayfair and his late wife Erica, heir of the immense family fortune and the private bank Mayfield & Holmes, that was established by his ancestors more than 200 years ago. He is one of the most eligible bachelors in the United Kingdom, and one of the richest, too. His father officially still runs the family business but he isn't in the best state of health, so in fact Mayfield junior is the one who's at the helm. Unlike his father he's not a man of integrity, he's been on the radar of the British authorities for years. From dealing drugs and other minor crimes in his college years to insider trading, investor fraud, misappropriation and money laundering nowadays. He is a big fish, has connections all over the world, drug rings, gun runners, human traffickers, you name it."

"And the Brits are not able to catch him without my help?" August couldn't help but smirk cockily.

"Don't be so full of yourself, Walker. The problem is, he is a damn genius. IQ score beyond 150, very clever, very cautious, a strategic mastermind, always ahead of the authorities. They tried to infiltrate his business a few times but they failed miserably, so now they want to concentrate on his private life."

"And this is gonna be my part?"

"Exactly," Kyle said, getting up to join Christine in front of the screen. "He has a few bodyguards he always hires from an American agency. They are known for their discretion and loyalty and the bodyguards they place with their clients are the best of the best. Unfortunately one of his bodyguards died in an accident a week ago and now he needs a new one. Luckily, we have the owner of the agency by the balls for several major crimes. He cooperates or he will end up behind bars for the rest of his life."

"To cut a long story short, he will place you with Mayfield and you can become part of his daily life. Your job consists of monitoring and collecting information and data. I will give you an exact briefing later," Christine finished Kyle's explanations.

"So I will just be his lapdog?"

"Not his," Kyle grinned, "hers."

The picture on the screen changed, now showing a young, blonde woman. The second he saw her, he judged her.

He could tell what she was like, just by her looks, by the way she jutted her chin in the picture, by her perfectly manicured fingers, by her flawless make up and the expensive clothes. He knew women like her, a walking stereotype, the blond, beautiful Trophy Wife Barbie that's always by Millionaire Ken's side. Pretty on the outside, boring on the inside. Lame bimbos that only lived for showing off their designer clothes and it-bags, tripping around in high heels that cost more than he earned in a month, finding self-fulfilment in stupid things like designing overpriced furniture, running a yoga studio or doing charity stuff. Useless, needless but still blueprints for millions of girls who would literally give the shirt off their backs to catch themselves a rockstar, a famous actor, a hyped football player or just a rich heir.

"This is Mayfield's fiancee," Kyle said, pointing at the photo, "you're gonna be her personal bodyguard."

"How am I supposed to monitor him, when I have to be on her heels all the time?"

"You're gonna live with them, there will be lots of opportunities. Just make her trust you, we need her to open up, get her to talk. They've been together for years, she should know what he's involved in," Chris explained and she made it sound easy when in fact it wasn't only hard to gain a stranger's trust, in this case it was even dangerous.

"Alright. Tell me about her."

"Her name is Lucretia Johnson, 24 years old," Kyle started reading the memo.

"Lucretia?" August let out an amused snort.

"Yeah," Kyle grinned, "her mother seems to have a preference for strange names, her younger sister's called Petronilla."

"What the fuck?" August laughed out loud. "Is she some kind of Latin professor or something?"

"Well, first of all she's dead," Christine took over with a serious look on her face, she was notorious for her lack of humour, "and secondly, no, she was not a professor. She was an alcoholic and a complete mess. An irresponsible, uncaring mother who spent too much time fucking around and too little time taking care of her daughters. Petronilla was taken away from her when she was 15 and was handed over to youth welfare. Lucretia was 18 at the time and lived on the campus of the Chelsea College of Art and Design."

"So she's an artist, huh?" August knew the ridicule in his voice wasn't very professional but he just couldn't help it.

"Maybe, at least she has a master degree in curating and owns a little gallery in Covent Garden. Well, actually Mayfield owns it, she just runs it."

"So, to sum it up, she's made it from the daughter of a drunkard to the fiancee of one of the richest heirs in the kingdom. She's fucked her way to the top. I guess that's all I need to know about her."

"Don't be so sure, August. She seems to be smart," Kyle threw in, "I think there's more to her than the pretty face. It's just a gut feeling but I guess you'll find out soon enough."

August took a deep breath, rolling his eyes at Kyle. "Sure. She's the saint that sleeps with the devil."

"That's not what I said, mate. But whatever she is, you'll have to deal with it."

"What's my cover, Christine?" August wanted to know.

"Well, your alias was born in 1981, just like you, but on the fifth of May. Born and raised in Portland, Maine. Only child, mother deceased, not on speaking terms with his father, a mechanic who still lives in Portland. You can find the details of your early life and your family tree in the memo," she waved the file above her head before she continued. "Careerwise...ex military, ex cop, had some problems following the rules and respecting the law. Single, no ex-wifes, no kids. We kept it plain and simple. They will not dig deep anyway. According to the agency boss, Mayfield expects his bodyguards to be disciplined, always on duty, quiet and discreet. There's three of you. Benjamin Garner is Mayfield's watchdog and his personal assistant, Edward Landow was Johnson's guard you're gonna replace, Andrew Brown is the back-up. You and Garner live with them, Brown lives nearby with his girlfriend. There's other staff of course, a housekeeper, a cook, cleaners. No chauffeur, no butler, no assistant, that's all part of your job."

"Great," August let out an annoyed snort, "so basically I'm gonna be her servant."

"Basically," Chris fixed her gaze on August, "you're not gonna leave her side unless you're told to. Just be professional, stay in the background, prick up your ears, listen closely and be careful. No obvious nosing around. Their penthouse is a high tech fortress, including video monitoring, so just…"

"I know how to work undercover," August cut in impatiently, "just gimme that fucking file and let me do my job."

Christine gave him a pissed look but she handed him the document with a shrug and without further comment. August grabbed it from her hands, staring at the data of his new life, his new name and the composite sketch of his new look. He would have to stop shaving.

*****

tbc

#henry cavill #cavillry #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #august walker #august walker fanfiction #august walker x ofc #slow burn

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lavenderbexlatte · 3 years

Text

a handful (or two)

stray kids 3.9k words female reader insert Thick/Chubby!Reader x Lee Felix EXPLICIT/NSFW

🖤 warnings: DISCUSSIONS OF WEIGHT/BODY IMAGE/INSECURITY, unprotected sex 🖤

connect with me! / masterlist

Sitting at your kitchen table in the early evening, you feel more like a soldier walking into battle than anything else.

You’ve got a list of your body measurements scrawled on a piece of paper beside you, as you scroll through an online shop on your phone. Ruffled blouses, wrap dresses, raw-hemmed jeans, tiered skirts, fitted cardigans. The clothes are cute, and your Likes list has no shortage of garments, but you’ve reached the worst part of clothes shopping:

Finding things that are actually in your size.

Korean online malls are not known for their variety of sizes, even though obviously, the people in any country who need to buy clothes have all different kinds of bodies. The cute clothes, the mainstream ones, the clothes that YouTubers and Instagram models promote, are mostly one-size. And that one size…is small.

Too small for you.

It’s a regular debate that you have with yourself. You shouldn’t even give your patronage to shops like these ones, where you have to filter through every single item and look at the detailed measurements to find the rare pair of pants that you could squeeze into. You shouldn’t play into a system that makes you hate yourself.

But you need new jeans. And in your heart, you want cute jeans from the online mall, like everyone else.

You pull up a pair of jeans in exactly the style that you want and scroll down to the measurements. You have to steel yourself as you look at the numbers.

Waist…hips…thigh…rise…length…

They’re too small.

You pull up another pair, and another, and another. They’re all too small.

“No,” says a small, dark voice in the back of your mind, “You’re just too big.”

You’re so caught up in this game of finding cute things to wear and discovering exactly how much the seller doesn’t want them to fit on people like you, that you don’t even hear your boyfriend until he’s right next to you.

“What are you doing?” comes a deep voice, right in your ear.

You jump in your seat, fumbling your phone for a second and catching it before it falls. Catching your breath, you look up at Felix, stood beside your chair gazing down at you.

“Jesus, when did you get here?” you ask, putting your phone down before anything else happens.

“Just got in,” he answers, nodding toward the door. “I called hello. You didn’t answer.”

Felix has a key to your place, free to come and go as he pleases, so it’s not exactly unusual for him to turn up like this. He’s dressed in a big t-shirt and joggers, practice clothes, obviously fresh from the studio with the rest of the guys.

“I was distracted,” you murmur.

“I guess so,” he grins at you.

You offer a halfhearted smile in return, feeling stupid for your bad mood, caused by something so out of your control. Shopping shouldn’t ruin your day. Felix pulls out your other dining chair to sit across from you at the small dining table, and you can’t help but stare at his body as he settles down.

He’s so…skinny.

You’re envious. You shouldn’t be, because your body is plenty good enough as it is. But you are. With a body like that, you could wear anything.

“What are you doing?” he asks you.

You hesitate, but Felix pays no mind to your internal struggle, reaching across the table to pick up the scrap of paper covered in your measurements. You want to snatch the paper out of his hands, which is ridiculous. He knows what your body looks like. Seeing the numbers that describe it isn’t going to scare him off.

But still, you feel that sick self-consciousness rising up as he glances over the paper, and sets it back down.

“I’m trying to buy jeans,” you say weakly.

“Trying?” Felix prods.

“Trying and failing.”

You pick up your phone, unlock it, and shove it at him, the screen still open to the last pair of too-small jeans. He peers at the listing, at the chart full of centimeters, and then down at your measurements scrawled out in your handwriting.

“They call that a large?” Felix says, amazed, and you cringe. “It’s like a half-centimeter difference.”

You know he’s just surprised since shopping for women’s clothes isn’t something he does often, and you’re sure he doesn’t know how common this problem is for you. But his words still sting a little.

“Yeah,” you say, “I think I’m done for tonight.”

You try not to let your deep-seated disappointment in the situation, and in yourself, show too much. Felix watches as you stand up and stretch. You can tell he’s thinking hard, can see that he wants to say something. But you really don’t need his commentary on this. You spend enough time thinking about your body, wanting to change your body, hating that you want to change your body…

“Do you want dinner? I went to the store earlier,” you say, determined to change the subject.

“Sure,” Felix agrees easily.

You cross your little kitchen and fling open the cupboard to dig out groceries for your meal. At least this is a task to take your mind off everything.

You don’t even notice as Felix takes the slip of paper from the table and folds it into his pocket.

--------------- Some days later, you all but trip into your bedroom after work, exhausted but hopeful.

Felix’s shoes and jacket were both waiting by the front door when you came in, which means he’s here waiting for you. He was nowhere to be seen in the rest of your small apartment, so that leaves this.

Of course, you’re not disappointed; Felix is lounging on your bed, playing on his phone and looking like the epitome of comfort in lounge pants and messy blonde hair. He smiles like the sunrise when he sees you.

“Hi, angel,” he says, as you drop your bag on the floor.

Instead of replying, you let yourself fall onto the bed beside him, flat on your back, and stretch out your poor sore limbs like a starfish.

“Long day?” he asks.

“The longest,” you agree.

“You’re in luck, though,” he says, “I have a surprise for you.”

You turn your head to look at him. “Really?”

He nods.

“Then gimme!” you quip.

Felix laughs brightly, and unfolds himself to retrieve a small gift bag from the side of the bed, tucked out of view. He hands it to you, and it’s surprisingly heavy and dense for its size. Today isn’t a special day by any means. Just a weekday, a work day, and you wrack your brain to figure out exactly why your boyfriend decided tonight was the night for presents.

“Can I open it?” you ask.

“You’d better,” says Felix, settling back down to watch you.

So you unceremoniously rip out the tissue paper packing, and when you’re met with a small pile of folded fabric, you upend the whole bag onto your bed.

There are four things inside.

A soft, oversized t-shirt, loose and comfortable and your favorite color, to boot.

A pair of thigh-high stockings.

A single thigh garter, in bright white.

And a pair of panties, also white. You unfold the underwear, to reveal a heart-shaped cutout on the back, and at the bottom…

“Crotchless?!” you ask, flustered.

Felix shrugs, his expression mischievous, “I thought they suited you.”

“What’s all this about?” you ask.

“I wanted to prove a point,” he says.

“What point can you prove with lingerie?”

“I’m proving pretty clearly that plenty of stores sell things to your measurements,” he says cheekily, “Just not that one store you were on the other day.”

Oh, my God.

You’re equal parts mortified and absolutely melting with the sweetness at the heart of this gesture. You didn’t realize that he was paying this much attention to you that day. You didn’t realize he knew how frustrated you were, how discouraged.

“They’re pretty,” you admit, turning the panties over in your hands.

“Then try them on for me.”

Felix’s tone is suggestive and low, lower than usual, and you know for certain that he didn’t just buy these things to cheer you up. He’s got an ulterior motive here.

“What’s in it for me?” you tease.

“Dress up for me and find out,” Felix replies.

Never one to turn down the prospect of some fun, you gather up the clothes and dart across the hall into your tiny bathroom. If Felix wants you to dress up for him, you need to do that alone and make a spectacle of it.

You dump the armful of clothing onto the counter. There’s no bra or anything, so you assume that Felix means for you to wear only the t-shirt. And that’s exactly what you do, stripping out of your work clothes and pulling the shirt over your head. You put on the panties, noting exactly how well they fit. The elastic doesn’t dig, and they don’t ride up, just smooth fabric and lace against your skin, hugging the curve of your ass. You try to forget about the opening at the bottom, baring you to the world; you already know Felix fully intends to use it, but you can’t believe he’s done this. It’s bold, even for him.

The thigh-highs come next, and while these also fit more nicely than any pair of tights you’ve ever owned, you have thick thighs, and the soft skin dimples around the top elastic band. You slide the thigh garter onto one leg, settling it at the top of the stocking. It only makes that indent more pronounced, soft flesh giving way under the thick white band. But you try your hardest not to feel self-conscious about it.

Felix picked these things for you. That means he wants to see you like this.

You pluck up all your courage, and walk back into your bedroom. Felix is waiting eagerly, and when you come into view, lingering shyly at the doorway, he smirks.

Honest-to-God smirks.

“Oh, angel,” he says, his deep voice nearly breaking over the syllables, “Oh, yes.”

You can see plainly on his face how much this little outfit is affecting him, and it sends a little thrill down your spine. Because truly, these clothes aren’t too out of the ordinary. The thigh-highs are new, and the panties aren’t something you would have picked for yourself, but it’s hard not to feel like you’re just wearing…a t-shirt and underwear.

It’s the intimacy, you decide. The fact that Felix carefully chose items in your most precise, comfortable sizes, and built you a sexy little dress-up kit that makes you feel as good as you look…God. Overwhelmingly intimate, you realize, and hot as hell.

“Let me see you, come here and give me a little spin,” Felix teases, twirling his finger in the air to mimic the model turn he’s demanding.

Smiling, squashing down a touch of embarrassment, you comply, coming to stand before Felix and turning around slowly on the spot. You can feel his eyes on you, and as you turn your back on him completely, you hear your bed creak.

Hands land on your waist as Felix pulls you flush against his front, and you can feel how hard he is already, filling out the front of his sweatpants. He’s always eager, always relishes the time you get to spend lost in each other, but he seems especially brazen tonight, as he grinds his clothed cock against your ass and slides his hands under the t-shirt to cup your bare breasts.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he murmurs.

You turn around in his arms, letting his hands drop back to your waist. He’s grinning at you with no small amount of lust in his eyes. You’re sure that you look similarly affected; you can already feel wetness gathering between your legs. His undivided attention, especially when you’re dressed up like this just for him, has you going out of your mind with want.

“Then show me,” you say.

He huffs out a laugh before diving in to kiss you, his pouty bow-shaped lips moving against yours roughly. Felix kisses like he’s starving and you’re one of the desserts that he loves to bake, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he stops ravishing you. His hands wander down to your ass, pinching hard enough that you squeak.

“Easy on the goods!” you chastise, as the spot aches deliciously.

Felix just pinches you again, harder, and guides you back toward your bed. You lay back on the mattress with Felix right behind you, settling between your spread legs. He sits back on his heels, just looking down at you beneath him in your skimpy panties and stockings. He runs his hands down your thighs indulgently, sliding a finger under the garter on one side and pulling it back so that it snaps against your skin.

“Angel, I should’ve thought of this a long time ago,” he says.

There’s no time for you to tease him, because Felix pulls his shirt over his head and discards it over the side of the bed, and you’re taken in by his gorgeous lithe body, his tiny waist and the rippling lines of his abs. No matter how many times you see him like this, it’s still exciting, that you can have someone so beautiful. He takes hold of the hem of your t-shirt next, and coaxes you upright so that he can take that off, too.

Your body is the exact opposite of his, soft where his is hard, sloping curves instead of the sharp cut of his ribs and hips and shoulders. But he leans right down over you and begins to kiss and nibble his way down your body, starting at the juncture of your collarbone. He trails his mouth over your chest, down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. You gasp as he grazes his teeth over the bud, and he laughs gently.

Felix continues his slow ascent as you grasp at the sheets, mouthing over your stomach, soft like the rest of you. His hands hold your legs open wide for him as he moves down your body. He skips over your core entirely, choosing instead to bite sharply into the exposed skin of your upper thigh, above the band of the stockings.

“Lix!” you gasp, unable to help how your hips twitch forward at the sensation of his teeth.

He hums in response, leisurely delving forward to press a single lingering kiss to your folds, on full display in these deceptively pure white panties that hide absolutely nothing.

“Fucking love your legs,” Felix all but growls against the soft skin of your inner thigh, “Fucking love-”

Your hand flies down to grip at Felix’s hair as he bites a second bruise, this one on the tender inside of your leg. He’s never been this singularly-focused before, and you marvel at the way he’s worshipping your thighs, your waist, his hands roaming your ass and tweaking the fabric of the thigh-highs. You’ve always known that Felix liked your body – he’s your fucking boyfriend, after all. But this…

“Felix, I can’t,” you whine, “I need you, I need…”

“Oh, believe me,” Felix says, “I need it more.”

He draws away from you to push and kick his sweats and underwear off, and you watch hungrily as his cock bobs free, painfully hard and already leaking precome.

“You want – like this?” you ask, as Felix drops back on top of you, the head of his cock already nudging up against your pussy.

Felix likes it from behind, likes being able to grab your ass and watch your back arch as he drives into you. He likes you on top, so he can watch you bring yourself to orgasm using him. This is uncommon for you, missionary, you sprawled underneath Felix as he bends your knees up for better access and strokes his fingers down the length of your legs.

He nods, breathless. “Wanna see your face.”

His soft, honest admission makes your heart flutter even as you swear you can feel the arousal thrumming in your veins. You need him, need him so badly you could cry –

With a shift of his hips, Felix lines himself up and pushes into you. He’s agonizingly slow with it, just letting the head split your walls before he drags back out. He’s teasing you, absolutely doing this on purpose, and you can’t handle it. You untangle one hand from the sheets to cling to him, as he just dips the head of his cock in and out of you.

You whimper your frustration, and Felix leans in to kiss your cheeks, your nose, before pushing back in deeper, and deeper again, and finally he’s buried in you to the hilt.

“So gorgeous,” he groans, his deep voice reverbing in his chest, “You’re so good, angel, so good.”

He has one hand gripping your thigh tightly, holding your leg up beside your torso in a position that tests your flexibility more than a little bit. The other hand is digging into the curve of your hip, hard enough that you think there will be bruises.

Felix has those dancers’ hips, and core strength that lets him drive into you like he’s doing now, smooth long strokes that you arch up to meet as well as you can in his grip. He’s holding you at an angle that lets his pelvis grind against your clit every time he bottoms out. It’s not enough stimulation to let you finish, but it’s more than enough to drive you out of your mind.

“Lix, Lix, please,” you beg, not even sure what you’re asking for.

He says something, quiet enough that you can’t really pick it up, and when you move your hand from his dip of his spine to the back of his head, Felix fixes his gaze right on you. He’s still speaking, rambling in his deep voice.

“-Let a fucking app make you think you’re not perfect cuz their fucking jeans don’t fit you,” he’s saying, “So soft, so pretty, like fuckin’ heaven, look at you.”

You can’t look at yourself all that well, but you can look at Felix, glance down to see the way he’s burying his cock in you again and again, holding himself up to look you in the eye as he fucks you into the mattress.

“Perfect,” he swears, “Taking me like a dream, angel…”

He’s never this vocal, either, and the talk has your head spinning almost as much as the brutal pace he’s maintaining. You can hear the obscene sound of your wetness around him. The desperate, weak first stirrings of an orgasm are starting to creep up on you, but you know yourself. You’re going to need more than this to finish.

Even so, you clench around Felix as he works himself into you again, and again, and he laughs breathlessly at the feeling of it.

“Are you gonna cum for me?” Felix asks, low and sweet.

You shake your head desperately, “Not enough – Lix, please, I need-”

“Not enough?” he echoes, amused, as his hips snap against yours in perfect time, “What, is this not good enough for you, angel?”

“So good, so good, just, please,” you whine.

Felix doesn’t answer you, but he does let go of your leg to bring his fingers up to your face. You’re so far gone, so hazy with lust and the orgasm that’s building but just isn’t close enough, that you barely notice him until his fingers are pressing at your lips.

He has small, beautiful hands, and you open your mouth to let him slip two dainty fingers into your mouth. You suck on the digits, knowing how much Felix likes having your mouth on him, or his on you. He’s not picky, as long as someone is licking, biting, sucking…

“So dirty,” he sighs.

Only for him, you think to yourself. You can’t summon the words to say to him out loud, but you certainly think them. Only for him.

“Don’t hold back on me now, angel,” Felix says.

He retrieves his fingers from your mouth, and snakes his hand down between your bodies to press them feather-light to your clit. You can’t help the gasp that escapes from you as he touches you, gentle and precise. The slide would have been wet and easy enough even without the extra help, but the combination of your saliva and your wetness as it seeps out around Felix’s thick cock makes his fingers glide over your clit with friction so good it’s almost painful.

Under your breath, almost like a prayer, you’re murmuring, chanting, “Please, please, please, please, oh-”

“You first,” he says, “Come on, are you gonna give me one?”

You want to, God, do you want to. You writhe in his hold, torn between rocking away from the steady delicious pressure on your clit and into the press of his cock splitting you open. Felix throws his head back as you tremble around him - your peak is so close you can fucking taste it - and groans.

“Love you,” Felix gasps, “Shit, love you, love your body-”

That’s what does it.

That view, Felix above you, so fucked out, working so hard to make you feel good. Physically and mentally, that’s what he’s trying to do. He saw you being upset for like fifteen minutes the other day and he’s putting in all this effort to build you up. He just wants you to feel good –

“Felix!”

His name passes your lips, just once, before you’re cumming hard with a strangled moan. Felix fucks into you hard once, twice, and then thrusts into you fully with a cry of his own as he cums against your walls. He’s quick to drop down and meet your lips in a messy kiss, pressing your bodies together, skin on skin.

The two of you shudder and murmur your way through your orgasms, as you marvel at how quickly he was able to bring you crashing right over the peak with him.

Once your voice comes back to you, all your can manage is another squeaking, “Felix.”

“Yeah,” he answers, decisive, like you’ve just revealed the secrets of the universe to him. “Yeah.”

He pulls out and gingerly moves off of you, but not without stroking his hands from your waist all the way down your thighs as he goes. You laugh quietly as Felix collapses onto his back beside you, wiping his brow dramatically like he’s just gotten off a hard day at work. His cum begins to drip back out of you as you sit up, which is gross, but you just want to be close to him. You curl against his side, head on his chest, and Felix accommodates you easily, cuddling into you just as eagerly.

As you readjust on the bed, settle into a more comfortable position, you notice the bruises. Tender new bruises on your hip, and along the side of your thigh where Felix had held you so tightly. It’s the perfect shape of his fingertips, fanning out along your skin.

“Jeez,” you murmur, touching the spots and secretly relishing the way they hurt.

“Sorry,” Felix grins, though he doesn’t look very sorry at all. “Just…your thighs. Your body. Love it.”

#stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids scenarios #lee felix #lee felix smut #stray kids felix #stray kids felix smut #reader insert #chubby reader #she thicc #kpop fanfic #stray kids fanfic #tw weight #tw body image

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i-ate-the-whole-entire-pie · 3 years

Text

Call Me Mother, Chapter One

I languidly drained the last breath from my cigarette, the drag filling my lungs. My garter straps hung down lazily, tickling my thighs, as they awaited their purpose. Music thumped rapidly, and whoops of delight resounded through the hall. The dressing room door swung open; a small, but curvaceous woman behind it.

Her eyebrows were tweezed to perfection, eyes deeply shadowed, eyelashes false and curled into large feathery swoops; her mouth was like a plump strawberry. I’d always harbored a mild curiosity about how it tasted.

“Mary, you’re up in 10 minutes. I want you at the curtain in five," Cristella said, her hispanic accent thick.

“Is that a new corset?” I asked. Cristella turned me around, and yanked the laces of my corset together. Thank god I haven’t needed to breathe for the last 150 years, I thought. I floated a small influence her way. Gentler, please. She complied, unwittingly. They always do.

I don’t normally use my influence on people I like, but I’m far too hungry to risk her pinching me with this corset. I couldn’t forgive myself if I lost control. She was far too kind to die a death that violent.

“It is. This papí chulo I’ve been seeing said he wanted me to wear it for him. Maybe he’ll tip better," she said, carefully pulling the slack out of the lower half of my corset. I placed my hands over my belly, holding everything in place.

“What’s the crowd looking like?” I tucked the ties away. She jutted a hip out, and began counting off on her impeccably manicured fingers.

“The usual crowd. Old Man Carraway, that one divorcee who drinks like a fish. College kids. Oh, there’s also these dudes in silver masks. Low-key kind of demonic. And some weird guy in like, face paint? He’s painted up like a calavera. I figured they came from that concert that was in town. You know, the one that church was protesting? Say they like worship Satan or something?”

“Sounds about right." I bent down to attach my straps to the garters of my stockings.

“They’re probably here for a private room, so I figured I’d put you on now. You’re good at handling the weirdos." Cristella giggled, watching me struggle to get the backs of my stockings attached. She and I broke into fits of giggles, as she chased me in circles, trying to help me attach my stockings.

“Let me get that. Hurry up and get on stage!” she said, giving me a playful smack on the ass. I pranced out of the room, trying to avoid her grasping mitts.

“Hey! No bruising the merchandise!” I giggled, linking arms with her as we strutted backstage, perfectly in step with one another. She grabbed the microphone from Mike the Mic Guy, gave me a wink, and stepped through the curtain.

“Aaaaand we’re back! Now, this next lady I’ve got lined up for you is quite a treat. She’s as pale as cream, thicker than a bowl of oatmeal, and will definitely step on you. Well, she might if you tip well. For legal reasons, we can’t call her “Elvira,” so I guess we’ll settle for… MOTHER! MARY!” That was my cue. I sauntered through the curtain, my hips moving like a figure eight. I moved across the stage, “Lullaby” by the Cure playing. I always chose various genres of rock for my acts. Not that I have anything against the other girls’ music choices… but there’s only so much female rap you can play in one night. As I began to dance, I noticed the group that Cristella had mentioned earlier. They were sitting front and center, near the edge of the stage.

Seven of the masked figures sat around the Painted Man, as I had labeled him. Two of the masked figures seemed effeminate, and the other five seemed more masculine. They all ranged in different shapes and sizes. Maybe the masks are a fetish thing? Cristella did say that they came from a concert… Something about them seemed off. I did a swing around the pole, dropping into a fireman, trying to catch a scent. It was a whirlwind of scents, none of them too out of the ordinary. Except the beefy one. He smelled like midnight. I don’t know how to explain it. What really caught my interest though was the Painted Man. Specifically, his eyes. One of them was grey, the iris almost black. The other eye had a pale, white iris. It suited him, and it was beautiful, in an eerie way. Those eyes looked at me, as I danced around the stage, and they knew me. If I had a working heart still, it would be racing.

As Robert Smith crooned, I descended the stairs of the stage as sensually as one could in Pleaser heels, making my way to the Painted Man. If I wanted to know what these people were, I’d have to get a closer look. The Painted Man patted one of his legs with a gloved hand, and cocked his head to the side. I took the invitation, but not before I teased him. I crouched between his legs, running my hands up his thighs. As I rose, I walked my hands up his thighs, bringing my face closer to his. His breath graced my skin, smelling faintly of licorice. As he leaned in, for what I could only assume was a kiss, I rose again, strutting over to one of the masked beings. It was the smaller of the male ones. I sat in his lap, letting him run his hands over me as I began to grind on his lap. His growing erection told me I was going to have a busy night.

“Your boss is a little too eager," I whispered, getting a good whiff of him. He smelled faintly of smoke. I put my hands on his chest, trying to keep my balance. No heartbeat.

“What makes you think he’s my boss?” The being asked petulantly. He grabbed onto my waist, as he began to grind with me. I moved his hand to the small of my back, and leaned back in a dip. The being ran his other hand over my belly, in between my breasts, and up to my throat, bringing me back up to his masked face.

“You’re the one wearing a uniform." I darted my tongue out to lick my lips. What is he? My mind raced as I tried to run through every supernatural creature I’d ever known. But then I heard it. I barely even understood it. All I picked up was price and one night. It was Ghoulish. The taller female ghoul was asking about what I can only assume was my hourly rate. Most strip clubs in this part of Vegas were just fronts for brothels. However, it’s hard to sell the idea of prostitution to Mid-Western vanilla tourists. So most of my income was made from stripping. I usually had one or two clients I went to bed with a night. It wasn’t very stable, but then again, I had less expenses than the average stripper, considering my “condition."

“Tell your friend my basic hourly rate is $500. My Ghoulish isn’t any good." I stood up, and made my way to the female ghoul’s lap.

“How do you know Ghoulish?” she asked, a bit of surprise in her tone. I bent over in front of her, shaking my ass for her. She put a couple of bills in the waistband of my panties, punching my previous ghoul in the arm. He forked over some cash as well.

“I’m not human. I’ll leave it at that," I said, stuffing the cash into the top of my corset. Dear lord… All hundreds… The female ghoul rubbed my thighs, turning me back around slowly, so as to admire my ass.

“Could we get a room after your number? I think a private dance is in order," she said, in broken Ghoulish. I nodded, and as if on cue, the lights and music began to fade out. As I began to walk back up the stairs to the stage past the Painted Man, his hand darted forward to smack my ass. God, it really is not the night for this shit. My more animalistic nature took over, and before I could stop it, a hiss left my lips. As if of their own accord, my fangs sprung painfully through my gums. I heard a snap, and looked over to see the largest ghoul stand up. He shook his head. Thank god the lights were low. Embarrassed, I covered my mouth, and made my way across the stage.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Mike the Mic Guy asked, handing a mic to Cristella. I still had my hand over my mouth. Cristella looked worried.

“Are you okay Mary? I can get you some tea if you’re keyed up." I shook my head.

“Please get a room ready. The Freak Parade wants a private dance," I said as I walked away, silently cursing myself. Once back in the dressing room, I threw open the mini-fridge I normally kept padlocked. I looked to the last bottle I had left in my stash. Hopefully it hasn’t clotted, I thought, throwing the bottle back. This wouldn’t end my thirst, but it would certainly quell the burning in my throat. You nearly lost it. You need to bag one of these stupid fucks tonight, or else. I hadn’t had a bad case of blood lust in decades, but the combination of winter holidays, my strict schedule, and FOSTA-SESTA had really cut off my food supply.

The door opened, and Cristella came in with a cup of tea. She looked at the flask in her hand and cocked a brow.

“And you didn’t offer to share. What is that? Cuervo? Henny?” she said, reaching for the flask. I shook my head, and put it back in the fridge, closing the padlock.

“It’s cough syrup. I keep it under lock and key because of that bitch Ronnie. She’s not fooling anybody. You ever see how much her hands shake? Too much caffeine? Yeah, right. We all know what the DTs look like." I began changing into a burgundy velvet bra and panty set, pairing it with some burgundy gloves and stockings. Finally, I found a pair of sparkly Loboutins Lydia had left me. My mind rolled back through the streets of Paris to 1991, when Louboutin opened its first salon. Lydia smiled, as I kissed her shin, helping her into the heel. She looked down at me, her eyes full of love, and the corner of her mouth hiding a kiss just for me.

“Yeah, she is pretty suspish. What happened with those weirdos out there?” Cristella interrupted my memory. I shook my head. Are you just imagining your heartache?

“Oh the big guy was just mad because I didn’t get around to him. That’s why I wanted you to get the room. Plus, I might be able to secure a nice check from these guys. They all seemed absolutely randy," I said. Cristella shook her head, giggling. The gloss in my hand made a popping noise, as I pulled the wand from the bottle. It was my favorite flavor, watermelon.

“I can ask one of the boys to sit in, to keep them from getting too handsy," Cristella said. I shook my head. It would only keep me from getting too handsy, I thought to myself. Bless her heart. I could never make a kill here. I loved the crew here far too much. Plus, I didn’t have a coven. No one to protect me when I fucked up. They kicked me out long ago. It’s the main reason I ended up in Vegas, avoiding the sun when I could, doing my best to keep a legal and convenient profession. Where else could get a job with only night shifts, and a never-ending supply of useless assholes no one cared about?

“I’ll be okay Crissy. Even if they do try something, we have a panic button in there. Don’t worry." I gave her a slimy, glossy kiss on the cheek, earning a shriek from her strawberry mouth. She batted at me, narrowly missing me as I bounded out of the room.

As I approached the bigger of our three private rooms, I noticed two of the larger male ghouls standing outside the door. All of the ghouls dressed similarly, including the female ghouls. But I now noticed the alchemical symbols dangling from their belt chains. The shorter one had a quintessence symbol, the other larger one, an earth symbol. The earth one opened the door, and the quintessence one escorted me in.

“Thank you, Aether. Back to the door with you. Come, have a seat. Dewdrop says there is more to you than meets the eye. Let me pour you a glass of wine, cara," a thick, Italian accent beckoned to me. I walked to the ottoman in the middle of the room, where I usually found myself during private dances.

“I don’t drink during work hours, love. Now, what should I call you?” I looked into the mismatched eyes of the Painted Man.

“You can call me Papa. I’m Papa Emeritus, the fourth. My close friends call me Copia, but I suppose we are not quite there yet, sí?” he said, leaning forward to take my chin in his hand. I nodded.

“While I would love to marvel at your undoubtedly exquisite body, There is some business we should take care of first, piccolina. Do you like Type O Negative?” Cue the record scratching. The dreamy look I normally adopt when with my clients evaporated.

“Excuse me?” I whispered. Papa laughed.

“The band, cara. I was going to have you dance for me later. However, you must have a preference."

“I really don’t understand what you mean," I whispered. Papa laughed again, a big booming laugh.

“I know your secret cara. The ghouls told me. One of my predecessors, Papa Nihil, told me if I were to ever come across your kind, I should try to win your allegiance. Your kind have interesting abilities, specifically the power of influence." Of course that’s what he’s after.

“I don’t do that," I said, looking down to avoid his gaze. Papa tsked.

“I think you will. The ghouls say you smell lonely. Where is your famiglia?” He asked. I shook my head. Lydia’s pained screams echoed in my ears, our last moment together wrenching my heart out of my chest decades later.

“We split because of artistic differences," I said softly. Dewdrop and his companions giggled behind me.

“Forcing people to allow you to exsanguinate them for sport is not ‘artistic differences,’” Dewdrop hissed. The other ghouls laughed. Papa shook his head, and raised a hand to silence them.

“Now now, Dewdrop. It is hard to control one’s basic nature. Sí, tesoro? Tell me, how long has it been since your last drink?” He looked at me with concern. I couldn’t meet his eyes. I knew what he saw. Weak, pathetic, useless… The words were like a disgusting mantra, swirling through my mind, angry and acidic.

“Weeks… It’s been weeks," I whispered. He tsked again. I heard the ghouls chatter amongst themselves. Their pity made me feel disgusting, like a child with sweaty, clammy hands, and odorous armpits.

“What if I told you I could offer you a job and a home? A home where you wouldn’t have to hide your nature. A home where you’d never go hungry again?” I looked up at him.

“What kind of job?” I asked. The ghouls laughed again. Papa shot them a glare.

“I would make use of your gifts occasionally. Nobody would get hurt. You would warm my bed whenever I asked. Maybe pick up a trade or two once back with the Clergy. And in turn, you would get protection, and all the blood you could ever need," he said. I finally mustered the courage to look him in the eyes. What do you have to lose? Besides, you’ve done infinitely worse things.

“You swear on your life, nobody will get hurt? Not a single person?” I asked. Papa nodded.

“I’ll do it. I’ll also require a salary as well," I said, extending my hand. Papa nodded, taking my hand in both of his.

“Anything you need, cara. But first, I think you need a drink. And then we will get the night I paid for," he said. He waved his hand towards the door, which the shorter female ghoul scurried to open. I noticed she sported a pocket chain with an air symbol.

“Bring in one of the more rosy siblings, Cumulus. I suspect our new friend will need the sustenance before we get too far into our plans for the night," Cumulus nodded, and shut the door behind her. Papa stood up, and began removing his suit jacket and gloves; rolling up his sleeves. I could see his blue veins pulsating, causing me to become aroused in a way I cannot quite explain. Involuntarily, my pussy throbbed, and my mouth watered.

“Now now, little one. Be patient. Your drink will be here soon enough. But for now, you will seal our little deal with a kiss, so to speak. On your knees," Papa ordered, gesturing to the floor. I slipped from the ottoman to the floor, crawling on all fours to him. His breath hitched as I slid my hands up his thighs. I didn’t break eye contact as I unbuckled his trousers, nor when I reached into his pants to pull out his sizeable cock.

The door opened, and I heard mumbles, as well as a struggle, and a thud. Of course, both my hands and mouth were preoccupied. I watched Papa intently as I sucked him off. His eyes were rolled back, his mouth slack, and his hands threaded into his hair, as he let out an ungodly moan. I kitten licked his frenulum, stroking his shaft, earning another moan. He bucked his hips into my throat. Sit still, I whispered in the back of my mind. Papa grabbed my hair, and pulled me off his cock.

“Never again, my little bat. Continue," he said, grabbing either side of my face as he began to fuck my throat rigourously. Someone behind me cleared their throat. I wasn’t able to look up, due to my current predicament.

“Can’t you see I’m busy, Cirrus? What is it?” Papa let out a grunt, as his cock twitched in my mouth. I began to fellate him with my hands, wrenching more breathy sighs and groans from him. Within seconds, his warm seed was flooding my throat. I heard Dewdrop cheer, and then a slap, which I assumed was a high five. Papa rolled his eyes and smiled, as I dabbed away the bit of cum that had spilled over my bottom lip.

“Just in time. I needed something to wash down all that salt," I stood, and walked over to the person Cumulus and Cirrus stood in front of. It looked like a plumper woman. She was wearing what looked like a nun’s habit, her red ringlets spilling out from under her wimple.

“All for you cara. Come find me when you have finished your meal," Papa walked out, which left me with the ghouls and my prey. Dewdrop, and the other male ghoul, who sported a water symbol, helped the little nun onto the couch.

“You’re going to let me fuck that tight ass later, right? Nearly busted watching you and Copia earlier," Dewdrop said to me, softly enough for just me to hear. I giggled and nodded, batting him away after he began nibbling on my neck. He patted my ass, and began to pull the wimple from the nun’s head.

“I’ve got this. Why don’t you and the rest of the ghouls get started? I’ll be done pretty quickly." Dewdrop nodded.

“C’mon, Rainy. Come play with my cock, while we watch Mary drink," The water ghoul nodded, grabbing Dewdrop’s hand. I turned my attention back to the nun. She began to stir. I pushed back her hair.

“This is going to hurt a little bit. But I will make this quick and painless. You deserve an easy death." The nun, barely awake, nodded, and turned her head. I cradled her head, and brought her throat to my mouth. With a final kiss to her soft, peachy flesh, I sank my teeth into her throat, not letting a single drop of her blood go to waste.

It felt like drinking water after being stuck in a desert for a week. Her blood was sweet, clean, and thick, and it quenched my thirst quickly. Her body began to go limp in my arms, and her skin turned cold. It’s still not enough. I had to force myself to stop. Never drink the last drop. It might just be the last thing you do, my old mentor’s voice reminded me. I let the little nun drop back to the couch, and turned to face the ghouls. Cirrus sat with Cumulus, each with a hand in the other’s pants. Rain was bobbing his head up and down slowly, as Dewdrop played with his hair. Dewdrop looked up at me.

“Hot," he said. Cirrus nodded, and refocused her attention on Cumulus. Rain moaned, causing Dewdrop to hiss. I looked at them all, lust clouding my gaze.

“Make room. It’s my turn," I said. Dewdrop pulled my mouth to his, not fazed one bit by the blood coating my lips. Cirrus began to explore the space between my thighs with her long, gorgeous fingers. Rain held my hair, kissing and nipping at my neck. A girl really could get used to this...

Hours later, after all of the ghouls had had their turn, even the two from the door, I was back in the dressing room. I opened the envelope the earth ghoul, Mountain, had handed me on the way out. My eyes grew like saucers as I counted the money inside. I had only expected eight grand; two hours, eight clients, multiplied by $500. But as I counted, I realized I had 15 grand in my hands. The door opened, breaking my wealth-induced trance. It was Papa.

“If you would really like the job, come to this address in two weeks. Bring only what you must. Put everything else in storage," he said, handing me a card. I was confused.

“Why two weeks?” I asked. Papa smiled.

“Because it’s polite, cara. Don’t forget your letter of resignation."

--------------------------------------------

This is the first thing I've wrote in years! I hope you all enjoy it! A special thanks to @gasolineghuleh for all of their help!

#the band ghost #popia #dewdrop ghoul #rain ghoul #mountain ghoul #aether ghoul #cumulus ghoullete #cirrus ghoulette #duckydaydreams

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valeskakingdom · 3 years

Text

Request

Could I request a part 3? Jerome keeps the reader as his hostage for popularity and attention. Reader is really fond of the attention she gets as well and eventually sleeps with Jerome again? In the end she sees how Galavan kills him and is really sad?

Here's part 4!!

Had to split it in two again...I'm sorry. Post the other half right after this one here!!

Gif credit: @bonniebirddoesgifs

Jerome x female reader (part 4)

Warnings: smut

Word count: 1877

*Days later*

Living with Jerome wasn't as bad as you actually thought. Yes, his possessiveness and always playing the boss annoyed you a lot but you've learned to ignore it.

You literally zoned everything out that made you feel uncomfortable or that annoyed you. And it worked. You were a lot calmer than before, you didn't start panicking immediately when Greenwood or Dobkins were staring at you. You stayed calm because sooner or later they would end up arguing with Jerome if he got aware of it because he hated people staring at you.

You even found 2 new friends: Tabitha and Barbara.

They both were kind to you and helped you how to defend yourself against all these strange lunatics. They treated you how to use a gun, how to fight with or without weapons. You weren't a pro but you got it fast.

It was just a little ordinary for you that they both kept fucking behind Theo's back but it didn't matter to you. You did that with Jerome as well, well, it was more or less behind Theo's back. You both weren't really quiet and you both did it pretty often...and the bites and marks on your neck were pretty obvious because your neck was full of it.

Right now, you were relaxing in your bed watching the news:

"Breaking News

Since a few days (Y/n) (Y/ln) will be missed. Her friend (Y/bff/n) (Y/bff/ln) told that she was about to visit them after watching the cruel claim the Maniax' shot caller Jerome Valeska was giving us. Her friend said she tried to call (Y/n) several times but she didn't pick up the phone. Her friend's afraid that either the Maniax have kidnapped or killed her.

If you see her or have an idea where (Y/n) (Y/ln) could be then please report to the GCPD. Every information can be useful!"

You turned the TV off.

You smirked for yourself. Yes, it sucked that you couldn't be with your friends not could you go out - but you loved this big amount of attention. You were the person peope were looking for. Everyone's eyes were on you as if you were a famous person.

Suddenly your door opened - Barbara.

"Hey darling- ugh, is Jerome still in the bathroom?" She sighed frowning "He should hurry up. Time is running!"

"Calm down Babs," you giggled a little "Wanna watch the news with me? I'm in the TV! My friend is missing me."

"Yeah, I've seen that already." She gave you a short smile "We just need to be careful now. Don't want cops chasing my ass."

"Understandable." You nodded "But...you know, somehow I like this attention. All eyes on me...I never really had that. I was just a simple girl, you could even call me a ghost because no one really noticed me...and now the whole city knows me because I just 'disappeared'. I feel famous and happy."

"Probably because you're famous, somewhat." Barbara gave you a grin flickering her tongue.

"May be, I just know I want more of it. I love being the head of missed people, and I love being the headline." you chuckled letting out a sigh in happiness.

"Wow, Jerome's really got a big effect on you, darling." Barbara scoffed.

"Why's that?"You frowned not understanding what she meant.

"Sweetie, days ago you've been the most anxious and shy girl amongst us. You were frightened by everything that was just moving...and look at you now. You're a smart, calm, sassy ass that reaches for fame - as he does." You both chuckled.

"I could tell you the same with Tabitha. She has to be a master in bed for calming you down after a stressed day. I mean, on the one you're bitching around and after Tabitha 'talks to you in private' at night, you're a sunshine in the next morning." I laughed loudly making Barbara blush.

"Says you! I think I don't need to remind you that the whole city can hear you." Barbara mocked with a laughter.

"At least just the city is hearing me." You laughed louder "I'm sorry, I had to."

"Hey ladies,"Jerome came out of the bathroom before Barbara could respond. He was just wearing a claret gown, his hair was still wet from the shower "I see, we're in a good mood, doll, aren't we?"

"As always," you grinned "Just had a very nice conversation with Barbara."

"Yeah," Barbara grinned, it faded though as she faced Jerome "Now hurry up, ginger. We don't wanna be late." She left quick.

"She's a feisty one, I like that," Jerome just let out a sigh with a short grin closing the door "But I hate being bossed around. I am the boss!"

He made his way to you slowly. Then he grabbed your hands pulling you fast out of the bed that you stood close to him. You immediately wrapped your arms around his neck while wrapped his around your waist.

You knew this rough undertone on him. He tried to be kind in front of you but actually he was pissed of being commanded - especially by a woman.

"I know and she does, too. She doesn't mean to be a bitch," You assured him with giving him a smile "She's just stressed. Probably needs a quick fuck or something to calm down."

"Hm," Jerome just hummed and shrugged, not really paying attention to what you were saying. Instead he grabbed your ass harshly pulling you close to him. You could feel his bulge growing against your leg "Talking about a quick fuck..."

Before you could even answer, Jerome pressed his lips against yours. His hands grabbed your cheeks and pressed your face even more against his to intense the kiss. His light chuckle in the kiss only made let you blush after you let out a little moan. He pressed his body against yours to close the gap between you two. Your lips parted this time to let his tongue explore your mouth and you couldn't help but moan as he slipped his tongue into your mouth fighting for dominance. You r hands wandered up tangling hour fingers into his hair, gripping and pulling his head further down, deepening the kiss.

He pressed you against the wall and slid a knee in the space separating your thighs to position his body between your legs. His hands gripped your ass lifting you up to wrap your legs around his waist. He lowered his head down to leave a bunch of wet kisses on your neck, you pulled him in closer with your hands and bit your lip in arousal. He licked and bit at the soft skin of your neck, leaving his mark there making you gasp. His lips found yours again and once more.

Your shirt was ripped apart from your body by his eagerness to fuck you and he could feel a strip of your bare skin against his. You arched up into him more and suddenly your hands left his head so that you could the knot of his gown. You shove the gown down from his body, now he stood naked in front of you; his errection was strongly pressed against your crotch.

He unclasped your bra hastily and without pulling away from your mouth he tossed it across the room. With your bare breasts against his chest, you felt a rush of heat slowly spread throughout your body.

You tightened your legs around his waist and pressed him even more against your body. You became horny from the wild make out session; you wanted him right here, right now.

His hand reached down and shoved the button of your pants through its hole impatiently. Eagerness was written in his face. He couldn't wait anymore to finally inset his hard member into you, feel the warm and wet walls on his skin, making you moan and scream his name until you cum.

He slid his hands down to your panties, ripping it off from your legs and throwing it behind him. He moaned quietly when he felt just how hot and wet you were for him. You didn't want to wait any longer and neither did he, it was becoming unbearable. You both wanted, even needed pleasure to be satisfied.

Instantly and without any kind of hesitation, he shove his member into your wet entrance. You let out a gasp followed by a moan, your body stretching to accommodate him.

He slowly pulled out before thrusting back in with a sharp snap of his hips.

Your whole body felt weak with every thrust he did into you as every time you had sex with him. You were completely understand his control, he could do everything with you. Your body shivered slightly through this pleasure he was giving you. Every thrust hurt more, each of your moans became louder, Jerome became faster. Your head was dug into the crook of his neck, your nails were dug into his shoulders leaving marks while you tried to adjust just fast pace and the pleasure.

"Oh God, Jerome!" You cried out loud while scratching his whole back down.

You felt his nails were dug deeper in your ass and his grunts made you shiver in pleasure with every thrust. And again he drilled his long hard member into you making sure he hit your g spot every time he entered your cunt.

He loved hearing you moan, you say he was addicted to it. You moans were giving him chills, aroused him. He couldn't get enough of it. If he could he would fuck you non stop, just to hear all these sweet moans of yours.

You moaned louder as he speeded up. You were hot and tight around him, you heard him swearing with a moan as he felt your walls clenchinh more on his member.

He groaned your name out quietly and you responded by rocking your hips up to give him all the pleasure he needed now.

You bit your lower lip nervously as a knot was built in your abdomen - you knew you were close. You moaned uncontrollably caused by all the pleasure which didn't even give you the chance to hold anything back - you really couldn't as hard as you tried to. You couldn't handle it all. It was too much for your body. You legs started to shake with each of Jerome's thrusts.

Gripping onto his back tighter, you buried your face in the crook of his neck to stifle your cry as you came all over him without any warning. He gasped lowly as you covered him in your tight and warm wetness. Your legs were twitching and your chest heaving. He thrust his hips several more times until he couldn't hold back any more, releasing into you. A soft moan escaped your lips upon the contact, you held him close and kept your head underneath his neck, breathing heavily with him.

"Didn't know you needed it that much right now." You said under gasps still trying to calm down from your high.

"Dont think I'm done with you, doll," Jerome grinned "I just wanted to let you breathe"

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shintorikhazumi · 3 years

Text

(Dianakko Week) There’s no way she- (3): “There’s no way she tamed that.”

@dianakko-week

A/N: Okay! So I’m really sorry if day 2 confused y’all ;-;. I just couldn’t reveal as much info to be clear as I thought ;-; I dunno if this chapter will do any good of explaining, but here’s to hoping that it does! T-T Also apologies if the whole story goes south or off the rails since I’m really running on fumes this week and am at peak exhaustion capacity woo! So these chapters/days might just be getting weird and incoherent idk. Sorry. This is kind of like... going back and forth between days 2-4 in terms of theme, I think. But well. uh... Idk anymore.

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

Day 3: Familiars/Animals

“There’s no way she tamed that.”

“I’m just glad you’ve all settled in just fine.”

“Honestly? Same.” Barbara sighed, looking into the orb that showed Lotte and Sucy’s faces. “I guess it’s just that we’ve been here for a few months- two? Three? It’s a good start.”

“How’s her majesty holding up?” Sucy asked teasingly, but with concern clear in her visible eye.

Barbara bit her lip, not really sure of the answer herself. “She never showed me or Han, but I know that she’s cried to Akko-with Akko” Barbara shook her head fondly, recalling their sweet dork. “-when we all went to bed. It went on for a few weeks. Right now, she’s... she’s holding up. She’s tough, we all know.”

“Yes. You all are.” Lotte said with a smile that quickly melted away into a deep frown. “I can’t believe they burned down the mansion.”

“I can’t believe they were able to get through Diana’s cloaking spell.” Sucy commented. “Something isn’t right, but no one can pinpoint just what it is yet.” She said, swirling an ominous-looking fluid in one of her flasks.

Barbara nodded. “Well, anyway, I’ll get back to you later. I’m on dinner duty and the sun has been sending me warnings.” She chuckled, noticing the changing hues of the horizon. “Talk to you again sometime?”

“We’ll update you on the situation.” Lotte assured, waving to her friend before the connection cut and the orb turned blank.

Barbara sighed, standing up from the table to return the orb on their shelf in the living room of the cozy stone cottage they had settled in, deep in a forest of some unknown country far away from home.

It was a new world with so many unknowns. Maybe too many. Including why Diana and Akko had been targeted this way. Diana had told them that she’d been stripped of her position on the magic council, and had been ‘warned’ that she would someday suffer the consequences of not complying with the other members. So far, that was all they knew. They just found that Diana had a hunch that they needed to leave soon. They were so glad they did.

Barbara began prepping in the kitchen, getting all her ingredients from the fridge that she’d need for the dish she wanted to cook. Suddenly, a chorus of yells from her two teammates caught her attention, telling her that they were close to home, along with their other friend whose name was pronounced loud on their lips-

“AKKO?!”

“What?” Akko shrugged, clearly not getting why this was such a big deal. Florence was one of her sweetest familiars!

“No, no, no. Not ‘what?’, Akko... how... why? Who? Where did you even-” Hannah stammered. “There’s no way she tamed that. Right, Diana?” She turned to their team leader, still staring up at the very real, and very large griffin.

“Akko... how did you even... you say this is your familiar??? A gryphon of this size? We all know that contracting familiars are difficult, but you just-”

She and Hannah watched as Akko continued to play with the somehow puppy-like griffin, Akko rubbing it’s belly as it rolled on the grass in front of their home.

“Diana.” Akko deadpanned. “You literally kept a Kelpie at home.” She saw Diana open her mouth about to deny the statement, and cut her off. “Don’t lie. I saw you feeding it by the lake the other day.”

“Well...”

“I watched you train it the other day.”

“I-”

“I’ve also seen it playing in the fountain in the yard back at home-” As that word slipped, Akko realized her mistake, seeing Hannah giving her a disproving look as Diana’s face looked momentarily downcast, before masking it with a smile.

“Diana-” Akko tried to reach out, but her girlfriend had taken a careful step back, leaving a pang in Akko’s heart. “I’m sor-”

“I’ve been caught red-handed, I suppose.” Diana laughed mirthlessly, a hand rubbing up and down her opposite arm as she looked off into the distance. “Oh look at that! The sun is setting. We should go inside.” She quickly changed the topic, being the first one to turn around and head for their house, not waiting for her companions to follow.

Hannah groaned, smacking the back of Akko’s head. “Nice going, Akko.”

“Hey!”

“Make sure to hide that familiar somewhere and wash your hands before dinner! Barbara’s going to have your head the next time you touch her table with those filthy hands.” She warned before disappearing into the cottage after Diana.

“I already know that. You don’t have to tell me.” Akko scoffed, crossing her arms before getting nuzzled by her Griffin, a cute confused look on his face. She smiled, petting it’s side before doing what Hannah had told her to do. “Come on, Florence. Let’s get you back in with the others?”

Reaching into her shirt, Akko pulled out a locket, casting a spell on it that made it larger, revealing a briefcase that looked like any other. However, as she turned the dials of it’s lock code, multiple sounds spring forth from it as the case shook.

Florence nuzzled against her back, whining about her actions. Akko got the message. “Sorry, buddy. I know it’s been a while since I let you out free, but I don’t have anywhere better to keep you all yet. Hang on just a bit more? For me?” She rubbed the Griffin’s head before holding the briefcase closer to him and Florence disappeared into the container. “Thank you.” She patted the lid.

After closing it securely, she spun the numbers to form a different code that brought about silence before shrinking it back into the size that she kept around her neck.

“I hope they waited for me for dinner.”

“Are you alright?”

Diana looked up from her seat on the small porch, gaze warming as she was met by the sight of her old friend with two mugs in hand, steaming and warm. She simply nodded, patting the seat next to her.

Hannah nodded, settling down next to Diana and handing her her drink. Before Diana could even greet and thank her, a thick blanket was draped across her shoulders from her other side. Barbara promptly took seat on that free space, leaning her weight against Diana and closing her eyes.

“Girls...”

“You can trust us with your pain as much as you do with Akko, you know?” Hannah murmured, Barbara nodding against Diana’s side.

“...I know.” Biting her lip, Diana tried her best to form the appropriate words. Seconds slipped by and she continued failing at being open to her best friends. “I’m sorry. It’s still a little difficult.” She felt the pair sigh on each side of her, and felt a little bad.

“We suppose that one is on us for constantly placing you up on a pedestal. Both then and now.” Barbara chuckled, the statement supposedly lighthearted despite all three knowing it was the heavy truth. “Just know that when you’re ready, we will always be willing to listen, yes?” She turned her body around, enough to embrace Diana, Hannah mirroring the action as they both squeezed her tight.

Diana squeaked as they planted a kiss on each side of her face before laughing at how bashful she was being.

“Well, that’s all from us. We’ll be heading in now.”

Diana had wanted a few more minutes of time with them, but as she followed them with her eyes, she saw someone else waiting by the door.

“Fix this.” She heard Hannah whisper to the dejected-looking Akko, loud enough for all of them to hear. Barbara giggled as she entered the house first, and Diana found her own chuckles slipping out as Akko grumbled her way towards Diana until she stood face to face with her.

“...”

“Hi.”

“Hello, dear.”

Diana felt her heart ache in a bittersweet way as she saw tears form in Akko’s eyes, and the girl kneeled in front of her, relocating Diana’s mug of hot chocolate somewhere safe on the wooden porch before taking both of her hands in hers and kissing each knuckle.

“I love you...” She whispered, holding Diana’s hands to her forehead as Akko bowed her head to hide her face from her. “And I’m sorry...”

“Darling...” Diana sighed with a smile. “Come here.”

Diana watched Akko briefly hesitate before gingerly snaking her arms round about Diana, snuggling into her fully.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. You didn’t mean to hurt me or anything.”

“But I did.” Akko sniffled, remembering that Diana had entrusted her sorrows and fears to her for nights and nights since they lost their old home, and how carelessly Akko had mentioned it while Diana was still touchy about the subject. “So I’m still sorry.”

Diana turned her head slightly to the side, enough to place a tender kiss on Akko’s cheek, “Then, Thank you. Thank you for apologizing, Love.”

“Mmm.”

They stayed that a way a few moments before Akko pulled away, a big grin plastered over her face.

“I have something to show you. Just to make it up to you.” She’d said, turning to the sky with lips pursed to release a unique whistling sound that Diana was not so familiar with.

She decided to face where Akko had been directing her attention, squinting at the night sky dotted with stars she knew all too well. She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, so what was Akko trying to do-

There was a flash of gold and of a passionate color. It wasn’t lightning, Diana knew; neither was it the twinkling of the stars overhead. So what exactly...

Then it came closer, perching on Akko’s arm that she had left outstretched.

Diana’s mouth gaped, a surprise much similar to what she had experienced earlier today, returning.

“Akko, this is a...”

Akko scratched the back of her head sheepishly, smiling adorably awkward as she attempted to ‘introduce’ them. “Alfred, this is Diana. Diana, this is Alfred.”

Diana nodded at the creature that stared at her with it’s bright beady eyes. Literally bright, it was in its entirety.

“He’s a baby phoenix.”

Diana nodded solemnly, still in awe. Of both the creature and Akko who was currently petting it with a magically protected hand.

Diana knew that Akko always had a strange affinity for communicating with animals. Even back in her years as ‘Luna Nova’s Dunce’- or so many had labeled her as (Diana was forever mad at that fact)- Akko had already shown her uncanny ability to empathize with non-human beings. She so easily befriended fae, was able to get along with both of Chariot’s own familiars: Alcor and Arcas of all creatures. There was also the fact that she had learned fish language in her own unconventional way and had become increasingly fluent in it and other magical creature languages over the next few years.

Now that she really about it, she realized that she usually saw Akko tending to the magical animals used by the security sector of the council, or doing work related to that. She had at first seen it as them pushing all the mucky work onto her like cleaning stables for pegasi, or feeding the more exotic research birds.

Seeing Akko right now, she felt like it should explain a whole lot more than she thought she knew about her. It made Diana feel slightly ashamed and insecure that she had yet to uncover this fact about her own lover that she had been with for so long now.

Diana shook her head to rid herself of those thoughts. This wasn’t the time to doubt their relationship with one another.

In this new light she was now viewing Akko in, Diana now suspected one of the reasons why the council desperately tried to keep Akko from quitting back then despite not making much use of her at her actual supposed job. They had probably realized all too quickly, and for reasons Diana doubted were good.

But did Akko know this? Was she aware?

Diana fiddled with her hands. Maybe she should ask.

“Akko?” She tugged on the girl’s shirt sleeve.

“Hmm?”

Diana took a breath. “I know... that one of the reasons you left your old duties behind was because you didn’t really love the job at the council... and all that.” She watched Akko nod slowly, hands stilling from caressing Alfred.

“Go on?”

“But I can’t help but think now that there’s another reason... you know, something more?” Diana looked at her dearest friend and lover with hopeful eyes, wondering if she’d tell her something she didn’t know. Something that wasn’t in the written letters Akko’s various familiars had brought to her during the moments they were apart, something that she couldn’t have observed despite having worked in generally the same establishment because they had been firmly kept apart.

Why did it suddenly feel like Diana... didn’t know a lot about Akko?

She felt a pang in her heart, only supplemented by the silence that Akko had met her with.

“Sorry.” She quickly said. “Maybe it wasn’t right of me to ask.” She was about to get up when Akko stopped her, a hand holding onto Diana’s, silently bidding her to stay.

Diana sat back down and Akko rested her head on her shoulder, rubbing patterns on Diana’s hand with her thumb as she began to speak.

“Diana, did you know? That magical creatures have so much more magical energy stored in their bodies than any other living things? So much so that a magical sparrow could probably power Luna Nova for almost a week, maybe.” Akko chuckled and Diana smiled at the lovely sound.

Nodding, she responded. “Well, I knew something of that nature, yes. Did Pisces teach you that? Chariot?” She asked, squeezing Akko’s hand gently in hers.

“Partially... but...” Akko sighed. “I also found it out myself.”

Diana nodded, not wanting to interrupt anything.

“You know me so well Diana, so I’m sure that you’ve noticed by now that I have...” Akko paused, in thought of how she should word it. “Quite a few? Familiars?”

Diana snorted, bringing their joined hands up to her lips and kissing the back of Akko’s hand. “A lot, dear. A whole lot.”

Akko giggled alongside her before calming and adopting a more serious look. Diana lent her ears once more, preparing herself for what was to come.

“It started when they discovered I could easily befriend them. The magical beasts and creatures.” Akko frowned, surely remembering things she did not want to. “They sent me out to catch, acquire, and well tame magical beasts. Pfft-Like I could do that.”

Diana was about to argue that Akko could- as could clearly be observed, but was beaten to the punch.

“It was much easier than I believed it should be.” She admitted. “At first, I had no clue what they needed it for. I assumed more research on animals, extending our knowledge, and all that good stuff, you know?” Akko huffed, lifting her other hand up to guide her little phoenix into flight so that it would return to where it came from.

Diana guessed it was because Akko didn’t want it understanding what she was about to reveal next.

“Of course, I had felt bad about intruding into their habitats and taking one of their kind, but I had hoped that after whatever observations the council and researchers had, I could just return them to their families and homes.”

Diana felt Akko’s grip tightening around her hand, breathing shallowing.

“Then one day, I saw these beautiful, beautiful creatures in one of the outer courtyards...” Akko squeezed her eyes shut, painfully recalling the memory of what she saw that day. “They killed them, Diana. Killed them in order to power some device that I have no clue about. I saw it in passing when I accompanied the secretary around before I was shut out.” Akko confessed.

Diana leaned her head on Akko’s, mind flying to places she had tried forgetting about because of the pain they caused her as she tried to make sense of what Akko knew, and what she had also found out.

“That’s when I decided to quit and go to the places I believed more beasts resided in... especially the more endangered and possibly more powerful ones from what I had looked into, and what Chariot and Pisces had told me. I thought that maybe I could keep them safe that way. I’m sure the council had someone replace me in my... ‘work’.”

Akko allowed herself to fall over and lay herself on Diana’s lap, turning around to bury her face in the woman’s stomach.

Diana felt arms wrap around her waist, and she brought her hands atop Akko’s head to comb through silky chocolate strands. She felt the tension in Akko’s body release, before hearing another quiet, “I’m sorry”.

Diana would have asked what for, but they both already knew that.

“I just couldn’t tell you at that time. Not when you were also trying your best to establish your position in that very same council. I thought it would put you at risk of losing your job... or worse.”

Diana could just hear her choke up on that word, having now been acquainted with the ‘worse’ bit.

“So I decided to distance myself for a bit. I’m sorry, Diana. I’m sorry.” Akko murmured against her stomach. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Diana could feel a wet patch growing on her stomach. She continued to gently run her fingers through Akko’s hair in hopes of soothing her lover and reassuring her that it was all alright. That she understood. That she was grateful that Akko did it to protect her.

“I just wish I had told you back then, now that all of this happened. It’s still very much my fault, isn’t it?” Akko sniffled, turning away to wipe her nose on her sleeve. “Aaagghh, I really am sorry. To you, to Hannah and Barbara, and to everyone else.” Akko tried to slow her breathing in order to stop crying as she looked straight up at the night sky. “This is all my fault.”

Her view of the starry sky was obstructed, but replaced with the blues of a summery morning, even though it was the dead of night.

She was entranced, just like she’d always been since a long time ago.

Akko felt her eyelids flutter shut as Diana leaned down, closer, closer, and closer...

Thwack-

“Ouch!”

Akko’s eyes shot open as she was met with a stern Diana.

“Don’t just take all the blame like that and treat this whole thing as your decision solely. We all came here on our own accord. Hannah, Barbara, and I. Actually, didn’t we drag you hear in the first place?” Diana scolded a thoroughly shocked Akko.

“Y-yes.”

Diana’s expression relaxed as she chuckled, finally giving Akko the kiss she’d been expecting. “That’s why, my love, please. Continue to trust us.”

Diana could swear she could read a million I love you’s written all over Akko’s face. The sweetheart.

“Besides. I have things I need to discuss with you all as well. And I think- no. I know that it is connected with what you’ve just told me tonight.”

Diana nudged Akko up, guiding them both back on their feet.

“But for now, can we finally get some shut-eye?” She looked at Akko with a pleading face that the latter dared not say no to.

“Definitely.”

Diana squealed as she was hoisted up into strong arms and carried into the house, across their small living room and into their shared bedroom, careful not to make as much noise when they passed by their friends’.

As Akko lay Diana down on the soft sheets, she peppered kisses about her face, the pair giggling and whispering until they were all out of mirth.

Tomorrow was another day, and it might just be another frightful one.

But well, they had each other and it didn’t matter as much anymore.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

Snuggled beneath the covers, to the soft cooing of the breezes of the forest, they began to drift to slumber-

“Oh, that’s right, Love.”

“Hmm?”

“Do you mind showing me your other animals?”

“Not at all, dear.”

“Great.”

“Any reason why?”

“I just want to see Hannah’s shocked face again if we ever find something like a manticore or minotaur with you, haha.”

“...”

“I’m jesting, Love- Akko... why are you wearing that expression? Akko... no way... No. Really?!”

“...You see...”

“There’s no way you tamed that!”

A/N: If you’ve seen fantastic beasts- I just loved the suitcase concept. Also I dunno, I thought of the whistling thing and wondered if it was an actual summoning technique and found a transcendental- was it- whistling. Welp. It’s almost 2am and I’m doing this while also doing my lab reports skgmdsoigndfngsdr okay. Time to di-p. Time to dip into work. Ciao!

~Shintori Khazumi

#dianakko week 2021 #diakko #diana cavendish #atsuko kagari #hannah england #barbara parker #lotte yanson #sucy manbavaran #lwa #little witch academia #fanfic

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neonponders · 3 years

Text

*sigh* catch me projecting on a Saturday.

I read this post ( @lazybakerart you wizard - ALSO IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY?????? HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!! 🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹) and am now thinking about a sugardaddy!Billy with an ace!Steve. (*emphasis on grey ace*)

* Please nobody attack me for writing about leather fashion. I’m vegetarian and it’s fiction. Live a little. *

Read on ao3 ~

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

Steve just kind of stared at the box on the restaurant table. It wasn’t a ring box, but it was velvet. Goodness knew how many of these he’d seen in his life.

Steve knew wealth. He knew money, and all of the material variations therein.

He’d gotten pedicures with his mother before his father declared such a thing unfit for a boy coming into puberty. If you look like a man, act like a man. As if men didn’t have feet, or something.

Then he went to the salon. That wasn’t so easy to take away. Ventures with her son seemed to be the only things keeping Mrs. Harrington from being connected to her husband’s hip, so Mr. Harrington let them both have this one. Steve, fresh out of graduation, being given a hairdresser’s chair to accomplish summer-fresh highlights.

Mrs. Harrington was also the type of woman to enjoy shoes. Everyone has a thing. For some, they had bags. Others, jewelry. Vintage furniture. Designer wallpaper. Mrs. Harrington enjoyed shoes. It was where Steve learned to carry a woman’s bags, but he didn’t stay outside of the store. He learned how to clean suede, the difference between a 130 So Kate and an ordinary heel. What fetish meant in terms of fashion. He can convert heels sizes in millimeters to inches faster than a cashier calculating change.

Tommy and Carol had joked about Steve’s father having a different kind of fetish. Nothing to do with fashion, and everything to do with sex. Steve had foolishly let them into his mother’s bedroom and they were having a field day with a shoe closet that cost more than both of their houses combined. Still smelling of Nancy and pool chlorine, Steve as good as ended that friendship right there.

Because they didn’t get it.

Mr. Harrington certainly didn’t get it. Could never have such a sexual inclination because he didn’t understand pampering or indulgent interests.

He understood favors. Material apologies.

Mrs. Harrington had a collection of pearls and diamonds that she never wore.

Steve knew she liked opals and pink, pink rubies, because Steve liked opals too. Because he used his father’s money to buy ruby studs his mother actually wore. Because he gets her oldest, broken bracelet with green amber fixed, and she wears it until it breaks again. And then she presented Steve with a thin, gold chain to go around his ankle. With a gleaming, green amber stone flanked by two opals.

The green goes with our eyes, she said. Someone special will see the green in all that brown. It’s why we look good in reds.

Steve was still looking at the box on the table.

“It’s not going to catch fire, the longer you glare at it.”

His dark hazel, creek water eyes slanted up to the man sitting opposite him.

Billy Hargrove.

Stubborn to a fault. Gorgeous as Lucifer with wings freshly burnt off. And just as dangerous.

“I thought I said no more gifts.”

“And I ignored you. Open it.”

Steve went about it like ripping off a bandaid. He sighed at the window beside their booth, wrenching the thing open to see -

Diamonds.

He shut it with a loud clap and set it on Billy’s placemat. “No, thanks.”

The man’s features froze in tolerant stoicism, but he eased the box inside his suit jacket pocket. “You’re a hard one to shop for.”

Steve’s eyes widened dramatically over his wine glass of water. Not because he was sober - he’d willingly pay for an overpriced red, himself, if the handsome asshole weren’t trying to wave his wallet everywhere. “You can stop trying to buy your way into my pants any time you want.”

“If that’s all I wanted, I would’ve stopped three months ago.”

Three months ago,

When Billy breezed into Steve’s life as easily as he had senior year of high school. The two of them certainly deserved some kind of award for having a bizarre history.

Within a handful of months, Billy had arrived upon a turbulent time in Steve’s life, and then left nearly as quickly. Billy witnessed Steve and Nancy’s break-up, Steve’s fall from Hawkins High grace, and even beat his face a little bit. Because that’s what teenage men with bad emotional processing and even worse communication skills do.

Now, almost ten years later, Billy had some kind of empire behind him and Steve, well, didn’t. He had no idea what Billy’s job consisted of, but he got little hints. Mostly the negative space from Billy’s lack of discussing his job told Steve a whole lot.

Steve, who worked two jobs and occasional gigs wherever he was needed. During one such time, while Steve managed the cables and sound boards for Robin’s band, Billy Hargrove sauntered up to him with just as much charm mixed with hauteur as he’d ever displayed.

It wasn’t like meeting an old friend, because they had never been more than acquaintances, and roughly ten years was enough time for a personality to evolve ten different ways.

Steve couldn’t say how much he and Billy had evolved, really, but there was a point in there somewhere.

Maybe it lived in the, “I never expected to see you in a dyke club, pretty boy,” since it was all the coming out either of them needed.

Or the wanton kisses and fervent hands underneath the neon rainbow on the venue’s wall.

Maybe the point sat in the things Billy wanted, and what Steve was reticent to provide. Because Billy was a king who knew what he liked, and seemed particularly talented at walking into Steve’s personal crises like an anniversary.

Steve craved.

But he didn’t know what he craved. What he yearned for. He knew Billy’s kisses made his brain go molten and fuzzy. He knew Billy’s smell brought him just as much comfort, excitement, and anxiety. He knew finally being outside of sex-crazed high school had deflated something in him. The expectations to perform. He knew losing Robin’s stupid game of You Rule / You Suck gave him a secret gift of relief.

But he still craved. He wanted touch but he wanted to be alone. He wanted companionship but he didn’t want sex. But he did enjoy sex, except he didn’t want the expectation of it.

Well.

That was it, wasn’t it?

Billy Hargrove, who could have anyone he wanted plastered to his stupid, unbuttoned chest, had sought out Steve. Steve, king of mixed signals, Harrington. It was only a matter of time before he got his face beaten again. For wasting Billy’s time. For refusing Billy’s advances even though Steve clearly enjoyed Billy’s lips on his neck, and Billy’s hand on his inner thigh. For wanting Billy’s company and flirtation without the rules that finished in the bedroom.

So Steve refused the gifts. The material favors he could’ve sold for a better apartment. Fucked his way to owning a house that his mom would feel comfortable visiting. Be an unfeeling toy who could pay for his mother’s shoes and his own pedicures.

“Steve?”

He turned away from the window and the city’s electric constellations. “Hm?”

“Where’d you go?”

The back of Steve’s throat ached. He looked down at their appetizer plates and decided, “I think I’m going home.” After a second of them both hearing it out loud, Steve said with more conviction, “I need to be home right now. I’m sorry. Thanks for dinner.”

He almost reached for his wallet to pay for his half of the artichoke dip, but reconsidered. He took his old prom tuxedo jacket off on the way to the elevator, waiting for the doors to close before he pressed his face into the old fibers.

It would be easier if Steve didn’t know money. If wealth were a foreign pillow he had never slept on; could be spoiled into never giving it up again.

Like a true mother with a sixth sense, Steve withdrew a package from his mailbox when he returned to his apartment building. Mrs. Harrington’s versions of care packages were fashion magazines, a subscription to The New Yorker, polaroids of her latest closet pieces, and Steve’s favorite candy.

He loved it all. He didn’t need laminated recipes, bags of rice, or resupplied hair products. He went up to his bedroom, stripped down to nothing, and fell into bed with the hefty parcel. Fruity hard candies fell out like confetti, and he stuck a green apple square inside his cheek while he looked through her baggie of polaroids.

Peach suede 130s. Steve felt a warm tickle in his belly at that. She only wore 130s if she was pissed at his father. A woman in 130s walked with the force of a storm, mostly because the damn things were nearly intolerable to wear without a platform.

Another pair of diamond earrings. One of these days, people were going to realize how boring clear rocks were.

Dark, amethyst Miu Mius with the heel and toe encrusted with pearls. Steve’s dad must’ve really pissed her off to warrant that apology.

The magazine subscription had piled up, so he had three New Yorkers to read, but he opened the tome of Vogue first. His mother dog-earred her favorite articles, scent samples, and spreads. She often favored the androgynous and male fragrances. Steve liked that a whole lot. He wasn’t sure if she did that for him because he liked them, or if he liked them because she did that.

He held the magazine to his face as he went to the kitchen, smelling the first fragrance sample while he reached for his cache of boxed cake mix. It was a funfetti kind of night. He rattled the package of sprinkles in his hand while reading about some summer collection where the runway happened in a Greek ampitheatre. Sounded fun. Sounded like a great vacation. Beach, wine, and then modern art fusing with ancient architecture.

Steve didn’t excel in chemistry, but he knew a different kind of magic.

Which didn’t actually include baking. The cake emerged a little dark, but he cut off the burnt top, iced it to glorious, sugar perfection, and took a slice to bed with him. He turned the parcel upside-down for the last of the candy to come out so he could throw the envelope away -

Two bottles of nail polish landed heavily on the bed. Steve lifted the darker bottle to see a purple so ebony he thought it was black until he opened it to see the paint up close.

Purple and peach. To match his mother’s shoes.

Not many people understood his parents’ methods of producing or avoiding affection. But Steve did. He shook up the poison violet and painted his toenails in between forkfuls of cake.

He didn’t hear from Billy the next day.

Or the next.

As bad as Steve felt, he couldn’t say he minded. Nor would he be surprised if Billy never called him again. The idea brought a lonely peace during the commute to work, reading his magazines on the train before keeping them safe in a folder that he stuffed inside his backpack. Even if Steve’s chest felt like a cold balloon, with its latex worn thin and tired, he had his little things to keep him warm.

Then a knock on his apartment door.

Steve answered it with a cheek full of cake, interrupted from making his grocery list of actual nutritional value -

Billy had never visited before. Steve stared at him long enough for him to ask, “Are you going to let me in?”

Steve glanced at the box under his arm and turned into his apartment with a sigh. Billy closed the door behind him as he remarked, “You don’t know what’s in it yet.”

There wasn’t exactly anywhere for Steve to theatrically storm off to. His kitchen was also his living room, and a half-wall partitioned the bedroom off to the side. His apartment was one long rectangle, and Steve remained stuck in the middle of it.

“Billy, I don’t know what you want from me that you think you can get from expensive things.”

“I don’t recall asking for anything in return,” he drawled while removing his coat.

“Don’t take that off,” Steve retorted.

“I’m taking it off.”

“This isn’t going to be a long visit.”

“Would you at least open the damn thing first?” Billy presented the box on the flat of his hand like a waiter’s tray.

Steve knew a shoe box when he saw one. He swatted the lid off the box before he even meant to. He was so tired of this game. Of these rules. He doesn’t want to see some snotty designer sneaker that isn’t to his taste. Some item the rules would dictate he accept without complaint. Or some chunky, foamy plastic, glorified tennis shoe that is over hyped . . .

He sees the red first.

It’s not a sneaker.

Hot Chick heels. 100mm. Black suede on top, red bottom. The leather around the heel scallop-cut like minimalist flower petals.

Steve’s breath has stopped in his chest. The pad of his thumb moved across the soft, matte leather before he stops himself. He tries to look stern when he dares to peek up at Billy, but those water-turquoise eyes are steady on him, absorbing his every reaction.

“These don’t exist in suede.”

Because they didn’t. Hot Chicks came in patent leather only.

“They do now.”

“Louboutin sizes down.”

“Then we’ll have them stretched.”

Steve is losing. Billy knows he’s losing. Billy - he -

“How - ?” Steve begins but stops. He closed his eyes and swallowed, only to flinch a little when Billy grasped his chin, holding him in place as he leaned in to lick the corner of his mouth free of icing.

“Will you try them on for me?”

Steve feels a mixture of defeat mixed in with petulance and vulnerable glee as he warily takes the box to his humble couch. Billy looked at his bed, and then to the kitchen on the other side of the apartment. He strolled into it and lifted the knife for a slice.

Steve, meanwhile, took his time. He opened the paper from where it had floated back over the shoes. He lifted the box to inhale the leather. He took one shoe out just to...see it. Look at it. Read the number stamped on the red arch.

Steve had to remove his socks, revealing his lacquered toes as Billy sat next to him with a plate. He eased the coffee table out of the way, giving Steve room to wiggle his foot into the severe 100mm heel.

They were hardly glamorous under his old, cut-off sweats.

But.

He’d never actually seen his feet in heels before. Never bothered to try to find his size.

Billy handed him the other shoe, and stood up with a ready hand. Steve wiggled into it and accepted his hold as he stood up.

How do you walk in those? he’d once asked his mother.

Trust the heel, my love, she’d answered, strolling around her bedroom in her 130s. If you’ve paid enough for it, it better hold up your entire form, and your dating baggage.

Steve had laughed, but listened to her every word. Move like a wheel barrow. You pivot on your toes, like the wheel, and rest on the heels.

“I’ve got you,” Billy purred when Steve teetered. Just a little.

“Why did you get me these?” Steve had to ask while he began to ease his arm off of Billy’s shoulders.

“Might’ve had a look inside your mail,” he admitted shamelessly. “I thought you might’ve ordered something and I could finally see what you liked. Instead, it’s the one thing I’ve seen you accept.”

“You’re a creep,” Steve declared, but he couldn’t look away from his feet as he strolled around the coffee table.

Billy laughed and sat down to his cake. “This is good.”

“It’s from a box.”

“It’s still good.”

Things . . . changed, after that. Billy came over just to come over. And he pestered Steve with endless questions.

“Do you like these?” he asked with his nose against the magazine pages.

Steve towered over him in his heels, but he’d wash dishes in whatever he wanted, thanks very much. And leather needed to be worn, as his mother taught him. Plastic is trash. If it comes from a living creature, it lives on a creature.

Steve snorted beside him. “My mom crimps those pages.”

“But do you like them?”

“They’re fun in magazines, but perfumes were never really my thing.”

“What is your thing?”

“Right now? You, elbows deep in here.”

Billy perked right out of the magazine only to lock onto the sink. “Because you’re having trouble reaching it now?”

Steve meant to have a witty come-back, but he got caught up in his own giggles. “Yeah.”

Then,

“Can I stay the night?”

Something must have flashed across his face, because Billy added, “Not for sex. I’ve taken the hint, all right?”

Steve slowly unfolded his socks where he sat on the foot of the bed. “Why do you want to?”

Billy wiped his hands on the dish towel and padded across the room to sit beside him. “Because I want to taste you before I sleep. And I wanna taste you when I wake up. I want your snark in my ears all the time - ”

“All the time?” Steve repeated, deadpan.

“Yeah, all the time. I can’t believe it either.”

Billy’s features were warm, unbelievably warm as he watched Steve laugh. “Of course I want to have sex with you. But I miss you when... I miss you all the time. It’s embarrassing.”

Steve rolled his eyes onto him, to which Billy defended, “I have things to do.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re the big man in town,” Steve babied, pushing his chest so he toppled backward.

“I am, actually,” he crooned, his hands finding Steve’s legs easily when he straddled him. “I’d work better with you on my desk.”

“My hairy legs and scraped up heels?” Steve threatened breathily, holding Billy’s cheek and jaw in one hand while he leaned over him so all Billy could see was Steve.

“All of it,” he exhaled, and pulled Steve’s head the last inch for a kiss.

Billy’s next gift was a pair of slippers. Plush, soft, and perfect after an afternoon in 100s.

Then he gave Steve a massage. Steve could accept those with ease. The balls of his feet hurt and even blushed a faint indigo from being so unused to heels. The warm attention of Billy’s hands on the arches of his feet, heels, and ankles; as well as the cold tennis balls he stored in Steve’s freezer to roll along his feet.

By then, he’d seen Steve’s anklet. So the next shoe box Steve opened were dark green suede, as poisonously dark as his mother’s violet heels. The toe was bare, but the heel was encrusted with opals. The milky stones flashed green and orange as Steve walked in the 120mm heel.

“How do they feel?”

Steve, with far more mastery over heels now, pivoted on his toes and planted one on the couch in between Billy’s thighs. His warm hand cradled Steve’s ankle immediately.

“What if I shaved for these?”

“Then I’d never take my hands off you.”

“So nothing would change,” Steve giggled, teasing gone as he landed on Billy’s lap. The man underneath him hummed his mirth into Steve’s mouth, his other hand burying in Steve’s hair while he let Steve control the kiss, explore his mouth.

“I thought they’d go with your eyes,” he said when the kiss petered off and Steve kissed his nose. Billy touched the pad of his thumb high on Steve’s cheek. “There’s a little bit of green there.”

Steve let Billy fuck him in those shoes.

Because he finally craved all the way, beyond fear of rules. Beyond the existence of toys. He craved Billy deeper than skin, and Billy gave it to him.

And when Billy got him a pair of 130s . . . blood red and spiked with tiny, crimson points, he let Steve fuck him.

#everything i know about shoes i learned from Violet Chachki #harringrove #ficlet #asexual!steve #sugardaddy!billy #sugarbaby!steve #neonponders #pondermoniums #lazybakerart #happy birthday love!!!#no i don't know billy's job #cover a plot hole with an unreliable narrator~

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starr234 · 4 years

Text

Flufftober Day 4 - Wounded

The last thing Firmus Piett expected to see upon entering Lord Vader’s quarters was Luke Skywalker asleep on the couch.

His jaw dropped, and so did the stack of datapads in his hands. He fumbled them for a moment, nearly caught them, and then they hit the floor with a clatter.

This was it, then. This was how he died. Because whatever the explanation was for this, he was certain Lord Vader wouldn’t be inclined to share it with him.

Unwilling to leave a mess as his last legacy, Piett knelt and began gathering the datapads with numb fingers. One had bounced across the floor out of reach, and before he could lean forward to retrieve it, it lifted off the ground.

Piett stared as the datapad floated lazily towards him, forcing himself to take it and add it to the stack as if nothing out of the ordinary were occurring. As if a prominent member of the Empire’s Most Wanted List and Lord Vader’s personal obsession wasn’t propped up against a pile of pillows on Lord Vader’s couch with a blanket wrapped around him, blinking sleepily up at Piett with his hair sticking out at odd angles.

“That last one got away from you,” Skywalker said, then yawned. He at least had the good grace to cover his mouth and look embarassed. “I hope it’s not broken.”

“I’m...er...I’m sure it’s fine,” Piett responded. He tightened his grip on the treacherous datapads and stood straight, considering his next move. If this was a trap for Lord Vader, it was an extraordinarily bad one. He’d quite literally caught Skywalker sleeping on the job.

Still, Skywalker was a Jedi, and had obviously captured Lord Vader’s attention for a reason. It was best not to underestimate him. Even if he did look remarkably young and slight, stretched out on a couch that Piett had never seen anyone use before.

He knew better than most, appearances could be deceiving.

“You seem surprised,” Skywalker remarked.

“Candidly, yes.” Piett sat the stack of datapads on a small table by the door. Best to have his hands free, just in case. “I am accustomed to finding Rebel spies in our ranks, but not sleeping in Lord Vader’s quarters.”

The boy laughed softly. “I’m no spy. And you can stop worrying.” He pulled the blanket back, revealing a cast encasing his right leg. “I’m not much of a threat right now.”

Piett kept his gaze steady. Appearances, and all that. “You’ll forgive me for disagreeing.”

Skywalker shrugged. “Up to you. You’re looking for Vader?”

“Lord Vader and I have a briefing at 1900, yes.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “It’s 1900 already?”

“Past, by now.”

“He’s late. He should have been back ages ago.” Skywalker closed his eyes, his brow furrowed and his face drawn with worry. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze was blank and unseeing. Just as Piett was starting to worry, the boy blinked, shook his head and focused back on Piett. “I can’t find him,” he said. “This isn’t right. Can you com him? He might be--”

“Stop,” Piett said firmly. Skywalker, for all that he wasn’t a member of the Imperial Navy and likely held no respect for Piett’s authority, stopped. “Under no circumstances will I com Lord Vader at the request of the Rebel I found in his quarters unless you explain to me exactly what is going on here.”

The boy looked well and truly frightened now. Perhaps his ruse, whatever it was, was starting to unravel. “You know what the Force is, right?”

“Yes.” Jedi and their bygone religion were strictly taboo subjects in the Imperial ranks, but one didn’t survive in Lord Vader’s service for long without developing a healthy respect for his strange abilities.

“Vader and I can both use it. It lets us...it’s hard to explain, but we can sense each other. We can use it to communicate, and to track each other’s locations.” His expression softened for a moment. “It’s how he found me when I hurt my leg.”

Piett was more open-minded than his predecessor had been, but even he drew the line somewhere. “Are you trying to tell me that the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy is secretly communicating with a Rebel Jedi using his mind?”

Skywalker looked pained. “I told you, it’s hard to explain. And we weren’t secretly communicating. Until a few days ago it was mostly him talking and me ignoring him.”

“I see,” Piett said flatly.

“No,” the boy exclaimed, “you don’t! He always answers when I reach out, always. And he’s not answering now and I can’t sense him, which means he’s either shielding or something’s happened to him.”

“Shielding?”

“It’s...” Skywalker puffed out an exasperated breath. “It’s exactly what it sounds like. You have shields around this ship protecting her from things trying to harm her - asteroids and proton torpedoes, things like that. We can do the same thing, to protect our minds from intruders.”

“Perhaps,” Piett suggested dryly, “Lord Vader is occupied with something which he doesn’t want a member of the Rebel Alliance ‘intruding’ on.”

Skywalker looked stricken, and so young. How could this boy, barely into adulthood, be responsible for so many Imperial lives? “I know you don’t trust me,” he said. “You have no reason to, and my--Vader wouldn’t trust you so much if you were easily fooled. But hasn’t he ever given you an order that didn’t make sense, that was based on one of his hunches or feelings, and it turned out to be correct? That’s the Force. I have the same hunches and feelings, and right now they’re telling me that something is wrong.”

His voice was completely earnest, and layered iwth a depth of emotion Piett couldn’t begin to comprehend.

“Please,” he added softly.

Piett understood the Imperial system better than anyone. He knew all too well that military protocol demanded Skywalker be arrested, if not shot on sight. Conversing with him, comming Lord Vader at his request, was beyond foolish. A junior officer making a mistake like this would have been stripped of his rank, either officially or through Lord Vader’s alternative methods of staff management.

But Piett had not become an admiral through blind adherence to protocol, least of all where Lord Vader’s hunt for Skywalker was concerned. The efforts expended always seemed to far outweigh any strategic benefits to be gained by Skywalker’s capture, but they had carried on relentlessly.

Which suggested, Piett knew, that there was more to Lord Vader’s obsession than military strategy. The way he had stared into space after the Millenium Falcon had impossibly escaped from the trap laid at Cloud City, then walked off the bridge as if he carried the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders.

The way Skywalker looked at him now, eyes wide and pleading.

There was something here that he didn’t fully understand. But, like Skywalker had said, sometimes, when it came to Lord Vader, the right course of action didn’t always make sense.

He took out his comlink. Relief washed over Skywalker’s face. “One last question,” Piett said. “Why, exactly, are you here?”

Skywalker looked perplexed. “I broke my leg.”

Piett wanted nothing more than to roll his eyes, but years of military training stopped him. “You’re Luke Skywalker,” he said, “and I found you sleeping, unguarded and unrestrained, in Darth Vader’s quarters. Why are you here?”

“Ohhh,” Skywalker said, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that his presence would raise questions. “He knows I’m here, if that’s what you’re asking. He brought me here.”

“Are you a prisoner?”

A fleeting, pained expression crossed the boy’s face. “I don’t know.”

Piett nodded. This was enough. It would have to be. He had a feeling asking more questions - learning anything more about this strange boy and his place in Lord Vader’s life - would be hazardous to his health.

He activated his comlink. Before he could enter Lord Vader’s frequency, the boy gasped softly. Piett lowered the comlink in alarm. “What is it?”

“He’s--”

The door slid open and Lord Vader entered. Piett snapped to attention as Vader paused just inside the doorway.

“Admiral.” There was a warning note in his voice that Piett had heard too many times before.

“Lord Vader,” he said. His voice was steady and his heart rate was normal. He had learned long ago that fear only sharpened Lord Vader’s temper. “I apologize. I arrived for our 1900 briefing and--”

“And you weren’t here,” Skywalker interrupted. “He was just about to com you for me.”

Lord Vader tilted his head. “I was delayed over an hour. Why did you wait until now?”

Skywalker’s cheeks flushed and he glanced down at the blanket covering his legs. “I fell asleep,” he muttered.

There was a soft noise from Lord Vader’s respirator, one Piett had never heard before. He walked over to the couch and smoothed down Skywalker’s unruly hair. The boy closed his eyes and put his own hand over Vader’s.

Piett began mentally putting his affairs in order.

“I apologize, little one.”

Piett moved on to listing all the people he would have said goodbye to.

“I couldn’t sense you. Are you alright? Where were you?”

“Having a conversation where I could not be interrupted, and where it was imperative that your presence not be detected.”

Skywalker went very pale. “You mean--”

“Yes,” Lord Vader said. “You are not safe here anymore.”

The boy’s grip on the black-gloved hand tightened. “What do we do?”

“Not now, Luke.” He turned to Piett, who held his head high and hoped it would be quick. “Admiral, your decision to hear Skywalker out rather than arrest him was sound.”

“I--” For a moment Piett wasn’t sure what was happening. “Thank you, Lord Vader.”

“I trust you will continue to show the same good judgment in the future.”

There was no mistaking Lord Vader’s meaning, and only one answer that would keep him alive. “I will, my lord.”

“Good. There is a Corellian VCX-Series fighter in my personal hangar. Have it refueled and fully provisioned before the morning shift.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Are you sending me away?” Skywalker interjected softly.

“Dismissed, Admrial,” Lord Vader said, then turned back to Skywalker as if Piett had ceased to exist. “Not by choice, little one.”

Piett didn’t hear Skywalker’s murmered answer. He was already moving - was lucky to be alive - was halfway through the door when Skywalker called out to him.

“Admiral Piett?”

He turned, remembered belatedly that he knew the boy’s rank. “Yes, Commander?”

Skywalker smiled faintly at the title. “Thank you for listening. Instead of arresting me, I mean.”

Piett wanted to tell Skywalker to take care not to fall asleep out in the open again, that other officers would not be as patient as he had been. But Lord Vader’s hand rested heavily on the boy’s shoulder, so he simply nodded and said, “of course.”

The door slid shut, leaving him finally, mercifully alone in the corridor. He stood very still, allowing himself a moment to try to make sense of what just happened.

Piett had never seen Lord Vader show a shred of kindness to anyone before, much less receive kindness from anyone who wasn’t looking for something in return. Why had Skywalker spent the last three years running if this was how they behaved towards one another?

Maybe Skywalker, like Piett, hadn’t known that Lord Vader was capable of kindness.

Skywalker seemed to have made his decision. It was time for Piett to make his.

He could tend to the Corellian fighter as Lord Vader had commanded, undoubtedly committing treason and helping a wanted criminal return to the Rebellion. Or he could contact Imperial Centre - for that was surely who Lord Vader’s private conversation had been with - inform them that a Rebel Jedi was secreted away on board his ship, and be responsible for destroying the heart he hadn’t known Lord Vader to have until just minutes ago.

It was no decision at all, really.

Piett straightened his collar and set off. He had precious little time left before he was due back on the bridge.

But it was time enough to refuel a starfighter.

#y'all this is the first time I've written Piett #or written this much fluff #and it was SO FUN #my fic #sw fic #fictober 2020 #flufftober #flufftober 2020 #admiral piett #firmus piett #let admiral piett rest #luke skywalker #darth vader

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