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weemssapphic · 1 year

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hi :) I just wanted to say I love your writing so much I always come back to your stories. I was wondering if I could request a super soft smut between Larissa and virgin f!reader? I just love soft Larissa sm <3

hey there! thank you for the compliment, and the request! 🥰 it's here, finally <3 i had so much fun writing something super sweet and domestic for once, soft!larissa is my favorite! ao3 link is in the title <3

I Wanna Be Yours

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

words: ~3k

warnings/content: nsfw, cunnilingus (reader receiving), fingering (larissa receiving), loss of virginity (virgin!reader), fluff, brief mention of alcohol

“What movie are we watching tonight?” Your eyes flicked eagerly to the television as you settled on Larissa’s couch, tucking your legs underneath you. Larissa padded into the living room, carrying two wine glasses, a bottle of her favorite red tucked under her arm.

She was barefoot, face devoid of makeup, hair down from its usual elaborate updo and cascading over her shoulders. It was rare to see the woman like this - as her girlfriend, you thought you might be the only person privy to this side of her, and the thought filled you with a smug sort of pride.

“Whatever you want to watch, darling.” Larissa poured two generous glasses of wine and handed you the remote, sitting back on the couch and opening her arms to you. You wasted no time in crawling towards her, leaning back into her embrace and sighing as her arms snaked their way around your waist.

Twisting in her grip, you grinned up at her. “Notting Hill?”

Larissa rolled her eyes, unable to stop her lips from curling up at the outer corners. “Again?”

“Come on, please?” You gave your girlfriend your best pout, though you knew it wouldn’t even take that. She huffed in faux-annoyance and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Fine, but I get to pick the movie next week.”

“Deal.” You fiddled with the remote until the opening credits started playing, then fetched both glasses of wine from the table.

It was a little ritual of yours that you’d started soon into your relationship; movie nights every Friday. Larissa often worked late during the week, but she made sure to free up her weekends so she could spend as much time with you as possible.

Larissa let out a soft moan as her first sip of wine passed her lips, the sound shooting straight to your core. Two months since you’d gone official with Larissa you hadn’t had sex yet. It’s not that you hadn’t thought about it. No, you’d thought about it almost every day. How could you not? Simply the sight of your girlfriend made your mouth water. The sway of her hips when she left a room, those smooth milky white thighs. You’d imagined what it would feel like to have them wrapped around your head as you lapped eagerly at her core, wondering how she would taste on your tongue.

You’d never actually gotten that far with anyone though, you were still a virgin - and the thought of somehow fucking up, of letting Larissa down, absolutely terrified you. And by some miracle, Larissa was more than understanding. She never pushed you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with, she always checked in on you, and she let you take the lead. Most importantly, she hadn’t gone running for the hills when you’d broken the news. “You, my darling, are worth waiting for,” she’d said, eyes shining, pulling you in for a soft kiss.

Larissa was making it increasingly hard for you to keep your composure, however. Tonight, she’d already changed into her nightwear - a short, lavender matching set, the bottoms of which were riding up from her position on the couch, exposing the soft skin of her upper thighs. It rubbed up against your own bare leg, setting your skin ablaze.

You peeked over your shoulder at Larissa, mesmerized as her tongue darted over her lips to swipe absently at a stray drop of wine. The action caused your breath to hitch in your chest, a sound that didn’t go unnoticed by your girlfriend.

“Darling, are you alright?” Her brows furrowed in concern as you stared at her, hunger evident in your gaze. She plucked your wine glass from your hand, setting both glasses on the coffee table and cupping your cheek, running a soothing thumb along your jaw.

You twisted around and straddled Larissa’s lap, tangling your hands in her hair as you pressed your lips to hers in a sloppy kiss. Larissa chuckled into your mouth at the desperation behind the kiss. She slid her tongue against yours, her hands coming to rest on your waist as she pulled you closer.

You felt hot all over as a flame blazed behind your navel, extending outward. The ache in your core was unbearable. You were starting to grow wet, leaking into your panties, and your clit was throbbing but you had no way to relieve yourself. Desperately, you began to roll your hips against Larissa’s, searching blindly for some sort of friction.

“Mmm… slow down, love,” Larissa sounded slightly out of breath. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.” It was meant as a lighthearted jest; your virginity had become sort of a running joke between the two of you at times.

This time, though, you doubled down, crashing your lips needily into Larissa’s and shifting so you could grind your pelvis on her thigh, earning a wanton moan from the blonde as she felt your warmth through the fabric of your shorts. “Don’t wanna slow down,” you mumbled.

Larissa’s eyes widened and she brought her hands to your hips, forcefully stilling your movements. “Look at me,” she commanded, voice soft but firm. You met her gaze, shocked by the unadulterated lust that swirled in blown pupils. “Tell me what you want. I need you to say it.”

“You. I want you, Larissa. Take me to bed?”

“You’re ready?” The excitement was evident in her voice and Larissa’s eyes darted between yours as she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, as if afraid she had misheard you.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Larissa was all over you in a second, leaving a trail of kisses along your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. She pushed you off her lap so she could stand, pulling you up with her and guiding you towards the bedroom with her hands on your hips, lips never leaving your skin.

Larissa’s hands dipped below the hem of your tank top, pushing the fabric up until your breasts were exposed. She lowered her head and flicked her warm tongue over your nipple, the sensation drawing a moan from your chest.

She began to suck your nipple into a hard peak, kneading your other breast in her hand before switching sides. She slipped the tank top up over your head and dropped it to the floor, then began kissing reverently down your torso until she reached the waistband of your shorts.

“May I take these off?” Larissa gazed up at you through her lashes and your stomach fluttered.

“Please.” You bit your lip as your girlfriend pulled your shorts down your legs, then focused her attention on your panty-clad sex. She pressed a kiss to your mound through your panties, moaning at the scent of your arousal.

You bucked your hips towards her instinctively, your hands coming to rest in her hair, pushing her closer to your center. Larissa hooked her fingers around the waistband of your panties, shooting you a questioning gaze to which you responded with an affirming nod, before pulling those down your legs, too.

“Now I’m completely naked and you’re not,” you pouted playfully, self-consciously crossing your arms across your chest.

Larissa laughed, tossing her head back, platinum curls going everywhere. She stood to her full height, towering over you as she rid herself of her clothing. Your breath hitched in your chest as you drank in the stunning form of your girlfriend, bare before you.

You’d caught glimpses of her before, getting changed for work in the mornings when you’d slept over - padding around the apartment in her bra in search of her earrings, or asking you for help with the zipper of her dress - but nothing could have prepared you for this. For the perfect swell of her breasts, the way her nipples hardened against the chill in the air, the curve of her hips, the pale expanse of soft thighs.

She smiled knowingly as she watched your eyes rove hungrily over her form, encircling her arms around your waist and pulling you in for a soft, loving kiss, your bare skin pressing against hers. Electricity seemed to tingle on the surface of your skin, your entire body buzzing restlessly.

“Is this better?” Larissa murmured against your lips, and you sighed, nodding and deepening the kiss. Larissa seemed to pick up on your urgency and guided you onto your back, hovering over you and pulling up to look down at you.

“Are you sure about this?” Her eyes searched yours for confirmation, for any sign of hesitance, finding only desire in your widened pupils.

“Absolutely. I’m ready, Riss, and I’m yours. I want you to be my first.” You wanted there to be no doubt in Larissa’s mind that you wanted this just as much as she did, despite your nerves.

Larissa cupped your cheek affectionately, pressing an adoring kiss to your lips. “Then tell me what you want, my love. Shall I start with my fingers or my mouth?”

You could already feel your cheeks warm at Larissa’s words - or rather, the prospect of having to verbalize your desires. “Can you use your mouth?”

Larissa shot you a wicked grin as she brought her lips to the column of your throat and began to place open-mouthed kisses to every inch of skin that she could reach on her way down, hands squeezing your breasts. She rolled and pinched your nipples between her fingers, eliciting a whine from your throat.

Her lips made their way down your stomach, biting and sucking, her tongue soothing over the little red and purple marks that she left. With every nip at your sensitive flesh, you could feel yourself getting wetter, a trail of goosebumps being left behind in Larissa’s wake. Finally, she settled between your thighs, parting them with her hands.

“Darling, you’re so wet for me,” Larissa’s voice was low and sultry, dripping with lust. And she was right, your cunt was already drenched and she hadn’t even touched you yet.

Larissa hooked her arms around your thighs, allowing you to rest your legs on her shoulders, and dragged you closer to her, so that she could bury her face in your cunt.

She peppered the insides of your thighs with kisses, getting drunk on the heavy scent of your arousal. Each kiss was placed closer and closer to your pussy until, finally, her tongue slid through your folds, causing you to buck your hips up into her mouth.

“You taste so good,” she moaned. “So worth the wait, my love.” She began to lap at your pussy, teasing your entrance with the tip of her tongue before closing her lips around your clit and sucking.

Larissa let out a moan which vibrated against your cunt, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. You writhed beneath her, rolling your hips against her face in search of more friction.

“You’re doing so well for me, darling. Is this alright?”

“Mm… yeah,” you panted, bringing your hands to your girlfriend’s hair to anchor yourself.

Larissa dipped her tongue into your entrance again, finding a steady rhythm and bringing you closer and closer to the edge. She could tell how close you were by the way your walls began to flutter around her tongue.

“Good girl,” Larissa cooed. “Do you think you can come for me?”

You moaned at her words, at the low timbre of her voice. You had expected sex to be pleasurable but what you foolishly hadn’t accounted for was how Larissa could expertly guide you to your peak with her voice alone. You tightened your grip in her hair and she doubled down, twisting her tongue inside your center.

Your thighs clenched around her head as your orgasm crested like a wave, washing over you and snapping the coil behind your navel. You screwed your eyes shut, head tilted back in pleasure as Larissa fucked you with her tongue, helping you ride out your high.

She cleaned up your core, lapping up your juices and pressing loving kisses to your sex before coming up to pull you into a bruising kiss, her tongue licking into your mouth so you could taste yourself. Larissa swallowed the groan you let out at the salty taste on your tongue.

As she pressed herself into you, you could feel her own slick rubbing against your thigh. The thought of your girlfriend being wet for you spurred you on and you brought a tentative hand between her legs, running your fingers through her slick heat. Larissa nipped at your bottom lip in response, bucking her hips into your hand.

You pulled back from the kiss to bring your fingers to your mouth, watching Larissa’s pupils widen hungrily as you sucked each digit dry. “God, Riss, you taste amazing.” Larissa’s eyes rolled back in her head at the lust she found in your voice. She let out a whimper and began to rut against your thigh, her breathing hot and heavy.

“Love, can you…” she panted out, rolling her hips desperately. You were mesmerized at how lithely her body moved; how her sopping cunt felt grazing the bare skin of your leg, making obscene wet sounds; how quickly she was unraveling above you. “Touch me, please.”

You brought your hands to your girlfriend’s hips, pushing gently and signaling for you to swap positions. She helped to flip you over until she was on her back and you were flush against her.

You kissed your way down her body, stopping to worship her hardened nipples. You swirled your tongue around the bud and Larissa’s back arched off the bed. Peeking up to watch her reaction, you bit down, drawing something between a yelp and a moan from the blonde. “Do that again,” she murmured breathlessly and you complied, a fresh wave of arousal washing over you as she whimpered and writhed beneath you.

You brought a hand down between you, sliding your fingers up her slit and finding her engorged clit with ease, circling it with the pad of your thumb. You watched in awe as Larissa responded to your touch. She looked just like an angel; blonde curls spilling over the pillow, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, lips parted slightly as her breath came out in short puffs.

Teasing her entrance, you slipped a digit inside, noticing how Larissa’s breath hitched audibly in her chest.

“Does this feel good?” you asked, face flushed.

“Yes, god, yes,” Larissa moaned, gripping at the sheets beneath her. “Can you… another?”

You complied, easing a second finger into your girlfriend and curling both digits lightly.

“Right there, darling - you can go deeper.”

You began to thrust your fingers rhythmically, while stroking Larissa’s clit. She rolled her hips in time with your thrusts, her moans increasing in volume with each curl of your fingers, with each brush of your thumb. You pushed your fingers deeper, finding the soft, spongy spot inside her that made her whimper.

Larissa loosened her grip on the sheets to reach out for you, pulling you in for a frenzied kiss. You swallowed the moans and whimpers that spilled into your mouth as she rode your fingers, her arousal leaking out of her core and dripping down your hand.

In a moment of boldness, you added a third finger, stretching Larissa out. She mewled and bit down on your lip, hard enough to draw blood, as the thrusts of her hips became more and more erratic.

You moaned as you felt her pussy clench around your fingers, drawing you farther into her cunt.

“Darling,” she panted out. “I’m gonna come!” Her thighs began to tremble, closing around your hand as she shuddered against you, holding your shoulders in a death grip. You watched in awe as her jaw went slack, her eyelids fluttered, her chest heaved.

You continued to pump languidly in and out of her as she rode out her orgasm, your thumb circling her bundle of nerves lazily to help her come down from her high.

Carefully, you pulled out of her, your eyes never leaving hers as she slowly opened them, a blissed out smile spreading across her face.

You held your fingers out for Larissa and she swirled her tongue around them, placing a sweet kiss to each digit then holding out her arms in an invitation for you to curl up against her, an invitation you gladly took.

You felt so safe and loved in Larissa’s arms, her bare, sweat-slicked skin pressing against yours, her palms rubbing soothing circles on your biceps. You peeked up at her, stricken suddenly, again, by her beauty - curls mussed, lips kiss-swollen, chest flushed, eyes heavy-lidded and gazing lovingly down at you.

“How did I do?” You stifled a yawn, and she giggled, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and allowing her thumb to graze your jaw as she looked deep in your eyes.

“You’re a natural, my sweet girl,” she cooed, pressing her lips to yours - she still tasted faintly of cum and you stifled a groan, causing her to smirk. “You make me feel so good, so loved. Was it good for you?” There was a hint of concern in her eyes, that disappeared the second she saw your lips curl up into a smile.

“It was amazing, Rissa.” You felt your cheeks warm. “It felt really nice. And you’re so beautiful when you come.”

It was Larissa’s turn to blush.

You laid curled up in each other’s arms for a few moments longer, content to snuggle into each other’s body heat and allow your breathing to even out.

“I love you, darling,” Larissa murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

No amount of exhaustion in the world could stop the beaming smile that adorned your face in that moment. “I love you, too, Riss.”

thank you to both @afeatherformills and my lovely gf for beta-reading, once again, you guys deserve a freaking trophy for putting up with me hehe

#larissa weems x reader #larissa x reader #larissa weems #principal weems x reader #principal weems #gwendoline christie

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alls-fair-in-pride-and-prejudice · 10 days

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Scholarly Discussion

(A/N: a continuation of the snippet posted here - though can be read alone, features a warlock Tav named Lyra with a sage background studying at Strixhaven academy)

One evening, not long after Gale's "versed in magic" faux pa, he approaches Lyra, a nervous energy about him. “It’s nice to take a moment to rest, isn’t it? I thought this might be a good time to discuss something rather important.”

Lyra nods, sitting on a rock in camp that’s a suitable enough seat. “Since you had the good grace to pull me from that stone, I’ve watched you demonstrate remarkable guile and courage. I trust you enough to share with you something I’ve yet to share with another living soul, well… except my cat.”

He goes on to explain the condition, or rather the treatment for said condition. Lyra prods him with questions, fascinated by what kind of ailment would require such a strange course of action, but he assures her the answers will come in time.

Well… it’s not so different from what she does for her patron, she can hardly begrudge him that. "I’m pretty good at getting my hands on artifacts, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I’m certain you are, as we have already come across one. Even still, please be assured I would not ask you to part with them were it not of the utmost importance.”

Lyra fishes a ring from her pockets, she had been abducted with it, and it casts a cantrip she already knows. “Here, take this. It should help, yes?”

Gale looks wide-eyed at her offering, “I… I appreciate your enterprising approach to my condition but I do not need one as of yet.”

“Still, keep it anyway. I don’t need it.”

He accepts the ring, sliding it into his pocket.

Lyra lingers, unsure of how to progress the conversation, or if she could go ahead and leave.

“If- I certainly do not wish to keep you at such a late hour, but should you find yourself unready to retire… perhaps you could elaborate on the course of study you mentioned before?”

Lyra smiles, eagerly spinning into a spiral about the patterns of various constellations and their association with various rituals across different magical practices. “Astronomy has long been used in the earliest forms of divination magic, but Selunite rituals that can perform great acts of healing have also been performed at the union of the full moon and specific constellations gracing the sky! The precision to which we can measure the star’s movements has advanced so much in recent years, you should see the repurposed telescopes used to observe distant astronomical objects. I would often sit on the roof of the academy and perform various divination cantrips, measuring their strength and effectiveness with the movements of the stars during the night.”

Gale listens with an eager ear, asking eloquent questions that allow Lyra to elaborate further upon her theories. He allows her the use of her telescope to display the difference in the shine of different stars and how they are categorized.

“What you mentioned about the position of stars in the sky is most intriguing. Now, it is my understanding that, depending on one’s position in the world, the position of the stars changes in relation. Is that what brought you to Baldur’s Gate? To vary your experiments by location?”

Lyra pauses, taking a moment to absorb his question. “Um… I’m sorry?”

“Strixhaven is quite a distance from the sword coast, yet the mindflayers picked us up in Baldur’s Gate. What brought you there?”

Lyra’s cheeks flush with shame. “Yes, of course. And... on that note, I think that is enough discussion for tonight. I really should rest. We need to be fresh if we’re going to find this Gith Creche, or the archdruid, to heal us.”

“Yes… of course. Sleep well.”

Lyra makes a beeline for her bedroll, berating herself for getting so lost that she could forget something so crucial: a scholar like Gale could never understand her circumstance, and it is clear enough already that he holds no respect for her warlock powers. Best to keep a professional distance.

#weaving constellations #alls fair creations #bg3 gale #gale dekarios #bg3 named tav #bg3 oc #my tav #oc lyra #'professional distance' my ass you're already falling for him girl

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clericofshadows · 7 months

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having regis shepard thoughts™ especially ones about some fluffy, hilarious, and early ME3 moments regarding the triad.

this all kind of started because Regis and Kaidan would not be subtle about their relationship before mars, but after mars...? not many people know about Zaeed...and when he's back on board and Kaidan isn't yet, and Regis is also a little affectionate with Zaeed (but not as overt)... idk if this will make it into canon but like, it's a fun little thing I was thinking of :) sometimes you just gotta think about fun little scenarios with your favorite characters even if it may not be part of their canon.

one of the things I'm struggling with is how I handle Mars because like, realistically, Kaidan and Regis would have blasted EVA to oblivion with their biotics (and Wren :)) but at the same time, angst is really good, bridal carries are really good, and very furious, violent, and angry regis is very good so...

something to think about at the very least.

of course, the crew that was around for ME2 know about Regis and Zaeed, and to some degree about the triad (like Joker, EDI, and Chakwas), but still most of the crew are so shocked when Regis brings Zaeed on the ship immediately post-mars (who was on the citadel gathering information and jumped at the chance to be on board after visiting Kaidan) and is holding hands with this old merc like??? who is this guy? we all saw and heard about his reunion with Alenko and his reaction to Alenko getting hurt so what is going on? gossip goes crazy with theories.

all Regis does is introduce Zaeed to the crew and never elaborates. because he's a bit of a troll and also not in the mood to get into the details about their triad with a new crew while kaidan is still injured. for once he lets scuttlebutt take over. zaeed's cool with it because like regis, he's not familiar with the new crew.

Ashley also joins the crew post-mars as she was also on the citadel, newly an N7 and about to coordinate efforts to evacuate the remaining soldiers on Rio. Regis's family OCs (his uncle Adrian who is a pilot and engineer and his uncle Vikram, an asari matriach who is partners with Adrian) also join whilst on the Citadel (yeah, I know real convenient but it's just more fun that way).

Steve finds out pretty quickly and same with Vega and they join in on the bet as Zaeed and Regis aren't subtle about battlefield flirting and post-mission rituals, so it's mostly the general ship crew that is trying to figure out what's going on with their commander and is the normandy always this weird (yes, it is).

she gets bombarded with questions about regis and zaeed. she's in on the bit and shrugs. some of the braver crew ask Vik and Adrian, who also feign ignorance. no one's really willing to ask Wren "totally not the Shadow Broker" Clarkson.

Ash is also betting with EDI, Vik, Wren, Joker, Chakwas, and Adrian about when Regis and Zaeed will say fuck it and make out publicly or something.

finally, after menae and Kaidan is awake, a stray crewmember catches the three of them holding hands with Kaidan and hovering over them and is like, oh shit--and then Zaeed kisses Kaidan's forehead and Regis kisses his hand and it's a whole thing.

finally once Kaidan is back on board post-coup and is wondering why some of the crewmembers are giving him weird looks--is it the whole thing with EDI's body? is it the coup stuff where some people thought that he and Regis weren't in contact and working together?

no one believes that poor crewmember.

it all comes to a head while lounging in the observation area and having drinks together not long after he's back onboard, Regis and Zaeed sitting apart from each other and conversing with the crew. Kaidan sits between them, puts his arms around them both, kisses both of their cheeks, and takes a pull from his beer like nothing's wrong.

and Regis and Zaeed realize that they never let Kaidan in on the bit. they let everyone else in, even Wrex and Mordin, but not Kaidan.

Ashley wins the bet since she figured that they would be idiots and just forget to tell Kaidan about it.

and the crew goes crazy with the revelation. only a few correctly guessed what was going on and hope that shepard never finds out about the scuttlebutt. he knows and doesn't care and found the whole thing hilarious, actually. anything to help lighten up the ship, honestly, even if he's still mostly portraying the ruthless butcher for the majority of ME3.

#regis shepard #enjoy my rambling as I'm drowning in exam hell #i wanted to write something and this came out lmao

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laxmiree · 1 year

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[CN] MLQC Lucien’s Birthday Party translation

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for a story that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

✧ Birthday Story | Birthday Prologue | Birthday Date | ASMR | Birthday Party (You’re here!)

With the gentle tune of the bluetooth stereo and the steaming fragrance of the longevity noodles, this special day arrived with much anticipation.

I looked up at Lucien who was sitting in front of me, he was staring at the rising steam and seemed to be contemplating something.

MC: Lucien, what are you thinking about?

I gently called Lucien's name, he raised his head to look at me, his eyes soft.

Lucien: I was just wondering… Am I the luckiest person in the world today?

MC: Of course, there is no doubt about it!

Lucien laughed in a low voice and held my hand.

Lucien: When I'm with you, I always seem to be happy… It's a little overwhelming.

MC: Pfft, it is not as exaggerated as you put it!

MC: All the good wishes, and all the elaborate preparations, you just need to accept them with open arms.

MC: Because this is something that I want to do for you.

I can't help to blush, but still earnestly speak it. Lucien nodded with a laugh.

What do you want to do with him at this moment?

[Blow out the candle]

Lucien: I don't know why, but the wishes I make with you seem to come true in the end.

Lucien: Peace, health, happiness… and to continue each year with you like this, that is my wish.

Lucien: This solemn ritual is a prayer for happiness, yet I can't help but ask for more even though I already have happiness.

[Sing birthday song]

Lucien: I have received the birthday song not because of its completeness, but because of its heart, and I have received your heart properly.

Lucien: This should be the most beautiful melody I've heard today.

[Cut the cake]

I took the cake out of the oven and placed it in front of Lucien, smugly looking at him.

MC: How's that? Is my craft getting better and better every year?

Lucien examined the beautiful and exquisite flowers on the cake, and couldn’t help but flash a smile in his eyes.

Lucien: It does seem that the passage of time has indeed left evidence.

Lucien: At least your pastry art level has jumped dramatically, I can remember when...

Before Lucien could finish his sentence, I immediately shoved the cake knife into his hand to stop him from revealing my dark past.

MC: Not only the level of pastry art but also my control of sweetness is very precise!

MC: You have to try it!

I hastily stopped him from going further, and Lucien who saw that his plan to tease me had "succeeded", curved the corners of his lips.

He slowly picked up the cake knife, and then neatly cut two pieces.

Watching Lucien take the first bite of the cake, I seized the opportunity to wipe a dollop of cream on the tip of his nose, smiling proudly at Lucien.

MC: Hehe, Professor Lucien is still defenseless against me this year as well! I've succeeded in sneaking up on you again!

His eyes slightly flickered, but instead of stopping my "prank", he just swallowed the cake. Suddenly, he frowned, which made me freeze and feel a little nervous.

MC: What's wrong, are the grapes a little sour….

I was about to pick up the spoon and take a taste for myself, but when I bowed my head I unexpectedly felt a soft sensation on my cheek.

I immediately looked up and saw Lucien's slightly cheeky smile.

Lucien: Now, it's MC who is defenseless.

I puffed up and wanted to say something, but after seeing the cream on the tip of Lucien's nose, the anger turned into a laugh.

MC: Forget it, today is your birthday, you can do whatever you want~

I paused and looked at Lucien's eyes in the candlelight and spoke seriously

MC: Lucien, happy birthday!

MC: I wish you a happy and blessed year together with me.

Lucien pulled me into his arms, the warmth of his breath wrapped around me, mixed with the sweetness of the cream.

He reached out to clasp my hand, and I heard his soft murmur.

Lucien: But I might be a little greedier. What I want is to be with you year after year, forever, until the end of time.

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“All romantic scenarios are making footnotes to us at the present moment.”

#short but floofy #mlqc lucien #mlqc spoiler #mr love queen's choice #mlqc cn #mlqc translation #there's still one call left for his b-day lol

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thehangeddemon · 9 months

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Madam X's Shoulder Strap, Part II || Rhys, Xavier, Rohan, & Ariel || July, 2023

Rhys: Xavier had made an excellent pillar. Hidden in their special place, staring at the stars, the light pollution, the thousand and one uninvited guests, they passed their cigarettes and said very little. They didn't need to. There, Rhys would inquire about the museum, and indulge any question in regard to his coterie, the tedious politics of the Ivory Tower, or himself. He was in a generous mood this evening. Xavier's warm presence was to thank for it.

Eventually, his head came to rest on the demon's shoulder. Thick lashes rested on his cheek. Thin gold spectacles became askew as he turned his head enough to rest his forehead against his jaw. Only temporary. Just a few seconds to gauge Xavier's reaction, before another cigarette was pulled from his coat.

Xavier: There were questions, but few and far between. They were an excuse to hear Rhys’ voice more than anything else. He’d missed the sound of it even if he hadn’t had much of it to begin with, like everything about this man. His scent, his company, his affection.

The most he ever got of Rhys was his handwriting in their letters so this felt…special. Like getting a treat.

And receiving his affection? Like a blessing from the universe.

The demon sighed contentedly, offering what remained of the cigarette to light the new one. A little ritual they’d perfected.

“Did you have any plans tonight?”

Rhys: Lighting cigarettes with cigarettes had become their version of a kiss. He smiled to himself and held the lit stick between two fingers for Xavier to enjoy, before taking it for himself.

"Your message found me on the couch, staring at the ceiling, avoiding a Toreador's invitation. She has cause for concern this week, I'm just in no mood tonight."

Xavier: Xavier took a long drag and exhaled slowly, watching the wind carry away the smoke before it had time to linger in the air.

"As nice as her club is, I can't see you willingly spend more time in there than strictly necessary. I take it there was an incident that required attention?"

Rhys: "Not yet, but one approaches." The silence didn't stretch for long, only just now considering the subject. He decided on a particular question, rather than elaboration.

"Have you heard of the games?"

Xavier: Xavier shook his head slowly. “Nnnno, I don’t believe I have. Although the way you phrased it brings to mind games in the Ancient Roman sense.”

Rhys: "When there becomes a surplus of ghouls, some Kindred think it wise to thin the herd... with an Ancient Roman flare."

Xavier: “How gladiatorial. I wasn’t aware there could even be such a thing as a surplus of ghouls.”

Rhys: "They're a breach of the masquerade. Kindred look away from them because they are the next potential generation. You can't just let them walk away. Either one makes a dinner party... or a game. Games are the topic right now as an olive branch between territories."

Xavier: “Truly Roman then,” the demon mused. A dinner party made more sense to him than games but it was hardly surprising. Blood sport was as natural as breathing to those that were or had once been human.

“What opinion do you hold?”

Rhys: "I was never a ghoul. I think an intended childer should be one. That's my only opinion."

Arms came to rest on his knees.

"And January needs to lie about how many she has."

Xavier: The need to lie probably meant that January had several ghouls to her name, or at the very least, more than some limit that had been set.

“Is she concerned?”

Rhys: "Concerned... yes. Doing anything, no. She might send a few away until this blows over."

Xavier: He thought of Rohan. “Is Mr. Cassidy among those that will be sent away?”

Rhys: Rhys turned enough to look over his shoulder at the demon.

"Is that a request you want to make?"

Xavier: If Rohan took a liking to the DJ and something happened to him, the devastation might very well leave his friend with a complex and make him close himself off completely.

Xavier couldn’t have that. Rohan deserved a chance to be happy.

“Is that a possibility? I’d compensate her.”

Rhys: "Your friend must mean a great deal. They only just met. Could mean nothing."

Xavier: “That could very well be the case but if it isn’t, and there’s a possibility I can help in some way, I have to take it. He would do no less for me.”

Rhys: Rhys considered a moment, turned back to rest against Xavier once more. There was no such thing as something for nothing. She would guarantee one of her gems, but she would no doubt add to the exchange, somehow. Some personal touch.

"I'm not her keeper. You can say whatever you like to her."

Xavier: No, there certainly wasn’t. How fortunate for him that he was in the perfect position to make a favor worth someone’s while.

“Would she be cross with you for telling me all this?”

Rhys: Rhys' head tilted to one shoulder then the other. Take that as you will.

"Mm... depends on your approach. She already knows her ghoul fancies your man. That's probably the safe angle."

Xavier: Xavier nodded, humming thoughtfully. January had been the one to pass along the DJ’s card. That certainly made things easier. He didn’t like the idea of playing to her intrigue and encouraging more observations but it was a worthy cause.

“Is there a gemstone she’s particularly fond of? Or a specific item of jewelry?”

Rhys: He supposed a ghoul had to be worth the trouble if it kept the peace. A something for a something. Doing this would please Rohan, which would please Xavier, which pleased Rhys. Preventing January from weeping, he supposed, was an added benefit. Certainly less yelling.

"Combinations of ice and fire attract her. Sapphires and... I forget the name."

Xavier: “Rubies? Garnets?” Xavier thought for a moment. “Fire opals?”

He was fairly certain he had something that fit the bill in his vault. He’d been collecting jewelry for decades.

“Well, it would seem I will be setting foot in Lady Dune’s club again. Perhaps a noise muffling spell is in order.”

Rhys: "No. Something yellow." His former captain would have the answer off the top of his head. No matter. "She'll be pleased with any jewel you give her." But, knowing Xavier would be back... he didn't know how to feel.

"The sooner the better," he confessed, "I want you all to myself."

Xavier: “Ah, citrine.” He definitely had something that would please. Several things actually, which was always a bonus.

Xavier smiled to himself, pleased that Rhys was possessive of his company.

“I don’t know how negotiations with Kindred usually go, but I don’t imagine it taking very long. What’s the timeline for these games?”

Rhys: "If it's being rumored now," a shoulder rose and sank. "A month, most likely."

His brows fell, his smile concealed. "I forget, but surely I'm not your first."

Xavier: So there was some time. Not much, but enough to ascertain whether Rohan truly liked the DJ and intended to pursue him.

Xavier didn’t conceal his. He did, however, keep his eyes determinedly forward. “The first Kindred I’ve ever negotiated with?”

Rhys: "Let's call it that." He offered what remained of the forgotten cigarette. This time he turned to watch Xavier's lips, just because he could.

Xavier: Xavier felt his gaze and was grateful that the cigarette offered a distraction.

“You’re the first. Not the first Kindred I’ve known, but the first one I’ve…negotiated with.”

Rhys: "As a warning, because I like you so much, you're not going to throw money at this situation and make it stick."

Xavier: “If throwing money was all it took to resolve situations, do you know how much simpler my life would be?” That typically only worked with humans and even then, it was no guarantee.

Rhys: "What do you want that money can't buy?"

Xavier: “Omnipotence,” he sighed. “No amount of money in the world can buy that.”

Rhys: "Power?" His tone skeptical. "You're telling me you feel powerless."

Xavier: “Not power necessarily just…the ability to know when things are coming, from which quarter, why. Stopping problems before they become problems.”

Rhys: "Omnipresence."

He took Xavier's hand, resting his lips against his knuckles.

"Not for me to tell you how to feel, but, you should want the strength to face your problems."

Xavier: “How many torments is one person supposed to be assailed by,” he wondered, not really expecting or looking for an answer. He had no room to talk, of course; he was a demon.

It was a demon’s lot to be tormented.

“What about you? What do you want that money can’t buy?”

Rhys: A rhetorical question he could not answer. Not an answer Xavier wanted to hear, so he kept his silence, and waited for the next comment.

For his family not to have perished at the hands of his sire? No. They were in Heaven. The family tree continued without them.

The strength to gift his sire final death? No. He was his mentor.

World peace? Impossible.

"Poetic response, a sunrise."

Xavier: Xavier’s expression brightened. He’d nearly forgotten.

“Funny you mention that,” he said as he sat up. “I actually have a bit of a surprise for you. Or a gift, I should say. Surprises usually come with a bit of fanfare.”

Rhys: You certainly are a quiet fanfare.

Rhys sat up as well, turning to offer his undivided attention.

"Surprised. Your presence is enough."

Xavier: He smiled and shook his head. “Careful, or my ego will become truly insufferable.” Although some would argue it already was.

“I can’t remember if I mentioned it in my last letter, but last month I bought a resort in southern Thailand. It was mismanaged and has required some hands-on attention while I sort things out, so I’ve been spending a lot of time there and well…”

Xavier pulled an envelope out of his inside pocket. “I thought you might enjoy seeing the sun again.”

Within the envelope were photographs; of the beach, the sea, the surrounding gardens and nature, and most importantly, of several sunsets and sunrises.

Rhys: "You didn't forget Thailand in your letters." No, he hadn't forgotten a thing. None of this was news, except for why Thailand was chosen at all. Just didn't seem Xavier's aesthetic. Florence, Argentina, or Morocco, perhaps.

The envelope was taken. The butt of the dead cigarette dangled from his mouth as he inspected each of his offerings. After the first two photographs, his movements slowed. Lingering over every detail, expression softening.

For reasons unknown to the demon, upon the last photo, Rhys got to his feet, keeping his chest to Xavier as he pocketed the photo with nary a word said. Only when it was safely tucked away did he smile and remove his cigarette.

"These will see me through the next century. Grazie."

Xavier: “That long?” the demon asked, indescribably pleased to see Rhys smile at his gift. “Well then I’ll have to take more for you to make up for every sunrise and sunset you’ve missed since you were made a Kindred.”

Xavier tilted his head in curiosity but didn’t comment. Rhys had said he wanted a sunrise and there were some truly spectacular ones among the collection of photos. The one he’d taken was probably one of them.

What Xavier didn’t realize was that the photo wasn’t of a sunrise at all, but of him.

A candid moment captured by his familiar of a smiling, laughing Xavier completely unlike the one Rhys had known so far. In the photo he stood on the beach clad in swim shorts and a loose-fitting linen shirt that hung open, letting the warm afternoon sun caress his skin and kiss his hair.

The photo had been snuck into the envelope without the demon’s knowledge and was partially covered by a sticky note that read:

Don’t react! He doesn’t know this is in here. ;)

Rhys: Every single photograph would be kept in a box in his room, but this one in particular... he didn't know what he wanted to do with it, but he knew Xavier couldn't find it. Not if he ever wanted to see it again. The demon was confident, but even he had his limitations.

"Is that not long enough?"

His gaze dropped to a photograph of an orange sunrise. Colors he had forgotten accompanied the sun.

"How long has it been since your companion."

Xavier: Xavier shook his head. “Not by half. You deserve far more than a few photographs of a few days of sun after thousands and thousands of days without.” But it was a start.

All poetic and romantic notions were swept away like so much dust at Rhys’ question. The weight of the ring on his finger, negligible a few seconds ago, suddenly felt like lead.

“Nearly four months,” Xavier said quietly.

Rhys: Four months. A shorter span of time than that of their night at the hotel. He would not judge that any more than the photographs, their hands, and their cigarettes.

"It goes away," he said, softly. "Their eye color. Their voice. You hear words they've said, but it's not quite right. It doesn't happen all at once. It's quite painless. And then one day you remember a joke, and you'll laugh without shedding a tear. They still exist as indescribable warmth. An idea that comes to you."

Two fingers calmly held Xavier's chin.

"I smile for both of us. If he loved you as you loved him, he is smiling when you smile."

Xavier: Xavier wouldn’t refute Rhys’ words. They were meant kindly, he was sure. Meant to offer comfort and empathy and understanding. Never mind that the nature of what he was wouldn’t allow the edges of his wounds to soften or grant him the mercy of forgetting.

Who was to say, really. Maybe Rhys was right and this loss and this wound would be different. Xavier didn’t believe it, but he wanted to.

So he silently accepted the comfort for what it was and let Rhys touch his face and told himself that he believed what Rhys said.

Unable to respond, he simply nodded.

Rhys: Still standing, caressing Xavier's face, Rhys felt no sense of urgency to move. Not until a thought finally occurred to him.

"I want to show you my home." I want to invite you into my life.

Xavier: A flicker of surprise cut through the grief. Somehow, that simple invitation felt just as intimate as everything that had occurred on this bridge, at the museum, in the wine cellar where they’d first met.

Such simple words, yet they held so much weight.

Xavier nodded slowly. “I’d love to see it.”

Rhys: "If you know St. Ann's church or Columbus Park, you've passed my home." Not far at all from where they frequented.

Rhys offered to pull Xavier to his feet.

"Let's get you out of the wind."

Xavier: “I know the park,” said the demon, taking Rhys’ hands so he could stand. He didn’t need to really but again, any excuse for contact.

He nodded. Rhys was given the usual few moments to brace himself and then it was off through the ether and to a quiet corner of the park where they wouldn’t be noticed appearing out of thin air.

Rhys: Rhys knew as well as Xavier that this was unnecessary contact. Purely for their own pleasure.

The park was the quietest place in all of Brooklyn Heights. This time of night, people were more interested in nightclubs, bars, and their beds, not grass, trees, and park benches.

Xavier was led toward the church, but not the church itself. A building just nearby. The words Trinity Monuments in gold over the two-story brick building. As gray as January Embers. Same paint, one might bet.

Rhys went around the building to the back. To the black door partially concealed by a young tree.

The scent of fried livers and potato hit just as loudly as Patsy Cline singing Walkin' After Midnight in full voice.

A woman sang along in a kitchen somewhere down the hallway.

"That would be Barbara," Rhys said under his breath.

Xavier: Xavier gave the church as wide a berth as he could, clamping down on the paranoia that seeing it caused. The danger wasn't just in whatever sanctity remained within, but in what it represented and the memories it brought to the surface.

But as they passed it, so too did the dread.

Although the building wasn't exactly what he expected Rhys' home to be, it was fascinating nonetheless. Trinity Monuments. That could be the name of anything from a funeral home to a studio specializing in sculpture. It could even be both in the right circumstances. Something to inquire about later.

The music and the smell of food being cooked made him nostalgic for vastly different reasons. "She has good taste. Is she your staff?"

Rhys/Barbara: "Sapphira's ghoul." Practically her daughter. If not for the eighty-year difference in age.

The foyer opened up to a long hallway with rooms on either side. Royal blue millwork walls and immaculate gray tile floors. A petite woman peeked out from a doorway to the left, drying off her hands on the skirt of her outfit.

She turned toward the foyer and squeaked, covering her mouth to conceal her cleft lip and burns.

"Friendly?"

"Yes, friendly," Rhys greeted. "Rossmara."

"Oh! Do you eat?" Never mind the fact that it was just hours until sunrise. This was her lunch time.

Xavier: There was only a moment to admire the interior before they were joined by who Xavier presumed to be Barbara.

The demon inclined his head as he was introduced, giving her the same charming smile he’d given to January.

“Good evening, and yes, I do.” The time of day was meaningless to a man who didn’t strictly need to sleep. “Whatever it is that you’re making smells lovely.”

Rhys/Barbara: Not what he had intended bringing Xavier home with him, but such was his life with a coterie.

"You can call me Barbara." A woman in her forties at best. Red and white hair wrapped in a loose bun. Once sun-kissed skin now aged with freckles and spots, mostly hidden in a gray shirt dress and mules.

Her hand didn't leave her mouth until bringing down another blue plate from the steel cabinet. The same blue reflected on the walls. The plates and food were brought to a white round table by the coffee station. Fried livers and sauteed onions over fingerling potatoes, parsnips, and green beans.

"How much?" She wouldn't look up to meet Xavier's eyes, still making an effort to hide one side of her face.

Xavier: “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Barbara.” The name suited her well. He couldn’t help but wonder how she came to be a ghoul but like so many other things, it was a thought he’d keep to himself.

Like the urge to tell her she didn’t have to hide her face. It was natural that she would, he was a stranger to her. Best to make sure she felt at ease with him first.

“A good, healthy portion. My body hasn’t adjusted to the time difference yet, it thinks I missed lunch.”

Rhys/Barbara: Barbara didn't once look to Rhys for direction. She didn't have to. A plate as generous as her own was filled and placed opposite of the table. Despite the warmth in her voice, her head remained down as she started on the potatoes.

"Must be pretty far from home."

Depends where you think home is, Rhys thought. Rather than sit, he leaned his back against the wall by the coffee station and looked through his flip phone.

Xavier: Xavier nodded. “Yes, very. Home is on the opposite side of the planet.” For now, his mind added by force of habit.

The demon wouldn’t sit until she did, the same for eating. Just like Lady Dune and her club, this was Barbara’s kitchen and her territory and as such, she would be afforded the same deference.

“I was telling Rhys that you have excellent taste. It’s not often that I get to hear Patsy Cline anymore.”

Rhys/Barbara: Every food item was stabbed with her fork, hovered by her misshapen lips.

"Why not? You banned?"

Rhys only glanced up.

Xavier: “In a sense, though not so much lately,” said Xavier. He would only elaborate if asked. Otherwise he was simply going to continue eating and pretending he didn’t notice the way Rhys looked up from his phone.

Rhys/Barbara: "Oh. Okay." She wouldn't ask for elaboration, turning her attention to her plate and the occasional glance at her own phone. Texts from the only one that mattered to her.

Texts Rhys was also receiving.

"You continue to surprise me," Rhys said, eyes to his screen.

Xavier: He didn’t mind the silence. The second he’d taken his first bite he realized that he actually was rather hungry, although it was less to do with the hour and more with the fact that dinner had been hours ago.

He wondered if Rohan was still awake and feeling the same.

This time it was Xavier who looked up, masking his surprise with a smile. “Do I? How so?”

Rhys: "You're eating fried calf livers in my kitchen."

Xavier: “They’re excellent. I never turn down a well-prepared meal.”

Rhys/Barbara: "You're a nice one," Barbara said between a bite. For more than his compliment. His silence and avoidance staring had put her at ease.

"I'm going to see Sapphira." Rhys kicked off the wall. "I'll be five minutes."

Xavier: “Why thank you, Miss Barbara.”

Xavier nodded at Rhys. “Take your time.” In the meanwhile, he was more than glad to finish his meal in pleasant company.

Barbara: Rhys wasn't the only quiet one in this building. The ghoul was satisfied with silence, humming along with Patsy Cline, Elvis Presley, and Harry Belafonte. She glanced up to check Xavier's plate and stood to clear the table.

"Staying the day?"

Xavier: Who could have guessed that it was going to be a night of such nostalgia.

Xavier felt an indescribable warmth and fondness sitting in that kitchen with this woman he’d just met. It was a balm he hadn’t known he’d needed.

“I am, for a couple of them.” His baby and his hotel were waiting for him at home.

Barbara: "Here?" Barbara looked at the dirty plates in thought. "Well, what do you like?" Not her place to judge, only to serve, and it was nice eating with someone other than the employees.

Xavier: “No, not here. I’m staying in a nearby hotel.” And observing it now that he had one of his own.

“However, I wouldn’t be opposed to sharing another meal with you if you’ll have me. You’re a very good chef.”

Rhys/Barbara: Her frown was hidden as she turned. Hands occupied by the water and a sponge.

"Sure. It's mostly the nasty bits. Livers, hearts, laying hen." She turned her cheek in his direction and back.

Rhys appeared before she could ask her pending question.

"Finished?" Rhys leaned his chest into the entryway frame.

Xavier: “I’ve acquired a fondness for hearts in recent weeks. There’s a noodle shop near my home that prepares them very well.” Perhaps, if he managed to endear himself enough to her enough, he’d bring her some one day.

Xavier turned to Rhys with a smile. “We are, yes.”

Rhys: Another excuse for Xavier to return. Rhys didn't mind however many the demon fathomed.

Xavier was led to an unassuming black door near the end of the hallway. Opening outward to an iron spiral staircase of a single large room. More than enough space for an Alaskan king bed to appear modest. A claw foot tub separated by a Victorian divider. A chaise lounge placed before a holy wall of various antiques. The room was heavy with vanilla tobacco.

His coat was carefully removed. Mindful of the tucked away photograph. Placed over the divider tonight to keep out of Xavier's reach.

Xavier: Xavier made his way down the stairs very carefully, making sure no part of him except the soles of his shoes touched any part of the stairs. He really wasn’t looking to get a burn tonight.

He wasn’t looking to be faced with a plethora of religious artifacts either, but just like at the museum, it was simply a matter of not touching. Besides, there was an entire divine smelling room to distract him.

“It feels like you,” he mused as he took everything in.

Rhys: Rhys kept his distance by the divider, enjoying the image of this elegant man amongst his things.

"I'll feel the same of yours." He could make an educated guess, but now his secret photograph gave him doubts of accuracy.

"I wrote your letters there." The small black oak desk in the corner. The stamp and ink box still left out from his last letter.

Xavier: The demon ducked his head and smiled. “I’m told that my whole house feels that way. I’m exceedingly proud of it even if I’m not living in it at present.”

He wandered over to the desk, imagining Rhys sitting at it. A mental image that warmed him.

“Those letters have been a comfort to me.”

Rhys: "It's for the best. If you've ever heard my voice on the phone, that alone is a miracle."

Shoes were removed and left by his coat. Things he would re-wear before dawn, if need be.

Rhys pointed to one of the cubby holes in the desk. A neat row of Xavier's letters returned in their envelopes. When the cubby was full they would meet their final resting place, hidden.

Xavier: “Hearing your voice in person is better than any phone call.” Xavier’s voice was so quiet, he might’ve said it to himself instead of Rhys. Everything between them always felt so much more intimate when they left the bridge.

Even just seeing that Rhys had kept his letters.

Rhys: The gap between them had closed in their span of silence. Mere inches from Xavier's back. A single finger applied pressure to the back of the demon's neck. An investigation, awaiting a sign of approval.

Xavier: It was as though Xavier could feel Rhys before the vampire even touched him. He could feel a tingle move down his spine, his arms, his fingers.

Such sensation from such a small point of contact.

Xavier took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders as much as he was able, silently giving his permission by turning his head toward Rhys.

Rhys: His middle finger remained in place as he leaned forward to press his lips to Xavier's shoulder. As slow and mindful as his finger. Only after a moment of observation did he wrap his hand around the back of his neck and squeeze. He had no intention to bite. Yet. Not for a while longer.

Xavier: Even though the kiss was given through two layers of fabric, Xavier felt it as though it had been placed on bare skin. Leaning back, leaning into the affection, was an involuntary response, as was the relieved sigh that escaped him.

It felt like Rhys’ cold hand was tethering him to the earth and reminding him that he was real.

“Thank you,” the demon whispered without meaning to.

Rhys: "I'm getting gratitude now," he mused sotto voce. Xavier was turned to face him, wanting to look into his eyes and understand his expression. He held the demon's face in his palms and brushed his thumbs along his chin and lips. He had a sneaking suspicion their explorations could go as far as he desired tonight. Regardless, every action remained paced, savoring.

"Remove your coat."

Xavier: You deserve it, Xavier thought. He wouldn’t say that but it was enough that he knew, enough that Rhys had been thanked even if the vampire didn’t understand why.

Although the emotions on Xavier’s face were varied and complex, there was no mistaking the openness or the softness or the vulnerability that shone there. He was placing so much of himself in Rhys’ hands. More than perhaps either of them realized.

Cold water. That’s what Rhys felt like. Cold, soothing water on too hot skin.

Xavier obeyed and removed his coat and immediately felt exposed. He’d forgone a waistcoat due to the warm weather and found himself feeling far more undressed than he actually was without it.

Rhys: Taking his sweet time, Xavier's coat was taken and folded over both hands. Just a foot of distance between them, and this was intentional. Allowing them both to acclimate.

And so long as Xavier didn't crumble, he would continue. Another step back, and another. Walking backwards towards the massive bed. Its thick black sheets as cold as his fingertips. He knew the contrast in temperatures would be exquisite.

"Get on my bed." His words were without magic. Calm, composed, and patient.

Xavier: This wasn't the first time Rhys had seen him in a state of undress. It wasn't even the first time the two of them had been in proximity to a bed. They'd shared intimate moments, personal thoughts, indirect kisses. They'd slept beside each other and yet, something about this felt...different.

Different in a way that was making Xavier Atlas, of all people, feel shy.

Xavier slowly sat on the bed and looked up at Rhys, wondering if he could hear the way the demon's heart pounded in his chest.

Rhys: A little ritual to put Xavier at ease. Rhys placed his coat at the foot of the bed and lowered to his knee. He didn't bother looking at him while setting to task removing his shoes one at a time.

Xavier: Claiming that he was put at ease might be going a little far, but Xavier did have a moment to breathe and calm down while Rhys removed his shoes. It was something at least.

Now in his stocking feet, Xavier looked to Rhys again, awaiting whatever instruction came next like it was the most normal thing in the world. And in a way, for reasons he refused to ponder or admit, it almost was.

Perhaps that was why it never once crossed his mind to question it or disobey.

Rhys: Xavier was free to do as he pleased. He could leave or stay. He was allowed to yearn, to demand, to deny. Just months after the death of his beloved. No, he would not judge, and they had made it this far, but he was aware for some the body was still warm.

He met Xavier's eyes, debated hard on using his dominating voice, and decided against it.

"Touch me."

Xavier: There was precious little that Xavier’s guilt allowed him to do.

Demanding was never something he did of people with whom he had any intimacy. Denying was not something he would do unless he sensed they were about to cross a line he wasn’t ready to cross. And yearning…

Yearning was something he had to hide, even from himself.

Very slowly, very carefully, he took Rhys’ face in his hands. Not with the intention to kiss because that would hit his denial threshold, but simply to touch it. To trace his features as if admiring a fine sculpture. To count all the different shades that made up his eye color. To feel the texture of his skin and his hair.

So he did and, not for the first time, wished he were an artist.

Rhys: Rhys would not close his eyes to indulge in the sense of touch. They would remain open, watching Xavier's every breath, where his eyes focused, and the subtle flex of his muscles for such minimal effort.

He knew not of any threshold, only that Xavier had wanted something from him, and he was patient enough to see every last detail.

"What are you looking for."

Xavier: The demon shook his head, smiling softly for the first time since this delicate dance had begun.

“Nothing,” he murmured. “I’ve just wanted to do this since the day we met. A face like yours belongs in a renaissance painting.”

Rhys: "Before or after you cursed my presence, I wonder." His smile was as soft as his tone.

"A man of your talents must have an artistic bone in his body. I'll commission my likeness. A painting, a scribble. If you insist your talents aren't worth the paint, then write me."

Xavier: "During." A beautiful face was a beautiful face; even when one was surprised and annoyed it had to be acknowledged.

Xavier shook his head and gave in to the impulse to play with a strand of Rhys' hair. "My talents lie elsewhere. But if you do commission an oil painting, I'd love to see it. I can even recommend a painter with the skill to do you justice."

Rhys: He closed his eyes, allowed and relished Xavier's touch. This was only their beginning. No need to rush. Xavier could take his time.

"You can't tell me you don't write poetry. I won't believe you."

Xavier: Even though he couldn't see it with his eyes closed, Rhys would able to hear the smile in Xavier's voice.

"I can't say I do or ever have." Very slowly he was going from playing with only a strand of the vampire's hair to simply playing with the vampire's hair. "I've only read it, and not very much at that. The only writing I do is my letters."

Rhys: But you are poetry.

"Letters are your love language. Pulling me around a museum by the hand. Fingers in my hair. Cigarettes."

His eyes opened, wanting to see emotions behind the blue.

"I'm going to ask you a question. If I kiss you, will you despise me?"

Xavier: It would be so easy to get lost in the romance of Rhys’ words, so easy to let himself get swept away and by god did he want to.

Longing and guilt and apology warred and were reflected in his gaze as he sighed. He was too much at odds with himself to answer Rhys with anything but a question.

“Will you despise me if I ask you to wait?”

Rhys: Xavier's voice floated to his ears like a melody. He could have said no outright. Could have promised then and there that would never come to pass, and still he would have smiled that mellow, sentimental smile.

"You are waiting for something to happen?"

Xavier: “I’m…” Was he? Was he waiting for something to happen? For something to change? For enough time to pass?

How much time? What needed to change?

Xavier sighed and rested his forehead against Rhys’, closing his eyes. “I’m just waiting,” he whispered.

Rhys: His eyes did not close. Only watched the enchanting demon, protective.

"We'll just sit here and wait," the Lasombra whispered. "Or lie in my bed, and I'll give you a heartbeat to count."

Xavier: “What if the waiting takes longer than one night?” the demon asked, not daring to open his eyes yet. “Will you despise me then?”

Rhys: "You're wrong to think I can despise you." Xavier's face was held in both hands. "I don't have to be your only one. I'm nothing more than a name. A cigarette."

Xavier: Xavier placed his hands on top of Rhys’. He was so much more than a name or a cigarette, so much more than Xavier wanted to admit because admitting it would only amplify the guilt that he felt.

“Can you really give me a heartbeat to count?” Xavier asked softly.

Rhys: His hands, much like his gaze, remained steadfast. He would not close his eyes as so many Kindred preferred. Only breathed intentionally slow and deep for Xavier to see the life return to his skin. The warmth in his palms was gradual. The olive in his skin accentuated subtle white scars on his hands and forearms.

"Go on."

Xavier: As he felt Rhys’ skin slowly warm beneath his hands, it struck Xavier that he wasn’t only seeing life flood into the vampire, but that he was seeing him as he’d been when he was alive. When his life was the sea and the sun’s light could touch him without hurting him.

Xavier’s hands slid down just a bit to the vampire’s wrists, thumbs finding his pulse points. Sure enough, there was a gentle throb in each.

“How does it feel?” he asked.

Rhys: "Palpitations. Not the same as exercise, but fear, and lust. The anxiety that forces blood from your heart." His hands released the demon, one clutched his chest, beat rhythmically. "At my age, my body knows the importance of playing alive."

Rhys climbed into bed. Propped himself up on two pillows.

Xavier: It didn’t sound like an altogether pleasant experience, but Xavier supposed it wasn’t meant to be. Playing alive was a survival tactic.

“And being warm again? How does that feel?”

Rhys: A question he rarely thought about. Years if not decades. He was not oblivious to sensation, only by comparison to others.

He crawled into bed while considering.

"The way your skin feels on a hot summer's day. Sunbathing. Your normal is my sunbath."

Xavier: “Like having a fever, only less so,” the demon mused to himself. He experienced a lot of that living in Thailand.

“My normal is closer to sunbath than the average mortal. That’s why I like cold water.” He slowly leaned back.

Rhys: "I felt as much." He would think such extremes would be too much, but he supposed to a demon, the sharp needles of cold were a relief. Could have bordered on sexual.

Amusement hid behind his lashes.

"Is it a wonder you gravitate to me."

Xavier: “One of many reasons.” He wouldn’t say that Rhys’ body temperature soothed him or that his preference for cold water was a direct result of his punishments in Hell. Some things didn’t need to be said to be understood.

Rhys: Rhys stared up at the ceiling for a time, before tilting his head, letting his cheek rest on Xavier.

"Comfortable?"

Xavier: Xavier nodded, sighing contentedly and basking in their nearness. “I am. I apologize in advance if I fall asleep on you.”

Rhys: "Go ahead. Won't be the first time," he smirked.

Xavier: “No, it certainly wouldn’t.” He fell silent for a few long moments, staring at the ceiling, enjoying the feeling of having Rhys lying next to him.

When he spoke again, his voice was soft and quiet.

“What did you do that night? While I slept.”

Rhys: "I didn't only watch you sleep." He assumed that was Xavier's concern. "I rifled through your things, stole some of your clothes, and read Scripture over your body."

He was doing his best not to smile.

Xavier: "I wouldn't mind if you had." Xavier was asking more out of curiosity than concern. Watching someone sleep was usually a time of contemplation, at least for him. Was it the same for Rhys?

An exhaled laugh was given in response. "Did you indeed? Rather kind of you to put me out when I burst into flames."

Rhys: "Naturally. Can't sleep next to overcooked skin."

Fingers combed through Xavier's hair.

"Yes, I watched you. Like some monster in a Mary Shelley novel. I watched you. I planned my week. I messaged my housemate. I slept beside you."

Xavier: "Naturally." Xavier leaned in closer and sighed again, feeling his body relax into the bed. "You learn a lot by watching. The monster did. Did you?"

His words were beginning to slur as he drifted closer toward sleep.

Rhys: "I wanted to kiss you as much then as I do now," he whispered.

He turned his head, nose squished into Xavier's hair. Eyes closed.

"Do you feel my heartbeat?" Quite literally, it beat for the demon in his arms.

Xavier: "Thank you for holding back. I want to be conscious the first time I kiss you." His breathing was starting to even out and whatever filter he kept on himself was starting to slip oh so slightly.

A small nod. "Mhmm. I can hear it too."

Rhys: He would never be able to surpass this level of romance, he realized. No one asked for his heartbeat. No one asked for his warmth or his breath in their hair. Not any other lover. His bite. His violence. Other requests were made of him, and none so delicate. A demon in name only.

His eyes closed, resting despite the hour. The only downside of Xavier Atlas, he concluded, was sleeping in.

Rohan: His internal clock refused to let him rest.

Sometime just after seven, Rohan sighed deeply and burrowed further into his pillow. The scent clinging to it was slowly piercing though the fog of sleep with every inhale, coaxing him toward wakefulness, forming a hazy image in his mind. But it was still so early, and he was still so tired. Just a few minutes more.

His brow furrowed in annoyance. Something sharp was pressing into his ankle. Why was there metal in the bed? Rohan attempted to shift his leg away from it and succeeded in moving it only a few inches before something retrained him.

He lifted his head and reached down to free himself from the bedsheet, but instead of seeing the empty right side of his hotel bed, found himself staring at a man's--

"Shit!" He hissed under his breath, sitting up and looking around. Not his hotel room. Not alone. Sleep vanished in an instant as last night flooded back in its place; dinner, the club, French toast, dancing, the DJ...

The DJ.

Rohan turned to the sleeping man sprawled on the bed beside him and nearly blushed when he realized the state of them. Or rather the state of him, because somehow Ariel was far more dressed than Rohan was. If there was any question of whether last night had really happened, his open shirt and the pants at his ankles answered it quite decisively.

There was an embarrassingly almost giddy grin on Rohan's face as he shook his head at himself and ran a hand through his hair. "I can't believe you," he whispered to himself, carefully climbing off the bed so as not to disturb his boyfriend.

"Your boyfriend. Listen to yourself." He shook his head again, grin still firmly in place as he pulled his pants up and went in search of a phone that was, alas, very much dead.

Ariel: The man beside him was stained and disheveled and could not have looked more at peace. His features were soft, his breathing quiet and even. Legs as spread as the confines of his chinos would allow. Arms above his head and buried underneath his pillow.

Only when Rohan made his escape did the ghoul stir. The same argument was made against his clothes but quickly surrendered. A huff, a pout, and he was back asleep once more.

Music still played downstairs on the TV. Colored lights slowly transitioning from one to the next, washed out by the barely conscious sunlight.

Someone in the building was yelling at someone else. A feminine voice, maybe, but nothing clear enough to decern. Someone was laying on a car horn down below. Ariel continued to sleep. This was no different than Seattle. Just less rain and an absence of that familiar rumble that had comforted him growing up.

It was at 8:54 AM that Ariel felt at the left side of his bed.

Rohan: It wasn’t the most productive morning Rohan had ever had but it was peaceful.

After finding his phone dead in his suit jacket downstairs, he’d availed himself of the charger on Ariel’s bedside table and had left it to power up while he showered.

There were missed messages and calls inquiring about work and his whereabouts and everything he had scheduled for the day, all of which were methodically answered with only a tiny bit of guilt at having gone completely radio silent. It had been worth it though.

When Ariel finally woke, the first thing that searching hand would find was a thigh.

“Good morning,” said a gently amused voice.

Ariel: His thumb brushed over his finding, looking rather pleased with himself. His hand was traveling upwards by the time he opened his eyes. He really needed to invest in a fucking curtain. Even sheer would block the initial sting to his eyes.

"You smell like me," Ariel muttered.

Rohan: That hand wouldn’t get far before Rohan took it and brought it up to his lips.

“I borrowed your shampoo and your soap,” he said, setting his phone aside so he could stroke Ariel’s hair.

Ariel: "I missed the party?" Sounding genuinely disappointed. "Ah, fuck. What do I look like?" He finally sat up to assess the damage, not seeming to mind his nude state, only that this man had stayed the night, and was now kissing his hand. That was worth watching.

Rohan: Rohan laughed. “I’d hardly call it a party.”

He was sitting beside Ariel on the bed, propped up against a pillow and smiling for all he was worth.

“You look cute and disheveled.”

Ariel: "I would."

And there this man was, in the light of day. No artificial light, no near darkness to trick his eyes, and that look of awe remained firmly entrenched.

"Ah..." No, no, he wouldn't ask that. He laughed, and without thinking, pulled Rohan down for a chaste kiss. Only brief and simple, well aware he needed to clean up.

"I'm gonna shower. Wanna wear one of my shirts?"

Rohan: The kiss was delightfully unexpected and succeeded in making Rohan smile even more than he already was.

“Want me to smell like you even more?” He gave in to the impulse to gently pinch Ariel’s cheek. “That’s okay. I need to be getting back soon.”

Ariel: He forced himself to his feet after that pinch.

"Don't tell me I'm your dirty little secret." If he was disappointed, it wasn't showing in his smile. The depth of the idea hadn't yet sunk in.

Rohan: “Of course not.” There was no disappointment or regret. Just quiet joy. “I have to go change anyway, I’m accompanying Rossmara to an appointment this morning.”

Ariel: "Ah, right. Dracula." Still, they couldn't part this way. He pulled his pants back up and tossed his shirt in a pile by the bathroom door, disappearing into the closet behind his computer desk. He emerged a moment later with a dusk purple shirt with DJ Cass across the chest.

"Keep it."

Rohan: Rohan followed suit and got to his feet. Despite the things he had to do, he found himself reluctant to leave.

He held up the shirt Ariel gave him and smiled at it. “I like this color. It reminds me of you.”

Ariel: "It's my favorite." He bit his lip, biting back something he wanted to say. Holding back because he didn't want it to come true.

No, he would see him again soon, though his body refused to accept that.

"You really gotta leave now? I can make you breakfast. Walk you back to your place. Or, you know... not. I'm -" being clingy. "Whatever you wanna do."

Rohan: If Rohan hadn’t been holding the shirt he would’ve pinched those cheeks again. How was this walking marble statue of a man so cute?

“I’ve got some time,” he said, barely containing his smile. “Go on and shower, I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

Ariel: His smile was the same as last night. Stupid happy, he called it. It was exactly how he felt. He turned towards the shower and back to Rohan, pulling him by the purple shirt into another innocent little kiss.

"We're boyfriends? Like, just one date?"

Rohan: “We’re boyfriends,” Rohan confirmed with a nod. “Unless you’re wanting to take it back or you’re riddled with regret and want to get rid of me.”

Ariel: "Why you'd think I'd wanna take it back?" His hands came to rest on Rohan's waist. "No. You're just - I've never had a real boyfriend before."

Rohan: “Not ever?” How was that possible? Ariel was so handsome and personable and sweet. He should’ve had a line of suitors that wrapped around the block.

Ariel: "Girlfriends. Guys, uh... Guys catch and release." What wrapped around the block were friends with benefits, one-night stands, and the singular hate fuck. Not something he felt like spelling out.

Rohan: “I see.” That made far more sense. There was no way someone like Ariel had gone his entire life without anyone wanting to be with him.

“Well then, I’m honored to be your first.”

Ariel: You're the romantic type, which means, "I'm not your first." Meant to be a question, but he was so certain of his statement.

Rohan: Rohan shook his head. “You’re not, no. I’ve had boyfriends before. Girlfriends, too.”

Ariel: That said a lot with a little. He knew based on several statements that one of those lovers had been shit to Rohan's self-esteem. He'd keep that to himself, for now.

"Alright... shower. So... I'll just be a minute." He didn't want to let him go, as though coming out of the bathroom he'd realize this had all been a dream.

Rohan: “I’ll be downstairs,” he said. And then, just because he could, he kissed Ariel’s cheeks.

Right now he wasn’t thinking about past relationships or what had and hadn’t gone wrong with them. He was thinking only if the beautiful man in front of him and how happy he felt in his company.

Ariel: Not one but both cheeks? That made his boyfriend laugh. Rohan's ass was given a slap before he turned to the bathroom. He didn't give a damn. He was stripping in front of his dirty clothes before turning the shower on.

Downstairs, the music had finally transitioned from EDM to a random 70s rock playlist.

Rohan: Rohan chuckled and shook his head fondly before heading down to the living room. Even though there was plenty of time before they were due at the showroom, he sent Xavier a message anyway telling him that he’d be late getting back to the hotel.

The suspicious lack of teasing in the exchange meant he was in for a tidal wave as soon as they saw each other.

Ariel: This had to be the fastest Ariel had ever showered. Shampoo in his eyes while he washed his body. Conditioner lasting mere seconds before being rinsed while washing his face.

Deodorant, cologne, teeth. No shaving. Without thinking, he walked out of the bathroom naked and crossed the bedroom to his closet.

"Still here?"

Rohan: “Still here,” Rohan called from downstairs. That had been very fast…

“Did you rush through your shower in case I decided to leave?”

Ariel: "No!" said like a caught child.

Rohan: Precious man. “Why would I leave? My boyfriend promised me breakfast.”

Ariel: Yes, he had! "You want," processing, proc - "eggs?"

Rohan: “Yes, please.”

Ariel: Ariel came downstairs with shiny damp hair, wearing faded jeans and a gray Seattle sweatshirt.

"Omelet, sunny side up?" he greeted.

Rohan: “Sunny side up.” Rohan propped his chin on his fist and gave Ariel a long admiring look.

“You look even more handsome in daylight.”

Ariel: "I need sunglasses just to look in your eyes." Wanna tell him about beauty, look in the mirror.

"You can put on whatever you want," he motioned to the TV.

Rohan: "Flatterer," Rohan chuckled, shaking his head. "I don't mind the music. It's been a long time since I heard some of these songs."

Ariel: "Favorite genre?" A carton of eggs and other ingredients were brought from the fridge, as well as OJ planted in front of Rohan.

Rohan: "Not really. I actually don't listen to music all that often. When I do it's usually Leonard Cohen."

Ariel: "Is that jazz?"

Rohan: "Folk rock. You know the song 'Hallelujah'? His is the original."

Ariel: "Who am I thinking of?" Ariel motioned to the TV again. "Play him?"

Rohan: Rohan pulled up the song and it wasn't long before Cohen's raspy hypnotic voice filled the room.

Ariel: "I dunno this." But he listened quietly while making sunny side up eggs and toast with butter.

"So you don't listen to music, and you picked me?" he asked, sitting a plate in front of him.

Rohan: "I think most people have probably only heard the covers." But an old man like him? He'd always prefer the original.

He smiled. "I sure did."

Ariel: "My looks, too?" Referring to Rohan's question last night.

Rohan: "I'd have to be blind not to be pulled in by those."

Ariel: Ariel was smiling at nothing while making his own plate.

"You're smooth with it."

Rohan: “I have my moments. Few and far between but they happen. You make it easy.”

Ariel: "Looks the only thing keeping you here?" A dangerous question to ask. Every chance Rohan could take offense. He leaned against the kitchen counter and back, much the same as he had done to his DJ booth last night.

Rohan: He shook his head. “Looks aren’t everything. They’re not even all that important in the long run. What matters is how someone makes you feel. I wouldn’t be here if you were just a pretty face to me.”

Ariel: "Think I said the same last night." He bit his lip, staring off thoughtfully. It only just occurred to him in the light of day what had happened by the window. What had been said.

"You... said last night... You know? That you know...?"

Rohan: Momentary confusion was followed by a nod of understanding. He’d wondered when they’d be getting back to that particular subject.

“About the supernatural? Yes, I do.”

Ariel: "How much you know?" asked tentatively.

Rohan: “Enough to know why the ankh on my bracelet worried you, which I have to apologize for again.”

Ariel: "I - I shouldn't have freaked out." He was telling himself this now, but in the moment the concern had been very real.

Rohan: “It’s okay that it did. It caught you off guard and I’d say you and I know more than most that in this world we live in, caution keeps us alive.”

Ariel: "I had so much going through my head. Like I was... like, oh god, he's like me! Maybe really really old but like me. Or, like them. Just-" he shook his head, then froze.

"How much... you know about me?" Because he might have just given himself away.

Rohan: “Rhys mentioned what you were when he passed on your card,” Rohan said gently. Ariel had been given away, but not by his own doing.

“When I sat and waited for you and went to the diner with you and did that with you, I did it with full knowledge that you were a ghoul. And before you ask, no. It doesn’t bother me.”

Ariel: Rohan had his full attention. Watching behind soft eyes of consternation. All this time he'd been known, seen, and not a word said. He didn't know how he was supposed to feel. Not about Father Mello and not about Rohan saying nothing. He wasn't angry; he didn't think he was angry.

"What -" he cleared his throat. "Are you... some...thing?"

Rohan: However Ariel felt, Rohan was prepared to accept it. They hadn’t even known each other a full twenty-four hours and already they had crossed lines and had meaning to each other. Given the circumstances it was only right that they lay their cards on the table.

Just like they had last night.

“I’m human. I have a working knowledge of the supernatural and a working knowledge of magic. I also practice it. Beyond that, I’m just someone’s second-in-command.”

Ariel: By now breakfast was completely forgotten.

He wanted to ask what Mr. Dracula was, but felt an icy fear in his gut. Something told him not to.

He managed an honest smile.

"So you're, like, a wizard, Harry?"

Rohan: Rohan smiled. “If that’s what you’d like to call it, by all means. I usually use ‘witch’.”

Ariel: "Thought that was just women?"

Rohan: “Not necessarily. Anyone can call themselves a witch. A lot of people use ‘mage’ as well.”

Ariel: "So you cast spells and shit?"

Rohan: “Not quite like in the movies but yes.”

Ariel: "What's the difference?" He finally bit into his toast.

Rohan: “Some magic can be very theatrical and intense but a lot of it is more invisible and quiet. Wands aren’t always required either. Some people don’t use them at all.”

Ariel: "No shit? So do you have a wand?"

Rohan: Rohan chuckled and shook his head. “I’m one of the people who doesn’t use them.”

Ariel: He wanted to ask more questions, but his interest wasn't so much in magic itself but the man behind it. How to even articulate that?

"How's your eggs?"

Rohan: He didn’t mind answering questions, whether about magic or himself. If he had answers to give, he would.

“They’re perfect. Thank you.”

Ariel: "You gotta be at the hotel like, right now?"

Rohan: "I have some time still. I told Rossmara I'd be late."

Ariel: His grin returned. "How late?"

Rohan: "I should be fine as long as I'm back at the hotel in the next hour."

Ariel: Ariel practically gasped. "Do we get to make out?" he whispered.

Rohan: "Do you want to?" Rohan whispered back.

Ariel: "Since the moment I saw you."

Rohan: "Let's do the dishes first."

Ariel: Just as Rohan had thought, less than 24 hours together, and Ariel wanted to laugh! His new boyfriend wanted to do the dishes before making out. It didn't bother him so much as tickle him. Caught him off guard.

"Well put your arm around me while I wash!" He took their plates and slapped his hip. "Get over here."

Rohan: Oh, Rohan would do more than that. He'd wrap both arms around Ariel, taking advantage of their slight difference in height to nuzzle the back of Ariel's neck to see if he was ticklish.

Ariel: That giant window was what ultimately won Ariel over to the loft, and being able to tediously wash dishes while staring out into the heart of Brooklyn had sealed the deal.

And he wasn't paying the window any attention when he felt the warmth of Rohan against his neck. Not at all ticklish but he shivered just the same, and pressed himself against the counter.

Rohan: So his lovely DJ wasn't ticklish, but there had been a reaction just the same. Interesting.

What would happen if Rohan switched things up and pressed tiny feathery kisses to his neck instead? Would he get more shivers?

Ariel: He would get a chuckle. "You trying to get me hard? It's working."

Rohan: “Hmmm, in that case I should stop,” Rohan mused. “I’d hate to leave you high and dry before I have to leave.”

Ariel: "Nah," he couldn't stop smiling, "don't stop. I'm not gonna." Just one more fork. Everything placed on the drying mat and hands wiped down before turning and pulling his boyfriend into a heated kiss.

Rohan: Ariel couldn’t stop smiling and neither could Rohan, even as he trapped his DJ against the counter with his body and his arms and his kiss. This beautiful man hardly seemed real.

This whole situation hardly seemed real. If he wasn’t experiencing it he never would’ve believed it.

Ariel: It seemed Ariel didn't mind being trapped. In fact, something about their position had him leaning down, accommodating the bare difference in their heights. Hands circled Rohan's chest. His kiss had become softer and more submissive.

Rohan: It would’ve been all too easy to get carried away and have a repeat of last night and tempting as it was, they were limited on time. Better to keep things softer and slower while still giving this sweet boy what he wanted.

“Why are you so cute, hm?” Rohan asked when he came up for air, nuzzling Ariel’s cheek.

Ariel: "What I do?" His voice was as gentle as his kisses. Hands rested around Rohan's waist. "Just being me."

Rohan: “You being you is cute.” That wasn’t quite it—although it was true—but Rohan didn’t know how to explain it. Something about Ariel was just…sweet. There was a give to him that Rohan couldn’t articulate but that made him want to squeeze and kiss the life out of Ariel.

And he would. Gently, so as not to escalate things.

Ariel: Rohan knew better, it seemed. There was something about his boyfriend, more than the thrill of lust from someone new that had his body warm and bothered. Warm enough to feel through his clothes. Not only that, but he was indeed firm.

"Need to walk you back?" He could tell Rohan didn't want beyond this; he wasn't going to press his hips into him, as much as he wanted to.

Rohan: “It’s a long walk, I can take a taxi.” Or better yet, Xavier could send his car service to come get him.

That warmth was almost unbearable to part with though. He didn’t want to give up his beautiful prize.

Ariel: "Ehh, Uber's cheaper. Don't yell as much." He looked around for his phone before remembering seeing it upstairs.

"I'll get my phone." Ahh, but he didn't want to part either! What to do...but...pry himself away.

Rohan: “Don’t worry. Rossmara is even cheaper than Uber.”

There would be no prying away, for Rohan’s phone was in his pocket and easily accessible.

Ariel: "Don't wanna let me go, huh?"

Rohan: Rohan shook his head and texted Xavier with one hand. “Nope. Unless you want me to let you go, in which case…” His hold on Ariel loosened and his arm began to drop.

Ariel: Letting go was the last thing he wanted. "Only if this moves to the couch." Since Rohan was letting go anyway, he lifted him up by his thighs.

Rohan: “If this moves to the couch it’ll—oh!”

Ariel had picked him up just as easily last night but as someone unaccustomed to being lifted, it still caught Rohan by surprise.

Suddenly that arm was clinging again and he was back to grinning.

“Well then. I guess we’re moving to the couch.”

Ariel: "Wherever you want. Can move downstairs, the couch, upstairs. Wherever."

Rohan seemed as reluctant as himself. First a taxi then his friend. Had been to keep Ariel in his arms, he guessed.

Rohan: “If we move this upstairs I’m never getting to this appointment on time. Only option is the couch.”

The couch posed just as much of a temptation as going upstairs did but Rohan was determined to resist. And besides, the car would be here soon and there wouldn’t be time for those temptations to really get their claws in.

Ariel: Wide steps were taken toward the couch, mindful and determined not to have Rohan slip out of his grip. As though he was not in fact a ghoul with ridiculous strength.

Ariel sat victorious, but then, after barely a second of decision, he leaned back, flattening himself and allowing Rohan to straddle.

Rohan: “No no no no,” Rohan chuckled, attempting to tug Ariel into a sitting position. “Don’t be naughty, you know I’m about to have to leave!”

Ariel: "I'm just stretching out! Still tired! Aren't you tired? We can just lay together. Nothing sexy."

Rohan: “I’m all right. I’ll just go to bed early today to make up for the late night.”

In lieu of straddling, he sat beside his DJ as best he could. For his own sanity.

Ariel: Said DJ looked very much wilted at losing his straddle buddy. Arm melting off the couch and a gentle moan of complaint.

But with a smile, he sat up and rested his cheek on Rohan's shoulder.

Rohan: “Oh dear me.” Since Ariel was in range, those cheeks were being pinched and kissed. “You’ll see me again soon, I promise.”

Ariel: "Back to Cali today?" No more pinches! Both hands were taken and - well, he didn't know what to do with them now that he had them. Circle his thumbs over his knuckles to start.

Rohan: “Tomorrow. Rossmara is staying a little longer to do some business before he goes home but I need to get back to the estate.”

Ariel: "So you're leaving today?" Because, truthfully, he didn't care about Rossmara.

Rohan: “Tomorrow,” Rohan repeated, kissing those hands. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Ariel: "You said he's staying longer!" He laughed. "Thought you were giving me Dracula details!"

Rohan: Rohan laughed and shook his head. “The second part was Dracula details! The first part was me answering your question!”

Ariel: "Well are you staying over? Because - Because I'd like that!" Why are we yelling? I love it.

Rohan: He gave Ariel a fond look. “Would you really want that?” he asked softly. “For me to stay here with you?”

Ariel: As Rohan softened, so too did he.

"...Yeah. This is like, the best and worst start to a relationship I've ever been in. I wanna get to know you."

Rohan: “We did skip a few steps, didn’t we?” Rohan said thoughtfully, petting Ariel’s hair just to touch some part of him. “I want to get you know you, too. I want to learn everything about you. What you like, what you don’t like, what you were like growing up, how you look every hour of the day.”

Ariel: The more Rohan spoke the more he made him smile.

"Damn, baby. That's romantic as fuck." His laugh was soft and brief.

"We did skip a lot, but I guess that's how long distance feels? Gotta do shit quick."

Rohan: Rohan smiled. “I have my moments.”

He petted Ariel again, wondering how he could possibly feel this fond of someone he’d just met. “I guess so. Maybe it’s not just about being quick, but about doing things while you can.”

Ariel: Ariel didn't see much of a difference at the moment, but his focus was on Rohan's impossibly bright eyes, wanting to kiss between them. He hadn't felt this soft with someone in years.

"What time'll you be back?"

Rohan: He thought for a moment. “I can probably be back…around dinner time? Maybe late afternoon if we finish up a little early.”

Ariel: "Whaaaat do you like to eat, besides strawberry french toast?" He laughed at the absurdity of asking. Felt like something he should have known before asking Rohan out, but time was of the essence.

Rohan: “I have a sweet tooth but I’m not picky. Unless it’s goat cheese. I hate goat cheese.”

The question wasn’t absurd. Getting to know each other meant asking all these little questions.

“What about you?”

Ariel: Where to even start? "I like... soup," he laughed and rubbed at his face with a free hand. "Ok, like, clam chowder and pho, that kinda soup. I like Asian food and diner food."

Rohan: So cute. “Do you? Well that’s lucky. I can make all kinds of soup. All kinds of diner food.” He grinned. “I need to cook for you sometime.”

Ariel: "I kinda had a feeling you can cook. Not only are you a businessman but you're business in the kitchen."

Rohan: “I’m not the businessman, I just work for one,” he chuckled. “But I can definitely cook.”

Ariel: "Well, I can make you eggs and toast, and... omelets, and... Oh! I can do oysters rockefeller! And like, crab boil! Are you allergic to shellfish?"

Rohan: “I’d be so sad and miserable if I was. I love shellfish. All seafood really.”

Isabel had once given him the recipe for a seafood soup… Maybe he’d make it for Ariel.

Ariel: He secretly loved that they were both from the same state. Country and accent be damned.

"I'll pop around the corner and get us stuff while you're out!"

Rohan: “What are you gonna ge—“

He was cut off by his ringing phone. Their time—for now—was up.

“That’ll be the car.”

Ariel: "I'll think of something."

His stomach did a flip to the sound of their impending separation.

"I'll walk you out," he said, softly.

Rohan: Rohan nodded and answered the phone. “Yes?”

“Good morning, Mr. Dalca. I’m downstairs.”

“I’ll be right down, thank you.”

“Yes, sir.”

He put his phone in his pocket and got to his feet with a sigh. He put his suit jacket back on, straightened himself as best he could, and held a hand to Ariel.

Ariel: Ariel looked to the hand and to the man offering as he joined him on his feet.

His smile returned. "You like holding hands?"

Rohan: A smile and a nod. “I do. I also like kissing them and looking at them.”

Ariel: "That's..." So sweet. He'd never thought about what his hands must look like. Large and tanned and rough from years of gym, sports, and - and Rohan wanted to look at them.

"You can have it." He took Rohan's hand, and refused to tell him no other man had ever wanted to. It didn't matter.

Rohan: “Why thank you,” Rohan said softly, squeezing it and leading Ariel by it as they made their way downstairs where the town car and its driver were waiting for him.

Ariel: Ariel remained quiet down the hall, in the elevator, and across the foyer. Just staring at their hands. Seemed in a trance-like state. Before the final door, he pulled Rohan's hand to his lips and kissed. One long, slow kiss goodbye, as though he wouldn't be seeing him in a few hours. Just happened to be his first kiss of a man's hand, and this entire silence was in debate whether or not he should.

Rohan: Rohan didn't know if Ariel's intention had been to utterly melt him and lodge himself in Rohan's heart, but he'd succeeded. What power did he have that he was able to do it so easily?

"Sweet boy," he murmured, gently pinching one of Ariel's cheeks and kissing the other. "I'll be back this afternoon. Don't miss me too much."

Ariel: "Not too too much." He would wait by the door. Watch for Rohan to reach the car before turning and heading for the stairs. He needed the exercise and time to retrace his steps back to the DJ booth and first setting eyes on the man now his boyfriend.

What was he even making for dinner tonight? Was Rohan coming back, or had this in fact been about sex? He knew he had been desperate last night. In the heat of the moment he would have said anything to keep him, but walking up the fourth flight of stairs, he realized wholeheartedly that he had meant every word. That same inexplicable pull Rohan felt was his the same.

#Madam X's Shoulder Strap #nihiladditaenihilperdidi #rohandalca #arielcassidy

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ruchi2580 · 5 months

Text

Congratulations! Preparations are in full swing for your D-Day and as the bride-to-be, you now have to choose the perfect wedding outfit for the all-important Day!

If you decide to wear traditional, you can never go wrong with the perennial wedding classic, the elegant weaves from the age-old handlooms of Banaras…the Banarasi silk sarees. Styles come and go but traditional Banarasi silk sarees never go out of style. An Indian wedding essential, these sarees are the very definition of grandeur, befitting royalty. In fact, in India, it is believed that a bride with Banarasi sarees in her wedding trousseau will always rule like a queen in her new home.

Your wedding being one of the most magical days of your life, putting together the perfect outfit for this occasion is no mean feat. Here’s a handy guide to choosing Banarasi silk sarees for weddings:

Budget: Benarasi sarees come in different price ranges. First, you need to decide your budget before you start hunting for the perfect saree. You can even buy Banarasi silk sarees online in websites that sell genuine and authentic Banarasi Silk Sarees.

Know Your Banarasi Sarees: With so many knock-offs in the market, you need to identify genuine Banarasi silk sarees from the clutter. Did you know, a genuine Banarasi sari consists of approximately 5600 thread wires, each of them 45-inch wide? The denser the zari pattern, the greater the count.

Banarasi sarees come in four fabric variations. They are:

Katan

Georgette

Shattir

Organza (Kora) with zari and silk

You will also find different design variations such as:

Jamdani

Jangla sarees

Tanchoi sarees

Tissue Sarees

Butidar sarees

Cut work sarees

Research on each of these fabric types and designs before you make a decision.

Time of ceremony: The time of the ceremony is a very important factor for deciding the colour of your Banarasi saree. While traditionally, women opt for red sarees, for morning weddings you can also choose lighter colors like peach, cream, powder blue, pastel shades, lime or mint green, light pink. For a night time ceremony, go for darker shades like fire shades (red, yellow, orange) rust, emerald green, wine or deeper jewel tones like emerald green, pomegranate, wine.

Body type:Are you tall or short? Do you have a muffin top & amp;love handles or are you slim and svelte? Either way, your wedding saree should complement your body type and highlight your best features. If you’re tall and slim, go for Banarasi silk sarees with heavy embellishments, larger motifs, bold colors, and heavy borders e.g: raw silk sarees, tussar silk sarees or Banarasi net sarees in large prints.

If you’re short or a little on the heavier side, experiment with light colors, vertical prints and short borders. Look for Mysore silk sarees,pure georgette sarees or pure crepe sarees for your special occasion.

Complexion: Here’s another handy tip to decide the colour of your wedding saree. It should always complement your skin tone. For paler complexion, try lighter shades of pink, soft gold, yellow and peach. Wheatish complexion looks gorgeous in bright shades like vibrant red, bright mustard yellow or royal blue. And with dusky or olive complexion, you can pull off any rich and dark shades like brick red, marsala, metallic shades (gold, silver, bronze)

Occasion:

Indian weddings are known for their elaborate pre as well as post wedding rituals. Each occasion is an opportunity to flaunt your traditional sartorial senses in gorgeous silk sarees. For morning rituals you can choose Banarasi pure silk handloom sarees or pure chiffon sarees with a contemporary charm which are gorgeous yet easy-to-carry. For evening events full of music and all-round revelry, try a Kanchipuram wedding saree in bright, bold colours to be the exquisitely beautiful bride you were always meant to be.

#sareecollection #sareeindia #wedding saree #wedding dress #sareefashion #silk saree

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mysore-saree-udyog · 5 months

Text

How to choose a wedding Banarasi saree

Congratulations! Preparations are in full swing for your D-Day and as the bride-to-be, you now have to choose the perfect wedding outfit for the all-important Day!

Banarasi sarees come in four fabric variations. They are:

Katan

Georgette

Shattir

Organza (Kora) with zari and silk

You will also find different design variations such as:

Jamdani

Jangla sarees

Tanchoi sarees

Tissue Sarees

Butidar sarees

Cut work sarees

Research on each of these fabric types and designs before you make a decision.

Occasion:

#mysore saree udyog #bandhani sarees online shopping #bridal sarees #banarasi silk sarees #banarasisaree #indian sarees #saree #weddingsarees #weddingcollection #bride #bridalsarees

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is-very-sad · 2 years

Note

How about we get eldritch Y/n trying to find a way back home before they lose themselves completly?

-🌌

Warnings:loss of self, despair cosmic stuff, gradual loss of humanity, self harm (in an eldritch way)

You had to leave. Your acolytes may be sweet to you, you may have every luxury you'd ever wanted and more, but you're not sure how much longer you can resist. Your 'hands' twitch when someone walks close enough, jaw already subtly opening. There are moments when you wonder in apathy how much pain someone, Zhongli for instance, would suffer for a simple smile. But those urges are nothing, you want to tear off pieces of yourself. Things twitch under your skin, both here and at your main body, ready to hatch and serve. You don't even know exactly what that means.

You also know if you 'reconnect' with your other self, you'll gain knowledge. Knowledge people would and have killed for. Knowledge to change so many things to your whims. But you don't. You can't, you can't bring yourself to look at it. Look at yourself.

You miss your family.

Your friends.

You're a God.

You do what you desire.

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

Albedo's machine may be gone, but you're able to pull some basic (by your new standards) knowledge from your mind. Gather some sacrifices for energy, some ingredients for a ritual. Brace yourself for some effort of your own.

Break through reality, travel subspace.

Your violent/truly devout are delighted to hear your plans for a great sacrifice. Finally, they think, we can prove our love. Others are sent traveling for the other necessary items. But a part of you doubts.

How selfish, leaving the people that love you so. How cruel, murdering people, bad or not, just so you can have what you want.

A necessary price, you hope desperately.

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

The festival was great. Childe, Scaramouche both were the most eager to spill red for your satisfaction. They even made a contest out of who could make the most elaborate prayers.

And yet you were weeping silently. The cult was panicking; what was done wrong? How can we fix it?? They begged for any command.

Their Devotion was so overwhelming, the power they gave to you so awe inspiring that you saw nearly all of time in a matter of seconds. Glimpses, and instinct reading the rest for you.

They were gone. Somehow, you were the guiding star for the milky way that so fascinated you as a child. And then you made Teyvat. And you left, leaving your precious Terra to simply blink out of existence. And it was your fault.

Your cult screams in panic anew as your body crumples under the sorrow. Tears made of dark matter and stardust.

Somewhere in the dark; countless mouths scream in pain as eyes cry for people that never existed.

#genshin imagines #genshin cult au #sagau #self aware genshin #genshin x reader #Eldritch y/n #I answer stuff #100 event #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin x reader #my stuff

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apocalypticgargoyle · 3 years

Note

YES YES YES REBEL PUNZ PLEASEEEE I NEED IT FOR SCIENCE PLEASEEEE

-🐉anon

Okay so *sigh* I know I keep saying this about all our boys but I love heem

𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐋. ☥ 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐥!𝐏𝐮𝐧𝐳

pairing: rebel!Punz x fm!reader

word count: ~ 3500

warnings: smut (18+), pure filth basically, language, blood, fighting, illegal activities, degradation, praise, domination, spanking, etc.

playlists: Rebel!Punz, EDGERS

The basement was only accessible through one door which was stationed at the back of Techno’s motorcycle shop. The door was bolted from the inside, only to be unlocked after the murmuring of a password known by word of mouth.

Behind the door was a flight of stairs going downward. The walls are reminiscent of walking through a damp tunnel, the air hanging thick, smelling of rotting soil and burning leaves. A man stationed on one of the landings would open the door at the end of the staircase and then move back upstairs as one would continue through the dark hallway, faintly hearing the sounds of men shouting. Finally, the last entryway and the gateway into a different universe: two double doors made of decaying wood.

The hinges always creaked when pried opened, giving the illusion that the basement was nothing more than storage, yet through those doors laid a bustling room of cockroaches and their bookies. Men in all shapes and sizes, in suits and sweatpants, with elaborate hairstyles and hats clustered around a giant roped-off area in the center of the basement.

Ritual followers of the activities referred to it as the Ring.

The dingy atmosphere of expensive cologne and cigar smoke was a trip back in the twenties when similar tactics were just for the high of living. Underground matches are like alcohol during the prohibition and the Ring was the modern-day speakeasy.

And that’s where you were, swimming in the stale fog of cigar smoke and sweaty bodies as you scored percentages into your small notebook, taking the bribes as cash was handed to you. The men with the expensive appearances always flaunted their exaggerated statistics, testing your knowledge about the Ring as if they weren’t facilitating some kind of kill match. They treated you as if you were the equivalent of a cigarette girl when in reality, you held their fortunes in your hand and controlled the fate of the fight.

You were Techno’s eyes, ears, and author. He would observe from afar, crossing his arms over his chest as you eyed Punz, telling him which way to fix the fight to make Techno the most money. Punz was completely attuned to you, his light eyes trained to search for your mild quirks and subtle hints as you pretended to add up the odds. Regretfully, it was a losing night against an outside competitor.

Punz drew in a sharp breath as you chewed the inside of your cheek, barely instructing him. You flashed him four of your fingers, knowing full-well that Techno was guaranteed at least a $10,000 payout if Punz let the competitor wail on him for that long. You always preferred the nights when you could nod for him to flatten the challenger in under two rounds, but nights like tonight left your stomach in knots.

You rolled the sleeves of your white button-up shirt, your suit jacket hanging on a fold-out chair nearest to Techno as you continued to work the floor. As you walked the perimeter, your gaze glued to Punz, who was wrapping white tape around his knuckles and watching you. You knew that his heavy-handed approach in the first few rounds would leave the protection in nothing but white tatters, peeling away from his butchered skin.

His lip was still busted from the match a few days prior, cheekbone tinted with a purple hue and eyes set tired to avoid giving away the adrenaline you knew was pulsing through his body. His hand flexed against the tape, giving him more motion. Your sights settled on the healing cut that divided his eyebrow, the memory of seeing Dream’s ring cut into Punz’s face making your blood boil.

You liked to stand on the opposite end of the make-shift ring from Punz. There were days when you wished you weren’t some kind of conductor for the underground matches, mainly so you could cheer on your lover like the rest of the spectators.

But alas, you were the puppeteer and Punz was your obedient marionette.

The fight began with the ringing of an ancient-looking shift bell, Punz stepping back on the balls of his feet as his opponent remained defensive. Punz rolled his eyes, sights flashing to you before moving to land the first blow; a heavy shot to the man’s side. You crossed your arms, nodding as if to tell him he only needed to lose by a hair.

At your direction the fight became bloodier, knuckles cracking against bone and rib cages, drawing the crimson streams of life from their bodies. In an ideal world where Punz was fighting for his own mercy and not the money bags of his boss, Punz would have wasted the opposing man, smiling as he did so.

Punz always seemed to gain stamina the more he was battered, thriving off of the blood pooling in his teeth or streaming down the side of his head. In bare-knuckle matches, he was almost unrecognizable in his blood lust.

The bell chimed again, the rounds moving quicker as Punz pretended to be worn out from the weaker jabs of his competitor. You chuckled to yourself, a smirk settling on your lips as he rolled his shoulders. His expression tilted towards you, seemingly noticing your amusement as he fought not to grin himself.

Punz launched his fist into his opponent’s face, blood gushing instantly from the man’s nose as Punz hammered another blow into his torso. The man retaliated by driving his elbow into Punz’s stomach before throwing his knuckles into Punz’s jaw. Punz’s t-shirt clung to his sweat-drenched body, the thought of peeling him out of those clothes later in the night made your skin prickle with goosebumps. His messy hair and concentrated eyes were allusions of unadulterated sin as he brushed the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping away the thread of blood trickling down his chin from his re-busted lip.

Punz knew to wear down, letting the man knock him against the ropes, Punz’s light eyes looking up at you with nearly a breath between the two of you. “Good boy,” you stated, only loud enough for him to hear. His eyebrow quirked at your words to combat the cocky grin wanting to break through his tough façade with your praise. He stood up straighter and submitted to losing as his competitor landed another punch.

After the fight, you indulged in the sound of your heels clicking against the staircase as you moved back up to the shop, the area quiet and desolate after the cockroaches had scampered away back into their crevices. You turned, starting down the long hallway towards the locker room, grabbing the First Aid kit off the wall on your way. The envelope of money felt heavy in your hand, its manilla coloring almost too obvious against your suited attire.

You pushed the door open with your foot, peering down one of the rows of lockers before spotting Punz, yawning slightly as he pulled off his shirt, revealing various old-style tattoos that matched the ones painted across his knuckles. Whenever you saw him in this state, you silently thanked George for his hours of work and steady hand.

Punz’s eyes perked up as you entered the room; the familiar sight of you ready to patch up his wounds brought a content smile to his bruised features. “How’d I do, dove?” He coaxed looking up at you as he sat on the dividing bench. His voice was raspy and deep from exhaustion.

You gave him a small smile, tossing your jacket on the other side of him and taking his face in your hand, pressing your lips against his briefly. Your nose brushed his as you placed a kiss on his cheek. “So good,” you hummed. He moved to straddle the bench as you sat in front of him, digging into the aid kit.

Before you could even start in on his wounds, his hands were snaking up your legs to grip your thighs, pulling you closer to him on the bench. You propped your knee against his, taking one of his hands and dabbing away the dried blood on his knuckles as he dug his face into the crook of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin as he took in your scent, his lips pressing against your neck before he unclasped the top few buttons of your shirt. His other hand moved to press against your freshly exposed skin, teeth nibbling at your ear lobe.

You let out a quiet giggle at his antics, moving your head to brush against his cheek and shrug him off. “Cut it out. You’ll distract me,” you muttered, stifling the obvious grin in your tone.

He let out a low chuckle, moving your hair out of the way before settling in the crook of your neck again, hand moving to wrap around your waist and draw you closer. “There’s no way. You’re too stubborn,” he jested, his stubble tickling your chest as he nibbled at the sensitive skin on your throat.

Once you finished with his hands, you moved onto his face, tending to the small cuts and scrapes. Punz continued his own form of clean-up as he pressed his lips against the inside of your wrist. You knew he was coming off of his fight high and you were waiting on him to rag you about wincing during some of the harder hits. He got off on the idea that your calm and indifferent surface cracked when it came to him.

His hands hooked around the back of your knees, tugging you practically into his lap as you rolled your eyes. His fingers untucked your shirt, slipping between the material and your skin as his lips traveled the length of your jaw. His blunt nails raked down your back, his neediness unmasked by the slight roll of his hips against yours.

You dropped what you were working on, running your fingers into his blond hair as he moaned against your skin. You moved your legs to wrap around his waist, letting him grip onto your hips and press you against his body. He sealed his lips against yours, hungrily kissing you with a groan. You tugged on his hair, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

His fingers unbuttoned the rest of your shirt, slipping it off your shoulders as your teeth moved to dig into his shoulder. His hands moved to tug your pants down your thighs. You pushed him back against the bench, balancing yourself on his lap as you settled his hands on your thighs, leaning down to kiss him again.

He gripped onto your hips, driving you to grind against him, a moan of his hand slipping through your lips in praise. Your fingers raked down his chest as you ground your hips against him, making him bite his lips to keep himself quiet.

He pushed himself into you, making you groan as you adjusted to his size, hungry for more friction. As you rolled your hips, his hands moved to your chest. You pulled his arm towards you, pressing your lips to the tattoo across his wrist in your handwriting. "You did so well tonight, baby," you cooed, earning a moan from him at your praise. "I'm so proud of you."

You leaned down, swallowing his lustful noises and you pressing your lips against his as you thrust against him. The tension from the night and the sight of him submitting to you completely.

His head tipped back against the wood, his hips swirling against yours as his mouth opened with a slight whimper. You clenched around him, feeling him throb inside of you. You bit back a smile, watching how easy it was to get him off as his cheeks flushed, a lazy grin on his face as you moved on top of him. "Fuck look how much you want me," you mocked, his hands moving to dig into your hips.

His brows furrowed as he mumbled your name, making you pick up your pace. "Shit, don't stop," he nearly begged.

You curled your hips, leaning down to press your lips to his neck. "You deserve it, my good boy," you husked, tongue flattening against his collarbone as he moaned at the feeling.

He pushed himself to sit up, giving you a new angle as you drove him deeper into you, thrusting against his body and tugging at his hair. He dug his face into the crook of your neck, quietly pleading out your name as if he were confessing his sins to you.

His coarse hands dug into your back, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as your head fell back, moaning about how good he was making you feel.

It didn't take long for him to finish, his hot seed spreading between your legs as he groaned darkly in your ear. You combed your fingers through his hair, letting him roll his hips against yours and ride out his high.

Dream kicked his feet up on Techno’s desk, popping a few jelly beans in his mouth from his position on the other side of Sapnap, the bone tattoos on his fingers making you slightly grateful for Punz's ink choices. Sapnap leaned his head back against the edge of his chair, closing his eyes tiredly as you crossed your legs, flipping through one of the magazines that Techno had stacked in the corner of his office. Punz flexed his hands, still sore from the previous night’s fight, as he watched your skirt ride up your thighs a few centimeters.

The office was silent between the four of you, waiting for the man in charge after he’d called all of you in for an “emergency meeting.” Punz looked over your shoulder at what you were reading and you angled yourself to share the magazine with him, trying to ignore the tension he was building between the two of you as his thigh brushed yours.

The bag of jelly beans in Dream’s pocket made shuffling noises as he moved closer to whisper something to Sapnap, making him chuckle softly. The door swung open, sending the four of you on your feet as Techno’s secretary rattled off what was on his docket for the day. He ran his fingers through his short pink hair, eyes zoning out slightly as he took a seat behind his desk before thanking the woman and sending her on her way. He motioned for all of you to sit.

“My anxiety is through the roof, I just need to know if I’m in trouble first, Tech,” Dream started in, making Punz’s eyes roll and you to let out a small laugh.

Techno began to feather through some of the papers on his desk, pulling on his glasses. His t-shirt flexed against his muscular arms. You were surprised to see him in casual clothes in the middle of the week, but you figured he had plans with Sapnap after the meeting. “No, you’re fine, Dream.”

Dream chewed on one of the jelly beans. “Are you sure, because I can’t figure out why I’d be in here. Like, I’m just,” he paused, leaning forward to look at you before snapping his fingers a few times searching for a word. “What do you call it?”

You scoffed. “A floater. Snap at me again and I’ll break your dick off,” you bit, making Punz subtly cover his mouth to conceal his grin.

Dream winked at you. “Sounds like one hell of a handjob,” he quipped back without missing a beat.

“Dream, shut the fuck up,” Sapnap sighed, looking at Techno as if to urge him to continue. Dream snickered at Sapnap.

Techno cleared his throat. “Okay, now that that’s out of our system,” he pulled a page from the stack. “Dream, I’m giving you more matches to take some of the weight off of Punz.”

You tilted your head. “What?” Techno’s gaze shifted to you as if commanding you to elaborate. “Punz makes you the most money out of all of them. You’re losing profit with Dream.” You weren’t going to sit idly by and let your lover get knocked down a peg. Especially, not for Dream to step up in his place.

Techno nodded. “It looks bad on my part if one of my fighters dies in the middle of a match though, doesn’t it?”

“It’s illegal underground fighting. He knows the risks-” Punz reached over to cover your mouth.

He sighed. “That sounds fine. No less than three a week, though.”

Dream let out a low whistle. “Damn, she let you borrow your balls just for this?”

Punz turned his head to him, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “Hmmm. What does that bracelet say, sweet boy?” Sapnap laughed at Punz’s comment, making Dream punch his arm. Techno shook his head at all of you, settling his glasses on top of his head, pushing his bangs out of his eyes.

“You guys are all simps,” Techno murmured to end the discussion. “Sapnap, I have a new model I want you to test out. Punz, I’m leaving the shop to the two of you while I’m gone.” He gestured between you and Punz before tilting his head to Dream. “I mean this with the utmost respect but, go mutilate your body or something at George’s. I don’t trust you and Punz in the same room for more than ten minutes.”

You snorted and Dream shrugged at his words. As you all stood to leave, Sapnap and Techno began to discuss his new car modifications. “Hey, Dream. Can you get my name?” You teased and he pinched your cheek.

“Right above my ass because I know you’ll be staring at it anyway,” he jested. Punz moved to stand behind Techno’s desk, flipping through his account book. His knuckle tattoos flexed as his fingers searched for a specific tab.

You sighed. “Finally, I’ll have something to look at,” you countered, biting back a smirk. Dream mocked a pained expression before heading out the door. You turned back to Punz, walking behind Techno’s desk as well, your hands running along his black jacket. “You’re quiet today,” you muttered, fingers looping through his thin silver chain to draw it from beneath his shirt. You’d bought it for him for your anniversary a few years prior.

He turned towards you, his deadpan look sending shivers down your spine as his hand wrapped around your wrist. “You think I can’t defend myself?” He dared, eyes flickering with lust and heat as he looked at you. His hand moved to hold your chin, your breath hitching as his lips threatened to brush against yours. “I have half a mind to teach you a lesson for that.” His voice was mellow and low as he spoke to you, making your ears burn red.

His thumb moved to brush against your lip, your mouth opening to take his digit between your teeth almost instinctively. There was no way any of the guys would take you seriously if they knew how whipped you actually were for Punz, which was most of the reason why he let you lead when you were around them.

The other half of him liked when you were scary and in charge.

Punz knocked you against the desk, your torso hitting the wood as you bit back a giggle, gripping onto the edge of the wood as he kicked your legs apart. “Speaking for me like you’re my master,” he jabbed, pushing your skirt further up your waist and grinding against you. He tsked as you moaned, pressing your cheek to the grain, shoving Techno’s pen display to the side.

He gripped the collar of your shirt, snapping a few of your buttons. “Christ, Luke,” you moaned, voice uneven and out of breath. “I’m gonna run out of shirts,” you barely whined.

His lips pressed against your shoulder, nose moving to brush against behind your ear. “Are you complaining, pet?” He hissed, hand settling on the edge beside your own, grinding his hips against yours. You shook your head violently, making him lean off you. The sound of his belt dropping to the floor behind you made your head spin, your knees weak.

His hand brushed over your waistband, dipping below your skirt and smacking the curve of your ass. You whimpered at the impact, heart racing as your body throbbed for his attention. "Filthy slut. You like when I punish you, don't you?" Punz chided, pressing his knee between your legs and knotting his fingers into your hair. You rolled back against his thigh almost as if by instinct, hungry for his antics.

His palm smacked you again, gripping onto the sensitive, burning skin with his strong hand as if it were a trophy for him. Truth be told, you were his trophy, especially when you gave in like you were.

As you heard his zipper, your face flushed, gripping onto the wood as you readied yourself, submitting to Punz's mercy with a grin on your face.

Punz Tag List: (to join, please follow this link :))

@more-like-reyna @froggyy06 @drunkpumpkincake @aroyaldarknessblr @camerondiaz48104 @madsbbg @alm334 @acidluvs @bbigbbrainn @generallysleepdeprived @froggerrrr @ribbitsworld @bunnylotl @thegirlwhowritesawksh-t @bobbyftmydad @twist3dtinkerbell @book-of-anarchy

#rebel!punz #punz x reader #punz fanfiction #punz oneshot #punz imagine #punz smut #punz fluff #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt x you #mcyt au #mcyt smut #mcyt x reader #edgers #edgers: punz

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jjacob · 3 years

Text

all i want for christmas is you

❝ the school had started to take notice of you. lee juyeon, however, had always noticed. ❞

PAIRING ▸ lee juyeon x fem!reader (ft. best friend!lee minho)

GENRES ▸ fluff, high school au, sports au, best friends to lovers au

WARNINGS ▸ mild profanity but !! lots of !! fluff !!

SUMMARY ▸ the bet was simple: find a date to the winter ball. the only problem was that juyeon didn’t want just any girl. he wanted you.

PLAYLIST ▸ all i want for christmas is you by mariah carey

WORD COUNT ▸ 5055 words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ merry christmas! this is a gift for addy @honeyju the biggest juyeon simp ik !! ily addy i am excited/scared/not emotionally ready to read the minho one which ! btw y’all should read here bc our stories are loosely connected! also disclaimer: i know jack shit ab football but i tried

LEE JUYEON TENDED TO REGRET HALF THE THINGS HE SAID SOMETIMES.

In eighth grade, Juyeon’s sense of humor was largely self-deprecating and consisted of saying he wanted to die at the slightest inconvenience. But, with his spectacular timing, he let the joke slip in front of a teacher once and froze up upon seeing her concerned expression. Juyeon later received a note from the counselor’s office and had to convince them that he was perfectly fine.

In tenth grade, Juyeon had grown past his phase of dark humor and moved onto high school football. He made the cut for the team the previous year, and managed to make it on the varsity team by the time he was a sophomore. In the beginning of the season, they asked who wanted to be captain the next year, and Juyeon boldly declared that he did. Thus, he was ridiculed and sentenced to pick up balls and clean up the gym after every practice from then on.

Now, as a high school junior in the varsity football team, Juyeon had screwed himself over by making a stupid bet with his best friend, Lee Minho.

Lee Minho was, in short, a conniving bastard. Juyeon never should have trusted him and gone along with his antics. The mere thought of what he had gotten himself into was enough to send his heart into overdrive.

The bet sounded simple enough: find a date to the Winter Ball.

Of course, it was easier said than done, but Juyeon was a star athlete and had girls sliding in his DMs left and right. He could easily find a date if he wanted to, and, honestly, Juyeon only needed to send a few texts and he would probably be secured for the dance. The problem was, however, that Juyeon only wanted you.

Minho was well aware of Juyeon’s pitiful, unrequited love towards you. It was probably the reason he suggested the bet; his best friend either wanted to see him miserable or see him score a chance with you. Either way, Juyeon wasn’t sure his heart was ready to shoot his shot.

Juyeon had crushed on you ever since you sat next to him in the seventh grade and let him borrow your pencil. It was such a silly start to his admiration for you, but his feelings grew stronger when the both of you actually became friends. You were so bright when you laughed, so sweet when you spoke, and so adorable when you smiled. Juyeon had never felt this way about anyone else and always got butterflies when he saw you. Juyeon was never one to chase after girls but he would find himself constantly thinking about what you were up to and having several internal dilemmas over whether he should ask you to hang out or not.

Five years later and Juyeon still harbored feelings for you. Now, they had matured into something deeper, but you still racked his brain nevertheless. It didn’t help that you had a major glow-up in high school and were probably the most beautiful person Juyeon had ever seen.

The school started to take notice of you.

Juyeon, on the other hand, had always noticed.

“Are you sure we can finish a medium before practice?” Minho asked Juyeon, setting a box of pizza on the table in front of him. “Also, I saw Y/N by the gym earlier.”

Juyeon perked up. “Y/N?”

“Yeah,” Minho replied, grabbing a slice of pepperoni pizza for himself. “You know what day it is, right?”

Minho took a bite out of his pizza, observing Juyeon with a raised brow. His best friend was on the baseball team but treating themselves to pizza had become a monthly ritual. Despite being on different teams, he was closer to Minho than his football teammates.

“Thursday?”

“And that means?”

Right.

Juyeon had formulated an elaborate plan to ask you out during the football game today, but, of course, it all depended on whether their team won or not. It would have been kind of ridiculous to propose after a loss. On the bright side, he knew he could count on the fact that you’d actually be present considering you were a cheerleader.

But what if you already had a date? You surely hadn’t mentioned it to him or posted about it on social media, so he was riding on an assumption that you haven’t been asked. That was bizarre to Juyeon, though, because you were the prettiest person he had ever seen. However, it was true that you were gradually getting popular, and that made Juyeon a touch nervous.

“I ask her out tomorrow,” Juyeon breathed out. “Am I ready for this?”

Minho scoffed lightly. “Are you ever?”

Juyeon frowned at his best friend, scrunching up his nose at his distasteful comment. “What about you? Have you gotten a date?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

Juyeon sighed. That was probably all he would get out of Lee Minho today. Once Minho set his mind on something, he carried it out diligently until the end. Juyeon honestly had no idea who he wanted to bring since Minho didn’t like talking about girls he was interested in, but he supposed it wasn’t that big of a deal as long as his best friend was happy.

It wasn’t like Juyeon was never going to hear about his friend’s endeavors. After all, he did pick up on Minho’s slow descent from an apathetic individual to a whipped ball of fluff. If Juyeon mentioned that to his best friend, however, he would probably be ridiculed for consistently being whipped for you since the seventh grade.

Juyeon nearly jumped out of his seat at the sound of his ringer going off. He scrambled to pull his phone out of his pocket, ignoring Minho’s teasing smirk at the sight of his frazzled self.

y/n: hey :) i’m gonna drop off some gingerbread cookies my mom made after practice so lmk when i can come over

Juyeon must have saved a country in a past life for this kind of luck.

juyeon: i love your mom’s cookies. you can come over whenever you’d like

y/n: how about we walk home together after practice?

juyeon: sounds good to me

Now, the pizza was starting to make his mouth water, but if you were walking home with him, Juyeon was ready to drop it and run to see you even though he loved pizza. But Juyeon loved you more than he loved pizza, and he believed that was true love.

“She made me cookies,” Juyeon announced.

“She made you cookies,” Minho repeated, leaning forward in surprise.

“Well, her mom did, but yeah.”

Minho turned his attention back to his pizza. “So this is about your mommy kink again.”

“I don’t have a fucking mommy—why would you say that?” Juyeon cried out, kicking his friend’s shin under the table.

“You don’t? Last time I checked, she was making dinner in the kitchen when I came over yesterday.”

“I’m talking about the kink!”

Yet, even a silly back-and-forth with Minho couldn’t get Juyeon down from his high over you. He was still processing the fact that you were going to walk home with him and, if Juyeon played his cards right, maybe he could get a feel of how comfortable you would be if he asked you out during the game tomorrow.

Minho snickered. “You look happy.”

Juyeon couldn’t even mask his lovesick smile and flushed cheeks. He folded his arms on the table in front of him and buried his face in them, his head spinning at the thought of you.

“Shut up, Minho.”

The only problem with you being on the cheerleading team was that you were extremely distracting.

Juyeon was the star quarterback and frankly, it was kind of pathetic that the one thing that kicked him in the ass was seeing you in the knee socks and pom-poms. It didn’t help that you were a flyer so Juyeon’s stomach pitted with anxiety whenever he saw you being thrown up and whenever he heard a scream coming from the direction of the cheerleaders.

Today was different, though. Juyeon could care less about the screams and falls from the corner of the field. All he could think about was you and how he was going to ask you out. If his plan was going to work, it was going to draw a lot of attention and be quite embarrassing if it failed.

All of his confidence got knocked down with a single sweep when he saw someone asked you to the dance.

One of the cheerleaders broke into a fit of giggles at the sight, clasping a hand over her mouth. “Oh my god!”

You were frozen stiff, an awkward smile on your face as the guy walked onto the field with a sign and about a dozen roses. Juyeon could feel his heart sinking to the ground with each step the guy took, with each second his smile grew brighter.

“Is he seriously confessing during practice?” Sohn Youngjae asked, brows furrowed as he rested his arm on Juyeon’s shoulder. “That’s real brave.”

“What’s his deal doing it here? He isn’t even on the team,” Juyeon said, coming off more bitter than he had expected.

Younghoon scoffed. “It’s a bold move. He must be confident that Y/N’s going to say yes.”

Juyeon squared his shoulders. He was conflicted with the swell of anger and deflation of you possibly being taken, but nevertheless, all he could do was watch helplessly as you were being asked out. From where they were on the field, Juyeon couldn’t hear much, but he could see your reactions quite well. The wolf-whistles and cheers were pissing him off, but he was fixed on you.

He turned to look towards Minho, who was practicing on the field adjacent to theirs. His best friend met his gaze immediately like they had some form of exclusive telepathic communication. Minho nodded towards you and raised a brow, as if nudging Juyeon to go interrupt them. That, however, was something he was far too cowardly to bring himself to do.

Your voice resounded clearer than Juyeon had expected.

“I’m really sorry,” you apologized sincerely, ducking your head and keeping your hands entwined behind you. “I’m not interested, but I do appreciate the gesture.”

Juyeon felt a weight lift off of his chest. He wasn’t sure if he should’ve felt relieved that you shot him down or nervous that you rejected an attractive, confident guy who clearly liked you. However, he soon had no time to mull over that when the guy’s reaction was getting more aggressive than crestfallen.

“Y/N, I asked you out in front of all these people,” he said with a distasteful laugh. “Are you seriously rejecting me right now?”

“Sorry, I just don’t want to go with you,” you replied firmly, voice dropping as you became more conscious of your surroundings. “I’m sorry it had to be public but you didn’t really give me a choice.”

For a split second, Juyeon wondered how he could still hear you when you were practically muttering at this point, and then he realized that he started walking to you without even realizing. His feet carried him unknowingly, hand balled at his side and eyes stony and trained on the guy.

“You could’ve just accepted it and told me later that you didn’t want to go with me,” he said with a scoff. “It’s like you enjoy humiliating others publicly.”

Your teammates rushed forward to argue and fend him off while you opened your mouth to protest, but Juyeon was faster, moving in front of you so he was head-to-head with the guy.

“She said she’s not interested,” he said with a threatening undertone, wondering where he managed to muster up the courage to be this assertive.

You were visibly shocked by Juyeon’s actions, and he couldn’t even blame you because he was equally just as surprised as you were. Yet, all he could do was glare daggers down at the other guy with steely eyes and frown until he backed off.

“Thanks,” you said softly once the guy had left.

Juyeon was flustered by all the girls giggling behind you but was amazed by how cool and collected you remained despite that. He turned to you, eyes softening and shoulders relaxing. He knew he was getting an earful about this from his teammates after practice and most definitely from Minho as well.

“No problem,” Juyeon replied, cheeks red. “He was bothering you. I couldn’t just ignore it.”

“That was really sweet of you, Juyeon.” You bit back a smile and suggested, “Meet you at the front gates after practice?”

“See you then.”

Even though Juyeon could’ve spent the rest of practice talking to you, he sprinted back as fast as he could because his cheeks were only getting redder as the cheerleaders gushed about what he did for you. He could hear their gossip and whispering even as he was running back to his team. Juyeon was positive he wouldn’t escape the embarrassment, though, because Lee Jaehyun was smirking at him when he got back.

“You’re blushing, dude.”

Juyeon shoved him.

There was a universal law that was newly decreed. It read: Lee Minho shall never text, call, or speak to Lee Juyeon whenever Y/N was around.

The reason for that being the fact that Juyeon was easily embarrassed and Minho’s texts were not helping his case. He felt it was rude enough to check his phone while he was walking with you, but every time he saw a notification flash, his eyes widened with sheer distress over Minho’s texts.

minho: like three people asked me if you and y/n are fucking bc of what you pulled during practice today

minho: wait are y’all fucking and just not telling me

minho: i knew it was sus that she was coming over to your house

juyeon: fake news!! stop making me feel shy :(

Juyeon decided he had enough Lee Minho for today and turned off his phone.

“That was honestly the coolest thing I’ve ever seen you do,” you gushed to Juyeon as you walked home with him, fingers looped around the straps of your backpack. “Way cooler than you punting footballs.”

“No need to flatter me,” Juyeon replied coolly but his shy smile and red-tipped ears said otherwise. “That guy was being unnecessarily aggressive.”

“His proposal was out of nowhere!” you exclaimed. “I don’t get what he expected me to do.”

Juyeon smiled through the pain. Lord, give me strength, he prayed to whatever divine power was out there.

“Are you not interested in having a date to the dance then?” Juyeon asked, looking down at you curiously.

You paused for a moment and Juyeon thought his heart would stop in anticipation for your answer. Come to think of it, he had never seen you go to a school dance with a date before. You were always with your friend group. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to see you stick with them, but Juyeon was hoping he could change that.

“Well,” you started, “if the right person asked me then I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Juyeon couldn’t exactly read your smile but it made him want to faint. The rest of the walk back home was spent talking about school and football, but Juyeon couldn’t get your answer to his question out of his head. He even walked past his house because his head was so full of you, resulting in you needing to stop him and tell him that they had already reached his place.

“Y/N! It’s so good to see you!” Juyeon’s mom chirped with a good-natured smile. “How has your mom been?”

Juyeon’s eyes widened upon the realization that they never stopped by at your place first to get the cookies. He opened his mouth to interject but you went on to answer.

“She’s been great, Mrs. Lee,” you replied, smiling just as big, and pulled out a box of cookies from your bag. “She wanted me to give these to you.”

“That’s so sweet! Give her my thanks,” his mom replied and opened the door wider once she accepted the cookies. “Come in for some tea, will you?”

Juyeon was practically frozen at the doorway while you were taking off your shoes and walking inside. If you had the cookies with you this entire time, then why didn’t you just give them to him to take home himself? Unless you were worried about the courtesy, it was a bit out of your way to take the time to walk home with Juyeon to deliver them.

“Juyeon, what are you doing out there?” his mom asked. “Come inside. It’s cold.”

“Right.”

Having you over at his house wasn’t exactly the sparkly fantasy that Juyeon thought it would be.

He was getting quite jealous of your mom hogging all of your attention. It wasn’t like you and Juyeon drifted apart during high school, so he wasn’t sure why his mom had to pull you away from him and have her own conversation with you. The worst part was that Juyeon couldn’t even join in on the conversation. He had no idea what they were even talking about.

That is, until his mom brought up the dance.

“Do you have a date, Y/N?” Juyeon’s mom asked.

“I don’t,” she replied. “I usually just go with my friends.”

“You’re so pretty, though,” Mrs. Lee tutted. “I’m sure someone must’ve asked you out.”

“Actually, someone asked me today,” you said. There was a moment of silence as you looked over at Juyeon while his gaze bore into yours. For a moment, you were struggling for what to say, mouthing words that weren’t being processed. Juyeon rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly once you regained your composure. “Juyeon actually helped me out.”

Mrs. Lee straightened up. “My son did?” She looked amused as she turned to Juyeon.

“Yeah,” you answered, grinning. “He was really cool.”

Juyeon blushed darkly once their eyes were on him. “W-what? I couldn’t ignore it. I wasn’t even doing that much. I was just helping out. You know, being a decent person,” he rambled and stood up. “Anyways, isn’t it getting late? Mom, Y/N has to go home soon and it’s gonna be pitch black outside if you keep her here.”

“Oh, you’re right.” Mrs. Lee frowned as she peered out the window. “Juyeon, you walk her home then.”

“What?” he sputtered out, looking between you and his mom before he caved, muttering, “I’ll go get my jacket.”

After an exchange of goodbyes, you had stepped out of the house and waited while Juyeon was slipping his shoes on. There was a moment of struggle where he had tied his laces too tight and couldn’t get the shoe on but he managed to slip it on after a few seconds of internal screaming. Juyeon zipped up his jacket the moment he stepped outside, the brisk coldness making his goosebumps rise.

“You really don’t have to walk me back,” you told Juyeon. “It’s cold outside.”

“It’s really late,” Juyeon replied, rubbing his hands together in hopes that the friction would provide some heat. “You shouldn’t be walking home by yourself, and I really don’t mind.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, ducking your face. “For this, for what you did during practice—everything.”

Juyeon was glad that you weren’t looking at him because his mouth was opening and closing over and over again like a fish. He was also thankful for the fact that he could blame the dust of pink across his cheeks on the cold winter bite. Unfortunately, you lived close by so Juyeon didn’t have time to come up with a cool response and he didn’t want to leave things like this. There was a good vibe going on and he was upset that he couldn’t act upon it; when it came to you, Lee Juyeon was a coward.

“Um, we’re here so…” Juyeon trailed off when he turned to you, sort of thrown off by how beautiful you looked with your windswept hair and flushed cheeks. Dazed, he reached forward and moved a strand of your hair out of your face. “It’s good I walked you home and you’re not like, lost or… something—I’ll shut up now.”

You laughed, and it was an octave higher as if you were rattled from him touching your hair. “Ah, yes, a few streets down can be a harrowing trek.”

Juyeon laughed with you before his eyes settled on you. Your hands were crossed, rubbing your arms that were prickled with goosebumps. A wave of guilt washed through Juyeon and led him to strip his jacket off immediately. He ignored the piercing chill and put his jacket around your shoulders, making sure they covered your bare arms.

“My house is right here,” you argued. “You’re going to be cold.”

“Keep it on. I have something to tell you after the game,” Juyeon said firmly. It was his second burst of courage for you today and he was a little too amped up for his own good. “If you don’t like it then give me back my jacket tomorrow.”

Before you could respond, Juyeon turned on his heel and bolted home, the biggest grin across his face because he was head-over-heels for you.

Juyeon had never been so nervous in his life.

The game was underway, Juyeon’s leg bouncing as he eyeballed the scoreboard. His team was strong in the first two quarters, cutting it close by the third, but now they were neck-to-neck. They had ended with a tie and now they decided to go into overtime for the sake of choosing a winner for the game. It was a sudden death round so whoever scored first would win the game. Juyeon, however, found it difficult to concentrate.

Especially with Lee Minho breathing down his back.

“Are you ready?” his best friend asked.

“Yes—well, no, but I don’t really have a choice.”

“That’s true.”

“I already made the sign and told the team and everything,” Juyeon whined. “I really screwed myself over, Minho.”

Minho pushed at the back of his head. “Dude, I’m talking about the game.”

“Oh, that—that’s fine,” Juyeon stammered. “Fifteen minutes—we just have to win, and then I have to ask out the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

“You could chicken out,” Minho suggested, “but that also comes with me never letting you live it down.”

“You see, I kind of already implied that I’m going to tell her something important.”

“You did?” Minho’s voice was somewhere between shocked and impressed.

“Shit, I gotta go,” Juyeon muttered, pushing himself off the bench. “Keep the poster safe for me!”

“Good luck, champ!”

Juyeon, sweaty and bangs sticking to his forehead, had to ignore every distraction and think about winning the game before his stomach threw itself into a pool of anxiety over asking you out. He got in a huddle with his team in the remaining fifteen seconds they had before they had to get in formation and lowered the facemask of his helmet. It was up to this one last play to determine whether they would win the game or not.

“Just like we practiced, alright?” Juyeon told them. “Double-wing power pass. We get them to bite thinking it’s a run play and then open up a passing lane.”

“Alright, let’s go,” Jaehyun cheered, and the rest of them put in their mouth guards and lowered their facemasks.

Juyeon took a shaky breath as he got in formation at the line of scrimmage. His heart was racing but he wasn’t sure it was about the game. Nevertheless, he steeled his nerves and held his ground. The whistle blew and the crowd was silent, observing the tension on the field carefully.

“Silver-80! Silver-80! Hut! Hut! Hike!” Juyeon yelled, and the center, Sangyeon, snapped the ball to him.

Juyeon faked a handoff to Jaehyun, the fullback, and spun around, rolling to his right. Changmin sped up in front of Juyeon to defend him. A smile tugged at Juyeon’s lips. Their plan was working just as he intended, but there was a problem: they couldn’t open up a passing lane for the running backs like he thought they would. The play was too rushed, so it wasn’t ever a guarantee.

So Juyeon had to do what he would normally deem crazy.

He spun at the sight of the other team coming to tackle him and skirted around the field, belting down the field. He dodged past another linebacker that tried to body him. His primary motivation was that he didn’t want a concussion before he confessed to you, but he assumed it was okay to admit that to himself as long as he didn’t throw the game.

Juyeon felt a hand grab him but he pushed forward, running across the goal line and into the end zone. He threw the ball down and cried out in joy as he scored a touchdown. The whistle blew and the scoreboard flipped. They won.

He did it.

Juyeon’s team ran to him, cheering at the top of their lungs. He was lifted up on Jaehyun and Younghoon’s shoulders, grinning happily before his heart sunk back down. The cheerleaders ran to the field, cheering and tossing their pom poms up. The crowd was roaring. Juyeon was realizing that he had to do the scariest thing that a heterosexual teenage boy ever had to experience.

“Jaehyun, Jaehyun,” Juyeon tapped his shoulder quickly. “We have no time. I have to do it now.”

“Oh shit.”

Jaehyun and Younghoon dropped Juyeon onto the turf. Juyeon winced at the sudden impact, gathering himself back to his feet and hoping you didn’t witness that. Jaehyun gave him a half-assed apology and pushed him forward to run and get his poster and flowers from Minho. Jaehyun then grabbed Changmin by the shoulders, urging him to go to the announcer’s booth.

Juyeon sprinted over to Minho, waving his hands dramatically. “Give, give, give,” he demanded amongst all the cheering.

Minho didn’t waste any time and pushed the poster and bouquet into Juyeon’s hands. “Break a leg, tiger.”

“Trust me, I nearly did.”

Juyeon jogged back onto the field, cheeks hot and head a little dizzy for what was about to come. He didn’t even tell his mom he was going to ask you out and she had to watch her son ask his best friend out to the dance. This was probably going to be a moment of utter humiliation but once Juyeon saw you in your high ponytail with a bright smile on your face, all that fear faded away and it was just you and him.

More importantly, you were wearing his jacket over your uniform and Juyeon felt like he was going to combust from the cuteness.

“Guys, guys,” Jaehyun called to the team. “Surround Juyeon. Make sure Y/N doesn’t see him.”

Juyeon’s heart was beating a hundred miles per second. He was glad he was running on the adrenaline from winning the game because otherwise, he would be cowering in fear and sweating buckets right now.

“Everyone, listen up!” Changmin spoke over the intercom. “First of all, the football team scored a major dub today—ow! Sunwoo, cut it out—alright, I’ll get to it!” Changmin broke from the mic and started bickering with Sunwoo.

There was a pause, and Juyeon was surprised to hear Minho’s voice fill the speakers, “Anyways, my buddy and our star quarterback, Juyeon, has something to say for a special someone.”

The crowd fell silent, a couple cheers and wolf-whistles as it was pretty obvious that a confession was about to happen.

“This is so fucking fluffy,” Sunwoo mumbled.

“Shut up, Sunwoo,” Juyeon replied, nudging him with his elbow.

The football team moved out of the way so that they weren’t huddled around Juyeon anymore. Juyeon’s breath caught in his throat as he walked forward to the middle of the field, holding up his sign, reading: Will you be my sunshine?

“Y/N,” he called out loudly, “honestly this confession is long overdue, but will you go to Winter Ball with me tonight and be my sunshine?”

The crowd started cheering and whistling again, and Juyeon wanted to die. She hadn’t even given him her answer yet and everyone was acting like she had agreed and they eloped. The cheerleaders pushed Y/N forward and she approached Juyeon, looking like a deer in headlights.

Juyeon took another shaky breath and continued, “I’ve been in love with you for so long so it would be an honor if I could take you to the dance,” he said and his voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable for you.”

You bit your lip but that wasn’t enough to contain the happiness that showed on your face. You zipped up Juyeon’s jacket and threw yourself into his arms. Everyone practically exploded but Juyeon was sure his heartbeat was louder. He wrapped his arms around you and buried his face into your shoulder.

Was this what people called a Christmas miracle?

“Oh shit!” Changmin screamed over the intercom. (“Shut up, they’re having a moment,” Minho’s faint voice was picked up in the background).

“Oh my god, you just made me the happiest man alive,” he mumbled.

You pulled back and reached forward to move his damp bangs off of his forehead. “Took you long enough.”

“Wait, did you—did you like me?” Juyeon choked out.

You laughed and cupped his face in your hands. There was a shaky inhale and exhale of breaths when his lips brushed against yours, and Juyeon closed the distance, kissing you like he was starved of your touch. His hold tightened on you as you melted into him, and then you both pulled away, smiling and dazed and lovesick.

You giggled. “Does that answer your question?”

“Yes,” he breathed out, grinning as he brushed his nose against yours.

Juyeon could care less about all the presents and holiday cheer because he had you and you were all he wanted.

2K notes · View notes

tastesoftamriel · 3 years

Note

Hello, Talviel! What are funeral traditions of various races? More precisely, what food traditions do families in mourning have? (for example, where i live, people give little bags with sweets to everyone, strangers and relatives, and have a big feast of food with no eggs or dairy on the day of funeral, and then 40th day and one year, and i was wondering what would different tamrielic traditions be)

Funerary food isn't something I've put huge amounts of thought into, as thankfully I haven't attended many funerals. However, I did a bit of digging and asking around, and managed to put together a list for you.

Altmer

The High Elves, right to the grave, find the need to be grandiose, yet dignified. Funeral wakes are an important social gathering, and no expenses are spared by family or friends when it comes to feasting. Everything from roast duck pancakes to almond-stuffed heron breast and vegetable tartines are on offer (as well as a lot of wine), and the more extravagant the feast, the more loved an Altmer was.

Argonians

Funerals are taken very seriously in Argonian customs, and it is traditional, especially for prominent community members, for members of a tribe to band together and make a large, fermented fruit and honey cake that symbolises the life of an individual. The cake is shared amongst funeral guests, but a large chunk is also left as an offering by the grave stake.

Bosmer

The Bosmer tend to save their precious rotmeth for special occasions, funerals included. A special dish of ground bone meal, minced meat, butter, and marrow is commonly eaten at the wake, and washed down with rotmeth as it's quite a dry dish. And no, I'm not going to be elaborating on eating the dead.

Bretons

Casserole dishes are the most common sight at funerals in High Rock, because they're easy to make and feed plenty of people. Macaroni bakes with chicken, tuna, spinach, or cheese are the most common, as well as dishes like fish pie, meatloaf, and scalloped potatoes. It's all hearty, homey food that will temporarily help you forget your sorrows.

Dunmer

House Dunmer funerary practices have thus far been closed to me as an outlander, so I can only speak of one Ashlander funeral I attended. Traditionally, baked ash yams are offered to the dead by each funeral guest, which are then mashed together with a paste of comberry, saltrice, canis root, and gold kanet. The mashed yam is served hot with a rich bone broth, and is eaten together in silence.

Imperials

The Cyrodiilic tradition for those who worship the Nine is generally a full spread of food with as many comforting small dishes as possible. Usually, friends and family will bring a dish each, leading to proper feasts if the deceased was popular. While there is no specific taboo on what foods can or cannot be eaten, strong flavours are uncommon and sometimes even frowned upon. Things you can expect to find are slaughterfish cakes, dill salad, grilled haloumi, and eggplant bake.

Khajiit

Moon sugar sweetens an otherwise painful affair when death is concerned in Elsweyr, and flavours are used to convey the unique characteristics of every Khajiit's life. Normally, a dish for every emotion is served: steamed bittergourd to represent bitterness, chilis to represent passion, and sour to represent surprise. Moon sugar, used ritually, reflects the Sands Behind the Stars. Loved ones carefully curate a flavour map of every life, making sure that their memory lingers on in every bite of moon sugar ever after.

Nords

In Skyrim, everyone wants to go to Sovngarde one day. When someone dies, we customarily eat what myths tell us of the food in Sovngarde (which I've seen with my own eyes and can personally attest to). Barrels of ale and mead are there to drown your sorrow, and there is an abundance of roasted meats, bread, entire cheese wheels, desserts, and much more. Different Holds also have different traditions; for example, Haafingar funerals always feature cinnamon donuts.

Orcs

Nobody puts the fun in funeral like the Orcs, which can sometimes be shocking to outsiders. Feasts are standard in clan strongholds, but feature a staple number of dishes. Fried polenta with glacier tomatoes, spit-roasted mammoth, game stew, cheese pasties, and all the bread you can eat are usually present, as well as any dishes favoured by the deceased. I once heard of a chieftain's son who loved taffy treats so much that he had an entire hill of them in the centre of the courtyard for his funeral.

Redguards

Funerals are a sombre affair for the Redguards, so food is not of huge importance. Usually, small snacks and canapés will be on offer, as well as wine and cold water. Like the Imperials, the normally flavourful local tastes are toned down out of respect for the dead. Mint yoghurt with pulled lamb on flatbread, falafel, and baked eggplant are some of the things you can expect.

#Asks #Funerals #Funeral #Cooking #Food #tastesoftamriel #tastes of tamriel #world building #Worldbuilding

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no-droids · 4 years

Text

The Secret

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker/Reader

Word Count: 4.2K

Rating: Explicit

Summary: On a dark and dreary night, Anakin tries to see if he can influence your dreams.

A/N: idk what in the hell this even is tbh I just started writing it two days ago idk what happened this is some inception shit but not the crazy ass mind bending plot twist part at the very end of inception but like just the cool middle part where you kinda get what’s sorta going on but not really okay anyways I gotta go

Warnings: There are DUBCON/NONCON ELEMENTS to this, smut/oral sex, a splash of m/m (sorta?), dark Anakin uses the force to mess with your dreams without your knowledge or consent so please read at your own discretion

***

Anakin knows it’s wrong.

It’s the middle of the night on a moon he never bothered learning the name of and Anakin knows it’s wrong when his eyes shift over to you for the fifth time in the past minute. Curled up with your back to him and the crackling firelight illuminating this tiny little cave, breathing soft and quiet through your nose as you sleep, the wind roaring monstrously outside. Anakin acknowledges it—the moral impropriety of even sitting here thinking about things he shouldn’t be with you so close by. It’s wrong, no getting around it.

But there’s also something inside him that… wants the wrongness.

He likes it. Anakin likes having secrets, he likes breaking rules even when nobody is consciously here to witness it. It makes him feel alive in a way that battlefields just can’t anymore, not after two years of constant conflict where the only enemies to feel his wrath have been comprised of nuts and bolts, their robotic cries never leaving him with any satisfaction anymore. At the start of the Clone Wars, sure, it was a thrill to slice through voice boxes and body parts, even if they were mechanical. But the droids aren’t afraid of death, they’re just programmed to stay alive. It’s like killing large, dumb swarms of bugs—it needs to be done for the common good but there’s never any true fulfillment in it anymore, it just feels like a task to be completed instead of an earnest, hard-earned goal.

He’s also been given direct permission to do it. He’s even been ordered to carry out enormous droid massacres on behalf of the Republic, but that’s the thing. Anakin isn’t looking for permission, see, it takes away half the thrill.

No, he wants to feel wrong. He wants to wonder if he shouldn’t have. He wants the quiet guilt, the sparkle of holding a secret he’ll never breathe a word about, the addictive power trip from having real influence over something, something equally as real.

Technically, Anakin is supposed to be on lookout right now. He’s meant to stay awake and patrol the perimeter of the cave for enemy combatants, but he doesn’t even bother pretending to be diligent when it’s just you two here. It’s not necessary. He’d be able to sense another lifeform miles away in this secluded, barren wasteland; there’s no threat to be found right now. He can keep warm by the crackling firelight in this cave, sheltered from the dust storm that spontaneously broke out a few hours ago. He can stay awake without moving a muscle and listen to your slow breathing all night long, letting it fill him with shameful desires he spends the daylight hours fighting and suppressing.

He silently flicks his gaze over to you once more, blinking as he studies you. He can sense your mind becoming creative in its slumber, beginning to swirl into dreamlike possibilities around yourself, about to choose a path for your consciousness to follow tonight. Yes, this is what he’s waiting for. He can’t force you to dream—that’s beyond his expertise as a Jedi. But if he finds himself in the right place at the right time, he can certainly try his best to… give you a suggestion.

The wind whistles outside and the fire pops quietly and you continue to breathe. In, and out. In, and out.

Anakin closes his eyes, and begins.

He first maps your body with the Force, trying to understand it on a deeper level. Gauge it—its proportions, its ambience, the thrumming lifeforce flowing through your veins even as you sleep. He has to be careful—as a fellow Knight, there’s no guarantee you won’t immediately be able to spot him exploring your energy in this way, there’s nothing to stop you from suddenly rolling over and asking just what exactly he thinks he’s doing.

But Anakin is patient. It’s one of the only times he can remember truly exercising that untapped potential inside him, perfectly content to allow you to drift while he works to find his bearings with you. Minds are complex, especially when they’re unconscious. They’re finicky and never stay in the same spot for long—it’s not like they evade, necessarily, but instead, they just… float around. Pulsing. In and out of existence, hiding behind and under immovable things, no rhyme or reason for it, vanishing into uncertainty and nothingness as soon as he thinks he’s found it. Like trying to find a microscopic air pocket in the depths of a pitch black ocean. He’s not losing any oxygen by existing right at the edges of your sleep, but it takes hard concentration to stay here, hidden, not allowing himself to slip. He’s looking, he’s looking… but he soon realizes he just needs to wait longer. He needs to wait until you float your way back around to him, until you present the opening yourself.

So Anakin waits.

And waits…

And then suddenly—

—There. He locks onto a flicker in the Force and holds, finally isolating and breaching the surface of your inner subconscious. Anakin smiles softly, a bead of sweat slowly dripping down his temple at the effort it took to locate you without alerting you of his presence. There you are. Maker, it sure is pretty in here, isn't it? He has you, he’s cradling the buried, hidden, most fragile part of your soul as you slumber, not knowing any better.

His heart thumps with excitement even though he’s barely done anything yet. To someone without sensitivity to the Force, they might just think the both of you are asleep right now. Just the two of you sitting still in this relatively small space, eyes closed, neither of you are touching, nobody has said anything or made any substantial movements in hours, nothing has changed in this world. All of it is existing in another plane, a place most people wouldn’t be able to recognize unless someone informed them of its existence, and even then, it would be beyond understanding.

But he has you now. He’s there, and he’s not going anywhere. He can allow his focus to dip just slightly, knowing your mind will pull him along through the comatose current. He senses you already working through the beginning whispers of dreams, but they’re not the kind people can ever remember. These aren’t formed, there’s no substance to them—it’s just pure, abstract dreamspace for your mind to drift through while you slumber.

Finding your true consciousness through all the murky, shapeless slumber was the test in skill. Now comes the luck.

Very carefully, without arousing any suspicion or drawing undue attention to himself, Anakin begins to drag the tip of his tongue against the back of his teeth. He doesn’t open his mouth, he doesn’t move a single muscle outwardly—he just lets his tongue begin to flitter around slowly in its enclosed cavern as he breathes, making the movements as soft and hypnotic as he can, matching the aimless way you’re carrying your mind and his shadow through the darkness.

He’s tried this before. Once or twice, with a pretty Ambassador he was tasked with protecting for a few months at the start of the Clone Wars, but the results were always less than ideal. He could never seamlessly transfer his desires through her consciousness before she awoke, perhaps because she wasn’t Force sensitive. The dream would either never happen, or he would push too hard and it’d turn into a rabid nightmare that fractured her thoughts and made her terrified to close her eyes for weeks. Not this time, though, Anakin isn’t going to allow it. Not with you, not after all the unprecedented effort it took to even just get himself here.

He finds a bit more passion to put into his movements, his jaw beginning to work with more purpose. Stars, he wants this to work, and while it’s probable that there’s an easier way to accomplish it, this isn’t something the Academy trains for. There’s only so much he can do except just be patient and giving with his soft, muted thoughts, urging you to make use of them without ever saying them aloud.

And suddenly, like the dark waves of your sleep decide to illuminate for him all on their own, your subconscious mind responds to the gentle stimulus. It carefully reaches out and studies the suggestion he’s silently offering, having spent what feels like an eternity trying to entice your rawest, most fundamental being into going somewhere it normally wouldn’t go, all without letting you know he’s even there.

His tongue is still moving. With purpose, with a specific intent in mind, Anakin allows his head to slowly fall back as he lifts his chin up towards it, wanting it more and more the longer you take to consider it, as if your mind is actively trying to tease him by playing hard to get. He can feel you right there, feel you thinking about it, and the whole thing is almost like some elaborate courting ritual while he waits with bated breath for you to decide whether or not to humor him.

But then, just when Anakin fears you may be too strong to be swayed, too powerful in the Force to be tempted by an outside source, you abruptly snatch the idea from him and start to run with it.

Suddenly parts of your spirit begin illuminating that should be dormant right now, and Anakin follows you, wherever you’re leading him. He knows none of this is necessarily intentional on your behalf—nobody can consciously pick and choose their dreams, not even Jedi. But this endeavor proves that it’s absolutely possible to subtly inspire them in each other, regardless of the morality behind it.

The wind continues to howl outside the cave and remind him that an entire universe still exists beyond your beautifully soporose mind, but the dreamscape gradually begins unfolding around him without any further prompting, requiring nothing more than what he’s already provided. Anakin’s tongue continues to simulate and suggest regardless, only now he feels the ghost of it beginning to materialize somewhere else besides the roof of his mouth, the sensations appearing before the images can be conjured to fill in the gaps. His hands suddenly tighten on his thighs at the soft, enticing feeling beginning to take root in you.

And oh. It’s… good. It feels different when his own body isn’t really the target of the stimulation, when he’s doing nothing more than simply experiencing it vicariously. Anakin supposes he could’ve bypassed all this effort, just aimed the pleasure more directly from the very beginning instead of working to inspire and coax it out of your own consciousness, but that was never his intention and it misses the point entirely. Where’s the challenge in it? The finesse is lost, it doesn’t appeal to him. It’s brash and brutish and not his style. No, this is what he wanted. He wanted to get just close enough to plant the most basic, fundamental idea in your head and then witness the rest of it all play out as a phantom passenger. Step back, strap in, and see how you kindle and manipulate the desire yourself, exactly the way you want it.

Anakin starts to breathe a little heavier through his nose, shoulders tense as he works to ride the slow swelling of your own prolonged pleasure with you, not knowing if or when it’s going to peak. He’s never made it this far before, he has no idea what to expect. Your consciousness does all the heavy lifting for him, your floor muscles move and contract without him needing to do anything to encourage it, the dream he seeded now completely taking over and whisking you both away.

But then… then suddenly Anakin doesn’t understand. Because yes, your mind works exactly the way he hoped it would—everything goes the incredibly precise direction he intended, and yet the destination is somehow… here? Back at the very beginning?

You dream of a cave. It’s exactly the same as the one you’re both silently holed up in for the night, and no new faces have appeared. If Anakin fluttered his eyes open at this specific moment, absolutely nothing around him would change. Except, perhaps, the subtle glow around everything—the watery way the air seems to be moving, as if it can’t decide whether it wants to exist or not so it strangely succeeds in doing both at the same time. He’s not really here—at least, he doesn’t think he is, he’s just seated on the dirt floor, appearing as nothing more than an invisible witness to it.

No. No, actually, he takes that back, he… is here. It takes him a moment to see the full picture as you’re still putting the puzzle pieces together, but… that’s him. A projection of himself at least, looking only slightly different but recognizable enough. Dark robes, robotic right arm, steady gaze.

But where are you? Anakin looks around the empty cave, still trying to understand how you’re painting this, his conscious mind moving much more rapidly than your own abstract one and yet also somehow taking so much longer to catch up to you. You’re not here. Why aren’t you here? He’s getting stuck on the details, he knows he’s lagging behind.

It takes a moment longer. Just one, before Anakin suddenly realizes that… he’s not just an invisible witness, is he?

He looks back down to see his own head now buried between his thighs.

But they’re not his thighs, not really. They’re yours. He’s just seeing everything from your point of view, feeling everything you’re feeling from the small little space he’s occupying in your mind.

At this point, Anakin needs to anchor. He feels himself—his real self, the one currently stuck in a cave in the midst of an unexpected dust storm—curl inwards and clamp his legs together. This will work. If he focuses enough to pinpoint the way his knees feel pressed tight together, he can have a tether to separate himself from your dream, the way yours are currently… wide open. This is all too similar to your true surroundings—he didn’t expect this, he doesn’t want to get lost.

And yet… Maker, it feels good. His long curls feel so soft in your hands, his tongue drags slow magic between your legs. When Anakin first suggested the idea to you, he didn’t think you’d assign the role back to him. He assumed you had someone else in mind, somewhere else you wished to be besides this dull, dreary setting. He gave you just an inkling of a prompt, and this is what the most creative part of your mind created. Something he could be doing at this exact moment, if only he’d known you’d be interested.

Then again, Anakin thinks, you may have just recognized him subconsciously. You may have attached him to the idea already, if only because he was the truest originator of it. But it doesn’t matter now, he can’t process such complex thoughts while maintaining the suspended mental state he’s in—he feels like he’ll either completely fall into it or out of it if he tries.

But as your muscles continue to work and your pleasure continues to build, it becomes harder and harder to separate where he is in relation to you. Anakin clenches his legs tighter together as you open yours wider apart, the dream gaining more strength as it develops. Stars, it’s—it’s—

Anakin starts to lose it and he needs to tug on that tether to his surroundings again, but it’s way more difficult than it should be to recognize himself. His calloused fingers on his left hand tremble as he reaches up and uses them to cover his face, biting his tongue to stop the low rumbles of ecstasy that want to claw their way out of his throat. Maker, this feels so… different from the build he knows. He thought—if he was successful—that he’d be able to handle it as silently and stoically as he’s able to handle his own pleasure, but this is something else entirely. Why does it feel so… so spectacular? Maker, he never realized the sensation was all that different on the inside, much less that he was actually missing out by having a dick between his legs.

But then suddenly there’s a pause, a break in the way you’ve been rhythmically squeezing and flexing your body for him.

The dream adapts to it. Anakin looks down between your open thighs just in time to see himself pulling away from your warmth, putting two fingers in his mouth, before slowly easing his hand back down between them.

No, he thinks, a bright flare of panic sparking inside him as he immediately snatches and yanks the tether to reality, popping his eyes open and pulling away from your mind entirely, oh no—wait, that’s not what I—

But see. That’s the thing about being so meticulous about conjuring something that doesn’t actually exist. Once his brilliant creation decides to backfire on him—a fool-proof way to escape it doesn’t actually exist either.

He… he can’t wake up. No matter how much his body struggles backwards on the dirt floor of the cave, how wide he can feel his eyes are right now, how excruciatingly aware he is that none of this is real, none of this is actually happening to him, he’s caught in the dream he planted and you’re hauling him along for the ride. The closest he can describe it is like having footage play in one eye while the other can see perfectly fine. He knows where the line that separates reality is, but he can’t escape your consciousness’s crushing gravitational pull; it’s too massive and overwhelming now, he can’t gain enough velocity to get home. Real life exists but only through a window, and being stuck on the other side like this—knowing he’s dreaming but not being able to jolt awake when he’s very ready to leave—is suddenly more terrifying than any nightmare Anakin has ever experienced.

It also has unintended consequences. Clinging so desperately to his own body has made him completely aware of it in the purgatory he’s now trapped himself in, but the pleasure is still there so the source of the stimulation is still there. They’re not your thighs anymore, they’re his thighs again. But that’s also still him between his legs, continuing to ease his fingers forwards.

He keeps retreating back and away from them no matter what, but there’s nothing more he can do.

Anakin helplessly watches on as his own fingers slowly disappear up inside himself, and his eyes instantly lose focus and his jaw goes slack as he feels it the way you would. They’re not real, so there’s no pain, no true pressure or stretch, just… hard, unadulterated stimulation starting to burn up inside him.

He doesn’t realize his body kept moving until he suddenly feels the wall of the cave slam into his back and he has to brace himself against it, frantically shoving himself back into it as far as he can with his legs and digging his nails into dirt at the base, scrabbling for breath and stability. Anakin tightens up wickedly as you both bear down on the phantom intrusion, sweat beading at his hairline as he works to process the foreign sensation and you whimper quietly in your sleep. His cock is rock hard between his legs and he shudders to think that his mind will compensate for the difference and his alter ego will actually take it into his mouth—but no, the projection doesn’t change because it’s still coming from you, still being led by your own desires. Dream-Anakin’s mouth drops and his tongue comes out to keep licking your slit but to the real Anakin, it just looks like his mouth disappears somewhere near his balls, and then a magnificent swell of bliss suddenly kicks in before he can fight as savagely against it as he wants. He’d normally be repulsed, and maybe he currently is to some extent, but because your pleasure spikes so dangerously with it, his hips stutter into the sensation just as desperately.

He’s making noise, he knows he is—he can feel his throat working too hard for just air to be moving through. No, he’s whimpering, or moaning, or doing something but he can’t hear himself at all. His instinct is to yell as loudly as he can, to try and wake you up manually, but it doesn’t seem to work, you’re way too far gone now. He listens for the dust storm that should be screaming outside, the popping of the fire somewhere in this cave, but they’re suddenly nowhere to be found. He’s being dragged under by your enormous current that’s somehow still continuing to build in strength, losing oxygen by the second. He’s not ready for it, he doesn’t want it, he’s terrified, he needs to wake up—

Anakin slams his head back against the wall hard enough to make himself bleed and gasps raggedly as he loses his grip on everything, shutting his eyes tight with his fist shoved up against his teeth. Nothing exists at all anymore but the swirling typhoon that continues raging forth. Beyond purgatory, and then beyond heaven.

When you finally do manage to find the absolute peak of your climb, he’s sure he all but blacks out with it.

It’s pure, blinding rapture on all levels—physical, metaphysical, whatever else exists after that. It surges up with razor-sharp claws of merciless ecstasy and he’s just not equipped to experience anything anywhere close to it. The connection between your minds thrums and sparks violently; Anakin feels the way your body practically soars over top of the pleasure while his is just being ruthlessly pummeled into the ground by it. He’s not meant to handle this, he literally wasn’t made to survive the devastating anomaly—it’s as wicked and excruciating as it is dazzling, and he wonders if he’ll ever truly be able to come back from it.

Eventually, Anakin manages to find his way back to himself. Eventually.

His cock is throbbing, that’s the first thing he‘s able to notice. The dirt floor beneath him that somehow feels slightly different than before, the fetal position he’s assuming on top of it, the once sturdy wall now crumbling to dust against his back.

The next thing he notices is the utter, complete mess he made. Blood slowly drips in a line down his neck and more cum than he’s ever felt himself produce before drenches the front of his pants. Anakin slowly blinks his eyes open, trying to fight the vertigo and wondering if he might have a concussion right now. There are cracks and fractures in the ground that branch out from the small crater at his back, and the fire is completely extinguished now, charred logs splintered and strewn about like somebody detonated a bomb in here.

At some point, his gaze drags over towards you, and remarkably, you haven’t moved. Still curled up on your side with your back to him, still breathing slow and steady and undisturbed.

Anakin pants in exhaustion and waits for you to turn over to address him and what he did. There’s no way you’re still asleep, not after what just happened. Anakin couldn’t get through it without sending a giant shockwave through the entire cave and quite literally rupturing the ground beneath him, he’s surprised you even managed to stay in one spot the entire time. He doesn’t know if you feel violated right now and are refusing to acknowledge him, or if it’s just taking as long as he is for your brain to catch up and start functioning again.

That is, until he hears a small snore come from your unmoving body once more.

Anakin blinks.

No. You have to be awake, he figures, moving to prop himself upright and wipe the blood from his neck with the dark sleeve of his robe. There’s no possible way that the orgasm you both shared is actually… normal, no, the sheer power of it had to be influenced by his presence somehow. He must have… increased it, or something. Anakin doesn’t know how, but he knows he must be directly responsible, this had to have been the strongest you’ve ever cum in your life and you just don’t know how to confront him about it right now, so you’re pretending to sleep. Yes, that’s what it is, that’s what it has to be.

He’s not going to check, though. He’s not going to find any lingering energy left within himself to summon and look for the thick darkness of sleep still enveloping you, he’s not going anywhere near your signature right now. No, Anakin is fine just like this, exactly where he is. Instead of verifying or confirming his own understanding, he’ll just be extra confident in it, that’s always worked well for him.

So he just sits back and takes a deep, shuddering breath, feeling like his whole body is weak and trembling with fatigue. Maybe you are asleep, he shrugs. Maybe he’s wrong, and selfish, and an idiot. Or maybe.

Maybe you just like keeping secrets, too.

#anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x you #Smut #reader insert #dark anakin #no-droids

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aenaxes · 3 years

Text

chasing fountains

[fives x afab!reader] it's so easy to forget that the man you love is war incarnate. and maybe that's exactly why he can't be yours.

warnings: nsfw, angst, breakup sex, cunnilingus, unprotected vaginal sex

w/c: 2.6k

a/n: wrote this while listening to the reverb edit of good days by sza and definitely didn't cry idk what you're talking about

"Are we gonna be adults about this, or are you gonna give me the silent treatment until I guess what I did wrong?"

Fives's tone is no longer a novel sound in the dark walls of your apartment, a jagged sneer sawing through the silence as he sets his helmet down hard on the countertop. It's the kind of sound that doesn't cut deep but cuts wide, leaving a broad swath of gnarled scar tissue that will never heal quite right. (The worst kind.)

The holodrama in front of you drones mindlessly over the midnight channel.

You tell yourself that you've grown used to it, the cold and bitter thing that found home between you after the rosy light he flooded into the room faded away leave after leave, tour after tour. It helps you cope. But your body remembers what your mind tries to forget—memories of first leaves in months and boyish glee as Fives swept you into his arms and kissed you breathless in the narrow berth of your kitchen—and you flinch anyways.

"Isn't it obvious?" you sigh. It's a labored thing that crowds the bottom of your lungs up to your collarbones and chokes your throat with what's left of your straining heart.

You don't think it's anger.

It's something muted, something like the ache of a rusted plasma turbine sputtering out what last dregs of fuel it has left, numb and rote but the only thing it's ever known before it careens off the side of a landing bay and into dark waters. It happens, disrepair, discord. But the fact that it happens somehow makes you feel even worse, makes it feel like it was bound to happen.

"No, cyare, it's really not," Fives frowns.

You can hear the scowl in his voice.

"You forgot to call," you mumble, shifting your arms tighter over your chest, and you aren't sure whether the pressure in your chest is anger or the desperate claws of sorrow trying to remind you that you used to care. That he used to care.

"Cyare, I'm sorry I forgot to call, but I was in an active warzone. I can't just call you whenever to tell you goodnight because I'm usually writing condolences to the training squads of the men I bury."

You can hear the anger tearing at the fine threads of his restraint, his voice rising and rising until it's another sound away from a full-bodied yell. Before now, that sort of volume, that sort of presence, had been exclusive to late-night speeder bike joyrides and chasing fountains of youth over sandy dunes—the types of adrenaline rushes that felt good. You wonder if it's now become resentment or regret or a combination of both.

"You forgot to call for our anniversary," you say at last. Maker, you can't believe how pathetic you sound.

"I'm sorry, but I almost lost my entire squadron out there. I have to prioritize... differently, on the field," Fives says after a moment's pause (so he really did forget), his voice soft again but no less cold, no less tired of raising hellfire and being greeted with an impassive glaze over your eyes.

Silence settles through the room again, thick enough that the holodrama playing before you is reduced to a low buzz, and you tell yourself that your fingers feel numb because you always let the air conditioning run colder when Fives was on tour.

"Look, I'll try to make it up to you next time, cyar'ika," Fives murmurs, picking across the threshold and dropping down onto the couch beside you.

You aren't sure if there ever will be a next time when Fives only exists because of this endless war that cracks open the earth and swallows battalions whole. But when you drop your head onto his shoulder; when he tugs you close and cradles your head with a rough, warm palm; when you both pause and breathe the same breath together, you can pretend for just a moment that things are good again.

"'m tired," you mumble.

"What can I do?" It's the most earnest his voice has been all night, seeking gaps in the armor, places where he can reach in past the stony impasse and to that pearlescent light you've long since hidden from him. It's the closest to an apology you'll get.

"Take me to bed," you say.

Fives gently untangles you from around him, clicking off the holo before he secures his arms beneath you and carefully lifts you into his arms. Bittersweet memory, fragrant and dusted from months of disuse, floods your tongue as you loop your arms around Fives's neck and feel him press a kiss to your temple.

It's muscle memory, really. Nothing more. But it completes the little show of normalcy. It shifts you away from the hazy fugue of the present and back into better days when touch carried with it tender intent, more than ritual motion.

Fives presses a second kiss to your neck when you reach the bedroom door, mouthing his dry lips softly over your pulse. You cling to him and sigh. A third on your jaw, the next on your cheek, and another, another, another over your lips as he shifts you upright and lets you wrap your legs around his waist so you can tilt your head and push your tongue into his mouth.

It's muscle memory when, after he's thrown his armour off into the darkness of your room, you shift your hips down against his, gasping softly over his tongue as you catch the bulge in his blacks and heat floods your core. He groans into your mouth, fisting one hand in your hair and kissing you so hard it's almost crushing. It's muscle memory.

"Fives," you breathe, and it's becoming harder to tell performance from truth as something else hums in your chest.

"I've got you," he murmurs against your lips. "I'm right here, cyare. I'm always gonna be here." And the way he says it almost makes it believable.

You kiss him before he can say anything else, your teeth clacking against his as you swallow his words with a low moan, too afraid that if he says any more, you might actually convince yourself that this is more than an elaborately rewound memory.

Fives is no fool.

He knows, too, laying you carefully on the bed where he would usually toss you onto the mattress with a gleeful laugh and tumble in after you. In the darkness, you catch him hastily twisting out of his top, the low light catching over rippling muscle and warm skin before he rushes between your thighs and drops to his knees. He kisses the soft inner skin of your thighs like he always does, but this time, he does not linger instead kissing you for the sake of motion than playful desire.

This is choreography.

But performance as it might be, you do not need to pretend your pleasure when his heady exhale over your clit serves as a brief warning before Fives licks a broad, wet stripe over your cunt.

In the early days, you had been eager to chalk it up to the end of the gilded shimmer of the honeymoon phase, an entry into a stabler shared life that would be just as sweet. You're not certain what you've become, he and you, but it isn't that.

Whatever you are now, it has no concern in this moment because Fives still knows how to coax pleasure from your deepest parts, finding your softest, most vulnerable places and calling you to something better than a frigid spat to welcome him home.

You clap your hand over your mouth as Fives wraps his lips around your clit, pulling a raw euphoria from your heaving lungs that has you moaning louder than you have in too long. He groans your name into your own skin, gasps, and delves deep again.

"Fives, Fives," you plead, reaching down to grope for his head in your blind pleasure.

"Cyar'ika?" Fives pauses only to respond then plunges his tongue back into the saccharine wetness of your cunt, feeling you jump and spasm around him.

"Fuck me," you cry over a groan, knotting your fingers in his hair.

"You didn't come yet," he murmurs into your skin, almost irritated, his voice thrumming straight to your core as you cry out again.

"It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter," you chant. The intimacy will only prolong the ordeal of greed, will only make you want more when you're already drowning under the weight of what little remains now. "Need you inside me, please."

Fives hums his assent, curls his tongue into your cunt one last time, and leaves you with a ghost of a kiss pressed over your clit. He staggers up off his knees, hardly bothering to lick your slick smeared over his lips—to savor it with the mischievous delight he no longer shares before you—and cups the back of your neck to pull you into a crushing kiss that might almost be painful if you weren't so desperate to soak up every last touch he has to give.

"Tell me if it hurts," he says like he has every time he's pulled you into his arms and parted your thighs. Except this time, there is no lingering gaze, no silent professions of something more than physicality in a moment of heat. Fives only kisses you one last time before he buries his nose in the crook of your neck.

This is a performance, you tell yourself as you press close.

And then he's pushing into you, stretching you open around him and filling you in every way you forgot that you needed, in the way only he could as he cages you between his arms.

He sets a pace that is altogether the same and yet nothing like how you remember him. You're playing out something you had done before arguments lasted weeks and couches became occasional beds. Yet it feels just like the real thing, his thighs sticking to the skin of your ass as he plunges up into that spot that whites out your vision and curls your toes tight.

It feels so real that if you squeeze your eyes shut and release the tension coiled at the base of your neck, you can pretend that when you meet his eyes, Fives will flash you the smile that crinkles around the corners of his eyes and bubbles laughter from his chest.

Instead, he shifts your ankles from the base of his spine, his brows knit tight and his chest heaving as he hefts your legs over his shoulders. You sob as he fucks into you harder now, hard enough to nearly fold you in two and fill the bedroom with the sharp clarity of his skin pressing into yours. You wonder if it's to crowd you close, to mold himself as close as he may ever be and take one more fleeting taste of you.

"Fives," you cry out one last time, the flared ridge of his cockhead catching your clit as he pulls out.

Desire crests so high in your core you almost feel sick with want for more. You cling to the feeling, committing to memory what you will later try to scrub away: how you flutter around the ridges of Fives's cock, how he fucks you in the way only months of true, genuine desire would allow him to know, how when your legs jerk and he lathes his tongue your shoulder that you might have called this love.

It's ironic how that's the one thing that crosses your mind when you squeeze your arms around his neck and come with a strangled sob. His hips connect hard with yours, fucking into you in one swift motion that has your back arching off the sheets. You blindly kiss over the coarse stubble of Fives's jaw, and it crushes the air from your lungs as he takes your chin in his hands, all gentle and trembling restraint, and kisses you so sweetly it burns.

A few more sloppy thrusts, and Fives bows his head low and pushes deeper than he has all night. Groping over his shoulder for his hand, he frantically laces his fingers with yours, squeezing tight. And when you squeeze back, you hear him make something of a moan and a sob pushed into one as he finishes inside you.

He overwhelms you with one last gesture of him as you pulse around his softening cock, and you can't help how you look to him with stars in your eyes, just like before, just like how it was supposed to be. He notices—opening his eyes to reveal something forgiving and warm—but before whatever it is drags you both into its inescapable orbit, he takes you into his arms and collapses onto his side.

Fives pulls out of you with an obscene noise, something you might have laughed at before the thorns of distance had grown long and sharp between you. You only sigh at the slow drip of his come sliding over your skin and pooling over the sheets as he pulls out.

For a while, you lie there, the sheets kicked to the foot of the bed and your cheek pressed to the sweat-slicked skin of his chest. You don't remember what you would do to fill the buzzing silence of afterglow, but you remember it felt better than what you're feeling, the slow descent of gilded curtains in a dark room, falling, falling.

Fives takes the guesswork out of it for you, though. There's a semblance of real tenderness when he kisses your brow and shifts away just enough that he can't meet your eyes but instead can keep you close enough to touch.

"When's your next tour?" you whisper into the quiet as he lifts his hand to your face.

"I have a week of leave," Fives responds. He traces his fingertips over the highest points of your cheeks and nose, memorializing in touch what the darkness tucks away.

"Where to?"

"Ringo Vinda." His fingers curl over your chin, cradling you to his skin before he slowly sweeps them up the edge of your jaw.

"That's far," you say.

"Not too far," he chuckles, hollow and weak as he runs his thumb over your ear. "I can still call you at night."

"You don't have to."

"I want to, y/n."

"Don't," you whisper, and you hear his inhale catch in his throat.

It's where this entire evening has been going from the moment he stepped foot into your apartment until now: one final, cresting movement pressed into the absence of space between you, impossibly wide and impossibly close all at once as Fives's hand stills over the skin just beneath your eye.

"Don't call?" He knows his answer, but he says it anyways, desperate rhetoric clinging to something that has already been gone for months.

"Don't," you manage to say over the heat in your eyes and the asphyxiating swell at the back of your throat. "Please."

There's still a part of you that wants him to fight. Wants him to rear back, raise his voice, and look you in the eyes to say horrible things to fight for the sum of you and him like he always has. Because it isn't right for it to end like this, a lonely blip over the comm channels that cries once then blinks out forever. It isn't right.

But you're tired.

"I'm sorry." Your calm breaks with a trembling sob.

And when pries his fingertips from your face to wrap his arms around your shoulders and pull you close, you know it is the last time you will fly this close to the sun; the last time you will bear witness to the glorious, warm light that had only soured in the time you shared.

"I'm sorry," you hiccup.

"It's okay," Fives's voice rumbles under your ear, backgrounded by tight, shallow breaths that only close the vice tighter around your throat. "I'm sorry, too."

And you let him go.

(He doesn't call.)

#(screams into a pillow)#i just want fives to have everything good in the world is that so much to ask #also heheh a week before ringo vinda because im a sucker for pain #fives x reader #arc trooper fives x reader #the clone wars x reader #yaej.writes

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jediknightobiwan · 3 years

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Boba smut, you say?

Could I get some dad bod Boba love post-Mandalorian season 2, if you've finished the new episode? Because our man definitely deserves some love after that shit. I personally headcannon him as being dominant AF, with lots of pet names, and a tendency to be a little rougher. Maybe some post-battle fucking to wind down in Slave I.

Thanks!

OFC We love Dad Bods here I will NOT tolerate Temura hate like at all. We don’t expect women to stay the same all their lives and we shouldn’t expect the same of men.

In talks with @emilykjh we decided that Boba decidedly, is a brat tamer so I’m definitely going along the dominant caregiver route with him.

Also tbh and probably shockingly I haven’t watched the new season all the way through AT ALL it was emotionally too much for me when it started so now I can binge it whenever 😅 I just learn things through gifs cause I don’t mind spoilers! So things may be very Vague when it comes to plot or I’ll just go with what I’ve gathered happens after the last episode. But let’s do some Older Boba stuff yes, everyone who understood the significance of Boba’s appearance better say thank you Mr. Temuera for your service.

Boba Fett x Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: Caregiver/Little BDSM relationship, Daddy Kink, Age Gap (cmon he’s in his 50’s), slight drool kink, slight degradation, slight choking

💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋

[[READ MORE]]

Your ears perk up at the sound of heavy bootsteps on their way and you quickly rush to clean up your little area. Ever since Boba had taken his throne and conquered most of the underworld you and him and Fennec who you adored had made a nice little home for yourselves. What Boba teasingly called your nest was a corner of his throne room that you (and Fennec) had padded and stuffed with pillows, blankets, stuffed animals, one very long and squishy pillow and a very very large cushion you called your tuffet. It was cute little safe space you sat, read and napped in when you wanted a little alone time.

It was usually a kind of organized chaos but lately you had let it get a bit wild and before Boba had left earlier he’d told you to have it cleaned up by the time he was back, and like a true Little who usually forgot orders once they were given and wasn’t reminded you had become distracted with other things. Which is why now you were slightly sweating under your soft robe as you scrambled to set everything in its proper place so he would never know you’d-

The steps had stopped echoing. You suddenly realized besides the slick of fabric between your fingers and your little pants that the room had actually been quiet for a minute or so. You swallowed a little hard but continued your work, spreading out soft blanket on your tuffet and then tucking it underneath. Finally, you smoothed your front and turned with a smile ready for your lover.

“Daddy! You’re home! See I uhm..I did my one chore today!” You were beaming, a little sweat on your brow and your voice was sweet and welcoming. In return Boba tilted his helmeted head at you in such a way that you knew what was he was saying without him needing to voice it.

Really? Did you? Is what that look said and you fidgeted slightly, lower lip jutting out every so softly.

Well-it still counts! Doesn’t it?? Your look said and after another moment of silence you hear a sigh come from him and he finally comes toward you with a gloved hand extended to cup your face.

“I suppose I’ll let it slide today,” he says, thumb gliding over your lower lip as his eyes bore into you from behind the visor. “I’m too tired to properly punish you for waiting until the last second anyway.”

The words were slightly worrying but if something was really wrong he would’ve told you, so you brushed it off and kissed his thumb gently.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you promise, reaching to cup his helmet in your hands and then bringing your foreheads together in a keldabe kiss. He hums deep in his throat, his way of saying that you’d better.

“What can I do tonight? A hot bath? A massage?” You gasped and jumped a little, grinning. “Both??”

Boba chuckles and removes his helmet, the smile still on his handsome scarred face. “How about just a massage pet? My old muscles could use it.”

“Ah you’re not old cyare.”

You giggle at his eyebrow raise and pat his cheeks then push gently on his chest plate to back him into the hallway and towards his bedroom. Once inside the large yet fairly bare room you begin the slow and intimate process of removing his armor for him. It was something you’d been doing for awhile now, ever since you’d settled into your roles. He did so much...it was one sweet thing you could do for him back.

The tension was practically melting out of your love’s shoulders as the beskar came off. Your arms had long since adjusted to the armor’s weight over the months of this sweet ritual and the warmth of Boba’s soft eyes as he watched you easily carry his prized possessions never failed to make you feel like the most important person in the galaxy. Your skin felt fully flushed by the time he was sitting on the bed and you’d removed his boots for him.

“My sweet little Dove...,” Boba murmurs, reaching out his now ungloved hands for your hips and bringing you closer, his face now level with your chest. You smile he nuzzles against your soft skin and hum happily, arms sliding into position around his broad shoulders without a second thought.

Dove. How you loved your pet name from him. You were his sweet thing, his Little, his pure (he insisted you were pure compared to him and you’d given up trying to convince him otherwise) darling treasure. Your soft lips pressed kisses to his head and you murmured, “My Daddy...,” to which you could feel his smile against your skin just stoking flames inside you.

You remained entertwined for awhile longer, both just caressing each other sweetly and basking in the loving bubble you created each time you were together. And then you remembered what you were supposed to be doing and gasped, pulling away to look down at Boba.

“Your massage!”

Boba blinks at you in confusion for a second and then laughs, keeping a tight grip on your hips even as you go to pull away and get the oil. He gently grips your chin -effectively stopping your struggling-and brings your lips to his. You sigh softly into the kiss and simply melt like wax beneath a flame into his arms-apt considering it immediately stoked the soft fire that had begun to burn in your belly the moment you saw him into a good sized blaze.

A whine escapes your lips even as Boba depeens the kiss and pulls you onto his lap fully with your crotches rubbing together sinfully.

“Don’t laugh at me Daddy,” you whine, kissing his broad nose and then going back to his mouth. Your arms slide down around his waist and you squeeze, taking petty pleasure in the way his breath escapes him when you do. “It’s mean!”

Your Caregiver seems to, funnily enough, care, very little about your plight since as you whine he just hums and runs his big hands down to your ass and squeezes none too gently. He grins devilishly as you jump and kisses you again, lingering longer this time and swiping his tongue over your lips before he pulls away.

“So what if it is? You like it when I’m mean Dove baby...you know you can’t lie to me.” Boba jerks you closer to him and ruts his hips upwards against you, causing you to whine loudly as want shoots through your core painfully.

“Yeah baby that’s what I thought....you like it when I’m mean. Big bad mean Daddy...ain’t that right?” The older man swats at your ass when you don’t answer, your brain becoming mushy already from the feel of his body beneath your hands and his impressive cock only growing harder and longer against the apex of your thighs. “I asked you a direct question little Dove. You know I don’t like it when you don’t answer.”

After shaking your head to clear it just a little and your hands balling up his undershirt to hang on for dear life you manage a nod with your mouth open just a tad, unnoticed by you but very noticed by your lover. His eyes drop to your lips and he growls slightly, strong hands kneading at the soft flesh of your ass before he delivers two hard, stinging pops to your backside.

“Speak, cyar’ika, speak when Daddy tells you to.”

Maker you are just gone for him. You swallow the water that had gathered in your mouth at the rough handling and say clearly, full of need that that’s right, Daddy is a big bad man...your big bad man...and you even elaborate on how you love him so for it. Wetting your lips you rock against him as he basks in your obedience and drinking in his soft moan like wine, your lips rubbing against his.

“Let me massage you Daddy...I said I would...cmon. Please? Let me help?” The groan Boba emits tells you that he’s thinking of something else now, something with him on top but before he can open his mouth to give an order your bratty, slightly manipulative side comes out and you use your saccharine please Daddy do this for me or I’ll be oh so sad voice to plead to him.

“Oh please Daddy? Let me make you feel better. You said yourself you’re tired! You need a rest, just a brief one and then...” You untie your robe and let it fall, your whole body bare to him now, causing the erection between you to pulse. Your fingertips graze his throat as you tilt his face up towards yours and bite his lower lip teasingly. “You can massage my insides with that big cock of yours~ How’s that sound?”

Judging by the growl in his throat and chest- Boba likes the idea very much, and you have to fight to keep the smirk off your face. Drawing on some confidence just to tease him more you get off his lap and order him to strip and lay on the soft king sized bed the two of you shared. You could see his brown eyes narrow, debating on whether or not to just grab you and throw you on the bed and mount you like a fucking animal, but when he stood something popped in his shoulder audibly...and he stripped without a word.

The control you had over your face slipped and your grin shined out in full force as your older boyfriend complied to your demands. Really he was just a big softy with as much love to give as he had muscles and cute love handles. While he disrobed you found the bottle of massage oil he’d brought you back from one of his excursions that had multiple uses when came to making things easier, and fluffed the pillow in the middle of the bed that he always used. Your bed was so nice and so soft with lots of room for the two of you and yet Boba always slept in the middle, arms right around you and you near the edge facing the bathroom.

But you didn’t mind, you thought as you watched him lay down on his stomach with his head cradled by the now fluffy pillow and his tan body stretched out of the dark sheets. However he wanted to sleep-even if he sometimes squeezed too hard during a dream-was fine with you, as long as you were together.

‘Not gonna stand around all afternoon lookin’ at my ass are you?” You blinked and focused on Boba who was now smirking at you.

“Pbbbbt,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “No of course not! But if I was, who could blame me? It is a wonderful sight.” You climbed onto the bed as he chuckled. Knowing it would be uncomfortable for him and his still hard cock if you sat on his hips, you opted to sit more on his juicy ass instead. He hummed at the weight of you and relaxed into the pillow.

“Well if you think so it must be true,” he mumbles, “you are almost always right little Dove.”

“I am always right,” you corrected, dribbling the ever warm oil onto his broad back. He purred, and you knew it was because of the oil, but you liked to think it was because of you so you smirked. “That’s what I thought~”

You went to work then on his sore muscles, flexing your own to work the knots out with your skilled hands. Boba let his noises out freely as you worked; grunting, groaning, moaning and even at times whimpering with your palms smoothing over every inch of him you could reach.

The sun had sunk a bit by the time you were done and Boba rolled onto his back so you could finally straddle his hips. The evidence of your arousal from massaging him and his cute little noises was pressed against his balls. Your hands were on his chest and he was smoothing his own up your back slowly, sending shivers up your spine.

“My Dove...,” Boba starts on a soft sigh, his hands pulling down now to your hips to begin a gentle rocking. His cock was hardening again between the two of you and your own arousal was growing each second. “You love such a man like me? Old, a bit chubby, scarred?”

A soft sigh escaped you at the rocking, finally just a little bit of the release you had been craving since his return. You looked deeply, lovingly into Boba’s beautiful eyes. To you he was the most beautiful man in the galaxy, no matter how much he complained about his aching joints or how he was too old for you.

“Oh silly Daddy...” You sighed, taking the bottle of oil one more time and drizzling just a little on his perfect cock before taking it in your hand. His eyes darken as he watches you tilt your hips and line thick head of him up with your hole, his large hands gripping your hips tightly with anticipation. Taking the head of his cock you slap it against your hole before popping it inside and sinking down so slowly you knew his hands were going to leave bruises from gripping you so tight.

Once he was fully seated inside you you rotated your hips and opened your eyes just enough to give him a heady look. “As if I was destined for anyone else...”

You managed a wink before succumbing fully to your want for your lover, the fire he’d been stoking now turning into a raging storm with his thickness stretching you out perfectly. You both reached for each other at the same time and your mouths collided hotly as you bounced on him at an already quick pace. No time to adjust fully, fuck, Maker it just felt so good to be impaled on him again that you were frantic and starving for it. Teeth clashed, fingernails marks were definitely being left in sensitive areas and after just a minute or so you pulled away from the messy kissing to angle yourself better and slam onto Boba.

Your head was thrown back beautifully as you screamed your devotion to him, to his perfect fucking cock that was literally making you drool even while you were split open by it. Boba growled seeing the slick moisture on your lips and he sat up, yanking you close with a strong hand on the back of your neck. His hips met a bounce of yours and you cried out-only to have the noise muffled by a big thumb in your mouth. His other arm was right around you waist, keeping you on him but unmoving.

“That’s my sweet baby...suck on Daddy’s thumb...yeah just like that-fuck.” Even cockdrunk you knew how to work your lover up, sucking on his thumb dutifully and as enthusiastically as you did your favorite appendage of his. You even took his one hand in both your smaller ones to bring the digit further inside and you could swear Boba pulsed so hard inside you you thought he’d finished for a second.

He pushed down on your tongue hard and dragged your jaw with him, and much to your initial chagrin and then immediate arousal, let a long stream of drool pool out and fall where you were connected with him. You moaned at the filth of it and at the complete submissive state you were in. Literally, you were in the palm of Boba Fett’s hand.

Boba groaned and smirked at you, looking at the wet spot and then back at you. “Such a good pet aren’t you? I love it when you get me soaked little one~”

Maker you felt like exploding right then! But he wasn’t done with you, oh no. He pulled his thumb from your obscenely wet mouth, sucked your salvia from it and then rolled, pulling out of you with a wet echoing sound. He easily manhandled you with your hips popped up and grabbed your pillow to bury your face in. He slid back home with no resistance and you moaned freely, your eyes rolling back and your lower lip getting caught between your teeth.

“Mmmmm my sweet little pet...such a good slut for me aren’t you? Always so needy...so ready for Daddy to come home and take care of you...” As he spoke he’d started thrusting into you, gaining in speed. “Fuck...baby, I love you so fucking much, so, fucking, much!”

Now he was straight pummeling you. Your voice was going to be nonexistent when he was through with you if this kept up, your nails digging into your pillow so hard your knuckles were white and you could do nothing but spread your legs wider for him like the slut he’d called you. You were Boba Fett’s personal slut, his little Dove and his soulmate-nothing in the galaxy could be better than this.

As he neared his end he made sure to drag the fat head of his cock along those special spots inside you he knew so well while his mouth bit and sucked on the external spots until your toes curled so tightly he joked that they may never uncurl, the smug bastard. His lips found your neck again in a sweet spot as he bent over you, slamming so deep inside you could taste his precum on your tongue.

“Cum for me baby,” he murmurs, callused thumbs flicking over your nipples before one palm encloses over your throat and squeezes the sides deliciously. “Cum for Daddy little one.”

It was no question, no suggestion, it was a demand. And like the good Little you could be when you wanted, you obeyed. One last scream was ripped from your throat as you were pushed off that ledge into white hot pleasure so perfect it enveloped your whole body. Boba held you as you became tense and then limp, his own release coming not far after yours (not surprising given how hard your insides had been squeezing him) and as always overfilling you in a way you could only describe as obscenely delicious.

“Good job little Dove. I’m so proud.” Came a voice from above and behind you. You knew it was Boba, you knew yet somehow a little voice in your head thought it was the Maker talking to you. Your lips quirked in a little smile as exhausted gasps left your now limp body, only held up by Boba’s hands and his cock that was still pumping cum into you. You felt lips along your neck so lovingly and you sighed contentedly.

“I love you...” you whispered, beginning to fall asleep with him still cradled inside you.

He chuckled softly and kissed the tip of your ear, rubbing your back soothingly before very slowly sliding out of you.

“I love you too baby...go to sleep. I’ve got you.”

It would be hours before you woke, cleaned up and tightly nestled into Boba’s arms as always with the two of you so close it was like you had been born that way. And when you did you squeezed his middle tightly enough for him to softly grunt and then settled back with him, feeling for all the galaxy like you were the luckiest person alive because no one could love you like Boba Fett. And you couldn’t imagine loving anyone else.

@emilykjh @sailorsquadgoals @penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories @ohdeargodnotyouagain @ihaveashield @ezraslittlebirdie @labyrinth-runner @asaucecoveredsomething @thisainttheway @anakinswhore @sleepwithacommunist

#boba fett #boba fett fanfiction #boba Fett x you #boba fett x reader #gender neutral reader #Star Wars #star wars fanfic #my fanfic

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