#the sheer dedication . all to get a high . | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

prythianpages · 2 months

Text

'Cause Somewhere in the Crowd There's You | Lucien

summary: When Tamlin sends Lucien to the Night Court as his emisssary, he stumbles upon a nightclub and finds himself captivated by you. His sweet nightingale.

warnings: angst, mentions of blood and violence (reader is trapped in a nightclub)

a/n: This is part of my ABBA x ACOTAR series (masterlist) where I dedicate a song to a character (: but also was inspired by Lana Del Rey's music and a hint of Oscar Wilde ♥️ This takes place roughly before Amarantha's rule. If I'm going to be honest, I find Lucien hard a bit hard to write for (but this song really gave me lucien vibes) so I hope this doesn't come off a bit out of character for him. also why is it so hard to find pics that match Lucien's vibe on pinterest.

Trapped in the ceaseless rhythm of melancholic blues, you can’t help but feel sick and tired of everything. Days blur into nights. All you do is eat and sleep and sing. The weight of routine presses down on you, suffocating the spark that once fueled your passion.

You wish every show to be your last.

That is, until you see him.

He emerges from the crowd like a radiant sun breaking through the darkest night. His presence is tall and striking with skin kissed by the sun and a cascade of red hair. Despite the length of scars that run down the left side of his face, there is an undeniable elegance and beauty that surrounds him. His eye holds you captive, drawing you in like a moth to a flame and your voice falters for a brief note.

Lucien knows he should leave. Hewn city is not a welcoming one and his meeting with the High Lord of the Night Court did not go well. But against the warning bells ringing in his head, he decides to linger and wander around the dark city. With no clear destination in mind, his feet guide him through the labyrinthine alleys until, almost as if compelled by an unseen force, he stands before the entrance of a mysterious nightclub. Bathed in an eerie red light, the sign above reads The Rose.

As he approaches, the entrance, despite being small, appears almost ethereal. Shadows dance upon the towering stone walls. The air is thick with an alluring blend of magic, pleasure and something darker. Inside is just as mysterious and intoxicating. He should leave and he turns around to do so when he a mesmerizing sound stops him and holds him in place.

“In the land of gods and monsters.”

A beautiful and heavenly voice. It beckons him forward like a siren’s call and he allows the fae lights embedded in the cavern to guide him further. The corners of the nightclub harbor hidden alcoves, draped in luxurious silks and velvet.

“I was an angel living in the garden of evil.”

Some high fae engage in secretive exchanges and gambles. Some are lost in the enigmatic allure of drinks and colorful powders that shimmer with enchantments. Some are engrossed in the pretty fae females and males on their laps. Others, like him, are captured by the hauntingly beautiful song.

“You got that medicine I need. Fame, liquor, love, give it to me slowly.”

Where ancient stone meets polished wood, Lucien finds himself at the bar and orders a drink. He turns to face the stage in the center of the club, leaning against the bar. His mechanical eye emits a soft whir as his gaze travels to the owner of the voice.

“Put your hands on my waist, do it softly.”

A silent awe washes over him as he takes in the sheer beauty before him. Dressed in a white gown that drapes over you like moonlit silk, you stand on the stage like an angel amidst the monsters that lurk in every corner of the place. The fabric mirrors your every movement as you sway to the rhythm of the song in small billowing waves.

“Me and the Mother, we don’t get along. So now I sing.”

It’s as if you sense his gaze on you because your siren eyes are searching the crowd. Mirroring the depths of a fathomless ocean, your eyes are pools of sadness and longing, yet there's a vulnerability that softens in them as they lock with his. Your voice slightly falters and for a heartbeat, time seems to stretch.

A tremor courses through you, fingers tightening their grip onto the microphone. Your eyes darken again and then you’re tearing your gaze away from Lucien. He follows it, curious eyes landing on a male who stands on the balcony facing the stage. Even from where Lucien stands, he can tell the male radiates power and money.

“No one’s gonna take my soul away.”

“They call her the Nightingale.” The bartender says to Lucien as he hands him his drink. Lucien’s gaze returns to you. “She’s off limits. I suggest finding another female to warm you for the night. There’s plenty to choose from here.”

Lucien says nothing in return. Those hadn’t been his intentions upon seeing you. He simply found himself struck by your presence. And as the enchanting notes of your song continue to soar, there’s a rising desire to learn more about you. The thought of extending his stay begins to take root, a subtle whisper tempting him to linger a while longer. He’ll write to Tamlin to reassure him and continue to negotiate with Rhysand further.

The gamble Lucien took to stay in Hewn city is a winning one with each passing night yielding more promising signs of Rhysand's willingness to compromise. It brings him relief as it gives him an excuse to visit the nightclub again. He returns the next night and then the following, noticing something new about you every time.

On the second night, he realizes the male you had glared at the first night he saw you was the owner of the nightclub. Lucien learns that he was right in his first impression of him. Benedict is a wealthy man, both in money and in connections, and is not subtle about the power he holds over this part of the city. Everyone in the nightclub bows down to him but not you. There’s a look of defiance in your eyes every time you look Benedict’s way.

On the third night, your usually hauntingly melancholic voice takes on a different, lighter tone. It’s still just as beautiful but now, harbors a sense of hope. And your eyes find Lucien’s with ease. You don’t break eye contact with him throughout the entirety of your performance that night, as though your song is a serenade meant solely for him.

It’s on the fourth night that he finally gets to talk to you.

Breaking from your routine of disappearing behind the stage curtains after performances, tonight, you grace the bar with your presence, drawing stares from some of the high fae. His grip tightens on his glass when he recognizes a dark hunger in most of them but even so, none dare to approach you.

“What will it be, lovely?” Lucien hears the bartender address you.

Taking the empty spot beside Lucien, your presence and proximity captivate him. His heartbeat falters momentarily as you graciously flip your hair, surrounding him with the divine scent of the sweetest rose.

“Just a water,” you reply and he hears the rustle of your dress as you turn to face him. “You’re not from here.”

Lucien’s lips twitch upwards. “What gave it away?”

“You’re not a monster.”

He finally turns to look at you, a strange warmth spreading through him. Ever since he lost his eye, he had battled with the scars tainting his skin, internalizing a sense of monstrousity. Yet, as you regard him, it feels as though you see an angel where he sees only imperfections.

His eye drinks you in, the mechanical one on the left whirring along. The corner of his lips lift up into a smirk when he catches you doing the same.

“How do you know I’m not a monster?”

“There’s something different about you. Something good,” your eyes study him carefully and then, with a soft sigh, you add, “It’d do you well not to dwell in places like this. They’ll only dim your light.”

Curiosity getting the better of him, Lucien asks, "And what about you?"

Your eyes widen, as though the question catches you off guard. "What about me?"

Despite the myriad thoughts swirling within him, he restrains himself and settles for, "You, too, don't seem to fit into this place.”

You fall into a thoughtful silence and your brow slightly furrows. Lucien keenly observes the subtle shift in your gaze as you scan the room before settling back on him. Leaning in as though sharing a secret, he instinctively leans closer. However, as he anticipates your words, you’re turning your back to him. Just as he's poised to speak, you sweep your hair aside, rendering him speechless as you show him instead.

A delicate tattoo is etched onto the skin between your shoulders—a bird confined within a cage.

“I can’t leave,” he hears your murmur and the ink on your skin appears to shimmer like stars in confirmation. A bargain permanently marked upon flesh. Your flesh and he swallows thickly at what your words imply.

You’re that bird, the nightingale, trapped in the cage.

“I have to go,” you say suddenly and your hair falls back into place, cascading down your back and concealing the telling tattoo. “Will you come by tomorrow?”

“I thought you said I shouldn’t dwell in places like this.”

“You shouldn’t,” you reply with a wistful smile and Lucien hates the way you drop your gaze.

“But I think I will.”

His words prompt your head to lift, eyes meeting his in surprise. A rush of excitement flushes your skin, transforming the wistful smile into one that is lighter, more promising. A fluttering sensation stirs in Lucien's stomach, and he can't help but return your smile.

A couple more days in Hewn City wouldn’t hurt.

Ten days ago, you were stuck in an endless loop of exhaustion and despair, where every night weighed heavily upon you. However, a welcome shift has occurred since then. Sleeping, eating and singing still consume most of your days but a newfound presence has entered the scene. Lucien.

And as the curtains are drawn back, revealing your presence to the awaiting audience, you embrace yourself for the blinding super trouper beams. Unlike nights past where a tinge of melancholy enveloped you, tonight is different.

You won’t feel blue, like you always do, because somewhere in the crowd there’s him.

Lucien’s presence is like a burst of brilliance, akin to the beaming lights that find you on the stage every night. When your eyes find his amongst the crowd, your pulse quickens and heat rushes to your cheeks. It’s like the sight of him proves to you that you're still alive.

In his wake, the shadows that linger in the club cower and hide away. He shines like the sun and you find his brightness infectious. It chases away the gloom that had settled over your own light, reigniting the flames of enthusiasm that had long dimmed within you.

Each note you sang resonated with newfound energy, and every performance became an opportunity to embrace the warmth and vitality he brought into your world. As the final notes of your song hang in the air, you can’t help but feel a sense of destiny. You were meant to meet Lucien.

After your performance, you sneak your way back to the bar where he waits for you.

“You came again,” you smile at him.

Lucien smiles back at you but it falters. “I’m afraid it’ll be the last time…for a while.”

The smile doesn’t waver off your face yet the glistening in your eyes reveals the threat of an emotional storm beginning to unfold. You refuse to dwell in it, not wanting to let the darkness that lingers over you like a gloomy cloud to consume you again.

“Okay,” you manage to breathe. You knew this day was coming. Lucien had to return back home, and you, regrettably, can’t go with him. “Let’s make the most of tonight, then. Dance with me?”

“Are you sure?” Lucien asks and you follow his gaze to where Benedict stands, a top of the balcony as always. You feel a rush of relief when you see a pretty female wrapped around him. A distraction. Perfect.

Lucien watches you, taking in every shift in your expression as he awaits for your answer. It’s not that he doesn’t want to dance with you. Gods, does he want to dance with you. Anything to be able to hold you close. To take you into his arms and hold you tight.

Unfortunately, he’s well aware of the tight leash Benedict keeps you on. He doesn’t let you stray far from his sight. You’re not allowed anywhere near the private nooks lining the club or the rooms at the back where private exchanges occur. It’s for your own safety and Lucien can’t be mad at that. What unsettles him is the way Benedict regards you as his most prized object and Lucien doesn’t want you to face consequences over a dance.

“Yes,” you finally answer.

There’s a strong certainty in your voice but also a subtle plea that tugs at his heartstrings. It brings forth a tightening in his chest. He suppresses the urge to frown. He plans to return to you but for now, it’s your last night together before he has to leave the Night Court.

Lucien graces you with a smile instead. He offers his hand to you, his eyes lighting up with a warmth that mirrors the blood coursing through his veins. A delightful shiver travels up his spine as your hand wraps around his. Until now, you’d only share glances, lingering stares and the occasional brushing of skin.

As the piano begins its enchanting melody, Lucien takes the lead, guiding you onto the dance floor. You’re so close you can feel the warmth of his body and all you want to do is melt into it. Melt into him. But you can’t.

So you bask in the warmth of his gaze instead. Up close, you can now appreciate the depth of his russet eye and you can’t help but marvel at the intricacies of the golden mechanical eye on the left. His gaze never strays from yours throughout the dance and the tender connection between you begins to rise under the brilliance of his gaze, pulling your heart with it.

As he holds you tight, you surrender to the intimate embrace, shedding all inhibitions. Neither of you speak, your eyes speaking for you. It feels as though the world has faded away, leaving just the two of you swaying in harmony. Smiling, having fun, where each step becomes a silent declaration of the unspoken feelings that have blossomed between you.

The passage of time remains elusive as you share the dance, the minutes slipping away unnoticed until the pianist gracefully bows to the audience. Your dance comes to a dreadful stop. Lucien's grasp on you tightens, a reluctant acknowledgment of the inevitable separation.

“I’ll come back for you,” he whispers, his promise carrying a tenderness that ignites a fervent flame within you. “I’ll find a way to help set you free, my sweet nightingale.”

He then pulls a pristine white rose, the same exact shade of white as the dress you wore when he first saw you, from the folds of his coat. He graces you with one last smile as he leans in, placing the rose carefully behind your ear. “Until then,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple and your eyes flutter shut.

“Until then,” you breathe and as Lucien walks away and the shadows inevitably return, you take delight in the way the darkness hesitates to claim you, leaving you untouched.

You can’t even bring yourself to care when Benedict corners you backstage, seething with anger. Of course, he noticed. You don’t even flinch when he throws his glass of whiskey toward the wall behind you, the shattered glass ricocheting. Some of them make their way to you, slicing your skin.

As you settle into the comfort of your small room, you retrieve the white rose from its perch behind your ear, cradling it delicately in your hand. A single drop of blood from one of your healing cuts taints the rose, painting one of the white petals red. Still, you cling onto the slender stem, gripping it as tightly as you grasp onto that fervent flame of hope burning within you. Your light will never dim again…

Because somewhere in Prythian, there’s him.

a/n: I'll admit this took an angstier turn than what I had intended but I hope you still enjoy this darker interpretation of ABBA's Super Trouper lol.

tagging: @scooobies

#lucien x reader #lucien x yn #lucien x you #acotar fanfiction #lucien fanfiction #lucien vanserra x you #lucien vanserra x reader #lucien vanserra fanfiction #lucien imagine #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar x y/n

204 notes · View notes

mammalsofaction · 1 month

Text

Imagine human!Perry getting hit with the molecular separator. Set during the events of 'Split Personality'

-That morning when Candace was wrestling with the separator and accidentally separates herself, the machine smashes into a rock and begins to malfunction. She doesn't notice, what with suddenly being two people with wildly contradicting priorities and all.

-But when Perry steps out into the backyard to head into his hideout, stepping onto the very same rock-a trigger for his lair, the machine descends down with him. Perry lands in his seat, but the machine activates upon impact to the floor and hits him with it before it sputters out and dies. Monogram is greeted with two distinct Perrys; Agent P, professional hardass and lone wolf dedicated in the pursuit of justice and fighting evil (specifically Doof); and Uncle Perry, a mellow headed novelist who sleeps a lot and really doesn't do much, but loves the kids with all his heart.

-If both men get caught in public and outs OWCA, it could decimate Perry's cover and invite all sort of legal and coverup catastrophes. Monogram demands Carl chase them and fix it.

-Instead of the Look-Away Inator, it's a Vanessa week and Doof has cooked up another harebrained scheme to take over the Tri State Area, but first! Buying parts at the mall with his daughter :3 Bonding time.

-So Agent P storms to the Mall to defeat Evil and Uncle Perry goes to the mall because all his kids (Phineas, Ferb, Candace, Vanessa) are there!

-Cue four part musical number with Romantic Candace, Busting Candace, Agent P and Uncle Perry while PnF and Carl are trying to chase Candace and Perry around the mall, while Linda and Doof remain perfectly oblivious.

-At one point Vanessa separates from her dad to go look at some new knee high goth stomping boots, and Agent P gets to her first. He gets all up in her face, interrogating her on her father and where he's going and what he's planning, and Vanessa-miffed-goes "What is going ON with you today" and Agent P is like "That's none of your business, Doofenshmirtz." Spitting out her last name like it's something disgusting. He's never referred to her like that before: Perry has ALWAYS made a point to separate her from her father, and emphasize that she was her own person. Agent P storms off and leaves her behind feeling hurt and confused and 40% sure that was NOT the Perry she knows and loves.

-Barely a moment after he leaves Uncle Perry stumbles inside the shop, looking winded and worried before he spots her and breathes this huge sigh of relief. He notes that Vanessa looks spooked, and Vanessa is making that math calculation meme look as Perry checks her up and looks her over until she convinces him that she's fine and she hadn't been hurt. She knows Perry was a softy on the inside, but she's getting whiplash from the sheer difference between him NOW and the him that just spit in her face 5 minutes ago. Not to mention they're dressed COMPLETELY different, and she's never seen him dressed like THIS before. An old battered denim jacket with old band patches over a slightly washed out ducky momo tshirt, khaki shorts and crocs. Hes wearing glasses, and his hair uncombed and unruly. If she was any measure as face blind as her father, they would be two completely different people despite the teal hair, and she wouldn't have recognised him at all.

-She's beginning to suspect they ARE different people. Sthg smells FISHY.

-She off handedly mentions that her father is making a SUPER evil contraption that could completely isolate her uncle. He's on his way home right now.

-Ducky Momo Perry just looks at her with this confused, slightly amused "ok, and?" Look like he's not sure what to do with this information, and just asks if she needs a ride home? If she can just wait until he collects the rest of his kids (he has kids?????) he can drop her off at her father's. They could even get slushy dog otw out maybe?

-She asks if he doesn't want to stop her father's evildoing maybe, and Perry's like no???? Im just a novelist, I dont do much. I dont go out busting evil, that's Other Me's job, and Vanessa's Something Is Off senses just goes BLARING like What Does He Mean.

-Perry checks something on his phone though, and notes with concern it is so LATE, and he needs to make Lunch, oh the kids must be starving he HAS to look for them, and takes off with a kiss to Vanessa's cheek requesting her to meet her at Slushy Dog so he can take her home.

-After he leaves, Vanessa walks out with her mind going A Mile A Minute and spots the Carl The Intern that Monty had once introduced her to. She waves him over, and he asks, nervously, if she had seen "Agent P" around. It's child's play to pressure him into telling her that Agent Perry the Platypus had accidentally been molecularly separated into individually embodying each side of his double life. One where he is known as Uncle Perry of the Flynn Fletcher household, and Secret Agent P the enactor of Justice.

-They had to put the two of them together, else OWCA could risk Perry's cover to be blown, and he would have to be relocated.

-She doesn't want this! She tells Carl that she had already told Agent P that her father had gone home to enact his Evil Plan so she's sure he's going to be at DEI, and she's going to persuade Uncle Perry to send her up. Carl will have to meet them there with the repaired separator and blast them back together.

-She finds Uncle Perry at Slushy Dog, talking to that blonde kid behind the counter that she's pretty sure is Candace Flynn's boyfriend and Perry introduces him as Jeremy Johnson, who had told him Phineas, Ferb and Candace had gone home with their mother. Jeremy seems to vaguely recognise her, at least. Perry introduces her as his "Partner's daughter, Vanessa." Which, okay, they are so pressed for time to unpack that right this second. The implications don't seem to miss Jeremy, either; he looks too stunned to speak. She doubts Jeremy had known Perry was dating anybody. Heck, she didn't know until right that second either. She is SOOOOO bringing this back up once Perry was back to normal.

-She tells Perry that her dad was making her favourite doonkelberry pie for lunch and he just called her and said Perry was invited so won't he please send her home? Perry blushes a little, most likely at the thought of her dad inviting him over to lunch, Jeremy looks arrested and wide eyed like he's piecing things together in his head and Vanessa is only a little bit sorry about the mess Normal Perry is going to have to come home to when he reports home to his mother.

-As Uncle Perry drives her home, Vanessa implicitly understands Carl and Monogram's concerns for the Agency's cover and OWCA's secrecy, because Uncle Perry has NO FILTER. She learns more about him in the half hour car ride (a battered Honda Accord) over than she ever has in the last 5 years she had known him. In a relaxed state, Perry talks in odd accent amalgam that he explains had been due to being raised in Australia, before moving to England with his sister when she married Lawrence, Ferb's dad. They were otherwise orphans who were integrated by OWCA at an incredibly young age, so the Fletchers became like family, and he had stayed even when his sister passed from an OWCA related incident (the one thing he seems hesitant to elaborate on) to help Lawrence Fletcher raise Ferb. He explains to her that prior to his nemesis-ship to her father, OWCA had demanded him work odd hours which weren't very kid friendly, which made him apply for a more stable schedule. Major Monogram got in contact and persuaded him to take up a nemesis-ship with his father in Danville, and when he moved, Lawrence and Ferb moved with him.

-Lawrence met Linda Flynn in Danville, who was a single mother of Candace and Phineas Flynn, and the rest was history.

-Vanessa had an inkling there was so much more lore she could uncover from that brief yet eye opening wealth of information, but she got distracted just learning more about Perry as a person and-apparently-how much more open he is about his adoration of her father without his concerns of professionalism as an OWCA agent. She knows he thinks her dad's cute, seems exasperated but fond and awed of his inventions, angry and sad about his childhood and past. Perry says he feels like he owes Heinz for so much, not least for getting to care about another brilliant kid, a point he emphasizes with a noogie to Vanessa's head. She feels all mushy and warm inside, but all too soon they have arrived at her father's penthouse doorstep, from which originated the sounds of cartoonish violence.

-Perry notes that her father must be busy, and Vanessa is abruptly reminded of her Mission. She reiterates her father's invitation to lunch, and practically drags Perry inside, praying that Carl had beat them there or was at least primed and aimed the Separator whatsit with a clear shot.

-Inside, Agent P is posed over her father, straddling his chest and he lies on his back on floor squirming and wriggling and noting that Perry the Platypus is being strangely intense today. Agent P is sporting a good few scrapes of his own, implying that her father had given as good as he got, but even with his scowl and a fist pulled back, it's a awkward configuration to catch her dad in. It's not even the first time it happens, but it's SO weird to see every time. Her dad never seems to notice the kind of picture it paints.

-Vanessa doesn't even need to do anything to shove the two halves of Perry together, because Uncle Perry had stormed forward with a beet red face pulling Agent P off of his Heinz, demanding to know what it is that he's doing. It seems to set them both like nothing else, because they are suddenly in a full blown fight with each other (Agent P accusing his other half that he was Consorting With The Enemy, and Uncle Perry hissing about he could've seriously hurt them Heinz and Vanessa BOTH, and this was why they never have any friends or nice things.)

-As Vanessa pulls her father away, she briefly worries that she had blown Perry's cover, until she notes that her dad's got two black eyes and muttering dizzily about seeing double. It's easy to coax him out to an adjacent room as she sees Carl the Intern sneaking inside the house through the still open front door with a machine that looks a like a camera. They give each other a thumbs up as the arguing increases to a fever pitch, one wrong word away before coming to blows, and Carl fires up the reverse of the Separator.

-The abrupt silence throughout the penthouse makes Vanessa's ears ring, but seeing only one dazed figure in the middle of the lab is such a wonderful relief. She watches him take note of his surroundings, a thoroughly defeated Heinz Doofenshmirtz and a thwarted Inator before reaching his own conclusions, and practically overlooks Carl, who takes the opportunity to slink back out the apartment with a visible echoed sigh of relief.

-Vanessa watches as he darts over first to her wrecked and injured dad, hissing as he carefully assesses the injuries and bruises he had inflicted on the man himself that reminds her of the way his Uncle Perry Aspect had looked over HER in the mall-the visible care and concern Agent P disavows himself of. He's avoiding her gaze, and Vanessa figures out that he's embarrassed.

-She doesn't get the opportunity to say anything though, bc her dad comes to somewhat and realizes that Perry is by his side. Despite his wounds being inflicted Perry himself, he seems to tell that Perry's worried anyway, and requests that the agent carry him to his room to take a nap. Vanessa feels a little like she's interrupting, seeing the gentle way her dad takes Perry's hand, the softness in Perry's expression, the easy acquiescence as he heaves her father up in a bridal carry. Her dad is still mumbling nonsense, she hopes Perry will look him over for a concussion, but Perry catches her eye to nonverbally indicate-importantly-that they need to have a talk.

#perryshmirtz #heinz doofenshmirtz #choice of fic #human perry #perry the platypus #phineas and ferb

175 notes · View notes

twst-drabbles · 3 months

Text

Azul, Idia and Malleus 1

Summary: Azul and Idia are dragged for singing practice with Malleus. You too were dragged in, but not to sing. Malleus wanted you to be his audience and critic.

(I think it would be funny for the Janitor to just be in a chair, watching it all. I know the event is over, but it still lives in my head for whatever reason. Also this is over 1000 words, so have fun.)

While you're not going to the social that'll be happening in the Nobel Bell College, you are still a dear friend of Malleus. And because you have such privileges, you were allowed to be the judging audience for Malleus's singing practices.

"His initiative is mind-boggling… I didn't think Malleus would be so motivated." Azul said, clearly out of his element but refusing to show as such.

You leaned your head against your fist.

"You've never attended a fae party have you?" You picked at the lint on your uniform and flicked it towards the practicing pair. "This much enthusiasm is pretty common to see. And expected, actually."

Azul's smile twitched as he turned towards you, "Ah well, excuse my inexperience with not attending any fae parties. Running a business doesn't exactly allow me much free time. Though, I suppose quality standards would be different across species, wouldn't they? I just never expected them to be this high."

"That's what happens when you live for hundreds of years," you sighed, "the medium standard rises."

Malleus clapped his hands to gather everyone's attention.

"Now now, Ashengrotto," Malleus chided Azul, "Keep from looking at the Child of Man and start again. You must be sure to practice so that you can perform perfectly for them."

It's nice that you at least get a free show before they all go. Now if only you had snacks. It's been a while since you last ate.

Lilia, ever the perceptive one, floated over dropped an unopened bag of snacks right on your head. "Seeing a performance on an empty stomach is no way to enjoy it."

You grabbed it and nodded to him. "Nice, I like this brand."

Idia, having just the tiniest bit of respite, chewed on his nail and grumbled out, "I never expected our precision security system to get literally brute-forced. I gotta upgrade that ASAP, like tonight."

You chuckled, now in a better mood with a tasty snack on your tongue, "Idia, you're dealing with an enemy that scales to your level, it's never going to work."

Lilia laughed with you, "Exactly. You shouldn't underestimate our sheer tenacity. Especially when we're under strict orders."

Malleus had a hand to his mouth, smiling right down at Idia, clearly amused that Idia thought he could avoid all of this. "As such, I and this entire dorm are dedicating our time to craft this song into perfection. Your participation is crucial for that, I'm afraid."

Poor Idia. You're enjoying this too much.

"You can't escape," you muffled through your snacks.

Idia shrunk further into himself, but resigned to his practicing fate alongside Azul.

They started from the top and Malleus began singing that song you now know forwards and backwards. He kept diligent to his nightly visits over to your dorm, alongside of working in his hours of practice. It's difficult not to memorize it.

"He really is way too good at singing…" Azul and Idia murmured like you couldn't hear them at all.

"Yeah. Anything having to do with festivities and performances, they have it down pat. Did you know it's an insult to have a party last less than three days in fae etiquette?" You said while keeping a careful ear for any mistakes in Malleus's singing.

You really only said this just to get the thought out. You weren't expecting any sort of reply. And you certainly weren't expecting Azul and Idia to slowly turn towards you in dual horror.

Azul pushed up his glasses, "… while the social will last a while, the party itself will only last a day at the end… Could it be that Malleus does not know?"

And Idia is clutching at his hair. "Oh no, oh no, oh no…"

Wow they really just swallowed your words without question, huh?

"… obviously the rules are different if the host is a human, on their human owned land." You said with a lazy grin. The both of them are so easy to mess with.

Idia deflated into a defeated puddle on the floor while Azul perked right back up as though he too wasn't on the verge of a breakdown.

"Ah, well of course! If such rules applied the minute any guest is a faerie, we'd all be cursed in one manner or another."

Azul's ability to suddenly collect himself always amuses you. The sweat upon his brow hasn't even dried up yet. No wonder Malleus likes to put him on edge.

Malleus reached the end. He breathed in, out, then turned towards you. Azul and Idia flinched, being in his line of sight.

"Well? How was that?" Malleus asked.

And you gave your critic, "You might want to tone down the intensity in the first verse. Otherwise the climb to the finale won't hit as hard like that opera performance we saw on that video."

Of course you had to gather references regarding that song. You and your thirst for historical knowledge had you scaling down an interesting rabbit hole until you ended up stumbling upon an online archive filled with recorded performances. One of them simply wowed you and you had to show Malleus.

Malleus looked down, thoughtful. "I suppose you're right. Then, I'll make some adjustments as needed. I will reward you for the sound advice later, Child of Man. Let me try again. Lilia, if you will."

And another round he went, making sure to keep the full intensity of his voice under his control.

You couldn't help but sing along with him, under your breath of course. This was his practicing performance, not yours. You tapped to the rhythm, enjoying this early taste, living in the moment.

"Huh?" Azul and Idia both turned to you.

Your voice faded out before the end, as that verse is Malleus and Malleus's alone.

Idia, during that moment, scuttled up to your face like a bug. He grabbed your shirt by the collar. "You could sing?!" He hissed out.

"Uh, yeah?" It's a skill you had to practice with. The little pixies are all about songs and dances whenever they're helping you out with your work.

"So why don't you convince him. To let me go?!" Idia shook you back and forth. "Clearly this BBEG would love to sing with you over a loser like me! Do you want me to experience an IRL game over?!"

It… is amazing how weak Idia is. There is so little strength in those arms of his that you can't even be angry that he's wrinkling your shirt.

All you had to do was grab his face and push him down.

Idia did not stand a chance. He let go.

"Because I'm not invited, so I can't replace you. Besides, this is fun for me, watching you fumble like this." You grinned at this kneeling Idia. "When you've been around the pixies long enough, you just pick up their inner rhythm eventually. That, and singing keeps their energy high while I'm working."

"Well," Azul said, "That would explain why Malleus would want your critic over mine. How… frustrating."

Malleus didn't so much as spare a glance at Idia, only asked, "Shroud. What are you doing over there? It's time for you to practice the basics again."

"Ah!" Idia shot himself out of your grasp and zipped over to Lilia, "Coming!"

"If you'll excuse me, Janitor and Judge." Azul nodded to you, "I would want to make Malleus angry."

"Have fun." You waved them both off, settling in your plush chair once more until you were called for.

This is fun. You like this.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst-drabbles #twst-drabbles exclusive #drabble #octavinelle #azul #azul ashengrotto #ignihyde #idia #idia shroud #diasomnia #malleus #malleus draconia #reader insert #janitor au

121 notes · View notes

alasse-earfalas · 7 months

Text

hands each of the Chain a scrambled Rubik's Cube to solve

This is assuming that an average, unassisted (no manual, no methods taught, etc) first-time solve takes about three hours.

Four: All the other colors get shut down; Four leans completely into his logic, completely quiet, contemplative, examining carefully. Solves it after about ninety minutes. Is constantly fiddling with it afterwards.

Time: Sets aside everything else to focus on solving it. Tackles it by experimenting. Figures out & jots down out algorithms first. Once that's done it takes him about twenty minutes to actually solve. Full process takes about two hours.

Twilight: He can't tell you how he solved it, only that it took him about two hours. Very casual about it, works on it during conversations and other downtime. Will occasionally pick it back up and play around with it once it's solved.

Sky: Intimidated at first. Once he starts turning, though, he gets sucked into a hyperfocus flow-state where he tries anything and everything that comes to mind and snaps whenever he's interrupted. Solves it in a single, intense, hour and ten minute stretch.

Wind: Three hours. Refuses to put it down until he's got it solved, complains loudly at every frustration and cheers at every triumph.

Wild: Disassembles it and puts it back together. The others say that's cheating and doesn't count.

Legend: Drops into a chill zen state and solves it in about twenty minutes. Has to swear to the others on his honor as a hero that he's never seen one before, nor anything like it, for them to believe him. Some of them are still suspicious.

Warriors: Looks it over once, says "huh, that's nice", and hands it to Wild to solve "the intended way". (Wild snaps a picture of Time's algorithm notes and uses that to solve it in about thirty minutes. Everyone still says it's cheating.)

Hyrule: The epic saga of the humble Hero of Hyrule versus the multicolored puzzle cube lasts an entire week, full of twists and turns, highs and lows, an impossible challenge and sheer determination. His dedication, stubbornness, and sheer spite eventually leads him to victory, and his band of brothers celebrates the triumph with him!

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu chain #lu headcanons #rubikscube

255 notes · View notes

hwaightme · 1 year

Text

Avaritia

THIS IS 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI FOR CAPTAIN'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist)

⚫ pairing: ceo/sugar daddy!hongjoong x assistant/afab!reader ⚫ genre: smut... just smut really ⚫ summary: everything has a price, but sugar makes this truth so much sweeter. no matter what he says, hongjoong will buy that new purse for you, will flaunt you in front of his business partners, and will make sure you know you are his. ⚫ wordcount: 8.3k ⚫ warnings/tags: MINORS DNI, tried to edit - lost it - bon appetit, language, teasing, on a flight, a lot of money, wealth, first world, brand name dropping harder than San in the logs, hj is a sweetheart, mc is needy but in denial, full avarice mode lmk if anything else, nsfw tags and playlist rec under the cut ⚫ taglist: @doom-fics @layzfeelit @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo ⚫ network tags: @k-labels @ateezlovenet @kflixnet ⚫ a/n: Sometimes, I am calm. Other times (read 'all the time) I am getting wrecked by everyone in ATEEZ. Here is what Balmain Joong did to me. Any comments, reblogs much loved; we spiraled into madness (hail sucrose pop, glucose father joong lol)

⚫ nsfw tags: daddy/baby girl dynamic, sugar daddy, reader is a 'doll', soft dom!hj (literally cannot stay mad at mc), overstimulation (seriously what is hj doing to mc...), fingering, mile high club, blowjob, deepthroating, dacryphilia, possessiveness, dirty talk, sex on a desk, unprotected sex (wrap that before you tap that) ⚫ playlist recs: Five Star Hotels by RAYE | Sugar Daddy by Qveen Herby | SAD GIRLZ LUV MONEY Remix by Amaarae | Greed by Shreea Kaul | Mile High by Salina Killa | Do I Move You? by Nina Simone | Money Power Glory by Lana Del Rey

Why was it that when real business was being discussed, the location of choice was always the most extravagant, exotic, luxurious oasis? Everything about the resort screamed unaffordable. 'Exclusive' written in blood on the pristine white sands, only to be washed away by azure blue waves to colour sea foam you could swear was whipped up in a divine patisserie. A perverse flavour inaccessible to the majority but driving the decisions that ruled the world. It was challenging to not become partial to the taboo indulgence when it was handed to you on a silver platter together with a tailor-made career. Anyone would need to acclimatise to what most considered a distant fantasy, but a few flights on a private jet later did wonders in curing the delirium of the average and introducing an insatiable materialism.

Thus, you were not particularly bothered when your boss requested you book another retreat to a private resort in the middle of the ocean - considering the business's cash flow and offshore 'pocket money', this was not too different from your routine trip to the cafe down the street to get his 'coffee' - more sugar than caffeine but this was a secret that you were to keep to the grave; it was written in small print on your contract. It was easy to book when you just needed to send out a few messages to staff and drop a name to any external service people at the right time. Their reaction, stuttering and need for clarification never failed to be amusing; even the most outrageous demands gained appeal once the won, euro, dollars, whatever they wanted from the global wallet, began to stack up. Green bills, green trees - in a twisted way, these boys who liked to play the role of the all-seeing and all mighty were farmers too. And fruits of their labour were always the sweetest.

Sure, you worked hard and had your own path that you could have followed. Even had a degree to prove that you had at least an ounce of dedication. But what would it give you, in fact, what did it give you before your renaissance? Crumbs. Sheer crumbs, student debt and a chronic migraine. But as it turned out, a couple hundred k did wonders when it came to personal health and wellbeing. And on top of that, the myriad of other benefits that your current lifestyle had, had the ability to crush any argument and accusation hurled in your direction, of which you had many. You had figured out soon enough that diamonds were your real best friend, while those who you had considered your ride or die evaporated as soon as they saw you wearing designer. And that had been when the best you could ask for was old collections, and widely available products. You were not lonely. You had too many hats to wear, and a very demanding man, by the name of Kim Hongjoong, to entertain. And one who currently had his eyebrows furrowed, a couple of unruly strands of hair perking up out of his otherwise slick business ‘do, glasses barely holding onto the tip of his beautifully sculpted nose, and was leafing through the papers he had asked you to prepare for the duration of the flight.

For the CEO of a global company, and the heir to an even larger network, he sure as hell was incredibly young. You did not envy his turmoil and exposure to stress one bit, almost feeling sorry and in part guilty, since percentages of his spendings were technically lost on you. There had even been instances when you found yourself sat in a dark room, laptop screen aglow and on a blank page, with you wondering how one crafted a resignation paper. But once you and Hongjoong could have even a couple of moments alone, when he would ravish you, make and call you his and reveal to you all the things he had planned that could not be reflected on his calendar, that document would be promptly deleted and recycle bin emptied. Your ‘relationship’ had been this way since the one meeting, in his main office, on a bright and early morning.

He had called you up into his office and simply told you that he had another ‘job opportunity’ for you. At that point you had been desperate, with financial problems endlessly piling up, from debt to your family’s hospital fees to bailing your estranged brother out of prison. And to make things unethical – Hongjoong had known this. He had done his research – more specifically, he had asked some colleagues in his company, ones who you would never suspect, to snoop around and find out more about you. And as it turned out, you were the perfect candidate for ‘being treated right’ by him, while bearing the title and carrying out the formal façade of secretary and personal assistant duties. In his practice, as well as his father’s and partners’, this was probably the most stable relationship they would ever get in life, so might as well be picky.

Initially, you had simply become a receiver of gifts. Pretending like this was Hongjoong’s love language, you were touched and did not think much of it. Maybe through these purchases he was moving money in ways it should not be moved, but you could not care less – not your problem, not your area of expertise, you had the outcome, and the outcome was something like a crocodile leather bag or a dress fresh off the runway. Hongjoong had insisted on picking every single item out for you, letting his controlling executive side win over. He had explained that you had to look like ‘the prettiest doll in the world’ for him, and for that he needed to check for quality. After a couple of months, however, such sugary sweet presents had been reserved for special occasions, and for the rest, money was wired directly to a new, account, a platinum card he had opened for you and given you. To just step into the consultation room with his portfolio manager and private banking consultant had felt like you were cheating existence. You had been a lowly assistant to an assistant before. And now, decked out in Dior, were sat beside one of the most influential men in the modern era of this industry, letting him hand you eye-watering sums as if it was a couple of coins for a pack of gum.

Now, well, now you were conflicted. As months had turned into a year and were now approaching the two-year mark if you could remember correctly, your ‘relationship’ had started to feel more and more like a real one. Hongjoong had caught himself divulging details of experiences that he had never spoken about with anyone before. And nowadays, when you had sex, it felt less like a mindless fuck and more like making love, with the man expressing more than he ever could with every hot touch, press of his lips to yours, even his lustful intensity had gained a new colour. You could feel that he was confused, but would not dare let go of you – you knew that he put your name down on some very important documents, after all. As such, it was a rare but unbelievable pleasure to push Hongjoong’s buttons and get him all riled up for you, just so he could expel that pressure and that tension from a busy work day out on you. You were that caring of a personal assistant. And wanted him to keep on talking. Keep on telling you his deepest darkest secrets. You wanted to be a part of him, the hedonistic side, the one that seized the day and knew how to enjoy the earthly realm without counting and fighting.

For the flight to the resort and extended series of meetings with key business partners, you had chosen to wear an outfit that you knew Hongjoong was unravelled by. It was a black and white Prada poplin mini dress that did wonders to accentuate your curves and edges, and was paired with some classic, black leather, So Kate Louboutin heels and gold accessories to match the dainty little buttons on the dress. Really, this was dress number two since the last one had been quite literally torn off you by none other than your boss, but he did not want to ruin the night and as such, had promised to contact the house of fashion itself to get an exact replica of the limited edition garment. And this man kept his promises. But right now, even though you were sat in the private office in his jet, with the bodyguards safely outside, lounging and doing whatever bodyguards did to occupy themselves, he was not paying attention to you at all. Only winding himself up more with those compiled quarterly reports that you were now regretting having finalised them and bringing them at all. What was the worst that you would have gotten had you not done the task? A spanking? Oh, how scary… you have had it rougher on a casual and uneventful day. Now you needed to get creative to get his attention, and being needy would not do. So very slowly, gazing out of the window at the clouds your were drifting past, you crossed your legs, revealing the legendary red bottoms of the heels you were wearing, and reached for the notebook and pen that were just peeking out of your handbag. Unbeknownst to you, you already had his attention with your abrupt change of pattern. Normally you would be on your phone, or typing away on your laptop, even remaining idle would be more characteristic, so Hongjoong’s interest was piqued by the little planner that contained all your thoughts and actions. He slouched back in his seat, and raised he papers a little higher, so that he could steal glances at you more discreetly.

You were paying no mind to what your boss was up to, preoccupied by the cream pages and the visualisation of the figure in front of you, but in your mind. Sometimes, when work was slow, you had taken to doodling random people around the office, as well as sketching out a variety of landscapes that took your fancy. Though the main subject was always Hongjoong. You had gotten quite good at picturing his facial features and depicting them even in a few lines, catching his micro expressions and shift in body language. There were also a couple of drawings you had done with him as a live model, though he was asleep and in the nude, so no one was ever going to know about that – you had stashed them away in a safe hidden behind the drawers of your desk. It only made sense that he was in most of your drawings: after all, he was the man who had bestowed upon you such unimaginable riches and a quality of life so drastically improved, that you had no choice but to worship him. He had made you who you were now. A shining diamond.

And this shining diamond was a little too bright for him to keep on focusing on the profit and loss analysis. After about ten minutes of frustrating silence, he dropped the papers onto the table in front of him and leaned to put his elbows on its edge. You had still not raised your eyes at him – something that you normally did nearly on instinct since you were so in tune with his gestures, which made Hongjoong inhale aggressively. His previously neutral expression had turned into a scowl as he raised an eyebrow and gave you a onceover. His precious doll was up to something.

“What are you doing?” though the question was simple, his voice was dangerously low. But you could not be threatened by a good time. You kept your eyes trained on the page as your hand moved methodically to hatching the shadows of his, as of not too long ago, brilliant blond locks, ones you adored to run your hands through whenever you had the chance. Which was a rare occurrence outside of the ‘bedroom’, but still.

“Just noting some things down, Mister Kim.” Though he had insisted that you call him Hongjoong when you two were alone, it had been a challenging transition to get used to. But at least it gave you ample opportunity for… discouraging him further. He liked for everything to run like a well-oiled machine, with his eyes reading a business strategy in anything and anyone. You had no doubt that that was how he was scrutinising you now. Equal parts assessing the attitude and doting on you.

He was a sweetheart treating his favourite toy. Talking competitive analysis and takeovers in the morning, and clinking glasses with you at an exclusive Michelin star restaurant in the evening. And to think that you were the only one, aside from his family, who got to see more than one side of him was an intriguing notion. Actually, scratch that. Certain things you were sure to be the only one taking care of. Take his nasty habit of overworking, which you had called out even if it was just you feeling bored: all work and no play made Hongjoong a dull boy, and thus, less likely to compensate for your presently aimless sitting around.

“By colouring the entire page? Not good to lie to me, you know that.” Of course. When it came to matters of business, for example, this man had ears everywhere, had infiltrated every other competitor and had become a spider in the corporate world. He would probably find out someone was cheating on their spouse sooner than the spouse themselves. When it came to you, however, he did not have your intricate neural network mapped out just yet. He could only fluff up his feathers and put on airs.

“It is only ink, Mister Kim. And surely the ink to paper ratio is not more than the balance sheet on page twenty seven.” You purposefully moved away from his interrogation, subliminally reprimanding him from stopping his concentration. The ghost of a smirk was gracing your lips, hidden by hair that had fallen to perfectly frame your delicate facial features. Hongjoong still had not corrected you on using his ‘work title’.

“I should ask you to start drawing the spreadsheets out by hand then.”

“Maybe next time, as a special treat. In the meantime, we have what we have and must settle for it.” A lot more standoffish than usual, you were brushing your boss off as you continued the sketch. He could not exactly reprimand you, however. You were right in the fact that his suggestion was nothing more than white noise.

“Settle for less, Y/N?” the question rang loudly in your ears and translated itself to a reminder to know your place fairly quickly. You could imagine Hongjoong’s raised eyebrow and playful grin. In addition to him hinting at your arrangements, he switched to calling out your first name. Promising.

There was a customary mention of money and class even when it was not the main topic of conversation. Really, it was what had brought you two together, or rather the stark difference between what you and him had, respectively. Hongjoong enjoyed having financial control over you and ended up dangling it above your head in the form of his not so subtle first-world conduct. You preferred to imagine that it was him wrapping you up in the softest, silkiest Chanel ribbon, like the one you had seen in adverts and on the packaging that, alone, could have probably provided you with enough food to last a week in your life before.

It was not that Hongjoong did not try to ‘stay humble’. Based on your observations, out of all his financial peers, company clients and members of the executive board, he was probably the least likely to boast about the figures that his numerous bank accounts contained. It was possible that when the strings of digits began to look more like a phone number, one grew more tranquil. Money spoke louder than words. But you knew how to make Hongjoong get vocal. Or so you thought.

“More is never enough.”

“Having more takes a lot of work and being on your best behaviour, Y/N.” he may not know all of your thoughts and reasoning but knew that you got extra charming when you became needy. Trying so hard to get his attention that you would invest all your efforts into it. It was only fair after how much he had invested in you.

The Tiffany & Co necklace on your neck that he traced with his gaze was nothing more than a collar, a leash tethering you to him. An Elsa Peretti piece, a golden snake which had cost Hongjoong just under thirty million Korean won, was perhaps the best way to symbolise the chokehold you were beginning to have on him. You were there in business, there in pleasure, and he was contemplating preventing you from taking holidays unless they somehow involved him. It would be easy – just block all of your cards and you would come crawling. He was greedy for your reactions. The way your lip would curl when he would put somebody back in their place during a conference or a meeting. How you enjoyed it when he praised you for completing the challenging, soul-draining tasks that never ceased to pile up – he had never failed to continue scrutinising you through the glass walls of his office as you excitedly returned to your desk, a soft smile always on your face. How you were completely at his mercy when he wanted to give you an extra special present. He loved how the jewellery he had gifted you or sponsored for you to buy rocked back and forth as he took his time to take you apart. Piece by piece. His priceless game.

Hongjoong smoothed his lapels and adjusted his cotton jacket that he had bought in the colour warm khaki, tightening the knot of the wrap belt. Smugly, he took note of how your pretty, made up lips parted. What were you imagining he was doing now? He was not going to care, at least not right away. He demonstratively picked up the reports again, flipping through the bounded pages on autopilot as, what he could only decipher to be a disappointed gasp, reached his ears. It was a relief that the paper hid his growing smirk. Mister Kim was work-mode Hongjoong, after all. What did you expect?

Ignored and rejected, so be it. You knew this interaction well enough to be able to count, down to the minute, when Hongjoong would crack, or you would crack and still come sauntering over. He liked to be needed – the main reason why he had agreed to become the heir to the corporation in the first place, more than you liked to be needy. But sometimes, you were a little too impatient for your own liking – probably a side effect of having been transferred to a silver spoon lifestyle after experiencing hardship after hardship. As such, the dynamic between you and Hongjoong was a constant battle. You could almost taste his pride as he inspected the figures you had compiled for him, a lazy hand moving to adjust the collar of his white turtleneck. Through fluttering eyelashes, you feasted on the dangerously handsome man, determining that he really did look astonishingly captivating in Balmain.

It was frustrating, this ongoing game that you two played and would not quit despite the effect that it very obviously had on all parties involved, but much like with the drugs that made the occasional special appearance in the closed VIP-only events, it was too addictive. Even now, you knew that you should not pay attention to Hongjoong, but your eyes were not obeying you in the slightest. Over the time you had come to intimately know this man, if there was one thing you knew for certain, it was that he had an aura. An enigmatic charm, a magnetism that was so subtle to anyone who you now had the ability and first world clarity of deeming 'average' was unlikely to detect. However, before you knew it, upon locking eyes with Hongjoong, listening to his dulcet tone that would turn to orchestrate the music in your mind, you began to fall hard and fast into the abyss that was his power and control, trapped and even if you wanted out, forgetting the words. Once you fell in, the only words that mattered were the ones that he deemed to be so, and they were so heavily contextual and dependent on his mood that, usually, you did not dare oppose it.

It was fascinating to you how time seemed to pass differently when there was a price associated with it. Be it Hongjoong's net worth or what he was wiring into your accounts, it did not matter. What mattered was the bills that bound you together like the lace of your lingerie, one which was growing tighter around your body by the second as you kept on openly devouring Hongjoong with each shameless gaze, the thoughts cropping up because of the ghost of a smirk that he was wearing only fanning the flame. He was illegal. In all senses. No man should have the right to have such an influence over you as he did, and yet here you were. Working the role of his personal toy, so dedicated that you were on the verge of begging for him to play with you. You needed him. As much as you hated to admit it, since you still did want to retain at least a tiny portion of independence, this man had given you more than what you could ever wish for. Riches, connections, diamonds, sex. And you could not get enough, happily driven to madness by the immense pleasure of being a capricious diva with infantile demands for all the world's sweetness. Or, as your brother had put it, perhaps out of a sick gratitude to you for helping him getting at least a part of his life back on track, before you blocked him for good, you were getting off on being a pampered, prissy sugar baby. Though you saw no issue with simply doing what you were good at, and you still completed your regular duties as a personal assistant. It was just that your 'personal' was a little different from the commonly accepted corporate average. And the business that you carried out in the after hours was not just classified – when you had been faced with the decision of whether to agree to enter such a relationship with Hongjoong or not, you had naively placed your life at stake. That was the level at which you had to operate. But the thrill that it gave you, more than justified it.

Your internal clock was ticking away like a time bomb as you grew more and more frustrated, while Hongjoong, in a manner not too far from that of a cat’s, gave a soft yawn and made himself more comfortable in his chair, spreading his legs further apart under his desk and leaning back to continue his reading. Deciding that he had enough of having to repeatedly push his glasses up, he decisively took them off, and slowly folded them together, holding one of the temple tips very lightly with his lips. In a graceful motion, Hongjoong set them down to his right, beside a couple of pens. You recalled speaking with the designer over the phone, ordering for them to be customised and getting shipped over from the US in record time, and while you were not exactly sure as to why they were so important, the key stakeholders in the company had raved about them on multiple occasions, much to your boss’s delight.

You could feel that he was well aware of your present sensations, and purposefully was not acting on them, just to see you squirm. This was only making you more fixated on getting his attention, which you tried to do by letting out another soft sigh, quickly realising that if you were to get anything out of him, you had to be more rash, and act on instinct. In other words, act out of line. Taking the moment he dived back into the report as an opportunity, you rose from the couch, and slipped out of your high heels while keeping your eyes trained on your boss. A barely noticeable twitch of the eyebrow and you were struggling to fight off a smirk, feeling every bit seductive even though it was most probably a vision of your own design. But a little confidence did not hurt.

This time, you did not make a sound as you slowly moved towards Hongjoong’s desk in a straight line, using your strength to keep your adrenaline-ruined breathing as level as physically possible, and your steps measured out as the plane rumbled beneath you. Head and body in the clouds. All because of the heavenly ruin who was paying no mind to how you rested the tips of your fingers on the edge of the desk, before lowering yourself onto your knees and dropping into a languid crawl. As you inched past his lacquered black boots, and soon found yourself right between his legs, you could see Hongjoong stiffen, but resist the urge of responding to your bold movements. This only played to your advantage, as you let your hands rest on his denim-clad thighs before snaking up to tug on his coat’s belt, loosening it until the material gave way and exposed the waistline of his jeans.

Even as you, with practiced, methodical motions, undid his jeans, he did not spare you as much as a pat on the top of your head, like he usually did when you were being his ‘good girl’. The only sign he gave of his awareness of you was the obviously hardening member that your hands purposefully grazed as you attempted to pull the denim a little further down to give you better access. When the jeans, or rather, their wearer, did not budge to allow you to take them off, you growled in annoyance and gave up trying to be gentle, instead wanting nothing more but attention, not from Mister Kim, not from your boss, but from Hongjoong. From Joongie. From your one and only daddy.

Said man was resisting every urge to yank you from under the desk and to punish you for being such a vixen, but it was clear to him that his disregard of your efforts might just be more painful – a realisation that did little to subdue his arousal. It made him acutely aware of your nimble hand finding the cut in his Armani briefs, and pulling out his erection, giving it a few pumps at the base with your fingers. The sudden caress had made him buck his hips forward, encouraging you to continue admiring his length and running your fingers up and down, not a single bit escaping your touch. He gripped the papers in his hands until they began to get crumpled at the edges, and eventually dropped them to lean back and get a view of the scene unfolding at his feet. All just to catch you as you licked your lips, revealing a thick coating of spit, moved towards his dick, and while keeping it steady with one hand, ran your wet tongue from the base to the very tip, parting with a lewd twirl over the head. Hongjoong bit back a hiss as he locked eyes with yours, half-lidded – you knew all his sensitivities, his pressure points and guilty pleasures, and that was infinitely dangerous for a man like him to share, it only made you more attractive. You had memorised him as if he was your assignment. Your most important test and duty. Never leaving your mind and driving you to insanity as you drifted from wave to wave of uncontrollable desire for him, and him alone. You were his. And you looked so pretty, a queen all made up and dressed in gorgeous rare pieces, kneeling before him and taking in his member between your soft lips. Deeper. Deeper, until he could feel your hot inner cheeks, the back of your tongue and how a rumble emanated from you as you hummed in satisfaction, the vibration forcing Hongjoong to tilt his head back and sigh.

You were greedy for Hongjoong, moving yourself at a slow pace to take in as much of him as you could, hands finding themselves clinging onto the legs of his jeans for support, and to allow you to try your best and continue devour him without his guidance. As you moved away for a couple of seconds to catch your breath, a salacious pop announcing the temporary loss of contact, you noticed a string of what you could only guess to be your saliva, mixed with his pre-cum hanging between his member and your progressively more swollen lips. Once again, you took the throbbing member in your hand and were about to resume its worship, when a strong grip of your hair, nails momentarily sinking into your scalp, alerted you and made your gaze shoot upwards. The sight made you cower, though the thrilling trepidation fuelled your yearning for the glowering man.

There was a demonic quality in how he stared down at you, every bit of the expression demeaning you and demanding your ruin. You knew you had overstepped by disobeying him and taking intimate matters into your own hands, but who could blame you when he was so breath-taking when wearing his favourite brand? When you lowered your eyes he tugged on your locks, sneering.

“Baby girl could not even wait until we landed, huh?” his dulcet tone dropped into a rough drawl as he could feel your breaths washing over the tip of his sensitive dick that was begging for you to finish what you had started.

“I couldn’t.” you purred, batting your eyelashes.

“And so, you resort to being naughty? Do you think that is the right thing to do, especially when I say that I am working, hm?” he was hooking the answers out of you, one of his eyebrows twitching in surprise as you did not respond immediately. He tightened his hold and made your head fall further back so that you were completely face to face, his member pressing against your cheek.

“It isn’t, daddy, but I couldn’t help myself. You just looked so pretty that I could not resist.”

“And I think you are being incredibly selfish, Y/N. Spinning these tales just so you can satisfy yourself.”

“No daddy, I want to make you feel good!” you insisted, a whine escaping you as you could feel your core beginning to grow warmer with the progressing conversation. Pressing your thighs tightly together, you relished at the friction, and bit your lower lip.

“Is that so?” he mused out loud, waiting for your to attempt to utter even a single word more.

“Yes Da-mmfph!” taking the chance, he pushed you right in, his member hitting the back of your throat, the impact making tears spring up. As you struggled against him, he held you in place and watched as you tried to adjust to him. Just as unexpectedly, he yanked you back, leaving your lips to kiss his tip, only to drag you down once more and thrust his hips once, twice against you until he could see the wetness in your eyes building until it was about to spill over.

“You said you wanted to make daddy feel good, yes?” he asked, lust clouding his brain as you mumbled utter nonsense, mouth pacified by the hard erection, “then do exactly as I say, baby girl.”

This was exactly what you missed. Hongjoong coaxing every unholy state out of you, sin setting you ablaze as you began to fail in registering the nuances of this demeanour, tears that were on the verge of rolling down your cheeks blurring your vision. This was how you pinched yourself for grounding, to assure that the lifestyle you had, the gifts which you had been bestowed with were all real and all yours. You did not search for forgiveness when the forbidden fruit was so damn sweet. So, you let yourself be used like an expensive escort by him, comforted by the thought that even though he could definitely afford having anyone else, he had selected you. And let you stick by him for almost two years. A true sweetheart who knew how to treat his girl right. You moaned into the pressure as the low grunts you elicited from Hongjoong let to the climbing of heat in your core. With the abuse of your throat becoming a rhythmic orchestration, you grew brave enough to improvise, and hollowed out your cheeks.

"Ah... fuck, baby girl..." the airy proclamation escaped him as your teeth just barely grazed his member, and he could feel his high building at an accelerated pace. He resisted your bobbing to catch a few seconds' break by pressing you to his hips, barely giving you a chance to breathe. But he knew you would take it. You always did.

Hongjoong's ragged breathing was sending you into overdrive, and you shut your eyes to allow yourself to focus on the lewd music. Barely audible over the jet engines, the loss of control was his primary expression of gratitude. The illusion that he was not, in certain senses, under your heel rapidly evaporated when the adrenaline shot him through the heart, and his frontal lobe shut down to give up the reins to carnal pleasure. Once the barriers disappeared, his one desire and need were clear. You. The one thing in his life that he would never be able to truly own, and as you unwounded him, he comprehended with an unprecedented lucidity. That was why, as you sensed his hold on you loosen and his orgasm inching closer than ever, and were about to give him the sweet release, Hongjoong snapped back to consciousness and nearly ripped you away from himself, your head barely missing the drawers under the desk.

With flushed cheeks and an adorable, innocent pout, you looked up at him, dribble accumulated at the corners of your mouth. He fell for this face every time. Your glistening eyes studying him as you appeared disappointed that you could not get daddy to cum, afraid that you made him mad. That you did something wrong. Oh, how far from the truth this was. Even though you had acted selfishly, and approached him on your own accord, nothing about you could be anything less than right. Right just for him. It was as if the heavens themselves had moulded you to fit him like a glove. Body and soul. And he will be a fool if he did not indulge in that every opportunity he had.

Taking both your hands in his, Hongjoong helped you up from under his desk, careful to not damage your dress - not that he cared for the price, but it was not particularly enjoyable contemplating the conversation you might have to have with dry cleaning. Or with the designers. Again. It was troublesome striking deals with strangers to keep their mouths shut. He rolled back on his chair, taking in your trembling form. Holding your legs together you were fighting your ache for stimulation, knowing full well that your panties were already ruined with your slick and were only serving as a fabric made for rubbing your sensitive clit. Every breath, every sigh from Hongjoong as he took off his jacket and carefully hanged it on the back of his chair, then fully undid his jeans and pushed down his underwear, was a reason for you to start begging. Couldn't he see how anxious for touch his little toy was? Evidently not, for Hongjoong took his sweet time with removing your dress, every button like a special prize that he wanted to cherish, while you were growing hazy as he peppered kiss after kiss with every new inch of exposed skin, crouching down to let the sensation build lower, feeding the knot in your stomach. His pecks stopped just about when he reached your navel and with a lazy smile on his face, he stood up to gaze into your soul with an unbelievable intensity. Hands running up your body, Hongjoong slid the magnificent article off you, hastily draping it over one of the chair's arm rests and not once glancing away from his favourite sight, a sultry oasis, within reach, and so beautifully hungry for him. He stopped your arms from resting on his sweater, muttering that you would mar it with your lusty filth, and rushed to take it off and throw it behind him. Then, there was no barrier for him anymore, and in one motion, his pelvis was against yours, member resting against your black lace-clad heat, and hands kneading your ass, moving closer and closer until they began to toy with the g-string the action turning to torture as he purposefully made the material dig into your pussy, enjoying how you threw your head back and bit back a groan.

"Please daddy, I need you..." you whispered as he increased the friction and proceeded to move his dick in and out between your full, closed thighs, teasing your erect nub until you writhed to seek even more proximity. This, however, earned you a sharp smack on your ass, the lack of anticipation making it sting. Hongjoong did not give you time to recover as he let the pins and needles work their magic and elevate your reception of his steady thrusts. You tried to grab onto him, the table, anything, but as soon as your fingers touched Hongjoong's chest, another hit echoed in your ears, eliciting a frustrated moan.

"You want to... make... daddy really happy and cum... right?" He panted, his nails digging into your flesh so violently that you could not help but wonder if Hongjoong was going to draw blood, but that brief musing only elevated your pleasure. “Then, you are going to be my pretty little fuck doll… understood?” there was only one right answer to the question, and you were not about to get on Hongjoong’s bad side by being a brat. You were too fazed to put up a fight, and merely mumbled a soundless:

“Yes… daddy…”

Hongjoong leaned closer to you, until his forehead was almost touching yours, and moved to wipe some of the lipstick and remnants of his precum from your lips with his thumb, while his other hand hooked the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down to reveal your wet core. You wriggled to let them fall and kicked them away with an impatient foot, earning a chuckle.

“So eager, baby girl… I almost want to forgive you for not listening to me. I just said you are to be a doll,” he peered into your eyes, his breath hot on your mouth as he ran his fingers between your folds, covering them in your slick. It was adorable how you tried your best to keep up appearances even now, even when you had signed yourself away to be what effectively was his servant. You trembled as the cool metal of the ring on his index finger hit your clit, and exhaled shallowly as he played with you, “and dolls don’t move, do they? Can you do that?”

As he asked, his fingers curled into your pussy, while a thumb traced rhythmic circles over the nub, the sensation electric, building your high. The lasciviousness flashing in your pupils as your eyes rolled back was a cry to Hongjoong’s darkness. Hands suspended in mid-air, you did not dare act out nor attempt to navigate the intimate act, submitting to your boss, your daddy. Letting him take care of you. As he sped up, watching your face contort as you battled the approaching climax, Hongjoong found you endearing, the corners of his mouth twitching as a soft, radiant smile surfaced. He could never stay cruel with you for too long. He was giving you more than you could ask for, and yet, he still wanted to give you more. Everything would not be enough.

“Oh, my baby girl, are you close?” he inquired, cooing as your breathing quickened in response to his accelerated pumps into your wetness, wild from the addictive sound it produced. “Fine, you can hold onto me, Y/N, daddy will take care of you,” you did not need to be told twice, falling into him as your orgasm was imminent, “doing so well for me, baby girl…” he whispered into your ear, kissing the lobe and pulling you into an embrace as he felt your high wash over you, your sex pulsing around him and muscles contracting uncontrollably. Brushing your hair back, petting it a couple of times before settling on having a hand rest between your shoulder blades, he praised you. But did not stop. Greed went both ways.

Your prior filters completely broken, you moaned and whined as you kept on unravelling, Hongjoong’s fingers abusing your overstimulated cunt. With his toned body, and your ass pressed against the edge of the desk serving as your only support, you draped your arms over his shoulders and wrapped yourself around his neck, rationality leaving with every tremor. As you could feel another scalding fire building in your abdomen, just before the release Hongjoong removed his hand and instead took to gliding his dick against your pussy lips. With the sensation being too much, you yelped and sank into an orgasm, sweet nectar dripping onto, and coating his cock.

“Such a good girl for me, well done… Come on my dick baby girl.”

You were not sure when, due to the fog that enveloped your fucked out mind, but Hongjoong had made you lie on your back on his wooden desk, surrounded by the financial reports he could not be bothered to clear. He wanted you now, and that meant no pauses. Without as much as a warning, the blonde gave you one final teasing flick with his tip before bottoming out, the fullness making you gasp. Your walls were still clenching around him from your climax, which made Hongjoong growl as he grabbed your hips and pulled you closer to him, spreading your legs further apart.

“So perfect for me, Y/N… only mine…”

He mercilessly pounded into you, chasing his own high while you were seeing stars. When you were like this, under him, hair cascading onto and off the mahogany, knuckles turning white as your grasped onto the desk as he thrusted, you were the closest thing to heaven that he could believe in. In a world that was drenched in materialistic attraction, sabotage in the name of another stack, and human lives turning into corporate statistics to improve key performance indicators, this was an ethereal madness that unlocked a primal bliss, untainted by present crises. The sweetest distraction, you took him so well that he liked to pretend that you had been made just for this. Just to become his possession. His gorgeous doll.

With you, Hongjoong had begun to see purpose in his riches, being able to play dress up with you, making the office a private cat walk as you strutted in the latest collections and custom made pieces. Gucci, Versace, Prada… it did not matter to him so long as you were wearing it with the intentions of impressing him, seducing him, and only him. He was fully aware that, technically, you could be dating someone else alongside your so-called partnership with Hongjoong. As a sugar baby you could even have another ‘sponsor’ out there somewhere. Another person to make you cum, to provide you with a sensual paradise. But the notion sent him into an inexplicable rage as soon as he entertained it, and as such, he preferred to isolate visions of you from the rest of the world. In turn, this manifested itself into his real life attempts to do the same. Longer hours spent after work, an unspoken rule that the assistant should not leave until the boss does. Michelin star restaurants and exclusive rooftop bars to lure you into being in his company. And of course, sex. Or making love. However, one wished to call it when the lines began to get blurry. But Hongjoong could not care less. You made him comfortable. You were his, you had to be, otherwise what did the two years mean?

Skin against skin, breath joining breath, sight clouding, going dark. Hongjoong rolled his hips, and lowered himself to a stance where he was hovering directly above you, his piercing gaze not once leaving you. Getting drunk off every moan and gasp that he was the cause of, he relished in the feeling of your pussy taking him so well, the orgasm that he had not allowed you to ride out still making your walls clench repeatedly around his dick, pleading for his intimate, salacious demise. His thrusts got deeper as he slowed the pace, progressively losing his senses to the speeding high.

“Mm… baby girl you are… fucking priceless…” he uttered, words broken apart by each time he bottomed out in you, his balls pressing against your wetness as you could only let out a series of mewls in response, thoughts unintelligible as the repeated hits to your g-spot brought you closer and closer to total destruction.

“Daddy… please, I’m-”

“Going to cum?” he finished your sentence as your try at speaking was interrupted by a wave of pleasure, mixing with the tension from before and making the tears spring up once again. You were a wreck, impaled by Hongjoong’s member as he returned to standing up in front of the desk, thrusts rapid, sharp and finally making a droplet roll down from the corner of your eye. You yelped:

“Hongjoong… ah this is…”

“Is it too much baby girl?” he asked, without any intention to stop as he could sense himself faltering at keeping up the act for any longer. His own climax was within reach, and he was not one to deny himself any pleasures.

“No, daddy, feels…. So ah… yes…” you mumbled, at least you thought you did, but could not confirm for certain.

“Pretty girl crying for me… so cute.” Praises spilled out of him as he groaned into the tightness, and, unsteady, removed himself from your cunt, letting out a low moan as rivulets of cum shoot out from his cock and onto your stomach.

The viscous white fluid decorating you was more than what he could ever hope for. The final marking that you were his to use, you were there to serve him, and he would never get enough. A light shake in his thighs forced him to seek balance in having a hand on either side of you, while his pulsing dick rubbed against your inner thigh.

“So pretty, Y/N. Just for me.” He stated, more to himself, and lowered himself further to give you a soft peck on the lips, which quickly deepened as you responded with an elated sigh. In these moments, you wondered if it was money that you were doing this for.

As he moved away, and with practiced motions began to clean you up with some tissues which you had in your bag, you regained full ability of inhale… count… exhale, and in the clarity, drifted to a post-coital contemplation. Hongjoong knew how to make you do what he wanted you to do. But did he know you? Could he confidently paint the portrait of your desires beyond financial and sexual gain? A man made of sugar, with an alluring physique and a kindness which he showed only to you, but should he be your only one? This thought had been plaguing you ever since last month. An unexpected, shattering appearance of a business card, that was now hidden behind a card you rarely used in your wallet, with gold embossed lettering and an otherwise minimalist design. Tasteful, exclusive, expensive. When you checked the names of those attending the meet on the island, the object had grown considerably heavier, weighing onto your consciousness. Discreetly given to you amidst a kiss of the hand and the reception of a smouldering gaze, it served a similar purpose to a number at an auction. The person whose name the card bore had announced himself as a bidder for your attention and services, a bidder astronomically higher than Kim Hongjoong, at that. It was tempting. Very tempting. And you knew that the conversation would occur at some point during your stay, seeing as even in the business setting, the man would undoubtedly be sat across from you, and would stare you down, right to the avarice festering in your heart wrapped up in designer. But you were caught in a dilemma.

Your eyes travelled back to the graceful form tending to you, forgetting about himself, at least until his baby girl was well cared for. A sweet angel, his face finally rid of tenseness and agitation as his entire focus was on your body, on you. The one who, unknowingly to himself, had shown you unprecedented vulnerability and, endearingly, trusted you much more than he ever should have. A man who walked on people and money, yet wanted a woman who could play with his heart.

It was not that simple anymore, was it? After so many doses, could you give this up? Give up and betray Hongjoong in search for a stronger hit?

What was it that you were truly greedy for?

773 notes · View notes

superhoeva · 7 months

Text

𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄: 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

next chapter | series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

⬩ pairing(s) sebastian "sebby" garvey (original male character) x musician!reader, carmen "carmy" berzatto x musician!reader, (brief) luca davies-bernardi x musician!reader

⬩ warning(s) language, toxic/emotionally abusive relationship, sad girl!reader (but it's okay bc it's gonna get better!), nervous!carmen, a hint of the crush on your professor trope, basically everything that comes with being a self-doubting music student, anxiety, mention of injury (burn), mean boyfriend alert :(

⬩ author's note super excited to post this. it's been in the works since july! special special thank you to my loves @nolita-fairytale and @arctvrvs! they've been down in the weeds with me as this story materialized, and should basically be seen as betas considering how much i was able to lean on them while creating this story. this one is near and dear to my heart, and i hope you all enjoy as much as i do writing it. a lot more to come, so stay tuned!

⬩ word count 4.7k

A stage is a hard thing to command. That fact is one of the first things you learn when stepping onto it. Just the sheer act of pretending like one is comfortable with doing so takes hours of preparation; late nights full of callous skin and cramping muscles; dry eyes from staring at the same two measures, listening to the same four beats; and more dedication than one ever thinks one can give.

But it is wonderful. And, God, does it make you feel alive.

That feeling one gets from knowing that you hold the attention of the entire room. The action of creating a sound or movement big enough to reach the very back wall of the recital hall. To reach and affect the furthest person in the furthest seat.

However, tonight is not your night to conquer those feats or enjoy that attention. Instead, you get to act as a member of the audience, residing in a plush seat near the very front of the stage. It’s a little uncomfortable, but the way Sebastian glides his bow across the strings of his violin more than makes up for it. He makes it look effortless, but you know it’s anything but.

No one can look away from where Seb stands at the left of the conductor. His movements are seamless–suave and mesmerizing. His playing even more so, the quiver of his vibrato touching enough to make Hilary Hahn shed a tear or two. Full of character yet seeped in control, it causes you to look at him like he hangs the stars.

You don’t even glance down to reposition the bouquet of red petunias in your lap. Tonight is Sebastian’s night, and nothing will stop you from catching every single note of the first movement of Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E Minor Op. 64. The piece ends with a high-energy tutti–every performer’s sound becoming one–and you’re the first one on your feet after the conductor cuts off the final note.

The rest of the room joins in your standing and clapping, several whistles of admiration filtering from the crowd to the stage. Sebastian, his smile as wide as it’ll ever get, takes his bow.

The roar of applause grows a little louder. Your hands hurt from clapping, but you can’t care.

It was wonderful. He’s wonderful.

A small grin tugs at your lips at the sight of Sebastian turning to shake hands with Abeni–the Concertmaster and one of your fellow classmates–and Dr. Hansen–the conductor and highly respected orchestral music professor. Your smile blossoms further when the entire orchestra (which mostly consists of orchestral performance majors) takes a final bow. The relief visibly lifts off his shoulders, into the air of the concert hall, and blankets right over you.

Although it squeezes and tenses most of your muscles, you’re able to keep a pleasant, proud expression. Smile unfaltering. Clap never breaking in rhythm. It takes you absolutely no effort to fake the dread pooling inside your stomach. You’ve gotten quite good at it, actually.

How’s the saying go? Practice makes perfect.

.・゜゜・

Sebastian’s been a magnet as long as you’ve known him. He easily attracts anyone within the near vicinity. Now is no different as everyone from professors to members of the orchestra surround and congratulate him. You stand and wait patiently a few feet away as Sebastian jokes with the principal cellist, Kenny, with light eyes. Your usual place, but you don’t mind it.

It isn’t until Kenny points you out to Sebastian that he turns to you. Face brighter than the sun, you drag your gaze over the suit you helped him pick out for tonight. He’s already loosened his tie and undone the top two buttons. And taken off his suit jacket, which you suspect is bunched up somewhere backstage. You’ll have to remind him to hang it up properly tonight. So it doesn’t wrinkle. Flicking your eyes back up, you’re heart speeds at the way he steps over toward you.

“That was amazing, Sebby,” you breathe out after traveling over, hand reaching to settle a hand on his cheek. “You’re amazing.”

Sebastian sends you a half smile. His hand reaches for yours. He gives it a small squeeze before letting it drop.

“Thank you, darling,” he rushes out, pressing an even faster kiss on your forehead. “Go fetch my things, yeah? Can’t be late to my own get-together.”

You blink and clutch the bouquet. He doesn’t even glance at the flowers before departing with an arm around Kenny, laughing to him and a few others about how close he was to fucking up a measure in the middle of his first piece. You blink again. Bite the skin inside your cheek.

“Okay, yeah.”

Your attempt at an answer reaches nowhere near his ears and ends up trailing off into nothing.

It takes you all of ten minutes to gather Sebby’s belongings–both his violin cases, suit jacket, and music binder. The bouquet and your purse are still in your grasp as well, and you’re certain you look something foolish as you struggle toward the building’s exit. Balancing his items along with your own proves to be just as difficult as it sounds. You bumble and nearly drop one of the cases, but what makes your chest jump is the unexpected call of your name. A sigh of relief leaves you when you turn and see a familiar pair of warm, brown eyes.

Dr. Henry Solano. Department Chair of Composition at the Royal Danish Academy of Music. Your trusted advisor. And the only reason you haven’t gone completely insane during your recital preparation.

“Need some help?” It sounds like a question, but he’s already over and lifting the violin cases out of your hands with a knowing grin before you can answer. You give him a small thank you and sheepish expression. He nods at you and holds open the door. It isn’t until both of you are outside and several steps away from the building that Henry clears his throat.

“While I wanna ask what kind of guy leaves his girlfriend to carry all his shit, I think my time would be better spent asking you about how you think your recital prep is going.”

You sigh. “He’s just inside saying goodbye to a few people. And it’s going good, I’m actually really excited.”

There’s a wobble in your answer that you hope Henry doesn’t notice.

“But?”

The single word pulls another sigh from you.

“...I’m really fucking nervous,” you release with a laugh and Henry has to chuckle alongside you. “Probably more nervous than excited, if I’m being honest.”

“If it makes you feel any better, what we went over a few days ago sounded great,” Henry tells you. “You might not think you’re ready, but I know you are. Wouldn’t let the program happen if you weren’t.”

Something in his voice allows you to breathe easily. For now, at least. His deep, steady tone has been a sense of comfort, a place of ease ever since you moved to the City of Spires. He’s always been there, whether your problems have to do with a tricky rhythmic passage or with your family back at home.

“This is you, right?”

You nod as Henry points out your nearby… something. You don’t bother to remember the name of the make and model. It’s somewhere on the registration papers stuffed in the glove compartment.

“Yep,” you tell him, fishing the keys out of your pocket and popping the trunk. “I really appreciate it, Prof.”

Henry shakes his head as he slides the violin cases into the vehicle. He even grabs Seb’s suit jacket and binder, placing them neatly in the back before shutting the trunk.

“It’s no problem, hun” he promises and you can tell he means it. “And I was serious about what I said earlier. You’re gonna kill it. I’m certain.”

A warm feeling blossoms throughout your chest. You bite the inside of your cheek and glance down at the flowers still in your grasp. Before you can even realize what you’re doing, you hold out the bouquet with a small smile.

“Here. As a thank you.”

Henry huffs out a laugh, scratching the back of his head. He purses his lips, eyes softening at your action.

“No, I couldn’t–”

“I insist,” you nod, pushing them closer to the now bashful professor. “As an extra thank you. Not just for this, but the entire semester. And the four others before that.”

Henry sighs at your words, staring at you. Then the flowers. Then back at you. Finally, he takes them delicately, and your face brightens in victory. It’s the least you could do.

“Thank you.”

His words are quiet but moving. He observes the flowers with a meaningful intention and you blink when he carefully removes one from the bouquet and hands it back to you. It takes everything inside you to force away the wave of wetness that wants to pool at your eyes.

You grab the single petunia, so bright and red, and take a moment to treasure how pretty it is.

“I’ll see you on Monday. Three, right?”

A nod from Henry.

“Uh-huh. And do me a favor and don’t look at any of the music until tomorrow evening at the latest. Give your brain a little break.” He wants to laugh at the way your eyebrows pinch together but doesn’t. “I’m serious. Don’t need you overanalyzing shit this close to the performance.”

A breath blows from your lips and you lull your head to the side. Well, there go your plans for tomorrow morning.

“Fine.”

“Good,” Henry winks with a kind hand on your shoulder. “See you Monday.”

With that, he’s gone. Whisking himself away further into the parking lot and making sure to hold his gift from you upright. You nibble at your bottom lip, looking back at your flower. Raising it, it just about reaches your nose. Only a hint of sweetness meets your nose before a loud hoot cuts through the silence, startling you.

The flower drops from your hands, onto the hard cement beneath you. You hurry to try and pick it back up but the flash of a familiar face prevents you from doing so.

“There you are, come on!”

A sloppy kiss presses into your cheek and you just barely conceal a frown at the unpleasantly wet feeling it leaves behind. You’re suddenly surrounded by a rowdy group of Kenny, Emil, Lars, and Seb. The latter with a heavy hand around your arm as he pulls you to the driver’s seat of the car.

“Need you to drive. You’re the only one who knows the way to Anya’s place from here.”

You know for a fact that that’s not true, but Sebastian shoves the keys in your hand before you can remind him. You’re promptly shuffled into the driver’s seat, Lars who called shotgun settling in next to you. Through the rearview mirror, you see your boyfriend, Emil, and Kenny clamber into the back seat.

The four young men continue their hollers as you pull out of the parking space. You drive as they talk loudly, slapping the seats, full of post-performance adrenaline. There’s an attempt from you to laugh and joke along, but the flower from Henry sitting sad back on the pavement clouds your mind in a haze that lasts all the way to your destination.

.・゜゜・

Carmen’s head hurts. He’s been staring at the table of scribbles and drawings of potential dishes for hours now, and his head hurts. Nothing is working. Flavors are clashing and the color isn’t right.

“Fuck,” he spits out quietly, eyes reaching up to rub his eyes painfully hard. Nothing is fucking working. What the hell are these flavors? And don’t even get him started on the colors.

He carelessly drops his pencil, letting it bounce against the table and onto the floor. It falls next to the other seven he’s chucked down there. Fingers running through his greasy hair, Carmen sniffs. Break. He needs a break.

Luca is already out on the balcony, halfway done with his cigarette. A nasty habit he’d picked up under the stress of the kitchen, but he’s young. He can quit later.

Carmen doesn’t have to say a word as Luca plucks a smoke from his own pack and hands it to him. Carmen lights his cigarette with familiar ease, the action feeling automatic after all this time. He finds himself grateful when the gracious silence continues, yet his thankfulness leaves him at record speed when Luca rumbles out a quiet, “Still working on recipes?”

A wordless nod from Carmen pushed a mixture of smoke and a light laugh from Luca’s lips.

“You need a break, Carm.”

“I am taking a break. Right here, with you.”

“A real one–one that has nothing to do with making sure the colors on your plate match. You need to get outta the apartment. Get somewhere where I’m not the only person you see.”

It’s Carmen’s turn to laugh, and it’s almost bitter. “You’re the only person I like.”

Luca pauses at the words, a small smile decorating the drag he inhales.

“I’m flattered, mate. Really. Still taking you out tonight, though.”

Carmen’s eyebrows furrow almost painfully. He shakes his head and almost chokes at the smoke he let sit in his lungs for too long.

“I don’t wanna go to a party.”

“It’s not a party,” Luca clarifies, looking away from the currently calm sidewalk that lies nicely in front of their apartment and at Carmen. “Just something a friend of a friend invited me to. Some gathering at someone’s place over in Vanløse–”

Carmen’s speaking before he means to, his voice pinched in a whine.

“–I don’t wanna fuckin’ go.”

Luca stops, a look cutting over to the Berzatto with expertly subdued annoyance. God, he hates it when Carmen gets like this. Pissy and borderline rude and completely consumed in something he doesn’t need to be. He stares for one more moment, just to make Carmen feel it a bit, before smashing out his cigarette in the ashtray to his right. He’s turning to head back inside when a low sorry halts him.

“Sorry,” Carmen whispers out again. He searches helplessly for something else to say, eyes trailing down to Luca’s sneakers. Forest Green Campus 00s. Adidas. The pair Luca’s been looking forward to since the announcement of their return two months ago. “They look good.”

Luca follows Carmen’s gaze and has to bite back a proud smile. “...Thanks. Picked them up this morning. You know, I’ve still got an in with the guy, might be able to get you a pair. Whatever color.”

A slow nod bobs Carmen’s head. He turns back to the city, a long cloud of smoke streaming from his lips. “Maybe… maybe.”

As Luca turns to resume his journey back to the flat’s living room, one last mumble catches just inside his ear.

“I’ll go.”

The pastry chef grins to himself, sliding open the balcony door and leaving Carmen alone in the kind Copenhagen air of late afternoon. Carmen spills a heavy sigh. Only now does he remember the burn on his hand from yesterday’s mishap in the kitchen, still sore and fresh.

He really should patch that up.

.・゜゜・

Sebastian, Lars, Emil, and Kenny are tumbling out of the car before you pull it to a full stop. The quiet it brings doesn’t allow it to irritate you. If anything, you’re grateful for the lack of whatever the hell the four of them were rambling about on the drive over.

You take your time getting out of the vehicle, triple-checking to make sure it’s locked before falling into line behind the guys. They knock on Arya’s front food an obnoxious amount of times, and you can already imagine the look on her face when she swings it open.

“It’s open, you idiots,” Arya groans out as soon as she pulls open the door. Lars giggles childishly, and you feel a hand grab at your wrist. Seb. He yanks you into his side as he enters behind Kenny, Lars, and Emil.

Arya looks right past all of them, cementing her gaze onto you. She tugs you away from Seb, gently, squeezing a warm hug around you.

“Hi, love,” she breathes out over the already commotion of the music and guests in the other rooms.

When she breaks away, something inside you needs you to turn to Sebastian. Does he need anything? A snack? Drink? Drink, he definitely needs a drink after an already long evening of sonatas and concertos.

Arya can feel you thinking, the strain of the gears in your head bleeding out of you clear as day. She flicks her eyes to Sebastian, who’s already accompanying Emil to another room. Before you can turn any further, Arya links an arm with yours and guides you down the hall to your left.

“Wait, but,” you try, but she shushes you. “Arya…”

She tuts you one last time, shuffling you towards a closed door. She flicks it open, and you’re both inside before you get the chance to blink.

Arya’s bedroom.

A collage of old polaroids you watched her take on the pier of Svanemølle Beach is still taped to the side of her queen bed. The one you spent laying on for most of last summer, as you cried over the problems that attempted to follow you over the Atlantic. All the while Arya helps you through your tears with delicate hands and comforting whispers.

You smile at the fairy lights she has hung in the corner of the room. They’re just as warm as you remember.

“How’s work going?”

Arya lets out a sigh but smiles. She’s been working as a music teacher at a nearby primary school for the past several months–teaching children the more simple concepts of music theory. Arya had been in her last year of Music Education when you arrived on campus as a wide-eyed, shaky freshman. You’ve been under her wing ever since, staying close and growing closer as the two of you watched each other learn and age through womanhood. Shoulder by shoulder. Step by step. In many ways, she reminded you of your older sister. The nice one.

You wonder how she’s doing.

“It’s actually going really great,” she grins with something warm. “My co-workers are nice and the kids are sweethearts. I’m especially excited for when Christmas comes around. Hearing them sing those little carols I have planned for their holiday recital is going to have everyone melting. Oh! Speaking of recitals, how’s your prep going? Are you ready?”

A thick bile threatens to rise up your throat.

“Can we talk about something else, please?”

Arya squints her eyes with crossed arms and pursed lips. She thinks for a moment.

“Okay, fine. How’s the man-child?”

“...Can we talk about something else, please–”

Arya stops you with a scoff. “I just really don’t get it, darling. You deserve so much better than that. I mean, i’s why I dragged you away so quickly. So you couldn’t dote over him like he’s your kid.”

“I don’t dote on him,” you clarify, and the bile rises a little higher. “I just like to take care of him.”

Another sigh from Arya. This one’s longer and extra heavy. She just stares at you for a moment before stepping over and pressing a kiss into your forehead.

“Gotta go make sure Eli’s not fucking up anything, you know how he can get. Stay in here as long as you want, ‘kay?”

With that, Arya heads for the door. You don’t catch the sympathetic look she throws back to you before trekking down the hall, the clunk of her thick platform boots falling into a quiet nothing.

She got the job right out of graduation, which neither of you could believe. Yet you still celebrated the offer with plenty of fruit wine with a name on the label you don’t dare try to pronounce.

A burn heats your eyes. Snapping them shut, your fists clench. You feel as though you’re ten years old all over again. Standing in your room back home. Legs ratting. Little heart sore and broken.

Get over it a horribly familiar voice sneers inside your head, echoing with a darkness you still struggle to find yourself in. Get over it.

Your recovery happens in record time. It’s as though you blinked and you’re walking into the front room with a drink for Sebastian held safe in your hands. A simple plastic cup with an even simpler party punch mix that was made concocted by Arya a little while ago.

You make it to Sebastian, who’s busy chatting amongst a group of familiar faces. Lars and Kenny next to him, the two of them messily laughing and talking over one another. Lux across from them, to Sebastian’s right, giving an impressive attempt at trying to follow along the several spillages of words tumbling out around her.

A few others you recognize from campus are there, too, but your eyes gravitate towards Sebastian. Your hand is soft and careful as you graze it across his shoulder. The expression on his face when he turns to meet your eyes drops your stomach a little, but you smile through it.

“Hi, Sebby. Brought you a drink.”

He waves you off. The flick of a grin crosses his face, but it’s rude and dismissive. You swallow and try again.

“It’s just the stuff Rya made,” you mumble out quietly, not wanting to attract any extra attention. Sebastian cuts his eyes to you, fingers wiggling in a silent order for you to knock it off. Something inside you makes you try one more time. “You sure, baby?”

A gasp tightens your chest once Seb finally turns around, placing a grip on your waist and jerking you toward him. His other arm circles around you as his lips press up against your ear. There’s a tight smile on his face, and you have to balance the drink to keep him from sloshing onto the back of his shirt.

A squeeze on your hips.

“Can you just fuck the hell off, baby? Please?”

Sebastian pulls away just enough to look you in the eyes. His smile is still plastered across his face, something vile behind it. You blink and tip the corners of your mouth upwards. A stiff nod finally allows him to let you go. You keep smiling as he returns to the group, jumping back into the conversations with a sickening ease.

Your eyes dance around the room, and you feel so hot. Glancing down into the cup, your legs haul your body back to the sink in the kitchen. You don’t remember to blink as you dump the liquid down the drain. The rest of the world grows mute around you for what feels like hours.

.・゜゜・

Carmen found that it’s a lot easier to do things when Luca’s around. Too bad he’s back somewhere in another part of the house Carmen can’t remember. In the middle of a riveting back and forth with someone Carmen can’t remember the name of.

Carmen steps into the kitchen, skin sizzling with uncertainty. His gaze zips right to a young woman staring deeply into the steel of the sink. He blinks and glances around.

Is… is she real?

The chef waits a few moments. When the woman doesn’t disappear, Carmen feels his throat tighten.

He debates just leaving whoever she is be, but his mouth is so dry. And he needs some kind of alcohol if he’s going to make it through the next few hours. His feet take easy steps toward where the rest of the drinks sit pretty in a bucket of ice on the other side of the stranger.

The deep breath he inhales only steadies him a tad as he continues. He freezes when you turn to him. He can barely get out his small, “You mind if I get a drink?”

Carmen knows he’s blushing when you look at his lips. He bites at them unintentionally, waiting for you to say something. Anything. Finally–

“Sorry, what?”

Carmen relaxes a little and almost smiles. His eyes soften at the genuinely lost expression on your face.

“Nothing, just uh,” he starts, “just tryna get… something to drink.”

It takes a long ten seconds of you and Carmen staring at one another for you to realize that you’re blocking his access to the drinks on the counter.

“Oh, sorry,” you hurry out and scoot away. Carmen is quick to shake his head.

“No problem,” Carmen replies and is quick to shake his head at you. “S’alright.”

Silence fills the area as he goes to pull a random drink from the ice. He doesn’t remember to glance at the label on the glass, mind busy with averting his gaze from where you stand. You’re no better, shuffling back and forth in your chunky heels. The ones you decided to wear because you know how much Sebastian likes them.

Carmen barely stops himself from jumping when you quietly ask, “Are you a student at the conservatory?”

Conservatory?

“Con-conservatory? Uh, no. No, I’m, uh, I’m a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend that dragged me out here tonight.”

Your nod is interrupted by the dropping of your head, as another wave of weak but noticeable tears pools its way into your eyes. Carmen’s widens slightly, and his internal desire to retreat back into himself is so strong.

“Are you, uh… are you okay? You just, you got some,” Carmen sputters, finger reaching up to gesture toward his eyes. When he tries to finally push out the question, the sound of footsteps stops him.

“Carmen? You good?”

Everyone in the room pauses. You and Carmen, who looks like a deer caught in headlights, whip your heads toward Luca. His gaze immediately drags over to you, and he swallows. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re not. Just talking to…” Carmen shrinks into nothing looking back at you. Name. He wants your name. You rattle it off to him in a way that makes the skin on his neck redden some more. Carmen repeats it softly, those big, baby blues intense and unmoving. Luca steps further into the kitchen, smiling lightly at the way the syllables fall from your lips.

Your lips. They’re nice, even in the dim light of the kitchen.

“I’m Luca. That’s Carmen.”

Their names fit perfectly. So perfect, that it makes you forget all about the cup you dropped in the sink. Carmen clears his throat and sniffs. He shifts, unsure of what to say next, but grimaces harshly when he brushes his hand up against the hard of the counter. Your eyebrows furrow at the action but unwrinkle as soon as you see the bright burn on his hand.

Luca, who moves as soon as Carmen hisses, rounds the island in the middle of the room. He towers over Carmen, grabbing the smaller man’s hand and raising it up to get a better look.

“I thought you took care of that,” Luca gently scolds, face pinched into a frown.

“Yeah, no,” Carmen answers.

Just as Luca lets go of Carmen, you take a smaller step toward the men. “Uh, I can patch that up, if you want. There’s stuff up in the bathroom to take care of it, plus I’m really close with the owner of the house. I know she wouldn’t mind. Especially since you’re a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend.”

Carmen lets himself grin a little while Luca releases a short chuckle.

“Okay, yeah. Yeah, I’ll take you up on that.” He turns to Luca and begins to follow where you’re heading for a nearby hallway. “I’ll be back in a second–”

“Luca can come, too. If you want. Arya won’t care.”

Carmen shuffles so you can’t see the way he widens his eyes at Luca. He tries to nod as inconspicuously as possible, and the taller man has to hold back the strong giggle that tries to exit him.

“Yes, okay,” Luca nods with a shrug, looking to you with a soft smile. “Lead the way.”

#the bear #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x you #luca x reader #chef luca x reader #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #luca the bear #chef luca #au: rule of three

155 notes · View notes

fieldofdaisiies · 1 year

Text

Eris x Reader | I See Red

type: smut warning(s): explicit descriptions, oral male receiving, slight display of dominance, very little plot word count: 2.4k words summary: Reader and Eris are from two different courts (Spring and Autumn), you are enemies with benefits. I think the initial idea for this I got from @moonlightazriel and @bubbles-for-all-of-us, so yes, dedicating this to you <3

Missed me, darling?”

You lean against the door behind you, one leg crossed behind the ankle of the other, your hands clasped behind your back when you cock a brow. “Dream on, Vanserra. Missing you would be the last thing on my agenda.”

Eris finally deigns you a look, sitting atop his throne, pure arrogance and confidence lacing his features.

“I’ll remind you of that when you scream my name, telling me I have the best—“

“I am here for business,” you quickly snap, not wanting him to continue. Well, technically you do want him to continue but you can't let him. You already feel yourself getting wet by the sheer thought of what he has been referring to. Those tender nights, full of heat and passion, love making and fucking, till the early morning hours, after High Lord’s meeting. Once your High Lord has found out about your business with the High Lord of Autumn, he told you to stop. The High Lord of Spring wasn't too keen on inter-courtal…connections.

“Oh and I thought if you didn’t come here because you missed me, you might have come here to apologise.” You shoot him an incredulous look. Eris sits in a sprawl, leaning backwards, spreading his legs wider. He cocks his head and smirks, giving you a one over. The High Lord brings one hand up to his chin, rubbing over it. “I might consider this dress apology enough.” “What would I have to apologise for?” you snap and push of the door, strolling forward.

The throne room is empty – Eris has ushered everyone out the moment he saw you arrive because he knew this meeting with you would go one way or the other.

The rather unpleasant option would be you acting up, the two of you fighting like fire dragons, and you most likely humiliating him in front of his people and he was not going to have that, so his staff had to leave first.

Option number two would go into a whole different direction but audience was still not needed. Eris thinks about having you on his lap, on his cock, riding him, fucking as this was often how small disputes between the two of you ended – your sweaty bodies, moving against each other.

And he really does not need his staff if the quarreling between the two of you ends in that way.

“For not letting anything know from you after the last meeting?” Eris suggests and cocks his brow, pure arrogance lacing his features. You release air through your nose, glowering at him because he knows exactly why you haven’t reached out to him. Bloody idiot, you think.

Anger blooms in your chest, making your blood heat up. You were here for business, not to talk with him about anything else.

“You know exactly why!” Eris releases a mockery noise and purses his lips at you. “Seems like Tamlin has you on a tight leash, huh?”

You groan under your breath, clenching your jaw. Your hands form fists at your sides and you have to call upon all restraints inside of you to hold back from lunging at him. Also because you have an inkling of what that would lead too. The desire, the tension, the passion, between the two of you is just too strong, too poignant. There is nothing that feels like being with him – nothing can compare to him. One taste of the Autumn fire and you crave it forever, nothing can sat your hunger until you gets a taste of him again.

Your mouth waters when you have memories flooding your mind, your vision clouding with desire. But you try to channel your anger, making it reach the surface so you can focus on why you are really here.

“Speaking of Tamlin. He has sent me—“ “Is he not afraid that you will climb into my bed again?” You hold up a hand, making him shut up. “Tamlin wonders why you want to close part of the border to our court.”

Eris taps his foot on the ground, his thumb rubbing over his jaw while he ponders.

“Border through the Maple Forest,” you press, helping him to think faster.

“I have no intentions to close my border there,” Eris finally says and smiles – his stupid cocky High Lord smile.

You feel fury blaze through your veins because he is obviously mocking. “Why are the warriors then? Lining the border?”

“Because we have noticed unnatural movement from the sea, we are making sure neither Autumn,” — Eris leans forward, putting stress on the next words he speaks— “nor Spring will be affected by it.”

Oh. You swallow thickly, suddenly embarrassed about having accused him of planning something that could harm Spring or that was strange. He is actually trying to protect Prythian – he is trying to protect the Spring court.

“Oh,” you breathe, suddenly feeling so small in front of the High Lord, looming over you from his throne. “Sorry.” “You think a simple sorry will do? Did you—“ Eris halts, lifts a slender finger and narrows his eyes on you. “Hold up. Did you and your oh so amazing High Lord accuse me of something illegal? Like me being up to something that could harm you.” You bit down on your lip and give your head a shake. You know he can see right through your lie, but you stand your ground, holding his gaze. “I already said sorry.” “And you think that will suffice?”

“Yes.” “It doesn’t.”

You roll your eyes, internally planning to pierce a dagger right through his heart because he makes your blood boil and every spoken word just fuels this fire more. You wonder how it is possible how hate and desire for one and the same person can be so closely tied together. There is this heat, almost burning you to ashes whenever you just look at him, but then there is the other side of you that just wants to…punch him. In his gut, or his balls, really hard.

You cock a brow, smirking when you lace your voice in the breathiest whisper possible, knowing it will drive him crazy. And if you have to suffer, he can too. “And what will I have to do to earn your forgiveness, my lord?" Eris grows hard in that moment. He regrets having put on those tight pants that morning, now creating an awful ache in his crotch where his erection presses agains the seam.

Eris moves one hand over his groin, leaning forward. Oh, he knows your games and he is more than willing to play. Just not your game. His game, where you will do just as he tells you, because he knows you secretly love to be his good girl, love to get praised for doing so well for him.

“Get on your knees. Crawl to me.” You shoot him an incredulous look to which Eris only cocks his head and arches a brow.

“You want my forgiveness? Then beg for it.”

You draw in a deep breath, holding his heated a gaze. Feral delight spreads over his features.

“Maybe I actually don’t need your forgiveness?”

His eyes narrow in on you when his lips part. “To bad then that my cock is the only one to keep you satisfied, would be a shame if you never find that sort of pleasure again.”

And damn him, but he truly has a point and that only fuels the burning fire of fury more. You bare your teeth at him, letting the fury reach the surface which only makes him want you more. Oh, having you angered, riding his cock, bouncing on him, telling him how much you hate him when he knows it is your sweetest lie.

“Darling, we both know how much you want me. How much you want me to forgive you. How much you want to beg for my cock.”

The Cauldron have mercy on you and the Mother, oh please, may she look away from your sins. Holding his gaze, you slowly lower yourself to the ground, letting one hand slide forward on the cool marble, your lower lip sucked between your teeth, your back arched, giving him the perfect view down your cleavage and of your ass. Almost in a feline way, you make your way over the ground, loving how his chests heaves with heavy inhales, his eyes darken with desire, and his tongue pokes out, licking one slow, and long stroke over his lower lip. Gods, this tongue and the things it was capable of doing. You turn molten, feeling how your undergarments soak with your arousal. You know he can scent it, can scent how turned on you get by his words, his actions.

A purr slips through Eris’ lips, his eyes glazed when you come to a stop. Eris’ eyes darken when watches, eyes darkening, as you kneel in front of him, parting his thighs and fitting yourself between his legs. “I hope you will grant me forgiveness after this.”

Eris swallows thickly, chest heaving, shoulders heaving, his mind clouded with desire.

Trying to keep the excitement from his voice, Eris speaks lowly and says, “We shall see, kitten.”

A sigh parts your lips and you use the chance to trace your tongue over them, wetting them, preparing them for Eris. Freeing his proud and rigid sex you clasp him in both hands, stroking. A bead of liquid has already built up at the tip and you flick your tongue over it, loving how he shudders, how his right leg jerks up.

Eris groans lowly, an almost primal sound leaving him, when you fully wrap your lips around him, suckling lightly.

His head lolls back, eyes rolling back in his head. “Fuck!”

You take him deeper, loving how much control your actions give you. He thinks he is in control, oh Mother, you have him fully at your mercy in that moment.

The High Lord's hands twist into your hair, fingers digging into your scalp, pulling on some strands. You bring a hand up, playing with his sensitive balls and it is the last push he needs. Everything that is on his mind is your hand on me, your lips fastening around his length, you swallowing around him, hollowing your cheeks, taking him deeper – it is all a blur of passion, of desire, hunger and need.

Your name is a hiss on his lips, his sex twitching and he comes with a shout, hitting the bottom of your mouth, the back of your throat, until his hot release fills your mouth. Eris growls your name when you remove your mouth, swallow, lick over your lips and wipe your hand over your jaw.

Face glistening with him you grin up at him and it is beyond you how fast he moves. Pinned beneath him on the throne room floor, he makes quick work, shoving your dress up, exposing your sex to the cool air and releasing a delighted growl when he finds you already bare for him. He catches your lip between his teeth before his mouth closer over yours, kissing you in an almost ravishing way.

Your bodies come together on the floor of the throne room, his body caging yours, him moving inside you, on top of you, loving you tenderly and raw and hungry.

“Nothing feels like that,” Eris groans, his face dropping to the crook of your shoulder. He sucks on your skin when you wrap your legs around his waist, him filling you so perfectly.

“Nothing can compare to this. To how you feel. How we feel together.” “Yes.” It is the only thing you can say, every rational thought having left your mind long ago. You feel him all over your, on you, in you, and you hold onto him, knowing it is one of those fleeting moments. One moment that ends way too soon and there might not be another one following. You claw at his skin, nails biting into his hard back, letting him take you on the floor.

You move your lips over his, kissing him deeply, showing him all the emotions and feelings you cannot convey otherwise. Because saying the words….you could never.

It takes a glorious time, as it always does with Eris, until you both are fully spent, collapsing on the cool marble floor next to each other, his arm around you.

“I meant what I said earlier in the heat of the moment,” Eris pants. “Nothing feels like you. It is you and will only ever be you. No female will ever compare to you.”

You turn over, cradling his cheek in one hand, kissing his jaw tenderly. “Nothing feels like you, Eris. It is you and will always be you and nothing compares to that.”

The High Lord hums in delight, the words, his love declaration burning on his tongue, but he does not say anything, enjoys the comfortable silence. On the floor in his throne room. But with you in his arm. No it doesn’t matter where, it is perfection.

“So am I forgiven then?” you ask in a calm, teasing voice.

Eris chuckles, his chest rumbling. You love this…post sex lightness. It is always easiest between the two of you after some heated rounds in the sheets or…on the floor. And it makes you wonder if you would give it a try…would it always be like that?

“I might another round of convincing,” Eris drawls, kissing your temple. You swat at his chest, laughing loudly. He loves this, loves to see you laugh, freely, with your head tipped back, mouth wide open, eyes squeezed close.

“Alright, for now you are forgiven. Only until you decide again to show up at my court without fucking underwear on.” “Just for you.”

He smiles to himself, feeling you snuggle closer to him and decides that spending the whole night on the hard, cold floor would totally be worth it as long as it is with you in his arms.

~~~~~~~~

tags: @sunshinebingo @tarataraaaa @brekkershadowsinger @azriels-mate123 @mandziaaa @cosmic-whispers @mali22 @elsie-bells @imma-too-many-fandoms @kuraikei @ginnyweasley06 @bubnix @powerfulpantera

#eris x reader #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #acotar x reader #acotar #acosf

595 notes · View notes

paleepeaches · 14 days

Text

Happy Valentines Day

(Connor Rk800 x Fem Reader)

Warnings: Idk NSFW so 18+

Word count: 2422

Summary: It's Valentine's Day and instead of making Connor dinner you let him fuck your brains out.

A/N: This took way longer than it should have. It's pretty mid.

Tags: If you're still interested @joelsfavoritegirl

You were a festive person. Always have and always will be. Valentine's was your favorite holiday not only because of the pink and red strewn across supermarkets and stores but because it was a day of love: a reason to celebrate you and Connor’s union. You were sentimental. Sensitive and a bit of a sappy girl when it came to things like that. Connor was fully aware of it. He made note of it when you first got together. How you pouted up at him. Your bottom lip jutting out slightly covered in your lipgloss. When things didn’t go your way your pretty doe eyes would water with tears and coat your spiky lashes. Seeing you so whiney and needy all the time was an adorable sight. Especially when it came to him. You’d pout every time he had to leave for the DPD every morning. Today was no different.

“Do you have to go?” You fluttered your lashes up at him.

Connor turned his head to look at you while he did his tie. His hands skilfully mastered it. He felt his resolve waver seeing you so like that. You’d just gotten up. Hair was a bit messy, eyes a bit tired but what you wore got him. It was the babydoll nightdress. Baby pink in color and the cups on it hugged your tits so nicely. It was sheer and cut off at the top of your plush thighs. He had to resist throwing you on the bed and just fucking your brains out. Poor baby girl didn’t know what you were doing to him.

“I have to. Hank needs me for another case. Plus who’s gonna make enough money to take care of you?” He cooed down at you with his signature smirk.

You huffed out a sigh nodding in understanding. “Okay but are you gonna be home on time to celebrate? To eat dinner and do….other activities?” You blushed at the hint you threw out. Connor had been balls deep inside of you, lapped viciously at your pussy, and had you whining and calling him daddy yet you were still so timid. He nodded his head trying to hide his amusement at your shyness.

“Of course,” He smoothed out his jacket and reached a hand out to you. He cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek and relishing in its softness. “I’ll never keep you waiting. You know that.” He leaned down and placed a peck on your lips. He could taste that lingering lip balm on you. Cherry. You always had to have it cherry-flavored. He licked his lips tasting it and hummed. He reluctantly let you go as soon as he felt his cock begin to throb to life. Just kissing you was enough to send him into a feral mood.

“I’ll see you tonight.” He promised you and grabbed his car keys leaving you wanting and yearning for him.

You filled your day with meaningful tasks despite the growing ache of Connor leaving you high and dry. You were dedicated to making this Valentine’s Day one he would remember.

You had decorated your shared home in heart-shaped garlands and had a few scented candles going. If it was any other Valentine’s Day involving a human with functioning organs then you would have made a delicious meal and set wine out. However, this was Connor an RK800 model who didn’t need food or water to keep functioning. So you had to get creative which was why when he came home he was happy to see the festive decor, the soft glow of the candles around the living room, and the trail of petals leading to the bedroom.

You knew it was a bit cheesy of a tactic and overused but what other things could you have possibly used as a romantic trial? Connor had come home with flowers and of course, a gift for you held in the other hand. “Y/N…” He called out softly as he pushed open the bedroom door. If he had lungs they would have surely strained and stopped his breathing. He’d seen you in proactive wear before but this was the cherry on top.

You sat knelt on the plush soft bed with each leg under you. You wore a babydoll lingerie top that cupped your breasts, making them sit so pretty on your chest. The top was thin, sheer, and baby pink bringing out the color of your skin. A pretty bow sat in the middle between the valley of your breast effectively accentuating your body. A thong was keeping your pretty puffy lips in place from falling out. Connor could see you went all out this year. He set the gifts for you on the dresser and walked meaningfully towards you.

“You like it?” You giggled softly a playful smirk on your pouty lips. Connor sat down next to you, the bed dipping in the process. “Of course I do sweetie.” He moved your hair aside with his hand and leaned in kissing you on the exposed skin of your neck. You inhaled sharply your eyes softening and body feeling like putty.

Connor was programmed to analyze and interrogate deviants. So, naturally, he was able to figure out what aroused you and what didn’t. He knew of all the special spots on your lovely skin. His lips skilfully kissed your neck leaving hot wet kisses. You mewled delightfully for him making his cock harden.

He leaned into your ear whispering, “You sound so fucking pretty.”

It caused a pink shade to cover your supple cheeks. He never ceased to make you blush even when he wasn’t trying to fuck you.

“Lay down, I wanna taste you.” He lightly pushed you down to lay on the bed. Your hair was sprawled across the sheets and your arms were at your side. Connor spread your legs and dragged you towards the edge of the bed. He kneeled before you, slipping your thong off. His fingers skillfully spread your puffy folds revealing your wet slick cunt.

“I haven’t even touched you and you're already soaking.” He smiled cruelly at you.

“Connor…” You whined out, hips bucking up to get him to taste you, finger you, anything.

He laughed at your desperation, “Always so needy.” Connor didn’t want to give in to you just yet. He wanted to draw it out, have you begging for him to touch you. His plans quickly changed when he saw your pleading eyes and fluttering lashes. You looked so docile and cute that he couldn’t help but give in.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” He spread your pussy folds further getting a good look at how drenched you were before giving you a long lick. He was hungry for you, tongue swirling around your clit and lapping at your puffy folds.

“Fuck C-Connor-” Your moans were broken and rough as he continued his assault. Your eyes rolled back and your hands immediately tugged on his hair.

“You taste so good.” He muttered the vibrations of his voice over your clit caused you to throw your head back.

He took your whines as fuel and dipped his tongue deep inside your hole. He groaned feeling it grip and clench, greedy for anything to fill it. He retracted his tongue humming and relishing in the sweet taste of your juices.

“Shh baby you’re doing so good for me.” He cooed to you and before you could reply he plunged two long and slender fingers into you. You gasped for air, body squirming under him. He had to hold you in place to keep you from moving.

“Connor I-I think I’m gonna cum-” You choked out, voice cut off by his fingers slipping out with a loud squelch. He smirked down at you and you knew he’d refuse to give you an orgasm. At least not with his fingers.

“Connor, please.” You whined out for him desperately clawing at his trousers and tugging his belt. You wanted to see him, stop this torture, and have him fuck you raw.

He smiled down at you, tilting his head slightly to the side. “You’re so needy Y/N.” Connor slapped his hand down on your cunt making you yelp. It came out breathy and far from painful. His hand smacked you again, hitting deliciously against your throbbing clit.

Connor engrained your reaction into his hardware, studying, and learning. He yanked off your babydoll lingerie, pulling it over your head and leaving you in nothing but your bare skin.

Connor was quick, fingers deftly opening each button of his shirt. His belt was next, his hands deftly moving to unbuckle it. He threw it on the floor, making it clang against the hardwood. He pushed down his trousers and underwear down and his face fell in relief. His cock sprang free, the head was swollen and leaking pre cum.

At the sight of it, you felt your hole flutter and clench around nothing. You squirmed on the bed, withering in need. “Connor please, please, I’ve been a good. girl” You mewled out, batting your sweet lashes up at him.

There was something so thrilling and almost primal about you laying before him so vulnerable. The way you begged for his cock had him hardening even more. You never ceased to make his heart clench and cock jump from how sweet you were.“Shh, baby it's okay. I’ll give this pussy what it needs.” He cooed to you so softly.

Connor pumped his cock a few times, his pre cum seeping from the tip and spreading over his shaft. He pushed your legs up to your chest and lined his cock up to your hole. He could see your pretty pussy tighten up in anticipation. An amused exhale left his nose as he looked up into your eyes. They were foggy, glassy with lust and pure need.

Connor pushed the head of his cock in and he groaned, hand coming down to the side of your head to brace himself. He gripped the bedsheets below you two and his face scrunched up in restraint. He knew first penetration was always hard for you. Your poor pussy couldn’t take so much cock so he had to take his time. He struggled to keep his composure and just thrust his full length into you. He knew if he did you'd cry out, sob, and claw at him. It was thrilling.

He sighed out and smoothed the skin on your hip with his palm. "Relax baby." With each second that passed he slipped in further and further in taking his time to stretch you out.

You were a mess below him, clawing at his shoulders and back. If he were human you would be sure he'd have red claw marks on his porcelain skin.

You panted like a bitch in heat, cunt clamping hard on him. “M-more, more Connor, I can take it.” You pouted up to him.

Connor chuckled at your bold statement. “You can take it huh?”

“Y-yeah I can take it-”

Connor slammed his cock into you causing a yelp to escape your throat. The big stretch was painful as his tip bumped your cervix. Your body jolted upwards away from him but he just pulled his cock out and shoved it in again.

“Thought you could take it, princess. This is what you’ve been whining about?” Connor smiled down at you cruelly. He folded you in half, pushing your legs farther up to your chest. His cock slipped further in, making a lewd squelching sound.

“Y-yes!” You cried out in response.

“Then stop fucking complaining and take my cock like a good girl.” Connor leaned down and kissed you roughly, tongue slipping into your mouth. His hand gripped your chin as he pumped his cock into you.

His heavy balls slapped against the plump flesh of your ass. The noise echoed around the room, bouncing off the walls and into your ear. Your juices leaked out of your cunt, coating his cock and dripping down his balls. He could feel it warm them and groaned into your mouth. He pulled back from the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours. “That’s my good princess, fuck clench down just like that.”

You blushed, your pussy clamping down on him just from the compliment. “Ahh! Mphm! Fuck…Connor!” You were loud letting high-pitched moans fall from your pouty lips. Your eyes rolled back and you bit down on your lip relishing in the sweet bliss of his cock.

“Don’t do that. I wanna hear you.” Connor smacked your face lightly and you released your bottom lip from your teeth.

“C-Connor I’m not gonna- I can’t-” Your words were chopped up, as you struggled to speak. They came out in whiney babbles and Connor couldn’t help but become amused. He thought you looked so cute like that. Your face controted into pleasure, words not even forming sentences just sounds. He loved seeing you completely drunk on his cock.

“Good girl, just like that.” He praised you. He pressed the pad of his thumb to your swollen clit, rubbing slow and tight circles around it. You cried out, clawing at his back. Your bambi eyes brimmed with tears. You blinked, lashes fluttering and coated in the wetness. Fat tears rolled down your pink cheeks as you came.

Connor noticed but didn't fret. You would cry often due to the pure delight of cumming. He leaned down, cooing to you and licking them up with his tongue. He could taste the bitter and salty flavor of your tears.

That simple act made your walls clench down on his throbbing cock. Your legs locked him in place, wrapped around his waist and not letting him retract further than he should. He pounded into your soaking wet heat. “Fuck!” He cursed as you milked his cock. One final thrust into your spongy sweet spot had Connor spilling ropes of cum deep into your pussy. He gave a few sloppy thrusts helping you both ride out your orgasms. Your cream and his cum oozed out as he pushed his cock deep in, making it overflow and spill. You poor pussy was a mess. All fucked out and painted white.

Connor panted for a few seconds but recovered quickly due to his android body. He placed sweet soft kisses on your red cheeks and your forehead. “You did so good for me baby.” His voice was soft and sweet as he spoke.

You smiled up at him, panting softly, “Happy Valentine's Day.”

#connor rk800 #connor dbh #connor dbh x reader #connor dbh smut #dbh connor #connor rk800 x reader #connor x reader smut #connor x reader #connor smut #detroit rk800 #detroit become human rk800 #nines rk900 #dbh connor smut #rk800 x reader #rk800 #dbh rk800 #detroit become human

95 notes · View notes

poppy-metal · 5 months

Note

going insane over toxic ballet au jordan!!! bc obviously the tension between u two is only going to build through rehearsals and the heat that pools in your belly when they touch you will only get harder to bear :( and they're still mean to you n you don't know how to process the fact that the way they talk to you turns you on--your dedication to dance hadn't given you much time to have physical relationships w anyone and you don't have enough experience to know wherher or not wanting them the way you do is okay :( but the fact that they haven't reported you to thw academy for getting all hot n bothered every time you dance gives you the tiniest bit of hope that they like you too.

and they do. fuck their hand every night thinking about you--the way you don't realize how filthy you look, panting from exertion and adrenaline and desire, pupils blown out when u look up at them. but fuck them, they've worked too hard to get this role and they won't throw it away just because their partner is irritating and young and naive and would look fucking unreal falling apart on their cock--pushes fantasies of fucking you dumb out of their head until they're alone w their thoughts in the shower. tries to pretend they don't want to ruin you--they know you aren't the perfect little prodigy everyone thinks you are. know that you want them. but they have too much at stake to consider doing something about it--not during performance season.

until, of course, performance season is ending--running the show for the last time in front of an audience and when you're holding the finishing pose, their strong arms holding your bodies together, they dip their head to mumble "good job." into your ear, low and out of breath and it's nothing sexual but you're flushing red. them feeling your hips twitch against their thigh, pressed so close they can feel you clench around nothing and hear you gasp, even over roaring applause, and fuck, they can't take it anymore.

getting through bows and critiques on autopilot, walking back towards the changing rooms in silence after most everyone else had left. them turning to face you when you reach their room and you gesture in the direction of your own, mumbling out an "thank you for... not dropping me, i guess. gnna go change. yeah." and you're flushed and squirming, hair that had escaped your bun framing your face, looking up at them with your doe eyes and they snap. grunt out a "for fuck's sake," and pull you into their room, closing the door behind you and you're being shoved up against it n they're kissing you hard, grabbing your hands to pin them against the wall. groaning into your mouth, running their hand down your body until they're running their finger along your slit through your tights. grunting "dripping all over my fucking thigh on stage. fucking pathetic." and you squeeze your eyes shut, head lolling against the door--whining, mouth falling open just from the pad of their finger tapping your clit through rough fabric. your now free hand coming up to cover your mouth, biting down when jordan starts circling your clit torturously slow. it doing little to muffle your desperate little noises.

yelping out a startled "jordan!!" when they lift you up by the backs of your thighs, dropping you on the couch in the corner. settling onto their knees next to you, grabbing you by the hips to pull you against them. hands slipping over your ass, grabbing at your thighs, teasing ur little hole through your sheer tights--you yelping when they grab them hard and rip them, baring your pussy to the cold room. flipping you over like you weigh nothing and bringing a hand down on your ass and the way you keen, high and needy, and roll your hips against nothing will star in their wet dreams for the rest of their life. running their fingers through your slit while you whimper, cheek smushed against the couch when you turn to look at them, letting out a broken, debauched moan when they spear you open on their fingers. "been waiting for this, yeah? filthy fucking girl. never felt like this, have you?" and you're nodding and grinding against their fingers and AAASIGJNF idfk my brain is mush

THIS IS SO SICK AND TWISTEEEEEEEEED

#ask #IM GOING INSANE IN THE MEMBRANE #jordan....ripping her tights #oh....oh....#they're so pent up you know they're battering your little cunny with their fingers like they hate you #oh im going so insane.....#u cant KEEP GETTINT AWAY WITH TBIIIIIIS #toxic!ballet jordan #jordan li x reader #jordan li smut

140 notes · View notes

tonystarchive · 8 months

Text

IRONDAD & SPIDER-SON WHUMP MASTERLIST—PART 1

Last Updated: September 2023

As promised, here is my long overdue Irondad Whump Masterlist! This list took an embarrassing amount of time to compile and over forty pages in my Google Docs (!!!!!).

Due to the sheer amount of fics, I will be posting in parts. Within these posts, each fic will categorized by its most prevalent trope/theme.

I hope the work from these talented contributors brings as much whumpy joy to you as they do to me!

Also, a very special shoutout to my most treasured Irondad authors iron_spider, for_the_night, madasthesea, losingmymindtonight, AdVitemAeternum, MotherKarizma, and so many more! This post is dedicated to you. ♡

Adoption/Tony Stark is Peter Parker’s Biological Father

5 Times Tony Acted Like Peter’s Dad by for_the_night

Summary: “And the one time he actually was." *Featuring an award evening, nightmares, a father-son field trip, appendicitis, and a very special gift—oh, and SO many forehead kisses.*

Alive and Healing by Watermeloness

Summary: “‘...bank robbery gone wrong in Queens. We’re receiving live footage from the crime site, where a 15-year-old teenager has been severely injured. Witnesses report a young boy getting shot after trying to stop the perpetrators. The last we’ve heard, his state is critical and he’s being rushed to…’ Statistically, there are a lot of 15-year-old teenagers in Queens. The city is filled with 15-year-old teenagers that are all brave in their own ways. This doesn’t have to be their teenager. But Peter is not picking up his phone.”

Dad Is Just A Word (You Give It Meaning) by madasthesea

Summary: “Father's Day, two years after May dies. Peter has something special to give and something important to say.”

For Want of a Dad (In Need of a Son) by GhostInTheBAU

Summary: “So, have you given the camping trip any more thought?’ Ned asks, and he groans internally at the change in subject. He'd much rather go back to talking about his non-existent love life, thanks. The trip is during spring break—a four-day long trek out into the wilderness, camping and hiking and gathering who even knows what, learning all about nature and the great outdoors. But the real kicker? It's an event specifically designed for fathers and their sons, which is something Peter doesn't have, and something he will never be. Not again." Or: Peter longs to have a deeper relationship with his mentor, a more meaningful connection; but he's managed to convince himself that the only reason Tony Stark spends any time with him at all is purely because of his enhancement. Because of Spider-Man.

Homebound by AdVitamAeternam

Summary: “Shortly after Homecoming, Peter starts having panic attacks. Tony happens to have some experience with those. What do you do when everyone around you has a tendency to die? What do you do when the last person, the most precious, the one you absolutely cannot lose, maybe wants you? Do you give in, or do you run? Do you take what they offer, or do you keep them as far away from the disaster that is your life as you can?”

I Love You More Than Anything Series by iron_spider

Summary: “The highs and lows of Tony unexpectedly becoming a single dad at 31—from Peter’s early baby years, all the way past the defeat of Thanos”

I’ll Always Protect You (Even If You Don’t Want Me To) by JAWorley

Summary: “So much changed with Peter’s body chemistry after the bite that new things are still coming up that surprise him. One day he and Tony are having a fight and Peter is so stressed out he ends up having a seizure. Seizures… great, so that’s a thing now, and Tony has decided that the best thing is for Peter to stop being Spider-Man. The more the seizures happen, the more protective Tony becomes. All Peter wants is to have his life back." Or: May asks Tony to take joint custody of Peter to help with the Spider-Man thing and this new stress seizure issue. Peter learns that sometimes parents do what’s necessary even if it’s not a popular choice with their kids.

Questions of Science, Science and Progress (Do Not Speak As Loud As My Heart) by l_u_c_k_y_c_l_o_v_e_r

Summary: “I had to find you, tell you I need you. Tell you I set you apart." Or: Peter stays with Tony for a few weeks, and the pair get into all kinds of shenanigans. And maybe, just maybe, those few weeks will usher in something more.

These Days I’ll Sit On Cornerstones by Finny3120

Summary: “Tony was ill-prepared to find that the vigilante he'd recruited was a 14-year-old boy. He was even less prepared for Peter Parker to be mute. But Peter hasn't spoken since his uncle died. And the more Tony works with the teen, the less it matters to him. He hears Peter just fine.”

You’re Stuck With Me by for_the_night

Summary: “I’m adopting you. I don’t care what you have to say.’ Peter gaped. Of all of the entrances he’d expected from Mister Stark after being alone in a hospital room for hours, that wasn’t one of them." Or: Peter gets taken to hospital with a ruptured appendix and Tony comes to a daunting realization of just how little hold he has on the kid outside of Medbay.

Alternate Universe

My Baby, My Baby by SpaceCowboysFromMars

Summary: “Silence falls over them like a warm blanket. Distantly, there’s commotion down on the street as people walk home from clubs. Peter thinks Tony might be his best friend in the whole world. After a long, peaceful moment, Tony says, voice dripping with warmth, ‘Night, kid.’ ‘Goodnight, Mr. Stark." Or: Tony and Peter in the middle of the night, in five alternate universes.

Visiting Hours by Sara (ctrsara)

Summary: “Boss?’ Tony jolted out of his half-asleep state. ‘What’s up, FRI?’ ‘There is a visitor here to see you.’ Tony jumped up. Anyone he knew would usually call or text first, so he was immediately on alert. ‘Who is it, FRI?’ ‘I need you to have an open mind, and know that I do not believe this person is any threat.’ Oh, yeah, that made him feel better. ‘Excuse me? How about you let me decide that, Watson?’ He started walking towards the door, activating his watch gauntlet. ‘Wait, Boss.’ He was annoyed, but he trusted his AI enough to stop and listen. ‘I also need you to know that I have performed biometric scanning, and this person is who they appear to be. However, they insist they’re not from our universe, and that is the part I don’t understand." — In a universe where he never invented time travel, and never brought anyone back, Tony Stark gets a late-night visitor he never could have expected. Prompt taken from @idk-bruh-20 Irondad fic idea #97 on Tumblr. Idea from @derpmallow.

What The Heart Knows by AdVitamAeternam

Summary: “When Peter wakes up, his head is being assaulted by a sledgehammer. He has no idea where he is. He has no idea what happened to him. He has no idea who he is, other than ‘Peter.’ But then, he looks over at the man who is scrutinizing him with worried eyes, and he knows who the man is. That's his dad." Or: The one where Peter gets hit over the head really, really hard and has temporary amnesia, and makes a very reasonable assumption based on the data presented to him.

Angst

A Far Green Country by madasthesea

Summary: “He just wanted Peter to be happy. More than anything in the world, he wanted Peter to be happy. Oh, Tony thought as that realization sunk down into the pit of his stomach and took root. I love him.”

A River To Skate Away On by frostysunflowers

Summary: “Peter has survived a spider bite, a building falling on him, turning to dust and being a teenager. He can handle anything. Except being forgotten.”

Agape by canon irondad (tomlinsoul)

Summary: “It's Tony's first date night with Pepper since the Snap, and Peter can't wait to spend some quality time with his little sister. Too bad a pair of hapless intruders, head trauma, and a panicked helicopter ride throw a spanner in the works." Whumptober 2022 Day 8: Head Trauma + Day 7: Seizures + Day 19: Repeatedly Passing Out + BTHB: Big Brother Instinct

Broken Heart Syndrome by iron_spider

Summary: “Tony is clearly really upset, the kind of upset that Peter’s only seen the likes of a couple of times, and it’s too close after everything happening to really talk about it. He can definitely see that now. ‘I’m sorry,’ Peter says. ‘I’m sorry, I should have answered—’ ‘Yeah, you should have answered!’ Tony yells. His bottom lip is trembling and he shakes his head, his eyes wild. He runs his hand over his forehead. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll know for next time,’ Peter says. He doesn’t know what’s gonna make this better. Probably nothing. ‘There better not be a next time,’ Tony says, dropping his hand from his face. ‘God, like this? Pete, no one knew where he was but you, and you—you kept it that way so nobody knew what the hell was happening, and you—you weren’t answering, kid, and that asshole sent me all that shit plucked directly from my nightmares, and I was trying to be strong for May because she was worried, too, and you—and you, I—I thought I wasn’t gonna ever—I thought—Jesus, Peter, you don’t think, you don’t—’ Tony bends over, clutching at his arm and breathing hard through his mouth.”

Dead In There, You’re Dead In There by iron_spider

Summary: “Peter, you’ve been acting insane for the past however many days and it’s giving me an ulcer, what’s going on, what did I do? Tell me. Tell me and I’ll fix it.’ Peter is still stalking around, and Friday is listing off his injuries, from a concussion to broken ribs to a sprained ankle, and Tony feels sick looking at it all. ‘You’ll fix it,’ Peter says, glancing over at him with pure disdain, the look bookended by matching explosions somewhere behind them. ‘Yeah it’s something you can’t fix, if it happens, nope, can’t fix it, it would just—but you’re just saying—’ Tony starts forward towards him. ‘Pete, explain to me what’s happening, please.’ ‘The protocol, the protocol,’ Peter insists, waving his hands through the air. Tony shakes his head. ‘The protocol?’ ‘The Avalon Protocol, Tony,’ Peter spits out, with venom.”

Dead-Eyed by iron_spider

Summary: “Hey,’ Tony says, fast, into the phone. ‘Everything alr—’ ‘Hey, no, I don’t know where he is,’ MJ says, in a rush of breath. ‘I don’t know where he is, Tony, and I know I have access to that tracking thing, but it feels weird for me to do that, and it doesn’t feel weird for you to do that, so you should do that. And find him and tell me what’s going on.’ ‘Okay, calm down,’ Tony says, getting up and stepping back from his workstation. ‘You know you can’t tell me to calm down, because I’m calm, and I’m always calmer than you because you’re like, inherently, not calm. At all, about anything, but especially about your family—’ ‘Okay, this is not calm,’ Tony says, starting to pace, even though he’s not calm either, she’s right. She sighs loudly in his ear. ‘When was the last time you saw him?”

Earthly Dust From Off Thee Shaken by ExpectoPatronum

Summary: “It had started with leaving his bedroom light on at night before he went to sleep. For a while, that had been enough. But then it wasn't.”

“Forever” by WithACherryOnTop

Summary: “Peter could feel the darkness creeping up on him again, like it had only moments earlier in the Avengers Compound bullpen. ‘‘ony.’ ‘Just go to sleep, bud.’ Tony gently scratched his nails at the nape of Peter’s neck. Peter collapsed bonelessly in Tony’s arms, all evidence of the tears, crying, and sobs hidden except for a stained shirt and the boy’s even, congested breaths. Tony wiped a hand over his face, a bit flustered. ‘Wow. That went way worse than I expected." Disclaimer: All characters belong to Marvel and/or Sony. I do not give permission for this work to be copied and/or posted to any other sites.

Gonna Pick Up The Pieces by orphan_account

Summary: “I don’t want to talk to you,’ Peter says. He’s been hiding for the better part of an hour, sitting in the cabin’s laundry room, wedged between the washer and the dryer. Something about the sounds coming off of them calms him, weirdly. The swish of water, the rumble of the motors, cotton rubbing cotton, the button on a pair of jeans dinging the side of the barrel. ‘That’s bullshit,’ Tony says. ‘You always want to talk to me.’ As true as that usually is, this time it rings discordant and tense. Peter clenches his jaw. ‘Not really,’ he says. ‘You just sorta assume that.’ ‘Of course I do. I make for lovely conversation.’ ‘Eh.”

Head’s On The Fritz by augustheart

Summary: "Hello?’ ‘Tony?’ ‘The one and only. What’s up, kiddo?’ The answer rises up in Peter's throat. Stops at the back of his tongue and wobbles there, heavy and leaden. He wants to spit it out, to cough it into the unbearable silence, to not be loud—but, to be steady. ‘I—’ he says. He trembles. ‘Can you—come over? Please?" Or: Tony makes things better

Hold Me Together by An_Odd_Idea

Summary: “Peter still doesn’t feel quite solid. Sometimes Tony can’t believe he’s really there either. They cope.”

I Have You by sweetspiderstew

Summary: “Tony has Peter all to himself, and there's nothing else like some good quality time in the workshop, but little mishaps happen, and there's a lot of hugging.”

I’ll Be Right Here by An_Odd_Idea

Summary: “Peter has a nightmare, and Tony goes to be sure he’s okay. It’s not the first one of its kind.”

It Came At Night by Marvelous_Writer

Summary: “What’s supposed to be a normal weekend visit to the Compound turns into one of disaster when unexpected visitors show up." (Set after Spider-Man: Homecoming) Whumptober Day Five: Gunpoint

It’s Time to Leave (and Turn to Dust) by hopeless_hope

Summary: "We’re going to help you, I promise, but you’ve got to trust me. Do you trust me?’ Peter looks at his mentor, fear written across his face. He raises a shaking hand back to Tony’s chest, and Tony places his hand over the kid’s. Peter closes his eyes and feels the hard surface of the arc reactor against his palm. Peter doesn’t like soft things, but this isn’t soft. It’s solid and steady and strong and feels like a truth he can believe in. It feels like presence. ‘Yeah, I trust you." (In which Peter has trouble coping with the events of Infinity War, but a certain Tony Stark is there to help.)

Meltdown by inkinmyheartandonthepage

Summary: “You said two-thirty,’ Peter said, acting as if he hadn’t heard Tony. ‘I forgot that you changed it to two thirty and not three.’ Tony took a step towards Peter. ‘Hey, Pete. It’s fine. You’re not that late kiddo. Hell, I’ve been to board meetings hours late.’ The joke didn’t land, and Peter’s eyes started to well with tears. He took in a hiccupping breath. ‘Oh god. I forgot. I forgot." Or: Peter isn't coping after Titan and has been doing everything to keep busy and not think about it. Everything comes to head when he forgets that a time was changed in his busy schedule leading to a meltdown.

Mine, And Yours by crowkag

Summary: “Is it Peter?’ He was met with loaded silence. The anxiety spark became an anxiety plunge and twist. ‘Happy. Is it Peter?’ ‘It’s… well. Who else would it be, right?’ ‘Hogan.’ He hated this. The spark, the plunge, the twist. The tension creeping from his shoulder blades, clawing down arms both flesh and metal, somehow, someway, and bunching up inside his palms. The hysteria of it all. ‘It’s—alright, I won’t sugarcoat it. The kid’s alive, but he got shot, Tony. Twice." Or: Tony reunites with Peter in a less-than-ideal manner.

Relax, Just Breathe by hailfire_73

Summary: “Tony,’ said Peter, lifting his head from the glass, his stubbornness spent. ‘I don’t feel so—’ ‘Do not,’ said Tony, through gritted teeth, and meeting Peter’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He had just one hand on the steering wheel as he drove them into the night. ‘Finish that sentence.’ Morgan leaned over, hung out of her booster seat, and whispered, ‘It gives dad attacks." Or: The Starks go on a road trip that goes wrong when Peter gets food poisoning from questionable carnival food.

Scars Can Heal And Reveal Just Where You Are by parkrstark

Summary: “Jesus Christ, Pete,’ the voice says again, and it's not just a voice. It's a voice that belongs to the shadow. The shadow is light in the dark. It's warm. ‘What are you doing on the floor? You're lucky you're by your bed or else it would have been you breaking my fall.’ Peter blinks at the shadow and can't tell if he's comforted or irritated by the new company. ‘What? No quip about me breaking a hip?’ There's silence. ‘Peter?"

Shots Ring Out by itsluckyyou

Summary: “Peter Parker had training. Training to deal with robbers, petty crime, and possible alien invasions. Nothing could have possibly trained him for this, though." Or: There's a shooter wandering the halls of Midtown School of Science and Technology.

The Pills (They Gotta Go) by searchingforstars

Summary: “Tony. What are these?’ Tony glances up. Sees the packs of pills clenched in Peter’s fist. He’s sure some of them must be dust judging by the force that Peter is holding them with. ‘My pills?’ ‘Why are they sitting at the back of the pantry?’ Peter asks, voice dangerously low." Or: Tony decides taking his medication is optional. Peter strongly disagrees.

We All Have A Hunger by MotherKarizma

Summary: “Morgan,’ he croaked, throat afire, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Hey—hey, it’s okay, I’m just…’ ‘You’re sick.’ She mustered up something like bravery, using it to straighten her back and plaster a very grown-up look on her face. ‘I’ll get Daddy!’ ‘No!’ Morgan jumped, eyes wide. Peter fought to calm his voice. He offered her a smile that couldn’t have been convincing, not even to a five-year-old. ‘No, you don’t have to. I feel better now. You don’t have to tell him.’ Morgan’s lips wobbled. Peter knew what her fake pout looked like well enough to know this wasn’t it. ‘Petey…’ Peter had a lot of reasons to feel guilty. He felt guilty for scaring her. He felt guilty for forgetting to lock his bedroom door, for making scaring her a possibility. He kind of, in a way, felt guilty for doing it in the first place, though not nearly enough to stop. But more than anything, he felt guilty for this: ‘Morgan, promise me you won’t tell him. He…he won’t let us swim anymore if you do. And I’m not sick, my tummy just hurt a little bit, but I’m all better now. Promise me you won’t tell him, okay?’ ‘But…’ ‘Morgan. Promise.”

We’re Here by An_Odd_Idea

Summary: “Comfortember prompt 3: Nightmares Peter has nightmares about when Thanos stabbed Tony on Titan”

Who Needs a Happy New Year When You Can Have a Happy Forever? by searchingforstars

Summary: “Peter's already feeling insecure about his place in Stark family holiday traditions, but it turns out it doesn't really matter because New Year’s Eve is significantly less fun when you’re a pair of PTSD-riddled superheroes, anyway." Or: Tony has a panic attack in a Burger King.

Without You (I Was Broken) by parkrstark

Summary: "How did you get shot? You just webbed me up 5 stories from being shot!’ ‘D-Didn’t know it was coming.’ ‘Dammit, Peter! This isn’t the first time your spidey sense hasn’t worked. I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt because Rhodey told me I was being insane. Why didn’t you tell me it wasn’t always working? You shouldn’t go out into battle like this when your powers are being wonky and—’ ‘You’re here.’ ‘What?’ ‘You’re here.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘I don’t...I can’t really feel the danger when you’re around."

164 notes · View notes

erina-writes-headcanons · 9 months

Note

Hi so i have receive your message that your ask box is open and i would like to ask if you can do a dating headcanon + a jealous headcanon for himuro and hanamiya please ? ^^

💔Himuro Tatsuya, Hanamiya Makoto, and Aomine Daiki Getting Jealous Headcannons💔

➽───────────────❥➽───────────────❥

Hello there Anon. I still remember if you were allowed to ask for Headcanons and once I open, I quickly told you that you can request me quickly before it gets full so yeah I hope you like the final result!

Gender: Neutral Warning: Creeps being creepy and OAmine being slightly violent

➽───────────────❥➽───────────────❥

Himuro Tatsuya - Yōsen High School

We can see from the Anime that Himuro can be pretty gentlemanly to women (But not really when it comes to Kagami. I don't really like how rude he is with Kagami but I do like when he tries to defend Alex from Haizaki.)

He might be all calm on the outside with a soft smile on his face and you thought he is okay when there was another guy/girl coming up to you with an intention to court you.

But let's check what is inside of his head and you will know that he is indeed furious when that person waltzes up to you and thinks they could court you or take your attention away.

The first time, he would smile and politely tell the person to leave you alone because you are his boyfriend/girlfriend/partner and that person should respect that.

If the person still does not budge and keeps trying to get close to you. That's when things can be scary. I believe he is not a violent person but he could be very cunning and manipulative.

He would also indirectly insult the person without sounding like he is insulting the person. (In fact, I do believe he can pull 'Dog Whistle Manipulation' which means a gaslighting abuse technique where an abuser can cause suffering to another without others being aware of what is occurring.)

You can just see the shame of that person without you realizing what just happens to that person as the person is walking with their tail between their legs.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

The sky gets darker as the snow starts to fall from the sky. The air is getting colder each minute as the temperature drops. When (Y/N) was young, the young feela used to love snow because the neighbourhood kids would play together with you, playing freeze tag or snowball wars and going home to drink hot chocolate on Christmas day.

However, you are not little anymore, and those loves of snow are replaced with despise. The older version of (Y/N) easily got sick and cold, and the next day you immediately got the flu from the horrible winter. This did not go unnoticed by your beloved boyfriend, who sometimes let you wear his scarves just so you would not be cold.

But today is different; the basketball training is getting really late, and you have to wait for your boyfriend, who is still training Basketball for the upcoming Winter Cup. You do hear the opponent in the winter cup will be even tougher, so it was understandable that your boyfriend was training hard.

As (Y/N) stood there, eyes fixed on the basketball court, (Y/N) couldn't help but be amazed by the sheer dedication and skill of Himuro Tatsuya. Every shot he took seemed like a work of art, a perfectly executed masterpiece. The way he controlled the ball, the precision with which he released it, and the accuracy with which it found its target were nothing short of mesmerizing.

Beads of sweat formed on (Y/N)'s forehead, and a faint flush crept across their/her/his cheeks, but (Y/N) paid no mind, entirely absorbed by the mastery of his shooting skills. The room's atmosphere seemed charged with energy, only when you finally tore your gaze away for a moment and you realize the warmth that had filled the space. It was getting very bothering

A friendly voice broke (Y/N)'s concentration. Turning to the source of the sound, (Y/N) was surprised to see one of Yosen's players. He was tall with unkempt brunette hair along with freckles adorned across the bridge of his nose. He's pretty cute in your opinion but you're dating Himuro Tatsuya. "Hey! Excuse me, pretty/handsome. It seems you're thirsty. Do you want some cold drink?" He had a welcoming smile and held out a cold refreshing drink.

(Y/N) was a little bit hesitant to accept the guy's drink. (Y/N) did not think anything bad about the guy since (Y/N) is aware that they are in the basketball gym and it feels rude to reject the guy's offer but they/she/he did not know who is this guy. Before you could take the bottle, you felt a sudden presence beside you.

It was Himuro Tatsuya, his usually warm smile taking on an oddly forced quality. It didn't take long for (Y/N) to sense a hint of jealousy beneath his polite exterior. He gently push (Y/N) behind him and stood in front of the guy. "Thank you for the kind gesture," he began, his voice steady, "but I believe you don't need to offer a drink to my boyfriend/girlfriend/partner," His words carried a gentle authority, making it clear that he appreciated the gesture but wanted to set a boundary.

The player couldn't help but sense the undercurrents of Himuro's subtle jealousy despite Himuro not being aggressive. is realization, combined with Himuro's polite yet firm words, left the Yosen player to respect his boundaries. "I am very sorry, Himuro-Senpai. I was just offering her/him/them a drink," with a nod and a slightly sheepish smile, the Yosen player decided to back away gracefully, allowing Himuro to be together with you.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

❀

Hanamiya Makoto - Kirisaki Daichi High School

Good luck to whoever made Hanamiya Jealous when they keep trying to make themselves close to you. I'm not joking, he is much worse than Himuro.

Unlike Himuro, his patience is not as thick as his and he would use all kinds of tactics against those who made him jealous while still playing the 'Innocent' card.

Whereas your dumb brain is still not aware that he was actually harassing the other person with just simply his words, railing against the person that made him jealous with a smile.

Listen to me, he definitely trying to guilt trip whoever made him jealous by asking them "Do you really hate me that much that you don't let me spend my time with my S/O? That's really mean of you," with a fake sad face.

If that's not working? Prepare another card he is going to use for that person who made him jealous. He could play the victim card after he made an insult that attacks the person's insecurity.

I do think he still has his violent tendencies but he can clearly hide it well when there are many people watching. For example, he would step on the person's foot on purpose but when the person tattletale. He would just not admit it or he would just say he doesn't mean it

So don't even think trying to make him jealous or he is going to make everyone hates you or people giving you those dirty stare even though you didn't do anything particularly wrong.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

As (Y/N)'s sat in the classroom, (Y/N)'s focus was entirely on the teacher at the front of the room, eagerly explaining the Geometric which (Y/N) is already good with. (Y/N) would be scribbling notes furiously, trying to capture all of the important notes without missing important details and by doing this. It would make it much easier at the house to just read it and remember the given formulas.

The resounding chime of the school bell echoed through the hallways, signalling the long-awaited end of the day. Students quickly gathered their belongings, ready to leave the torturous day and go back to their beloved home sweet home, including the certain someone with (H/C) hair colour and (S/C) Skin colour.

Before I could leave the classroom, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I saw my teacher staring at me with hopeful eyes. "(L/N)-San, May I speak with you for a moment. I need your help," she spoke. "Of course, what is it. Sensei?" (Y/N) asks the old woman. "I would like you to help with your fellow student. Eikichi-san, he is struggling with Geometric and you are the only student who could help him. If you teach him, I would give you more scores," the old woman asks.

(Y/N) was a little bit hesitant as you turn around to see the student. The guy had partly dyed blonde hair and he has that vibe that writes 'trouble' all over him. Nevertheless, the teacher promised you a bonus point for your score. "I will try teaching him geometric for the upcoming test," You told the teacher. "Thank you so much, (Y/N). I knew I could count on you," she smiles.

‿︵‿︵＼ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ／︵‿︵‿Timeskip

(Y/N) was sitting across from Eikichi who is staring at her/him/them. His eyes would be looking at you from your chest and your face. Despite (Y/N) writing the notes, (Y/N) could feel him staring like a creep it sent a shiver down her/his/their spine. His attempts at flirting were blatant, and it made the whole situation rather uncomfortable. While (Y/N) was there to genuinely assist and teach, he seemed more interested in making offhand comments about my appearance and attempting to turn the lesson into an awkward exchange. "So, are you free today, cutie? We can go home and ignore all of this and we would have so much fun," he winks.

As the inappropriate comments from the guy continued, (Y/N)'s patience wore thin. They/her/he was on the verge of delivering a piece of their mind and stopping the guy from being creepy until I feel a presence behind me. When I turned around, there was Makoto Hanamiya

Hanamiya, with his signature cocky grin, couldn't resist the opportunity to put the overly flirtatious and creepy student in his place. "Ah, trying to charm someone who is taken, are we? You've got a knack for numbers, I see. Shame you're just not adding up in the 'respect for personal space' department," His words carried a mix of sarcasm and a cold jab. Indirectly calling him an idiot.

The student's face turned a shade of embarrassment, and you couldn't help but hold your own laughter with Hanamiya's remarks who are calling the guy idiot and creepy indirectly. The creepy student's face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and anger at Makoto's sharp remark.

In a feeble attempt to save face, he mustered a nervous chuckle before unleashing a mocking retort. "SHUT THE HELL UP EYEBROWS! YOU'LL REGRET THIS!" The guy stood from his chair as he keeps pointing his finger at Hanamiya. With a huff and a flustered glare, the student gathered his belongings and stormed off, muttering under his breath. It was clear that he couldn't handle the witty banter and had been outmatched by Hanamiya's sharp tongue "Thanks for shooing that guy away," You sigh in relief. "...Sure, whatever. You owe me some chocolate bars...and I want the dark one. Not the normal milk one," The Kirisaki Daichi captain sat next to (Y/N) before putting his arm around (Y/N(.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

❀

Aomine Daiki - Touou High School

I'm not going to say sorry about what I am going to say but Aomine are much more obvious than them. He is also much more man-child than Himuro and Hanamiya.

Unlike Hanamiya and HImuro. Aomine is much more obvious when he is jealous when someone is taking his attention away but it depends on the person too.

Someone with pure intention that just wants to be your friend or cute animal? Aomine definitely gonna sulk and give you the silent treatment. If you ask him what makes him angry, he would say: "Why don't you go with that friends/pets of yours!" while pouting.

Someone with bad intentions or some kind of casanova wannabe that thinks they can get your attention? He's going to confront them by standing in front of them and giving them the scariest glare. "Leave my girlfriend/boyfriend you fucking creep!" Scaring them away.

If the person still does not leave you alone. He would not be afraid to use his hands to punch the daylight of the person just like what he did to Haizaki but worse

Once they left, he would just keep his hands on yours and not let anyone get close to you. If you ask about it, he would just gonna say: "I'm just protecting you from those assholes," he mutters.

Aomine is far away from the word subtle. He would make sure that everyone knows that you are his girlfriend/boyfriend by holding your hands the whole way when you two go home.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

It was in the afternoon as (Y/N) and Momoi sat on the bleachers, their eyes fixed on the intense basketball game unfolding before them. It was an exhilarating match, as Aomine and Kagami, two titans of the court, faced off in a display of skill and determination. Their movements were swift, dribbling the ball with finesse, leaping through the air to score impossible shots. The atmosphere was charged with excitement, and Momoi and I couldn't help but cheer for both of them, appreciating the incredible talent on display.

Momoi glanced at (Y/N), a playful smile on her face, and declared that she would go fetch some drinks from the vending machine. "(Y/N)-chan! Tell me everything that happens in the court. I will get us something to drink!" She takes a few cash from her purse before skipping away to get some refreshing drinks.

Nodding, (Y/N) watch her leave before she pays attention to Aomine and Kagami competing against each other. Those players seemed to be giving it their all, determined to outdo each other. You couldn't help but be in awe of the raw power and skill they possessed

As (Y/N) engrossed in her/his/their own world, there was an unmistakable feeling of someone's presence beside (Y/N). A subtle shift in the atmosphere, a hint of another person's energy, caught your attention. (Y/N) turned their/her/his head slightly, curious who might it be. A mysterious figure wearing a baseball cap. concealed his features. The brim cast a shadow over his face, making it nearly impossible to make out any details.

The guy in a baseball cap demeanour was unsettling. The guy leaned in a little too close, his words laced with a tone that sent chills through my veins. He began to flirt, but it wasn't the playful, charming kind of flirtation. It was invasive, predatory, making me feel trapped and vulnerable. "Hey there, cutiepie. Do you want to see seven foot long? I'm sure you have never seen it. Especially as someone as attractive as you," He licks his lips.

Out of nowhere, a basketball came hurtling through the air, narrowly missing the guy with the baseball cap and landing with a thud beside (Y/N) and the creepy guy. The guy with the baseball cap and I jolted with surprise, their attention instantly drawn to the ball lying there. As they turned in the direction the ball had come from, their locked eyes on Aomine, who stood a few feet away, his expression a mix of hatred and anger in his eyes.

Aomine's voice cut through the unease like a blade. His glare intensified, and his words were laced with a deadly seriousness that sent a shiver down the spine of the creepy guy. "If you ever lay a finger on my partner again, I won't hesitate to break your face. This court is meant for the game, not for your twisted games," Aomine's words not only send a shiver to the stranger but also to (Y/N) too.

The creepy guy visibly gulped, "I-I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean any harm," he mumbled, his eyes darting between Aomine's stern face and the basketball lying nearby. He quickly realized he had crossed the line. Without waiting for a response, the stranger hastily turned on his heels, not daring to look back, and fled from the court, disappearing into the distance.

Aomine's protective instinct kicked in as he walked over to (Y/N), his concern evident in his eyes. He gently pulled (Y/N) into a reassuring hug, his strong arms offering a sense of security. "Hey, are you alright?" he asked softly. Looking up at Aomine, (Y/N) shook their head, grateful he was there to stop the guy from getting further, "I'm okay, Aomine. He didn't touch me." "Good, "If he ever tries anything again, don't hesitate to let me know. I'll make sure he regrets it," he promises.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

❀

260 notes · View notes