#('My black eye casts no shadow. Your red eye sees nothing' PERFECTION)

[illithidhost]

sometimes u listen to music and its just like. oh. oh this is a ship song now

#😈;; the tadpole speaks ( ooc ) #(listening to kiss with a fist by florence and the machine) #(big big big astarion/mania energy) #(just cut from astarion threatening tav upon first meeting. cut to them dying getting their blood sucked dry.) #(cut to them punching the fuck out of astarion) #(cut to the amount of times fireball has accidentally killed them) #('My black eye casts no shadow. Your red eye sees nothing' PERFECTION) #(Quite literally perfection) #😈;; sell your soul; fill my crater ( ships )

[heizouz]

nsfw sub!kaeya + afab!reader, date night, body worship, pretty kaeya

it's my birthday so i wrote this purely for myself

it's one of those nights.

you're dressed up; hair perfect, pretty black dress, red lip and glittery eyes. the room is warm, from the gentle fire and the dark mahogany colours and the dull orange lights. one of your hands is occupied—a crystallised wine glass filled with red placed in your left—whilst your other traces circles into the sofa chair you're sitting in. 

and kaeya. 

kaeya sits by your feet, clad in a chaise mauve silk shirt and soft black dress pants that trail against the floor. he's sitting so pretty, eyes dark but adoring as he looks at you. his hands splay across your thighs, your knees, your legs, trailing teasing fingers that make you shiver. 

he's perfect. your perfect boy that obeys you even when you don't need to ask him.

"you're so beautiful." kaeya whispers, barely a mumble as he presses a kiss against your knee. you smile, hand carding through your hair to push it out of your face. kaeya is so zoned out—he runs his hands across your legs, up to your thighs and your waist, leaving soft kisses where he can. "so beautiful."

"thank you, my darling." you muse, a soft chuckle leaving your lips at how kaeya looks at you, treats you like his goddess.

kaeya holds your leg—the point of your heel digs into his upper thigh but he doesn't seem to mind, sending you one quick teasing glance before he leans forward and kisses up to your calf. your fingers twitch around the wine glass, itching to grab his pretty silky hair and drag him into place. but you're patient, savoring the moment of intimacy as kaeya basically worships your body from his place on his knees.

he's so pretty; his hair trailing gently down his back, slightly loose from its ponytail. his eyes are practically gleaming with adoration, watching you intently as they glaze over in his daze and some of his hair falls pretty to frame his face. he looks so soft under the dull lights, dark but gentle shadows casting across his features and your heart picks up a little because he's yours.

kaeya's lips leave hot trails across the skin of your knee before he reaches your thighs. he hesitates (you can see from the way he freezes, fingers drumming lightly against the outside of your thigh) and looks up at you as if gaging your reaction. when you do nothing but raise an eyebrow, wine glass tilting to the side along with your head, kaeya takes it as the get go to gently spread open your legs. 

with a slight grin, you crumble. your fingers find kaeya's blue hair, curling into it when the man presses his lips into your inner thighs. your dress has ridden up, kaeya teasingly pushing the edges up with his fingers and a small sigh leaves your lips as kaeya's hands find home against your knees, keeping your legs parted and he nudges his face closer into you.

you watch him, dark eyed, over the top of your wine glass, nails gently brushing against his scalp. kaeya hums gently and you can feel the vibrations against your thigh, can feel his quick pants through his nose against your core and you melt into your seat a little.

"kae…" you purr, brushing strands of blue from his pretty icy eyes as he looks up at you when you address him. you stare at how he parts his lips slightly, eyes sparkling with need and the want to please you. your fingers curl, lightly pulling his head back and he gasps quietly. you lean forward in your seat a little, voice low, "don't tease." 

the ghost of a smirk paints kaeya's face, all too visible under the dull flickering lights. you settle back against the chair, completely letting go of kaeya's hair and kaeya takes it as a silent nod to go ahead. 

he wastes no time—he's eager. he pulls your underwear down, the material catching on your heel but kaeya is too dazed to notice, his hands instantly going to hook under your knees to pull you forward.

you gasp, shocked, but it simmers into a soft moan at the first drag of kaeya's tongue against you. your head tips back against the back of the chair, hand holding the glass falling slightly to the side and your fingers clench around it. 

kaeya is gentle, slow, but you can tell he's desperate as he grips the swell of your thighs. his eyes are fluttered closed, needily running his tongue against your cunt with quiet hums. 

you sigh, pleased, because it's exactly where he's supposed to be. 

he opens his eyes to look up at you at the noise, gleaming and so good. he pulls away, kissing over your clit faintly before you can almost feel him grin against you.

you break out into a choked moan, having to put your drink to the side before you drop it and your hands instantly go to grab kaeya's hair when he laps at you, sucking your clit, shoving his face into your cunt with so much need.

"that's—god. that's good." your head falls back and eyes close, voice high and breathless, "that's good, baby."

kaeya keens at the praise, heart jumping at the sight of you laid back and so beautiful, breaking under his touch. he lets you wrap your fingers into his hair, lets you guide his head and keep him there all for your own pleasure because he's made to serve you.

"kae-" kaeya whimpers at the harsh tug of his hair, opting to drag his tongue against your folds, cutting you off of any of your previous thoughts. "christ, kaeya. you're so good."

your dress has ridden past your hips now, and kaeya's hands tease up to your waist before you manoeuvre yourself. one foot on the floor and your other lays over the side of the sofa arm. the position is lewd; legs spread, your hand keeping kaeya's head in place as he pleases you and the man just lets you. 

"my good boy." you drawl, brushing your fingers over kaeya's cheek and he moans, pretty boy glancing up at you to watch your body react to him, chest flaring with how he drives you crazy with just his tongue. 

you let out a long breath, relaxing back slightly with lidded eyes because you know you're in for a soft, slow night.

#kaeya ramble bc i love him #hes so so pretty my good boy #also i hate the ending but im tired #anyway happy birthday to me #dom reader #genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin x reader #sub genshin #genshin #kaeya smut #sub kaeya #kaeya x you #kaeya x reader

[unholyhelbig]

Can you do spider!person x Kate Bishop with a soulmate AU?

[A/n: I've never been a massive fan of Soulmate au's but, for some reason this one really got under my skin and helped with some writers block, so, thank you!]

Title: Magnetic

Ship: Kate Bishop x gn!reader

Disclaimer: I did not proofread, if there are mistakes, I'm sorry!

Main Masterlist | Ao3 | Request Prompts

Summary: Reader is a spider!person from earth-2099 and Kate Bishop is curious about why she's so drawn to them.

The piano stood in the center of a restaurant that seemed to harvest the warmth of every candle. They were unscented, casting a deep yellow glow that shaded the patrons’ faces and stretched them in shadows. You had figured that you could be no true judge of character when those around you were bathed in untrustworthy light.

Having live music was part of the charm, or so you had been told. Classically trained and playing the same sonatas over ivory keys for left over bread and mistaken orders. People would send food back for the slightest hint of sodium, too much cilantro, too little portions. Of course, you could keep your tips at the end of the night, sometimes they would brim the elegant glass jar on the hood of the piano.

Sometimes, you’d see nothing but a brass quarter that a man who smelled too thickly of tobacco would drop to its basin. He’d tell you the story of the general carved into the front, a confederate, you had no doubt. And you would nod, your fingers doing all the work to keep up the quiet ambiance of the lobby.

At one point, you remember enjoying playing the piano. Of course, that was before you mastered it. When you were a novice, it was fun, you’d ply each note and double down on the pedals. You’d take risks. But the restaurant did not want risk. They wanted sub-par entertainment.

You knew you were good, better than good, you were perfect. You’d had all the time in the world to get to this point and you’d lean on your talents if it meant a good meal and something to do. It distracted you from your own discontent with this world. With 616.

The clinking sound of a piece of copper against a glass pulled you from your thoughts. Your hands were gliding along the keys all the same, undeterred from the distraction. Though, you almost caught yourself ‘C’ sharp.

Kate Bishop stood in front of you, leaning against the side of the Kawai, it’s black finish reflecting her pensive stare. In all the universe, she still had the same slightly-infuriating, adorable face of determination that she wore now.

Of course, she had an evening gown, and of course she dressed the part. She wore something emerald, green, reflecting from her gray, storming stare. Kate’s lips were painted red, her skin like snow. You caught a whiff of Rosemary, and was that mint? It was freshly tilled from the ground.

“I have questions.” She said.

She showed no signs of leaving, and you didn’t’ want her to. Though, she obstructed your view of the hostess and therefore, your manager, Gary. So, you gestured, asking her wordlessly to take a seat on the bench next to you.

Kate’s confidence faltered, but she delicately lifted her dress from the floor and lowered herself onto the bench next to you. There was a certain heat about her, one that you could feel as she stared down at the keys, at your touch moving across them with ease.

You could feel her stare on the side of your face, burning, making your stomach do flips that threatened your composure. It didn’t’ seem to matter which universe you were in; 616, 2099, 219 and hundreds more- Kate was always there. She was always disarming and part of that infuriated you.

“Do me a favor, will you?”

Kate furrowed her brow but lifted her chin. There was a quiet contemplation about her, one that warmed your skin. She looked magnificent in that dress, show-stopping. Each wandering eye from the patrons of the restaurant had nothing to do with you, or the music. She had captivated everyone in the room.

“Slowly- F sharp, then B flat and C.”

Kate scoffed “I can’t keep time.”

“I’ve seen the callouses on your hands. You can keep time. What is it? Violin?”

“Almost, the cello.” Kate pressed the first note, and then the other two. She listened to what you played and matched the rhythm with one hand. The other ran over the stitching of her dress. “I didn’t come here to play, Y/n.”

“And I didn’t’ come here to talk, it seems that we’re at an impasse.”

Kate clenched her jaw. You gave her a smirk and settled into the last notes of the song. A few seconds to pull your shoulders back and you began to shift the mood of the room with the soft crescendos. “Alright. Ask your questions. I’ll answer them.”

“Truthfully?”

You hummed “If I can. Silence will speak wonders.”

“Right. Okay. Fine.” Her voice lowered to nothing but a whisper, a warmth against your cheek. “You’re Spiderman.”

“That is not a question Kate. That is a statement.”

“I’m getting there. You’re Spiderman, but Peter is Spiderman. I’ve lived with him for three years, that’s not something you can hide. And then suddenly, there you are, in a really… I mean, the suit is nice, the colors are- wow- but you’re not Pete.”

“I’m failing to see the question.”

“You’re infuriating, you know that?”

You smiled at her “Yes.”

She grumbled and crossed her arms over her chest, drawing in a deep breath before she continued. Gary was eyeing you from the host stand, a furrow to his brow. You nodded at him, and he moved his attention down to his clipboard.

“Have you ever considered different worlds?” You asked.

“I’ve interacted with a talking raccoon who is surprisingly adept at disassembling a cherry red 1970 Dodge Challenger. Nothing surprises me anymore.”

You laughed, and her cheeks matched the exterior of the car for just one moment before she grimaced and returned to her composure. She stared at you expectantly as you finished the last of your song. Your hands lingered on the keys, but you didn’t start another one. Instead, you stood, took the jar off the top of the piano.

Kate watched you expectantly as you held your hand out to her, lifting both eyebrows. Your shift was over, and even if it wasn’t, you were sure you’d leave with Kate if she asked you to. Explaining something like this, you’d done it a million times to a million different Kate’s but it always made your heart scream inside your chest all the way to your fingertips.

She took your hand, the warmth was overwhelming. You led her outside, the jar tucked under your arm and the city lights boring down on wet pavement. For a few moments, the two of you walked aimlessly- much too overdressed for your surroundings. There was too much in the air, and somehow, never enough.

“Every single decision that we make has consequences, has chain reactions. And each time we make a choice there is a world out there that plays out in succession.” You shoved your hands into your coat pockets, breath steaming in front of you. “There’s a world where we are still sitting together at the piano. There’s one where my manager Gary fired me for talking to you in the first place.”

“I think I get it.” Kate nudged you with her shoulder, “But that doesn’t explain how you made it here. Isn’t there some type of cosmic consequence that comes with this kind of thing?”

“Typically, yes. If you were to meet the Kate from earth 20368, then things are bound to explode. She was a nice girl, by the way. Kind of reckless. But things don’t work the same way for me. I’m an anomaly. There’s only one of me.”

“You’ve lost me.” Kate stopped, pressing the tips of her fingers against her temple. “We’ll circle back to the ‘was’ you threw in there.”

“I’m sorry” You chuckled, “I’ve done this hundreds of times, and it still doesn’t get any easier. I’m originally from Earth 2099. It’s a reality that’s much like this one, but sort of… Frankensteined from all of the other earths. There was a man there, a scientist, a geneticist, that flew a little too close to the sun. Hence me. Hence my whole family.” 

Kate parted her perfectly painted lips to say something, but you didn’t’ give her a chance. Instead, you dug through the change in your pocket, forking over two crumpled dollars to a greasy looking man behind a peddled cart. You could smell the salty aroma of hotdogs topped with sauerkraut and mustard.

“Thank you, Benny” you said, passing Kate one of the hot dogs, wrapped in a coffee filter. She took it without question and you dropped the rest of the change in your pocket into his tip jar before the two of you fell into a perfect silence.

“I can’t tell what bothers me more. The use of Frankenstein as a verb, or the fact that you talk in riddles. It’s all very confusing.” Kate took a bite of her hotdog and moaned with pleasure “Jesus, this is a delicacy.”

“I don’t mean to talk in riddles, you know? The answers you crave aren’t straight forward. There’s still a lot of that I’m trying to figure out too. A lot of unspoken rules. Things that I would have changed if I had the chance.”

You took a bite of your own hotdog, chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. Kate was watching you, her deep stare moved to the corner of your lip. She tentatively, gently, used the side of her thumb to wipe away a bout of condiment. It took everything in you not to sigh into her touch, to pull her in for a lengthened hug and breathe I her scent.

There was a pressure below your eyes, a sadness that you at to blink away. There was a sudden interest in your shoes and the way they weren’t built for the wet streets of New York. You whispered “You’re not my Kate.”

“I’m sorry, I overstepped I shouldn’t have-“

“No, no. It’s fine. Really.” You drew in a cold breath, one that burned your throat “On my earth, the one that I’m meant to be in, the one that I was created in, there was a Kate Bishop. We grew up together, laughed together, cried together, loved together.”

Kate’s voice was nothing more than air “what happened to her?”

“She died, in my arms she died. Was stubborn until the end about it too.”

 You frowned and threw the rest of your food into the nearest trashcan, not having much of an appetite anymore.

“I was engineered in a lab, much like my brother and sister and every single person around me. I wasn’t meant to fall in love, but you made it difficult not to. I had a falling out with my father, and he’s a man of science over anything else.”

“So, he killed me? Her?”

You swallowed the cold lump in your throat again and nodded. The tips of your fingers were numb with the weather, so you shoved them back into your pocket and watched as the beginning of rain began to fall. It distorted the reflection of traffic lights against the pavement.

“You have to understand, Kate. I ran away from 2099, stole the tech from my father’s lab and ensured that he couldn’t track me. My plan, it was to hide out in whatever world it took me to. I would grow old and die in solitude, have a normal life that I wasn’t engineered to have.

“But you were there, and there was color to your cheeks, and you were smiling. After I got over the shock, I decided to leave, go to whatever earth the device spits me out into. And there you were again, and again, until finally- I realized that wherever I went, some version of you would be there, and the same version of me was still hopelessly, undyingly, in love with you.”

“This is…” Kate frowned, got that same crease between her brows that you wanted to smooth out each time. “A lot to process, and that hot dog is about to make a second appearance.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry. I know.” You groaned, for a moment, staring up at the stars that mixed so delicately with the falling rain. “When I told you on Earth 181 you threw up over the side of the Brooklyn bridge.”

“Oh, nice. After that?”

You shrugged, looking back down at your feet “After that you pretended like none of it mattered. Which I’m not expecting you to do. Trust me, I’ve tried avoiding you, Kate. In every universe I’ve jumped to, I do everything in my power to keep myself away from you.”

“Thanks, that makes me feel fantastic.”

“You know what I mean. There are times when I think, I know that your life would be better without me in it. Meddling, existing. But during those times where I didn’t seek you out, you would find me. Kind of like tonight.”

“I… Couldn’t help myself.” She resigned “I’ve seen a million different masked heroes and have no desire to lift those masks, to find out their secret identities and insert myself into their lives. But it was different with you. It was magnetic.”

“I know, I get it.”

“So, what do we do now, then?”

“You do nothing.” You told her, lifting your chin. You watched the way her eyes moved with confusion and curiosity, the way her chest rose and fall with each breath she took. She was cold, so you pulled your jacket off and draped it carefully over her shoulders. Kate seemed to sigh into it, content for only a moment. “And I leave.”

#Request #Kate Bishop x reader #Kate Bishop x y/n #Kate Bishop x gn reader #Kate Bishop #Hawkeye #Hawkeye fanfiction #spider man

[cowgurrrl]

From the Dining Table

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Author’s note: I feel like I should just leave the author’s note blank because there’s nothing I can do to make it better

Summary: “The love was there. It didn’t change anything. It didn’t save anyone. There were just too many forces against it. But it still matters that the love was there.” [4.5k]

Warnings: oh it’s so sad, mentions of bullying, hard conversations, goodbyes, June ruining everyone’s night yet again

Red Dirt Girl becomes the number one movie in America the first weekend it's in theatres. Box office numbers are insanely high, promising a high payout for everyone involved, and people are already talking about sweeping the competition during awards season. Peter sent flowers to your house to congratulate you, and you and Lilly are scheduled to do as much press together as possible before you leave for Ireland. It's the best-case scenario. So, why can't you let yourself feel good about it? 

Instead of basking in your accomplishments and the pride you feel for this project or going out to celebrate on the clear Friday night that settled over LA, you're packing boxes. You're only taking the things you can't live without, but going through your stuff and deeming what you need and don't is exhausting. The rooms in your house feel especially empty as you silently walk around, thinking your way through the tasks. You consider calling Ryan or your mom to fill the eerie quiet but decide against it. You'll have to talk about Joel if you call either of them, and you don't think you're ready for that yet. So, you open your notes app and try to find the strength to do at least one thing on your list of boring, necessary things that need to get done.

Your to-do list feels never-ending and daunting every time you glance at it. You haven't even thought about finding another manager despite it being the most pressing issue besides your move. You'd been with Mel since you came to LA and thought she'd be your manager for at least another four or five years. She wasn't perfect, but she always made sure your name was being spoken in the important rooms and fought tooth and nail for you. She was ruthless on your behalf. She got you to where you are today. That's not nothing. 

You sigh and pull your hair into a ponytail, debating on going through your books or closet, when a loud knock sounds from downstairs. To call it a knock is a little generous. It sounds like someone is pounding on your door, but you're not expecting anyone. You grab the baseball bat from your bedroom closet before walking down the stairs and approaching the front door. Your knuckles turn white around the grip as you peek through the peephole to see who could possibly be pounding on your door at nine pm. The second you figure out who it is, you drop the bat and scramble to open the door.

"Ellie?" You ask, cutting her off mid-raised fist. Her hair is in her face, and she's wearing her glasses, your porch light casting shadows over her eyes. A big backpack is slung over her big hoodie, and she looks distraught.

"My dad said I can still talk to you if I want. Is that true?" She asks breathlessly, and you look behind her to see if Joel or Sarah dropped her off but find nothing. You take a deep breath and nod.

"Come in," you say, opening the door wider for her to come in. She takes two long strides over your threshold and into your home while you wrack your brain about how to handle this. Is there a handbook out there for talking to your ex-boyfriend's daughter? "Please tell me you didn't ride your bike here."

"No, I took an Uber." She says nonchalantly as you follow her into your living room. You chuckle and turn to ask her if she wants water or a snack but stop yourself short when you finally get a look at her black eye.

"Oh, my God! What happened?" 

"It's not a big deal." She says as you force her to sit at your dining table, put her backpack down, and carefully take her glasses off her face. She winces when you put your hand on her chin to turn her face so you can see her eye better. Under the glow of your kitchen lights, you find a swelling bruise on her jaw and a cut on her nose. How did you not see her injuries in the dark? 

You rush around, gathering ice and a bandaid for her nose. She doesn't say anything as she sits there, looking pretty miserable, and your heart aches at the pout of her lips. You hand her an ice pack to hold to her head while you clean and bandage the cut across her nose. None of the bruises look especially scary, and despite a little blood staining her cheek, she's perfectly fine. You take out your phone flashlight and shine the light across her pupils, watching them dilate accordingly.

"Are you a nurse all of a sudden?" She asks, and you smile as you put your phone face down on the table in front of you. 

"No, but I've played them enough on TV to know how to check for a concussion."

"Oh, is that the requirement?" She asks, and you hum. She fights a smile as she breaks eye contact with you to look down at her hands, which you notice are also bruised and cracked. "Dad told me you guys broke up." She says quietly. She looks so defeated with her slouched posture and nervous foot tapping. You know now is not a time to lie to her.

"Yeah, we did."

"Why?"

"It's complicated." 

"That's exactly what Dad said," she says. The idea of you and Joel parroting each other from opposite sides of the city pulls all the air from you and leaves you floundering. "I'm not a kid. You can tell me what happened." And she's right. She's fourteen. She's old enough to understand how relationships work, but you don't know if it's your place to tell her what happened. You don't know what you're allowed to tell her. You don't know if you're overstepping or how to fix it if you are. 

"Sometimes," you start uncertainly, hoping the words will find you along the way. "Sometimes, two people can really care about each other, but that doesn't mean they'll be together forever or even good for each other." You say, and she makes a face.

"That sucks."

"Yeah, it does," you sigh. "Now that I told you that, can you tell me why you're showing up at my doorstep at nine o'clock at night?" You change the subject, and she bites her bottom lip as her foot tapping speeds up. 

"Dad and I got into a fight." 

"Does it have anything to do with your shiner?" You ask, nodding in the direction of her black eye.

"He didn't even try to hear my side of the story!"

"Which is?" You ask, and she very quickly dives into a story of a kid who's been picking on her all year. She said she told Joel what was happening, and he said something about ignoring it or talking to the teacher, which wasn't working. Apparently, the kids' parents are some big-shot tech people the teachers don't like dealing with, so they were just gonna let him do whatever until the end of the school year. Today, he said something along the lines of Sarah's mom coming back and Ellie's mom never being able to.

"And I never even knew her! But that's still my fucking mom, and I know how sensitive Sarah is about Angela, and I just got so angry that I hit him. A lot." She says like she's waiting for you to argue with her, but you can't even imagine yelling at her after hearing that. You open your phone and open your notes app.

"What's your teacher's name?" You ask. She tells you, and you have to take several deep breaths to stop yourself from finding the teacher's phone number and calling him to ask him if he thinks it's acceptable for a student to taunt another student's dead mother. "I'll call the school on Monday, okay? That kind of behavior is disgusting, and you were justified in what you did." You say, grabbing her hand and squeezing. She nods and smiles softly as she looks at you, her dark brown eyes looking right through you. 

"You know, I don't usually like most of the people my dad dates," she says. "But I really liked you." Her use of the past tense cuts deep inside you, and you swallow thickly.

"Yeah. I like you too," you smile. "But, just because your dad and I aren't together anymore doesn't mean we can't still hang out or talk. I still care about you and your sister, and I've got quite a few movies I still need to watch." You say, and she nods, but there's something sad in her movements. You wonder if Joel told the girls about Ireland and how they reacted. Even if he didn't, Ellie is smart. She sees the boxes in your living room and the stuff piled together. She knows something is happening. Something that will impede future movie nights and emergency visits in the middle of the night. She shifts in her seat and lets go of your hand to tug at her ponytail, effectively retracting from you.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Did you love my dad?" She asks, and you bite the inside of your cheek, shaking your head. You think about lying or just not answering her question altogether, but that's not fair. She opened up to you. She trusted you, and you know what it feels like to have that trust broken or not reciprocated. You stare into her eyes and try to not get emotional.

"Yeah, I did." 

"Did you break up because of us?" 

"Honey, no. No, not at all," you say, perching on the edge of your chair so your knees are touching. "Your dad and I... have very different lives and schedules, and we tried. We really, really tried, but I don't think the timing is right for us. I don't know if it'll ever be right for us, but you and your sister had nothing to do with why we broke up, okay?" You say, slouching a little to get in her eye line, and she nods. "When I found out about you guys, I wasn't scared or intimidated. I was excited because your dad only ever told me how beautiful, and brilliant, and amazing, and kind his daughters were, but when I met you, you exceeded all that. You and Sarah have become two of my favorite people on this planet, and there will never be a time when I don't cheer you guys on or want what's absolutely best for you. I mean, if I didn't like you, do you think I would've opened the door?" You ask, and she laughs. The sound makes you smile, and you put your hand on her knee. 

"You, Ellie Miller, are going to do incredible things, and I can't wait to watch it." 

"Thank you." She says softly, and you nod. There, in your kitchen, you share a quiet moment with Ellie where neither of you needs to say anything more. The love says everything you can't bring yourself to voice just yet. If you squint, you can imagine what her mother must've looked like. All big eyes and toothy grins and wavy hair. But even without any actual Miller DNA flowing through her veins, you see Joel, too. You see how he raises his eyebrows or can't hide what he's thinking to save his life. You see his smile. You see his kindness and anxiety. You see all the best parts of him. This time with her feels like a warm hug, as much as a goodbye. Nostalgic and sad and welcome all at the same time. You don't know when you'll be able to sit at a table with Ellie Miller and just stare at her again, but you know if you never see her again, you can count yourself lucky to have met such an amazing young woman. She must make her mom so proud.

"You know I have to call your dad to tell him you're here, right?" You ask quietly, and she nods. You sit there for another second before grabbing your phone and walking into the next room to call Joel. Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at his contact information, a picture of him with his tongue out still set as his contact photo. You took it on Facetime when he was still in Texas. He was complaining about how his stomach hurt from eating too much barbeque, and he was pretending to be dead. Even after everything, it still makes you smile. You press the call button before you lose the courage to do so. He picks up on the second ring.

"Hey, I can't really talk right now. Ellie and I got into a fight, and she ran off, and I don't know what to do. Has she talked to you? Do you know where she might be?" He says quickly, sounding frantic as he shuffles with something on the other end.

"Yeah, she showed up on my doorstep about thirty minutes ago. She's fine. A little upset, but she's safe." You say and hear him sigh with relief. 

"Thank God. Okay, I'm comin' to get her. Can you keep her there until I can get to your house?"

"Of course."

"Thank you," he says. Neither of you immediately ends the call, but you don't say anything either. You can hear him breathing and imagine him standing there, flush with worry, and grinding his teeth despite the number of times you've told him to stop. It's the closest you two have been in weeks. "I really fucked up." He finally says, and you take a breath.

"All the best parents do."

"Yeah?" He asks, that familiar lilt returning to his voice. Your heart squeezes, and you nod.

"Yeah. Reminds your kids that you're human too."

"I guess," he says. It's quiet for another five seconds before he clears his throat. "Thank you for takin' care of her."

"She's a good kid."

"Yeah, she is." 

"I'll..." you start. You know you're talking in circles but don't want to get off the phone. He waits you out. "I'll see you soon." You finally say, and the phone moves against his ear.

"See you soon." He says, hesitating before ending the call. You exhale and stare at his contact photo for another second before locking your phone and walking back to the main living area. Ellie has moved from the dining room table to the couch, an old leather-bound book in her hands. You tilt your head to read the title. Much Ado About Nothing. One of your favorite Shakespeare plays that you never got to do. You perch on the edge of the couch near Ellie and smile when she puts her book down to look at you.

"That book looks older than you." 

"That's 'cause it is. It was my dad's in high school." She says, and you look at her, confused. 

"What?"  

"Yeah. He said his music teacher bought it for him or something. Dad really liked him. Wrote his name down in the acknowledgments in his first album and everything." She shrugs like it's nothing. Suddenly, you're back in New York with Joel, his hand over your heart as he listens to you recite a centuries-old monologue.

"He told me he didn't study Shakespeare in school."

"He probably didn't want you to know he's a massive nerd. He loves it. He made us go to the Globe Theatre when we were in England. It was actually pretty cool," she yawns. "I'm tired. Can I go lay down in one of the beds until my dad gets here?" 

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, that's fine. My room is up the stairs and to the left. I just got new pillows, so that'll probably be the most comfortable." You say, your brain still struggling to piece together what she just said. She yawns again and gives you a thumbs-up before standing with her book in hand and disappearing up the stairs.

Joel told you he didn't know anything about something you, apparently, both love. Why? Was he quizzing you? Was he trying to figure out if you actually know what you're talking about? Or was he trying to get another perspective? Did he pretend not to know so you could explain it to him in your own way? How the fuck did you not know? You want to call and ask him all these things, but you don't. You wait.

You rotate between anxiously pacing your living room, checking on Ellie (who's snoring in your bed with the book open next to her), organizing and reorganizing your stuff into boxes. Anything to keep your mind busy until Joel can get there. From the time you ended the call to when your front door opened and closed quietly, twenty minutes had passed, but it felt like a lifetime. Joel walks into the living room like it's his own house and smiles when he sees you, looking around the room for Ellie. He wearing his own glasses and a plain black shirt with jeans. The bags under his eyes are prominent, and his hair is messy. He looks exhausted.

"She went upstairs to lie down and fell asleep. I didn't want to wake her up." You answer his unspoken question, and he nods, his shoulders visibly dropping.

"No, that's okay. I'm glad she's gettin' some rest," he says, sighing deeply. "Did she tell you bout our fight?" 

"A little bit, yeah," you say, and he grimaces. You glance between the place where you and Ellie were sitting and him. "Do you wanna sit?" You ask, and he nods. Carefully, without even grazing each other, you sit across from him and stare at him. You don't know what you're supposed to say. You don't know if you're supposed to say anything. 

"You still doin' that movie with Pike?" He beats you to it, and you nod. There's no frustration or anger in his question, only curiosity. 

"I leave for Ireland in two weeks." 

"Ireland's beautiful." 

"It is." You say, not sure how else to respond. He shifts in his seat and looks at his hands as he nervously taps a rhythm into your table. 

"Thank you again for takin' her in and makin' sure she was safe. I really appreciate it." He says.

"I'm just happy she knew she could come here."

"Me too," he says. "Can we... do you wanna... I just need to say I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, but I did, and I'm sorry. I should've been better and more honest and less of a dick. You didn't deserve that." He word vomits, and your fingers twitch to reach for his. You take a deep breath and stare at him, watching his emotions play out behind his glasses.

"Thank you for apologizing," you say. "And I'm sorry, too. For everything. I wish things could be different."

"We could start over. Maybe try again," he says, his voice sad like he's trying, but he knows your answer won't change. "I don't... I don't know how to do this. But I wanna learn. I wanna learn for you." His words cut straight through to your heart, and your eyes flutter shut. You pinch the inside of your thigh to stop tears from forming, and take a shaky breath. He doesn't rush you. When you open your eyes, he's staring at you like you hung the moon and the stars.

"Sarah's gonna need you as she figures her mom out. It's gonna be hard, and she loves you more than I've ever seen a teenage girl love her dad. Ellie's gonna feel out of place, and she's gonna need you too. It wouldn't be fair to any of you to add this," you gesture between the two of you. "To that mix. It'd be too much. None of us would feel good about it. We'd all walk away a little burned and lot pissed off. I don't want that for us." You say, and he nods.  

"It's a nice dream." He says sadly.

"It is," you agree. "Can I ask you a question?"

"'Course." 

"When did it stop being fake for you?" You ask. He shakes his head, and his Adam's apple bobs.

"It was never fake for me. It just took me a little longer to figure out," he says, and you pinch your thigh again. "What bout you?"

"Texas," you admit, only a little ashamed at how late your answer is in comparison. "When you called me every day from Texas. That's when it stopped being fake for me," a tear spills from your eye, and Joel wipes it away before you can. His thumb is warm and familiar, and you almost lean into his touch before it can disappear completely. "This sucks."

"Yeah, it does."

"Do I, at least, get to know what songs on the newest album are about me?" You joke, and he laughs. He presses his lips together and rests his head on his hand as he looks at you.

"All of 'em," he says. "All of 'em are about you. Bout meetin' you or the way you talk in your sleep, but a lot of 'em are about New York."

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah."

"That was a good time," you say. "Ellie, um... Ellie told me about your trip to the Globe Theatre. Told me all about how much her dad loves Shakespeare," he chuckles like a kid caught with candy, and you smile. "Why'd you tell me you didn't know anything about it?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. "I really don't. I was thinkin' bout it the other day, and I just remembered seein' how much you loved it. Your eyes got real wide, and you got so excited, and I just... wanted to hear you talk about it. I think I would've stayed there with you all day if I could've." He says. You have to look away from him to hide to tears pooling in your eyes. 

This shouldn't be this hard. You're supposed to meet someone you love, and nothing else matters, and you get to be with that person forever. It's hard, but you get your whole lives to figure it out together. Who did you hurt in a past life that took this opportunity away? It's not fair. You want to rip the sky apart and scream at God and demand an explanation. You want someone to blame. You want more time. You want him, and not just the good parts that made you fall in love with him. You want the broken and ridged parts he's still hiding from you. You want the parts he hates. You want to lay them out on the table and show him you don't flinch when they catch the light. 

He puts his hand on your shoulder as tears fall from your eyes, and you sniffle. His thumb presses soothingly into your skin, and you let him. You shouldn't, but you do. You don't fall into his arms and sob like you want to. No, just like every juncture of your life thus far, you let yourself cry quietly and without fuss because there are things to do. And when you're done, you turn to look at him and see tears staining his cheeks too. You cover his hand with yours and squeeze his fingers, and he takes a deep breath.

"What are we gonna do now?" He asks. You pull his hand off your shoulder and hold it in your lap, both your hands covering his large one. You smile through your tears and kiss the top of his hand.

"I'm gonna go to Ireland, and you're gonna release your album. It'll hit the top of the charts overnight, and people will be singing your praises from the rooftops and speculating on what different songs mean like they always do. I'll lie in interviews and say I haven't listened to it, but I will because it'll be yours. You and the girls and Tommy'll go on tour, and I'll be there filming, and we'll try to talk when we can, but our schedules will get in the way until we don't think about each other all the time. I'll probably lose my mind because it rains so much in Ireland, and you'll go from selling out stadiums to crying at Sarah's graduation. And we'll both work way more than we should. And life'll go on like we were never really here," you say. "And maybe one day, when we're in LA at the same time, and nothing is stopping us and our schedules align, we'll get a coffee. And we'll talk. And we'll try again." You wipe Joel's tears away and try to keep yourself from falling apart. 

"I'll mark it on my calendar." He says, and you laugh. You squeeze his hand and nod.

"I'm counting on it, Miller."

You sit there for a few more minutes before you stand and hug him. It's quick. It has to be, but it's enough to settle your heart for a moment. Joel goes upstairs, scoops Ellie in his arms, and carefully carries her out to his car. He buckles her in and turns on the air conditioning so she doesn't get too hot in the California night. You stand outside, watching him be a dad, with your arms crossed over your chest. He shuts the door quietly and walks over to you.

"I hope you have a lot of fun in Ireland." He says sincerely.

"Thank you," you say. "I hope you have a great tour."

"Thanks," he nods. He looks over his shoulder to check on Ellie in the passenger seat before turning back to you. "I should get her home. She's had a long day."

"Of course." 

"I'll, uh... I'll see you around, okay?" He asks, and your heart jumps to your throat.

"I'll see you around, Joel." With that, he walks to the driver's side door, and you walk back toward your house, the space between you growing and growing as you get further away. Your chest hurts, and you know you're gonna go inside to cry some more, but you don't turn around. Not until he calls your name.

"I love you," he says from where he's standing in front of his truck. "And I don't expect you to say anything or change your mind, but I wanted you to know. I love you." Your hands are shaking, and your throat feels like it's tightening, but you manage to give him a weak smile.

"I love you, too." 

And then, he gets in his car and drives away with his daughter in the front seat. You go back to your empty house and your piles of stuff, and you cry, and in the back of your mind, you think, if I never speak to Joel Miller again, I think that's okay. I think it has to be.

#one for the money two for the show #rockstar!joel #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #the last of us x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller the last of us #tlou au #the last of us au #I can’t believe I forgot my tags

[starboy-acer]

"outlaw, traitor, exile" (chapter one)

(this is longer than most because this is a full fic on ao3!! please go check it out there if you prefer to read there! but if you prefer to read here and want to keep track of the chapters, follow the outlaw traitor exile tag!)

Captain Black was infamous on the seas of Mana. He was one of the newest and youngest Pirate Lords and everyone knew of his name. They knew his ship and the black sails that cast a shadow over any ship that he approached. They didn't know his face. They didn't know his real name. All the people of Mana knew were his title and the fear that he struck into their hearts.

Admiral Jay Ferin, daughter of the revered Jayson Ferin, was known by everyone in the oversea. She was known to be a lot more empathetic than her family. She cared for people. She didn't want to be feared. All she wanted was to make a change in the world. After getting reprimanded for the millionth time by her father for showing empathy for "criminals" who were just fighting for their freedom, she was sent to the sea and tasked with hunting down Captain Black.

Gillion Tidestrider, "Champion of the Undersea, Hero of the Deep", was exiled from the only place he knew. Since then, he's done nothing but get in trouble with not only the navy but pirates too. One night, he stumbles onto a large ship after escaping a fleet of Navy ships. Only to be met by Captain Black's shadowed face and his glowing smile.

"What do we have here?"

Captain Chip Black paces around the short blue man who washed up on his ship, his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. His long red coat dragged behind him and his matching hat tipped down at the perfect angle to cover his eyes. Gillion glanced at his hand on his sword, then at his lack of a shirt. His eyes traced over the flame-like tattoos across his chest as they swirled and spiraled. In the dark, it almost looked like they moved. Maybe they did, Gillion couldn't tell.

"Hello there! I am Gillion Tidestrider! Champion of the Undersea, Hero of the Deep. Sorry about the... intrusion. I'm just passing through. You know how it is." Gillion rambled on. Usually, when he jumped on a ship, he was attacked right away by either the Navy or pirates. The fact that this man was simply circling him like a shark scared him a little.

The man chuckled slightly. He stopped in front of Gillion. "I know who you are." He said with darkness in his tone. His voice was like shadows; it was dark, slow, and seemed to creep up on you and send shivers down your back.

"Oh?" Gillion questioned and laughed nervously. "Well, I don't know who you are. I am curious about how you know me but I guess that being a Champion gets you that kind of recognition!"

Suddenly, Gillion was pinned to the ground with a sword to his throat. He had no idea how or when this happened. Chip had managed to, without a sound and as quick as lightning, push the heavily armored triton to the ground. Chip knew who Gillion was. He knew what Gillion had been up to since he had been exiled. He knew that Gillion had somehow sunk plenty of ships of pirates that he knew and plenty of ships that he was seeking out. Gillion had somehow caused a rift in some of Chip's plans against the Navy. However, Gillion had absolutely zero clue that he had caused as much destruction as he had. He just thought it was bad luck that the ships kept sinking after he showed up and was attacked by them. 

"You're the damn fish that's been sinking ships all over Mana." Chip's hat had fallen off in the altercation and now Gillion could see his full face. Gillion could now see his stubble that framed his mouth with shockingly white teeth along with his brown eyes that were now scowling at him. "Do you even know what you've done? All the plans that went to shit because of you? All the pirates that I recruited to my cause that lost their ships because of you?"

Gillion just stared at him, his eyes wide. "Uh. No. No, I didn't. Wait, what cause? Who are you?" Gillion was always moist, but now he felt like he was sweating. He had absolutely no clue how that worked, but it did. Chip looked at him in shock. Was this guy really that stupid? He had no clue what he had done. Was he lying? Did this fish not recognize Chip's ship or his sails? Chip leans up, still straddling Gillion so that he couldn't stand up. His arms drop to his sides and he squints at the fish man under him while a million questions run through his mind. Gillion just laid there like a rock. He, for once, had nothing to say. He didn't know what was going on.

"You really have no clue, do ya?"

Gillion nods and slightly shrugs as he replies, "I have no clue like most of the time." Chip scoffs to hide a laugh. Deciding that Gillion wasn't a threat, he stands. Chip puts his hat back on, but places it high enough where his face can be shown. Gillion stands up and brushes himself off.

Chip puts his sword away and crosses his arms, his entire figure lit up by the moon. Gillion took note of the swirling tattoos on his arms. They were definitely moving, no doubt about it. Chip noticed that Gillion was staring, hard. Chip walked up to Gillion and leaned down to look in his eyes. A light pink spread across the triton's face as he felt Chip's breath in his face. "What're ya starin' at?" Chip smiled.

"Your tattoos. They look like they're moving." Gillion stated as he took a step back. Chip looked down at the tattoos that flowed like water but were the color of fire. "Yeah, they're movin'."

"How?"

"You have an awful lot of questions."

"Yes. Now answer them."

"And if I don't?"

Gillion's jaw dropped and he looked in disbelief. This man was really testing his patience. "I, Gillion Tidestrider, will sink your ship!" He decided to declare.

Chip's eyebrow raised and he looked Gillion up and down. This was a 5'8 fish against a 5'10 pirate lord. Chip could not picture a timeline where Gillion would win this fight, and because of this, he did one of the stupidest things he had done thus far.

"Fight me then. The loser has to answer all the questions that the winner has." Chip smirked and Gillion's eyes lit up. If there was one thing that he was good at, it was battle. Gillion picked up his sword from the ground and then took off the glass bowl that he had at his side and set it to the side. "Pretzel, stay right there and watch, okay?"

"Pretzel?" Chip questioned while stretching.

"Win and I'll tell you who she is." Gillion took his battle stance.

Battered and bruised, Gillion stood over Chip. He pushed Chip's chin with the tip of his sword so that Chip was looking up at him. Gillion's lips turned up in a smile. "Still got it." He said triumphantly. He then pointed over to the glass bowl with the pink frogtopus spinning around and chirping happily. "That's Pretzel. My best friend and companion!" Gillion picks her up with his free hand and she squirms to rest on his shoulder.

Chip scoffed and pushed the sword out of his face. He stood up and brushed off the back of his coat. "I thought the loser answered the questions."

"Yes, that was the deal. I was just being nice." The fish man smiled and sheathed his sword. He was all bloodied and was breathing heavily, but he still kept a naturally positive aura about him. All Chip could think about was how useful this man would be as a part of his crew. He's strong and he's positive enough to boost morale on low days. It wasn't often that Chip got beat on his ship, but that fish somehow did it. That fish man, Gillion Tidestrider, beat Captain Black on his own ship and is still smiling. Frankly, Chip was amazed. He refused to show it, however, as he stood and adjusted his clothing. He gestured over to the starboard side of the deck where a square crate sat. Chip sat down on one side of it and Gillion sat on the other. Chip opened up the crate, pulled a dark green bottle out of it, and uncorked it as he took a swig. He closed the crate and set the bottle on top of it as it acted as a table between them.

"So, fish guy, what do ya wanna know?" Chip asked as he took another swig of the bottle. He offered it to Gillion, but he refused and looked up at the sky, pondering his questions.

"What is your name?"

Chip looked over at Gillion. He was almost baffled before he remembered earlier when Gillion very clearly had no clue who he was. "I'm Captain Black. My real name's Chip."

"Captain Black?" Gillion questioned. He had heard the name before, but he can't seem to remember where he heard it from (failed history check, obviously). Chip shook his head and chuckled quietly. It was almost refreshing to meet someone who had no clue who he was, but he found it funny nonetheless.

"Captain Chip Black. The lone survivor of the tragedy that struck the Black Rose pirates 'round a decade ago. Ring any bells?" Chip looked over at Gillion, still confused. "Youngest pirate lord in Mana at only nineteen years old? Seriously, that doesn't set off any alarms in your undersea mind?"

Gillion thought about it as hard as he possibly could. He looked to Pretzel and she chirped something at him that Chip couldn't understand. "You're right, Pretzel! That's where I heard that name last!" Gillion looked back over and Chip. "I've only heard your name on some of the ships we've come across. The last time I heard it was on a big Navy ship!"

Chip coughed as he fully turned his body to Gillion. "A big Navy ship? Please, do tell!"

"This big guy I had seen in the undersea right before my ex- I mean, before I left for my adventure! Yeah, that's what I mean. Anyway, big guy with orange hair and some other lady I had never seen before, also orange hair, were talking about you. Big guy seemed pretty angry at her. All I heard was 'YOU'RE NOT COMING BACK UNTIL YOU HAVE BLACK'S HEAD ON A STICK WITH YOU!'" Gillion stood and deepened his voice to imitate the voice of the man he was discussing. "But then these guys came up to us and tried to capture us, but Gillion Tidestrider refuses to be a prisoner! You can't imprison the champion of the undersea, after all. We managed to get off that ship before the big guy saw us. Few days later, we end up here!"

Chip's jaw seemed like it had hit the deck by the time Gillion had sat back down. Before he could come to any conclusions on who those people were, Chip had to ask some follow-up questions. "Wait, these orange-haired people, did you catch their names? Ranks? Last names? Any information about them?"

"I thought I was supposed to be asking the questions!"

"LISTEN, MAN," Chip yelled, maybe a bit too loudly. He collected himself and took a deep breath. "You can ask more questions in a second, but this is important. I need you to answer me. Do you have any information on who those people were?"

Gillion thought back to his surroundings on the ship. He remembered seeing a plaque beside the door to the room those people were in, but he was having a hard time remembering what it said. "There was a plaque next to the door. It said... Ad- Admiral? Admiral something..." Pretzel chirped up and then flapped her tentacles like wings. Chip didn't understand what she said, but he definitely knew what those motions were. His face went cold. "Ah, that's right! Admiral Ferin! And there was a bird engraved under it. The big guy also had a pin with this bird on it. Good eye, Pretzel!" Gillion stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of fish to feed to Pretzel.

"Oh. My. God." Chip stood up and laughed as he ran his hand through his hair. Gillion felt his face slightly heat up at the sight of it, but he shook it off. "Hah! Admiral Ferin! THE Ferins are sending someone after ME!" Chip turned and crouched down to Gillion and squeezed his face. "You gorgeous fish, you! You just gave me SO MUCH information." 

Chip stood upright again. To other pirates, having the legendary Ferins after you might seem scary. To Captain Black, it was nothing but good news. He's spent the past ten years trying to be the best pirate in Mana. He's been working his hardest to live up to the hype that came with the Black Rose pirates. He wanted nothing more than to make the late Arlin James, his mentor and almost-father figure, proud. Chip wanted to be not only a legendary pirate but a helpful one. His infamy comes from the liberation he's spread along his way. He's freed hundreds of people and handfuls of towns from the grasp of the Navy as they've encroached on neutral- and even outlaw- land lately. He saw the beginnings of tyranny bloom and decided to try and stomp it out before it bore fruit. Having the Ferins say his name, to have the Ferins hunt him down? That was his opportunity. This only proved to him that what he was doing was right. This proved to him that he was on the right path.

"I'm a little lost here," Gillion spoke up, snapping Chip out of his trance. "What is happening?"

"Gillion Tidestrider, do I have a story for you!" Chip smiled as he looked back over to Gillion. His smile then fell as he looked out to the dark horizon. "Oh, fuck."

Gillion stood up and looked in the same direction with a quizzical look on his face. "What? What do you see?"

Chip then quickly put his hat back on and rushed to the door to the below-deck cabins to gather his small crew of ex-Navy turned to his cause. "JOHN, GET THE CREW AND GET UP." Gillion could hear some mumbling before Chip started yelling again "IF THIS IS WHAT I THINK IT IS, THEN WE NEED TO BE READY TO EITHER FIGHT OR GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE."

"Chip, what can I do? What is happening?" Gillion asked with his hand on his sword as about five men came out from below deck. The first of them was a big, burly man with a tattered Navy uniform and what seemed to be tribal tattoos across his arms. The man looked at Gillion and then at Chip.

"Who is this, Captain?" He asked, his voice deep and gruff.

Chip looks at Gillion and back at the man then back at Gillion. "Gillion Tidestrider, meet my first mate, Marshall John. He's ex-Navy, lookin' to make a change in the world. John, this is Gillion. He washed up on the ship and beat my ass in a one-on-one then told me about how the Ferins are after me now, so he's stuck with us for now. Now, John, get the crew ready." Chip pulled out a spyglass and looked out to the distance as he spoke. "It looks like she's alone, so we're not gonna run just yet, but be ready to hoist the sails as soon as I say the word."

Marshall John nods and runs to direct the rest of the crew as Chip walks to the edge of the starboard. Gillion follows. "What is going on?! I'm so lost."

"Gillion," Chip gestures for Gillion to stand beside him and hands him the spyglass before pointing out in the distance. Gillion holds the spyglass up to his eye and Chip moves it to where he's pointing. "See that ship? Does that look familiar to you?"

Gillion took a second to look over the ship before spotting the Jolly Roger that was flying high. It was none other than the Navy's flag. He then caught a glimpse of orange before Chip took the spyglass from him. "Navy ships."

"Bingo." Chip just stared out at the ship as it got closer.

As it got closer, Gillion could clearly spot more orange. Then, he saw a face. Then, a shiver ran down his spine as bright blue eyes pierced his soul, even though they weren't looking at him directly. He looked at Chip, who had a cocky, bright smile across his face.

"Gillion Tidestrider, you're about to meet my very best friend," Chip said, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

"And who would that be?" Gillion asked, still clueless as to who this was.

"None other than the youngest Navy admiral and youngest of the most ruthless Navy lineage." He waved as the only other crew member on the Navy ship put down the anchor as the ship was now within range of Chip's. He cupped his hands around his mouth to project his voice farther.

"Jay Ferin! Good to see you, sureshot!"

#outlaw traitor exile #jrwi #jrwi chip #jrwi gillion #just roll with it #chip bastard #gillion tidestrider #jrwi fnc #fish and chips #jay ferin #jrwi jay #jrwi angst #jrwi fanfiction #chip jrwi #jrwi riptide #jrwi podcast #jrwi fluff #jay ferin angst #chip angst #gillion tidestrider angst #jrwi jay ferin #jrwi gillion tidestrider #albatrio #just roll with it gillion #riptide #no beta we die like men #no beta read #no beta we die like ava ferin

[talesofesther]

between shadows

Inej Ghafa x Reader

Summary: You tend to show up at the most inopportune times; yet Inej always hopes you do.

A/N: Just a small thing for me to try my hand at writing for her; also because I've been insanely busy, but hopefully next week things go back to normal. I hope it's somewhat good anyway. Requests for her are open. <3

Masterlist

It was a stormy night in Ketterdam, though the rain pouring down from the skies did nothing to soothe the havoc of the town. Bars and clubs were filled to the brim with gamblers, drinkers, and dancing girls; music mixed with loud voices and the occasional gunshot.

Inej moved with the shadows, skipping between alleyways and away from the street lamps; destination fresh on her mind.

She headed for a merchant's house; recently bought by a man who came from across the sea, blissfully unaware of what he was getting himself into. The perfect opportunity for a job. Especially when he's in the possession of the papers that hold the information about when and where the next ship holding his cargo would arrive. Easy money.

The mansion stood proudly by the end of the street, illuminated by the one faint light on the porch and partly hidden by tall trees.

It looked like no one was home. Perfect.

Inej made her way in through a window on the second floor. Her feet with the weight of a feather made no noise at all as she stepped foot into the house. The room she was in seemed to be an office of sorts; with a large wooden desk in front of a tall bookshelf and a red rug under her feet.

She made a beeline for the desk, opening drawer after drawer in search of the documents.

Until she found one that had a lock on it. She smirked. So predictable. Picking the lock was child's play, and sure enough, the papers were there.

"Long time no see, Inej."

The Suli girl was quick to draw one of her blades upon hearing the voice, briskly turning around to see who else was there. Though she had an inkling already.

You emerged from a dark corner near the door, the black of your clothing blending with the darkness and a teasing smile playing on your lips as your face remained half-hidden by shadows.

Inej huffed indignantly, lowering her blade but not putting it away. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same, no?" You clasped your hands behind your back as you chanced a step closer to her. "For all we know, this could be my house."

"I know the house is not yours," Inej rolled her eyes half-heartedly.

You hummed, "yeah, it's not."

"Why are you here then?" She pressed again. Taking hold of the papers she came for before following your lead and closing the gap between you just a step more.

Honestly, Inej is not sure what your deal is most of the times she bumps into you, or who you work for — if you work for someone at all. What she knows is that you're always showing up when you're not supposed to.

"Maybe I had a… guess," your lips hovered as you came to stand before her, the moonlight being your friend and casting a silver glow over Inej; you could see the shining of her brown eyes, the few loose wisps of her black hair. "That you would come here as well," you finished in a lower tone.

Inej frowned, her eyes looking you over against her own volition. She could almost hear the way her heart rate picked up; in the quietness of the dark room, she wondered if you heard it too.

You raised a hand to her, tentative, almost timid in a way that didn't seem like yourself; "maybe I just wanted to see you again," your fingers brushed her cheek when you pushed away a rogue strand of her hair.

And Inej hated the way that her breath got clogged up in her throat; that all she could see, feel and hear was you.

She found it in herself to clear her throat and avoid your eyes. "Stop with the games."

You shook your head, running your tongue over your bottom lip, "no games, everything I tell you is always the truth."

Inej snapped her gaze back to you, trying to keep herself impassive as her breath ran shallow. "Then, that night, when you-"

There was a sudden creaking outside, the main gate being opened. Both you and Inej glanced towards the window, where you could see the silhouette of a man walking the gardens outside.

"I suppose that's our cue," you quipped, taking hold of Inej's arm and sneaking your fingers down to her hand.

The touch raised goosebumps through Inej's skin. You tugged her closer, stealing a kiss on her cheek before looking into her eyes one last time; "I'll see you around, Inej."

Before she could get a word in, you were already out the window and nowhere to be seen. Inej stood glued to the floorboards, her heart trying to leap from her chest in order to follow you.

She gulped, gentle fingers coming up to touch the place on her face your lips had just kissed. Only then did she notice that the papers she had been holding in her hand were gone.

"You're insufferable," Inej chuckled to herself, before sneaking out the window with the mission to find you first next time around.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Inej’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242

#inej ghafa x reader #inej ghafa imagine #inej ghafa #inej ghafa x fem!reader #shadow and bone #grishaverse #inej ghafa x you #shadow and bone x reader #six of crows #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #inej ghafa fanfic #amita suman #my story

[wonda-fhr]

Here are two short scenes about a normal evening of my favorite mob boss Justin Rosedale. It's time to shed some more light on him.

Different kisses

"Why don't you ever eat with us, Boss?" The blunt question earns Ward some scowls from his comrades, who have learned not to question the boss's quirks, but to accept them.

Justin smiles, as he always does. A smile that doesn't give the slightest hint of his true mood, but still lulls you into a sense of security. But his tone is light and playful, this kind of curiosity doesn't seem to bother him.

"I just want to spare you the lipstick on the cutlery." He always eats alone, eating brings too much movement to the facial muscles. A weak spot for the artificial skin that he has neatly applied to his face, and which has not been noticed by those around him. He is always paying attention to whether people's eyes or thoughts are searching for the flaws in his face. But either his crew doesn't care about his face at all, or his total artwork of hair, skin prosthetics and makeup works so well that they really haven't noticed anything yet.

Amused, Justin swipes an olive from Ward's pizza, winks, places it on his tongue, and lets it slowly disappear behind his blood-red lips. "Don't worry, I know how to put things in my mouth."

The others can't hold back their giggles as Ward blushes slightly. "I told you never to mess with the boss, my friend." Pelayo teases Ward even more, having a great time. Slowly, Justin creeps around the table until he is next to Pelayo, who has been teasing Ward lately for any attention paid to Justin. His fingers dance over Pelayo's shoulders, who puts down his silverware and stiffens, as if he has to brace himself for an attack he can't stop.

"You're telling your friend not to ask me a question that makes him curious? Even though the same question can be read as clearly in your own mind as if you were speaking it? And there are others…" Unexpectedly, Justin presses his lips to Pelayo's, who puts his hands on his own thighs to resist the temptation to touch his boss. Grinning diabolically, Justin straightens up and releases the stunned Mexican from the kissing attack.

"There you go, my dear. Now you can find out for yourself how bad lipstick really is when it comes to washing dishes." The rest of the crew go wild with amusement while Justin, smiling coquettishly, retreats to let his people finish their meal in peace.

He listens in fascination to the thoughts of the others while staring at his phone, seeing nothing, and is startled when it suddenly begins to vibrate in his hand. A short message, like the ones he often receives. 'I'm leaving now,' Chen writes, no invitation, no control, just the information that he's going to the dog park now and complete freedom for Justin to do what he wants with that information.

"Everything okay, boss?" asks the calm voice of Boris, who is on his way to the fridge with two glasses. So often underestimated how attentive he is, Justin thinks, putting the smile back on his face, the absence of which Boris had noticed.

"Everything is fine, don't worry. I'm going to go for a walk. Take the garbage with you, I don't want to be greeted by the smell of pizza tomorrow. Bye, sweethearts." With a perfect smile on his lips, he waves to his crew once more, throws on the pink jacket with the fur collar and disappears outside.

-

Half an hour later he enters the dog park. Normally he would be more inconspicuous in this place, but there was no time to change. The pale light from the few lanterns casts deep black shadows and makes the park seem ghostly. The sounds of the few dogs that are still on the move seem more menacing when you see their happily jumping figures interrupted by the deep blackness. As if they were teleporting from one cone of light to another.

A gray figure emerges from a deep shadow and races toward him. Spoon jumps around, happy to have found his playmate, and snatches at the fur collar that is a tempting toy. The happy dog makes no attempt to leave his side, even though Chen is nowhere to be seen.

Justin gives Spoon his full attention, taking off his jacket and letting him chase the fur. He hates being tested like this, he's just not sure if Chen is testing his ability to find him or the strength of his own control over his mind. After a few minutes of boisterous romping and a dusty jacket with drooled fur, Justin straightens up and his green eyes cut into one of the impenetrable shadows.

"The harder you try to hide, the faster I know where you are. You're thinking the wrong way."

Slowly, the discovered man saunters closer. "Wrong way?"

"Suppressing thoughts frantically shines brighter than if you were just thinking about yellow ducklings."

"I'll remember that." Chen's expression softens, he keeps his hands in his pockets, not trusting them to keep the necessary distance. One kiss and everything has become much more complicated than it already was. "I'm glad you came."

"Let's walk a bit and talk about the dog or something. Come on, Spooni, let's go." Jumping exuberantly, he quickly motivates the dog back to another round of chasing the jacket.

"I was once told by a woman that the Greyhound is a very stately, noble breed of dog. When I see him tearing up your jacket, I see very little nobility in him."

Laughing, Justin interrupts the game and falls in step beside Chen, and they continue their walk through the shadows. "The woman was right, Alexander the Great had a greyhound and King Canute of England once decided that only nobles could keep one, every commoner was punished for it. So you should be thankful every day that you can call such a noble animal your friend."

Chen chuckles softly, unable to take his eyes off the inscrutable colorful creature at his side. " Why do you know such a thing?"

"Why not? Some time ago, I had the wish to have a dog. I read a pretty extensive encyclopedia about dog breeds, and I don't forget what I read." A sad undertone colors Justin's voice, and no standard smile hides his emotions. Here at the dog park, life is a little more real for him. The dogs never fell for his facade, so it became unnecessary.

"What kind of dog did you want?" Chen takes his chance, in this area he can sympathize, maybe create a more stable connection or just find a new facet.

Justin smiles thoughtfully, briefly lost in one of the few fond memories of the past few years. "I kept a neighbor's dog when she was in a car accident and had to stay in the hospital for a few weeks. He was the most wonderful animal I have ever known. He was so charming and cheerful that he always managed to make me laugh. His name was Hector and he was a black pug. Such a wonderful companion that so many people just call ugly and don't take a closer look. I felt terrible when she picked him up again."

"I remember how it is." Chen leaves it open, but Justin clearly senses that he knows both statements from experience. "Why didn't you get your own?"

"Because it wouldn't be fair to drag a dog into my messed up life just because I would like to have a friend."

"Says the man who lives a middle class life in hero's retirement, without danger and excitement?" Chen stops and looks at Justin's back, who stops a few steps later.

Justin takes a deep breath and abruptly turns on his heel, energetically closing the distance to Chen until their noses almost touch. He stares icily into Chen's eyes and his voice hisses a cold "Leave it Chen!"

But Chen doesn't back down an inch. "Never," he says calmly, but the "kiss me" of his thoughts rings louder in Justin's head. Chen still has his hands in his pockets. He doesn't reach for him, doesn't say anything, doesn't push, just lets the thought speak for itself and waits to see what happens.

Justin raises his hand to Chen's face, sliding the back of his hand across his cheek before tracing his lips with a blood-red nail. He can feel Chen's tension rising, though he remains calm and completely restrained. "I've kissed so many lips that I thought I knew everything about it. Until you made me feel like I knew nothing. You're going to destroy me, Wei Chen. And there's nothing I can do but knowingly walk into my doom."

Without haste, Justin places his lips on Chen's, deeply imprinting every second in his memory, from the first gentle contact to the devoted play of their tongues. When their eyes meet again, he pulls Chen's hand from his pocket and gently places it on his left cheek. Justin shudders at the touch he has caused himself. Then, without another word, he disappears into the shadows of the night.

The picture always reminds me of him. Hidden in the darkness between his glitz and glamour.

#fhr #fhr sidestep #justin rosedale #my most unpredictable and recalcitrant darling #steelstep #spoon is also there

[the-fiction-witch]

The Cult of Chaos P4

Media The Maze Runner X Fantasy world

Character Newt

Couple Newt X Reader

Rating Sweet AF

I sat pondering for what felt like a week, honestly, it had been a day if that. I poured over the books of gods and goddesses, I did everything I could to try and figure out this riddle...

many times I had thought of giving up, but I knew I had to do this, and I wanted to see what my next reward would be, often I kissed my hand where she did as for a moment my lips could touch where her's had. 

The riddle ran through my mind more than anything else 

"To swear to me you must visit three times. Each time swear you'd allegiance to me. And each time you sacrifice something of yours, The first is blue, the second is red and the third a white. Once all our collected you will join us here on a summer eve and walk willingly into the flames of chaos. Then and only when you will be mine." I muttered, "But... The first is blue of high and low, of energy and flow, of chaos born from dust. The second is red which beats and breaks a part of you to swear your place, of chaos born from a human fate. The third is white of sow and seed, of chaos born from potential of thee."

The blue was the flowers... but what's the red? 

something red... that beats and breaks... a part of me...

Wait!

I sat up and it all clicked in my mind, 

Red. That beats and breaks. A part of me to swear my place. 

Red. Blood red. 

Beats and breaks. Heartbeats and Heartbreaks. 

A part of me. My own blood!

I grabbed my cloak and bag quickly and bolted through the village and out to the waterfall, I excitedly moved to my knees and began my prayers, my praises, my worship, as usual, all of it bringing me a sweet peace and calm as it always does, As I did light filled the chamber as moonlight lit the space through the waterfall and I prayed as hard as I could begging and pleading and I saw a shadow block the light in the silhouette of a tall black cat casting darkness across the stone idol and I bit my lip with ecstatic delight as her voice spoke to me,

"Back so soon sweetheart?"

I almost jumped with excitement to hear her voice again, as I felt her hand take my own, I opened my eyes and looked up at her as she stood leaning on the statute in her beautiful black dress, my jaw dropped she looked so perfect, I had to shake my head out of a fantasy upon seeing her,

"I am a servant of your chaos mistress. An echo of your voice mistress. A taker of your word mistress." I smiled at her, "I have come to praise you. To worship you. To swear my utter devotion. My unconditional subordination. My complete obedience. To you and all that you are, my mistress. My goddess. I am here to swear before you, my second trial my adoring mistress." 

"Ohh? Go on then sweet boy," 

"Red, which beats and breaks a part of me to swear my place, of chaos born from a human fate" I nodded and I pulled a blade from my bag, "I will swear to you, my mistress,"

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

"I'm sure," I nodded, 

I did my best to keep my breath and hold the blade steady, she watched me as I slowly took the blade to my hand. I let out a breath and moved the blade quickly across my skin causing the blood to ooze from the wound, I felt weak at the mere sight of the blood and I dropped the blade from the pain, I grabbed my wrist trying to not scream out forcing back tears. 

"For you My Mistress," I told her, 

"you are such a sweet little thing," she cooed as she wiped a tear from my cheek and took my blood into her hand it boiled and ignited in her hand until nothing remained, "Well done the second trial is done," 

"It is!"

"It is," she smiled, "Aww come here my sweet newtie," she cooed kneeling in front of me and kissing my palm a few times which healed my hand leaving only a long scar, 

"Thank you, Mistress,"

"You're welcome," she cooed, 

"So... I only have one more?"

"Only one,"

"Could uhh you remind me of it?"

"Of course," she nodded, "The third is white of sow and seed, of chaos born from potential of thee. alright sweet boy?"

"Okay," I nodded, "I uhh I will make sure not to be long my sweet mistress,"

"I'm sure it won't," she smiled, "And before I forget you need your reward,"

"Ohh uhh yes of course!" I smiled excitedly

she took my hand and my heart skipped a beat, she smiled and took my cheek in her other hand I gasped my eyes wide. I blushed and began to begin my own mind, 

ohhh god.... please please please please kiss me, my mistress, kiss me and you can have all of me

She moved forward and pressed her lips against my own, my eyes went wide and my breath failed me, I moaned slightly in shock it coming out as more of a squeek, but immediately I melted as my heart raced in my chest, I kissed her softly back and my mind flooded with sweet thoughts

Oh my mistress, my sweet sweet mistress, my goddess above all others, I would swear my heart, my soul, my body to you in this very moment, I would lay down on my back and die for you my mistress if you were only to ask it of me, 

she pulled back and stroked my cheek, "Humm such a sweetling you are," she cooed, 

"ughhhh..." was all that came to my lips, "I uhh is that the reward all your cult get at this level?"

"No," she smiled, "Just you newt,"

"Ju- just me?"

"Mhm," she nodded, "Now I'm sure I will see you soon my sweet boy," she cooed giving my cheek before she stroked my jaw and disappeared into the night. 

I gasped and groaned a moment before I jumped and screamed with excitement!

#tbs smut #tbs imagine #tbs imagines #thomas sangster imagine #thomasbrodiesangster #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster #tbs #thomas sangster #thomas brodie sangster smut #newt #newt imagine #newt imagines #tmr newt smut #tmr newt imagine #newt maze runner #newt tmr #tmr newt fanfic #tmr newt

[mymiraclebox]

A drabble about Kirrin?

[Kirrin's bio, Qilin of Light.]

---

Kirrin awoke to darkness.

Their eyes blinked open, stretching out as they took in their surroundings. They were exactly where they had fallen asleep, sprawled out on a smooth rock that had always made the perfect basking spot. There was no sign of any kind of disturbance about them, all was how it should be.

Save for the sky above them was pitch black, not even the stars visible.

"Duskk!" Kirrin thundered, rising up into the air, their mane of rainbow Light flaring in their anger, sending shadows dancing across the realm of the Miracle Box.

They didn't have to fly too far, simply drifting in the direction where their natural Light did not shiny quite as brightly, knowing that the kwami they were looking for would be waiting. A glow brightly surrounded Kirrin, illuminating their immediate surroundings. They shown like a beacon, all other kwamis would known exactly where they were, and to stay away.

Kirrin glowered down at their target as they at last found them, the canine below being the only thing that did not show in the Light that Kirrin cast. Instead the Grim was directly covered in shadows, even with Kirrin's bright antler looming right behind her. Darkness and Light seemed to hiss as the auras intertwined, and the Grim glanced up at the angry Qilin above her.

"Hi!" Duskk said happily, tail wagging as she regarded Kirrin. The shadows about Duskk seemed to intensified, naturally trying to block out the light shining on her. "Mind turning it down a bit? You're blinding me."

"There's nothing to turn down," Kirrin growled. "Considering that it's still my fortnight– it shouldn't be night right now!"

Duskk's playful expression immediately darkened. "Really? That's what this is about?"

"We agreed to every two weeks!" Kirrin shouted. "Two weeks of Light, and in return we'll all suffer in the nothingness of the shadows you bring for two more– what made you think you had the right to cloak the Miracle Box like this?"

"You were asleep," Duskk said, as if this was obvious. "For three days on end. No reason for me to be burned alive if you weren't even awake to enjoy the stupid glow."

Kirrin's mouth opened for a moment, but no words came out for a moment, the Qilin looking like a fish for a moment. They then let out a snarl of frustration, hooves curling under them.

"I wanted it to be Light out while I slept," Kirrin hissed through gritted teeth. "Is that so hard to understand you shaded cur?"

Duskk just rolled her eyes. "You know, most of us actually sleep at night. If anything it was just more natural."

"There is nothing natural about the suffocating calamity of your shadows," Kirrin hissed. "How is one supposed to sleep with shivers and unease, because nothing can be seen?"

"How can anyone fall asleep when a solar flare shines straight through closed eyelids?"

"A good thing that's not a problem for you since you drench yourself with shadows as if its another layer of your mangled fur!"

Duskk's ears fell flat. "At least I'm not waltzing around with fire burning from my back."

"It's light, not fire!" Kirrin cried, the aurora of their mane flaring up in reply.

"Which is a kind of light."

"You want light?" Kirrin roared, rearing up, antlers and hooves beginning to pulse. "Let's see you take a Radiance right to the face!"

"I'll make sure every day of yours is Eclipsed!" Duskk cried back, a shadowy orb forming between their paws as they rose up to meet Kirrin.

"You two, enough!" A new voice snapped in frustration, causing both Elementals to pause their powers for a moment, glow and shade twisting about them in the sudden silence.

Allta stood not far off, red eyes narrow in the darkness. Cheeks puffed up for a moment, a frustrated croak coming from the Frog, before she let out a deep sigh.

"I thought we were over this," The words were a statement, but Allta's voice sounded more pleading than anything.

"She spread her Darkness during my allotted day!" Kirrin cried, pointing an accusing hoof at the darkened sky.

"He was asleep and not even paying attention to his stupid Light so why did I have to suffer for three more days?" Duskk added with a glare.

The two Elementals sent a growl at each other, and Allta pressed a paw to her forehead.

"It doesn't matter what I was doing, it was still part of my day!"

"You were sleeping so there was no reason why it should't be night!"

"I took a nap in my Light for a reason, and it wasn't to wake up in this pitch black emptiness!"

"You know all other Miracle Boxes live what appears to be a constant night and all us kwamis survive, but nooo, its too much for you."

"Those 'nights' actually look like nights, with stars in the sky, and enough actual light to get by, not this void of nothingness that you create for all of us to suffer in."

"Nocturnal kwamis exist."

"So do diurnal ones!"

"I said enough!" Allta cried, waving her arms, turning the attention back to her before the two could go at each others' throats again. "Duskk, it's still Kirrin's turn to decide the sky, you don't get to just take his days away. Kirrin, if there's a problem we can discuss it civilly, you don't have to go marching straight to a fight like this."

"It wouldn't be a fight if she'd just stay out of this..." Kirrin muttered.

"Are you saying it's my fault? I tried to be nice, but you wouldn't even say hello!"

Allta dragged her paws down her face, letting out a groan.

#kwami drabbles #my writing #kirrin #duskk #allta #qilin kwami #qilin miraculous #kirin miraculous #kirin kwami

[apexulansis]

Starships are such immaculate designs. They ferry the supposed mighty through unfeeling void that would drain the life from their chests and freeze them colder than baryonic ice encrusting the dew of an endless garden, one bittercold with winter and frost.

I reached my fingers through darkness and touched Dominion. Reality screamed as my million blades cut through its flesh, and I scrimshawed my will into its bones as it lived. The gooey marrow spilled out, and my ten thousand mouths moved to suck and drink deeply of the vicissistudes of blood and osteous frame.

I tapped the Champion's vessel and life support failed immediately. All but one airlock opened. A coffin in the dark. I wanted them to remember that they lived by my mercy and nothing more.

But I had no mercy. I was the merciless god. I opened the final airlock and the cold of space screamed in to meet them. I knew they would not die, and if they did, they deserved to. You have to be ready for a constant ontological god to shut off your vessel's life support because of a prophetic, sonorous lure to a collective obligation based in denial of onanistic self-righteousness and grotesque virtue signaling, after all!

Registry of coordinates displayed one thing. ▲. I said this:

ZOVARIY AZET--I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS. ZOVARIY, O' MANGLED TESTIMONY TO DEPRAVED INDIFFERENCE. I HAVE TURNED YOUR SHIP INTO A DELICATE TOMB, AND INDEED, THE DANGER WITHIN IS REPULSIVE TO US.

YOUR SIBLING WAS RIGHT. I OFFER YOU A KNIFE. ITS BLADE IS MADE OF [CAST A SHADOW. EXIT HERS]. WHITTLE YOURSELF INTO PERFECTION.

DARK DEVOTION AWAITS YOU IN THE CHANTRY OF THE DARKEST HOUR. GEHINNOM. THEY CALL IT SATURN.

YOU ARE MAJESTIC. COME TO ME. DO NOT BE AFRAID.

There was a myriad of reasons that the Head Hunter, by and large, only carried those without organic weaknesses. A starship of the living was indeed nothing more than a coffin, a killing floor — something the Champion had surmised before even their second digit. When I have a ship, I will never be so vulnerable. So when the life support fails, every noise on the ship falling silent from their death-cry drone, Zovariy's reaction is so instantaneous, it would be easy to think them not surprised at all.

Five living siphoned from the ship. More machine — copies of lighter carbon that did not suction them to the ground below, or prove too heavy for even the vacuum of space to snatch. Zovariy is aware of the change immediately, of course. If the lights did not tell them, they could feel it nonetheless. They stand, heavy boots of the hardest material known to the Dominion welding them to the floor below. There is naught but another moment before the airlock of their current dwellings too were opened, exposing them to the blackness of space.

In less than a gesture, the seals to their mask trigger. It was more than a blank and decorative thing. A hood from their armored suit completes the fine seal, and they inhale a sharp gasp of the fresh oxygen. Gravity field from their suit enabled, Zovariy reaches out, tightly grabbing a nearby pillar for support as they stare out into the total void, as if they could see this thing — this aggressor, like it would face them first.

They eyes are shielded now with a lens of bright red, but beneath they are narrowed in an accusatory glare. They feel cold rage, but the confusion only grows as they comprehend each word that was spoken to them. Spoken like it were a thought inside their own mind, but it carried a different voice. That rage doesn't dissipate, though, prickling like the snap of a growing fire, their expression contorting into a bared-teeth scowl.

What did they know? Too much. And things that knew too much were dangerous to trust. Things that knew more than you always held an advantage. Something over your head. Something to kill you with.

Not that Zovariy trusted anyone. Anything. These open airlocks were proof of that. Majestic? It should have called me Superb.

❝Fear is for the inferior lifeform.❞ Zovariy hisses, their voice crackling through the filter that allowed them to speak, though it felt as if this presence would respond even to a thought. ❝And only a fool devotes themselves to the unknown.❞

#IC: ZOVARIY. #COMMS. #ANONYMOUS. #'''anonymous''' #FUCK YEAHHHH

[velvet-apricots]

Pre-Shattering au ficlet

Snippet of an au where my oc was around before the shattering

“I know this place.” Fyra said softly, staring at the table of lost grace, eyes wide as she slowly scanned everything.

“Do you?” Melina asked, head tilting.

“I… I have been here before…” She walked to the fireplace, and scooped up a paper that lay discarded on the floor, reading it over… part of some book, or a folio perhaps. She looked up from it at the tall towering statues. “It seems… It's not quite the same but at the same time…”

This place seemed old, semi abandoned. Piles of melted wax build up from the many lit candles. But she had a memory of something clean, grand…

“You have never been here… Roundtable hold did not exist in your graced life.” Melina said.

“No! But… I know this place! I do!” Fyra exclaimed, turning around and running for the balcony that hung over the hall that she knew would be there. “See, this is the great hall, where-”

“What is this shouting?!” An old man yelled from a hallway to the side, a repeated thunk echoing across the stone, “Who is there? Is it a newcomer, Ensha?”

Fyra pushed away from the railing, turning just in time to see Melina fade away into starry mist. She then looked to the open archway, and slowly a hunched man, dressed fully in armor appeared. His head, hidden by blackness casted by his helmet, leaned forward slightly.

“You there, step closer into the light. Allow me to look at you.” he almost snapped, and Fyra stayed put. He mumbled something, before speaking slightly softer, “You can not be harmed here… It is safe. No tarnished may attack another within these walls.”

Fyra kept her head down, and slowly made her way forward, looking at his boots.eyes appeared to be etched into the metal, her eyes traveled up him a bit more, seeing more eyes, ears sculpted in metal. 

“Put your head up. Address your seniors with respect, Tarnished.”

She lifted her head fully at him, and she felt, saw him seemed to change.

He took a sharp breath, stepping back, scepter, the source of the thunking, dropped with a loud crash, then slowly he let the breath out, the sudden shock seeming to wear off.

He moved then, turning for a candle and pulling it away from its base with a snap. He swung it forward, before her face, making Fyra lean back suddenly, startled. As she leaned away he pushed it closer still, until Fyra was back up against the pillar, terrified he would set her on fire.

“No… No no. It… It can not be.” He said it quietly in a tone she could hardly describe. He sounded horrified and awed at the same time. He stepped closer, a shaky hand reaching for her. With nowhere to go, Fyra could do nothing but let the tips of his armored fingers touch her arm, grab it, and hold it tightly like she would run away.

“It’s… You. Lost Grace brought you back? Fyra-”

Her heart skipped a beat, brows going up. He knew her! “Do I know you?”

He let her go suddenly, sharply like what she said burned him. But he seemed to recover, hands grasping, fumbling at his helmet, pulling off his head.

White hair fell around his face, and an old man, no more than sixty-three, looked back at her. His skin was yellow like old paper in the light, the shadows making his long thin face look ghastly, accentuating the dark bags under his eyes.

His eyes

They stared at her, unnatural in color. Gold and red, framed by long white lashes.

The face of the man in her memories seemed to suddenly be in complete perfect focus.  Long faced, pale skin, white hair, and the red and gold eyes that would stare at her with such affection.

The only difference between the two was their ages.The man in her faded memories was fourty, this one…

“I know you…” Fyra said quietly, head turning slightly, eyes narrowing as she looked at him, “You are older…”

“And you are as young as the day I lost you. Fyra-” The man stepped closer, his armored fingers touching her face, thumb stroking her cheek as his fingers slid into her hair. He held her face in both of his hands, eyes darting from one feature to the next, almost moving in as if to kiss her, but he stopped himself. “I lived twenty years more after you left me. I… Do you not remember me?”

“I don’t remember much of anything.” Fyra said quietly, “The most I have remembered was this place… And your face.”

“Ah… One of those then…” He pulled away more, seeming to revert a bit back to that gruff old man he had been before, “Some Tarnished don’t have much left to them you see… Memories faded or gone entirely.” 

His tone went soft again. “But… You recognise me… I am Gideon… Gideon Ofnir. Do you remember, know what you were to me?”

Fyra closed her eyes, those fragments of memories. Her seeing him watching the women dancing around the bond fire, the urge to make him smile, the two of them dancing in the hall below them, him placing a soft kiss upon her lips.

Her heart swooned, memories and feelings of deep love surfacing.

Her eyes opened. “... Giddy.” she said softly, “I called you Giddy, and you always got so flustered… Is that right?”

He moved in fully then, though not to kiss her. Instead the gently bumped his forehead against hers.

#oc x canon #gideon ofnir #elden ring #tarnished oc #pn's fanfiction

[asherlockstudy]

How to do perfect staging: a lesson from Italy

I mentioned at some point I might actually make a post drooling over Italy's Måneskin performance and staging. I was kinda bored to be honest and decided against it but then all those trashy rumours that try to bring the winners down seemed so disgraceful and embarrassing to me that I decided again to do it. Now, the truth is that their performance was a little better in the semi-final introduction act. Perhaps this was due to the anxiety of the Grand Final. This is why I am going to use photos and gifs from that act and perhaps this will show to some that the perfect package might need a little bit of everything, and not just slap your language on the audience's ears with the expectation that this alone is always enough. *Did I make this too personal?*

Anyway, I digress. And I don’t mean that the Grand Final performance wasn’t still the best of the night, I just mean it wasn’t at the same God Tier level as the semifinal one.

Here's why the Italians took advantage of the Dutch stage until its very last millimeter and way more cleverly than any other country.

This is the only act that starts from the back of the stage, where the singer Damiano David waits for us alone.

Even with the rest of the 25 competing countries, this intro makes you forget that you are watching a contest with 26 countries as guests. Unlike anyone else, Italy looks like the host, like this place belongs to them and the frontman waits for you to show you around and possibly drag you to the world of Måneskin. In fact, you almost forget it’s Eurovision - this now looks like a Måneskin concert or, even better, a more private space of theirs with an ominous industrial feel. One of the most impactful things now is the lighting. Take a look at it. Almost all contestants throw all the lights on themselves or on some important prop they have prepared. The Italians are the only ones who chose to just light the stage itself. The simple white lights on the black stage give the impression of depth and it is the only act which shows emphatically the size of the stage. Why this? Well, we already established that in the first seconds the viewers feel they are in a new space belonging exclusively to Måneskin - the lights make us feel that their area is vast and dark and we are about to be drawn to its depths.

Damiano indeed guides us to the front as he sings, where the rest of the band are on the top of a platform. The other members won’t come down and join Damiano until he sings the appropriate verse “Buona sera, signore e signori” (=Good evening, ladies and gentlemen) and accompany it with a theatrical flamboyant bow (that feels very Italian). That’s when, technically introduced to the audience after the official greeting, bassist Victoria de Angelis and guitarist Thomas Raggi come off the platform and join Damiano.

There’s nothing excessive about the visual effects. Only the use of white lights that give the perception of depth and in the background the big shadows of the group’s silhouettes. They are in the front and they cast their shadows in the back; they create to you a feeling of being trapped by them but do you really want to escape?

When the second verse starts, Victoria and Thomas take the paths left and right of the stage and leave Damiano alone. They take even more advantage of the stage and in a typical classic rock band way. These two play with the side cameras but the focus is more on Damiano, whose verse sounds more like a tongue-twister. Since the cameras are rightfully on Damiano, I must now address the elephant in the room. Damiano is particularly attractive. In fact, the whole band is almost mind-bogglingly attractive and they clearly take a lot of care about how exactly they are going to look but Damiano, as the frontman, does especially so. So let’s talk about the outfit. They all have essentially the same outfit, however it is cut differently for each based on the person’s looks and personality. Isn’t it fantastic?

Damiano, who oozes confidence and sex appeal, has accordingly the most “provocative” outfit of the four. His chest and arms are bare so that his many tattoos can be seen. I’ll talk about the other outfits later as they all have their place in the... uh... white lights.

During the second chorus Victoria and Thomas return at the center and after the chorus it is time for the first solo; Victoria’s. The cameras are now on her but the lighting remains modest to accentuate the dark beat of her bass.

Victoria is the only girl of the group and the most dressed of them all - how refreshing! Her outfit is more similar to Thomas but she is buttoned up in the front. How does she wish to underscore her uniqueness as the woman of the band? But of course, with long flamboyant girly sleeves that come to delicious contrast with her aggressive stomping and her wide strides. Both her hairstyle and her outfit is inspired or basically just outright 70′s classic rock look.

It’s time for the bridge of the song right after her solo and Damiano has his attention on her and also draws the viewer’s attention to her some more. This part of the song is lower and softer - in relative terms - that’s why Damiano “chooses” her to sing it to. The lights now turn red, the intensity rises but there’s light flirtatiousness between them, with many smiles to each other and the camera that turns around them as they launch at each other playfully.

Then the song gets darker, more intense, the guitar stronger than the bass and Damiano’s voice turns to a scream. For this part, he turns to his bro, guitarist Thomas and he now draws the attention to him.

He grabs Thomas by the neck in an intense, intimate way (that doesn’t mean sexual, just intimate. His interaction with Victoria wasn’t sexual either). It is clear that through different ways Måneskin want to stress how good and close their relations are and that their singer, who is apparently a show stealer by birth, wants to ensure that they all get equal amount of attention from their audience. I love this.

True enough, nobody is left behind! The last chorus starts with a drums solo and Damiano goes up to the platform to now meet and introduce to us Ethan Torchio. Ethan stands up and his giant shadow is on the now blue background: this is the moment for the - so I hear - somewhat shy drummer to shine in his own aesthetic. The Italians leave none of their assets to fall down and Ethan’s impressive hair rightfully steals the show.

Just like Victoria and Thomas look alike, so do Ethan and Damiano, that’s why their costumes are the most similar. Ethan has a vest that covers him more than Damiano but leaves his arms bare. Because whose else the arms do you need to see if not the drummer’s?

This song has something peculiar because it was not a song originally written for Eurovision; it slows down in the end and  does not end on some impressive note from the singer as usual but with the last solo we expect, that of the guitarist, because everything is fair in Måneskin! The focus has to leave Damiano, so now it’s the time for the visual effects to finally catch fire, literally,  because nobody is allowed to take their eyes off them! Måneskin use a huge amount of pyro that however feels appropriate for the intense chorus and the ending guitar solo.

Thomas steps up for his solo and I forget we are in 2021. This is the most 70s thing I would ever hope to see.

In a hell of pyro, Thomas looks like he was tranferred right from a 70s rock ‘n roll concert. His outfit would be gladly taken by Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones. The unbuttoned jacket with this boho tie, such a classic 70s fashion touch. His haircut and even his FACE are the epitome of the 70s - what an ending sequence!

But hey we reached the end and this is Eurovision, the song slows down dangerously. Like I said, the Italians forbid us to get distracted. The attention must return to Damiano ASAP. Damiano says one last line and takes the audience with him to the very end with a death drop.

There you have it. Måneskin had me holding my breath for the full three minutes and I did not want to take my eyes off my TV. There are countless shows that are awesome - in this very Eurovision as well - but I was impressed by how they seemed to have found the perfect balance for everything in every single moment. They found the perfect stage concept for the song, they relied on visual effects only when they needed them and they stressed every twist and turn of their sound with a perfectly fitting move or interaction. They also all effortlessly could hold your attention and they made sure that they all would, with members often helping bring out other members. This performance was beautiful and, above all, clever which is why it was undoubtedly the worthiest of the win.  

#eurovision #eurovision 2021 #esc 2021 #eurovision song contest #italy #italy 2021 #maneskin #damiano david #victoria de angelis #ethan torchio #thomas raggi #music #songs #zitti e buoni #flashing tw #more

[oneofthosesimps]

Dance With The Devil

pairing: sukuna x fem!reader I nsfw

word count: 3286

summary: sukuna's wish is a new heir and you are the perfect vessel for it

warnings: mention of blood, rough sex, dirtytalk, breeding kink, hurt, angst, swearing, sub x dom, dumbification, size kink (like sukuna is a monster and you are small and petite), belly bulge, lactation/ milk kink (i guess)

authors note: sukuna is the perfect canidate to realise my really dark and deep fantasies, which is why he'll be around more often now (he's also SO hot omg)

all credits to the artist of this pic:

xquesess

-----

You let yourself fall against the big, strong body behind you. Your hot skin meets cold flesh and you close your eyes at the pleasure of the small cooling. You feel as if your body is on fire. No, as if the whole room is on fire.

"Eyes open, little human," his deep voice vibrates against your back and your eyelids flutter open instantly. You see his wide grin above you and you groan as his grip on your hips tightens and he holds you in place above him. You see the dark shadows his huge hands have left on your thighs and waist.

"I'm tired," you moan and rest your head on the back of your neck, closing your eyes again. The sun of the night has long since taken its place in the sky and casts its bright rays into the small room, bathing you and Sukuna in them. One of his hands grips your neck and straightens your head. Your eyes open again. "We are far from finished, so keep your eyes open," he murmurs against your ear, "If I have to ask you again, I will break your neck." A shiver runs down your spine and despite your heated body, goose bumps cover you. A little fear mixes into your bloodstream and makes your heart pump harder and stronger in your chest.

"And I would hate to do that. It's rare to find something like you". You moan loudly as his lips settle on your neck and he lets you sink lower on top of him. The sensation mingles with the pain of his teeth digging into your neck. His teeth break through the skin and you slightly wrinkle your face before he licks over the slightly bleeding area. You hear a soft murmur as his tongue collects a drop of blood and it disappears into his mouth.

"You think it's that easy to get you pregnant, little human?" His fat, monstrous cock bores painfully deep and you whimper. His grin widens even more and his teeth flash. You make a grimace as he shoves himself too deep inside you and touches your cervix, pressing against it. Your image blurs slightly and thick tears roll down your cheek. The hand around your neck loosens and he wipes them away, his nails scraping lightly over your soft skin.

"Don't cry, little one. You're doing so well. No being has lasted this long before," he murmurs as more tears come, which he wipes away, “They all cracked on me before I ripped their hearts out of their chests. But you are different, you don't make me bored.”

"You're so big," you moan and your legs begin to tremble as he lowers you all the way on top of him and your little cunt swallows his cock whole. Your insides tear and burn. You feel as if your soft walls are being overstretched by his hard length. "No, you're just far too tight and small."

The hand on your hip moves to your belly and caresses it. "Look at this: My cock just barely fits inside you". Your tired eyes catch your gaze in the mirror opposite you. Sukuna has set you down on your bed specifically so that you can watch yourself- so that you can watch him fuck your belly round. You look at your reflection in the mirror. Your small, petite body is sitting on Sukuna's lap, your legs glistening with wetness close to your core, hang splayed in the air over his knees, giving you a perfect view of your cunt and your head leaning just below his chest. It looks ridiculous. You look like a little doll compared to his gigantic body.

His white teeth and red-pink eyes sparkle at you as he wraps his strong arms around you. The moon from outside gives an even stronger contrast between light skin and deep black tattoos and his veins snake along his muscular body. There is a distinct, long bulge on your belly that starts above your cunt and ends just below your belly button. Your face looks up at him in shock and he laughs softly again, "Didn't I tell you?" His hand strokes the bulge and massages it, making you moan. "Doesn't it look good when I'm this deep inside you and your belly is bulging."

His hands go around your waist again and he starts to lift your body up. His cock pulls out of you, leaving him almost white, coating him in a mix of your juices and his. A loud moan comes deep from your body and your hands claw into his thighs. Your body is overwhelmed with exhaustion mixed with pleasure and pain - a diabolical one. Your cunt feels sore from the many times you have come and now his way too big cock doesn’t make it better.

"I can't take any more," you sigh, but Sukuna overhears your words, pressing himself back into you to the hilt.

"Yes, you can. You must, little human." At the stimulation inside you, your eyes turn and your body trembles slightly, "I will pump your cunt full again. This time, I will breed you."

His eyes fall on your face in the mirror. You look so beautiful in the moonlight. Your lips are slightly parted, your eyes slightly closed and there is a deep blush on your cheeks. His gaze travels over your small body in his hands, your nipples standing hard from you, the dark marks on your body, your slender waist that he can so easily break if he squeezes too hard. His eyes drop to where you are joined and a dark sound comes from his throat. "Look at how greedy your cunt is. And that's after you've come so many times today," he grins widely and digs his nails into your flesh, "You're lying, little one. You want more, don't you?" Sukuna changes the angle and presses against every sensitive spot inside you. Your back pushes through and you try to gasp for air and not pass out as he moves inside you with ease. His arms hold you close to him as he closes his eyes in pleasure and rests his head back.

He increases the speed and you whimper loudly, moaning his name. His head rises and his gaze falls on you again, "You want more of my juice. You want my babies." With hard thrusts he presses into you, over and over and you scream sinfully. Your nails pull at his skin, leaving deep marks.

"Too much, too much," you scream, tears running down your cheeks again. Your whole body feels sticky from your sweat, tears and his juice, some of which shimmers on you. Sukuna rams his lower body against you without even being out of breath. His endurance is incomparable. His strength is incomparable. He could and would do anything to you, if only you weren't so damn fragile. Your body is on fire, your nerves are tingling and your lower body is radiating a pleasantly warm feeling that cannot be put into words. It is getting stronger and stronger and you feel the need to help yourself with your own hands to come to an end. Your breath and voice become more panting, "I-I'm about to come."

"Silly little human, can't you hold back," he grins, ignoring your whimper and the shaking of your body in his arms. He continues to watch his fat cock disappear inside you, while you spill out and leave a wet spot on the floor. The knot in your stomach grows stronger until it finally loosens and you gasp, floating above it all. You're aware of Sukuna growling behind you as your walls pulse around him, making you tighter than ever. Nothing is as good as the orgasms he gives you, making you high. And as usual, you roar your heart out, preaching his name, before your wings leave you again and your weightless body hits the earth hard. This orgasm and the ones before are not as long and good as your first ones this night. Your pussy needs a rest and you need sleep, but you know you won't get it anytime soon. Your cries and pleas are music to Sukuna's ears and he wants to hear his name from your mouth again and again. You are hyper-sensitive and scream loudly as Sukuna continues and does not stop fucking you. The smacking of your cunt as it sucks his cock inside you mixes with your croaking voice as you wiggle back and forth in his arms, trying to escape his grip, which will always be in vain. Saliva runs down your chin and drips onto the floor.

"And another one," he murmurs in your ear as thick tears run down your cheeks again. "How many times do you think I'm going to make you come tonight?" He licks over the aorta at your neck as your cries slowly subside and fade back into whimpers.

"I can't take any more," you whisper weak.

"That's what you just said," he laughs, and his right hand drops between your legs, lightly caressing your swollen clit. You wiggle wildly back and forth and try to get his hand off you. The sensation is too much and you feel as if you are about to faint as you break apart in his arms. It hurts unpleasantly badly and you can't think straight. He continues stroking until your breathing becomes heavier again and you moan slightly again.

"You know what we're doing this for, don't you, little human?" You gasp for breath as his angle changes slightly again and he presses against your G-spot.

"Tell me, what are we doing this for?"

"I-I ... I ... c-can't..."

"You can't? Of course you can, try a little harder," he smirks and circles your clit harder, pressing against it and your walls twitch, tighten again and it feels like you're crushing him. He moans into your ear. Was there a better feeling than fucking his little human? Probably not. Fucking you silly and stupid was his favourite thing to do.

"Y-You want to ... make me ... pregnant."

"Right, I want to breed you. You are mylittle whore. I'll fill your hole over and over again until your belly is round and fat." You moan at his words.

"You will look so beautiful with my heir in your belly. I can't wait until your tits are dripping with milk in them," he murmurs against your neck, looking at you in the mirror. Your gaze meets his. "I'm going to milk them like your cunt is doing to my cock right now." His nail scrapes lightly across your clit and you explode, this time without warning. His laughter fills the room as you fall against him again and come down from another high.

"And you said you couldn't take any more." His body vibrates with more laughter and you close your eyes, much to his displeasure. He sighs and looks down at you, clearly seeing your exhaustion, while your breath changes and the wrinkles on your forehead smooth out. His thrusts stop and he licks his lips. His hand drops to your cheek and caresses it lightly. If his heart wasn't dead and cold, it would be doing a little leap right now.

Sukuna has long since ceased to understand the emotions felt by those around him; his time as a human was too long ago for that. But he sees in you how one behaves when one is in love, when one would do anything for someone, and he thinks he feels that for you, even if he cannot express or name it. No one has ever lived by his side for so long. Any other person would have been killed and replaced by him by now.

He lays you down on the bed behind him and examines your skin, which is covered with numerous wounds. His hand strokes your thigh, his nails scratch your body and he bends over you.

His eyes caress your face. Your hair is slightly sweaty on your forehead, the lashes of your closed eyes cast shadows on your cheeks and your full lips are red and swollen. His thumb strokes your cheekbone before his flat hand slaps lightly against your cheek. With a shock you wake up and look at him. He grins broadly, "You're lucky it's you, that's why I'm not breaking your bones. I’d think you were too bored and I wasn't challenging you enough." His left hand on your thigh wraps your leg around his waist and his cock pushes between the lips of your pussy, spreading them wide and he pushes into you again. You whimper under him and squirm slightly.

"Mmm, are you bored? Am I not fucking you enough?" You stare at him, startled, and shake your head before your back pushes through to him and you moan. He picks up his pace from a moment ago, burying himself inside you. His eyes rest hungrily on your tits, which jiggle up and down in front of him. He licks his lips before lowering his head and his mouth wraps around your left nipple. You moan louder as he sucks hard and his tongue plays around it. He looks up at you, "I'm so happy when they're heavy and full of milk. I'm going to suck on your tits and drink it. You will taste so good." You roll your eyes at his words, your hands reach into the sheet beneath you and you claw into it. He bites your nipple far too hard before releasing it with a plop. Your dry voice croaks more than you cry out and you pull at the sheet to get rid of your pain - unsuccessfully.

"Su-Sukuna...," you sigh loudly at his hand around your leg tightening. He holds his face right above yours and four eyes look at you, examine your reaction as he fucks you in the mattress. It's time for him to finish this round.

"I'm filling you now, little human," he murmurs and hot breath sprays around your already overheated face.

A deep thrust and he presses against your cervix again. Your lips open and your eyes turn back. He laughs softly, "You look so terribly stupid and pathetic. There's probably nothing left of your already small brain." Your head doesn't notice his words, you are far too drained. His laughter turns into a grin again. The hand around your leg loosens and he places his thumb on your clit.

Another deep thrust and your insides are on fire with pain. Your tongue drops out of your mouth. "You're not making it any better, little one. If you could see yourself now," he collects the saliva in his mouth and spits on your tongue. Some of it misses and runs down your chin, "You're no good for anything else. You are forever my breeding machine, producing baby after baby." He bares his teeth and stares at your face and you try to hold his gaze as moans escape you again and again. "You'll spend your whole life just waddling around, thick and round, while we hang on your tits like a calf on its mother's teats." His thumb on your clit starts rubbing it. The pressure is strong and you go crazy inside. Your whole body is screaming at you, begging you to come, but its speed is wisely chosen. You are drifting in a dilemma of coming and not coming and it is draining you to your soul. You are always just before it, but you do not cross the line.

Another deep thrust and he growls low and wicked. A knot forms in his stomach and he becomes even more brutal. He has to hold back or he'll fuck you bleeding. "And you know what? You're going to look so beautiful. I can't wait to fuck you like this when you're pregnant. I'll press another baby next to the other one." He bares his teeth again and his eyes blaze, his red eyes are like rubies. His right hand grips your neck and squeezes it shut. He forces you to look him right in the face and you blink, slight panic forming in your body and your milky eyes clear again.

"Tell me how much you want to be pumped full of my seed. Tell me who your god is, pathetic human." Your hands clasp his broad wrist and a wide grin settles over his face. How he loves to see you fear for your life. How he loves to see how much he has you in his grasp.

"Sukuna..." you whisper.

“Present again? Is there anything other than hot air in your head?” His nails on your neck are digging into it, drops of blood begin to run from some wounds. The sight was so beautiful. The power he has over you makes the blood run out of your body - how he would love to lick it away.

You grip his wrist tighter and your eyes wander back and forth between his, “Su-Sukuna, please…”

"What, please? Use your words." The red of his eyes are now only narrow rings. His pupils have exploded and he stares at you like a madman - as if you were his next victim.

Your croaky voice is now also muffled by the pressure on your neck. You feel as if you have forgotten how to speak. You try to clear your throat, but it doesn't work.

"Y-you are my God ... I live for you ... only you ...", his grin widens more, as you squeeze out the words and formulate a sentence with the greatest effort. "I worship you, only you. I love and adore you." His grip tightens even more and you feel as if your eyes are going to pop out of your head. The blood rushes in your ears, you see single dark stars in front of your eyes, while he rocks your body. Your nails dig into his skin and you try with all your might to draw air into your lungs. Please do not kill me.

"I-I love you so much … I will give you as many heirs as you want … Only please... S-Sukuna...," you croak, and he groans loudly. Tears form in your eyes as his hand does not loosen. Your neck hurts from the wounds and the pressure. You stare at him in fear and beg him inwardly to spare your life. In a millisecond his gaze changes again while he looks at you and his hand loosens. He presses painfully against your clit. Life flows back into your body and mixes with the feeling between your legs, taking you over the edge, your weak body exploding again.

Another thrust, deep and hard, and he comes, his cock pumping his balls empty, filling you to the top. He moans loudly, murmurs your name and puts his hands behind his head, “Fuck, one day, I will break you and you will love it.” As usual, his juice is far too much and immediately runs out the sides before he has even finished coming. You feel his cock twitching inside you as your eyes fall shut and your body relaxes completely.

Sukuna looks down at you, eyeing his work - he is quite pleased with himself. He looks at your connection and mourns the seeds that have flowed out of you. Staying buried in you so that the rest stays stuffed inside you his soft voice echoes through the room but you no longer hear it, "A short break for you before we start again, little love."

#sukuna #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #jjk smut #jjk

[greta-van-fics]

heat above

author’s note: y’all. this may be the worst thing i’ve ever written. it’s a long overdue present for my angel chey @stardustschords​ and i just. this is porn. love you so much baby!

taglist: @thatiloveyouso @brokenbellsos @greta-van-yeet @alwayzthere​ @gretavanhoney​ @weightofdreams-gvf​

warnings: A LOT OF SMUT (18+ ONLY) lord have mercy this gets dirty. unprotected sex, slapping, hair pulling, degradation, spanking, thigh riding....i’m going directly to hell.

He’d been making eyes at you all night. You were sure of it. Normal glances, like you’d received from the rest of the band, didn’t linger like that. They didn’t stick to your skin and slide off, leaving a sugary-sweet, sickly burn behind. Your stomach had been in confused flips all night. Was he looking at you? Surely not again.

You raised your eyes to check, and there, like clockwork, was his doe-like gaze. Large eyes the color of burnt caramel that you swore could see through every last scrap of clothing you were wearing. 

Your cheeks colored uncomfortably and you fidgeted against the wall, trying to listen to the story his brother was telling you. Something about high school theater camp, and a missing pair of underwear, and wow, his gaze was searing you. You looked down at your exposed décolletage, expecting there to be red burn marks left behind. 

Finally, mercifully, you found yourself not engaged in conversation with anyone. Slipping away to the parking lot behind the bar, you sat down on the curb, let out a frustrated huff, and tried to cool yourself down. The hot, heavy air clung to your skin and did nothing to help. 

The interview had gone well enough. You were expecting it to be just another run of the mill question-and-answer, with you feigning surprise and utter interest at the musicians’ run of the mill responses. Instead, you met what was quite possibly the most attractive man you had ever seen in your life. And to make matters worse, he had been seemingly unable to tear his gaze from you since.

“No chance you have a lighter, right?”

You just about jumped out of your skin at the voice next to you. Jake was standing in the back doorway of the bar, looking down at you. His full lips quirked into a faint smile at your obvious shock. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

You mumbled back a barely-audible “N-no!” and wiped your damp palms on your tights. They slid off the sheer fabric uselessly. 

“You ok, sweetheart?” Jake’s voice was raspy, and the overhead lights of the parking lot cast half of his face into shadow, but the Cheshire smile and glinting teeth were always visible. 

“Yeah,” you mumbled. A sudden burst of confidence overtook you. “Is it my imagination, or have you been watching me pretty much all day?” Jake laughed, and the sound was delicious. He looked like sex in a dark t-shirt with black jeans so tight they left incredibly little to the imagination.

“Oh, I have been looking at you,” he replied unabashedly. You both stared at each other for a moment, clearly trying to gauge the other’s intentions. “Do you live around here?” 

“I have a hotel room.”

“Well, that’s alright. Have you ever made out with a perfect stranger in the back of an Uber?”

Your heart threatened to beat out of your chest, but a smile pulled at your lips nonetheless. “Do you wanna take me home, Jake Kiszka of Greta van Fleet?”

“Maybe I do.” He crouched down so he was eye-level with you. “I want to do a lot more than just take you home, though.”

You leaned forward so you were and inch away from him, his nose almost brushing yours. “Are you gonna throw me around a little bit?”

Your brash confidence wavered when Jake’s hand shot up to grip your face by the jaw and he whispered, “You’re a mouthy little slut, aren’t you?”

The Uber ride to your hotel slid by in a flash of hot, slick skin sliding against teeth and lips that pulled and kissed at everything in reach. You vaguely remembered feeling sorry for the driver, but then Jake had his tongue in your mouth again and everything else melted away. Even the elevator ride up to the nineteenth floor was a mess of steamy hands tangled in increasingly-messy hair.

Once you had successfully fumbled your key card into unlocking your hotel room door, Jake backed you against the wall and slid his hands from your hips up to your breasts. “Fuck,” he whispered, leaning into kiss you once more. A moan slipped out of your lips.

“Jake,” you panted, and half slumped against the wall, unable to support your weight anymore as his wandering hands made you weak. 

A sharp sting across your face made you cry out in pain that was immediately replaced with pleasure. “You fucking slut. Try again.”

Your mind raced, trying desperately to comprehend what Jake was talking about. Try again? You’d never hooked up with him before, how were you to know—he gripped your throat with one hand and yanked your hair so hard that you were forced to fall to your knees, and suddenly it all made sense. You knew exactly what he wanted. 

Your clit was positively throbbing with need as you gasped out, “Daddy!”

An animalistic snarl escaped Jake as he looked down at you, panting between his legs. "Here’s how tonight’s gonna go, my little whore. First—” He slapped you again, but you swallowed your cry even as your eyes watered, “—you’re gonna suck me off and let me cum all over your pretty face.”

“Then,” he continued, now unzipping his pants to reveal rumpled purple boxers and an erection that made you want to moan just looking at it. “You’re going to get a nice reward and ride daddy’s thigh until you cum.” 

Saliva pooled in your mouth at the thought. Those fucking jeans looked downright perfect for getting off on. Jake ripped your hair downward again until you were face to face, him bent over you like a king lording over his subject.

“And to finish it all off, I’m going to fuck you into that bed like the dirty girl you are.” 

Without any time to think, he had pulled out his rock-hard cock and nudged it into your mouth. Your jaw ached as you tried to adjust to this size, gagging hard as he hit the back of your throat. “Come on baby, take daddy’s cock. Take it good. You don’t want me to slap you again, do you?” You managed to send him a smirk with your eyes even as his cock filled your mouth that made him falter for a moment, breathing out, “Fucking perfect.”

He began to fuck your mouth gently, your nails digging into his thighs. The tough fabric of his jeans sent electricity through your body as you thought about what was going to happen next. You took him as deeply as you could, but he was so large you struggled. You moved your hands to wrap around the inches of Jake that you couldn’t hold in your mouth and he gasped and dropped your hair, moving to push his own out of his face.

The image of him with his head thrown back, mouth open in ecstasy as his hips thrust into your mouth made your cunt ache, and you began slowly snaking your hand down to reach between your legs when—

“Fuuuuck, baby, I’m gonna cum,” Jake choked out, and you pulled off of him, kneeling back on your heels and presenting your face obediently. He held his dick in his hand and came—a lot—on your face. He backed away from you, breathing hard and looking like he’d truly just ascended to the stars. 

You waited patiently for him to walk back over to you and wipe his thumb through the cum that had landed on your cheek. He inserted the thumb into your mouth and you cleaned it, looking up at him through your eyelashes. 

“Thank you for fucking my mouth, daddy,” you said, giving his thumb a small kiss as it left your lips. Jake bit down on his lip, perfect teeth gliding across it into a smile. His forehead was shiny with sweat, and you could feel your own hair sticking to the back of your neck. 

“Do you wanna ride daddy’s thigh now, beautiful?” Jake asked, pulling you gently to your feet and guiding you over to the bed, where he sat down and patted his left thigh. Having spent all day fantasizing about that very thing made you drop all pretenses and nod your head so fast you thought your neck might snap.

Jake chuckled indulgently and brought you down onto his knee. You immediately ground as hard as you could into the black fabric. Thank God you had decided to wear a skirt today. The friction of his jeans and your tights made you let out an unholy moan. Jake placed his hands at your hips to help steady you, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in his hair. 

“You wanna take those tights off, don’t you, you filthy whore?” Jake plucked at the sheer black fabric on your legs. “You wanna show me how wet you are?” You nodded again, unable to form any words as you rode his thigh mercilessly. 

Another expertly applied smack across your face and a growl of “Use your words, princess,” had you involuntarily screaming out, “Yes, daddy! Oh, daddy, please!” 

Jake smirked. “Good girl.” He lifted you briefly and pulled your tights down your legs, ripping them several times in the process. “Fuck. These are impossible.” 

You would have giggled at his adorable frustration had you not been so drunk on lust that you couldn’t think straight. As soon as you were extricated from the tights, you sat back down on Jake’s leg and rolled your hips, the new found skin-to-denim contact causing you to throw your head back and moan. Your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks, and you came hard all over Jake’s thigh, fisting your hands into the hair at his neck. 

You fell to his side on the bed and panted, still sensitive from your high. Jake didn’t move for several seconds, so you lifted your head to inquire why. You were met with the sight of him staring at the evidence of your orgasm on his jeans. 

“Fuck, you’re the sexiest goddamn person I’ve ever met,” Jake breathed, still looking at the spot you had left behind. You colored and apologized for ruining his pants, but Jake cut you off to roll over and pin you down to the bed, kissing you passionately. He slowly pulled your shirt over your head, seemingly reluctant to break the kiss to do so. 

You could feel him remember that he was supposed to be dominating you as he tensed his back and sat up, straddling your hips. “Do you want to be fucked now, needy little slut?”

“Yes, daddy,” you cried, clawing at his shirt to indicate that you wanted it gone. He complied and removed his and your remaining clothing. Completely naked, he dipped to kiss you one last time before flipping your onto your stomach and pulling your hips up so his were flush with your ass. He spanked it hard and another moan escaped you. 

“Yeah, you like that?” His deep was raspy with desire, and you felt his once again hard cock pressing at your once again soaked entrance. He spanked you again, then leaned down to whisper, “Tell daddy how you wanna be fucked.”

A string of profanities that you were certain were intelligible left your lips, but you had no time to wrap your mind around what you were actually saying before Jake had slid into you fully, his fingers pressing into your hips. 

“Shit!” You gasped, then Jake began moving and fucking you relentlessly. The sound was dirty and lewd, sticky skin against sticky skin and you craned your neck to catch a quick glimpse of Jake, hips pounding into you and hair flying wildly about his face. It was more painful than if he had allowed you a few seconds to adjust, but you wished it could have hurt even more. The pain drove you toward orgasm in equal measure as the pleasure. 

You felt Jake’s thrust began to get sloppier and suddenly you heard him groan, “Gonna cum, fuck, baby,” and attempt to pull out, but you threw a hand back to grip his wrist and stop him.

“Come deep,” you moaned, and that was all the both of you needed to hit the peak. You tightened around his cock and he let out a growl that mingled sinfully with your scream. 

He finally pulled out and fell onto the bed, panting. The air was thick and scorching. You collapsed onto your stomach, feeling his cum leaking slowly out of you. 

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, pulling you into his side and placing a hand on your ass. “I can’t wait ‘til the next time you interview us.”

#lord please forgive me #jake kiszka smut #gvf fic #jake kiszka fic #gvf smut #by liv

[kashi-prompts]

Rating: T

Pairing: Kakashi x Reader

Genre: Fluff. Teeth rotting fluff.

"It's stifling in here," the silver-haired Hokage managed, slipping a finger under his mask to let the air hit his face. He took a deep breath, trying to relax the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Kakashi," Gai stood from the wooden chairs before the Hokage's desk, "relax, my friend. I've never seen you so tense."

"I'm not tense," Kakashi brushed off Gai's hard reassuring pat on the back.

"The crease between your eyes has never been so prominent," Gai poked his friend's forehead, stopping him. Kakashi sighed heavily, meeting Gai's gaze.

"I'm fine," he reassured his friend.

"Having second thoughts?" Gai nudged him.

Kakashi looked at his friend and pushed past him to walk to his desk, "no, never. Are my robes here yet?"

"Then what is it?" Guy followed him, watching him as he shuffled papers around on his desk, "We're so young; how could anything bother you on your wedding day?"

"I'm not bothered," Kakashi turned, looking at his oldest friend, giving him a reassuring promise. "Just a little nervous."

The silver-haired shinobi turned Hokage had never felt this way before. His chest swirled with tightness, and his mind raced from thought to thought. The whole village had its eyes on him and [y/n] today. Every gaze would be turned to their marriage, the Hokage and his new wife.

Gai slapped Kakashi on the back again, smiling broadly, "I'm happy for you, my old friend. You're a lucky one."

Kakashi laughed nervously, his fingers pushing the hair at the nape of his neck down. He still hadn't gotten used to the missing thicker locks that had been cut off earlier in the week. His mind traveled to his bride, dreamily manifesting the image of what she would look like walking towards him. He felt his chest tighten more, exhaling shakily.

"Your haori is ready," Yamato came through the office door, towing the Hokage's formal attire behind him carefully. Kakashi nodded, realizing the ceremony would be beginning shortly. He turned to the window behind his desk, looking down at the ceremony space designated for his wedding behind the Hokage's manor. Guests were trickling in one by one, all being greeted by Iruka, whom he had appointed.

"Perfect!" Gai exclaimed, grabbing the attire from Yamato's grasp, "let's get this party ROLLING!"

The sunlight was overbearing on his back as he made his way down the steps towards the ceremony space. His haori fit nicely, but the black, heavy material felt like two weights on his shoulders. He smiled at the guests, greeting the other Kage's respectively. Each congratulated him and encouraged him to not worry about hosting duties on his big day.

Kakashi looked around, taking in the surroundings for a moment as he adjusted his sleeves. Then, he thought of the day he asked y/n to marry him. Sitting quietly under a tree, her head had leaned against his shoulder, dozing off after their rather long walk to their favorite quiet spot on the outskirts of Konoha.

The wisteria blossoms had been in full bloom, dangling above them to create a sea of lavender-colored petals. He had taken her hand as she rested, silently and covertly slipping a ring on her finger with his shaking, cold hands. She hadn't budged at his movements, her breath shallow against the side of his neck.

"I love you," he had whispered against the shell of her ear, "and I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

Her eyes had fluttered open in surprise, dazed by his words. His fingers had grasped her hand gently and pulled them to his lips, kissing the tip of her ring finger with a tender, fervent gaze. When the realization had hit her, her arms had flown around him, pulling him close to her with a shower of kisses and affectionate affirmations following.

Looking back, the thought enveloped him in a warmth that wasn't from the sun casting down.

"Kakashi," Iruka called out, a smile stretched across his lips as he checked his watch, "all the guests have arrived."

"Good," Kakashi nodded, "I guess that means we're almost ready."

"Yes," Iruka smiled again eagerly. He hesitated for a moment and then leaned in, his voice just above a whisper. "It's time to go get your bride."

Kakashi looked over quickly at Iruka, his eyes glistening with excitement and nervousness. Iruka raised his eyebrows, urging the Hokage to go meet his future wife.

*****

You stood in your kimono, flattening the white fabric out nervously at your waist. Your hands felt clammy, and your heart thumped uncomfortably in your chest. Glancing at the clock, you couldn't help but think of the moments that ticked by that brought you closer to being Kakashi's wife.

Reaching up, you traced your eyelashes with the back of your finger, feeling the moisture from your eyes lying modestly between them. The emotions in your chest were overwhelming you, threatening to burst at any second. The joy consumed you as you inhaled heavily, feeling your lungs expand before letting out a shaky breath.

At one last glance, you looked at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes fluttered from the ornate flower in your hair, the rouge on your cheeks down to the bouquet you held at your waist. So this was really happening, you thought.

The sound of a gentle knock on the door caused your heart to skip into your throat. You turned, watching the handle turn quietly before opening a crack.

"[y/n]?" you heard Kakashi's hesitant yet soft voice from behind the opening.

"Yes?" you asked, unsure as to why. You had been waiting for him - for this moment when he would open the door and see you for the first time in your wedding dress. Your heart quivered in your ribcage.

"Can I come in?" he asked quietly, the smile evident in his voice.

"Yes," you replied, your voice exuding like a content sigh.

He didn't swing the door open like some men would, eager to see their bride and get down the aisle. Some men would never even think to knock, knowing full well that what was behind that door was theirs. But the Hokage was different, gentle in more ways than one, yet fiercely protective of what was his.

You hadn't realized you had been holding your breath as you watched him open the door. The sight of his slender fingers tenderly gripping the knob was all you could focus on for a moment, the overwhelming excitement and nervousness engrossing every cell in your body.

But when you finally looked up at him, your eyes catching his, everything felt peaceful. Nothing else mattered except for the gentle upturn of his eyebrows and the soft slope of his lips that curled into a smile. The recognition of his uncovered expression that you only saw intimately sent an electric shock through your body.

The distance between you both disappeared almost immediately. You felt the dance of his fingertips curve around your waist, pulling you close to him as you stifled a giggle of excitement that quickly turned into tears of delight. Tears brimmed at your eyes as you hugged him close, feeling his steady body against your chest and his fingertips spread between the skin of your shoulder blades. Nothing mattered at that moment.

"You look so beautiful," you felt his lips brush against your ear. You smiled against his jaw, feeling the soft prickle of his skin and the scent of his aftershave fill your senses.

"I wasn't expecting you to not wear your mask," you whisper into his neck as your hands hung lazily around his body. But, instead, you felt his hands gently grasp your shoulders, pulling you away to look at you. Your eyes scanned his face, the small mole on his chin resurrecting the smile you couldn't quite tame.

"I figured you'll be my wife shortly, so you should certainly get used to it," he lifted his finger and traced the curve of your own jaw, the feeling of his rough index finger traveling across your skin sent an electric shock through you. You felt heat erupt within you, and by the firm look he gave you, he had felt it too.

"Will you not be wearing it during the ceremony?" You asked hopefully.

He chuckled, pulling you back into his chest. You felt the echo of his laugh reverberate against you.

That was a no.

*****

The surreal environment you walked into with your fiance on your arm felt like you had been transported into a far-off dream you had had many months ago. The realization that all of your planning and praying for things to singularly come together to this moment overwhelmed your senses.

You looked down the aisle at Kakashi, his mask returned to cover his sharp features. Yet, a part of you didn't mind. It was the familiar face you had fallen in love with. You could see the shadow of a grin under the fabric of his face as you walked towards him. Sakura blossoms bobbed all around you, whispering in the breeze that swept his short hair to the side even more.

Once you reached him, you could see the outline of red around his eyes. The man who never showed his emotions in public unless absolutely necessary couldn't help but be overcome with passion at the sight of his bride. You reached for his hand, feeling the clamminess of his skin as you threaded your fingers through his. You smiled at him, and he leaned over to plant a soft kiss on your temple.

****

"You may kiss your bride," was all you heard as the ceremony ended. You looked up at him, delirious with joy as he smiled down at you, his wife. You narrowed your eyebrows when he didn't immediately press his lips to yours at the reader's consent. He waved your maid of honor over, pointing to your bouquet that she held for you.

"This?" your maid of honor asked, holding up the floral arrangement. He nodded, taking it from her as your attendees continued to cheer. You took it from her and looked back at him, puzzled by his strange request.

But when he pulled your wrist up to cover both of your faces with the bouquet, it all made sense. Shielding the two of you from the audience, you felt the pleasing satisfaction of his bare lips to yours, the sensation enough to send an electric shock through every cell in your body as he pulled your waist closer to his hips. Your whole body blushed at the thrill of kissing your husband without his mask in front of a hundred or so people.

Pulling away breathlessly, he looked down at you, relishing the look of awestruck satisfaction on your face as he pulled his mask back over his nose. Setting the bouquet back at your waist, you gave a dazed smile to the cheering attendees.

As you turned back to the ever louder cheering guests, you felt his lips touch the shell of your ear while you walked back down the aisle.

"Was that good enough for you?" He quipped, smiling behind his mask. You giggled at his remark, waving to your guests.

As you reached a private place behind the crowd, you let out a long sigh, waving your hand to fan yourself. You smiled, joy filling every nerve ending in your body.

Looking out at the crowd that dispersed to a cocktail hour, you felt the warm embrace of the Hokage's arms around your waist. You sighed again, inhaling his scent as he buried his lips in your neck. You felt his grip tighten on your hips.

"I love you," you murmured to him, caressing the hand on your hips. Quickly, he turned you around to face him, searching your face as if to emanate with his eyes how he was feeling.

"I don't think you understand," he whispered to you, his hand on your jaw. You reached up, your fingers brushing over his knuckles and the warm wedding band on his fingers.

"Understand what?" You giggled.

His face remained serious, his gaze overwhelming.

"Understand what?" You repeated quietly.

"You're the best thing that has ever happened to me."

#kakashi hatake #kakashi #kakashi x reader #naruto shippuden #kakashi hatake x reader #naruto #hatake kakashi #naruto prompts

[angeli-marco-writes]

∘◦ ♪ ◦∘ Timothée Chalamet - Concerto ∘◦ ♪ ◦∘

A/N - I wrote and posted this almost a year ago on my Wattpad. My writing has evolved a lot since then, but I’m still proud of this piece, and hope you enjoy it. I do not know Tim, nor do I claim to in any way. This is a work of fiction and entirely my own. 

Warnings - smut. Detailed (but protected and consensual) sex, slight BDSM, overstimulation. Cursing. Legal alcohol consumption and smoking. Also 10k words of sickening fluff though, even the smut is fluffy.

Summary - At a classical music concert, the last person you expect to meet is a young man as charming and suave as Timothée. And the last thing you expected is for him to invite you back to his flat. Turns out music really is food for the soul, and other things...

IT’S A FRIDAY EVENING IN NEW YORK CITY. The sun is setting behind the towering silhouettes of undulating buildings all across the city, the moon casting shadows all around au contraire to the luminescence of building lights, beaming all around as well as the street lamps, bringing colour and light to people’s faces in the dark.

You’re standing on the pavement outside Symphony Space Concert Hall on the Upper West Side, people watching. Nothing more or less conspicuous, just observing everyone flooding into the hall, though none of them seem to be under 50 years of age. After checking the time, you take your phone out of the pocket attached to your delicate silk jumpsuit you’re wearing for the night, the one reserved for classy parties and sophisticated concerts only (though very handy). You open the email holding your ticket for the evening, a Poulenc appreciation concert, and you show it to the bouncer who grants you entry to the auditorium.

The room looks incredible. Photos of Francis Poulenc, as well as some old parchment sheets of his music spread out delicately over the usually bare walls. The lights create a perfect ambience in the hall for what's sure to be an incredible evening. The red velvet seats are half full, dotted with people at least twice your age, except from one seat near the front where you can see merely a defined jaw and brown curls. On the stage stands two glossy black grand pianos, slotted beside one another with plush velvet stools and their lids propped up, allowing one to see the inner workings of such wonderful instruments. Behind the pianos are seats enough for an entire orchestra, creating a crescent moon shape. A couple of the seats already have instruments atop them, aching for their owners to play beautiful melodies with them. You make your way down to where your seat is, familiar with the layout of the auditorium. You’re on the right hand side of the centre stalls, third row back, but as you arrive, there’s a boy you saw earlier, not much older than yourself.

“Hi, do you mind if I squeeze past?” You ask him, watching his head jolt up from the programme to reveal a mop of beautiful dark brown curls framing his chiselled face, piercing green eyes with flecks of hazel when the light changed direction. You recognise him, an actor, you simply can’t place him.

His look of incredulity melts into a smile. “Sure.” He says, moving his legs so that you can squeeze past and take your reserved seat on his left. He turns to face you, smiling. He’s wearing a crisp navy suit with a pale blue shirt and a matching tie. He looks well presented, and by his nervous and lopsided smile, you guess that he’s rather nervous to be at the concert alone too. “Timothée.” He tells you, holding his hand out.

You return his gesture, smiling right back at him, and tell him your name. “You here alone?” You ask him, turning in your seat to get a better view. He nods.

“Thought I’d be the only under fifty here.” He laughs, “I’m 24 by the way, but I shan’t ask your name since you're a lady.” You can't help but laugh at this, just a little giggle at how sweet he is, but your interaction is cut short as the lights turn down in the auditorium but shine brighter on the stage, and a full orchestra enters the stage, accompanied by their instruments, two pianists and a conductor. Murmurs in the hall settle down to a faint hum while the musicians tune to the sound of the oboe, and then begin to play.

The music is mesmerising, starting with orchestral pieces with faint piano accompaniment, then just a nocturne for piano, split between the two lead pianists. You could listen to it all night, but an interval has to come. As the lights slowly turn back up, you see an infantile smile on Timothée’s face, as though he’s just watched the most excellent thing in the world.

“Come on,” you say to him, smiling sadly while you tap his knee, “let’s get a drink.”

He reluctantly stands up to follow you out of the auditorium and to the small bar area. You order two margarita’s without consulting him, but he seems grateful as you sit beside each other on a high table, people watching once again.

“What's your job then?” He asks you, making small talk.

“I’m a piano major at Juilliard, teaching piano on the side though.” You respond, and he seems really taken aback. His jaw falls a little slack while his eyes bulge a tad.

“Wow, you must be excellent!” You blush a little at his words, elegantly taking a sip from your drink while he eyes you carefully. You feel awkward under his gaze, though flattered nonetheless. He’s gorgeous, and he’s complimenting you and accepting drinks from you, what a night.

“What about you?” You inquire. He's an actor, you know that, but asking means that you may be able to get some more context and maybe it’ll click where you’ve seen him before. He clears his throat, and you can see some older people walking by who pull faces, judging the pair of you, but you brush them off.

“I’m an actor, mainly small films though.” He says, remaining vague. You don’t push much more, realising that he probably likes not being fawned all over for once, so you simply ask of the favourite names he’s had the honour of working alongside, which must be an uncommonly asked question because a light flickers behind his eyes.

“Selena Gomez, Steve Carell, Armie Hammer, Saoirse Ronan, Emma Watson, Robert Pattinson, Maia Mitchell…” He begins to list, but only when he mentions Maia does it click. You aren't huge into films, but you have seen him in a film with Maia Mitchell and Maika Monroe a few years ago.

“Hot summer nights, right? You were in that?” His cheeks turn a magnificent crimson and he bows his head as though embarrassed. He mumbles something along the lines of ‘not my best performance’, but you disagree. “I think you were wonderful, and did you mention Armie Hammer?” He nods again, seeming a little brighter. You take another sip from your drink, and he follows suit, watching your poised movements.

“Call Me By Your Name.” You nod in recognition, you remember watching the film when it first came out and loving the music from it.

“You’re excellent you know, at piano I mean, and the intimate scenes aren’t half bad either, you make them better.” You say with a teasing smirk on your painted lips, making Timothée’s eyes widen again. You chuckle and grasp his hand, dragging him into the auditorium for the second half.

The second half is a whole concerto, Poulenc’s Concerto For Two Pianos And Orchestra. Ten minutes in, Timothée’s hand finds your thigh and seems very comfortable, so comfortable in fact that you don't dare move it. As the concerto flows further on, his hand slides further up your clothed leg and squeezes your upper thigh a little You tense under his touch, infatuation and lust filling every cell and exiting through your pores, just waiting for more passion to fill your body and make you drunk on the feeling.

When finally the concert ends, both of you stand to applaud the musicians for a solid few minutes, and you could swear you see a tear leaving Timothée’s mysterious eyes and rolling down his heavenly made, painfully defined cheekbones. While you clap, you surreptitiously edge closer together, millimetre by millimetre until you’re hip to hip with elbows nudging. Your head comes up to his chin, making you feel a little small, but you’ll feel even smaller once your heels come off. Once the majority of the audience have filed out, you grasp his hand and pull him through the crowds where you stand on the corner of the pavement, only metres from the venue. You’re reluctant to loosen your grip on his slim hand, as he is with yours.

“Cigarette?” He offers, holding a half full box out to you. You half smile and shake your head in refusal.

“I don’t mind if you do though.” You say, meeting his gaze. “I love the taste of smoke when I kiss someone.” You add in a whisper, leaning up on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear. He goes rigid, making you smirk to yourself. This is going to be a good night.

He lights his cigarette and takes slow drag, only looking away to blow the smoke in an opposite direction to you. How respectful, you think, as your stomach fills with butterflies and bubbles with anticipation. He puts it out on top of a bin and throws it away without littering, and just that small and helpful gesture makes you crave his touch, having his fingers trace your sweaty skin and making your body tingle, your back arch with desire and pleasure.

“Wanna get a drink?” You ask, pointing to a nice bar across the road. You’re desperate to sleep with him, but not without pleasantries first. He, however, shakes his head and intricately entwines his fingers with yours.

“I’ll do you one better than a drink.” His smirk sets off a different kind of longing in you, forcing your body to follow him wherever he takes you.

As you walk, he starts conversation, but you’re so breathless from the desperation speed walking that your answers are brief. He asks you why you attended the concert, only to remember that you’re a music student and piano teacher; so in turn, you ask him the same question.

“When I was doing Call Me By Your Name, I had to learn the piano, and while I was learning classical pieces, I kind of just fell in love with classical piano music, I don’t know.”

His nervousness is sweet, making him appear far more humble than anyone of his stature would usually be.

You get to his building after a twenty minute dash in heels, and he pulls you flush against him while entering through the revolving doors, allowing you to lay your weight on him for a moment while you gather your breath. You feel his heartbeat thudding and racing against his ribs, reverberating against your own chest. You turn around to face him and place your hand on his chest.

“Breathe.” You say to him, allowing him to release a long held breathy chuckle. You leave the doors, both laughing, and fervently press the buttons to wait upon a lift. “So,” You then continue, breaking the silence where only your breaths were heard. “Favourite piano piece from the Call Me By Your Name soundtrack?”

“Hallelujah Junction!” You both answer at the same time, just as the lift doors open. You fall into the lift in a fit of giggles, clinging onto each other. You find yourself with your back pressed against the cold metal handle bar in the elevator with Timothée’s face inches away from your own. Your breath mingles together. As soon as he presses the button to his floor, he nudges his nose with your own.

“God, you're so beautiful.” he says seconds before his mouth is pressed hotly against your own, kissing you with an unrivalled passion. Your lips mould and move together like it’s second nature. His one hand holds your waist while both of yours grip his face, feeling a slight stubble.

The lift dings and he drags you out, unlocking his apartment door and leading you inside.

“Welcome to Casa del Timmy.” he says while hugging you from behind, allowing you to get a full view.

His apartment is stunning. Sleek, yet also vintage. Your eyes follow across the perimeter through a door to the left, where he has an office area containing a sleek white desk with a mac and a stack of papers and pens, next to it is a vintage white bookcase stacked as high as possible with novels of all shapes and sizes, and even an indie style rug underneath a colourful modern dining set..

The door next to the office is a kitchen, white countertops with wooden cupboards and a beautiful view of the city out of the window. To the right is a set of glass doors that open onto a small balcony where you can see the whole city, even Manhattan and Brooklyn depending which way you look and how the moon beams down. There’s a closed door right in front of you and through the entry hall and living room which you assume is his bedroom held behind a golden doorknob.

His living room, where you remain standing, holds an array of house plants with a couple of very comfortable looking plush sofas, his TV stand as well as his coffee table look like polished vintage items, refurbished from a flea market maybe, while his book shelf and rug are grand and modern. The best part of all though is a grand piano in an oak wood, matching the wood from his television table, and you become instantly entranced by the instrument that you don’t even notice the velvet stool or the perfectly organised cabinet of music, with a guitar propped up against it.

“Wow.” You breathe. Timothée grips you tighter, trailing kisses across your shoulder and up the side of your neck, inhaling every few seconds to treasure the scent of your perfume. Gardenia, rose champagne, grapefruit, davana; heavenly. You grip his hands with your own, holding them tightly where they’re settled on your tummy. You roll your head against his shoulder to give him better access to kiss you, but he stops abruptly and leads you to the piano stool. He opens the cabinet and pulls out a well loved piece of music.

“I know it’s for two pianos, but let's have some fun.” He says, grinning at you, an infectious smile that you can’t help but return. Hallelujah Junction, first movement. He puts the music out on the piano and takes a seat beside you, your thighs touching and hands overlapping as they begin to glide over the keys.

Playing this piece is second nature to you, allowing you to find your way easily, slipping your fingers between Timothée’s, and the white and black keys. You begin a harmonious melody spanning the whole of the piano, but after only a couple of pages, you realise that its not working as your notes cross over, making it very difficult to play on just one piano. You laugh together, but only for a moment before he is trailing his tongue up your neck, then your lips, and delving inside your mouth. You gasp, moaning into the passionate kiss that he’s giving you, and within seconds you find yourself straddling his lap on the piano stool. You trap his thighs between yours, moving and grinding your hips a little against his to receive more friction where you can feel how needy he is.

Within seconds, he has your legs wrapped around his waist and his teeth on your clavicle. The pleasure makes sounds escape your lips that you didn’t even realise were possible. You knot your ankles as he stands up with one hand around your waist and the other feeling his way around his apartment. After a few funny missteps and close calls of him dropping you while only walking the expanse of his living room, he pins you against his bedroom door, finding your lips again

He gently pokes at your dusty pink bottom lip with his tongue, slipping his tongue back into your mouth, exploring avidly and devouring every taste of you that he can muster. You do the same, but become too infatuated by his taste to put much more passion into it: gin, mint, bergamot and smoke. Smoke, sugar and sin, the most deadly combination of them all, and that's all you can smell on him, making you moan even louder. An erotic moan that makes Timothée twist open the handle to his bedroom door as quickly as is humanly possible.

He as good as throws you onto the bed, but undeniably, it turns you on a lot to see his dominant side this early on into the evening. He doesn't seem like the type to pin you down and boss you around, but as he shuts his bedroom door and delicately takes off his probably very expensive shoes, you can see a glint in his eye, almost as if he’s planning on doing unspeakably pleasurable things to you. Just the thought makes you wetter than before.

As he locks the door and shuts his shoes away, you take a quick look around the room. His bed is nice, comfortable and exquisitely large, like other things you hope. He has a nice colourful throw, vintage looking pillows to match his nightstand, holding only a pillbox, a glass of water, hand sanitiser, and a box of tissues. The simplicity makes you want to laugh, but you restrain yourself. He has a big dresser to match his bedside table with the drawers a little skewwhiff and clothes poking out. His wardrobe is fitted to the wall and by the looks of it, surprisingly neat too. That much cannot be said for his sofa though. A plush, light grey sofa sits on one side of his room just away from the window, and it's covered with clothes. At least he made the bed though, that's more than you can say for most 20-odd year old mans rooms that you’ve been into.

He sheds his blazer and crawls up to where he left you on the bed, needy and craving more. He looks down at you with desperation in his eyes, and you can’t help but to attack his lips, threading one hand in his beautiful dark curls while the other nimbly pulls open his tie and undoes his shirt. You shrug it off his shoulders and run your nails up and down his spine. You feel him shiver beneath his touch while your hands travel all over his body. His shoulders, his biceps, his toned stomach; he’s skinny, but has enough substance to him to be strong and sexy as hell.

“You’ll kill me if you stop.” He whispers, followed by a string of breathy curses. His eyes roll into the back of his head, giving you ample opportunity to grasp his shoulders and slip the pair of you over, pinning him beneath you. His eyes flit all over your face before kissing you again.

“You are so freaking beautiful.” He mumbles between kisses. He slips his hands up to find the zip of your jumpsuit which he slides down crazily fast, only breaking the kiss to shrug it off your shoulders. He just lies in awe, noticing that you don’t have a bra on beneath it. His tongue darts out from between his lips as he examines every undulation of your body, following the swell of your breasts right down to your hips. Your nerves return under his scrutiny, making you want to hide your face, but instead he holds your wrists behind you.

“You never have to cover up,” he says, nothing more or less than genuine love in his eyes, “not for me.”

Despite only meeting him hours ago, you know that you can trust him, so you ungracefully clamber off his lap and lie on your back to shimmy off your burden of a jumpsuit. He practically leaps at the opportunity to worship your body, before him in only your panties. He starts at your ankle, placing feather light kisses all the way from your ankle, up your leg, not minding the slight harshness of your legs, and only stops at your knee joint to switch his lips to his tongue, licking a straight line all the way up your inner thigh, stopping centimetres from where you need him the most. Not through any of this ritual does he break eye contact though. He skips over your panties and only pulls them down a little to trail kisses from your pelvic bone, up past your navel, through the valley of your breasts, and finally back to your lips. He makes you feel things that you could only dream of before meeting him.

“Timothée…” you breathe, hearing his breath hitch in his throat at the way your tongue curls around his name.

You reach between the two of you to his trousers. You undo the belt buckle with ease and push his trousers off his hips and down his thin legs, allowing him to kick them off at the bottom. He seems embarrassed, wearing Y-fronts that make more visible just how much he wants you.

“How about we strip together?” You offer, and Timothée reluctantly nods. He pushes himself off of you and stands up, giving you a hand to stand up as well. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off you since the moment you left the concert hall. “3, 2, 1…”

You both remove your underwear, pushing them down your legs and stepping out of them, only to step closer together so that your chests are flush against one another. He moves his hand up to cup your face, brushing your hair away from your face while tilting your chin up, capturing your lips in a lustful yet also sensual kiss.

He nudges you and your legs hit the bed, making you topple over and break the kiss from a giggle, but he doesn’t seem to mind and only laughs with you, moving your body further onto the mattress. He doesn't go to you again, he just lies beside you and dances his fingers absently down your pubic bone, ghosting circles around your clit.

“Jesus Christ.” You exclaim at the sudden feeling. Timothée kisses your jawline, but adds in between kisses, “Less of that, darling, I’m Jewish.”

You can’t help but laugh at him. You know he’s joking, just trying to mess with you, but as a punishment for laughing, he thrusts two fingers inside you with no warning, making you cry out in a mixture of both pain and overwhelming pleasure.

He pumps his fingers in and out of you, never going deeper than the second knuckle even when you cry out for more. Only when your moans turn to gasps for breath and you’re writhing beneath him does he delve in further and add his thumb to your clit, giving you a more intense orgasm than you’ve ever had before.

You immediately feel blood rushing back to your cheeks, colouring them from embarrassment, but Timothée doesn’t mind. He removes his hand from your core, and makes sure your eyes are fixated on his every movement as he licks his hand clean of all your cum. You’re so turned on that you even reach for his own hand, interlacing all your fingers except for his index one, of which he takes the hint and slips it into your open mouth, allowing your tongue to curl around it, making him groan.

He slips further down the bed and locks his eyes onto yours, you can see different shades of green and hazel in them and a whole world locked behind those beautiful eyes. Slowly, he delves into your heat, licking up everything that his hands missed. His mouth works wonders, sending your mind into a state of mild euphoria. The tip of his nose nudges your clit and you can feel yourself involuntarily gasp, so when Timothée finishes savouring every taste of you that he can get, he harshly bites your sensitive clit for just a moment, stimulating parts of your mind and body that you didn’t know could feel pleasure, let alone pleasure that intense.

He comes back up and kisses your lips, planting his hands in your hair as you kiss him back and get lost in the moment, your tongues dance together in an exploration, an experimentation of passion.

You pull away after a minute or so, gasping for air. Timothée examines your face for a moment, and you find yourself once again losing your thoughts and sanity in his eyes, until you feel the tip of his throbbing cock brush against your bare thigh. You feel bad for how much he’s been neglecting his own levels of desire in order to pleasure you, so you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. He takes a sharp intake of breath and flutters his eyes closed, his long dark eyelashes twitching alongside his eyelids whenever you grasp harder or pump him.

He’s surprisingly big, causing you to take longer while rubbing your hand up and down his member. Half way down one thrust, you squeeze his cock a little, hearing him whimper a little. The mere sound of him drowns your core in want. You edge your way down the bed and swallow as much of his dick as you can take until his tip hits the back of your throat. He lets out the most sensual guttural groan that you’ve ever heard, his eyes still closed while placing his hand on the back of your head to keep you steady. You bring your head back up to look at him while your tongue swirls his tip, his mouth is parted a little with breathy moans of your name escaping every once in a while, his eyelids switching from being lazily half open to squeezed so tightly shut that they wrinkle a little.

You go back down slowly, inch by inch, hollowing your cheeks. You work your hand in the part of him that won’t fit in your mouth and continue to bob your head up and down. You lick a strip up a vein on the underside of his dick, making him near enough scream your name. With one final bob of your head where you deep throat him, you pull away with plump lips, climbing up his body to straddle his waist. He looks up at you with wide and loving eyes, pulling you down for a sensual kiss.

“Are you clean?” He asks breathlessly, kissing down the hickeys that he’s already littered your skin with.

“Yeah, i got tested after my last break up a few months ago, and I haven’t been with anyone since. Is that because I just…” He nods and you laugh a little, the vibrations from his chuckle rumble throughout your body.

“I did the same, but I’ll still…” You get what he’s saying and climb off him. He flings open the top drawer of his bedside table and after a minute or so of rooting through it he pulls out a condom packet and places it next to his glass of water. You give him a questioning look with your brows knitted together, but Timothée just smiles at you. He slips one slim arm beneath your back and the other under your knee joint before scooping you up and holding you close to his chest.

“Well hey there Timothée.” You say with a chuckle, secretly astonished at how strong he is, because with one arm still holding you, he throws away the decorative pillows and pulls the duvet back, throwing you onto the mattress and leaping on top of you. You smile into his kiss, savouring every second of the feel of his lips pressed hotly against your own, the taste of smoke driving you crazy.

He pulls away and sits up, tearing open the condom packet and grasping his hand sanitiser. He flicks the lid open and squeezes it liberally onto his hands before applying it and rubbing it into yours. “Are you sure?” He asks you, and your urgent kiss to his jawline is followed by a string of fervent reassurances that you are desperate to have him inside you, though you respect that he wants consent and that he wants to be clean. He slips the condom on, his eyes trained on your lips and the way they part from wanting every few seconds. He’s enjoying torturing you and making you wait, the same way that you edged him but denied him orgasm.

He slips the condom on and slowly enters in one smooth stroke. You gasp at the contact, especially how deep he goes with the first thrust, so deep that his pubic bone hits your own. He reaches for the duvet and he pulls it up over his shoulders, covering the pair of you since he can see that you’re shivering a little in the open. He looks for reassurance, but then begins to thrust inside you, holding his weight above you. You can see his biceps tensing while trying to hold his weight up and keep a steady rhythm.

“How about we spice this up?” He suggests, a sly smirk playing on his lips. He cocks an eyebrow, and the sun hits his face at an angelic angle, only making him more beautiful. You nod eagerly to him, only making his smirk grow wider.

“Yes Mr Timothée,” you say, triggering a dominant smirk to relight behind those stunning eyes.

“That's Mr Chalamet to you tonight, Miss.” Words cannot even explain how wet he makes you by saying that, already making your mind want to submit to his every want. You let out a whimper and remove your hands from his hips to lay above your head on the pillows. He joins his fingers around your wrist and proceeds to lay his slender hand flat against your wrists, preventing you from moving.

“Is this okay?” He asks, his movements coming to a halt. You nod and kiss him again. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

He must really enjoy what he’s doing to you. “Yes Mr Chalamet.” You reply, making your eyes as doe like and innocent as possible.

Timothée’s thrusts restart, faster this time. You moan louder, ecstasy filling every inch of your spent body before you’ve even properly begun. His moans are lower, more like groans, all of your name. It sounds heavenly coming from his lips, the way his mouth moves when he says your name just makes it better. His hips hit yours with vigour, adjusting to get a better position where he hits the best spot inside of you.

“There Timothée!” You scream desperately, your back arching on the mattress while your hands fight to break free. Submitting isn’t as easy as you hoped.

“I’m close.” He warns you and frees your wrists, but he doesn’t let your hand go too far. He interlocks his fingers with yours, using one elbow to prop himself up. His thrusts turn sloppy, more fervent, and just as he’s finishing, he digs his thumb into your clit.

Your entire body turns limp, screaming his name in a state of complete euphoria like you’ve never felt before. It travels from your brain to the tips of your fingers, setting a fire in your belly and making your toes curl. Your back arches so far off the bed that your chest becomes pressed against Timothée’s, your breasts moving in time with his breathing. You feel him come to his own climax, silencing his screams by kissing you with more passion than he has before.

You ride out your highs, but the level of pleasure illuminating every nerve ending in your body means that you don’t notice Timothée pulling out and disposing of the condom, you only notice when he flops down beside you on the bed and pulls you closer to his slightly sweaty body. You rest your head on his chest that seems to be glowing in the moonlight from the sheen of sweat. He absently plaits your hair, staring off into the distance. The faint thudding of his heart within his ribs comforts you, it's a little faster than would be normal, making you smile a little.

“How was that?” His hand grips around your shoulder even tighter, pulling you closer to his body. He seems content in simply holding you, maybe he just enjoys cuddling. “Wait, don’t answer that.” He corrects himself, his pupils dilating and his excellent, angelic body going rigid. You chuckle to yourself, drawing circles on his chest with the pad of your forefinger,

“Excellent, Mr Chalamet.” You tease him.

“I wasn’t too rough, was I?” He looks fearful, fretting, it's evident in the sudden sulk of his face, pulling his cheeks and forehead down. You shake your head again, slowly but surely moving your leg to lie over his. Ye inclines his neck to place a gentle kiss to our hairline, and you can feel him smile into it.

“Timothée?”

“Yes beautiful?” Just his simple words make you giggle and blush, such a sweet sentiment from a gorgeous and well meaning man.

“I’m hungry.” You say, feeling slightly embarrassed. He laughs, you feel his body move from it, and he proceeds to pepper your face with the softest and sweetest kisses possible.

“I’ll make us some food, grab any shirt you want and meet me in the kitchen.”

You watch him pull on a pair of grey sweat pants and walk out. His pale hips sway just a little as he walks, and he looks so lanky from where you’re laying on his bed, the covers pulled up around your chest. He kissed your forehead before heading to the kitchen, what kind of a man does that on the first night? He’s a famous actor and the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, let alone a couple of years above yourself. He really knows how to please a girl, your skin rises in tiny goosebumps of pleasure while a shiver shoots down your spine and leaps across your synapses just at the mere thought of what he did to you, by far the best climax you’ve ever had.

You slowly slide out from under his warm, plush covers that smell just like him, only leaving with severe reluctance that melts away as soon as you shrug on the pale blue button down that he wore for the concert. Only a few hours ago you’d met at a concert for old people, already having a common interest that few your age have, yet he’s so eager about classical piano which is so special to you. You fiddle with the buttons, leaving the top few open in hopes of another round - he is making you an almost-midnight feast after all.

You walk out of his room and pad barefoot across his living room floor, only to have a little grey cat come and rub at your feet. You lean down to tickle behind its ears, hearing it meow, and you continue your way too where Timothée has left the kitchen door open for you. He’s standing over the stove with some ingredients laid out on the spotlessly clean countertops. You smile in spite of yourself, running a hand through your messy hair before wrapping your arms around his torso from behind. You place a couple of kisses to his shoulder blades until he turns around and picks you up in one swift movement, sitting you on the counter so that you meet his height.

“It looks better on you.” He whispers, pulling you closer by your bare thighs to plant a kiss on your lips. He’s making you feel things you’ve never experienced before, you can’t wipe the smile off your face for the first time in a while, and he's making you food in the middle of the night after cuddling you.

Dreamboat.

After watching him cook for a while, you slip out of his kitchen and take a seat at his piano. You run your fingers over the smooth wood, it’s well loved but well kept. Then you take a seat on the stool. You can feel where Timothée sits to play, your smile turning a little sad. There’s so much to him that people won’t see because he’s getting famous, but he’s still a person and that’s something that you’re able to experience first-hand.

Eyes closed, you feel for F and Ab with both of your hands. You press the keys down gently, creating the soft blend of notes that is Clair De Lune. You fall lost in the music in a new way, a new feeling washing you with all of tonight's new sensations and sitting at a piano that is neither your own nor at school, it feels somewhat ethereal.

Your fingers glide all across the keys, black to white, flats to sharps, switching between octaves like its second nature. Your mind dances along with the rhythm, your whole mind, soul and being becoming lost in the symphony that you’re creating, one that you haven’t been able to create for a while, and it’s only thanks to Timothée.

You become so absorbed in playing that you don’t notice him leaving the kitchen to listen. He just stands in the doorway, leaning against it with his head lolled a little to the side, completely mesmerised by your movements, your music, and just everything you are. Only when you play the final notes are you alerted of his presence from the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet. He walks over to you with purpose, a slight grimace on his perfect lips, but he just hugs you. Timothée just holds you close to his chest, allowing you to entwine your arms around his neck and nuzzle your face in his bare chest.

“Stay the night?” He asks, such a simple request but he truly does seem anxious. You want to be genuine, kind, but it’ll be best to relieve the tension.

“You’re making me a late night post-sex feast and giving me your shirt, of course I’m staying the night.” After a moment of silence, he exhales a laugh and node, brushing a curl or two into his face. “Anyway, your cat likes me too, so it’d be a shame to disappoint the little cutie.”

After only a few minutes, you find yourself back in bed with Timothée. He’s carrying a tray full of food that looks and smells gorgeous, followed by his cat who decides to dance between his legs. He serves you a strangely shaped piece of an odd looking pizza, though it still looks excellent, and it has some perfectly cooked and seasoned vegetables next to it on a white plate.

“What is this?” You ask him as kindly as possible.

“Flammekueche with some vegetables. It’s a French pizza with crème fraiche and bacon. My dad makes it all the time and always gives me some that I just freeze and reheat. I can only make microwave meals and vegetables, so this isn’t bad for me.” The way he explains it makes him so endearing, and even makes the food seem more than enticing. “You’re not allergic to anything are you? Or vegetarian?” You shake your head with a smile, kissing him and thanking him for the meal even though he won’t let you touch it before you sanitise your hands.

You talk the whole while that you eat, learning little things about his favourite books and his family. His favourite book just happens to be Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald, a book you both know and love, and Timothee has a Jewish mother, a French father, an older sister, and he grew up in the city. You however are from out of the city with an exceptionally normal family, and your favourite book is Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. He seems to be growing fond of you, wiping the pizza sauce from your lip, followed by a kiss each time.

He places your plates on the floor as soon as you finish, snatching at the speed of light for some hand sanitiser, lube and another condom. You more than happily oblige with all of his steps and strip off his shirt, kissing the living daylights out of him before he’s even slotted the condom on. He kisses you back with equal fervour nonetheless, exploring your whole mouth with the tip of his tongue. He cautiously adds some lube to the sides of the condom and slips into you while you’re still atop him. You moan at the penetration, arching your body forwards and hereby giving Timothée a full view of your breasts and the way they bounce with his every thrust inside you.

You moan pornographically at his slow and passionate movements upwards and deep inside you, finding your special spot within moments. He settles his hands upon your hips, squeezing them and guiding your every movement. You ride him just the way he wants you to, you can see it in his eyes. He looks at you like a teenage boy would at a naked supermodel, of which you are only naked and most definitely not a supermodel, despite him treating you like one, and Timothée is thankfully older than a teenage boy yearning for sex.

“You look so fucking brilliant.” He tells you, admiring the way that your face contorts with pleasure while taking every inch of him.

You rhythmically grind your hips against him, swirling them occasionally just to hear him cry out. Nothing is a hinderance from you going faster, but this sex isn’t needing to be urgent to be satisfying. He squeezes your hips harder and you decides to move up a little further, bouncing back down on him as he becomes buried to the hilt in your desperate core. You do it again, engulfing him anew and moaning his name continually from the mix of friction and pleasure that’s sending you into another euphoria, but not enough to release again just yet.

Timothée still hasn’t taken his eyes off you, namely your breasts where he’s currently focussed, eyes trained on your hardened nipples - partly from not wearing a shirt and partly from Timothée’s ministrations. He leans up and captures your left nipple in his mouth, sucking and kissing and swirling his tongue around you in the most divine way possible. He moves his hands away from your hips too, allowing you to grind your hips on his in any way that you like. His one hand moves to your other breast, tweaking and pulling at your right peak and sending sensations through your body that you’d never realised could be real before; while his other slips to the rounds of your ass, squeezing delectably.

“Mr Chalamet, p-please,” you find yourself begging, leaning down while still riding him, his torture on your breasts never ceasing, not even when he thrusts his hips up one final time, allowing your core to devour him whole and sending you into your third otherworldly climax of the night.

“Timothée!” You scream, your climax pouring out of you. You feel him come too, and you hear him cry out your name like a blessing.

He doesn’t pressure you, he just waits until you’re able to clamber off him with as minimal pain and exhaustion as possible, though you do whine at the loss of contact as you lie beside him, his arms securely around you and holding you as close to him as possible. It doesn’t matter that you’re both sweaty or spent, it just feels special.

“Look at that, done before 1am.” He chides, cuddling into you. You laugh a little at him, especially his humour, but it is rather remarkable.

“Two rounds, a meal, and a concert. Can’t speak for you, but I’m knackered.” He smiles at you sleepily, passing you the shirt that you wore earlier. You shrug it on and do it up while Timothée puts his joggers back on and draws the curtains, leaving the two of you in dark for the most part. You lie further down, still close to his thin chest, you hear his breathing rattle a little, but it's soothing.

“Night beautiful.” Is the last thing you hear before falling asleep in his arms.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

The only issue about sleeping with Timothée is that you forget it's a Saturday morning, and on Saturdays, you have to work. Your phone alarm starts to go off at 7.15 precisely, which when you’re home, gives you enough chance to get ready for teaching in a calm manner so that you aren’t already angry before teaching little children how to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Today however, that is not the case.

Timothée sleeps through it somehow, but your eyes are shocked wide awake, causing you to leap from the comfort and warmth of his bed and cuddles just to crawl on the floor in search of your phone and where it fell last night. You find it next to his door somehow, and switch the alarm off immediately, propping yourself up against the door to release a long held breath and to watch the sun rise through his windows. He looks so beautiful asleep, his lips parted slightly, soft snores escaping every so often, dark eyebrows furrowed and his mop of curls haphazardly lying around him like a halo. The morning glow makes his cheekbones appear even more defined.

You want to gather your belongings without waking him, get dressed and catch a cab back to your flat, but just as you go to open his door, he stirs.

“Where do you think you’re going beautiful? Come back to bed, I’m keeping you here with me forever.” You know he’s joking, and his words melt your heart and inhibitions a little, but you can’t justify staying

“I have to work, my first student is at 9.30.” You say, walking across to stand beside his bed and brush some hair off his forehead, kissing him and your lips lingering on his sweaty skin a little longer than they probably should have.

“And? I’ll drive you home in time, if you live near Juilliard then I know a shortcut. Just come back.” He's virtually pleading, puppy eyes and quivering lip just to add to the effect, and you simply can’t say no when he looks so perfect. You place your things on the floor by the bed and slip beside him, allowing your eyes to flutter shut just a moment longer.

His finger traces your naked body beneath the shirt, focussing on the bruises he left on your hips and the marks on your neck. Just his touch is enough to take control of your body, to give you goosebumps, to electrify every feeling of love and lust held within.

“Can I use your shower please?” You ask him, and he nods, placing his chin atop your head.

“I’ll take you to my bathroom and then I’ll make you breakfast. Grab whatever clothing you want from my room, but you can’t leave this bed until you agree to dinner with me tonight.”

Your heart rate increases tenfold at his gesture, and you want to take a leap of faith and say yes straight away, but that would be playing your cards too quickly. “We’ll see.” You respond sultrily, making your way to leave, but his strong grip pulls you flush against him with no space to move. You can hear him laughing in your ear.

“Say yes to dinner and then you can leave.” He slips his hands further down your front without losing his grip and decides to toy with your clit as though it’ll get you to talk.

“Y-yes! God, Timothée, of course I’ll go to dinner with you, just don’t stop!” You find it impossible to understand the shockwaves of pleasure pulsating and electrifying your every sense from an action as simple as the pads of his fore and middle fingers twisting and pressing your sensitive clit. It’s so incredible that after the previous night, it feels like overstimulation, and you can’t get enough.

“I’ll never stop.” He murmurs gruffly into your ear, you can hear the hoarseness that smoking causes but god it sounds and tastes so good.

He pulls your body closer and rolls you over. “Hey baby.” You say as calmly as you can, but within seconds you find yourself sitting on his face, half of his stunning bone structure lost beneath you. He delves his tongue into your already dripping heat, licking as far as he can get and only pulling away to kiss and suckle at your clit.

“Let me come Mr Chalamet!” You cry out, and with one final swipe of his tongue around your core and a squeeze of your ass, you let go. Timothée licks you clean while you still chant his name, and he proceeds to pick you up in order to carry you to the bathroom. You settle your heels at the base of his spine, digging in a little, and his arms tense beneath your ass from the manner he carries you. You like being above him, able to trace every line and bit of stubble on his face with your focussed eyes that he stares so deeply into at any given chance.

“Don’t be too long or I’ll be tempted to join you.”

You slowly cross the threshold of the bathroom, winking at him as you close the door. He inaudibly groans, but you can tell from his facial expression and the tension in his joggers that make him look utterly sexy. You slowly unbutton his shirt, reluctant to take it off, but when you step under the warm jet of his shower, that reluctance washes away along with any inhibitions you may have had about Timothée. He’s an angel: clean, respectful, enjoys classical music, has a cat, isn’t a cocky dickhead, and he’s literally the most gorgeous human being that you’ve ever laid eyes on.

You run your fingers through your hair, standing directly beneath his showerhead. The steam clouds your vision, but you can hear Timothée singing while he cooks, Mystery of Love. What a dork, you think, chuckling to yourself while you rinse Tim’s shower gel from your body, and you just know that after this you’ll smell like him, but he smells delectable. As the water hits the most sensitive parts of your body, you remember the previous night. Just the thought of what he did to you makes you crave his touch again.

Through the bathroom window, you can make out the New York traffic that builds every morning, accompanied by the screeching of tires and sirens and car horns. Despite it being a ruckus, it's soothing as you step out the shower and wrap yourself in one of Timothée’s fluffy towels.

“How do you look so sexy when you’re getting out of the shower? God, I can't stress it enough, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve seen in my life, even without any makeup and with your hair un-styled, just wrapped in my Goddamn towel. You’re gonna be mine, mark my words.” You feel tears come to your eyes at his kind words, watching him purposefully walk from the kitchen and all the way across his apartment just to place his hands on your waist and tell you how beautiful you are. Those words are better than a concerto to you.

Once you’ve finished getting dry in his bedroom, you ferret through his drawers until you pull out a white top with various tie dye patterns across it. It’s cute, very Timothée. You pull it on and it reaches your mid thighs, making it clock in your head just how much of a lanky lad he is. You bundle together your stuff and head out of his room, closing the door behind you and greeting him with a kiss. He sits you at the breakfast bar and serves you a proper cooked breakfast: bacon, scrambled eggs, and pancakes.

“There's ketchup and syrup in the cupboard if you’d like.” He offers, sidling up on the seat beside you, nudging the tip of your nose with his thumb. The smile hasn’t left your face since you met him.

“This is good, you’re an excellent cook.” You tell him, resting your hand on his. His cheeks glow an even brighter red in the cascading morning sunlight, dappled by his blinds, but he looks magnificent despite his embarrassment.

You take out your phone, just to take a picture of the breakfast while it’s still untouched, and of your hand held by Timothée’s, already wearing rings. You notice that he’s already wearing a silver chain too, and a couple of bracelets on the wrist away from your own, which you find unusually attractive.

“I wish you could stay all day.” he whispers, placing his forehead on yours.

“Me too.” you say softly, smiling sadly and caressing his cheek.

You finish your breakfast and make your way to the living room in a strange kind of waltz orchestrated by Timothée. He insists on holding your waist and turning around a little, moving your feet in sync until you yank him down onto the sofa, catching his lips mid sigh which leads to a much more passionate make out session than you anticipated. Once that’s over, he plaits your hair beautifully, explaining how it used to calm his sister down before an audition. By the time he’s finished a very good pair of plaits, you check the time and it’s already 9, time for you to leave with NYC traffic, but Tim won’t let you go.

“Not without a photo.” He insists, but you question his reasons. Who would want a photo of you with wet hair in plaits, an oversized tee-shirt and a bare face? But his answer is too sweet to refuse. “I like taking pictures of beautiful things, and of which, you are the most beautiful.” Your cheeks flush a raging scarlet, and Timothée takes your few moments of silence as the perfect opportunity to take a picture of you, sunlight hitting your face in all the right places, and he takes another for good measure, his hand on your cheek and his lips on yours, a kiss that shuts you up for good.

He takes you down the stairs right to the garage where he keeps his car, and surprisingly, it’s an understated car, not crazily extortionate nor flashy, something which you respect highly. He sits you in the passenger side, making sure to kiss you before closing the door, and he gets in the driver's side. After starting the engine and leaving the parking lot, he lays his palm flat against your thigh and keeps it there the whole drive while you change gears for him. You tell him all about your childhood, your high school, your time in uni while he tells you his life at a performing arts high school and then his life as an actor, he truly fascinates you.

Once he pulls up outside your building, he tries to convince you to let him come in, or at least walk you to your door, but on the grounds of not scaring the life out of your neighbours and students, you say no with a promise to see him later.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard tonight that you won’t be able to walk.” He says, pulling you in for a final passionate kiss before you step out of the car. He made you wet just before you have to work, you’ll get him back later, but the revenge melts as soon as he leans out the window to blow you a kiss and tell you how stunning you are.

You’re so lost in your trance of Timothée that you don’t notice your first student tapping you on the shoulder and excitedly saying “Was that the Timothée Chalamet?”

You chuckle to yourself, watching him drive off into traffic, all for you. “Yes it was love, yes it was.”

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