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etfrin · 2 months

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❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter twenty-three | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 NSFW | coriolanus snow, canon typical violence, canon typical death, oral sex (m. receiving), implication of committing murder | lmk if I forgot anything

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 coriolanus gets more blood on his hands, he also gets his cock sucked.

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 two more exams to go!! can't wait for it to finish! Make sure to reblog and give your feedback! <33

beta read by the birthday girl @nowitsmissing

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The next days of Coriolanus Snow are spent in constant paranoia. He avoided you and refused to make eye contact. He was simply so afraid of what was going to happen. Before him, you were much closer to Sejanus. Snow briefly wondered if you interacted with Sejanus because of the power his family held. But he quickly dismissed that thought. Surely you wouldn't have been so calculating since childhood.

District 12 was in chaos trying to find out what happened with Mayfair and Billy Taupe. Spruce had kept his lips sealed. However, he knew that won't be the case for long.

Sejanus Plinth would be dead. And Spruce would know exactly who is responsible. But Coriolanus thought that he would escape to the north before it happened. Lucy Gray was in a hurry too. She was the lead suspect as Mayfair was the reason she was in the games.

Today was the day the bodies were found. Rotten. It was a miracle it was hidden for so long. He had an inkling it was due to you. Because the bodies weren't found at the original place of murder but on the outskirts of District 12. People rarely go there.

The Peacekeepers were talking about it right now. Coriolanus carefully listened, trying to see if anyone had any knowledge of what had actually happened.

“They’re both locals, but one of them is the mayor’s daughter. The other one’s a musician or something, but not one that we’ve seen. They were shot dead.”

“Did they find who did it?” asked a Peacekeeper.

“Not yet. These people aren’t even supposed to have guns, but like I told you, they’re floating around out there,” another replied. “Killed by one of their own, though.”

“How do they know that?” asked Sejanus.

‘Shut up!’ thought Coriolanus. Knowing Sejanus, he could be one step away from confessing to a crime he didn’t even commit.

“Well, she said they think the girl was shot with a Peacekeeper’s rifle, probably an old one that got stolen during the war. And the musician was killed by some sort of shotgun the locals used for hunting. Probably two shooters,” Smiley reported. “They searched the surrounding area and couldn’t find the weapons. Long gone with the murderers, if you ask me.”

Coriolanus’s nerves unwound a bit, and he ate a forkful of pancakes. “Who found the bodies?”

“That little girl singer — you know, the one in the pink dress,” said Smiley.

“Maude Ivory,” said Sejanus.

“I think that’s it. Anyway, she freaked out. They questioned the band, but when would they have had time to do it? No guns were found, no prints either,” Smiley told them. “Shook them up pretty good, though. I guess they knew the musician guy somehow or other.”

Because of the past night’s events, the commander locked down the base for the day.

He and Sejanus floated around, trying to look normal. Playing cards, writing letters, cleaning their boots. As they knocked the mud from the treads, Coriolanus whispered, “What about the escape plan? Is it still on?”

“I’ve no idea,” Sejanus said. “The commander’s birthday isn’t until next weekend. That was the night we were supposed to go. Coryo, what if they arrest an innocent person for the murders?”

‘Then our troubles are over’, thought Coriolanus, but he only said, “I think it’s highly unlikely, with no guns. But let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Coriolanus came into your room that night. Ready to confess his sins and come clean. His mouth went dry when you opened the door. Your lips stretched into a lazy grin. “Hi, Coryo,” you said, as your hand was on the shirt, getting a grip on the fabric to pull him inside of the room.

“What did you do?” you asked him as you pushed him down onto the bed. You stood at the side, towering over him. Your arms crossed in front of your chest.

“I- I didn't do anything,” he said, “I missed you.”

You raised your eyebrows. “You fucked up. Real or not?”

“Real,” he muttered.

“Worse than murder?”

Coriolanus winces.

“Do you care about Sejanus?” He asked, hoping that the answer would be in his favor. He could feel his palms sweating, and he pressed his hands onto the sheets.

“No.”

Coriolanus blinks in shock. “No?” He questions, visibly confused, “But- but-”

“Is this about you sending the jabberjays to Dr. Gaul?”

Coriolanus managed a nod. In truth, he had suspected you would find out as Dr. Gaul seems to trust you. Which was one of the main reasons he wanted to come clean beforehand.

You let out a harsh chuckle, “Yeah, Dr. Gaul told me to keep an eye on the boy. I told her he murdered innocent citizens who were against the rebellion. You presented a death warrant to her, I signed it.”

You eye Coriolanus with a smirk. “You should know you can't keep secrets from me, baby,” you shake your head, “I don't know why you try when it's so obvious.”

“Sejanus Plinth and Spruce, the leader of the rebellion, will be dead soon. No need to worry about them, Coryo. Good job, Dr. Gaul is impressed, she sees your potential even more so than before.” you add.

“Is there anything else or…?”

Your eyes turn lustful as you begin to slowly check him out. His heart starts to beat faster, his blood rushing downwards. A tent quickly forms in his pants. It was from your heated gaze alone.

You tease him with a smile, “You're such a boy.”

“Shu- shut up! It's on you- it's because you're looking at me like that,” he whispered.

“Like what?”

“Like you'll eat me up,” he replied.

“That's the plan,” you whispered, as you went on your knees in front of him.

He lets out a desperate, needy noise at the sight. You looked so pretty like this. He spreads his legs, making up space for you. You bite your lip in anticipation. Your mouth salivating for his taste.

“Holy shit, dove,” he whines when your hand presses into his bulge. You palm him through his pants.

“So needy,” you murmur. “Do you want my mouth on you that bad?”

“Yes,” he gasps out, willing to beg. “Please.”

“That's a good boy.”

You unzip his pants, dragging them down around his knees. His dick is strained against his boxers. A wet spot on the fabric. It was clear how much pre-cum he was leaking. It was pathetic too. But you didn't blame him for it. You pressed your thumb on his clothed tip, and gently slid your fingertip back and forth, letting his sensitive slit feel the slick texture of the fabric.

“Fuck,” he curses, “Don't tease me.”

“I am not teasing,” you lie.

You pull his boxers down, letting his cock spring free from its confines. The tip is red, the veins on his length popping out, just waiting to be traced with your tongue. You don't let a second go to waste as you let yourself lick his slit. You hold his cock by the base, as you make sure to enjoy his taste like it's a lollipop.

You lick all over, slathering his cock with your saliva. You make sure to trace his veins before you find your way back to his tip. You take his cockhead inside the warmth of your mouth. Coriolanus groans, it took him an iron of will not cum right then and there.

You slowly take more of his length inside and he lets out a whimper. His hand rests on your head, trying so hard not to pull you forward and make you choke on his cock like you were supposed to.

His free hand fists the sheet, as he bites his lower lip to stop a groan from escaping. He could feel that he was getting close to snapping. “Fu-fuck,” he lets out, “Dove… that's so good.”

You continue to suck his cock. You hollow your mouth and he lets out a whimper, his hips bucking up. His cockhead reaches the back of your throat. Surprisingly you don't choke. With a moan of your name, Coriolanus could feel himself cum inside of your mouth.

You taste his salty, thick cum. Letting it coat on your tongue, some of it escapes from the corner of your lips. You pull away as his cock softens and wipe your mouth.

You sit down beside Coriolanus who is trying to catch his breath. He tucks himself in. “Thank you,” he said, “that was good.” You smile at him. Your hand on his cheek. You caress his face.

“You needed to relax, after all, you need to have more blood on your hands,” you said, your smile turning cruel.

“Lucy Gray?” He questions.

“Lucy Gray,” you confirm.

Coriolanus nods, “Yeah, I understand. She will be the only witness left except us.” Coriolanus takes a deep breath. “We'll need to find a way.”

“Let Sejanus die first. I can stay here for a few more days. I'll help you figure it out.”

Coriolanus agrees with you and turns to leave. Before you shut the door, you say to him,

“I was only friends with Sejanus because of you. Because you seemed to be close to him and I wanted to be closer to you.”

After everything, that's not a surprise to him. Though he feels his heart flutter. He falls asleep on his bed with a stupid, lovesick smile, momentarily forgetting about how red his hands are.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

The next day Coriolanus was instructed to stand in a squad flanking the hanging tree. Coriolanus knew why. He had already seen Spruce being dragged into the base. Likely to be tortured for information. Coriolanus knew he was protected by you, so there wasn't much to worry about. Sejanus has been missing since morning. He knew what that meant. Dr. Gaul had nailed his coffin.

The Peacekeeper van arrived and both Sejanus and Lil stumbled out in their chains. Sejanus Plinth was accused of treason. He was caught.

Arlo, an ex-soldier toughened by years in the mines, had managed a fairly restrained end, at least until he’d heard Lil in the crowd. But Sejanus and Lil, weak with terror, looked far younger than their years and only reinforced the impression that two innocent children were being dragged to the gallows. Lil, her shaking legs unable to bear her weight, was hauled forward by a pair of grim-faced Peacekeepers who would probably spend the following night trying to obliterate this memory with white liquor.

As they passed him, Coriolanus locked eyes with Sejanus, and all he could see was the eight-year-old boy on the playground, the bag of gumdrops clenched in his fist. Only this boy was much, much more frightened. Sejanus’s lips formed his name, Coryo, and his face contorted in pain. But whether it was a plea for help or an accusation of his betrayal he couldn’t tell.

The Peacekeepers positioned the condemned side by side on the trapdoors. Another tried to read out the list of charges over the shrieks of the crowd, but all Coriolanus could catch was the word treason.

He averted his eyes as the Peacekeepers moved in with the nooses, and he found himself looking at Lucy Gray’s stricken face. She stood near the front in an old gray dress, her hair hidden in a black scarf, tears running down her cheeks as she stared up at Sejanus.

As the drumroll began, Coriolanus squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could block out the sound as well. But he could not, and he heard it all. Sejanus’s cry, the bang of the trapdoors, and the jabberjays picking up Sejanus’s last word, screaming it over and over into the dazzling sun.

“Ma! Ma! Ma! Ma! Ma!”

Sejanus Plinth is dead.

It's Lucy Gray's turn now.

NEXT PART

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wolfjackle-creates · 1 year

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Ghost!Robin Part 5

First, Previous

This is probably the segment you've all been waiting for. Hope it holds up to expectations! 1.1k words.

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Before Danny could ask any questions about what the big deal was, Dick nudged him. “Which do you want—curry or beef?”

“Can I try both?”

“Alfred loves to see people enjoy his food. Eat as much as you can, then take a few more bites.” Dick handed him one platter followed by another. Robin watched on as Danny scooped some of each onto his plate.

When the ghost pointed to the potatoes and patted his stomach, Danny made sure to grab a large scoop and took a bite of that first. It was heavenly.

He raised his second spoonful up to Robin as a thank you for the recommendation.

“The potatoes are my favorite, too,” commented Jason who must’ve seen.

That caused Danny to raise and eyebrow and flick his eyes to Robin again. “I can understand why; they’re to die for.”

Jazz choked back a laugh. “Now you’re just stealing Dick’s joke from earlier,” she said.

“What can I say? It was a good one.”

Dick clucked his tongue. “Jason’s the same way. I don’t get how you can joke about almost dying.”

Danny tried the curry and shrugged. “This is so good. And I dunno, death jokes are super common in Amity. What else are you supposed to do when surrounded by ghosts?”

Dick just shook his head. “Well, if you say so. Now, here, try this, too,” he said as he scooped more food onto Danny’s plate.

Danny did so obediently and the conversation moved to lighter topics.

When he was mostly done with his plate, Robin decided it would be a great time to sit down on the table between him and Jazz. He stared at Danny and pointed to himself then raised an eyebrow. “When help me?” he mouthed.

“Jazz, I hope you’re well rested because I keep remembering more things I need to tell you about tonight after dinner.” On the last words, he made eye contact with Robin.

Who was not happy at all with his response. He stood on the table and seemed to grow in size. “Now,” he mouthed, foot stomp included. Angry-frustrated pulses filled the space.

“Danny?” asked Jazz.

Damn, he’d completely missed her reply. “Um, sorry Jazz, I got a work message earlier and I’m a bit distracted. Could you repeat that?”

Her eyes narrowed. She was totally onto him. “Something is up with you tonight.”

“Who me?” he rubbed the back of his neck and put on his innocent grin, the one that never worked on her. Flicking his eyes to Robin, he asked, “Why?” hoping that Jazz would take it as directed to her.

She stared at him a moment longer before turning back to Jason and pointedly ignoring Danny. Robin also moved until he was next to Jason, their faces side-by-side.

Then he removed his domino mask to show bright blue eyes, the exact color of Jason’s.

“Well fuck.” No way could he keep silent after that reveal.

The rest of the table fell silent and Bruce looked concerned. “Is everything all right, Danny?” he asked

Robin flew over to Bruce next and held two fingers to either side of his head and wiggled them.

“Well, double fuck.” Danny let his head bang on the table and cursed under his breath in Sumerian.

Dick touched his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” The concern was clear in his voice.

“Danny?” demanded Jazz.

Danny sat up and looked longingly at the remaining food on his plate before pushing away from the table and holding up his PDA and bag. “I’m sorry, I have to excuse myself for a few minutes. An important work thing.”

“Really, Danny? Can’t it wait?” asked Jazz.

“No. It really can’t.”

“Will you at least be quick?” she tried.

Danny sighed. “This’ll probably take ages to sort out in full. But the first part should only take a few minutes.” He looked over the rest of the table and bit his lip. He should tell them something, but where to even begin? And it’s not like Robin, Jason?, whatever, wouldn’t spill the beans as soon as he was able. So he just turned and let the room, Robin right on his heels.

“How far away from Jason, er, from your living self, can you get?” he asked quietly as soon as he felt like they were out of immediate earshot.

Robin flew a few feet down the hall and around corner. They were only just out of sight of the doorway and well within shouting range. In fact, he could still hear the sounds of conversation, even if exact words were difficult to make out.

Robin floated before him, no longer smiling, and held out a hand.

Danny stared at it a moment before grabbing it and pulling Robin into a hug. The ghost felt so insubstantial in his arms, like a wisp of silk or an underinflated balloon. Without thought, he transformed and surrounded Robin more securely in his aura.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t visit sooner,” whispered Danny. “I’m sorry I didn’t know about you until now.”

There was a tug on his core. Robin was trying to take some of his power. Danny pushed as well, giving it willingly. In his arms, Robin grew more solid.

With Robin’s increased corporeality, Danny became aware the boy was shaking. He chirped an I’m here, you’re safe message.

Robin trilled his thanks and nerves.

Before Danny could ask what Robin wanted to do next, they were startled apart by a loud crash and the sound of breaking glass and china and a voice shouting, “What the fuck?”

In the hallway, in perfect view of Danny and Robin, stood Alfred and Duke. A dropped tray and shattered dishes decorated the floor at Alfred’s feet and Duke had barely kept hold of his own tray and was half turned away but squinting at Danny and Robin like they were painful to look at.

Shouted questions and running footsteps echoed from the dining room and then everyone else was there, too.

Danny ignored everyone, focusing on Jazz who was staring at him in pure terror. Before he could assure her it would be all right, she was moving, ducking under arms until she was in front of him.

She fell into a fighting stance and pulled out a fenton staff. With the press of a button, it powered on, glowing like a double-sided light saber in her hands. “If any of you try to turn in my brother or hurt him, I will end you.”

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Tag list!

@addie-lover-of-stories, @justwannabecat, @gin2212, @amercurio, @regonold, @overtherose, @readerzj, @sjrose1216, @echoednonny, @deeterzz, @blu-lilac, @number-one-jew, @rowanaway-fromthisbs, @vythika96, @tired-yet-awaken, @themirrorghost, @emeraldcorpral, @all-mights-asscheeks, @darkhinauniverse, @blep-23, @phandomhyperfixationblog, @larkcoe1, @thegatorsgoose, @job-ross-the-second, @britcision, @lenacraft, @bubblemixer, @androgynouslordofescapism, @purefrickingspite, @leftmiraclechaos, @lizisipancardo, @starlight-sparks, @miraculousandmore, @gildedphoenix, @sometimesthingsfallapart, @letmesayfuxk, @phoenixcatch7, @skulld3mort-1fan, @abaowo, @dhampir-princess, @idkmrpianoman, @sarina-elais, @ballzfrog-blog, @undead-essence, @spookytragedyshark, @flyingpansaurus, @akintoabitch, @marivictal, @8-29pm

#dpxdc #danny fenton #jazz fenton #jason todd #anger management #ghost!robin #my writing #this is gonna go well #no way it could go wrong

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pm0 · 9 months

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@hajimedics revealing my #anonymous self to show how ur post inspired me 🫡

ok I guess I will explain what the symbolism in this drawing means under this cut now :)

BASICALLY Rave’s tags on his art got me thinking about mutual sentience theory & the idea that who these puppets actually are does not align with what playfellow workshop created them to be — specifically, the actual desires of the puppets in whps are not the same as what playfellow thinks they should desire — and it made me think about how it might apply to Frank & Julie.

We know that neither of them fall into (strictly) binary gender labels, we know that Frank is gay, we know that Julie was confirmed sapphic in a stream — and yet we see playfellow putting them into the roles of cisgender heterosexual man & woman respectively, that they cast them to be in the roles of each others romantic love interests (see julie-rella animation cels). So I wanted to draw something based on that concept, the contrast of who they are vs who they’re “supposed” to be.

This is why I included 2 Franks and 2 Julies here, one set in my usual style for drawing them and the other being more ‘on-model’ — the former are a representation of who the puppets actually are, with their agency, while the latter are who playfellow themselves outline the puppets to be. The playfellow puppets are a ‘perfect’ version of sorts, their canonical accuracy + their sparkling appearance being extensions of how true to the script they are.

The framing of these two sets, how they interact with each other within the image, is meant to show the situational helplessness Julie and Frank share. They are stuck together in a ring of lavender flowers (do you get it. wedding rings. lavender marriage. I’m a master of artistic metaphor /j), looking to one another in worry as they’re surrounded by playfellow’s expectations. Neither of them want this, for themselves nor for each other, but what are they meant to do? They aren’t trapped by something they can just escape from, they’re trapped by their own identities; the will of their creators and the will of themselves are intrinsically linked, each at their core are answers to the question of who “Julie Joyful” and “Frank Frankly” are, to try and sever that connection is an impossible task.

The circles above each of the on-model puppets’ heads are primarily meant to be halos bc well. you know how queer religious trauma goes (there’s a ‘playfellow workshop is a stand-in for american christianity and possibly god’ metaphor in there somewhere) BUT they are also supposed to represent wedding rings too, to show yet again how playfellow likely wants them to be a couple — and not in the “a couple of bestiesss(๑>◡0)~☆” way they’d like to be

I think that’s all????? not really much else I can say here. background is black + slightly red for that whrp undersite feel and the on-model puppets are drawn in white to contrast with the primarily black background but also because they’re technically Julie & Frank’s straightsonas & black+white=straight pride flag. ok bye

#I elaborated on my thought process under the cut but erm idk I might sound insane..#pov you see me buying Frank & Julie angst at the delusional store #frank frankly #julie joyful #welcome home #welcome home fanart #welcome home puppet show #my art #don’t tag as ship #playfellow workshop said bury your gays?? nahh bitch bury them in the CLOSET more like #eyestrain #cw eyestrain #<- noticed that this image is kinda hard to look @ so I’m adding tjis now srry abt that!

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wolfnesta · 10 months

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I’ve sort of stopped posting rant peices because meh I feel like everything that’s needed to be said has been said but I just kind of caught myself analyzing SJM’s writing after my reread of the Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and it led me to a comparison that somewhat allowed me to pin point why I just couldn’t really get into Feyre’s character. This is not anti Feyre before people get carried away but I do suggest you ignore this post if you’re a diehard fan even if it’s mostly an SJM critique.

For context during my first read of acotar I was a hardcore Hunger Games fan (the books because I loathe the movies). I’m talking obsessed since even before Mockingjay, the book, came out. And so Feyre somewhat gave me Katniss vibes with the whole bow and arrow/hunting theme but I say somewhat because the whole theme was ditched after the first few pages of acotar. Which isn’t a problem I mean they’re two different characters, two different stories, two different genres. (Note: absolutely no one can compare to Katniss. Additionally, Sarah can’t compare to Suzanne. But that’s just me) So the reason I still chose to do this comparison is because it sort of helped me understand why I could obsess over one character but reject the other when they hold similar traits. I think the best way I could describe it is from the beginning Suzanne Collins created a distinction between the protagonist and the situation which is so important because this allows the reader to understand details of characters surrounding Katniss and her demise while also understanding the responses she has to them as her own character. Maybe a bit confusing so let me give an example. It is explained why certain characters play a hand in Katniss’s demise like her mother, the tributes, her mentors etc very clearly, as in, we can grasp all the tragedies of their own while also understanding Katniss’s response to them separate than the readers eg. Katniss never being able to forgive her mother’s neglect at the same time that the reader understands the mother had untreated depression, the Careers trying to kill her with malicious intent but also understanding they’re basically puppets of the Capitol, Haymitch being a detoriating alcoholic she finds culpable for the lack of District winners but also knowing it’s his only way to cope with his ptsd. Anything about those characters after that is character development from what was already clearly established, more examples: the reveal of Finnick Odair’s promiscuity then learning he was being sold for sex, realizing Johanna’s lack of self preservation is because everyone she loved was murdered, and basically the whole entire book for President Snow’s character in The Balllad of Songbirds and Snakes which wasn’t even a redemption story it was just— 🤌

Whereas Sarah decides to bring up things at random when readers are suppose to have already made up their minds about Feyre’s demise. Cue in Tamlin going from having decent qualities to sudden complete douche, Nesta’s spiteful comments to suddenly she’ll save her, Lucien being a friend to suddenly he’s in debted to her, heck even —no especially Rhys’s ‘did bad things but turns out they were all for the greater good’ characterization throughout the books and everything he does is fine because of it. Because SJM uses Feyre as a way to make the readers believe how bad/good so and so is vs Suzanne who uses Katniss to provide to readers how Katniss believe’s so and so is. Then the way Sarah throws vague cryptic things to make characters seem traumatized which I’d go as far as to say is cringe borderline disrespectful the way they seem to be presented just for ‘aesthetic’ purposes instead of the very real things those topics entail (I’m looking at you Nesta’s SA plus others) but that’s another topic, I’m derailing.

Which is why I will definitely always say that from the very beginning of acotar the whole Elain and Nesta constituting Feyre’s wicked family trope fell extremely flat to me. Like I was completely unbothered— I couldn’t even bring myself to dislike them because it felt almost too obvious the way they were written plus the lack of explanation as to why?? There is this disconnection because sjm doesn’t clearly explain their behavior until way later which results in just a weird retcon type situation. Not only that but she goes on to build from it giving the sisters more importance in the series.

But whatever, that’s just my opinion. Which I’m sure has been said before in different terms.

Yet still I enjoyed Feyre book 1, although, as I made myself complete the series it seems by acosf she’s almost entirely different except for her self sacrificing qualities that tend to remain in all MC’s. I mean I really don’t think Feyre book 1 or maybe even book 2 would’ve let Rhys get away with that horrid pregnancy trope thing going on but 🤷🏻‍♀️ I’m not the owner of any of these characters so. In the end she’s an okay character to me, she’s a determined, loving person, but I just wouldn’t consider her a fave of mine.

#sjm critical #anti feyre #I want to like feyre I do but I couldn’t bring myself to love and obsess over her like my dumb ass does #tagging anti because some of her fans are insufferable

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saevus-brutalis · 4 months

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last art this year

was supposed to be for pride month but— ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝓊𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒.

some lore surrounding these two that is too long overdue but 🤷‍♂️

not as detailed and rambly as i’d like it to be, but i’m really burned out and i’m trying to get back to it🧍‍♂️

nevermind it’s pretty rambly lol

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

all the way back in 2038 Vincent and Ray, after dating for around two years, agreed to leave California together on august 21st — Ragan’s birthday; it was supposed to be his birthday gift of sorts, a start of a new chapter, new life;

buuut Vince, being a little shit teenager, got cold feet (in Ray’s eyes, Vince always justified that as being rational) and ditched him last minute, not showing up in their agreed spot, making Ragan leave on his own after hours of waiting.

this caused Ray to despite his own birthdate, it always reminding him of the heartbreak and betrayal. 🧍‍♂️

Vincent has felt guilty ever since, but firmly believed it was the right choice. he was never fit to live a nomadic lifestyle at such a young age.

four decades later their paths cross again and a long healing journey ensues.

so now this date is pretty bittersweet to both of them 🧍‍♂️ but it gets better overtime

basically right person, wrong time

although i think if they did ran away together then, it wouldn’t have ended good at all 🤷‍♂️ with Vince still being pretty immature emotionally, still struggling with some inner personal things (family stuff, internalized homophobia, etc.) and not familiar with the nomadic culture and ways of living. they’d probably get in bad fights more and more as the time would go on, and eventually split. Vince would’ve decided to go back to Night City probably (if he ever would make it back) and they’d never end up back together has they met in the future.

their separation allowed them to grow and mature on their own, in their own familiar environments, experience different things, and after they met again, after all those years, they put their feelings and mutual attraction to the test

and it turned out they still want each other even with all the imperfections 🧍‍♂️(i’m not crying you are) they could lie all they want but their brain chemistry couldn’t. Vincent never loved someone they way he loved Ragan, and Ray never quite felt the same way with anyone else like he felt with Vince. there was always something missing, something not quite right. and while they could tell each other they’re looking for something too far out of their reach, that they’re looking for a too perfect partner, in reality they always just wanted each other 🧍‍♂️

they still have a lot to work on together in their relationship, but now that they’re too old for teenage fights and too tired for heartbreaks, they make compromises and their fights make their bond and their understanding of one another stronger 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️

like we acknowledge that Vince did a shitty thing by ghosting Ray, going no contact and being a puss, too scared to man up, and tell him face to face ‘hey i can’t go, this type of thing ain’t for me’. he didn’t want to acknowledge that, saying that out loud, or even in his mind, would make that real and that scared him. he was definitely a teen who’d rather avoid doing something he wasn’t comfortable with to not experience the uncomfortable feelings altogether. the avoidant type we all know and love 🧍‍♂️

and yet Ray still chose to love him 🧍‍♂️ he’s definitely like ‘this man’s trash but he’s *my* trash’. Vince gets better eventually after Ray finally gets through his thick ass skull.

but also i’m not gonna sit here and say Ragan fixed Vince coz that wasn’t the case 🤷‍♂️ this is not a ‘i’m gonna fix him’ type of situation. Ragan wasn’t and isn’t perfect either, his perspective was kinda askew as well; can’t quite describe it as i haven’t psychoanalyzed him as much as Vincent but they’re both flawed, make mistakes left and right and learn from that (sooner or later) like human beings 🧍‍♂️

but in the end they’re just old men in love

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vnyverse · 1 year

Note

may i request a scenario with haerin where, they’re about to sleep facing each other and despite the darkness around them, reader still manages to see and capture haerin’s beauty. slightly touching her features to feel it and smiling at just how lucky she is to have haerin.

this is too specific but i dreamt of it and can’t get it out of my head. also just because i love haerin so much 🥲

side note: i really really really love and enjoy your work AND I AM NOT EXAGGERATING. i love the way you narrate and everything. you’re my favourite author out of everyone. keep writing wonderful works, vyny!

a/n: I’m glad you like my writing, and I hope you like my playful take on this! I'm still exploring what lenses I’d like to write through, and am currently experimenting between multiple writing styles so I apologise if my works seem to be inconsistent or have gaps! Always open for requests and criticism. I’ve personally never been attached to anyone, been in love with or crushed on anyone before, so sometimes I sort of write in my own way of how I am able to appreciate what I sense and see, sorry if its a little oddball-ish. A little embarrassing when I think of it sometimes heheh

Bts I guess but I listened to a whole christmas playlist writing this because I think christmas songs are what give me most warmth even if I don’t celebrate xmas? (Think jazz, Louis Armstrong, Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald, an occasional sprinkle of Chet Baker.)

Cold, seemingly bland spaces can be warmed up with the presence of belongings. Belongings that tell a story, or for the matter of fact reveal anything about its owner, that a homeowner may be an adult who values utility, a child that is obsessed with aeroplanes, or a teenager that likes punk music. Today, the rain’s gentle pitter patters and the ensuing cold made it as if you were a cold space in need of light and warmth. The television host of whatever gameshow was playing was so perky you wanted to give her a slap, but it did its job of holding your attention hostage till the centrepiece returned- your dearest Haerin. Just as you think of her, a knock on the walnut door is heard.

Her presence was made known with the little shuffles- what you knew as attempts to remove those shoes she complained were too tight. You made a mental note to get her another pair one size bigger. What you didn’t expect, however, was that she came home bare-faced, like she had conquered the day of nosy reporters and blinding camera flashes without any make-up. It was a pleasant change, and you wish it could be that way, she was in her full beauty without makeup, you always thought so, and you genuinely wished that she could do whatever she found comfortable, of course that was not to say that olive-coloured contact lenses, some lip tint amongst other beauty products had no effect of enhancing her beauty. It was just because it was simply a pity the world would never get to appreciate her in her most natural form. No, she was not a black cat, a dancer, singer or a girl group member. In the moments you spend together she is her inquisitive self, a soul deserves happiness, a young maiden that finds beauty in making sense of her surroundings. God even knows what it was that made her chuckle at her own antics sometimes, just like now, with little sounds summoned by her almost tripping over your shoes, the very corner of her pillowy cherry lips threaten to remain high up, and then she does the little thing where she bites one side of her bottom lip, leaving the side out playfully-as if it took the place of a tongue that was supposed to stick out. That’s a part of what makes her so lovely and refreshing.

You take your time with her, as you always do. How could you not when she looks at you like that? When she looks at you like you’re her whole world. God sure took his time crafting this girl’s features. She melts into your touch as you ready her for her skincare routine by gently brushing her long, dusty ash coloured hair, before tying it together in a neat bun. You think to yourself how everyone else can always be classified as a colour, but Haerin in essence would never be so one dimensional that she simply falls under any one specific colour. She could be a sky blue if she wanted, or maybe a lilac purple, hell, the girl could even be a dark maroon if she desired so. Now she was all ready for bed, and you could not resist tracing your fingers through her features, what she responded with was a curt nod coupled with unmistakably happy orbs, what you’ve deciphered to be simultaneously a green light and a yes please.

You’ve thought for long how exactly to piece together her beauty to Haerin herself in words, the best you can and without thinking you muster up something between nothing and everything, a coughed out ball of adjectives you somehow managed to deliver. You could, as cliche as it sounded, and did in fact exaggerate that you would have a video camera pan in and out of her features, edit it, and have an audience gasp at the entirety of the video, and this is how you envision it goes. You cringe at your idea now, thinking of yourself as a genius no more as you reveal your elementary idea to God’s now dozing off magnum opus.

You were sure every glance at her kittenish countenance would be a perpetual wonder for you. Her hair, when tied up, revealed little ears that seemed to perk up excitedly, whether out of shyness when she faced you, or if they maybe wanted to take a peek at you when your eyes weren’t on hers. How her kind, gentle brows seemed so gently slant it allowed your eyes to follow them and slowly move south like a traveller, onto large and curious almond eyes that put other honey coloured eyes to shame, not before taking a gentle descent down the slope of her nose, her shapely soft cheekbones, and perfectly deep dimples that were lethal for any pair of eyes to travel toward. The journey does not end there, of course, your eyes would then take a trip to how the area near the ends of her lip would subtly crease at whatever little observation she had that successfully demanded her attention, and how her puffy cheeks were annoyingly soft.

But until you are sure you can express the entirety of your absolute and spontaneous appreciation for her, you express it through the little things.

“Night night beautiful.”

“You too.. loveyouy/n”

Now you pull the sheets over the girl, for your exploration could take place after abundant rest and maybe then you would find something new and equally intriguing on your next.

___________________________

This girl is just so adorable 🥰

#gg fluff #gg imagines #newjeans fluff #newjeans imagines #haerin #newjeans haerin #haerin x reader #kang haerin #newjeans #newjeans x reader #gxg imagine #kpop girls

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edosianorchids901 · 7 months

Text

Plausible Deniability

For @book-omens-week Day 5: human connections

“What are you doing here?”

“Hmm?” Crowley looked up from his latest acquisition. Aziraphale stood in the doorway, wearing a vaguely accusing expression. “Oh, hi. I’m buying a painting. Well, not actually a painting. Cartoon.”

He held up the drawing. Aziraphale studied it for a moment, then glanced to the very unconscious human slumped forward across the table. “You look as though you’re outdrinking Leonardo da Vinci.”

“I mean yeah, there is that. That too, anyway.” Crowley grinned. “Humans, eh? Can’t keep up with supernatural entities very well. They’re kinda fragile.”

“They are, at that. Quite clever though, sometimes.” Aziraphale helped himself to a piece of cheese off Leonardo’s plate. “I presume you’re attempting to corrupt him?”

“Nh, mostly I was just…” Crowley waded through the boggy memory of his last several hours. “I told him about helicopters.”

Aziraphale huffed. “You really ought to stop doing that sort of thing, you dreadful old serpent.” He said the term with so much fondness that Crowley smiled. “Humans get themselves in enough trouble without you talking them into creating technology that they’re really not ready for.”

“Eh, I don’t think they’ll be able to make working ones yet. Besides, he’s already got some sketches of similar thingies.” Crowley gestured vaguely to Leonardo’s journals, some of which sat open on the table. “And anyway, what’re you doing here? I’m pretty sure he’s not the pious type.”

“Not so much, no. But he is fascinating, isn’t he? So innovative.” Aziraphale beamed at the thoroughly unconscious human. “I may have, er, wriggled my way into his good graces so I could get a peek at those notebooks.”

Crowley snorted. “‘Course you did.”

“And I suppose you’re here for entirely non self-serving reason?” Aziraphale asked tartly as he stole another piece of cheese. “Simply to give him ideas?”

“I said, I’m buying a drawing.” Holding the drawing up again for emphasis, Crowley grinned.

That definitely wasn’t the only reason, though. Crowley liked people, even if he didn’t really befriend them, and it was nice to connect with them. No human connections lasted long, of course. Humans had painfully short lives, and sometimes Crowley got melancholy about that.

He pushed any melancholy aside and gestured to the chair beside him. “You could sit down, y’know. Might as well sit if you’re gonna eat all of his food.”

“I’m not eating all of his food!” Aziraphale protested while stacking some sort of little sweet cakes on a plate. “He has plenty of food. And wine.”

“True.” Crowley watched Aziraphale fondly as the angel finished loading up his plate and acquired a jug of wine. “Are you gonna read his journals while he’s asleep?”

“Perish the thought.” Aziraphale cast a longing glance at the journals before pouring wine. “Well, I might just read the open pages, but it would be very rude to go further without permission.”

Crowley smiled, leaning back in his chair as Aziraphale devoured half of Leonardo’s food. “Gosh, you can’t possibly be rude.”

Crowley had also eaten and drank a lot—albeit at Leonardo’s invitation—and it was making him sleepy. He kicked his legs up on the table and closed his eyes, letting himself sink into a near doze. Not quite a full doze, though. His body would be seriously pissed off at him if he slept in this position, and spending the next few days limping around didn’t sound fun.

He apparently dozed a little more than he’d planned, though. He awoke to a gentle tap on his arm. “Crowley? Are you awake?”

“Hmm? Oh. Hi, yeah, awake now.” He shifted into a normal position and rubbed his eyes, bleary. Aziraphale, surrounded by Leonardo’s journals, beamed at him. “Oh wow, you did decide to read those, eh?”

“Er.” Aziraphale gave him a guilty look, then took a healthy swig of wine. “Not at all. Merely, um, looked through them.”

Crowley laughed, couldn’t help it, then stood. “Right, so. Are you done yet?”

“I am.” Aziraphale stood too. “Shall we?”

“Yup.” Crowley eyed the wine, then downed another glass of it before picking up his cartoon. “For plausible deniability,” he explained to Aziraphale, who had been giving him a you’ve had enough to drink look.

“Plausible deniability for what?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley grabbed his hand. “This.”

Aziraphale sputtered slightly, but didn’t argue. A smile crept onto his face, and he let Crowley pull him out of Leonardo’s studio and into the narrow street outside.

Night had fallen solidly now, stars sparkling overhead. The darkness brought cooler temperatures and a gentle breeze, enough that Crowley shivered. This wasn’t the kind of weather that made him feel like basking on a rooftop, unlike the heat of the afternoon.

But Aziraphale’s skin was warm against his, plump hand soft in his grasp. They walked together hand in hand through Florence’s narrow streets under the night sky. Connecting with humans for a bit was fun, sure. But there was nothing like strolling hand-in-hand with Aziraphale, their conversations similarly wandering from topic to topic. It was one of the pleasures of the world, and a pleasure that Crowley enjoyed immensely.

#good omens #book omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #book omens week

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vaya-writes · 5 months

Text

Not Quite A Life Debt - 2

A handful of f reader insert scenes with m demonic love interests. Fluff, hurt/comfort, and smutty shenanigans that lean kind of poly.

You (kind of unnecessarily) tried to save Ludwig’s life. Out of pity, he lets you crash at his place for a few weeks after. It probably wouldn’t be so bad, but he doesn’t live alone. Reader stays with the triplets until she gets back on her feet. Smut, family shenanigans, and possibly even romance ensues.

You settle in and meet Ludwig's family. There's a bit of a mix up regarding what humans can safely eat, and the start of some bonding with Obie. 3300 words.

Content warnings for this chapter include references to the last chapter (recovery from injury, very brief use of an inhaler, and mention of alcoholism), profanity, detailed food descriptions, food not safe for human consumption, someone (not reader) calls themself ugly and believes it. Divider by firefly-graphics. Also tagging @eldritch-spouse so she knows her clowns are being featured again.

Masterlist - A03 - Previous

You’re pretty dazed when you step into Perdition.

The events leading to this moment were stressful. Losing so much in so little time, having nowhere to turn; it’d all be overwhelming on its own. As it is you’re trying very hard not to break down in front of Ludwig, your new acquaintance.

But moving to hell? That’s a whole new level of crazy you’re not quite ready to deal with.

You take in your surroundings with a distant sort of interest. Ludwig leads you through a rough looking neighbourhood. It’s not the nicest place, sure, but you’re taken aback at how mundane the place is. Sure, there are demons in every window, and clustered around some doors and corners. There’s the flash of magic here and there, and things you'd rather not look too closely at. But it had never occurred to you that demons would require housing too. Would have their own suburbs and addresses.

You’d laugh if it wouldn’t trigger a coughing fit.

“So, I know you’re probably feeling,” Ludwig glances down at you, searching for a tactful word, “delicate, about now. But there’s a chance my family will be home.”

“Yeah?” Your voice is hoarse.

“Yeah. We were supposed to do dinner this week. But then you were in hospital and I had to postpone. My brothers will probably be lurking around until that’s dealt with.”

Meeting people. You could handle that. Perhaps not right now, when you’re still clad in a hospital gown, and stumbling from exhaustion. But maybe after a nap?

“Ok.”

You travel another block or so before Ludwig comes to a stop before a two story home. It’s fairly unremarkable, if a little worn down. You might call it well lived in.

He mutters a curse. “They’re home.”

You wince. “I haven’t-” you hesitate to say you haven’t met a demon before. After all, you’ve known Ludwig for about a day. But still, meeting more than one right now is intimidating as fuck. Being here makes you nervous enough that you almost forget the week you’ve had. “Uh. Is there anything I should know before I meet them?”

Ludwig frowns. Bothered, but it doesn’t feel directed at you. “Do you need a crash course in demonology?”

“Uh,” you just want to sit down. “Not today?”

His face crinkles some more. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, with his eyes always kind of closed. He lets out a long breath. “Obie is a glutton. Literally. He’s chill, but don’t leave anything small around him. Or your food unattended, if you’re particularly attached to it. And Mervin is a pride demon. He talks a lot of shit that he only means half the time. Expect to be criticised. It’s absolutely a front, but he can’t help it.”

You bite your lip. “Sounds... kind of stereotypical?”

“They’re stereotypes for a reason.”

You realise you’re missing a key piece of information. “And you are..?”

He blinks. (You think.) Then cracks the first smile you’ve seen him give. “Not obvious then?”

You look him over. He’s of average build, a light red in colour, hooded eyes that he barely keeps open, and a set of ribbed horns of moderate size. Perhaps his type might be obvious to another demon, but you don’t know enough about demonic physiology to hazard a guess.

“You slept through a building fire. Are you from Sloth?”

He leans back, surprised, you think. “I’m from the common ring. Type is genetic.”

You wait.

“I thought you’d guess based on,” he waves at himself, “colour, but yeah, sleeping through a fire is a bit...” he trails off. “Let’s not tell my family about that.” He stands straighter, recovering. “I’m actually a wrath demon.”

You should probably feel something when he tells you that. Concern. Fear. Something. But you’re experiencing something akin to post exertional malaise. And it’s definitely rounding off your thoughts with apathy.

You shrug. “Okay.”

He seems confused. “Okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Okay. How am I supposed to react?”

You’re pretty sure he’s staring. But after a moment he slouches. His voice softens. “Did you have any questions?”

“Is there anything you think I should know?”

He turns away. “Uh- not really. I... I know humans can scare easily. I’ve a bit more awareness of my outbursts than some wrathful types. Just... I suppose, ask before touching my things?”

It sounds easy enough. You look up at the house with a sigh. “Alright. Can we get this meeting over with? I’d like to shower and then sleep for another week if possible.”

He smiles again; the slight turning up of his lips. “That could be arranged.”

---

Any other day and you’d be intimidated as fuck. Strange house, strange people, strange new rules, and you don’t know the half of them.

You take comfort in the fact that Ludwig’s brothers are just as surprised to see you. The purple one – Mervin, you learn – stares daggers at you, silently contemptuous. Obie, the yellow demon with crooked horns, at least smiles, and shakes your hand.

Then Ludwig is whisking you away to the spare room. “This used to be ma’s room. She didn’t leave a lot behind, but there might be an outfit or two. There’s an ensuite so you can have that shower you wanted.”

“An ensuite and nobody uses this room?”

He snorts. “We could never agree who got the room after ma moved out. To put things lightly.”

The room is plain but it’s the nicest you’ve stayed in in a long time. The bed and wardrobe alone are luxurious compared to the hotel you’d been staying in. The clothes are a different matter.

After rummaging through the drawers you hold up some pants, and try not to frown. “I think your mum’s body type is very different to mine.”

Ludwig eyes the pants and huffs. “Yeah. I’ll see if anything of mine would fit you better.”

He brings you some supplies. A towel. Clothes. Some soap. And then you’re left alone.

---

Obie manages to keep his questions to himself. Even Mervin had kept his comments to a minimum, instead leveling Ludwig and his human with looks that could be deciphered as exasperated. Appalled. They wait until Ludwig comes back downstairs before facing him. Even then, they managed to hold off a little longer, until the sound of the shower begins upstairs, before giving him a proper dressing down.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

“You missed ma’s birthday for a human? Do you know how devastated she was? You could have called? Texted? Sent a fucking letter-”

Ludwig sighs. Claps Mervin over the back of the head – somewhat viciously - before sitting at the table. “I did call, Merv. I told ma what had happened and got her damn blessing to stay on the surface. You’re just mad I didn’t tell you.”

“Of course I’m mad. I cleared my schedule for this! What could be so important that you could just blow us off?”

Ludwig laces his fingers under his chin. Would happily tell Mervin- if he hadn’t kept ranting. Pacing around the kitchen, gesticulating with anger. He shares a look with Obie, one honed by decades of dealing with the pride demon’s antics together.

Obie understands. Gets up. Herds Mervin into a chair (even as he keeps talking). Cages him in with hands on his shoulders.

“Shut up, will you? Do you want his explanation or not?”

Mervin cuts off, sneering at his brothers. “Fine. Speak.”

Ludwig grits his teeth. Has to swiftly decide which parts of the event to share. Not the drunkenness. That would just worry them. And if he tells them what you actually did to help, they’d probably experience the same bewilderment, the same condescension as he had. Mervin would have nothing but scorn for you, forever mocking your intelligence.

“I was doing a layover in some backward little town when the locals tried to hate crime me.”

His brothers straighten, attention immediately caught.

“I’m fine. Obviously.”

“What did they-”

“They set the hotel on fire.” Ludwig huffs at their expressions. “I know right? Anyway, the girl tried to step in and help. People weren’t happy about it. She lost her home for the trouble. I offered to let her stay here or a while.”

Mervin almost fluffs up, objections ready to spill, but Obie beats him to it: “That doesn’t explain why you were gone for several days.”

Ludwig winces. He supposes they will find out about your blunder after all. “She’s been in hospital. She charged into the fire to try and help me. Inhaled a lot of smoke.”

Mervin scoffs. “So she’s stupid.”

Obie digs his fingers into Mervin’s shoulders. “Sounds like she’s kind.”

Ludwig shrugs. “A bit of both, from what I can tell.”

Mervin still sneers. “And nobody else could take her?”

“No. I did not get that impression.”

Obie shrugs. “Then there’s only one thing for it. She stays.”

Mervin frowns. He’s definitely going to complain. But Ludwig spears him with a look that leaves little room for argument.

Instead he stands. Scoffs, as he shoulders Obie aside. “You’re a bunch of soft-hearted fools.”

---

The family dinner is rescheduled for the next day. You don’t care for the details, as long as you’re allowed to sleep. Using a real bed, in a quiet room is a wonderful treat compared to sleeping in a hospital ward.

You woke when Ludwig had knocked. He’d brought you a bag of chips – a surface brand you recognise. You tore into those rather than risk the kitchen and running into the other occupants of the house.

You’re not sure how much time had passed when you finally creep downstairs, drawn by the smell of cooking food. You’d slept in. Presumably. With the strange lighting in Perdition, the lack of clocks in your room, and your phone being flat, you haven’t an idea of the time.

The yellow one is busy in the kitchen, cooking with practiced ease. There’s meat in a frying pan, while eggs cook in another. You watch as Obie cracks an egg open– it's large, too round, and certainly not from a chicken. You almost miss the way he tosses the shell. It flies in a perfect arc before landing in his open mouth.

You hide your wince before making your way to the dining table. Ludwig sits at it, in deep conversation with another yellow demon. This one a plump woman with her hair styled neatly. You try not to stare, but she’s honestly the first demon you’ve seen with hair.

Her deep green eyes flick to you and she smiles. Her voice is pleasant. Sweet. “This is her?”

Ludwig nods, and introduces you to his mother, Katia.

She seems lovely; fussing over you while you wait for dinner and asking if you’re well. She asks about your pain, your sleep, how you’re settling in. When the conversation meanders back towards herself and her family she chats about her sons in a way that’s frankly endearing. You catch a darkness on Ludwig’s cheeks that might even be blush.

You actually manage to relax, smiling and nodding along politely, answering questions here and there. Thankfully she doesn’t ask you anything too personal. It goes on until Mervin joins you at the table and Obie brings out the food.

You stand and offer to help, to set the table, but Obie and Katia brush you off, the later insisting that you’re a guest, that you’re unwell – you should be resting.

They’re not wrong. Even the small amount of conversation that you’ve made has left your throat feeling agitated. You have to use your new inhaler before settling in for food.

Obie serves you your plate. There’s eggs, toast, sausages, and fried meat. It all looks familiar, but distinctly off. The egg yolks are too small, too green. The meats have an almost purple sheen. The toast is oddly shaped, like it had risen differently.

Still, you don’t want to be rude.

It’s been said that you’re a little stupid.

You certainly do nothing to detract from that argument when you cut a small piece of meat and toast and take a bite.

In your defence, you’re hungry. You’re being polite. You don’t want to rock the boat by asking somebody to accommodate for your very basic and important needs.

Regardless, you can’t help but hesitate at the taste. You chew carefully and swallow while sensation spreads across your tongue.

“So... what are we eating?”

Four heads turn your direction. They blink.

“Oh fuck,” Ludwig swears.

You pale at his oath, freezing before you can cut another bite.

The taste begins to sink in. Savory. Rich. Intense. It’s nearly overwhelming the way your mouth alights. You do your best to keep a straight face, but fail.

Mervin mutters something. Some insult. Some comment on your intellect. While Obie jumps up. Fetches a glass from the kitchen and fills it with water. “I’m so sorry, Bon. I completely forgot- here, drink.”

The water helps. Barely. It still takes a minute for the taste to start to fade. You end up drinking the whole glass, hoping to dilute the taste of whatever the fuck you just ate. Not that it was bad. Just... unexpected. Overwhelming. You’d never had a taste threaten to overwhelm you before. It's certainly a new sensation.

There’s a myriad of embarrassed looks around the table. You’re glad you’re not the only one. Hoping to diffuse the tension, you joke “Nothing poisonous I hope?”

Obie shakes his head. He looks almost downtrodden. “No. Just... food local to these parts. I forgot that humans aren’t used to it.”

“I’ve some junk food stashed in my room,” Ludwig stands, “Earth brands, so it should be safe.”

Obie shifts, “yeah, about that...”

Ludwig stills. Stares hard at his brother, you think, before turning and stomping towards his room.

There’s a silence before-

“You insatiable fucking rat. What have I told you about touching my things?”

“Mervin, go stop your brother from getting too worked up.” Katia intercedes, calm as still water. “Obie, you need to replace what you took. Now.”

Obie grumbles and stands. He picks up his plate and literally tips the contents into his mouth, jaw unhinging impressively to accommodate the mouthful.

You try not to gape.

He turns to you. “Wanna come with? You can pick out the foods you like?”

You glance towards the hallway, where you can hear two raised voices, now coming closer. It’s an easy choice.

You join Obie by the door, stepping into the sneakers Ludwig had leant you. “Sure.”

---

It’s an effort not to gawk at everyone you pass. Now that you’re rested and slightly more cognisant, everything around you seems novel. You’d flitted from small town to small town for most of your life. Hadn’t seen many monsters at all, let alone demons.

Here, they’re everywhere. And you notice, with gradually increasing discomfort, that they’re also very much aware of you.

You make it to a market. Obie grabs a shopping trolley and leads you towards the ‘interspecies foods’ aisle. They have a basic selection of human foods there, but there’s enough that you won’t have to eat the same thing every day. Mostly.

Obie carefully picks out some sweets and chip packets, scowling all the while. “I can’t even remember the specifics. Do you think he’ll notice if I get the wrong chocolates?”

You spare him a glance, before going back to monitoring your surroundings. There are even more eyes on you now. “I don’t know. As long as you get him a kind he likes?”

He hums his agreement, and starts filling the cart, comically emptying out an entire shelf.

“I think people are staring.”

“There’s a glutton in a grocery store, of course they’re staring. You gonna pick what you want?”

“Will they take my money?”

He pauses to consider. “No.”

Your stomach picks a bad time to rumble.

Obie gives you a pat on the head. “Not to worry. This time it’s on me.”

You’re relived, but your anxiety only lessens marginally. This family is already housing you. You don’t want to rely on them for food too. Gratitude tends to run thin in the face of inconvenience.

You pick out a couple of things. Sandwich fodder. Cup noodles. Milk. But Obie doesn’t seem to notice your hesitance and empties out several more shelves of your favoured foods. Soon you have enough stock to last you weeks.

Maybe he does notice. Because he prompts you to pick something else. Firmly redirects you towards the aisle again when you make to leave. “Nobody goes hungry in our house.”

Until the shopping trolley is full. To the point where overflow is a risk. You watch Obie balance more onto the precarious pile, impressed by how much he’s managing to carry.

The sight fills you with amusement. Enough that your anxieties ease, if only for the moment.

But once you leave the store, your concerns resurface.

“They’re still staring.”

You can’t help but glance down at yourself, self-conscious. You are wearing a pair of tights from Katia’s supply and one of the shirts Ludwig had leant you. It’s oversized, but not horrendously so.

“Don’t worry, Bonbon, they’re staring at me.”

There’s that nickname again. It’s sweet. Almost ridiculously so, and you’re not sure if you’ve done anything to earn it. It distracts you enough that you almost forget the stares. But you can’t help but circle back to them.

You don’t really believe him. Maybe some of the stares are levelled at him? But it seems to you that everyone is gawking at the human.

“Why would they be staring at you?”

“Well, I’m kind of ugly.”

Your head jerks in his direction, unbidden. You haven’t heard somebody describe themselves so frankly since- well you’re not sure if you ever have.

You regard him carefully. Search for the source of his comment. He’s the same build as his siblings. Yellow, in a pallor that is obviously inhuman. Average, as far as demons go, with two horns and tail. His horns are asymmetrical; curved and bent unusually. He has the same thin spade tail as his brothers, except the length of his is visibly kinked in several places. It lacks fluid movement – twitchy almost in a way that makes you think of broken bones and nerve damage.

Still. You wouldn’t consider him ugly. Just different. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. Gestures to what you had observed. His horns. His tail.

His casual demeanour is almost forced. You start to suspect that he was being quite serious when he called himself ugly.

It bothers you enough that you step closer to him and speak in a murmur, “you look fine to me.”

He huffs a smile. “Well, aren’t you sweet? Don’t worry about me, I’m used to it.”

His lightness irks you. You almost pout. “Nobody here looks normal to me. I don’t know what demons are supposed to look like. So you can believe my unbiased opinion when I tell you that you look fine.”

He looks away. Seems to consider. Before shrugging. “I’ll take your word for it.”

You can tell he’s not taking you seriously. This time you do pout. You push past your discomfort and link your elbow with his.

His head whips towards you, surprised at the contact.

You ignore his shock. “I’ve got a lot of gaps in my knowledge about demons. Want to fill me in while we head back?”

He turns away, quiet for a moment, before shrugging again. “What did you want to know?”

#vaya writes #eldritch-spouse #monster romance #demon romance #jazz hands #ive been working on this instead of sts #hope ya'll enjoy #and yes #there will be smut

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whataperfectwasteoftime · 2 years

Text

Kinktober Day 27 - Forniphilia

Pairing: Marcus Pike x named f!Reader

Rating: E (explicit smut 18+ only!)

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: H-human furniture?! (forniphilia), BDSM vibes, very sexy art exhibitions, descriptions of (naked) bodies, D/s dynamics, sub!Marcus, Marcus needs A Fucking Break, Feelings? In my BDSM fic? it's more likely thank you think.

Summary: Marcus’s latest case brings him to a small, niche art exhibition to interview an artist whose gallery of explicit art had recently been stolen and defaced. The exhibition awakens something in him that he did not expect.

A/N: @absurdthirst, this prompt HAUNTED me until I had to come up with some sort of idea because this was just too fun not to try. THANK YOU for the titillating Prompt List! Thank also you to @leslie-lyman, @honestly-shite, and @pedropascalsx who heard so much about this prompt that they probably don't even need to read this, it's already ingrained in their brains from how many times I've talked about it. I love you all, thank you for enabling me.

Masterlist | Kinktober Masterlist

That's it, Marcus thinks. This job is going to kill him.

He had always thought that it would be a bullet that took him down, but, as he stands in this little art gallery, he wonders if one can actually die of mortification.

This case had already turned more than a few heads at the office. An artist's studio had been broken into, nearly all of her collection either stolen or defaced. The few paintings that had been left behind had made their way to Marcus's office, all splashed with accusations in brilliant vermillion. Whore. Filth. Pervert. The paintings themselves are beautiful, detailed, and masterful in their technique. They’re also incredibly explicit.

More than one visitor to Marcus’s office has stopped dead in their tracks and stared. Marcus, for his part, had been getting used to staring at a wall of cocks and vaginas as he had worked at his desk, but now he wishes that had been the extent of his discomfort.

Marcus is supposed to be interviewing the artist whose entire collection had been destroyed tonight. He had been told that they were busy, at a friend’s exhibition, but Marcus had readily agreed to an interview at the small gallery, thinking it would be a nice, quiet place to talk to them about the case.

He should have asked what kind of exhibition.

Marcus tries to keep his eyes pointed straight ahead, not letting his gaze focus on any of the… art. When he had first walked in, he had been gobsmacked by the sight: bodies–naked bodies, everywhere. A nude woman, balancing a lamp on their back, providing light for a fully clothed man reading nearby. Another man, apparently being used as a chair. Marcus had barely been able to keep a straight face, his cheeks turning bright red as he cast his eyes around in alarm, finding the title of the exhibition on the wall. Forniphilia: The Eroticism of the Inanimate.

Marcus awkwardly strolls through the gallery, looking for someone who might be the artist he’s looking for. All he has is a name, which makes it difficult. He scans the various guests, feeling too off-balance to approach anyone. Before he can gather up the courage to ask, someone beats him to the punch.

“You look lost,” a sultry, feminine voice calls out to him from his right. Schooling his face into something he hopes resembles a normal expression, he turns to look.

A beautiful woman looks back at him with an amused smirk on her face. She’s dressed smartly, in a businesslike pencil skirt and white dress shirt, typing on a laptop. She just so happens to be surrounded by naked men on their knees. One, she’s using as a desk for her laptop, another for a footstool. Yet another is holding a cup of coffee on his back. The last, she’s sitting on, using him as a chair.

“I’m looking for Jacqueline Conrad,” Marcus says, ignoring the heat on his face. “My name is Special Agent Pike, I’m supposed to be interviewing her about a theft that occurred at her gallery last week.”

“Special Agent Pike,” the woman drawls, dragging out every syllable. “How nice of you to stop by the exhibition.”

“I was told she’d be here,” Marcus continues, making a point to stare at the woman's forehead, and only her forehead.

"I'll tell you where Jaqueline is if you tell me something, first," the woman says coyly.

"Sure," Marcus agrees, wanting to end the conversation as quickly as possible before his eyes run the risk of wandering. His cock is inexplicably half-hard in his pants, the sight before him far more erotic than it has any business being. He needs to go on a fucking date, or something, Marcus thinks to himself. He’s way too tightly wound if weird performance art is turning him on.

"Do you like what you see, Agent Pike?" the woman asks with a knowing glint in her eye.

Fuck. Marcus feigns ignorance. “As a lover of art, I understand that it takes on different forms for different people,” he answers diplomatically.

“Look at you,” the woman croons. “A Fed with a brain.” She smiles, showing all of her teeth. “But spare me the party line, Agent. Tell me, do you like it?”

Marcus cocks his head to the side, considering. “I think,” he begins carefully, “that anyone would be hard-pressed not to be affected by the sight of so many naked bodies.”

The woman throws back her head and laughs. She picks up the steaming cup of coffee, takes a sip, and places it back down on the man’s back, who moans. Marcus can see the circular tinge of pink on his skin from the heat of it. He swallows.

“I like you, Agent Pike,” she announces, still smiling. “Thank you so much for stopping by to discuss my gallery. I apologize that I had a prior engagement tonight, I’m helping a dear friend with a show.” She sticks out her hand. “I’m Jacqueline.”

Marcus regards her hand warily. He prides himself on being a polite person, but he’d have to step onto the stage, among all of the bodies, to shake it. Eventually, courtesy wins out, and he steps forward to clasp her hand.

“You’re blushing, Agent Pike,” Jacqueline teases.

Finally caught off-guard, Marcus chuckles nervously and breaks eye contact. “When they said you’d be at an exhibition, I had pictured something very different,” he says.

“As you said, art takes different forms for different people,” Jacqueline says with a wink, “depending on your source of inspiration, Agent Pike.”

“Marcus,” he corrects, his face heating even further.

“Marcus,” she croons. “Sweetheart, I can see your… inspiration from here.”

“Ms–Ms. Conrad, I apologize, but I’m here for–”

“I know, I know,” Jacqueline interrupts. “We’re taking a little break in five,” she says, patting her chair’s butt affectionately. “And we can talk about the theft. Until then, why don’t you grab a refreshment and enjoy the exhibition, hmm?”

Marcus obeys, grabbing a little glass of punch from the refreshments table and keeping his expression aloof as he studies another exhibition: a curvaceous woman with massive breasts, draped in coats and holding an umbrella. The placard in front of her reads ‘Coat Rack,’ and a small, amused smile spreads across her face as she watches Marcus get the pun.

Despite his best efforts, Marcus can’t help but glance back at Jacqueline. He watches as she murmurs something to the man she’s sitting on, stroking his hair with a small smile as he answers. Marcus can’t hear the exchange, but he can’t help but notice that the man’s cock is rock hard–flushed and weeping with how much he likes his predicament. His own cock twitches with sympathy. There is something inexplicably appealing about being used like that. Marcus tries–and fails–not to think about being in the other man’s place, feeling fingers gently stroking his hair as he just drifts, not needing to pay attention to deadlines or meetings or the endless string of unread emails in his inbox, but simply existing with another person.

“Marcus,” calls a voice over his shoulder, and he suppresses a shiver.

"Ms. Conrad," he says, a little too brightly. He spins, plastering his agreeable ‘Friendly Agent’ smile on his face, the one that gets him through more doors than it really should.

Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t–

“Isn’t Oliver brilliant?” she gushes. “He’s been working on this exhibition for quite some time. He’s designed every scene personally.”

“Oh,” Marcus says, nodding his head. “Right.”

Play it cool, play it–

“Most people, when they see a new kink for the first time, are either disgusted right away, or they’re completely intrigued. They might not realize it right at that moment, but once it stews for a few days, it starts to eat at them, and they want to see more.”

“Is that right?” Marcus comments, his voice sounding just a little too high-pitched to be normal. “Ms. Conrad–”

“Jacqueline, please.”

“Jacqueline, I–the theft, were you aware of any threats to your gallery? Perhaps any attention from conservative groups, or–”

“I’m going to give you a choice,” Jacqueline interrupts. “We can discuss our business here, and you can leave, and I won’t bother you again until the conclusion of the case. Or,” she continues, leaning in closer, “you can come to my apartment and we can discuss the case–or anything else you’d like to talk about–in private.”

The conflicting offers bounce around in Marcus’s head. One the one hand, he stays here at this gallery, asks his questions, and leaves. On the other hand… well, he’s not quite sure what will happen if he follows this beautiful woman home, but she’s looking at him as if she understands exactly what is on his mind tonight. Say yes, his brain urges. Say yes and go home with her. Say yes and let go for one fucking night.

“Sure,” Marcus finally agrees. “We can discuss the–the case in private.”

Jacqueline purses her lips, her eyebrows drawing up in the middle, as if she’s looking at a very cute puppy. “You are too cute for words, you know that?”

Marcus’s eyebrows raise in surprise at her words. He isn’t sure what to say in response–he’s fine at taking compliments surrounding the job, but about him? He feels as if he’s been knocked off-balance by the praise.

Jacqueline palms his cheek. “You are,” she insists. “Poor thing. Come home with me, honey. I’ll make you feel good.”

Marcus follows her home in a daze. When she hands him a glass of wine at her apartment, she deliberately lets their fingers touch, and the light caress sends him down a path of no return–he will do whatever this woman asks of him tonight, and he knows it.

“Why don’t you tell me what you liked about the exhibition,” Jacqueline murmurs in Marcus’s ear as he takes his first sip of wine, and he suppresses a shiver.

“I like, uh–” Marcus trails off, genuinely thinking of a good answer. Why did the exhibition speak to him, make his cock stiff in his pants when he was supposed to be there for the job? “”I like–” he swallows thickly “–I like how someone can just be… static, I guess, if that makes any sense? LIke, just to uh, have the self-control to not move a muscle while–” he clears his throat. “In a weird way, it’s almost about being useful,” he continues, more quietly. “Being able to be there in a way that–that just involves being there, and nothing else.”

Jacqueline nods, as if the words coming out of his mouth are something more than gibberish. Her open expression prompts him to go on.

“I don’t want to think,” Marcus admits quietly. “I overthink everything. Work, relationships, everything. I try so hard to be everything to everyone. I’m so fucking tired of thinking.”

Jacqueline nods, her eyes full of understanding. She gets it. She sees him.

“Tell you what,” Jacqueline says with a little smile. “I had to put on way too much makeup for this silly show. I’m going to take it all off and go through a little skincare routine. If you’re really interested, why don’t we take this elsewhere, and you can take off all of your clothes for me and get on your hands and knees in front of the sink.”

For a harrowing, endless moment, Marcus doesn’t move. He can’t. He feels stuck to the spot, legs glued to the ground by the weight of Jacqueline’s request. Marcus is always in control. Marcus is the one who gives in every relationship. Marcus is the strong one, the person with his head on his shoulders, feet planted firmly on the ground.

What if he didn’t need to be?

Jacqueline’s eyes sparkle when Marcus’s hands finally move to loosen his tie.

Layer by layer, Marcus lays himself bare for her. He strips off his persona–the confident, collected Agent who allows every blow to glance off his shoulders without faltering, no matter how devastating. He shrugs off his shirt in the same way he’d had to shrug off his divorce, his broken engagement. He unbuckles his belt and steps out of his pants, the same way he’s stepped away from every bad thing that’s ever happened in his life, walking away with his chin up and never truly facing any of them. Few people would ever know that underneath it all, he’s a vulnerable man.

With his heart in his throat, Marcus slides his boxers down, shedding his last barrier. Jacqueline watches the entire time, but it isn’t until he’s fully bare that she smiles kindly and steps in close to him, palming his cheek.

“You’re a beautiful man,” she tells him softly.

Marcus mumbles a low thank you, and Jacqueline’s smile widens. His breath stutters as he starts to walk over to the vanity, but he’s stopped with her gentle fingers on his forearm.

“Hang on,” Jacqueline says. “I want you to think of a word–something you don’t normally say in regular conversation. If at any time you feel uncomfortable in the slightest, you say that word, and we stop. Okay?”

A safeword. She’s asking for a safeword. Marcus casts his eyes around and lands on a classic painting of waterlilies hanging near the sink.

“Uhh, Monet,” Marcus answers awkwardly.

Jacqueline smiles. “That’s perfect, honey.” She nods in the direction of the vanity. “Go ahead.”

“Monet,” Marcus immediately says, and she cocks her head to the side in confusion. “I–can I–may I kiss you?” he asks quietly.

“Oh, you sweet thing,” Jacqueline breathes. “Yes, honey. Of course.”

Marcus is torn between capturing her lips gently with his and striding forward and crushing her against him. In the end, he does a mixture of both, taking her face in his hands and slotting his mouth against hers with a fervor unbefitting of what has thus far been a strange, kinky one-night stand.

Jacqueline opens to him willingly when his tongue seeks entrance, threading her fingers through his hair and tugging lightly on the strands. It's then that she takes charge of the kiss, angling Marcus’s head ever so slightly, and he’s all too happy to let her. He gives her everything he has to give, until she comes up for air, breathing heavily–something that gives him far too much satisfaction.

"You're trouble, aren't you?" Jacqueline teases against his lips.

"I usually am," Marcus agrees, a playful smile coloring his words.

"What are we going to do with you, hmm?"

"I'm sure you already have plenty of ideas," Marcus says with a breathless laugh.

"I have a few," Jacqueline murmurs. She runs her hands down the planes of his chest appreciatively. "Right now, I want to see this big, strong man on his knees."

Marcus had thought it would be harder to take his place on his hands and knees. He had thought his ego might protest at the last second, that when faced with the reality of this bizarre situation he’d found himself in, he’d come to his senses and question the sanity of being, of all things, a fucking chair for a woman he’d just met.

In reality, none of that crosses Marcus’s mind. It’s anticlimactic, when he finds himself on the floor in front of Jacqueline’s bathroom sink. He’s achingly hard for having done nothing but kiss her. He finds it’s the anticipation that’s making him so incredibly aroused–the idea that anything could happen tonight, and that he has absolutely no idea what to expect from this. ‘Furniture kink’ has never once crossed his mind as a thing anyone would do, much less him, but when Jacqueline sits in the middle of his back and reaches down to reassuringly stroke his cheek, it all feels so natural. Like it’s a normal thing he does with his partners.

“So, Agent Pike,” Jacqueline says with a playful seriousness as she goes about her routine. “What made you want to be an art detective?”

Marcus huffs a laugh. “Flunked out of art school,” he answers.

Jacqueline laughs above him. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m really not.”

“So you aren’t making it as an artist,” she says, “and that makes you think, ‘fuck it, I’m joining the FBI?’”

“Well, it was–” Marcus shakes his head, reminiscing. “It was on a bulletin board outside of the lecture hall. It was becoming clear that I was not going to make a living otherwise, and it sounded interesting.”

“Did you always like it?” Jacqueline asks quietly.

“Being in Art Crimes? Yeah,” Marcus answers truthfully. “It was everything that was missing in my life.”

Jacqueline’s breath catches. “And is anything missing now?” she asks, a knowing timbre to her voice.

“Well,” Marcus chuckles self-deprecatingly. “Not with the job, at least.”

“Oh, honey,” she tuts, but it’s not condescending, it’s empathetic. Marcus stiffens slightly as he feels Jacqueline’s hand gently stroke his hair back from his forehead. “You’re doing so well, you know that?”

To Marcus’s humiliation, a genuine whimper falls from his lips at her quiet praise.

Jacqueline giggles softly. “You are,” she insists. Her fingers card through his hair as her hand moves down the back of his neck to rest on his shoulders. “You have wide shoulders,” she observes.

“Yeah?” Marcus asks.

“Very,” she murmurs appreciatively. “So thick.”

Marcus watches out of the corner of his eye as Jacqueline removes the last of her makeup. She had been beautiful with it, and she’s just as beautiful without. She picks up a bottle of lotion and puts a little dot on her finger.

"You're doing so well," Jacqueline says again. "You're very still."

Marcus had been desperately trying not to move a muscle the entire time, wanting to do a good job, and he finds himself preening under her soft praise. His last partner had never really complimented him for simply… being him. All his life, he was always praised for what he gave to other people, so he gave and gave and gave and gave–and of course, everyone took.

When Marcus had first walked into that exhibition and discovered an as-of-yet unexplored territory, he had assumed that playing these roles would be punishing or stern–not that he'd be sitting and making comfortable conversation, almost like a date. Except he's naked, being used as a chair, and his cock has never been this hard.

“I didn’t expect it to be like… this,” Marcus says quietly, breaking the silence.

“What did you expect?” Jacqueline asks, sounding genuinely curious.

“More… serious, I guess?”

She laughs happily. “Don’t let those faux-romance novels fool you,” she says. “Kink is supposed to be fun. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“I’ve never really thought about it that way,” Marcus confesses.

“Thinking about kinky stuff a lot, are you, Agent Pike?”

It’s his turn to laugh. “I do have an office full of genitalia, at the moment.”

Jacqueline laughs again and sets a little container full of eye cream down on the counter with finality. “There,” she says. “All done.”

“Yeah?” Marcus perks up. That… that was it?

“Yeah,” Jacqueline repeats, stroking his hair again. “You did a good job, honey.”

Marcus hums in appreciation, but she continues.

“I’d like to give you a reward, for being so good for me,” she says.

“Oh,” Marcus says, dumbly.

“You’re rock hard,” Jacqueline observes wryly.

“I did notice,” he answers teasingly, matching her deadpan tone.

“Behave,” she warns, sliding off of his back and kneeling beside him. “Or you don’t get your reward.”

“Sorry,” Marcus says automatically.

“You’re cheeky,” Jacqueline says with a smile. “I like that.”

Marcus smiles to himself but doesn’t respond again. Is it too soon to fall in love with this woman?

“I’d like you to stay exactly as you are,” Jacqueline instructs. “No moving. And I’m going to stroke this pretty cock until you cum all over my floor, right where you are. Does that sound like a nice reward?”

“Yes,” Marcus answers immediately, not bothering to hide his desperation from her. Too soon or not, he’s gone.

Jacqueline hums in amusement, and reaches out to grasp his weeping cock.

“Fuck,” Marcus hisses, dropping his head between his shoulders in relief. “Oh, fuck.”

“Shh,” she soothes. “You don’t need to say anything,” she murmurs. “You don’t need to move. Just feel it, okay? Just focus on how good it feels.”

Jacqueline starts to stroke him up and down, and Marcus can only close his eyes and whimper pitifully at her touch.

“That’s it,” she encourages him. “You don’t need to do anything else. No moving, no talking, just me, touching this perfect cock until you turn inside-out for me.”

Marcus groans at her filthiness. No one has ever talked to him like this, and it’s a revelation.

“It’s so big,” she pouts. “Next time I’m going to take advantage of that and sit on it, instead,” she promises. “What do you think about that?”

“Yes,” Marcus exhales. “Please.”

“I wouldn’t let you cum for quite a while,” Jacqueline warns him. “I’m going easy on you tonight.”

“Fine,” Marcus says immediately. “Whatever you want.” He finds that he means it–he’s putty in her hands. Anything she’d ask, he’d do in a heartbeat.

“Ohh, I like you,” Jacqueline breathes. “Yes, you’re incredible. Cum for me, I wanna see what you look like.”

Marcus nods thickly. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Gonna–”

“Shh,” Jacqueline reminds him. “Stay still, remember? Right now, you’re mine to use.”

The statement causes everything to draw up tight. With barely any warning at all, Marcus cums with a sharp inhale, forcing himself to stay still as he spills over her knuckles, coating the floor with ropes of his spend.

"Oh, honey," Jacqueline murmurs. "That was a lot, huh? You are pent up."

Marcus laughs breathlessly. "Been–Jesus–been a rough couple of months."

"I'd like to hear about it," Jacqueline says quietly, rubbing up and down his back as he comes down. "Not tonight–but if you're interested in doing this again, I'd like you to tell me about it while we do a scene," she explains. "Honestly, it may help you let some of it go."

"Oh," Marcus exclaims softly. "I–yeah, I want that."

Jacqueline laughs quietly. "Good," she whispers. "I think you're cute, and sexy, and fun, and I'd love to get to know you a little better."

"Same," Marcus murmurs, smiling at the absurdity of asking to get to know someone better while naked, on his knees, his cum splattered on the floor beneath him.

As if she's reading his mind, Jacqueline says, "You know, if we'd been doing this for a little while, I'd make you lick it up for me."

Marcus's brain goes fuzzy at her words, and he lets out an obscene noise, somewhere in between a whine and a moan. The image of him licking his own cum off of her floor, combined with the prospect that she wants to do this again is causing him to short-circuit.

Jacqueline laughs at the broken sound. "Oh, you like that idea, huh? You want to clean up your mess for me?"

"Do just about anything for you right now," Marcus says with a wry grin.

"Have you ever tasted yourself?" Jacqueline asks.

Marcus shakes his head. "No."

She dips her finger in it and brings a little drop to his lips. He sucks it into his mouth, the light salt of her skin combining with the slightly bitter taste of him on his tongue.

"We're going to put a pin in that," Jacqueline is saying, "because this is the first time you've ever been a sub, and you're probably feeling a bit vulnerable, and I don't want to go too far before you're ready." She grabs a wad of toilet paper and wipes it up before Marcus can protest. "Sit up for me, honey."

Marcus rises to his knees and is able to look, really look at Jacqueline for the first time since getting down on the floor for her. She's right–he is feeling vulnerable, although he isn't entirely comfortable showing it just yet. But her eyes are warm and kind, and her expression is open and unguarded, and he finds himself already wanting more of this. It's not just her–it's everything, everything they've done tonight, the way he was finally given permission to just slow down for a moment, to do nothing.

"You can kiss me again," Jacqueline teases with a glint in her eye.

Marcus doesn't need to be told twice.

#Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #pedro pascal #kinktober 2022

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spacemanxephos · 5 months

Text

Flower Crowns [Xephna]

Title: Flower Crowns

Pairing: Xephos and Lalna [Xephna]

Rating: General

Genre: Fluff

Words: 978

Warnings: None!

A/N: Consider this an early Crimbus present. *Please don’t reblog to kin/rp/introject blogs!* Also, this takes place pre-relationship during Moonquest :] (Crossposted on ao3)

Lalna had been puzzled when he returned from mining and Xephos hadn’t been in Baked Bean Fort. Considering the man was a workaholic who practically never left his work station, Lalna had reason to be slightly confused.

He’d immediately pulled out his communicator and turned on the mic. “Xeph’? You here? I just got back.”

It only took a few moments for Xephos to answer.

“Yes! I’m sorry, friend, I didn’t expect you to be back yet. I’m by the edge of that nice forested area, where we found the sheep, do you remember?”

Lalna nodded to himself. “Yeah, I think so. I’ll be there in just a second.”

Technically, it ended up taking him more than just a minute to get to Xephos. He panted slightly as he arrived, missing his flying armor. Even a faulty flying ring would be better than this, he thought grumpily.

When Lalna approached he found Xephos surrounded by wildflowers, sitting cross legged and weaving them together. He brightened as Lalna approached.

“Lalna! How was it?”

“Good, got some more aluminum,” he hummed, emphasizing the last word. “Would’ve been better if Honeydew hadn’t decided to faff around the whole time.” He complained, only half-serious.

Xephos sighed. “Is he still down there?”

“Yeah, he wanted to stay down there a bit longer. I think he said he’ll be back by morning.”

Xephos nodded contemplatively. “Alright. I suppose he’ll do better by himself when he doesn’t have anyone to fool around with.”

Lalna nodded in agreement, and observed closer what Xephos was doing. The wildflowers surrounding him were in sorted piles, and atop his head was a flower crown. Another was in his hand, apparently still in the process of being made.

“Flower crowns?” Lalna asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

Xephos nodded and averted his eyes, his cheeks glowing with embarrassment. “Yes, Honeydew taught me how to make them a while back. I didn’t realize I’d been out here so long, we can go back in and get started working-“

Lalna interrupted him. “No, no! It’s okay, I don’t care. Honeydew’s not here to berate us, let’s embrace it.” He grinned crookedly.

Xephos snorted slightly at that. Lalna crouched down next to Xephos, inspecting the one on his head. It was blue and white, made out of forget-me-nots and daisies. A few sprigs of baby’s breath had been delicately intertwined into the main chain.

“They look really nice,” he complimented.

Xephos brightened. “Thank you! I could teach you how to make them, if you’d like,” he offered.

Lalna shrugged. “Sure. Whatever to not have to go work on that bloody rocket,” he grumbled. Xephos laughed again and Lalna felt himself grin at the sound.

Xephos hummed and studied Lalna for a moment. “Now your eyes are that lovely blue-green color, so we ought to choose flowers with colors that make them pop,” He said decisively, rising to his feet and beginning to hunt for flora.

Lalna startled. “You- you think my eyes are lovely?”

“Of course I do, why wouldn’t I?” Xephos replied matter-of-factly, not even looking up. Lalna felt his cheeks heat up.

“Oh, er, thanks,” he rubbed the back of his neck bashfully.

Xephos continued on rambling cheerfully, climbing his way through the wildflowers. “Now, see, we need ones that are the opposite of green and blue. What’s the opposite of green?”

“Uh, purple?”

“Right, yes, what flowers are purple…” He trailed off.

Lalna watched Xephos quickly pick out the flowers. He returned with an armful of different flowers, still babbling to himself. “…And we also want ones that have longer stems, they’re easier to weave, as well.”

He sat back down next to Lalna. “Okay, so I chose daisies, because they usually work well, and I found these purple ones, as well. I’m not sure what they’re called, but-“

“Cosmos,” Lalna interrupted. “Those are called cosmos.”

“Cosmos! Cosmos, cosmos,” Xephos repeated to himself in that way that meant he was trying very hard to learn a new Minecraftian word.

“So, daisies, cosmos, and then baby’s breath. They’re nice for detailing. Now to weave them together…” Xephos began demonstrating the process, his thin fingers nimbly wrapping the stems around the others and creating a chain faster than Lalna could have imagined. Lalna picked up a few flowers and began clumsily trying to mimic the motion, but found himself more so enamored by Xephos’ air of quiet concentration. The gentle purse of the man’s lips and knitting of his brow was familiar, but less stressed than usual.

It only took a few minutes and Xephos had finished the chain, expertly tying it off and smiling satisfactorily.

“There! Simple enough,” he beamed, presenting the finished crown for Lalna to look at.

Lalna looked down at the mess of crumpled stems in his hands. “Er, yeah. Maybe you could go slower next time? I didn’t quite catch what you were doing,” he said.

Xephos flushed with embarrassment. “Oh, right. Sorry, I guess I got distracted.” He admitted.

“Well, no matter- here.” Xephos smiled and gently placed the crown on Lalna’s head. His hand brushed a piece of Lalna’s hair out of his eyes and Lalna felt his cheeks heat up again. They stared at each other for a moment. Xephos’ eyes were glowing brightly with delight. Lalna’s face burned further still.

“Thanks, Xeph’,” he finally managed to say, hoping the flush on his cheeks wasn’t as obvious as it felt.

Xephos beamed. “Of course, friend. Would you like to try again? I’ll help you step by step this time.”

Lalna nodded and relaxed his shoulders. “Sure.”

Xephos began making another chain, talking as he went through each step. But Lalna found himself unable to concentrate on the instructions no matter how he tried. He sighed, finally relaxed and rested his chin on his hand.

“Xephos?”

“Yes, Lalna?”

“I think your eyes are lovely too.”

#xephna #fics #yogslash #yogships #my post

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duhragonball · 10 months

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Super Dragon Ball Heroes 29

“What’s that? ‘Universe Creation Arc’? ‘Apocrypha Liveblog’? What are you talking about? We’re kids competing for a video game championship.”

Last time... doesn’t really matter, because the web anime just abruptly shifts to a completely different subject matter for Episode 29. It’s another special, but unlike Episode 20, which set up characters and backstory for the Universe Creation arc, this special just interrupts the arc for no apparent reason.

So to explain what’s going on here, I need to get into the conceit of the Dragon Ball Heroes video games. You, the live person playing a video game, play as a character like Beat, who lives in the Dragon World some time after the events of Dragon Ball Z. Beat, in turn, also plays a video game which is similar to the one you play, except for him Dragon Ball Heroes is some sort of Capsule Corp.-designed VR simulation, and characters like Goku and the others are historical figures. Within the simulation, Beat can fight alongside his chosen characters, and he can do Saiyan transformations just like they do.

I’ve watched some of the cutscenes from the game before, and it turns out that Beat is actually a descendant of Goku’s, so Beat actually learns how to turn into a Super Saiyan Blue in “real” life. It gets kind of confusing. The web anime we’ve been covering up to now has depicted the sort of story modes featured in the games. From our perspective, these are just side-stories invented for video game content, but from Beat’s perspective, the Universe Creation Arc is a thing that really happened, and he gets to re-enact that event in the game.

So in this special, we’re seeing Beat rushing to the shopping mall or wherever the game console is located. They’re doing a 10th Anniversary championship tournament, and he’s one of the participants, and he’s running late.

I think this is why I keep getting confused about how and where you can play Super Dragon Ball Heroes, because all the promotional materials show Beat going to these arcades and stepping up to some fancy-looking cabinet surrounded by onlookers. In the real world, I think I’d just have to get a Nintendo Switch, but they never show Beat playing on one, which seems like a dumb way to promote the product.

Anyway, that’s Note on the left. As I understand it, Beat and Note were both recruited to aid the Time Patrol on special missions involving the game, in kind of a “Last Starfighter” situation.

They both seem really startled when the gameplay begins, like they’re being sucked into the VR world in a way they weren’t expecting, but everything seems to be normal from here on out, so I don’t know what to make of it.

This is what they look like in the game, as they both have Saiyan avatars, and they’re both in Super Saiyan Blue form. I’m not sure why Note’s hair doesn’t stand on end. I’m also not sure how old these kids are supposed to be. They looked maybe nine or ten in the arcade, but they’re a little taller here, and Note has a boob window that I really don’t like.

Beat’s team is basic as hell. He’s got Vegito Blue, because he’s a huge mark for Dragon Ball Super, he’s got Yamcha because he likes him ironically. He’s got Super Saiyan God Trunks because he works for Trunks and he’s a kiss-ass.

He’s got Goku because he thinks you’re supposed to have a Goku on your team by default. He’s got Bardock because he thinks Bardock is a cool badass. And he’s got Jiren because the anime told him he’s the strongest guy.

By contrast, Note’s team is incredibly cheap. She doesn’t worry about who the popular characters are, she just goes straight for the ones with the best stats. She probably doesn’t even know this fugly version of Demigra, but he’s probably really strong, so she picked him. The Grand Minister shouldn’t even be in the game, but he is, and he’s probably broken as all get out, so she went with it. I don’t know who the mask guy is, but he’s probably someone special she unlocked, so you know he’s got some fancy stats.

And to round out Note’s team, we have Z-Broly for his bullshit super-armor, Masked Bardock to neutralize some Bardock glitch that Note doesn’t even know how to exploit, and Gogeta Blue because they may have nerfed Stardust Breaker in the V6.2.3 update, but it’s still got a crazy hitbox and she can use that to juggle Beat’s guys long enough to set up some other tricks.

What I’m trying to say here is that this tournament probably forbids just picking six Gogetas, but if it was legal, Beat would do it to match the six Gogeta posters in his bedroom, and Note would do it to exploit some patch in the game code.

Finally, 29 episodes in, we get to see Gogeta vs. Vegito, which you’d think the web anime would have covered a few times by now.

Bardock fights Masked Bardock...

...And God Trunks has to fight Broly. He’s got some trick where Chronoa pops in to freeze time, so it’s like a little Xenoverse thing going on here.

We’re just ripping off Jojo then, I guess.

“Uh, hi, everyone. I think I may have gone to the wrong place. Is this “Across the Spider-Verse? Because I’m a Spider-Man with ki powers, but like they’re radioactive ki powers, because the spider who bit me was--”

The Grand Minister heals up Note’s group, but Yamcha heals Beats group, so there. Good hustle, Yamcha.

Then Beat targets Note herself and defeats her pretty easily. I thought she was as good at this game as he is, but maybe she just left an opening for him. Too busy trying to do precision inputs.

Then a new challenger arrives, although there are three player avatars, so I don’t understand how this works.

Ha ha, get Beerus’ed, idiot.

Goku helps Beat up to try again, and this is presented like some heartwarming moment, except it’s just a simulation. I don’t know.

Then they both go Ultra Instinct and start clobbering the other team.

Big shot of Beat and his team. They kind of screwed over Yamcha by sticking him in the back for this.

And that’s the special. I don’t understand what the point of this was. The whole thing looked and felt like a commercial for the game, except... the whole show has been a commercial for the game. This one is just more like those trailer ads they would run whenever a new feature is added.

It’s almost like someone in charge got worried that the Universe Creation arc wasn’t selling the game properly, so they switched to this format instead, then switched right back, because Episode 30 continues the arc we were in. I don’t get it.

#dragon ball #super dragon ball heroes #2023dbapocryphaliveblog #beat #note #goku #vegito #gogeta #broly #trunks #supreme kai of time #and the rest

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merlin-wolfgang-trades-hale · 2 years

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McDanno. Word could 1351 It was supposed to be pinning but not sure I know how to do that properly yet. They’re still idiots in love who just get so miserable when apart. The “Not Nut Challenge” but make it McDanno

“I can’t believe you made us late. Again!” Danny grumbled as he adjusted his hair while looking at the GPS. For once he wasn’t going to complain about Steve’s method of driving if it could get them there faster than the GPS said it would take.

“Me? I was the one who made us late?”

“You’re the one who couldn’t keep it in his pants or seems to know the meaning of a quickie!”

“It takes two to fuck and I heard a lot from you, Daniel but I didn’t ever hear you say stop.”

“You were the one that sprung the ‘oh we have a meeting in fifteen’ in the middle of it! You could have waited until our lunch break. Or after the work day is done!”

“Again…never heard you complaining while I was-”

“You know, there are certain points I don’t like to agree with Eric, but I think he’s right about one random aspect. You’d never survive No Nut November.”

“No Nut…what? What the fuck is that?”

“Stupid internet challenges that have become popular. Either taken seriously or become part of a joke. There’s also No Shave November. It’s exactly what it sounds like. No Nut November. A month of abstinence. No sex. No masturbating either. A whole dry month.”

Steve knew he’d come to regret the words out of his mouth sooner rather than later. But when presented with a challenge…especially with the topic of their argument, he couldn’t help it.

“If anyone would have an issue with that challenge, it’s you. I’d be fine.”

Danny gave him a disbelieving look, and then spoke it out loud, “No you wouldn’t.”

“You think I couldn’t? I’ve had to be stationed out for weeks doing missions. Plus, I’m disciplined.”

“I find it very hard to believe that you and your boys didn’t have some sort of sock on the door agreement. But if you want to go, fine. We’ll do our own version of No Nut November. 30 dry days.”

“You’ll break too easily, Danny.” Steve said rather cockily.

“I’ve taken care of a newborn and was undateably bitter after my divorce. Trust me, I know how to get through this.”

~~~~~~~~

Work took over and for a while they forgot their bickering and bet. It wasn’t until lunch hour where everyone else was already at Kame’s and they were left alone in the office finishing up some reports. Steve began to make his way to Danny’s office and suggest another not-so-quick quickie, when he suddenly remembered.

Feeling someone’s stare on him, Danny looked up and saw Steve frowning at him. He remembered then, their bet and smirked in satisfaction. Getting up and meeting Steve in between their offices he asked, “Ready to go get some grub? Or did you have something else in mind you’re craving?”

Steve narrowed his eyes as he stepped closer to Danny, pulled him close, and took his time fishing the keys out of Danny’s pockets. “I know how to control my cravings, Danno.”

The tension that surrounded the team during their lunch hour was nearly suffocating.

~~~~~~~~~

The next week became insufferable in ways no one could properly describe. Steve found every chance remotely hinting at the chance to strip in public to do so. Danny’s clothes seemed to have gone down half a size in the wash or were tailored to be like a second skin. Leaving nothing to the imagination.

Steve’s been reprimanded by his aggression with dealing with perps, and Danny, because he did so more verbally, was on thin ice.

Steve’s free hours were now used for runs or swims. They helped him clear his mind and make Steve Jr. go down. Plus it gave him the excuse to be found by Danny coming out of the sea with his trunks being pulled down by water and gravity. A few of those times he thinks he’s nearly won, but Danny was as stubborn as him.

It didn’t take long before Steve found a punching bag out in the lanai. Watching Danny take out his aggression and frustration with technique while only in shorts awoke something new in Steve…that made him all but run into the ocean to cool down.

~~~~~~~~~

“Steve?” Danny called out after placing his keys on the hook.

“In here!”

Danny ventured into the dining room and stopped in the threshold to take in the scene before him.

The table was set rather elegantly for two. Steve was dressed in a suit and lighting some candles, while a bottle of wine rested in an ice bucket on the table.

“What’s all this?”

Steve blew out the match he was using to light the candles before walking around the table and reached for Danny’s hands. Lifting them up to his lips, he kissed them and said, “A romantic dinner.” Danny was about to say something, but Steve cut him off with pressing his lips to Danny’s. “It’s not a ploy or a scheme…”

Steve grabs what Danny thought was a napkin, but it was actually…a flag?

“Is that…?”

“Me calling for a truce? Me surrendering? Whatever you want to call it. I’m not gonna deny that I miss having sex with you, because I do. It’s one of the ways I feel closest to you. But it’s not the only way. In tempting each other and trying to refuse each other’s temptations we’ve…we’ve been apart. And I hate it. I miss you…”

Danny wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, Steve pulls him closer, and they kiss.

“I miss you too,” Danny admitted. Because Steve was right. These have been some of the hardest weeks. At first it was because he’s become so used to having someone to share every aspect of his life. Someone to unwind with, in whatever way was needed or desired. Some days, they had the words and they could talk for hours. Some days, they just enjoyed silence together. In between or other days, their way of communicating was with touching and making love. “So…what’s for dinner?”

“Steak,” Steve replied with a knowing smirk.

“Steak and wine. The McGarrett special that gets you laid, hm?”

“I didn’t deny that I also miss having sex with you, Danny.”

“There any dessert?” Danny asked, knowing smirk of his own.

“Aereosol can of whip cream.”

“Pretty on the nose, don’t you think?”

“I’ve been told I’m not very subtle when it comes to you.”

Danny looks down at himself, “I feel under-dressed.”

“If the date goes well, you will be. Now, come on. Sit. I’ll plate up and then…tell me about your day.”

While Steve went to prepare the plates, Danny opened the bottle of wine and poured them each a glass. At first, Danny thought it was all for show but as they settled, he and Steve began to delve into their own misery at having to resist the other. They ended up laughing in between bites at how silly they each got. Compliments mixed with non serious complaints about what they put the other through. With promises to recreate some of those temptations now that they were free to act on them.

They shifted from sitting across each other, to scooting the chair close to one another until the food was forgotten and Steve had pulled Danny onto his lap as their stolen kisses became a hot and needy make-out session.

Instinct and passion driven, moans and grunts were heard between the sounds of zippers being lowered. Gasps and a ‘fuck’ were given once they each reached for the other’s straining cocks. They pulled away to stare into each other’s faces, wanting to see the pleasure they’ve missed for long. The desire to kiss didn’t -couldn’t- go away as they stole kisses in between wanting to see the pleasure they could cause while working their lover’s dick.

Too long it’s been for either of them, that they didn’t last too long, before making a mess between them. Tension left them as a peace washed over and they got into another make-out session. This one slower, just as loving but not as frantic.

“Dessert?”

“I’ve denied myself this craving too long.”

#McDanno #please excuse any errors and typos #lemon #lemony #spicy #Hawaii 5-0 #fanfic #they're very much in love #they're also idiots but they're idiots in love #and...I hope you guys like it <3

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