#i am very nervous to do this!! i don’t like parting with my originals and i’m worried no one wants one ahahaha

[nereidprinc3ss]

light of the morning

in which spencer sneaks into bau!reader's hotel room and they share a little more than just the bed

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom!spence x sub reader, munch!spence, unprotected piv sex (dont do that), creampie (hate that word btw) praise, mentions of having to be quiet because morgan is right next door LOL, fluffy, established co-workers/friends with benefits, soooo idiots in love a/n: here is the promised smut. i am literally kicking my feet and twirling my hair and giggling and blushing at my own writing. I'm gonna have a freak out. requests are open like my legs

It’s late when the knock finally comes. Late enough that you’re dozing on the bed above the covers. 

It takes you a moment to reorient yourself—you’re rubbing your heavy eyes when you finally get the door. 

"Hi."

"Hey," says Spencer, hands awkwardly shoved into his pajama pants pockets. It’s funny, really. He never gets any better at this. 

You step aside and he enters the room, looking around as you close and relock the door. 

"Did I wake you?"

"How could you tell?"

"You’re in pajamas. And you look tired. I mean—you don’t look bad. You never look bad, I just meant… you don’t look tired but you’re not—I didn’t mean to—"

"Relax," you yawn, putting him out of his misery. "I was joking. I know I look tired." You glance at the digital clock on the nightstand. "It’s late. We have to be up early tomorrow."

"Yeah, I got, uh, sidetracked. Sorry."

He was reading. If it was anyone else, you'd be offended--but a sinkhole could open up under Spencer's feet and he probably wouldn't notice if he was absorbed in a book.

You shrug, a knowing smile lifting the corner of your mouth. 

"It’s fine. But I don’t know if tonight is a good night. I really am exhausted."

His eyebrows dart up. 

"That’s fine. That’s totally fine. I’ll just, uh—"

When you don’t move from in front of the door, he pauses, unsure. You bite the inside of your cheek, studying his rangy frame and choice of clothing. Blue pajama pants, slippers, grey CalTech zip up hoodie. It feels wrong to describe a 6'1 man as adorable, but that’s how he looks in his sleep clothes. There’s a very real chance, you find yourself thinking, that you are the only member of the BAU to ever see him in something other than slacks and a button-down. He looks so cozy that you kind of really want him in your bed even if he’s not doing anything but sleeping. The invitation slips out before you can think too hard about it. 

"You could… stay, anyway, if you want?"

His mouth parts slightly, and those eyebrows raise again. There’s a moment of awkward silence and you are very much beginning to regret your offer, wondering if you somehow violated the sanctity of your co-workers/friends with benefits situtationship. Clumsily you try to backtrack. 

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, you can—"

"No, no! You didn’t, I just don’t want you to feel obligated to invite me to stay in your room. I’m right across the hall, I can go back if you want me to."

You smile awkwardly, silent relief replacing the brief anxiety. 

"It’s fine. It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before." And not like you wouldn’t have ended up doing it tonight anyway, if things had gone as originally intended.

He chuckles, looking to the floor and nodding. The blush on his face does not go unnoticed by you. "Fair enough."

It’s incredibly endearing how nervous he still gets after six months of this little arrangement. 

"Do you wanna get your stuff, or…"

"No, that’s okay. I’ll just go back early tomorrow. The chances of someone seeing me leave your room are significantly higher if I do it so soon after entering."

You squint, unable to tell if he’s fucking with you or if that’s an actual statistically sound probability. And then you realize, blissfully, that you don’t really care. 

"Okay, well. Make yourself comfortable. I’m just going to brush my teeth."

Once you’re enclosed in the bathroom, hotel vanity lights blinding you as you brush, you find that there is a jittery sort of apprehension buzzing in your chest. But that’s silly. As you yourself pointed out, the two of you have shared a bed many times over the past few months. But the sleeping together is always a byproduct of the sleeping together. Never have you shared a bed in a completely decent, virtuous, strictly non-sexual manner. It’s always been a matter of convenience—less bother if he doesn’t have to worry about sneaking back into his room in the middle of the night when you’re both exhausted. Or maybe that’s just what you’ve been telling yourselves. 

You rinse your mouth out and exit the bathroom, flicking off the light and finding that Spencer has indeed made himself comfortable. The hotel room is dark and he’s already under the covers, fiddling with his phone. 

"What time should I set the alarm for?" He asks, looking over at you as you crawl into bed, drawing the covers over yourself. "I was thinking 6:23. That should give me enough time to—"

"Sounds perfect," you affirm, wiggling under the blanket as you get comfortable. He schedules the alarm and sets his phone on the bedside table, dousing the room in complete darkness. Your eyes stay open despite, waiting for them to adjust. A few moments of utter silence and stillness pass, and you can tell Spencer is completely stiff next to you. 

"Spencer."

“Yeah,” he answers immediately. Like he’s even more wired about this whole situation than you are. 

"You know you don’t have to avoid touching me at all costs, right? I’m not a leper."

He looses a nervous laugh. 

"I know. We’ve just never really done this."

You frown at the darkness.

"We’ve definitely slept in the same bed before."

"Yeah, but… this feels different."

That, you can’t argue with. Can friends with benefits share a bed just to be near each other? Does that blur some line? And why does it feel more intimate than the sex? 

Screw it. If there is one thing you don’t want your relationship with Spencer to be, it is uncomfortable. Uncertain, you can work with. But not uncomfortable. You reach for him, hand sliding under the duvet—and find his hand already waiting for yours. 

"I don’t think it’s that different," you lie, interlacing your fingers together slowly. 

"Prolonged physical non-sexual contact does have measurable health benefits…" the words are murmured, like the moment is fragile and he doesn’t want to shatter it. 

"Can’t argue with the facts," you breathe, trying to modulate the shakiness of your voice. But you have a feeling you’re doing about as good of a job at concealing your nerves as he is. He shifts.

"Can I…"

"Yeah."

Your heart is pounding as he slips one arm under your neck and the other around your waist, pulling you close. Instinctually you curl into him, slinging your top leg over him as you’ve done before, but always dismissed as post-sex brain chemicals making you feel all warm and fuzzy. A neurological reaction that is so solidly scientific, neither of you ever questioned it. But it feels bigger now. 

He exhales as you settle against each other—a sound of relief that mirrors your own. He’s so warm, so safe as he envelops you, physically and sensorially. In such close proximity, so clear-headed, you notice each layer of his scent. Toothpaste, lavender, vetiver, detergent. You sort of feel like a creep, but you can’t deny how comforting it is. Nor can you deny the pirouette your heart does when he begins minutely rubbing your back, like he’s not even thinking about it. 

"Goodnight," you whisper into his shirt. 

"Goodnight," he whispers back. 

You fall asleep pretty quickly after that. 

------------------------------

It’s unclear what wakes you up—maybe it’s the blue-grey dawn light filtering in through the filthy window (doubtful, it’s still mostly dark) or maybe it’s the blinking green digital clock on the nightstand. 5:02 AM. Your alarm will go off in an hour and 21 minutes.

Sometime in the night you shifted, turning over in your sleep, but Spencer is still holding you close. The arm slung so casually over your waist is slightly domineering, but you manage to rotate again and face him once more. Mere inches away from his face you can see every detail. His expression is so peaceful, it makes your heart ache. 

But you’re just friends. 

Perhaps he felt you moving, because his eyes flutter open and you watch as they flood with consciousness. He takes you in, takes in his arm over your waist. For a split second you’re nervous he’ll pull away. 

"What time is it?" His voice is scratchy with sleep. 

"Five."

"Why are you awake? We have over an hour til the alarm goes off."

"Sometimes waking up early is okay."

His eyes flicker between your own, and momentarily you’re paralyzed as you realize this is a limbo state for the two of you in which you’ve never operated. You don’t know what’s acceptable. You don’t know what to do. Being close to him feels so good, that the idea of separating hurts. But you don’t want to make him uncomfortable, or—

He leans forward and kisses you softly. In the blue light of dawn, rather than frenzied and hidden in the dark, a desperate tear of clothes and teeth and hands—it’s almost freeing. All the anxiety you were feeling just seconds ago begins to melt. 

Friends. 

"You looked anxious," is his whispered answer after he pulls away a moment later, like a kiss is the simplest remedy in the world. He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear. "We should go back to sleep."

"I don’t want to go back to sleep."

The corner of his mouth twitches as he studies you.  

"No? What do you want?"

Emboldened by your mutual indiscretion, it’s your turn to kiss him. You feel him smile against your lips, hand finding the back of your neck and raking up through your hair to pull you closer. 

The delirium of sleep seems to have softened you, filed down the rough edges of your boundaries and kicked away the lines in the sand. What’s a kiss or two when you’ve just woken up? A small, innocuous display of affection while you’re still barely conscious. Nobody could fault either of you for that. People don’t think clearly when they’ve just been asleep.

So what if your lips part against his, and his other hand finds its way under your shirt to stroke the bare skin of your waist and hips? So what if you hitch that leg over him again and press closer?

Spencer breaks the kiss, still ghosting over your lips. 

"I thought it wasn’t a good night?"

"It’s not night time anymore, is it, genius?"

You sneak another kiss, nipping his bottom lip gently as you pull away. 

Instead of whatever array of responses you were expecting, Spencer smiles slightly, eyes almost sparkling in the faint light. The hand on your hip moves to your face, gently thumbing across your cheek. He begins to say something, and stops himself—biting his lip to hold back the words. 

"What?" you ask, heart dropping. Illusion fracturing. 

"I was just—" he begins, pausing for a moment before the words all come out in a rush. "I was just going to tell you how beautiful you are, but I don’t know if that’s something I should say, or if it would feel too… I don’t know…"

He trails off. A rare instance in which he doesn’t have the words. 

You do. Intimate. Real. Romantic. And he’s right, it does feel too much like all of those things. But that doesn’t mean you don’t like it, perhaps more than is strictly good for you. 

"It’s fine. Thank you."

He continues chewing on his lip for a moment. 

"Did I just ruin the mood?"

"No," you laugh, "not at all."

"Thank god," he sighs, surging forward again. 

"Since when do you thank god?" You manage between kisses. 

He moves to press his lips to your jaw and down your neck. 

"Do you want me to talk about the historical and cultural transition of religious expressions into ubiquitous secular colloquialisms right now?"

"Kind of," you breathe.

"No you don’t," he murmurs against your neck as his hands find the hem of your shirt. "You want me to take your clothes off."

Well, he’s not wrong there. 

You help him tug the shirt over your head before leaning back into the pillows as he situates himself over you and lavishes more kisses down your neck and collarbones, pausing to suck a mark only when he knows it’s low enough to be covered by your clothing later. 

You gasp when his lips brush over your nipple, before running his tongue over the sensitive skin. He glances up at you, and though his mouth is occupied, you can see the humor in his eyes. He loves how sensitive you are—how easy it is to get a reaction out of you. 

Of course, you continue to prove him right when he takes the other into his mouth, trying to hold back your little whimpers as he darts his tongue over the peak. Maybe somebody else wouldn’t hear them, but Spencer does. He’s hyper attuned to the sounds you make. Something of a catalogue has begun to form in the back of his mind; he knows exactly what each noise means and how to get them out of you. 

Once satisfied, he moves to press a kiss to your sternum. 

"You’re gonna be quiet for me, right?" Another kiss above your bellybutton. "Because Morgan is sleeping right on the other side of that wall, and we don’t want to wake him up."

"I’ll be quiet," you promise, somewhat breathlessly. Spencer’s mouth trails lower until he’s pulling your shorts down your legs, leaving you completely naked. He tosses them somewhere on the floor and hooks your legs over his shoulders. 

"Good." He plants one last kiss to your thigh and the next one lands right between your legs. 

You regret the need to be silent almost as soon as he drags his tongue over your clit. It’s not like the two of you have ever had the privilege of making a lot of noise, as the hotel rooms are always so close to each other, but it doesn’t make it any easier. 

Instead you opt to rake your hands through his hair and try to take deep breaths. But he knows exactly what you like—he knows starting light and slow, teasing around your most sensitive spot will work you up to the brink of insanity, just like he knows gentle circles make your back arch and elicit the prettiest little moans. 

"More," you beg, and the hands wrapped around your thighs rub soothingly, reassuring you that if you can just be patient you’ll get what you want. 

He takes your aching clit into his mouth, sucking lightly and you’re forced to clap a hand over your mouth, muffling the sob of pleasure you can’t hold back. Spencer keeps it up until you’re practically riding his face, teasing your dripping entrance with the tip of his tongue when you get too close. 

"Fuck, please, Spence," you whisper through your fingers, hips rutting in your desperation. Somehow it always ends up like this—with him in charge and you begging. Not that you have a problem with it, of course. 

He hums into you, and if the way his tongue moves back to circling your clit with newfound fervor is any indication, is apparently satisfied with your entreaty. 

You gasp and try to control your breathy moans, but his mouth feels so good on you that your vision is going out and you’re losing touch with reality ever so slightly. You use the last of your brain power to bite down on the back of your wrist, hoping it adequately muffles the noises you make as you come on Spencer’s tongue and he greedily continues lapping at you. There’s really no way of knowing—your ears are ringing anyway. 

When you come to a moment later he’s peppering kisses on your thighs, rubbing your hips gently. 

"So pretty," he murmurs, climbing back up so your lips can meet again. "Everything about you is pretty."

You paw at his shirt, signaling that you want it off as you moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue, feel your slippery arousal staining the kiss. Spencer helps you, sitting up briefly to unzip his hoodie and pull off his shirt. 

You’re the one to drag him back down, and you notice that he pulls the covers back over the both of you in a sweet gesture he probably didn’t even think about. 

"Need you to fuck me," you beg, reaching down to try and undress him further. 

"So crude. What happened to my nice, sweet girl?" He mumbles against your neck, but helps you with his pants anyway. 

"You must have me confused with someone else."

"Doubtful."

You don’t have much time to consider what that could mean before he’s running the head of his cock over your clit and you’re gasping into his mouth, saying please like it’s the only word you know. 

"There she is," Spencer croons, slipping inside you slow enough for you to feel every inch but quick enough for it to expel all the air from your lungs. Once he’s opened you all the way up, impossibly deep and close, you’re seeing stars, barely breathing. His head has dropped to your shoulder but now he drags his lips up your neck and jaw. "We okay?"

It’s been a while, you realize, since that last case in Maine. He always takes some getting used to. Hardly able to think around the pressure of his cock you nod, trying to string together a few words. 

"Fuck, I need a second." The words come out choked, but you manage. Spencer rubs your hip, his lips brushing yours as he speaks. 

"Relax, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you."

He curses to himself, dropping his head momentarily. You’re so fucking soft, and warm, and perfect, he can’t think straight. But he has to try because he has to take care of you. 

"Spence," you gasp, failing to verbally communicate the intensity of the physical sensation. 

"I know, baby," comes his sympathetic coo. "You know you can take me. Deep breaths."

"Mhm," you squeak, trying to take follow his directions and soften your muscles. Spencer keeps rubbing soothingly over your hips, stomach, whatever he can get his hands on, really, pressing kisses all over your face and telling you how good you are, how perfect you feel for him. After a few moments he feels you fluttering around him and experimentally pulls out halfway, before pushing back in equally as slowly. Your jaw drops as he begins to leisurely fuck you, arms wrapping around his back. He gets deeper than you expect every time, rubbing you raw and stretching you out in the most delicious way. 

"Perfect, baby. Such a good listener, did exactly what I asked."

You cry out when he begins fucking you impossibly deeper, but still so slow and sweet.

"You feel so fucking good for me," he groans. "This is what you were made for, huh?" You agree enthusiastically, eyes fluttering shut. 

"Only for you."

Just three words—but he wasn’t expecting to like hearing you say that as much as he does. A strong desire to possess you overtakes him—one that he’ll probably have the decency to feel guilty about later, but for now feels fucking fantastic and intoxicating. 

"Only me?"

You moan an affirmation. 

"Good. I don’t want anyone else fucking you, do you understand me?"

"Yes!"

"I’m the only one who gets to touch you," he breathes, speeding up ever so slightly, "nobody else is going to feel you like this. Such a good girl, spreading her legs for me at five in the fucking morning. You’re not doing this for anybody else, baby."

"Uh-uh, please, pleasepleaseplease Spence—"

He knows what you need, reaching a hand down between your bodies to rub your clit. 

You gasp an airy, high pitched curse, hips twitching but unable to escape the near-punishing rhythm of his own. It’s obvious that your orgasm is close, but you can’t even warn him, too overwhelmed with pleasure. He kisses you, swallowing your moans that have probably become just a bit too loud given the whole hotel thing. 

No words are exchanged between the two of you as you near the finish line for a change, open mouths slipping against each others in what is too messy to be called a kiss. Your orgasm body-slams you, a choked silent scream as you tighten around Spencer and he seems to come at nearly the exact same moment—deep inside you, slowly rolling his hips in a few more strong thrusts as he finishes. 

You let out a delayed moan at the sensation of being filled up, still pulsing around him as he comes to a halt, buried inside of you. He drops his head to your neck, and you can feel each breath against your flushed skin. Other than the panting, you’re both silent for a while. Spencer seems to gather himself sooner than you do, finally breaking the quiet. 

"You okay?"

All you can manage is a little squeak, at which he looses a breathy chuckle. His hand slides to your hip, gently stroking the skin with a thumb. 

"Need your words, angel girl."

"I’m okay," you coo into his shoulder, but he has to strain to hear it above his own breathing. 

"Yeah? Why so quiet?"

But it seems that at least for the moment, he’s gotten all the words he can out of you. When he tries to move, you whimper indignantly, clutching onto him tighter. 

"I really did a number on you this time, huh?" He laughs when you nod into him. "Are you falling asleep?"

"Mhm," you hum dreamily, little puffs of warm air slowing against his neck. 

"You can have…" he cranes his head to check the digital clock, "48 minutes."

"An hour."

He settles his weight on you once more, pressing a chaste kiss to your throat. His voice is low and gentle as he admonishes you. 

"I said 48 minutes."

But it doesn’t matter—you’re already asleep, or close enough to it. Spencer takes the opportunity to shift you to your side, and the way you wrap around him like a vine even unconsciously makes his heart ache. He really should go now—the earlier he gets out of your room the less likely certain complications will arise—but how can he possibly leave you like this? A vulnerable, dreamy girl with tangled hair haloing around her on the pillow case, clinging to him with blind trust that he’ll watch over her as she sleeps? No—there’s no way he’s leaving yet. Instead, he brings you closer. 48 perfect minutes will go by far too quickly, he’s sure. 

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut

[spookysteddie]

That Friday Night

Modern!Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Influencer!fem!reader

read part one here

18+ MINORSDNI

cw: alcohol, drugs (weed and cocaine), clubbing, slight Dom!Eddie if you squint, possessive!Eddie, swearing, pet names, oral (fem!receiving), light choking, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, edging, creampie. (let me know if I missed anything)

wc: 4.3k (I'm so sorry)

a/n: First of all, I want to thank every single person who liked, reblogged or made comments about part one. I was shitting myself posting it because (like I said) this is not an original thought. I'd read a few and it gave me this wave of inspiration. I am very proud of this part. It's also a little long (sorry sorry sorry I couldn't stop) . Also I don't think I'll be doing a tag list? When I used to do that no one on the list would like the fic and it was a lot of work. I hope that is okay? Let me know if you want more! I love and appreciate all of you!

...

You weren’t the type of person who got shy. Your entire job is being in front of a camera, telling people what you like, what you wear, the type of music you listen to. You did brand deals and went on lots of trips with people you didn’t know. Public interaction was easy for you and you definitely enjoyed it. 

But being personally invited to your favorite band's concert (even if you had tickets already) as their frontman's personal guest? It makes you weak in the knees. 

Telling your team about the phone call went about as good as one would expect. Anna and Case frown at you while continuing to say ‘you could’ve let it go to voicemail and we could’ve handled it directly with his people. AND why did you have him send the information directly to you?’

They weren't necessarily wrong in being upset. There were plenty of ways a conversation like that could be twisted and fucked with, especially if, for whatever reason, someone was recording the phone call. It was very easy for them to manipulate and edit that kind of shit, and drama was the last thing you wanted. 

However, the rest of the week went by without an issue. The gossip magazines had moved on to something else (though there were a few who continued to speculate about your non-relationship with Eddie. You did your deals, and kept yourself busy. And by the time Friday rolled around you were hardly nervous. 

Or that’s what you kept telling yourself. 

“Bell bottom star pants. Absolutely,” Hana says from her place on your bathroom counter, practically in the sink. “With that black leather top you love AND the red leather jacket. Oh! Oh! Oh! And the red boots!” 

You put the outfit on, looking in the mirror, “you don’t think it’s too… stereotypical?” 

Hana looks at you through the mirror, “no such thing. You look great.” 

Hana was one of the few people in your life who’d tell you like it is. You could trust her to tell you if her gut feelings were off, or on. She was your best friend and one of the few people who weren’t just here for the exposure. She’s here to be your cheerleader and you were hers. 

“Alright, let's get this going before I change my mind which I am two seconds away from doing.” 

… 

You should’ve changed your mind. 

You can hardly keep from throwing up as you're led by security to a private entrance. To get there you have to pass by their tour buses. All you can hear is loud music and whooping from inside. It’s clear they’re running around in there as the bus is rocking and all you can do is pray they don’t see you. 

You’re far too sober for the interaction you’ll be having at this current time. 

Unfortunately for you, the universe hates you. Just when you think you’re home free, the door opens, almost smacking you in the face. 

“Don’t think you can get away that easy, Asher,” Eddie says as he looks down at you. His pupils are blown wide, clearly from whatever drug he’s consumed. More than likely cocaine and weed. His words aren’t slurred so he isn’t drunk, though he does have a beer bottle in his large hands. 

God his hands, there have been many times where you’d imagine them wrapped around your throat, cutting off air as he fucks you like he hates you. You bet he could reach you even as he’s eating you out, he’s so tall and long. 

You wish you could say the grin you shoot at him is fake, however with the way he’s looking at you, like he wants to devour and smother you, it's not. You feel like a fucking school girl who has a crush. Your heart pounds so fast in your chest and you swear everyone around you can hear it. 

“We weren’t running away,” you say, voice a little breathier than you’d like. “Um this is my best friend-” 

“Hana, nice to meet you,” he cuts you off. It’s then that you see his eyes get wide and you know he’s been stalking your profile. Not that you can say anything because you’ve done it… a lot. “I, uh, saw the instagram story you put up earlier.” 

Hana smirks, “sure you did, big boy.” She pats his chest and is clearly much braver than you. That’s another thing about you and her, if one of you is feeling not confident, the other makes up for it. Like, on your own, asking for ketchup feels like cutting off a limb, but if she can't do it then it's up to you and vice versa. 

Eddie scratches the back of his neck, his black t-shirt stretching over his wide shoulder, “want to join us? We have alcohol!” 

“We would love that. Wouldn’t we?” Hana looks down at you with her brows raised, still taller than you in heels. 

You nod, “yes. Yeah absolutely! Are we allowed to photograph in here?” 

You know it’s a stupid thing to ask, but you also don’t want to take a photo of you and Hana and then not be able to post it. And what if you get photos with the rest of the band? Everyone already knows you’re going to be here. Just not… in this tour bus. 

Eddie nods, holding out his hand, “you are allowed to do whatever you want, pretty girl. And if anyone has an issue, send them my way, yeah?” He kisses the hand you’ve placed in his before leading you up the stairs of his bus. 

It's chaos in there, pure and utter chaos. You turn to look at Hana, silently telling her how insane this is. She nods slightly, but you see the grin on her face. Hana loves this stuff; the parties, the madness, all of it.

Eddie introduces you to the band, pulling you in closer by the waist. “You all need to be on your best behavior. No one touches her. Do you all understand me?” Your heart flutters at how serious he is and it instantly forces his bandmates eyes to fall to your feet. It’s impressive, actually. 

Suddenly, a bottle of beer is in your hands, passed to you by Eddie. “Oh… thank you.” You can hardly look at him as a small smile forms on your lips. His attention makes you feel all kinds of funny inside, your stomach doing flips. You know you have to look at him eventually, but he’s just so pretty that it actually hurts. 

“Um, so are you excited for your show?” This time you manage to actually drag your eyes to his. He smiles at you, his teeth so beautiful and perfect. It’s when he sits down that you realize that was a stupid question. Of course he’s excited. This is his actual job. 

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as he looks up at you through his lashes, you could kiss him. But you don’t for obvious reasons. Reasons you can't really think of at the moment. Not when he’s looking at you like that.  The beer bottle hangs in his right hand between his legs. 

“Very. Not much comes close to the feeling I get when we’re on that stage.” He shakes his head, curly hair moving with him, “plus, being able to hear people sing my songs back to me is fucking incredible.” 

His hand finds yours, pulling you a little closer. Eddie is testing the waters, you know this. Unfortunately for you, your brain can’t see through the cloud of lust. So, you let him pull you closer, sit you on his lap, and wrap an arm around you. 

Your brain does catch up, quicker than expected. “It seems like it’d be incredible. I applaud you cause I could never do that. I have stage fright.” 

He blinks up at you, “stage fright? Haven’t you done red carpet interviews and stuff?” 

You shift a little, shrugging, “well yes. But that’s different.” You can't stop the awkward laugh that comes out of you. It was true, it was different. You weren’t exactly sure why but it was. 

Eddie's thumb moves along your side slightly and it leaves goosebumps in its wake. 

“I’m being honest, the lights are so bright that I can’t see everyone in the crowds. Mainly just the front rows. Makes it easier.” 

Eddie puts his beer bottle on the ground by his feet before sitting up and grabbing a joint. He’s quiet as he lights it, puffing out smoke to get it going. “Want some?” 

He holds the joint towards you, waiting for your answer. You’ve done this before at the frat houses at college. You’ve done it here and there in high school as well. This is second nature, but this time you’re nervous. What if you forget how to inhale? What if you throw up? Any number of things can happen. 

Something happens inside you and your brain finally catches up to itself. A small stroke of confidence happens and without taking your eyes off of him, you lean forward, wrapping your lips around the joint and inhaling. His eyes stay locked on yours, his tongue wetting his lips. You pull back, slowly blowing out the smoke. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” It comes out in a whisper and you know he didn’t mean to say it out loud. His eyes falling from your eyes, to your lips and back again. 

God you want to kiss him. His pillowy lips would feel amazing against yours, you just know it. You start to lean into him, desperate to know if you’re right.   

A bang on the door scares the fuck out of the both of you and Eddies boot knocks over his bottle. It’s a good thing he drank most of it, the contents not spilling on the plush carpet. 

“Let’s get going guys. Put your dicks back in your pants, we have a show to do.” You know that voice, that’s their manager. He’s the one who called your people to make sure you had all the rules for this evening. 

Photos are fine. 

Everyone must be tagged. 

Nothing negative. 

Absolutely no photos of any white substances. Even if it’s sugar. 

That last one would be hard considering it was on every flat surface in neat, clean lines. 

You go to stand up, but Eddie stops you, his hand tightening on your hip. “Promise I’ll see ya after?” 

You nod, “y-yeah of course.” 

Before you know it, his lips are on yours. The kiss is soft, sweet and you don’t want it to end. In fact, you totally forget about all the other people in the room. Your hands find his face, pulling him closer as his tongue begs for permission. And once you grant it, it’s game over. 

He tastes like beer and weed and cigarettes and you love it. You want more. You want to get closer. 

But it’s not long before the door to his trailer opens up, his manager stepping into the bus. “I said get your dicks and tongues together. We cannot be late.” 

… 

By the time the show is over you barely have a voice, and you’re sure you’ve never been more turned on in your life. It might seem silly to say, but Eddie's kiss lingered the entire show and all you want is more. 

Back stage the band is still running on adrenaline, drinking water for once to try and refuel for the rest of the night. The rest of the night being a club that they frequent. A club you don’t go to because of that exact reason. 

“Ohhhhh! There's the prettiest girls I’ve ever laid eyes on!” Eddie's voice booms as security goes to double check you and Hana. “Hey! Leave them alone. They’re with me.” 

Security stands back, hands raise like he knows it’ll cause more issues if he doesn’t. You almost feel bad for the poor guy, he was just trying to do his job. Like what if you had a bomb or something? 

“C’mon we gotta get outta here.” He laces his fingers with yours before he pulls you along with him. You look over your shoulder, catching Hana's eyes. 

Go! She mouths, hanging off Gareth's arm. I’ll meet you there! 

And so, you go. Are you nervous? Yes absolutely. Are you going to pretend you aren’t and have some confidence? Yes. Fake it till you make it right?

Eddie opens the door to the car, extending a hand, “ladies first.” 

You grin at him as you elegantly slide into the car, “wow. I didn’t know you were such a gentle man.” This time when you giggle, it's cute and self assured. 

“Yes, I have been told my entire life that I look,” he slides in sucking in a soft, thinking breath, “mean and scary.” 

“You look like a doberman but they’re precious babies.” You mean it too. He looks a little mean and scary, especially in the red lights of the stage. Not to mention the “devil music” (says the media) which can get a little dark. But that’s what makes it great, in your opinion. Plus, he does look like doberman. Like he could probably kill you but would actually not? 

“‘Precious babies?’” 

You nod, “mhm! I grew up with them. Very sweet and love kisses. Oh! And they each had their own comfort toys.” 

“Then maybe I am one because I do love kisses.” He’s closer now, his breath fanning over your face. He still smells like beer and cigarettes mixed in with the smell of his cologne. 

It’s your turn to close the gap and planting your lips on his. The kiss is hotter, more intense. One could argue it’s because of the alcohol swimming in your system that makes you so bold. You’re buzzed, but not drunk. It isn’t long before his hands are in your hair, tugging. It makes you moan in his mouth, opening up to him. 

He sits back, his hands in your hair pulling you with him, making you sit in his lap. Your legs rest on either side of his hips, your cunt nestled right against the bulge in his pants. He couldn’t hide it even if he wanted to. You test the waters by rocking your hips, the friction being so sweet that you’re the one who lets out a moan. 

“God, that is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.” He kisses down your neck, nipping and sucking as he goes. “Should record it and use it in our next song.” 

You hum and grin, “I wouldn’t mind that. Always wanted to be in a song. Can’t sing though.”  

He nips at your ear, “that’s my job baby.” 

Eddie's large hand grips your hips, stopping your movements. You want to whine, you want to protest. You were so fucking close. 

“We’ll save that for when we're back at my place.” 

You grin and kiss along his jaw, “who says I’m going back to your place?” 

“The way you were just grindin’ against my cock, angel.” He grins, “also with how you’re lookin’ at me.” 

“And how am I looking at you? Hmm?” 

“Like you want me to fuck you while your brain leaks out your cunt.” 

You shudder at the crudeness of his words. No one has ever spoken to you like that and looked like him. The car stopping in front of the club saves you from trying to come up with an answer. One you know will either be embarrassing or non-existent. 

He looks over at the paparazzi that is waiting and sighs, “are we going in together or…” 

The decision you make is quick. If you’re going to do this, even for one night, you’re going to do it together and let them talk. You give him a quick kiss, “together. Give ‘em something to talk about, yeah?” 

So, you do. 

The second you’re out of the car, cameras flash and photographers call out a mix of your name and his and you can hardly understand what they’re saying. You don’t stop to pose, letting them only photograph you and him walking hand and hand. Give them crumbs as your manager says. Once you’re in the club, not even needing to show an ID or give a name. 

From there the night happens in a blur. The band has the VIP section where bottles of expensive liquor are brought over by women dressed in a bikini. You know how much all of this costs (more than you can afford that’s for sure) but you also know that all of this is on Eddie and the bands tab. He’s told you six times. 

So you drink. And you smoke. And you watch pretty white lines disappear, most of which disappear up Eddie's nose. Of course you take videos, vlogging your night and making sure to follow all the rules that were set prior to this meeting. Taking photos to remember the night. Hana is having a blast, taking shots like it’s her job and making out with Gareth in between. Of course she takes photos with you, sitting in your lap and giggling so much the photos come out blurry. But those are your favorite kinds of photos. 

“Dance with me?” Eddie says in your ear over the music. 

You take the shot that is in your hands, “lead the way.” 

The second you’re surrounded by sweaty bodies you feel invisible. You’re sure someone has cameras on you and him but at the moment you don’t care. 

Your hips move to the music, back against Eddie's chest while his hands explore your body. His lips move against your neck, sucking a dark mark into it that you know you’ll struggle to cover later. Again, you don’t care. What you do care about is the hardness that you feel against your back. 

You spin around, grinning up at him. God he’s so fucking tall you have to tilt your head up a good bit to look at him. 

“We should get out of here,” you say as he pulls you into him. 

He smirks, “thought you weren’t coming back to my place sweetheart.” 

“Seems I told a fib. Now, I need you to take me home and fuck me like you hate me.” 

It’s all he needs before he’s grabbing you by the hand and pulling you out of the club. The car is there and he quickly pulls you into the back seat. Once those doors are closed, the window tint so dark you couldn’t see inside if you tried, his mouth his on yours. Your stomach flips and the neediness you feel coming off of him. He pulls you till you’re straddling him, legs on either side of his hips. Not really the safest but at this point, all you need is his lips on you. 

The ride to Eddie’s consists of lots of kissing, so much so that you know your lips are swollen. You don’t get to see much of Eddie’s house, too focused on getting inside the house and into his bedroom. He drags you up the stairs, your hand is his. And once you’re in his room, he has you pressed up against his bedroom door. 

“You’re so fucking hot, baby.” Eddie pushes your jacket off your shoulders while he speaks, his words going straight to your clit. Your mind can barely comprehend that Eddie Munson, the man you’ve had a crush on since they were considered an ‘underground band,’ is currently taking off your clothes. 

You do the same to him, pushing his leather jacket to the ground before tugging at the ends of his shirt and pulling it over his head. “Me? You are so beautiful.” 

He hums, popping the button on your jeans, “should we take a poll on who's prettier? Winner takes the loser on a date?” 

That makes you laugh, “sounds like a deal. But first, you need to fuck me.” 

His eyes nearly go black at that and before you can think, he’s throwing you on this bed. You land with a small oomph. You decide to take a little initiative, pulling off your boots, scooting off your pants and pulling off your top. 

Eddie watches, rapt and almost possessed, his eyes scanning your partially naked body. It’s not anything more than someone would see if you posted in a bathing suit, but you can’t help but feel nervous that he isn’t going to like you. 

He quickly puts those fears (fears he knows nothing about) to rest as he settles between your legs. His eyes don’t leave yours as he kisses up your thighs. You know there is a wet patch on your underwear and you know he can see it. You do feel embarrassed about it, but at the same time, Eddie is slightly rutting against the bed so he must like it. Right? 

You can feel your body heat as he gets closer and closer to your center. 

“Eddie, please don’t tease me.” Never have you begged a man. Typically whoever you were in bed with did the begging, much to your dislike. You were desperate for someone to take charge. Now you know why they didn’t. One bruise and they get shit from all your followers. Even if you tell them to leave these men alone. 

But Eddie? He wasn’t afraid. 

“But it’s so much fun to watch you squirm.” 

You huff, squirming exactly like he said as he sits up to pull your underwear down your legs before setting back between them. “Need you to touch me.” 

He licks a stripe up your slit, sucking on your clit as he gets to the top. The sound that falls from your lips is beautiful, sweeter than the sound you made in the car. Now Eddie really wants to put you in a song, but the jealous, primal side of him never wants someone else to be able to hear your moans. 

In fact, he doesn’t want to think about any of the other men who’ve heard you make these sounds. Murder wasn't really on his list of things he enjoyed. Bar fights? Yes. Murder? No. 

“You make the prettiest sounds, sweetheart. S’very hot.”  He slides two fingers inside you with little resistance, curling them up to hit the spongy spot inside you. The stretch feels good, your hips moving on their own, riding Eddie's fingers. 

You're close, the build up of this moment really getting closer than you originally thought. “Squeezin’ my fingers so tight, baby. Are you close?” 

You nod, afraid if you speak you’ll say something ridiculous. 

But that isn’t good enough for Eddie. “Words.” 

“V-very.” 

That was clearly the wrong thing to say because he pulls his fingers from inside you, the emptiness making you gasp, “no! No, no, no I was so close!” 

He laughs as he pushes his pants and boxers off his body. “Exactly. Want you to cum with my cock inside you.” 

You look down between your bodies and your eyes widen. He was big and you accidentally voice what you’re thinking, “fuck… not gonna fit.” 

His laugh drags your eyes back to him, his cock moving through your slick and bumping your clit. “Baby you are so wet that I have no doubt it’ll fit.”  

You don’t have time to be embarrassed about it because Eddie is pushing inside you. The size of him stretching you makes you feel like he’s going to split you in half. But you don’t care, the burn just turns you on more and more and before you know it he’s seated inside you fully. 

“Fuck, Eddie.” 

Eddie is panting, trying to keep still so he doesn’t cum before he wants to. “Feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. A man could become obsessed with this pussy.” 

He moves right as you begin to speak, nearly knocking the air out of your lungs. He feels like he’s everywhere. “W-witchcraft” 

He fucks you harder, his cock hitting your cervix. You’re definitely going to have a bruise there but it's so worth it. 

“Didn’t know you were into dark shit. S’my schtick.” 

You wrap your legs around him, orgasm building again, “more alike than you originally thought huh?” 

He wraps a tattooed hand around your throat, squeezing gently and making your head spin, “oh, angel, I knew how alike we were the second you told everyone how bad you wanted to fuck me.” 

“C-can you blame me? Knew you’d fuck me just h-how I like.” 

You clench around him making him hiss, “yeah you need someone who will take control huh?” 

The hand around your neck slides down your body till he finds your clit, circling it. 

“Oh god! Please.” 

“I can get used to you prayin’ to me.” His thrusts are losing rhythm (something he’s usually very good at keeping) and you know he’s close. “Cum baby. I need it.” 

And it’s all you need to fall over the cliff and into bliss. He follows you, coming inside you while you squeeze around him. You both moan each other's names and you sigh as you come down. 

Eddie breaks the silence first, “that was… amazing.” 

You hum in agreement as he slides out of you and curls up beside you. You take a moment before getting up and cleaning up in the bathroom. When you come back Eddie has left out an old Corroded Coffin t-shirt and some boxers. And once they’re on, you slide back into his bed, laying your head on his chest.

“We should put that poll up, huh? I’m itching to win this bet.” Eddie laughs as he says it and before you know it, you two are finding a photo the both of you like and posting it on your story with the caption, ‘which one is prettier? Honesty is the best policy.’ 

“And now… we wait.”

#stranger things #stranger things fic #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #Eddie Munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #modern!rockerstar!eddie munson x influencer!fem!reader #rockstar!eddie x fem!reader

[matchavellichor]

Hi, I hope your day is going well when you read this!! I know you said you were currently taking a slight break from writing due to school, and first of all, I'm wishing you the very best of your studies! But I thought I would send a request just in case you do resume writing fics in the future, but feel free to ignore this! This seems a bit plain, but I was wondering if you could write an ominis x fmc where mc is terribly shy and avoidant to no one but ominis due to her feelings for him? Over time, though, Ominis observes her personality when interacting with other people, becoming fond of her but is left conflicted seeing how nervous she is around him, leaving him to wonder if she hates him or not. Since Ominis can’t see MC staring at him or how her cheeks go red around him, we could perhaps have Sebastian take note of this and act like the typical tease-playing wingman to set Ominis and MC up? It’s a pretty fluffy request, but you can lead it down any road you want, whether it turns out suggestively or not.

A/N: hi!!! tysm for the kindness <3 uni is still kind of hectic at the moment unfort, but i LOVED this idea sm so i decided to write a lil something anyway. ty for the request, hope you enjoy!

Great Expectations

Ominis x f!MC - Fluff - 3k words

Summary: Urged on by Sebastian's insistence that the reason for MC's evasiveness is that she harbors a secret crush, Ominis decides to take Sebastian's advice and find this out for himself.

Tags: Miscommunication, Wingman Sebastian, Clueless Ominis, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Banter, First Kiss

"Some light reading?"

Ominis can sense the way she startles, nearly dropping the tall stack of books balanced carefully in her arms.

“Oh, uh…hello, Ominis,” she greets as she rights herself, voice oddly tight. “I hadn’t realized you were here.”

“Always am. The library’s practically my second home at this point,” he smiles warmly, making some attempt at small talk.

There’s an awkward pause before he clears his throat to break the silence. “I uh, I hadn’t realized you were such an avid reader yourself,” he tilts his head, waving his wand over the topmost title in her pile. “Ah, and you have taste! Dickens is brilliant. I’d love to pick your brain sometime about—”

“I apologize, if—you’ll um, if you’ll excuse me,” she suddenly interrupts, eyes trained at her feet, before she’s brushing past him in the tight corridor of shelves and exiting towards one of the more populated corners of the library.

Ominis frowns, brows knitting together in confusion and what’s beginning to morph into genuine offense at this point.

“Was it something I said?” he mutters under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

Ever since they had become acquaintances, any attempts at amicability on his part had been met with brisk dismissals, curt replies, and her avoiding him like the plague. At first he thought her simply timid, but after observing her behavior with the likes of Sebastian or Garreth or any of her other friends, Ominis had been seriously considering some innate character flaw of his own.

He had thought he had made some progress in their relationship at the last gathering they had frequented, a weekend get-together in the Slytherin common room, but it was quickly becoming apparent that he’d been sorely mistaken.

Was he really so unapproachable? Dreadfully unlikeable? Did she simply have no interest in befriending him?

Ominis tries to pretend his ego isn't bruised by this notion, but fails miserably when his brain wanders to more woeful reasons as to why she would want nothing to do with him. His family’s notoriety and the rumors surrounding his person that are frequently pedaled around the castle undoubtedly have already reached her ears.

Filled with a strange sense of defeat, Ominis abandons any of his original plans of reading in favor of sulking in the common room alone. Less than two steps towards the library exit, however, and he’s bombarded by Sebastian.

“Ominis, you sly dog, don’t think I didn’t see you two warming up in the back shelves,” he grins, poking his friend in the ribs and waggling his brows.

Ominis frowns, swatting at the brunette’s hand. “Warming up is certainly not the term I would use. She despises me.”

“Despises you? Are you blind?”

“...Yes?”

“I refuse to believe you’re that blind,” Sebastian amends, scoffing. “Don’t tell me you really haven’t noticed.”

“Noticed what? The way she can’t bear to spend longer than a minute around me?” Ominis grumbles. “Trust me, I’m well aware.”

“Oh Gods, you’re just as hopeless as she is,” Sebastian groans, deeply pained. “She doesn’t despise you, she’s head over heels, Ominis,” he leans in with an all-too smug tone. “Take it from a man who knows the ladies.”

Ominis turns his head over his shoulder as if in search. “And, pray tell, where is this man?”

He receives an indignant smack on the arm. “I’m serious! Trust me, it’s obvious to anyone with eyes. I mean, why do you think she’s always so nervous around you?”

“She probably thinks I’m going to curse her or something,” Ominis mutters. “My reputation isn’t exactly the nicest, Sebastian. Are you forgetting who my family is?”

Sebastian barks out a laugh. “I’m sorry, Ominis, but anyone who takes even a second out of their day to speak to you will know you’re incapable of harming a lacewing fly. Trust me on this, she likes you.”

Ominis pauses for a moment, considering the possibility that had never before crossed his mind before. An involuntary warmth spreads over his skin, surfacing all kinds of unbidden feelings he doesn’t have much experience in handling. Noticing his contemplative silence, Sebastian peeks at the blonde.

“Oh, Salazar, you’re blushing,” he gasps, no small amount of delight seeping through his tone. “You know, for a while I was half-convinced you were incapable of it. Me and Garreth actually had a bet that were half-vamp—”

Ominis scowls, pushing Sebastian’s fingers away from where they were currently trying to prod at his flushed cheeks. “I am not blushing. Look, this whole notion is ridiculous, even for you, Sebastian. She can barely tolerate me, much less harbor some crush on me.”

“Fine,” Sebastian shrugs, feigning acquiescence. “Then flirt with her. See what happens, and if she truly despises you as you say, then no harm, no foul.”

Ominis sputters. “I will not flirt with her, don’t be absurd.”

“Why not? If you already believe she hates you, what do you have to lose?”

“My dignity? My already maimed ego? You’ve seen her in Defence against the Dark Arts, if we’re being realistic I’m probably in risk of breaking a couple bones as well—”

“Ominis, just try,” Sebastian groans, looking ready to rip his hair out. “If you don’t, I’m marching right back into that library and flirting with her for you.”

Immediately, memories of Sebastian’s past trysts with women and the sheer amount of crudeness in even his most tame chat-up lines come to mind. Ominis panics. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, we both know I would,” Sebastian grins, stopping in his tracks and turning back towards the library doors. “Remember that one boiling cauldron line Garreth taught me? I’ll go up and tell her you begged me to use it for you—”

“Stop, stop, alright,” Ominis grits, fisting a hand in the back of Sebastian’s robes to pull him back. He sighs. “I’ll….I’ll speak to her, alright?”

Sebastian claps a hand over his shoulder, pleased. “That’s the spirit.”

//

As much as Ominis would have liked to postpone the inevitable as much as possible, fate was not on his side. He had the misfortune of running into her while on his way to the Great Hall for dinner, and with Sebastian by his side, he would have no chance of escape.

After urging his friend on with not so friendly threats, Sebastian made himself scarce, though undoubtedly somewhere within earshot so he could listen to disaster unfold.

“Just the person I was looking for,” he greets with as much warmth as he can manage, though his nerves are broiling a storm in his gut. “Have you gotten in any good reading today?”

Once again, she seems startled by his presence. “You were…looking for me?”

“Well, yes. I was wondering if I might accompany you to dinner?” he smiles. “Would give me a chance to bore you with my fascination with muggle literature.”

“Oh,” her eyes widen, looking almost excited before it’s washed over with anxiety. “I’m sorry, I uh, I wasn’t…going to dinner.”

“Oh,” Ominis frowns, noting how close they were to the Great Hall. “Where were you heading then?”

“The library,” she blurts out and Ominis tilts his head in confusion.

“But the library’s in the opposite direction,” he nods over his shoulder. “And haven’t you just come back from there?”

“I–I have to go,” she says, suddenly swiveling in the other direction and brushing past him. “Apologies.”

Once again, Ominis is left perplexed, and increasingly hurt. The only thing the interaction has done is given him a bigger headache, her behavior irrational in the face of Sebastian’s theory. Ominis finds himself even more convinced she hates his guts.

As if on cue, Sebastian ducks out from behind a tapestry shielding an alcove, an almost pained sort of grimace on his face.

“That was…bad.”

“Understatement of the year,” Ominis groans. “Do you see what I mean? She clearly doesn’t like me, Sebastian. All I’ve done is made a bigger fool of myself.”

“She’s nervous, Ominis. She was blushing the entire interaction. Look, maybe try being more direct? Girls like confidence! Tell her you will spend time with her and that you won’t take no for an answer.”

Ominis blinks at him. “Are you trying to get my bollocks hexed off?”

“While that would be deeply amusing, no,” Sebastian assures. “Look, she’s clearly just too shy to let herself spend time with you, that’s why she runs away. You can’t give her a way out, hell, incarcerous her if you have to.”

Ominis looks genuinely concerned for any women that have had the terrible misfortune of being the objects of Sebastian’s romantic interest. “How you’ve not found yourself in Azkaban yet amazes me.”

“Oh, shush,” he scowls before suddenly snapping his fingers, metaphorical lightbulb lighting up his face. “I’ve got it! Remember how Sharp gave her detention this weekend for sneaking ingredients for Garreth? Just muck something up tomorrow in Potions, and done! She’ll be forced to spend a whole evening with you.”

“That’s a terrible idea.”

“It’s brilliant,” Sebastian grins, far too proud of himself. “Everyone knows detention is the best place to snog.”

Ominis chokes. “There will be no snogging—”

“Oh, got bigger plans in mind, have you? Ominis, you dirty little devil—”

The tips of his ears burning bright-red, Ominis pushes through the entrance doors to the Great Hall before Sebastian can get another word in, thanking Merlin she’d foregone dinner tonight.

//

While sprinkling some erumpent horn powder in Sharp’s cauldron during a practical demonstration was easier than he’d thought, actually having to go to detention the upcoming Saturday evening was not.

Pacing his dorm room anxiously while he counts down the hours until he has to make his way down to the Potions classroom, Ominis can’t help but be besmirched by his own stupidity at how he inevitably let Sebastian talk him into this.

Like the devil, Sebastian pokes his head through the door, not even bothering to knock. He plops himself down on one of the beds, eyeing the blonde with poorly-concealed bewilderment. “What are you so strung up for?”

“Not helping,” he glowers. “What if she runs away again?”

“Relax, would you?” Sebastian rolls his eyes, standing to walk over and muss the blonde’s hair. Ominis scowls and swats at his friend, but Sebastian is nothing if not stubborn, pulling at Ominis’ neatly folded uniform tie until it drapes messily around his neck.

“Perfect,” he grins, standing back to examine his work.

Ominis frowns, attempting with great futility to smooth his hair back into place. “I look like a delinquent.”

“How would you know?” Sebastian raises a brow. “You look great. Girls like a bit of a bad boy, you know. And after your stunt in Sharp’s class you’re certainly starting to build a reputation.”

“You were the one who told me to do it!”

“I told you to get yourself detention, not cause a minor explosion.”

Waving a wand over his wristwatch to check the time, Ominis’ pulse doubles when he realizes he has to be in Sharp’s classroom in a few minutes.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Sebastian is dragging him out the door, blabbering terrible advice as if he’s sending his friend off to a first date and not detention with a grouchy Potions master.

“—And most importantly of all, compliment her, Ominis. I know you’re not very expressive, but for the love of Merlin, tell her she looks nice,” he practically shoves the blonde through the common room door, adding a final, “have fun! Use the contraceptive charm!”

Ominis is promptly left alone in the dimly-lit corridor, a heat involuntarily rising to his cheeks, praying some greater force will strike him down before he has to humiliate himself any further.

//

The classroom is empty when he finally arrives a few minutes behind schedule, except for where he inevitably finds her scrubbing cauldrons in the back of the room. She tenses when he approaches, but doesn’t startle when he greets her this time. Ominis wonders if he can put it down as progress.

“Sharp asked me to tell you we’re not allowed to use magic,” she nods towards the stack of cauldrons perched on the workspace. “And, um that we’re only to bother him if someone’s bleeding, dying, or dead.”

Ominis nods, pointedly taking the space beside her and dragging one of the soot-covered cauldrons towards him to begin working.

There’s a tension between them that Ominis can’t ignore for the life of him, only the sound of scrubbing to cut through the painstaking silence. After a few unbearable moments, he clears his throat, remembering Sebastian’s advice.

“You look nice tonight,” he attempts, though his voice sounds oddly thick with nerves.

The sound of scrubbing stops. “Sorry?”

“I said you uh, you look very nice,” he attempts with more firmness, though his hands are white-knuckled around the edge of the table to stop himself from bolting from the mortification.

“Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“What?” he asks perplexed, forgetting momentarily a crucial reason as to why the compliment would seem absurd coming from him. “Oh dear Merlin, no, no that’s not how I meant it all.”

“Very funny, Ominis,” she takes in a sharp breath, dropping the brush with a dull clatter into the cauldron before she crosses her arms and faces him, all timidness suddenly replaced by a glaring frustration in her tone. Ominis isn't sure if it's an improvement, but at least she’s talking to him. “Did Sebastian put you up to this?”

“Sebastian? What? Of course not,” he sputters, desperately trying to amend. “I— Look, I’m—I’m sorry. Can I start over? Please?”

She raises an expectant eyebrow.

“You don’t look nice,” he tries, trying to suppress the wince that washes over his features. His only consolance is that Sebastian isn’t here to witness any of it. “I’m sorry, no—that’s not—I meant, I’m sure you do look nice, not that I would…know, but,” he runs a hand over his face, certain that if she didn't hate him before, she certainly does now. “I meant, you smell very nice. That I can tell, you…you smell very lovely, actually.”

There’s a long pause where she simply stares at him before her frustration inevitably only seems to double. “Is this what you find entertaining?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re taunting me,” she seethes. “You obviously know what I feel for you and now you’re making fun of me for it, aren’t you? You’ve been doing it all week.”

“What? Salazar, no, that’s not it at all—”

“Truly hilarious,” she scoffs, shaking her head. “Very mature. Maybe try being more subtle—”

“That’s not what I’m—”

“You can stop pretending you want to hang out with me all the time now—”

“Will you listen? I’m not—”

“Next time, if you don’t feel the same way, then simply—hmpph!”

Despite the blaring alarm bells that should be going off in Ominis’ head for doing something so painfully impulsive to someone who could hex his entire bloodline in the time it takes her to take out her wand, his mind blanks out into a puddle of warmth as he crashes his lips to hers.

She freezes, mouth unmoving against his in the time it takes awareness to seep into her brain and for her to realize he’s kissing her.

To his relief, when the realization does set in, she kisses him back.

She seems to melt just as much as Ominis, her body instinctively leaning into his, hands going slack at her sides before they instinctively come to hold at his forearms where he’s cradling her face so she can’t pull away.

Ominis pulls him towards her, and then, urged on by some coiling heat inside of him he’s admittedly not too familiar with, he crowds her against the workspace. He nearly topples over several cauldrons in his franticness to deepen the kiss, muttering sheepish apologies through heavy breaths, but he’s far too consumed to feel embarrassed.

His lips on hers are clumsy and impatient, and maybe far too hungry for a first kiss, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Her hands come up to thread through his hair, to drag down his scalp, and Ominis couldn’t stop the groan that leaves him if he had all the composure in the world.

He’s so far gone he doesn’t even care about all the soot they’re getting on each other, too preoccupied with trying to keep his knees from buckling, to press his body even more against hers as if it’s the greatest offense known to history that they’re not physically molded to one another. When he slots a thigh between her legs and she lets out a little noise against his mouth, he thinks he might just collapse.

Ominis skin feels hot to the touch, nerves prickling with want, with the urge to touch and taste and grind until he goes numb. She finally breaks the kiss, panting heavily against his mouth, eyes glazed over with just as much raw need. Though the loss is almost physically painful, Ominis is grateful for small mercies, because he was a few seconds away from tearing through her uniform top.

“You’re…” she swallows, trying to clear the breathlessness from her voice. “Uh, very committed to the bit, I suppose.”

Ominis can’t help the laugh that escapes him.

His shoulders shake, forehead dropping to meet hers, and when he glances back up he smiles, lips still raw and undoubtedly kiss-bruised. She returns his grin, until he can feel her smile against his mouth when he leans down to press his lips to hers again, because he simply can’t help himself.

They barely register the sound of the door to the professor’s office swinging open. Only when he clears his throat do they finally tear apart, and Ominis wonders if it’s possible to drop dead from sheer mortification.

Sharp lets out a long-suffering sigh, as if he’s accustomed to walking in on much, much worse by now and his hardly fazed.

“Just get the cauldrons clean,” he grumbles, grabbing a few texts on one of the adjacent tables. He hobbles back to the door, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. “Bloody teenagers and hormones, don’t get paid enough for this shit…”

He ducks his head out before closing the door, pointing a stern finger in their direction. “And not on my tables.”

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis x mc #hogwarts legacy imagine #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #ominis x you #ominis gaunt fanfiction #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis x reader #fluff #hogwarts legacy fanfic

[writingjourney]

Friday Nights at the Cinema Club | Vampire!Primo x gn!Reader

Summary: The handsome old gentleman who attends the late night showings is certainly the best part about your small town weekend job. But as the gentle attraction between you slowly begins to bloom, you realise that there’s more to him than meets the eye – and promptly find yourself chased into the woods by an unexpected monster.

Content: 14k words, vampire!primo, gn!reader, horror, violence, being hunted, harassment, men being assholes, smut (18+ MDNI, biting, blood kink/blood drinking, oral sex r!receiving, penetration, coming inside, unprotected sex)

This was originally intended to fill the “hunted” prompt for the @petrifyingpapas challenge. I am a little late but I hope you enjoy it anyway and give Primo his chance to shine! ♡

Masterlist – Ao3 link – Part 2 | Secondo's story

“This life of earth, whatever my attire, Would pain me in its wonted fashion. Too old am I to play with passion; Too young, to be without desire.”

― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust: Part 1

Now

He’s been following you for weeks.

Primo just can’t stop himself, no matter how many times he tells himself that he’s overstepping. As he watches the hurried pace you set, carrying you home in the early hours of a cool spring morning, he smells your distress like an overly strong perfume. Jacket tightly wrapped around your tense shoulders, your steps quicken whenever you leave the safe light of a streetlamp. You’re always nervous walking home alone, even more so since the incident at work. 

This is the very thought that calms his conscience – his concern is rightful, necessary even. He has to protect you because you have no one else who will. Not that you cannot protect yourself, he knows you can, you hold your own quite nicely, but why take any unnecessary risks? Four eyes see more than two, especially if two of those have preternatural vision.

Suddenly you stop, glancing around with searching eyes. “Hello?”

Primo stops as well. It’s impossible that you heard him, he didn’t make any sounds that a human ear could process. Your eyes dart in a different direction and he’s on alert immediately. A few rapid beats of your heart pass. You seem to decide that you’re alright because you continue on your journey even if your legs move that extra bit quicker, walking as fast as possible without actually running.

No, Primo knows you don’t need him. You never ask him to walk you home and when he offers, you politely decline every single time. You don’t need him. You don’t need him how he needs you, and yet it feels good to imagine that you do. That anyone does. The thought he will not entertain, however, is that his motive is a selfish one. He’s been lonely for so long that he pours all that he has into this… whatever this is. And why should he not? In all the centuries that passed since he was cast upon this earth you’re the most wonderful thing he ever had the pleasure to behold and his time with you is so tragically limited, no matter what happens. 

“Fuck,” he hears you mutter then, effectively distracting him. Again, you stop very suddenly, glancing vaguely into the direction he’s hiding in but without any real focus. “Who the fuck is there?”

Primo doesn’t sense anyone else. Possibly, you just heard a strange noise which wouldn’t be the first time since the incident. You’ve been on edge ever since and understandably so. Of course you don’t know that there is no danger of the same thing ever repeating. Which doesn’t mean you’re safe from other perils. Primo dares to stalk closer, foolishly so, because he’s too close now and you must have spotted his movements in the dark because you start to run like your life depended on it.

To his utter terror, you don’t follow your usual route home but take the shortcut through the woods. With breakneck speed, you run along the mud path that meanders through thick pine trees and mossy hills. Primo has no issue keeping up with you of course but he worries about protruding roots and sharp stones you may not see with your human eyes. 

His fear is misdirected. He’s so distracted, watching your every step, that he doesn’t notice the odd smell at first, the second strong, comparatively slow heartbeat amongst all the quiet and rapid ones of the forest animals. But this is no rabbit, no deer, no boar. When he finally notices the presence of the strange entity, the spike of panic is clouding every other rational thought.

He is after you – and he’s fast.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Four weeks ago

The man has been attending the late night showings for weeks now, every Friday and Saturday. Every week, he shows up exactly fifteen minutes before the screening starts, even though there are practically no waiting times in the small club cinema you’re working at. His attire was what drew your attention to him that first night, even before you’d seen his face, and his choice of clothing seems deliberate. Most evenings, he wears simple black slacks over expensive-looking Italian leather brogues. Tonight, he combined them with a loose white shirt with frills and an open collar that peeks out of a burgundy tailcoat with black lapels and gold embroideries. It looks old-fashioned but not out of place in the similarly dated establishment.

As he approaches you behind the counter, you’re struck yet again, despite being familiar with his almost ethereal looks by now. He must be close to eighty but his deep wrinkles only add to his effortless beauty. His most notable feature, however, is the skull paint adorning his stern face with two uncanny, mismatched eyes – one iris in green and one impossibly white. With his face framed by long blond hair spilling over his shoulders, silky and curled at the ends, he looks like a man who knows exactly how to present himself. An air of easy sophistication surrounds him as he takes deliberate steps in your direction. You’re not surprised that he shows up on weekends when your boss screens his beloved classics. At least that’s what he calls any movie that came out before the year 2000.

“So, Dracula today, yes?” It’s not a question as much as a statement, dripping with distaste. “And the 1992 one at that.”

“Do you not enjoy vampires, sir?” you ask, taking the money for his ticket. Every single bill looks pristine, like it’s been freshly printed, and again, he won’t accept the change you hold out to him, waving off with a gentle smile. Buy yourself a drink on my behalf, tesoro, he’d said once, and you aren’t questioning him anymore, you just pocket the money since there is no one you could split it with.

He regards you with interest. “I enjoy them, sì, though I never found their portrayal in cinema quite believable.”

You chuckle. “Well, perhaps that is because they’re not real.”

“Perhaps, yes,” he says unfazed. “Or perhaps it is the clichés, no?”

“I really like the movie,” you admit. “Though I wish she would just get with the vampire. I certainly wouldn’t hesitate.”

He cocks a curious eyebrow. “Davvero?”

His thick Italian accent makes you blush on any given day, even more so when he speaks plain Italian. There is something about the timbre of his voice that changes, like gold melting in the heat of a forge, the syllables fused together with a flick of his tongue.

“Mhm,” is all you can answer.

“Will you watch it as well, little flower?” he asks and you smile at the nickname he chose for you weeks ago when he caught you arranging a bouquet in the foyer.

“Oh, no, I’m not allowed to leave the register unattended. Or… well, watch movies while I’m supposed to work.”

“I see.” He smiles again, the black lines over his lips shifting so that he looks almost gentle, the severity of the paint watered down by the kindness in his eyes. “That is a pity.”

Is he flirting with you? You can’t tell. Surely, he is just being nice, a polite older gentleman. Would you want him to be flirting with you, though? No, of course not. You couldn’t even flirt back. Your boss might fire you if he found out that you even so much as looked at him the wrong way.

“Can I offer you a snack or a drink, sir?” you ask, remembering your actual job.

“You know, I will take a whisky today,” he says. “If you have it.”

“Of course we do, sir, you can choose your seat and I will serve it in a second.”

The stranger heads off towards the screening room with its soft, polished leather armchairs and moody lighting, jazz tunes wafting from the speakers. You look after him, his long hair gently swaying with every step, and the door to the backroom springs open. It’s your boss, Max, a man in his mid-forties, so unremarkable with his shaggy black hair and his blatant misogyny that he could be any man you ever met. Only that he practically owns you by way of paying for your every bill while you finish your degree. Jobs in small towns are hard to come by, decent men even harder.

“Go serve our customer, come on,” he urges. “I heard him ask for something”

“The register…”

“I take it. Move your pretty ass over, perhaps wiggle a bit when you do, the old pervert is going to love it.” 

You make to leave without wiggling, heading towards the small serving station in the hallway. “Oh, hey,” Max calls after you. “I need you to clean up tonight. Cleaning lady called in sick. Feeling faint or whatever, broke down in the supermarket if you can believe it. They say she’s anemic, that’s their excuse for everything women have these days.”

“Okay,” you reply, hoping he chokes on his tongue one of these days. “Of course, Max. I’ll clean up. No problem.”

“Be a good little thing, don’t forget to check under the seats, always tons of junk down there after the evening showings.”

You nod and try not to run into the screening room and away from him. By now, all anger towards him has been numbed by the sheer amount of obnoxious remarks but you’re never sure if he’s above trying to actually touch you one day. So far, he’s all bark and no bite, but with men like him you never know. Being the only employee who works the night shifts doesn’t help but there is just not enough demand to bring in the others.

You find the stranger in one of the top rows, comfortably seated in what is your favourite spot as well. A smile creeps onto your face. “Here is your whiskey, sir.”

The man peers up at you in what looks like ingenuine surprise, his white eye showing a glimmer of sympathy. He must have heard you and Max but is clearly trying not to show it. You wonder how – you can’t even hear Max outside right now over the jazz music. 

“Grazie mille,” he says as he takes the glass from you.

“Of course, sir. Enjoy your movie.”

“Thank you, fiore.” He smiles, always such a kind smile. “You are a wonderful host.”

You can’t help but smile back, looking at him for just a little longer than is appropriate. But Max must have started the film because the lights dim suddenly until it’s fully dark and you hurry back outside right as the title music starts playing.

Your stranger is the only guest tonight.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now 

You run. You run so fast that your lungs are burning in the cold night air. There is no palpable explanation for why you feel so panicked. For most of your way home you’ve felt almost paranoid in your constant fear of being followed. You felt like someone was watching you right from the start but when you came close to the woods your instincts just told you to run. By now, your legs carry you almost automatically despite the fatigue in your limbs. There is a tiny voice in your head that tells you you’re in danger. Big danger.

Halfway through the forest, the track gets steeper. Less feet have trampled it flat as the usual walking path ends and you struggle to keep up your pace. Unsettling noises grow louder to your right – panting, hurried steps, moans and whimpers. Two seconds later you suddenly hear an echoing growl that puts any wolf to shame. Your head whips around but before you can make out anything in the pitch dark your foot gets caught on a root. The impact is suffocating. Your lungs empty out and you think you’re choking on nothing. Only after a long moment in which you struggle for breath do you feel the sharp pain in your arm where it hit a rock, warm blood seeping into your sleeve until its wet and sticky.

Meanwhile, the steps hurry closer and even in the full moon light it’s hard to tell where you are right now. But then you see the trees swaying at the edge of the path and all you know is that you need to keep going. Everything hurts but you manage to get to your feet. As the world sways around you, you leave the safety of the trail in favour of the cover of the trees, their canopy shielding you from the moonlight and hopefully any following eyes.

But of course the creature chasing you doesn’t rely on their vision to find you. Before you walk another mile you can hear rapid footsteps and panting breaths behind you. Too scared to look around and risk another fall, you just run and jump and run even faster. The woods grow thicker, harder to navigate. You try to fish for your phone but when you finally pull it out, it slips from your grasp. “Fuck fuck fuck,” you mutter but you keep running. You can’t stop. 

A familiar boulder appears somewhere in your peripheral vision and you wonder if you’re running in circles. You’re so lost. Even if the creature doesn’t get you, you’re doomed. But the thought is distant as a branch strikes you in the face like a whip. You run but more fallen branches block your path and as you try to jump, you get caught. 

A shriek tears from your throat, so loud and drawn-out that your voice gives out before it ends. The steps are so close now that you know you’re going to get caught any second now. Cowering, trying to get as small as possible, you slowly shift around, ready to beg for mercy. An enormous shadow sprints towards you and suddenly, a bright streak of moonlight falls through the trees. You cry out again as your eyes take in the sight: Spit-coated fangs, claws, thick rough fur on what you can only describe as a giant made of muscles and the horrors of the night. Its facial features look familiar, shaggy hair falling into its cruel eyes. Whatever it is has no merciful bone in its body, that much you can tell. This is your death, you realise. This is it. 

But before you feel the fangs sink into your skin or the claws tear you open, the monster loses balance. All you can see is a vague human-like figure pushing it aside into the shadows with a strength that is impossible to comprehend, two tall silhouettes wrestling for a moment before the huge hairy creature lets out a bone-chilling scream. The giant body slumps in on itself, lifeless, silent. You breathe in gasps, swallowing air that does nothing to calm you down. You fall over, sobbing silently in short-lived relief.

The monster is dead. But you’re not alone.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Three weeks ago

“So, are you a big movie fan?” the stranger had asked you today when you served him his whiskey. He always orders something now, almost like knowing you serve him permanently changed his ’no thank you’-attitude. Whenever you bring him his order he asks you questions and you end up chatting with him for longer than you should.

“Oh, I like them, yes, but the reason I work here, if that’s why you’re asking, is that it’s one of the few jobs I can do on weekends that pays extra for night shifts.”

“So do you have a day job as well?” he asks, taking his first sip. He’s wearing all black today, black leather gloves, a black shirt and black tailcoat. The only pop of colour is a red rose that he has tugged into a buttonhole of his open jacket.

“Finishing off my degree,” you explain. “I don’t think I’ll work here after that.”

His brow furrows in surprise. “No?”

You chuckle. “No, it doesn’t pay that well. It doesn’t pay well at all, actually.”

“I see.” He turns the tumbler in his hand, the amber liquid twirling inside. “I have to say I am glad. I do not think he treats you well.”

You glance towards the door but Max seems to be busy behind the counter still. “He’s… okay.”

The stranger huffs out a laugh. “No, è un stronzo.”

The smirk that tugs at your lips is hard to shake off, especially with the way he rolls the R in the word. “Yeah, he is. But I have to pay rent and get groceries, so...”

“I understand.” Another sip, slow, barely coating his lips. “Fiore, I do wonder… what is it that you truly burn for? What would you do if no restrictive invention like money mattered?”

You take a deep breath and then you start to tell him about your real interests, your passions. He listens with the avid attention of someone who genuinely cares, who doesn’t just ask out of mere politeness. It’s addicting, the way his intense eyes are glued to your lips, how his whole body is angled into your direction. You get so lost in his gaze, in your explanation, that you forget yourself for a moment.

“Eh!” Max suddenly calls out from the doorway and you jump at the sound of his voice. “Come over for a second, will you?”

You reluctantly leave the stranger in his armchair with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. Enjoy your movie, sir.”

“I will,” he says. “Thank you, fiorellino.”

Max watches you with a scowl, roughly pulling you aside as soon as you’re within reach. “Do I pay you for chitchat?”

“No, Max, I’m sorry. I just…”

“You just what?” he snaps, clenching his jaw. “Flirting with the old men won’t get you higher tips, it only screams pathetic whore. You think he can still get it up?”

You stay silent, waiting for him to calm down enough to notice the impropriety of his words and actions. The urge to kick him is so hard to fight that you have to actively push your feet harder into the ground. Your fists ache with how hard you’re clenching them.

Eventually he simmers down, smoothing out his shirt as he clears his throat. “Anyway, you need to clean up again today. The cleaner still hasn’t shown up.”

“What happened?” you ask.

He shrugs but it’s an ingenuine, uncaring gesture. “Apparently she ran away or something. She’s been missing for a while.”

Missing? Wasn’t she anemic? Before you can ask any more questions he leaves you standing right there to start the movie. You head back to the register even though you know no other guests are going to be coming in tonight. For the whole duration of the movie, all you do is wait, scrolling on your phone from where you’re hiding it underneath the desk. No local news site is able to tell you anything about the missing cleaner other than the fact that she just left over night exactly a week ago and hasn’t been found ever since.

“Oh, did we miss the movie?”

You look up to see two men strolling into the lobby. They sway slightly, probably drunk, and smoke despite the big no-smoking sign at the entrance that’s impossible to miss. They look familiar in how unremarkable they appear, one is blond, the other one dark-haired, jeans and crumpled t-shirts betraying their status even though they move with the confident audacity only mediocre white men have.

“Yes, I’m sorry. The movie is almost over,” you say. “By the way, you’re not allowed to smoke in here, sir.”

“Are you off soon, then, sweetheart?” the blond one asks, taking another drag of his cigarette

“No, I have to clean up.”

“Ah, cleaning up… whatever, can’t be that dirty in there, huh?” He grins. “Unless… we make it dirty.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, a feisty one!” the dark-haired man says. “That’s how you treat your customers?”

“You haven’t bought anything.”

They whistle almost in unison, though their tunes are slightly off-key. This is not the first time this happens, it’s not even the first time these exact men show up here and try to harass you.

“Come on, maybe you can show us where you keep the liquor?” the blond man asks. “Have a drink with us?”

“I don’t think so, sir. If you don’t want to buy anything, I have to ask you to leave.” You try to stay polite, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Please.”

He chuckles, tries to round the counter to touch you but there is a sudden shift in atmosphere. It’s almost like all of the warmth is sucked from the room, like the charged air of a thunderstorm is crackling inside its walls. The men seem to feel it too because they suddenly stop in their movements, giving each other nervous glances.

“You were asked to leave, signori, no?”

You look up to find your stranger entering the lobby. The movie must have ended because the lights are on again and he looks so menacing that even you feel a chill running down your spine. His white eye glimmers dangerously, the other one shimmering almost red now but it could be a trick of lighting. They’re narrowed, the skull paint and severity of his features giving him the air of a predator. When the blond man takes another step into your direction, out of spite or stupidity you’re not quite sure, the stranger is on him in a second. You’re surprised by how agile he appears in his age, wondering briefly if he just looks older than he is or if you’re just prejudiced. But the man backs away immediately, joining his buddy by the door. A second later Max enters as well from the backroom, looking mildly irritated but unbothered by the weird atmosphere as he slams the door shut.

“Any issues here?” he asks, taking in the two loiterers. 

The men slowly backtrack, holding up their arms in pretend innocence. While the dark-haired one slips out the door, the blond man lingers. “No issue, no. Just had a question about your schedule.”

Max gives a dismissive wave of his hand and when the man is finally gone, he turns to you. “Were you rude to our customers?”

“They weren’t customers,” you say defensively, angry that he’d even assume something like that. “They were drunks.”

“Hmpf.” He gives the stranger another glance, still unimpressed, then grabs his bag from under the counter. “I’m off now. See you tomorrow. And hey, don’t forget to clean and lock up.”

“Yeah, see you,” you say, trying to swallow the lump of anger in your throat.

As soon as Max is gone, the stranger’s whole demeanour changes. His expression softens and he reaches out, his hand hovering right by your arm. 

“You are alright, little flower?” he asks.

You nod but it’s hard to fight off the tears. Situations like that make you feel helpless and you hate it. Being at the mercy of these men is frustrating, especially with a boss who just lets it slide instead of protecting his employees. You could have handled the situation, you tell yourself, you’ve had to handle so many similar ones before, but it just feels so incredibly good that someone cares.

“I think so,” you finally choke out. “I just… This is not uncommon and I’m so fed up.”

“I understand,” he says. “Did these men bother you before?”

“Yeah, but other people as well. Even Max treats me like a piece of meat just because I’m young.”

There is a hidden anger in his face, a barely noticeable clench of his jaw, his brow slightly pulled together. You’re not scared anymore, though. The menacing energy he exudes is directed at something else, not you, and you can’t bring yourself to wonder how he manages to command a room like that.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” he asks.

You nod and he reaches out, running a gloved hand up and down your arm in silent comfort. You take a step closer and he lifts his other hand as well, gently cradling your cheek. When a fat tear of anger falls from your eye he catches it, telling you it’s okay if you need to let it out. But you don’t cry, you don’t want to feel weak or fall into his arms like a sobbing child. Nevertheless, his comfort feels like a gentle hug, calming you so easily.

For a moment, he lets you breathe in the same air, a leather-clad thumb swiping over your cheekbone with a calming steadiness. You smile at him and he smiles back, so softly that not even the skull paint can hide the gentleness of his features.

“I have to clean up now,” you say. “Thank you for being here.”

He simply nods, slowly pulling away from you. Only when he’s gone and you smell a faint flowery scent do you notice that he’s tugged the rose from his jacket into your hair. You press it to your chest, right above your fluttering heart, and pray that he never stops coming back.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Their blood tastes like shit. 

Not literally but it’s by far the worst he’s had in a while, certainly worse than that of the cleaning lady he’s been feeding on last month. Admittedly, he did not consider that losing her would prompt your boss to just make you work longer. At the time she was just an easy victim on his way home, sweet young blood that was easy to obtain, the blue veins shining through her pale skin like they were begging to be used. But as he cleans his jaw with a handkerchief, Primo thinks that perhaps he can linger after the movies now. Any more time with you, however long, is of immeasurable value to him.

A groan. Primo looks down at the man, the blond stronzo who tried to touch you. He feels no sympathy, no reluctance. Full moon rolls around in three weeks and if they happen to die before then… well, bad luck for his partner. Though he can’t say he’s very tempted to drink from them again with all the junk in their blood – cheap alcohol, so much nicotine and other poisons. Perhaps he should just end it now, they’re at his mercy in any case. But no, they deserve to be punished for what they did and he knows bleeding out is not a very painful death.

Primo is not a cruel man, he likes to think. The nature of his being prompts him to act cruelly sometimes for self-preservation but unlike some of his fellows he finds no enjoyment in the kill. Not anymore, not after his initial lust for blood was quenched centuries ago. Nevertheless, he has to admit that his obsession with you is testing those limits in ways he’s never felt before. For you, he thinks, he could turn into a killer.

A gurgle. The second man is starting to wake up and Primo decides to leave. He placed the wounds in unobtrusive spots, never using both fangs to puncture their skin, too obvious. They’re going to think they’re hungover and move on but he’s going to find them again, slowly drain them until the next full moon is here and they’ll find their demise in a different way.

Primo is not a killer, no, but he chooses the killer’s victims.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

You’re frozen in your spot amongst the thicket, branches and rocks digging into your body, the throbbing pain in your arm slowly spreading out. The sight before you is absurd. A giant dead body, a monster, a… a werewolf? You can’t bring yourself to properly think the word and yet you know that’s what it is. Not that it matters anymore. The smell of death mixes in with the earthy scent of the woods and spreads out in the air around you. The second figure hovers above the body for as long as it takes you to gather your thoughts. Why, you cannot tell. Are they shocked by their actions? Making sure the creature is really dead? There seems to be a hesitation in their every movement as they slowly back away and move into your direction, their frame blurring with the surrounding darkness.

“Stand back,” you yell. “Don’t come closer!”

Your voice is high-pitched, unrecognisable in its trembling state, hoarse from screaming into the emptiness around you. Your fear has your senses heightened and every snap of a twig, every howl of the wind makes you flinch. The being before you now is smaller than the one before, human-shaped if your eyes don’t betray you. The canopy is so thick here, the trees surrounding you so close to one another that you struggle to see anything. And yet you can feel them moving.

“Stop,” you yell again. “Fucking stop!”

A sudden sliver of light catches their face and you can see two glowing eyes, the one that you know as a deep green shimmering red like it did in the lobby of the theatre the night the two men harassed you and the other one is still as white as bone. “It’s okay, fiore mio. You’re safe now,” he says and you immediately recognize the Italian accent, the nickname. “I’m here to help you.” 

You slump in on yourself, not quite relieved but still a little calmer.

It’s him. It’s your stranger.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Two weeks ago

“It’s nothing personal,” Max says. “But I’m losing money here.”

You nod like you understand. You do understand, just not why it has to be now of all times, so close to when you would have been done anyway. A few more months.

“Just not enough people coming in,” he continues. “And the old guy doesn’t pay that much no matter how often you flirt him up.”

Again, all you can do is nod. Your boss wants to cancel the night showings and lay you off. Supposedly, no other shifts are in need of any more people and he can’t keep you on. It’s a cheap excuse, you know it is.

“So, I’m off then,” he says. “You can manage on your own one last time, right?”

You nod at him once again, watching him whistling a merry tune and twirling his keys on a finger on his way out. The tears come only after you hear his car driving off. You have no idea how to find another weekend job for the next few months and the sheer surprise of his decision has your stomach in knots. If he’d at least given you some time to prepare…

“Buonasera, fiore. Can I… uhm…” You look up into the stranger’s eyes, trying to wipe at your tears but it’s too late, his expression has already changed into what you can only assume is pity. “Scusi, is this a bad time? Can I help you, perhaps?”

“I’m so sorry… I just… Ugh, Max wants to cancel the late night screenings,” you explain, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “I guess this is our last night here.”

“Cancel?”

You sniffle, your voice scratchy when you speak next. “Well, as you may have noticed, you’re kind of our only guest.”

The stranger takes your hand, soft leather pulling you from the desk and towards one of the run-down couches in the waiting area. He’s so gentle when he beckons you to his side, never letting go of your hand.

“He wants to fire you, sì?” 

You nod, staring at your intertwined hands against the velvet upholstering of the couch. His thumb draws lazy circles into your skin, his hand so big it almost swallows yours. You want him to swallow you as well, his whole body wrapped around yours, engulfing you with his safety – but you’re not sure that you could ask him for a hug.

“I’m sorry, it’s really not your problem. I mean, you’ll lose your weekend activities but I’m sure you can just get Netflix or something.”

“Netflix?”

You look up with a smile. “Or… I don’t know, buy a DVD.”

The stranger smiles back, squeezing your hand just a little bit tighter. “Now, my little flower, do you really think I am just here for the movies?”

When your eyes meet it’s like you’re sucked into a vacuum. You don’t know whether to focus on his white iris or the burning need that’s visible in his green eye. The decision is taken from you when he leans in and captures your mouth in a kiss. You reciprocate without hesitation and yet he’s holding back, a suppressed moan bubbling in his throat, despite the tenderness of his lips. It’s not enough, not nearly enough. You press against him, opening your lips for him, and then the moan finally spills out as his tongue vibrates against yours. His free hand pushes into your hair and settles at the back of your head, angling your face in whichever way he wants to taste you. His lips feel surprisingly cold just like his cheek as you bring a hand up to touch him. The makeup smears under your fingers, at your jaw, mingling with your spit.

And yet it’s not enough, not until you’re half in his lap, until his hands roam your body with reverent desperation, searching, exploring. The kiss never loses momentum. He sucks in a breath and you push your tongue into his mouth, running it along his upper lip until you can feel his teeth. You frown into the kiss when you feel something pointy, pulling your tongue back, but there is no time to think before he sucks at your bottom lip. A sharp sting as he punctures your flesh with his teeth. He moans as the taste of your blood settles between your joined lips, sucking whatever he can into his mouth. You allow him to drink you in, offering yourself up in a way you haven’t done with anyone else before.

There is a moment in which you think, hope, that it never ends. But then he pulls away and you gasp for air. You stare at him, traces of red blood fuzing into the grey smears around his mouth. He’s a mess, equal to how you feel, but his eyes are focused, his gaze sharp.

“Do you want to see the movie?” you ask, hoping he’ll say no, hoping he’ll just take you away.

But he just chuckles, his hands slowly disappearing from your body until you slump into the soft cushions on the couch.

“Actually, I think I have to leave early tonight,” he says. “I will see you next week, fiore mio. Please, per favore, do not worry about your job, I will set things right.”

You want to ask what he means, if he’s going to talk to Max for you, but before you realise that he’s leaving, before you even finish blinking, he’s already gone. Furrowing your brow, you walk outside and enter a clear moonless night. Your flushed face soaks up the cool air and you look around, searching feverishly, but there is no sign of your stranger. You expect to see him along the sidewalk, perhaps he’s in one of the cars getting ready, but even after a few more minutes none of them roar to life. Nothing disrupts the soft silence of your sleeping small town and you shake your head in wonder as you make your way back inside, the metallic taste of your blood still lingering on your tongue.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Primo is livid, furious in a way that he hasn’t felt in close to a hundred years. You are not part of their deal and yet this feels like a violation of conduct. Making you cry should be a criminal offense and he wants him to pay for it, in what currency Primo is not sure yet. He knows he can’t let his anger win but when he smells the creature from two streets away, even in his human form, he’s ready to sink his teeth into his throat. And of course he finds him in a nearby bar, nursing a beer while he watches football videos on his phone without a care in the world.

“You won’t fire them,” Primo spits out.

Max looks up in pretend confusion. “Huh?”

“You heard me, stronzo.”

“Your little flower?” He pouts, mocking him, then huffs out a laugh. “It’s business, man.”

“The job is important,” Primo says calmly, trying not to get too riled up. “A few more months.”

“Cry me a river. Just do with them what you want, fuck them, suck them dry. Whatever gets your blood pumping, Count Dracula.” A sardonic smirk. “Oh oops, I forgot.”

Primo won’t be provoked, not from the likes of him. “You’ll give them time,” he says calmly. “Or I have to rethink this… agreement.”

Max sighs in annoyance. “Fine. A little longer. And don’t think I haven’t smelled you on those two assholes yet. I only get to feast once a month and I expect the vampire to have better taste, that’s why I agreed to this in the first place.”

“I do have taste,” Primo says. “And we both know that’s not the reason or why are you sitting here all alone, lupetto, eh?”

Max snarls but says nothing to this painful reminder. Primo doesn’t feel bad. Their agreement serves the sole purpose of attracting less attention and would not work if Max wasn’t an outcast. Their solitariness saves them and keeps their peace intact. For now.

Primo leaves with an aching heart, hoping the werewolf stays true to his word. He comes back to the cinema only to see that you got done in the meantime and left. It’s not like he actually planned to continue what you started earlier but he really wants to catch another glimpse of you, see how you’re feeling after what happened.

He finds you two streets away, hurrying home even faster than usual. You’re scared, he can tell immediately as he hears your rapid heartbeat, the blood rushing through your body like a raging river. Since the two men tried to corner you you’ve been especially on edge. He knows it’s because you expect them to try again and he wishes he could tell you that they won’t, that he’s watching over you, that he’s been slowly draining them ever since despite the awful taste of their blood. He can handle it, he can handle anything if it’s for you. 

Only for you. 

Primo relaxes after he sees you closing the door to your apartment and your heartbeat slows down. That’s when he leaves – always. He’s promised himself that he never lingers, that he doesn’t stalk or overstep, only makes sure you get home safely after your shifts. Tonight, it’s harder to leave. He can still taste you on his tongue and what a taste it is. Never before has he savoured blood quite so sweet, quite so rich in aroma, and the violent hunger inside of him tries to keep him by your house for more. 

But the kiss was a mistake to begin with and he’s not sure yet how to proceed because he never expected you to respond quite so enthusiastically to his advances. Of course he could immediately tell that you wanted him, the smell and taste of your excitement so overpowering that it cut off any reasonable thought while it happened. He hasn’t lost control of himself like that in over two hundred years and now he set things in motion that may cost him this precious connection that he has with you if he’s not careful.

For now, however, he allows himself this small pleasure and lets the happy, giddy feeling settle in his hollow chest. If he wasn’t aware that he was a few centuries old he would promptly assume that he’s a lovestruck teenager. And he could get used to it, he realises, because with you he’s quite ready to start this empty life all over again and fill it with everything that he’s been missing.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

“You’re a vampire,” you state, twigs and stones digging into your butt but you feel to weak to stand up.

The stranger approaches you slowly like you’re a wild animal he’s trying to tame, the roles reversed now in your agitation and his calmness. “I am, sì.”

The urge to back away, to run for your life, continues to simmer in your belly but you fight it because you know there is no escape now. You want to trust him but you feel like you’re in a fever dream. It has to be a hallucination, maybe you were drugged at work today, maybe you inhaled the fume of some rare mushroom when you fell.

Your eyes meet the dead creature again. “Is he-”

“Yes, Max is dead.”

“Max?” Your shrill voice betrays your shock. “My boss?”

“Yes.” He sounds oddly calm, not like he just killed a werewolf. “Please, allow me to take you home with me.”

“Home? Your home?”

“Yes, my little flower. I want to look at your scrapes and cuts. Allow me, please.”

You hesitate, even as you see the shape of his outstretched hand, the same black leather gloves now ripped and torn, revealing slivers of his pale skin.

“I understand you don’t… trust me,” he says. “But I promise, I will explain everything to you in as much detail as you want and then you can decide for yourself. I just want to make sure you are okay first.”

You swallow, your throat still painfully sore from screaming. “Are you going to… I don’t know, drink from me? Eat me?”

“I will not eat you. And I will not drink from you either,” he says. “All I want is to look after you.”

You suck in a deep breath, ready to collapse on the forest floor. He could lure you into a trap, he could have been plotting this for weeks now, and yet you still feel the butterflies in your belly stirring at the sound of his voice, your body aching to be with his, even now in its weak state. Reluctantly, you place your mud-smeared hand in his and when he lifts you up with ease, his arms wrap around you tightly. You have no strength to lift your arms but you let him hug you anyway, slumping against his frame.

And perhaps you’ve lost your mind. Perhaps you should use the opportunity to kick him, to fight, but instead you start to sob into his shoulder. The world you thought you knew comes crashing down around you and he holds you through it, whispering that it’s going to be alright.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

One week ago

You can’t stop thinking about him.

The week passes slowly but you do get a text message from Max telling you he’s extending your employment for as long as it takes you to find a new job. You have no idea how your stranger convinced him but you never wanted to get back to work so urgently before – to thank him, to ask if there is a chance that you could see him outside of this place. 

Any thought you can spare is spent thinking back to your kiss, extending it in your mind for hours and hours, exploring the fantasy alone in your bed at night with your hand between your legs. You ignore any of the worries that this intimate moment conjured up. So what if the stranger has a bit of a blood kink and conveniently sharp teeth? You certainly don’t mind doing it again. He can bite you wherever he wants, you realise, and you’d gladly let him suck on the wound.

He’s back Friday night and you can’t help but feel relieved that he’s not ghosting you after his sudden disappearance last week. Maybe it’s because of your intense crush on him but you swear he looks more beautiful tonight than ever before. His long blond hair is shiny and smooth as it falls into his face, the paint more pristine than usual. He’s wearing his usual black slacks but today he paired it with a deep red shirt under a black tailcoat with a red pattern of embroidered roses. His tall, slender frame leans against the counter as he regards you with a smile.

“So, what am I watching tonight?” he asks.

“Hitchcock,” you say. “The Birds. Max is a big fan.”

“Hm, I haven’t watched that one since it premiered,” he says and then he removes his gloves. You watch as he slides his now bare hand over the counter until it touches yours. 

“Well, I’m afraid I wasn’t born yet back then.”

“No, fiore.” He runs his thumb over the back of your hand. His skin is cold and pale and wrinkly, the lines and bumps revealing a map of his life that you can’t wait to explore. His long fingers slide under yours, surprisingly sharp black nails raking over your palm until he holds you comfortably. They look almost manicured, his hand dwarfing yours as he closes it. “You’re such a young thing and yet our souls have found such a deep connection, no?”

You gaze into his mismatched eyes, a fondness in them that makes your heart beat faster. As if he can feel it, the corners of his painted mouth curl upwards into a smirk until you can see the crow’s feet under his eyes deepen despite the dark paint. 

“Yes,” you finally say. “Actually, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to–”

You’re interrupted by the door to the backroom opening. You jump, pulling your hand from his as you see Max casting you a curious glance. He’s been in a bad mood all evening so you’re not taking any risks tonight.

You cough. “Ugh, here’s your ticket, sir. Enjoy the movie.”

The stranger doesn’t seem offended by your reaction. Instead he smiles at you, accepting the ticket from your shaky hand. “Grazie, fiore. I will let you know if I enjoyed it.”

As he leaves for the screening room he doesn’t even look at Max. You remain frozen behind the counter, watching his elegant form with a rapidly beating heart. Mindlessly clenching the hand he just held in his, you desperately hope you get to ask your question later.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

The werewolf won’t leave earlier tonight. As he lets the movie run in the background, only vaguely paying attention, Primo listens for any signs. It looks like he has to sit it out today, though, even as his patience slowly wears thin. One more week until full moon, so Max must be getting antsy, and Primo made sure to keep the prey alive despite his protests in the bar. Every time he feeds from them, he is tempted to bite into an artery instead of a vein, watch them bleed out, not even drinking their blood. But having Max go hungry will piss him off and since he is already aware of you, Primo can’t risk not providing him with any easier targets.

After the movie concludes, Primo lingers but he doesn’t spot you in the foyer. When Max finally heads out he sees no reason not to look for you and conveniently, the only place you could be at is especially private.

The backroom houses a tiny kitchenette and two desks for computers with displays that are already black. You’re standing in front of the open door of a supply closet to gather your cleaning materials when he approaches soundlessly.

“Don’t be scared,” he says from a safe distance. “It is just me, fiore.”

You spin around, your beautiful face lighting up at the sight of him. “Oh, hello.”

“I owe you the money for the ticket,” he says. “You never gave me a chance to pay.”

“Oh. Yes. Sorry… It’s not… I’m not embarrassed or anything, it’s just that Max…”

“Oh, it is quite alright, fiore mio, I know.”

A grateful smile. You don’t flinch when he steps in front of you, taking your hand in his to press a soft kiss to your palm. How lovely you are, Primo thinks, a pure, honest sort of beauty that he doesn’t deserve but wants with every fibre of his ancient being. He could show you a whole new world of pleasure and he knows it’s always the quiet ones who are so proficient in the art of sin. 

“I was hoping I would have some more time with you,” you say and he perks up.

“Were you?”

“The kiss…” A hint of red dusting your cheeks as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “I really enjoyed it.”

Primo can’t help but smile. “Me too, my little flower. Perhaps we should try it again?”

He can hear your heartbeat quickening at his words, can feel your skin heating up with the rush of your blood. Even now he is surprised by the evidence of your returned affections, struck by how perfect you are for him, your trust just another sign of hope that you can find it in you to love him back if he allows you to.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” he says and then he effortlessly pulls you into his arms. To his surprise, you kiss him first, standing on your tiptoes and melting into his body. Your mouth is insistent, soft and sweet and so eager for him. Primo’s hands explore the shape of your body, memorising your curves for eternity. Impatient now, he pulls you over to the kitchenette that consists of nothing but a mirror over a sink with a few cupboards housing a coffee machine and snacks. There is enough space for what he’s planning to do, though, and he grabs you tightly before he removes his tongue from your mouth.

He can’t see his own image in the old silvered mirror as he hoists you up but he can see the dips of his fingers in your ass as it hits the counter. You hold onto his shoulders as he kisses down your jaw and chin. He skips your neck, skips the temptation, and drags his mouth down your chest instead, ripping the button of your shirt open as he goes. No complaint leaves your lips, only soft gasps and tiny whimpers. Primo pauses to pull at his gloves and then at your pants and then at your underwear, impatient, urgent, until he can finally feel your hot skin burning against his fingertips. Goosebumps form where his cold hands touch you and you shiver against his palms.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please.”

He knows what you’re begging for and under different circumstances he might make you beg  until your voice gives out but with the smell of your arousal in his nose there is really no way he can hold back now. His hands on your hips pull you to the edge of the counter and he kneels between your thighs, placing two open-mouthed kisses that leave blotchy grey marks. Your eyes are half-lidded, hazy with lust as he gazes up at you and that’s enough to break his resolve. As he wraps his lips around your most sensitive spot, sucking gently, your head lolls back in pleasure. You’re so hot, so sensitive, reacting to even the softest of stimulations, and it’s addicting in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

You cling to the edge of the counter as his mouth works on you with violent passion, urging you higher and higher with his lips and his tongue, carefully avoiding his teeth. The taste of your arousal is so intoxicating that he can’t stop himself from moaning and he can feel a shudder tearing through your body. Primo increases his pace and you move your hips as well, following his rhythm and chasing your pleasure without shame.

You cum with a scream. Your hand digs into his hair, tugging, holding on with surprising force and it’s the most delicious pain he’s ever felt. He runs his fingers through your cum, licking them clean with a soft hum as he tastes you once again. But he needs more, he needs so much more–

“Do you want to come home with me?” you ask breathlessly as he gets up from his knees, the pain in his joints distracting him momentarily. “Spend the rest of the night?”

He looks at you in surprise but then a soft smile forms on his face. You’re so eager, so fearless. “You should be careful who you invite into your home,” he says. “You may find yourself hosting guests other’s would not deem welcome.”

You huff out a laugh. “What, like the devil?”

A chuckle and he presses a kiss to your forehead, longing to feel your warm skin on his cool lips again. “I wish I could, fiorellino, but I’m afraid my schedule is a little different from yours.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we have to do this another time,” he explains, despite the painful tightness in his pants. “Preferably, I want to invite you to dinner. I don’t like that we did this in here, it is not very… classy. Maybe next Saturday?”

“Oh, okay sure,” you say, a hint of confusion crossing your face. “Of course.”

He stands to his full height, his frame towering above yours and it takes him every ounce of self-control not to just take you right here. You’re pliant, needy for him in ways he’s only ever dreamed of, and while it tempts him to no end he suddenly becomes painfully aware of his responsibility. He needs to get your full consent before he gives in to a possible relationship with you. But right now is not the moment to tell you what he is.

“This… this is not you turning me down, right?” you ask with wide, hopeful eyes.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Oh no, tesorino, this is just the start of what I want to do with you and now that I got a taste, I don’t think I will ever get enough.”

You smile, the bliss of your high still evident on your face, and he rubs your thighs in small circles for a moment, the softness of your skin a gentle reminder of how fragile you are. Primo leans in to kiss you and fights a grin when you lick into his mouth to taste yourself. Maybe not so fragile, he thinks, maybe your hunger matches his after all.

“I will see you next Saturday, fiore mio,” he says. “I’ll be here to pick you up and we can dine at my home.”

You nod tiredly and he feels bad for leaving you like this after what just transpired. He can smell your cum on his fingers even as he waits for you to finish work and probably will for the next few days. But Primo needs to collect his thoughts. This is the start of something big, something messy, and now that he tampered with the forces there is no going back. The regret that comes with it is excruciating. He can invite you to dinner, treat you like you’re the stars in the night sky, make love to you until you both pass out in exhausted bliss – but it won’t change what he is. And what he is might scare you off. The thought pains him but he tries to cling to the small shimmering light of hope inside his heart that perhaps you can accept him.

Until he figures out the logistics of having you over for dinner without giving you the scare of a lifetime, he decides to keep away from you. The temptation is too strong now, his need, his hunger, a quickly expanding black-hole inside of him that might eat you alive if he’s not careful. 

His resolve is strong, he tells himself, and it remains strong all week. Well, that is until he sees you running into the woods a mere day before your date, chased by a starving werewolf.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

He lives in the old castle at the edge of town.

It really shouldn’t come as a surprise but as he carries you through candle-lit hallways and multiple small chambers, old is the last thing that comes to your mind. Everything looks well-kept, orderly, the old-fashioned style of his attire translating to the interior as well. You never stay in any room for too long, the castle so big that you have to climb several staircases until you reach another long hallway. Several men in black hooded robes that look like monk’s habits pass you on your way. They don’t turn into your direction as you pass, some of them carry books, some carry laundry.

“Who are these men?” you ask.

“They’re my ghouls.”

“Ghouls?”

“Mhm.”

You don’t ask any further questions but cling to your stranger’s neck even though there is no need to. You’re safe in his arms, his strength limitless, and he does not seem tired even as you finally enter a chamber that appears to be his bedroom. Big arched windows make up one whole wall of the room and a double glass door that seems to lead to a balcony. The only light source is the full moon outside, casting milky white rays through the old windows. A huge wooden bed with silky white sheets dominates the room from the centre, most of the old hardwood flooring covered by a burgundy rug with a floral pattern, two chests of drawers lining the opposite wall as well as a desk covered in what seems to be his correspondence.

“You’re safe here, my flower,” he says as he sets you down on the bed. “I promise.”

You sit, watch him as he kneels down beside you. His face is nothing but kind, so full of concern and affection, but you can’t help but feel out of place. Knowing what he is now, while it doesn’t change the core of your feelings, still circles in your mind and you have to fight your disbelief.

“You still hesitate?” he asks.

“Are you reading my mind?”

“No, fiore, I do no such thing.” He takes your hand, covering it with his broad ones. “I would not abuse your trust, even if I could. And we have trust, no?”

“I feel like I can trust you,” you admit, tears of overwhelm pricking your eyes. “But I don’t really know anything about you. I don’t even know your name.”

“Primo.”

You exhale and let the word roll off your tongue. “Primo.”

He smiles at the sound of it, a soft, recognising smile, as if he hasn’t been called by that name in a long time. “All I ask is that you let me look after you right now, sì? I will explain and we can talk in depth later, amore.”

“Amore?”

His brow softens, giving his smile a sad quality. “My affections for you have not changed. Though I do fear that yours might have.”

You shake your head at him but before you can say anything profound, two of the black hooded ghouls enter the room. Another one joins right after, rolling a big copper bathtub inside, and you don’t even question their magic when they lift their arms and the tub fills with water. One of the other ghouls lifts his hands as well and suddenly the water starts to steam. The third ghoul places a piece of soap and a washcloth on a nearby stool, then hangs a soft-looking cotton bathrobe over the edge before they all leave without uttering a single word.

Primo helps you out of your shirt and you gasp when you see the blood covering your forearm. The bleeding has stopped but the scrape is still burning, the pain a distant throb. When he sees it, his gaze hardens but he just leads you to stand without any commentary, helping you undress, radiating tension and concern.

“It is okay that I am here?” he asks when he sees you unbutton your pants.

You nod in reply. After everything that happened you can’t say that you feel very embarrassed being naked in front of him and you feel safer in his presence, safer when he helps you. 

The water is scalding and you have to take a moment to get used to it before you can fully let the heat ease the tension you hadn’t even noticed before. Primo pulls up a chair, sitting right by your head, and picks up the cloth. You watch his brow furrow in concentration when he cleans your cuts and scrapes and his eyes meet yours a few times throughout, gazing at you with barely hidden hope. You want to tell him that your feelings are the same, if not stronger, but you can’t find it in you to disturb the silence with anything other than the occasional hiss when he touches a painful spot. It feels too fresh still, too many uncertainties plaguing your mind.

Once you’re clean and the water has cooled significantly, Primo helps you out and immediately wraps the soft cotton robe around you. As you sit back down on the bed, he walks over to his desk and fetches a small brown leather bag. Inside, you find multiple small vials in different colours and an antiseptic that looks just like any modern ones. He uses a cotton pad to clean out your wound before he grabs one of the small bottles, holding it out for you to see.

“Let me apply this to your cut,” he says. “It’s a tonic, it will help you heal.”

You roll up your sleeve to grant him access. “So, are you a healer of some sort?”

“Well, I am more of a pharmacist.” He chuckles and lets a small amount of the white liquid drop onto your arm. “Not a doctor.”

“It feels good,” you admit, the cool tincture sticks to your wound, easing the pain.

Primo smiles and wraps a bandage around your arm, tight but not too tight, like he’s done it a hundred times before. You can’t help but stare at him, his eyes and his whole face so beautiful and mesmerising, barely hiding his emotions in the depths of his features. When he catches your gaze, he tugs his hair behind his ear like he’s flustered and you spot a small cut above his left brow.

“He got you as well,” you say, grabbing a new cotton pad and reaching out for his face.

“It’s nothing, it will be gone within the hour,” he replies but he still lets you clean the scratch with careful dabs. “I suppose that I am not as powerful as I need to be to truly protect you.”

“What do you mean? You seemed very powerful to me earlier.”

“I am not ugh… how do you say? In my best years.”

You furrow your brow. “I always thought vampires stayed young forever.”

“Well, you see, I was turned well into my old age. I am not as strong and agile as someone who is born with it or turned earlier in their life,” he explains. “Usually, vampires do not like old blood, they prefer the young and healthy. But mine was… very hungry and very cruel.”

You lean over and press a kiss to his shoulder. “Is it painful to talk about this?”

“No, fiore mio, this was many centuries ago.” He regards you with caution, letting his eyes roam your body for a moment. “Do you feel better?”

“I do.” You reach out for his hand again, fiddling with his long, spindly fingers. “So are we… I mean, do you want me to stay here?”

“Yes, I do.” 

“But we won’t…”

“No, I will not touch you intimately again before we speak,” he says, squeezing your fingers. “But perhaps you need some rest before we do. You can sleep in my bed, amore. The sheets are fresh.”

The exhaustion is too strong to fight for much longer, he’s right in that, and you crawl under the sheets, careful not to strain your arm. The silky material feels cool and soft against your skin but you keep the robe on for some warmth. Primo sits by your side, watching you with the fascination of a scientist observing the bacteria in his petri dish. You wonder when he last spent time with a human like this, if he was ever intimate with a human before, but that is a question for another time.

Instead you smile at him. “Do you want to join me? Or do vampires not rest?”

“Are you sure you want me to?”

“I would really like you to hold me,” you admit.

He visibly fights off a happy smile as he rounds the bed, shedding his clothes until he’s only in his pants and his white frilly shirt. Hesitating at the edge of the bed he pulls off the shirt as well and you can’t help but stare as he reveals his pale chest to you, speckled with light grey hair that runs all the way down to his waistband. He’s slender, bony around his ribs but with muscular shoulders and a soft belly, his slightly saggy skin the only real sign of his body’s physical age. You wonder how long he has now looked exactly like that. Centuries he’d said but that is a surreal thought you don’t quite grasp.

When he finally joins you in bed, you sink into his embrace, feeling his cool skin against your cheek as you rest your head on his chest. It’s odd, the quiet, the lack of a heartbeat, but with his fingers running along your spine, his nails scratching softly against your skin, you’re lulled to sleep in no time.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

You wake up in cold sweat – and alone. The bed is empty but you immediately spot Primo with a glance through the wide arched windows. He’s right outside the now open double doors you saw earlier, wearing a heavy, dark red robe, his blond hair softly swaying in the wind. You rise from the silken sheets and grab his wide shirt that lies as a puddle on the floor. The frills cover your hands when you slip it on and it’s long enough to cover you, his smell still clinging to the fabric and tickling your nose as you breathe in the fresh night air. 

The doors don’t lead to a balcony like you initially assumed but to a small garden, surrounded by the castle walls and illuminated by the full moon. You have no idea how long you slept but it seems to be the middle of the night. You don’t take the time to fully admire the garden, instead wrapping your arms around Primo and burying your face in his back.

“Oh fiore, did I wake you?” he asks, covering your hands with his.

“No,” you whisper. “I’m not tired anymore.”

“Come here.”

He wraps you up in his robe, pressing you tightly to his chest. You feel his lips ghosting over your forehead, then he presses them more firmly to your temple. His skin feels smooth and you turn your head enough to take in the surrounding area.

“What were you admiring?” you ask, your eyes caught on a plant that’s blooming despite the lack of daylight, long white blossoms opening themselves towards the night sky.

“Datura,” Primo explains. “They call it the devil’s trumpet. Highly poisonous. Many night-blooming plants are but of course they offer more to see to me than others.”

You smile. “The rose you gave me, was it from your garden as well?”

“Yes.”

He hugs you tighter and the pressure on your arm brings back enough pain to make you hiss in surprise. Primo tenses and you look up, only to find him staring at you with his brows drawn together. His anger isn’t directed at you and yet you feel a hint of anxiety. You know you won’t like the conversation you’re stearing towards.

“It’s my fault,” he says. “You’re hurt because of me.”

You raise a hand to his cheek. “No, no, it’s not. He attacked me.”

“But he attacked you because of my carelessness,” Primo says, leaning into your touch but avoiding your gaze. “I marked you. When we first kissed, I bit your lip and marked you.”

“Marked me for what?”

He swallows as his eyes finally meet yours. “We had an agreement.”

“An agreement? To… to kill people?”

“No, I don’t do the killing,” Primo says. “It is not my style. I am too old for carnage, amore. Or at least I thought I was.”

You furrow your brow, his explanation not helping you understand what he means. “So what is the whole deal with Max?”

“He was a werewolf,” Primo explains. “We ugh… we had this pact, I want to say. My victims, I don’t kill them, I just drink what I need and he… he gets the rest. He can smell me on them, so he knows who to target once he turns and loses most of his rational thinking. When I bit your lip, I must have marked you without my intent.”

You feel your blood rushing through your body now. “So what, he kills your victims?”

“He eats them, sì.”

“So the guys who…” You swallow hard, balling your hands to fists against his chest. “The guys who harassed me who never came back, the cleaner who disappeared… did you…”

“I never said I am innocent. But I did not kill them.” He takes your hand, softly uncurls your fingers before he looks at you with so much sadness that your heart shatters in your chest. “I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me anymore now. I know it is a lifestyle you have to condemn but it is the only way I survive.”

You feel tears welling in your eyes, uncertain whether you can accept the man you love harming other people like this. Of course it keeps him alive but handing them over to be killed is not very different from actually killing them. There has to be a different way, a way without murder.

“If we… if we were together… could you just drink from me instead?” you ask. “No more innocent people?”

“Have you ever donated blood, fiore? They will not let you give it too often, half a litre every three months.” He pauses, smiling sadly as he squeezes your hand. “That is to say… you do not produce blood fast enough. I would either starve or kill you.”

“But you could drink from me? And perhaps a bit from someone else and no one has to die?”

He nods. “I can but you might not like it, you might regret agreeing to this.”

“Try me.”

Primo furrows his brow. “Try you?”

“Show me what it’s like. How does it work? You bite my neck and suck?”

He shakes his head. “I will puncture your vein and drink until the bleeding stops.”

“You won’t suck?”

“Not when it’s you. I will just drink what spills out,” he explains. “Sucking would make the wound very bad, it would hurt you more, even though it is faster and gives me more of you.”

“It’s… it’s okay if you want to suck,” you say. “I want you to do it to satisfy you.”

“No, not this time, but thank you, amore.” A deep sigh as he relents to your request. “Va bene, but if we try this we have to go inside.”

Primo calls one of the ghouls as you settle back in bed and tells him to get you some fruit and a sweet drink for later. You’re buzzing, partly with anxiety but partly with sheer excitement. You remember the intense pleasure you felt when he bit your lip and wonder if this is going to be a similar experience.

As soon as the ghoul is gone again, Primo settles in bed behind you, ridding you of your robe and pulling you between his legs as soon as you are naked. You hold onto his thighs, the fabric of his black slacks rough against your palms.

“I will stop if you tell me to,” he whispers against your ear. “We go easy, I will not drink too much, yes?”

“Yes.” 

You sink against his solid chest, unclenching your muscles. His fingers run along your neck, brushing any stray hairs aside and gently positioning your head how he wants it. A moment passes before you feel his lips trailing over the exposed skin, pressing soft kisses to the tendon at your neck that make you shiver.

“Relax,” he mumbles. “No sudden movements, amore.”

You try your best to follow. Primo positions his mouth so very carefully that you almost anticipate the bite. His fangs poke at your skin and he gently increases the pressure until you can feel them puncturing it. The pain is not unexpected but you’re still surprised by the impact, moaning softly. His hands grab at your thighs, a deep groan leaving his throat that vibrates against your skin. You can hardly feel the blood leaving you with how tightly his mouth is attached to the violated skin. At some point, you can feel his tongue swiping along the curve and his grip tightens, long fingers digging into your flesh.

The more he drinks, the more he’s stirring behind you and then he’s suddenly rutting against you in his chase for more friction. You can feel his hard cock against your lower back and you can’t help but grind back against him. Primo stops to moan, his hands roaming your form all the way over your hips and up to your chest. His cold fingers feel heavenly against your heated skin.

“I’m sorry,” he says breathlessly. “Drinking from your… from your love can be a very intense, intimate feeling.”

You hum in agreement and his tongue laps at your neck again, leaving a wet trail all the way from your shoulder to your ear before he attaches his mouth to the wound. He doesn’t drink for long before his hips buck again. Subconsciously, you follow the movements, gripping his thighs so tightly that your fingertips dig into the firm muscles.

“Can you feel it, fiore? Can you feel how our bodies long to become one?”

You only whimper in reply, your head lolling back onto his shoulder as a sick sort of pleasure tears through you, a throbbing need settling in your core.

“I want you,” he says, his voice resonating deep inside of you. “I want you, my love. Will you let me have you?”

“Please,” you whine.

His mouth leaves you altogether. The bleedings has mostly stopped, his spit and your blood cooling against your skin in the still brisk air. Primo slips out from beneath you, urgently pushing the red robe off his shoulders and his pants from his legs before his weight pushes you into the mattress. He settles between your legs, his now bare cock digging into your thigh, and you moan when his bare skin touches yours. He feels warmer now, not hot but definitely more… alive. 

“You are the most wonderful thing I have ever seen,” he says and it’s beautifully grotesque, those pretty words leaving such a feral creature after he just drank from you, his face still showing the evidence of his attack. 

Your heart clenches with unspoken love for him.

You lift your hand to his jaw, dark red blood dripping from his open mouth and onto your chest. He’s breathing heavily with his fangs bared to you, staring at you in wonder as you cradle his cheek and run your thumb over his skin. His eyes close and there is something so heartbreakingly intimate about the way he’s melting into your touch. A predator, a being who spent centuries on this earth, who hurt and fought and killed for you softens at the mere touch of your fingertips. You’ve never wanted anyone as much as you want him in this moment and you already know that you won’t hesitate to do whatever it takes to be his.

Primo shifts sideways, moving one of his hands between your legs. He probes at your entrance, slowly stretching you open until he can slide two of his fingers into you, careful not to hurt you with his sharp nails. You can see how hard he’s trying to hold back, every muscle in his face clenching. But he holds your gaze, watching your lips part as he curls his fingers, fucking into you until you’re whimpering with every thrust.

“Primo,” you whine.

He nods like understands your need for more but he doesn’t stop yet. Running your hand over his jaw you collect all the blood and spit around his mouth that you can get and reach down to find his hard cock. He gasps at the contact, more blood spilling from his lips and pooling between your bodies. You pump a few times, spreading the wetness, and he unravels, hips bucking into your hand as he moans.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please don’t hold back.”

His pupils dilate and he removes his fingers from you, gathering more blood from your chest to spread on his cock. He aligns himself and slowly pushes in, watching as he his length disappears inside of you. The stretch is incredible. You keen when he bottoms out, one of your hands fisting his hair and then he finally kisses you. The metallic taste of your blood startles you at first but then you can’t help but want more of it, pushing your tongue into his mouth. Primo won’t indulge you for long before you can feel him losing his restraint, battling for dominance over your mouth. He sucks at your tongue as his hips start to move, slow thrusts at first but he quickly loses patience. 

His mouth slips from yours as he speeds up, leaving a mess of drool, face paint and cooling blood behind. He drives himself into you without holding back, just like you wanted, his gasps and moans filling your ears over the sound of his wet skin meeting yours. You tug at his hair, wrapping your legs tightly around him to get even closer, spreading the blood all over your bodies. Primo nibbles at your jaw, not breaking the skin but running his teeth along the edge before they settle at your neck again.

“I want more,” he growls against your skin. “I need more, amore mio, please. J-just a little bit.”

In reply, you angle your head to expose your neck to him. He immediately latches on, sucking the wound back open. He was right, it hurts more this time and perhaps it’s a figment of your imagination but you can feel your blood rushing out of you in a way that is dizzying, intoxicating. Everything feels more intense now, the deep thrusts, his sharp nails digging into your flesh, the throaty moans in your ear as he drinks.

You clench around him and the orgasm hits you without warning. You cry out in pleasure, raking your nails down his back as you ride out your high with a few rolls of your hips. Primo falters, his hips stuttering into yours as he approaches his own release. His mouth leaves your neck with a pop and he pants desperately. You’re overcome with emotion when you hear his needy sounds, when you feel him twitching inside of you, so close to letting go. The last few drops of your warm blood run down your clavicle as the wound slowly closes, stopping right at your heart.

“I love you,” you breathe. “I love you, Primo.”

He shudders, his cock jumping wildly inside of you before he freezes, spilling his seed with a deep, drawn-out groan. You hold him through his high, stroking his hair and back. He gives two more slow pumps, drawing out your pleasure until he collapses on top of you.

“I love you, fiore,” he mumbles, then he props himself up on his elbow, staring into your eyes. “I love you.”

A surprisingly gentle kiss. A hand caressing your wet cheeks. Primo rolls you onto your sides and you can feel your mingled cum, blood and sweat glueing your bodies together. It’s messy and sticky but you’re not ready to let him go either. His gaze falls to your bruised neck and he frowns, grazing the skin with his thumb until you groan in pain.

Primo shakes his head in displeasure. “I am sorry, amore. I made it worse.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “I wanted it, my love, and I have no regrets.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. “You want all this, fiore? You want this old man?”

You take a deep, shaky breath, your lungs burning and your head still dizzy, but there is not a hint of doubt in your mind. “I want you and all that comes with it. I’m not scared, Primo.”

“No, you’re quite fearless,” he agrees with a smile. “We will have to take care of your wound, clean up this mess, sì? But maybe we can wait a few more minutes, I am quite exhausted.”

You hum in agreement and pull him closer. He doesn’t object as his head comes to rest on your chest this time. The blood loss seems to register now because your vision starts to swim, and so you close your eyes for a moment to let the wave of dizziness pass. Your thoughts are jumbled, so many questions, so many things to consider.

“Primo?” you ask after a moment.

He hums. “Yes, fiore mio?”

“Will you ever turn me?” 

A scoff, bitter and sharp, like it’s the absurdest thing he’s ever heard. “No, amore, I will do no such thing.”

“But if I wanted you to?”

“No.”

You open your eyes to find him looking up at you and lift a hand to smooth out the stern crease on his brow. “We’ll have to talk about this.”

“No,” he says again, then buries his face in your neck with a deep hum, wrapping his arms around you tightly. A moment passes. Then another one and he seems to mull the thought over in his head. He sighs in defeat. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“We will talk about it but not soon. We have many years to come before this ever matters.”

You’re satisfied with that for now, giggle when he presses a plethora of bloody kisses all over your neck and chest, and you can feel his smirk against your skin. You know he’s trying to distract you and it works. Your feelings for him flutter to live inside of you like a colony of bats and you breathe a kiss to his soft blond hair. As he falls asleep, he slowly exhales with his lips against your windpipe. You close your eyes and savour the feeling of his body wrapped around yours, thinking that if you’re lucky, this is a moment you’re going to remember for all of eternity.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed vampire primo – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Read now Part 2: Friday Nights at the Vinothek | Vampire!Secondo x gn!reader

Masterlist – My Ao3

#vampire primo owns my heart #primo #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus x reader #primo x reader #papa emeritus i x reader #vampire primo #vamprimo #?? #papa emeritus i fanfiction #papa emeritus i smut #papa emeritus smut #papa emeritus fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfiction #mind the tags #my writing #petrifyingpapas #friday nights

[dariaslookalike]

Building Houses and Burning Bridges Pt I

Summary:

It seems, oddly enough, that Gregory House lives to annoy you. He takes 'arseholish boss' to the next level. Wake up in the morning, ready to have breakfast, and drive to the hospital where you both work? Nope, you're getting a text that says you're late to his impromptu 4:30 AM meeting where he's had the 'breakthrough of the century' on the team's latest case. Get your hair cut and walk into work, for once feeling confident? Nope, he's saying that he would have done a better job blinded, hands tied and going through Vicodin withdrawals. Finally, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, prove him wrong and attempt to wipe the cockiness off his face? Nope, you're simply slow because you didn't get to your diagnosis quicker and weak-willed because you didn't fight him for it in the beginning. Everything House does infuriates you, and it seems everything you do infuriates him. No wonder you end up pinned to the wall of your apartment and groping him like your life depends on. And knowing House, it very may well.

Warnings: Adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagonist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Current Status: Ongoing

A/N: No Beta readers for any of my fics, so apologies for spelling mistakes. I wrote this originally on AO3, and it's still a work in progress. As with my other fics, I'll be uploading here and there when I get inspo

Masterlist: Building Houses and Burning Bridges

Next Chapter: Pt 2

-----------------------

Your mind trails off to the strangest of things when you’re nervous. You’re staring out the window pane, and there’s a small robin, hopping from branch to branch. It’s entrancing in a way. Do robins have little bird interviews for their little bird jobs? Or does everyone simply know what their role is, without having to apply for it? Collect the sticks, eat some bugs, and raise the young. Simple little bird jobs for simple little birds.

But then the woman in front of you clears her throat and you snap back to reality. Lisa Cuddy stares at you, but it’s not coldly like some interviewers may have. She smiles and you are flashed with her rows of perfect, white and straight teeth. Across from her, you feel underdressed, and not only in the literal sense. Some light makeup, to hide the fact that you hadn’t slept the previous night due to nerves, form-fitting but very obviously last-season pants, and a coat that you had quickly folded onto the chair beside you, to hide the tea stain down its front. But outside of that, she held a certain properness and professionalism you hadn’t mastered yet.

Despite that, she had beamed across your resume, congratulated you on your achievements, and told you that the job was almost ‘as good as yours’. She did, however, warn you. You would have another, more unofficial, interview to complete with your team leader before you began work. With the infamous Gregory House.

She inhaled, and it whistled through her nose. “Now, can I trust you to give you the very blunt run down of House, without you screaming and running for the hills? Because I think you need to know, while this job is incredibly hard and taxing…You may find he’s the worst part of it.”

You laughed politely. “I’m sure he’s not that bad. I once had a boss who had me make him coffee and lunch for three weeks straight after I had completed my PhD. He said it was a ‘chance for me to relax’,” You gesture air quotes, “before I got into serious work.”

Cuddy pinched the bridge of her nose. “No. As condescending as that is, House is worse than that.”

She must have seen your eyes widen because she quickly waves her hands in front of herself. “Don’t get me wrong. He’s brilliant, and, don’t pass this on to him, one of the best doctors you will ever work with. But…He can be rude. Egotistical. Infuriating. There are some days when he will make you feel pathetic and exhausted and other days when he will make you feel like you’ve discovered the secret to medicine. I’m not saying this to scare you, but rather I think you need to know that the people who are able to manage House and manage to work under him, do so with a lot of patience, humour, and resilience.”

You nod your head, and your brow furrows in seriousness. “I understand. Regardless of how he treats me, this is honestly an opportunity that I can’t pass up. I’m not going to let someone else ruin that for me.”

She beams at you. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You smile back at her, and she begins to shuffle papers on her desk and sort them into a stack. When they’re ordered into a neat pile, she looks back to you. “Rather than an interview, House will see this as a test. He will try to push your buttons. Make you nervous; worried. Don’t let him. You’re young, you’re beautiful, you’re smart,” You find yourself flushing at the honesty she seems to hold in her words. Cuddy was genuine and seemed like someone you could trust. That would be important if House was as bad as she made him out to be. “And he will try to make you all the more miserable for it.”

You let out a breathy sigh. “At least I’ll have time to prepare myself. What day would you like me to come in next?”

She winces and hands you the stack of papers (perhaps some miscellaneous files and formalities that you’ll investigate later, in private). “There won’t be another day, I’m afraid. He’ll be expecting you by his office following this.”

You breathe out, but afraid to seem well…Afraid, in front of Cuddy, you grit out a smile. “That’s perfectly fine. Sometimes it’s better to rip the bandaid off sooner, rather than later. Can you please direct me to his office?”

—--------

You feel your stomach plummet when you leave the elevator and begin walking down the hallway, clutching at your files as you do so.

Your short heels still manage to clack against the tiled floor as you walk. You pause and peer into a glass office. Sure enough, beside the door is a small plaque reading Dr G.House. Your hands reach for the doorknob, but it’s locked and you can’t push through. You peer into the office and see an empty desk, among other things.

It appeared the G.House was not home. So much for Cuddy’s warning that he would be waiting for you.

You breathe in deeply and scan around you. There are four or so chairs across from you, lining the side of the hallway, and sprawled across one of them is a man, staring right at you. You smile, half out of politeness and half out of awkwardness, and move to sit on the furthest seat. You settle down your papers, but when you look back, the man is turned and still staring. He has cropped, greying hair and steely blue eyes, and you quickly skim over him. Worn out jeans. A shirt with some sort of stain on it. A scuffed, dark cane resting beside him. Ratty trainers. At least he didn’t have the professionalism or poise that Cuddy carried around.

You realise you’ve stared a second past the respectful amount and you smile, fully out of awkwardness. “I don’t suppose you’re waiting for Dr House too?”

“Me?,” He raises an eyebrow, “Noo, I just like to wait outside his office as a pastime. See if I can conjure him through my psychic powers alone.”

You snort and raise your hands to your face quickly. “Well, do you know when he’ll be back?”

The man clicks his tongue. “Not at all. He doesn’t seem to care at all for punctuality, especially for…Who are you? A new hire?”

You tilt your head at him. “How’d you guess?”

He mimics you, tilting his head in the same direction. “You don’t look sick enough to be a patient, or tired enough to be a worker. Then there’s only the patient's family, new hire, or hooker to choose from. And no offence,” He trails his eyes down your form. “You don’t dress the part for the last option.”

You bark out a laugh at his incredulous words, shocked. “God. I’d hate to see the new hire who does.”

You’re happy to turn from the man and count the minutes until the infamous House appears, but the man draws your attention back to him with a question. “Why do you want to work with him?”

You squint your eyes at him. “And why do you want to know? Weren’t you the one to say that sitting here means you’re sick, a worker, a new hire, or a hooker?”

He nods, and his eyes appear calculating for a second. But then they’re masked and replaced with a forced smile “Yes, I did. As you can tell from my wicked cane, I’m a cripple hooker. I charge $200 for the hour, by the way. $300 and I’ll bring out the wheelchair.”

You can’t help but smile. Its funny, in a very twisted way. But you breathe deeply and try to compose yourself. You had never met someone as strange or bold as this man, but you supposed hospitals were the perfect place to find such specimens. The perfect mix of medicine, death and life, and you were produced with nutjobs.

“I’ve heard he’s a brilliant doctor-”

“And incredibly rude. I saw him the other week for the pain in my leg, and he just shoved a Vicodin bottle in my hand and called me an addict.”

You sighed. “You’re the second person to tell me that today. While I’m sorry to hear of his bedside manner, there are certain things I’m willing to go without in trade for working with him. I’ll deal with any rudeness or arrogance if it means I’m able to learn from him and contribute to his team.”

Now it’s the man who snorts out a laugh. “You’ll deal with being disrespected and abused just so you can be the ‘teacher's pet’ of medicine?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “No! Obviously, I’m going to stand up for myself and my own morals. But I think to some degree, people are set in their ways; if he is, I’ll learn to work around it, rather than break through it.” You huff, “And I won’t be a ‘teacher’s pet’. Been there, done that; it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

The man says nothing, and you turn to him, waiting for a witty reply or another snarky hooker joke, but then another man strolls up to the two of you. He has tousled brown hair, dark eyes and a strikingly white lab coat. House.

You stand up quickly and offer your hand. He shakes it, and you introduce yourself.

He smiles at you, with a sincereness that nearly startles you. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m assuming you’re the new hire? I’m James Wilson, head of Oncology here.”

Oh. So not House.

You stutter for a moment but compose yourself. “Oh! I’m sorry, I thought you were Dr House. Let me know if this is completely out of your ballpark then, but we’ve,” You gesture over your shoulder to the man still sitting down, “been waiting here for Dr House. Could you please point me in the right direction? He wasn’t in his office.”

The man raises his eyebrows at you, and you’re worried you said something to offend him -not like you made a hooker comment about him- but then he sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose, the same way Cuddy did. “House, would you like to introduce yourself to your new hire?”

Your eyebrows narrow. “I’m sorry, what?” Who was he talking to?

But then there’s the slight tap of a cane against the floor, and the man beside you rises to his full height.

You turn to him, perplexed, and he mockingly widens his eyes and raises his free hand to his mouth in faux shock. “Whoops! I forgot I transferred from being a Cripple Hooker to being a doctor. Don’t worry, I still charge the same rate.”

He shuffles past you, limping, and into his office. Wilson remains beside you, and he shakes his head, eyes cast upwards. “You’ll get used to him. Just don’t let him hassle you too much or he’ll get used to that.”

You turn to thank him for the warning, but House clears his throat loudly from within his office, and sits down at the wooden desk as if to say ‘well hurry up then’. Meekly, you gather your notes, tell Dr Wilson it was nice to meet him, and walk into the office to sit across from House

He stares at you, the same way he stared at you out in the hallway, and you find yourself prompted to speak first. “So, Dr House. While it’s nice to formally meet you, I’m wondering if it wasn’t for Dr Wilson, were we just going to sit outside and trade hooker jokes for the next few hours?”

His eyebrows narrow. “You don’t need to lie.”

“What?”

“It’s not nice to meet me.” He rolls his eyes. “I’ve met me before. It’s not a pleasant experience.”

He runs his hands down his worn face and continues to speak. “I have your resume. Your, quite frankly, startling long list of academic achievements and medical mumbo jumbo. I could give less of a hoot about those things; they won’t help you here. Awards and experience and acting like you give a shit is Cuddy’s forte, not mine.”

You find yourself puzzled about how to reply, but he saves you the effort and continues speaking, first drawing out your last name in a long drawl. “You seem intelligent and as if you lack a backbone. Both are necessary things for my team. But,” He stares intently at you, “Why do you want to work here? With me? On this team?”

You suck in air. “Well, as I said earlier, you’re brilliant. I know your cases and I know the work you’ve done. To put it blatantly, you’ve saved lives where others would have prepped the morgue. I want to know how to do that, and how to become the best doctor I can be.”

He laughs. “Being a suck-up isn’t a requirement for being a good doctor.”

“Neither is being an arsehole, but you seem to have that covered.”

Shit. Shit. Did you really just say that? To your boss? God, he was infuriating yes, and rude and-Oh. This was what Cuddy was warning you about. Losing your cool in face of his taunts and remarks. Well, low and behold, you lost your cool.

He narrows his eyes and leans forward to rest his head on his steepled hands. “Do you usually call people names during interviews or just the ones where you don’t want the job?”

You huff, exasperated. “I want this job. Hell, I need this job.”

“Everyone needs a job. Everyone has bills. But you’re avoiding the question.”

Your jaw clenches. “Well, not everyone has tenure. And, to answer your question, I only call people names during interviews because you made an incorrect assumption about me; I do have a backbone.”

He leans back in his chair and studies you. “Snarkiness isn’t a backbone. It’s a defence mechanism, sure, but a backbone would be walking out of here and knowing that your worth as a doctor means you shouldn’t be disrespected like that.”

Staring into his icy eyes, you speak. “You’ve got to ask me question after question. Am I a hooker? Why do I want to work with you? Now, I’m going to ask you a question. Why are we doing this?”

“Well sweetheart, I’m not sure if you’ve heard of this amazing thing, but there’s an interview you have before you start a job to see if you’re suited to-”

“No. I mean why are you ‘interviewing’ me if you’ve already made up your mind?”

At that, he stays silent. Confirmation. You get the sense that if he hadn’t made his decision even before you saw him, he made it the second you sat down outside. Maybe it was the way you walked, or the awkward smile you passed to him. Whatever it was, he couldn’t give less of a shit about your credentials; or you.

You nod and gather your things again. “Thank you for your time, Dr House. Please pass my regards to Cuddy.”

You reach the door before he speaks again. “You didn’t ask me what my decision was.”

You huff. “I think you’ve made it abundantly clear.”

“You’re hired.”

Oh.

#gregory house #gregory house x reader #gregory house fic #house md #house md x reader #house md fic #house md fanfiction #greg house #greg house x f!reader

[theriu]

By a stroke of unexpected blessing, I acquired an actual in-store copy of LoZ: Tears of the Kingdom! Behold!

And the natural first thing to do was inform my niece and nephew who are also avidly awaiting it. This was quickly followed by impromptu arrangements for a Cool Aunt Sleepover including said niece and nephew and also another niece and nephew. We took turns playing through the intro and exploring the first map and completely lost track of time! And now, slightly out of context potential spoilers under the cut as I recount our reactions and my favorite moments of the night:

[Link crawling on the ceiling like a lizard while Older Nephew searches for Clues] Zelda: Oh! Link, the master sword is glowing! [Link back on the ground, but tbf she totally could have noticed the sword glowing while he was crawling on the ceiling]

“[Older Nephew], can you PLEASE keep moving?” “I need to click Zelda a fifth time to make sure we got all the dialogue!”

Awwwwww ZELDA IS A LIL HISTORY NERD BLESS HER HEART

“Those rocks are definitely patterned like breakable rocks. I bet we can come back later and break them.” “Yeah they are you’re probably right.” (We were not right.)

Older Nephew: “Just what is Ganon smoking for there to be so much? He must have horrible lung problems.”

Me, totally nervous about upcoming creepy scene: “[Younger Nephew] you’re gonna need to leave pretty soon, this next scene is probably gonna be SUPER CREEPY” (It was indeed creepy but nowhere NEAR as creepy as I expected from the trailers, altho I did close my eyes for the one head-turning part, dont judge me)

Older Nephew: “Yeah, dead Ganon. Ganon without water. Dehydrated Ganon.”

“SO THAT’S HOW THEY RESET HIS STATS”

[Everyone to Younger Nephew] “You can come back in now!”

“Where did his shirt go?” “Magic” “Why are his PANTS gone?” “No idea”

[After finding pants] “Did we miss his shirt?!” [The quest for a shirt continues]

“The portal is down there—“ “I KNOW I’m EXPLORING”

Link really just walked up to a giant drop into open air without his parasail and went “Time to yeet,” no answers given and no questions asked. Classic.

“Giant lilypads!”

“I found a STICK!”

“NEW MUSHROOMS!!!”

[Everyone while Older Niece was breaking pots] “Destroy ancient relics! Demolish personal property for cash! Commit vandalism!”

Older Niece decides her talents are better served livetexting our progress on Discord.

Younger Niece is delighted that the new fuzzy race have big wing-shaped ears like her original character and is now calling Rauru her grandfather.

“I bet you can ride the emus!” (You can’t and I’m still mad about it)

[While I am searching a tree for eggs] Older Nephew: “Are there any eggs? Do we get to consume a bird’s children-to-be?”

Younger Nephew ends turn early because he hasn’t learned how to hit yet and there is an enemy robot RIGHT OVER THERE. Understandable, really.

Older Nephew slides down to explore dangerous ledge hovering over the abyss. Younger Nephew, repeatedly: “This is dumb.” Me: “Yeah, it is.” Older Nephew: [finds a hidden chest] Me: “Never mind!”

Older Nephew has dubbed first hand power Magic Superglue. I don’t remember what it’s actually called, so apparantly it stuck (ha!)

“THE KOROKS ARE BACK!” [cheering]

The children cheering me on as I fuse six giant blocks into SUPER BRIDGE

Accidentally glueing comically small-by-comparison crate to the very corner of Super Bridge

Younger Niece gets jumpscared by an emu BOLTING out of the trees RIGHT AT THE SCREEN. Gameplay paused while room recovers from laughing fits.

“We can FUSE STUFF INTO NEW WEAPONS?!! This is the BEST THING EVER!!!” [Older Nephew and Younger Niece conduct rigorous experiments resulting in some actually cool weapons, a stambulb arrow, and an apple stick.]

REVENGE OF YOUNGER NEPHEW: Comes out of shrine and destroys a robot in two hits with Boulder Sword.

[After 2 1/2 hours] “WE FOUND HIS SHIRT!!!” [cheering]

“You hit the fans to make them work!” [Older Nephew forgets to unequip ax and obliterates half the raft]

Utterly delighted over discovering the glow seed arrow trick myself while ineffectively trying to kill a robot.

Younger Niece: “How come you always find the eggs?” Me: I’m just that good. It’s because I own birds.”

[Group hilarity] “MINE CART SHIELD!”

[Group insanity] “MINE CART HAMMER!!!!”

And that’s when I looked at the clock and realized it was 1:30 in the morning, so we wrapped up and went to bed. AND A GOOD TIME WAS HAD BY ALL!

#loz #tears of the kingdom #totk #legend of zelda #botw #rauru #totk rauru #link #zelda

[maskyish]

Banri's Birthday Rabbit TV 2023 - Episode 1 - "Banri's Wedding?!"

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

Please note: I am NOT a professional and my level of JP is very, very basic. I do this for practice and to share with other fans for fun. Please take my translations with a grain of salt as there may be mistakes. If you see any, please let me know and I can correct them. If anyone else has this card and wants to translate this at any time then please feel free to do so!

*door opens* 

Riku: Manager! President…! 

Tsumugi: Ah, everyone! Thank you for coming! I’m sorry to have called you all so suddenly….

Riku: Is it really true that Banri-san is getting married?! 

Tsumugi: Huuh?! 

Tamaki: I didn’t hear anything about this from Ban-chan!! 

Sogo: Me neither…! 

Nagi: Is this why you’ve called us here today? 

Iori: If this is true, we could’ve made preparations to celebrate…! 

Mitsuki: Exactly, there’s no need to be a stranger! I would have made a cake or two! 

Yamato: Calm down, you guys. So…. is it actually true, President? 

Otoharu: Ahaha. This is pretty interesting, isn’t it? 

Tsumugi: Pr- President?! 

Otoharu: Well, if that’s the case and Banri-kun is getting married, what will you all do? 

Mitsuki: Of course we have to have a huge celebration! Not just with cakes, but a whole feast! 

Yamato: For starters, I’ll prepare the finest alcohol and we can have a drink. I’d like to stay up all night and hear the story of how he met his other half. 

Tamaki: ….. I’m….. kinda lonely. 

Tamaki: I love Ban-chan, and I’m happy for him, but….. 

Sogo: … I think so, too. I’d like to talk to Banri-san first. 

Riku: If he has a family, he wouldn’t be able to support us like he does now, right…? 

Nagi: Even so, we have to send him off with a smile. Just as Banri has always done for us. 

Iori: In the first place… is it really true? I just can’t believe he would keep this from us….  

Otoharu: Hmm, well, it’s not true. 

IDOLiSH7: Eh?

Otoharu: Banri-kun isn’t getting married. 

IDOLiSH7: Whaaa—! 

Tsumugi: I- I’m sorry, everyone! And President, please don’t say things that can cause them to be so uneasy!  

Otoharu: Ah ha ha. Sorry, sorry. 

Riku: Thank goodness…. I was thinking about if it was maybe with our manager or something….

Otoharu: What was that? 

Yamato: No, no, absolutely not. 

Nagi: As long as my eyes are blue, I will not allow it. 

Otoharu: I will also never allow it. 

Tsumugi: E-enough! In any case, it was just a misunderstanding. 

Mitsuki: So, what did Riku hear then? About Banri-san telling the staff he was taking time off for a wedding. 

Tsumugi: Well, that’s what I’ve called you all here to discuss today…. 

Tsumugi: Someone in the industry is holding a wedding ceremony, so Banri-san and I will be attending. 

Otoharu: Originally, I was going to go as the representative, however some work came up. 

Tsumugi: I’ve heard from the other companies that Anesagi-san, Okazaki-san, and Utsugi-san will also be going…. 

Otoharu: The wedding ceremony will be held in Karuizawa, so I thought it would be a good chance for the managers to take a vacation as well. 

Otoharu: It might be an inconvenience to everyone for a little while, but I plan to follow up with the other staff and give them my thanks. 

Tsumugi: I’ll be checking my phone from time to time, so please contact me should anything happen! 

Yamato: Haha. Well, I figured it was something like that.

Nagi: OH! But you seemed to be the most flustered, Yamato. 

Yamato: What is this guy even saying? 

Iori: I swear, you’re too quick to jump to conclusions upon hearing the word “wedding”, Nanase-san. 

Riku: Huh?! Even you froze up when I told you, Iori! 

Mitsuki: Jeez! The instant you guys realized it was a misunderstanding, your facial expressions relaxed! 

Sogo: I’m glad we know now. Manager, please don’t worry about us and enjoy your time off.  

Tamaki: Yeah! You and Ban-chan are always working hard. I got nervous when we got called to the office! 

Tsumugi: Thank you, everyone….! 

Otoharu: I’m glad. I hope all the managers can go and refresh themselves. 

Riku: Doesn’t Karuizawa have a famous gelato shop? Tenn-nii went there before while on location and said it was delicious! 

Yamato: That sounds nice. Go ahead and enjoy some sweets too. 

Sogo: I know of a few recommendations for places as well, I can tell you about them later. 

Mitsuki: Sweet! There’s a restaurant I wanted to try too, so if you’d like to go, you can let me know what you think! 

Nagi: Your happiness is my happiness. Please go and relax to your heart’s content. 

Tsumugi: Thank you very much…! I’ll accept everyone’s kindness and enjoy myself to the fullest! 

Tamaki: You absolutely have to try the local King Pudding flavor with grape mousse in it, no matter what! It’s seriously delicious! 

Tsumugi: I will! I’ll bring some back as a souvenir, too! 

Tamaki: Yaaay~! 

Iori: Yotsuba-san, please do not coerce her into buying you souvenirs so nonchalantly. 

Iori: Even though it’s already September, it’s still hot out, so please take care against the heat. 

Riku: Forget about work while in Karuizawa and just enjoy your time with all the other managers! 

Tamaki: Oh yeah! Since all the managers will be there, why not just have that party there? 

Sogo: That’s true, it might be the perfect opportunity! 

Tsumugi: ‘That’ party? 

Nagi: Banri’s birthday party! We all talked about having the yearly celebration! 

Yamato: It’s that time of the year, after all. 

Tsumugi: I see….! I’d love to help! Did you already have something in mind? 

Riku: Yeah! Actually…. 

—–––––

Anesagi: …. And that’s about it for next month’s schedule. 

Anesagi: On another note, I have my wedding coming up soon. So I’ll be away from the office for a few days. 

TRIGGER: Your wedding?! 

Gaku: Wait, wait. Are you being serious, Anesagi? Congrats! Let’s celebrate together! 

Tenn: Congratulations, Anesagi-san…. I’m really happy to hear such wonderful news. 

Ryuu: I’m happy too! She's getting married, huh…. It’s making me cry a little! 

Anesagi: W-wait a minute, you guys…. 

Gaku: So? What kind of person are they? I hope they’ll properly treasure you. 

Tenn: The entertainment industry is a unique business, so I can’t help but wonder if they have an understanding of the work you do so that it doesn’t put a burden on you, Anesagi-san. 

Ryuu: I think whoever she chose must be a good person, but there’s the smallest chance that’s not the case, right? So if you don’t mind, we’d like to meet them, too. 

Anesagi: Hold your horses! It got interesting so I figured I’d just keep quiet and listen for a while, but then I heard what you were saying about me. 

Anesagi: I’m not the one getting married, it’s an acquaintance of mine! I’m just attending the wedding! 

TRIGGER: An acquaintance?! 

Ryuu: W- what…! I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions…! 

Gaku: So you’re only attending! It was an easy mistake to make, huh! 

Tenn: Even though you were the first one to misunderstand, Gaku.  

Anesagi: Fufu. Sorry about that. Just as I was thinking you were happy for me, you guys suddenly got over-protective so it was fun to watch. 

Anesagi: But if I were to actually get married, you would be worried about me like this, huh. 

Gaku: Of course we would worry! If we’re to entrust you to someone, then they can’t be half-hearted about it. 

Ryuu: You’re our special manager. We want your partner to cherish you, too. 

Tenn: Just as you think about us, we also think about you, Anesagi-san. 

Anesagi: You guys…. 

Anesagi: Thank you. But for right now, my only love is my work so I promise you don’t have to worry about it for a while. 

Anesagi: The wedding will be held in Karuizawa, so I’ll be taking some time off and staying there, but feel free to contact me for anything. 

Gaku: Forget about work and just enjoy yourself! There’s a lot of good food there, right? Plus the air is clean! 

Tenn: That’s true. There’s a lot of quiet cafes to relax in too. Or maybe you can sit on the terrace. 

Ryuu: It’s too early for the leaves to be turning yet, but there’s still a lot of nature so please take your time and enjoy it! 

Anesagi: Fufu. Thank you. I’ll go and recharge, and when I get back I look forward to making the best work with you guys! 

—–––––

Rintaro: ….. Rinto will be absent for his wedding soon. So I hope you both will be able to send him off with a smile. 

Yuki: Sure, whatever you say. Don’t phrase things in a purposefully misleading way. Okarin is just attending a wedding. 

Momo: We already heard about it from him! 

Rintaro: Ehh–! How boring. I thought I’d get to see you guys panic, like, “What marriage?!” 

*door opens* 

Okarin: Please stop trying to get reactions from people for your own entertainment.

Rintaro: Gh, Rinto. 

Yuki: Instead of doing such nonsense, just have your own wedding. 

Momo: Aren’t you keeping your wife waiting? Hasn’t it been awhile since your registration? 

Rintaro: I can’t afford to leave a gap in my workload right now. 

Yuki: I wish you would just retire already. 

Okarin: Alright, come on now, Yuki-kun. I’ll be sure to pass along the congratulatory gift you two left with me. 

Momo: Thanks, Okarin! We wanted to go too since they’ve done a lot for us. 

Yuki: Could all our shoots be moved to Karuizawa? 

Momo: Ahaha! Even if the camera was rolling, we could take a nap under the trees with the sun filtering through. 

Yuki: I’d like to go for a month. 

Rintaro: Then, we can make it a job to have Yuki compose a song for my wedding and have the music video shot in Karuizawa. 

Yuki: Okarin, shut this guy up. 

Okarin: Idols shouldn’t furrow their brows like that…! You shouldn’t ever show a face like that on camera! And President, please stop messing around! 

Rintaro: I thought it would be nice.

Okarin: I’ll bring back souvenirs. Some sausage for Momo-kun, and some local vegetables for Yuki-kun! 

Yuki: That'd make me happy, but since it’s a rare vacation, I think you should just relax and go with the flow. 

Momo: Exactly! The managers from the other offices will be going too, right? I’m sure you’ll have lots to talk about, so just enjoy yourselves! 

Okarin: Thank you very much. There’s a lot I’m worried about, but I’ll take your word for it and just have fun.

—–––––

Shirou Utsugi: ….. So, that’s why I’ve called you all here. I’ll be going to Karuizawa to attend an acquaintance’s wedding, so I’ll be taking some time off. 

Touma: Eh?! You’re getting married?! 

Haruka: Huh? What are you talking about? 

Minami: He just told us he’s going to an acquaintance’s wedding. 

Touma: O- OH….. I see. That scared me….! 

Torao: This is why I told you that you drank too much yesterday. This guy’s head is foggy. 

Touma: Haha, my bad. Tora was drinking, and it got too lively….

Haruka: What, you two went out drinking together? This is the first I’m hearing about it. 

Minami: It seems like you two had work together yesterday, but isn’t it heartless you didn’t tell me? 

Shirou Utsugi: Umm… Are you fighting? 

ZOOL: We’re not! 

Shirou Utsugi: Is that so? Well, after a reaction like that, I look forward to seeing what kind of reaction I would get if I really got married. 

Zool: …………

Minami: He doesn’t really seem like the domestic type, but I could see him suddenly dropping a bombshell on us one day and telling us “I’m getting married"... 

Torao: Although he’s never shown us even a trace of a woman, he definitely seems to fall into the category of someone who would be popular with women…. 

Touma: I don’t know why, but it feels like he’d marry someone really famous….

Haruka: Utsugi-san is really kind, so maybe he’d be surprisingly family-oriented? I could see him cooking home-made meals on his off days….  

Haruka: ….. But, still…..

Haruka: …. It’d probably be sorta lonely. 

Shirou Utsugi: You’d be lonely? 

Haruka: No, not really, I’d just congratulate you normally!! It’s not like I wouldn’t want you to get married…! 

Minami: I understand. It’d be lonely if he had someone special besides us. 

Touma: I see… Well, when you put it like that…. 

Torao: Haha. It seems we’ve become quite attached to Utsugi-san. 

Shirou Utsugi: You guys…. Thank you. That makes me very happy.

Shirou Utsugi: My special ones are the ones who are in ZOOL. 

Haruka: …… Yeah. We know. (1) That’s why you can spread your wings as much as you’d like. 

Minami: We’re looking forward to the souvenirs. 

Torao: There’s some good stores there, I can tell you about them later. 

Touma: We’ll rabbichat you if anything happens, so right now your only job is to take a break! 

Shirou Utsugi: Haha, thank you very much. I’ll be sure to strengthen my friendships with the other managers as well. 

—–––––

End of Episode 1

TL Notes:

The word Haruka uses here has the connotation of like "we understand the feelings you're trying to convey"

#idolish7 translation #idolish7 #i7 #banri ogami #rabbitv

[asksythe]

MXTX Interview with Risa Wataya for Subaru Magazine P.8 (Final)

Future Plans

Risa: Are you perhaps working on a novel? 

Moxiang: I have not a few works in progress, but because my creative process is slow, for the foreseeable future, no work has taken proper form. 

Risa: If you can write freely without worrying about reader's reception, what kind of story will you write? 

Moxiang: Personally, I enjoy and pride myself in being able to satisfy myself and my readers at the same time. Therefore, I never thought about disregarding my reader's reception. I really have not thought through something like this before, so I would like not to answer this question. 

Risa: What have you been doing recently? 

Moxiang: Recently, I'm into playing with slime. On my days off, I also want to play slime with my friends, or I think: "What do I eat today?" That sort of stuff. 

Risa: So cute. Ms. Moxiang, even though you are so busy, you still reserve time to sit down and talk to us. Such a wonderful opportunity. Thank you! Lastly, other than the stories that you are working on, is there anything you would like to tell your Japanese readers? 

Moxiang: Dear Japanese readers, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. No matter if it is today or in the past, when I think about how my work has been translated into Japanese and read in Japan, I always feel an indescribable emotion in my heart. I am so, so happy. 

Furthermore, regarding my newest work, "Tian Guan Ci Fu," I must apologize to all of you. Also, "Mo Dao Zu Shi" that we just talked about as well. Originally, there were no scenes where Lan Wangji visited the Burial Mound and the kiss on Bai Feng Mt. (Mount Hundred Phoenixes). These scenes were added on in the extra 50 thousand words edit in the new edition. But at the moment, the 'Tian Guan Ci Fu' that Japanese readers have is the old edition without the additional contents. For the foreseeable future, it will only be this old edition. I don't know when the new edition will be ready or if there will be any further changes. I profusely apologize for this.    

Risa: We will work on this new edit with utmost seriousness. 

Moxiang: That's right. We will treat it with the highest level of care. 

Risa: Kuohao-san, please say something to the audience waiting for the third season of the audio drama. 

Kuohao: The third season is progressing very nicely in both story and the Wangxian romance. It will certainly be very exciting. Many details will be gradually revealed, and there will be countless famous scenes between Wangxian! Please listen to it! 

Risa: Thank you both of you for today. I hope there will be future opportunities like this. 

Moxiang: To be honest, this is my first official interview. I am better at writing than speaking. I'm a little clumsy with my words. Today I was so very nervous. Thank you, Ms. Risa, for following and recommending "Mo Dao Zu Shi." Ms. Risa's Mandarin is excellent! I look forward to future opportunities to sit down and talk. Furthermore, I hope I will have more opportunities to connect with my international readers.  

-From Sichuan Province, China, November 28th, 2022-

Translator’s Note: with this done, I will take my time to reorganize all 8 parts of this translation into a single file, proofread, and edit it. My plan is to host this one file on a platform that can be easily stored and shared among the community. So probably Google Drive. I will post the raw Mandarin transcript of the interview too, for people who can read Mandarin to read it directly. 

I’m thinking whether I should put it on other platforms too, for safekeeping, because digital things can disappear randomly. I’m not sure where though. Tumblr and twitter are hardly suitable for archival purposes. AO3 maybe? If you have suggestions or advice, I would be very happy to hear them. 

Translator’s Note 2: recently I was told that my sharing this translated interview might be illegal and will negatively impact the fandom and make reprints of the magazine harder, that it will negatively impact fan etiquette. I concur this is a potential issue. So I would like to take a minute to clarify a few things. 

1/ This interview was conducted in Mandarin and then translated into Japanese by Subaru and printed for their May-June 2023 edition. This edition is now being scalped on Japanese web for 7-10 times its original price. 

2/ I originally got a single scanned page of the magazine (Japanese) and translated it with the help of my husband. I was waiting for further scans, but luckily, the actual translator (Mandarin to Chinese) working for Subaru posted the entire Mandarin transcript on weibo. Subsequent parts of this translation was made based entirely on this transcript. As my Mandarin skill is much better than my Japanese skill, this is reflected in the quality of the translation from part 4 onwards (something I intend to fix in the edit). 

So we have a situation where: the magazine is in Japanese and sold to Japanese fans. The Mandarin transcript is posted publicly on weibo to Chinese audience (although that might change at any moment). I am Vietnamese, living and working in Vietnam, translating from Japanese / Mandarin to English for an international fandom (my husband is American citizen working for Saudi Arabia... if that’s relevant to the issue). 

I am not a lawyer, so I don’t know how copyright laws apply here, or even if it applies at all. Again, if anyone has advice, suggestion, concerns, I would be open to hearing them.  

I did intentionally add in footnotes explaining lingual concepts and cultural, philosophical references, to potentially lean on Fair Use (if it applies). 

That said, I don’t want to negatively impact MXTX, so if I receive official request, I will take this translation down. 

Regarding potential fan etiquette, I don’t really participate in the international fandom, but I do know fandom politics can be difficult to navigate. It’s not really my place to gatekeep any body. As far as I’m concerned, if the story brings you joy, then that’s a good thing by itself already. 

So, I would like to ask anyone who read this translation to please keep this in mind. Fan translation is a gray area issue. Whatever you feel, please consider the wellbeing of the fandom itself, and to not potentially negatively impact Ms. Moxiang. If there’s anything you don’t like in this translation, please just chalk it up as my translating skill not being up to snuff. 

Sincerely,

NPD Khanh 

#mxtx #mdzs #interview #translation

[xxbimbobunnyxx]

True form

(Steddie x Succubus!Reader)

Summary: You’re nervous to show your human boyfriends your true succubus form. But you learn pretty quickly you have absolutely nothing to worry about.

Warnings: Nudity, sexual themes, some neck kissing, monster/human relationships. Nothing too crazy but if I missed any let me know!! Either way my blog is as always 18+MNDI

A/N: This is just a little Drabble about the characters from my fic The Pull, when I originally wrote that story I was a bit nervous to make her look as inhuman as I wanted to so I’ve been working on this blurb for a bit about her showing them her most true form. Just a cute lil slice of life moment. Wk: 896

“Hold up… so you’re telling me… you’ve been hiding something THAT sexy from us the entire time!?” Your boyfriend Eddie shoots up from where he was lounging on the couch to face you and you snort at his antics.

“I mean… I didn’t know how you would feel about it. There’s definitely been people who were into it but mostly I don’t really show that part of myself, I wasn’t hiding it exactly… I just didn’t mention it.”

“You really thought Eddie wouldn’t be into you having a full on demon thing going on? I thought you were getting to know us baby, but maybe I was wrong.” Your other boyfriend, Steve, who is sitting on the opposite end of the couch teases.

“It’s not that! It definitely crossed my mind because he’s a freak-“

“Hey! I take offense to that, you know!” Eddie huffed.

“You know I mean it in the best way baby…” you bit your lip and winked at him. “But what I was saying is… I’m self conscious about it and I didn’t know how YOU would feel about it Stevie so I just kind of kept it to myself.”

“Sweetheart, I think you’re the hottest fucking thing to ever walk this earth and nothing can change that, not even some horns and a tail.”

“AND wings…” you responded, still self conscious.

“I’ll still love you, WINGS and all. Also did you forget our boyfriend is a literal goblin?”

That made you snort out a laugh. Something you’ve learned about Steve is he always knew what to say to reassure you no matter how big or how small your anxieties were he was always able to comfort you through them with ease. Not that Eddie didn’t, he just had a very different approach, more of a “I’ll roll you a joint and you can smoke it while I give you head” kind of comfort. Which was great too, but sometimes you just needed Steve’s calm voice and soft touches.

“Okay then… I’ll show you.” You stood up and stripped yourself, before closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. On your exhale three things happened, little black horns started growing out of the top of your head, the cutest little pointed black tail popped up behind you, and pretty little black wings that reminded Eddie of the bats he had tattooed on his arm grew from your back.

“Holy fuuuuuckkk” Eddie groaned. “You’ve been hiding this from me? God damn baby you look so sexy.” He shifted in his seat, adjusting himself. You could sense his arousal and it not only reassured you but made your mouth water.

“There’s… one more thing. If you want.” You bit your lip in looked into his eyes, yours now that pretty crimson color that almost seemed to glow. When you smiled at him expectantly he could see your fangs and he couldn’t imagine how it could get better than this.

But before he could respond Steve spoke up “There’s more? How could you get any sexier than you are right now? Because shit honey… I never thought I’d be as into this as I am but you’re killing me.”

Your pupils dilate instantly when you look over at him. His beautiful brown eyes blown wide, his prominent bulge in his tight jeans, his jaw clenched. You wanted to fucking sink your teeth into his neck and taste his blood. You’ve yet to do that, or even tell them that’s something you want, but god you know they’d taste so good.

“Okay Stevie, I’ll show you.” You took a deep breath and when you released it just like before you had changed. Your skin was now the same shade of red as your eyes, your wings outstretched proudly on your back, your tail slightly moving from side to side, that sexy little mark on your lower stomach, and those beautiful black horns sitting so pretty on your head. You were magnificent, otherworldly.

“Fucking shit, come here.” Eddie outstretched his hand for you to take as you approached him. “You are by far the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen. My little infernal princess.” He kissed the back of your hand, his lips plush and soft against your burning skin.

Steve reached for your other hand to gain your attention and fuck did he look good. His hair was a little disheveled from running his hand through it and the look in his eyes was fucking feral.

“I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t like this… Eddie’s right, you’re magnificent, ethereal even.” He kissed each individual one of your fingertips, bringing his lips to your palm and down your arm before pulling you down on the couch between him and your shared boyfriend, careful not to crush your wings or tail. Eddie rests his hand on your bare thigh, leaning his head down to kiss along your neck, collar bones, and shoulder. Steve does the same on the opposite side of you, both their hands inching closer to where you wanted them, their mouths moving down your chest. You had never felt more beautiful, content, and full of love. You wanted to bask in this feeling for the rest of your long life. You knew you couldn’t, but for right now you allowed your heart to feel full and just enjoy this moment with your boys, allowing them to worship you. Every part of you.

#eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #steddie x you #steddie x reader #eddie munson fics #steve harrington fic #steddie x succubus!reader #monster fucking #succubus!reader

[pet-pet-peet]

Omg!!! Your latest post!! Its so freaking cute that I HAVE to request for part 2!! You don't have to write it. After that night, the reader start to have feelings for Lilia and they don't know what those feelings are so she start to avoid him again! Lilia got tired of this and did something that made her blush soooooo red!!! I hope you know where I'm going with this fluffy cloud plot!

P. S congrats!!

Thank yoouu! Omg this sounds so cute, I can’t even haha

* This is female reader, but I generally don’t use many gendered terms in my writing..just know that I’ll opt more for feminine ones if I add any (aka, probably good for anyone, but the occasional gendered term will be female)

I am trying to go through my drafts and post the ones I had done, this will not be inspired by canon!

Previous

Tw: shy reader, but not like super stuttery just very nervous and anxious; a bit ooc- but like…my simp heart, you can't blame me; kind of cheesy-

Pairing(s) Lilia x female reader who’s too shy to ask him to take her to the sky with him

It just wasn't fair- not fair at all. You would have imagined forming a bond with someone, who used to make you so timid, would cause more comfort. In your case, however, your true feelings began to sprout instead; they intensified the nerves. Anytime you were found by the fae, anytime he called out your name or lingered close, your heart lit abuzz. You couldn't shake the heat shrouding your nerves, the warmth in your face. It's grown to ridiculous levels, in your mind- just hearing his name caused you to cease functioning. As a result, you started avoiding him again. Ever since Lilia flew with you, he started talking with you more; walking you to your classes or dorm, passing notes via bat in history. You began to bond more and more, which is what originally caused your current predicament. Anything he did was enchanting to you, from his terrible cooking to his sly attitude when challenged. It made you feel like a stupid, cliche, lovesick fool; you didn't like it. You had enough to worry about. There were so many responsibilities you had to take care of, you didn't have time to fall in love. It was just a distraction, one you needed to distance yourself from. So you did just that. And it didn't go unnoticed. Lilia would patiently listen to your stuttered excuses, your reasons to not be around him. He would watch you turn a corner and immediately retreat back when you made eye contact with him. You began ignoring his notes in class, and cleverly found ways to avoid him on your way to your dorm. He didn't like it at all, but not because he craved your attention. He didn't like that you were holding in your emotions, he wanted to help you learn to be more open to how you feel. Most of all, he wanted you to communicate that with him over you avoiding him. "Gao~!" He yelled, appearing in front of you at the end of class, just before you could leave. He laughed at your little gasp of shock. "My dear, that was quite an adorable reaction! Perhaps I shall spook you more from now on?" You cleared your throat and avoided looking into his eyes. "Um..okay. I have to go, though..so.." Lilia frowned as he watched you fidget uncomfortably. He sighed, turning upright so his feet made contact with the ground. "May I inquire about your troubles?" You became noticeably more distant, making the old fae frown deeper. "Do they involve me?" You tense a bit, fidgeting with your hands before sighing and grabbing his. He allowed you to drag him away to a place with less people, patiently watching you after you let him go and took a deep breath. "It's just..that I've caught feelings.." You managed to get out, swallowing the nerves piling in your throat. Lilia hummed, "I see. I assume you mean for me, yes?" You nod in response and he begins to chuckle. Looking back at him, he has a sweet smile scrunching his face. "I'm very happy to hear you be honest with your feelings. Thank you for communicating with me, I cherish such trust wholeheartedly," to emphasize his point, he put a hand over his heart. You become nervous at his response, feeling as though it didn't exactly give any insight into how he feels about you. "So..do you? Have feelings for me, I mean.." The anxiety you felt caused your voice to soften. There was a hum from Lilia as he put his hand on his chin and studied your reactions. Your eyes darted away from his observant ones and he chuckled once more. "My dear," He whispered, his breath suddenly close to your ear. You were certain he could hear your heartbeat quicken. "If you wish for me to help you dance among the stars, I shall. As such, if you wish for me to cradle your heart in mine, I shall do that as well." You turned your face in his direction, but he had already moved out of your view and picked you up from behind. His crimson eyes looked into yours with amusement before he kissed your cheek and slowly floated outside. "Shall we go on a quick flight then, love?"

#twisted wonderland #twst #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #why cant I be as smooth as I write Lilia to be?????

[fdelopera]

An Autistic Perspective on Moon Knight (or, Why Steven Grant is not the only autistic alter)

Sooo Moon Knight really hit me hard. Especially as an autistic person. It hit me so hard, in fact, that it’s brought me back from my Tumblr hiatus. (I haven’t posted since 2018? what???) It was euphoric for me to see an autistic character operate as a superhero within the MCU. Especially Steven. Though Marc and Jake are also autistic — we’ll get to that.

Steven Grant as the audience surrogate wasn’t written as autistic in Jeremy Slater’s original script for the series, but Oscar Isaac took one look at him and basically said, “I’ll relate to this guy more if he’s on the spectrum.” As an autistic person, I actually love that. This choice doesn’t feel exploitative to me, like Rain Man does, for instance; instead, it feels like I’m being seen. I found it meaningful hearing Oscar Isaac say that part of his way into figuring out this role was through delving into a character who happens to be on the spectrum.

I will say that at least to my eye, Oscar Isaac has created a reasonably authentic on-screen portrayal of an autistic character, at least compared to the typical overblown Sheldon Cooper-style of characterization. It is also amazing to see an autistic superhero who is capable, courageous, and strong, even in their most vulnerable moments. Too often, we are portrayed in media as being incapable of having agency within our own lives.

So, in the future, I want to rewatch Moon Knight and analyze the scenes that were particularly impactful for me from the perspective of autistic experience.

But for this post, I want to talk about autism within the context of trauma and mental health. There is an important distinction to be made between Autism Spectrum Disorder and DID in relation to this show, and I haven’t seen a lot of people discussing it in depth.

I am writing this analysis because I believe that an autistic perspective can add some context to certain crucial aspects of this show.

I also want to acknowledge that there is a high degree of co-occurrence between autism and dissociative conditions, including DID. The extreme and constant overwhelm caused by our autistic neurology can lead to dissociative coping mechanisms.

For example, in addition to being autistic, I also depersonalize and derealize, which stems from my sensory processing and social processing issues. Ever since childhood, I dissociate when my nervous system gets too jangled and I’m unable to process the chaos of the world around me.

If Steven Is Autistic, So Are Marc and Jake (and here's why):

I've been seeing a lot of people online celebrating Steven as an autistic character, as in, “Steven Grant is the MCU’s first canonically autistic superhero!” Now, don’t get me wrong, Steven totally is a well-portrayed autistic character; however, I haven’t seen very many people involving Marc and Jake within that discussion of on-screen portrayals of autism.

But if Steven is meant to be on the spectrum, Marc and Jake should be recognized as being on the spectrum as well.

To treat Steven as the only alter who is autistic can inadvertently raise the specter (pun intended) of a harmful and outdated theory on the cause of autism.

So, I want to address two questions: What does (and doesn’t) cause autism? And why are Marc and Jake also on the spectrum if Steven is?

1. Autism Is Epigenetic:

Autism is a genetically inherited neurological variation. It is epigenetic, meaning that there are both genetic and environmental factors that affect each individual’s experience of autism, but you can’t “become” autistic without the genetic factors being present. And if you do have the epigenetic makeup for autism, it is likely that you will have some degree of autistic experience. We still don’t know exactly what this epigenetic makeup is, and I for one hope that we never find out, because Autism $peaks is ready with pitchforks and a eugenics campaign to remove us from humanity as soon as this discovery is made.

Autism’s etiology is not trauma-based. In other words, traumatic experiences can’t “make” someone autistic. However, back in the 1940s, Freudian psychiatrists Bruno Bettelheim and Leo Kanner came up with the “refrigerator mother” theory of autism (they applied it to schizophrenia, as well). They believed that if a mother was neglectful or abusive towards a young child and withheld her love during a critical developmental period, she could cause her child to become autistic. They believed that autistic people could be “cured” of their autism with the right amount of psychoanalysis. These psychiatrists and their disciples subjected countless autistic people to this “treatment” (i.e., torture) for decades.

The "refrigerator mother" theory of autism (and schizophrenia) has since been disproven. The theory was finally rejected in the 1990s when studies of identical twins showed that autism has a high degree of heritability (current research shows that autism’s heritability may be as high as 90%). If you are autistic, the environment (i.e., the people, places, and things around you) will shape your experience of autism, but your environment alone can't “make” you autistic if you don’t have the genetic predisposition for it.

2. If a System Is Autistic, Each Alter Can Have a Unique Experience of Autism:

To frame all of this within the context of Moon Knight, Wendy Spector’s abuse couldn’t “cause” autism within Marc’s system. To put it more bluntly, trauma couldn’t “make” one alter autistic (i.e., Steven), while the rest of the system remained completely allistic.

I know that a lot of you know this; I’ve just seen some troubling posts about this online from people who are neither a system nor autistic, and I needed to say something. Steven isn’t “the MCU’s first canonically autistic superhero” — the system is.

If we describe Steven as autistic, it’s important to acknowledge Marc, Jake, and the other alters within the system as autistic, as well. They would each have their own unique experiences of autism.

Now, there is a whole other discussion to be had about whether the writers and directors of Moon Knight knew this (that’s a big topic for another time). However, my understanding from listening to Oscar Isaac’s interviews and watching his performance is that his intent was to portray the system as neurodivergent, and not just Steven.

As portrayed in the show, Steven seems to do the least amount of masking (i.e., learned behaviors that hide autistic traits in order to protect the individual from harm), which makes him “appear” more autistic to an outside observer.

Within Marc’s portrayal, he seems to have learned to mask more consistently (which would make sense, since he protects Steven physically), and so he behaves in a way that could be interpreted as more allistic. 

EDIT: On further re-watches of Moon Knight, while Marc often protects Steven physically, Steven is more of Marc’s emotional and spiritual protector, as I write about in this post. Marc is more of a trauma holder, and he may mask to keep people at bay to avoid further trauma.

As for Jake, it’s hard to tell his degree of masking, since we see him for only a few brief scenes. But extrapolating from his role as an physical and emotional protector in the system, it’s possible that he has learned to mask quite effectively, as well.

As we grow older, many of us autistics learn to mask quite convincingly, myself included. Masking is exhausting, and I hate it, but for me it is what is necessary to have a job. A few people that I work with know that I’m autistic, but most don’t, and I’m careful about who I tell. It also helps that I run my own business, and so I have some say in the clients that I choose to work with.

In the future, I want to talk about scenes from the series that spoke to me as an autistc person, and I'll include Steven, Marc, and Jake in that analysis. There are so many moments where Oscar Isaac makes character choices that resonate with me from an autistic perspective. But that’s for another time. Anyway, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. :P

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #oscar isaac #moon knight thoughts #i clearly have a lot of thoughts about this #ive been seeing some discourse online and i had to say something #this show just means a lot to me #and I want people to recognize marc and jake as autistic because they deserve to be seen #steven is still my fave because he is like the unmasked me i wish i could be all the time #but i have become more like marc as ive gotten older

[unnerving-presence]

Hellooo, I wanted to say that I love your writing, I am so happy that I found your profile, you are a very talented person.

And I have an order! , the killers (Frank, Susie, Evan Macmillan, Herman Carter and Rin Yamaoka) react to an s/o who flirts with them, but s/o speaks another language, so they can't understand anything they say, this s/o also has a very bad handle of english.

(English is not my original language so I'm very sorry if you can't quite understand what I wanted to say.)

this is a really cool concept! i wish i knew what your original language was so i could implement it into this 😭

i did also feel sort of overwhelmed with the amount of characters so i did not include susie or herman in this :( i’m sorry.

Frank Morrison:

I imagine you’d try to flirt with him outside of trials, so him seeing you arrive in his realm has him pretty surprised. He’s never had anybody other than his friends with him in Ormond, and never expected anybody to go there willingly. Part of him is tempted to try and get you out, but it seems his friends are pretty welcoming of you when you approach the ski lodge with a nervous but hopeful smile.

Another thing he hadn’t expected was that you spoke another language. What were you trying to say? Could Susie or Joey translate? Did they even understand?

Frank is slightly relieved at the fact that you know at least some English, and will ask you various questions as to why you’re here and what you want. If you choose to try and compliment him, he’ll be even more surprised. You? A survivor? Complimenting him? He’s assigned to kill you! Why are you being nice to him? It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate it, but it just seems weird to hear.

The more you compliment him, the more he realizes that you’re trying to flirt. Sometimes if you switch up your language mid sentence or even replace some english words with some from your native language, he catches onto it. Especially if you look away after or even lower your voice when you say it.

Frank was always interested in Julie. Maybe it’s the fact that you try your best with the English that you know to compliment and flirt with him, or maybe it’s because of how kind you are to his friends, or even the fact that you speak another language in the first place and he thinks it’s hot as shit. Either way, Frank doesn’t like these new feelings. They aren’t unfamiliar, but he hates that they aren’t for someone who stands by his side in The Legion. Someone who doesn’t have the same motives as he does. He can’t even understand your native language, so it only frustrates him more. He doesn’t know what to do and it pisses him off. Maybe you could help him?

Evan Macmillan:

Much like Frank, Evan will be very confused and irritated on why you decided to walk into his realm like you owned it. He barely gets any free time as it is. Why are you disturbing his peace?

Very confused when you start speaking another language. How is he supposed to tell you that he doesn’t want you in his realm now? Once you realize that he doesn’t understand you and you start attempting to speak English to get your point across Evan immediately tries to tell you that he doesn’t want you here. Probably doesn’t realize you’re trying to flirt with him either.

When you don’t leave and continue speaking Evan finally decides to listen to your words, realizing what you wanted to say to him. It’s both bizarre for him to hear and he feels a little bit bad for being so aggressive with you at first. He feels shittier when he realizes that your broken English wasn’t you just stuttering over your words either.

Even when you aren’t speaking full and coherent sentences, Evan understands what you want to say. Hearing words like strong, tall, handsome, good-looking makes him not want to believe what you’re trying to say. It’s so flattering but it makes him angry at the same time. You’re not supposed to feel this way about him and he isn’t supposed to care about what you think of him but he does anyways. It’s frustrating in more ways than one but Evan can’t resist your words of praise.

Evan in no way shows that you flatter him with your words. He’s quite good at hiding his emotions, so don’t feel like he’s a lost cause. If he hasn’t already killed you, you’ve gotten somewhere with him. Even if your English isn’t perfect Evan has no problem speaking to you. He may even allow you to stay with him if you’re ever feeling lonely. Just for a little though. You’ve affected him a lot more than you know.

Rin Yamaoka:

While Rin is known for her endless rage her ancestors brought upon her, she can be quite docile outside of trials if she isn’t provoked. Seeing you walk into her realm with an almost fearful look on your face reminds her of herself.

Not really surprised when you speak a language she can’t understand. She often overhears conversations from other survivors that aren’t spoken in her language. You speaking a foreign language isn’t really a shock to her. Until you start speaking broken Japanese in an attempt to get your point across.

Rin doesn’t even really mind that you’re not a fluent speaker, her face still lightens up when you do say some words she can understand. It makes her happier when she realizes that you’re trying to flirt with her too. Some part of her was beginning to get angry that she couldn’t understand you, so you’re pretty lucky you knew some Japanese. You might’ve been sliced up if she got too impatient.

You may even surprise yourself if she seems to look happier than before. Rin never got too many compliments before she was brought to the realm and was often taught that she shouldn’t be proud of who she is. Even if the compliments aren’t necessarily about her as a person, she still appreciates them nonetheless.

It may take some time for Rin to fully accept that you’ve said those things to her, and it might be longer before she allows you to be apart of her life. With Kazan who will likely be breathing down her neck about it and the thought of the Entity using you against her, it’s hard to know what to do. Either way, she’s very happy that you spoke to her that day. She’s felt increasingly better about herself since.

#dbd x reader #dead by daylight x reader #evan macmillan x reader #rin yamaoka x reader #frank morrison x reader

[phoenixkaptain]

I have read the 1976 novel, originally titled: Star Wars: From the Adventures of Luke Skywalker, later retitled Star Wars: A New Hope, and I would like to share my favourite parts.

Note: I read the novel twice. So that I didn’t miss anything. But, also, because this is a library copy and I wanted to jot down my favourite parts so I could reread them after I return it, okay, let’s go-

First things first, Luke is the best.

These are my favourite Luke things, I am begging you to click on them and read them, they are soooo good. Luke in general is a lot more likeable to me in the novel than in the film, if only because his weirdly whiny mood in the beginning makes much more sense because we have a bunch of scenes before Owen buys the droids.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Luke in all his various incarnations because I am, at my center, a massive nerd, but I like his characterization here. I also like that the novel tells us, “Yes, Luke has friends. No, most of them do not like him very much.” It implies (heavily) that the people he hangs out with have more money than he does, and he works a lot, and he has his head in the clouds, so they don’t quite get him. We have a scene of Biggs and Luke, and it is so sweet and cute and I love it so much. Biggs is like “Please stop trying to run into canyon walls.” And Luke just “Wow, you really have changed. You sound just like Uncle Owen.” And it’s affectionate riffing, but Luke, if two people are telling you, maybe you should, I dunno, listen??

I like that Han and Chewie basically took one look at Luke and were like “Yes, perfect, I love him.” Threepio and Artoo also have this. And Leia is immediately protective of him five minutes after his botched rescue. Even Obi-Wan is protective of him. The novel tries to tell us he is an average boy, but their definition of average and mine must be different. Something about Luke just inspires instant loyalty, it’s amazing.

I like Han in this a lot. He is just so… strangely optimistic. Also, he is overconfident and cocky and an asshole and I love him with all my tiny heart. Chewbacca is great too. He is so nervous, let him back on the ship, please.

Leia is great. She is a tiny little lady who is yelling at everyone, including the big scary Wookie (they spell Wookiee with one e in the book) and she kisses Luke twice and gets embarrassed about it both times (and there’s a weird scene where Luke sees a man and woman kissing, in the book’s own words, “passionately” and he basically thinks “they could have any relationship in the galaxy. Lovers, siblings, platonic. Who knows…” and I think about it a lot because do you guys passionately kiss your siblings? I am very concerned and confused and confounded, send help). Leia is very cute and very vicious and she’s basically perfect.

Now I wanna talk about Ben, because I love Ben. Every other person who sees him or senses him or hears thinks he is a hallucination. He goes onto the Death Star without even knowing Darth Vader is there, and his thought process is “Next step of the plan? Let’s see how much Luke and Solo fucked up, then we’ll think about the next step of the plan.” One of my favourite Ben moments is when he sees this big panic on the Death Star (caused by Luke and Han’s rescue of Leia) and he’s like “This couldn’t be for me, no way they would send all these people after me.” As though he has been seen a single time.

(Side note: my favourite thing is how they treat Leia, actually, because they surround her with multiple, armed guards and put her in giant cuffs and lock in a cell that is heavily guarded at all times. When there’s a disturbance in the cell block she’s in (they do NOT know she’s broken out yet, only that there is something happening near where she is being held captive), the whole ship goes on high alert. I know, intellectually, that it’s because they don’t want to risk losing her, but I like to think it’s also because she is very intimidating. She spit on Darth Vader. She straight up spit on him, and hit him! Who does that? I love her)

Ben is very cheerful for a man who has spent twenty years in a desert watching a kid from a distance. I like that he can do a krayt dragon call, which he does twice and tells Luke he’ll teach him how to do later. I like that he cuts two people in half and one guy’s arm off, all in one swing, because they made the fatal mistakes of 1.) looking away from Ben for a second, and 2.) they bullied Luke. Ben is so fond of Luke, it’s very sweet. I also like that he is trying very, very hard not to be so fond of Luke. It’s impossible, honestly, Luke is just too lovable, but Ben put up a good fight.

Ben being a general in a war only twenty years ago is kind of highlighted, if that’s the word I want. Like, he knows how to fix up R2 units so they can at least function, he knows how to work the computers on a war ship/station, he keeps up with Darth Vader when they fight; he just seems much more war general-y. He is also a huge goober and a nerd and I love him dearly.

I like this scene, primarily because of Vader’s “Obi-Wan is here. Well, I only felt it for a second. Maybe he isn’t- the princess? Obi-Wan is here!” Also, “He is here” “Obi-Wan Kenobi???” Vader talks about Obi-Wan so much, methinks, they are just so used to it. Imagine their shock when it turned out Obi-Wan was here.

I am now going to give you a succinct guide on how to use the Force, as explained in the book.

Step 1. Zone out.

Step 2.

And yeah, now you can use the Force, congrats.

No but seriously, Luke using the Force is just Luke zoning out so hard he doesn’t even remember firing the proton torpedoes that blew up the Death Star. He’s over there like “I don’t have anymore proton torpedoes. And I am no longer in the trench. And the Death Star is blowing up. But, did I press the button to fire them? I don’t think I did…” This is so relatable. My guy, I used to go up on stage and perform band concerts in high school, or on the football field to perform in marching band, or I would do a presentation in class, and the second the activity was over and I was walking away, my memory of the activity would be gone. “Did I do that? I have my oboe/clarinet/papers in my hands, and everyone is cheering, and I am out of breath. But, did I do it?” Luke is super relatable, 10/10, they finally made a character for me-

Anyway, there are a lot of minor things that don’t line up with movie canon, but the book is so fun, I highly recommend you read it, if you find it. I love this book, I read it twice because I love it so much. Ask me for my favourite scenes, I have a list of them that is too long to put here if any of us ever want to see the post beneath this one.

#star wars #star wars a new hope #from the adventures of luke skywalker #luke skywalker #leia organa #darth vader #obi wan kenobi #han solo #chewbacca #star wars the original trilogy #the inane ramblings of a madman #please read the pictures #i love those scenes so very much #what’s a duck? #luke is perfect #long post

[lilyspider]

Who is Afraid of Whom?

Subtitle: Korekiyo is an unreliable narrator Read as: Please for the love of god stop taking everything Korekiyo says at face value and be willing to look at the Shinguuji's dynamic with a bit more complexity instead of blaming Miyadera for everything. I've teased this for a bit but I've been working on a very long meta write up of a reading of these two following the canon text as much as possible while providing my own insights. This is Part 1 of X (I'll update this when I finish this series and add links as I continue.) Content warnings for discussions of abuse and incest.

To begin, I understand that this is a controversial topic. If you believe Korekiyo to be the victim of years of abuse, whatever I write here will probably come off as heartless apologism for the “worst Danganronpa character.” I hope that if this analysis at any point causes you genuine emotional distress or discomfort that you just close it. If you choose to continue reading it, then I hope you can give me the benefit of the doubt for where I’m coming from and save any judgment for the end. 

For the sake of simplicity, I am going to be referring to Korekiyo’s sister by the fan name Miyadera. I unfortunately do not know which individual deserves the credit for this name as it was coined back before the localization, but I do know it is an alternate reading of the characters in Shinguji, 真宮寺. 宮 is Miya and 寺 is tera. 

宮 could be literally translated to palace or shrine, but is usually only reserved for Shinto shrines. 寺 is used only for Buddhist temples. I have a post explaining more about this [here].

I’d like to start by debunking what seems to be a rumor/misreading of the text that has become canon to many people. Many fans I’ve seen believe Korekiyo is the only victim in the dynamic or that he is afraid of his sister. What is provided for evidence is usually how nervous Korekiyo seems during the trial once he’s on the ropes and the tulpa manifests. 

On that note, I want to clarify that I will be referring to the Miyadera that speaks through Korekiyo as a tulpa. I have seen some interpretations that treat their situation as more like a dissociative disorder, but I will not be touching on that or give that reading any credibility as I find it to be a bit disrespectful. The killer/villain with dissociative identity disorder is also a bit of an overplayed trope.

If you’re not familiar with what a tulpa is, I’ll provide a very simplified definition here. If anything I say seems to be unclear, you’re free to do your own research. If I get anything wrong, please don’t hesitate to correct me!

Tulpas have a Buddhist origin and were believed to be a manifestation that guides someone who has not reached nirvana yet. The simplest way to describe them would be as a spiritual guide. 

Other forms of tulpas are not from one specific religion and have a connection to theosophy. 

Theosophy is another very complex concept that I’ll simplify as a belief in a spiritual reality/separate realm that can be reached through meditation, revelations, or other states of heightened awareness and or emotions. These tulpas are believed to be connected to or have come from this other realm.

The final type of tulpa I’d like to discuss is a significantly more modern concept and is connected to groups that refer to themselves as tulpamancers. For people in this group, a tulpa is completely divorced from all spirituality and is treated more psychologically. These manifestations are much more deliberate as these individuals try to create tulpas of one specific person. It is usually done to cope with loneliness or other problems like anxiety. There are also instances of people claiming to have had romantic or sexual interactions with their tulpas. 

I believe the writers took inspiration from all potential manifestations of tulpas when they wrote the Miyadera tulpa. The most modern take and tulpamancers probably had the most influence. Korekiyo does share his experience of when the tulpa of his sister first manifested, but I would like to look into that in detail later. I plan on discussing all information about Korekiyo and Miyadera that’s revealed in FTEs, Salmon Team, and other similar events in the same section. 

Back to Korekiyo’s fear, the insistence that Korekiyo is afraid of Miyadera and even the tulpa of her never seemed to click for me. Chapter 3, especially the trial, are the parts of Danganronpa V3 I am the most familiar with. Korekiyo is most certainly panicking when his plans are unraveled, but none of that fear seemed to be caused by the presence of the tulpa. He is also able to relay his story about Miyadera after the trial with perfect clarity. For people who read Korekiyo as a victim, this probably doesn’t seem like solid proof. His erratic behavior and validating his experience could just be seen as a trauma response. 

In order to refresh my memory, I decided I’d be revisiting the trial and the scenes that follow it. I will not be looking too deeply at the first half of the trial since the tulpa has no presence, and Korekiyo does not reference his sister at all. A lot of this analysis is being done as a reaction to replaying and rewatching content in the game so my takes will be fresh. 

If I need to revisit the first half of the trial for parts later in this analysis, I will do so.

Korekiyo’s calm facade finally breaks once it becomes obvious that admitting he murdered Tenko put him into a corner and also implicated him in Angie’s killing. 

Korekiyo's specific quote when the tulpa cuts in is “I will not fear. I will not back down.” The tulpa is then revealed. I specifically attribute the above quote to Korekiyo and not Miyadera because it’s not spoken in the voice that is used for Miyadera in the rest of the trial. 

I have heard that it is easier to tell the two apart in the original Japanese text because they have different speaking styles, but I’m not familiar enough with Japanese to cite too much from the original text. I don’t want to potentially muddy the waters due to a mistranslation on my part. Thankfully, for the rest of the trial, it’s usually very clear which one of them is speaking. 

The first instance of the Miyadera tulpa appearing is when Korekiyo is under extreme stress, and her main goal is to help bring him down from this intense emotional state. It’s the first thing she does before addressing anyone else in the trial. 

If I was a bit less diligent, I’d stop this section here and say the argument that Korekiyo is afraid of the tulpa is debunked. However, I’d like to be as thorough as possible so we’ll continue on with this topic. 

Miyadera’s words encourage Korekiyo to keep arguing for his innocence in the murder case. The rebuttal that follows is done by Korekiyo alone. 

Miyadera appears once again when Korekiyo’s rebuttal isn’t enough to prove his innocence, and they have definitive proof that he murdered Angie. 

The lines that follow are somewhat controversial, and they are the ones I believe are misinterpreted the most often. Miyadera says: “You mustn’t raise your voice. You mustn’t stutter. You mustn’t lose composure. You mustn't become flustered. You mustn’t waver.” 

For some reason, this is seen as Miyadera scolding Korekiyo and as clear evidence that she abused him in the past. However, in the full context of the scene, it’s pretty obvious that Korekiyo is losing the ability to argue for his innocence without panicking. Miyadera is reassuring him that he doesn’t need to worry about everyone else in the trial, calling them a “sorry lot”. 

Miyadera is saying that as long as Korekiyo remains calm then he should be able to make an argument that will prove he’s not guilty. Her appearance is only for his benefit as he is able to continue speaking more concisely each time after she speaks.

Once he gets back on his feet, Miyadera gives him further encouragement and praises him.

One could argue this is an instance of emotional manipulation (though I’d have to wonder why she would be manipulating him for an outcome that’s in his best interest. We can return to this later), but I believe it does prove that he is not afraid of her. Without her encouragement, the latter half of the trial would have been significantly shorter. I doubt Korekiyo would have been able to argue for his innocence with the panicked state he was in. 

The next scene is another line I see as being wildly misunderstood to the point where I wonder if anyone discussing it has actually seen it in context.

In a lot of fanworks, for some reason, “Come on, apologize” is treated as something Miyadera has said to Korekiyo as another instance of scolding him or pushing him into a corner. Though it’s pretty clear in the context of the scene that Miyadera is angry at Shuichi and tells him to apologize for continuing to accuse Korekiyo. 

During the argument armament, Miyadera continues to encourage Korekiyo during his final pleas for his innocence. Even the final point that Shuichi has to prove wrong is her defending him. 

I will admit that Korekiyo’s reactions to being put on the spot are very intense. Both the English and Japanese VAs did an amazing job selling his distress! I’m just not sure how any of that is attributed to Miyadera’s presence. 

It’s a completely incorrect reading of the trial that’s unfortunately been spread around even further by the wiki and other pages making this exact claim. There are people who don’t play through the entire game themselves or rely on reading fan wikis and write-ups for refreshers if they haven’t played in a while. If it’s been a long time since you’ve played V3, and you end up relying on one of these inaccurate fan descriptions, you might remember Korekiyo’s strong emotional reactions and Miyadera’s regular cut ins. It’s possible that you won’t remember the exact specifics, but since the vibes seem to match that kind of interpretation, you'll leave the fan wiki article convinced that Korekiyo was afraid because of Miyadera’s presence. 

The trials in V3 are very long, and Miyadera doesn’t appear until the two hour mark. If someone was a bit unclear on how their interactions went or forgot the specifics, I wouldn’t blame them. The problems truly arise when it comes down to this complete misinterpretation that only works when these lines are removed from the original context. 

Before we make further progress and get to the post trial conversations, I wanted to address another theory that doesn’t really hold water. 

Some people believe that Korekiyo’s murders were actually committed by the Miyadera tulpa. This seems to be a way for them to absolve Korekiyo of blame and force it all onto his sister. It’s an interpretation pretty common if someone has already decided Korekiyo is exclusively the victim and all wrong-doing is Miyadera’s fault. 

To me, this doesn’t make sense for a few reasons. 

First of all, Danganronpa is a generally straightforward narrative that makes big or shocking reveals very obvious. If this was a case of a separate personality or tulpa being the one forcing Korekiyo to kill women, then it would have been spelled out directly. 

During the trial, Korekiyo does act a bit confused and denies all of the accusations levied against him, but isn’t that common for every culprit in the series? The killer breakdown is something that’s kind of seen as iconic. 

The over the top reactions and reveal of a new set of sprites for a character are a key part of every trial. Again, pretty much every culprit denies their guilt until they’re backed into a corner, so Korekiyo’s situation isn’t unique at all. 

If we put the tulpa back into the full context of the trial and the murders as a whole, we’ve already established Miyadera’s presence is meant to soothe and comfort Korekiyo. She appears whenever a situation is too stressful for him to handle. One might argue that committing the murders would be an intense burden, and that would probably be the case for any character except Korekiyo. 

As early as Chapter 1, Korekiyo makes references to murder and other pretty morbid topics. He comments on how Gonta’s physical strength would make it easy for him to harm someone. In the early parts of Chapter 3, he threatens to rip out Kokichi’s nerves after he mishandles the gold katana. 

I would believe that the Miyadera tulpa played a direct role in the murders if Korekiyo displayed any signs of being uncomfortable around violence or blood. Since he doesn’t and also was very invested in the mechanics of the seesaw trap, I have no reason to believe Miyadera was the true killer. 

I also believe that if she did play a bigger part, then the final image at the end of the closing argument would have shown her face or maybe both Shingujis back to back.

The Miyadera tulpa also tells Korekiyo it’s time for him to admit defeat when there are no further arguments to be made. If she was truly the one responsible, wouldn’t she apologize to Korekiyo for committing murders that led to his downfall? 

Korekiyo is the one who takes responsibility before the voting starts and is completely calm by this point. He directly says the only thing he regrets is not being able to make one hundred friends, which is a reference to how many women he killed. 

While an exact number isn’t given, he does say he was very close. That probably pushes the total number of victims to somewhere between 80 and 90 if killing Angie and Tenko wasn’t enough to reach his goal. 

My analysis of the trial basically concludes here, and I believe I’ve provided enough evidence to prove that Korekiyo doesn’t show any fear towards Miyadera. A majority of arguments meant to prove Miyadera is the abuser and Korekiyo is the victim usually rely on this point. In the next post I will breakdown the post trial conversations and then circle back to Korekiyo's behavior at the beginning of the game. If you've made it this far, thank you so much.

#drv3 #danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #danganronpa meta #korekiyo shinguji #korekiyo shinguuji #korekiyo's sister #miyadera shinguji #miyadera shinguuji #miya meta #sis meta #kiyo meta #analysis

[ronearoundblindly]

The Right Partner (1/2)

Take My Hand, a Fools Rush In story

Summary: Steve is nervous on your wedding day.

Warnings for innuendo, some language, and--well--married life activities, so yes, there is smut. MINORS DNI. WC a honking 7.1k, like she's a biggin' this one. Wow, this got out of hand.

A/N: This half is entirely from Steve's POV. The next half is from yours. Also, it's sappy, gang, and I cried dozens of times writing this. Hope you do, too? But in a nice way? 🤷🏻‍♀️ Enjoy!

Steve is used to tight clothes, but his SSR uniform feels excessively tight as he stands in the mirror. It’s putting pressure on his waist and chest. Yeah, that’s what it is. The suit.

He pulls the lighter tie back and forth to straighten it, flipping the shirt collar back up and down. When he smooths it back down, he keeps his hand pressing over his heart, feeling it race.

“Quit fussing,” Bucky mumbles, standing behind him.

“I’m not fussing.”

Bucky simply tilts his head with a knowing look and goes to lean on the furniture.

Steve feels no better. He doesn’t have enough information. Are you nervous, too? Are you having second thoughts? Did he do enough to make this feel like your day too? Has he shown you enough love to convince you to hitch your life to his?

Steve Rogers’ life is far more of a zoo than he thought it would be growing up. The original plan was ‘go to war, end the war, come home, and live.’ He’s not quite done all of those things, but they are all on shuffle repeat.

His goal was to do his part. He wanted to stick up for the little guy. Each fight his fragile body got roughed up in could have been his last, so in the grand scheme of things, Steve only recently let himself plan ahead. Those once nebulous, unattainable hopes are starting to coalesce in the gravity of you. 

It’s great. It’s wonderful. It’s new.

It’s making Steve feel a little queasy.

Life is unpredictable. There’s no blueprint. Army strategy doesn’t much apply to single human-on-human interaction, teaches not to make the other party happy, and in terms of friendlies, sticks with ‘don’t shoot each other.’

He knows how to fight, to disarm, to destabilize, to surround and corner, to capture, and to thwart. Steve even knows—begrudgingly—how to kill. Those are his strengths.

What is he thinking? He doesn’t know how to do this. He doesn’t know how to be a husband.

Oh boy, he’s gonna puke.

“Take a breath, punk. It’s fine. You’re fine.” Bucky’s nothing but amused by Steve’s nerves though, so his best friend seems to purposefully offer lackluster help.

Steve adjusts his uniform’s tie for the twentieth time. It’s still not right. Steve’s hands are still shaking, and as sick as he feels now…he actually might want a hearty swig from Thor’s flask to take the edge off.

Buck intuits this and is already on his phone, calling in the cavalry, or so Steve thinks.

“What if I choke up and don’t say it right?”

Steve watches Bucky shrug. “Ok then—“ Bucky unfolds a little piece of paper “—one more time. I, Steven Grant Rogers…”

“I, Steven Grant Rogers,” Steve breathes through lips he can’t seem to move properly.

“…do solemnly swear…”

The tie is still crooked. “Do solemnly swear.”

“That I am up to no good.”

“That I…what?”

“Clever,” Tony’s rich laugh sounds from the doorway, “very modern for you boys.”

“Those aren’t my vows,” Steve (just shy of) whines.

“I sure hope not—“ Tony comes in “—don’t think your little lady would like all these guests to know your dirty little intentions for the rest of the night.” He waggles his eyebrows, elated by Steve’s frustration.

“I’m getting married.”

“Yes,” Bucky agrees, “he’s allowed to be as dirty as he wants with Nerd once they’re married.”

Steve snaps up at Bucky. “That’s not—“

“Oh, he did not wait until—“

“Tony, don’t!” Steve’s about to crack, face hot like he has a fever, and he’d be fine with the ribbing if it weren’t for experiencing a minor earthquake beneath him, rocking his composure since last night when Nat whisked you away after the rehearsal.

“I’ve got it. I’ve got you, buddy. Here—“ Bucky hands him his phone “—she sent you a little something.”

“Hey, Sketch,” your voice rings in his ear, “I thought you might need a message to help you chill the eff out, so I wrote you a poem. Here goes.”

Steve smiles instantly and relaxes his neck, head falling forward in a sigh.

“You’re pretty old but to me you’re new. I borrow you from the world where you’re dressed in blue. You can keep me forever, I promise you that. Our lives start today…just don’t anger Nat.

“See? I’m such a great writer—“ The message cuts off in laughter from both you and your sibling, Ro.

In the background, he hears Natasha grumble, “if that weren’t true, I’d be pretty pissed, now get over here so your—“ and it’s over.

Bucky beams, smacking Steve’s back with a jolting force, likely checking that his heart is still functioning.

“Awesome,” Tony adds, “final flourishes?”

He pulls a small velvet box from his pocket, and Steve stiffens.

“Tony, the rings are supposed to be with—“

“Hold your horses,” Stark dismisses. “This is something else. You’re missing a pin.”

Steve’s hands frantically sweep down his uniform as he checks. “Where?”

“You mind?” Tony picks something silver out and hands the box over to Bucky. He turns to grab Steve’s lapel and flicks it out.

The pin is a globe with many—but not accurate—lines crisscrossing it. Beneath that sits ‘1943.’

“First Stark Expo commemorative pin. I believe it technically is where you began in a way, and I’ve got to somehow make this day about me, so you’re welcome.”

He wants to be mad and say something sharp, but instead, Steve just gets hotter and more emotional. Tony, pleased with his work, pulls Steve into a tight hug that both cling to for a moment.

“I know, big guy. I’m just that great. There, there.” Tony—only half-jokingly—rests his hand on the back of Steve’s head before a gentle pat.

“Thank you,” Steve sniffs. “I can’t believe you kept this.”

“I brought you one, too, Dynamo.” Tony collects himself, pointing at the box Bucky holds. “Good ol’ Dad only printed about a hundred of those before his publicist stopped the machine, so it’s extra perfect.”

As the box opens, Bucky snorts.

“Oh wow. Yup. I see why,” he mutters, pulling out another silver pin with the same year and the initials for the World Exposition of Tomorrow.

Bucky smirks while Tony pushes the W.E.T. pin into place.

“Perfect,” he agrees, sharply straightening his matching uniform.

Steve nods. “Now I get why you kept them,” he says flatly, mind already far away again but at least his body jitters less. “Is it time?”

“Just about.” Tony smiles wide and earnestly. “We’re all ready to get up to no good. You just need to—” he waves his hand in front of Steve’s face “—fix this a bit.”

Steve frowns. “That’s my face, Tony.”

“Yeah, well, it’s making me nervous, so…” Tony walks off into the hallway.

Bucky’s expression tells Steve that the sentiment wasn’t wrong. He looks a wreck and a half, and he knows it.

Bucky shrugs. “I could sock you one if that would help.”

Between the Asgardian liquor and a punch to the face…Steve weighs his options and takes one final breath.

It’s crisp out. Overcast. Everything around feels subdued. The beautiful, turning foliage of the woods past AvIn campus sits quiet, framing the wrought iron archway.

Out of habit, Steve scans the tree line. All worst-case scenarios have been on repeat in his brain since Nat shuffled you away last night. There’s the obvious: being called out on an emergency, some of your family not arriving on time, the cake tasting like plaster, him looking like an idiot in every single photo…

Or the unlikely: Bruce hulks out for no reason, some evil agent(s) show up to hurt people, Steve missing a single moment of you walking down the aisle…

Sam’s taught him a technique for keeping his eyes open as long as possible—without looking like a creepy goof—so he can catch every second. Finally, all those stupid staring contests with Bucky have a good use.

Steve stands facing the woods, shaking out his arms in hopes of feeling less crawling beneath his skin. He’s so twitchy. He’s so damn nervous that Buck’s hand on his shoulder makes him jump again.

He knew he was there, for goodness sake. He’s being ridiculous.

Steve tries to crack his neck and accidentally hikes his shoulders clear up to his ears, so there’s one ding on looking like an idiot in a photo.

Sam makes a gesture to remind Steve to breathe. Tony flashes a thumbs-up and winks at him.

Steve’s stomach knots up as if he guzzled Thor’s Asgardian liquor, and he forces himself to smooth the front of his jacket. Steady. He can do this. Even though he feels tiny. Even though his knees feel weak and wobbly. Even though he’s having trouble breathing. He can’t magically develop asthma again, right? He tells his face to smile. Eh, he didn’t quite nail that.

It’s like he can’t register the mass of people—ok it’s not so many, but they’re there—in front of him until Buck’s elbow knocks his.

Steve snaps to attention.

The music warps to a crawl in his ears, and he’s dimly aware of Morgan tossing leaves over the aisle. There are approving murmurs and whispers when the bridesmaids slowly—gah, why is everything so slow?—meander past Steve’s right, but he’s still not looking. Not really.

The delicate rustle should be impossible to hear. You’ve barely inched a toe past the threshold of the building’s West Entrance, but Steve’s vision tunnels immediately into the distance.

He doesn’t see white first.

A deep, navy lace creeps up the long line of you before melting into the more traditional cream color. Some of the embroidered flowers dotting the dress are cast in burgundy, increasing in their cluster until solid along your neckline.

His heart stops, but not in cold. Steve’s sparking, concentration so honed and potent on your every step, every flutter and ripple of your gown, that he could light the ground you walk on with just his gaze.

Honest to god, he can’t see your father on your arm because the universe shrinks to the size of one half strip of carpet for the eternity it takes you to float to his side. He suffocates, blissfully, waiting so patiently.

And then your fingers smooth into his outstretched hand and squeeze.

The pulse wraps his entire body, somehow, someway, releasing all that pent-up terror all at once. He remembers. He remembers now. You’re gonna marry him. Your smile brings the sun. Your beauty brings him warmth. Your love keeps him alive.

He couldn’t breathe without you. That was the missing piece.

Steve should look forward. He should look at the priest and think of his lines and focus, but he just stares.

There’re burgundy flowers in your hair above sapphire earrings, and you’re gonna marry him. A pulse right there beneath the chain of your necklace beats rapidly, and you’re gonna marry him. Your mouth opens, sighs, speaks, and you’re gonna marry him. You’re giggling and helping him say some words…

And you’ve married him.

Your hands are steady in his as he slides a garnet ring over your finger, and your hands steady his while you slide a matching yellow gold band onto him. You’re married, and he’s yours.

Everything’s different. Absolutely nothing has changed.

One second he loved you and the next he loves you more. Unfathomable.

A gentle gust of wind knocks a wisp of hair out of place. We can’t have that, he thinks, tucking it back over your ear with a smile. He smells your hair and skin now, hears your breaths and heart, sees a familiar twitch of nerves, feels the tiniest tremble of your hands in his, and knows nothing but you in this moment.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest harps loudly from a planet away. “You may k—“

He gets to taste now, too. Steve can’t wait. 

The momentum does not start out sweet. You’d expect all delicacy and tenderness from him, but no, he’s married now. Your body bends and molds to him, bringing you close, closer, and closer still.

A chorus of ‘woah’ and one ‘dang, boy’ erupts from behind him, and the poor priest tries to slow Steve down.

“No need to rush. You have eternity.”

Doesn’t matter. As Buck would say, this isn’t kissing; this is necking, and Steve’s gonna neck his wife all he damn well pleases from this day forward.

“I told ya,” Tony cracks behind him, “always the quiet ones.”

“Made her stretch this morning, too,” Nat adds with a snort.

The priest just chuckles. It’s not his first rodeo either. “May I present Captain and Misses Steven Grant Rogers.”

“Even Stevens,” Steve whispers as he pulls away.

Your eyes open, dark and glassy.

“Even—“ but his lips cut you off with one more playful kiss.

He rights you and your dress, careful not to let his buttons and medals snag on the lace, which only leads to Steve petting his splayed hand down your entire bodice while your sibling stands feet away cheering.

“Steady on, brother,” Ro yells.

That is the moment when Steve comes back to himself. The sights and sounds of the rest of the world dial back up into existence, and he flushes, realizing he really couldn’t be held responsible if he’d gone further in the last few minutes. He just wasn’t in control of his body or mind.

But he remembers. He has every minute detail of you locked away permanently now. At least, your joy tells him that he did okay; he’s made you happy. He’ll need a video to figure out what he actually said, however.

Semantics, as Buck would say.

Normally, Steve is not this bold, but something about watching you smile and him thinking “that’s my wife” has caused him to push the envelope. Will this touch at your neck make your heart race? Will that question whispered in your ear make you shiver? For those reasons, he’s taking the ritual of removing your garter very seriously.

He stares right into your eyes through long lashes, ignoring the cheers and hoots of your guests, savoring your alternating excitement and shyness while he drags his hands over the soft skin of your leg.

You’re not wearing tights.

His fingers initially pass the scrunched satin and lace band to pinch at your inner thigh several inches higher than where he’s supposed to be, and you jump, unable to stifle of laugh of surprise. 

The audience reacts, too, but he can’t hear it. 

Stretching out his hand to smooth his palm back down causes the tip of his middle finger to brush against the lace of your panties, and he’s so proud of your widening eyes. He relents after he’s sure you see his devious grin and slides off the frilly band, carefully cupping your foot to wiggle it over your shoe.

Shit.

His wife.

In heels.

No tights.

Yeah, Steve isn’t usually this bold, but he could get used to this.

He eats dinner with his hand on your knee, barely able to feel the shape of you beneath all the layers of fabric, but at least he knows you’re right there. He does not know or care what he’s eating.

When you two cut the cake, the layer you’ve cut is your favorite flavor. Apparently, he’ll have to wait another year to eat his favorite from the topper??? No. That’s not fair. Steve doesn’t like that and plans to just take the thing on your honeymoon, wherever the hell that is since Tony won’t say.

Steve carefully places a big bite of cake in your mouth, hoping no crumbs fall down your dress, and you raise a piece high for him.

Then you take it right back before he can get it, eating it yourself.

What did he expect? It’s cake and you’re you. He smiles warmly anyway and licks icing from his fingers.

His solace is the top tier coming with him at the end of the night and that you’re his wife.

His wife, in heels, wearing no tights.

How much longer is this event?

He’s danced with you so many times before, but Steve suddenly feels entirely unsure about his hands. Where he places them naturally isn’t too suggestive in front of guests, is it? Is he pulling you too close? Is the hem of your dress under his foot?

His thoughts are consumed with what he might be doing wrong until your voice pierces through the static in his ears.

You’re singing.

You’re singing your song—his and yours—very softly to him as it plays in the background.

Just like that his feet are light as air. Just like that he’s tucked into the crook of your neck. Just like that his hands feel right hugging you.

Just like that.

“You ready for skydiving and scuba?”

He didn’t, Steve groans internally, staring at Tony’s inscrutable smirk above a scotch glass. He wouldn’t.

“No. No,” Tony snorts, “don’t worry. You two will really enjoy the Avengers cruise leaving from Florida in the morning.”

Steve’s gonna kill Tony because you’re gonna kill Steve if a giant ship in the middle of the ocean full of fans is what Tony’s chosen for your damn honeymoon. There wasn’t a way for you two to plan it yourselves, not with how unpredictable the whole engagement has been. Tony Stark is the only one with the resources enough to make a whole honeymoon happen at the drop of a hat, or a dime, or several billion dimes. Hell, you and Steve would have already changed flight and hotel bookings for anywhere three times by now based on missions alone.

His worry must show on his face; it must be exactly what Tony was hoping for because he beams back.

“Gotcha, Cap.” Tony winks. “Man, you are easy.”

Steve’s trying. He really is.

He’s also met Tony, so there’s a generalized fear of sheer Starkness that sloshes around the bottom of Steve’s gut like their drinks.

“All I’ll tell you—“ Tony grabs Steve’s shoulder and settles into a genuine smile “—is you’re taking a quinjet, and you’re welcome.”

“Great.” Steve’s face falls. “Very specific.”

Tony shrugs, turning to order a refill. “What do you want from me? You’re the logistics, guy.” He points off to the table where you sit talking to your family, huffing, “go snog your wife or something.”

Necking, Steve thinks, it’s called necking.

The sparkler sendoff is a nice touch, the flickering light of waving friends slowly replaced by steel as the bombay doors shut.

Bucky and Nat—who apparently know more about Steve’s honeymoon than he does—hauled his and her luggage aboard—only some of which you two were allowed to pack—before the dancing even ended. Steve scans the rest of the supplies tucked by the duffels of clothes and still can’t tell where you two are going. When he peaks at the clothes though…

Sweaters. Average apparel for this time of year on this continent. That’s a fairly comforting sign.

“Keeps, did you want to change out of your—“

He turns to see you clutching your arms and rushes over. “Are you cold?”

You shake your head, silent, so Steve takes the moment to look at you—really look at all of you—and admire your beauty.

You wear his colors with a twist of individuality, with an added delicacy that’s more Steve than Cap. No stars. No stripes. No harsh lines. Just your gentle curves and complex lace amidst blending colors. You are a representation but the farthest thing from a flag.

You’re a tangible promise.

He watches your breaths push your chest against the red rose trim of the gown’s bodice. There’s a refraction from your earrings that shimmers across your shoulder. He can smell the fading flowers in your hair.

“I haven’t…” you gulp out with shimmering eyes, “been in one of these since that day.”

Oh god, how did he not think of that? He didn’t know. It’s hard to fathom how many times Steve has ridden in a quinjet within the year and a half since you first met.

He didn’t know.

It’s so strange to think he didn’t know then what you would mean to him now. He’d boarded the jet with your Dream Team and had no idea. There was no magic indicator, no slow motion or love at first sight. His world did not turn upside down. More rightly, his world came to you that day.

He assessed the camaraderie of three men and two women. That’s all. He could tell which was the leader, Norm, and Steve thought nothing more of it until after his shield was suctioned to a hole in the hull. 

He secured two men and two women, one of which was trapped with her hand in his makeshift plug.

He remembers he prayed you’d live. That was the first real thing Steve ever thought of you—you specifically—that you’d live.

He remembers looping his arm in the cargo nets and holding you tight. He remembers how he thought about his own strength and if his hold was hurting you. He remembers that your eyes weren’t closed, but he knew you saw nothing. Not really. In fact, your eyes were open the whole time: landing, taking the shield off, examining your hand on the grass outside; all of it until you popped up and headed back toward the jet.

That was the day Steve learned your name.

He remembers you crying at Norm’s funeral and how hard—how brutally, valiantly hard—you tried to convince Steve that you were fine. He’s found that the best people are not fine when something like that happens. He has great respect for those people.

That was the day you earned Steve’s respect.

He remembers footage of the employee gym getting flagged during a day he was on duty as the therapy group leader. He recognized you as he fast-forwarded through hours of footage. You walked the entire time. Alone. After a full day of work. Your car never registered as leaving the compound gate either. In the circle, you were stubborn and cagy, refusing to roll over and open up.

That was the day you impressed Steve.

You didn’t lie. You didn’t tell him what he wanted to hear. You never rolled over, but eventually, you did open up. He felt drawn to a kindred spirit, a thing old Steve rarely feels nowadays, so he tested something. He opened his arms.

That day you hugged him—really, really hugged him—and he couldn’t remember the last time he was held. What’s more is you prompted him to focus on the touch, not for yourself, but for him. How he ached for this without realizing. How he missed it the moment you let go.

That was the day you stole Steve’s heart. He hasn’t regretted a moment since, except, perhaps, that he waited so long to ask you out.

“Are you scared, Keeps?” His voice is soft as is his embrace. “I promise you’ll be safe, but I can turn us ar—“

“No.”

There’s his stubborn girl.

When he steps back, you drop your hands in front of you hesitantly. “Not scared. No. Just…I don’t know. It’s strange to think about.”

That’s no lie either. It’s mind-boggling to imagine coming all this way. Steve gently cups your elbows to ground you both. He’s utterly grateful. His prayer was answered. He was given an incomparable gift.

Even though he trusts you, he knows this is scary, but he needs you to know that he’s here, right beside you, forever.

Partners.

His head sinks down to meet yours, forehead to forehead.

“Strange to be happy—“ which he means in a much deeper, more complicated sense than he could ever explain “—to have something so good come from something so bad.”

With one guiding finger under your chin, Steve tilts your head so your lips can meet. It’s not the same as his overjoyed outburst when you were announced husband and wife. That was in the good times your vows spoke of. Standing in the memory of how you met is one of the bad, but he still loves you, he still holds you, and that’s the promise of this kiss.

“Let’s get you comfy and warm, yeah?” He runs a finger over your bottom lip, further smudging your red lipstick, but he doesn’t care. You can rub off on him as much as you like.

He stands straight to pluck a burgundy flower from your hair. He tucks it away with his pocket square. He plans to press it in a book after he sketches it. 

Every detail must be preserved. He won’t simply rely on photos or video though. He’s old school. He wants the sensory memories as well. It’s alright that there’s no photographer here, too, because Steve has a solution for that which can wait until his hands, nose, ears, and mouth have had their fill of you.

Next he asks if you want to remove the rather large sapphires that seem to weigh on your ear lobes. You take those off yourself and hand them over.

When he raises his hands to help with the clasp of your necklace, he pauses, tracing the neckline of your gown with the tip of his middle finger.

His new wedding band passes over you heart.

He knows he’ll have to leave it behind on missions. There was a moment of wallowing since tattooing one on wasn’t an option with how his skin heals; the ink can’t take. Steve didn’t much like the idea of buying a matching dozen in order to replace them as they were lost or damaged. This one is special. It’s the only one. This one, today, the one you slid onto his finger, has meaning far beyond a circle of gold. He’s going to protect it and keep it safe, too.

“Help me with the back?” You sheepishly turn, forcing the full bustle of your shirt to sweep across his feet.

Good lord, that’s a lot of buttons, and the skinny loops are more finicky than Steve’s most detailed sketches. He manages to only destroy three fastenings out of what feels like thousands.

He’s rewarded with a peak of your skin beneath, absently running the back of his finger over the side of your spine on your lower back. Even though you two have been intimate, even though he saw this soft expanse even before then—on the day you first said ‘I love you’—somehow it’s different.

He can’t describe why this pang in his chest is good, why when he feels as if he can’t breathe he’s happy about it, why he won’t lift a finger to correct any of his past because every second led here. Your worth is indescribable.

Once the dress is undone and pools at your feet, you’re the star at the center of concentric blue, white, and red circles. You are his shield. You are what protects his humanity. You are his wife.

Tony didn’t pull any punches. The tent is basically a thin-walled house, practically a whole kitchen, a bed to actually fit both of you, and generously high ‘ceilings.’ Steve can stand to his full height throughout most of the space.

He’s stunned.

“Good evening, Captain and Misses Rogers,” F.R.I.D.A.Y chimes, startling Steve.

Of course. An entire artificial intelligence inside a fancy camp tent: the epitome of Stark, but Steve lands on feeling incredibly grateful in that moment.

There’s no one around.

You and he get to be completely alone for days, the air is so crisp and clean, and why is he just standing here?

Steve spins and rushes past the duffels he dropped at the ‘door,’ calling your name. His feet hit the ramp of the jet when he hears you behind him.

“Over here,” you harshly whisper. “Steve, turn off the lights!”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it.”

He smirks in confusion but trudges to the cockpit and shuts everything off all the same, muttering “yes, love” over and over like it’s a new phrase for him. When he thinks about it, it is because ‘love’ means wife now. Steve Rogers has a spouse.

He hurries back, squinting in the dark trying to see the outline of you when he realizes you didn’t layer much on.

“I thought you were gonna get warm, sweetheart.” His hand reaches out to test the thickness of the enormous sweater you’ve draped over you, but from the silhouette of your legs, there’s not much—oh.

Oh.

“I’m plenty warm,” you reply, your heart hammering so loud that he can feel it in his throat. Wait. No. That’s his heartbeat because Steve can see more and more by the second as his sharp eyes adjust.

Specifically, he can see your lack of bottoms and a clasp.

Steve swallows thickly. “Did you…are you wearing…?” He lost the words.

The damn garter belt is back, and if he thought he was being so coy and teasing earlier, he is not prepared to be controlled or wait now.

“Got the white one for a special occasion, ya see.” Your hot honey words stick to his brain and fill every crack. “But I was not going to wear these all d—AYY—“

In the blink of an eye, he scoops you up, strategically assessing the nearest surface which just so happens to be a picnic table a few feet away. He doesn’t mean to toss you down so hard, he swears, but he can feel the outline of satin over the swell of your ass.

Steve flips up the hem of your sweater without a second (or first) thought, nearly growling when the moonlight hits the pearly fabric.

He traces the edges of the belt and garters before realizing something else. There’s a glisten below the satin, and it isn’t more fabric. You’re bare and wet before him.

The instant his brain processes that you have no underwear on, the familiar scent of your arousal hits his nostril hard.

“Oh, Keeps,” he moans, one hand flicking open his belt and trousers while the other tangles in your wedding lingerie.

“For you, Sketch,” you gasp in response, breathy and thin with anticipation. “For my—“ you squeal at the intrusion of his fingers “—husband.”

You sound tortured already. It makes Steve realize how tightly wound he is from the whole day, too, and he’s sure this one will be quick. You’re both strung out on the essence of being married. There’s no way to calm down without getting off, or rather, that’s how he’ll justify taking so little time to savor you when he thinks of this later.

He has to pop open the bottom two buttons of his shirt so it’s out of the way, but his tie stays on. That you’re using to haul him forward atop you. He hears the clank of his belt down by his shifting feet and the sharp pants escaping your open mouth as he rolls his tip through your folds to line up at your entrance.

“Steve,” you breathe when he’s partly inside your heat, “look up.”

He can’t stop his momentum, and the drawing force of your walls against his throbbing cock keeps him sinking deeper even while Steve raises his head. His back arches to view the sky. He’s fully buried in you at the same instant he sees that you both are floating in the vast Milky Way.

The light shining down is not moonlight; it’s billions of stars and a nebulous stripe of galaxy that scars the night. 

He’s dizzy, light-headed, and utterly consumed by pull of the universe. His universe. You.

Your body is the central hearth of his world—his home—and your warmth fuels a combustion of euphoria in his veins. It powers the electric jolts of pleasure the sizzle up his spine. He steadies himself with both hands tucked beneath the garter straps to grip your thighs wildly, pinning you open to his lust, spreading the sound and smell of your union.

The raging spin of gravity controls Steve so completely, he can’t warn you he’s coming. He can’t let even a molecule out of his seizing lungs. He tips the scale of ecstasy to unceremoniously fall straight back down to rest in your waiting arms. His breath stutters like his hips, both dragging across your cool, damp skin. He’s not expecting those heavy ruts to push you over.

Your rippling orgasm drains him, and his soul begs you to take whatever pieces of him you want. Every drop. He’s yours.

“Sorry,” he huffs when his brain finally restarts. He lifts most of his weight off of you gently.

“Yeah, me too.” You stare at the stars, ravaged by the same G-forces that wreck him now. “I’m sorry you’re so good at that.” With a blind pat at his still clothed chest, you snort lightly, “terrible really. Want a refund.”

“Oh, ok. Did you say ‘repeat?’ Don’t mind if I—“

“Fuck,” you groan as he pumps once more. “No. God. Give me a minute.”

“Honey, I’ll give you a lifetime.”

The hum of sex softens in your expression when you turn to look at him, your eyes now adjusted to the low light of this beautiful night.

“Good…because I want to see the rest of the place.”

Everything is set up except the water. F.R.I.D.A.Y is ready with instructions on hooking up the jet’s water tank to the utility sink, so once all the packed supplies are in, you two are in for the night as well.

Though he can’t figure out where it’s coming from, the tent seems to be heated once closed.

Tony Stark. Genius indeed.

Steve mourns that the garter belt is off when you settle into the big bed, but he can see the indents left on your skin from the thigh-high stockings. He appreciates the time he had. Maybe they’ll meet again someday. He’ll survive without for now.

While you get comfortable and start to cuddle, his fingertips trace over your hip. Though you’re under the covers, the edge of the blanket drapes down your chest, meaning his big spoon view is all cleavage, and Steve’s got a full-blown montage of all his fantasies rolling around in that overwhelmed brain of his. They aren’t all sexual even; he’s so turned on anyway that it doesn’t matter.

He has time to savor you now. Days completely alone, and without the stress-tension of the actual wedding. Well past midnight now, Steve’s been a married man for exactly nine hours and twenty-two minutes.

He tightens his arm over your waist, whispering, “I love you, Misses Rogers.”

You stifle a yawn and wiggle closer to him. “Love you, Stevie,” you answer softly, chirping when he kisses your temple.

He feels you clench your ass against him, and Steve grunts. No doubt that was your commentary on his returned erection poking at your back.

“Sweetheart,” he tries in a low, cautious tone, “do you think we could…” Steve’s not sure how to word his request. He doesn’t talk dirty so he doesn’t have much vocabulary to express any sexual thoughts.

You turn slightly and lift a hand to his cheek. “You may do whatever you like, Captain. I’m all yours. I trust you.”

Steve’s heart swells with pride until his ribs nearly crack. He brings his hand to your cheek, too, and kisses you gently, pouring love and hope into each brush of your soft lips against his. This is his life. You are his wife. He could die happy but only after this lifetime with you he’s been promised.

When he breaks away from your mouth with a grown, his fingers are already tracing through your folds, the heft of his fist forcing apart your ass cheeks. Instinctively, you grab and lift it to give him better access, moaning when he penetrates you again. You’re still slick from before, some of his cum is there to smooth his way, but that’s good for what he wants.

He’s quickly satisfied by your openness, and Steve lines himself up to enter you. Even though the cabin is heated, even though he runs hot naturally, there is something wildly soothing about burying himself to the hilt in you. He gets one gasp of satisfaction from you before he pulls your hand away to take in his, lacing your fingers together. He lets himself be pushed out slightly as your ass relaxes against his pelvis. Steve stops moving, taking in deep breaths of you and settling your combined hands in front of you.

He kisses your stretched neck. “Can I stay like this for a while?”

Your walls grab at him, but he doesn’t thrust in response. Steve hears how your heartbeat picks up for a moment then tries to calm. You nod and hum approval. He snuggles up to you, his face resting against your spine between your shoulder blades.

He’s still. You’re still. The Earth is still.

Steve relishes every tiny detail of this moment. He takes so long to savor it that your heart slows and your breathing goes shallow. You’ve fallen asleep—likely a light sleep, sure, but that’s how much you trust him. His thumb rubs over your palm absently. As comfortable as he is, he cannot fall asleep like this. The residual effect of the day is an echo of all lovely things, emotional and supercharged with anticipation.

You married him. You two are married. He has no idea when the novelty of that will wear off, but for now, the thought alone makes him unbearably excited to have you close, and hot, and loud with him. His cock has been twitching the whole time he’s been thinking so hard about this, and you haven’t woken. Even if he wanted to let you sleep, eventually he’d have to pull out before he could sleep himself, so he slowly, experimentally, rolls his hips away.

Your hand tenses in his as another soft gasp escapes you. Your hushed voice calls him, says his name like a plea and a prayer. You’ve grown wetter, silky smooth and just begging to be used.

You untangle your fingers and press his hand to your breast.

He doesn’t need to be asked twice.

Like a dance you both have practiced for a lifetime, your needs synchronize. Steve nips at your shoulder while you spread your ass for him again, allowing his thrusts deeper. He’s rewarded with desperate whines and muffled curses until it all molds into one cry breaking in rhythm with his pace. God, you are sexy. God, he is so hard for you.

As much as he’s enjoying this, he knows that you can’t come like this. He abandons the nipple he’s been toying with to graze down your stomach and thigh, parting your legs and lifting the top one until you catch on and switch to holding that instead. His thrusts slow as he circles your clit, already soaked by your arousal.

He can tell you’re close when you go quiet, biting your lip as an “oh, fuck” escapes.

“That’s it, love. That’s it,” Steve pants, craving your coming apart as much as his own. “Baby, please,” he begs.

His favorite shattered sound rises in your throat, and he plants himself inside you to feel that fluttering grip of your orgasm to full effect. He has half a mind—as he continues to torture your clit—to wring one more out of you before he comes, but you’re tired, he remembers, and that wouldn’t quite be fair. He knows you’d say yes, but you have days to be alone, days to handle and tease and caress each other to the brink and back.

You drop your leg, pushing his hand out of the way, and reach back to pull at his hair. “Do it,” you growl as an order, “fill me up.”

Steve may not be able to talk dirty, but he has to admit that in the throws of passion, he likes hearing one or two filthy things from you. It’s almost like a taunt for punishment. The excitement of you playing with him that way has urgent pressure lapping at his spine, tightening his balls while the whiplash of his own orgasm snaps his hips flush against you. He continues to press forward, unable to recede so much as a millimeter, the intense surge of blood to his groin depriving his brain of the ability to care what he’s doing so long as he’s inside you.

He pushes. You release his hair. He pushes more. You shout a bit in confusion. He pushes again, almost drained of his sanity, it feels, and then he hears a slap as your torso leaves the warmth of his chest.

Steve finally opens his eyes.

You’ve almost fallen off of the mattress, braced by your arms, your feet secured behind his thighs.

“Sorry,” he shrieks, twisting so fast to get you off the floor that you flail, planting your hands hard against his chest. You’re sitting up straddling him now, still facing away, your bare chest heaving in the near dark, the blankets banished in a heap to one side. He presses a wide hand to your back for support. “Sorry, Keeps.”

“’S…” You try to control your own body again, incidentally clenching around Steve still inside you.

He moans, his other hand joining to hold your waist.

“’S fine,” you finally get out. “’S fine.”

A long silence descends while you both recover.

You turn to eye him over your naked shoulder. “Think you can sleep now?”

“Oh, god.”

He’s pretty sure he could die right now. He’d be happy and blissed out beyond his wildest dreams, but he definitely can’t walk over to get a warm cloth just yet. “Give me a minute.”

It’s you—his stubborn, amazing, unpredictable wife—who dismounts him and the bed first. “I got it, love,” you say, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

There must be a draft of the heating somewhere close because Steve’s hit by the intense aroma of him and you dripping from between your legs. He groans, filing that memory away with so many others from the day.

Sure, he can have you whenever he wants, but can he handle that? Through the tender care and warm embrace you offer, Steve makes a simple plan for his future: do whatever makes his wife happy…and do anything that makes her come like that.

He’s been married for eleven hours and thirty-seven minutes.

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @fangirl-swagg @georgeweaslysgirl @austynparksandpizza @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes

beautiful sparkly dividers by @silkholland

#fools rush in #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #series #fluff and feels #fluff and romance #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve x you #captain america fluff #captain america x reader #captain america fanfiction #captain america x you #steve rogers x reader smut #steve rogers smut #captain america smut #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n

[maskyish]

ZOOL - Shuffle Talk 2022 (Episode 3)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

Please note: I am NOT a professional and my level of JP is very, very basic. I do this for practice and to share with other fans for fun. Please take my translations with a grain of salt as there may be mistakes. If you see any, please let me know and I can correct them. If anyone else has this card and wants to translate this at any time then please feel free to do so!

Haruka: Whoa! Look, look! The night illumination started! 

Touma: Wow, it’s really magical compared to during the day…! The view from the suspension bridge is remarkable! (1) 

Touma: Until the shoot starts back up, we’re free to walk around as we’d like, right?! 

Minami: Yes. Utsugi-san will call us when it’s time. 

Touma: Is it alright that Haru didn’t take a nap? He looked a little sleepy. 

Minami: Yesterday after dinner we swam in the pool at Sentosa Island, and went to the night safari at night, so we stayed up late sight-seeing. 

Haruka: I won’t get tired over that much. You’re exaggerating over a yawn. 

Haruka: Rather, wouldn’t that be Touma? He’s been half asleep since this morning, not to mention the bedhead. It was like a chicken comb. 

Minami: Fufu. He had an impressive antenna on his head. It was cute. 

Torao: I took a picture of it too, I’ll put it in the group chat later. 

Touma: Haha! You even took a picture! Hasn’t the amount of photos in the group chat’s album increased quite a lot the last 2 days? 

Touma: It was really tough to pick out which photo to send to Utsugi-san yesterday. 

Minami: Everyone took a lot of pictures. But thanks to that, we were able to get the OK from Utsugi-san who said, “A wonderful, lovely ZOOL!”

Haruka: ….. Just checking, wasn’t our original concept madness and destruction?  

Touma: A lovely ZOOL is good. An idol who combines both madness and lovely, could you find it elsewhere? 

Minami: Well, I suppose not. And besides, I also think it’s a lovely photo. 

Torao: Yeah, I thought you were out of your mind wearing the deformed merlion headgear, but it was lovely. 

Minami: Combined with the t-shirts bought from Isumi-san’s suggestion, we had the feel of happy tourists. 

Haruka: Something like that shows closeness better. Plus it’ll be a memento. I also like the photo quite a bit. 

Touma: I know right! That feeling of being in high spirits is nice! 

Torao: That photo is nice, but I like this one. Haruka and Touma having fun on the gondola. 

Touma: Woah, when did you take this?! 

Haruka: We’re both sticking to the window like children. It’s too embarrassing…. 

Minami: Fufu. You were both so captivated by the scenery outside.

Haruka: That’s because if the weather is good, you can see as far as Indonesia…. 

Torao: Haha. It’s a nice photo, huh? 

Touma: Then, I won’t lose either. It’s Mina and Tora looking at Merlion plushies. They were choosing so earnestly. 

Torao: Oh, at the souvenir shop Minami said that if I put it in my room then it would raise my good fortune, so I wanted to choose a worthy plush. 

Haruka: Huh? A plush in Torao’s room…? 

Minami: Yes, but it didn’t have to be a plush, anything white would have been fine since Midou-san doesn’t have many belongings. I just thought it would be nice to have one cute item. 

Touma: Haha, that’s true! Tora’s room is so clean that I get a little nervous when I go, so maybe this is just what he needs! 

Torao: Minami, I thought you were seriously choosing, but that was the reason? 

Torao: Well, it’s fine if it’s just one. I’ll leave it there so you guys don’t get nervous. 

Minami: Fufu, thank you. 

Minami: If it’s a picture taken at a souvenir shop, I recommend the one where Isumi-san is giving it his best effort to pick one, it’s very cute. 

Haruka: If you say that, then it’s the one with Minami’s happy face while eating dinner! 

Torao: There’s also a photo of Touma having fun on a swimming tube. 

Haruka: Ahaha! The one with his duck floatie! It really suited you! 

Touma: I-– I just rented the child one by mistake…!!!

          *click*

ZOOL: Huh?! 

Shirou Utsugi: Oh, did I surprise you? 

Shirou Utsugi: Apologies. Everyone just had such good expressions. 

Touma: Ooh, you’re right! It’s a great photo!

Minami: Yes, today the 4 of us might just have the biggest smiles. 

Shirou Utsugi: The staff was also very pleased with the photoshoot from earlier. They were able to take good photos since your expressions were soft and relaxed. 

Haruka: That’s good, but…. ….. Now that you mention it, what about the first request? About wanting to show how close we are. 

Minami: Certainly, the director didn’t say anything of the sort during the shoot earlier. 

Torao: Will we shoot those situations after this? 

Shirou Utsugi: Regarding today’s rehearsal… I lied. 

ZOOL: You lied….?! 

Minami: What do you mean? 

Shirou Utsugi: Even if it’s for work, since it’s overseas I wanted everyone to enjoy their time off. 

Shirou Utsugi: I wanted you to go to various places, take many photos, and leave with many memories. 

Shirou Utsugi: If I didn’t say that, everyone wouldn’t have been able to take pictures together since you’re shy. (2)

Torao: It’s because we’re shy that it was a mission for us? 

Shirou Utsugi: Correct. However, due to this I did such deceptive behavior. I’m very sorry. 

Minami: Oh my. None of us felt deceived. 

Haruka: Yeah. It was fun to take pictures, too. Actually, if Utsugi-san hadn’t told us that, then I would’ve just taken some for social media. 

Touma: Rather, we’re grateful. Thanks to you, we have a lot of memories! 

Torao: Yeah, if there wasn’t a mission, we wouldn’t have been to so many tourist spots. 

Shirou Utsugi: I’m glad you think so. Thanks to everyone’s photos, it felt like I was traveling with you. 

Touma: Then, let’s take a photo with the 5 of us! 

Minami / Haruka /Torao / Shirou Utsugi: Eh?! 

Touma: Utsugi-san, you haven’t taken any photos since we came here, right? We took a lot of photos, so you should take at least one too. 

Shirou Utsugi: That’s true. If that’s the case, then by all means! 

Shirou Utsugi: Do you have a specific pose? 

Torao: What’s up? You look rather happy. 

Shirou Utsugi: As a fan, a picture with the “Lovely ZOOL, Enjoy ZOOL” at its current peak could make one faint. 

Haruka: What are you even saying? You’re also one of us!! 

Shirou Utsugi: Hahaha, thank you very much. I’m honored. Inumaru-san, please send me the picture later. 

Touma: Of course I will! Then, I’ll hold the camera, so gather up. 

Haruka: Utsugi-san, only half of your face will be in the photo. Come a little closer to Touma. 

Shirou Utsugi: Like this? 

Touma: Oh, looks good! 

Torao: So, what about the pose? 

Haruka: Huh, isn’t a peace sign normally fine? 

Touma: Crap, my arm is shaking. Please decide quickly. 

Minami: Then, let’s do a crab pose. 

Touma: Alright, let’s take it. 

Touma: 3, 2, 1, crabby crab! 

Shirou Utsugi: Crabby crab! 

          *click*

Torao: (He went along with it….)

Minami: (Didn’t he go along with it too well….?) 

Haruka: (Maybe I just don’t know, but is it actually normal to call out “crabby crab”?!)

Touma: ….Haha! Utsugi-san, your crab pose is perfect! 

Shirou Utsugi: Everyone’s pictures made me happy, so I wanted to try it too. The crab pose. 

Torao: Aren’t you also in high spirits…. Well, as long as you’re happy. 

Shirou Utsugi: I am, thank you very much. 

Shirou Utsugi: ….. Oh! Since the staff is calling, I’ll be going for a bit. I’ll give a call for you again when shooting starts back up. 

ZOOL: Right. 

Haruka: So, the picture? Did it have any blur? 

Touma: It’s not blurry, but…. 

Torao: Everyone has complicated expressions.

Minami: We’re smiling, but…. It looks like the first promotional photo I took. 

Touma: It’s true that we all look stiff…. 

Haruka: Isn’t it because we got distracted by the crab just before it? 

Touma: Ahaha, there was a bit of that. 

Haruka: But, we don’t often take pictures with Utsugi-san, so I might have been a bit nervous…. 

Minami: This is good, right? I like this photo, you know. 

Minami: As Utsugi-san said, it’s a photo together that will remain a good memory. 

Torao: Yeah, and this is just how it is now. We never thought in the past that we’d be such close friends. 

Haruka: Mhm. If you told our past selves, they’d be surprised. 

Touma: If it was like how it was back then, we might have acted separately this time too. 

Minami: I agree. I don’t think I would’ve gone to the trouble of going to Sentosa Island or a night safari. 

Haruka: ….I’m glad we went. I had a lot of fun…. because I got to go with everyone. 

Minami: Me too. I’m happy we all went. 

Touma: Ahaha, me too! I’d like to go on another trip with all of you, either in Japan or overseas. 

Torao: It’s not bad to spend a trip with only men every now and then. 

Haruka: It’s fine! If we get a mission like this again then we got this! 

Shirou Utsugi: The friendly ZOOOOL~~! (3) The photoshoot will resuuume~! 

ZOOL: Wha–?! 

Minami: What is that person saying out loud… 

Haruka: W-what an embarrassing guy…! It’ll be hard to go back! 

Torao: I can imagine the warm looks from the staff…

Touma: Haha! A friendly ZOOL is nice! 

Touma: Right now, at this moment, this is the best ZOOL. Throughout Japan… no, throughout the whole world. Let’s show it to them! 

Minami / Haruka / Torao: Yeah! 

[End of Rabbitv]

TL Notes:

1.  The word Touma uses here that I translated as “remarkable” is more like having an intense impact.

2. Sorry, I’m not 100% sure on this one >< 

>> ああでも言わないと、 揃って写真を撮ることもないでしょう みなさん、 奥手ですし。

3. The word Shirou uses here is 仲良し which pops up a lot in this rabbittv and I normally translated it as “close” or similarly, but it’s like saying “ZOOL who are good friends”

#idolish7 #i7 #idolish7 translation #zool #rabbitv