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nahoney22 · 1 month

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wondering if you could do something fluffy with Tech where he walks in on reader (f) singing softly to herself and he’s completely enamoured and mesmerised please? Many thanks and congratulations on the following - that’s awesome 👏🏻 ❤️

Songbird

Tech X F!Reader

word count: 1.8k

When Tech hears you singing for the first time, he can’t help but fall for you just a little more and let slip his feelings.

warnings: SFW, fluff only, mutual pining, non-established relationship, first kiss. Crosshair being a wingman.

authors note: such a cute idea! I’m definitely missing him this season 🥺 hope this is okay anon and again, as always, sorry for the wait 🤍

Tech found himself perplexed by the notion of Crosshair's teasing when he began to declare that he, Tech himself, harbored feelings for you. He wasn't programmed for emotional attachment; his purpose was solely to fulfill his duties and utilise his expertise. Yet, as he contemplated Crosshair's jests and observed you with what he could only interpret as affection, he began to entertain the possibility that his brother might be onto something.

But of course at first, he dismisses it.

“Are you going to look me in the eye and tell me she,” Crosshair looks to you from across the threshold and then locks eyes with Tech, “is not pretty?”

“I do not recall ever saying that she wasn’t.” Tech states with a frown. “Any sane person would find her beautiful-.”

Crosshair said nothing as Tech ate his words, his mouth tight lipped at his spill. Crosshair could only smirk before he strolls away.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he scours his mind for a pinpoint in time where this crush had emerged; yet all he could find was that as he recalled being In your presence, his heart would race. His hands even fidgeted and his gaze lingered on you as you leaned over him, demonstrating a curiosity for his tinkering or the contents of his datapad.

Now that he thinks about it, he would try and control his breathing, not wanting to sound breathless when you asked him something. All the whilst Crosshair would smirk knowingly from across the ship. He was rather grateful he maintained the discretion not to divulge his feelings to you.

He knew he had to do some reasearch on this after recognising his unfamiliar emotions and so sought guidance from the holonet later that night. Though, he was unwilling to express his sentiments until he comprehended them himself. Thus, he opted to bide his time and maybe this will pass.

It did not.

As days turned into weeks, his affection for you only swelled. Simply witnessing you smiling at Omega or indulging in a mundane activity like blowing steam off your morning caf on your bunk brought a smile to his face. And despite his efforts to suppress these newfound emotions, he found the prospect of harbouring feelings for someone exhilarating. Albeit marred by bouts of jealousy, particularly when he observed a bartender attempting to woo you with pickup lines one time.

One warm evening, Tech finds himself outside the Marauder, engrossed in his weekly maintenance routine. Assuming you had accompanied the others into town for potential work opportunities, he's startled by your gentle greeting, causing him to inadvertently collide with a metal pole, eliciting a pained reaction.

“Tech!” Concerned, you rush to his side, apologising for the unexpected interruption. “I am so, so sorry! I thought you knew I was here?”

With a weak smile of reassurance, Tech brushes off the incident, though his heart races as you approach, your proximity sending a warmth to his cheeks. "I can confirm that I was not aware of your presence, but accidents happen.” Despite his attempt to maintain composure, your tender gesture—placing a hand on his face and tilting his head gently to the side to inspect him—sends a wave of warmth through him, momentarily leaving him flustered. "T-There is nothing to fret over," he added, his voice faltering slightly, though you seemed oblivious to his nervousness.

"No," you said softly, amusement dancing in your eyes as you smiled at him. "But there's nothing wrong with checking you over. Is there?" As you express your concern with a voice so soft and somehow alluring, his resolve wavers, unable to resist your caring demeanor. Succumbing to your gentle attention, he allows you to fuss over him, though he had initially insisted he was fine.

It was almost impossible for Tech not to melt under your gaze. "I suppose not, no.”

“So,” you begin, breaking out of the trance as you step back, “need any help with anything?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Tech, seizing the opportunity, requests your aid in powering up the ship, knowing your familiarity with the process from observing him countless times. Eagerly, you agree, practically bouncing with anticipation at the prospect of taking control of the Marauder's systems.

With a nod of confirmation, Tech passed you his datapad, meticulously detailing the steps for initiating the ship's systems from the pilot's seat.

To his relief, yet not entirely surprised, you flawlessly executed the instructions, following them to the letter and giving him your undivided attention. Another trait he mentally noted as a reason why he might harbor feelings for you.

After explaining over the comm channel that he would wrap up his work outside, Tech took just a few minutes to complete his tasks before returning up the gangplank. Yet, a soft noise caught his attention, causing him to pause in curiosity.

Quietly approaching the cockpit, Tech was taken aback when he heard it—your voice, singing softly. Entranced, he felt as though his entire being had turned to jelly, captivated by the angelic melody that seemed to cast a spell over him. Accompanying the serenade was the gentle hum of music from a makeshift radio, a project that you and Omega had persuaded him to undertake some time ago.

Normally indifferent to such things, Tech found himself utterly enchanted, simply content to stand and watch you. Seated in the pilot's seat with your eyes closed, swinging side to side slowly and lost in your own world, you appeared ethereal. It almost seemed a shame to interrupt you, but Tech couldn't resist the urge to linger a little longer, soaking in the enchanting moment.

As you swung around in the chair a bit too much, you ended up facing Tech directly. “Oh hi Tech!” You grin as you stand and approach him. “Are the repairs done?”

He found himself momentarily frozen, struggling to find his voice. When he finally spoke, it was not in response to your question about the repairs. "I wasn't aware that you could sing well," he remarked, his words lacking their usual technical precision.

Your laughter rang out softly as you tilted your head, teasing him gently. "I wasn't aware that I could either. Are you sure you didn't hit your head too hard?" you joked, though a hint of modesty coloured your words. However, as you noticed the earnestness in Tech's gaze, you began to reconsider.

"You sing beautifully," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your smile faltered slightly, replaced by a look of concern as you approached him. This was not like Tech to be so shy. You reach out to him once more, your touch gentle as you inspected his face for any signs of injury that you may have missed.

Closing his eyes, Tech savoured the sensation of your fingers against his skin, his thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. In a moment of vulnerability, his carefully guarded emotions spilled out before he could stop them. "I have romantic feelings for you."

Your eyes widened slowly, mirroring his realisation, as he watched the weight of his confession settle between you. Dropping your hand and meeting his gaze, you processed his words with a mix of surprise and disbelief. "Wait, what? You serious?"

Tech swallowed hard, his heart racing as he grappled with the consequences of his impulsive admission. "Yes, I am," he affirmed, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him.

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air, punctuated only by the soft hum of the ship's systems and the radio that still played in the background. Then, with a deep breath, you spoke again, your expression a mixture of confusion and curiosity. "I... I don't know what to say," you admitted, your words tentative as you processed the revelation.

Tech's gaze remained fixed on you, his vulnerability laid bare in the openness of his confession. "I understand if you need time to think, I… I shall leave you to your thoughts. I hope this has not jeopardised our friendship.” He offered quietly, his tone gentle as he turned to walk away.

“Tech, wait.” As you reached out to stop him, Tech's movements slowed, his gaze shifting to where your hand rested on his wrist. A wave of warmth spread through him as your touch lingered, guiding his attention to the intertwining of your fingers, a simple gesture that held a world of meaning.

"I never expected you to feel the same way," you whispered softly, your voice a gentle caress against the stillness of the cockpit. Tech turned to face you fully, his heart racing as he met your gaze, searching for any hint of uncertainty or hesitation.

His breath caught in his throat as he tried to process your words, his mind reeling with disbelief and hope in equal measure. "'The same way'?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes locked on yours.

You nodded, a tender smile gracing your lips, a smile that seemed to light up the dimly lit space around you. "Of course. Why do you think I always stay behind or bother you with questions about tasks?" you teased, the playful lilt in your voice bringing a sense of ease to Tech's racing thoughts.

A surge of relief washed over him, the weight of uncertainty lifting from his shoulders as he realised the depth of your feelings mirrored his own. "I did not think you would reciprocate your feelings for me. At all. I am not the most ideal—" he began, his words faltering under the weight of vulnerability.

"Don't," you interrupted, your voice firm yet gentle, refusing to let him diminish himself in your eyes. "I think you are perfect."

A soft exhale escaped Tech's lips, his chest tightening with a mixture of gratitude and disbelief. Gently squeezing your hand, he found solace in the warmth of your touch, reassuring him this was not a dream. "This is very gratifying to hear, I confess. But I must admit I do not know where to go from here."

Your eyes sparkled with anticipation, a hint of desire lacing your voice as you leaned in closer, closing the distance between you. "If it's not too soon, may I propose a kiss?"

A soft chuckle escaped Tech's lips, his eyes softening as he drew you nearer, his free hand finding its way to your waist, drawing you into his embrace. "I'd be happy to oblige."

Leaning down, Tech closed the remaining space between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss that spoke volume. The galaxy seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of your touch, the rhythm of your breaths, and the gentle cadence of your shared kiss.

Your hands move to the back of his neck, your body flushed against his eliciting a soft moan of satisfaction. With fingers tangled in his hair and his hand tightening around your waist, Tech felt a sense of completeness wash over him, knowing that he had found something truly special in you. “May I suggest you sing more often by the way?”

“If this is the result I get. Of course.”

Masterlist

More Tech Works

Tags: @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf f @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @mssbridgerton @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @imalovernotahater @whore4rex x @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder r @lulalovez @mysticalgalaxysalad @photogirl894 @id-rather-be-a-druid @the-bad-batch-baroness

#the bad batch tech #tech the bad batch #tech x reader #tech x you #bad batch tech x reader #nahoney22 writes #tech bad batch

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rk1stars · 29 days

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ETERNAL SUNSHINE

TAGLIST - OPEN!

@yyawnjun @rosas-in-the-garden @allforhee @ilovejungwonandhaechan @jooniesbears-blog @niki-the-genius @lilyuwon @ihrtnrk. @kgneptun

(50 followers event.)

one - intro (end of the world) yang jungwon

Despite your long-standing admiration for Jungwon, it remains uncertain whether he reciprocates the same romantic sentiments towards you. Thus, you decided to keep your feelings hidden, unsure of the outcome should you reveal them. However, there lingers a question in your heart - will Jungwon ever divulge his true feelings towards you?

two - don’t wanna break up again lee heeseung

Caught in a complex situationship with Heeseung, doubts about his feelings plagued you. The fluctuation between closeness and distance left you bewildered. Summoning courage, you confronted him, anxious about his sincerity. As you questioned his intentions, anticipation filled you. Would he end things or commit? With bated breath, you awaited his response, longing for closure in this tangled relationship. Time stood still as you hoped for clarity, unsure of what the future held with Heeseung.

three - eternal sunshine park jongseong

You and Jay never seemed to work out, despite numerous attempts to make things right. However, after the messy breakup filled with tears and harsh words, you couldn't help but miss him. As you approached his front door with your heart pounding in your chest, you felt anxious about Jay's response

four - supernatural sim jaeyun

Upon seeing Jake, you immediately felt a strong connection to him, like a spell had been cast upon you. Your obsession with him led you to concoct a love potion, believing it would ensure he reciprocated your feelings. The magic surrounding him consumed your thoughts, leaving you desperate for his affection. As you handed him the potion, your heart raced with anticipation, hoping it would guarantee his love for you. But as he drank it, you realized that true love cannot be forced or manipulated, desperately trying to undo your spell.

five - we can’t be friends park sunghoon

-> part two

With the advancement of technology and the presence of numerous machines, a new one caught your attention. Unfortunately, you experienced a messy breakup with Sunghoon, leading to both of you erasing memories of each other in anger. Little did you know, this decision would later bring regret. The future seemed promising with endless possibilities, but the pain of losing someone you once cared for lingered. As time passed, you realized the mistake of erasing those memories, as they held significance and meaning that you couldn't fully comprehend in the heat of the moment.

six - i wish i hated you kim sunoo

not decided yet

seven - imperfect for you nishimura riki

not decided yet

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bucca2 · 7 months

Text

Shrike pt. 1 - words hung above but never would form

definition. male shrikes are known for their habit of catching insects and small vertebrates and impaling them on thorns

König x high school sweetheart reader

2nd person, gender neutral reader for now but reader is afab and referred to as a girl, reader is Austrian/has lived in Austria and speaks German for most of the story, romance, pining, friends to lovers, reader's nickname is Thorn, König's first name is Alexander

4.8k words

tw: bullying, brief mention of cheating and domestic abuse (not explicit, mentions of violence, and not done by König), mention of terrorism, suicidal thoughts

[NEXT]

based on this post by @ceilidho, who gave me permission to write this! many thanks <3

this post is dedicated to @papaver-decervicatus, who I am so proud of for finishing chapter 4 of her fic cat/mouse/den (which I highly recommend) and eating NO glass in the process. her headcanons for König have had a huge influence on me, and while there are some differences between julius and alexander, I absolutely must thank Caedis for her wonderful portrayal of König.

and of course, to @danibee33, for fueling my König brainrot. without you, I probably would not have returned to writing <33

disclaimer, I am not Austrian, I do not speak German, so if there's anything that needs correcting, please do reach out!

You admit, you’ve always had an affinity for protecting the weak.

When you were twelve, a bird slammed headlong into your bedroom window. The poor thing had avoided snapping its own neck but was certainly in no condition to fly. You’d bolted out of your childhood home to check on it, but by the time you arrived, a huge grey tomcat was prowling, sitting back on his haunches and ready to pounce. You generally liked cats, but this one was a mean old stray, and you’d always been frightened to go near him.

Without hesitation, you had shoved the cat aside, spitting and yowling, and taken the little bird into your hands.

It took a few days to nurse back to health, and you still remember the day you released it back into nature. It was worth the long scratch down your arm, pride swelling in your heart as it spread its wings and flew into a vivid blue sky. You remember it even now: a charming little gray bird, a streak of black coloring over its eyes. A shrike, your mother had identified it as.

People are no different than animals, sometimes. People can be cornered, battered, and bruised as well. You recognize the broken hunch of the bird you rescued in the boy sitting by himself at lunch time. His shoulders curl inwards with a desperate need to go unnoticed. You’ve seen him around: he’s not in any of your classes, but your classes always seem to end up in the same hallways, so you pass each other all the time.

He jumps a little as you slide into the seat next to him, shrinking away from you in a way that breaks your heart. “Hey.”

No response. You offer your name, but he seems reluctant to divulge his own.

“Is it okay if I sit here?”

He shrugs.

“Thanks. I don’t know anybody at this school, so it’s nice to have a friend.”

“…friend?” He has a nice voice, you think. Timid, but almost sweet.

“Well, if you’ll let me call you one.”

“…”

And so begins your friendship with König.

I was housed by your warmth Thus transformed By your grounded and giving And darkening scorn

You didn’t call him that in high school, of course. You wouldn’t know that name until much, much later. It takes a while to coax him out of his shell, cajoling him that you can’t call him “green-eyed boy” forever, to get his name.

“Alexander is a very good name,” you assure him, and he seems pleased. He’s still hesitant to speak to you at all, but that’s just fine by you. You’ve got plenty to talk about, anyway.

“You know, I read this book about Alexander the Great. There’s this crazy story about one of his battles at a city called Tyre. He was laying siege to it after a misunderstanding with their king…” you chatter on, unaware of the intense stare from the boy sitting next to you.

“…ordinarily, sieging an island is pretty difficult, but you won’t believe what he did,” you rattle on. “He—”

“He built his own bridge,” Alexander says, so quietly you almost don’t hear him at first. You look at him in surprise.

“Yes! You know this story already?”

“I read a lot about him.”

“Then why did you let me ramble on about it if you knew about it already?” You’re a little embarrassed, having felt proud of yourself for knowing niche facts about historical figures.

“I like listening to you talk.”

That shuts you up for a moment. Only for a moment though, before you start to laugh.

“What?” he asks, an edge creeping into his voice.

“Nothing! It’s just—usually people tell me the opposite,” you say. “People say I talk too much.”

“I don’t mind.” His eyes dart to your face before looking away again.

“That’s good to hear. But I hope you know this means you’re never getting rid of me now,” you tease, nudging him gently.

He doesn’t respond, but for a second, you could have sworn that a corner of his mouth had turned up into a smile.

Learning more about him is like trying to draw blood from a stone, but you do your best. He mentions sharing a room with a cousin. His oma makes the best comfort food. Sometimes his mother takes him into town to buy candy, but he has to hide it or his cousin will steal it. Not that he cares that much—he doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but his family doesn’t come from means, so it means a lot to him whenever his mother spares a few pennies to buy him a frivolity.

It's what he doesn’t say that tells you the most about him. The way he fidgets with his clothes when he’s nervous. The brief panic that shoots through him whenever you call his name before he relaxes when he realizes it’s just you. The way he shies away from people in the hallways, just to avoid any contact whatsoever.

The fact that he never talks about his father.

The way he curls into himself when he’s being bullied.

“You should be apologizing to me for being in my way right about now, freak,” Andreas taunts him. He’s knocked Alexander’s books to the ground, like some sort of cartoon caricature of a bully, and you’re fed up.

“Hey!” Without missing a beat, you slide yourself between Alexander and Andreas. You’ve recently hit a bit of a growth spurt, so you note with a bit of smugness that you’re at least an inch or two taller than Andreas. You’re also quite a bit taller than Alexander, you realize. The two of you are usually sitting when you talk, so you’ve never really noticed.

“Leave him alone!” You stand your ground even as Andreas fixes you with a withering glare.

“Ah, so you’re gonna let your big strong girlfriend fight your fights now, is that it?” Andreas sneers. Alexander stiffens behind you, and you decide right then and there that you’ve had enough of this nonsense.

“You’re the last person who should be bringing up girlfriends, Andreas,” you say, staring him down with a look that you hope is sufficiently intimidating. “Everybody knows Yulia broke up with you because you can’t get it up.” You don’t know Yulia. You don’t give enough of a shit about Andreas to follow the gossip about him. But by the way his cheeks get ruddy, you know you’ve struck a nerve. The handful of spectators your little confrontation has attracted snicker.

“You little bitch,” he snarls. You hear the gasp of the students surrounding you before you feel it. You put a hand to your rapidly reddening cheek.

The little twerp had slapped you.

“That’s what you get for getting in my way,” he says, with a smug little look that you want to wipe off his face.

You’re not a violent person. And honestly, you could have been expelled for what happens next. But you cast a quick glimpse behind you at Alexander on the ground, and something about the look in his eyes reminds you of that bird you rescued, and a quick and hot anger rises in you.

You punch Andreas.

With no wind-up, no warning, you break his nose, and he drops like a rock, howling and clutching at the blood pouring from his nostrils. A sick little giggle comes out of you as you watch, drowned out by the uproar of your little audience.

“What on earth is going on here?!” You hear a teacher roar, and the crowd quickly begins to scatter. Without hesitation, you pull Alexander up and escape before you can be subjected to the consequences of your actions.

“Boy, am I glad he didn’t put up more of a fight,” you say gleefully, high on adrenaline. “That could have gotten quite ugly.”

“I didn’t know you had that in you,” Alexander says when the two of you have gotten far away enough. The way he looks at you now is a little different—almost reverent.

“I didn’t know either!” you say. “I’ve never done that before!”

“Who knew such a pretty rose had such sharp thorns?” he mumbles to himself. Your eyes zip to him, and even he looks surprised at the words coming out of his mouth.

“A pretty rose?” you tease, nudging him on the arm. He flushes pink and turns away, but there’s a bit of a lopsided half-smile on his lips.

You’re not sure why, but the sight of it makes your skin tingle.

The first few years of high school are relatively uneventful outside of skirmishes with Alexander’s various tormentors. Your biggest regret is that you can’t always be there for him—sometimes you have to spend your free periods catching up on readings or speaking with teachers. But you’re always there for him afterwards, poison in your voice as you hatch plans to make his bullies’ lives miserable. The plans never go anywhere, but thinking about retribution always seems to make him perk up a little. And really, that’s all that matters to you.

It's silly, how long it took you to realize how much of a fixture he was in your life. There’s a street corner a few blocks from the school you always meet him at so the two of you can walk the rest of the way together. The few times you share classes, you’re always sitting together, exchanging notes and quietly judging your classmates together. And you always, always sit with him during lunch. Even when you start making other friends who surely would welcome you at their tables, you always return to the quiet green-eyed boy in the corner.

You tell yourself it’s because he’s lonely, and he needs the company. You tell yourself the rumors about the two of you are silly, the result of bored hormonal teenagers who can’t fathom being a genuine friend to someone of the opposite sex. You tell yourself it means nothing that your face feels warm whenever he smiles at you.

You never get the chance to figure out if it does mean anything. He gives you the bad news on the last day of classes before summer break.

“I…I see,” you say, trying to swallow past the lump in your throat. For once, you’re at a loss of what to say. His fingers twist around each other in his lap, the way they only do when he’s really anxious.

“Well, a fresh start is good, right?” You offer him a smile, but your heart’s not in it. Maybe you haven’t spent as much time with him as you used to back in first year—you’ve started to take more advanced classes, and you’ve been so swamped with homework and projects that sometimes hanging out with Alexander is put on the back burner. But you’d always taken comfort in knowing that he would always be there at mealtime. A steady presence in your life, as everything around you seems to be speeding towards a future you’re not quite ready for yet.

Now he’s leaving. You’d like to think your concern is for him—what’s to say his new school won’t also be rife with harassment? Will he be able to make new friends? Or will he be all alone at the lunch table again? But really, who are you trying to fool? The sudden heaviness in your chest is selfish. What are you going to do without him?

The roaring in your head stills as you feel his hand cover yours. You stare at it dumbly, unable to lift your head and look him in the eyes. Your gut feels like it’s flipping and twisting all over itself.

You lift your eyes to his. For one breathless, indescribable moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. You’re sure he’s going to kiss you. You lean closer to him, and you can feel his breath on your lips.

Your eyes slide shut.

A shout startles your eyes back open, and he jolts away from you. It’s your mother, calling that she’s here to pick you up. You let out a frustrated noise as you call back to her that you’re coming before turning back to him.

The moment is long gone, and your heart twinges with regret as he avoids meeting your gaze. “You’ll write to me, won’t you?” you say softly. “And we can still see each other?”

“Of course I will, rosethorn,” he says, with that shy little smile you love so much.

You don’t see him for another ten years.

I couldn't utter my love when it counted I couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted Ah, but I'm singing like a bird 'bout it now

It’s ironic, really. Saving birds. Saving boys. But the one person you can’t save is yourself.

Your life post-König is like the drop on a roller coaster, but with none of the thrill. High school flies by in a flurry of deadlines and mental breakdowns. It’s worth it when you get into a good university—at least, you thought so. In reality, there’s no work in Austria for someone with your degree. Your parents are older, well on their way towards retirement, so you find yourself unwilling to burden them. You’re lost, stuck, and so very alone.

And then you meet him.

Tall, handsome, a little older, with a blossoming career. In hindsight, how much of a perfect package he presented himself as was the earliest red flag. But when you’re young and behind on rent, anything better than that feels like a miracle.

You know better, really. You knew it the whole time. Getting married after knowing each other for 2 months isn’t as bad as it could be, but it’s still too quick for your comfort. But the eviction notice was on your door, and he was a perfect gentleman. What could go wrong, right?

Everything. He at least has the decency to keep up the façade for another month, but that’s the only credit you’ll ever give the man you’ve shackled yourself to. It becomes increasingly obvious that he only married you to have a live-in maid while he philanders around as he pleases. You try, oh god do you try, for five long, fruitless years. God, it’s so silly when you think about it. You liked him so much, it took you so long to realize he had never liked you in the first place. He’d scooped up the first desperate college grad he’d found, and thinking about it makes you want to hide from everyone you know.

Which you do: hiding from what few friends you do have, hiding from your parents, hiding from the part of your brain that screams that you’re wasting the best years of your life cleaning up after a grown man who won’t even touch you, much less fuck you. Your 20s are for drinking, one-night stands, and figuring out what the fuck the rest of your life is going to look like. There is plenty of drinking, but the rest of it, not so much.

You’re going to divorce him, you tell yourself in year six. Once you get a job, you’re out. But you’re no fresh grad anymore, and the 6-year gap in your resume isn’t helping matters. You spot a glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel when he tells you you’re moving: his company is offering him a higher paid position, and it’s in a bustling downtown area. Plenty of opportunity for you, right?

That’s when he starts hitting you.

You’re away from your parents, your friends, your home. You took English classes, but that won’t exactly help you in this equally European foreign country whose language you don’t speak. Now that you’re approaching your 30s, your husband seems to be rapidly realizing that his youth is also disappearing. His new job is more stressful, and most days he has no outlet for it other than taking it out on you.

Now you long for the days when he didn’t come home until you’d already fallen asleep.

And then the terror attacks begin, and your once-bustling city shuts down. More isolation. Even less hope. You stay at home all day, torn between hoping someone will get rid of your husband for you and the abject terror of being left all alone in a foreign country torn apart by violent partisans.

That’s when the despair really sets in: you’ve wasted over a decade in this awful, dead-end relationship. Sure, you’ve got a roof over your head and food in your stomach: you should feel grateful. But you don’t.

You start hoping the attacks will take you out instead.

I fled to the city with so much discounted Ah, but I'm flying like a bird to you now Back to the hedgerows where bodies are mounted

“There are mercenaries in town.”

You look up from your breakfast, lost in thought thinking about all the errands you have to run today. “Yeah?”

“About time we stopped relying on our corrupt fucking military,” he grumbles. “Maybe they’ll end this goddamn conflict once and for all.”

You don’t have much to say about that. What does it matter to you, anyway? The only conflict that matters to you lives at home, and you stopped trying to fight it a long time ago.

“The curfew’s a pain in the ass, though. You behave yourself, you hear me?” His sharp glare reminds you that he’s not saying this out of a concern for your safety: if you make trouble for him, you’ll pay for it later. You nod mutely.

Your morning goes by relatively uneventfully. You do the dishes, stare at the wall, sigh, stare at the wall some more. As much of a prison as this apartment is, you like it decently well when he’s not in it. Going outside and seeing the ravages of war all around you is anxiety-inducing. But you can’t put off buying groceries anymore.

The arrival of the mercenaries makes itself immediately apparent. The streets are somehow even emptier, and what people there are on the streets move quickly and cast suspicious glances at everyone else.

You were hoping not to interact with anybody, but your hopes are dashed when you see a checkpoint ahead, manned by soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms. Although most of them are wearing different gear, they still look more orderly and well-kept than the country’s own military. Murder must pay well.

You look around nervously, but there’s no alternate route here, and nobody local going through with you. You strongly consider going home, but you’d just have to do this all over again tomorrow.

You steel yourself with a deep breath.

“Identification?”

You show the mercenary your ID with trembling fingers, gripping your bag tightly and praying he doesn’t find your nervousness suspicious.

“Where are you headed?”

“Just—just down the street,” you say, wincing at your heavy German accent. Years upon years of living here and you still sound like a foreigner. “Getting food.” You’re so anxious you forget the word for “groceries” for a moment. You only know enough of the local language to get by, and you’re sure you must sound like a kindergartener.

The soldier raises an eyebrow at you. “You are German?”

“I…Austrian,” you answer hesitantly. Oh God, you hope there’s no issue with that. You’re not so much afraid of being detained as you are of getting home too late to make dinner.

“Interesting.” The soldier hands back your ID. “Our commander is Austrian, as well.”

You perk up a little bit at that. You’ve met a handful of German-speakers here, but not a single one of your countrymen.

Well. Aside from the one who came here with you.

“He should actually be arriving here any moment now. Big guy in a hood. You can’t miss him. They call him König.” As if on cue, a military grade vehicle pulls up to the checkpoint, military personnel stepping out. And then…

Your blood runs cold.

Nothing, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of the beast that steps out of the car. Even from a short distance, you can tell he’s a colossal size. Two metres tall, easily, wearing a dark hood that reminds you of a medieval executioner. And as if that weren’t intimidating enough, two red trails, like bloody tears, are bleached under his eyes. His eyes, which must have some sort of black paint around them, giving him the impression of being two eyes staring out at you from the pitch blackness of the hood.

Two piercing green eyes.

Trained directly on your face.

Staring in disbelief.

“I…need to return home. I’ve forgotten something.” All worries about appearing suspicious fly out the window as the enormous man in the hood hesitates for a moment before making his way towards you with alarming speed.

You all but fly back down the street, making a beeline for your building. Just a few moments ago, you were excited to meet the man. Now, the image of his eyes staring into yours fills you with a fear you can’t describe.

The next day you take a long detour to avoid the checkpoint. It’ll take you twice as long to get home this time, but it’s worth it. You can’t put the shopping off another day: the brand-new bruise on your arm throbs as a reminder. And you certainly don’t want to run into the hooded soldier again.

You get your shopping done without much fanfare. The old lady cashier, who usually looks at you from over her glasses with the stern look you’ve seen a lot of people around here level at foreigners, even pressed a piece of candy from behind the register into your hand. You’re pretty sure it’s just because she wanted to get rid of it, but it does wonders for your mood.

You’re busy plotting when to enjoy your little treat when you turn a corner and freeze.

He’s here. He’s there, standing in an alleyway near your building. Somehow even larger than you remember him yesterday, still wearing that awful hood.

Does he know where you live? You curse yourself for running straight home yesterday. He must have seen the direction you went in—or did he follow you? You attempt to quietly retreat and take another route home, but your shoe scuffs a paving stone. And like a hawk spotting its prey, his head darts towards you.

You book it.

“Wait!” calls a deep voice. Tears spring to your eyes as you hear heavy footsteps pursuing you. What have you done to deserve this? You’re no criminal. Your only crime is being a naïve dumbass in your twenties.

Your arm burns as you turn corner after corner, not bothering to take note of where you’re going. It’s no use, though: you can hear him gaining on you. Fuck, is this it? You can’t even fathom what he wants you for, and you don’t want to think about it either—

“Rosethorn!” You come to a screeching halt.

There’s only one person who has ever called you that.

You turn around, chest heaving with exertion, as the hooded soldier—König, the soldier said his name was—comes into view, approaching you slowly.

“It’s me,” he says, holding his hands out like he’s approaching a wounded animal. You’re not really sure what the point is, considering the gigantic knife he’s got strapped to his thigh is intimidating all on its own, but somehow it still puts you at ease.

“Alex...?” you whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

“Yes,” he says. His posture has changed from when you saw him at the checkpoint. He’s hunching over, trying to make himself smaller. It reminds you of that first day when you sat next to him at lunch.

It’s him.

You instantly drop all your bags and cling to him in a hug, tears spilling from your eyes. He’s so different: most obviously, he's so tall. He must have hit some growth spurt after he moved away, because he towers over you now. You can feel under all the gear that he’s put on serious muscle—not surprising for a soldier, of course. And when his arms fold themselves over you, you’re filled with a sense of safety you haven’t felt in a long time.

“What are you doing here?” you both ask at the same time. A giggle bubbles out of you as you watch his eyes crinkle in an obvious smile. God, his eyes are so green.

“I’m stationed here because of the conflict,” he says. “But what are you doing here? I contacted your parents, and they said you had moved here, but they didn’t say why.”

You’re not surprised. You’re still in contact with your parents, but you don’t talk about the elephant in your home. You know they would have helped you, if only you had asked for it, but you never have.

“I…it’s complicated,” you say, withdrawing from the hug. You stare at the ground, brushing away the wetness in your eyes.

“I have nothing urgent right now,” he says, staring at you intently.

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I…got married,” you whisper.

Instantly, his body language changes, stiffening in shock. He takes a half-step away from you, which makes you want to cry all over again. This is awful. This is humiliating. You wish you could go back in time and shake some sense into yourself.

“I see,” he says in a strangled voice. “Congratulations.”

Despite your best efforts, the tears spill over again. “No, not congratulations,” you say. “It—”

It was the worst mistake of your life, you want to say, but you just can’t get the words out. He must notice you beginning to quake with fear, because he raises a hand to touch you gently on the arm—right on the bruise.

His stare hardens as he watches you flinch. “Rosethorn, what’s the matter?”

Everything, you want to say. I’m standing in an alleyway with my childhood crush, shaking like a leaf because a monster lives in my house, and I can’t get away from him.

With a feather-like touch surprising for a man with such large hands—he grew so much— he goes to push up your sleeve. You catch a glimpse of the bruise before you have to turn away again, shuddering. It’s ugly: black and green, and very clearly shaped like a human grip.

“I…bumped into a shelf,” you say lamely. You can’t bring yourself to rope him into your troubles. He’s a soldier now, for Pete’s sake. He has bigger problems.

You can’t read his expression due to the hood—but there’s a blazing anger in his eyes you remember all too well. The quiet fury you often saw in him so many years ago.

He must see in your expression that you don’t want to be questioned about it right now, and thankfully, he relents. With an ease in his movement that must stem from some newfound confidence, he reaches over and picks up your bags for you. “Let me carry these for you.”

It’s nice, to be taken care of for once.

Your mad dash took both of you quite far away from your building, so you have enough time for quite a nice little chat. You tell him about your time in university, he tells you what happened to him after he moved away. He’d jumped at the chance to enlist as soon as he turned 17, on the recommendation of an uncle who had spent time in the military. You laugh when he tells you that they wouldn’t let him be a sniper, a pout in his tone. You could have imagined him as a sniper back in high school, but he’s so large now it’s impossible not to notice him.

“The discipline was good for me,” he recounts. “I needed to grow a spine.”

“Don’t say that. You were just trying to get by in school, like everybody else.”

He shrugs. “I wanted to be like you.”

“Like me?” You ask incredulously.

“My rose with thorns,” he says, with a fondness that makes you blush. “Do you remember that day you punched that punk Andreas?”

“How could I forget? My fist hurt for days,” you say with a grin. “But I didn’t regret it for a second.”

He looks down at you—that’s new—with pride in his eyes. “I thought about you that day all throughout training,” he says. “You were my guardian angel.”

Your cheeks grow even warmer, and you feel like a teenager again. How can he still make you feel this way so easily after all this time? “He had a punchable face,” you say dismissively. “If not me, then it would have been someone else.”

You’re almost disappointed to arrive home. Only yesterday, home was your sanctuary. Now, it means being separated from the one person you trust fully in this country. You turn to him, almost bashful. “This is where I live."

He sets the bags down like they’re made of fine china, and he’s standing so close you almost stop breathing. The air is charged, the same way it felt that night when you almost kissed. You watch him as he watches you.

“Can I see you again?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“Of course,” you say, and the sparkle in his eye dazzles you.

You watch him leave until you can’t see him anymore. And for once, you enter your home with a light heart.

Remember me, love When I'm reborn As the shrike to your sharp And glorious thorn

if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just drop a reply! feedback is always appreciated, and my inbox is open, so please feel free to drop me an ask! I will 100% write little scenarios/headcanons about this couple because I have so many thoughts and ideas for them lol

I anticipate about 2-3 parts for this, maybe with König pov in the next part? he doesn't come across this way in this part, because it's from Thorn's perspective, but he is a very nasty boy indeed. also, I know putting lyrics in the middle of a fic is so passé, but I can't help myself. it's hozier! indulge me. also this isn't beta read so I really hope it doesn't suck

#bucca writes #könig #könig x reader #könig cod #könig mw2 #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod #mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig x reader #fic:shrike

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cherubispunk · 7 months

Text

CHERUB (PART I) - Dealer!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: your uncle can’t pay for his weed, joel finds another form of payment.

a note from Lucy: SHEEE'S BAAACK! im sorry but someone had to do it. I took it into my own hands. Hate myself...but I love this. When fleabag said ‘I am a bad feminist’>>>.

playlist | alternate banner by THE cherub @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

wc: 3377 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! no outbreak (but Sarah still dies sorry), no use of y/n but joel calls the reader ‘Cherub’, porn with little plot, bombastic age gap (reader is in her early 20's and Joel is in his late 50s), Smut, dubcon, P in V sex (unprotected), Creampie, Cumplay, dom!Joel sub!reader dynamic, sex as payment for drugs, allusions to oral - m receiving, Fingering, ever so slight assplay, Choking, gagging (not on his d tho *sigh*), panty sniffing and stealing, Light Spanking, mentions of using drugs such as weed, alcohol consumption, Smoking, use of pet names (baby, cherub, angel, good girl...etc), Joel being foul mouthed, cursing, dirty talk, spitting, spit play. Some of the most animalistic, disgustingly wretched and vile porn I have written thus far...with so little plot that this earned me my place in hell. Big Dick Joel Miller comes as his own warning.

series m.list | m.list

It was no delicate whisper, or hushed uttering that Joel Miller was now everywhere in you. Scraping the backs of your teeth, festering like a virus in your bloodstream. Melding to the marrow of your bones. The walls of your cunt.

He had a devastating habit of seeping through the cracks of your closed lids. Ready to pillage and plunder his way through your head in its numbed state of sleep. When you could have finally— finally stopped and not felt. But he ebbs deeper.

He did not belong there.

He would not belong there. You’d not give him closure to live and breathe in intimate parts of your anatomy. The only place he would be from now on was between your legs. And maybe in your bed until the wee hours of the dry morning.

That is where you would let him sit.

That is where he would stay.

You hate him. You hate his face. You hate his voice. Hate his fucking temper. But worst of all— the cataclysmic catalyst in your small world of four bedroom walls—you hate how you don’t hate him at all. Not really. Your heart wouldn’t let you. It would break your own ribs clean in two to lurch from your flayed chest and into his palms. If only he’d open them.

Joel Miller gnashed you between his teeth to let you splatter past his lips on the sun cracked dirt. He circled you like a wild cat. His pretty gazelle. Graceful, light on her feet. You felt the splintering distraction of him in the base of your skull. Dull and aching. Still there to rot into earth.

You came for the pleasure but you stayed for the pain.

Distraught with him, you contemplated desertion. Something akin to treason for his tyranny. Cowardice churning at your gut. The pleasure you would draw from the curling scowl of his coarse brows. The thin line you’d make of his lips and dark mist of hickory that would cloud his eye and better judgement.

But then what? You soon learned that if it wasn’t devastating, reaping its agony in your silly little fractured chest— you didn’t dare need, nor crave it. Joel Miller was harrowing.

Broken. Broken, broken, broken — Maimed, shattered, blistered to burst like waterlogged paint. He made you all, and nothing. Made you shrivel into your own shell at the phantom of his thought. Baring your teeth at the need to divulge in feeling deeper than satiation.

—

You’d cycled back home, hair damp and lank with rare Austin rain. Slow circles of the pedals around a pivot, swerving gently from one side of the empty road to the other. Eyes ahead of you. It was like you were floating in a daze under the yellow saturation of the streetlamps. Past shabby housing estates back to the trailer park you called home. Tips from tonight tucked into the pocket of your apron, ready to be stored under the mattress in the moth bitten pillowcase. Ready to find your flight out of this town.

You skidded to a halt in the pebble speckled dirt outside your trailer, brakes squealing in protest. Standing to lock up your bike to the railing by your uncles beat up, busted down truck. A heavy thunder cracked above, a swollen storm cloud rolling in to send the summer out on its departure with a bang. September was here. And the air smelled acidic with the promise of downpour.

Glancing at the trailer next door, you came to realise your neighbour was in. Lights on, music rattling aluminium walls of his shabby home. You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes at him as he caught your eye in his window. Watching, thumb swiping over his lower lip as he eyed you in your uniform. A stupid yellow dress and pinafore, scuffed mary janes, frilly white socks. Ketchup stains. Doe eyes glued to him, you saw a swallow pass down the thick column of his throat. His deep hickory eyes were dark black in this light, pupils blown to devour the colour.

Before the heat licking up your cheeks could pull to your centre, you moved one foot in front of the other, crashing through the door. The TV was on, a barbaric film of screams drowned out the thunder outside, rattling in your ears. Jarring? No. The regular. Your uncle, ever the washed up cop out he was, was on his fifth beer, no doubt would send a nightcap of whiskey down his throat before lugging himself off to bed. The bottle hung limp in his drunken hand, loosely dangled over the armrest of the leather couch.

He did not spare you a glance.

“I’m home.” You called out to him, waving out a hand in his direction. His sunken stoner eyes didn't drift from the box television in front of him. Merely garbled grunt, followed by a beer burp passed his lips. You sighed through your nose, teeth set on edge. “You had dinner?”

Another grunt. One you took as ‘the fuck do you think?’

You sighed, “Okay, i’ll throw somethin’ in the oven, yeah?” This time he did not spare an answer.

You took it as a blessing. Could have been worse. He could have struck you for being late, taking on overtime for Dee, the young mother who worked alongside you on friday evenings. You needed the money. Uncle Luke got laid off last month, turning up to the impound lot drunk, reeking of hard liquor and staggering around machinery.

So you left it at that, disappeared to hide your money, counting out the bills into piles of ten. Just shy of ninety six dollars. All gathered and stuffed under your mattress. Next was dinner. Nothing much in the fridge, a box of frostbitten waffle fries, out of date in the back of the freezer. Or leftover pizza from the night before. Why not both. ‘Have a feast!’ you humoured yourself dryly.

It was an hour or so later into the evening when your uncle finally spoke up, empty plate resting on his beer belly, another belch to punctuate the first words he said to you all evening.

“Do me a favour and drop by Joel's will ya, doll?” You sat up, looking at him from the lazyboy seat you perched in, feet kicking down from the coffee table.

“Joel’s? Why?” He looked over to see your brow furrowed in question.

“Usual dealer is outta town. Joel’s hookin’ me up with some in the meantime.”

“Come on,” You sighed, tilting your head at him the way a parent would do with a child in pity, “I thought you were clean.”

“It’s just weed.” He snapped, voice gruff in his thick drawl, slurred. “Aint gonna fuckin’ kill me. But you might. Expensive brat.”

The thought flickered across your mind to argue. Fight back. Tell him you were fighting tooth and nail for the rent due next month. But the bruise of his handprint and the simmering burn of his slap to your face the night before stopped your words dry in your throat.

“Fine.” You sighed.

And so, with heavy feet and a grudge in your tight chest, you ambled on over to the next door, knuckles rapping on his door three times quickly.

Joel Miller opened the door with a puff of air out his nose, cigarette hanging loose from his lips. A barrel chested man in a tight wife beater and low slung dirty jeans, brow set in stone. The corner of his lip curled into a sneer of a smirk, taking no shame in the fact he was eyeing you head to toe. The devil down smirk. It made something disgusting tug at your insides, pool deeper in the thick of tension.

“What can I do for you?” He asked in a drawl, crossing great oaks of arms over his chest. The neck of his tank let tease a smattering of salt and pepper hair over the top of his chest. Bristly, wiry. You ignored the urge to feel it catch in your nails. Do the same with the scruff, scant over his jaw. The same gradient. Just as coarse.

“Um,” You eyes dropped from their ogling to the step your feet were planted on, head hung with them, “Uncle Luke said you had somethin’ for ‘im.” You mumbled after clearing your throat.

“I do.” He nodded, pinching his cig between his thick thumb and forefinger, taking a drag and parting it with his lips. He squinted as he exhaled, the stench of the cigarette catching bitter in your nose. “He sent you over here to get it? A sweet lil’ thing like you.”

You nodded hesitantly, still not daring to look at the man in front of you. Above you. He chuckled inwardly at your display of subservience, cock twitching behind the zipper and denim of his jeans. “Look’t ya.” He mused, tossing his dying cigarette onto the gravel, hooking his tobacco stained fingers under your chin to lift it. While your head tilted up at his touch, your eyes strained to stay on the floor. He watched as the stretch of your neck struggled to accommodate a nervous swallow, skin rippling deliciously under his hold. “Lil’ angel aint ya?” He thumbed your head to the side, eyes relishing in the sight of more skin, the wash of yellow light over your profile. “A Cherub.” Cherub. That’s what he named you. His little Cherub who was defiled and taken in a heated, frantic assembly of limbs. Pulled to fire at hell's mouth. Joel Miller's mouth.

Still you looked down. “Look at me, Cherub.” And with a heavy sigh you did. That was what was so easy about Joel. It took nothing to obey. Nothing to give in and keel over at his side. “That's better.” He mumbled under his breath, watching the rise of your chest. You could feel the pert tips of your breasts pebble at the meeting of his eyes, mixed with his touch. How delicate it was now. How deranged it would be later. “Come on in…Cherub.” He practically crooned the pet name, stepping aside.

You passed the threshold, a mistake for the best and words parts of you. Because stepping across that line was the damning event in your experience of Joel Miller. Pandora’s box had been opened, left to decay in the woods somewhere as evil poured guilt free from it.

He rummaged around for a second, pulling a clear plastic ziplock bag from a duffel in the corner, dangling it in front of your face. A dirt green, clustered in form. You reached to take it, but he snatched it back with a cruel smile, making the walls of your stomach curl in dread, jaw clamp shut.

“Luke’s gotta pay up, first. He give you money for me?” You shook your head. His eyes clouded darker. “No?” He raised an amused brow, “How you gonna pay for it, Cherub?”

You're stumped. “I– I…” Your voice died in your throat. But Joel can seemingly peer inside you to your own mind, part it like a page of a book or your own legs.

“I don’t want your money, baby.”

“Woulda been mine, anyway.” You sigh. And he narrows his eyes at you, tutting in disappointment.

“I can think ’f one thing that’ll make it up to me.”

And that's how you ended up here. His thick, intruding fingers hooking into your mouth, unhinging your jaw as he speared you on his cock. Everything about him was larger than life. Even the way he breathed was domineering. Fucking you with flared nostrils that gave way to a billowing a breath. The other hand at your neck, revelling at the feeling of your pulse hammering under his splayed palm. Worming your way though cracks in his thick ribs while took you.

He had folded you in half, pressed the knobbles of your knees up to the sides of your head as tears ran thick, hot and slow down your temples. He made it hurt. But you loved it. Needed him to evaporate into air so you inhale him. Devour him.

He grunted, watching in furrowed brow amusement while his thumb pressed into the soft flesh under your jaw, middle and forefinger coated in your slick form earlier and now your own saliva.

It was a primal image. One some may find disgusting. To see him bent over you and ravaging your cunt raw. Bleeding you dry of a semblance of sanity. It was so easy when the tip of his hot, angry cock nipped at the mouth of your cervix with vigour like that. His hand is at your throat, pressing a purple bruise into your flesh over the old one made by another man. For you to marvel at later when he once again staggers from bed to refresh himself with a cool beer, clutching the ache that curled at the base of his spine.

In his eyes, you needed a big god. A man to keep you to yourself. Never have you stray. Ground you with the slamming of his pelvis into your hips. Legs parted for him to eye the very core of you. The seam he would part with two fingers, hot, needly, wet for him. Aching and pinching and shuddering around his digits, tongue, dick. Letting him invade you like the good girl he told you you were, crooning into your ear with hot damp breaths.

Joel dredged up an ache of humanity in you that felt numb so long before. Lay dormant in the chasm of your stomach. Swallowed like a peach pit to choke on later. After the sin had dried like the sweat on your skin.

“Fucking easy, ain’t ya, Cherub.” He would say as he penetrated your walls, invaded your mouth with his fingers. His lips draw open mouthed, wet kisses to the delicate column of your throat, down the bone between your breasts. Then he leans back, watching intently as his hips slow to grind, dragging the slick of your walls to drench the base of his cock. Ready for you to take down your throat later if he wished to meld you into that position. A hand let free the grip on your throat, instead watched with fascination as he slapped your tit, took the swell of it in his palm, cupping it, tugging at your pearled nipple. “Gonna take all of it for me, Cherub.”

You garbled out a yes, a cry of submission to him. Before, Joel never felt the acidic aftertaste of guilt for being selfish. Since he lost Sarah, he took it upon himself to have what he wanted and when he wanted it, without a damn for the rest of humanity.

The only time he felt a shred of remorse was when he stole you; Hid you away from the warm, nurturing touch of others' more loving, less brutal hands. But you were his Cherub. All that was pretty a beautiful and to be desired in the world.

With his lip between his teeth, his thumb swiped tight circles over your swollen clit, slick aiding him in the fluidity of his strokes, heavy balls drizzled in your arousal as they slap wetly against your ass. A nod and his fingers slip further into your mouth, opening your jaw wider to peer inside. A glob of his spit drooled past his lips, splattering thick and warm upon your clit. It slid down to your entrance, where he punctures moans out of you, shaft stretching you, fucking you out, and thrusting with the intent to break you. You can feel the curve of it, the vein that runs steady on the underside of it. Heavy, full. You remember the slap it sounded out when you reached to pull it free. Before he parted your legs wide and sheathed himself in your pussy with one swift wane of his hips.

Joel smiles when you sob and break down for him, pull back a layer for him to slip into you. The walls of you drag him down into a grounding. A centre of a universe. Gravity strong enough to implode, create dark matter, compress tightly into a black hole. The centre of his universe.

“Does my baby want it?” He crooned, and you yelped a yes, strangled by his being. The scent of him clinging to you, your sex. It gnarled at your skin. Scratched marks into flesh. “Does she want to come for me?”

You didn't have to nod, he made you with his grip on your jaw. It was going to be your answer anyway. “Want you to say it for me too, Cherub.”

“Yea, Joel!” You yelp, voice shrill, and cracked like the callus on the heel of his hand. “Yes!”

He grins, wicked and wrapped with the inter to tear you apart from the inside with the jackhammering of his cock inside you, The delicious, toe curling numbness of it inside you.

“Come on, Cherub, sing f’me.”

“Yes-” It's a shriek, a quick, frenzied shriek. One that filled the hollow of your chest and then deflated it. “Yes! Please, please, please- Please!”

Your begging melts in his ears, the sight of eyes rolled back, mouth open for him. And he needs to feel, reaching between where the two of you join with your own hand. The base of his cock now between your middle and ring fingers, his length swiping your fingers in combined precum and slick as he bucks his hips violently. The headboard shakes and trembles beneath his frantic movement. And he presses the heel of your hand into your clit, having you seeing stars. Crying to the heavens you fell from.

His little Cherub. Plush skin and plump curves for his teeth to sink into and mark his territory. Whenever he may please now.

“Come.”

And you do, screaming his name to him as a numb weight fills the pit of your core, has your pussy pulsing in waves, ebbs and flows. It sucks him deeper, a lew squelch gaining his attention when his lower abdomen and balls tighten. He lets out a strangled groan, filling you with one final push upon your cervix.

It has you gasping for air, chest heaving when he looks down between you, the white sticky ooze of his come seeping from your walls, softening cock still sheathed inside of you. Not ready to pull from the warmth your cunt hugs him with.

“That’s it, angel, down you come.” He coos, before sifting his hips, leaving you to whine as your gaping hole fluttered furiously around nothing.

He stands, pulls his jeans on, fly still undone, belt buckle loose and clinking at his sides. He swipes your underwear from the scattering of your clothes over the musty carpet, bringing it to his nose to inhale. “Part of the payment.” He mumbles, not that you’re listening, mind still swimming in its pool of oxytocin. And he slips the lace into his jean pocket, baby pink peeking out from denim.

“Better get back, Cherub.” Joel said plainly, fingers dancing over your used hole, as cum dribbles gluttonously from it, down your crack to your puckered asshole. He thumbs it gently and you squeal, squirming away. His hand clamps down upon your thigh, dragging you back down the mattress to his unyielding touch.

“Don’t be ungrateful now.” He growls, collecting the creamy spend with two fingers, scooping it back inside you. Your body jolts from the intrusion, but gathers itself again and desire swims low in the swell of your belly. “Want it all in ya’. Fillin’ you nice and good for me, Cherub. There we are, that’s it.” He smiles, eyes unmoving from your cunt as his fingers disappear inside and stretch it out, scissoring you to overstimulation. “Maybe one day i’ll get to use this one too…” And you feel his thumb once more at your butt, adding the smallest tease of pressure.

Joel pulled back, clapping a hand down on the plush, malleable skin of your thigh.

“Up ‘n out, Cherub, ‘fore your uncle gets suspicious.”

You know Uncle Luke won’t know any different. He’s passed out on the sofa when you get in, legs trembling with an ache weighing the marrow of your bones. You shut the door with your back and a shaking huff, tossing the weed onto the coffee table, retiring to your room, sobbing to nothing and no one but your grimy pillow, licking your wounds like the wounded bitch you had now become.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x #the last of us #the last of us fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel tlou #lu’s little bookshelf #joel the last of us #tlou #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal #dealer!joel

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luvmist · 1 year

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GRAVE, PART TWO! ♡ (2.2k) part one.

ao’nung x f! reader.

COMPENDIUM: when secrecy begins to turn potent love into a wilting flower.

WARNINGS: kissing, cussing, fluff and angst.

LOLA SAYS: bit of a necessary filler before the real meat of the story comes into play. i hate this so please leave some constructive criticism. reblogs are also deeply appreciated.

your hands tremble as you intertwine three strands of dried sea grass together. your breathing ragged, as another piercing gash of pain struck though your chest. alone on the sand, in the dark. wondering how it had all lead to this. crying harder, you tug the necklace off your throat — shells and stones came flying off as well as the clasp. you stare at what you’ve done. then, you stand. leaving the remains of it on the shore. the waves will take it, as they took him. it was all over now.

but i’m getting ahead of myself. allow me to divulge into the ever so tumultuous tale of how you got yourself here, in the first place.

“marek? fucking, marek?” ao’nung was pissed.

“what was i supposed to say? it was the best i could come up with.” so were you.

“sure, or here is an idea. you could’ve told them the damn truth!” ao’nungs most favoured eminent statement he had repeated perhaps a dozen times within the precedent nine minutes.

this fight wasn’t going anywhere.

you’d never seen ao’nung so livid. typically, in times of conflict — he was relaxed. composed and stoic. staring down his opposer and indulging in ample beats to elect his proceeding words. now, he was agitated. sweating, rasping, desperately imploring you to hear him. to see him.

you had other ideas. “i won’t ao’nung. i won’t lose my family.” his face creased in a despicable manner. he was aching. “i cannot take what i did back. i know this. but please. your family will come around. they must.” his fists were clenched. his gaze, full of self loathing. it was like he was trying to convince himself. he wasn’t that bad, was he? “ao’nung. look at me.” you interject. he does. “i told you what this was from the start. we die with this. if you want me. you can only have me in secret.” his anger arose once more. “that does not mean you had to go and tell your brothers that you are with marek.” he spoke the boys name as if it were venomous. seething with refutation. his jaw was clenching. he was huffing. moving closer. “i could not have said anything else. telling them the necklace was from tsireya or kiri would not have explained the secrecy.” your eyes brimmed with tears. silence filled the marui. he put his big, calloused hands on your face. bringing you closer. you looked up at him. “fine. we’ll make it work then.” he strained. his words were hollow. desperate, meaningless words from a tired man. his face discredited his truce and underlined the falseness of his acceptance. anguished words from a despaired boy. clinging so urgently to what you had. to you. he was lying. he didn’t want to do this anymore. yet, you mirrored him. you as well, were a demoralised and exhausted girl. thus, you professed. made as if you gave him any credence, and nodded. he pressed his lips to yours — hard. an affirmation, an alleviation. to the grave. why did this feel like goodbye?

contrary to ao’nungs hellish distate, marek was a decent guy. excellent hunter, friendly, cordial. much esteemed by the metkayina. most importantly, he possessed the approval of your family. telling neteyam you and marek were courting was a rash decision. while listening to your siblings ululate and whoop at the counterfeit communiqué was insufferable — the consequences of this aforementioned action bore far heavier consequences. for starters, after the festivities took place, you had to go find marek. explain the situation, get him on board and cross your fingers in a slumbering prayer that he would keep your secret. to summarise it briefly — it went a little like this.

“huh? you told your family what now?” marek’s amusement should have served as reassurance, but it was rather aggravating given the position you were in. “yes, okay. i understand this situation may seem ridiculous, comical even. but i need to know if you’ll help me.” you reply curtly. “i don’t know, yn. might ruin my good boy reputation. being seen around with a fire cracker like yourself.” his side smile faltered when he saw the look of pure defeat you had plastered on your face. he could tell too, you were incredibly tired. “i’ll do it.” he nodded. a sigh of relief you didn’t know you had been holding escaped your lips and for the first time in hours, you allowed your shoulders to slump. “thank you, shit. thank you.” when you opened your eyes you were met with a peculiar peer. marek had stopped polishing the ilu riding geer, and stilled his hands. “look i know it’s none of my business but are you sure your family will–” you don’t let him finish, “marek. please. don’t.” he nods again in acknowledgement, this time looking at his feet. “so you’ll really do it?” you break the silence. marek’s bright smile returns on cue, “sure, i have some time to kill.” grateful, you hug him. he returns it with one arm, rubbing the small of your back. you really needed a hug.

the lie was told. you, marek and a very frustrated ao’nung set some ground rules. a summary is of this is simply unecessary because the vast majority of the interaction consisted of you pushing at ao’nungs chest to keep his fist away from a chipper and upbeat marek. he made sure to mumble “fuckin’ hate perky people” four times not so under his breath. a little to release, and you think a little to underline how different him and marek were. a silent hope that you’d forever prefer him over the boy. you would. oh, but if only others would too.

invites and redundant swooning flooded the next week of your life like a fountain of torment unleashed of restriction. a new pair, one day to be mated. how dazzling. you quite literally wanted to disappear. your siblings, always insisting you bring marek along to any given activity they could possibly conjure into existence. neteyam and lo’ak were keen from the beginning, but there was conflict between you and kiri after the data disclosure. justly, she was upset you hadn’t told her. it took her a few days to get over it.

during hang outs, marek would sling an arm over your shoulder, stand next to you. that’s as much physical contact as ao’nung was willing to allow. although, willing is rather potent term. ao’nung kept his eyes locked on you both every minute of it. watching neteyam laugh with marek, his jealousy spiked. neteyam was all over marek, eager to get acquainted with his little sister’s future mate. making brotherly jokes, asking questions, getting protective and warning marek that if he hurt you he’d tie his tail into a knot. all ao’nung could think was that it should be him. it should be him getting to know your family, it should be him with him with an arm around you, laughing as kiri told him your embarrassing childhood stories. despite insisting to be there every time you were all together, he wouldn’t say a word. chest puffed up and arms crossed. his eyes full of something noxious. regret, envy, pain. a lethal combination. to say the least, the lie was difficult to keep up with.

marek was a good sport. he was extroverted, likeable and easy to communicate with. all qualities that ao’nung did not possess. marek was amiable. organically positive, a light hearted guy. particularly good spirited. you couldn’t stand him. the urge to roll your eyes every time his affable dialogue erupted into song with absolutely each and every person you would cross paths with was becoming unfathomably ardent. finally, the walk of shame had come to it’s termination. you had arrived at your marui. “well, i think today went good.” marek smiled at you. you thought you might vomit. shame, poor boy. “yeah. thank you again.”

when eclipse ultimately came to beckon the day to its end, you were finally freed. lying on ao’nungs chest. his tact felt so different. he was always so, so tense. heartbeat racing, not with excitement — but with the turbulence of his distress. you let your fingers graze over his stomach. he had lost weight. guilt plagued your heart. “what is this doing to us?” you whispered into his skin. he looked down at you. his churning countenance causing your eyebrows to furrow. “you only look good with me.” he stated sternly. his lips were in a tight line. “i know that. you think i enjoy this? any of it? i can’t stand guys like marek. you don’t need to convince me.” you say. exasperated. pretending there were no problems only indented a void between the two of you. ao’nungs eyes soften for the first time in what feels like forever. he sits up, and by effect of aftermath, you do too. “thank, eywa!” he gasps, throwing his head back and laughing. how you missed that booming, boyish laugh. “i was worried, my love. worried that you might end up preferring him. i know i am not as he is.” you smiled sweetly, the reverberations of that energy were ramified with the saccharine gesture of ao’nung smiling back at you. “are you kidding? do you have any idea how thankful i am that you are not as he is? i never would have fallen in love with you.” ao’nung tilted his head as he listened. his eyes glazed with honeyed affection. “walking with him is the worst part–” you stop to giggle, “that boy is friends with everyone! he is nice to people he is not even close with. honestly a nightmare.” ao’nung releases a content sigh. “so you would not rather a go lucky boyfriend like him?” he asks, a glint of insecurity shimmering behind his smile. “never that.” you rub the back of his wrist reassuringly. you feel his hands under your thighs as he tugs you onto his lap. “yeah?” he was smirking now. you put your hands around his neck, playing with the baby curls at the back of his scalp. “you are my only.” he kissed you, he kissed you like a man starved. his tongue evoking the stars to descend and decorate your cheeks. you stayed like this, bathing in the shine of being alive in one another. but eywa had different plans. your limbs entangled as he hauled you into his feathered rib cage, inking his finger prints into your torso — the actions were possible, passionate. but for how much longer still? he was growing tired. his bones were withering from the rotting burden of secrecy.

that following afternoon, carving drift wood by the docks. neteyam was sat beside you, as he skilfully engraved shapes into the pot he was sculpting, he spoke. “listen, about marek.” you rolled your eyes. marek was all anyone wanted to talk about. “are you sure about him?” neteyam finished. you snapped you head in his direction. “what? i thought you liked the guy.” you all but exclaimed. “i do.” he responds cooly. “then what’s this about?” you demand again. “i don’t know, just doesn’t seem like your kind of guy. that’s all. always saw you with someone a little more–” “standoffish?” you inquire. “i was going for reserved. but i guess standoffish, sure. a guy who values exclusivity. someone less… approachable? you were always fond of feeling special.” you raised your eyebrows. your brother knew you well. “but as long as you’re happy, yn. honest. just remember picking a mate doesn’t have to be about making us happy.” you smiled. a true, warm smile. “thank you, brother.”

you pressed a kiss to his cheek. and flew to your feet. you had to find ao’nung. running past the docks and through, you finally reached the peer. you spot him. standing in the water with a tsurak. stroking the animal’s spiked spine. and making his calling sounds, probably attempting to attract more. he had riding geer slung over his shoulder. when you reach the water the splashing makes him turn. “ma ao’nung!” his face scrunches up before he’s catching you mid fall. what were you doing here, hands on him, in broad day light? “i have an idea.” you beamed. “we’re going to tell them?” ao’nung lit up with hope. “what? no way. i was just thinking i could end things with marek now. i have an excuse.” ao’nung didn’t attempt to hide his disappointment. turning his body away from you he let out a passive “ah.” you pulled away from him too. “thought you’d be happy.” it came out a lot more aggressive than you meant it to. “i’m sick of this now.” his voice became low. he was practically growling. “don’t be that way, come on.” you press a kiss to the side of his mouth. he was about to say something, when suddenly his eyes widened. horror, relief, shock. and horror again. you shifted to look where he was looking. tsireya. tsireya holding a basket full of shells not 3 feet away from both of you on the shore, her mouth was agape in stupefaction. her jaw may as well have hit the sand. with a thump, she drops the basket. and dashes to her left. you and ao’nung swiftly snap your heads to look at each other. shit. what now?

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daydream-cement · 1 year

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Stately Sequoia Ch. 12

I literally am jazzed about this idea guys. I got this allllll planned out. This specific fic will probably end around Chapter 20, but I will totally start something new afterward. Thank you to @anazomeg for your contribution to this chapter.

Let the plot device commence ;)

“Dr. Rogers, can I speak with you privately?” Principal Weems voice rang out behind you as you demonstrated the abilities of a sensitive plant to two students who had stayed after class. The little leaves slowly folded up, protecting itself from your touch.

“Run along.” You looked at the two girls, pressing a late-pass into the palm of the one closest to her, “Let your next teacher know you were helping me.”

The girls grinned at the semi-lie and nodded, grabbing their backpacks and scurrying out of the room, greeting Principal Weems as they passed her.

Once in your classroom, Larissa closed the door and locked it. You spoke, thinking you understood her premise for being there, “If this is about the broken window on the second floor, I already notified the maintenance crew and I’ll write an apology to the board.”

Larissa squinted at you, “You did what?”

“Never mind. What did you need to see me for?” You were straightening papers on your desk, wishing you hadn’t been so presumptuous.

“Fern,” Larissa’s voice sounded more like a warning. You knew she was right behind you, so you chose not to turn around.

“It was just a harmless experiment. You see, Yoko didn’t believe I could make a spruce triple in height, then the class had a debate going,” You paused halfway through the story, wondering if there was any educational way you could spin this. You realized quickly there wasn’t, “Not my most responsible moment.”

“Fern, honestly…” Larissa sounded exasperated, hand on her forehead, as she leaned against your desk, “We didn’t need another thing right now.”

“What’s happening?” You cock your head to the side, taking a step closer.

“I have no clue what to do. The board has called me in about us dating. It doesn’t seem like this will be good.” Larissa’s rage seemed to build, resulting in her typical pacing back and forth. As you watched her go, you took your own place seated on the edge of your desk, “I don’t even know what our handbook says about this. We haven’t even been vocal about our relationship. Who would have told them?”

“Larissa, please…”

“And now this, Fern? Honestly! How could you have been so irresponsible? So childish?” She now exploded on you. Larissa’s stopped her pacing just to stand in front of you, her fists resting on her hips.

“Hey! It’s one mistake! Maintenance said they could have it fixed by the end of the day!” You began to raise your voice in response, defending yourself.

“That’s not the point, Fern. You allowed students to egg you on and lost control of the classroom.”

“I didn’t lose track of anything. My landscaping students learned the dangers of planting trees too close to the base of buildings.” Part of your statement was serious (you really shouldn’t plant trees too close to buildings and structures), on the other hand, part of it was also a joke because you even found the broken window to be a little funny.

Larissa’s face contorted as she tried not to laugh at your joke. The tension between you finally dissipated as she let out a chuckle, “The dangers of planting trees too close to buildings?”

“Yes and I will stand by that. Now what about the board? Who could have told them?” This felt like a silly question as the answer was everyone. Everyone new about their relationship thus anyone could have divulged their “secret”.

“I am supposed to meet with them tonight. The email said they were informed by an outside, anonymous source. That could mean anything.” Larissa shoulders slouched and her pacing ceased. She approached you as you still were seated on your desk. You wrapped your arms around her torso, hoping to provide her some comfort.

“We are going to figure this out… Together…” Larissa believed you. Her arms enveloped you and you remained there for a while, not speaking, both now internalizing the dread of the situation. Could you get fired? Can they order you to end the relationship? You did have sex in both of your offices. That was grounds for dismissal itself. Either way you were both in for it.

———

You met before the board separately, but Larissa was in the room for your “hearing” though she was not on trial. If anyone was to be fired, it would be you.

“Ms. Rogers-“ One man began, you interrupted him, setting the record straight. You would not be bullied or torn down in this session.

“Doctor. It’s Dr. Rogers.” Larissa winced at your words, wishing you had not made a fuss.

“Dr. Rogers, it has come to the board’s attention that you and Principal Weems have become inextricably linked with one another. How long has this been happening?” Another woman took over the dialogue.

“Since the N-COE or the National Conference for Outcast Educators. So about a month.”

“Is this relationship consensual? Have you been coerced in any way by Principal Weems in any way to be in this relationship?”

What a horrible question, you thought to yourself before answering, “Yes, it is consensual. No, there wasn’t any coercion.”

“And since that time, have you received any promotions or additional rewards for your relationship with Principal Weems?”

“No.”

“Have you utilized this power against any of your peers or fellow faculty?”

“No.”

“Have students been impacted by your relationship?”

“No.”

“And can you think of any reason your relationship with Principal Weems would negatively impact the school or the school’s reputation in the foreseeable future?”

“No.”

Your heart was still racing. What other questions would they ask? Should she have offered up more of an explanation?

“Due to Principal Weems exemplary record and the improvement of campus horticulture and landscaping, not to mention glowing reviews from students and guardians since your arrival, we can excuse this.” You felt yourself letting out a breath that it felt like you had been holding onto for decades, “However, if we receive any indication that serious infractions or improprieties have occurred, we will not hesitate to remove you from our staff.”

You nod furiously, “I completely understand. Thank you.”

“You are dismissed.”

———

You rolled over in bed, annoyed Larissa still had her bedside lamp on, “Aren’t you going to bed?”

She was holding up a piece of paper, studying it in the lamplight. With no response from her, you wrap an arm around her leg nearest to you and burry your face into her lap, letting out a groan.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming to bed.” Larissa finally responded, hand moving to rest atop your head. Unmoving, you allowed yourself to stay there to enjoy her playing with your hair. Even if she wasn’t coming to bed like she said.

You let out a yawn and finally inquire about her reading, “What are you reading?”

“It’s the letter that was sent to the board. I don’t recognize the hand writing and its signed Prunus laurocerasus. A pen name most likely. I don’t even know who that could be.” Larissa scrolled the rolodex of critical parents, alumni, and faculty members, none of which matched, “The letter states that this individual has noticed a relationship blossoming between the two us. It talks about time spent together in each other’s rooms and something about worrying its a distraction for me. Then they also state that I may have been wielding my power to ‘own you’.”

“You did wield your power.” You said blatantly, turning yourself to stare up at Larissa. She scoffed looking down at you and you finished your thought, “…your sexual power.”

She simply rolled her eyes and chose not to respond to your joke, “This just makes me nervous, Fern. We just need to be careful. You heard the board president, any indication of infractions or improprieties.”

“No sex in offices or classrooms, got it.” You respond, calling out the one big infraction that you definitely have committed.

“And no competitions with students about two can grow the fastest plant.” Larissa finally dropped the page onto her night stand, teasing you a bit.

“Yes, ma’am.” You nod, not willing to argue about the matter any longer, even if you did find it far funnier than her.

To allow Larissa to get comfortable in bed, you stop using her as a pillow and shift back to your own. Yet she doesn’t lay in bed, rather she leans over you and whispers, “Perhaps we should celebrate with a little-“

Larissa cuts off her own sentence by placing a kiss to your lips. 15 minutes and some fun foreplay later, you are finally teasing at the hem of her nightgown. A knock came from her front door, Larissa leaned her head against yours with a sigh.

“One moment…” Larissa quickly straightened herself up, and brought a robe over her shoulders, fastening it at the waist. While she went to check who was at the door, you reminisced on the time you wore that robe around just to make her laugh. The bottom dragged on the floor and you had to scrunch up the sleeves to make your hands visible.

Larissa slowly walked back into the room minutes later, looking like she had seen a ghost. In her hands she held an envelope addressed to her. She sits on the edge of the bed, back facing you.

Crawling over to her side, you place your hands on her shoulders and peak over her to get a glimpse at what had arrived.

“It seems as though Prunus laurocerasus has written us a letter themselves…”

———

Without telling Larissa, you went to your office library the next morning, knowing the genus of plants the author of the note used as their pen name. The common name to the plant alluded you. The American Horticultural Society Encyclopedia of Plants and Flowers was certainly the book for the job.

You flip quickly, familiar with the pages, finding the common name for Prunus laurocerasus - Common Laurel.

You didn’t understand the significance, but perhaps Larissa would when you saw her later. You place the book back in its place on the shelf and begin pulling out tools for today’s lessons.

Link to Chapter 13

#stately sequoia #fanfic #larissa weems x oc #larissa weems #wednesday netflix #gwendoline christie

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slightlyunconventional · 1 year

Text

i can't think of a title (pure filthy self-indulgent absolutely shameful fic. enjoy <3)

It’s a great interest - and daresay a pleasure - that Inej takes in watching a certain Barrel boss lose every ounce of control in his being. She’d never quite managed to put a finger on the feeling, that jolt of electricity every time he’d duck into a gloved fist with a silently perfect stifle, until one fateful evening some six months ago. As the last drops of hazy spring sun had shone through the window and a warm breeze gently rippled the curtains, Kaz had been deep within the grips of an unrelenting fit of his usual harsh hay-fever sneezes, and Inej had found herself absolutely transfixed. She’d simply stared in awe, heart pounding against her ribs, eyes tracing the fallen strands of his normally flawless hair, the stutter of his chest, the twitch and flare of his rapidly reddening nostrils. She couldn’t have moved even if she’d tried. Even after the dark-haired man had slumped back in his chair, panting, Inej could not find it in her to tear her eyes from him; she felt like lightning. Eventually, Kaz’s deep coffee eyes had looked up to find hers, and glinted for a split-second with something she didn’t quite recognise. The way he’d held her wide-eyed gaze felt like he was reading every inch of her - snatching at her secrets and her very deepest desires - and it seemed he’d figured her out already. Though, for once, Inej felt no shame in divulging herself to Kaz (despite having not said anything), but instead a kind of warmth. All that was between them was carefully constructed walls guarding his bare hands from finding hers; there could be no judgement, and she saw this in his eyes. He hadn’t spoken, but his gaze told her he didn’t mind. Kaz knew of many of her little quirks and tells already, after all - perhaps this was just another. Thus, with that accepting look in his dark eyes, began the pair’s favourite routine.

There’s never a set time or place for their meetings, really, just an overwhelming sense of desire for the other that draws them into the same room at the same time. Tonight, that room happens to be Kaz’s office - the very office in which Inej had refused to take her fascinated stare away from Kaz’s desperately sneezing self half a year back. A thousand images race through Inej’s mind, each laced with hot spikes of jarring electricity as she bathes in the thought of his slack features, and his quickening breaths, and his heaving chest, each intensifying tenfold right before he takes a final, deep gasp and pitches forward with sneeze after sneeze after sneeze. Admittedly, she is more than eager tonight. And that eagerness pushes her further than wanting to simply watch Kaz lose control; she wants to make it happen. Usually, their “meetings” involve Kaz inducing himself with whichever allergen Inej desires, while she sits before him, unable to do anything but watch in utter awe. Tonight, however, she wants to be the one to take away his dignity, to cause him to unravel where he’s sat. She’s almost giddy with the excitement of it. Kaz sits down at his desk, folds one leg over the other.

“So, what tonight, Wraith?” he asks, calmly. Inej suppresses a giggle at his formalities. Such a personal affair yet he still insists on treating it as a business matter, she thinks. No business will be done after I’m finished with him, though.

However, Inej finds herself without an answer. As enticing as it is, the thought of burying Kaz’s perfect nose in a bouquet of wildflowers, or make him read aloud the dustiest book on his shelf, she finds herself wanting more. Inej desires nothing more than to be up close and personal seeing his dignity crumble from his nose outward.

“Actually, I-” begins Inej, rocking slightly on her heels.

“Yes, you can,” Kaz interrupts with the barest flicker of a smile. He’d known what she was going to say before she’d even said it. She nods silently and slips from the room to fetch what she needs. As Kaz had been speaking, Inej had come up with a most devilish idea - one that resides in a small wooden box beneath her bed. She smiles to herself as she lifts the box’s lid to reveal a selection of what she can only call trinkets, just an accumulation of odds and ends, one of which sticks out to her. It’s a slender feather, greyish in colour. She isn’t quite sure where she got it, or why she kept it, but it’s found its use now. Inej makes her way back to Kaz’s office, twirling the feather in her fingers. Once she gets there, she shuts and locks the door behind her and has to hold back a laugh at Kaz’s arched eyebrow as he regards the feather in her hand.

“That’s what you’re going with?” he says sceptically. Inej nods. Kaz may be doubtful now, but Inej knows just how sensitive his nose is when it wants to be, and she’s got a feeling even the likes of a feather will have him a total wreck.

She approaches him, feather still in hand, and positions herself between Kaz and the desk. She gestures toward the desktop behind her and asks, “May I?”

Kaz nods. Inej lifts herself up onto the desk and sits on it, gaining a vantage point with a perfect view of his face, all sharp angles and perfect structure. She aims to destroy that.

Leaning forward slightly, Inej says quietly, “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he murmurs in return.

“Hold still,” she whispers. Inej extends the hand holding the feather out toward Kaz’s face, noting the way his gaze follows it intently. She gives herself one last look at his undisturbed face before deciding she can wait no longer, and gently inserts the very tip of the feather into the right side of his nose. His breath catches in a surprised gasp and he lets out a few irritated coughs, caught off guard by the feel of the feather. Instinctively, his hand lifts with the want to rub at his nose, but Inej shuts that down with a quiet but firm, “Hey.”

The feather ventures further at Inej’s will. Kaz’s lips curl slightly. Inej watches as Kaz’s nostrils begin to widen, slowly, but surely, and she takes this as her cue to begin moving the feather in tiny circles within his nose. Another single breathy cough escapes him, though immediately followed by the smallest hitch of his breath.

“-hht–!”

Inej dares to guide the feather deeper, gaining her another hitching breath.

“hiihh–”

The feather continues its circling within Kaz’s right nostril. As it does so, his brows draw together ever so slightly and his nostrils flare - the smallest twitch of the rims, imperceptible to most but not to Inej. She takes it in with great pleasure.

“It’s s-so…hh–! Oh, I think I’m g-hht! –gon-gonna sneitshh!” He struggles through his words, seemingly every syllable punctuated with an irritated hitch, before ending his sentence with a tiny sneeze, dreadfully itchy-sounding, that seems to burst out before he has time to gear up for a proper sneeze.

“Saints I’m sorrihHt–! ‘sshHh! –it won’t s- I ca-cahh’shhiew!” Two more of the same unsatisfying expulsions sneak between his words as he attempts an apology. Inej tilts her head in sympathy.

“Itchy, hm?” she says softly, “You sound like a kitten.” The glare Kaz tries to give her is thoroughly hidden behind the tickly haze of his expression. Inej ponders for a moment.

“Let’s try the other side. Maybe then we’ll get a real sneeze out of you,” she says, withdrawing the feather from his nose. His breath catches as she does so.

“hh’hiht–!”

“Another?” asks Inej. Kaz hesitates, eyes narrowed, before relaxing his eyebrows and shaking his head with a nearly undetectable sigh. Nearly.

“Aw, don’t be disappointed,” Inej teases, “I can tell you’ve still got a lot of sneezes left in that perfect nose of yours.” She winks at him, and definitely does not miss the faint flush that rises high in his cheeks. Kaz takes the few moments he has without something poking around in his nose to rub firmly at the now flushed-pink appendage and gives a series of irritated sniffles.

“Ready for the other side?” asks Inej gently. Kaz shakes his head.

“Just give me– a sec-” he replies. Inej stares in fascination as he knuckles the right side of his nose, rather harshly, eyes pressed shut with the sensation. Saints, he is sensitive, isn’t he? she thinks. He looks back up at her with an experimental sniff. “...Alright. Go ahead.”

Inej doesn’t wait a second longer. She lifts the feather, now slick with moisture, and poises it just at the entrance of Kaz’s left nostril. She knows just how desperate he is for relief - those kittenish half-sneezes are sure to have done nothing to alleviate the itch in his nose - so she decides to drag it out for as long as possible. The feather begins its journey at the hand of Inej by tracing the rim of Kaz’s nostril with the barest touch. He scrunches his nose in repulsion to the sensation. His nostrils flare in protest, but that just gives Inej a larger circumference to trace with the feather. She slips the feather’s tip inside his nose just slightly, and resumes her circling of his flared nostril. Nothing seems to be happening, however; the sensation appears to be more irritating than tickly, not likely to tease a sneeze from him - so Inej ventures deeper with the feather. She traces it up and along the inner walls of his nose, apparently searching for something. As she drags the feather’s tip around, Kaz begins hitching rapidly, vocal intakes of breath in quick succession, too irritated to form a full gasp, and Inej knows she's found the spot. Kaz doesn’t sneeze yet, however. Inej suspects he’s holding off to at least try and avoid sneezing all over her hand, so, naturally, she guides the feather back over to Kaz’s newly-discovered sensitive spot and drags its tip over it, once again forming those small circles as she traces. His breath stutters again in staggered gasps, far more desperately this time around.

“-hh’huh–! hh-hhihh’hiihh–!”

Inej keeps the feather still, allowing herself to gaze at Kaz’s face as it gradually slackens against the building need to sneeze. It’s something she would stare at for the rest of her life if she could. It’s evident how hard he’s trying not to sneeze - either that, or the sensation isn’t quite enough to push him over the edge, so she gently pulls the feather from his nose, deliberately tracing the inside of his nostril as she withdraws it. Almost instantly, Kaz gasps in utter desperation, notes of his voice catching in the sharp inhale, making it vocal, somewhat akin to a moan. Inej can only watch in awe as he lifts a hand, weak, shaky, and lets it hover an inch or two from his face. His expression truly crumbles and he gives in to his twitching, sensitive nose. Inej’s eyes are wide as she gazes at him folding in on himself with a fittish burst of those itchy half-sneezes.

“-hihh’hhishhu! ‘ihschh!–hh’ishhsh! ‘ihshhuh!-sshhu! –heh’kisshh!”

The tiny, ticklish expulsions are doing nothing to relieve his nose, and even though Inej withdrew the feather, it’s clear that the sensitive spot in his left nostril still burns with a sharp tickle, evident by the way his eyes have welled up and his nostrils still twitch and flare. He pushes a gloved knuckle up to his nose, holding back the next fit of unsatisfactory sneezes so as to let his nose gear up for something a little more full. It looks as though Kaz has lost all sense of where he is due to being so enveloped in the imminent need to sneeze - and Inej is enraptured. Her seat atop his desk grants her an impeccable view of his face as his head tilts back. She can perfectly see his brows knitting together and his lashes fluttering, his widening nostrils and mouth hanging slightly open - it’s truly a sight to behold. She shifts where she’s sat, electricity coursing through her, stronger than ever.

“-hh’hihh–haAH-hhaAHDt–!!” Three deep, staggered gasps escape him, his chest heaves. Kaz’s nose is practically twitching against his knuckle, simply begging for release, nostrils flared to their widest but still straining to flare further. Once he’s satisfied that his nose won’t retaliate with any more of those torturous, itchy, kittenish sneezes, he tentatively distances his hand from his nose and allows the burning tickle to take over him. The result is instantaneous - he pitches forward with a set of harsh sneezes, and Inej can tell they’re exactly the relief he needs from that dreadful itch settled in his nose.

“-haAH’ESCHHh! ‘KZZSCHHhuh! hhH’ESZZHHhiew! …hhah..hhiihH’HZSCHH’hue! ‘ISZZHHhiew!”

“Saints, what’s that? Five in a row?” Inej asks breathlessly.

Kaz looks back up at her, features twitching with need. “-hhah–! S-sihh! -hh’hiihh! SixXZSCHHhiew!” He sniffles, rather pathetically. “Six,” he finishes before slumping back in his chair. Inej stares at him in fascination.“Wow,” she says quietly, “Bless you.” She’s never seen him more dishevelled - hair fallen out of place, the dark strands hanging loose over his forehead, eyes watering, nose flushed scarlet - she thinks it’s gorgeous. Inej watches as Kaz closes his eyes, still panting as he recovers from the vicious fit. She wants nothing more than to restart the cycle, tease his nose all over again, maybe even bring in that perfume she knows he’s dreadfully allergic to, just to witness him fall apart again and explode with sneeze after desperate sneeze before her very eyes - and she might do just that.

#my GOD this was so fun to write #i hope you enjoy as much as i do #snz #s/hadow and b/one #snzblr #snz kink #k talks snz #snz blog #snzario #sneeze kink #snzfic

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misirosekisiro · 5 months

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Deepest Disire 3-

Chapter 3

As days turned into weeks, he spent countless hours perfecting every aspect, honing his strategy for maximum impact. Observing Kaoru's routine keenly, he identified weak points and vulnerabilities which he could exploit for his advantage.

 He studied Kaoru’s habits so thoroughly that he seemed to possess a sixth sense when predicting his friend's movements.

One day, while sitting in his dimly lit office poring over spreadsheets detailing expenses and investments, a sudden idea struck him. Smiling mischievously, he quickly dismissed work and began mapping out the intricate scheme he had been dreaming of since acquiring the Skin Suit Drug.

 Naoki's plan involved manipulating events in ways that ensured Kaoru would inevitably encounter the mystical substance.

Utilizing his skillfully designed web of influence, he orchestrated meetings and situations that would lead Kaoru directly into temptation's arms. And thus, subtly planting the seed of curiosity about the Skin Suit Drug, priming him to taste its alluring powers.

Unbeknownst to Kaoru, Naoki secretly arranged opportunities for them to spend quality time together, creating the ideal circumstances for seduction. With Kaoru unaware of the extent of Naoki's machinations, it wasn't long before the trap snapped shut tightly.

On one seemingly ordinary evening, Naoki invited Kaoru to his apartment under the guise of discussing a potential business opportunity. Little did Kaoru suspect that his friendship was about to collide headlong with the enigmatic world of the Skin Suit Drug.

Once inside Naoki's immaculate abode, Kaoru became captivated by the impressive collection of sports memorabilia and framed posters, revealing Naoki's passion for athletics.

However, amidst the engaging surroundings, Kaoru sensed an undeniable tension in the air, suggesting unspoken burdens borne by his host. Intrigued by the dichotomy presented before him, Kaoru decided to probe further into Naoki's motivations behind hosting this meeting.

"What exactly brought us here tonight, Naoki?" queried Kaoru, breaking the initial uneasy silence.

Unwilling to divulge too much information just yet, Naoki kept his response vague but nonetheless piqued Kaoru's interest significantly.

"I have a proposition that might benefit both of us greatly, my dear friend." Naoki revealed, slowly lowering his eyes, conveying a mix of apprehension and determination. His tone implied hidden depths that captured Kaoru's attention completely.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Kaoru probed deeper, eager to discover the source of his friend's unusual behavior.

"And why exactly does your proposal involve me being here today?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Naoki hesitated briefly, choosing his words carefully before finally speaking. "My proposition involves something called 'mystical drug,' a unique compound capable of transforming anyone into another person physically. It could grant someone newfound strength or agility based on the individual they choose to become. Imagine the possibilities it offers — revolutionary advancements in personal growth, career development, even romantic encounters!" he continued animatedly, clearly invested in the concept.

Feeling his heart race, Kaoru absorbed the significance of Naoki's revelation.

The possibility of harnessing such power held immense appeal, evoking feelings of excitement mixed with a lingering touch of doubt. Slowly, however, curiosity emerged victorious, prompting Kaoru to express genuine interest in learning more about this intriguing phenomenon.

Pleased by Kaoru's enthusiasm, Naoki took a deep breath, relieved that he managed to spark his friend's curiosity effectively. "Indeed, mystical drug is an incredible force to be reckoned with, offering boundless potential to those fortunate enough to experience it.

Tell me, how did you come across such a groundbreaking discovery?" questioned Kaoru with great curiosity.

Eager to share his findings, Naoki proceeded to elaborate upon the origins of Skin Suit, recounting tales steeped in mystery and danger.

"A few months ago, I stumbled upon a group of shadowy figures peddling the substance through illicit channels," explained Naoki. "It hails from an unknown region shrouded in obscurity, accessible only via a network of well-guarded entryways.

However, I managed to secure a sample recently," said Naoki, displaying a hint of pride. "This rare elixir isn't easily available, nor cheap either. My entire savings went toward purchasing it. But believe me, Kaoru, it's worth every last yen!"

Kaoru listened intently, trying to grasp the full magnitude of what Naoki was proposing. This situation felt like a fantastical tale coming to life right before his very eyes.

The allure of transformation proved difficult to ignore, and Kaoru struggled against his own curiosity. Convinced that there must be some truth behind Naoki's claims, he agreed to give it a try. If anything, it would make for an interesting adventure!

Naoki grinned triumphantly, pleased with the progress made. He had successfully gained Kaoru's support, securing permission to proceed with his ambitious plans. All that remained was to ensure Kaoru didn't change his mind once fully informed of the risks associated with the mystical drug.

Unperturbed by these dangers, Kaoru pushed aside his fears, convinced that the potential benefits far outweighed the possible drawbacks. Embracing his inherent adventurous spirit, he sought a thrill unlike any other he had previously encountered.

For several minutes, Naoki patiently answered Kaoru's queries regarding safety protocols and precautions necessary during administration of the potion. Once satisfied with Naoki's reassurance, Kaoru signaled his readiness to embark on this perilous expedition.

Feeling confident in his decision, he prepared mentally for the extraordinary experiences awaiting him.

Understanding the gravity of the situation, Naoki gathered essential equipment required for administering the mystical drug, ensuring utmost accuracy and precision. He carefully selected various instruments and tools specifically tailored to facilitate safe extraction and consumption of the potion.

Embracing the imminent challenge, Kaoru felt his blood pumping faster, anticipating the remarkable transformation lying ahead.

Standing beside Naoki, who now appeared unusually excited, the atmosphere buzzed with palpable energy. Their camaraderie intensified, bonding them even closer than before. Both friends recognized the enormity of the venture looming before them and acknowledged the sacrifices required to see it through.

Naoki opened a small vial containing the coveted liquid, admiring its viscous fluid within. Handing it gingerly to Kaoru, he gave him detailed instructions on how to consume the mystical drug properly without incident.

Cautioning Kaoru repeatedly about potential side effects, including temporary memory loss and bodily discomfort, Naoki stressed the importance of precise measurement and gradual dosage increase. After comprehending the process thoroughly, Kaoru nodded resolutely, ready to begin the journey.

Following Naoki's advice, Kaoru approached the mirror situated nearby, gazing at his reflection critically. Steadfastly focused on the task at hand, he drew a steady breath, bracing himself for the unexpected changes soon to transpire.

The room fell silent as everyone present waited anxiously, anticipating the dramatic alteration which would soon follow.

Suddenly, Kaoru noticed subtle shifts occurring around him. Colors seemed to shift gradually, appearing brighter and more intense than usual. Objects in front of him blurred slightly, wavering back and forth like heat mirages on hot summer days. Realization dawned upon him – the transformation had begun.

But the transformation wasn't like Kaoru expected. At this moment, his body slowly deflated like a deflated balloon. He looked in the mirror in a panic. His body looked like it had been stripped of its skeleton, slowly collapsing to the ground until he finally transformed into a human bodysuit. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, but could only roll his eyes. He looked in the mirror and saw Naoki who was smiling crazily with satisfaction.

The feeling in his heart sank low, seeing himself turned into a lifeless suit. What kind of monster did Naoki want? Was this what he wanted? Did he actually desire this outcome? Why would anyone wish to strip away their flesh, leaving nothing but bones covered in delicate silk?

His hands were still visible as gloves on the "suit". But he couldn’t move them. Couldn’t feel them anymore. Just two leather gloved appendages attached to his “body”.

Feeling overwhelmed with dread, Kaoru tried to gather his thoughts, while simultaneously battling waves of confusion and resignation. The eerie calm surrounding him amplified the surreal nature of the unfolding events. With difficulty, he managed to convey his turmoil towards Naoki verbally, albeit weakly.

“Why…why did you do this?” Kaoru whispered hoarsely, attempting to mask his horror beneath a facade of bewilderment.

In response, Naoki laughed mockingly, dismissing Kaoru's concerns as mere paranoia.

Naoki took off all his clothes. He then moved forward menacingly, towering over the fragile suit. In spite of his malicious intent, Kaoru observed an undeniably sinister glint in Naoki's eye, causing a chilling sensation to ripple throughout his newly acquired shell.

As if reading Kaoru's thoughts, Naoki began circling the vulnerable object, methodically examining the exquisite craftsmanship displayed so prominently. Adrenaline coursed through Kaoru's veins, his pulse racing madly as he watched helplessly.

Desperately, he strained to free himself from the suffocating confines of his skinsuit prison, fighting valiantly against the impossibility of escape. Frustration swelled inside him as reality struck hard; there would be no reprieve. No salvation lay hidden within reach. His fate lay inextricably intertwined with the malevolence enveloping him.

Meanwhile, Naoki's unwavering confidence in his devious plan further solidified the growing sense of unease engulfing Kaoru.

Naoki began examining "Kaoru's body suit." He pulled it and stretched it with the force of his hand like a thick balloon. Kaoru himself felt no pain. It's like someone grabbed the skin and pulled it while being injected with anesthetic. There was only the feeling of being grabbed and pulled. Then Naoki remembered. He held it to his mouth. He pulled out the "Kaoru Bodysuit" and stretched it out. It stretched wide until Naoki could fit his legs inside. Kaoru felt strange that his own body was being invaded.

While Naoki continued manipulating the bodysuit with relish, Kaoru experienced newfound levels of terror. Tears welled up involuntarily, yet none escaped his tightened facial muscles. He knew any resistance would prove futile, as evidenced by his utter lack of control over his limbs and body. Naoki's legs slipped into Naoki's legs. "Kaoru Bodysuit" At first it was like trying to stuff something too big into a balloon. It inflated, but after a moment it compressed back. Naoki wiggled his toes, and the toes of "Kaoru Bodysuit" moved accordingly. It was like Naoki could use Kaoru's legs like his own. with excitement He quickly stuffed his other leg in. inserted into the leg of "Kaoru Bodysuit" on the other hand and he stood up on Kaoru's legs.

It felt weird to have another person standing up on your legs. Kaoru was shocked because he didn't expect such a thing to happen when they used the "skin suit drug." He looked at his friend stiffly, trying to figure out why he chose this way to go about things. Even though he was trapped in his own body, Naoki's smile filled him with a mixture of rage and despair. His anger boiled within, threatening to erupt despite his impotency.

Naoki tried to put "Kaoru's Bodysuit" continued, he smiled when he saw Kaoru's flattened cock. He slowly guided his cock into hers. "Kaoru Bodysuit" is like a leg. "Kaoru Bodysuit"'s cock swells and stretches out to the point of looking abnormal. But after a moment he squeezed and it turned into Kaorusu's handsome cock again. Kaoru felt a thrill as Naoki's cock slipped inside his cock. It was a thrill that was hard to explain. Despite having had a lot of sex, he had never felt like this before.

Naoki pulled "Kaoru Bodysuit" up from her waist level. "Kaoru Bodysuit's" mouth stretched so much it was threatening to break. But it only stretched. He pulled Kaoru's bodysuit up to his chest and slowly inserted his arms into Kaoru's bodysuit, one at a time. When his hand slipped into Kaoru's hand, The "Kaoru Bodysuit" was a bit difficult as it was like trying to fit his fingers into each hole correctly, but he soon managed to get both of his arms to work. The "Kaoru Bodysuit" was now covering Naokij's body. It's up to my neck. Only the head remains. Naoki looked in the mirror. Saw the body of a young boy with the head of a working man. He tried to move his body, jump, and the more he did it, the more he laughed with satisfaction until he was crazy.

Naoki said, "See! Nothing happened right?" His laughter echoed throughout the quiet room. For Kaoru, every action resulted in failure, sending chills down his spine. Fear gripped him, rendering him immobile save for the tremors wracking his limbs.

Naoki gently pulled the head of "Kaoru Bodysuit" came up. It's like wearing a hood, but it's a hood that has Kaoru's handsome face on it. At first it looked like a bloated head with a deformed face. But after a moment, like the rest, it squeezed itself into place, shaping the face until it was in place. At this very moment Naoki has disappeared. There was only Kaoru standing there. Kaoru stared at the mirror, grinning, laughing hysterically. Then he began to show Kaoru's expressions. The person he had been spying on for years.

For Kaoru, the moment his head was placed on Naoki's head. He felt as if his head was slowly clearing up, all the emotions disappearing, as if someone had rummaged through his brain. Kaoru's identity It seems to fade away He looked expressionlessly at the person who was smiling, dancing, laughing, acting himself. It's like watching a performance from the audience seat.

Kaoru who is locked in his own body. see another kaoru in the mirror who was acting like "Kaoru", he began to ask himself, who was it, himself or who else? The question repeated itself for a long time. His head felt like it was clouded with mist. It's not important anymore... He is sleepy, wants to rest, wants to sleep forever. Kaoru closed her eyes in his imagination and never woke up again.

From this second The old Kaoru has disappeared. Kaoru bodysuit is not more body suit, It's turn in to real skin. no more backward.  Just like Naoki This name will never appear again in this world. Only the new Kaoru remains. Even Naoki want to take Kaoru bodysuit off, it's not possible form now on. He goes to pick up Kaoru's clothes that are on the floor and put them on. before walking to the table Picking up paper and pen, he wrote in Naoki's handwriting one last time. He explains that he is deeply in debt. And he wanted to run away, not have to search for him. He writes in a variety of ways, like he might have committed suicide somewhere. He left the letter on the dining table. Use a coin to make sure it doesn't fly away. Kaoru finally walked out the door. Looking back at the room where he had lived for so long and will never come back again He opened the door and walked out. before gently closing the door behind him

. Stepping outside onto the busy streets of Tokyo, he adjusted his jacket, making sure it concealed the faint traces of his past life. Passersby hurried along, paying little attention to him amidst the sea of faces. He blended seamlessly into the crowd as he made his way toward his destination. The sun cast a warm golden light upon the city, creating a picturesque setting for his departure.

#identity theft #steal clothes #stolen identity #clothes stolen #gay #male bodysuit #male body suit

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dross-the-fish · 8 months

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Adam vs Erik

Some time ago an Anon asked if I could write out the scene where Erik attacked Adam. I finally took the time to get the first draft out. Sorry it took so long but here it is!

....

From a secluded alcove Erik watched the Frankenstein creature move around the armory with astonishing speed and agility. This “Adam” as they called him, was a hulking brute. The make of him was crude and whoever had put him together had been no artist. Of that Erik was quite certain. He watched as Adam’s shirt snagged and tore on the corner of the shield he was securing to a wall mount.

Adam hissed a low curse as he examined the fresh rip on his sleeve. He had very little good clothing, given that everything he owned had to be custom tailored to fit him and he tried his best to be careful taking care of his shirts and trousers. Difficult to do when he was frequently tasked with hard labor. With a grumble and a sigh, he removed the shirt and placed it carefully on a table to prevent further damage while he worked.

At the sight of Adam’s bared back Erik grimaced. It was a mess of scorched, toughened, tissue. Long fingers of Lichtenberg figure scars wrapped themselves down the length of Adam’s spine and wove between the jut of exposed vertebrae, bony white points contrasting against the mottled brown red tissue of his flesh. Muscles twitched and ribs expanded as Adam sucked in a lung full of air and exhaled with a wince. Reaching behind him, he gave his back a careful rub, as though it pained him. Erik made a mental note. It seemed this handmade Goliath had a vulnerable point. That was reassuring, perhaps he was mortal after all…

Erik didn’t entirely know how to feel about Adam. Though Adam had shown no overt animosity thus far Erik had recognized a potential for rage. He’d seen how quickly the creature could turn from civil to savage when provoked and in an ordinary man that was dangerous enough, but a creature from beyond the grave? It was a threat unlike any he’d ever encountered and it raised questions that he wanted answered.

Why had something like Adam even been created? What purpose was there in the reanimation of the dead? Erik was not a man who enjoyed being left out of the loop. He’d had the run of the Palais De Garnier for decades and there were no secrets there he hadn’t uncovered. Secrets belonged to Erik, he collected and kept them hidden away until they could serve him. Secrets were his shield and his sword and as he stood in the grand armory of Talbot manor it did not sit well with him that his supply was completely empty. Especially in regard to Adam.

He had asked Dr. Watson for more details of Adam’s story but the doctor had declined and insisted that it was up to Adam what he wanted to reveal about his past. Erik had yet to work up the nerve to ask Adam anything, much less request that he divulged potentially painful secrets, so he had contented himself with quietly shadowing the large man, trying to glean what he could through detached observation. The Phantom of the Opera had quite the talent for lurking unseen and he was confident that Adam had remained unaware of his presence.

Emboldened when Adam became distracted with sorting weapons on a rack, Erik ventured closer, keeping himself pressed against the wall and using suits of armor or furniture for cover. It was when he was no more than a few feet away, crouched behind a trophy case, he saw Adam tense.

“Who’s there? Is it you Hyde? Have you come skulking like some low creature intent to amuse yourself at my expense?” Adam swiveled and scanned the room, yellow eyes darting back and forth. Split black lips revealed ivory teeth clenched in a snarl.

“No, I think not, for Hyde is not so subtle as to remain unseen," he growled, "For certain it must be Erik. Will you reveal yourself and grant me the boon of being peaceable that we may afford an end to this unwarranted enmity between us?" he tilted his head, ears straining to listen for a reply. There was none. A flare of temper blossomed in Adam's chest.

"No? That is a shame, though it is no matter. I will but search and presently, I believe, I shall find you, thus I shall put an end to this intolerable creeping with my own hands.”

The hairs on the back of Erik’s neck raised at the violence in Adam’s voice. He pressed himself closer to the wall as Adam began to search the room, holding his breath and willing his heart to stop thrumming in his narrow chest.

Quiet. quiet. Silent.

The creature moved closer. The air thickened. Skeletal hands groped inside a fine jacket for a length of rope. Not to use, no, not yet, simply a mere precaution. Erik bent, poised with the tension of a coiled spring.

Heavy footfalls closing in. Erik knew he was cornered. Any second now Adam would peer around the trophy case and spot him. His impulses screamed: strike first! Strike now! While you have the upper hand!

As Adam’s thick shadow blotted out the lamplight and stretched over the edge of the case the lasso shot out and tightened around his neck. Adam cried out in surprise, lurching back as the noose tightened. Erik leaned back, throwing all of his weight into pulling the cord. Adam roared and seized the rope in his hand, yanking Erik off of his feet and dangling him in the air. The noose slackened enough that Adam managed to rip it from around his neck and throw it violently to the side.

Erik had already let go of his end and was hurrying towards the door, intent on escape. Adam lunged after him with terrifying speed. Just as his outstretched hand was about to clutch for Erik’s jacket the Phantom turned and threw a handful of flashing powder. There was a loud crack, the hiss of smoke and a flash so bright that Adam reeled back, momentarily blinded and deafened. That moment of borrowed time was all Erik needed to disappear, darting into the hallway and making an acrobatic leaping down the staircase.

Coughing and shaking Adam blinked as his vision returned to him. He could feel the sensitive skin around his eyes stinging from the lingering burn. If Erik thought he was going to escape he was sorely mistaken. Adam vowed to find him by the end of the night if he had to tear the whole manor apart looking….

#crossover Au #The Frankenstein creature #The Phantom of the opera

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harumscarumcos · 1 month

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SFW ALPHABET + Kaine Parker

I sat on this cause I have a side blog I made specifically for Kaine but I’m too lazy to post to it + I can post wherever I want who’s gon check me?

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

• He is not the most outwardly affectionate person. It’s hard for him, all he’s been through, all he’s done, to really show the kind of affection that comes so normally to others. Sometimes, it makes him come off as a callous guy, and honestly that’s fine to him. Doesn’t want the world to see him as soft or weak.

• But when he does show it, it’s little things—words of support that may sound rougher than necessary (he’s trying to become gentler with them, but it’s tough), looking out for them in different situations to make sure they’re safe and protected, will sometimes just silently sit nearby when they’re doing an activity, just for the company.

• If this is someone he is really close with, platonic or romantic, it’s careful, soft touches. It’s brushing a strand of hair back that fell out of place for them. It’s letting them lean against him when they get too tired to keep themselves up. It’s offering to carry them when walking gets too tiring for their own legs, when their muscles are fatigued.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

• As much as he may to deny it, Kaine has a bleeding heart, and it has definitely led him into some unlikely friendships. I tend to think back to the elderly blind person he ended up staying for a time, that offered him a roof over his head and company to talk to. So I think he’d find a friend maybe in someone he may have met while on the lam, who gives him an ear willing to listen to some of his woes. Possibly someone who offered him a hot, home cooked meal, something he hasn’t had in a long time (if ever, really), who sits him down at their table to settle and eat, will even make him a to-go plate, offer him to come back anytime for food and conversation.

• Thus, it becomes routine for him to spend some quiet moments with this person, starts to divulge more about himself, learn more about them, forming a bond he had not expected. It’s nice, a comfort to have such a friendship. Becomes so talkative in this friendship, so trusting. Truly ankles himself to open up.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

• He does! He just doesn’t know how! He’s never been properly cuddled in his life, it’s AGONIZING.

• But say he’s on the couch or in bed with his person, laying back while they’re propped up on his chest before they settle their head down to use him like a pillow; he’s got his arms wrapped around their middle, chin resting gently atop their head at first, but soon enough the lower half of his face is buried in their hair, inhaling their scent. Just feels so much safety in this act.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

• Kaine has some notions of wanting to settle down with someone, but he wouldn’t even know what that truly looks like for him. His life has been such a whirlwind, whether because of his own actions or the actions of others that have complicated things for him to build a future, it’s kinda hard for him to imagine domesticity for himself.

• But he for sure will have the thought, from time to time, having a home of his own, something like what he knows from his memories (well, Peter’s, really) of what it was like with Aunt May and Uncle Ben. Imagining that house in Forest Hills, Queens, all the memories on the walls, the warmth in those halls. If he had a house like that, he wouldn’t even know what to fill it with. He knows he would always have a room for Aracely, though, would always make space for her.

• And maybe there is a romantic partner in the picture. Someone he can come home to, when he walks in the door can already smell the scent of something delicious filling the house. Maybe he calls out for them and they callback, letting them know they’re in the kitchen. He’ll come in, wrap his arms around their waist as he notches his head where their neck meets their shoulder, landing a kiss on their cheek. And they’d ask each other how their days were. Maybe a few complaints here and there, but mostly just…happy to be in each others presence now. Makes the whole day better. He wants that so bad.

• God, he’s shit at cooking. His partner is definitely shooing him out the kitchen cause ‘you set the fire alarm off every time you cook in my kitchen’. He makes up for what he lacks in cooking skills for cleaning, will for sure get on the ceiling to get those cobwebs in the high corners.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

• Kaine is…not good with a break up, to put it lightly. Part of that is because of his first truly committed relationship, with Louise Kennedy, where she used him and betrayed him, and the actions he took after this were certainly regrettable. Even if we talk Muse, another woman who used him in such a similar fashion and betrayed him all the same, and how that ended. It was different with Annabelle. Things were better, so much better. Until they weren’t. Until Kraven. Until Shathra. Until the Other. Until she saw him for all he was, or all he thinks himself to be, and she ran.

• So when it comes to the person Kaine is now, how he would go about a breakup? I think he’d just…go. In an attempt to avoid the mistakes he’s made in the past, the monstrous acts he committed against the others he was with before, and even to kind of avoid any further heartbreak. Just ghost, not a word. It’s better that way, right?

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

• Commitment is, admittedly, confusing to Kaine. Like, yeah, when he falls for someone, he falls hard. He is ready to give his everything to them, for them, whatever the case may be. But marriage has never really been something at the top of his mind cause, again, he doesn’t think the life he has lived allow for that.

• Of course, if the conversation is brought up by his partner, he’s gonna talk about it and tell his true feelings: that he loves them, immensely, he’s just not sure about marriage itself cause like 1) “superhero” life seems like it would make it tough, that it would complicate things 2) he’s seen how it went for his own brother (albeit, he definitely put some pressure on that marriage with his own actions that began to mar Peter’s life) and 3) he is still a wanted man and he doesn’t wanna put that on his beloved with a civil union.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

• He is one of the least gentle people in the world, physically and emotionally. But that doesn’t mean that he isn’t trying. He is working on himself to be more gentle, sometimes he’s gotta catch himself with the things he says or does, but I promise you, he is trying.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

• He likes hugs, he just can get a little awkward with them when someone gives him one, especially if it’s a little unexpected. It takes him time to get used to just one specific person hugging him. Definitely took him a minute with Aracely, cause she would just spring them on him (and still does), but now he passively accepts the hugs, sometimes returns it.

• When it comes to how he hugs? Again, he’s awkward with it, will probably like pat whoever on the head in that kinda “there, there” manner, tries to very carefully encircle them with his arms (he’s so damn big), but as he gets more comfortable with hugging them, he’s like a goddamn teddy bear.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

• Controversial, but I think he’s always on the verge of saying it with someone that he has found himself infatuated with, but bites his tongue every time before he can. He’s too nervous that his love will be spurned. Or worse—they’ll say it back and won’t mean it. He’s already been through that, where someone said it only as a means to use him, to control him. So he tries to distance himself from the word.

• If someone else says it to him first, though, WHEW! He’s gonna crumble. He’s going to melt. He was convinced from the day he came out the clone tank that he was unlovable just an experiment, a creature. And was further convinced through the years he’s a monster that no one can possibly love. So if someone says it and means it with their whole heart and shows him that love? He’s breaking down, baby.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

• Oh, Kaine gets big time jealous. Gonna refer to when he went to the rodeo with Annabelle and got super pissy when her ex was flirting with her (IIRC he shoved him out the way at some point and planted a big smooch on her). He will definitely start to hover around his partner, if not outright keeping an arm around them to keep them near/against him, and will glare at the person who is the source of these feelings of jealousy, like he’s actively plotting their downfall.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

• His kisses are very intense, all encompassing. Will have both hands pressed against the sides of his partner’s face to hold them there while his lips slot against theirs, may move one to cradle the back of their head as he deepens it. Just really gets into it, might end up getting some teeth and tongue in that kiss.

• He likes kissing the crook of his partner's neck or jawline, maybe the very top of their head.

• He likes getting cheek and forehead kisses. Something about it makes him feel so soft. He’s also a bit of a sucker for if they kiss him on the tip of his nose or along the shell of his ears, really likes it.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

• He gets a little nervous around kids. Teenagers are one thing, like Aracely is a handful as is (a personality that was hard for him to get used to), and Charlie (Spider-Kid) is a little shit, but he can definitely manage because he gets them, he understands where they’re coming from, why they are the way they are, and can definitely relate. If he had a chance to have a childhood, grow into teenhood, be a ‘real boy’, he believes his personality would mirror theirs in some ways.

• But kids? He does not really understand kids and worries when he’s around anyone under the age of 12. He’s worried he might end up being too harsh with them, might scare them off.

• The thing is kids kinda gravitate towards him, and this is very apparent with baby Mayday and Gerry, as they will crawl all over this man, will hang off him like a jungle gym, will coo and babble at him, and after a time, it becomes pretty amusing to him. And, soon enough, Uncle Candy Cane starts getting unexpectedly saddled with babysitting duties.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

• Depends on how the night before was for him, as I believe he deals with a touch of insomnia (which I will go more into in the next section), so he can be a little cranky in the morning, only giving slight mumbles and grumbles as he gets himself together for the day.

• Even after he’s done his bathroom routine—brushing his teeth, taking a shower, getting in a quick shave, doing some hair care if he still has his long, flowing locks—he’ll still probably be a bit of a grump until he gets some breakfast in him, a cup of coffee, something.

• There are times where he wants to just sleep in til noon, and if he’s been cuddled up in bed with his partner and they’re about to slip out to get there own day started, he’s definitely dragging them back in with him. Will mumble something about ‘just a few more minutes’ into their hair which, of course, turns into way more than a few more minutes. He just wants to revel in this.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

• He has a rough time of actually getting to sleep. Sometimes, he’ll just go swinging through the city for a while, looking for someone in need of help (there’s always someone), trying to tire himself out. Maybe he’ll hit up a bar to get a beer or two, which leads into a bar fight and a blackout because he got the same tolerance Peter had to alcohol—slim to none.

• If he has a partner, sometimes he’ll try to get them to stay up as long as he is up, but definitely feels bad when he can see them struggling to stay awake. Other times, he may cuddle up with them until they drift off, and will just watch them as they sleep, enjoying just observing them.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

• It definitely takes a while for him to open up, because he’s been burned in the past and doesn’t really want to reveal too much in the fear of it happening again. He also doesn’t want to risk driving them away with the things he may talk about concerning himself. He knows what he is, knows that a lot of what he’s done is unforgivable, and doesn’t want to unload all of that onto them, doesn’t want them to see him the way that he sees himself. But once he has found his comfort with that person, once he really feels he can trust them, he does start to slowly reveal more and more about himself.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

• Oh, too easy to anger. He has an admittedly short fuse that can go from annoyance to full on rage if someone hits the wrong nerve. And it’s not too easy to calm him down, so tread carefully.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

• He remembers everything. Every small detail, every little moment. Really makes sure to pay attention to the things that make his partner smile, makes them laugh. Remembers every soft moment between himself and them. But he also remembers the bad moments, the ones that he wants to burn from his memory entirely. Those become so etched into his mind, like a black mark. But he carries it with him. It’s his burden.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

• (insert self-indulgent fic here)

• Actually, I WILL be a little self-indulgent, albeit brief: it was the first time that he had any kind of significant interaction with them, a kickback at the Parker household. He knew of them, brief mentions of them, had caught a glance once or twice when he went to the pub they worked at the couple of times he’d accepted Peter’s invites to grab a bite, ‘catch up’, as it were. He knew they were a friend of MJ’s, something about meeting them at an audition? On set? He wasn’t too sure. Didn’t particularly matter, at the time.

• He found himself getting a bit overwhelmed, had been trying to avoid too many questions about ‘why he never really came around’, ‘how come he’d missed out on the Parker-Watson wedding’, ‘why they’ve heard so little of Peter’s jock of a brother’, and so one and so forth. He was sure a couple of them knew the truth of it (definitely Johnny who threw out that last one), but was finding it tough to navigate the questions.

• So, when they came over to interrupt, requesting his specific help because they ‘needed someone big’ to help carry a couple trays of leftovers down to the deep freeze for May, he nearly jumped at the task, a grunt and a quick nod as he trailed behind them. Though, as soon as the two of them entered the kitchen, he was quick to note the lack of food trays in need of transport.

• They instead handed him a cup, holding one identical in their other as they propped themselves back against the counter. “Sorry, you just kind of looked like you were drowning out there,” they would go on to clarify their deception, giving a brief laugh. “Couldn’t keep watching that. I say we’ve got a good five minutes before they expect you back. Maybe ten.”

• He had to admit, he was definitely relieved for the save. Even mumbled a quiet ‘thank you’ to them as he clutched the cup, leaning slightly against the counter adjacent. They’re finally able to give a proper introduction—Nanette, but they just go by Nan since it’s easier—explaining that they’ve seen him the couple of times he’s come into the bar with Peter and MJ. Clocked him as just as much of a lightweight as Peter; has watched him nurse one beer over an entire evening.

• “You might wanna sip slow from that cup,” they advise him, giving a small tap on their own. “Sangria. Made it myself. MJ says I make it ‘too strong’, so tread carefully.”

• They stay making a bit of small talk, nothing too in-depth. Talking about the party at hand, cracking a joke here and there. It’s nice. It’s only when someone calls through the back door for one of them that they find themselves ending their little chat, Nan heading back out, raising their cup in a mock toast. Says they hope to see him again sometime. He hoped so, too. Maybe he’d show his face act the bar without Peter sometime.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

• Oh, he’s super protective. Like ‘would commit crimes for you’ protective. Just looking at his past relationships, platonic and romantic, he definitely is super protective of those he loves and will do whatever necessary to ensure their safety.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

• He for sure would put a bit of effort towards these things, it’s just he doesn’t know what that looks like. He’s never really been in a relationship long enough to figure out what all that entails. His attempts may be a little lacking, at first, like it will mostly be watching TV on the sofa, maybe grab some takeout from the Chinese food store down at the corner or that New Mexican spot that opened on 10th, but as time goes along it will definitely develop further to “I saw this necklace that made me think of you, no big deal”, or “yeah, uh, I remember you talked about this exhibit, thought it would be nice to check it out together, maybe”, like he’s so awkward about it.

• He’s not really as used to doing housework as others might, so may lack on some things but will for sure try to make sure the laundry is done, that any trash goes down for trash day, will bring in the stray package the mailman left down at the leasing office.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

• He has been told multiple times to take his shoes off at the door, and multiple times he has tracked dirt into the space on the bottom of his shoes. He won’t even wipe his feet on the mat like he’s supposed to (half of that is for sure cause he’s coming through the fire escape window, but that’s another problem to tackle another day).

• Also, his communication skills are kind of terrible, he really needs to work more on having open lines of communication with the people in his life.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

• He acts like he doesn’t care, but this man has every hair shampoo, conditioner, hair mask, oil, pomade, all to make sure his hair stays immaculate when he’s growing it out.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

• Without a doubt. Wishes he was back on that beach with the waves licking at his feet, but will settle for this margarita he’s sipping on in this little Mexican spot you two would go to every other week and think about all the conversations you two had, the future promises you made. Would feel like there’s a hole in his heart (again…) And that’s on codependency issues, babes!

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

• On top of having unofficially adopted Aracely, I also like to think that since the Spider-Geddon event, Ashley Barton and Charlie Parker will occasionally hang around his apartment (Ashley wants to get to know her ‘not-so-great’ Uncle Kaine since she doesn’t really know him in her own world, and might drag Charlie with her cause she’ll be damned if her ‘Gramps’ is living alone on the streets of his own universe with no guidance; and suddenly Kaine is fulfilling the actual big brother role to at least one variation of Peter when it comes to Charlie, whether he’s setting the best example or not is the question). Now he’s got all these teens around his place, his snacks are gone, and has absolutely no peace of mind, but it’s okay, they teach him how to use the internet in exchange for unwilling mentorship.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

• He cannot abide by liars, even though he’s a huge liar himself, so kinda hypocritical. But if it’s big things, if it’s truly like ‘you told me you were this, but you’re actually this’ kind of things in regards to who they are as a person, it definitely will remind him of every partner who has presented a false self to him in the past, and he just can’t do that again. The trust will not be the same.

• The thing is, he does hate this about himself, too. He hates the way that he has martyred himself in the past based on a lie, he hates the situations that he has gotten others into based on lies he told them. And, unfortunately, he’s not really taking the steps necessary to not be that person who lies to those around him. Or at least he’s not trying as hard as he could.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

• When it comes down to him actually falling asleep, he kinda takes up the entire bed (he’s MASSIVE) and will move around quite a bit in his sleep, a very restless sleeper. With his partner, he may end up hugging them to him like they’re a stuffed animal, and good luck to them prying themselves from his arms if they have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

• Otherwise, this man has insomnia and hasn’t had a proper sleep since he was out the clone pod. He’ll say he doesn’t need it, that he’s good off getting maybe an hour or two, but it’s more like he doesn’t want to deal with what is subconscious will conjure up in his dreams when he finally lays down to rest, doesn’t want to see the faces of those he has wronged, those whose lives he has cut short in his pettiness and his times of instability. The man is haunted by guilt in both the waking world and the land of dreams

#kaine #kaine parker #scarlet spider #marvel #marvel comics #shout outs to Ashley Barton and Charlie Parker y’all are forever on my mind as the Parker kids that could use so much guidance and support #and of course Aracely my dear who fills such an important role as little sister

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alphabetatoes · 1 year

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✨🌈🕷️feel-good wednesday hcs 🕷️🌈✨

a.n.: i binged all of wednesday on tuesday and thus feel responsible to provide some nice lil headcanons for the show bc i miss writing for things and i’m neck deep in the fandom rn. please enjoy! 🖤

wednesday’s first book gets published & she absolutely has enid on the acknowledgements page with the note “For Enid - Who clawed her way into my heart.”

bianca and wednesday become the first fencing duo in nevermore’s history to be undefeated, and rightfully so

enid has a new section of her blog called “here’s the thing^TM”, a spot for Thing to divulge all their inside gossip gained from going undercover at nevermore

bianca is adamant about making a better life and self at nevermore & makes the executive decision to only use her siren song for good. need just a little more convincing on a test you’ve got anxiety about or too scared to ask your crush out? she is here to give you the ultimate pep talk.

the most popular extracurricular this semester is the theatre department, with the musical being wicked! enid practically begs wednesday to audition - but she ends up being first chair cello in the orchestra (still amazing and as talented as ever). bianca is elphaba, enid is glenda, xavier is fiyero, and eugene is boq. ajax 108% does costume design for the show (i am a theatre kid and am legally obligated to include a musical reference)

after the events of the previous semester, wednesday & eugene are both the proud founders of “nevermores never explored” - a club to elaborate on all of nevermores untold secrets (happily sponsored by the nightshades ofc)

to commemorate his and enids (almost) first date, ajax stones himself in front of xavier, xavier draws and creates a physical statue of ajax carved in stone, and ajax presents it as a gift for their 6 month-aversary (enid is very much heart eyes emoji over it)

when there’s ever a particularly low pollination season, xavier will help eugene by sketching out new flowers to pique the bees interest & bringing them to life

#wednesday addams #enid sinclair #xavier thorpe #bianca barclay #ajax petropolus #eugene otinger #tyler is NOT included in these as he is a PISS BABY!!!#jenna ortega #emma myers #percy hynes white #joy sunday #georgie farmer #moosa mostafa

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magnificentcenturyfics · 8 months

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Remembering Gübahar, part 1/2 - Circassian Beauty

Description: Mahidevran's backstory, as headcanoned by me. Featuring OCs and period typical attitudes so fair warning.

***

„Where are you from, anyway?“

Mahidevran has never been asked that, and she doubted any other sultana ever was. Women from high status families didn’t care, and elevated slaves such as herself knew better than to talk about certain things; for them, in silence was the solidarity. Only in the darkest of nights and trough the quietest of whispers, when as almost children they had to face their demons in the impersonal space of communal bedrooms, they dared to speak about it, and they did so with the utmost reverence and care for the then still fresh scars in their hearts – it was important that while they touch them, the stitches do not come off. It figures that Gabriella de Sfeo, who knew neither fear nor shame and who was so familiar with their society, yet understood so little of it at the same time, would be the first person she’d hear the question from.

Mahidevran thus answered with only a practiced smile. „Ah, does it even matter, signora?“ Gabriela raised an eyebrow, unmoved by Mahidevran’s attempt to placate her curiosity. „It doesn’t, which is why I find it all the more strange that you’d be reluctant to tell me, sultana.“ „Oh, I am not!“ Mahidevran exclaimed, trying desperately to not sound defensive. „It’s just... Well, I need to talk to you about something else entirely, and now you are asking me to tell you some long-winded story, of which half I do not even remember, to tell the truth...“ „Oh, I do not need the whole story, sultana! Simply tell me, where you were born and of what nation.“ Mahidevran’s distaste for her curiosity (which must’ve been visible on her face) seemed to only feed it. „Surely, you must’ve shared this amusing little fact with other women of your station, have you not?“ Mahidevran pursed her lips together. Maybe it was just her imagination, but Gabriela sounded almost... Accusatory. „I do not keep any secrets from you, signora, or anyone else. I came from this palace, where my son was born and where His Majesty graced me with his love and care. Anything else, which might’ve come before, is irrelevant.“ Gabriela only smiled. „And yet...“ „Yet what?!“ „You are not willing to divulge such a pitiful nothing of an information in a casual conversation.“ Mahidevran raised her voice. „Signora de Sfeo, I value our friendship, and it deeply saddens me that you are apparently willing to sacrifice it for your own nosiness...“ „Nosiness?“ Gabriela chuckled. „Alright, then. I appologize, sultana, if in my question I might’ve been forcing you to reveal something shameful...“ „My past is not shameful, signora!“ said Mahidevran harshly. „I don’t know what kind of scandal you imagine me hiding about my younger years, but rest assured, they were perfectly ordinary and no different from any other woman here-“

She cut her impassionate refute of Gabriela’s assertions in the middle, because despite her best efforts, signora made her admit things she didn’t put into words even in her head for all of those years. As a result, she was in such foul mood she needed to end her meeting with signora as soon as possible and order a glass of boza, which she had not drunk since she first got pregnant and elevated over her peers. If she was going to wrestle with unbidden memories called upon by her declaration, she might as well do so with a spot of something nostalgic, so to speak.

It was perhaps for the best that she had no memmories of Circassia. She knew girls who remembered their homelands, even at the house of Zahide hanim, who raised most of her slaves just like she did Mahidevran. It wasn’t pretty, watching them when they first came; the lucky ones only cried a lot, especially at night, some also woke from nightmares, but it wasn’t rare for them to be... Broken, in one way or another. To not speak, or to only speak rarely and in that strange heavy monotone that she imagined rocks would have if they could speak. Or, on the contrary, to live in a constant state of panic, suspicious towards everyone and everything new, slow to trust and quick to attack (on the receiving end of these Mahidevran had found herself more often than she can count). One of her teachers seemed almost normal, except for the fact that she was obsessed with the idea of her or her surroundings catching fire, so she unlit every candle or fireplace that she could, making them shiver in their clasrooms and go to bed much sooner than even Zahide hanim ordered – and God forbid one of them didn’t do the same! They called that woman insane behind her back, and she might very well have been, but then, at least she had some company in that in Zahide hanim’s household. Of course, the woman had been a slave for years at that point, and most girls she met recovered much sooner... Eventually, Zahide hanim found her hysterics tiresome and had her sold away, never to be seen again. The woman seemed sad, but not as much as Mahidevran would expect; then again, for her, leaving Zahide hanim was at that time completely unimaginable, and all in all the worst thing that can happen to her, up to and including death.

Mahidevran grew up as an orphan. She did not know if she in fact was one – it’s possible that somewhere in those massive green mountains Mahidevran’s mother or father still cried for her even after four decades, miraculously surviving whatever act of brutal violence led to her enslavement and living the rest of their life in mourning. That thought used to bother her once, when she was still small and trying to reconcile the theoretical concept of a normal family with the fact that she only had a mistress and fellow pupils. Her head back then was full of fantasies, about that place she knew little of and people who might not even be in the realm of the living anymore. With Zahide, she was always unsure of whether she could tell her about something so silly, but luckily when her fellow orphan Gevheri asked her mistress about their origin, she was rather understanding. Zahide patiently explained that she herself did not know anything about where they came from, except for the location; the man who sold them said no more than „this girl is named thus and is of that nation“, and that was, allegedly, for the best. After all, were they really convinced that learning of the home they did not have anymore and family they could not possibly ever come home to would make them feel better in any way? Nevertheless, she was then kind enough to tell them their names and places of origin – and so Mahidevran knew her parents, whoever they were, named her Sataney after a pagan goddess, information interesting enough to retain, but otherwise rather useless. Only much later, when she was sent to the palace of şehzade Süleyman, did she learn more. Upset at leaving the only home she had known, Mahidevran talked back to Zahide in a manner she never dared to before, leaving her mistress to lose her patience and scream at her the words Mahidevran never forgot.

„I am a daughter of a sultana, and you – who are you?! Some peasant girl from a burned village, taken as a war prize by a barbarian prince from the mountains, for whom serving my food and fetching my slippers is the best fate that might’ve befallen you...“

Mahidevran did not know if it was something Zahide knew with any certainty, or if she just speculated based off of the fact that this was where most of the famous „Circassian beauties“ came from. Much later, as the mother of beloved şehzade Mustafa, she heard people spreading rumors about her having royal blood in her veins, but she was quite sure that wasn’t the case. If the slavers got their hands on an actual princess, they would mention it – after all, think of the price they could ask for such a girl...! Besides, the odds weren’t in her favour in this case. There was only so many princesses in Circassia, and peasant girls must‘ve outnumbered them greatly. No, Mahidevran sultan was no Ayşe Hafsa, she could not place herself above every other woman in the harem on her origins alone. But that is not to say she wasn’t better than them in some regards.

Zahide hanim had planned out the education of her subjects to the smallest details. Cared for by the best teachers she could find amongst the eunuchs and slave women of Istanbul, Mahidevran and several other girls were schooled in good manners, rhetoric, religion, literature, Persian and Arabic languages, embroidery, music and dancing, as well as receiving some limited instruction in mathematics, history and philosophy. Admittedly, Mahidevran was never good in any of it, frustrating teachers with her slow and reluctant adoption of any „serious“ subject, and only ever truly excelling in the art of embroidery. But she was not completely immune to the effects of rigorous education she received at Zahide hanim’s household – unlike Hürrem, she at least never had any trouble keeping up with the ladies of high breeding, even if she could not measure up to the likes of Şah sultan or Ibrahim pasha. At any rate, she wasn’t top of the class by any means, and she didn’t manage to distinguish herself outside of classroom either.

At any given moment, Zahide hanim cared for about a dozen slave girls of various ages, the relations between whom were always rather precarious. In their small, closed off collective, every friend was the dearest, most beloved person in the world (except for their mistress, of course), but every foe was in turn one more reason to despise even being alive. They could not torment each other openly, of course – not only for the fear of punishment, but also because the conscience of even the worst of them would not allow such severe transgression against their mistress. Instead, they attacked their foes only with more moderate weapons, but that much more relentlessly; Mahidevran spent her entire youth under the barrage of insults, petty pranks and small injustices, inflicting them in turn whenever she could. Unfortunately, she lacked inventiveness or quick wit, so she wasn’t any good in this kind of quiet warfare, which led to her relying on either inflicting physical violence on her foes (a difficult task for someone as small and unintimidating) she would then do her best to conceal or friendships with girls smarter than her. She got lucky in this regard: being naturally withdrawn, she never had many friends, but she managed to arouse the feelings of protectiveness in an older girl named Ümmülgülsüm, big, burly Greek known as the self-appointed peacekeeper of their group. Much like Mahidevran, she wasn’t good at any of the school subjects with the sole exception of embroidery, which (or so Mahidevran suspected) made her see herself in little Mahidevran; however, unlike her, Ümmülgülsüm was quite good at exerting authority over the other girls thanks to her size, common wisdom and dignified demeanor. Being her favourite was often the only thing standing between Mahidevran and relentless bullying, so naturally she had grown quite attached to Ümmülgülsüm. She stayed longer than any of her peers, too, which was lucky, because Mahidevran could not even imagine spending even part of her early youth relying only on herself.

Even so, nothing lasts forever, and Ümmülgülsüm left when she was eighteen and Mahidevran herself only twelve. It happened so suddenly – one morning, an overseerer told Ümmülgülsüm to pack her things and then wait in Zahide hanim’s chambers. Once she left their common room to see their mistress, she only came back to say goodbye, explaning in a hurry that she was sold to pasha so-and-so and that they may not see her again. Mahidevran could not stop crying the rest of the day, no matter how much the overseerer tried to assure her what happened to Ümmülgülsüm will happen to every one of them eventually, and that it’s only for the best that she has gone off to do what she was always raised for: keeping company to men of high standing. Mahidevran remembered her old friend after giving birth to Mustafa, and so used the modicum of power given to her by this fortunate event for ordering aghas to locate Ümmülgülsüm at pasha’s household. It turned out that the elderly pasha has kept her as a concubine, a duty which she loathed with every fiber of her being, but luckily his failing health soon barred him from this kind of entertainment, relegating Ümmülgülsüm to a mere servant of pasha’s eldest daughter – an all around better mistress than him, if Ümmülgülsüm was to be believed. Alas, her lowly possition meant that she wasn’t able to maintain regular contact with Mahidevran, but at least her old protector was content with where she ended up.

Regardless, Ümmülgülsüm’s sudden departure left a profound impact on Mahidevran. It was probably the first time she really thought of how fickle the fate is, and what that word even means. Fate, she realized soon, weren’t just the whims of nature, her own body or the supernatural, no; her fellow human beings could be the fate, if they are powerful enough. Questioning, for example, Zahide hanim, was just as futile and borderline blasphemous as questioning Allah above. Or that was what she told herself – really, the only alternative was to blame Zahide hanim, perish the thought. Unlike Hürrem, Mahidevran wasn’t defiant by nature, and with the exception of a few cases, such as the aforementioned incident around her departure, she had only ever shown perfect obedience towards Zahide hanim; a fact which, admittedly, might’ve surprised anyone who had known her in the Manisa palace.

She was around eighteen when they were rounded up on Zahide’s orders in a courtyard, where they were visited by a burly older woman, who, as Mahidevran thought upon first seeing her, had a somewhat frog-like face. From her dress, Mahidevran could immediately tell she isn’t particullarly wealthy or important herself – this confused her at first, since how could someone ordinary even afford Zahide’s girls, who, as they were themselves told, meant for the most elite of households? And yet, there the woman was, eyeing them all critically and with a rather obvious intent of taking one of them away. Before she said a word, Mahidevran realized the woman must’ve been an attendant, sent by someone else, either because they weren’t able to come, or because they were too important to bother with such things. Nevertheless, she would never have guessed the identity of the woman’s mistress, since it was one of those things one would be too bold to even dream about, and Mahidevran was never much of a dreamer anyhow.

The woman looked less than impressed by them – and sounded so too. „Is this everything you have?“ Zahide hanim pursed her lips together. „Daye hatun, I know there aren’t many of them...“ „I was talking more about their quality than quantity, hanim.“ That hurt, though Mahidevran told herself that perhaps it wasn’t that the years of being told how beautiful, well-educated and all around exceptional they are were all lies; after all, what if the woman was just of an exceptionally curmogeonly character? (It was only later, when she was charged with buying slaves or really anything expensive herself that she realized talking cargo down was a standard practice for savvy buyers.) „I know they don’t seem like much compared to other girls dressed up to the nines by their owners, but consider, I only let them parade around you in such simple getup because I would not dare deceive you with makeup and jewelry into believing they are more beautiful than they are...“ The woman remained absolutely deadpan. „I do not think it’s the way they are dressed, hanim.“ Zahide hanim raised her eyebrows. „You do not consider them good enough? Well, that is unfortunate, but I suppose I cannot change what your eyes see. Shall I bid you farewell, then?“ Daye’s smile was slight, but still notable on her previously less than amused face. „Well, I suppose some of them are at least acceptable.“ She scaned them quickly with her gaze, then pointed to Mahidevran and two other girls. „Take those three to the hammam. I need to see... More of them, if you understand me. Just so I can be assured they are healthy and... Well, an all around quality material.“

Mahidevran shivered at the thought of standing naked in front of the woman’s cold amphibian eyes. One of the other girls, Neslihan, outright defied the order and made a scene. The good news was, she didn’t have to stand naked in front of the old woman, but the whipping she was punished with was so brutal it hardly seemed worth it; really, even not knowing what she knew now about the strange woman’s identity, Mahidevran would still prefer standing naked in front of her for a few seconds than suffering so much pain she’d vomit. Mahidevran actually liked the spirited girl somewhat, so when she later visited Neslihan in the sickbay to make sure she’s well, she didn’t dare mention the opportunity the girl passed over by her defiance – though she must’ve found eventually. It was one of the cruelest punishments she had seen Zahide mete out, and though she could understand somewhat her anger and need to look tough in front of the representative of Ayşe Hafsa herself, she was still disturbed by the sight of Neslihan’s utterly butchered back. She suspected that might’ve contributed to her later outburst, which caused her to part with her beloved mistress on bad terms.

Regardless, back in the baths, after looking around their bodies with a cold, clinical gaze, Daye proclaimed. „Ah, to hell with it. Let me take them both. What are they called, anyway?“ „The skinny one is Gülbahar, the other one Gülruh.“ answered Zahide. „So, two roses, then?“ noted Daye with a humorless smile. Then she turned towards them. „I know it might not seem that way, but this is the luckiest day of your life. Get dressed and then pack your things. You’re joining the household of şehzade Süleyman.“ Mahidevran almost fainted at the information. However, she overcame her dizziness and shaking feet, when the older woman saw her distress and propped Mahidevran up by her own shoulder. „Pull yourself together, girl. Where are you from?“ „Circassia, mylady...“ „One would think you of stronger stuff, considering you were born in the mountain air.“

Just like Ümmülgülsüm, she was given only a short time to pack her bags and say her farewells. Though her mind was aware that, just like Daye said, she indeed got very lucky, she certainly didn’t feel it that way. Instead, she was grieving losing almost all of her friends, but also fearing disappointment – from her own side, if service in the royal household wouldn’t be as glamorous as she imagined it to be in the past, but more importantly also from the side of her new masters. After all, it would be bad enough to embarass herself in front of any high-born lady or gentleman, but sultan’s wife and eldest son...? She then briefly visited Neslihan, and as one negative emotion built upon another, it only took Zahide hurrying her up without any patience or understanding for Mahidevran to lose her temper. Mahidevran didn’t suffer any real consequences for it, as she left soon after, but she never forgave herself for the fact that this was the farewell she had given to the woman who raised her in her own household, perhaps not as her own daughter, but certainly not without affection. Or so Mahidevran chose to believe, as sometimes she had to argue over this point with a small voice in her head that doubted her most sincerely held beliefs. She suspected most people have such a voice in their head; perhaps it is the devil speaking, as Ayşe Hafsa once told her, but more likely it is just their reason overdoing it sometimes. After all, there is no sin in doubt, only in succumbing to it.

Road to the royal palace in Manisa was rather short – around an hour in the carriage, certainly not enough for Daye to provide them with a comprehensive lesson on palace etiquette, much as she tried. She told them it would be a few months untill they could properly serve şehzade and his mother; in the meantime, their lot was to live amongst other low-ranking servant girls, doing chores, fulfilling small tasks and attending some lessons. Daye was andamant that they do not think themselves better than the other girls just because they have a guaranteed spot in sultana’s vicinity, and should she catch them causing unnecessary ruckus, the best they could hope for is losing that spot. Mahidevran’s heart sunk with every minute she spent in Daye’s company. It was one thing to leave the only home and almost all of the people she had known, but to exchange one mistress whom she loved dearly for this frog-faced harridan? (In hindsight, she considered her judgement of the venerable Daye hatun almost amusing in its wrongness and inappropriateness, though in fairness, she could not have known better.) Her first meeting with Ayşe Hafsa didn’t fill her with much hope either – the old woman took one look at the young women brought in front of her and apathetically ordered Daye to show them their rooms. Only later did she learn that valide just arrived in Manisa in the aftermath of her husband’s ascencion and after the bloodshed that followed, she wasn’t inclined to concern herself with the day-to-day running of the household. Nonetheless, at the end of the day, as she and Gülruh walked the gauntlet of curious slave girls to the common sleeping area, their meager belongings in hand, Mahidevran didn’t feel much optimism about her future.

At first, it seemed to have been warranted. The girls around her regarded her and Gülruh with curiosity, as unlike most of them, they didn’t come directly from the market, but were bred for service – a fate which the girls enslaved later in life could barely fathom. At every meal, they bombarded both newcomers with questions, which made Mahidevran profoundly uncomfortable. On the other hand, Gülruh answered them much more readily, soon earning her quite a lot of friends and immensely helping her adjust to their new home. This aroused jealousy in Mahidevran, which only made those first few months that much more bitter. Thus alienated from the only person she truly knew in this unfamiliar enviroment, she turned towards other outcasts of the palace, the chief among them a put-upon servant named Gülşah.

She first stood out to Mahidevran by being somewhat more pudgy than most of the other girls, as well as by the fact that the rest of them acted as if she was disseased. When she once asked Gülruh about her during a meal, her old aquitance laughed. „Gülşah? Allah, don’t come close to that one. She was sent away from Topkapi as a punishment for constantly getting into fights, and even here noone likes her. If the girls saw you two together...“ ...they would’ve left me alone, she finished that sentence in her head.

It was a spur-of-the moment decision, really. Gülruh barely moved another spoon of pilav to her mouth when Mahidevran got up from her seat and resolutely sat by Gülşah’s table. This move surprised her new companion so much that the only reaction she managed was a confused stare. Mahidevran for her part enjoyed having a silent companion at first, untill Gülşah broke the silence. „You’re the new one?“ Mahidevran didn’t react at first, slowly realizing she had no plan how to proceed with her new aquitance. She only nodded her head and tried to focus on her meal, hoping the situation settles itself somehow. Gülşah seemed slightly hostile, her anger dampened by the pleasant surprise of finally having someone at her side. „What are you doing at my table?!“ „Why? Do you want me to leave?“ Gülşah slowly blinked. „No, I mean... Why me? Why sit here, at this place?“ Mahidevran only shrugged. „You’re quiet. Everyone has been so annoying since I came here, I hoped that maybe you are different...?“ „I guess I am, but...“ Her eyes trailed across the room. „That’s because noone wants to talk to me out there.“ „Why?“ She seemed upset by that question. „The hell if I know. Ask them.“ „I already did.“ After a moment of silence, even more awkward than the first, Mahidevran tried her best to break it. „They say you used to serve at the palace of sultan himself.“ „And? All of the other girls did too. Well, I mean there’s that bitch Yasemin and her friends, who already served the prince in Kaffa... And Gülfem, if she comes back from Istanbul.“ „Why? What does she do there?“ „Sleeps with şehzade, probably.“ she shrugged. „If he still wants her, that is.“ „Why wouldn’t he?“ „I mean, they’ve been together since Kaffa, maybe he’s tired of her or something. I don’t know, and honestly I don’t care about that kind of stupid gossip. I am not his concubine, and never will be.“ „Why are you so certain of it? I think you’re actually quite pretty.“ Gülşah’s eyes widened and cheeks turned light crimson. „Uh... Thank you.“ She drank from the glass of water near her plate, collecting herself. „But you’re probably the only person who thinks that. Everyone else calls me an owl and teases me constantly. Well, at least they used to – I... I made them stop.“

Only later did Mahidevran learn that Gülşah knows the other girls continue laughing at her in secret, she just didn’t care. If she couldn’t have any kind of respect, she was aiming for at least a small amount of fear; just enough that noone dared say anything to her face.

From their first conversation, Mahidevran felt a strange draw towards the other girl. She could not properly explain it back then, aside from the fact that, as unpleasant as Gülşah could be, the hate towards her was nonetheless disproportionate. But when Gülruh asked why it must be Mahidevran herself who compensates for this unjust treatment, she had no proper answer. Her old aquitance must’ve thought her mad, to cling so closely to the one so hated by everyone else, even if Gülruh never said it out loud and most certainly didn’t leave Mahidevran’s side because of it (by then, Gülruh’s popularity was such that even association with Mahidevran couldn’t have undermined it). In hindsight, Mahidevran became certain that her inexplicable affection for her might’ve had something to do with the memmories of Ümmülgülsüm, which Gülşah aroused in Mahidevran despite having very little in common with her old friend. To put it simply, Mahidevran might’ve felt that it was time to pass on the protection she received and become a protector herself. A lookback at those times also revealed that she shouldn’t have bothered, but how was she to know Gülşah’s true nature back then? In day-to-day interactions, Gülşah didn’t seem all that bad – perhaps a little slow, and clinging to her only friend with a bothersome tenacity, but nonetheless surprisingly kind and caring. She shared Mahidevran’s passion for embroidery, and they had many a pleasant conversation in the corner with their threads and needles in hand. Finally accompanied by people who knew their way around the palace, Mahidevran started to get used to her new home; after all, in principle it was hardly that much different from the old one, up to its surpringly small size (harem in Manisa back then was staffed by never more than twenty women and ten aghas, and even now held only slightly more people).

A few weeks into her stay in Manisa, şehzade Süleyman returned. Mahidevran barely saw him at first, since even during their rare encounters, she had to avert her gaze – besides, being young, naive and under the influence of tall tales during which maidens fall for handsome youths (as well as youths for maidens) at a mere glance, she was affraid of looking at a man who will likely never be hers for long. She tried not to think of him, to supress the myriad of questions she had about the master of not only this household, but soon the entire empire, and in this Gülşah was actually very helpful. Always aware of her supposedly plain looks (even if Mahidevran herself wouldn’t judge her so harshly), she didn’t dream about becoming a concubine, and several forgotten one-night women in harems of both Süleyman and his father only strenghtened her convinction that sultan’s bed simply isn’t worth fighting for. She seemed quite ambivalent about şehzade himself, too; when asked about him, she just shrugged. „He has beautiful eyes, I suppose.“ Then and especially now, Mahidevran found a certain kind of wisdom in Gülşah’s sober attitude towards the fate of concubines. Nonetheless, just like many girls around her, she could not help but look with immense jealousy at Gülfem and the newborn prince Murat she brought from Topkapi. Bearing a prince, after all, was the most women like them could strive for, and even besides that, the baby was the most loveable little thing Mahidevran had ever seen (presumably because she didn’t have to change its nappies and listen to its cries deep in the night). It was then that she slowly started to wonder what it would be like, to know a man and have a child of her own? The thoughts of this kind crept at her mind steadily, with Mahidevran herself fighting them at every turn, but she could never banish them for good.

Eventually, as she and Gülruh properly started service in the entourage of Ayşe Hafsa, she got her first good look at şehzade Süleyman – and she was almost instantly smitten. Gülşah’s comment about his eyes was appropriate, yet somehow she forgot to also mention his elegant, yet manly profile, charming, approachable smile and tall figure, which was also decently built, though she didn’t have the pleasure to see it for herself untill later. As a servant of Ayşe Hafsa, Mahidevran was in Süleyman’s vicinity quite often, and was able to observe him quite closely, although he didn’t notice her at all. There was a strange kind of one-sided intimacy between them, as Mahidevran soon recognized all of Süleyman’s quirks and little ticks, whereas she was a non-entity for him. She also became somewhat knowledgeable when it came to his habits and personality.

Şehzade Süleyman was a bright and lively youth, whose duties as governor couldn’t truly exhaust his endless supply of energy. Whenever the oportunity arose, he participated in more ambitious projects than was usual for a sanjakbey, which left his mother greatly concerned, as she knew her husband’s temper and soon realized Süleyman’s activities were seen as threatening by the paranoid old sultan. Süleyman once bitterly compared his father to the ancient pagan god Kronos, who, having deposed his own father Uranos, swallowed all of his children soon after birth so they would not do the same to him. Of course, his fear may or may not have been justified given that his wife managed to save his youngest son and, just as the old man feared, Kronos was cast down by his own son. Though Süleyman didn’t have the same intentions, he must’ve known that this comparison was unintentionally self-flattering; after all, in this story, he paralelled none other than Zeus, the king of gods and patron god of kings. Süleyman certainly dreamed of greatness – he strived to be not only a great conqueror like his father, but an arbiter of law and culture for centuries to come. Not having the oportunity to influence either much, Süleyman instead simply worked as hard as he could, and when he ran out of work, he instead took to writing poetry and surrounding himself with books and scholars.

Süleyman also loved hunting, just like Mustafa, and indeed also became overly fond of his hunting companion, just like his eldest son seemed now. Of course, that was a bit unjust comparison – Taşlicali, for all of his inarguable literary talent, was as humble as he was dense, while Ibrahim even as a simple falconer lacked neither pride nor intelligence. Then again, the same could be said about their masters. In any case, Süleyman’s deep friendship with the young servant, together with his relative disinterest in women, created some truly vile rumors, of course only whispered quietly among the slave girls whenever their superiors were far away. After all, when Gülfem bore him a son, he lost all interest in women of the harem, and around this time he also brought Ibrahim from one of his hunts (cue the jokes about him „catching a fine stag“). Ayşe Hafsa probably didn’t know about these rumors, or else their perpetrators would suffer with their lives, but at the very least, she wasn’t satisfied with the future of the dynasty hinging on a single child. She reminded Süleyman of his duty to sire healthy sons as often as possible, but he didn’t seem very receptive; in fact, the more insistent she was, the more time Süleyman spend with everyone and everything else but harem concubines. If Mahidevran were to guess now, she would say he simply found mere intercourse unexciting and always needed more than a beautiful young body to arouse his senses. Süleyman craved emotions. Süleyman craved stories. Süleyman craved drama. And though Mahidevran didn’t know it yet, she was about to provide him with everything he wanted and more.

#magnificent century #mahidevran sultan

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