thisclockworkheart | Golden Peacock Inbox & Open Season App

Golden Peacock Inbox & Open Season App

6♥ [SIX of HEARTS]
UN: pinocchio
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OPEN SEASON

@pinocchio
20 / male / unknown / 6♥

About Photos Questions Personality Compatibility

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My Self-Summary

The strong and silent type who doesn't like to brag! Or say much of anything. I'm sure this delicious snack has lots to say once you break through his dashingly wooden and icy exterior!

He says he's a stalker -- not that we judge, honey! We all have our vices!

Small correction, guys, gals, and nonbinary pals. A Stalker is a vocation, something about mercenary work.

My Future Plans

This cherry boy is single and ready to mingle!

My Talents

He plays the piano and says he's good with a sword. He even expressed interest in finding a few like-minded sparring partners! You know that that means, he's great with his hands and one of them is! Metal! A! F!

Favorite Books, Movies, Music, and Food

(This space, perhaps intentionally, has been left blank.)

My Ideal Partner

(No information. Perhaps the original drafter of this post abandoned it halfway through.)

Height 5'10" / 177cm Body Type Lithe, some muscle Smokes When overheating? Drinks Unknown Drugs Unknown Sign Unknown Education Unknown Occupation Stalker Income Unknown Children N/A Pets A cat named Spring Hobbies Music, playing piano, reading

art credit: one. two. three. four. five.

01. WINE OR BEER

.02 CLOWNS OR MIMES

.03 SHOWER OR BATH

.04 PIRATES OR NINJAS

.05 TITS OR ASS

.06 COFFEE OR TEA

.07 SPICY OR SWEET

.08 SUMMER OR WINTER

.09 LEATHER OR LACE

10. ROUGH SEX OR GENTLE SEX

Personality Type
INFP-T

ENERGY64%
Introverted
MIND62%
Intuitive
NATURE78%
Feeling
TACTICS63%
Prospecting
IDENTITY54%
Turbulent

personality test. art credit.

hover for rating.

Obviously, Pinocchio had little to no input on this app.

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[Even all caught up in the foggy desire of the moment, Marina isn't letting that kind of an order just stand. She leans in and bites his wet, stained lips before muttering in equal demand,]

Lay back, Pinocchio. [He's sat up against her pillows with only so much room to do so, but she's still pushing down onto him. She does want to indulge him, but no way can Marina just cede all control. Even when it's something she absolutely wants to do for herself and for him, Marina must have it on her own terms.

Her weight shifts back onto him and she straightens up as she was told. Her hole stretches around the head of his cock, gradually taking him inside. The tunnel of her body is wet, hot, and still very tight. She gasps at the flutter of her entrance widening to accept how big the man is, her cock dribbling an excess of precum onto his hand. She looks at him, admiring his all too handsome face, expression hazy and stubborn in her desires. Marina does want to be praised and cherished and respected, even in a moment like this.

She wants him to be completely enraptured with her,]

Watch me... watch me take all of you, all the way in...

[ She leaves his lip stinging and hot, it's... a strangely delicious sensation. It's like her kiss has branded him, kicking his heart into a desperate pound of anticipation when Marina flips his words around on him, pressing him down against her pillows.

It's still so new to be wanted like this, let alone put in place and not have it rankle him. Perhaps... it's because he can read the sentiment behind it, like footprints his feet can easily fill. ]

Marina—

[ That last vowel has a hairline fracture through it; she's so tight and so warm and just starting to swallow up the glans of his cock. It rips his gaze from her face, her dark lashes, the moles around the pout of her rouge-smeared lips, the way her hair frames her, a tousled cascade. Drags it down to where she's stretched open to take him.

Marina's scrutiny catches him in a rare, unguarded moment, mouth slack and eyes soft with vulnerable wonder, but pupils blown wide open with desire. The flutter of her entrance around him punches a shuddering exhale from his chest, the dribble of pre spilling over his knuckle prompts movement, like a reminder he should be doing something, anything, with his hands. A shuttle up and down her blushing cock, thumb following the slit. ]

Stars, [ he breathes, the words more than a little cockstupid, and earnest, ] it's like a kiss.

[Cockstupid is definitely the word for them both. Marina is completely swept away by the sensation of him filling her up. The strain and pleasure in that stretch to take Pino's cock deeper is knocking just about every coherent thought out of her head. Everything right now is about bodily desire.

That is, until he looks at her so vulnerable, so raw in appreciation for her. The words that follow are so darling, so unexpectedly tender for an act filthy as this. Marina feels like the bed falls out beneath her. A jolt like falling in a dream that jumps her heart and catches her breath tight in her throat. She might have been able to contain herself, but his hand reaches unexpectedly for her cock-]

Pino-!! [a choked gasp of his name as she's brought to an abrupt orgasm. Her fingers dig hard into his shoulders and back, dragging lines across his too perfectly flawed skin. A hot rope of cum shoots across his fingers and splatters his midsection. Then, a second shot follows, her tightening in orgasm pushing her down further onto his dick and nudging her prostate.

... despite the wash of relief that cascades through her, Marina does remain held up against him. She refuses to slump- which makes her realize... her cock is still achingly hard. Not flagging at all after that peak. Oh. So that's what an aphrodisiac driven redline can do, huh?

She pants heavily, commanding him stubbornly while flushed all over from embarrassment, exertion, and still persistent desire,]

M-more...

[ it isn't entirely lost on him-- the way in which he looks at him. he can't put it to words, but an icy kind of heat pricks at his insides, flaring in the base of his stomach.

and then there's... the tail. it speaks for him more than words do, swaying vigorously; for a man so polished and proper, cloud found there was something painfully earnest in how he emoted. it moves him ever so slightly, softening the features of his face. cloud's own tail curls slightly, curious as his head peers forward -- eyes quite blatantly drawing in the sight of his ears. ]

Suits you. [ might be a weird thing to say, but... the words come out no less. ] You... look good. I mean-- you always do, but...

[ a silence, taut with tension. ]

I'm just saying that you make it work. [ a hand travels up to his own ears, scratching idly at the fur. ] Was on my way back to my room. Been trying to avoid going out; kind of a shitshow right now.

[ and then-- for a reason he can't entirely pinpoint, an impulse rises to the surface, overwhelming the shame and pride so typically hard wired into him: ]

Do you... wanna come back to my place? [ ... ] ....Not for anything weird, just thought we could... I dunno. Talk? Beats going back to your place, right?

[ and then, as warmth dusts his cheeks, voice softer and more pliable than usual: ]

...Would be nice to spend some time with you.

[ what's gotten into him? ]

[ What a simple thing, a simple, organic thing. Her flesh spasms in his fist, spills itself over his knuckles and hits him in a hot splash, trickling towards his navel. Makes greasy-slick the friction of his fingers still milking the last drops from her orgasm, even as her fingernails bite into his back. She raises no bright, pink welts the way this might on a real human, but the white-hot sizzle she leaves in her wake makes his jaw clench and his pupils blow wide open.

Brings the moment into a sharper focus, quiets the constant chatter of his inner workings, smooths over all the ragged edges of sensation in his fidgeting prosthesis. Burns it deep in his memory as he leans into the pain, as gratifying as the pleasure of her body gripping his cock. He marks the very second Marina comes again, a fresh hot splash against his belly, her twitching gently against his palm.

Still hard, still needy.

Marina's command, her body fuck-flushed and ready, is met by a sharp and hungry look, his sticky palm gripping her high on one thigh, as the other grasps the curve of one asscheek, metal joints cool on her hot skin. Lifting her seems effortless, except for the chug and whir of his left arm's actuators, and he doesn't even lift her far, just enough to get his heels into the mattress, to nudge his hips slowly up off of it to hilt himself inside her. Crowding into the space left empty when he lifted her just inches off his girth. ]

So warm, [ he's nosing in against her flushed cheek now, gentling her even when he's dropping his seat and dragging his length out of her, ] So soft inside you, Marina.

[Marina is already floating on air in her afterglow. When Pinocchio so effortlessly shifts himself and her with him, it's like getting cast about in a high flung breeze. She's like a kite someone else is pulling the string on and it feels terrifying and yet so very fun to be toyed with.

When her head lifts from being crumpled down in pleasure, it's with a wide smile back at Pinocchio. Her eyes curving to meet her grin, hazy and excited and pleased all at the same time. Long fingers drag along his skin to rearrange her grip on him. One hand anchors to the curve where his shoulder and neck meet. Her other falls into the crook of his wrist on the hand he's using to hold her thigh. Marina can lean away some, arch her back, and get leverage with her own hips this way. She's determined to ride Pinocchio and follow his lead, rather than simply get dragged along with his motions,]

Y, you're... the first- to have me- this way..! [She yelps out, noise that of a yelp and a cut short giggle, still breathlessly delivered. There's a wild, sparking joy in that. Any soreness from taking so much for a first time is a far flung thought, she's so very happy with her choice. She's glad this is with Pinocchio.]

Harra fruit.

Where are you? Can you speak freely?

I’m in my room. I’m in the rank 7 suites now. I’ve left the door ajar. Knock three times then once and let yourself in. I can talk freely. Not on here though.

[Pinocchio will find that Wriothesley had tucked a crumpled wad of paper so that the locking mechanism can’t shut the door completely.]

Edited 2024-05-08 21:17 (UTC)

On my way.

[ Gone are the days when he asks why about everything. In using their safeword, he expects this is serious. The seventh floor isn't nearly as crowded and labyrinthine as the basement. Still, it's on his second pass up the hallway that he realizes one door is slightly ajar.

Three (metallic) raps followed by a single one. The scrape of metal joints around the handle, and Pinocchio pushes his way inside, with a darting glance around the unfamiliar space, checking first if he's alone, second if it's safe. For Wriothesley, not for him. ]

[The suite is much comfortable and roomier than the rooms in the basement. The lights in the suite have been dimmed and the room was cool.

Pinocchio will find Wriothesley in the common space area. The large, lavish windows don’t show a sky scenery, but that of in the water. The space is illuminated in a peaceful blue, washing the warden’s figure in it. He was standing, looking at the fake scenery. Cigarette in one hand, the glowing embers giving a slight glow but nothing that washes out the calm hues. In his other hand was a tea cup saucer. The figure he cut was… lonely.

Everything felt off. The way he held the saucer in his slack hand while nursing a cigarette. The shattered tea cup on the floor, tea and China splashed on the floor and forgotten.

Wriothesley turns and smiles. The smile ways heavy at the corner of his lips and don’t crinkle at his eyes.] Hey. Did you have trouble finding the room?

[ The acrid stink of cigarette smoke is not entirely unfamiliar to him. It clings to Wriothesley's fingers, it lurks in his hair. The cool, blue light that the watery scene casts over him suits him, even if the sight gives him pause for its surreality.

Then again, all of Pinocchio's memories of deep water were smothering and cold ones, footnotes in a book heavy with death and rewound time. It's not there for his benefit, but he presumes it may be for the boxer.

Pinocchio's fingers ease away from the handle of the knife hidden inside the waistband of his pants, under the drapery of a tucked shirt. Wriothesley's troubling smile may have an external cause, but it's none he can see, let alone fight. ]

No, [ he lies. That isn't the point. ] I like the new quarters. [ And that's not the point, either. His eyes drop to the shattered cup. It looks more to him like a consequence, a symptom. Something that whispers he's upset, even as his clockwork brain is confused by his smile. It's his Ergo that intimates that the smile lies about as much as he does; Pinocchio isn't in the meticulous state of dress he often is found in — just a simple Darcy shirt with a ruffled, deep-cut collar, high-waisted pants, simple black socks and leather shoes. Nary a waistcoat or lacy cravat to be found when he draws near, shutting the door behind him.

Or tries. He's done nothing about what was wadded up to keep it from latching. ]

What happened? You used our word.

It's nice. They don't really skimp on amenities the higher you are. [Wriothesley has come to terms of being pushed into a mid rank. While he does miss the anonymity of being lower ranked, there is something nice about being able to stretch one's legs out. That, and perhaps the window has offered more comfort than he expected. It isn't the familiar view of Fontaine's waters, but it was nice. It filled a certain ache in his chest.

As Pinocchio's gaze drops to the forgotten china, so does his gaze land back on it. Almost like he didn't realize it was there. Of course, that is never the case. Wriothesley is too sharp and too aware.

While Pinocchio is dressed down more than his usual, Wriothesley is dressed as sharp as ever. Carefully pressed shirt and vest and a posture that does not offer any weakness. It almost makes it more glaring that there is something off when coupled with the shattered tea cup and the saucer in his other hand. The strange image he has made of himself.]

Oh? Perhaps I just wanted to see you and I decided to be a little irresponsible. [Again, he smiles, but it lacks the relaxed and leisurely gait that he usually holds. Wriothesley would do it, perhaps once, but he is one to make it obvious if that were the case.

Wriothesley turns back at the simulated scenery.] Pinocchio, if someone you were fond of ended up here and then leaves. How would you feel? I will answer your question, but if you could humor me for the moment, I'd appreciate it.

[ The window brings Wriothesley a kind of comfort, and etches out a new facet that describes to Pinocchio just how different their lives have been. He realizes that he can't stand the wrongness of the saucer in the boxer's hand, the shattered cup on the floor at his feet; when he approaches, he pulls it from his fingers and stoops to collect the fragments of china into it.

A part of him wants to do this for him. The rest acknowledges that it might be his affection for the man — or that he was simply built this way. To serve, and doing this scratches an oft-neglected itch. Resenting the thought, he focuses instead on Wriothesley's words, the sound of his voice. The pieces clink and chatter while he listens, huffs a soft laugh at irresponsible.

Pinocchio is good company for mischief and irresponsible decisions. Especially without his cricket guide to keep him on the straight and narrow. The question makes his activity pause, his chin tipping up to direct one visible blue eye towards Wriothesley's back, now turned toward him. His gaze drops, thoughtfully, the muffled chuckle of busy clockwork betraying the mental exercise. ]

That depends. For some, life here might be an improvement at the cost of freedom. For others... I suppose I'd be relieved by their departure.

[ A pragmatic answer. Here comes the selfish one. ] Their absence would... preoccupy me.

[There’s a twitch of his hand and there’s a look on Wriothesley’s face like he wants to stop the other. In the end, though, he lets Pinocchio clean up the broken china for him. Releases his grip on the saucer so that the smaller man can clean up the mess he had made.

His hands lay against his side, not knowing what to do with his hands other than to stand there uselessly.

He smiles a little and there is something very lonely about it.] Preoccupy huh? That’s a good word. I’m preoccupied then.

[He looks out towards the aquatic scenery.] A few people whom are from my world are here. I’m sure that there are more but I’ve met a handful of them. Some of them were colleagues. People I knew well. [Furina, maybe he didn’t know personally, but who didn’t know their beloved Hydro Archon??? Neuvillette…] Both of them are gone.

[His Archon, even if she was a puppet in the end, was still his Archon. The Hydro Sovereign even. If two people whom he thought held so much power now were merely decor for the resort, what was he? A man with his fists and a Vision.

It felt heavy, the weight. He didn’t know what to do with it.]

[ What he means is... he'd miss them.

Like he misses Stiles. The constellation of moles on his cheek, the charmingly American dialect that always had an interesting fact to share or a joke he didn't quite get, the expressive bounce of his dark brows. They don't come from the same kind of life or even from the same century, so they don't have the same kind of shared history that he suspects lies between Wriothesley and the one he misses now.

The last fragment of porcelain clatters into the shattered shell with a handle attached, and Pinocchio rises with the soft crik-crik-crik of buried springs. ]

Both of them. [ The sound of his voice implies it's spoken directly to the back of Wriothesley's head, and then when it softens, it seems he has tilted his head down or away. ] What a blow to take at once.

[ Another chatter of buried clockwork and he's stepping away, searching for somewhere to place the broken teacup. Somewhere it won't find the tender part of an unwary hand, where it won't get swept off to shatter worse on accident. ]

No...one of them left months ago. [He had searched through every part of the resort at the time. The statues that felt a little too eerie...he had marked the areas he saw them that and searched through those areas when he couldn't get ahold of her.] I had only spoken to one person at that time.

[He chuckles softly as he takes another drag from his cigarette.] It just so happens that they're also gone now.

[Furina was a tough pill in a lot of ways. At the time, it felt ridiculous that an Archon could be reduced to nothing more than a statue. When Neuvillette had revealed to him what had happened, it had brought a certain sorrow instead.

Neuvillette's departure though...

He would be a liar if he didn't say that it has shaken him up. A man who has always stood as Fontaine's pillar and someone whom he would trust with his very life-] Sorry, I don't actually know why I reached out. I- [He turns to completely face the other.] I suppose I just wanted company in the end and you happened to be first on my mind.

[ Although Pinocchio had come closer than he knew - patches of gold-shot marble beginning to form where a balljointed shoulder would have been - he doesn't know the final fate of those who fail to perform as expected. He doesn't know what happens to those who are no longer here. If they've gotten lost in those halls that seem to go on forever sometimes, or if they've died, been slain somehow, or even more unlikely, checked out of the resort to go somewhere else.

His reapproach is not silent or stealthy; the creak and chatter of mechanical parts buried in his nevertheless living body are more audible for the silence. Fingers, pale in this blue-bathed room, spread gently over Wriothesley's broad back. The mild surprise that he begins to turn to face him as he continues doesn't hold a candle to the full brunt of first on my mind.

Pinocchio doesn't balk easily. This comes close, when he swiftly tosses a glance to one side. ]

Now's not the time to be sweet, [ he admonishes himself more than Wrio, taking his shoulders in each hand, ] There's nothing to apologize for, I'm only relieved that you're safe. Less that you're...

[ This, not half the guess it sounds: ] Sad.

[Pinocchio doesn't realize how much like home he feels to the warden. The familiar tick and whirring of mechanical components. The lingering smell of metal. Bits and pieces that soothe his senses and offer a balm to his tender heart.

Right, in all the changes that the resort has brought into his life, there are bits of pieces of home that have slowly been pulled into his life. Furina and Neuvillette were parts of that, but they had come and gone. While Wriothesley might complain some for Sylvain to push him into the mid ranks, having the scenery before him also offered solace.

Still, the mechanical whirring of gears and components were the most familiar to him.

He turns and gently grabs one of Pinocchio's hand and smiles softly.] It is normal. People will get angry or sad or something that isn't happiness. It is impossible for a person to only know bliss, but that is what it is like to live one's life. The hardships, I think, makes living all the more worth it. It makes me want for a better tomorrow.

[He tugs the other close and winks a little. It's a little playful and sweet, but there's something genuine in his expression.] And I get to have your time, so I hope you can humour me for a little while longer.

[ His eyes pursue the gesture, tracking closely how the boxer's fingers cage his hand, his lips press against it, the warmth of Wriothesley's breath in contrast with the slightly cooler temperature of his body. As he speaks, the muted chatter and churn of clockwork brings his mind back to that moment in the dark depths of the Alchemist's tower, the old man's body cooling in his arms, the loss carving out a hollow in him that he wasn't sure would ever recover.

But he did, he thinks. And Wriothesley will. But, for now... ]

You don't have to do this. [ The hand he had kissed moves to cradle his cheek, ] I'm not the one hurting.

[ What the puppet asserts may mean putting on this cavalier performance, in case it's for his benefit. When he was tasting the bitter draught called grief, it was Gemini who had told him it was all right to not be all right, words echoed now, months later, by his friend now. Points of cool metal — his prosthetic hand drifting up the back of his neck and pushing through his hair, the pet of his steel digits a more eloquent expression of his affection than the subtle, poignant concern in his steady stare. ] Be sad. I'll stay with you. [ However long it takes.

He tips up his chin, seeking to press a kiss, chaste and sympathetic, to the plane of his brow. ] You take care of everyone, let me take care of you this once. Will you, my friend?

[This has always been Wriothesley's biggest problem. Putting himself in someone's hands. Letting himself be cared for when it wasn't a medical necessity. Delegating work to people who are more suited was different from letting others help him, but it felt safer to lick his own wounds. He would less likely get hurt even more.

He can't help but laugh a little though. It's a little disbelieving. It isn't that he didn't believe Pinocchio's words, but that the idea just seems unreal to him.

Still, he is so utterly weak to the gentle touches being offered and he leans into Pinocchio's touch. Eyes fluttered closed and he lets out a shaky exhale.] How can I say no? Alright. I can try. [As of late, he has been trying to let people take care of him. That he doesn't have to keep being a pillar of support every moment.]

[ Though Wriothesley is a pillar, not just for Pinocchio, but he supposes a great many other people both in and out of the resort. And in danger of being placed on one, too, on account of how good he's been to this puppet, who has found that some people can be reliable, that some don't need him to be their savior or their servant.

That shuddery exhale seems to Pinocchio like letting go isn't something Wriothesley is used to. The truth of the matter is he's flattered by his trust, a thing he's already broken once before. For a moment he stays like this, his brow warm against his, listening to the sound of his breath, the hush of his hair between his fingers as he strokes slow, soothing circles into his scalp, acting on some whisper of his Ergo.

Thinks. What brings him comfort, besides the submerged view from his window? ] When your heart is heavy, what lightens it? Name it.

If it's ridiculous, I'll only laugh out of earshot, [ he promises, easing his brow away from his with a slightly lopsided smile. ]

[It would be so easy to fall apart right then and there. The press of brow to brow and the feeling of fingers carding through his hair. The sweetness of the moment is still something he struggles to let himself have. Concern and care from others is foreign and he can't help but think that it is something he must earn, not merely have.

Well, if it is to eventually be something he might lose, then he will appreciate it as much as he can now.

Wriothesley is quiet as he considers Pinocchio's words and-] I don't know. [A cup of tea and his gramophone had always been a good companion. A punching bag or a match to release his frustrations. But no, these aren't things that he feels will help the ache in his chest.

Solitude had been a constant in his life, but he did not dislike it. He welcomed it even. It was a part of his life that he had even encouraged into his days. Now though? This was not solitude. It was not the quiet seclusion of him in his office to the scratch of a record and a drink gone cold at odd hours of the night. It was not the peace of the ticking of clockwork as he settled deep beneath the ocean in a metal fortitude.

He chuckles, the sound soft and pained.] I've not had to deal with loneliness in a very long time. It is not something that so easily solved by a warm drink and sweet music nor will it be abated by the sweat and the ache of muscles. [Oh but there is humour in the situation. The resort being built around sex and how easy the temptation of wanting to fall in someone's bed when you yearn for company.

He knows a siren's song when he sees one though. It would be easy to start losing oneself.] Everything that I think will bring me peace is out of my reach.

...Truly?

[ Disappointment might color his words but not his expression, ever curious, ever receptive, if the one speaking is the man he's come to trust so implicitly. Pinocchio's blue eyes, so doll-like, fix on him across the negligible space, their blue irises complemented by the aquamarine tableau beyond his room's windows. Here they are, with the puppet's fingers twined through his dark hair and their brows together, and he still feels a distance carving space out between them.

Solitude has been a factor in both of their lives, defining them in different ways. He cannot imagine a "him" without his friend, and the idea he might try to carry on without the support that Pinocchio attempts to offer... makes his clockwork heart quail in a strange way, unfamiliar.

It feels like failure. A bad boy, a poor friend, an insufficient soldier, a blunted tool. His fingertips dig into his scalp a little, clutching him tightly. The sound of Wriothesley's weary chuckle makes his heart ache. ]

How can I be sure, if you don't tell me? [ Even if he told him to pull the moon down from the heavens, he would try. So what, then, can truly be called out of reach? ]

Sorry, it's a difficult answer to find for me at the moment. [Navigating loneliness felt so foreign and new. It wasn't like he didn't know loneliness. He felt it all his life, but it had been manageable. It had been normal. This one feels heavy; a feeling of sinking into a suffocating miasma.

And so he leans closer to the other, taking whatever Pinocchio will give him. The ticking of clockwork and the slight sting of a tighter grip. Their undivided attention. It is soothing on his heart.]

Do you know how to dance? Actually, to tell you the truth, I never once utilized the meager waltz lessons I had prepared, but I think it would be nice right now. [Wriothesley doesn't know really know what the other could do, but he finds that maybe Pinocchio doesn't really have to. Their company was enough. He can make things up if that will be acceptable to them though.]

I didn't ask you to come because I expected you to do something. I asked for you because your company is invaluable to me.

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Page 6 of 7

Golden Peacock Inbox & Open Season App

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so sorry for the delay on this!

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Text; un: Cerberus

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