#plot prompt friday

[enchantingepics]

Story Prompt 40

In a dimly lit room with the soft hum of music in the background, she sat at her vanity, her mascara wand poised for action. The night had started with a blink, but it was the push she received earlier that fueled her fiery determination. Her eyeliner was a chaotic swirl, a reflection of her emotions.

As she whipped away the makeup mishap, her mind raced, concocting a revenge plan like a mad scientist brewing an elixir. She had to teach the pusher a lesson they wouldn't forget. A sly grin crept across her face as the perfect scheme unfolded in her thoughts.

The next day, she found herself at a local cafe, strategically seated near a bulletin board cluttered with event flyers. A devious sparkle in her eyes, she "accidentally" bumped into the unsuspecting pusher, sending them sprawling. Seizing the opportunity, she deftly slipped a fake event flyer into their bag.

A few days later, the pusher excitedly arrived at the address on the flyer, expecting to attend a grand masquerade ball. To their bewilderment, they found themselves in the middle of a quirky costume party for pets. Amidst dogs dressed as superheroes and cats in tutus, the pusher stood, a picture of confusion.

[daddyslittlecrow]

Room For Dessert?

Prompt: You’ve been secretly lusting after your doctor—who also happens to be your childhood friend—ever since you rekindled your friendship. But when you accidentally forget to hide your ‘toy,’ you quickly realize your desires might not be one-sided after all…

Pairing: MC/Reader x Zayne

18+ MDNI (Smut with plot)

A/N: This ended up longer than expected cuz I couldn't stop writing! Anyway hope you enjoy;)

———

Your body never failed to betray you when he was near. It was embarrassing having to discreetly clench your thighs together when he looked at you with those piercing eyes.

Even though his entire career was based on assessing people’s ailments, Zayne had no idea he affected you so much. If he had, he would’ve provided a remedy for you a long time ago. Whenever you sassed him back after he told you to be more careful on missions, his cock hardened.

Only when you’d left - bandaged and prescribed - would he finally release his throbbing cock from the confines of his trousers. Nothing could stop him. He would then stroke himself, frantically and desperate for relief.

All he wanted was to bend you over his desk and spank your ass red until you promised him you’d be more careful. Then he’d plunge into your soaking cunt until you screamed his name.

Despite having these feelings for you, he was scared this unholy confession would drive you away. He knew you’d be shocked, maybe even disgusted, by his desires.

So he pushed these thoughts away as best he could when you were with him. You didn't deserve it. Longing for you from afar was the safest choice.

The only choice.

———

It was a Friday night and you didn’t have anything to do other than relax. The week at work had been gruelling, to say the least. Thankfully, no injuries so you didn’t have an excuse to get lectured by Zayne. But it didn't mean you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him.

You had been too exhausted from work to touch yourself in a while and the mood had suddenly struck. The stress that had built up during the week seemed to melt away as you decided to indulge yourself with a session in the shower.

Towel in one hand and your favourite dildo in the other, you padded eagerly to the bathroom. As you waited for the water to heat up, you slowly undressed, imagining Zayne was watching your sultry strip tease.

When you were fully naked, you closed your eyes briefly, letting your hands roam over your skin. Imagining it was a pair of larger, scarred hands that grazed your collarbone. Drifting lower, guiding goosebumps down to your breasts. A thumb teasing your hardening nipple.

One hand would capture a breast, kneading your plump flesh. The other would continue its descent, seeking the growing slickness between your legs. You’d whimper his name as his cool fingers met your clit. His movements would be slow and calculated, seeing what made you buck your hips and seek more.

Only when you pleading breathlessly for more would he slide a finger along your slit, coating it with your hot slick before aligning it with your hole and-

A loud knock on the door startled you from your filthy thoughts. Someone was outside your apartment. Releasing a frustrated sigh, you shut off the water and wrapped the towel tightly around your body.

Whoever this fake-cock blocker was, you’d try to get rid of them as fast as possible. When you reached the door, you took a deep breath to collect yourself before pulling it open.

Your eyes widened in shock when you saw Zayne on the other side, holding a paper bag from your favourite restaurant.

When he saw your face his lips were already forming a greeting. They faltered when he saw you. Dressed in nothing but a fluffy white towel. He immediately turned to face the apartment door next to yours, pink splotches painting his cheeks.

“I- uh, Zayne! Sorry, I was just about to shower.” You choked on your words as you pulled the towel tighter. He cleared his throat, shaking his head at your words.

“No I’m sorry, I should’ve texted you first.” He lifted the bag. Thank god he had performed so many surgeries and knew how to keep his hands from shaking.

“I wanted to surprise you. I know you had a long week and while I’m glad you didn’t need to see me professionally, I thought it would be nice…”

He trailed off, the skin of his face burning from embarrassment now. This was stupid. He had been to your apartment many times to hang out but this was the first time he felt nervous about it.

The towel had thrown him off. He’d seen much less of you before when treating your injuries but being in the hospital made it easier to practice restraint.

You tried to ignore how your heart raced at his thoughtfulness. He was a good friend as usual. Stop overreacting. You forced a smile and opened your door wider. “You’re amazing. Perfect timing actually, I’m starving.”

You closed the door once he was inside and made a quick beeline to your bedroom to get dressed. He tried to suggest waiting until you had a shower but you declined. “It’ll go cold and you know those fries suck after being in the microwave. I’ll shower later.”

Zayne walked past you as you returned to the kitchen, now appropriately dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. Even though he never left the hospital with so much as a hair out of place, he always washed his hands before eating. His voice was soft, teasing. “Start while it’s still edible.”

You chuckled at his words as you walked to the table, already set. You dished out the food, practically drooling as the scent of your favourite burger wafted into your nose. Then you froze. Shit. He’s in the bathroom. What if…

Relief washed over you as you remembered you threw your old clothes in the hamper. You don’t think you’d be able to look at him again if he saw your panties on the ground. You sat down. Still.

Something was wriggling in your mind.

-

Zayne didn't see it right away.

He was still thinking about you in your towel, blood rushing to his cock. All he wanted was to rip it off you and taste every single inch of you. He swore he did something terrible in a past life to be tortured by desire.

When Zayne reached for the soap, he almost choked. He couldn't believe it. You forgot to put it away before answering the door. Abandoned. Because of him. Had you worked yourself up enough to start filling yourself up before he knocked?

A low groan rumbled in his throat. He attempted to reposition himself to make his arousal less obvious inside his trousers. Making quick work of his hand washing, he decided to stay quiet about his findings.

Should he hide it in case you came in later? You might feel worse if you knew he touched it.

His heart clenched imagining you getting so flustered that he was asked to leave. He didn't want to let you go so soon. All day he looked forward to seeing you.

In all honestly, he had missed you terribly this week. Texting you would've helped but he was eager to surprise you.

After drying his hands and giving your toy one last glance, he opened the bathroom door.

-——-

Zayne’s footsteps pulled you from your worries and you picked up a fry. You didn't realise how hungry you were until the salty deliciousness hit your tongue. A delighted groan rumbled from your throat. You lifted the lid of your burger as Zayne sat down.

“Did you order extra pickles? Or are they finally treating me like I deserve?” You looked over at him with a grin. He looked lost in thought, refusing to meet your gaze. Weird. He was fine a few minutes ago.

Realising you were watching him, he suddenly shook his head, frowning slightly at your burger. “I threatened to sue if they decided to keep rationing their pickle supply. Looks like they're safe for another day.”

His words seemed to relax the both of you and the conversation flowed as you ate. It was good to finally have some time with him to end the miserable week. Zayne may not be the warmest person you've ever met, but he definitely knew how to make you laugh with his quick wit.

It was all going great until you fell.

He had made a snow version of you with an inaccurately large head and was insisting your head was that huge. “The hospital is planning to fund a case study on you. It's a medical mystery how your neck hasn't snapped from the weight.” He said with his signature deadpan. You rolled your eyes.

“We may even win an award.”

That last remark did it. You could barely breathe, let alone retort. Tears stung your eyes from laughing so hard. Zayne broke out in a handsome smile, something he only reserved for you.

With one hand still holding half your burger, you decided to get revenge. Your other arm snapped out to try to crush his frosty creation. But you must've been perched too close to the edge of your seat because a split second later, your chair toppled.

A cold pair of hands caught you before you met the floor. You looked up, Zayne’s merely inches from yours. His brows furrowed with a hint of annoyance but his eyes were brewing with something dark.

Your breath hitched when they briefly flickered to your lips. “It’s astonishing how easily you can get yourself hurt.” His voice was lower than usual. It weaved low into your stomach, coaxing you back into the desperate state he had interrupted. The threat of losing control forced you back into your signature smart-ass routine.

“Take it as a compliment for your joke-telling, Doc.” You smirked, letting him help you back on your feet. The shock had caused you to grip hard on your burger, covering your hand in sauce and grease. A disappointed sigh escaped your lips as you threw it onto your plate.

“Great. It's all fun and games until your dinner gets ruined.” You kept your dirty hand raised to avoid smearing the mess on your clothes. If you weren't distracted, you would've caught the flash of panic on Zayne’s face as you headed towards the bathroom.

Zayne’s chair scraped against the floor as he quickly stood. Not wanting to have your guest clear the table, especially when he was kind enough to get you dinner, had you calling out. “Leave it, honestly. I’ll clean up in a minute.”

You pressed your side into the bathroom door to enter and almost screamed. Standing proudly in all its glory was your dildo. Of course it was! How silly of you to think it would just disappear by itself! Oh, there was absolutely no way he hadn't seen it earlier.

No wonder he was a bit quiet when he came back. He was probably forcing himself to act normal for you. Ensure you don't feel embarrassed. Well too fucking late now. You felt your face grow hot and begged the floor to open up beneath you.

“Y/N…” The closeness of Zayne’s voice made you jump. He was hovering near the door. Your stomach dropped as the full situation finally caught up with you.

“I'm so sorry. T-this is so fucking awkward.” You were stuttering, eyes fleeting from your friend to the offensive object in the bathroom. Zayne always had the perfect response ready, but right now, all he could do was clear his throat.

He hated seeing you like this. But now this little secret was revealed, his blood was quickly rushing to his cock. Zayne’s hands twitched at the idea of finally kissing you, replacing your embarrassment with a desire that matched his own.

It was not in his nature to take risks. So why was his entire body threatening to snap? One last effort was all he had in him. With a deep breath, Zayne pretended like this was just a regular appointment. Distant, yet reassuring.

“No please don't apologise, Y/N. It's perfectly natural to have…desires.” He took a hesitant step forward.

When you heard him talking to you like a patient, you squirmed. Turning your attention to the sink, you quickly washed your hands.

The last thing you wanted was one of his textbook speeches. He was trying to act professional but when you looked back at him, his gaze was anything but.

“It's a good sign that your body gets aroused.” He took another step forward, slowly tightening the space between you.

His words were starting to replace your embarrassment with irritation. “It means you're healthy. And a toy is a safe option so long as you keep it sanitized and it doesn't hurt-”

You had to cut him off. It was unbearable. The towel you used to dry your hands was thrown down in a huff. “I know how to fucking use it Doc, so stop assuming I’m dumb enough to hurt myself with something like this.”

That silenced him immediately.

You bit your lip, instantly regretting your reaction. He was only trying to help. Your eyes dropped to your feet. You held back a gasp when icy fingers gripped your chin, gently forcing you to look at him.

“Perhaps…” He swallowed hard. His thumb brushed against your chin, lingering. “A demonstration would put my concerns at ease.”

Zayne's voice was practically a growl. The roughness of it was like a delicious lick against your core. The look in your eyes mirrored his perfectly.

But he was waiting for you. Seeking permission to finally cross the line that you both desperately fought against. “Tell me to stop. Please.”

A faint blush coloured his cheeks from the sheer effort of holding back. His other hand was clenched so tightly that his nails dug into the flesh of his palm.

Slowly, you reached out and placed your hand on his chest. His heart pounded hard against your touch, attempting to escape. You moved your head closer, lips ghosting over his. “I’d like to proceed with this examination, Doctor.”

The final thread that had held him back finally snapped. Zayne crashed his lips against yours. He was rough, almost punishing you for making him wait this long. His tongue slipped into your mouth, savouring your taste and swallowing the quiet moans he conjured.

Your hands rose, tangling his hair with your fingers to pull him closer. His body pressed hungrily into you, making your ass hit against the sink.

The hardening outline of his cock brushed against your hip. Your pussy clenched, already a soaking mess and he hadn't even touched you.

Zayne broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. “I’ve wanted to do that since our first appointment.” He whispered, skimming his fingers along your cheek. The confession made your knees weak, gripping him harder before they gave out.

The room crackled with overdue tension. Realising that he had wanted you for as long as you did him made you shiver in pleasure. You looked so beautiful like this. Lips wet and swollen because of him. He needed to see what else he could do to you.

Your eyes fluttered closed as Zayne inched his hands under your t-shirt, exploring your smooth skin. When his fingers grazed against your breasts, your hips involuntarily bucked.

He hummed at your responsiveness, watching your face as he rubbed a stiffening nipple. Then he gently pinched it.

Your head pulled back, his name a whimper. With your throat exposed, he wasted no time. His mouth was hot against your sensitive skin, sucking and marking you.

You couldn't breathe. Your pussy was aching, grinding itself against the tailored fabric of Zayne’s trousers.

One of his hands immediately had a bruising grip on your hip, ceasing your movements. He chuckled softly as you pouted at him. “I think you're sufficiently aroused. Shall we continue?”

Your eyes widened as he pulled back, reaching for the dildo. The sound of it popping as the suction cup released made you instantly shy. “Zayne…”

Your words trailed off when you saw the look in his eyes. This wasn't a request. He was in control. If you wanted to tease him with a show, he would make you keep your word.

Your thighs clenched together as he studied the toy, testing the girth. With a hum of satisfaction, he handed it to you. “Show me what you would’ve done if I hadn't stopped you.”

You hesitated before taking the toy, desire dissolving what remained of your timidness. Zayne crossed his muscular arms and leaned against the bathroom wall, patiently waiting.

With a deep breath, you turned and walked to the shower. While the room started to steam up, you stripped off your clothes as he watched, just like you imagined.

He was truly speechless as his eyes roamed over your naked form. Every inch of you was exquisite. Not even the finest artist in the world could accurately capture the beauty before him.

The way his eyes burned for you made your thighs slick from your arousal. He looked at you as if he owned you. It seared your skin as you stepped into the shower, water immediately cascading down every curve of your body.

The dildo made a lewd slap as you stuck it onto the damp tile. The swell of your ass brushed against the tip, testing the placement. You had done this enough times to know what was the perfect height.

You locked eyes with Zayne through the glass, moving your hand down to touch the place you needed most. As soon as your fingers made contact with your throbbing clit, you stopped thinking.

Knowing he was watching you as you touched yourself was so erotic, making you feel so…filthy. It was intoxicating.

Zayne watched, frozen. He was so hard it was painful. His cock strained against his trousers, begging to be touched. He knew there was a growing patch of pre-cum darkening his boxers.

The way you rocked against your hand was so incredibly sexy that he wanted the image burned into his memory forever. His hand shook slightly as he palmed himself over the layers of material for a small bit of relief.

You couldn't handle how empty your cunt felt. You couldn't move quickly enough as you positioned the tip of the dildo against your sloppy wet hole. One hand slammed against the glass wall and you pushed your hips back, letting out a guttural moan as it sank into you.

The wet sound of your pussy slamming against silicone echoed around the bathroom. You fucked yourself fast and hard, desperately chasing the intense pleasure building deep within. Zayne lost it.

He unbuckled his belt as he walked towards the glass, eyes locked on yours. Your breasts bounced to the beat of your thrusts, eyes almost rolling to the back of your head as he released his thick cock for you.

His thumb slid across the soaking tip, spreading the beads of fluid to lubricate himself. The other hand was placed exactly where yours was. Even through glass, he could feel the scorching heat of your skin.

As slow as he could manage, he stroked himself as he watched you like a caged animal. Nothing mattered anymore. Not his profession. Not your friendship. Just you and him.

Seeing him fuck into his hand, all because of you, was your breaking point. Your body needed his touch like it needed air. “Zayne.” You moaned, white-hot pleasure starting to overcome you.

As soon as his name left your lips, Zayne ripped every piece of clothing from his body, racing your orgasm. Just as you were about to cum, he was in the shower with you, pulling him to you so the dildo slipped out. You almost cried with frustration.

“I’m sorry.” His breath was ragged. He violently pulled the dildo off the wall and threw it out of the shower. “I’d like to carry out some further tests.” Before you could open your mouth, he kissed you with every fibre of his being.

Your back met the wall, tongue and teeth clashing as his hands fondled your hips. He needed to see you come undone but only by him. Peppering kisses onto your neck, he continued onto your breasts until his knees met the tile floor.

“Legs on my shoulders.” You instantly followed his orders, shoulders pressing against the wall as you perched on him.

He took in the sight of your swollen pussy, your arousal causing sticky webs as he spread you with his fingers. “Tell me you think of me when you fuck yourself like that.”

You whimpered at his words. His breath hot against your pussy. Your hips shifted, trying to get him closer. Your mouth felt dry as you swallowed. “You’re the reason I have to fuck myself in the shower.”

He licked a teasing path from your hole to your clit, groaning at the taste. “And why is that, darling?” Fuck. If you weren't desperate to cum, you would've cooed at the affectionate name.

“I was tired of how much of a mess I made thinking of you.” His fingers sunk into your skin, almost painfully so.

“You’re going to make a mess for me now, is that okay?” You had barely nodded before his tongue was lapping at your clit. A scream ripped through you as he devoured your pussy like it was the only thing he was placed on this earth to do.

Your fingers tugged at his hair, the familiar tension coiling once again within you. Without warning, he rammed two fingers into you, pumping fast. All you could do was moan and gasp.

He suckled on your hard clit as he explored your tight walls, acutely aware of the spots that made you buck against him. You could feel him smirk against you when screamed his name, locating the spongy texture of your g-spot. The pleasure was building at an alarming speed, your pussy gushing as you rocked against his mouth and fingers.

“Zayne wait. It's too much…” Your words fell on deaf ears. He could tell you were so close, your walls starting to clench around his fingers as he pistoned them harder.

Your mouth fell open as the burning coil in you snapped. The waves of pleasure crashed hard. “Cumming.” Was all you could muster as your fluids burst out of you, squirting all over Zayne’s face and chest.

Zayne had never experienced something as hot as that. He almost came right there as your squirt mingled with his tongue. He pulled his head back to look at you, fingers still fucking you through your aftershocks.

“Good girl. You did so well.” He purred, pulling his fingers out of you. His praises caused you to clench, already hating how empty you felt again.

Zayne kissed you passionately, letting you taste yourself on his lips. The hardness of his cock poking against your stomach told you he was far from done. “I need you.” His plead was barely a whisper.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, biting back a laugh. He was so sweet, even when he was aching to fuck you. You took his cock in your hand, slowly pumping him. He gasped your name.

You let go of him, manoeuvring your bodies so his back was against the wall. Then you turned around, setting both hands on the glass to brace yourself. Your eyelids fluttered as you looked over your shoulder at him.

“Take me then.”

He wasted no time, gripping your hips as he positioned himself against your dripping cunt. Your mouth bit into your arm as he slowly stretched you open. He was much bigger than your dildo. You took a deep breath, urging your muscles to relax and accommodate him.

Noticing how tense you were, he planted soft kisses along your spine. “That’s it, beautiful. Keep breathing for me. Look at you. Taking me so well.” Your pussy ached at his words, sucking him in until he was balls-deep in you.

He didn't move yet, letting you catch your breath and relaxing even more around him. The water was a warm welcome against his cool skin. Even though his cock was screaming at him to take up, he bit hard on his lip and ignored it.

All he cared about was you. His arm snaked around your waist, finding your clit. He rubbed it in slow, hard circles until you were whining for him to move.

“Zayne. Please. I need-” He didn't let you finish, pulling out slowly until he was barely in you. When he inched back into you, he groaned softly, wanting to savour the feeling of your velvety walls as they massaged the length of him.

“You’re so beautiful.” He murmured against the shell of your ear, earning him a pretty sob as he continued his brutally steady pace. He melded into you perfectly. Like you were made just for him.

You were growing restless, trying to increase his pace by thrusting your hips back. Zayne all but snarled at your neediness. He brought his free hand back and spanked your ass.

You yelped in surprise. You had never been spanked during sex before. You also didn't expect to like it so much.

“Is that all you got, Doctor?” You taunted. You were drunk off him. Zayne thrust into you harder, increasing his speed. He spanked you again.

“You’ll take what I give you darling.” He muttered, working his fingers faster on your clit. Another orgasm was quickly building. His patience wore thin. He started fucking you ruthlessly, on the precipice of his own release.

He grabbed a fistful of your wet hair, causing your back to arch. The sound of his wet skin slapping against yours was intoxicating. Leaning over, he kissed you, your moans mixing with his. He could tell by your rapid breathing that you were close.

“Does my cock feel good, Y/N? Better than that toy hmm?” Your pussy was pulsing around him. He drove into your g-spot so hard you started seeing stars.

You were feral, moaning until your throat felt hoarse. Zayne grunted, obsessed with the idea that he made you this way. “Good girl. Cum for me again.”

The only thing that left your lips was his name. Over and over as your release hit you. You soaked his cock as you squirted again, screaming as the pleasure overtook you.

The way you clenched around him caused his thrusts to stutter. Zayne’s release quickly followed. Your pussy squelched as he filled it over and over with spurts of hot cum.

He continued rutting into you until you milked him dry, his forehead resting on your shoulder. You were both breathing hard, unable to speak. After a few moments, the hot spray of the shower grew colder. “Shit, we used up the hot water.” You chuckled weakly.

Zayne pulled you out of the shower, wrapping you in a towel before drying himself with another. You were exhausted. Not trusting your legs, you plopped yourself onto the lid of the toilet. Once he was dry, he walked over to you and easily lifted you up, carrying you to your bedroom.

When he lay you down on your bed, he kissed you tenderly on the forehead. You gripped his hand before he could leave your side. “Are you leaving?” You asked, suddenly feeling more exposed than you had all night.

His hazel eyes softened and he sat on the edge of the bed. Zayne’s lips quirked into a small smile as he brushed the damp hair from your still-flushed face. “Of course not. Unless you wanted me to?”

He watched you shake your head shyly. Unable to stop himself, he leaned down and kissed you.

It was different, fuelled by something much deeper than lust. It made you dizzy but you pulled him closer, melting against his lips.

You were panting by the time he pulled away, raising to his feet. Your eyebrows knitted together. Before you could ask him where he was going, he gave you the most devilish smile.

“You didn't think I'd come with your favourite dinner and forget your favourite dessert? It's in the freezer. I'll be back with two spoons.”

[nashusglasses]

3. snakes in the wild (m)

+ based off nsfw prompts: 18.  “I don’t care if it’s wrong.” + 57. “I won’t stop until you pass out.”

note: thirsty thursday was going strong until i took the plot too seriously oops. thirsty friday it is :P these prompts are from this list. send me two prompts and a lads man for next week if u wanna!

note 2: uh oh. saw college AU zayne and caleb by @akiisks and my brain immediately rewired itself. if i say fratboy Caleb three times in front of my mirror will he appear in front of me? also, caleb is nawt a virgin in this story. i know there was some discourse around this on twt so i'm warning you now! SUMMARY.

“Can you stop treating this like I’m your teacher? And don’t call me sir.” You narrow your eyes down at him. “Then would you prefer master?”

or, fratboy!Caleb and a lesson on riding

PAIRING. caleb/reader GENRE. college AU/friends with benefits AU WARNINGS. penetrative sex, squirting, the awkwardness and insecurities of learning sex in general WORD COUNT. 2.9k

“Please don’t look at my dick like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s the most disgusting thing you’ve ever seen.”

You try to school your face into something more placid, but it can’t be helped. Every time his boxers come off you’re reminded that he’s hiding a third arm under his pants. He flicks the spot where your eyebrows are furrowed. “I bet you’re into that,” you goad. 

“Into what?” Caleb adjusts where he sits at the top of his bed, teetering into what looks like the urge to hide. A habit borne from your intense staring, because it’s hard not to. You like making him nervous when you sit half-naked on his thighs. 

“You know. Condescension. You ever seen that video where the girl jumps on the guy’s dick?”

He gawks at you. “Wha–no!”

“And it’s like–there’s a hole for his dick to come out of a piece of wood so that she’s literally jumping on it.”

Caleb pinches the bridge of his nose. “You need to stop talking before I go flaccid.”

The threat hangs empty. You don’t think he could be any harder with the pre-come leaking down to his bellybutton. You almost want to praise him for letting you bear witness to such a lewd sight, but you know every compliment you give him will go straight into feeding his ego. 

“Prude,” you sneer instead. He looks like he’s about to insult you back, but you slide your shirt off as concession. He immediately goes for a fistful of your tit, and your throat swells with a grateful moan. “Mm. I’m ready for my lesson today, sir.” 

“You–can you stop treating this like I’m your teacher? And don’t call me sir.”

You narrow your eyes down at him. “Then would you prefer master?”

Caleb looks like he’s about to cry. He pinches your nipple in retaliation till you whine. “Stop trying to psychoanalyze me and come over here.”

He doesn’t wait for your initiative, grabbing you with both hands by your ass to get you level with the warmth of his cock. You blush at how much you enjoy the visual: coating the entirety of his length with the slick he’d coaxed through the most brutal fingerbang he’d ever subjected you to five minutes ago. (It’s a testament to how far you’ve come in this relationship, because you’d cried the first time he’d gotten one finger inside you. One. Damn his thick knuckles.) It’s tempting to forgo lube, but Caleb’s a stickler for good condom etiquette, and you don’t want to spend the rest of the evening with an ice pack stuck to your mound.

Which reminds you:

“Will we ever do a creampie lesson?”

You feel Caleb’s dick twitch. “I am this close to sewing your mouth shut,” he croaks. You feign ignorance, grinding down just to hear him hiss through clenched teeth. “Oh. You’re so wet.”

You think you like this version of Caleb the most. Mouthy, a little desperate – like you’re the one commanding the spotlight and he’s following your every move. For a second you convince yourself the roles are reversed. The innocence of discovering hot pleasure in the girl sitting pretty on his cock, pleading with too-wet eyes to let him make her feel good.

But you know you’ll never have the upperhand, and that’s what gets you shivering with every drag of your hips. “Do you like it?” You’re timid in the question.

Caleb forces a deeper curve, bucking up to your downstroke and your clit snags into heat in the most delicious way. “More than you realize,” he confesses. “You’re hot like this.”

Something in you sings. You know you’d never come from grinding alone, but Caleb makes you want to try. The sounds he makes are enough to get your blood rushing fast. 

“Haah–” You whine when you pick up speed to chase his pleasure, and he gives your ass a squeeze in thanks. “You r-really tried to tell me you’d go flaccid on me.”

He’s too breathless to respond to your jab. “Fuck. If you – ngh – keep going like this, I’m coming.”

In other words: lesson’s over. It’s tempting. Getting him fucked out first just to gloat about your god levels of stamina. But you came to his room today on a mission, and you refuse to let him tap out now.

You stop all movement and you almost groan from the loss. “Condom.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Caleb reaches over to his bedside stand, ripping open a pack. He juts his chin out to the bottle of lube. “Want more?”

“If you don’t want me bleeding out all over your sheets, then yes.”

You watch his ears turn red. Rolling a condom probably doesn’t rank that high on the list of sexiest moves, but damn if you aren’t mesmerized with the way Caleb fits it over his dick. “It’s not that big.”

“It’s not that big,” you mock. “This thing is a pole. God. Looking at it is making me sweat.”

“Why are you always so crass?” But he goes for the lube regardless, squeezing out the gel on his palm. He shivers when he fucks his tight fist. You almost sigh from the show, greedy for every sign of pleasure he’ll give you.

“I like watching you jerk off,” you say next.

Caleb sighs like he’s defeated. “Y-You’re such a pervert.” 

“You like it.”

“I do.” He takes his sticky hand, dragging wet heat on your aching core to get you prepped. You’re spreading your knees before you even think about it. Anticipating the feel of his fingers inside, but he only teases with a shallow thrust. He rubs your clit in apology when you whimper. “C’mere, pretty.”

He beckons with his other hand, lifting up to meet you for a quick kiss. “You nervous?” He asks. There’s no bite to his tone, just a softness that bleeds into genuine concern. 

“Maybe.” You clutch at his shoulders, anxiety melting into the numb feeling he’s massaging into you. “Ah… Just–don’t laugh if I get it wrong.”

Caleb rewards your honesty with another kiss. Swipes the hand playing with your clit on his bare thigh to clean the shine of lube off. “I don’t care if it’s wrong. Do what feels good to you.”

You don’t know what that’s supposed to entail, and that disconnect between your knowledge and his is what pisses you off the most. You almost wish porn could be a symbiotic thing, a literal watch and learn. Your thighs are already starting to burn. “Oh my god. What if I snap your dick in half?”

That gets a hard laugh out of him. “You said it yourself. It’s a pole. Poles don’t break that easily. And you’d know once I start screaming in pain.”

“Don’t say that.” It’s an awful thought – one you don’t dwell on because Caleb just laughs again, taking a hand you have on his shoulder to guide down to his dick like a silent invitation. You at least know this much: squeezing a fist around the head the way you know he likes, dragging a stroke down slowly. 

His chest shrinks with a shaky exhale. “You’re killing me.”

Caleb always does this, you think. Letting you set the pace at the expense of his patience.  Chivalry died and came back to life as the man shivering from you pumping his dick. 

You don’t care to announce it. You shift on your knees, position the tip of his dick where you’re leaking. Dig your nails into his shoulder blades as you watch yourself try to sink down. 

(Your cheeks grow hot, thinking back to the very first time Caleb tried to fit his dick inside you. You’d kept squeezing him out with every threat of a push, and he had to pin you down by your hips to stop you from squirming so much. “You can take me,” he’d whispered. “You’re my good girl, right?”)

You let that feeling wash over you now; a pull of reverence like somehow you’d sinned and he’d bring you salvation. You roll down till the stretch burns too much for you to comfortably pace yourself on. 

Caleb suddenly claws at your hips, and you look up to see his head tossed back, groaning deep.

It’s dangerous, how downright erotic he looks. You hide the thrill racing down your spine with a quip you know he can barely hear from how hard he’s breathing. “You good there big boy?” 

“Ne-ver better.” His voice cracks around the edges. “Yeah. Yeah. You good?”

“It’s–” you still struggle with the feeling, like your pussy is computing the pleasure of the angle just as slowly as your brain is– “okay.”

You think. It’s not bad. If anything, Caleb’s reaction is enough material for you to fantasize about for the next fifty years. He gathers his bearings quickly, though, twitchy with embarrassment, still gripping hard at your hips. (As if you’d ever laugh at such a show of vulnerability. You’re not that cruel.)

He says nothing. You rock into the gravity of his pelvis, hiss with every additional inch you bury into until you’re down to the hilt. “O-Oh,” you whimper. The ache blooms into something else now. Better. Heat that swells and swells into your ribs, and you realize you’ve never felt so full before.

Caleb hugs you close, kissing you in place of verbal praise. “Need my help now?”

You nod, stuck in the wrong-right headspace of feeling impaled, barely finding the will to hinge at your knees to ride him properly because you’re still so clueless. He does it for you with ease. Lifting your ass just to get that delicious upstroke, and when you come down his balls smack a lewd noise on your skin. 

“Caleb,” you hiccup. “That’s–oh fuck.”

He’s red down to his chest. “S’okay?” 

“Mhm–!”

It’s a bit easier to settle in the rhythm, finding a bounce in your own movement that makes Caleb’s hands deadweight. The only guidance is your shared pleasure, and you coax him down to his back with a push to his chest to test a better angle.

It works. Sort of. You choke with the heavy drag of your cunt squeezing him raw. “Oh, this–oh. This. Feels…” 

“Good?” He asks. You can’t decide. You try again, tensing at your knees when a downstroke pinches too tight on your walls. “Lean into me. Take what you need.”

You keep up with a stilted rhythm, clenched fists over the beating of his heart. You try to match every pulse. Up, down, swiveling into the roiling feeling in your core, but it’s not enough.

He teases clammy hands up your navel to your breasts, squeezes in time with your next downstroke to steal your inhale. “Fuck–I’m–already out of breath,” you complain. 

“You barely started.” At least he has the decency to look sympathetic. “Does it still feel okay though?”

“It does. I think.” The burn lingers, though it comes second to the way Caleb arches into you with every mini-stroke you offer on tired knees. You’d be happy without coming, you decide, if only to see him fucked out like this.

He blinks. “Think you can keep going?”

It’s almost hurtful, his doubt. But even you can’t deny you’re starting to quiver with frustration, all the bravado of finding purpose in your ability to fuck going straight out the window the longer you hover. 

You watch him. Dilated eyes, lips chapped, shining forehead. Pulsing wet inside the deepest he can be. He won’t buck up for his pleasure, not unless you answer him truthfully. 

“I want to,” you say weakly. God do you want to. You get the sudden and overwhelming urge to keep him here forever. “Fuck. I wish you could just – tell me what to do.”

Caleb shakes with quiet laughter. “I just want you to feel good.”

“That’s the thing. You keep saying that. I don’t – it feels good and then it doesn’t and it’s so – like – do I look sexy? Do I – feel good to you? For you?”

You’ll probably laugh about this later. His cock is lodged inside you and you’re asking him if he thinks you look good like you’re showing him a cute outfit for a date. 

Caleb just pulls you down by the nape of your neck. Hovers his lips over yours when he whispers: “You’re right where I want you to be.”

Your core blossoms into a pure, needy ache when he jerks his hips up. Hard.

“Let’s end the lesson early then.” He kisses you, and you melt into the sweetness. “I’m proud. Try to keep up now, yeah?”

He’s done easing you into it. A part of you was done a while ago, you think.

“Lesson number two,” he grunts. “Just let me make you feel good.”

“Oh–Caleb–ngh–!” 

You yelp with the borderline carnal pace he sets, hands barely finding leverage on his sweating chest. All that stored energy from his patience releasing with every wet thrust he bucks through. Your thighs go numb.

One hand grips your ass, the other seizing the roots of your hair to keep your eyes on him. He grunts: “You like when I fuck you hard?”

You’d nod if his fist wasn’t so tight on your head. “Uh–uh huh,” you breathe, trying hard to angle your ass back in a way that feels nice. There’s no guarantee of an orgasm like this but the sound of such thorough fucking has your head already clouding into a faux-high. 

“I like it too baby. Love the way you feel on my cock.”

Your insides squeeze at the confession. There. You steel your knees, the tip of his dick finally hitting a spot you can grind into and you urge with wet eyes, “Keep talking.”

“Yeah? Fuck. You just squeezed me so hard. You’re so good for me, baby. So wet. So hot. You’re so perfect for me, you did such a good job. Let me take care of you now.”

Your clit pulses with every dirty word, and you’re near-desperate to blackout with your fingers rubbing heat into it. It’s not enough. You sob. “I wanna–ugh–”

“Hm? What does my pretty girl want?” 

You don’t know how he can look so calm when you’re being fucked fifty ways to hell. You shake your head till he lets up on his hold, and with the extra space for movement, you immediately shoot a hand down to where your cunt weeps. “Shit,” he says. “You wanna come?”

“Please–”

If you gloat about stamina, Caleb has drive. You feel him shift in his heels, digging into the mattress for the extra leverage he can drill up inside you’re dripping. “There you go,” he moans, watching your fingers slip on your clit and you whine with the attention. 

“Oh god,” you say through clenched teeth. Your brain relaxes into that floaty state indicative of a mind-numbing fuck, like it knows you’re well on your way to nirvana if you just give in already. Caleb’s good at that. Rendering your body so useless all you can do is take what he gives you.

“I won’t stop till you pass out,” he threatens, nails digging moons into your ass. You sob at the thought. “You want that? Fuck you so good all you can do is take it. Like. A. Good. Girl.”

There’s nothing for you to do. Your fingers numb to the motion of stroking your clit till you’re wailing, letting every word soothe your muscles into lax pleasure. “C-Close,” you squeal.

You feel Caleb’s abs tense under your belly, chin tilting up to swallow your groaning. He kisses you like he’s parched. And you don’t ask, but somehow he already knows you’re waiting for his command.

“Come on, baby. I’ll take you there. You’re so pretty when you sound like that,” he whispers, breath stilting into exhaustion. “Can you show me how you come for me?”

Your body answers for you. The heat curls out from your gut at such frightening speed you almost teeter off out of his arms, burying your forehead into his shoulder as you come hard, clit taut against your spasming fingers. 

You blank into white-hot pleasure, throat dry from your crying, and something–something is wet and sticky against your mound. You don’t know. You think Caleb’s coming too, stuttering with heavy strokes and he holds you so tightly you stop breathing for a second.

Your hearts race in tandem. You’re sweating in every awkward crease of your body, and you begin the feat of pulling off from his softening dick. “Ugh,” you groan, core fighting with a squeeze to keep him in, “stupid fucking fat dick, ow.”

You collapse onto your side. Caleb is just as dead to the world, arms akimbo. “So mean,” he breathes. “What it’d ever do to you.”

“Fuck me till I squirted, apparently.”

You clench, seeing his abs practically shine. He tries to laugh, but it comes out like a sad wheeze. “Good job. A plus plus.”

“Man.” You don’t know how you’re even talking. It’s taking every bit of your consciousness to converse right now. “You have to tell me who taught you how to talk like that.”

It takes a while for Caleb to say anything. The air settles with your breaths trying to catch a calmer tempo. 

“Well.” When you open your eyes to look at him, he’s staring blankly at the ceiling. “You know I don’t say stuff I don’t mean.”

He doesn’t explain any further. You don’t ask. 

(You never do.)

[fan-a-saurus-rex]

Hi! Can I request a Joaquin or a Bob Floyd (if you’re writing for him) fic with prompt #8 with either situation #12 or #17? Angsty angst with a HEA if you so choose? I’m in the mood to get my heart ripped open over and over apparently.

I’ve been meaning to write a story for Bob Floyd and I love your idea. It’s gonna be a bit smutty cause I can’t help myself 😂 Hope you enjoy this!

Friends to Lovers

Plot: You go out one night with the Dagger Squad and have way too much to drink. Being your best friend, Bob offers to take care of you and you end up spilling a load of truthful emotional baggage.

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Reader

Requested: Yes! My requests are always open 🖤

Warnings: drinking alcohol, being drunk, drunk confessions, smut (heavy flirting, a bit of making out, implied sex, nothing too bad)

Masterlist

It was a normal Friday night at the bar with your friends. You had drank way too much and it was very apparent that you simply didn’t care.

Your friends had noticed just how far gone you were when you jumped up on the pool table and started dancing to a rock song playing through the speakers.

Out of all of your friends, Bob was definitely the most protective of you.

“Come on Python, time to get down” he said walking over, calling you by your callsign.

You got your callsign when the squad found out that you owned a pet snake, a Ball Python named Nelson.

“Come up here with me Floyd” you said, pulling him towards you, too drunk to care.

“Come on {y/n}, you’re gonna get hurt” he said pulling holding both your hands and pulling you closer.

You rolled your eyes and laughed “fine” you said, letting him help you down. You wobbled on your feet a bit but he held you up.

When you finally got your balance you walked back over to the bar to order another drink.

“Tequila please!” You said in a sing song voice.

“Sorry kid, your friend said you’ve been cut off” the bartender said pointing towards Bob “No more alcohol. How about a water or a Gatorade”

“Fine” you mumbled, scowling at Bob.

The bartender brought you over a blue Gatorade and a straw.

You dipped at it unenthusiastically as you watched your friends play pool.

After a while you started to feel a bit sick and be-lined outside, puking in the bushes. When you finally got back up, Bob was standing behind you.

“I think it’s time to go home” he said, helping you up off the ground. He signaled to the squad inside that he was escorting you home. Phoenix ran out handing him your bag so you wouldn’t forget it.

He practically carried you to his car and helped you buckle in. He drove you back to your apartment, figuring you’d be more comfortable in your own bed.

When you arrived he helped you out and walked you to the front door. You fumbled around looking for your keys. You were way too drunk to find them in your messy bag. Bob had a spare set that you’d given him years ago when you first became best friends so he took it upon himself to unlock the door and help you inside. He flicked on the lights as you flopped onto the couch.

“Go home Bobby…I’m fine” you slurred in a soft tone.

“I’m not leaving you like this, you’re a mess” he said as he sat beside you and pulled off your boots. “Come on, upstairs, you need to shower, get sober” he said softly

You groaned “carry me?”

He chuckled and got up, picking you up off the couch and carrying you upstairs to the bathroom. He set you down on the floor and grabbed you a towel before turning on the water.

You looked over at him and smirked “wanna join me?”

He blushed. If you hadn’t been so drunk he would have. He’d do anything to get his hands on you like that. You may have been his best friend but he’d started to develop stronger feelings for you in the past year or so.

Of course he was too shy to say anything.

“Um, no. I’ll be waiting outside the door. Yell if you need anything” he said trying to remain calm.

“You’re no fun” you said smirking as you started to strip out of your clothes.

Bob rushed out of the bathroom and closed the door, leaning against the wall. He let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

You were always flirty when you were drunk, but never like this.

This was torture.

He sat outside in the hallway until he heard the water shut off. He stood up and waited for you to come out of the bathroom. When you did, he had to ignore the fact that you were wrapped up in only a towel, droplets of water still running down your skin from your wet hair.

He helped you to your bedroom and started getting out some clothes for you to wear. He grabbed an oversized t-shirt, that he was pretty sure was one you had stolen from him months earlier, a pair of cotton shorts, and your boy short underwear.

He was too terrified to give you any other panties, or even look to see what else might be hiding in that drawer.

“I’m gonna step outside while you get dressed” he said

“What if I need help” you said smirking

“I’m sure you’ll be alright” he said, getting nervous.

“Just turn around Bobby” you said softly.

He did as he was told and waited for what felt like forever.

“Okay, I’m covered…” you said.

He turned around to see you sitting on your bed. He grabbed your hair brush off the dresser and helped you brush out all the tangles. He even put your hair in a loose braid to protect it from damage while it was still wet.

“Bobby”You said softly

“Yeah?” He asked, setting your brush back in its place on the dresser.

“Sometimes…I wish we’d never met”

He froze. He felt like his heart had just been ripped out. He knew it was just the alcohol talking, but drunk words are actually sober thoughts. “Why?” He asked quietly.

“Because…you don’t feel the way I do” you mumbled

“What do you mean?”

“I think I’m in love with you…and you only see me as a friend. A reckless one who needs to be taken care of” you said, lying down under your blankets. “But I wanna be more than that…”

He sighed and walked back over to you, lying beside you so he was facing you “How do you know I don’t love you back?”

“You’ve never said you do, you don’t even show it”

“{y/n}, you know as well as anyone that I’m not good at expressing emotions” he said

“Yeah, you suck at it” you said giggling.

“But I do…I do love you”

“Really?” You said smiling

“Yeah, but I thought you just saw me as a friend. Thought you liked gouts like Hangman”

“Ew, no” you said laughing “I like shy, nerdy guys who don’t realize how cute they are” you said placing your hand on his cheek.

He melted into your touch “well that works out perfectly for you cause I like girls with a wild side who don’t play by the rules”

You smiled at that “will you stay?” You whispered.

“Of course”

“I still have spare clothes for you in the bottom drawer”

He nodded and got up to change into the t-shirt and basketball shorts that he knew you always kept at your place. After changing he climbed back into bed beside you.

You leaned over, like you were going to kiss him, but he pulled back.

“Not right now, you’re still drunk. Want you to remember it” he whispered.

You nodded and cuddled into his side instead, falling asleep quickly.

* * * * *

You woke up the next morning against something warm. You opened your eyes to realize you were in your bedroom, lying against Bob’s chest with his arm around you.

You had been so drunk that you didn’t even remember him bringing you home. You rubbed his chest with your hand and he stirred awake.

“Oh, hey” he said in a raspy voice that sent chills down your spine “you okay?” He asked

“You brought me home?” You asked

“You were really drunk Python, you danced on the pool table and I had to ask the bartender to cut you off” he said

“Why are you….sleeping in my bed?”

“You don’t remember anything do you?” He asked

“No”

He sighed “you told me last night that you wished we’d never met because you love me and thought I don’t like you back” he said “but I do, I love you too. And then you asked me to stay and tried to kiss me”

“Did you kiss me back?”

“No, you were still hammered and I wanted you to remember it and give me your full consent”

Jesus, this man was way too sweet.

You blushed “well I do love you, and I really wanna kiss you….if you’ll let me”

He smiled and nodded, pulling you close, but letting you make the first move.

You pressed your lips to his softly. It was a sweet, passionate kiss.

You didn’t pull away immediately, you wanted this to last as long as he’d let it. When you eventually did pull away, you looked up at him. “Anything else happen last night?” You asked

He chuckled “you tried convincing me to take a shower with you”

You giggled “I believe it. Do you know how many times I’ve imagined you climbing into that shower with me and doing unholy things to my body?”

He blushed “how many?”

“Too many” you said giggling as you got closer to him.

“I always think about what your bare skin would feel like against mine, what you’d sound like if I touched you” he said, his breath hitching a bit.

“Wanna find out?”

“You still drunk?” He asked chuckling.

“Nope, completely sober” you said smirking “but I’d love to be drunk off you”

Something in him snapped. He pulled you onto him and kissed you hard as you straddled his waist. His tongue found its way into your mouth and both of you moaned softly.

He flipped you over so you were on your back, never once breaking his lips away from yours. You could feel how hard he was getting and you knew you were about to have a really good time.

“God, I’ve wanted to do this for so long” he groaned.

“Give me everything you’ve got” you said smirking.

“You sure?” He asked, kissing your neck.

You moaned “I want it all, all you have to give”

“Fuck I love you”

“I love you too”

And with that, you crossed a line you never thought you’d cross.

There was no going back now.

[gremlin-girly]

Bearskin

Pairing: Curtis Everett x f!reader

More Author's Notes at the end.

Anyway, thank you everyone who partook in Friday and Saturday's Pick Your Fic polls - Sunday's is open here.

Tags/Warnings: slow burn, Arranged Marriage, angst and fluff!, this is a medieval/viking AU - look I didnt really do much past researching old huts and some traditions haha, arranged marriage, emotional intelligence of a brick!Curtis, self-deprecating talk, curtis being brooding, but that's also for plot, you’ll see, attempts at seduction, sexual content mention (but nothing happens in this part sorryyyy), reader is just a horn-dog xoxo

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, copied, translated or put through an AI machine. All of my work is 18+ so read at your own risk x

Summary: Being married off to the rivalling villages chieftain, securing a peace treaty for your people, you believe that all is well and good until you realise that he's not interested in you.

Word Count: ~5k

Divider @/lunaridae

Navigation | Masterlist | Curtis Everett Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

The way he'd walked into the food hall had you captivated.

Confident but not arrogant, bloody, dirty and a face set in stone with eyes that shone like jewels in their sockets. He wore leathers and furs laden with weapons; and axe and a multitude of knives. The most prominent article of clothing was the bearskin he wore.

Rumour had it that when lost in the harsh wilderness after a battle, he had killed a bear and hidden inside it, skinning it's fur the following morning to stay warm as he ate the flesh over a fire.

That rumour alone was enough to terrify most other village chieftains into submission. But not all. He was a fierce fighter, a brilliant strategist. Up until four days ago he'd bested you father's men at every turn and hadn't lost a single soldier, prompting your father to call a truce as he reconsidered where his alliances truly lay as chieftain of a much smaller village.

You shifted nervously in your chair watching him approach. He was big, tall and broad and you could feel your heart begin to to prepare for a hundred metre dash. Exhaling slowly and quietly to compose yourself, you kept your head held high as your father did the song and dance of welcoming Curtis and his village people to the celebration, reminding yourself that this was your idea. For the sake of your people.

"Today is an important day in our history. Today, we welcome Curtis and his people as if they were our own. Today we celebrate the unification of our villages."

Curtis stopped before your father but didn't bow and for one dreaded moment you think there may be a massacre. However, he nods his head before turning those beautiful eyes onto you. As if on cue, you rise before him, smoothing the creases your white marital gown away and smiling shyly.

His eyes don't leave you as you step away from your place next to your father, clutching a thin circlet made of woven twigs with crocuses of white and purple slipped between them. You present it to Curtis who, without taking his eyes from you, takes the circlet in his large hands and places it delicately onto your head.

The room erupts into cheers and applause. Congratulations are thrown around and Curtis recieves many a slap on the back and handshake while you are fussed over by your friends and the ladies who you will now call your family.

"Curtis is a good man," one of them says.

"I'm so envious!" Another giggles.

The next few hours are a blur; drinking, dancing and feasting. The acceptance of your circlet was the acceptance of you as a bride, as a wife. Your life would change dramatically up north; longer winters in strange lands, new customs to learn, old customs to share.

His hands were warm and soft as they slipped a silver ring onto your hand and vowed to keep you safe and you'd smiled as you promised to care for him in return, slipping a matching silver ring onto his hand. The cheers and whoops from the crowd as he cupped your cheek with one of those warm hands to press a kiss against your lips rang in your ears. A morning proposal, an afternoon wedding and a celebration that lasted well into the night.

As you danced and sang around the fire with your friends for one final night, you can feel Curtis' eyes follow you and when you do catch him looking, you flash him a smile. Only for him to look away.

"Your new husband is handsome." One of your friends giggles. "And his eyes have been on you all evening."

"Here's to hoping you're not left disappointed tonight." Another slurs, raising her tankard, which you quickly steal from her and hush her.

"Not so loud!" You giggle before entertaining the thought. "He doesn't look like he'd disappoint."

"Hrm." The first friend says again before goving you a sly grin. "Don't bears mate for three months? And it's loud and savage?"

The group bursts into laughter when you hide your face in embarassment, quickly shushing each other as Curtis approaches. He's still stoic. You'd only caught a few wisps of a smile throughout the day but he looks almost uncomfortable as he stands before you and your friends. You take the hand he offers as you get to your feet and he nods at your friends.

"I'm sorry I have to steal her away." He says.

"We're surprised you didn't do it sooner." Your drunken friend teases and you smack at her playfully, guiding Curtis towards your hut.

"I'm sorry about them." You tell him, looping your arm through his. You can help the excitement your feeling, the tension, how he's been looking at you. Your insides curl with anxiety; tonight was the mark of a new beginning. Your people would be safe, your friends and family too, and you had a husband who was, at least the very least, attractive.

You chuckle as Curtis has to duck through the doorway as he enters your hut, his massive figure blocking the light of the moon as you try to light some candles.

The curtains that acted as your door billowed behind him as you dusted off your bed, a raised stone slab with a straw mattress and pillows with animal fur covers. You knelt awkwardly, peering up at him as he sat next to you, trying to look seductive. He jumps when you run your fingers across the width of his shoulders and you murmur a quiet apology as you move closer to his lips.

"You don't-" he breathes. "We don't have to. We're up early tomorrow."

You blink at him. Was this a test? A joke?

He was your husband! You knew what should be happening on your wedding night. In fact, you'd been looking forward to it since laying your eyes on Curtis this morning.

"I want to." You tell him but he clears his throat and stands suddenly.

"I'll help you pack."

"You'll what?"

Curtis heads to your clothes chest and opens it. "Help pack. You have space for winter clothing - that's good."

You're baffled. You don't know what to do other than awkwardly bring him trinkets and some of your crafts. He doesn't speak much other than complimenting your craftsmanship on your embroidery but even after you've finished packing, he's not interested in the consumation of your marriage.

"Husband?" Your voice wavers with nerves watching him stoke the fire in the centre of the room. "Are you alright?"

"'M Fine. You should get some rest." He doesn't look at you now and you sit on your bed confused and slightly affronted that he won't cast a glance your way.

"Okay... well, goodnight."

"Goodnight."

The next morning, you're too embarassed to tell your friends the truth before you leave. You let them think that you've throughly enjoyed your wedding night, lest they worry like you are. You ride a horse alongside Curtis, wrapped in furs, waving goodbye to your old life as you set off with your new husband and new people, wondering if things will get better.

On your journey to your new home, Curtis and you shared a tent at night but he continued to refuse letting his, or your, hands wander. He'd keep you close for warmth, and you'd let yourself indulge in the smell of him. He smelled like conifers and ash; a sweet and deep musk that, once you collapsed into the furs of your new bed late afternoon four days after your wedding, you fell straight to sleep almost immediately after lying face first in the furs.

On your journey, and within your first few days, you'd befriended a woman named Tannya and her son as they seemed closest to your husband other than Edgar who was his second in command. You'd hoped they could offer some insight into your new husband, perhaps even explain his strange behaviour.

They spent more time with him than you did after all.

Since arriving back at his village, Curtis had practically ignored you. He would bring you food but not eat with you, sleep next to you only when he thought you were asleep... You couldn't help but get the feeling your husband was actively avoiding you.

"Curtis is... Curtis." Tannya shrugs over at you as she cuts open a rabbit carcass to remove the offal and internal meat. She'd instructed you to wash the skins but you were in awe of her resourcefulness.

As your husband was almost always busy with everything but you, Tannya had been a saving grace from keeping you from going insane. You had watched her set traps the eve before and had attempted to make one yourself; before it collapsed in on itself.

"That's helpful." You sigh. "What about his favourite food? Maybe I should try to make it for him."

"His favourite food?" Tannya pauses her cutting and grins over at you, and you give her a small, sheepish smile. She shakes her head and resumes cutting. "That would be sweet. No wonder he's smitten with you."

"He is?" You couldn't stop the question before it flew out of your mouth. Even in your first week in your new home, you know that Tannya isn't one to lie. So it was odd for her to say something so entirely contradictory.

"Pssht. It's written all over his face." Tannya waves her knife as she speaks, looking at you incredulously. "Always looking at you, worrying about the celebrations... You know he even asked for extra blankets in your hut just in case the cold was too much for you?"

You look at her for a moment and consider her words, chest warming to the notions of Curtis' alleged affections. He was never looking at you when you looked his way but then, you supposed, that was the point. Perhaps courting was different in the north? Perhaps your husband was shy?

"Extra blankets?" You can feel the ghost of a smile tug the corners of your lips, recalling your second morning in your new hut.

At night, Curtis still slept beside you and thankfully so because heat rolled from his body like an open bonfire. However in the morning, after leaving you to sleep to run errands, he'd caught you shivering as you entered the living area and had silently shrugged off his bearskin to wrap around your shoulders. You'd been surprised at the gesture but thanked him (earning you a grumbled response) before he'd disappeared again. You'd thought he'd been annoyed but now, knowing he'd fretted about more blankets for you, relief and hope surged in your veins. You may be able to win over your husband after all.

"He can take some getting used to. Don't worry you have the rest of your life to understand him." Tannya continues unperturbed, offering a motherly smile that comforts you from the inside out. "I'll show you how to make his favourite dish after we finish up and you can serve it for him tonight. In a few days when you're more settled I'll take your measurements for your second ceremony dress."

"Second ceremony?"

"You had a southern wedding now you'll have a northern." Tannya says plainly. "Not everyone was able to make it for your first one, myself and Timmy included. It'll be a rite of passage as our new chieftainess."

You nod vigorously, the weight of Tannya's words sinking in. Your rite of passage. It was more responsibility than you ever expected to have and yet you welcomed it with open arms.

The stew had been simple enough to make and you'd tried to inconspicuously smuggle it back to your hut to surprise Curtis, only to be stopped by about five villagers who all wanted to ask you the same questions on how you'd found your trip and how you were settling in.

By the time you'd managed to get back and set the food above the fire pit, you only had thirty minutes of pottering and preparing before Curtis appeared.

"Smells good," He murmurs, setting his axe down against the bedroom entryway as you dish up hot stew and place it on and already-set table.

"I was thinking we could..." you wring your hands bashfully. "Eat. Together."

Curtis raises an eyebrow but grunts with a nod, taking a seat opposite you, and tentatively poking at his stew with his spoon. He raises it slowly, almost as if he's waiting for it to stop steaming. You watch with baited breath as he takes a bite, the silence between you intense. He looks up at you to see you watching him and his ears go pink, his eyes drop to the stew again.

"How is it?" You ask, feeling silly for sounding so eager, so desperate to hear his praise.

"Good." He says around another mouthful but he says nothing more. After a few beats you sit back in your chair and poke at your stew before taking a few mouthfuls of your own.

"How were things today?" You ask casually. "Any progress on the second well?"

"Mm." Curtis nods again, not looking up. "Progress is going well."

"Oh, good."

Silence falls between you, the only sound in your home the clanking and scraping of spoons against bowls. You chew at your lip. This had been better than it had been and you didn't want to push your luck. However, after a few beats Curtis speaks up again.

"How are you settling in? How's my... how is the hut? I tried to make it ... nicer for you."

If you didn't know any better you'd say your grizzly of a husband was flustered. You look up over your spoonful of stew and can make out heated, red flesh peeking over his beard and your heart jumps for joy.

The hut itself was... basic. Threadbare of almost anything apart from furniture and the odd trinket but the last thing you want to do is be insulting.

"It's lovely." You half-lie.

Curtis allows a ghost of a smile to pass his lips before looking serious again. "Tannya tells me it needs a woman's touch."

You bite your lip trying to force your chuckle back down your throat. Was that an joke? From Curtis?

"I mean, well -" you're smiling into your stew, and when you glance up again you can see Curtis is smirking slightly.

His eyes lock with yours and you see him stiffen again. Your heart thuds anxiously as he breaks your gaze and move to get up, the warmth that had started building between you dissipated.

Curtis moves around to your side of the table and reaches for your bowl. He's still not looking at you but his intention to clear away doesn't go amiss.

"What are you doing?" You ask staring up at him, daring him to look at you for more than ten seconds. "Go sit down."

"Let me -" He purses his lips slightly and tries again. "You cooked. I should-"

You rise to your feet, moving your bowl out of his reach and fixing him with a smirk. Holding out your free hand parallel with his broad chest, you insist he hands over his bowl.

"Let your wife spoil you once and a while." You tease softly as he begrudgingly hands you his bowl. The redness on his cheeks returns and his chest heaves but he says nothing. "You can help with clean up next time."

Curtis looks at you skeptically. There's a moment where he brushes past and you think he might kiss you but he steps back as soon as the thought pops into your head.

You expected Curtis to grunt and venture forth into the village to do some more chieftain errands as usual, however, he surprises you by hovering silently beside you. He watches you clean the bowls and utensils, dry them with a cloth and put them away without saying a word.

"Thank you for the food." He grumbles quietly, looking at his feet. "It was...delicious. How did you know it was my favourite?"

"I asked Tannya." You grin over at him proudly. "She showed me how to make it so I can cook into for you more often."

He makes a grunt of approval and nods his head. "Thank you."

Your smile stays in place. "It's nothing. Are you coming to bed?"

You catch a glimmer of panic in Curtis' blue eyes before he shakes his head. "Erm, no - not... not yet."

"Then I'll see you in the morning. Wake me if you need anything." You say gently, weaving past him to prepare yourself for bed.

The following day goes by without so much as a breeze of cold air and you decide that you would brave the elements a little longer and go for a walk, familiarising yourself with the great unknowns of your new village.

You’d been introduced to most of the villagers so you knew roughly where each person lived and Tannya had shown you some of the best places to catch rabbits, however, you were yet to brave the forest.

The pine trees that resided on the outskirts your newfound home are tall and dense. Wildflowers sprout haphazardly like a border and, as you approach, you can hear the squeals of joy from the children. You realise that they must come out of the village to play; out of the way of the adults who are working and away from fretting mothers so that they may carry out their adorable schemes and fantasies.

Walking as quietly as you can through the trees, you try to spot the children and catch a gaggle of them running not more than twenty-feet in front of you. You dive behind a thick trunk and peek out trying to make sense of the game they're playing when your husband's hulking form comes into view.

You shrink back instinctively against the bark, hoping you aren't caught - but Curtis seems preoccupied with playing with the children. Curiosity keeps you from calling out to reveal yourself; watching the children ready themselves then darting in a myriad of directions with giggles of joy as Curtis gives chase, purposefully jogging after them to let them get a head start.

You continue to watch hoping to catch a glimpse of a true smile. You had yet to catch Curtis smile properly and you knew that seeing him play with the children would be your best chance.

When he managed to get a hold of one child, the others surrounded him, grabbing at his legs and jumping onto his back until he yielded with a laugh.

Enthralled, you began to smile at the scene before you; heart swelling at the thought of him playing like this with your children. You bit back a chuckle when you envisioned him hiding behind a tree, broad shoulders sticking out as clear as day from either side, making your children squeal with laughter.

Would he love them even if he didn't love you? Or would he have no interest and leave them in your stead only? From what you'd seen, you could only surmise that he would be an excellent father to your children, regardless of his feelings towards you.

That was, if he ever decided to have children with you. Being with child meant having sex and Curtis, even after warming up to speaking a few sentences to you the last two weeks, still didn't want to bed you.

You remained rooted to your hiding spot watching your husband and the children play; clinging to a daydream where you pretended to have something wonderful and romantic with the chieftain of the north.

You considered for a moment asking Curtis to take you to play with them sometime but thought better of it when you realised that he would siphon that task to Tannya or another villager, leaving you right back where you started.

Instead, you opt to keep your daydream of false domesticity to yourself, and watch the children tackle Curtis to the ground with cries of victory.

Tannya had told you that there was no point in cooking as that evening marked two whole weeks since your marriage to Curtis and the villagers had insisted on a dance and small celebration.

"Is this my second celebration?" You asked her in a hushed tone, helping to carry a dish of berries to one of the tables.

"Goodness no." Tannya clicks her tongue setting her bowl down. "You need a new dress and the decorations aren't even finished! We're all just impatient."

You chuckle and continue to run errands in preparation for the evening, desperate not to be useless and to prove to your village that you're happy to help.

By sunset, the clearing is alight with music, drinks and dancing. You skulk around the edges of conversation and sip at your tankard, keeping an eager eye out for Curtis. You almost don't hear someone calling for you over the chatter.

"Chieftainess!"

You look around wildly, before your eyes settle on an old man who is waving his walking stick at you. Approaching with a beaming grin, you take the seat next to Gilliam, one of the elders.

"Gilliam," you address him sweetly. "How are you finding tonight? Is your tankard full?"

Gilliam guffaws and bangs his stick on the ground. "Tonight is wonderful - and yes of course it is. The children are keeping me topped up."

There's a slight slur to his words and his devious smirk makes you giggle. You knew that he was a surrogate father to Curtis, a wise man who in his old age, had become a loyal advisor.

"How has your first two weeks been?" He asks curiously. "I trust Curtis is making you feel at home?"

"Of course." You lie through a smile. "When he's not so busy."

Gilliam grins wickedly. " Maybe if he stopped bragging to everyone how great you are, he'd be able to. 'My wife did this', 'my wife did that', 'my wife made my favourite'..."

You frown gently, your heart aching in your chest. Gilliam wouldn't lie for the sake of it, you were sure of it but this didn't sound at all like the Curtis you knew, the one you lived with.

Catching your confused expression, Gilliam frowns at you instead. "You don't believe me do you?"

It's not a loaded accusation; more curious.

"I... well, Gilliam, I do live with him." You chuckle but your smile doesn't reach your eyes and Gilliam notices. He nods slowly, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Ah, of course," he clears his throat. "Tell me what do you talk about when you're together?"

A flush snakes it's way to your cheeks. Do you tell him that you and Curtis still haven't consummated your marriage? That Curtis, even on a good day, barely speaks to you?

"Not much... if anything at all." You sigh softly, playing with your hands in your lap. "If we eat together, it's in silence. He usually continues running errands or waits until I go to bed to eat."

You wring your hands, unsure if you should continue. "I know it's because he's the chieftain. He has a lot of responsibility too. I don't want to sound selfish."

"Ah, I see." Gilliam hums thoughtfully.

"Did he have a wife before? Have I done something to offend him?" You blurt suddenly, looking to Gilliam desperate for answers to your husband's behaviour. No one ever warned you your husband wouldn't be interested in you.

Gilliam snorts and offers you his hand, which you take diligently, and he closes his other wrinkled palm over it. "Come closer."

You lean in close and feel like a child again, listening to one of your father's fables.

"Believe me or not," Gilliam scoffs. "That boy loves you."

You want to laugh at how Gilliam calls Curtis boy so easily, as if he isn't a mass of muscle and bone, but you only tilt your head slightly as if you can't quite understand him, tears prickling at the edges of your vision as you whisper back.

"My husband doesn't love me." As soon as you say it it's like all the air has gone from your lungs and more words begin to rush out. "I don't know what I've done to make him so indifferent towards me nor do I know how to fix it." You hiccup quietly, smearing tears angrily across your face with your free hand. "You say he says these things but he doesn't say them to me."

Gilliam looks at you pleadingly, squeezing your hand. "He does. And to answer your question from before, he's never had a wife before you. He's never courted anyone before you either."

That small piece of information pulls you from your tears and you sniff, brows furrowing at Gilliam. "Him? Never?"

Gilliam shakes his head, clearly trying not to smile. "Too many things to do as chieftain. To many battles. Too busy." He raises an eyebrow at you. "And suddenly he has secured peace with one village and acquired a bride."

You slump back into your chair, shocked.

"Hmph." Gilliam huffs smugly. "He's still acting like a fool, though. How can you not know how to treat a beautiful woman?" He shakes his head before nodding firmly at you. "When you get him behaved, bear-tamer; bring him to me so I can hit him with my stick."

Through your tears you snort a laugh and begins to giggle at the image. Gilliam pats your hand and chuckles with you before beginning to recount tales of Curtis as a young boy.

Gilliam is halfway through a tale of Curtis catching a ferocious boar, at which you're half in hysterics, when the man himself appears.

"Ah, Curtis." Gilliam says fondly. "I was just telling your wife about Hamhock the Terrible; you almost missed the best part."

Curtis' lips twitch. "You're trying to embarass me in front of my wife, old man?"

Gilliam chortles and stage-whispers over to you, "He's still very touchy about being dragged across the forest floor by that pig."

You try to hide your snort behind your hand but you can't quite manage it thanks to the alcohol.

"I suppose you've come to steal your wife for a dance?" Gilliam continues, raising a brow at Curtis.

"If that's alright?"

"Why are you asking me?" Gilliam huffs, shooting you a mischievous wink.

"I - erm - w-would you-" Curtis shuffles awkwardly as you rise to your feet.

"Of course." You tell him, sparing him the awkwardness, pressing a kiss to Gilliam's cheek before following Curtis. "Thank you for your company Gilliam."

"Anytime, chieftainess. Anytime." He wiggles his walking stick. "And remember what I said!"

Cheers erupt over the music as you and Curtis rejoin the throng of the party and you want to rejoice at the feeling of belonging surging in your veins. But before you can, the music starts up again and Curtis gives you no warning as he sweeps you - quite literally - off your feet.

In a surprise to absolutely no one, Curtis has two left feet. He spins you away and tugs you back towards him almost tripping over himself in the process. You start to giggle and as you're tugged square into his large chest and look up to see that Curtis is grinning down at you. A real, genuine smile that makes heat rush to your cheeks.

The music slows and Edgar's shout of "kiss! " creates an echo around the clearing where everyone is dancing. You can feel the eyes of the villagers on you as they chant and you smile nervously before glancing to Curtis, who furrows his brows slightly, then dips his head slightly before stopping, lips gently parted. You're just beginning to wonder what he's doing before he dips his head lower and brushes your lips with his. The kiss is just like it was on your first wedding night; tender and gentle. His beard is soft, wisps of hair tickle at your skin and you smile against his lips.

Joyous cries from the crowd thrum in your ears and when Curtis goes to pull back, you follow him, pressing yourself against him as your hands come up to cup his face. He, surprisingly, allows it and very quickly mimics your action; cupping your face and pulling you close before releasing you with gentle pants of breath.

Edgar smack Curtis' back and envelopes you in a tight hug, welcoming you and gushing about how excited he is for the second ceremony. Some of the women hurry to your side with Tannya, pulling you away from Curtis to ask you about your homeland, how you'd like your new dress to look, what flowers you'd like in your hair. You quickly realise that this celebration was a test to see if the villagers, and Curtis, approved of you; and you were thankful that they had.

With one longing glance back at your husband, you were ushered away, leaving Curtis to watch you smile and laugh from afar.

Hours later, you're cuddled up with Timmy next to a fire, exhausted from drink and dancing. Timmy's idly drawing a few sketches of the villagers as you tell him fables from your homeland albeit slightly slurred. The party had died down, with most villagers heading to their homes and packing away food to stop it spoiling.

Curtis appears in your peripheral and you turn to look up at him, Timmy following suit when he hears you utter your husband's name. Curtis eases into a squat beside you both, close to you for once, and asks what you're up to in a hushed tone that makes you want to melt into him.

"The chieftainess is telling me stories." Timmy says with quiet glee, cuddling into your shoulder. "She's a good story teller."

He yawns loudly and rubs at his eyes, causing you and Curtis to chuckle at the same time before sharing a shy glance at the other.

"I think someone needs his rest." You say softly and Timmy grins sheepishly up at you. "Come on, let's find your mama and get you to bed."

"Not one more?" Timmy pleads and Curtis answers for you.

"You can have more tomorrow I'm sure." Curtis glances at you again, this time with a small smile. "I'm sure the chieftainess wouldn't mind?"

Your stomach flips. Had dancing together changed his demeanour? Or the kiss? Or was it the alcohol? Either way, it was a welcomed change.

"Of course!" You say looking back to Timmy. "But I need you well rested to be able to pay attention. Got it?"

Timmy nods and rubs at his eyes as Curtis straightens and offers both of his large hands to you and Timmy, pulling you to your feet with ease.

After handing Timmy back to his mother, you and Curtis head back to your own hut. From the night's events and yesterday's stew, you hoped that maybe tonight you'd be able to finally consumate your marriage. That you'd curried enough favour with Curtis for him to begin to accept you willingly into his bed, rather than just a woman to share it with.

"Would you like me to draw you a bath?" You ask once inside. "Fetch any beer?"

Curtis shakes his head. "No. You may head to the bedroom if you so wish, you've had a busy day."

Your heart jumps. Was that an offer? You dip your head and enter the bedroom, stripping quickly out of your dresses to freshen up. Gentle dabs of rosewater against your skin. You wait and wait until your eyes grow heavy, naked under the blankets.

When Curtis finally appears in the doorway, you immediately perk up. He shrugs off his furs as he approaches the washing bowl, splashing water onto his face to clean away the day's grime and the night's joy. He hears you shift under the blanket and turns slightly to look at you, legs bare and hair slightly tousled from where you'd been restless with nerves, thin blanket covering your thighs and chest. He immediately turns back to the water bowl.

"Thought you'd be asleep."

"I was waiting for you."

"Why?"

Your stomach flips and heat rushes to your cheeks. Did you really have to spell it out for him?

"I thought... we would be..." You drop your gaze to his feet, clearing your throat in the hopes you would loosen the words free. "That perhaps I may... service you."

Curtis stiffens. You peek up through your lashes, hopeful, but he doesn't turn around. The muscles of his back are tight and there's an angry red flush creeping up the back of his neck. Your eyes roam his figure, unsure of where to begin; battle-scarred back, broad shoulders... your mind boggled at thoughts of other places you'd longed to see and kiss that you almost miss his growl.

"Service me?"

"Yes." You say, a little more confidently. Perhaps this was a game. You'd heard that some men liked it when women were confident in telling their husband what they wanted. "To get on my knees and-"

"No."

You blink in surprise. Surely, you misheard. His growl seemed like he was excited - you'd misread the situation entirely. Again. "Chieftain, wha-"

"I said no." Curtis snaps and you feel your heart drop to your stomach. With a sigh, Curtis turns on his heels to leave the room. "I'll let you get to sleep."

Tears prickle your vision and you don't quite stop the first sob that makes its way out of your mouth. Your stomach churns with the nauseating embarassment of being turned down, and your heart aches to be back in your village, in your own bed. You made a mistake. This was somehow worse than letting your village fall victim to his wrath.

You sob and sniff quietly as you find your nightdress and pull it on, crawling back into the warmth of the blankets and curling into a ball. You could understand if he wasn't in the mood, but this seemed more like he hated you. That he wasn't attracted to you. That you were ugly; especially when paired with the fact he wouldn't even cast a glance your way.

Your body shudders as tears stain your pillow. You're so small in the large bed, surrounded by the scent of your husband in a cruel taunt, huddled as far to the bed's edge as you possibly can be.

What had you done to make him hate you? You thought, you stupidly thought, that tonight would be different; after the dancing, the kiss, the tender moment when he'd come to get you and Timmy. Evidently, he remained steadfast in whatever ploy it was to torment you.

Wallowing in your heartache and embarassment, you made the quiet vow to not act like a wife again. If you were just there as a token of a truce, regardless of what Gilliam and Tannya said, then that's all you would be to Curtis.

Part 1 End

A/N: This took so long. It's the longest fic I've written in one go and I had to split it into two parts while editing and you'll be pleased to know I fell asleep editing this 🙂‍↕️. A labour of love indeed! Idk why Curtis' parts always end up in 2s...maybe he's my fave. Who knows.

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[fanlore-wiki]

Fanwork Friday: Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality

This week’s Fanwork Friday is Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality (also known as HPMOR), a well-known but controversial Harry Potter fanfiction written by Eliezer Yudkowsky which reimagines the plot of the first book through the lens of science and rationality. HPMOR was incredibly popular, with parts of the story translated into 15 languages, and even spawning its own recursive fanworks!

The fanfic also prompted a wide variety of fan responses: for example, it was was often referenced by those outside fannish spaces and praised as an example of the way fanfiction could build on the world of a canon. However, other fans looked much more critically at the story, considering it to be exploiting fandom to promote Yudkowsky’s “rationalist” philosophies and professional work.

If you’re interested in learning more about the fanfic and the many discussions around it, you can read about it on Fanlore!

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Fanlore does not support or condone the views expressed by J.K. Rowling. We wish only to highlight the transformative nature of fandom and the creativity of fans.

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We value every contribution to our shared fandom history. If you’re new to editing Fanlore or wikis in general, visit our New Visitor Portal to get started or ask us questions here!

[smileysuh]

comfort cuisine - TEASER

🌙 starring. Johnny Suh x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. You’ve never felt a feral need like this before, but it’s not necessarily the primal type of drive. Instead, it’s a feeling of wanting to be close to this man- who you’ve been next to for so many years, but unable to touch. Except, he’s touching you now, and you want more.

tw/cw. unprotected sex, breast worship/massaging, big dick Johnny, fingering, pussy stretching prep, 'it's finger licking good,' praise, dirty talk, masturbation, multiple reader orgasms, cumming together, creampie, soft sex, longing, fluff, etc… I pet names: (hers) honey.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 10.8k

🍭 aus. aged up/widower dad!John, best friends to lovers, Chef!John, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I'm so happy that people loved Line Chef Mark in my fic Real Talk, I received so many messages about giving Head Chef John his own love story, and this is what I came up with in the past four months :) it's a little different from what I normally do, but I wanted to continue with that 'slice of life' theme and venture into a plot line I've never tried before with widower/single dad John :)

“So two line chefs called in, huh?” you prompt, tucking your legs up and making room for the large man on the sofa.

“I expected it from Haechan, but Mark’s generally pretty reliable. His girlfriend was on shift today, so I know he wasn’t skipping to be with her- I’m guessing they got pretty messed up last night.”

“They’re young,” you point out, accepting a beer from him. “We used to be young.”

“Used to be,” Johnny laughs, taking a swig of his drink. 

Looking at this man- this father, you realize maybe he never really got the chance to be young. At twenty five, he had a six year old, he wasn't running around blacking out and getting hung over, he was working his way up the employment ladder, dreaming about a better future for his daughter.

“You mentioned Mark has a girlfriend, I think I’ve heard about her a few times now, it’s interesting that she was in and he wasn’t.”

“I’m going to be honest, I love Mark, he’s a great kid- but, he can sometimes be peer pressured into things. Haechan has a hold on Mark unlike any I’ve seen, they bring out… interesting sides of each other.”

You laugh at the description, and it’s clear there’s more on Johnny’s mind, so you wait for him to continue. 

“It’s nice that Mark is young and in love, I can understand that- but at the same time, I just hope he doesn’t make the same mistakes I did. Not that Soonbok is a mistake, of course- I just mean that… life is fragile. You think you’re going to be with someone forever, and then you’re reminded of how frail things can be.”

You frown at his words. Even after all of these years, Johnny still holds so much pain about his lost wife. You want to do your best to help Johnny in every aspect of his life, especially emotional, but this is a topic you never know how to approach. He’s right for grieving, his ex was his first love, his true love- how is there anything you could ever say to make him feel better about her passing?

You open your mouth, only to close it, and Johnny watches you intently. Sometimes he looks at you, the way he’s looking at you right now, and you wonder if he feels the same level of connection with you that you feel with him. You wonder if he wants you to kiss him, if a kiss would make him feel better, if it would - if even for a moment - help him forget about the pains he’s faced in his life.

But it’s because of the pains he’s faced that neither of you can close the distance, you’d like to think about it that way at least. Even after all these years, it’s still too early, so you simply reach out and gently squeeze his hand.

Johnny offers you a smile, and you’re glad that in some small way, maybe you’ve helped him.

☀️ to read the full fic AND 3.1k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

👹 or wait till the fic is posted on tumblr Friday, May 17th, 2024

🔮 see what’s already available to read on my m.list

taglist is limited, to ensure a tag please reply, reblog with a comment, or reblog, those who do one of those three options will be prioritized when it comes to posting day

I'll do my best to post a link to the fic here as soon as it's on tumblr

[steterweek]

Steter Week 2025: Steter at the Cinema Prompts

This year we are trying something new: an overarching theme. 

Steter at the Cinema

Each day’s prompt is a specific genre of film, complete with a short explanation of the genre, and some more detailed prompts that fit into that genre. 

As always these prompts are just suggestions. Take them as literally as you like, use some element in your story, or ignore them all together. The goal is just to get a lot of wonderful Steter work into the world. 

SUNDAY, JULY 27

ROMANTIC COMEDY: Romantic comedy, (or rom-com), focuses on lighthearted, humorous plot lines centered on romantic ideas, such as how true love is able to surmount all obstacles.

Did one of them just get dumped? 

Did they have a meet-cute? 

Are they the subject of a will-they-won’t-they bet with all of their friends? 

Or are they the two side-characters in someone’s else’s love story? 

MONDAY, JULY 28

HORROR: Horror is a genre that seeks to elicit physical or psychological fear by exploring dark subject matter and dealing with transgressive topics or themes. Broad elements include monsters, apocalyptic events, and religious or folk beliefs.

Are they dealing with the never-ending stream of monsters that come into Beacon Hills? 

Does Peter live in a haunted house? 

Are they being stalked by a killer? 

Is one of them the killer? 

TUESDAY, JULY 29

ACTION: Action is a genre that predominantly features chase sequences, fights, shootouts, explosions, and stunt work.

Are they on the run? 

Is one of them a fugitive? 

Are they into fast cars, or fast planes, or martial arts?

Are they on the hunt for megafauna or a rare treasure? 

WEDNESDAY, JULY 30

SCIENCE FICTION: Science Fiction (or sci-fi) is a genre that uses speculative, fictional science-based depictions of phenomena that are not fully accepted by mainstream science, such as extraterrestrial lifeforms, spacecraft, robots, cyborgs, mutants, interstellar travel, time travel, or other technologies.

Are they in space? 

Did someone experiment a little too hard and create something new? 

Has the world ended? 

Is one of them a robot? 

THURSDAY, JULY 31

INDIE: Indie movies are not a genre in themselves; rather, they are characterized by a distinctive attitude about telling stories that might not fit within the mainstream studio system, exploring unconventional themes, and embracing the freedom to take artistic risks.

Do they live in a small quirky town? 

Does one of them only talk in quotes? 

Is Stiles a manic pixie dream boy? 

Does Peter have some obscure obsession that is taking over his life? 

FRIDAY, AUGUST 1

FANTASY: Fantasy is a genre with fantastic themes, usually magic, supernatural events, mythology, folklore, or exotic fantasy worlds.

Is one of them a mythological creature?

Do they live in the fairy realm? 

Does Stiles actually have magic powers?

What if any of the lore on the show actually made sense?

SATURDAY, AUGUST 2

CROSSOVER/FUSION/AU: A work in which two or more fandoms are combined in some way. A Fusion or AU may transplant a given source work's characters to a radically different setting, shift the genre in which their adventures occur, and/or alter one or more of their professions, goals, or backstories.

Write Steter into your favorite film plot. 

Are they suddenly fully living out the plot to Point Break with Peter as a criminal/surfer and Stiles as an FBI agent? 

Do they have Daemons?

What if they met the characters of your favorite film? 

Are they now hanging out at Empire Records on Rex Manning Day with everyone else? 

Check our our visual prompts here.

Fin

[wontmindd]

Accidentally In Love | sinner!Adam x fem!sinner!Reader

PART 1 | PART 2

plot. You and Adam became friends with benefits. The lines of your situationship are blurred. Even more so when you and the First Man get closer and closer. What will it take you to understand that you and Adam are falling in love?

word count. 3.8k

tags. enemies to lovers, sinner!Adam, friends with benefits, sexual content, p in v sex, Adam Has a Heart, falling in love, Reader has wings, Reader is Lucifer's Royal Guard.

TW! this chapter contains an explicit sexual scene, MINORS DNI

taglist. @kaces-mind @call-me-nyxx @serendipitous-fernweh @plutodestr0yedme @luvvnightingalee

a/n. here it is, final chapter! Thank you for reading this silly little fic, I'll for sure write more about Adam soon! Hope you enjoyed it <3

"and now I go and spoil it all by saying somethin' stupid like I love you"

—

It’s karaoke night for you and Adam. Yeah, karaoke night. At first it started off as a joke. One time, after an usual afternoon of strenuous intercourse, you and Adam found yourselves singing “Out on the Tiles” by Led Zeppelin. You had decided to put on some music in shuffle to try to muffle up your obscene sounds that both of you understood you couldn’t contain. Next thing you knew you and Adam were performing an improvised gig on the already ruined bed of your room.

“I’m so glad I’m living and gonna tell the world I am” you sang out of your lungs, holding an imaginary mic.

You pointed towards Adam, prompting him to finish the lyrics. Smiling, Adam clenched his hand in a fist to pretend to be on the mic too. He leaned backwards, throwing his head back.

“I got me a fine woman and she says that I’m her man” he sang back, enthusiastically.

This singing shenanigans would happen so often that you decided to set your own karaoke night on Fridays. You and Adam stole a karaoke machine from a bar and installed it in his room. And now he’s holding you by the shoulders, vigorously shaking you in a playful manner as you can’t stop laughing.

“Feels like you’re dying, you’re dying” he sings with all the air he could gather.

You bend in half, this time a real mic in your hand “Youuuuuuu, your sex is on fire”.

Adam mimics a guitar riff with an high pitched voice as you sing along to Kings of Leon.

“Consuuuuuumed, with what’s to transpire!” Adam goes, crouching onwards himself.

Something definitely changed between you and Adam. You still don’t know what it is but it’s pacifying you.

—

The other patrons at the Hotel noticed, even though a bit later. Your relationship was so obviously sexual that none of them really stopped to think if there was more. Until signs started to show.

One time, all of you were watching a movie downstairs. You had forced Adam to participate even if he didn’t want to and was suggesting to have another karaoke night instead. But in the end, you both plopped down on the couch next to each other with everyone and got comfortable in front of a romantic comedy Charlie put on. At first, you and Adam tried to keep your facade of annoyance. You and him were so dense, you didn’t think the others knew that you two were fucking, so you had to pretend to still hate each other. But, as the movie progressed, you and Adam lost your purpose of showing a fake resentment. You glanced down and noticed the tip of your fingers resting really close to Adam’s. His fingers, weirdly enough, were moving in a jerking motion, stroking the fabric of the couch back and forth, as if he was nervous. You moved your fingers closer. With unusual uncertainty from his part, Adam slid his fingers even closer to yours, making them touch. And you and Adam held hands. You decided not to mention it, staring at the TV with your face on fire and his cheeks colored in a red hue. Your hands stayed intertwined the whole movie, and when it ended you separated quickly, again naively thinking that nobody noticed. But, during the movie, Angel had definitely noticed. The spider demon let out one of the loudest gasps in his life as he covered his mouth with four hands. When you and Adam went upstairs later, everyone was still hanging out in the common room. And Angel raised his shoulders and arms.

“Are y’all blind or did you see what I saw?” he asked, almost irritated.

“What?” Cherri asked while mindlessly scrolling on her phone.

“Like, (Y/N) and Adam holding hands?!” he exclaimed, his arms dramatically falling flat on his sides.

“They’ve been fucking like two horny rabbits for months and this is where you draw the line?” Husk questions, raising a red eyebrow.

“Fucking is one thing, holding hands while watching a romantic movie is another!” Angel protest.

Cherri chuckles “It’s obvious by the amount of sex they have that there’s more”.

“Obvious?” Angel questions “Uhhh, hello?? Hate sex is a thing!”.

And that wasn’t the one and only time. Seems so obvious to everyone now, except to you two. It’s in the way you and Adam snuggle during movies, or when you’re cooking and he hugs you from behind, resting his chin in the space between your horns. It’s in the fact that you don’t call each other names anymore unless you’re having sex. Or when you fly around the city together pulling pranks on people, and sing your hearts out during karaoke. Now it’s not only in the way you two wildly wrestle under the sheets. It’s in the goofy way you try to sweep it under the carpet.

“Uh, we’re going upstairs uh to…FIGHT! Definitely not to have sex! Because we hate SEX!” Adam stopped “No wait, I love sex, I mean-“

“We’d HATE to have sex with each other!” you say, trying to back him up.

“Exactly, not with such a stupid cunt!”

“Hey, too much” you whisper, elbowing his side.

“Oh shit I’m so sorry babe”

And everybody looked at you the most unconvinced, inexpressive poker face. But Charlie, underneath, felt that it was heartwarming. Even if Adam whispered in your ear a “can’t wait to fuck your brains out” when displaying apparent affection, she knew that something was going on and it was nothing but beautiful. This is the purpose of the Hazbin Hotel, after all.

—

Honestly you have no idea what you and Adam are right now. First, you were just a Royal Guard who had to surveil the First Man on Earth, the Exterminator. Then you became his friend with benefits. Now sex is still here, but maybe you’re more friends than anything? Or more. Nothing was defined. You never set boundaries. You had your fair chances of getting intimate with other people, but it felt so wrong so you never went for sex. Adam felt the same. When Cherri brought everyone to the club to have a night out, he had his opportunities to have sex with other girls. But he just didn’t feel like it was right. Especially not if you were in the club with him.

“You can do what you like, you know?” you suggested him in his ear one of those times, in a space between the bar counter and the dance floor. But Adam just shook his head.

“Nah, don’t really feel like it. I mean, yeah that bitch with the black top was all over me but she’s not my type”

He tried to play it cool, not looking at you in the eyes. But in reality, Adam was just checking around to see if your friends were looking. And when he made sure that they were out of sight, he cupped your face in his hands and kissed you deeply. It was unexpected coming from him, sure, but you let yourself melt in his kisses as music bumped in your ears. Something was happening.

—

“Here you are” you say.

Your hair is flowing, moved by the slow but firm flapping of your wings. You’re suspended meters and meters high, just in front of the Hazbin Hotel sign. Adam is sitting on the “Z”, holding his golden guitar in his hands. He looks kinda annoyed.

“I was just practicing guitar” he says.

“And I’m still a Royal Guard on duty”

“If your duty is going at it with the one guy you were supposed to surveil, then you’re already doing a great job”

You roll your eyes and scoff “Funny, very funny Adam”.

“Alright, you can hear me play something” he gives in.

“As long as it’s not Wonderwall”

“The fuck no, I fuckin’ hate the Oasis!”

So, with another flap of your wings, you gracefully land next to him. You expect Adam to go wild with one of his exaggerated, over-the-top and ego-boosting guitar solos. But instead, Adam quietly starts a finger picking, quite tune. It’s not a specific rock song, just a chill, peaceful chord progression. Adam starts humming a tune, eyes closed. You press your elbows against your knees and rest your cheek in the open palm of your hand, looking at the view. Pentagram City is a mess, for sure. But with Adam’s unusually calm vocalizing, and his presence, it feels like home. You peek a look at Adam. He’s still keeping his eyes closed, it’s the first time you see him so calm, and not his loud, immature self. He’s beautiful. You realize that your face is hot. And you can’t see it but your pupils are dangerously dilated. You press your lips together, and you feel your heart pounding in your chest. Oh you know what’s happening. Maybe you should make it stop. You try to take a deep breath. You’re so in love with Adam.

Adam is lost in his own thoughts and music. He was so comfortable in your presence as he strummed that he almost forgot you were there. He opens his eyes, he just wants to take a quick look at you before closing them again. He realizes that he’s done for the moment he sees how you’re looking at him. With shining eyes, dilated pupils, a fond smile on your face. He doesn’t really realize what it means for you, neither do you. But now his heart is beating at unprecedented speed. Shit, shit, shit. It’s not the first time it happens with you. One time, he felt this way when he woke up before you and saw you sleeping naked next to him, cuddled in his arms. The other was when you held hands for the first time during movie time with the other guests. But this time he’s feeling it on a whole other level. You’re so beautiful. And you’re standing by him listening to his tunes despite the man he is. The one who did so much harm but it’s trying to get better. Adam doesn’t know if he actually has gained any redeeming qualities, but one thing he’s sure about is that at least with you he is a better man. He thinks back on when you two used to argue non stop, resenting each other’s presence. It looks like a far, distant reality that never happened, if anything it’s at least a joke. Adam is so in love with you.

—

Sex still represents the majority of your relationship with Adam. Unlike your feelings, it never changed. Always so loud, fun, satisfying for sure, and unhinged. You and Adam could unleash your personalities at best under the sheets, and that was the best part of it. But this time, something is out of place. Not in a bad way, at all.

Adam is on top of you, placed between your spread legs. His wings are wide open, covering your naked bodies and encapsulating them in a small space reserved to only you two. His thrust are firm, but also slow and sensual, which wasn’t really his style. He’s holding your face with both hands, as he’s mesmerized by your deep moans of pleasure. You cling onto him with nails and legs, holding him as if he was about so slip away. You open your eyes, and catch him staring. He would usually say something sarcastic, like asking the fuck are you looking at. But instead, he looks lost in a profound state of blissful hypnosis, his pupils dilated and mouth slightly parted. Then, Adam plunges forward, still sliding in and out of you with slick sounds. Your breathing becomes even more irregular, hips jerking under his body as waves of pleasure hit you. You tug at Adam’s hair in the spot between his horns. With one hand, Adam firmly holds your hip, while the other has its fingers entangled in your hair, lightly pulling them.

“A-Adam…please I’m so close” you stutter. You would never beg usually, but this time it’s hard not to do so.

What surprises you is the way Adam responds. He would have usually bragged about you begging for him to make you reach your climax, reminding you how much of a whore you are for him. And you would have protested by flipping the roles and making him a mess under your body. But Adam just sinks his face in your neck, whispering.

“I know baby, I know. I got you” he says, interrupted by a moan “Fuck you’re doing so good I swear”.

His movements in you become more erratic, sloppier, and his breath hotter against your ear. The fingers plunged in your hair start stroking your scalp, you try to suffocate your moans of pleasure in his shoulder. You come first around his shaft, whispering quietly his name until you come down from your high. Adam climaxes second, emitting a low, strangled moan in your neck as his wings twitch. You take some time to realize how good it was, your chests rising and lowering with every breath, holding each other. It’s when your mind clears that you realize how atypical of a sexual encounter that was for you and Adam. It was…sweet? Really intimate and not in the physical meaning of the word? Adam never praised you in bed, and you never spoke to him so gently asking to make you finish. And the way he looked at you was absurd, to say at best. With a cherry colored hue on his cheeks, and a light in his eyes you rarely saw in him.

“Ah shit that was great” Adam chuckles, collapsing next to you.

The pride in his face says it all, maybe you were wrong before. You mentally shrug.

“Yeah” you roll on your side, facing him “but I’m so hungry right now”.

Adam sighs, looking up at the ceiling “When I was in Heaven, there was this place that delivered the best fucking ice cream your taste buds could ever graze. A mountain of it. Great for after sex I swear. I miss it”.

Adam takes the opportunity to talk about Heaven more. He’s clearly being nostalgic. He misses it. And while you like hearing him waffling about all the crazy concert he performed, the best restaurants, theme parks and clubs in Heaven, you can’t help but frown. A small smile still lingers on your face, but you ask yourself if Adam really belongs in here. A part of you says of course yes, the other is unsure.

“You know” you say, scooting closer to him “I’ve never really asked myself about how life in Heaven would be. But it really sounds like a beautiful place”.

Adam nods, twisting on his side to face you “Oh fuck yeah it was, I wish I could…”

He interrupts himself as he meets your face, pressed against the pillow. A small, comprehensive smile is gently placed on it, and your eyes are stuck in his own with a visible shine.

Oh no don’t look at me like that.

Adam’s grin disappears, he looks away and tries to play it cool as always, glancing around the room. He clears his throat.

“Yeah I mean, Heaven was great but under a certain perspective…” he trails off.

You wait for him to finish, and he can’t escape your eyes. He finally reciprocates again, getting lost into them.

“Hell is not half-bad, for some reasons” he says.

Adam doesn’t realize it, but now he’s smiling too. His eyebrows are arched upwards in adoration as he ponders on every inch of you. Your now relaxed expression, your glimmering eyes, your naked body covered in white sheets, your head slightly plunged in the pillow. Suddenly, Adam’s smile fades. His eyes go wide, and his heart skips a beat. A wave of realization hits him.

“Holy shit (Y/N) I’m so in love with you”.

Both of you jump in surprise, moving away from each other as the mattress bounces under your bodies. You clench the sheets, and you feel your heart pounding. Where did that come from?!

“What?!” you exclaim.

“WHAT?!” Adam yelps back, incredulous of his own words.

He didn’t mean to say it out loud, he didn’t even mean to say it in his mind actually. You can feel his own panic on your skin, as every inch of your body figuratively catches fire. You don’t know what to say. Adam sits up, covering his face with a hand in embarrassment.

“Fuck! I’m so sorry I ruined everything!” he exclaims, voice panicky.

“Ruined what?”

Oh no. It takes you a second to realize what you said. Adam’s hand files down from his face and looks at you. And you see something you thought you would never witness on Adam’s face. Pain. Adam is hurt. His mouth is slightly open, his breath suspended, his eyebrows knitted. You used to call him many names when you two argued. An asshole, a dirtbag, a dickhead, an irresponsible, immature jerk. But Adam never batted an eye. It’s the first time you see an unmistakable, terrible flash of pain in his face. You feel horrible. You sit up, your mouth open and about to say something. It’s hard to gather the right words after saying something so wrong. You extend a hand towards him, but Adam leans back, away from your touch.

“Adam fuck that’s not what I…” you say, voice shaky.

Adam shuffles away from you again, his face full of regret, embarrassment and clearly pain. He shakes his head, proceeding to get out of bed. He starts looking frantically for his clothes, putting them on as quick as he can. No words come out your mouth, your mind too confused and full of things to process. In just a matter of seconds, Adam is already dressed.

“I-I’m sorry, I gotta go” he stutters, looking at you for a split second.

“Adam, wait! I’m sorry I didn’t mean to sa-!”

You don’t have time to finish what you have to say. Adam had already opened the window of your room, and in the blink of an eye he flew away. Shit, shit, shit! Why did you even say that? That came out so wrong. But you couldn’t help it, you were so taken aback by his sudden confession. You mentally punch yourself in the face. Physically, you limit yourself to drag a hand down your face and groan loudly in your palm. You try to give yourself some time to think, you don’t want to hurt Adam even more. You spend some minutes with your face smothered in your pillow, suffocating sounds of pure frustration. After you gathered your thoughts together, you finally get up from the bed. You put your clothes back on, and head towards the still open window. With a strong flap of your wings, you sprint upwards. As you thought, Adam is sitting on the Hotel sign. He looks pissed. His lips are tightly pressed together and his eyebrows are knitted at the corners. He notices you but doesn’t look up.

“Adam, c’mon…” you say, as kindly as you can.

You keep floating in front of him, the wind generated by your wings making Adam’s hair slightly flow. He doesn’t look at you, he’s just staring at his own knees. For a solid minute you two don’t say anything. Silence has never been a thing between you and Adam, but you respect his wish. Suddenly, Adam breaks it.

“It’s not like you have to pity me” he mumbles.

“I’m not pitying you”

“Um yeah? I just ran off like a pissy school girl and here you are looking at me like a lost child”

“Adam-“

“You know how much time has passed since I last said those words?”

You don’t say anything. Adam finally looks up at you, his eyes a mess of emotions.

“Centuries” he says, spiteful of himself.

Your eyebrows arch upwards in surprise, your forehead corrugated. Your stomach burns, as you can finally feel every emotion Adam tried to hide under sarcasm for so long.

“Centuries?” you ask.

“Yeah, and I know I’ve been literally fucking around for a lot of time so it’s actually my fault, but I can’t say that I don’t mean it once I say it”

“Adam, my question was genuine”.

His mind stops in his tracks. You look weirdly calm. A bit unsure, of course, this is your first very serious conversation. But you’re still collected and he envies you.

“I really wanted to ask you what did you think you ruined. Because I’ll admit it, and I don’t wanna hurt you even more, but I don’t know what goes on in your head. We have all this sex, but also some care, but we also bicker. It’s confusing. I don’t even know if monogamy is your thing. But you showed me care. Sometimes, you still are a bit of a jerk let’s be honest. But I felt care too”.

Your stomach is twirling around, but you can’t stop your flow of consciousness. You wanna know what Adam means, what the First Man wants from a sinner he swore to hate not so long ago. Adam strokes his hair with a hand. His blush intensifies.

“I myself don’t really know what we are. If you know please fuckin’ tell me. What I know is that I feel something, love if that’s what we wanna call it. I mean, look at you! You sing along to rock songs with me, you know how to fight and look so badass while doing it, and you’re hot as fuck too! But if you don’t feel the sa-“

In a sudden movement, you zip towards Adam and grab him by his robe to push him on your lips. He lets out a muffled sound of surprise, but quickly closes his eyes to reciprocate the kiss. It’s calm, sweet, your lips and tongue are moving in tandem in such a tender yet passionate manner. It’s full of care, whatever it is. When you pull away, you look at each other in slight embarrassment. But you push it back immediately.

“I would have never thought I’d say it to you, but I do love you, Adam. Even if you’re still not perfect at all, you’re still a dickhead let’s admit it, I feel something for you. And I don’t expect you to suddenly become a better person just for the sake of being with me, but right now I’m sure I love you like this”.

You had blurted it all out in a single breath, still close to Adam’s face after your kiss. And finally, he smiles. Not with his usual teasing, shit eating grin. He smiles genuinely.

“I still don’t know if I’ll be a redeemable man, or if I want to become one. But at least with you I feel a bit of a better man”.

You smile back at Adam. He looks like a whole other person compared to how he was when you met. He still is his old self. But you came to love him. You and Adam lean forward, capturing yourselves in another deep, thoughtful kiss. Your wings meet, grazing each other as they close around you two. After a while of getting lost in your affection, you separate and playfully smirk.

“C’mon you whiny baby, why don’t we go downstairs to join everyone for movie night?” you suggest.

Adam groans and rolls his eyes “Us being a thing doesn’t mean that I have to participate in every fuckin’ activity of this Hotel”

“Uhh, yeah it does? I’m still in charge of forcing you to join. Now get your lazy ass off of there and let’s go”

“Okay, finee but can we have sex again after?”

“Of course we can”

“Hell yeah”

[enchantingepics]

Story Prompt 26

In the heart of the city, where neon lights flickered like stars in the urban night sky, a peculiar club stood hidden among the chaos. A young person, clad in everyday clothes, stood at the entrance, unaware of the revelation that awaited them.

As the club's entrance pulsated with an otherworldly energy, the demigod hesitated. The rhythmic beats from within seemed to beckon them closer. With a deep breath, they crossed the threshold, and the atmosphere shifted. Shadows danced in sync with the music, casting an enchanting spell upon the club's visitors.

The demigod weaved through the crowd, catching glimpses of faces hidden in half-light, their features enigmatic and intriguing. A figure at the bar caught their eye — an individual with an air of authority, surrounded by an aura that spoke of realms beyond.

Approaching the mysterious figure, the demigod mustered the courage to strike up a conversation. "Hey, mind if I join you?" they asked, a mix of curiosity and uncertainty in their voice.

The enigmatic figure glanced up, revealing eyes that seemed to hold the secrets of the underworld. "Sit," they said, gesturing to the vacant stool beside them. "You're not an ordinary guest, are you?"

The demigod chuckled nervously. "I guess you could say that. I've got this weird feeling like I've stumbled into something... otherworldly."

The figure raised an eyebrow, a half-smile playing on their lips. "Otherworldly, indeed. You're not wrong." They leaned in, as if about to share a forbidden secret. "You're in the Underworld, where the living and the departed share a dance under the pulsating lights."

Dizziness washed over the demigod as the realization struck. "Underworld? Like, the realm of the dead?"

The figure nodded. "And you, my curious friend, are more connected to this realm than you realize."

As the demigod grappled with this newfound knowledge, the figure continued, "Your father, the ruler of this domain, has been waiting for you."

The pulsating beats seemed to synchronize with the demigod's racing heart as they followed the figure deeper into the club, where shadows whispered ancient tales. The journey had just begun, and the demigod was about to discover their place in a story that transcended the boundaries of the living and the dead.

[ash5monster01]

Hi dear!! I absolutely loved your Pink fics so much! I hope you can think about doing a cute fluff on him with him saying this prompt "Maybe I am a little bit jealous. But who wouldn't be?" to his best girl friend & all his friends know he’s head over heels for her but she’s somehow oblivious to it and finds out later on!

<33

Can’t You See?

Pairing: Randall ‘Pink’ Floyd x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, jealousy, minor angst, brief plot, best friends to lovers, no use of y/n

Summary: Oblivious to Pink’s feelings it takes one odd night to finally come to your senses. In the end neither of you could be happier.

word count: 1.1k

Masterlist

You jump as your locker slams shut in front of your face, some lip gloss smudging along the inner corner of your lip. Your eyes instantly land on the suspect beside you, a cocky smirk painted across your best friends face. You glare at him quickly, finger immediately fixing the makeup error as you shove the lip gloss away with your other hand.

“Don’t you have a class to actually attend?” you sneer, now free hand dialing your combination again to reopen the locker. Pink just grins, arms crossed over his chest.

“Free period” he explains, not the least bit affected by your annoyance. In fact he was a bit amused by it.

“Then do you need something?” you ask, grabbing the books you need and shutting the locker yourself this time.

“Was just curious if you were going to the Emporium tonight?” he smiles, nodding his head and already planning to pick you up. He’d spend all night cruising just the two of you, it was one of his favorite things in the world.

“Actually no, I have a date” he can’t stop the way his face falls, shock filling him and not expecting this answer to come from you.

“A date? Why, we always do something on Fridays?” he sounds desperate, he hopes you don’t notice. He just never thought there would be a day you actually went out with someone other than him.

“I was asked and he seems sweet. Why, you jealous?” you tease and Pink nervously chuckles, trying not to show how jealous he actually is.

“Maybe I am jealous, but who wouldn't be?" he says with the shrug of his shoulder, feigning as much of his jokester and friend personality your way. You don’t catch on to the nerves or the fact this is the truth.

“Whatever Pink, I’ll call you tomorrow. You can tell me all about the Emporium then” you tell him, holding your books tightly to your chest and starting for the class you were now late for. Yet Pink just watches you walk away, a little hurt you were going out with someone else and disappointed in himself for not making a move sooner.

Sadly the date doesn’t live up to its expectations, you now walking alone from the Top Notch in the direction of the Emporium. The guy had been kind and ever the gentleman but you never really clicked. He talked about chess nearly the entire time and maybe it was interesting but you didn’t know how to play. So when he offered to drive you home you denied it, hoping Pink was still at the Emporium to drive you instead. In fact you had wished it was him with you the whole time, that way the conversation wouldn’t have ever been lacking in any way.

“Hey, you made it!” Slater is the first to greet you, sat against the curb and smoking probably his millionth joint of the night. You smile at him before nodding your head inside.

“Our good friend Randy still around?” you ask and Slater snorts, nodding his head.

“Yeah he’s been moping over the pool table all night about your date. How was it by the way?” you’re confused what Slater means but you chalk it up to the marijuana, choosing to answer his question instead.

“It was fine, I’m gonna go find him” you say and Slater nods as you step into the Emporium, a haze of smoke and loud rock music filling the building. This was where you should have been all night.

“Oh thank goodness you’re here” Don says, passing by you with hands full of beer. You furrow your eyebrows, confused why your absence had meant this much.

“I didn’t realize my attendance was imperative” you say and he snorts, nodding his head back where you finally spot Pink leaned against a wall. A beer in hand and sad look on his face.

“It is tonight. If I have to listen to Pink whine anymore about this date I’ll go insane” he says and you keep your eyes trained on your friend, him not noticing your appearance just yet.

“I did’t realize it was such a big deal to him” you say and Don shakes his head, a knowing smile on his face.

“Wake up doll, that boys in love with you. Now take him out of his misery and ask him on a date instead” he nods his head in the direction of the boy. It’s then Pinks eyes catch your own, his features easing and form standing up straighter at the sight of you. It makes your heart stutter and it hits you then how you had wished it was Pink every time you were on a date, because it had always been him.

“Thanks Donny” you grin, stealing one of the beers and taking a swig before heading your best friend’s way. His smile grows wider and wider the closer you get and it makes butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“Hey, I thought you were on a date-” but you don’t answer the question, your lips pressing against his own and cutting him short. He’s shocked for only a moment before easing into it, his arms wrapping around you and holding you close.

“Screw my date, I’d rather be here with you” you say when you pull away and Pink smiles so wide you’re certain it has to hurt his face. He doesn’t even respond as he intimates the kiss this time, hugging you tight. It’s then your friends erupt in cheers around you, thankful you finally caught on.

“God this night couldn’t get any better” he says and you smirk, hand lacing with his own. Determined to show him it could.

“We’ll see about that, let’s get out of here” and he doesn’t hesitate to follow you out of the building. Letting you guide him to his car where you slide into the drivers seat and don’t give him much room to join. He had dreamed of having you pressed against him as he drove around town on a night like this. Now it was finally going to happen.

“What made you pick me?” Pink asks as he starts the car and you smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek and snuggling close.

“I didn’t pick, I just finally realized it would always be you” you tell him and he just smiles, backing out of the parking space and driving with no destination in mind. He didn’t need to go anywhere as long as you were by his side.

“It’s always been you too”

[surpriseelejahmonth]

Surprise Elejah Month - Fan(fic, edits, art & meta) - August 2025

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Pre-Event Celebration - [August 1 - August 2] - As a warm-up to the main event, and to get into the right kind of shipper headspace... let us consider some appetizers, if you will:

Fave Stuff Rec Party - Reblog or post links to your favorite Elejah fanworks and share the love (please no reposting; link to the original work or reblog it and tag this blog if the fanwork in question is already available on Tumblr).

Orphan Prompts - Post the answers to the Orphan Prompts that have caught your fancy during the last two months (more about Orphan Prompts here; but in short if there's an Elejah idea you have but don't feel like doing yourself? Send it to the Ask Box from now until the beginning of August 2025)

Adrenaline Jolt to the WIP - Shuffle through your half-finished edits and anxiety-buried half-chapters of your WIPs. Pick that thing up and see what happens, or maybe just post what you have as a sneak peek. Alternatively, and in tandem with Fave Stuff Rec Party, say something nice to the person whose Elejah WIP you still occasionally think about to brighten their day.

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Week 1 - [August 3 - August 9] - Meeting of Contradictions - Push together angst and humor. Make something fluffy, but also have it be horror. It's a giggle at a funeral. Both rage and blissful happiness. Alive and dead. There is love within a void. And maybe one has to be lost to be found? Both terror and relief.

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Week 2 - [August 10 - August 16] - Week of the Literary Love Story: (each prompt is given a separate day, but that does not mean you must create something for all of them, pick the one(s) you want, or skip the week if none intrigue you).

Sunday - Beauty and the Beast. Monday - Odyssey. Tuesday - The Nightingale and the Rose. Wednesday - Pride and Prejudice. Thursday - Helen of Troy. Friday - Orpheus and Eurydice. Saturday - Hades and Persephone.

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Week 3 - [August 17 - August 23] - Significant Memento - the burning letter / the dagger to the chest / a bedroom windowsill / the blood in champagne / gazebo in sunlight / his expensive suit / the red in her hair / the skip in her heart / the trust before a betrayal / the negotiation in the middle of night / a kiss like a lie / a promise in a glass bottle / the ground that crumbles under feet / the taste on their lips / the reflection in the mirror / always and forever.

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Week 4 - [August 24 - August 30] - Love Letter to an Episode - take an episode (any episode) from any of the TV series in this universe and make it Elejah. It can be as canon-compliant as you want. Play with American Gothic. Grab an Originals episode and drop Elena in there. Drop her and Elijah both into Legacies. Hell, push a plot of an episode you like from a completely different show onto Elejah, the world is your oyster! (If you're writing meta posts and don't feel like dealing with just the canon Elejah content either, discuss how Elejah would have dealt with the plot from your chosen episode.)

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Post-Event Celebration - [August 31] - Now for the last curtain call with all its bows and cheers, so that we may go out with a bang:

No Theme, FREE-FOR-ALL - Let's post as much Elejah content as we want, with whatever focus we want. The more, the merrier after all!

Lost, But Not Forgotten - But if some theme direction is what you want? How about picking up one of the themes that lost the poll after all?

Orphan Prompts - Or, if the adopted prompts took longer than expected, you could always finish up to post that now.

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What do you need to do to join the Surprise Elejah Month? Just be a fan of Elejah! Write some meta, write a story (one-shots, drabbles, first chapters of new WIPs, and new chapters of old WIPs are all accepted), make a gifset, fanart, poem, an aesthetic, edit, song playlist, or a fan video created for the event (or if all else fails, crochet their names into a scarf), and tag @surpriseelejahmonth + add #elejahmonth2025 to the first 5 tags.

There are no limits on how many or how few works need to be created to "count" as having participated. Everyone is welcome!

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Special invitation: @kaizsche, @wholoveseggs, @vorpalmuchness, @jennifersminds, @kol-elijah, @becasart, @elejah-verse, @katherineholmes, @lovelyelejah, @moonysmate, @anphibole, @reina-petrova, @sevensistersofsussex, @sharkboy305, @elejah12, @xneens, @thereideffects, @darknightfrombeyond, @teenage-apocalypse-trilogy, @ao-anonymousobsesser, @coazysdaydream, @myfuchsiadreams, @keepsdeathhiscourt, @bada-bing-bada-boom-pow, and literally anyone else who feels like trying their hand at creating something for Elejah.

[zeciex]

I'm taking a step back from writing.

I'm really sorry to those who have been excited for this new season--for the pregnancy reveal, for the rebuilding of Daenera/Aemond's relationship, for the smut, for dad!Aemond, for everything.

But I've recieved quite a few comments on AO3 accusing me of using AI in my writing. There was a reddit thread about it, and while it was vague, it was very, very obviously about A Vow of Blood. (They mentioned the length of the fic being almost 1 million words, and my posting schedule.)

And so, I write this to defend myself.

October 2, 2022, episode 7 of HOTD came out and I was immediately drawn by Aemond's character. I watched it when I was on home leave from the ship I was working on. I spent the next 4 weeks plotting the story and coming up with what I wanted to write when I got home. In those 2 weeks I was home again, I wrote and wrote, and then I went out for 4 weeks again.

My work contract ended in January 2023, and from then on, I wrote every single day. I wrote 130 or so pages before even figuring out HOW to write Daenera as a character and after the 130 pages, I decided to scrap most of it and start over.

I had nothing else to do and this was my hyperfixation. I wasn't sure if it was going to last so I kept the first 40+ chapters to myself as I wrote until the 21st of April 2023 where I posted the first chapter.

I then decided I could post twice a week for the simple reason that I had 40+ chapters locked and loaded. And before posting, I went through it, plotted it into my audio program so it read my writing aloud to me to listen for mistakes.

And in the meantime while posting, I of course wrote new chapters. Then, when the chapters finally ran out, the schedule changed to once every two weeks. I did everything I could to keep it--literally putting my life on hold just to ensure that I could post a new chapter every Friday.

This was my hobby, this was my hyperfixation (literally, I'm autistic), this was what I spent my time doing as I recovered from burnout due to grueling work as a sailor. I stressed about it. I had breakdowns over having to skip a Friday because I hadn't been able to write anything for a week.

The reason the story is as long as it is, is because I spent literal hours every day writing. Most days I can reach somewhere between 1500-2500k words. If I'm lucky, I can write more.

I am very aware that my writing is very, VERY detailed--too detailed, even. It's a flaw of mine. I want to set the scene, I want to get all the details that I have in my brain and I want you to see it. Is it too much? Yes. I'm also awfully aware of my progression as a writer, how earlier chapters are written and how the newest ones are written. I'm aware of how I've changed some of the style/started using way tooo many em-dashes, recklessly and hubris-ly (not a word, I'm aware). I know I throw them around. I know I could properly use the good ol' comma, but I like them.

As to the spelling mistakes and grammatical errors, I can say with 100% confidence that it's not some grand scheme that I've thought out to avoid AI detection--I literally didn't catch the mistake when I went through the chapter. I re-read one of my chapters yesterday and found a spelling mistake that I immediately corrected.

I've used grammarly for spell checking/grammar mistakes since English isn't my first language and Danish has a different structure that I often times keep through my English writing. That is the extent of it.

So, here I am, writing this. And I am beyond devastated--to the point of it making me physically ill. I have not used AI in the creation of A Vow of Blood. I have not used AI for plot-points. I have not used AI for character creations. I have not used AI for analyzes. I have not used AI for prompts. I have not used AI to write any chapters for me. I have not used AI in the development of this story.

I have used these sites for this story; Thesaurus ASOIAF Wiki Travel distances in ASOIAF This map A search of ice and fire This for badly translated High Valyrian This from the maker of High Valyrian

And I have used google and various of wiki pages on plants, poisons and whatever else I might need.

Here's some of the few pictures I've taken of my setup throughout those years:

I have like... way too many notebooks for my own good with frivolous details, character sheets, quickly scribbled quotes and inspiration for the story. I didn't expect that I should have taken more pictures.

As I stated previously, this has pulled the rug out from under me. I thought I'd be happily writing until the new season comes out and beyond that. I hoped to finish S2 of the story by the time S3 would come around--though I am terrible at planning this because the story has a habit of taking a life on its own, so it was not likely lol. But this... I don't want to feel anxious about posting a new chapter. I have this pit in my stomach at the thought of even writing now. The one thing that has sustained me through this, the reason I'm still at it, is the lovely commenters. I am beyond grateful for the friends I've made, and I really do hope I'll find my way back to writing. I hope I can finish this story. But the thought of posting at the moment is just.... it brings me so much dread.

I'm going on a hiatus, I'm taking some time for myself. Maybe now I can finally finish my room.

[lincolndjarin]

constructive criticisms

main masterlist ✧ kinktober masterlist ✦

kinktober : day two - afab!ficauthor!reader x javier peña

prompt : virginity loss [ 18+ mdni ]

word count : 5.1 k

summary : javier peña has been a thorn in your side for months, the last thing you need is for him to find out you write dirty fanfiction

warnings, etc. : language, fluff, smut, protected sex, p in v sex, oral m!recieving, fingering, mutual masturbation, viginity loss (duh), innocence kink sorta, squirting, reader is completely clueless when it comes to sex, javier is a dumb sweetheart in this, plot w a little porn lol

a/n : yippee! this is an idea ive had floating around for a bit and this seemed like a good opportunity to do it! easily the longest of the kinktober stuff lmao which is why i didnt want this to be day one cause i didnt want to set a precedent haha. also i hate this but it's october so like i can't do much about that lmao. AND the edit was rushed bc i gotta get to work so apologies for any errors!!

  “What’s that?” You slam your laptop shut the moment you hear his voice. 

“Nothing.” You hadn’t heard him come into your office yet here he is, looming over your shoulder. 

“Didn’t look like nothing.” You can’t stand the mocking smile on his face. 

“Did you need something?” You do your best to sound patient. 

“I’ve got some suspect photos I need you to identify.” He’s still grinning from ear to ear as you hold your hand out for the file. You flip through the pictures before tossing them onto the pile of paperwork you’ve been trudging through. You’re waiting for him to leave but he just stays in place behind you until you spin around in your chair. 

“Is there something else?” You cross your arms in front of your chest, glowering at him. 

“What were you working on?” For god's sake, drop it. 

“Get out of my office Peña, or I won’t process your suspects.” Thankfully that gets him to leave, sighing as he closes the door behind him. Once you’re sure he’s not coming back you open your laptop again, quickly closing out your tabs. 

The last thing you need is for Javier fucking Peña to read your Star Wars fanfiction. 

He makes your life hell around the office enough as is. He makes fun of how you dress, he only ever asks you to file his paperwork, (despite the dozen others who are just as capable.) and you’re pretty sure he stole your lunch one time. He’s just in general a nuisance. (And it doesn’t help that he’s gorgeous and knows it.)

It’s not like you’re ashamed of your writing, you’ve mentioned it in passing to some of your friends around the office but Javier is different. He gives you enough grief without knowing how badly you wanna fuck Anakin Skywalker, you can’t imagine how much worse thing would get if he found you’re writing. 

So you get back to work, trying to forget the interaction entirely. 

You like to work late on fridays, it makes things easier, you don’t have to come in early on monday and no ones around to bother you while you work. You’re just about done with everything as you gather up all the finished documents, going from empty office to empty office as you leave the respective papers on each person's desk. 

You’re nearly done, you’ve just got Javier’s suspect list to deal with as you step into the bullpen to deliver it you’re surprised to see him still sitting at his desk, everyone else is gone, only his desk lamp and computer monitor light the large room. You approach quietly, wanting to get this done as quickly as possible so you can just go home. You’re about to clear your throat to get his attention when you freeze in place. 

You recognize the website he’s on. 

You’d know that red bar anywhere. 

There’s no fucking way. 

You feel your face getting flushed, a deep shame settling in your stomach as you take another step forward just to be sure.

Archive of Our Own beta

And just below that, the name of your favorite song, but more importantly, the title of your fanfiction. 

You’re so fucked. 

You feel a mess of angry tears starting to pool in your eyes as you hear him groan. 

That somehow hurts worse. 

Not only is he reading it, but he also thinks it’s so bad he’s audibly expressing it. You’re livid, and humiliated, you should spend this weekend looking for a new job because he’s about to become insufferable. Knowing him, everyone will know about it before you even get in on monday.

In your rage you walk forward noisily, tossing his files down onto his desk, turning, planning on glaring at him once before leaving, hoping he doesn’t see how truly upset you are. 

Nothing could have prepared you for what you’re met with. You’re expecting a smirk or maybe even a look of disgust, instead he’s gritting his teeth, his hair sticking to his forehead, a visible sheen of sweat on his face and most prominently, his hand haphazardly shoved down the front of his pants. 

You both realize the predicament you’re caught in at the same time. You stare way too long. Eyes lingering on the exposed skin where his shirt rides up, a trail of hair running down his naval. Neither one of you moves until you finally snap out of it, squeezing your eyes shut and turning on your heel, walking as quickly as possible towards the exit when you hear the squeak of his chair on the floor as he calls out your name. You don’t dare turn around though, not slowing your pace until you’re out of the building and in your car. 

Thankfully he doesn’t pursue you further as you drive home as quickly as possible. Hands tightly gripping the wheel the entire time. You can see your phone blowing up in your bag, the inside dimly lit the entire length of the drive. When you pull into your apartment building’s parking lot. You grab your bag and hurry inside, desperate to just go to bed and forget everything that just happened, ignoring the throbbing between your legs from what you just witnessed. 

You step inside your studio, locking up behind you as you toss your bag onto the bed, shedding your clothes and stepping into the bathroom, praying that a cold shower will clear your head. 

It doesn’t. 

You feel just as hot and frazzled as you did before. Maybe he was just trying to mess with you. If that’s the case then now he’s just sexually harassing you. 

Stupid fucking Peña. 

You pull a tank top over your head and throw on a pair of panties before collapsing on your bed. You don’t want to look but you won’t be able to sleep if you don’t, so you reach into your bag, retrieving your phone. 

Just as suspected you have an endless amount of messages from the man himself. You're about to start scrolling through them all when you read the most recent one. 

[ I’m coming over. ] 

Son of a bitch. 

You quickly scroll through the previous messages. 

[ I’m sorry, are you okay? ]

[ Call me or I’m coming over. ]

[ Please just text me back. ]

[ I really liked your story. ]

[ I’m sorry. ]

There’s about a hundred similar messages but one stands out to you more than anything else. 

He liked your story. 

Why does that make your face burn up?

You start typing, telling him that he doesn’t want to find out what’s gonna happen if he shows up but you’re interrupted by a knock on your door. You trip over yourself as you rush to your dresser, pulling on a pair of sweatpants before peering through the peephole. 

Sure enough, there he stands, he looks exactly like you’d left him, shirt untucked and askew, hair a mess, except now his hand isn’t in his pants. You’re about to reach over and turn your lamp off when he clears his throat. 

“I know you’re in there, your car was out front.” Well, so much for pretending you aren’t home. You hesitantly unlock the door before pulling it open, plastering a scowl on your face. 

“What do you want?” You try to look stern but you know you probably just look nervous. 

“I just wanna talk.”

You’re hesitant but you open the door fully, letting him in as you return to your bed, sitting and pointing at the loveseat in the corner for him. Neither one of you speaks, you watch as his throat bobs, he won’t look at you, staring at his hands instead. 

“How did you get my address?” You finally break the silence. 

“Your file.” He says sheepishly. 

“You can’t do that! That’s an invasion of my privacy!”

“That’s what you wanna be mad about?” Fair enough. 

“Fine, why did you do it?” You don’t like that he’s here, in your tiny apartment, the memory of him splayed out in his chair takes up all the space.

“Which part?” He finally looks up at you, meeting your gaze. 

“Why did you read it?” 

“I was curious.” He looks truly apologetic, it almost makes you want to believe him.

“Really?” Your tone drips with sarcasm. 

“You seemed really defensive, I wanted to see why.” It seems genuine but you know better. 

“You wanted to embarrass me.” You say plainly. 

“Why do you act like I’m out to get you?” His brows furrow and his mouth settles into a frown. 

“Because you are.” You say it matter of factly, you honestly can’t believe he’s acting like he doesn’t know. 

“I don’t understand what I did that makes you hate me so much.” You’re tempted to soften your gaze, but the last thing you need to do if this is all just some trick is appear vulnerable. 

“You can’t be serious.”

“Please, enlighten me.” He throws his hands up in exasperation. 

“You despise me! You torment me every single day!”

“Really? I torment you?” He points an accusatory finger in your direction. 

“You make me do your paperwork every single time, even when there are plenty of other people who are capable of it.” You feel the urge to stand and have this argument, you’re getting heated in several ways now. 

“You do it better than everyone else.” He shrugs like it’s a valid excuse. 

“Bullshit.” You snark as he puts his head in his hands.

“And I like the excuse to see you.” He mumbles before looking back up at him.

“You make fun of how I dress.” You’re quick to change the subject, not wanting to fall victim to his charms. 

“I do not.” His voice pitches up defensively. 

“You said I dress like your grandma.”

“That was a compliment.” He can’t be serious.

“How the fuck is that a compliment?”

“I love my grandma very much.” He sounds serious. 

“You’re a nightmare.” You fall back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, your head swimming with confusion. 

“Have you ever considered that I just wanted to be around you? You assume that I just liked to bother you but maybe I just like being near you.” He stands as you sit up, a look of honest upset on his face. 

“You expect me to believe that you did those things because you like me? Are we in middle school, Peña? You could have just asked me out instead of pulling my pigtails on the playground.” You stand, not liking the power imbalance of having him towering over you where you sit. 

“I did, you said no.” He crosses his arms and you scoff. 

“You did not, you can’t just make things up to get out of this conversation.” You poke a finger into his chest but he just brushes it away. 

“I asked you out to lunch two weeks ago and you said no.”

“I think I would remember that if it happened.” His anger fizzles out a bit as he looks you up and down. 

“I may or may not have thrown your lunch out that day so you’d be more likely to accept.” He gives you a sheepish look. “But you were so mad you brushed it off.”

“That was a serious offer? I thought you were messing with me.” He just stares at you, wide puppy dog eyes you have to turn away from lest you fall for this act. You don’t get a moment's rest though because as you stare at the floor a particularly harrowing thought crosses your mind. 

“How much did you read?” You turn back to him quickly. 

“Enough.” When you turn back to him he’s staring at his hands again. 

You both know what that means. 

“It seemed a little familiar.” He says softly. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You want him out, now.

“Don’t play dumb, you know what I’m talking about.” You’re going to look at job listings once he goes home. 

“I think you should leave.” You clear your throat, nodding towards the door. 

“I’m not leaving until we talk about it.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You sit back down on your bed, your legs feeling unsteady. 

“Well I do.” He takes a few steps in your direction and you immediately regret sitting. 

“I don’t care what you want, get out of my apartment, now.” You head is tilted up completely as you glare at him.

“Do you really not realize exactly what is happening here?” You can feel his breath on your face, cigarettes and spearmint. You turn your head to the side, refusing to look at him. 

This is exactly what happens in your story. 

“You’re an idiot.” You whisper, willing yourself not to get any more upset than you already are. 

“You wrote your story about us.” He says each word sharply as you grit your teeth. 

“I did not.” Now who’s just making things up to get out of a conversation?

“Everything that I did to you, he does to her.”

You don’t have a response to that. What are you supposed to say? He’s right, straight down to the confrontation where he tells her he wants her and she tells him that can’t be possible. He hates her. 

He kneels in front of the bed, moving to be in your eye line and when you go to turn your head he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. 

“I really did like your story.” You shove his hand away as he says it.

“Don’t mock me.” 

“Jesus, what do I have to do to make you realize I don’t have an ounce of contempt for you?” He stands, throwing his hands up in defeat.

You finally snap. 

“Maybe stop taking my shit and stop giving me extra work and stop invading my privacy and just fucking talk to me like an adult, you arrogant, immature, son of a-“ He grabs your face in both of his hands as he leans down and crashes his lips against yours, you let out a surprised squeak as he cups your jaw. After a moment he pulls back and you’re left staring at him dumbfounded. 

“Now, can we please talk about it?” He mumbles before pulling you in again for a single chaste kiss. 

“Okay.” You feel a little breathless at the abruptness of his actions. 

“I really liked it.” He smiles now, the energy in the room changing drastically. 

“You keep saying that.” You whisper.

“It’s true.”

“Wanna give me some constructive criticism?” You laugh but you can see his eyes flicker to the ceiling quickly and suddenly you want to press further. 

“You know you quoted me word for word a couple of times.” 

“You’re avoiding the question.” You laugh again but now you’re genuinely curious. 

“I guess I thought the sex scenes were the tiniest bit unrealistic.”

“Unrealistic?” You feign offense. 

“Well yeah I mean, it’s written like you’ve never had sex. They go at it all night and he never needs any breaks? And doesn’t she have like twenty orgasms? I’m pretty sure she’d be in terrible pain at that point.” He laughs softly but when you furrow your brows he stops. “I assumed because it’s fantasy that that’s intentional though.” He adds on quickly at the end. 

Your embarrassment is clear on your face as his own expression goes to one of poorly concealed surprise. 

“You’ve never-” He whispers, clearly shocked. 

“I’ve never.” You finish his sentence, not wanting to hear it out loud. 

“I mean, that’s fine.” His ears are burning red. 

“I know it’s fine.” You mumble. “I’ve had opportunities to, I just… I don’t know, I guess I made it too big of a deal in my mind and now I just don’t care but I’ve waited this long and-”

“Cariña, it’s fine.” He interrupts you now, that soft smile on his face never wavering. 

“Do you think my writing would be better if I had more experience?” You say it like it’s a joke but he sees right through you.  

“I’m not sure, how much experience do you have just in general?” He stands, moving to sit beside you on the bed. 

“Well I’ve kissed people before.”

“That’s it?” You glare at him and he coughs nervously. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course.”

“I’ve been busy with work, it's just, it’s never been a priority of mine.”

“You do know… how to do it? Right?” You smack him on the arm. 

“Of course I know how to do it, you read my stuff.”

“That’s why I’m asking.”

“Oh come on, you said it was good!” 

“It is good! Everything but the dirty stuff is really good!” You groan, putting your head in your hands, he sits quietly beside you for a bit, rubbing your back. 

“Do you want me to teach you?” He says lightheartedly. 

“Seriously?” You glare at him. 

“It’s the least I can do for unintentionally making your work life hell.” He’s starting to sound more genuine in his over, it sends a chill down your spine. 

“So what? We just… do it?” You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the idea of losing it to someone who knows what he’s doing. 

“No we don’t ‘just do it.’ we do other stuff first.” He sounds amused but you’re glad he doesn’t outright laugh at you. 

“Can you just- can you just tell me what to do?” You rest your head on his shoulder briefly and he runs his fingers through your hair. 

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes please.” You mumble, feeling a strange mix of aroused and nervous. 

“Well, in one of the later chapters she blows him, right?” You nod slowly. “And you say it’s her first time doing it, she probably shouldn’t have been able to just take all of him in her mouth right off the get go, especially since he’s apparently nine inches? Which is a whole separate issue by the way.” You can feel your face getting hot all over again as he explains everything like it’s obvious. “If you want to start there we can do that.” He murmurs, trying to meet your gaze but you just keep trying to look anywhere else. 

“How big is it supposed to be normally?” You chew on your lip, hoping you don’t sound stupid, you couldn’t be more thankful when he once again doesn’t laugh. 

“It depends, but nine inches is a bit outlandish. Have you ever actually looked at that on a ruler? It’s way bigger than you think.” He holds out the estimated size with his hands and you have to stifle a giggle. 

“Fair enough.” You lean against him one last time before sliding off the bed, kneeling in front of him. “So she’s like this.” You watch his throat bob as he swallows harshly, everything is starting to quickly become real as he nods. You reach your hands towards the noticeably larger bulge in his strict jeans, stopping just before you touch him. “Can I?” 

“Yeah, of course.” With his approval you gingerly unzip the restrictive fabric, watching his half hard dick spring free. He’s certainly not nine inches but he’s still intimidating. You don’t have a frame of reference but you have to assume he’s on the bigger side of things. 

“You don’t wear underwear?” You scoff, trying to lighten the mood despite the combined anxiety and arousal pulsing through you right now.

“Not usually.” He murmurs, notably softer than before. 

“What do I do first?” 

“If you want, you can start by touching it, just do what feels right.” He reaches down to hold your face for a moment until you’re able to calm down a bit. You reach forward at a snail's pace until finally wrapping a hand around the base, jumping a bit as you feel him twitch against your palm. You slowly stroke him, just once before looking up at him, a reassuring smile on his face as you stroke him a few more times, feeling him swell until he stands fully erect. Almost absentmindedly your other hand drifts between your legs, you experimentally grind against your own hand as you continue to leisurely jerk him off, watching how he grips the sheets when you run your thumb over his drooling tip. 

“What do I do next?” You look up at him. 

“Spit on it, hermosa.” His voice is raspy and you sit up on your knees, a line of spit falling from your mouth onto the head of his cock, drawing a hiss past his teeth. It’s easier to stroke him when it’s wet, you experiment with different speeds, watching his reactions until in a moment of bravery you tentatively guide him into your mouth. You can’t help but feel pleased when his hand instinctively flies to your hair, not moving you in any direction, just holding you. You swirl your tongue around the tip, tasting the bitter pre-cum as you open your jaw a bit wider, letting him slide over your tongue. As you take him deeper you feel him against your throat and you quickly gag, coughing a bit as he gently pulls you off. “Go slow, don’t take more than you’re able to.” You cough again, catching your breath before taking him in your mouth again, slower this time. “Use your hands on the rest.” He murmurs, the low tone shoots through you and you quickly go back to touching yourself with one hand while using the other to stroke the half of his length that you can’t fit in your mouth. 

After a few minutes you begin to moan against him as you try to reach your own peak, your hand now haphazardly shoved down the front of your pants. He’s leaning back, his pupils pitch black as he watches you, his breathing unsteady. 

“You think you’re ready for more?” He says sweetly, caressing your hair. You pop off of him, watching a line of spit going from the head of his cock to your lips. 

“Sure.” You feel less nervous than you thought you’d be as you stand up, wiping your mouth on the back of your hand. You feel all fuzzy and slick between your legs, your pussy aches with need as he takes your hand, pulling you onto the bed with him. You sit up against the headboard as he strips completely, discarding his shirt and shoving his pants all the way down. 

You can’t help but take in the sight of him as he turns back to you. 

His warm sun kissed skin, the wide expanse of his shoulders a sharp ratio to his slim waist. He’s toned but he’s soft around the edges and his cock stands proud against the thatch of hair on his lower abdomen. You tilt your head the way it curves, admiring it until he laughs. 

“I want you to do something for me that wasn’t in the story.” He climbs back into bed with you, playing with the waistband of your sweats. 

“Sure, what is it?” You lift your hips, letting him pull them down, tossing them off the bed. 

“I want you to show me how you touch yourself.” You stare at him, a little shocked by the request, your eyes going wide. 

“Why?” 

“I want to see, I want you to show me what feels good.” You want to feel more self conscious but he’s completely naked and something about the fact that you’re still a little covered up helps you relax, with a soft sigh you gingerly slip your hand down the front of your panties. You go off of muscle memory, recalling what you would do if he wasn’t here. 

Tracing your fingers in delicate circles around your clit, watching as he begins to touch himself, almost matching your pace. This would have been a fantasy of yours that you’d resort to when nothing else worked. Javier Peña in your bed, revealing some sort of secret attraction to you, you just never thought it would ever come to fruition. 

But here he is.

Ravaging you with his eyes as you dip two fingers into yourself with a shuddering breath, his own movements stuttering a bit as you do so. With everything leading up to this it isn’t hard to feel the familiar heat building as you expertly push yourself towards it. After a few moments more you shove your panties down completely, wanting to be unencumbered as you discard them. Without them restricting you, you can easily feel that hot tightening sensation approaching rapidly. Your breathing gets heavy as you grind your fingers against your palm, you feel the familiar fiery sensation in the bottom of your stomach as you start haphazardly fucking your own hand, you keep your eyes on the way he fucks his own until you’re just about to burst and he takes hold of your wrist, stopping you.

“Please I-” You let out a frustrated whine but he shushes you with a quick peck.

“I know, can I do it?” You nod frantically, you’d like nothing more. He gently pushes two fingers into you, you gasp in surprise at the sudden stretch as he slides them in and out slowly, continuing to jerk himself off with his other hand as he watches how you eagerly suck him in. 

It doesn’t take much from there. 

His thumb mirrors the motions you did against your clit and that’s all he has to do to push you over the edge. Your cunt spasming around his fingers as he works you through your orgasm, hot white burns the edges of your vision and you keep your eyes open long enough to watch as he squeezes the base of his own cock, groaning as he makes his own attempts not to finish. You're vaguely aware of him murmuring something that sounds like praise in Spanish as you get your bearings, he slowly removes his fingers, leaning forward on his knees to kiss you. You catch your breath through the kiss until finally he pulls back.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” His breathing heavy as he nudges his forehead against yours. 

“Is it gonna hurt?” You’re more curious than nervous at this point. 

“It shouldn’t, and if it does I’ll stop, okay?” He hops off the bed for a moment, searching through his wallet before tossing you a condom. 

“Okay.”

“And you’re sure this is what you want?” You carefully tear open the condom wrapper, handing him the rubber ring with a nod, watching how he aptly rolls it onto his cock. 

“Probably wouldn’t have come this far if I didn’t.” You slide down the bed a bit so you’re mostly laying on your pillows as he positions himself on top of you. He still seems worried about you so you reach forward, taking his cock in your hand and guiding him between your legs. 

You can’t help but sharply inhale as he eases just the tip into you, your eyes flutter shut and your mouth opens slightly as you sigh.  

God, you wish you’d done this sooner. 

It doesn’t hurt. You expected a stinging, or a tearing, instead it’s just pressure. When you open your eyes you find his squeezed shut now as he slowly works himself into you, rocking slowly back and forth. He keeps your foreheads pressed together, occasionally, bumping his nose against yours. 

“Still good?” He whispers, a noticeable strain to his voice. You nod, watching curiously as he pushes his hips forward in one last motion to fully seat himself in your heat. His jaw is tense and he’s breathing through his teeth. “So fucking tight.” He mumbles before leaning forward, groaning into your mouth. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask when he pulls himself away with a soft smile. 

“No, it just makes me worried about hurting you.”

“I’m okay, I want you to move.” You look down to where the two of you are joined. Watching how he gently pulls himself from you just a bit before pushing back in. That’s when he bumps against that spot inside of you that suddenly has you seeing stars, your hands grip his shoulders as a moan slips out of you, the grin you’ve seen a hundred times before forms on his face, you’d once hated it but now it has you gushing around him. 

“Does that feel good?” He tilts his head to the side, nudging his nose against your temple as you nod fervently. He repeats the motion, pulling out about halfway before snapping his hips forward again, your back arching when he slams into the sweet spot inside of you. 

“Fuck- Peña, right there.” You whine, your nails leaving little crescent indents in the tan flesh of his shoulders. He gets into a steady rhythm with it, crashing into you with precise deliberate strokes, designed to make your head spin. He grits his teeth once more, his breath going ragged.

“Javier.” He pants, gripping your waist to hold you still. For a brief moment you almost see vulnerability in his eyes. 

“Just like that, Javier.” You stammer out as he bends one of your legs up, pressing you into the mattress further as he throws your ankle over his shoulder, the new angle letting him fuck far deeper into you than you even thought possible. The soft and slow Javier starts to dissipate as he bares his teeth, his breath hot and heavy through his tense jaw as he slams into you. The second orgasm building in your stomach isn’t like anything you’ve ever felt before, it’s molten inside of you, threatening to burst as he brings a hand to your clit.

“Shit- tell me when you’re close.” He growls, your vision’s already blurring again as an unfamiliar pressure settles within you. 

“I- I am.” You pant out, he accentuates each thrust with a grunt and you feel yourself slip as he applies the slightest pressure to your sensitive bundle of nerves. You’re positive you’ve never come like this before, you soak his cock, a flood of your release pulses out of you as you strangle his cock. He collapses into you, your orgasm sending him over his own edge. You feel him throbbing within you as he groans into the pillow next to you. The two of you lay in a sweaty, breathless heap for a moment until he pulls out of you with a hiss, rolling over, his chest heaving as he lays beside you. 

“Now do you believe that I don’t hate you?” He gasps out. 

“I might need a little more convincing.” You grin, reaching behind you to turn your lamp off before rolling yourself over so you're on top of him.

a/n : I have a very serious love hate relationship w this.

[caffedrine]

Clavis Lelouch - I fell in love with you that day – Choose your true love - Event Summary

This is mostly a summary for me - I make no promises on the accuracy of what’s happening. I’m not nearly fluent enough to get half the jokes/innuendo much less accurate plot points.

Emma recalls sitting in Clavis’ mansion’s garden in the morning just moments ago, but suddenly finds herself falling in Rodolite’s Castle. She’s literally falling down from the ceiling, but thankfully Clavis is there to catch her.

(Eh, it’s a normal Tuesday.)

Clavis, who was holding her in his arms, was so stunned that his usual smile was wiped from his face. Emma noticed several men, who seemed to all be aristocrats surrounding them, as well as the ever present Cyran distinguished by his rose-red hair.

No one seemed able to talk, as everyone gaped down at Emma.

Suddenly the aristocrats surrounding them started shouting that there was an intruder and summoning the guards. Almost immediately the surrounding becomes a cacophony of noise and Emma can make out the sound of screaming and guards running.

She desperately assures the aristocrats that this is all some misunderstanding and asks Clavis to back her up. Clavis hums, considering this, and Emma prompts him again.

Clavis asks if she’s really sure they’ve met before.  Emma tells him to stop joking around for once.

Huh, it sounds like Emma thinks she knows him. And he’s not some playboy who will forget some girl’s face.

Clavis’ smile is very suspicious, and Emma gets the odd feeling that Clavis isn’t joking right now. For some reason, she thinks he’s considering handing her over to the guards. She doesn’t understand what is going on, or what Clavis is up to, but maybe she should run away.

Emma tries to squirm out of Clavis’ arms, but instead, his grip on her tightens. He tells her to wait, and Emma snaps back that if she waits, she’ll wind up in jail, no thanks to him. Clavis praises her intelligence.

Emma snaps that this is all his fault, did he fall down, hit his head, and lose his damn mind?

Well, Clavis can’t guarantee that scenario didn’t happen. Emma wants to start crying.

(Okay, maybe more like Friday shenanigans)

Emma looks into Clavis’ eyes, but the only thing she can get from him is a look as if she were a stranger. This Clavis truly has no idea who she is. Emma asks him to let go of her.

Will she run away?

Of course!

Well then, Clavis is definitely not letting go. Unless she wants to die, she should come and have some fun with him.

Clavis tells the surrounding guards and aristocrats that they’ll have to finish their discussion later, something quite literally fell down into his arms and he needs to handle it. The men around them start complaining.

Clavis pulls a small bottle out of his breast pocket and throws it down, shattering it against the floor. A thick opaque cloud of smoke fills the area.

Emma is somewhat aware of the aristocrats and guards lunging to grab Clavis, but he slips through them, without relaxing his grip on Emma. As they rush forward, the voices and sounds from the others fade, but Emma doesn’t feel relieved. She doubts Clavis is actually doing this to help her.

Clavis sets her down in an empty room and locks the door behind them. She notices Cyran, Clavis’ personal knight, has accompanied them, and is looking oddly tense, as if she was an enemy.

Okay, it’s not just Clavis who has hit his head.

Clavis notes that Emma said that this was all just a misunderstanding, right? So, now is an excellent opportunity to clear up the misunderstanding. Let's start with introductions first, if Emma can amuse him, he might find some use for her.

Clavis companionably sits down on a sofa and gestures Emma to do so as well.

Okay, apparently ‘fun games’ is Clavis for ‘interrogation’. If Emma says something wrong, the best-case scenario is that she’ll be locked up. She needs to understand what is going on first.

When Emma obeys and sits down across from him, she suddenly feels like a rabbit trapped in the jaws of a beast.

Emma tells Clavis her name.

Clavis does not recognize her.

Well, even if Clavis doesn’t know her, she knows him very well. Clavis asks if it’s because he’s so famous. Emma suddenly notices something, and Clavis asks if she just noticed how handsome he is.

Well, actually, Emma just realized how young he looks, no older than 20 at best. And Cyran as well, his uniform is completely different.

There is no insignia on Cyran’s uniform indicating that he is the first knight of the foreign faction, if anything, his uniform suggests that he’s pretty low level.

Oh no.

Emma asks if Clavis’ father, the King of Rhodolite, is still alive.   

Clavis gives her an ambiguous response, he rarely ever sees the king, so if he died Clavis might not have noticed.

Yup, that is a completely different response than a Clavis surviving his father’s death would have given. Emma has somehow found herself in the past.

Clavis directly asks if Emma is a spy from Obsidian or something similar. Emma denies this and tries to explain that she’s from a time when the current King of Rhodolite is dead.

Clavis nods, he understands. Emma is an assassin aiming for the current king.

Emma snaps that she is his fiancé.

Clavis takes this as some sort of joke but admits that he has no clue what any of this means. Emma admits that the same goes for her. She sees Clavis look at her finger where her engagement ring sits and turns to Cyran and asks his opinion.

Cyran is convinced that she’s not an Obsidian spy, but . .  .

Clavis prompts Cyran to continue.

He has no real proof of this, but in his opinion, since Emma doesn’t have any weapons, and her manners and responses are amateurish . . .

Okay, Clavis has figured it out. Emma is some deranged woman who has fallen in love with him. Oh, to be so beautiful that women can no longer discern reality and fantasy when near him! His charm is truly sinful!

Oh, so now they all think she’s some mentally unstable woman, and Emma cannot prove that is wrong.

Fine.

Emma tells Clavis that he’s right, she is in love with him. This love has made her quite literally crazy, and she expects him to take responsibility for his part in it.

Clavis laughs, it does sound like he does need to take care of her personally. First though, what part of him did she fall in love with.

Cyran slides in to tell Clavis that it’s time. Regretfully, Clavis tells Emma that he needs to stop playing now and apologizes for the abrupt pause.

And, since he’s responsible for her mental state, he’ll take her with them. Emma asks if he’s sure, but Clavis insists that he likes fun things. To Emma’s surprise, Cyran looks down and gloomy. What is happening?

Emma and Cyran follow Clavis to the Foreign Faction’s Knight’s training grounds. Once they enter, the knights salute Clavis in greeting. Emma has observed this very scene often enough to pick out the obvious tension with the knights. Everyone looks on edge, and vaguely murderous. She wondered if they also worried that se was a suspicious woman, but then she noticed they weren’t looking at her. The rage in the knight’s eyes was all directed at Cyran.

While Emma tries to puzzle this together, Clavis apologizes for keeping the knights waiting for so long, he has come with good news! Judging from everyone’s expressions, they already know, but he would like them to officially welcome the newest member of the Knights of the Foreign Affairs Faction. Cyran is a truly talented and courageous knight, he hopes they can become swift friends.

And now Emma has a time period of where she is in. This must be just after the Bloodstained Rose Day, about 10 years ago. And right now, the only one who looks pleased is Clavis.

One of the knights speaks up and asks if Clavis is particularly sane today. Does he not know that Cyran is an Obsidian Knight?

A former Obsidian Knight, Clavis helpfully points out.

Either way, Cyran is from Obsidian, and no one here will agree with him joining up. How can they accept a knight who has killed people of Rhodolite?

Emma recalls speaking to Cyran about his past. He had said that under normal circumstances, it would be impossible for him, a defector from the Obsidian military, to be appointed as a Knight of Rhodolite. It was thanks to Clavis, whose smile blew away all the opposition, that gave Cyran a second home, and a second chance at life.

Yeah, Cyran had definitely downplayed the opposition against him. This wasn’t mere objections, but full-on murderous intent. It must have been less than a year since the Bloodstained Rose Day, and all the Knights here would have been the first deployed against the Obsidian invasion. Without a doubt, they hated Cyran’s existence.

Clavis assures the knights that he knows and understands their opinions. After all, they recently were trampled on by Obsidian, it’s only right that we as a country can never forgive them.

However! The ones responsible are the leadership, not the soldiers. Clavis reminds them that they killed many people on the battlefield, but the deaths are not on them but on Clavis and Chevalier. After all, they were the commanders who ordered them who and when to kill.  So should the blame for the invasion fall on the Obsidian Royal Family and military commanders instead of Cyran.

And if that doesn’t convince them, then Clavis will wager his own head, right here and now.

Everyone, from the Foreign Faction’s Knights to Cyran, and even Emma stares at Clavis in shock.

Clavis laughs and asks why everyone looks so surprised. If bringing in Cyran as a Knight causes a disadvantage to the country, he’d have to take responsibility anyway. He’s prepared to wager his life on the advantages Cyran will bring the knights.

But, of course, he doesn’t want to die. He assures everyone that there is no doubt whatsoever about Cyran’s talents. He asks everyone to believe him this once.

The murderous aura around the knights wavers, and everyone begins to look confused. Maybe Clavis’ sincerity was able to come through?

Finally, one of the knights asks if Clavis has any way of proving Cyran’s usefulness to Rhodolite beyond words of platitude.

Clavis briefly considers this before deciding that it’s easier to show than to tell. He wants Cyran to show off his skills in a mock battle and prove why Clavis chose him to join these knights.

Cyran looks troubled, which confuses Emma. She knows Cyran as one of the best Knights in Rhodolite, short only to Chevalier. Even if this is the past, he must have some decent skills at swordplay, but right now Cyran’s face is pale.

Clavis asks why he’s hesitating, and Cyran reminds him that they already talked about this. Cyran was originally a member of Obsidian’s Special Forces, but due to his fatal flaw had to join the regular army.

Clavis does remember this conversation. But hey, weaknesses were made to be overcome, right? Right?

Cyran snaps back that he might accidentally kill Clavis. Clavis laughs, he's not worried, that’s why he’s Cyran’s opponent. Surely by now, Cyran knows how sturdy Clavis is. He won’t die, so please feel reassured. If he holds back, he won’t convince the other knights to accept him.

After a long moment, Cyran agrees.

Cheerfully, Clavis urges the other knights to give them space and back up. He accepts two practice swords from a knight and hands one to Cyran.

Emma joins the knights lining up against the training ground walls, watching as the two combatants slowly raise their swords. Suddenly Cyran huffs a sigh, reminding Clavis that he warned him.

Cyran lunges towards Clavis, at the last minute swinging his sword. Clavis dodges, so Cyran hits the ground. Hits the ground, and pushes through it, destroying the area and leaving a crater behind.

Emma and the other knights stare at the two in shock. Clavis laughs, he heard about this, but seeing it sure is something else. He dodges the next strike, still laughing.

Clavis continues to laugh while dodging Cyran’s blows. While one couldn’t say that Cyran is the fastest swordsman, each blow he almost lands is very heavy. Heavy enough that he’s now taken out part of the wall, sending dust flying around.

One of the Knights breaks and calls out to Clavis telling him that this mock battle is far too dangerous, and to stop. Clavis shouts out that this is no big deal.

Cyran hasn’t seemed to notice this exchange, each blow heavier than the last, an expression completely unlike his previous one. He might as well be a completely different person right now. Someone who doesn’t know how to hold back.

Suddenly Emma sees a man with the insignia of the lead knight get between Clavis and Cyran. He has his (real) sword unsheathed and in a defensive position. But by the time Emma realized what was happening, Cyran had already reacted and swung his (practice) sword down, shattering the real blade in half.

Emma watches in horror as one of the broken pieces flies towards her. Her eyes close and she braces herself for the pain.

But then there was no pain at all, only a strong wind that swayed her hair. Opening her eyes, Emma sees Clavis’ back before her, with him muttering that this was a particularly close call. She sees the glint of the shard that was heading towards her lying on the training ground floor.

She sees the movements of Clavis sheathing his training blade before he turns around and asks if she’s alright. Stuttering, Emma assures him that she is and thanks him.

This is when they fall in love.

Emma is confused, and Clavis elaborates. He definitely looked amazing and dashing just now.

Well, apparently Clavis hasn’t changed all that much since the past.

Beyond Clavis, Cyran’s face is pale, and he has dropped the imitation sword. He begins apologizing very sincerely. He has come a very long way in the past 10 years.

Emma assures Cyran that she is fine, and that he shouldn’t think on it too hard. Clavis agrees, now that an accident has happened, there’s nothing they can do to retroactively prevent it. But hey, they now have a super-powerful knight in their ranks. Everyone should rejoice!

Clavis calls out to the head of the Knights. He just said that everyone should rejoice.

Uh . . . oh, yea. As long as Clavis agrees to take full responsibility, then maybe.

Fine.

Clavis tells the knight that Cyran is perfect for their ranks. Besides, Chevalier has also agreed to this. Are they going to march up to Chevalier and have him explain his reasons to them?

The silence between the knights grows awkward, and Cyran looks even more depressed.

Well, Clavis is a busy man and has other things to do. He asks the knights to help sort out Cyran and show him the ropes. He beckons towards Emma and tells her to follow him, for this, he absolutely needs her help.

Oh no. She knows what’s coming next.

Clavis assures her that together they will do their best.

Oh no. Why does it always turn out this way? Once they enter the garden, Emma roots herself on the spot and refuses. Clavis shakes his head and tells her to watch carefully, he’ll show her the best tricks.

Clavis already has a shovel, procured from who knows where, sparkling in the sun. Emma can almost see all the gardeners of the castle crying over the future holes in the garden. She asks who the traps are for.

The knights of course.

Emma asks Clavis to read the atmosphere. Laughing, Clavis reminds Emma that they were just in the training grounds, that atmosphere was already the worst possible. Emma asks if he saw that atmosphere as competition.

Oh, no, no, no! What Clavis has decided is that the knights need an opportunity to deepen their friendship with each other. As much as it pains him, Clavis will have to thrust all of them into the dark abyss.

If it really pains him, Clavis shouldn’t make such an evil face.

Emma desperately tries to restrain Clavis’ arm as he buries the shovel into the ground. She full on fights with Clavis over the shovel for what seems forever until the sound of footsteps interrupts them. One of the aristocrats Clavis was talking with when Emma dropped in on them is approaching. Emma dives behind Clavis’ back, but she still catches the man's angry stare.

Clavis laughs and asks why he looks so angry, did his wife leave him or something? Emma notices that Clavis is very nonchalantly shifting to block the man’s view of her.

The aristocrat reminds Clavis that they were in the middle of a discussion. He asks where the Obsidian soldier went off to.

The Rhodolite Knights, of course. Last he saw, they were showing him the ropes.

The aristocrat asks if Clavis has lost his mind. Clavis assures him that he’s perfectly well. The man demands that Clavis send back the Obsidian soldier, has he not heard anything any of them have had to say?

Emma realizes that during this time, it wasn’t only the Knights that were protesting Cyran’s presence.

Clavis asks if the aristocrat was listening to him? He already laid out his reasonings for this decision.

The noble grumbles that Clavis is saying that their protests were not worth even hearing. He asks about the woman hiding behind Clavis, is she also an Obsidian spy? Emma denies this as Clavis wonders aloud how interesting it would be if she were.

Ugh, why does he always say things that will provoke others? As if on cue, the hostile aura about the aristocrat morphs into something murderous.

Emma tugs on Clavis’ sleeve to admonish him, but Clavis only smiles fearlessly at her. If this was a fairytale, Clavis would be the perfect villain.

The nobleman tells Clavis that they cannot trust him anymore. He was captured by the enemy, held hostage in an Obsidian camp, but despite all odds, came back alive. He came back alive from an enemy that slaughters both soldiers and civilians indiscriminately.

The only way he can see Clavis surviving that is if he made a trade.

Clavis asks if the nobleman is asking if he’s a traitor.

There’s a long silence, affirming this.

Huh, from what Emma recalls, Clavis had been practically a national hero after the war. Without regard to himself, he had saved lives that should have died. But it looks like reality was different, and the prescence of Cyran had only provoked the resentment of others.

Clavis asks if the nobleman wants to accuse him, why don’t he take him to court. Surely he has enough evidence to prove that he’s the traitor prince. Clavis encourages him to bring anything at all.

The nobleman asks if he understands how serious this is. Obsidian took away everything, and all Clavis is doing is laughing and making fun of those who have been robbed of their peaceful lives and families. His temper rising to the breaking point, the nobleman clenches his fist and takes a swing at Clavis.

Without thinking, Emma moves to cover Clavis, and the nobleman narrowly avoids hitting her. Clavis praises him, if he hadn’t restrained himself, he would have just hit a woman and lost his title of ‘gentleman’.

Emma explains that she’s not the kind of person who can stand back and watch someone get hurt. Clavis praises her bravery and the nobleman tells Emma to get out of his way.

Emma considers him, in this direct confrontation, the anger and hostility from this noble and anyone else would corrode her spirit. She’s not even related to this, and her heart hurts. She cannot imagine what Clavis is going through. Instead, he hides it all with a smile.

Clavis tells the noble to go ahead and get angrier, and the hostile atmosphere increases. Still, Clavis smiles. He explains that many people of Rhodolite have lost something important to them, or have even lost the will to live. Compared to them, the nobles are doing pretty well, and as long as they’re angry, they don’t have to handle their feelings of loss.

To keep their spirits up, Clavis agrees to play with them whenever they want.

Emma understands. She had been wondering why Clavis was always going out of his way to provoke people. He is trying to be a beacon of hatred, an outlet for the people suffering. She can see the realization on the aristocrat’s face as he confronts Clavis’ version of ‘compassion’.

No one said anything.

At least until a knight ran up to them in a hurry, calling out for Clavis.

The new redhead recruit just ran away.

In theory, no one should know the whereabouts of Cyran, who ran away from the training grounds of the Foreign Faction Knights. Clavis, of course, was different.

With a quick goodbye to the nobles and the knights, Clavis and Emma hurry out to the royal forest and quickly come across a hut hidden away in the forest’s depths. And inside the hut is Cyran curled up in a corner.

(Kennyo is going to have to start complaining about all these princes who keep on shacking up in his hut)

Clavis laughs cheerfully, and Emma asks how he knew where Cyran was. Clavis admits that he told Cyran about this place, a very nice place to hole up when you want to be alone.

Emma wonders if Clavis also used this place when he wanted to be by himself.

Settling next to Cyran, Clavis notes that he threw in the white flag quite earlier than expected. Cyran apologizes, but Clavis waves him off, he’s not blaming him, he’s just here to comfort him.

. . . .

And now Cyran feels worse.

Cyran buries his face in his arms, refusing to even look at Clavis. Clavis asks if he truly hates being a knight, and Cyran disagrees. He came to Rhodolite to atone for his crimes; he knew that he would not be a welcome addition and was prepared for anything.

Okay, but the knights reported that he ran away.

Well, Cyran just now realized that he’s an idiot. He came expecting to be the only person that would have to pay for the misdeeds of Obsidian, but now he realizes that all he is doing is dragging Clavis down.

When Clavis left him behind at the training grounds, the knights lit into him instead of Cyran. And it was the same with the nobles earlier, because of Cyran’s presence Clavis is treated as a villain, even though he was the only person to try to save those 1,000 citizens. If it was just Cyran, he could endure it, but Clavis too . . .

Emma can’t see his face, but Cyran’s voice is shaking. She can feel the pain radiating from him.

Oh, is that it? Out of the three of them, Clavis remains unmoved by the gloomy atmosphere. He admits that everything is still up in the air now, but there is a light at the end of the tunnel. The more Cyran demonstrates his capabilities as a king, the more people will recognize him, and Clavis will be vindicated. Someday, things will calm down, and Cyran will truly belong.

Until then, Clavis will use Cyran as a windbreak. If Cyran thinks that he’s causing Clavis trouble now, just wait until the future when Clavis will pay back the trouble tenfold. So, if anything, Clavis encourages Cyran to cause lots of trouble now.

Besides, just think about all the bananas Clavis will force future Cyran to eat, and how friendly Cyran will become with a shovel. It is clear to Emma that Cyran doesn’t understand the hell he will be facing. However, his depression seems to have lessened, and he has enough energy to look at Clavis with red eyes.

Cyran asks if Clavis really doesn’t hate him.

Clavis asks if there’s a reason he should hate Cyran.

Right. This is the man Cyran chose to follow.

Cyran wipes his eyes roughly and stands, regaining his composure. Clavis asks if he’s returning, and Cyran is. He hopes one day to be able to say that he made the right choice. He’s decided to move forward, so he won't dwell on all the choices he regrets.

Clavis laughs and agrees. He tells Cyran to go forward with dignity and tell everyone he is the genius knight who was recognized by Prince Clavis. Clavis stands as well, smacking Cyran on the back as the latter leaves the hut. Emma thinks he looks refreshed as if he is free of an evil spirit.

Emma can no longer question why Cyran follows Clavis.

Clavis turns to Emma and remarks that she claims to be from the future. Emma agrees, and tells him not to worry, in her future Clavis is always causing everyone trouble. Clavis laughs, this is the future he is predicting.

Clavis remains a strong person who has suffered many hardships and setbacks but stands up each time. He’s not invincible, but he won’t change his mind. No matter if those around him call him evil, Clavis remains stalwart in his own form of justice. Emma fell in love with him and his ability to pursue the ‘right’ path no matter the obstacles.

Clavis muses that if Emma is truly his future fiancé, that means he’s already manipulating her. Emma begins to agree before stopping and asking if this means Clavis believes her. She was positive he thought she was just the most recent lunatic.

Clavis admits that Emma was acting as if she understood what he was doing without needing him to explain himself. It actually makes more sense that she’s a woman from the future rather than a woman who just met him and understands him immediately.

Besides, which explanation is more interesting?

Yep, that’s Clavis for you.

Besides, if she’s going to cause some mischief, it might as well happen under his protection. He’ll help Cyran, and he’ll help out her, who is suspected of being a spy.

Emma thanks him and tells him that she needs his help to figure out a way to get back to her original time. Clavis promises to help her, there’s nothing he can't do. He smiles happily as he begins to walk towards the entrance of the hut.

As reliable as always. Emma finds herself falling in love with Clavis all over again. Maybe that’s her destiny, to constantly fall in love with Clavis over and over again.

The scene blurs and Emma blinks her eyes to clear it.

She awakes, lying on a bench in the garden as dusk falls. Weird, she was positive she was in a cabin in the woods just a moment ago.

Well, of course she’s not, she’s in Clavis’ mansion’s garden. Maybe she was dreaming?

Dreaming, Clavis asks directly into her ear. Emma shouts and jumps, only to find Clavis, the root of all evil, laughing at her. He praises her response and will give her a 10 out of 10 for that reaction.

Dryly, Emma notes that Clavis has returned, and he explains that Cyran told him that she was waiting for him in the outside garden. Of course, he would come rushing after her. In good spirits, he spreads open his arms and asks for his ‘welcome back’ kiss.

It’s natural to fall in love with Clavis. The past, present, and the future Clavis is always the best.

[gayeddieagenda]

for your consideration… 🍻📽️😳 + 55: tracing the lines on the other’s hand

another scene prompt game! this one is for real long sorryyyyy. also it features the actual smallest amount of blood u can imagine, but it IS there. and it IS plot critical.

--

“You’re right,” Buck called. “They’re all Pokemon.”

“I’m really fine,” Eddie said.

Buck came back into the living room, box of band-aids and Eddie’s first aid kit—not the everyday one, the big one, from way in the back of the cabinet under the sink—in hand. Eddie didn’t even know how he’d known where to find that one. “No,” Buck said. “You’re getting Pokemon.”

Eddie pulled a face.

It really, really was not a big deal. It was a Friday night with no Christopher around—Denny and some mutual friends were doing a video game night and sleepover at the Wilson’s—so Buck had shown up at Eddie’s at seven with takeout from the banh mi place, the good one that he had to drive nearly to Chim and Maddie’s to get. Eddie swung the grocery store after dropping off Chris and picked them up plenty of beer—a pack of Buck’s usual brand and then a weird one, whatever seasonal flavor Eddie could find that he knew Buck would love trying just as much as he would hate actually having to drink it.

They ate at the dining room table, decanting the takeout onto real plates. After cleanup, they settled into the living room couch like they meant to stay there a while. Eddie made a show out of squabbling with Buck over the movie choice, before making just as much of a show out of giving in.

It was a Friday night. It was a well-worn routine, as comfortable as the old t-shirts Eddie had had almost as long as he’d had Christopher. Tonight was the same as every other night they’d had for the past six, seven years. It was pretty much Eddie’s definition of perfect.

Until—

Something happened with the bottle opener. Eddie still wasn’t sure what, only that he’d been trying to open the beer and watch the screen and talk to Buck all at once, and then suddenly something slipped and now he had a shallow scrape running the length of three knuckles on the back of his left hand, weakly leaking blood.

“Hand,” Buck said now. Eddie rolled his eyes, but did as he was told, holding out his hand to Buck.

Buck settled himself back on the couch next to Eddie. He took Eddie’s hand and set it gingerly in his lap. 

Gently, he pressed a cloth against Eddie’s knuckles. Three little spots of blood soaked slowly into it, each smaller than the last.

“See,” Eddie said. “It’s nothing.”

Buck ignored him. When he was satisfied the bleeding had stopped—in Eddie’s opinion, it had barely started—he got the Neosporin spray out of the first aid kit. After the Neosporin was on, it was Pokemon time. Eddie got a Pikachu, a Magikarp, and a round blue guy he didn’t recognize, carefully Tetris’d together to cover the scrapes around the ridges of Eddie’s knuckles.

“Will I make it?” Eddie said drily.

“Consider yourself lucky there was a firefighter in the house,” Buck said.

He was still holding Eddie’s hand.

Neither of them had bothered to pause the movie when Eddie started bleeding. On the screen, a car spun out of control dramatically, then exploded.

Buck turned Eddie’s hand in his, flipping it so his palm was facing the ceiling. His eyes were on the TV. Eddie almost could’ve convinced himself he didn’t realize he was doing it, fidgeting with Eddie’s hand the way he sometimes did with pens or a walkie-talkie at work, if it weren’t for how carefully he was touching Eddie.

Buck’s thumb found the soft center of Eddie’s palm. He ran his thumb up Eddie’s hand, following the curved line that outlined the meat of Eddie’s thumb. His touch was feather-light.

Eddie couldn’t help it. He shivered, and Buck looked up.

“Sorry,” Eddie said.

Buck’s nose crinkled. “I can stop,” he said, not moving.

“I, uh.” Another explosion on the screen, lighting the side of Buck’s face up in orange. “I don’t mind.”

The corners of Buck’s mouth lifted, a smile so small it could barely be called a smile.

He looked down at his lap, where he was still holding Eddie’s hand in both of his own. Eddie followed his gaze.

It was just Eddie’s hand. The lines across his palm showed up clear and mostly unbroken, which his abuela used to tell him meant something. Eddie couldn’t remember what. He had calluses on his palms, some from work, some from the gym. On his index finger, he had a thin scar, a relic of a kitchen chopping mishap when he was twenty.

Buck began moving his thumbs in small circles across Eddie’s palm. He started light, barely brushing Eddie’s skin, so gently that it was almost uncomfortable.

Eddie breathed in slowly through his nose and tried not to move.

When Buck dug his right thumb in a little deeper, right at the joints where Eddie’s fingers connected his palm, where his hands got stiff after a particularly long day, Eddie made a quiet, involuntary noise.

Buck looked up.

This, they didn’t do. They were physical with each other, always had been, in ways that Eddie never thought bore commenting on. They were on top of each other on the job, more often than they weren’t, squeezed in knee-to-knee in the truck and reaching over each other with practiced ease in the field. At home, they were even worse. Fridays had room for a lot of things—for knocking into each other in the kitchen when they cleaned up after dinner and tussling for the best seat on the couch. Elbows bumping together on the couch, hands brushing when Eddie handed Buck another beer. Sometimes, Buck fell asleep on Eddie halfway through the second movie, his head a heavy weight on Eddie’s shoulder. Sometimes, they fought over the remote, wrestling each other on the couch until one of them dragged the other all the way down to the living room rug.

Touching Buck—being touched by Buck—was nothing new to Eddie. This, though…

Eddie could feel the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. Eddie had an old feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach—the yawning sense that they were standing on the brink of something.

Somewhere in the back of Eddie’s head, he’d been waiting for something like this. For a moment, when all the things they’d been holding back between the two of them came bubbling up to the surface. He’d never said it outright, not even in his own head, but sometimes, Buck looked at him and Eddie just knew that something was coming. A breaking point. When Buck would look at him and Eddie would look back and they would both know—okay, now. here we go.

This, though—he wasn't sure this felt like it.

This was...this was nothing. This was a Friday night. This was pumpkin beer and Eddie's bandaged knuckles and the stupid action movie still playing on the TV. This was so totally, spectacularly unremarkable.

He’d thought, when it was time, that he would know. It would be something they couldn’t ignore. They both knew what it felt like to experience the world at scale. Earthquakes, tsunamis, fire and lightning. This wasn’t that.

If something as small as Buck holding Eddie’s hand was enough to break open this thing between them, it would’ve happened a long, long time ago.

Wouldn’t it?

Eddie looked down. Buck was still holding Eddie’s hand in his lap, his thumb making little aimless circles in the center of his palm.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asked.

Buck stilled. “I don’t know.”

Eddie tried again. “What, uh. What are we doing?”

Buck shook his head, wordlessly.

Eddie tilted his head back up to look at him. His eyes were huge in the half-light, the glow of the TV and the light from the hall he’d left on when he went looking for the first aid kit. They stared at each other for a long, drawn-out moment.

Then Buck giggled. The tension broke. And suddenly, Eddie wasn’t uncertain anymore.

He closed his hand around Buck’s. Eddie looked at him.

“Okay,” Eddie said quietly. “I’m just gonna…”

He leaned in, slow and deliberate, giving Buck all the time in the world to figure out where he was going with this. Buck didn’t move, didn’t pull away, didn’t blink. When Eddie kissed Buck, it was barely a kiss, putting his mouth on Buck’s as lightly as Buck had first touched Eddie’s hand.

Buck made a quiet noise into Eddie’s mouth and then they were kissing for real, Buck pressing into him almost hard enough to knock their teeth together.

It was a good feeling, kissing Buck, the kind of raw good feeling that Eddie couldn’t remember feeling in a long, long time. Maybe he’d never felt something quite like this. Eddie could get lost in this, he was pretty sure, in the closeness, in the feeling of Buck’s mouth opening under his, in the quiet noise Buck made when Eddie put his hand in the short hairs at the back of his neck.

When they finally separated, Buck’s face was flushed a bright red. Eddie had a feeling he looked about the same.

Eddie swallowed. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. “Was that okay?”

“No, it was awful,” Buck said. “What the hell do you mean, was it okay?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “We haven’t done that before, jackass,” he said. “I mean, should we talk about this?”

“Oh,” Buck said. “Sure.” He picked at the hem of his shorts with his free hand, the one that wasn’t still holding Eddie’s hand between them. His eyes flicked down to Eddie’s mouth and back up again. “We can talk, if that’s what you want to do.”

Eddie let out a sigh, faux-exasperated. “Shut up,” he said, and hauled Buck back into a kiss, both of them smiling into it.

They kissed and kissed and kissed. They didn’t stop when the movie credits started rolling or when the TV switched itself off automatically, the room darkening around them. They didn’t stop until Buck had kissed the scars on Eddie’s shoulder and the one on his wrist and the goddamn Pokemon band-aids across his knuckles and a lot of other places besides.

It was a Friday night. They’d had a lot of good Friday nights over the years. Eddie had a feeling this one was going to be pretty hard to beat.