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helplesslypurple77 · 6 months

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Day 13- Step Bro!Dazai/Reader/Step Bro!Fyodor

Notes: I think it's a little ooc, but i really couldn't decide which characters to go with so yeah.

also, uhm, that fyodor header picture has nothing to do with the actual story, i just though he looked so fucking hot with that gun(also yes, ik im using the step silbing/dad concept twice but its just so sexy to me yaknow*)(*and also, if your wondering, i actually have a wonderful relationship with my father)

Ever since you can remember the house had been cold. You didn't call it your house, even though you had lived there all your life. No, it was more akin to a creature unto itself, a perfect reflection of your childhood. You were born in this house, the only child Mother, or Cecilia as she insisted upon, didn't abort. You spent your younger years with a nanny, who cared for you the best she could. She taught you to read and write, and you excelled especially at math. But Cecilia didn't care. She never cared. And the house reflected her disinterest.

The nanny, a kind woman named Martha, had been disposed of when you turned eight. Cecilia decided you were old enough to function on your own and fired the waste of money. You spent your years after that in the library, absorbing information, reading fanciful stories with mothers who loved their daughters. You wondered why Cecilia never loved you.

When you turned ten, Cecilia brought home a man. She introduced you, and you stood like instructed, pretty and well behaved. He patted you on the head, but never spared you a glance. He was tall, blond and very, very young. Much younger than Cecilia. And he was much too enamored to care for you, Cecilia's little child. Cecilia encouraged this behavior, and although the number of people in the house had grown, you were all alone. You were always alone. But it was ok, you were used to the silence. You sat in your large playroom, and cried into your pillow, muffling your feelings in the silk. Cecilia didn't need your burdensome feelings.

The summer you turned eleven, Cecilia brought another man home. And this man was kind to you at first. He gave you candy and treated you with kindness, luring you into his trap like a spider. The first time he hit you, you had cried defiantly for Cecilia. And of course Cecilia had not come, for she would rather believe her boytoys over her own flesh and blood. Humans were cruel things, ready to hurt others at the drop of a hat. And Cecilia was the cruelest. Nothing comforted you for ounce as you cried into your comforter, as unloved as before.

The summer you turned fifteen it was clear you had inherited Cecilia's peerless beauty. You spent the rest of the summer mastering makeup and when you arrived at your private school you were instantly popular. The makeup just elevated your already peerless beauty and people, both boys and girls fell at your feet. You reveled in the popularity, the love. A different kind of love, but love all the same. The house congratulated you, but Cecilia didn't care. She never did, after all.

Your grades never fell however, you simply could not let them. If you were proud of anything, it was your intelligence. It was wholly yours, unlike your beauty, inherited from Cecilia. You hated that you were her creation, hated it with your entire very being. You loved your intelligence, however. It came from your father, you were told briefly by Cecilia, and because you had never met him it was easier to accept his qualities. The house was from your father, his money at least. A gift to Cecilia.

And the one gift he had ever gotten you was a ring, a gorgeous piece of silver and emeralds that Cecilia had taken, stoll right from your pudgy two year old hands. You had never even gotten to hold it as an adult. You didn't miss it, not really. But you hated the trait you shared with Cecilia, a sense of selfishness, and a love for jewelry.

It was on your sixteenth birthday, sitting at a table alone as you were blowing out the birthday candles, that you truly cried without the comfort of your pillows. Cecilia was out, and as you eat your cake, you soon come to realize that you had grown up too fast. You had been an adult since the moment Martha was fired and you had sat in the cold walls of your beige playroom, crying and crying for comfort, something that would never find you again. You were a shell, a puppet, a beautiful china doll empty of love. You were Cecilia. The house laughed at your plight, as you sobbed into your pillow, muffling your feelings into the comforting silk.

It was a hot summer day, a few weeks after you turned seventeen when Cecilia broke the news. You were sitting by the pool, sunbathing in your swimsuit. Cecilia simply walked in, spared you a glance, and informed you she was getting married. You felt a small shiver of surprise run up your spine. Cecilia had had many boyfriends, yes, but she never married them. This man had to be different. Or maybe it was her age, and her fading looks. You hated the spike of happiness that pillaged though your heart, you hated how feelings of hatred turned you into a spiteful shrew, just like Cecilia. Cecilia had cracked open a beer, flipping through her magazine, sparing you one last glance. “He has sons, two of them.” She had said, closing the screen door behind her.

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“There you are, Name. You're late.” Cecilia said, giving you her usual faintly disapproving stare mixed with disgust. You still quail under it, even though it's the same one you’ve seen for years and years and years. You still fear her disapproval, even after all.

“I'm sorry Cecilia.” You say, straightening your spine. You're still in your school uniform, and the bus was late but you know better than to give excuses. Cecilia doesn't care for those. The little skirt and blazer combo is one of your favorites, and the only thing you truly love about St. Catherine's private school for young ladies. The walls of St Catherines are barren and cold, but not as cold as your own. Cecilia flips her hair, looking perfectly put together as always, although her age is beginning to show around her eyes. She hates it, you know, and you love it. You can't wait for Cecilia to wither away, her personal worst nightmare.

“Don't embarrass me, Name.” Cecilia says, her cold eyed stair rooting you to your place. “Just smile pleasantly and entertain your step brothers, alright Sweetheart?” She says. The pet name reeks of disinterest but her disinterest is preferable to her anger. For when Cecilia angers the foundations of the very house shake. You nod, and Cecilia takes that as enough. A knock sounds on the door, and any ugly expression is gone from her face as she flies for the door, opening it and hopping into the arms of the man behind it.

He’s your mothers usual type, tall and handsome, but several years older than you would have guessed. He spins her around, and they kiss. You look away. There are two boys standing behind him on the doorstep, and to your surprise they also look away from the torrid display. Their strange boys, both around the same height, but that is the only thing they share in common. They don't even really look related, but who are you to judge? Done with their display, Cecilia and her new husband step through the door, still attached at the hip. Cecilia throws you a glare, and you put on your customary smile, a smile so fake you feel like a barbie doll.

“My daughter, Name.” Cecilia almost imperceptibly grimaces at the word daughter, gesturing at you. You smile. “Hello.” You say, feeling like a fake. The man gives you a smile, gesturing at his sons, who have stepped through the door, and now stand on either side of him and Cecilia. “My sons, Fyodor and Osamu.” The one on the right smiles at you, the other one simply gives you a nod. They're so different, you’d almost think them adopted. But you can see their features in their father.

The smiling one, Osamu, has short wavy brown hair and sparkling brown eyes. He gives you a tiny wave, and you feel your smile become genuine for a second, before you catch yourself. The ones who smile are more dangerous, you had learned long ago. They lure you with kindness and hit you with force. He’s dressed in a wrinkled button down and uniform pants, his posture casual with his hands in his pockets. A matching tie hangs crooked on his neck. It's the uniform for your school, or the boys school across the street. St. Catherines school for young ladies and St. Andrews school for young men share a single campus separated by a metal fence.

The one on the left side is pale, almost sickly pale, with dark circles to match his long dark hair. It looks soft, his hair, and brushes just below his jaw. H’s eyes are dark, and they run over your face, almost as if they're checking for cracks in your composure. He’s dressed in the same uniform, but his appearance is more neat. His tie is tied correctly, and he wears a black jacket over the rest of his uniform. They are strange boys, but you are very used to strange after all.

“Name? Entertain your new brothers, Sweetheart.” Cecilia says. You wince at the nickname. You hate that nickname, you hate it so much. “Yes Cecilia.” You bite out, smile still in place. You feel empty, like a porcelain doll. A tool Cecilia can use and discard at any moment. You feel disposable. You hate it.

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Your new brothers are kind, if a little strange. The quiet one with pretty hair, Fyodor, is a year older than you. He plays cello and dislikes Cecilia, which makes you like him a lot. Fyodor treated you with an amount of distance at first, but slowly warmed up to you when he found out you play piano. He had informed you one day, when he was helping you with homework, that his mother was a Russian supermodel. And he’s handsome, you're not really surprised. He’s kind in a quiet kind of way, less teasing than his younger brother. You also notice how he subtly moves forward, shielding you whenever Cecilia is angry. You love him for it, that protectiveness.

Osamu is younger than you by about six months, and loud. He quite clearly makes it his goal to be the loudest person in the room and you love how it annoys Cecilia every time he steals her thunder. He’s a very touchy person as well, unlike his brother. He would comfort you with jokes when he saw you were down, and could not cook for the life of him. His reaction to Cecilia was the most reactionary. He taunted her, shot smart alec remarks in her direction, or just plain ignored her. And every time he got a reaction. Cecilia’s face would flush red with anger, and she would strike out, just to be dodged with a snarky little comment. And the more angry she got, the more pleased Osamu became

And they hate each other, the brothers. At first you had thought they got along well, but then you noticed the snarky little comments they would trade back and forth, the glares behind their parents back. Everything is a constant competition, be it a board game or report cards they make it their goal to beat the other each time. And you don't really mind, the house feels warm and full of life, and you feel included. To them, life seems a game, and the people who live it merely pieces, to be moved to and fro to their pleasure. You must assume yourself a spectator, not a piece, but if you were a piece you would like to be the queen. Cecilia didn't like your new brothers, that much was obvious. But she still used them to belittle you every chance she got.

“Your brothers got all A+.” She would say, pinning you with that faintly disgusted expression she used as default. “And you got an A.” You would surrender to your room to cry in peace, away from Cecilia's proud eyes, and the prying ears of your much to perceptive brothers.

But if they shared anything, it was a sense of mystery. Because each of them never allowed you to get too close, keeping you forever just a length away. You tried not to take it personally, but you still shed a tear or two.

But for the first time in many years, you were happy. The house congratulated you, as its hallways filled with laughter to replace to silence, its rooms with color to replace the beige. Cecilia was as unpleasant as ever, but she was busy with her husband, and left you and your step brothers to their own devices. But still you feared it would all go away. That soon, they would tire of you, that they would never let you close, that Cecilia would grow tired of her husband and toss out the trash as she always did. It was a nagging fear that came back to haunt you in dreams, until you woke up in a cold sweat.

And there's an odd tension that hovers in the air, whenever you and the brothers interact. A strange tension that makes your blood sing with excitement, that leaves you on your toes with anticipation. When Osamu slings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a loose hug of sorts. When Fyodor pulls your hair behind your ear, his cold fingers brushing your face, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It's a tension you’ve felt before, a tension you don't want to give name to, a tension that scares you. But then, you're sure it's just you, that your new brothers simply treat you as a sister, like how you should treat them. You should not desire your step brothers, Cecilia had told you the night before they moved in. But then again, Cecilia had never been a very good role model.

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It's raining, big fat drops pattering against the roof, wind splattering the droplets against the window panes. A faint clatter can be heard from outside, as if the wind itself is crying, banging at the doors. The wind sounded lonely. It banged on the doors of the world, begging to be let into the light, much like you had when you were young. You wanted to comfort the wind, to hold her in your arms with the warmth you had never been given, but everyone knew you could not hold the wind. So you simply told her to stay strong, and let the night and rain embrace her for you.

You would always read when it rained. You remembered a book you had read long ago. It had been the one to solidify the wind as lonely, and had been oh so impressionable to your young mind. ‘Keep strong wind’ it read, ‘keep strong and soon the rain and night will hold you in their comforting embrace, will keep you warm and happy…’. You had always seen yourself in the lonely wind, and had dreamed of your rain and night to comfort you. The library had long been your only comfort, and you begged for human comfort, human warmth.(You didn't dare to hope that your step brothers could be your night and rain, because you knew god would hear you and laugh in your face. Because god loved Cecilia, not worthless you.)

Cecilia and her husband are gone, on a weekend trip to Hawaii. You were not invited, because of course not, and neither were your brothers.

The house is almost silentand with Osamu out at book club the house seems to sigh in relief, giving itself time to relax before the loudness returns.

You are curled up on the couch with a book, listening to Fyodor as he practices his Cello. It's a cozy evening, the fire crackling in the grate, the strains of the first movements of Brahms – Cello Sonata No. 1 floating through the cozy atmosphere. You hear the piano part along with him unconsciously, fingers tapping your things in rhythm. You can never quite beat the musician out of you, it's embedded into your very being at this point.

Brahms – Cello Sonata No. 1, the first movement is a deep piece, and slightly depressing if you're being honest. But you love the melancholy that surrounds it. It creates a certain air, allowing the instruments to tangle together beautifully almost as if the melodies are dancing together. They twist like lovers, the parts, dipping one then the other, a beautifully teasing medley of pure emotion, something you could never truly give in life. It would be nice to dance with Fyodor, he was such an elegant human being, from the way he walked to his looks. You imagined the two of you would sail across the floor of the ballroom, his gloved hand on your waist, twirling you and spinning you and only looking at you. You wanted him to gaze upon you with reverence, much like the men your mother married gazed upon her. You want to be loved.

The Cello part comes to an end, and you sit silently for a moment, hesitant to break the spell. Then Fyodor's accented voice, still slightly hushed, breaks through the atmosphere. “How was it?” He says. You love his accent, it feels all full and warm. “Good, good as always.” You say, putting a finger in your book and looking up. “You were a bit sharp on the first note of measure twenty seven.” You're reading Pride and Prejudice, again. You’ve always loved it, and have read it some many times you’ve simply lost count.

Fyodor sighs, leaning back in his chair and resting his cello back into its case. “You always catch my mistakes. What would I do without you, Name.” He says with a small smile. Your heart warms at the praise, your smile threatening to break out of its confinements, all together and split your face in two. You tamp it down, putting on a face of disinterest you're not sure he believes. You always get the vague feeling that your brothers know you better than you know yourself.

You flip through the channels on tv, happy to have control of the remote. It's all the usual, sports games and real housewives and spanish game show episodes. You put on a random movie, which sounded interesting. ‘Essential object of enjoyment,’(is a title that to anyone else would scream softcore porn film, to you, still a sheltered girl of seventeen years old, it seemed as innocent as a daisy. You were not a virgin, but inexperienced and somewhat oblivious, so at odds with your calm adult attitude.) Fyodor plops himself on the couch next to you, a tedious foot away. He seemed too far away but all at once to close, the heat of his body a tease beside you. You clench your legs together, pulling in on yourself.

The film is about a young woman named Maria, who is taking a vacation on a very sketchy manor in a strange small town. It's a low budget film, with crappy acting and even crappier scares, but it's entertaining and you find yourself settling in against the couch, slowly leaning closer and closer to the warm human beside you. And soon, as Maria decides to ignore all the advice of the locals and enter the abandoned church late at night, you're so close your shoulders are almost touching, and finally, you dare to lean into him.

He lets you, slinging an arm around your shoulders with an excuse none of you are listening to anyway, and pulls a small blanket over your bare legs. “You're cold aren't you?” he says, voice hushed in your ear. You shiver, with a nod. You arent that cold, but you want to be close to him, to feel his heat, his warmth. You're sure he knows this, and you let yourself feel hopeful for once, curling into his body like a pedigree cat.

And as you watch the movie, heart pounding in your throat, it dawns on you that something is very clearly wrong. The budget is too cheap, but the camera work is too advanced, the camera’s to expensive. The acting is too bad, but the actress has professionally done makeup and hair. And then, as you watch Maria get tied up by the clean masked man, it all makes too much sense. It's softcore porn. You move for the remote, fishing around for it on the couch, desperately. You're already flushing, your thighs rubbing together as you reach around for it. The idea of watching a porn film with your step brother is humiliating and embarrassing and frustratingly arousing.

“Do you need something?” Fyodor says, rubbing little soft patterns in your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. You nod. “The remote, gonna switch channels.” You're already flushing, but have stopped your frantic fishing for the remote. He frowns in disappointment and you automatically tense, so used to Cecilia’s disappointed or angry stares. “Can we leave it, I'm actually enjoying it.” He says. You glance at the screen, where Maria is now being threatened by a knife. You desperately want to say no, but the people pleaser in you insist you agree. And so, you sink back into his touch, flushing.

‘Where is it? Where is it?’ The masked man is saying to Maria. The film takes a moment to focus on the actress’s bountiful chest, and you try not to writhe with embarrassment and jealousy. You bet Fyodor likes big boobs, Cecilia said all men like big boobs. Her’s are fake, but you don't feel the need to protest and get a slap.

The bad guy of the film is a man in a purple mask. He’s thin in stature, and tall, overwhelming Maria’s small frame. He reminds you distinctly of the man sitting beside you, with his face hidden like that. He has a russian accent in the film as well, just like the man beside you, and as he whispers in her ear it does stuff to you.

‘Tell me where it is or there will be consequences.’ the man in the mask says.

‘I will never tell you!’ Maria says definitely. You watch in horror as the masked man's thin fingers slip between her thighs. The camera cuts to her face of surprise. It's clear that this is where the actress’s true chops shine, as her mouth drops open in a little oh of surprise.

You feel hot, biting back a whimper as you press your thighs together, hoping that your step brother doesn't notice.

‘Your such a slut for my fingers aren't you?’ The man in the mask bends Maria over a table, the camera now showing a cut of his hands pulling her thighs apart. All you can picture in your mind is you as Maria, and the man in the mask as Fyodor. When the man in the film speaks all you can hear is Fyodor’s voice, his teasing lines, him all him all him.

And then, the other bad guy of the film appears. And honestly it should shock you out of your dirty fantasies, but the other man, this one in a teal mask, sounds very similar to your other step brother.

You can imagine yourself in Maria's place, bent over a table like that, fingers shoved up your cunt, dick keeping you silent. And most of all, pretty praises falling out of your step brother's mouths. ‘Such a pretty girl, such a smart girl, so good for us, such a slut for us—’

Fyodor’s eyes are on you, you can feel them even as you focus resolutely on the screen. He speaks near your ear, a pur, a whisper, a tease ment for seduction. “What are you imagining, darling?” He says. He speaks like he already knows, and through your haze of arousal clouding your brain you let the words escape before you can stop them.

“Fingers in my cunt.” You say, your voice a whimper. Maria on the screen begins to moan, loudly. The volume goes down on screen and you're too lust clouded to question why Fyodor had the remote.

“You want fingers in your pretty cunt baby?” Fyodor purrs in your ear, his long pale fingers teasing the edge of your uniform skirt. “You want my fingers stuffed up that tight cunt of yours? Would that feel good?” You whine, head falling back against his arm, eyes falling closed.

“Oh yes, please.” Your voice is embarrassing, all breathy and whiny. This whole situation is illogical, and if you were able to see through the haze of lust in your brain you would have backpedaled immediately. But you're horny and in love and he’s encouraging you.

His fingers caress the edge of your panties, teasing you with glances of touches, driving you crazy. You grip his arm, the one teasing your pussy and shove the hand against your drooling cunt. The man beside you bites back a groan, muffling his pleasure, but you hear it. It reassures you that he wants you too, but also drives you insane, craving sweet relief with his touch.

Fyodor’s fingers find purchase, clever musicians' hands pulling back the crotch of your panties. He chuckles as you clutch his arm, still clothed in his loose white turtleneck and jeans. “You're so wet darling, your little cunt is absolutely drooling.” he says, his accent doing things to your brain, to your pussy. Your eyes catch on the dirty picture. He drags his fingers through, collecting a fair bit of wetness and popping his fingers in his mouth. The picture is nasty. He keeps eye contact all throughout, sucking his fingers wetly, the dirty slurping sounds filling the room.

“Here darling.” He holds out his wet fingers, dripping with a mix of saliva and your own arousal. “Suck.” He says. You take them in your mouth obediently, tasting the mix of arousal and saliva. The very idea that you're tasting him, that you're tasting his very being, makes your abandoned cunt clench around nothing, the nasty slurping sounds you make only fueling the arousal perfuming the air. At some point Fyodor had turned off the porn, and now the only sounds that fill the room are from the two of you. A different kind of music than that you're used to, a symphony of debauchery.

His fingers leave your mouth with a pop, and you open your eyes. He smiles at you, all hazy eyes and spit slicked lips. “Good girl.” He says, and then shoves both fingers in your cunt. You arch off the couch at the abrupt intrusion, clenching down hard around his fingers with a scream. ‘Oh, oh god Fyodor!” You say, panting. He looks vaguely proud as he scissors you open, watching as you thrash around on his fingers, bucking desperately.

The sound of the door slamming penetrates the haze, and you grip Fyodor’s fingers, trying to stop him. He just continues to fuck you open, grining all the while.

“Man, fuck you Fyodor.” It's Osamu, looking less surprised and more annoyed. Fyodor just continues grinning as you moan on his fingers, drooling pussy on display. “I consider this a win then?” He says, smirking. Ah, another one of their competitions. You would pay more attention but your being fucked open by Fyodor’s long relentless fingers. You keen as he adds another one, gripping his arm with a nasty whine.

Osamu speaks to Fyodor, but his eyes are fixed on you. “It's not over yet, you fucker.” He says, slamming his backpack down on the floor and sauntering over to you. “Name declares the winner. Deal?” Fyodor, now rubbing a thumb on your clit nods, holding out his other hand to shake. “Deal, that sound good darling?” You nod around your moans, not truly comprehending what that means. Osamu sends you a rather scary looking grin and pounces.

They move you into a doggy position first, Fyodor replacing his fingers with his cock. You're already so close, and as you feel the large intrusion bully your walls apart you cum right there, your head falling against the couch cushions. “Oh, oh, oh god, ‘m coming!” You scream, drooling onto the couch. Fyodor grunts behind you. “You're tight.” He coos. Osamu grips your jaw, draggin you off the ouch to look at him. “So pretty too, just perfect aren't you.” His dick is already hard in his jeans, you can see the bulge as Fyodor begins to move, fucking you through the overstime. You whine in pain, the sharp pains of overstimulation mixing with the blinding pleasure they give you. Dazai chuckles.

“We’re going to fuck you do good darling.” He says, running a gentle hand through your hair. “Make you feel our love.”

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It's when you're three orgasms deep, and you're hung over the couch backwards, a dick down your throat and cum dripping from your pussy, that you maybe start to have second thoughts. Their stamina seems endless, and they bring to the edge relentlessly, their competitive natures making them drive you to orgasm after orgasm. The world is hazy at this point, and all you feel is pleasure, all you hear is their voices, all you want is them, them them.

“Switch her around Osamu.” Fyodor says, his accent rough though the haze. You feel yourself hoisted up, and now you're folded into a mating press and Fyodor’s fat cock is bullying your walls again. Cum leaks out of all your holes, the loud squelching sound letting you know that you're thoroughly ruining Cecilia's favorite couch. You're covered in sweat, completely naked and makeup ruined, and to the boys you’ve never looked so pretty. They tell you at length, compliments showered on your exhausted form.

And as you cum yet again, clenching around Fyodor’s dick with a weak cry, you feel so loved, so appreciated, and so optimistic.

And then you bended into another position, Dazai’s dick lodged into your ass, Fyodor’s in your dripping cunt.

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“So, which of us won anyway?” It's Dazai, and he sounds plenty exhausted. You sigh tiredly, holes dripping cum onto the carpet and exhausted. “Draw.” Is all you manage to pant out.

Fyodor beside you chuckles. “I guess we’ll have to have a rematch then.” You're exhausted, but you feel your pussy clench tiredly at the mention of that. “Yeah.” You sigh out tiredly. The boys chuckle beside you, each pressing a kiss to your cheeks.

“Love you Name.” You hear them whisper in your ear. You smile as you drift off the sleep.

End Notes: I am actually a piano player, and every time I listen to classical pieces nowadays I feel really bad because I haven't been practicing lately because my piano teacher is taking a break because she had a baby.

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #kinktober 2023 #bsd smut #helplesslypurple77kinktober #kinktober #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai x reader #dazai smut #fyodor x reader

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blingblong55 · 4 months

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Merry little Christmas-141

Photo credits:(twitter/X) @/bigmikemw

A/N: Have yourself a merry little Christmas -Kasper <3

---- GN!Reader, platonic!relationship? fluff/comfort? ----

After so much loss, blood, tears and sweat, Task Force 141 found themselves in a cabin, a Christmas tree decorated, a fireplace lit and much laughter filled the room. The once empty and cold cabin now hosted the fond memory. It was the night before Christmas when not a soldier was awoken by night terrors, not even a gun used to inflict harm; the camouflaged stockings were hung by the Chimney with care, in hope that peace would soon be brought to their lives; The soldiers all nestled in their beds; Smoke from cigars now gone as even the eldest of them all slept well.

By morning, the soldiers woke up, Gaz, Price, Soap, Ghost and R/N and to their surprise, Kate Laswell had gifts that greeted them all. Price sat int he sofa first, Soap and Gaz smiling like they won the war. Ghost and R/N walked in with mugs for all to have and through the early morning, they read the letter that sat upon the chimney, opened gifts and smiled to know someone out there thought of them with care.

Gaz received a new hat, multiple actually, one that was happily decorated with the word 'Soccer' the same one he would wear to taunt his best mate for some time. Soap received a football signed and dedicated to him from his favourite team and a letter from his family back home. This of course brought the young soldier to tears as he smiled at the letters his mother so lovingly wrote for him. R/N, received a letter as well, written by Laswell, thanking the young soldier for their sacrifice when they helped Laswell in some past operation and then, the small box held a mask, made just for them. "Just like the one I lost." You recall a past operation, losing a mask and also losing part of yourself. "To the memory of the late R/N and here's to the new R/N, may they live forever." The embroidery read.

Ghost, receiving archived photos of his family, tea bags and Kentucky Bourbon. He chuckles as he remembers sharing a drink with Laswell many years ago and how he found himself sharing his life with her and Price. He holds the bottle, staring at it and smiling, someone remembered him. Price laughs, two boxes of cigars, all from the brand he adores and hidden behind a mug that read, "Soccer lover." He groans a laugh and shows it to Gaz who laughs and shows him the cap that was given to him. "Don't dare," Price points a finger only to have Gaz laugh, "I'm not missing a chance to wear this and annoy you." Now, Price has a gift idea for Gaz's birthday.

A knock on the door and when opened, they find Santa herself, wearing a Christmas hat and her wife behind her. "Good morning, hope you are all hungry for some homemade meal?" She shows the large trays of food, made the night before and for this occasion only. Kate's children run around, playing with the young soldiers as Price helps the two ladies with the table. "You didn't have to, Kate." She shakes her head, "Nonsense, you five deserve this and take it as a thank you for what you and the team have done for me." Kate's wife passes by Price, "Trust me, just take the food and eat, she won't take no for an answer."

Kate sighs, "Just eat, trust me, Martha Stewart helped me make this meal." "The book did, honey," Kate's wife corrects her from the kitchen. "What she said." Price chuckles, "Might as well do that." Throughout the cabin, the children ran around, showing off what Santa had brought them the night before to the young soldiers. Gaz and Soap are stuck playing with Nerf guns and the occasional Barbie break. R/N ran around the dining table, chasing the youngest child of Laswell. "Never seen Ghost so…happy and excited," Price mentions as he observes Ghost have a tea party with plushies and the little girl of Laswell.

"I think this is the first time he likes someone else's tea," Price jokingly says and watches Ghost get a fake tiara on his head. The little girl giggles any time Ghost pretends the tea is too hot and he sighs in relief when her younger brother plays doctor and helps Ghost with the pain.

And now, it is safe to say that for the first time in their lives, they have a photograph that celebrates how for a moment, war stopped, smiling all genuinely portrayed and all in Christmas sweaters as the photo was taken. 'Christmas of '23, TF 141 and The Laswells' the photo has written on the bottom. At this moment, is commemorates a new tradition, Christmas dinners at that cabin, where life is peaceful.

To the team, Thank you for your help and support in operations I have given throughout the years. It is my understanding you all will share a cabin this Christmas and in classic fashion, I have sent gifts for you to open the morning of December twenty-fifth. Times haven't been the greatest to you all but I promise that for at least this very moment, you shall be granted time to care for the other. It is also my understanding that you all consider yourself a family, which is why, by the time you read this letter, you'll get a knock on the door by the very family that considers you all a part of their family. And for all that I love, watch your words amongst my kids, all of you.

May you have a merry little Christmas, Kate Laswell.

Tags:

@eicee @loviie-stuff @liyanahelena @cinnamon-cola @sadieesssss @kitschaosden @wrathofcats @johfaam0 @frazie99 @spicypicklesoh @vampsquerade @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @enarien @luvecarson @willowaftxn83-87 @saoirse06 @ikohniik

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quindread · 11 months

Text

THE COTTAGECORE MARI AU PROMPT THAT NOBODY ASKED FOR

Pairing: Daminette (edit: they’re like 19/20 in this, post high-school)

Rating: It has mature themes, you have been warned. But it’s pretty tame at the same time. Violence + Sexual Themes

________________

Mari is diagnosed with PTSD and anxiety disorder after she quite literally removed her beloved city’s supervillain (and her dear partner’s parent) from the plane of existence. Like she removes the suffering from the minds of all of Paris and has Gabriel written off in a car accident a year after his wife’s disappearance. Only her Court (Adrien, Kagami, Zoe, Alix, Max) and the Order remembers. Mari and Adrien decide not to pursue a relationship. They’re both healing and are decidedly better off friends - siblings in everything but blood.

Lila, who was not punished due to her not really being a miraculous holder and upsetting the balance, continues to slander Mari. Her class isn’t hostile but has no desire to interact with the “new and mean Marinette” Lila was painting her to be. It’s still a huge betrayal given the fact that Mari was supportive and very generous to these people.

So here’s how her new housing arrangement works: have you ever wondered how Gina can afford to travel around the world without a job? Yeah, I think she came from money. Like, old money - real estate old money to be precise. Passive income and such. Hearing about her Fairy’s situation, she offers an unused property at the countryside of Metropolis.

Marinette’s therapist and parents approve of her vacationing there for the summer when they realize that her stressors and triggers where all environmental. So off our girl goes!

Note: She does not have the mother box with her anymore, just Tikki, Plagg, and Kaalki. (She does have unrestricted access to it as the Grand Guardian though - she trains with the Order once a week in Tibet until she doesn’t)

Mari is aware of the Supers and was relieved that the Kwamis don’t show up in x-ray visions and with the fear of them eavesdropping she learns FSL to communicate with them.

The townhouse and the verdure around the property inspires Mari to start a garden. The quiet oddly soothes her and when she feels lonely she goes into town or the nearby farmer’s market where she charms the locals. She meets the Kents - they love her! Martha enjoys baking with her. Lois uncovers her identity as Jagged and Clara Nightingale’s exclusive (and reclusive) designer - they bond over fashion trends and the gossip surrounding the industry. Clark and Jon were another story.

She figures them out having sensed the same soul in Superman and Superboy in this father-and-son duo. They x-ray her as a precaution and finds the mysterious cracks and evidence of past injuries that should have killed her. There’s a very anti-climatic reveal that Martha and Lois are not privy to with respect to Marinette’s wishes.

At least one Kent would be in her home during the day. The Kwamis are free to roam around when it was Clark and/or Jon visiting. She ends up bonding with Jon who also grew up too fast (metaphorically and literally).

She ends up extending her stay in Metropolis indefinitely. Her parents also decided to open a branch of their patisserie there which Mari managed. They visit her as often as they could.

Mari was dismayed to find that no, Metropolis had no schools with both a fashion and business degree - that’s how she ends up in Gotham University.

Jon tells Mari about a Damian - a friend of his.

J: He’s…. uh… he has a big heart.

M: …

J: He’s a bit of an asshole(?)

M: Ah.

Mari meets Damian who reminds her of Kagami - antisocial and proper. They share a few business classes and are both members of the art club.

Mari is still this ball of anxiousness and has only allowed Mia “Maps” Mizoguchi and Katherine Karlo into her life, the former she learned was close to Damian - she didn’t mind when she and the girls met up with Damian, he was quiet, honest, and minded his own business. Through their hangouts Damian finds out about the friendship between Jon and Mari.

He’s hesitant to befriend her at first due to the conflicting rumors about her: due to her timid personality she had a split reputation. One side called her sweet, shy, and kind. While the other calling her arrogant, high-maintenance, and rude. He soon finds out that the latter half were spread by cliques who’s offer of friendship she declined and men she rejected. He was glad that he relented to Maps’ insistent invitations - she was a decent person to hang out with and it didn’t hurt that she was pleasing to the eye. (She also enjoyed sharing her vegetarian salads with him - he starts appreciating it more when he learns that she picks the vegetables straight from the garden she grows.)

As her luck would have it, a robbery unfolds at one of their favorite coffee spots. Mari and Damian - who were both pretending to be civ - try to find a way to protect their friends. The robbers recognizes Damian as a Wayne and takes him and another GU(a school for rich and affluent people’s children) kid - Marinette - who had stood in front of her friends.

They’re gagged, blindfolded, and carted off to who knows where. Damian discreetly activates a distress signal and the bats spur into action. Mari, aware that she was sturdier than Damian, draws the men’s attention to her (she purposely pisses them off and gets beaten up when they start to pester Damian).

M: [removes her gag somehow] Really? A ski mask? And in black? How boring can you get?

*Damian shaking his head furiously in the background*

Kidnapper(KN): Shut up, girlie!

M: You know I always wondered how Kidnappers could have a secret a warehouse as a hideout. It’s not like you can afford the rent—

KN: Are you trying to get yourself killed?

M: You’re backed up by some politician aren’t you?

KN: H-How the fuck did this bitch know?

M: There’s literally a stack of campaign papers behind you.

KN: Wha—

M: That’s some shit graphic design by the way. I’ve seen grade schoolers that can do better.

KN: [points a gun at her] Shut up or I’ll blow your brains out.

M: You wouldn’t.

KN: The fuck do you know—

M: You need me alive to get ransom from my parents.

KN: …Nobody said you had to be in one piece though.

M: Touché—[get slapped hard]

*Damian basically starts convulsing in the background*

M: …Damn. You punch like a cunt—[And the kidnappers basically start to rough her up]

The bats arrive in five minutes and it’s Red Hood that finds them first. He sees these mf’s beating up a woman and goes ballistic(pun intended). Red Robin and Spoiler has to forcibly restrain him when he starts to use his fist instead of his guns.

M: [bleeding and bruised] And that’s how you deck someone, you amateurs.

D: [who was released by Black Bat is confused, mad at himself, and in awe] You blithering idiot! Why the fuck would you aggravate our captors like that?

M: [delirious] It was either you or me Damian. Can’t have your pretty face damaged now, can we?

D: [Is floored and very concerned] And what of yours?

M: … dun worry—my assets are…elsewhere… [passes out from the pain]

D: …

Later, his family would tease him about the flirting when he isn’t all sensitive about the incident.

Winter break comes, most of the Batfam visits the Kents(they have a penthouse/some ridiculous property in Metropolis) as a tradition. The Kents went to visit Gotham and stayed at the manor last year.

(Batfam who went: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Steph, Cass, and Damian)

They visit Mari too. Dick and Steph are absolutely thrilled about her cottagecore lifestyle. So much so that they match her aesthetic and begin helping out in the garden - they send pictures to Alfred who request they bring back fresh produce.

Jon and Jason plot to get Damian and Mari together. Unbeknownst to them that Damian was already resolute on courting Mari like the decorous man that he was - he didn’t know what he was doing but Mari’s flush when he initiates flirting tells him he’s doing okay.

Because of his childhood, Damian was never the type to be touchy but imagine his shock when he finds out that one of his more prominent love languages was physical touch. He realizes he’s touch-starved almost immediately when Mari starts giving him small touches like a hand against his bicep, she had a fondness for touching his hair which never failed to deliver a shiver down his spine, and hugs from her are comforting - she felt like home.

Meanwhile Mari does not have any idea how she survived the early stages of Damian’s advances. He was blunt and did not pull his words with insults but it apparently translated to him being verbally open with his affections.

M: I always wanted to be the Knitting Fairy while growing up.

D: Does it not please you that you became a garden fairy instead?

M: Huh, that doesn’t sound so bad.

D: Well, you certainly look the part.

M: [turns into the same shade as the poppy beside her]

And then when the tension between them became more prominent he wasn’t shy with dropping innuendos too.

M: [open’s the door for Damian, haggard from lifting sacks of garden soil] Oh, I didn’t know you were coming so early. I’m a bit of a mess. Sorry.

D: [Tilts his head] You say that as if I wouldn’t appreciate you sweaty and tousled after a rigorous activity.

M: [self-combusts]

And when the touching began?

M: Damian, what color do you think looks better with this shade of blue?

D: [places a hand on her side while looking over her shoulder] I think the a more neutral cream would do.

M: [stops functioning]

Their first kiss?

Pulled straight out of a book that Marinette only read in the privacy of her bedroom.

They’re teasing each other, it evolves to a game of cat and mouse with Damian skillfully evading her. She corners him by turning on some of her sprinkles. He gets wet, growls in the way he would in Mari’s dreams, and pulls of his shirt. She’s too distracted by the hard planes of his stomach to notice him prowling towards her like a beast moving to claim his prey. He picks her off the ground with ease - he’s a foot taller than her - and takes her to the sprinklers.

(I’m going to write this part out properly, maybe to inspire myself or a potential adopter of this prompt)

“Nononono!” Marinette shrieks as the first round of water splashes her. She writhes but Damian had her arms held down her sides.

“All is fair in love and war, Ya Amar.” She ignores the endearment in favor of closing her eyes as the sprinkles rotate in their direction again. But she knows what it means. Ya Amar. My moon. His moon. The water had nothing on the chill that ran down her spine

The water stars seeping into her intimates and she’s soberly aware that the light fabric of her dress would betray her. It doesn’t take long for Damian to discover that fact, he releases a strangle sound. She opens her eyes, he snaps his eyes from where he was clearly looking at her chest. He scrambles to drop her.

“Shit— I’m sorry. This was not my intention—“ he starts but she’s faster. Her now free arms grasps his shoulders and without a second thought, she drops her lips to meet his. Damian inhales sharply and he tilts his head, temporarily breaking the kiss before raising her higher and pulling her by the back of neck - he kisses her with hunger and passion that has Marinette melting further against his chest.

She wraps her legs around his back and he moves to tightly grasp both the back of her thighs. She would worry about bruises later when she didn’t have Damian’s tongue caressing her own. He drops them to the ground and Marinette does not release her hold over his waist. She whines against his lips when she feels the consequences of their activity.

His hands start wandering as he greedily collects and files the sounds that leaves her lips. He begins to trail kisses down her neck to the neckline of her dress that now clung to her body like a second skin giving him his first peek at the maddening shape of her body. And just when he trails a finger against the underside of her breast a loud noise pulls them apart.

Jason finds them and the sight in Mari’s garden has him dropping the shovel he was asked to bring over.

J: Fuck! No, don’t stop! Hell—I’ll leave—I didn’t see shit!

D: [moving to cover Marinette who covered her face in embarrassment] Fuck off, Todd!

J: I’m sorry! [slams the door shot]

D: Tt.

J: [shouts from inside the house] Use protection!

D: Todd!

They started officially dating that day and Jason had no reservations in sharing that he definitely cockblocked his little brother much to Mari and Damian’s horror.

Both keeps the PDA to minimum in school but it was very clear how amorous they where in “private”. There is a table in the art hall that Mari can’t quite look at without blushing to her roots.

She finds out he’s Robin after her first encounter with his alter-ego. He confesses his past when she confronts him. There’s fear of abandonment in his eyes when he gazes at her after his spiel but she kisses his worries and doubts away. She even goes to show her appreciation for his years of service to Gotham.

Her reveal happens when she unceremoniously drops a vial in Jason’s hand claiming that it would remedy the effects of the Lazarus pits with continuous use - it was completed after a year in the making.

Cardinal joins the Batfam occasionally as part of Batman’s contingency plans. They respect her choice as a retired super-soldier and try to keep her out of the business which she appreciates. She is officially initiated as a member of Justice League Dark as an informant/magic specialist and a wildcard.

Years later, she legally inherits the property from Gina when she and Damian get engaged. Damian moves in with her and she lives her cottage life all while being a reclusive designer that comes out once in a while for fashion week.

FIN

AN:

Maybe there’s a Lila take down somewhere but I don’t have the energy to write her at all. We all know its Damian and Tim that makes sure she never sets a foot in high society ever again.

Ig add some details about learning to healthily cope with her anxiety disorder under the guidance and love of her found family? (I have a similar illness but me and my therapist are still figuring it out so I have little idea how to write this) Her PTSD does not need further discussion (miss ma’am had to kill someone) but her anxiety disorder stems from the fact the she’s a person who’s in charge of world-ending powers - everyone and even yourself can become untrustworthy. She starts to get nervous from misreading body languages and everyone is suddenly out to get her.

#mlb x dc #i wrote this instead of studying #daminette #marinette dupain cheng #bamf marinette #maribat

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long-live-astronerd-ghost-king · 1 year

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Dannymay 2023. Day 7. Weapon. DPXDC.

The Justice League is trying to figure out Danny’s identity, and he’s not happy about it.

~Words hurt more than weapons~

~~~

Wonder Woman: You’re bound by the Lasso of Truth. No more chance of hiding secrets, ghost.

Danny: Are you kidding me?

Batman: Who are you, Phantom?

Danny: "I am a 400-foot tall purple platypus bear with pink horns and silver wings."

Captain Marvel: Wow, you don’t see many Fire Nation princesses these days.

Danny: Hm, at least someone with good taste here.

Danny: Have you even read the Fenton articles? Batman? Anyone? No? Remember. Ghosts will always find a way to lie. Your ribbon has no power over me.

~~~

Danny: ..I have a few words for you too, Batsy. Martha says hi. And she wants you to know that " ..if I see a damn clown in the immediate vicinity of one of my grandchildren or if I find out that you or any of the family are on patrol with broken bones, I’ll spank you as soon as I meet you on the other side. Obey Alfred. With love, Mother."

Flash:..Batman, why are you so pale?

Batman: Someone sprayed the fear toxin. Check the ventilation.

Flash:..

~~~

Superman: Stop it! Listen..

Phantom: I liked you when I was a kid, you know? They say it’s better to never meet your idols. Now I see it's truth.

Superman: You shouldn't be doing this alone. We can help you.

Danny: What makes you think I need your help? Don’t be a hypocrite. Why don’t you take off your glasses at the Daily Planet office? And why do you think that you can tell me what to do with my secret identity?

Danny: Don’t worry, I’m dead but my family is fine. I’m not like you, Big Blue. I will not sacrifice the people I love for my murderous secret.

Superman: What are you talking about?

Phantom: Don’t play dumb. In the land of the dead, people like to talk about the past, you know. You told Jonathan he wasn’t your father, and then you didn’t even try to save him. It’s cruel. But you can be happy, Jonathan doesn’t blame you for his death. I do.

The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees.

Superman: I.. I listened to what he said. He was trying to protect me.

Danny: So, how does it feel? Letting him die in front of you, knowing you could have saved him? Do you blame youself?

Superman: How dare you.

Danny: Of course, you do. Because no matter how many lives Superman saves, the most important one to you..You’ll never got it back. Afraid of being a lab rat? Superman is not special. I am not special too.

Danny: Don’t look down at me just because you have more experience behind you. Revealing my identity should be my choice, not yours.

~~~~

Danny: Stay out of my grave. *turns to Batman* You should stay away from your son’s grave too. Leave the past behind.

~Hairstyle. Sharp tongue. Physique. This Insolence.~

Batman: Jason?

Danny: Wrong ghost, old man.

Batman: ...You’re the one who said a ghost would always find a way to lie.

Danny: Pride and prejudice! *shit, I’m starting to swear like Mr.Lancer, It’s time to finish my english essay.* I’m not your Robin. Sorry bout that.

~Jane Austen? No hint more obvious. Jay doesn’t want to deal with the League? Well, Bruce doesn’t mind playing along.~

Batman: I understand.

Danny: Thank Ancients! Anyway, I’m leaving. Don’t look for me.

~~~

Tucker: Wow, Danny, when we told you to take care about the League, we thought you’d do it, like, without turning all of them against you.

Danny: Not all of them. And I didn’t do anything wrong. We talked.

Jazz: Danny, believe me, sometimes a conversation with you can cause more damage to your enemies than your ectoblasts.

Sam: Not just to them. Sometimes I also feel like his ideas are melting my brain.

Danny: Hey! Actually, you should be on my side.

Sam: We should?

Danny: Never mind. But if JL set foot in Amity Park I will sic on Wonder Woman her grandfather.

Tucker: But her Grandfather is Kronos. He’s a creep, trying to eat all his kids. Where do you even know such a monster from?

Clockwork *puts a cup of tea on the table and coughs to attract attention*.

Tucker: Wait a minute...

Tucker: Oh mY GOd, Mr. CLocKWoRk I’m sO SorRy, please don’t kill me.

Sam: Now you’ve changed your mind about importance of a healthy vegan diet, Tucker?

Tucker: ..No, I’m not that desperate.

~~~

~At the same time,somewhere in Ghost Zone~

Martha *teaches Jason to do a choke hold*.

~~~

~At the same time, in one of Amity Park’s alleys.~

Maddie and Jack *discuss ways to capture the Phantom*

Batman *appears behind them*:DoN’t toUcH my the сHiLd.

~~~

Jazz: Don't you think that mentioning Superman's father was too much?

Danny: Maybe.But..when I think about you, mom or dad in dander I can't imagine what would make me freeze and.. It just doesn't make sense, okey?

Jazz: You're still thinking about Dan, right?

Danny: Every.damn.time.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dannymay2023 #dannymay #Danny Phantom #dp #clockwork is kronos

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unadulteratedsoulsweets · 1 year

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A DC X DP IDEA #1 A mother’s love stretches throughout the realms

Imagine dis…

What if Danny Fenton is a reincarnated version of Martha Wayne (I’d like to think that she is a badass woman, not your typical rich girl) When the portal accident happened he began remembering the life before Daniel “Danny” Fenton happened. At first, he thought that these memories are nothing more than ‘dreams’, as dreams kept us all day and are often forgotten the moment we wake up but every time he woke up from each ‘dream’ he kept remembering the love and fondness to a man who has the same built to his dad. The care, protectiveness, and love that he gave to Dani to a young male that looked like him, the feeling would cling to him throughout the day. The feeling of protectiveness would amplify his own. He wants nothing more than to find that blurred young boy and make sure that they are right. His core kept aching for that two individuals.

Far worse each year on a specific day. The horror and fear crawled up his spine as well the relief and safety towards the mystery boy.

The moment Danny turned 18 he was crowned as the High king in the Infinite Realm. The moment the crown and ring are within him he is bombarded with information about the information and secrets of the Infinite Realm, he also remembered his son.

He tried to find his husband, Thomas Wayne but was saddened that he couldn’t find his love. But also felt relief seeing that he found peace in his afterlife for him to move on.

After making sure that the balance is restored throughout the realm he wishes to see his son one more time. Using the information he got when he was crowned he navigated through the Infinity realms and entered the DC universe.

He turned invisible to see his son in Gotham, but what greeted him made him fear the worse.

There lay a very injured Batman, how did she know it has his son? Never heard of the phrasing “There is an endearing tenderness in the love of a mother to a son that transcends all other affections of the heart”

She knew that is her boy, and quickly turned to help his son. Learning under the teaching of the yetis, especially through Frostbite’s guidance he is able to make himself stable enough.

Pressing the panic button under his utility belt he can’t help but linger his eyes towards his boy.

His boy who has done much and given much, he who has so much to love to give, who gave all of his heart, body, soul, and mind to those he calls sons and those who he considers his kin, his boy who turned into a fine young man.

All of a sudden, he wasn’t in a grimy alley anymore but at the Wayne manor taking care of a 7-year-old Bruce who fell ill after playing under the rain.

Thomas his love, besides their son, whispers how he is handling that cold like a champ while Alfred is carrying an empty bowl of chicken soup out of the room.

He can’t help but go back to his old habits, rubbing his boy’s chubby cheeks, promising sweet words to his boy that It will be all right. While singing his lullaby for him.

The moment Nightwing appeared, a lingering cold air remained at the spot beside the man he call father.

It's been a few days since Bruce was recovered and healed up in the manor, having Dick fill in the gaps of Batman for a few days.

At the cave, Bruce is trying to recover the audio as well as the recordings through his cowl as he refused to be compromised. His children assured him that when the rest of them have gotten there he was all bandaged up and no one near could have been his savior. He refused to take the such chance.

The video is nothing more than a lost cause but the audio is clear enough for Batman to listen through it.

The situation, the faint feeling of fingers rubbing his cheeks, and the whispering words of reassurance made him remember but it was the lullaby that sealed the deal and made him freeze up

Come stop your crying

It will be alright

Just take my hand

Hold it tight

I will protect you

From all around you

I will be here

Don't you cry

No…

There is only one person who knows that song… that night he knew he looked like a man on a mission.

Who is that person who clearly knows his mother’s lullaby to him?

Somewhere near Crime alley, Danny is thinking of meeting the rest of his grandchildren's booth that was adopted officially and unofficially by his son's booth in and out of their suits.

As well as thinking of ways to heal and avenge his second grandchild looks like Jason got his hatred on clowns.

Hey! He may be Martha Wayne at one point but he is also currently Danny Phantom who is the king of Infinite realms, Champion of Balance but most importantly hates clown with passion as well willing to beat that clown up for killing his grandson.

PS: If someone out there wanting to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so.

#dc x dp prompt #dc #dp #bruce wayne #dc x dp #danny fenton #danny phantom #infinite realms

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plus-size-reader · 1 year

Text

Dating Bruce Wayne HC

~Bruce is an easy person to be with romantically

~So long as you’re a fan of awkward glances and late nights

~Bruce Wayne is a night owl and doesn’t actually make it to bed a lot of the time, so get used to cold sheets and early breakfasts

~A ton of really uncomfortable eye contact, because expressing his feelings is hard for Bruce and sometimes he just can’t express what he’s going through to you. It’s easier to just hope you get him well enough to work it out for yourself.

~Staunchly protective. Bruce has seen the underbelly of his fair city and as much as he adores it, he wouldn’t trust it with his most prized possession.

~Lots of little touches

~Bruce always has some kind of contact with you, whether it’s a hand on your lower back while you’re walking through a crowd or reassuring squeezes to your hands or shoulders as he passes.

~That being said, he isn’t “touchy” in any way. He doesn’t touch you just for the sake of it, every touch is deliberate and intentional.

~Bruce also isn’t particularly vocal if he can help it.

~After a while of being together, you just get to know all his little tells and actions that give away far more about how he’s feeling than he’d ever actually tell you.

~He’s careful, and guarded to a fault so don’t expect getting him to open up to you to be easy.

~Constantly getting dragged to galas and events, partially because it’s good for the heir to the Wayne empire to be seen out and about with you on his arm and partially because he simply can’t survive them on his own

~Bruce’s love language is absolutely gift giving, not because of the sheer amounts of money he has but because it was his fathers love language.

~He grew up watching Thomas shower Martha in just about everything she could have ever wanted, and that’s how he sees love. More than anything, he wants you to know that he loves you the same way his father loved his mother.

~Little black smudges all over your pillows and towels from all the eye makeup

~He’s a little (a lot) moody

~Bruce gets grumpy a lot and would probably get snippy sometimes if he’s too tired or hasn’t eaten in a while but eventually, you get good at not paying that too much mind.

~He’s covered in bruises, cuts and scars. Most of them you don’t take care of for him, but one occasion, he’s let you check them out just to make yourself feel better

~Having dinner together, at his favorite place, on the same night every single week…as long as he isn’t busy wearing his mask and saving the soul of Gotham city

~Constant check ins from Alfred, who grows just as protective over you as Bruce is.

~It’s important to remember that Bruce grew up richy rich and high society so sometimes he gets a little snobby. He likes expensive wine and the kind of classical music that blends into the background of a room.

~If you didn’t grow up like he did, he’s going to be a little out of touch.

~”You can’t just drop that much money out of nowhere”

~”I don’t know. Not everybody was a boy billionaire”

~Dating Bruce Wayne and dating Batman are two different things but somehow, you manage to juggle the two without issue.

~Absolutely loves to rest his head against your middle, especially if he’s getting overwhelmed. He loves to just pull you into him wherever he’s sitting and hide away in you for a while.

~Small surprises all the time. You haven’t actually woken up without a pastry from that little french bakery you love or a cup of hot coffee since you moved into Wayne Manor.

~Forehead kisses

~Bruce is sensitive to bright light, which you adjust too quickly, which means a lot of candle lit dinners and nights spend in front of the roaring fireplace in your pajamas

~This man is a fantastic boyfriend. He’s absolutely on top of everything. Sometimes, he forgets his own appointments and things like that but never yours.

~That’s the deal. Alfred takes care of Bruce, and in turn, Bruce takes care of you.

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ruukina · 8 months

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WOLFISH

FANDOM: final fantasy xvi PAIRING: clive rosfield x reader ( gender neutral, afab ) RATING: explicit / 18+. minors dni. SUMMARY: After an exhausting week of running around Valisthea, you return home with your heart full and missing a certain outlaw. What you find upon your return is different... but not unwelcomed. WARNINGS: slightly rough sex, dirty talking, breeding kink, implied heat cycle. WORD COUNT: 7.7k

A/N: yeah i'm fairly down bad for this man. i normally don't write reader fics but i'm trying to expand my horizons so. here we are. gotta feed myself in this economy right?? expect more ffxvi stuff, whether its reader insert or other shit because the brainworms are very bad.

read on ao3!

It’s a silent ride back to Hideaway, as it always is on these solo missions of yours.

It’s not a common thing, but every so often you find yourself having to run around all of Valisthea with the job of making payments and collecting orders from the many kind souls that have been helping the cause that even keeps your personal home afloat. In fact, you could even say as Cid’s personal advisor, this was your main job; Otto was busy running the Hideaway and keeping it in check, so the job fell to you when you weren’t tailing after the man you worked under.

You also didn’t mind it, because it meant you had some time to yourself. You had the wind at your back, the smell of sea water to keep you company, and you could be in your thoughts alone.

Usually you didn’t mind it, at the very least.

It’s not a long task to do or even a hard one, in fact you’d argue that most of your time spent there is arguing with the likes of Martha and Isabelle and even L’ubor to accept the gil that Cid himself has offered to give them, but this month’s mission of yours was different. It seemed like a certain boss of yours had racked up a few requests and the people he graciously helped either wanted to give him a reward or send a letter to ask for more help. And since you were unfortunately playing messenger, it meant that you were basically running around and doing his job… in the sense of gathering the requests and gifts, of course.

So, you were being a little delayed in returning. You made sure to send a Stolas, to let everyone know you weren’t dead - just incredibly busy.

But now you finally found yourself on the ferry back home and you were impatient to get back. Excited to get back to everyone, excited to finally be returning after about a week of having to travel by Chocobo to get to everywhere.

Excited to return back to him.

“Hey, Obolus, are we almost there yet?” You peer over to the ferryman, the wind wilding through your hair.

Obolus didn’t even look back at you, as he ‘tsks’ in response. “We’ll get there when we get there. Asking every five seconds won’t make the boat go any faster.”

You scrunch your nose at him, but he did unfortunately have a point. The trip usually never feels so long, but after being away for what seems like months, you were just anxious to get back and rest your feet. The silence of the ride passes, with only the sound of waves pressing against the exterior of the boat.

You lean against the side and take the chance to reflect on all that’s happened. All that you’ve experienced.

All that you’ve done.

You don’t really remember when you became Cid’s advisor. It’s had to have been years at this point, you remember only barely being what one would call an adult. You were a bearer without a brand, hiding your magic behind crystals. It’s what your father had taught you, to protect you from the cruel world you were born in. You were cursed, your mother refused to even acknowledge your existence - even more so after the death of your father. You only lived the way that you did because your mother loved your father more than she loved you, and made your father take care of you.

Your father never gave up on you. An idealist in a world of realists, he really thought you could be the one to change the world.

He set himself up for failure, you bitterly had thought when news of his death arrived at your doorstep. He died for a cause he believed in, sure, but now he expected you to carry on that torch for him. And maybe there was a part of you that wanted to fight for a better world than the one you were handed, for those like you. You weren’t really sure what your true feelings were at that time.

There was one thing you did know, however; you knew you weren’t safe in your mother’s care, so you ran the day after your father’s passing and never looked back. You’re not even sure if your mother is even still alive or if she even misses you. Did she start anew, start all over with someone else and have a child she could be proud of?

As the years went on, you found that you didn’t even care. You can’t remember her face anymore.

You were crafty, a trickster, because that’s what kept you alive. Somehow, your paths with Cidolfus Telamon crossed. Not just once or twice, but five times. Four times, you rejected his appraisal and invitation to join him.

On the fifth path crossed, and the day he saved you from death, you finally joined him. You didn’t really expect to stay long in Hideaway, only thinking you would spend a few weeks or even a month before you jumped ship. You never stayed in one place for long, because it was always too dangerous for you to attach yourself to people. But everyone was so kind, so nice to you, and welcomed you with open arms.

Especially Cidolfus.

You clung to him a lot, maybe because despite only meeting him five times he was the only person you really knew, and somehow you managed to become his advisor with your skills and your ability to pull him back to the ground. Otto was against it at first, not because he didn’t like you, but you were barely an adult. Yet, Cid had smiled and patted you on the shoulder, telling Otto that there was more to you than meets the eye.

It’s much more than what your mother gave you. Worthless, unneeded, dirty, sinful - that’s all that she had called you. Your own father would try and raise your spirits, but her words were sharp as a knife and they cut wounds in your wrists. Weeks turned into months, months turned into years, and you stayed. You stayed with the people who would become your family.

One day, Cid left with Goetz and the wolf he ( or rather, charon ) cared for, because of rumors of Shiva’s Dominant finally rising in a place where he can finally catch her, to give her the freedom she needed. He came back with Goetz carrying a girl on his back, and a branded man with the wolf practically attached to his hip.

Clive Rosfield.

You didn’t realize it at the time, but the man before you would change your life completely.

Cid introduced you to him, asking you to watch over him and help him adjust to the Hideaway. It’s almost funny to think about, because despite Clive’s grumblings about ‘not staying long’ ( words that echoed in your head as familiar, because you had said the same thing ), when you finally got track of him again, he was out helping the people of Hideaway.

You made a joke about that and he quickly looked away, some colour on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. It was a cute sight, unsightly for a rugged man like him. Despite his appearances, he was kind and soft, albeit a bit cynical from the hardships he faced in his life. Then you ended up helping him help people, because there wasn’t much to do at that time and you needed to stretch your legs, and that’s how Cid decided on his great idea to make Clive your personal assistant.

Clive then realized when Cid told him you ran him ragged, he meant it, because once Cid assigned Clive to you, it didn’t take you long to get him working because as long as someone could move, they could work. But of course, you joined Clive on his journey to help him out. Some days you had to stay at Hideaway but for the most part, you were at his side alongside Cid.

You and Clive bonded together. Quick whips with one another, long nights together trying to figure out your next course of action with the Mothercrystals and how to save Valisthea, and slowly he became someone you… well, liked, essentially. You don’t exactly make friends with people, because you’ve never really had the chance to do so, but somehow Clive stabbed his way into your life and heart.

He became softer with you, and you did too. You found it was easy to smile with him, to laugh with him, to love him. It scared you, because Clive was a Dominant - the second, mysterious Eikon of Fire, and yet something so much more than that. It was basically a target on your back, even more so than the relationship you had with Cid.

But you found that you couldn’t stop loving him, that you would endure the burning world for him. Maybe that scared you more.

He held you when you sobbed and broke down over Cid - the first time your mask of being strong ever cracked. You hated it, you hated being weak, because Cid didn’t need weak people helping him. Cid needed someone who could put themselves back together, but this time you couldn’t. The pieces of you were scattered all over the floor like glass and every time you picked one up, you cut your hand and let the blood drip from your wound.

Yet, Clive held you. He held you close, he didn’t judge you, because he was crying alongside you. Cid meant so much to everyone, including him. You sat in his arms, and he didn’t leave until he knew he could leave you alone without worrying over you. His gentleness contrasted his roughened up look, he looked at you so softly and filled with fondness towards you. He was not afraid to help pick up the pieces, even if it meant cutting his hands in the process.

He put you back together, and he didn’t complain about it. Not even once.

Your relationship with him bloomed. Your friendship with him became something new, something else. It was a dangerous love, because of who Clive Rosfield is - what he is. Yet, you never swayed. You never faltered.

No matter what, he’s Clive to you.

But in public, he is Cid and you are Cid’s advisor - like you always were. You two were professional on the outside, only sneaking away to shed those titles when you had enough time to. You didn’t get those chances a lot, but when you did he made sure to treat you like you were a deity. You’ve had lovers in the past, but they never made you feel like Clive made you feel. He made you feel loved, appreciated, cared for. You took care of him, but he always took care of you in return. He never simply just took, he always gave back.

No wonder you were anxious to get back to him; you’ve missed him dearly.

“We’re approaching the Hideaway!”

The ferryman’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. You open your eyes, quickly looking towards the horizons. Even in the blackest of nights, with the moon being your only light, you could see the shape of the broken down airship that you and everyone else called home. You could feel the smile creeping on your face.

“I’m home,” you whisper.

To who exactly? Not yourself, but to the man who was waiting for you.

You thank Obolus for the ride home as you step off of the boat, quickly rushing up the stairs. Most people had turned in for the night so there were only a few souls still haunting the Hideaway, and they offered their greetings to you and a cheery ‘welcome back, advisor!’, to which you returned with a smile.

You feel a little silly rushing through the halls, like an eager child, but you were happy to be home.

You were happy about seeing him again.

You skid to a stop when you reached your destination. The Tub and Crown was a bit of a ghost town around this time, but you knew there were still a few people aside from Maeve haunting the area.

And you weren’t wrong. There sat Gav and Jill, with Torgal laying at Jill’s side. The hound lifts his head up at the sound of your footsteps, and once he lays his eyes on you he quickly stands up and rushes over towards you with a happy sounding bark. Since becoming Clive’s partner, Torgal never really left your side either. If he wasn’t with his owner or Jill, he was shuffling at your hip and following you around.

“Torgal!” You greet happily, kneeling on the ground to pet him and spoil him with some treats you carried on hand once you got close enough to where the two sat.

The two break from their conversation to see what Torgal was barking at, both of them greeting you with a smile on their faces.

“Well, if it ain’t our favorite advisor!” Gav slams his drink down. He looks you over, peering at the basket of gifts and requests at your side - all for a certain someone. “Talk about bein’ fashionably late. You weren’t kiddin’ when you said almost everyone in Valisthea was keepin’ you away.”

Jill nods her head in agreement, cupping her own chin to look over the heavy basket. “It sounds like you’ve had quite the adventure yourself.”

“Oh, it was the same ol’ stuff I deal with everyday. Just this time everyone in Valisthea caught wind that Cid’s advisor was in town and decided to make it their problem.” You rub Torgal’s belly, to which the hound accepts with happy pants.

Speaking of the aforementioned man… You look to the side of Gav. No handsome brooding man there.

You look to the side of Jill. No handsome brooding man there, either.

“Where is Clive?” You stop petting Torgal for a moment. “I figured he would be hanging out with you.”

Gav rolls his eyes a little, both good naturedly but also in some slight annoyance. “Went right to his chambers to work on things when we got back. He’s been in a bloody mood all week.” The scout holds up a finger. “Scowlin’ more than usual, more antsy than usual, tappin’ his foot while he waits at the door.” Every reason is met with a finger going up. “Not like everyone is afraid of him here, but it felt like we had to walk on eggshells around him. Even Charon was tryin’ not to rib him so hard.”

You blink a little, a brow raised. “Has the missions been going poorly or something?”

“Fuck no,” Gav shakes his head in response. “Everything’s been going smoothly. He’s just been actin’ like a shite.”

“He hasn’t been that bad,” counters Jill. Though, there’s a slight pause of hesitation from her. “But Gav isn’t wrong, he has been in a bit of a mood. More than likely, he was just worried about you.”

Worried about you? It’s not like you can’t handle yourself, and you’ve definitely been on missions longer than a week without him. You can’t help but scrunch your nose in thought - as always, when you’re thinking hard. Something was up with him, clearly.

Jill reads you like a book, with a smile on her face. “He’s still up, last time I checked. He’s burying his nose in reports as to distract himself. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the visit from you.” She stands up from her seat, as Torgal also rolls over and trots back to her side. “I’ve got some work to do with Tarja, but it was nice seeing you tonight.”

You nod your head, standing up and dusting yourself off. “Tarja, huh? Try not to stay up too late with her, alright?” You laugh a little when Shiva’s dominant huffs softly at your teasing, giving you just a gentle nudge in return. The two of you have gotten quite close over the years, and she was supportive of you and Clive. You felt like you could sigh in relief at that, that you didn’t have to worry about Clive’s childhood friend coming after you.

Gav finishes his drink, standing up as well. “I’m turnin’ in for the night.” He pats your shoulder with a grin on his face. “Make sure you give our leader a nice, warm welcome!”

He only grins harder seeing your cheeks turn red like a tomato at the implication of his words, and Jill’s soft laughter only makes you turn ever redder. Ah, there was your punishment for teasing Jill. The three of them make their way out of the alehouse, your eyes following them as you think about your conversation.

He’s in a mood.

What could he be in a mood about? You’ll have to do some digging, which isn’t hard - if there’s one thing Clive is with you that not even a sour mood could change, it’s that he was honest with you. It’s one of his best traits, really, that he’s open with his feelings and doesn’t usually shy away from speaking his mind about certain things. It’s not always easy, because there are some things he keeps to his chest, but for the most part communication is always important between you two. You pick up the basket of gifts and quickly make it to the end of the hall, where Clive’s chambers were.

And well, they were technically your chambers too, you think with the heat growing at your cheeks once more.

Shifting the basket a little, you use your free hand to knock on his chamber doors - once, twice and thrice.

“The door’s unlocked.” Clive’s low voice fills your ears. He already has you sighing and letting out a quivering breath. Founder, you’ve missed him.

You open the door with a smile on your face. You take in the sights before you - his room is as you left it, with the man himself seated at the desk. He seems to be burying himself in his usual reports and paperwork, just as Jill said. He didn’t even lift his head upon you entering.

“Guess who.” You smile, as you close the door behind you.

The sound of your voice has Clive immediately lift his head from his work. Cerulean eyes widened, the quill he was using drops from between his fingers and clattering on the desk.

“You’re back.” He sounds almost breathless. His chest raises a little as he breathes in and out, those cerulean eyes of him looking a lot more puppy-dog than usual.

This was different, indeed.

You walk towards him, placing the basket on the edge of the desk not covered in scattered papers. “Just got back. Gifts for you by the way, I was hunted down by weary souls who wanted to give their thanks to the so-called Cid the Outlaw.” You peer at him with a gentle, loving smile on your face.

He laughs a little in response, a rare smile forming on his own features. “No wonder you’re late. Sorry about that. I’ll be sure to pen my thanks to them soon.”

You shake your head at him. “Oh, don’t even start with the apologies. It’s my job to aid you, it’s kind of in the title.” A pause, shifting your feet a little as you hold your hands behind your back, shyly. “And… you know I’ll do anything for you, Clive.”

The words you whisper made him smile a little more. “You have perfect timing. I’m actually finishing up and I could use your advice.” He nudges his chair back a little, gently patting his thigh.

For a moment, you stare with a tilted head, until you realize the implications. Your cheeks turn red.

Oh, he’s inviting you to sit there.

Oh, this was different, indeed.

But you don’t hesitate or falter at all. You take a seat on his thigh, leaning against him. One of his strong arms wraps themselves around your waist, pulling your body flushed against his. The position is a little embarrassing, you have to admit to yourself, but it feels warm, comforting - loving. It doesn’t take long for you to fall back into place, flipping through the letters and offering your advice and help to him.

It also doesn’t take long for Clive to stop paying attention. He nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent. His hot breath tickles your skin, a shiver running down your spine, as his fingers draw circles in your hip. His lips ghosts around your skin, pressing the gentlest of kisses to your neck as though he was whispering forbidden words in your skin. The quill from his fingers once again falls onto the desk, the reports forgotten about as his attention shifts to you. It’s hard to focus when he’s like this, so you decide to also forget about the many papers that littered his desktop.

“Jill and Gav told me you were in a mood.” You finally shift the conversation to what was really on your mind.

Clive only offers a grunt at first. “I’m not really in a mood.”

“Are you? You’re acting a little differently tonight.” Your fingers run through his hair, out of his eyes. “What’s on your mind, Clive? You know you can tell me.”

For a moment, he hesitates, but he knows he doesn’t like keeping secrets from you. You know he doesn’t like keeping secrets from you. He pulls you close to him, finally lifting his head to look you in the eye.

“I was fine when you left, but after a day, it felt like there was a pit in my stomach.” Clive runs his fingers up and down your hip. “Hunger, I suppose, is the best way to describe it.”

“Hunger?”

“I felt like I couldn’t focus with you gone. It was worse when I was here alone. Your scent was so much stronger than it usually was…” Clive recounts, averting his gaze for a moment from slight embarrassment, but he quickly focuses back on you. “The more days you were away, the more the hunger grew.”

“And the grouchier you got?” You tease him, though your tease was cut short and replaced with a slight yelp when he pinches your thigh with a huff.

“I wasn’t grouchy.” He counters, but his tone of voice sounds like he’s not exactly fighting the accusation.

You think about what he’s said, though. A hunger he felt for you. It started happening when you first left. He found that your scent was stronger than normal, even when you weren’t there. The symptoms sounded fairly familiar to you, and you hummed a little in thought as you ran your fingers through his hair. He groaned in delight at that, leaning into your touch and burying his face in the crook of your neck once more.

“Maybe you’re going through a rut?”

Clive lifts his head up. “A rut? I’m not a dog, love.”

“I mean, you travel with a dog, you constantly have a permanent puppy-dog eyes look on you and you turn into a dog-lizard thing. You’re kind of dog-adjacent.” You shrug cheekily, with an equally cheeky smile on your face. “But I’m serious about the last thing. We don’t know a whole lot about Ifrit. Maybe it’s going through some kind of rut or something and it’s affecting you. It is springtime, you know. Maybe nature is just setting course for Ifrit, too.”

It’s a pretty plausible theory. Clive stops to think about it for a brief moment, his breath tickling your neck once more as you sigh. Still, he says nothing at first and pauses his movements, until he looks right back up at you, his gaze meeting yours.

“You do realize the implications of your theory, right?” His pupils are blown out, more than usual. His strong, calloused hands grip your hips, shifting you a little so your lower half is flushed right against his.

Oh, there’s something pressing against you. Your body warms up, a heat and ache pooling right in your core.

You didn’t realize how much you miss his body pressing against yours in such a sinful manner, until he rolls his hips against yours in want and need.

“I meant what I said,” you begin to say, your hands gripping to his shoulders as you slowly grind against the bulge in his pants, meeting his hips’ movements. You couldn’t help but grin a little when he moaned lowly, a sound just for you. “You know I’ll do anything for you, Clive.”

That’s all you’re able to get out at that point, because once you give him permission to do what he needs to do, Clive’s lips press against yours. It was only a sweet, soft kiss for a for seconds at best, because it quickly turned into something fierce, hungry. His tongue prods against your lips, wanting access into your warm mouth, and you gladly part your lips for him, because you need him as much as he needs you. Your tongue presses and swirls against his - it’s a small battle for dominance you never win, but you know he likes a small challenge. His own tongue presses and pins yours, until you ease away to let him completely take the reins.

The kiss is hot, wet, truly sinful. His hands grope everywhere he could, mostly squeezing at your thighs and hips with his fingers digging into your soft, plump flesh until they found their way to your rear. Squeezing and grabbing, groping in such a way that would make you flustered had you not been needy with your own arousal, he lifts you up as though you’re made of nothing but feathers, and truly you’re a little limp in his grasp. Clive’s strength always managed to make you feel dizzy, in a good way, and that doesn’t change here. He pushes his chair back, leaving the desk and the many reports he still has to do in the dust and makes his way towards his bed - your shared bed.

He only breaks the kiss to place you down on the mattress, gentle pants leaving both of your lips as a string of saliva connects the two of you. It breaks as he pulls away a little more, only to dive back in and press fluttering, wet kisses to your neck. Just like the kiss from before, it turns into something a little more hot and brutal; his lips suck at your skin to give it a bruising mark, teeth sinking into your flesh to draw just a little bit of blood from you. You groan hotly, your fingers gripping at his dark locks as your hips jolt upwards. Clive licks and kisses at the bruise and bite mark he left, panting gently against your flesh.

“You still taste so, so good.” Clive whispers into your skin, as his hands tug right at your shirt. He tries his best not to rip it, but unbuttoning your shirt during these kinds of acts was never exactly a cleanful tact, because you can already see a few buttons pop off just from him ripping it open. You chuckle a little; some things really don’t change.

Your chest is bared to him, and Clive wastes no time in pressing gentle kisses on naked skin. Trailing down, he kisses, licks and sucks on any skin he could latch himself onto and sinks teeth into your sink that leaves behind a delicious sting of pain, until finally reaching your left breast. Your breath hitches a little as his tongue swirls around the nub of your nipple, the hitched breath morphing into a needy moan once his lips latch around it to give it a gentle suck. His fingers tease and play with the unattended one, his attacks on you relentless and cruel - cruel in the sense he never slowed down.

“Clive.” you whine with a high-pitched voice, trying your best to roll your hips against his. But he doesn’t let you, pinning you down with just his pelvis. He lifts his head up, a smirk on his face.

“Just lay there and let me make you feel good,” whispers Clive. The way his low voice sounded so commanding, you can’t help but obey him. He was always like this, though; he was always chasing for your pleasure and never his own. He loved you, he wanted to make you feel good. It was never really fair! But at the same time, it truly was nice. He was so different from lovers you had in the past, who only cared about their own needs.

He attends to your other breast, giving it the same treatment - a lick here, a suck there, leaving a trail of bruises and bite marks in his wake. Once he’s satisfied, his lips start to trail downwards. He worships you like this, with his lips and his tongue, making sure there’s a patch of skin with his mark on it. His hands make work of your bottoms, pulling off the offending fabric until you were just left in your undergarments. You expect to feel his fingers on your skin so he can pull them down, but instead when you look down, you see Clive is using his teeth to pull them down.

Oh, this is different. Normally he takes his time with you; press himself against you, kiss you all over. Even as someone who prefers to please his partners more than please himself, it seems like tonight he’s impatient.

“Seems like someone’s been wanting this,” chuckles Clive as he spreads your lower lips a little to inspect you. “You’re already so soaked. All I did was tease you a little. Founder, you’re as depraved as I am.” His hot breath hits your wetness as he speaks, never once pressing his lips against you. You jolt a little at the feeling, a soft huff escaping your lips.

“You started this mess,” You tell him, your fingers already gripping in his hair. “You finish it.”

Another chuckle leaves his lips. Clive is impatient, though, and he wastes no time in pressing his lips right against your dripping entrance. His tongue is relentless here just as it was on your skin; it wastes no time in slipping inside of you, as he starts to drink your essence and fuck you with his tongue alone. It’s almost unbearable to you, in a good way - he drinks like a man starved.

Clive is so good to you, but he knows how to be so cruel, because he knows you enjoy it. He knows how easily you melt on his tongue, and he enjoys every single moment of it.

His fingers slip in as well, two of them pumping in and out as he moves upwards a little, finding your clit. The tip of his tongue flicks at it and you feel the smirk against your entrance as soon as you squeak and moan from his actions. He licks, sucks, his movements becoming faster with each second that passes. You’re trying so hard to swallow back your moans, but the moment his lips wrap around your clit and give it a hard suck, you can’t control your volume anymore. It echoes off of the walls, embarrassingly so, but your mind is so fogged that you don’t seem to care like you usually would.

The knot in your lower stomach painfully tightens, you can feel yourself reaching your peak as Clive continues to tease your clit and thrust his fingers in and out of you. Just as you’re about to find your release, though, he abruptly stops. He pulls himself off of you, his fingers are coated with your essence.

“Clive–” You begin to whine, almost in pain. You stop yourself short when you watch him lick his fingers clean - slowly, like he’s putting on a show for you. Once they’re clean, he looks at you as though he’s a predator who has caught prey in his trap. The slight darkness of the room makes his cerulean eyes have a glow to them. The knot in your stomach returns.

He intends to devour you, his way. He’s going to drag this out, until you’re begging and crying for release.

Clive crawls back onto the bed, his hands moving to undo all of the leathers and fabric of his clothing, until he’s as bare as you are. His cloak and shirt go first, dropping onto the ground until his chest is revealed to you. Greagor, you could probably write several missives about Clive’s chest and muscles, but despite what your lover may say, you’re not that depraved. You keep all of those thoughts to yourself, like a good advisor should. Your eyes drift down with his hands, watching as they fumble a little with his belt, stifling a laugh from how needy and excited he is.

You stop laughing once he finally does undo his belt and pull his pants down, revealing his hard cock to you. You’ve seen it before, it’s been inside of you multiple times now, but you still hitch your breath when you see it. The gods certainly graced Clive with something to brag about, for certain.

If you ever do meet Ultima maybe you should thank him for giving his vessel something that would make you cross your eyes and forget your own name, but something tells you a narcissistic god obsessed with the purity of his vessel may not appreciate the sonnets a mere mortal would write about said vessel’s cock.

Pre-cum dribbles at the tip, his fingers coated in a mix of his saliva and your juices as he uses it to his advantage to stroke himself a little, to really give you a show now. You hear yourself panting, your chest heaving up and down as you watch the sinful sight before you.

“Enjoying yourself?” Clive smirks, smugness in his voice.

You huff a little in response. “I’ll only enjoy myself when you actually fuck me instead of showing off, Rosfield.”

He laughs a little, leaning down to kiss your forehead sweetly. “As my faithful advisor commands.”

You have no time to respond, as he quickly flips you so you’re on your stomach, face slightly pressed against the pillow beneath you. He presses his front against your back, the tip of his cock pressing against your wet folds teasingly. Your needy whine and rear thrusting back to try and get him inside of you earns a laugh from him, but thankfully he’s not intensely cruel tonight. He presses inside of you, though it’s not as slow as he normally is. Normally he takes his time with you, but in just seconds he’s got his entire length inside of you. You feel the way his body shudders against your back, your soaked walls clenching around him. A sigh passes your lips, morphing into a moan.

You’ve missed this. You’ve missed him.

His thrusts are slow at first, but it doesn’t take him long for him to pick up his speed. His hips meet your backside, a wonderful symphony of skin slapping against each other fills the room, loud enough to make your ears burn with embarrassment. You bury your face in the pillow to muffle your moans. A hand wraps itself around the back of your neck, though, to pull you up towards its owner. Clive’s heavy breath is in your ear now, worsening your arousal.

“Don’t hide your voice from me,” pants Clive, sharp teeth nibbling at your earlobe. “I want to hear you.”

And you find that you can’t deny him. Your moans are loud, needy, your knuckles turning white from how roughly you’re gripping the sheets to the point where they might tear. His other hand snakes down your stomach, reaching your lower half, and his fingers make work on your clit. It’s a slow rub, his thrusts contrasting the gentleness of his fingers. You can feel yourself reaching your peak, you can feel the knot in your stomach tightening and tightening until–

Until he pulls right out of you.

You whine, loudly, at the loss. Your walls clench at nothing, and you try to thrust yourself back towards him, but Clive doesn’t let you do that. Instead, he flips you both again - him on his back and you sitting on his lap. He looks up at you with a smile, his hand running up and down your stomach once more.

“I know exactly what you like.” The outlaw says, pulling you forward so his cock rests right against your stomach. You feel how hot it is, how hard it is, and how it throbs and pulsates against your skin. “Show me how much you want to cum.”

Oh, he’s definitely dragging this out as long as he can. You can’t exactly blame him, you don’t want this to end either.

But you also really need to reach your peak, otherwise you may burn the whole Hideaway down.

Your wobbly legs manage to hold yourself up, slowly moving down on him. Your whole body shudders as his cock fills you up again, the tip pressing against the deepest parts of your inside. You move up and down on his length, moans and pants spilling from your lips as you decide to not hide your voice any longer - because he wants to hear you. And you can’t deny him, because you don’t want to deny him.

“Founder, your voice alone drives me mad.” Clive growls, his hand squeezing your thigh as he thrusts upwards to meet your own movements. “Tried to focus on my work, tried to put you out of my head for days, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I needed you blissed out on my cock–”

He’s rambling, his voice low and rough, and you love every second of it. Clive’s not much of a talker, but when he is, he makes you feel so depraved for him. Your legs were starting to shake and feel weak already, but you push yourself - you push yourself because you want this. Because you need this from him, just as much as he needed this from you.

“Clive,” you chant his name like a prayer, over and over again. You must sound delirious.

But Clive clearly doesn’t seem to mind, the way his back arches a little just from the sound of your sweet voice. It’s a powerful feeling, you realize, having such a powerful man like him weak at you - a mere mortal, a bearer but not a Dominant. Yet, it’s a good reminder that beneath everything, Clive is a mortal man as well.

“Can you feel me, sweetheart?” He places his hand on your lower stomach, feeling the way it bulges a little from the sheer size of him. You look down, shuddering at the sight as he continues to thrust upwards, your eyes following how the bulge disappears then reappears. “You take me so fucking well. It’s like you were made for me, the way you shake your hips like a woman at the Veil.”

You can’t respond, any time you try to all that fumbles from your lips are moans and whines of pure pleasure.

“I can get so deep into you like this,” groans Clive, his other hand grasping at your hip. “All the way into you. Fuck, I could breed you right here. I could make you swell with my child.”

Oh, that’s different.

And it’s clearly a good different, the way your body responds. Your walls clench around him, as if your body had a mind of its own, as if your body was begging for the man to breed you. He notices too, and he licks his lips and smirks once he realizes you may enjoy the idea as he did.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Another thrust upwards. His thrusts are getting sloppier and rougher, but Greagor does it feel so good. “I wouldn’t be able to control myself, seeing you like that. I’d fuck you every single day–”

You moan, so lecherously. “Clive, fuck, I’m going to cum!”

Both hands grab at your hips, fingers digging and sinking into your skin so hard you know there’s going to be some bruising there in the morning. But you don’t care. All you care about is the man underneath you, and chasing after your own release. Clive makes you move faster onto him, a growl rumbling from his throat.

“Go on, let yourself go.”

You were already so overstimulated from the foreplay from before, and the way his cock brushes against your sweet spots and bashes against the entrance to your womb, you can’t help it. Your walls tighten around him, and you let yourself go.

Another growl rumbles from his throat, this time he pulls you right down onto him, hard. It doesn’t take him long to follow you into a blissful climax, his hot seed pouring into you and flooding your insides. It’s a lot, more than usual, to the point where it floods out from your entrance and onto him.

You collapse onto him, and he instantly takes you in his arms. Slowly, he flips your positions again, just so he can press himself deeper into you. Thank the Founder, because your legs were about to give out.

A moment passes, until he finally pulls himself out from you. His blown out pupils watch as his seed overflows from you, dripping onto the sheets beneath you. He shudders at the sight, and you can’t help but shudder as well.

You’re fading in and out of existence, but when you mostly come to, Clive has wiped you and him down, cleaning you up and gently pressing kisses against any marks he’s left on you. The sheets will unfortunately have to wait until tomorrow. Frankly, you could give less of a shit about that.

The outlaw slumps himself against you, pulling you into his arms. You both lay there in a comfortable silence, as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“Thank you.” His voice trembles, a little embarrassed - that’s the Clive you know. “I’ll, uh, make sure Tarja prepares a herbal tea for you tomorrow, so that you don’t…” He trails off, hiding his face against your neck even more now.

You chuckle, feeling the hotness of his cheeks against your skin. “Feeling better?”

“Yes,” answers the male as he lifts his head up with a smile. “Much better. You always seem to know how to cure my worries and needs.”

“What can I say? I know my boss pretty well.”

He laughs, and your heart feels so warm, so in love with the man before you. Clive leans in, pressing his lips against yours to share a sweet, innocent kiss that contrasts the sinful act you both just partook in. And you kiss him back, wrapping your arms around him. You only stop when you feel something hard rub against your thigh, pulling back to see he was still pretty aroused. He’s a little sheepish at that, but he looks at you in want, in need - and love, as always.

“I don’t think one time is going to be enough for you, big guy.”

A sheepish laugh falls from his lips. “I don’t think so either. I might need a few more rounds. That is, if my faithful advisor is up to it.”

He’s challenging you, clearly. The smirk on his face tells you all you need to know. You smirk back, bucking your hips against his to accept.

“Only if you do most of the work.” You tell him, a leg going in to wrap itself around his waist. “You made me weak in my knees, Lord Rosfield. A gentleman should take some responsibility for his actions.”

His low chuckle reaches your ears, as he leans in to press his forehead against yours. It’s a tender action, one that definitely makes you feel weak in the knees - if you hadn’t already. It doesn’t take him long to reenter you, and you can’t hide the shudder of your slightly overstimulated body.

But you want everything he has to offer, the good and the bad of Clive Rosfield, and he’ll give it to you.

Because he wants everything you have to offer, the good and the bad of his faithful advisor, in return.

“As you wish, my love.”

He claims your lips. The night goes on.

“Somethin’ seems to be on your mind.”

Jill looks towards the source of the voice. Gav stands next to her, arms crossed as he meets her gaze with a raised brow. The Dominant says nothing to him, only slowly returning her gaze to where she once was looking. Gav’s line of sight follows hers, landing right on the scene that was unfolding before them.

“Clive, I’m trying to do work!”

Hideaway’s poor advisor was currently trying to shake an overgrown Cid the Outlaw off of them, who has currently draped himself over you. It had been a single day since you had returned from your trip and needless to say, Clive was acting as though you had been gone for years. Arms wrapped around your waist, pulling your body flush against yours.

“Nothing is stopping you from doing your work,” is all Clive remarks with, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Except for a fucking overgrown dog!”

Gav whistles at the sight before him. “Someone seems to be in a good mood.”

“Indeed,” nods Jill, her gaze never leaving the both of you. Right now you were trying to walk away, which resulted in you basically having to drag the second Eikon of fire around because he refused to let himself off of you. “But, I can’t help but wonder if this is worse than the mood he was in before.”

The scout shrugs his shoulders. “Our advisor has dealt with worse from him. And we don’t have to deal with him slobberin’ all over us, so I’d say a good mood is better than nothin’.”

The woman says nothing. She knows it’s going to be a few days before Clive will return to his normal self, if your theory about why he’s been moody all week rings true. Such things don’t end with a simple, pleasurable night. You’ll be fine, she knows that, so she’s not too worried that you won’t be able to handle Clive Rosfield.

It’s in your job description, after all.

( she’ll still pray to metia for you, at the very least, and hope you come out unscathed. )

#final fantasy xvi #ffxvi #clive rosfield x reader #clive x reader #clive rosfield #🌙.txt #🌙 seren's writings

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themultifandomgal · 9 months

Text

Tommy Shelby- Granddaughter Pt2

Pt1 Pt3

"Shhh Eloise please" I sigh bouncing my now 3 week old baby in my arms "what do you want? I've given you food, I've changed you, I've checked to see if your to warm or cold" I can feel tears starting to form, are they from frustration or are they because I'm tired? Probably both. I've barley slept since having her. I guess in normal circumstances the baby would have 2 parents present and their mother wouldn't be a 16 year old girl. I glance at the clock on the wall, it's now 4:35am. I've been awake for 24 hours now but sleep doesn't seem to be in my grasp anytime soon. She woke up crying just as I was falling asleep, not wanting to wake my dad, stepmum, or little brother up I brought Eloise downstairs "Eloise please I'm begging you to sleep" I continue to bounce the baby in my arms

"Miss Shelby?" I hear the quiet voice of one of our maids walking into the living room "is everything ok? Is the baby ok?"

"Francis I don't know what else to do" i can no longer stop the tears from falling "she won't stop crying. I've not slept. I'm a 16 year old with a baby with no husband. My dads still mad at me..."

"No love he's not mad at you. He's mad at the boy who has done this to you, left you in this situation. Why don't I sit with the baby for a couple of hours while you sleep?"

"Oh Francis I can't ask you to do that. Go back to bed"

"Miss Shelby you are not asking, I'm offering and I think you need more sleep that I do tonight" Francis gently takes Eloise from my arms and starts bouncing her

"Are you sure Francis?"

"Positive, now of you go"

"Thank you" I yawn before heading up to my room.

When I wake up, the house is quiet. Slowly I get out of bed and put my robe on then head down the stairs to the living room where I find Grace holding Eloise

"Morning" I groan sitting next to Grace "wheres dad?"

"Out with your uncles" glancing at the clock I sigh knowing I need to feed Eloise soon

"She will need feeding in a bit, she's gone nearly 4 hours without a feed"

"Ok, but while she's asleep, tell me how you are?"

"I'm fine"

"Don't do that. Remember I married your father, I know how stubborn you both are" Grace chuckles quietly

"I guess I'm tired, sore all the times fed up"

"Well you haven't left the house in 3 weeks, since this one was born"

"I'm scared what others will think, or if I see him and his new girlfriend. He will know that Eloise is his, but I know he won't want to be her father and I'm not sure I want him to be"

"Well, you do need to give him that chance, but you don't have to get married to him"

"I think dad would prefer that" just then Eloise starts to stir. I take her from Graces arms and head up to my room to feed the baby.

"Tommy you need to calm down" I hear Grace raise her voice "Charles is watching and YN is only upstairs feeding Eloise"

"He did this to her, he did this to my daughter and he"

"You don't know that he is the father"

"Grace he was bragging about bedding 'Tommy Shelby's daughter' it's got to be him"

"Tom..." Grace sighs. I run down the stairs and the negative atmosphere hits me in the face. Grace sees me and gives me a smile "YN you best come and talk to your father. I'll take Charles outside for a little bit" she picks up my 2 year old brother

"James is Eloise's father. Isn't he?" dad says sitting down with a whisky in his hands. I don't say anything to him, which must have told him everything he needed to know "damn it YN"

"What are you going to do to him?"

"Nothing, at the moment. Im giving him a chance to do the right thing and be a father to Eloise. The moment he fucks up he's dead" he takes a sip of his drink

"I don't want to marry him if that's what your getting at"

"It won't be the first time a 16 year old marries her babies father. Martha married John for fucks sake"

"But..."

"You need to go and speak to him, soon YN"

"Ok, I know I do"

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x daughter!reader #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine

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roadkillremi · 9 months

Note

I had an idea for the uncle randy series. Y/n and randy are getting a little ✨️spicy✨️ and either Mindy or Chad walk in.

I sure can. Its a tad bit short but it will have something for ya! The one who walks in will NOT see any private parts.

Like Old Times

^this picture does not direct what the reader looks like^ (My fav picture of Jamie Kennedy) ((he did not age well folks))

Masterlist

Summary :The ask above, Taking place during the time period of Scream 5. Part of the Uncle Randy AU

Warnings : Minors DNI, mentions of Ghostface, smut, fear, language, P in V, Not protected sex, Sub-ish Randy, mention of guns. Flash back to when they were 18, dom-ish Randy, mother catches you guys, orgasm denial.

It was Randy's bright idea to get a break from everything. Martha was at work and the twins were at school. It didn't help that Randy was a love sick puppy for you. He always loved physical contact and was needing more.

Randy's forehead had a thin layer of sweat. He looked up at you with big eyes, his mouth slightly opened. His hands lightly rubbed your hips.

"Just like old times" he muttered softly. Martha's guest room was Randy's old bedroom. It didn't look the same but it gave you two nostalgia. You gave Randy a soft smile before kissing him. He kissed you back before trailing down to your neck. His nose gently touched your skin as he moved his head. He started leaving soft kisses all around your neck. Your breath hitched up, you leaned into him. Your chests' were skin to skin, his heart beat echoed against yours. Your eyes drifted softly to the clock on the side table.

"Baby... The kids.". You softly whispered. Randy looked up at you, "They said they were hanging out at their friends remember?". You nodded, "We can stop if you want." Randy said softly. You shook your head, "I just wanted to make sure, y'know?". Randy nodded and went back to your neck. His large hands moved down to your thighs. You opened them slightly for him. He moved himself close to your entrance. His head bumped into your folds needingly. You lifted yourself up helping him place himself in you. You both let out soft breaths.

"I... I been wanting you ever since we got here.." Randy admitted. You smiled slightly moving your hips in circles.

"My poor Randy. Always been so needy since highschool." You teased. Randy's cheeks turned a soft pink, he gripped your hips trying to thrust into you. You clenched around him and grabbed his jaw.

"So impatient." You smiled. Randy breathed heavily, you slowly started rising yourself and falling.

Thump

You looked towards the window, "What is it?" Randy looked over.

"I swear I heard something..." You gripped his shoulder. Your heart started racing, it was a similar feeling from before. Ghostface spying on you, multiple times hearing things in the back before you get attacked.

"Hey. He's not gonna hurt you." Randy whispered. You looked at him, "Can you just-".

"Check the house? Yeah". You moved to the side covering yourself with a blanket. He slid his boxers on and dug through a suitcase.

"Here" he lifted a pistol up towards you to grab. You grabbed it, "Be careful.".

"I know." He gently smiled. The door flew open, you lifted the blanket to your chest. Randy screamed pointing his gun, and Mindy and Chad also screamed. Chad held a baseball bat close to him.

"I thought you were with your friends!!" Randy exclaimed. Mindy eyes darted from you to him, "were you two having sex?!".

"Mindy!" Chad cringed. Randy looked at you, "Uh, no. We were taking a nap. Now go!" He closed the door.

Randy put the gun down, "Jesus Christ, I'm glad we don't have children.". You sighed, "At least we don't have to give them the birds and bees talk.". Randy chuckled and laid back in bed. You looked down at Randy, "I'm gonna get dressed." You gently patted his slightly hairy chest.

"Remember when my mom caught us that one time?" Randy said sitting up. You slid your underwear on with a little jump.

"Heh, yeah. She was mortified." You smiled to yourself.

It was near the end of Senior year, graduation was about a day away. You snuck over to Randy's to celebrate. He turned on a movie in the background to mask the noise. He was on top of you leaning down close to your face. Your legs tightly wrapped around him. You'd be like this for an hour, every time you got close he'd stop and finish on your stomach. Desperate for release, your head leaned back against his pillows. You tried your best to be quiet letting a moan or two slip. Randy would laugh going, "Not so dominant anymore?". You'd give him a look, that's when you heard his door handle turn.

You gasped, reaching for a blanket to cover yourself. Randy sat up quickly looking at the door.

"Randall Meeks!" His mother yelled. She slammed the door shut, "Put clothes on and get out here now!". You giggled softly as his face turned red. You both put your clothes on walking out into the living room.

"I understand you two are 18 but this is unacceptable!" She fussed. You held Randy's arm close to your support to comfort him. She sighed, "I just need you two to promise me you'll go to bed!".

"Yes ma'am" you and Randy whispered dim unison. You both shuffled back to his room awkwardly. Randy closed the door and stared at you.

"We're in deep shit..."

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melloraconteur · 7 months

Text

"And this urge to run away from what I love is a sort of sadism I no longer pretend to understand" - Martha Gellhorn

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

[Reincarnation au]

Word Count -> 453

IMAGINE...

For years Simon has dreamed of you.

He recalls his mother asking him who you were over breakfast. He didn't have an answer back then, and before he could say something, his father stumbled out of the master bedroom and told him to go to school.

He knew that look in his father's eyes, knew that refusing to would only make it worse on his mother. So, with a guilty feeling that rested in his gut, he went off to school.

Even when he was grown and had enlisted, he found himself dreaming of you. Well, he calls them dreams, but they felt so real.

A dream of you curled up beside him, a fire crackling in the fireplace and the wind howling outside. Another dream of you dancing with him, leading him effortlessly through a difficult dance. In every dream, it is only the two of you, doing mundane things. In every dream, he cannot recall your name nor your features, only the feelings of warmth and protection that he seldomly saw in his young life.

When he formally meets you, he is gobsmacked. He knows it is you that has been in his dreams since he can remember. He knows that you are the cause of the warmth and protection that left him yearning in the morning when he succumbed to sleep.

Still, he greets you like he does everyone, even though you are the same rank as him. You appear to not mind his gruff tone and instead take it in stride, like you've done this before.

It both scares and comforts him. No one has been in tune with him like you are, though some have gotten close, they usually die.

When he's having an "off day" you'll accommodate him. You'll take notes for him during debriefs when he spaces out, you'll accompany him in the gym, though you do your own exercise, you are always in the corner of his eye. This is a new territory for him and he doesn't want to fuck up something good like he always has.

You aren't there for just his off days, you hang around him, despite him telling you that you should probably do some paperwork. You only chuckle and tell him you'll do it later.

Sooner than he'd like, he finds you both sitting in his office, him filling out reports and you filling out charts.

He finds it mortifying when he finds himself in grumpier moods when you are out on a mission, when the medic who is treating him isn't you, when your attention isn't on him.

He finds that every part of him, when he's around you, yields to you.

His blood sings yours, yours, yours!

#vampire reader x human simon “ghost” riley soulmate #Obsessive simon ghost riley #reader is obsessed with ghost but he doesn't know that yet #ghost thinks its unrequited love #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x male reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x gender neutral reader #reincarnation au cod

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bravevulnerability · 9 months

Note

would you be open to writing more? whatever you want, if so!

A/N: I'm actually doing a rewatch of Castle with a friend right now. We're on season two and just watched 2x11 (The Fifth Bullet) last night, so...

Set during 2x13 (Sucker Punch).

“I’m scared. I mean, what if it doesn't work out? What if it does?”

“That's the cost of living.”

“I just don't want to ruin this.”

“This is dead. You are not. Time to start making some new memories."

- Martha Rodgers & Richard Castle, 2x11.

She hears the crack of his skull the second before the fire of her gun, the crackle of her bullet, echoes through the air.

Castle staggers to the precinct floor, cradling the back of his head. Beckett is rooted to the spot, her shoulders tight, hands steady, heart pounding. But then he is falling, her sidekick - no, partner - collapsing beside Coonan's bloodied body, and she forces the grief back down her throat.

For a split second, she hesitates. Maybe... maybe she could keep focus her attention on keeping Coonan alive. But deep down, she knows. She knows her shot was dead center, she knows he's gone. And Castle is down.

"Castle!" she calls, holstering her gun and racing to his side, stepping over Coonan's dead body.

He's slumped against the wall, eyes closed, out cold. Her hands brace at his shoulders, steadying him as his body drifts sideways against the wall.

"Hey, Castle," she murmurs softer, an ice cold trickle of fear slivering down her back. Did he really hit Coonan that hard? Hard enough to knock himself out? "I need a bus!"

"Already on the way, Beckett."

Esposito and Ryan are at her side, Montgomery with two fingers to Coonan's neck. She doesn't let herself look long enough to see what she already knows, to watch the shake of her captain's head.

She sits at his bedside in the hospital. The doctor is betting on a concussion, but isn't able to make any firm conclusions until Castle is conscious again.

His mother and daughter met her at the hospital, fluttering in and out of the room like anxious birds. She abused her badge to gain access for the three of them to his room, to stay long past visiting hours. Alexis sleeps on the couch on the other side of the room now, his mother already having returned to the loft to retrieve a fresh pair of clothes for Castle.

"Are you okay, kiddo?" Martha had asked her, her voice quiet so not to wake Alexis.

"Yeah, Martha. I'm fine," she assured the other woman, forcing a smile to cross her lips.

Martha only frowned at her in return. "He's going to be okay, Katherine. I know my boy," she promised Kate with so much conviction, she wanted to believe her. "And when he sees you sitting there, he'll be even better than."

Martha had left the room with a wink, but Beckett couldn't adopt such hope. Her guilt was too busy dragging her heart down into the pit of her stomach.

It's late when his eyes flutter open, a flash of blue in the still darkness. She sits forward immediately, resisting the strange urge to grab his hand, cradle his palm in hers.

"Hey there, Chuck Norris, "she murmurs, earning the shift of his attention, the slight dip of his brow. "How's your head feeling?"

"Hurts," he rasps, wincing.

"I'm sorry," she sighs, reaching for the water beside his hospital bed. She positions the straw at his lips, watching him sip gratefully.

"Thank you," he hums, relaxing back into the pillow, but his eyes remain intense on her. "Where are we?"

"Hospital. The doctor's going to examine you again now that you're awake, but he thinks it's likely just a concussion that should heal without much issue."

"Concussion?" he echoes, confusion tugging at the corners of his mouth. "How?"

"I... you don't remember?" she asks gently. "Coonan, the precinct, the-"

"I don't remember," he interrupts with a deep frown. "I don't remember anything."

"Retrograde amnesia," the doctor announces. "The bump to his head, paired with the trauma of the situation... it's rare, but it happens."

Kate sits solemnly beside his mother and daughter, her hands knotted tightly together in her lap. Castle is dressed and perched on the edge of his hospital bed, his foot tapping nervously. He keeps looking at her, as if he's seeking her out.

She keeps her gaze on her knees.

"But it's not permanent, right?" Alexis inquires. "He can get his memory back?"

"It's a complex condition," the older man delivers gently. "He may have all of his memories back by tomorrow, he may never remember anything of his past ever again, or he may fall anywhere in between. It's impossible to tell. I'm so sorry."

Martha utters a soft cry of concern, Alexis grips her father's hand, murmuring reassurances at his side.

Kate stands from the plastic chair. "What can we do to make this as smooth on him as possible?"

"Not too much too soon, but it's okay to nudge reminders his way. Having his family here is a good first step," the doctor nods.

"My family," Castle speaks up, earning the attention of the room. "I know you're my mother and daughter." He nods to Martha and then Alexis, and then his eyes are settling on her once more. "And you... are my wife?"

Kate blinks before abruptly shaking her head. "No, no, we - we work together."

"What do we do?" he inquires, tilting his head in curiosity.

"Well, I'm a homicide detective-"

"I'm a cop?"

"No, you're a writer," she corrects with a twitch of her lips, but this only confuses him further.

"Then what am I doing with a cop?"

"Dad, it's kind of a long story," Alexis chimes in, shooting Beckett a nervous smile.

"But - but you and me?" He rises from the hospital bed, approaching Beckett slowly. "We're together?"

"Work together," she says carefully, but his face scrunches.

"No way," he murmurs, almost to himself, as if he's trying to work out the equation on his own. "If we're not together, we want to be?"

Her throat spasms with panic. C'mon Castle, no. Not in front of his mom and his kid.

"No, we're - we're just friends, Castle."

"Castle?" he repeats, testing the surname in his mouth. "Richard Castle? Weird name."

"No, not weird," she sighs, risking a step towards him. "It's the name of a best-selling author, who is a great asset to a homicide department of the NYPD."

The first true glimpse of him - the smile, the ripple of bright blue in his eyes - flickers before her.

"Why don't you go back to the loft with your mother, with Alexis, and see if anything sparks," she suggests, catching his daughter's eye over his shoulder.

Alexis nods eagerly. "Yeah, Dad. I think it's a great place to start. We can take a literal walk down memory lane."

Her heart eases ever so slightly when he glances to his daughter with the warmest of smiles. Somehow she knows that the large part of his brain dedicated to Alexis will return, unfurling like muscle memory through his mind.

Alexis loops her arm through his, guiding him out of the hospital room while the doctor hands Martha a stack of papers summarizing Castle's visit. They all exit the building together, prepared to go separate ways on the sidewalk, when Castle makes a sound of protest.

"Hey - I didn't get your name," he calls to her.

Something in her chest stings.

"Beckett. Kate," she adds, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Kate," he murmurs, affection, familiarity, and heat infused into the single syllable of her name. "I'll see you soon?"

"It would probably be good for him to see the Twelfth sometime," Martha quips, the smirk on his mother's lips subtle but there. "He practically spends half his time there."

"Twelfth?"

"The precinct. That's where you work with Detective Beckett, Dad," Alexis fills in, her arm still twined protectively through his.

"Oh." Castle's eyes flick back to Kate. "Until tomorrow?"

Her heart stumbles stupidly, just like it did the first time he said those words to her, the useless muscle tripping on hope.

"Yeah, Castle." She offers him the smallest hint of a smile. "See you tomorrow."

When Castle arrives at the precinct the next morning, it's with Alexis in tow. Everyone greets him like a hero, but he looks around clueless, a helpless attempt at a smile on his lips while his daughter guides him through the crowd of uniforms.

When he sees her across the bullpen, his eyes light up.

Her stomach turns. She doesn't know how to do this, to... to have him looking at her like that, all unguarded and vulnerable.

"Alexis walked me through my usual morning," he explains once he reaches her desk. His daughter is a few steps behind, talking with Ryan and Esposito, her red hair in a tight braid that sways as she nods along to whatever the boys are saying.

"That's good, Castle. Is it helping?"

"Not yet, but I'm hopeful," he shrugs, shoving hands into his pockets. "Do you ever call me by my first name?"

Beckett glances up from the paperwork scattered on her desk, the files she's failed to focus on since she arrived at five this morning.

"Sometimes," she muses. "It's nothing personal, just cop talk to use surnames."

"Beckett," he says. Testing it out, she realizes. "So do I only call you Kate at home?"

She forces her expression to remain neutral.

Home?

"Castle, we don't really see each other outside the precinct very often," she delivers carefully, watching his face fall.

"Ever?"

"I can't imagine how confusing this must be," she murmurs, shifting from her chair to move around her desk, move a little closer to him. Solely for the sake of keeping their conversation private. "But you and I... we're friends, partners, but not - not more."

His hand scrapes through his finely combed hair, the corners of his eyes settling into troubled lines.

"I just - I swore when I woke up this morning, you were supposed to be next to me."

Her lips part, surprise blooming on her tongue along with something else, something sweet.

"Dad?" Alexis saves her from having to answer. "I've got to get to class, but I'll be back for lunch."

"Don't worry, Pumpkin. I'll be-"

Alexis grabs his arm, her blue eyes wide. "What'd you just call me?"

Castle looks absolutely panicked. "P-pumpkin? I'm sorry, it just... came out."

"That's fantastic!" Alexis squeals, throwing her arms around his neck. "That means your memory must still be in there."

Castle hugs his daughter back, firm and relieved, his gaze flickering back to Kate with delight. So proud of himself.

"Must be," he grins.

His first day consists of nothing more than sitting in the chair beside Kate Beckett's desk, stealing longing glances at the woman he's convinced must have been his wife in another life. He obviously isn't sure of much right now, but for some reason, he feels certain of this.

He asks her questions about their time together, about their first meeting, the cases they've worked on together.

His brow furrows when she says they took a break over the last summer, but she bristles when he asks her why.

"I want to help, Castle, but I don't want to give you a biased history lesson," she explains. "The doctor said it's best if the memories are able to come back on their own."

He huffs at the response, but doesn't argue.

The days that follow are a lot of the same - he wakes up, has breakfast with his mother and daughter, walks with Alexis to school and then he makes his way to the Twelfth precinct to be with Kate.

It isn't until the third day that he has his first burst of memory. A burst that leads to an explosion.

Alexis.

She comes back so fast and strong, from the moment she came into his life until the day of the accident. She nearly cries when he tells her that morning, arms latched around his neck as he spins her around in the kitchen.

Bits and pieces of his mother come back next, patchy memories of his childhood, his teen years, his dream come true of becoming a bestselling author. It's all trickling back in like a stream to the river of his mind.

Everything, except for her.

It's been nearly a week and he still can't remember Kate.

"What's your memory of the day, Castle?" she asks him when he finds her in the break room that morning, fiddling with an expensive looking espresso machine.

"A book tour in Europe," he muses, approaching her with an eyebrow raised. Beckett scowls at the frother that hisses at her in return. "You're cute when you're angry."

She pierces him with a glare.

"But not with me," he mutters, coming up beside her and shooing her out of the way. "Here."

Without thinking, he prepares a latte for her, adding the two pumps of vanilla, just how she...

Glimpses of mornings spent with her - on sidewalks, parks, apartments all over the city - squeeze into his brain, pushing through the blank spaces like dripping water through cracks.

"Kate," he exhales, turning to find matching wonder in her gaze. "I bring you coffee."

She pins her bottom lip between her teeth, hazel eyes sparkling near green for him.

"Usually when we meet at crime scenes, but... but I bought this." He glances back to the espresso steaming into the waiting mug. "So you could always have good coffee here."

"Yeah," she exhales, but she's smiling at him. "You did make it a habit over the past year."

"Because it makes you smile," he adds, softer now, because part of him knows that the old him never shared this with her. But he doesn't try to stop the words. "And I love your smile."

That smile he loves so much doesn't exactly leave her face, but it falters, waning across her lips.

"I'm going to remember you," he promises - her or himself, he isn't sure.

"I'm sure you will," she answers quietly, something like sorrow bleeding into her gaze. "And when you remember everything, Rick - when you remember how you ended up in this mess, maybe you'll wish you could forget."

Kate avoids him for the rest of the day and he lets her, lets her have her space. He's learned enough to know that pushing her doesn't usually work in his favor.

He follows around Ryan and Esposito instead, squeezing out information, gaining small glimpses of the boys he once knew. He remembers Ryan's favorite tie, the video game Esposito's been trying to find time to play for the last two weeks - random tidbits he's grateful for. They're like little seeds and he knows if he just keeps tending to them, they'll grow.

He's not as patient with his memories of Beckett.

Esposito spills first.

"I'm only telling you this because if you get some random burst of memory in front of Beckett, you're gonna bust us both," he mutters, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Beckett's mom was murdered, it's why she became a cop. Long story short, I let you see the file, you put your nose where it didn't belong and got involved, tried to bring your money into it to solve the case. It's how you ended up with amnesia and she ended up with another dead end."

It was my mother, not my father.

This is for the life that I saved, and this is for the life that I lost.

The crumpled woman in the alley, the stab wounds in her abdomen, the expert showing him the patterns of wounds on a dead woman's body.

You don't back down. That's what makes you extraordinary.

What if I let her down?

I didn't think you were arrogant, Castle. I thought what you did was sweet.

"Hey, hey, Castle? Are you okay, bro?"

His head is pounding. His body is sinking.

"Rick."

His eyes snap open to find Kate Beckett kneeling before him. He's on the floor, knees pulled to his chest, head cradled between the hard press of his palms.

The touch of her fingers to his arm is so careful, so comforting. He wants to tug her into his arms, bury his face in her neck, let the fantasy that's been running wild in his head since he woke up and saw her be real.

"Let me take you home."

He remembers her mother's case. Not everything, but the bones of it.

"I need you to let this go for tonight," she tells him. They're sitting in her cruiser outside of his loft. Hearing the flashes of his memories, the ones that spread through his brain like a decimating wildfire at the precinct, has a terrible mixture of resentment and guilt swirling through her insides.

She wants to hate him all over again for unearthing this to begin with, but she can't. She can't, because she's always known this was inevitable. A year of therapy could only keep her away from her mom's case for so long.

"You're angry with me."

"No, I'm not," she sighs, but she can't look at him. "I'm angry with myself, with the guy who killed with my mom, with the whole situation."

"But Kate-"

"But your memory - it's delicate. No more ambushing people for information."

She tears her eyes away from the window, the darkening skyline. Storm clouds roam the horizon, merging with the cloak of night.

He looks so sad in the passenger seat, his eyes down, head low. So many of his memories have come back to him, and yet his heart still looks so broken.

"And, I'm only going to say this once, but I need you to know something."

That earns the reluctant lift of his gaze, his attention.

"I have a hard job, Castle, and having you around makes it a little more fun," she admits, some of the ache of earlier draining away at the twitch of his lips. "So I need you to focus on getting better, on remembering me because - I want my partner back."

The smile he gives her has her leaning her head back against the seat, smiling back at him like an idiot.

"Your secret's safe with me, Kate."

His hand is reaching across the space between them, stealing hers, and she lets him have it.

The banging on her door has her jerking awake and reaching for her gun, but then she hears the familiar yet urgent calling of her name.

"Beckett! Beckett! Please be awake!"

She growls and hurries out of her bed, to her front door, before he can wake all of her neighbors.

She yanks the door open to see his fist raised and ready for another series of knocks. He's dripping wet, hair drenched and clothes soaked.

She notices then that it's raining outside, storming if the sound of the downpour and the rumble of thunder is any indication. And he's in nothing more than a t-shirt, flannel pajama pants, and a coat that's flapping open.

"Castle, what the hell are you doing?" she hisses, dragging him inside by his raised arm.

"Kate, Kate, I'm so sorry," he breathes, his chest falling heavy and fast, his teeth chattering. "I've been going through my files, trying to jog more memories and I - I found the file, my notes, all of it. The one on your mother, the one with the guy who I knocked out, who you had to-"

"Castle," she quiets him, reaching for the panicked, rain stricken face before her. God, he's freezing. "Hey, look at me - breathe."

"No, Kate, it's all my fault," he rasps, holding to her wrists, thumbs pressing at the points of her pulse. "I started all of this. And now your lead is dead and it's because of me-"

"If it wasn't for you, I would have never found my mom's killer," she cuts him off, wiping some of the moisture from his cheeks with the swipe of her thumbs.

The heaving of his chest slows, the anguish in his eyes dimming, calming.

She's never been this close to him before, able to feel the exhale of his cool breath on her lips. She should take a step back, slip her hands from his grasp, create some much needed distance between them.

But the way this version of Castle looks at her, so open and needful, so unabashed in his desire to be near her... it has her body canting towards him, her carefully crafted resistance waning.

"Was I angry at you when you opened this? Yes. But I know why you did it, okay? I know you care, and I appreciate you for it."

"I'm still sorry," he whispers, staring down at her. Raindrops from his hair drip down the slope of his nose, fall to the inches of hardwood between their feet. "I'm sorry it hurt you. I'm so sorry-"

"Shh, no more," she says, gentle but firm. "No more being sorry."

Castle sighs, resting the weight of his cheek into one of her palms, the edge of his lips grazing her skin.

"Thank you."

She nods, touching one of her thumbs to the dip in his chin.

"Did you run all the way here to tell me this, Castle?"

"I couldn't sleep anyway," he shrugs, still holding to the slim bones of her wrists. "I'm up every night, trying to remember more. Remember you."

Her gaze flicks back to his, the blue in his eyes shifting, storming like the clouds outside.

"You remember enough," she tries to placate him. "You've remembered cases, my coffee, the first time we met-"

"The details," he murmurs. "I want every detail back. I read the first Nikki Heat book."

She swallows hard, lowers her eyes to the fabric of his t-shirt plastered to his chest.

"I want to remember what I was thinking when I wrote the dedication, those interrogation scenes, page 105-"

"Stop," she whispers, but her heart is stuttering unevenly in her chest, bumping against ribs and making her feel unsteady.

"I want to remember the moment I knew I wanted more with you," he breathes.

"More?" she echoes, letting his hands glide along her arms, cupping her elbows, trailing her triceps, cradling her shoulders.

"Kate." He leans in, forehead bumping against hers. "When I woke up, I saw you."

Her body sways into his without her permission.

"And I knew it would be okay."

She shakes her head, but he's nudging his nose against hers, lips glancing over hers with such tentativeness.

"Rick."

"When you're not around, everything feels wrong."

She barely has to arch onto her toes to kiss him, barely has to lean forward to finally seal her lips to his. Castle moans softly, as if in relief, as he kisses her back, his arms wrapping around her.

She shivers when the cold, wet front of his body presses against hers, but the chill fails to stop her from rising into him, from hooking her arms around his neck, fingers in his hair.

His mouth is a caress over hers, his tongue reverent as it slips past the seam of her lips.

She's always known he would be good at this, that they would combust from chemistry the moment she finally allowed it, but she didn't prepare for the trembling need in her bones, the rabbitting of her heart, the slam of the door at his back.

"Has it - always been like this?" he gasps, the heat of his breath fanning across her lips.

"Like what?" she murmurs, feathering her fingers at the still healing bump at the base of his skull, tracing her other hand down his side, feeling the quick rise and fall of his ribcage.

"The wanting," he mumbles, sucking her bottom lip between his teeth. Kate hums, kissing him back and slipping a hand beneath the sopping fabric of his shirt. "I don't need to remember to know," he gets out, staining his lips to her jaw, searing along her bone. "I never wanted anyone like this."

He doesn't stop her from shoving the coat from his shoulders, the t-shirt over his head, letting it all hit the ground with a wet slap. He fists his hands in her oversized t-shirt, knuckles brushing the naked skin of her thighs, snagging in the lace at her hips.

Kate mewls against the nip of his teeth, dragging him from the door with her hands at his nape, walking backwards in the direction of her room.

"Me neither," she confesses into his mouth, finding that she believes it too. "It's always felt like this with us."

They stumble into her bedroom, but he's gentle as he lowers her onto the mattress, moves his body over hers, and kisses her like he wants to press every memory into her.

She gasps awake, her room still heavy with darkness, the storm still raging outside.

Her back is slick with sweat from that damn dream she's had every night since she shot Dick Coonan, since Castle lost his memories, since everything changed so brutally.

"Bad dream?"

Kate shifts in the sheets, finds him propped up on an elbow, watching her. Rain still spatters against the window across her room, painting splotches of moonlight and streaks of lightning across his skin. Rolling onto her back, she studies the bare expanse of his chest, the ruffled state of his hair, the clear sea of his eyes on her.

"Yeah," she murmurs, but her hand rises for his jaw, caressing the line of his throat with her fingers. "You?"

"No, just don't want to sleep."

Her fingers twine absentmindedly with the baby fine hairs at the base of his skull. "Why not? Afraid you might forget something?"

"Oh no," he grins, eyes sparking mischievously. "You were right, Kate. I had no idea."

Her lips part to make a remark when realization dawns on her.

"You remember that?"

"And a few other things," he teases, but he's smiling wide at her now, causing her heart to skip a few beats. "Not everything is there yet, still some blank spaces and pieces I can't unscramble yet, but... I'm pretty sure I remember the important parts."

She grins and snakes her arms around his neck, pulling herself up to meet him. His chest shakes with laughter against hers and then he's burying his face in her neck, kissing her shoulder.

"Even if I didn't-"

"We'd just make new ones, Castle," she promises him, drawing back and dragging him down with her when she lowers herself back to the mattress, his body draping warm and firm over hers. "I like our..."

"Story," he supplies for her, brushing stray strands of hair from her face.

"Our story," she chuckles. "But I could let go of a few pages if I can have this chapter."

"Ooh, Beckett," he grins, craning his neck to kiss her. "I didn't think you could get any hotter, but please keep using literary metaphors in bed."

She's laughing into his mouth, tangling her legs with his under the sheets.

"Wait," he gasps, tearing away from her. "I gotta ask-"

She arches an eyebrow impatiently.

"Remy's, tomorrow? I don't have a memory of us going on a first date."

Heat is radiating from his skin, his fingers twirling in her hair, and it scares the shit out of her, how much she likes him. How possible it could be to love him. She doesn't know if they would have ended up this way without the events of the last few days, but to resist it would be like fighting the tide. And she's rather enjoyed being swept up in him.

Maybe the fear is worth it, for the chance of loving him, letting him love her.

Her hands cradle his cheeks and she arches her neck to kiss him, slow and long and with desperation in the stroke of her tongue.

Castle moans and presses down, slotting into place against her.

"Yes," she breathes, stroking the bones of his cheek, letting her words caress his lips. "I'll make new memories with you, Rick."

#castle fanfiction #castle au #kate beckett #richard castle #2x11 #2x13 #castle #prompt #anon #mine

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frownyalfred · 6 months

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Is pennywaynes a thing in the sky of honey universe? I feel like the idea of the butler getting custody makes so much more sense if they were Pack.

omg THANK YOU for asking me about this!

Yes, my own hc was that Thomas was an alpha and Martha was an omega, and Alfred was their beta in every sense of the word.

Most of this went over Bruce's head, since he was too little to remember it clearly when they died. I don't think he thinks about Martha being an omega often, just about the weight heaped on his shoulders of being a male heir born to an alpha-omega pair.

By all estimates, he should have been an alpha -- but maybe he took after his mother in that respect, and he couldn't truly hold that against her, as much as it hurt. She remains a perfect, haunting memory in his life. He only held it against himself, as some sort of internal failing. Failing them somehow.

But his mother was beautiful -- slim, feminine, sweet. Thomas was a larger than life presence, and Alfred was truly pack to them both. I like to think, as this new Pack solidifies, that Alfred will reveal more about this to Bruce when he knows that Bruce is ready to hear about it now.

Alfred took care of Martha through heats, and Thomas through his ruts. Them together, etc. It was how he knew how to make the tea for Bruce and Lex, and the shake we see briefly in the last chapter for Clark -- it's how he knows about nests and how to take care of Bruce, even when he didn't want to be taken care of as an omega (heat clothes, heat soap, etc).

Then Alfred was left with only Bruce after their passing, a small pack of two. And when Bruce presented and descended into suppressants and internalized omegaphobia, it was kind of like losing that Pack entirely all over again.

Unlike BVS Bruce, I don't have this Bruce think about his parents that often. I think it is too painful for him, and leads to too many painful thoughts about his own dynamic. So Alfred kept quiet out of respect for his wishes, and let that part of his life (and relationships) remain largely unknown.

But yes -- what a Pack they could've been, huh?

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onlyonetifosi · 4 months

Text

Behind the camera -> chapter 7

<- previous series masterlist my main masterlist next ->

author note1: more yn/joris fluff 🥹🥹 don't worry drama is coming 😈😈 also 1'5 k words chapter :))

The sun hung low in the sky as the Leclerc family prepared for their much-anticipated summer vacation in France. Yn, Charles, Arthur, and Lorenzo packed their bags, excitement bubbling within them. The air was filled with a contagious energy, heightened by the prospect of spending quality time together in the picturesque French coast.

"Joris, hurry up! We're going to leave you behind," Yn called out from the doorway of her room, a playful grin on her face.

Joris appeared in the hallway, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Patience, mon amour. I just want to make sure I've got everything," he replied, his words dripping with a hint of French charm.

Charles chuckled, slinging an arm around his sister's shoulders. "At least someone has the right idea. We can't afford to forget anything when we're traveling with this bunch."

Downstairs, the Leclerc family gathered in the foyer, ready to embark on their escapade. Arthur, the youngest of the siblings, was already by the door, sporting a wide grin. "Are we leaving yet?"

Their father, Hervé, laughed. "Almost, Arthur. Just waiting for your mother and Lorenzo."

As if on cue, Lorenzo descended the staircase, his eyes scanning the room. "All set, Lorenzo?" their mother, Pascale, asked.

He nodded, his gaze drifting to Yn. "Ready for a summer to remember?"

Yn rolled her eyes playfully. "Please, as if any summer could top this one."

The Leclercs made their way to the waiting cars, joined by their friends and their families. Joris and his family, Riccardo's family, Martha and her parents—everyone had eagerly agreed to join in on the adventure. The air was filled with chatter as they set off, the promise of an unforgettable vacation lingering in the warm breeze.

In the car, Yn and Joris shared a quiet moment. She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling. "I can't believe we're finally going on vacation together."

Joris leaned in, brushing his lips against hers. "Je suis ravi d'être ici avec toi (I'm delighted to be here with you)."

Yn giggled, the language of love a sweet melody between them " You are so cheesy."

He winked. "Guilty as charged."

Yn, stealing a glance at Joris, whispered, "Tu sais que je t'aime, n'est-ce pas?" (You know I love you, right?)

Joris smiled warmly, "Oui, et moi aussi, je t'aime." (Yes, and I love you too.)

"Ce sera une aventure incroyable, n'est-ce pas, Charles?" Yn whispered to her brother, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. (It will be an incredible adventure, won't it, Charles?)

"Absolument, Yn. I can't wait to explore Cote d'Azur with everyone," Charles replied, a wide grin on his face.

Once in the car, Charles leaned over to Yn, a mischievous glint in his eye. "This is going to be epic. Just wait until you see the places I've planned for us to visit."

The convoy of cars, filled with laughter and excited chatter, made its way along the winding roads leading to the beautiful picturesque villa that would be their home for the next few weeks. Yn, sitting beside her twin brother Charles, couldn't contain her excitement as they approached their destination.

The villa, nestled amidst rolling hills and surrounded by vineyards, welcomed the group with open arms. The Leclercs, along with their friends, settled into the spacious rooms, each decorated with a touch of elegance.

"Hey, Pierre! Tu es prêt pour des vacances épiques?" Arthur greeted, embracing one of his brother 's best friend Pierre Gasly.

"Absolument, mon pote! These holidays are going to be legendary!" Pierre replied, a glint of excitement in his eyes.

As the sun began its descent, the group gathered on the terrace for a feast prepared by the villa's chef. The aroma of very appetizing food filled the air, making everyone's stomachs rumble in anticipation.

Yn and Joris found themselves seated next to each other, their fingers intertwined under the table as they exchanged affectionate glances. The language of love flowed effortlessly between them, a secret shared amidst the lively conversations.

"Tu es magnifique ce soir, Yn," Joris whispered to Yn, his eyes filled with admiration. (You look beautiful tonight, Yn.)

"Merci, Joris. Tu n'es pas mal non plus," Yn replied, a playful smile gracing her lips. (Thank you, Joris. You're not too shabby yourself)

"Demain, nous devrions tous aller explorer le village voisin. Qu'en pensez-vous?" Lorenzo suggested, the excitement evident in his voice. (Tomorrow, we should all go explore the nearby village. What do you think?)

"Oui, ça semble génial!" Martha exclaimed, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. (Yes, that sounds amazing!)

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

The next day, the group decided to explore the town and go to the beach, the group spread out on the beach, some opting for sunbathing, others building sandcastles, and the Gasly brothers challenging each other to beach volleyball. Yn and Joris decided to take a leisurely stroll along the water's edge.

After their beach escapade, the group ventured into the heart of Cagnes-sur-Mer. They explored the bustling markets, quaint shops, and iconic landmarks, capturing the moments with laughter and photographs.

"Regardez ce magnifique endroit! On dirait un rêve," Martha exclaimed, snapping pictures of the panoramic view. (Look at this magnificent place! It feels like a dream.)

As they strolled through the cobblestone streets, Arthur excitedly pointed at an ice cream shop. "On devrait tous prendre une glace, non?" (We should all get ice cream, right?)

Lorenzo chuckled, ruffling Arthur's hair. "Bonne idée, petit frère"

As they strolled along the picturesque streets, Yn walked hand in hand with Joris, their fingers intertwined. The connection between them was palpable, a testament to the love that had blossomed since they were 12 or 13. Their shared glances spoke a language of their own, a secret understood by everyone around.

The group arrived at a vibrant ice cream shop and créperie, the tantalizing aroma of freshly made crepes and the promise of sweet delights greeted them.

Yn turned to Joris with a mischievous grin. "Qu'est-ce que tu vas prendre, mon amour? (What are you going to have, my love?)"

Joris chuckled, "Je pense que je vais prendre une crêpe au Nutella. (I think I'll have a Nutella crepe)"

After the group had ordered their ice cream, enjoying the cool treat as they strolled towards the city. Yn's eyes sparkled as she savored the sweet taste of hazelnut gelato, her favorite. The sound of waves crashing against the shore mingled with the laughter and chatter of the friends and family.

"Tu devrais essayer celui-ci, c'est incroyable," she nudged Joris, offering him a spoonful of her chosen flavor. (You should try this one; it's amazing.)

Joris chuckled, accepting the offer. "C'est vraiment délicieux!" (It's really delicious!)

Martha, one of Yn's closest friends, elbowed her, teasing, "Vous deux, c'est l'amour fou!" (You two are madly in love!)

Joris grinned, "L'amour rend tout plus beau!" (Love makes everything more beautiful!)

After the creperie, they meandered through souvenir shops, collecting trinkets to commemorate their trip. Yn couldn't resist a soft giggle as Joris playfully picked out a matching keychain. The laughter of the teenagers echoed through the air, blending with the joyous atmosphere of the coastal town.

"Regardez ces deux-là, toujours assortis!" (Look at these two, always matching!) teased Martha, a mischievous grin on her face. The group erupted into laughter, gently poking fun at the inseparable couple.

"Vous êtes vraiment mignons, vous deux!" (You two are really cute!) Lorenzo teased.

The girls, including Yn, took a detour to explore boutiques, finding summery clothes to add to their wardrobes. Yn's infectious joy radiated as she twirled in a vibrant sundress, eliciting approving nods from the group.

As they continued their adventure, they visited iconic tourist spots like the Renoir Museum and the Medieval village Haut-de-Cagnes, snapping photos along the way. The group playfully teased Yn and Joris, capturing candid moments of their affection.

"Les tourtereaux!" (The lovebirds!) Jacques exclaimed, causing Yn to blush.

Yn rolled her eyes playfully, "Arrêtez de vous moquer de nous!" (Stop teasing us!)

"Regardez cette vue magnifique! (Look at this magnificent view!)" exclaimed Charles, gesturing towards the azure waters of the Ligurian Sea.

"Vraiment incroyable!" replied Yn, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

As the sun began to set, the teenagers returned to the beach, gathering for a group photo.

As they reached the sun-kissed beach, the group found a spot to relax. Yn and Joris, their fingers entwined, watched the azure waves together. Lorenzo, looking at them with a smirk, teased, "L'amour est dans l'air, n'est-ce pas?" (Love is in the air, isn't it?)

"Vous deux, toujours dans votre petit monde d'amour." (You two, always in your little world of love.) Pierre nudges both the teenagers with a grin on his face.

"Et pourquoi pas? L'amour est magnifique, n'est-ce pas?" (And why not? Love is beautiful, isn't it?) Joris says, pulling Yn closer to him.

The group spent the afternoon soaking up the sun, splashing in the crystal-clear waters, and taking pictures against the breathtaking backdrop. Yn and Joris, with gelato in hand, posed for a photo, the joy evident in their eyes.

The camera clicked, freezing the moment in time—Yn, Joris, the Leclercs, Gaslys, and their friends—bound by the magic of a summer escape on the enchanting Blue Coast of France.

taglist: @love4lando @gcldtom @im-mi @topguncultleader @celesteblack08 @reblog-princess @sunf1ower16

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