#THANK YOU so much again for commissioning me this was a DELIGHT to work on!!

[literarymerritt]

Commission for @serpentinemalign's birthday!!

Art Tumblr | Twitter

[ do NOT repost or use without permission ]

[marcmorrigan]

According to the artist, when it was suggested that a smile might benefit the look of the finished portrait, Attaché Nohell reportedly replied, "I thought the purpose of this was to be honest."

Super fun commission of @waterloggedsoliloquy's OC Sicely Nohell (they/them) and their terrible, horrible, no good, very bad lusus figure Commanding Officer.

[lemonentity]

CALIBAN 🔆

A fabulous commission for the lovely @kettle-bird! Thank you so much for commissioning me! He was such a delight to draw!

[jonnywaistcoat]

Hey, Horrormaster Sims. I have a wildly different question that barely relates to TMA (Sorry about that) but its about your own process. Please, if you could, can you tell me how your first drafts made you feel? I'm on the fence about writing my own thing (not a podcast, and again, not Magnus related, though I have a million little aus for that delightful tragedy you wrote, thank you for that!) But I'm discouraged by the collective notion that first drafts are always terrible, because there's no ... examples I can solidly use to help the dumb anxiety beast in my brain that tells me everyone who is in any way popular popped out a golden turd and not, well, you know. One of my friends said 'Oh I bet Jonathan Sims's first draft was nothing like what he wanted' and I got the bright idea to just. Send you an ask, since you're trapped on this hellsite like I am. Anyway, thanks for reading this (if you do) and if you'd rather ask it privately, I am cool with that. Alternatively, you're a hella busy man with Protocol (you and Alex are making me rabid, i hope you know) and you can just ignore this! Cheers, man, and good words.

To my mind all writing advice, especially stuff that's dispensed as truisms (like "first drafts are always garbage") are only useful inasmuch as such advice prompts you to pay attention to how you write best: what helps your workflow, what inspires you, what keeps you going through the rough bits. There are as many different ways to write (and write well) as there are people who write and so always consider this sort of thing a jumping off point to try out or keep in mind as you gradually figure out your own ways of writing.

On first drafts specifically, I think the wisdom "all first drafts are bad" is a bit of unhelpful oversimplification of the fact that, deadlines notwithstanding, no piece of writing goes out until you decide its ready, so don't get too hung up on your first draft of a thing, because a lot of writers find it much easier to edit a complete work than to try and redraft as they go. It's also important to not let perfectionism or the fact your initial draft isn't coming out exactly how you want stop you from actually finishing the thing, as it's always better to have something decent and done than to have something perfect and abandoned.

But the idea of a "first draft" is also kind of a fluid one. The "first draft" you submit to someone who's commissioned you will probably be one you've already done a bunch of tweaks and edits to, as opposed to the "first draft" you pump out in a frenzy in an over-caffeinated weekend. For my part, my first drafts tend to end up a bit more polished than most, because I'm in the habit of reading my sentences out loud as I write them (a habit picked up from years of audio writing) so I'll often write and re-write a particular sentence or paragraph a few times to get the rhythm right before moving to the next one. This means my first drafts tend to take longer, but are a bit less messy. I'm also a big-time planner and pretty good at sticking to the structures I lay out so, again, tend to front load a lot of stuff so I get a better but slower first draft.

At the end of the day, though, the important thing is to get in your head about it in a good way (How do I write best? what helps me make writing I enjoy and value? What keeps me motivated?) and not in a bad way (What if it's not good enough? What if everyone hates it? What if it doesn't make sense?) so that you actually get it done.

As for how my first drafts made me feel? Terrible, every one of 'em No idea if that's reflective of their quality, though, tbh - I hate reading my own writing until I've had a chance to forget it's mine (I can only ever see the flaws). I suppose there's theoretically a none-zero chance they were pure fragments of True Art and creative perfection, but Alex's editing notes make that seem unlikely.

[seivsite]

BRUSHSTROKES OF MAGIC.

includes: lyney x fem!reader. painter!reader, fluff, may be ooc lyney, painter and her magician muse — wc: 591

You had finally secured tickets to Lyney and Lynette’s captivating Magic Show.

After putting in hard work through small art commissions and assisting others, your perseverance paid off. Luckily, you found yourself seated in the second row, enjoying a perfect view of the entire stage. As the lights dimmed, a spotlight illuminated the enchanting magicians.

“Welcome to Lyney and Lynette’s Magic Show!” Lyney exclaimed, his arms wide open in a welcoming gesture.

The performance unfolded before your eyes, blurring the line between reality and fantasy.

The show concluded with a burst of applause, whistles, and amazed cheers filling the room. Lyney and Lynette took their bows, expressing gratitude to the audience before exiting the stage.

While others started to leave the theatre, you remained lost in your thoughts, unable to tear yourself away.

You noticed Lyney’s occasional glances in your direction, but you brushed them off, assuming he was merely engaging with the audience. Your hands moved instinctively, retrieving a small paper and a worn pencil that you carried everywhere. Swiftly, you sketched the scene, capturing the magicians as the focal point.

Unaware of another presence, you snapped out of your trance when a red rose materialised before you.

Your eyes widened at the sight, then lifted to meet the culprit—a mischievous grin adorning his face.

“Well, M’lady, perhaps we should step outside before we find ourselves locked in here,” he suggested, tucking the flower gently into your hair. Extending his hand, he invited you to join him.

You accepted his hand, and he turned to his sister, who stood waiting.

“Took you quite a while,” she remarked, her expression unchanging.

“Apologies, Lynette. It seems M’lady was deeply absorbed in thought,” he responded.

“Please stop addressing me like that,” you murmured, your cheeks tinged with a blush.

“Apologies again! I haven’t had the pleasure of knowing your name. I’m Lyney. This is my sister, Lynette, and you are...?” He walked alongside you as the three of you departed the theatre.

“(Name), pleased to make your acquaintance,” you replied.

From that day forward, your bond with Lyney grew remarkably strong, much to Lynette’s amusement as she shook her head at her brother’s persistent attempts to win you over.

In a meadow bursting with vibrant blooms, Lyney stood amidst the flowers, becoming both your muse and a devoted spectator. As your brush danced gracefully across the canvas, each stroke seemed to weave a rich tapestry of emotions.

“Are you almost finished, M’lady?” Lyney’s voice broke the tranquil air as he noticed your momentary pause.

“Hmm, just a few more minutes,” you replied, urging him to remain where he stood.

When the art piece finally took shape, it radiated colours and beauty that surpassed mere brushwork. Lyney was thoroughly impressed, unable to contain himself as he pressed a kiss to your cheek, prompting a delightful blush from you.

“Thank you for immortalising me in your art, M’lady. I shall treasure it,” Lyney expressed, his tone sincere.

“It’s no big deal,” you replied with a smile. Lyney settled beside the portrayal of yourself, gazing at you with unwavering attention.

“Is something wrong?” you questioned, perplexed by his sudden change in demeanour.

“No, it’s just that something has been occupying my thoughts,” he confessed, his fond gaze fixed on you.

Your head tilted in curiosity, awaiting an explanation.

“Despite my belief in the wonder of my magic tricks, they pale in comparison to your beauty and talent. I’m afraid, M’lady, that you’ve stolen my heart. So, will you do me the honour of accepting this responsibility?”

NOTES. he’s cute i like the idea of painter!reader w lyney whos a magician, also my second genshin work weee. kinda rushed this so whatever plot i have is a bit wonky, maybe.

TAG LIST. @yanqingisim

LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! ‹3

[pupcuck]

BEEP !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. ddlg, pacifier, cockwarming, p in v, fluffy smut, implied age gap, icky ddlg stuff .. like yk

note. we r trying this again.. tags didn’t work last time bc tumblr hates me :( commission 4 the loveliest sweetest ever @miss-oranje-disco-dancer :3 !!! THANK U SM FOR THE COMM love u with all my heart hope u enjoy this and that there are no mistakes… if u would like to commission or tip me the info is in my pinned :3

Leon hears you before he sees you. There is one sound that grates on him and another that makes his dick as hard as it can get. At least, his brain is telling him he should be hard, and he knows he should be, but his dick is crazy stubborn. Stubborn is his way of describing it, his doctor calls it an erectile dysfunction. Not true. His dick functions when it wants to function, okay?

Taking Viagra is optional these days, shit don’t work for him no more. He takes it for fun, reminiscing on the good ol’ days when his dick got hard from the way the wind blew. It doesn’t work so it’s redundant and Leon has started to think he just likes popping pills. Makes him feel twenty-seven and hot. He’s Viagra-resistant. Like Super Gonorrhoea is to antibiotics.

The squeak of your teeth against the rubbery nub of your pacifier is a delight. All the blood in his brain rushes south like a crew scrambling to raise the masts on a ship, it has nowhere to go though, no dick to raise. You've unlocked a new level of excitement within Leon, instead of boners he gets blood clots. How cute. Really, that’s so fun, ain’t it?

The beep! of that goddamn plastic scanner, however, is not welcome in this house. Especially not in his home office turned place of refuge. Leon swears to God he’s developed misophonia. As your daddy, that kind of behaviour is unacceptable, he shouldn't be swearing at all, but this is Leon speaking, not daddy. Daddy is a saint, Leon is pissed off. He only wanted to do something nice for his baby. Nothing ever works out in his favour, he must’ve been born under an unlucky star, or walked under a lot of ladders, crossed one too many black cats.

That one good deed backfired, and now he would rather— Oh, shit.

“Uh-oh,” you mumble, the start of a cheeky grin lining your face. The pacifier muffles your words, it’s plain pink and heart-shaped like your ass. ‘Cause you’re a tasteful little thing. No excessive prints, no lettering that reads Daddy's Girl ♥︎ which Leon had perversely hoped for you to choose.

Uh-oh indeed. He has filled out an entire (probably) super important form in a pink gel pen. Not just any pink gel pen, a strawberry-scented, glittery pink gel pen.

“What did daddy say about this, baby?” Leon asks, and he’s trying to be serious, but god are you cute, and since when has he cared about work? Hunnigan will give him an earful, he wishes for a mouthful, that he’ll ignore because Leon is so kind. He cares so much about saving the world and whatnot.

(Paperwork doesn’t save the world anyway, he saves it periodically, she should cut him some slack.)

“You can’t come into daddy’s office when he’s not home.” That’s a rule. Written on a Miffy notepad in, you guessed it, pink glitter gel pen. A combined effort to revamp the Ten Commandments. Rule number five - Thou shalt not enter Daddy’s place of labour. God, he should do stand-up.

You shrug, pointing at your pacifier in an act of defiance. The scanner remains gripped tightly in your hand, and he can tell you’re itching to make it beep! once more.

Leon hooks his finger in the curved handle of your pacifier, there’s resistance, you hold onto it, clamped down on the nub— He tickles your tummy and out it pops.

“Not fair!” You wipe the spit from your chin on your sleeve. A pout forming at the injustice of it all.

“You can’t come into daddy’s office when he’s not home,” he repeats, “I think you should apologise to Daddy.”

Slowly, you turn around to bare your ass to him, the panties you’re wearing have an oversized bow sewn to the back of them. The fabric is slightly wrinkled from where you’ve been sitting and playing, he smooths it out.

Leon’s never seen these before, they look expensive, silk not cotton. He reminds himself to check his bank account when you leave. He’ll forget until he sees you wearing an even nicer pair later on in the week. The cycle repeats. You are living one lavish life off a civil servant’s salary.

“You’re too big for spankings, aren’t you, big girl?” Leon’s hands are gentle on your hips, he turns you back around. “Big girls say sorry.”

Petulance comes and goes. You’re a good girl at heart, bottom lip quivering when you lurch forward to sit in his lap. “Sorry, Daddy,” you sniffle.

“Aw, baby,” he coos. “It’s okay, daddy isn’t—“

Beep!

You scanned his dick. Good one. Sneaky little thing. He oughta go back on his words and spank you raw.

“You think you’re funny, huh, little lady?” Leon huffs out a laugh, and you nod while giggling. So proud of yourself. “Alright, get outta here.” He stands you up, but you crawl under his desk like a pet. The cutest little bedbug in all of history. Leon would never call pest control on you. Pinky swear.

The scanner sits by his feet, and you rest your head on his thigh, watching him work idly. Then you grow bored, naughty hands making their way up his legs. In one swift motion, you tug the front of his sweats down, his flaccid cock drops onto his thigh. Limp and sad. It’s ugly like this, Leon is more than a little ashamed. So… So not dick-like. Innocuous. Harmless.

(Not that his dick was causing any harm before, maybe to your cervix, but never on purpose. Only ‘cause you asked him to fuck you like that. His little lady wants it rough.)

To put it simply, shit looks like a fucking worm. You bat at his cock like a kitten, tongue sticking out to lick over the half-hidden tip.

“Okay,” Leon says. This is happening.

“Mmph…” You engulf the tip in your warm mouth, suckling like you do your pacifier, there’s the slightest scrape of teeth, Leon doesn’t mind.

“That sending you to sleep, cutie?” Leon pats your head as you blink up at him sleepily. He wants to take you to work with him. Let you set up your toys beneath his desk, hand you a juice box, a fruit snack, his cock at your will. Put it in your mouth, jerk him off, sit on it. Yeah. Sounds like a dream. That should be his treat for all the world-saving he does. No bonus, just a Bring Your Girlfriend to Work Day. Bring Your Girlfriend to Work and Engage in Public Sex With Her Everyday. That’s more like it.

Who else is going to warm his cock when it’s feeling all alone? Hunnigan most certainly won’t. And he might’ve wanted that before, but Leon S. Kennedy has been domesticated, and the only mouth he wants on his dick is yours. You do a damn good job at it. Treat his dick so well, that soft fuck don’t deserve it.

You pull off of his cock with a slurp. The drool pooling in your mouth dribbles down your chin, you use his sweats as a napkin, rubbing your face into the fabric to clean yourself up. Your mess is his mess. He finds it cute.

“Baby’s all done?” Leon’s thumb traces the shape of your lip, your Cupid’s bow, your puffy bottom lip. Always juts out ‘cause you’re always pouting about one thing or the other. Leaning into his palm, you shake your head, shifting from your knees to your butt. Cross-legged on the ground you push the gas cylinder on his spinny chair. There is the deflated sound of his chair sinking and you hum in satisfaction, level with his cock.

“Careful, lift your little fingers,” he warns when you grab the underside of his seat to try and wheel him closer. You do as he says, anything to get his cock in your mouth. Leon wheels forward, and you situate yourself between his thighs once more, lips wrapping around his dick. You take inch by inch, closing your eyes once you get to the midway point, then you swallow around his cock— Fuck, that got him twitching. Your eyes open, and you giggle, the vibration goes straight to his core. His cock grows thicker and heavier by the second, tip fat and leaky as it drip-drops directly down your throat.

“Look at you go,” Leon chuckles. “You did that all on your own, baby.” No Viagra needed when he has you.

You smooch the head, smearing his pre over your lips like a coat of gloss, then you trail kisses along the shaft as you do down his midriff.

“Always tryin’ that, it’s not gonna work.” He clicks his tongue, the sound of your struggle is cute, you choke on spit while trying to fit Leon’s balls in your mouth. It’s real fucking cute. No other girl has ever loved on his balls like you do. He appreciates it. You’re a proper whore, Leon says that with love.

“‘S gonna, Daddy,” you insist in your whiniest voice.

“Alright, alright, it’s gonna work.”

It does not work. Daddy’s always right, you should know that, sweetheart.

You gaze up at him, a string of spit connecting your lips to his spit-coated balls. Whole lotta spit. You’re lucky he likes it messy. You settle for sucking on the rounded bottom of them, tongue following the seam that runs up the middle.

“You like it down there so much, cutie,” he says, fondness manifesting in his dick finally managing to stand tall and proud like an American.

“Mwah.” You place one more sloppy kiss on the underside of his cock, right on a vein that comes to the surface. His dick casts a shadow on your face. Real good view from up here. Makes his shit look huge.

Leon gets stupid when he’s horny. His brain activity is low already, when he’s turned on his brain activity is nonexistent. When he sits you on his desk, there is no concern for the paperwork that gets crumpled under your butt. Paperwork that’s been passed on to him by the US government, by the damn President. Paperwork that has been subjected to abuse by not only a gel pen, but now by your cute ass, and your drippy cunt. Not his girl’s fault she has such a sloppy pussy. Forgive her, Mr. President. Not Leon’s fault he gets her so wet. Cut down my workload, Mr. President.

“Oh no, my baby.” Leon stands between your spread thighs, frowning as he thumbs the wet patch staining the crotch of your panties. “Got ‘em all messy, sweetheart, what're we gonna do with you?”

“Oh no, daddy,” you coo at him, a dopey smile on your face.

“Cheeky.” Leon kisses your forehead, presses his thumb into the centre of the wet patch, the fabric dips and sinks into your spongy hole. “She’s so greedy.” He takes your panties off, not without turning them inside out to suck on the wet patch. If you’re embarrassed about it, you don’t complain. “I think daddy needs to give you a kiss down here, baby.”

“Lotsa kisses.” You nod in agreement.

“Yeah? Want daddy to kiss your princess parts?” Shit, that is one fucked up phrase. Always messes him up. Knocks the air out of his lungs. It’s just true though. A hard fact. You do have the prettiest princess cunt Leon has ever seen. It just sounds so dirty. But you preen when he says it, and your clit twitches, and your pussy drools. On that very important paperwork. “That’s what you need, isn’t it? Need your daddy to kiss these sweet princess parts.”

Leon’s first priority is your clit. Poor thing is all swollen. His pointer finger drags through the middle of your cunt, parts your folds and circles your bud. You’re trembling in anticipation, and that single finger is almost too much.

“‘S not a kiss, daddy,” you tell him, brows knit together.

He flicks your clit and your hips jolt. The IKEA desk holds up well. Leon deserves to be a little mean, you’ve put him through so much. That stupid scanner makes him trigger-happy. “Okay, my bad, Miss Know-it-all.”

When he gets down to business, you pet his head as a reward, and Leon takes it. He latches onto your clit, lips smacking noisily. Your pussy wets his scruffy face, Leon would like to wear your scent to work in the morning. With each broad lick to your cunt, there’s another gush of slick. And he groans into your pussy ‘cause fuck he could live between your thighs— God, he wonders if this is a fix for barely functioning alcoholics. Pussy. If he eats enough - which Leon does, he’s generous when it comes to head - he might sober up.

His tongue fucks into your hole, his nose bumping your clit as he moves his head from side to side. Must look like he’s motorboating your pussy. Not far off from that. “Oh, that’s right.” You grind your hips into him. “Mmm-Mmm-Mmm-“ Leon moans with each push of his tongue, sounds kinda ridiculous. “That’s good, fuck daddy’s mouth, sweetheart—“

“Stop…” Your breath is caught in your throat. “Stop talkin’ daddy!” You sob, fingers tangled in his hair, using it to force him deeper and deeper, hips moving in tandem.

Leon smiles into you, and you don’t let go of his hair until you’re reduced to tears, making an even bigger mess on his desk as your body shakes. It hit you hard. Poor baby. Blubbering and all sorts. When you free him, Leon moves to kiss you, rubs his pussy-wet stubble all over your face, swallows your complaints.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Leon leaves wet kisses on your neck. “Daddy’s got you, hm? Daddy’s right here.” You’re still trembling, grabbing at his shoulders when he rolls his hips forward, the leaky head of his cock meeting your clit in a disgusting wet kiss.

You shudder, toes curling in your pink socks. Leon soothes you, stroking your back as he eases into your princess cunt. “Easy, baby, be a good girl for me.”

Your cunt sucks him in, doesn’t take long for him to be buried inside of you. He rolls his hips forward, slow and steady. You gasp, throwing your head back and knocking a pot of pens onto the floor when your hands move to grip the edge of his desk.

Like this, with your back arched and your hips raised, cunt swallowing him whole, you’re the prettiest. When you’re slutting yourself out on his dick. Sorry. Leon’s only a man. This is how he thinks, how he’s wired to be, he can’t help it. You’re so fucking hot it drives him nuts.

The more you arch, the better it feels, he gives lazy thrusts that somehow manage to hit just right ‘cause you keen and fuck yourself on him, letting out hiccuped sobs of Daddy.

Daddy, daddy, daddy.

It’s all you can say. Fuck.

“I love you, baby,” Leon says. “I love you, daddy loves you.”

Oh, and you cum so hard he thinks you’re about to blackout. You don’t. But you do squirt. Pushing his cock out with the force of your high, Leon forces his dick further into you— The rush of liquid hits his skin in bursts, and you’re squeezing him tight, hole clenching like crazy in second-long intervals.

“Daddy… I love you.” Your words are slurred, but you never miss the opportunity to tell him how much you love him. “Love you more.”

“Not… Not possible.” Leon almost whines when he cums. Almost. You scratch behind his ears, it’s like you’re saying There you go, good daddy! Like he’s a dog. Leon is a dog, not a real dog, but a human dog. The pervert kind of dog.

He fills you up like a creampuff, and when his cock slips out, dribbles of his seed dripping from the tip, Leon’s quick to use his thumbs to keep your pussy spread.

“Push it out, baby.” He watches your hole twitch, milky cum spilling out as you exert your pussy. “Good girl, you’re such a good girl.” Leon kisses you hard, cradles the back of your head. “Daddy’s good girl.”

Leon helps you stand, his fingertips mould to the flesh of your ass when he gives it a squeeze. You’re a tender little darling, wrapping your arms around his neck to hug him. When his chin slots over your shoulder, and your scent is sweet on his nose, Leon gapes at the sight of his soggy paperwork. Unfortunately, Leon won’t even be fired for insolence, he’ll just have to face Hunnigan. Something he can’t do while sober. Could do it while pussy drunk though. Never thought about that.

“I think,” Leon starts, hoists you back onto the desk so he can pick you up, “it’s bath time.” You’re nodding off in his arms, barely able to cling onto him. He manages to get you to the bathroom, sitting you down on the counter. “Or is it naptime?”

“Naptime,” you mumble, wincing at the icy counter on your warmed skin.

“Whatever you say, baby.” Leon cleans you up, diligent in his role as Daddy. Would never let his sweetheart go to bed like that. “There we go, fresh as a daisy,” he claims post-towel wipe down.

“Sticky.” You always have a complaint for him. But it’s okay, he loves you. You’re his spoiled little girl.

“Okay, so then is it bath time?” He raises a brow and you shake your head.

“No! Naptime, daddy!” You loop your arms around his neck. “Up.”

“You’re so bossy, you know that?” Leon says while smiling. “Big fuckin’ baby, what am I gonna do with you?”

“Bad words,” you scold, tapping your finger on his lips.

“Daddy can say bad words.” He takes you to bed, fluffs up the pillows for you like he's never done for anyone else. “But you’re a little baby, you can’t say bad words.”

And for once, you’re so sleepy you have nothing bratty to say in return. “Okay, daddy, sleep now,” you say, rolling onto your side to hide your face in his chest.

“Okay, baby,” he laughs quietly, holding you close. “Sleeping now.”

[luveline]

maybe like a couple weeks after their first date he runs into r again & roan gets excited

thank you for your request! eddie and roan —single dad!eddie and his daughter roan bump into you at the store and make your intentions clear to one another. fem!reader, 2k

Eddie has biceps of steel from the last few years of constant carrying. Roan doesn't tire him out quickly anymore; he can carry her from the car to the store and back again without aching. It's the lack of hands for lifting things that pose a problem. 

Every time he comes to the store he swears he's just gonna grab the one thing he came in for, and every time he ends up with a basket full of stuff he's been meaning to get for the last week or two, bandaids and dish detergent, Roan's favourite cookies because she's been a sweetheart this week even if they're three times as expensive as the okay ones, and even if it all makes the basket heavy as a bowling ball.

"You'll have to go down, you're slipping," he says to her. 

Roan is regretfully exhausted today, and doesn't like the sound of this at all. "I don't want to walk," she mumbles. 

"I know, sweetheart. Just for a bit." He plops her down on two feet, the burn in his arms mitigating slightly. "There we go. If you be a good girl for me we can get a big bag of candy, okay?" 

"You promise?" she asks. 

Her little voice makes it impossible to disappoint her. "I promise. You can still hold my hand if you need to." 

She holds his hand for a little while. The last things on Eddie's list are actually the first things, the only things he'd come in for —socks for both of them. He noticed that pretty much all of his are out of commission, and Roan's get lost in the washer every other day. 

Roan chooses to roam free, but she's learned her lesson since his last heart attack and doesn't wander. Eddie refuses to give her an opportunity, watching her like a hawk. It's why he doesn't notice you at first standing in front of the pyjamas feeling the soft fabrics between your fingers. 

Roan skips back to his side. "Daddy, look," she implores, pointing. 

Eddie picks up a packet of socks. "Two seconds." 

"Look! Look!" she insists. 

Eddie tosses the socks in the basket with all the enthusiasm of someone who's been in work for seven and a half hours. "What, babe?" 

You've stepped a couple of paces closer, waving at him when he notices you with your endearing, awkward smile. 

"Hello, Munsons," you say, in a way that Eddie takes for the shyness of going out with someone and an obvious delight to see them. 

"Hey," he says, in the same shy-delighted combo. 

Roan giggles infectiously and bounds forward to your legs. You hold your shopping basket out of the way. "Hey, princess! Wow, look at you! This is a pretty dress. Purple's your colour." 

Roan rubs her cheek into your thigh. "Hi," she drags out. 

"I'd pick you up, but my hands are full," you say. Basket in one hand, keys in the other, you've done the same as Eddie by the looks of things, come in for a quick stop and got distracted. "It's so nice to see you, it's been a whole week!" 

Eddie tucks his hair behind his ear. "I meant to call you back last night, I'm sorry. I put her to bed and totally forgot." 

Thankfully, you don't hold it against him. If anything, his apology brings an even bigger smile to your face. 

"That's okay, handsome." Eddie has to physically hide his pleasure, hand behind his head to scratch at his neck bashfully. "That's just fine, I wasn't worried. I mean, unless I should be worried?" 

"Definitely don't be worried," he begs. 

Five dates, one of which at his trailer, and a countless number of phone calls between, Eddie's confident that this might go someplace good. He's a wuss, though, for not having kissed you yet. He's trying to be a gentleman (he's scared shitless that he's forgotten how to do it right, and he likes you so much, he really wants to do it right). 

"Then I'm not worried," you say, rubbing Roan's little shoulders with your pinky and marriage finger, careful not to rake your keys over her shoulder blade. 

"We're getting, uh– the big candy," Roan says. 

"Yeah? The movie size bags? Your dad is so nice, every time we talk he's bought you something." 

"He's so nice," Roan agrees clumsily. 

Eddie shakes his head, "No, it's just my job." 

You send him a fond look. "I can't pretend that I know how to do it, but if you asked me, I'd say you were, like, creme of the crop, you know? It's amazing." 

Eddie takes that for encouragement. While Roan is busy pressed to your thighs adoringly, he juggles his basket into the other arm for want of something to do while he says, "Wayne offered to take Roan for the night this Friday if I wanted to make plans. Do you– would you be free? We could see a movie." 

"I would be, and if I wasn't I'd make myself free," you say. 

Eddie really, really likes that about you —you're honest. You don't play mind games. He figures it wouldn't work in your favour anyhow, considering you'd asked him out first, but he still appreciates it. It's nice to feel wanted. 

He really needs to kiss you, he thinks. If the moments right, at the movies, maybe he can hit you with the classic yawning faux play and wrap an arm around your shoulders. 

"You know I don't mind if Roan comes, right?" you ask. 

"I know, but– I kind of wanna focus on you, yeah? It drives me crazy wanting to get to know everything about you and having to wait until the next time we see each other." 

"Well," —you look down at Roan, shyness cropping up once more— "I'm not seeing anybody else. It's only you. I really love telling you things, and I'd love to go out with you, just us." You give Roan a blinding smile. "But I'll miss you, princess." 

Roan whines with her arms raised. You put your basket down on the ground and crouch to accept a hug that turns to a clinging, Roan's legs wrapping around your waist as you perch your head over her shoulder. 

"I'm not seeing anybody else, either," Eddie says. 

You pat Roan's back. "Awesome." 

Are you exclusive? Just like that? Eddie doesn't think that's how being someone's boyfriend goes, but it's a start. He'll ask you properly just as soon as he knows you enjoy being kissed by him, he decides. 

"Ice cream?" Roan asks you desperately. 

"Oh, sweetheart, I wish I could. We'll go again soon, okay? That was really fun, watching them scoop the ice cream together. I loved that." 

"Please?" Roan asks. 

You throw Eddie a save-me look. 

"Big candy tonight, and then maybe we can get ice cream another day," he suggests. "We gotta go home to make sure Rufus ate his chicken, remember?" 

"Will you come?" Roan asks you. Her voice wavers with a hopefulness that breaks Eddie's heart, honest to God. 

She just wants to be loved by you. She adores you. She has from the very moment you met, how you'd fawned at her, called her pretty, she chases that feeling almost like Eddie chases your attentions. 

He looks at you and he thinks, Fuck, she's good. Pretty, absolutely. Earnest? To a fault. His track record for reading people's intentions is awful, but he believes without a shadow of a doubt that you're someone worth fighting for. 

He decides to lay it on thick. More is more with you. 

"Y/N can't come with us tonight, baby, she has things to do. See how pretty she looks? She has somewhere she needs to go tonight." 

You fluster visibly, managing to follow his white lie by the skin of your teeth. "I'm sorry, I do have somewhere I need to go. But I'm just so excited to hang out with you and daddy again like we did last week, I had lots of fun."

"And she'll dress like a princess again next time, yeah?" Eddie adds encouragingly. 

"I will," you say.

He was supposed to meet you at a nice restaurant for dinner when his sitter cancelled on him last minute. Without qualm, you'd grabbed a bag of Chinese takeout and arrived at the trailer, everything about you working to drop his jaw clean out. Your hair, your split skirt, the way you'd taken Roan into your lap and fanned her face with a fabric fan and cood as her baby hairs blew in the breeze. Princess is the exact right word for how you'd been. 

Eddie has more than a crush's worth of affection for you. He's kind of crazy about you, actually. Roan is the same. 

"A princess?" she asks. 

You nod slowly. "I swear. If you want, I can bring over a little bit of my makeup and we can match. Does that sound okay, dad?" 

He's thankful for you turning the authority over to him. It makes it much easier to convince Roan to do as he asks tonight without a tantrum. 

"Sounds perfect." 

"Okay. Can I give you a kiss on the cheek to say goodbye?" you ask an ecstatic Roan. 

She lifts her head for kissing. You brush her hair from her face and peck her round cheek as she begins the process of detangling herself from your torso. 

You groan as you stand from a crouch and pick your basket up again. His jaw tenses of its own accord, your perfume sudden and encompassing as you step forward to say goodbye to him. 

"I'll see you on Friday, yes?" you ask, face craned upward ever so slightly. 

He's not sure he can wait that long. "Yeah, I'll call you?" 

"Tonight?" you ask. 

"Yeah, tonight. Whenever you want." 

"I want tonight, if that's okay," you say.

Eddie squeezes your arm. He thinks it's a lame move until your smile somehow grows. "I'll call you as soon as I get home." 

You nod, pleased. With a sweet goodbye wave to Roan, and a kiss so quick to his cheek that he's left wondering if he dreamed it, you and your basket dissappear around the corner toward the checkout. 

Roan looks up at him. Eddie grins. "She's nice, right?" 

"I love her," Roan says sagely. It's the same way that she says she loves cinnamon crunch cereal or her Dotty Dolly dolls, Eddie thinks, but it could easily turn to the same love she shows her Aunt Robin or numerous Uncles.

Hell, if you're as golden as you seem, Eddie would want her to love you as she loves Wayne, even as she loves Eddie himself. But that's miles down the line and much too much to be thinking about before a first kiss. (A proper one, and not a goodbye one, that is.) 

His cheek warm from your lips, Eddie feels suddenly reinvigorated. He shifts the basket into the crook of his elbow and swoops Roan into his arms with the gusto of a stronger man. 

"I like her, too," Eddie says. "I love you most of all. Forget one bag of candy, bubby, let's get three." 

Roan pulls at his shirt collar mindlessly, "Three of the– of the big ones, daddy?" 

"Yep. Three big ones all for me and you." 

His love for her is a whole lot bigger than three bags of candy, but it's a start. 

They make their way to the candy aisle. Roan recounts your appearance in clumsy wording, though lately she seems to be learning at a pace he can't keep up with. Every day she uses words he didn't know she knew, and better than that, her sentences have begun to stretch. Talking to her is the best way to move that along, so when she asks Eddie what he likes most about you, he talks for twenty whole minutes. 

[pocket-ozwynn]

Golden Retriever Jock Gf and Flustered Nerdy Bf, my beloveds ❤️💜

Commission by the wonderful @entomolog-t, thank you for taking such good care of them 🥺 you captured all the best parts of Freyja and Alice, and the new setting I’m coming up for them. Everything about this is so perfect, I can’t stand it.

There’s SO much I could gush about with this. Y’all, Ent is a DELIGHT to work with—she’s thoughtful, thorough, and considerate. I still am finding details about this that I love—teeny little Easter Eggs that make me gasp and go ‘OH WAIT HOW DID I NOT NOTICE THAT BEFORE?!?’ I would highly recommend commissioning her if you ever have the chance.

Thank you again Ent!

Also, enjoy a close-up of this flustered fool. I love the little “surprise lines” coming off his shoulders as he looks up and see her looking at him. He gets so comfortable around Frey, I think he forgets she’s a giant sometimes 💀

[anonymouspuzzler]

Haha Whoops Uh Oh! (UPDATED 6/11/23)

so this isn't the type of post I normally like to make, but! uh! hey! I just got ambushed by a HUGE tuition bill I wasn't expecting, and I'm out of options to pay it - they've already applied my scholarship and loans, I'm already working multiple jobs that are basically just barely paying for rent + groceries, and I only have enough on my credit card to pay for One of the three payments they're requiring, which only gets me through till July (with, again, no options that get me that amount of money by that time).

further full disclosure, this bill came at like, the worst possible time - they've given me four days to make at minimum the first payment (which, again, I can only do by maxing out my credit card), and on top of juggling multiple jobs I'm also in the middle of two classes, including one which involves upcoming travel (that is already paid for, thank god). Hence, me Scrambling a li'l bit!!

as such, I've set a new goal on my ko-fi!! it is, of course, HUGE, but genuinely any small amount people are able to contribute goes a huge way to giving me SOME way to pay it off. note that 3-coffee doodle requests are still A Thing, commissions are still a thing (if you have one active I'll be getting to them this & next week), and I'll be streaming wherever I can to pull together money that way - wherever it comes, any support is HUGE and I mean that.

UPDATE 6/11/23: I am updating the original post to remove the ko-fi link and yet you fine folks know: HOLY HECK, y'all managed to get my tuition dealt with. words truly cannot express my gratitude for that - I'm so, so, SO humbled and thankful for everyone who came out to get me out of a really rough situation.

in the slightest, smallest attempt to pay forward the kindness i've been shown, I'm gonna try and use this moment to direct y'alls attention to some other folks I know who could use some kindness! hardly comprehensive, in no particular order, just top-of-my-mind type type beat. (note that these are all folks' twitter handles - some of 'em are on tumblr too, but I figure best to direct you to where I know they are 100%!)

@/Pochiyaki is a friend & artist who's been trying to get out of a bad money situation a while, and could definitely use some love!

@/rudeboimonster is similarly a dear friend who's been struggling to find long-term work and housing, anything you got would help.

Or, considering supporting the work of a creative you love! A few I've been loving lately that I'd recommend:

@/cosmignon (Runaway Draikana webcoming, and other comics and illustration work)

@/SynthCharmVA (voicework & writing/show development)

@/Tonya_Song (music - including vocals, piano and composition - plus education and activism work)

@/jaypg_art (character design, visdev, and illustration)

@/littlegoodfrog (Matchmaker and other comics)

@/winonaparadise (Girls With Horns and other comics/illustration work)

@/derekmballard (comics, including the upcoming Cartoonshow graphic novel)

@/_PartyCoffin_ (Welcome Home, and just about every art form you can conceive of)

and of course, if you're not following & supporting my amazing partner @/hollowtones, who helped me through this tough situation in every possible way - well you ought to be!! a delight and talent in every imaginable way, and I'm only a little biased on that.

and above all else... THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!!!!!!

[cambion-companion]

hi!! binge read all your raphael stuff and i think it added more worms in my brain!! :D thank you!!!

raphael idea: artist!reader (or tav/durge) that raph commissions to paint a portrait of him. maybe how the sitting would go- would he be monologuing? would he be looking over contracts? would he be sneaking fond (in his own way) glances at the lovely little artist sitting in his foyer putting so much passion and concentration into capturing his devilish visage?

or maybe smth like he can't make it to a sitting one day so he sends haarlep to do it expecting that the artist won't be able to tell the difference. instead, his artist refuses to start working since that's CLEARLY not her patron!! his facial structure is off!! that piece of hair doesn't flow down like that!! and his gaze- clearly not!!! so raph comes back hours (or even days) later to find the little artist still in his house, waiting for his return so that they can resume work <3

I LOVE this!

Thank you for reading my work and for sending this lovely message in! This idea kinda ran away with me but I hope you enjoy this drabble!

“Where is Raphael?”  You squinted at the devil lounging on the gold embroidered cushions.

On first glance, it appeared to be the cambion you’d met yestereve. He had commissioned you to paint a self-portrait for him, showed you the many that already hung from his marble walls. You’d begun your work, sketching the lines and filling them out with practiced dexterity.

Due to time constraints, the devil was a busy man it seemed, you had to cut your painting short, determining to begin again the following day.

Now you sat again, upon the small stool, staring in consternation at the creature who would have you believe it was Raphael.

The fiend stretched, feigning a languid uncaring composure.  In all but those burning eyes, focused so sharply upon your frowning face.

“Whatever do you mean, little succulent?”  It was Raphael’s voice as well, though something was off about the cadence. “You have everything you need right here.”

You shook your head, frustrated, lowering your paintbrush from where it had been poised over the canvas. “No, this isn’t going to work. You aren’t him.”

“My, quite the perceptive thing.”  The devil straightened, looking displeased. “How very annoying.”

“What…who are you?”  You asked, a slight tingle of fear running down your spine.

“I am Haarlep.”  The devil’s long tail swished to curl around his feet.

“That’s an odd name.”

“Isn’t it just.”

Your frown deepened, an annoyed breath hissed through your clenched teeth. “Well, I cannot continue until the real Raphael returns.  When will he be back?”

“The master will not return for quite a while.”  Haarlep rolled his shoulders, looking equally put off. “I do my job quite well. What exactly is the issue?”

You set down your tools and folded your arms, still wary of whatever this creature was. “The way your hair falls, the cadence of your voice…”

“All aspects I am sure you can rectify without too much issue.”  Haarlep interrupted with a petulant gesticulation, but you spoke over him.

“And your eyes.”  Your own eyes narrowed in concentration, focusing on the burning embers within those inky black orbs. “Your eyes are wrong.”

“I’m offended.”  Haarlep deadpanned, then tilted his head with a curious smile. “Explain.”

“I cannot.” You shrugged.

“Then work on painting everything except the face.” Haarlep repositioned himself upon the sofa, his eyes rolling slightly in bemusement.

“For professional reasons, I cannot.”  You didn’t budge. “The master of the house didn’t notify me of this change.”

“The master of the house apologizes.”  Now that voice you recognized, Raphael’s.  Deeper and with more presence than the voice Haarlep used.

Raphael, still in human form, strode into view and offered you a wry smile.  He bowed slightly at the waist, his brown eyes never leaving yours. “I admit to not foreseeing your powers of insight. What a delightful discovery, my dear.”  

He turned and observed Haarlep with mild amusement for a moment. “You’re slipping.”

“Nonsense.”  Haarlep stood from the chaise and flexed his batlike wings. “You know as well as I, some things cannot be replicated.”

“Such as?”  Raphael directed the question to you.

You shifted, your behind slowly numbing from the uncomfortable stool. “Well, the way Haarlep carries himself for one.”  You said carefully speaking the other’s name. “The eyes are also completely different, not in shape or color but the nature they hold within them.”

“Fascinating.” Raphael put his hand to his chin, a slight quirk to his lips. “The eyes.  Windows to the soul.”  He laughed, short and rough.

You didn’t quite understand the joke but smiled politely. “Have you time now?  I can come back later.”

“No.”  Raphael shook his head and placed a firm hand on your shoulder, taking a moment to inspect your canvas. “This is important work. I am at your disposal.”  Raphael’s human form melted away. His hand on your shoulder grew in size and sharp claws bit through your shirt to your skin. Hellfire eyes looked down upon you, familiar, calculating. “For as long as you need me.”

[copiousloverofcopia]

For the ghoul fuckers out there, here is my recent commission for @dantesunbreaker featuring our favorite gremlin, Dew!

Thank you so much for allowing me to write this for you. It was once again a pleasure and thank you for letting me to share it with others as well!

Also once again please be gentle with me I am not the best when it comes to ghoul content, but I am so happy that you all are giving me a change!!!

If you are interested in commissioning me, my carrd info can be found on my pinned post!

Never Change

The upcoming tour has you on edge when your devilish lover Dew decides to create a stir. While he meant no harm, the ghoul's antics only add to your frustration. When things reach their max and you can no longer continue, it's up to Dew to remind you on how to relax.

Also available HERE on AO3!

Definitely NSFW below the cut

Your head was pounding. The dark circles under your eyes, beginning to feel like a permanent fixture on your face and It seemed that as of late that the days grew longer and the nights shorter. You had begun to feel the weight of all the responsibility, you had at one time so willingly taken on. Now taking its toll more than you had ever expected. 

At first you were elated to have even been asked. Working hard for the Ministry to ensure a successful tour for the Impera cycle was something any siblings would be honored to be a part of. There were days, however, when you hardly left the main office. The small room set aside for you, covered in an endless array of paperwork and incomplete itineraries. 

At times it felt like you too were collecting dust, just as the numerous artifacts and forgotten tomes that surrounded you. More often than not, worried that the more you accomplished—the more you still had to get done. The ominous feeling of dread hitting you from the moment your eyes peeled open with the light of the sun. All of it, you often thought, would be a little less infuriating if it hadn’t been for your own personal gremlin—Dew. 

You had fallen for him some time ago—back when you first became selected as a Canon for the Cardinal. A prestigious position within your Italian sect of the Ministry. You were ready to make a name for yourself just when Dew came into your life. Instantly drawing you in with his fiery and unpredictable nature. He was a force to be reckoned with, and he kept you on your toes. 

The excitement between you left you with a sense of meaning—feeling more exhilarated and alive. All of your desires found to be mutual, leading to a romance between the two of you that rivaled that of Antony and Cleopatra. Hot and heavy, it was a wonder you ever got anything done. All of that, however, came crashing down when Cardinal Copia became Papa. 

Your workload tripled overnight and suddenly you had gone from being able to sneak away to an alcove for some steamy afternoon delights, to being stuck behind the same four walls. Working day in and day out for weeks on end. No end in sight until the beginning of the tour. Worst of all, once the Ghost tour started and Copia left, Dew had to go with him.

You had tried not to think about it. Secluding yourself from the rest of the group. Dew, at first doing his best to give you space. At some point however, there was only so much he could give before a ghoul like Dew could no longer contain his natural urges. 

This week was the worst of it. Dew finding new and inventive ways to drive you mad. First was him clawing up the sofa in the office. Leaving behind a trail of threaded up seams and worn down arm rests. He was a glorified cat in his own right, you thought, praying Sister Imperator would not hold you accountable. 

The rest of the week Dew filled with the antics, the likes of an impetuous child. Trying desperately to gain your attention and doing his best to distract you from your responsibilities. Taunting you with the feel of his slick tongue running down the nape of your neck. His claws, grazing at the heat of your sex, all while you were elbow deep in monotonous paperwork.  It took all the power you had inside you to shoo him from the office. The aching he left between your thighs—absolutely torturous. 

You weren’t sure which was worse, the sexual edging or that he finished things off yesterday with a naked roll in the expense reports. Dewdrop, taking advantage of your quick trip to the refectory, to cover the pages in something wet. You, returning to find him amongst the pile of papers, all of them streaked in black ink and fluids. Of which the origins you dare not ask. 

While you had tried to explain, in vain, why it wasn’t the time or the place. No matter how hard you tried you just couldn’t bring yourself to explain it in a way the ghoul would understand. To him it was all fun and games. He was teasing you after all, and if he wasn’t allowed to have you then this was the best way he knew to spend the time. 

Now as you sat at your desk, you waited for the next Dew episode to take place. Feeling the tears pricking at your eyes when the door to the office creaked open. Your scrunkly handsome, mischievous, and smug ghoul wasting no time to step inside. Noticing right away when he walked in, that your face held more than the suggestion of tears.

“Hey babe… what’s got you all?” Dew asked, gesturing over his face with his hands. You let out a sigh, taking in a deep breath in through your nose, before exhaling sharply through pursed lips. Feeling the resolve you had been holding on to, quickly crumbling down. 

“I—I just can’t take it any more Dew.” you told him. Sobbing into your hands as he quickly closed the space between you. 

“Hey, hey, hey peanut. Tell me what’s going on? Are they adding more work for you again?” he asked, ready to throw hands with whatever clergyman had the balls to give you even MORE to do. 

“No, that's not it.” you sniffled. Drying the tears with your sleeve as they fell from your eyes. Dew’s normally grumpy face, turning soft and concerned in their wake. His tail, coming to rest sullenly between his legs.    

“Then… then what is it?” he asked, seeming to be genuinely unaware of what troubled you. The ghoul, bringing himself to sit beside you on your desk. Hopped up along the edge like a wistful kitten, wanting to comfort you. 

“I am overwhelmed, that's true. Sister is on me to finish up all the contracts for the European venues and to top it off I just found out they are adding another date in September that I need to work out the details on and well… frankly Dew,” You paused, deciding to tell him the truth once and for all,”...you are NOT helping.”  

“What? What do you mean?” Dew asked you, feeling a bit blindsided by your comment. Unsure of exactly what you were trying to tell him. 

“I am running on empty. I have so much left to do and all this stuff with you is making the load feel ten times worse. I just wish… I just wish you’d stop with all the crazy while I am trying to work!” you yelled, putting your head down on the desk. The pounding inside of your skull intensified. It was all out in the open now. Dew pressed his lips together, feeling the weight of your words. Wishing he could take back everything he had done the past week.

“Hey…” he began, nudging you with his horns. You carefully lifted your head to meet with his gaze. This time your impish lover was staring back at you with soft, loving eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh?” you asked him, wiping away the remainder of your tears. Dew pulled you into his arms. Wrapping you in them, allowing you to release in his embrace. 

“I’m sorry, I let things get out of hand. I never in a million years wanted to make you unhappy and I surely didn’t want to make you break down.”

“Oh Dew… it’s not just you. I—” 

“No, I know… but I could have done better to make sure you weren’t getting into a bad place. That was also my fault. I promise you that this will never happen again.” he smiled, running his hand over your hair. 

“I don’t want you to change Dew…” you told him. Worried that he might have misinterpreted what you were trying to say. 

“I am not talking about changing who I am, baby. I am talking about not adding more to your plate when you are at max.” he explained, assuring you that your lovable Hellraiser would still be the same ghoul you fell in love with.  

“Good, cause I wouldn’t have you any other way.” you smiled, bringing your lips to his. Feeling the heat rising between you. Your heart, already beating away as the blood went surging through your veins. 

“Promise me something, will you?” he asked. 

“Of course… anything.” you smiled, finding Dewdrop’s look of sincerity–incredibly cute. 

“Never let this happen again, ok? Don’t wait until you are on the edge before you say something to me. Promise me that you will start to take breaks when you need them. You aren’t invincible babe. You need time to ground yourself too.” Dew explained. You nodded in agreement, surprised that such sage words came from such an unlikely source. Clearly his time spent in Copia’s company was rubbing off on him. 

“I promise.” 

“Good. You know, even us ghouls know what it’s like to need a break. I can empathize with you more than you think. The long hours on the road, lack of sleep, the constant needing to bring your A-game. I promise you, the constant burnout will make things harder and you’ll get even less done in the end.” 

“Really?” you said, though you shouldn’t have been surprised. Dew was part of Ghost and had been for some time. Of course, he knew what it was like to live in chaos and like he was running on fumes. 

“Really… so make me a deal. I promise if you start giving yourself the time you need to recoup, then I will stop being such an ass.” Dew winked, “Deal?”

“Deal.” 

“...and you know there is one thing I can do to help you relax—if you’ll let me.” he smirked. Instantly your skin was flooded with goosebumps. Your body, knowing even before he’d made a move EXACTLY what that one thing was. Dew dropped off the edge, turning to lift you up out of your chair onto the desk as he buried his face in your neck. 

Teeth scraping along a delicate spot as he breathed his hot, steaming words of affection against your skin. His claws, gently traveling down your chest to your stomach as he unbuttoned your shirt. Feeling his desire for you growing hard against the inside of your thigh. Already your body, getting wet at the mere suggestion of him.

“I’m gonna show you just how well I can get you to relax baby.” Dew purred as his fingers slid over your zipper—undoing your pants. You hummed in approval, wiggling out of them as fast as you could without losing your position on the desk.  

“Show me… I need you.” you moaned. Chewing on your bottom lip and watching as his deep, piercing eyes fall to the center of your lap. His fingers, finding their way diligently to the wet spot of your underwear. Dew wasted no time teasing it with his digit. Rubbing you there until it was soaked all the way through. 

“That's right baby… that's what I wanna see. I love how fucking wet you get for me.” he growled. Moving now to sink his fingers fully inside you. His fangs, following suit as he bit into your neck. 

“Ah!” you cried out. Reveling in both the pleasure and pain combined between you. Rolling your head from side to side as the sensations overwhelmed you in the best way. Dew began to lick and suck at the bite. Leaving purple marks of ownership behind them. It would be clear to anyone who saw you, that you belonged to him. That he belonged to you. 

As you leaned back on your elbows, Dew lifted up from your neck  to watch as he pushed his fingers carefully past your folds. Licking his lips as he pumped them in and out of your dripping wet pussy. Hungry to taste you more than anything he had ever tasted before. Not satisfied enough just to have watched you squirm.

“You’re so good for me.” he purred again. His thumb, circling over your swollen clit before he began once again dipping his fingers in and out of you. Your hands, wandering over his sleek back and tangling in his long hair, just before you reached his horns. “Fuck.” he groaned, he loved that. Knowing that they allowed you more control—and he was determined to let you use them. Happily guiding his mouth down along your folds.    

“Ah…mmm…” you mewled as Dew dropped down between your legs. His tongue slithering through your wet lips and licking up inside you. Alternating between sucking on your clit and lapping at your folds as he gently worked your insides with his hands. Humming against you as he did it–the vibrations driving you absolutely mad. 

“Mmmm… So... fucking... good.” he moaned, palming his cock with his free hand. You wanted him. Needed him. Knowing that riding that cock and having him knot you was the only thing that could release you from the built-up tension. Your fingers gripped tightly onto his horns.  

“I’m cumming… oh fuck I'm cumming!” you cried as he pressed hard into your g-stop. The sensation of his touch on the soft, velvety tissue—sending your hips up in the air. Dew, smiling against your clit as he felt you cum. Letting you ride out your orgasm on his hand while he delightfully lapped up your fluids. The juices covering his face when he pulled up to kiss you. 

You were breathless and weak as you laid there on the desk. Unsure if you’d ever be able to move again—though you certainly wouldn’t have had it any other way. Your body, still falling from the heights of passion you’d reached when Dew lifted your legs up and over his shoulders. Hastily pulling his throbbing, leaky cock out from the confines of his pants. 

“I think you’re still a bit tense.” he teased, you too blissfully pleasured to even respond. Well at least not with anything coherent. Dew began running the head of his cock up through your slick. Rubbing at your entrance to finish wetting himself before he was ready to slide inside. 

He didn’t need to bother; you were already so needy and ready for him. Your hips rising up against his shaft. Trying hard to guide his cock inside. Begging for him to fill you, to provide you with the friction you so desperately desired between you. Thankfully you hadn’t had to wait long when Dew plowed his way in. 

“Oh, fuck me!” you yelped as he pushed himself in to the hilt. His meaty cock, meeting with the farthest point of you. Dew was only too happy to oblige. Withdrawing backward, just so he could more forcefully pound back into you. You gripped tight to the back of your legs. Dew’s hands placed on either side of you on the desk to help steady himself as he thrusted away. Fucking harder and harder into your tight, little core with every thrust.  

At one point it crossed your mind that you and Dew were most likely fucking on top of the expense reports from that morning. At that moment, however, neither of you cared. Your body, too engrossed in how good it felt to have him inside you. Bucking away as he pressed tight across your walls, filling you so well you could hardly stand it.  

“Dew… I wanna cum… cum with me.” you mewled. Your wanton cries of desperation, making Dew grit his teeth, hoping to hold back his own climax. There was nothing so hot as you begging for him to let you cum. 

“You want me to cum baby? Well, you gotta cum for me first.” he demanded, his tail snaking up your leg and teasing at your asshole. The fluids from your drenched pussy, spilling down over it as it worked its way inside. 

“Ah!” you cried out as his tail entered you. Slowly fucking your ass as Dew continued to fill your pussy to the brim with his cock. You couldn’t barely stand it. Stretched fully inside by him. The sensation made you want to explode. Unable to hold back as your orgasm came ripping through you so fast that you soaked the desk below.

Dew wasn’t satisfied yet. Lifting up and gripping the back of your legs as he pounded harder. His thumb brought back to your clit, continuing to fuck you in both your holes. His tail swirling around inside your ass and pressing up against his cock, from the other side of the thin walls, while he thrusted into you. 

Neither of you could sustain it much longer. The wet sounds of his lap, meeting over and over again with yours, was absolutely salacious. The well earned sweat, dripping down his back as he continued on. His speed, beginning to slow as he grew closer to his own climax. 

It was unmistakable when you felt it. His cock, beginning to swell all around inside. Pressing against all the right nerves as he spread you out, knotting you. His tail, continuing to move in and out. The two of you panting and whimpering as the pressure inside continued to build.  

Finally Dew couldn’t last any longer. Cumming hard into you. Ropes of hot, sticky cum—painting the back of your walls as his tail slipped from your ass. You, beginning to completely unfurl before him when you clamped down on him once again. Tugging tightly to his knot as you felt the force of yourself squirting around him.   

And just like that it was over, Dew collapsing on top of you. More spent than he had ever been before in his life. It seemed that this relaxation session was just as much for him as it was you. You held him against your chest, your breathing beginning to settle. A sense of calm, that was promised to you by your ghoulish lover, taking hold. 

“You see,” Dew began while still panting away, “there is nothing like a good fuck to help you relax.”

“Agreed.” You told him, both of you laughing in one another’s arms. There was nothing more you would ever need, than to be held by those arms. No matter how crazy things got, Dew would always find a way to level with you. Even in times that didn’t involve an overwhelming amount of sweat and cum. 

“Thank you.” you told him. You were finally relaxed for the first time in what felt like forever. Even more so now, knowing that you could come to Dew with your problems. Knowing that you could be honest with him and that it was ok to give yourself grace when you needed it. No matter what he would always be there for you.

“Anytime.” Dew smiled, helping you up from the desk so the two of you could clean yourselves off. Suddenly, as you rose off the desk, a look of concern spread across his face. Accompanied by an even more worrisome nervous grin.

“What?” you asked, not sure you wanted to know the answer as you picked off the stray papers sticking to your back.  

 “Now… don’t get mad, but I think we might have gotten some jizz on Copia’s permit agreement. 

“Dew!” you laughed, giving him a tap to the chest, “Never change.”

[llamagoddessofficial]

We all love Baggs. We all simp for Baggs. One might even say... he has us all in enthralled~?

Thank you @megalommi for this delightful commission of Baggs meeting his Soulmate~

---

He knew as soon as his magic touched your Soul.

... He’d often pondered the nature of Soulmates. It was only natural- he was a man of science, after all, someone who found themselves interacting with Souls as frequently as he did would ask similar questions. Something as statistically rare yet culturally universal and ingrained as Soulmates had fascinated him whenever he was unoccupied enough for it to cross his mind. 

One of the many questions he’d asked himself, was how do soulmates know each other for certain? How can two incredibly complex beings, with different lives and experiences, do little more than touch hands and immediately gain a sense of higher connection? Was there some kind of hormonal or chemical release, some kind of magical frequency resonation, or something else yet unbeknownst to science? He had done his own research, obviously, and had asked those lucky enough to find their intended. Some described it as like waking up. Others, like seeing colour for the first time, or hearing a loved one’s voice calling their name across a crowded room of strangers. Many drew parallels between literary works, but most simply replied that they ‘just knew’.

...

Baggs was hyper-aware of the physical symptoms, as he stared with wide sockets at the human knelt before him. It was like lightning was streaking through his magic system, buzzing in his bones and flaring his eyelights. His Soul was thudding against his ribs like a heartbeat. He couldn’t feel his hands, or tongue, there had been a fleeting sensation of warmth across his whole body akin to standing by a fire- he suspected that was the ‘good feeling’ he was supposed to have, that everyone talked so much about. He suspected that feeling was supposed to carry him away.

... It hadn’t. It had certainly washed away the brief smugness he’d felt, at so easily drawing another poor, lost human under his hypnotic thrall once again. He’d been proud of himself, his magic subjugating you instantly despite your obvious discomfort in his presence. 

He had been allowed that split second of first-sight love. But now, all he felt was cold dread. 

... this is my soulmate. He became more and more certain, the longer he looked into your glazed eyes, his own magic shimmering in them softly. His confidence was melting. my soulmate is a human. of course it’s a human. the universe is playing a cruel trick on me.

No wonder ensnaring you had been so easy. No wonder your Soul had all but fallen into his magic. His mind was racing; your Soul recognised him, just like he’d recognised you. Despite your physical discomfort, instinctively, you trusted the monster destined to be your partner. Wasn't there something tragic about that?

did you feel it too? did you feel the pull? His teeth parted, a breath escaping him. You stared back, blank and hapless. would you know, the way a monster would know? would you know him? would you... would you want...?

...

Baggs closed his sockets, and his mouth. 

no- that was enough of that. He hated being unable to control his thoughts and feelings, and he despised being slave to them; right now he was both. The distaste brought him reeling back to earth. Now was not the time to be floundering, standing out in the open like an amateur, with his metaphorical heart bleeding at the mere sight of a Soulmate. He felt flickers of anger, at being shaken so deeply... you’re a scientist, fool. control yourself. this is just another hurdle to surmount- another problem to solve.

He was anything if not a master of himself. Baggs drew his thoughts inward... he took a breath. He stilled his mind.

...

When his sockets opened, his Soul no longer pounded his ribs. His smile was back, he let his shoulders ease. His confidence returned.

much better.

“There we go.” He purred, putting his hands behind his back. “Good girl. My apologies for that little... wobble. Forget what I said- there’s been a change of plan. Why don’t you come with me? We have so much to discuss.”

There was something he found rather amusing about asking questions to a human under his control. As if they had any say in the matter. You made a sound in the back of your throat, it barely resembled one of affirmation- but he appreciated how cute the effort was. He let himself truly grin again.

... Intent on retaining his control over himself, he refused to think too deeply about how comfortable your Soul felt surrounded by his magic. Like it was always meant to be his.

"On your feet, human. I have an idea."

///---///

You woke up dazed, looking up at a white ceiling. You... definitely weren’t in your own bed. 

Stuffy head, heavy limbs, you felt tired. Unusually so. You blinked a few times, trying to shake off the tiredness- usually, waking up in a new place would shortly be followed by the necessary memories to make sense of your current location. Were you on holiday? At a friend’s place? Stopping off somewhere, did you fall asleep on the couch? But you couldn’t remember how you got here. No matter how long you waited, staring at the ceiling, no memories came.

You sat up, slowly, and worked on gathering yourself out of your tiredness as you looked around the room. It resembled a lab room, with spotless white tile floors, a chair pulled up by your bed, and some kind of complex-looking machine set against the wall. Your bed was actually pretty nice- a big mattress, white pillows that were large and fluffed, a heavy blanket that sported a sweet pink colour decorated with blue pinstripes. You were in a comfortable, light cotton gown... the room had a blue potted plant on a shelf, and was a pleasant temperature.

...

You were still confused. Still no memories. Where were you?

Magenta  

you’re in hospital.

... You didn’t ‘flinch’, but you did twinge, eyes slightly narrowing. You put a hand to your head. Yes, of course, you were in hospital... of course. You knew that. 

But... why did you know? It was like someone had just... planted that information inside your memory. Like a pretty seed, happy in its home, but surrounded by disturbed earth.

you’re safe here. you like it here.

...

You pulled back the covers, despite how warm the bed was, stepping out. Your feet were bare. Huh, the floor was warm too- underfloor heating?

You didn’t stop to look at the room for long. You’d already noticed that the complicated machine in the corner was covered in a thin film of dust; no one had used it in a long time. Instead, you moved over to the door. It opened automatically, almost making you jump, sliding sideways out of your way instantly and disappearing into the wall. 

Underfloor heating? Automatic doors? This is one hell of a hospital.

... You poked your head out of your room, curiously. The hallway was small, with similar featureless automatic doors on either end, empty and quiet. It looked just like your room, but a little brighter, cute medical posters on the walls and more delicate blue potted plants sat neatly on shelf edges. It all seemed... brand new. 

You felt like you were waking up more, now. The tiredness was lifting like a spell, and your head was finally starting to ask relevant questions. Where is this hospital? How did I get here? Why is it so high-tech? Where is everyone? 

You crossed the hallway, moving over to one of the far doors. The floor was spotless, smooth underfoot. The door didn’t open when you approached. You weren’t even entirely sure what you were doing, you just felt like you needed to find someone and get an explanation as to where you even were.

you’re in hospital.

Yes, I know that. You told yourself, like you were lecturing a child, disregarding the sudden thought again. You made your way across the hall to try the other door.

... Before you could get there, it opened on its own.

... There was a skeleton standing in the doorway. He had a smooth skull, perfect teeth, and deep dark eyesockets, little pinpricks of light floating in them like irises. One white, one purple. He had soft features, you didn’t expect that on a skeleton, but there was a.... roundness to him, that you liked. He was dressed in a neat white lab coat, decorated with classy magenta trim, smart black rubber gloves covering his hands. He looked like a particularly fashionable mad scientist.

He seemed surprised, for a second, face half shadowed by the doorway. But only a second. The room behind him did not look like the rest of the hospital wing- it was darker, greener. But you didn’t have time to look for long... his face melted into a smile, and he stepped through, the door closing behind him.

...

You had a bad feeling, all of a sudden. A strong bad feeling that smothered your initial pleasant thoughts about this cute, round skeleton. You stumbled back a step. Your mind was telling you, loudly, you did not want to be alone in a room with this man.

... Though he wasn’t intimidating in stature or shape, something about him deeply unnerved you. Perhaps it was the tiny specks of light in otherwise dark, dark sockets, like little remnants of a real person lost in a void. Perhaps it was the long shadows under said sockets, the signs of someone who had pushed his mind (and body) to its limits. Perhaps it was his unmoving white grin, creepily plastered to his face, or the too-relaxed way that he held himself.

His purple eyelight glimmered like a gemstone. Suddenly, your feet were rooted to the spot.

“... Oh... hello, my dear.” He said, voice silky, approaching you calmly. He spoke in a saccharine, almost patronising tone, all but pouting his lips and babytalking you. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. But you know... It’s important you stay in bed.”

Your hair stood on end as he drew nearer. My dear? “Who are you?”

He cocked his head, slightly, at your question. But he kept smiling, stepping into your personal space bubble.

“Doctor Baggs.” He said, easily, a hand settling on the small of your back. You still couldn’t move. “Come, now... back to your room.”

... He tapped his gloved finger against your back. Clearly, in a steady rhythm, you could hear the rubber against the fabric of your gown- he tapped three times. 

One. Two. Three.

... 

... The nervousness about his presence melted, like frost in the sun. The sharp edges of worry in your thoughts dulled- you made a little humming sound, tired again, heaviness returning to your eyelids. 

“Good human.”

You didn’t resist, or even protest, when he started walking you.

“... I know I’m in hospital. But where am I?” You asked, dumbly, looking at him. “Am I dead?”

A soft chuckle. He suddenly looked so friendly, so soft and harmless. He was even a little bit handsome. What had you been afraid of?

“No, my dear. This is a special hospital, in the Underground.” His eyelight was pretty, you were focused on it rather than your room’s door opening. “You know what the underground is, don’t you?”

“... Oh.” Yes, you knew that, your gaze wandered off. The Underground, where the Monsters lived. More information that was just in your head, like it had been there the whole time. “Yeah.”

“You had a nasty fall.” His hand stayed on the small of your back as he moved you toward your bed. He was all but cooing. “You’re being treated, aren’t you?”

“... For a concussion.” The words came out of your mouth before you’d even thought them. You sat down on the bed obediently, it was very comfy.

“That’s why it’s hard to think.” He put a hand on your knee, his voice took on a silky quality. “You find it very hard to think, right now, don’t you? You find it hard to make sense of the world around you. But that’s alright, because you know it is caused by your concussion. Concussions make it hard to think. You trust your doctor.”

You looked at him again. “... Are you my doctor?”

“Yes.” He purred. “So it’s important you listen to me, darling. Only me.”

You were laying back. When did you do that? That same white ceiling above you. You felt dizzy... sleepy... head stuffed with cotton. It was important you listened to him... hopefully you weren’t so tired you forgot his instructions.

“It’s alright, my dear.” Baggs said. “I'm already inside your head.”

Your eyes closed. But you could still see magenta.

it’s okay. no need to leave.

you’re just in hospital.

///---///

...

... This wasn’t fair.

Baggs glared at your reclined form, as your eyelids fluttered, like you were personally responsible for this injustice. 

well... in a way, you were.

At the very least, he comforted himself with the knowledge that this was very interesting. The way you responded to his magic was strange, unique, and fascinating to observe. Your Soul seemed to know his touch, welcoming him like an old friend- and though that made you dreadfully easy to hypnotise, it also made you incredibly aware of when he was interfering with your head, in a way he’d never seen in any subject before. You found his implanted memories like a bloodhound picking up a scent, his triggers like lone clouds in an otherwise clear blue sky. He couldn’t deny a certain level of abject fascination.

... But the fact you were interesting didn’t make up for the rest of it.

His perfect teeth gritted. He had dedicated his life to freeing monsterkind from their prison, to achieve his brother’s happiness. Why did the universe insist on throwing a wrench in his machine now, when it was already far too complex to stop? He had sacrificed so much for others, even the very core of his being. Had he not done enough to deserve a break?

He’d been so sure before. He still understood his overwhelming responsibility... the future of an entire race, resting on his shoulders. And the part of him that had driven him to make the ultimate sacrifice told him he couldn’t just stop now- that part of him knew he was too deep to turn back. It was the part of him that wanted to continue his mission, to save his people; it was tragic that he couldn’t have his Soulmate, yes. But it wouldn’t be the first part of himself he had given up. His whirring, scientific mind wanted him to find a way to sever this inconvenient bond... if anything, scientifically, this was a fantastic research opportunity, he had the chance to examine a real Soul bond in ways that no one ever had before. And since it was his bond, he could do what he wanted with it. He didn’t have to fear moronic questions like ‘why?’ or ‘is this ethical?’. 

what kind of stress could a bond resist? was there a reliable way of cutting off the connection? 

He felt his eyelights sharpen, hand balling into a fist. Yes- he could cut the bond. Rid you both of this troublesome link. Then, he’d have no qualms about doing what he needed to do, for the good of his kind.

He had a greater purpose than... playing house with a human.

...

but you want that, don’t you? you want to live in peace.

His breath quivered. It was getting more and more difficult to still his mind.

you’ve always wanted that.

... Part of him wanted to be rid of you. But oh... much, much more of him wanted to have you. He wanted you, he wanted this. You were his one in a billion, he knew logically that this feeling was just the pull of his Soul, but his Soul constituted his being, didn’t it? He wanted to care for you forever. He wanted you to meet General, and then he could look after you both. Even now, keeping you in a pretty little cut off wing of the lab, he felt a deep instinctual pleasure from ensuring you were warm and safe somewhere nice. 

Once he cut your connection, there was no going back. 

He swallowed. What... what if... he just let himself have this? 

... What if, just this once, he allowed himself to put his own happiness above that of others?

... 

...His chest hurt. He lifted up his hand, and drew your Soul out of your chest with precision that only a scientist could have. You didn’t even shift. The glowing object appeared with the gentlest of shivers, hovering suspended above you... his glove was off before he could think, he was aching to feel its glow against his bones. 

He cupped it, carefully. Like one would cup an injured bird.

... Would it really hurt anyone, to give himself this small selfishness?

...

You Soul hummed, content. Souls were never this happy to see him. Any of the ‘warm’ Souls (particularly red) would fizz and shake ineffectually, even when under his complete control, a match still trying to produce a flame even when held in a bucket of water. The cooler colours, like cyan and green, tended to immediately shrink back from him in terror. Though all Souls would do that, in the end.

...

... Your Soul... it was all but purring. Settling easily into his hands, a kitten curling up. It felt warm, and happy, it liked being close to him. He found himself sinking onto his elbows... staring at the little glowing heart in his claws, his face in a contemplative frown, eye bags seeming deeper and heavier despite your Soul’s light casting on his face.

nobody would know, either way. if i cut the connection, or kept you for my own... nobody would know.

...

He allowed your Soul to return to your chest, after that small indulgence. His expression was still.

...

A hand on his.

He startled- when he looked down at you, your eyes were open, expression dazed but still soft. Not a hint of magenta. For a moment, he was caught off guard, pulled out of his reverie and not knowing what to do; he hadn’t told you to wake up. He hadn’t told you to do any of this.

“... You should... sleep.” You mumbled. Your eyes were so gentle. Your hand came up... a finger brushed across his cheekbone, then traced the darkness under his sockets. He was completely frozen. “... You look tired. I could...”

...

He suspected you were going to offer to help. Though there wasn’t much you could do, in your state. Your fingers continued to brush his face, warm and slow, and he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

His breathing hitched. you wanted to care for him. even now, when he had you under his thumb, you wanted to help him.

...

... He put his ungloved hand over yours. If only you knew he was beyond help.

“... I’ll sleep later, darling.” He said, warmly. “After you.”

“Mm... ok.” You hummed. You seemed mollified by that. Your eyelids fluttered shut... without his influence, you happily went to sleep. 

...

He placed your hand back down by your side. Once he was certain you were completely unconscious, he ran his hands across his skull, letting his head droop.

It was the first time in a long time that he truly didn’t know what to do.

[yandere-sins]

Before reading: R18+, Mature Content Warning, Violence/Gore Warning, Yandere Warning

Oh, my, look what the wave swept in!

Yet another misplaced human in these wondrous waters, a… poor unfortunate soul, as my sister would say. It hasn’t been that long since another tribe—who was it? The sharks?—had been… blessed with an unusual mate. And now there’s you! How exciting! The orcas are a little temperamental, but I’m sure they’ll treat you lovingly– 

Oh… so you want to leave? Already?

Ambitious, are we? Escape the creatures and get back to land. Well, don’t you look determined? Think you can handle these three strong orcas all by yourself? I’d love to see it. I delight in everything happening around these depths of the ocean, as they are so dark and deep, with barely anything transpiring all day. But as of late, love, freedom, and misery swim hand in hand down here. Intelligence and instincts fight battles that are beyond your little human comprehension. I could not be more pleased with the beautiful bonds that are being woven under the sea.

But I will cheer you on, I promise! I might even have some tips for you, seeing how I’ve been around these sandy lands and great reefs longer than you have!

I don’t think you can trust anyone besides me, really, but you’ll need an ally if you want to get back home. But be careful choosing who you trust. Sometimes you have to take drastic actions to get out of a situation, but there are also times when you need to sit back, stay calm, and let someone else handle it for you. And as badly as I know you want to get out… don’t do anything rash.

These orcas have a fickle disposition, and you wouldn’t want them to decide you’re no fun or tastier than they initially thought. In fact, you don’t want them to think about you at all! Otherwise —ey w—t l— —u ——!

You wake up before the voice can finish. Open your eyes?

Welcome, welcome to Mermay ( & Merjune) 2023!

I think most of you have already understood what will happen, but I thought I'd give a small heads-up about the how, so we're all on the same page:

This will be an interactive story, which means you guys will have to work together to figure out how to continue onwards by choosing the right poll option. Every chapter comes with a decision at the end, and three possible choices. But only one will continue the story while the other two lead to 'Bad Ends' aka not continue the story. Your goal is to escape the three orcas because they won't always like your decision, unfortunately.

I can already tell you that if the majority votes for a Bad End, you'll be able to choose again at the end of it, hopefully picking the right option this time. The story will not stop just because the right option wasn't picked. But who knows? Maybe choosing wrong is actually the better option sometimes (;

To clarify, there are 5 main chapters (the right choices) in total, 10 possible Bad Ends and 1 True End. This is not a video game so there are no secret routes. Nothing will change if you choose certain options after another. Your goal ultimately is to finish this story. But... some interactions and information may or may not be hidden in Bad Ends that could be enjoyable to you as well. (After finishing the main story I'll let you guys pick some other options you would have liked to see if you're interested in that ^-^)

One more exciting thing! I was able to commission a good friend of mine to actually do references for the orcas! We're still working on them but I hope you guys will enjoy some visuals of the new bois ♥

And for good measure: Please read the warnings on the individual posts, as some of the stories contain disturbing content not suited for everyone. Don't read what you don't like.

Thank you for participating and I hope you guys will be able to enjoy the story as much as I do ♥ (If you have questions, please ask away any time! ♥)

[fieldofdaisiies]

Strokes of Fate | pt. 2

paring: Feyre x Rhysand | type: fluff | words: 3,2k words | warnings: none | masterlist

"You?!" Feyre‘s eyes widen in surprise, arms falling to her sides. 

Simultaneously, an expression of utter confusion spreads over Morrigan‘s face, gaze sliding from her friend to her cousin. 

"I am just as surprised as you are." Rhysand’s violet eyes brush over her body, his voice still as polished and sensual as the last time. "But I have to say, I am very delighted to see you again." 

He chuckles, the sound a low, guttural purr. "Or let me rephrase that: I am delighted the big girl could take care of herself and get home safely."

She really, really needs to fight the urge to flip him off. Or to be even a little more immature and slip out if her shoe and toss it at his handsome head, completely ruining his perfect, rich person hairstyle.

"And I am delighted that the rain didn’t ruin your immaculate appearance or heart your ego," Feyre instead fires back, a triumphant grin on her lips now. But it vanishes quickly - the moment Rhys opens his mouth again. 

"Thank you very much for the compliment, I appreciate it a lot. Especially coming from you, an artist who has an eye for beautiful things." Amusement glows so brightly in his eyes, it reminds Feyre of the stars in the night sky. And his smile, nothing but cocky and taunting could -would- make her knees wobble under different circumstances. Not right now. Now, it makes her bristle. 

But if she had met him under—

"You know each other?" Mor asks, her tone a hint incredulous. Her gaze ping-pongs between her cousin and her friend, the papers in her hands long forgotten. 

"Briefly," Rhys comments and then steps aside, revealing the now blank wall behind his office desk. "But not important now. You think you can work your magic there, Feyre?"

A million ideas already spark in Feyre‘s mind but it is a painting that someone commissions so she needs to ask him first what he would like to see. What kind if picture he would like to have. 

"I think I definitely can. But first of all I would like to know what you would like to see? What are you ideas? Wishes? Visions?"

A flicker of impressiveness passes over the CEO's face. 

"Visions," he ponders out loud and rubs his palm over his chin. "Why don’t we sit down together and figure out my visions." He extends his hand, gesturing at the black sofa. "Let me offer you something to drink." Not a question.

Feyre claims a seat on the black couch, crossing one leg over the other. "Just a water, please." 

He grabs a jug from the desk and fills up a glass. With a smile and the tilt of his chin, Morrigan gets her cue, and walks to the glass door. "I‘ll leave you to it then. If you need me, you know where to find me, cousin, Fey."

With wide steps, Rhys strolls to the couch and claims the seat next to her. He gives her a sidelong glance and smiles. She is beautiful - utterly beautiful. Breathtaking. So breathtaking he truly needs a moment to catch himself - no one has ever knocked him of his feet quite like her and that confuses him.

Handing her the glass, Rhysand’s eyes touch hers. "I want something…it‘s difficult. I don’t want something that I connect with work. But something that represents me?"

Feyre almost wants to blurt money, but she keeps calm, nods a little and waits for him to continue. But he doesn’t. Not immediately. Rhysand tips his head back and closes his eyes for a moment. He exhales a deep breath and Feyre watches the heavy rise and fall of his solid, chest - the sculpted muscles are even visible through his white shirt.

Greek god, sparks in her mind - that’s what she would also connect with him. But thank God, her mouth stays closed. Again. Saying that out loud…she would leave and never return.

"It is hard to describe it," he mumbles and folds two fingers over his mouth.

"Think about what makes you happy? What brings you joy? Who brings you joy?"

Rhysand immediately thinks of Az and Cassian - his brothers, not through blood but through what is in their hearts.

But as much as he loves them, having a painting of the three of them in his office…he‘d rather have this at home. Maybe he’ll just ask Feyre again for a painting — it would be a phenomenal chance to see her again and—

A chuckle leaves him - has this young artist already bewitched his heart? After a few minutes of talking to her. That seems impossible. But he can't deny the fact that she intrigues him. Immensely. 

Feyre has noticed the shift in his demeanour, the corners of her lips quirking up. "Do you know it? Do you know what you want?"

When he meets her gaze, he indeed knows it.

"Sometimes I just look at the stars and…listen. I manage to block out everything else - no noises from the city, no bustling crowds, no loud thoughts." He inhales deeply. Feyre’s focus is on him. "I think I want a sky full of stars. A night sky. One that is not touched by city lights, not ruined by them. You think you can do this?"

Feyre nods eagerly. "Of course I can do this." She is excited and loves the idea. "I like concept."

It is wonderful . She had no idea he would be so…so thoughtful and would like something so…simple. 

Rhysand slowly leans back, arms braced on the backrest of the couch. He runs his gaze over once again, silent admiration etched upon his features. 

"Tell me something, darling," he starts, his voice nothing but a purr. "Have you always wanted to be a painter?"

"Yes." The answer comes as quick as a shot. "For as long as I remember, I’ve always wanted to be a painter."

He smiles and it is heartwarming. Feyre reaches for her glass and takes a sip. "What about you? Did you always want to become…an owner of a company?"

He huffs a laugh, the sound bittersweet. "Honestly, no. But I had no choice. My father owned this company and before him his father - my grandfather was the founder of it. I had to take over."

Feyre wants to tell him that there is always a choice and that it is bullshit that he had to do it, but the look in his eyes tells her that if there truly had been another option he would have chosen it.

She wants to ask about his father, but Rhysand is faster.

"So little Feyre was also already a painter? I bet your family refrigerator was covered in your paintings and drawings."

"It was," she hums, recounting the memory of her mother’s eyes lit up each time she drew something for her - one of the few moments were she showed affection for her youngest. But Feyre shakes off these thoughts and instead says, "I remember once being so bored, I painted on the little cupboard my sisters and I had in our room." She chuckles and a look of nostalgia passes over her face. 

"Elain loved it immediately. Nesta was a bit shocked at first but then loved it as well."

Rhysand smiles, loving how her face lights up at the mention of her sisters. 

"So I guess, I‘ll make a few sketches. Then I‘ll send them to you and start painting?"

"No."

"No?"

"I want you to paint here, Feyre."

Feyre’s eyes widen. "In your immaculate office?"

He laughs, the sound rich and amused. "Yes," he says, "in my immaculate office. I have enough space here and it will be much easier than to transport the painting here once it is done."

It makes sense. Somehow it does. But painting with audience? She doesn’t know if she likes that, but she agrees anyway.

And so, Feyre returns the next day, is led into his office by Morrigan whom she chats with a bit. Rhysand is in a meeting and will only get here later. Feyre likes this, knowing she has a bit of time alone.

She unpacks her colours, all her utensils, and with a pencil she starts to outline a sketch on a canvas.

"Good morning, darling." The low rumble brushes her skin like a feather.

"I see, you're already working."

"And I see you have a very good eyesight."

Hand holding a cup of coffee, the other stuffed into the pocket of his pants, Rhys walks to his desk, gaze sweeping over her, halting and then he chuckles. He sits down, brings the cup up to his lips and drinks. His chest warms oddly. Not due to the warm brew, but due to her presence and then hint of teasing in her voice. It is nice having her here, he thinks. 

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

Feyre returns a few times in the following days. On Monday to start with the base. On Wednesday to finish the base. And on Thursday to start with the details. And once again on Monday to continue with the details. 

She is focused, sitting crossed-legged, nibbling on her lower lip and there is definitely colour on her nose. Her adorable nose— 

Rhysand shakes his head. What has this female done to him. He breathes a chuckle, the end of his pen between his teeth, watching her over his screen. 

She truly is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen and he has seen many women in his life already. But she is—

"How old are you?"

The sudden and slightly loud and sharp question startles the artist and Feyre meets his gaze with slightly widened eyes. "Twenty-one," she tells him. "Why?"

"Shit," Rhys says, the curse slipping through his lip before he can stop it. "You are incredibly talented for your age." 

"Talent has nothing to do with age, mister." She laughs a little, trying to brush off the compliment but a blush still graces her cheeks.

"How old are you?" 

"Guess." He smirks.

Feyre lifts her brush and tabs the clean end of it against her chin, acting like she is deep in thought. "Hhhm, I would say fifty-five." She grins at him. 

A low growl parts the CEO‘s lips. "Careful, darling." 

But Feyrelaces her face in innocence. "What? Are you not fifty-five? Are you older?"

A guttural laugh that sends a chill down her spine leaves him. "Cruel, wicked thing."

Her answering laugh is hoarse, smokey like a fine whiskey and it not only does things to Rhys‘ heart. His blood heats and his tongue pokes out, licking over his lower lip.

Her eyes follow the movement, but Feyre quickly says, "How old are you then? Really?"

"Thirty-three."

"Well, I was close," she quips and her focus moves back to the painting, starting once again. He has to laugh to himself and also eventually tries to focus on his work. The stress is on tries. Because he fails. Because she -Ms Feyre Archeron- is a huge distraction. But not an unwelcome one. He likes having her here. It is a wonderful distraction in all honesty.

And so the days pass, Feyre returns and keeps being a distraction. Not much work gets done on Rhys' side, but the painting is nearly finished by the end of the second week and the CEO hates this.

Because it means she won’t return here again. He won’t have her sitting in his office anymore, painting and chatting with him. And that thought…it makes him sad and his heart feel somehow cold.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

The last day, the day she finished the painting is inevitable. And Rhys wants time curse all the Gods and the universe for letting him be stuck in meetings the whole day, not getting a single chance to spend at least five minutes with Feyre.

He will only see her again the next day. They will hang up the painting and he will pay her. That is it. 

And there last day together was wasted due to him not being present. Or so he thinks.

"You are still here?“ The tone in his voice reveals his honest astonishment. It is Thursday evening, already past eight, the city outside already entering the night.

Feyre tips her head back, meets his eyes and nods. Then her gaze moves back to the large canvas in front of her. 

"I am adding the very last touches." She smiles. Rhys watches her.

"No boyfriend waiting for you at home who might get worried now?“ 

He has to shoot his shot, Rhysand thinks and casually leans against his desk. He watches her closely, how she reacts, if her body language gives her away. 

"Thank god, I don’t,“ Feyre chuckles, eyes not once leaving the painting. But then she lifts her eyes, a wicked glint in her eyes when she meets his. "Thank god, I no longer have him waiting for me at home."

"Him."

She lifts her hand, brush in-between two fingers, and waves him off. "Not important — or no longer important."

A chuckles escapes the CEO and he crosses his arms in front of his chest. "He sounds like wonderful guy."

Feyre huffs. She dips her brush into a new bowl of paint, and continues with the task at hand. Until—

"Oh god, you want to go home?!"

Not exactly a question, rather an observation. She sits back on her heels, eyes wide open, shame coiling in her gut. Oh god! She is keeping him here and he wanted to leave already and she completely ignored it. 

But Rhysand shakes his head. Feyre ignores it and bounces up on her knees. "I am so sorry. I completely forgot about time and I—"

"Darling." His purr interrupts her rambling. He hasn’t seen her that giddy before which makes him think she must actually feel bad about the keeping him here. Which is, to put it into his words, absolute bullshit. He was working until now anyway. He often stayed in his office until that hour.

Rhysand smiles at her. "Are you hungry?"

She wants to say no, but obviously her traitorous stomach must release the loudest growl on the whole universe in just this moment. 

"I guess that is answer enough," he laughs and looks so delighted and happy in this moment, almost as if having dinner with her sounds like one of the best things to happen to him this evening. Unbeknownst to Feyre, it truly is. 

"If you insist," Feyre smiles and slowly rises to her feet. She stretches her sore limbs from having knelt on the floor for hours and Rhys can't avoid to marvel at her. 

"Pizza?" he quickly asks to distract his brain and finds her eagerly nodding at him. "Then pizza it is."

"Yes!" she silently cheers but he hears her and has to laugh quietly to himself, searching for his phone and dialling the number he, by now, knows by heart. "Any preferences?"

She has already made herself comfortable on the couch, her feet resting on the small table, a contented smile on her lips. "Surprise me."

And he does. He orders what he thinks she might like, or rather hopes and prays she will like. His own favourite pizza. She has to like it.

And when she moans around the first bite, he knows he made exactly the right decision. 

"God!" Feyre expresses, speaking with her mouthful. She doesn't mind and neither does Rhys. "I have never eating anything better. This tastes like…everything."

His heart warms and he smiles around the bite he is currently taking. "I am glad it does."

"Maybe you are not only rich, spoiled… You can't be that bad, if you have such a great taste in pizza." She grins and Rhys really fights the urge to flip her off. He only bites down on his lower lip and gives his head a shake. "I feel honoured about this compliment."

They exchange a few things about their lives, and for quite a while Rhysand talks about Cassian and Azriel which Feyre loves to listen to. Then the topic moves to Amren, who created the former painting for his office. 

"Where do you keep it now? Won't she be disappointed that you took it off?" Feyre asks.

"Nah," Rhys says and closes his pizza box. Feyre does the same, placing it on top of his. "I'll keep it in my guest room in my apartment. The room she often sleeps in when she stays in this part of the city, so all good."

Feyre chuckles and wipes her hands down her thighs. With a sigh, she rises from the couch. "I think the paint should be dry by now."

He watches her as she walks over to the place she has been working at for the past two weeks. 

"Can I see it? The finished painting. Or do I have to wait for the great reveal tomorrow."

"If you're still in no rush to get home you can look at it now?"

"I'm in no rush," he says in his deep, sensual voice, an unreadable emotion passing over his face. 

"No girlfriend waiting for you at home?" Feyre teases, the payback for his earlier question.

His eye gliding over her body, leaving heat in every place they touch. "No, there hasn’t been one in a long time," he finally admits.

Feyre shrugs a shoulder, "Hm."

He ignores her reaction and only looks at her, admiration etched upon his features. She is wonderful, Rhysand thinks.

Mischief sparks in her eyes and she lets her lips curl. "What are you waiting for? You said you wanted to see the painting. I doubt you can see it from where you are standing, Mr CEO."

"Darling," he drawls and grins. "Not only artistically talented but also a smartass." He pushes off the couch and with long strolls walks up to her, hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants. 

She grins at him and then turns back to her work of art. 

She stands next to the painting, observing it, and has to admit she is very happy with it. A night sky with the moon and a few stars, and one or the other shooting star — nothing special. But for Rhys it is. It is perfect. Better than anything he could have every imagined. 

He moves in closer. So close, the warmth of his body reaches her and his breath fans the back of her neck. 

"Stunning," he mumbles and is not only talking about the painting. It is truly incredible. A pure and star-covered night sky, not ruined by city lights.

"Look at the stars."

"And listen," Feyre answers, her voice breathy, and when she turns to him, there is a fire in his eyes that she has never seen there before. A fire that also ignites something low in her abdomen. 

tags: @girlinglass999 @autumndreaming7 @a-frog-with-a-laptop@honeysuckle-daydreams13 @thelovelymadone @azriels-shadowsinger

[frenchfrywrites]

Mammon's Morning Sickness

MINORS DNI

Dom(ish) top amab gender neutral reader, sub(ish) bottom pregnant trans man Mammon, pregnancy kink, emeto, piss, cunnilingus, mommy kink, daddy kink, demons having animalistic traits (purring, chirping, etc)

Terms used for Mammon: chest, tits, tdick, clit, pussy, cunt

Thank you to @arloheart for the commission!! Such a delight to write (haha. rhyme), thank u very much for the support <3

It's the second day in a row that you've awoken to the sound of Mammon throwing up in the bathroom. You pull yourself from the comfort of your bed, and join him where he is on the floor, hunched over the toilet.

He whimpers and groans when you wrap your arms around his waist, placing gentle touches on his upset stomach. You kiss his shoulder, holding him through it, until his body finally decides it's done.

"I dunno whats the matter with me," he pouts, slumping his full weight against your body. You rub comforting circles into his skin as you think.

"It's not something you ate?"

"'m not Beel," he huffs. You pinch him and he yelps, giving you an accusatory look. "Listen, I swear it's nothin' I ate! I've been eating all the stuff I normally do," he whines.

"No other symptoms?" you ask, feeling his forehead for a fever. Mammon shakes his head,

"Nope," he pauses to consider something, "I mean, shit there's been some kinda weird things." You hum, urging him to continue. Mammon makes himself more comfortable in your lap before continuing, "like okay, I had a really shitty headache a couple've days ago, n' I've been peeing a lot? Plus my periods late, and ugh," he folds his arms in front of his chest, "my tits have been killing me."

You consider this for a moment. None of these seem very strange on their own, but put together...

"Mammon-"

"No fuckin' way," he cuts you off. It seems like you've come to the same conclusion. "No fucking way," he repeats again, his eyes wide. You give him a sheepish look,

"I mean, it wouldn't hurt to do a test, right?" Mammon nods his head,

"Yeah, of course, we gotta-" he rises to his feet quickly, then lets out a little hysterical  breathless laugh, "right now, we gotta get one right now." He's grinning from ear to ear, quickly brushing his teeth to remove the taste of any remaining bile.

The two of you, giddy and filled with adrenaline, practically skip to the nearest drugstore. Mammon makes you pay for the pregnancy test, which is fine by you because you notice the way his hands shake as he picks it up.

"I can't wait til we get home," he tells you, yanking you towards the back of the store.

"Do you want me to come in with you?" you ask, and Mammon doesn't even answer, just drags you into the bathroom with him.

He shoves his pants down and sits on the toilet, hastily opening up the package. It takes him a while with his nerves (or excitement. Likely a mix of both), but he's finally able to pee on the pregnancy test.

The next three minutes that pass by feel like hours.

"Um, so," Mammon starts awkwardly, "if it's negative, that just means I'm sick huh?"

"Suppose so," you say, "do you... want it to be negative?"

Mammon chews the inside of his cheek, squirming from the question.

"No, I think. I think I want it t'be positive," he finally says. You smile, leaning down to kiss him sweetly,

"I do too," Mammon smiles, leaning in to kiss you again.

"'kay even if it's negative, we'll make sure it's positive soon," he laughs, a flush working its way to his cheeks. "Has it been long enough?"

You check your phone and nod. Mammon squeezes his eyes, taking a deep breath before looking down.

"Pos-" he laughs, looking up at you with wet eyes and the biggest smile, "positive!!" he squeals, thrusting the test into your hand.

You're able to catch a look at it for a moment, while he yanks up his pants, before Mammon crashes into you, wrapping you into a hug.

"Oh I love you, I love you," he cries, "I'm gonna have a baby, yer baby!"

You kiss him, all the while still holding his piss covered pregnancy stick.

There's a few minutes of tears; happy, excited, coming-off-adrenaline type tears. You hold and kiss one another until there's a knock at the bathroom door, and you're reminded of where you are.

There's a lot to do, a lot to say, but for now the two of you rush back, holding hands and giggling all the way back to the House of Lamentation.

-

Two weeks pass and you're still waking up to Mammon's morning sickness.

"Morning sweetheart," you greet him, joining him on the floor as you often do. Mammon groans, lifting his head from out of the toilet.

"Did I wake ya?" he asks sadly. You hum, rubbing his hip with one hand, and his little baby bump with the other.

"No," he breathes a sigh of relief, and then dry heaves, "how long have you been up?" you ask.

It takes Mammon a moment to answer, a wave of nausea causing him to hold his mouth open, drool dripping from his lips as he waits for something to come up. Nothing happens and he swallows, then says,

"Dunno, like half hour maybe?" your heart aches from how long he's been alone. "God I had these crazy dreams, ya wouldn't believe, 'm gonna have t'tell you about 'em," he gags, then heaves again. You figure he'll have to tell you about his dreams when he isn't being cut off by his nausea.

You're nearly certain it won't happen, but it does, suddenly. Mammon manages to throw up as you rub his clenching stomach, quietly savoring the soft feel of his skin under your fingers. Your cock has started to fill inside your sleep pants, but you pay it no mind in favor of comforting him.

"Ugh," he moans when he's done. "I think that was the last of it," he says, but the two of you stay in front of the toilet for a good couple of minutes to make sure.

"Oh no," Mammon says after a moment, and you think that means he's going to throw up again. It's only when you hear the sound of liquid hitting the tiled floor that you look down. He's wetting himself, unable to make it to the toilet even though it's right in front of him.

"Aw baby," you coo, rubbing his bladder gently. "There you go, let it all out, this is completely natural," which is true, because the new weight of the baby has been pressing against his bladder a lot these days.  

"'kay," he breathes, "feels good." You groan, letting your hand drift from his belly to his pussy. Mammon whimpers, leaning back into you.

Touching him through his wet— getting even more wet with each second— pajama pants, you press your thumb against his clit. Feeling his stream through the fabric, you listen to the way that Mammon's breath hitches. Your cock twitches as you rub circles around his hardening tdick.

Eventually he stops pissing, and the two of you are left sitting in a puddle on the bathroom floor while Mammon writhes, purrs, and moans from your touches.

"Wait, wait," he gasps. You stop your touches, "my knees hurt," he whines, and as soon as he says it, you feel a numbness in your legs.

"We can move this to the bed," you mummer seductively. Mammon whines,

"Yes, please," and with that the two of you rise to your feet. Mammon peels off his drenched pants, leaving them in the puddle to deal with later. You're both far too needy and desperate to be bothered with it now.

With sticky legs, Mammon scurries to your bed, lying himself down on his back, spreading his legs for you.

"You sure your stomach's alright?" you have half the mind to ask as you settle in the space he's made for you. Mammon huffs,

"Yeah 'm fine," he then gives you a smug look, "you'd like it even if I did get sick on yer bed anyways," and fuck, you can't argue with that.

Instead, you lean down to kiss his belly. Mammon lets out a noise similar to a squawk in surprise, like he hadn't expected you to kiss him there, like you haven't already kissed his growing belly a million times since he started to show.

Looking up you can see him staring down at you with anticipation and giddiness, his bottom lip trapped between his little fangs. You don't want to tease him much, but you can't resist the urge to lay at least twenty or so more kisses along his brown skin.

And of course, you have to give his tits a little attention too. They've been getting more full, and more sore with each passing day. You wrap your lips around his nipple and suck. Mammon cries out, because the sensation boarders perfectly on painful and relieving. You cannot wait for the day he starts leaking milk. He lets you suck and play with his tits for a while, getting so worked up over how sensitive they are.

"Ungh, please?" he whimpers eventually. You look up at him, cocking an eyebrow. Mammon flushes, then brings a hand to his mouth, and chews on the skin at the tip of his finger for a second. "Please, can ya eat me out already? Please?" he finally asks outright.

Smiling, you kiss your way from his chest, to his belly, down to his pussy. Mammon continues to chew on his finger, a clear sign that he's excited about what's to come. You kiss his inner thighs before giving his cunt any attention. His skin is sticky from his drying piss, and you're unable to stop yourself from licking the taste of it between kisses.

Above you, Mammon makes an assortment of noises, from chittering and chirping to little high pitched and breathy moans. When you eventually reach his cunt and lick between his lips, Mammon lets out a garbled pronunciation of your name.

"Yes, yeah, please, more?" he babbles, and fuck he's so wet you can't help but dive in. As you bury your face in his cunt, lapping at his hole and sucking on his clit, Mammon melts into the bed.

His legs wrap around you, his thighs clenching against the sides of your head.

"Feels good, you're so-oh good at this, it ain't fair," he whines. Instead of pulling your head away from his cunt to laugh at his comment, you purposefully scrape your teeth against his tdick.

Mammon hiccups, his legs squeezing tightly around your head, pushing your face further against his pussy.

"Yes, do that again, mommy please, gonna make me— ooh— cum, I'm gonna cu-uh!" you cut him off by again grazing your teeth lightly against him.

With a choked moan Mammon cums from your mouth. You happily lick up the slick that gushes from his pussy, practically devouring him.

Your lips find his clit again, and you suck on it, relentless even as overstimulated whimpers fall from his lips.

"Hurts," he moans, twitching in your mouth, "mama, I want yer cock."

His begging reminds you of how uncomfortably hard you are. Finally pulling away, you lick your lips, then pull back so you can get a good look at Mammon.

"Fuck, look at you," Mammon flusters under your gaze, "aw no need to get shy daddy," you coo, leaning down to kiss him. He kisses back wrapping his arms around your neck to keep you there.

"I really want ya," he pulls away from the kiss just enough to say. You groan and kiss him again before pulling back.

"Just have to get you opened up darling," you explain when he whines at the loss of your touch. He pouts as you strip your pants off and find the lube. That pout quickly dissipates when you lube your fingers and press them against his hole.

"Still feeling okay daddy?" you ask, pushing two fingers into his slick cunt. Mammon clenches around your fingers,

"Good," he breathes, "feelin' good."

You hum, smiling to yourself as you make quick work of stretching him open for your cock.

Mammon squirms a bit under your touch, but he's completely relaxed, opening up nicely for you.

"I'm ready," he whines, "c'mon n' fuck me mommy," he gasps. You curl your fingers and he chokes out a rushed, "please, please."

"That's better, daddy," you purr, and Mammon trills happily. You pull your fingers out of him slowly and gently, and then fumble for the lube.

Quickly slicking your cock with it, you hiss at the rush of pleasure that hits you as you touch yourself. In turn, Mammon whimpers, staring you down, unblinking, with his bright gold eyes.

He's already made it very clear that he's ready for you, so rather than ask him if he's feeling okay, you hold his thighs and align your cock with his pussy.

"Yes," he whispers softly when he feels your tip press into him, maybe speaking more to himself than he is to you.

Mammon squeezes and flutters around your cock as you slide into him, sighing contently, and purring up a storm.

"Oh," he gasps, when you're finally balls deep inside of him.

A question of whether or not he's okay is on the tip of your tongue, but you can't get it out before you feel a hot liquid splash against your skin.

"Oh," you muse, watching as Mammon wets himself on your cock. "Oh daddy, baby, Mammon," you moan, impulsively shallowly thrusting into him. "Was it too much? Too much in your belly, pushing against your bladder?"

He nods erratically, "yeah, ungh," you reach down to let your fingers be drenched in his piss, "fuck."

Mammon opens his mouth, inviting you to push your fingers into his mouth. He moans at the taste of his own piss, squeezing tightly around you.

You start fucking him in earnest, the two of you so worked up by him pissing all over your cock that neither one of you pay any mind to the puddle soaking into the sheets beneath you.

Mammon gurgles and drools around your fingers, clenching his soaked pussy tightly around you as you fuck him nice and deep.

Your arousal has clouded your brain, and all you can think about is how lucky you are to have Mammon under you like this. He looks so good, all wet and needy and belly swollen with your child. In the haze of your lust, the pace you've set is unrelenting, but Mammon takes it all and more, rolling his eyes back in ecstasy as you re-angle your hips and brush against his walls in a way that has him moaning and squealing around your fingers.

If you weren't chasing your own pleasure, or only thinking about how good you want to make him feel, you might have realized just how far into Mammon's mouth your fingers had sunk. You may have pulled back, and let him suck on your tongue if he wanted his mouth full.

Instead, your fingers slip, and suddenly Mammon's gagging, yanking your fingers from his mouth, and twisting so he can heave, then puke over the side of the bed.

You stare, in awe, faintly registering just how wet and tight Mammon got as he vomited.

"Fuck," you whisper as he pauses for a moment (making sure nothing else will come up), before laying back down on his back, sinking into the plush pillows under him.

"Are you okay?" you finally find the words that have been on the tip of your tongue. Mammon lets out a groan, shimmying his hips around at an attempt to feel you moving inside of him again. "Mammon, babe, I'm so sorry, are you—"

"Swear t'fuckin' christ, if you don't keep fuckin' me I'm gonna kill ya," he whines, his voice rough and scratchy. You wait a moment, checking for any little sign that he wouldn't be okay to continue. Upon finding none, you start moving your hips again.

He moans happily as your hips find the rhythm they'd set earlier, and before you know it, he's back to purring.

Your hands clutch at his thighs first, holding him open so you can look at your cock stretching and fucking his cunt. They wander, from his soft thighs, to his hips, and then finally you're rubbing his hard clit.

"Ungh-yes, yes thank you mommy," he gasps, twitching around your cock. "Close, close, gonna cum— please, can I?" you groan, feeling yourself getting close to climax as well.

"Yeah daddy," you lean down, kissing his collarbone affectionately, "hah, cum for me, baby," Mammon lets out a high keen, clinging to your skin, his nails digging into your skin, "make my cock even more messy."

And that's all it takes. With a squeal of your name, he cums, letting out hot, staccato breaths as you fuck him through it. You're close, but it's not until Mammon starts to wind down, nuzzling his face between your shoulder and neck and chirping happily, that your orgasm crashes over you.

"Mammon," you groan, fucking him full of your cum. Mammon kisses all over your skin as your climax wracks itself through your body, petting your skin and clinging to you tightly.

Once you come down from your high, you pull out slowly, and fall next to Mammon. He nuzzles himself into you, purring when you wrap your arms around him, and hold him close.

"Love ya," he murmurs softly.

"I love you too," you say, kissing the top of his head.

You lay there for a while, and you know Mammon could fall asleep like this— despite being absolutely covered in filth— so you're the one who's gotta take the lead here. You tap his hip gently,

"C'mon, let's go get you cleaned up."

His legs are wobbly and weak, but the two of you make it to the bathroom, where you plan to absolutely smother Mammon with care. As soon as you deal with the mess you left there earlier.

-

"When is this supposed to end?" Mammon whines, his head buried in the toilet as he makes his way through another bout of morning sickness.

"Somewhere between the 2nd and 3rd trimester," you answer. In response, Mammon groans. "Hey," you start, pinching his belly playfully, "y'know I'm gonna make you feel better after this, right daddy?" He lifts his head, giving you a wicked smile,

"I can't wait."

[storyofmychoices]

For @choicesfandomappreciation's Countdown to 2024.

There are so many talented artists in this fandom. I could never pick only four. I am seriously in awe of all of you and your talents. You truly make this fandom a more beautiful place. We are lucky to have you all.

In no particular order

💛 @hydn-jpg: I absolutely adore you and your talent. I can't thank you enough for the beautiful creations you've made for me. I just adore your style. I'm glad you are doing better. I've loved seeing your art on my dash again. Thank you for sharing all of your beautiful visions with us.

💛 @cashweasel: What can I say?! I absolutely adore you and your art. You've created some of my favorite Mal pieces and you gifted the world Valen. How can we ever thank you enough for that?! Valen is everything, but I adore Gideon too!

💛 @oh-so-youre-a-nerd: I've only been following you for a few months but ohmygosh you are so freaking talented. Like how?!!! I absolutely adore seeing your art on my dash, no matter the subject matter, each piece is just stunning. Your use of light is unlike anything I've seen. You are amazing.

💛 @artbyalz: Your art is so much fun! I LOVED your 12 days of Christmas art series. You gifted the fandom so many beautiful and unique pieces. I absolutely adore all you've created, and ohmygosh how can I even thank you for this gift you've given me?!!!

💛 @cassie-thorne: GAH your art!!! The recent art with Astrid is still living rent free in my head. She is so gorgeous! I truly admire and adore all of your work, though I'm a little biased toward your CoP art! I can't wait for the next book to see how you tackle all the new content we get!

💛 @baldwinboy5ive: I've absolutely enjoyed all of your art and memes from Blades. They were simply fantastic. Your work always puts a smile on my face!

💛 @fairymatchmaker : JOY!!! You are just so so lovely and amazing, and your art is brilliant. I know you haven't been able to draw as much as you'd like to have recently, but please know we are here waiting patiently for when you can. Your art is just brilliant.

💛 @violentinecrl: I am still absolutely in love with this gorgeous gift you made for me. I never expected anything like this and genuinely treasure it. It lives rent free in my head always.

💛 @callmebeem: I only discovered your art this year, but I am so in love with it. I love the 3 commissions you've made for me so far (even if I'm still holding on to one of them) but I absolutely treasure each and know I will be back for more soon! Thank you for them!

💛 @rosefuckinggenius: what can I say about you and your art besides you actually are a fucking genius. Your talent is amazing and I'm grateful for all the times we've worked together!

💛 @bayleedraws-sometimesx: you are an absolute delight! You are a sweetheart who creates such lovely art for the fandom. I love your minimalist style. You bring so much love to your work and it shows.

💛 @erixafleur: I've loved seeing all your gorgeous Blades art throughout book two. I can't wait to see more. Your style is lovely whether it's fully rendered or the sketchy style.

💛 @sazanes : Your art is so beautiful! I love seeing all the gorgeous stuff you create for the various appreciation weeks. I truly look forward to seeing all your works. You can see your care for each piece in every stroke.

💛 @twinkleallnight: you write, you do art, what don't you do? Thank you for sharing all of your many talents with the Choices fandom

💛 @mydemonsdrivealimo: Jensen is an amazing character and your OH art is so lovely. Thank you for the Valentine's doodles you made for my Bryce and Olivia. I truly treasure it!

💛 @gaiuskamilah / @talasintahan: your art is simply brilliant. I haven't been following you long, but I'm loving seeing all your gorgeous work.

💛 @weetlebeetle: You're technically not in our fandom, but you've created so many amazing pieces for me and so many others, you might as well be. Thank you for sharing your talent with us! We are so lucky to have you

💛 @hashiedraws (I know you're no longer active in the fandom, but I will always adore and treasure your art!

There are so so many amazing artists in this fandom, just mentioning a few more:

@somewillwin , @garlickk , @myautumnrose , @rainesenator , @ellezelindraws, @totojo2 , @choices-ceri , @crowlion ; @gremmiie ; @cpt-indigo , @mavidraws , @javsarts

This list is by no means exhaustive, please know that it was not intentional if you were left off!