#and then my hand started moving on its own

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 15)

first chapter >> last chapter

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Sleep eludes you. You toss and turn that first night, not used to sleeping on your own. Every sound makes you jump. When the sky goes black and the bushes rustle with the breeze, you have to double check the locks on the doors no less than three times, fastening it with the wooden bolt just to be safe. 

Without John around, the world is twice as loud; crickets chirp raucous melodies, buzzing so loud that sometimes you swear there must be one on the pillow right beside your head, and, in the distance, an owl hoots at an interval so irregular that each screech tugs you back from the brink of sleep. The house groans as it settles into itself; the first time you hear it, you spring upright in bed, heartbeat erratic, certain that it’s the sound of someone coming up the porch steps. 

You collapse back onto the mattress with a huff when you finally recognize the sound for what it is. 

You don’t sleep well that night. Dawn finds you awake before its arrival. The songbirds keep you from drifting off back to sleep when the first wispy rays of sunlight creep over the horizon, and you lie in bed until the possibility of sleep is well behind you. That makes you huff, bitter over the loss. 

Again, the day is slow to come over you. It seems almost reluctant to really get going, the sunlight clear and the air brisk but the day itself slow moving. An early morning chill forces you to don heavier garments than usual. 

After breakfast, you take Buttercup into the paddock to run around, watching her from the edge of the pen, humming to yourself under your breath. 

Most of the morning is spent cleaning and doing chores around the house. You muck the stables, feed the horses, scrub the dirty laundry on the washboard before hanging it up on the line, weed the garden, and promise yourself that next week you’ll work up the energy to boil linseed oil to polish and oil the furniture. As it is, you stagger into the kitchen around midday for lunch, sticky with sweat. 

Kate comes up the path on horseback not too long after that, a large swooped hat perched precariously on her head. She has to hold it in place by the brim to keep it from flying off. You watch her from the window at first, drying your hands from the quick wash you gave them after finishing your lunch.

“I ought to start making new friends,” you quip when she takes a seat next to you on the porch swing. 

“Sick of my company already?” she laughs. 

“Well, a girl’s gotta have options.” 

She snorts at that, tipping her hat lower on her head to shade her eyes from the sun. It has the effect of cutting a wide shadow across her face, leaving only a swath of white teeth exposed. 

Her beauty has always come as an afterthought. Tanned, freckled skin, and hair like golden wheat. But you look now and you see something different than the woman you’re used to seeing, and it dawns on you that what you’re seeing now is a version of Kate divorced from the idea of her that you’d always had in your head. Almost fuller; more robust. 

You tear your eyes away only when she catches you staring and cocks an eyebrow. 

She coaxes you into saddling Buttercup up and accompanying her on a trail ride. Part of you resists initially, still wounded from your last ride, and when Kate presses you for more information, you reluctantly divulge, recounting the events from the weeks prior with a tremble in your voice. She nods only once while you speak, keeping her comments to herself. That she must have already known doesn’t surprise you; she’d insinuated as much only the other week. 

You’d be wise to not keep secrets from Kate in the future, you realize. Best to keep someone as omniscient as her on your side. 

After some encouragement, she talks you into a leisurely stroll and even helps you dress Buttercup in the stables. The dizzying spell of apprehension settles over you like a heavy fog up until you blink and realize that the two of you have been riding beside each other in silence for the better part of a half mile. 

The fear doesn’t entirely evaporate, however. Any sudden dip in the terrain or unexpected noise from Buttercup makes you start. You take several breaks to breathe and walk around. At the top of a hill, you ask Kate in a voice verging on shrill if you can take a break and dismount before she’s even answered you. 

“She can sense if you’re on edge,” Kate reminds you, nodding to where Buttercup grazes in a nearby patch of grass. 

“Well, I can’t help that much. I am on edge.”

She tips her head back to look at the sky and sighs before looking back at you. “Sit down for a bit then. It’s not a race.”

And you do, for a spell. You sit and rest with your back against the trunk of a tree that branches high above you, the canopy blotting out any sunlight save for the tendril thin strands that sink through like stones in water. 

You’re striking a delicate balance between the needs of the flesh and the needs of the soul. What the soul wants is to push itself beyond the boundaries that formerly enclosed it; after a lifetime of servitude and desires suppressed, even a simple trail ride feels momentous. What the flesh wants, however, is to shade in the shade until the urge to retch wears off. 

The walk takes the two of you by a farm with a large, fenced-in enclosure. A couple houses sit around the enclosure. The smell of the livestock is pungent at first and your nose wrinkles as you approach the farm, but you adjust after a time. 

Recent weeks so far from home have spoiled you; back in the city, the pungent stench of waste and manure was commonplace, the sour cloak of tobacco stinking up the alehouses and alleyways as much as the parlors and lounges. You’d adjusted to it back then as well. 

The grazing cows rumble and low behind the fence. It’s a pleasant bucolic scene, one lifted straight from a painting that you swear you’ve seen before, though the artist’s name escapes you. 

Looking out into antediluvian pastures sets your heart at ease. When the farmer wanders out of the barn to greet the two of you, the two of you join him and his wife for coffee in the big house. 

For a brief period of time, it’s like stepping out of your body; there’s no impetus to get a move on, and inertia doesn’t set in like a rolling fog leaving you stranded in no man’s land. Nothing like the late evenings lying in bed in your aunt and uncle’s apartment, staring up at the pockmarked ceiling and praying for something to change. 

You, simply, have a coffee.

After bidding them farewell, the bulk of the afternoon is spent at Kate’s house, a tiny plot of land just outside of town surrounded by fields of ochre prairie grass. You’re wiped by the end of the ride, sweat running in rivulets down your back. While Kate brings the horses into her little stable to let them rest and eat, you fill up the porcelain bowl in her bathroom with water to wash your face. 

It’s quiet. You help with a few affairs around the house and you learn, to your own internal amusement, that Kate hums through her chores. Soap stops by in the early evening to drop off Kate’s mail and stays for supper, glad for the company. You watch bemusedly as he scarfs down three corned beef sandwiches with ease, mildly nauseated by the way he talks with his mouth full. 

“Can he even breathe?” you hiss to Kate while Soap is busy shoveling food into his gob. 

She nods, unbothered by the display in front of her. “You should see him when he’s actually hungry.”

You pale when he belches, pushing your plate away from you.

“Ye tell yer man when he’s back what a good job I’ve done, Mrs. Price,” he says, licking a leaking trail of sauce off his thumb. 

“Won’t the town still standing be sufficient evidence?”

“Aye, but it’s sweeter comin’ from the missus, ye dinnae think?” 

Incorrigible boy. You shake your head, acquiescing even if only to get him to shut up. That mollifies him, gets him crowing about the raise he’ll get, or the commendation. You think he’ll start going on about lofty aspirations towards sheriffdom, but he never quite gets to that point. You wonder if the rest of your life will be similarly composed of assumptions that fall flat when you look at them too hard.

He takes you home at the end of the night as a favor to Kate, who watches you from the door until she disappears into the faraway. You only have to yell at Soap twice to slow down when he tries to goad you into a faster gallop. 

You sleep better that night, but only just. This time, it’s the empty spot beside you on the bed that bothers you. His pillow is cold when you reach over to touch it. Your hand lingers on the pillow; there’s a passing thought that maybe the warmth of your hand will transfer into the pillow and trick you in sleep. You have another passing thought that maybe somewhere out there, wherever John is, he’ll feel a phantom hand creep across the bed to cup his cheek. 

The blooming flower of daylight comes again to wake you up and the cycle starts anew. 

The chores never end, but there’s some comfort in routine. Regularity breeds familiarity. Any contempt has long been bled out of you, almost without you even noticing.

The days pass slowly. A horse-drawn carriage. A robin nestled in the branches of a pine tree sings at evening twilight. You look up to find it stark against the dark green needles, the fir’s red heart.

A neighbor comes by with fresh strawberries that you eat from the bowl out in the sun, lying down in the grass by the paddock. You suck the juice out of a big one when you bite into it and it drips messy down your chin. When the achenes fleck off, you wipe them off on your dress. 

Though you half expect Kate to come by, she never does. Perhaps she’s busy in town. You remind yourself that the brevity of your friendship can hardly measure up to competing priorities. Minding the shop, for instance, or stopping by to check on other acquaintances. 

And then the waiting ends when you see a dark shadow on the horizon that you recognize all at once as a man on horseback headed towards the house. 

Elation clambers up your throat. You very nearly shout at the sheer sight of him, but at the last second, you manage to reign it in. 

You wave at John from the porch when you can finally make out the face of the man riding up the path. Despite the euphoric wave that washes over you at the sight of him, you feign composure, keeping your butt planted on the porch swing until he dismounts and heads down the path towards you.

There's something striking about watching him from a distance. Like Kate, you see him now from a new angle, an added weight to him. When he lumbers up the porch steps, you don't just see the man that dragged you to the court house and forced you to marry him, but a man in his prime. Square, masculine jaw; thick thighed. Something in your belly stirs when he rolls his shoulders back, accentuating the breadth of them. 

When he reaches you, he grips you under the arms to pull you up, but your arms wind around his neck without any coaxing, meeting him halfway. Every inch of your body presses into his, and he smells and feels exactly as you remembered. 

“Been missing you like hell, sweetheart,” John rasps into your ear. 

“Missed you too,” you mutter, lips smushed into a kiss against his cheek. 

And you did, didn’t you? You can say it for once without worrying that you’ll fall apart. 

The two of you stumble into the house in a daze. Your hands are already trembling well before you fist them into John’s hair to drag him into a kiss. Desperation claws up your throat, need choking you when you go to tell him how much you missed him. You missed him bone deep. 

He pulls away briefly, chuckling when you whine. “Darlin’, can I at least get cleaned up? I’m a mess.”

His beard has grown since you last kissed him, the mutton chops more pronounced now. It scratches your lips and cheeks when you tug him back down for a deeper kiss. He can clean himself later as far as you’re concerned. You’ve gone three days now without your husband and you can’t go a second more. 

You can feel his smile when he breaks the kiss again. “Honey—”

“No,” you cut him off, a whine threading your voice. You tighten your arms around his neck, pushing your bosom into his chest. “Please, John, don’t make me wait; I can’t—”

“Alright, alright,” John sighs, and then hunches slightly to fit his hands under your thighs  and hike you up his body until your legs wind around his waist. “Poor girl. Never seen you this needy before. You missed me that bad?”

“Yes,” you answer succinctly, already pressing kisses into the sweaty skin of his neck and his cheeks. His arms shake when he laughs.

He nearly trips up the stairs when you suck at the salty skin of his neck. 

John smiles amusedly when you whip your dress off, nearly getting tangled in it before letting it pile on the floor by the bed. 

In a different time, your eagerness might embarrass you, but you’re well beyond that now. It’s impossible to hear that distant voice in your head shrieking modesty when your husband watches you indulgently and unbuttons his shirt so slowly that you nearly bark at him to hurry it up. And then you actually do when he goes to fold his shirt instead of simply tossing it to the floor.

He laughs; it sends frissons of heat down your spine. 

It’s unclear who pursues and who is pursued this time. All you know is that you either push him onto the bed or he pulls you down with him, clothes long since stripped and piled onto the floor. Your hands sink into the meat of his chest when you sit astride his lap, wet folds grinding on the hard shaft jutting up between his legs. John hisses through clenched teeth, already worked up, fit to burst. You wonder if he tended to himself at all on his trip, whether he even had time. 

The hands tightening around your waist tell you that, whether or not he did, it’s inconsequential now when faced with the thing he’s been wanting most.

Your instinct is to lift your hips and line his member up with your sopping entrance before sinking down, but John surprises you by shifting up the bed and dragging you with him, not stopping until your pussy is hovering over his mouth. 

It’s easy to panic over that, easy to grow skittish. You start when the flat of his tongue runs up the seam of your cunt, the only thing keeping you from tumbling off the bed altogether being the big hands clamped around your hips.  

“You try to keep your pussy off my face and I’ll give you a licking you won’t like anywhere near as much,” John warns, and then pulls you down onto his face without further ado. 

Your back arches at the first lick, his tongue burrowing into your hole, softened by the slick leaking out of you. His lips and tongue work you over until you’re a shivering, coiled mess on top of his face, hands braced against the wall and toes burrowing into the mattress. 

A stiff tongue stabs up into your hole. The groan he lets out at the taste of you vibrates through you, making you clench around his tongue. 

You’ve never been much of a drinker, but you feel drunk now, grinding on his mouth. Hands running through his hair. Blissed out, sex leaking, throbbing. Shameful noises pouring out of you unbidden, your inhibitions packed up and long gone by now. His upper lip glistens with your juices and when his eyes blink open, they’re nearly black with desire. 

The hands on your bottom holding you over his head grip into you good and tight. He readjusts his hold on you whenever you try to pull off his face, yanking you back down and digging his fingers in harder, the tips wedged between your cheeks. You practically yowl when a finger prods at your back hole, worrying over the puckered flesh. 

The time for gentle words is far beyond him. When you glance down between your legs, his hair is matted with sweat and disheveled, a flush high on his cheekbones. Blue eyes peer out through slits, locked on the dripping mess between your thighs. His nose presses hard into your pubic bone when he pulls you down onto his waiting mouth, lips parting and tongue sawing over your clit. That part you can’t see, but you feel the wet slide of his tongue over your slit. 

You come with a finger lodged knuckle deep in your ass and his tongue rolling over your clit, coaxing it from you. Your whole body pulses and shivers. Chuckling to himself when you go dumb during it, slumped over him and panting hard. Tears dripping down your cheeks that John cleans up himself with his tongue when he drags you back down his chest and rolls the two of you over. 

“God, you look so pretty like this, honey,” he coos when he’s got you under him, pinching your cheeks between his fingers until your lips go plump and pursed. 

When he drags you into a kiss, his tongue still tastes of you. 

He takes you on your back after that, knees over his shoulders and bending you in ways you didn’t think possible. Whatever control he had before is gone now. He thrusts in to the hilt the second he gets you flat on your back, taking three days of frustration out on you, near punching your cervix with the head of his cock. 

“There we go— fuck—” John growls. “C’mon, squeeze me tight, honey; make me come in your pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

You feel like a creature turned inside of itself. All high yips, sharp pangs of pleasure, an ache in your hips that you know instinctively will worsen by morning, and a deep seated, unquenchable need. He mates you like a beast in heat, jaw clenched and brows furrowed; when your eyelids slip shut, he growls at you to keep them open, and you do only to find him staring down at you with that indelible, maddening intensity of his. 

“Nngh, John—John—” you gasp.

“Just a little, darlin’—shh, c’mon, just take it. Like that, yes—that’s it.” 

A dark urge flutters under your skin, blinking its eyes open. You stare up at him through half lidded eyes. “Gonna come in me and give me a baby, John?”

His eyes go black. “I’m gonna fill this tight cunt right up, you keep talking like that.”

You reach up to rake your hands through his hair. "Please give me a baby, John. Give me it, please."

His hips snap forward, knocking the breath out of you. He pounds into you with renewed vigor, lost in it, your nipples tagging his chest with every thrust. 

If you could peel back your skin and tuck him into your ribcage, you would. He’s already in you anyway; everywhere it counts. Leathery musk wafting under your nose, sweat-slicked skin, his spend deep in your cunt and leaking out around his throbbing cock, the heat steaming off him and warming you from the outside in and inside out. His come spurts into you hot and viscous, so deep that you swear you can taste it at the back of your throat. 

In the aftermath, you curl up against his chest and he traces a finger lazily up and down your spine. 

“You’ve been so patient with me.” You don’t know what prompts you to say that, but you know it’s been sitting in your chest and waiting for you to put it to words. 

His fingers pause in their ministrations, his hand resting flat on your back. “Patient?”

“Don’t play dumb, John. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Got some nerve accusing me of playing dumb,” he chuckles softly, leaning down to butt his forehead against yours. 

You nearly go cross eyed. Doe eyed. Treacle tart soft in your chest. You wonder if you’ll look back on this someday in fear and awe, and think that is the very moment when you finally let him in. 

This is how love suffuses into the girl: you wake up gasping to find it staring down at you. 

You’re brave enough now to ask what it is that you need. The world flashes briefly before you: in it, you see every possible version of a girl, how she goes from animal skin to teeth glinting in the night. She is perforated and vibrating; lacunae as the voice drips back into the sea, papyrus crackling hot in the fire. 

Maybe new love flounders again against the rhythms of the old, the song of you now sleeping beneath an alder tree, thickening with lemon and honey.

“I’m going to…—you know I’ll tell you. I just need time.”

“Darlin’, I know. There’s no use for rushing things. It happens when it happens,” John murmurs. He drops a bristly kiss on your forehead. 

“…And if it doesn’t happen?”

He shrugs. “Then it doesn’t happen.”

It’s a shock when love finds you because you don’t expect it. You’d open the door to anything else in a heartbeat, but it’s love that finds you cowering under the stairs. 

Love is not something you’ve ever touched, not even grazed. You recognize the insidious rot of lust or the gnarled grip of possession, but love? That has yet evaded your attempts on it. Not that you’ve ever given it a good go. 

But now, when you think of it, it looks at you through blue eyes. 

You sleep on it. You don’t contemplate when it’ll happen only because you know it’s inevitable. Your lips have already grown loose. When he eats you out in the early morning hours after a good night’s sleep for once since John left, you have to swallow back the wails of I love you, I love you, tell me you love me, please, please. 

Your lips part, lax. Only sinking your mouth down over his turgid length after he’s made you come keeps you from accidentally saying the words. The soft, grunted fuck he lets out at that empties out any thought in your head.

Desperate times, desperate measures. 

If John knows, he jealously guards your secret. Would take it to his grave you think. Just for him and you to know. Any temerity from the night before is squashed in the light of day, and you sit across from him at the table during breakfast wishing that he could hear the words in your head, if only so you didn’t have to say it out loud. 

God bites the lip when you want it most to part. Isn’t that just the nature of life?

John leaves you off at the general store as always, dropping a peck to your lips before heading out on his way, but when you wander inside, you find Miles behind the counter instead of Kate. That dims the excitement in your chest a tad. It’s no fault of his, but you’d hoped to regale Kate with the revelation you’d had the night previous, omitting some of the lewder details. Instead you’ll be forced to wait until she’s back in town. When you ask Miles when abouts that’ll be, he shrugs, unable to give you a definite answer.

“Visiting a friend, she said,” he tells you, and you blink like you don’t know exactly what that means. 

Her absence leaves you in a lurch though, little else to do but wander around the store. You’d leave entirely and try to find something else to occupy your time, but you feel a bit foolish coming in just to leave right away, though you’re sure Miles wouldn’t care either way. Still, you tell yourself you’ll linger for a few minutes before heading out to the library or down the road for a coffee at the inn. 

The bell over the door jingles, but you pay it no mind. 

You linger in the aisle with the fruit preserves and canned fish, gazing into the bottles. Tins with hand-drawn labels, branded packaging. On another shelf, you find oyster crackers, National Biscuit Company on the label. Nabisco. If Kate were minding the shop, you’d pop your head around the aisle to ask her what corned beef brand she used the other day. 

The sound of spurs jangling from behind you makes you frown and turn your head. 

A hand clamps down over your mouth, muffling the yelp that leaps instinctively from your throat, and you go shock cold when the blunt muzzle of a pistol wedges against the small of your back. 

“Bet you thought you were clever gettin’ me out of town, didn’t you, girl?”

Your eyes widen.

[annewithaneofthegreengable]

Play you? Play me?

charles leclerc x reader

my masterlist

summary in which your “music teacher” finally plays you instead of playing the piano (idk it sounds very weird when I wrote it down) 

warnings smut, french petname (Mon bébé = My baby), cockwarming, squirting, sex on a piano,... 

author note as much as I would've wanted to write for my little Vettel series (believe me, I did work on it, and Chapter 2 it’s almost done, I just need to figure some teeny, tiny details more) BUT I kinda have charles obsession NOW??? like if people requested imagines for him, I'D WRITE IT… 

edit #1 THE NEW CHAPTER OF LITTLE VETTEL IS OUT

You loved Charles’s fingers. You loved watching them dance on the keys of the Steinways & Sons piano that he so loved to play; loved watching the way they stretched to reach octaves and certain notes; also the same fingers that were holding on to the steering wheel so tight each time he was in a race; and the same of those holding your hands almost everyday. You loved the glint of his rings as his hands glided across the notes, playing a song that had you almost completely at peace if not for his cock stretching you open.

It all started innocently when he said that he wanted to teach you some basics about piano, and so you were sitting in his lap while his hands guide you through each keys. And just like that in a heated moment, you now were straddling Charles, legs dangling over the back of the piano stool, head tucked against his chest. One ear listened to the steady beat of his heart as the other listened to the steady melody created by his skilled fingers. 

With every tap of his shoes on the pedals, his cock would be driven further into you before falling back to its original place, the ridge of the leaking head catching at just the spot that had you moaning in time with the extended notes.

Your fingers traced shapes in his back, random shapes and words that the song he wrote inspired, your mouth occasionally dropping kisses on his neck and chest, wherever you could reach really.

You brought your legs up, locking your ankles around his back when you wanted more. The new position drove him further into your tight heat but even as you moaned and clenched tightly around him, his fingers never lost their rhythm; the notes still falling perfectly in time with the sheet music in front of him, feet still pressing the pedals at the correct timing.

If it wasn’t for the tiny crease in between his eyes, you wouldn’t have even thought he was affected at all. But you supposed, no matter how lost he was in his playing, it wasn’t as if he could ignore your slick running down your legs and onto the towel below (to protect his expensive leather seats), or the way you folds would flutter every time he hit a particular string of notes.

But for now you were content.

Content to be filled wholly by him.

Every inch of your skin was covered by his own, his heartbeat loud and clear in your ears; complementing his music.

His cock filled you to the brim, keeping you warm and filled in a way you knew you could never explain.

He brought you all the comfort you would ever need; filling you up in all the empty places you used to have; making the absence of him an absence of yourself.

You stayed curled around him as he lost himself in his music and in you; content to let him play until his heart was full before laying you across the expensive instrument and fucking you the way he knew best. 

As the song comes to an end, your body and his became increasingly intertwined. Your breath hitched as he now slowly moves inside you, your hands gripping tighter onto his broad back and shoulders as both bodies stay connected. The intensity of each movements, all made you feel so alive.

The pleasure was almost unbearable, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he reached his peak, his fingers now digging into your skin. "Fuck, you're so fucking tight," he groaned, his words barely audible as he continued to move inside you, prolonging your pleasure.

Your nails dug into his back as you reached your own climax, the intensity of it all almost too much to handle. He smirked as he felt you tighten around him, your moans growing louder. "That's it, let go for me, Mon bébé" he whispered in your ear, his voice dripping with desire. You shuddered as he continued to move inside you, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure from your body. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer as you rode out the waves of your orgasm. 

He let out a low growl as he finally released himself inside you, his hips still moving against yours as he rode out his own climax. He collapsed onto you, his body slick with sweat and his breath warm against your neck. "Fuck, that was amazing," he murmured, nuzzling your neck as he caught his breath. "You're incredible." You smiled, your fingers tracing patterns on his back as you both enjoyed the afterglow of your intense lovemaking. "I don't want to move," you whispered, feeling completely content in his arms.  

After some time, he looked at you with a grin. "Feeling a bit adventurous?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "We could try out that new position I've been wanting to try." He picked you up effortlessly and placed you on top of the piano, his lips never leaving yours. He could hear the soft keys being pressed under your body, but it only added to the intensity and the thrill of the situation. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he explored your mouth with his. He leaned back slightly, breaking the kiss for a moment to look at you with a lustful gaze. His hands went down to your waist, tracing the curves and dips, driving you crazy with desire. His thumb teased the skin under your silk skirt, making you moan softly. "I want you, again”  he whispered hoarsely, his voice thick with desire. "Right here, right now." His lips found yours again, his tongue exploring deeper as your bodies pressed closer together on the piano. His hands went to the buttons of your shirt, slowly undoing each one while his lips were back on yours, hungrily tasting and nibbling at your lips. His fingers slid under your bra, teasing your breast, making your back arch with pleasure. His lips trailed fire down your body, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin. "Now, it's my turn to taste you, Mon bébé" he said, his voice full of desire as he helped you spread your legs. He dipped his head low, his breath hot against your skin as his mouth closed over your core. His tongue explored every inch of you, lapping at your folds and teasing your clit. He sucked and flicked at it, sending waves of pleasure through your body. He lifted his head, his lips wet with your juices. "You taste so fucking good," he growled before plunging his tongue back inside of you, his fingers replacing his tongue on your clit. He worked them in unison, driving you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

"Come for me, Mon bébé" he commanded, his voice rough and needy. He sucked hard on your clit as his fingers thrust deep inside of you, taking you over the edge. You screamed his name as waves of pleasure crashed over you, your body trembling and shaking.

Still in a daze from your intense orgasm, he stood and quickly removed his own clothes. His large, hard cock sprung free, the head already wet with his desire for you. He positioned himself between your legs, rubbing his cock against your slick entrance. "Are you ready for me?" Without waiting for your response, he thrust deep inside of you. It was a tight fit, the walls of your pussy stretching to accommodate him. He groaned, his head falling back as he began to move in and out of you with long, slow strokes. "Fuck…” 

His hands gripped your hips as he picked up the pace, driving into you harder and faster. You could feel his cock swelling inside of you, the pleasure building deep within your core. Your legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper as you met his thrusts.

He bent his head, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking hard, his fingers pinching and rolling the other. His hips slapped against yours, the sound filling the room, altogether with the sound of the piano. You could tell he was close by the way he began to pant and moan.  "Come for me," he growled, his teeth scraping against your sensitive nipple. His thrusts became erratic, his cock twitching inside of you. That was all it took to set you off, your orgasm crashing through you in waves of pleasure.

He groaned loudly as you tightened around him, his thrusts becoming desperate as he felt his own release racing through him. "Fuck, yes!" He shouted, slamming into you one last time before filling you with his hot cum. He pushed harder and faster, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing it in circles. He grinned down at you, his cock still hard and ready for more. "Again," he commanded, his voice low and commanding. It wasn't long before you screamed his name, your entire body shuddering as you squirted all over him.

He slowed down as he felt your orgasm subsiding, his lips finding yours in a tender, passionate kiss. "I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did," he whispered, pulling you into his arms.

[k-germsworld]

Blackmailing the model

Sowon x M!Reader

2.4k words

Sowon is a little-known model. Although she doesn't have many events, she earns a lot from the ones she does. She also has a beautiful face and a curvy figure. It is not an exaggeration to describe her as having an angel's face and a devil's figure. This also makes her a little-known model. 

One day, Sowon participated in a photo shoot for an endorsement. Everything went smoothly until the end. After thanking the staff, she went backstage to change her clothes. She picked up her change of clothes and went to the dressing room, only to find that all the other dressing rooms were locked. Sowon reluctantly went to use that dressing room. But she didn't know that there was a hidden camera in the only dressing room she could use, and her entire changing process was recorded. 

"What the fuck... her body is too hot. “What if.... I can make her be mine ?” He smirked and watched Sowon changing clothes and had a bad thought about her. The next day, Sowon received an email. She thought it was a job offer and opened it. Only then did she realize that the email was actually a video of her changing clothes. She was very panicked, and she saw a message below the video: "If you don't want this video to be leaked, come to this address to find me.” This address was where the endorsement shooting took place yesterday, and she rushed there after she found out. When she arrived, she found no one there. Just as she thought she was being tricked and was about to leave, a voice came from behind.

“Welcome, Sowon ssi.” The owner of that voice is the PD who filmed yesterday. "I'm already here. What do you want to do with that video? Delete it now.” She said to him angrily. "Calm down, Sowon ssi.” He said to Sowon in a joking tone. “ "I'm warning you, you'd better delete that video immediately. Otherwise, I will definitely sue you.” She wanted him to delete the video as soon as possible to avoid any more trouble. "Calm down, don't be nervous. As long as you listen to me, I will delete the video. And I advise you not to call the police, otherwise, I will accidentally post this video online and your reputation will be ruined.” Sowon didn't want this video to be spread on the internet, so she had to listen to what the PD wanted from her. "What do you want? Money? If it's money, how much do you want? I can give you 5 million won.” He smirked and shook his fingers. "Money is not important to me. What I want more is you.” She felt confused after hearing this. “Me ?” "Yes, you! Your body is so good and your beautiful pussy shape makes me think about it all the time.” She felt very sick after hearing this. She knew that the PD wanted to fuck her from what he said, but she would never let that happen. “What do you want other than me?” Sowon calmly asked the PD. "I don't want anything but you!” The PD suddenly took off his pants, revealing his cock, which had been hard for a long time, in front of Sowon. "You see, my cock is already so hard for you, Sowon ssi.” PD is now stroking his cock while looking at Sowon. Sowon feels so disgusting to see PD masturbating in front of her.

Even so, she was so frightened by the PD's sudden action that she stood there dumbfounded. He saw her standing still, so he walked towards Sowon's direction. She backed away slowly but PD still got close to her. PD took her hand and placed it on his cock and guided her hand to start stroking his cock. "Your hands are so good at stroking my cock!" Sowon tried to run away but her hands were held and she couldn't. If she tried to run away, he would pull her back. "Don't even think about running away unless you make me enjoy first." He continued to guide her hand to stroke his cock until he felt Sowon's hand begin to move on its own and then he let go of her hand. ”Ah…. Yes. Do it like this and make me cum！” Sowon stroked his cock unwillingly. But in his eyes, Sowon was so beautiful that even stroking his cock unwillingly made him very horny. Moreover, her clothes were tight, which revealed the shape of her breasts in front of him. He unconsciously reached out to touch her breasts but was stopped by Sowon. "What do you want to do? Didn't we agree that I would just make you cum only? Don’t even think about touching me." PD instantly withdrew his hand and continued to enjoy her hand constantly stroking his cock. Guys can never resist a beautiful woman stroking their dick so is PD. “Ah…. I am about to cum…. Ahh….!” He holds the cock in his hand just before he gets close to cumming and cums all over Sowon's legs. Although Sowon didn't want to have her legs stained with this dirty semen, she had no choice but to endure it in order to delete the video. “It’s so great to cum on this beautiful long leg.” He looked in admiration at his cum all over her legs. "I let you cum, shouldn't you also fulfill your promise and delete the video?" He smirked when he heard it. "Who said I would delete the video after you made me cum?" Sowon suddenly felt cheated. "Didn't we agree that you would delete the video if I let you cum?" Her tone sounded a little angry and aggrieved. PD again shook his finger. "You are still too naive, Sowon Ssi. Just now I said that I would delete it only if you let me enjoy it first, but I haven't fully enjoyed it yet." 

"You're a sick liar." As Sowon thinks of other ways, the PD pushes her against the wall. He collected the semen on her legs and put it into her mouth. Sowon tried to resist but couldn't. "How is it? Does this cum taste good?"  She didn't want to answer him because she was forced to eat it. After she was made to swallow that cum, he kissed her and he tried to put his tongue into her mouth. Although she couldn't stop him from kissing her, she kept her mouth tightly closed to prevent him from putting his tongue in. But it was all in vain as he pressed hard on her cheeks, forcing her mouth to open. He kept pushing his tongue in and kept sucking her tongue. Sowon's mouth was full of PD's saliva, and drool was also flowing out of the corners of her mouth. When he found out, he licked the saliva clean and praised it as delicious. “Your lip is so soft and sweet. Your drool is like a nectar." 

His hands were restlessly groping her breasts. "They're so big and soft!" He took off her shirt, and those breasts were perfectly displayed in front of him. PD couldn't bear the temptation of these breasts and buried his head in them. While enjoying her tits, he also removed her bra to expose her nipples. He stopped enjoying her tits and started playing with her nipples. He kept teasing her nipples with his fingers until they were completely hard. "You are so sensitive, Sowon ssi. Look at your nipples are already fully hard." Although Sowon hated to let the PD touch her body, his teasing skills made her moan non-instinctively. “Uh… Stop… please…” He ignored Sowon's attempts to stop him, which only made him more excited. He buried his head between her breasts again and began to lick her nipples. As he licked, his hand slid slowly down her body to her navel and sneaked into her pants to touch her pussy. PD felt that her pussy was already very wet. He pulled his hand out of her pants and showed her the goo between his fingers. "Look how wet you are now. Your mouth says no, but your body is honest." Sowon kept shaking her head to show her disapproval. But the PD put his finger with goo into Sowon's mouth and let her taste her juices. Sowon unconsciously licked his finger with goo in a very erotic way. PD could feel her tongue licking every inch of his fingers. Seeing this, he became even more aroused. He took out his finger and quickly kissed it. This time Sowon did not resist, but took the initiative to put her tongue into his mouth. After kissing for a while, Sowon finally reacted and pushed PD away. He was still savouring the taste of her lips and looking at her. "I didn't expect you to be so proactive. I didn't expect that the innocent and beautiful model is such a slut inside.“ 

"No, I'm not a slut. You can't slander me like that. I just... just..." Although Sowon wanted to object vehemently, she couldn't think of a good reason to defend herself.  "Just what? Just admit that you are a slut." He removed her pants and panties and began to touch her wet pussy. "Look how wet your pussy is. That's enough to prove you're a slut." Sowon shook her head desperately to deny this statement, but the PD ignored her and instead squatted down and began to lick her pussy. Although she didn't want to be humiliated by him like this, she enjoyed the feeling of her pussy being licked and she inadvertently let out a moan.  Hearing her moan, he became more excited and licked her more attentively. He felt that he could not satisfy Sowon with just his mouth, so he inserted his fingers into her vagina to give her a double stimulation. “Ah… no… please…. Ah!!” Hearing these sounds turned him on even more and he increased his speed until she squirted. Her juices sprayed all over the floor, some even onto PD's face. But he didn't wipe it off right away and instead liked her juices. He stuck to her again to suck her juices again. Those juices were so delicious for him. “Fuck, it’s so salty but it’s tasty because it is from you.” He smirked. He stood up and looked at her. Although Sowon avoided his gaze, PD still kissed her again with his smelly mouth. 

During the kiss, Sowon kept resisting but failed and was pushed onto the table by him. She is now bending over on the table now. Her perfectly shaped ass was perfectly visible to him. His cock was now even harder at the sight. Just as she was about to get up, he had already pushed her down on the table again. He aimed his cock at her wet pussy and inserted it. ”Ah…. Stop please….” The moment it penetrated, Sowon seemed to be about to cry. Her virginity had been destroyed by this disgusting man. “Oh my god, Sowon. Your pussy is so hot and tight. Its so great to fuck you.” Even so, PD didn't think of stopping. He started pumping her pussy. His hands were already on her tits, playing with her breasts as he pumped her. When he got used to her tightness, he slowly increased the speed. Sowon kept begging him to stop in a crying voice, but he seemed to enjoy Sowon's pitiful pleading. "Don't cry, sex is a very pleasant thing. I will make you feel so good that you will want to do it again and again.” Although she tried desperately to stop him, she collapsed on the table due to the pleasure brought by the thrusting and was continuously thrusted by the PD. 

Just looking at Sowon's back while fucking her could no longer satisfy PD's desire to conquer her. So he turned Sowon over and made her lie on the table. Her model-like figure, plump breasts and well-proportioned body make him never get tired of looking at her. He couldn't wait to empty his sperm into her. He continued to fuck her and lay on top of her licking her tits. She was no longer able to put up any resistance, all she could do was moan. She could only feel his disgusting saliva all over her body. After enjoying her tits, he put her legs on his shoulders so that he could reach deeper. “Fuck… Sowon, your inside is so tight.” “AH…… so deep….” She moaned super loudly when she felt him hitting her clitoris. He felt that he was about to cum, so he grabbed her waist and thrust harder.  Her body was already filled with a lot of sweat, and PD's sweat kept dripping onto Sowon's body as he thrusted. "It's time to fill you up!" "Please, don't cum inside '' After saying that, he ignored her and shot all the semen he had saved for a long time into Sowon's body. He took his cock out and saw that it was full of his cum inside her pussy. The cum kept flowing out of her pussy. He watched it all with satisfaction, leaving Sowon lying on the table gasping for air.

"Are you satisfied? Delete those videos quickly." She didn't care about anything else, she just wanted the PD to delete the video of her changing clothes as soon as possible. "I've been fucking you for so long, I almost forgot to delete it." Just as he turned on his computer and watched the video again, he broke the pledge. "I'm sorry, Sowon. I decided not to delete it." She was very angry after hearing what he said because he broke his promise. “You fucking bastard, you break the…..” She didn't even finish her words before the PD stuffed his dick into her mouth again. "Shut up, bitch. Who allowed you to talk to me like that? From today on, you are my sex slave. If you don't let me fuck you, this video of yours will be spread on the internet . Hahaha!!" Sowon listened to this devilish laughter which made her very angry but she couldn't resist. Soon, PD shot another stream of hot semen into her mouth.　From then on, every time they had a shoot, Sowon was asked to come to the set early and let the PD fuck as much as he can.

[mostly-imagines]

Things About My Jason

aka things that might weasel their way into details of stories one day, might not

your boy is clocking in at six feet five inches and about 235 lbs (he’s the only batkid to be taller than bruce). 

he cusses a lot it, usually doesn’t correlate w anger or intensity its just how he expresses himself. he’ll cuss at you sometimes but not at you and he tries his best to never do it out of anger.

he’s never said it out loud but he would drop all the vigilante shit for you in a heartbeat if you wanted him to (i think he’s also the only batfam member who would do that).

you have an agreement in place to never make any big decisions in the middle of the night/post patrol—this came into place after a few too many bad nights had him coming home shaking and panicked about your safety and convinced he needed to leave you alone for good. 

he kind of zones out sometimes, its bordering on dissociation.

you have a black cat, salem, that’s been around since before you and jason had even met. his yellow eyes pierce you in a way that feels like he’s glaring straight into your soul and judging what he sees. he was suspicious of jason for a while but over time has come to love and protect jason almost as much as you.

he has a lot of nervous habits that have built up over years of stress and trauma. he’ll often double or even triple check locks and cameras. his hand tends to go to where his gun holster would he, regardless of whether or not its there. he’s very conscious of your breathing, especially when you’re asleep, and when he’s stressed or upset he’ll try to align his breathing with yours. he worries that you might get annoyed with how often he checks up on you, be it asking directly, texting you, or just looking you over to make sure you’re doing okay, that you’re happy. he’s also made a habit of standing directly behind you when you’re wearing anything short, especially skirts or dresses. You’re not entirely sure if it’s intentional or not.

day to day, he runs on very little sleep naturally so he’s awake early goes to bed late. he used to not focus much on making meals that actually taste good and have thought put into them until he started dating you. he started catering his grocery trips specifically with you in mind and the things you might like. he actually prefers going on grocery trips and little mundane errands with you bc he had no idea that these tiny aspects of life could bring him so much joy and peace. he also buys you new towels and updates your first aid kit constantly, though the latter is more out of his necessity than yours. depending on his mood, he’ll usually either take scalding hot or freezing showers. 

he’s 100% down to let you decorate the apartment however you want, even if you move in to his place. his only ask is that he’s left with space to put his books (of which ne needs plenty). if he had to choose, he probably likes a warm atmosphere best, in terms of like lighting and colors. he’s really just not a fan of anything that feels cold or impersonal like the manor can sometimes seem. other than that he doesn’t really have opinions on it, whatever makes you happy he’ll like. but he’ll still happily go shopping with you to find stuff. but really that’ll just look like you saying “ooh look at this” and him saying “great, lets get it” at every single thing you pick up. 

there are unloaded guns and ammo hidden around your apartment and also stocked generously in a closet or two. he cleans them regularly, you think he does it partially as a kind of stress reliever. before you and didn’t have too much regard for his own safety, he would sleep with one under his pillow. 

he does everything he can to keep you safe and he’ll insist on adding extra locks to the doors and windows, ones the landlord wont have keys to. yeah he’s paranoid so he’ll keep the bed as far from the door as possible and is unrelenting in his insistence that you sleep on the wall side. if you’re too tired to move, that’s okay, he’ll gently move you over himself. honestly though, your apartment is just as secure, if not more, than any of his safe houses. as such, he absolutely can and will easily hack into the lobby security cameras to check up on things. if he has to go away for a while he’ll send one of his siblings to stop by to check on you and make sure you're okay. 

he prefers to wear layers, it makes him feel more secure and comfortable. he does like cutoff sleeves sometimes but only because you like them on him. aside from that, he’s usually not such a fan of showing much skin because of a) his scars and b) he feels exposed to attacks. he has so many long sleeved and warm clothes in his closet that he heavily encourages you to bundle up in some of them when its cold. 

he goes through phases of bad sleep and they can vary greatly in severity. there’s nights he just physically cannot sleep and this usually originates from intense anxiety. these are easier to ease him back from and some simple comforting will be enough to get him to at least try to sleep. most commonly its the nightmares that make it hard for him. it’ll usually be a one-off that he just can’t fall back asleep afterwards. the worst is when he goes through phases of frequent nightmares, like every night, multiple times a night. when that happens, he will do everything in his power to stay awake for as long as he can. you’ve yet to find any techniques that hands down prevent or even slow the nightmares, but you’ve perfected comforting him afterwards. 

you’ve been able to find some remedial measures that work pretty well. kissing him helps get his mind off scary thoughts (but not joker related) but not just like single peck it’s got to be a whole session to really work. the one that works best is having a hand on one of your pulse points while you sleep, or directly over your heart. unfortunately this did lead to him to accidentally choking you after a particularly bad nightmare. he was absolutely horrified and removed his hands from you completely the second he gained recognition. he actually fully got out of bed and backed away from you. he wouldn’t even hear you out about him not sleeping on the couch and continued to not budge on it for over a week. 

him punishing himself like that made you feel extra bad because that had occurred during a round of the relentless nightmares and you were sure he was still waking up panicked constantly without you there to help soothe him. you actually know for a fact he was because every couple of hours the bedroom door would creak open slightly before shutting again like he was checking to make sure you were there and okay. you ended up having to literally lay on top of him on the couch and refuse to leave him for him to agree to sleep in bed with you again, although he was still not willing to fall asleep with his hands on you for a while. 

he always needs it to be quiet when he goes to sleep so he can stay on alert which usually leads to him waking up to the littlest sounds, which is technically the point. if there’s any kind of white noise he’ll force himself to stay awake. if he does get woken up he’ll go from 0 to 100 like that. he also needs the door to be shut, non negotiable, and really prefers the apartment to be colder > hotter. it also helps that you’ll cuddle into him for warmth.

all of these things are things he did before you met, but he’d also developed some new habits after you got together. he used to sleep in the middle of the bed but now he absolutely insists that you sleep on the wall side so he can act as a protective barrier between you and any incoming danger. unless its after a rough patrol, he tends to wait to sleep until after you’ve fallen asleep. he doesn’t really have a reason for this, it just makes him feel better.

his relationship with bruce is complicated, of course. in my canon, the extent of it is that bruce didn’t kill the joker, prevented jason from doing it, and has made many attempts to stop jason from killing at all. obviously it’s not the fact that batman won’t let anybody die that broke jason’s heart, it’s that his father couldn’t let go of his moral code for a second and avenge his murdered son. the resulting anger stems from so much sadness and grief over his own death and it caused him to isolate himself even further from bruce. on a conscious level, he wanted to be far away from him emotionally as possible to protect himself while still enacting his own kind of revenge towards bruce. and so yeah, he did try to kill batman a couple times, whatever.

on an unconscious level, he’d hoped that bruce would take the initiative to try to close the space between them and apologize, and while jason didn’t know it yet: that was all he really wanted from him. inwardly, he still cares what bruce thinks and wants his approval and affection but its so conflicting for him. it also doesn’t help that it took bruce such a long time to swallow his pride and even consider that he was wrong before he could apologize. a lot of negotiations had to take place before they could even begin to really reconcile. 

about a year later they’d come to a steady, solid agreement that mostly worked for both of them. jason was allowed to kill, but only within his territory in gotham and only under agreed upon circumstances. there’s also a separate rule that jason’s not allowed out on patrol when the joker is loose—it used to be a whole thing before you’d met and oftentimes several bats were assigned to keep him away. even with these guidelines in place, things were still rocky between them and jason had only just started to come back around the manor when he’d met you. honestly you and bruce meeting was a major step in this process and everyone could feel the shift.

his relationship with his brothers is different, but just as complicated. he kind of views dick as being perfect in spite of also acknowledging his flaws. in his head, its sort of like, in comparison to himself, dick had the perfect life with perfect versions of all the same pitfalls jason had to go through. he knows its not really fair to think of it this way, but it’s hard sometimes. all in all though, he does look up to dick a lot. 

with tim, he thinks he’s a crazy rich kid—which, fair—but also in a weird way holds a lot of respect for tim for not being afraid of him. realistically, the way jason showed back up and his relationship  with tim started is insane, so its even more insane that tim was like ‘yeah, chill’ and that probably jump started their bond as brothers more than anything. 

for as much shit as he gives him, he honestly feels really bad for damian and all the shit he was raised believing. he couldn’t quite explain why, but he does see a lot of himself in damian, even past the surface level anger. 

he’s not good at resolving fights, his mind tends to jump to the absolute worst and he assumes you’re done with him, you resent him, it’s all over. it was really bad at the beginning of your relationship when he hadn’t even begun to consider that you love him half as much as he loves you. now, you’ve been able to help him understand that you still love him, even when you fight, and fighting does not equal breaking up. however, he still has trouble taking initiative in making amends. not because he doesn’t want to but more so because he feels vulnerable in ways that terrify him, having to acknowledge and speak into existence that he’d done something wrong feels like setting himself up to be exposed with no defense. 

another part of him feels like he already hurt you and if he tries to remedy things with you, he could just make it worse. So for a while at least, you’ll have to be the one to start the conversation, though not necessarily meaning you have to apologize first. 

as we know, Jason’s not immune to bouts of fear and stress. there’s times when he panics and there’s times when he has full blown panic attacks. the panic attacks are rarer, but much more severe. he’s known to lash out (especially when he’s not at your apartment) and has definitely broken a nose or two of people who got too close/tried to touch him. you’re not sure if it’s an intentional action or not, but he tends to claw at his skin or hit himself in the head when he’s very upset. after going through a couple of these with him, you’ve compiled a thorough list of DOs and DONTs for these times. DONT hold his wrists, move suddenly, touch him without warning, or corner him. DO keep your touches light, words soft, rooms vacant of other people, and loud noises. slowly but surely they’re getting less severe and overcome quicker.

[potato-lord-but-not]

idk if it's unpopular or just nobody's considered the concept or maybe i am just too fond of medical knowledge but one of my takes is, if Arthur remains blind when John gets his own body his left hand to the elbow and right foot that John used to control are somewhat numb. It's a lot like when your legs fall asleep, a warm cold feeling, but no pinpricks and you can move them but not as coordinated or presise. More important to note however is this means if Arthur gets hurt in these places it is incredibly hard to notice, any should be pain is far away and feels like vague pressure. It seems and likely seemed small. There is a good chance Arthur would not even bring it up because he thought in a couple days that turned into weeks that maybe he was imagining or it'd go away on its own, but like leprosy thats how it does the most damage. And of course being blind doesn't help and it starts becoming scary. In the right time of year or being on the job, most people who don't experience pain rely on the sight of blood, a bruise, something visual, but how do you know youre bleeding if it feels no different from the sweat that drips down your neck and back? And if youre wearing particularly dark colors how many strangers are likely to notice if your sock takes on a red hue before you notice a squelch when you step? Just like his eyes if Arthur even went to a doctor, coaxed into entering an office and being patronized for a lack of symptoms the most likely conclusion would be Psychosomatic. If he's lucky told stress, but more likely that it's all in his head (ironic in a way, yeah that thing in his head was named John and likely the one who brought him here but hes not in there now is he?). But even if thats the issue being in your head doesn't mean you don't get bruises, cuts and scrapes. It means you don't stop putting weight on a foot when you step on an nail and it pierces far beyond the sole of your shoe. It means you might not notice a cut on your arm has become infected until you come down with a fever and the only thing you can say to explain yourself is "It didn't feel painful. I thought i was managing." the second half of that statement feeling like a lie because if anything you were drowning the moment you realized you could spend all day walking around and have no idea you were injured. It means at the end of the day even if you didnt want to be a bother, there is such a heavy comfort in someone rolling up your sleeve and making sure if anything is there that its cleaned, and bandaged. And maybe its also a comfort for them to grab that same hand and give a slow deliberate squeeze that your can't reciprocate but you can feel it, and know that one isnt hurting you. Anyways im rambling that's it thats the concept take notes, im telling you there is so much potential here. Im so normal about this concept

good lord absolutely no notes just everyone read this

[erosiism]

DEVOTION | YANDERE NSFW

prompt: nsfw lol

character(s): emperor (claude), you

warnings(s): overstimulation, slight belly bulge kink, graphic smut, brief hand-blow job, porn without plot

note(s): male reader, second person, past tense, not beta read, sub!reader

FIND MORE MOMENTS OF CLAUDE AND THE READER HERE.

Warm fingers seemed to sear your skin. You couldn't think of anything past the lips pressed against yours.

The way Claude kissed you—you could taste it on his tongue, the ache of his desire, the heavy desperation that rushed down your throat. You trembled under his intense touch, the heaviness of his gaze as he undressed you with his eyes. You could feel your Adam's Apple bob when he pressed you flush against the silky soft sheets, his lips swollen from the earlier kiss, his ruby-red eyes gleaming.

"Y/n," Claude whispered, his fingers trailing down the expanse of your bare skin. You jolted at the touch—shivering slightly as the cool air caressed your skin. His fingers were slender and long, and the way they brushed your skin was so delicate—it was ticklish. You smiled back at him, a soft, hysterical giggle coming from your throat. 

Your laugh was magical to him. Claude smiled back, pressing a kiss onto the palm of your hand, his lips following the contours and lines of your hand.

"So?" You tilted your head, your voice breathy from anticipation and mirth, "are you planning to tell me my future? Are you trying to read my palm?"

Claude played along, his voice low and sweet. "I see your future, darling."

You smiled. "Oh?"

"It's with me," Claude whispered, smiling so bright that you couldn't help but release a disbelieving laugh. "Why? You don't think it's true?"

"Hm," you tugged him down, your fingers interlacing with his soft silver hair, "why don't you show me, Your Majesty?"

Claude kissed your jawline this time, his hair tickling your chin. "I will," he murmured, "but I want your first time to be comfortable. I don't want it to hurt. I want to savor this moment," Claude touched your skin. His taste was like wine to you: you could get drunk off it. "I yearned for you, Y/n, I craved you so, so much. I will be gentle, I promise. I will be so; so gentle."

He held you in an achingly soft embrace. Trapping you within his arms, your bare skin skimming over each other's, him painting your skin's canvas a pretty pink when he swirled his tongue around your bud, when he moved from your glistening, bitten lips to make a mess of the rest of the parts of your body. You could help but writhe under that soft touch of his—you could feel your own arousal aching between your legs, throbbing. Whatever flustered emotion you felt disguised by your teasing—it all rushed down there. Claude's grip would grow momentarily tighter whenever you would release a breathy sound—whenever your lashes would glisten with unshed tears. When he saw you in such a state, such a reserved, precious state—Claude would fall in love all over again. 

All you felt was the ever present electrifying heat that had worked its way into your insides. It was stubborn: it didn't seem like it intended to leave any time soon. Claude's own arousal pressed against your inner thighs—and god, was it large. You could not see it yet: you were facing an assault of kisses all over your face, littered on your eyelids, your cheek, your nose, then a butterfly, light one on your lips: every time you tried to open your eyes, all you could feel was the sensation of soft lips pressing against your skin.

But it pressed against you, hard and insistent. You could see the faint redness that had spread from Claude's face to his ears, his soft pants—Claude was holding back. Instead his hands would reach to stroke your hair softly, relishing in every sound, every moan that came from your pretty mouth. Claude had kissed it swollen, until the pinkness of your lips had started to swell. And he continued to do so: stealing your breath away, locking it under his own tongue. 

"Claude," you breathed out shakily, "Claude. Fuck me—please."

Perhaps a stricter, more complicated you would have almost been horrified at the directness of your language, and even the uncouthness of your language. But you felt overstimulated, your nerves jumping at every touch. Your cock was already weeping precum by then: you were in agony. You wanted to be filled. You wanted to be close with Claude, emotionally, physically, sexually. And his touch sent you in overdrive—it was so teasing, so loving—that you could cry.

"Y/n," Claude's fingers left your skin, before you felt them touch your cock, his fingers trailing over it. You have a startled gasp as you arched your back, your voice choked with the sleazy moans that left your mouth. "Be patient."

"Claude," you repeated, "please." 

Tears rimmed your vision. Claude—Claude was jerking you off, damn it. He was teasing you! Patience? What a joke. You knew that some twisted, mad part of him just wanted to see the reactions on your face. You tried to cover your face desperately with your fingers, embarrassed as you let out gasp after moan, but Claude's free hand reached out to you and tugged your fingers off. Then he jerked your cock again—and you let out a pleasured scream.

"Let me see all of it, my sweet," Claude whispered. Your cock was pained, then, when Claude's movement stopped. You were so close. You were so close. Why wouldn't Claude let you cum? This—

"You're doing this on purpose," was what you managed to say as you choked down your sobs. "You..."

"I want to see all of it. Stop covering your face with it," he repeated. And only when you obliged, unwillingly placing your hands down to fist the sheets, did he pleasure you—but this time, with this mouth.

"Claude—Claude—!"

You started to tremble. Your eyes teared up once again. You felt his lips wrap around the length and girth of your cock, his tongue sliding across it. In fact, all you could hear then, as you tried to face anywhere else but the sight of him—were obscene sounds. And pleasure was slowly building up in your gut: you let out an incoherent sound as you released, trying to wriggle yourself from Claude's grasp in embarrassment. But Claude instead—

"Why—" You spluttered, "don't swallow it, it's dirty!"

"I want all of you with me," Claude murmured, before he smiled softly. "Why? Did it not feel good?" He tapped your cock, which betrayed you. "You're still hard."

"I told you," you felt his hands skim against yours, lacing around your fingers. "I wanted you to—"

"Y/n," Claude told you, "I...I didn't want to rush it. I want this—I want this to last, Y/n—I want you to enjoy every bit, every moment. I am not selfish enough to fulfill only my desires. And you have no idea, Y/n, how long I've wanted to make love to you. How long I've wanted to fuck you: to put some permanent imprint on you that you belong to me; you are mine, irreversibly mine, and I will forever be yours..." Claude paused.

 His eyes seemed to darken—almost—and you swallowed as you saw his mouth open. His voice was low, almost guttural, almost menacing—as he spoke. "Which is why I'm sorry, Y/n. I don't think I can keep my promise to be gentle. I told you earlier I would be gentle. But I fear I can't. It's impossible."

That's when he started to straighten his back, and then your mouth nearly dropped open. Yes, Claude was the Emperor—yes, he was powerful, he was good-looking, ethereal, even, but gods really had their favorites. That—

That was monstrous.

And it would be the cock that would split you open.

Claude took the lube by the drawer, before spreading it generously on his fingers, and then his cock. It wasn't just the length of it: it was the girth too, the veins that ran along its side. It was erect—so swollen, so restrained—you could see the beads of sweat that ran down Claude's face along with his hazy gaze that came with this holding back.

He pressed his fingers against your hole—one was fine, two—then three—you made another incoherent sound. "Claude," you started to tremble, "wait, wait..."

"It will be a problem," Claude murmured softly, "if you cannot even deal with three."

You thought back to his size.

He was right.

When you offered no protest, Claude started to thrust his fingers within—he wanted to explore every inch inside, he wanted to find that pleasurable spot that would have you crying his name out in pure pleasure. He wanted to prepare you. He did not want you in pain; but god, he wanted so desperately to slam his throbbing cock into you, feel as your walls clenched around him, revel at the sight of your ecstasy when he caught sight of his cock sliding in and out of you at rapid pace. He wanted that so greedily, so badly. He wanted his name to be ripped from your throat. 

With a pop, he slid his fingers out. Claude could not wait much longer—it was physically painful, now, to see your hole, pink and glistening, not being speared open by him. Not just by his fingers. He wanted to see the physical evidence: he wanted to see the bulge of your belly when he entered you.

Claude Valeria had always been selfish. In his previous life, he had been so selfish. And now he would be selfish in his desire: his ravenous, barely whetted hunger. He had already tasted you, and now he would taste the pleasure dancing on his tongue when he entered you.

"Claude," you started to beg, feeling as his strong, scarred hands lifted your hips up to meet his cock—you started to murmur his name feverishly, like it was a mantra to live by. "Claude."

"I know, darling," Claude whispered, "I know my love, my sweet. I know."

It seemed that every string of restraint was broken when Claude slammed into you—you let out a high, breathy moan when you felt your hips shudder beneath him. With words failing to form, all you could do was bury your face into Claude's shoulder. Claude took that as a sign to keep going—he continued to press further into you, the slide slick with the excess lube he had spread. Your walls were spasming, taut and tight around Claude's large circumference. You were panting desperately to accommodate his engorged size: you clawed at his back desperately, tears running fully down your red cheeks. 

His brutal pace continued: you felt Claude's own breaths right by your ear, one hand splaying over your stomach, pressing at where the outline of the cock distended the skin. The other one continued to brush your tears away. You looked up to see Claude's hungry gaze, the silver hair that was now slick, pressed against his neck. Claude Valeria looked debauched—but his state was far better than yours. Marks were displayed over your skin, pink, red, and there was bruising at your hips. Your neck was littered with precious hickeys. Your lips were bitten and raw.

All those fleeting touches—it was nothing compared to this.

Dimly, it hit you that it didn't hurt the slightest bit. Even after that impossible size—even after that relentless, reckless pace—it didn't hurt. And it was terrifying to know that your pleasure had overridden whatever pain that was supposed to come with it—and it made you feel hot and bothered all over, the thought of being so cored out as Claude bottomed out within you, that you were being shaped and reshaped. That Claude had reshaped your hole just so it could fit him, and only him, that your hole molded with Claude's oscillating shape.

"Claude," you cried, that pretty sound ripping itself from your throat. "Claude." You felt like you were too far gone to even utter out that single syllable: but you couldn't help it. The hands that treated you so softly, so tenderly—it belonged to Claude. There was so much of Claude, everywhere: his scent, his cock that was punching into you, the marks that belonged to him. You felt him everywhere, you felt Claude's own heart beating fast when you pressed against his chest. 

Incoherent sounds kept slipping from your mouth, and the moan you made was breathless when you finally felt warmth pouring into you, Claude's body trembling against yours as his cock spasmed within you, filling your insides. You felt so full: you felt the searing heat that spread all the way to the tips of your own cock—you felt yourself drunk on your release, on the sweet warmth within you. The ecstasy tipped you over: your hands reached out to tug at Claude weakly, until his head was at your shoulder, his breaths next to your ear. His heartbeat resonated with yours as his hand wrapped around you.

Distantly, you could feel Claude holding you tenderly, whispering sweet nothings. "You were so wonderful," Claude whispered, his voice muffled. "You were so good. Just for me, darling. So; so pretty." Claude lifted his head from your shoulder, and pressed his forehead against your own. Your breaths intermingled and coalesced, growing softer with the lull of sleep. Both of your bodies had boneless collapsed against the soft sheets, but still Claude held you gently, pressing kiss after kiss on your mark-ridden skin.

"I love you, Y/n," Claude said softly, a warm, small smile on his face. 

Your eyes fluttered shut. You laughed softly and breathlessly as you felt his lips on yours, punctuating your answer. "I love you too."

i haven’t written smut in ages, so hopefully this wasn’t rusty or anything haha

like/reblog! comment if you want, it would be appreciated!

[fonta-enjoyer]

ᴅɪꜱᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ

-ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅɴɪ-

ᴏᴠᴇʀᴠɪᴇᴡ: ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴀɴɢɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴅɪʟᴜᴄ ɪɴ ʜɪꜱ ʀᴏᴏᴍ, ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ Qᴜɪᴄᴋʟʏ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ʜᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.9ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ/ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ: ᴅɪʟᴜᴄ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴅɪʟᴜᴄ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ, ᴘᴀᴄɪɴɢ ɪꜱ ᴇʜ (ɪᴍᴏ), ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴀᴅᴏʀᴀʙʟᴇ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ, ᴀɴ ᴜɴɢᴏᴅʟʏ ᴀᴍᴏᴜɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴘʀᴀɪꜱᴇ, ᴘʀᴀɪꜱᴇ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛɪɴɢ ᴀ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ, ᴅʀʏ ʜᴜᴍᴘɪɴɢ, ᴄᴜɴɴɪʟɪɴɢᴜꜱ, ᴏᴠᴇʀꜱᴛɪᴍᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ʙʟᴏᴡᴊᴏʙꜱ, ʙʀᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx, ᴀꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ ꜱᴀɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴇɴꜱᴜᴀʟ

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ʟɪꜰᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴋɪᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴀꜱꜱ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴍ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ɴᴏᴡ! ʜᴇʀᴇ'ꜱ ᴀ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴜᴘ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀɪᴛ!

(ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴜᴛᴄ) - (ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ, ꜰᴇᴇʟ ꜰʀᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴜꜱᴇ)

diluc's room is quiet, save for the sounds of his pen scribbling on the parchment; he's been doing paperwork for what feels like centuries. normally, this wouldn't be an issue, you're content to sit there on his lap for however long, but tonight you're growing impatient because of what he had promised you.

"after i'm finished with this paperwork, you can have me, i promise you," he had said, withdrawing from your lips. "you'll just have to be a good girl and wait, i think you can do that for me, can't you?"

that was over an hour ago and you're needy, very needy for him. right now, you'd love for him to bend you over the desk and use you how he pleases, but alas, he's still filling out the forms.

apparently, the papers have something to do with wine imports to fontaine, but you aren't too sure on the specifics. it seems pretty important and that's why you haven't pestered him thus far.

a part of you feels a bit bad for wanting him so badly when he has other matters to tend to, but the other part of you, the part clouded by your desire and want, doesn't.

at the moment, both of those sides are at war.

you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, holding him close. "mm, luc? how's the paperwork going?"

diluc let out a content hum. "it's going well," he replied. "it shouldn't be too much longer, you think you can wait, my love?"

"how much longer?" you ask, trailing your fingers up his sides. "i want you bad, luc," you place a few kisses to his neck, enjoying the way that he sucks in a breath through his teeth. "you were so mean, teasing me like that earlier.."

diluc places his quill down into its holder and moves his hands to hold your hips, rubbing the skin there with his thumbs. "if you're so needy, darling, i don't have an issue with you entertaining yourself while i finish up," he says. "i'll fill out these last four papers and then i'm all yours for the night, okay?"

you smile and give him a peck on the cheek. "alright," you reply. "how should i keep myself entertained then, hm? i don't have a clue." you're messing with him, you know damn well what what your options are.

"you're a smart girl," he said, beginning to guide your hips so you were grinding down on his thigh.

you let out a gasp at the feeling of your clothed clit rubbing up against him and grasp onto his shirt, a quiet moan escaping your lips. it feels good, having him grind you down on his thigh. his thighs are firm under his slacks, so they're perfect for something like this. the pleasure is brief, however, because after a few moments, he removes his hands and picks up his quill again like nothing had happened.

"perhaps that's given you some inspiration?" is all he says, his lips turned up in a slight smirk.

you look up at him and nod eagerly. "y-yes, it has," you answer.

with that, he resumes filling out the paperwork, leaving you to your own devices.

you don't hesitate and start to roll your hips against his thigh, moving your head and laying it on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as you get off.

you start off slow at first, letting out soft moans and mumbling out diluc's name. you can tell that its effecting him because he's writing less and less frequently; lets out a deep breath each time you moan out his name and you can hear his leather gloves crinkle and crunch from him holding his quill tighter.

"diluc," you breathe, already lost in your own pleasure. "feels so good." you grind down a bit harder, holding him close.

as time passes, the slow pace you had previously set isn't doing it for you anymore. you speed up, moving faster and harder against him. a groan leaves your throat while you desperately hump his leg.

to diluc this is one of, if not, the most beautiful sights he's ever seen. even more beautiful than the sun setting in mondstat or the waves crashing against the sand at the beach and oh, he wants you so badly. he wants nothing more than to bring you to your peak over and over and give you the pleasure that you deserve. you are his beloved, after all, and that meant you deserved the best that he could give to you.

you pant and whine, growing closer to your peak by the second. something about this scenario, riding him as he is trying to focus, made you all the more turned on. all of those thoughts of guilt for wanting him have disappeared, you want him, no need him to fuck you after you cum on his thigh.

"c-close, luc," you gasp out, so close to reaching your high.

diluc halts and merely turns his head down towards you, letting out a soft chuckle. "well go on, cum then," he encourages.

that's all that it takes, you cum all over his thigh, no doubt completely soaking your panties and his slacks in the process. he holds you while you ride out your orgasam and even after, keeping you close.

now that you're sitting directly on his lap, you can feel his cock straining against the confines of his slacks.

"this," you say, moving your hips against the bulge in his slacks. "i want this inside of me, luc."

after hearing that, diluc's resolve cracks. his strong arms come up to pick you up and hold you close to his body as he gets up from his chair, moving over to the bed. he lays you down gently and, as he stands to his full height, begins unbuckling his belt. he pulls down his slacks and boxers, kicking them to the side. upon taking off his boxers, his hard cock springs up and hits his abdomen with an absolutely sinful sound and you can't help but stare. finally, he takes out the hair tie that keeps his red hair pulled up, letting it fall down.

as always, his hair is as beautiful and soft as ever. he takes great care of it, making sure to wash it well and brush it thoroughly. you often find yourself running your fingers through it as you lay together at night.

he kneels down and grabs your legs, pulling you over to the edge of the bed. he leans close, placing a few sweet kisses to your inner thighs. he kisses up your thighs until he's met with your cunt which is still slick from your release moments ago.

you let out a gasp at the very sensation of his tongue brushing up against your clit. "s-sensitive," you say, letting out a breathy moan when he licks a stripe up your pussy. you move your hand down to grip his hair, looking down at him.

he stares up at you as he begins to eat you out, rubbing your thighs as he does so. he takes his time, running his tongue over your clit languidly as if he is savoring your taste like he would for the the fine wines he helps to create.

"mmm, you taste so good darling, so fucking good," he murmurs, using his hands to spread your legs a bit more.

you reply with a groan, resting your head down against the plush pillows. you're still so sensitive from your orgasam, its almost too much. it feels like everything has been turned up to eleven, your body twitches with each move of his tongue.

this already overwhelming pleasure is amplified when he inserts a finger into your wet heat, beginning to pump it in and out of you. he fucks you with his finger as he teases you with his tongue.

diluc is skilled with his tongue, his movements are precise and skillful. you're his wife, so he knows exactly what you like and he uses that to his advantage.

one of his favorite things to do is eat you out, he takes any opportunity to do so. he loves watching you squirm as he devours you, bringing you to multiple orgasams with only his tongue and fingers before he finally fucks you, pumping you full of his cum.

the addition of a second finger has you wailing out his name, your back arching off of the bed as you cum around his fingers. its so much more intense than the first, it has your toes curling and your voice cracking in a way that turns him on all the more.

he dutifully carries you through your second orgasam, carefully withdrawing his fingers once you had fully come back down from your peak.

he then places two kisses, one to each of your thighs. "good girl," he praises with a soft smile, running his hands up your sides and rubbing the skin there with his thumbs.

after catching your breath, you take his hands in yours, pulling your head up from the pillows to look down at him. "c-can i repay the favor?" you ask, your eyes drifting down to his cock.

oh, how could he resist such an offer?

he chuckles at your request and gets up onto the bed, sitting next to you. he leans down to place a kiss to your lips. "how could i say no to my beautiful wife?"

you let out a giggle and move over, taking his dick in your hand. you look up at him innocently and give it a couple of slow strokes from the base of it to the tip, enjoying the way he shudders under your touch.

not wasting any more time, you part your lips and take the head of his cock into your mouth, sucking lightly. you move your tongue to tease his slit, savoring his taste. your eyes shut as you concentrate on pleasuring him, moving your hands to place them down on his thighs.

the groan that diluc lets on spurs you on—you immediately flatten your tongue out on the underside of his shaft, taking more of him into your mouth. you take as much as you can, the tears pricking the corners of your eyes doing nothing to deter you.

you move your head up and down his length, setting a rhythm for yourself. you do your best, taking as much of him into your mouth as you can with each bob of your head.

the room fills with the sounds of your sloppy oral. the noises are so erotic, so dirty, and diluc loves every moment of it. the feeling of your lips around him is heavenly, intoxicating, even. his eyes are trained on you, completely entranced and captivated by your ministrations.

each moan or guttural groan you coax out of him is like music to your ears. you aren't getting any stimulation, but hearing him is satisfying enough for you.

he moves his hand down to card his fingers through your hair, being careful not to pull too roughly. you wouldn't care if he did yank on your hair, though. "s-so good for me, you take me so well, darling," he says breathlessly, staring down at you.

more praises fall from his lips as you gradually speed up your movements, your hands firmly placed on his thighs. you want nothing more than for him to fill up your mouth and you plan to swallow as much as you can.

you can tell he's getting close, his dick is throbbing inside of your mouth and his whole body is tense. his head has now lolled back, his mouth completely agape. his fair skin is flushed and his body is covered in a sheen of sweat.

suddenly, he shoves your head down, causing you to sputter and gag as you take him all the way to the base. you keep your lips closed around him as he cums, swallowing as much as you can.

when he's finished, he releases you, allowing you to pull off with a pop. you're both breathing heavily, but rather than letting you catch your breath, he yanks you right back into a heated kiss, guiding you up and holding you by your waist.

he lays you back on the bed, climbing over you. "do you want me?" he mumbles against your lips, pulling away from the kiss only slightly.

you nod, staring up at him. you move your hand to cup his cheek before letting out an absolutely downright desperate, "please.."

he smiles at this, then reaches over to the nightstand to grab a condom, but you grab his arm, stopping him.

"you don't have to use a condom tonight if you don't want to," you say. "i know the risks, but it's alright with me. we're both prepared for if something should come out of this, plus, the thought of starting a family with you makes me really happy, luc.."

he looks down at you, his eyes only carrying love, want and desire for you. "are you certain?" he asks. "i would love to start a family with you too, my love.."

truth be told, he had thought of starting a family with you on numerous occasions and it made him all warm and fuzzy on the inside to think about. he would have brought it up sooner, but he wasn't sure if you were ready for a family or not, so he waited until you brought it up first. if you never brought it up, that was also alright with him, he would never pressure you into something you didn't want.

you hold his face in your hands, pulling him down into a slow, gentle kiss. after a few moments, you pull away slightly, placing your foreheads together. "i'm positive, i want this, diluc." you state, looking directly into his eyes for further emphasis.

he smiles down at you fondly, rubbing his tip over your entrance, teasing it. "very well, i'll give you what you want, my beloved." he looks to you for one final look of confirmation, which you give, before he slowly eases his cock inside inch by inch.

you let out a moan at the stretch and rest your head back down against the plush pillows, your eyes never leaving his.

"that's it," he says approvingly, letting out a low groan of his own. "you're taking it so well, good girl.."

he pauses when he's balls deep inside of you, letting you adjust to his size. he rests his head down on your shoulder, embracing you while you both wait momentarily.

when he gets the go-ahead from you, he begins moving. he takes his time, rolling his hips leisurely while he whispers more praises into your ear. his praises only help to make you wetter and even more turned on.

you move your arms up and wrap them around his neck, pulling him into a passionate kiss as he continues to pump his cock in and out of you. he eagerly reciprocates and like his thrusts, the kiss isn't rushed, he explores your mouth at a slow pace, fucking your tongue with his own.

diluc has always been good kisser, that much was apparent from the first time he kissed you. he has this innate ability to turn you to mush with just a kiss, yet another quality about him that you love.

even though he starts out gentle, it doesn't take much longer for his thrusts to speed up. his hand soon moves down to tease your clit, rubbing circles over it while he fucks you.

you gasp out and moan at the extra stimulation, digging your nails down into the soft skin of his shoulders. he grunts, but doesn't mind in the slightest. if anything, it just adds to his pleasure.

he moves his head down to nuzzle his face into your neck, kissing and nipping at the skin there with his teeth. "you feel so good," he says breathily against your neck, shutting his eyes. "such a good girl for me, so good.."

another wave of arousal hits you as he praises you, going straight to your core. you release a loud moan, your eyes flickering shut. its a lot, the extra stimulation on your clit, the feeling of him moving in and out of you, all of the praise—you can feel yourself getting closer to your high.

based off of his moans and his current state of being, you get the sense that he's getting close as well.

"i- want to cum with you, sweetheart," diluc says, his breathing coming out in hot pants. "let me know when you're close, we can finish together, a-alright?"

you can only moan in response. with each thrust, you feel yourself growing closer and closer to your release. you're just a babbling mess under him, unable to form words that aren't his name and its driving him wild.

it doesn't take much longer until he has you on the border of release.

"c-close-!" you manage to yell out right before your orgasam crashes over you hard.

just as you reach your peak, diluc does as well, cumming deep inside of you and filling you to the brim with his cum. he breathes heavily, moving his arms down to wrap around your waist, hugging you tightly as he releases his load.

after you come down from both of your peaks, you continue to lay there, holding each other as you bask in the afterglow. its nice, having him hold you in his strong arms like this and even after being with him for many years, it still makes your heart swell.

you'll have to get clean at some point, sure, but for now, all you want is to stay like this.

[bookuce]

Fools Rush In

SUMMARY: Nessa wasn’t looking for love, neither was Joe, but when you know, you know.  Isn’t it funny how fate work?

*DISCLAIMER: This is a multi-part series. I do not own any of the characters in the writing except for the OCs. The book uses actual names of wrestlers. Josh is Jey, Jon is Jimmy, Trinity is Naomi, Joe is Roman. The book is not realistic and does not take place during real events, but some actual events (matches, storylines) could pop up in the story eventually. I DO NOT GIVE ANYONE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REPOST MY WRITINGS ANYWHERE. THAAAAAANKS. *

PAIRING: Roman Reigns x Black OC

TROPE: Love At First Sight

WARNINGS: N/A

WORD COUNT: 3,659

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

Nessa’s Uber stopped in front of the InterContinental Hotel of Miami. A valet driver approached her door, opening it for her to step out. “Good evening, miss.” The Valet greets her with a smile. Slowly, she steps out of the car, her head tilting back to take in its size. It was nothing short of luxurious—which made sense for Joe to stay there. 

“Yeah, hi.” She says, slightly turning her head to acknowledge the man. When he noticed she had no bags, he would move off to the side, his arms clasping behind his back. She ascended the granite steps to the glass doors, where a doorman stood by to open the door for her. “Thank you.” She says, briefly glancing at the doorman. She walks into the hotel lobby, her eyes wide with amazement. She’s never been in something so grand before. She expected them to start charging her for even breathing the air here. 

“Good evening, ma’am.” The concierge clerk greets her with a smile from behind her desk. “May I help you?” She asks. Nessa forces herself to look away from the grandness of the lobby, walking over to the employee.

“Um, I’m looking for Joe?” She asks. The woman’s smile falters slightly, and she leans in a bit. She was going to need a little more than just a first name. Joe was a typical name to have, and without a last name, she couldn’t help her. 

“Last name?” She presses. It was then Nessa realized she never got his last name. Joe was simply Joe to her. 

“I don’t know…we met earlier tonight—he invited me here.” She explains, slightly shaking her head. “I can describe him?” She suggests. “He’s tall,” She lifts her hand above her head a few inches. “About yay high, bearded. He has long hair, but it’s tied back in a tight bun. Really, super attractive and—.”

“Super attractive, huh?” An amused voice says from behind her. Nessa becomes incredibly still, her eyes widening. She was busted. Slowly, she turns around, coming face-to-face with Joe. He was standing a couple of feet away, two bags in his hands. He had just gotten their food from a delivery driver. There was a grin that matched his tone of voice on his lips. 

“Um,” She drifts off, becoming silent.

Though she remembered who she had seen earlier, he appeared to her now an entirely different person. The hairs in his bun threaten to leave the up-do, beginning to stand wildly on his head. The suit was gone, now replaced with a tight black shirt and dark grey sweats. It was giving ‘I just rolled out of bed’ but in the best way. Her eyes would flicker down to his heavily tattooed right arm. She couldn’t examine it for too long without being caught ogling him. He glances past her at the concierge clerk, lifting his brows slightly with a nod. “She’s with me.” He tells them, his gaze then shifting to his date for the night. He gestures with his head for her to walk with him, which she does. 

“So this place is nice,” Nessa mentions, trying to create small talk.

“Yeah, it’s alright.” He replies. He’s been to better, but he wouldn’t say that out loud. He didn’t want to come off arrogant to her. “How was your ride over here, though?”

“It was fine.” She answers. The Uber Black he ordered for her wasn’t necessary, but she wouldn’t dare tell him that. Obviously, he had money, so who was she to advise him how to spend it? She walked with him over to the elevator. “Thank you for that, by the way.” She says quietly.

“You’re welcome.” He says, reaching out to press the button to call the elevator. The lift would ding and then open, “After you.” He says, gently swinging one of the waffle house bags towards the inside. Vanessa followed his orders, quickly moving into the elevator. He followed behind her, his eyes fixed on the back of her head. Once inside, they both would turn to face the doors. Where Nessa was staring ahead with nervousness apparent on her face, Joe wore a big smile. He was happy she was here. She was, too. She’s still in disbelief that she chose not to be a coward for once. 

Joe presses the R button for the rooftop, prompting the doors to close and the lift to ascend the building. Nessa would glance at him, taking a second to admire his side profile. His ears, though large, fit him perfectly. His nose was straight, his cheekbones high. On those cheekbones, there were faint speckles of pigment. He was perfect. She was now back to questioning his profession. Model? He has to be. Feeling her gaze on him, Joe looks in her direction. Nessa quickly looked away, but it was too late. He had caught her staring. 

Now, it was his turn to admire her. Her face was small, but her features were the perfect size. Her nose was small but curved out to accentuate the fullness of her lips. Full lashes hid her almond-shaped eyes, but when she looked at him, he could tell they were soft and full of innocence—at least to Joe, they were. Even in this relaxed state, she was drop-dead gorgeous to him. Her hair was in a messy bun on top of her head. The black hoodie she wore was oversized, swallowing her frame. 

The elevator dings, letting them know they have reached their destination. The doors open, revealing an empty Olympic-size pool with plenty of vacant chairs lining the sides. “I got us over here.” He says, leading them beyond the pool area onto green turf. Nessa was walking behind him, still taking in the sights around her. She’s never seen the skyline of Miami from this point. The sound of waves crashing against a concrete path down below soothed her. Altogether, it was a vibe.

Joe stopped in front of his setup, and Nessa didn’t notice. She collided with his back, prompting him to turn to look over his shoulder. “You good?” He asks, laughing softly at her.

“Sorry, I wasn’t—.” She mutters, her eyes finding the scene on the faux grass before her. “Oh,” She breathes. Her reaction was everything Joe hoped it would be. He steps to the side, allowing her to take it all in. He had set up a picnic spot for them. Decorative pillows lined a white comforter spread neatly on the ground. On the comforter was a small table with an ice bucket, wine, and two crystal glasses. 

“The hotel helped me put this together. It was the best they could do with forty minutes, but I think it’s okay.” He glances at her, trying to gauge her feelings off her facial reaction. “What do you think?” He asks. She looks at him, a soft smile on her face.

“It’s perfect. Less is more.” She answers. He’d match her soft smile, now kicking off his slippers.

“Then let’s eat.” He says, moving onto the cushioned pallet. She removes her shoes, stepping on the back of the heel to take them off. Her feet would sink into the prickliness of the turf before she sat down next to him. He was opening their bags and removing their to-go boxes from the bag. “Steak and waffles for the lady.” He says, passing off the container. “I told them to include A1—just in case you needed it.” Though Waffle House was a great late-night meal, it can be a hit-or-miss.

“Thank you.” She says, giving him a small smile.

Nessa and Joe would spend the entire meal asking questions about each other. She’d discovered he was Samoan, which would explain the beautiful tattoo she’d been staring at all night. He’d find out Vanessa was the eldest sibling of three. She’d learn he was an athlete but hadn’t played football in several years. He’d learn that she was a well-established photographer and had dreams of one day opening a studio. Now, he was overseeing the family business with his two cousins. He didn’t talk about the family business, but that was all for good reason. 

He noticed something about her earlier that made him want to know her even more. Nessa didn’t know who he was before he approached her, and he appreciated it. To her, he was just another man. Something about not being recognized as one of the most prominent faces in Sports Entertainment was refreshing to him.

The pair finished their meal within thirty minutes of sitting down. Now, they were talking over a glass of wine. They lay on their sides facing each other, their elbows propped to hold up their upper bodies. “So, have you checked in with your cousins you abandoned?” She asks, peering down at her smartwatch. Joe snorts at the mention of his cousins. He’d forgotten all about them. “It’s three in the morning.” She informs him. 

“I have their locations.” He says, pulling out his phone. He had hoped they made it back to the hotel and nowhere else, or this night would be cut short. When Josh and Jon’s location appeared at the hotel, he sighed softly. “They made it back in one piece.” He informs her. 

“What are they like?” She asks, now curious about his family. His eyebrows jump at the question, and he takes a deep breath.

“They’re a lot. Luckily, Jon got his wife Trinity to keep him grounded nowadays.” He explains.

“And Josh?”

“It’s complicated with him.” There is a girl his cousin is interested in, but they are in a weird spot. He has his hopes for them, though. But he and Josh are the single ones in the group. “He’s trying to find a way out of the friend zone.” Nessa would bare her teeth at Joe, sucking in a breath through them in a hiss.

“Ouch,”

“I know, right? I admire his dedication, though.” He says, shaking his head slightly.

“I guess that runs in the family, then.” She says.

“What?” He asks.

“Being dedicated.” She replies. Joe looks up at her, those dark eyes finding her own. “Seeing that I’m here right now.” She adds.

“We were always taught that if we want something, we should go after it. No matter what it takes.” He explains. The pair would grow silent, eyes locked on eyes. There was heat building in Nessa’s chest at the sight of this man. Her anxiety was no longer a factor, thanks to the glass of wine she’d been sipping. That heat would spread throughout her body but make itself known in her ears. Why was it hot all of a sudden? Was it the wine? It had to be the wine. Red wine always did this to her. 

“Is that what you’re doing?” She asks finally.

“Mhm.” He hums. 

His gaze would become too much for her, her body feeling as if it was on fire. She begins to fan herself, taking a deep breath. “Is it hot up here to you?” She asks, her brows furrowed slightly. He chuckles softly at her.

“Might have something to do with the hoodie.” He says, plucking at the baggy sleeve with his thumb and index finger. “Although it looks comfortable, you can always take it off.” He says lowly. Where the wine was making Nessa hot, it was making Joe more confident than before. Her eyes would find his once more when he mentions her removing the article of clothing. Suddenly, she couldn’t remember if she had anything on underneath this hoodie besides her bra. 

“I-I don’t have a shirt on beneath this.” She admits. He lifts his eyebrows at her. Perhaps that was too much information. “I mean—I have a bra on, it’s just—.” She stammers. 

“This is the shirt. I get it.” He finishes for her. She’d nods, her eyes closing as she mentally kicked herself for the word vomit she spewed. “We can go in then?” He suggests. Joe begins to push himself up, sitting upright in front of her. “Get you some cool air, maybe an actual shirt?” He jokes. 

“No, no, it’s fine.” She says, holding up her hand. Her eyes shift from him to the glowing blue pool across the way. She was now pushing herself to sit up. “Question.” She says.

“Answer.” He replies, watching the side of her face. 

“Do you swim?” She’d ask, turning to look at him. She’d meet his intense gaze, her heart jumping at the sight.

Joe’s eyes would drift off from hers, now watching the large pool in the open. “You want to swim?” He asks. She grins at his question, now moving to stand to her feet. She’d down the last gulp of wine in her glass before leaning down to put it on the tray. 

“Yep,” She breathes, now walking away from her date. Joe watches after her, his eyes immediately finding the first section of skin she exposed while removing her hoodie. Nessa hooks her thumbs into her sweatpants and yank them down. There she was, standing in a matching black Calvin Klein set. Nessa eyes the water, taking a slow breath in. “Here we go,” She whispers, closing her eyes. She didn’t know what she was doing anymore and had the wine to thank for that. 

Joe’s eyes scanned her semi-clad body one last time before slowly moving to stand to his feet. She’d kicked the two articles of clothing to the side before reaching up to pull her hair from that messy bun. It’ll fall effortlessly to frame her face and cover her shoulders. She finally opens her eyes, now backing away from the edge. She was about to dive in and wanted a running start. Mentally, she prayed she didn’t trip on the way in. To embarrass herself in front of such an absolute man would be a death sentence to her. That was just her being dramatic. Joe hadn’t moved to remove any of his clothes just yet. He was in a trance he couldn’t seem to break. 

This woman was captivating to him and somehow unknowingly unique. The way she talked reminded him of himself. She never wants to receive recognition and deflects praise of any kind. Such a humble and down-to-earth woman she is. She was quiet for the most part, making it known that she was listening to him. She was what he liked precisely. He would be honest; he thought he’d never see her again after tonight. His mind kept telling him that maybe she gave him the wrong number and maybe, just maybe, she thought he was weird for approaching her while she was out with her friend. But something told him—no, urged him to call her, and here she was, standing on the rooftop of his hotel with him at three in the morning.

He should really stop being pessimistic. 

If he was truly Roman Reigns, this night would have gone differently. It wouldn’t be her on this rooftop with him, though—no, it’ll probably be some typical woman looking for a one-night stand, some easy picking, someone who knew Roman and wanted to fulfill a fantasy. He’d treat her to a night of great sex and then send her packing before the sun was up. That was what Roman would do. 

But he wasn’t Roman. His name was Joe.

Nessa takes off, throwing her body into the pool’s deep end. The water would splash around her, leaping out and onto the concrete Joe stood on. She would allow herself to sink briefly before swimming back to the top. Her head would break the surface as Nessa sucked air into her lungs. She lifts a hand, ridding her eyes of the salt water she floated in. Joe stood at the edge of the water, still watching her. 

“How’s it feel?” He asks, smiling slightly at her.

“Eh, it’s alright.” She answers. “It would probably be better if you got in.” She says, cutting her eyes up at him with a grin. She begins to float backward, allowing the giant man the space to jump in, all while still holding his gaze. She was like a mermaid trying to lure an unsuspecting victim into the water. “Take it off, take it off, take it off!” She cheers, causing Joe’s smile to grow in size.

“Alright, alright,” He says, waving his hand at her. “That’s enough of that.” He finishes, ridding himself of his shirt in an impressive one-arm swoop. Unashamedly, Nessa allows her eyes to take in the godly physique of the man standing before her. The arm tattoo had become an entire chest piece resembling armor, making him look as powerful as ever. He’s begun pushing his sweatpants down, revealing red briefs. Nessa would whistle at him, causing him to laugh and shyly turn away. “You’re making this extremely hard.” He says, no pun intended. 

“I’m just trying to hype you up.” She says with a grin. His hands go up to the bun on his head to remove his hair tie. Long black, wavy locks would drop, remaining pushed out of his face. He wrapped the hair tie around his wrist, now repeating the same steps Vanessa did. Joe backs up a few paces before charging at the pool. He leaps in, pulling his legs to his chest. His splash would be significantly larger, drenching his swimming partner in the escaping water. She’d squeal, turning to shield her face from the impact. 

Joe would pop back up, shaking the water from his hair like a dog. “Happy now?” He asks, splashing water at her with his arm. She turns to face him again, laughing softly at his playfulness. 

“Very,” She says, splashing him back. “The water suddenly feels a hell of a lot better.” She confesses. As time progressed, Nessa became increasingly flirtatious—again, she had the wine to thank for that. Joe would drift toward her, but she would drift away teasingly.

“Come here,” He requests.

“What is it?” She asks, floating back to him. Beneath the water, his arms would wrap around her, pulling her to his body. Her heart rate would soar at the feel of his hands on her body, causing her slight pain. She gasps softly in response before quickly recovering and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. They’d spin slowly, eyes watching eyes. Joe doesn’t say anything; he watches her silently through half-open eyes. There was a faint grin on his lips. “What?” She asks, hoping he’ll say something finally.

Being this close to him, having his hands on her like this, was suffocating in the best way for Nessa. The longer he remained silent, looking at her like this, the harder it was to breathe. She needed a sweet release only his words—his voice could give her right now. “You’re beautiful, Vanessa.” He says, using her full name for the first time. 

“I know.” She says before turning her head to laugh. “I’m sorry—I can’t take myself seriously.” She confesses. Her legs tangled with his the longer their spinning went on. Joe watched her with another fascinated grin on his face. 

“Hey,” He calls to her. The fingers on his right-hand curl against her skin, drawing her attention back to him. Her body responds to the action, making her press her body to his even more than it already was. “Thank you for coming to see me tonight.” He whispers. 

Her eyes lock onto his. “I’m happy I did.” She confesses. Her left-hand tangles in the back of his hair, scratching gently at his nape. He hums at the action, slowly tilting his head to the side. His eyes would venture down to her lips for only a second. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks. Butterflies would fill Nessa at the question, her lips parting as she thought of an answer. “You can say no, I just—.” He pauses. “I’m acting off of feelings—.” Again, he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. She presses her index finger to his lips, forcing him to stop talking.

“Shhh…” She says, moving her hand from his lips. She’d cup his jaw, her thumb caressing his cheekbone. “Kiss me, Joe.” She requests in a gentle tone. His dark eyes watched her for a second longer. She, just like him, was acting off feelings. If she was sober, this would be out of the question, but you know what they say: Drunk words are sober thoughts, and she wanted him. 

Joe leans in, pressing his lips to hers. The kiss started slow to gauge her feelings about it. Once she began to return it, then and only then did he pick up the tempo. His tongue would find hers, making her moan into the kiss. Remnants of the Cabaret Sauvignon they had drank coated their tongues. If possible, they’d get drunker off this kiss alone. They’d float back toward the pool wall, their mouths still attached. Once Joe’s back and her arm hit the wall, they’d break the kiss, both panting as an aftereffect of such an epic kiss. 

Nessa hovered over him, her eyes locked on his once more. She wanted more of him. Vanessa wanted kisses. She wanted touches. Nessa wanted to be groped, marked, to have her name breathed so sweetly in her ear as she drew any and every little moan from his body. It had been entirely too long since the last time she’d been interested in a man physically, mentally, and sexually. The opportunity was presenting itself, so she might as well seize it—and so she did.

The pair would pull each other together in another crushing kiss, sealing their fate for the night and moving forward. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I've been working on this damn chapter for what feels like forever (literally started it Sunday, I'm just impatient). I shouldn't be awake currently bc I have to work in 3 hours, but here I am...wide awake. The Capricorn in me never allows me to stop something once I finish it. I either will hyperfixate about it the rest of my day, or do something outrageous like stay up till 4 in the morning to finish a chapter. But now that it's finished, I will now slip into a slumber and be pissed off at myself later for doing this to myself lol

K. nighty night or good morning 😭

🏷️ list: @thesamoanqueen @whatdoeseveryonewant @headoftheetable @mzv11 @southerngirl41 @yana3sworld @wanderingreigns @wrestlingprincess80 @siriuslycee @vebner37 @astridxxxxxx @alichesmi @tshepisho @scarlettnoir01 @brokenglassslippers @reignsboy19 @sayyestoheav3nn @cyberdejos2 @empressdede @sisinever @truefant4sy @paigereeder @tbmotw @fearlesschimera @venusesworld @usoholic @sageispunk @bebesobrielo @jstarr86 @vibessonvibes @issahyland 

[nycbaby21]

skating

prompt: “You can keep holding my hand, you know, you don’t have to let it go.” + “I like it when you hold onto me. It’s nice.”

word count: 884

“Jack for the last time no. You guys can handle it all on your own,” I say trying to ignore the boy adding more mini marshmallows to the cup of hot chocolate I just made. A loud groan comes behind me and I laugh at the boy’s dramatics. “Why is he whining this time,” Quinn laughs walking into the room. I turn and smile at the older boy then my eyes land on my best friend. “He is being a big baby and crying about me not going skating with you later,” I say bringing the warm cup to my lips. 

“Wait what? You aren’t coming,” Quinn asked looking at me with sad puppy eyes. I sigh slowly accepting the fact that my nice warm quiet afternoon was off. “You skate all the time without me. One more time isn’t going to kill any of you,” I respond finishing the sentence when Luke slowly trails into the kitchen heading my way and reaching behind me for the coffee pot. “Luke tell her she is coming with us this afternoon,” Jack whines yet again. The youngest Hughes brother looks my way and I sigh. “J you know that I’m not a skilled skater like the three of you. Do you remember the last time I skated with you,” I ask seeing a smile creep its way onto his face.

“What happened,” Quinn asked with an amused look in his eyes. “When I went to visit Jack last year he insisted I go skate with him. We got to the rink and he was helping me at first to get my footing. And then he just ditches me for this group of beautiful fan girls,” I say looking over at him and he makes an exaggerated face. “You told me to go for it,” he says back dramatically. I laugh and shake my head. “I didn’t mean dropping my hand while you were helping me skate. And leaving me to fall on my ass,” I say giggling at his face. 

“C’mon we all aren’t like Jack,” Quinn laughs ruffling his younger brother’s hair,” I promise I won’t drop your hand and let you fall.” I let out a long dramatic sigh. “Okay fine. Let me go put on something warmer,” I say leaving the kitchen for the guest room I was staying in. The only noise coming from the kitchen was celebrating. As I put on my layers I smile thinking about how much I love the guys.

“Okay sit down I got your skates,” Quinn said squatting down in front of the bleachers where I was sitting. I look down at him and his concentrated face. I couldn’t help but blush when he glanced up and caught me staring. After he laces my skates up he stands and brushes off his pants. Slowly backing up he reaches out to grab my hands and help me up. “Okay, I’m gonna step on the ice and then help you out okay,” he says gently. He steps onto the ice with ease and grace. He reaches out for my hands and I take a deep breath. “I got you y/n/n. I promise,” his words are soothing and I accept his hands. Slowly we skate over to the edge and I have one hand on the side and the other interlocked with Quinn’s.

After about fifteen laps I finally had let go of the side and we skated towards the middle. “You’re a pretty good teacher Q,” I smile looking over at him. He smiles and his cheeks are pink but that had to just be from the chill. “Well you have been an okay student,” he jokes and I bumped his shoulder out of reflex. I start to stumble and Quinn’s arms shoot around my waist to steady me. When I finally even my breathing I look up to see him looking down at me with such concern and adoration. “Thanks for not letting me go,” I whisper. “Yeah of course,” he responds helping me stand back up. The two of us continue skating around in comfortable silence.

Jack and Luke are chasing each other around zooming across the ice and laughing. My eyes flow them dart back and forth and then they drift to Quinn. “I think I have the hang of it Quinny. You can go goof around with them,” I say moving away slightly skating a little away and turning with a proud face. He smiles and shakes his head skating back towards me. He brushes his hand against mine and glances up at me looking for any sign I was uncomfortable. I smile at him and lace our fingers again. “I’m all good. I’d rather skate around with you over those two any day,” he laughs,” you can keep holding my hand, you know, you don’t have to let it go.” I look over at Jack who gives me a wink and raises his eyebrows. I laugh at him and roll my eyes. “ I just didn’t want to keep bothering you by clinging to you.” He stops and looks me in the eyes and smiles. “I like it when you hold onto me. It’s nice,” he smiles and we start skating again. Maybe I am glad that I came skating after all.

[mxauthor]

Beginning of More

Summary: Two best friends in a dungeon. They might kiss.

Word Count: 2,147

Warnings: fluff, secret mutual pining, brief mention of dead husband, mention of kids, Chilchuck and Reader being besties, sneak peak into matchmaker Marcille

A/N: I was thinking of making this into a little mini series or adding the other parts to this draft when I have them. Let me know what you think and enjoy!

Y/n and Chilchuck have been best friends since forever.  

Having grown up in the same village, the two of them spent most of their time together while they were young. And as they grew older, so did their friendship, they had been either best man/maid of honor at each other's wedding, first ones there after the birth of their children and became the god parents. They moved away from home and started the half-foot union together and began adventuring. It was very unusual for adventuring parties to get one without the other.

The two were thick as thieves. Always there for each other. 

So when Chilchuck had been introduced to Laios’ forming party, it was no surprise when Y/n also signed a contract with them as well. Starting together and ending together, that is the way both half-foots worked. Always going where the other leads. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marcille’s favorite genre of books are romance. Where a princess gets swept off her feet by a prince and they fall madly in love. Or when two people are forced to go on an adventure together only to realize that they began to fall in love during the journey. She couldn’t get enough of them, which had caused her to strongly lightly project onto others, specifically the two half-foot party members that seem to be insanely close with one another. 

It wasn’t hard to see the natural pull the two of them had with each other, or the instinct of making sure that one is safe after a battle with a monster within the dungeon. Marcille would catch glimpses of the two of them leaving when it came to getting water or heading off to the bathroom. Just always making sure the other is safe. 

She knew they were friends beforehand, it wasn't hard to keep track of the infamous half-foot duo despite her not being the most well kept with rumors. She knew that they have history before forming the party. And watching them now, after deciding to go and rescue Falin, she knew it was much deeper than just friendship. 

Marcille’s main focus is reducing Falin. But if she said getting the two together wasn’t a separate focus on its own, then she’d be lying to herself. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chilchuck sat irritably on his bed roll, gaze locked onto the door for night watch. After spotting the mimic in the room over he knew something was going to happen. Mimics have never brought them luck before and it sure as hell wasn’t going to bring them luck now. 

With an irritated huff, Chilchuck felt his stomach growl with hunger. “My stomach’s gone soft on me. I used to go two days without eating.” He reached for his water skin only to find it empty.

Chilchuck huffed to himself, before instinctively reaching for Y/n’s water skin, knowing she wouldn’t mind. He lifted it up to drink but only a few drops came out, “We need more water.”

He rose to his feet with the water skins in his hands. He turned towards Y/n, calling out her name. She groaned lightly, only turning slightly in the direction his voice is, Chilchuck huffed before reaching over and shaking her. Y/n groaned at the forced movement of her body. 

She turned her head, inhaling and exhaling deeply before speaking, “What is it hon’?” 

Her words came out muffled and they were laced with sleep. But it still rang loud and clear in Chilchuck’s ears. The softness of her voice and the endearing name was enough to make his face blush red. He’s heard her call her late husband that or her kids or even his kids, but never has it been directed towards him. And not once did he feel like it needed to be, but his heart still fluttered. 

 His face still flushed. He still stumbled over his words. “I-I’m going to get some more water.” Only a simple sentence and yet it was still hard to get out, her half lid eyes, seemed to be drawing him in. Almost like she wanted him to stay. 

“Want me to come?” Y/n asked, lifting herself onto her elbows. Sleep clinging to her eyes, Chilchuck watched her fight it. But it looked like she was going to lose. 

“Nah, I’ll be alright. It’s only in the next room.” He reassured, standing to complete his task. Gently he nudged her head, giving the indication for her to lay back down, “I’ll be back. Go to sleep.” 

“Yell if you need, I’ll hear.” She replied, before laying back down. Chilchuck watched as her breathing went even. He stepped out of the room, a single thought on his mind. 

“She looked really pretty.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Golly!” 

Y/n shot up from her bed roll, the sound of a voice waking her from her sleep. She scanned the room only to find Chilchuck still gone. Panic swelled, Y/n quickly making her way towards the door. In her haste, Marcille had woken up. She watched as Y/n swung open the door and took down the hall. Marcille noticed the missing Chilchuck and quickly woke up Laios to come and help. 

Y/n heard the loud thump of a box hitting the ground behind her. She turned and saw the previously opened room was locked with bars. Turning around, Y/n raced towards the room only to see Chilchuck pressing the last brick before the gate opened itself. 

In his panic, Chilchuck didn’t register that Y/n was standing right in front of him nor did he slow his pace when he ran straight for her. Before Chilchuck could fully collide with Y/n, she quickly pulled the man into her, once he was within reach, giving a wider gap between the mimic and himself. 

Y/n watched as the metal bars slammed down onto the mimic's body, killing it. Y/n held tightly to the panting Chilchuck, just relieved that he was okay. She pulled back to assess him of any major damage, only to see the slight gash on his cheek. 

“I told you to yell if you needed help.”

“I had it under control.” Chilchuck laughed, knowing if he was patient enough, Y/n would’ve come running. Y/n smiled warmly, knowing that he would figure out a trap like that in no time. 

The door to the room opened to reveal a sleepy Laios being dragged out by Marcille, her panicked expression matching the one Y/n had on seconds before. 

“I saw her run out like something was wrong! And Chilchuck isn’t in the room! He must be in trouble!” The small group looked over and saw the two half-foots converting, Y/n pulling the pouch on her leg off to reveal a couple of needles and thread, Chilchuck following suit.

Laios and Senshi stared at the dead mimic on the ground. “Whoa! You bagged a mimic! Nice going!” 

Chilchuck groaned, sitting back as Marcille gave him a once over with her healing magic. “Thank you.” 

Y/n shook her head in disbelief before assisting his green neck warmer. Seeing how much she can sew right now, before having to add more fabric to it. “I can sew most of it, but I’ll have to add some of the spare fabric I have.” 

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.” Chilchuck commended, happy he could keep it for one more day. 

Seeing his happy smile caused Y/n to share a smile of her own, his relaxed nature making her heart flutter. Knowing he was only this level of relaxed with the two of them, their small bubble yet to pop even with the rest of the party around them. 

Even with the small trickle of blood on his face, Y/n couldn’t stop the thought that passed through her head. 

“He looks so pretty.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marcille silently observed the interaction between the two half-feet. She always had a leading suspicion that they held some sort of feelings for each other, but seeing the way they’re acting almost like it was only the two of them within the dungeon, Marcille knew it was her imagination. 

She could see that the two of them held the other close to their hearts, but seeing how close would be the fun part. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n watched as everyone settled around, ready to eat the dinner provided for them. She was a couple stitches away before Chilchuck’s neck warmer was finished. Which was about the time everyone's portions began to be served. Chilchuck sat next to her, holding the other end of the neck warmer so she could sew it more easily. 

Marcille continued to munch on her piece of the mimic before turning towards the duo, questioning them. “If you knew the mimic was in there, why didn’t you tell us?” 

“Because I’ve had nothing but bad experiences with them. The last thing I wanted to do is deal with another one.” Chilchuck grumbled. He flicked his gaze towards Y/n only to see she had finished mending the fabric and is folding it up to place it next to his pillow. “Anyways, I made a lot of bad decisions.” 

Y/n hummed in agreement, eating a piece of mimic as Chilchuck continued to talk. “The first was panicking thinking the mimic would eat the treasure insect.” 

“But mimics don’t eat treasure insects. Treasure insects eat mimics.” Laios announced. His small explanation going over the irritated Chilchuck’s and the amused Y/n’s head. Chilchuck grumbled as Marcille tried to pat his head, only for Y/n to slap her hand away. 

“You know he doesn’t like to be coddled.” She said simply. “It makes him feel like a kid.” She finished her plate of food and placed it down for it to be washed later. Marcille ignored her  words and turned her attention towards Chilchuck. 

“Tell me how old you are and I’ll never do it again.” Marcille compromised, “What happened to you today only happened because you wanted to be so secretive. Now come on and tell me how old you are.” 

“Fine.” He grumbled out. Hoping she’ll keep her word. Marcille’s eyes sparkled, before turning towards Y/n. Her face held an expecting look, almost like she was waiting for her to share the same details.

“What? You never asked my age. I would’ve told you if you just asked.” Y/n answers simply. It was true. She never hid anything about herself, like Chilchuck did. Just no one was interested enough to ask, or they didn’t think to ask since Chilchuck always refused to share anything and everyone always assumed that she was the same way. 

“I’m turning 29 this year.” Chilchuck grumbled out, seeing Marcille’s eyes land on him expectantly. 

Marcille groaned at the information, expecting to hear an age older than the one she got. “Man you’re just a kid after all.” 

“I thought you were way older than that.” Senshi said. Y/n laughed at their reactions, knowing that other races don’t fully understand half-feet life expectancy. Especially races with longer lives. 

Marcille watched Y/n chuckle at the scene in front of her, before lighting up herself, “What about you Y/n? How old are you?” Marcille asked. Excited that she’ll get the answers to some of her questions. 

“Me? I’m 30.” Y/n answered casually. Watching Marcille’s excitement withered slightly. 

“Really? You guys are so young.” Marcille huffed, leaning back onto her hands looking at the ceiling. 

“Okay then! How old are you guys! All other races look like kids to you races with long lives!!” Chilchuck shouted. Y/n laughed at Chilchuck’s faux anger. Knowing he was more irritated than actually upset. 

“There, there, Chil, those lifers will never understand our day to day struggle.” Y/n joked, watching as Chilchuck fumed silently sitting down and crossing his arms. Steam almost pouring out of his ears. “Come on guys, we should rest a little more before we start moving again. Especially since not everyone got a chance to sleep.” 

Marcille watched closely as Chilchuck’s body seemed to instantly relax once Y/n began patting his shoulder. And how Y/n’s touch lingered for a second more before she moved and began reassembling her bed roll closer to the new circle the group had formed. 

The party grumbled in agreement before dimming down the fire and getting back into their bed rolls. Most falling asleep almost instantly. Y/n turned over, her now face to face with Chilchuck. She reached out slightly and tapped his arm with her fist. 

Not enough to hurt, but enough to convey her displeasure with him, “Don’t go anywhere without me next time, got it?” 

“Yeah I got it.” Chilchuck replied, tapping her arm in return.

They two adults shared a smile before dozing off. Resting until they woke up naturally to continue moving down.

[salternateunreality2]

I humbly request some AGSZ being protective over Cloud 🐣

❤️🍊❤️ of course, my liege!

---------

Cloud, in the middle of a group of troopers: *sniffle, achoo!*

Angeal: *dadgeal.exe activated* Troopers! Halt for today! *Immediately starts preparing soup*

Trooper: Sir, it's noon...

Angeal: Lunchtime.

Trooper: Sir, it's the middle of summer and about a thousand degrees, may I ask why you're preparing soup?

Angeal: Lunchtime.

Trooper: And why there's enough for the entire squad?

Angeal: Lunchtime.

Trooper: And where you got it all?!?!?!

Angeal: L u n c h t I m e.

Cloud, in the background, muttering: 🤦 I got dust in my nose...

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

Genesis: Cloud! No! *Dives in front of the bullet and takes it full force* C-Cloud...

Cloud: Genesis.

Genesis: Cloud, I bequeath my limited edition with the wing embossment to you, as well as my collection of quills...

Cloud: Genesis Rhapsodos.

Genesis: *cough* Remember me always, with fondness if you can...

Cloud: Genesis Staples Rhapsodos, get your heavy ass off of me, we're in the middle of a paintball war.

Genesis: But...I was shot? For you? This crimson flow staining my coat signifies that I have not long for this world?

Cloud: It's red paint. This is a training exercise. The hell are you doing out here anyway, wandering the desert to channel your inner muse and commune with the goddess?

Genesis: ...

Cloud: ...you are, aren't you?

Genesis: ...

Cloud: And let me guess, you didn't bring any water and are on the verge of hallucinating if you aren't there already?

Genesis: ...

Cloud: 🤦

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

Cloud: So I need to follow through on the upswing more?

Hojo: Hello, Sephiroth.

Cloud: Who the fuck are you?! Why are you interrupting our conversation??

Sephiroth: Hojo.

Hojo: Well hello, trooper...Strife. Hmm. Interesting. Nibel blood, it seems...very interesting.

Cloud: THIS is Hojo? Gross.

Hojo: *vein popping out, reaches up to slap or touch or just scold Cloud*

Sephiroth: *CRUNCH*

Hojo: WHAT THE FUCK, YOU BROKE MY ARM?!?!

Sephiroth: Oops, thought I saw a pest. Some sort of bug. Bugging.

Hojo: AUGH! MARK MY WORDS, OFFSPRING, THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES! AUGH! *turns to go, trips, lands on Cloud's sword*

Cloud: oops. Guess I need more practice.

Hojo: *gurgle*

Cloud: Clearly, my follow through could use some work, hold on. Oops.

Hojo: ☠️

Sephiroth: I always recommend following up with a firaga, like so *FWOOSH*.

Cloud: Ah, I see, thanks Sephiroth!

Sephiroth: Anytime.

----------

Rando: Hey Strife, you gonna mosey that booty over here, cutie?

Cloud: Fuck off.

Rando: Come on, with a face like that and a-

Zack: Hey Rando. You clearly want something, Rando *makes a fist*. Maybe I can help you! Would you like ME to help you, Rando? I would be happy to help you, Rando. Any. Time. Any. Where.

Rando: Come on Fair, you're cool, you know he's a hot piece of-

Zack: Cloud, here. *Hands him a training dummy* Move 47, please.

Cloud: *rips its head off*

Zack: Rando, you want ME to help you, trust me. Or you want to figure your own shit out, FAST.

Zack: Ok?

Cloud: *goose energy expands*

Rando: *flees*

[countdykulaa]

﹟ ⠀ ⠀ 𝟎𝟎𝟐 ⠀ . ⠀ ⠀ I LOVE YOU (ITS RUINING MY LIFE)⠀ ⠀ ﹕ ⠀ ⠀ ❪ ⠀ lonely! reader x straight! abby pt2. ⠀ ❫

on one manic tuesday night you confide in them your deepest secrets. the problems you have with intimacy, your body, the universe . ramble on about your insecurities and they look at you like the freak you are . abby quickly apologizes later on so you think nothing of it.

-

you ask to borrow owens laundry detergent. having lost your own two weeks prior without money to replace it.

“again?” abigail responds , nose crinkled.

just like that you feel like the burden you always knew you were. you wave off your decidely silly idea and hand wash your clothes during winter , hoping not to break a nail on your birthday.

-

you , abigail and a close friend of hers decide to go thrifting. she remains victorious, buying three shirts and some cargo pants while you look at your own scarf and bracelet with a small smile . her friend eyes a fruit cart and turns to you , asking for money with the promise of paying you back . you give her the money you saved for dinner and never quite get your money back. you wave it off , afterall how else were they to know your worth if not for what you offer ?

later on they all plan to get some burgers. you , without any money bow out but abby quickly says “don’t worry, you’ll just pay me back when you have the money.”

the shackles of burden-hood tied around you get heavier and heavier with each passing second.

-

you manage to get a girlfriend , ellie . the cute shy girl who works at the burger joint you hate but still buy from just to see her face . you spend all night talking to each other to make up for the day spent at work and school . you decide she's funny , her humour matches yours in a way you never expected and she holds your hand in public , gives you the corniest compliments and kisses you in the night like the stars watching in intense confusion and vitrol don't matter . with her you can almost ignore the shame that slowly rusts your frame.

abby responds to the way ellie's eyes light up at the mere sight of you with joking disgust. you know she doesn’t mean it because of how often she argues on her behalf whenever you fight. besides if abby didn’t approve of her , you wouldn’t bother in the first place. you never quite understand why ellie remains reprehensive of her. you don't last long. barely a month goes by before your easy going relationship leaves you restless for something deeper. you express these concerns to her and she begrudgingly accepts the breaking up but not before a sentence slips from her lips:

"so can we have sex?"

you, with the sole belief that your body belongs to everyone, but you agree.

abby calls you stupid that night . you're lying on owens , her now boyfriend's ( a fact you convince yourself to not care about ) bed and admitting to the stupid act you did with your ex in a moment of sheer utter weakness and self hatred when those words fall from her lips. you lie in shock , the words numbing your very being. she'd always boasted about how much of an honest friend she was , never one to lead you astray but the assault of words that string out of her mouth are words you never see coming . all efforts to explain your side of the story are squashed . questions of how stupid you could be to do something so idiotic take their place and all you can do is cover your eyes as tears start to flow down your cheeks. she halts owens attempts at comforting you, stressing that you're fine before gazing down at your quivering form.

its only then she moves to comfort you , hand moving to brush your hair. with tear soaked words you get the first sentence in before she says:

"why do you always let people guilttrip you?"

you're defeated. replying in gasps about how despite your efforts, its not easy to just not care. she responds with silence, your form shifts down into the blanket provided to hide from the world.

she calls you stupid , therefore you must be. no other plausible explanation filters through your mind . it is a mantra you continuously repeat , tears streaming down your face as you describe the incident to a friend . he denies such allegations , eyes filled with pity and empathy you so desperately wished to receive from abby. even as you cry yourself to sleep , you convince yourself that all actions came from a place of love .

[inubaki]

“Put your back into it!” Lucifer’s cheerful animosity was something of the stuff of legend. “I can clearly see you missed a spot, right there!” Adam could feel those eyes like a second sun on his back, but absolutely refused to acknowledge the high-born tit in a sun dress, sun hat and milfy sunglasses. Aka: Lilith’s mini fucking clone. “Honestly, what were you doing on earth all that time?” In his hands, the literal devil idly twirled the tiny umbrella in his drink, openly sighing his displeasure before taking a loud sip. Adam should’ve cracked it against the ex-seraphim’s skull and pretend it could hurt him.

Worse yet, he could hear the chiming of ice cubes in Lucifer’s tall glass of lemonade; its seducing serenade of cold liquid drying out whatever rude comment he been tempted to make. Fuck it was hot. Beneath him, Adam’s hands dug into the dirt for struggling rooted weeds, feeling more as if he was dragging through desert sands rather than a suburban backyard. It has all been his own idea to start a garden, his own stupid fucking idea to humor Charlie’s ridiculous persistence for ‘healthier hobbies’. “Maybe we should plant something like lilies. They were one of Lilith’s favorites”. “Alastor and I agreed on chilies, and garlic to start” Adam replied, delivering a stab for a stab.

Charlie had been absolutely delighted by Adam’s stupid fucking idea, of course. The real mistake having been mentioning the singular other person he had in mind for the task. The one name that had earned the first man Lucifer’s only fatal warning; an angelic smile.

Adam yanked a weed harshly from the ground and threw it hazardously behind him in frustration. He had thought they were finally moving passed all this shit, foolishly hoped they could be as they were before Lilith, alone in the garden. It had seemed so impossible before that Adam had honestly got suckered in by Charlie’s encouragement and attempted to find middle ground with the second biggest pain in his ass; Alastor. It had been one of the few things Adam had discovered they had in common. An attachment to nature and the old-fashioned method of coveting for food. They even discussed it with Alastor’s asshole face seeming a tad more genuine this time around. The garden would be tended too in pairs from the hotel’s residence all with Adam assuming he would have Alastor’s aid.

But no, it was Lucifer’s pale ass name that was pulled with his, over and over, and over again. Each draw with Lucifer giving Adam that same fucking smile.

“How about an apple tree?”

Adam finally snapped his head around and glared at the royal tart. Red meeting gold with a magnetizing fusion of animosity beneath Hell’s blistering sun. Lucifer’s lips began slipping from bored to down right devilish grin; full of teeth and wicked intentions. He opened his mouth to say deliver Adam’s reckoning when Adam nonchalantly reached back into the dirt at his side and throw a massive potato bug directly at the devil’s face.

The scream Lucifer Morningstar gave was well worth any punishment that awaited him. Watching Hell’s strongest and Heaven’s most feared scrambling to slap away the large monstrosity from his dress was nearly all the satisfaction the first man would ever need in his third life.

Just as nonchalantly, Adam ‘saved’ the siren glass of lemonade before it could be knocked over. Drowning it while simultaneously sidestepping the tussling, raving angel. He then reached for the hose.

Lucifer was a prideful, petty, jealous, theatric mess, but with Adam’s merciful aid, he could at least be a prideful, petty, jealous, theatric mess in a soggy white dress amongst Charlie’s ruined tulips.

Adam smiled broadly.

“Let me ask Alastor”

———— AdamsappleWeek

Potato bugs should be their own warning.

Prompt 3: Garden (based partly on my own gardening experience. I mean you, Divinity!

I am sorry for the grammar and spelling. My dyslexia demands chaos. It’s why I don’t write in general, but for the sake of saving time I’ll attempt it.

[ysrjune]

falling asleep on scott’s lap while he plays video games or watching a movie

(PLEASE I NEED SCOTT MONROE FLUFF☹️☹️)

got lazy again so HEAD CANONS 💕🥰

౨ৎ scott monroe who invited you over to his house because he missed you so much. for a couple of hours, he cuddled up to you and asked you to play with his hair because it soothes him.

౨ৎ scott monroe who takes you out for lunch/dinner because he doesn’t feel like cooking + sam and him ate leftovers from last nights dinner for lunch.

౨ৎ scott monroe who started playing games with his friends and sam over the mic because they asked him to. you didnt mind because a lot of times after eating, you don't feel like talking.

౨ৎ scott monroe who looks over at you at least every 15 minutes to ask: “you doin’ alright, baby?” or whenever someone leaves the game for a second, he turns over to you and smothers you with kisses and hugs.

౨ৎ scott monroe who got tired of sitting at the end of his bed, so he finally sat against the headboard while you lay your full back on one of his soft pillows and your head on one of the squishy ones.

౨ৎ scott monroe who catches you staring at him and smiles.

“c’mere.” he says, patting his thigh. you lay your head on it, and his hand was quick to caress your face and play with your hair.

౨ৎ scott monroe who apologizes to you when you hear sam rage from across the hall AND over the mic. but he doesn’t just apologize on behalf of his brother. he cusses out loudly a few times which startle you and he feels kinda bad but thinks its funny.

“sorry, sorry!” he laughs at your reaction and scratches your scalp. “Didn't mean to scare you, babe.” he leans down to give you a kiss on the cheek.

౨ৎ scott monroe who eventually stopped playing his game and turned off the TV and game console, leaving his room to be super dark. the only source of light was a candle that he lit earlier (one that you bought him).

౨ৎ scott monroe loves scented candles.

౨ৎ scott monroe cuddles up to you and smothers you in kisses again. but then he gets playful and starts to flick your cheek and forehead with his middle finger and thumb.

౨ৎ scott monroe eventually turned the lights on because you decided you wanted to play fight him. he let you win the first couple of times, but then he actually started to try hard enough to pin you down.

“ya know, you're really not that strong. should start comin’ to the gym with me and my brother so y’can get a little stronger, sister.” he smiles while trying to lean down and kiss you, but its a little challenging since you keep moving your face around to dodge him. “sister? when did you start using words like that, scott?” you laugh and push him off of you. “You say dumb stuff like that all the damn time its getting stuck on my head. Accidently called Sam ‘girl’ yesterday and he said, “The fuck did you just say..” Scott mocks his brother in a overly exaggerated whiny but sort of deep voice that sounded disturbed. “Scott, your girlfriend is literally turning you into such a queer. I dont ever wanna hear you call me that shit again.” Scotty cackles as you sit on him. “And then he hit me and I hit him back.. and then we started play fighting.. and then my mom got mad.” Scotty explains.

౨ৎ scott monroe who tells you a bunch of stories about how Sam really is his best friend, but sometimes hes annoying and just SO emo.

౨ৎ scott monroe who talks your ear off so badly, you fall asleep. he doesn't care though. hes still talking and playing with your hair.. sometimes laughing at his own jokes.. but eventually falls asleep, too.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

@anakinstwinklebunny @anisangeldust @sockiess @erossmutt @rottencandyblood @radiantvader @catnipaddictt @haydensprettyprincess @freezerbride95 @starsfortaylor @maevesversion @emmaloo21 @starwarsbian @anakinsvault @torturedlovergirl @sammonroesslut 🌟

[cloudyzely]

everything Zelda has ever said in botw

Open your eyes

You’ve been alseep for one hundred years.

That is the sheikah slate. Take it. It will help guide you after your long slumber

Hold the Sheikah Slate up to the pedestal. That will show you the way

Link… You are the light-our light-that must shine upon Hyrule once again. Now go…

Link… Head for the point marked on the map in your Sheikah Slate.

Remember… Try… Try to remember… You have been asleep for the past 100 years.

The beast. When the beast regains its true power, this world will face its end.

Now then… You must hurry, Link

Free the four divine beasts

endings

I’ve been keeping watch over you all this time… I’ve witnessed your struggles ti return to us as well as your trials in battle. I always thought-no, I always believed- that you would find a way to defeat ganon. I never lost faith in you over these many years… Thank you, Link… …the hero of Hyrule. May I ask… Do you really remember me? 

We’ll make our way to Zora’s domain. Divine Beast Vah Ruta…looks like it stopped working. Let’s investigate the situation. Mipha’s father… I believe he would like to hear more about her. The least we can do is visit him and offer him some closure. Although Ganon is gone for now, there is still so much more for us to do. And so many painful memories that we must bear. I believe in my heart, that if all of us work together…  we can restore Hyrule to its former glory. Perhaps…even beyond. But it all must start with us. Let’s be off. I can no longer hear the voice inside the sword. I suppose it would make sense if my power had dwindled over the past 100 years… I’m surprised to admit it… but I can accept that.

Subdueded Cermony

Hero of Hyrule, chosen by the sword that seals the darkness. You have shown unflinching bravery and the skill in the face of darkness and adversity. And have proven yourself worthy of the blessing of the Goddess Hylia. Whether skyward bound, adrift in time, or steeped in the glowing embers of twilight… The sacred blade is forever bound to the soul of the Hero. We pray for your protection…and we hope that- that the two of you will grow stronger together, as one. Forged in the long distance past, the sword this is the part the champions start talking i tried to hear everything as best i could ancient story by through the series of time and distance our hope is on you

Resolve and grief

From here, we’ll make our way to Goron City Then we’ll need some adjustments in that divine beast so Daruk can manage it as easily as possible. He’s figured out how to get it to move… However, it’s apparent that we still have much more to learn. But to think that divine beast was actually built by people… That means we should be able to understand how it works and how to use it to our advantage. These divine beasts…so much we don’t know… But if we want to turn back on the Calamity Ganon, they’re our best hope. Tell me the truth… Jow proficient are you building that sword on your back? Legend says that there’s an ancient voice resonantes inside it. Can you hear it yet…Hero?

Zelda’s resentment

Nothing. Just as I thought. Hmm. It appears that the structure was designed to be exclusively accessed by the sword’s chosen one. But designs can always be worked around, at least I hope. How do I get inside…? I need to activate it somehow. I thought I made it clear that I am not in need of an escort. It seems I’m the only one with the mind of my own. I, the person in question, am fine, regardless of the king’s orders. Return to the castle. And tell that to my father, please. And stop following me!

Urbosa’s hand

Urbosa! What was that?! Did you feel that? Wait, what-how did you- what are you doing here?! wh-whats so funny?

A premonition

That cut doesn’t look too bad, actually. You’re fine for now. But you know, there’s a fine line between courage and recklessness. As brave as you are, that does not make you immortal. it seems that not only are the frequency of these types of attacks on the rise… but the scale of the beasts we are facing is intensifying as well. I fear that- I fear that this is an omen that portends the return of Calamity Ganon. And if that’s the case, I’m ready to expect the worst. We’ll need to make preparations as soon as possible. 

Silent Princess

Theres one! And look another! The flowers we have in Hyrule aren’t just beautiful… They’re also quite useful as ingredients for variety of things. this one is called the silent princess. It’s a rare, endangered species. despite our efforts, we can’t go them domestically yet. The princess can only thrive out here in the wild. All we can hope is that the species will be strong enough to prosper on its own. Is that why I think it is?! Look at this! I don’t believe it, but I actually caught one! This delicacy is known to have very, very potent effects under the proper circumstances. Tada! Research from the castle shows injecting one of these can actually augment certain abilities. We wouldn’t be in a controlled environment out here, but with your level physical fitness… you’d be a perfect candidate for the study! Go on! Taste it!

Sheltering from the storm

I doubt this will let up anytime soon… Your path seems to mirror your father’s. You’ve dedicated yourself to becoming a knight, as well. Your commitment to the training necessary to fulfill your goal is really quite admirable. I see now why you would be the chosen one. What if… One day… You realized that you just weren’t meant to be a fighter. Yet the only thing people ever said… was that you were born to a family of royal guards and so no matter what you thought, you had to become a knight. If that was the only thing you were ever told… I wonder, then… would you have chosen a different path?

Father and Daughter

Incredible… We’re at a point now where we can actually control them. At the current rate, we’ll soon know all we need to know about the guardians and the divine beasts! And should Ganon ever show itself again, we’ll be positioned to defend ourselves.

I… I was assessing the results of the experiment with the guardians. These pieces of ancient technology could be quite useful against the-

I’m doing everything I can. I’ll have you know I just recently returned from the Spring of Courage where I offered every ounce of my prayers to the Goddess-

I already am. Don’t you see-there’s nothing more I can do! My hope is… My hope is that you-  That you’ll allow me to contribute here in whatever way I can. 

Yes. Yes I understand.

Slumbering power

I come seeking help…regarding this power that has been handed down over time…

Prayer will awaken my power to se Ganon away… Or so I’ve been told all my life… and yet Grandmother heard them-the voices from the spirt realm. And Mother said her power would develop within me. But I don’t hear… or feel anything! Father has told me time and time again… He always says, “Quit wasting your time playing at being a scholar!” Curse you. I’ve spent every day of my life dedicated to praying! I’ve pleaded to the spirits tied to ancient gods… And still the holy powers have proven deaf my devotion. Please just tell me… What is it…? What’s wrong with me?!

To mount layruru

“Be sure to take the time to soothe your mount…That’s the only way it will know how you truly feel.” Your advice was quite helpful-thank you.  This little one and I are getting along quite well now. At first, I wasn’t sure if I should outfit him with all of the royal gear. I thought maybe he should have to earn it first. But it works! Hd wears it like a true natural. I’m trying to be more empathetic. Benefit of the doubt, you know?  See that mountain? That’s Mt. Lanayru. It takes its name from the Goddess of wisdom. Lanayru’s decree is very specific. It says: “No one is allowed, under the age of seventeen… For only the wise are permitted a place upon the mountain.” I’ve prayed at the Spring of Courage and at the Spring of Power,  yet neither awoke anything inside me. But maybe up there… Perhaps the Spring of Wisdom, the final of the three, will be the one. To be honest, I have no real reason to think that will be the case. But there’s always the chance that the next moment will change everything. Tomorrow…is my seventeenth birthday. So then I shall go… and make my way up the mountain.

Return of calamity ganon

I’m sorry, no. 

That’s kind of you, thank you.

It’s awake. Ganon!

No! I am not a child anymore! I may not be much use on the battlefield… But there must…There must be something I can do to help!

Despair

How… How did it come to this?  The Divine Beasts…The guardians… They’ve all turned against us… It was… Calamity Ganon. It turned them all against us! And everyone- Mipha, Urbosa, Revali and Daruk… They’re all trapped inside those things… It’s all my fault! Our only hope for defeating Ganon is lost all because I couldn’t harmess this cursed power! Everything-everything I’ve done up until now… It was all for nothing… So I really am jealous a failure! All my friends… the entire kingdom… my father most of all… I tried, and I failed them all…I’ve left them…all to die

Zelda’s awakening

Link, save yourself! Go! I’ll be fine! Don’t worry about me! Run! 

NO! 

Was… was that…? The power… No, no… Link! Get up! You’re going to be just fine. The sword… So he can… He can still be saved. Take Link to the shrine of resurrection. If you don’t get him there immediately, we are going to lose him forever! Is that clear? So make haste and go! His life is now in your hands! 

The master sword

Your master will come for you. Until then, you shall rest safely here. Although the Slumber of Restoration will most certainly deprive him of his memories, please trust me when I say that I know he will arrive before you yet again. 

The master sword… I heard it speak to me. It seems that my role is unfinished. There is still something I must do. Great Deku tree, I ask of you, when he returns, can you please relay this message… Tell him I-

Yes.

Champion Revali’s song

My apologies. I went to the village, and I was told I could find you here. Thank you Revali. If we work together. I’m certain we’ll be able to defeat- 

Champion Daruk’s song

Thank you Daruk!

You sound like father. He’s assigning a knight to watch over me wherever I go. I hear the top contender is the most accomplished swordsman in all of Hyrule.

Oh! You’re safe. It seems our friend here was the one being attacked. Precious boy. You saved his life!

I never imagined the Great Daruk would have weakness. 

Champion Mipha’s song

Goron vigilance, Daruk, Rito confidence, Revali. Gerudo spirit, Urbosa. And also… the Hylian with the sword that seals the darkness. Link. 

Mipha… Perhaps he is still too young to swim up this big waterfall. 

Champion Urbosa’s song

Gerudo cheif Urbosa… On behalf of Hyrule and its king, I thank you.

I’ve never seen you so serious, Urbosa!

Urbosa! Huh? You mean mother?

Ceramony

It is. Apparently there are more uses for it than we originally thought. Sadly, we’ve yet to decipher all of its secrets.

Zelda’s diary

page 1

After meeting with the Champions, I left to research the ancient technology, but nothing of note came of my research.

The return of Ganon looms—a dark force taunting us from afar. I must learn all I can about the relics so we can stop him.

If the fortune-teller's prophecy is to be believed, there isn't much time left...

Ah, but turning over these thoughts in my head puts me ill at ease. I suppose I should turn in for the night.

P.S. Tomorrow my father is assigning HIM as my appointed knight...

Page 2

I set out for Goron City today to make some adjustments to Divine Beast Vah Rudania.

I still recall feeling his eyes on me as I walked ahead. The feeling stayed with me so long, I grew anxious and weary.

It is the same feeling I've felt before in his company... And still, not a word passes his lips.

I never know what he's thinking! It makes my imagination run wild, guessing at what he is thinking but will not say.

What does the boy chosen by the sword that seals the darkness think of me? Will I ever truly know?

Then, I suppose it's simple. A daughter of Hyrule's royal family yet unable to use sealing magic... He must despise me.

page 3

I said something awful to him today...

My research was going nowhere. I was feeling depressed, and I had told him repeatedly not to accompany me.

But he did anyway, as he always does, and so I yelled at him without restraint.

He seemed confused by my anger. I feel terribly guilty...and that guilt only makes me more agitated than I was before.

page 4

I am unsure how to put today's events into words. Words so often evade me lately, and now more than ever.

He saved me. Without a thought for his own life, he protected me from the ruthless blades of the Yiga Clan.

Though I've been cold to him all this time...taking my selfish and childish anger out on him at every turn...

Still, he was there for me. I won't ever forget that. Tomorrow, I shall apologize for all that has transpired between us.

And then...I will try talking to him. To Link. It’s worth a shot!

page 5

Bit by bit, I've gotten Link to open up to me. It turns out he's quite a glutton. He can't resist a delicious meal!

When I finally got around to asking why he's so quiet all the time, I could tell it was difficult for him to say. But he did.

With so much at stake, and so many eyes upon him, he feels it necessary to stay strong and to silently bear any burden.

A feeling I know all too well... For him, it has caused him to stop outwardly expressing his thoughts and feelings.

I always believed him to be simply a gifted person who had never faced a day of hardship. How wrong I was...

Everyone has struggles that go unseen by the world... I was so absorbed with my own problems, I failed to see his.

I wish to talk with him more and to see what lies beneath those calm waters, to hear him speak freely and openly...

And perhaps I, too, will be able to bare my soul to him and share the demons that have plagued me all these years

page 6

Father scolded me again today. He told me I am to have nothing more to do with researching ancient technology.

He insisted that I focus instead on training that will help me awaken my sealing magic.

I was so frustrated and ashamed I could not even speak. I've been training since I was a child, and yet...

Mother passed the year before my training was to begin. In losing her, I lost not just a mother, but a teacher.

Mother used to smile and tell me, "Zelda, my love, all will be well in the end. You can do anything."

But she was wrong. No matter how I try or how much time passes...the sealing power that is my birthright evades me.

Tomorrow I journey with Link to the Spring of Power to train. But this, too, will end in failure. Such is my curse.

page 7

I had a dream last night... In a place consumed by darkness, a lone woman gazed at me, haloed by blinding light.

I sensed she was...not of this world. I don't know if she was a fairy or a goddess, but she was beautiful.

Her lips spoke urgently, but her voice did not reach me. Would I have heard her if my power was awoken?

Or was my dream simply a manifestation of my fears? I am sure I will know the answer soon, whether I wish to or not...

page 8

I turned 17 today. That means this is the day I will finally be allowed to train at the Spring of Wisdom.

When Link arrives, we will set out for Mount Lanayru. The other Champions will accompany us there.

I have not seen my father since he last scolded me. Things are too strained now... I will meet with him when I return.

Actually...I've had a horrible feeling ever since that weird dream. No one would believe a failure of a princess, but...

Right now, for no particular reason, I am filled with a strange and terrible certainty that something awful is about to happen.

Research journal

 page 1

Today I met with Impa of the Sheikah tribe and began my research into the ancient technology in earnest.

Impa introduced me to Purah and Robbie, other respected members of her tribe.

Tomorrow I embark on an excavation with them.

We hope to find ancient tech with which to operate the Guidance Stones 

page 2

Today we uncovered some ancient technology that we believe may have the power to control the Guidance Stone.

It is a rectangular object, small enough to be held in my two hands. Sheikah text is featured prominently on it.

It is made of an unknown material, but we believe it is the same as the shrines scattered across each region.

Impa proposed that I hold on to it for now. I hope that it leads to some new developments in our research.

page 3

The stone relic we discovered has been named. We are calling it the Sheikah Slate.

We have not found any mention of a name for this object in the records we have unearthed so far...

Nevertheless, Purah insisted we call it the Sheikah Slate, as the relic is a slate made by the Sheikah tribe.

Feels a bit on the nose to me, but it was not a fight I thought I could win

page 4

We did it. We were finally able to restore some functionality to the Sheikah Slate.

We have discovered that this stone slate is capable of producing...images. Perfect likenesses of the things you point it at.

Unlike normal pictures drawn by hand, this requires no artist to capture anything in perfect detail.

I deeply admire the accomplishments of Sheikah technology. Still...I know there is more to learn. There must be.

We believe the Sheikah Slate may have a function that will allow it to control the Guidance Stone.

We must continue our research, and quickly.

page 5

We have started training the Champions who will pilot the Divine Beasts.

It may sound rude that I found this unexpected, but Mipha mastered the controls with surprising ease.

Daruk struggled at first but eventually got the hang of it. Urbosa and Revali both managed just fine as well.

I can finally see the light of hope in our fight against the rising Calamity.

page 6

Robbie has restored mobility to many of the Guardians we've excavated.

...But we have still yet to find all of the Guardians. Records mention a greater number of them—and even other types.

They are said to be stored in five giant columns that rest beneath Hyrule Castle. The thing is...

No matter how I search beneath the castle, I can't seem to locate these columns. They must be buried deep.

Were they perhaps designed to sense the appearance of Calamity Ganon and to only activate upon his return?

page 7

Countless ancient structures are being discovered across Hyrule...but all attempts to enter them have failed.

Records indicate that these are facilities designed to train the hero who is fated to combat the Calamity.

But the crucial activation mechanism remains a mystery. Is the Sheikah Slate the key to activating them?

That is Purah's theory, and I concur. And yet, my experiments so far have been fruitless.

Still, we must exhaustively investigate all means of opposing the Calamity. We must not give up, no matter what!

page 8

I spoke with Purah about the Shrine of Resurrection we discovered earlier.

As we speculated, this particular shrine is, in fact, a medical facility with the power to heal.

It also has a long-term stasis function that can be activated and maintained until healing is complete.

In the war against the Calamity 10,000 years ago...were the injuries so great as to necessitate such a facility?

If so, I will remain uneasy until we have made all adjustments necessary to restore it to full working order.

I can only pray that even if Calamity Ganon returns, our battle will not require the Shrine of Resurrection's power...

[thebunnednun]

The Fawn and the Wolf John Wick X Assassin! Reader

Warning: Eventual smut and violence. Size difference, predictor/prey, and other kinks.

Summary:

"Who the hell wants to marry a man they've never met?" Certainly not you. After staging your own death to escape a forced marriage orchestrated by your ruthless family, they retaliate by sending the infamous John Wick after you. Now, you're fucked in more ways than one. Evading Baba Yaga himself is no easy feat, especially when he's sympathetic to your plight but bound by a marker to bring you back. Amidst the chaos, you find yourself unexpectedly drawn to John, his allure undeniable as you embark on a thrilling game of cat and mouse across the globe. As the stakes escalate and the danger intensifies, you're caught between loyalty and freedom, you face a daunting choice that could change your life forever. What are you going to do? Marry the man your family has picked for you? Or do you start over with the surprisingly kind killer you meet?

Notes:

This is my First John Wick fanfic! I just finished the movies and wish I watched them sooner. In this narrative, certain deceased characters resurface, their roles pivotal to the plot, although not all events adhere strictly to canon. The timeline aligns closely with the events leading up to the fourth movie The only original characters are your family members. I will add a playlist for this later.

-----------------------Chapter 1: A Rainy Reception-----------------------

The rain fell heavily, each drop a tiny hammer against the pavement, as John Wick stepped out of his car, the relentless downpour quickly soaking through his coat. Beside him, the Bowery King emerged from the passenger seat, his fedora pulled low over his brow.

They moved with purpose toward the grand mansion ahead, its lights a faint beacon in the night. A tall, silent butler waited at the entrance with an umbrella, shielding John and the Bowery King from the worst of the rain as he led them inside. The transition from the cold, wet night to the warm interior was jarring. The mansion was dimly lit, corridors lined with rich, dark wood and plush carpets that muffled their footsteps.

The butler ceremoniously pushed open the imposing wooden doors, revealing a cavernous living space ensnared in a palpable tension. In one dimly lit corner, two figures loomed, engaged in an intense, hushed altercation, their silhouettes etched with conflict against the subdued light.

Across the room, a woman occupied a plush armchair, bathed in the soft glow of a nearby lamp. Her posture rigid, she seemed lost in the glow of her phone screen, oblivious to the charged atmosphere enveloping her.

Meanwhile, at the love seat, another woman's furrowed brow betrayed her vexation as she meticulously sifted through a stack of papers. The lamplight cast harsh shadows across her features, accentuating the strain etched upon her face as she wrestled with the weight of her responsibilities.

John and the Bowery King exchanged a glance, their senses keenly attuned to the tension in the air. 

The first man broke off his argument and approached John, extending a hand. "Mr. Wick, thank you for coming," he said, his voice a mixture of relief and urgency. He was a man of moderate stature, with a tailored suit that bespoke both elegance and authority. His dark red hair was meticulously styled, framing a face marked by sharp angles and a gaze that flickered with a blend of admiration and barely contained arrogance. 

John shook his hand, noting the faint red marks on the man’s face, resembling a slap with claw-like scratches. "You called, I came," John replied, his tone neutral.

John’s eyes swept the room. This family was different from the others he had encountered in his line of work. There was a genuine sense of concern here, a seeming desire to protect one another was rare among the families he typically dealt with. 

"Please, follow me," the man said, leading John to a side room—a cozy, well-appointed office. The décor was traditional, dominated by dark wood and leather. A photograph on the desk caught John’s eye: a young girl, smiling brightly as she held a bouquet of flowers at what appeared to be her birthday party. Her expression was one of pure, unfiltered joy.

"We appreciate you taking the time to meet with us," he said, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken concerns. "I'm Nick. Nick Morales."

The man gestured to a chair. "Have a seat," he said, taking his own seat across from John. "We need your help to bring back our Fawn."

John raised an eyebrow. "Fawn?"

The man nodded. "That’s what we call her. She has these big, doe eyes." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "She’s gone missing, and we can’t let this disrupt the family’s image."

The younger man who had been arguing with him followed them into the room. He looked noticeably younger, perhaps in his early twenties, with a lean build and an intense expression. His eyes darted between Nick and John before he took a step back, clearly sensing Johns curious gaze. 

He had a slight smirk on his face as he glanced at his older counterpart. "A tantrum," the younger man said, prompting a glare from the elder.

John's curiosity was piqued. "Tantrum?"

The elder man sighed, the red marks on his face catching the light. "Yes. Things got out of hand."

The younger man chuckled, earning another glare. "She’s got spirit, I’ll give her that." After a brief moment, he excused himself and slipped out of the room, leaving the three of them to the tense atmosphere of the spacious living room.

John leaned back in his chair, assessing Nick. "I’ll need more information. Each of you will give me your version of what happened. Maybe then I can piece together the truth."

The elder man nodded. "Fine. We’ll tell you everything you need to know. Start with me."

As John prepared to dive into the first interview, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone in this room wasn’t being entirely truthful. The question was who, and why. He would have to tread carefully, piecing together the fragments of their stories to uncover the real reason behind the young woman’s disappearance.

John and the Bowery King sat side by side, facing Nick across his expansive wooden desk. The photograph of the young woman at her birthday party stood prominently, her smile bright and full of life. John noted the detail—it was clear Nick valued tradition and perhaps had stood in for her father during the celebration.

Nick leaned back in his chair, his expression one of contemplation mixed with worry. "She’s always been spirited," he began, a hint of fondness in his voice. "Born stubborn. We often butt heads over it.Trying to punish her was often futile. She usually gets the upper hand."

John listened intently, his gaze unwavering. "Tell me more about the night she disappeared."

Nick sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She was frustrated. We had a disagreement about the future. The family has... other plans for her. It escalated, and she stormed out. Later that night, we realized she was gone."

The Bowery King interjected, "And the slap mark on your face?"

Nick’s hand unconsciously moved to his cheek. "During our argument, she lashed out. It’s not the first time. She’s got a fiery temper, but this time... it was different. She was more determined, more desperate."

John leaned forward slightly. "What about her aspirations? Getting out isn’t a typical path for someone in this... environment."

Nick nodded, his expression softening as he looked at the photograph. "She’s smart, driven. Always wanted to do something more with her life. I understand her wants, but we have to do what's best for the family. Sacrifices have to be made. Everyone does their share here. We all do."

John’s eyes narrowed. "So she left because she felt trapped?"

"Partly," Nick admitted. "She’s always been our Fawn, the youngest, so we’ve always looked out for her. Losing her means losing more than just a family member.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of Nick’s words hanging heavy in the air. John considered everything he’d heard so far. The story was starting to take shape, but there were still pieces missing.

Nick broke the silence. "Each of us has a different opinion on the matter. Maybe talking to the others will give you more insight."

John nodded. "I’ll speak with everyone.”

Nick met John’s gaze, his eyes filled with a mix of conflicting emotions. Within a slip second, his gaze hardened. 

"We just want her back. Safe and sound."

With that, Nick stood, signaling the end of the first interview. The Bowery King gave Nick a reassuring nod as they both followed John out of the office, ready to piece together the rest of the story from the other family members.

“I’m coming in!”

As David entered Nick's office without hesitation, his presence was like a gust of wind, stirring up the calm atmosphere. He was dressed in a casual yet refined style, reflecting his laid-back personality. His dark blue curly hair, with streaks of vibrant colors, framed his face, giving him a distinctive look. The family symbol faded into the sides of his haircut, a subtle nod to his roots.

Ignoring the usual formalities, David addressed Nick directly. "I'm here to poach them, Nick," he declared, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Nick, slightly annoyed, waved them off, knowing David's penchant for impulsive decisions.

As they made their way to David's office, the Bowery King couldn't help but notice the change in David's appearance. "What's with the hair?" he asked, curiosity piqued.

David chuckled, running a hand through his colorful locks. "Bright Eyes did this. She wanted to leave her mark before she left."

“So, David, we heard you got some insight into what happened with the Fawn,"John said, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

David, slightly shorter than Nick, sported dark blue curly hair cut in a taper, with the family symbol faded into the sides. He exuded a laid-back demeanor, contrasting with Nick's more formal disposition. His tanned skin was complemented by his navy suit. "Yeah, we've been trying to piece it all together. Starshine’s been like a ghost since she left." 

John nodded, his mind was still processing the details Nick had provided. David had led them down a hallway and stopped at a painting of a log cabin seven doors down from Nick’s office. John watched as David’s fingers quickly found a latch allowing the image to pop open. They reached another door, which opened to reveal David’s office. The room was more personal, less formal than Nick’s, with a distinct sense of nostalgia hanging in the air.

“Welcome to the lounge!” 

In David's office, the fusion of modern technology and Caribbean aesthetics was striking. Colorful tapestries hung on the walls, complementing the sleek gadgets scattered around the room. The space felt inviting, with comfortable couches inviting them to relax.

David gestured for them to take a seat on the comfortable couches, a contrast to the formal setting of Nick's office. 

"Make yourselves at home, fellas," David said, his voice warm with hospitality. "Take a load off, fellas," David said, gesturing to the couches with a sweep of his hand. "Can I get you something to drink? Rum? Whiskey? I've got a few options that might suit you."

John nodded appreciatively, while the Bowery King opted for a glass of rum. As David poured the drinks, John's eyes wandered to the photograph on the coffee table. In the picture, you were clad in pajamas, and beamed with youthful joy. Surrounded by the family on what appeared to be a Christmas morning.

"That's a beautiful photo," John remarked, his voice soft with genuine admiration.

David's gaze softened as he glanced at the picture. "Yeah, it's one of my favorites. That was a good day, you know? We were all together, no worries, just enjoying each other's company."

He paused, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "Those eyes of hers... they've seen a lot, but they still have that same innocence somehow."

John leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "You mentioned the nickname 'Sunshine.' What's the story behind that?"

David chuckled, a hint of fondness in his tone. "When she's grumpy, I call her Sunshine to lift her mood or be an ass. Just depends, really."

The Bowery King studied the photographs adorning the walls of David's office, his gaze lingering on one in particular. "Ironic you call her a Fawn. Her eyes... they're so bright."

David's expression softened as he glanced at the picture. "Yeah, she hates it when we call her that. But you can't deny the resemblance.” He chuckles and hands the men a different picture. “She looks just like a deer in headlights if you startle her. The nickname stuck through childhood." He leans back into the coach with his eyes trained on the photos. 

As John methodically flipped through the binder Nick had handed him, each page revealed a new layer of the Fawn’s past assignments. His gaze shifted to David, a silent promise reflected in the depths of his steely eyes.

The Bowery King leaned forward, his curiosity evident. "What sort of tasks did she undertake while she was with the family?"

David's features darkened, a bitter edge seeping into his expression. "She had her hands in everything," he admitted, his voice heavy with emotion. "From infiltrating crime rings by posing as innocent girls, ransoms or kidnappings, to carrying out seduction missions. She mostly got rid of the garbage."

John's jaw tensed as he absorbed the weight of each revelation. "And her age when she started?" he inquired, his tone betraying his growing concern.

David's face contorted with bitterness as he spoke the words. "Seven," he admitted, the syllables heavy with the burden of the truth. He set down his glass and faced the men head on. Now, he was serious. 

The gravity of that admission settled heavily upon John's shoulders, John's resolve only strengthened. Seeing the shift in David, John settled into his chair, the Bowery King beside him, both men attentive. 

The Bowery King's brows furrowed in disbelief. "Seven? That's young to be involved in all of this," he remarked, his voice tinged with questioning.

David's expression grew more solemn. “Despite everything she's been through, she still sees the good in people. With her job I don’t know how the fuck she does it."

John shot him a sharp glance, a silent warning to tread carefully. He understood the implications of such a revelation. But dwelling on it now would only distract them from their goal.

"We need to focus on finding her," John said, his tone clipped and to the point. "The past is done. We're here to bring her back, no matter what it takes."

David nodded, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. He knew better than to dwell on the past, to let it cloud their judgment in the present.

"Tell me about the night she left."

David sighed deeply, his eyes reflecting the weight of his memories. "We were all here, trying to have a family dinner. But tensions were high. She and Nick had another argument. It was about her future again. She’s been so focused on becoming a lawyer, but... the family business demands sacrifices." 

He paused, his voice thick with emotion. "After the argument, she left the table. I thought she just needed some air. It wasn’t until later that we realized she was gone."

The Bowery King spoke up, his tone probing. "And the slap mark on Nick’s face?"

David’s expression darkened slightly. "She’s got a temper, no doubt about it. She slapped him, her sharp nails left those claw marks. But it wasn’t just about anger. There was hurt there, deep hurt. She feels like we’re holding her back, trapping her."

John leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "Do you think she left to pursue her dreams? Or is there more to it?"

David hesitated, glancing at the photograph again. "She wants to be free, to follow her own path. But it’s not just about becoming a lawyer. She feels suffocated by the expectations, the pressure. She wants to help people. And here... she feels like she’s just a pawn."

John considered this, the pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together. He needed something more. "What does she mean to you, David? Personally.”

As David hesitated, his gaze shifting to the photograph once more, he spoke with a mixture of fondness and concern. "She's everything," he admitted, his voice softening. "More like a daughter to Nick and a sister-like cousin to me."

John nodded, understanding what he meant. "What do you think happened to her?" he asked, his tone edged with urgency.

David sighed deeply, a troubled expression crossing his features. "I'm not sure," he confessed. "Starshine turned off all her trackers before she left. Here," he reached for a remote on the coffee table, selecting a video of a burning estate. "This might shed some light."

As they watched the footage, David explained, "During her youth, Nick was taking care of her while in the military. He sent her away while on tour." He paused, his voice tinged with bitterness. "She was sent to live under the care of Cordelia, a terrible woman of the underground. She was known as a prominent matchmaker. She used stolen girls to carry out arranged marriages. If you weren’t married off she’d use you for…. other missions."

As David played the video of the burning estate, the screen flickered with images of flames engulfing the once-grand structure. The news report accompanying the footage described the scene in vivid detail, with some locals referring to it as an inferno that consumed everything in its path.

"The fire broke out in the dead of night," David explained, his voice grim as he recounted the events. "It spread quickly, devouring the estate within minutes. The rest of the area is fine though."

The news anchor's voice echoed through the room, detailing the confusion of firefighters about the containment of the blaze as it raged on. Smoke billowed into the night sky, casting an eerie glow over the surrounding area.

"Authorities are still investigating the cause of the fire," the anchor continued, "but eyewitnesses report seeing mysterious figures fleeing the scene before the flames erupted."

John's brow furrowed as he absorbed the information, a sense of unease settling in the pit of his stomach. The Fawn’s connection to the estate and its destruction raised more questions than answers, adding another layer of complexity to the mystery surrounding her disappearance.

As the news report concluded, David turned the volume off and kept his eyes on the screen, the room enveloped in a heavy silence. The burning estate loomed large in their eyes.

“You know, you live with someone your whole life and watch them grow up to be so sweet. It makes you forget how dangerous they can be.”

David's caramel skin contrasted with the cooler tones from the TV. "I suspect she's somewhere near New York by now," he added, a note of concern creeping into his voice.

The Bowery King, intrigued by David's role in the family, posed a question. "What do you do, David?"

David hesitated, his gaze shifting to John before answering. "I work as the family accountant and tech personnel," he replied before shifting back into his easy going nature. "If you mean in the familiar sense, I'm the one who often stirs the pot, taking Bright eye’s side in most arguments and helping her wiggle out family duties so she can live her life."

John studied David's features, noting the similarities between him and the Fawn.

"Nick and I often clash over what's best for her," David admitted, a hint of defiance in his tone. "But we both want her to be safe, no matter what. You know what happens in this life when your family isn’t there to protect you."

While David's gaze turned back to the flickering images of the burning estate John absorbed his words, the weight of their meaning settling heavily upon him. He couldn't help but mentally note the differences between David and Nick, their contrasting appearances reflecting their divergent personalities.

Turning his attention back to David, John posed a question that had been weighing on his mind. "Between you and Nick, who do you think she'd listen to more?"

David's brow furrowed in thought, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. "It's hard to say," he admitted, his voice tinged with resignation. "Nick is stricter but he does love her. I've always been the one she turns to when she needs a favor." 

John nodded, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they were on the cusp of uncovering something more sinister.

Before John could stand, David opened a drawer and pulled out a small box. He slid it across the desk to John. "I almost forgot. We’ve placed trackers in her earrings and her earbud case. I can’t get a read on her location yet. Once I override the bugs you’ll be able to track her exact location."

John opened the box, inspecting the discreet tracking devices. "This will be useful. Thank you, David."

The room fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of their shared mission hanging heavy in the air. With each passing moment, the urgency of their task became more apparent.

The silence was broken by the clicking of the lock, a sound that reverberated through the corridor like a distant echo. John and the Bowery King exchanged a quick glance, their senses sharpened by the unexpected interruption. Instinctively, John's hand drifted towards his holster, ready for whatever might come through the door.

As the woman skillfully undid the lock, David couldn't help but whine, "You better not teach Nick the code, Joselyn."

She chuckled, her fingers deftly working the mechanism. "Oh, come on, David. It's not that much of a secret. If Nick wanted to come in, he absolutely would."

With the lock finally disengaged, Joselyn swung the door open, greeting John and the Bowery King with a warm smile. "Welcome, gentlemen," she said cheerfully. "Please, follow me."

She led the way down the corridor, her lively persona filling the air with energy. As they walked, Joselyn couldn't resist taking the Bowery King's arm, a simple gesture of respect for her elders.

"We're just across from David's office," she explained, her voice bright and welcoming. "I've got some tea brewing if you're interested. And maybe a few snacks, too."

As they reached her office, Joselyn ushered them inside, the space reflecting her eclectic tastes and organizational prowess. With a wave of her hand, she gestured for them to make themselves comfortable, her warm demeanor putting them at ease.

Her office was meticulously organized, with a sense of order and precision. A picture of the reader, much younger, wearing a kindergarten graduation cap and holding a diploma for "Best Future Lawyer," was prominently displayed. Another picture of her wedding stood next to it

Joselyn gestured for them to sit, taking her place behind the desk. "Would you like some snacks?" she offered, pointing to a tray of assorted nuts and dried fruits on her desk.

The Bowery King nodded appreciatively. "Don't mind if I do," he said, reaching for a handful. John politely declined with a slight shake of his head.

"Now, what can I do for you gentlemen?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "How can I assist in your endeavors today?"

As John and the Bowery King settled in, John couldn't help but ask, "Joselyn, what exactly is it that you do here? 

The Bowery King, always one for understanding the full picture, pressed on. "But the jobs you do now, what are they exactly? And the Fawn’s current role?"

Joselyn leaned back, her demeanor shifting to one of professional seriousness. "I run an agency that focuses on finding missing children and disrupting human trafficking networks. It’s dangerous work, but it’s what drives me. The Fawn, when she isn’t in hiding, assists with some of the more covert operations. Her skills make her invaluable in rescuing those who have been taken and dismantling trafficking rings."

"And she started this life so young," the Bowery King mused, shaking his head.

"Yes," Joselyn replied, her voice tinged with regret. "It’s a harsh reality, but it's also what makes her so effective. A double edged sword, really.”

John nodded, appreciating the gravity of what Joselyn was saying. "Thank you for sharing this with us. It helps us understand the stakes."

Joselyn smiled softly, though her eyes remained serious. "Just be careful. Mamita is young but she isn’t someone you want to underestimate. She's survived this long for a reason."

“And what’s the story behind the Fawn being sent to Cordelia?"

The mention of Cordelia sent a noticeable shift through Joselyn. She took a deep breath, her usual warm demeanor clouding with anger. Her voice lowered to a hushed tone. "Unfortunately, I am still a ‘made woman’. As for the witch, I tried to get custody of her, you know. But I was denied because I was 'too young' and not married yet. That poor girl... Cordelia was a nightmare. It was impossible to get her out of the contract."

She took a deep breath, composing herself before speaking. "Mamita was just a child when she began her training. It’s something I never agreed with. She was far too young, as was Amalia, who was trained at the same time. Amalia, fortunately, has retired now."

John’s curiosity was piqued. "How did Amalia manage to retire?"

Joselyn's expression softened slightly. "Mamita always loved Amalia like a blood sister. She made sure that when Amalia wanted out, she could get out safely. I don’t know what she did. She refuses to tell us. Amalia now leads a quiet life and can keep her children away from all this."

The Bowery King nodded, absorbing the information. "And what about your marriage?”

A wistful smile touched Joselyn's lips. "Yes, when it came to my marriage, I had to complete an impossible task. She was my cheerleader. I can’t go into the details, but she did it because she really wanted my now-husband in the family."

John's curiosity deepened. "Why was that so important to her?"

Joselyn's eyes sparkled with warmth and a hint of mischief as she recounted, "Mamita’s exact words were, 'Because you're soulmates,’ cute, isn’t it?

Turning the conversation, John asked, "Tell us about the Fawn’s relationship with your husband." He couldn’t allow his mind to start flooding with images of Helen.

Joselyn smiled wistfully. "He calls her 'muñeca,' meaning baby doll. He respects her dream and sees her as the goofy kid he once met. She gifted him a pair of golden-rimmed glasses that he often wears to match mine. Despite everything, he tries to make her feel safe and loved."

The Bowery King interjected,”The sister he never had?” 

“Exactly.”

"Would he be hiding her?" John probed.

Joselyn shook her head firmly. "No. If he knew where she was, he would have taken her home, even though he doesn't agree with everything we do."

John leaned forward slightly. "And why didn't you leave to join your husband’s family?"

A shadow passed over Joselyn’s face. "He's an orphan. We decided not to have kids until we can raise them without worrying about the family’s constant turmoil."

The Bowery King nodded, appreciating the depth of Joselyn's commitment. "You've sacrificed a lot."

Joselyn shrugged with a sad smile. "We all have. But we do what we must to keep those we love safe."

The Bowery King’s curiosity was piqued. "And who is this 'Mamita’s' best friend, Michelle?" He passed over a picture of a young woman with platinum hair and a slender figure from the binder. 

Joselyn’s expression softened slightly. "Michelle is actually Nick's age. She was almost sold off when Nick tried to rebel and leave the service.” Her hands turned to shredding a stress ball on her desk.

Joselyn’s shoulders were tense as she recounted the night. “Mama assassinated Cordelia and helped the other girls escape. We had to pay billions to cover it up.” She closes her eyes before sighing deeply through her nose. “Michelle disappeared the same night Mama left after going to confession, and we assume they're together. Nick wants to find Michelle on his own."

The Bowery King frowned. "Confession?”

"Michelle is Catholic, and Mama enjoys going with her to pray for her victims," Joselyn explained. John noted this mentally, intrigued by the implication of an assassin clinging to religion.

Joselyn took a moment, her expression grave as she met John's gaze. "I think it's time I'm completely transparent with you. Mama isn't just an assassin for our family's interests. She's a hired gun, servicing the highest bidders, whoever they may be."

John's eyes narrowed slightly as he absorbed her words. It struck him as peculiar that a family would send one of their own daughters to carry out such perilous tasks instead of relying on their established network of operatives. His mind raced with conjecture, weaving a tapestry of suspicion and intrigue.

Why would they entrust such responsibilities to someone so young and potentially volatile? Was there more to the Fawn's involvement than met the eye?

As Joselyn's voice faded into the background, his thoughts grew more insistent. Perhaps the Fawn had stumbled upon a secret, something she wasn't meant to see. And this arrangement—her role as an assassin—could be the family's way of ensuring her silence. It was a chilling possibility, but one that resonated with the shadows lurking beneath the surface of their world.

He blinked, refocusing on Joselyn's earnest gaze. "Thank you for being honest with us, Joselyn."

Joselyn's nod held a hint of understanding. "Just be careful, John. You know an animal is more dangerous when wounded."

John acknowledged her warning with a curt nod, his mind already racing with strategies and contingencies. As they delved deeper into the intricacies of their mission, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were treading on treacherous ground. 

John leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Joselyn. "Where do you think your Fawn might have gone?"

Joselyn sighed, tapping her fingers lightly on the desk as she considered the question. "There are two likely places. New York or Japan. She has an apartment in Japan, and New York was our home base."

"Where would she be in those cities?" John pressed.

"In New York, you'll most likely find her in a park or casino. She doesn't like to gamble—it's more about the thrill of the card games. If you need to keep her attention, playing a game with her might be your best bet. But be warned: she's very cunning and deceptive. If she thinks you're a threat, she'll leave. Mama doesn’t like to fight unless absolutely necessary."

"And in Japan?" John asked.

"Adores the scene culture there- especially dance clubs. She could be hiding Michelle in one of her apartments there. If you find Michelle, she will come after you. But you need to be extremely careful.” Her hands were now flat against the polish glass of her desk. “If she believes Micheale is in any danger, she'll kill you on sight. She's fiercely protective."

The Bowery King interjected, his voice thoughtful. "And why would she hide Michelle in Japan?"

"Japan's a place where she can lay low and blend in. She has friends and safehouses there, and it's far enough from here to avoid immediate detection. Michelle didn’t agree with the decision either and she probably wants time away from Nick." She slowly slides her hands into her lap. “I couldn’t go with her because of work. So I’m glad someone is with her.”

John nodded, digesting the information. "So, New York or Japan, dance clubs or casinos. And if it comes down to it, I should be prepared to play a game with her."

"Exactly," Joselyn affirmed. "But remember, she's unpredictable. She's been through a lot, and her instincts are sharp. Approach with caution."

"Thank you, Joselyn," John said sincerely. "This gives us a direction."

Joselyn nodded, her expression a mix of concern and determination. A debating look crossed her face before Joselyn reached for a small frame on her desk, a recent picture nestled inside. With a gentle smile, she handed it to John.

"Here," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of sadness. "You should take a more recent picture of her. She's... she's quite beautiful, isn't she?"

As John accepted the picture from Joselyn, his breath caught in his throat as he took in the image. His eyes were drawn immediately to the subject—you. In the photo, you exuded a softness that seemed to radiate from within. Your complexion was flawless, with a natural glow that hinted at youthful vitality. Your features were delicate yet defined, each contour lending an air of elegance to your appearance.

Your hair cascaded in soft waves around your shoulders, framing your face in a way that accentuated your delicate features. A gentle smile played at the corners of your plump lips, adding a touch of sweetness to your expression. 

But it was your eyes that captured John's attention the most. Large and doe-like, they held a sweet mischievousness that seemed to pierce through the photograph, drawing him into their depths. At the same time, they were pools of warmth and innocence. He could tell you had a figure under the sweater dress you sported. Yet beneath the outfit, there lay a quiet strength in your arms and legs that spoke volumes.

In that moment, you really did reminded him of a deer, graceful and vulnerable yet capable of resilience.

As John studied the picture, he couldn't help but marvel at her beauty. She was a vision of purity and innocence, a stark contrast to the harsh realities of their world. And yet, there was a strength in your gaze as you looked into the camera. 

"She is," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Joselyn's gaze softened as she watched him, her own sadness mirrored in her eyes. "I’m still fighting the marriage order.”

The Bowery King leaned over to glance at the picture, his expression contemplative. "She looks too young," he remarked quietly, his voice tinged with concern.

The words snapped John out of his reverie, his thoughts jolting back to the task at hand. Whatever he was thinking, he dismissed it immediately. John nodded in agreement, his mind shifting gears as he placed the photograph in his suit's breast pocket.

"Thank you," he said, his voice steady once more. "We appreciate your help, Joselyn. We'll be in touch."

The Bowery King nodded in agreement. "Yes, we appreciate everything you've done for us."

Joselyn smiled warmly, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "It's been my pleasure. Thank you for trusting me."

A small, soft knock echoed through the office, drawing the attention of John, the Bowery King, and Joselyn. They exchanged a glance, a silent acknowledgment of the interruption. Rising from their seats, they approached the door together.

As she stepped aside to open the door, a figure appeared in the doorway. With a soft smile, Joselyn stepped back to allow the newcomer to enter.

"Amalia," she greeted warmly, her voice tinged with affection.

Amalia, the retired operative, stepped into the room, her presence calm and composed. She nodded politely to John and the Bowery King, acknowledging their presence with a small smile.

"Joselyn," she said, her voice gentle. "I heard you had visitors. I hope I'm not intruding."

Joselyn shook her head, her smile widening. "Not at all. These gentlemen were just leaving. Thank you again for your help, John, Mr.King."

With a final nod of farewell, John and the Bowery King made their way out of the office, leaving Joselyn and Amalia alone together. As the door closed behind them, the room fell into a comfortable silence, filled with the quiet camaraderie of old friends reunited.

“Come along, mine is the second to last one.”

The hallway was dimly lit, the only source of illumination coming from the sporadic flashes of lightning that streaked across the sky outside the large window at the end of the corridor. As John and the Bowery King made their way towards Amalia's office, the sound of rain battering against the windowpane filled the air, adding to the somber atmosphere of the building.

Amalia's office stood apart from the others, a solitary beacon of light as almost everything inside was creme or white with black accents. Situated next to the expansive window, it offered a view of the storm raging outside, the turbulent clouds casting eerie shadows across the room. The minimal decorations within only served to accentuate the starkness of the space, a far cry from the warmth and liveliness of Joselyn's office.

As they approached, John and the Bowery King couldn't help but notice the scattered toys strewn about the room, a stark contrast to the seriousness of their mission. Squishy toys lay abandoned on the floor, their bright colors standing out against the muted tones of the office. A small play kitchen sat in one corner, its plastic utensils and pretend food scattered haphazardly across the miniature countertops.

Amalia greeted them with a weary smile as they entered, her tanned skin glowing softly in the dim light. Her long wavy black curly hair cascaded down her back, framing her face in a halo of darkness. Despite her petite stature, there was a quiet strength in her gaze that spoke volumes, a resilience forged through years of hardship and sacrifice.

"Excuse the toys on the floor," she said quietly, her voice tinged with resignation. "I haven't had much time to tidy up."

John and the Bowery King exchanged a glance, a small chuckle escaping them as they gently set aside a squishy toy that had been inadvertently sat upon. The tension in the room eased slightly, replaced by a sense of camaraderie amidst the chaos.

Before they could ask their questions, Amalia took a deep breath, her expression serious. "I'm over this," she said firmly. "I'll be explaining everything."

Her words hung in the air, a solemn promise of revelations to come. And as the storm raged outside, it seemed as though the tempest within was about to be unleashed.

"We were inseparable," she explained, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "After my father was taken out during an assignment and my mother was killed in a tuff war, we only had each other. Our grandmother raised us, but it was [Name] who became my rock.”

John couldn't help but notice that it was the first time anyone had used your first name, and he couldn't deny how lovely it sounded. But he quickly refocused, his attention returning to the weight of the conversation at hand.

"The same thing happened to [Name]," Amalia continued, her voice heavy with emotion. "We witnessed it, and we killed the people responsible. And that's when it was decided that we would become assassins."

John and the Bowery King listened intently, the gravity of Amalia's words hitting home. They knew that the life of an assassin was fraught with danger, but hearing about the tragic events still spurred something within them.

Amalia paused, her gaze flickering towards the window where the storm raged on outside. "I'll spare you the whole sob story of the training," she said, her voice tinged with bitterness. "But I hated having to be both people. A daughter of a prominent family and a trained killer. And [Name] hated it too. It was destroying her mental health."

The notion of Amalia's last name caught John's attention, and he couldn't help but wonder about its significance. "Morales," he said, his voice thoughtful. "Is that your husband's last name?"

Amalia shook her head, her expression somber. "No," she said quietly. "But I only kept it out of obligation. The truth is, I've never felt like I truly belonged to that family. And now, with everything that's happened... I'm not sure I ever will."

John and the Bowery King exchanged a glance, recognizing the significance of the family name in the context of their world. They knew that in the shadowy underworld they operated in, family ties ran deep, binding individuals to a legacy of blood and loyalty.

"I see," John replied, his tone respectful. "Family is everything, especially in our line of work."

Amalia nodded, a hint of resignation in her eyes. "Yes, it is," she agreed quietly. "But sometimes, family can also be a burden, a weight that drags you down when all you want is to break free."

Her words hung in the air, a poignant reminder of the complexities of their shared existence. And as the storm raged on outside, it seemed as though the tempest within her heart was taking physical form. 

The Bowery King's question hung in the air, the weight of its implications sinking in. "What happens hypothetically if we can't find her?" he asked, his tone somber.

Amalia's reaction was immediate, a surge of anger bubbling to the surface. "I have to take over!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with frustration. She paused, taking a moment to collect herself before continuing, her tone tinged with bitterness. "I never wanted this life, but I have no choice. If [Name] isn't here to fulfill her duties, then it falls to me."

John and the Bowery King exchanged a glance, the gravity of Amalia's words not lost on them. They had known that the consequences of your disappearance would be severe, but hearing it spoken aloud by someone who would bear the brunt of those consequences drove home the reality of their situation.

Amalia's anger simmered beneath the surface as she continued to speak, her voice strained with emotion. "You want to know why I'm so angry?" she asked, her eyes flashing with intensity. "BecauseI fell in love with the oldest son of a rival family."

John's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his shock mirrored by the expression on the Bowery King's face. "You did?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Amalia nodded, her anger momentarily overshadowed by the weight of her confession. "We dated for years in secret," she explained, her voice trembling with emotion. "But none of the elders in his family approved of him. They saw me as nothing more than a pawn in their game of power and influence."

As Amalia recounted the demands placed upon her by the elders, a bitter laugh escaped her lips, carrying with it the weight of years of resentment and frustration. "Finally, one of the elders agreed to our union, but only if I agreed to do the impossible," she continued, her voice filled with bitterness. "They demanded that I take on a series of missions that no one could possibly accomplish."

John's eyes widened in shock, his mind struggling to comprehend the enormity of what Amalia was revealing. "But how... how did you manage it?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Amalia's expression hardened, her anger and fear surfacing. "I didn't," she said, her voice trembling. "I was secretly three months pregnant and terrified. So, [Name] offered me a way out. She pretended to be me and did all of the missions herself in a single month."

John was struck silent, his shock evident. The Bowery King interjected, his voice tinged with disbelief. "That's impossible."

Amalia shuddered, closing her eyes briefly. "I don't know how she did it," she admitted, her voice heavy with emotion. "But she did. And now I have two children and one on the way." She placed a hand tenderly on her growing belly, a mixture of love and fear swirling in her eyes.

The Bowery King glanced at John, then back at Amalia. "She must have liked your husband," he remarked.

Amalia's anger flared again. "She hates him," she spat, her words dripping with venom. "But she did what she had to do to protect our family, just like I'm doing now."

John leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as the pieces began to fit together. "You were the one who commissioned me?"

Amalia nodded, a faint, weary smile tugging at her lips. Without another word, she reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a marker. John recognized it immediately as one of his. Before he could ask where she had gotten it, she tossed it to him. "Give my sister-in-law my regards."

Now he understood why the family had been so open.

She stood up, motioning for them to follow her across the hallway to the last office. As they walked, she reached for a chain around her neck, pulling out a key to unlock the door. With a click, the door swung open.

Inside, [Name]'s office was a sanctuary of unexpected tranquility. The walls were painted a soft, inviting color—clearly her favorite—creating a serene and almost ethereal atmosphere. Several carefully chosen works of art adorned the walls, each piece adding depth and personal significance to the space. The large windows allowed the stormy light to filter in, casting a moody yet gentle glow over the room. Plants adorned the windowsill, their flowers in full bloom. 

Scattered toys on the floor hinted at a lingering sense of playfulness, an odd juxtaposition to the gravity of their conversation. A locked closet stood ominously in one corner, suggesting secrets guarded closely. John’s gaze was drawn to a large stereo system complete with CDs and vinyl records, a record player sitting proudly beside a plush, inviting sofa.

The desk was strategically placed in the corner, maximizing the room's openness and making it feel expansive despite its purpose. Weights lay neatly under the desk, alongside a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers—unexpected touches that spoke volumes about [Name]'s need for both comfort and stress relief. A large bookshelf, filled to the brim with an eclectic mix of titles, suggested a mind constantly in search of knowledge or escape.

John took a moment to absorb the room's details. Every element seemed meticulously curated to reflect [Name]'s duality—her strength and vulnerability, her chaos and order. It was a room that spoke of a life lived in the shadows yet yearning for more.

Amalia watched him closely, her expression a complex mix of pride and sorrow. "This is her office," she said softly, her voice heavy with unspoken memories and regrets. "It's where I saw her last."

John nodded, the seriousness of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders. The room was a testament to [Name]'s resilience, a stark reminder of what she had been forced to endure and what she sought to protect. 

The Bowery King glanced around the room, his eyes falling on the scattered toys. "What’s with the toys in her office?" he asked, his tone curious yet cautious.

Amalia sighed, her eyes softening as she glanced at the toys. "Some of them belong to my children," she explained. "Even though [Name] hates my husband, she's always been kind to my kids. They adore her."

The King raised an eyebrow. "If she hates him, why does she keep toys for your kids here?"

Amalia's lips curved into a bittersweet smile. "Because despite her feelings towards Aaron, she's still family. She loves my children as if they were her own." She walked over to a shelf, plucking a picture frame from it and handing it to John and the King.

The photo depicted [Name] in a church, taking vows, with two small children standing beside her. The image captured a rare moment of softness and grace, a gentle smile on her face as she knelt before the altar.

Amalia chuckled softly, a hint of irony in her voice. "It’s funny, really. She hates Aaron but was the one who married us. She stood as our officiant and performed the ceremony herself."

John studied the photograph, his eyes lingering on [Name]'s serene expression and the tender way she held the children. It was a side of her he hadn’t expected to see, the Bowery King leaned closer, inspecting the picture with a critical eye.

"She does look genuinely happy here," he remarked, almost to himself.

Amalia nodded, her expression distant as she recalled the day. "She hides her pain well, but it’s there, just beneath the surface. She did it all for the family, even when it tore her apart."

John’s mind raced, the weight of Amalia's words settling heavily on him. He glanced at the toys again, then back at the picture, a new layer of determination forming within him. He had to find her, not just for the mission, but for the person she truly was beneath the layers of duty and sacrifice.

John studied the photograph in his hands, a soft, reflective expression crossing his face. He looked up at Amalia, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "You feel for her, don't you?"

Amalia's gaze drifted past him, landing on the various pictures decorating the office. Each one seemed to tell a story, snapshots of moments frozen in time. The pictures were clearly taken by [Name], as they rarely featured her but captured the world through her eyes.

One photo showed Amalia's children playing in a sunlit park, their laughter almost audible through the image. Another depicted a serene beach at sunset, the colors vibrant and warm, evoking a sense of peace and longing. A third photo captured an intimate family gathering, everyone smiling, with [Name]'s presence felt more than seen, the angle suggesting she was just out of frame, watching over them all.

As Amalia's gaze traveled through the photos, she took a deep breath. "My duties as a mother come first," she said quietly, her hand gently resting on her growing belly.

"Everything I do is for my children. [Name] understands that, even if it means making sacrifices."

The room fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of Amalia's words settling heavily in the air. John and the Bowery King exchanged a glance, both sensing the depth of emotion and history that lay beneath the surface of this family's intricate dynamics.

John's eyes wandered to more photos. There were pictures of Nick and [Name], their bond evident in the way he looked after her with a protective gaze. There were pictures of David being goofy and pranking Nick, capturing the lighter moments. Another series of photos showed Joselyn and her husband from high school until their wedding day, her husband looked to be of middle eastern decent.

Pictures of Amalia were abundant, spanning from her youth to the present day. There was a photograph of her debutante ball, and another of her wedding, noticeably absent of Aaron. Images of her pregnancies were also displayed, as well as breathtaking shots of the sky during sunrise and sunset, capturing the fleeting beauty of those moments.

A picture of the family at Christmas, dancing in their home country with your face obscured by your country’s flag, added a sense of tradition and unity. There were also photos of Nick and Michelle together, and some of Michelle at a café and in a casino bar, her expression pensive yet serene.

John’s gaze lingered on Michele at the casino bar. "Can I take this one?" he asked, his voice low but firm.

Amalia glanced at the picture and then at John, nodding slowly. "Yes, take it. It might help you find her."

John carefully pocketed the photograph, feeling the weight of the mission settle more heavily on his shoulders. He turned back to Amalia. "She’s given up a lot for the family, hasn’t she?"

Amalia nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "More than anyone knows. She’s carried burdens that weren’t hers to bear, all for the sake of duty and love."

The Bowery King looked at the picture of the children again, then at Amalia. "And yet, despite everything, she’s still kind to your children."

Amalia’s smile was bittersweet. "Because that's who she is. No matter how much she’s hurting, she always finds it in herself to care for others. That’s why I owe her everything. And that’s why we have to find her."

John’s resolve hardened. The mission was no longer just about finding a missing person; it was about bringing back someone who had given so much of herself for the sake of others. And he knew, deep down, that he wouldn't rest until she was safe.

John's eyes drifted to the other shelves in Amalia's office, noticing a collection of academic accolades. Certificates and plaques attested to [Name]'s intelligence and dedication, showcasing her achievements in various fields. He took a moment to absorb the extent of her talents, feeling a pang of admiration mixed with sorrow for what she had become.

The Bowery King broke the silence with a pointed question. "If the family wants to marry her off, why bother finding her?"

Amalia's gaze sharpened, her expression fierce. "Have you ever heard the expression, 'The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth'?"

She paused, looking around the room as if searching for the right words. Slowly, she walked to the bookshelf. "We were always taught to honor those that came before us, but no one remembers the saying, 'Do not provoke your children to anger.'" Her fingers traced the spines of the books before she pulled out a green one. As she did, a section of the wall shifted, revealing a hidden room.

"Don’t get me wrong," Amalia continued. "She really is a sweetheart when you get to know her. But she changed after I got married. She always had a bubble around her and she's picky about who gets inside. She never gives out markers because she hates the idea of owing anyone anything."

The hidden room was a stark contrast to the main office, its coldness sharply contrasting with the warmth just outside the concealed door. John scrutinized the space, feeling as if he had stepped through a portal into another world. Though small, the office was meticulously organized.

A wall on his left was covered in photos and leads of your targets, with notes scribbled next to each photo detailing information about them, their families, and whether they had children. Strings connected some of the photos, forming a complex web of connections and motives.

Your monitor and desk were tucked away in the corner just before he walked in. The desk was devoid of personal touches, looking meticulously clean and functional, with only essential items—pens, a notepad, a closed laptop—neatly arranged. John ran a hand over the smooth surface, noting the absence of fingerprints and the almost clinical precision.

Across from the wall of target photos was a glass-fronted weapons case, showcasing a variety of deadly instruments. Swords, daggers, and firearms were displayed in an orderly fashion, each item meticulously maintained. The glass glinted under the dim lighting, revealing the sheen of polished metal.

However, John noticed that a few weapons were missing, leaving empty slots that hinted at recent use. He bent down slightly, examining the labels below each empty slot, trying to deduce what had been taken. 

The Bowery King nodded, his gaze shifting back to the empty slots in the weapons case. "Looks like someone's been busy.”.

As he continued to take in the room, John noticed a faint scent of gun oil and leather, a reminder of the deadly purpose behind the immaculate setup. He straightened up and turned his attention back to the wall of photos, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the detailed notes and connections. 

Behind him, the Bowery King entered the hidden office, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. He paused just inside the doorway, taking in the scene with a discerning eye.

"Quite the setup you've got here," he remarked, his voice low and appreciative. He walked over to the weapons case, his fingers tracing the edge of the glass. Amalia let out a hum of acknowledgement having not moved from her place between both worlds. 

"Does she have a boyfriend? Any friends outside the family?" John inquired, his voice slicing through the tense silence as he turned to face Amalia.

Amalia, standing in the door frame, shook her head slowly, her fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the polished wood. "She never dates. As for friends, she keeps quiet about them. She doesn't delve deeply into relationships, fearing they might die or she might have to eliminate them."

John's gaze continued to roam the room, finally landing on an unexpected sight: a photograph of himself, discreetly tucked into a corner of the wall behind a stack of books. His brows knitted in surprise, but he chose to remain silent about it. Meanwhile, the Bowery King, who had been pacing near the weapons case, stopped and leaned in to scrutinize its contents again. 

"Why aren't these weapons readily accessible?" he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and confusion.

Amalia sighed, her gaze softening slightly as she looked at the King. "Because [Name] doesn't want my kids stumbling upon any of this stuff and easily accessing it out of curiosity. We actually appreciate the precaution," she replied, standing up and walking over to join the King. She carefully unlocked the case with the same key and retrieved a small, intricately designed dagger, holding it up for him to inspect.

John, still taking in the details of the room, pressed on with his questions. "What's her daily routine like?" he asked, moving to stand over his own photo, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp.

Amalia returned on her heel, the dagger still in her hand, and settled back against the wall. "[Name] is primarily focused on school when she's home. She rarely makes calls or texts anyone. She attends family meetings and diligently performs her duties. The only time she engages socially is during or after her missions. She doesn't typically stay out for long," she explained, her voice tinged with melancholy as she placed the dagger on your desk, its blade catching the light.

The Bowery King, still appraising the room, turned his attention back to Amalia. "Do you trust her, Amalia?" he asked, his voice low and probing as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

She paused, her eyes reflecting a turbulent mix of emotions. "I don't know anymore," she admitted, her gaze dropping to the dagger in her hand, the weight of her uncertainty hanging heavy in the air. She gently placed the dagger back before locking the case again. She glared at the glass before turning to face John. 

"The arranged marriage was the straw that broke her back," Amalia sighed, her frustration palpable. "Joselyn and I are married so she’s the only girl left.”

John scanned the room, disturbed by the shift in atmosphere. "I know what she's like out there," Amalia continued. "She's a completely different being. So cold, quick, and effective. If someone couldn't handle a job, she dismissed them and did it herself. No one escapes her. She's made a career out of being unknown."

John frowned, puzzled. "Is that why I have never heard of 'The Fawn' before?"

Amalia's eyes darkened. "She only works for the highest of the elite. You can't just request her services. There are rules for that. Dear God, she hates rules."

John’s gaze returned to the hidden room, a mix of awe and sorrow washing over him. The woman they sought was a paradox—capable of immense kindness yet driven to cold efficiency by circumstances beyond her control. As he studied the evidence of your dual life, he realized the depth of the challenge before them. Finding you would be hard enough; convincing you to come back might be impossible.

Amalia, noticing his troubled expression, sighed. "She always looked like she was a deer caught in headlights, vulnerable yet ready to flee or fight. That's why they called her 'The Fawn.' It's ironic, really. So delicate yet deadly. They underestimated her, thinking they could control her. But she’s smarter and stronger than any of them ever gave her credit for."

Without warning, Amalia grabbed John by the neck and slammed him against the door, her small frame vibrating with rage. The Bowery King instinctively backed up, his eyes wide, but John, sensing her condition, didn't reach for his gun.

"Don't you fucking dare underestimate her," Amalia hissed, her eyes blazing. "I don't care how innocent she looks. If looks could kill, you'd be dead twelve times over before you even knew what happened, Baba Yaga." She spat out his nickname with palpable disgust.

John remained still, the intensity of her anger washing over him. "She's strong, she's smart, and she's anything she wants to be. If you fuck up, she'll get you. I know her fight better than anyone else. I've seen what she can do. You cannot fail at this."

Her grip on his neck tightened momentarily before she released him, stepping back to compose herself. John's hand instinctively moved to his throat, feeling the lingering pressure of her grasp. He could see the raw emotion in her eyes, the desperate need for him to understand.

The Bowery King watched in silence, the gravity of the situation sinking in. John straightened, meeting Amalia's gaze with renewed determination. He knew she was right. Failure was not an option. He had to find you and bring you back, not just for the family.

But how could he not feel for the woman who had already sacrificed so much to protect those she loved?

Amalia's breathing slowed, and she placed a protective hand on her belly. "You can’t fail at this, John. Promise me."

John nodded, his voice steady. "I promise."

With a final glance around the room, Amalia led them back out into the office. The storm outside seemed to mirror the turmoil within the mansion. 

Amalia’s grip loosened, and she let go of John gently, straightening his tie and collar with a shaky hand. “She hated this job because she felt like a murderer. I understand why she wants to be a criminal defense attorney. But if her marriage keeps our family safe…” She looked into his eyes, her own filled with tears. “If it means my children never have to grow up in this life, so be it.”

Tears began to spill down her cheeks as she stepped back, turning away quickly to hide her emotions. The weight of her words hung heavily in the room. Overwhelmed, she excused herself, rushing to the office trashcan and spitting up. The Bowery King, his face a mix of concern and respect, offered her some tissues, which she took gingerly to wipe her mouth.

John's mind raced, running through the information he'd gathered from each family member. There were inconsistencies and gaps, pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit together. He replayed the details: Nick’s exclusion of Michele and his focus on the marriage. David’s guilty expression and lack of knowledge about your whereabouts despite having trackers on you. Joselyn’s warm yet firm demeanor, her openness to share. The anger and protectiveness in Amalia’s voice, the deep-rooted family loyalties, and the sacrifices made.

Amalia, now composed but visibly drained, leaned against the desk. “She’s not just a tool, John. She’s my sister. We grew up together, suffered together. She deserves more than this. But I have a family of my own now.”

John nodded, his thoughts aligning. He needed to understand why [Name] had been forced into this role, why the family insisted on her marriage, and what it all meant for her future. He couldn’t afford to overlook any detail, any potential lead. The stakes were too high, not just for [Name], but for the entire family.

The Bowery King broke the silence, his voice gentle yet firm. “John, we need to get started. We can’t miss anything. Every detail matters.”

John agreed, his resolve strengthening. He turned to Amalia. “We’ll find her. And we’ll make sure she’s safe.”

Amalia nodded, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. “Thank you, John. Please… bring her home.”

With a final, solemn nod, John and the Bowery King left the office, as they were escorted out of the estate by the butler, Nick emerged from the shadows, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. John and the Bowery King exchanged nods with him, acknowledging the unspoken agreement between them. Nick watched them until they disappeared from view, his mind undoubtedly swirling.

Back in the car, the atmosphere was heavy with the weight of their conversation. The engine hummed softly as John navigated the winding roads, the only sound the occasional patter of rain against the windshield. After a few minutes of silent driving, John broke the silence.

“Alright,” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet. “Let’s go over everything.”

As John drove away from the estate, his mind buzzed with thoughts and suspicions. The Bowery King sat beside him, his eyes fixed on the road ahead as he recounted their discussions with each family member. They dissected every statement, every subtle nuance, searching for inconsistencies and hidden truths, trying to piece together the puzzle of your disappearance.

“I don’t trust Nick,” John said, his brow furrowing in thought. “He’s hiding something, I can feel it.”

The Bowery King chuckled, shaking his head. “You never trust anyone.”

John nodded in agreement, his gaze distant as he replayed their conversations in his mind. “And what about David? He seemed sincere, but there’s something he’s not telling us.”

As they delved deeper into their analysis, John and the Bowery King couldn’t shake the lingering questions that gnawed at them. The road stretched out before them, winding through the darkness as their conversation veered into speculation.

“What’s with the contrast between Joselyn’s husband and Amalia’s?” John mused, his voice tinged with skepticism. “Joselyn’s husband seems to have passed her test, but Amalia’s… I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

"She also didn't mention Michelle and Nick's marriage during the interview."

The Bowery King nodded in agreement, his brow furrowed in thought. “And what about Amalia? She seems genuinely sad about everything happening. But she’ll let her ‘sister’ take the fall before she does. It’s… unsettling.”

Their conversation turned to the possibility of David’s involvement in your disappearance. “Do you think David helped her escape?” John asked, his tone grave.

“Something about his demeanor… it’s off.”

The Bowery King considered this, his mind racing with possibilities. “And Michelle… is she really hiding out, or is there more to her story?” he pondered aloud. “She’s been missing for too long, and Nick’s desperation… it’s barely palpable.”

John furrowed his brow in thought, a realization dawning on him. “I didn’t know Sofia had a brother…” he murmured, his voice trailing off as he mulled over this new information.

The Bowery King chuckled lightly, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Maybe they aren’t close,” he quipped, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Despite the levity of the moment, John couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled over him. There were still too many unanswered questions, too many pieces of the puzzle that didn’t quite fit together. But he was determined to uncover the truth, no matter where it led.

How hard would it be for the Big Bad Wolf to find a little Fawn?

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This was long as shit, also posted on my ao3. If you see any mistakes just let me know. I don't have an editor yet.

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