#blue is usually associated with calmness

[psychicbluebirdmiracle]

Not me psycho analyzing all of the characters colors in lockwood and co again

[formula-nyoom]

Grid Graduation

Platonic!Grid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Being a racecar driver and actively pursuing a higher education is a feat in and of itself. You didn't let your career get in the way of going to college. But when racing seems to prevent you from attending your graduation ceremony, your fellow drivers decide to take matters into their own hands

A/N: Congratulations to all the people that are graduating this month or next month! I hope you guys have amazing celebrations. And to my fellow college students who still have a year or years left to go, we’re going to get through it, even if it seems like hell. I know that the color of the graduation gowns can vary by college or are usually black but I went with dark blue because that was the color of my gown when I got my associates degree. 

~~~

Some people would say it's stupid to try and get a bachelor’s degree while being a race car driver. 

“You already have a career. Why would you spend all your free time off track pursuing something you don’t really need?” is the question that was constantly asked to you during interviews. Your answer: because it was important to you. It’s common knowledge that karting and racing takes up most of a driver’s life. And while most drivers are able to pursue basic schooling and education during their karting days and early single seater days, once a driver makes it higher up the racing ladder, pursuing an education becomes second to trying to be the best race car driver on track. 

You on the other hand felt that your pursuit of racing should not get in the way of your education. And thankfully with the ability to take online classes, you didn’t have that worry. 

“You’ve refreshed that page five times in the last 30 seconds.” Alex said as you two sat in the drivers lounge. It was media day so thankfully neither of you had to worry about racing and instead your worry was focused on something else.

 “Can you blame me? I’m supposed to get sent an email that tells me whether or not I graduate today and I’m dying to know.” You said, refreshing the page again. You had finally completed all the required courses you needed to graduate and get your bachelors degree. Now you were just waiting for the confirmation that all the hard work, all the study sessions you had done between and after races, and all the all nighters was worth it. 

 “Have you gotten the email yet?” You looked up from your laptop to see Logan approaching with Oscar behind him. You refreshed the page again.

 “Nope. Still nothing.” You let out a frustrated sigh. All the other drivers knew about your pursuit of a college education while also being a race car driver. They had been nothing but supportive in your efforts and could tell how worried you were about having to wait for your college’s final decision on you graduating.

 “The email will come eventually. Staring at the screen isn’t going to help.” Oscar said. 

“I suppose you’re right.” You said, refreshing the page again. You were about to close your laptop, putting the matter temporarily to rest, when the page loaded and showed you had a new email. It was from your college.

 “It’s here!” You exclaimed. You were about to open the email when you paused your finger over the mouse pad.

“I don’t think I can open this. What if they deny me? Or what if this email tells me that I still have some courses that I need to pass to graduate?” You started nervously chewing on your bottom lip as worst case scenarios started to run through your head. Logan placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder

 “(Y/N), you’ve been working your ass off the past couple years to get this degree. They’d be stupid to not let you graduate.” Logan said. 

 “I can read the email for you first if you want.” Alex offered. That seemed to calm your nerves. You handed Alex the laptop and waited with bated breath as he opened the email. Anticipation started to build as it seemed to take forever for Alex to read the first line of the email

“Congratulations (Y/N) (L/N), you have met the requirements to graduate!” Alex exclaimed.

 “Really?” You grabbed the laptop and read the first line of the email that did indeed confirm that you were graduating. Logan and Oscar started to shake your shoulders in excitement as you started to laugh from happiness.

 “I’m graduating!” You exclaimed. Logan, Alex and Oscar let out cheers of excitement as you read the first lines of the email again.

“What’s with the excitement?” Charles asked as he and Max entered the driver’s lounge.

 “(Y/N) got the confirmation that she’s graduating college.” Alex said.

“Congratulations!”Max said. He ruffled your hair while Charles gave you a hug. You were practically beaming with happiness as you started to read the email out loud. 

“Congratulations (Y/N) (L/N), you have met the requirements to graduate! We commend you for this amazing accomplishment and we’d like you to attend the graduation ceremony on….June 7th.” Your voice trailed off after reading the date and your smile slowly started to drop.

 “Are you gonna go?” Oscar asked. You shook your head.

“I can’t. We’ll all be in Canada for Free Practice.” You said. It was true. Your college’s graduation ceremony was the same week of the Canadian Grand Prix.

 “Do you think your team will let you go?” Alex asked. “I mean, you’ve done Canada multiple times and you’ll do it again. But you only really graduate college once, especially considering you're a race car driver.”

 “I don’t think (Y/N)’s team will let her go. Free Practice isn’t something you can really miss.” Max said. He was right. Attending a graduation ceremony seemed like a trivial matter compared to your career. 

 “But (Y/N)’s worked so hard for this. Surely her team will understand.” Logan said.

“No, it’s…it’s ok if I miss the graduation ceremony. I’ve been given confirmation that I’m graduating and will get my diploma in the mail later this year. That’s enough for me.” You told them. But that wasn’t really true. You would have liked to attend the ceremony. If not for just the celebration but also for the sense of normalcy away from the racetrack and responsibilities of being a Formula One driver. 

 “Well we can still celebrate right? Maybe get all the drivers together for a dinner?” Charles suggested. You smiled a bit.

 “Yea Charles. A dinner would be nice. This is still a cause for a celebration. Even if I can’t go to the official one.”

Dinner with the other drivers was a nice celebration. It helped you forget about not being able to attend the graduation ceremony for a while. But the week of the Canadian Grand Prix seemed to bring up that fact again. It seemed the media wanted to remind you too.

 “Well, before we start taking questions, I’d like to say congratulations to you, (Y/N). It was recently let known that you’ve graduated college and now have a bachelor's degree.” The media commentator for the drivers press conference said to you as you sat on a couch next to George, Lando, Lewis, and Zhou. 

“Thank you. If I didn't have to be here in Canada, I'd actually be attending the graduation ceremony, which is happening tomorrow. But racing takes priority.” You smiled to hide some of your disappointment, but the other drivers seemed to notice.

 “I’m sure you and your family are proud of all your efforts. Maybe some of the drivers too?” The interviewer said, motioning to the drivers next to you.

“I’m insanely proud of (Y/N) for what she’s accomplished. She’s shown that racing shouldn’t get in the way of pursuing an education.” Lewis said.

 “I will say, (Y/N) has worked harder than anyone else on the grid.” Zhou said. 

“She won’t admit it herself though.” George said, nudging your side. You shook your head.

“In terms of something like this, even if I can’t attend a graduation ceremony, I’m proud of all the work I’ve done.” You said.

 “Well, I hope you celebrate or have already celebrated what is an immense accomplishment.” The interviewer said.

 “Me and the other drivers on the grid actually went out to dinner to celebrate the day I found out I was graduating to make up for the fact that I can’t attend the ceremony. It was a really nice dinner and I’m glad I have friends to celebrate my accomplishments with.” You smiled at your friends sitting next to you. They smiled back, but for a different reason. 

Despite your efforts to hide your disappointment, your fellow drivers could tell how upset you were about not being able to attend your graduation ceremony. And while the dinner was indeed nice, they wanted you to have a proper celebration for such an immense accomplishment.

That’s how George and Lando ended up knocking on your driver’s room door after interviews and media responsibilities were done for the day.

 “Hey guys. What’s up?” You asked as you opened the door for them.

“Put this on.” Lando handed you a bag with what you assumed had to contain clothing.

 “Why? What is it that you have handed me?” You gave him a skeptical look.

“Open the bag and find out.” Lando said. You did as he instructed and pulled out something made of dark blue fabric. At first you thought it was a dress, but unfurling it revealed to be a graduation gown. You tried not to frown. The only need for something like this would be for graduation photos, which you had already taken. But Lando and George were insistent and you decided to amuse their idea for now and put it on.

“Now what? You want me to get into a race car and drive around the track in a graduation gown?” George and Lando just laughed.

 “I don’t think the FIA will allow that. At least not in just the gown.” Lando said.

“Of course you can’t have the gown without the cap.”  George handed you a graduation cap with a tassel in your team color. The cap was decorated with a little race car on top that had a diploma trailing behind it. 

 “What’s…what’s all this for?” You asked, while putting the cap on. You don’t know why you decided to put the cap on, but did so anyway.

“It’s for your graduation ceremony of course.” Lando said. You frowned.

 “There’s no way I can attend that ceremony.” You said.

“We’re not talking about your college’s graduation ceremony. We’re talking about the one that’s happening right now.” George said. “Come on.”

George and Lando ushered you out of your driver’s room and started to lead you somewhere. You still looked at them with confusion. 

 “We already celebrated during that dinner.”

“But it wasn’t a proper ceremony.” Lando said, leading you towards the track entrance. By now, you were starting to suspect what George and Lando were up to. It wasn’t confirmed until they led you to the start line.

“You guys did not….” Rows and rows of chairs were set up on the track with a makeshift aisle in the middle. Each chair was filled with one of your fellow drivers or members of your team. Tears started to well up in your eyes at the realization of what was happening. 

 “We wanted you to have a proper graduation ceremony.” Lando said, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into a side hug. Now you were trying really hard not to cry.

 “C’mon. Everyone’s waiting for you.” George said. He and Lando walked you past all chairs, the drivers and team members applauding you as you walked past. 

Lewis and Fernando were standing at what was designated the stage and greeted you with a hug and a whispered “congratulations” as you approached. 

 “Shall we get started then?” Lewis, who had been designated the commencement speaker, said to get everyone’s attention. Everyone quieted down and took a seat

“We are gathered here to recognize the immense accomplishments of (Y/N) (L/N) in her pursuit of a higher education in the form of a bachelor's degree. Not only has she strived for what many have wanted to achieve, but did so while also managing the life of a Formula One driver. That is something not many can do.” Lewis said.

 “I now ask for Fernando to present the graduate with their diploma.” Fernando walked over to you and handed you a piece of paper, then the two of you shook hands as formality of a traditional graduation ceremony while George quickly snapped a photo. You looked at the “diploma” that was handed to you and couldn’t help but let out a laugh. It was a diploma template that you could find on the internet that included your name and the name of your college. Though the official seal had your team logo on it. 

“I now ask the graduate of 2024, to move your tassel from right to left and signify your newfound graduation status.” Lewis said. By now, it was getting really hard to try and keep the tears in as you moved the tassel from right to left. Lewis smiled.

 “It is my pleasure to present (Y/N) (L/N) as the grid’s graduating class of 2024.” Everyone stood up and applauded you. At this point you couldn’t keep the tears in any longer and started to cry but also cheer. Lewis pulled you into a hug, followed by Fernando, then Lando and George and it got to the point of just being a big group hug full of drivers.

 “Go on, toss the cap!” Logan exclaimed once the group hug broke away. Chants of “Toss it! Toss it!” started to echo till you took the graduation cap off and tossed it into the air, signifying that all that hard work was worth it.

[thekitsunesiren]

Dc x Dp #45

Danny becoming Jason's mom!

Because picture it! Jason, though been out of the Lazarus Pits for so long, fought against his entire being-his core! And because all of the fighting and resisting his new self caused it to repress into a smaller state. Thus, he had the core of a child, despite being an adult. It also doesn't help that he died as a child and clung unto his trauma.

But Jason didn't know this and continued with his former crime lord/vigilante lifestyle. Thinking that the rage pits was the only thing he had to be wary of and not what happens if he meets someone else that was from the Lazarus Pits or something similar.

He experienced this phenomenon when he took a walk through the park in his civilian attire as a change of pace and to clear his mind for the moment. The last mission he had with Bruce

As he walked, the sound of children laughter caused him to look up and see what was going on. In the park, two kids-siblings no doubt, were having a ball in the park simply chasing each other in their own version of tag. It was domestic enough to smile softly at the sight, a quiet chuckle escaping him.

Jason looked around to see if their parents were around watching them. And right on a bench was no doubtedly their parent. With black hair that seem to gleam in the direct light and blue eyes that seemed to be an impossible shade of blue. And those eyes were fondly watching the children laying around the park on their own.

Suddenly, Jason found himself under the heavy gaze of those eyes. Fondness turning to curiosity and hostility to longer he stared.

Snapping out his thoughts, he believed it was best to make a bit of small talk after no doubt seeming like a creep staring at them so intently.

Casually, or trying to seem casual, Jason approached them keeping his shoulders lax as not to seem as not too much of a threat. But the closer he got, the more this unfamiliar feeling bubbled within his chest. It wasn't the blinding rage that he usually associated with the pit. No, it was something different. Something positive.

It felt like a bubbling warmth that had the pits screaming for more. That the warmth was there. This person would take care of them. This person could help with the pits. This person was his-

"Momma." Jason murmured as he stared at the male, eyes widening with mortification as he realized that he said that out loud for the person to hear. He also realized that the pits had him in such a daze that he didn't realize that he had walked right over and sat next to the mystery person without a second thought.

Jason waited for them to react. To be called a creep or for them to storm away after gathering their children from where they were playing. Hell, he even expected them to scream and hit him in some manner.

Instead, he was met with eyes of confusion as well. The person beside him tilting their head as if debating something.

Then, Jason would've thought he imagined it if he wasn't looking at them, his eyes flashed green. The familiar pit green that Jason hated seeing. But his green held no anger or hatred that he was familiar with.

After their eyes returned to their icy blue, the person gave Jason an understanding smile. As if they knew why he called them that.

"Well, you're a bit older than my kids, but I'm sure we could work this out." The person said with a chuckle, reaching up and affectionately patting his shoulder. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

Jason felt as if his mouth dry as thought of how to answer. Was this weird? How could they be so calm about him walking up and calling them momma? Was this something pit related? How did this person know about the pits?

"Jason, mo-" He bit his lip as the name momma almost slipped out again. Instead, he coughed into his hand before looking at them again. "It's Jason."

The person chuckled affectionately at his hesitance. "Jason." The repeated with a fond smile. The way they said his name causing a familiar warmth to flutter in his chest that he hasn't felt in a while.

"I bet momma is a bit sudden since we just met and all." The person teased, smiling up at him. "But instead you're free to call me Danny if you want."

[draconic-desire]

🔶 Rex Dracorum 🔶

Yandere Zhongli x Reader

At this year’s Lantern Rite, you happen to cross paths with a dragon, much to the chagrin of the one who holds you in the palm of his hand. The result has you trapped between them.

Warnings: Very brief mention of nsfw at the end, implied kidnapping, forced relationship, yandere behavior. Basically my version of what would have happened if Zhongli and Neuvillette actually met at the Rite…

Despite the contract irrevocably binding you to the Lord of Geo, its progenitor allows you a surprising number of freedoms.

Sometimes, you can pretend like he didn’t steal your life away with a simple signature. That he didn’t back you into a corner, making you decide between two evils: to be his wife and mate, or watch as everything and everyone you ever cherished suffer the wrath of the rock.

Why me?, you would plead aloud, desperate for any loophole, any escape from your contract. Why a mortal geologist with only a few mora to her name?

You’re one of the few who appreciates the rock over the gem, my precious lapis, he’d reply cryptically. Always riddles and non-answers, layered statements garnished with polished words.

If you could reverse time, you would have refused his invitation for tea that first time. Little did you know that each of those subsequent meetings, each time you spent listening to his fantastical tales shared between steaming cups, you were digging your grave a foot deeper, his hold on you constricting an inch further.

Perhaps if you had rejected him outright, he would have viewed you not as a unique mineral, but as another insignificant pebble in a sea of endless, colorless sediment. As no more than the dirt beneath his boot.

Instead, you must seek refuge from him and his stifling, suffocating presence in the times between the cracks, like now, as you take in the transformed Liyue Harbor, adorned with lights and colors brighter than any precious stone.

Hailing from Liyue, the Lantern Rite has always been a time of celebration and reflection for you and your family. Now it represents one of the only times the invisible shackles are lifted from your frame.

Although Zhongli does initially insist on walking you through the harbor, arms interlocked as he parades you around while monologuing about Liyue’s rich history, he permits you to venture off on your own and explore while he entertains his associates or work clients during the day. Although you know there are constantly eyes on you, usually a certain grumbling yaksha, this precious time almost feels like normal.

Today, you’ve decided on a stroll through Qiaoyang Village. The quiet, leisurely existence that its inhabitants have adopted fills you with a rare tranquility. Walking at a slow pace among the many street vendors, the scent of tea leaves, fresh mint and spices, permeates your nose, beckoning you forward. Your tea stocks at home are getting a bit low, you mentally remark, and having some of your own gives you an excuse to occasionally opt out of the times Zhongli wants to drag you out again.

Your mind set, you turn to find yourself a fraction of a second from running straight into a wall of boxes.

No—looking down, you spot a pair of black and gold boots, leading up to black trousers and elegant blue robes. A pair of matching gloves holds the boxes in place. There’s actually a person carrying all of those parcels.

Due to the boxes obscuring their view, they notice you too late—with startlingly quick reflexes, they manage to avoid running into you, but given their sudden halt mid-step, the boxes in their arms go toppling to the ground.

You gasp at your stupidity and immediately drop to your knees to maintain the stranger’s fallen goods. Embarrassed at your carelessness, you stumble over your words. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t see you—”

A gloved hand rests on your own scrambling fingers, calming your frantic attempt to organize the items. “No apologies necessary. I am the one at fault for not being more alert.”

Turning to face the stranger, who is now crouching beside you, the air in your lungs extinguishes as your eyes lock.

Undoubtedly, this man is one of the most handsome individuals you’ve ever laid eyes on.

Long, silver hair cascades around his sharp, defined features: almond eyes with striking lilac irises, high cheekbones and full lips, a tall, muscular frame clearly sculpted with subtle muscle. His attire—sapphire robes, adorned with lighter accents and intricate whirls of ocean blues—is clearly of expensive taste and sophistication. The jabot and dewdrop pendant around his neck suggest he’s Fontainian, perhaps associated with the court there.

You must look like a gaping fish out of water, for the man helps you to your feet with a kind smile. “I must have given you quite the startle. Are you feeling alright?”

His deep baritone rings through you, similar yet so unlike the proud voice of the Geo Archon you’ve grown accustomed to. Blinking twice, you regain your bearings and pray to the Seven—excluding one in particular, who would be very unhappy with you—that the man didn’t notice you gawking at him. “Ah, yes, I’m fine. Again, I’m very sorry for being so distracted. If any of your items are damaged, I’m more than happy to pay for replacements.”

“That is quite generous of you, but I can assure you that won’t be necessary. You see, these boxes merely contain tea, nothing more.” To prove his claim, he bends down to retrieve a box that opened when it landed, revealing simple, sealed bags of leaves.

Your shoulders sag in relief. It truly seems like no damage was done. “Well, at least let me help you wrap them up together. I know a trick that will make carrying them all much easier.”

The white-haired male nods, followed by a subtle smile. “That’s very kind of you. I accept your proposal.”

After a quick stop at another stall to buy twine, you start to work on binding the boxes together. You count more than ten in total—who needs that much tea, anyway? The amount of it is almost comical, but you can’t bring yourself to actually poke fun of the man. Not when he’s looking at you with such an endearing smile. Like he’s seeing you, not just the wife of the Lord of Geo.

Your face heats. “So,” you start, trying to focus on your knots and ties and not the stranger’s eyes boring into you, “can I ask why you’re carrying so much tea?”

“Well, I originally was transporting some goods back to Fontaine for my friends and colleagues, but I decided to partake myself. It was buy ten boxes get half off,” he replies, as calmly as if he were stating an obvious fact.

You can’t help it. A giggle escapes your lips as you quirk your head to the side. The innocence with which this man admitted to being scammed endears you greatly, and you can’t help but play along with him. “You know, that’s a pretty good deal.”

He smiles, then, a subtle thing paired with a tinge of pink along his cheeks. “I thought so, too.”

Your smile grows in tandem. Speaking to others, especially other men, without your husband hovering above the conversation is quite rare for you these days—though you have no doubt you’ll be questioned about it later once Xiao reports the encounter to him, if he hasn’t already—

A hand rests on your shoulder, the landing a bit too heavy and the grip a bit too tight. “Ah, my beautiful wife. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

The sound of Zhongli’s voice sends a jump through your bones. Archons, you knew you were being followed, but you’ve never been located and corralled this quickly. A flame of indignation, which has long since dimmed from an inferno to a mere flicker, sparks in your chest. You’re rightly upset that your time has been cut short, and even before you learned this interesting and undeniably attractive foreigner’s name.

You look up at Zhongli and open your mouth to explain the situation, that you were merely helping the other man secure his absurd amount of tea boxes, but the words die in your throat.

The Lord of Geo’s amber gaze is sharp and deadly as stone, directed at the other man. His jaw tightens and he grinds out, “Neuvillette.”

The silver-haired man’s eyes narrow as his gaze roams from the hand on your shoulder to meet Zhongli’s glower. “Rex.”

Your brow furrows in confusion as you glance back and forth between the two men who look two moments away from ripping each other to ribbons. It’s obvious they know each other, and the name Neuvillette rings a bell of recognition in your mind. But what really concerns you is the term by which Neuvillette called Zhongli. To your knowledge, no one refers to your captor as Rex Lapis except Xiao, who knows of his draconic—

Oh. Oh.

The realization slams into you with a wave of clarity as your head slowly turns toward the other man. The silver, slitted pupils, the shimmering blue horns and pointed ears, the aura of power and hydro around him…

Horrified, your mouth falls open as you truly take in this man, Neuvillette.

No, not a man. The restored leader of Fontaine, the Hydro Sovereign.

You’ve been casually conversing with not only a dragon, but also the Chief Justice of the Region of Justice. One of the original powerhouses of Teyvat, from which the Seven gained their gnoses. And, given the death of the Hydro Archon, there is currently only one in existence restored to their full power.

“Shit,” you breathe, a bit too loudly. Purple and gold irises snap to you in sync, one filled with thinly veiled concern and questioning and the other with building anger and possession.

On cue, Zhongli snakes his arms around your waist, pulling you taut against his side. You swear you feel the hint of claws digging into your skin through the fabric of your dress, the remnants of his exuvia form.

“I had hoped to avoid meeting you here,” Zhongli states, eyes roaming over the scene, the scattered tea boxes, the twine in your hand, as he pieces together the situation, “but my wife is too kind for her own good sometimes.”

Neuvillette’s eyes browse over your form, examining your tense muscles and downtrodden eyes, the arms that remain at your sides. He’s seen cases just like this time and time again in court, but even so, it doesn’t take a legal profession to ascertain that you’re not particularly fond of your husband. And given Morax’s propensity for contracts, Neuvillette’s senses immediately go on alert.

The Chief Justice clears his throat. “Not at all. I think it quite generous of her to have dedicated her time to making my travels easier.” He tries to give you a reassuring smile, but you’re too focused on Zhongli who, despite his collected demeanor, you realize is a thread away from snapping.

Just what kind of battle between dragons have you gotten yourself into the middle of?

“Is that so? Perhaps she took pity on an old man such as yourself. I hear it can be difficult to carry so much after you’ve departed from your prime.”

“Old man?” Neuvillette barks a laugh, but quickly coughs and regains his composure. “Quite ironic coming from you, Rex. Besides, I feel quite reinvigorated these days. One can only assume it’s due to the balances of power returning to their rightful due.”

Zhongli flashes a hint of his canines, the only giveaway to his building rage. “Rightful is quite a biased term. We wouldn’t want to start a war now, would we?”

Neuvillette’s eyes glint like a sword ready for battle. “And you would know quite a bit about inciting wars, wouldn’t you, Rex?”

Dear Archons, you need to stop this before these two lunge at each other’s throats.

“Zhongli,” you try to placate with a soft voice, the name and tone you know he so adores from you, “I believe that Neu—uh, the Chief Justice was on his way back to Fontaine. I only wanted to help him wrap up his purchases correctly for the journey. If we assist him together, then we can head to the Pavilion for tea after, yes?” Part of you is disgusted at yourself for having to grovel, but you can’t allow two immensely powerful draconic beings to brawl over tea in the middle of the village.

Though you have an strong inkling that the argument isn’t over tea.

Your suggestion lands. Zhongli’s muscles relax as he peers down at you, those immovable, amber eyes softening slightly as he drinks you in. The roaming hands across your back and waist, however, hint that you’ll be getting an earful in private. Though of the likely punishments he has in store for you, that’s the least of your worries.

With a single snap of his fingers, Zhongli uses the power of geo to bind Neuvillette’s parcels together. “There. Consider the issue resolved. My wife and I have matters to attend to.”

Zhongli quickly begins to pull you away, and you think you hear a growl over your shoulder from Neuvillette’s direction. “Careful, Rex. I would be most displeased to have to take one of your contracts to court. In the face of the law, they aren’t as omnipotent as you believe them to be.”

You wince, the statement hitting a bit too close to home. Zhongli, on the other hand, goes as still as stone. “That sounds awfully like a threat, Neuvillette.”

“A mere warning. It is of your own fault to read too deeply into it.”

Neuvillette then turns his attention to you, placing a single tea box into your shaking hands. You have no clue when he separated it from the rest.

Leaning in, his voice drops, low enough to be directed to you, yet you know Zhongli hears it clearly. “You are more than welcome to Fontaine. I will see to your accommodations personally, if you so choose to visit. I believe a spirit like yours would be greatly appreciated in our nation.”

All you can do is shake your head forlornly. Never in a million lifetimes will Zhongli allow it, not even before this encounter. You’ll have to settle for seeing Fontaine through your dreams alone.

Straightening with a frown but understanding the position you must be in, of the contract that binds you to the Geo Archon, Neuvillette lets the matter drop. He turns to leave, but not before throwing over his shoulder, “And her name isn’t wife, Rex. It’s…”

You swallow thickly. “(Y/n),” you finish, a mere breath.

Neuvillette gives you a final smile in return. “My offer will always stand, (Y/n). Happy Lantern Rite.”

Moments after he’s out of sight, Zhongli dips his nose into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent and rubbing his over your skin. “You stink of that other male…but I know how to amend that.”

Needless to say, you did not make it to tea that afternoon.

It wasn’t until that night when Zhongli was asleep, clawed limbs and scaly tail entangled with your naked form, that you deem it safe to open the tea box Neuvillette gifted to you.

Core pounding, you grimace as you stand, the many possessive and claiming bite marks and bruises across your skin even worse than usual. He didn’t lie about wiping any scent of the other dragon away, if the past few hours of nonstop sex were any indication.

You make your way to the kitchen trash, where Zhongli had immediately disposed of it upon arriving home. Heart pounding, you lift the lid.

A shimmering blue vision reflects in your pupils.

[killuintense]

could you write a one shot of Leon and fem!reader talking about having a baby together? Leon assuming he would have to go easy on the alcohol and y/n happy to give Leon baby plsss ily<3 vvvv

❝ baby fever ❞

leon kennedy x fem!reader.

summary: the idea of confessing to you that incessant idea in his head to tell you that you would be an excellent mother, was consuming Leon.

content: 1.3k words, fluff, mention of pregnancy, a very cheesy and sweet Leon, mention of alcoholism, comfort.

note: i loved placing your request, thank you very much for making it and i hope you enjoy it, ilyyyy ♡ ♡

The night seemed to be calm and typical for that season of the year. The breeze was gently breezing and ruffling Leon's ashen hair as he quietly opened the door of the house without trying to make too much noise. It wasn't too late, but he didn't want to be loud, especially after spending all day at the main D.S.O. base taking care of paperwork and reports after his last assignment at Alcatraz prison. He laughed when he remembered your concern the moment you learned that he had been infected by a virus, blaming you for not accompanying him as you usually did being an important agent of the association.

"Ahmmm..." he heard a soft sound emitted by you from the kitchen and soon remembered that little detail. Your best friend had asked you as a last minute favor to babysit her baby for that whole day as family problems had arisen. She remembered the image of the morning. You, holding in your arms that little girl with golden hair and chubby cheeks, you and your look of love and tenderness. Leon would bet that he had never seen you make that face before, and a strange feeling welled up in his chest. Almost as if from his heart exploding in a feverish sense of need it was present "So goood, what a good girl, you like applesauce, don't you?" a complicit chuckle let itself be heard and Leon hesitated to enter the kitchen where your voice came from. He hesitated because he knew that if he came in and saw you behaving in such a natural and loving way with the little baby, many incoherent words and impulsive ideas would come out of his mouth.

However, the day had been long enough without wanting to see his beloved so he didn't hesitate to leave his blue leather jacket hanging in the entrance and enter the kitchen, watching how you held little Rosemary in your arms and gave her that preparation with enthusiasm "My love..." it almost came out in a sigh, and you admired it with surprise.

"Leon!" the excitement could be heard in your voice and dazzled in your eyes "I didn't hear the door, I'm sorry I didn't welcome you, Honey" you smiled and took the baby's little hand to improvise a greeting to Leon. He could feel his face heat up and if it wasn't for the baby on top of you, he would have run to lock you in his arms, sinking into a kiss that only he was capable of giving you. Before he could speak any more, though, the doorbell rang and soon you both realized that it was probably your friend finally showing up as promised.

He could see the disappointment in your eyes, knowing that if it was for you you could have her for another day playing with your cheeks as she laughed with amusement; and the blond wondered if he couldn't fall more in love, wondered if his love for you would make him explode. He needed to make you more his than you already were. He needed to sink into you in a different way and mark you, leave something of him forever in you.

"I really wish she would have stayed longer" you mentioned once the baby joyfully welcomed her mother's arms "You know you can trust me if you need help again" you offered and exchanged words of encouragement with your friend, cheering her up and congratulating her on having such a beautiful baby. Leon also waved, stood behind you with that soft smile he was only naturally able to do when he had you around. But he wasn't being enough. He wanted to close the damn door and tell you about that crazy idea that had been going around in his head since that morning he saw you with a little baby in your arms, about that feeling that invaded him when he took you by the waist hugging you and leaving a kiss on your lips and a soft caress on the little one's cheek before saying goodbye and leaving for work. He felt for the first time the feeling of a.... family. A family he only wanted to have if it was with you.

"Ah..." once you closed the door you stretched and yawned, hanging on the back of Leon's neck to hug him tightly "I really miss you today, big boy" you teased at the nickname, depositing a kiss on his jawline as scarred as it was rough, feeling the stubble of a couple of days unshaven.

"I missed you more..." he seemed as self-absorbed as ever, moving his hands from your waist to your belly, caressing it gently. It caught your attention that he would do that, of course, but you assumed he was affectionate because of the distance and remoteness that had consumed you during that week due to work. But you didn't think that Leon's mind was wandering in a need so primitive that it even saddened him "You really would make an excellent mother" he suddenly blurted out, staring at you as he gently bumped his forehead against yours and closed his eyes, sorry for pushing you into that situation.

"Is that a proposal, Kennedy?" you smiled, you loved it when he got shy like that. That remembered you when he was younger and still didn't know how to handle himself, how he wasn't able to carry all the traumas he had on his shoulders. "Leon... do you really think I would make a good mother?" you asked unsurely, a pressure in your chest made as it dawned on you that Leon wanted you to be the mother of his children. That he wanted to take that step with you.

"Obviously! Fuck, sometimes I find myself thinking about that too much" he smiled, kissing your cheek repeatedly causing you to giggle in amusement "Can you imagine? A little girl running all over the house, accompanying us everywhere, laughing and being happy..." his voice trailed off softly and he smiled "Being happy like we would have liked to be at some point. Not thinking about abandonment and the sadness of not having a home to return to" he squeezed your waist, as if trying to be aware that you were there, that you hadn't faded away. "And I know that last year was terrible... but I need to start again, I need to forget that I can drown my sorrows in alcohol" he murmured, ashamed of himself.

"Leon..." you took his cheek and smiled, kissing his lips softly "You'll make an excellent father, you know that, don't you?" a sparkle came into Leon's eyes, almost as if the hope of a future was opening in front of him, holding your hand, happy to move forward "Although to be honest, I'd like a mini Leon" you laughed, brushing your nose against his, in a sweet Eskimo kiss.

"If it's with you I wouldn't mind having a litter of mini Leons" he joked, though in a corner of his mind his almost animal instinct thought that if you let him he was capable of filling you completely until you couldn't take any more. 'We're not rabbits... for now' he thought, and chuckled to himself before he felt you pull away to go to the kitchen.

"Especially since I'm sure if she grows up to be a girl, she's going to be a spoiled daddy's princess" you said loud enough for him to hear and started cleaning up the dishes you had messed up during the day. Soon a giggle came closer and Leon's soft footsteps came into view, catching you around the waist as he let out a mocking sigh in your ear, sending a burst of electricity down your spine.

"Don't be like that, if you love that I spoil you, mh" he kissed your neck and you couldn't help but feel your body temper. You wouldn't give up that feeling of need for anything, that feeling of Leon wanting and having the instinct to take you in a way beyond what himself could have thought. You couldn't wait for the day to come, to one day have the privilege of having a seed of him growing inside you.

[lxvebun]

flurry of colours

synopsis: asking the genshin boyfriends what color they see you as

content: Alhaitham/Kazuha/Wriothesley x gender neutral reader. Fluff! Use of nickname darling/dove. Wrio is pretty short I wasn't entirely sure how to write him😭. English is not my first language so i'm sorry for any mistakes♡

D*rk content blogs do not interact (*a)

Alhaitham

"It's not your problem if Kaveh's struggling with his color schemes, darling" he replies quickly, not even bothering to look up from the page in his book.

"Archons, Haitham, it's not like that. Just look at me and imagine what color I radiate :)

he sighs a little, closing the book but keeping his fingers between the pages. Even if he thinks it's a bit of a silly question, he does take a moment to let his eyes trace over you, shamelessly letting them linger on your lips too. for a second you think he's actually going to answer your question but then you see him failing to suppress a smirk and his gaze meets yours with an expression you can only describe as Are you serious?

"Humor me Alhaitham"

Alright, let me think.. he completely closes his book this time, placing it in front of him on his desk and rests his head on his hand

"Colors can actually invoke a lot of thoughts and impressions. Most people associate red with warmth, and passion, but also with danger or fear depending on the context. A lot of people view black as a masking color be it clothes to hide certain parts of yourself or the shadows in your nightmares, but you can also see it as a protective color as it doesn't reflect. Blue is usually related to the sea, the lighter tones with sunny mornings walking along the shore, darker tones of blue can relate to the deep cold unknown depth that's hidden from prying eyes......if I had to describe you a color..it would be green. Not necessarily because of the associations with it, wisdom, calmness, and hope. which do apply to you don't get me wrong, but green is my favorite color, and you're my favorite person. Simple as that. Now, care to read with me for a bit?

*he's so annoying but he does it so well. Bites him*

Kazuha and wrio under the cut♡

Kazuha

kazuha has been a bit gloomy as of lately. His usual flowery words have lost their petals, His leatherbound notebook has not made an appearance in a while, neither have the little poems he writes for you to wake up to, and his fingers are clean, not covered with his usual, and at this point, you believed to be permanent, ink stains. It's clear he's been going through the infamous writers block. something that most artist go through and also get out of but it's nonetheless an infuriating part of being an creative individual. But since Kazuha has made you his muse as he told you many many times before, who are you to not try and help inspire your lovely boyfriend.

It takes you a while of bringing him to random locations for sunset walks or stargazing and asking him random questions until one finally hits the spot. His eyes immediately lighting up as he turns to you with such a warm expression of love and adoration you're pretty sure your heart skipped a beat

"That's a very beautiful question, dove"

He takes a moment to think about it, eyes lovingly tracing over every little detail of you, the backlight of the sun, the glimmer of the waves shining in your eyes

"I don't think describing you as one color does you justice. You shift hues as softly and gently as the day shifts into night, and the sun makes place for the moon in the sky. But if I do have to say just one, I see hints of purple in you, but that could also be because the color reminds me of my hometown and everytime I look at you, my soul feels at home" He answers with a new found excitement in his voice

"Actually, maybe I can use this for a poem-"

*i'm projecting can you tell?*

Wriothesley

You often come down into the fortress to spend some time with him on his break. With both of you living on different levels of Fontaine, you'll take any chance you can get to be around him and even when it's not officially his break time, he could never say no to you....or tea time

That's why you're here now sitting on the edge of his desk as he hastily discared the paperwork to make room for the teapot and biscuits. As quickly as the tea flows, the conversation passes from deep and meaningful, romantic ones, to terrible jokes and banter as both of you just talk about whatever comes to mind.

So he doesn't raise an eyebrow when you ask him what colors remind him of you. it's quite endearing how he just goes along with whatever silly questions or requests you throw at him without making you feel embarrassed about it

"Probably between a pearlescent white and a warm honey yellow."

"Interesting answer...why?"

"the colours remind me of the sun and the moon, and living at the bottom of the ocean here in the fortress we don't have either of those of course. You're the closest thing I have to feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin or experiencing calm atmosphere of the moonlight. And to be honest I prefer you over the real thing♡"

Hes so cute *cries*

Thank you for reading angels!♡

[verbenaa]

so that i may dream tonight

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:

It was a special torture to be unable to touch him, you decide. You want nothing more than to brush your fingers through his curls as you come, to caress the delicate point at the top of his ears, feel the smoothness of his skin on your fingertips.

It feels absolutely filthy, to be tied up like this, your pleasure left to Astarion’s will as you are powerless to simply lay in wait for whatever he has in store.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Astarion/Reader

𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut, fluff, slice of life!

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 9.1k

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: body worship, massage, blow jobs, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, light bdsm, vampire bites, discussion of safe words, vaginal sex, vampire sex, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, soft dom astarion, TAILOR ASTARION

𝑎/𝑛: I'm back with round 2 baby and somehow its 2k words longer lol. ANYWAYS, this is incredibly indulgent and warm and sexy and INTIMATE. I'm literally screaming. I truly don't know how this ended up so long but oH WELL. anyway, I hope you enjoy reading! below is the a03 link too if you'd prefer to read over there!

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

ao3 here

masterlist

The water is warm against your skin as you lean back against the edge of the wooden tub, hair arranged in a loose pile barely contained with haphazardly placed gold pins as you recline, your eyes wandering up to greet the carved beams of the ceiling that sit resolutely above you. 

It had been a decidedly long day, working deep within the walls of the city beside Wyll, who it had been altogether wonderful to see again after such an extended period. You still weren’t entirely sure why the two of you had been summoned together to help manage Guild politics of all things, but you suppose that this was simply the nature of your semi-recent and highly publicized acts of heroism.

The tension had built up in your body throughout it all, leaving you more ready for the respite of your home than usual. It had been quite some time since you had spent so many hours in the daylight, the warmth of the sun on your skin never unwelcome, but a rarity you were no longer so familiar with. The deep, velvety blue that marked the night sky had long since become associated with your waking hours, the twinkling stars a welcome companion from their place high above your head.

Your mind wanders aimlessly through a myriad of thoughts, barely focusing on one before jumping quickly to the next faster than you can keep up with. With a deep sigh, you attempt to center yourself, though anything that even closely resembled the act of meditation wasn’t your strong suit. You manage to keep it up for a minute before giving up with a roll of your eyes as you instead move to stare blandly at a botanical tapestry hanging on the wall across from you, the calming greens of woven plants blending into one another.

You lose yourself to your musings once again, going over your day and what was to come, trying to make sense of it all, mind drifting from thought to thought as you luxuriate in the lavender scented water Astarion had so kindly readied for you.

Time passes, though you aren’t quite sure how long, the water losing its steam and the soothing heat finally subsiding, drawing you away from your imaginings and you reluctantly find yourself back in the present with a long-suffering sigh. Your head raises from its resting place on the side of the tub, the stretch of your spine drawing an appreciate groan from you as you sit upright.

“All that work for a hot bath and you’re already done?” You turn to glance over your shoulder at Astarion from where he rests indolently on the bed, clad only in a pair of loose silk pants and book held aloft in an elegant hand, looking for all the world a king presiding over an invisible court as the sheer canopy that surrounds the bed blows lightly in a breeze from the open window.

“Apologies to any sore muscles hurt in the act of carrying buckets of water.” You flash him a wink as you roll your head from side to side, stiff muscles protesting the motions.

“Shall I try a more…aggressive approach towards reheating, love?” He holds a hand up, ready to set spark with the inherent elven magic that runs through his veins, a incredibly familiar devious smile on his lips. It was terribly easy to forget he had such skills sometimes, when those hands seemed so much more well-suited for tasks of a more cunning nature.

“I’d rather you not accidentally turn our only tub to cinders, if you don’t mind.” Your raise a brow and fix a look back at him, daring him to try such an act.

“Suit yourself, darling.” He sends a smirk your direction as you turn back to face forward in the bath, his eyes never straying from your form as he watches stray droplets of water make trails down the exposed skin of your neck.

In a last ditch effort to prolong your bath, you push your body under the water until only your head remains above, intent to grasp at the last vestiges of warmth the water will offer before you move to stand.

The water sluices off your form as you emerge, dripping over the fullness of your breasts and rushing down your belly in smooth rivulets that fall back into the swirling bath below. Steam rolls off your limbs as your body meets the coolness of the air, skin still tender from the heat as you make to step out of the tub and onto a small stool, grabbing at a folded towel left nearby. Limb by limb, you make to gently pat at the wetness clinging to you, the tiny beads of water like little crystals decorating your skin, before settling the towel to rest over the top of the partition screen. 

You make your way over herringbone floors on raised toes, trying to avoid any stray drops from falling onto the wood beneath your feet. Only a moment passes before you finally feel the soft weave of a rug against your feet as you find yourself at your destination.

The shared dressing table sits in front of the bed, wood worn with years of use as a collection of multicolored jars and vials of oils rest on a painted tray strategically placed to hide the worst of the wear. A silver hairbrush rests beside the tray, carefully maintained with no sign of tarnish on the intricate design of the handle, clearly well loved through the years.

The air is refreshing against the your warmed skin as you reach for a small glass vial at random, the viscous amber of the oil inside swishing from side to side as you bring it to your hand. You uncork it with familiar motions and pour the scented oil into the palm of your hand, careful not to spill any onto the patterned rug beneath your feet.

With small, sweeping motions you rub the oil into your skin, mindful to try to reach every inch you can, the scent of bergamot and jasmine (one of Astarion’s curations, surely) filling the room with an easy and familiar warmth. You pay no mind to anything other than your self-care, allowing your focus to settle wholly on the act and nothing more.

Astarion is near silent as he rises from the bed behind you, moving with ethereal grace towards your naked form. You don’t take notice of his presence until he is upon you, the feeling of his cool, muscular arms wrapping around your waist from behind causing a noise of surprise to tumble from your lips. 

The feeling of his cool skin against the warmth of your own makes you jump, nipples hardening and gooseflesh rising on your arms as his hands brush against your belly in affection. His angular jaw comes to rest on your shoulder, nose skimming the elegant column of your neck as he presses in close.

“Need any help, darling?” The words brush against the shell of your ear, his lips touching your skin with every word uttered as the hands wrapped around your waist tighten to bring you even closer to his own form.

“Well, if you’re offering, how could I say no?” You relax into the embrace of your lover, his hands sweeping up and down the flesh of your stomach before finding their way to your tense shoulders.

His hands are a balm on your skin as he rubs the remaining oil into your skin in soothing circles, fingers lightly massaging at your sore muscles. Your head falls back to rest on his shoulder as your eyes close at the sensation of his hands on you, reveling in his attentions with a contented hum.

“Why such a bad day, dearest?” Astarion’s question is genuine as he glances up from your skin to glimpse your expression as he waits for your reply. 

“Hm, not quite so bad as long. I think I’m out of practice at this whole hero thing.” Your words are a sigh as his hands work at the muscles of your shoulders, thumbs digging in to release the tension sitting heavily there. 

“I don’t blame you. A day with Wyll’s tireless chivalry would push me to my limits as well.” You snort in response at his supposed honestly, though frankly you are inclined to think he might actually like Wyll for his eternal kindness, but you know he’d never admit such a thing out loud.

Astarion gathers more oil in the center of his palms before his hands continue, moving from your shoulders to your arms and onward, to the curve of your lower back and around the circle of your hips; careful to never press hard enough to cause pain but with enough pressure to relieve your tired body. His thumbs press into the muscles with precision, you body becoming more lax with every pass of his hands.

Astarion lowers to his knees behind you when he is satisfied with his progress, hands skating over your rear as they make their way down your legs, nothing less than reverence in the motions as he smooths his hands down and then back up the skin of your thighs and calves, intent to touch every inch of skin available to him. 

The movement of his hands on your legs, brushing high on your thighs brings a subtle heat alighting inside you, barely a flicker, but just enough for the feeling of arousal to start deep inside much to your slight embarrassment for hoping such innocent touches would turn into more.

There’s a sudden shift in his touches, you realize, Astarion’s motions transitioning from methodical to subtle teasing with every pass, daring to go a little higher on every turn up your thighs before darting back down again to more neutral territory. You shift slightly at the feeling, wishing for more but refusing to acknowledge the urge to push your thighs together to ease the slow growing ache.

Astarion must take notice, you think, so close to the warm center of your body, must be able to smell the soft embers marking the start of your arousal. His hands finally stop their ministrations, moving instead to grasp around the bones of your hips as he presses a single kiss to the base of your spine, before pressing another right above it. Slowly he begins to rise, kiss by kiss, as he follows the line of your spine from your hips upwards; lips moving to touch the back of your waist, the space between your shoulder blades, the base of your neck. 

His lips are as cold as winter air yet they feel like a brand with every press against the column of your spine, stoking the fire deep inside your core with startling ease. 

He raises back up to his full height, his hands draped around your waist once more as he leans in to press a kiss against your cheek, drawing hypnotic patterns against your lower belly knowingly. You lean back into his kiss, head tilting, and rest your body back against his own. As you put your weight into his safe embrace, you feel a familiar hardness pressing lightly against the bare skin of your ass, covered by the same luxurious silk as the pants he wears low on his hips.

Your lips curl, victorious at your discovery and you bring your hands to cover his own where they rest on your stomach before drawing one up along the sinew of his arm to instead press against to the solid expanse of his abs. 

Daringly, you move the hand lower, fingers dancing over the dip of his hips to brush against the subtle erection pressing against his silken pants. Astarion’s body bucks into your own at your touch, the hands around your waist suddenly gripping harder as you continue your exploration.

“If those hands of yours keep wandering, you’ll leave me no choice but to tie them up, darling.” His words are teasing, a gleam of affection in his claret eyes as his head moves low to nip playfully at your throat.

You quirk your brow at such a delicious idea, and with a purposeful motion your hand presses harder against him, finger tracing the curve of his cock with mock innocence. 

“If that’s supposed to be a threat, it’s a very poor one.” You lean your head to the side, giving more room for his lips to move against.

Astarion lets out a disappointed sigh, one hand sliding up from your stomach to palm at your breast, squeezing lightly as he runs a thumb over the nipple in response to your shameless disobedience. His other hand travels lower, fingers brushing past your stomach to reach between your legs and glide through the wetness he finds there as he lets out an audible tsk, the beginnings of your arousal decorating his fingers as a low moan escapes your lips.

“You just never learn, do you?” You gasp at glide of the oil on his fingers against your skin as Astarion weighs your breast in his palm with one hand, the other pressing lightly against your clit, your back arching at the sensation. Your pleasure lasts but a moment, Astarion’s hands moving back to hold at your waist once more, and you whimper at the loss.

He walks the few short steps backwards towards the bed, pulling you in tow until his knees meet the soft edge of the mattress and he lets himself fall backward, taking you with him.

Your bodies land to rest upon the blankets with a soft bounce, Astarion’s arms still around you as a small laugh bubbles up from your throat. It only takes a second for you to quickly turn in his arms, pressing your naked breasts against his bare chest as your eyes meet his own in mirth.

His hands never leave your waist, fingers dancing up the curve of your spine as your legs find their place on either side of his hips. You let your body melt into his own, quick to begin to press kisses into the expanse of his chest below you. Your lips make their way towards his neck as you push yourself up to straddle him, his hands falling to rest on your thighs where they bracket his hips.

The growing wet of your core presses against his lower stomach and the feeling of your arousal on his skin does not escape his notice. With a feline smile, the hands on your thighs make their way back to your waist and with the lightest of pressure, Astarion encourages you to move your hips. 

Your breath catches at the feeling as you move to work with him, his hands guiding you back and forth to grind yourself against his chiseled stomach as the hands on his chest steady your movements. Astarion’s eyes meet your own as he helps you along, each slow brush of your clit against his skin has your pleasure building, your lips falling open as your desire multiplies. 

Astarion moves a hand up your body as your hips find their cadence against him, only stopping when he reaches the curve of your breast, brushing a finger lightly along the full bottom of it as your hips undulate against him.

“You’re so very beautiful like this.” His eyes are molten with mounting desire as he watches you move back and forth on his body, your nipples pebbling under his touch and your wetness growing with every pass along him.  

“I could say the same to you,” You hips move with seductive grace, gliding across him. “It’s quite a treat to have such a beautiful man like yourself beneath me.”

Astarion brings his wandering hand back to your empty hip before drawing it farther down to press against the place where your slick glistens against his pale skin. He draws a finger through the dew he finds on his abdomen, gathering it on a fingertip before pressing it into his mouth to lick at your arousal. 

“Delicious, as always.” His eyes are the deepest of garnet, sensuous as they meet your own.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight, empty core clenching with want as an idea forms in your mind, one that promises certain pleasure to you both. Swiftly, you lift yourself off his chest to slide lower, your dripping folds brushing against the silk covering his cock, darkening the fabric before you continue down until your knees touch the ground before the bed. Your sudden change of position has Astarion leaning up onto his elbows, watching you intently as your hands run up and down his covered thighs.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” You meet his eyes, a coquettish smile on your lips as your hands move higher, brushing dangerously close to his hardness. You lean your head in and lick lightly against a slight dampness you see on the silk, eyes never leaving his as Astarion’s hips jump and a sigh breaks from his lips.

“Do you want me to?” Your question is genuine as you move your head away from his erection, giving him space to answer as your eyes gaze at his elegant features, waiting for his blessing.

“Do your worst, darling.” His lips take on their trademark roguish grin in response to the sly one now decorating your own. The sight of you on your knees before him is always a welcome one, and he would be remiss to deny such a gift of pleasure from you.

Astarion moves to sit, intent on not missing a single moment as he helps you free his hardened cock from the silk of his pants in a flurry of movement before they are discarded onto the floor, soon to be forgotten entirely.

“It would be my honor.” The words leave your lips moments before they press against his newly uncovered heat, searing kisses moving against the vein running from the crown to the base of him. You lick greedily at the precome leaking from the tip before laving your tongue along the head of his cock, a hand coming to brush lightly against the base before your fist closes around him.

You feel his hands in your hair, nimble fingers finding the golden pins barely holding your hair up before throwing them to the side with surprising accuracy, until they’ve all but disappeared under furniture never to be found again. Your hair falls in a messy curtain around your face, Astarion quick to brush through the errant locks as your mouth works him. 

Astarion lets you move at your own pace, basking in the feel of your soft lips and clever tongue working around his cock in fluid motions as the moans that fall from his lips spur you on, urging you to take him deeper, to love him harder. Your hand helps your actions, making sure to keep contact where your mouth cannot easily reach, eager to bring him to the brink.

You hollow your cheeks as you suck at his cock, his eyes closing in pleasure as the hands in your hair tighten in time with his moans. You break off his length with a pop, taking in a lungful of air before you lavish his erection with your tongue, the same hand still massaging him at the base. 

There were few things better than this, you can’t help but think as your tongue flicks at the head of his cock again, the feeling of bringing Astarion to the brink of pleasure with your mouth as he loses himself to the feeling nothing less than exhilarating.

You lips wrap around him once more, taking him as deep inside your mouth as you can manage, the tip of cock near the entrance to your throat as you gag slightly, eyes watering in response. Your head moves back and forth as you take him as deep as you can manage, intent on tasting his come, until you feel the hand in your hair moving. 

Fingers caress your cheek, brushing against the tears staining your skin as you hear Astarion speaking, your mouth slowing to a stop.

“Enough, darling,” his words are strained with effort, Astarion barely managing to hold back from coming on your tongue as he speaks them.

You break away from him the minute you hear the words, a string of saliva connecting your lips and his cock remaining as you bring your eyes to look up at him in question. Astarion groans at the sight, breathing heavily.

You feel his hand come to rest around your upper arm, curling around the lithe muscle there as he gently pulls you up to stand in front of his seated form. Astarion’s breathing is heavy as he looks you up and down before pulling you into his lap, your knees resting on either side of his own as his hands touch everywhere they can, your own coming up to cup his cheeks.

“Are you alright?” Your fingers brush against the planes of his face as it rests in your warm hands.

“Oh, I’ve never been better darling,” he leans into a palm, head tilting with the motion. “I’m just not ready to be done with you yet.”

His admission has heat surging in your belly with anticipation, a smile on your lips as you lean in to press them to his own. Astarion responds in kind, the hands on your body pulling you closer, deepening the kiss, as his tongue brushes against your bottom lip in a bid of entry.

You open your mouth to him, his tongue caressing your own as your lips move against each other’s, the kiss passionate as you pour you love and desire into it. Astarion breaks the kiss first, hands squeezing at your hips as he gestures with his chin towards the plush pillows sitting at the head of the bed. 

“Up you go, my sweet.”

You are quick to react, getting out of his lap and moving your body up the bed as his eyes follow you, your oiled skin brushing against the linens as you make to lay your head upon a pillow resting there, the crochet trim tickling at your nape. You arrange yourself with ease, hoping to look as though you were the picture of obeisance as you wait for him to follow.

Astarion gets up from his place at the foot of the bed and pauses, his gaze running over your body as you lay there in wait for him, perfectly poised in the middle of your shared bed. Your skin glows with the leftover hint of oil still remaining, the shine of it reflecting in the moonlight that dances in through the intricately paneled windows, tracery-like shapes reflected onto the floor the same color silver as his hair.

With that thought Astarion moves away, footsteps taking him instead to his bedside table, pulling open the carved wood front to search for something within. You resist the urge to peek, content instead to wait for him to show you whatever it is he searches so intently for. Finally, Astarion seems to find the item of his fancy and he rises to his full height with the treasure in hand.

It’s a length of delicate pink satiny ribbon; clearly brought here from his studio,  perhaps the leftover from some long-finished project. But maybe, maybe, he had been waiting for a very specific opportunity to arise, and the idea that he had envisioned such a thing brings a fresh wave of heat to your center. You can only hope he is willing to make good on his earlier threat and use such a beautiful material.

“Do you trust me?” The thick ribbon dangles in curls from his elegant fingers, the candlelight illuminating the highlights of the satin a luminous hue.

“With my life.” Your response is quick, slipping from your lips with ease as you gaze at the figure he cuts, moonlight coming in the window in silvered beams illuminating the lines of his body.

Your move your arms up to rest around your head where it lays on the pillow, wrists delicately crossed above your hair like a halo as you follow Astarion’s form as he moves toward where you lay waiting.

The bed dips down where he kneels upon it as he swings a leg over you, his body hovering over your hips as he leans forward to grasp at your wrists. Astarion works quickly, clever fingers moving faster than you can follow. You don’t take your eyes off his face, intent to watch the thoughts as they cross his features. Within moments, he has finished as fast as he started, moving off of you to stand instead at the foot of the bed to watch as you test the bindings. There is give in the ribbon, naturally, you know Astarion would never bind you so tightly you couldn’t truly move or escape unless you were to ask for such a thing. The lack of motion, the ability to truly be unable to do much of anything with your hands or arms is a sensation that feels as strange as it does alluring.

Astarion looks down at you, examining his work as his eyes move to take in every inch of you, from the sight of your hands bound together with that demure pink satin tied in a neat, tidy bow and thoroughly secured to one of the carved freesias that decorate the wooden headboard to the way your body lays waiting for him in loving submission. You are a vision for his eyes only, the sheer image of you like this is sure to be burned into his mind for eternity, something he will see in his dreams for a millennia to come.

“Now, what ever am I to do with such a pretty, lovely thing like yourself?” The way Astarion’s eyes travel over your form makes your thighs rub together on instinct, his heated gaze ratcheting up your arousal as you force yourself to let your legs fall open for him to see the evidence of your anticipation.

He moves to kneel on the bed at your feet, eyes glued to the sight of the damp clinging to your center. Gingerly, you reach out a bare foot and rest it against the center of his chest, toes daintily pressing into the bare skin there, eager for any connection with him you can get. 

Astarion eyes move to glance at your offering and he wastes no time, a hand coming to grab at the foot resting on his sternum, fingers quick to trace the delicate arch with a light touch. He leans his head to press a kiss to the top of your foot before moving further up your leg, pressing kisses to your ankle, your calf, the space behind you knee. 

“You look terribly lovely like this, darling, all tied up and at my mercy.”

His kisses continue their exploration, light brushes of his lips touching your thigh, the gentle softness of your stomach, the valley between your breasts before ending their journey against your neck. Astarion’s body rests between your open thighs as his lips caress the skin of your neck, his cock hot against your lower stomach. Your arms shake against their bonds, aching for the ability to touch him where he lays against you.

“Did you come up with your word, darling?” His voice is a whisper against your neck, his tongue licking at the places where his fangs have left scars as you recall words from a prior conversation. An exchange of words, he had said, to let each other know our comfort level. 

You nod your head, wrists flexing slightly against the ribbons as you try to hide a teasing smile, unable to resist such an opportunity to fluster him with your answer despite the headiness you feel. “Blingdenstone Blush.”

Astarion scoffs at your choice, head coming up from your neck to shoot a look your way, noticing your poorly hidden smile with the raise of a brow. 

“Could you pick anything more terrible?”

“Well, initially I was going to go with Bullywug Trumpet but it doesn’t quite roll of the tongue, now does it?” Astarion rolls his eyes at this, mouth curling up with distaste as he mutters something along the lines of unbelievable or is normalcy truly so much to ask for? under his breath.

“I am very open to discussing other word choices though, if you so desire. After all, there are so many mushrooms we could choose from.” Your smile is sly as you raise your eyebrows in amusement.

“Is a discussion on mycological nomenclature really what you want to be talking about while I have you all trussed up and ready to be devoured, darling?” Astarion’s hips grind into your own, driving home his point with little delicacy.

“Fine, you make a fair argument. Please do continue your previous exploits, sir.” A brief look flits over Astarion’s face at your use of such a word, gone as fast as it comes. The slight twitch of his cock against your skin, however, is far more telling.

“Hmm? Sir? Should I be looking to expand my vocabulary or—“ You move against your bonds to roll your hips back against your own in response, though Astarion is quick to cut you off when his mouth lowers to your breast, tongue circling the nipple, silencing any further conversation from you.

“That’s enough out of that clever mouth of yours for now, sweetest.” He rests his head against your breast, nipple damp as his eyes find your own.

“Sunmelon,” The word is a sigh on your lips. “We can go with that.”

“Consider it sorted, my love,” He presses a light peck at the swell he lays his head on before continuing. “Now, forget about your day, darling, and let me make you feel good.” 

Astarion seals his words with a kiss to the space where your heart beats in your chest before moving to capture the nipple resting below, his tongue circling the peak with precision. 

The motion has your back arching, pressing closer into his waiting mouth, and Astarion does not relent as he alternates between flicks of his tongue and closing his lips around to suck. Your hips jump at the sensation, fresh heat rushing to fill the space between your thighs.

Astarion moves his attentions to your neglected breast, as thorough in his ministrations with it as he was its twin as a hand comes up to brush against the damp nipple recently abandoned. He is resolute in his actions, paying no mind to your rolling hips searching for stimulation.

The feeling of his cock resting against the skin of your stomach is maddening when you want its heat so badly to fill you, Astarion’s motions against your breasts driving you higher and higher with every pass of his tongue. His hands trace down the contours of your body reverently as his mouth continues its exploration at your chest, hands moving to wrap around your arched back to grab at the flesh of your rear. 

He aligns his hips with your own as his hand squeeze at your ass, his cock pressing against your folds as he grinds at your center, drawing a ragged moan from both your lips. The dual stimulation of his lips on your breasts and his hardness against your weeping cunt feels euphoric, breathy whimpers escaping with every brush of him.

With a pop, Astarion breaks away from your nipple, his lips making their way north towards to mouth at the column of your throat. He kisses everywhere he can, his lips tracing the red of the blood in your veins as his hips continue their slow roll. 

He licks a stripe up a vein to press his lips against your ear, tickling the lobe with his tongue, the eroticism of the touch bringing a shiver to your naked form. 

“You’re absolutely perfect.” Astarion’s words are reverent, lips pressing soft kisses to the spot behind your ear as you whimper at the sheer adoration in his voice. Your hands writhe against their bonds, aching to touch him, to run fingers across the lines of shoulders and to bury them in his silver curls. 

His hands leave the skin of your rear, fingertips pressing in as he drags them up the expanse of your back before settling them to rest on your hips as his tongue licks down your neck before changing course to press kisses down to your chest. 

Slowly, Astarion makes his way down your body, kissing as he goes, every touch alighting your body with fire. His lips trace the skin below your belly button as his hands move to spread your thighs apart, settling his body between your open legs.

Astarion mimics your earlier action, pillowing his head innocently on the plushness of your thigh as he glances up at you from his place between your spread legs, a finger running up and down the skin there absentmindedly as he takes in the sight of you from this new angle; your dewy folds, the softness and warmth of your body, the light pink of the ribbon wrapped around your wrists practically iridescent in the dim light.

“As pretty as a painting.” Astarion sighs, adoration spilling from his lips, as the finger drawing lines makes its way up to run through your wetness in a barely there caress, collecting the arousal on a fingertip before moving to press lightly against your entrance. His finger brushes light circles, tracing the ring of muscles before dipping inside your heat. The warmth of your body draws a hiss from Astarion as he pushes that finger deeper, meeting no resistance as it sinks in to the knuckle, your moans filling the room.

He watches, entranced, as his finger disappears inside you before he draws it back out, bringing a second finger to join as they plunge back in. Your entrance weeps with the movement of his fingers, the coolness of the skin against the heat of your body only serving to contrast the feeling more. Your legs fall open farther the deeper Astarion’s fingers go, the dive of them in and out driving you closer to your orgasm. 

Your moans are pure sin as they fall from your lips, the sight of Astarion between your legs, as he watches his fingers slowly disappear inside your body with such intent drive you higher towards your completion. 

It was a special torture to be unable to touch him, you decide. You want nothing more than to brush your fingers through his curls as you come, to caress the delicate point at the top of his ears, feel the smoothness of his skin on your fingertips.

It feels absolutely filthy, to be tied up like this, your pleasure left to Astarion’s will as you are powerless to simply lay in wait for whatever he has in store. The feeling is intoxicating, more than any wine could ever hope to be. You certainly never expected that being denied the ability to touch would put your other senses on high alert, the scent of your own arousal evident in the air of the room, the sound of your wetness loud to your ears with every movement of his fingers. 

Astarion’s eyes flash to yours in the same instant his fingers start move faster, beginning to piston in and out of you faster. With every plunge in, Astarion crooks his fingers just so, perfectly placed every time to brush against that sweet spot deep inside. Your cunt clenches around him, intent to draw him in, to keep him there, as your orgasm draws nearer and nearer. 

The precipice of your orgasm is right in front of you, the warmth coursing through your veins in its nearness and you begin to let yourself fall into the feeling of it, Astarion driving you closer and closer towards your high until you feel the sudden emptiness of his fingers leaving you, ripping away the pleasure that was so closely awaiting you and your orgasm disappearing into the ether. Your mouth falls open in a cry, head tilting up from its place on the pillow to look down upon him in utter surprise as he rests between your legs.

“You know, I never did repay you from the other day in the studio. Surely you remember denying me my orgasm, hm?” The words are sly, brimming with confidence as you whine at the loss of his ministrations.

Astarion’s fingers press into your waiting body once more when he is confident your orgasm has disappeared, your sensitive cunt still weeping, curling inside to press against your g-spot. His fingers don’t leave your body this time, instead staying seated firmly inside you where he can manipulate them to curl into the area over and over again. Your pleasure ratchets back up faster than you can follow, your head thrown back against the pillow in ecstasy, eyes closed as your lashes dust against your flushed cheeks. 

Astarion leans his head in towards your waiting core, pressing soft kisses to the area around your clit, careful to never touch it all the while he remains intent on  breaking you apart on his fingers. 

He never stops the motions deep inside, curling with ruthless efficacy to leave you hanging on the precipice as his lips begin to work their way back up your body until they meet your lips. 

Your eyes open as he presses his mouth to yours, blinking through the slow haze of pleasure building as his forehead comes to rest against your own. 

“Word, darling?” Astarion fingers never slow, but his eyes are clear as they gaze into your own.

“I’m alright, I promise.” Your words put him at ease as you raise your head slightly to press a kiss to his cheek, your hips rolling against his hand. Astarion returns the gesture, kissing at the high point of your face before moving down the softness of your cheek to your neck, finally stopping to rest his head against your collarbone. 

“Good, because I’m not done yet.” He punctuates his words by stopping his fingers, keeping them warm deep inside your body but no longer allowing them motion, cutting off the burning pleasure you were once again so close to. You keen at the loss, bucking your hips in an attempt to regain it, willing to fuck yourself on his fingers if that was what it took. Astarion doesn’t give you the chance, pulling his fingers from your body to press them against your clit instead.

Your breath comes in shaky moans, body desperate for the chance to finally come. Astarion doesn’t relent in his quest though as he brings you to the peak once more with his fingers moving against your clit, giving your poor core a break as his lips press against your bare skin anywhere they can. He licks at your nipples, nips at the dip of your waist with his fangs, kisses the juncture where hip meets thigh. Always so good, beyond good, but never enough to bring you careening over the edge as his fingers diligently press at the pearl between your thighs, Astarion careful to halt when he notices you moving too close to your orgasm.

Your breath comes in uneven moans, your mind delirious with pleasure, both given and denied, when at long last Astarion’s lips and hands leave your body, their absence stark.

With elegant movements, Astarion moves back from your body, intent to simply watch you from his place near your feet, his pale skin like carved marble as he settles back to rest on his heels against the soft plush mattress as he watches you, his gaze considering. 

Your skin is flushed, a light sheen of sweat setting your skin aglow along every dip and curve of your body with a beautiful softness only echoed by that rosy pink ribbon still lovingly tied around your wrists. Your body writhes under his observation, the way he takes in every inch of your form in its fucked-out state with the otherworldly crimson of his eyes making your breath catch in your lungs.

His cock bobs between his thighs, tip weeping with precome as his eyes continue their perusal. He brings the hand that had been inside you so many times now up to wrap around his shaft as he pumps himself, spreading the leaking wetness down his length as his fist works himself up and down in slow motions.

Your body shakes with pent-up pleasure, skin flushed with being brought to the brink but denied your release time and time again.

“Now, my dear, I want you to tell me exactly what you want me to do.”

Pink tinges your cheeks at having to say the words you know he wants to hear, your body writhing with incompletion as you rub your thighs together while you think of how to possibly voice your desires out loud.

“Use your words, darling.” Astarion urges you with a glance as his hands move to spread your legs once more, pushing them wide as he looks at the glistening mess between your thighs, poised like a cat ready to pounce on its prey. 

“I…I want you to make me come. Please.” You lick your lips and pull slightly against the ribbons around your wrists, breathing deep.

“You’ll have to give me more than that, sweet thing.” His smile is wicked as his thumbs rub circles on the skin of your thighs.

“I want you to lick my cunt. Fuck me with your fingers, a-and your cock. Drink from me.” Your words rush out on an exhale as you grant him the information he so dearly wants, the blood rushing through your body coloring the skin of your cheeks and chest even darker as the admission pours from your lips, hips rolling in a desperate bid for release.

Astarion’s hold on your thighs tightens at your words, more beads of precome decorating his cock as it bobs in response to your request.

“Good things come to those who ask for them.” And with those words, Astarion lowers his head towards your waiting body, licking a stripe from your aching core to your clit. 

His mouth laves at your folds, tongue running through from your entrance to your clit over and over again, never focusing on any particular place for long, your pleasure ticking up with every brush.

Your body is so sensitive like this, the prior denial of your pleasure making every movement of his mouth seem more intense than usual, the sheer touch of his tongue on your most intimate areas making your hips jump. He laps at your clit with broad stokes, tongue flattened against the small bead before moving down to lick around your entrance before dipping inside to taste. 

Astarion continues like this, pressing his tongue deep with practiced motions, whorling against your walls before exiting again to ring around the area, your moans spurring on his attentions.  

He moves up to work your clit with precise flicks of his tongue, never breaking his rhythm as he replaces his tongue with two of his fingers, sliding in with ease. Astarion pumps his fingers, once, twice, before curling them to press against your g-spot once more. You teeter on the edge, Astarion masterful as he conducts your pleasure with mouth and fingers.

Astarion’s tongue darts down from your clit to run against the place where his fingers enter you, the sensation of both his tongue and fingers on your entrance drawing a harsh cry from your lips as he laps eagerly. Your arms jerk against the ribbon as your thighs begin to shake, every lick and push of his fingers making up for any pleasure previously denied. 

“That’s it, darling. Come for me.” His words are adoring as he speaks them against your center before returning to lick, your eyes rolling back at the vibrations of his mouth against you as his words make you clench harder around him.

He separates his fingers inside of you as his tongue continues to lick, scissoring them wide, as he stretches the walls of your cunt as your eyes squeeze shut in ecstasy. The burn of the stretch is minute, any discomfort replaced by the addition of his tongue pushing in deep in the space made by his spread fingers. His tongue thrusts in time with his fingers, and you are powerless but to follow your body as you finally crest over the edge, his words ringing in your ears as you come on his fingers and tongue. 

Your orgasm washes over you with a rarely felt intensity, your body spasming with pleasure as Astarion works you through it, not relenting in his mission. White-hot heat rolls over you, body and mind, as you cry out, the pleasure denied to you coming back tenfold as you ride the wave of your orgasm.

Body shaking, you slowly come back to yourself, taking in lungfuls of air as your body finally relaxes, arms falling to rest on the pillow as your eyes open blearily. 

“Dear Gods, Astarion.” You breathe out the words on a laugh as you look down at Astarion between your legs, fingers still massaging inside you softly as his head moves to press kisses to the skin of your thigh.

“We still have a few more requests to cross off your list, darling.” He licks at the flesh of your inner thigh, nose nuzzling the spot as his eyes meet your own.

“By all means, please drink your fill.” Your let the tension leave your legs as you open them wider for Astarion as he searches for a place to feed. 

His fangs pierce the skin of your upper thigh, so close to the sensitive junction where your leg meets your hip. The pain is a familiar hot prick as his fangs enter your flesh, but the satisfaction you feel from the pull of his lips sucking erases any thoughts of pain that cross your mind. He drinks at your lifeblood, intent to get his fill and enjoy sating his hunger. 

He hums against your skin as he drinks, the sound setting you ablaze with need once more as you watch him from his place between your thighs, the red of the blood on the white of skin stark and beautiful. 

Astarion takes one last pull, dragging the last bit of blood into his mouth before he retracts his fangs, moving to lick at the bloody wounds left there on your leg. He swallows the remaining blood as it enters his mouth before propping himself up on his elbows to glance up at you, tongue moving to lick at a stray drop of your blood making its way down from his lip.

He is beyond beautiful, the sight of his tongue licking at the stripe of your blood on his face driving pleasure straight to your empty cunt and you feel tired of waiting for it to be filled once more. You roll your hips slightly at the thought.

“Will you fuck me? Please?” You lick at your lips, asking as kindly as you know how, pulling at the binds on your wrists.

Astarion doesn’t answer you, instead leaning in once to lick at your slit, gathering your leftover cum to blend with your blood on his tongue as you whimper, skin still sensitive. The taste is intoxicating, Astarion moaning into your cunt at the piquancy of your essences.

Astarion’s mouth leaves your center as he moves to sit, grabbing at your legs as you wrap them around his hips, drawing him closer. Taking his cock in hand, he lines himself up with your core before beginning to push in.

He teases at first, short thrusts that never bury anything more than the head of his cock in your entrance, your slick coating him. 

“Gods, you’re soaked.” He throws his head back as he finally relents to his desire, pushing the rest of his hardness inside your waiting body, moving further and further until he bottoms out, dragging moans from both of your lips at the feeling. He sits like this for a moment, letting you adjust to the fullness of him before he rocks with slow, deep motions, the head of his cock brushing against your walls feels like bliss as you move your hips in a rhythm to match his own.

A hand on your hip makes its way down the skin of your thigh, Astarion lifting your leg to prop it up over his forearm as he begins to pump in and out of you with smooth thrusts, your thighs opening up to him. 

Your lower back lifts to accommodate the change of balance with your leg now being held, Astarion’s other hand anchoring itself to your other as it wraps around his hip. He moves to his knees, his thrusts speeding up as you are content to let him set the tempo.

Astarion moves fast and hard, his cock hitting your g-spot with every thrust. Your moans mix together as they fill the room with their sweetness, the sound of your lovemaking only adding to the pleasure building inside both you as you move towards your mutual releases.  

“Astarion, please, I need to touch you,” the words are a desperate whine as they leave your lips and Astarion is quick to acquiesce to your request, arm letting your leg fall as he leans over your body to pull at the bow adorning your wrists to free them from their binding. Without wasting a second, your hands find their way around his neck and your lips meet his in a passionate kiss, his thrusts never stopping their cadence as you run your freed fingers through the curls at the base of his neck. Your hips move to meet his own in frenzied thrusts, trying to match his pace with every press of his cock deep inside you. 

Without warning he flips you both and you suddenly find yourself sitting on his cock, the new position drawing a surprised moan from you lips as Astarion lays beneath you, curls splayed against the plush quilt. 

“Are you sure, love?” You gasp out the words as his hands find your hips again and he begins dragging you up and down his cock in smooth movements. His cock is deep like this, hitting places inside you with an intensity that drags you both closer. It had been some time since you had the opportunity to ride his cock like this, to watch him laying below your hips as you work him from above.

“Yes, gods please,” Astarion begs, the words only serving to ratchet your pleasure higher at the fever of his words, willing to do practically anything for him when he asks like that. His hips piston up in you, faster now, as you move your own up and down, body easily matching his like this as you settle your hands on his chest to help you balance.

Astarion’s pupils are practically blown out, your own mirroring his as you ride his cock, the slap of skin on skin with each thrust absolutely sinful. His thrusts are fast, quick and hard, his rhythm difficult to follow as he loses himself in the feeling of your body, the sight of you on top of him, breasts bouncing with every thrust and your head thrown back with your hair cascading around you. 

His hands grasp at your hips, fingertips pressing hard enough to bruise as his own orgasm approaches, your own not far behind as you both give yourself over to the feeling and let your bodies dictate their own pleasure. Every thrust has his cock driving cries from your lips, breathy moans falling from his own as you finally feel Astarion lose control beneath you, his cock pulsing as his eyes close, spilling his come deep inside your cunt. 

His frantic thrusts have him pressing against your spot relentlessly, and the sight of him as his orgasm washes over him, the feel of his come filling you sends you over the edge with him, grinding down on his cock as you ride the wave of your own completion, vision practically whiting out as a mixture of come leaks from where you are joined onto his skin. 

Astarion’s body slowly relaxes below yours, grip on your hips softening as he helps you ride him as you come. He watches you as you finish, and while he’s never been the religious sort, Astarion is certain the vision of you working his cock as you orgasm is nothing short of divinity at work. Finally, your hips slow their motions, your body practically collapsing against his own as you work on regaining your breath in between pressing kisses to his chest. 

“Well. That was quite the ride, wasn’t it?” His expression is open, contentment obvious on his features as his fingers draw up and down your sides. His cock softens inside you as you smile against his skin, pushing up slightly to roll off of his chest and settle into the cool skin of his side. Your combined spend leaks onto the linens below you but you pay it no mind as Astarion reaches for your wrists, checking for any possible injury before pressing kisses to the slightly reddened skin where the ribbon had lay.

“It’s certainly my favorite one, at the very least.” You relax into his touch at his chuckle, your head cushioned on a muscled shoulder as you let him pepper your wrists with kisses. The two of you delight in the moment, happily basking in the afterglow of your lovemaking, neither making to leave the bed.

You’re the first to break the moment, sitting up beside Astarion as you stretch, pressing your shoulders back to stretch along your spine. You turn to look at him with a smile on your face, crossing your legs in front of you as your head tilts to the side, observing him.

“You know, if this is going to be the response I get every time I happen to have a ‘bad’ day, I will gladly arrange for more of them.” Your smile turns mischievous, reaching out to walk your fingers up his chest.

“Greedy thing, aren’t you?” Astarion gasps in mock shock, reaching to grab at the fingers on his chest, bringing them to his lips to nip at the tip of one.

“What can I say? I did learn from the best, after all.” You shrug, leaning forward as his tongue licks at your fingers, squirming slightly as he reaches out to grab you around the waist. Astarion pulls you back into his arms, rolling the two of you playfully as he kisses your lips, threads of your joined laughter echoing out into the night.

[flowerandblood]

The Song of Loneliness

The Fall from The Heavens Universe Chapter

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: masturbation, sexual tension, smut, angst, trauma related to sexual experiences and their description, sexual experience of a minor (brothel), manipulation, swearing, description of discomfort associated with menstruation ]

[ description: The events that took place between the beginning and the end of chapter two of The Fall from the Heavens, i.e. the memories of Aemond and Rhaenys as children and later, just before their reunion after many years. ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Rhaenys ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"Where are we going?" He asked uncertainly, seeing her excited face, which meant she had a plan in her mind that he might not like. Her lips curved into a wide, happy smile at the thought.

"To the Dragon's Pit." She explained, and her uncle froze in half-motion and stopped.

"I don't want to." He replied coldly.

She looked at him in surprise, seeing his discouraged, distant gaze, his jaw clenched in discomfort.

"Don't you trust me?" She asked softly, bestowing on him a comforting, warm smile, meant to add credibility to her attitude. Her betrothed swallowed hard and hesitated, pressing his lips into a thin line.

"– I – well – I do –" He muttered finally, defeated.

Although she tried to converse with him on various light topics that usually aroused his interest, such as their lineage or history, her uncle remained sullen and silent, gazing indifferently out the window of the carriage that had taken them from the Red Keep to their destination.

When they stepped outside, the dragon guardians were already waiting for them, assuring her that everything was ready.

Larax squirmed with joy at the sight of her, the sound she made reminding her of the squeal of a small child – she was still quite tiny, her silver-blue scales shining as she swept her wings, hopping in place as if to show her how happy she was to see her.

She was like a puppy that could breathe fire.

Her uncle seemed shocked – he walked a few steps behind her, aloof but intrigued at the same time. Her dragoness, although wearing a long chain around her neck, had quite a lot of freedom of movement and came running to her as soon as she knelt down in front of her, cuddling her head into her breast. She lifted her gaze to her betrothed, smiling.

"Marriage is sharing everything, becoming one. This means that Larax belongs to you from now on as well, and I wanted you to get acquainted." She said excitedly.

Her uncle swallowed hard, clearly shocked, his lips twitching in a shy smile of disbelief, from which heat filled her heart.

He knelt down beside her, but stepped back immediately, frightened as Larax hissed, in her dragon mind defending her from the strange intruder.

"Daor, Larax! Lykiri! Lykiri." She called out, stroking her back reassuringly, wanting her to understand that they were in no danger.

"– give me your hand –" She said softly, extending her palm to him. Her uncle allowed her to take his fingers in hers, and after a moment, keeping them entwined together, she placed his hand on her head.

Feeling the familiar and unfamiliar scent at the same time, Larax froze, breathing anxiously, as if wondering how she should react. She could hear her uncle's heavy, excited breath behind her as she began to stroke her scales with his palm in soft, slow movements.

Larax calmed down after a moment, recognising that, indeed, the small creature that accompanied her rider was no threat to them. She laid her head on her thigh, gazing at the strange newcomer, and she let go of his hand, allowing him to touch her alone.

Her betrothed leaned slightly over her shoulder to get a better look at her dragoness, keeping a safe distance, however, so as not to provoke her.

"– what do you think of her? –" She asked lightly.

Her uncle was silent for a long moment, stunned.

"– she is beautiful –"

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Aemond ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"A man should not run after a woman, Your Grace. It's a sign of desperation and weakness not befitting your position." Criston Cole said to him coolly, taking him aside after one of their trainings in the courtyard.

He had hurt her by not letting her kiss his cheek in the presence of the others and he just wanted to fix that, make her smile again.

He swallowed hard, feeling a wave of shame and discomfort fill his lower abdomen at his harsh words and impatient gaze.

"– she's good to me – I just didn't want her to be sad – we're betrothed –" He muttered, looking at the ground beneath his feet, embarrassed by this conversation.

Cristone Cole looked away and shook his head, as if he didn't believe what he was hearing.

"– it's just appearances, my Prince – her mother wants her to manipulate you and push you away from your brother and your family –" He replied dryly, and his words left him stunned.

"– she had never –"

"– only a naïve man allows a woman to rule over his mind – keep your dignity and do not allow her into your heart as anyone other than the mother of your future children –"

For some reason, his words and their overtones hurt him deeply and he himself did not know what he should do, what was expected of him.

The septon had always told him that a good husband looks out for the safety and well-being of his wife, listens to her, and sometimes allows himself to be weak in her arms in order to experience relief.

He said that if his wife reciprocates his endeavours, their marriage will be peaceful and successful.

Indeed, by following these rules and observing her efforts towards him, he felt a pleasant contentment and satisfaction. His niece did not impose on him or order him to change his habits, just as he did not require her to do so.

What's more, she supported him every step of the way in his daily duties, and in moments of sadness or fear, which he refused to admit out loud, she allowed him to take refuge in the warm embrace of her soft arms.

The thought that he should reject all this and build a wall between them seemed to him, despite all his doubts, inappropriate and hurtful to her when she was trying so hard to make him content.

He decided that when she came to his chamber at night he would tell her not to do it again and send her away.

She, as soon as she crossed the threshold of his quarters, ran to his bed and jumped onto the sheets, hiding under the soft, warm furs at his side, sighing in relief, immediately snuggling into his body. He swallowed hard, feeling a pleasant shiver run down his spine, and thought they could lie like that for a while before he told her of his decision.

"– I am grateful to you for being so good to me –" She whispered, lifting her head, wanting to look at him. He nodded, not embracing her as was his usual habit, looking dully ahead. She raised herself on her arm, seeing his complete lack of reaction at her words, frowning.

"– uncle? – is something bothering you? – you can tell me –" She added immediately, moving closer to him, leaning over his face – her eyes were shining in the darkness of his chamber, her dark brows arched in sadness and worry at his condition.

He swallowed hard, looking at her with his lips parted, his hand involuntarily touching her cheek.

It was soft and warm.

Do not come here again.

He thought that phrase in his head, but instead his hand forced her to lean in, her moist, puffy lips pressed against his in a soft, soothing kiss.

He could feel his heart pounding fast, how hot he was with excitement, how his whole body screamed that this was what he wanted, this was what he needed.

Her, as close as possible.

He hugged her to his chest, pressing her face to his neck, and closed his eyes.

"– it's nothing –"

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Rhaenys ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"I would like to discuss with you… a delicate matter." Said her mother, sitting down next to her a few months after the King had announced her betrothal to her uncle. She nodded, sensing that she was about to hear something important.

"I want you to understand that your nuptials with Alicent's son and what they entail will not take place until you reach the age of fourteen." She said slowly, as if she wanted her daughter to understand exactly every word she spoke.

She nodded her head slowly, looking at her with big eyes, pressing her lips together in some kind of disappointment.

"Why do I have to wait so long?" She asked uncertainly – her mother twisted restlessly in her chair, placing her hand over hers.

"My love, Aegon… from what I've heard, I know he likes the company of girls. That he likes to touch them in places that only a husband can touch his wife. I wanted to ask if his brother, and your betrothed, is also trying…" She did not finish, clearly not knowing how to put into words what she wanted to convey to her.

She cocked her head, curious, understanding after a moment what she meant.

"– does my uncle slip his hand under my nightgown? –" She asked lightly, her mother squeezed her hand tighter at her words, turning pale.

"– yes – yes, my love –"

She shook her head quickly, and Rhaenyra sighed in relief, clenching her eyes.

"– no – but sometimes, when we're alone and we're happy, our lips meet –" She muttered, embarrassed, swinging her legs sitting on a chair that was too high for her.

Her mother laughed under her breath.

"– I see –"

"– is it a sin? – can I expect his child because of this? –" She mumbled out quickly, choking out what she had wanted to ask her for a long time, terrified of the disgrace she would bring upon her betrothed if it turned out that she was carrying his illegitimate offspring.

Rhaenyra burst out laughing, shaking her head, her hand stroking her hair affectionately.

"– no, my love – it is merely a tender expression of affection that can be shared with one's betrothed –" Her mother replied calmly, and she smiled broadly, comforted and reassured, thinking that she would place many warm, sweet kisses on her betrothed's lips that evening.

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Aemond ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"– no – forgive me, Princess, but it is impossible – your request is unworthy of a lady –" He heard Criston Cole's voice directed towards his betrothed as he stepped out into the courtyard as he did every morning – he escorted her away with a surprised, uneasy look as she nodded her head and walked away, without bestowing even a single warm word on him, as was her custom.

He did not dare to ask Ser Criston what she was requesting; he found out later, when, concerned by her absence in the library, he paid her a visit in her chamber.

She was lying on her bed, her face red from the tears she had surely shed immediately after their brief exchange of words – she was no longer crying now, but her eyebrows arched in pain when he asked her what had happened.

"– my mother gave me a dagger so I could defend myself when I am alone – but what good is it to me if I can't use it? – I wanted Ser Criston to teach me how to hold it – I wanted to be like your Visenya –" She confessed sadly, her last words like a mumble, her eyes flooded with tears again as she burst into sobs.

He stared at her with wide eyes, not knowing completely what to say or think about her unusual request.

She was a woman and the image of her holding a weapon seemed unnecessary and ridiculous to him, however, her words planted a seed of uncertainty in his heart.

What if someone harms her in his absence?

Threaten her life?

Once he was her husband, he thought, he would be her protector by day and night, but until they were married, he could not fulfil that role.

He left her chamber, making her think for certain that he now despised her as well, he, however, returned a moment later with a small straw target in the shape of a man with spots marked on his body. His niece rose on her hands, looking at him with big eyes as the door closed behind him.

"– come here – I will teach you the basics –" He muttered lowly, serious, feeling a pleasant satisfaction at the thought that he would now be her teacher and she would have to obey him.

His betrothed beamed all over, a light, sweet giggle left her lips that made him hot.

"– turn your back on me –" She ordered cheerfully.

"– why? –" He asked.

"– my dagger is hidden only in a place known to me – not even you can know where it is –" She said in an unobjectionable voice – he sighed and rolled his eyes, turning away reluctantly, impatient.

He heard a creak and a quiet rustling, and a moment later his niece was standing beside him with a beautiful short dagger created from Valyrian steel, with a handle in the shape of a dragon's tail, holding it as if she were wielding an axe.

"– you're holding it the wrong way – lower it so that the blade is in horizontal position – yes, just like that –" He praised her as he grabbed her wrist and forced her to lower her arm. She nodded, apparently writing down in her head this important remark.

"– the main rule is: don't cut as if you have a sword, because your opponent will grab your wrist and snatch your weapon away – just stab – at your height, preferably in the stomach or thighs, right here –" He said, demonstrating the move she should make by pretending as if he had the weapon, hitting the spots he mentioned with the front of his clenched fist.

He stepped back and watched with wide-open eyes as his niece, with an expression of great fierceness and anger, began to stab the hay puppet, as if she actually imagined that it was someone who wanted to harm her.

"– enough – enough, surely it's already dead –" He muttered, pulling her away, looking at her in disbelief, thinking that with such a commitment perhaps she would even be able to wield a sword.

"– did I do it well, uncle? –" She asked excitedly, curls of her hair stuck to her cheeks red with emotion.

"– yes – very well –"

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Rhaenys ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

After her uncle lost an eye and her mother remarried, they stopped visiting the Red Keep. Her betrothed, to her despair, did not write back to her first letter or the many that followed, in which she asked him about his health and when she would be able to see him again.

Accustomed to his daily presence, despite being surrounded by her siblings, she felt lonely. Her bed was cold and empty without his warm body beside her, without his tender hand to stroke her head as she fearfully awoke again and again from a terrible nightmares.

One morning she woke up feeling discomfort between her thighs. She moved higher, wanting to look at the liquid that covered her skin and screamed involuntarily when she saw it was blood.

Her mother, as soon as she found out, came to reassure her.

"Do you remember our conversation when I told you that a woman blooms like a flower? This is what has just happened. It means you will be able to give your future husband children." Said her mother, covering her tightly with furs, already lying in a clean nightgown and smallclothes to prevent her from dirtying the bedding again.

She nodded, and as soon as Rhaenyra left, she broke into tears.

Although it was supposed to be an uplifting moment, it wasn't at all – she felt discomfort and contractions in her lower abdomen, she didn't have the strength to get out of bed, and she felt blood flowing again and again from between her thighs.

She thought it was a disgusting feeling, and she felt even worse at the thought that it meant she would soon be ready to get married.

Her betrothed didn't want her, and her mother began to speak more and more boldly about her possible nuptials with her cousin.

She closed her eyes at this thought and swallowed hard, holding back the tears of regret that were again pushing against her eyelids.

That day she took out the parchment and quill again, thinking in the back of her mind that even if he threw her letters into the fire and didn't read them, she needed to confide in someone and she wanted it to be him.

She began to write, for the first time not thinking about the content of what she had to communicate, letting her thoughts flow.

Today, something terrible happened, and although I know these things don't concern you or may even cause you disgust, I can't confide in anyone else about my suffering. My bloody flower has blossomed. My mother says that I have now become a woman, but I feel nothing of the sort. I feel dirty, I feel pain, I feel ashamed. I don't want to be a woman. I don't want to be a wife. I don't want to be a mother.

She cried out loud as she wrote the last sentence and rolled the parchment up, ordering it to be sent to King's Landing into the hands of the Prince before she could change her mind.

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Aemond ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

To his surprise, despite not answering her, he would find her letters waiting for him, lying on the top of his table exactly every two months.

At first he never wanted to read them – he even thought about throwing them into the fire, but then curiosity won out and he would sit down in front of the fireplace, unrolling the parchment.

He read what she had written, imagining her voice, that she stood behind him and whispered it all in his ear, embracing him, confiding in him.

He felt a squeeze in his heart, feeling the suffering behind every letter she wrote down for him, her expression of longing and sadness, loneliness and loss.

He himself was more lost than ever.

His brother surprised him when, on his Name Day, when he turned exactly thirteen, he announced to him that it was time to get it wet.

He did not understand what he meant.

It was only when he led him under cover of darkness to one of the buildings he had evidently visited himself that he noticed with embarrassment the curves of the half-naked women they passed, whom Aegon evidently knew, greeting them along the way.

"– we should not be here – our mother –" He muttered, but his brother shushed him.

"– shut your mouth, mummy's boy – today you will become a man –" He hissed, tapping his index finger against his forehead, as if to show him that he was a fool, a silly little boy.

He clenched his jaw in rage at the thought, recognising that, indeed, he was already a grown man.

Or at least he thought he was.

The woman he took him to was pretty, but much older than him.

He thought she could be their mother.

When Aegon left them alone he did not know what to do with himself – he felt both excitement and embarrassment at the same time, not really knowing whether he wanted it or not.

Aegon said that laying with a woman was very pleasant and gave a feeling of immense relief.

He wanted to feel relief.

The woman reached out to him encouragingly, telling him not to be ashamed, to lie comfortably on the bed and let her take care of himself.

He didn't know what she meant, but decided that since she was more experienced, he should listen to her.

The feeling of being inside her was terrifyingly foreign and uncomfortable – he swallowed hard, looking wide-eyed at her stomach, afraid to look at her face, clenching his hands into fists on the sheets.

She has never touched me like this, he thought.

Rhaenys had never touched me like this.

He was furious with himself, but he felt tears burning under his eyelids at the thought, and though he pressed his lips together, one by one they ran down the sides of his face.

"– no –" He muttered and shook his head. "– not like this –"

The woman understood vaguely what he meant, an expression of sympathy on her face from which he felt discomfort in his stomach and throat.

"– Prince Aegon paid me for your fulfilment –"

It wasn't until a few years later that he realised he wasn't even completely hard at the time – that effect was only achieved when she climbed off him and took his manhood in her hand, squeezing it up and down until his warm seed leaked out.

He felt relief, but not the kind he wanted.

In fact, he felt even worse than before.

What would she say if she saw this?

She would be disgusted with me, he thought and cried out loud, walking back to the Red Keep alone, not waiting for Aegon to finish whatever it was he was doing with those girls.

He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to know about it.

When he returned to his chamber, he took out all the letters she had sent him over the years and placed them beside him on his bed. He closed his eyes and was only relieved when he realised that they had soaked up her scent.

The smell of vanilla.

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Rhaenys ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

One day she woke up, breathing fast, feeling a pleasant heat and tickling in her lower abdomen. She dreamt that her uncle had flown to Dragonstone and spent the night with her despite her cries and pleas.

She didn't know what exactly could happen during this act, not being aware of all the details, but she knew that he would put the part of his body that was in his breeches between her thighs to fill her with his seed.

In the dream, his hot, wet lips clung to hers in greedy, possessive kisses, his breath heavy as his broad hands roamed all over her body, squeezing her breasts and buttocks, until he finally forced his way inside her with the sudden, sharp thrust of his hips.

In her sleep, she felt no pain – moreover, his deep, quick pushes and his low groans of pleasure made the space between her thighs swell and pulsate, making her feel tense and uncomfortable as soon as she awoke, drenched in sweat.

She closed her eyes, feeling on the one hand relieved and on the other disappointed that this was not true – the worst part, however, was that the unpleasant, almost painful tickling sensation between her thighs did not go away.

She decided to check with her hand what this place was, what would happen if she touched it.

She tentatively lifted the material of her nightgown and traveled down between her warm thighs – a quiet sigh escaped her lips as her soft fingers stroked her moist, fleshy folds, all leaking and sticky.

She felt a pleasant shiver run along her spine and some kind of tingle deep inside her, her nipples and lips puffy with desire.

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, digging her fingertips deeper into her soft skin – she shuddered and sighed as she touched the small, swollen bud between her folds – surprised, she found that when she touched it directly, it felt almost painful, but as she began to gently press and rub the area around it, a wonderful wave of heat began to rise in her lower abdomen.

Her breath became heavy as she imagined it was his hand touching her as he came back for her, whispering that he had wanted to do this to her for a long time, that he thought only of her, that he would now take her for himself.

She imagined his hot lips clinging to hers, his fingers sliding deep inside her, wanting to feel her, and she threw her head back with a quiet, surprised moan, feeling a sudden, wonderful relief.

She swallowed hard, realising after a moment that it was her own fingers that had slipped deep into her tight slit, her hot, moist walls clenching around them again and again together with waves of delicious pleasure surging through her whole body.

She stared dully ahead, panting loudly, feeling that as soon as the wonderful sensation passed, a complete and terrifying emptiness filled her heart and mind.

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Aemond ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

After what had happened in the brothel, he would not allow himself to be touched this way by any woman. He told himself that he simply didn't want to experience a similar humiliation, to cry at the thought that the one he fucked wasn't the one he dreamed of at night, but the truth was that even if he wanted to, he couldn't get fully aroused by the sight of another woman.

Even as he watched his servants bustling around his chamber, preparing his morning meal, looking at their pleasingly girlish shapes, their breasts and hips, his musings always fled to one thought.

Was this what her body looked like now?

Blossomed like a flower, full of grace and soft, feminine shapes?

He imagined that her bare skin would be soft as silk under the touch of his rough hand, that she would be obscenely warm, quivering with desire under his body. He imagined her breasts, plump and swollen, filling his palm perfectly, her little nipples that he would like to lick with his tongue.

He pressed his lips together, always feeling the same thing – his manhood swelling painfully and twitching in his breeches, causing him discomfort on the verge of pain.

It ended the same way each time – as soon as he was left alone in his chamber, instead of concentrating on his food, he quickly untied the material and slid his hand under it, grasping his half-hard, throbbing erection.

He began to squeeze it gently, merely teasing it, pressing his lips together, suppressing the shuddering moan of delight that wanted to burst from his throat at the thought that it was her fingers caressing him so wonderfully tenderly, it was her lips whispering that they didn't have to hurry.

He mumbled the name he'd given her himself in his head, feeling the tears welling under his eyelids, thinking with pain how much he missed her, that deep down he didn't loathe her, that all he desired was for her to return.

"– Rhaenys –" He cried out, tears running down his cheeks as his warm seed spilled over his fingers, relief, pleasure and pain surging through his loins at the same time, shaking his body.

He stared at his empty silver plate, panting heavily and pressed his lips together, furious and bitter, then burst out into silent sobs like a small child.

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Rhaenys ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"– it has come to my knowledge that Alicent has decided to make a pact with Borros Baratheon – she wants Prince Aemond to marry one of his daughters –" Her mother said during one of their suppers together in Dragonstone; she froze, feeling her heart stop in her throat, a cold, unpleasant shiver running down her spine as she raised her gaze to her.

"– we cannot leave this unanswered – after consulting with Daemon, we have together decided that you should marry the son of my dear cousin, Lord Arryn –" She added, taking one of the platters from her husband.

Daemon, seated next to her mother, gave her a quick look in which she seemed to catch a glimpse of sympathy.

She lowered her gaze, feeling her whole body involuntarily begin to tremble, tears of despair and disbelief gathered under her eyelids. She felt Baela's hand on hers, but she pulled away from her and got up from the table, leaving the chamber, bursting into sobs as soon as she ran out into the corridor.

Although she covered her mouth with her hand, she was unable to stop the moans that ripped from her throat or what she saw in her mind.

Him, lying on top of another woman, touching her naked body, whispering in the ear of Lord Baratheon's daughter that she was more beautiful than his niece, that he loved her more deeply than he had ever loved her.

She locked herself in her chamber, wishing to be alone.

She knew Daemon would come to her.

He always came.

As she lay on the bed, staring blankly at the wall in the distance, her father sat by the fireplace, staring thoughtfully into the flames, playing with the ring on his little finger.

"– your mother is doing this for your own good – she couldn't leave this insult unanswered –" He said coldly and maliciously, as if he was impatient with the fact that she was pitying herself.

She did not answer him.

She heard him sigh heavily, tightening his fingers on the base of his nose, bowing his head as if he had no strength for this conversation.

"– my spies in the Red Keep say that he has changed beyond recognition – that he is a cold, cruel man – that he calls you a little whore –" He said indifferently, and she felt a squeeze in her throat, tears of humiliation and pain one by one began to flow down her face.

"– give up your dreams of a man who has already disrespected you for years – his feelings for you have disappeared along with his fucking eye –"

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Aemond ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"– have you heard the word from Dragonstone, brother? –" Aegon asked him during one of the suppers, his brother's mind and sight already a tad clouded by the wine he so adored.

He threw him a brief, discouraged glance, their mother twisting restlessly in her chair.

"– Aegon –"

"– your would-be betrothed will soon become the Lady of the Eyrie, and her cousin will be given the honour of putting his little cock inside her –" He sneered, and he felt his jaw and hands clench, a shiver of discomfort, horror and humiliation running along his back at the very thought.

"– enough –" Their mother said.

"– why? – after all, my little brother no longer holds any affection towards her – am I wrong, brother? – what did you call her before she became a little whore in your eyes? – let me think – ah, I remember – Rhaenys –"

He stood up from the table, feeling his heart begin to pound like mad, a sea of memories filled with her surging through his mind making him feel as if he had begun to suffocate.

He heard Aegon chuckle behind him as he left the room panting with rage, bursting into his chamber with a loud slamming of the door.

He opened the drawer with his key and slid it out with an aggressive gesture, pulling out all the letters he had received from her over the years and holding them in his trembling hands, he stopped in front of the fire.

He stared at the flames, hearing himself breathe heavily, droplets of cold sweat running down his back at the memory of what his brother had said.

Your would-be betrothed will soon become the Lady of the Eyrie.

He pressed his lips together, crushing the letters in his hands, and drew in the air loudly, feeling with shame that he felt like bursting into tears. He sat down on the floor, leaning over and laid his forehead on his knees, hugging her letters, her words to him, to his heart.

[nixoon-again]

This was a bad idea.

Sonic usually prides himself in his chill and easy going nature and his calm demeanour, it's not really that easy to get him riled up. He doesn't like being angry either, his love for freedom includes feeling free too — not burdened down with some infuriating people and their meaningless rants or whatever engaging acts they participate in and absolutely not any of it being given more than a second long stay in his mind, no. Sonic doesn't like that. He prefers to stay clear of such things as much as he can. 

If the bulging vein on his forehead has to say anything, unfortunately, this is not one of those situations where he can just up and leave.

No because he's stuck here, forced to sit around this stupid dinner table by the absurdity of the situation. Really, how did he even get here? Why did he let it get to this point? When has Sonic ever conformed to the groundless rules of a stupid village to solve a problem before? Why was this one any different? In fact, by all logical means, Sonic shouldn't even have bothered to ask these villagers for anything at all. He should've gotten the work done and over with, giving very little — which is none — thought to the customs and formalities of these absolute nutcases.

This is Westside Island after all.

He shouldn't have expected anything else from these guys.

Sonic knows very little of what these lunatics did to Tails in his earlier years and what he does know of it already makes him want to burn the entire village down. Right now? The urge is stronger than ever.

Today he has learnt a lot more about what exactly they did to his little brother than he has in the four years of knowing and raising Tails.

The only thing keeping Sonic from lashing out right now is his little brother's small hand resting on top of his own.

He doesn't know how Tails is keeping his composure right now because Chaos knows Sonic's ever-deepening scowl is going to become something these people are always going to associate him with. The kid is acting like the constant insults and accusations don't even affect him — which is, yeah, good! They shouldn't because they're meaningless lies hurled at his way by people who don't even possess a quarter of his IQ. But this is getting out of hand and Sonic doesn't know how long he can tell himself that these words don't matter because they're not aimed at him, they're aimed at his little brother.

His little brother who just so happens to be the smartest, kindest, bravest person in the whole world. His little brother that these people abandoned as a literal baby, starving and abusing him to the point Sonic still has damage left to undo after all these years. His little brother who he will not hear any foul words about.

Tails’ grip on his hand tightens.

He must've noticed the hedgehog's quills sharpening. The kit's signalling him to calm down.

Right… He can't let his anger overcome him now. Not after they're so close to finishing their job here and going back home, hopefully never having to even look in this place's general direction again. He can't forget the actual reason he agreed to talk with these people; to get information since the duo aren't allowed to investigate the situation freely as outsiders.

Fate must really hate Sonic though because it just so happens to be that the guy who can actually give them any valuable information is someone Sonic never thought he'd ever come face to face with in a million years.

Tails’ father.

(He cringes internally, oh how wrong it feels to refer to the man as his kid's father.)

The resemblance between father and son is uncanny; no matter how much Sonic tries to tell himself this guy is just another fox, he can never convince himself as such. Not when he has the same ocean blue eyes, sparkling with wisdom and tactic. The same shade of orange fur dissolves into dark browns and blacks at the tips of his ears and between his eyes. The way he talks, the way he sits, the way he moves and the way his singular tail swishes behind him gently. His voice, his manners, his accent, his tone — it's all Tails.

It's infuriating. 

It feels unsettling.

Because this man is so unlike his little brother that he feels uneasy under his gaze, that shade of soft blue doesn't deserve to hold such contempt and malice in it. His facial features resemble Tails’ so much and yet he scowls and sneers where the kit is always laughing and smiling — the man may be related to his little brother and his little brother may have gotten his appearance from the older fox but there's definitely a stark contrast between them. The difference between one's unforgiving cruelty and the other's mellow kindness is shocking when placed side by side.

“That's the most I can tell you at this hour,” the man says as if he's granted them great knowledge when barely any of what he just said was something other than an insult directed towards Tails, “I wish I could do more to help you but as the village's rules stand, there's very little I can allow you to do here when you've brought that thing along, Mr. Hedgehog.”

For whatever reason, people on Westside Island like to tell Sonic that they would've helped him as much as they can if it wasn't for the fact that he brought his partner with him. They're so adamant that everything would've been such a streamlined process if it was only Sonic asking to investigate the village. 

As if.

He knows talking back to the man would later have Tails scolding him but the temptation is too great to not jab at the nonchalant fox, “You know, maybe you wouldn't have all these problems suddenly spiking up if you didn't treat a literal child like some thing to be disposed of.”

“I believe you don't understand our history at all.” The guy has the audacity to sigh, “Treating a curse as a child is welcoming death with open arms. In fact, I believe all these problems are suddenly spiking up because you decided to bring that freak back here.”

And oh boy, that makes Sonic’s left eye twitch in a way that gives away the fact that he's about to throw hands.

He would've too, if it weren't for the sudden surprise of Tails standing up to his father.

“I'm not a freak…” His voice is small, but so so certain and it makes Sonic's heart swell with pride. A small smile graces the hedgehog's muzzle as he gives Tails’ hand a squeeze.

Unfortunately, the moment is short lived.

Because of course Tails’ father has something to shoot them down with again.

“And is that why your mother died, Miles? Is that how you're going to kill Sonic too?”

The room goes silent.

Sonic feels Tails' vice-like grip on his hand tightens to the point it must've hurt at those words. He can feel the kit's claws through his gloves, as he holds Sonic's hand like his life depends on it.

Instinctively, Sonic turns his head just enough to take a look at the younger boy sitting to his left.

Tails has his head hanging low, his bangs cast a shadow upon his eyes but Sonic still catches sight of big, fat tears rolling down his muzzle.

And that's it.

That's the final straw.

Sonic doesn't know what overcomes him next.

His mind goes blank for a moment as his body moves on its own, taking his hand away from Tails and putting his entire weight into his fist as his curled up hand connects with the older fox's jaw with such force it knocks him out of his chair, leaving him disgracefully sprawled on the wooden floor. A pained noise escapes the man as he crashes down with the chair he's been sitting on and oh, is it music to Sonic's ears.

The older fox holds his muzzle, his glove staining red as Sonic takes a slow and calculated step forward — a dangerous aura surrounds the hedgehog, emerald green glinting with so much hatred and ill intent that it sends shivers running down the man's spine.

Sonic raises his fist again and Chaos knows he wouldn't have let the fox scramble with just a few punches, he doubts the man could even get up on his own after what Sonic wants to do to him but fate seems to be in the fox's favour as Tails grabs Sonic's upper arm and effectively pulls him back.

“Sonic, stop it!” The kit still has tears in his eyes, his voice cracks a bit but he manages to mask it well in favour of stopping his older brother from possibly committing first degree murder.

Tails drags Sonic back to his side but the hedgehog still has his murderous glare fixated on the older fox who has barely managed to even sit back up on the floor.

“That's enough, we're leaving. Come on.” Tails speaks fast, his eyes dashing between Sonic and the door as takes a big step and tries to pull his older brother with him. Except Sonic doesn't budge, still glaring down at his father who has denied to match him with one of his own. Tails looks at the hedgehog, almost pleading if it weren't for his stern tone, “Sonic.”

The addressed hedgehog opens his mouth to say something, seemingly to the older mobian but decides against it when he feels Tails pull at his hand again.

Sonic lets out a huff, brows knitting.

He disregards his anger and frustration to listen to Tails — Tails wants to leave, he's clearly too uncomfortable in here for Sonic to be pulling these stunts.

“Let's go.” Sonic says, interlocking his fingers with Tails’ as they both leave the place.

Mr. Prower thinks things would've been better if Sonic didn't bring Tails with him? If it weren't for Tails, Sonic would've made sure Tails actually didn't have a father anymore.

[volensnolenss]

New life — Gojo Satoru

- ˏˋSUMMARY: The new story called "Family" has begun in your life, which has divided your views on before and after.

- ˏˋCONTENT: fluff, comfort, you have a child

The room was filled with fresh air, the window let in the lazy rays of the setting sun, which fell on the three of you; a veil of unusual calm and security enveloped you – it was difficult for both of you to believe in this miracle, but most of all you and Satoru were pleased with your daughter, who was quietly snuffling, not paying the slightest attention to you.

“She's so small and delicate.” His blue eyes sparkled brighter than usual. Satoru couldn't stop admiring her: she is the one that unites you and him; one day he heard one phrase that has remained forever in his memory "a piece of you, a piece of me and this together is our child."

He turned his gaze to the smiling you. You looked tired and sleepy, but you were glowing with happiness. Gojo was pleased with the fact that you were tired only by sleepless nights associated with the child, but not with work and higher-ups, which constantly put a lot of pressure on you.

Then you had to listen to a lot of bile and irritation just because you were already 30, you are "old", "no one needs you at that age", "you had to think about it when you were 20 years old" and much more. You did not betray all this importance, because Satoru was with you, who rebuffed them and protected you.

“She looks more like you.” You looked at Gojo and he immediately started up.

“Not true! Here, look, these are your lips and your nose…” His life turned upside down, his views changed, he felt vulnerable for the first time: he has another person who needed to be protected whatever it takes.

“My baby, I promise, your childhood will be the happiest. I will do everything for you to always smile like your mom.” He took your hand in his big palm and, without squeezing hard, whispered his wishes and promises.

You were touched by his words. It was as if Gojo was voicing all his thoughts and feelings that he had previously kept to himself, not daring to show them.

“Satoru, just know that you are not alone.”

“I know because you are with me, my girls.”

He reached out to you and left a gentle and soft kiss on your forehead, thanking you for giving him the daughter.

Satoru was worried about you very much before the child was born: he couldn't sit still when you weren't around, when you felt the usual weakness, he couldn't find a place for himself.

You couldn't be without him either. You couldn't fall asleep, despite the fact that you were sleepy – you missed his touch, which gives you harmony and comfort.

You have already felt like parents, but you have yet to hear her first word and see her first steps.

[manias-wordcount]

Just Hair (Jinx x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗺𝘆 𝗾𝘂𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘃!

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

She’s usually not this…quiet.

  Well. Maybe that’s a weird thing to have. Sure, she gives the impression of a chatterbox. Someone who loves the sound of her own voice. Someone who can’t stand to be ignored or cast aside. You’d be lying if you said those weren’t your immediate thoughts about her when you first met her.

  But when you think about it, it’s really not like she’s talking all the time. It’s not like she says everything in a shout or a yell or a scream. She’s not loud and explosive and in your face every waking moment of the day. In fact, sometimes you think it’s others that do the talking for her. People who rile her up. People who she riles up. Her footsteps when she wants to be seen and make a scene. The footsteps that come running towards her whenever she’s seen and there’s about to be a scene. The explosives and explosions that she creates. The explosives and explosions that she’s drawn to. It’s all so loud. You associate her loud. She is loud. 

  Even when she’s not the one opening her mouth. So you suppose that’s why you’re so curious as to why she’s being so calm and so still for you right now. She usually isn’t like this. You don’t associate her with behaviors like this. And you just can’t help but wonder: why.

  After all, all you’re doing is laying her head in your lap and brushing through her hair. Not anything important. Not anything crazy. So why?

  Why?

  You think about it as you continue your actions. Your eyes sweep around Jinx’s hideout, hoping it’ll give you some type of clue. The dolls she made a while back are still there. A not-so-successful project is strewn about a makeshift coffee table. One you distinctly remember helping her paint (and then later spray paint) not too long ago. But no dice. So you turn your attention back onto her.

  The girl who’s always on your mind.

  It’s an odd sight, in your opinion. But a beautiful one at the exact time. You’re both on an old mattress. A nicer one in your opinion. You’re sitting up, legged crossed and back straight towards one edge of the mattress while Jinx lays across your lap, head cradled by your thighs. Her signature braids are undone and long blue hair is just about everywhere in your vision as you take your time while running the brush across every single strand you have access to. And it all connects down back to her. And every time you look at her face, you can see the same expression there. Eyes closed. Face relaxed. No frowns. No worries. None of those things. Just pure bliss. Pure, pure bliss.

  It truly is a foreign sight to you. Seeing her so at peace. You would have assumed she was sleeping if you didn’t know her so well. That’s why you’re so hesitant to break the silence. So hesitant to break the stillness that sits between the two of you. But you have to know. You just have to know…

  Why?

  And so, your mouth parts finally, deciding that it’s best to come right out about it. And that’s the thing. There’s a question in there, hanging on your tongue. Dancing on your lips. It’s there. But it doesn’t come out. Not quite yet anyways. You’ve learned to be very careful with your words around her. Very careful with your questions. In the years you’ve been with friends with her, you’ve learned how fragile a hair-trigger can be. You learned how random her trigger can be as well. With things you never known. With things you’ve never expected. So you stay there, and you ponder. Thinking long, thinking hard about what you want to ask. What you want to say. And by the time the perfect sentence forms in your mind…

  “This is nice…”

  …she beats you to the punch.

  “What is?” You ask Jinx in response to her off-hand comment. She takes a deep breath in and releases it slowly. And then another. And another. And another. And another. Rinse. Repeat. But in all honesty? You’re fine with this. Never once had you stopped looking down at your friend’s expression with a curious gaze. Never once had your fingers stopped running the bristles of the hairbrush through her long hair- carefully making its way through tiny little knots here and there. 

  Your question can wait if she’s willing to share. Anything in your life could wait for her honestly. Perhaps she knows that about you. Perhaps that’s why she’s taking her time with her answer right now. You have a feeling you’ll never know. She’s always been an enigma after all.

  But she’s your enigma. And she’ll always be.

  “Nobody has brushed my hair in a long, long time.” She finally says after a long period of silence. Her voice is as quiet and as calm as her demeanor is. But there’s nothing scary about this. No silent storm here- not even in the far distance. You’re happy about that. You want it to stay that way. She deserves that. She deserves this. “So this is nice.”

  “No one?” You question, almost absently, after a little while. It’s something to fill the void, really. Something to make her feel acknowledged and seen and heard- even when you don’t quite have a response for her at the moment. “Really?”

  “I don’t play well with others,” She reminds you, a playful lilt to her voice. And although her eyes are still closed. There’s an almost proud smile starting to tug at the corner of her lips- unable to stay hidden for long. “Except for you.”

  Well…I’m glad.” At the mention of you being the exception in you are her life, you can’t help but smile your own smile. Even if her eyes aren’t open to see it. You can’t help it. The words hit straight to your heart, even if she didn’t mean anything much by them. “That makes me special.”

  “You’ve always been special to me.”

  Her eyes are open now. Her gaze is on you. And even though her dark eyes are intense, you don’t feel like you’re in danger. You don’t feel like you’re about to be hunted or stalked. You don’t feel like you’re prey. So you hold her gaze. And you try not to think about just how soft it is now that her eyes are on you. Looking at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world to her right now. And you want to be. Is it selfish to want that? Is it selfish to want that from her when you were once afraid of her too? Is it selfish to want that when you don’t even know her every secret yet? Is it selfish? Is it?

  “Yeah…” 

  It might be. It might be selfish. But by now, the brush in your hand has run over this section more times than you can count already. But you like just how smoothly it travels through her long, pretty hair. You like how it makes her smile a little more. You like how it makes her feel relaxed. Happy. Loved. Cherished. So you’ll do it a couple more times. Just to be sure. Just to be sure. It’s the very least you could do. She deserves that. She deserves this.

  “You’ve always been special to me too.”

  And you’re more than happy to give it to her.

[mm-lurking]

Unrequited Love - Blade

Warnings: angst, no comfort, implied death; not really proof read, wrote this under an hour on the train Word count: 743 words

—

You recall the first time you associated with the Stellaron Hunters. It was an odd meeting, one where you had practically no choice but to form some sort of mutual understanding with each other for the sake of doing business. Kafka was the one to extend the invitation to you as she was aware of your connections and for some reason, it almost felt like a subtle threat, like she had particularly picked you for the job and not someone else for some reason.

Time flew by since then. You become acquainted with Kafka, Silverwolf and the very man you had started to fall for, Blade. It was just curiosity at first, an interest in who he was and why, compared to how energetic Kafka and Silverwolf were, was he so quiet and calm. Not that you were trying to pursue him, no, that was not your intention at all but the heart wants what it wants right?

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months as your mutual alliance continued. You saw more and more of Blade and ultimately your feelings of curiosity turned into love. You remember the day you realised it. It was your usual nighttime meeting with the hunters somewhere in the hidden complexes of the Xianzhou Luofu. That night, Kafka was running late and Silverwolf was nowhere to be seen leaving you and Blade alone in the room. You remember looking at him for a brief moment, admiring the way his facial features were so perfect. The way his dark blue hair fell over his blood-crimson eyes, the way his jawline was so sharp, the way he looked so ethereal under the flickering lights of the room…he was so handsome. You remember the way he caught you staring at him, saying nothing but glaring at you momentarily before closing his eyes and resting. Ah of course, you thought, why would he even bother to talk to me? I mean nothing to him. Why…why does it hurt?

It hurt. It was supposed to hurt. Why wouldn’t it hurt? Blade was a mysterious man, a man of few words and even fewer emotions. Whatever his relation was to Kafka and his reason for joining the Stellaron Hunters…you didn’t know. All you knew was he only talked to those two and in the rare moments you saw him conversing, there were emotions displayed that you didn’t know he was capable of. You remember the day you saw him smile, it caught you so off guard that you accidentally crashed a vase sitting on the nearby cabinet. That was embarrassing but fortunately Kafka helped you clean up. And Blade? That tiny smile he flashed momentarily towards Kafka immediately turned into a scowl when he laid his eyes upon you. Of course, you thought, that smile would never be for me.

You did what you could do to not fall for him harder but to no avail. All you could do was to control yourself around him and smile watching him from afar. This was enough for you, as long as you got to watch him smile, speak and just do anything from a distance, it was ok. It was bearable. But what was the point of remembering all this now? What was the point of recalling all this? 

In the present moment you struggled to breathe as blood continued gushing out of your wounds uncontrollably. A fight with the mara-struck cloud knight soldiers had brought upon you your demise. Seeing that your end was near, the enemies had left you to fend for yourself leaving you lying alone on the cold stone pavement. No one was around to help you and frankly, no one would even hear your calls for help in the dead of the night. More blood oozed out of your mouth as you coughed and you clenched your robes trying to steady your breathing to no avail. As tears welled up and your eyes started to close, all you could think about was Blade and your encounters with him.

In the distance, you could see a familiar silhouette walking towards you. Was it your delusion or reality? You didn’t know. As he came closer and his face became clearer, you recognised the same stone face you were used to seeing, one devoid of emotion. You took one last look in his crimson eyes and a bitter smile formed on your face as your life slipped away.

Of course, he would never love me.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ©mm-lurking 2024 do not copy, steal or reuse my work.

[cenorii]

RE headcanons!

PART 1 (if you like it I'll make a sequel with other characters. I was just bored)

My serious headcanons about some RE characters. Some I'll write about more than others because I thought about them more often, I apologize in advance.

Chris Redfield

— his favorite color is green, he enjoys this color and adds it to any set of clothes, even his military gear. He doesn't care if shades of green may not match at all in the same outfit, he just wears that color because he loves it.

— his favorite genre of music in the early years, judging by his daring clothes, guitar and references to «Queen», was heavy metal and pop-rock. Nowadays, many years later, he probably likes the laid-back tunes of «Roxette» and «Savage» because Chris' life has become hectic and he needs an island of peace.

— he smokes, but he's not a heavy smoker. In his youth, Chris smoked a lot and often, judging by his concept art. Now, however, he smokes to get in the right frame of mind and pace, to focus and calm down.

— After the amnesia episode, Chris stopped drinking and now only drinks on holidays. Drinking has become disgusting to him, it reminds him of his episode of weakness.

— Chris prefers his natural scent, doesn't use any special perfume on himself because he washes with regular soap.

— he's a latent gay man, but he's never been in a relationship. Chris seriously doesn't understand why he isn't attracted to women. The last thing he thinks about is his real orientation. He's silly.

— he likes Wesker more than Chris is willing to admit. Since he doesn't realize what kind of attraction it is, Chris doesn't guess his crush. He's too inexperienced in love affairs to realize it. Especially when it comes to Wesker, who he has a ton of emotions associated with, a lot of which are negative.

— Chris has some guitar skills, but after 1998, he barely remembers it. He can't sing, he's just an amateur at it.

— he doesn't know how to cook, ordering takeaways. Chris doesn't like junk food, having given up his attempts to learn how to cook and not even opening the cookbook Claire gave him.

— Chris never has enough time to shave his face or cut his hair. But that doesn't bother him.

— he had a low grade in school, Chris liked fun more than textbooks.

Wesker

— his favorite color is blue, but Wesker doesn't like others to know too much about it, so he adds this color to his clothes very carefully. Blue color in his clothes has never been the main color, it is only an accent.

— Wesker doesn't usually listen to music, he prefers silence, but if he had to choose, he would settle for Frank Sinatra songs. He can only listen to something that won't throw him off his thoughts.

— Wesker doesn't smoke or drink. Spencer dreamed of creating an ideal society, so he raised the Weskers as ideal people. Such people should not drink and smoke. These people should only spend time on self-development and so on.

— he doesn't swear. Wesker doesn't like and/or know how to swear because of his «proper» upbringing. He will never insult a person with a rude word, but will pick up the most innocuous one, even if he is very angry. Who shouts «self-righteous fools» or «ignorant cretins» in anger? Only the child or Wesker, because in his situation I'd be yelling «assholes», «fucking bastards» and so on. He's polite and well-mannered, just like Spencer wanted.

— he has a good sense of humor. Wesker doesn't seem like a joker because his jokes are very subtle and infrequent. He says «I have a date to keep» and then goes and destroys the Red Queen with the phrase «goodbye, fair lady», isn't he the most serious joker in fandom after that?

— Wesker is pansexual, but he doesn't care about relationships and so he, like Chris, is not even aware of his preference. He doesn't pay attention to it, so his involvement with Ms. Muller or his sudden obsession with Chris doesn't give him any reason to wonder what his orientation is. He doesn't care.

— he's in love with Chris, but he sees those feelings as a manifestation of his pride in him.

— his bathroom shelf is filled with various self-care products, and he is very worried about his appearance. First, the smell of his perfume enters the room, and then Wesker enters.

— Ms. Muller was not just a «one-night stand» for him, there was a warm relationship between them, because she remained in good opinion of him and even kept the child. This is a side of Wesker that is unknown to the players, because he had no opportunity or chance to show it. I think they broke up because Wesker was getting too attached to this woman and she was becoming his weakness, and he «can't have weaknesses». His job may have also interfered with the relationship, causing Muller to make her own decision to get out of his way, keeping the good memories alive. Wesker, on the other hand, tried to forget about that pleasant time with her so it wouldn't interfere with him.

— he is not ashamed to recognize someone else's merits and praise another person. He appreciates people who are good at something, he is sincere about it.

— Wesker is not a villain and an antagonist, he is the anti-villain. He has all the personality traits that fit that definition. He is not the pure evil that many believe him to be due to their inattention.

— he can cook, and he does it well. Wesker is known for being great at everything and cooking is no exception. Back in the days of S.T.A.R.S., he took care of his healthy diet, but once he gained power and became a bioterrorist, he stopped cooking for himself, preferring to order food from restaurants or have a personal chef. Because of the virus, he doesn't need to eat as often as normal people, so he really enjoys the process, since it rarely happens.

— because of his principles or Spencer's upbringing, Wesker can't directly harm a child. Children have never been a target for him, and he considers it beneath his dignity.

— his name is a mononym. Wesker doesn't call himself Albert and doesn't like it when others do (but doesn't stop them out of politeness). He is Wesker to everyone and to himself. However, there is a contradiction here — he hates the word «Wesker» and this whole project. Surely he must have considered changing his name if he had achieved the evolution of humanity. He still uses his initials AW when necessary.

Leon S Kennedy

— Leon has no color preference, he wears whatever clothes he feels comfortable in. He doesn't care if the colors don't match.

— he loves children and is easy to get along with.

— he uses feminine shower gels and likes sweet scents.

— likes to drink to relax or for any other reason. But he doesn't smoke.

— the music that Leon likes is very hard to define. He is probably a music lover who listens to whatever he likes.

— Leon isn't shy about swearing. He likes to make silly jokes to lighten the mood.

— He knows how to cook, but not very well, but these skills are enough for him. Leon can make toast or fry eggs, but it would be difficult for him to cook something more complicated, so he often watches tutorials on the Internet or eats fast food.

— Leon is bisexual and he knows it. He's crazy about Ada Wong, but he tries to hide it, which is unsuccessful.

— he likes karaoke.

— it annoyed him that if he showed up in any kind of transportation, there was a high probability of an accident or something. He sometimes wondered if he was a loser.

— he had a girlfriend once, but the affair was so casual that it broke up after almost a month.

— In school he had average grades, Leon could not be called a bad student, but he was not an excellent student either.

Ada Wong

— her favorite color is not only red, but also black.

— she loves elegant clothes and doesn't care if they don't fit her work. Despite the design, Ada chooses only clothes in which she can move freely.

— only Wesker knows her real name, and her name «Ada Wong» is just a rehash of «AW» (Albert Wesker).

— I like to think that she and Wesker could have acted like best friends, but voluntarily opted out for personal reasons.

— Ada pretends not to like music, but she actually likes «Marina and the Diamonds». She listens to these songs alone, in a deserted place.

— she smoked once, but she quit. She doesn't drink.

— Ada doesn't have any holidays, she doesn't even celebrate her own birthday.

— she's straight, and she's openly attracted to Leon.

— loves subtle scents in perfume, she always smells nice, but this scent is barely perceptible.

— Ada can't cook and hasn't tried to learn. She eats food from cafes and prefers to go there herself instead of having it delivered.

— She has no problem with foreign languages, she probably knows a few besides English.

— she was an honors student in school and she's easy to learn new things.

— Ada is an anti-hero.

Alex Wesker

— Alex's favorite color is white. It is the color of sterility and truth that she strives for in her research.

— I guess her full name is Alexandra.

— loves getting her nails done to cheer herself up. Due to illness and failed experiments, she is always in a bad mood, so taking care of herself helps her keep her head cool and rational.

— Alex loved her own short hair, which she had in the past, but it reminded her too much of Albert, whom she respected. Because of what she knew about «Project W» and the truth about them, Alex felt a kind of guilt for keeping her brother in the dark and lying. So she changed her image so she wouldn't think about it.

— she's a lesbian.

— Alex knows Russian.

— she must have a secret altar in her house dedicated to Albert.

— she respects Albert so much that she even tries to think and act like him. It is forbidden to insult her brother in her presence, even though they have hardly ever met and are not related.

— Alex did grieve when she learned of her brother's death in the volcano. But when she learned of his death in 1998, she was not sad, because she had not yet had time to get to know him so well and get into his personality.

— the clothes Alex wears are formal and office style. She doesn't like to wear something informal because she feels insecure in it.

— the mole under her eye is painted, or appeared there with age.

— Alex likes only classical music, her ear cannot perceive anything from modern genres.

— Has never thought about relationships, but can admit if she likes someone.

— Alex's only humor is black.

— often communicates with quotes from books, like someone quotes from songs. This helps her to express her thoughts properly and emphasize them.

— she's a lot harder to piss off than Albert.

[fandomxpreferences]

Two Lines, Two Idiots Chapter Seven: Stare Down With the Devil

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Maybank!reader, Twin!JJ Maybank x reader

TW: trauma and abuse, so much angst, fluff, mentions of panic and trauma response, fluff, I think thats it

Summary: Your past comes back to confront you.

Word count:4.3k

Your body practically floats across the yard toward the truck, an effervescent glow radiating directly from your soul. Happiness seeps out of your pores as your hand rests on your protruding belly, now nearly 20 weeks pregnant. 

The sun's rays warm your skin and reflect off the light sheen of sweat caused by the unforgiving summer heat, glittering like the ocean on a calm serene day. You're humming along to a song as you walk, your head bobbing as an occasional lyric slips past your cherry-flavored lips. 

Suddenly, the peach fuzz on the back of your neck stands at attention and you freeze mid-stride. The air has shifted, light and salty sea breeze giving way to a thick and suffocating energy; a heavy atmosphere that you know all too well. 

The earth seems to catch on as it stops on its axis, the birds silent so as not to alert the lurking predator. It's eerily quiet in a way that forebodes tragedy and causes your stomach to sink; the calm before the storm.

You smell him before you see him; the pungent aroma of Marlboro reds and stale Pabst Blue Ribbon assaulting your nostrils. It's the worst kind of nostalgia washing over you like waves of ice water, and you feel like you've been doused in kerosene with a match flickering dangerously close to your flesh. 

You're acutely aware of every cell that's working overtime in your body, seemingly all uniting with one glaring message. Run. It's as if you're inherently trained to identify the threat that is your father, and you suppose that makes sense after years of tending to your wounds. 

A fear that you've come to associate with the man crawls up your spine, plucking at each individual nerve ending along the way. It feels as though you're tuned into even the smallest functions of your body as adrenaline floods your nervous system. 

Your focus seems to zoom in on a thousand things at once. A bead of sweat tickles the column of your throat as it slowly inches toward your chest; a sensation that feels all wrong compared to Rafe's soft lips that can be found following the same path anytime he's near you. 

The band of your bikini top digs into your ribs with enough force to leave nasty red marks that will no doubt make Rafe's eyebrows furrow; you can already hear him whispering that looks painful while his hands soothe the ache.

Blood rushes in your ears with each thump of your battered heart, and if you really focus you're certain you can feel each and every one of your brain synapses firing. 

Your body goes rigid, your frame instinctively shrinking the way it did when you were a kid. Call it an old survival habit; a learned behavior that you adopted after one too fists to the cheek.

It's a feeble attempt to make yourself less of a target, a desperate hope that if you become smaller he won't see you and you'll make it out alive.

"Hey, cupcake."

The familiar rasp of his voice seeps into the air, leeching into your spasming lungs before snaking its way around your throat. The nickname forces your shoulders back, anger overpowering your fear as it registers in your clouded mind. 

It's the one good thing JJ picked up from your father, an old moniker you earned as a child after getting sick on the sugary treat. Your brother refused to let Luke ruin it, and usually it blankets you in a sticky sweetness that makes your heart swell. 

Hearing it drip from your father's tongue is like swallowing bitter cough medicine that makes you gag, and it feels like barbed wire is wrapped around your chest. You whip around with enough ferocity for stiff joints to crack, and glare at the man. 

"Don't call me that." You snap, automatically taking a step back; away from the safety of the house. Away from Rafe, whose sitting inside surely wondering what's taking you so long. 

Your father ignores you, his eyes focused on your bump. 

"I'll be damned. So it is true. Is that Cameron boy really the father?"

He looks up through his lashes, a disgusting grin bearing his stained teeth. You don't respond and he takes that as your answer, letting out a low whistle. 

"I knew you were my kid. Us Maybanks are always conmen in the end. You're gonna be swimming in dough. Twins mean double the child support."

His dirt-covered hands reach out to touch the swollen mound where your children rest, and you swat him away before you can think better of it. 

"Don't fucking touch me. My kids are not cash cows that you can rob like me and JJ."

He raises his eyebrows and you stand taller, a silent slap in the face that says I'm not afraid of you. It doesn't matter that you're pushing down full-blown panic, or that you feel like the same powerless child you were all those years ago.

He doesn't need to know that.

"I didn't rob you and that boy. I had a right to anything you brought home, I'm your father."

You suck your teeth and give a short nod, briefly biting your top lip before releasing it. The way he refers to his own flesh as 'that boy' rubs you the wrong way, but you let it slide.

"Right, whatever. When did you get back anyway?"

It's the question that's been nagging at you since the beginning of the interaction. The last time you saw him was when JJ almost took a wrench to his skull, and a few days later your brother told you he was gone for good. 

At the time you had pestered him for more details, terrified that he had done something stupid. He'd spent hours reassuring you under the moon's beams, swearing that Luke had run off in search of a new life. 

"Few days ago. Started working out a way to get here as soon as I heard I'm gonna be a grandpa."

The smile he flashes is with practiced ease, and it would fool you if you were anyone else. You know there's something sinister simmering under the surface; a nuclear bomb just waiting to be detonated. 

Against your better judgment, you laugh in his face. A full belly-shaking laugh that causes you to hunch over slightly. 

"You're even more delusional than I thought if you really believe that. You're not going to be within a hundred miles of them, and you're sure as shit not family."

Your roaring laughter ceases when you see a familiar flash in the eyes that your brothers shares, and fight or flight takes the reigns. Your hearing muffles as the color drains from your face, the sound of your voice is foreign to you as you scream out. 

"Rafe!"

Your father falters for a moment, not expecting your boyfriend to be here. It occurs to you then that he had mentioned child support, and you realize that whoever told him had left out the bit of information about your relationship.

Your blood-curdling shriek has Rafe sprinting in your direction, the sound a stark contrast to your saccharine voice that reminds him of ice cream on a scorching afternoon. 

A nauseating sense of dread pushes him forward as he stands on the porch, his eyes wild as they frantically search for you. There's only one thing he can think of that would illicit such raw and primal emotion from you.

He figures he must have truly taken a nose dive off the deep end for a moment because there's no feasible way that could be what's happening. He watches as Luke takes a step toward you, and bounds down the steps of the chateau. 

Your panicked eyes dart to look over Luke's head, and the animalistic urge to protect his family consumes Rafe whole. Bile rises in his throat at the site of you so distraught, and he races to close the distance separating the two of you. 

Luke notices you looking at something and stops; he may be an asshole but he's not stupid. He slowly turns around just before your boyfriend reaches him, and subtly cowers back.

There Rafe stands, all six foot two of rugged muscle pulled taut as he looms over the first man to break your heart. His lips turn down into an angry frown, the gleaming smile that usually displays his adoration for you nowhere to be found. 

His eyes have adopted a steely glare, dark and narrow in a way that reminds you of a snake ready to strike its prey. Your gaze lingers on his hands, locked firmly at his sides as his fingers flex; brutality begging to be released. 

His jaw ripples with tension as he clenches his teeth, hateful words filled with venom ready to fly freely like hollow point bullets designed to kill. He glances over at you, the urge to scan your body for the tiniest scratch clawing at his chest; demanding to know that you're safe. 

A hot tear burns your cheek, and Rafe's eyes trace its trail until it falls off your chin. He's laser-focused on that singular glistening sign of your anguish; ironclad proof that you are in fact not okay. 

It ignites a blazing inferno within him; a new feeling that makes his usual temper look like a dying flame way off in the distance. It feels as though live wires are buzzing beneath his tan skin, sending shock waves from the tips of his fingers all the way to his toes. 

The entire purpose of his existence pivots, and there's a blaring alarm going off that screams kill, kill, kill.

"I will cut your hand off and shove it down your fucking throat before I let you lay a finger on her ever again. So if you're wanting to hit someone, hit me."

The low register of his voice settles deep in your bones, his raspy timbre somehow a few octaves deeper than usual. He says it so calmly, like it's the most casual statement he's ever made, and your eyes widen. 

It's no secret Rafe can be explosive, the shrapnel of his outbursts embedding in anyone within earshot. The man speaking now is someone else entirely; cold and calculated, completely in control of the situation. 

Luke goes to argue, and you catch the exact moment the thread inside of Rafe snaps. The thick vein on the side of his neck threatens to burst free as his face burns red, and his nostrils flare. He takes a step forward, his scream reverberating off the water and trees as he unleashes a wrath that rivals God.

"Go on, hit me. Hit me like you hit her!"

His index finger jabs his diaphragm as he accentuates his words, and more tears blur your vision. There's an emotion deeper than anger hidden in his tone; something akin to despair and disgust.

Rafe means every single word. He wants your father to hit him. He wants to know what his fist feels like as it makes contact. He needs to know what you felt. 

He needs to know how far the ache spreads from the point of impact, how big the bruise is, how long it takes it to bloom, and what shades of brown and yellow it fades to as it heals. 

Luke squares his shoulders and Rafe takes a step forward. He glowers down at your father, silently daring him to make a move.

JJ and the pogues watch from the porch, having come out after hearing your shout. JJ stands frozen in place as the scene unfolds, his mind racing a million miles an hour. It's when he sees the two men having their stand-off that he finally kicks into gear, making a beeline for you while telling his friends not to move. 

You feel his arms wrap around you as he pulls you back, and try to figure out when the hell he even showed up. He's whispering quiet reassurances in your ears while he tries to turn you away to put your face in his neck, but you don't budge. 

Your bloodshot eyes are fixed on Rafe, too afraid to blink. The world seems to move in slow motion. Your father laughs. Rafe's arm twitches. Your breaths come out in quick short pants. Rafe inhales slowly. Every move is premeditated and deliberate. 

JJ starts to panic behind you. He's powerless in this moment. He can't control a single circumstance. Rafe's knuckles turn white in a clenched fist. He's decided to end it all right here.

You know this. You can see it in his eyes. 

"Rafe, stop!"

You shout just in time and he looks at you with his arm frozen mid-swing. Luke turns to the side and glances between the two of you, Rafe's eyes soften upon seeing yours glassed over and pleading.

Your father shakes his head in disbelief and chuckles cruelly before peering at Rafe.

"She's really got you fooled, huh? Hungry dogs are never loyal. She's a Maybank, she'll bolt as soon as there's a better opportunity. Its runs in the family."

Rafe starts to lunge, completely forgetting your command. He can beg for forgiveness later.

"This is where it runs out."

Your voice rings out, wobbly but forceful as Rafe stares at you.

JJ's in front of you now, creating a barrier between you and the man. If Luke wants to get to you, hell have to get through him first. That is Rafe even lets him get that far. 

Your boyfriend senses the shift; sees the gears turning in your head as an entire lifetime of unspoken words threatens to pour out. He moves forward and stands behind you with one arm wrapped just below your collarbones and his other hand rubs comforting shapes on your stomach. 

Luke falters, his cold glare darting between his two kids. JJ moves to stand next to Rafe and allows you to set your sights on the man that terrorized you. 

How can you have matching smiles and the same mannerisms, but be so different? You and your father are intricately intwined, sharing so many little traits. somehow you look exactly like him, yet bear no resemblance at all.

You're exactly the same and nothing alike, a mind boggling paradox. The same temper and sharp tongue, yet a different heart altogether.

Your fingers come up to wrap around Rafe's forearm while you let him ground you, and the fog starts to clear. You know you're safe, and for the first time in your life you can speak your mind. 

Your head shakes from side to side slowly, your chest torn open as your beating heart is put on display. 

"Please just tell me why. Why're you doing this to us? You don't have to do this. You didn't have to do any of it."

Rafe's arm tightens, and he ignores the burning sting of your nails as they nearly break his skin.

"Y/N, don't. It's not worth it." 

JJ's hand is on your shoulder as he takes a step forward, and he stares at the side of your face. 

Isn't it though? Don't the two of you deserve some sort of closure?

"Stop waiting for an apology you'll never get. It wouldn't make a difference anyway."

On a certain level, you know your brother is right. Still, you can't for the life of you bring yourself to tear your eyes away from your father's. In this moment it's not a grown woman staring back at him; it's a hurt little girl who just wants her dad.

Luke doesn't say anything, and his silence is like a serrated knife to your windpipe.

"Do you even regret what you did to us?"

It's a quick flash, impossible to notice if you weren't holding such intense eye contact, but you see a flicker of emotion in his usually blank eyes. You know he won't acknowledge the pain he caused, yet you continue anyway.

"You made our lives a living hell. You blamed us for everything and gave us scars that will never fully fade. You wanna know what the worst part is? What's absolutely fucked? If you asked me to forgive you, I would. Despite everything, I still love you and I hate it. That's the person I am. You didn't break me."

He casts his eyes toward the ground, focusing on the crumpled grass in the shape of your feet.

Your desolation is slowly being overtaken by resentment, and a fire that bears a striking resemblance to that of the man in front of you dances in your eyes.

You've spent your entire life trying not to be like him, but that doesn't mean you didn't inherit his vicious temper and ability to be cold-hearted. You just learned to control it.

"I wanted to be soft and kind. I wanted to frolic in the waves and go to daddy-daughter dances and be proud of you, even once. I wanted to be a kid, and you turned me into a fucking soldier. The war is over and yet I'm still fighting like I'm in the middle of the battlefield that was supposed to be our home."

If Rafe was ever curious to know what it feels like to have his heart ripped out through his rib cage, he doesn't have to wonder anymore. The grief and vulnerability in your voice nearly bring him to his knees, and he gently spins you around so you're facing him.

His rough hands find purchase on your neck, large thumbs rubbing along your cheekbones in soothing motions. 

He tilts your head to look at him and your eyes flutter closed, your lower lip trembling as you inhale a sharp breath; a futile attempt to withhold your swirling emotions as the shackles around your heart weaken.

Rafe leans down, his own eyes squeezed shut when he rests his forehead against yours. He chooses his words carefully; part of him knows this is a defining moment that has the power to either help heal you or solidify the damage. 

His voice is soft like spring showers as it rains down on you; soaking through your armor and forcing it to slip away. 

"Lay down your sword. You won, there doesn't have to be any more bloodshed."

It sends you over the edge and you crumple in his arms. He catches you with ease, his hand smoothing down your hair as he shushes you. 

JJ's eyes sting with tears at the sight of you finally falling apart after years of holding it together, and he looks at his father. 

"Dad, please. Just let us go. Let us go."

Your father takes one last look at you and turns on his heel. JJ breathes a sigh of relief, and the rest of the group slowly approaches as the elder Maybank disappears. John B has always had an inkling about the reality of your home life, but nothing was ever confirmed. 

The rest of them are completely in the dark. They knew that you and JJ didn't like to go home, and of course they knew that Luke is a piece of shit. Anything further than that was kept hidden.

Rafe's heart shatters as he holds your trembling figure, wails unlike anything he's ever heard ripping from your throat. All he can feel is melancholia.

How could he feel anything else? His sweet girl that would do anything to make someone smile, that wakes up every day and chases away the darkness that looms over him just by existing, that sees the misery in the world and decides to sprinkle in a little goodness, beaten and broken down by the one person that was supposed to protect her. Of course it fills him with sorrow.

Rafe locks eyes with JJ, unsure what else to do besides let you openly weep. Your brother nods toward the house, and your sweet boyfriend bends down to press his lips to the shell of your ear. 

"Let's go inside, yeah?"

You don't protest, and he gently guides you toward the house while your brother and friends look on. Kie and Sarah are crying now too, devastated to see you see the truth beneath your bubbly personality. 

"What the hell was that all about?"

John B has to look away lest his emotions get the best of him and focuses on JJ.

"Nothing."

JJ's tone is defensive as he rips his backward cap off and wrings it between his hands. 

"Didn't look like nothing."

Your brother's hair flops against his forehead as he shakes his head and starts toward his bike. 

"Doesn't matter, okay? It's all over for good now. Just drop it." 

Everyone looks at each other as he speeds off without another word, and JB blows out a long breath. 

"What the fuck?"

Inside, Rafe is kneeling in front of you as you sit on the bathtub, doing his best to calm you down. Two decades worth of pain is being released, and it seems like nothing can quell the ache in your chest. 

Your father's words about being a Mayabnk bounce around your head, and it only makes you bawl harder. Rafe's eyes widen when you start heaving from the force of your sobs and he considers calling JJ.

"Can you try and breathe for me baby? This isn't good for our little ones."

He immediately regrets his words when your lips turn downward and you whimper, guilt now eating at you along with everything else. 

"Maybe my dad was right. Maybe I am a Mayabnk through and through. I mean, I've done a lot of shit over the years. I've hurt a lot of people and caused a lot of trouble."

Rafe frowns, his fingers squeezing your thighs where they rest to get your attention.

"People do bad things when they're trying to survive. It doesn't make you a bad person. I hope you know I'm proud of you. I see how hard you're fighting, and you've come so far. You might feel stuck, but you're not."

Another tear cascades down your cheek as you blink at him and he gives you a small smile. 

"When I told you I loved you, you know I meant it right? I'm not just talking about all those warm feelings. I'm talking about putting in the work. I'm here to stay for the hard parts, not just the pretty ones." 

Your hand comes to rest on his cheek and Rafe leans into your touch, trying to portray just how much he means it.

"I don't deserve you. I don't deserve this type of love."

Rafe has genuinely never felt such agony as your words seep into his soul, and he shakes his head. 

"Don't say that. It's not about what you think you do or don't deserve. I get to choose who to love. I'm an adult, and I can make that decision. I love you on purpose. So I'm here to stay. I'm in this."

His lips press to yours so delicately, as if you'll disintegrate under his touch while he tries to make you feel his love. You're interrupted by a knock at the door and he pulls back, pushing a stray hair behind your ear as he answers. 

"Come in."

JJ peeks his head through the door, a timid smile making his dimples pop out. He returned shortly after he left, concern for your well-being overtaking him.

"How goes it?"

There's a beat of silence as the two of you stare at each other, both your faces splotchy as dried tears make the tight skin itch. The two of you look a mess, hair ruffled and runny noses telltale signs of your distress. 

JJ's lip quivers and that's all it takes for the two of you to burst out laughing. Rafe looks at you like you've grown a second head, genuinely baffled at what could possibly be funny. It dies down to giggles after a minute and you wipe your face with the back of your hand. 

"It was always going to end like this, wasn't it?"

JJ shoots you a sad smile, his eyes zeroed in on a bottle of shampoo. 

"Yeah, I think so, cupcake."

You purse your lips and nod, the truth a nasty pill to swallow. Suddenly, JJ's raw voice fills the air and Rafe looks up at him. 

"Can I talk to you outside for a second, bro?"

Your boyfriend pecks your forehead and stands, following your brother out to the screened-in porch. He waits patiently, letting the blonde gather his thoughts. 

"Thank you for what you did back there. She feels safe with you, and I think she's been needing to get that shit off her chest for a long time. You gave her the strength, and I just want you to know I'm grateful. It helps me sleep to know she's with someone that I can trust to protect her."

Rafe's hand rubs the back of his neck, not used to your brother being so candid. If you had told him a year ago that JJ Maybank would use his name and the word trust in the same sentence, he would've called you crazy.

"Of course, man. I care about her more than I care about myself and there's nothing I wouldn't do for her. Whatever she needs, I'm there."

JJ pulls him into a half hug and slaps him on the back before leaving to go back inside. Rafe just stands there for a moment, taking deep breaths and trying to regain his composure. 

When he's confident he's got it under control, he returns to find you cuddled up on the couch watching reruns of Spongebob. A smile tugs at his lips as he joins you, his hands coming to rest on your belly out of habit. 

"It's going to be okay, right?"

Your voice is small as you whisper the question, and Rafe shifts to look down at you. 

"One day it's going to be great. All of the hardships will be distant memories and you'll be in love with your life. I promise."

Your face nuzzles into his shoulder and he kisses the top of your head. As long as you have each other, everything will always turn out okay.

@i-love-rafe @itsmytimetoodream @brynley-a-xoxo @whore4drew @houseofperfecttaste @everythingmarveltopgun @f4ll-for-you @athenabarnes @antagonize-me-motherfucker @writtenwordslover @madsnxo @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @starrystarkey93 @keylin1730 @fulla02 @loving-and-dreaming @evening-starlight @ibleedcalories @badasspizzalover @veescorneroftheworld @pinkpantheris @brooklynscherry-z @starkeylover @sebastiansstanswhore @lothiriel9 @katzarantos @gillybear17

[greenthena]

Metatron's Tie

**Update: check the reblogs. There's a clear picture that shows the tie pattern as flowers. So, there goes my theory. Whomp whomp. Easy come, easy go, as Freddie says. @archangelween @drconstellation

People, I have been trying to get a good look at the Metatron's ding dang neck tie since September to determine what those little blue symbols are. Because, like everything in the Good Omens universe, I believe it's been put there for a reason. I also believe that God has no idea what she's doing, which is why she hired Neil Gaiman to run things for a few decades.

Despite being a so-called agent of Heaven, the Metatron's costume is coded as demonic, from his dark topcoat to the black stripes on his white shirt. The item I find most fascinating, however, is his tie. And this is probably in large part because I've had so much difficulty seeing the subtle blue pattern upon it and that has made my brain itch and made me hyperfixate. As one does.

I think I may have figured out the design, and it complicates all my Metatron theories, but here we go. The Metatron's tie is black, featuring a repeated small bright blue symbol throughout. I've guessed it could be a star or a planet. A cryptic sigil or maybe something to do with the coffee (I'm not a coffee-theory person, though, for the record.) I don't know what it is (well, maybe I do now, and I promise we'll get there in time...I'm a demon of my word), but I do know that it's important.

All the angels have references to their angelic status concealed within their costumes.

Michael is the watcher. She is the one who, in Saturday Morning Funtime, delivers surveillance photos to Gabriel. To reflect this, Michael wears a gold ring featuring several small pearls that symbolize eyes. She is ever-vigilant (hyper-vigilant, ya might say), and even has a contact in Hell (Dagon) to broaden her scope of observation. The placement of the ring in the pinky is also significant. A good watcher mustn't themselves be observed, so Michael, in her role as observer must slip under the radar. This corresponds to the pinky finger being small and quite literally underhanded, as in at the bottom of the hand.

Uriel's ring is a silver star, worn on her/their index finger, the digit associated with authority. (We call it the index finger because we use it to sort and catalog, creating meaning and order.) Uriel certainly commands authority, both in their overall calm and assured demeanor, and also in their actions. It is she who physically confronts Aziraphale prior to the S1 No-pocalypse, easily inspiring fear in the Principality. As for the symbol of the star, I believe it is a reference to modern Angelography (I might have made up that word, but I think you know what I'm talking about) which usually describes Uriel as a sun, star, or the flame of the Almighty.

Sandalphon's symbology is two-fold: a thick gold pinky ring featuring a pair of circles (kind of looks like a lego brick, to be perfectly fair) and that small gold grill he wears on his front teeth. Both these items are the most elaborate pieces of angelic adornment that we see. Sandalphon's overall aesthetic is much warmer than the other angels', leaning toward caramel and tan rather than dove gray. He's a bit of an odd ball in the host of Archangels and stands out based on his wardrobe choices alone. He's also the only Archangel not to return in S2. I don't want to make too much of this, because there are many in-universe reasons why we may not see Sandalphon again. However, in Judeo-Christian scripture, Sandalphon is closely joined with...wait for it...the Metatron, with apocryphal texts describing him as Enoch's (the Metatron's pre-angelic human name) twin brother. I take this with a hefty spoon of salt, though, since Neil definitely plays loosey-goosey with these dogmas and even the scriptures themselves are a veritable soup of contradiction. (The Bible is not a static or universally canonical text, and Hebrew scriptures, outside the Tanakh are a web of activity and debate as to what is accurate. I'm not here for the arguments today; this is not my Bat Mitzvah.)

Finally, we have Gabriel, the only Archangel who doesn't wear a ring. He does, however, wear a watch. I have two thoughts about the watch. First, clocks are thematically relevant in the Good Omens universe. From the grandfather clock in the bookshop to Crowley's elaborate wristwatch (which he has in both show and book) to the opening sequence of S1, which has far too many clock faces to count. So there's that. But holding time in one's hand (or on one's wrist) is a powerful metaphor that illustrates control and higher power. To possess a clock is to command time and space which are essentially inseparable. As the Supreme Archangel, Gabriel is nearly the top-ranking being in the universe (for a time, at least...see what I did there? pathetic laughter) and his wristwatch demonstrates this point.

If you're still with me, you're doing great. Good job.

We've got to see how important the Archangels' symbology is to their characters, I think, to really understand why the sigils on the Metatron's tie matter. So, finally to the point. Dolphins. Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.

To move forward, we'll need to call upon my old friend, the Tarot deck. Cards, in general, and Tarot, in particular, play a marked role in the GO universe. The Almighty Herself addresses the viewer in the opening lines of the show, "God does not play dice with the universe; I play an ineffable game of my own devising. For everyone else, it's like playing poker in a pitch-dark room, for infinite stakes, with a Dealer who won't tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time." As God speaks, cards appear on screen, and some of those are from the Rider Waite Tarot deck. One specific card that caught my eye in this montage is "Judgement."

This card features an angel blasting a trumpet and waking the dead from their graves on the Day of Judgement. The angel on the card is not named, as such. It's usually assumed to be Raphael, as he is the angel who is prophesied to call and raise all souls on this day. However, I've found other references naming the angel as either Gabriel or the Metatron. Now, I don't want to get overly carried away here, but in the context of Good Omens, reading the Judgement card with the Metatron as the angel pictured may actually make a lot of sense, and clarify the sigils on the Metabutt's tie. The Metatron postures himself as the Voice of God--the Mouthpiece of the Almighty. Kinda like a trumpet, yes?

Now look at the flag on the angel's trumpet. That's called St. George's Cross and it's a very prevalent European Christian symbol dating back to the Middle Ages. Like many images in the Tarot, it's a heraldic emblem that has meaning outside the deck, often associated with bravery and military might. It continues to be used in military iconography into the present day. The Judgement that the angel heralds is not peaceful. It's a call to war. The righteous will be gathered to Heaven and the wicked will be destroyed--a repeat of the first Great War in which Satan and the demons were cast into Hell. In the narrative of Good Omens, this war will bring about the end of time, the end of the world, and the beginning of eternity (hope ya'll like The Sound of Music.)

Kids (human and goat, alike) I think those little blue sigils on the Metatron's tie are Saint George's Cross. (I'm so sorry this is so small and hard to see. Now you know my pain.)

In the Final Fifteen, the Metatron speaks briefly about the Second Coming, which is a reference to Saint John of Patmos' prophecies--you might know them as the Book of Revelation. Some Christians interpret Revelation as an upcoming final judgement for humanity. And it seems, based on in-universe exposition, certain characters view these prophecies in a similar light. In the reverse body-swap at the end of S1, Crowley suggests that the averted Apocalypse was not the end of the conflict. "If you ask me," he says, "Both sides are gonna' use this as breathing space before the Big One. [...] For my money, the really Big One is all of us against all of them." And with the Metatron acting as the Mouthpiece of God, that "Big One," that Day of Judgement, if you will, may well be nigh.

I think the Metatron sees himself as the angel who rings out the Final Judgement. He is the Voice of God, after all. But here is a worrying thought. How little he would need to shift perspective to view himself as the Word of God, as well. The Gospel of John opens, "In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God. The Same was in the beginning with God." The Word of God is an epithet for Jesus. The same Jesus whose Second Coming the angel of judgement is meant to announce. So what if the Metatron just plans to consolidate these roles for himself: the heralding angel and the Second Coming rolled into one. He would become Judgement Incarnate, supplanting the Almighty once and for all. And for my money, that sounds just like what a demon would like to do.

***I'm updating because several readers have pointed out that it seems like I'm saying Metatron=Demon because Demon=Bad. Thank you for bringing this to my attention--it makes me a better communicator. I can see where it's coming from. It's not my intention. Consider this meta sort of an extension of my "Metatron is the Murder Hornet" meta, which I'll link with the tags if you're interested.

Just wanted to clarify that I think at its heart, Good Omens is thematically about rejecting the dichotomy of good and evil and embracing the messy gray space that is reality.

When I call Metaboob a demon, it's not because I think demons are evil, it's because I think he's the hornet in the beehive and we've seen that demons need an angelic escort (Crowley and Muriel) to access Heaven.

TL;DR Angels are not the good guys. Demons are not the bad guys. Good Omens is NOT about that at all.

[talonabraxas]

“The aura is an extension of a person’s personality and emotional, mental and physical landscape, so it will change from day to day.”

Aura colours and their meaning.

The aura is an extension of a person’s personality and emotional, mental and physical landscape, so it will change from day to day. It can be affected by external factors as well as the general disposition and character of the individual.

There are no hard and fast rules as to what these visual variances ‘mean’, as, with all psychic practices, it depends on the intuition and knowledge of the reader. But there are certainly common themes. For instance, those who practice yoga tend to have a ‘still’ aura or people with serious illness have a fainter aura than someone vital. Moreover, auras tend to have a ‘texture’ to them. They may be sparkly, treacly, in lines, waves or arcs.

Below, I have given a rough guide to how you might interpret auric colours only, but it is no mean a fixed manual:

The Aura Colors Meaning Chart:

Red ~ Pertains to circulation, the heart and the physical body. In its higher aspect, it is an indicator of a healthy ego, stability and being strong-willed. In its lowest aspect, red energy can give way to anger, unforgiving, anxiety or nervousness.

Orange ~ points to the reproductive organs and feelings. It is the colour of vigour, vitality and enthusiasm. In its higher aspect, orange energy shows creativity, confidence and gregariousness. In its lowest aspect, it can give way to stress and addictions.

Yellow ~ represents life energy – qi or prana. The colour of optimism, awakening, inspiration and intelligence. It has no lower aspects.

Green ~ connects to the heart centre and lungs. It is the comfortable and healthy colour of nature, representing growth, balance, healing, and depicting a love for all sentient beings and Mother Earth.

Blue ~ Pertains to the throat and the thyroid and is therefore indicative of communicators. Writers, public speakers and linguists will often have a lot of blue in their auric field. It is also a cool, calm and collected energy.

Indigo ~ Pertains to the third eye and therefore is a colour of deep feelings, intuition and sensitivity.

Violet/Lavender ~ Relating to the crown, pineal gland and the nervous systems. It is the most sensitive colour in the aura. People with a lot of violet in their auras are usually highly artistic, psychic, intuitive, visionary and magical.

“The aura is an extension of a person’s personality and emotional, mental and physical landscape, so it will change from day to day.”

Other Aura Colours:

Turquoise ~ is associated with the immune system and usually found in the auras of healers and therapists. It is a sensitive, compassionate colour.

Silver ~ pertains to spiritual and physical abundance. A lot of bright silver in an aura may indicate a spiritual awakening or financial gain.

Gold ~ typical of divine protection and enlightenment. This colour points towards strong spiritual and universal guidance, intuition, wisdom and inner peace.

Black ~ points towards pulling, capturing and transforming energy. It can indicate unreleased anger, grief or health problems. It also shows an unforgiving nature (to themselves and others) and possible past-life issues that remain unresolved.

White ~ linked to protection and deflecting other energies. Flashes of white within the auric field often signal that angels are nearby. As with most associations with white, it symbolizes purity, truth and a healthy individual.

Earth Tones/Brown ~ Colours of soil, wood, minerals and plants highlights very grounded energy and someone who works with the earth, such as a gardener or farmer. However, a more brownish hue can point to greediness, self-absorption or ignorance in its lowest aspect.

Rainbow ~ auras with stripes of colour emanating as beams of light from the hands, heart, or head indicate someone who is a healer.

Solar Aura Peter Solarz