#fortune favors the wicked

[leopardmuffinxo]

she's perfectly misaligned, i'm caught up in her design

[sonandheirofnothinginparticular]

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 7 all chapters

I knew the pleasure of vexing and soothing him by turns; it was one I chiefly delighted in.

–Jane on Mr. Rochester, Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë

-It's no real mystery, why you dig out your beloved old copy of Jane Eyre. From the early 1900s, it had seen better days when you’d scored it in the local used book store, many years ago. You’d been a teenager then—and those days were long behind you. It seems you never outgrew your liking of a dark and broody anti-hero.

It’s safer to read about it though, than pursue the real thing.

Lately every time Mr. Wick comes into the shop you feel slightly agitated, as though you don’t quite fit into your own skin. You remember the sensation of his fingertips on yours, like a burn.

Mr. Wick sees you reading your tattered novel on your break, but doesn’t comment. You’ve seen him with old classics in hand and reckon he must be something of an aficionado.  

You put it away in your shoulder bag in the back after the break.

The next day, it’s gone.

You know you left it in your bag. Where the fuck could it have gone? Why would someone fucking steal it?

A couple of weeks later, it reappears on the counter by the register you favor.

You hardly recognize it at first, for it has received an encompassing makeover. It has new leather covers with gorgeous embossed gold lettering, and marbled end papers, and the tattered thread of the binding repaired. There are gilded arabesques on the spine and delicately drawn climbing flowers on the cover. You wouldn’t have even thought it the same book, if not for the intricately printed title page unique to your edition, with an old pencil mark in the corner you recognize.

Such a restoration would have cost a fortune.

You knew, because you’d looked into it.  

Further compounding the mystery, there is a beautiful jacquard embroidered ribbon bookmark inside. It’s on the page where Rochester has sat Jane down in the arbor, and is telling her that she has rejuvenated him from his unhappy existence without actually admitting anything, asking in the most roundabout way possible if it would be so very bad to take a second wife who would make him a new man, while his first is still living, the big idiot.

“Is the wandering and sinful, but now re-seeking and repentant, man justified in daring the world’s opinion, in order to attach to him for ever this gentle, gracious, genial stranger, thereby securing his own peace of mind and regeneration of life?”

Jane tells him, of course, that a man shouldn’t base his redemption on another person, but within himself. You are not sure you would have had the strength to speak so frankly to a man you secretly loved.

Well, maybe you would.

You are utterly mystified by the whole thing, to say the least.

But later, you are browsing the local book store, and the owner is reading Anna Karenina in what looks like freshly bound leather. The style looks familiar.

“Did you have that restored?” you ask, feeling like Nancy Drew hot on the trail of a fresh lead.

“Yeah, that new guy in town, John Wick did it for me. He says he’s just a hobbyist, but he does amazing work. Usually you have to send off to Florence for quality like this, seriously. It’s a dying art.”

Darren lets you look at the book, and you are impressed by the craftsmanship.

The spine decoration matches yours. There is a plate in the back that proclaims: Bound by John Wick.

The sneak.

You are touched to the tips of your toes, your heart filled with butterflies. Was the bookmark purposely left on that page, or just a random placement?

You hardly dare hope, and tell yourself it’s an invention of your own fancy. The gift of the book is magnificent enough. No need to further muddle things with secret communications that aren’t really there.

The next day you approach Mr. Wick’s table with hands on your hips, affecting annoyance. “You stole my book.”

He actually has the grace to look sheepish about it, casting those lovely dark eyes downwards.

“Yeah.”

“Thanks. I really love it.” It’s the understatement of the century.

He looks up through his hair, the surprised sparkle in his eyes taking your breath away. Suddenly, he looks ten years younger.  

“Yeah?”

The corners of your mouth twitch. This man speaks like he’s paying five cents per word, you swear. “Yeah. Why didn’t you tell me you bind books?”

He just shrugs, and you cannot help but laugh.

“I’ve never owned anything so fine. Thank you, truly.”

 He nods again, and you sense that you’re maybe making him uncomfortable with your gratitude. You suspect it’s not why he did it at all.

“Will you show me sometime? How you do it?”

There is a flash of something dark in his eyes before he turns his attention back down to his own book. It feels like dismissal, but you have no idea what he’s hiding underneath it all.

Still waters run deep.

“Anytime you want,” he offers as you turn to go.  

You smile at him over your shoulder as you go back to your station, a secret lightness fluttering in your heart. On your break you flip through your refurbished book once more, taking even more pleasure in it knowing that John poured over every detail of it. You don’t know much about bookbinding or leather work, but you suspect he freehanded the little flowers on the front, and that moves you to your toes.

You flip to one of your favorite scenes because you find it so funny, when Jane puts out the fire that nearly burned Rochester up in his sleep, because undoubtedly he’d drank too much earlier to easily rouse, the lovesick scoundrel. Afterwards he doesn’t want her to leave but can’t outright keep her in his room without behaving an absolute blackguard.

“Strange energy was in his voice, strange fire in his look.”

You cannot help but glance up at your tall dark bookworm in the corner, an aching warmth spreading in your heart for the sight of his furrowed brow, his concentration (you think) focused on the tome in his hands.

You know you are a ridiculous thing.

[aurumalatus]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐰

pairing. xiao x fem!reader

word count. 4.7k

genre/warnings. royal!au, magic!au, heavy angst, major character death, reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

summary.

Your fingers intertwine with his. “I know, Xiao. I know.” He wonders if you really do know. He wonders if you know that he only remembers what it feels like to exist—to be—when you’re looking at him. He wonders if you understand that he would trade his life for yours in a heartbeat, that even since becoming familiar with power and status and things finer than he deserves, all he’s ever wanted is you. All he’ll ever want is you.

It’s become something of a routine.

In the dead of night, you creep across the thick carpet of your room, skirts sliding against fur, until you reach the heavy wood of your door. The thing had always had a wicked creak to it, but you’ve since mastered the art of opening it silently; years of practice had done you some good. It swings open easily enough, revealing the empty hallway to your squinted eyes.

“Xiao,” you murmur through the crack. A soft silver light spills into your room, courtesy of the small magical bulbs lining the halls that invite a lustrous glow into the castle. You’d asked Guizhong to have those installed a few years ago after you saw her displaying her abilities in the courtyard. She’d laughed, finding it ridiculous that a Wizard Sovereign was being given such a mundane task, but indulged you anyway.

The young yaksha responds quickly to your call of his name, as he always does. He bounds down the hallway in seconds, stuttering to a stop in front of your door.

You’ve always liked the way his spear looks at his side; viridescent as it is, it casts a lovely glow on his pale skin and dark hair, illuminating the brighter streaks in a way you find quite beautiful. Even in the low light, mixed silver and green, he looks handsome enough for your heartbeat to quicken. He peeks one golden eye through the door, curious and vigilant.

“What is it?”

“Come in, please.”

Xiao hesitates where he stands; he’s supposed to be patrolling the halls right now, and he just happened to find himself pacing back and forth in the area of the castle where your room is located. He surely can’t justify going off-duty without reason, even if it is by your command.

“Just come in,” you repeat with a bit of a whine at his silence, returning to your seat on the bed and patting a spot on the edge. “They won’t catch you. If they do, I’ll tell them I heard noises and asked you to check.”

“You used that excuse last time,” he says, giving you a disapproving look and leaning his weight against his spear. You smile.

“I hear a lot of noises.”

And Xiao knows he can’t win against you, so he merely sighs before sneaking a glance down the hallway and slipping inside your room. The door shuts silently; over the years, he has also gotten quite a bit of practice on avoiding that characteristic creak. He takes a seat on the edge of your bed, though his spear never leaves his side.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. It’s common that you ask him inside, sure, but you never look so perturbed about it. 

“I don’t know, something just feels off tonight,” you admit, fingers curling into your silk sheets. “Can you feel something?” He stares at you blankly. “With your, uhm, power?”

The question is so ridiculous that Xiao snorts, the first sign that his serious facade is melting, slow like candle wax, and your presence is the flame. “I’m a wizard, not a fortune teller.”

“The castle feels quite empty today. I heard Zhongli and much of the guard is away on business.”

Xiao nods, having been made aware of the expedition. He had been invited, but had rejected the offer in favor of staying here to protect you—not that he’d listed that as the official reason, of course, but he certainly kept it in mind. 

“You still have nothing to worry about,” he replies gruffly, observing how you gnaw at your lip, “two of the Wizard Sovereigns are still here, as well as the other yakshas and…”

He trails off, suddenly feeling awkward. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, noting how the tips of his ears flush pink. It’s infuriatingly cute.

“And you?” you finish with a smirk, nudging at his side. He flinches, looking away in embarrassment. Truthfully, he can’t understand the sudden rush of heat to his face—protecting you is his job, after all, so there should be no shame in admitting that.

“I suppose.”

You decide not to tease him about his flustered state for once, instead glancing out the window. The moon rises high in the sky, loose rays scattering through the curtains and contrasting the dark sky. 

“The moon must look so beautiful from the Harbor,” you note absently. Your hand reaches for Xiao’s, and though his face burns in embarrassment, he doesn’t flinch away even when your fingers fall over his. Instead, he allows you this moment of silence; he knows you’re thinking about the civilians of the Harbor, as you always are.

You and your family are quite beloved among the people; whenever Xiao accompanies you on excursions to the Harbor and around the market, you’re greeted with starry eyes and wide grins filled with affection. Admittedly, Xiao had tried his hardest to keep them away at first with a fierce glare, but you merely placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and told him it was alright—you want to see them, talk to them, get to know their lives. You adore your people as they do you.

The room grows quiet as you fall deeper into thought, and Xiao is overcome by the desire to ask what you’re thinking. He’s not good with words, nor is he good at comfort or anything of the sort, but he’s willing to battle whatever demons are intruding on your calm mind.

“Can you…do the thing?”

He has to suppress a laugh at the way you call magic—the art he’s spent years learning and endless blood, sweat, and tears mastering—the thing, but he indulges you regardless. He dips a hand into his pocket, producing a Qingxin flower that he will never admit he carries around for this very purpose. As his fingertips glow with the magic streaming through his body, your expression glows with awe, only growing brighter when the flower’s stem curls and spreads at the edges, popping new blooms until an entire bouquet is held within his hands. 

And though Xiao usually hates when humans ask him for frivolous entertainment, he doesn’t mind doing it for you. He thinks you’re the most beautiful when you’re like this, all star-dotted eyes and soft smiles, so he’ll do whatever magic you want until he has nothing left.

���Wow, Xiao!” you whisper, trying to keep your voice down even though your hands clap quite loudly. “Your magic is always so beautiful…it must be so difficult.”

His lips press into a half-smile. “It’s not hard at all. Very basic manipulation.”

His fingers curl around the flowers again and they glow golden, rippling at the edges until they explode upwards into a small shower of sparks. They disperse like tiny stars among your high ceiling, and your jaw drops in delight.

“Do more, do more!” you request excitedly, hands falling over Xiao’s. He gulps.

“I don’t have any more flowers,” he replies a bit unevenly, showing you his empty pockets. As a yaksha, he’d feel a bit stupid carrying a pocket full of flowers instead of weapons, but the look on your face makes him regret that decision.

“There are some just outside, can’t you go pick more?”

And he really shouldn’t, he thinks, even as he slips outside to the courtyard, but he just can’t say no to you. The night air bites—he pulls his cloak tighter around himself, slinking into the garden. There are countless flora and fauna here, the kind that burst in the day and the kind that bloom quietly in the dark. You like to spend your days here often, reading or asking Xiao to tell you stories. His eyes fall upon the Qingxin, a small patch at the edge—your favorite.

He only manages to pick one flower before a deafening blast bursts from the castle, the ground rumbling under his feet. In surprise, his gaze whips over his shoulder in time to see the beginnings of smoke rising from somewhere around the Great Hall. It filters up slowly, clinging to the clouds and easing a sense of foreboding into Xiao’s heart.

“What the hell…” he murmurs to himself, brows furrowing in confusion. 

“Yaksha, sir!”

Xiao turns to see another guard—Donghai, he thinks his name is—stumbling out of the castle, blood staining his cloak and leaking through the front of his uniform. One dully glowing hand is pressed to a deep wound in his stomach, but it’s not enough magic to heal it properly.

The guard nearly collapses at the yaksha’s feet, a broken sob ripping through his throat as Xiao catches him by the arm. Up close, there are even more gashes criss-crossed across his face, crimson dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“What’s going on?” Xiao demands, shaking him by the shoulders a bit to get his attention. His eyes are growing hazy, focus fading like water slipping through fingers.

“We…trap. Inside the castle,” Donghai wheezes, struggling for breath. He coughs once, splattering Xiao’s arms with blood. “Monsters.”

A hot, searing pain like sharp claws rakes through Xiao’s chest, slicing his heart to ribbons and dropping its remnants at his feet. He sets Donghai in the grass, harshly barking at a shell-shocked guard standing nearby to administer healing. He doesn’t stay to see whether they follow his order or not, instead sprinting through the palace gates.

Chaos swirls before his eyes.

The castle is flooded with carnage, beasts growling as they roam the halls and survivors dragging themselves into corners to fade away in the dark. The expensive carpets and draperies have been torn to shreds, walls splattered with blood and dusted with burn marks. The air seeps with darker magic so dense that he feels like he’s choking on it. Xiao doesn’t know where to start—there’s too many screams, too much chaos, too much—

You.

He has to start with you. He should always start with you.

Jumping into the fray feels as natural as breathing. He’s spent his whole life learning to fight, fighting to survive, fighting to protect. But the magic drains from his body at a pace so fast that it’s abnormal—he’s fighting with his heart, not his mind. Lightning flashes of green seep from his skin as he cuts down monster after monster, jumping and plunging and slicing through the air. The monsters are more vicious today; a claw catches Xiao in the back, and he slams into the stone wall, the air being knocked from his lungs.

He crumples, crawls to his knees, coughs, then rises again.

In order to defeat monsters, you must become one yourself.

As he runs past the throne room, he tries to ignore the ugly tear through the royal family’s portrait, the canvas split directly across your smiling face. He doesn’t want to entertain the implication in his mind.

“Princess!” he screams, letting his throat grow raw with despair. The air inside the castle is burning, and he doesn’t have the magic left to cast the proper spell to dispel the heat—it’s all he can do to stay alive as is. Flames roar and lick at his skin as he advances further. He rips his cloak off, pressing the fabric to his nose to subdue the thick smoke filling his lungs.

Something worth keeping is something worth dying for.

Silvery spots of light dot through the grayish darkness, and Xiao follows them. He knows this hall, knows it by heart because it’s your hall. His fingers brush along stone walls as he fumbles to find your door; when he meets wood, he immediately shoves it open.

Hell greets him like an old friend. 

/

Xiao staggers out of the castle minutes later, thoroughly beaten and a fresh scar seared into his right arm. He doesn’t want to look at it right now, though—can’t look at it right now, because there’s so much to be attending to. People moaning for help and crying for their lives, laid out in the singed grass of the castle courtyard. There are medics running about, some from the guard and some he doesn’t recognize. But Xiao has nothing left to give. He can’t save them; he can’t save anyone.

He stumbles forward, one foot after the other, limbs getting caught in the scraps of his shredded cloak. Something small and white falls from his pocket, floating to the ground in a heap of dirt.

A Qingxin flower. It starts to scatter with the wind; Xiao hisses a breath between his teeth.

“No,” he whispers, dropping to his knees and scraping the petals together like a madman. The soft white forms a small pool in front of him, though his fingernails cake with dirt and his body burns with overuse.

“No, no, no,” he repeats like a mantra. He’s already collected the remnants of the flower, but it’s not enough—tears and darkness blur his vision at the edges, and he’s still tearing at the grass with reckless abandon. Someone’s calling his name, he thinks, or maybe his mind is already frayed at the edges. Either way, he ignores it in favor of gathering the flower in his quivering palms, closing his hands around it gently. He’ll keep this safe, if nothing else.

His vision loses focus, and the last thing he sees is the ground shooting toward his face.

/

When Xiao wakes up, it is morning, and the dawn brings a world so different that he doesn’t recognize it at all.

The stiff cot he was placed on feels like sandpaper to his bones—they groan in protest as he moves, urging himself to sit up. It takes a few minutes before he can wobble to his feet; by the time he manages it, a sporadic pain starts to stab into his head, raw and pulsing. A royal messenger bounds up to his side, eyes narrowed as they read robotically from the scroll in their hands. With every word they speak, Xiao’s shoulders feel heavier. Maybe he should have stayed asleep. Maybe he should’ve forgotten.

The entire royal family was killed in the chaos. The other four yakshas are also dead, having been attacked first when the monsters invaded the castle. No one can explain how they had appeared inside, no one can explain why, no one can explain any of it—it was just a senseless, horrifying massacre. He has been dismissed from his position as yaksha, and is to vacate the castle effective immediately.

As the messenger leaves and Xiao’s thoughts wander to last night, he can’t gather the energy to wonder why he’s just been fired. He doesn’t even really care—it’s not like there’s anything left to protect anyway. He doesn’t find it strange, at first. All he can really do is walk forward, golden eyes staring blankly ahead, off the castle grounds and away from you.

When Xiao walks through the Harbor that day, skin painted in black, blue, and red, no longer do the people revere his arrival. News travels quick in Liyue Harbor; it’s only natural that the people had already heard of their royal family’s fate. Men, women, and children line the stone streets, staring up at the ruined castle in horror, whispering amongst themselves and shedding tears together. They scream at him and the other former guards, jeering and tossing trash that bounces off his body dully. He can barely feel it, can barely feel anything.

“You damn wizards,” one man cries, shaking a fist in Xiao’s direction, “what good are you here if you can’t do your one goddamn job? Get the hell out of Liyue, traitors!”

“The poor royal family,” one woman yells, tapping a handkerchief under her eyes to catch stray tears, “they trusted you!” Her eyes fall on Xiao, and she adds, “The princess trusted you!”

While the other guards curse and mutter under their breaths, some even daring to yell back at the crowd, Xiao says nothing. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t talk back, doesn’t even contemplate a response. 

Because they’re right.

You had trusted him to protect you, and he had failed.

He continues on.

The expedition returns that day, bearing witness to the fallen castle and traumatized guards, all blank eyes and flat faces. Xiao does not go to greet those returning—instead, he finds himself on a cliff overlooking the sea, just outside Liyue Harbor. That place no longer feels like home, no longer feels like anything. He can’t stand to be there a moment longer. If his comrades want to see him, they will come find him in time.

Zhongli approaches within the next hour, remorse written all over his face. Xiao can sense him coming, but chooses to say nothing; he feels that Zhongli might be his last comrade in this world.

“Your arm,” he says passively, in place of a greeting. He takes his place at Xiao’s side without issue, still and proud as a statue. He’s always carried an aura of power with him—Xiao wishes he had been there last night. Maybe things would have been different.

He glances to his right arm, to the emerald lines swirling and swaying down his bicep and ending just beneath his elbow. A faint glow emanates from the mark, a reminder of their magical origins. When it shimmers under his stare, Xiao scowls and pulls his cloak over his arm to cover it. The garment is still tattered and stained, and the torn fabric fails to hide the shining mark underneath.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he replies, as if that is a proper explanation of where it came from. 

Zhongli clicks his tongue. “You must’ve overexerted yourself quite a bit in order to sustain a sigillum.”

It’s not mad, or judgmental, or even disappointed—just factual. It’s his way of gently prying, offering Xiao a chance to speak about what he saw and experienced. Sigillum are known to be extremely painful for wizards, a permanent mark signaling a severe overuse of magic, and most who have one certainly didn’t gain it by choice. Xiao is no different.

He doesn’t speak, and for a few more minutes, neither does Zhongli.

Just when Xiao gets tired of staring at rolling waves and solitary islands in the distance, Zhongli brings the whole sky crashing down.

“Guizhong is being tried for crimes of treason.”

Xiao’s heart lurches, nearly throwing him forward into the unforgiving sea. Zhongli is strong, one of the most powerful wizards known to Teyvat, but the quiver of grief in his voice is audible; now, there is truly nothing left.

Without a response, Zhongli continues on.

“She was the only one of us Wizard Sovereigns present there, and she’s being blamed for the attacks and her failure to command the guard and protect the royal family.”

“Marchosius was on duty last night as well, he can—”

“Marchosius is dead.”

A slow, wobbling breath flows from Xiao’s lungs then, dissipating like ice into the air. Everything feels unreal, like a terrible nightmare that he will shake himself out of any second now. If Guizhong is being tried, it’s likely she’ll be sentenced—the commonpeople’s reaction has made that quite obvious already.

Xiao knows Liyue’s obsession with contracts. Debts of blood can only be paid with more spilling.

“So, what?” he hisses. “You’ll be the only Wizard Sovereign now? They’ve already banned all of the lower guard from the castle, do they expect you to protect it by yourself?” His heartbeat quickens, sprinting and burning like he had yesterday, and it sends a shooting pain down his spine. “I mean, they haven’t even investigated why it happened. Are they idiots? They think they can fight magical beasts without us? Even one of us would be better than ten of them against a beast, don’t they know—”

“Xiao.”

The gentle, rumbling voice of his superior pulls him out of his thoughts, and Xiao flinches when he realizes he’s summoned his spear, fingers clenching white-knuckled around it, chest heaving with every fiery breath. Zhongli’s stare is full of needless pity, and Xiao looks away with a huff. Really, he doesn’t find his anger unjustified—the actions of the new castle are truly foolish, and he’s unsure who exactly is making such decisions.

“I’ve been relieved of the position,” Zhongli explains woefully. “They suspect that wizards planned the attack as a sort of coup and it got out of hand, so the entire guard has been dissolved. I assume we’ll be replaced with humans.”

The thought is so ridiculous that for a few moments, Xiao doesn’t even dignify it with an answer.

“They think we killed more than half of our own guard on accident? That we planned to let the castle be destroyed?”

The anger threatens to drown him all over again, and Zhongli sighs, looking out at the sea vacantly. His eyes, which usually reflect kindness and mirth, only show an exhaustion far past his years.

“Xiao, you have to understand. The humans…they don’t understand how magic works, how we work. And humans will always fear what they don’t know.”

No, Xiao wants to say, maybe scream, humans don’t always fear what they don’t know. Because you had never been afraid of him a day in your life. The thought makes him feel as though the ground will give out underneath him, makes tears spring to his eyes.

In his entire time in the guard, Xiao thinks he has only cried once.

It had been while he was still just training as a normal guard, when the magic still took heavy tolls on his body and he returned to the barracks every night sore and bruised. There was no respect for him back then, given that he was an orphan, no one special, no one from a revered wizard bloodline. It didn’t bother him most days, but there was one day when it just became too much, and he curled up in his bunk and cried. He sobbed into his fist, wiped his tears, and set out the next day to do his job all over again, as he always did.

When he thinks about it now, a lot of that stopped mattering by the time he was promoted to a yaksha. Things got better after that—people started bowing their heads to him and complimenting his strength, and it felt nice. Recognition was nice, but it paled in comparison to everything he felt when he met you. You never cared where he was from or who his parents were, because all you loved about him was him.

But you’re not here now.

He falls to his knees, head bowing to the sun, eyelids fluttering weakly. Zhongli’s mouth falls open in shock, and though he reaches out, he’s stopped by Xiao’s strained voice.

“If they saw…if they saw how hard I tried to save her,” he pauses as the lump in his throat broadens, and he chokes it down, “if they knew what I had to do, they would never suspect us.”

“I know, Xiao.”

And before he realizes it, he is trembling; tremors run over his entire body, shifting and pulling like tectonic plates, matching the earthquake reverberating in his hollow chest. A hardened fist meets the ground, glowing with magic and creating a small crater from the force.

“If they knew what I would do to bring her back, they would never…”

He can’t get far enough to finish the sentence, a sudden wave of emotion crashing over him until glassy tears flow freely from his eyes, plummeting to the ground in dark splotches. Zhongli says nothing at first, or perhaps has nothing to say, nothing to wane the overflowing grief coursing through Xiao’s veins.

In a single night, Xiao had lost everything he had ever known.

Zhongli leans down slightly, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and pointedly avoiding the fresh mark painting his skin. His voice just barely bubbles forth from his chest.

“You are the last yaksha. Your fellow yakshas, your comrades, your friends, they watch over you now. You must not let the grief become your undoing. There is no sympathy left for us here now.”

Xiao’s fists clench against the ground. He thought he’d known grief for years now—the grief of being weak, the grief of being unwanted, the grief of loss—but none of that had ever compared to the ice-cold pit in his heart now. He looks up, looking entirely lost, entirely empty. 

“What do we do?” he asks in a whisper.

Zhongli quietly lifts his chin to the sky, arms crossed over his chest, something like a behemoth to Xiao’s crouched form. A vague twitch at the corner of his mouth is the only sign that shows unrest, or perhaps despair.

“Even if there is nothing left,” he says, “we live.”

/

If he had just been more calm, thought more about what he was doing, he could save you right now. He would press his hands to your stomach and let all his magic coalesce until you were okay. 

Phantom apologies and twisted prayers slip from between his lips, 

“Dammit, dammit, dammit!”

Your blood soaks through the gaps in his fingers. His breathing starts to pick up. He’d used up too much magic earlier; there’s not enough left to heal you properly, not enough left to do much of anything. All he can do is watch as you fade away, eyes still warm with mirth.

You cough, reaching out. “Xiao, your arm—”

“It’s fine,” he hisses, teeth gritted, trying to summon some semblance of power to help. It’s not fine, really—his arm burns like hellfire, like a knife is cutting down to the bone, but he won’t stop for anything. He doesn’t even notice the lime glow searing into his skin, marking him with regret and memories that will sting in the back of his mind. 

“Mother always said that Qingxin mean strength, since they grow on stone peaks,” you whisper, tucking the flower into the pocket under his cloak. When your hand brushes past his chest, he traps it there, fingers curling over yours so you can feel his heartbeat. You manage a weak smile. “Xiao, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

“Princess, I—“

Your fingers intertwine with his. “I know, Xiao. I know.”

He wonders if you really do know. He wonders if you know that he only remembers what it feels like to exist—to be—when you’re looking at him. He wonders if you understand that he would trade his life for yours in a heartbeat, that even since becoming familiar with power and status and things finer than he deserves, all he’s ever wanted is you. 

All he’ll ever want is you.

“Xiao,” you murmur weakly, eyes glassy and thumb brushing over his lip. It reminds him too much of the many moments in which his heart grew fonder, in which you shared silent laughs in the dead of night and brushed fingers under lantern light. It hurts. “So beautiful.”

He wants to tell you that this isn’t beautiful, that none of this is beautiful, that the raw stench of burning flesh and iron will haunt him for years to come. He wonders if he should tell you that he saw your sister’s bedroom door smashed open, a shred of your brother’s cloak soaked in blood, the thrones tipped to the ground and marred with deep claw marks. He thinks he shouldn’t.

His heart beats in tandem with yours, aligned perfectly in a steady rhythm that slows to a crushing conclusion.

And in your final moments, you murmur three words that have his eyes fluttering shut painfully. Everything stops. He can’t breathe. Your silken curtains shoot up in flames, heat crawling up toward the ceiling. The room still burns around him, books and photos and memories and lives becoming ashes, becoming unrecognizable and irreparable. He feels that he himself is burning along with them.

And if Xiao draws you into tired arms in that empty room and cries, sobs, breaks, until the words “no” and “please” don’t even sound real anymore, until his tears dot your lashes and run down your cheeks, that is a secret between him and the unwavering moon—all that will be left is cinders and contrition.

Everything crumbles to dust beneath his fingers.

A/N. so this was actually supposed to be a prologue to a bigger multi-chap fic with childe and scara (and ofc xiao) in the same universe, but i never truly saw it through so... whoops. but if this gets a good response maybe it'll happen one day LOL who knows! thank you for reading!

[prince-of-pleasures]

Gale does a lot of experiments on Zira, with Zira's permission, of course. Tonight, he has the incubus kneeling on a plush pet bed with his hands bound above his head and strapped to a winch set into the tower's rafters - so that he can be pulled to his feet if need be. Zira's tail is raised and a soft rope around his midsection keeps it up against his back, giving Gale access to his ass and cunt. He's interested in seeing just how many eggs of different types Zira can hold inside of him at once, prompted by the incubus once boasting that he's "made to stretch" and can "take anything". They'll start with chicken eggs, which he can summon in abundance, and then move onto something larger, working their way up to gryphons, and then perhaps even dragon eggs.

Though Zira, being a sex demon, is made to stretch so that he can take creatures much larger than him, he can't actually stretch indefinitely. That myth comes from the fact that he can change the size of his body, so he grows when the pressure inside becomes too much. Tonight, though, Gale wants him to stay his "default" size, at around 7 feet tall and slim of build, and Zira agreed. He will reach his limit, it may just take a long time. Fortunately, their schedules are clear for the next few days, so time is something they have in abundance.

Astarion is there, of course, as Zira's mate and beloved, reclining back in a plush, high-backed chair with his cock in his hands and a wicked smirk on his lips.

Gale is also hard, but he ignores it in favor of recording observations. At least until they're finished with the experiment, at which time Zira will be unleashed to ruin Gale, and Astarion will join in for the fun of it.

[youreallyshouldtalkmore]

That Which Binds Us Together_Pt 1

A.N: I finally did it!! Ever since being introduced to Neuvillette, I wanted to write three fanfics with him featuring: his love of water, otters and merman/siren!! As of posting this fic, I accomplished all three!!

Genshin Impact MasterList

------

“So, are you going to jump? Go ahead and do us that favor!” she cackled, her posse standing beside her with snickers.

“I don’t think she has the guts.” one spoke up. 

“If she did, the money left to her from her parent’s death would finally revert to your mother and you.” the other remarked.  

You didn’t say anything as you stood atop a cliff overlooking the ocean. It was a picturesque sight, but one that no one was interested in at the moment. No, your stepsister and her posse had chased you down, not an unusual thing, but this was the first time it resulted in your being so cornered. 

Your mother had died when you were a child and you barely remembered her. Your father raised you until you were around 14 years old. By that time he remarried, but he didn't know that your new stepmother was nothing more than a gold-digger.

You still think that she was responsible for your father’s death but you could never prove it. Even before his death, your stepmother and stepsister didn’t like you but they made sure not to display an ounce of that dislike for you in his presence.  Years passed in this manner but after his death, it was like the dam broke. You were made lower than a servant in your own home, hounded day and night. 

Even attending school wasn't a break for you. To keep up appearances they allowed you to attend a nearby college, but it was only because they wanted you kept on a tight leash. After all, you were the heir to your family fortune. 

A fortune that your stepmother coveted. 

The only real comfort you had was that you lived by the ocean. You didn’t know why, but you could sit for hours by the ocean, listening to its song. It was like the ocean before you was your own private symphony. It’s music called to you, beckoning you to join its depths. Sometimes you took off your shoes and waded into the water, enjoying its cool touch. If you closed your eyes, you could pretend that someone was touching you gently….

…..it only made you wonder what it would be like to become one with the waves. 

Maybe your life would be better than whatever mess was happening….. 

Even now, during this twilight hour, the dipping sun haloing your silhouette, and your stepsister’s wicked gaze, you could hear the gentle sound of the water. You turned slightly, looking out at your ocean.  It was a lovely sight to be sure. 

You could almost hear the lullaby of the ocean, a strange kind of echoing song that seemed to make its way into your heart, intertwining its melody with your own heartbeat. 

“Hey, hey, what is she doing?” 

“She wouldn’t really, would she?” 

“Hey?!” 

You were unaware of the panic that was making its way into their voices, as you turned fully to face the ocean, with a smile. 

Yes, it was calling you, seemingly stronger than you ever heard it. 

So, you stepped off the ledge…. 

Perhaps the ocean would betray as well, that it would prove to be a cold mistress, dragging you down into its depth. That it would chill you, waking you up to a harsh reality that you were drowning.

But instead, you only felt a kind of warmth that you sunk into. Although you were falling into the depths, not fighting the waves, a light shined from the depths, as you closed your eyes. 

You were unaware of something swimming up from that light…. 

Part 2

[regina-daemonium]

Mammon`s room

As MC walked into the Avatar of Greed's room, a smile filled her face as she looked around his room. "Still as messy as ever, aren't you, Mammon," she chuckled softly, setting the food she'd brought on his pool table for him to enjoy upon his return from his modelling gig. Clothes were scattered everywhere, as if a tornado of fashion had swept through, leaving a trail of designer garments in its wake. His bed was a crumpled mess, the layers of soft pillows and fluffy blankets dishevelled, with a pair of black silk boxers half-hanging off the edge.

A large 3D TV, the latest Devildom model, adorned one wall, his sound system was, of course, top-tier, with cables snaking between it and a massive, immersive gaming set-up. One controller lay on the glass table, the other on the floor as if abandoned by its owner mid-game.

Mammon's collector's edition of expensive liquor were on display in the corner, each with a tag indicating the rarity and price of the beverage. A collection of designer watches and jewellery filled a glass cabinet, a clear mark of Mammon's obsession with money and the luxuries it could provide. Well, when he had money, that was, if he, in his thirst for more, hadn't blown it at the casino or by losing at the shadow races. Fortune played a capricious game with Mammon. Those who managed to garner his affection reaped the benefits, until they no longer did his favor. Towars Mammon' himself, his wealth was as unpredictable as flipping a coin, ebbing and flowing with each roll of the dice, driven by the sin of his greed. Each time he struck it rich, he would inevitably enter a vortex of poor decision-making that saw him losing everything, only to start the cycle anew.

Priceless art pieces, intricately designed and showcasing the bright, bold colours typical of Devildom's demonic artists, adorned the walls. Though Mammon might not have the same artistic inclinations as his oldest brother, these particular works had obviously captured his fancy enough for him to spend a fortune on them.

The room was a paradise for someone who loved living in excess, but it also showed he had a short attention span, getting bored quickly and moving on to the next hot item for sale in Devildom. One could see not just an obsession with money, but also with the thrill of the chase as he sought out the newest, shiniest, most expensive trinkets and gadgets. No matter how many times Mammon lost his fortune, the thrill of the chase and gaining it back was what kept his heart racing and his blue eyes glittering with sparkles of golden dots.

MC shook her head, amused and somewhat intrigued by Mammon's cycle of good and bad fortune. "If anyone can turn their luck around, it's Mammon, isn't it?" she mused, a wry smile tugging at her lips.

Inhaling deeply, she could still detect the undertones of Mammon's signature scent, 'Devilish No. 5.' The familiar fragrance made her heart flutter, and a wicked grin curved her lips as she thought of the mischief they'd get up to that evening.

[thecameronchronicles]

The Curator's Daughter

TW: smut. Language. mentions of murder and blood. Angst. Soft!Dom!Trevor. Mentions and hints at assault.

SUMMARY: A moment of tragedy leads you to Trevor's arms. 

WORD COUNT: 3300

*ORIGINAL CONCEPT*

The Curator's Daughter

You were the reason he remained within this dead-end job. Mopping floors and acting as maintenance, despite the fact he needed a manual for even the most basic of upkeeps, you were why he endured it. All because he found his heart to take on a new rhythm with the way you controlled a room with your smile or held such passion behind every word spoken. Even as he scrubbed the stains from a recent storm, he became enamored with you as you described your father's latest collection to the very school of rugrats you were left cleaning up after. And it was the way your eyes illuminated as you detailed the specific safeguarded artifact that he found to be admirable. Inspiring even. He was able to stare at you from afar, admiring every feature you may have even found as flaws, without needing an excuse to do so. 

A countless shift as a means of a paycheck and harmless surveillance of your nearly ethereal existence was set to pass once again. As the Curator's Daughter, you were a constant presence to what would have been an otherwise barren establishment, closed nearly an hour before his arrival. It made for lengthy and even eerie nights that were sweetened by the echo of your presence. 

The scent of your vanilla coffee from a recently fueled pod from the Keurig in your father's office. The light coming from beneath the door, and on his more fortunate of nights, the crack left ajar as he could then sneak a peek of you. Even a slight hum from a song you'd heard on the radio before arriving earlier that day had left him silencing his headphones just to hear you. But none of them were present tonight. Only silence. The kind of silence that was deafening. 

"Stop it!" You ordered, the distress in your voice motivating him to charge to the direction of your dismay. But at the moment your eyes came to the scene, he found something only a wicked dream should ever hold as reality. 

"They're priceless!" You pleaded to the man you and Trevor knew all too well. But where he was your boyfriend, a title as loosely worn as possible, Trevor saw him as a rival. A guy who was never deserving of your time but always charming enough to convince your father otherwise. A detail that challenged him had been that of his father offering quite a large donation for the museum. It was well known by the employees, but an unspoken nepotism of financial favor. 

"I don't give a shit-" His hand came to the nearby display. An authentic bowl from an ancient and recently uncovered civilization ruined by his tantrum. The pieces now at the floor as you fell as if you'd been destroyed along with it. 

"Look at me-" He charged, a hand to your hair, disheveling your classic bun.

"I've had enough of this shit! I have had models offer me blow jobs and all I did was let them touch me...for YOU! And are you worth it? Some nerd? Some fucking-" He slightly stumbled as you rose to try and correct his stance. Even with his cruel words, your heart shone through. But he saw this as a wage of war, using his back hand to strike you. You collapsed into another display, some oddly shaped device now left on the floor. 

"I've put up with more than enough! Bout time you made it up to me-" His motions were swift as yours were desperate. As you fought against him, he managed to pull you down in such a way that left you helpless. Pleas futile against the raging storm outside as you had only prayed it would be swift. But in the attempts to try, you heard him grunt. 

A teary gaze witnessed him turning over this one shoulder as a warm drip of blood fell to your chest. Your blouse torn by his convictions and evidence of your savior having lowered to your attacker's motivations, now a way to analyze the situation. 

"What the fuck-" He stood, stumbling for what you assumed to be the alcohol. And yet, whatever had been used to assault him had made him immediately sober. You knew his anger well. You knew his drunkenness well. But never fear. And this was what became of him. 

"Come here..." Trevor explained as you struggled to move as your boyfriend's eyes widened in that final plea. His body suddenly set to reject gravity and become nearly one with the wall. 

"What is happening?!" You called to Trevor, who was trembling as you were. But as both witnessed the echo of chains acting as a funeral profession of this misogynistic narcissist the world was better without, your body stiffened where his tried to pull you away. 

Your body was set within a state of shock. Blood. Skin. Screams. Please. Everything came to you in flashes as Trevor's voice returned you to reality. His hands were delicate at your shoulders as you deduced you were in his apartment. 

"You might want to...uhm...change..." He explained as you stood in the threshold of the bathroom. For a moment, your eyes hadn't adjusted to the gore written in your blouse as evidence. More than what had been done to you. 

Yet you nodded. To agree. To be alone. But as you stood before the mirror, the sight of the blood stained over you, the bruising and busted lip reminding you of the moments just prior to this, you began to hyperventilate. Your chest too heavy and your throat too tight as you shuffled around the bathroom. 

"Are you okay?" He asked, pushing the door open just enough to witness you rummaging through his medicine cabinet over his sink. Melatonin and some aged prescriptions falling loose to the basin as you searched for anything to defend yourself. 

"You killed him!" You accused. This was the only thing that made sense to what you saw. Creatures too hellish to describe with voices more demonic than the devil himself. And yet, you knew somehow, someway, it had been reality. Yet, this custodian you'd witnessed in your peripheral vision from time to time acted as a placeholder for what you couldn't explain. And he became the object of your confusion. 

"Get away fuck me! Get the hell-" But on your most violent of attempts, he corralled you quite easily. He pinned you against the cold rim of the sink as you were kept in place by the grip he made to your wrist. For a moment, a brief reprieve of desperation, you saw the truth in his sweet eyes. Blue irises pleading the words he couldn't utter to convince you, as your fight or flight response returned. 

A rush of spit to his cheek surprised him enough to loosen his grip as you managed to bypass his reach by a hairline. Wrapping your fingers around the knob of his front door, however, you felt him quickly keep it closed behind you. 

"I'm scared just as shitless as you are. But I'm not letting you leave in this!" He explained as you narrowed your eyes before realizing you were in only your underwear. You moved quickly to the couch, wrapping a blanket over your body as he couldn't help but adore the portions of your frame he was allowed. The same bed dreamed of when he'd return here after finishing that dressed shift only you made endurable. 

"I saw the same things-"

"What did we see?! We must have been drugged or overtired or-"

"I don't know. But I know he was..."

"You stabbed him with that...that diamond box sphere thing! Then he...you heard him...and those chains...and his skin...and-" Tears filled your eyes as you spoke the words aloud. The memories reminding you in detail that it wasn't a horrid dream or the effects of negligence to drink responsibly. This was somehow a memory. A horrible memory. 

"I don't know what happened. But he was going to hurt you-" He attempted to take a step further as you shot backwards on your heels, his hands springing up on either side to remind you of his surrender. 

"If I wanted to hurt you, I could have left you there." Your eyes sharpened. 

"That isn't exactly convincing me to trust you..." But you knew he was right. Even if he was a stranger, he was the only one you could rely on at this moment. 

"We have to call the cops or-"

"And tell them what? Some...demon came out of the wall and ripped your boyfriend to shreds?" You clenched your jaw.

"Do you have one humane bone in your body?! I just saw him get torn apart-"

"I won't feel bad. I just feel bad you had to see it..." He was nearly emotionless as he spoke as he moved to the kitchen. A rag taken beneath the faucet as he turned on the water. But as he attempted to resort to this to wipe the stubborn specks of blood from your cheek, you  had seen it as an instigation of war. 

"Asshole! He'd still be alive if it wasn't for you! Whatever happened, it was YOUR fault! YOU! " You beat into his back as he allowed it for only a moment before turning to face you. The complacent and quiet custodial man had become passionate and aggressive, directing both emotions to you. 

"You want me to apologize for stopping him from ruining you?! I'm not dumb enough to think he doesn't know what it's like to touch you but I wasn't going to let him do it right in front of me! Not when he doesn’t deserve to fucking touch you in the first place!"

"I-"

"Now I'm not going to apologize but I am also not letting you go back there until I can try to understand what the...fuck that was...so hate me and try to even...stab me in my sleep or whatever, but you aren't leaving until I know you're okay. So let me wipe that blood off your cheek and then you can be pissed at me from over there-' You were silenced by his words. In any interaction of a raised timbre, never before had it been done to this degree. With passionate care. With others, it was greedy. Hurtful. Selfish. But never protective. 

Your eyes followed him as your feelings about him changed completely. He was no longer a stranger at this moment. He was the closest confidant you had. He was a twin flame to the trauma you'd experience. And he was riding the same wave of adrenaline that had your eyes weaken to that dark desire he hadn't noticed as he focused on the stain on your cheek. 

It would take only that gentle brush of his finger beneath the cloth for your fingers to wrap around the back of his neck. Immediately, his hands came to your hips. That need he believed he'd hidden well now quelled by your intention. His body was swift to accept this as he backed you into the counter. Lifting you before you could take a breath, he stationed himself between your legs and pulled you to him as you gasped. 

"I've wanted this for a long time...but if you want this, I'll make you forget about him...I promise..." Your morals twisted into your desire until it faded into need alone. You needed another touch. A deeper kiss. And with that, you nodded your consent. But as you attempted this, he allowed a handful of kisses before withdrawing. A thumb breaking the connection as he traced the mark left behind by your ex, forgotten by Trevor's touch. 

"I want to hear you say it so I know. I won't force you to do anything. But I won't be gentle." Your thighs attempted to join to relieve the pressure left by his words. It was a motion that made his eyes lower between the small space between you. 

"Say it..."

"I want you to tell me you want this. And I want to know it's with me." You could see a pain behind his eyes of this need for validation. And with your own ambitions needing accommodation, you obeyed. 

"I want you, Trevor. I want you to make me forget..." 

"I can't do that..." Your eyes narrowed. "I want you to compare him to me." He explained with the hand from your hip having now wrapped your damp hair within his hand. 

"I want you to think of his touch here..." He explained, his fingers at your panties and within the cotton while your lips parted. 

``Is this okay?" You nodded as he returned to his dominant existence over you.

"I want you to know that when I make you moan-" He narrated the whimper from your lips as he smirked, "It's because MY fingers are doing it. Anybody before me is just...a weak comparison...." You bobbed your head as a second finger made you wince. 

"Trevor-" You took your hand around his wrist in desperation. For more. For less. For nothing. For everything. 

"I'm going to take care of you. Make you come like he never could." He kisses you with a tongue tangling in yours, which made it impossible to respond. Not that you tried. 

Once he felt you reciprocate into him, he lifted you towards the bedroom. But instead, had you straddle him on the couch. His fingers remained inside of you during this interaction, twisting to the perfect degree to interrupt your already breathless exchange for oxygen. 

"You look so fucking good riding my fingers...But I think it's time you ride me-" He motioned for you to undress before he had done the same, your eyes widening to his anatomy. Larger and angrier than you'd ever witnessed. And all you wanted was to feel it. 

"Wait...' He orchestrated you back over him. He positioned his cock between your folds so you could grind and bring pleasant friction to you both. 

"I'm sure he rushed everything with you...I'm going to take my time." He spoke as your eyes came into a gentle and slow roll as he kissed down your neck. A momentary fumble with the clasp of your bra and it was disposed of promptly. 

"Fuck..." He breathed to himself to the warm weight set in each hand, your grinding actions as a response to this. 

"Do you like this?" You could only nod as the way his teeth pulled your nipple had made you whimper in accompaniment to the heat forming between you. 

"Did he ever make you this wet?" You shook your head. "Are you lying to me?".

"No. Always had to use something..." You managed to confess as he smirked. 

"And you're this wet for me?" He scoffed. 

"Then I won't make you wait for it .." You gasped to the sudden fulfillment of his cock. 

"Trevor! Fuck!" 

"I’ve never heard you swear...Thought you were too much of a good girl..." His smirk and one reflect from your loosely parted lips. 

"I'll make you bad just for me...in all the right ways..." He lifted you over him and to the nearby wall just outside of his bedroom. With a grip to the frame, be uses it as stability as he thrusted into you. The smooth rest of the wall at your back made this effortless as you were left leaving evidence of your attraction and approval at his back. Only after you'd removed that tee from his toned physique. 

"Trevor...please!"

"You wanna come?" You nodded, feeling the pressure at your sex, the familiar release pulling your eyes to screw shut. 

"Not until I know I'm all you think about." Before you could validate this, he had you within his bedroom. You were set on your stomach with his knee setting your legs apart before you could stop him. Suddenly the pressure from his weight left the bed as you turned to watch him lower to his knees. Only mischievous eyes remained behind you as he pulled you to the edge of the bed and his tongue came at a rest between your folds. 

"Trevor!" He only savored you deeper as you called to him. 

"You want it faster?"

"I want you!" You whined. 

"Not yet..." He guided as you fisted the sheets until your knuckles whitened, your teeth matching the clench as you rode into his smirk. 

"Trevor, it's so good...oh my fucking-"

"I love when you swear for me-" He offered a teasing slap to your ass to test your reaction as you moaned in approval. Setting one more, his smirk lessened as his tongue returned. 

"I'm close!" He was swift, bringing you to the cusp of your release as he could feel every ounce of your body beneath him. 

"TREVOR!" But in the final moments before you were granted that release, he withdrew. You groaned, but were accommodated by his cock. Thrust after thrust, he sent you into the bed. One hand came to the wall as only a mattress lay on the minimalist room, as the other remained in the sheets. 

"The next time you say my name will be when you've forgotten everyone else. When you come. For me." He pulled you up against his chest. A few swift motions brought you to the wall over the bed. 

"Only say it when you come for me." He ordered as you nodded, your thighs trembling as his dominant hand came to your clit and the other rested at your thigh. But as he spoke of such a near release, he managed to make it lengthen for an endless endurance. Your body was slick with perspiration and your throat hoarse from whimpers and attempts to plead. His hands were wrapped within you as he held you to him, dirty promises in your ear. 

"So beautiful..." He spoke sweetly as he broke from such brutal thrusts before returning to his torments. But the kind that was synonymous to a workout. The release of endorphins necessary for release. And he gave an exercise you'd never had before. Your body ached in ways you believed were impossible. Unreachable. Caverns he found and sensations he unlocked. It left you manic yet silent and shaking yet comforted by his touch. You were allowed to know peace in the chaos within his arms. And it made that edge that much sweeter. 

"Trevor..."

"Come for me...." He was direct by tenderness, his own voice showing strain of his convictions, before he pulled you both to that twisting orgasm. As you contracted around him, he relinquished himself within you. 

Your body was spent beneath him, his arms directing you to rest on your back as you basked in the afterglow of what you'd found to be the best sexual encounter of your life. Your shaking body and numb sex reminded you of this. 

"You hungry?" 

"Starved..." You teased, the moment hinting to something more sensual as he began to nibble on your jaw and neck. 

"For food?" You questioned for validation as he continued his crusade without an answer. But the mark left by your ex on your chest reminded you that this distraction was solely that. 

"We have to tell someone..."

"You aren't leaving..."

"Trevor-" he pinned your arms flat. 

"I'm not sorry it happened. I'm sorry it happened this way. But if I have to tie you down to my bed, bet your pretty little ass I will...." He took hold of your jaw as he redirected both of your wrists beneath one grip. 

"I won't let anyone or anything hurt you." He explained with a final kiss to your lips.

TAGLIST: @hopebaker @drewspisces @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4tangerine @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @jjmaybanksangel @phildunphyisadilf @mashdan0916

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[the-iceni-bitch]

Tethered to Another

Kinktober Day I: Breeding Kink

Pairing: drug lord!Thor x fem reader (Vices Assemble)

Words: 1.7k

Summary: Thor isn’t going to let anything keep him from knocking you up.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (unprotected vaginal sex, dirty talk, cream pie), implied violence, SMUT!! 18+ ONLY!!!

A/N: Kicking off Kinktober with a bang! I’m still working on the fic where they make the decision to have kids, but I figured we could get right to the good stuff 😉

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on all the latest filth, follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications!

Thor tapped his ring on the desk irritably as he glared at the moron across from him who would not shut the fuck up. Maybe if he had been on time for the meeting he could have put up with this incessant droning, but the jackass was over an hour late. He just wanted to get home to you. Your fertile window had just started, and everyone except this idiot knew that meant he wasn’t supposed to be disturbed for a week while he kept you full of his seed constantly.

“So that’s why I think you should consider moving your operations to my docks.” The fat bastard gave him a grin like he had just made the most convincing argument in the world, and Thor just wanted to slam his face into the desk.

“Let me see if I understand you correctly.” If that dumbass knew anything, he would have recognized the tic in Thor’s jaw and the way his knuckles turned white as he gripped his tumbler of vodka as the warnings they were. “You show up to a meeting you insisted on an hour late, you’re covered in grease from some sort of disgusting food by the smell of you, and you want me to pay you almost twice as much as I’m paying the man who runs the docks we go through now ‘as a favor’?”

“Well…” The smile finally fell from his face when Thor rose to his feet and cracked his neck.

“Shut up.” Thor drew his jacket back on and strode towards the door. “If I didn’t have something extremely important to get to, I’d deal with you myself. But I’ve got an absolutely gorgeous woman to impregnate so… Val!”

“Yeah boss?” She gave him a wicked grin when she popped her head into his office and saw how nervous the fatass looked. “What’s up?”

“This dumbass connected?” Thor nodded when she shook her head at him, straightening his cuffs and trying not to just boot out of there. “Fantastic, get rid of him.”

He ignored the high sounds of protest coming from his office and rushed to the car, his jaw clenched as he yanked the door open and sank into the backseat with just a small nod of his head to Heimdall before the man peeled out. His body was practically vibrating with pent up sexual energy, his cock growing harder by the minute as he thought about fucking you full for the next seven days until it took, the way you’d look underneath him all dewy with sweat and moaning and begging him while you dug your nails into his back.

Fortunately it didn’t take too long for Heimdall to drive him back to the mansion from his office, or he might have burst. The car had barely come to a stop before he was charging out of it and running into the house in a frenzy.

“Kjære?” He needed you, needed to feel you around him like he needed oxygen. “Where are you?”

“In the kitchen.” Fuck, you did not sound happy, the sight of you frowning a little as you sliced up a melon confirming that you were pissed. “You’re late.”

“I know, god I fucking know.” He strode towards you and wrapped his arms around you from behind, ducking low to press apologetic kisses along the curve of your neck. “I’m so sorry, my love. Would it help if I let you know the asshole who made me late is getting worked over by Val right now?”

“A little.” You tried to still look annoyed when he turned you around, but he was almost pouting at you and sliding his hands down your hips and it was impossible to be mad at him. “How are you going to make it up to me?”

“Mmm, I’ve got so many ideas.” He leaned down and gently pressed his lips to yours, smiling a little when you whined and arched your body close to his. “What if I put a baby in you?”

“Just one?” You beamed when he nipped at your lips before he pulled back and slid your dress down your arms until it was pooled on the floor, his gaze growing darker while he stared at you and started to slowly strip off his suit. “Maybe I want three.”

“Well, I’ll give you whatever you want, kjære.” He gripped the back of your neck and smashed his lips to yours once he was naked, dragging you to the floor with him and growling as he laid you down on the cool marble. “Gonna fuck so much cum into you this week we might end up with five.”

“So ambitious.” You smiled against his lips and ran your fingers through his hair, gasping softly when he reached down to cup your cunt. “Feel how much I need you, kjæreste?”

“Mmhm, fuck, you’re so warm, so wet, and all for me.” Thor slid a finger inside you and growled when he felt you start to flutter immediately around him. “You ready for me right now? Thought I was gonna have to sweet talk this pretty pussy to let me in.”

“Been ready all day, daddy.” He started grinding his cock against your pussy and you whined, arching into him and curling your legs around his back when his hands squeezed your hips. “Please.”

“Shh, I know, elskling, goddamn.” Thor ducked to bite your ear as he slowly slid inside you, the feeling of your perfect cunt stretched tight around him almost making him lose his mind. “This sweet pussy is so fucking tiny, you barely even fit my cock in here, look at that.” He gripped your chin and forced you to look down when he bottomed out, kissing your cheek gently when you whimpered at the sight of his dick making your lower stomach bulge. “How you gonna fit my baby in this little thing, kjære?”

There was no way you could answer him since he chose that moment to snap his hips into yours viciously, sobbing softly when he ground against your clit before he started fucking you in earnest. It took a minute or so of him pounding into you to adjust, panting into his mouth and gripping his hair tightly as you shuddered underneath him.

“I can do it, I want it so bad.” You were still dumb but that just meant you were gonna run your mouth even more. “Want your baby, please, wanna make you a daddy. Put a baby in me, need it.”

“Fuck, kjære, I know, wanna give you everything you need, pretty girl.” Thor kept his body pressed right against yours as he kept punching his hips into you, purring when you clenched around him each time. “But you gotta come first, honey, gotta make room for my cum, for my baby. You know the rule, at least two before I fill you up.”

“Mmhm, yeah.” Your eyes rolled back when he kept hitting you so fucking deep, licking your lips mindlessly and rolling your body to meet his when you felt it building. “‘M close.”

You keened when he reached down to rub your clit with his thumb, your eyes fluttering as he cooed softly into your mouth while your pussy clenched hard and gushed all over him. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from blowing his load right then, rubbing your noses together and squeezing your waist as he let out a series of soft growls while you kept spasming for him.

“Good girl, so beautiful, my kjære.” He kissed you gently before sitting up and leaning back on his heels, grabbing your waist with one hand and starting to yank you down on his cock while his other kneaded your breasts. “Gonna look even more beautiful once I knock you up, all swollen and glowing, not gonna be able to keep my hands off you. Now gimme another one, c’mon, need to fill this pussy, want you leaking me nonstop for the next week.

“Yes, kjæreste, please. Unh, want your cum so bad.” You were already so close, sobbing as you let him basically use you like a doll while your body started shaking. “Fuck it so deep in my pussy, knock me up, daddy. Ah… shit!”

The way you screeched when your body arched off the floor as you squirted all over him made him lose it, dropping his hold on your waist and leaning on his hands as he slammed into you like an animal and snarled. You moaned when you felt him throb and swell inside you, gasping when he leaned back down to smash his lips to yours as he started pumping you full of his cum with deep and dirty grinds of his hips. He always got so goddamn feral when he knew there was a chance he actually bred you, biting and sucking all along your jaw and your throat as he growled while he filled you up.

“Fuck, love, don’t think you’re gonna be able to walk once this week is over.” He nuzzled at your cheek and smiled when you gave him a sloppy grin, cupping your chin lovingly as he gazed into your eyes. “We moved like three feet, shit, I had meant to bring you to the couch at least, let’s move you.”

“Oh, no, don’t wanna lose any of you.” You pouted at him and whined when he pulled out before you could stop him. “I’m not supposed to move for a few minutes, did I lose any? Push it back in, your cum belongs inside my tiny pussy.”

“You’re so fucking perfect, my god.” Thor beamed at you as he lifted your hips and set them on his knees, spreading your legs and biting his lip when he shoved the few drops that had leaked out of you back inside and plugged you with his fingers. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get everything you deserve, kjære. But we’re gonna do it in our bed from now on, need to spoil my girl. We’re gonna make a fucking baby this week.”

[jojikawa]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘽𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝘿𝙞𝙤: 𝙋𝙚𝙩 𝙎𝙝𝙤𝙥 | 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙎𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣

WICKED EYES

MASTERLIST

This is a dark romance with descriptions of violence, gore, racism, sexism, and NSFW themes. The reader is black in this AU but this story can be enjoyed by all walks of life.

Sexualization/Objectification of the Fem! Reader, violence against the reader (it's tame, reader-chan is strong.) Not Beta read bc I am a piece of shit.

3.3k words

There was only one thing Dio craved the most in this world; something that was worth more than fame or fortune. Something that Dio took the time to remove every obstacle in his way to get it: Your attention. It didn’t matter if you were sad, angry, or happy. As long as it was because of him, it was something he desired. The man would go to any lengths just for you to stop what you’re doing and acknowledge him in any way. He reveled in it.

Now, you were where he wanted you: In his castle, undying and given a stand of your own. What now? Well, you were still rejecting him. There was no Jonathan or Erina in your ear telling you how bad he was. It irked him. All the hard work he’s done and you’ve still yet to show any affection to him. You’ve even stopped reciprocating completely. Why? Surely, it couldn’t be because he lied to you and choked you until you passed out when you tried to leave? Women like that, right? No?

Oh. 

Still, you were in no position to soft-block his love and not show it back. In the end, his actions wouldn’t mean anything because he would give you the world and he would make sure you knew this. The straw that broke the camel’s back was your lack of reaction during sex. The experience wasn’t enough when he was satisfying himself alone. He loved when he knew he could conquer your body; seeing you whimper and squirm at his skills.

But, you would just lay there. Your expression was wrapped in a bored look as his body trapped you from above. Whenever Dio wanted more lewd favors, such as desiring you to go down on him, you wouldn’t participate. He would try exercising power over you by making you get on your knees while pressing his member against your cheek and lips. He tried to get you to do something. Anything. Even if it were just sex he wanted your attention more than anything else.  It was like you held no love for him anymore. If only you understood the meaning behind all of his actions, you wouldn’t be upset.

Unsatisfied with your behavior, Dio stormed out, once again swearing that prostitutes would appreciate him more than you. Since he is gone now, it would probably be best to speak to Dio’s subordinates.

You found Noriaki once again. He seemed to have a gift for you. You honestly didn’t believe you’d see him again, so it came as a surprise to you.

“Lady (y/n!)”

You smiled softly once you noticed him. “Oh, Noriaki. You haven’t left yet?” You tilted your head. You could’ve sworn that Dio sent him off to pursue Joseph’s grandson. The young boy was oozing with excitement as he approached you. He only hummed at your question at first, debating if he should engage in future conversation, fearing that he may upset Lord Dio.

The flesh bud on his forehead typically prevented him from going out of his way for such a thing but…you made him feel different. Somehow.

“N-No, I couldn’t help but—“ Noriaki quickly sucked in at the sudden contact you made with him using your stand. It showed itself from behind you and lifted his bangs like so. It was then you saw the flesh bud. Your suspicions of Dio were correct.

The school boy opened his mouth to speak before you talked over him. “I’m sorry he’s done this to you.” You muttered, frowning just a bit. Your stand retracted into your body and faded away. “Did what?” Noriaki repeated, adjusting his hair back accordingly.

“Nothing.” You gave him a cheery eyed smile. You then cleared your throat and sighed. “I already know why you’ve become loyal to my husband, Dio. I know why you’ll be leaving soon.” You then closed your eyes. “And all I ask from you is that you look deep inside of yourself and realize that you have more value than this. You don’t need to follow Dio.”

When you made contact with Noriaki, he felt a warm presence within him. It was like he had a moment of reflection…realization. It made the flesh bud on his forehead tingle just a bit. If he hasn’t been self aware enough, he might’ve just fainted. What were your words doing to him? Was it just your touch? Your stand power?!

“Th-Thank you…but Lord Dio has shown me things that he could never have imagined. Being here with you and him has only solidified my feelings.” Ignoring your fading smile, he then presented his gift. It was the portrait of you before. It seems as though he was able to finish it after all. 

“Oh, Thank you.” 

You wanted to be happy. You truly did but…you couldn’t. Dio brainwashed this child.

“I must be on my way now. There isn’t much time. I’ll see you again soon.” 

You pursed your lips softly, looking down at this small piece of art you were gifted. It was much smaller than the canvas you remember Noriaki working on in the past. It was a scarily accurate painting of you. Your eternal beauty has been immortalized in picture form now. How fitting. What good is a vampire mansion without portraits of the occupants?

You took the small frame to the room you had been sharing with Dio. It felt best to hang it up and have it on display. You didn’t know why but you cherished it a lot. It was like a small bit of happiness in this misery.

Dio would make sure to snuff it out.

Anytime you found yourself growing accustomed to him being absent, he would reappear. Almost as if it was on purpose…

“Oh? And what is this?”

Dio emerged from behind you like a shadow in the darkness, taking the painting from your hands to examine for himself.

“Ugh.” You rolled your eyes, moving out of the way before the man could trap you with his body. His nose scrunched up in disgust at your behavior. “Are you not happy to see me? Do you have any idea how long I’ve been away?” Like trash, he tossed the poor gift aside, missing any means of a display. It fell onto the ground with a light thud.

“I don’t know…I don’t care.” You walked over to a nearby bookshelf, putting your attention into finding a book instead of giving him all of your energy. Sadly, the vampire man was mistaken to believe that you’d want him by now.

But its fine. He always enjoys a challenge.

“Of course you do, my love.” Dio caught your hand as it began to pull a book from the case. “I—“ But just as the words began to fall from his mouth, you swatted his hand away with a loud ‘slap!’

“You reek of whore.” You hissed, resuming your search for a book to spend the rest of the night reading. If Dio were the man he used to be, his insecurity would be out for all to see. Now, he didn’t wear his heart in his sleeve so openly.

Dio chuckled. “Jealous, are we? My apologies. I suppose this is how things will be once you deny me. I am your husband. You’re not allowed to deny me. You can be replaced.” He smirked, doing his best to rub salt on the wound in the most “Dio” way he could. “You are mine by right.”

“Heh.” You half smiled. “Not jealous, just—disappointed. And I’m not yours. I don’t belong to anyone. You’d think someone of your stature would know better than to stick his cock into anything that walks just because he couldn’t please his wife—ah!”

Your speech was cut by him digging his claws into your throat. Books dropped to the floor as he slammed you into the shelf. “I can please you. You just hold it in, I know you do.” His eyes were narrowed, voice low as he spoke through his teeth. It seems you hit a nerve.

“Haha…” You let out a weak laugh. “No matter how much you try to separate yourself from the common man, you still act just like them. Pathetic.”

Dio’s eyes retracted at your statement. Your mockery. What happened to you? He couldn’t stand the one person he truly loves to say these things. You were just angry, right? He slept with other women. Any woman would be upset. He knew that.

“So you don’t care? Not at all?”

“I do not.”

“You don’t care that there’s women out there—carrying my children?”

“Good for them.”

You let out a yelp when Dio suddenly let you go. “And you don’t want to go out there and, I don’t know—kill them?!”

“No.” You shrugged. You raised your hand to your neck, sealing your wounds and taking one of the fallen books into your hand. It was a romance novel. One you would definitely enjoy alone. “Now, leave me be.”

Meanwhile, Pucci didn’t think he would need to become a marriage coach at such a young age until he met Dio. It was such an awkward time as well, given the boy was helping himself to Dio’s book collection.

His master came in, genuinely confused and pissed off at what he should do for his wife. In a way, it was almost fascinating to the young Pucci. It was almost like he forgot that Dio was a God and his wife was his equal; fighting like mortals. The vampire man would even blow off steam, using his godlike reflexes to build small models of ships to put on display.

“…And she doesn’t even care if I lie with other women. If it were the other way around, I would’ve caved their skulls in.” Dio eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as he tried to focus on the task at hand. He didn’t even want to vent but sometimes Dio couldn’t control his actions when he felt at ease.

Pucci frowned. He listened to Dio’s testaments of his relationship with you and how he treated you. It was clear that Dio was probably the worst person for you to be with. Your kind and motherly nature towards him was so different from how Dio spoke of you. It hurt his heart. 

“Perhaps, you should try being more gentle with her? Show that you are sorry?” There wasn’t really much room for Pucci to give advice since he was rather limited in experience with women.

“Sorry? Why would I do that? She denied me.”

“But, Lord Dio, shouldn’t she be allowed to do that?”

“No.”

Oh, Dio will never learn.

Pucci sighed. “I think you should try to make her feel better. Girls like gifts. It shows that you can make sacrifices and that you actually pay attention to what they may like. Do you know what Lady (y/n) likes?”

“Hm.” Dio learned back in his wooden chair. His eyes rolled to the left as he placed a hand on his chin. “A gift you say? She likes…”

Did you like anything? Books, perhaps? Well, there were a ton of those. What would he look like doing that?

The young boy grew worried that his Master was having such a hard time thinking of what was supposed to be an easy thing.

“Y-You don’t know what she is interested in?” Pucci could only blink in disbelief. Weren’t you Dio’s lover from over 100 years ago?! The one girl he dated in his youth? The one he married before being put into a coffin at the bottom of the sea?!

“I know what she likes. She was a slave girl when I knew her, you see.” Dio smirked at how infatuated you used to be with him as children. “Always so busy with taking care of idiots that she barely had time for me. When we did spend time together, all she talked about was tea, baking, cleaning and—pets.”

It was then your soft, child-like voice invaded his mind. He felt his stomach almost leap at the feeling of pure nostalgia back when things were so much simpler. 

꒰ “Dio! You have a dog and you didn’t tell me?”

“That isn’t my dog. Where have you heard such nonsense?!”

“Erina told me that Jonathan told her that you have a dog named Danny! Why have you never told me?! I love animals but Erina’s parents won’t let her have one.” ꒱

A time like that felt so far away. It felt as if he had taken it for granted. Dio didn’t have many regrets nor did he have them often but he wished that he somehow was able to spend more time with you before the mask.

“I have an idea.” Dio grinned, unable to hide his fangs at the thought of what he was about to do next. This was probably the most selfless thing he would ever do for you. It was worth it as a last ditch effort to save his relationship. Of course, he wouldn’t let you go. That’s not an option, unfortunately. But, he at least wanted you to be more happy in some way.

Dio left the castle once more, coming back home just to bother you again. It seemed as though you never left his room, not that he minded. You seemed to be immersed in a romance novel. The story told of a knight or warrior tasked with saving his princess lover from a distant kingdom holding her hostage with magic. Your perfect lips were curled into a perfect smile with your hand resting on your cheek, not at all acknowledging your husband’s presence.

“Ahem.” Dio cleared his throat, a sad attempt at getting your attention. The man only stood there, waiting for you to notice him so that he could finally do one good thing in this relationship. It wasn’t like him to so outwardly beg for attention like this…it made him sick. When he realized that it simply wasn’t working, he manifested The World, using it to remove the book from your palm. “Hey!” You shouted, your stand coming out and grabbing the other end of the book. 

“What are you…?” You trailed off once you noticed what Dio had brought you. It was a bird, a beautiful one at that. It seemed to be a falcon, with brown feathers, and even an adorable scarf. It was bigger than any of the birds you had seen in the outside world. Any anger you held at this moment had vanished.

It was only natural for Dio to smirk at your doe-eyed expression, pure hatred turning into innocence and curiosity. “He’s all yours.”

The bird leaped from Dio’s arm, gliding to your shoulder. It landed with a unique weight but they weren’t too heavy. “Dio, where did you get this? Does he have a name?” 

“I’ve decided that I like the name Petshop.”

At the sound of the name, your smile fell. “Really?” You asked flatly. Dio’s smile of self satisfaction remained. “Yes.” He replied, crossing his arms.

“O…Kay.” You averted your eyes from him and paid more attention to Petshop. He nuzzled into your cheek, making you giggle and filling you with joy. “My…” you smiled to yourself, admiring the creature before you. “I’ve never had a pet of my own before.” 

Dio cocked his eyebrow. “Really? All that time you had by yourself and you didn’t have a pet of your own?”

You shrugged lightly at Dio’s question. “I didn’t have time to, surprisingly enough. I traveled a lot. No time for a pet.” 

Petshop already seemed to be deeply in love with you as if it were charmed. Meanwhile, Dio had retrieved the book you were reading. His eyes skimmed the pages, not at all caring about you missing your place on the page. He interrupted your doting with a deep chuckle.

“The immortal princess and her immortal knight were alone at the inn, sharing one room and one bed as well. The princess encouraged her knight to sleep with her, as she didn’t think it was fair for someone who cared so deeply for her to sleep on the floor, servant or not. Unbeknownst to the young couple, they would engage in lewd acts.”

With an audible slam, Dio closed the book and placed it on a nearby table. You blushed deeply at his narration, his voice seemingly perfect for that type of literature.

“It’s just fiction, Dio.”

“It may be fiction, but it can also be your fantasy.” Dio made sure to observe your face as he spoke. “Out of all things in my library you choose to read, it’s this. I’ve always taken you as a woman of intelligence, not one of devious desires.”

You sighed. “Dio, it’s just a love story, nothing else.” Pet Shop left your arm, finding it better to rest on a nearby armchair instead. The bird paid no mind to you or your husband and found picking at its own feathers to be more entertaining. You watched in, almost, child-like awe at your new pet.

“Is it just a love story or are these things you’d like to happen to you?” Dio took a seat next to you on his bed. “I haven’t seen your face light up like that in a long time. I suppose that I’m correct.”

You audibly inhaled before softly exhaling. You clenched your first softly before speaking. “If this is about sex, I am not interested. You’re free to go out and sweet talk someone else.” You rolled your eyes, scooting away from him awkwardly.

“No.” Dio chuckled to himself. “You’re more than that. But, I did want to ask something else of you.”

“And what is that…?”

“Join me for a bath.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t need a bath.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

Now, you found yourself in a warm bath, drawn by a female servant that you’d never seen before. She looked like she was mine controlled, lusting after Dio and even you. Her eyes had a pink hue as she took your dress, her pale cheeks turned a rosy red once she witnessed your naked body most with bath water along with Master Dio’s. You couldn’t tell why but being worshiped did feel oddly satisfying, even if it were wrong. Being a servant, you weren’t appreciated very much, no matter how hard you worked. Even when you became wealthy, people still talked down to you.

“Does she need to be here the entire time?” You narrowed your eyes at the young woman who had been peeking from around the corner in the distance, not even realizing that you could tell she was there the whole time. Dio clearly had something to do with her behavior but that didn’t stop you from getting annoyed. You already didn’t want to be so close to Dio knowing how openly he sexualized you.

“Would you rather her be dead?” Dio smirked down at you but his eyes were looking through you and at the girl. You simply just blinked at him. Silent for only a moment, the sound of the water rippling was the only thing that could be heard.

“N-No.” You furrowed your eyebrows at him. You turned your head towards the girl. “Leave, girl.” You spat, almost sounding similar to how Dio would talk to women. Without even realizing it, his behavior would rub off on you. The action made his eyebrows raise with delight. When the girl scurried off, you sighed, feeling as though you probably should’ve talked to her differently given she was just a girl.

“What a good woman you’ve become.” Dio chuckled to himself. You only scoffed and rolled your eyes. “No thanks to you.” You replied, unknowingly shifting your weight to be reminded that you couldn’t move very much because of Dio’s size. As a form of intimacy, he forced you to bathe with him, making you wash his body as if you were his personal servant in a limited space. He wanted to believe he was treated much better than his younger self ever could but he would still toy with you. His favorite thing was being able to generate reactions from you. He loved being able to make you blush, moan, grunt, and cum. He may have been controlling but his behavior was relatively normal…for now.

[peachysunrize]

🧸 got me thinking about Aemond’s betrothed…

I’m imagining she’s wearing a very risqué dress one day. Aemond is trying not to stare, but it’s borderline inappropriate and her tits look so good that he’s practically going crazy! He knows what her outfit likely means, as she’s teased him on several other occasions…

She notices the effect that she’s having on him and pulls him off to the side in a corridor so that the two of them can fool around a bit. His head is swimming with how she’s kissing him, her tongue working wicked wonders in his mouth as she takes his hands and puts them on her waist and chest. He’s very hard as he kisses and touches her, but then she starts touching him.

He gasps when she gropes the bulge in his trousers, and he’s trying to not thrust his hips against her hand, but he can’t seem to stop himself. The rational part of his brain suggests stopping, because what if someone walks by? But he knows from previous experience just how good she can make him feel, so he’s definitely not going to ask her to stop.

He’s fighting back moans as she slowly unlaces his trousers so she can sneak a hand inside. He fucking whimpers when her soft hand wraps around his aching cock, and he quietly begs her to go fast, both because he doesn’t want someone to find them when she’s got a hand in his trousers and because he desperately needs to cum and can’t handle being teased. Mercifully, she complied, and starts jacking him off with quick, efficient strokes.

Far too soon, he knows he’s about to cum. She knows it too, even before he taps her hand in warning. He doesn’t want to make a mess all over her, but his brain is too foggy with the need to cum to offer a solution. Fortunately, his betrothed has it understand control and quickly gets on her knees so he can finish in her mouth. Aemond has to clamp a hand over his mouth and his knees nearly buckle as he cums so hard that he sees white spots behind his eyelid.

He’s breathing really hard as she laces up his trousers, pulling him in for one last deep kiss where he flushes because he can taste his seed in her mouth. He tells her that he wants to return the favor even though she insists that he doesn’t need to, and she tells him to surprise her one day. His head is spinning with vulgar thoughts about how he could pleasure her as they nonchalantly rejoin the rest of the world, arm in arm.

Aegon sees them a few minutes later and quickly puts together what happened. To his credit, he doesn’t say anything, just raises his cup of wine as a toast.

-🪴

ARE YOU SURE YOU ARENT AN AUTHOR??? Because you most certainly have the talent for it!!!! This is insanely good and hot and now IM FUCKING FLUSHED AND GIDDY AND GIGGLY AKSOSJOSSJOW

[nanowrimo]

Pro Tips from a NaNo Coach: How to Form Writing Habits

NaNoWriMo can seem like a daunting task sometimes, for NaNo newbies and veterans alike. Fortunately, our NaNo Coaches are here to help guide you through November! Today, author Isabel Cañas is here to share her advice on how to set yourself up for noveling success:

Dear writers, 

For many of you, this is the first time you’re having a whack at writing something as long as 50,000 words. For others, this is your third, or fifth, or tenth NaNo, and you know as well as I that it never really gets easier. 

One of the best ways you can set yourself up for success is to create habits early in the month and stick to them as best you can. 

1. Schedule your writing time in advance. 

When I was doing my PhD, I woke up early to squeeze in an hour or two of writing before I headed to campus because I am at my most productive early in the morning. You might be like me, or you might feel your sharpest in the afternoons or in the middle of the night. There is no right answer except this: whenever your time is, remember that it is yours, and it is sacred. Cordon it off and guard it jealousy.

2. Close the door. 

I mean this both literally (if you can) and metaphorically: close the door on the outside world. Turn off the wifi. Turn on Do Not Disturb. Years ago, my sisters and I created the trick of sticking our phones in “phone jail” as we worked, an ornamental bird cage in my mom’s living room. Out of sight, out of mind. If music helps you get in the zone, then use it, whether it’s lo-fi beats or Taylor Swift or movie soundtracks.  

3. Have a plan. 

I am a plotter to the core. Staring at a blank page leaves me paralyzed. I always outline before writing, even if it’s just a line or two about what I want to happen in a scene. I encourage even the pantsers and gardeners among you (what wild, wicked, brilliant creatures you are!) to try writing a sentence summarizing what you want your scene or chapter to accomplish at the top of the page. Let this reminder guide you if you ever lose steam or wander off the path.

4. Sprint. 

A sprint is a set period of time during which you try to write as much as you possibly can. How many words can you write in 25 minutes? Is it 500? 750? 1200? Can you beat that in your next sprint? I dare you to. 

The only hard and fast rule is that you must start and end with the timer. You decide how long that timer runs and how short your breaks are. Try the Pomodoro method. Try 15-minute bursts. I thrive with 40 minutes of writing, 20 minutes of rest. During your breaks, be sure to stand up and stretch, but resist the siren call of your phone!

One of the most difficult things about these early days of NaNoWriMo is acclimatizing your brain to deep creative work. Just like any muscle, working your brain in new ways might leave it feeling a bit sore. I promise that it gets easier with practice!

May the words be ever in your favor,

Isabel 

Isabel Cañas is a Mexican-American speculative fiction writer. After having lived in Mexico, Scotland, Egypt, and Turkey, among other places, she has settled (for now) in New York City. She holds a doctorate in Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations and writes fiction inspired by her research and her heritage. To find out more, visit www.isabelcanas.com.

[eldritchaccident]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Mabel’s Maple Shoppe PARTIES: @chasseurdeloup and @eldritchaccident SUMMARY: Kaden gets a call about a "rotten egg" at the store Teddy's working at for the moment. There's definitely nothing weird about the egg at all. CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

Another day, another strange call to animal control that Kaden was assigned to investigate. This particular call was about an egg and he was tempted to ignore it and do something a little more critical but the owner was insistent and so was Gary. The other officer told Kaden that the owner wouldn’t stop calling and making a stink (or was she saying there was a stench? He didn’t remember) and that he wasn’t going to fill out one damn line of Langley’s paperwork if he didn’t at least go by the place. A threat that the ranger couldn’t ignore. The shop in question was one he hadn’t been to before and one look at it, he could see why. Mabel’s Maple Shoppe. Seemed excessively niche, which wasn’t entirely out of place in Wicked’s Rest. But a place that “caters to all your maple needs” wasn’t going to be on the top of his list to stop by. Kaden didn’t know what maple needs consisted of but he was pretty sure he didn’t have any of those. 

The scent hit him as soon as he entered the store, before the bell above the door could finish ringing. It wasn’t the worst odor he’d been up against but it sure wasn’t pleasant. Kaden tugged the collar of his shirt up a little to try and help mask it at least a little. Didn’t help much. There was someone at the counter and he figured it was best to speak to them before rifling through the shop for the creature in question. “Hey, got a call from the owner, Ms. Maple, I’m assuming. Animal control,” he said, holding up his badge to the person at the counter. “Something about a rotten strange egg. She said she saw a strange worm slither away from it I think? Was worried about a nest.” He cleared his throat, trying to mask the slight gagging from the smell, “Pretty sure I can sniff it out but wouldn’t mind being pointed in the right direction.”

— 

Mabel’s Maple Shoppe was just another on a long long long long long long list of temporary jobs Teddy found themself enlisted to help with. Well, not so much enlisted by the establishment, but when an establishment found itself in need of a helping hand, the oft bored ex-demon was always just there to help. Just at the right time. It wasn’t spellwork, but it seemed almost magical in a way. Too quick on the draw, smiles too bright to ignore. 

Teddy wanted to do everything humanity had to offer. They’d been removed from it for so long that even the simplest things filled them with joy. Time and its monotony were generally the reason for most people’s malaise with the working industry, but Teddy found that hopping from one occupation to the next kept it fresh, kept it fun. It added ever more names to their roster of those that owed favors. Not in the way of the fey, but of jovial connection and well earned gregariousness. 

Of course, it was ever useful to have a handful of options to lean towards whenever a sudden task beyond their means reared its head. And Teddy had spent many of those good fortunes in readying the house for Emilio and Wynne. So they were back at it. Trying to find normalcy in their erratic work schedule after that… excursion into their past. In trying new jobs at new places, Ted could pretend they were someone else. A week at Mable’s and they would be off to somewhere else. Only, well, the egg happened. 

Teddy hadn’t seen it. Not yet. Mrs Mable was going off about it, and how it was driving away customers. But somewhere along the five hundredth maple flavored item Teds had gone a little noseblind. The animal control officer walked in, and they were more than happy to flip the sign to ‘We’ll be back soon.’ so they could take a moment to direct him. “Did she even actually explain what she saw? She was acting like it was radioactive I swear. Wouldn’t let me leave the counter.” Though, whether that was something due to the egg itself or her desire to keep sales rolling, that was beyond them. Curiosity had been burning, and Teddy wasn’t usually one for self-restraint. But patience won out. Whatever it was, they’d find it together now.          

— 

Kaden shook his head. “She didn’t say anything specific. Honestly, I was pretty sure this was a job for…” He paused. “I don’t know, anyone else. Not animal control necessarily. But Gar– Officer Miller insisted that we at least check it out. Mostly so he could stop taking her calls.” He probably shouldn’t be so honest with a civilian technically but it was hard to care one way or another. He wasn’t there to be a cop, he was there to get paid to do the shit he was going to do anyway: clean up supernatural messes and help animals. 

“I mean, if nothing else, it smells radioactive so good enough to reason to get it out of here. Just be careful,” Kaden warned. “If there’s a nest, the thing that made it could be nearby. And I’ve never encountered an animal that doesn’t protect its nest with everything it’s got.” Same with monsters. Putain, he hoped they weren’t dealing with something supernatural but he had a feeling he wouldn’t get that lucky.

— 

Strangers liked to tell Teddy things. Must’ve just had one of those faces. Open and welcoming enough that extra details just slipped through the cracks and filled the ex-demon up with sated wonder, then more questions. They caught the trip in words, and found an opening to slide inside of, stepping in time with the officer’s gait as they rounded the back of the shop. “Is that Gary or Garfeild? I know a couple Millers.” They chimed in, a cheshire smile sprouting upon their lips. “One of them is a doll, the other just loves to try and get everyone else to do his work.” C’mon officer, at least give up the hot goss. 

“Don’t actually know if radiation actually has a smell. I think it’d be a lot safer if it did, but I get what you mean. I’ve been dealing with this all morning. Do you want some Vick’s?” The mentholated vapor rub just under the nose was more than enough to block out the worst of it that morning. They didn’t really get much of a chance for an answer though, as the pair exited the old maple wood door and spilled out onto the patio.

—

“You do?” Kaden said, surprised to hear Gary’s name dropped by the employee. “The first one, yeah. Gary.” He sighed at the thought of the other officer. “Look, we have a pretty good set up. I do the field work, he does the office work. It’s a win-win.” The less time Kaden had to spend chained to a desk, the better. And Gary felt the same about getting scratched, bitten, and bruised on the job. Which would be fair enough anywhere but especially in this town. It was more dangerous than most so it was probably for the best that the only one trying to control the animals and monsters around town for the WRPD was a ranger.

—

Truthfully? No. Teddy didn't know the man. But those were the first two names to come to mind with a Gah- at the beginning, and Teds was always looking for a way to push themself into anyone else's life. A messy little habit, but a fun one. “Ahh, so you're more of a man of action then? That's a pretty good foil to old Gary. At least you like what you do.” They offered a smile. 

It was overgrown and blushed with flowers just starting to bloom, but beneath one of the larger bushes, sure enough the remains of a messy insectoid infestation littered the mossy stone floor. Teddy’s eyes scanned the debris, excitement growing as they realized this was so much more than mundane. Not enough to recognize the species or anything like that, only that it wasn’t any bug they’d find in a natural history museum. 

—

Kaden let the employee lead the way towards the back corner of the store, the musty smell growing more and more potent as they walked. It was almost enough to drown out the smell of maple – almost. 

His brows furrowed as he leaned down to examine the source of the stink. “I don’t get it,” he started, “it’s just a damn–” 

The words caught in his throat as the world shifted around Kaden, like he was seeing clearly for the first time in his entire life. It was as if he finally understood his purpose, what he was meant to be doing: his duty. 

It wasn’t just a damn egg, far from it. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

—

The officer squatted and Teddy alongside him, carefully prying to get a clear look at whatever–Oh. Oh goodness. That same sweep of emotion infected the ex-demon gazed upon what must have been an egg, but, no- no that was– Well, of course it was their child.

—

Out there on the patio, one quick look at the employee next to him and it was clear to Kaden that they both felt the same way. That they were going to protect this egg — no, child — with their lives. Any worry of whatever the nest might belong to had faded away. It didn’t matter who or what made the nest or what made the egg, it didn’t belong to that creature. The egg belonged to them. Kaden reached out and carefully picked it up and cradled the egg in his arms. “We should get him some place safe,” he said to the employee.

Right. He just realized they hadn’t even exchanged names. “Kaden, by the way,” he said, glancing back at thm. “My name, that is. Don’t think I said it before.” His eyes didn’t stay away from the egg for long, practically glued to the miracle he was holding in his arms. “Speaking of, he needs one.” Once again, Kaden realized he wasn’t exactly being clear. “A name, I mean.”

—

The warm fuzzies spread throughout the caster, a total shift from the nosy ruse they had built up before. None of that really mattered anymore now did it? Who had time to poke anyone for information when they had precious cargo to care for. A warm hand came up to the officer– Kaden’s back. Teddy crept in closer, inspecting the egg, carefully reaching out to stroke its surface. Something deeply buried welled up in their chest. Somewhere between pride, determination, and devotion. They knew instantly they'd do anything for their little baby. That they'd make it work with– 

Teddy didn't remember having an egg with Kaden. 

But it was theirs. There was no doubt. The child was theirs. And they would care for it. “Oh–” a name, of course he needed a name. “What about…” The goat was already Levi jr, so that was out of the way. Maybe name it after Emilio? Shouldn't Teddy have had an egg with Emilio? Maybe Emilio just couldn't have eggs. Maybe that's why they had to have one with Kaden. Kaden was a perfect parent, just like they'd be. “Lio?” Teddy would figure out the mess in their mind later, it didn't matter that much, not compared to taking care of the baby. 

The apron was more than enough soft fabric to create a small swaddling sling, one that Teddy carefully hung around Kaden's neck, all the while softly gazing at their dear new addition. “That works if she's a girl too. Or whatever, y’know. It's so hard to tell when they're this young.” 

—

Kaden didn’t know how the egg got here or why he knew it was theirs or why— Wait, what was their name? The hunter squinted as he tried to read the name tag the other person was wearing. Telly? He was pretty sure that’s what it said. Anyway, he didn’t know how Telly and he ended up being the two destined to raise this egg and keep it safe but there was no doubt in his mind that it was anything other than a fact. 

“Lio?” Kaden repeated, glancing up at them for a second before his eyes zeroed back in on the child in his arms. The sling was a welcome addition, it would help him keep them close, keep them safe, and make it easier to protect them from anything in this fucked up town that so much as looked at them wrong. “That could work…” Something about the name sounded familiar. It did remind him of his home, of Lyon. That was sort of nice. Almost like a family name, then. 

Although he felt like Monty should be involved with this somehow. No, that was silly, of course Monty would help raise the egg. Even if he wasn’t the parent, he’d be a great stepdad. Or something like that. Kaden wasn’t sure what the right term for him was. Maybe they should name it after him? “If they’re a girl, we could call her Anya.” It was something like Montaña – close enough, at least. Not that it mattered much one way or another. “I’m sure they’re going to be perfect no matter what,” he practically cooed as he brushed a tender hand along the egg’s surface. 

“We should get them home, though.” He looked back at Telly when it struck him that he wasn’t sure what home meant at that point. “I mean, I have a cabin. It’s safe out there. But I’m sure your place is good, too. Wherever that is.” 

Hold on, wasn’t Kaden supposed to be on duty? No. He was supposed to take care of the egg. Or something like that. This was part of his job, he was sure of it. At least for now. Being a working parent was going to be difficult. And Telly was on the clock, too, weren’t they? They could both make it work. “I guess we should figure out work schedules, too,” he added. “You can leave the place closed for now, right? We should get supplies on our way. This petit ange deserves the best nest in the world.” If he could look at himself objectively, Kaden would have wondered where the grin spread across his face came from, but in the moment, it felt obvious — correct, even. 

—

“Anya and Lio. A shame it’s not twins.” Teddy effused maternal joy, cooing over their shared precious cargo. “Though… I guess you never know with these kinds of things. We could just go with Lianya, sort of a combo.” For the first time in a while, their eyes traveled up from the egg to the man holding it. The slightest touch of confusion wormed in, only at the strangeness of how little they knew him, and how important he obviously had to be. They both belonged to this egg, so in some way, they belonged to each other. Right? Even if just as caretakers. 

Home. Right, they should get it home. Needed a nest. Needed to bundle it up with joy and fluff and all the comforts of home. “A cabin? Aren’t the woods kinda…..” Fun to run around with a slayer and take care of the more monstrous mal-doers who would for sure try and hurt the people of Wicked’s Rest, and more than that, would hurt their little baby. “I’ve got a big house on World’s End Isle, lots of empty rooms. You could stay there too. Could bring all your stuff and there’d still be room. It’ll be safe there.” 

Teddy had completely forgotten about the maple goods store until Kaden brought it back up, and in all honesty, it was still the furthest thing from their mind right then. “Ah I barely work here.” Noncommittally and disaffected, Teds could not care less about the tiny too sweet smelling store. “Mostly I just temp for fun, don’t really need the money. I’ll close up while you figure out what this lil guy needs.” They curled in close while helping the man to his feet, scritching at the ‘head’ of the egg as if it were an actual humanoid infant. “We’re gonna be the best parents, no matter what.” 

—

“Lianya.” Kaden ran the name over his tongue before nodding. It was a solid compromise. “I like it. What about you?” he said, cooing to the egg. “Do you like that name, Lianya?” There was no actual response but he swore the egg grew a little warmer. Or brighter. Something like that, it was a good response. He could tell.

For a moment, Kaden was offended. What was wrong with his cabin? It was perfectly safe out there. All his weapons were out there. How was he going to protect this child if the weapons were in the cabin and he was on World’s End Isle with Telly? He sighed. He couldn’t argue that the island was more secluded and probably had better defenses. “Sure, we can do that. It means we’ll have to baby-proof more rooms, though.” Did he know what that entailed for Lianya specifically? Not really. They could figure it out. “After we pick up supplies in town, we can drop them off at your place and I’ll run to mine to grab what I need there.” And by that he meant weapons. 

Kaden followed behind as Telly closed up shop, gently cradling the egg and rocking it ever slightly. Nothing about this made a lot of sense if he paused to think about it but at the same time, it made all the sense in the world. The skies had cleared and his purpose was right there in front of him, right there in his arms. Kaden beamed at Telly’s words. They were going to be the best parents, no matter what. “We will be,” he assured them. “And nothing in the world will stand in our way.”

[jrob64]

Silly Songs With Killian - a CS Modern AU One-shot

You can blame @sotangledupinit for this silly, but sweet, little story! She posted a prompt on Discord which caused my muse to jump to attention, and I wrote it in two days. If you're not familiar with the Veggie Tales videos, you'll still be able to enjoy this, but do yourself a favor and check out the songs on Spotify here. You don't have to be a kid to enjoy them and I guarantee they'll make you laugh!

Special thanks to Kit for making young Henry look even younger for the pic set, Mary for being my beta, and Krystal for being a second set of eyes for the Silly Songs lyrics and also for the pic set I created. It pays to have wonderful fandom friends!

Summary: After a frustrating and exhausting day, Emma Cassidy is relieved when her little boy, Henry, is entertained by a gorgeous musician at a restaurant, giving her a chance to sit back, relax, and enjoy the music (and the view!) It gets even better when the singer, Killian, sings some of Henry’s favorite Silly Songs from his favorite videos, Veggie Tales. 

Rating: T

Words: 3946

Also posted to Ao3 and ffn

*********

It’s been one hell of a day. It wasn’t supposed to be this exhausting, but of course my ex, Neal, had to complicate things.

I was looking forward to going wedding dress shopping with my future sister-in-law Mary Margaret and her other bridesmaids, sipping champagne and giving my input on each of the possibilities. It was going to be so much fun.

And then...remember the saying that was popular many years ago - shit happens? Well, Neal can be used interchangeably with shit - they’re one and the same.

It was his scheduled weekend with our three-year-old, Henry, which was one reason why Mary Margaret chose this day. Then on Friday, almost an hour after Neal was supposed to pick Henry up at my apartment, he sent me a text: Something came up. Can’t make it this weekend. Tell Henry I’m sorry.

Apparently he turned off his phone after sending it, because he didn’t answer any of my increasingly volatile texts - eighteen of them, to be exact - or phone calls. I had to sit Henry in front of the television so I could go into my bedroom to leave some choice words on Neal’s voicemail.

Fortunately (or unfortunately for my sweet little boy) Henry is used to being let down by his father. In the eighteen months since we called it quits, Neal has skipped out on more weekend visits than he’s kept. I guess being a lying piece of shit takes up way too much of his time and he can’t spare any for his son.

Also unfortunately, all of the people who usually babysit for Henry were unable to watch him. Most of them were included in the shopping trip, my brother David was busy because he was painting the living room of the house he and his fiancée just bought, and Ruby’s Granny was off bowhunting with her new beau. (Bowhunting with her beau has been a running joke ever since she left a week ago.)

So instead of enjoying a carefree day of shopping with Mary Margaret, Belle, Ruby and Elsa, I had to keep an active, inquisitive toddler entertained in one bridal shop after another. We were all relieved when he finally fell asleep in the third shop, until the manager woke him up by screeching about how he was going to drool on the green velvet upholstery. That cost her any business she might have had from us (though in all honesty, her gowns were all hideous and looked like something only the Wicked Witch of the West might wear.)

Eventually, Mary Margaret said ‘yes to the dress’ in the fifth shop late in the afternoon, then we all decided to get an early dinner at a nearby restaurant that serves kids’ meals and has outdoor seating. If Henry has to spend one more minute inside today, I think he might have a complete meltdown.

After placing my order and getting Henry situated with the provided coloring sheet and obligatory four crayons, I hear someone speaking into a microphone and look over to see a guy standing on a small stage with a guitar. A very, VERY attractive guy.

“Good evening, everyone,” he says, and my jaw drops at the sound of his British accent. “My name is Killian and I hope you enjoy the music tonight. I do take requests. Feel free to sing along or dance in this nice, open area in front of me.”

“Oh, wow!” Belle gasps. “He’s very handsome, isn’t he, Emma?”

My jaw snaps shut and I turn to look at her. Seeing her sly smile, I teasingly say, “Why are you asking me? We all have eyes, you know.”

“Yes, but we all have significant others, too,” Ruby adds, which is completely unnecessary but, sadly, also completely true.

While my self pity begins to set in, the guy - Killian - strums his guitar and launches into the Eagles classic “Take it Easy”. Henry, who by this point has scribbled all over the coloring sheet, somehow managed to break his crayon into at least four pieces and, judging by the color of his teeth, took a bite of it as well, looks up with bright eyes. Since I allowed him to kneel on a chair instead of trying to strap him into a booster seat, he takes advantage of it and hops down.

Before I can chase after him, he makes a beeline for the open space in front of the admittedly gorgeous singer and begins jumping around in what passes for a three-year-old’s version of dancing. I sigh and start to get up, but Mary Margaret stops me with a hand on my arm. “Let him go. He’s been very good all day and deserves to burn off some energy. Besides, he’s only a few feet away and we can see him clearly from here.”

It doesn’t take much convincing for me to heed her advice. If someone else can entertain Henry for a while, I’m not going to complain.

When the song comes to an end, Killian acknowledges the smattering of applause and plays the extremely recognizable first chords of “All Right Now”. Henry doesn’t miss a beat, throwing himself around like a rag doll while all of us at our table, as well as most of the other diners, laugh delightedly at his exuberance.

By the time Killian is in the middle of his third song, “Old Time Rock and Roll”, our food arrives and I face the dreaded task of dragging my son back to the table to eat. I nibble at my fish and chips until the song ends, then dash to the makeshift dance floor to cajole Henry. When he shows the expected resistance, Killian chuckles and helpfully says, “Go with your mum, lad. I’ll play a slow song that’s not as much fun for dancing.”

True to his word, he croons the song “Everything I Do, I Do It For You” as Henry acquiesces and comes back to his seat to shove French fries into his mouth as fast as possible. It might not be a good song for Henry’s style of dancing, but Killian’s smooth voice singing the beautiful lyrics is sending pleasant chills down my spine.

Another song with a slow tempo follows, during which my little man polishes off his fries. But when Killian starts “Footloose”, all bets are off and Henry is back on the dance floor with a chicken nugget squeezed into both of his chubby fists.

After we finish our meals, Belle, Ruby and Elsa leave to spend the rest of the evening with their boyfriends. Mary Margaret lingers, telling me she’ll stay to keep me company, because she’d rather not have to help David clean up his painting mess. We don’t want to take up a table, so we move to some empty seats along the edge of the patio from where we can still see my little dancing king.

“You’d think his battery would run down soon,” Mary Margaret comments.

“Are you serious? That kid is like the Energizer bunny, plus he’s been cooped up in stuffy dress shops all day. My money is on the singer wearing out before Henry.”

She’s uncharacteristically quiet for several minutes. When she finally speaks, she says quietly, “He really is very handsome and seems like a nice guy.”

Her statement is out of left field and I’m confused. “Who?”

“The singer - Killian,” she clarifies.

I narrow my eyes at her. “What’s your point?”

“No point. I was just making a comment,” she shrugs, all innocence.

I don’t believe her. Mary Margaret is the queen of set-ups and wears the crown proudly. She introduced Belle to Will, Ruby to Jefferson and Elsa, well, she introduced Elsa to Victor, but that didn’t work out very well. Elsa met Graham on her own.

“I’m not looking for someone to date, Mary Margaret. I’m still dealing with my idiot ex and trying to concentrate on raising my son not to follow in his father’s footsteps.”

“I understand, but…”

And it’s at this point I resign myself to the fact she’s going to spout some argument that’s going to weaken my resolve not to date.

“If Henry had a really good male role model in his life, it would help you in raising him to be a gentleman.”

“Seems to me David does a pretty good job of that, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I know,” she sighs, “but between working, getting the house ready and planning the wedding, his time with Henry is very limited.”

“The house will be ready before you get married and the wedding is in less than five months. After the honeymoon, he’ll have more time.”

“Oh, but then we’ll have children of our own, and you know how much time that takes.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’re pregnant, Mary Margaret?”

‘’What?” she gasps. “No! I’m just saying…”

“I know what you’re saying and I hear you. If the right guy comes along, I wouldn’t be opposed to dating him, but I’m not gonna try to force something to happen.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice to have a date for the wedding, though?” she presses.

“Henry will be my date. He’ll be very dapper in his little tux.”

“But…”

“No buts, Mary Margaret. I don’t want to be set up with someone just so I don’t look pathetic at your wedding.”

We both fall silent as we watch Henry continue to dance in front of the bemused musician. Glancing at the time on my phone, I realize he’s been at it for well over an hour and isn’t showing any signs of slowing down. It’s beginning to get dark and I know I’ll have to wrangle him into the car before too much longer for his bath and bedtime.

I feel a little sorry for Killian, though. Nobody else has taken him up on his offer to dance, despite his repeated invitations. In fact, most of the diners aren’t paying attention to him at all. I hate to take his number one fan home, especially when I’m able to sit back and relax while listening to some seriously good music.

“I’m going to take a little break and then I’ll be back,” Killian announces, lifting the guitar strap over his head.

“Well, I guess that’s my cue to take Henry home,” I say to Mary Margaret.

“I suppose so,” she agrees. “Let me say goodbye to him and then I have to be on my way, too. According to his text, David is anxious for me to see how the living room turned out.”

We both stand up and move toward the stage, but I stop in my tracks. Killian is squatting down in front of Henry, listening to him with a huge smile on his face. I don’t know what Henry is saying, and I’m not sure Killian will be able to understand it anyway. Henry has an extensive vocabulary for a three-year-old, but I listen to him with ‘mom ears’, which means I can actually decipher what he’s trying to say.

When we reach them, Killian looks up at us and whatever I was going to say flies right out of my head. From a distance, the man is handsome. Close up, he’s nothing short of breathtaking. Carefully trimmed scruff covers a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, his cheekbones would put every male model to shame, and his dark hair is swept back from his forehead with a few rogue strands hanging down enticingly. Even his slightly pointed ears are adorable.

But it’s his eyes that shut down the functioning part of my brain. To say they are blue is like saying the sun is a tad bit warm, and the way the waning light catches them makes them shine like sapphires. I’m aware that my mouth is hanging open like a fish on dry land, but I can’t seem to make it form actual words.

“Hello, Killian. We’ve been thoroughly enjoying your music tonight, even if we haven’t been showing it as much as this little guy.”

Thank God for the natural chattiness of Mary Margaret.

Killian reaches out to ruffle Henry’s sweaty hair, then stands up. “I’m very happy to hear that,” he says in that beautiful, lilting accent. “I was just telling young Henry here that I’ll play some special songs for him after the break.”

I finally find my tongue. “Oh, but I was coming to tell Henry it’s time to go home.”

My little con artist turns his baby browns on me. “Please, Mommy. I be a good boy, I pwomise.”

That’s just great. Now if I take him home, I’ll have to forfeit my Mom of the Year award.

Mary Margaret laughs. “Well, Henry and Emma may be able to stay, but I really have to go.”

Why did she emphasize my name so much? As if I don’t already know.

She hugs Henry and me, tells Killian goodbye, and winks at me as she passes by. Even without trying to set me up, she’s setting me up.

I look back at Killian, who finishes chugging a bottle of water and grins at me. Reaching out to take my hand, he shakes it and says, “It’s nice to meet you, Emma, and little Henry.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Killian. Thanks for entertaining my son tonight.”

“It’s been my pleasure. I love how uninhibited kids are, and how joyful.”

“Well, his day certainly didn’t start out joyfully at all.” I shouldn’t have said it, but I’m still boiling about what Neal did to his own son, especially when this stranger seems so happy to spend time with him.

“No?” Killian questions. “May I ask what happened?”

I glance down at Henry, not wanting to bash his no-good father in front of him. He’s happily lining up little stones he collected along the edge of the patio, oblivious to the conversation going on above him.

“He was supposed to be with his dad this weekend, but he canceled. Again. So Henry was stuck shopping for wedding dresses with us all day.”

“I see.” He ponders for a second. “Would that wedding dress be for the lovely lass who just left…or someone else?”

“Yeah, it’s for Mary Margaret. She’s engaged to my brother.”

“I’m very glad I was able to make Henry’s day better, because his dancing did the same for me.” We watch Henry play, babbling to himself. “He seems like a happy little lad,” Killian observes.

“I do my best, but as a single mom, I make a lot of mistakes.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Love. All parents make mistakes. It’s a good thing kids have perfect aunts and uncles,” he says with a smirk.

“So, are you an imperfect father or a perfect uncle?” Am I really flirting with him right now?

“I have two nieces, so that would make me the latter.”

“Do you get to see them very often?”

“Aye, they live just a few miles from me, so I spoil them as often as possible. They’re my brother Liam’s girls.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re originally from the U.S., if you don’t mind me saying.”

He chuckles again, rubbing his finger behind his right ear. “We were born in England and lived there until I was fourteen, then my father took a job here so we moved across the pond.”

“That explains the accent.”

He nods and checks his watch, blowing out a breath. “I should probably get back to my set. Will you allow young Henry to stay for a few more songs?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Sure. What’s another fifteen minutes in the grand scheme of things?”

A genuine smile splits his face. “Excellent! I think he’ll particularly like the next three or four songs I play.” He looks around and grabs a nearby chair from an empty table, setting it down beside me. “Won’t you please have a seat, Emma?”

“Such a gentleman,” I say, sinking onto the offered chair.

“Oh, I’m always a gentleman.”

Somehow I don’t mind him flirting with me.

He steps back on the stage, slips his guitar into place, and positions himself in front of the microphone. After giving me a wink, he announces in an overly accented, squeaky voice, “And now it’s time for Silly Songs with Killian. The part of the show where Killian comes out and sings…a silly song.”

I burst out laughing at the very familiar words. Henry is addicted to Veggie Tales, the wacky shows featuring talking fruits and vegetables. I love them because they teach good moral values; he loves them because they’re hilarious. His favorite part of every video is Silly Songs with Larry the Cucumber, which we watch over and over and over again. Apparently he conveyed this obsession to Killian.

Killian closes his eyes, somberly strums his guitar, and sings, “Oh, where is my hairbrush? Oh, where is my hairbrush? Oh where, oh where, oh where, oh where, oh where, oh where, oh where, oh where, oh wherrrrrrrre…is my hairbrush?”

Henry is jumping up and down like a kangaroo on a pogo stick, shouting, “Mommy! Mommy! It’s the Lawwy song! Keeyin is singin’ the Lawwy song!”

Wiping tears of laughter from my eyes, I look around at the half-dozen people at the tables, who are looking at the musician like he’s lost his damn mind. Bunch of sticks in the mud. Lighten up.

But Killian isn’t bothered by their response, or lack thereof. He smoothly transitions to another of Henry’s favorite silly songs. “Oh, everybody’s got a water buffalo. Yours is fast, but mine is slow. Oh, where’d we get them, I don’t know. But everybody’s got a water buffalo, oooooo.”

Henry is beside himself with excitement. He’s running around in a circle, waving his arms in the air in his best impression of a rabid chimpanzee.

Killian moves on to sing a few lines of “I Love My Lips” (I can’t help thinking I’m quite fond of them, too), followed by “The Pirates Who Don’t Do Anything”.

By this time, the diners have relaxed, laughing and clapping along with the crazy tunes. Meanwhile, my son has finally worn himself out, collapsing in a small heap in front of the stage, looking up at Killian adoringly.

“...and we’ve never been to Boston in the falllllll,” Killian concludes with a flourish and takes a deep, dramatic bow.

I dig into my purse and pull out a twenty dollar bill. I always try to watch my budget, but I’ll skip getting a chocolate caramel latte for a few days to compensate. It’s worth it for what Killian did for Henry tonight.

Walking up to the stage, I drop the bill into the tip jar, smiling up at the singer. He’s between songs, so I say, “Thank you so much, Killian. You’re my hero for entertaining Henry tonight. It was great and he loved it, didn’t you, kid?”

Henry jumps to his feet. “I weally did, Keeyin! I love Lawwy songs!”

“What do you tell him?” I prompt.

“Thank you, Keeyin,” he says obediently.

“You’re very welcome, lad. I play here again in three weeks. Perhaps you can stop in and see me again?” He’s talking to Henry, but he’s looking at me.

“Can we, Mommy?” Henry pleads.

I know we probably can’t. This restaurant is all the way across the city from where we live, plus it’s pretty expensive. Mary Margaret footed the bill today, but twelve bucks for a kid’s meal is a little steep and I won’t pay it. I don’t want to say any of this though, because my tired son is walking a thin line between lingering happiness and an emotional collapse. So I use the parental standard, “We’ll see.”

Taking Henry’s hand, I say, “Thanks, again, Killian. Have a good evening.”

Something that looks like slight panic flashes through those gorgeous eyes of his and he speaks into the microphone, “I’ll be back in five, folks.” He slides his guitar around to his back and steps off the stage, placing himself directly in front of me. “Emma, if I may be so bold, and if you’re not already dating someone, would you consider going out with me?”

“Wh-what?” Apparently, getting asked out by the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on renders me a bit stupid.

He lightly wraps his hand around my wrist and pulls me further toward the side of the patio for some privacy. “Even though we just met, I would really like to get to know you better.”

“But…but you don’t even know my last name.”

“What is it?”

“Cassidy.”

“Mine is Jones, so now we know each other a little better already.”

I stare at him, trying to think of a single reason why I should say no to him. “I…we…um…Henry and I, we…uh…we come as a packaged set.” That’s the way, Emma. Use your kid to try to scare him off. And you did it so gracefully, too.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m really quite fond of your son. That’s not a deal breaker,” he states firmly. He still hasn’t let go of my wrist and now he’s rubbing his thumb over it. I find I don’t mind at all.

“I…”

“Mommy, potty!” Henry announces.

Oh, geez. Killian has to get back to his set and Henry has to pee. I’m running out of time.

Dropping Henry’s hand, I rummage through my purse, trying to find a pen. “Got a piece of paper?” I ask, mid-rummage.

Killian dashes to his guitar case and pulls out a piece of sheet music, returning with it just as I locate the elusive pen. He plants his foot on a chair and slaps the paper down on his knee so I can scribble my number on it.

When I finish, I lift Henry into my arms and take off to find a bathroom. Before disappearing inside the restaurant, I glance back at Killian. He’s still standing where I left him, a broad smile on his face as he grips the paper in his hand. Raising my free hand, I give him a little wave and he returns it.

After I’ve had time to think about it, I might regret giving him my number. Right now I just have to keep my kid from peeing down the front of my dress.

*********

A year ago, Killian Jones was my hero for giving me a chance to relax while he entertained my son. Five months later, he was once again my hero by being my date to Mary Margaret and David’s wedding. Today, he’s still my hero because he’s continuously proving that not all men are incomparable asses.

On the contrary, he’s everything I dreamed a man should be, once upon a time. Killian Jones is talented, intelligent, funny, considerate, masculine, caring, loving, passionate, and a great conversationalist, not to mention drop-dead gorgeous (if I didn’t mention that, it would be a crime.) He’s the total package and I’m head-over-heels in love with him.

Oh, and he’s a fantastic role model for my little boy. I usually hate to admit when Mary Margaret is right, but in this case, she was unequivocally correct. He and Henry absolutely adore each other and it makes my heart so happy. They do everything together - read books, play Star Wars with lightsabers, build block towers, climb trees, ride bikes, you name it.

And Henry loves singing silly songs with his soon-to-be stepfather. What more could a mother want for her son? Except, perhaps, a sibling.

Killian and I are working on that…and thoroughly enjoying every second of it.

*********

Thank you for reading. I hope it brightened your day!

Tagging: @hookedmom​​​​​​ @kmomof4​​​​​​ @cs-rylie​​​​​​ @qualitycoffeethings​​​​​​ @grimmswan​​​​​​ @wyntereyez​​​​​​ @the-darkdragonfly​​​​​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​​​​​ @paradiselady19​​​​​​ @xarandomdreamx​​​​​​ @motherkatereloyshipper​​​​​​ @julesep3026​​​​​​ @courtorderedcake​​​​​​ @lfh1226-linda​​​​​​ @pawshapedheart​​​​​​ @vampcoffeegyrl23​​​​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​​​​ @captainswan4life85​​​​​​ @bluewildcatfanatic​​​​​​ @eleveneitherway​​​​​​ @elfiola​​​​​​ @kday426​​​​​​ @julieenchanted-swans​​​​​​ @gingerchangeling​​​​​​ @andiirivera​​​​​​ @djlbg​​​​​​ @jonesfandomfanatic​​​​​​ @snowbellewells​​​​​​ @huntressandlioness1​​​​​​ @anmylica​​​​​​ @booksteaandtoomuchtv​​​​​​ @pirateherokillian​​​​​​ @cocohook38​​​​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​​​​​ @laschatzi​​​​​​ @zaharadessert​​​​​​ @jennjenn615​​​​​​ @yasbio2015​​​​​​ @lyssapup27​​​​​​ @nachocheese-itsmycheese​​​​​​ @singersdd​​​​​​ @mie779​​​​​​ @undercaffinatednightmare​​​​​​ @winterbaby89​​​​​​ @xsajx​​​​​​ @jackieorioncat​​​​​​ @teamhook​​​​​​ @bdevereaux-blanche​​​​​​ @soniccat​​​​​​ @searchingwardrobes​​​​​​ @jarienn972​​​​​​ @apiratewhopines​​​​​​​ @softkilly​​​​​​​ @goforlaunchcee​​​​​​​ @kymbersmith-90​​​​​​​ @captainswan217-blog

[rockislandadultreads]

Disability Pride Month: Genre Fiction Recommendations

Noor by Nnedi Okorafor

Anwuli Okwudili prefers to be called AO. To her, these initials have always stood for Artificial Organism. AO has never really felt...natural, and that's putting it lightly. Her parents spent most of the days before she was born praying for her peaceful passing because even in-utero she was "wrong". But she lived. Then came the car accident years later that disabled her even further. Yet instead of viewing her strange body the way the world views it, as freakish, unnatural, even the work of the devil, AO embraces all that she is: A woman with a ton of major and necessary body augmentations. And then one day she goes to her local market and everything goes wrong.

Once on the run, she meets a Fulani herdsman named DNA and the race against time across the deserts of Northern Nigeria begins. In a world where all things are streamed, everyone is watching the "reckoning of the murderess and the terrorist" and the "saga of the wicked woman and mad man" unfold. This fast-paced, relentless journey of tribe, destiny, body, and the wonderland of technology revels in the fact that the future sometimes isn't so predictable. Expect the unaccepted.

Fortune Favors the Dead by Stephen Spotswood

It's 1942 and Willowjean "Will" Parker is a scrappy circus runaway whose knife-throwing skills have just saved the life of New York's best, and most unorthodox, private investigator, Lillian Pentecost. When the dapper detective summons Will a few days later, she doesn't expect to be offered a life-changing proposition: Lillian's multiple sclerosis means she can't keep up with her old case load alone, so she wants to hire Will to be her right-hand woman. In return, Will is to receive a salary, room and board, and training in Lillian's very particular art of investigation.

Three years later, Will and Lillian are on the Collins case: Abigail Collins was found bludgeoned to death with a crystal ball following a big, boozy Halloween party at her home—her body slumped in the same chair where her steel magnate husband shot himself the year before. With rumors flying that Abigail was bumped off by the vengeful spirit of her husband (who else could have gotten inside the locked room?), the family has tasked the detectives with finding answers where the police have failed.

But that's easier said than done in a case that involves messages from the dead, a seductive spiritualist, and Becca Collins—the beautiful daughter of the deceased, who Will quickly starts falling for. When Will and Becca's relationship dances beyond the professional, Will finds herself in dangerous territory, and discovers she may have become the murderer's next target.

This is the first volume of the “Pentecost and Parker” series.

Borderline by Mishell Baker

A year ago, Millie lost her legs and her filmmaking career in a failed suicide attempt. Just when she’s sure the credits have rolled on her life story, she gets a second chance with the Arcadia Project: a secret organization that polices the traffic to and from a parallel reality filled with creatures straight out of myth and fairy tales.

For her first assignment, Millie is tasked with tracking down a missing movie star who also happens to be a nobleman of the Seelie Court. To find him, she’ll have to smooth-talk Hollywood power players and uncover the surreal and sometimes terrifying truth behind the glamour of Tinseltown. But stronger forces than just her inner demons are sabotaging her progress, and if she fails to unravel the conspiracy behind the noble’s disappearance, not only will she be out on the streets, but the shattering of a centuries-old peace could spark an all-out war between worlds.

No pressure.

This is the first volume of the “Arcadia Project” series.

The Kiss Quotient by Helen Hoang

Stella Lane thinks math is the only thing that unites the universe. She comes up with algorithms to predict customer purchases—a job that has given her more money than she knows what to do with, and way less experience in the dating department than the average thirty-year-old.

It doesn't help that Stella has Asperger's and French kissing reminds her of a shark getting its teeth cleaned by pilot fish. Her conclusion: she needs lots of practice—with a professional. Which is why she hires escort Michael Phan. The Vietnamese and Swedish stunner can't afford to turn down Stella's offer, and agrees to help her check off all the boxes on her lesson plan—from foreplay to more-than-missionary position...

Before long, Stella not only learns to appreciate his kisses, but crave all of the other things he's making her feel. Their no-nonsense partnership starts making a strange kind of sense. And the pattern that emerges will convince Stella that love is the best kind of logic...

This is the first volume of the “Kiss Quotient” series.

[fearhidden]

continued from here — @alwaysxangel

It could have been the liquor, or maybe it was party favor he'd choked down a few minutes after coming through, but his grin matched the wicked look of the one before him. It was no secret that Be had fire in her veins, but he'd been fortunate enough to only find himself on the wrong side of it a time or two, but this? This was the kind of fury that put every big bad to shame. "You really care about how good her head is? Sounds like someone is jealous. I mean, shit, Be, if you want to show me what good head feels like..." he trailed off, every word dripping from his lips like honey. He'd forgotten about Lacey the moment she stepped out of sight. Truth be told, she'd been a decent screw with even better party invites and the latter had worked well enough for him. "Jesus Christ, relax, would ya?" Her words stung, sure, but not so much with the free flowing energy through his veins. Yeah, the party favor was doing the trick for sure. "Oh, shit. I'm sorry. Was I supposed to get your approval to have a little fuckin' fun? You told me to go out. I thought you'd be good with it." Okay, so maybe that was a bit of a stretch. She'd told him to go out and have fun, not drop their daughter off to party with a chick he barely knew. Admitting that meant accepting defeat, and out of sheer bitter spite, he refused. A cold laugh rolled off his tongue and deep oceanic hues rolled in response. "Right. Sure. You would have totally been game to keep her tonight if you knew what I had planned, huh? You're a fuckin' buzz kill, Be. You made your point. I think you're good to go now."