#like waves hand he could be mixed but he at Least needs to be part japanese

[sadisthetic]

hanbok!!! for fun!

[predestinatos]

you mean everything - MV1 ೀ⋆｡🌷

summary: max needed a wedding date and you were used to being his fake partner.

tags: max verstappen x fem!reader, fake dating, friends to lovers, max is so whipped, fluff, a bit angsty maybe?, mentions of alcohol

word count: 2k

notes: i've been writing (and thinking) so much about max... my period is coming please give me a break i'm sensitive. also would love to get some feedback if possible so i know if it's worth making a series out of this!!!!

"If you want to make it believable at least hold my hand" you half-whispered to Max, who was buttoning his blazer while getting out of the car, you behind him.

"Sorry, I'm not used to this with you" he said chuckling. His sweaty palm held yours tightly, and the feeling of it was odd. Knowing Max for so long meant that these romantic gestures felt almost cringeworthy to you both, and you both had to put up award winning performances every time you played this game.

The game in question being fake-dating. It started as a funny joke where you both thought it would be great to test out the Get A Champagne Bottle For Free At This Restaurant If You Propose theory (which worked, by the way). From then onwards, you used each other as dates whenever asked by annoying family members, creepy coworkers, or just because you felt like lying.

The talking wasn't hard - you both felt comfortable in that part, lying with words coming off almost dangerously natural - but when it came to acting the part, both of you felt awkward, like kids who found relationships absolutely repulsive.

This time, though, the performance would last longer than usual: it was a wedding. Max's friend's wedding. Max could've just gone along, or bring a friend (even you as a friend). Yet he had told his friend, after one too many shots on his Bachelor's Party, and after being chosen as The Guy Who'll Take the Longest to Settle, that he had, in fact, a girlfriend. His friends didn't believe him, so he showed a picture of you two together - a selfie really, nothing much. And they still said they didn't believe it. So here you are.

You couldn't blame him, even if you wanted to. You agreed to use each other as a fake partner for as long as you could in as many situations as required, although when it all started none of you ever thought it would lead to wedding attendances.

So now there you were, Max's hand on yours, entering the small church. His eyes locked with the groom, who waved and called for you to sit near the altar.

"So you ARE real" he said, nervousness laced in his voice even as he tried to lighten the mood himself. You giggled at the irony of it, nodding as you said your congratulations.

"Just wait until the guys see this" he continued gesturing towards the bench where 3 other men around his age sat. Men you had seen before in some Instagram pictures, men you spent the previous night trying to memorize basic information about so you didn't sound suspicious.

Max's hand now fell on your waist almost instinctively - it wasn't instinctively, he told himself once he noticed its positioning. And if it was, it was only because he took this so seriously, almost as a sort of method acting. Sitting down next to his friends, he noticed how all of them seemed surprised at your presence, and something like pride filled his chest. He loved winning, loved being right even if he was lying; but most especially, he loved how jealous other men seemed to be over the fact that he was (at least in their minds) dating you.

He couldn't deny - though he tried, really - that you two looked good together. His rougher features mixed with your softer ones gave you both an aura of near unreachability, which yes, was pretentious of him to think but he thought nevertheless.

The ceremony was quick and endearing, a smile spread across everyone's faces at the shared loved between the bride and the groom. As the crowd clapped, Max leaned into you, "don't tell me you're crying". "I am, just to think that I'll have to keep pretending to date YOU for the next 10 hours" you replied, his mocking smile recognizing the joke.

The reception hall was beautifully decorated with shades of soft green and violet orchids. Max tried not to think about how much it matched the shade of your dress, how you looked like you had come to life from a classical novel. He tried to feel like anyone but Mr. Darcy as you felt so much like Elisabeth Bennett to him.

Sitting down next to him, you found this part easier - mingling and socializing was something you enjoyed more than he did - especially with alcohol in the mix. It's a wedding, you thought; this is what weddings are for.

So you drank the wine with the main course and sipper champagne to celebrate and ordered a few cocktails when it was time to dance and talk - and you felt it on your body almost as much as you felt Max's hand occasionally sitting on your thigh, but not even close to how strongly you felt his thumb caress your skin as he did so. Truth was, he too was drunk; his eyes looked smaller and his cheeks were flushed, and the amount of times he ran a hair through his dirty blonde hair had caused it to look messier. As you looked at him, you felt he never looks as attractive as when he is like this - loose and carefree, his shirt sleeves rolled up and a smile on his face when he notices people laugh at his joke.

"I have to admit I didn't think it was true" his friend said when Max left to go to the bathroom. He looked drunker than the two of you combined, his words hard to decypher, like a riddle. "He's been talking about you for months now and we never saw you for real so we thought you didn't exist" he laughed, and you laughed back before it registered.

"Months?" you asked him, eyebrows furrowed yet attempting to remain composed. You shouldn't have asked it - a supposedly month old girlfriend wouldn't be surprised but you were his fake month old girlfriend and you weren't understanding it anymore.

"Yeah. He talks about you so much all the time I think even we started to date you" he laughed again, yet this time you didn't find the joke so funny. You were frozen in your seat, merely blinking as if trying to put the confusing puzzle together, the pieces not quite fitting the way you thought they would.

A touch on your shoulder unfroze you, almost like magic, like a disney film come to life. You turned around to find the groom, somewhat sober, smiling at you while also looking somewhat concerned. "He's calling for you... And he's also absolutely wasted" he said, pointing to the door of the hall.

"Shit" you cursed, getting up from your seat at a speed you couldn't believe, worry filling your heart, making you forget the conversation you were just having.

Opening the door to the garden outside, you found Max sitting down against the wall, shirt partly unbuttoned and disheveled hair. When he saw you, he grinned, such genuine happiness laced with tipsiness.

"Lightweight" you mocked as you crouched in front of him, trying to balance yourself on your heels, somehow managing it despite your own drunkness.

"You're laughing at my mis- Shit- my misery" his throat bobbed up and down, exaggerating his own agony with a hand on his chest and another on his forehead like a Shakespeare character.

"I have to admit it's quite fun sometimes" you bit your lip as you fixed his hair as best as you could, hands brushing through its soft, blonde mess.

"You're so– you're so sweet" he said, his words dragged and messy. He brought a beer bottle to his lips but you stopped him before any liquid touched them.

"I think that's enough of that for tonight" you grabbed it and placed it behind you, sitting in front of him.

"See now... Now you're being mean" his hand grabbed a strand of your hair and played with it softly as he pouted.

"Okay big boy I'm gonna get you some water" you say, getting up once again, yet his hand stops you, grabbing your wrist tightly.

You looked at him, startled. His drunken state is visible, and it felt frustrating that you had to be the one sobering up for him. The music vibrated through the wall he leaned against, somehow tickling him, making him giggle.

"Stay," he managed to say, eyes half closed, "I'm so glad we're- Fuck things are spinning so much" his hands rushed to his eyes and his head hung low, "Ah fuck. I'm so glad we're datin- Fuck, no, oops-" he continued laughing despite how sick he felt, the whole situation sounding hilarious when filtered through alcohol.

You giggled along with him, mostly because you wanted to see if you could convince him to move, scared he might feel worse or pass out on the cold floor if he doesn't do so. "Fake dating. Fake dating, I know. I knowww" he continued, his words dragged and his finger pointing at you before poking your nose with such innocent sweetness you were taken aback.

"Max" you tried to sound more assertive but found it hard to do so, your own intoxicated state making the situation lighter than what it actually was. Your heart racing was a symptom of it, one you wouldn't feel if sobriety was an option, you thought. Max's eyes wouldn't seem to stare at you differently were he sober as well, and the way he scanned your features, his gaze staying on your lips for longer than expected, wouldn't affect you in the slightest had you not drank some alcohol.

"I like it when you say my name" he looked up at you innocently, pleading, almost.

"Want me to say it again?" you asked, smiling. You complied with these demands because you knew they were childish whims of an intoxicated man, his happiness a priority in times like these. Upon his nod, you started saying his name, half teasingly, half reassuringly, the leaves rustling in the garden behind you.

"Max... Max!! Max Max-"

He shouldn't. It would complicate things, and he liked when they were simple, clean and organized. He knew he shouldn't even when his whole vision spun and his brain convinced him that he should do things he would never do otherwise. But every time he refrained from saying something he would stumble across all his words and trip and fall and his head would only hurt more, and it seemed as if he could only focus if he kept listening to you and talking to you and looking at you.

The lights shone behind you in a way that made it feel as though he was dreaming, like you were a mirage, too good to be true. Maybe his friends were right - you weren't actually real. He wanted to be sure, in that moment. That you were real and that he wanted you as much as he thought. And though he shouldn't, though it was a terrible idea, he couldn't help but lean over to kiss you.

He tasted like champagne - bubbly and slightly sweet, his movements sloppy given his state, yet you couldn't help but drink it all in. Part of you - a big part - reciprocated the kiss, felt his fingers on the side of your neck, pulling you messily towards him, and tried to steady him, guiding him gently with your own lips.

It was odd, how this felt so right yet the fake hand holding didn't. As Max kissed you, that thought entered his clouded mind - did it feel wrong because it was fake and this was real? Your skin felt so soft, so much softer now he could touch it freely and unapologetically.

"Fuck-" he started, pulling away, his head resting against the wall once again as he stared at you, noticing how it hasn't hit you yet; what you just did, how it affected everything. "I fucking love you" he shrugged as you fixed your hair, pausing with arms raised for a few seconds before smiling softly.

"You're drunk" you replied, looking at his own grin, the gleam in his eyes making him appear both innocent and guilty of so many things.

"I'm drunk and I fucking love you"

"Max..." you started, and he said your name back to you with such tenderness you couldn't believe his lips tasted of alcohol earlier and not something sweet.

"We'll talk tomorrow, okay?" you continued, waiting for the silence to swallow you both.

[cherry-leclerc]

20/90 ☆ cl16

genre: humor, smut, angst, jealous!charles, post-break up, toxic ex trope, on & off

word count: 2k

After a painful break-up, you and Charles find yourselves taking part in what seems to be a never ending cycle. But there are rules that apply.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...car sex, riding, wrap it before you tap it!

req!...two in a day?? you guys are spoiledddd

It takes about twenty days to break a habit, give or take. There’s proof; like the time you scolded yourself into not biting your nails anymore, horrified with the idea of getting engaged with monstrous hands. Or when you swore you would never drink again after Singapore.

But it takes ninety to make a permanent change.

It was a mutual decision, it was the most mature one, really, too. He was getting more and more busy; higher demand. You were drowning with homework, and senior thesis, it was long overdue. Yet it still broke your heart just the same. We can try again in the future, he tries to reason when you sob against his chest, linen shirt growing damp, but never once thinks about pulling away. 

There is no future if there’s no you, you whimper. You feel stupid, desperate, and disgusting. It was not a lovely mix, but it was true. How could you move on when he was all you’ve ever wanted?

And there’s no present without you.

That was thirteen days ago, to be exact. Life was not better, but bearable to say the least. Often, you would find yourself stalking him on social media, unbeknownst that he did the same. You finally got your bachelor's you had worked your ass off for. He finally came to a renewal on his Ferrari contract. Life should be good.

Instead, you find yourself slumping against the cold wall, eyes squinting at the harsh sun. You’re well aware you’re panting like a beast, and sweat trickles down your face like a water faucet, but you couldn't care any less. Running was definitely not for the weak. 

Abandonner si tôt?

Directing your attention to a deep voice, your heart stops before excitedly pumping against your chest. You can feel it in your ribcage. It should be a crime how handsome he still is, the more he gets day by day. W-what are you doing here? 

His green eyes flicker against the rocks. Oh, you know. 

Are you here for me? You want to foolishly ask, but bite down instead. I thought you were already in Bahrain. 

Keeping tabs on me? 

Flustered, you narrow your eyes, feigning a normal state. We dated for five years. I know your schedule by heart. His soft features register a wave of shock, nervous fingers gripping his phone.

It was good seeing you. And he leaves.

It shouldn’t hurt so much, but it does. It feels as if you’ve scraped your knee, hit your heart, got punched square in the face, and got run over by a school bus. Infinite times. And he seems A-OK. It's against your better judgment to follow after him, to yell at him out of spite for no apparent reason. But you were not the same girl he used to know.

“Oh fuck,” Charles groans as you ride him hastily, headboard banging against the wall as he keeps a steady hold on your hip, where a path of fresh bruises lie. He almost laughs if it weren’t for you rolling your hips tentatively. He quirks a brow when you shake your head and finish around his thick girth, leaving him no choice but to follow along with a low shudder. 

“What have I done?” you whisper, delicate hands coming up to cover up your bare breasts. “Oh my God…”

“Ah,” he hums. “What a delightful thing to hear.”

Scurrying off his lap, you grab your wrinkled clothes, inching towards the exit as you wag your finger. “This –that– could never happen ever again. Capeesh?” 

Charles tries his best to hide his hurt, braving through with a nonchalant smile. “Never again.”

-

You’re eight days in when he texts you. Something about needing someone to talk to. You might have broken up, but who said you couldn’t remain friendly acquaintances? He demands you meet at your spot, and it's a slap in the face but find yourself there nonetheless. He rambles on and on about his ongoing stress, and the neverending pressure. You knew it got bad, but you never thought this much. 

“My PR manager is debating on whether I should date someone for the sake of increasing views. More attention.” 

Your jaw goes slack. “You called me for this?” Rushing up to your full height, you brush off a gust of dirt, struggling to not roll into a coughing fit. “What makes you think this is something I want to hear?”

The Monegasque’s face pinches up like a clam. “I thought you should know.”

You scoff. “Right…” He watches as you scarily pace the open field with a blank expression. It saddens him how suddenly he doesn’t know how to read you. “You’re a fucking coward.”

And you leave.

-

He follows through with it because there’s really no other choice. She’s nice, but not kind like you. She’s pretty, but not breathtaking like you. You get the gist. 

Her touch is unfamiliar and cold, forced. Abnormal. Her father is some kind of wealthy man who invests in prestigious hotels in his home country and is looking to make some more money as if what he doesn’t have is enough to serve him a lifetime. Sometimes, Charles feels for her. She probably wanted this the same amount as he did. 

Behind a screen, you live through all of it. Your friend nicknamed you as Bella-From-Twilight-When-Edward-Goes-Away. Only Edward comes back. Charles never did. But it's now been seventeen days. And you curse the day you run out of your favorite ice cream.

“Why am I always bumping into you?” you huff when you spot the brunette. He rolls his eyes. I’m the famous one here. I don’t need to follow anyone, unlike you. Where his cold tone finally blossomed from –you don’t know– but you didn’t like it at all. Purposefully hitting your cart against his own, you stroll off. “Sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Superstar.”

Comedically, you both find yourself glaring as you check out from adjacent sides, a silent competition on who can get out of there the fastest. You came here just for that, he mouths from afar as your burn bright pink, gaze flickering towards your strawberry ice cream. You flip him off, but giggle apologetically when the cashier assumes it’s aimed towards her. 

Charles wants to chuckle in amusement but would rather eat his own foot than admit to that. Have a good day, you can hear his clerk tell him at the same time yours does too. Flinging your arm into the hoop on your tote bag, you run off as he races you with a full cart of groceries. There’s a curve you hit as you manage to squeeze through and smile back at your ex, somehow satisfied. Amidst skip, you feel a harsh push as you fling forward, falling onto your knees as a little boy winces, licks his lollipop, and walks away. 

Blood trickles down your knees as you fiercely turn back to look at a regretful loser. “Is it really that deep?” you spit out, ears turning bright red from your reasonable anger. He tries to help you up but that only receives him a slap in the face. “Great. I look like I just got my period. Unbelievable.” 

“You just hit me,” he speaks in disbelief.

“You just pushed me,” you retort pointing at your injury, flesh being creepily visible. “On purpose, I might add.”

The Monegasque scoffs, gently massaging his aching face, dark brows pointed at you like knives. “You’re one crazy fucking girl…”

“Thanks, I get that a lot.”

It's all a fateful haze, the way you end up in his car. You suppose it starts the moment he presses on helping you unload your groceries, as some sick apology. But it’s only my ice cream. But he sheepishly shrugs. Now blood paints his driver's seat as you sit on top of him, and occasional grunts overflow due to his red cheek. “I can’t have sex with you,” you mumble against his swollen lips, chest heaving as your tinted windows begin to fog up. It was still early, but you didn’t care. 

“And I shouldn’t want to have sex with you, and yet.” 

“Yeah,” you pant, kisses steaming up. “Okay then.”

Shame lingers on your drive back home, and grows even deeper when you realize your strawberry treat has melted.

-

You would never take yourself as a self-driven person; not like most people. It was only one of your many flaws, but in this very moment, bent over the kitchen counter, you promise to become one.

“I can’t keep going back to him,” you groan over the phone as Lily attentively listens to what she considers gossip, and you consider a mid-life crisis. “We broke up months ago, why do I keep doing this to myself?”

“Perhaps because two still care for one another.” And because you know you still love him, and he loves you, she wants to add but stops herself when you glare coldly. 

“I am so over him, are you kidding? I’ve never been better. In fact, I’m going out tonight. First man I see boom! Fuck him. Just like that.” You click your fingers magically for emphasis. 

Lily’s face drops as her eyes zigzag towards something behind her screen. Before she can try to talk you out of it, you hang up. She’s obviously joking, the Chinese girl stutters when Charles freezes, midway from hanging Alex a pair of joggers, since he had forgotten his own. The green-eyed boy forces a dark smile, tipping his head and heading out without a goodbye. 

“I should probably warn her.”

You weren’t picking up–you weren’t going to. It was starting to hit you how stupid this all was and you did not need your friends erasing the last bits of determination you had within you. Beaming at a group of guys, you can’t help but flutter your eyes as they quietly fight over who gets to have the first move. Dibs, if you must. Swallowing the last bit of your awful drink, you start making your way over before a warm hand grips your wrist. “No. I’m not doing this again.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “And you’re not doing that either, we’re leaving.” It takes a lot of mental strength to not kick him in the shin and run off, but you can’t help but slap him once again as soon as he drags you out into the alleyway. A habit you’ve picked up, I see, he growls.

“Why are you still doing this?” you whimper, glassy eyes looking up in complete defeat. “You broke up with me. I agreed. We’re supposed to be moving on from one another. Why can’t you at least try to let me go?”

It’s a punch to the gut, the sound of your raw voice, broken and weak. He takes a clumsy step back, chest tightening from the tense situation he has wheezed himself into. “Believe me, I’m trying but I just can’t…”

Your nose is runny, mascara coats you like a baby racoon, cheekbones are splotchy as if you’ve just been hit, and you were still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Which is part of the reason why he can’t walk away from everything you've been through. 

“Well you’re not going to try, but I am. For real this time.”

-

It’s been ninety-two days, a lot, but not enough at the same time. But there was a piece of you that knew you weren’t missing him as much. So, maybe–it was. Enough, you suppose. It still hurts a tiny bit sometimes, watching him pose with fake smiles, or maybe they’re genuine, you can’t really tell the difference anymore. The way his eyes learned to sparkle for her over time. Fake can become real, it appears. But you being yearnful didn’t mean you weren’t moving on for your own sake. This was good, a new start. The kind you now looked forward to.

And it only took ninety-two fucking days.

taglist: @urfavnoirette @lpab @d3kstar @namgification @myownwritings

*feel free to let me know if you would like to be included in the general taglist!!

[justporo]

Blood running amongst us

No one had ever spoken of the waves of tingling lust running through your body caused by your lifeblood rushing from your body to the vampire’s as he felt your pulse under his lips. A sensation almost as intimate as if he was buried deep inside of your body.

Either way he had a tendency to get lost in you.

That’s what you would be going for tonight - either way.

MASTERLIST | AO3 | PART 2

Author's Note: I wanted to write some smut again when I got that request asking for Astarion receiving some sweet sweet head. And he will. But you know I wouldn't be me if it didn't completely spiral out of hand. So this willl be a hopefully nutritious three-course meal (plus dessert maybe?) - this being merely the appetizer. Gif by @cheekylittlepupp (pls follow them!)

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You)

Warnings: explicit sexual content, foreplay, blood kink, light predator/prey dynamic, dryhumping

Wordcount: 2,1k

The day had been strenuous for all of you. Your adventures had been tiring before you had entered the cursed Shadowlands but now it had taken on a wholly new quality of exhausting.

All of it weighed especially heavy on Astarion it seemed, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Not only was the fact that he was once more surrounded by darkness the cause of a perpetuous knot in his stomach but there was nearly nothing here to keep him fed. It was more than just an uneasy feeling that had become his continuous companion roaming these godsforsaken lands.

His usually glinting crimson eyes seemed to have lost their sparkle and the dark circles around them seemed deeper than you had ever seen them before. His behaviour had become a lot more skittish again too: eyes flitting around as if he feared his old master could await around every corner now.

It made your chest clench in agony to see him like that. Especially since he had opened up a little about his past and what pain it had meant to become and be a vampire.

Now he'd barely begun to enjoy a bit of sunlight and freedom again, only to be thrown back into the shadows. Like a flower that had just sprung up only to be wilting away so quickly again.

You wouldn't let that happen. You swore it silently to yourself as you kept watching the man that had managed to make your heart stir, despite everything.

Not that you had planned to fall for the pale elf that had grazed your neck with a blade the first time you'd met. It hadn't exactly been love at first sight. And now you didn’t quite know how you would ever tell him. But all gods above and below be damned, you would rip your own heart out and hand it to him on a silver platter if only it meant, Astarion would be safe and happy.

But thankfully this wasn’t yet needed - a bit of blood this far had sufficed to nurture him. And you had an idea how to make him at least temporarily forget some of the worries he so obviously was carrying around with himself.

Immediately when your party set up camp for the night you sauntered over to your vampire, dragging him into his tent telling him that he should feed on you. You would make sure to take some of the worry off him - make him feel happy.

“My, aren’t you a little too desperate to get my fangs sunk into your neck, darling?” Astarion teased, one eyebrow lifted. His tone sounded a little flat compared to his usual flamboyant manner. But he still obviously wouldn’t reject your generous offer. You laid down on his bedroll like you were used to from all the times before to let the vampire climb on top of you so he could easily access your graciously offered neck.

It had become a well practised ritual between the two of you. All steps meticulously planned out and followed through. You were laying on your back, trying to stay relaxed. But an exhilarating mix of anticipation and some kind of primal fear took hold of you like usual. Your hands became a little clammy and your fingers began to tap a nervous tune as you watched Astarion kneel down beside you. After all, you were about to hand yourself over to a mortal predator.

For now though, it was merely the anticipation nearly killing you - or was there something else to it?

If you were honest with yourself, it was more than instinctual fear that made the pace of your heart pick up. The whole process was - as you had quickly found out - incredibly intimate and titillating; despite - or rather because of - the pain.

You knew that as much, if not more, was true for the vampire as well. In fact, it was often quite evident - and not only because he enjoyed taking his time when he saw you already quivering beneath you.

Not uncommonly after Astarion had taken enough of your blood to keep up his strength did the tension in the air become overwhelming and lead to both your bodies entangling further and a night was quickly wasted away wrapped up fully in each other.

For now though he had you pinned to the ground beneath him with the way his knee slid between your legs, one hand next to your head and the other gently wandering over the delicate skin of your throat. Cool, smooth fingers wrapped around the back of your neck to steady you for him - one by one.

His grip was firm. You knew his fingers would soon dig into your soft flesh even harder - as soon as his instincts at least partially took the better of him. It was those moments that had your heart gallop near to collapse: knowing what he was while you were fully assured that Astarion was very well capable of keeping the reins on himself firmly.

The vampire hovered over you as you watched him close in on you, your heart beat tumbling. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips.

His angelic face above you could have been enough to forget everything else-

But you mustn’t lose track of your objective - he was the sole focus tonight. As hard as it was with Astarion’s crimson eyes already devouring you as he bared his fangs right above where your racing heart beat showed him where his lifeline laid.

You wrapped your arms gently around him when he leaned into you. Some of his bodyweight settled down comfortably on you, rendering you fully immovable. You didn’t mind in the slightest as he pressed you down to the ground.

And as soon as Astarion’s thigh pressed between your legs, brushing against your core as he pinned you down more, coherent thoughts evaporated.

People had always only taught you to run from the big bad monster. No one had ever told you what might happen if you ever got caught. No one had ever mentioned the thrilling sensation of being in the monster’s grasp, feeling its grip tighten around you. No one had ever spoken of the intense pleasure between the two heartbeats of fangs grazing your skin and them sinking in, the breath that was held and the muscles that tensed.

No one had ever spoken of the waves of tingling lust running through your body caused by your lifeblood rushing from your body to the vampire’s as he felt your pulse under his lips. A sensation almost as intimate as if he was buried deep inside of your body.

Either way he had a tendency to get lost in you.

That’s what you would be going for tonight - either way.

Right now you felt the familiar shot of pain echo through you that quickly turned into this icy, numbing sensation that felt weirdly pleasant. A soft mewl left your lips as Astarion began drinking your blood. He could always feel how your heartbeat quickened even more as he indulged in your exquisite and generous offering of blood. The taste was promisingly and uniquely you, nothing would ever compare to this.

For a few long moments the tent was filled with nothing but soft moans and whimpers. Something you hoped would linger when Astarion would’ve had his share of blood from you to keep up his strength.

So - time to set up a trap on your own.You let your hands softly wander over his back, pressing down gently so he would lower himself fully onto you. And when he quickly let himself be roped in by you and your tender offer, you made your hips roll into him, eliciting a groan from Astarion as he was still buried in your neck.

You were delighted by the friction it caused. Every tiny bit of traction made the coil in your lower body wind tighter - until this alone could have become your undoing.

And to your satisfaction you clearly felt the vampire’s desire already manifest too. Only hesitantly had Astarion admitted to you how arousing the whole act felt for him. How he hadn’t be prepared for the primitive lust it caused him to have you like this, to taste you. And how it had taken every last ounce of his self-control that first night he’d drunk your blood to not take you right then and there until you would have been nothing but an overstimulated, drained whimpering mess.

Now he embraced this sensation and latched onto it deliberately.

His hardening length was pressing against your stomach now with the way you worked on eliminating even the last bit of space in between you. Instinctively and subconsciously he began slowly grinding into you. You coaxed him on with breathless, almost obscene gasps and moans spilling from you and rolling your hips against him again and again. Effectively grinding on his thigh between your legs.

The two of you stayed like this in this unbelievably intimate embrace, lewdly writhing against each other as you offered Astarion the life force he needed.

He could have kept living off meagre critters. But getting to indulge in your exquisite, incomparable taste heightened the pleasure and sensation tenfold for the vampire - the difference between merely surviving and enjoying life and all the sinful pleasures it had to offer to the fullest.

A whole eternity passed as you felt Astarion’s fingertips dig harder and harder into your neck - just as you had wished for. Only part of the beast within the vampire was unleashed - the part that enjoyed playing and teasing and made it enjoyable for both of you. The delicious pain added onto the hazy, floaty numbness spreading through your body and made your eyes roll back. The moan that drifted off your lips was immediately answered by Astarion with another groan of his own. The faint metallic scent of your blood filled the air.

You felt his rock hard cock drag along you. You were already desperately longing for it.

But this was first and foremost about your vampire tonight.

He bucked his hips into you harder now, almost losing control. But Astarion always remained having the upper hand in the end.

When he finally withdrew from you, you saw how the pupils in his eyes were diluted. Giving him more animalistic than humanoid air. The creature within him was barely in check.

He licked a last trickle of blood off his lips as he sat up again, sitting back on his legs. And with the gesture you saw him regain some of his composure, the man getting a hold on his more primal side again.

Your heart hammered against your rib cage as you observed Astarion. You got up onto your elbows at first and then sat up while the vampire took deep breaths, trying to find the anchor within him again. A massive bulge was clearly outlining against his pants.

Astarion’s crimson eyes wandered slowly up your body. Surely your arousal must be visible too, you already felt your nipples press against your shirt and how sweat made it stick to your torso.

“You’re playing dangerous games, my sweet love,” Astarion murmured, sounding breathless despite his lack of needing respiration. One of his hands was clawing into his knee, the grip slowly loosening the more breaths he took. With his other he tried to capture an escaped drop of your blood before it would be lost. He surely couldn’t be accused of letting anything go to waste.

As you gazed upon him, you saw that some of the vigour he’d recently been missing had returned to him. Which was most prominently evident by his cock achingly straining against his pants.

Your eyes dropped to it and your tongue darted out to wet your lips subconsciously.

“Maybe I enjoy that,” you replied firmly, catching his gaze and holding it while you crawled over to him. He smirked softly at you as you prowled closer.

“Proceed at your own caution then, darling,” he replied, purring the last word. You hummed contentedly, smiled and pressed an almost chaste kiss to his soft lips. It felt almost innocent after what you had just engaged in. He kissed you back just as lightly.

And when you had lured him with your gentle caress, you pushed him back by his shoulders, making him fall backwards.

The vampire gasped curtly but was already smirking lasciviously at you as you roamed closer with a grin that bared your teeth - as if the roles were reversed now.

He’d fallen right into your trap.

You had brought him to an edge once already this night.

You would take him to another - and then beyond.

~~~

Part 2

Taglist (DM if you want to be added please): @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon @hereliesblackdragon @ayselluna @ajokeformur-ray @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @rikuyrk06 @marina-and-the-memes @somewhatclear

[hana-no-seiiki]

YANDERE! POP IDOL [EVE /JISOO HAN] x MANAGER! READER x YANDERE! ROCKSTAR [FEROZE KHAN]

unedited

REHEARSAL

second part to REPLACED + this set of headcannons

Feroze belongs to @moyazaika and manager reader! This is only a fan-creation.

[ NEXT PART : RECREATIONAL ]

“Mr. Khan, this is so unfair!”

“What is ? “

“You get even more handsome each and everyday. I’ll need sunglasses at this point !”

“You flatter me too much.”

Feroze ran his hand through Eve’s silken black hair. No doubt enjoying the soft feeling around his fingers.

You were glad that Feroze and Eve got along. As happy as you could ever be even! Finally, your moody employer got along with someone else other than you. But nothing could shake this sinking feeling of dread in your stomach.

“Haha . . . “ Eve’s ears turned pink. You knew of his previous obsession with Feroze’s music before. That’s how you were first introduced to the rockstar. No doubt the idol was also enjoying the small act of affection.

“You two are getting along well.” You coughed, feeling a bit too much like a third wheel to all this.

“Mx. [Y/N]! Hey hey~!” Eve waved, basically flailing his hands with the amount of excitement in his movements, while Feroze only nodded after facing your direction.

You bowed to Eve, a habit you had a hard time turning off when you switched clients, in acknowledgment before turning to your rockstar, “You have another interview this evening. One last time before we go.”

And the rehearsal began. Eve had apparently learned to rap from one of his members previously and had incorporated that into the music. You knew this of course, as you’d often check in on his career once in a while and listen to some of his songs when Feroze wasn’t around. But it was still quite baffling to see how quickly he picked up the skill. It was a far cry from how he struggled before as a trainee and rookie idol.

Feroze preferred not having a choreography and Eve otherwise, so there were separate solo sections in the mix as well.

As always, your current client amazed you with his voice and skill on the guitar. After Eve’s number, he quickly captured your attention and kept it there for the rest of the performance.

Soon, the last note is played, and the two singers panting are all that’s left to hear.

Feroze looked over to the black haired man. The arena was a cold place but after moving around the stage a lot, Eve had started showering in his own perspiration. “You’re sweating all over, Jisoo.”

You were mishearing things. You had to. There was no way they were in first name basis already. No way. Eve was so unbothered with the way he was called that you almost thought you were imagining things.

“Ah . . . let me just . . .” Eve started removing his coat, about to walk off in search of a towel before Feroze held him by the shoulder, leaned forward,

and licked him.

You and Eve don’t even have time to react as Feroze had already pulled you to the exit. “Let’s go, meri jaan.”

“Did you just do what I thought you just did—“

“What?” Feroze had this stupid smirk on his face, seeing you all worked up over his actions.

“Don’t try this with me! What if someone saw you two ? !”

“They’ve seen me done worse.”

“I’m not talking about your reputation, Khan. Jisoo’s is as fragile as glass. He hasn’t done even half of the shit you have. He’ll be ruined!”

“What’s this? Calling him by his first name now? And where’s my rosy?”

“You called him Jisoo, too. And remember, no rosy when you misbehave.”

“Fine. I won’t do it again. In public at least.”

“Khan!”

“Okay, okay. I didn’t know you get like this when you’re jealous. It’s kinda cute.”

“Unbelievable!”

Feroze laughed as you stormed off. He really does love you so much.

Once you were out of view, he checked his phone to find a couple of messages from his partner in crime.

i believe i deserve a little thanks for my services?

i’m such a great wingman, aren’t i?

don’t get too cocky.

but

thanks.

hehe. anything for you mr. khan.

i told you to call me feroze, didn’t i?

anyways

tomorrow. us three. drinks.

last one to pass out gets to have [y/n] for the night?

you’re on.

“You know that Feroze’s a lightweight.”

“Mhm.”

“Yet you purposely agreed to have a drinking competition.”

“Right you are.”

“When your entire personality is based on getting drunk.”

“It’s a perfect set up isn’t it? And I don’t get drunk that often!”

“Right, just every single night you go out with the boys.” You crossed your arms. Flashbacks to cleaning off all the puke from not only Eve but the rest of your old clients entered your mind. “You know I have to leave and take care of him after this right?”

Eve’s already eerie smile got even wider, “Well, at least I got you all to myself now. Right at this moment.”

You shook your head, exasperated. “I never got you.”

“Hm?”

“You said you could never live without me. And for a while I thought you did. Leaving you was so difficult. I was ready to lose you.”

“But here you are, alive and well.” Unaware you indirectly told him that he’s supposed to be dead, you jolted when he suddenly started cackling. Thank god for private rooms.

“Baby, if you want me dead there are more direct ways of saying so.”

“No, of course not!”

“I know you don’t. You care about me so much.”

You found yourself suddenly trapped between his arms. His face right next to yours as he breathed in your scent.

“Because you’re the best manager the world could ever ask for.”

He placed a kiss on your shoulder, then your neck, your chin, and finally your lips. His was smooth, years of scolding him to use chapsticks more often actually worked. But you soon forget the texture as his tongue entered your mouth.

His hands explored and caressed your body, keeping you close to him while he enjoyed your taste.

Out of guilt from making out while Feroze lied there unconscious, you pulled away.

Eve doesn’t hide the disappointment on his face, but he also doesn’t try kissing you again. “What happens, happens. I’ll just work thrice as hard to earn you back.”

You didn’t realize his body was pressing up against you until it was gone and he had grabbed his coat, ready to leave.

“Or I could share. Wouldn’t mind doing that with Mr. Khan.”

“You—“

“See ya soon, world’s bestest Manager!”

It was almost scary seeing Jisoo in such a broken state. He had failed two evaluations in a row. One more time and he’ll be cut off from his dreams. This usually wasn’t the case for most trainees, but as he’s grown older and therefore less marketable, the higher-ups had double down on their rigid rules. Even employing a manager like you to keep him in line.

You were a massive slap to the face. But he had no one else to lean unto. His other relationships were all shallow and based on some flimsy, flowery words he’d spout at everyone. So, he found himself here, right beside you. Tears still wet on his beautiful face.

“Hey . . . c’mere.” You pulled him beside you. The boy didn’t like being touched, but he was too tired and jaded to resist. “Show them that you want this. Show them that you’ll do everything you can to reach your goals.”

You caressed his back. Even if your words weren’t much of comfort you could at least try physically calming him down. “If they keep kicking you down even after you work twice as hard then work thrice as harder. If your skill isn’t enough for them then show them your determination.”

“You can and will do this, alright Soo? I believe in you.”

And that was the final nail into the coffin. You felt him melt under your touch. His breathing finally started to steady.

“I will. I promise.” He raised his arms to embrace you. “I’ll make you proud, Mx. Manager.”

Eve’s fingers trailed over the tattoo on his face. It was cold out. Snow had covered the streets and a part of his newly dyed dark blue hair. But the alcohol, the clothes he wore and most of all the thoughts of you kept him warm.

©️ hana.no.seiiki - yun / moyazaika - genie | 2023

[recklessmark]

Unfaithful

Summary: It doesn’t matter that you are Jeno’s girlfriend, you’ve always want something else. Read Part 1 Here

Pairing: hockey jock Mark x female reader

WC: 4k+

Smut Warning: heavy dubcon/noncon elements (don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable), cheating, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex, degradation

a/n: Mark is an asshole and you’ve been warned.

It took you more time than needed to realize why Jeno wanted you to be as far away from Mark as possible. He’s a menace to society, and a dangerously hot one.

You stood in the kitchen, mixing vodka and soda together for another drink. Jeno was at the pool, having fun with Haechan, Jaemin and Jisung. Johnny, Taeyong, Jaehyun and Yuta were outside, too, and they seemed to get along pretty well without the tension of the captains whenever they’re six-foot away from each other. You smiled and waved at Jeno when he caught your gaze through the glass door.

Averting your eyes, you downed the liquid in your red Solo cup before your boyfriend noticed how distressed you were at the sight of Mark sucking a chick’s mouth on the couch while she’s grinding his clothed dick like a bitch in heat.

The match had ended with a tie. Jeno would have lost if Mark hadn't missed that last shot. You’d been restless from the beginning, not knowing what end the championship would come to. Certainly, there would be a rematch another day, but you’re safe from the downfall of their bet for now.

But did you want ‘safe’?

With the alcohol buzzing in your system, the sight of Mark lewdly licking and sucking that girl’s tongue started to get too much for you. Images of you in that position crossed your mind. How you would run your fingers through his hair, how his hands would grab your ass instead of hers, how addictive he would taste.

You had been so busy lost in your train of thought that you didn't notice the group of kids stumbling towards you until it was too late. One of them tripped over your foot and before you knew it, the t-shirt you wore was completely soaked in beer. The kid squeaked out an apology before the group scurried away. You looked down at your shirt and groaned. There was no way you could just stand around here like this, not smelling like a distillery. Your only option was to find something to change into.

Pushing through the crowd of teenagers you made your way upstairs. Finally finding an empty bedroom, closing the door behind you. You looked around the room, taking in the mess of beer cans and empty cigarette packs. The room smelled of sweat and cigarettes, which strangely wasn't off-putting. This is the fraternity house of Mark and his team, so you really have no idea whose room you’re in.

Your eyes landed on the closet and you walked over, throwing the doors open. You pulled out a black Mötley Crüe shirt and shrugged, it would do. Whoever owns this probably wouldn’t mind. Pulling your own shirt over your head, you tossed it onto the dresser before pulling his shirt on. It was a little big on you, but at least it was dry...and it smelled weirdly nice. You pulled it to your nose and breathed in. Expensive cologne mixed with tobacco. A voice from behind you startled you out of your thoughts.

"You're going to have to give that back."

Spinning around, you found Mark standing in the doorway looking you over. How he had managed to enter the room without you hearing him, you weren't sure.

"Oh…sorry, I just needed to borrow it. Some idiot spilled beer on me. I'll wash it and send it back."

Mark just stared at you, arms crossed as he leaned against the door frame. You shuttered under his gaze before you stepped forward toward the door.

"Anyway, I should get back out there."

He made no effort to move out of your way, instead leaning more into it, his gaze still fixed on you.

"Mark? Can I go please?"

A smirk spread across his lips. “Do you really want to? I saw the way you were looking at me out there."

You raised an eyebrow, taking a step back and looking at him. "I was checking on Jeno."

Mark scoffed, dropping his arms to his sides and stepping towards you, closing the bedroom door behind him.

"Last time I checked, Jeno wasn't on my face, which was exactly where your eyes seemed to be fixed every time I looked your way."

"I…I was…well it's hard not to look at you when you're putting on such a big show out there."

He took another step towards you, causing you to step back away from him. "Oh yeah? You liked that?"

"Didn't say I liked it. I really have to go."

You stepped to the side and headed towards the door. Just as you reached for the knob, a hand reached out and grabbed your wrist hard.

"I didn't say you could go yet."

You tried to pull your arm away but his grip just tightened as he pulled you away from the door, shoving you towards the bed. "Mark, what the hell?"

"Oh don't play shy now, this is what you wanted isn't it?"

"You're drunk. Come on, let's go back out there."

You tried once again to push past the male, this time to have him stop you with an arm. He spun you to face him, grabbing your jaw roughly and making you look into his eyes.

"Don't think I don't see it, princess. The way you look at me in class. The eyes you make at me across the room at parties just like this. You want me, you just don't want your boyfriend to know his girl has fallen for the bad boy."

Shit. Had you really made your attraction that evident?

Truth was, you’d always had this huge feeling for Mark long before you started dating Jeno. Almost everyone on your campus knew Mark, and when your freshman year began, he was the first thing to catch your attention. You remembered clearly that he was leaning against a tree, sucking on a cigarette while you were eating your lunch on the grass, unknowingly close to where he was. Only when a girl passed by, flaunting her next-to-nothing clothes as she purred, “Looking uber-sexy, Mark Lee'', did you notice the notorious hockey captain. He then unleashed a rogue grin and a provocative whistle that made every girl who happened to be around whipped their head in his direction. You almost choked on your food there, as he was the sexiest man you’d ever laid your eyes on. Almost thankful that he didn’t notice you and terrified that you’d embarrass yourself if he ever looked at you.

It was at one of Mark’s games when you met Jeno. You were shocked that a man like him would be interested in you. To say he’s out of your league would be an understatement. One thing led to another, after a few weeks, he asked you to be his girlfriend and you couldn’t find a reason to say no. Jeno was kind, caring, and good-looking.

Thinking about it made you mad at yourself. You had a boyfriend that every girl could only wish for, and you’re still thinking about another man, who’s obviously a walking red flag. 

"Mark, let me go, I need to go check on…."

Before you could get another word out, his lips were pressed harshly to yours. The kiss was sloppy, and tasted like beer and cigarettes, but it still sparked something inside of you. He broke from the kiss, still gripping your chin tightly.

"Now you're going to shut up and let me do what I want with you."

"I…."

"Are you saying no?"

You should. You should say no, go back out to the party. You’d go home with Jeno, have dinner together, sleep on the same bed and forget about everything that happened today. But your mouth seems to run on its own.

"N-no…but you're drunk…"

"I saw the look on your face when it was a tie." He stares at you in the eyes, holding your gaze. “You look almost…disappointed.”

He pushed you backward towards his bed, and you let him. As you reached the end of the bed, you fell down onto your back, eyes fixated on the ceiling. This felt so wrong, yet so right. He dropped to his knees at the end of the bed, his hands sliding up your thighs. They came to rest at the waistband of your pants. Your stomach was turning. There were so many problems with this. Mark was your boyfriend’s worst enemy, and even worse he was a fucking asshole. Your breath stuttered at the feeling of his hands on your legs. The pressure over the denim causes you to prop yourself up on your elbows and catch his eyes.

“Mark, please,” your words come out shakily. “This is wrong. Don’t make me do this.”

He ignored your plea, a wolfish grin plastered on his face. “You’re right, this is wrong. But I think you want ‘wrong’.”

He brought one hand up to your chest, pushing you back down to the bed. You let him, without an ounce of resistance. His hands moved back to your waistband, making quick work of your button and zipper. He pulled your jeans off in one swift motion before tossing them to the side.

You squirmed against the bed, grabbing the bottom of his shirt and trying your best to cover the lacy pink panties you had chosen to wear today.

“Such a pretty girl,” he chuckled at the sight. “But a really bad one, lying to everyone. Pretend to be a doting girlfriend when you’re nothing but a slut.”

He slid a hand between your legs, almost amused by your lack of restraint. You said no, but you made no real effort to get away from him. "Hmm, seems like someone is a little more eager than she wants to let on. Your panties are soaked for me already."

Whining a little, your arms came up, forearms wrapping over your face to try and hide yourself from the truth of it all. That Mark Lee was making you wetter than you'd ever been before.

Your legs shut around his wrist now, a feigned attempt at reinforcing that he was the disgusting one. He was beyond amused at this point. Grabbing your legs, he pried your thighs apart again and brought his face between your legs, inhaling deeply.

"Fuck, you smell so sweet."

Bringing his hand close to your clothed core, he hooked his fingers into the crotch of your panties and pulled them to the side. "Look at you. So fucking wet. Need to taste you."

You huffed out, knowing there was no way of really getting out of…this. Whatever this was.

“I…fuck, fine. But you’re not…. you’re not fucking me." You decided in a weak attempt.

You were panting a bit now, shrieking a little when he practically yanked your legs apart and shoved his face so close to your core. “Don’t...o-oh my god..”

And then his hands were on you, cool air causing your entire body to erupt in goosebumps.

“I...shit…”

Mark chuckled, your words just egging him on. Grabbing the top of your panties, he pulled them down, giving himself full access to your wet hole. "So fuckin' pretty."

His hand moved to spread your lips apart so he could get a perfect view. "Fuck."

Mark was practically drooling at this point. He almost came off as more needy than you. But he wasn't the one laying on a near stranger's bed, practically dripping. His free hand found its way to where you needed him, even though you would never admit it. Before you could even try to protest, his middle finger slipped inside of you. It was all happening so quickly. You could have sworn you didn’t want this. Could swear you're a good person, a faithful girlfriend. You're not currently in Mark Lee's bed, wearing his shirt and nothing else. His hands were enough to bring you back to reality. Your hands twisted into his bedsheets below you. The scent of cigarettes permeated your lungs and sent a rush of slickness between your legs.

“Y-you’re...We need t-to stop Mark. I’m… fuck!”

Mark's eyes were blown with lust, all the times he'd thought of this exact situation. You, Jeno’s girlfriend, in his bed. Let him do whatever he wanted to you. He could feel his cock start to throb in his pants. Sliding another finger inside of you, he slowly started to pump them in and out. Your slick completely soaked his hand, and soon the stubble that adorned his face as he leaned in and took your clit into his mouth.

“Oh my god!”

You screamed out the moment his lips touched you. That was it, you were a goner. Hips rolled back, a half-assed attempt at seeming to pull away from his touch. Choked out moans giving away your true wants and desires. Your body admitting to all those nights you wished your hand was replaced by his. And now, all those filthy, perverted dreams were coming true. Your eyes started to water over, a lump growing in your throat now before a sob rippled through the room… you'd begun to cry. Overwhelmed by the shame, and how fucking good it felt.

“D….don’t stop, please.”

He smirked against your clit. He'd won. He knew you'd give in. His tongue swirled around your clit as his fingers started pumping into you harder and faster. If there was one thing Mark was, it was a giver. Before he went any further, he wanted to make sure you came for him. He made it his mission to make you come undone with just his mouth and hands. You could already feel it starting…that aching burn in the very pit of your abdomen. Body flushing hot and eyes fluttering shut. Feeling overwhelmed already from the few minutes with the blonde between your legs. How long has it been? Three weeks? A month and a half? A long time. It’s been a long fucking time. A shaking hand inched down into the soft mass of loose curls. Your nails weaving through till they scratch at his scalp.

“Fuck…shit, Mark…”

Your hips began to achingly slowly rock against his face. Minute movements that were just enough to amplify that growing high. He could feel your walls getting tighter around his fingers, a telling sign of your impending orgasm. Not even a full ten minutes, he was impressed. Hooking his fingers against the spongy spot deep inside of you, he started sucking on your clit a little harder, his tongue flicking back and forth as he did so.

“I’m…m…Mark...m’gonna..*”

You were so close, so fucking close. At this point your own hands were betraying you…trying to pull his mouth closer despite it being physically impossible. Your crying never ceased, only slowed down to occasional whimpers and sobs while tears slipped down your cheeks. Mark pulled off your clit with a wet pop, just long enough to whisper.

"Cum for me." Then he attached himself to your clit again, fingers starting to brutally assault your sweet spot.

“Fuuckkk! Shit! Mark!"

That was it, your vision went blurry and a mix between a sob and a moan ripped through your throat as you climaxed around his fingers. Thighs coming up around his ears and caging the poor bastard between them. Chest heaving and falling rapidly as you attempt to come down from your high.

He pulled off of your clit, sliding his fingers out of you. Prying your legs off of him, he sat up and looked down at you. "Look at you. You're a damn mess and I'm not even done yet."

Grabbing you by the chin, he leaned in and licked a tear off of your cheek. "Poor thing, already fucked out from just my fingers. Now the real fun begins."

Grabbing your hand, he brought it to his crotch. His cock strained painfully against his jeans. "See what you've done to me? Now, you've gotta fix it."

His grip on your chin pulled your attention back. A shocked gasp leaving parted lips when you felt his tongue drag across your cheek, flinching back a bit at the hot, wet streak left behind.

Unknowingly, you pulled your hand back from his own but stopped when you realized just how hard he is. “Wait..What? No, we’re not doing this.”

"Oh? You thought this was just about you? Silly girl." He smirked, letting go of your hand to move down to his belt buckle. "You think you can just look like that and I'm not going to want to fuck you?"

He quickly undid his belt buckle, and then the button on his pants before he kicked them off, leaving him in his boxers. The outline of his length didn't leave much to the imagination. He was huge to say the least, something he prided himself on.

A look of concern washed over your face. This was really happening wasn’t it. If Jeno found out, you’d be beyond fucked.

“Looking like what? It’s not my fault some drunk douche spilled his drink all over me. I didn’t exactly bring a backup…. change of clothes…” Snarky words slowed to nothing as your eyes trained on his hands, working rapidly at his belt and jeans till he was in just a thin pair of boxers.

“Shit..Mark, I don’t think.."

"Roll over and get on your hands and knees. Now."

Your protests fell on deaf ears. His barked command made your thighs squeeze together. Swallowing hard and shifting up onto your arms so you could roll over. Ass pushing high into the air now and shivering at the shift in temperature. Mark took this opportunity to rid himself of his remaining piece of clothing, tossing them to the floor.

"Good girl." He mumbled as he climbed up the bed, positioning himself on his knees behind you. "I don't have any condoms, don't worry, I'll pull out."

Though the tone of his voice told you he had no intention of doing so. But before you could say anything, he was sliding the tip of his cock between your lips, collecting your juices before stopping at your entrance. Then he pushed inside of you, he gave your ass a hard smack.

“Wait, what? No you can’t without a–fuck!”

Before there was any real time to get away, he was already pushing into you. Feeling like he was splitting you apart at the seams. “Shit...shit, fuck it hurts!” Despite your whines of pain, the harsh slap resulted in your body pushing back involuntarily against his own. Fists twisting in the sheets as tears begin to soak the mattress.

"You can take it."

He pushed deeper and deeper inside of you until his hips sat flush against your ass. Giving it another harsh slap, his hands moved to your hips. His fingertips dug in so hard you knew they'd leave bruises behind. Pulling all the way back, he slammed deep into you again. His head fell back in pleasure at the feeling of your pussy squeezing him.

"Fuck, your pussy is so perfect. Should have just done this long ago."

It wasn’t long before your forearms gave out underneath you. Upper body shaking as you collapsed against the fabric. Knees digging harshly into the mattress on either side of Mark’s waist while trying so hard to keep your lower half up. Despite your constant protests, you wanted to hear him call you a good girl again, praise you. Tell you that you make him feel good. His words were enough to gather another rush of slickness between your legs, groaning quietly and burying your face into the smoke-permeated sheets to muffle the sounds. That was useless though, the perverted noises of skin hitting skin and squelching from your near sinful arousal was probably enough to tell the entire town what was going on behind that closed door. All while your boyfriend was busy partying outside.

“I’ll tell you a secret.” He whispers darkly into your ear. ““I’d purposely missed that shot. Winning is too easy, and it feels like you’re doing this because you have to.”

A rough slap landed on your ass and you whined. “As much as I like seeing you helpless, I love making you beg more.”

He continued pounding into you. Grunts and soft moans falling from his lips. As you collapsed onto the bed, he reached down and grabbed a handful of your hair, yanking you back against him. "You're such a little slut. Just letting me fuck you, not even putting up a fight. You like this don't you? Like the idea of me fucking you with so many people out there." With your body pulled close against his own, he leaned in and bit down hard on your shoulder. "Everyone is going to know just who makes you feel this good."

Scream ripped through the room at the sharp tug of your hair. Head falling back against his shoulder now and leaving the vast expanse of your neck free to his assault. Hands scrambled back, latching onto his forearm and hip to try and ground yourself. Though his taunts were enough to push you deeper and deeper into that deliciously fuzzy headspace.

“Maybe I should call Jeno, hm? Let him see how much of a cheating slut you are.”

Your eyes rolled back, jaw going slack when that all too familiar burning sensation began building up once again. His words only made your pussy clench more, tingled with desire.

“Please, Mark…I’m close…”

Mark chuckled darkly. "Oh yea? Already gonna cum for me again? Such an easy little whore aren't you?"

His hand snaked around and grabbed your throat.

"I'm not a…"

Your words were cut off by a choked out moan as the male grabbed at your throat. Rough fingers against the soft skin enough to make me desperately whimper — actually beginning to grind back against him now and actively chasing my own climax.

"Say it. Say 'I love your cock, Mark.'"

His thrusts were growing sloppier, a telltale sign that his own orgasm was approaching fast.

“L-love your cock, Mark, love having you inside me. Splitting me open, need you all the time…always need you. Dream about you Mark.”

The rambles continued, eyelids fluttering and swollen lips continuing to spew out all of your secret desires.

That was enough to push him over the edge. "Fuck. T-take my cum like the little slut you are."

Bottoming out inside of you, you could feel his cock throbbing as his warm cum filled your hole. His hand let go of your throat and moved between your legs, toying with your clit while still buried inside of you.

"Go ahead, cum for me again and then we're all done."

You whimpered almost pathetically at the way his grip tightened on your hip when he came. Mouth falling open in a long, languid moan that quickly shifted into nearly pained cries as rough fingertips found your sensitive bud. Hips jerked back away from his touch but of course, your body betrayed you. Walls clenching around his length, a filthy mix of fluids slipped out between your thighs as you came hard around his length. Quiet sobs falling from quivering lips and your shoulders and hips occasionally convulsing from the overwhelming stimulation.

Finally Mark fell onto the bed next to you, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked up at you.

"Guess I forgot to pull out." He motioned between your legs, where he watched the mixture of fluids drip down your leg.

"I'll get you a Plan B or something. Don't want any little shits running around."

Sitting up, he reached for his pants. "We should do this again. Don't worry, Jeno doesn't have to know."

As soon as the words left his mouth, the bedroom door swung open.

"Hey, I...."

Jeno paused, taking in the scene. His expression instantly turned cold and hard. Mark turned to you and shrugged, an infuriating smirk tugged his lips.

"Oops. Guess he knows now."

[suppose-i-was-worm]

Ghost on the Stairs

**alright, alright. I asked and y'all answered. Here's my siblings Bruce and Danny fic!**

“Boo!”

Bruce clattered to a stop on the floor, holding his arms out for his baby brother as the boy toddled his way forward.

“Hey, Danny! Did you miss me while I was at school?”

Danny waved chubby arms, clearly delighted that Bruce was waiting for him. He was all of two years to Bruce’s seven, and the two of them were almost inseparable.

Chancing a look over to his mother, Bruce found her and father smiling fondly at the two of them. Alfred was coming up behind them with a tea tray.

“Boo!”

Bruce turned back to his brother, only to lurch forward as his tiny brother took a step straight into a swirling green portal that opened up from nowhere.

Danny’s screech as he fell was cut off by the portal shutting with a snap, leaving Bruce on his hands and knees, reaching for air.

Mother, father, and Alfred all clustered around him as he began to cry, and the four of them began desperately looking for the youngest member of the family.

They never found him, and a year later, Bruce lost his parents to a gun. At least that was something he could fight against.

When Bruce became Batman at the age of twenty-two, he finally erected a gravestone for his baby brother, right next to their parents. If Danny ever came back, he wouldn’t be the same boy who had vanished.

~~~

Red Robin swung into the building, breaking through the window with his momentum. The cult surrounding a magic circle on the floor of the warehouse had been causing a ruckus in Gotham, and the bats had finally had enough.

Just as they finished knocking out the cultists, the magic circle flared to life and a green pool bloomed from the floor.

Tim, purely out of scientific curiosity, leaned closer, only to be pulled back roughly by Batman.

“Stay away from it.”

“B?”

Batman grabbed a batarang from where it had landed in the melee and threw it with a precise hand, cutting through one of the lines of chalk surrounding the pool.

Narrowing his eyes, Tim watched Bruce’s face- his expression right now was all Bruce, no Bat in sight- sorrow mixed with relief.

Once the pool had vanished completely, Bruce pulled Tim into his arms.

“Woah, what’s up B?”

“I cannot lose you too.”

The moment passed, and Red Robin found himself following Batman as the vigilante swept out of the building.

~~~

“Constantine.”

“Bats. Nice of you to call. What do you need?”

“I sent you a data packet. What is the summoning circle for?”

Constantine was quiet for a long while as he perused the files Bruce had sent him. Bruce paced in front of the batcomputer, glad that all his children were in bed for the night. Somehow they had known something was wrong, and every single one of them had come to the manor- even Jason.

“Looks like an attempt to summon a being of the Infinite Realms to me.”

“Infinite Realms?”

“Mhmm. The afterlife, if you will.”

Bruce couldn’t help the small wheeze as his airways caught. Constantine didn’t seem to notice, as he continued.

“The ghosts haven’t been as active lately, not since the new king came into power. It’s been maybe two decades since?”

“I would like to meet this king.”

“Why?”

“It would be politically intelligent of us to make allies.”

Constantine sighed, long and loud.

“Fine. Give me a week to gather up the stuff.”

~~~

Jason glanced over the thin information brief that Bruce handed down, skimming it at first, until something caught his eye.

“B?”

“Hn.”

“According to this, the being we’re trying to summon is damn powerful. Wouldn’t it be better to do this on the Watchtower with more backup?”

“Yeah B,” Dick chimed in, “Constantine’s report does say that the guy is rumored to be a wandering spirit, which limits his power, but what if that’s not right?”

Jason looked back down at the papers, his eyes darting through to find out what a wandering spirit was.

A ghost that couldn’t find its grave. Part of Jason ached at the thought, and he didn’t quite understand why.

“Fine. We will summon the king at the Watchtower.”

Small victories.

~~~

Bruce was not a praying man, and yet here he was, hoping against hope that this ghost could assist him in finding out what happened to his brother.

The sigils on the floor flared to light, and a now familiar green portal swirled into being. The entire room waited with bated breath for a few moments, and then a young woman rose from the portal.

Batman knew what it felt like to be stabbed. There was no way he could have been, and yet there was a knife in his gut as he stared at this girl who looked so much like his mother, except for the inverted colors.

“The Ghost King thanks you for your call- Unfortunately he is currently unavailable. Please leave your message after the-“ the girl’s professional, almost robotic voice petered off. “Wait a minute- it’s here!”

Her eyes were wide, as was the smile she flashed at the group.

“Please hold.”

She sunk back into the pool, and Bruce took a step towards it, despairing of his chance.

And then she returned, dragging a young man up with her.

“Can you feel it, Phantom? It’s here! We can find it!”

“Calm down, Phantasm. We can go looking soon- first we need to find out why I was summoned.”

The young man turned to Diana, who was standing at the front of the group. She had been chosen as diplomatic leader, seeing as she was a Princess and Ambassador.

“Pardon my sister, how may I assist?”

Bruce let their conversation wash over him as he cataloged the young man’s features. They were so very similar- so close.

The man was both too young and too old. Daniel would be in his mid-forties had he lived, and only two if he’d died. This young man couldn’t be older than thirty.

As Diana’s explanation ended, the young man smiled.

“I agree. It would be advantageous of us to be allies, knowing what I know of this reality now. As allies, I must ask- what is the real reason I was summoned?”

He turned his green (wrong, too much like Damian’s) eyes to Bruce.

“Will you explain? The summoning was filled with great longing for something.”

Bruce stumbled forward, and surely to the shock of his teammates, friends, and children, fell to his knees before the king.

“My- my brother. He fell through a portal so similar to yours and I- I need to know what happened to him. Please.”

The king and his sister looked at each other before looking back at Bruce.

“The Infinite Realms are just that, infinite. However, I may be able to help.”

“Phantom!”

The king ignored his sister.

“What was his name, this brother of yours?”

Bruce hadn’t spoken his brother’s name in decades.

“Danny. Daniel Wayne.”

The room was so silent he could have heard a pin drop.

“And you gave him a grave when he never returned to you.”

Bruce looked up at the king, who was looking back contemplatively. The king’s sister was staring up at her brother with her mouth agape.

“I did.”

The king was very, very quiet, and the moment stretched on and on and on.

After a time, the room grew darker as the green pool closed slowly, and the two ghosts landed with barely a whisper of sound.

“I died at age fourteen,” the king began, musing his own thoughts. “As I died, I thought that the color of the ectoplasm surrounding me was too familiar in color and movement for that to have been my first experience with a portal.”

He took a step towards Bruce.

“It was terrifying and I was so afraid that I would be ripped away from everything I ever loved again.”

Two bright white rings circled the king, and Bruce found himself looking at a man who looked just like his mother, but with a twitch of the lips that was entirely his father’s.

“Hello, Boo. I’m afraid I can’t remember your name properly.”

Bruce took his cowl off slowly, wanting his baby brother to see him despite the fact that he was crying.

“We’ve got his chin, Danny.”

The girl was standing a little behind Danny, smiling. She winked at Bruce.

“He always did want to find his bio family.”

Bruce held his hand out, and Danny took it, using his position and apparently superior strength to pull Bruce into a hug.

“Bruce. Bruce Wayne.”

“Danny Nightingale- well. Nightingale-Wayne, I suppose.”

~~~

Danielle Nightingale (Wayne?) watched her original and his brother(!?!) hug it out. The big man in black was obviously not used to hugs.

“Miss?”

She turned to the inquirer, the nice looking ambassador from before. (Sue her, Dani hadn’t been listening to the conversation. She had been trying to pinpoint the location of their grave!)

“How can I help?”

Ambassador lady smiled at her.

“We were unaware that our teammate had siblings, and clearly Daniel has introduced himself. May we ask your name?”

Dani grinned.

“Oh, I’m not a sibling. I’m sibling-adjacent. Sibling clone? One of those. My name is Danielle, but I go by Dani with an i. It gets a little confusing since he’s Danny with a y.”

“I see. Welcome to the Watchtower, Dani. May I ask what you and his majesty are looking for that was found here?”

“Our grave, of course! Since I’m Danny’s clone, I can feel it too- a little distantly, but it’s not like I’ll get my own. I was born dead.”

Ambassador lady was looking a little faint. Dani took pity on her.

“But now I’m a kickass princess, so all’s well that ends well.”

“I suppose so.” The ambassador looked over at Danny and surprise brother with a small smile. “I suppose so indeed.”

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Lion's Pride [PART 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Leona Kingscholar Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: There is a Lion living in your chicken coop. This sounds like the setup for a really bad joke--you wish it was.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3]

There were wards carved into the wooden pillars of your small cottage that had existed long before you’d made your home here, and they had an ancient, cloying, sort of magic to them that always left you feeling swaddled in bubble-wrap comfort—safe and secure. Even against angry Skin Changers banging down your door.

“You won’t be able to cross the threshold unless you’re invited,” you called, hoping it might deter him from actually destroying your entire porch.

There was an irritated growl from the other side that sounded an awful lot like he was probably still going to wind up trying to put his claws through the paneling, so you pulled the door open once more and stepped aside with purpose.

“You are not welcome,” you said, cheerful, before gesturing for him to try and step inside.

The Lion Man sneered at you, his ears flattening pissilly atop his head as if such a fluffy show of irritation could ever be intimidating (even if he wasn’t drenched down the bone), and he moved to make his way into your home. But when his sandaled foot reached the threshold, he stopped. You watched as his brow furrowed and something darkly frustrated slithered across his handsome face. There was no great arcane barrier or explosion of magical prowess—just a gentle shudder you could see creep along his limbs as he tried to force himself to move and couldn’t.

“Was there something you needed?” you asked, after what was perhaps a too-long moment of watching him stew in a mucky mix of rainwater and his own burbling rage.

He scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning up against the well-beaten doorway like the slouch was supposed to be intentionally casual, and not because he literally couldn’t move anywhere else.

“I need your help,” he said—demanded. He stared down his nose at you like you were some sort of unpleasant looking bug crawling across the floor.

“Alright,” you shrugged. “And…?”

“And what?” he demanded.

You rolled your eyes towards the ceiling and mercifully gave him through a silent count-of-ten to try and figure his shit out. When all he did was curl his lip at you like a petulant noble in court, you sighed and turned back on him with a cheerful, customer-service, quality smile.

“Thank you for your inquiry,” you chirped. “But I’m afraid I’m all full up for the day. Good afternoon.” And closed the door in his face yet again, but this time with a polite, little, wiggle-wave of your fingers as you went.

The next morning arrived altogether uneventfully. The rain had stopped sometime during the evening, and the lingering moisture had left your little homestead shrouded in a lovely cloud of fine, glistening, mists. You headed out into the soft chill with a pleasant hum and armfuls of treats for all your critters.

And then you noticed that there was an extra animal making itself at home in your little farmyard—one that you’d assumed had eventually given up and stomped back whichever way he’d came.

The Lion Man was sleeping in your chicken coop—perfectly contentedly, too. Which you wouldn’t have expected from a near mythical creature dripping in precious gems and who spoke with all the haughty self-assuredness of someone who’d never been told ‘no’ in any way that mattered.

You glared at him for a moment or two, hoping the searing irritation in your frown would be enough to poke him awake. But the Lion Man just laid there, cozy as a clam in his bed of shredded hay.

“You’re scaring Penelope,” you huffed, loud, and tossed a handful of seed by his feet.

The birds squawked and hopped up to peck brainlessly at the treats—unbothered by the predator lounging in their nest. The rustling of their feathers and tap-tap-tap of their little beaks at least seemed to finally wake the lazy Lion Man, and he opened one glowing, emerald, eye to glare balefully at you.

“They don’t seem like they give a shit,” he rumbled at you, voice still thick and syrupy with sleep. And indeed they did not, bopping around without a care in the world. Your aforementioned Penelope had even shuffled herself into the Lion’s lap to reach some of the seed that had fallen into the folds of fabric pooling at his hips.

“Why are you in my chicken coop?” you asked, as polite as you could manage. It still sounded like you were giving yourself a root canal.

He stood with a languid stretch and your birds clucked at him irritably for a moment before settling into the warm spot he’d vacated.

“It was raining,” he complained. Like it was obvious.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and tried again. “Why are you still here?”

“I already told you, herbivore,” he yawned. His long, white, canines, glinted in the morning sunlight. “I need your help.”

You sighed a miserable sort of sigh and fought the urge to dig your thumbs into your eyes.

“Forgive me for not jumping at the opportunity to assist the person—or, sorry, whatever it is you are—who abandoned me to die in a hole,” you harumphed, turning pointedly to start trudging back to your cottage.

“You got out, didn’t you?” the Lion griped, slipping forward to dog at your heels.

“No thanks to you!” you accused, jabbing a finger in his direction. He rolled his eyes and you could practically feel the steam leaking from your ears. “I helped you once already,” you pointed out testily. “Twice, if you count all the rations you gobbled up. And you still left me behind without a second thought! Why should I bother doing anything else for you?”

His face twisted up into something sour. The grin he shot your way was all sharp teeth and vinegar.

“Ahh, that’s right. I should have remembered—humans are only willing to barter their aid if they’re going to be repaid in kind. So. Tell me. What do you want then, hmm?” He scoffed. “Wealth? Power? Protection?”

You stopped at the door to your home and spun on him, angry.

“This has nothing to do with being repaid,” you seethed. “This is about decency!”

He scoffed again and you fought the urge to just hurl the entire basket of seed into his smug face. Because you were clearly the adult in this situation and needed to act as such. Sure, Mister Lion Dude looked close enough to your age, and you knew well enough of Magic Beasts to understand he was probably decades your senior—if not entire generations—but clearly a wealth of time left no account for manners. So you were going to have to step up and be the mature one here, and not waste an entire week’s worth of grit on the petty urge to upend it all over his stupid head.

With a heavy sigh that was more a gust of incompressible cursing than anything else, you placed the basket aside and turned to him with a stubborn pout.

“Alright, then. A deal—as you’re so insistent that you know exactly what every one of us stupid humans wants. I’ll help you again. If—” you declared, “—you say you’re sorry.”

He frowned, that righteous loathing giving way to a heady mix of even more irritable confusion.

“I have nothing to apologize for,” he snipped, turning his nose up at you.

“Then I have nothing to help you with,” you smiled, barbed, and swiveled to retreat into the safety of your cottage. “Good afternoon, Mister Lion. And please don’t eat my chickens.”

The Lion did not, in fact, eat any of your chickens. Or your geese, or ducks, or even the little rabbits that lived in the walls. He’d passed out beneath one of the overburdened fruit trees that grew along the edge of the forest and slept there for the entire evening—sprawled out amidst the roots like the rough bark was as comfortable as any other luxurious bed. He was still there now, snoring softly beneath the gentle, yellow, warmth of the morning sun.

You watched him for a few quiet moments, throat catching on a curious little hum. You wondered how long he was planning to skulk about your little homestead. You wondered how he wasn’t cold and miserable every night. And surely he must have been ravenous by now. It’s not like you’d seen him eat anything.

So you raided your icebox for leftovers and heated them on the stove until your cottage was filled with the cozy smells of well-seasoned meats and sweet, berry, tarts. You packed up the meal into a neat, little, box, wrapped it all up in a tea towel to seal in the heat, and then dropped the thing in his lap hard enough to startle him awake.

The Lion glowered down at the mesh of checkered fabric in obvious distaste. But then the scent of what was tucked within said wrappings must have made its way to his nose, because some of that ire seemed to melt away and he sniffed curiously at the air.

“Thank you for not decimating my livestock population,” you said.

“You told me not to,” he snapped, tail whipping angrily at his rear. He reached out to pick at the folded edges of the parcel with a perplexed sort of expression twisting at his mouth.

“And you didn’t,” you responded with a shrug. “It’s appreciated.”

With that, you left to go about your daily business. Your garden needed tending, and one of the corners of the fence needed a new patch to keep it upright. You also hadn’t seen much of your foxes since Lord Lion had decided to make himself at home, and you wound up spending far too much time crawling around on your hands and knees—looking under bushes and into holes as you waved around a juicy chunk of roast beef in hopes of tempting them out.

There was the telltale crunch crunch of someone stepping through the dirt to stand at your side, and you glanced up to see the Lion Man looming over you with a heavy scowl—arms crossed loose over his chest.

“Is this what you do? Everyday?” he asked, sounded insultingly incredulous. His face was twisted up into a sneer that was entirely unimpressed. “Crawl through the muck like a worm?”

“Not every day,” you said after a moment of consideration. “And worms don’t have limbs. I’m more like a cockroach, maybe.”

He scoffed. “And you have the nerve to think that you’re too good to help me.”

“I never said that,” you frowned, sitting back on your heels and brushing some of the dust and grass from your pants. “I just said you needed to apologize first.”

“I’m not sorry for anything,” he said again, just as put out as before.

You waved a finger at him in a gentle tut-tut. “Ah, but we’re making progress. See, earlier you said there was nothing to apologize for at all. Now at least you’re recognizing that there is, in fact, an anything.”

You swayed your way back to your feet before he could launch into another rant about your mortal ridiculousness.

“A friend of mine hunted down a White Moor Stag last week,” you said, brushing the last of the grit from your knees. “It’s supposed to be delicious, and I’ve had some of the cuts marinating for a while now. You see, it’s this whole mess with orange zest, and molasses, and these little Red Eye chilies that I’ve been growing for ages now—”

The more you rambled, the more constipated he looked. So you cut yourself off and rubbed at the back of your neck, just toeing the wrong side of embarrassment.  

“R-Right. Anyways. I’m going to be cooking some of it up tonight to try. So—Well,” you waved your hand awkwardly around your head in a gesture that even you weren’t entirely sure made any kind of sense. “If you apologize before then, you’re more than welcome to come in and have dinner.”

He scoffed. “That’s not exactly a worthwhile offer when we both know you’ll just end up bringing me some tomorrow either way.”

You sighed.

“Probably,” you admitted. “Well. See you in the morning then if you’re still around, I guess.”

“You’re terribly accommodating to unwanted guests,” he sneered after you as you climbed the set of stairs that made up your teeny porch, and you waved him off with a grumble.

What was so wrong with being civil, huh?! You liked to think that your little cottage was homey and welcoming. You took in weird guests all the time! And you liked being known as that awkward but friendly recluse who could offer a wandering adventurer a fresh set of laundered clothes and a good meal. It was how you’d met all your other friends. Odd as they all were. In fact, if you were being perfectly honest, in comparison to some of your other compatriots, Mister Lion really probably was the most societally acceptable definition of ‘normal’ out of the bunch. Which was—not to rag on your dear friends or anything—but that was certainly… Uh…

You spent the afternoon shuffling about your kitchen, and then a long evening searing the meat to perfection. It tasted absolutely divine—totally ‘making noises not meant for polite company’ and ‘curling your toes under the table’ levels of yummy. You happily set aside some portions for your friends whenever they inevitably stopped by (with an extra-large and prettily packaged one for your Hunter), and then packed a small box of leftovers to set at the front of the icebox. Just as the Lion had said you would. Because unlike him, you were nice. And kind. And really didn’t want him to get hungry enough to start eyeing your chickens in earnest.

The next morning when you ventured beyond your front door, you noticed something a bit odd.

Your brow scrunched and you shifted the little box of meats into one hand so you could use the other to poke around your very neat looking garden.

“I don’t remember weeding this yesterday…”

Nor had you had time to fix the fence amidst all your fox chasing. Or prune the berry bushes. And normally your trimming was not quite so, err, ugly, lopsided, like the work of a toddler with safety scissors imperfect. More of a scorching, really, than any kind of clipping. There was a soft dusting of glittering, arcane, sand scattered along their roots.

The Lion snorted and snatched the food from your hands with a scowl. It was a weird, tiny, twisty expression—and way more performative than he’d probably intended it to be.

“Then you must be even stupider than I thought.”

“Huh,” you mused, plopping yourself down on one of the low-cut stumps and resting your chin in your palm. You tried to hide the amused tick of your lips behind your fingers. “I hadn’t thought that would be possible. What’s lower than a base zero?”

“Negative numbers exist,” he sneered and sat cross-legged in the grass across from you to devour his plundered meal.

You hummed and rifled around in your pockets. You unearthed another wrapped treat and passed it his way.

“Thank you for cleaning up,” you said.

He scoffed and took a too-large chomp out of his food, eyes averted towards the ground. “Whatever.”

The Lion followed you around the rest of the day—always at a distance, and always with a perpetual cloud of scathing comments settled about him like a swarm of buzzing bees. You just hummed through the streams of pessimistic angst and continued your chores. Mostly he just watched you toil away. Occasionally you’d toss him a berry from a bush you were replanting, or share some bites of the granola you’d tucked into one of your pockets. He accepted each treat with an upturned nose and absolute indignity. But he ate each and every morsel, and you noticed him go back to swipe another berry when he thought you weren’t looking.

He still outright refused to apologize, so you took your dinners alone. But he did help you move some thorny branches, and didn’t even complain too much when Penelope the Chicken made herself a nice bed in his lap. You brought him one of your spare blankets—a big, old, fluffy thing that you’d once hoped would be a bit magical, as you’d spun it together from some enchanted wool. It was not, which was disappointing. But it was still warm and pretty, so that was fine.

The Lion scoffed at it, but you just left the folded-up mess of soft fluff by his side with a pointed pat-pat-pat before returning to your own cozy bed for the night.

When the sun rose the next day, you woke to a familiar, scraggly, redhead at your door. Ace smiled at you through a layer of grime thicker than the shirt on his back, and you immediately herded him out towards the backyard to dunk him in the pond.

“What did you even do?” you asked, upending another bucket of water over his head. “You look like someone tied you to the back of a horse and dragged you the entire way here.”

He shivered petulantly. “I didn’t do anything! I swear! And nothing happened!”

Splash went the next bucket.

“Nothing I didn’t deserve,” he corrected, and you handed him a towel as a reward for his vague attempt at honesty.

Eventually Ace managed to weasel his way out of the frigid pond and into a fresh set of clothes. He sighed, content, and set about lounging in the sun like a fat, lazy, tom cat. Which, speaking of lazy, lounging, cats…

You glanced around your little farm, but your new Lion companion wasn’t anywhere to be found. Huh. How strange. You retreated back into your home to collect some of your leftovers before returning to your friend. You carefully balanced one of the boxes atop the fence as you went, just in case the Lion did come around looking for a snack.

You handed the other to Ace, and his mouth nearly started watering at the sight.

“No Deuce this time?” you asked, peering back out towards the dirt road—half expecting to see the warrior sprawled out in a ditch or something just a few paces down the path.

“Nah,” Ace sighed, kicking up his feet and letting out a heaving sigh that sounded like it weighed more than the thick, traveler’s, pack usually strapped across his shoulders. “He stopped back in town to drop off a letter for his mom.”

Ace moved to dig into the food in earnest, and you lit up at his enthusiasm.

“This is from that Stag,” you beamed, and his face went a bit pale. “Remember? The one we could barely fit through the shed door even when we got all six of its antlers off? I finally got around to cooking it.”

“That Hunter brought this?” he asked, looking more and more uncomfortable by the second.

“I mean, who else could kill a White Moor Stag?” you laughed, and Ace’s expression was shifting into something that looked a bit too close to sea-sickness for someone sitting in a soft patch of grass in the heart of a landlocked prefecture.

You reached forward to pluck up a bit of one of the juicier steaks between your fingers and shoved it firmly into his mouth. The indignant spluttering that followed rapidly melted into near moaning, and whatever hesitance was brewing in that empty skull of his dissipated in the face of such a pure, culinary, masterpiece.

You leaned forward eagerly when he began to shovel the stuff into his mouth like a dying man inhaling his last meal. “How’s it taste? I tried using rinds this time in my marinade instead of just the orange pulp, and also tried whole ginger slices rather than the ground up kind, and—"

“Yeah, yeah,” Ace waved you off around a mouthful of half-chewed meat. “Food magic, and fancy things, and whatever. Can’t you just let me enjoy this stupid, terrifying, meal in peace—”

A clawed hand slammed down over the top of the makeshift lunch box with an echoing ­­thwack, and the redhead lurched backwards with a startled squawk.

“If you’re not going to bother listening, you don’t deserve to eat it,” the Lion huffed, snatching the portion for himself and gracefully folding his unfairly lithe limbs to plop down at your side.

“You’re one to talk,” you blinked, taken aback at his sudden appearance. And blatant hypocrisy. Like. Come on, dude.

He was close—far closer than he was normally willing to get to you and your human cooties. Practically slotted up against you from hip to shoulder. His tail curled up and around your wrist and you could feel the tip of it twitching irritably against the soft skin at the heart of your palm. That aloof, emerald, glower of his was fixed on Ace with just a touch too much ire to really be considered indifferent, and his ears were pressed down into stiff, flat, lines atop his head. You blinked again, wide eyed and a bit confused. Huh. Maybe he just wasn’t a fan of strangers.

“When have I ever interrupted one of your ridiculous tangents?” the Lion snipped at you, pointedly popping the thickest, juiciest, slice of the bunch into his mouth. It shredded like tissue paper between his canines and Ace audibly gulped.

“You make faces at me,” you argued petulantly, and immediately felt like a toddler.

“But I always listen,” he shot back, equally as bitchy. And also… surprisingly earnest. Even if he was being as miserable about that sincerity as he was about everything else.

His green eyes flicked down to meet yours for a moment—two, three, four—before swiveling back towards Ace and narrowing all over again. And yeah, you’d assumed that the Lion had looked irritated with you plenty of times before, but the sneer he was giving Ace was all sorts of unpleasant. Rivaled only perhaps by that open, spiteful, hatred when he’d turned to bear his fangs at the metal spike trap twining around his legs and keeping him trapped in that pit.

His lip twitched up, almost like a snarl, before he continued, “Even an herbivore like you deserves that at least.”

Then the Lion reached around you to snatch the checkered tea towel wrapping from its place discarded at your friend’s feet, jostling you ridiculously all the while and practically bullying you into his lap with his flailing elbows in the process. He idly wiped the mess of sauces and drippings from his fingers before tossing the fabric back into the dirt—this time at his feet. You rolled your eyes at the petty theatrics and shot Ace one of your patented ‘man, what a day, am I right?’ looks, that he responded to with an expression that looked more like someone had just punched him in the nuts and threatened to wear his skin as a suit than it did any sort of real life, rational, human, emotion.   

The Lion’s arm tightened from its place at your waist—where he’d lazily left it after that initial reach around. You settled back against him with a good natured, if exasperated, huff. At least he was warm. And honestly a much nicer seat than the damp ground.

“Uhm—” Ace choked. Cleared his throat. Tried again. Choked harder. “Who—Who’s this?”

“Oh,” you hummed, pensive. “Actually. That’s a very good question. I don’t really know.”

The Lion Man practically groaned into your neck. Ace looked like he wanted to put your head through a wall.

“This entire time,” the Lion hissed. You could feel the imprint of his canines bumping up against your skin as he grit his teeth. “You didn’t even know who I was?”

“No?” you frowned, confused. And then, rightfully indignant, “It’s not like you ever introduced yourself!”

He pulled himself back with a sigh that sounded like it was the only thing standing in between a gruesome murder and whatever fragile sanity he’d managed to wrangle together. He straightened—posture going rigid and regal. The claws at your waist flexed into the breezy fabric of your shirt and his tail tightened along your arm.

“I am Leona Kingscholar,” he declared, proud. “Second Son of the Sunset Savannas. Heir to the King's Roar.”

Ace started choking all over again, and let out what sounded vaguely like a strangled ‘holy fucking shit.’ You waited a moment, shifting through the catalogue of names and places in your head before drawing a complete blank. So you simply nodded as best as you could while squashed up so close against him and offered your own name politely in return.

Ace gawked at you. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You frowned. “What are you talking about? I was just being polite!”

“This is—He’s—!” your redheaded friend just barely managed to splutter out past his obvious terror. “Leona Kingscholar is a Warlord. He’s an ancient terror—He’s—He’s a General, and a monster, and the fucking Changeling Prince whose family rules over this entire goddamn continent, you absolute fucking halfwit!”

Your brain seemed to evacuate the premises all at once, and you were left gaping like a fish out of water. Mouth opening and closing as if of its own devices. Just. Not a thought passing behind those wide, horrified, eyes of yours. Eventually you managed to tilt your gaze up and up until the back of your head thunked against your guest’s shoulder. You stared at him in outright consternation and he simply arched a handsome brow, entirely unimpressed by your apparently lackluster deductive reasoning.

“…is that all true?” you asked haltingly. He rolled his eyes at you.

“More or less.”

“… and you’ve been sleeping in my chicken coop.”

Leona snorted. “I have.”

You turned back to Ace, a creeping sort of dread slithering through your gut and clawing up your spine.

“Oh no,” you said. With feeling.

“Oh fucking no indeed,” he wailed, and dropped his head into his hands.

.

.

.

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[roosterforme]

Always Ever Only You Part 6 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: At the Hard Deck, Bradley learns something about the origins of your friendship with Cam that leaves him feeling out of sorts. You call him out on his behavior and reassure him that he's always more than enough for you. Then he takes you away for a Valentine's trip, and he can finally surprise you with something unique.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, angst, swearing

Length: 4700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

Bradley thought he was hilarious with the way he refused to tell you where you and he were going for the night on Friday. He wouldn't even tell you how you were getting there. All he said every time you asked was, "Just pack a bag and find out."

"Infuriating," you whispered to yourself at work on Thursday. When you heard footsteps coming up behind you in the hallway, you turned to see Jake rushing your way. "Seriously? Don't you ever work?"

"Come on, Angel," he whined. "I'm gonna ask her out. I just need one more shot at talking to her."

You sighed and said, "Fine. Come on. We could actually use your help."

A few minutes later, Jake looked absolutely delighted as Cat had him sit down on the stool next to hers. "Ready?" she asked him. "There are a lot of questions."

"I'm ready," he replied, eyes glued to her face as she opened the aviation survey document on her computer. It wasn't like this needed to be completed today. The software was still in the testing stage. But you knew this would be a good excuse to keep Jake in the lab for a little while and let him engage with Cat.

"Name, age, rank and aircraft. Please," she asked him. You tried to sit quietly and work further down the counter, but you were half focused on them. 

"Jacob C. Seresin. Thirty three. Lieutenant. F/A-18." His voice was calm and even as he answered her, but you could see his leg bouncing a little bit. He was so smitten it was absolutely ridiculous. 

"What does the C stand for?" she asked, entering his information.

"That's classified," he told her with a smirk.

She turned to look at him with a smirk of her own. "Your full name is Jacob Classified Seresin?"

You had to press your lips together as Jake started laughing. "Shoulda thought that one through a little better," he drawled with a blush. "It actually stands for Christopher." 

"Where are you from, Lieutenant Classified?" she asked, and he leaned in to look at her screen. 

"Is that actually a question?"

"No," she said softly. "I was just curious about your accent."

Jake's voice sounded smug as hell as he said, "It's not an accent, Lieutenant Coleman. It's a drawl." And then you were forced to listen to their flirtation mixed in with the real survey questions for the better part of an hour. 

When Cat was finally done gathering information about Jake's flight history, you were surprised she didn't also have his phone number. "Thanks for your help," she told him as they both stood. 

"Anytime, Lieutenant," Jake replied. And when he walked past you, he whispered, "I owe you one, Angel."

Once he was gone, you stared at Cat until she looked at you. "If you're interested in big, strong aviators, all you have to do is ask," you told her. "I think he'd happily go out with you."

She scoffed and waved you off. "He's just fun to flirt with a tiny bit. Absolutely none of that was serious." 

"Speak for yourself," you muttered.

"Besides, he would never go for a woman like me. At least not for more than a date or two. Maybe a long weekend, if you catch my drift. And after my ex husband, I'm done playing games. Like I said, Lieutenant Seresin is nice to look at, but under no circumstances will I touch."

"Never?" you asked softly.

Cat planted her hand on the counter and leaned toward you. "He gets around, Lieutenant Commander. Women on base brag about it. And I've seen how he is at the bar. Just surrounded at all times."

Once again, you didn't know how to respond.

"But your friend, Cam?" she asked, giving you a pointed look. "He seems sweet."

You remained silent. Cat was beautiful. If she wanted to go out with Jake, she could go out with Jake. If she wanted to go out with Cam, she could go out with Cam. She could probably get pretty much any guy to ask her out if she wanted to. But if she was just going to flirt with Jake, because she thought it was no big deal, then Jake might end up getting hurt in the process if she moved on with someone else. 

And then your suspicions started to come true. When you went down to eat lunch with Bradley at noon, you saw Cat and Jake at a small table together. So his reputation was terrible, but not so bad that she didn't want to keep flirting? You sat with your head in your hands until Bradley and Nat joined you.

"What's wrong?" Nat asked, taking the seat across from you. "And where's Jake? He told me he was eating with us."

"He's over there," you said, nodding your head in his direction where he was sitting with Cat. "And she's flirting with him."

"Isn't that good?" Bradley asked, dropping down into the seat next to you. 

"No," you groaned. "She likes Cam. She thinks Jake is a womanizer who would never be interested in her. She thinks this is just some harmless flirting."

"Oof, he's about to get shot down isn't he?" Nat asked, and now all there of you were watching across the cafeteria as Cat and Jake smiled at each other. Then Jake leaned in a little closer, and Cat bit her lip. 

"Oh no," you whispered, reaching for Bradley's hand as your heart pounded. "Maybe he is a bit of a womanizer?" you asked. "I've seen that look on his face before. He's asking her out."

Bradley laced his fingers with yours. "He's not doing that kind of thing anymore," he told you and Nat. "He seems to be ready to settle down in a relationship. Been talking about it for months. Oh no, there he goes."

Nat gasped as Jake stroked the back of Cat's hand with his thumb. Her smile faltered and she kind of shrugged and shook her head. Even though you couldn't hear them, you had a pretty good idea of how the conversation was going. Cat's hand slid away from his, and soon she was standing to leave.

"Yikes," Nat whispered as the three of you scrambled to make it appear as though you hadn't been watching Jake get turned down. "That was so surreal. Looked exactly like the day you asked your wife out and she told you no," she added to Bradley, trying not to laugh now. "Remember that, Soul Sister?"

Bradley placed a loud, sloppy kiss on your cheek and said, "She came around eventually. One kiss and she was begging me to take her on a date."

You rolled your eyes. "I would love to dispute that, but it's actually the truth."

"Hey, guys," Jake said, gingerly sitting down next to Nat. His face was completely neutral, and his voice was even. But you could tell he was upset. 

"Hangman," Bradley grunted. And then he and Nat filled up the silence before it became too much while you picked at your food. And Jake just sat quietly. 

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

"Hard Deck night, Baby Girl," Bradley reminded you when you walked inside after work. 

You were tired, and you didn't really feel like going out. The bar would be packed, just like it was every Thursday night, and you were starting to get crampy, which meant your period was coming. "You don't want to stay in?" you asked, pouting up at him. "We could take a bath together."

Bradley ran his thumb along your pouty lips. "We can stay in if you want to, Sweetheart. Let me text Nat and tell her."

Then you kissed his thumb and said, "No, we can go. But maybe we can leave early. I'm exhausted."

Famous last words. At ten o'clock, you were kind of drunk, Bradley's hands were all over you, and Cat was waving you up to the bar. "I'll be right back, Roo," you told him, slipping away before he could keep you with him. Bradley watched you chatting with you coworker, happy you seemed to be getting along with her now. 

"I gotta know, man. How do you grow such a good mustache?"

Bradley turned just in time for Cam to try to lean against the edge of the pool table, miss completely and nealy land on his face. Shit, he was as at least as drunk as you were. 

"Genetics," Bradley said, thinking of nearly every damn photo he had of Goose sporting the same facial hair. Cam had a bit of a baby face, and the idea of him with a mustache was almost laughable. 

Then you walked back over in a state of annoyance. "Oh good, you're here," you said to Cam. "Mr. Popularity."

"What do you mean?" he asked, stroking his bare upper lip. 

"You know my coworker Cat? She just told me Jake asked her out, but that she'd rather go out with you."

Cam blinked a few times and then burst into laughter, leaning on Bradley while he hooted. "That's such a funny joke!"

"I'm serious! Roo, tell him I'm serious."

"She's serious," Bradley said, sipping his beer and trying not to get involved in this conversation. 

"Nobody would pick me over that guy," Cam replied, pointing to Jake. "He's fucking ripped! And his hair is always perfect. And he can do that thing with his mouth and the toothpicks!"

You started laughing and said, "I tried to tell Cat you're nothing special."

"Wow," Cam said, feigning offense, "you're the worst friend ever. Where's Maria?"

"Wait," you said, still laughing while you grabbed his hand. "Just because your repertoire of talents did nothing for me doesn't mean you're not as good as Jake!"

Bradley choked on his beer, remembering what he had overheard you say to Jake. "I'm sorry. What?"

You both turned to look at him, and Cam's cheeks were turning pink. 

"The two of you hooked up?" Bradley asked, wondering why this was something he'd only been hearing about recently. Cam slowly backed away from him, suddenly looking like he was afraid Bradley might hit him. And that's when Bradley realized that his tone definitely sounded a little threatening, but he couldn't take it back now.

"It was ten years ago!" Cam quickly supplied, taking a step to his left once he realized he was standing right next to you. 

"Didn't I tell you this, Roo?" you asked, still smiling at Bradley as you cocked your head to the side. 

"No. Never," he replied, annoyed at himself for being annoyed about this. It clearly didn't matter at all. It had nothing to do with your marriage. But Cam was the same age as you, and in many ways he was probably well suited for you. 

"There's literally nothing to tell," Cam insisted.

"Yeah," you agreed. "It didn't mean anything. We were twenty one. It didn't work for either of us, so we stopped what we were doing and decided to just be friends. Because Cam's moves were decidedly terrible at that age."

"God, you're so annoying," Cam told you with a grin. "You think you had moves? You did not. All you had back then was nice tits."

"Jesus," Bradley growled, pinching the bridge of his nose. Because even though this happened ten years ago, suddenly he was wondering about all the details. 

"There was no penetration," you said casually.

"No penetration of any kind," Cam confirmed. 

"Then what was there?" Bradley asked as you laced your fingers with his.

"Wait, do fingers count?" Cam asked you, scratching his head. "No, fingers don't count, right? Whatever, all I did was feel her up."

"I wasn't good," you added. "Just friends after that."

"Yep," Cam confirmed, giving Bradley some side eye. "She likes big guys. Muscular ones. Mustaches. Which is exactly why nobody who turned down Jake Seresin would say yes to me."

You rolled your eyes and said, "That's so not true."

Bradley wanted all of the details and none of them at the same time as he pulled you a little closer. But then Cam handed you his drink and said, "Really? Watch this."

"Oh no," you muttered, gasping and clinging to Bradley as Cam walked away.

"Sweetheart, why didn't you ever tell me you and Cam messed around? I hate being blindsided by this shit. You hang out with him all the time."

But you weren't listening to him. You weren't even looking at him. Cam was walking confidently over to Cat, and suddenly he was leaning against the bar next to her, occasionally glancing this way. After a moment, Cat looked delighted, and Cam looked completely shocked. 

"He asked her out!" you moaned, burying your face against Bradley's chest. "Poor Jake!"

When Bradley's eyes found Jake, he was glaring daggers from the dartboard over toward Cam and Cat. "Oh, shit," he muttered, wrapping his arm a little tighter around you. "This is a fucking disaster."

"It really is," you whispered.

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

Jake was upset. You could see it on his face. And now Cam looked concerned. When you tried to talk to him, all he said was, "Apparently I have a date on Saturday night."

And before Cat left the bar for the night, she had a smile on her face as she came over to you and Bradley. "Any idea where I might be able to find a good babysitter for Saturday evening?"

"Babysitter?" Bradley asked her, and you couldn't help but see how his expression changed as he asked Cat, "Do you have a kid?"

"Yes," she replied, looking a little surprised. "I thought you would have told your husband. I have a son. He's a year old."

You desperately wanted her date with Cam to suck, and that made you feel like a shitty person all around. So you were suddenly blurting out, "We can watch him." The look on Bradley's face as he registered that he'd get to spend a few hours playing with a one year old, made your heart clench. 

"Yeah, you can drop him off with us," he told Cat, and tears stung your eyes. You had cramps. You'd probably get your period right in the middle of the overnight trip tomorrow night. But you just nodded, because even though Cat was going out with Cam instead of Jake, and even though you still weren't pregnant, you knew Bradley would have fun babysitting.

On the ride home, you were starting to get upset as you sobered up a bit more. You didn't want your mood to make you miserable for your night away. 

Bradley was pretty quiet until he asked, "Why didn't you tell me about you and Cam?"

"Nothing to tell," you replied softly. It was the truth. You'd harbored a bit of a crush on your friend at first; he was sweet and funny and you had all of your classes with him. You had spent a lot of time together, and you trusted him. And one night, despite both of your best efforts, it just didn't work when you tried to hookup. 

"But you spend a lot of time with him now. So what? Your attraction to him just stopped after one night?" Bradley grunted. "You go out to brunch with Cam and Maria all the time for that disgusting avocado toast. Hell, you make me spend so much time with him, I know what kind of pizza he likes and what he orders at the burger shack."

"Oh my god, Bradley. Exactly. He's just my friend! You know what kind of pizza he likes, because I want you to spend time with my friends!"

"But you clearly care about him."

"Bradley! You lived a whole life with other women before we met!"

"I never cared about them! I never loved them! Cam is your friend, and you care about him."

As soon as he parked the Bronco in the driveway, you were unbuckling your seatbelt and crawling into his lap. "What has gotten into you, Roo?" you asked, straddling his thighs and forcing him to look at you. "Cam? You're jealous of Cam in this moment? Knock it the fuck off."

"I'm sorry," he muttered, wrapping his arms around you. "I just didn't like the way I found out about it. Which isn't fair to you at all. Because you're right...about my past. And I know it has to embarrass you sometimes-"

You silenced him with a kiss as you brushed your fingers through his hair. When your forehead came to rest against his, you said, "Don't talk about yourself like that. You want all the details? We did not date. Cam and I ended up in his bed exactly one time. He was hard until I put my hand down his pants. I was excited until he took my bra off. Then we laughed awkwardly, called it quits, and watched a movie with three feet of space between us. So if you can't get onboard with the avocado toast brunches now, I don't even know what to say."

Bradley laughed a little bit. "I love you, and I'm sorry. I've just been... feeling my age recently, Baby Girl."

"What does that mean?" you asked, pressing your lips to his scarred cheek. 

He sighed. "Just trying to make sure I can keep up with you and everything you want."

"I want you."

"I know you do," he whispered.

"Then start acting like it, Bradley. Or I'll call you Grandpa instead of Daddy."

He was silent for a beat as you ran your hand down the front of his body. "You wanna go have some Daddy time right now?"

"It's like you can read my mind."

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

Bradley wore you out on Thursday night, and you were still tired on Friday after work when he drove up the coastal roads to the mysterious hotel he booked for the night. "Will you please tell me where you're taking me?" you asked for the millionth time. 

But he just laughed and said, "The funny thing is, I'm not really sure, Sweetheart. It's some crazy hotel called Le Chateau California, and I'm really only taking you there because they have something I think you'll love."

"What is it?" you asked, suddenly even more curious. 

"I'm not telling. We'll have to experience it for ourselves," he said, reaching for your bare thigh and stroking your skin.

"Are we there yet?" you whined. "How much further? I want my surprise." 

"You're worse than a child," he said with a smile, inching his hand further up under your dress. "We'll be there in twenty minutes. We're having dinner at eight, and you'll see the surprise then."

Bradley was great at teasing you, but this was perhaps his best effort to date. His fingers were just tucked inside your panties, stroking you while you tried to sit patiently, as he pulled up to a colorful boutique hotel on the outskirts of Newport Beach. "What is this place?" you asked him, whining again as he pulled his hand free before the valet could see where it had been. 

"Let's go find out," he said with a smirk. When you strolled into the lobby that looked like you'd fallen down the rabbit hole into Wonderland, Bradley wrapped his arm around your waist. 

"This is so cool," you gasped, still a little wound up from Bradley's fingers on your pussy. 

You were looking up at him with barely concealed lust. He had both overnight bags slung over his left shoulder like it was nothing. And when the woman at the concierge desk asked for the last name on the reservation, your core clenched as he rasped, "The Bradshaws."

As he handed over his credit card, you whimpered softly. His wide brown eyes were on yours as you pressed your lips together. Then he was smiling, but he didn't pick up the pace like you wanted him to. He asked the woman where the restaurant was located. He listened to her tell him more about the history of the hotel. He asked her another question as she handed over the room keys. He forced your hand. 

"Please?" you whispered, pressing yourself to his side. 

When he finally led you across the technicolor lobby toward the purple elevators, he pushed the up arrow and said, "We have dinner in twenty minutes."

You nearly wanted to stomp your foot. "You can fuck me in less time than that."

"You told me I'm never fast," he replied as the doors slid open. "So, probably not, Baby Girl."

"Bradley!" you screeched as soon as you and he were alone in the elevator. "I won't make it through dinner and you know it!" 

He kissed your lips so softly before the elevator stopped on your floor. "I love it when you get like this," he said as you tripped down the hallway next to him. "Go in and get ready for me." He handed you one of the keys, and you ran down the hallway that looked like a multicolored fever dream, barely taking the time to enjoy any of it. 

The hotel room was colorful and spacious with a king bed and a Juliet balcony. There was a view of the beach and some champagne in an ice bucket. But all you were concerned about was getting your underwear off and getting on the bed. 

Bradley strolled in and set the bags down before adjusting the thermostat. He tossed his sunglasses on the nightstand and combed his fingers through his hair before turning to watch you where you were laying on the bed with your dress pulled up to your waist. "Get on your knees," he rasped, and you did as you were told. Then his hands and lips were all over your butt and thighs before tasting you from behind.

"Bradley!" you gasped. You'd never get used to how good it felt to have him surprise you there with his mustache. And then you heard him unzip his jeans before wrapping one muscular arm around you and fucking you hard. You rocked forward onto your hands as he slammed into you. 

"You're so impatient," he grunted. "Can't even make it to dinner and to your surprise unless you're full of my cum."

It was going to be embarrassing how quickly you came for him when he was dishing out the smug dirty talk. But when his fingers stroked you in time with his thrusts, you smiled and bit your lip. The colorful bedding and walls around the room made you feel a little dizzy, but nothing compared to the sensation when Bradley hit just the right spot inside you and gently spanked your clit.

"Fuck!" you squealed, clenching so hard he groaned your name. 

"Shit, Baby Girl," he growled, filling you up with his cum. But you were already there, face planted in the pillows to keep yourself quiet as you came. When you picked your head up a few inches and turned to look back at him while he was still inside you, he rubbed one big palm along your butt. "Sorry I finished so fast. You look pretty with your ass in the air," he whispered. 

You pushed yourself up on shaky arms. "And you look pretty with your cock inside me."

He chuckled and withdrew himself, and then he ran his fingers along your pussy like he was massaging his cum back inside you. "I'm not ovulating anymore, Roo," you reminded him. He could cum inside you all weekend and it wouldn't make a difference. 

"Doesn't matter," he whispered, leaning down to kiss your butt, thighs and pussy once more. "It's not going to make me want to stop giving you creampies all the time." You sighed softly as he finally stood, and you watched him walk around the bed with his cock hanging out of his jeans. "It's almost time for our dinner reservation," he reminded you as he walked into the bathroom. 

You rolled onto your back, legs clenched together as his mess coated your thighs. While you listened to him wash his hands, you closed your eyes and wished desperately that you were pregnant. You thought about everything that would change for you if you were, and you knew you'd be ready for it. 

"Coming?" he asked, reaching out for your hand. Bradley pulled you to your feet and helped you back into your underwear, looking up at you and shaking his head at the sight of his cum everywhere. He wasn't old. It blew your mind that he sometimes thought he was. He was better and sexier and stronger than anyone younger. He was everything you wanted.

"Let's go."

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

Bradley spent almost seven hundred dollars for the hotel room for the night. It was another fifty bucks to valet the Bronco, and the prices on the dinner menu in the swanky restaurant were so high, he thought they must be joking. But he wanted you to have whatever you wanted, so he ordered a twenty dollar beer so you would, too. And he ordered exactly what he wanted to eat so you would, too. 

He'd tapped out his savings when he bought the craftsman for the two of you, including the money his mom left for him. But he'd been working on building up his savings again. The dream of making one of the bedrooms a nursery sometime in the near future was clawing away at his mind. He thought about it a lot: colorful airplanes and clouds on the walls and a crib with a sweet baby that had his hair and your eyes. 

His attention was drawn back to the present as soon as the waiter returned with your beers and a platter of bread and fruit. The colorful overhead light was reflecting blue, green and orange onto your pretty face as you glanced up with a look of wonder at the waiter. Because he was now saying the words Bradley had been waiting weeks for you to hear. It was the reason he wanted to book a room as soon as he heard about this hotel. 

"While you wait for your entrees, feel free to walk around and explore our wall of condiments from around the world, our champagne waterfall, and our hot sauce vending machine."

You lurched in your seat. "Did you say hot sauce vending machine?!"

"Yes," the waiter replied with a smile, nodding to the far end of the restaurant. "Have fun."

"Bradley!" you shrieked. "They have a hot sauce vending machine!"

He grinned as you pulled him to his feet. "I know, Baby Girl. That's why I brought you here."

You wrapped your hands around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss that was better suited for the bedroom, but Bradley didn't care that there was a couple trying to eat at the next table. You were happy right now when there were times recently that you clearly hadn't been, so they'd just have to deal. 

Bradley eventually led you to the vending machine which was enormous and filled with tiny bottles of hundreds of different kinds of sauces. You stood before it in the colorful wonderland of a restaurant, analyzing each one like this was the most important work assignment of your career. 

"That's one's from Japan," you mused out loud, pointing to a green bottle. "I've always wanted to try it. Oh, and that one is made in Maryland! We need to get that one."

"Pick as many as you want, Sweetheart. They come with the meal." You actually jumped up and down and clapped your hands as you pushed the buttons to select twenty two different hot sauces, loading Bradley's arms up with the little bottles one at a time.

Then you stopped at the champagne fountain and got two glasses to take back as well. The waiter brought your dinners and some extra plates for all of the hot sauces, and you lined them up across the table. "I think I'm in heaven," you said, dipping your fork into a sauce and tasting it. 

Bradley watched you enjoy the flavor before dipping the fork again and holding it out to him. Your smile and the expectant look on your face as he tasted it made him happy, too. "I know I'm in heaven."

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

How do we feel about Cam and Cat? How do we feel about Cam and BG? I also have a Cam face grab. The hot sauce vending machine is for @dakotakazansky !Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 7

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

@chassy21

@yaboid19

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@throwinsauce

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@whosyourgnomie4

@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@wishfulwithwine

@backinwonderl4nd

@tetragonia

@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@chaoticassidy

@missmirandafe

@changlingkhat

@sugarcoated-lame

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@starlightstories

@teddyluvs2sing

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@hecate-steps-on-me

@xoxabs88xox

[fishsticksloser]

Could I ask for a future Rise Donnie x fem reader that is angst that could possibly turn to comfort where reader has doubts about being with him because maybe he has been spending more time to finish up a project and idk where i was goin i jsut crave sweet sweet ✨Emotional Devastation✨

Miss You More Than Life

F!Donnie x gn!reader

Warnings: angst, Donnie is not good at balancing life and work, no comfort (sorry), insecurity

A/N: Soups up. You know I love angst... I have so many angsty (or at least I can make them angsty) requests at the moment. 2 f!Donnie fics in a row? It's more likely than you think...

Donnie was busy, of course he was busy. He's the smartest out of all the yo'kai, mutants, humans on base. At the moment he was studying some new Kraang tech a team brought in for him. He had been excited when it was placed on his desk, immediately working on it instead of continuing his conversation with you.

⋆｡ ﾟ｡☁︎👾｡ ﾟ｡⋆

You quietly step into Donnie's lab, not wanting to distract him. He had told Leo he was close on figuring something out. You gently set a few papers, just reports and inventory, on his desk as well as some water and food for him. Always supportive, you press a kiss to his temple, letting your lips linger for a moment. "Are you coming to bed tonight?"

Donnie glances up from his work, he couldn't help but feel a small sense of irritation creeping up within him from your interruption. "The weight of the world rests on my shoulders, I have to keep working to find a way to stop the Kraang." He paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he continued. "I have important tests to run and calculations to make." With a dismissive wave of his hand, Donnie returned his attention to his work, clearly indicating he had no intention of joining you in bed.

Your heart breaks a little at his dismissal. "You could've just said no." You mumble, though you're not sure if he heard due to his focus. You wanted to kiss him again, but based on how he spoke, you decided not to. "Goodnight, Donnie. Please at least make sure to eat." You say softly, hiding your frustration and sadness before heading off to bed.

Donnie's eyes flicked up from his work, barely catching the sadness in your voice. For a brief moment, he felt a pang of guilt. But he quickly dismissed it, burying himself deeper in his work. He didn't have time for distractions. As you left the room, Donnie didn't even turn to watch you go. But deep down, a part of him wished to prioritize you and your needs. Unfortunately, that part was overshadowed by his drive for scientific discovery and the weight of the world on his shoulders.

⋆｡ ﾟ｡☁︎👾｡ ﾟ｡⋆

In the morning, you get ready for your normal duties around the base. You step back into the lab to leave, seeing Donnie engrossed in his work, his attention fixed on the task at hand. He doesn't even spare a glace your way, your heart sinking as you gather up the empty plates and completed reports.

You watch him for a moment, feeling a mix of frustration and sadness welling up inside you. With a heavy sigh, you decide to respect his space and silently leave the lab. You hope one day he will notice your efforts and appreciate the support you provide, but for now, you continue your duties.

The rest of the day, you handed off tasks that required going to Donnie's lab. As much as you yearned to see him, you couldn't stand it. But soon night fell and the only place to go was back to bed.

Donnie barely registered your presence as you entered the lab. His eyes remaining focused on the screen in front of him, his mind consumed by calculations and theories. When you pressed a short kiss to his temple, he barely reacted, his focus unwavering.

Donnie finally looked up from his work when you left without a word, a hint of confusion flashing across his face. He watched you go, a mix of emotions swirling within him. Part of him wanted to call out to you, to apologize for his single-mindedness and selfishness. But the stubborn side of him refused to admit his own faults.

With a sigh, Donnie returned his gaze to his work. Deep down, he knew he had taken you for granted. But for now he continued to toil away, convinced that his pursuit to defeat the Kraang was more important than anything else.

⋆｡ ﾟ｡☁︎👾｡ ﾟ｡⋆

It continued like this for weeks, almost months. Your heart aching, sleep lacking. Donnie seemed to only got to bed if you weren't there.

Did he hate me? Did he realize that he no longer wants me around?

One day though, you had to be on night watch so you decided to sleep in the middle of the day.

As you entered the lab, the emptiness weighted heavily on you. The absence of Donnie's presence intensified the ache in your heart. With each step you felt unsure of where you stood in his life anymore.

When you reached your bedroom and saw Donnie peacefully sleeping, a part of you yearned to crawl into bed beside him, to seek solace in his embrace. But the fear of upsetting him held you back. He hadn't wanted to be in bed with you in weeks, why would he now?

Instead, you grabbed your pillow and silently retreated to the couch in his lab, resigning yourself to sleep in solitude. You lay on the couch, surrounded by the paraphernalia of Donnie's scientific pursuits, a wave of sadness crashes over you. You couldn't help but wonder if he still wanted you around, if he still cared about your presence. The doubts and insecurities ate away at you, leaving you feeling empty and alone.

Despite the pain, you had remained quietly supportive, hoping that one day Donnie would realize the impact his distance was having on you. In the darkness of the lab, you clung to the hope that he would wake up and see how much you longed for his love and attention.

[mountttmase]

Hiii I love your stuff!! 💗 would you write sth about soft morning sex with Mase?

Morning Glow

Note - thank you anon 😍💙 this is fairly short but I hope it’s alright. I would love some feedback so please me know what you think as I hate everything I write atm 😭

Pairing - Mason Mount x Reader

Word count - 1.7k

Warnings - fluff & smut

It had been a late one.

You’d agreed to pick Mason up from the airport after his away game, but by the time you’d made it home, you both barely had the energy to get changed for bed let alone anything else. You were already dressed in his shirt, so once you were both down to your underwear, you crawled under the covers and drifted off to sleep.

It was nearing half ten when you finally opened your eyes, groaning quietly as the sunlight slowly made its way across your face and it was only when you felt a small shuffle behind you did you remember Mason was back. You turned round to face him carefully, not wanting to wake him yet as you knew he’d be tired today, and once you’d settled back down you took the time to look over him carefully.

You couldn’t ignore the way your heart fluttered as you took him in, laid on his front with his face squished into the pillow. His hair was a fluffy mess, sticking up in some parts and stuck to his head in others, his cheeks were pink, his lips pouty and you couldn’t help the sleepy smile that took over you face. You’d only been apart for two nights but it had felt like an eternity. Waking up without your favourite person besides you was tough and you never seemed to get used to it no matter how many times he went away.

He started to stir, opening his eyes ever so slightly and as soon as he saw you he shuffled himself towards you, his brows furrowing at being so far away from you.

‘Baby’ he croaked, his voice still thick with sleep as he placed his hands on you, running one up under his shirt that you still had on so he could grab you boob as he rested his head on the other.

‘I’m here’ you laughed wrapping your arm around his shoulders as he curled into you before placing a soft kiss on the crown of his head whilst he slotted his leg in-between yours.

‘Missed you’ he breathed into your chest and your tummy erupted with butterflies at how cute he was being. Sleepy Mason was always your favourite but you rarely got to see him like this in the mornings. He was always up and about for training or away at a game or if he did have the rare morning off you’d be at work. But today was different, a whole day where the two of you had nowhere you needed to be and you both planned to have the laziest of all lazy days.

You both drifted back off for ten minutes or so but you were awoken by the hand that was on your chest moving slightly, Masons thumb now gently stroking over your nipple, causing it to become hard almost instantly and a wave of pleasure to roll through you.

Mason loved touching your boobs, whether you were in bed like this, sat on the sofa or trying to cook, he loved to hold them. He told you it was a comfort thing and you weren’t exactly complaining about it, but it was times like this when he was turning you on unintentionally that made you want to scream.

He wasn’t doing it on purpose, at least you didn’t think he was, but the mix of not having been with each other for a few days and feeling his fingers turning you on so effortlessly was becoming too much to handle and you couldn’t help but let out a quiet breathy moan.

You had hoped he maybe wouldn’t of noticed but you felt his head shift down, pulling his hand away from your chest and you almost protested at the lack of contact but he was quick to lift your shirt up, now fully exposing your chest to him. Your eyes glanced down to look at him, but he wasn’t looking back, to focused on your naked body and what he was about to do to it. Before you could do or say anything else, his hand was back stroking your nipple whilst he took the other in his mouth, sucking gently on the already hardened bud.

‘Fuck’ you breathed, your fingers instinctively finding their way into his hair and you heard his muffled moans as you tugged on it gently. Your tummy was doing somersaults as he licked and touched you and you were soon getting needy for him, bucking your hips up as your moans for him increased in volume. ‘Mase, please I cant-‘

‘Shhhh’ he cut you off, lifting his head so he could gently kiss you. ‘Be good and let me look after you’ he spoke against your lips before manoeuvring himself in between your thighs. His kisses then trailed down your neck and over your collarbones before kissing his way down your body until his face was settled right in front of your core. He was quick in disposing of your underwear and was leaving kisses all along your thighs as his sleepy eyes bore into yours, eyes rolling back in his head as he had his first taste of you. Your body melted into the sheets as his tongue lazily glided over your clit, your breathing getting heavier as devoured you slowly.

There was something about sex like this with Mason that turned you to jelly. There was nothing the both of you enjoyed more than him being rough and dominant with you but something about him being slow, soft and gentle with you sent shivers down your spine and you felt like he’d barely got going but you were ready to burst. He was magic with his mouth and it never took long, especially in the mornings when you were extra sensitive.

‘Mase, I’m close’ you whispered, not wanting to disturb the early morning peace too much but he squeezed your hip in acknowledgement, sucking and flicking his tongue over you at a steady rhythm until you were cumming over his face.

You were still getting your breathing back when he sat himself up after cleaning you up with this tongue and you almost lost your breath again. He looked otherworldly in the golden morning glow and you couldn’t believe he was all yours. You loved every inch of him, from the freckles the littered his cheeks to his warm and kind eyes. He was perfect to you and you couldn’t take your eyes off him as he pushed his boxers down to reveal his hard length. Watching it with your bottom lip between your teeth as it sprung up to his abdomen and your mouth watered at the sight of him.

He planted one of his hands by the side of your ribs and he guided himself into you with the other and once he was most of the way in, he moved closer to you. His free hand wrapped around your thigh, pulling it up and over his hip as you held him at his neck so his face wouldn’t move from yours. He started kissing you slowly as he moved his hips back and forth lazily and you moaned into each other mouths quietly almost as if you didn’t want to disturb the peacefulness of the morning.

‘I’ve missed you so much’ he whispered into your mouth and you groaned in agreement, unable to form a coherent sentence. ‘I’ve missed having you like this, just for me’

‘Mason’ you huffed as his lips attached to your neck, peppering the most delicate kisses all over it, growling quietly at the sound of his name as his eyes came back to meet yours.

‘So beautiful’ he breathed, now turning his attention to your face as he followed an invisible path across your cheeks with his lips and even though everything felt so intense you couldn’t help but smile at his actions. ‘I’m so in love with you’

You gasped at his words, his lips covering yours as he swallowed your moans before resting his forehead on yours, eyes staring straight into your soul and you knew in that moment there wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do for him. You were completely at his mercy and you didn’t care.

He was yours and you were his.

He’d kept everything at a pretty steady tempo up until now but you could tell he was getting close by the way his hips sped up ever so slightly. In an attempt to help yourself along you removed your hand from his hair so you could touch yourself but he caught onto your idea almost immediately. Grabbing your wrist to put your hand back in it’s rightful place before trailing you body with his fingertips and attaching his digits where his tongue has been not too long ago. He tortured you by drawling lazy circles but you were close enough that any contact would have you tumbling over the edge soon.

‘Fucking hell’ he muttered, the feel of you now squeezing around him so tightly felt like heaven and when he placed his lips next to your ear so you could hear his moans it was all over for you. ‘Good girl, that’s it. Let it all out for me baby’ he mumbled as a string of curse words tumbled from your lips. Your high was overwhelming and you could only focus on his voice and the feeling rippling through you as he chased his own.

The muffled whimper into your neck was all the confirmation you needed to know he was spent, collapsing on you gently as you scratched over the back of his head. He kept himself buried inside of you as he came down, his breathing returning to normal before it got deeper again as he fell asleep on your chest.

‘Hey, Mase?’

‘Hmmm’ he groaned into your neck turning slightly so he could breathe a bit better.

‘I love you, too’ you whispered and you felt him chuckle as you pulled the covers back up and over the both of you carefully.

[rattyshipss]

Felix Fickelgruber x gn! Reader

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Cw: None, just Christmas fluff

Felix shuffled uncomfortably through the library filled with old, Dusty books, at least that's how he'd describe it, he had no clue how you could like such conditions. He spotted Noodle at the front desk, helping a poo- person.

"Noodle?..." He said hesitantly as if he wasn't sure how to address her. "Rich chocolate maker man, how do you do?" Noodle looked up from a book on the counter. "Hi, I need your... expert advice." Noodle eyed him even more confused. "Advice on what?" Felix shifted his gaze back and forth from Noodle. "Love advice." Noodle almost spit out her cup of water onto the book. "one, why do you need love advice? And two why are you asking me?" Felix sighed, fidgiting with his suit tie. "W-well because, you know them." "Oh?" "Oh."

Noodle giggled, her eyes shifting towards you, the extravagant man couldn't hide anything and that included his massive crush on you. "So? Gold or diamond?" "What?" Felix rolled his eyes pulling out two necklaces. "Does (Y/n) like gold or diamond? I didn't know which to get so I just got both. Wait or would they prefer both?" Felix contemplated while Noodle looked at him with a mix of pity and amusement. "Really?" Noodle said causing Felix to tilt his head in confusion. "What?"

Noodle shook her head. "You don't have to but them stuff like that." Even more confusion. "What do you mean? It's gold and diamonds!" Noodle sighed stepping around the counter. "She doesn't want fancy expensive showy gifts." Noodle said waving her hands in the air in a mocking way with her words. "Just give them something from the heart, they'll love it."

"From the heart?"

"Mhmm!"

Felix stared at Noodle, eyes wide while his mind ran wild trying to come up with something.

___________________________________________

"(Y/n!)"

(Y/n) jumped a bit at Felix's shriek, looking over to see him prancing towards them. "Felix! Hey, how- how are you?" Felix made his way to them, standing in a way one could only describe as gentlemanly. After exchanging pleasantries Felix fidgeted nervously with the small box in his hands.

"Uhm I brought you something, this." He held the box out infront of them. It was wrapped in beautiful wrapping paper with a shiny golden bow wrapped around it, probably to make up for the lack of riches he thought the gift held. "Oh, thank you Felix." Felix, you're the only one who addressed him by his first name. He nodded, giving them an awkward smile. "An early Christmas gift. You can open it now!" (Y/n) gave him a sweet smile back before starting to unwrap the present when Felix spoke up again. "Oh! And this, this is from me and Noodle." He handed them another package dressed in beautiful string and doodles, Noodle doodles.

"Thank you, Felix." Unwrapping the first gift you uncovered an array of Chocolates, Fickelgruber chocolates in particular. "I uhm- I wanted to give you some of my specialty, chocolate!" Felix, normally so outspoken, was stuttering. Giving him another thankful smile (Y/n) moved to open the second gift, a copy of your favorite book series. Felix watched the appreciation and happiness fill their eyes as they saw the gifts, wondering how something so simple could make their eyes light up like that.

"Thank you Felix, really I love them." Felix gave their smile back and noticed them bouncing on the balls of their feet a bit. "Sooo do you think you'd wanna eat these with me while I show you all my favorite parts of the books? They're really great I'm sure you'd like them." As Felix agreed he saw that same light in their eyes.

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[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Hello, it me :D

Idk how you want to structure this or how it's gonna sound when I try to type out what's in my brain rn, I do know that I want this to be a full hc tho

Ok. So. I've seen some art here & there of some of the M6 with their own children; mostly just babies but there are a couple older kids in the mix as well. This is where things in my head get weird so bear with me:

I'm thinking this ask could go three ways (I also don't know if Nadia & Portia will be able to fit in to this ask but it is what it is), and you can do just one of the options or all of them, I'll let you choose:

A. M6 reacting to MC telling them they're pregnant

B. M6 & MC mid-pregnancy preparing for the baby

Or C. M6 getting to hold their kid for the first time

Hopefully this makes sense I think it provides an opportunity for incredible wholesomeness whatever you decide :)

The Arcana HCs: M6 during MC's pregnancy

~ ohoho, now this, this is the kind of prompt that makes my heart sing! @themushroomgoesyeet I hope you're ready because I'm doing all three of those suggestions in here, just you wait >:3 - brainrot ~

Other baby-related hcs: M6 when someone hands them a baby

The M6 when the child they have with you is an exact carbon copy of them

-- for the purpose of these headcanons and because I write for a gender-neutral reader, MC is pregnant with a baby that is equal parts their and their LI's DNA. This could have happened the traditional way (depending on how you envision your MC or if you headcanon your LI as trans), or simply by magical means. For my fellow trans men, seahorse dads are still dads! And to my fellow AO3 readers, mpreg is possible. Always. O.O --

Julian

For the first time in his life, he was well and truly speechless

And delighted. In fact, his speechlessness was because of the unforeseen tidal wave of joy that crashed over him as soon as you told him and it knocked all the air out of his lungs

Pulling you into an embrace as soon as he can move again and trembling with excitement: "Really? You're going to have my baby? We're going to be parents? I'm going to be a father? Haha!"

If he was bad about hovering before he's terrible about it now

Detailed research on all potential issues (which leads to him having crippling spirals over all the ways this could go wrong)

Auntie Pasha and Great-Grandma Mazelinka are here for it and so overwhelmingly supportive. It's hard to resist Julian's regular suggestions of bed rest because they make it so feasible

Mazelinka's soup was heavenly for your morning sickness

Julian collected at least three different remedies for every single pregnancy symptom you had and filled multiple notebooks with doctor's observations. Even down to tracking your sleep cycle

He also called in several favors to make sure that at least two other doctors would be available leading up to your due date - one for you and one for the baby. (he still insisted on being the main one)

He managed the birth impressively well - years of medical expertise kicked in and he went full "doctor" mode, keeping a cool head and open communication and anticipating every need

Until he held his child for the first time and had to sit down because his knees gave out. He has a whole new reason to live well

Asra

You know that panicked blushy face they make? Yeah, that was it

You briefly mistook it for horror - you know he likes surprises, but this is something else - but it was really his own panic at suddenly being plunged into a whole new world of emotion and instincts

Their first motion was to reach out and place their hand over your heart to confirm it through your bond, if only because they couldn't get their words to work and they needed that grounding touch

Once he's collected himself, he's over the moon. Is it terrifying? Sure, but it's also going to be the adventure of a lifetime, and it means building a new future and family with you! As parents!

They want to tell Aisha and Salim about it as soon as you're comfortable because they've done this before, they can help. And also because they’re going to be grandparents

Covers you with enchantments to keep you and the baby safe and happy and keeps a growing list of the most unhinged baby names to make you laugh. Faust likes to gently squeeze your bump

Makes every pregnancy craving you have and tries it with you, no matter how weird. He's got three years of practice being your caregiver and his patience for the mood swings is unending

Spends an hour every night with an ear against your baby bump, listening to them grow and thrive

Offers you every type of pain relief they can find. If not for your sake, then for theirs, because seeing you hurt makes them panic

Holds you the whole way through childbirth, no matter how messy, and stays so reassuring and supportive

Scared to hold the baby at first because he's so shaky from emotions. Won't put it down once he does

Nadia

The news is so unexpected that she just can't believe it at first

As in, her brain is genuinely incapable of immediately processing what you've just told her, so she just finishes her task before running it through her head a second time before it sinks in

The loudest gasp you've ever heard, you see her drop her teacup as her hands fly to cover her mouth and she stares at you in surprise

So happy. So, so, so very happy

She was never going to pressure you into having children. Between her driven nature and her ongoing loneliness, she'd resigned herself to never being a mother after marrying Lucio

But oh my! What a wonderful surprise! There's so much to do, she's slightly worried that nine months isn't going to be enough time

She sends for multiple physicians and invites several of them to live in the Palace through the pregnancy, and begins the interview process for your baby's pediatrician as well. She wants you healthy

Has the time of her life decorating the baby's future room and ends up getting so emotional looking at all the tiny clothes and shoes

Refuses to let you sleep by yourself. She doesn't want you to feel limited on a day-to-day basis at all, but she doesn't like you being alone for too long, especially during such quiet and precious hours

Prefers to hold off on giving her family any news or updates until she's had at least a few days to let it sink it. Each update she does send provokes a tidal wave of letters and advice and offers, not to mention Grandpa Namar's tear-stained letters of excitement

Has to hide sobs when she holds her child and announces its name

Muriel

Straight up disassociates. Not due to any fault of yours, it's just a lot. Especially given his own context for parenting (or lack thereof)

"Muriel, I'm pregnant." soul gets yoinked through the stratosphere

You know him well enough to expect him to need a moment, so you're not surprised when he shakily nods, takes a deep breath, and tells you he'll be back before dark before walking off into the trees

Deeply apologetic once he gets back because in hindsight ghosting you might not have been the most appropriate response

He's happy, if not deeply anxious, but he gets more and more excited with every pregnancy update

He makes the baby's crib himself, seeking out the tree with the best wood, chopping it up, designing and cutting the pieces, carving and sanding and painting them with the utmost care

As your due date gets closer he starts reverting to an old habit of his, waking up several times through the night with a need to keep watch for any dangers or discomforts and make sure you're warm

You wake up to this sometimes, with him sitting quietly next to you in bed, one large hand resting protectively on your belly, a quiet smile on his face as he stares at the cradle on the other side of the room and counts every tiny kick the baby lands on his warm palm

He doesn't hesitate to tell Asra, Nadia, (and yes, Julian) about your pregnancy, because he knows they'll be able to help you in ways he can't. Watching you in pain during birth is almost traumatic for him

Doesn't say a word when you hand him his baby, just looks back and forth between you and them in delight and awestruck joy

Portia

Screams. Legitimate, jaw dropped, lung-deep screaming

Yes it's because she's excited!!! You're pregnant! That's amazing!!

Funnily enough, she doesn't bring up telling anybody else until several weeks have gone by or until you suggest it. She's used to keeping secrets and this is so special she's still finding words for it

She's also more familiar with what pregnancy can look like, and she doesn't want to make any big announcements with you too early

Borderline obsessive about making sure that you're properly fed and cared for. She keeps every snack stocked, gives you massages every night, asks you about any symptoms and offers relief

She ends up inviting everyone over for dinner so you two can break the news to them together, and if one Devorak wasn't loud and emotional enough, two of them are almost too much for the roof

Mazelinka is quick to offer her services, whether that be bringing soup, taking you two (three?!) to Nevivon so the grandmas can help, grabbing one of the grandmas and bringing them here, etc

Pepi develops a new habit of bringing you stolen fish at least once a day to make sure your growing kitten is properly nourished. the smell doesn't help your morning sickness but you appreciate it

Portia cries every time she sits down to work on another onesie or baby blanket or cloth diaper, which is several times a day

When it's time for you to give birth, she holds your hands as tightly as you hold hers and nearly knocks a doctor out of the way to catch the baby

Full-on happy sobbing when she holds them. Gets jealous anytime someone besides you gets to hold them longer than her

Lucio

Assumes you're joking until you tell him otherwise because what

It's not that he's against it, but realistically speaking he knows that one of him is already a lot to handle. And you're cooking another??

Once you convince him, his exuberant yells startle flocks of birds from the treetops in a half-mile radius. Speaking of trees ...

You two are journeymen. Where are you going to settle down?

You end up picking a spot close enough to Vesuvia for your old friends to be able to help, in a town where you know you'll have a fresh start. Buying a cottage is hard when you're used to a palace

Lucio occasionally remembers his mother's comments about how her pregnancy with him made the Red Plague seem like a summer cold, and then he panics about how much pain you must be in

Sits bolt-upright in bed four months in to your pregnancy in a cold sweat because it just hit him that your belly bump is actually an entire tiny human that's half him and half you and it's miraculous

Starts talking to your bump almost constantly after that

Everything from what the dogs are doing, to the right way to start a fire, to the best types of cookies - he's telling it all to the bump

Does he know, logically, that your baby isn't likely to be born missing an arm because of his amputation? Yes. Does he still have an irrational fear of that happening? Also yes.

Has such a hard time controlling his frustration during the birth when you're in pain and there's nothing he can do about it

Wraps his golden arm in a baby blanket and doesn't care about the mess the first time he holds them and presses a kiss to their head

[thecameronchronicles]

Bet

TW: semi-public sexual actions. Smut. Language. Degrading language. 

SUMMARY: A Series of dares result in secrets being brought to the surface. 

WORD COUNT: 2100

*ORIGINAL CONCEPT*

"If you want to wuss out, that's up to you, but I'm going for bragging rights..." JJ continued to lead the parade of pogues making their way to the direction of the Crain House.  Only now, John B and Pope were stragglers while you were left with a decision to remain with the wise or continue forward with the reckless. 

"Better a wuss that's alive..." Pope spoke in a loud whisper as JJ simply responded with a middle finger catching the motion sensor and forcing all of the lights throughout the backyard to illuminate the entire scene. 

"You aren't really going are you?" John B asked as he caught your wrist. 

"Already made it this far..." The amount of overgrowth and shadow allowed you to slip undetected behind JJ's charge as he found focus to the window at the side of the house. 

"What now, Mcguver?" You teased as he pulled out his pocket knife. 

"Patience is a virtue..." You rolled your eyes and feigned a yawn before he managed to pry the window open. 

"Ladies first?" 

"I'll gladly follow behind this time."

He began to move forwards before turning back at the last second. But upon doing so, you had already advanced, which brought your lips a mere inch away from his. 

"You just wanna stare at my ass, don't you?" You pushed him forward, unintentionally knocking him ass first into the basement of the house as he grunted. 

"Always thought if you'd bruise my ass it would be from slapping it-"

"Serves you right..." You responded before dropping down in a feline stance and rising effortlessly. 

"Need help?" 

"I'm scared of your help." You pushed him forward and through the clutter of antiquated toys and furniture lining the bottom room of the house. Your eyes collecting at the more feminine of objects as he came to a baseball bat. 

"This could do some damage..." 

"I don't think any of this needs any help..." You explained while sliding your finger over the top of a shelf as dust collected at the pad of your middle digit. 

"Think anything is worth anything?" He questioned as he picked up decor colored a rusted gold. 

"Is that really all you think about?" To this question, his eyes sank to your physique. He began immediately at your chest and down to your legs, mostly exposed for the aesthetic of another pogue's summer in the Outer Banks. 

"Not all..." 

"You're a pig-" A sudden creaking of a top step led your eyes to widen before you were pulled away in the nick of time. 

"Hello?" An elderly woman's voice echoed in the small space around you as his hand wrapped over your mouth. Your body was pulled to a small cavern as he covered you with the protection of his own body. Until this moment, you hadn't made more than an obvious note of his physique. 

He was always admirable from a distance. The way he shredded waves and his muscles tensed to even the most innocent of motions would catch your eye. And yet, you wrote him off to not cross the line of pogues remaining platonic. But the mix of his body pressing into yours and the thrill of being caught made you nearly soaked at the thought alone. 

"She's going back up..." He likes towards you, reading this darker lust behind your eyes. A focus you never had focused on him. And you were shameless as your eyes fell to his lips. 

"Hey, you 'kay?' 

You nodded. "Why did you follow me? You're supposed to be smarter than me…"

"Because we already broke at least two laws...what's another? Plus, it's not that hard to be smarter…" He chuckled for a moment before pulling your hair over your shoulder, playing with the strand before meeting your eyes again. 

"Really though...why?"

"Because Pope and John B play it safe...and it's the last summer before college and I...I want to live...I want to feel alive..." His eyes fell to your lips, watching them part for him. 

"How alive?" 

"Are you offering something, JJ?"

He cocked his head before feigning a pensive silence. 

"Eh, I don't know...not sure if you could handle it, princess."

"I'm not a princess."

He pushed harder into you. 

"Sweetheart then?" His thumb brushed your nipples from over your cropped top. 

"This make you feel alive? Or just wet?" Your lips parted to speak before he reached under the crop, lifting it high enough to reveal your nipple. His eyes stayed on you as you allowed yourself to succumb to how he made you feel. His tongue rolling over your nipple as he exposed both breasts to him, a hand keeping the other one warm as he massaged it into a pinch. 

"What about the rule? We can't break it, JJ…"

"That rule was made before you made that face…those little noise…I'll gladly take the punishment…"

"Quiet..." 

"Ah...." You gasped as he kissed you to ensure you didn't make a noise. But this only led you to grind into him, finding a ready cock pained beneath his shorts. 

"I bet I can make you come for me..."

"I bet you can't make me." You responded as his hand slipped into your shorts. The immediate chill of his rings contrasting the heat of his touch itself. 

"Fuck-"

"Yeah? Oh shit..." He smirked. "This all for me?"

You nodded as he continued manipulating your nipple, but also with the added pleasure of his finger across your clit. 

"When's the last time you came...you're acting like you've never come..." You ignored him as he applied his palm to your clit. A finger threatening your point of entry. 

"Maybe..." But his finger slipped past it and moved further back. 

"I could use this one instead?" 

"Oh...JJ..." You whimpered. 

"Nah...I wanna feel it when you come..." His eyes looked to the steps. 

"I bet you can't stay quiet with two fingers..." You grunted to the pressure as he pumped slowly. 

"Fuck, that sounds so good..." 

You bit your lips closed. 

"You look good...oh shit...you want this, princess?"

"I'm not-"

"Then why are you so sweet?" He asked while brushing your bottom lip with his thumb. But in doing so, you winced at the loss to your breast. 

"You want more?"

"Please don't stop..." 

"You like when I do this?" He asked while kissing your breast, tongue over your nipple as you pulled his hand harder against you. 

"I wanna come...JJ..." You whimpered. 

"I'm not stopping you...But I bet you can't wait..." You nearly sobbed as he withdrew. He took a single step back as he observed you completely breathless for him. 

"You should always be like this..." 

"If you won't finish-" you threatened your hand to yourself as he held it in his grasp. 

"You don't get to touch yourself..." He unbuckled his belt and set your hand into his shorts. 

"You're so hard-"

"I always am around you, you fucking torture me..."

"It would be nice of me to help then, wouldn't it?" He nodded as you began to pump him. 

"Fuck..." He moaned as you reached up and isiess his neck, his palms testing on the wall beside you. 

"Bet you'll come for me..."

"Oh shit...I want to...oh fuck, I want to..."

"I want you to...JJ...I want to feel you come in my hand..."

"Shit...slow down...slow-" he winced as you only obliged when he began to cry from his tip. You brushed your thumb across his head before taking it between your lips. 

"I bet you won't get on your knees for me..."

Your brow cocked. 

"Easy..." You shrugged as you lowered to him. 

"Of fuck..." You took him against your tonsils, the lack of a gag reflex making him flex. 

"You're fucking with me..." But you only looked at him from beneath damp lashes and took him deeper. Faster. 

"Oh my God..." He forced you to take him completely. 

"Careful..."

"Stand the fuck up..." But you shook your head again, taking him faster. He looked down to you, wincing in pain before taking you against the wall, hand over your mouth. 

"You make one fucking noise and everyone from the axe murder of this house to our friends outside are gonna know how much of a fucking slut you are for me...and I don't think twice about it..."

"Fuck me." You whimpered into his hand as he paused. 

"Put it in...you know where it belongs...right..." He groaned as he hiked your leg to his hip, your shorts dripping to your ankle as you were taken against the wall even sharper. 

"Yes...yes..." He wrapped his hand harder around your mouth as he devoured your breast. 

"JJ..." 

"She's gone..." He pulled you across the basement and onto a table, sweeping it clean with an arm, and bending you over it. 

"Fuck...You gonna come for me? Bet you will..."

"Bet you'll come first..." You retorted as he scoffed. 

"Oh shit, I just might..." He folded himself over you, turning you to kiss him before leading that second hand to your clit. 

"Let it go...stop fighting me...I can feel you..." You clenched around him. 

"Yes...yes...keep doing that..."

"This?" You teased as he tore your shirt off your shoulder and but into the exposed skin. 

"Yes...baby, just like that...oh shit..."

"You wanna come?" 

"Oh I'm gonna...just not yet..." You whimpered. "I'm not done..." He pulled you up to his chest. 

"I want you to keep whimpering for me..." He flicked your nipple as you offered those moans to him and he quickened his thrusts. 

"JJ...oh My God..."

"Yeah? Someone gonna come? Hmmm? You not so ahead of me as you thought?" 

"Ah...JJ...oh...ohhhh..."

"Yes baby...all over me...come all-" He scoffed as you shook, promoting his own release as he battered you into the edge of the table. 

"Keep coming...I want you to keep fucking coming... pussy so good..." He gripped your hair. 

"It's all yours..." To this, he grunted, forcing you to drip for him until he pulled you to face him. He took you this way, wincing at the overstimulation. Whimpering for you. 

"I want more..." He groaned. 

"I bet you can't handle it..." 

"I bet you're gonna come again..."

"I could..." You teased, moaning for him as he lost control of himself within you once again. Only now, moaning and pleasing into your skin. 

"I'm gonna fucking ruin this pussy for anyone else..."

"You already have...Oh, JJ...it's yours..." 

"Yeah?" He pulled himself away from you, stroking himself through your folds. 

"You're so mean..."

"It feels so good...look at me..." His expression made you moan. 

"JJ please..."

"I need to make you come again..." He was on his knees, tugging on himself as he was pulling you to the edge of the table. 

"I wanna feel you come on my face...think you can? I bet you can. I bet you can, hard for me, right?" 

"Oh...." But once again the drop step squeaked. 

"Quiet." 

"I can't...it's too..." Two fingers made this worse as you swore you left reality. Your orgasm crashing from heaven itself as your body collapsed towards him and he nodded into you. 

"Keep coming..." He grinned into your thigh, his breathing pattern labored by his own second release before you pulled him against you. 

"If I have to be quiet, so do you..." 

"I bet you can't." You teased as he clenched his jaw as you kissed his neck again, finding a sweet spot that sent him to submit into you. Your body riding against his as you are etching your desperate nails into his shoulders. Your hand was as sore as your thighs and yet nothing stopped you from wanting to feel him come undone once again. But he wore the same convictions as you bucked into him and found initial release in unison. 

"What the fuck happened to you guys in there?" John B asked when you finally made it out, narrowly escaping the owner. Hair a mess and marks of red and beginning bruising worn over you both.

"We have to go!" Pope spoke desperately as you rushed to The Twinkie. Rather quickly, Pope and John B would reprimand you both before facing into their own conversation. All while you and JJ focused on each other. 

"I bet you are still thinking about it..." He mouthed to you. 

"I bet you want more..."

"I bet you'll let me.."

"I bet you wouldn't do anything now..." You spoke into his ear as he slipped his hand over your thigh. 

"I bet you'll be mine before I make you come again."

"You've already lost that..." He hesitated his touch. "I already am..."

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

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[genshin-side-piece]

Never Let Me Go

He didn't leave me alone. Neuvi demanded I finish this story, so here we go.

Sequel to : Love Me Tender, Love Me True, Tell Me You Are Mine

Warnings: Yandere Content, Implied Kidnapping, Implied Captivity, Implied Stalking, Angst, Mentions of death & dying, my bad writing, anything else I missed, 18+, Minors DNI

The sky had an odd look to it, decidedly foreign in comparison to how storms normally looked in Fontaine. Thick bulbous clouds hung heavily in the skies, stifling the air around you as they drifted above rolling across the heavens like waves. Blacks and grays, mixed with a hint of navy and what you swore was ocher swirled above you, mixing together in what you could only describe as a volatile dance. The motion of the colors was the only movement the clouds had. They had come from nowhere, as clouds often liked to do in Fontaine, but these had a lingering quality. Despite the strong winds that raked their way across the steadily diminishing landscape, the clouds above remained fixed to their place in the sky. Holding everything below them fast as the rising water steadily swallowed all of Fontaine.

You stood on your perch near the peak of one of the taller mountains, braving the torrential weather as you tried your best to see anything that looked familiar. Even as the cold rain fell in sheets around you, the wind whipping against your skin, making it icy to the touch, you held firm. You ignored the cold and the weather, pushing yourself even higher as you tried to see more. The only thing that stopped you from going much further were the small hands of your keepers as they attempted to pull you back. They pleaded with you to return to the cabin they had brought you to. They told you that the weather was too much for you. There were mentions of you becoming sick should you stay out in it for too long. They begged and pleaded with you to come back, yet you silently refused. Your eyes remained ever fixed on the dimming lights of what you thought was the opera house, though it was truly impossible to tell from this distance. By now most of the landmarks that had been a part of your daily life were gone. Washed away or engulfed by the turbulent sea. Only black churning water remained. It lapped at the rock cliffs below you, climbing higher with every second. There had been no sign of danger. No warning. Only torrential rain and rapidly rising seas which caught nearly everyone unawares. To the horror of all, the prophecy had finally come. You tried not to dwell on it as best you could. Dwelling would feed the panic that was rising as fast as the water was around you. Panicking, wouldn’t do anyone, least of all you any good. Instead, you attempted to focus your concerns elsewhere. You fixated on the lights in the distance, silently praying, hoping, yearning for even the faintest fleck of blue or white to appear amongst the blacks and grays that surrounded you. You told yourself it would come. It had to come. Despite the uncertainty of your present, there was one thing you knew would always remain true; Neuvillette wouldn’t fail you. He wouldn’t abandon you. Not now, not when you needed him the most. 

It was an odd sensation to want him now. A delicious irony really. After months of silently loathing him to the point that you had wished he would vanish, he was now the only thing you wanted. You would later blame it on a combination of both the situation and your very real fear, but for now, you held firm in your belief that Neuvillette was the only person who could make this better. Surely he could calm the raging skies and the climbing seas like he did the court. A stamp of his cane or a stern word would send the horrors that surrounded you away. Fontaine would come to order again. Then you wouldn’t have to face the horrible fate that was inching ever closer with what felt like every breath. You would be safe. Neuvillette would keep you safe. That had been his one promise to you when he had taken you away. He would do everything in his power to protect you. That was his reasoning for tucking you away from a world that wished you harm. Now, as you found yourself adrift in that same world, you wished for nothing more than to be within the safety of his apartment again. The thought of the cold stone walls that had been the bane of your existence for nearly a year, brought you minimal comfort. They had upheld Neuvillette’s promise to you. They had, like him, kept you from harm. How you silently wished to be within their confines once again. How you yearned for Neuvillette to appear before you. Yet when you called his name into the howling wind, hoping for any kind of sign, only the echo of the rushing air as it whipped past answered. The skies above the opera house remained as dark as when you had first laid eyes on them. Fittingly, your captor was nowhere to be found. 

Neuvillette had been scarce in recent weeks. His work or rather the work he was required to do to keep the nation running, had kept him away. Through the grapevine of the house, you had been able to learn that there had been a crisis he’d been summoned to deal with. A matter so great, so important, that he had been forced to abandon his routine concerning you so that he might focus on it. The afternoons he had spent by your side were replaced with Neuvillette locking himself away in his office for hours, even days at a time. The only time he left was to either attend court or make an odd trip home to rest. Otherwise, you were generally alone. Your only companions were your little wardens. They kept you occupied during the day, nothing really changed in that regard. The nights though, the evenings that had been spent filled with awkward dinners and one sided conversations became hauntingly silent. In the time that was supposed to be yours and Neuvillette’s, your wardens stuck to their well practiced schedule. The clocks in the house would strike 6 and suddenly you found yourself utterly alone. You were never told whether he was coming or not. It had become a waiting game of sorts. One you quickly grew tired of playing. You’d had half a mind to give him an earful for this new tortuous delight. It was a level of cruelty that seemed out of place for him. You had made it a point to raise the issue to him, but when you next laid eyes on him, you thought better of it. His normally kind features held a strange tension to them. His jaw was almost always tightly set, his teeth appearing to grind against one another as his mind held his thoughts far away from you. His distraction was so profound that he didn’t notice you were there. Even after you made what you felt was a ruckus, he didn’t look at you. Not once. His eyes remained pinned to one piece of paper or another, his dark eyebrows furrowed, knitting and fighting against one another as he read page after page of reports. 

After that, you viewed his lack of presence as a welcome thing. Let him be completely distracted. Let his feelings for you be the furthest thing from his mind. You could sleep soundly knowing those clammy hands of his wouldn’t haunt you in the night. The peace of your morning levee had been restored as he was not there to watch you wash and dress. The need for frills and formality were dropped in a heartbeat. The clothing he preferred that you wear was somewhat simplified to be more comfortable. You dropped the unnecessary layers in favor of things that were easier to get on and off on your own. The dining room he insisted you use, was instantly abandoned. Solo breakfasts out in your garden, weather permitting, became the norm. Luncheon was officially moved to either the conservatory or one of the corner rooms that overlooked the surrounding area so that you could enjoy the view. Dinner, oh the tedious ritual that was dinner, saw the most drastic change of all. The oneness of it was replaced with quiet evenings spent in solitude, the roaring fire in your bedroom filling the silence, while one of your favorite books kept you company. It was the happiest you had been since he had first brought you here. You could almost imagine that Neuvillette didn’t exist at all. The fantasy of being alone in such grande circumstances was a delicious thing. In place of dealing with him, your afternoons were spent flitting from imaginary ball to imaginary ball, conjuring all kinds of suitors and gossip that were left in your wake. A mysterious noble, with an even more mysterious past. How had you come to be in your current position? Was your family secretly well to do? Were you involved in some nefarious affairs? Had you married well only to suffer the loss of your spouse? Even thoughts of a rich benefactor had begun to fill your fantasies. Other days you were a successful adventurer. Blessed with fortune from your extensive travels. The best the adventurer’s guild had. You had conquered all kinds of foes, large and small. Entire nations owed their gratitude and their treasuries to you. Your reward for your efforts were the surroundings of which you were now enjoying.

It was easy to get lost in your fantasies, to indulge in them as time went on. The melusines did little to discourage them. Some of them even played along, enjoying your make believe world almost as much as you did. The only thing that put a dampener on the fun was the infrequent sound of your captor’s shoes echoing off the parquet floors. Neuvillette was a specter in that regard. His heels striking against the wood always pulled you away from your intrigue and adventure. You would sit up just long enough to see his shadow slowly sweep by the drawing room door. Once, it would linger, eventually it would invade the sanctity of your space. You had tried to run from it. His shadow had stalked you through every room in his house. Following you as it passed through hallways and corridors alike. Now, he didn’t even pause. He just kept going, the sound of his shoes fading as his work pulled him further and further away from you. It left you with an odd feeling.

As the days blurred into weeks and the weeks into months you began to feel a certain kind of longing take hold. You didn’t dare admit that you missed him or his attention. Your continued freedom, though limited to the confines of your captor’s home, was a blessing. Short of leaving, you could live how you liked. The regular rules and restrictions had been suspended in the crisis. Once it had been enough to do as you pleased. You had even taken it for granted. Since your rather abrupt capture, the very idea of having your full autonomy returned to you was something that you had striven for. Now that you had it, you found it to be less satisfying than you remembered it to be. The emptiness of your world, the loneliness that came when your wardens left for the night left a bitter taste in your mouth. The time spent alone did not entertain you as it once had. The fantasies you chose to immerse yourself in no longer satisfied you. A weird craving began to form. A desire, a yearning to not only see Neuvillette but to bring him back into your routine. 

In the beginning, you tried to suppress it. You refused to acknowledge that you wanted him in your life. In the war that the two of you had fought against each other, this was the proverbial final battle. Your acceptance of his place in your life would give him all the permission he needed to continue to hold you here. It was the one thing you had sworn never to give. You refused to justify his perverted idea of love by falling for him. You decided your return to the rules and formality was a much needed reminder of why you couldn’t wait to be free. Of why you loathed him so. That was the excuse you told yourself while you dressed for dinner. It was the same one you played through your mind on repeat as you inched ever closer to his office door. He was a beast. A horrible awful man, who had done you wrong. A thief who had stolen you from the world. You tried to remember that as you stopped out his door. You despised him. You hated him. Your general dislike of his need to infantilize you with his rules and restrictions served as the fuel you needed to push against the door of his office. Normally, it was closed or locked. To your surprise, you found it slightly ajar.

“Monsieur?” You pressed further into his gloomy office, finding him hunched over his desk, eyes glued to a stack of papers resting on top of it. You took him in, your previous mantra easily forgotten as your heart sank. The always poised, always perfect, always elegant Chief Justice had been reduced to a haggard shell of his former self. His robes, cravat, and his waist coat had long been abandoned on the sofa. Half laying, half hanging off the furniture’s delicate frame. For the parts that you could see, the only recognizable piece of clothing was the wrinkled dress shirt that served as the base of his ornate attire. It too had been changed. The sleeves of the normally crisp shirt had been rolled up past his elbows, exposing you to something so scandalous as his bare forearms. You stared at the exposed skin of his arms, fixating on it for far too long before you forced your eyes higher. They followed the line of his shirt, coming to a startling halt when they found where the closed portion met the open portion. Without the cravat to hold it in place, the collar of his shirt hung loosely over his collarbones, giving you an ample view of both his exposed neck and upper chest. You couldn’t help but roughly swallow as you blatantly stared. Foolishly, you had never thought of Neuvillette as a man before. For all the time that you had spent as his captive, you had never changed your opinion of him. Like the rest of the population, you considered him more of a thing than a person. The good chief justice. The reliable Iudex. A mainstay, an institution. A long series of titles and responsibilities that helped to support the archon and keep the nation together. Nothing more than that. Things weren’t human. Things didn’t have feelings. Things were inanimate, useful, and disposable. They could be forgotten as quickly as they could be discovered. For many, Neuvillette was easy to forget. He rarely showed himself in public, outside of necessary events and court. He held no close acquaintances or deep personal friendships. He had long remained a mystery to the people he served. So it was perfectly sensible to not relate to him as a person. If nothing else than for your own sanity.

Now as you stood before him, as you realized that he was less a thing and more a person, you felt your sanity rapidly slipping away. Rather blatantly, you allowed yourself the indulgence of tracing your eyes over him, of appreciating his more beautiful features. You admired the way his neck met his shoulders. He had a rather long neck for a man. On anyone else, it would have been a gangly thing. On Neuvillette, it was noble, graceful. Oddly, you wondered what it would feel like to kiss it. To press your lips against the sides, into the hollow of it. He was so pale. Would he flush just from the contact of your lips, or would you have to nip at him to give him a little color?

“Petit” His voice, ever soft, ever gentle, snapped you back to reality. Fuck. You stood there for a moment, wide eyed and blinking as you let your previous thoughts drift away. Based on his curious expression, you had to wonder if you had been caught. Your cheeks flushed at the thought. “Are you alright?” He let out a small laugh. “For a moment, you seemed like you were quite lost in your own thoughts.” Your face only got hotter. How utterly embarrassing. You had half a mind to dash out of his office and never return. “It’s nothing.” He nodded, thankfully letting your gaff go. “I see.” The worn quality of his voice didn’t go unnoticed by you. It lacked the normal polish it tended to possess, hints of fatigue lacing their way into it. Based on the way he sounded, it seemed like Neuvillette could benefit from a good rest. You thought to suggest it, but the work stacked up all around him gave you pause. Neuvillette was nothing if not consistent in his duty. It was why he was so revered by the nation. So long as he was needed, he would continue to serve. The piles upon piles of paper that were neatly laid across his desk were enough to render any idea of an extended rest a futile one. They would weigh as heavily on his mind as they did his desk, easily preventing him from getting the rest he so desperately needed. “I am so pleased you decided to come by.” His gaze softened as he pulled his lips into a tired smile. You imagined it was the first time he had smiled in months. With him facing you, the worry and the woe that had etched its way across his features was all too clear. Dark bags hung beneath his jewel like eyes, dimming down some of their brilliance. It was a hard sight to swallow. While loathsome, Neuvillette was undeniably magnificent when he wanted to be. To see some of that brilliance sacrificed for the sake of his duty was almost too much to bear. “It is good to see you.” The relief in his soft voice made your heart ache. “I-” He swallowed roughly, gently clearing his throat. Water. He needed water. The cracks in his normally smooth voice told you his throat was unusually dry. Your eyes went to the crystal pitcher which sat opposite his desk. You could tell it was dry and empty. An unusual error on his part. It spoke to how distracted he really was. “I have missed you. I do try to remember to say goodnight to you, but you are often asleep once I am able to do so. What a pleasure it is to see you awake.” Slowly one of Neuvillette’s eyebrows crept upwards towards his brow. “You are doing well, I hope.” That hope found its way into his eyes, reflecting in the facets of them.  

You didn’t want to tell him you missed him. The capacity to do so died the second the thought had entered your mind. Still, you had. You did. As insane as it sounded, you missed his presence in your life. After all this time with him, you had gotten used to him being nearby. Never in arms reach, but always in ear shot. If the mood suited you, he was all too easy to pull into a conversation. You could ask him about the weather or the latest water samples and his voice would fill your world for hours. You could read while listening to him excitedly telling you about the difference in mineral composition between Liyue and Inazuma without ever having to say a word. Other days, you craved music. A perk of Neuvillette’s position was that singers, orchestras, and all kinds of theatrical troupes would send sample recordings as a way of enticing him into allowing them to perform at the opera. He played no part in the booking or the final decision. The Palais Mermonia merely handled the applications, but the theater manager would never turn down a favorite of the Chief Justice. Not when Neuvillette was positively enthralled with the idea of bringing a Liyuean opera star to entertain the masses. You benefited from this perk by way of Neuvillette bringing the records home for you. He would play them in the afternoons or even in the evenings after dinner as a suitable substitute to the two of you trying to hold an actual conversation. To suddenly not have him there, to have silence when you wanted conversation or music, was devastating. Playing the records alone didn’t hold the same appeal as it did when you were with him. “I-” You stared at him for another moment, trying to decide what best to do. You had missed him, but you couldn’t say so. You wanted to talk to him. You wanted to listen to your favorite Snezhnayan ballet with him again. The words to tell him so, failed you. A small voice in the back of your mind reminded you that to verbally admit you missed him, that you wanted him was to admit that he had finally won you over. The final victory in a series of smaller ones, where he could finally claim you as his. Even if it had sizable cracks in it, the wall you had held between you had to remain. You couldn’t allow it to fall.  To do so was to allow him the excuse to keep you here forever. “Dinner.” You grimaced slightly when you bit the word out as soon as it entered your mind. The quickness of it made you both take a pause before you tried to recover. “It’s time for dinner, Monsieur.” You looked away from him, your eyes sinking to the floor in embarrassment. “We-” You. “Though you might like a change of pace. Eating in your office everyday must be tiring.” You tried to make that last statement sound as gentle as possible, but it was hard to hide the mortification in your voice.

A gentle laugh filled the room, causing you to look up at him. Some of the luster had returned to his eyes. Slowly they drifted away from you and over to a clock that was resting on the mantle. They took in the time, his chin coming to idly rest against the palm of his hand. He had needed a break. You could see it in the way his entire body relaxed at even the most basic of conversations. His mind had been long occupied with work. It needed a breather as much as the rest of him did. “It is, isn’t it?” He sounded almost wistful. As if the concept of dinner with you was more a dream than the reality you had proposed. “You’re all dressed for it too.” You had noticed that he had turned his eyes back to you. That he was drinking your appearance in. You had selected something you could both enjoy; he for its aesthetics and you for its comfort. A suitable compromise in a series of compromises that had happened between you. “How wonderful you look this evening. I have truly missed basking in your radiance.” He tried to sound sincere in his compliment. Despite being exhausted, he tried. You could see he meant it. You could tell he wanted to sound pleased. But given his current condition, the best he could do was mild interest. “I have been neglectful of you, haven’t I? I seem to always be caught up in things lately. You have my most sincere apologies, petit.” The smile fell in favor of a mournful frown. You watched some of the lost tension in his shoulders return, hating it more than you hated the worn quality of his voice. “If we were still on our regular schedule I suppose I would be late, wouldn’t I?” His eyes came back to you for a final time, glistening with despair. “How clumsy of me.” There was a bitterness in his voice. It echoed in your own heart, causing the ache in it to become worse. You had never seen him like this. It went beyond the normal fits of depression and melancholy that he seemed to suffer. The distance between you felt wider than the chasm, despite you only being a few feet from each other. Why was it like this, what was happening? Why was it happening? What could be so great that it could reduce Neuvillette to this?

A cold sensation shot its way up your back as a dark thought crept into your mind. Had you caused this?

Once more, your eyes dropped to the floor while you raced to remember every interaction you’d had with him prior to his withdrawal from your world. Things had been amicable between you. The garden he had given you, along with slightly more autonomy, had gone a long way in improving your relationship. Outside of his less than desirable behavior, you were more prone to tolerating his presence when you weren’t hiding in your sanctuary. The only thing that came to mind was right before he had pulled away, he had gotten a little rough with you. When he came to you at night, Neuvillette was never forceful. The most he had ever done was hold you in place with a firm grip if you tried to roll away. There had been bruising afterwards, but they generally faded after a day or two. The night in question, coincidentally his last night with you, he had been uncharacteristically insistent. His grip on you had been unrelenting from the onset. Neuvillette had wrapped his legs around your lower body, using his strength to hold you in place so he was free to use his hands. It hadn’t taken much to wake you. Living in his house had taught you to be a light sleeper. The way he had pulled you against him, his nails puncturing the delicate flesh of your hips had instantly pulled you back to reality. On instinct, you had retaliated. But that wasn’t it, was it? You looked back up at him, his eyes still firmly fixed on you, full of all the love and affection you thought he could muster. Surely that wasn’t it. After all you had done, after all you had said, one kick couldn’t be the proverbial straw that broke him. That couldn’t be the reason why he had abandoned you. “My apologies mon trésor.” That came as little more than a whisper. “I am bereft to do so, but I must decline spending the evening with you.” He hesitated, his eyes falling back to the desk. “Duty calls.” There was an ebbing silence that passed between you, one that not even the fire in the fireplace could fill. At that moment, the world fell completely silent. All you swore you could hear was the sound of your own heart breaking. 

It showed on your face. It must have. The crack of thunder and the rustle of the trees matched the distress Neuvillette showed when he looked back at you. Outside, rain began to pelt against the panes of glass, hiding the weak sob that had managed to slip past your lips. The tears that fell onto your cheeks burned. The news that he couldn’t join you should have been a joyous thing to you. A confirmation that his lack of interest could be the first indication that his mania for you was passing. If he no longer believed he loved you, if there was no need to protect you, then surely that meant you could go home, didn’t it? You could return to your life. You could begin again. You should be overjoyed at the very possibility of it. No more restrictions or special diets. No more eyes following you everywhere. No more lack of privacy. You could control who or what entered your space simply by telling them to stay or go. You would never have to fear the roving hands that had haunted you in the night again. You could lock them out of your life as easily as you could the melusines. Everything you could want, everything you had wanted was all pinned on the concept of finally ridding yourself of your captor. Yet instead of being thrilled, instead of asking to the point of begging to be released, you could only begin to cry. Not out of happiness, but at the horrific realization that perhaps freedom wasn’t what you wanted anymore. Your life here, your life with him was a comfortable one. Aside from him and the ebbing loneliness without him, Neuvillette made your captivity an easy thing to bear. If you left the safety of Neuvillette’s arms or if you were forced to leave it, then you would have nowhere to go. Your apartment, along with your job and any mora you might have possessed were long gone. They had been lost the day you had disappeared. There was no promise that Neuvillette had saved them for you, nor was there any promise he would compensate you once you left. Everything you had, from your clothes to the roof over your head came because of Neuvillette’s love for you. Part of his need to keep you was so that he might protect and provide for you. To lose that affection meant the loss of his generosity. He could abandon you to the mercy of the streets and not think twice about it. You didn’t realize it, but you nearly collapsed just at the thought of it.

Neuvillette was at your side before your knees could fully give out. Strong arms wound their way around you, supporting your weight with ease. You made no effort to fight him. You had no more fight in you to give. All you had left were your tears and the very real possibility of begging for your next meal. “Forgive me, I beg it of you.” Neuvillette guided your head so he could gently press his lips against your damp cheek, causing you to cry even harder. “I wish I did not have to refuse you.” His arms came around your shoulders pulling you into a more tender embrace than before. “I have missed our time together. I loathe that it has been taken from us.” A beat passed before he continued. “I wish I could delay this for all of eternity, so that I might spend all my time with you.” You sucked in a deep breath, the terror of being abandoned easing just long enough to allow you to hear what he was saying. He still loved you. He still wanted you. Your actions hadn’t driven him away, at least not yet. That knowledge helped to calm you slightly, but it didn’t solve the overarching mystery. It didn’t explain Neuvillette’s current state nor the need for his extended absence. “Wh-” You hiccuped, trying to control your tears. “What is it?” You swallowed roughly, bring your hand up to weakly rest it against his arm. The warmth of your hand against his cool skin caused him to shiver. He responded to the consensual contact by pulling you even closer, fingers twisting their way into your hair so he might cradle the back of your head with his hand. 

“I am afraid mon coeur, it is the end.”

There was no elaboration that followed that statement. Just his arms growing tighter as you continued to spill your tears into the soft fabric of his shirt. You never did make it to dinner that night. Instead, you were content to let Neuvillette hold you until you were well past the point of exhaustion. You barely remembered the clock striking three before Neuvillette scooped you up in his arms and carried you to bed. Through the haze of your mental fatigue, you remembered him helping you undress. You had gently protested, but he had merely cooed at you, silencing your weak pleas as he undid the clasps and ribbons of your outfit. He was only satisfied when you were in a shift and little else. You stood before him, waiting for him to do more. You vaguely recalled your expectation for him to put his hands back on you. For him to pull you back in and take advantage of both your tired state and your state of undress; but to your shock, he did not. Instead, Neuvillette pulled back the covers of your bed, gently ushering you under them. Only once you were settled did he touch you again. You faintly recalled his soft lips pressing against your forehead before sleep claimed you. It was the last time you saw him. The next day, the melusines took you away.

Two melusines collected you from Neuvillette’s apartment in the morning. They escorted you across the strait and into the mountains above the Opera Epliclese that afternoon. Had you been in a better mood, you would have enjoyed it. The excursion was the first time you had been allowed outside the confines of Neuvillette’s residence in nearly a year. The fresh air and the exercise should have been a welcome change to the sedentary lifestyle you had been living. Instead, your mind had focused on the night before. On the fact that Neuvillette hadn’t come to bid you adieu as you had left. When questioned, your escorts informed you that he was busy with other matters. There was a major trial set to happen over the course of the next few days. They refused to tell you the details of it, you doubted you would have really cared anyway. The only thing that really mattered was that Neuvillette’s preparation for it outweighed his need to see you off. But you supposed that’s what the night before had been for. He had abandoned his work in favor of spending one last evening with you. Despite your despair, you supposed that was something.

Early in the afternoon, you had arrived at the little cabin you now occupied. It was a far cry from the grandeur of Neuvillette’s home in the Court, but it beat being left in the wilderness to die. The sweeping corridors and vast rooms had been replaced with a house barely large enough for one, let alone three. The words the end echoed continuously through your mind as you took it in. You briefly wondered if he had meant it was the end of you and him. Even with his reassurance that he loved you, it would be fitting that after all this time that even Neuvillette’s patience would run dry. The amiability that you had recently shared didn’t erase the fact that you had still been a nightmare for him prior. Perhaps the wounds you had inflicted had finally festered to the point of being intolerable. Your recent forbearance wasn’t enough to ease the pain they caused him and at long last he had chosen to simplify the arrangement you and he shared. He loved you enough to continue to protect and provide for you, but he would see you no more. In the span of a night, you had been transformed into a number on a balance sheet. Another piece of paper on his desk, that only received his attention when the bill was due. Beyond that, you were something he could set aside and ignore. You could almost understand it. After all, this was what you had fought so hard for. The mission had always been to make Neuvillette tire of you. That’s why you had done nothing but fight him at every turn. It had been your hope that if he realized you weren’t worth the trouble, that he would simply let you go. In retrospect, what a silly notion that had been. Freedom, at least complete freedom, would never be in your grasp again. You learned that when you found a third melusine, Sedene you thought she was called, waiting for you in the house. She informed you that per Neuvillette’s wishes, you were to remain here for the foreseeable future. There had been a spiel about your safety and how you needed to stay close to both the house and your new keepers at all times. That it would be beneficial for you to avoid the shore. She implored that you heed Neuvillette’s wishes this one time. If you didn’t, then there was no guarantee that anyone would be able to help you.

You had found that odd. It joined the near constant playback in your mind as you laid awake on the lumpy mattress at night. He loved you. The end. Stay close or else. Avoid the shore and the water. It hadn’t made sense to you a few days ago. None of it had. Your watchers had tried to assure you everything was fine. Even when you directly questioned them about Neuvillette’s motive for sending you here, they promised you it wasn’t what you were thinking. In their words, the honorable Iudex was doing all he could to keep you safe. When you pressed further, one of them let it slip that the lower areas along the shore, specifically the city and the area around the Opera were not safe. Once the proverbial cat was out of the bag, you were told that Neuvillette had been spending all of his time on a plan to stop a catastrophe that was ready to strike at any moment. Part of that plan included protecting you. Despite his own reservations on the matter, sending you to one of the highest points in Fontaine was one of the only ways Neuvillette could alleviate the constant worry he had for you. Up until he had sent you away, he had held that option as a last resort. His preference had always been and would always be to keep you close. According to your new friends, once the crisis had passed, he would send for you. 

Now, as the world was swallowed whole by the murky depths, you saw the full picture in its full horrifying detail. The End was exactly that. It was the prophecy, the end of Fontaine as a people and as a nation. The insolvable crisis that had drawn Neuvillette’s attention for these last few months was the destruction of all and how to stop it; or at this stage minimize it. As your eyes passed over the rising waters, you were all too aware that there was no stopping this. You could only wonder how much higher the water could truly climb before it finally yielded. It was getting close now. The hands that had held you back, yielded so that you might climb higher. After doing so, your eyes focused back on the horizon. They continued to search for any sign that Neuvillette may still come. You waited and waited and waited. Silently pleading with Neuvillette to appear. Yet all you continued to see were the calamitous skies that covered the land and the waters below. No lights, no signs, no miracles; all that remained were catastrophe and death.

Death. Gods what if he hadn’t made it? What if part of the plan to save Fontaine was that Neuvillette would have to sacrifice himself for the greater good? What if the last time you saw him was truly the last time? What if your current circumstances were his final gift to you? Your felt as if your very soul splintered at the thought. With all he had to worry over, with the weight of the nation resting on his shoulders, the one thing he had been sure to save was you. Not the city or the people or the papers that plagued him or even himself; just you. Your knees gave out as you openly sobbed. Your keepers were quick to help you. They released your hands, rushing under you so they could catch you as you fell. Gently, they lowered you to the ground, urging you to come back to the small house you were all sharing. In their minds, the storm had proven to be too much for you. They worried after how cold you were, how drenched you were. One was concerned over the fever she swore you were developing, while the other mentioned something about your present state being the furthest thing from what Monsieur Neuvillette wanted. The mere mention of him only made you cry harder. Their focus was back on you in an instant, trying their best to calm you. Platitudes of everything will be fine and you’re safe did little to help ease the suffering that was ebbing up from your very soul. How were they to know that your actual burden wasn’t the storm at all, but the fact that thanks to Neuvillette, if the rest of Fontaine was lost, you would survive?

It was some time before your companions could coax you back inside. The realization that the three of you may be the only survivors zapped away any strength you had left. After your emotional distress had drained you to the point of exhaustion, the cold nearly finished you. You knelt there on the frozen ground, the wind freezing what few tears you had left to your face. The cold air cut through you with each blast. Everything from your neck to your toes was stiff. Your body could do little more than shiver as each moment passed. In the end, your keepers had to help you back to both the house and to your bed. They were in a panic once you were safely inside. You could do little more than watch as they frantically scurried about, fretting over the task of getting you warm and dry before there were any worse consequences than shivering. Getting you warm wasn’t too difficult to do. Dry clothes and blankets went a long way to stop your shivering. Your hair was a different matter altogether. The duo end up seating you near the small stove that sat in the corner of the kitchen. It was their hope that the heat would dry your hair faster. The activity, along with the exhaustion were a nice distraction. Your companions' efforts forced you to miss both the cessation of the storm and the flood alike. By the time they had you tucked into bed, the crisis was nearly at an end. A fact that you were woefully unaware of. Without the news that the storm had passed, your mind churned over the idea that both Fontaine and Neuvillette might be gone. You tried to come to grips with those facts, but your tired mind had neither the desire nor the inclination to try. Sleep kept calling to it. Numbing your senses to everything around you, including the sound of heels striking against the stone walk that led to the house. 

Later, you often wondered if it was all a dream. If like your imaginary suitors and your fictional adventures, you had made the situation with Neuvillette up. Your captivity was in fact a reality. There was no denying that the Iudex of Fontaine held you firmly in his grasp. The months spent apart though. Your pseudo freedom while he toiled away. Even the climax of all of Fontaine being in peril due to the realization of the prophecy. The sky, the water, the ebbing cold followed by a scorching heat. Had they all been real or were they little more than delusions conjured by the fever that had taken hold after your exposure to the elements? It was hard for you to say. What was real though, was waking up in the safety of Neuvillette’s home. That prayer was answered. You knew it was his home, because you could hear the pitter patter of melusine feet scuffing against the parquet floors. The sheer number of them indicated that the only place you could be was Neuvillette’s home. Melusines liked to congregate near him. He allowed them to do so wherever they wished, but especially so within the confines of either the Palais Mermonia or his own personal residence. The room though, was not your own. The heavy brocades that lined the walls were unfamiliar to you. The bed with its ornate carvings, gilded ceiling, and velvet drapes that hung from the four corners of the canopy was entirely foreign to your world. It, like the rest of the furniture in this room, possessed an age and a weight that the rest of the furnishings in the house did not. As your own mental fog began to lift, you realized you had never been in this room before. Strangely though, you still felt you knew it. Maybe it was the rich teals and blues of the decor, or maybe it was the lingering scent of the sea breeze that wafted throughout the room. There was something entirely familiar about it that put you at ease. “Ma moitié” Neuvillette. You sucked in a sharp breath, your head weakly turning from side to side as you sought him out using the dim light of the space. Neuvillette was here. He was with you. Celestia above he was with you. The prophecy hadn’t claimed him as you had feared. He, like you, was safe. 

Obligingly, Neuvillette briefly came into your field of view before he disappeared to press kiss after kiss into your hair, cheeks and sternum. “My darling one, you’ve returned to me at long last.” The relief in his soft voice was evident. It was too great to reflect the breaking of a fever or even the passing of an illness. You would have had to have been on death’s door to justify his reaction to you waking up. You couldn’t stop your mind as it briefly wandered back to your dream; to the icy winds and rising waters. Placing you on the side of a mountain while the nation flooded wasn’t exactly an elegant solution. You could, even in your muddled state, imagine the stress that fact had put on him. To find you safe, but far from well, had almost assuredly not helped him in the least. His body shifting distracted you from your thoughts. Though you couldn’t see him do it, you felt Neuvillette as he pulled himself even closer to you. A heavy arm came across your hips, his weight dipping into the mattress so he might press your body into his. The feeling of him, the warmth ebbing off of him was a welcomed thing. All you remembered was being cold. For weeks, maybe even months, all you had felt was the chill of Neuvillette’s absence. He paused above you, long enough to give you a tender smile. Though fuzzy, he was as you remembered him. His appearance was as tidy as it had ever been. There were no signs of fatigue anywhere on his person. He was, much to your own concern, perfect. It made you doubt that the crisis wasn’t a fever dream. Maybe you really had imagined it after all.  “Mon-” You grimaced, your throat exploding in pain from just the attempt of speaking. Your vocal chords refused to respond as a burning sensation shot its way from the top of your throat all the way to the base. It felt as if your throat was being split in two with a hot blade. Gods it was terrible. The sensation was only made worse due to how dry your throat and your mouth both felt. Your tongue felt like sandpaper against your rough lips as it tried to add moisture to them. Neuvillette, seemed unconcerned. You felt him nudge your cheek with his nose, pulling a small whimper from you. “Shhh darling.” He kissed your nose, finally pausing long enough to rest his forehead against yours. “Do not push yourself.” He lifted his face so that he might look into your eyes again. “The fever has been taxing for you.” His other hand came up to rest against the crown of your head. “It has broken now. I have been told you have come through the worst of it.” Another gentle smile spread across his lips. “All you need do now is rest.” You felt his hand come to rest against the top of your head. Faintly, you detected the sensation of his fingers working their way into your hair, looping and stroking the individual strands, before settling on rubbing your scalp. The feeling you got from it was a nice one. It allowed the haze that had held your mind the chance to slowly take hold once again.

The remainder of your reunion with him was a quiet one. There were no parties or streamers. No shouts of joy. Just the occasional interruption of the melusines. In between food being brought and the bedding being changed, Neuvillette persisted in his soft words as he whispered endless promises to you between kisses. Words of adoration, promises of contentment. In your present state none of them really mattered. They were washed away by your own relief. Fontaine had not been lost to the black waters of the prophecy. Neuvillette had not perished. He was as safe as he had ever been. The hands that you had hated so could still be enticed to hold you close. It was just as the melusines had said. They nor he had not abandoned you. You were loved. You were cherished. The peace that came with that knowledge was overwhelming. You could do little more than lay back against the pillows as the stress drained away. You tried to focus on him, on his words, but after everything you were too tired. The softness of his voice, along with his continued rubbing of your scalp with his fingers worked better than any lullaby could. Gradually his words became indiscernible. They blended into a beautiful symphony of sounds that pulled you closer and closer to the sweet oblivion that was sleep. Before you fell, one last promise came from his lips, cutting straight through the fog that had all but enveloped your mind. A solemn vow from Neuvillette to you; on his life, you and he would never be separated like that again. He would be as he wished to be, by your side for all eternity.

To your own contentment, you certainly hoped so.

[sunnysam-my]

Hazbin Hotel redesign ideas p. 2

I am a bit of fashion, especially men's, history nerd, and I'm also a bit of radio nerd, so here I go, biblically accurate Alastor.

ALASTOR:

Alastor was a radio host (a radio star?) who lived and died in Louisiana. He was shot during a hunting accident, in the head, somewhere in the 1933, during radio's golden era. He cares greatly about his image and always smiles to show no weaknesses. He hates modern technology and doesn't allow his face to be captured by video recording or non black and white camera. His is mixed-race Creole.

Nothing about Alastor design make sense and it pisses me off. Not only it doesn't fit the time, it also doesn't fit his character! Besides, he is too red. He disappears into the background, especially walls of the Hotel.

Alastor cares about his image greatly, yet his clothes are torn. He is supposed to be like Hannibal, yet he looks like an edgelord wannabe. It's awful. I learned nothing about him from his design, other than "he's and old-time radio deer guy", and that's really bad.

Fashion in 30s was inspired by Hollywood, and sport and movies celebrities.

Back and white fashion in this period wasn't that different, at least for men, as long as you weren't poor, but here are some photos of specifically black fashion in 30s. In general I recommend that website if you want to look more into the fashion of this period.

His hair is completely wrong. And it's also really ugly lol. For richer black men a shiny straightening hairstyle was the go to since 1920s. One such style was "the conk" where one would chemically straighten their hair. It left hair shiny, but the process was painful and expensive. It literally could burn your scalp.

Another popular style was the brush wave. It's creating narrow waves rolling on top of head with the sides cut short and smooth. This hairstyle is still present to this day, but nowadays it's done on the whole head.

Other than that, men just wore their hair naturally, but short.

There is no focus on trousers or vest in Alastor's outfit. (Which is wild considering zipper fly was introduced in the early 30s, but was got popular by the mid ’30s). This was time of experimenting a bit with vests. If you wanted to look fancy and/or formal, you would wear a vest. Pants were wide legged, had a high waist and a single pressed line down the center of the leg. Some trouser waistbands were unique in the 1930s, for example a Hollywood waistband trouser. It had an extra wide band with a double row of buttons. They fit very high, overlapping the ribs. they often had netal ring tabs on the sides to tighten the pant to the correct fit without the need for belts or suspenders.

Also, monocle? Really? …Really? Here you go, read this if you're curious. Lots of pictures of glasses included. Glasses stayed essentially the same in 30s as they were in 20s. They were "round with a center bridge in the early years and an upper bridge in the later years. Frames could be tortoiseshell, black plastic, or thin metal." 

Moving on from fashion, because I could never shut up, microphones!

The most probabale one that everyone who is redesigning Al is drawing is a good old classic Carbon mic. It looks like a ring with a metal star and the microphone inside. It can be hand held or a staff.

But, if you wanna draw something different!

Other than Carbon mic there is also a Ribbon microphone (first row) and Moving Coil mic (second row). Unfortunately, they killed Alastor in the best part of the radio golden age, so the mics are still a bit ugly, not gonna lie.

How would I design him:

First things firsts, either he is mixed or he is white, because right now it just feels like a cheep excuse to have an "evil voodoo" character without getting too much backlash. Let's be honest, nobody thought he was a POC and that white face doesn't help. Again, just like I mentioned with Vel, when you're drawing a character with human like skin tone you have to be careful and think how it ties to their race.

Second - fashion. His outfit and hairstyle is a disaster. He has always tried to 'dress to impress', so obviously I would give him well maintained clothing and that 'high quality', formal style. I would give him the dark brown Hollywood trouser with buttons and dark crimson shirt, like dried blood almost. Under a coat or jacket he would have a brow vest, both the same colour as the pants. Highlights would be golden and green or purple. I for one would love to see him start out with a jacket/coat which he stops wearing inside the hotel after he bonds with the people inside it more, but he would still wear it outside and in the finale would put it on again, after his breakdown in the tower. This would show he began to trust the hotel residents a bit before he 'realises his mistake' after the battle. I would give him short haircut, because not even white people wore hair like that. (What in the Karen-core is it supposed to be?). Say goodbye to that monocle. Why is it even there there? Because he is old-timely? What is he, a children's cartoon villain? His design doesn't need more soulless clutter. Give me something that tells me about him as a character. I've seen people give him old radio as teeth or chest and I love it! When it's not too detailed, it's a great idea to make Alastor less like a living human but also less of… just a deer. He just looks like a deer demon. I would keep his shoes, hands and antlers, and give him ears that would fit the hairstyle I would go with.

[Edit: I forgot to mention, I would give him a time accurate hat or a free wavy lock of hair to cover the mark on his forehead where he was shot]

Thirdly, the microphone! My love. I remember the microphone used to be able to talk, but now it doesn't, unless I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure. Now it's just a weird look staff microphone with an eye and that's about it. But imagine something like a moving coil with the metal sign on top of it were the letters on it change. It could be a way it's communicating, in a simple way. This was it could still have a unique shape. That would have been fun to see. I can certainly imagine it being something of an 'unfiltered voice' of Alastor, where it would change it's writing into "Shut up", "Die" or something like that and he would hit it in a reprimanding way to reverse it to "Smile!". I'm just saying, that's a cool idea.

Well, this took forever to make, I actually forgot about this, so it just sat in my drafts. Anyway, if you want to see brilliant use of costumes and detailed, accurate depiction of fashion (especially black and queer) through history in New Orleans I recommend "Interview With The Vampire" (2022). It's also a great show.