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vivalabunbun · 1 year

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When It Rains, Why Does It Pour?

Summary: Sand is quite a nuisance, it creeps into every crevice and no amount of dusting can free oneself from its stubborn hold. Yet, the tide still greets the shore.

Word Count: 8.8k (oh no...)

Tags: Neuvillette x GN!Reader, human!reader, SFW, fluff, childhood friends AU, Slow Burn, Slow Fic, Angst, Hurt with Comfort, themes about reincarnation, TW: Themes about death and loss, themes about aging, immortal x mortal AU, not lore accurate, reader is an attendant, human prejudice, Spoilers Warning: His story quest and archon quests, speculations about his past in Fontaine, why is he so mysterious

Authors Note: This was a challenge trying to write from the POV of a man you don't even know the name of, but I just had to write something for him. A character study of Neuvillette. Enjoy!

How long has it been since he first arrived here? One month? Two? Or perhaps it has already been a year? The young dragon wasn’t too sure.

The days seem to blend together when one only eats, studies, and sleeps all on repeat. A cruel trait of time. The weather outside the glass windows didn’t provide any hints either.

However, he himself is to blame.

A gray haze concealed azure skies as rhythmic drops of rain hit the earth. Blocking out the all-seeing sun and nurturing moon, the murky clouds above even hinder the stars from accompanying him.

A true reflection of his current solitude.

The young dragon arrived in the human world, brought over by the lord of Fontaine. Due to the nature of his arrival to this nation, he was given status and importance in the eyes of the citizens. However, he has yet to receive acceptance.

The grand estate in which he resides was staffed with countless butlers and maids, renowned chefs, and skilled tutors. He was wanting of nothing, yet still impoverished.

He could see it in their mortal eyes, he could sense it in the tangible silence of the halls, he could tell from the distance each mortal put between themselves and him.

Much like the towering stone walls which surrounded his private residence.

Was it to separate themselves from him or himself from them?

A question he entertains as lilac eyes scan over the aforementioned wall. Its gray stones are a welcomed change from the dry parchment with even drier content.

As he observes the drab stones contrast against a dreary sky, a small flash of white cuts through the somber composition.

Catching his lilac eyes as they follow the strange shape, it drifts through the capricious wind before the breeze grew bored and tossed it to the ground.

Studying it a bit further, the young dragon identifies the object as a simple pillowcase. Nothing more than a scrap of fabric.

He reasons that the wind must’ve stolen it from some clothesline. Just when he was about to return to the legal ledgers a rustling came from the bushes lining the bottom of the wall.

A small frame pushes apart the thick vegetation, creating enough space to finally free themselves from the entangled mess of branches.

The towering wall, the one meant to separate him from the mortals, was defeated by a mere child.

A child who’s clumsy brushing the twigs from their garments and shaking a few raindrops from their hair. He watches as the small human trots toward the discarded pillowcase, a pout forming on their lips as they observe the mud that had seeped into the silk.

Judging by the simple attire they don, they must be the child of a maid.

Ah humans, fickle and temperamental creatures created by the usurpers. It took a conscious effort on his part to stop the frown threatening to appear on his lips.

Seems like he still needs to get used to their presence.

It was as if the child sensed the bitterness in his thoughts because soon a pair of wide eyes connected with lilac. Even with the sun hiding behind dreary clouds, there was a light that twinkled in their irises.

It was only for a minute, no, even less than that. But a young dragon and a young human held each other’s gaze.

The child’s shoulders jolt as they turn their head back toward the wall, as if a voice called for them. Casting one last glance toward the young dragon, the child trots back toward the wall, disappearing within the murky viridescent.

And that was the end, like the breeze that littered a scrap of fabric among the grass, the small human came and went.

Such fickle creatures, the young dragon gives it one last thought before returning his attention back to a cluttered desk.

–

Amongst the soft drumming of droplets came a tap against the glass too sharp to be caused by the gentle rain. Causing the young dragon to turn away from the stacks of books laid out before him.

The wet glass obscured a small flicker of an orange glow, thus he walked closer to investigate. With each step, the figure outside the window became undeciphered.

That small human again.

Locking eyes with the human outside the glass, the fickle creature’s lips curl up, the glow of their lamp illuminating the curiosity behind their gaze.

A human child doesn’t have the potential to cause much if any harm to him. Thus, he releases the lock, removing the glass barrier separating two breathes.

“Hello! What is uh… your name?” They chirp out.

His sharp ears picked up the clumsiness in their speech, the subtle unfamiliarity of the words they spoke. Distinct signs that you were still learning the language of Fontaine, much like him.

Although he understood your question, he was too distracted to answer. Lilac eyes wandering off toward the stone wall. Within the entangled mess of twigs, there was a small parting.

A part just wide enough to reveal the secret the bushes desperately tried to hide: A small hole along the bottom of the stone barrier. Just enough for a small creature to slip through.

Discovering the truth behind how a small human was able to defeat such a seemingly impenetrable wall.

The pattering of the rain was interrupted by the rustling of fabric, drawing his attention back to the small human in front of him.

The child rummages through their pockets before pulling out a lump covered by a handkerchief. Peeling back the layer of fabric to reveal some conch madeleines, presenting fragmented sweets before the young dragon.

“It tastes good, I promise.” A small hand extends itself further through the open window.

Observing the crumbly sweets laid out upon a handkerchief, the young dragon halted the rejection that almost escaped his lips. Remembering the concepts he had just been reading before this.

Humans tend to follow a set of unwritten rules, principles they like to call ‘manners’. There weren’t any punishments issued by law if those rules were broken, no imprisonment or fines.

However, narrow-eye stares and whispers behind backs were the punishments issued to transgressors by society.

So, he accepts a piece, trying to ignore the sand-like sensation against his tongue. As he chewed, the grin on the human’s face only got wider.

“Now that you’ve taken one, you have to give me your name, it’s only uh… fair!”

Ah, it looks like he’s been tricked. Falling into the clumsy sugar-coated trap only a child could come up with. Yet, as his lilac gaze caught the twinkle still ever so bright in their eyes, he didn’t have the strength to form a frown.

Just a curious human child, only as dangerous as a firefly buzzing in his ear. There shouldn’t be any harm in disclosing the surname bestowed upon him by this nation.

“Neuvillette.” He finally said his first words to you.

A peculiar pattern is recurring. That rainy night when Neuvillette opened those windows, it looked like he welcomed a phenomenon in as well.

Even in his current state, a small human like you could pose no possible threat to him. Thus, whenever a certain tap was placed against the glass. He saw no reason to turn away the visitor. Allowing you to climb in through his window time and time again.

It would’ve been better if you used the door. However, he’s aware of the complications such a request would bring.

Perhaps it’s because he’s currently in the form of a young child, sharing a similar stature to yours. From his observations, humans do have a tendency to gravitate toward those with similar traits. Or perhaps, you’re just exceptionally brazen.

Neuvillette glances up from his book, thick with endless sentences describing obscure and frivolous laws, landing on your frame lazing around upon a rug.

One hand holds onto a collection of fables, pages illuminated by the gentle rays of a star. While the other periodically reaches out toward a pile of conch madeleine.

A sight he’s come to expect now.

Lavender eyes follow your hand as it brings another one of the crumbly sweets to your mouth again. You brought them over under the pretense of sharing them with him, yet they’re already half gone. The only hand reaching for the sweets being yours.

Just like how it was last time, and the time before that, and the one before that as well.

If you felt this complacent in his presence now, then perhaps he can be more candid with you. As is common practice among humans to present a polite front that gradually wears away each recurring meeting.

“You do not have to bring over any more conch madeleine.”

The moment those words left his lips the motion of your hand halted, looking up to connect your sight with his, confusion pinching together your brows.

“Oh? Why so suddenly?” The collection of fables now resting on the rug.

It’s already been done, the first ripple in the frangible water between you and him. There is nothing that can cease the waves that accompany the first breach. He might as well say the whole truth.

“They are dry, I cannot fathom how you can bring yourself to eat them.” Prescriptive eyes caught a faint flinch as you processed his edict.

“They taste fine to me…” You mutter, picking another one up.

This time you chewed slower. The pinch between your brow only grew as you tasted the sweet again, searching for the perceived flaw.

As you met his gaze once more, he could tell your search brought forth no fruitful conclusions. Thus you asked another question in response.

“Then what do you like?”

Besides the pleasantries commonly exchanged between humans in Fontaine, Neuvillette recognizes he lacks the talent for small talk.

The room usually filled with your grievances about whichever tedious task you were assigned before you slipped away behind a wall and into his private residence. Ambient noise which accompanied each flip of a law book.

It is long overdue for him to pull his weight in a conversation.

“Water, spring water.”

“Huh?”

Neuvillette repeats his sentence but the scrunch of your brows doesn’t ease up, he couldn’t fight the urge to draw in a deep breath. So this is the limitation of the human palate, how regrettable.

“Perhaps you are still too simple to appreciate the qualities of water.”

The pout upon your crumb-covered lips morphs into a tight line, sealing away your voice. The brightly printed cover of a storybook was shut as the last few remaining treats were bundled away in a napkin.

Your tea break ended early today, impassive eyes following your figure as it disappeared among the thick vegetation beside a stone barrier.

It was quiet today, not even a single parting uttered past your sealed lips. Therefore leaving the conversation unfinished.

But that is today, you’ll have another tea break tomorrow, and you’ll come to him with your grievances about chores tomorrow as well.

The young dragon returns his focus to the text in front of him.

–

The soft hymn of raindrops against a glass window reverbed through the solitary study, providing a melody for the periodic flips of paper. But the melody was hollow, incomplete.

Shifting his body to look behind himself at the vacant rug, Neuvillette deduces why. The accompaniment was missing.

That tomorrow he had come to expect never came.

Had he committed a transgression? Overstep a line outside his place? Food is a point of pride for many humans, one oddity he’s yet to grasp.

These temperamental creatures tend to lash out when their pride is wounded, much like how a beast reacts to an unhealed cut.

Neuvillette was curious as to whether this was an inherent trait of humanity or a learned by-product of the fickle principles imposed on themselves.

However, observing the abandoned storybook tucked away, the young dragon is leaning towards the former.

Turning back to face his desk, his eyes could only glaze over the monotonous scribbles. Perhaps the cause of his spiritless attitude was disappointment, disappointment in himself.

It looks like he was careless, deluding himself with the misconception that you and him were alike. Two outsiders who found solace in each other’s presence.

However, this was false. You were an outsider to Fontaine, but he was an outsider to this world where humans walked.

He’s still too naive.

Fickle and temperamental creatures spoiled by the usurpers at the expense of his ancestors.

Why did he even entertain the thought that you and him could ever be alike?

Something stirred from within, like when pebbles were thrown into still water, but what were those pebbles? As Neuvillette ponders this conundrum, the drumming of the rain grows louder.

However, it wasn’t loud enough to swallow up the sharp set of taps which interrupted his somber reflection. Jolting him from his thoughts, snapping his attention to the source of the noise.

There stood a figure distorted by the wet glass as another set of sharp taps sounded through the room.

Before Neuvillette could even process it, his body moved without his command. Unlatching the lock and setting the window free from its frame.

Not sparing another second to the raindrops soaking into their cloak, the figure clambers through the window with practiced proficiency.

Without uttering a single greeting, not even one pleasantry, you situated yourself on his floor. Melting into an undignified lump on the pristine tiles as bewildered eyes watched you.

After catching a few breaths, an explanation finally makes its way to his ears.

“T-they… they patched… up the hole,” you huffed out between short breaths.

Ah, the small cavity in the stone wall that you used to escape from chores. Looks like the security at the estate finally noticed.

Gauging the height of the wall from his place by the window, he’s aware of how it towers over both him and you the same.

This brings up another question as he returns to observe your frame, still trying to catch the breaths that evade you.

“I… ran… through the gates… before the… Gardes noticed…” Exhaustion evident in your eyes as pants break up your sentence.

Ah, looks like his question was answered before he even inquired. To be puzzled or amazed, he wasn’t too sure how to categorize this ripple inside him.

The tomorrow that’s been missing for a little more than two weeks, is now right in front of him.

Panting and leaving a few muddy traces along the marble floor, but here nonetheless.

With one deep motion of your lungs, you pushed your body up, finally getting ahold of your breath. The familiar rustle of your pocket, the audio cue for a certain dry sweet to appear. Neuvillette didn’t mind in the least.

Perhaps, he can bear the sandy sensation just for today. But tomorrow is always filled up with surprises, a glass bottle finding its way out of your pocket instead of sugary treats.

“What is that?” An obvious question, but his voice found its way out of his mouth.

“Water, water from the servant’s well, I bottled it myself.” A small hand holds the bottle out more.

“Thank you,” Neuvillette accepts it into his hands.

He should really acquire some glasses to pour the water out into, it’s improper and bad manners to drink from the bottle.

However, his curiosity was greater. Or maybe, he didn’t realize just how parched he had become from waiting for tomorrow.

Uncapping the clumsily packaged water, he takes a generous sip.

“It’s sweet.” His tongue picking up on a subtle saccharine undertone.

“Really?” Your hand reaches up as that familiar shine illuminates your eyes.

Taking a sip from the bottle passed back into your grasp, your brows furrowing in concentration. Another sip was taken from the bottle as you continued to search for the sweetness in the water you’ve always drank.

A sight that tugged up at the lips of a boy still studying the shape of your quirked brows.

Humans, fickle, perplexing, yet astoundingly curious creatures from the very beginning.

If he is to walk amongst the human world, then it’s best for him to be equally curious. To try and search for the harmony between two different breaths.

A child of a maid far from their homeland. A status too insignificant to warrant the attention of Fontaine's factions, freeing you from their prying eyes and entanglements.

Therefore, it should be alright for him to continue observing you, no?

“Ahh… The rain is so unpredictable here in Fontaine, trying to hang out the wash here is always a gamble.” You sink further into the plush cushions of his settee.

As the sun rose and fell, as the leaves grew green then gold, as the ground froze and thawed.

One thing remained unchanged throughout these cycles even as they repeated: your grievances over chores.

The frequency of these complaints reaching his ears has increased, on the part that you now took over more of your mother’s responsibilities in managing the laundry of this estate.

Besides your habitual complaints of the weather, one detail didn’t escape Neuvillette’s hearing: your proficiency in the Fontainian language has increased significantly.

Words no longer spoken clumsily or with unfamiliarity. Accent nearly indistinguishable from a native speaker.

“The people here are fond of creating strange machinery, why can’t they make something to dry clothes?” You resume.

The quill in his hand stops as he pauses in the middle of a sentence, glancing over his shoulder toward your slouching figure making yourself comfortable in the sofa that’s more familiar with your shape than his.

“Perhaps you should be the one to create it, studying might do you some good as well,” came his curt response.

His candid advice makes you sink further into the cushions with a groan.

“I’d rather travel than study those jumbled-up books about machinery or whatever, in fact, I want to visit my homeland as soon as I can,” you grumble aloud.

Ah, that’s right, you’re approaching the age where you could travel freely.

By law, you won’t be bound to the side of your mother, not needing any permission to come to and fro however you wish. No longer kept at this estate washing and folding sheets.

Indeed, you and him found yourselves in similar situations: on the cusp of freedom from this estate.

While he was deep in thought, you filled the silence left behind by posing a question to him.

“Do you plan on visiting your homeland anytime soon, Neuvi?”

By now, the young dragon had stopped expending the effort to try and correct you in your butchering of his surname. Your reason being ‘it’s too long’.

Alongside you, he has grown in stature as well, elapsing you some time ago much to your dismay. If he wished to travel, not much would pose a problem to the young dragon.

However… where could he return to? A homeland… was there a section of his homeland untouched by the usurpers? If he were to go, would he ever want to return to this world?

Sensing the change in the air, dreary clouds blocking the sun’s rays from your skin, you were perceptive enough to ramble about a different matter.

Namely, how the chef of the estate recently changed the type of flour used in the kitchens, resulting in pastries and sweets that were less airy but more flavorful.

Explaining to him the subtle improvements and deterioration in the quality of some baked goods. Filling the air of the study with bright-eyed ramblings until rays of light peek out from waning clouds.

–

“Monsieur Neuvillette! It’s been a while since you’ve visited!” Soft patters of skipping steps made their way to the tall man.

Tilting his sights down, Neuvillette greets the cheery melusine with a gentle smile which she returned with an equally bright grin.

While on a routine stroll along the riverbanks to stretch his legs after a long day, he found himself at the entrance of Merusea Village.

He wonders if it's his body’s natural response to get away from the Palais Mermonia and Opera Epiclese.

Carrying him toward the direction of a secluded reprieve he discovered far away from the suspicious eyes of weary humans.

Condemnatory eyes were constantly pinned to the back of the young dragon who had recently emerged from a sheltered estate to sit in the grand seat of a Chief Justice.

Days filled with nothing but a cacophony of voices echoing off the opera house walls. Screams from the accused and the eager murmurs of spectators blended into nothing more than a chaotic din in his ears.

Gazing deeper into the small lake, the unsuspecting entrance to a hidden haven that the Melusines called home.

It would only take a moment, just one dip into the pristine water for him to disappear from the clamorous mortal realm.

Abandoning the overly grand seat of his post as easily as it would take for his head to vanish under the tranquil tide.

How great would it be to exist in the presence of creatures who could resonate with his own adriftness?

Maybe, he could finally discover the purpose of his current form and longevity in their company. Yes, that sounds about right.

Just as the water wet the tip of his overly ornate shoe, all motion his body stills at a familiar call.

“NEUVI!” Came a voice from just over the beaten path.

Soon your silhouette follows the echo of your call, steps hurried yet worn.

When the young dragon departed from his temporary estate and into the Palais Mermonia, a certain specter followed him as well.

The same specter who’s currently huffing to catch their breath after such a rush. Trying to gather enough air to form their next sentence.

“There you are! The grand tailor sent me to fetch you because you’re almost an hour late to the fitting of your new robe, they need to make sure the measurements are correct,” you chide.

The exasperation of your words was most definitely caused by the fact you had to physically exert yourself in your search for the wandering Chief Justice. Evident by the pout on your lips and scrunched nose.

His attention was quickly torn away from your recuperating figure by a faint tug of his slacks.

The Melusine had hidden herself behind his legs, creating a barrier between her and the strange mortal who seemingly appeared from the blue.

Her sudden movement caught your attention as well.

Ah, that’s right. The Melusines have yet to be acquainted with humans, and humans with Melusines.

Two different species, two different breaths, and two different sets of eyes that can’t seem to see directly into each other.

If his time within the wall of the estate and Palais Mermonia had proven anything, it would be the natural adversity humans had to differences.

Neuvillete certainly wasn’t prepared for such an event, nor was he sure how to handle it.

In the midst of his inaction, your hand reached into your pocket, fumbling around before pulling out a handkerchief-covered lump.

Despite the soreness in your legs, you lowered your body until you were at eye level with the shorter Melusine.

“Hello there, would you like some conch madeleines?” Unraveling the fabric to reveal the sweets which you seem to have an abundant supply of.

The grip on his slacks tightened as she glanced up at him, lilac eyes catching the hesitance in her irises. Neuvillette gives a subtle nod, giving just enough reassurance for the small creature to release his pant leg.

Reaching a mitten-like hand toward the golden sweets, it only took one bite for the hesitance in her eyes to be replaced by a bright twinkle.

“It’s tasty isn’t it?” Your lips formed a wider grin.

The Melusine responds with an eager nod, too occupied with bringing more of the buttery treat into her mouth.

At the sight of her restless chewing covering her cheeks with faint crumbs, you let out a giggle.

“I’ll give you the rest of the sweets if you tell me your name,” you offered.

After a few moments of the Melusine finishing her previous bite, she falls for the same trap he had many years ago.

“My name is Carole!” She chirps.

“What a wonderful name.” Your gaze softened further as you held out the treats, keeping your promise.

As Carole reaches for more, she glances back up. Wide eyes twinkling as she inquires him with the one thought currently on her mind.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, does the human world have more treats as delicious as these?”

Ah, it looks like the stroll Neuvillette took today to relieve himself of mounting troubles only led him to more.

The skies over the Court of Fontaine have been in a pensive stalemate, all too familiar clouds blocking azure hues. However, rain has yet to patter on the ground, as if the weather was unsure of itself.

A feeling shared by the Chief Justice currently sitting at his desk, reviewing the details of the day’s trials. Albeit, half heartily.

Much like the skies crowded with clouds, in the solitude of his office, his mind rang loud with thoughts. Neuvillette only had himself to blame for the current silence of his office, it’s been this way for around a week going on two now.

Lilac eyes peered over the tops of the papers toward the shut doors, concealing him away. There hasn’t been a knock on those doors for some time now, due to the diligent Melusines who followed his request.

Turning away potential visitors with crafted excuses of ‘The Chief Justice is handling a very important case’ or ‘My apologies, but the Chief Justice is very busy’.

Neuvillette recognizes that he’s currently no different than a child hiding away from the consequences of a broken vase.

How childish, he chides himself as he returns back to his responsibilities. How would the citizens of Fontaine react to their Chief Justice conducting himself in such a manner?

He’s sure if Lady Furina were to catch wind of his behavior, she’d be greatly entertained.

As if the mere mention of the nation’s archon presented a bad omen, the sturdy doors of his office swung open, revealing the face of a familiar visitor who’s been turned away one too many times.

“My my, it’s been quite some time since I’ve seen the inside of this office, I almost forgot what it looks like,” you remark as your eyes hone in on him.

The child’s hiding place under the bed has been exposed.

“Good afternoon, I was not made aware you had any appointments with me.” Neuvillette’s own eyes trail past yours.

From behind the door frames the figures of two Melusines quickly dodged away from his sight. A silent admission of guilt on their part, and Neuvillette didn’t have to look hard to deduce the crime they’ve committed: Accepting bribes.

The evidence was right there in the form of buttery crumbs left on the corner of their mouths. Ah, you and with those conch madeleines of yours.

It’d be best for him to finally handle the situation at hand, one he’s been trying to maneuver out of.

“If I recall correctly, you were granted a vacation, why not take this chance to travel? It certainly is a prime opportunity-”

“Why have you been avoiding me, Monsieur?” you cut through the long-winded pleasantries and excuses.

His lips press together, by now he’s well accustomed to your brazenness. However, the absence of a familiar name only said in your voice made the guilt weigh heavier on his shoulders.

Guilt which originated a few weeks prior.

—

On a secluded riverbank, a routine walk under clear skies was halted. You were knelt down on the ground, uncaring of the sand sticking to the fabric of your clothes, as you held a Melusine between your arms. Two mittened hands clung to you as she soaked your shoulder with tears.

“W-why? Why did he have to go?” Her sobs interrupted by sudden hiccups.

As you rubbed circles into her back, something he saw humans do to soothe their crying young, Neuvillette watched from the side. Much like how he would observe those performances within the Opera Epiclese.

Liath is her name, a diligent Melusine who patrolled the grounds of the Palais Mermonia. By her side, there would be a guard poodle who’d matched her skips with his prances. An inseparable duo, or it’d be more accurate to say, they were once an inseparable duo.

Dogs are a species domesticated by humans, some might argue that they were created by humanity through generations of selection. So it stands to reason that they too would have a limited lifespan.

In fact, they have a lifespan even more restricted than that of the mortals who tamed them.

The Melusines have just begun walking amongst humans, there were still many aspects their sheltered minds have yet to grasp. The fleetingness of mortality is one of them.

Thus, Neuvillette did his best to caution them.

However, just like how laws can’t completely stop crimes, his words can’t completely prevent such tragedies. All he could do was try.

“I’m sorry for your grief, this was the very reason why I cautioned you against getting too attached to him… A dog’s life is brief-”

“Monsieur Neuvillette.”

The sentence died at the tip of his tongue as his eyes met yours. Gaze narrowed and brows furrowed, not even the Chief Justice dared to interject any further.

After you silenced him, your focus returned back to the grieving Melusine.

Slowly standing back up from the ground, her frame cradled in your arms as her sobs continued.

“I know it hurts,” you whispered, one hand patting her back, setting a steady rhythm reminding her to breathe.

“B-but why? W-why is it so sad?” she hiccuped.

You hummed, beginning to bounce her a bit within your hold.

“Wouldn’t it be sadder if you never met him?”

At your question, the Melusine stares at you through teary eyes. Expression lined with confusion.

“To have loved him, and for him to have loved you in return…isn’t that enough?” You cooed, taking steps away from the riverbank.

Still frozen in his place, the dragon could only stare at your back as it grew further and further away, soon disappearing from his view.

He had misspoke.

Neuvillette recalled last Autumn. As the vivid hues of the foliage shriveled up to nothing more than a shadow of their former beauty, you laid your mother to rest. Burying her in a cemetery which overlooked the direction of your homeland.

His unsolicited reprimand must have been throwing salt into a wound that still bled. He had overstepped his authority.

Murky clouds congregated in the once clear sky.

—

Those were the events that transpired, events that have led to the current stalemate happening in his office. Lilac eyes couldn’t seem to find the courage to connect with yours. Another excuse finding its way to his tongue.

“Didn’t you want to visit your homeland?”

“Oh?” Your brow quirks up, as your hands find their way to your hips.

“And then who’d be here to repair the tears in your robe when you inevitably step on them?” Obviously unimpressed by his suggestion.

“Surely there are other talented tailors here that can handle the task,” he rebukes.

“Oh? Will they also untangle your hair from the ornamentation of chairs?” You press on.

“I can manage.”

“Then can the Chief Justice also manage all the uniforms for the Melusines? Can he sew every button and ensure they fit correctly?”

Ah, with your last statement, Neuvillette concedes. A hush fills the room.

The Melusines are still new to walking amongst humans, not many were willing to tailor specialized uniforms for their short stature. Thus, you took up the mantle.

Perhaps out of a sense of responsibility, it was you who stirred their curiosity with those sweets of yours.

It seems responsibilities tethered you to the Court of Fontaine, much like they did to him. After a few breaths, as always, your voice shatters the stalemate.

“I’m not upset, Neuvi.”

With those words, his lilac eyes finally connect with yours. Finally able to see the soft curls at the corners of your lips.

It indeed has been a while since he last saw such a sight.

This time instead of replying with an excuse, he responds with a gentle hum.

“Ugh, why are your curtains so dusty? When was the last time you went outside?” It wasn’t long before your attention returned to the state of his office.

Strolling past his desk, your hands began to fuss with the thick drapes. Pouting at the dust that coated the lush fabrics.

All Neuvillette could do was follow with his gaze, papers long pushed to the side as for the first time in a while, an azure hue was seen peeking through the clouds.

From his observations, it’s instinctive for humans to avoid pain. However, it’d be hypocritical of him to judge mortals for actions he’s been guilty of.

“If I knew I had to work this hard now, I would’ve skipped more chores back at the estate,” you chuckle, pulling back the drapes to allow gold to illuminate his office.

To have loved and have been loved in return.

Was this the human rationale behind taming a dog? Having the reality of the future constantly lurking over each happy moment as the hands of time tick forward.

Why do humans dote on pets? Creatures that only live a fraction of a mortal life?

Are happy memories a fair exchange for bitter grief, or are they the cure?

As Neuvillette counts the strands of peeking silver that mingle within your lush locks, he prays he finds the answer soon.

The clacks of ornate shoes reverberate down once unfamiliar halls, a towering figure lurks past bustling nurses who bow their heads at the sight of the Chief Justice as he passes by.

With a body like his, there is no reason for him to wander among these halls. Or more accurately, there once was no reason.

The taps of his soles slowed as a familiar door came into view, the only detail which differentiated it from the rest of the hall being the brass numbers displayed. Bringing up a glove-clothed knuckle, delicate taps were placed against the wood.

Almost immediately, a muffled ‘come in’ resounded behind the frame. Granting the Iudex permission to turn the polished knob, allowing him entry as the hinges sang their welcome.

“My, my, if it isn’t Monsieur Neuvillette, to whom do I owe the pleasure?” A grin spreads across your face, crinkling the corners of your eyes.

Instantly his frame stiffens in the midst of returning the door to its frame. Bringing his free hand up to his face, Neuvillette coughs as to compose himself once more.

“Please, forgo the formalities.”

Though your eyes might not be as sharp as they once were, the delicate dusting of pink along his pointed ears couldn’t escape their sight. Making your eyes crinkle more.

Feeling entertained enough, you cease your teasing and gesture toward the vacant chair beside your bed.

Obediently, his towering figure strides up to the seat, the wood squeaking under his weight as he settles onto it.

By now, the dragon has grown accustomed the structure of greetings, beginning with a layer of pleasantries.

“How have you been fairing?” Lavender eyes scrutinize the sheets and pillows, searching for any unapparent flaws.

“It’s just a mild case of pneumonia,” you muse aloud.

Momentarily resting his eyes behind a slow blink, all he could do was sigh at your brazen nonchalantness. Yet with a ghost of a smile on the same lips that sighed.

It was a mild case of pneumonia, a common ailment during the frosty months. For someone as steadfast as you, such an illness might’ve surrendered to your stubbornness.

It might've surrendered… if your body had remained as it once was.

How unfortunate it all is, that time is so cruel to mortal creatures.

Attentive eyes detailing each crease that settled by your lips, remnants of the many grins and laughs that stretched your face.

The basking light of a selfish star catches in your hair, lush hues that have faded to brilliant ivory. A shade that you often compare to his while jesting, ‘We match now’.

However, Neuvillette begs to differ, the sunlight is much more luminous in your tresses.

Trailing his sights back to your gaze. Deep lines formed by countless dynamic expressions drew attention to the glimmer forever present in your irises. Like paths on a map that led lilac eyes to yours.

“How are you finding your stay?” At times, Neuvillette found himself wondering how the azure tides appeared from your view.

“Mm, quite uneventful, eating, staring out a window, sleeping.”

He hums in response, contemplating if he should inquire you about such subjects. As you ramble, perhaps the dragon could grasp onto an inkling of understanding.

“Well, at least I can say that my stay has been anything but lonely.” Your eyes motioning toward a corner.

The bland, sterile wall overshadowed by a mass comprised of trinkets ranging from local flowers to any object whose surface catches light.

The heap grows day by day as each Melusine continues to bring their earnest gratitude to the human who sew each stitch of their coats. A sight that could stir even the most placid lake.

“They’re such sweethearts.” Each one of your words coated with endearment.

Once more, all the dragon could respond with was a mellow hum. Slow breaths fill the complacent silence between two species, one blessed by time and one shunned by it.

Neuvillette has grown accustomed to the structure of conversations but, alas, he still has no talent for small talk.

In the absence of dialogue, the layer of short pleasantries long dissolving, Neuvillette is left with nothing but his inquiries. It was all he had left, and so it was all he could offer.

“Are there any regrets you hold?”

“Oh oh? Getting sentimental so out of the blue, Neuvi?” A familiar quirk graces your brow.

“It’s nothing of the sort, just a musing that drifted in my mind during a stroll, I wish to know your thoughts on the matter.”

“Mmm… I don’t feel that I have any regrets, living an honest life and having the fortune to never have stepped foot in the Fortress of Meropide.”

“Is that really all? You never did get to travel like you dreamed of back at the estate.”

“Haha, trying to stump me with that, Neuvi?” you chuckle.

Relaxing more into the pillows which propped up your weary frame, you trail your sights toward the window.

“Didn’t I tell you already? I’ll have plenty of time to travel once I become a cloud, I can go everywhere the sky can reach.” Smile softening on your lips.

Neuvillette’s folded hands grasp one another tighter on his lap, his own lips pressing each other into a thin line.

The conversation was teetering closer and closer to the unspoken reality looming like a shadow in the room.

He wasn’t sure when it started, maybe when the first silver strands appeared in your hair or when you discovered his skin won’t wrinkle along with you.

He wasn’t sure when your adamant belief of becoming a cloud once the shadow came to claim you started.

Neuvillette wonders if this daydream was the product of those fables you browsed when you laid upon a plush rug.

Or was it your personally crafted fable to explain the incomprehensible to a creature who couldn’t fully grasp it?

A creature whose skin didn’t wrinkle, whose bones didn’t grow brittle. A creature seemingly untouched by time.

Fairytales do serve this purpose for children, magical fantasies to make uncomfortable realities palatable to naive minds.

“...vi?... Ne…?... Neuvi.”

A hand marred with age takes hold of one glove-clad hand, and a pleasant heat radiates through the leather. Coaxing Neuvillette’s attention back from its escapade.

“My apologies, I was lost in thought for a moment.” He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

But the frown weighing down on your lips didn’t disappear, much like how retreating into musings couldn’t wash away any shadows.

Your chest moves with a deep inhale.

“Maybe I do have one regret,” you began.

Readjusting your ailing fingers in his hold so that he could hold them with equal endearment, his ears concentrate on your voice.

“Actually, I have many,” you sigh.

Before he could formulate a response, you continued.

“I wish I could have shoulder the burdens you carry. I wish you would’ve shared them with me. And I wish I could even understand them, then maybe I could have understood you more.” Turning to face him, your disheartened eyes center on his frame.

A child born from a maid, a maid who traveled to Fontaine in hopes of a better future for her child. That was your origin, an outsider with neither fame nor fortune.

Thus, even as you followed him from a secluded estate to the grand Palais Mermonia, you could never follow him in status nor influence.

As unrest grew, as injustices mounted, and as tragedies took away friends.

All you could do was repair tears, sew buttons, and pour him a crisp glass of spring water as you waited for the storm to wash despair away.

That was how you saw it. But Neuvillette rebukes that notion.

The dignity of a newly established Chief Justice, who kept stepping on his overly ornate robes, was carefully maintained by you.

The Melusine’s uniforms, which solidified their presence in the human world, were crafted by you.

The patient hand that always offered silent comfort in the suffocating courts was yours.

Standing by his side, even as your bones grew to ache, to ensure the storm would pass and the sun emerge once more.

“You’ve done more than enough.” He states the truth, grasping your hand just a bit tighter.

“Are you sure?” Those airy chuckles of yours made their appearance again.

“I never even learned your real name,” you interject.

A knife, red hot and fresh from the forge, would have hurt less than the guilt which tore through him at that moment.

The Chief Justice, the symbol of honesty and conviction, is unable to tell the simplest truth.

What shall he do now?

The power of a name is often underestimated, the exchanging of names signifying the forging of a bond. One that would forever tether him to you and you to him.

Oh, what shall he do now?

Before his hesitant lips could take action, they were halted by a squeeze from your ailing grasp. Firm and warm, like a light that guides him up from the bottom of a turbulent ocean.

“You don’t have to tell me now, Neuvi, tell me when I come back from my trip.” Those gentle eyes of yours smile at him.

Reeling his hand in closer to you with your own, until the softness of your lips was felt along covered knuckles.

A common practice in Fontaine, one Neuvillette had witnessed time and time again as he passed the lovers who congregated by the Fountain of Leucine. Actions that dedicated promises to one another.

“I swear, once I’ve traveled enough, once I grow bored of foreign scenery, I’ll fall back down like rain to your side.” You whisper into the kiss.

It was his turn now, and he shall honor this ritual. Tenderly bringing in your hand to him, Neuvillette places his oath.

“Then I swear, when you return, I’ll tell you my name.” He whispers in the kiss.

The sterile rooms echo your airy chuckles as he keeps your hand close to himself for just a bit longer.

“Mmm… Where I should go first? Maybe I’ll just amble about,” you ponder aloud.

Gracing him with a smile which stretched your face and brought that familiar glimmer into your eyes.

“I wish you well on your travels.” Neuvillette presses another kiss into your knuckles.

–

Spring was always the rainy season for Fontaine, with gentle temperate showers to welcome the budding blooms back from their Winter sleep.

However, this year the torrential downpour was anything but gentle.

Planned trips canceled for the season, clothes remaining damp in baskets, and streets empty of their vigor. Even the Melusines couldn’t bring a skip to their steps.

It was as if time itself was slowed by the burdensome downpour.

The cawing of crows as their wings beat against the dreary winds adds to the lonely hymn sung by the raindrops.

At once the cadence of the rain increased, the downpour growing heavier, and the violent pattering grew deafening. As if the sky was now belting out their sorrowful ballad.

The rain could try. The skies can cry all they would like. But time, a cruel and unforgiving mistress, won’t ever stop.

To have loved and been loved, was it truly enough?

In Neuvillete’s eyes, he was the tide and you were the shore. The ebb and flow of water as the tide and shore met, time and time again.

Each crash into the shore stirred up something perplexing and disorderly within the tide, irritating like the sand that mixed into the pristine waves.

So the tide tried to retreat into the lonesome ocean.

Each time, the shore followed through grains of sand which the tide couldn’t ever seem to purge himself of.

Each time, the shore beckoned the tide to return to the sandy beaches of humanity filled with perplexities and disorder.

And each time, the tide surrendered to the call of the shore, lured in by its warmth.

But now, the shore has eroded away.

Where does the tide go now?

Drifting now in the vastness of a lonesome ocean, carrying nothing but grains of sand. What shall the tide do now?

Neuvillette still has a lot to learn, for he couldn’t answer this riddle conjured by his own mind.

Unable to stop himself, the lone dragon stares off into the rain.

Eyes honing in the direction of a peaceful hill, one where a mother and child were laid to rest side by side overlooking a homeland they never got to visit.

Maybe that was the first destination of your journey.

During these past short years spent in this land, the young successor of the dragons has gained traitorous knowledge. One that undermines his preconceived purpose.

Neuvillette feels he’s grasped onto the faintest inkling of why humans, as fickle, perplexing, and fleeting as they are, were still the most beloved creatures of the gods.

Perhaps, he even understands now why those usurpers were willing to uproot the earth just for those beloved creatures.

The wet season transitions into the dry season, then the dry season will transition into another wet season. Again and again, on and on as the hands of a clock ticks forward.

Each new tick signifies another step forward in the march of time.

Each step brings change and each step pulls the present away from the past.

The rainy season of Spring was no longer as troublesome as it once was, as there was now a machine on the market that could dry clothes without the help of a bright star.

Melusines skip along down the paved paths of the Court of Fontaine as humans turn to greet them with endearing smiles.

New cafes line bustling streets as Clockwork Mekas make their evening patrols.

A great many changes have come to Fontaine, Neuvillette witnessed them all from his office at the Palais Mermonia.

A great many changes, yet some things are bound to stay the same. For example, the Chief Justice’s fondness for strolls along vacant riverbanks.

The gentle patters of raindrops lull the chaotic sympathy of trials, paperwork, and duties to a standstill. Reaching a hand out in front of him, Neuvillette catches a few drops in the palm of his gloved hand.

Lilac eyes examine the diminutive puddle in his hand before ultimately releasing the water back to the earth.

He supposes he’s been feeling a bit nostalgic as of late, like a child recalling a story which once soothed them to a peaceful slumber. How childish it was for him to believe he could somehow catch a certain raindrop in his hands.

Turning up toward the drab sky, he searches through the endless and identical droplets that fall down and leave trails along his face.

No, not yet. Perhaps they have yet to see all that the sky has to offer.

Neuvillette returns his focus to the path in front of him. The rhythmic clacks of his shoes match with the soft drumming of the rain, and in the midst of this harmony a voice sings out:

“Hydro dragon… uh… Hydro dragon, don’t cry.”

Halting his stride. Judging by the unfamiliarity of their tongue pronouncing the lullaby, Neuvillette deduces they must be a visitor to Fontaine.

Ah that local legend, just how far has it spread? Nevertheless, an unfortunate traveler who’s unfamiliar with Fontaine’s seasons is now caught in this rain.

It would only be polite to offer them some assistance as the Iudex of this nation. Thus, he turns in the direction of the call.

His suspicions were confirmed once his gaze landed on a distressed frame, their face obscured by the jacket they held over their head in a makeshift umbrella.

It only took a few steps for the towering man to make it to their side.

“There is a tree you can take shelter under just ahead,” he advises the lost traveler.

Now aware of his presence in front of them, they lifted the jacket from their line of sight to peer up at him. Revealing the details of their face to lilac eyes for the first time.

That was all it took for the symphony of rain to come to an end.

Soft drumming decrescendos into tranquility. It seems as if there will be an earlier welcome of flowers.

“Oh?” You gaze up at the azure hue now peeking out from receding gray, astonishment reflected in the glimmer of your eyes.

You’ve only heard of a local Fontainian legend from a guide pamphlet offered to tourists as you awaited the Aquabus.

When the rain suddenly began to pour as you ambled about a riverside, in a moment of desperation as you scrambled for shelter under a thin jacket you uttered the phrase.

You weren’t sure if the hydro dragon could understand your botched pronunciation, but it looks like he did.

Turning back to face the kind stranger, you wanted to convey your amazement to him. But the words fade just off the tip of your tongue when you peek back at the towering man.

Your eyebrows scrunch together as dumbstruck eyes widen at the sight of the drenched man.

“Mister?… Are you alright?” You scan over him, turning your attention away to sift through your pockets.

How bewildering it must be for you to witness a well-dressed and noble figure drenched to the bone. However, Neuvillette made no attempt to stop the rivulets rolling down his cheeks, a parting gift from the Spring showers.

He wonders as his gaze never left your frame, were tears perhaps this warm too?

“Here.” Your concern-ridden hand offers up a neatly folded handkerchief to the drenched man.

As your eyes connect with his, a strange sensation tickled the back of your mind. As if it was trying to recall where you’ve seen the familiar lavender hue.

Maybe they matched the shade of a flower field you stumbled upon during your travels, or maybe that lilac luster was revealed to you in a dream.

A strange familiarity you couldn’t name.

“Thank you very much.” He accepts the simple piece of cloth with tenderness rivaling that of conservators handing the renowned paintings of old masters.

The clouds were long gone by now, perhaps they felt that their purpose had long been fulfilled. The golden rays of a lone star shone with all their brilliance, finally free from behind their blanket of drap clouds.

It was only now that Neuvillette found out. The rain he had been yearning for all these years did in fact see all that the sky had to offer.

They had grown bored of drifting over vast plains, missing the picturesque countryside of Fontaine. Or perhaps their curiosity grew too great, wishing to finally hear a truth that was kept from them.

So much so, they quietly fell down from the sky, to return to his side again.

Much like the hands in a clock, the cycle of water and earth follows a similar circular path.

The rain had eroded away stubborn earth with its diligent drumming over the years.

Bit by bit and piece by piece until stone fractures into bits of sand. Over and over until a sandy beach was formed by the side of a patient sea.

Then the tide will reunite with its long-awaited shore, to return the sand and promise it cradled within its waves for so long.

~Fin

©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.

#vivalabunbunfics #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #neuvillette #genshin impact x reader #genshin angst #genshin fluff #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #neuvillete x reader #neuvilette x reader #neuvillette fluff #neuvillette angst #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #neuvillette headcanons #neuvillette x y/n #neuvilette x you

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daddykinkkinard · 1 month

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! crossposting from my twitter !

bucktommy costume analysis 👔

hi ! i'm a fashion student and am really interested in costume design so i wanted to do a (long) post on tommy's style and how i think buck might be influenced by it in s8 as seen in "buck's britches." :))

[about tommy]

tommy's wardrobe is entirely functional and indicative of his dedication to his work. it's practical, useful, and speaks of his can-do attitude.

all his signature clothes (henleys, shackets, canvas jackets) have historical traces to being used as workwear.

(1) henleys - this one, ironically in the philippines it has its own term in our local language. it's called a camisa de chino and is used by laborers. although i live in a different country, i'm sure its use case is still the same for other countries as it's historically deemed the workman's undergarment.

also: yes. tommy is technically right. there were henleys in the 80s. even in the 1880s. so what we're learning here now folks, is that he's a smartass little shit.

(2) shackets - historically, also an item used by the working class. they were mostly worn to prevent any possible stains on inner clothes from their work (i.e. dirt, grease, grime, etc.)

(3) canvas jacket - although this was only seen in 7x04, it's more likely that he still owns a lot more. (waxed) canvas jackets are traditional workwear often used as weatherproof outerwear or heavy duty rainwear.

as a form of fun speculation, i'd like to think some of these items are also in his closet:

contrast collar canvas jacket

an authentic flight jacket

overalls, but only for when he fixes up the car

denim trucker jacket

if anything, who better to listen to when talking about tommy's clothes than tommy himself !

here's lou's cameo for me describing tommy's closet as rugged, practical and useful :))

[about "buck's britches"]

now to the "buck's britches" post. two notable items of clothing:

the famous flight jacket

baker pants.

now here's the thing about buck:

buck doesn't wear utilitarian clothing. in fact, he doesn't wear woven clothing all that much. he wears knit. knit polos. sweaters. hoodies. he is not a workwear person. in fact: he's a comfort person.

that's his primary reason for style that's a testament to his own character. buck is widely recognized as the more radiant and funny character. he has charisma and is very inviting, which is accompanied by his choice in clothing.

soft, warm, comfortable.

which goes back to the photo ostark posted on his instagram story.

(1) flight jacket - here's where i have to go and burst everyone's bubble for a bit. this is only a flight jacket because it's labelled as such. but categorically, it isn't. flight jackets are the classic term for bomber jackets.

bomber jackets (and flight jackets) were workwear used by the military, characterized by garterized cuffs and hems and short bodices. for pilots, they were interchangeable. but modernly, they have some more definable features.

characteristically, flight (or aviator) jackets are leather with shearling or sherpa collars. bomber jackets are the modernized version taking the silhouette and cuff designs and making them more accessible through material choice (linen—like buck—nylon, silk)

(2) baker pants - as the name suggests, it's a piece of kitchen workwear often in twill (which i'd assume is what oliver is wearing), denim, cotton or linen. it's characterized by the topstitching to outline the pockets and diagonal pocket openings (vs. the usual curve).

so very evidently: buck has been influenced by tommy's style. he's wearing woven material versus knit for one. if i were hopeful, i'd say they're exploring one another's style because they're sharing a closet.

[character analysis]

woven fabric as a material is sturdy. it's more structured and does not stretch. think: cotton, linen, rayon, wool, denim. what this means for buck is that, by virtue of being tommy's boyfriend he is introduced to structure, groundedness and maturity.

tommy's closet is filled with utilitarian clothing and workwear. he, as a character, is known to be emotionally grounded and mature and it translates to his clothing.

buck adapting the defining features of his wardrobe shows how much tommy has helped him get off his hamster wheel.

in fact, even the inverse can be noted. when buck asks for a second chance and practices communication towards tommy. he's wearing a woven buttondown. and in emphasizing tommy's desire to make buck comfortable, he's in a hoodie. neither of which are common for one another.

buck and tommy, even through subtle clothing choices are becoming part of one another's world and that makes me so soft as someone whose love language is fashion.

[wishful thinking]

perhaps maybe we could see tommy in a fully casual sweat set? i know that they might be protecting lfjr but man. if i see a hoodie on him. (nqueso, if you can sneak me a photo of him in knitwear ill love you forever i just want to prove my theory right i wont even post it)

if they are putting buck in this sort of attire, my guess (or hope) is that they have tommy ease up too.

it would be nice to show buck's effect on tommy as much as tommy's effect on buck because tommy's an established character and has a backstory that the writers could explore.

so if the 9-1-1 costume designers ever see this:

please put tommy in a sweat set. or a hoodie. (not a zip-up one, im talking real hoodie). i'm willing to compromise with overalls. i see what you're doing with buck's wardrobe, and love it. maybe tommy's could soften up too :))

thanks for reading ! 🫶

#911 on abc #tommy kinard #bucktommy #evan buckley #tevan #911 abc #lou ferrigno jr #bi buck #911 #costume #costume design #analysis #sorry its a long post im just sort of obsessed with the idea of them sharing closets #my beloved #i love fashion #costume design analysis #contemporary costuming

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katyahina · 4 months

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The 'haired' helmets are strange..

It IS odd how we get to wear the characters' hairstyles, as it is just really unlikely they're scalps! I suppose the explanation is the same as why we are able to completely change upon looking into a mirror at Roundtable's Hold; as long as the Tarnished is guided by Greater Will, they'll have its aid and be transformed into whatever they see fit to keep carrying on! So I think the implication here is that we do, physically, grow the hair of the demigods (or champions) upon trying to tap on their power! I think if GW abandons a Tarnished, or if they abandon it, they lose this 'ability', which our playable character never does, so..

I am not sure whether it is Maliketh's own long mane or also a decoration! I'd like to think the former, in which case, same logic as with hair of Malenia, Godfrey and Radahn applies! Vargram's "hair" definitely is a decoration, and specifically for the purpose of imitating shadowbeasts:

Ensha's armour goes even further and not only gives us a hairdo, but makes us a skeleton:

We even get his power of slight regeneration, similar to Erdtree's normal powers:

All implications considered, I really doubt that this is just how armour looks, especially considering no change in size. We are not 'wearing' the skull, we ARE the skull now fhhsfd And this time the NPC data inside simply exists because Ensha does use NPC code and mechanics. So, we turn into a corpse! Again, should not matter much since as long as we're carried by GW we don't need to eat or sleep or... anything, really. (I'll also die on the hill of the theory that Ensha was one of the deceased Marika's offspring whose Mausoleum crashed and what was left from him crawled out but that's another story fdhfhds)

Here are other instances of hair simply decorating a helm:

Niall is that one guy we fight in Castle Sol, so similarity in this case ALSO checks out! Also cute idea: what if decoration for the helmets of Godrick's Knights IS his own hair? ;-;

That could also be speculated about Redmane Knights, but I feel like it'd be more appropriate for Godrick's. Radahn would be stingy about his amazing lion mane whereas Godrick can not only take body parts but also give them XDDDD yeah yeah terrible whatever

The black hair on Night Cavalry's helmet can be removed, also confirming that in this case it is a decoration. This hair does have interesting flowing animation though! Maybe it IS the hair of Night Cavalry themselves, still having their shadowy energy, but cut and attached again to their own helmets (kind of like Ciaran from DS1 decorated her helmet with her own braid!)

Another case of hair not being actual hair but part of the mask; the way hair is placed, it'd had to grow from like, eyebrows level and face itself or something fdhfdsdfh Maybe this style with braids and grey hair was intended to refer at Godfrey's? Alternatively, what IF their faces are actually furry/animalistic despite otherwise human build, so the hair doubles as fur? We don't see them behind the mask, after all? A food for a thought lol

^ More of 100% 'mask' types of these

The water dancer in blue gave the sword to Malenia's teacher, the blind guy that once sealed the God of Rot himself, and these warriors in blue appear to be following the same philosophy of "ever running water preventing stagnation, so, rot itself" as him! Although this head piece imitates just a follower and not the man himself (as far as we are aware....), perhaps the sentiment is strong enough to give us the hairdo too x) Again, funny enough, it seems to resemble the Lady of the Lake fairy herself!

I suspected the case of 'sharing hair' with Cleanrot Knights too, but upon closer look I can tell it is supposed to be some fabric/rags, rather than hair or hairlike accessory! Probably more efficient to imitate the look with rags rather than something hairlike tbh, considering the lenght of the thing! So I think the design is more meant to represent Malenia's own unhappy fate, with short tuft being the "hair" and the longer tails being the "wings" :

_______________

In conclusion, it is kind of easy to deduce which hair become our actual hair for the time being because of golden grace 'reshaping' us and which hair is just decor! But it is really interesting stuff to think about all the way!

#elden ring #elden ring reference #elden ring observation #elden ring headcanons #multi character post #not art #text post #use later #опять этот поехавший пишет эссе несмотря на убитое здоровье да хд #the cleanrot one is actually so clever??#good work on design!

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athleticsupporter · 2 months

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Billy hoped his butt-plug would remain hidden beneath the wet white fabric of his football pants. He knew that when he worked up a sweat, his pants became a little sheer, but with rain in the forecast, he was certain the soaked material would expose his jockstrap and the ass cork underneath. But what could he do? Better to hope than violate the dress code by wearing compression shorts, which would get him kicked off the team by his strict coach or let the massive amount of cum his teammates pumped into him lead out. By the first quarter, his pants had soaked up sweat, revealing his plugged ass to the cameras and fans. After the game, while still on the sidelines with fans around, an ESPN reporter spun Billy around, asking about the meaning of the butt-plug visible under his wet white pants. Blushing, Billy quickly lied, claiming it was part of his training program to help him concentrate on his glutes during the game, asserting that focusing on his glutes was the source of his power on the field. As Billy left the field, fans spanked his ass, shouting, "Good game!" and "Feel the power!" with one fan pushing hard on the rubber cork soliciting a moan from Billy. The sports press ran with the story of Billy's humiliating butt-plug, most doubting his explanation and speculating other, more embarrassing reasons for its existence.

#football #jock

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deception-united · 5 months

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Let's talk about story structure.

Fabricating the narrative structure of your story can be difficult, and it can be helpful to use already known and well-established story structures as a sort of blueprint to guide you along the way. Before we delve into a few of the more popular ones, however, what exactly does this term entail?

Story structure refers to the framework or organization of a narrative. It is typically divided into key elements such as exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, and resolution, and serves as the skeleton upon which the plot, characters, and themes are built. It provides a roadmap of sorts for the progression of events and emotional arcs within a story.

Freytag's Pyramid:

Also known as a five-act structure, this is pretty much your standard story structure that you likely learned in English class at some point. It looks something like this:

Exposition: Introduces the characters, setting, and basic situation of the story.

Inciting Incident: The event that sets the main conflict of the story in motion, often disrupting the status quo for the protagonist.

Rising Action: Series of events that build tension and escalate the conflict, leading toward the story's climax.

Climax: The highest point of tension or the turning point in the story, where the conflict reaches its peak and the outcome is decided.

Falling Action: Events that occur as a result of the climax, leading towards the resolution and tying up loose ends.

Resolution (or Denouement): The final outcome of the story, where the conflict is resolved, and any remaining questions or conflicts are addressed, providing closure for the audience.

Though the overuse of this story structure may be seen as a downside, it's used so much for a reason. Its intuitive structure provides a reliable framework for writers to build upon, ensuring clear progression and emotional resonance in their stories and drawing everything to a resolution that is satisfactory for the readers.

The Fichtean Curve:

The Fichtean Curve is characterised by a gradual rise in tension and conflict, leading to a climactic peak, followed by a swift resolution. It emphasises the building of suspense and intensity throughout the narrative, following a pattern of escalating crises leading to a climax representing the peak of the protagonist's struggle, then a swift resolution.

Initial Crisis: The story begins with a significant event or problem that immediately grabs the audience's attention, setting the plot in motion.

Escalating Crises: Additional challenges or complications arise, intensifying the protagonist's struggles and increasing the stakes.

Climax: The tension reaches its peak as the protagonist confronts the central obstacle or makes a crucial decision.

Swift Resolution: Following the climax, conflicts are rapidly resolved, often with a sudden shift or revelation, bringing closure to the narrative. Note that all loose ends may not be tied by the end, and that's completely fine as long as it works in your story—leaving some room for speculation or suspense can be intriguing.

The Hero’s Journey:

The Hero's Journey follows a protagonist through a transformative adventure. It outlines their journey from ordinary life into the unknown, encountering challenges, allies, and adversaries along the way, ultimately leading to personal growth and a return to the familiar world with newfound wisdom or treasures.

Call to Adventure: The hero receives a summons or challenge that disrupts their ordinary life.

Refusal of the Call: Initially, the hero may resist or hesitate in accepting the adventure.

Meeting the Mentor: The hero encounters a wise mentor who provides guidance and assistance.

Crossing the Threshold: The hero leaves their familiar world and enters the unknown, facing the challenges of the journey.

Trials and Tests: Along the journey, the hero faces various obstacles and adversaries that test their skills and resolve.

Approach to the Inmost Cave: The hero approaches the central conflict or their deepest fears.

The Ordeal: The hero faces their greatest challenge, often confronting the main antagonist or undergoing a significant transformation.

Reward: After overcoming the ordeal, the hero receives a reward, such as treasure, knowledge, or inner growth.

The Road Back: The hero begins the journey back to their ordinary world, encountering final obstacles or confrontations.

Resurrection: The hero faces one final test or ordeal that solidifies their transformation.

Return with the Elixir: The hero returns to the ordinary world, bringing back the lessons learned or treasures gained to benefit themselves or others.

Exploring these different story structures reveals the intricate paths characters traverse in their journeys. Each framework provides a blueprint for crafting engaging narratives that captivate audiences. Understanding these underlying structures can help gain an array of tools to create unforgettable tales that resonate with audiences of all kind.

Happy writing! Hope this was helpful ❤

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evanchantingpeters · 4 months

Text

How I met Evan Peters (Fanfic - Part 5)

Pairings ─ Evan Peters x Y/N (fem reader)

Genre ─ Smut/fluff, Romance

Summary ─ While filming Tron, Y/N follows Evan up in Canada, eager to surprise him for his birthday. But what starts as a joyous occasion quickly turns into a heated argument. But you know what they say about fireworks: they explode, and boy, do these two ignite into frustration and passion. Will their clash lead to a blazing reunion, or will it all go up in smoke? Hazard a guess😏

Warnings ─ Swearing, oral (both receiving), food porn, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, bondage, BDSM, mild daddy kink, nipple teasing, spanking, vaginal sex, birthday sex, missionary, nutty smutty— based on public demand ;)

Read Part 1 | Read Part 2 | Read Part 3 | Read Part 4

Word count ─ 3.8K

18+ This is ADULT content. I’m not your mummy to supervise your net access. If you’re a minor, do NOT read!

20 January, 2024, Vancouver

Your tears blur your vision as you stand in the kitchen of the Airbnb, the temporary shelter you share with Evan. The cold glow of your phone screen illuminates the screenshot of Adria’s last hurtful texts, sent just before she blocked you earlier this month.

You haven’t spoken since, and the silence gnaws at your heart, tearing at the fabric of a friendship you once believed was unbreakable. She was the kind of friend you didn’t need a social battery for, the one you always dreamed of growing old together.

Your mind involuntarily does a wild backflip, taking you back to when all the drama with her first unfolded, and your throat starts to close up as your bottom lip trembles, threatening to bring another full-blown sob fest.

*flashback alert*

You and Evan were lounging on your bed, both in your undergarments, basking in the lazy aftermath of the Emmy Awards bash a day later.

Tabloids were ablaze with afterparty pics, splashing your face as the ‘enigmatic woman’ next to Evan Peters. Headlines screamed speculation and gossip rags were practically hyperventilating, going into detective mode to uncover your identity. Whispers and rumours spread like wildfire through the gossip mill, making you feel you were under a microscope.

Whenever you’d feel the sting of public scrutiny, even on your social media accounts, Evan would nonchalantly wrap an arm around you and remind you with a reassuring smile, “Let them guess, baby. Let them spin their stories. They’re just bored, no life. We know the truth, and that’s all that counts. Don’t let them rent space in your head.”

Evan was now deep into his phone, navigating the maze of paperwork needed to smuggle you into Canada without an American passport. His fingers moved absently, tracing soothing patterns on your back.

“Baby, maybe we should go for a visitor visa or an eTA... Electronic...Travel Authorization, or whatever the hell that is. It’s the quickest way to get you in,” he muttered more to himself than to you, his brows furrowed in concentration as he scrolled further.

But you just laid sprawled out beside him, limbs tangled on him in a delicious mess, your breasts spilling over his chest. You were barely listening to all things bureaucracy over the addictive scent of his skin and his rhythmic heartbeat, aligning with the rise and fall of his breathing.

You not using a single brain cell when with your man...

You admired the perfect curve of his side profile, the little mole on the tip of his nose that always made you smile. Your fingers grazed over the ridges of his toned abs, a silent appreciation for the masterpiece he was as your mind replayed the epic dick he served you up the night before.

Your clitoris was practically combusted after that, but your period, dear Aunt Flo, decided to pay a surprise visit earlier than expected. Of course she would...

And that’s when your own phone exploded into a frenzy with Adria’s messages. If the media uproar felt invasive, hers cut deep, and it was super personal.

“Tha fuck,” you cried out, hurling yourself off the bed. You frantically unlocked the phone to read the full conversation, the venomous words on the screen hitting you like a sledgehammer. “Listen to this,” you shouted, your voice shaking with fury as you read her brutal attack aloud for Evan to bear witness, each word dripping with malice.

Evan watched, perched on the edge of the bed, his eyes widening with every syllable. His face paled as he took in the vitriol of phrases like, “pathetic boyfriend’s lil junk,” “shove it up your ass,” “he’s using you,” “useless gold digger,” “you’re dead to me, bitch”.

You exploded, launching into a tirade about Adria’s betrayal. “She’s showing her true colours now, isn’t she? ‘Friend, my ass!’ What a snake!” your voice broke with the intensity of your anger and hurt.

Evan moved to your side, throwing a black tank top on, his expression a mix of hopelessness and sympathy. He was stunned, his eyes brimming with concern for you. You felt the weight of his worry, but also the unconditional support in his gaze. You collapsed into his waiting arms, snuggling your head up in his lap. His delicate hand was soothingly running through your hair as you sobbed hard and fast, each tear absorbed by his fingertips like it was nothing as you let it all out.

“Yea, baby, what she said was messed up, no doubt,” he murmured looking down to meet your eyes as you turned over to face him. “But sometimes people lash out when they’re projecting or hurting. You had every right to keep it private for as long as you wanted, but maybe she felt left out 'cause you were keeping this big chunk of your life from her. Doesn’t excuse her going full nuclear, but it might explain where she’s coming from.”

Your chest heaves with another wave of tears, gripping onto his leg for dear life.

“Shh.. it’s gonna be alright, my love,” Evan whispered, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “Look, you’re in pain from her harshness, and that’s valid. But if there’s even a slim chance of salvaging the friendship, it might be worth a shot to talk it out. Doesn’t mean you gotta forgive and forget right away, but at least give her a chance to explain... If she doubles down on the crazy, then yeah, maybe it’s time to move on.”

*flashback ends*

The oven timer jolts you back to the present moment, snapping you out of your memories. Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you pull out the Pyrex dish with dinner and strike a match, igniting the candles on Evan’s cake. You know he doesn’t fancy extravagant night outs for his birthday, so you’ve planned a cosy burrito night in for him.

With a quick glance at your phone, you see his response, “I’m a few blocks away, undress yourself” to your earlier string of messages,

miss your loads

**miss you loads

well, both I guess

His reply buys you just enough minutes to set up the surprise.

Yes, the moment you touched down in Vancouver, Evan had to rush off to set. Yes, even on his birthday.

As you hustle to put the final touches in the dining area, you check the candles to be sure they’re all lit. The warm glow casts a romantic ambience, shadows dancing on the walls, amplifying the anticipation.

Suddenly, the familiar jingle of keys in the lock from the hallway sends your heart racing, your pulse pounding with enthusiasm and nerves.

“Happy birthdaaaay!” you exclaim, arms thrown in the air, as he saunters in with a charming wide grin, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you buzzing around the room.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” he teases, his voice rich and satin as he takes in the scene. His hungry gaze lingers on you a little too long, and it sends electric pulses of desire across your core.

“Just making sure your birthday is as hot as you are,” you quip, your tone sticky with innuendo as you lock eyes with a sultry smirk.

He chuckles, cheeks flushing, as he paces closer to you with a crooked smile and a glint in his eye. His smirk expands as he corners you against the table. “Oh, is that so?” he hums seductively, yanking you tightly onto his chest, his hands tracing fiery paths over your body.

You nod, shooting him a mischievous smile as you pass him a small bag with your present. He gasps in excitement as he tears the wrapping apart to unveil a bulky watch, similar to his old one. “It fits like a glove,” he cries out, quickly fastening it on his wrist only to swing you around right after, his joy infectious as he holds you close.

“Thanks a bunch, my baby. That’s a top-tier surprise, especially now that I don’t have my family around,” he mumbles, and you notice as his eyes glisten with unshed tears. “I truly love you, Y/N.”

Your heart swells as you drown into his misty eyes. “I love you too, Evan. It’s not much, but I couldn’t just shrug your birthday away without making it special. You like it?”

“Like it? I adore it, Y/N. You have no idea how much this means to me and how you bring the best out of me,” he sighs against your ear, sending tremors down your spine.

Before you can respond, his hands slip under your dress. Tugging at your strapless bra and pinching softly at your nipples, his tongue slowly twirls with yours, making your pussy leap and leak for him. Aching for his touch, you moan into his mouth, your body melting into a slime in his grasp.

Breaking the kiss, Evan’s breath burns against your breasts like a firestorm of passion as he murmurs huskily, “Why isn’t my birthday wish fulfilled yet?”

With a devilish grin, you meet his gaze, your lips a mere breath away from his. “I’m your genie for the night, sir. You ask, I shall deliver,” you purr, your hand teasing the stiffness that strains his slacks, feeling his need for you pulsating beneath your touch.

“You, on this table covered in cake.”

Your hands rub harder on his erection, drawing soft groans from him as you nibble on his neck. “Consider your wish granted,” you whisper, your voice a silken promise as you push him back slightly. Clutching his jaw, you guide his head toward the table, your touch both commanding and tender. “But don’t you want to have a bite and tell me about your day first?”

He puckers his lips, narrowing his eyes in mock contemplation, before a wicked smile spreads across his face. “Yea, I suppose I should think with my top head for a bit. Let’s enjoy this delicious dinner you’ve made, and after that, baby, I promise, I’m gonna take my time licking every inch of you clean,” he coos, and strides over his cake.

As he leans in to blow out the candles, you stand next to him, clapping, cheering, and chanting the old-age birthday song, your phone capturing every moment for your mutual private collection. The room is bathed with the warm glow of candlelight and the sweet odour of dessert.

As the last wisp of smoke from the extinguished candles curls upwards, he turns to you with a playful smile, and that’s only a prelude to the real feast that awaits you both.

Evan’s re-enactment of Jared Leto’s and his own over-the-top method acting antics has you in stitches as you wrap up your meal. “Alright, alright,” he says, attempting to mimic his character’s intense gaze and dramatic voice.

He picks up a small dish, holding it aloft like it’s the most important object in the world. “This…is no ordinary plate. It’s our shield against the vice forces of the universe.”

You can’t help but snort, staring at him incredulously, “What has this shield gone through?” you inquire, unable to contain your amusement.

Evan grins, clearly pleased with himself, but stays in character. “No, no, Y/N, you don’t understand. This dish…I mean this shield has seen things. It has felt the scorching heat of the oven—like hell itself—and the icy chill of the fridge—colder than the North Pole. It’s been through a transformation!”

His priceless facial expressions send you into another fit of laughter, doubling over and clutching your sides. “Evan, stop! I can’t—” you gasp between fits of giggles. “You’re killing me!”

With exaggerated precision, he places the dish aside and grabs a glass, his face deadly serious. “And this glass,” he exclaims, holding it up like a sacred relic, “has held the nectar of the gods.”

Your laughter reverberates across the room as you lean against the table for support. “You guys are insane!” you choke out, still laughing.

He breaks character for a moment, his own hearty laughter bubbling up. “You think Leto goes this hard at home?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“I bet he does!” you reply, chuckling. “His poor dishes must be so confused.”

You dab your lips with a napkin, flashing a seductive smile to Evan as you stand up, the fabric of your flowy dress grazing against your skin in all the right places. You start gathering the crockery, the clinking of plates echoing in the room.

He takes a leisurely sip of his wine, eyes gleaming with mischief as he watches you intently. “Mmm, what do you think you’re doing there, miss?” he hums, waving his glass towards the dishes.

“I’m tackling the post-dinner cleanup before we open a cockroach motel in here,” you quip, balancing two plates on your forearm, the curve of your hip accentuated by the movement.

He raises his head with a hint of suspicion, his tongue lightly brushing against the sides of his teeth. With a smooth, predatory gait, he glides closer to you, his presence commanding and magnetic. His arm snakes around your waist until your bodies press extremely close together, as if he wants to meld into you.

He starts planting soft kisses on your neck, the warmth of his breath seeping into you and quickening your pulse. “That’s on me, baby girl. You cook, I wash—fair play.” His voice is a lush whisper tinged with playful allure, the undercurrent of raw ecstasy between you is in flames.

You look over your shoulder and move to the side, trying to slide away. “No, it’s your birthday, and I should spoil you,” you insist.

But Evan’s embrace only tightens, his crooked smile inviting trouble. Without warning, he whirls you around, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that leaves you breathless. The tempting aroma of alcohol and raspberries lingers on his breath, turning you on.

“What about my cake?” he murmurs against your lips, his hands massaging your ass before pressing against your throbbing sex. A choked moan escapes your lips, your need for him palpable.

With insatiable urgency, he strips you off your dress and deepens the kiss, leaving you only with your matching lingerie, a tantalising veil barely concealing your arousal.

He lifts you effortlessly, placing you atop the table with a low growl. Your breath catches as you feel the cool surface below you, contrasting sharply with the heat of his touch. He slides your panties down your thighs with a bitten lip, your tongues intertwining in a sensual dance.

Eager to feel more of him, you hastily fumble along the buttons of his shirt, your fingers trembling in anticipation. He stares at you with darkened eyes and a smirk, primal desire burning in his gaze, as he helps you rid him of the fabric separating you.

He kisses and love bites his way down your upper half, leaving a trail of fire in his wake, until he reaches your pulsing cunt.

As he grunts against your slippery folds, and you cover your mouth to stifle a scream, your surroundings seem to distort. It’s as if you’ve just dove into deep water, and his voice becomes muffled and distant, like you’ve submerged beneath the surface of a vast sea. Adria’s words echo through your mind, “he’s using you cause he’s stuck with his ex! Wake up!!”

Panic seizes you, and you push him away mid-action, your breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts as you leap off the table. “Let’s have the cake now, Evan. I’ll bring spoons,” you retort hastily, your words spilling out in a frantic rush, your heart hammering against your ribcage like a wild drumbeat.

“I don’t mean eating it the conventional way…” he says, his chuckle mixed with traces of confusion.

As you hurriedly scramble to get into your dress and underwear, you move towards the kitchen with a racing heart, his voice ringing in your ears.

He rushes forward to block your path, gently grabbing your arm. “Is everything okay, Y/N? Why’re you avoiding me?” he questions, his brows furrowing in a blend of surprise and intrigue.

Your stomach always twists into knots whenever he addresses you by your government name instead of his endearing variations of “baby.”

Your breath hitches as you pause, tension and uncertainty weaving through the atmosphere like a dense fog, obscuring your conscience. His rosy lips turn into a thin, anxious line as his eyes search yours for answers.

“I’m not, Evan,” you manage, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart, your cheeks warming under his penetrating gaze. “I just…nah, forget about it. I don’t want to ruin your special day,” you mutter, your words rushed and disjointed, a feeble attempt to brush off your inner turmoil with a forced hug and kiss.

But he won’t let you escape so easily. He gently pulls you back, cupping your face in between his thumb and index finger. “What is it, baby? You can speak to me,” he urges, his tone soft but insistent. His eyes flicker around your face, concern etched into every line of his handsome face.

You lower your head and roll your lips into your mouth as tears are on the verge to spill. “I want there to be more to us than just sex,” you finally muster the courage to verbalise, your voice shaky.

His eyebrows shoot up, lips parting in disbelief. “But there is,” he fires back, his forehead creasing with lines of protest. “In fact, I’ve never felt a healthy and substantial connection like this before. It’s deeper than anything I’ve experienced,” he defends, his voice laced with desperate sincerity, his eyes imploring for you to understand.

He reaches out to pull you into his arms, his touch soft and comforting, but you step back, shaking your head in subtle denial.

He sighs in exasperation, his patience already fraying. “Honestly, what’s going on, Y/N?” he presses, his tone firmer.

You narrow your eyes at him, our tongue poking at your cheek, as your voice crescendos. “You wanna know what’s going on, Evan? You’re using me to get over your ex, that’s what’s going on,” you blurt out, arms folded across your chest. The words just tumble from your lips before you can stop them, charged by the doubt that’s been itching you.

His face contorts in shock, eyes widening, and his mouth hanging open in stunned silence. “What? Where did this come from?”

“It’s just something Adria threw at me,” you explain, compulsively rubbing your forehead, “she’s been in my head, making me doubt everything all over again.”

Evan’s eyes harden at the mention Adria, a glimmer of anger flashing across his features, but his touch remains delicate. “What did she say?” he asks, his tone rigid, but he’s clearly battling to keep his cool.

“It was her message the day we were at mine after the Emmy party,” you confess, croaking with the weight of your revelation. “She thinks you’re with me because you’re still hung up on your ex, and I’m your rebound.”

Evan’s expression darkens, a storm brewing behind his eyes as he’s reminded of these infamous texts. He pulls away slightly, a coldness suddenly creeping into his demeanour. “Thought we’re over this, Y/N. You know she’s just annoyed, hurt, or envious...dunno...that you didn’t say a word about our relationship, and she’s just trying to poison us.”

“How do I know that’s true?” you snap, frustration boiling over and your voice quivering with intensity as you confront him.

His jaw tightens, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. “You should trust me,” he persists, his voice strained with emotion. “I’ve done all I could to show you I’m committed to us. Why do you keep letting her get to you?”

“Because it’s not just her, Evan!” you cry out, your voice cracking. “It’s the internet, and sometimes, I feel it too. Like maybe you’re not over your ex, and I’m just a placeholder here to fill a void,” you admit, tears flooding down your face, your chest heaving.

“Y/N...don’t cry, please,” he whispers, his voice momentarily gentle yet tinged with worry. “That’s ridiculous!,” he continues calmer than before. “We all carry our personal baggage, but I’m with you because I want to be. If you can’t see or feel that, then what are we even doing?”

You take a step back, your own anger rising, your chest tighter than before. Your stare turns into a furious glare, your heart rate soaring. “I just needed to hear you say it, okay? you retort. “I needed to know that I’m not crazy for having these doubts.”

Evan runs a hand through his hair, frustration plastered into every tense muscle of his body. “I’ve told you a million times, Y/N. I love you. I’m here for you. If you can’t see or feel that, then maybe we need to rethink this. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

His words stay the air like a heavy cloud, suffocating the room with their weight. The silence that follows is deafening, amplifying the ache inside you.

He shakes his head, his voice low and bitter now. “Whatever,” he spits out, his footsteps stomping against the floorboards as he storms out of the room, leaving you standing there, heart thumping and more tears streaming down your face.

You lie on the couch, staring blankly at the TV droning on in a meaningless chatter as you absentmindedly flick through channels. The sound of the shower running in the background serves as a grim reminder of Evan, who, you bet, is still fuming even through closed doors.

Why tonight, of all nights, damn it all?? It’s his birthday, and it’s meant for joy and celebration, not this mess of baseless accusations and lame tears. You curse yourself for allowing Adria’s betrayal-infused ill-intent to infiltrate your mind, killing Evan’s love and dedication with your insecurities and silly suspicion.

The fight plays back in your mind like a horror movie on repeat, each word exchanged like a dagger to your heart. You recall Evan’s wounded face, the disbelief in his eyes...they haunt you all like ghosts in the night.

Your heart bleeds with regret as you realise the magnitude of your mistake, wishing you could just rewind and take your words back. The TV blares on, but the images just blur into a haze as you stay trapped in a loop of guilt and self-loathing.

The shower shuts off, and your heart skips a beat. You hear Evan moving around in the bathroom, the sound of the towel rack clinking, the soft thud of him stepping out. You squeeze the remote tighter, flipping through channels faster, trying to find something—anything—that could distract you from the impending confrontation.

Shortly after, he enters the living room, and you can’t help but drool over his on-my-knees-daddy-you’re-a-snack grey comfort shorts and white tank top, his hair damp and his expression weary. He glances at the TV, but says nothing.

The silence stretches, thick and constricting, and you feel you’re stuck in an endless, narrow cylindrical corridor that leads to nowhere.

“Evan...” you dare, your voice wavering like a candle flame in a strong breeze, but it feels like screaming in a dream.

He freezes, his back to you, shoulders stiffen as if bracing for impact. “What is it, Y/N?” His voice slices through the silence like a knife, sharp and guarded, a far cry from its usual warm and mellow timbre.

“I’m sorry,” the words spill from your lips, heavy with remorse, as you sit up on the couch. “My bad for bringing this up on your special day…very selfish of me, and I shouldn’t have let Adria’s words shake me like that.”

Evan turns slowly, his eyes piercing into yours as he flops onto the sofa next to you with a heavy sigh. “Then, why did you? Why allow her to destroy what we have?”

You take a shuddering breath, trying to alleviate the storm raging within you. “I don’t know… Maybe because, deep down, I’m terrified. Terrified that this is fleeting and all too good to be true. Terrified that I’m not enough for you.”

With a tentative move, he redirects his eyes towards you, the harsh lines of his expression softening just a fraction. “You’re more than enough, Y/N. But you have to trust and believe me. Why can’t you do that?” he asks, his voice regaining its soothing texture, akin to sweetened nectar.

“I’m trying,” you huff out before letting out a dramatic sigh, feigning a pout as your fingers caress along his stomach, getting lower along the edges of his firm abdomen. You admire the rugged strength of his arms, even in moments like this.

Well...damn, sir!

He squares his jaw, attempting to maintain his resolve (resulting in abject failure). “Try harder, Y/N because I need you in my life,” he mutters, his voice faltering slightly as you lean forward to trail kisses over his neck. Tough Evan is really like giving Bambi a gun.

It’s officially reckless business o’ clock.

You sense the tension in his body easing, his reservations crumbling beneath your touch. With a mischievous spark in your eye, you close the gap between you, mere inches separating your lips. “But you know what I should do?”

He quirks his eyebrow, intrigued by the sudden shift in your attitude, but he instantly drops his head back, pretending to be unbothered. “I don’t care. I’m still pissed at you…but tell me, even though I don’t care,” he retorts, facing forward, but his need to know is crystal clear in his face.

You shoot him a playful grin as your fingers trace tantalising patterns along his bulge, feeling his hardness twitching under the fabric. “I should make it up to you,” you declare, an enchanting lilt to your voice, as you slowly undo the strings of his shorts.

A shudder courses through Evan’s body, jeopardising his composure. The intoxicating scent of your arousal and the softness of your touch prove too much for him to bear. “I’ve give you your own Kinder surprise,” you whisper seductively, your hand slipping underneath his shorts.

He fights to hide his growing erection, his breath comes in uneven gasps as he adjusts his shorts. “And what’s your grand plan?” he sighs, his voice husky with desire. His eyes are dark with anticipation while his resistance disintegrates with each passing second.

You sink between his legs, making him harder with every graceful sway of your hips. “Oh, I have a few ideas,” you chirp, pulling your hair up in a ponytail in an agonisingly slow pace.

You catch a glimpse of the outline of his cock protruding beneath his boxers (caught in 8k ultra HD), the fabric adorned with a tell-tale wet spot. Needless to say, he’s far more excited than he’s letting on. “Come on, baby Evan. Don’t play dumb with me.”

Your mouth waters with anticipatory thrill, your wet centre throbbing with need. Your senses intensify, thighs instinctively clenching as you await him to shove down his shorts.

Evan swallows nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. In a swift, “fuck it” motion, he loops down the waistband of his boxers until his cock springs free, standing proudly in the air. Your gaze, once fixated on the crop of dark pubic hair gracing the base, now observes the veiny pathways that run along his thick length, leading to the swollen tip—flushed red and leaking with eagerness.

Your eyes, brimming with excitement, dart back and forth between his face and his erection, gauging his reaction as you test the boundaries. Encouraged by his desperate nod, you come closer, your lips ghosting the underside of his shaft, your warm breath teasing his sensitive skin, coaxing it to jerk in response.

“Crap, Y/N…I should be mad at you, but you’re too good at this…” he breathes out, already roused by the sight of your plush lips caressing the heat exuding from his cock, sending a wave of warmth sweeping over him. His legs part further, an unspoken invitation for you to draw nearer.

You giggle before taking the plunge, slowly skidding your lips along the sensitive underside of his dick. A soft, almost inaudible groan escapes his lips, and it’s the go-ahead you need to continue. From top to bottom, you pepper his throbbing length with tender, soothing kisses.

His hand immediately reaches for your hair, his fingers finding solace in the roots to distract himself from finishing too fast. Lowering your head, you tilt it to the side, your tongue marking a stripe against his sensitive balls. Eagerly, you press your face forward, your lips latching onto one of them, suckling on it with a gentle yet persistent rhythm, each release eliciting a small pop.

“Mmff!— fuck..” Evan’s jaw goes slack, a deep groan rolling off his tongue the moment your mouth makes contact, his resistance melting away under the spell of your touch.

Your kisses skim from the base and drift all the way up to the tip of his cock, tongue salty with precum as it deftly strokes the ridges. His body quivers, responding with an urgent jolt of his hips. It’s a wordless plea for you to finally take his cock into the warm and wet comfort of your mouth.

“Stop torturing me, for the love of...I’m gonna explode,” he groans, grasping on a pillow as if it’s his last lifeline, and you can feel the urgency in his veins popping out. Ignoring his imploring, you press your lips right onto the swollen head, treating it to small kitten licks on his sensitive slit.

“You’re so goddamn gorgeous...” he grunts, teetering on the edge of a whimper. His hips buck forward once more, ramming his tip deeper into your mouth. The evidence of your arousal is just as indisputable as his, your panties most definitely sodden from the act of using your mouth on Evan alone, cunt convulsing from his lewd noises with each stroke. His raw groans, the praises that spill from his mouth, and the way your name dances off his tongue like silk makes the fiery bundle of elation simmer in your belly.

His cock delves deeper into your throat as his hips undulated to the flow of his ragged panting. He can see the glistening of tears stinging your eyes, your whines muffled out around him. His tip bullies the back of your throat with each jerky thrust until it’s sore, pushing so deep that your nose buries itself in the tufts of baby hair on his pelvis.

His lips, now parted and glistening, ooze vulnerability, while his doe eyes shimmer with a feverish glimmer. Everything about him in this moment is mesmerising, leaving you no choice but to be spellbound. The rippling tremors jolting through Evan’s frame indicate he’s nearing his climax, fire pooling low in his abdomen, ready to burst.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he rubs the bridge of his nose in an attempt to quell the tightly coiled spring in his stomach, yearning for release. His balls tighten, cock pulsing as his thrusts into your mouth turn sloppy. “Y/N, I’m gonna cum,” he growls, a strand of your saliva trailing from his tip as he withdraws.

“Fill my mouth up, baby boy,” you plead, looking up at him with hungry eyes, your mouth open and primed for his treat.

With a wicked smile, you bite your lip before he softly slaps his dick against your tongue. Then, with one final forceful pump as he holds your head close, ripples of cum colour your mouth white. Trapped in his strong grip, you gulp down his bitter torrent, suppressing the urge to gag as your tongue battles with the arousing assault.

“Fuck, you’re such a naughty slut, aren’t you?” he groans, chuckling, as you’re still on your knees, gingerly wiping away the saliva and residue from the corners of your mouth with his top. With ease, he picks you up and crashes his lips onto yours with unforeseen fervour.

“Your naughty slut,” you correct, raising your index finger like a twin exclamation mark. As you roughen the kiss, you squirm against his hand as he rubs your clit, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through you.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he whispers, his fingers sliding up and down your soaked slit, eliciting bated moans from you. “You’ve got a wish to fulfil.”

“Do what you want with me, Mr Peters,” you coo, suckling on his bottom lip. Wrapping your loose hair around his wrist, he pulls your head back to lavish your neck with soft nibbles, his teeth grazing your skin, making you gasp.

With a swift motion, he bends you over the arm of the couch, your breath catching in your throat as he takes his time gracing your ass cheeks with red marks from his playful smacks. “You’re gonna give me everything tonight,” he growls, his voice thick with lust. His hand slips under your dripping pussy, yanking down your panties as his fingers tease your entrance.

You push back against him, craving more, as his free hand grips your hips, holding you in place. “Please, Evan,” you whimper, your voice trembling with need.

He chuckles darkly, his breath hot against your ear. “Begging already? I like it,” he murmurs, his fingers finally plunging into you, making you cry out in pleasure. He pumps them in and out, his thumb circling your clit, driving you to the edge.

“Fuck,” you moan, your body quivering as he continues to work you, his fingers curling inside you, hitting just that perfect spot.

“Why move so much, baby girl? Want me to punish you?” he snaps, his words almost entirely drowned out by your loud mewling.

Before you know it, he pulls back slightly. He stands up, reaching for a drawer nearby and pulling out a length of silk rope. “I’m gonna tie you up and make you scream my name until you can’t take it anymore,” he mutters, his voice sending shivers of anticipation through you.

Your breath catches in your throat as he binds your wrists together, the silk smooth against your skin, both restraining and arousing. He secures the rope behind your back as you’re standing on all fours at the centre of the couch, ensuring you’re immobile and completely at his mercy.

He grips your hair and lines his erect cock at your entrance, deliberately rubbing his tip on your slit so that your cum trickles down your thighs. Sucking in a breath, he slaps your butt with a force that makes you squeal in sheer horniness.

“Evan, fuck me,” you cry out, staring over your shoulder with pleading eyes.

“We’re not done yet, baby,” he asserts, his voice dripping with promise. His hands roam your body, exploring every inch as if he’s memorising you, his touch both tender and demanding.

“Damn, you look so beautiful like this,” he huffs out, his voice filled with reverence as he takes in the sight of you bound and vulnerable before him. He trails kisses down your body, his lips worshipping your skin as he moves lower, his hands spreading your thighs apart.

“I wanna taste you,” he growls, his mouth descending on your pussy, his tongue flicking and teasing your clit from an angle you’ve never tried before, driving you wild with need.

“Something’s missing,” he breathes out, and dips his fingers in his cake by the coffee table. He scoops a bit of icing and stretches your weeping cunt, smearing it along your inner thighs and folds. His eyes gleam with mischievous delight as he licks and nibbles his way through the sweet confection and onto your sensitive skin, making you squirm and scream with pleasure.

You moan loudly, the pleasure overwhelming as he literally devours you, his tongue and lips delving and sucking you to the brink of madness. “Evan, please,” you spill out in desperation, your voice coming out in punchy, shaky sobs.

He chuckles darkly against you, the vibrations sending waves of ecstasy through your body. “Cum for me again, baby girl,” he commands, his voice a sinister growl as he continues his onslaught, his fingers joining his relentless mouth to push you over the edge once more.

You scream his name, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. Your walls clench around his mouth and fingers, your vision going white as you’re consumed by pleasure. Evan doesn’t stop, his mouth and fingers driving you higher and higher, leaving you a quivering, breathless mess.

Before you can even catch your breath, he flips you over so you lie on your side, your legs folded, head resting on the other arm of the couch. His eyes are dark with passion as he places himself on top of your thigh, and you lick the sweet remnants of cake from his mouth in despair, tasting yourself along the way.

Your breath tickles his ear as he reaches for the cake, scraping up a generous blob of icing with his finger. Bringing it to your lips, he watches intently as you lick it from his finger, your tongue swirling around his digit, eliciting a guttural groan of need from deep within him.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’ll forget your own name,” he promises, his voice a seductive whisper as he thrusts into you, filling you completely, your lips locked, his eyes fixed on you.

You arch into him, still bound, mewling in delight as he slams into you, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body. “Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, your mind going blank as you lose yourself in the sensation, your world narrowing down to the feel of him inside you, driving you to the edge again and again.

Finally, he releases you from the silk binds, his eyes filled with satisfaction as he pulls you into his arms. “We’re not through yet,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a promise of more.

He gently shifts you into missionary position, his eyes meeting yours with an intense, burning desire. He enters you slowly, savouring every inch, his movements deliberate and controlled as he begins to jam in you, each motion sending tides of ecstasy through your body.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, the connection between you smouldering, each thrust bringing your high closer. “Evan, please, I need you,” you whine, your voice a desperate plea for release.

“Mine,” he growls, his movements becoming more erratic as he nears his own release. “You’re mine, Y/N.”

“Yours,” you agree, your voice a breathless moan as you feel another orgasm building, the intensity almost too much to bear.

With one final powerful thrust, he sends you spiralling into your climax, his own release following along, your bodies entwined as he collapses on top of you, both of you spent and satisfied. He kisses you softly, his lips lingering on yours as you both catch your breath, the intensity of the moment leaving you both breathless and craving more.

“Happy birthday to me,” you murmurs, a contented smirk gracing his lips as you both revel in the afterglow of post-coital bliss, trapped in a tight, loving embrace.

“I should piss you off more often if you’re gonna dick me down like this,” you joke, and your mutual giggles fill the room.

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Taglist: sillysillygyal, junkie4weezer, frankiesweird, divinerulerz, nickrhodeslittledarling

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loves-requiem777 · 4 months

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My theory about what will happen in Helaena in season 2 🕷️

So we haven’t seen much footage of Helaena compared to the other characters and many have speculated that she won’t be having an active role , but what if her footage is too spoilery?

The thing that we know for sure is b&c and then Jehaerys funeral

I want to believe the writers made her a dreamer for a reason and that reason is so she can have a more active role bc in the books she doesn’t really do anything, due to her grief turned into madness of course.

In the new trailer we see a footage of Helaena during the riot

Many believe that it’s right after the funeral but in my opinion it isn’t, the fabric and the pattern of the dress is obviously difficult

And we also see her in this dress

And also people say that this is the funeral dress, but the funeral one has more black fabric.

In the leaks it is said that Helaena is pregnant with Maelor, so what if she doesn’t go mad after Jaeherys death but after Maelor’s.

There is also this scene in the trailer which I don’t know if it’s Alicent or Helaena but it might be during b&c.

Bethany Antonia (who plays Baela) said in and interview that the big difference from the book is that the kids will be more active (I’m so excited for Baela and Rhaena love love love them) I hope applies to Helaena as well!

I want to see her relationship with Aegon (them grieving together or Helaena visiting him after Rooks rest which doesnt happen in the book) with Aemond,Alicent and of course her kids!

If the exclude her from the story im gonna be mad

#helaena targaryen #helaena the dreamer #helaegon #house of the dragon #fan theories #queen helaena #aegon ii targaryen #alicent hightower #aemond one eye #team green

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wolfspaw · 10 months

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#Dr Julio Aguado #Australian Institute for Bioengineering and Nanotechnology #turning back the clock on aging brains #some people look for the most minuscule detail in others #to speculate and then fabricate a story #because they revel in judgement #pay those people no attention #they are called jealous haters

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maicrowave · 9 months

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it makes me really happy when dan and phil are proud of "dan and phil" traditions.

a lot of people unfamiliar with the fandom (outside of dan's coming out story) like to claim that fans ruined everything for them by forcing them to do stuff together and create this brand.

that's just not true. creepy people did stalk them and try to speculate about their personal life with "proof". but dan and phil fully embraced their joint brand and made things they were proud of totally in parallel to that drama. no one forced them to make a gaming channel or go on tour together. they liked working with each other!!!

this false narrative that all dan and phil content was fabricated out of some awful "fandom has them at gunpoint" situation is so (1) sad and mean because it disregards the quality of their content, writing it off as forced and inauthentic and (2) totally disconnected from what they've said; they love working together as much as their audience loves the vibes!

#dan and phil #...also it's not our fault dan sounds unenthusiastic and sarcastic all the time he just has that dark twink aura 😭 dan never change #dnp lol #ramblings #mine

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themysteriousashe · 1 year

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your dirty little mind || cs55 and cl16

notes: this is my first threesome smut, and it is grammarly edited, so wording and/or flow might be weird. i was inspired by all the sweaty videos and pics of the two ferrari boys from the charity game on tuesday. additionally, i listened to charles jeffrey by ray laurel on repeat to write this.

warnings: smut, threesome, p in v sex, oral sex (male and female receiving) anal sex, penetrative sex, minors dni, 18+ only, grammarly edited

word count: 4.2k (just under, but rounded up)

The game was intense. First, Charles ate shit to try to make a goal, and Carlos was injured. The whole football match had you gnawing your bottom lip in nerves but also in anticipation. Watching the two men play and gradually become drenched in sweat did something to you. Maybe that something was remembering the nights the three of you spent together, bodies moving passionately and sweat glistening on various shades of skin. Your hands gripped the fabric of your linen pants, one foot tapping to release the energy building in your system.

The weather wasn’t hot, sitting at a pleasant 72 degrees Fahrenheit, but your body grew worked up during the match from anxiety and being turned on. You would curse mentally whenever you saw the boys wipe their faces with their shirts, revealing the chiseled abdomen hiding underneath. Carlos’s boxers peeking out from his shorts almost ruined you, your mind flickering to a time you took them off of him. They would catch your eye occasionally, shooting a smile your way. Each time, your cheeks heated up, and you shifted in your seat to get more comfortable.

As soon as the match ended, you followed the crowd filtering out of the game. As you patiently waited, your phone buzzed in your bag; the bag was close enough to your body that you felt your phone go off, and you immediately reached in, curious about who could have texted you. The message was from Charles, surprising you at how fast he could return to the locker room.

You smiled to yourself, knowing you were egging Charles on. You tucked your phone away, descending the steps to the line of cars waiting for people. You walked the line of vehicles, avoiding people standing on the sidewalk. Carlos demanded you have a driver since you were in Monaco, the city of luxury and allure. It was a fight you would never win, despite telling him how many times you didn’t need one. Charles hopped in, taking Carlos’s side. His selling point was the two couldn’t be seen with you before the race events; it needed to be after.

You begrudgingly accepted his reasoning, agreeing to the driver on the condition you wanted a ride in Charles’s Ferrari; once it was acceptable, you could be seen together without speculation arising on the internet. The driver was an older gentleman standing outside a black car with tinted windows. You greeted him, giving him Charles’s address. It was an apartment you visited what felt like a million times; it wasn’t foreign to you and was a familiar hook-up spot for the three of you if you all happened to be near. You got into the car, the driver closing the door behind you, and buckled up for the driver.

The ride to the apartment was quiet. To keep yourself occupied and at ease, despite your heart hammering in your chest at what was to come, you scrolled your phone, already seeing photos of Charles and Carlos in the match. You bit your lip, shamelessly rewatching the clips of Charles lifting his shirt and wiping his face with the jersey. When you were about to close Instagram, you were greeted by a post to Charles’s story. You tapped on it, a snort leaving your nose in amusement. You typed a quick message to him, saying, “Me fr,” knowing he’d get a kick out of it.

You loved how Charles could joke about his mistakes and watch the fans’ reactions. Watching the internet speculate about his personality filled you with pride because the both of you frequently sent each other stupid shit daily. So the internet wasn’t wrong when they claimed Charles was a meme lord.

The car pulled to the apartment, and you thanked the driver, undoing your seatbelt. You assured him he didn’t need to exit the vehicle, stating you could open the door yourself. He smiled at you in the rearview, and you returned the smile as you opened the car door. You stepped out, gazing up at the looming apartment building before you. Your lips quirked up in a smile as you pushed the door closed, stepping forward towards the entrance.

You typed in the code to his apartment as you had done many times before, a buzz and the click of the door unlocking signaling your access. You carefully opened the door, sliding through as thin of a crack as you could. You greeted the security with a nod and a smile, receiving one in return as you headed towards the elevator. You clicked the up arrow, pulled out your phone, and checked your notifications while waiting for it to come down. Once the doors opened, revealing an empty car, you stepped in and pressed the button to Charles’s floor, immediately pressing the button to close the doors quicker.

The elevator ascended, your heart pounding as to what was to come. Your phone was tucked in your bag, your eyes intently watching the numbers tick until a ding announced your arrival. The doors opened, and you stepped out, walking to Charles’s door. You knew it would be unlocked since the boys didn’t want you to mess with a key and prolong the fun. You opened the door, walked in, and closed it behind you. As soon as the door closed, a figure appeared before you and immediately smashed his lips on yours. His hands made their way to your body, gripping your waist while the other grabbed your back.

Immediately, your body reacted to the action, your arm falling and your hand tucking your bag off, letting it fall to the floor. You returned the kiss with the same fervor, hands flying into the dark strands. By feeling alone, you could tell it was Carlos, as he was a little bulkier than Charles. His tongue immediately parted your lips, and you moaned, letting him explore your mouth and teasing him with your tongue. He pressed you against the door, the hand on your back falling to your rear. He gripped your ass, pulling your flesh against his body. You could feel the slight presence of an erection pressing against your thigh through his jeans.

“Starting the fun without me?” Charles asked, leaning in his bedroom doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. You pulled away from Carlos, soft pants leaving both of you. His pupils were blown wide, pushing the beautiful brown to the edges. You looked over at Charles, smirking as you pulled away from Carlos. You began to head towards him, a pat on your bum from Carlos causing a jump in your step.

“Carlos was just saying hello, Leclerc. I do enjoy his greetings,” you teased, gently pushing Charles in the middle of his chest as you entered the bedroom. He chuckled, following Carlos in. You turned in the center of the room, the darkness from the large windows penetrated by the soft lighting of bedside lamps.

“Now you have me here,” you said, sticking your arms and hands out to the side of you before they dropped back down.

“Now you’re here,” Carlos responded, his eyes scanning you up and down. A flirty smirk was on his lips, and you smiled. Charles stepped forward, reaching out and taking one of your hands in his, tugging you into him.

“I think it’s my turn, mon chérie,” Charles purred, leaning down so his nose brushed against yours. You looked up at him through your lashes, lips parted and breath speeding up.

“Now it’s your turn,” you whispered, reaching up to clutch the opened button-up and t-shirt combination that Charles frequently wore. He leaned down and kissed you, not as rough as Carlos’s kiss. That was the difference between them: Carlos loved to devour, and Charles liked to savor. As Charles and you kissed, Carlos stepped forward, stepping behind you. He set a hand on your hip, using the other to move your hair to the other side. He began to leave kisses on your neck, starting below your ear.

You gently moaned into the kiss, tightening and untightening your grip on Charles’s button-up as Carlos kissed your neck and Charles’s licked your bottom lip, asking for entry to your mouth. You happily let him in, his hands slipping between the both of you to begin unbuttoning the linen shirt you wore. His fingers grazed the curves of your breasts as he continued down, causing your breath to hitch in the kiss. Once all the buttons were undone, you pulled your arms back from your shoulders, letting Carlos remove the top and drop it to the ground.

Once Carlos removed your shirt, he had better access to more skin. He kissed down your neck to your shoulder, nipping at the curve of skin between them. You shuddered, goosebumps forming on your skin. You pulled away from Charles’s kiss, panting softly as you looked at him. Your eyes remained locked with his bright green ones, pushing the button-up off his shoulders. He removed it, dropping it to the ground. Your hands went to the hem of his t-shirt, fingers sliding underneath to graze the chiseled skin of his abdomen. You gently scratched his skin with your nails, pushing the shirt up. He helped you remove the shirt, bare on his torso except for the necklace around his neck.

You turned around, Carlos’s lips breaking away from your skin. He smiled at you, reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Charles traced your curves with his hands, pressing up behind you. You could feel his arousal behind you, teeth gently biting your lip as you undid the buttons on Carlos’s shirt. You held intense eye contact, your fingers moving in a familiar rhythm. Inch by inch, Carlos’s torso was revealed until there were no more buttons.

You tore your gaze away, ogling at the Spanish beauty before you. You touched his warm skin and danced your fingers along the curves. Charles hooked his fingers in the waistband of your linen pants, leaning forward to pepper kisses on your right shoulder. You reached up under the shoulders of Carlos’s shirt and pushed the fabric away. The shirt flowed off his arms, falling to the floor. He reached forward, cupping your cheek before kissing you, his lips revealing his hunger for you.

Charles’s kisses on your skin flowed down your back, his teeth nipping at your hips through your panties as he slid your pants down. He kneeled behind you once the material pooled at your feet, kissing upward. Instinctively, you stepped out of the clothing despite being occupied with Carlos, who massaged one of your breasts through your bra. Charles stood up to his complete form, kissing your shoulder once more as his hand swept across your skin to your panties.

Your eyes immediately flew open as soon as you felt Charles’s hand slip beneath the material of your panties and graze your clit, going to feel your wetness between your folds. The kiss was broken as a moan left your lips, your back arching into Charles. Carlos chuckled between his pants, swiping his thumb across his bottom lip. He attacked your neck with kisses, nipping and sucking at the skin.

You squirmed between the two men, reaching forward and gripping Carlos’s shoulder to help you stand upright. Charles had you on your toes as his fingers lazily circled your clit as if he was playing the piano. Moans bubbled in your throat, but you let out soft pants, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of hearing how they made you feel. Carlos was occupied with reaching behind you, fingers slowly undoing the hooks of your bra. His lips were focused on the skin of your breasts that peeked out from the fabric.

Carlos slipped your bra from your form, discarding it on the ground. He knelt, hands flying to your waist and fingertips digging into the skin. He kissed the curve of your breast before bringing his mouth around one of your nipples, causing you to moan loudly. Your free hand flew to his hair, gripping the dark strands as he teased you from the front and Charles teased you from behind.

You felt the heat and tension build up in your core, signaling your nearing orgasm. You didn’t want to be the first to come, not yet. However, your mind was too distracted and overstimulated by their ministrations to focus on anything but the pleasure they brought you. You opened your eyes, staring at the ceiling and trying to get your thoughts in order.

“Let’s take this to the bed,” you panted, feeling the two pause at your suggestion. You could feel Charles’s smile against your skin, the hot breath from his mouth causing a chill to run through you.

“I think that is a wonderful decision, wouldn’t you agree, mate?” Charles purred to Carlos, taking a step back from you. Carlos released himself from teasing your breasts with his mouth, sliding his hands to your ass as he stood up. He squeezed the flesh, a grin on his lips. Finally, he nodded at what Charles had to say, pulling away and stepping to the side, signaling with an outstretched arm to the bed.

You scoffed, shaking your head as you walked past Carlos. He nailed a good smack on your ass, causing you to yelp in surprise. Laughter filled the air as the two men chuckled at your reaction before you sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back on your arms. You gazed at the two men, looking them up and down seductively.

“I think you both are wearing a little too much clothing. I can fix that for you,” you purred, bringing your hands down to your panties. You hooked your fingers beneath the waistband, pulling them down and off your legs. You dropped them to the floor, keeping your legs open as the two men stared at you as if you were a meal. Carlos’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips.

“Lei sarà la nostra morte, amico,” Carlos huffed in Italian to Charles. You laughed, understanding what the Spaniard said from the little bit of Italian the boys taught you here and there. Charles laughed, walking past Carlos and squeezing his shoulder in agreement. He stepped before you, reaching out and caressing your cheek before gripping your chin. You gazed up at him, giving him a gaze of submission but also tempted to suck his thumb between your lips.

“Will you do the honors, fille chérie?” Charles asked, bringing his thumb up to your lips. You nodded, gently nipping at the pad of his thumb before reaching forward. His hand fell to his side as you undid his belt, leaning forward to kiss his flesh softly. The strap hung undone, framing the button of his jeans. Your fingers slipped the button free, teeth nipping at his right hip. His breath hitched, chest rising and falling as you slowly pulled the zipper down. You reached in, purposefully grazing the obvious erection in his underwear before tugging the jeans down.

“Putain d'enfer,” Charles breathed, pulling away from you. Your hands brushed his thighs as he stepped away. You grinned at Charles, knowing you got underneath his skin. Carlos had watched with his arms crossed, amused as you spent time with Charles. As soon as Charles was yanking his jeans and underwear off, Carlos quickly undid his belt and jeans, soon bared before you.

“Fuck, I am the luckiest woman in the fucking world,” you breathed, toes curling and eyes almost rolling into the back of your head at the sight of the two naked men before you. You watched as they stepped around, Carlos lying horizontally across the bed. His head was slightly close to the edge. He looked at you, patting his chest.

“Come have a seat,” Carlos suggested, eyes beckoning you. You grinned, crawling over to him before straddling both sides of him with Charles’s assistance. He gave you a hand to position yourself over Carlos’s face, and you thanked him with a squeeze of his hand. Next, Carlos brought his hands to your thighs, caressing the skin. You shuddered, blinking your eyes repetitively a couple of times at the sensation.

Carlos pulled you down with no warning, tongue immediately delving within you. You cried out as his tongue circled your clit before attacking between your folds, lapping at your wetness. You reached forward, gripping Charles’s forearm. He waited for you to adjust, in awe at the sight of you.

“Ch-Charles, let me, please,” you pleaded, reaching forward with your free hand and wrapping it around his cock. The motion widened his eyes, but he stepped closer, cock level with your face. You looked up at him as your hand moved down toward the base, feeling the brush of his hair. Your gaze was innocent despite your lips wrapping around the tip of his cock and flicking your tongue out to run over the slit. He groaned, hands clutching your head at the base of your hair and fingers gently digging into your skull.

You closed your eyes, focusing on pleasing Charles with your mouth as Carlos pleased you with his. You took as much of Charles as possible, removing your hand from his forearm to grip the comforter beneath you. Your other hand stroked what couldn’t fit into your mouth, but you liked to focus more on the tip. You would bring Charles close to the back of your throat before pulling back, sucking and licking on the head.

As you teased Charles, Carlos moved to suck on your clit, slipping away one of his hands from your thigh and pressing a finger between your folds. You moaned on Charles’s cock, the sensation causing Charles to pull a breath through his teeth. Carlos gently brought his finger in and out of you, adding another. Your brows were furrowed in pleasure, Carlos’s actions causing you to stop sucking Charles’s cock. It still sat in your mouth as you moaned, soon pulling away from him. A strand of saliva followed your lips, soon breaking away.

Your eyes were squeezed soft, pants and moans leaving you. You opened your eyes, brows still furrowed as you looked at Charles. He leaned down, capturing your lips in his. He could taste himself on your tongue and lips, deepening the kiss to devour more. One of his hands clutched the base of your neck, fingers still tangled in your hair. You were brought closer and closer to the precipice of an orgasm, and you reached down, gently smacking Carlos’s shoulders as Charles kissed you. You pulled away, out of breath from Charles’s kiss.

“Carlos, please,” you begged, not wanting to cum on his mouth alone. You needed both of them. Now. Carlos slowed down, removing his fingers first before he pulled his mouth away from you. He licked his lips, patting your thighs to signal you could move. Charles helped you once again, gripping both of your hands to guide you off of Carlos and the bed.

Carlos sat up from the bed, soon standing up to move. His cock moved up and down as he walked to the end of the bed, your eyes watching him as Charles grabbed condoms from the nightstand. He pulled two out, ripping the serrations to separate the two. You glanced behind you at the sound, watching Charles walk over to Carlos and hand him one.

“Thanks, mate,” Carlos said quietly, accepting the condom. Both men ripped the packaging and slipped the condoms on.

“Come here, cariño,” Carlos said, shifting back from the end’s edge but still keeping his feet planted on the floor. You went to him, leaning down and kissing him as you planted a knee on each side of his body. He returned the kiss, one hand on your back, the other lining his cock up with your entrance. You reached down as well before sliding down on him. The kiss deepened as you allowed him to fill you to the hilt, his body taking the both of you back on the bed.

Charles watched the both of you, aroused by the scene and watching Carlos fill you with ease. He stepped between Carlos’s parted legs, touching your lower back. He caressed the flesh of your ass, causing you to pull away from Carlos’s kisses and watch Charles. He took himself in his left hand, shifting to level before slowly entering you from behind. Your eyes rolled back, toes curling, and cunt clenching around Carlos as Charles entered you.

Both men gave you a moment to adjust; the sensation wasn’t new, but it was always slightly alarming initially. Charles leaned forward to kiss your shoulder before straightening back, waiting for the cue. You nodded aggressively, eyes squeezed shut as you clutched Carlos’s shoulders. Carlos kissed your temple before both men moved together, Carlos thrusting up into you and Charles’s thrusts pushing you forward. You moaned, ready to come apart right there.

They were slow at first, continuing to let you adjust like the gentlemen they were. Then, when the only noise you made was panting, they changed their pace, their hips snapping against you. You moaned, back arching, which pushed you further into Carlos. Carlos’s hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your flesh that you knew would leave a mark behind. Charles’s grip was a little looser than Carlos’s on your waist but would still leave faint marks behind.

The pace they set quickly brought you closer and closer to an orgasm, the sensations of both pumping in and out of you overwhelming your body. Carlos thrust up, hips lifting off the bed, and a spot inside you that made you see stars. You gasped, clutching his bicep to the point your nails dug in. The sound of panting and your moans echoed throughout the room, all three bodies glistening with a thin layer of sweat.

“Fuck!” you cried out, soon feeling the tension in your core snap. You squeezed around Carlos, the tightening of your walls pulling him with you, causing his lips to stutter and his grip to tighten. Despite fucking you from behind, the tension of your orgasm was enough to bring Charles to his climax. He rode through his orgasm, slowing his pace until he stopped.

You fell on Carlos, not caring if your full weight was on him. Both of you were a panting, sweating mess. He removed a hand from your waist, running his fingers through his hair. He laid his head back, staring at the ceiling as he tried to get his breathing down to normal. Charles leaned over you, panting, but he kissed your spine. You hummed softly, weakly glancing back at Charles. Your eyes met, and he offered you a gentle smile, rubbing your back before he removed himself from you.

Charles walked to the ensuite bathroom, going to quickly clean up before he joined the both of you in bed. Carlos tilted his head up, stroking your back before gently patting your bum. You sighed, sitting up and letting him hold the condom before you removed yourself. Carlos leaned over, moving some hair that stuck to the sweat on your forehead. He gave it a gentle kiss, stroking your hair in the process.

Charles quickly returned, picking you up from the end of the bed. Carlos stood up and went to the bathroom, patting Charles on the shoulder. He carried you bridal style to his side of the bed, kneeling to place you in the middle before laying down next to you. You lay on your back, staring at the ceiling until Charles was beside you. Your head turned to meet his eyes, a soft smile on both faces. He stroked your hair, and you gently caressed his thigh and knee.

Carlos joined you both on the bed, wearing boxers he discarded on the ground. He lay on his side, close to you. You reached out to him as well, squeezing his forearm. He traced circles on your skin.

“Glad we got to fuck after we eye fucked each other during the match,” you said. Both men laughed, shaking their heads in amusement. You chatted idly about the match, making fun of Charles’s faceplant into the ground. After the teasing, Charles urged you to get cleaned up, which you did while throwing a small fit about it. You went into the bathroom, cleaned yourself up, and slipped on the panties you wore before. Charles stood next to his dresser, boxers on and a soft, folded t-shirt in his hands.

The t-shirt was extended to you, which you graciously accepted. You unfolded the material before slipping it on, following Charles to the bed that Carlos was still on. While you had cleaned up, Carlos slipped under the sheets, exhaustion from the day’s activities finally hitting him. You took your spot in the middle, Charles following you after. You snuggled up before fatigue and sleep took all three of you quickly.

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