#I hate modern fashion prompts

[dressupdragonne]

Competition Entry - Shopping Spree

Final Rank: 28

[deadghosy]

Okay so I just started reading Hazbin stuff on your blog, but they're AWESOME!! I'd like to request some Catnap!reader headcanons with the Vees if that's possible?

SURE! Thanks for the suggestion anon🦆💗

CATNAP! READER W/ THE VEES FOR A DAY

prompt: one of the Vee’s grabbed you out of now where and brought you to their tower to hang out.

You didn’t know how this flat faced person got your attention…more like grabbed your tail like a untrained child 😭

Vox grabbed your tail dragging you to the Vee’s tower as you sighed, leaving some red gas out of your mouth annoyed.

I feel like somehow you would agree to hang out with the Vee’s as long as you don’t see them in your hellish life forever.

I can imagine a picture of you and the Vee’s taking a selfie, but Velvette is on her phone, Vox is smiling at the camera, and Valentino is trying to blow a kiss at you.

Valentino was trying to cook for the other two Vee’s and you only for the kitchen to burn down as you and Velvette order take out as Vox gets the fire extinguisher. Valentino is trying not to touch the ✨pretty fire✨

I headcannon Valentino finding you attractive because if your tall frame. But also your smile as you just stand there smiling having your hands behind your back.

Imagine Valentino showing off his guns and you’re like. “Who needs guns when I can do this.” You said smiling as poppy gas slides through your teeth and knocks Valentino straight out on the ground when you smirk.

I can see the Vee’s and you going in a shopping spree and you decide to fuck with them and spend almost all their saving worth. Vox knew what you were doing so he stopped you.

I feel like the Vee’s will try to use try to get info on Alastor. But that’s mostly Vox so it would useless as you don’t anything form Alastor other than Alastor hates when you knock him out for bedtime

You literally sat there as Valentino was trying to get you to watch one of his sex tapes…you knocked him out and left the room as you grumbled.

I can imagine if it was sleepover it would chaotic as hell as Vox would be the one to fall asleep first and duct taped to the ceiling as the other snicker

For shits and giggles, Velvette will say you give off Lana Del Rey vibes as you just side eye her saying, “what tf you know about Lana Del Rey?”

You two are the best music buddies of modern genre.

Imagine a cute little headcannon where they all have secret matching bracelets and they let you have one.

Vox brought you on his channel to talk about your weird and cocky appearance. You were just on there to be clowned until you smirked letting poppy gas as the camera man fell breaking the camera.

“WHAT THE FUCK?! You dumbass cat!” “I’m dumb?” You said glancing at the man beside you as you slapped him smoothly with your tail as he had a shocked face touching his cheek.

I can see Valentino trying to get catnap! Reader to wear heels only for catnap! Reader to break them in their hands shaking their head no as they walk away again

I headcannon that the only V that catnap! Reader finds tolerable is Velvette because of her whole personality and not how she tries to bring catnap! Reader down

You definitely have that fun friend troupe with Velvette which is sweet and wholesome.

Velvette and you were hanging out on her side of the tower as she was getting you dressed in [style aesthetic]. You actually liked it as you gave her a thumbs up and grin.

I headcannon Velvette and Vox to try to make you do those dumbass TikTok dance trends with them so they could get #1 on the trending board.

I can imagine catnap! Reader ordering one of tose bug zappers to only electrocute Valentino

Velvette posted you and her doing a fashion walk as Angel was shocked seeing this on her page and shows the staff of the hotel.

The hazbin hotel gang will be like: “why tf is our resident hanging out with them?” As you are just trying to see why people even love the Vee’s.

I can headcannon that Vox forced you into a group chat with them

I can see that every time you hang out with the Vee’s, your phone gets blown up with worried text from the hazbin hotel crew. And then Vox will try to hack or get into your phone to disable your phone.

I imagine you and Vox literally shitting in each other. Like you say “why as you so short.” While he thinks of a comeback to say back to you.

I headcannon that if you and the Vee’s played uno together, you’re rigging it. Cause ain’t no one gonna win today.

At the end of the day, you left their asses as you used your red smoke on them…well idk about Vox cause that bitch has a tv head. You probably gave him a virus to circuit.

BRO WHO TF MADE THAT SMIRK FOR CATNAP?! EHH? Anyways I hope you guys liked this🦆💗

[joelsmochi]

Dirty Lies

SUMMARY: Joel realized how much you matured since he last saw you 4 years ago and can’t resist you. WARNINGS: age gap [reader is 22, joel is 35], smut minors dni, no descriptions of reader aside from having shoulder length hair & having a girly sense of fashion, pervy!joel, shy-ish!joel, needy!joel, reader seduces joel. 18+ WARNINGS: infidelity if you squint (technicalities people), brief objectification, masturbation (f), oral (f receiving), dirty talk, reader was a lying little shit in high school but it paid off WC: 7.3k [please read author's note]

A/N: this was originally going to be a 15k word long smut as part of my LDR series, but........ I figured the more parts I can make out of it the more content I can produce, so here is part one of Us Against The World. Enjoy :) Edit: I’m rereading this and noticing a few typos, I apologize about those! Grammarly isn’t so helpful sometimes…

series masterlist | main masterlist

There you were in your blue tank top and yoga pants laying with your father’s dog in the middle of the front yard. You had just returned from New York a few days earlier from college, which your father amicably told Joel about over a few beers the week before.

Joel was expecting to see your 18-year-old self: long hair, sparkly eyeshadow, dressed in your late mother’s hand-me-downs from the 80s. But that was no longer you.

You dressed more modern and age-appropriate. Your hair was shorter, looked curlier, and you had highlights. Your eyebrows were thinner and your face was free from the loud makeup your teenage self was accustomed to. Joel would make jokes from time to time about how he believed you were just born with glitter all over your eyes.

Joel felt a little silly thinking you wouldn’t have changed. Who doesn’t make a drastic change when they leave high school? He hadn’t found the time to stop by and say hello but he wasn’t necessarily rushing it.

He’d met your father when you guys moved in next door in 1993 and he remembered you introduced yourself the second you saw him and Sarah playing outside despite your father’s protests.

You told Joel about how your dad was only being grumpy because he’d just turned thirty-six. Something about getting old. You didn’t bother to retain that information.

But here you were: all grown up. It reminded Joel of the day he overheard you and your best friend talking about how handsome you thought he was. He wondered if you still felt that way.

You sat up, feeling the sense that someone was watching you; your eyes scanned around until instinct made you look to the same window Joel was standing in.

For some reason, he didn’t feel embarrassed about being caught staring. He offered you an energetic smile and you took in his appearance.

He hadn’t changed much — his hair was a little longer and he had a few more fine lines across his face, but he was still the handsome man you remembered and admired.

You stand up and walk over to the window prompting him to open it.

“Hey, creep,” you teased with a big grin, “how ya been?”

Even your voice sounded different with its blend of Texas and New York. It was sultry with a hint of confidence. He tried not to let his weaknesses show.

“I’m doing all right… Sorry for starin’. Could hardly tell that was you,” he responded.

You just barely saw his eyes glance down to your chest, and it made you smirk.

Had this been any other man you’d have your fist meeting their jaw, but it wasn’t any other man. It was Joel. You hadn’t forgotten that he was attractive, but you did forget just how attractive. Or maybe his sexiness came with his age.

Not like it mattered anyways. It wasn’t like you could make a move.

“I been gettin’ that a lot… Dad tells me you’re a contractor now with Tommy.”

Joel nodded and said, “Yep, hated workin’ for other people, so…”

You were unsure if you were being awkward or if it was just… Awkward.

“Cool. Yeah, no, I get that. How is Tommy, by the way? Is he still really cute?” You giggled.

This made Joel roll his eyes. “Not cuter than me,” he answered begrudgingly. You watched how his eyes faltered again, trailing from your lips to your belly ring. “Your dad let you get that?”

You scoffed and waved your hand lazily as if you were swatting his condescending tone away. “One, Dad can’t tell me what to do with my body. And two, Tommy was always the cuter one.”

“S’that so?” Joel grunted as if he were tempted to laugh.

You gave him a cunning look and nodded. “Yeah. But you were always more handsome.”

Joel found himself blushing at the compliment, trying to wipe the redness away with his calloused palm to no avail.

You let out a quiet teetering laugh and looked back to make sure your dog was okay for a moment. “He get that dog after I left?”

Joel focused on you again and confirmed it once he noticed the dog again. “Yeah. I think your dad likes having something to take care of.”

You looked back into Joel’s eyes and bathed in them for a moment. He seemed more like himself, more certain of who he was. It made you a little sad to know how much time has passed, but maybe it was better this way.

“He was always like that. I think it started after… Well, you know.” You took a deep breath and tried to change the subject. “How’s Sarah? She still my little rockstar?”

“She’s more of a pop star, now,” he said. “She still wears that bracelet you let her have, the… The silver one.”

Your chest swelled with joy and you couldn’t contain your excitement. “Really?! Aw, man, that’s so cool. I remember I would throw a fit if I didn’t have that damn thing on.” The dog barking grabbed your attention once again. He was just barking at the mailman but settled once the worker started petting him. “Sorry!” You shouted before returning your focus to Joel. “Well, Joel it was nice seeing you. We should… Catch up. I could use some… Life advice.”

“I’m free tomorrow night if that works?” He tried to contain his excitement.

You slowly backed away, giving him one more nod and smile. “Perfect. Just come over whenever like old times.”

Joel decided to be respectful enough to not ogle over your ass as you walked away. He turned away from the window wondering how the hell he was going to get over this… Crush?

Is that what this was? A crush?

He decided to not torture himself with his intrusive thoughts.

“Hey, kid,” Joel greeted. You rolled your eyes at the nickname but greeted him back. He entered the backyard slowly trying to get a feel for the mood. He sat next to you in the extra papasan chair and snatched your beer out of your hands. You glared at him, unable to hold it for long when he shot you that infamous smile. “Everything all right?”

He tasted your strawberry chapstick around the rim of the glass and let the taste linger on his tongue. His eyes fell to your lips as he thought about how the chapstick would taste coming straight from you. Raw and unfiltered.

You held your breath, wishing you had enough courage to ask your father these questions. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust your father, you just wanted an opinion from an outside perspective. You were hoping Joel wasn’t as inclined to protect or embarrass you as much as your dad.

“There’s this guy I’ve been dating for a few months now… I…” You sigh frustratedly with the tension surrounding the question meanwhile Joel grew tense and jealous? He asked himself why that was the way he felt about you having a boyfriend.

You apprehensively said, “We had sex a few times before I left and it wasn’t…good.”

“Okay?” Joel asked as a way to tell you to keep going.

“How should I go about telling a guy that?”

He cleared his throat uncertain of how to answer your question. He didn’t want his newly discovered feelings to cloud his judgment as the chances of you two becoming a thing were slim to none. He wouldn’t want to sabotage you or your relationships. Especially when you trusted him enough to ask such a burdening question.

Joel accepted the awkwardness of the topic and put it aside. He didn’t want you to feel embarrassed. “Well, have you tried suggesting things that he can do to make you—it feel good?” He asked.

“Yeah, but I’m starting to wonder if it’s me,” you admitted.

“Does he do the things you ask him to?”

“Kinda?” Your cheeks flushed and your eyebrows furrowed tightly.

He gave you a look that said come on now.

“He like… Does half of it?” You could just die of embarrassment right now.

“Wh—? How does he do half of it?”

You groaned obnoxiously and chugged some more beer. “I don’t know?! He does what I ask for like five minutes and then just does what he’s used to I guess.” He watched you poke your bottom lip out to pout as you stared into the glass bottle. “I really like him, Joel.”

“Does he like you?”

“Well, yeah,” you said as if it were obvious. “Fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He inhaled sharply through his teeth and stole your beer bottle again. “All I will say is that a man that truly likes you would try harder, especially during sex, and especially if you’ve told him how he could make you feel good.”

“So… What do I do?”

“Do you think he likes you?” He asked again. “Think about it for a second. What does he do for you?”

“Well, he…” Your voice trailed off into silence as your mind went blank. Surely this guy did something for you to make you like him, right? But anything that did happen to come to mind was the bare minimum. You didn’t want to give Joel the satisfaction, so you said, “I think it could work.”

“Who’re trying to convince? Me or yourself?” He saw the frustration on your face and propped a finger below your chin to make you look at him. “If a guy really likes you, sweetheart, you wouldn’t have to ask more than once,” was all he said after he took a sip of your beer.

“What do you mean?”

Joel’s sigh almost sounded irritated. “I mean… A guy that truly likes you and deserves you won’t make you suffer through sex. A real man’ll take care a’you.”

“A real man, huh?” You bantered.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Like you?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Do you like me?”

Why the fuck did I ask him that?! You thought as soon as the words left your mouth.

Joel didn’t couldn’t answer right away. His voice just stumbled over his tongue and out of his mouth.

“I think you’re a sweet girl,” he finally said, “and you’re smart enough to know who’s worthy of your time and attention. Doesn’t sound like it’s him.”

You couldn’t defeat the growing smirk on your face as he fought the urge to look over your body. He wasn’t so good at hiding it.

You turned your body in the chair slightly and dauntingly lifted your leg to touch your bare toes against his calf. You watched his breath get caught in his throat and your mouth fell open in awe at how easy it was to get him riled up.

He looked at the ground, not moving a single inch of his body. He was overwhelmed by your confidence.

The amount of attention Joel’s given you in the last ten minutes already seemed to surpass the attention your “boyfriend” (can you even call him that?) had given you.

Your foot trailed up Joel’s leg before you rested it upon his knee; Joel’s eyes screwed shut as if he were praying to not get caught like this, but your voice brought his gaze back to you.

“You didn’t answer my question, Joel,” you whispered seductively. Your foot left his leg and you got on your knees in the chair, then you leaned forward, hands around the rim of his own seat, and leaned in devilishly close to his face. “Do you like me?”

He swallowed hard, his fingertips turning white as they pressed into the bottle.

His lack of an answer caused an impatience to grow inside you. You leaned in even closer and strengthened your eye contact with him. Your fingers absentmindedly trailed over his knee to the midpoint of his clad thigh.

His spine shivered and his arms grew goosebumps. “Why don’t you have this attitude with your boyfriend?” He asked lowly in a poor attempt to further evade answering you.

You snickered and looked over his beer-covered lips, craving to taste them. “If I’m being honest he’s technically not my boyfriend… You’re tellin’ me things about men and how they should act. It’s making me feel like… He just can’t handle me.”

He smirked at you, fighting the way his body pleaded to touch yours. “If that’s the case then, sweetheart, I don’t think he’s the one for you.”

“Oh?” You got even closer, your nose touched his and you heard him choke on his breath. “Do you think you could handle me?”

He chuckled rashly and straightened his posture, now sensing you tense up. “I could,” he confidently confessed. “But this ain’t right, sweetheart.”

“Please,” you scoff, “you can’t keep your eyes off of me.”

“If you keep actin’ like a spoiled brat you won’t be able to keep my hands off of you.”

“Maybe that’s what I want,” you retorted, a cocky essence in your eyes.

“That so?”

“Maybe you can show me how a real man should be taking care of me.”

Joel had to stop himself from speaking as it would have potentially led to consequences. His flustered cheeks and wide lustful eyes created a hunger you’d never felt before.

However, you wanted Joel to earn it. Push him to the point of begging for just a taste of you. You needed to know if he craved you. Something you longed for from other men that just could not deliver.

You hovered your agape lips over his so dangerously it tickled his nerves. You gave him a soft kiss on the cheek then sat back in your original position.

Joel was both relieved and disappointed with the kiss. Relieved it didn’t end up with his head buried between your thighs, and at the same time disappointed that it didn’t.

For the next few days, you settled into your room as best as you could and got everything how you wanted it to be. Well, almost. You wanted a shelf to go over your closet so that you could display your most prized possessions.

When the idea sparked in your head you remembered that your dad said he was going to be gone for most of the day. You figured you could hold off for one more day. That was until you heard some power tools and heavy grunting from beyond your window.

Joel.

Joel had followed your lead as best as he could and you had to admit that the lack of physical contact was making it harder to resist him.

You felt a bit strange, however. After all, this is Joel. Sweet, caring, next-door neighbor Joel. You and your friends had a crush on him and his brother, Tommy, sure, but this wasn’t that. And you surely weren’t a child anymore. But still, you couldn’t help but think of how strange the dynamic is.

It wasn’t enough to stop you from taking your sweatpants off and changing out of your t-shirt into a stretchy tank top. You poked your head out of your window and shouted Joel’s name a few times until you successfully got his attention.

“Hey!” You said with a proud smile.

“Hey, kid!” He shouted back.

“Can you build a shelf for me? I wanted to get my room done today, but my old man’s gone!”

“Right now?” He tried to seem indifferent.

You just smiled harder and motioned for him to come over. “Please?!”

He huffed and looked at his half-done project, ultimately deciding to help you instead. The sooner he helps you the sooner he could create distance, he figured. Though deep down he knew that wasn’t the real reason.

You patter downstairs to unlock the door for him. He could see from the corners of his eyes that you were half naked, only in white panties and your top.

“Couldn’t a’put pants on?” He asked grumpily as he walked past you, not giving you the satisfaction of staring. You shut and lock the door before guiding him upstairs.

“Yeah, but I figured since you were doing the job for free I could at least give you something to look at,” you flirted. He didn’t even bother trying to stop you.

“What d’ya need done exactly?” He asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“I want those shelves to hang over my closet right… Here. I have a power drill here already, I just couldn’t figure out how to get it.”

He was doing a decent job at keeping his eyes anywhere but on your body, but in his mind he had already taken your clothes off and fucked you against the wall.

“S’alright, I can get it for ya,” he said while giving you an earnest look.

“What?” You asked after a moment of silence.

“Nothing,” he answered with a shrug and a smirk. You lightly smack his arm and plop down on your bed.

You lay on your stomach and flipped through a fashion magazine, occasionally smelling some of the perfume samples. You snuck glances at Joel’s broad back as he made sure everything could be lined up, smiling to yourself at how efficiently he worked.

“How’s your boyfriend?” Joel randomly asked after about ten minutes. You looked at him through your eyelashes as he peaked over his shoulder. 

You stifled your laugh and began looking at the magazine again before answering him. “He actually ended things with me two days ago. But like I said, he technically wasn’t my boyfriend. He never asked.”

“Oh… You doing okay? Seemed like you really liked him.”

“I like someone else more,” was all you said. Joel took a second, then just nodded even though you weren’t looking at him anymore.

“This someone have a name?” He asked after a few more moments of silence.

Joel’s internal conflict was teetering between giving in and giving up. He wasn’t sure why he was so drawn to you, but that’s what fueled his filthy thoughts even more.

“Yep, he sure does.”

Your tone was the exact opposite of what you were feeling. You felt hot and desperate, but you (almost) fooled him by sounding bored. He didn’t want to give into your childish game of beating around the bush, so he kept his mouth shut and began hammering a nail into the wall.

Suddenly you had an idea. An awfully sinister one.

You tossed the magazine on your nightstand and sat up in the bed, leaning into a few pillows and angling yourself so that Joel could get the perfect view if he dared to look.

Your hands traced uneven lines and patterns over your clad breasts and you gasped softly at your nipples perking up quickly. He couldn’t hear you over his hammering.

You rid yourself of your wet panties, kicking them to the edge of the bed. You spread your legs and began working big and slow circles over your sensitive clit. You used your free hand to pinch your nipple over your shirt, the combination of stimuli making you give a more audible moan.

Joel didn’t think much of it at first — he figured you were moving around on the bed to get more comfortable. So when the next moan came and he stopped his work to look at you he was taken aback, to say the least.

He said your name, but you shook your head in protest. “Is this okay?” You asked, innocence spreading across your face.

He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe.

“Joel?” You snapped him out of his daze. “S’this okay?”

He nodded and watched your trembling hands dip down into your glistening slit, collecting your wetness and coating it over your clit. Your body was stiff with anticipation, watching him watch you.

He took in all of your beauty like the way your eyes fluttered halfway shut and how you bit your plump lip to quiet your mewls. One hand cupped your breast so gently and the other rubbing steady, taunting circles over your sensitive bud. He watched the way you pleased yourself and let this picture of you engrave itself into his memory.

One day, Joel thought, I’d be able to make her feel as good as she makes herself feel.

He ignored the hardening of his cock pressing against his jeans, not caring enough to touch himself if it meant he didn’t get to feel you. He found the situation quite sexy and the lack of physical contact made him feel good.

You were showing him that he didn’t need to touch you or talk to you. He didn’t need to do a damn thing. All he needed to do was stand there and let you look at him.

Your moans were quiet and soft, barely heard by him. You squeezed your nipple harshly and jolted at the shock of electricity it sent throughout your body, your eyes screwing shut and your legs curling up into an almost fetal position at the feeling.

He saw you swallow the lump in your throat as you looked into his eyes again, soon scanning over his body and imagining how he would feel on top of you. The imagination was more than enough to get you going.

You imagined he felt strong and heavy above you, trapping you with his burly arms and using his lean thighs to keep your legs open for him as he rolled his hips to meet yours.

You absentmindedly curled your middle and ring finger into your creamy pussy, chasing after the feeling of being stretched out by Joel. Your pussy effortlessly squelched as your discharge poured out of you like a waterfall, coating your plump ass cheeks in your juices.

You got a bit louder but remained mindful of the open windows just a few feet away. You watched the movement in his jeans from his cock that twitched, longing for just some fucking relief. But he didn’t move, he didn’t even adjust his pants. He wanted you to know that you were the one in charge and that he was willing to suffer just for you.

“Joel,” you breathed out in between helpless murmurs.

He almost caved at how sweetly you said his name like you were asking for help. You reached even further into your sex, pressing into your sweet spot carefully. You pretended it was him.

Allowing your eyes to shut and your mouth to open, your mind dove deeper into the fantasies of Joel. You imagined him fucking you slowly, steady enough to not make your bed squeak too loud. Your fingers followed your mind, bumping against your g-spot the same way you wanted him to: carefully, yet forceful.

Joel felt awkward just standing there watching you, but you looked so beautiful. Sprawled out just for him with your fingers dipping into your sopping cunt as if you were made just for him. He saw your shoulders twitch and a hiss escaped your lips.

A ripple of ecstasy shocked your nerves, your walls tighten around your fingers, and your clit tensed up with a tickling sensation.

Your face twisted from the overwhelming feeling that began to encapsulate you from your core to your mind. Your moans became shallow and louder. Your clit throbbing beneath your palm motivated your to work your fingers faster. You fucked yourself with more desire than you had before, still twisting your perky nipple between your other fingers.

You were a lot more gentle with yourself than Joel would have expected. You took your time, didn’t overwhelm yourself.

He knew he loved it when the ever-growing pressure inside of you burst into a million flames throughout your trembling body. He saw that the slower you were with yourself the more intense the orgasm was.

He accidentally groaned at the sight of you: clinging to your bedsheet with the very hand that toyed with your breast, eyes refusing to open from the immense pleasure soaring through your veins, curling up into a ball because your body couldn’t comprehend just how good you were feeling.

He noticed how your cum gushed around and below your fingers creating a wet spot on your blanket. He carefully watched as you opened your eyes, still slowly fingering yourself. You continued to feel your orgasm, exploring how much of it you could endure.

You moved your free hand to your clit and rubbed tiny and fast circles around it. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you refused to moan anything but his name.

You shoved your fingers deep inside of you to press against your g-spot relentlessly. Your toes curled at the mix of pleasure.

You knew your orgasm was coming back more powerful than before already, and you braced yourself when your walls flexed against your fingers basically forcing them out; you chewed hard on your lip and laid your stiff fingers flat against your clit to rub from side to side at the arrival of your squirt. You squealed behind your swollen lip and let your squirt splash everywhere.

Joel palmed his rock-hard cock for some relief as he watched in awe at how you came for him. You looked so fucking delicious soaking yourself in your juices. His heart punched against his chest and his mind nearly blank, only filled with you.

Your lips formed an ‘o’ shape as you eased up on your clit. You let out sweet hums of bliss and you opened your eyes again, carefully analyzing his body language.

He practically reeked of inferiority. He was your marionette, your toy, whatever you wanted him to be. He didn’t recognize you in the best way possible. You were an unwrapped present that he couldn’t wait to open and play with. Your confidence grew at his puppy eyes that were low and dark, filled with a need to serve you.

Your fingers collected some of the creamy nectar between your folds before you brought it to your mouth and darted your wet tongue out to taste it.

You never broke eye contact once, observing how his body shuddered at the filthy action. His breath was heavy, his chest heaved in anticipation. You stuck your fingers inside of your mouth moaning at the salty goodness coating every single taste bud.

It wasn’t until your fingers dropped back down to your side and you gave him a shit-eating grin that he finally looked away, sighing loudly.

He felt ashamed of himself.

He’d known you since you were a child.

How could he ever look you in the eye again?

How could he ever look your father in the eye again?

You slipped your panties on again while he wasn’t looking and just grabbed your magazine, flipping through the pages again like nothing ever happened though the wet spot on your bed clearly said otherwise.

When Joel saw you had returned to your previous activities he did the same. Drilling and hammering your shelves onto the wall like nothing fucking happened.

“Here you go sir, you have a lovely day,” you chirped at the customer as you handed him his food waiting until he left. You turned around to straighten up the counter behind you when the bell on the door jingled. “Hello, give me just one moment and I’ll be with you!”

You gave the counter a lazy wipe with the wet washcloth before tossing it into the sink nearby and turning around, being met with a smirking Joel.

“My, my, you working at a burger joint? Never thought I’d see the day,” he teased.

You made a face and told him to shut up. You tried not to notice the sheer layer of sweat that coated his partially exposed chest. “What can I get you, sir?”

His face contorted with arrogance and he placed a hand over his chest. “Sir? You callin’ me sir now? Oh, you are just too cute.”

With a roll of your eyes, you huffed out a stream of air, waiting for him to stop fucking with you.

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, dropping the act. “Can I get a burger and some fries?”

“You don’t want a drink?” You asked before writing his order down quickly and sliding it through the kitchen window.

“Are you tryin’a make me tip you more?”

You shrugged. “Nah, it’s just that the cola here is really good.”

“Mmm,” he hummed as if he didn’t believe you.

“If you want a cola I’ll make it extra cold for you,” you whispered as if you were telling him a dirty secret.

“Mhm, okay. Fine, I’ll take your word for it. Gon’ and get it f’me then.”

“You can ask that a little nicer,” you scoffed. You walked off, breathing in a gust of smoke on your way to the soda machine. “F’here or to-go?!” You shouted.

“Mm, I was gonna get it to go, but I think I’ll stay and keep you company.”

You could just hear the smile in his voice.

“Awe, how thoughtful of you,” you bantered before rinsing out a clean cup and filling it with ice. The cook called out the order was ready and you thanked him before finishing up with Joel’s drink. You grabbed the tray and walked over to the end of the counter where the stools sat, setting the food in front of Joel with a weak smile.

He watched you closely as you leaned onto your elbows waiting for him to try his food.

“What r’ya doing workin’ in a restaurant? Didn’t you graduate for like… Fashion or some shit?” Joel asked, unable to keep his smile down at how pretty you looked in your uniform: a teal skirt and a mustard yellow shirt, but so, so tacky. You hated the fucking outfit, it was everything you would never wear, but Joel thought you made it look good.

“I did,” you confirmed, “but I wanted a humbling job before I truly entered the world of fashion.”

Joel’s thick and somewhat dirty fingers unraveled his greasy burger after he dumped the fries out chaotically. He took an unnecessarily big bite, not seeing how your eyes watched the trail of juice trickle down the corner of his mouth to his chin before he swept it set with his thumb.

“Humbling, hmm?” He questioned before swallowing his barely chewed bite. “You’re a wise girl, you know?”

“So I’ve been told,” you smugly replied. You stole a fry off of his tray and smiled at his frowning face while eating it before washing it down with his fizzling soda. “Best drink that ‘fore it goes flat.”

You walked away momentarily to help a customer that just walked in; she only wanted a dollar milkshake so you told her not to worry about paying. You took a dollar and some change from your tip pocket and put it in the register before grabbing a styrofoam cup and packing her cup.

Joel noticed halfway through you making the shake that whenever you tapped the bottom of the cup against the counter your breast jiggled against your arm. He felt the lady nearby staring at him so he turned his head just enough to see the mix of disgust and concern on her face.

If only she knew how filthy you were for him just last week…

He didn’t care enough to stop though, he just went back to looking at how your clothes hugged your body.

You finished up her shake and popped a lid on it before grabbing a straw and walking back to give it to her.

Joel heard the lady ask if you were okay, and he promptly rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and tried his best to not laugh. You were confused by her question, simply nodding your head and saying, “Yeah?”

She looked at Joel once more, choosing not to say another word before leaving.

“Fuck was that about?” You asked, watching her walk away.

“She saw me starin’ at your tits,” he said between obnoxious bites. “If only she saw—“

Your eyes widened. “Do not finish that sentence.”

“Whatever you say, doll,” he teased before taking another bite.

You pretended to be grossed out by seeing the chewed-up food in his mouth as he spoke, swatting his hand gently. “You’re so gross.”

“You love me,” he quipped with a simper. He took a sip of his drink, humming at how refreshing it felt. “This is good,” he told you.

“Told ya.”

“What time are you out?”

You looked at the door when your manager came in, apologizing for taking longer than she expected.

“You’re fine, it’s a slow day,” you told her as she walked to her office. You looked at Joel and slammed your book and pen on the counter near the register. “I’m out now. Why?”

“Your dad asked me to pick you up.”

You felt a rush of worry. “Why? Is he okay?”

“Yeah, honey, everything’s fine. He forgot about pickin’ you up today and got drunk with his buddies and called me—well, he called Tommy. Said he wouldn’t be back home ‘til tomorrow.”

You raised an eyebrow at the mention of his brother’s name. “Oh? Well, why isn’t Tommy here?” You strutted around the counter and stood next to Joel as he inhaled the last of his food.

“Think you know why,” he grunted.

Anxiety pang inside of your chest, but you convinced yourself it was excitement. You were hoping that he wanted to get you alone somewhere and fuck you into the next week.

But you didn’t want to seem desperate. You kept a straight face, waiting for your boss to come back out before getting your things and punching out.

You followed Joel to his Chevy and thanked him when he opened the door for you. He huffed when by the time he got inside the car himself you were already flipping through his book of CDs.

“I got a good one in already—“

“Is it The Writing’s On the Wall by Destiny’s Child?” You interrupted after you found said CD.

“No, b—“

“Then it’s not what I want to listen to.”

Joel endured your (arguably bad) singing for the ten-minute ride back to your house. He thought about a few things in that ten minutes:

-Sarah wasn’t home, so he didn’t need to worry about food (or getting caught), so this time was optimal to make a move on you.

-If he were to make a move on you, then you two wouldn’t get caught.

-If he were to make a move on you, how exactly would he do it?

Once he arrived in his driveway, you both stepped out of the car and he walked over to your side.

“You not working tonight?” You asked.

“No, we finished early.”

You looked at him with lush eyes and bit the inside of your mouth, a flirty smile coaxing your lips. He looked hopeful for something, anything.

“I was just gonna watch TV all night,” you started, “and maybe make some dinner. I know you just ate, but you and Sarah are welcome to come over.”

“Sarah’s at a friend’s tonight, doing some studying,” he answered. His voice trailed off as if he weren’t finished speaking his thought aloud, but you picked up where he reluctantly left off.

“Do you want to come over, then? Just you?”

He looked around the quiet neighborhood as if he had to think about what he wanted. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

You lead him to your house, kicking your shoes off at the door and he followed. He felt unsure of his decision. He wondered if this night would play out platonically and just be filled with conversation and dinner, or if this was truly the beginning of a secret he’d have to keep forever.

“Spaghetti okay?” You asked him once you both entered the kitchen, decorated with oranges and reds, and yellows, reminiscent of your late mother. You tossed your half apron on the island before making your way to the refrigerator.

You heard his feet patter on the linoleum quickly but before you could turn around on your own Joel did it, pinning your back against the refrigerator and knocking down some of the bottles inside of it.

You gasped when his fingers peacock over the outsides of your thighs, gripping at the hem as a means to pace himself.

His eyes were bright yet lustful as his proximity alone sucked the air out of your lungs. Your chests heaving against each other’s created the only other physical contact you had with him.

He then dropped to his knees before you got the chance to speak; his calloused hands rose beneath your skirt, hiking it up enough for him to pull your wet panties down to your ankles. You stepped out of them for him and he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder before meeting his mouth to your clit tongue first.

You moaned at how he just dove into it, not bothering with kissing or easing you into it. Your digits laced through his messy curls while his tongue coated itself in your juices.

His tongue did crazy laps around your clit and he smacked a couple of firm kisses in between his licks. You tried to watch his work but your stupid fucking skirt was in the way. You settled, however when his eyes opened, the only visible part of him from your view.

You tasted so good to him, he tasted your day of work mixed in with your salty precum and he couldn’t get enough of it. He moaned when you tugged at his hair, burying his face as deep as he could and closing his eyes.

You let out a stream of obscenities while using your calf to push into his back, afraid that if you didn’t hold on tight enough he’d vanish.

He wrote out his full name over your clit like he was casting a spell that anything you or someone else touched you there you would only think about him.

You were amazed at how good he was eating you out — you didn’t think he’d be bad. You just didn’t know it could feel this good. It was like you felt him touching and kissing and licking all over your body, swimming in an endless pool of dissolution.

His touch was decadent through remembering how careful you were with yourself. He wanted to cater to you and to make you feel as good as you made yourself. And on top of that, he just really wanted to eat your pussy.

Savor it.

Taste it.

Drink you until you fucking ran dry and begged him to stop.

Nothing could have torn his lips away from your pussy. Hell, someone could have walked in and he’d still keep going.

“Joel,” you gasped, throwing your head back and grinding on his face.

He loudly moaned, tightening his grip around your thighs and wagging his head furiously from side to side to provide more stimulation.

Your hips bucked into his face roughly and you screeched, pulling even tighter on his hair.

“Joel, oh—fu-fuck!”

He smirked and pulled at the skirt to unveil his eyes again. His dick angered in his jeans, but he ignored it. He’d much rather focus on the way you writhed from his touch. Your panting growing heavier fueled his already intense movements. He began to suck while still shaking his head earning another screech from you.

You never felt out of control with how loud you were before. Every motion sent a million shockwaves throughout your body. You always did a good job at keeping quiet enough so that the neighbors wouldn’t hear, but fucking hell was Joel the one to break that evergreen streak.

You felt his hot breath collide with the fluids coating your sex and his nails leave indents on your flesh.

His tongue darted out to collect a stream of your cum, but his nose butted against your clit as he continued shaking his head making your hips buck once more. Then he realized… He got to stimulate your sensitive bud and lick between your folds.

He loved it.

Your moans became more distressed and uneven; he felt you chasing that high. He wanted you to cum so fucking badly. To let all of your pent-up cum pour over him.

You held the back of his head gently and he angled it just right enough for you to ride his face.

“Use my fucking face,” he moaned loud enough between your legs for you to hear. “Use my fucking face to cum.”

Your body gave in finally at his hoarse voice; your hops sped up, still using his nose and lips to overstimulate yourself. The orgasm was forceful, your moans strident.

Joel felt a pool of your cum leak out and drip down his chin onto his neck. He watched you crumble and curl into him and he was attentive enough to hold you steady while your balance dissipated.

Your head was dizzy and your vision blurred. You slowly halted your movements and just stood there being held by him while he placed light, but loving kisses along your dripping cunt.

He finally pulled his face out from underneath your skirt and carefully put your leg down before standing. He tucked some loose hairs back or behind your ears, then caressed your cheek and gave you a peck.

You wiped some of your cum off of his wet chin with your thumb and held it up to his mouth which he gladly sucked on. He grinned at you afterward and fixed your skirt for you.

The silence was soothing because frankly, neither of you knew what to say. It left you speechless, but that could just be the aftereffect of your climax.

The night was beginning to close in sooner than either of you wanted it to. You two just talked, truly catching up on the past four years. He was a lot funnier than you remembered, your cheeks were aching from how much he was making you laugh.

"You are a real gentleman, Joel Miller. What can I say? Dinner and an orgasm?!"

He lifted you up from your spot on the couch and pulled you into his lap so that you were straddling him. "I don't have to be," he murmured against your lips. His fingers flexed into your feverish skin, holding you upright and close by. He chased you with his lips until you finally let him kiss you. "Be honest with me... Did you really think I was handsome in high school?"

Your face grew warm and you hid behind your hands in embarrassment. "Oh, my God."

"Why are you actin' all shy now?"

"Because you weren’t supposed to know about that."

"Know about what exactly?"

You crossed your arms, deciding to let him win this time. "You want details?"

He smirked and leaned back to get more comfortable.

"Well... I used to lie and tell my friends that we fucked," you admitted.

"Really?" Despite his surprise the smirk never left his face. If anything it grew wider.

You sheepishly nodded. "I used to tell them how good you were. Everything you would do to me."

"What would I do to you?" His cock was already throbbing against his jeans, and just like every other time, he ignored it.

"You would fuck me up against the wall," you explained. "Sometimes, you would bend me over the edge of the bed and spank me for being naughty. Or just 'cause you felt like it. I'd even tell them about how you played with my ass so gently because you didn't want to hurt me."

Every word went straight to his dick, making it jerk and prod your thigh.

"Maybe I do need to bend you over and spank you for all that lyin' you were doin'. Your friends probably think I'm some creep now," he said; his tone wasn’t scolding or cold. He sounded thirsty for more of you. Like his throat had already run dry despite how much of you he drank earlier.

"I'd tell them the truth, but if I were to do that now then I'd be lying again," you whispered against his lips.

"We certainly cannot have you spreadin' no more dirty lies, now. Can we?"

-

Read Part 2 here.

[two-white-butterflies]

peaches - am. targaryen

Description: Your father decided to marry you to the elusive, Aemond Targaryen. After a year of marriage, he still refuses to acknowledge your existence - that is until after Criston Cole becomes his son's teaching instructor. Cole isn't only interested in teaching your son. (MODERN AU) Rating: Mature 18+ (breast play, jealousy sex, desk sex, slight breeding kink, size kink, spit kink because it wouldn't be an aemond fic without it.)

There was nothing to love - no personality or show of appreciation. He kept to himself and expected you to do the same. "Aegon, please calm down." you mumble aware of Aemond's gaze from inside his office. "I wanna go swimming!" the child demands staring at the pool with his adorable purple eyes.

Aemond has shown no interest in helping you raise his son. He's there for parties and events - there when the child has a nightmare, but when it comes to Aegon's day-to-day activities - he's absent. You sigh. Aemond is a great father, but he's occupied with his work.

"We have to wait for the instructor, ñuha tresy." you smile, adjusting the skimpy swimsuit that you wore. It was revealing - it exaggerated the best parts of your body, while hiding the parts that you hated. Any husband wouldn't be able to keep his hands off you - but he was able to. Aemond has never touched you before - not even a strand of your hair. "Please, I won't go in the deep parts." he promised, jumping up and down with excitement.

A laugh escapes your lips, not trusting the little boy.

You lean down to his body - pushing a strand of his hair away from his face. "Have patience, little one." you answered firmly, prompting the boy to give you his best puppy eyes. You were about to allow him down the pool but someone clears their throat from behind you.

Criston Cole was staring at you - specifically your endowments. Your posture shifts as your body regains it's full height. He had that porno look in his eyes. The one that a man has before fucking a girl in a pornhub video. You didn't like it - you felt disgusted.

"Well, Mr. Cole will take care of you now." you walked to the side - gathering the robe on the daybed. You walk away from the pool - trusting the maids to supervise your step-son.

Completely unaware of Aemond's gaze.

He tried to focus on the mountains of paperwork on his desk - but he couldn't. His mind was elsewhere. He imagines you wearing that red swimsuit. The fucking swimsuit that you bought for him - the swimsuit that he should be the only one looking when you wore. He sees the way Criston Cole stares at you.

He places his pen down, opening his venetian blind slightly to watch his son learning to swim. You were standing there again - hovering over them with a blue-towel on your hands.

His son wasn't learning to swim - he was on top of a fucking floater while the instructor ogled at your breasts. His grip on his fountain pen tightens, spilling ink on his brand new pants.

He'll fucking gouge that man's eyes.

He reaches for his telephone, dialing his sister. "Helaena, are you there?" he pauses waiting for his sister's reply.

"Yeah?" she questioned.

"Can you escort Mr. Cole to his car? We won't be needing his services any longer." he commands, earning a snort from his older sister. "Is this because of his wandering eye?" she inquired, and he could hear the faint sound of someone slurping milkshake on the other line.

"If you have a problem with him staring at (your name)'s body, then you should fire all of your house-staff." she taunted, not telling the full truth - but also wanting to see how the situation would turn out. You were a pretty little thing - the eye-candy inside the Targaryen manor.

Everyone but Aemond seemed to be engrossed with you.

"What?" he interrogated, voice suddenly raising with anger. He could imagine all of his servants staring at you, watching you strut like a model on fashion-week.

"Fire Mr. Cole, right? I'm on it." she promised, ignoring his outburst and hanging up on him.

You were annoyed with everything.

Annoyed with Aegon singing his favorite nursery rhyme while underwater. Annoyed by your husband's lack of emotion and annoyed with Cole trying to talk to you.

Helaena comes to save you.

"Mr. Cole." she looks down with her sweet voice. "Yes?" he asked, pretending to hold little Aegon. "The maids have prepared your towels and the shower that you will be using. We do not need your lessons anymore." she announced and his face falls flat on the ground. "What? That's impossible - Aeg doesn't know how to swim yet." he defended but Helaena's thin-lipped smile proved that he wasn't doing shit.

"We can have that arranged, but as of the moment we have no need of you." the woman added, one of the maids held unto the boy while Criston emerged from the pool - mumbling strings of insults.

There were three rules before your marriage to him. One, don't do anything that would ruin his reputation. Two, remain loyal to him. And three, never go inside his rooms.

This was your first time stepping on the carpet that was outside his office door.

"Aemond." you call out.

The door opens automatically and you welcome yourself inside.

He doesn't stare at you - or even acknowledges your existence. He keeps on jotting down his notebook. "Did you have to fire Mr. Criston? I don't like him but Aegon adores him." you ask in a soft tone, careful to not offend him.

It was impossible to offend him - no matter how hard you tried, he always kept his cool.

"He's incompetent. There's no room for that in my household." he replies in a cold tone, continuing to sign a few bands of contracts. "I suppose," you look around the room - scanning around his decor. There were pictures of history around the walls - the beginning of industrialism and the decline of tradition.

He was a man of the arts - and you didn't know that.

You knew nothing about your husband. How fucking stupid.

" - and don't wear that swimsuit again." he added after a deep breath. Your eyebrows merged into each other. He wasn't going to tell you what you could and couldn't wear. "I beg your pardon?" you inquire.

He looks up from his paper - and unto you. The girl who was still wearing the said swimsuit.

"It's not appropriate." he asserted through gritted teeth. He couldn't understand why he was riled up at the thought of other man staring at you - and your round and perfect peaches. "What is appropriate to you? I cannot wear my pajamas around the pool." you responded in a brash manner, his eye widens at your show of rebellion.

"You can wear a bikini but not around men." he tried to reason, navigating himself around the labyrinth of his own reasoning. He didn't make sense. "Not around you, then?" you take a step forward, dominating over him in front of his desk.

He stands up, reaching for the collar of the bathrobe that you wore - he pulls your body closer, merging his lips with yours.

What is his is yours.

His money, his empire, even his son - but you were only his.

His to fuck. His to breed.

A moan escapes your mouth as you began climbing over the desk. Kneeling but you weren't able to reach his height. Your head only reached his eyebrows. "He was staring at you, huh?" he asked, slowly untangling the strings that held your top.

With a tug of a string, your breasts were revealed to him. Taut and bouncy, like he imagined them. His hands fondled your breasts, playing and teasing them. He lowers his head, sniffing your neck and placing a nipple inside of his mouth.

He was sucking you - like a newborn babe searching for milk.

"Aemond." you moaned, pulling his head closer.

His right hand trails down to your mound, teasing it through the cloth. "You are mine." he announced, pressing kisses on both of your breast - alternating between the two of them. "Yours." you replied, his hands untangling the string that held your bottom - letting it loose.

He frees himself from your grasp, reaching down to unbuckle his belt. He lowers his boxers - freeing his cock that stood tall and proud. Your eyes widened at his length - it was going to fit, but it was going to hurt.

You sit properly on his desk, legs wide open as you welcomed him. "Do it." you demanded earning an amused chuckle from the business magnate. He places a hand on your face - cupping your cheeks. He inserts a finger inside your mouth, allowing you to suck on it as his cock enters your hole.

It was pleasure - breath taking pleasure.

Your grip on his shoulder tightens, telling him to go deeper.

"Harder." you moaned.

He complies with your order, lifting your leg to reach the top of his elbows. "Fuck - shit." you cursed, entering a new realm of pleasure. There were stars in your eyes. You hold unto his shoulder, eyes gazing up to interlock with his.

His eye was beautiful.

It was a deep shade of lavender.

"Keep moaning and I'll cum." he threatened, pulling your body closer and rocking his desk. The paperwork was forgotten - all in favor of his beautiful girl. "Cum inside of me." you moaned again, feeling his length prod inside your cervix. "You want to give our son a sibling?" he chuckled darkly.

"Yes!" you moan. His cock was reaching places you didn't believe was possible.

You hear the desk rock loudly - like an earthquake. Your leg falls on his side, and he raises the other one over his shoulder - slightly tipping your body to be lying down. "Oh - Aemond!" you scream feeling otherworldly bliss.

His hands squeeze around your cheeks, staring at your face - mouth wide open with lust. "Who owns you?" he asks, squeezing it tightly. "You do!" you answer, and he smiles.

Rocking on a steady rhythm.

"Open your mouth, princess." he commands and you follow him, opening wider. He closes his mouth - gathering the spit on his tongue, releasing it on your mouth. "Swallow." he ordered and you obeyed him - the faint taste of whiskey lathering inside your mouth.

"I love you," you confess feeling a hot sensation in the bottom of your stomach. "I love you to, princess." he replies, merging your lips together as thick ropes of cum populate your ovaries.

[bharv]

Happy Gortoween everybody. Thanks @gortash-week for all the food!

Sweet Thing

Modern AU verse Durgetash. Prompts: Costume party, sweet delights, the devil you know. CW implied feederism and coercion.

(This is basically fluff for me.)

“Come on. We’re going out.”

He’s drunk, because of course he is, though he’s not sweating enough yet to have moved onto anything harder. Manva moves to shut the door, but he catches it and moves past her before she has a chance.

“I’m not going anywhere. It’s late.”

“It’s bloody nine-thirty! What is it with your generation. You’re tucking yourself in with your teddies by nightfall.”

“I have a class at six tomorrow.”

“Christ. I didn’t think students got up for anything before ten.”

“A Pilates class, not a class-class.”

She’s already exhausted by his presence. Decked out head-to-toe in black, his hair pushed back and the only hint of colour an ugly pair of red-tipped boots that must have been some designer’s idea of a joke, he strides through the grey of the studio apartment like a fly across a fruit bowl.

“Come on,” he says again as he opens up the fridge and takes out one of her sparkling waters. “Get something black and slinky on and let’s pop out. I’ll have you back by midnight, promise.”

He walks back to her, slipping a hand over her waist, his thumb pushing past the fabric of her vest. There is a smile playing at the edge of his lips, and she knows why. He has already won, and they both know it.

He calls a cab and takes them into old soho, the backstreets of the city that heroically resist the lure of gentrification. They stop down an alley with one illuminated door with missing letters, and she follows him down a narrow staircase that leads to a tatty looking retro diner. There is a DJ feebly playing generic fifties music, and they are led by a lone waiter to the far corner of a tacky, tattered old red Formica booth. She had worried that she was underdressed; the only black clothes she had in her wardrobe was a two piece Lycra workout set, but as she shrugs off her coat she only thinks of how the plastic seats will stick to her arms.

“This can’t be what you’re all dressed up for,” she says as she fingers a sticky menu on the table.

“I’m going on,” he explains as he pulls out a cigarette. “Lady Jannath’s Costume Masquerade.”

She recalls seeing the photos when she was younger in Orin’s copies of Tatler. Wisteria Jannath and her daughters in couture garments that would have been just as welcome at the met ball.

“And where is your costume then?”

“Ah yes,” he replies, and pulls out a cheap pair of plastic horns from his inside pocket that he places on his head with a flourish.

She hates that it makes her laugh. “Hardly up to the dress code, is it?”

“Dress code is for people coming through the front to be papped,” he explains, lighting his cigarette and taking a long, measured pull. “I’m there for the real party. Oh, I almost forgot…”

He pulls out a tiny witches hat from the jacket, a delicate little hair clip that he reaches across to place on her head.

She flinches. “I don’t do Halloween.”

He scowls, pulling his cigarette from his mouth and flicking ash across the table. “Why not? Lighten up a little.”

“It’s not… for me. I don’t want to.”

“Come on. Don’t be such a little-”

“You can’t smoke indoors, Mr Gortash.”

A heavy, masculine, and above all exhausted voice pulls her out of their little bubble. She feels embarrassed as she looks up at the poor waiter, who is surely only doing his job and is sick of late-night nonsense like-

“Quite so,” Enver replies with a smile, and takes another quick puff before pulling out his wallet. “Bring me an Old Fashioned, two Ring-a-ding-ding burgers, and a milkshake. Chocolate, dear? Strawberry?”

He doesn’t even look at her as he pulls out a wedge of cash and folds it for the waiter. It must be at least three hundred.

“I don’t want anything,” she tells him.

He smiles at the waiter and puts the money in his hand before leaning back.

“Chocolate, I think. With all the toppings. Bring it over with the whiskey bottle and then leave us be, there’s a good chap.”

The food arrives and it is fine, nothing remarkable, with generous portions of fries and beef-bacon instead of pork. She looks around the room as Enver talks about his day, something about international markets that is impossible to follow as he tops up his glass, and notices that the room is full of suited men with women. Some look younger, others perhaps hired. All of them tucked away, just like she is, in dimly-lit booths.

“Why did we come here?” she asks him as she dips one of her fries in the melting ice cream. “We could have stayed at mine.”

“Maybe I wanted to treat you.”

“But not enough to take me to the party.”

“Would you have wanted to go?”

She considers it, just for a moment. The crowded space, the photographs. The feeling of hanging on his arm. “…No.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“But why here?”

“It’s an old favourite. Now come on. You’ve barely touched your food.”

She looks down at the half-eaten burger and seemingly endless chips. She already knows how heavy her body will feel tomorrow on the reformer, how it will sit on her chest.

“I’m done.”

“Truly?” He moves closer to her, and runs his hand over her stomach openly as he leans into her neck. The feeling of shame lurches in her as she tries to pull away, but there is nowhere to go as she traps his hand in hers. “You don’t feel full at all,” he murmurs against her neck. “And there’s not much to hide behind, is there?”

“Enver-“

“Fine. If you’re sure.”

The hand on her stomach slips from her grasp, chasing up her skin as he leans in to kiss her. The kiss is hard, forceful, and she almost chokes on it as she pulls away.

“I want to go home,” she tells him, her hand reaching to try to find her coat as he laughs at her.

“Then go! Do you want to go back to the home that I pay for, the one I furnished and supply for you with only the ask of your company in return, or would you prefer to go back to your real home?”

He leans in and kisses her again, and she can feel her head swirl as if he has drugged her. She knows he has not, would not.

It wouldn’t be so fun for him if he had.

He pulls away, holding her by the back of her neck. “A girl your age should be out at a party, getting felt up in the corner by some quivering boy for a quick fumble in the dark,” he tells her. “Chasing little memories, gathering little discretions for the diary. But you’re not there. And you’re not at home. You’re here, with me, and you’re here because you like it. You like what I am.”

She breathes in the scent of him, takes in the feeling of his thumb moving down her collarbone and his other hand reaching down her thigh as everything dissolves but him. Smoke and ash, the silly plastic devil horns an unnecessary addition.

Perhaps it is better to stick with the devil you knew, after all.

[fayes-fics]

Somewhere Only We Know

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Five hours of snowfall, four miles from the nearest paved road, three weeks before Christmas, two old friends and one bed….

Warnings: 18+smut, minors DNI, fingering, handjob, vaginal sex, passing mention of oral sex, all sorts of feelings.

Word Count: 7.9 k I'm so sorry...

Build a blurb prompt 1: Benedict 👅 smut 🌲 mutual pining 🛌 only one bed - from @amillcitygirl Build a blurb prompt 2: modern Benedict 👅smut 👥friends to lovers 🌲mutual pining 🛌only one bed - from anon

Authors Note: *beep beep* make way for the trope bus, it’s coming thru!! Is this original? No. Was it fun to write? Hell YES! This thing was supposed to be 1k follower celebration Drabble (HAHAHA) but it grew its own legs and took over my brain for the last week. This is my winter epic and I even listened to the namesake song as I was editing it. I hope you all enjoy. Betaed by the total trooper @makaylan and beautiful artwork above made especially by @bridgertontess thank you 🧡

“You’ll just have to stay here,” he shrugs, peering out at the falling snow.

You glance at your watch. It’s 5pm and already dark, snowflakes swirling furiously in the glow cast by the window.

This was not your plan. You are booked onto a late flight back to London tonight. You only came out to the beautiful Highlands for a day in nature after your business trip to Glasgow. OK, and a dose of time with the most handsome friend you have, but mainly for the scenery.

He’s rented a tiny cottage for a week as a painting retreat. Why he would do that in early December is a slight mystery. However, the scenery will undoubtedly be even more breathtaking with a blanket of snow tomorrow—an artist's dream.

“Look, the roads here are tiny and treacherous. It’s too risky to attempt the airport drive tonight in the dark in this snowstorm. I will pay for you to fly home tomorrow instead,” Benedict assures, “penance for not checking the forecast before inviting you?” he winces in the hopes of forgiveness.

“But…” you protest weakly, not exactly hating the idea of being trapped in a remote cottage in the mountains with the man who has haunted your dreams for more years than you care to remember.

“This place is warm,” he points to the roaring fireplace. “And well stocked, in more ways than one,” he adds, gesturing to the kitchenette full of supplies and, with a flourish, to the small selection of single malt bottles on a nearby shelf. “There’s even some festive decor,” he argues.

You are entertained that he believes some sprigs of holly, which he has obviously collected on one of his hikes, count as Christmas decorations. Although, to be fair, wrapped around the bookshelves and candles the way it is, it does look lovely.

‘Yes, but… there's also only one bed,” you argue, nodding to the not-exactly sizable double bed at the other end of the room, partially obscured by a room-dividing bookshelf. Even as you mention it, your belly has a warm fizz at the fleeting thought of waking up pressed against him.

“I can sleep on the sofa,” he says hurriedly in a reassuring tone.

“Ben, don't be ridiculous. You are six feet tall, and that thing is barely five. We are not so young we can just sleep anywhere and still be okay anymore,” you remind him.

“Yeah, thanks for that reminder,” he deadpans.

“We are grown-ups; we can share a bed,” trying to keep your tone breezy, but it feels like the reassurance is for yourself as much as him.

You pretend not to see how he swallows thickly at your suggestion, his Adam’s apple bobbing heavily.

“If it makes you more comfortable, I can fashion a barrier with some throw cushions,” you shrug, a short nervous laugh bubbling up as you secretly chastise yourself for suggesting such a thing.

“No, no,” he rushes out very quickly. “What I mean is… it’s not a big bed, so by the time we do that, we would both be clinging to the edges. Let’s just, as you say, be adults about this and share the best we can.”

“Agreed.” You give a business-like nod, wanting to change the topic.

“Besides, the night is young,” he states, clapping and rubbing his hands together as if reading your mind. “What do you say we cook dinner together? Then, well, it’s card games or jigsaw puzzles, I’m afraid,” he skews his mouth with an apologetic twist.

“Sounds delightful on all counts,” you assure and bump him with your shoulder.

The evening seems to fly by, and the snowstorm outside somewhat abates as you make a delicious spaghetti bolognese together. Even though it's a tiny kitchen space, you make it work, moving around each other with an almost balletic fluidity as soft music plays from a Bluetooth speaker. There's no Wi-Fi or even much phone signal out here, but he came prepared with songs loaded onto his laptop. You exchange easy chat about mutual friends and what has been happening since you last saw one another a few weeks before.

As you sit down to eat together, the conversation flow continues. It's one of those meals you sop up the sauce from your plate with the warm bread rolls you serve as a side. Lingering in your chairs long after eating is complete, chatting amiably and animatedly about anything, everything and nothing all at once, with a delicious bottle of scotch.

Later, you take turns in the bathroom, cleaning teeth and changing into pyjama bottoms, and then you drift to the living room area. You watch as Benedict pours you both a nightcap into scotch glasses and glance outside to see the storm has picked up again, large clumps of fluffy snow gather in the corner of the window pane; you feel very cosy in this small but perfectly formed little rustic cottage.

“So, how have you been entertaining yourself all alone here for the last four nights?” you inquire, enjoying the smooth, smoky burn of the single malt.

Benedict is now sprawled across the nearby armchair in the most Benedict way, legs akimbo.

“I’ve read two books, and I’ve slept for nine hours every night,” he confesses, taking a sip of his drink and looking at you over the top of his glass.

The room feels like it's getting warmer regardless of the fire; how much is due to the delightful fog of whisky in your veins versus the handsome man across from you is indecipherable.

“Are you not lonely?” you blurt out.

“I live alone in London. What's the difference?” his brow knitting in confusion.

“Alone in the city is very different to alone out here,” you offer, “you can’t be that lonely when you’re only twenty feet from your neighbour through a wall.”

“Hmm, never thought about it like that,” his mien turns thoughtful, scratching his palm on the shadow of stubble on his chin.

You hear the rasp from where you sit, and you almost squeak in surprise as your treacherous mind supplies a vivid snapshot of that stubble teasing the soft skin of your lower belly as he looks up at you with a seductive smirk. You have to shake your head to get rid of it.

“Fear of murder out here is different,” you offer, trying to reroute your thoughts.

“Morbid,” he shoots back, raising an eyebrow with a bemused expression on his face.

“Out here, no one can hear you scream,” you jest, aping the movie line.

He guffaws into his glass. “Sometimes that can be a good thing.”

“Murder?!”

“The ability to scream and not be heard,” he clarifies, his tone markedly more languid than before.

“Painting not going well?” you ask with a chuckle.

“It’s going great, but not what I was referring to,” he argues, and you can’t seem to look away from his mouth all of a sudden.

Damn, how much whisky have you had?

“Had a girl here, Bridgerton?” your venture, a flutter in your chest even as you ask.

“Not until now,” he scoffs, but the intensity in his hazy blue stare causes a riot in your stomach.

You have to look down at your feet before you do something stupid, like climb into his lap and suck on his luscious bottom lip.

“Have you been masturbating loudly?” you quip, still looking down, the thought leaving your lips before you can censor it.

There’s a sharp intake of breath, making you look back at him—big mistake. His eyes look stormy, and you can see a vein in his neck pulsing hard. Like you’ve awoken something.

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” you stutter even as your mind floods with images of just that—him stroking his cock and panting, preferably your name.

The atmosphere feels a little too thick, and you briefly curl your lip into your mouth and bite it to give yourself something else to focus on.

“More whisky?” you offer, standing up and changing the subject.

“Sure.” He holds out his glass, and you swear his fingers intentionally slot between yours as he passes it to you.

You use the few moments it takes to refill your drinks, with your back turned, to gather your thoughts and slow your breathing. Having served, you sink onto the couch again but intentionally shift to face him more directly. The alcohol makes you bold and intrigued to know where this might go. He seems to do the same, his feet looping over the armchair's edge and almost touching yours.

“Hey, do you remember that summer when we were, l think, maybe twelve and…”

“Excuse me, point of order,” you butt in, “If you were twelve, I was ten. OK? Continue…” you motion with your hands for him to go on.

“Yes, thanks for reminding me I am older,” he snarks and skews his mouth into an affectionate pout.

“You are welcome, old man,” you tease with a slight smirk.

“Well, anyway… do you remember that summer Colin came home with headlice? And Ant’s answer was to shave all of our heads? Mum almost had a heart attack when she walked in on that. She was forever grateful he’d only gotten around to doing us three boys. She might have died if we’d made it down to Daph or El…” he is laughing heartily around his scotch glass at the memory.

“Remember it?!?” you pipe up, “of course I do! Don't you remember you were trying to push me in front of your sisters in Ant’s barber line? You seemed concerned to ensure I either got rid of or never got them in the first place; I don't remember which,” you laugh, an ache of fond nostalgia in your chest at little Benedict.

“Well, of course, I’ve always looked out for you,” he rolls his eyes as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

You smile a genuinely warm smile at him. He's been a wonderful person in your life for as long as you can remember.

“But you’ve always looked out for me too. I remember you brought me a Malteser every day when I was sick with the mumps.”

“I did?!” your voice incredulous; you do not remember doing so.

“Yes, and I've never forgotten it,” he voices sincerely before he takes a draw of his drink. “But then there is so much about you that is unforgettable, isn't there?” he adds, looking at you with an intensity you don't know what to do with.

“Stop it,” you answer bashfully, embarrassed to meet his gaze, staring beyond his shoulder at the snow falling heavily and sticking to the window in fluffy clumps. “And if we’re on this flattery train, what about you? You think I don’t know it’s been you sending me an ‘anonymous’ rose every single Valentine's Day?”

He gapes at you in surprise. “Wait, how did you know it’s from me?’”

“You are the sweetest person I know. It could never be anyone but you, Ben.” You shrug as if the answer is obvious, “and I know it was never out of pity for the times I’m single because you sent one those years I was with Dan, which used to make him so mad, by the way, and when I was with Julian and Paul….”

“Urgh, Dan deserved to be mad,” his tone dismissive, and his face ticked, “I always hated him.”

“You hated everyone I dated, that you met anyway,” you point out, that fact just dawning on your as you speak it.

“But him the most,” he grouses with a sour expression.

“Why?”

“‘Cos he got the closest to marrying you. And I really didn’t want to have to do that whole stand-up in church and object thing. But, by god, I would have.”

His powerful words stun you; you had no idea how deep his feelings on the subject ran.

“Y… you would?” you stutter.

His eyes are so intense now. Even as he takes a swig, he doesn't look away. “He was not worthy of you,” he declares, slow and deliberate, enunciating each word crisply.

“So, who is?” you ask quietly as you take a sip, the question echoing hollowly in your glass.

“I haven't met anyone yet,” he notes with finality.

You had no idea he had judged every single one of your boyfriends and, what’s more, found all of them to be somehow lacking. In hindsight, he was correct, but he never said anything to you at the time, and you can't decide if you want to hold that against him. It might have saved you a lot of heartache and possibly a lot of money.

“Well, if you meet someone that has the Benedict seal of approval, you’ll be sure to send them my way, yeah?” you volley, your voice light.

He breaks into a smile that makes something flutter strong in your ribcage.

“Certainly. I hope you don't mind waiting until possibly your eighties for me to find a worthy suitor,” he jokes.

“Oh god, really?” you groan, “but I can’t not have sex until then,” you lament and kick your legs out as if in a fit of pique.

“Oh, you can have all the sex you want,” he lobbies back, waving his hand dismissively, “you just can’t fall in love,” his eyes twinkle with mischief you’ve always found beguiling.

“Duly noted,” you giggle.

There is a beat where you just look at each other with a shared fondness that makes your heart ache a little—perhaps under different circumstances, he could be the one person worthy of you, as he puts it.

“Well, that is the last log on the fire dying down. I'm not going out in that damn snow to fetch more, so I think the safest thing to do is get under the covers before it gets too cold in here.” he opines.

“Ben, it's 10:30 pm… really?” you whine, “are you really going to bed already, grandpa?” but as you complain, you stifle a yawn.

“Haha, I saw that yawn!” he retorts triumphantly, “and I've got news for you, missy. You are going to bed too.” He grabs both of your hands and easily hauls you off the sofa.

“Why?!?” you scoff but are secretly enthralled when he rounds behind you, his sizable hands landing warm on your hips and propelling you towards the bedroom area.

“Because I’m not having you crawl under the covers later bringing in all that cold air with you, nope, no thank you, not happening,” he chimes over your shoulder.

“So I have to go to bed now?!” you throw your hands up in the air, but he keeps propelling you forward.

“Yup,” he grins, popping the ‘p’ rather obnoxiously.

You capitulate with a weary sigh. “Urghhh, fine. But I will be up reading for a few more hours, so I hope you can sleep with the light on.”

“Fine with me,” he chuckles, herding you towards the bed. “I once slept in your dorm room when your flatmate was having a full-on dance party. I think I can sleep through your reading.”

You collapse onto the bed giggling at that memory, tugging off your shoes and socks but nothing else as he does the same. He pulls the covers back, and you both settle under, still in your fleecy jumpers. Without your socks, however, your feet feel freezing, and with a wicked grin, you cook up a solution.

“Oh my god, what the hell is wrong with your feet?!? Why are they so cold!!” he exclaims as your toes wrap around his exposed ankle.

He twists to try and get away from you, but your feet chase him under the covers, you laughing, him shrieking.

“My hands are cold too,” you chortle, clamping them onto his surprisingly muscular forearm.

He squeals in the most undignified manner, trying to shake your grip, but you just limpet on harder, giggling in that way only tipsy people do.

There is the most delightful resulting tussle, him trying to wrestle your hands and feet away as you try your damndest to keep them on him—the duvet entwining around all of your limbs.

You end up with his weight and warmth partially on top of you, pinning you down, him triumphantly ensnaring your wrists and holding your hands firmly onto the pillow. Your joint heavy breathing and giggles slowly die out as you stare at each other. Your faces have never been so close before. You have no doubt your pupils are as blown as his, and you are certain that he can feel the racing heartbeat at your wrists where he pins you down. His breath is warm on your cheek.

After a few silent moments, his gaze drops to your mouth; he suddenly mutters an apology and starts to pull away.

As if in slow motion, you push up and press your lips to his. You are not thinking at all, just going with your instinct. His lips are warm and plush, and you want more. So much more.

You feel the moment his whole body freezes; he is stunned in the truest sense of the word.

You pull back quickly, sinking into the pillow under him.

“Oh god. I’m so, so sorry,” you whisper, mortified, “please forgive me, I….”

Your words die out as he makes a noise you’ve never heard before. It seems to come from deep inside him, making every hair on your body stand on end.

Then he is on you. Closing the gap between you and capturing your lips with a passion that steals your breath and thoughts. He is kissing so hard, so quickly, you feel lightheaded, pressing you into the mattress under his body. His lips open over yours, his tongue teasing against your lips. He tastes of toothpaste, traces of whiskey and something that is all him, and you flood your underwear; there's also a noise from your throat that doesn’t sound human. He kisses like a storm, hot and electric, and you want to drown in him.

Suddenly his hands are everywhere, and so yours follow suit. It’s a desperate clambering of wanting more. Before you can completely acknowledge it, his hands are questing under your jumper, squeezing your waist, sliding up and over your bra, and tweaking a nipple as his tongue parries with yours.

“Please, please take this off,” he implores passionately into your mouth, tugging at your top. His voice, this close and breathless, is lethal. He is everywhere, surrounding and covering you, and your focus narrows to just him as he sits up to peel off his jumper and t-shirt together, exposing his torso. You freeze. Your arms crossed, halfway through taking off yours.

“Fucking hell,” you exhale before you can stop yourself.

You figured Benedict would be in shape from the feel of his body when you hug, but you haven't seen him shirtless in a long time, and just how much in shape he is, is a revelation. He smiles demurely at your outburst, which makes you want him even more if that were possible.

“Take yours off,” he sounds impatient, and you realise you are still frozen in the same position. You quickly whip yours over your head; his responding noise is your new favourite sound. You feel so grateful you only brought nice underwear on this trip; your lacy bra appears to work for him.

“The knickers match,” you murmur, revelling in the flash in his eye.

You grab his hand and move it to the drawstring on your pyjamas. His long slender fingers pluck the bow tied there; his gaze is on your face the whole time, his kiss-damp lips glowing softly in the low light. You breathe deeply and can’t look away from his captivating face. When the string relents, he winks. Rather than pull them down, his hand quests inside and between your legs.

You gasp and buck up off the pillow as warm, strong fingers press on your clit through the lacy fabric. You know he can feel your heat, just how wet the material is.

“I’ve wanted you for years,” he rumbles low and sinful as his fingers tease a circle over your clit. “Although this seems unreal - I half assume I’m going to wake up in a minute with my hand wrapped around my cock, alone.”

Hearing him say the word cock makes you moan. He licks his lips, and his fingers curl firmer on you.

“Tell me this is real; I’m not dreaming again,” he pleads fervently, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing your air. He is achingly beautiful this close up, his eyes just a thin ring blazing around dark inky pupils staring into your depths. This man has always been able to make you feel seen, but this close, this intense, it feels like he’s peering into your soul.

“You’re not dreaming, Ben,” you reply shakily, trying not to lose all composure at what the word ‘again’ might imply as he gradually tortures you with unhurried, steady movements.

He is watching your face, so closely observing, cataloguing your micro-expressions. His fingers move, spidering along the lace trim before pushing under the fabric this time, sliding down through your trimmed pubic hair and into your naked, soaked folds.

“Ben!” You call out, grasping that strong forearm again, biting your lip and staring into his fiery gaze.

“What do you need?” he questions. It’s the first time anyone has ever asked you that in bed.

“You,” you reply honestly.

“You have me, 110% you have me,” he asserts in a tone that melts something in your chest. “As if you don't know it, you’ve had me for many years,” he admits as his hand slides lower. You cry out as he pushes two fingers just a fraction inside you.

“Fuck, you are on fire,” he exclaims, a shaky exhale across your lips.

“Only for you,” you answer, knowing you’ve never been this turned on before in your life.

He growls, actually growls. And then his lips are back on yours in the most potent kiss yet. You pulse around him and groan into his mouth as he sinks his fingers deeper. When the kiss ends, you glance down your body, seeing the stiff peaks of your nipples poking insistently through the lace and his sinewy forearm buried into your pyjama bottoms.

“Do you like what you see?” his voice a velvety tease.

“I’d like it even more if we were naked,” you respond honestly.

He chuckles at that, and his lips descend, dropping light kisses down your neck as his fingers tease you, surging in and out of your body so achingly slow. His thumb rests on your clit, a little nudge of pressure every time his fingers rock into your channel.

“I need to make you come like I need air,” he confesses, his voice resonant, his warm breath skittering over the sensitive skin of your throat. It’s the hottest thing you've ever heard.

“Please do…” it’s a quiet plea.

You feel the curve of his cheek as he smiles, and the fingers inside you flex.

“I suppose if you’d like to be more naked, then I’d better strip you down first,” he remarks, gently withdrawing his fingers.

Warm hands hook into your underwear, and he scooches away, pulling them down your legs, taking your PJs with them. Suddenly, the image that flashed in your mind earlier becomes a reality, his stubbly chin grazing your belly as he crawls back over you.

“You look amazing,” he sighs over your belly button and leans his forehead on your stomach as he takes a deep breath. “You smell it too.”

He runs his nose and lips over your skin as he surges up and nuzzles your bra, pleading with his eyes for you to remove it as he pulls the straps down over your arms, kissing along the lacy cup edge.

When his lips wrap around one of your nipples, you grab his hair and push up against him, the swoop of sensation in your belly like riding a rollercoaster, the thrill tingling along the back of your scalp.

He moves to lay beside you, and you watch the duvet move as he strips off his bottoms under it. Suddenly there is a thick wave of body heat as he rolls next to you; you feel something sizeable and solid brand your hip.

“Oh, Ben,” slips out on instinct, but he stops your questing hand.

“Not yet,” he shakes his head and smirks at your corresponding pout. “When you have come, preferably screaming, then you can touch my cock. Okay?”

You physically feel the shiver down your spine at that line. Who even says things like that?

He smiles against your temple as he slips his fingers back into you, and you moan at the sensation. He curls his body around you, legs twining around your right one to hold you open. That cock is still rigid on your hip; it feels sizeable and delicious.

“Tell me what you like,” he murmurs, his thumb rubbing a circle over your clit his fingers stroking in a come hither motion.

“This… exactly what you are doing,” you reply breathlessly, “just please don't stop and maybe go a little harder?” you request timidly.

He smirks and pushes his fingers deeper; his motions get stronger and faster. You close your eyes and nod, licking your lips.

“Yes, that oh god Ben, thattttt,” you stumble as his magical fingers spiral you higher.

When they jab a spot inside, a bloom of pleasure hits you, and your eyes fly open, going wide.

“Oh, that’s the spot,” he preens, redoubling his efforts as you start to pant loudly, clinging to his arm and whining his name—the hot and intense pleasure building remarkably fast.

“That’s it come on,” he encourages, whispering into your hairline right above your ear; his tone is both soothing and achingly filthy.

“Ben… I,” your words morph into needy noises, drunk on the sensations rippling through your body, fanning out from his fingers buried inside you.

“Yes, yes,” he hisses, “you’re close now; I can feel it. Look at me,” he orders.

And you do. Mouth hanging open, squirming on his fingers, feeling something primal washing over you. His eyes burn into yours.

“Don’t fight it,” he warns.

It's almost like permission; you feel something inside you give way. You scream loudly as a tide of orgasm washes over you. Blood rushes in your ears, and you feel his leg bear down over the apex of your thigh, holding your pelvis onto the bed as you cry and convulse. Your body fights his fingers, trying to push them out as your whole channel clenches in strong waves.

After a few moments of deep breaths, you open your eyes, and he kisses your cheek, then your lips.

“Wow… that was…. absolutely amazing,” he confides, kissing more. “And it's a damn good thing no one can hear us here. You scream like a horror movie queen, and I mean that with all the very best compliments.”

You laugh a little abashed and bury your face into his armpit, loving the smell of his deodorant and just him.

“Your turn,” you mumble, deciding to be bold and snake a hand down your side to grab his cock at your hip.

It’s large and thick enough your fingers don’t quite meet when you wrap around it. It makes your insides melt at the thought of how it would feel sliding into you. He makes the neediest huffing noises as you twist onto your side to face him and begin an unhurried rhythm, watching that pretty cock twitch in your hand.

You tease him with a gentle twisting motion, squeezing a little as you reach his head, swiping a thumb over the bead of precum that appears, gently massaging his frenulum as he lets out a faint moan. His hand covers yours, stilling your movements.

“This is so wonderful, but I need you to stop if you want sex. Do you want to… have sex?” he asks so demurely your heart clenches.

“Yes, Ben, please,” you whisper.

“I didn't bring any condoms with me,” he says quietly, “I didn't think I’d meet another soul up here, let alone well…” he trails off, pitching forward, so his lips are warm on your cheek.

“I didn't either, but I'm on the Pill,” you shrug. You've never had first-time sex without a condom, but this man isn't a stranger; he's a lifelong friend, and you trust him with your life.

“I know,” he says softly, kissing your nose.

“Wait, how do you know that?” your brow knitting lightly.

“I know everything about you,” he asserts against your skin, staring into your eyes. “How you take your tea - English breakfast before 2pm, Earl Grey after, both with milk and one sugar. I know how the tip of your tongue here,” he softly trails his nose over the corner of your mouth, “sticks out of your mouth when you type on your laptop. I know you always loop your glasses into the neckline of your top,” a finger tracing gently over the swell of your breast, “and somehow always forget they are there and have a ten-second panic every time.” He laughs gently. “I even know how you prefer plain Hobnobs over chocolate; I have no idea why, and you are so wrong on that, by the way,” he shoots you a devastating lopsided grin. “And I know you are on the Pill because I've watched you take them religiously for years; when I stay at yours, and you make coffee in the morning, it’s the first thing you take before your multivitamin.”

His casual recounting of so many little, human things that make you, you, astounds you. This man knows you better than you know yourself, and you get a weird swooping sensation in your chest. Of elation that you've finally figured it out, he might just be the one - your human, but also a crushing regret you haven't done so sooner. You could have been doing this, intimately entwined with this wonderful, thoughtful, sensitive, handsome man, for so many years.

Not wanting to waste any more opportunity and so very desperate to have him inside you, you use all your strength to roll him onto his back and climb on top. Surprised and aroused, he looks up at you devotedly, his pupils blown wide.

Silently and without breaking eye contact, you reach between your bodies, line up his weeping beautiful cock, and sink onto him without another thought. The needy noise he makes is like poetry.

He feels perfect, and you close your eyes to revel in being stretched around him, a solid hot presence filling you up and holding you so open. Just the perfect length and girth for you, almost like his cock was made for you.

Warm hands grasp your hips, and your eyes fly open and look down at him, his expression pleading with you to move. Gradually you rise up, then drop down just once, savouring the sensations as he drags against your walls.

“You feel perfect,” he groans “please….”

You know what he is asking, begging for - more. Something in you wants to draw this out, go so achingly slow both of you get mindless. Luxuriate in this carnal, sensual meeting.

“Talk to me,” you implore, starting a leisurely pace.

“What about?” you watch him glance down between your bodies, watching his cock disappear into you as you sink down.

“Talk to me, Ben,” you repeat but pointedly, grabbing his chin to look at you and raising an eyebrow.

There's a lightbulb of understanding behind his eyes, and that killer crooked smile spreads across his face.

“You like my voice, don't you?” he says, pitched low, and you bite your lip, grabbing his hands as leverage for your movements.

“Yes,” you admit quietly, gasping as the pleasure grows between your legs just as he says those few words.

“I know,” he smirks, “I’ve known for years.”

You look at him in surprise. “Wait, how?” you breathe, disbelieving.

He grabs your shoulders and pulls you down on top of him: so much heat and warm flesh.

“I have noticed your pupils dilate every time I drop my voice just like this,” he murmurs low and sinful into your ear. “The temptation to say so many dirty things has been so strong. God, I love it when you are aroused, and you think you can hide it. I knew you were getting wet; it would take all my willpower not to grab and kiss you senselessly. Especially those days when you are only in a little floaty skirt, I could actually smell it. Delicious and sweet and so fucking sexy. That little squirm you would do. How you move your body is fucking sinful. And now I get to enjoy it. You riding me like this. Fuck, if this isn't every fantasy I've ever had coming true.”

By the time his filthy soliloquy is done, you are panting hard, not from the exertion as you rock on him but the way he has pushed you so close to orgasm with so little effort - just his voice and words.

“Ben,” you shudder, “I….” words fail as you feel your body flush.

“I can feel you are fluttering. Are you going to come so soon?” he exhales, impressed. “Oh god, please, please do it,” he urges. “I need to feel it.”

You sit up and reach down to touch your clit, and he swears at the sight. You are tipping over the edge, stilling your movement as you sit with him at your hilt and clench around him. He feels impossibly huge inside you, twitching and pulsing.

“Fuckkkkkkkk,” he groans long and loud, clenching his teeth. You know he is also fighting the urge to come, wanting this to last much longer.

Greedy for more, for another stronger climax, you go to move again, but he stops you.

“Please don't move, not yet,” he pleads, grabbing your hips and quelling your movement. “I need… a few moments, please.”

You smile down at him indulgently and link your hands again, bringing the back of his hand to your mouth and kissing it delicately. Then to be a tease, you envelop his middle finger in your mouth, running your tongue over it, tasting his tangy skin. He growls as you add his pointer finger and suck hard, staring down at him heatedly.

“This isn't really helping,” he warns reluctantly with a playful pout.

You let his fingers slip out of your mouth and guide his hand to your breasts, pressing his now-damp fingers against your nipple. He enthusiastically grips your flesh, and you throw your head back and moan as he teases your sensitive buds, pinching them between his fingertips. You gyrate your hips, dragging his tip against your cervix.

There is another growl, and suddenly you are tipped over onto the mattress, him still buried inside you. He grabs your legs and loops his arms under them, pulling your body so open under him.

“Hold onto me… twine your arms around me,” he instructs.

You do, fingers digging into his smooth, muscular torso. Panting in anticipation; at the feel of him holding you down, his pelvis crushed against your engorged clit.

He begins to move, and you can't help but make noises; he just overwhelms all your senses. His kisses, his skin, his arms, your legs held high and wide. He is almost delicate in his motion, but you can tell he is holding back.

“Don't be too gentle, Ben,” you beg, bringing one hand up to cup his jaw and running your thumb over his bottom lip. “Please just fuck me.”

His mouth captures your thumb, and you gasp as he spears into you hard. You hiss your approval as he crowds over you to kiss you fiercely. Then everything is a haze as your mind switches off, and you are rooted in your body, chasing sensation as he takes you hard. He feels so hot and rigid, pounding into you as you lay under him, pinned and almost helpless to this onslaught but wanting nothing more than being right where you are. For a first time together, it’s not awkward or timid; it's exciting and mindblowing but somehow still safe, knowing you can trust him with everything, including your body.

Between kisses, there are whispered encouragements against lips and hands grasping so tight to each other as movements become more frantic and fast. He is hitting your clit on each stroke and panting, so present in the moment, eyes boring into yours. You know he is so close, hanging by a thread when he screws his eyes shut and pleads with you to come with him. A few more strokes and it is happening, your orgasm hitting you hard and breaking over your body in waves, fanning out from your core as you clench around him, making your muscles spasm and your toes curl. You feel him coming hard, too, a warm bloom inside you as he jerks a few heavy thrusts, then stills, mouth open over yours and huffing gulps of air as he twitches.

After a few moments of deep breaths and slumped limbs, he pulls his face up to kiss you tenderly.

“Wow,” he breathes, and you giggle and nod your head. “Why haven't we been doing that for the last god knows how many years?” he shakes his head, his voice a little ragged and rough-edged.

“I don't know, but we should be doing a lot more of it,” you respond brightly, “make up for lost time?”

He laughs warmly and agrees, taking his weight off you and rolling and rearranging your bodies so you are both on your sides, facing each other, hands laced together, noses touching. And that is how you fall asleep.

—

You awaken to dazzling sunlight streaming in, reflecting off all the snow. You wince against the brightness and clamp your eyes shut, burrowing back into Benedict. You feel surrounded, in the best sense of the word. He is a warm solid presence behind your back, an arm slung around the dip of your waist, a hand curled around your breast, legs entangled, downy hair tickling your calves. And best of all, a hard cock nestles the back of your thighs. You flex your hips and shuffle until his tip is poised right at your entrance. He stirs, and there is a hot exhale on the back of your neck.

“Get inside me, please,” you petition quietly, voice scratchy from sleep.

Wordlessly, he rolls his hips, surging into your body in one swift stroke. You moan so loudly that he huffs a laugh, then stills, buried inside you.

“Now go back to sleep,” he grumbles affectionately, arm pulling you into him tighter, your whole body flush to his, curling his legs up so you are almost in the fetal position.

“Like this?!” your tone incredulous, as his fingernails trace an idle ellipsis around your areola.

“Mmm hmmm,” his hum vibrates into your spine.

“Bennnn…” you protest, clenching around him, so he groans deeply.

“I promise to fuck you so hard you forget your name… later, if you let me sleep just a little more,” he proposes, nuzzling your hair.

What a lovely thought. You lay still in his arms for a few minutes, but his cock holding you open is far too distracting.

“Bennn…” you try again.

“Shhhhh…” he reacts, but you can tell he's not sleepy anymore; there is a smile on the nape of your neck.

“You feel too good; I can’t sleep,” you whine, slightly petulant.

“You’re not even trying,” he chuckles richly.

“You can't do this to me,” you wheedle, your breath hitching triumphantly as he tilts his pelvis and slips a fraction deeper.

“If I fuck you right now, will you stop complaining?” his tone laced with amusement.

“Hmmm, maybe,” you shoot back, twisting to glance at him over your shoulder, seeing his eyes dancing with mirth.

Your lips meet, and it's a breathy passionate kiss, all open mouths and tongues, teasing each other and fighting for dominance.

As your mouths dance, he starts to move at a languid pace, just rocking into your body gently, and it’s the best wake-up you have ever had. You cover his hand on your breast, and he intuits what you are asking, squeezing the swell, your nipple snagged between his middle and pointer finger. You break the kiss, and his teeth gently skim the cord on your neck as he speeds up a little.

“Will you wake me up like this every day, please?” you sigh, not thinking about the implications of your words, just drunk on the sensation.

“Happily,” he rumbles and spears a little stronger, making you call out his name.

“The sound I really want to wake up to though….” his voice teasing and low. “is this one…” and his hand slips from your breast to between your legs.

You moan and writhe in his strong hold, little sparks of pleasure firing where he touches.

“That’s it, that’s the sound,” he encourages as you both move together in sync.

It’s a wonderfully sensual experience, growing in intensity until he rolls you over onto your front, still inside you, fucking into you from behind, covering your entire body with his. His hand is trapped between your body and the mattress while teasing your clit.

“Oh god, Ben,” you cry as he seems to slide deeper than ever, your thigh trapped shut together, his legs bracketing yours, using all his effort to drive into you, the tone shifting from languid to vigorous. You’ve never been taken in this position before, and at this angle, he is hitting all the right spots inside you to make your eyes roll back and bite the pillow.

It hurtles you fast, beginning to pant raggedly, and you urge him on, asking for more and harder, and he obliges, thrusting so strong your whole body rolls and the bed squeaks loudly in protest. Your voice becomes one long moaning sound; you are pushing back onto his cock as much as possible, a chorus of please don't stop as he drives you fast towards a climax. His body is bowed, breathing hot puffs of air across your upper back, with an occasional kiss, his lips soft and wet.

He holds you on a precipice for a moment; you crane to look back at his face pleadingly; his expression is wild and so gorgeous it catches your breath.

“You are magnificent,” he rasps against your skin.

Then the hand not on your clit suddenly spanks your butt cheek while his teeth sink into the top of your trapezius muscle, pushing you over the edge, calling his name as you pulsate hard around him. Him grunting and thrusting deeper, fighting your clenching muscles. Then he stills, and every muscle tenses as he empties into your body, almost shaking from the intensity.

He collapses onto your back, breathing in wracked sounds.

“Fucking hell,” you both say almost in unison, then giggle at your matching assessment of the experience.

He pulls out of you reluctantly and flops down onto the mattress to your left, wrapping an arm around you and manoeuvring so are the little spoon once again.

“That was intense,” he voices, and you make a noise of agreement, lacing your fingers with his and holding your joined hands up, watching his fingers sink between yours and curve over, his fingertips resting on your palm.

“We are awesome at sex,” you opine. Benedict chuckles at that, hooking his chin over your shoulder. “And you know what that means?”

“What?” his tone lilting.

“We just have to keep doing it all the time,” you observe with a mock, burdened sigh.

“What a terrible hardship for us,” he concurs with an ironic laugh, nuzzling your neck with a grin on his face. __

Half an hour later, you have showered together - which proved almost as distracting as morning sex until the hot water tank ran out, and you jumped out squealing as the water turned ice cold - and are now leisurely making brunch. You both only wear towelling robes you stole from your Glasgow hotel room, the fireplace roaring again. You agree to go for a walk in the snow later, neither of you mentioning booking your flight home.

“Wait, why is this sofa so bloody uncomfortable” you bemoan, taking a sip of coffee and flicking idly through a book you took from a shelf. “I don't remember it being this bad last night,” you ponder aloud.

“Well, you had had a couple of whiskeys by then,” Benedict points out as he cooks an amazing-smelling breakfast a few feet away in the kitchenette.

“True, but honestly, what is going on with it?” you grumble, putting the book aside, not yet sufficiently caffeinated.

“Sofa beds tend not to be comfortable. As either a sofa or a bed,” he rattles out, flipping a slice of bacon in the pan.

You grind to a halt in your efforts to get comfy.

“Sofa bed…?” You echo out loud.

He suddenly freezes and realises what he has admitted.

“Benedict bloody Bridgerton!!” you exclaim loudly, standing up, “did you trick me into sharing your bed?!?”

He turns around slowly, knowing he is foiled and pulls a sheepish face.

“Yeahhhh, a lil bit…” he admits as you gape at him, attempting his most winning remorseful smile. “But, in my defence…” he adds, waving the spatula, “you are the one who kissed me first. I just stacked the deck; you drew the first card.”

He expertly swerves the cushion you throw at him before flicking off the stove and pushing aside the pan.

“Right…” he charges at you as you squeal.

He corners you with ease in the compact space and throws you over his shoulder.

“We are using this stupid sofa bed right now,” he instructs and, rather attractively, casually flicks a handle on the side with his foot to open it. He practically throws you onto the (admitted thin, rather uncomfortable) bed and tugs open your robe, snaking his way down your body and throwing your legs over his shoulder, shooting you a molten hot gaze from between your thighs.

You have no arguments with this development. None whatsoever.

—

You return to that tiny cottage every year for that same week as a ritual—a little private anniversary. Sometimes you stay through New Year, just the two of you ringing in the entire festive season.

He buys it for you as a wedding gift, and you cry at the sentimentality of the man buying you the place you first got together. (One thing you do early on - buy a new, comfortable sofa.)

It becomes a haven for your lives together, even when you have to bring cots and camp beds for your children, all sleeping communally in that one room. (You don’t tell them, but all of your children are named after characters in an obscure old book he finds hidden in the rafters when you are renovating while pregnant with your firstborn.)

Nothing brings you more joy than when you can escape to that little cottage in the Highlands. You never tell anyone besides your children where it is—it’s your escape, your sanctuary. The “somewhere only we know,” as Benedict always called it.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

For your I love you 3000 bonanza:

Jake Jensen, mistaken identity, modern royalty au 🥰

Thank you for the prompts! This was a really fun one to write!

A 21st Century Romance - Jake Jensen x Princess!Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warning: Fluff! and some more Fluff!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics​

Masterlist / Celebration Masterlist

You let out an irritated huff as you tried to get your monstrosity of a ball gown to rest comfortably. It was a lost cause though, the corset was digging in (why they were back in fashion you had no clue, they belonged in the 16th century, not the 21st) and the puffy skirt ruffled loudly with every movement. Your hair was pinned up so tightly that you had a permanent headache and the heels you wore were torturous.

The company around you wasn’t much better. You really wished you were anywhere else than this damned ball. Honestly, you didn’t even need to be at this ball. Yes, it was hosted by your father the king, and yes the main point was for you to socialise and meet potential suitors. But it's not like you’ll actually get to choose your suitor, so your presence wasn’t really required.

So when you got the opportunity you made the excuse that you needed to go to the bathroom and made your escape. As soon as you were out of the heaving ballroom you decided you needed some air before heading back to your bedroom. 

Once you stepped outside you kicked off your heels, plucked the tiara from your hair and pulled out the pins to let your hair lie naturally once more. You leant back against the cool stone walls, took a few deep breaths and appreciated the silence.

That silence was disrupted when you heard a male voice call out from around the corner “no, no, no you stupid squid!” 

Curiosity got the better of you and you walked around the corner to spot the man sat down on one of the stone benches out on the balcony. As you approached you spotted a laptop set down beside him and he had a Nintendo Switch in his hands.

“I’m guessing you’re playing MarioKart and not fighting a squid,” you said grabbing his attention.

The man startled as he looked over his shoulder at you. You bit your lip to stop yourself from smiling too much. he was a very attractive man, maybe not in the conventional sense, but you loved his bleached-tipped hair, glasses and goatie. You could also tell he was pretty ripped underneath his suit and you could easily get lost in his blue eyes.

“I-i oh uh- I” he stuttered.

You smiled at him, enamoured by how flustered he was “Relax” you chuckled “I’d rather be playing MarioKart than be in there” you said gesturing over your shoulder with your thumb. 

He let out a relieved chuckle and smiled back at you “I’m working security so I’m stuck here all night” he explained.

You tilted your head in confusion “I don’t recognise you, are you new to the team?” you asked. 

The man shakes his head “No, I’m special services, the king decided to bring in some extra staff to make sure the princess stays safe” he explains. 

Your brows pinch in confusion at the way he referred to you in the third person, did he know who you were? It would be a nice change of pace if he didn’t, you hated the way people acted around you just because of the title you were given when you were born. 

“And how are you doing that by playing MarioKart?” you asked him. 

The man looks at you sheepishly “I’m a tech specialist so I’ve got a system running alongside the CCTV scanning for anyone that might cause trouble or harm” he explained as he pointed over to the laptop “I’m Jake Jensen by the way, everyone just calls me Jensen though” he added holding his hand out to you. 

You smiled at him softly “Nice to meet you Jake” you said shaking his hand “Mind if I join?” you asked pointing to the spot next to him on the bench. 

“Sure” Jake smiled “So do you go to these sorts of things often?” he asked as you sat down and tried to pat down your puffy dress. 

“If I have to, but I do try to avoid it if I can” you explained with a long sigh “It really isn’t my scene”

“I don’t blame you, it seems like a whole lot of fuss” Jake admitted as he glanced over his shoulder towards the party “But I guess it must be cool to say you know the royal family” he added as he nudged you with his elbow “I bet you’re besties with the princess”

You snort with laughter, he definitely had no clue who you were and you weren’t about to correct him “Oh yeah we’re like this close” you said crossing your fingers over each other. 

“Very cool, so does the best friend of the princess wanna play some MarioKart or do you need to get back in there?” he asked offering you one of the joycons from his switch. 

“I’m never going back in” You smirked as you took the joycon from him. 

You stayed outside with Jake for the next couple of hours, chatting, having fun and playing MarioKart. You could easily say it was the best time you’ve had in a really long time and if you were honest you were falling for him. Yes, it had only been a couple of hours but surely you don’t need any longer for the right person?

You had just finished another race when he put his joycon down with a heavy sigh “I think I’ve officially met my match” he grinned. 

You chuckled warmly over at him “I think I can say the same thing” you grinned. 

Silence fell between the two of you, but not the uncomfortable kind. The kind where it seemed like the universe was holding its breath waiting for a life-changing moment to occur. You couldn’t help but nibble your lower lip when you noticed his gaze drop to your lips. You hadn’t even realised that you were leaning in until his hand cupped your cheek and his lips met your in a soft and gentle kiss. 

You instantly smiled into the kiss and you were pretty sure there were fireworks exploding around you. Your hand rested on his chest as the kiss deepened and it became almost impossible to pull apart. 

Eventually, you did, and it was perfectly timed as your father’s private secretary walked out onto the balcony looking for you. 

“Ah there you are, your father is looking for you” he said as he walked over to you. 

“Sorry I went to get some air and was just about to retire to my bedroom” you explained as you stood back up. 

“Of course, I’m sure he won’t keep you long,” he said gesturing for you to go ahead. 

You nodded with a small forced smile, your father probably just wanted to know who caught your eye and you doubted that he wanted you to say it was the security guard. You looked back at Jake and gave him a warm smile “Thank you for keeping me company, I hope to see you again soon” you smiled at him. 

“Hope to see you soon too” he smiled back at you. 

Your father’s private secretary nodded “And thank you for keeping the princess safe while she got some air” he said and you bit your lip nervously as realisation dawned on Jake’s face. 

“Told you I was pretty close” you chuckled nervously “I hope I see you again soon” you smiled.

Jake stuttered a goodbye as he held up his hand to wave you goodbye. You smiled at him softly as you waved goodbye deciding that you were going to do anything in your power to make sure you saw him again and maybe you might just convince your father to allow you to marry who you wanted. It was the 21st century after all.

Sharing is caring so please reblog if you enjoyed this and maybe even leave a comment to make my day!

Masterlist / Celebration Masterlist

I don’t have a taglist so follow @secretswiftymarvelfanlibrary​ and turn on post notifications to be kept up to date!

[achromant]

Achro's 2024 Orctober Masterpost

Below is the list of prompts that i used and some thoughts that went into the sketches. They generally follow the official list from instagram, but i made a few minor changes to it.

You can click on the prompts to hop over to their respective post to see the full pic.

Warrior

Went cyberpunk with this, cause i love simplified futuristic fashion.

Mage

Polar opposite of the warrior. Wanted to do something shapey and flowing. Loosely based on my Isabella concept.

Hunter

Really didnt want to draw some kind of archer, so i went the monster hunter route. People are super horny for this one, which was almost the intention.

Priest

Tried to avoid the catholic niche, so i went with modern hazard suits. I imagine there is a very hands-on department of the church that cleanses cursed areas, like a magical cleaning service.

Rogue

Honestly, i just went for the dark gold contrast. Love me some shiny.

Druid

Just didnt want to do a green druid. Luckily, it was time for orange, so it got this nice autmnal feeling. Wanted to do a werewolf initially, but i was in the mood for something a bit more chonky. Sometimes you just need a bit more fluff, yknow?

Pirate

Oh, ya-har-har. It's a pirate! Well, a dead one, at least. I forgot why i killed him, but he probably burned alive with his ship. idiot.

Alchemist

I named him Pickles. The 5 on his helmet connects to the Five of Chalices. In tarot, that card stands for loss and mourning. I imagine that Pickles tries to replace the blood in a body with wine to achieve eternal life. He is also an idiot.

Warlock

i made eight different version for this. Still hate it. He is probably the lost brother of Pickles, but got his eternal life from a deal with something more sinister. More intelligent than his brother, at least in theory.

Barbarian

Another one that took multiple attempts. Still havent decided whether he deserves pants. Might paints something a bit more spicy with him later though.

Shaman

This one is just high.

Paladin

The idea with the shield was that it looks somewhat normal from the front, but has this nice stained glass effect only visible to those behind the paladin. His story revolves around a lost lover he failed to protect, and now he's on a journey of vengenance and self-discovery.

Death Knight

Went a bit more demon than death, but oh well. Will defintetly use him as an enemy somewhere in the story.

Archer

Based this one on Lara Croft, obviously. Didn't want to give him a bow at first. Still don't think he deserves one.

Necromancer

Honestly, this is just the standard ugly little hunchback character, but people are very adamant that he's a character from Legend Of Zelda. He's not, he is obviously from the same universe as Hatsune Miku.

Demon Hunter

Colleague of the warrior. Probably the reason the priest needs to work overtime. Actually, no, he's warrior's boyfried now.

Bard

Oh, this one is a character i made a few years ago. He's the protagonist of a story i'm writing. The skull on the head of his instrument is that of his former teacher.

Monk

Needed another round boy. Not quite satisfied with this one, but the direction is nice.

Mercenary

Probably a friend of the warrior/demon hunter. Comic relief character. The Wanted poster he's holding up shows Moth.

Warlord

This one was supposed to be a bit more epic, but i made each of the orctober sketches in ~1h. Will probably revisit this to make it a proper painting.

Sorcerer

I know he looks like he has a tragic backstory, but he doesn't. He's very evil and should be locked away in some secure place. Preferably one that it fireproof.

Engineer

i forgot what my initial idea for this was, but i really like whatever i did here. His tattoo is of the "danger! explosion" sign, but in a heart. Slightly fucked up the writing though, accidentally mirrored it. Whoops.

Magical Girl

This one was supposed to be a "Cleric" as per the prompt list, but i already had a priest, so screw that. Wanted something super sweet and pink. The motif this outfit follows is the Weeping Heart flower. Also slight nod to Madoka Magica.

Scout

Didn't want to do the typical RPG style scout, so this one bakes cookies instead. He also has an axe, which has absolutely nothing to do with the cookies, i hope.

Beastmaster

This one was purple, so i really wanted to do somethine werewolf-y. I imagine him being the younger version of the barbarian, who will later learn that he shouldnt rely on the wolf alone, and better get a bigger axe.

Dragon Rider

So. This. I wanted to go for a biker dude, but went a bit too punk with it, and then just leaned into it. He is a biker at heart, but his dragon is the equivalent of a bicycle. Neither of them mind that though, theyre a very happy couple.

Assassin

This one needs a bit of explaining. I started with a himbo-type dude-bro (he had a "knife to meet ya"-shirt), to get a contrast to the rogue. And then the next thought was pretty much "what would be the most inefficient weapon for an stealthy assassin?", so he got a chainsaw. The rest of his design is a nod to Lolipop Chainsaw.

Witch Doctor

This one is 100% based on Baron Samedi, one of the main voodoo gods, which is why this character is half skeleton. The feathers are just for drama. I love feathers.

Sage

Oh, this one is just an old man. I'm pretty sure there was a reason i gave him a bunny hat, but dont ask me what that was.

Cyborg

Eyyy, throwback to the first of the month! Warrior got a bit of an upgrade. Only cost him an arm! Not much of a fan of fullblown cyborgs, so i went with the cyberpunk direction again, and left the traces of his upgrades at a minimum. Wonder if his boyfriend approves.

[astra-galaxie]

🏳️‍🌈👻🎶💝💔👗🔪🍫💄😺😬🖕and 😶 for Diego, please! (This man's image has burned itself into my retinas, and I sincerely apologize)

I think Diego's image is burned into many people's retinas! Mine included!

I'm going to use some of this prompt list to focus on Diego from my series, so don't be surprised if you see some lore mentioned in it!😉

🏳️‍🌈 A sexuality headcanon

I headcanon Diego is bisexual, borderline pansexual. This man is attracted to pretty people, whether men or women. Of course, he's not completely shallow; he looks for good things in a partner besides just their appearance, but he'll never deny that the beautiful ones catch his eyes more easily…

👻 A headcanon about what scares them

Diego is scared of drowning. He was once knocked overboard while sailing, and while he obviously didn’t drown, he’s terrified of experiencing that again. He knows how to swim, but he’s still scared of getting into deeper water than waist height.

🎶 A headcanon about music

Diego is a big music fan, especially if he can dance to it. He loves classical music but also enjoys some more untraditional genres too. Of course, his favourite singer will always be Argo, but he can also appreciate other performers.

💝 A headcanon about their love language

Diego is well-versed in many forms of showing love. While he often displays his affection through flirting, he uses more meaningful and personal ways to show love to his chosen partner. I’ve previously stated that painting someone is one of his biggest displays of love, but Diego also lives for physical affection, specifically cuddles. He loves snuggling with his partner, having his hair played with, or sharing a nap together.

💔 An angsty headcanon

Diego was abused as a child, but not by his parents or other relatives. The person who hurt him has no relation to him beyond being the monster who still haunts him. The scars on his body tell a story of pain and suffering, one he has rarely spoken about to others. Diego hates the permanent marks on his skin and the nightmares he still gets because of his abuser, which is why he crafted a mask of confidence to hide his pain. He doesn’t let anyone see the real him except for a select few.

👗 A headcanon about their clothes

Diego makes most of his clothes. He occasionally buys them but prefers making them by hand to tailor them to his style and fit. Many have told him he should pursue a career in fashion design, but Diego is happy with the job he has chosen.

🔪 A headcanon relating to fighting/violence

While he calls himself a gentleman thief, don’t let the good looks fool you; Diego’s bite is far worse than his bark. He could tear an enemy to shreds if he wanted to and is never unarmed. His weapons might not be as inconspicuous as Argo’s daggers are, but if you happen to feel something poking you in the back, I can assure you, it's not Deigo being happy to see you. It's a blade with your name and soon to be your blood on it.

🍫 A headcanon about food

Churros are one of Diego’s favourite desserts. His mother taught him how to make them, and when he misses Madrid and his family, he’ll make some for himself. He loves having them with a side of melted chocolate, but he can’t eat too much, or he starts feeling sick. But tasting the sweet, fried treat is always worth feeling stuffed and nauseous later.

💄 An appearance headcanon

Diego has been called vain more times than he can count, but he can't help if he just wants to look his best. If this man lived in the modern timeline, he would have a multi-step skincare routine! Even so, Diego takes the time to maintain good hygiene, including his body, teeth, and hair. If you ever need advice on what products to use, Diego's your man!

😺 An animal related headcanon

His favourite animal is the wolf, and not just because that's what his surname means. Wolves are intelligent, loyal, caring, and protective, all characteristics he strives to have. He has images of wolves designed on many of his belongings, like his pocket watch and cane. Wolves have become his calling card of sorts, and anyone who comes to know him well in his personal or business life associates the animal with him.

😬 A headcanon about the worst thing they’ve done

Stealing Canto del Mare’s prized possession, a giant pearl shaped like a conch shell. Its interior is lined with pure aquamarine, and while no one can explain how it was formed, the islanders treasure the shell deeply. To them, it is priceless, and no matter how much money someone could offer them, they would never part with it. The shell was safe on Canto del Mare until it was stolen by the outsider they welcomed to their island: Diego.

The night Diego stole the shell was one of the worst nights of his life. He hated himself for betraying Argo and the islanders’ trust. They had taken him in when he had nothing and never asked for anything in return. But in the end, he took the most important thing in their lives to save the one he loved. While he knows he made the best choice he could given the situation, Diego has hated himself for it every day since.

🖕 A headcanon relating to anger

If you piss him off, Diego isn't afraid to get loud and furious. He can curse you out in Spanish and English with words that would make even a sailor blush. He's not scared to stand up for himself or those he cares about, but he tries not to let his anger get the best of him.

😶 A random headcanon!

He has a younger cousin who is more like a little sister to him. They grew up together, and she loved following him around and trying to mimic him. She always wanted to play with him and just be around him in general. Diego used to find it annoying at times but looking back, he’s glad he got to spend so much time with her as he hasn’t seen her since he left Spain.

I love having an excuse to ramble about one of my favourite CC characters! Thank you for the request, and I hope you enjoyed the headcanons!

[elucienweekofficial]

AO3 Collection・Instagram・Twitter・Masterlist

Thank you so much to everyone who participated in Elucien Week 2023! We are so grateful to everyone who took the time to create content and engage with the week!

We'll be keeping an eye on any stragglers in the tags and updating the masterlists accordingly. Also stay tuned for one final surprise from the moderators before we finish out the week officially 👀

📝Fics:

Lead Me Into the Light by @velidewrites

A Blaze in the Dark by @the-lonelybarricade

Meet Me at Midnight by @starfall-spirit

Ars Amatoria by @fieldofdaisiies

DILF Daydreamin' by @labellefleur-sauvage

Elucien hate sex by @darklove9314-blog

I'll Take You To The Boba Shop by @areyoudreaminof

I Was Enchanted To Meet You by @c-e-d-dreamer

The Fire Won't Burn Me by @separatist-apologist

I can't face reinvention (I haven't met the new me yet) by @midnightmasterpiece

Weightless by @asnowfern

put your lips close to mine (as long as they don't touch) by @belabellissima

Both Forever and Rather Die by @foundress0fnothing

Love on Water Lillies by @vulpes-fennec

The Fox in the Garden by @writtenonreceipts

Across the Stars by @velidewrites

The Highland Fox and The English Rose by @labellefleur-sauvage

lost in your current (like a priceless wine) by @a-novel-blog

Modern AU Spicy Prompt Fill by @aldbooks

Frost and Fire by @aldbooks

🎨Art:

Flyboy Lucien and Naboo Senator Elain by @stickyelectrons

"Oh~there you are...♡" by @witchlingsandwyverns

Elucien embracing by @fieldofdaisiies

Elucien sleeping beauty AU by @devilsnightz

fluff!Elucien by @brielyasmin

The Boba Shop AU - comissioned by @separatist-apologist from artist @zolyna_

The Great Elucien - comissioned by @iambutmortal from artist @/vinc_ry

Las Vegas Wedding AU by @cursebrkr

Elain and Lucien | Outlander Inspired - comissioned by @acourtdelaluna from artist @/artcraawl

Modern Rio de Janeiro and Cyberpunk São Paulo by @westrangecollectionkoalaposts

Domestic Elucien sketch by @corcracrow

Anakin and Padme Elucien by @wittyrejoinder

Elucien secret garden vibes by @dopeartisanprincess

sleepy by @laxibbeb

Elain Archeron and Lucien Vanserra by @afoliveira

Furry AU by @mei_lfong

Elucien WIP by @mossytrashcan

Sith Elain and Jedi Lucien - comissioned by @separatist-apologist and @the-lonelybarricade from @witchlingsandwyverns

Elucien 80s fashion - commissioned by @sanktadu and artist @lib-arts

Lucien VanBowser and Princess Elain - comissioned by @kingofsummer93 from artist @carasalexandra

Golden Hour - comissioned by @foreverinelysian from artist @tropicoola

🎶Misc:

ELAIN & LUCIEN: MODERN AU moodboard by @octobers-veryown

Court of Ties and Destinies tiktok in English and in Portuguese by @lloorryy

Her Burning Light moodboard and drabble by @sunshinebingo

Reasons why Elucien is happening by @elucienhasmywholeheart

Elucien quotes: 1, 2, 3, and 4 by @ofduskanddreams

-

If we missed one of your contributions, kindly reach out to one of our event runners!

🎨: mallorydraws

[scarfacemarston]

Abigail Roberts A-Z Alphabet Fluff Prompt

Rest of letters here. T: Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, and gifts?)

We see in the epilogue that Abigail definitely tries to make things special for John sometimes. She'll buy him a new shirt, she'll make his favorite food, she seems to decorate the place extra nice and genuinely just wants to spend time with him. For Jack, she wants each birthday to be as special as possible since she feels she can't give him much. She'll make cinnamon rolls or French toast in the morning. She always saves money to buy him a new book or takes him to the bookstore, bakes a cake, and gives him the few gifts she and John could buy or make him. She'll try to buy something affordable from the catalog, with John giving suggestions on what he THINKS Jack might like……..it doesn't always work, but he tries. In the modern au, she'll take him to an arcade with his friends. (YES, THEY EXIST STILL.) That, or the movies and some restaurant.

Needless to say, she puts a lot of time and effort into dates, anniversaries, and gifts. 

U: Ugly (What would be a bad habit of theirs?)She worries and paces so much I bet she could make a mark on a wooden floor. I'd also say maybe checking in on people too much. Some people like Jack and John think it's bossy and nosy, but she's trying to help for the most part. If it's Jack or John………or Uncle, she's trying to make sure they're behaving.. On a lesser scale, she either seems to have great posture or really bad posture, no in between, it seems. Finally, her squinting at the sun really damages her eyes, causing her pain.

V: Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

She knows she's beautiful, but she doesn't bother putting much effort into her looks. In Canon, she wears the same outfit for years. She also wears a simple bun and a braid at night. She could be curling her hair or wearing it up like the other ladies, but she doesn't. I thought she wore the lightest makeup, but I don't believe it at the end of the day, and she wouldn't waste the little money she had on it. Modern Au is just as beautiful but doesn't spend a lot of time on her looks, either. She wears her hair naturally. Mostly in a bun or braid, but she is more likely to wear it down here. She wears light makeup. Eyeshadow, eyeliner, lipstick and foundation. She goes for a more natural look, but red lipstick looks stunning. She doesn't bother with beauty trends, just what she feels comfortable with. She is also less fashionable than Molly. She cares about being comfortable and "age-appropriate." Meaning she doesn't dress like a "mom," but she's not wild either.

W: Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Abigail learned this lesson after all the hell she was put through with John. Her heart felt incomplete, but she never would admit it, even when L.H. Arthur would point it out. She resigned herself to being alone. She felt no one would ever love a single mother, especially one with her past. She had given up on love. Could she be pulled out of that mindset? Yes, but it would take someone very special. IMHO, a woman would have better luck with this. (Granted, women can be super judgmental.)   Xtra (A random headcanon for them)  This was posted in a seperate link because the HC I picked needed some explaining. Y - There was not a Y for the list.

Z: Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Abigail hates sleeping on her back anymore. Sleeping outside on the ground for so many years has really messed with her back. She's a side sleeper now, but she sometimes rolls onto her back anyway.

[tocja]

Okay, I try to avoid this whole Eurovision thing since Israel is not banned, but something caught my eye.

I came across Polish entries, and first on the list was a song by some young woman in cheap babushka/stereotypical Slavic girl cosplay. And it made me irrationally mad. So mad, actually, that I started talking to myself about why the idea of a young blonde in red lipstick and a plastic flower crown makes my blood boil.

And I came to the conclusion that I hate the idea of 'vague Slavicness.'

There is this ideal that being Slavic means the same thing across borders, and as much as I can appreciate cosmopolitan sentiment in this statement, I have to also notice that this is exactly the type of narration which is used by Russia to deny us identity.

'There is no Ukraine - they are just half-baked Russians';

'They are not Poles - they are Russians in denial';

'We are all the same in our Slavic brotherhood and we will be stronger as one' - and I've met my share of Slavic nationalists to know that for some people, those sound like promises and not threats.

If we are all the same, then it is not an attack - it is unification.

And Slavicness means a lot of things; it is not the same even within the borders of the same country. Seeing this idea of being vaguely Slavic, enough to be recognized as one, but not to the point of giving yourself any actual cultural identity - it seems extremely pandering, as if we are trying to show some sanitized version that could be easily sold to everyone. Everyone recognizes 'babushka,' and who cares if you don't even use that word in Polish - your Slavicness makes you semi-Russian by proxy.

And not to be misunderstood - I don't think that the mentioned singer did that on purpose; I am pretty sure she just wanted to make some cute folkish tune that could represent her country.

I just think that the aesthetic of being Slavic is so ingrained in us that we actually forget that this is a culture, not a box of Pinterest/propaganda prompts.

I am rambling; it doesn't have to mean anything. Maybe because I come from a part of Poland with a strong regional identity and work in a museum, I am uncomfortable with the idea of a 'universal Slav,' and this video just serves as an excuse to rant about things that were already bothering me."

Ok fking wait a second

I was just finishing, when i decided to check the video again. The description states:

Kwiaty" is not just a song; it's a heartfelt journey into Slavic, old-fashioned love. Dama's lyrics take us back to a time when gestures spoke louder than words—buying flowers, sweet words, and walks under the moon. The song contrasts this nostalgic ideal with the modern lack of effort in relationships. Dama sings of a Slavic girl's strength, bravery, and confidence, longing for genuine connections. "Kwiaty" becomes a bridge between cultures, inviting reflection on the essence of sincere, old-fashioned love.

what the fuck is slavic old fashioned love

I was saying that I don't think the singer meant anything bad, and well - yes she did, here you go, you get romanticized slavic traditionalist propaganda about GOOD OLD TIMES XDDD

The lyrics are crazy

So you want me but you won't open me door

So you want me but you won't walk me home

So you want me but won't pay on our date

So being with you and without you it's the same

As it is shown by the text above, I am not native english speaker, I make my share of mistakes, but I am pretty sure that some wonky english is on display here.

I have Slavic blood

I keep my head high

And my tears dry

So don't waste my time

Oh yeah babe, there it is, Slavic blooded girlboss.

OKOKOK i don't want to show more text as it is physically painful, but I couldn't find a better definition of ''vague slavicness'' even if I tried. Some '' Slavic dama'' singing about ''Slavic love'' What makes it slavic? plastic flower crown, white frilly dress and patriarchal views. Culture? Those things I mentioned are not culture?

I believe that slavicness can be genuine, historically informed, modern and progressive please please please don't let us fall into conservative superficial ideals, just because it sometimes feels like there is not much more to us and our culture. We are rich and diverse.

It took a turn lol

[alicent-boleyn]

stillness, texture & alternate for Berenice?

Stillness has been answered!

texture: Does your OC favor any specific kinds of cloth or textures? Is there anything they can't wear or don't like? What sort of fabrics do they prefer?

Ngl - I haven't thought about this at all before. There isn't anything in-universe she has any hard feelings about, but in a modern AU, she HATES nylon stockings (like me - fuck those things lol).

alternate: What would your OC's alternate universe look be? If they're a fantasy character, what's their modern look? If they're sci-fi, what's their fantasy look? What AU would you want to see your OC in, and how would they dress themself? Bonus: Prompt an AU!

Modern! Berenice is a vintage fashion girlie. She grabs the best bits of old-fashioned style and combines them with her own dark aesthetic, and you KNOW she collects real vintage hats. She's definitely dyed her hair at least once in this AU (probably red, but black isn't out of the question).

[localplaguenurse]

What’s the whole gingko family doing in the modern era besides losing a piece of their sanity every they go into the museum

Okay it’s raw brain mode since I woke up not too long ago and I gotta get ready for work. Also for simplicity we’re gonna call it “lived to the modern era” because I have different ideas for an AU specifically set in the modern day. (Will I write it out? Depends on if prompted because otherwise it’s just gonna float around in my brain soup.) Also, wifey and Zhongli are keeping a low profile since he’s supposed to be dead, but the kids can be open about their identities.

Zhongli and wifey: Wifey is still doing art, but they have to be very careful about it. They have to pretend that instead of doing art for thousands of years that they actually come from a family of artists. I feel like Zhongli isn’t too picky what his job would be, my brain says historian, teacher, or maybe still funeral consultant. One thing’s for sure: they’re still married.

Yánjiāng: His love of cats has paid off and he now has a cat cafe. Is this a goofy idea? Yes. Absolutely. 100%. But people kept asking about him and cats so I gotta make a reference lmao. I’ve got a cold and am still tired, forgive me. The cats like to snuggle his tail after hours.

Lihua: A lot of modelling/fashion. I always imagine her wearing traditional and very ornately designed hanfu, so I also see her being one of those tiktokers/youtubers that critiques how period accurate costume designs in movies are.

Zhusha: A lot of pottery (better than whatever that thing in the museum is...). But like honestly I can see her doing a lot of art things and following in her mother’s footprints. Her preferred medium is sculpting. When she’s not designing/making statues, she’s running one of those pottery stores where you go in, pick a premade cup or bowl or whatever, and paint it. (I wanna go to one of those again soon...)

Yaling: So beta gave me the idea that she finds good high quality ore for mining. I think she still does that, however she’s become fascinated by those lab grown gems I hear about every once in a while. I feel like in the modern age she would also start looking into that. Granted she can literally just make crystals on her own but the people can’t, so y’know. Also hates Musk for all that shit about the emerald mine so it’s both “this is better for the environment/safety of the people plus oooo modern science” and “fuck that guy.”

Feng: Still does blacksmithing obviously but I feel like he’s also become like... this big himbo nerd. He makes regular blades and jewellery but sometimes he makes functional replicas of weapons and costume pieces from books and shows he likes. Yaling gives him shit for it whenever he asks for highly specific stones. “Nerd.” “Oh come on! So we can’t make fun of Yánjiāng for the cat cafe but we can pick on Feng for making a functional hat with hidden blades?” “First off, we do. Second, you stole that from that one jojo guy that kinda sounds like dad.” “... Shut up.”

[greypetrel]

Alternate for all the DA OCs ❤️

Hello! :D

Thank you for asking!! oooh this is fun >:3

Tis the prompt list

alternate: What would your OC's alternate universe look be? If they're a fantasy character, what's their modern look? If they're sci-fi, what's their fantasy look? What AU would you want to see your OC in, and how would they dress themself? Bonus: Prompt an AU!

Alyra: Classy and minimal. Will sport tailleurs and suits, the most casual she'll go will be a turtleneck. She'll have a capsule wardrobe extremely cared for in a closed palette of warm greys, blacks and blues. Some brown if she's feeling casual. Will hate sweatpants with all of her might, she won't get close to jersey.

Raina: Oh she'd go for grunge. Flannel shirts, jeans and Doc Martens (the most expensive thing in her wardrobe). Just hand me downs and second hand because she's cheap and she'll stay cheap. She knits her own sweaters and scarves and hats, her favourite colour is red. She had an emo phase in her teen years. You bet she had an emo phase. She has one (1) suit she uses when she needs being fancy. She is very faithful to her father's old pair of RayBan Aviator.

Garrett: Cottagecore mixed to some grunge. Jeans and boots, band tees and flannel shirts. Lots and lots of sweaters and he loves his beanies (all knitted by Raina, some he bought). A pumpkin spice latte in his hand and he's good to go. Won't go crazy on accessories, he'll have a messenger bag if he needs to bring stuff around or just fill his pockets. I think he could have a galaxy fashion phase, yes. Begrudgingly likes ugg boots. But won't be against experimenting and trying skirts and heels, just for fun (he'd like heels).

Aisling: Ok, so. She had a severe phase as a teen between metal and punk (she listens to metal but dresses punk because there's more colour and she doesn't like black and white). She'll go to a more casual wear, lots of leggins and hoodies, tees she has from highschool (she's cheap too) and she stole from friends/family. For something more professional/formal, she'll have something more inspired by vintage fashion ('20s and '30s female fashion with pants). Will choose sandals in January because she still doesn't like socks and shoes. She's the one that will most likely dye her hair, and in crazy colours.

Radha: Something between dark academia -lots of tweeds and wools and dark colours- and something very sleek and very modern, minimalistic style. I don't remember the name of the aesthetic, it's something between Urban and Techno...? Well, still keeping on dark colours with ONE colour to lively it up. Won't be caught dress in white to save her life. One thing she keeps is jewelry: lots of gold! Will sport a new haircut every month, lots of undercuts and keeping it short.

For my own sanity it's better if I refrain from picking up any more AUs, but let's say I'm thinking of the paranormal investigators one and I would really like to write something more about it. 👀

[deadrlngers]

the whole accessories & accents section for fenix please >:^) <3

THE SPECIALEST BOY!!!!! thank you bones <3

character design questions

bling: What jewelry does your OC wear? Does it have any meaning?

one thing that fenix is never missing is a wrist watch, the style is old-fashioned as he generally likes most of his stuff. the amount of times the glass of the watch got broken/chipped/whatever and he had to fix it is incalculable but he refuses to change the watch for anything else, not that he has any particular bond to it but when fenix likes something he doesn't want to change it for anything else unless he's forced to. beside that, he does wear earrings, he has a double helix on his right ear and both his lobes are pierced. he doesn't wear it often but you can see him sport a gold chain around his neck sometimes as well!! sadly for me he doesn't like wearing rings which is the greast loss <3

hair: How does your OC wear their hair? Does it have some kind of meaning?

ohhh this is a good question because fenix is quite preoccupied about his hair, he doesn't like when people touch it or mess it up he gets so whiney ksdjfks. he takes good care to style it, and you can catch him running his fingers through his locks to fix the style quite often during the day. the meaning? he's vain and thinks he's hot af lmao. let's straight away enjoy a photo of his hair, the prettiest boy 2 me fr

makeup: Does your OC wear makeup? How often? What kind? Why do they wear makeup, and do they like it?

fenix used to wear concealer when he was a teen and he felt too self conscious about his acne but that was the most he did, he doesn't like wearing any heavy product on his face because well, spend half an hour under the badlands' sun or italian summer sun and you will start hating it too (then we have warriors like tancred that commit to the edgy smudged black eye makeup no matter what)

favorite: Does your OC have a favorite article of clothing or accessory? What is it? What's the meaning behind it? Do they wear it all the time or do they wear it sparingly to keep it safe?

one thing about fenix is that he loves a good jacket and he loves a good pair of boots. when it comes to jackets he either goes for leather ones or denim or, how they are called...shearling jackets? the ones that have like sheepskin inside. for boots he usually wears those that have a cowboy touch, brown and that look like they are worn out but in fashionable way, or ankle black ones or combat boots when he wants to not serve absolute cunt and relax. when he wants to spice it up then he brings out his pointed boots with some fancy decoration. smth like these bc i can't explain myself. his favorite article of clothing is in fact one of these pair of boots, a gift from vesper that's why he loves them so much <3 he tends to wear it sparingly, so while he loves them and would love to only wear that every single day he tends to keep it safe more

change: Has your OC ever drastically changed their appearance? Significant haircuts, big tattoos, complete wardrobe swap, etc? Why? How do they feel about the change?

i think the biggest change fenix ever went through was going through his full cowboy phase (when he was still roaming through the badlands, he had a hat and all.. he was going through it) to like a more..lowkey cowboy vibe only, a fake cowboy even, when he began staying in night city. he does have a few tattoos but i wouldn't consider them big or like a drastic change!

alternate: What would your OC's alternate universe look be? If they're a fantasy character, what's their modern look? If they're sci-fi, what's their fantasy look? What AU would you want to see your OC in, and how would they dress themself? Bonus: Prompt an AU!

this is such a cool question jfksdfk. since we are talking of cyberpunk i'm imagining him in some kind of fantasy/dnd setting or something like that. he'd be the whore of the village, let me say that. leather pants hugging his thighs and ass in the tighest way you could imagine, flowy white shirts he wears almost all open down to the middle of his chest, CORSETS.....I KNOW HE WOULD..I CAN SEE HIM..i actually need to lay down if i think too much of this. i genuinely need to see him in some kind of fantasy au, he'd be like that text post that goes like 'they keep you in the party for your useful skills, they keep me for my witty and playful banter' or smth like that fkjdsk