#Look at the gray hairs in his peach fuzz | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

christinebloodwrittings · 5 months ago

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Hi, I'm not sure if you requests are open but I'd like to ask for a Lucifer Morningstar x oblivious! fem! reader. He met her when he visited the hotel and was immediately intrigued when Charlie told him that she was a a fallen angel. Later on he decides to court her but she is oblivious to his advances. Fluff! Have a good day/night!

Pairing: Lucifer x Fem!reader Summary: Believing she's underserving of love, every intent of the king to make his affections clear go unseen, until he had enough. Warnings: Blood, child marriage, a bit of angst. Diabetes quality fluff.

Note: I kinda forgot it was a fallen angel thing and already got up to 4k of words when I realized...Sorry, but I threw in the redeemed sinner thing that choses to be in hell, does that count?

Fireworks

To be put in simple words, love was a foreign term. You had seen it, but felt it? Your marriage in life was an arranged one, made by your father who forcefully had you marry one of his wealthy friends. Sure you lived with all the money in the world, but love? No, the man that was your husband lusted you a few times a week and then he was off to see the world. Leaving you behind locked doors to do the cleaning duties while he was gone.

After years of that routine, you felt disconnected, separated from your body, as if you couldn’t feel anything but coldness and loneliness. The era you were alive in wasn’t great in medical advances, so an unusual flu took over your health violently. You thanked to life and whoever who listened that your husband wasn’t there to mock your state, but from the bleeding cough to your last breath, at least four hours of suffering passed until you finally gave up.

Maybe it was the money you took from your husband without him knowing, or the times you tried to kill him in his sleep, but something sent you to hell.

After meeting Angel, by accident in a bar, where he barely managed to escape some guy wanting to harm him, he used you as an excuse, “client” or so he said as he pushed you down the street.

After thanking you for playing along, he told you about the Hotel and invited you to spend some time with him until you could stand on your own, in an economic and literal sense, the fall was not kind to your legs, the which had adopted a reverse position, like that of a dog.

“Hey, are ya aware you look like a husky?” you opened your eyes to his comment, looking your reflection in a turned off tv screen. Your ears were pitch black on the reverse, while white and fluffy on the inside.

The signs of when you wanted to tear out your throat with your nails were printed as gray scratch marks at the level of your larynx. And speaking of colors, your hands up to the wrists were black, up to where your forearm began, from there everything was a creamy white color, with a soft layer of fuzz, just like that of a peach.

You no longer had feet, but rather paws and claws like a dog's, with everything and pads. Your hands had light blue endings, with retractable claws. Your teeth were sharp and menacing, and just to top your silly appearance, just above your lower back, a long fluffy tail occasionally wagged.

“You look so cute toots” the spider supported your weight in two of his arms as if you were a feather, while with another hand he ruffled the hair in between your ears.

Once at the hotel, comments poured in about your stuffed dog appearance. Some made you laugh, others no so much. However, the barista and the smiling demon were not very comfortable with your presence. One being a cat and the other despising dogs.

“Your tail is so soft” Pentious hissed while softly caressing your tail on the couch. Compliments, how exactly you could receive one? But was it? He was stating a fact, so you just simply agreed with him in a matter-of-fact manner.

“Alright fellas, I’m taking ‘er upstairs, her leg needs work” Angel scooped you up again, taking you into his fever pink room. After discovering you could growl and whine like a dog you and Angel laughed, you leg now bandaged and secured with two pieces of metal to keep it straight.

In the privacy of the bathroom, you were able to let out a couple of tears given the abrupt change in realities. You died, you're in hell, and you couldn't even say goodbye to anyone. Furthermore, without even knowing you, a stranger gave you more support than any person in your life. You didn't know how yet, but you were going to pay him.

Angel had to go work while you stayed with his pig, idle sat by the window, observing and reflecting. Will your husband be in mourning? Have they buried you or thrown you into the river? They probably burned your remains and scattered them in the lake near the house.

You shook your head, then made your way to the door, decided to go look around a bit, even if you had to limp all the way to the hallway. Which you did, and wasn’t the brightest decision, given that in the middle of the stairs you tripped.

Mid-air you couldn’t grab onto the railing, so you accepted your fate and closed your eyes waiting for the impact, but all you saw were white and red feathers flapping not so far up the floor. “That could’ve been a nasty fall, you okay dear?” he laughed as a prideful smile took over his face, he looked just like Charlie, could they be related?

“Uhm, I think so, thank you sir” he flew upstairs, gently lowering you so you could get on your feet, “Is your leg okay?” he pointed to the bandages, soon showing spots of blood, “A bit bruised, I’m…new” your ears pulled back, while something pulled you away from him, like a voice from within telling you to run.

“Oh! Welcome to Hell then, my name is Lucifer” he outstretched his hand, a bright and warm smile adorning his face. “Y/n” you took his hand, calloused yet soft. “Nice to meet you, Y/n” he said your name like it was the title of a song.

“That, looks a bit nasty, mind if I take a crack at it?” he pointed to your now dripping back knee, “I think I should head back, I’ll take care of it” a step back made you almost fall again, seemingly failing to remember for a second how much it hurt to step on the ground, “Yeah no, I insist” he scooped you up his arms again, one of his hands pressing your legs into him and the other rubbing circles with his thumb on your back.

His room was considerably bigger than Angel’s. There was circus and apple décor everywhere, even on his bed, but covering corners and scattered on the floor there were roughly a hundred rubber ducks or more. “I love ducks so much, it has become a hobby” he noticed your staring, very much so, that when you turned to see him, he had a bashful expression and a golden blush on his cheek.

“It’s cute” he laughed at your comment, softly seating you on his bed, “I’ll undo the bandage, we can stop whenever you like, okay?” you watched him kneel down, taking in his hands the broken and tender flesh, “Mmh, long fall, huh? What did you do?” was he trying to make a joke? You didn’t know.

“I’m not sure, I just remember an intense amount of hot air against my body and then nothing” your answer was so straight to the point it made him nervous, so after swallowing a lump of saliva, he tried again, “I’m sorry, but uhm-I mean, anything exciting?” you furrowed your brows, “Like what?” he shrugged, finally discarding the stained bandages on the floor. “There’s a lot of reasons one can wind up down here, I mean… take me as an example” you weren’t the most religious woman, so you couldn’t judge something you didn’t knew much about.

“I didn’t do church, so I can’t really judge you” could atheism be a reason why you’re in hell? That would be fucked up. “Can’t or won’t?” he eyed you up, summoning new bandages, “Both? Considering you saved me and you’re patching my leg” his touch went away for a second, but it was enough to feel cold, nonetheless, when he accidentally made a bit of pressure in your wound an animalistic whine came out your throat, and, painfully so, your body pulled back, a few inches away from him.

Realizing what had happened, you couldn’t dare to see his face, “I don’t know why- I’m sorry” you stammered, “Hey, it’s not your fault, it takes time to get used to all of this” he searched in your expression something, anything that told him he could continue, since he didn’t saw much, he tried once again.

“I used to have feet, like you, now I’m stuck with hoof cleaning at least twice a week, otherwise I’ll be shorter than I already am” he opened his hand again, just waiting. He was inviting, calm, warm, nothing like you thought the devil would be like. So you pushed yourself back to the edge of the bed, and allowed him to touch you again.

“And done! How about I make you some crutches, mmh? That way you can limp around safely” he winked, snapping his fingers to make a little glitter sparkle while doing so. “Even if you say that I shouldn’t bother I’m going to either way” he stopped you before any word could leave your mouth, so all that was left to say was, “Thank you, sir” you smiled.

He was made aware of a rhythmically fast thumping on the sheets, when he looked over to your tail his heart fluttered, he decided he wouldn’t tease you about it, but he was going to make one thing clear. “Lucifer” he said his own name as if he was making himself acknowledged, seen.

“First names basis?” he nodded with a hum, “Thank you, Lucifer” it may have been just his interpretation, but his name rolling off your lips, he felt as if you were naming a painting. It sent a shiver from the tip of his tail to the tip of his horns.

He didn’t know how long has he been staring at you, but as soon as his mind started ticking again, he cleared his throat, taking seat by your side. “It itches my mind, what were you doing on the stairs if you’re injured?” say anything, literally anything, “Wandering, I…don’t enjoy feeling useless” ‘stupid’ you scolded yourself.

He knew the feeling, that’s the same one that made him start with the ducks. “You like books?” you nodded, “Let’s see here” he whisked his hand in the air, making a golden line of light shine brightly, “I have most of everything, is there something you’re particularly interested?” he turned to see you, his eyes ever so warm and gentle.

“Uhm, what do you recommend?” you didn’t know, in the living world you just read Anne Frank, which was sad and not very hopeful. “Oh I have just the thing” he put his hands inside the light and pulled three books, leaving two on the nightstand, and the other in your lap.

“It’s about a princess, dragons and an idiot you could call a sad excuse of a knight” he chuckled, eying you pass your fingers along the ridges on the hard cover, “As soon as you finish reading that one, let’s chat about it” you nodded, your tail going up and down against the silky bed.

“Oh and here” he snaped his fingers, a pair of ducky crutches fell on his hands, “Alakazam!” he smiled, “Thank you, Lucifer”.

Maybe it was how you got along with his daughter, or your care for her and everyone at the Hotel, including grumpy old Alastor, who still kept you at an arm's length because of his dislike of dogs.

Although of course, Lucifer was doing him the favor of reminding him that you are a lady, so the poor guy had no choice but to accept your peace offerings with a kind gesture. The fact that his pride burned because of it, made the king laugh until his stomach ached.

Over time, he started to notice the little things you did for him. Like when he came down to breakfast, you already had his place on the table next to Charlie, with his plate served accompanied by a small sweet or pastry and his duck cup of coffee.

Nevertheless, ever since that afternoon in his room, he started seeking for you more often.

“That dress is looking pretty good on you” he would say, to which your first response was, “Vaggie chose it, she has great taste” immediately dismissing his compliment, and that wasn’t his first intent.

“Hey, Y/n, how about we go out today?” he was quickly drowned under the sound of a thunder, followed by acid rain, “It’s raining” you walked away, silently tethered into the book he lent you.

Lucifer didn't fully grasp the concept of frustration, until the afternoon he tried to drown himself in sweet cocktails, poor Husk falling victim to his whining and the incessant sound of the wedding ring rolling across the table.

"She's kind of dense, isn't she?" Angel tried to make conversation with the defeated king, "I don't know what I'm doing wrong? I tell her that she looks good, she tells me that's how she looks every day" Angel let out a comprehensive hum, “Like in a ‘I don’t look different, what do you mean’ way?” Lucifer nodded, “Maybe she just has a hard time taking a compliment?” “It’s not just that, I ask her to go out, she asks me what for! Or that she just wants to finish up the book” Angel took a side look to Husk as if asking ‘has he been like this for a while?’, the only answer was a silent nod as the king continued his rant.

“And pickup lines, you youngsters still use them right? My best material just disregarded!” his best lines and your responses were something like this:

L:“I’d like to take you to the movies, but they don’t let you bring your own snacks”

Y/n: “Oh bummer, but we can buy them there right?”

L: “Hey, how was heaven like when you left it?”

Y/n: I don’t remember being there, sorry. But Charlie recently went up, maybe she can tell you about it!”

L: “When I text you good morning tomorrow, what number should I text to?”

Y/n: “We live under the same roof… why do you need to text me?”

L: I’m not an electrician, but I can light up your day”

Y/n: You sure do Luci, and so everyone else’s…well, maybe not Alastor’s day, but Charlie lights up every time she sees you happy, and around.

L: “Want a raisin? No, perhaps I could interest you with…a date?”

Y/n: I’m sorry, I’m not a big fan of dates, the texture is just not my thing”

L: “Are you from Tennessee? Because you’re the only ten-I-see”

Y/n: Nope, from California. I think I haven’t traveled to Tennessee, have you?”

And though Angel could make himself an idea of his efforts, and wanted to laugh at how sappy he could be, he needed to focus. “Look, she had told me few things about herself” Lucifer was ready to do anything for a single crumb of information, “Look, maybe she is oblivious about your advances, or she just doesn’t know what you’re doing”.

Angel was wishing you weren’t listening, because you made him promise not to tell. When he helped you into another set of clothes, while playing some sort of dress up, he could see a lot of the damage your husband did on your skin, and he could imagine the emotional damage he inflicted, seeing your eyes adapt a dead-like look while you tried to summarize years of pain into five minutes.

“How can I- how can she not know?” Angel took a deep breath, feeling guilty already, “She was married off to a fucked up man, at a VERY young age” a stab, in a metaphorical way, was placed into the king’s gut, “How young?” nine years old, you were placed in his care, then he granted you the mercy to wait until you were fifteen, then your dad signed the consent for your marriage.

“Illegal young” Lucifer felt a knot forming on his stomach, followed by nausea. To think you were alone living that sort of situation made him sick, angry and feel very much hopeless. “Maybe, you need to be more direct, say ‘hey I’d like very much to know more about you, to hold you, kiss you’ an’ shit like that” his fluffy friend was right, he needed a more direct approach, no more pick up lines.

“And ya’ definitely need to think about getting rid of that” Angel pointed to the ring Lucifer was obsessively fidgeting win between his fingers. “To be honest, it did cross my mind, let her go… it’s time don’t you think?” Angel opened his hand, asking for the ring, seeing that it was a painful process as it is and he clearly needed a hand. Lucifer took a deep breath before he slid the cold metal off his finger and leave it in the spider’s hand.

He made his way upstairs, decided he needed to be honest and forward with you, but also he was drunk out of his mind, so instead of his room he stumbled into the library he made for you to enjoy your reading.

"Y/n?" he slurred out your name, missing a few letters, still peaking your attention from the second book of the saga he lent you. "Everything okay Luci? You look a little...off" you put the book on the coffee table, looking at him with a worried face.

"I need to confess-s-s something" he did a sort of hiss while 'tripping' with his own forked tongue, and with that he also made a miss step on the carpet and proceeded to fall. Though you were quick to brace his fall, his face landing in between your neck and your chest.

"Uhm. You okay?" he looked up, breathing had been hard for him lately, it was as if a thick fog was all he had in his lungs. Around you, the fog clears up, a refreshing feeling washed over him as soon as your perfume attached itself to his clothes.

He took a second to process your voice, being that he was into a sort of drunk-trance, deeply wrapped into your warmth, better than he had ever imagined. "I-I am, better than ever" he softly sighed, taking your waist into a tight embrace, the lack of self-awareness that the alcohol provoked, gave the king enough courage to fix his posture and nuzzle into your neck, never once letting you go.

"I adore you, in more than one way. I'd like to have more than the warmth of your presence in the room. I want the freedom to have you like this every day, to caress you, to kiss you" his eyes turn red, his horns sprouted out his forehead as his wings from his back, slightly ripping his suit, "If you let me, of course, what do you say?" he made an internal prayer, not only for you to say yes, but also choose him in every way. For you to see the depth of his emotions, wearing one of his realities: the scaring that the fall printed on his body.

"If I choose you, and she comes back... will you still choose me?" you pulled him off, slowly, softly. From your jacket you took out a halo, shining bright with your full name printed. You had earned your place in heaven; redemption had worked on you.

"Holy fuck! You made it, congratulations! Now you can go enjoy paradise, dearest" he gave you a reassurance smile and a caress on your cheek, though his heart felt as if someone threatened to squeeze it out of his chest as your eyes scanned the light of the halo.

He struggled to get to a better position in the couch and to keep his tears at bay, seeing that you have an option to leave him forever. But he wasn't going to trap you in hell out of greed, you had the choice and he was going to honor whatever you went with.

"But what about you?" you took your eyes off the angelic light, to look into his sad looking eyes, "What about me? I can't go to heaven" he laughed off a bit of the pain and the urge to rip the halo to shreds.

"You look sad, what if I don't go?" he shook his head, "Oh pff, I will miss you terribly, but it will warm my heart to know that you're in a better place" he patted in between your fluffy ears, "Wait, you like-like me?" he found reason in what Angel said, you were merely a child married off to an old man who tried to corrupt you, that's why your lingo was so child-like and your mannerisms were so gentle and soft.

"I do, and more than that too, if you'd let me, I could make you happy" he took your other hand, "And if you choose Heaven, that's alright too, even better, you'll be in a place where everyone is kind to one another, the clouds are soft and fluffy and it's always warm and sunny" he recalled heaven form memory, might been an outdated version of the same, but it didn't mattered.

You spotted one of his wings that was at arm's reach. He watched your fingers slowly making contact with his feathers, your eyes scanning his for any sign of discomfort. At that he moved a little closer so you could have a better access, fully extending his wing to you.

"I am needy" you broke the silence, repeating the words from your ex-husband, "And cannot understand a lot of things" he turn his eyes off of yours, not out of negativity, but of safety, if he looked at you right now, you would see him cry his heart out.

"I'm needy too, and even being as timeless as I am, there's still things I don't comprehend" you tried to look at his face, but he hid himself in his feathers, "Like what?" you whispered, searching in between until you saw his face, "You will laugh" in response you shook your head, he took a second then answered with the brightest golden blush on his cheeks.

"What are fireworks made of? And what makes them colorful?" you took a second to think, then he watched you jump off the couch towards a shelf, took a book and then you came back to him.

"Here it is, gunpowder, potassium nitrate, sulfur, and charcoal, that is what makes it explode. It's also combined with Barium, which produces bright greens; strontium yields deep reds; copper produces blues; and sodium yields yellow" you read from the pages, "Now we both know now" your tail wagged at the sight of his smile.

"So, what are you going to do with that?" he pointed to the disregarded halo on the couch, "What should I do?" he eyed your troubled stare, then shoved his own mind aside, "Whatever your heart desires" to comfort you, still the devil on his shoulder advising him to be selfish and beg you to stay.

"I don't want to leave" you put the halo on his lap, “Is there a way to give this to someone else?" he slowly shook his head, "Want to do the honors?" almost in command he threw the angelic halo into hellfire. "I guess you're stuck with me now" his own tail wrapped around yours. He was excited and happy for your decision, even if it meant that you would remain in hell.

Now a little more sober, he got up from the couch, with his heart in his hand, metaphorically. He took the liberty of taking your hands in his, and guiding them over his cheeks, his neck, his shoulders, chest and wings. "I'm not much, but if you were to give me the title of "Yours", happily I would stop being the king of hell".

"Just to clarify, those sappy phrases were...romantically intended?" you were suddenly hit with a flash of realization, "YES!" he exhaled a breath he had stuck in his throat for a while. You laughed, "Then why didn't you said so?" good thing you were almost his same stature, he could watch you unravel with giggles without hurting his neck.

"I should have, huh?" he pulled you into his arms again, his hand caressed the back of your head before pulling in for a kiss. Taking your lips into his with a stored up passion he hadn't used in more than seven years.

Happy, how long has it been since you felt genuinely happy? especially in the arms of another, who was nothing more and nothing less than the devil himself. Who showed you more affection and affection than any other man alive. "I think I chose well" You soon noticed that his blonde hair was silky and knotless, it just slid through your fingers as you combed it. Something that ruffled Lucifer's feathers as soon as your fingers made contact with his head.

"Please do that forever" he melted in your embrace and ministrations, "I promise" he purred in response.

#hazbinhotel #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin #hells greatest performers au #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader

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allfortheslay25 · 1 year ago

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Neil Headcanons:

(I have more hc but these are just a few I’ve written down)

After Mary dies, Neil sleeps with a pillow against his back. He can’t sleep without it there

When Neil is scared, he doesn’t make a noise, just either flinches or internally breaks down because screaming from fear or nightmare or whatever draws attention while on the run

Neil can’t cook with flavor at all. He sucks at it

Neil is a really good driver in every way besides parking. He cannot park to save a life. Parking was not essential on the run when he was a getaway driver so he never learned to do it properly

Neil picks at the skin on his lips so they’re really dry and chapped and scarred

He’s a nail biter and sometimes bites his skin to the point it bleeds

He had very few freckles due to lack of sun while on the run, but he still had some speckled over his face until they were cut/burned off during Baltimore

Neil slowly pierces parts of his body over the years to reclaim his body

He also gets a few small tattoos

He never properly learns to fight. All the Foxes take turns/bet on who can teach Neil to fight. Matt teaches Neil to throw a punch and it’s the farthest anyone can get

He jump-ropes at the dorms sometimes if he’s antsy and can’t trust himself to go on a run

Neil sometimes hates showers and finds them to be a hassle. He’s not used to showering so much because he didn’t always have access to a shower while on the run

He actually looks nearly exactly like Mary and less like Nathan. Mary just projected her anger for her husband onto Neil since he’s their son and said it was because he looked like Nathan. Neil actually looks like 90% of Mary but has similar hair and eye color to Nathan

Neil likes skirts but does not prefer to wear them outside the comfort of his home. He is not used to doing things that make people stare

Neil has a habit of needing to do something with his mouth so he chews gum sometimes (Nicky buys packs of them for him after Neil’s pens exploded in his mouth for the fifth time in a single week)

Neil makes dry, out of pocket jokes about his trauma randomly throughout a day

His favorite fruit is actually bananas but his favorite berry are strawberries

Nathan is polish so Neil knew polish when he was 10 but Mary beat it out of him because she thought it made him sound like Nathan

After staying in Palmetto, Neil becomes a sleep kicker because his body and mind are slowly processing all the trauma he went through and it makes sleep just chaotic (a temporary REM sleep behavior disorder)

Neil can’t grow anything more than peach fuzz on his face because Nathan’s male family genes don’t grow facial hair

In Neil’s second year, the Foxes all share their own meal recipes so they can each teach Neil to cook something that actually tastes like food

Neil’s favorite color is gray but his favorite color (that’s not muted) is blue

The reason Neil is not good with his fists in a fight is because he’s got better control of his legs and should be fighting with those instead (Renee is the one to realize this but since none of the foxes know how to properly use their legs in a fight, Neil doesn’t learn much)

#headcanon hour #aftg #all for the game #headcanon #neil josten

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wisteriasymphony · 4 months ago

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Adrien. His caramel hair, that peach fuzz over his lip, the graying shades of green in his eyes. Maybe there was something in the air, something they had been feeding him (or, well, lack thereof) that had once kept him fair-haired and doe-eyed, rosy but not ruddy. If she told him about it, he'd probably cry—Look in the mirror to check. He had always despised being just as blonde as his mother for some reason. ....It was "princess" blonde, to him. "Pure". Something about being pure betrayed him somehow.

Adrien. The shell of his ear burrowing into her ribcage, as if he was trying to get so close that her hearbeat would be the only sound he heard. Every night for the past week he'd broken into Claudia's room, beside himself and in tears. Please don't leave me, he would cry out in a way that was Adrien's and not Chat's tone of voice, the transformation less and less of a snap and now more of a bleed, like taking off a heavy winter coat. They're going to take you away from me, Please don't leave me. I need you, I need you, you're all I have left.

Claudia hadn't really signed up for being "the one thing Adrien had left". It wasn't included in the job description, or whispered into her ear that one drunken night she'd stupidly run her fingers through that stray cat's hair. The opening up had been a one night stand—Tell a stranger your secrets and not a single word more. Bitch about your mother, your sister, feeling trapped and aimless: Therapy done like a quickie, a five-minute release. But he'd latched on till it destroyed him.

The golden brown hair was her fault. The peach fuzz was her fault. The drinking, the smoking, the sex was her fault. Hardly a knight saving a princess, by any stretch of the imagination. ...Maybe the knight killing one.

#tfw your boyfriend keeps worrying you'll die because of him but they'll only get you once he's gone #I LOVE SHOTGUN VOMIT WRITING NEEEEEEYYYOOOWWWWWWWWWW #the angst is heavyyyy. and the purity culture #claudrien #writing blurbs

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venusiananthology · 3 months ago

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˚ʚ♡ɞ˚La délivrance˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Aphrodite, Cytherea, Cyprogenes, Urania, Areia. These are the names that they call me, the beautiful men and women that surrounded me when I arose from the ocean. I am told that for years I was a small pearl, and then a very large pearl, and that now I am me. Who am I? My hair is long and it is blonde, the color of the orb shining down from the blue canvas which lies above the surface on which I stand. My hair is the color of the sand, the earth on which I first stepped after leaving the rock on which I am told I called home for twenty years.

The people on the beach celebrate my arrival. I watch them from the rock, and as my head turns, they whoop and cheer, and I smile a full grin in return. Unlike my initial welcomers, they are small, and they seem flawed. On the inside that is, they have these flaws which I can almost reach into with an invisible hand and read like a scroll. Wait, what is a scroll? I seem to have this inner knowledge of things that I have not yet encountered. My mind tells me that a scroll is a form of written language and that it is made of papyrus. What is papyrus? Oh, I have so many questions it seems.

My skin is very similar to the large men and women that I encounter on the rock and the small men and women I see on the beach. It is of a tan olive tone and it is freckled, almost as if I had been lying in the sun for many an hour, allowing it to give me kisses that formed the freckles. When I noted this to the men and women on the rock, a floating man with a crown of light looked as if he was blushing. It seems as though these freckles on my body are indeed some sort of a kiss, if I am deducing correctly. When I noted this in my brain, that the man seemed to blush, a woman next to him floating on a cloud hit him on the shoulder. Jealousy, a concept I am sure I will encounter in the future.

When I look down I see two large lumps on my chest peaked by two pink flower-like buds. I lift them up to see below them and my sight catches two thick legs with wide calves under a stomach which hangs slightly over them. My belly is pudgy and smooth to the touch, with soft, blonde peach-fuzz like hair growing on top of it. I reach below my stomach and above my legs to see what lies there in the space between them, and my eyes alight with shock. That is when the three graces who helped me out of the oyster laughed and placed on me a white silken robe and instructed me that I should only consider the area that I had just discovered when in the privacy of my own company, or of someone I loved very much.

Love. I hear the word and am immediately enamored with the concept. I may not yet have experienced much, but this I know: Love is the fated, the prophesied, the always-will-happen magnetization of two beings that creates fire and sparks and consumes entire cities in its search for inspiration. I seem to have some control over this concept of love, as I can feel the connections between the people around me. The grandest of what I am told are the gods stand before me and I feel a warmth radiating between them, like nothing in creation could separate them from one another, like nothing could stand between them and live to tell the tale.

The man is old and he is gray, but he is strong. He is curly haired and his cheeks are incredibly sculpted. I sense in his eyes a grim duty, it seems as though he has suffered much in the past and lived through many stories. I look into his eyes and scenes flash before me and I feel that I am him, birth in a cave to an earth goddess mother, blood splashing before me as my siblings are thrown from my fathers stomach, marriage to my sister-bride, goddess of the ceremony. And then suddenly the visions end, and I am smitten with the man. My face forms into a small grin as I stand before him, and suddenly the woman to his side forcibly introduces herself as Hera, queen of the gods. I am suddenly taken back to reality and put in my place, and my feelings for the supreme god are completely stifled.

The woman is my height, about nine feet tall, and her skin is olive but there are no freckles about it. She is completely smooth like porcelain and her body is slender, very much unlike mine which has curves and rolls all about it. It seems as though the man with the sun on his head knows not to place any kisses on the body of Hera. She then introduces her husband as Zeus, king of the sky and bringer of lightning and thunder. They both tell me that they are to be my care-takers in this world, and that I am for all intents and purposes their daughter.

I am taken aback once again, for I did not think I was to have a family, but it seems as though the gods before me, the large squabbling family full of intrigue and drama and scandal are to be those that I call mine. The graces bow before me, one blonde, one brunette, and one ginger. They tell me that all shall call me Aphrodite, goddess of beauty, love, and desire. They gift me with a beautiful golden belt and inform me that it will cause all who see me to adore me with a sweet passion, that all will consider me to be like jam on the lips, like lotion and oil rubbed onto the skin, like a flower in a meadow that they feel their own soul within, reflecting, like a pearlescent mirror. I smile with glee, I am to be she of love and beauty.

The graces take me by the hands and lead me down stairs carved into the side of the rock and I stand on the last one before glancing down at the ocean before me. I look at them and ask, am I to swim? They laugh cheerfully and explain that no, swimming is for the little people on the shore, and that I am not one of the little people, I am one of the big people. I take a step into the water, and to my surprise, my feet walk on top of it as though it is a solid surface. I begin to walk across the surface, but I am too happy to walk! I break into a sprint and somersault across the ocean before reaching the shore. The people gather around me and cry out in joy, for their goddess has arrived and she has in her heart a love for them which nothing could stifle.

I reach down and hug any whose arms offer embrace. I am offered figs and pomegranates and grapes and I eat of them like a starving dog. I am starving! I have never eaten before! As the juice drips down my face it lands into the sand and from the sand flowers protrude between the grains. I look behind me and see that the earth where I walked has also sprouted luscious flora. I feel in my bones because of the flowers that not only am I she of love and desire, but I am she of fertility. I shall be there to grace the winds when a child is placed into the womb of their mother, I shall be the whisper in the trees when said child is delivered to their eager family. I shall be there.

The graces follow behind me, giggling like children, and get my attention. They tell me that it is time to go to my new home on a mount called Olympus where I will be paraded like a trophy among the gods of this earth and that I will find my place among them as the newest daughter of Zeus and Hera. The rest of the gods follow behind us in a line of splendor and awe, the people on the beach look to their divine creators and some faint with the joy of a believer. The graces once again take me by the hand and lead me to my place within the procession of the immortals. We stand on the beach and my feet begin to feel light as fog forms beneath all of us, the gods. Suddenly the fog stretches out like a large yawn and overtakes us. I float upward and find myself in a throne made of clouds on a surface of clouds where all the gods sit on their respective thrones.

I am grouped with the graces, who I now assume are my ladies in waiting, as their thrones are smaller than mine but still stately and worthy of an immortal. A white bird flies out of nowhere to my side and chirps a melodious tune. My hand reaches out to touch the bird, and it flies up to land on my finger. I call this bird dove, my dove. I sense that it is mine. I look to the front of the cloud and see Zeus and Hera sitting upon their thrones, each holding the hand of the other as the cloud takes off into the sky. On the fist of Zeus sits a bird much larger than mine with a razorous beak and a head of white feathers but a body of gray. Its eyes flicker to me and I am scared by it. I must look away.

Behind the throne of Zeus lies a large beast of brown fur and two large horns. It is called a bull, as I am told by the man sitting to my right when he notices me staring at it. He looks at me and licks his lips, he is nine foot tall like myself and has a statuesque body that is oiled and laden with scars from what I can only assume are the fiercest of battles. His hair is long and braided and the darkest of blacks, it lays to the side over his shoulder and falls onto his chest. Oh. His chest. His pecks are like marble and they lie above a stomach of abs. This man has no woman to his side, and I feel that I am allowed to be smitten with this one. I ask him jokingly while pointing to his figure if he’d like to see my stomach too, and he replies with a smirk that he’s seen much, much more. I can’t help but blush the same way Helius did when I hear him say that.

The cloud finally arrives on the misty peaks of a mountain with a trail leading up. One by one, the gods get up from their thrones as the cloud pushes into the side of the mountain and dissipates as the immortals begin their ascent to the peak. I hear a melody enveloping the group as nine nymphs, I am told they are called the muses, start to encircle the procession and sing a song about the day that Aphrodite was born. I am brought to tears by the sheer beauty of the epic tune which describes me and the day that I emerged from the oyster. The graces take me by the hands once more and lead me up the mountain, explaining that I am too delicate to walk up the winding path on my own, but then I remember that I am also Areia, and insist I go on my own. The graces comply.

I look around me as I walk on and watch as the grass at the bottom of the peak of Olympus grows into trees and shrubbery and flowers and lakes and rivers. Within the green and blue I make out nymphs, Oreads, the spirits of this mountain. They are playing in the water and chasing one another amongst the branches. I see them cackle at one another's jokes and kiss like lovers. Suddenly one of the nymphs jumps from the forestry and runs through the procession, and behind her is a man with ovine legs pursuing her passionately. He calls out to her like they are in a lovers quarrel, and before my eyes the nymph stands in place and sprouts roots and a trunk and turns into a tree! Oh what a glorious land this is that I stand on!

We reach a clearing, and sitting in this clearing is a large palace of marble, it reminds me of the man I sat next to on the throne of clouds, large and proud. The procession continues into the palace, and I look around to see the space decorated with rugs of oriental nature depicting on them great battles and meetings of lovers and the emergence of gods. There are potted plants everywhere, and on their urns, I see similar paintings. There are shelves carved into every wall and within them I see scientific devices of all shapes and sizes, I also see scrolls which I assume have knowledge only the eyes of immortals are made to see. Incense burns in every corner attended by nymphs and they all look to the procession to watch me in veneration.

Zeus and Hera glance back at me as I look around at all the nymphs with love radiating from my heart, and they beam at me with the loving embrace of parents watching their newborn come home for the very first time. The man from the cloud comes up behind me and places a hand on my waist as he speaks. He says that this is all for me, and refers to me in name as beautiful. We converse as we walk on into the main auditorium where the court lines into a half circle. Zeus and Hera walk onto the stage and begin a speech.

I look around myself and observe the rest of my family fully for the very first time. The first person to catch my eye is a woman of my height, so I can only assume she is another of the greater gods. She has long brown hair and stands in a full suit of armor carrying a large spear. I feel a sudden pain in my forehead as I look upon her and notice a scar on the forehead of Zeus. Her eyes are deep set and the color of the ocean, her nose is slender and has a peak in the center, almost as if a sylvan hill of green sits upon her face. She is as beautiful as any goddess. Thalia, the ginger grace, tells me her name is Athena.

On the other end of the court, I see a pair of twins who look exactly alike, the only thing separating their appearance being gender. They have the same young, impish features of almond eyes and thick cupid’s-bow-like lips. The man has a crown of light smaller than that of Helius but still blindingly radiant. The woman has a small glowing crescent which floats above her head. Euphrosyne sees my curious stare and notes that they are the day and night dualities called Apollo and Artemis. Artemis’s imposing body causes a reaction of warmth in my own, but I look to her side and am disappointed. A lesser goddess standing at seven feet tall is at her side and holds her by the hand. Another pair in which I am unwelcome.

I listen to Zeus for a while addressing the procession but my curiosity again takes my attention away. Standing next to Athena is a woman who looks just like Hera except her features are rounder than Hera’s striking avian features. Her chestnut hair is twisted up into a bun and she wears a green toga fitted to her waist with a rope that hangs down her legs. Aglaea, standing at seven feet tall like her sisters, tugs me by the robe and I look down. She whispers to me that the woman I am looking at is called Demeter. Holding Demeter’s hand is a man that the man on the clouds tells me is called Poseidon. He wears blue and his long beard of white trickles into water that dissipates into fog before it hits the ground.

At the back of the procession is a dark and brooding man wearing black that nobody will tell me the name of. Finally, the man on the clouds places his chin on my shoulder and murmurs softly into my ear that his name is Ares. Suddenly I hear my name from the mouth of Zeus, and my attention is caught. He announces that because so many have already offered their hand in marriage to me, he shall be the one to decide who I am to be in matrimony with. I lower my eyes in disappointment. I was just born today and already I am to be bound to one man. I feel my eyes swell with tears as a man walks from behind Zeus, ugliest of the gods. He wears a beige toga and holds a large hammer in his hand. I am not excited for the announcement I expect to come.

Zeus reveals to the court to the return of gasps and awes that my husband is to be Hephaestus, god of the blacksmiths. Hera reaches her hand out for me, nodding her head, and I walk forward as the eyes of the procession watch me. I see the envy of all the men following my figure as I continue onward onto the stage where I am to be married and sent to my bedchambers like a cow to the slaughter. Ares looks at me with a melancholy gaze and I sense in him a similar disappointment, as it would seem our places next to each other on the clouds was a cruel joke meant to fool me into thinking I was to be his. I could have accepted being his. But this man before me on the stage, I cannot accept being his. I stare into his eyes, and I see nothing but a passion for his work, a passion for his craft. It is as if he is the only man unaffected by me, as his heart has already been won over by another.

#aphrodite #greek deities #greek gods #greek myth retellings #greek mythology #greek pantheon #short story #fiction #creative writing

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rainwaterapothecary · 2 months ago

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"Unsettled" (A Serennedy Golden Compass au) pt. 2

[Pt 1][Quick Lore Explanation] ("Speaking aloud" - "Speaking telepathically between human and daemon")

A safe distance from the Arctic Islands Research Compound, 1947.

The agent’s blond hair was so caked in Dust-gathering solvent, grease, and sweat that it barely moved when he plopped his head down on the thick carpet of Luis’ safehouse. His ribs expanded slowly before contracting with a spasm as his massive, white wolf daemon copied his action right on top of him.

“Thanks, Cucciola.” He coughed. His daemon merely completed his inhale with a gusty, canine sigh.

”I missed you, let’s never fucking do that again.”

Leon nodded, his body awakening aches and scrapes with every centimeter that thawed.

Blue eyes blinked up at the cabin’s hewn-log ceiling.

“Panza was a moose.”

Laughter sounded from near the fireplace as Luis Serra settled the kettle on its hook.

“Sí, he was.”

“He was also a lizard.”

“A salamander, but yes.”

“I can be a monkey, too. Luis says it might unsettle people though.” A tiny, peach-fuzzed head came into view just in front of Leon’s eyes, causing them to cross as they took in the tiny monkey’s big eyes.

Then Panza pushed his eyes further apart as he morphed into a tarsier, just to fuck with their old friend.

It worked.

Swearing in enough languages that their entire block would have been proud, the ex-guard shoved himself backwards, dragging Fiorire’s bulk with him.

“Fuck, Panza, what is wrong with you?!”

The cheeky daemon made small noises that could only have been laughter before he bounced into the air and landed as a blindingly red macaw on Luis’ shoulder.

“Fanfarrón.” Luis smiled, offering the daemon a dried piece of fruit. Panza continued to make laughter noises in the unnerving way birds have.

Leon shook his head in wonder, dropping his skull back into the soft rug.

“You never Settled.”

Luis turned to him, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Would you believe me if I said yes?”

Leon was lucky for the arctic winds keeping him awake enough for this conversation. Even then, all he had in him was a dubious eyebrow raise.

The scientist chuckled again and settled himself, cross-legged, on the rug by his old friend’s head.

“He Settled for a while, shortly after Abuelo and I got back to Spain.” Thick, brown eyebrows furrowed at the sad memories.

“What, not enough ladies to impress?”

Luis snorted and ruffled Leon’s decidedly disgusting hair.

“None half as pretty as the rompecorazones I left behind in Harlem.”

Leon wrinkled his nose at the nickname.

“I’m sure Ellie was heartbroken.”

“Who?”

Leon hit his friend on the knee with the back of one hand.

“Baker’s girl, over by the plaza with the fountain.”

Luis genuinely had to think before any sort of face matched a name.

“She threw a rock at my head that one time, when we were buying rolls.”

“Oh!” Luis snapped his fingers as he aligned a memory with the name. Then he shrugged with a helpless smile down at his friend.

Leon looked between his gray eyes, trying to understand what was going on behind them before another thought shot to the forefront.

“Luis! You got a beard!”

The other man looked down as if to see the thing on his chin before beaming at his friend.

“Yes! Hormones are fascinating.”

“’S that why you were way up here? Working with hormones ‘r something?”

The light in the seated man’s eyes dimmed.

“Ah, no, I’m afraid. I…” His eyes wandered over to the low bookshelf filled with journals, both private and scientific. Another weak pat on his knee from the back of Leon’s hand brought his attention back down.

“D’worry about it. You got me out, ’s what counts.”

It was as if uttering the sentiment aloud made it real, and all the fatigue of the past four months- hell, since the end of the war two years ago were suddenly upon the emaciated man. Delicate, blond eyelashes fluttered closed as Leon fought for his thoughts.

“Ve a dormir, Sancho. We’ll keep you and Fiorire very safe.”

Whether it was the weight of the torture he’d been put through, the force of the Arctic weather in the prison he’d been kept in, the knowledge that his dearest friend was back, whole, and had survived the fucking war, or the comfort of being able to hold his daemon to his chest for the first time since he got caught smuggling kids out of their cells…

He only realized he’d fallen asleep when he awoke beneath a heavy blanket and a heavier wolf daemon. Her white fur caught the sunlight of the Arctic’s permanent noon as she conversed with her old friend. Panza was still in his bright red macaw form, standing with one leg on the back of a chair Luis had put by the bed for him. With the other foot he was motioning like Luis used to when they were kids and he got excited. Fiorire’s tail gave his consciousness away when it flumped twice in greeting. He buried his fingers deeper into her thick coat.

“He’s awake!” Panza called out behind himself, to where a brown blob that must have been Luis sat. Maybe Leon needed more sleep if his vision was this fucked.

“Shhh Panza, let them sleep, parlanchín.”

“Mm, no- M’wake.”

Warm chuckles sounded from that red clay-colored blob and Leon found himself smiling at the sound.

“You sound it, amigo!”

“Mentiroso.” Panza muttered, mutinously. Luis waved him off as he got to his feet and crossed the cabin on long legs.

What had little Luis gotten so tall? That sweater was a good color on him…

When Leon smiled up at Luis, the taller man felt his heart break at the sight of crows feet around those clear, blue eyes he remembered.

Leon had grown up without him.

Settling himself on the chair he’d parked beside the bed for Panza to perch on, Luis leaned forward to take in his friend, cataloging what damage he could see over the blankets and trying to push the fact that each hurt and abuse was inflicted on his Sancho. His baby-faced friend who had been thrown into a cage and torn from his daemon over and over just to further Luis’ own research…

He shook his head, curls that Leon remembers kept shorter than they were back in New York bouncing jovially. Europe had been good for the man, it really solidified his sense of style…

A startlingly warm hand settled on Leon’s forehead to feel for a fever and neither man addressed the wounded sound that left Leon’s lips at being touched. Luis flipped his hand over and felt his face with the backs of long fingers.

“Y’r sad…” Leon looked down at his own arms in perplexion when they didn’t heed his call to action. He had things he wanted to do. Like smooth out that concern line between Luis’ eyebrows.

Fiorire huffed, her doggy ribs expanding as she breathed…smack-bang on top of his arms. Traitor.

”You love me. Now calm down, your human is speaking.”

Your human.

Summer days spent jumping off swings and chasing one another through alleyways while they dodged returning seamen and laborers rushed past Leon. On those boys’ heels came the smells of Nonna’s cooking, just waiting for the two laughing scamps to wash their hands and their faces, say their prayers, then fill their bellies. A small boy weaving giant stories with the aid of his ever-shifting daemon: now a bird with island-bright plumage, then a coyote howling into the desert stars, later a tiny snapping crocodile…

Running along the pier until that boy disappeared from view, still waving where he stood holding tight to his Abuelo on the ship taking him away.

Leon blinked back to the present where that boy leaned over him, grown and filled with life, if sporting more worry lines than someone their age probably should. Not that the supine man had any room to talk, he was sure.

Chocolate curls diffused the light like the earth they had dug in until Leon’s grandmother had admonished them and Luis’ grandfather had pulled them aside and taught them to make things grow out of their bullish destructive tendencies.

“Leon?”

He was trying to focus on that voice, those eyes that were so familiar behind the curtain of Time.

Blue eyes slipped closed once again and Luis let him sleep.

---

A/N Panza is such a bastard, I love him.

Back to writing... I'm at least two posts ahead, so I should be able to upload as I feel like it. (The whole thing will be cross-posted on my ao3 when it's complete. <3)

For silly thoughts and previews - I've been tagging stuff for this au as 'serennedy daemon au'!

I only speak English, please be kind to me I'm going off of rules I learned when I was like 12. ;;

[Part 3]

#serennedy daemon au #serennedy #my writings #did you think I gave Luis a tiny daemon for no reason?? incorrect.#hehe #ok to rb #I'm tagging it this time:#trans luis serra

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whump-card · 1 year ago

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Sunless Lives Part 29: I Will Take You Home

~2270 words

CW: discussion of suicide (but we know it’s actually the) aftermath of attempted murder by drugging, sedation, medical setting

First, Previous, Next, Masterlist

~~~

“Captain Isles!”

Matthew’s voice boomed through the parking garage. He’d been loitering by Isles’ white Lincoln Aviator for the last hour, waiting for the Captain to get out of work.

“Beck.” Isles slowed his approach, stopping a few yards away from Matthew.

“I want to see Simon,” Matthew demanded, “I hear you’re the man to talk to.”

Isles nodded slowly.

“He wants to see you too.”

This response caught Matthew off guard.

“You’ll let me?”

“You, and getting out, were all he would ever ask about, before…” He trailed off, looking away.

“How is he?” Matthew asked, his voice a little softer.

“Not good,” Isles admitted, “They keep him pretty sedated for his own safety, and it’s… not pretty.”

“When can I see him?”

Isles met his gaze, solemn and steady.

“I’ll pick you up at noon tomorrow.”

~~~

Matthew walked quickly enough to make the visitor’s tag bounce where it was clipped to the collar of his light spring jacket. Isles strode alongside him, grim and quiet, as they were led by an orderly through twisting hallways and multiple security doors. The building had a hint of dinginess and a heavy silence aside from their footsteps that made Matthew nervous.

“How much research did you do on this place before you put him here?” Matthew asked.

“It’s the only facility on the east coast that’s impervious to vampires,” Isles replied, “That was all that mattered to me. At the time.”

Matthew believed in the level of security. They had passed armed guards with dogs outside, and they each had to do a blood test at reception before being let through a pair of heavy gates.

It all hardly mattered if someone was in more danger from themselves than a vampire.

They rounded a corner and a gray-haired man in a doctor’s coat fell into step with them.

“Captain Isles, I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.” The doctor was obviously trying to sound pleased to see Isles, and was failing miserably. “Who’s your friend?”

Isles slowed his pace considerably.

“Dr Deckard, this is… Matthew Beck.”

The doctor stopped short.

“Captain, I thought we were in agreement that Beck’s presence would be dangerous for Simon.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Isles said flatly.

Matthew watched the exchange, a little offended that neither were directly acknowledging him.

“Simon is far too vulnerable for this right now, this is something I’d need weeks to prepare him for, at the very least.” Dr Deckard was arguing, but shrinking back at the same time, fiddling with his tie and running a hand through his thin hair. In contrast, Isles stood tall and radiated authority.

“I think I get the final say here,” the Captain said.

“Y-yes, of course.” Dr Deckard finally cast Matthew a brief glance, then turned on his heel to lead them onwards. “This way, gentlemen.”

Simon’s room was only a few doors further; Dr Deckard unlocked it with a keycard and held the door for Isles and Matthew. Matthew’s heart pounded as he followed the Captain in. Four months. He hadn’t seen Simon in four months, and now they were going to be in the same room together. Would he panic? Would Simon panic? Or would it be joyful? Would they kiss? Would Simon reject him? Would -

Simon lay on his back in the bed, his head turned towards them and his eyes closed. His expression was soft, peaceful, and his face was full and round like it should be, not the gaunt shadowy thing Matthew had seen last. His wrists were restrained to the bed frame, but the straps were thickly padded and not too tight.

He looked okay. Not horrible, not perfect, but safe. Alive.

The only thing that caught Matthew off guard was Simon’s hair: it had been shaved recently, and was currently a shadow of peach fuzz.

“His hair, what-” he mumbled, unable to look away from Simon’s unconscious form.

“After he took the pills, he fell and hit his head rather badly. We needed his hair out of the way to stitch it up.” Dr Decker explained, watching Matthew carefully.

“Pills?” A lump formed in Matthew’s throat.

“Yes. He stole them from the pharmacy.”

Matthew took a shuddering breath.

“Is he - will he wake up? Can I talk to him?”

“He’ll be foggy, but yes. But you should know,” Dr Deckard warned, “He’s been quite the chronic liar during his stay here. I wouldn’t put much stock in anything he says, particularly under the effects of the sedative.”

Simon: a liar, a thief, and suicidal. Matthew couldn’t wrap his head around it. He pulled up a chair and sat as close as he could to Simon’s bedside, right in front of Simon’s face. Isles and the doctor hung back, observing.

“Simon?” Matthew reached over and took Simon’s hand in his. It was limp and cool. “Simon, I’m here.” Simon’s fingers twitched and Matthew gave them a gentle squeeze. Simon’s eyelids fluttered and Matthew’s heart soared.

“There you are, there you are.”

Simon’s eyes opened, and met Matthew’s.

Nothing.

Simon stared blankly, with no recognition. Matthew’s guts twisted and plunged with horror, and he sat frozen for a long second. Then three. Then five.

Then Simon’s eyes widened.

“Mm’thew,” he whispered.

Matthew sobbed with relief.

“Yeah, I’m here, I’m here!”

“Matthew,” Simon rasped, his eyes filling with tears, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…”

I’m sorry, Matthew, I didn’t mean it, please don’t be mad -

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Matthew soothed, suppressing the memory, “I’m gonna get you out of here, okay?” He twisted in his seat to glare at Isles.

“We’re taking him home. Today.”

Isles shook his head.

“There are still vampires-”

“Fuck the list!” Matthew snapped, and Simon’s fingers flinched within his, “This place is going to kill him before any of them do.”

“Simon is in a very fragile state at the moment,” Dr Deckard cut in, “I would not recommend moving him.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Simon was still whispering apologies.

Isles looked back and forth between them all, conflicted.

“Cap, you know it’s the right thing to do.”

Isles’ gaze settled on Simon, his brow heavy. He took a short breath.

“Fine. But he stays with me.”

That was good enough for Matthew. He turned back to Simon.

“You hear that? You’re…” But then he heard what Simon was saying.

“I cheated on you, I’m so sorry Matthew, I cheated on you, I had to…”

“Woah, hey,” Matthew reached out to caress Simon’s head with his free hand, “What do you mean, what happened?”

“With, with an orderly, Matthew, I had to,” mumbled Simon. Matthew’s head snapped back around to glare at Dr Deckard.

“What the hell is he talking about?”

“Like I said,” Dr Deckard shrugged innocently, “He lies, for attention, to try and get special treatment. What he’s saying is impossible, the whole facility is covered in cameras that are observed at all times, and all our staff and faculty are thoroughly vetted. I’m sorry, but he’s lying to you.”

“Why would he tell me a lie that would upset me?”

“More likely, he’s trying to make me and the employees here look bad.” the doctor smiled sadly. “It’s not uncommon for patients like him to have a victim complex. You coming to rescue him and infantilize him is exactly what he wants. I strongly recommend against removing him from my care at this time.”

“Isles?” Matthew looked to the Captain. Isles turned to Dr Deckard.

“Please bring me whatever paperwork I need to have him released,” he requested.

“Alright, but you’re just going to bring him back in a week or so when you realize you can’t handle him, and I’ll have to start back at square one.”

“Just do it. Please.”

Dr Deckard left in a huff. Matthew ignored him, turning his attention back to Simon. Simon had fallen back asleep, tears dried on his face, so Matthew just gently stroked his knuckles and his brow and waited. Eventually a nurse arrived with a clipboard full of paperwork for Isles. After that, everything happened rather quickly. A wheelchair was brought, and a pair of orderlies unstrapped Simon from the bed and moved him to the chair. Matthew winced when he saw the back of Simon’s head when it lolled forward; there was a line of thick stitches. Then Simon lifted his head, and mumbled incoherent questions as they wheeled him out of the building. Matthew stuck right by him, speaking soothing words and touching his shoulder. It felt like they were doing something illegal, somehow, as they ushered him quickly out of the maw of the fortress and to the sunny parking lot. Matthew shooed the orderlies away and lifted Simon into Isles’ car himself, and got in the back seat with him. Isles got into the driver’s seat, depositing a plastic bag full of Simon’s winter clothes from four months ago into the passenger seat. Matthew buckled Simon in then laid him down with his head on Matthew’s thigh. Simon's eyes blinked open, glassy and soft.

“Are we going home?” he murmured.

Matthew wondered what ‘home’ he was imagining - the VIU? Their Boston studio? Maybe even Lara’s house, or his childhood home.

“You’re going to stay with Isles for a while,” Matthew said as the car started to move, “You’re never going back to Summerwhite, okay?”

Simon’s foggy gaze drifted across Matthew’s face.

“Which one are you?” he mumbled, his brows pinching slightly.

“I…” Matthew glanced up at Isles - the captain was focused on the road. “It’s me, Simon. I’m human, it’s me.”

“Oh… Good.” But Simon didn’t sound relieved. Mildly disturbed, Matthew stroked Simon’s face in what he hoped was a calming way. Simon relaxed a little, his forehead softening and his eyes fluttering closed.

Fort Summerwhite was an hour and a half west of DC, and they made good time to Isles’ house. The two bedroom blue craftsman was tiny, but having a detached home with its own backyard this close to the capitol was a massive luxury. Matthew scooped Simon up and carried him up the steps to the wide porch bridal style while Isles unlocked the door.

“Put him in my room for now, in the back to the right,” Isles said, holding open the door, “It’ll take me a minute to set up the pull-out.”

Matthew made his way to Isles’ bedroom, his arms straining under Simon’s weight. His healthy weight, he reminded himself, not like -

Pressing his fingers into the indents of ribs. Pinching skin just to watch how long it took the color to come back.

Matthew laid Simon down on Isle’s bed and jumped back like he’d been burned, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Not now. Get it together.

He double checked that Simon was lying comfortably and hurried back out of the bedroom. He took a moment to glance around the house; he’d never been there before. It smacked of someone who wanted to look like marriage material, but hadn’t quite stuck the landing. It was a little over decorated here, a little under decorated there. Lots of beiges and blues and Target throw pillows. He found Isles in the second bedroom that he had outfitted as an office, unfolding a small couch out into a bed. Matthew wordlessly assisted, catching the extension and lowering it down.

“Now I just need to remember where I stashed the sheets for this thing,” Isles muttered.

“Do you have enough food for two people? If you don’t mind me borrowing your car, I could make a grocery run,” Matthew offered, eager to help in any way he could think of.

“Actually, Beck… Matthew, I…” Isles looked at him, searching for the words. Matthew��s heart sank.

“No.”

“Matthew, I’m going to follow Dr Deckard’s recommendation. I don’t think you should be around Simon.”

“I’m not a vampire anymore! I pose no threat, none at all.”

“You still pose a threat to his mental health,” Isles argued, “I don’t want you playing with his emotions.”

“Playing with his emotions? Cap, you really think I would do that?” Matthew asked, incredulous. “I love him, I need to be here for him!”

Isles paused, frowning - but didn’t budge.

“No. You need to call someone to come pick you up, I don’t want you here when he comes to.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Matthew demanded, raising his voice. “Shouldn’t Simon get a say in this?”

“Yes, I’m serious!” Isles’ voice was immediately louder than his, “And Simon is under my custody, it’s my responsibility to keep him safe.”

“You really think I’m that dangerous?”

“Yes!” Isles hollered, “Now get out of my house before I have you arrested for trespassing!”

Matthew froze. He was still on probation from the rehab facility, any trouble with the law and he would go right back. No phone calls. No dad. And an even slimmer chance of getting to see Simon again.

“What even was this, then?” he asked, his voice wobbling, “Why even let me come with you?”

Isles glowered at him.

“It was a mistake. He’s better off without you.”

“No, I…”

“He’s better off. Without you.”

Letting Isles see him cry would be beyond humiliating, so Matthew turned and fled. He pulled his phone out of his pocket - an old smartphone with a cracked screen that his dad had enough foresight to resurrect and set up for him before he got out - and dialed Gina.

“Yellow?”

“I’m at Isles’, can you come pick me up?” Matthew sobbed.

“I can come right now. What happened?”

“I can’t, I can’t, please, just… Get here soon.”

~~~

First, Previous, Next, Masterlist

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @sunshiline-writes, @seasaltandcopper

#whump #whump fic #whump writing #sunless lives #sunless lives arc 3 #cw discussion of suicide #cw sedation #aftermath of whump #cw medical setting

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astrophysicist-guitar-god · 2 years ago

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After the cut, the Rolling Stone article that elicited a response from Roger, written on an airline motion-sickness bag.

Queen Holds Court in South America: On the road with rock's royal spectacle (x)

James Henke, June 11, 1981. Buenos Aires, Argentina

We are the champions – my friends And we’ll keep on fighting – till the end – We are the champions – We are the champions, No time for losers cause we are the champions – of the world – —Freddie Mercury, “We Are the Champions”*

It was to be the Big Event. Queen, coming off its most successful year ever, was setting out to conquer South America and wanted to make sure the whole world knew about it.

That, certainly, was no surprise. After all, this was the band that had made a career out of creating spectacles. A couple of years ago, for example, when they were launching a U.S. tour in support of their Jazz album, Queen threw a bash in New Orleans that featured snake charmers, strippers, transvestites and a naked fat lady who smoked cigarettes in her crotch.

The real surprise was that Queen – a group with a history of hostility toward the press – had agreed to do interviews and had invited journalists from the U.S., England, Spain, France and other countries to come along for the first shows.

So here I am at Ezeiza airport, outside Buenos Aires. The place looks like a military installation. Young, peach-fuzz-faced boys who can’t be more than sixteen or seventeen are stationed along the concourse that leads through customs into the baggage-claim area. They’re all in uniform: big black leather shit-kicking boots that reach halfway up the calves of their legs, and regulation tan pants, shirts and helmets. And they’re all armed with submachine guns.

In Argentina, the military – and terror – reigns supreme. According to Amnesty International, about 15,000 people have “disappeared” since 1976, when Juan Perón’s second wife and successor, Isabel, was thrown from power in a coup d’état. Since then, a guerrilla war has been waging between the dictatorship and opposition groups, mainly Perónists, and citizens have routinely been plucked off the streets or out of their homes, taken to secret detention camps and systematically brutalized. But as VS. Naipaul writes in his book The Return of Eva Perón, “Style is important in Argentina; and in the long-running guerrilla war – in spite of the real blood, the real torture – there has always been an element of machismo and public theatre.”

Editor’s picks

Amid the hubbub at customs, I notice a middle-aged man in gray – gray suit, gray tie, gray hair – making his way through the crowd, shouting something in Spanish. The only word I understand is Queen, and sure enough, he’s looking for us. He takes our passports, whisks us past the inspectors without so much as one bag being opened, and leads us upstairs to the bar for an early morning cerveza. He speaks little English, but there are two words he knows quite well. No matter what anyone asks for, his response is the same: “No problem.”

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

By the afternoon of day two, none of the writers has yet been introduced to any of the band members. We while away the time in the hotel bar, but in this country, where the annual inflation rate is around 100 percent, a bottle of beer costs the equivalent of twelve dollars, keeping us sober against our wills. Finally, Jim Beach, Queen’s business adviser, allows a few of us to attend the sound check at Velez Sarfield.

The Argentines have a rather nifty concept of crowd control, as I find out when I reach the stadium: a moat, about six feet wide and three feet deep, runs around the perimeter of the field and is filled with foul-smelling water and patrolled by dragonflies. Queen has brought its own artificial turf so that the promoters will allow people onto the field.

Up onstage, Queen – lead singer Freddie Mercury, guitarist Brian May, bassist John Deacon and drummer Roger Taylor – is rehearsing “Rock It (Prime Jive),” a track off The Game. And it sounds simply awful. The acoustics are horrendous in the 3500-seat stadium: there’s a thirty-second delay as the music drifts across the length of the field and reverberates off the scoreboard. Nor does the band’s musicianship seem inspired. The rhythm section is sloppy and sluggish; May’s guitar playing is limited to heavy-metal/hard-rock clichés and patented, though by now boring, harmonic lead breaks; Mercury’s singing is lackadaisical and without conviction.

“They’re not even up to the par of some third-rate New Jersey bar band,” another writer comments to me, and indeed, I’m somewhat mystified about what it is that makes this group so popular.

When I return to Velez Sarfield that evening for the show, the stadium is swarming with kids – and cops. These are crusty, corpulent tough guys – not the boot-camp boys I saw at the airport. And it doesn’t take long to find out that they mean business. When one American writer snaps a photo of the twenty-odd billy-club-wielding policemen who are cordoning off the backstage area, he’s pinned against a government-owned Falcon and threatened at knife point with the loss of a finger until he yields his film. “No problem.” Sure.

“Un supergrupo numero uno,” the emcee anounces as the lights dim, and with a burst of smoke, Queen appears onstage and begins hammering out its anthem, “We Will Rock You.” Mercury – dressed in a white, sleeveless Superman T-shirt, red vinyl pants and a black vinyl jacket – frequently stops singing and dares the audience to carry the weight. And carry the weight they do: the fans seem to know all the lyrics throughout the 110-minute show – which, if for no. other reason, is impressive for the number of hits the group is able to offer up, such as “Keep Yourself Alive,” “Killer Queen,” “Bohemian Rhapsody,” “Fat Bottomed Girls” and “Bicycle Race.”

Though the band-audience interaction is remarkable, the crowd responds with such unquestioning devotion I get the feeling that if Freddie Mercury told them to shave their heads, they’d do it.

The musicianship still seems pedestrian, but what the group lacks in ability, it makes up for – at least to the fans’ satisfaction – in gimmickry. Smoke shrouds the stage at regular intervals; flash pots illuminate the audience at key moments and end the set. Compared to Kiss‘ fire-breathing antics, Queen’s use of special effects is in relative good taste, and after all, a Queen show is supposed to be a spectacle.

For the encore, the band reprises “We Will Rock You,” then bounds into “We Are the Champions.” Mercury, by this time wearing only a pair of black leather short shorts and a matching leather policeman’s hat, struts around the stage like some hybrid of Robert Plant and Peter Allen, climactically kicking over a speaker cabinet and bashing it with his microphone stand. Pretty ridiculous in this day and age, but the kids love it.

Indeed, Queen may be the first truly fascist rock band. The whole thing makes me wonder why anyone would indulge these creeps and their polluting ideas. —Dave Marsh in Rolling Stone

What do I think about critics? I think they’re a bunch of shits. —Freddie Mercury

Queen’s relationship with the music press has been about as cordial as the secret police’s relationship with the Argentine public. Even so, the band hasn’t exactly suffered from the continual pans of its records and shows: eight of its ten LPs have been certified gold (the exceptions are the Flash Gordon soundtrack and Queen II), and its last three studio efforts – News of the World, Jazz and The Game – have gone well over the million mark in sales.

“I have some very strong views of some of the things the press do, such as The Rolling Stone Record Guide,” Roger Taylor says, looking out his hotel-room window. It’s day four, and the long-promised interviews have finally been arranged. “Now, I’ve never read the book, but I saw an ad, and I thought, ‘What the fuck is someone doing bringing out a book like this? Who the hell are they to say what albums are good and what albums are bad?’ I think it’s entirely a personal choice.” (For the record, Queen didn’t fare too well in the book; four of the seven albums reviewed were awarded two stars, a designation that means “records that are artistically insubstantial, though not truly wretched.”)

The shots at Queen have not been fired by just the press, however. When the punks came to fame in England in the late Seventies, Queen was one of the groups most often singled out for attack. Taylor and John Deacon, the two band members who seem most attentive to musical trends, apparently feel some of the criticism was justified. “It gave us a kick up the ass,” Taylor says. “It was so angry, so different, so outrageous. We were recording News of the World in the same studio the Sex Pistols were recording their first album in. I mean, the first time I ever saw John Rotten, I was really shocked, cause I had never actually seen the whole thing in person. He sort of crystallized the whole punk attitude, and there’s no doubt about it, the guy had amazing charisma.”

If the band’s pomp-and-circumstance delivery has recently fallen into disfavor among the rough-and-ready New Wavers, it wasn’t really in vogue either when Queen inaugurated its grandiose stage presentation in the early Seventies. “That was the time of the supergroups, like Cream and Traffic,” Brian May explains, “and it was more the thing to get into your music and not worry about the audience. Then, for a period, it became very cool to do a show. Now, the wheel has turned again. But we just think that kind of show is part of being professional. People are giving you two hours of their time, so you have to give them everything for those two hours. We want every person to go away feeling he got his money’s worth, and we use every possible device to achieve that.”

From the beginning, Queen wanted to put on a show that would be different. “We had a joke that we wanted to be the biggest,” Taylor says. “It was a joke, but underneath, it really was true. Number one is much better than number two. And we’re still working at it.”

To accomplish this goal, Queen opted for an unusual route. Rather than work their butts off playing the club circuit – something Taylor and May had done without much success in a band called Smile – they chose to spend two years rehearsing while they were still in school. May nearly completed a Ph.D. in astronomy; Taylor has a degree in biology; Deacon, one in electronics; and Mercury, a diploma in illustration and design.

Mercury and Taylor supported the band by selling artwork at a stall in Kensington Market, and it wasn’t until 1973 that Queen released its first album and had enough money – thanks to record-company support – to take the kind of show they wanted to do on the road. The LP, titled Queen, gave the band its first hit single, “Keep Yourself Alive,” and set the stage for what was to come. As Roger Taylor says, “It’s been quite a fairy tale.”

I just hate this,” Freddie Mercury says, “especially when that thing’s on.” He points to my tape recorder, sits down across from me and lights up a Salem. “There came a point where I was misquoted all the time,” he continues, “and they had the piece written before they even started. I’m not afraid of criticism – I don’t want to come across as Goody Two Shoes all the time – but it’s been purely vindictive.” A deal’s a deal, however, and Mercury, obviously under some pressure from the other band members and their record company, had agreed to an interview. “So here I am with Rolling Stone,” he moans. “It’s like being forced to talk.”

Up close, Mercury is more petite than he looks onstage: he stands only a fraction of an inch under five feet ten and is relatively slender. His short-cropped hair and mustache are jet black, and his eyes are a piercing dark brown. In addition to being the group’s lead singer and one of its main songwriters, Mercury is also most responsible for Queen’s image. He’s known for his flamboyance and debauchery both onstage and off: at a birthday party a couple of years ago, for example, he swung naked from a chandelier, and on one of the band’s Japanese tours, bored with the tedium of playing night after night, he appeared onstage with a bunch of bananas atop his head.

“The Carmen Miranda of rock & roll,” he says, chuckling. “But what can I say? I’m a flamboyant personality. I like going out and having a good time. I’m just being me. The media pick up on certain things, and a lot of things get overexaggerated. I’m quite easy to get on with, really. I can be a real bitch at times, but that’s okay. I’m not that vicious. I use my influence. Why not? I’m not afraid to flaunt it.”

Thirty-four years old, Mercury was born Frederick Bulsara in what was then Zanzibar. His father was a British civil servant, and Freddie left home when he was seven to attend boarding school, first in India, then in England. “You learn to fend for yourself at an early age. I was quite rebellious, and my parents hated it. I grew out of living at home at an early age. But I just wanted the best. I wanted to be my own boss.”

Shifting around in his seat, Mercury tugs at his upper lip and reaches for his pack of Salems. “For a nonsmoker,” he jokes, “I smoke far too much.” He tells me he’s just purchased a house in London’s Kensington Park, complete with eight bedrooms and a massive studio with pillars and a gallery. “I can have minstrels play there,” he says with a laugh. “Very la-di-da, don’t you think?”

He’s having the mansion remodeled, which gave him cause recently to go on one of his celebrated shopping sprees. Just before their South American jaunt, Queen played five shows at the Budokan in Tokyo, and the promoter’s wife, a good friend of Freddie’s, arranged an excursion for the singer and his entourage through the largest department store. “I felt like Grace Kelly,” he recalls. “I got this huge Japanese bed, a lot of lacquer things and really nice hundred-year-old stuff. I think I spent a fortune, but I don’t know. The credit card pays for it.

“I like buying things on crazy impulses,” he continues. “I hate buying for investment. But I do like a lot of Oriental stuff; it’s intricate and delicate. I also like the cultural part of it, the way they do their gardens; they put a lot of thought into it. But I’m not into all the meditation crap, or those boring tea ceremonies. The raw fish, as well.”

Early on in his career, Mercury seemed bent on incorporating his interest in different cultures and art forms into Queen’s stage shows and music. “Mustapha,” off the Jazz album, was a miserable attempt at Arabic music, and at one point, Mercury told the British press he was “bringing ballet to the masses.”

“I went through this period where I thought I was making an impact on the fashion world,” he says, “then I thought, ‘Oh, grow up.’ And now, you see, I don’t take all this too seriously – I mean, I couldn’t be serious with the things I wear onstage. I have far more fun, and I enjoy it. It’s a great release. That’s what entertainment should be.”

He feels likewise about the band’s music. “It’s just pure escapism. It’s like going to see a film. People should just escape for a while, then they can go back to their problems. That’s the way all songs should be: you listen to them, then discard them like a used tampon. I don’t have any messages I’m trying to get across or anything.”

The forty-five minutes of interview time I’ve been allocated are rapidly drawing to a close, and publicist Howard Bloom knocks on the hotel-room door and tells us to wind things up. Mercury lights one last Salem. “You see,” he says, “you can tell I’m not very good at this. To be honest, I really don’t think I have much to say.”

A couple of years ago, Roger Taylor was doing about 145 miles an hour in his Ferrari on an alpine road in Germany when suddenly one of the chains went, the cooling system died and the car caught on fire. He managed to extinguish the flames just in time – there were about fifteen gallons of gas onboard. “Burned all my clothes to a cinder,” he recalls. “Another minute and it would have hit the tank and that would have been it. I would have been vaporized completely.”

Since then, Taylor hasn’t been quite as enamored of fast cars, but he still relishes the kind of lifestyle rock & roll has afforded him. In that sense, he’s probably closer in personality to Freddie Mercury than the other two band members. “Ah, yes,” he says when I bring up Queen’s rather decadent image. “I like that sort of thing. I like strip clubs and strippers and wild parties with naked women. Sounds wonderful. I’d love to own a whorehouse. Really, seriously. What a wonderful way to make a living.”

“Roger is very much in the tradition of the successful rock & roll musician,” John Deacon explains. “He wants the things that go with it, and it is what he really wanted to be. I’m sort of the opposite of that. It was never my burning ambition to be in a successful band. It has helped my confidence a bit, but it’s different things for different people. And we are four very different people.”

Offstage, while Taylor and Mercury are out carousing, Deacon frequently spends time with his wife and three kids. Though he may seem out of place in the flashy world of Queen, Deacon is actually the band’s stabilizing presence. He oversees much of the group’s business matters – Queen does not have an official manager; instead, it employs a coterie of advisers who leave final decisions to the band.

The disco hit “Another One Bites the Dust” is Deacon’s creation. “I’m the only one in the group, really, who likes American black music,” he tells me. “And with The Game, it was Freddie’s idea that instead of arguing over which songs to put on the album, we’d split it up: Freddie and Brian would have three tracks apiece, and Roger and myself would have two. But we had arguments over whether “Bites the Dust” should be a single. In the end, it began attracting a lot of attention on black stations and in discos, so the record company wanted us to put it out. But it would never have been chosen as a single by the group as a whole.”

Given his low-key personality, I wonder how Deacon feels about the image conveyed by Mercury. His answer is blunt: “Some of us hate it,” he says. “But that’s him and you can’t stop it. Like he did an interview in one of the English national papers, and it was all like, ‘We’re dripping with money, darlin‘,’ or, ‘What’s a mortgage?‘ Brian, for one, just hated it.”

Like Deacon, Brian May is quiet and tends to keep to himself. He, too, has brought his wife and child along. When not touring, he’s an avid gardener – “I’ve been known to be out there looking for slugs at one o’clock in the morning,” he says – and he tries to keep up with astronomy by reading journals and talking with his former university colleagues.

“I think it’s essential that you have things that you get into apart from music,” he says. “You have to maintain your balance.”

May seems to care the most about the group’s audience, and he supervises the fan club. “I think people can listen to some of our stuff and actually get something out of it spiritually, if I may be so bold,” he says. “I enjoy the fact that a lot of people have written to us and said that a particular song helped them when they were in a difficult situation. That’s a great feeling.”

All in all, the Big Event was a success. The attendance was staggering: in Sao Paulo, Brazil, the group played in front of 131,000 people one night and 120,000 the next. The press had also been good: one American writer even mentioned Queen’s shows at Velez Sarfield in the same breath as the Beatles’ at Shea Stadium.

Though this tour seemed rather tame compared with previous Queen endeavors, that probably says more about South American governments than it does about the band. When the group’s advance men first arrived in Buenos Aires, for instance, their backstage passes were seized briefly by customs officials, who deemed them pornographic (they depicted two nude women embracing).

But basically, things went smoothly – not unlike some master plan. That concept was brought up again and again when I discussed Queen with some of its associates. “They want to conquer the world” was how one person put it. For a group of this stature, a group that presumably has made enough money to last a lifetime, Queen maintains a very busy work schedule. After the release of The Game last June, the band did a major U.S. tour, recorded Flash Gordon and played some more dates in Europe and Britain. Then came the Japanese shows, the South American trek and a solo LP from Roger Taylor. This June they plan to begin work on another studio album, but before that comes out sometime next year, they will release a greatest-hits package (which reportedly will vary from country to country, depending on what songs have been hits in those areas).

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Four years ago, in Queen’s last interview with Rolling Stone, Freddie Mercury said, “Our goal is to get to the top, obviously. We’re not there yet; nowhere near it. And I don’t want anybody to tell me I’m there either.” And the band still feels that way. When I asked them what they thought they’d be doing in five years, each member was convinced Queen would still be together, still reaching for something more. After all, you can’t conquer the world overnight.

This story is from the June 11th, 1981 issue of Rolling Stone.

#Roger Taylor #my little drummer love #well-read .. well-spoken #he says what he means and he means what he says #your periodic reminder that Roger is in no way stupid #Brian May #John Deacon #Freddie Mercury #Queen #Queen: Academia

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luckyshotwrites · 2 years ago

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Ch. 59 // Precipitation Shaft: Part 2 // Day 45

Contents (Warnings): More small little difficulties (Angsty, vore mentions, soft suicide attempt mention, and character/monster info). Read full chapter on - A03

Wordcount: 3,300+ (ey yo part 2!)

Side note: This will contain experimental writing; first person (Lynette's view) will be implemented alongside third person for the two other essential characters, (mostly) Alexander and (occasionally) Drake. All their text will be italicized for those third-person moments, with the characters' names in Bold at the start and their thoughts in Bold. There may be other characters I write for using this.

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

(Nov. 7th, Monday)

I pressed into him tightly and squeezed as hard as I could. I felt like he could and would drag me with him. He "calmed." I think it was primarily due to the others coming back.

We all sat down; Alexander sat across from me with Drake and Ulysses on either side of him, while I sat with Wicks on my right and my mom on my right. The heads of the table were Padre and Edgar.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Wicks wouldn't stop staring at Alexander even as the conversations started. Wicks didn't care for the context of the dumb thing he said.

"Lyn, do you want to try some?" Madre offered beside me. She held up a giant margarita glass with a light green glowing slushie inside it. She stirred it around with her straw and turned it to me.

Charletta hummed across the table beside Padre, "it's sooo good!~ Try some Lynette," She tapped on the glass and smiled, "it's nonalcoholic!~"

"It might be a little strong," Padre commented.

"Ella sólo está bebiendo un sorbo," Marde said.

Is it going to kill me? I waited for Padre to argue further or Wicks, but neither did, "okay." I leaned forward to get the straw. I took a small sip and pulled back, "oh, that's so good. It's pineapple cherry!?" Why is it green? I asked in my head.

"I'll get you one," Padre said, getting up.

"Wait-" I chased after him once he did. I glanced down at his robotic leg on his left side. Before he locked it in, I remember he used to take it off at the dinner table and stumble out of the chair without it. Now that I think about it, I've never seen him fall over.

Padre purposefully slowed down his usual quick pace. "You don't have to come along, Lyn." He said through a relieved smirk.

"And you don't have to get me a drink! You just sat down to eat. I have water." I told him. The side of the buffet we were at was specifically marked "energy substitutes" and contained various kinds, those that looked normal, like sandwiches, burgers, fries, etc, and some that I didn't; they seemed fairly interesting or disgusting. I wanted to try the one that appeared like little apple slice ducks, except purple, with peach fuzz. I kept that to myself.

"Now we're both not eating," he teased. We walked to the counter between a few dishes with the sign, specialty drinks. There was a giant list of items behind the girl at the counter. I couldn't read any of it.

Padre ordered the same as Madre's, except he asked for a lighter version. After, we were given our receipt and waited nearby.

"Scary?"

My eyes stroked over the other individuals inside this giant building. At least everyone in the building looked human. I supposed they remained in their cases. However, for some reason, the light felt like a moodier blue, making the atmosphere very dark or worrying.

"A-A little. You'd think I'd be used to it by now." I said. I turned my head to peer up at Padre. His hardened eyes stared back, a touch of kindness hidden in their near-gray shade. "I'm worried for you guys."

He raised a brow, and his eyes rested. He looked in the direction of our large table near the back corner. "We're a lot tougher than we look, Lyn." He released a heavy sigh, "Including myself. You're the one we should be worrying about." He ruffled my hair, and I pulled my head away.

I chuckled dryly. Me? I'm fine. I said in my head, and a question I didn't want to ask came out. "Did you all move a lot because of me?"

The deep, tender tone reached out to me. "Lyn," he pursed his lips, then continued, "it took a while for you to become as you are. The differences in your energy happened very slowly. It only spiked exponentially when that core festered." He explained and took another breath. "Imagine our surprise when we expected your body to fully change, which never did."

You guys don't feel any different. "What do you mean change?"

He held such care, "I've never seen a human change with exposure to magic beings," he admitted. "I've only seen someone born of two magus's or who went to Yexodele. So maybe our excess helped you develop that core, which needed more to fully develop."

What is he talking about? Core, fully develop? Huh...

"Wicks hasn't talked to you about anything, has he?"

"Not really..." I replied. I haven't really talked to anyone...and I miss it.

My drink was ready, he let me pick it up with both hands, and he walked me back to his table. His messy man-bun nearly coming undone. "why don't you help me make breakfast tomorrow, and I'll catch you up?" He asked.

"That sounds nice." I fought through my nervousness talking to Padre. It was odd. He looked stern and unforgiving, yet he had such an ease to his tone that I felt he'd protect me from the world. It had such a similar warmth to Wicks.

...

Alexander

He's so annoying. Alexander thought. Why does it matter if I know things about her? We just work together.

He heard his name sung from across the table.

"¿No estás comiendo, Alexander?" Lynette's adopted mom asked.

He gave a half smile. I heard a no, and Alexander?

Wicks gave an eye roll. His voice sounded to insult him, "Alexander solo come humanos."

What did he just tell her? Is humanos, humans? That fucker-

Ulysses spoke, "Alexander's body's a little different than most magus's because of his wendigo half, so it's hard for him to eat a lot of normal food."

Charletta called to him over Ulysses, "do you speak Spanish, Alexander?"

He shook his head, "no."

"Oh, sorry." Their mom gave him a warm smile. "do you have energy in your drink, at least?"

"yeah..." He still could feel Wicks' glued gaze. He looked down at his drink. Energy's not my problem right now. He disliked the feeling in his midsection. It's the fact that I feel empty after drinking this.

"You could have gotten blood." Her mom pointed out.

"He hates blood," Drake commented, drinking some himself.

"Oh, you sound very special."

Is that an insult? He didn't know what to take from it.

"He is such a sweetheart too." He heard Drake's mom, Danee, from next to Edgar. He stiffened at her declaration. "he's always been there for Drake." She hummed out, "and gosh, does Drake need it."

Alexander glanced over at Drake. He squeezed his blood packet tightly. Now's not the time, Danee.

"Sweetheart is a STRETCH."

Marsol pulled at Wicks ear and spoke with a huff, "Wicks, ese es tu cuñado sé amable con él."

"aii," Wicks said aloud before she let go. After he rubbed it and sighed, "Lo siento, mamá." Wicks picked up the ketchup for his nuggies.

The half wendigo's eyes caught Lynette nearing. No. He pushed himself to look away and noticed his dad's heavy stare on Lynette's padre. I haven't seen them talk, why does dad look bothered by him?

"Wicks, how is the C.P.P.A. on new applicants?" Edgar said aloud, he pressed his hair back and behind his pointed ear, "Wenna's been very interested in submitting one." His question broke Pete's concentration. Alexander's dad saw he stared, and Alexander stared down at his drink instead. He tipped it back.

Wenna bounced in her seat, "dad, I told you not to mention it...but since you did!" She leaned over on the table and looked across at Wicks. "How much is the pay? How skilled do you have to be? Is there an age requirement per species? Are there certain species that can't join? How much training do you get on the job-"

The burst of questions didn't stop. Wicks first had a slight smile that slowly dropped as the questions continued. Lynette looked as perplexed as everyone at the table did.

"Wenna-" Danee called. Wenna's excitement drowned out her mother.

She persisted, and Wicks flipped the ketchup bottle upside down and squeezed. The cap plopped onto the plate, and ketchup erupted over his dinner.

"Ha!" Lynette squeaked before closing her mouth and holding her giggles.

Wicks turned to her; there wasn't a hint of anger on his face. "How dare you, Lentils! You'll rue the day."

She giggled some more. I have expected her to cower. Alexander said in his head, a slight relief lifted from him as Wicks gave him a break from the cold stare.

"Lynette!" Her mom exclaimed.

"I DID IT BEFORE HE DID IT TO ME THIS TIME!"

Lynette's mom used reversal magic to fix it, and to Alexander's surprise, Wicks answered most of Wenna's questions.

...

Drake

"What happened?" He questioned Alexander once they got back in the van.

Alexander didn't respond.

Wenna peered back at them, "you said something stupid to Wicks, didn't you? He looked like he wanted to kill you the WHOLE time."

Alexander grumbled, "shut up."

"Alex!" Pete's said from the seat beside Wenna.

Alexander gave a low growl and sighed, "keep your mouth shut, Wenna."

Pete's glared back at his son, "ALEXANDER."

"I didn't cuss!"

Edgar and Wenna laughed.

"Alexander, you know Wenna's not gonna stop pestering you until you share it, dear.~" Danee cooed. You're as nosy as Wenna. Drake thought, not that he didn't get it from them.

Alexander groaned, "you all-" he glanced slightly at his dad, then continued. "Wicks said some stupid stuff about me not being nice to humans."

Drake threw his hand to his mouth and turned his head away. He poorly held back his laugh. "You-ha-don-haha-don't say."

Wenna chuckled at him too, but not as heavily as Drake.

"YOU have NO right to laugh at me, asshole!"

"ALEX."

Drake continued to laugh, and he imagined how the conversation went down. "W-what did you say in response?" Drake didn't have to look at Alexander. He heard the embarrassment.

"Yeah, you said something stupid."

Alexander gestured to Wenna and yelled to his dad, "YOU let her get away with saying I'm stupid, but I tell her to shut up, and I'M THE BAD GUY?"

Pete's looked at the two of them. "No more stupid, shut-ups, or anything from either of you, okay?"

They both agreed. Drake noticed Alexander's childish crossed fingers behind his back, and given that Wenna sat up in her seat, he suspected the same.

Pete's continued, "what did you tell him, Alexander? You know why he's worried. Lynette's his little sister, and you're not exactly..." His dad paused.

Alexander grumbled under his breath. "you're all assholes." He shut his eyes, when he answered. "Wicks asked me to name off one thing I knew about Lynette."

It can't be that idiotic, then. You know Lynette plays video games.

There was a slight hesitation from his best friend, "I thought if I said she plays video games, he'd ask me specific ones, and I didn't know any she's working on currently, so-" his voice shifted, his deep tone got gentler with his fluster. "I told him what I recently found out about her."

It took Drake a few seconds, and he burst with laughter from his seat, "DID YOU SERIOUSLY-! AHH-HA!" He turned to his friend, "YOU'RE SO STUPID!"

Alexander grabbed Drake's fine winter coat collar. Drake didn't care. Edgar's voice stopped Alexanders' insults from flooding out.

"What did you recently find out about Lynette?!" A moderately worried curiosity fell from his tone.

Alexander shook Drake and responded, "forget it!"

"OH!" Danee popped in and clapped her hands together. "Congratulations, sweetie!" She paused and tapped her chin, "Isn't there a rule against not doing anything with your coworkers?"

"WHAT?!" Alexander shouted.

The car immediately swerved and was filled with everyone shouting at Alexander or Danee.

"SHE'S A FUCKING MEAL. WHY WOULD I F-" Alexander frantically looked around the car for something to bash his tomato red face into.

Drake howled, he hadn't laughed this hard in a long time.

"Alexander, don't call your coworker a meal. She seems nice." Pete's reminded him with secondhand embarrassment.

"Wicks is going to kiiiillll you.~" Wenna hummed with her snickers.

Edgar tried to hold a serious demeanor, but the innocence of his wife's celebratory cheer made him smile.

Drake looked over at Alexander, who held his head down in shame. He hated to admit it, but Drake received some satisfaction from his best friend's current misery. It was rare that Alexander was ever knocked down a peg. You're such an idiot, dude.

...

Wicks

"They're dangerous, Lynette. He couldn't even say one thing about you." Wicks groaned as he laid on his side of the pillow wall. Lynette had the side by the wall in case she slept walked. Then she'd have to climb over Wicks.

"I know. I didn't expect him to. Alexander and I haven't exactly carried many conversations." She grumbled, throwing a sheet over herself.

"I'm still mad you never told me."

"And you never told me."

"You know Mom said not to," Wicks replied. It's not like I didn't want to tell you. I simply couldn't argue with her, she's right.

The sour memory entered his head. It would enter his mind anytime he saw Lynette's face upset.

He could never forget the violent shake of her body in his grasp. Nor the sounds of the waves below the cliff striking the sharp rocks at the bottom.

"Would it have been better for them if I was never born?"

He shifted to face Lynette, almost like she had repeated those words now. He met the pillow wall, his sister beyond it.

Her voice reached him, "I couldn't tell any human outside of work that didn't know about magic!" She declared. "I had no idea you guys were magus's. Other than that...I would have told you."

It still surprised him that she stayed there. He knew how scared Lynette could be. Though her newfound resolve was something he admired too.

"You sounded like you didn't want to."

"You almost attacked Xander," Lynette muttered. She lifted her head up over the pillow wall. Her grassy meadow green eyes squinted at him.

"I assumed he did something unsavory to you. What do you expect?" It will not stop me from killing him next time we're alone. I bet he tries to eat you constantly.

Lynette sighed and plopped back down, knocking one of the pillows onto Wick's face. He laid with it there, a smile on his face from the slight comedy of it.

"Why would you assume something like that! You know I've never even been on a proper date!" Lynette squeaked.

He eventually pushed the pillow back into place. "YOU DIDN'T COME HOME FOR A DAY OR TWO BEFORE! THEN WITH HIS COMMENT!? WHAT AM I LEFT TO ASSUME..." Wicks threw his body up. He didn't even think about the pillow wall. "Why were you gone? We all reviewed the contract with Edgar...did any of them EAT YOU OUTSIDE OF WORK WITHOUT CONSENT!?"

She was covered in fluff. She pushed them away and spoke. "N-no!" She cried. "I-made a deal with one of them for that, and the other time I was really small, I couldn't go-"

"S-SMALL! LENTILS!!" Wicks picked her up, "What the heck has been happening at that pizzeria!? Someone shrank you down? WHO? What's their name?! Was it Alexander?!" Wicks let her go, and he leaped from the bed. Sorry Charletta, I'm killing him.

"NO!" Lynette crawled forward and panicked and fell off the bed. She hit the ground nearly face-first and whimpered.

Wicks went to her immediately and knelt down, "Lentils."

"It wasn't him-he helped watch me one of the days," Lynette replied. She rubbed her forehead for a second. Then her eyes flicked with fear. She remembered something.

"What's wrong?" Wicks asked.

"N-nothing," she said.

He helped her off the floor, "don't nothing me. You look worried. What did he do to you?"

"It's not about him, it- I'm not going to pretend I enjoy him, I don't, but I don't hate him enough for you to fight him. I don't hate any of them enough for that." Lynette said as she climbed back on the bed, "especially not now. Charletta seems to be happy with Ulysses, and Drake isn't bad. He's one of my nicest coworkers on the night crew with me."

Maybe I should search his registration too. It occurred to Wicks he never even looked at the information Garter sent him. He picked up his phone from the nightstand once they got the pillow wall up once more.

"One of the nicest doesn't say much," Wicks muttered.

"Wicks," he heard her grumble from beyond. "I'm too tired to argue."

She got ready for bed.

"Fine then, I love you, Lentils."

"Love you too, Wicks. Goodnight."

He turned out the light at the nightstand. Darkness filled the room quickly. Wicks pressed his phone to his chest.

I'm sorry, Lentils. I should have been more attentive. There was such a complicated array of feelings rushing through his head. He didn't hate monsters by any means, but he did when Lynette was around them. He hated to imagine her eaten by them. It's not something he cared about with anyone else besides his family. I should have pried. I should have pushed you more. He stared at the ceiling.

I can't imagine how terrifying that jerk made it for you. Wicks lifted up his phone and opened his messages.

Garter: Information sent. If you need anything else, boss, give me a ring! 8:52 p.m.

Wicks: Thank you, Garter, and you don't gotta call me boss! 11:34 p.m.

Garter would keep calling him that. Wicks didn't think he deserved it for being a rank higher.

His eyes scanned the file, reading over the information they had on Alexander. It's legal and real. Wicks noticed Alexander even notified them of the area change. He's at least diligent, I guess...

Wicks skimmed over the other recent activity, right he's partially involved in the Andras case. Such a slippery magus. Wicks read a bit more information on it. Wicks didn't see any big issues for a while besides that and...

He shot up and gasped. His glowing hue focused on Lynette.

Wicks's chest, specifically his heart, felt squeezed by his fear.

He scrambled to grab her and stopped. He read over the notes of the incident.

'Lynette Wayland request: Memory left intact.'

That's-is this the stalker? Were they a monster? He wanted to wake her up. How much have I really been missing? He asked himself.

His head throbbed with worse scenarios even though she lay next to him. He wanted her to spill everything. He wanted it all now. He didn't want her to ever leave his side again. She was in so much danger.

That wendigo... Wicks hated him. His opinion wouldn't be swayed, however...If he ever hurts you, I'll kill him.

He couldn't stop himself. "LYNETTE!"

She woke up with fright. He couldn't go to bed, and neither would she. He needed to know everything. The desperation ate at him. He didn't know what his mom and dad would think if they found out about the stalking incident. I'm a failure at protecting her. He couldn't even smile anymore. Not that I didn't know that already.

...

Hey, you, thank you so much for reading. It means a lot that I put out a story that people can enjoy! <3 So, I hope you continue to enjoy it as WE have a LOT more to go! YOU BETTER KEEP PROSPERING! (Nonnegotiable).

First Chapter Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Catch up, see some maps/art, or check the latest release dates down below ↓ ↓ ↓

What I’d do for a Livable Income (Synopsis/Chapter - List)

#widfali #vore story #vore writing #v.0re #v.ore #v/0re #v/ore #soft v/ore #soft vore writing #angsty

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wonderwomanfantasy · 4 years ago

Text

Internet Hottie

I have no clue what made this fic pop off the way it did but here you go a part two

part one

Enji Todoroki x Camgirl!Reader

warnings: smut, Sex work, cam show, masturbation, cum play, sugar daddy themes, black mail(ish), size kink, dd/lg,

word count: 3,000 (about)

summary: Enji is more than willing to pay the price of a private show if it means he gets to see how cute you are when you moan his name again, little does he know having the real deal right in fornt of him is only a chace encounter away.

“You know most people turn on their cameras for private shows, let me see you too,” you teased slowly running your hands over your arms feeling the fabric of the soft pink cardigin, raising it back up over your bare sholder.

Normally you were a little more careful with accepting private shows, but this pertuclar intrested you. You saw his username pop up almost every show, and he paid a lot of money too, but he never commented, normally guys that finatical about your shows would at least comment hello, or something nasty to get your attention. Not him though. So you were a little curious what exactly he was into, besides, you knew this one wasn’t going to skimp on the payment.

You had approved his request in just a few hours, even if you were still sore from the Endevour toy you’d ridden earler tonight, it wouldn’t kill you to do a little more tonight. You’d just have to makeup some excuse about pulling a muscule picking up heavy boxes or something to your day job.

what if I don’t want to show my face?

The message poped up on screen making you laugh. “ah you think I want to see your face handsome? I’m after something a little lower actually,” you teased.

Suddenly the camera of the mistery man flashed on the cammera pointed at his crotch. You gasped seeing him. He was naked, which wasn’t supprising. but his cock. good lord his cock was huge, bigger than any toy you had, thick around the base with a flushed head such a dark shade of red it was almost purple. his testicles were heavy-looking rested against his thighs wich were easily bigger than your head and coated with corse red hairs.

Are you just going to gape at me?

anouther message to distract you. You snapped your mouth shut and regained your compouser. you were the star here he was the fanboy you couldn’t let the dynamic shift.

“I’ll have you know most guys have to pay good money for me to ogel at their cocks like that, I’m a pretty girl you should feel honored, Do you have like a horse quirk or something?”

I am paying good moeny

fuck. you were still to distracted to come up with anything good. “you can unmute yourself, I want to see if there is a pretty voice to match that goregous cock,” you purred changing the subject. Hopefully, his voice was high pitched or annoying so you could stop drooling over him

“you’re no fun,” you pouted.

Are you always such a brat?

That made you smile, You were getting on his nerves. good. you batted your eye lashes and covered your face with your hand, pretending to be embaressed. “Sorry daddy, I didn’t mean to misbehave what was it you wanted me to do again?”

Enji fidgeted trying to get comfortable in his office chair, painfully aware you could see his smallest movements. your eyes trained on the computer screen, this was far too exposing for his tastes, he didn’t know how you could stoumach thousands of people looking at you like this.

But it was thrilling knowing that it was his cock that made you go completley silent for a few moments. It was his cock that you couldn’t take your eyes off of, maybe that’s what spurred you on. Then againt the moeny didn’t hurt either.

You were so pretty, and soft as ever in a too large pink sweater that kept slipping off one shoulder almost revealing your bare breasts but never doing so fully.

you settled on your knees and lifted the sweater up for him to see the soft skin of your upper thighs and your soft gray cotton panties. They were much less flashy than what you would normally where for a show but they were making Enji go feral.

It felt almost real, like you really were his little girl showing off your honyed cunt just for him. he couldn’t help but wonder if those were the kind of panties you wore in your day to day life. God what he wouldn’t give to breath in the musk of your scent right now.

“you’re cock is twitching so bad Daddy, why don’t you stroke it a little bit?” you prompted. It was true, his cock was painfully hard, begging to be touched,

Are you trying to tell me what to do?

He snapped back and watched you flush and mess whith the hem of your sweater nervously.

“That’s not what I ment, I just wanted to see you touch yourself,” you mumbled. He decided to appease you, he reached down wrapping one large hand around the base of his cock squeezing and causing precum to oze out the top before dibbling down his inflamed head. Like a good girl you watched with wrapped attention as he bobed his hand up and down easing some of the tension in his gut.

“you’re cock is so big, I don’t know if I could fit both of my hands around it,” you breathed

Who’s camming for who here? he typed

“Right! Sorry! what do you want me to do,” It was cute how egar you were to please

take out the Endevour toy and start jerking it off

Your eyes went wide “you aren’t going to make me ride it again are you?” He smiled to himself, where you scared of him? Scared about how much his cock was going to hurt as it ripped through you?

Just jerk it off for now and tell me how good it felt while it was inside of you.

Obedently you centered the toy in front of you and wrapped both your hands around the length slowly working your hands up and down, matching his pace, your small hands could wrap around the tip just fine but parted towards the thicker middle.

“It hurt a lot-” you admited. “-but it was so big it hit all the spots inside of me at once with out even trying, I’m supprised I didn’t squirt it kept hitting my G-spot over and over again. You can’t really see it but theres this vein right at the bottom that bumps my clit when I put it inside,” you described while Enji contuied to touch himself.

From this angel he could see clear down your top, he didn’t know if it was intentional or not but he could see your soft tits bounce and shift with each of your movements and it was hard to focus on anything else

Take off your panties

you pulled away from the toy and slid the soft gray fabric down your thighs. You crossed your legs blocking your soft pussy from veiw. He grunted with agrivation.

show me

“show you what? can’t you see all of me?” you asked sweetly.

show me your pussy or I’ll leave

“don’t leave,” you begged, your eyes went wide and instantly your legs spread showing him your drooling pussy.

“slut,” he mumbled to himself. “you didn’t even bother cleaning up your sopping pussy in between shows,” he growled his hand moving faster as you slid your figners over your lips parting your folds for him to get a close look

Pretty.

“Thank you? should I keep touching the toy or...”

hump it

You laid the Dildo down and carefully straddled it nessling it between your peach fuzz lips. You rested your hands on the bed and slowly started rocking back and forth, your clit rutting against the silicone veins.

How does it feel?

“I bet your cock would feel a lot better, Your cock is warm and moves, and if I was on your cock I get the rest of you. It feels good but at the end of the day plastic is plastic,” you sighed making his cock jump in his hand. it was hard to keep his composure like this. The image of you, real and in his arms slowly rolling your hips against his groin while you looked up at him with those perfect glittery eyes wasn’t helping

And what wold you do with ‘the rest of me’?

“I like kissing,” you muttered, the innocent answer almost took him by surprise.

“but I also think your hands are pretty big, I’d want you to finger me- or you know,”

I don’t know spell it out for me.

“choke me,” you admited. suddenly the fantasy in Enji’s mind dhifted, now you were grinding on his cock with tear filled eyes while he cut of your breathing, his tounge forcing it’s way into your mouth, fuck he wanted to taste you so bad. You had stated clearly and many times that you didn’t do in person meet ups, even if it was just for a date, but there was a chace you’d do it for the right price, and he was willing to pay any number you named right at that moment.

He pulled away from his cock at the last moment to keep himself from cumming too soon. again. His prick flowndered for a moment, searching for friction. you whinned losing your own personal show, but you kept riding the toy like a good obedent little slut.

Cum for me. then show me the mess you make.

You panted and started rutting your hips faster, your eyes glazing over as you chased your release, your mouth formed an O shape and a breathy moan fell from your parted lips as you came. you stayed there for a moment, gathering yourself agian before sitting back and puling up the sweater so he could see the transperent slick coating your thighs and sex.

play with your clit.

you whimpered and reached down between your legs stroking the sensitive bud causing your legs too twitch. must be hard on your poor pussy, going through three orgasums in one night.

He leaned closer, so close his warm breath fogged the computer screen and started fisting his cock again. he really did feel like a teenager, one finding poor for the first time and revleing in that unique voyerisum. It wasn’t long until his own cum was splattering his chest, again.

You watched as it happened with open facination. almost like you’d never seen someone cum so much before. Enji wouldn’t be supprised if he had a more semen than the average man, He was glad to have impressed you.

Leaving was far more awkward than in a live show, you didn’t just decide to close the streem instead he told you he was finished, paid his tab and left the call.

Enji grunted seeing the time. He had spent far to mch time toying with you tonight, there would be hell to pay tomorrow morning when he’d missed out on so much valuable sleep.

It had been a week and he hadn’t tried contacting you again. Not becuase he hadn’t wanted to, he had just been too busy to even entertain the notion of anouther private show.

But today was Wednesday which meant not only did he get off of work early today but also, you would be streaming tonight and he could blow off some steam. Just one more meeting with Hawks and he was free.

Endevour turned the corner heading twards his office when he froze. A familiar frame caught his attention. He trailed his eyes over your form. completely different from what he was used to seeing you in, you were dressed smartly in a black suit and skirt ensemble with sensible black pumps. your hair neatly slicked back from your face. but there was no denying you were the same person.

he watched your knock once on the door before entering. Through the widnow he saw you cross to where Hawks was sitting and hand him a cup of coffee. He had known Keigo was bringing his pa, a woman endevour had never met before, but he should have mentioned his personal assistant was a fucking cam girl. No wonder your schedual matched his so neetly, you were running on hero time.

Enji squared his shoulders and marched in. there was no way you would recognize him. He would stay proffecinoal and do his best to imagine you with clothes on.

“Here, keigo, four cream and seventeen sugars just how you like it,” you said handing your boss his redicoulous coffee order. he smiled and took a sip

“Thanks babe, perfect as always,” he cooed happily and you took a seat beside him waiting for Enedevour to arive.

“those things are going to kill you some day,” you commented watching him take anouther sip of coffee.

“I highly doubt the sugar is going to kill me before the bad guys do,” he teased then the door slamed open and the man of the hour walked in.

“Do you always barge into people’s offices like you own the place Hawks?” Endevour growled before sitting at his desk. You tried not to stare and be unprofessional but it was hard not to. He was just so big, his bulging muscles showed even under his clothes. You thought to last weeks live when you had used the toy themed after him and how sore you were after that. you were right, if you ever fucked him he’d brake you.

“not my fault you were late,” hawks shrugged. The older man glared, he looked about ready to hit your boss. an understandable feeling.

“whatever, lets get started. The-” Just as endevour began to speak Hawks’s phone rang. His work phone. He jumped and answered.

“sorry I have to run- (y/n) rescedual for me? maybe something tonight? yeah okay bye,” then he was gone. you sighed and turned to Endevour, who looked as pissed as ever.

“I’m sorry about that, but I’m sure you understand duty calls,” you apologized bowing slightly.

“Is he like this with everyone or does he enjoy annoying me particularly?” he asked making you laugh lightly.

“I think he likes to get under your skin, you should feel speical,” He was supprisingly fun to tease, you wouldn’t dare needle him the way you did Keigo but it wouldn’t hurt to rib him a little bit.

“A meeting later tonight won’t work for me,” he stated, knowing that you couldn’t make it either. If you had been planing on cancling the live he would have gotten the notifcation by now. you smiled polietly and nodded.

“okay let me check when we’ll be avalable again,” you said relaxing in the chait, before he could ask what you were doing, your eyes turned completley white, the iris and the puple both clouding over with a milky film.

“this friday at nine pm, does that work?” you asked, your eyes turning back to normal. Could you really see hawks’s full scedual in your mind? what a useful quirk. He wondered if he could buy you out, although it was a dangerous game if you worked for him. neither of you would get much done that way.

“is there anything else I can do for you, Sir?” you asked, standing and smoothing out your skirt.

“yes atcually, I have a couple questions for you,”

“I’ll do my best to answer,”

“Does Keigo know he hired a porn star?”

Your breath caught in oyur throat and you almost choked. You’d been recognized in public before, but never by someone with status, no one who knew about your day job.

“He does,” you answered supprised at how calm you sonded. you just had to breath and remeber. You were star here, Endevour was just another creep who watched you. The thought of Endevour watching you while you made yourself cum sent a jolt through your body.

“if I’m not mistaken, he’s even watched a few of my shows,” you added just to gage his reaction. It had been legally required of you to disclose any other sorces of income you had, Hawks had just laughed it off and assured you that it wasn’t a big deal, after threatening to subscribe to your OnlyFans that was. A threat he’d never followed through on.

“did he see the show where you screamed my name while fucking yourself?” Endevour asked standing casually and crossing over to the office door. one by one he drew the shudderes. Meaning no one could see into the office. your heart was hammering now, as you guessed where this was going.

“And what if the public knew that the woman behind the number two hero was secretly showing off her pussy for the whole world to see? what then?”

then you would lose your job you thought but instead you called his bluff.

“It would be a scandel I’m sure but it would be easily smoothed over, Hawks fans are younger more progressive, he’d probably get a lot of praise if he openly supported sex work and gave an interview where he talked about how he respects my bodly autonimy and my intlect.” you said with false confidence. in reality you knew the commision would rather throw you to the wolves than let you keep your job, but maybe Endevour didn’t know how disposable you really where.

“it would be another sotry if say, your fans found out you were watching my videos.” you said. he raised an eyebrow at you

“how so?”

“You’re audience is a lot older, more consrvative the’d be horifed at the thought,” you explained.

“To me it sounds like you’re lying,” Endevour said crossing over to you He lifted you up by the waist seting you down on his desk his harge arms caging you in.

“it souds to me like we both have pretty good reasons to keep quiet, the only question is what are you willing to give to buy my silence?” he purred reaching out and undoing the butons of your blazer, slipping the jacket off of your shoulders. His skin was so warm, his breath was beating down your neck. His eyes freezing you in place. you could barley speak he was so close.

“how about a private show?”

#mha endeavor #endeavor x reader #endeavor x reader smut #enji todoroki #enji todoroki x reader #enji todoroki x reader smut #my hero academia #my hero acadamy #my hero academia imagine #my hero academia head cannon #mha pro heroes

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just-here-for-the-moment · 3 years ago

Text

Word count: 3900+

Rating: explicit, 18+ only

Outline: It’s Father’s Day again, and you and Whiskey are trying to revive your sex life. Based on the fic “An Unexpected Occasion” with permission from @quica-quica-quica Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x “You” (cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: oral sex/M receiving; oral sex/F receiving; unprotected P/V sex in the context of established relationship; use of clitoral vibrator; medium-level bondage/wrists and ankles/F receiving; medium-level impact play (spanking/hands/leather flogger) F receiving; light throat play/hands on neck/F receiving; a smidge of lactation kink; one instance of Jack calling himself “Daddy”; Jack running his FILTHY mouth; mentions of pink champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries

---

Things hadn’t been exactly dead in the bedroom since your daughter was born, just a little slow and awkward. Jack had taken to fatherhood like a champ, cuddling and cradling the baby in his strong hands when she made her appearance just before midnight on New Year’s Eve. You had nothing to complain about, outside of the usual hormonal shifts and new nursing mom adjustments. Your pregnancy had been textbook-healthy, and other than refusing to sleep through the night, your 6-month-old baby was sweet and easy. Her gray irises and peach-fuzz hair had darkened since birth, and now she was a copy of her daddy, all dark eyes and dimples. The only thing you missed from your “before” life was the higher frequency of good-quality sex with Jack.

You knew from your own work with new moms that it sometimes took months for new parents to get back into the swing of things, but it had still been a rude surprise to find that you and Jack were so tired and busy with parenting that it sometimes took a whole week or more for you to find a mutually-agreeable time to get busy. It sucked, and you missed him.

Just like last year, Jack was out on assignment the week leading up to Father's Day. Valentine's Day this year had been a total bust. Both of you were so wiped out that you had spent the evening bickering and then passed out on the couch in front of an action movie at 8:40 p.m. before waking up at midnight for a quick fumble. Your birthday in April had been similar. You had taken the baby to Grandma's for the evening, and instead of having a romantic dinner out, you had gotten into a minor fender-bender and spent the evening with a heating pad on your neck while Jack argued with your auto insurance company's 24-hour hotline.

So you decided that since it was Father's Day and you were feeling a smidge less tired, and a pinch more sexy, you would use Jack's week away to prepare for a mind-blowing weekend. You bought new bed sheets, got your hair and nails done, and ordered some items online that you hoped would spark his interest again and lead to something playful and fun: lengths of soft, specialized bondage rope, a leather flogger, and a new vibrator, shaped like a tongue with a little divot on one side to cup your clit.

A nurse at work had turned you on to the device, claiming that the soft silicone and specialized shape had given her better climaxes than she’d ever experienced with 30 years of bullet vibes. At least that was one good thing about being in the business of having babies; nobody was shy about sex or the human body. You had plugged it in to charge and took the time to read through all of the instructions, holding it against your hand to feel the different levels of vibrations. You wanted to save the test run for Jack’s return; you were eager to see what he thought of it.

You also chose some lingerie that seemed fairly forgiving for your post-baby body: a black babydoll nightgown with hot pink lace, and a sheer robe and slippers to match. As a labor & delivery nurse you knew better than anyone what pregnancy did to women's bodies, but it was still a little upsetting to see the odd bumps and rumples on your torso that didn’t seem to want to shift. You figured (hoped anyway) that when Jack saw the effort you were going to, he wouldn’t care what “flaws” were hiding underneath the gauze and lace. An hour before Jack was due home, you showered and dressed in your new lingerie. A box of chocolate-covered strawberries and a bottle of pink champagne were chilling in the fridge. Now you just had to wait.

Jack arrived home right on time, and you sprang up from the couch to greet him at the front door. He lumbered inside with a groan and dropped his overnight bag in the foyer. You didn’t give him a chance to remove his hat before you were rushing to embrace him. “Jack! Baby, I'm so glad you’re home.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so glad to see you. Where’s the baby?”

You let go of him and stepped back so that he could take in your new outfit. You spun once to give Jack the full view, and then stepped up close to give him a kiss.

“She’s at Grandma’s for the weekend,” you murmured against his lips. “I have champagne in the fridge, and some surprises for you for Father’s Day.”

Jack chuckled and groaned at the same time. “Oh, honeysuckle. That sounds divine, and you look amazing.” He kissed you and slid one hand down to grab your ass. “Is this my surprise?”

You laughed. “Part of it! Come with me, cowboy.”

You led him to the bedroom and made him sit down on the bed. He toed his boots off and started unbuttoning his shirt. You knelt behind him on the bed and rubbed his shoulders as he undressed. “I’m so glad to see you Jack. Are you in the mood to mess around?”

He stood up and turned to you as he removed his pants. “You tell me, sugar.” He slid his tight jeans off and you saw his erection straining against his briefs. He chuckled at you as he stood in his undershirt and hat.

“Oh yeah,” you waggled your eyebrows at him. “I’m so glad you’re home, Jack. We have a lot to catch up on.”

He threw his hat on the dresser and leaned over you to plant kisses to your cheeks and neck and collarbone. You leaned back and he lay on top of you, murmuring against your neck and hair as he nuzzled you. “What’s new, pussycat?”

“Oh, well…” you hummed contentedly. “I did some shopping, got my nails done, bought this new nightie…”

Jack moved down to nuzzle your cleavage. “I see. And what’s underneath? Is that for me, too?”

“Oh, of course Jack. And I got some new toys that I hope you’ll enjoy playing with, too.”

“Is that so?” Jack pulled back and smiled at you. “Can I see?”

You grinned and nodded. “Let me up.”

Jack rolled away from you and you practically bounced over to the closet to retrieve the large gift bag you had put together. He sat up on the edge of the bed and took the bag from you with a raised eyebrow. “Heavy,” he commented.

He reached in and pulled out the leather flogger first, a wicked smile spreading across his face. “Oh, honey, you know just what I like.” He ran his fingers through the leather falls and then slapped it once, lightly against the bedspread. “Well that’s going to be fun.”

You threw your head back and laughed. “Keep going. There’s more in there.”

Jack reached into the bag and pulled out three bundles of soft bondage rope in pearl gray, white, and black. A soft “Ohhh, I see,” fell from his lips. “You need to test my rope skills, keep me fresh? Is that it?”

“Well it never hurts to practice.” You winked at him. “Keep going, there’s one more thing in there.” You clasped your hands together and waited for Jack to set the rope down on the bed. His hand disappeared into the bag one last time and he pulled out a small white satin drawstring bag; the storage bag that the company had included with your new “device.”

Jack frowned as he opened the bag and pulled out the black vibrator. “What’s this?” He cocked an eyebrow at you.

“A new vibrator. Very advanced technology, and it’s rechargeable and waterproof! Seven different vibration patterns and each one has five different levels.” Jack let out a long, low whistle at that.

You wiggled your eyebrows at him again. “You wanna play, cowboy?”

“Oh, honeybee. I thought you’d never ask.” Jack reached an arm out to circle around your waist and pull you closer. You put your hands on his broad shoulders and leaned down to kiss him as his hands cupped your ass.

The two of you melted together and time slowed down. You had missed this, missed him; missed the easy intimacy that you had shared so much of before the baby came. He felt familiar and good and strong under your lips and hands, and you felt like you had all the time in the world to reintroduce yourselves to each other.

Kisses turned into groping, and you stopped Jack only once to remove your robe and heeled slippers. When you stood before him in just the nightgown and the matching G-string, Jack ran his eyes and his hands appreciatively over your body. You suddenly felt silly that you had ever imagined that Jack would care about any postpartum changes. This was a man who was covered in scars and dings of his own from years of a physical job, he wouldn’t care that you were softer in some places and more wrinkly in others. He just wanted to love you.

You leaned over Jack to reach for the white bundle of rope, and offered it to him as you kneeled down between his legs. You tugged at the waistband of his underwear and he lifted his hips to help you get them off. His cock sprang free and you moaned at the sight of it, taking it into your hands and mouth to lavish attention on him. Jack unwound the length of rope as you kissed and caressed him, then he reached down to pull your wrists up above your head. You pulled off and looked up at him with a smile as he expertly wrapped your wrists, palms pressed together in a prayer position.

He looked down at you with a gentle smirk. “I didn’t say you could stop, honey.”

You hummed out a laugh and bent your head down between your elbows, going back to work with your mouth. Jack leaned back slightly to give himself room to finish wrapping your wrists. When he was done he gave it a tug. “Too tight?”

You pulled off long enough to say, “Just right, baby,” before diving back down to try to swallow him all the way to the back of your throat. Jack groaned softly as he put his large hand across the back of your neck. The broadness of his fingers and the warmth against your skin made you shiver. You hummed out a little noise of pleasure and Jack suddenly hissed and moved his hand under your chin to lift you up off of him.

“You keep going like that, honey, and I won’t make it to the good stuff.”

You smiled up at him, lips slick with saliva. “Well, where do you want me, cowboy?”

He put a strong hand under each elbow and helped you stand. “Why don’tcha lie down and I’ll return the favor for a while?”

You nodded and switched places with Jack, lying back on the bedspread and letting him open your legs. He ran one warm hand up your calf and opened your knee, then repeated the movement on the other side. He kneeled on the soft rug next to the bed and leaned his head close to your crotch, flipping the hem of your nightie up and back. He stroked your lace-covered mound with his fingers.

“Oh, baby, you look gorgeous. So pretty for me.” He placed his open mouth on your panties right over your clit, pressing down to make a seal with his lips before he breathed out gently. The sudden warmth of it made you shiver, and you moaned out his name. Goddamn him; he always knew how to ramp things up to 100 when you least expected it.

Jack hooked your G-string to the side and slid two thick fingers into you, crooking them just right to brush against the spongy spot behind your pubic bone. You arched your back and moaned again. “Jack! Jesus, warn a girl first.”

“Oh but that wouldn’t be any fun, honeysuckle.” His voice was low, all honey and velvet. “You got me all these nice surprises. I thought I’d return the favor.”

He crooked his fingers up again and you squealed as your hips bucked. Jack’s free hand came down on the inside of your thigh with a sharp slap, just above the knee. He smoothed the impact with a warm stroke before running his fingers higher to pinch the inside of your thigh, right where you were most ticklish. You groaned out a laugh as the pinch shot sparks of pleasure and gentle pain to your core.

“You better hold still, girl, or I’ll give you something to moan about.” His words made a rush of wetness seep out between your labia. He pinched you again, gentler than before, and followed it with a kiss to the tender spot. His mustache tickled you there, and you gasped out a giggle.

“Oh, yes sir! I’ll be a good girl.”

“Good, that’s what I like to hear. Now stay still while I concentrate.” He removed his fingers and hooked the elastic waistband of your G-string, pulling it down and off before diving back in with his lips and tongue and fingers, working you open. You felt liquid drip down between your crack as he devoured you, his digits pulling more wetness out of your core as his tongue and lips pushed you open and over the edge. You gasped as you came, trying your best to stay still as you clenched around Jack’s thick fingers. The silken ropes around your wrists strained but held tight. He really was good with a rope.

Jack kissed and petted you softly as you came down, murmuring sweet words into your soft folds. “That’s my good girl, so wet for me... I love this pretty pussy… you have no idea… so good for me… you pretty girl, gorgeous girl...” He placed one last, loud, wet kiss on your mound and then stood up. You smiled up at him as he leaned over you, bracing himself on his fists as he lowered his mouth to yours. Jack was all things at once; soft and warm lips under a cold and damp mustache, his own masculine cologne mixing with your scent on his mouth. The combination and the echoes of your climax made you lightheaded.

Jack stood up and wiped his face off with an open palm. “You ready to play, honeysuckle?” He winked.

You nodded and were surprised at how clear your voice sounded, given how fuzzy your head felt. “Yes, please.”

He grinned at you and gripped your upper arm with a firm hand, helping you sit up and scoot back to recline against the pillows. He grabbed the length of black rope and secured your left ankle to the corner of the bed frame, then did the same with the pearl gray rope on your right ankle. Jack’s movements were swift and gentle, and when he was done you gave your legs an experimental tug. You were spread open and secured in place; you weren’t going anywhere.

“Oh, Jack. Have I been a bad girl?” Your voice was high and playful. “What did I do to deserve this?”

Jack smirked at you as he picked up the black vibrator and turned it on. “It’s not what you did, honeybee. It’s what you’re gonna do.”

His words pulled a gasp from your throat and sent a new rush of slick to your pussy. You moaned a low, needy sound as he kneeled on the bed between your legs and brought the vibrator gently to your clit. You bucked and moaned, feeling the silken bands of rope tug against your ankles. Jack put one large palm on your thigh to hold you still. He nestled the flat tip of the vibrator into the folds surrounding your clit and positioned it so that the shallow divot cupped the sensitive bud.

You were suddenly rocketed into another plane of consciousness as a surprise orgasm wracked your body. Chills crept up the backs of your thighs and down over your nipples. The keening, high-pitched wail that reached your ears surprised you; you hadn’t even realized that you had cried out.

Jack petted your thigh softly as he pulled the vibrator away, keeping it pressed feather-light to your outer labia. “That’s my girl. Good girl.”

You came back to yourself slowly, floating back into the room as you opened your eyes. Jack smiled at you with satisfaction that verged on smugness, like he had just solved a puzzle. He turned off the vibrator and tossed it gently on the bed. “You alright, honey? Did that do something for you?”

“Jesus Christ, Jack. Fuck… oh my god… oh, fuck me…”

Jack smirked at you, “That good, huh?”

“I’ve never come like that in my life. Jesus Christ…”

He crawled up over you, pulling your bound wrists above your head as he kissed you. You felt your breathing return to normal as he explored and probed your mouth with his eager tongue. One strong hand held your jaw in place as the other squeezed and groped your breast. You felt something damp and warm trickle out of your nipple.

“Oh, Jack. I’m leaking a little.” You laughed. “Sorry, it’s been a couple of hours since I pumped for her.”

Jack let go of your chin and worked his mouth down to your cleavage. He opened the split cups of your nightgown and cupped one breast while he brought his mouth to the other, talking and murmuring to you between sucks and licks. “You know I don’t mind, sugar… so sweet for me… you like it when Daddy tastes your honey-sweet milk?”

You guffawed. “Don’t call yourself that, please. It’s weird now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, honeysuckle. Should I stop?” He looked up at you and winked. “You can call me ‘sir’ again if that feels good.” He worked his way over to the other breast and suckled some more. You felt a spurt of milk leak out as he gently rolled your nipple between his front teeth.

“Hell,” he kept going, laving the stiff bud with the flat of his tongue, “... you can call me all sorts of mean names if you just let me keep tasting you like this.”

You threw your head back and moaned. Jack let go of your nipples and positioned himself at your entrance, lining up and diving in with one swift movement. You both moaned in unison and gasped as he pumped into you. He felt so good, so stiff and heavy inside of you as he rocked you gently with his hips. The ankle restraints tugged gently at your feet, reminding you of the delicious, vulnerable position you were in.

“Jesus, honeybee… you feel so fucking good wrapped around my cock.” Jack grunted as he thrust into you. “You gonna be my good girl? Take my whole load?”

“Yes, Jack! Yes… I’ll be your good girl.”

He thrust up into you harder, pistoning his hips and shaking the whole bed. He pumped a few more times like that and then lifted himself off. “Turn over for me, sugar. Let me spank you with that new whip.”

You nodded enthusiastically. Jack reached down and released each ankle, and then helped you flip over onto your knees. You braced yourself on your elbows with your wrists still bound, and the sight of the bright white ropes against your skin sent a delicious shudder down your nerves, stiffening your nipples and raising goosebumps on your shoulders.

Jack kneeled behind you and spanked your ass cheek experimentally with an open palm, gauging your reaction. You let out a soft, “Oh…” at the first several slaps. He increased the pressure, sending your hips canting forward a few inches as you moaned.

“Oh, Jaaack…” you breathed out the words. “Oh, you’re so good to me.”

Jack picked up the flogger and brought it down on the other cheek. His first whips were soft, barely harder than a tickle. He was waiting for you to guide him. “Harder,” you urged. He smoothed your buttocks with his warm hand and then brought the leather strings down with a crack that sounded sharper than it was. You egged him on, “Harder, I said. Make it count!”

Jack gave you one solid crack and you cried out. His voice was gruff and sandpapery. “Like that, sugar? You like it when I spank you?”

“Yes, Jack. More… please.” You rocked your hips back and lowered your shoulders to raise your butt higher. “Give it to me. Please, sir.”

Jack alternated open-palm slaps against your ass with strikes of the short whip, lashing you until your cries reached a squeaky high pitch. He stopped and smoothed his warm palms over your skin, then leaned down and lavished open-mouthed kisses on the area.

“You nice and wet now, honey? You ready for me again?” He pressed the head of his cock to your slick entrance and paused.

“Yes Jack, yes please. Get inside of me.”

Jack thrust inside of you, hard, and it sent your head reeling. He skated one big, warm, flat palm over your sweetly abused ass, murmuring praises at you as he pounded steadily into you. You raised yourself back up on your elbows for stability.

“You’re my fucking dream girl, you sweet thing. Can’t believe I got so fucking lucky with you…” He gripped your hips with both hands as he pounded into you, then he leaned over to growl into your ear as he wrapped one large hand around the front of your throat.

“You like that, you fucking dirty girl? You filthy little angel? You’re such a sweet girl, letting me fuck you like this.”

You leaned forward just an inch, increasing the pressure on your throat as he continued to grunt into your ear. The sensation of his warm breath on your ear combined with the delicious feeling of his thick fingers around your neck, and you felt yourself clench around his cock.

Jack’s speech started faltering, interspersed with thrusts and groans. You knew he was getting close. “You-” his breath hitched. “Fucking... fucking pretty girl. Fucking-” He groaned again. “...goddamn gorgeous girl… Fuck!”

His hand tightened just a little around your throat and you felt your pussy clench again, sending him over the edge. He let go of your neck and bent over your back, resting his sweaty forehead between your shoulder blades as he rocked into you. You felt him, hot and sticky against your skin as he released into you.

You collapsed onto the bed and he lay on top of you. Your breathing slowed together as you both came back to Earth.

---

“Was that a good welcome home?” You leaned over to Jack’s side of the bed and held a chocolate-covered strawberry up to his lips. He took a bite and moaned. You giggled contentedly and tapped the rim of your champagne flute to his. He nodded at you and swallowed, washing the bite down with a sip of pink champagne.

“Yes, sugar, thank you. That was amazing.” He wrapped his free arm around your shoulders and pulled you close. “I know it’s been a rough year, but I feel like we’re getting back on track in the bedroom. I’ve missed you like this.”

You looked up at him and smiled. “I missed you, too, Jack. Happy Father’s Day.”

--- Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

"All fics" roll call: @anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul

@kesskirata @honeymandos @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @anxiousandboujee @cevvie @quica-quica-quica @sherala007 @writeforfandoms @libellule2001

#pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal characters #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x reader #agent jack whiskey daniels

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fandom-hoarder · 4 years ago

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Feeling Small

[Have some sleepy weechesters/weecest fluff?]

Sam wakes with a start, the details of his nightmare quickly melting away, leaving only the residue of anxiety and fear and blood; his heart racing; pulse pounding in his ears, with only the vaguest notions as to why. He’s turning towards Dean before he realizes it, searching for the familiar comfort of his brother as he’s always been able to. Only belatedly does he remember they’re in separate beds. It’s been awhile since he’s had a nightmare like this, and Sam’s recent growth spurts have pretty much necessitated more mattress space for both of them. The realization of it now sinks in Sam’s stomach like a stone.

Sam focuses his gaze in the direction of Dean’s bed, waiting for his eyes to pick out his brother’s form. Dean is turned away from him on his side, facing the door to their motel room like a sentinel. Sam can’t really see details in the grainy gray of the twilight hour, but he can tell that the blanket is pulled over Dean’s shoulder. He knows Dean is shirtless underneath it, because he went to bed when he was still overly warm from his shower. No doubt Dean’s hand is near the gun under his pillow.

Sam longs to close the distance between them and burrow into Dean, but he hesitates. He’s almost seventeen and logically he knows it’s weird to still be seeking his brother’s reassurance just because he had a nightmare. Dean would probably allow it right now, but he wouldn’t let Sam hear the end of it in the morning. Besides, it’s been a good six months since they’ve started sleeping in separate beds on a more regular basis, and Dean might just be out of the habit enough by now to pull his gun on Sam in a partially-woken state.

The only sounds in the room are Dean’s soft almost-snores and the slightly rattley drone of the heater unit. No grizzly-like snores from dad, so Sam doesn’t even have to look at the cot in the corner to know if he’s come back yet. He realizes then that he’s been holding his breath, and lets it out slowly and shakily, trying to re-regulate it without gasping, subsequent breaths a muffled staccato.

“ Sammy,” Dean grumbles sleepily, apparently sensing Sam’s distress.

It startles Sam into taking a deep breath, and it’s like the rush of oxygen breaks through his petrifying doubt. Suddenly he’s out of his bed and crossing to Dean’s, lifting Dean’s blankets and sliding in behind him. Dean stays still despite the bed’s shifting as Sam settles in, pulling the blanket back up over their shoulders. Despite Dean’s shirtless state, his skin is warm. Sam squeezes himself close to Dean’s back, arms pulled in against his chest and Dean’s back, legs folding in behind Dean’s in an attempt to make himself smaller. Sam leans in and presses his forehead between Dean’s shoulder blades, breathing in the comforting scents of Dean’s soap and deodorant and sleep warmth.

The familiar smell and closeness soon has Sam matching his breathing to Dean’s, body calming down from his high alert state. But as he calms, he starts to ache at the slightly awkward position he’s put himself in; trying to still be the little spoon from the big spoon position. He could easily put his arm around his brother’s body to get more of the contact he craves right now, but that would shatter the illusion he wants to preserve that Dean is still larger than life compared to him; that he can engulf Sam in his big-brotherly protection and Sam will know everything is okay—will be okay.

Sam’s not as small as he used to be compared to Dean—they’re practically the same height now, though Dean still has more muscle and confidence in his body compared to Sam’s awkward lankiness—and as much as he likes to tease Dean about it most of the time, sometimes the thought will hit Sam suddenly that he’ll never be smaller than Dean like that again. It makes his heart ache with a regret he can’t quite put into words.

Now is one of those times. He’s hyperaware of every uncomfortably too big point of contact: his bony elbows against the small of Dean’s back; his knobby knees at a not-quite-natural cant behind Dean’s so they don’t dig in; his feet carefully tucked together; his whole body tense from noticing and holding the position.

He doesn’t realize his breaths have gotten unsteady again until he feels Dean’s fingers digging soothingly into his hair, against his scalp, despite the slightly awkward angle. Sam sobs out an unintended moan at the bittersweet feeling the gesture brings, and then Dean’s sighing and grabbing the edge of the blankets so he can turn around beneath them.

Dean’s arms scoop around Sam and he hooks a foot around Sam’s right ankle to rearrange him easily, pulling Sam so his head is tucked against Dean’s shoulder and chin, skinny leg held between Dean’s strong thighs so Sam is half-sprawled against him, balled up fist opening as it rests against Dean’s chest, feeling Dean’s heart beat steadily beneath the palm. The movement has Sam reeling from how small he suddenly feels in Dean’s arms, the bittersweet nostalgia he’d just been experiencing suddenly replaced with relief and a swell of overwhelming affection. He closes his eyes in something close to bliss.

The arm underneath Sam curls up and Dean’s fingers return to their job of carding through Sam’s hair, his other arm loosely resting against Sam’s waist. Dean’s breath raises faint goosebumps across Sam’s neck and shoulders as he whispers, “Nightmare?”

The nod Sam gives makes Dean’s fingernails scrape against his scalp, and the goosebumps get worse.

“Wanna talk about it?” Dean’s voice is still a whisper, but it feels loud in the quiet room as it rumbles through Dean’s chest, so close to where Sam’s head is resting.

Sam shakes his head in the negative, and Dean’s fingers tighten in Sam’s hair momentarily; disapprovingly.

“Can’t remember it,” Sam mumbles to clarify, his lips barely ghosting over the skin of Dean’s clavicle as he does. A feeling of guilt rushes through him, like he’s lying because of his word choice. He knows from experience he could if he tried. He doesn’t want to.

But past experience tells him Dean doesn’t want him to, either, and he reminds himself of that as he suppresses the feeling. Dean’s fingers continue their path through Sam’s hair, and soon he’s lulled into a doze just this side of sleep. Close enough that he can’t really control it when his mouth opens up and spills out words he meant to keep in his head.

“I miss this.”

“Miss what?” Dean asks, and Sam is too sleep-drugged to notice if Dean’s tone is a little more awake than it should be; a little sharper and more aware than Sam would expect when Dean is being this tactile and affectionate.

“Feeling small,” Sam replies, unfiltered.

Dean’s arms tense around him, fingers pausing their ministrations, and Sam whines in sleepy disapproval. There’s barely a delay before Sam feels Dean’s arms squeeze him closer; feels the pads of Dean’s fingers skate against his lower back as Dean drags his hand up it to splay right in the middle, as if testing the size of his hand against the breadth of Sam. In the nebulous headspace Sam’s in, on the cusp of dreams, Dean’s hand feels so big and strong against him, his whole back warm with the weight of it.

Dean’s thumb starts a soothing stroke where it rests along Sam’s spine, just against the well-worn edge of his shirt collar, and the peach fuzz hairs there raise at the touch.

“You’ll always be my baby brother,” Dean says into Sam’s hair, breath hot against the top of his ear.

Sam is two full breaths away from passing all the way out, but his fingers spasm almost involuntarily for purchase against Dean’s shirtless chest. His fingers find the head of Dean’s amulet, and hook around it, holding on as he finally succumbs to sleep.

#wincest #weecest #technically #wincest fanfiction #my fanfiction #ficlet #fluff #valentine's day but not really

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plush-rabbit · 4 years ago

Text

Tear Stained Love

Warnings: NSFW, Obsessive!Reader, Light!Somno, Reader is GN Word Count: 4.3K A/N: Sorry it took so long, like really sorry. These were such good requests and I hope yall are still here to read it rip. I also combined the two since they were on the similar territory so I hope yall both don’t mind

The room is dark room, the light from the hallway that spills through the cracks is the only thing that lights the room for a brief second before you shut the door, your hand twisting the doorknob to let it shut softly, with a single, soft click that sounds to only your ears as you enter the room that is shrouded in darkness.

You walk quietly, sock-clad feet moving across the hardwood floor, silent as a mouse, bottom lip bitten and hands formed into fists, avoiding the squeaky floorboards that echo throughout the room and risk awakening the slumbering man who lays on his back, hands balled into fists and spread far on either side of him in a habit that won’t die anytime soon. You’re silent, releasing your bottom lip and running the tip of your tongue over the stinging pain where your teeth had been not even seconds ago. You inch closer to the bed, your steady breathing matching his and you rest on the edge of his bed, your hands fluttering and fingers curled over softly, gently brushing against his forehead, and soothing out the strands that cover his sleeping face. Tomura lays still, only a small crinkle of his nose lets you know that he felt your touch. You’ve learned over time that he is a heavy sleeper- only when he wants to be.

You’ve been in his room plenty of times. You’ve avoided old, creaky floorboards that would startle him awake and force you to hide under his bed, breath held tight until he fell back to sleep. He can sleep from his name being called, but he can wake up at a sudden movement in his room where there is not supposed to be. He can lay asleep as you run your tongue over his lips as long as you don’t step on an old floorboard.

You’ve stolen old shirts of his that still had his scent lingering on them. You’ve slept in his bed countless times, holding his pillow close and pressing your nose into it, pretending that it was him only to scramble away as you hear footsteps approaching his room. You’ve done what you could without arising too much suspicion on you. You've talked your way out of being caught in his bed, quickly covering up how tired you were and that you must have slipped into the wrong room.

For the most part it was believable. You were able to skate by with your half baked lies. And surprisingly, he never reprimanded you harshly, never held you with all his hands and had only casted uncertain glances at you, eyes narrowed in disbelief before he shoulders you as you walk away. You were sure he suspected you of something, that he no doubt snooped through your room in order to find the missing things but you were always good at hiding, good to keep things hidden and out of sight. And yet, he never pushes, never tries to extract the information out of you, only giving you a shoulder bump that you’re sure conveys something deeper about him and his words.

It’s the touch that counts. It leaves you breathless. When you’re alone, you grab onto your shoulder, trying to mimic the rough touch that he gave you, your nails leaving red marks that peel at the skin and you’re left with an ache as you think about his touch- how rough his hands would be, how they’d move over you body as if it belonged to him and with eyes clouded over in desperation; you know that you’d submit entirely to him, you’d give him whatever he wanted, as long as he was able to touch you.

It’s not an obsession. It’s not a silly, little crush that’s going to lose meaning in a month or less. No, this is so much more, it runs deeper than anything you’ve ever felt. Ever since you first laid eyes on him, it was like every cliche romance that you have seen, read, and heard about. Time stopped and your body felt like it was on a high that didn’t seem to end, when you brushed your hand against his bare skin, you could feel electricity course through your veins, leaving only a jumbled mess of butterflies fluttering around in your belly. This is love. It’s a love that hurts and makes you want to cry into his chest, to pull him close to you and wrap your arms around him, to pepper kisses against him and let him know that you’d kneel in front of him and grab his hands, clutch them tightly in yours without the fear of decay, that you’d gladly accept decay, you accept everything about him, why wouldn’t you accept his hands that hold so much power, you’d kneel and you’d worship him like a king, like a god, like the higher power that he is.

Tomura sleeps in his bed. Vulnerable and in a deep sleep, as you sit on the edge of his bed and cup his face in your hands, pressing a soft, feather light kiss on his lips. Your eyes close, fluttering open and when they land on his still closed eyes, eyes that remain still behind his eyelids, you press a rougher kiss on him, breathing harshly against his skin, a hand coming under the blanket to rub across his chest and you gasp when you feel his bare skin, warm and scarred.

You pull away from him, hand still cupping his face, tilting your head as you coo softly about how trusting he is. If he were to wake up, you’re sure that you could lull him back to sleep, to make him close his eyes and believe that whatever he saw, whatever he felt, would be nothing more than an imagination from his mind, a simple wet dream that could. You look at him endearingly, let your hands explore his torso, running down his chest and sucking in a sharp breath when you feel his happy trail, hair like peach fuzz that hardens and turns coarse the lower you go only to flutter up and ruffle the fixed hair. You bite your bottom lip to stifle a giggle as you run your fingertips over a soft nipple, your lips returning to his, tongue slipping past his willing mouth while your index and thumb roll over a budding nipple. It perks under the attention, bumps and rolls against the palm of your hand and through the kiss, he lets out a quiet moan, bashful and sweet and in return you whimper at the sound, hand leaving his face, to trail down his neck, gasping when you feel fresh wounds on him.

“Oh Tomura,” you sigh softly, peeling away from him dejectedly, “you should stop harming yourself, sweetheart.” You nip at his neck, running your tongue over and blowing cool air, amazed at how his body pricks with bumps with the simple touch and gust. “You can always come to me,” you whisper into his ear, dipping back down to suckle softly on his neck. “I’d take away your pain if I could,” you whisper, kissing at a spot.

Your hand dances across his chest and cups the neglected breast, nipple already pert and stimulated as you roll your palm above the peach bud. It’s light in color and looks positively cute on him, something sweet and innocent. A smile forms across his neck, teeth shown and pressed against him, in a lovesick grin. You give the bud the same treatment as Tomura whines underneath you, pausing from the love bites that decorate his skin, you glance up but his eyes are still closed, slightly knitted and nostrils flaring, yes, but still closed nonetheless. His chest raises and it's until now that you realize, he’s been breathing harshly, heart pounding and you want to giggle, to let the sound fill the room and bursts of the joyous laughter bubbles past your lips and you stop yourself by pressing your lips against chapped ones. You grin into the kiss, tongue slipping into his mouth and running it over the pink muscle, committing the experience into memory as you continue to toy with his chest, tweaking at the now red nipple that grows thick with assault.

“Such a pretty boy loves to have his tits played with, eh?” You whisper against his lips, pulling away to watch as his lips shine with spittle, no doubt matching yours. The hand leaves his neck, fingers hooking into his mouth and pulling the jaw down, exposing his mouth and it is divine. “I wonder how close you are,” you mumble to yourself. “I wonder if you’ll wake up when you jizz your pants,” your thumb runs under his chin, and closes his mouth, “or if you think this was all a sweet dream,” his teeth press into your fingers and in his sleep, his tongue flicks at the tips of your fingers, rolling over the nail and through the small dip between your fingers. He whines and his hips buck upwards, stilling for a second until they crash back onto the bed, his whines growing restless and higher. “Sh, Tomu-kun,” you whisper softly, pushing your finger further into his mouth until the rest flat against your tongue, mouth wrapped around, “the others will hear.” You return to his neck, suckling softly, moaning as you derive pleasure from this twisted love.

The hand on his chest works through his rut, pinching lightly around his areola, coming to rub over the bud. He sucks harshly on your fingers, moaning against them, and you have a thought that lasts for a second too long on what his mouth would feel like wrapped around your sex. If he’d be just as eager to taste you and make you whine like you’re making him.

The tent grows in his pants, teasing and large and while you’d love nothing more to taste him, you also want the first time with him to be special. You want him to come to you on his own accord, to show up to your room, breathless and kiss you against the wall. Your lips kiss over his neck, his heartbeat quickens, pounding against his skin and your tongue swipes over, the hand on his neck, curling into a hold. His moans vibrate against your fingers and you’re sure that if you were to have his mouth around you, the lewd sounds would send you to your high in seconds. His hips quicken, a leg jerks and kicks out in a frantic race to find some type of friction while he sings to you in his sleepy, lustful haze; it doesn’t take much for him to spill, to have his heather gray sweatpants darken in color and against you, he lets out a sigh and his face looks at peace.

There’s a deep moment where you think about stripping him, to clean him and make sure he doesn’t sleep in his own filth, to grab at the wet, warm boxers coated in his seed. Your hands twitch, tugging on his skin and you there’s a deep ache in your stomach that wants to take them back to you room and keep them safe. You’re sure that he wouldn’t notice if he woke up in a new pair, that he would destroy the ones covered in his cream, and then this whole thing would have been lost. You’d be stuck with boxers that were dry and only smell faintly of him while a pair that oozes with his pheromones cling to his thighs.

You move slowly, pull the blanket off of him, smiling soft at the blushing red nipples that ache and are swollen from your touch. Hooking your fingers over the waistband of his sweatpants, you pull down, leaving him only in his boxers. You can feel your own face grow red, to burn at your cheeks and slowly, his boxers come off.

His member lays limp against his side, coated in white discharge and your mouth waters. He eats nothing but filth all day so there’s little chance he’d actually taste good but the need to dip your head down and let your tongue roll over his prick, to clean him and let your spit cover his cock in a thin layer. But you restrain yourself. You pull away, take the boxers off and place them next to you. Grabbing the sweats, you dab him clean, putting your hand through a leg sleeve in order to avoid touching him, you can still feel his heat. But even with the feel of cotton against his sensitive member, he twitches and drips of white peek out and stain his thighs. You tut softly, shaking your head and place a clean pair on him, careful to not touch his member.

You tuck the blanket around him, smooth out his hair. His face glows in a soft pink, lips parted and breaths starting to return to normal. You press another kiss against his lips, putting all your love through the simple gesture, letting your tongue lick at his bottom lip and you pull away, whispering a good night to him.

You leave the room with a pair of stained boxers clutched under your shirt, the wet, sticking and making your skin rise in goose bumps.

You watch as Shuichi plays a video game, the rest of the League- minus beloved Tomura- watching with casual interest as he easily places in first, a proud grin on his features as he continues the race.

“You know, you’re really good at this game, Shu-kun,” you comment, watching the screen as selections flash by in quick colors until he chooses a field. “I was always interested in playing games when I was younger but never had the chance to,” you add, wincing as his character hits at a piece that loses him points.

He clears his throat nervously and a clawed hand reaches to scratch at his scalp. “I can show you how to play sometime. If you’d like of course.” He gives you a quick glance and returns your smile before returning his attention back to the game.

“Really?” You ask eagerly, sitting straight up on the couch. He nods in confirmation and you clap your hands and give him a wide grin that he can’t see. “That’d be great! I was always interested in learning how to play-”

You hear your name being called in a gruff tone and all heads turn to the entrance where Tomura stands, now dressed with a shirt and clean sweatpants. Your eyes widen slightly as you had forgotten to put the sweatpants away properly.

“Tomura,” you reply, your voice cracking midway, “what can I help you with?”

“Can I talk to you?” His eye glances around through the mask. “In private if you will.”

A smile breaks across your face, you don’t even try to hide it, you rise up, a skip in your step as you stand next to him, grabbing onto his forearm where he retracts with a hiss. “Of course you can Tomura!” His eye narrows and he turns around and walks away from the common room, and you follow eagerly, throwing a peace sign as you leave.

He walks quickly, not waiting for you to catch up, not even daring to turn his head as if he had that much faith that you would follow him without hesitation. It's rather cute knowing that he knows you so well. You’d follow him where he’d go, no questions asked as you stare at the back of his neck, your heart fluttering in your chest.

You enter your room and your smile grows. Your giddy to be alone in your room with him, to have him stand where you spent countless times thinking and imagining him. He stands in the middle, giving a quick glance to the bed and when you offer for him to sit down and relax, he chooses to stand, to grip father in a hand and rest it on your dresser and you practically swoon that he’s willing to reveal his face for you and only you.

“I had the strangest dream last night,” he starts, eyes focused entirely on you as he talks. “Do you want to know what it was about?” You nod eagerly and take a step closer to him. “Someone had come into my room and touched me.”

“What an odd dream,” you comment. You desperately want to press- to ask if he enjoyed his dream, that if the touch he felt made him feel good, if he had thought that there was someone who touched him.

“I know.” His hands flex and fingers are outstretched and you want to hold his hand, to grasp it in yours and pepper kisses over him. “You wouldn’t happen to know if someone wandered in, would you? If a certain person had walked in while i slept and stole something of mine?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you coo, giving him a shrug. “Tomu-kun, as much as I love our chats-”

“I’m sure you do.” His voice is stern and you tilt your head, eyes wide and mouth watering as you give him your full undivided attention, practically on edge to hear what else he has to say. “You see, the thing is,” his finger dances along the edge of the dresser as he stalks his way towards you, “ever since you joined our little team-” the way he says “team” sends a shiver down your spine- “it seems that most of my things have gone missing.”

“It sounds like you’re accusing me of something.” You blink innocently, a soft smile gracing your features. “I’d prefer it if you were more direct, you know.” You can smell his musk with how close he is, and you hope that the scent lingers in your room long after he is gone.

In a quick motion, his hand is on your face, tilting you up so your eyes reach his. Your face squishes between his fingers, nails pressing into the plush area with a pinky held and lifted in the air. Your lips are parted and opened in a soft oval shape, as you watch him with wide eyes, breath hitching as you wait for his next movement. You watch him with half lidded eyes, a small puddle of drool forming on your tongue and slipping under. He’s close to you, enough that you can count the scars that etch themselves on his face, to see the color in his eyes and there’s a fresh cut on his bottom lip, small and pink and it must be new. You want to kiss the pain away.

“Fine,” he snaps. “I fell asleep with boxers and sweatpants and when I woke up I had a different pair on and my sweats were coated in jizz. What the fuck was that about?” He glares at you and you want to melt into his, to touch him like he’s touching you.

“It sounds like there’s a pervert in the home,” you mumble. Your love for him is pure and untainted, unconventional but filled with love. His nails dig further into your cheeks and you whimper. “Maybe it would help if you slept in my room.” You gasp as another hand reaches to your throat, grasping it tightly, thumb and three fingers squeezing the side in a painful pleasure. Your eyes water and you don’t want his touch to stop. “Why are you coming to me anyways?”

“Because it has to be you,” he growls, pressing his face closer against your until the tips of your noses touch and rub against each other in a soft bunny kiss and you think it’s possibly the cutest thing that you have ever done with him.

You pinch your thighs together. “Is that how often you think of me?” You breathe harsh against him, swallowing the drool that dares to spill over. “I have to admit I’m rather flattered.”

“Stop fucking with me.” His hands fall away and he walks towards your bed, letting his back face you. You grab the area where he touched you, already missing the warmth and your tongue lolls out, as you try to replicate his grip. “Fucking twisted is what this is,” he mumbles and you frown.

“It isn’t twisted,” you say defiantly, standing straight and letting your hands fall from where they hold your face. He turns to face you, a scowl on his lips and eyes narrowed. “I love you,” you confess, heart beating. “None of what I have done is twisted, okay? It’s all out of love!”

“You fucking depraved, little slut.” His upper lips curls and he walks towards you. “I fucking knew it!” He points a finger at you accusingly.

“I’m not depraved!” You say in a harsh whisper, eyes narrowing and tears starting to form. “It’s love!”

“It’s twisted!” He steps closer to where you stand.

“Love isn’t twisted,” you say and you close the gap between the both of you with a few steps. “I love you Tomura. Ever since I first saw you, I’ve-” you hands cover your heart and your voice turns softer, cracking in between words as you try to hold all the emotion in, “loved you.” A tear rolls down and your hands clutch at the front of the shirt, twisting it in front your heart in a swirled knot.

“It’s not fucking love, it’s a weird obession.” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose while you stand and pout. “You jerking me off in my sleep isn’t cute-”

“I didn’t jerk you off,” you counter with a roll of your eyes. “I simply helped you reach that cute, little high of yours.” You tilt your head and your hand comes to cup his breast that is hidden by shirt. “I think it’s cute how sensitive you are,” you lament.

He pauses and groans. “It’s not love.” His voice is stern and he takes a step back from you, hands curling into fists and you see this as a win.

“Tomura,” you call out to him, walking softly with arms raised up and hands extended, “yes it is.” Your hands cup his face and he winces from your touch. “I know what I feel. And you’ll feel it eventually. I know you will.” Your hands release from your shirt, one still placed flat while the other comes to hold his own heart. “Because that’s how strong our love is.” Your eyes begin to water, spilling over and staining and curving down your face, dripping past your chin as you lean closer to him. “I know what I feel. I love you so much-” a tear catches on your hand- “so much that it almost hurts.” Tears slip and fall and wet your face in a burning streams. “I love you much, that I’m crying,” you croak. You press a fleeting kiss against his lips and he stares at you with interest. “I love you. I’d give you whatever you asked. I’d get on my knees and praise you like you deserved to be.” Your hand leaves your chest and you can feel his heart quicken as you continue to talk. His chest stutters as your hand cusps his face, thumb stroking his cheekbone. “I love you.” Tears slip down your face and you lean to kiss him. “I love you.” You pepper kisses over his face, your tears staining his face while your hand slides to the back of his head, entangling into his hair. “I love you so much.” Your voice cracks and you press another kiss against him, yelping as you’re pulled into his chest.

He holds you in his arms, your chin on his shoulder, legs slanted as he leans down and buries his face in the curve of your neck and you wait with bated breath to decay, to feel the sensation as you drift in his arms. It wouldn’t be so bad to die then and there, to have your final moments be in his arms, to know that you confessed and you got to kiss him while he was awake, to feel his heart beat in time with yours, that the last face you saw would be his. But the decay never comes, you never turn to ash. You stay in his arms and your eyes shine with tears, drops that prick and catch on your eyelashes and make your vision blur and colors mix together. Your hands come to clutch the back of his shirt and let out a pleased whine, pulling away with a heavy blush that dusts your cheeks, your hands leave his body and you grab your face, fingers resting on your cheekbones as your eyes grow hazy and mouth curves into a wide grin.

“I love you, Tomu-kun,” you cry, tears spilling even as you smile and your hands return to wrap around him, to lay on the back of his neck, pressed onto his hair and push him onto you, your lips meeting his. “I’ll love you till the day we both die,” you say in a giddy tone, pressing your lips against his.

His eyes dart over and he opens his mouth “I-”

You shush him softly, gripping his hair tighter in your hand. “You don’t have to say something right now, love.” As much as you want to hear the words, to have them repeated to you again and again, you can see a certain look in his eyes, the way that his chest stutters and he licks at his lips- you know that he’s too overwhelmed right now to say how he feels without tripping over the words himself. “I love you, Tomura. I’d gladly do whatever you asked of me,” you lilt, eyes turning lovesick and voice sickly sweet. Your hands return to his face and his own hands stay stiff at his side. You press another kiss, one where he returns it hesitantly.

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downwiththeficness · 3 years ago

Text

A Thing Most Desired-Ch. 22

Summary: Rosalind was eight years old when she knew she had a soulmate. At eighteen, she vowed never to find him. To protect her family, Rose makes the decision to tempt fate and she finds that walking away is easier said than done. Kandomere/Bright!FemOC AU

Word Count: ~4,400

Warnings: None

A/N: This story contains references to child murder and kidnapping. It is rated E for explicit sexual content, blood, gore, death, and mature themes. Please heed these warnings, if you’re going to read or interact with this fic.

Taglist: @dystopian-dez382, @miss-rebel-without-applause

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Rose turned her head, staring into the gray of the morning. She’d slept hard, and she smiled to herself as she remembered why. After the first round, Kandomere had slipped on a pair of soft lounge pants and gone to the kitchen to gather snacks. They’d shared fruit, yogurt, honey, and jam, some of which was eaten with their hands and some of which was licked from hot skin.

The second round of lovemaking was slower than the first, filled with soft touches and murmured words. The kisses were more intense. Kandomere held her tightly to him, one of her legs thrown over his arm so that he could get as deep inside as possible. The climax shuddered through Rose’s body, her voice sounding with a weak cry. Afterward, he’d held her to his body, his fingers gently closed around her wrist, until she passed into slumber.

Rose looked over at the object of her thoughts, laying peacefully beside her. Kandomere was still fast asleep, his breaths coming easily. Rose took the time to admire his body, the slopes of muscle that wrapped around his frame. Peach fuzz dusted along his spine until it met the crumpled blanket at his hips. His tan skin was smooth, spotted here and there from time spent in the sun.

Rose recalled the first time she’d seen him, all those years ago. In the mirror, he’d been running, his expression joyous despite the exertion. The habit carried into adulthood as his exercise of choice. He might go to the trails this morning, though she didn’t know how he’d have the energy.

Extending her limbs, Rose stretched her muscles. She felt languid, a touch sore in places, but satisfied nonetheless. There was nothing to do today but finish packing for their flight the next morning. Rose had already filled up their checked luggage, just the carry on left to put her essentials in.

Her farm was waiting for her, still in perfect working order, if Lee’s assessments were correct—and they usually were. The garden wouldn’t be filled with veggies ready to harvest, her planting season spent in California. But, the trail behind the house would be there.

The trip coincided with the full moon, and Rose was determined to pick some bushels of flowers to hang for incense. She was nearly out, though she had been careful in using what she had—that was to say that she hadn’t used hardly any at all, hoarding it in the nothingness for emergency use only. At the farm, there would be some from last year, still hanging in the bathroom. She could take that with her when they came back.

Two weeks.

They would only spend two weeks in Montana, all that Kandomere could spare with the special occasion of it being their honeymoon. Roman still needed to be caught. He still had a job to do. And she, no matter how she went about it, would be there to help him.

Kandomere shifted with a sigh. Rose kept still, blinking lazily at him. He very likely would wake soon, his internal clock so attuned to lack of sleep that the morning sun—now turning pink and orange—would keep him from resting much longer. She enjoyed the little time she had left, admiring him from a few scant inches away as she so very rarely got the opportunity to do.

He shifted again, pulling one arm underneath him and rolling to his back. Sleepily, he raised a hand to his hair, pushing it away from his face, then rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Head turning a little, he looked at her.

“Morning,” she said softly.

Kandomere didn’t reply. He continued to stare as the room slowly filled with sunlight. It rolled over the floorboards to the bed, angling over the sheets. Little slices of light cut across his torso, just barely kissing the line of his wide jaw.

Pushing weight into his elbow, he rolled over her, tugging the comforter out from between their bodies. Skin slid against skin as he wriggled down a bit, resting between her thighs, his arms slipping under the small of her back. Against her belly, Kandomere inhaled, placing a kiss above her belly button.

Rose reached down and combed through his tousled hair, smiling as he looked up at her from beneath his lashes. He was warm, a welcome weight. Her whole body relaxed beneath him, as if she might fall back asleep.

They lay like that until the sun was bright over the horizon, until the early bird song had faded. Kandomere stroked her sides, occasionally running his hands over her hips. For a few seconds, his fingers lingered on the mark the Moloch had left on her, tracing the strange pattern. He’d turned his head to the side, his cheek resting on her. She could feel the beginning of stubble on his chin whenever he moved, the feeling stopping just short of being ticklish.

“We should install of coffee machine up here,” he said suddenly.

Rose opened her eyes, finding that his were still closed, “Why?”

“So we don’t have to get out of bed.”

She hummed, the sound touched with laughter, “If we do that, we might as well add in a snack cabinet and fridge.”

“Done,” he confirmed, and she could feel him smiling against her skin, “I can speak with the contractors on Monday.”

Rolling her eyes, Rose eased up onto her elbow. Kandomere made a disgruntled sound, moving to his side a bit as she sat up.

“I set the coffee timer before we left yesterday,” she said as she looked at the clock, “It should be ready by now.”

Not waiting for a reply, Rose pulled her legs out from underneath the covers and threw them over the side of the bed. Naked, she walked to the closet door where her robe was hung. Pushing one arm through the sleeve, she started towards the hall. Behind her, she heard Kandomere’s feet his the floor as he moved to follow.

The coffee was, indeed, ready. Rose took down two mugs and filled them, adding creamer and sugar to hers and way, way too much sugar to his. She handed it to him, smiling when he took a sip and made an appreciative sound.

“You hungry?”

He shrugged, “A little.”

“Craving anything in particular?”

When he cast her a flirtatious glance from over the rim of his coffee, she laughed and clarified, “I meant food.”

Another shrug, “I’ll have what you’re having.”

“Okay,” Rose chirped, “Go relax on the couch, I’ll let you know when its ready.”

Hand running through his hair, his mouth turned down as he said, “I need to file some reports before we go tomorrow. I can do that while you cook.”

She stared at him for a moment, wondering if he’d relent if she argued hard enough. It didn’t matter that they weren’t leaving until the next day, he was supposed to be on vacation. Rose nixed the idea almost as soon as she had it. She was too tired to make the argument and she didn’t want to spoil the rest of the morning by stamping her feet about his work.

The making of their breakfast was meditative. Rose took her time frying eggs, ham, hash browns, and timing the toast to pop up just when she was plating the rest. It occurred to her as she poured the hot coffee in the a heat tempered glass decanter that she’d inadvertently adopted some of Kandomere’s eating habits. She hadn’t had this kind of breakfast since moving in with him.

Making a note to introduce Kandomere to Alma’s winter stew recipe when to weather cooled, Rose put the plates and the coffee on a large serving tray and carried it into the dining room. She called for him and waited.

And waited.

Popping a bite of toast into her mouth, she meandered out of the dining room and to his office. Leaning into the room, she spotted him sitting at his desk, signing off on a form. He looked up at her and she lifted her brows meaning fully at him.

“Breakfast is ready. Can you tear yourself away to eat with your new wife?”

His smile was a tiny bit bashful as he pushed the papers aside, “I think I can manage that.”

Rising, Kandomere gathered her into a loose embrace, walking her backwards towards the kitchen. Rose laughed as she toddled along, guided by his hands. They moved in a gentle sway until they’d reached the table where he helped her into her chair before sitting down at the place she’d set for him. Rose had to give him credit, he didn’t flinch at the indulgent meal she’d prepared—simply picked up a fork and dug in.

“What time do I need to set my alarm for?” She remembered that it was an early flight, but couldn’t quite recall how early.

The last few days had been a blur of details that Rose hadn’t been able to keep track of—from the finalization of the contract, which Rose read through three times before she made any sense of, to getting plane tickets, to combing through more of Roman’s insane ramblings. Rose definitely needed time away from it all. That they were going home was a bonus.

Kandomere took a sip of coffee, “Six.”

She scrunched her face in distaste, “We couldn’t have gotten anything later?”

He shrugged, “Maybe, but a later flight would mean I could go into work for an hour or two.”

“Nope,” Rose quipped with a sharp shake of her head, “I’ll sleep on the plane.”

Casting her a fond look, Kandomere non-verbally agreed with her. If he went in to the office, they might distract him enough that they’d miss their flight, and that was not an option Rose was willing to entertain. She missed her farm too much.

“I let Lee know we’re coming,” she said, “He’s going to air out the house today. I can’t believe I’ve been gone for so long.��

It had been months. What had started as a quick trip to gauge her adopted father’s safety had turned into a wildly complex ordeal that had irrevocably altered the path of her life. She’d gotten married yesterday, for fuck’s sake.

A hand touched her arm, “We haven’t really talked about how you’re doing with all of this.”

Rose shot him a rueful glance, “Still think I’m going to freak out and run away screaming?”

His answering grin was tinged with a sharp edge, “Too late for that. I’d follow you, if you ran.”

Curious, and coy, Rose asked, “You think you could catch me?”

Head tilting to the side, Kandomere leaned back in his seat and looked her over. His expression had closed off a bit, and Rose couldn’t quite read what he might be thinking.

Seeming to come to a conclusion, he said, “I could catch you.”

There was confidence in his tone, an assurance that Rose was used to hearing. She busied herself with spreading jam on her toast as she though about her response.

She settled on, “How?”

Brows rising, he asked, “How would I catch you?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed, “How would you do it?”

Tongue rolling along his bottom lip, Kandomere considered his options. His eyes drifted to the side in thought, giving Rose time to enjoy her toast.

“I think,” he began carefully, “I would start with the obvious. Your parents and your farm.”

“That’s logical,” she said, pouring another cup of coffee. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she prompted, “What else?”

“I’d file a missing persons report.”

Rose didn’t know what she had been expecting, but checking in with her family and filing a report seemed a little bit...anti-climactic.

It must have shown in her face because he continued, “It would give grounds for me to try other strategies.”

“Such as?”

“Pinging your phone and checking your bank cards for use.”

She set her cup down and rested her chin on her hand, “And if you found me? What then?”

One shoulder lifted every so slightly, “I would convince you to come back.”

Rose was very familiar with his particular brand of convincing, had been the target of it many time over the last couple of months, “And if I didn’t want to?

One shoulder lifted carelessly, “I would be very convincing.”

There was something there at the bottom of those words, a shift in tone that she couldn’t help but dig at, “What if I couldn’t be convinced?”

Rose wasn’t quite sure why she was pushing him on the subject. She was committed to him, had married him, performed blood magic to seal that contract. There was no reason to think she’d back out now. Still, the urge remained, and she found herself giving in to it.

Kandomere’s eyes flicked away briefly before they returned to her, “I don’t know.”

He knew.

She could tell that he knew, that he had an answer ready, but was unwilling to say it, “Would you try to put my in thrall?”

He blinked, “Possibly.”

“Do you want to?”

Another blink, “Possibly.”

Rose smirked at him, “That’s not much of an answer.”

“That’s not much a question,” he shot back, sipping deliberately at his coffee.

“Is ‘possibly’ a ‘yes’?” she asked pointedly, her brows lifting with the words.

Kandomere smiled a very small smile of resignation, “I’m curious about it.”

It was as non-committal a response as he’d ever given her. She pressed on.

“Because you’ve never done it before?”

He shook his head, just once, smile widening by a fraction, “No.”

“Then,” Rose continued in a leading tone, “what has you curious?”

“You.”

His response took her back at bit, had her physically shifting backwards in her seat, “What does that mean?”

Kandomere’s head tilted to the side in bemusement, “It means that I’ve never been curious about it until I met you.”

Rose processed that. If she understood it correctly, enthralling a partner was fairly common practice in the Elvish community, so much so that identifying a thrall meant next to nothing in polite conversation. She’d never really considered why he hadn’t ever engaged in that kind of relationship, but the fact that he was interested in trying it with her put a spotlight on it.

“How does it work?”

Laughing softly, Kandomere gave a helpless little shrug, “I honestly don’t know. I haven’t had a reason to do more than skim the surface of it before...”

Taking a breath, Rose picked up her coffee cup, “But, you want to look into it more with me?”

There was a short pause, then, quietly, “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Kandomere’s eyes narrowed slightly as he assessed her, “You’re sure?”

She nodded, “Uh huh. You look into it, and we’ll talk.”

Another pause, followed by a sharp nod, and he returned his attention to his breakfast. The morning went as most mornings did, oozing into the afternoon with the lazy passing of time—at least, until a knock came at their door.

Marcella looked radiant on the doorstep, dressed in a beautifully tailored blazer and slacks, a white slick blouse offsetting the blue of the suit. Her hair was down, pin straight and glossy. She was wearing a shade of red lipstick that Rose could never hope to pull off.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Kandomere said as he led her in.

“I was,” Rose called out, rising from the couch. “She said she had something that would be useful in catching Roman.”

Kandomere looked between them with suspicion, “She did? When was this?”

“While you were gloating at the reception,” Marcella cut in, practically gliding across the entryway towards Rose, “How are you?”

The fog Rose had experienced following the ceremony had dissipated somewhat, though she was sure it would come and go as her body got used to her new normal.

“I’m good,” she replied, gesturing towards the couch, “Would you like to sit?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Can I get you anything?”

The offer was waved off, “No, I don’t plan to be here long.”

Rose sat next to Marcella, not sure what to do with her hands. She folded them carefully in her lap, conscious of Kandomere watching from a nearby armchair.

“I’ll get to the point,” Marcella said, “Working off the assumption that you’ve attempted scrying for his location…” she trailed off, looking to Rose in question.

She nodded, “Yes, successfully.”

One side of Marcella’s mouth quirked up, a sly smile, “But not successfully enough to be lethal.”

Rose tried not to feel disappointed in herself when she answered. It was difficult under the intense scrutiny of not only her husband, but also her new mother-in-law. She resisted the strangeness of those new words, attempted to stay present enough in the conversation to get at the information she needed.

“No. I wasn’t able to get him last time.”

Marcella gave a soft noise of confirmation, “Roman is likely trying the same thing, looking for you. I imagine that the boundaries of the house have helped somewhat—you’ll have protection in Montana, correct?”

Rose nodded, “Alma made sure that our land was protected.”

She was still working on how to protect herself during the trip. The best she could come up with was to bathe in the last of her incense, in the hopes of confusing Roman for the duration of her travel.

“Good. Now, you mentioned you have a sample of his blood.”

“I do.”

“Good,” Marcella said again, “I have brought you a spell that I have copied from one of my books. I have performed it, or seen it performed, a few times and can give you some assurance that it works.”

She handed Rose a piece of lined paper. Marcella’s handwriting was flowery and slanted heavily to the left. Rose was relieved that she’d written it in English, so that she didn’t have to spend time translating.

“What does it do?”

Marcella’s tone shifted from matter of fact to something vaguely ominous, “It kills.”

“Alright,” Kandomere cut in, his brows drawn together in anger, “We are not going to use blood magic to kill anyone.”

Marcella was in no way surprised by the outburst of her son, nor did she seem put off by it, “Its just a tool.”

“Its murder,” he countered, one hand slashing the air, “That’s not how we do things.”

Rose stared at the paper in her hands, reading, “How does it kill?”

Attention shifting to Rose, Marcella almost smiled, “It drains power.” She paused, thinking for a moment, “For a bright, magic is so deeply tied to our blood, perhaps to our soul, that to take it means death. That’s what the spell does.” Another pause, “Of course, it probably works on all magical beings, as well.”

Alma had mentioned this a time or two, but only in passing. Rose hadn’t given it much thought—or, most accurately, she hadn’t ever thought about it. She’d once bragged that she’d grown up in magic, but there appeared to be a fuck ton that she didn’t know.

“Can I,” she started in a timid voice, “maybe take a look at your books? Maybe after we get back?”

Marcella’s expression was fond as she said, “Of course you can. I can’t tell you how long its been since I’ve had someone to talk magic with. Kandomere tells me that you’re quite skilled in modifying spells.”

Shoulders rising a little bit towards her ears, Rose let herself feel some pride at the compliment, “Its a hobby.”

“You’ll show me some of your work, then,” Marcella announced, patting her arm. She eyes flicked down to her watch, wrist turning, “And, I am late for lunch with Visha.”

Kandomere’s dry voice sounded, “God forbid.”

Casting her son a baleful glance, Marcella rose, “I’m lucky she’s so pleased that her only grandson is finally married and settled. It’ll earn me some grace.”

With a good-natured roll of his eyes, Kandomere stood and gestured towards the door, “You’d better go, then. She already knows you’re here, so she’ll be calling me if you don’t show up before she loses patience.”

Giving a soft laugh, Marcella kissed him on the cheek and turned to look down at Rose, who was still sitting on the couch, “Use the spell. End this insanity so that we can get back to our lives, hmm?”

Rose nodded, but said nothing. Kandomere was fairly glaring over his mother’s shoulder. They would fight about this. She could tell.

And, she was right.

As soon as he’d ushered his mother out the door, Kandomere was saying definitively that they were not going to use the spell. He then went on to tell her why. Rose found that her ears had filled with cotton, that his words were muffled by the blood roaring in her brain.

Looking down at the paper in her hands, Rose read and reread the words. She had the skill to do this. She had the power. There was nothing stopping her from stepping outside the wall, calling out the invocation, and dragging Roman kicking and screaming through the rift in space to be culled by the second spell.

Nothing, except her husband.

He was pacing the length of the living room, hands on his hips, eyes following the path he was taking across the floor. Rose watched him for a while, forcing her hands to relax so that she didn’t tear the paper. She refused to put it down, knowing that he’d destroy it, if he had the chance—possibly burn it with the lit candle burning merrily on the coffee table.

“We can’t use it,” he said, with a finality that made Rose’s spine straighten.

“We can,” she responded, folding the paper and pushing it into the pocket of her shorts.

Kandomere shook his head, taking three long steps towards her and kneeling at her feet,

“We shouldn’t use it.”

She looked at his expression and could read fear all over it, “Because its dangerous?”

“Because its illegal.”

Rose scoffed, “All magic is illegal.”

Kandomere shook his head, “I meant what I said. Its murder.”

Her mouth opened, the words heavy on her tongue, “I’ve murdered three people since I came here. The three that took me. In the warehouse.”

Another shake of his head, his hands covering hers, “That was self defense.”

“How is this any different?”

“It just is,” he enunciated, with feeling. “Let me handle it. Please.”

Her mouth turned down, anger rolling in like thick fog. Standing, Rose stepped away, turning her back to him as she tried to make her way through the feelings and the thoughts that were coming at her at lightning speed. She worked through the events of the last few months, stumbling through the times where he’d told her no, where he’d pushed back against her. Rose came to only one conclusion.

“You don’t want me to get him,” she accused, spinning on her heel.

Kandomere stood, brows together, “Of course I want to get him.”

“No,” Rose shot back, “You don’t want me to get him. You want to be the one to take him down.”

He drew back, “What?”

Crossing her arms, she repeated her last sentence, adding, “Its always been about you finishing the job.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is,” Rose hissed, followed by, “Pull your head out of your own ass for five seconds and think about it. You’re happy to accept the information I bring to the table, but you’re always pulling me back from actually taking Roman down.”

Kandomere, clearly affronted, countered with, “My only concern has been for your safety.”

“Sure. You keep telling yourself that.”

Hands running through his hair, Kandomere breathed, “I can’t fucking believe it. I have done everything I can to keep you alive and all you seem to want to do is throw yourself in front of a fucking bus!”

Rose rolled her eyes, shifting on her feet as her magic responded to her emotions, lifting the hair along her arms, “Oh, please. I am more than capable of handling the situation. I think I’ve proven that.”

His eyes narrowed, lips pulling back over sharp teeth as he spit, “He got away, though, didn’t he? You had a perfect opportunity to catch him off guard and not only does he know your face, but he got a-fucking-way.”

She sucked her teeth, “I got what I needed to kill them, though, didn’t I? I got his blood and now I have the spell. All without your help.”

“Bullshit,” he groused, “You wouldn’t have even gotten past that little group of bright anarchists, if you hadn’t called your dad to help you out.”

“At least I know when to ask for help—and when to accept it.”

“And I know when I’m out of my depth.”

This was said with deceptive calm, with a softness in his tone that hadn’t been there before. This was an argument that neither of them were going to win, that would go on indefinitely.

She looked away, casting her eyes out towards the greenhouse. The plants would need watering. She’d already set up a system to run the water on and off while they were gone. When she got back, Rose would re-pot the orchid. It wouldn’t bloom this year—possibly not until next summer.

Kandomere sighed, arms hanging loosely at his sides, “Its past lunchtime. Are you hungry?”

She was. Rose almost told him no, almost went up stairs to pout. Instead, she gave a short nod and an almost helpless shrug. She simply didn’t want to argue anymore.

Kandomere’s gaze cast about, lingering for only half a second on any one place before moving on, “Alright. We’ve got some leftovers in the fridge we can heat up.”

Inhaling sharply, Rose found herself making another suggestion, “Let’s go out.”

His brows lifted in surprise, “You craving something in particular?”

Rose thought about it, “Know any good taco places?”

Kandomere was almost smiling when he said, “I know a few.”

“Do they have tequila?”

He was definitely smiling when he answered, “Some of them do.”

“Alright,” Rose chirped, moving over to the patio door to slip on a pair of sandals, “Pick one. We’ll go.”

They didn’t talk about the spell any more that night. Kandomere drove them out to the edge of the city, parking in a public garage. They walked to a small restaurant, ate outside at a table and chairs made of cast iron, drank tequila from a glass lined with lime and salt. She could still taste it when Kandomere kissed her on the way back to the car.

#A Thing Most Desired #Kandomere #Bright #magic #soulmate AU #edgar ramirez

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tefanfics · 4 years ago

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Changes

Chapter 59

“I think this might be a bad idea, babe.”

I rolled my eyes as I grabbed my camera from the camera bag. I put the strap over my head and let it rest on the back of my neck as the camera itself laid on top of my belly.

“You’re nine months pregnant. Little one will be here any day. I’m not sure doing a session is the best idea,” Taron spoke up from my office chair.

“It’s just a family session, T. The parents with their two kids.” I turned the camera on and checked my SD card to make sure there was plenty of memory still.

“Exactly. There are kids and that means you’ll move around a lot so you’ll be on their level. You always squat and kneel down to get pictures of kids,” Taron countered, raising his eyebrows to give me a stern look.

I shrugged even though I knew he was right. He had been around me enough while I took photos to know by now. “Guess I just won’t do that then.”

Taron scoffed in response. “I’m doubtful.”

“Rude!”

Taron stood up, a smile playing on his lips as he came around the desk and kissed my cheek. In a quick movement, he bent over and placed a kiss on my belly. “I’ll be in the living room. Just yell if you need help, okay?”

“I’ll be fine, T. I promise.”

“You’re stubborn.”

I shrugged again and started to make sure the rest of my equipment was ready to go. The clients were going to be here soon and I wanted to be as prepared as possible. Things were a lot harder to do now so preparation was key.

The session went smoothly. I was getting all the shots that I wanted and things were looking great.

Suddenly there was a small pain as I squatted just a little to snap a photo. I pushed the thought aside as I stood up and continued with the session.

A little bit later I thought I felt something wet trickle down my leg but I shoved the thought aside. We were nearing the end of the session and I really didn’t want to lose focus now.

“What’s that?” The little boy shouted, pointing to the ground near me.

His father hushed him as they posed again, smiling widely for the camera.

The same wet sensation registered again as I moved the camera from my face. I looked down at my jeans and saw a wet patch. I furrowed my brow in confusion as I trailed the wet spots down to the ground. I wasn’t sure whether or not to be embarrassed as I looked back up and scanned the faces of my clients.

“I- I…” I stammered, looking for the words.

“Is your husband here?” The mother of the family asked. I gave her a quick nod before she removed herself from the posed group and disappeared from my office.

I pulled the camera from over my head and sat it on the desk, shutting it off in the process. I looked back at the family and met the eyes of the father. “I’m so sorry. I can’t-“

“Don’t apologize!” He said quickly, attempting a comforting smile. His children asked question after question, though neither of us provided answers.

Finally the mother reappeared with Taron on her heels. I could see the worry in his eyes and he rushed to my side.

“I’m okay,” I assured him but it wasn’t entirely true. I was panicked. It didn’t seem possible that it was almost time for little one to make their appearance.

Taron’s hand make a quick graze across my stomach as he kissed my temple then escorted the family from my office and out of the house. Taron returned quickly and I could tell I wasn’t the only one contemplating panic.

“Hospital bag,” I managed as I leaned against my desk, rubbing my hands against my belly. Taron nodded and ran out of the room again.

The next couple of hours were a blur. Between getting into the car and rushing to the hospital, getting checked in and taken to a room. I was certain they’d send us home and tell us to come back when contractions were closer together but they admitted us immediately. Contractions were getting more painful as time went on but it seemed like progress was far too slow for the amount of pain coursing through me.

I found myself constantly reaching for Taron. Grasping his leg or his hand or his arm, whatever I could manage to get my hands on.

“It’s alright, babe!” Taron tried to comfort me, letting me keep ahold of him though I could see hints of pain in his face.

“Easy for you to say!” I gasped, my shoulders up and tense as I leaned into the pillow behind me on the hospital bed. “God! Why did I think this was a good idea!?”

I thought I heard a soft chuckle from Taron but the second I looked at him, the smile from his face disappeared quickly. He squeezed my hand back as I buried the back of my head further into the pillow and shut my eyes. I could hear the nurses talking and discussing what was to come. One said what I was dilated to but I was too focused on the contractions that were growing closer together to pay any mind to what she said. Taron was answering and trying to repeat things to me.

I shook my head and just focused on the way my body was behaving. I tried to time where I was between contractions, just by counting the seconds. Sure it was tedious and long but it gave me something to put my concentration on.

This process seemed to go on and on. I was sick of hearing the nurses and doctor tell me I’d be there soon, that our baby would make its appearance any moment. Part of me felt bad for continuously snapping at Taron though he never seemed to mind. Instead he’d just keep ahold of my hand and remind me why were here.

I don’t know how long I stayed on that hospital bed before someone finally said something worth remembering.

“Alright, Rose… Looks like you’re at about 9 centimeters. You’re almost there! Baby will be here soon,” the doctor said. “You two did the birthing class, correct?”

I gave a little nod as I took a sharp breath, another contraction hitting. “Shit!”

Taron laughed this time and I yanked my hand from his, lightly hitting his arm. “Sorry, babe. Couldn’t help it,” he answered as he stood up. He leaned over me and kissed the top of my head before putting his hand on my stomach. “Little one will be here soon…”

I looked up and met his gaze, seeing him blink back tears. “Stop it or I’ll start crying too.”

“Fine,” he playfully sighed. Taron chuckled and nodded before leaning over once again and kissing my stomach.

Another contraction took over and I reached for Taron’s hand, squeezing more. “Oh god! I can’t do this, I can’t do this,” I panicked. My other hand found Taron’s as well as I shook my head. “T, I can’t do this!”

“Hey, hey, yes you can. Deep breaths, okay? Just like we practiced,” he answered. He kept my gaze as I took the same breaths with him that we had practiced in the birthing class.

At first it felt as though it would do nothing for me until finally my focus was purely on him.

It was easy to see the excitement on him. The way he was bouncing in palace, how he could hardly keep the smile off of his face, the tears that kept reappearing as they welled in his eyes.

God I loved him.

When the doctor returned, she checked once again and just like that things seemed to fly. The doctor got into place and nurses seemed to be at the ready. Taron was glued at my side as I grasped his hand and forearm as hard as I could as I pushed at every command the doctor gave.

It was happening. Our baby was coming into the world. Tears streaked my face as I cried out over and over.

I wish I could say it seemed to be quick and over in no time but god it seemed to take forever. My hands hurt from how tightly I kept ahold of Taron and there was a brief second where I worried if I had hurt him before I had to push again.

Taron looked down at me, moving the hairs that were clinging to my wet face. “Almost there, alright?” He encouraged. “You’re doing great, baby. Keep going!”

I shook my head, trying to argue but I couldn’t help the cry that escape again as I pushed more. I wanted to fight, to argue that I couldn’t handle this any longer.

Then suddenly there was a tiny cry. A new sound in the room that wasn’t my own cries or Taron’s soothing words. I knew exactly what it was. There was a tightness in my throat growing as my lower lip began to tremble, my grip on Taron starting to lessen.

It was such a blur. The doctor cut the umbilical chord after a moment and before I could even process it, my baby was in my arms and close to my chest.

“Congratulations you two. Meet your son.”

“Son…” I heard Taron gasp.

My focus was on the tiny thing in my arms. He was still crying, though it seemed to be growing quieter as I put my arms carefully around him. My fingertips gently ran over over the peach fuzz for hair on the top of his head. I tilted my head to try and get the best look at his face.

He already looked like Taron. His lips thin and his nose just the same. Eye shape almost exactly the same. But the eye color he had inherited from me. Somewhere between blue and gray.

My crying had never stopped- it had only grown quieter as I held our son. It didn’t seem possible that he was here already. Nine months had gone so quickly.

Taron sat down on the bed, reaching and running a finger back and forth on our son’s cheek.

“We have a son,” he said quietly.

I wanted to look away from our son, to see Taron but I couldn’t. My attention was purely devoted to him. “He’s perfect…,” I murmured. “Taron, just look at him…” My words seemed to catch in my throat as I admired him. It felt like my heart was swelling in my chest the longer I looked at him. “My sweet boy… How can I love him so much and he just got here?”

A weak chuckle escaped Taron’s lips. “I love him too.. You did so good, Rose. I’m so proud of you. I love you.”

“I love you too, T.”

We sat quietly, just taking our little one in and watching his eyes flutter open and shut. “He needs a name,” Taron said, his hand now on the back of our baby’s head.

We had gone through tons and tons of names but we hadn’t ever agreed on one. It was hard to imagine what to name our child when we had no clue what we were having and I wanted to see our little one before picking something.

Now that I saw him, I knew exactly what his name was.

“Alexander Cariad.”

“Cariad?” Taron repeated to me.

I nodded, finally looking at Taron. His own cheeks were wet from tears as he smiled widely at me. “Keep it Welsh,” I answered with a little smile.

Taron leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to my lips then to my forehead. “Alexander Cariad Egerton…” I could see the proud look on his face as he turned his attention back to

I smiled as he wiped my cheeks, collecting tears with his thumbs just before I could look back at our little one. “Handsome… Just like his daddy.”

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A/N: Thank you for being patient with me, loves. The last few weeks have been a lot and I needed to give my mind a rest. Also just a reminder: I am not a mother, I haven’t given birth so anything I write is from research or asking friends and family. If you notice anything, feel free to DM me. <3

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