#Oh how this decade has fallen

[th3-c0ll3ct3r]

I genuinely cannot believe that 2024 ONLY HOPE OF REDEMPTION is Minecraft YouTubers pet picture

[wri0thesley]

eyes - neuvillette x reader (8.5k)

you have always known, one day, you would be married off to someone not of your choosing. but you certainly never expected it to be the iudex himself.

cw: not sfw text. explicitly chubby virgin reader, some insecurity, arranged marriage. double dick neuvillette, cunnilingus, bathing together. reader is afab but referred to with neutral pronouns.

this was a commissioned work.

There are certain standards one must follow as a child of Fontainian society; certain things that are expected of you. A certain way to speak and move and act - a set of rules that have been laid out clearly for you since the day you were born. You will know which fork to use at which mealtime. You will know the difference between what is appropriate to wear to a matinee and to an evening show. You will trust your elders to guide you, and you will be grateful for the life that they have oh-so-painstakingly laid out. 

So you are not surprised when your mother tells you that you are to be wed. 

You have even been expecting it. Since you became of a marriageable age, you have looked at all of the other children of society and wondered what kind of match your family might make. One of your own generation? Older, perhaps - more secure in their wealth and their status and position? You have even laughed about it with your friends, when you were out of earshot of all of your elders - discussing who would be the worst options, gossiping about who has had who over for tea recently. 

She’s surprisingly tight-lipped about who you’re going to wed, too. That’s not unexpected either, though it does make anxiety roil hot and sour in your gut. Plenty of children have run away from home so as not to be wed to somebody decades and decades their senior, or somebody with a reputation for cruelty - or sometimes even because the match that has been made has not taken into account a love affair unbeknownst to the elders of the family. 

You have no such love affair to romantically dash off into the sunset with; you have been a good and dutiful child your whole life. And though you do, perhaps, wish that you could know what it was like to have a love so fiery and passionate you would disobey the only life you’ve ever known . . . you have come to accept that will not be your lot in life. 

You have even worried once or twice that somebody, upon finding that they were engaged to you, might wish to run away. You have looked in the mirror and scrutinised your face, your posture, your body - a body that has fallen out of fashion recently, the beauty ideal in Fontaine being very much ‘look as much like Lady Furina as possible’. It is your body, though - and it has stood you in good stead, and the night in which you are finally to meet your betrothed your mother and your maid stand in your bedroom looking approvingly at how your gown falls over the soft peaks and curves of your hips and chest. 

All you know about this person who you are to be wedded to is that every time your family talks of them, they can barely hide the smiles on their faces and the superior lilt to their tone. Whatever match has been made for you . . . they are utterly ecstatic about it. 

“I think he’ll be more than pleased,” your mother says, tugging at a fold of fabric - she had chosen to have this dress made in pale blue, though it is not a colour that has been in your wardrobe before. A man, then; a well-placed man who makes your family giddy with excitement - a man partial to the colour blue and a spouse whose figure runs more to curves than lines. 

It is not a lot to go on. 

So you do not know what to expect, as you are brought down the stairs and into the dining room. All kinds of thoughts dance through your head; some pleasant, some . . . not so. You know that you will meekly accept what you have been given, the way you have been brought up to do - and it is not lost on you that the trajectory of tonight will perhaps influence your life for years and years to come. There is always the chance that, seeing you in person, your parent’s intended will reject you--

Your mind is churning at a hundred thoughts a minute as you step inside the dining room - but when you see who is seated at the head of the table, all of those thoughts seem to clatter to the ground at once. 

It is a wonder that your mouth does not drop open. 

In all of the time you have spent gossiping about possible matches in society, nobody has ever mentioned - even off-handedly - the possibility that the Chief Justice of Fontaine may be looking to marry. 

But there sits Monsieur Neuvillette - a little awkward, yes (he is being chattered to most insistently by your father), but straight and tall and handsome in his chair, his robes of office perfectly pressed, his face schooled carefully into a polite look of vague interest. Your mother coughs, and he looks up--

And his eyes, the colour of the evening sky or a perfect sapphire, widen just a touch. His mouth opens, the barest amount - and you swear that as his gaze sweeps over your form in your carefully chosen blue dress (a choice you are beginning to understand), he visibly swallows. 

“Ah,” he says, and he stands - walking towards you, bending and inclining his head. “It’s a pleasure to . . . finally meet you in person.” You’re still rather stunned speechless by everything that is happening - you cannot help but feel as though things are happening around you, and not to you - but as Neuvillette uses one of his gloved hands to take yours and to press a lingering kiss on your palm that makes your entire body feel as though it is on fire, you are suddenly all too aware of just what is going on. “You look radiant tonight.”

“M-Monsieur,” you say in return, and you sweep what must be the clumsiest curtsey of your life. “I . . . I have to admit that this is a surprise.” 

“Not an unwelcome one,” your mother puts in before he can respond. “Of course, we’re delighted with this match, and we’re absolutely sure you’ll be delighted with them--”

“I understand,” Neuvillette says, his eyes not leaving you. “If I may be frank with you, until recently I had never thought to marry.” 

Questions rise in your throat. If he had not thought to marry, why was he doing it now? And why you, when surely he must see the upper echelons of society every single day? What had brought him to your family’s door, asking after your hand over everyone else he must have had first pick of? But these are not polite questions for the dinner table, when your mother and your father are already ushering the two of you to your seats beside one another and beaming so brightly that it hurts to look at them. 

The dinner table is a place for light, polite conversation; the last opera you saw, the weather. Neuvillette smiles into his wine glass - a glass you notice is filled with water - when you mention that it has not seemed to rain much recently. You notice him looking at you every so often, over rims of glasses and delicate bites of foods . . . but you know that you, too, cannot help but sneak a glance at the Iudex of Fontaine seated by your side. 

Your future husband! Your betrothed! The man you will spend the rest of your life with! 

As much as you may wish for a moment alone with him, you know it is not proper; so when he stands and kisses your hand again and your father takes Neuvillette into his study to hash out some further details of your impending nuptials, you swallow your disappointment and remind yourself that you will have years with Neuvillette, to learn his secrets - to discover why he has decided to take you as a spouse. 

There is little time for getting to know one another beyond the most surface of levels when a marriage has been arranged for you - there is even littler time when the man you are going to marry is one of the most powerful and busiest men in Fontaine. Even the few times you see each other as the wedding looms closer - the period your parents optimistically refer to as ‘courting’ - there is little time to get to know his heart. 

You realise, at the final fitting for your wedding clothes, that the first time you will be truly alone with the man who is to be your husband will be the night of your wedding. 

And that particular thought . . . 

You know the ways of the world. You know what will be expected of you, in order to properly consummate a marriage - you know that you will be intimate with Neuvillette for years to come. But the idea that the first time that the two of you will be able to snatch time with one another with no parents or gossip-mongers or anybody else around will also be the time in which you and he will legally become one (and you know, from experience at the Opera Epiclese, that Neuvillette is nothing if not a stickler for the law) . . . oh, it is enough to make you reconsider one last time running away from your responsibilities. 

“Mother?” You ask, your voice quiet, the night before your wedding. You have spent the entire day overseeing flowers and being asked questions, watching the cooks and the waiters bring in fine delicacies from all over Teyvat (Neuvillette had not wanted hosting duties; you get the impression that as long as the ceremony was done legally, he would be pleased enough to call you his spouse. But your parents have been preparing for this your whole life, so they had indeed wanted the spectacle of their child marrying the most powerful man in Fontaine. With no family to speak of, he had acquiesced to their desires. Your parents are in shivers of delight that Lady Furina will, too, grace the halls of your family home). “What if . . . what if I do not please him?”

You are sitting before your dressing table, in your sleeping robe, haunted by thoughts of all of the things that could go wrong whilst your mother double checks your wedding gown and the jewellery you are to wear tomorrow. She looks over at you - her face is normally hard, but as she sees the knit of your brow and the bite of your teeth into your lip, she sighs softly. 

“You have nothing to worry about,” she says, stroking your cheek. “The Iudex asked for you specifically.” You blink at her, wide-eyed, and she laughs a soft little laugh. “Don’t let it get to your head, now; they have been badgering him to marry for some time . . . but he did ask for you, out of all of the people he could have had. So take heart in that. Do you think him a foolish man?”

“No,” you shake your head, your voice a soft whisper. You suppose that Neuvillette is many things, but ‘foolish’ would not be one that would cross your mind. 

“There. You and he are going to have a happy life together.” A sly look steals over her face. “Ah . . . are you worried about the wedding night itself?”

“Mama!”

“It’s something we all go through, my dear.” She catches your chin in her hand and smiles at you, and for a moment, despite all of the times you have disliked her for the life you have been forced into . . . you are reminded that she is your mother, and she wants this to work just as much as you do. “Do not be frightened of him. Do not be overwhelmed by him. He has chosen you to be his equal, but he will not expect too much of you. I promise . . . everything is going to be fine.” She gives you a wink. “And if I were you, and were to marry a man who looked like the Chief Justice - why, I’d be positively thrilling with excitement at the thought of my wedding night!”

“Mama!” This time, your scandalised tone brings her out in peals of laughter, and she kisses the top of your head as she leaves the bedroom. The door clicks behind her. 

Your final night in your childhood room; your final night unmarried. One last slumber amongst your own silken pillows and sheets (what kind of bed, you wonder, does the Chief Justice sleep in?). 

That night, you dream of a sea that churns with a similar anxiety to the one that you feel in your own belly. 

The morning of your wedding day, it is raining. Your family fuss over it, but as you stand at your window with people running all about you, messing with your hair and rearranging your dress and having arguments about your bouquet, you cannot help but find it comforting to watch the rain fall in droplets, stopping and starting again, mirroring your own still-nervous heart. 

You think you will falter at the last hurdle, as you stand outside of the Opera Epiclese - normally a place of theatricals, but also a place of the law, and the place that the most important part of your wedding day will occur - and take a deep breath ready to start your new life. The bouquet in your hands is full of rainbow roses and romaritime flowers, bursting with colour; you are grateful to have it to hold on to, as the doors are thrown open and you walk slowly down the aisle of the theatre. 

Your eyes desperately seek out someone who will provide you an ounce of comfort in the crowd, all peering at you curiously to see the person who has finally tamed the Chief Justice. This is a spectacle as much as a wedding, you suppose; and as you see some people whisper behind their hands, you wonder if you have been found wanting. You bite your lip hard to stop yourself crying - and then, onstage, his hands clasped over his cane, your gaze finds Neuvillette himself. 

The patter of the rain on the roof of the Opera stops all at once. For a moment, you swear everything falls silent, as you and he look at each other. 

Slowly, his mouth breaks into a small, secret smile, and the buzz of whispering intensifies - but that smile is enough to steady you. To remind you he has been nothing but kind and polite. To whisper to you that perhaps this union is a thing to look forward to, and not to be feared. 

He looks as handsome as ever; his suit perfectly-pressed, his hair streaming in a neat silver white tail behind him. There are flowers that have been braided into it; and you see, as you ascend the stairs to the stage, that there are a group of Melusines sitting in the front rows with matching little bouquets of Lumidouce bells grasped in their little hands, beaming up at the Iudex. 

Lady Furina presides over the proceedings, tossing her hair and preening and holding the audience in the palm of her hand - another reminder that theatrics are more respected than the law in a land like Fontaine. But you cannot bring yourself to mind too much - not when Neuvillette’s smile is steady, his eyes trained on you the whole time. Not when, as he repeats the words in a clear voice like a ringing bell, he whispers them again as if they are only for you. Not when he takes his bare hands - ungloved, for the exchange of the rings - and holds your own, soft and round and dimpled, as he slides the ring onto your finger as if you are the most delicate thing in the world. 

When Furina - with more glee in her voice than you would have expected - announces that he may now kiss you, you feel your shoulders draw up in anxiety. The entire audience goes quiet, waiting with baited breath for this - as if it is one of the things they have been waiting for all day. Neuvillette, though, keeps his gaze on you. He acts as though there are not a thousand Fontainian citizens watching your every move - slowly, he places his arm around your waist and draws you closer to him, so close that the crowds seem to melt away and there is nobody but the two of you. 

“You look beautiful, by the way,” he murmurs into your ear, angling his head so that the crowd cannot see that he has said something that is only for the two of you (no doubt they would be baying to be privy to the marriage bed, if they thought they could get away with it) - and then, his lips brush against yours. They are cool and soft; the lightest tang of sea-salt remains on your own after he is done. The crowd roars with their approval as he steps back and bows to you, pressing his forehead to the back of your hand - and you stand there, trembling, excited and nervous and frightened and on display all at once, as your new husband takes you by the hand and gently, gently leads you back down one of the aisles of the opera, out to the waiting carriages to spirit you away from the spectacle of the opera house and into the spectacle that your parents have designed as a celebration. 

As it turns out, it is not so bad. Your parents have understood, at the very least, that the two of you will be retiring early to Neuvillette’s residence (your trunks already packed, already loaded onto a carriage to be delivered in the next few days). They have managed to rein themselves in; only invite the most important echelons of society to this celebration, despite the luxury and the excess that has been coming into the house for weeks now. 

So you bow to Lady Furina and accept her compliments with a stutter and hot cheeks, Neuvillette by your side, his steadying hand on your waist. Neuvillette expertly manages to weave around your family’s ballroom as if he has been doing it all his life - but then, remembering how much older he is than you, you suppose that he has been doing it at least as long as you have been alive. He has a remarkable way of remaining polite, yet not brokering too much room for small talk and gossip, as if he can tell that this kind of thing is not your favourite. 

You overhear, when you have been spirited away from your husband’s side for ten minutes by some of your friends, an older couple accosting Neuvillette. 

“You had all of the choice in the world,” the man says, poking Neuvillette in the centre of his chest - from the slur in his words, you think he may have partaken in a touch too much of your parent’s imported dandelion wine. “Whyever did you make this one?”

Your heart stutters in your chest; a trickle of sweat rolls down the back of your wedding gown. This is what you have been fearful of, this whole time - you being found wanting, you being seen as not good enough for Neuvillette--

But your new husband merely smiles. 

“I have eyes,” he says, mildly, and he turns away from the couple and brings an end to the conversation that you know must leave them utterly blistering. He comes to find you, instead - apologising most profusely to your friends for having to steal you away. 

You stay for as short a time as you can manage, with the congratulations and the toasts and the speeches (a Melusine or two makes a speech for Neuvillette; you much prefer their simple honesty to some of the awful gushing things that come from the mouths of connections of your parents who have never given much care to you before), with the cake being cut--

“Here,” Neuvillette murmurs, and your cheeks go hot as he feeds you a bite of his own slice from the same fork he has been using. “I must confess that this is rather too sweet for me.” 

By the time that Neuvillette begins to make his excuses, bowing and smiling and thanking his hosts and the guests, the moon is already hanging white and plump in the black velvet of the night - and as you say goodbye to your parents, your Mama gives you a wink that makes you go hot all over. 

Neuvillette’s residence is surprisingly unassuming; it is smaller than your parents house, and he does not employ half as many maids or staff. For a moment, his gaze flitters over to you, and you sense a nervousness in the air. 

“I am sorry if it is not what you were expecting,” he says, voice clipped - but you shake your head, and try and let some of the anxiety drain from your tight shoulders. 

“It’s lovely,” you say, firmly, as he helps you out of the carriage. This time, when his gloved hand - he has chosen to put his gloves back on, his wedding ring glinting over the black satin - touches your waist, you gasp. The frisson of promise that runs through the touch makes you feel dizzy with possibility. Neuvillette looks at you with those dark sapphire eyes of his, and murmurs;

“I apologise if you’re nervous. I have no wish to . . . make you do anything you don’t want to. I am more than willing to wait-- the law does not require we consummate directly on our wedding night, and if you are frightened--”

A drop of rain lands on your cheek. 

“No,” you breathe out, all in a rush, surprised to find it falling from your lips as you say it. But then you think of his lingering kiss, of the way he shut down that couple at the wedding reception, of that private smile he had given you to soothe your fears as you walked down the aisle, and you’re even more surprised to find that you mean it. “Not at all. I-- I am nervous, but . . .”

He gives you another soft, gentle smile that makes your heart feel ready to burst out of your chest. The raindrop you had felt has no companions; simply a freak occurrence in the weather. 

“I must admit,” he murmurs, as he helps you towards his front door. “I am very pleased to hear that. I hope you won’t find it remiss of me to admit that I have been . . . rather looking forward to it.”

Your cheeks go hot again. The idea of Neuvillette, imagining you like that, even waiting for it . . . it is hard not to find it at once flattering and embarrassing. Neuvillette opens the door for you, but as you go to step inside--

“Ah, just a moment--” He leans his cane against the front door, and reaches for you. “I’m aware there’s a custom about bringing one’s new spouse over the threshold, and I would hate to break tradition--”

“You don’t have to,” you say, stuttering on the words. “I’m not light--”

But Neuvillette has already reached for you, already wrapped a surprisingly strong arm about your waist - and before you know it, as if he hasn’t needed to exert any energy at all, you have been pulled into his hold, held like a princess being rescued by a knight. 

You look up at him, and he looks down at you, his smile soft once more. 

“You feel perfectly light in my arms,” he tells you, as he steps over the threshold with you and gently places you down as softly and carefully as he had picked you up. You were not expecting the strength from him - he wears his robes of office, of course, and he certainly has the height, but there’s a kind of willowiness about him that does not exactly betray him being able to do such a thing. 

(If he can do that, a wicked little voice in your head whispers, imagine what else he could do to you - how easily he could manipulate you in a more intimate moment--)

It’s almost as if he can read your mind. He laughs a clear, silvery laugh like the rushing of a river. 

“Shall I show you to our bedchambers?” He asks you. “I’m sure you’ll want to get all of your finery off soon; it looks rather heavy. If you are not opposed . . . perhaps we may bathe together?”

Your heart, beating double time in your chest. Neuvillette’s eyes, cool and calm. The way your blood seems to sing in your veins. You smile back at him. 

“I would like that very much.”

Neuvillette’s house may not be as extravagant as expected, but the bathroom more than makes up for it - and most of all, the bathtub set into the floor, as wide as a swimming pool. He sees your look of surprise and laughs, sounding for once a little embarrassed.

“I enjoy being able to relax in water - natural water most of all,” he tells you, “but it would be rather . . . scandalous, if an ordinary citizen were to find me unexpectedly. This is my compromise. One of my vices, you may say.”

As vices go, it is a tame one, and you look at the bathtub - already full of clear water, so you can see the mosaic tiles on the bottom (the tub itself is stepped, so one can simply sit and relax at one end or perhaps even use the other end to swim a few strokes). 

“I loved to swim when I was little,” you say, wistfully. “As I got older, my parents thought the idea of me wearing my swim clothes too often was improper, but . . .”

“Well,” Neuvillette says, placing his hands upon your hips with only the lightest of pressure as if he is still too afraid to touch you too much. “You are welcome to use this bathroom for swimming whenever you wish. It is not quite the same, of course, but I want nothing more than you to be happy here. What’s mine is yours now, sweet one.”

It’s the first pet name he has used for you, and it makes your mouth go dry. Slowly, you turn towards him. You are about to be naked together, you suppose - even if you are going to bathe before anything more intimate happens - so you ought to be braver. You reach for his face, palms warm on his cheeks - and though his eyes flash in surprise, he gladly leans in to let you kiss him. 

This time, you let the kiss linger for longer; this private moment in the sanctity of a home that is to be shared between you. He sighs into your mouth and pulls you closer himself, so as you cradle his face his palms rest upon the ample curve of your hip. His teeth tug, almost shyly, at your bottom lip - and you feel your lashes flutter, your heart give an answering skip in your chest. His tongue traces the seam of your mouth and you part your lips, allowing him to take you as he wants - but even this ‘taking’ is done slowly, carefully, like a man who wishes to savour you. 

You pull back, your breath coming in soft little gasps - Neuvillette’s eyes are half-lidded, but it does not stop him smiling at you, putting you at ease. 

“We ought to disrobe,” he tells you, kindly - and he gently motions for you to turn, so that he may work at the difficult laces and hooks of your bridal outfit. You feel a little shy, as the fabric pools around your ankles, and you are left bare - but then he is turning you around, and in his eyes you see something that must be close to worship. 

“I am a man who says what I mean,” he tells you, tilting your chin upward toward him. “I have not spared your ego, little one - everything I see before me is . . .” He shakes his head, letting loose a ragged breath, more undone than you’ve seen him before. “More than I could ever have asked for.” One gloved finger trails across your lips, tracing a patch from the corner of your mouth down to your throat, your collarbone - reaching behind you to unclip your undergarments, so they fall to the ground with your gown. “You’re truly the loveliest creature.” 

“I--”

He shakes his head, smiling still. 

“Perhaps in my choice of a spouse,” he murmurs, “I let my own desires overtake me a touch . . . but ah, if you could see yourself the way I see you--”

You hesitantly hook your thumbs into your underwear and stand before him, naked completely - and you win, for your bravery, another ragged breath. 

“I must warn you,” Neuvillette murmurs, as he reaches for his own collar and begins to unbutton, to untie, to work the trappings of his own outfit off of himself. “You may be . . . surprised.”

“By what?” You feel brave enough to give him a little smile, though your heart is still beating faster than you’ve ever felt it. “Am I to discover you have been hiding extra limbs?”

Neuvillette’s gaze does not falter. 

“Something like that,” he agrees, mildly, as he slips his shirt and coat from his shoulders. His skin is milky pale in the moonlight streaming in from a window set high in the wall, his hair glimmering silver. He takes your breath away. 

Who would have thought you would ever find yourself in this position with the Chief Justice of Fontaine? 

He unbuttons his placket slowly - and as he carefully works down the fabric of his trousers, you realise exactly what it was he was warning you about. 

“I hope I do not disappoint you,” he says, as your mouth falls open at the sight of his cocks; resting one atop another, both half-swollen already. Your mouth goes dry at the thought of your wedding night, still to come. “I assure you, I know exactly what to do with them.” 

“I--I didn’t mean to--!” Your voice comes out a little panicked - but then, Neuvillette lets out a soft huff of laughter. 

“It’s quite alright,” he tells you. “But I will reiterate; I will not hurt you. You are . . . more than welcome to touch. But if we do not get in soon, I fear the water will have gone cold.” 

Neuvillette helps you into the bath, surprisingly unashamed of his own nakedness. At the press of his body against yours as he helps you down the steps inlaid into the tub, you feel his cocks jump against you, the wet smear of something against the dip of your back - but then, Neuvillette is lowering himself into the water beside you and letting loose a sigh of pure bliss that sends a coil of heat spiralling to between your thighs. 

You have never partaken in the gossip that surrounds Neuvillette, about his pointed ears or his inhumanly lovely face or his age - you would never have expected what he is hiding in his trousers. But as you sit beside your new husband, you cannot help but feel as though it makes perfect sense - a man like him could not be ordinary. And you trust him when he tells you he will not hurt you; when he says he knows what he’s doing, you think of all of the time he has on you and you have to suppress a shiver of desire for what he may have to teach you. 

He touches you, as the two of you bathe together. Lets his fingers massage the shampoo into your hair, lets his hands slide the washcloth over the contours of your body until you can barely breathe for the hot trails of fire that he leaves in his wake. You do not think he means to inflame you so - but then, he allows you to do the same thing to him, and he shudders and leans back into your touch, a soft noise almost like a purr falling from the back of his throat, and he realises exactly what bathing together is doing to you both. 

Still. The two of you linger there; touching one another. Getting to know one another’s bodies without any fear, for beneath the water all is muffled and calm. His fingers learn the shape of your nipples when he pinches them, how they pucker and harden beneath him. His palms learn the weight of your breasts, heavy and ample in his hands. His mouth learns the taste of your shoulders, as he drops hot, wet kisses across the span of them, the nape of your neck. And in return you feel the silkiness of his hair, the softness of his skin, the feel of his corded muscle beneath his deceptively slender frame. 

By the time the two of you are wrapped in fluffy towels the colour of an early morning sky, you are both hot with want. Neuvillette’s twin cocks seem to pulse with his desire; you can no longer tell if you are slick and wet from the bath or from the space between your thighs. You shyly look at one another through lowered lashes, though, as the wedding night and all it entails comes closer and closer and closer. 

“It’s a beautiful night,” you say to him, when the two of you have finally entered the bedroom. Neuvillette’s window is open a crack, enough so that the lacy curtains flutter in the light night-time breeze. “You would hardly think it’s been raining on and off all day.”

“Mmm,” Neuvillette agrees, as you feel him come up behind you. He slowly takes your hands, encouraging you to drop the towel; and then you stand before him, naked again, but with something far more than a bath in your future. He leans in and presses a kiss to the sensitive place where your neck and shoulder meet, just barely grazing it with surprisingly sharp teeth. “I should not wonder if it doesn’t rain again for some time.”

Neuvillette leads you to the bed, his hand firmly around yours. He is unerringly gentle and patient with you, as he urges you to sit upon the bedcovers - and your breath catches when you do as he asks, and instead of joining you he sinks onto his knees. You have never thought to imagine the Chief Justice kneeling before you, and the sight of it makes you buzz all over in anticipation. He smiles at your unsurety - and leans in, pressing a kiss to your knee, gently urging you to spread your thighs for him. His gloves are stripped away, but his wedding ring gleams on his finger as his fingers sink into the soft, full skin of your thigh. 

He leans in, pressing another kiss to the side of your knee. Higher, higher, higher he trails them - and his breath fans cool against your heated core, and your fingers clench into the bedsheets in surprise at what he might be about to do. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmurs to you, his cheek pressing silky against your skin, as he suckles a love-bite into the part where your leg meets your pelvis. “I merely want to ensure you’re adequately prepared.”

“Y-you don’t need to,” you say, breathless, hot, embarrassed and needy all at once. This is an act of such intimacy, you do not know how to parse the thought of the Iudex doing it to you - but he gives you a smile that is not without a hint of fang, the wickedest look you have seen upon his face so far, and he reaches between the two of you to use his thumb to pull apart the lips of your sex so you are revealed to him. 

“Oh,” he breathes. “But I want to, sweet one. And . . . looking at how wet you are for me, I daresay you want me to do so too.”

“M-Monsieur--”

“Neuvillette,” he murmurs, and he presses a kiss directly onto your sex, slick and wet with your own excitement, his nose brushing across the swollen nub of your clit. “Use my name.”

“Neuvillette--” It comes out rather thin and reedy, but Neuvillette does not seem to notice - instead, he seems rather preoccupied by what lies between your thighs. Your fingers tighten when you feel his tongue slide across you, gathering your slick upon the tip. There’s a strange quality to it, almost as if it is longer and firmer than a human tongue ought to be - and as he flickers his tip over your clit, again and again and again, and you shudder from the sensations he draws forth . . . you wonder if, too, his tongue is forked--

Thoughts quickly dissipate from your head when there is a man knelt between your thighs, though, and it is no different for you. The wondering is quickly chased away by the hungry way that Neuvillette laps at you, like a man who has been parched for water for months. 

Through it, he urges you to part your thighs as wide as you can, so that he can more thoroughly attack you with his tongue - and with every stroke, with every suck and lick and groan of him against you, you feel a knot tighten in your stomach in a way you have never experienced. It is like his mouth is a match, setting fire to your core - despite how you can feel wetness dripping down you, onto his bedcovers, surely soaking his chin and his lips. 

He does something with his tongue - a twirl, a flourish - and his name comes spilling out of your lips like a prayer, and the idea that he may at some point stop using his mouth on you flashes across your synapses like a tragedy. Without realising you’re doing it, you move one hand to grip his silvery hair, to keep him anchored against you - you realise, too, that it is not merely his name spilling out of you like an overturned wineglass. Pleas and whimpers and begging have joined the fray, and you would ordinarily cringe at being thought so wanting. But with Neuvillette’s mouth, with the promise of what he is trying to wring from you--

Shame seems unimportant compared to the way he shudders at your hand in his hair, the way his tongue intensifies flicking against your clit. 

He pulls back, breathing heavy, mouth glittering with your slick. 

“I’m going to put a finger inside you,” he tells you, and you are grateful that he too sounds a little breathless. You cannot imagine just how embarrassing it would be to be the only one falling apart. 

“I want . . . you,” you say, not without a touch of petulance, and Neuvillette lets out a hoarse little laugh. Still kneeling before you, he reaches up to touch your warmed face - his thumb, too, glitters with your arousal from the way he had held you open. You cannot bring yourself to care when he softly smears it across your bottom lip like an offering, and he lets out a shuddering groan at the sight of your tongue swiping it off. 

“I want you,” he says. “Oh, you have no idea how much I want you. But I will not hurt you, sweet one. Let me prepare you.”

It feels very much like him; this way of taking charge, his firm words. This time, his hand curves up your inner thigh, and your breath catches as his finger slides between the valley of your sex, wetting itself in your slick and his saliva. Your toes curl into his plush carpet as he nudges your clit with his fingertip, as a soft noise of surprise escapes your mouth and he chuckles. 

He slides one finger inside of you with no resistance at all. His earlier ministrations have seen to that. It’s a strange sensation, to have something inside that is not one of your own fingers (rather smaller, rather shorter than his) - but it is hardly unwelcome. You whisper out his name, your eyes closing, and Neuvillette makes a gentle noise of encouragement. 

“That’s right,” he murmurs to you, as he slowly begins to pump his finger in and out of you. “You’re doing so well - you’re taking it beautifully. I’m going to put a second one in--”

He does exactly as he says, and the hand still knit in his hair tugs at the silvery strands a little harder. It is not that it is painful, but simply that it is a stretch you are unused to - and one, too, that you know will continue to intensify. 

You feel a strange, cool shock at the entrance to your sex - and you chance a glance down and realise it is his wedding ring, pressing against you. The sight and the knowledge makes you shudder, and Neuvillette huffs out a noise of want in return. 

You think of the cocks, straining beneath the vee of Neuvillette’s pelvis. You cannot see them now, but from the way they had looked when the two of you were just bathing, you feel certain they must be swollen stiff and hard, waiting for their own chance (and too, from the spots of colour on Neuvillette’s cheeks, the way his words have a strange, dry edge to them when he speaks). How will he put those inside of you? One at a time? Both at once? 

“What are you thinking about?” Neuvillette asks, raising his gaze to meet your own, a smile tugging at the corners of the lips. “You suddenly tightened around me.” 

“I--!” Your cheeks go hot, embarrassment making warmth seep down your back. Neuvillette laughs. 

“No need to keep secrets,” he murmurs, slowly establishing another rhythm, a slow pump of his two fingers inside of you, scissoring slightly to open you up. “We are married now, sweet one. We can share everything. Mmm . . . let me see. Were you imagining my fingers to be my cock?”

“Neuvillette--” Your voice is a weak little protest, and you avert your gaze shyly even as you force the words out. “I was . . . will you put them both inside of me?” Your gaze slips over his face again, nervous to see his reaction - his eyes widen in surprise, but it is not at all a look of anger. 

“Not tonight,” he tells you, and he smiles again. “I fear it may be too much for you. Ah, but if that’s what you want . . . my dear, I know you’d feel exquisite.” 

His fingers, pumping in and out, curling inside of you. His words, velvet-draped and deep - the look of concentration on his face, insistent on nothing more than drawing pleasure forward from you. You feel the hot tension inside of you reach a breaking point - a pot, ready to bubble over. 

“I must confess,” he breathes, leaning in, breath hitting your sex hot and close. “I was worried you might be afraid. I’m terribly glad to know what an effect the idea has on you.”

As he finishes the sentence, he lets his tongue drag out one slow, final lap of your clit - and it is just enough to push you over the final edge. The bubbling pot within you reaches boiling point - and the most intense pleasure you’ve ever felt, like molten heat, suffuses you entirely. Your head falls back. A noise of sheer enjoyment falls wanton from your lips - your thighs and your hips and your entire body trembles and shakes in the pleasure, and you feel your sex pulsating and throbbing around the two of Neuvillette’s fingers that are inside of you. 

“Lovely,” Neuvillette murmurs, watching you in awe, his fingers slowing down as he lets you ride out the waves of your orgasm. “Oh, you’re . . . exquisite.”

“Neuvillette,” you say, collapsing back onto the bed, your breath coming in harsh pants. “I was afraid, at first. But I don’t think I could be. Not knowing what you’re like now. Not anymore.”

“Sweet thing.” Neuvillette stands. He steps forward and you see him again - his cocks are indeed straining, silvery precome dripping from the dual tips and smeared over the flat planes of his stomach. “You have no idea what you do to me. May I . . . ?” 

He does not need to ask. You think you would grant him whatever he asked for - you cannot imagine Neuvillette overstepping your boundaries, when he has been so sweet and so careful and so guiding for as long as you’ve known him, even knowing he could do whatever he wanted to you and nobody would blame him. But it warms your heart that he asks even so. 

“Please do,” you breathe, and you spread your thighs wider to accommodate him on the bed. 

His hands scoop under your hips, his palms firm on your ass as he moves you higher up the bed, ensuring that your head and shoulders are propped up with a mound of pillows. Even with his cocks practically twitching, he prioritises you before himself, and you cannot resist another show of appreciation, wrapping your hand around his neck and pulling him down into a kiss. 

He groans into your mouth, the movement clearly welcome - but when he mouths at you now, he is far messier than he has been before, his teeth just a little more present. You think he must be losing some of his control, and as his cocks nudge against your inner thighs, you are proved correct. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes against your lips, pulling back just far enough to be able to speak. “I cannot hold myself back a moment longer--”

“Please, Neuvillette,” you whisper, fingers still in his hair. 

His lower cock nudges against your sex, the ring of muscle that will grant him entrance - and as he opens you up, his second cock rubs over the swollen over-sensitive nub of your clit and you whine. 

He covers your whine with another kiss. He eases into you, moment by moment, inch by inch - you have nothing to compare it to, but you think from the slow tempo he goes at and the way his gaze keeps flicking over you, checking you’re alright, he must be larger than average. 

But he has prepared you well. The stretch is an ache, but a pleasant one - it does not send painful shockwaves all through you. Your thighs wrap around his hips, pulling him as close as you can manage, and Neuvillette sighs. 

“Will you kiss me again?” He murmurs, so softly you almost do not hear him. The request makes your heart feel like bursting in your chest - the soft way he looks at you, his unwillingness to pull away from you, his desire to be as close to you as he can even when he is buried inside of you. 

You do. Arms wrap around his shoulders. His hands find purchase on your hips. His mouth and yours dance against one another - his tongue learning yours as if he is learning a new language. 

He fucks you like that. 

He is not rough with you, that first night; he does not, as you have heard so many new husbands do, take you and have you and ignore what you might want. Neuvillette cherishes you. 

The slow rock of his hips, indulgent in their rhythm. The way he kisses you. He is chasing his own release, but he does not feel any need to fuck into you with abandon. At least not yet. 

But time ticks on. The two of you seem to meld into one entity, and the kissing and the fucking grows sharper at the edges. You feel that Neuvillette is hovering on something, his expression almost desperate, as he rearranges the angle of his hips and the speed of his thrusts. 

“Please,” he whispers, broken-voiced. “I’m close--”

You let go of him and he lets out a noise of distress at the lack of contact, a noise that makes you shiver with the idea of how much power you may one day have over him. But instead of anything else, one of your hands darts between you, to take a firm grip on his second cock. Neuvillette hisses through his teeth at your hand, hot and firm. 

You do not know what you’re doing, not really, but that does not seem to bother Neuvillette as he increases the speed of his hips. In fact, he does most of the work - fucking his lower cock inside of you, hot and deep and wet, and fucking the cock atop it into your fist. You manage to work out a kind of twisting motion that makes him growl in the back of his throat--

It’s a fascinating noise, really. It makes you think of him as an animal, something feral and possessive - and you wonder what, later on, you may learn about him--

But then your name is falling from his lips like a prayer, and his cock is twitching inside of you and in your grip, and your back arches at the same time as he leans forward and sinks his teeth into your shoulder--

(Almost like a claiming bite. Almost like a mark to say that you are his). 

And both of you come, together, in great waves and pants and gasps of breath. His come paints your fist and the round softness of your stomach at the same time as it paints inside of you, your body once more pulsating around his cock as if it never wants to let you go. 

Like a tide on the shore; like a moon rising high over the lakes of Fontaine. Neuvillette lets himself lay atop of you, his head against your heart, his breath coming in great heaves. 

You do not need to think this time; you simply lift your unsoiled hand and begin to stroke the silver of his hair in slow, careful motions. From the back of his throat again comes that noise, something like a purr and something like a chirrup. His eyes close contentedly. 

“Neuvillette?” You whisper into the darkness, and your husband makes a soft ‘mm?’ of response. “You really . . . could have had anyone. Why did you choose me?”

“Hmm, sweet one?” He lifts his head from your chest and looks down at you like you have asked him why the sky is blue. “Didn’t you hear me earlier? I certainly did have my pick . . . I perhaps wouldn’t have chosen to marry if Lady Furina hadn’t been so insistent, but I was lucky enough to be able to choose anybody I wanted. And I had seen you.” He shakes his head, a huff of laughter falling from his mouth. “Like I said - I do have eyes.”

Your cheeks feel hot. The thought of being coveted by Monsieur Neuvillette, when you had worried about your body and your match and your future so often it felt like second nature--

“Oh dear,” he says, looking down at the two of you - at the sweat-slicked hair, at the come drying on your inner thigh. “I fear we’ll need to have another bath before bed.” 

“And you won’t mind if I join you?”

He chuckles. 

“Why,” he says. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

[badgerbl00d]

captain's girl

☆ characters: akagami no shanks

☆ up next: tbd

☆ summary: shanks has always had a soft spot for you but as he spends more time around you that feeling intensifies- he's fallen, and hard.. how will he confess?

☆ a/n: i lost the ask that originally submitted this but i loved this prompt! so so cute and always lovely to write for my favorite captain.. shanks nation rise!

Shanks hadn’t slept in days. 

Shanks- an emperor, had been a pirate for decades and he knew well what it meant to be selfish. To be faced with all the treasure and beauty in the World and it not be enough until one had it all to himself. But he’d only ever seen it. In allies and enemies alike he had seen that corrupting burning want- no, need for something that drives one nearly mad. He’d seen fellow seamen be consumed by this bubbling and boiling desire that had always sickened him to think about.

And then there was you. Beautiful, strong-willed, and unafraid of pirates and men and danger and swords and, all of the sudden, he began feeling the symptoms of that dangerous selfishness. He’d watch you laugh with Benn, or cook with Lucky, or play cards with Yasopp and his chest would tighten. His nerves would begin to ebb and flow in uncertainty and the terrifyingly unfamiliar feeling of jealousy began to sprout within the captain of the Red Haired Pirates. He’d spend hours poring over a potential solution– something to make it go away. But everything he tried was useless. Any slight progress immediately crumbled the moment you walked by him. He’d found a nice girl on an island and flirted with her, buying her drinks, treating her special as the rest of the crew began to pour into the bar. It was working! She liked the same music as him and thought he was funny. But then you’d walked in with Beckman, your perfume immediately recognizable to him and he folded. You were entirely captivating to him, and bless him, he tried to listen to the girl in front of him and feign interest in what she was saying but all he could focus on was the sound of you laughing and thanking the men who were sending drinks your way. On a separate occasion, he’d taken a different approach. You were in a particularly cheeky mood and not the most prone to taking orders, so he got frustrated. He leant into that frustration, barking at you for not listening. But you just rolled your eyes and begrudgingly got up to do what he was asking. As you walked past him, you raked a fingernail across his chest and offered assistance if he needed “any help de-stressing.” And with a wink you were off. After that little incident, he could hardly sleep and was quite literally plagued by (very inappropriate) thoughts of you and decided it would be best if he didn’t do anything for a while. This had been going on for months now.  A one sided game of cat and mouse that Shanks did not want to be playing, after all, he wasn't used to playing the role of mouse. Shanks was a man who always got what he wanted.

But he was realizing there was no escape. Constantly you teased him, tempted him, lured him, all to act like nothing the next moment. His head was spinning. Just this morning, you ran into him at breakfast and asked if he wanted to go into town with you. He came up with some half assed excuse and tried his hardest to keep his composure when you pouted at his and said, “Pretty please?” He went up and moped in his office, going over all those moments when he felt that now familiar ache in his chest– that throbbing pain that felt like his swollen heart was being mushed up against his ribcage and had been making his daily life on the ship, oh, so inconvenient. 

Like a few months ago when, in your typical fashion, you’d put together a small band out of the rag-tag musicians on the crew. An upright bass player out of your intel gatherer, a drummer out of one of Hongo’s assistants, some brass players that you put through a very selective audition, and, of course, you as the singer. He remembers walking out after having a few drinks with those of his men that he was closest with and hearing the sound of your voice singing a soft jazz tune. ‘I wish you bluebirds, in the spring…..’ his heart picking up a bit, and him leaning over to look at the band playing, ‘To give your heart a song to sing, and then a kiss…’ Him rushing down the stairs and urging the crew to dance, asking Lucky to get behind the bar and start making cocktails and drinks, ‘But more than this, I wish you love’ anything so that he could sit and listen to you. He remembers the boyish surge of energy that coursed through him when you shot him a playful wink. A thank you for entertaining your antics and encouraging your little band of criminal musicians. 

Or last week, when you stopped by his office (he’d begun spending more and more time locked in there attempting to find reprieve from your presence which was quickly becoming all too much for him to be around) and knocked on his door in the way you always knocked on any door. Three rhythmic little taps, always quiet and polite. “Come in!” he’d said, forcing his voice to steady itself like his heart wasn’t crawling up into his throat. “Hey Shanks– I have something for you.” You made your way to his desk, dropping a little parcel on it before going to lay down on the couch in his office, a seat he always kept open for you. It was just an old leather chair, but he knew how much you liked it. He opened up the parcel, watching you pull out a cigarette and bring it to your lips, holding it droopily between them as you dug around in your jacket for a lighter. He finished unwrapping the gift, a compass falling out. Gold and the initials R.H.S. engraved in the back. The glass had been carved out so that it was angular and there was a detailed inking of the ocean in the back, and the north arrow was dark red. He turned it over in his palm, “R.H.S.?” he asked. “It’s funny, huh! Red-Hair-Shanks,” you laughed, “It made Benny crack up so I snatched it. They wanted $15,000 for it! Like hell was I gonna pay that…. Hey, do you have a lighter?” You walked back over to him, leaning on his desk, looking down at his face, batting your eyes at him all doe-like. He felt like he might faint. 'Benny' he felt a pang of jealousy but smiled to himself at the nickname. Beckman hated nicknames but you'd started calling him Benny and for the first time ever there was no protest from the man's lips. You'd wiggled your way into all their hearts like that- helping Lucky with groceries and keeping Yasopp company when he drank more than he could stand.

“Sure do, sweetheart,” he maintained his typical flirty cadence but failed to sound as confident as he usually does. You shot him a look. He sheepishly handed you the lighter but instead of taking it you leant over further, beckoning for him to light the cigarette for you. He swallowed and brought the lighter up to the cigarette, the two of you making eye contact as he lit it. You blew a playful puff of smoke at him before making your way back over to the sofa. You laid across it, kicking your shoes off and pulling a magazine from his shelf. “Playboy? Really?” He gave you an embarrassed grin and shrugged. You made a mental note that this magazine had been left open on a photo of a bikini-clad girl that looked an awful like you. Pervert, you thought. You put the magazine away and sunk further into the chair, taking long drags of the cigarette, filling up the room with smoke. Shanks was trying not to stare a hole through you and limited himself from looking over in your general direction. You were so at peace, your legs draped over the arm of the chair and your hands above your head.  An hour passed like this, the two of you sharing a silence that was only peaceful on your end. Shanks sat at his desk pretending to be deeply interested in a blank piece of paper and mulled over possible topics of conversation. He was trying not to beat himself up over his newfound shyness- he was like a teenage boy talking to a girl for the first time. When he finally got the courage to ask you about your most recent errand he was cut off before he could even start.

“Y/n!!! Help me with dinner, eh?!”

Lucky. You groaned sitting up, remembering that you’d promised to help him out with tonight’s dinner last week. “Sorry, Captain,” you said, putting your shoes back on, “I’d love to stay and fog up your office a bit more but duty calls.” 

He nodded and got up, nearly running into you. “Ah, sorry princess,” he said, guiding you gently out of the room with a hand on your back. 

“Try not to miss me,” you’d said, taking the cigarette out of your mouth and placing it in his. He furrowed his brows in equal amounts of confusion and sexual frustration. “Lucky won’t let me smoke in the kitchen,” you explained. You shot him a wink and were off. 

He took a short puff of the cigarette before taking it out and staring at it between his fingers. Your red lipstick stained the end of it. He took a very self indulgent inhale before setting it down on an ashtray in his office. It was the first time he’d smoked in a while.

He hadn’t remembered it feeling so good.

He was late to dinner that night and even Benn had indicated some degree of worry about his captain, asking if he was alright. 

Shanks knew this couldn’t last forever– that he would have to do something before he lost his ability to lead his ship entirely. But then, of course, there was what happened yesterday.

Some rookie pirates had convinced themselves it would be a good idea to try and loot your ship. You’d been out on the deck helping Beckman with some chores when the first group of them climbed overboard. Neither of you had particularly expressive reactions– after all, you could tell within a few seconds that they were neither strong nor experienced. Still, it was the general attitude of the Red Hair Pirates to avoid conflict as much as possible. So when they wrapped rope around your wrists and held knives to your throats you and Benn didn’t flinch. Some newer recruits had sounded the alarm which eventually led to the rest of the crew making their way lazily out onto the deck. Shanks emerged from his office, reading glasses still on and laughed at the sight.

“Yasopp– take a pic, will ya!?” he laughed, slapping him on the back, “Benny we’re gonna hang this up in the dining hall!”

Benn rolled his eyes and you smiled. It took another several moments before you realized that your body was feeling more and more weakened by the moment, but when you finally felt a dullness creeping up your legs you noticed that the man holding you was a devil fruit user. The Neru Neru no Mi you believed it was called, Sleep Sleep Fruit. Fatigue started to wash over you and you stumbled forward slightly. The laughter on the ship immediately ceased and Benn called your name. You tried responding but instead fell back, landing against your assailant's chest. Yasopp and Lucky both brought their hands to their pistols, and Benn had taken a more offensive stance though it was clear the effect was starting to weigh on him as well. 

“We’ll kill them both,” one of the looters had yelled. Yasopp shot Shanks a look, waiting for some kind of command. “Yasopp–” Shanks started, but he hesitated a moment. If his sniper made any kind of mistake it would be your life taken instead. Before he could react, your captor had drawn the knife down your arm, smirking at the cry of pain you let out as your arm was coated in red. “Shoot him,” he said, gaze turning black. You passed out, though whether it was from the pain or the effect of Shanks’ emperor’s haki on your weakened body was unclear. But the last thing you saw before blacking out was the haunting anger on Shanks’ face.

You woke up a bit later, your head throbbing and your arm bandaged. “Holy shit,” you muttered, “What happened?” Hongo and Beckman were sitting by your bed talking to each other and Lucky, Yasopp, and a few others were playing cards. 

"You passed out from the effects of the devil fruit," Benn explained, "And you got a nasty cut on your arm. But Hongo says you'll be healed up by the weekend."

You blushed, somewhat embarrassed that you were the only one to have been injured. "What happened to the other crew?"

Benn shot you a half-smile. An expressive mixture of pride and shame. "The Captain took care of it. Honestly all we could do was watch, we all know better than to get in his way when he gets like that. Never seen this ship so bloody, that's for sure."

You grimaced, "Suppose they won't be messing with us again?"

Benn laughed, "Definitely not."

“Hey, Y/n!” Lucky called out, “Want anything to eat?”

You sat up, pushing yourself to the edge of the bed and grabbing the glass of water Benn offered you, “Yeah, Luck. I’ll take anything, honestly. Where is Shanks?” Benn sighed and looked over at Yasopp who was giggling like a twelve-year old. You got the message. 

“Maybe we should tell him it’s obvious? And it’ll fix things?” 

Benn shook his head and leant back in his chair, “Nah, it would crush the guy. Maybe if you say something to him, though?” You thought about it for a minute. You'd talked with each other before about the captain's feelings. How he acted every time he was around you. Benn added that he'd never seen him like that before, "Buggy's given us stories about how he used to be around girls. He'd run the other way when a pretty lady talked to him. He's obviously gotten over it since then but it's sort of nice to see him like this."

"Can't blame him," Yasopp added, winking at you, "You're about the prettiest thing on the sea."

Yasopp was still laughing about it, over a game of cards with Lucky and Hongo. You appreciated their company while you rested.

“I don’t know guys. You know I love him just as much but will it be weird? I mean– no offense, but this ship isn’t really the ideal romantic setting. And what if he plays favorites?”

They all laughed at this, “He already is, sweetheart!”

“Just tell him!”

“We’ll have a big ol’ wedding!”

You rolled your eyes and asked to be dealt into the card game they were playing. Lucky came back with a bowl of soup for you. Laughter was filling up the small medical room and it echoed down the hall...  

Shanks’ crush on you was astoundingly obvious and what was more surprising was how he had been moping about it for the past four months. He was now in his room, shrouded in embarrassment. Half of it stemmed from the generally well known fact that Shanks and his crew were untouchable- or at least, should be. And the other, perhaps greater, half from the fact that you'd ended up hurt because he’d hesitated. It also didn't help that he had doubted Yasopp at all- he knew he never missed. He’d spent the evening drinking a bottle of whiskey to himself and replaying other embarrassing faux pas he’d committed in front of you. The bottle of empty whiskey sat in front of him on the desk and the sun had long set. He got up, feeling miserable, and decided to head to bed. He grabbed the empty bottle, pausing before he grabbed it. Your cigarette from a week ago sat in the mauve ceramic ashtray on his desk (also a gift from you– you’d said it reminded you of his “ugly pants”). He stared at the lipstick still staining the white paper on the end of the cigarette. His chest tightened and he looked out the window of his office. You were out on deck, your arm bandaged up, hauling some rope into a metal bin. He smiled to himself- an injury like that was no excuse for chores. You looked gorgeous. A white glow surrounded you from the beaming moonlight up above. Your hair was messy and flowed freely around your face shifting the shadows that fell on it. He knew, suddenly, that he had to talk to you. That in all his embarrassment and emotion and confusion about his feelings, he’d neglected to check up on you. He set the bottle down and grabbed the half-smoked cigarette, slipping it into his pocket. He paused at the door, momentarily enjoying the nerves that were coursing through his body. How long had it been since he last felt excitement like this? There were moments at sea where he realized that, thanks to his age and experience, he no longer felt those pangs and throes of youthful worry and excitement. But this? This was new and he was reeling like never before. He was submerged in uncharted waters and all of a sudden that spark of adventure that follows every pirate flared up inside him. Shanks closed the door to his office behind him, taking a deep breath. 

You wrapped up the rest of the rope and threw it into the container, before taking a seat on it. Closing your eyes and taking a moment to yourself. It was rare to have a night so quiet. You could hear the faint sound of laughter and talking coming from below the deck. The ship was slowly rocking back and forth.

“Mind if I sit next to you?”

You blinked your eyes open to see Shanks standing in front of you. It still surprised you how a man of his size and power could sneak up on you so easily. It was a nice reminder of how in control he actually was of everything around him. It put you at ease to know you were in such responsible hands and guidance. 

“You feel ok? It’s my fault I should’ve–”

You smiled at him, “What? This? I’m fine, Captain– I’ve dealt with much worse, that I can promise you.” He frowned at that, “That’s not a good thing, Y/n. I don’t like thinking about you getting hurt.” You shrugged and ruffled his hair, “I’m a pirate. A Red-Hair Pirate. It’s bound to happen. And you’re not perfect either. Believe it or not. What’s going on with you lately? So sappy.” You knew very well what was going on with him.

Shanks smiled and looked down at the floor. This was it. Now or never. 

“Y/n… You know that, well, women love me and- and that I love women,” he started. Your smile dropped. 

“M-hm.”

“Uh,” he rubbed his neck sheepishly, like a child getting scolded, “Well, I guess what I’m trying to say is that you’re not like other women.”

You looked at him, “Are you sure about that?” You looked unamused. He steeled himself– he was an emperor of the sea, goddamnit, you were just a woman! Just a girl on his crew.

He knew that was a lie.

You were his girl on his crew. And he was being eaten alive by your existence, completely consumed by the thought of you. He couldn’t live another day without relieving himself of his constant torture and the emotional suffering you put him through. He couldn’t wake up another morning without you next to him, begging him to sleep in a bit longer and asking him to hold you tighter. He couldn’t spend another night watching you laugh and smile and be the most beautiful, enchanting thing in the world and not call you his. You were his, not through ownership but through love. 

“Alright! Damn it, woman, you’re so intimidating.” Your smile returned. 

“I love you,” he sighed. It wasn’t as dramatic as either of you had pictured. He said it like he was simply reminding you.

“I love you, Y/n. And I have for months. Since I first saw you– since you first started giving me random antique shop gifts and coming into my office at the most inconvenient times and filling it up with smoke. I can’t look at the color red and not think of you. That’s my color, damn it! And yet– I see red and think of the brand of cigarettes you like and the lipstick you wear and the way your laughter sounds and the color of your nail polish. I can’t listen to music and not think of you. I mean- you’ve come on board and turned everything upside down. My men, my violent men, are playing jazz on Thursday nights! Lucky’s new favorite thing to drink is Cosmopolitans and Yasopp is taking daily showers and, christ, Benn’s new nickname is Benny and he likes it! Everything I have reminds me of you. This is basically your ship now. And I love it. I love how you're everywhere. And I- I need you. I want you but it's more than that- I need you.”

He took a deep breath and looked at you for the first time in weeks. You laughed- at him, and grabbed his hand. His cheeks turned bright red and he felt like a teenager again. You squeezed his hand, “F-i-n-a-l-l-y.” He took a moment to sound out your spelling, and smiled somewhat defeatedly. He laid his head down on your shoulder and mumbled into you, “Was it obvious?”

 You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned your head against his. It was refreshing to touch him without it being strange or feeling unnatural. To just hold one another and understand that that was all it was– a touch. That before either of you said anything and broke this mundane, normal silence everything was perfect. There was no room for mistake or anxiety or insecurity. There was just the mass of red hair on your shoulder ticking your neck and your arms wrapped around his. But you figured he’d suffered long enough. 

“Very,” you said, answering his question, “There’re a bunch of betting pools regarding when, and if, you’ll confess. Though you don’t make a great effort to hide it. Looks like Benny’s gonna make some cash tonight.”

He shot up, somewhat offended, “I do hide it! I’ve kept my distance from you and treated you like everyone else.”

You laughed and sat him down on the bin next to you, “No, you haven’t. I’m your favorite. And though you have been avoiding me, when you’re around me your face is pink and you lose all that playboy gusto you think the ladies like. Plus you have those magazines lying around. It flatters me how much I resemble some of those models.”

His mouth fell open at this, realizing he had left it wide out in the open. You smiled at this, but said nothing. It was quiet out again– everyone had gone to bed early, tired from the day’s commotion, an unexpected change of pace from the typical mundane life of a pirate at sea that normally consisted of chores upon chores upon chores. The sea was calm tonight, almost eerily so. You rested your head against Shank’s shoulder and closed your eyes, it was quiet again. You could tell he was itching for a response. You smiled, enjoying the effect you had on him.

“I love you, too.”

You felt Shanks tense and opened your eyes, turning to look at him. He had a stupidly large smile plastered on his face. He was so damn handsome. His hand slid up your back and came to rest on your neck. He gently pushed your face toward his, a smile creeping up your lips, and tested the waters. You closed the gap, closing your eyes as you kissed your captain, shifting forward and finding your way onto his lap. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck and you could feel him smiling against your lips. Shanks broke the kiss, pulling away after giving you a few more pecks. 

His arm sank down to wrap around your waist and pull you in even tighter. He rested his forehead against yours and looked down at your lips, plump from the kissing.

“You’re mine,” he said. 

“Yours.”

He sighed, relief flooding his body. You rubbed his neck, "Guess I wasn't as obvious as you, hm?" He laughed and squeezed your hand, "No. God, I was terrified. What an awful feeling."

You smiled. You were getting tired, and your arm was throbbing. "Wanna come with me to see Hongo? I think my arm should get re-wrapped." He nodded, standing up. You walked toward the infirmary, while Shanks stood back for a moment. Waiting awkwardly.

"Shanks?"

His name had never sounded so lovely. He was worried, "Should we tell people yet? The crew- I mean."

You laughed, and kept walking, "I think they'll figure out on their own. After all, I suspect that I'll be greeting them tomorrow morning with your shirt on."

He watched you walk on ahead a bit more before following after you, scooping you up in his arm and pressing kisses to your face. Shanks dropped you off outside of Hongo's door, letting you go in on your own. 'I want tonight to be just us,' you'd explained. Word does travel quickly on a ship. He waited outside the door, listening to you and Hongo talk while he rebandaged your arm. His chest felt warm and full, not with the previous tightness he'd experienced but full with satisfaction.

A familiar ebbing flow of egoism spread through his body. It was nice to be reminded of who he was. An emperor of the sea with one of the highest bounties of all time. A man feared and respected across the world. Wanted by the world government and untouchable to anyone. Almost anyone. Your voice bubbled up over the sound of his thoughts for a moment. His confidence had quickly reinstated itself.

After all, Shanks was a man who always got what he wanted.

[kurooh]

GENIE IN A BOTTLE ☆ S. GOJO

⊹₊˚. are you imagining this? after picking up a pretty bottle you found on the street, you find yourself face to face with a man who appeared in your room, claiming to be a genie. if you help him become a human again by breaking a curse, you’ll be granted one wish . . but the curse requires you to fuck him?

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, f! reader, creampies, unprotected sex, oral [f!receiving], doggy/prone bone??, silliness, furniture breaks. | 3.7k words

xoxo, juno. the bottle is the same shape as the one from ‘i dream of jeannie’ but it’s blue and made of glass

“stop throwing books at me! i already told you, i’m a genie and i came from the bottle!”

the ‘genie’, who’s identified himself as satoru gojo, pleads desperately with you and shakes his head frantically at the sight of two more heavy books in your grasp.

“bullshit!” you shout, throwing another book at him that he manages to dodge. it slams into the wall loudly and his nose scrunches in either fear or irritation. “genies don’t exist.”

it seems like those words provoke a reaction. satoru gojo wordlessly takes a step toward you, holding his glass bottle tightly. in seconds, his face has grown serious, and he’s set his fierce azure gaze on you, jaw clenched tightly.

“oh yeah?” he challenges you. the tone of his voice is enough for you to drop the book you’d been holding onto. “i’m right here, aren’t i?”

“but that’s not—genies aren’t real,” you utter, intimidated by him but still stubborn till the end. “how could you possibly prove that you actually are one?”

there’s a sparkly puff of smoke that dissipates quickly, and the glass bottle teeters on the floor in the genie’s place.

this can’t be real. how did you manage to bring a fucking genie into your home? you’d simply picked up an interesting blue glass bottle that had been beside a trash can on the street; you’d placed it on a table and then turned to grab some materials to clean it up, and once you’d returned, the bottle had been tipped onto its side. this was when you should’ve trashed it — but you didn’t, and instead washed it, then began shining the glass with a cloth to restore its appearance.

the top of the bottle shot off and suddenly you were face to face with a disturbingly handsome man sitting with criss crossed legs on the table. the glass bottle had fallen to the floor, but it hadn’t shattered at all.

after a lot of screaming, you’d learned that this man was supposedly a genie, and his name was satoru gojo. apparently, he hadn’t been out of his bottle for decades. he was in the middle of talking when you’d jumped back in fear, then started throwing books and whatever else at him in an attempt to ward him away.

it was irrational, and even he was confused, but he’d done his best to be patient with you.

satoru appears again, bottle in his hand. his fingers are wrapped around the glass neck, and a smirk of triumph plays on his lips. you’re shellshocked and sputtering, not sure what to say. you are easily the most entertaining human he’s met in his time. when he’s free from the bottle and able to talk to his friends, he’ll definitely tell them about you.

“is that enough proof for you, princess?”

your glare is piercing, but he laughs. “o-okay, let’s get back to what you were talking about earlier. how do i get rid of you?”

satoru clicks his tongue, mildly offended. “you’re not even interested in wishes?”

“wishes?” your heart floats back up to your chest.

“ooh, that piqued your interest, didn’t it?” satoru laughs, setting the bottle down on the table. “wishes aren’t free, y’know. if you want one, you’ll have to do something for me. a quid pro quo, right?”

“yeah, that’s the word,” you eye him suspiciously, “keep talking.”

“so, i was essentially cursed, that’s why i’m stuck in this bottle,” satoru explains, his hands moving as he talks, “i’ve met plenty of humans throughout the years, and each of them has helped me with one part of the curse. there’s ten parts in total, and you’ve got the last aspect of the curse to help me with..”

satoru gojo is strangely attractive for a genie. can someone who’s been alive for thousands of years, living out that time in a glass bottle, look as though he’s just turned thirty? his features are not at all marred by age, his skin supple and his hair thick. wait, maybe his hair is white from age? snowy tendrils hang just over his eyebrows, which are the same color. you don’t know what genies would wear—you didn’t think they were real—but you suppose the white tobi pants and tight black shirt suit him well.

your eyes flit from his face to the bottle. the glass is uniquely shaped, with a thick, rounded base. the neck is narrow, and the glass is textured in different patterns and swirls. his eyes are the same blue as the bottle . . maybe that’s part of the curse?

“…essentially, you’re supposed to have sexual relations with me.”

your head snaps from the bottle to his face, practically giving you whiplash. “i’m supposed to—what!?”

satoru swallows, sighing through his nose. “listen, i didn’t ask for a tenfold curse to be put on me. i’ll give you your wish, no questions asked, if you help me out.” even though he’s pretending to be disappointed, his voice betrays him, tone growing cheeky at the end of his sentence.

“oh, please. you seriously want me to . . fuck you? a genie who’s thousands of years old?”

a laugh bursts forth from his lips and heat rises to your cheeks as you actually picture fucking him. “it is not funny! y’know what, i bet that’s not even the tenth proportion of the curse, you’re just—” it takes a moment for the proper word to come to mind. the whole situation is so insane it has you getting hysterical, voice pitching. “—deprived!”

“deprived?” satoru chuckles, his voice smooth. “who knows, maybe it isn’t for the curse . . maybe it is. what does it matter, though? you’ll get your wish.”

“y-you’re old! not even human, either!” at this point, you’re coming up with excuses to deny the side of you that genuinely wants to. satoru catches on, he’s not stupid; he can tell you’re prolonging this discussion likely because you’re nervous. how cute of you, he thinks.

“correction, i was once human,” satoru clicks his tongue, “and secondly, all that age means i’ve got plenty of experience. shouldn’t that be a good thing for you, little one?” as if his words weren’t already charming enough, he throws in a wink, his cheek lifting cutely.

you swallow nervously, about to enter into an otherworldly contract with this genie. “fine. we’ll have sex . . you won’t be cursed anymore, and i’ll get my wish afterwards.”

“let’s shake on it, then.” his larger hand envelops yours, and after a moment passes, he tugs your body into his and seals your lips with a hot kiss.

heat sparks through your entire body, the sudden rush eliciting a gasp that satoru swallows. he uses the opportunity to nip lightly at your lower lip, then slip his tongue into your mouth, stroking it over yours. this kiss is the first step towards more — it’s all happening so quickly that your head spins, mind growing foggy as the moment absorbs you.

you taste amazing; you’ve got some kind of sticky gloss on your lips that he’s not familiar with, but it adds extra flavor to the already delicious taste of your tongue. he’s always been into sugar, in any kind of form, especially the kind where he tastes a dessert on a pretty girl’s tongue. it’s chocolate, his expert senses tell him.

“ah—satoru,” you whine, weakly tugging away for breath, eyes hooded as your chin sits on his shoulder. “t-touch me, please.”

“not just yet,” and his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, intensifying the warm ache between your thighs. is the curse rubbing off on you? why does it feel like you’ll die if satoru doesn’t fuck you?

your nails dig into his biceps desperately, a whine of frustration tearing from your throat. “i’m—i’m begging you, touch me.” oh, if you keep talking like that, he’ll cum in his pants. it’s been so long since his last time with anyone; you’re just so pretty and perfect and every time you speak his cock twitches uncontrollably in his pants. he’s supposed to be the all-powerful genie, so why is his resolve melting away this quickly?

satoru’s lips trail kisses down your throat, and he eagerly takes in the scent of your perfume. it’s something sweet, a scent he can’t quite place, but it’s delicious. “you’re so soft—smell so damn good. fuck, what is that?”

“it’s my everyday candy perfume, ‘s not that special,” you murmur, wincing when his teeth sink into the tender flesh. the force of the bite tells you that you’re bound to have marks tomorrow.

“eh, it doesn’t taste that good,” he hums against you, fingers trailing along your waist and stomach over your clothing. “maybe that pussy’ll taste as sweet as you smell, hm?”

“hurry up and give it a try,” you utter breathlessly, fingers wrapping around his wrist and pulling his hand between your thighs.

satoru’s once bright cerulean eyes are dark with something hungry—some kind of deeply rooted passion he hasn’t felt in a while. you feel small under his hooded gaze, his strong body pushing against yours and reminding you of what he is. it’s starting to seem like fucking a genie is about to be the best sex of your life . .

his fingertips slip past the fabric of your shorts and panties, nudging at your cunt. “you’re fucking soaked, babygirl—so needy,” satoru’s voice lilts in amusement as if he’s not dripping precum in his own clothes.

“need your fingers, satoru,” oh, the way you say his name makes him dizzy, his cock jolting in response. his body tenses, muscles going rigid as he forces himself to focus on you and your pleasure, not his stupid boner.

“take this off,” he pants, chest heaving.

you quickly undo the button and zipper of your shorts, tugging them and your panties down your legs in one swift motion. satoru shamelessly sweeps his eyes over your body, committing the sight of your curves and pussy to his long term memory. his stare is electrifying and intense, making every hair on your body stand on end.

“against the table,” he demands, waiting for you to position yourself accordingly before he pounces. shyly, you spread your legs, revealing your dripping pussy and swollen clit. you’re so sensitive, quivering just from the air against the delicate skin.

satoru sinks to his knees as though he’s about to worship you . .

one kitten lick turns into a few, and then he’s fucking hooked. his large hands find purchase on your plush thighs, fingers digging into your skin to tightly hold you in place while he slurps up everything your pussy has to give him. he’s got his whole face against you, nose pressed into your clit and tongue all over your pussy.

“satoru,” you muster, sweat clinging to your forehead and heat swirling in your cheeks. “eh, toru..” this new shortening of his name has him releasing a choked moan into you, the vibrations causing your breath to hitch in your throat.

your fingers rake through his hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp. you curl your fingers, bunching the snowy strands between them, and without warning, you tug hard. this new grip allows you to drag his face against you, hips rocking against him to pull as much pleasure as you can from this angle. satoru moans loudly, content with being used to get off and sounding thankful you’re yanking his hair. was this what he’d wanted the whole time?

“yeah, just like that,” you whimper, voice cracking as the genie’s nose rubs against your clit; he shakes his head side to side in order to give you more pleasure. “y-you’re gonna make me cum, ‘toru.”

there it is, that shortened version of his name. satoru’s cock jumps against his thigh, and all he can think about is sheathing his cock inside you, cumming nice and deep. you’d like that, wouldn’t you? he’s dizzy at the thought of hearing you beg to be stuffed full.

your fingers squeeze against the wood of the table, and one of your thighs lifts up, settling over his shoulder. your body goes stiff, every muscle tensing as your pussy flutters against his tongue. “ugh, i’m—‘m gonna cum, satoru, fuckkk..”

you drag out that last curse until your voice breaks, orgasm hitting you hard, the force of it leaving you a shaking mess. falling over the edge has never been this amazing; you ride out the final aftershocks of bliss on the tip of his tongue, coming down from the high with a hiss of sensitivity.

“alright, alright. that’s enough, satoru.”

panting and puffing, satoru rises to his feet, the entire lower half of his face sticky with your arousal. it drips from his chin, and although it’s messy, he makes no move to wipe it away.

within a second, the genie’s got you caged in his arms, chest pressed against yours and hips aligned with your own. “shit, i—” he swallows the lump in his throat, so close that his lips brush against your own. his voice drops to a whisper, as he tells you his desire like it’s a secret between just the two of you. “i want you so badly.”

“desperation’s a good look for you,” you hum, pushing forward and connecting his lips with your own. the kiss is chaste, full of mutual understanding. your hands rest on his chest, fingers splayed as you relish the feeling of his muscles tensing beneath your fingertips. honestly, to think that a supernatural being is this weak for you . . hot excitement pools in your lower stomach, pussy squeezing at the idea of it all.

“shut up,” satoru says, his nose scrunching when he pulls back. the pale skin of his cheeks is flushed with a rosy color that grows redder by the minute. “got some nerve teasing me..”

his voice takes on that stern, husky tone again and your hands wander to the bulge between his legs. his tobi pants are tight with the outline of his hard cock, straining against the fabric and dying for some friction. but, he snatches your hand away and shakes his head, back to being demanding.

“nuh uh. bend over, palms on the table.”

satoru doesn’t even wait for the command to register, and flips you around before pushing you down.

“hey—you don’t even want me to take my shirt off?”

oh, right.

he slips his hand under the shirt in question and easily rips it right off you, the fabric tearing loudly. the genie’s now faced with your bra, something he’s not at all familiar with. when he was human, nobody wore bras with puzzling clasps at the back. before you can stop him, he does what he knows is most effective, ripping it right off and helping you out of it. “that’s better,�� he groans, hand coming down hard against your asscheek.

“my clothes!” you gasp, pushing off the table to get up. satoru’s stronger and faster, pinning you down under his chest; he’s so heavy you can’t possibly move away from him, keeping you in place.

“you can always wish for new ones,” he snickers, undoing the black ribbon at his waist. he kicks the tobi pants off, then removes his undergarments and finally his shirt.

“oh, fuck off. i’m not wasting my wish on some clothes. the deal was to fuck, not destroy my clothes and whatever else.”

“yeah, yeah, yeah,” satoru taunts, tugging his lower lip between his teeth as he lines his cock up with your entrance. the fat tip nudges against you, sticky with precum, and the both of you gasp together.

“it-it’s been so long,” satoru stutters, guiding his cock inside you. he’s big, thick, and nothing short of perfect. a pang of sadness strikes you in the back of your mind, and you momentarily wish you’d be able to fuck him more than once.

“well, what’re you waiting for?” you huff, wiggling your ass left and right. “are you nervous, toru?” that mocking tone is enough motivation for him, and he pushes inside you fully, bottoming out with ease.

“we’ll see who’s really nervous, little one,” he grits, bracing himself by planting his hands on the table. his glass bottle lays somewhere on the floor, forgotten. “you thought i destroyed those clothes? no, no, no,” his voice is low, and he leans forward, hot breath fanning over the shell of your ear. “i’ll destroy this fucking pussy.”

a moan bursts past your lips at satoru’s filthy words, fingernails scrabbling against wood to keep steady. “like it when i talk to you like that, don’t you?” ignoring his instruction from earlier, you slide your hands off the table and offer them up behind your back, sending him a heated glance from over your shoulder.

“oh, i’ll give you what you want,” and with that, satoru gathers your wrists in one hand, yanking your arms back while he develops a rhythm. it’s brutal — his hips slam into your ass mercilessly, each movement full of urgency and a primal desire.

his heavy balls slap your puffy clit hard, sending shocks of electricity throughout your entire body. he’s so deep, pushing against your cervix and stretching you out with each sloppy thrust. it’s like you can feel him in your lungs, and the unbridled force behind his hips has the table rattling beneath the two of you.

“so, so fucking good,” satoru groans, eyes rolling back into his skull as he pounds your pussy into oblivion. a genie, of all people, is showing you what it really means to be fucked. anything before or after him pales in comparison, and the idea of fully ruining you has something nasty curling feel inside his stomach. “babygirl, you look so good like this . . sound s-so good too, fuckkk.”

“right there!” another harsh slam of his hips propels his tip into that sweet, spongy spot deep inside of you. your cunt contracts around him, and he knows he’s got the angle down. “toru—oh, fuck . . cum inside me, please.”

“‘s only been a few minutes and you’re that desperate for me to fill you up?” satoru grunts, the room filling with the sound of skin clapping against skin. it sounds like an applause, the kind that marks a special occasion, something as big as this one—his curse will be lifted soon and he’ll become a human again after so damn long.

“y-yeah, give it to me,” you sob, tears pouring down your face as you beg. “toru, please!”

there’s a loud crack from beneath you, and satoru whisks you away just in time as the table collapses beneath you, the once intact piece of furniture turning into a heap of wood.

“t-the table!” with a hushing sound, satoru fucks the thought out of your head—every single one, for that matter—and holds you steady by the wrists.

“don’t think about it, jus’ focus on taking it,” satoru’s voice is smooth, quite the contrast to the way he’s fucking you. “baby, ‘m gonna cum.”

you moan at his words, jaw hanging open as he fucks you stupid. it’s hard to form thoughts to then make sentences, but you try nonetheless. “toru—fill me up, fucking fill me up!”

the genie groans, pushing a hand through his white hair and lightly tugging at the strands just as you’d done earlier. the small action maximizes his pleasure, and he chokes out a husky groan. “i will, fuck, i promise,” his voice grows frantic, words squashing together as a familiar euphoria seizes his whole body, making his muscles tense. “i’m gonna cum—ugh, take it all, t-take it all..”

satoru’s cock twitches inside you, deep against your cervix, just before gushing cum and filling you with the biggest load you’ve ever felt. his high triggers your own, and your cunt’s spasming, wrapping tighter around his length and milking every drop of cum from him. “satoru,” you sob, voice raising and splintering into a needy whine.

wordlessly, he wraps an arm around your middle, pulling you back against his chest. his breath comes in ragged pants against your neck, and you swear you feel wetness against your skin.

“uh, are you okay?” you ask, voice hushed, “are you still a genie, satoru?”

“uhhh, i can check,” but he makes no move to pull out or away from you.

“satoru?”

“fine. i don’t wanna let you go, but i will.” with a hiss, he pulls his cock out of you, staring at your cunt intently. as if on cue, his cum spills out of you, dripping in sticky trails along your inner thighs. your lower lip wobbles, and you turn back to take a look at him.

satoru closes his eyes and puts his hands together, willing himself to get inside the bottle. there’s no puff of smoke, no theatrics, and he bends over to pick up the bottle. it’s lost its blue hue and special luster, reverting into a dull glass bottle that you’d see in a clearance section at a homegoods.

as if possessed, satoru jumps up and down, cheering loudly. his cock and balls slap against his pelvis, and he grabs you, tugging you into a strong hug. “yaaaayyy! thank you for helping me, pretty girl.”

“you broke my table and tore my clothes,” you grumble, glaring at him so hard he pushes your head down into his shoulder.

“maybe i can make it up to you? i am a full human now, after all,” satoru says cheekily, smiling against your skin.

“wait a minute,” you shove him back, fixing him with another glare. “what about that wish, satoru? you promised me a wish, you’d better still be able to grant it.”

he swallows nervously, looking away. “i don’t think humans can grant wishes..”

you hit his shoulder, shaking your head angrily. “you’re a liar.”

“okay, listen. let’s just give it a try. plenty of genies have turned back into people and have still granted a wish, i think,” satoru closes his eyes and gets into some kind of combat stance. “pick up the bottle and rub it.”

the glass is cool in your hands, and you rub your fingers along the textured glass. satoru’s closed eyes glow briefly, and he nods surely. “yep, that did it. okay, make your wish now. i can’t grant anything involving death, making me or you a genie, more wishes, you know the drill. go for it, babygirl.”

“i wish . . ”

[sanguineterrain]

Hi Sanne! I'm not sure if requests are open, but if you're up to it I'd like to request red hood x reporter! Maybe reporter reader is getting too close to a case and is starting to become a target and hood takes her protection into his own hands? ((Including lots of midnight rendezvous and rooftop bump ins))

i love this prompt sm! i've been thinking about a reporter reader ever since i read task force z :) thanks for requesting!

jason todd x gn!reporter!reader. tw: reader is attacked (but they're okay), guns, violence, fighting, jason being both a force to be reckoned with and a big softie. 2.5k words

****

"I don't need protection."

The Red Hood crosses his arms. You cross yours right back.

"Yes, you do," he says.

"No, I don't. I've lived in Gotham my whole life. I can take care of myself."

"Living around and being in the thick of violence are very different. You're already chasing this story; they will come after you."

And what a story it is. The story of the decade, at the very least. A task force of formerly-dead Arkham patients wielded against Gotham by a mysterious benefactor.

It's terrifying. It's dangerous. It's sure to win you your first Pulitzer.

And it all means absolutely nothing if the Red Hood keeps wrapping you in red tape.

Your jaw ticks. "This is my story, Hood. You can't turn it in, so I will. And I won't be scared off by some slimeball."

"Oh, please. You wouldn't even have known about this story if it wasn't for me, smarty."

Smarty. His favorite moniker for you because, according to him, you think you know everything.

Working with the Red Hood has been an unfortunate side effect of chasing your prize-winning story. Not only is he wanted in twenty-six countries (you Googled it) and is a ruthless crime lord (supposedly formerly, but you're doubtful), but worst of all, he's got an attitude to match yours.

He's also built like a tank, which is why you can't just. Outrun him.

"I can't just not publish the story," you say.

"I don't want to stop you from publishing the story. Hence the protection."

"I can't afford a bodyguard."

"Well, it's a good thing I already paid my rent this month."

You scoff. "The Gotham Gazette has a strict 'no armed and dangerous' policy. I'm afraid we all have to leave our gun-toting vigilantes at home."

You open the driver's door of your car, ready to end the conversation here and now. Hood calmly closes the door with his hip and leans.

You glare. "Get off of my car."

"Fact." He holds up a finger. "These kinds of people always strike before the story comes out. They know you're scared and stressed, and they wanna do it before the story gets out. Otherwise, it's obvious who killed who."

"And where did you read this fact? Crime Lord's Digest? We don't even know if they know I'm the reporter who broke into the lab."

"Listen, smarty, I've been in this game a lot longer than you. I know how they operate," he says, finally getting off of your car, only to lean on the hood. Jerk. "It's only a matter of time before whoever's behind this snuffs you out."

"I am not letting a wanted criminal nest in my apartment!"

"That's why I'd be there."

"I was talking about you, Hood."

"Funny."

"I'm not joking. Look, I appreciate your... help." You try not to show your exasperation. "But there's no way I'm inviting you over to my apartment. That'll set off more alarms. If anything happens, I'll call you. Until then, stay away. Deal?"

Hood looks you over.

"Hm. You're awfully comfortable with giving me orders, smarty."

Your adrenaline spikes for a second. But it quickly calms. You've worked with Hood for a month now. Sure, you were petrified the first week, but it quickly dissipated. You've fallen into an odd camaraderie with him.

It's actually kind of nice, having him on your side. No one at the Gazette gives you the time of day. You've become used to having a partner. Not that you'd ever tell him that.

"You take orders so well, I can't help but dole them out," you say, only a little smirky.

"Watch it," Hood rumbles, only half-serious. Probably.

You beam and wrench open your car door, sliding into the seat.

"See?" you say, turning the ignition. "No snipers waiting to take me out. I'll be fine."

He shakes his head and slides off the hood. "Ten bucks says they'll try by the end of the week."

You close your door. "You're on."

****

As it turns out, Hood doesn't need the end of the week to earn his tenner. Trouble breaks down your door the very same night.

You're on your couch with some well-earned Lebanese takeout when your door is ripped off of your hinges. You shoot up from the couch, chest immediately tight.

Your assailant is masked and isn't that typical, giving masked men everywhere a bad name.

You run to the kitchen, hoping you can grab a knife. But you're grabbed before you can get there. You slip on the carpet and trip further into your assailant's arms.

"Keep still so I won't make a mess," is all he says.

You start screaming. He covers your mouth and you bite his hand. That earns you a thump on your cheek, so hard your vision blurs.

Bang!

You freeze, expecting the warm drip of blood and the excruciating pain to accompany it. Instead, your assailant falls to the floor, clutching his ribs. You stumble backwards and see Hood at your door, gun still aimed. He stalks over and kicks the assailant in the chest as he does. The assailant groans.

"You okay?"

You're still staring at the man who very nearly killed you a minute ago. Blood roars in your ears. You think you might be close to fainting.

"Hey." Big, gloved hands hold your face. You flinch and hold the owner's wrists. Hood comes into view once more.

"Are you okay?" he asks firmly. "Look at me, look at me, sweet. Breathe. 'S okay. Does anything hurt? Did he—"

Hood cuts himself off as he touches your cheek, where you were hit. He lightly runs a thumb over what is probably a budding bruise.

Hood lets you go and whirls onto your attacker. He hauls him up and presses a gun to his stomach.

"Go ahead, shoot me!" the attacker shouts.

"If I shoot you, it won't be out of mercy. You won't get a quick death. You don't deserve it," Hood snarls, and you suddenly remember all of your good reasons for fearing the Red Hood.

"I ain't telling ya shit!"

"I don't expect you to," Hood says, and fires again.

The man crumples to the ground, but he's clearly still breathing. Still alive. Hood drags him to the door by his collar.

"You go back to your boss. And you tell 'em that they're fucking with the Red Hood now. And, in case I'm not being perfectly fucking clear through all that blood loss—" Hood grabs the man by his hair and wrenches his head back. "If you come for my reporter again, you'll wish I was kind enough to put a bullet in your head."

Hood hauls your attacker outside. You hear a car start a minute later, and it tears down the street.

You look at your guardian angel, spattered in blood.

Not nearly as much blood as I expected, you think manically.

Your body aches and shakes with adrenaline. You can't even get enough control to move to the couch.

"How–how did you get here so fast?" you ask, staring at your now cracked coffee table.

"I've been monitoring your apartment since you got home. One of the traffic cameras picked up a stolen vehicle turning onto your block, so I came here."

You look at Hood. He seems very collected, all things considered.

"You—how did you find my apartment? Have you been stalking me?"

"Please. Lend me a little credit, smarty. I don't need to stalk you to find where you live," he says, holstering his gun.

"Are you insane?!" you burst. "That is such a gross invasion of privacy! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Hood looks at you.

"What's wrong with me is I just saved your life," he says evenly. "And on that note, you owe me ten bucks. Maybe even fifteen, considering it took less than a day for them to do exactly what I said they would."

Your lip wobbles. You don't know what triggers it; maybe it's your scratched up door or torn sofa or the fact that the Red Hood is in your living room right now with blood on his suit.

The tears form quickly. You can't stop them.

You cover your face but a sob claws out of your throat. Soon, you fall into big, heaving cries.

"Whoa, hey." The floorboards creak under Hood's unsure footsteps. "Hey, I didn't mean that. Shit. I was just kidding about the bet part. Aw, don't cry, smarty."

A hand lightly touches your shoulder. You lean in, but don't dare to initiate more contact. So Hood eases you into a side hug, awkwardly patting your other arm. He's extremely warm and solid with muscle, but his chest is soft enough to rest your head on. He unclips his holster so it doesn't dig into your body.

"I was just kidding," Hood says quietly in your ear. He rubs your arm. "'M sorry. Didn't mean to make y'cry."

You sniff and shake your head. "No, it–it's not that, I'm just—God, I'm t-terrified, Hood. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? They're gonna kill me! I'm gonna die before I win my first Pulitzer!"

You try to suck in deep breath but it's not working. Hood leads your unsteady feet to the couch. You sit, fingers gripping his jacket. Hood carefully loosens your grip.

"They're not gonna kill ya, smarty. I won't let 'em. C'mon, let's have a seat. Where's your kitchen?"

You point, lashes still thick with tears. Hood leaves and returns shortly. A glass of water is held to your lips. You drink it, breathing stilted.

"'S okay. Take it easy. Breathe. That's right."

You swallow half of the water, and he sets the glass down on the coffee table. Hood hands you a wad of tissues.

"This is pathetic," you say, wiping your tears. "Can't believe I'm being nursed by the Red Hood."

"I think nursed is a strong word. But it's more than I usually do for my informants. Then again, they don't usually burst into tears."

"Don't make fun of me. I'm fragile."

"I wasn't making fun of you," Hood says, gentler than you've ever heard him. He puts the tissues aside and rests a hand on your shoulder. You turn into it, appreciative of the weight. "You handled this better than most people would. You didn't even pass out. Hell, I've passed out."

You're sure that Hood is leaving out important details behind that anecdote, like fighting off a hundred men or being swallowed by a whale beforehand. You're grateful nonetheless.

You turn to him, fresh tears in your eyes. "They're gonna kill me, Red."

He shakes his head. "No. Listen to me. Nobody is gonna do anything to you, okay? I'm not gonna let 'em hurt you, smarty pie."

"That's an impossible promise," you say. "One of these days, something will happen. You can't be everywhere at once. Especially not while I'm at home."

Hood tilts his head. "Well..."

"Well, what?"

He rubs his throat. An old injury, he'd once told you. The pain flares up sometimes.

"I could call in a favor. Get you into a safehouse."

"You would do that for me?" you ask. You probably shouldn't ask. Shouldn't look a generous vigilante in the mouth. But you can't help it.

"I can't very well publish the story myself, can I?"

You shrug. "I doubt that. You have your ways. Once you have the evidence, you don't need me."

"That's not true," Hood says fiercely. "I do need you."

Your eyes widen. Hood fumbles for a moment.

"That—I mean for the case. Obviously. I don't have any journalistic links besides you. And I wouldn't want the story to fall into the wrong hands."

"Oh." You have a strong urge to wrap your arms around him. Weird. "Well, um, thank you. I appreciate it."

"Don't thank me yet. It'll take me a few days to get the safehouse," he says.

You deflate. "Oh. So I have to stay here until then?"

Hood is quiet for a long time. So long, you briefly revisit your original theory that the Red Hood is actually an AI remotely controlled by a billionaire.

"Hood?"

You reach to touch him. He flinches, a tiny movement. You immediately draw back.

Nope. Still a man.

"Sorry," he says, hand slipping from your shoulder. "I was, uh, going over options. No, your place is toast until we find whoever's behind this. But, um, it would be possible for you to—if you want to, 'cause if you don't, y'know, I understand, but I—it would be doable for you to, uh, stay with me. Until I get the safehouse."

"Stay... in your apartment?"

"'S not far from here. And it's a hell of a lot better protected than your place. And, y'know, I'd be there most of the time, so like..." Hood clears his throat. "Uh, yeah. It'd be safe. I promise."

"I wouldn't want to impose," you say, nervously scratching your arm.

"Mm. If you're scared of staying with me, y'can just say so. I won't take it personal."

He does kind of sound like he's taking it personally.

"No, Hood, it's not that. I don't... I'm not afraid of you. That, uh, went away a while back," you say. "I just... I don't want to burden you. After all, it's your space."

He makes a sound that tells you he's rolling his eyes behind his helmet.

"Saving your life is important, smarty. Why you don't think so, I'll never know."

You make a soft, pleased sound. "Got a real bleeding heart there, Red."

He sighs. "Yeah. I'm working on it."

You grin. "Thank you for rescuing me."

"Part of the job. If you don't wanna stay with me, I could..." Hood hesitates. "With your permission... I could get the Bats involved. Ask one of them to house you."

"You mean Batman?"

Hood grunts. "Preferably anyone but him, but yeah, if it comes to that. He'll probably get involved anyway. Fuckin' busybody."

"The Bats would protect me? But they don't know me."

"Don't matter. If I asked them to, they would. If that's something you want."

You think. Is it something you want?

Sure, any reasonable person would prefer Nightwing or Batman to protect them.

"I don't want to stay with them," you say. "I'd rather stay with you."

He jerks like you've told him the sky is falling.

"You do?" he asks.

"Well, yeah. I know you, Red. And I know you'll keep me safe."

"At any cost," he says.

That simultaneously frightens and thrills you.

"Then I'd like to go home with you," you say. "If you'll have me."

"'Course, smarty. Anything to keep you safe. Go pack some stuff. I'll be out here. You're okay?"

"I'm okay." You stand and turn before he can see what he does to you.

Yes, it's an odd thing, being partners with the Red Hood.

You're starting to fear that you can't have it any other way.

(pt 2)

[sim0nril3y]

His Shirt

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: When searching for some comfortable clothes you find an old shirt of Simon's and decide to throw it on and Simon has an unexpected reaction. Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), established relationship, smut, oral (female receiving), fingering, dirty talk, praise, canon-typical swearing.

“Home, baby.” The sound of your voice called through your home. A night out with the girls had been more fun that you were expecting, a dinner and some drinks had been long overdue, plus there was so much going on in all your lives now it was just good to catchup with them. “Watching the football.” Simon called back from the living room.

Honestly, every cell in your body screamed to join, but there was a deep chill that was set into your bones from the cold weather outside. “Be right there.” Feet carrying you upstairs quickly you entered the bedroom, stripping out of your uncomfortable outfit down to your underwear and trying to find something more comfortable to throw on.

Nabbing a few clothing items, you threw them on the bed and went in search of a pair of socks, rummaging through your drawer to find the only ones there were an odd few that had devastating holes ripped through them. “Bollocks.” You muttered, rounding the bed and then searching through Simon’s drawer instead. Smiling as you nabbed a pair of socks that would engulf your feet, regardless you slipped them on.

About to shut the drawer you came to an abrupt stop when something red caught your eye, pulling it out a smile crawled across your lips. It was an old United shirt, probably decades old now and more than likely a gift because you just couldn’t imagine Simon buying this for himself. You held the material between your fingers and smiled to yourself, this could be interesting.

Venturing back downstairs, lingering behind him, sneaking into the kitchen as you quizzed casually. “What did you have for tea?” “Ordered a pizza.” Simon responded evenly; eyes still trained on the television laxly. “Some left in the fridge, if you want it.” Then adding, always looking out for your wellbeing. A moment of pause formed between you two as you lingered in the kitchen for a moment longer. “How was your night?” It was an off-handed comment, you knew that Simon didn’t really care for an answer because all he cared about was you made it home safely.

You built up enough nerve to enter the lounge, rounding the sofa to stand beside him with a thoughtful look on your face. “It was fine. It was nice seeing everyone…” Rattling off with gentle shrugs of your shoulders, forcefully ignoring the way that Simon gawked at you all dolled up in that shirt. “Fuck me…” It was low. It was almost like a prayer. For a moment you could have convinced yourself that those words hadn’t fallen from his lips, but they had and it made you pussy weep.

“What’re you wearing?” The sound of his voice as hoarse and low, boarding on a warning, it set your insides of fire and you attempted not to falter under his hard gaze. “Hmm? Oh this…” Your fingers tugged on the hem on the shirt. “I was just looking for some socks to borrow and I found this…” Then spinning on one foot and allowing him to observe the entire look. “Is it okay?”

The question hung between you before Simon muttered. “Fuckin’ hell…” Then scooting forward on the sofa and commanding. “Here…” Pointing between his legs. It was so difficult to fight the smile as you sauntered towards him, standing there between his spread legs. His dangerous eyes lingered across your body and moments later his hands were skimming up your bare legs, clasping at your outer thighs and letting out a low groan. “Fuckin’… gorgeous…”

Behind you the TV roared to life as Man United scored another goal, smiling down at his enamoured face you mentioned. “They just scored…” “Don’t care.” He grunted and in a sudden movement you were yanked down to be laying beneath his immense form on the plush cushions of the sofa. “Simon!” A squeak fell from your lips as your head spun wildly.

“Shh.” Simon grumbled. “Let me take care of you…” His lips skimmed against your own, but ultimately avoided your lips as you tried to capture him into a searing kiss. Instead, he began to meticulously kiss down your frame, the feel of his hot mouth over the soft fabric of the shirt. Those war-worn hands tugging down your knickers and chortling lowly at the wet stain that was pooled into the gusset. “Dirty fuckin’ girl.”

A moment later your legs were thrown over his shoulders, exposing your wet cunt to his wonting eyes. “Fuck…” He whispered, leaning forward to pepper small kisses against your mound, nibbling at your lips to cause you to arch and squirm in his tight hold, his lips were everywhere but where you needed them to be. “Stay still.” He muttered, again another warning and this wasn’t one that you were willing to test.

The way that Simon’s tongue worked was like magic, his eyes focused up on your face as your own rolled back in pleasure at the feel. His tongue languidly seeping up and down your slit, teasing your hole for a moment before raising up to flick slowly at your clit. “Oh, god.” You whispered, trying to follow his orders but unable to fight the express. Simon smirked at the way your thighs quivering around his head, wanting to trap him there forever.

When his mouth sealed around your clit a noise of pure pleasure spilled from your throat, arching up off the sofa and gripping your fingers into his short hair, tugging at the tresses as your toes curled in delight. “Ohmygod. Ohmygod.” You were panting now, taut nipples pressing against the fabric of the shirt. Simon couldn’t take his eyes from your writhing frame, sucking from intensely, grunting and groaning into your cunt, praising you in his head as his mouth was occupied.

A thigh was released from his grip as two of his thick fingers sunk into your wet heat, causing you to cry out again along with the crowd of the television. “Si-mon…” Hoarse and wonting, you couldn’t control the sounds that were tumbling from your throat now, completely feral with pleasure as his fingers hammered into her weeping walls, finding that special spot and overwhelming it with his fingers. “Ohfuck. So… so close… Ohgod… Oh… Simon~” A cry of pleasure tumbled from your lips.

As if some kind of cosmic joke the television roared to life again as another goal was scored whilst your entire frame spasmed and convulsed as his lips remained taut around your cunt, suckling hard on your clit to throw you into your orgasm. Popping away with a slick ‘pop’ moments later Simon smirked and pressed small kisses to your swollen cunt, slipping his fingers from where they were buried. “Good girl.” He whispered against your skin. “My good girl.” He mentioned, pressing a sweet kiss to your engorged clit and fighting back a grin as you jolted.

Simon spent time soothing you, pressing little quaint kisses to your thighs and rubbing your stomach soothingly and after a while you seemed to regain enough composure to speak. “T-think I’m… I’m going to need to wear your shirts more often…” A chuckle came from the man between your legs and he bite into your thigh playfully and responded. “I wouldn’t disagree with that, love.”

Masterlist | Ask | 14-11-2023

[hl-obsessed]

my first fic rec ever! faves from the faves: ✨ and fics i would die for: 💎✨

Have I forgotten how to love; remind me once again by Harrystylesisgod24

(M, 108k) After a serious accident, Harry suffers from a case of retrograde amnesia where he hasn't only forgotten the fact that he is a part of the world-famous band, One Direction, but his fiancé, Louis Tomlinson, as well. Despite being immensely grateful for Harry being alive, Niall, Liam, Zayn, and especially Louis, struggle with accepting that Harry might never remember the many things they experienced together; hell, even their friendship is forgotten. And Louis can't quite push away the crippling fear of Harry not remembering that he loves Louis with all he got. Not that any of that is going to stop Louis from reminding him over and over again.

There You Are by lovelarry10

(E, 82k) Harry’s entire life has fallen apart - in one night, his carefully planned future is suddenly uncertain.

Then he meets Louis.

where the tide takes you, i will follow by @pinkcords

(E, 54k) There’s no way around his departure, their inevitable fate. Harry will leave and he will return to London and when he sits in his new flat, wherever it might be, he will think of this summer and the warmth the sun brought him and the way it felt to be loved. He will compare all his future relationships to Louis and when they fall short, he will be disappointed. Harry knows this.

Or, Louis lives in Gloucester and Harry tries to find a way to stay.

waiting for the tides to meet by @nauticalleeds

(E, 60k) Louis lets out a deep breath, thinking about Harry’s soulmate. Thinking about how Harry’s soulmate is probably as beautiful as Harry, some person that Louis cannot compare to, and how the universe has chosen them to be Harry’s. Fuck the universe. “Fuck you,” he calls out to the universe. He’s aware of how crazy he sounds.

Maybe he is crazy, with how he’s falling for Harry. And fuck that, too. 

Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with heterochromia — one eye is their own eye colour, while the other is the colour of their soulmate's. It's only when they meet their soulmate for the first time that their own eyes match properly.

The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea by @kingsofeverything

(E, 109k) Louis’ life is steady and calm, moored by his marriage, and tied to his hometown, but after a chance encounter with another man, it’ll never be the same.

somewhere in between lightning by @nauticalleeds, @shiningdistraction, jassy117​

(E, 99k) A summer gone wrong (or very right) when, under Liam’s persuasion, Louis finds himself drunkenly applying for Love Island, and getting accepted. Oh, well. A summer spent on an island paradise couldn’t be all that bad, right?

Escapade by @haydolce

(M, 146k) In the grand scheme of things, finding a date for a wedding should be no problem for Louis Tomlinson. He's rich. He's handsome. He's reasonably well behaved. But when the wedding is for his lifelong best friend (and former boyfriend), and is happening in under a month, finding a date for the ceremony and accompanying festivities becomes more of an adventure than he ever could have planned for.

💎✨ Take My Breath Away by @realitybetterthanfiction

(E, 154k) Top Gun AU

love is a word, you gave it a name by @larrydoinglaundry

(E, 158k) After two decades in brutal show business, Louis Tomlinson is trying to restore his tranquility of mind in the peace of Northern Europe where the sun barely sets, Maria's bar is always open, and young Harry has an irresistible spark in his eyes.

✨ Shadow Dances by @itsmotivatingcara

(M, 101k) Louis Tomlinson has a begrudging gift, he’s able to communicate with the spirits of the dead. FBI Medium AU

Tired Tired Sea by @mediawhorefics

(M, 113k) As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

For the Right Reasons by @juliusschmidt

(E, 106k) Bachelor AU

Late Night Talking by @kingsofeverything

(E, 53k) Louis Tomlinson has a new album coming out and a second world tour on the horizon. Promo season gets underway with a stop at Late Night Talking, the late night show hosted by Harry Styles, and Harry Styles just happens to be the man who blew a chance to date Louis a decade ago.

technicolor by @creamcoffeelou

(E, 81k) When the small town of Twin Lakes begins experiencing a string of serial murders, a team of detectives is called in to help. Louis is the head of the team and meets a hard-headed psychic who everyone else seems to believe is the one who will solve the case.

Louis isn't so sure.

The slow-burn, hate-to-love, crime au where Harry is a psychic, Louis is a detective, and the world is against them.

This Wicked Game by @cherrystreet

(E, 70k) An AU in which The Bachelor is gay, Louis is a contestant, Harry is the bachelor, everyone drinks a lot of champagne, the entire world gets to watch them fall in love, and no one plays by the rules

Like Water Over Fire (Like Water On Fire) by @mcssymon

(M, 119k) Prince Harry has 46 men and 13 weeks to find the husband of his dreams, Louis has a limited amount to time to live out a royal fantasy. They might just be exactly what the other needs.

Say Something by @kingsofeverything

(E, 105k) At fifty years old and recently divorced, Omega Harry Styles isn't interested in dating. When his doctor suggests a heat and rut matching service, he signs up out of necessity. It’s the only use he has for an Alpha in his life.

Twenty-eight-year-old Alpha Louis Tomlinson aims to change that.

Let Our Hearts Collide by @crinkle-eyed-boo

(M, 77k) When Harry, a lonely transit worker, saves the life of the handsome commuter he's been secretly pining for, an innocent mistake results in Liam Payne's family believing that Harry is engaged to their son. In the Paynes, Harry finds the big family he's always longed for...and a love he never saw coming.

A While You Were Sleeping AU

💎✨ Love After the End of the World by @mercurial-madhouse

(E, 162k) “Wait. Just so I’m clear in me fucking noggin,” Niall says. “An international worldwide takeover is well under way and the only thing standing between having hot showers and a second end of the world is us five fuckers?” 

***

Society shattered when all electricity suddenly cut off across the globe, plunging the world into darkness. Now, Prometheus Industries is the sole remaining supply of power, a saving grace to those who survived Lights Out. As fugitives in no-man’s land struggling to break into Prometheus HQ, death lurks around every corner for Louis and Zayn. Things get complicated when a routine recon falls apart and Louis collides with Harry and his mates Niall and Liam, survivors with their own agenda.

When staying alive is already a constant battle, the deadliest weakness is to be in love. For Harry and Louis, finding each other sits on top of the endless list of What Else Could Go Wrong.

(story sadly has been delated form ao3. link to download here)

✨ Stranger Stars by shaylea

(E, 212k) Five years ago, Africa offered a grieving Louis Tomlinson an escape from an England he couldn't tolerate. Now it's become home as he leads overland tours across the continent with his best friend and driver Zayn Malik. What's meant to be just another ordinary six-week trip from Cape Town to Nairobi turns into anything but, when future lawyer/current photographer and songwriter Harry Styles and his friends join Louis' latest set of passengers.

Gemma's Dad (Could Use A Guy Like Me) by @lululawrence

(NR, 83k) The summer before Louis and Gemma's senior year of college was supposed to be their last big hurrah before they graduate college and become Real Adults in the workforce. They had it all planned and it was going to be filled with mornings skateboarding, afternoons at the pool, and evenings hanging out with as many of the neighborhood kids they grew up with as they can.

Of course, Louis wasn't planning on getting home and learning that Gemma's dad had gotten the house in the divorce and was dealing with things by focusing on work, the house, and his newly planted garden. It becomes obvious early on that Harry is a bit lost and Gemma is worried about him. To help both of them, Louis is more than happy to help Harry find himself again.

As the summer goes on, the adventures and day to day happenings allow Harry and Louis to spend a lot more time together than either of them ever anticipated and Louis finds it more difficult to keep his growing feelings in check than he ever thought it would be. After all, there wasn't a chance that Harry would ever be interested in Louis... right?

red hands by @dystopianharry

(TNU, 133k) "I’ve never told anyone," Harry murmurs, voice so soft no one else would be able to hear, if it wasn’t just the two of them.

“But you’ve told someone,” Louis says firmly. “And that’s not gonna fucking happen around here. You don’t speak a word of it, or someone’s going to kill you, and we can’t let that happen.”

*

a dystopian au in which harry, an ex-soldier who’s escaped from his government run camp, accidentally stumbles across the biggest rebel movement in the country, and louis, one of the rebellion’s mysterious leaders who appears to hate him, seems to simultaneously have an obsession with keeping him alive. or: harry is wanted for treason, niall hasn’t changed in four years, liam is always smiling, and louis is angry. like, really angry.

another dream but always you by @nobodymoves

(M, 66k) Harry is a Dreamwalker; he has the ability to visit people in their dreams and help put them on the right path. He's assigned to Louis, who's struggling after the break-up of his band. It's an unusual assignment from the beginning; Harry has a crush on Louis, and Louis's subconscious immediately decides Harry is the love of his life. When Dreamers cast Harry as their love interest, he can usually redirect them, but Louis is insistent on being Harry's boyfriend, and despite knowing they have no future, Harry wants to keep up the charade.

Shake Me Down by @agreatperhaps12

(NR, 208k) Harry's new to college, fresh out of Catholic school and conversion therapy camp, and Louis runs the campus LGBTQIA organization.

Nameless Night by green_feelings

(E, 155k) For their 18th birthday, every person receives a letter that reads a simple date. That is the date you'll meet your soulmate.

Harry and Louis have different beliefs, live in different worlds and have different dreams, hopes and fears. Yet, they're not so different from each other when it comes to love. When their paths cross, there is no doubt they belong together. Except for that one, essential difference: they didn't receive the same date.

Or, a fic about differences that make no difference at all: Harry and Louis are soulmates. In every way possible. Featuring Niall as a role model, and Liam and Zayn as a different kind of role models.

Light, Spark and Fire (series) by green_feelings

(M, 239k) Or, Harry’s working on taking Louis’ walls down, until he builds his own up.

Jump Before We Fall by green_feelings

(E, 114k) Louis and Zayn's lives revolve around running a hotel by the sea, Harry is a student who wants a life far from home for just a little while, Niall doesn't know where life leads him and Liam thinks he has already found all purposes in his life.

✨💎 my heart is breathing for this moment in time by usedtothebeach

(E, 160k) When Louis first saw Harry at the 2010 X Factor Auditions, he thought he was watching a peculiarly special stranger. But Harry has known Louis ever since he was five years old.

Because Louis has a rare genetic disorder that causes him to Time Travel to important moments in his past and in his future - and to Harry, always to Harry. When they're put into a band together, it seems like everything Harry has been waiting and wishing for has finally come true. Except for the small fact that Louis doesn't know that Harry is in love with him- that Harry's always been in love with him. Fate, it would seem, is just getting started.

A story about growing up and growing together, and the impossible love that makes it all worthwhile.

✨ you were in my dream by @harruandlou

(E, 59k) Louis woke up after having a sexy dream about his best friend’s boyfriend’s best friend resolved to never think about it again. He hardly knew Harry, so what difference would it make? But when they are thrown together only a few days later, Louis had to admit, his subconscious might have been onto something.

Desperation Was My Sanctuary by @insightfulinsomniac

(E, 102k) As a PhD student and transplant to New York City, Louis is struggling for both money and companionship. His roommate, Zayn, introduces him to a friend who is involved in New York City's sugar bowl. Reluctantly, he signs up for a sugaring app knowing he’s probably the least conventional sugar baby on the market. If he can find a sugar daddy who will pay his bills without asking him to sacrifice his own preferences and boundaries, he might just be willing to earn a bit of extra cash by faking a relationship with a millionaire.

At the age of 35, Harry’s spent his entire adult life devoted to his career as a fashion designer. With his label, Eroda, steady and flourishing, he finally has time to settle down. When he reflects on his adult life, he realizes that he’s never been in a relationship and therefore feels behind. Shy and insecure in his inexperience, he turns to a sugaring app to manufacture a “test relationship” on his terms.

Turns out, they’re both looking for something unconventional.

A smutty, non-traditional strangers-to-lovers story about finding yourself, friendship, safety, sexual discovery, and an unexpected collision with tender, profound love.

Of Mates and Men by bananaheathen

(E, 630k) In which, Louis and Harry meet as best men for their best friends' wedding... well... sort of.

Or, the one where Harry's just moved back from New York and Louis doesn't believe in romance.

Or, I guess... the one where Zayn and Liam are getting married.

✨ Next to your Heartbeat (where I should be) by jaded25

(M, 130k) "We were meant to be but a twist of fate made it so we had to walk away"

All it takes for them to fall in love is one night. All they have to do is wait one year to see each other again.

Yet, when Louis returns after his year abroad, the boy who's got his arms wrapped around Harry isn't him. It isn't a stranger either, which should make walking away all that easier. After all, friend's don't lust after their mate's boyfriends.

Technically, doing the right thing should be easy - but when has Louis ever been known to taking the easy way out?

✨ For As Long As I Can Remember (It's Been December) by green_feelings

(E, 128k) After recovering from a severe accident that causes Harry to lose his memory of three years, he moves to London to start his life over as a star chef. Little does he know that when he falls in love with Louis at first sight, it’s not the first time they meet.

Featuring an unintentional game of hot and cold, Harry chasing memories that won’t come back, Louis burying himself in work to try and forget what he can’t forget, Liam being torn between two of his best friends, Zayn as a moral compass and Niall saving the day with good music and brutal honesty.

✨🌸🌸🌸✨

part 2 (30-50k)

[avocado-writing]

Recently started play BG3, only on act 2 right now lol. I found your blog because this shit is my current hyper fixation and I love your writing. I was wondering if you could write how the BG3 cast would react to Tav haveing hanahaki disease.

Love you're writing!

Astarion

Oh, when he notices, he feels an odd lurch in his chest.

You’re in love with someone? Who? It had better be him, he’s put effort into seducing you.

When he works out that he’s the object of your desire he’s over the moon! And then… ah. But it is a disease after all.

A lot of intense emotions flow through him. Of course he loves you, he’d be a fool not to. But can he admit that to you? Open his heart enough to let you in?

He sees you hacking up blood red roses and thinks, gods, if a few simple words are all this will take to solve it, why wouldn’t he?

He sits down next to you as you wipe your mouth, all awkward angles and longing gazes. Not his usual suave self at all. You go to ask him what’s wrong, and he blurts out that he loves you like he’s under duress.

You blink, amazed if slightly mortified by his tone, but then your lips curl into a smile. When you kiss him your mouth tastes of rosewater. Never does another petal pass your lips, and never does Astarion regret his confession.

Gale

When he sees you bringing up Sussur petals, he panics. It’s affecting your magic after all. Slowing your spells and causing lethargy in your casting.

He throws himself into research. Night and day he’s in his books looking for a cure. He rarely sleeps any more. Not until he comes up with a solution for you.

You’re getting worse and he’s being driven mad by it. If he could find out who you love he could help, but he simply has no idea…

Silly wizard has no idea the solution is right under his nose. Always has been. Because of course he loves you too, wants nothing more than to hold you and have you as his.

It takes the rest of the camp pointing it out to him before he realises, and doesn’t know how he could be so dense… but he knows he’s the luckiest man in the world if you love him.

He confesses in the middle of your coughing fit. The petals stop immediately. He would seal the look of adoration you give him into his heart forever.

No more Sussur. No more problems. Just joy.

Wyll

He’s seen this a dozen times in his youth. Time and time again people have perished from their courtly love in a flurry of flowers.

When he sees it happening with you? Oh, he knows immediately what is happening.

Doesn’t believe you’d be in love with him… but then he sees the loving looks you give him, the softness in your eyes. It clicks into place rather quickly.

And when he realises, you best bet he’s making a move to cure you.

An immediate embrace. A kiss where he tastes the petals on your lips. Your eyes are wide, but your throat is clear.

“I love you,” he states, no hesitations, just facts. There will be time for great romance later, but right now he just needs to make sure you’re safe.

When he’s certain your condition is cleared, no more coughing, he embraces you long and lovingly. Tells you what you mean to him. And when you plan your wedding… there will be no flowers.

Karlach

Panics when she finds you coughing petals. She might have been in Avernus for the past decade, but she knows hanahaki when she sees it.

Corners you one night and begs you to tell her who you’ve fallen for. She’ll help you confess!! After all, how could anyone not feel the same about you? Anything is better than this, this purgatory of petals where love is being kept secret.

Your smile is wobbly when you tell her there might be a time span on this person’s love. She thinks, oh, Gale? Because of the orb?

It takes a moment for things to fall into place. The way you look at her. Like she hung the stars.

“Oh, fuck. It’s me isn’t it?”

You go to leave, she grabs you and holds you back. Pulls you into a kiss. Only stops to tell you that she loves you. Goes right back to kissing.

It’s then she decides not to die. To find a way to live with you, even if it means returning to hell. How could she abandon you, when you love her so much?

Lae’zel

She is so utterly confused when you start hacking up petals. Is it a disease? Some sign of weakness? It is certainly nothing that a gith has ever experienced, nor would fall foul of. They are too strong.

Lae’zel mocks you at first, like she mocks everything, but it’s in order to hide how much seeing you suffer hurts her. She is a fool to have affections for someone so weak.

… isn’t she?

One night she corners Gale (quite intimidatingly) and gets him to inform her of your condition. He tells her all about hanahaki, and she says she must find out who you are in love with and get them to return your affections.

Gale blinks. “Lae’zel… it’s you.”

Oh.

It takes her a moment to digest this. She leaves Gale abruptly (“goodbye then?”), finds you, and drags you to privacy.

“I have been told to cure your disease you need a confession of love. This is my confession.”

The petals do not stop as you cough. With a small smile, a little smug, you tell her she has to be more specific. She huffs and you laugh.

She tells you she loves you in every language she knows. It works.

Shadowheart

The most perceptive of the bunch, Shadowheart knows you are in love with her from the moment you cough up Night Orchid petals.

It’s not subtle that you’re sweet on her. But she doesn’t say anything in return - she’s a sharran, after all, and doesn’t know how you fit with her future of being a dark justiciar.

And then… she finds selûne, and it changes. All of it. Especially her view of you. She can open her heart without fear now and she wants to welcome you in it.

She takes you aside one night. Sets up dinner. A bottle of the wine you shared on that first night by the cliff. Takes your hand and tells you she loves you, as easily as if she’s commenting on the weather.

You stop coughing. The petals cease. Your face lights up. She knows she wouldn’t change this for the world.

[bgbu]

Catching the BG3 Companions Reading The Quarta Sune - Astarion Edition

Hello!! I haven't posted on tumblr in, deadass, almost a decade...so pls be kind :)

content warnings: 18+, piv, unprotected sex, choking

pairing: f!reader x Astarion

word count: 1600

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

“What are you reading my love?”

Your usually alert elf shudders, his surprise evident for only a second before the bravado settles back into his charming smirk as he tries to subtly move the book from his lap off to the side. “Why hello Darling! I thought you’d be several hours out still? No orphans you felt compelled to save from burning buildings this afternoon?” He leans back, slyly trying to push the book farther off to the side as he sprawls his legs and pushes himself back into his elbows.

“I’m afraid not. Gale actually tripped over a fallen tree, so I walked him back to camp while Karlach and Lae’zel said they’d keep hunting for dinner.” You chuckle at your clumsy wizard friend as you sit down to unlace your boots and toss a glance over to Astarion who has his fangs bared wide in his massive smile, his eyes gleaming with water as laughter bursts from his chest and a tear breaks loose and rolls down his cheek. His laughter breaks your own composure, and you join in on his giggles. The little green book on the tent floor catches your eye again as you put your plan into motion.  You lurch forward onto all fours and slink the short distance to where your rogue is propped up on the other side of the tent.  With a feline sway you wiggle your way over to him until you hover over his legs, holding his crimson gaze.  You lunge for the book and sit back into your hips, locking his feet in place, and he lets out a light gasp at your deception.

“My dear it is nothing really, I-”

“I believe you Star, but you know it wouldn’t be embarrassing if you were reading it, right?”

The Quarta Sune is full of sensual and sexual knowledge, the dogeared page it is open to in your hands includes a diagram of the “Underdark Choke” as well as a recipe for an aphrodisiac oyster stew.

“Well, I…in light of recent events I…ugh darling” he trails off, but you bring your hand up to cup his cheek and trail your finger around his jaw to lift up his chin as you scooch farther forward into his lap.  You make your voice soft as you purr, “Star you’re reclaiming your life and your body for the first time in centuries. My love, there is no shame in using whatever tools and information you can find to help you find what you are and aren’t comfortable with.”

He sighs deeply, staring at you through ruby red eyes gleaming with emotion before you lean forward to give him a quick peck on the cheek.  You begin to push off on your arms to give him some space, but his long fingers quickly reach out for your belt loops to pull you up into his chest with a small purr of approval reverberating through his chest. 

“Well, my dear, since you have offered your sickeningly compassionate support for my journey perhaps you’ll indulge me in a brief exercise of…oh how should I put it?”  His fingertip barely brushes your collarbone as he whispers into your ear, his cheeky grin audible, “Exploration?”

You shiver involuntarily as his breath tickles your ear and he chuckles in a sultry tone, “Is that a ‘yes’ my sweet?”

“Anything for you dear.”

“How delicious!!”

Astarion quickly flips you over his side as he rolls onto you, now straddling your lap with both cool hands holding your wrists against the bedroll.  He lets go for a moment to toss his flowing shirt over his head in one fell swoop before he hungrily begins to unlace your bodice while he gently grinds his hips down into yours. You sit up to assist him in removing your bodice over your head and he firmly pushes your shoulders back into the bedroll, a low growl rising in his throat as watches your breasts bounce with the impact.  You don’t even have time to run your fingers through his pearly locks before he peels the trousers off your legs with speed before stripping his own legs bare. 

You let out a soft whimper as his length springs free. “Now, now little pup, so eager already? My research has told me that slow, deliberate movements can improve the quality of our escapades.  Shall we verify?” His red eyes glimmer in anticipation as a confident smirk tugs his lips to the side just enough to reveal one sparkling white fang. You eagerly nod as he kneels at your feet, moving at a snail’s pace as you feel him exhale softly across the skin of your thighs while he slowly uses his free hand to part your thighs.  He slinks up your legs and stops his head right below your now damp center.  You feel his hot breath fan across your core, the stimulation drawing a small whine from your mouth as you clench the bedroll on either side of your body. 

He chuckles softly and draws himself even farther up your body, as he pushes comfortably onto his side, using one arm to prop his head up and the other to wrap tightly around your waist, tilting you onto your side so you can feel his cool, smooth chest push into your back.  He softly kisses up your shoulder as you turn to expose your neck, pulse beating fast and hard beneath the delicate skin of your throat.  Astarion skates his hand up from your waist to palm the soft flesh of your breasts eliciting another moan from your lips as you push your butt back against him.  He huskily grunts into your ear, “On all fours please my little lamb, I’d like to try something.”

You oblige, extending your back into a stretch and wiggling your ass in the air. You expect a small smack, as would typically come from your vamp in a situation like this. Instead, you feel both of his hands wrap firmly around your waist, sliding back to softly claw your hip bones.

“Do you trust me darling?”

“Yes my love.”

He purrs in approval as he pushed his cock against your clothed mound, creating just enough friction to make you moan.  He gently backs up and slides your underwear down to your knees; you sharply breathe in through your teeth as the cool evening air makes you more aware of your warm, wet core begging for attention.  Astarion slowly leans back into you, making you whine as you feel his wet tip caress your folds. His left hand slides up the curve of your ass to rest on your lower back, while his right hand journeys farther up your spine, curving around your shoulder, and softly wrapping around your throat.  You gasp softly as he applies gentle, but firm pressure to your neck as you get a headrush from the pressure. 

“Excellent darling, shall we reward you for being such a good little pet?”

You let out a ragged moan and buck your hips to rub his cock against your opening forcing a guttural moan from the vampire’s chest.

His hand leaves your back to slowly guide his shaft into your wetness and his grip on your neck tightens ever so slightly; you moan as you feel his length slowly filling you up; you cry out as he reaches his hilt as his balls lightly press against your folds. His hand returns to your lower back as he deliberately pulls back and you feel the pressure release from where he was just filling you completely.  You try to push back onto him, but his hands are holding you firmly in place.

“Tut tut little lamb, we’re going to be slow and deliberate yes?”

He mercifully stops just short of pulling out entirely, before he pushes back into you; you try to moan, but his grip around your throat leaves you gasping in pleasure. He continues moving in and out of you at a leisurely pace that makes you both hyperaware of every inch of his cock while he continues to fuck you.  His hand leaves your lower back as he wraps it around your waist and pulls you into his lap, so you sink down onto his cock.  You let out a stifled scream of pleasure as he leans back and you move your legs and feel your knees drive into the soft fur of the bedroll. His hand loosens up on your neck as he focuses his strength into quickening, powerful thrusts as he holds your waist in place with his free hand.  You can feel the hot energy twisting the pit of your stomach with excitement and pleasure as his thrust become harder and faster.

“Star-” you choke out his name, but he cuts you off, panting harshly as he thrusts into you hard as ever, and you can feel his length begin to twitch inside you.

“Come for me darling.”

His deep hoarse voice sends you flying over the edge as you feel yourself shudder and come undone as he lets out a loud groan and you feel the warm pulse of his orgasm mix with yours, both of you shivering with stimulation until you finally feel him slip out of you; leaving the wet pleasure to drip from your core down your thighs as you collapse backwards into your rogue’s awaiting arms.  He lets out a soft chuckle as he kisses your temple and rubs up and down your side.

You sit silently for a few moments, just enjoying his cool body as you glisten with sweat from your passionate exchange.

“Star?”

“Yes love?”

“Have I told you I find your interest in literature rather charming?”

He scoffs, failing to hide his amusement behind his eye roll. “Perhaps we should start a book club?”

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

If you read the whole thing ily and we're friends now and thank you so much! Please send feedback, questions, requests, and/or memes to my ask box and I will keep on writing :) -Lib

[generalsmemories]

How to take care of your lover (short life species) when they're sick

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ based on the ask: helloooo!! may i request a scenario in which jing yuan’s significant other (a short life species that isn’t a xianzhou native) has gotten sick? (jing yuan is not adept at taking care of the sick as he is a long-life species). how worried would he be? would he be ridden with thoughts of potential death?

i love ur writing btw!! - requested by anonymous

✧ contents: established relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of character death (relax, it's not as bad as it seems), spoilers for jing yuan's, blade's and dan heng's past (sorta), maybe ooc at times

✧ a/n: for humorous purposes jing yuan will have no idea what a fever is. let's say that the illnesses that xianzhou natives have to suffer are most of the time a life or death situation so the concept of a fever is practically nonexsistent for them.

"I must say general, I didn't think of you as the type to be able to take care of a short-lived species whose fallen ill at such a short notice," Welt says, eyes wandering towards March 7th whose currently sleeping peacefully on a bed inside Bailu's clinic, the trailblazer close by to watch over. And although their gaze is not on the pair behind them, Jing Yuan can tell that they too are curious. "Oh, but I don't mean this with ill intent, I'm just surprised is all," he adds on quickly, the general merely laughing at the quick explanation.

"No worries, Mr. Yang. It's an understandable surprise. Us long-life species have other health conditions to worry about that other species doesn't need to mull over and vice versa. I just happened to have a bit of experience from before, and seeing that Ms. Bailu wasn't here to personally attend to you all and I had time to spare, it was the least I could do," Jing Yuan explains, making Welt hum in question, "Pardon if this sounds rude, but might I ask where that experience comes from?"

The general laughs, shaking his head as a silent gesture to tell Welt that he doesn't mind, "Not at all, you're esteemed guests after all, telling you a bit won't harm anyone - it's not exactly a secret either," Jing Yuan starts, "I used to have a lover when I was younger that had a shorter lifespan than I is all."

There's a moment of silence, the people before him probably not expecting him to reveal something that vulnerable as easy as he did: "They often got sick because of their curious nature that didn't work well with their frail body, I was often worried sick myself," Jing Yuan reveals with a soft chuckle, and if one had a keener eye they could tell his eyes softening significantly too when reminiscing the events.

"... How long ago?" the trailblazer suddenly asks. The question catches Welt off guard, but before he could try to dismiss it Jing Yuan let's out a low noise of contemplation, "A couple of years ago. I think just before I got appointed as a general," he answers in the end.

Oh, so it was at least a couple of decades ago.

"Yingxing, I think [Name] is dying!" the craftsman almost slams the hammer down on his finger instead of the metal he's welding when the door gets kicked open, letting out a silent curse before directing his gaze towards the door with a quirked eyebrow.

"Kid, I can guarantee you that they don't wake up one day and decide that today is the perfect time to die," Yingxing points out, untying his apron as Jing Yuan begins to explain. "No you don't understand, today I went to their room to wake them up again, but they didn't answer! But I noticed that the door was not locked-"

"You went into their room without asking?"

"Yes? Anyway, they were still in bed, but they didn't even acknowledge me when I called out to them! But when I got closer, I noticed that their face was unusually red and that their whole body was warmer than usual. They were also heavily breathing, but even when they burning up they didn't let me cool them down-"

"Okay, okay. Stop, I already understand," Yingxing tries to placate the young solider, trying to move behind him to get your motionless form into his own arms, but Jing Yuan merely turns around. The action making you groan uncomfortably by the fast motion, "What are you planning on doing? Are they dying?!"

"No. They're either just running a high fever or been in contact with something unknown onboard the Luofu that their immune system haven't encountered yet, move them more than that and they're gonna puke all over the floor which I honestly do not want, so give them to me before you make them worse!" Yingxing barks out, rubbing his temples to get rid of the rising headache, "Do you long life species not suffer from a fever every now and then?"

"... Why would we?"

"Why did I even bother to ask, can you bring Dan Feng here to just look and see if it's not any serious illness? And then I can teach you how to take care of a short life species - seeing as this is your reaction," Yingxing says with a laugh, motioning at Jing Yuan's frantic state before cradling your body into his own arms.

Nonetheless, the Vidyadhara high elder was very rudely interrupted from his duties to get (willingly) dragged away by a distressed Jing Yuan.

"Jing Yuan it was just a sneeze, no need to bundle me up this much," you croak out under the amount of covers stacked upon you, a clearly worried Jing Yuan by your bedside with even more covers. "If anything you're going to crush me with how heavy these are, I don't exactly have the strength to get them off at the moment either-"

"Have you gotten weaker? Do I need to get Dan Feng again to check?"

"No- he was just here 10 minutes ago to give me some medicine again, don't go- I'm serious, Jing Yuan come back this fever is no different from the other ones, I promise!" you plead, somehow managing to grab onto the ends of his cape to make him stop, "I admit it's my fault that I stayed outside in the rain too long when it started to become windy too." you reassure him, tugging a tiny bit on the cape to make him settle on the edge of the bed, to which Jing Yuan obediently does.

"You worry too much," you mumble, tugging Jing Yuan further into the bed so he can lean against the headboard while you slowly manuever around to settle between his legs before burying your face into his stomach.

"Aren't I too warm wearing my usual clothing? Do you want me to grab something first, maybe eat something? You've barely eaten anything, Yingxing said you should at least try to stomach something when you get sick, how about I try to make the congee again before you-"

"No, just stay like this. Last time you tried to make congee you almost cut off your fingers and burned down the kitchen" you mumble, turning your head to grin up at Jing Yuan who only gives you a defeated smile, "You should really worry less. You've seen me sick a few times now and I just need a few days of rest, so just take it easy here with me," you whisper. Jing Yuan could tell that you were getting sleepy from fatigue with the way your eyelids were dropping, but even while fighting off sleep you manage to remind him of one last thing, "... If you're going to try to cook after I fall asleep, at least call Yingxing..."

"... And you call me a worrywart."

[charliemwrites]

One day... one day Saint is going to get what amounts to just past a mild cold (I get the vibes that they almost never get sick, we're talking once every decade or so, but when they do...) and that is when I will strike.

While poor poor Saint is dealing with fever and aches and the weakness that all come with sickness, I will force feed them lovingly made soup and crackers, lemon ginger tea with honey, and will wait on them hand and foot for however long it lasts! If Saint tries to escape their fate of being taken care of for 3-7 business days (or however long the cold lasts), I will break out bed straps that I borrowed without permission from the med bay and simply tie their legs together at the ankles. I am banking on the assumption that this cold saps Saint of all their usual strength and dexterity/hand eye coordination.

I make sure to gloat, ever so slightly, at how "Oh, the big, strong, Saint has fallen so far! Your name must be Thérèse because you're looking like the saint of the weak right now." (Yes I break out the googled saint knowledge, this is an important moment for me. Omega or not, my being a little shit is eternal)

When Saint inevitably gets better, because of my incredible taking care of them, of course, I run out of there as fast as possible, leaving behind a small origami animal as a present of (not so apologetic) apology, and as thanks for dealing with my nigh constant bullshit. (Saint makes me go 🥺 ueueueueue, and my heart oscillates between cuteness aggression and wanting to make them the happiest person ever)

Yall want to spoil saint so bad without reciprocation and it makes your people-pleasing tendencies show /jk

Look, yall keep forgetting they’re an Alpha. So being any level of sick is likely to make them more aggressive. Now, this is Saint we’re talking about, so you’re not likely to get growled or snapped at, but you can be sure they’re not as tolerant of all this coddling silliness.

Mostly, they hate feeling like they can’t protect or provide for their pack. So usually, they’ll power through an illness with some extra shut-eye when possible. If it’s bad enough that they’re laid up in bed, getting within arms reach means you’re getting snatched up and bundled in. That way, they can rest and still make sure you’re safe and close.

Again! Saint doesn’t mind care and love. Feed them, groom them, nuzzle them and give them little gifts. They enjoy the attention and the sign that their omega loves and trusts them. You’re just going to receive that affection in return. Deal with it 😎

[queensunshinee]

Time Of Our Lives || Part 23

warnings: SMUT! 18+!, oral sex, handjob.

Part 23

"Have I already thanked you for agreeing to come with me?" Art asked after he entered the hotel where Liana was staying. His parents had also arrived. "You know I wouldn't miss you at the Olympics, right? And in London, no less!" She rolled her eyes because he hadn't stopped saying 'thank you' since the moment he bought the stupid ticket (which she wanted to pay for herself, but he didn't exactly ask her). "I love London. It's not a punishment or anything," she smiled genuinely.

Art smiled back, but he had known for some time that she loved him just as much as she loved London, and if he wanted to be arrogant, maybe even more than she loved London. And God knows how much he loves Liana. So why can't he talk to her about it? They talk about everything except that. They act like people who have been in a relationship for a decade. People whose dilemmas are about kids and home design. Why can't those be their real dilemmas? Has Art sentenced himself to a life beside Liana that will never be full and complete? Will he always have to settle for almost because he didn't insist on how ridiculous their agreement was?

"Can't wait to see all the places you love. All the buildings you told me about." His smirk widened into a real smile when he saw her face. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, and her cheeks reddened. She was truly the most beautiful person he knew. He can't believe he grew up beside her all his life and didn't realize how beautiful she was for half of it. "Maybe I shouldn't introduce you to Melissa, so you won't fall in love with her by mistake," she said in response, and he raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yes. I'm definitely capable of falling in love with your best friend," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes as she swallowed. They both realized how loaded his statement was only after he said it. After all, Liana had been in love with his best friend. She was capable of that. It's not the same thing. He knows it's not the same thing. And yet. It's not far-fetched in their reality.

"Are you excited?" she abruptly changed the subject. "What's the worst that can happen? I'll lose in the first rounds with you and my parents in the audience, all of America watching me, and I'll become a meme. Just another Sunday," he lay down on the bed beside her, burying his head in her chest, letting her fingers run through his curls. "Or you'll win, and then win again and again," she said in response, and he chuckled. "What are the chances of that happening, Lia?" he sighed, afraid of disappointing so many people. "High. But in any case, you know I don't care, right?" she asked, moving his head a bit, making him look at her with wide eyes, absorbing every word she had to say. "I don't care as long as I know you're enjoying yourself and doing what you love to do. That's like the only reason I'm willing to watch you play tennis. Because I know you love it and it excites you. In any other scenario, fuck tennis," she shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing and moved again, allowing him to rest his head back on her soft chest. He could fall asleep like this. He had fallen asleep like this before.

"So if I quit tomorrow, you wouldn't care?" he asked without looking at her. Because he didn't plan to quit. He was far from it. He loved playing tennis. He loved seeing Liana in the audience. He loved winning. "I'd throw you a party," she replied, making both of them chuckle.

"I brought you something," she murmured, gently moving him again so she could get up. "It's not too much, so don't get too excited," she added as she rummaged through her suitcase and pulled out a box wrapped with a ribbon. "Lia, you shouldn't have." His hand found its way to his neck for a moment, unable to think clearly. His heart was beating irrationally. The fact that she thought of him enough to give him something for the tournament, even though she was already flying with him, gave him chills. "Don't be stupid, open it," she smiled. And for once, Art listened to what she told him to do instead of giving her instructions. "What is all this?" he muttered, not knowing what to focus on.

"Okay, the headphones are supposed to be really good. They're for listening to your meditations if you're with someone in the room, or the songs you like to listen to before games. The book is just because I know you might get bored in the Olympic Village between games or training or whatever, so you have something to pass the time. And there's this really silly picture my mom gave me two months ago. Art, have you seen it?" She talked so fast, and Art felt he could cry. "It's from that time you got a skateboard for your birthday," he stated, examining the framed picture. Liana and he were seven. He was holding his first racket in one hand and hugging Liana with the other. His cheeks were red, and his eyes were swollen. Liana, on her part, had her arms crossed, standing next to a small skateboard. She looked displeased.

"Yeah, and you cried and acted like a little bitch even though you got a racket for your birthday," she laughed heartily, and Art couldn't take his eyes off the picture in front of him. "I wanted to have what you had," he said honestly, remembering that feeling exactly. As a child, he couldn't let go of her at every shared moment. He followed her like he was her tail. Probably even then, he would have wagged if she asked him to. She never asked. "It's for you to put in your room because two and a half weeks is a long time, so you feel a bit at home. After that, I might want it back. It's too cute," Liana continued, partially ignoring what he said.

"Is that mine?" he suddenly asked, pulling out a simple white cap from the box. "Yes. Okay, it's weird, I know. But you had that period where you wore a backwards cap and really looked like a smug, annoying dickhead—" "Oh yes, I remember. You didn't stop telling me how much you hated all my caps," he rolled his eyes.

"Well...I lied," she said without blinking, and he looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "You looked really good with those silly caps. It was awful," she rolled her eyes. "And then there was one time I was at your house one summer, and you were in the pool, so I just took that cap. I thought maybe it would make you stop wearing them, but you just wore another one the next day. An insufferable person," she spoke quickly, as if the speed would make what she said less significant.

"When was that?" For every word she said quickly, he spoke his slowly, swimming in this moment. "The summer of age 16, like 10 years ago, I think?" she tried to remember. "Lia, did you have a crush on me when you were 16?" The familiar smirk spread across his face. "Oh, fuck off," she rolled her eyes, and he put the box on the bed beside him, stood up, and approached her. Wrapping her in a hug with his big hands.

"Thank you," he said quietly, feeling himself melt into her. "You know I've got your back, right? With or without tennis. You and I will be okay," she said, looking at him again. Art kissed her in response, unable to find any words other than 'I love you' (which he wasn’t allowed to say) to sum up the discussion.

After three weeks at the London Olympics, Art Donaldson won a silver medal in the doubles tournament and a gold medal in the singles, all while wearing a backwards white cap in every match. The kiss he gave Liana after his victory was captured everywhere. It was called 'iconic.' Nobody knew who Liana was, but she was the first person to receive his attention, and his parents or Tashi, who were sitting there, weren't surprised at all.

They said goodbye to his parents and decided to stay another week in London. This way, Art could meet some of Liana's friends and see places she loved. Besides, he could use a vacation. Tashi tried to resist, unsuccessfully. It was also Liana's birthday, and Art wanted to take her to a nice restaurant.

They sat next to each other at a bar in London, with some of Liana's school friends sitting across from them. Art connected with them instantly. In a flash. Overall, seeing Liana so immersed in her element, so social, was like exploring her anew. Discovering the person she had been all these years without him.

"Does anyone want something to drink?" he asked, and after everyone told him what they wanted and someone else went with him, Liana stayed with Melissa, who looked at her as if she had fallen from the moon. "You're so in love with him it's embarrassing. I don't know what this act is for," Melissa said the second everyone walked away. "There's no act, we're fine. He's my best friend," Liana shrugged and finished her drink. "Girl, I'm your best friend. The blond guy who looks at you like you hung the moon and sleeps with you most nights of the week, he's your boyfriend." Melissa almost laughed at the absurdity. There wasn't a single person around the table who even asked who Art was to Liana. It was obvious to everyone that he was her boyfriend. His hand was on her in a half-hug, so nonchalant, as if he was born in that exact position. As if he belonged right beside her.

"He doesn't look at me like-" Liana rolled her eyes. "What are you afraid of?" Melissa interrupted, not letting her continue deceiving herself. There isn't a person in the world (literally the whole world since their kissing photos were published) who thinks Liana is just Art's best friend. "I guess, I don't want to get hurt again," Liana murmured, looking at Melissa with a pitiable expression. "Oh, babes, sweetie, everyone gets hurt all the time. Who the fuck has the energy to be afraid of that?" She hugged her, a crushing hug. "I need to visit you more. You're losing it over there in America," she concluded as everyone returned to the table.

Art's hand returned to the same spot, only this time Liana's head rested on his shoulder, as if she was born right there as well.

Two days later, Art insisted they go to the restaurant he had reserved. "Art, we're going to celebrate at your parents' house in two weeks anyway. You're really overdoing it," she said when he just told her about his plans. "Hey, we never celebrate your birthday on the actual date. It feels unfair. Just let me spoil you for a bit," he looked at her with a gaze she found hard to refuse.

So, Liana found herself sitting next to him at a Michelin-starred restaurant, telling him occasionally that he was crazy for the amount of money he spent on this meal. Reminding him that there was no real reason for this extravagance. But every time Liana took a bite or sipped the wine, he saw her face change, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. He knew it wasn't a waste. He knew he had made the right decision, and he knew that tonight might take a turn very soon, so he decided to savor the good, certain moments as much as possible.

After they finished eating, Liana took him on a tourist bus tour, which made them both roll their eyes and laugh, feeling like kids again. They weren't bothered by the people asking to take pictures with Art. What did bother them was the rain that started to pour in August, causing them to catch a taxi to the hotel, drenched. "That was a really extreme ending to this evening," Liana said as they both laughed. "Thank you, Art, this was really over the top," she said, looking at him with a gaze that quickly changed from amused to grateful.

"You don't have to thank me for anything, Liana. Like, ever." He said, his gaze was piercing. Demanding. "Haven't you figured that out yet?" he mumbled and sighed. "Okay. No more thank yous. Do you want to shower with me?" she smiled, and his look filled with mischief as he moved towards her and unzipped her dress. They were under the warm water quickly, with Art gently moving her hair away from her face, and she closed her eyes. His hands were so rough from tennis, but his touch was soft.

"You're so beautiful, Lia. It's unbelievable that you're mine," he murmured, and she opened her eyes. He looked at her, too, and knew he had crossed some kind of line. Because they didn't say it out loud. They didn't say what everyone understood. They just acted like it, and Art was about to ruin it. Or change it. Or improve it. He was about to break it. "You're beautiful yourself," she replied, standing on her tiptoes and kissing him. He deepened the kiss immediately. And it wasn't hurried or sloppy; it was serious and mature and deep. They took their time, refusing to break apart until they ran out of air to share.

Art didn't know how he found himself on all fours before her again, but he loved looking up at her sometimes. When she looked back at him, and they both knew she had the power to destroy him, but she would never use it. And Art was beginning to believe he also had the power to destroy Liana, but he would never dream of using it. His mouth was on her pussy, and even as he explored her from within, he took his time, just as he had with her mouth earlier. And the sounds she made, which he was already used to but would never tire of, made him feel like he could come without her touching him at all. "Fuck, Artie, I'm close," and he loved when she called him that because it only happened when she was needy and coming and desperate and his, and he knew she was in that stupid state because of him, and she also knew he was the one making her feel so good, in such euphoria. And with that thought in his mind, he felt her come, half leaning on the wall and half on his shoulder as he held her shaking legs. "It's okay, baby, I've got you. Come for me. I'm here," he talked her through it, making her orgasm even more intense.

And after she recovered and managed to give him a handjob while they both giggled at her inability to function, they managed to shower and get dressed. "I have a present for you," he said suddenly, with his hand on his neck, knowing this was going to be a pivotal moment but staying calm. "Art, you're overdoing it. The meal was enou-" "Please, Liana, just let me give it to you," he interrupted her because he knew the arguments would come later anyway; right now, he needed her less combat ready.

"Okay," she mumbled, and he went to his suitcase, pulling out a small jewelry box. "Art, what is this?" Liana looked at it as if it were a contagious disease wrapped in a bow. "Relax, it's not a ring. But it might make you angry, and I want you not to be mad at me. Can you do that? Not be mad before you let me talk?" he said, playing with his fingers to steady himself as he spoke. "What's going on, Art?" her voice became more serious. Every note of amusement left it as he handed her the box and sat cross-legged on the bed in front of her.

She looked at the key inside and then at him with a raised eyebrow, feeling her heart pounding faster. "The house is ready," he said, not taking his eyes off her. "Actually, it's been ready for a few weeks. The designer finished completely." He continued, seeing that Liana didn't move for a second. Not even blink. "I'm moving there, and I want you to move in with me." His look was almost desperate. He was so afraid of her reaction, as if he knew she was about to shatter him. "Art, that's not what we agreed..." she said quietly, afraid to move. "Fuck it, Liana. We haven't been in what we agreed to for a long time. We haven't been friends with benefits from the minute we agreed on it. You know that." He closed his eyes and took a long breath. "You built that house. The interior design consists of your ideas too. You love that house, and Liana, I'm pretty sure you love me too, and if you don't say otherwise, then I just want you to agree to live with me. That will be the new agreement," he was desperate. His voice shook, and he didn't speak logically, but he tried to convey a point.

"That will be the new agreement?" she asked, biting her lip, and he could see she was giving in. "Yes. The new agreement will be that we're in love and live together in the house we built for ourselves." He moved closer to her, his voice steadier as he kissed her neck and heard her sigh. "I can't pay for that house, Art. It cost you an insane amount of money," she mumbled. "Liana, the money doesn't matter to me. I have more money. Just what I earned from the Olympics covers that house. I'm not broke in any way." He tried to dramatize that this was the last thing that mattered to him.

"Okay," she said after a few seconds of silence, surprising him. Making him move back a bit and look at her. "Okay?" he asked, confused. He honestly thought it would take him more time. That he would have to twist and convince her.

"Yes, I think we can be in love and live together in a beautiful house. It's something we can handle," she shrugged and started to smile. "So I can say I love you without fearing you'll run away from me?" he continued, not believing he didn't have to struggle. "You already stated that I love you, so I think it would be fair if you also say you love-" He didn't let her finish the sentence before he kissed her. "Happy birthday, Liana Levy. I love you," he smiled into her mouth.

'Happy birthday Amanda, I miss you' will probably be the first message Liana sees when she opens her phone in the morning, but that's a worry for another day. Today, she's celebrating the best birthday she's ever had, probably because she's finally celebrating it on the actual date.

Hey guyssss, how are we doing? Let me know what you think as always, it literally makes my day. Also, send me more requests for blurbs. I love them and I will do at least another one between this and the next chapter. Patrick will come back to us. I just needed Art and Liana to be more stable at this point. Hope you're still enjoying it <3 

taglist (if anyone wants to join, just ask): @suzysface tqd4455 @soberbabes @nina357 @lamoursansfin @marley1773 @ruyaas-world @apolloscastellan @primlovesdilfs @fangirl-kimora @serenadingtigers @imbabycowboy @do-it-for-kicks @izzywags478 @4deline08 @igotmajordaddyissues @jackierose902109 @ganana @yoitsme-04 @swetearss

[howlingday]

Close For Discomfort

A Knightfall Parody

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Jaune: (In bed, Stretches) Morning, babe~.

Cinder: (Yawns) Morning, blue eyes~.

Salem: (Nude) Speaking of blue eyes, I'm making blueberry pancakes! Y'all want any?

Jaune: AGH! Grandma! For Brother's sakes, put on some clothes! Please!

Salem: Clothes ruin my morning flow! You know that! Now, you want blueberry or chocolate chip? (Walking away) Because spoiler alert, the chocolate chips are HELLA PACKED with THC!

Jaune: ...

Cinder: We need to move out.

Jaune: What?!

Cinder: NOW!

Jaune: Wh- I- B- Cindy, we've got free room and board, a literal castle with protection from Grimm attacks and... all the pancakes we could ever want~!

Cinder: Wonderful, but do you have any idea how obnoxious your grandmother has gotten since we started dating? THREE YEARS AGO?

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Cinder: (Doing laundry, Rolls eyes at Salem's "Death To All Faunus" shirt)

Cinder: (Turns over, Sees "And Humans, Too") Oh... That's... better?

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Cinder: And then there was my birthday last month.

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Everyone: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOOOU~!

Ruby: Happy birthday, Cinder~!

Cinder: Thank you, Re- Er, Ruby.

Salem: Time for presents~! (Hands over gift) Here you go, Cindy~!

Cinder: (Flatly) Oh, good, I wonder what this is- Oh, look, it's a crotchless panties and a nippleless bra. Who would've guessed?

Jaune: Hey, I remember those! I wonder if mine still fit...

Cinder: ...

Ruby: ...

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Cinder: And that's NOTHING compared to the bullshit she pulled last week!

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Cinder: (On Jaune, Drags fingers down chest)

Jaune: (Saucily chuckles, Rubs arm)

Cinder: (Leans down, Stops) Is that a fucking camera?!

Salem: (Distant) STOP BREAKING THE SCENE!

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Jaune: (Holding "Grimm Pictures Presents: Fallen Knights of Passion " CD) In her defense, the production value on this was... incredible~!

Cinder: (Takes CD, Melts it)

Jaune: AW~! I was really good in that one...

Cinder: Yes, you were. Not the point!

Jaune: Mm... I'm not sure how we'd move in the first place. Can't exactly just buy a house as "enemies of humanity".

Cinder: Well, who's to say we have to buy or rent anything? I'm sure we could easily steal a house on the shore.

Jaune: Cinder! You promised!

Cinder: I'm kidding! I'm kidding! ...Mostly.

Jaune: What about Ruby? I'm sure she could vouch for us now that Salem's gone straight.

Cinder: We could... but I don't think she'd be interested in anything I have to say...

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Ruby: Cinder, what the fuck?!

Cinder: (Via scroll) You asked, I delivered.

Ruby: I asked for Sonic merch for my birthday, not for you to kidnap another Sonic character!

Big: I'm Big~!

Ruby: He's Big! ...Wait, is that your name?

Big: Yuh-huh~!

Cinder: Well, I'm glad you're enjoying him~.

Ruby: STOP DROPPING FURRIES ON MY DOORSTEP!

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Jaune: Hm... Well, we could always ask for a trial by combat. I'm already good friends with most huntsmen, so all I'd have to do is ask for the next availability. Not to mention they also pay huge, and we're probably going to win anyways because the only people who could beat either of us that aren't our friends are dead! Oh, I made myself feel bad.

Cinder: And this "next availability" would be when?

Jaune: Let's see, according to the schedule, it is... SIX YEARS?!

Cinder: Fuck that! You need a job!

Jaune: Also gonna be hard since I'm blacklisted as a huntsman and my resume aside from that is just... kid who's related to the woman who tried to wipe out humanity.

Cinder: I don't have a formal education, either. The only thing I learned growing up was the best ways to kill a woman and how to scrub week-old cum off decades-old wood.

Salem: (Pops in) Oh, now that takes me back~...

Cinder: (Hurls fireball) EAT SHIT, YOU OLD HAG!

Salem: (Walks downstairs) Oh, you know I was talking about dick...

Cinder: ...GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE.

Jaune: Okay, okay! Uh... We could do manual labor! I've been training to fight the Grimm since I was a teenager, so I can still do other work that requires muscle! We could probably build our own house and a whole neighborhood in, like, a week!

Cinder: I... I don't think I could be doing any physical labor.

Jaune: Why not? You pick ME up and toss me into bed real easy when you're feeling frisky. (Come hithers)

Cinder: (Sighs) That's not what I mean.

Jaune: I know, but I mean... I think you'd be great at it! You're smart, you're driven, you're WAY stronger than me without your maiden powers, and you're-

Cinder: PREGNANT~!

Jaune: ...Wha?

Cinder: And, yeah, I know I can still work, but I think it's really awkward to tell your boss, "Hey, I know I just started, but I'm going to need maternity leave really soon!" It just seems like a clusterfu-

Jaune: (Grabs her) You're pregnant?!

Cinder: Yeah... It's why I didn't ask for any chocolate chips.

Jaune: How... How long?

Cinder: Pregnant? About a month, but I only found out a few days ago! I didn't know how to tell you. We have something good already and everything just sort of happened and I have no idea what happens next or even if you want to-

Jaune: Cinder! (Takes her hands) You... You have made me the happiest man in the entire world. No one has ever made me feel this happy before, except you, and you somehow just keep making me happier.

Cinder: (Eyes watering)

Jaune: I... I love you. And I love our baby.

Cinder: (Hugs him) I love you, too~!

Salem: (Leaning against the wall) So, how much longer until your belly gets bigger? It's been a few centuries since my time, so I'm not sure what the standard is now. And I'd like to know before the next video.

Cinder: If our baby is a girl and we're not out of this house by the time she hits puberty, I WILL murder Salem!

Salem: Tch! Good luck! (Slurps pancake)

[petals2fish]

Smutty Saturday: The Animagus Factor

Summary: After a long week as Prongs, James is struggling with the lasting side effects of being a hormonal teenager. Sharing his body with a rutting Stag certainly doesn’t help his case. As a result, his girlfriend gets really lucky thanks to her perfume that has been spiraling him into utter madness. 18+ smut fic. Click summary to read on A03 ♥️

James Potter was buying Lily Evans more perfume for Christmas.

She first started wearing the special edition ’Petals by Wonder Witch’ perfume in their fifth year. From the moment he caught a whiff, it seemed to haunt him, following him into his dreams with a persistence that bordered on maddening.

It wasn’t something she wore every day, though. Usually, he only encountered the intoxicating scent on special occasions—parties, Hogsmeade weekends, or other moments she deemed significant enough. Yet, there were times when the fragrance clung to her, trapped in the folds of her velvet cloak, or imprinted into her hair.

The lingering scent teased him relentlessly, lingering in his mind long after she had started to complain that she was almost out of it. James nearly had a heart attack when she mentioned it casually, because she was having trouble finding a new bottle.

“I only have a months worth left at best.”

It was a damn shame if he couldn’t get her more. He attributed it to her, only her. If another girl was wearing it he ached to go look for Lily instead.

It wasn’t entirely his fault that he was so attuned to the damn perfume. Becoming an Animagus had heightened all of his senses, his time spent as a stag sharpening his awareness of smells, both a blessing and a curse. He could pick up subtle scents others wouldn’t notice, and her perfume mixed with her regular scent? It was impossible to ignore.

It didn’t help that the fragrance was so uniquely her when it was on her and not another girl—a blend of hyacinth, black currant, and honeysuckle that opened with a sweet, heady decadence, before soft florals took over, grounded by a base of vetiver, patchouli, and musk. It suited her perfectly, effortlessly graceful and complex, even if she had no idea just how deeply it affected him. It drove him mad in the most frustrating way, and his girlfriend was blissfully unaware.

The full moons were the worst, though. When he shifted into his stag form to help Remus, his heightened senses became almost unbearable. He could pick up her perfume even when she wasn’t in the same room, the scent drifting through the castle like a ghost that refused to be exorcized.

November’s full moon had been particularly brutal. Three nights spent looking after Remus had left him in a state of sensory overload, his stag instincts heightened to the point where every little thing felt like too much. And her perfume—oh, her perfume—had been everywhere, swirling in his mind even though she hadn’t even been near him for hours.

By the third night, after Wormtail and Padfoot had fallen asleep in the Shrieking Shack to keep an eye on Remus, James was on edge. His muscles ached from the transformation, and his senses were frayed. But he couldn’t sleep, not with her scent, her body, still lingering in his thoughts.

He had a meeting with Professor McGonagall in the morning that he couldn’t miss—not even for Quidditch practice—so he had dragged himself back to Gryffindor Tower after the final night of the full moon, bone-tired and desperate for a shower.

It was nearly three in the morning when he finally made it inside to the shower. He stood beneath the scorching spray, letting the hot water burn away the exhaustion and the pain of three nights spent in his Animagus form. But no matter how much he scrubbed or how long he stood under the water, he couldn’t wash away the smell of her inside his head. It clung to him, as stubborn and intoxicating as ever, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was in the bloody shower with him.

Wouldn’t that be a good, very wet, dream?

James, wrapped in nothing but a fluffy white towel slung low on his hips, padded barefoot across the cool floor of the dormitory. His body still ached from the strain of three nights in his stag form, and all he wanted was to collapse into bed and forget the world for a while. As he reached his four-poster bed, he tugged the curtains open, only to freeze in place. The second the fabric parted, that familiar, intoxicating scent washed over him—the one that had been tormenting him for three days.

Lily was in his bed.

She’d charmed a soft bubble of light to hover above her, casting a warm, golden glow across the bed. She was half-sitting, half-reclining against his pillows, with a book open in her grasp. His eyes quickly caught the title—it was one of those romance novels she swore she only read for "the interesting plots."

That was the first fact that made his mind go directly into the gutter.

For a moment, all James could do was stand there, water still dripping from his hair, his mind trying to catch up to the situation. The sight of her in his bed, surrounded by the familiar scent of her perfume mixing with his own scent, was enough to make his brain go into survival mode.

“What did I do to deserve you?” he said, more to himself than her sleeping form. She moved a tiny bit at the sound of his voice, her eyelashes fluttering against her pale cheeks.

The second thing James noticed was Lily’s position. She was slumped comfortably against the headboard, her body sinking into the pillows as if the bed had gently claimed her. Her head rested at an odd angle, and her soft, pink nightgown had ridden up around her thighs, exposing the smooth curve of her legs where the fabric had slipped in her sleep. The book she had been reading lay loosely in her hand, its pages slightly bent, resting precariously against her stomach. Though the way it was propped suggested she had tried to stay awake.

“Lily,” he murmured softly, stepping closer, not wanting to disturb her too suddenly. “Love?”

She stirred at the sound of his voice, adjusting her position slightly, but her eyes remained closed. Her lips curved into a sleepy, contented smile, and she sighed softly. “Welcome back,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, laced with the warmth of familiarity and comfort. Though she didn’t fully wake, her words carried the ease of someone who knew where they were.

The third and final straw was her nightgown. It was practically see through, the thin fabric barely hiding what was underneath. No bra. No underwear. James felt something in him, the animal side, go feral when his eyes zeroed in on her tits erected through the thin material. She had the best tits, hands down, and he hadn’t tasted one in an awfully long time.

Three days to be exact.

It was a travesty.

James crawled overtop of her gently, starting to kiss her pale neck. Lily’s left hand immediately lifted to loop her fingers through his curly black hair. She tugged twice as if to encourage him. He nuzzled Lily fondly before he licked up her neck sensually, one of his hands cupping her breast through the thin fabric.

“Mmmm,” she hummed greedily as her legs fell open for him to settle between.

“You like that, babe?” James grinned into her neck. He took a nice deep breath, smelling nothing but that fucking glorious perfume. Her breast was heavy in his hand and when he flicked a thumb over her rounded nipple, she practically purred for him.

“I love you.” She said the words sleepily, but she was only sincere. ”Don’t stop.”

He had always had a hard time controlling his hormones around her, but now? He rutted his hips up and into her without even meaning too. James’ cock was straining against the stupid towel. It was so uncomfortable, but he was drinking her in, tasting her skin, while he played with her breasts.

He alternated between each tit, flicking, playing, sucking, and teasing. Below James, Lily was really waking up, her body eagerly lifting her hips up to catch his for some more delectable friction. James smelled her arousal now and moaned into her skin as he realized that it was mixing with her heavenly perfume. Transitioning back to human with his heightened senses was almost unbearable when it came to quality with his girlfriend.

He just wanted to fuck her.

And not gently.

His tongue thrusting into her mouth with no warning might’ve been overkill. Her squeak was from surprise at first, but then her mouth opened willingly against his and the initial shock turned into need. Lily stroked her tongue against his, passing between their hot, open-mouthed kisses. the book between their bodies was annoying so he chucked it through the opening in the curtain.

He had poor aim. He heard the lamp break, and glass shatter. He tore his mouth off hers to try and see whose lamp it was. Lily didn’t even seem to notice. Both her fists were suddenly wound up in his hair, dragging his face back to kissing. He shut just eyes, letting himself fall into her lead.

She tasted so distinctly. Honey and mint exploded on his tongue, like the tea she drank religiously every morning. James’ hands tilted her head with ease to change the angle, just so he could deepen the stroke of his tongue. Her body rolled against his in response, leaving him to meet her for the next roll.

“How wet are you?” He teased between kisses.

“Not much.”

He opened his eyes to find her wearing the biggest shit grin. Liar. He made a small pass through her folds with two fingers and found out she was sopping. Lily breathed in deeply through her nose, her hands moving up his skull, scratching at some part of his brain that was instantly pleased. He could feel the half moon of her nails digging into his skin. The desperation she was showing him only made James’ cock throb harder.

He pressed her back into the pillows and the headboard hit the wall with a resounding thump. She laughed as he used his free hand to grab onto her red hair in half a ponytail. He sank two fingers inside of her while he simultaneously tilted her head back. She squeaked, like a little mouse, her hips moving in a jerky fashion.

“I want you to keep making those sounds.” He said, “I like to hear you.”

He licked up the column of her throat first and then sucked generously at her pulse point where the smell of that perfume was the most insistent. She was hot now, and her neck tasted salty from her sweat, nearly like tasting her cunt whenever he ate her out.

“More,” she urged, “harder.”

His third finger slid in so nicely. “You take three fingers so well, just like you take my cock.” In and out and in and out, James went.

She was wiggling underneath him, her breath now coming out in short sharp bursts. He stopped marking up her neck so he could lean back and watch her. She was red in the face, her mouth open wide with each pant of pleasure. James curled his fingers. experimenting. Lily gasped but James didn’t do it again. He pulled out, lifting his hand between them in a three fingered salute.

His fingers shined with her arousal. James waited for her eyes to open, refusing to do anything else until they did. Seconds later, one green iris appeared. Then another. The light from her charmed bubble bounced off her to create dark lines and curves. James offered her his fingers to Lily and was rewarded when her mouth opened.

James praised her happily, as she swirled her tongue around him before clamping her lips shut. “You taste that? You like it?” Her hum of appreciation vibrated from his fingers in her mouth straight down to his balls. “I need that pretty mouth of yours everywhere, Lily.”

One of her hands dropped from his hair and James felt her nails trail down her chest. She teased his nipple with a little circle, then made a circle around his belly button. He wasn’t prepared for her palming his hard length through the towel. James hissed and tugged his fingers from her mouth so that he could grab the headboard for leverage.

“James,” her voice was so messy and so needy. “Oh god, James, you’re so hard for me.”

“Do you want it, baby?” He asked, staring deep into her green eyes. “Take it. Touch me.”

“Am I dreaming?” She asked hazily, sliding her hand between the folds of the towel until he felt her hand take ahold of his cock.

James chuckled but it turned into a pleasured cry when her thumb flicked over his weeping tip. “Oh damn, I hope not.”

He was pleased to see he’d marked her neck up efficiently with his time. When his eyes met hers, he noticed her pupils were blown out, and her lips were flushed with red. She raked her one hand back through his hair, just as she started jacking him off with the other. Her movements were making James’ chest rumble with pleasure. His hips bucked into her grasp, the need for more attention drowning out his self respect.

James let go of the headboard, using both hands to keep himself balanced overtop of her. His nose dropped onto her temple and he closed his eyes. He sucked in a breath again and was immediately drowning in her honeysuckle sent.

“Lily,” he said, “have I ever told you that your perfume has been haunting me every night since the day you started wearing it in fifth year?”

He struggled not to complain when she stopped touching his dick. “My perfume?”

“Yes,” he leaned forward to take another sniff, “it smells so good, so fucking nice. I smell it in my sleep, babe, when I’m dreaming about fucking you. When I’m in class, I have to hold my breath sometimes, so I don’t spend all class with my face buried into your neck…your hair…your beautiful breasts…”

“I like your smell.” He opened his eyes to find her smiling up at him. “You smell like fresh soap, the forest after it rains, and cinnamon.”

“Hyacinth.” He blurted out, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“What?” She tilted her head.

“Hyacinth and black current—a musty smell. Maybe from your books?” He kissed her cheek. “I do love how you read smutty books.” He kissed her nose. “Oh, and there’s always honeysuckle, like the ones you pull off the vines in herbology to eat when you think no one is looking.”

He moaned as he described it, all while he basically humped her through her nightgown, desperate for sex. Desperate for her. His cock persistently pressed into her curves. Lily arched her hips up as her legs fell open wider, allowing him to press himself insistently into her. She was burning for him between her thighs. Even the towel couldn’t hide the fact.

Her eyes closed again when he made a second pass. “Oh. Oh my god, you’re so horny! Fuck.”

He rode into her with specific purpose, knowing the only thing between them was really the towel now covered in his pre-cum and likely her slick as well. He loved being on top, loved making her writhe underneath him in pleasure. Her entire body was covered by his, and with each rut into her core, Lily grasped at him more.

Sweat was mixing between them now. James pressed his forehead to hers as he kept dry humping her like a fucking teenager. Lily’s breathy and pitchy moans pleased him even more. She was getting off from it as well.

“I’m gonna—“ she couldn’t even finish a sentence because her body was too busy contracting as she clearly slipped into a small orgasm from their movements. He didn’t stop grinding into her the entire time. “Dear God, James!”

“I’ve been a bloody deer for three days,” his voice was gruff as he lifted the edge of her nightgown while he kept pressing his hard cock where he could. “All I want to do is fuck you. Hard. Let me tell you how divine you smell, baby. How sexy you look in my bed. How hot you look when you finish.”

Their mouths slammed back together and James didn’t stop Lily as she frantically undid the tie to his towel, pushing it down his ass with her hands until he could kick it to the side entirely. Her hands caressed him from his shoulders down to his thighs, guiding him so his cock slipped closer to her center between her thighs.

James bit her lower lip and tugged, only letting go so that he could leaned back and watch the way her lips reached for him. He teased her, light kisses, until her growl of frustration made him laugh wickedly.

“Fuck me,” she gasped into his mouth, “holy fuck, James! Just fuck me! You’re killing me tonight.”

James had to agree as he grabbed himself so he could position his cock right where they wanted it. He made a motion with his hips swinging forward, his breath catching in his throat as the head slipped into her. She was so ready, so wet, that he slid right in. Lily felt like heaven, but her little sounds of pleasure were even more enticing as he filled her up with his cock.

James stopped kissing her again just to take in the way she looked under him. She was happy to sheath his whole dick, her legs dropping wider and knees bending further. Once he was fully inserted up to his balls, James stayed there, loving the odd sensation of it. He felt Lily constricting around him, her soft and hot pussy responding so well to his thick cock. He moved again, sliding against those welcome walls almost all the way out, before he went deeper with a more pointed motion.

“Oh.” Her gasp was one of pleasurable surprise, and then she got greedy.

James moaned at the feeling of Lily fluttering herself around his cock. She was doing it on purpose, clenching herself around him. Lily’s body was practically begging for another orgasm from him. He had only made her come with penetration once, he hoped he could do it again tonight. He grunted loudly as he sped up, rutting into her with such intensity that the bed underneath them was slamming into the wall by his headboard.

This was why they couldn’t have penetrative sex around anyone, and now, especially not after a full moon. His breathy pants were nothing short of animalistic. James fucked her harder and harder, until she was trying to meet every thrust, desperate for the feeling of coming undone.

“James.” She whimpered his name close to his ear like she was begging.

That was the final spark he needed. The world could’ve been burning as James met the brunt of his orgasm, unable to hold on with how long he’d already had with her. James proudly pumped his cum deep inside her with each shuddering thrust. The relief of release was so satisfying that his arms were shaking, but he knew it wasn’t over. He already wanted her again and he’d please her until he could go another round.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m not done with you.” He promised as Lily continued to push herself up into him, desperate for that feeling of him thrusting deep again.

James didn’t waste a second before he was pulling out of her. He grinned as he started crawling backwards, until he was face to clit with her bright pink folds. In seconds, James had his tongue licking their shared desire from her wet skin. Lily lurched up straight, one of her hands back in his hair so that she could guide him.

James teased her clit with ease, attending to it with the tip of his tongue. He decided to try something he’d read over her shoulder in one of her smutty books. His nose pressed into her fine curls as his mouth covered her and then he sucked on her clit. He was rewarded for that action when her thighs squeezed at his head.

“James, yes! Yes, James! Just like that—oh God—you’re so fucking hot tonight. Oh God, I’m so—!”

She was praising him as her hips lifted in response to his suckling. James placed a hand on her outer hip, keeping her down as he continued until she was so close that she was begging with nothing but his name, over and over.

James!

James!

James!

It rang in his ears like bells but she still didn’t crash. They’d built up stamina over the last few months. Tonight it worked in his favor because he just wanted to keep hearing Lily sing his name.

James reached up with a hand so he could fondle her breasts, still covered by her nightgown. He ripped the shoulder down without even looking up. When he pushed the fabric over her heavy breast and latched his finger and thumb onto her perky nipple, Lily whimpered so loudly it sounded like she was about to cry.

“Good girl,” he said as he started wiggling his way back up to kiss her beautiful tits. “I want to put one of your breasts in my mouth, babe, so touch yourself for me.”

His mouth replaced his hand a second later and James’s tongue swirled around her lovely tit. Her nipple was rock hard, she was so stimulated, so perfect. Lily did as he had asked, absolutely spectacularly, might he add. He could feel her wrist against his side, twitching with the motions of a person fingering themselves.

“You know,” she laughed breathlessly, “the more I have sex with you, the more I think my smutty books can’t even get me off anymore.”

“That’s because you want me to be the one to fuck you,” he said, “don’t you?”

“Yes,” she replied, “I only want you.”

James was growing hard again. He could feel his gut clenching with anticipation but tried to ignore it. He wanted to make this experience last as long as possible. He’d go to the meeting with McGonagall in a few hours looking like hell, but this was so worth the loss of sleep.

“Mmmm—I love you. I love you. Oh, I’m so close, baby! So close.”

Encouraged by her talking, James kept flicking and swirling Lily’s nipple with his tongue. He was not giving up until he heard her cry out sharply and her hand between them stopped moving. It happened seconds later. James kissed down the plane of her chest, smug as he heard her catching her breath, then moved back up to her mouth.

Lily was spent, but he’d just gotten a second wind. James purposefully rubbed his dick on the inside of her thigh as Lily swore his name between grazed lips. He grunted into her tongue heavy kisses, feeling his balls grow heavy with the need to release again.

He wasn’t going to last much longer either.

James sat up and Lily protested until he was straddling on her knees. He stared down at her, pumping a fist in quick shirt bursts. Lily pushed at his hips a bit and he let up, watching as she rolled over. He kept jacking off his cock as he moved to the side, expecting to finish himself off alone. Instead, Lily lifted herself into a crouching position, her elbows digging into the pillows. Her perfect round arse was sticking straight up in the air.

“Please.” She begged, her voice muffled by his pillows.

Fucking hell, she’d be the death of him.

James stopped touching himself so he could come up behind her and grab her soft hips. His tip brushed against Lily’s backside, waiting for permission. He was rewarded when she ground her hips up in response. James pressed forward, and his cock slid into her for a second time that night.

James’s nose fell against Lily’s freckled shoulder blade. He bit down on the skin the second he smelled that blasted perfume, this time from the hair that hadn’t swung forward with his thrusts yet. She arched when she felt his teeth against her skin, like it pleased her to feet the sharp bite of his canines into her soft flesh.

“Aren’t you a vegetarian?” She huffed, but her tone was pleased.

“You smell so good. You taste good, too.”

“Just don’t break the skin, vampi—eye—ah. Oh my god, James!”

He’d thrusted eagerly and she cried out as he hit her right where he knew would make her body practically envelope his cock so tightly he’d be forced to stifle a gasp into her skin. He dragged his teeth (carefully) down her spine as he did it again. She hid a pleased cry in the pillows while he sat up to change the angle.

”You want me to come inside you again, baby?” He rutted his hips faster, their skin slapping together roughly. “You want my cum to fill you up? You want to make me come, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” she agreed, “oh, fuck yes!”

James was so mad with lust that he fisted her hair. Instead of being scared, because he’d never been that rough with her before, she leaned her neck back to let him take more if he wanted. James brought the ends of her fiery red locks to his nose, breathing in the smell that was so Lily. So fucking tempting. And all his.

Hyacinth.

Black current.

Honeysuckle.

James knew she must be touching herself again. Her walls were squeezing at his dick as if trying to suction him into place. Two more thrusts was all it took. James felt his balls tighten first and then he coated her insides with his primal satisfaction. He wanted himself on her outside too, so that she’d smell like that glorious perfume mixed with his own aroused scent. James pulled out, and without asking, let some of his cum shoot directly onto her pretty arching backside.

“James!” She complained, the second she felt the warm liquid start sliding down her spine.

“Oh, but babe,” he groaned as he watched the white liquid paint her freckled skin, “I’m so sorry. You just look so good for me. I wish you could see how fucking perfect you look.”

“Next time, ask.”

Could next time be right now? “I promise, baby.”

He coaxed her to sit back into her knees. His chest pressed into her back, his cum sticking to him as well. James reached around to play with her breasts and kiss her neck, trying to sooth her back into a steady rhythm.

“Are you too overstimulated?” He asked. She shook her head, no. “I’ll help you, then.”

Lily fell into his hold more and rode her own fingers. He watched greedily from behind, smelling her perfume, hearing her wet cunt slosh every time her fingers moved. He praised Lily again, his tongue tracing the outside of her ear until she pressed her free hand over her mouth to hide the muffled scream that let lose once she felt the tension break.

It took them both more than a few minutes to move again. James was pretty certain he was going to regret all this activity tomorrow when the transfiguration muscle pain flared. It was worth it though. She was worth it. James kissed Lily over and over as he cleaned her up using the previously discarded towel he’d walked in with.

Lily laid back once he was done cleaning up, letting him massage her legs, looking utterly angelic and happy. “I might just wait for you after every full moon.” She smirked down at him, her brow arching. “What even brought this on? I expected you to be too tired to even realize I was here.”

James grinned back as he worked on a spot by her knee. “How do I put this delicately?”

She snorted, kicking at him slightly. “Nothing about you is delicate. Ever.”

James lifted her knee so he could press a kiss to it before admitting, “Prongs—my animal form—is a deer.”

“I know that, dear.” She teased, sitting up so that they were eye to eye again. “What does that have to do with tonight’s behavior?”

“It makes my senses become more heightened,” he explained, “smell, touch, hearing…and…hormones.”

Something mischievous sparkled in her green eyes. “So the animal side of you is what made you act like a fucking barbarian tonight?”

He had the decency to look a little ashamed. “Yeah.”

He was worried she’d ask him to never do this again, but her hand cupped his cheek, making him keep eye contact.

“Listen to me very carefully. On the next full moon,” she said slyly, “I will be here, with you, for the holidays. I want you to come find me after you’re done being Prongs. I want you to look for me, using those heightened senses of yours. I’ll wear my perfume, a cloak, and nothing else. Not even this nightgown. And if you find me, wherever I may be, I want you to fuck me so hard I won’t be able to look at you without blushing the rest of the week.”

He was buying her whatever she wanted for Christmas.

[yanderehsr]

I have no idea if you have done this but,

Yandere steleron hunters reaction to trying to breakup with them

Sure, hope you'll enjoy😄

Trigger Warning: Yandere, Obsessive behaviour, Possessive behaviour, Kidnapping, Murder

Blade: He thinks he heard you wrong so he asks again, when he gets confirmation that you indeed want to break up he sighs. Guess he has to do this the hard way, he was trying to not have to threaten you but it seems like he has no choice.

With the threat of all of your friends and family members life at stake, you willingly follow Blade, he tries to calm you down but when you don't he just sighs, when you are finally at his home, locked away from the rest of the world, and have fallen asleep of exhaustion from the emotional rollercoaster this day has been, only then does he go for a fast trip to actually kill of your friends and family, what you don't know wont hurt you.

"You only have yourself to blame, you made the choice to be with me, you can't just leave whenever you want"

Kafka: Will actually laugh at you when you tell her, you actually believe that she will let you go, it's almost funny, you seem to have forgotten who she is, she is a criminal of an almost 11 billion bounty, she doesn't care if other people sees her kidnap you, she will do it anyways.

What Kafka does to kidnap you leaves you out of breath, in the sense that her hands are on your throut and strangling you still with that same sweet smile, she knows exactly how long she needs to do this before you pass out without any side effects.

"Oh my poor idiotic darling, this wouldn't be happening if you didn't try to do something so stupid"

Silver Wolf: That's nice, anyways. You may think that she didn't hears you with how calmly she is taking this, but why would she be mad, you can't leave anyways, why? Well the door is gone, leaving only walls, the only way to go outside is if you have Silver Wolf's powers, which you don't.

Silver Wolf still treats you the same, just a bit more harshly, she now forces cuddles a bit more and kisses you more roughly, it's what you deserve for even thinking about leaving her, she is sure you will not even want to leave after say a couple decades trapped with her.

"Yeah, I heard you, I just don't accept that, we are meant to be, so stop spouting such nonsense"

[weebsinstash]

Hello! I don’t know if you do this but I was wondering what your thoughts were for a Yandere Lucifer Morningstar from Hazbin Hotel? I’m having trouble writing a good representation of him and would like some advice.

Honestly I'm gonna humble myself and say that it took reading someone else's post to make me like, REALLY notice the nuances of Lucifer's character

This post right here literally made me rewatch his scenes and go "oh wow he IS like DANGEROUSLY DEPRESSED"

He doesn't remember Charlie told him where she is, or what she's doing, and he can barely follow a conversation despite clearly trying to pay attention. He also just seems kind of scattered, and um, HE LITERALLY MAKES A JOKE ABOUT DYING FROM FALLING OFF THE HOTEL BALCONY like dude is making jokes about death in front of his fucking daughter, like my dudes, I think this guy is BARELY holding himself together

He clearly loves loves LOVES Charlie but he doesn't really know how to properly articulate himself and I have a feeling there's a lot he's concealing from her, and another big question is, is his depression from being cast out of Heaven, or from something to do with his missing wife, or a combination of both? Either way this man is clearly dealing with like, really bad issues. And Charlie also mentioned he wasn't around a whole lot when she was younger, so... did he have depression back then too?

So, that all said, I feel like a yandere Lucifer would almost be, potentially invigorated by his darling? Given a new lease on life? He may not be 100% his old self again but, you get him to like, 65, maybe 70% on a good day. You give him another reason to get out of bed in the morning, or afternoon, or evening or, whenever he can drag his depressed ass out of bed

Given what we currently know, I feel like a romantic yandere Lucifer would pretend to only be platonic and do his best to poorly conceal his feelings because of his whole... "can't ask his missing wife if it's ok for you to be their third" ordeal, the man still wears his wedding ring, and a platonic yandere Lucifer basically adopts you like another kid, because uh, I mean for one he apparently canonically missed a lot of Charlie's childhood, and he's also an ancient fallen angel, so he's got that age advantage on you no matter how old you are. I mean what are a few decades when he's literally thousands upon thousands upon thousands--you get the idea

Yandere Lucifer would want to stay close to you, helping watch over you, maaaaaybe being overly paranoid about you randomly disappearing and going missing For Very Obvious Reasons, and in the process he winds up being unintentionally overbearing. I mean, he did it in irritation, but he basically showed up at Charlie's hotel immediately saying it was a dump and all of HER FRIENDS were 'a bunch of losers'. He never completely pulls his punches when there's something he's displeased with, even if it has something to do with someone he loves, so his darling would get much of the same treatment. "Ohhhhh, you uh, you wanted to move across the city? That's, um, definitely a fun idea! BuuuuuUuuut, what IF, instead of doing that--", like, he tries to playfully tug you in 'the right direction' until you make him put his foot down

Hmmm... what would him losing his cool look like... well, we've already seen that he doesn't mind throwing hands and WILL KILL, but will stop if he's asked to or there's a good reason. With you, though, you're not typically going to be there to stop him from offing any rivals or bad influences, so I imagine he'd be kinda casual about it, actually! He already thinks pretty lowly of Sinners, so say he finds out you've been ditching him and Charlie to go out drinking with strangers, making new friends, maybe having a few one night stands? Yeah, some of those people definitely aren't calling you back, and Lucifer doesn't really see a problem with it. These people are kind of the worst and really don't deserve you, anyways! If anything he's helping clean up Hell for you and his daughter and keeping you safe :)

Losing his cool with YOU... I think would involve him using his powers to finally confine you, maybe even going demon mode to intimidate you into submission in a very dad-esque "now you listen HERE" kind of way. We don't really know the scope and scale of his powers but I can picture him at least being, obviously much stronger than he looks, and transforming to fly you "back home" where he puts you in your room where no one can reach you without his explicit permission (and you also can't leave~)

One second you're just drunk and jokingly defying him, teasing him, maybe even picking him up and swinging him around because you're bigger than him, to you he's just a silly little guy! Meanwhile this Grown Ass Man Who Is Also The Actual Devil is getting more than just a little frustrated you basically view him as a wacky little cartoon more than a grown man, one who has had sex and has had two wives and sired a child. You're just teasing him and stumbling around drunk when he's trying to get you to your hotel room to get to bed to sleep, like you're clearly not taking him seriously, maybe even playfully putting your hands on him (TOTALLY not riling him up in 'fun' ways) and he finally just huffs and snaps his fingers and, you're suddenly magic'd to bed! You're laying there blinking confused and he's tucking you in and chuckling that "you're such a handful!" before leaving you to sleep and somehow INSTANTLY knowing when you're up.

You ARE in his house, after all...

Not to be gross but uh..... I'm not saying "yandere Lucifer who has the power to still get a Sinner pregnant if he wanted to and you wind up fooling around with him and you're waking up with his little apple symbol on your lower tummy as one of those like hentai womb tattoos to show you're pregnant" but uhhhhhhhhhhyeah that's what I'm saying, and whether it was accidentally or intentionally, he's keeping it, and thus, keeping YOU

I just feel like he'd be very goofy and awkward and bad at hiding his feelings and being very clearly overprotective and jealous in ways everyone else but you manages to pick up on (god Alastor would have some MATERIAL) and, in a romantic/sexual setting he eventually just loses his patience with you not seeing him as a man and just gets... progressively more forward. You pop back into the Hotel after a night out and Lucifer's already hammered at the bar with Husk, stumbling up to you, hanging off of you, slurring and embarrassing himself, "You'reeeee SO pretty... like SO pretty.... do you wanna have *BELCH* you wanna fuck? Cause I LOVE to fuck, like when I FUCKED my wife to make my DAUGHTER, my wife and daughter that I have, 'cuz im a DAD, 'cuz I'm a MAN!" and you're just giggling and ruffling his hair, "You're so weird, dude ^^" and walking away while Lucifer internally screams, wondering just how DIRECT with you he's going to have to be

meanwhile Charlie is totally cool with all of this and sees this as a weird double whammy of Curing Dad's Depression + new family member and friend hurray! and she's totally actively either shipping you with her dad or aiding and abetting him in his weird attempts to absorb you into the Morningstar family