#Splash Shelving

[splashshelving]

Green Collapsible Vegetable Basket

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

spent a very soothing forty minutes alphabetizing and labeling the a/v collection. numbered things! anything that was a library discard with an illegible spine got labelled! it all still fits on the one tiny shelf even!

[something-old-something-new]

Left side: Ludwig being a classical musician, just like his namesake

Right side: beach bum

Remembering his color splash bossfight, I can say this is pretty accurate.

Inside of you there are two Koopas

[writersdrug]

Bartender!Simon accidentally running into Waitress!Reader while she’s carrying a bunch of drinks for a table, causing them to spill all over herself 👉🏻👈🏻

Even more bonus points if she’s dressed in a white shirt, iykyk 👀

You're onto something here

Also, combining this with the ask about reader snooping through Simon's flat on the 3rd floor

Warnings: NSFW, slight humiliation, Simon goes from gentleman to having nasty nasty thoughts

It's a busy night - when mid-September rolls in, the nights get colder, and people gravitate towards the warm lighting of the bar through the street-front window. You still have a couple of hours left on your shift, which means Ghost still has a while, too.

He can't remember how many beers he's poured tonight. The noise of the shaker is drowned out by the buzz in his head. Mack wants another PBR. Table eleven still needs their shots and two Martinis. He's in the zone, pouring liquor and juices and bitters with practiced skill. He catches every word from the patrons at the bar - at least, every order. He mumbles out a quick "step back, please" when a gaggle of girls tries to stand near the end of the bar, waiting for their drinks. The bar is completely seated, people stuffing themselves between chairs to place their orders. Somon's got half a mind to tell them to clear out and get the fuck back, but he has to be civil. It won't be this hellish for too much longer - Price texted Simon that he'd be there in a bit to help.

Simon's more concerned about you: you're running around, delivering food and drink, bringing condiments and refilling waters - you're weaving between tables, maneuvering around bodies with a quick "sorry" or "scuse me"... you're at one table, and in the blink of an eye, you're at another. Simon sometimes doesn't realize you went into the kitchen until you're busting the door open with plates of food. You're covered in a light sheen of sweat, your usual chipper attitude dampened by the Friday night rush. Simon doesn't miss the way you scowl when you hear a table calling for you, when both of your hands are full.

You push yourself through the crowd of girls hovering by the end of the bar. You huff, grabbing a tray and some glasses. "Is it national 'Go to a Bar' day?" You mumble, squeezing behind Simon and heading to the free soda gun.

He barely makes an effort to reply. "Must be." He grunts, pulling several bottles from the shelves and setting them on the counter. He's snatching this and that - you fill your glasses with water, sliding behind him and grabbing the various drinks on the end of the back and stacking them on your tray.

A man elbowed his way between the patrons at the bar. "Can I get another DogFish IPA?" He says, sticking his glass across the bar.

Simon groans internally, but he keeps a stoic face. He quickly leans to his left and reaches for the glass - right as you were picking up your tray, now stacked with drinks. You stumble back, not expecting Simon to be so close to you, and bump into one of the girls that crowds by the bar's entrance.

Simon feels his stomach drop when he sees each of the glasses topple over. You're instantly drenched, alcohol splashing across your eyes, which you have squeezed shut from the onslaught of fluids. Your shirt is absolutely soaked; a few of the glasses fall to the ground and shatter upon impact, alerting the entire bar and making their heads turn to you - the man who handed Simon the glass is ogling at you shamelessly, and the girl you'd bumped into turns around with a simple oh…

You're frozen, eyes wide and your entire front soaking. Your white shirt is practically see-through, clinging to your skin and providing little coverage for your pink, lacy bra. You look mortified and on the verge of tears. Your panicked stare drifts to Simon - you think he's going to yell at you, or worse: give you the silent treatment for the rest of the night because he's too frustrated to speak.

Simon is trying to keep his own staring under wraps – your tits look absolutely tantalizing, hugged so tightly by your wet shirt – but he snaps out of his daze when he sees your teary eyes. He drops everything - you're the most important person in the room right now. He quickly takes the tray from you and sets it aside.

"Here-" he shoves a fresh rag into your hands. "Cover up with that." He says, taking you by your shoulders and leaning down to your level. "Third floor, there's a dresser on th' left side, second drawer has shirts. Go dry off 'n get a new shirt, I'll clean this up."

You're too stunned to cry. You're angry, embarrassed, frustrated... there's so much happening around you, so many eyes staring at your fuck-up, but Simon's eyes keep you from losing control of your emotions. He doesn’t seem angry or irate – he’s worried about you. Shouldn't you help him clean up? It's your mess after all. "But-"

"Hush. Go on, luv - you're practically see-through." He quickly turns you around and gently shoves you into the crowd, and you hurry away to the stairwell without protest, holding the rag close to your chest.

Simon sighs. The pub slowly starts to return to normal, though people aren't trying as hard to get their drinks. A sense of shame seems to hang around everyone’s heads, though there was only one party at fault, here. He stares daggers at the girls who are still hovering by the bar. The one you ran into is gawking back in fear - she knows she messed up.

"Get the fuck back." Simon seethes, storming over to the POS. They all scramble away and press against the wall, afraid he might start swinging at them. "Finish ya drinks and leave. 'M closin' your tab. You're done."

They dissipate back into the crowd, right as Soap pops his head out of the kitchen. "Heard a crash, ye alright?"

"Fuckin' wankers can't understand simple orders." Simon grumbles, grabbing a broom from the corner and sweeping up the glass. "Slag couldn't get her ass out th' fuckin walkway and made bird spill a tray."

"Christ, she ok?"

"Upstairs. Changin'. Shirt nearly disappeared when it got wet."

"Need me tae check up on-"

"Got a fuckin' kitchen t' run, don't ya?"

Johnny scoffs and disappears back into the kitchen. Simon continues sweeping - he spots Price jogging up to the building throught he street front window, and he sighs in relief.

Upstairs, you do just as Simon instructed. You're topless, your bra still a bit damp after you tried to towel-dry it with he rag Simon gave you. You're sifting through his drawer, face scrunched as you shuffle through and inspect each shirt. You're a bit miffed at how many plain, black t shirts he has - has he ever stepped foot into an Old Navy? - but, eventually, you hit the jackpot.

You pull a shirt from the very bottom of the drawer. It's army green, a bit worn over the years, with a bit of a natural, masculine musk clinging to it. The right front chest has a skull, a sword, and wings, along with the table "Task Force 141". On the back, in large letters: "LT. RILEY".

A smile creeps its way onto your face. He never said which shirt... he said any shirt. And this is the one you want.

Your bra comes off quicky, the fabric still wet and uncomfortable. You toss it somewhere on the bed behind you – you’re sure Simon wouldn’t mind if you hung it over the back of his chair, right? Can’t be wearing a wet bra while you’re running around the restaurant; you’d have a bra-shaped water stain on your shirt. Or, worse – you’d get sick. And you know for a fact (though he’s never said it to you) that Simon would kick himself if you got sick on the job.

You quickly pull the shirt on - it swallows you, both in size and scent. It smells just like him - the bodywash you catch a whiff of when you pass him, the slight muskiness that surrounds you when he reaches above you to grab something - it's all there, just tenfold. You stand up and pull it down; it covers your thighs down to your shorts, almost making it look like you weren’t wearing any to an unassuming person.

You take a peek around the room: it’s quite cozy, even with a lack of real décor. The bed sits against the middle of the wall, with Carolina blue sheets and a grey comforter. The pillows look rather worn, but there’s at least three of them. There’s a television on the dresser that faces the bed, and a small bookshelf in the corner next to an antique-looking chair, except the shelf is filled with mostly keepsakes and memorabilia. Any books in the room are stacked on the edges of the two bay windows, embedded in the brick wall that faces the street. The only lighting comes from three lamps: one on the nightstand by his bed, a taller one next to the clothes rack near the bathroom, and a lantern-looking lamp that he’s somehow attached next to the door.

Curiosity gets the better of you – discovering anything about Simon that he hasn’t already told you is like striking oil. You pad over to the shelf, leaning down to inspect the various objects. A balaclava, rolled up and tucked behind a box. In said box is a medal, bronze and dull, with a fist tightly holding a blazing torch. A worn-down pair of sunglasses lay next to a ring. A green stone sits on a silver band, nestled between two ivy vines. There’s a picture of the four of them: Simon, Johnny, Price, and even Kyle – you had assumed they had met Kyle through the restaurant industry, but there they all were. Dressed in military uniforms, holding guns and posing with stern faces in front of a helicopter. Simon was wearing a rather terrifying skull mask, the rest of him completely covered by his uniform. You were only able to recognize Simon from his brown eyes, but the man in the photo looked entirely different from the bartender downstairs.

Fuck! You completely forgot that you were a waitress, sniffing around your manager’s office when you should be tending to your tables. You turned on your heel and left Simon’s room, running down the stairs two at a time.

Simon was still in the eye of the storm – barely a word had been passed between him and Price, other than a simple hello when he had first hopped behind the bar. Simon was keeping an eye on your tables, which were currently satisfied for the time being – but damn, what was taking you so long? Were you showcasing all of his shirts? The thought of that would’ve had him biting his cheek to prevent a boner, but he was too busy to be anything but concerned for you.

On cue, you come bounding down the stairs, throwing yourself back into the busy crowd as you tie your server apron around your waist. Simon pours a tap, barely able to make out your form flitting through the crowd, making sure your tables are well-off and happy. Price calls your name over the din of the crowd, and you squeeze yourself through the mass of people to collect the drinks sitting on the end of the bar.

“Sorry!” you exclaim, setting your drinks on a tray. “Had to mop myself up a bit with the rag. Did anyone order anything from my tables?” you ask, looking at Simon.

He’s… occupied. His eyes are trained on your shirt. His shirt. That army green that brought up so many old memories, ones he hadn’t thought of in a long time,..

His shirt. Covering your body – and, fucking Christ, you’re not wearing a bra. You’re completely naked under that shirt.

You’re confused. He’s staring at you with such a shocked, glassy pair of eyes that you wonder if you’ve shot him in the leg. You look down at what he’s staring at – oh, right. The shirt. A part of you heats up in embarrassment, and a part in… something else. Yes, I took your shirt. I’ve got your name on my back. If he’s thoroughly upset by this, he’s not expressing it. And if you’re mistaken in the thought that he looks aroused (you wouldn’t be surprised to find him drooling behind the mask – you know how delicious you look right now), you’ll give him the shirt back eventually and pretend this never happened.

“Thanks for earlier.” You spoke over the noisy chatter around you. “This, uh- I hope it’s ok, it was the first shirt I saw.”

Bullshit. He knows he buried that thing deep in his drawer. He did it on purpose. “’S fine.” He mumbles, still dazed.

You glance at him as you carefully balance the tray on your hand. The printer is dealing ticket after ticket of drinks as Price enters them – the man looks at Simon with a frustrated, tight-lipped glare, working double-time to push orders through.

“I’ll be back to grab the rest.” You say quickly. You scurry off, careful to avoid slamming into anyone this time. Simon nearly has a heart attack when he sees his last name across your back. You might as well have his bite mark branded onto the side of your neck.

This opens up a nasty can of worms for him. He’s a goner – he’s thinking about chasing you around the bar, after hours, while all you’re wearing is his shirt; snatching you up and slamming you down on the bar, shoving his face in between your thighs; what you sound like when he pumps you with his fingers; pounding you against the wall in the office, hips crashing into yours as he growls and grunts in your ear, “wanna wear my fuckin’ name, baby? hmm? wanna make sure everyone in this fuckin’ pub knows you’re mine? I’ll gladly fuckin’ help you, fuckin’ tease-“; god, he needs you, he needs to know what you feel like wrapped around his dick, what you sound like when he’s reaching those spots, he needs your nails in his back and your palm smacking him across his face and your teeth on his neck-

“Simon!”

John’s- no, Captain Price’s voice shuts off the movie playing in his mind. He looks at him, barely recognizing the growing frustration in his eyes – Simon’s fighting his own demons right now, and he isn’t even sure if his Captain’s wrath can save him.

“Stop thinkin’ with your Pork Sword and get your arse back on bar.” Price barks – a few of the regulars laugh at that, and Simon realizes he’d had an audience.

He clears his throat and grabs a ticket, quickly reading it and grabbing a glass. He forces himself to let go of the fantasy – he’ll have all night to think about it once he closes. That, or he’ll be hating himself for even thinking of you in that way, especially when the situation wasn’t in your favor. For now, though, he’s got a job to do. He continues to pour and stir and shake drinks left and right, occasionally stealing glances at you, prancing around with his title.

He knows one thing’s for certain – your bra is still somewhere in his room.

[bi-writes]

Simon short circuiting when his mail order bride does something kind for him :)) uses her new credit card to buy him his favorite tea and cat treats for bonding with his new baby <3

mail-order bride

simon lets out a deep breath as he slips his boots off. he pulls his tact vest over his head, dropping it beside his shoes before rolling out his neck. he's exhausted. he's been awake for 36 hours at least, and not even a few hours ago, he had been camped out on a rooftop with nothing but his sniper rifle for company.

you pad into the living room, dressed in cute cherry-printed pajamas. little shorts with a matching short-sleeve top, and you smile shyly when you see him standing by the door. your eyes wander a little; you've never seen him with his gear on, and he's surprised you're not more startled by the skull mask he's wearing.

his head darts to the side when he sees the cat hopping along the shelves on the wall. the cat launches itself off the closest shelf, landing on the back of his shoulders and nuzzling along the back of his head before dropping onto the floor to weave between his legs.

"welcome home," you say softly, coming closer, and simon just nods. you reach up when you get closer, slipping your hands under his hoodie to find the hem of his mask. you pull it up gently over his head, smiling a little wider when you reveal his face underneath. he has eye-black smudged around his eyes, but otherwise, your husband looks his normal self, aside from the dark circles under his eyes.

you understand immediately that simon isn't in a good mood. he's irritated, tired, sour-faced and agitated. you smooth your hands down his chest before kneeling on the carpet. simon blinks, confused, but then he watches as you start to unbuckle the holsters around his thighs. you get him undressed enough that he's just wearing his jeans and his hoodie, and he takes your hand gently to help you stand back up. you hook your pinkie around his, guiding him to take a seat on the couch before you disappear into the kitchen.

simon leans his head back against the couch, shutting his eyes gently. to come home to a warm place, one filled with another person, it's frighteningly comforting. he has always come home to the dark. to the heater off and all the rooms empty. to silence and his own terrifying thoughts.

"simon?"

he opens his eyes and sits up a little, blinking the sleep away as you come closer. he hums when he sees you holding a mug, walking slow as you try and keep it steady. you hand him the mug, watching as he takes a slow sip of it.

he shuts his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. it's perfect. he's never told you how he prefers his tea, but it's got just a splash of milk and nothing more. the thoughtfulness warms him more than the drink does, and he curls his toes a little as he tries not to think about it too hard.

"oh!" you smile. "i-i...i filled your car up, and i-i got you something when i went to get a water."

you scurry towards your purse by the door, rummaging through it before you pull out a little crinkled paper bag. you sit next to him on the couch and hand it to him after he sets his tea down on the coffee table.

he reaches into the bag and wraps his hand around a little plastic trinket, pulling it out. he blinks, hooking a gloved finger through the little keychain he's holding. he holds it up, face neutral, but after a few moments, a low chuckle leaves him.

it's a little skeleton, and the bones of it wiggle and dance when he shakes it.

"i...i thought of you when i saw it," you laugh a little, and he watches as the cat hops up onto your lap, moving over your legs to sniff at the little skeleton simon is holding up. after a few moments, the cat reaches up with a paw and smacks the skeleton, watching it shake and wiggle before smacking it again.

"yeah?" simon murmurs, meeting your eyes. "you miss me?"

"y-yes...yeah. w-we missed you."

[katanra]

Transitional Kitchen - Kitchen

An undermount sink, gray cabinets, solid surface countertops, stainless steel appliances, an island, shaker cabinets, a brick backsplash, and a brown backsplash are all featured in this large transitional l-shaped enclosed kitchen photo.

[magspag]

one more

Reblog and put in the tags what is your personal lost media.

[iheartbillholden]

Enclosed Kitchen in Denver Mid-sized elegant l-shaped linoleum floor enclosed kitchen photo with an undermount sink, shaker cabinets, white cabinets, granite countertops, white backsplash, subway tile backsplash, an island and black countertops

[likeimseventeen]

San Francisco Kitchen With an undermount sink, shaker cabinets, white cabinets, quartz countertops, white backsplash, ceramic backsplash, stainless steel appliances, no island, and gray countertops in a large transitional galley kitchen pantry picture.

[rendezvousordie]

Pantry Orange County Small elegant u-shaped medium tone wood floor kitchen pantry photo with a farmhouse sink, shaker cabinets, light wood cabinets, quartz countertops, multicolored backsplash, mosaic tile backsplash, stainless steel appliances and white countertops

[stormberry-12]

snooze fest ~ lando norris x reader

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

warnings: slight language, illusions of sex.

Lando rolled over groggily, a yawn escaped him as he reached for his phone on the bedside table. He cursed silently when he saw the hour, almost 10 am. Suddenly awake he rolled over excitedly only to be hit with empty, cold space. His heart immediately sank.

You were nowhere to be found in the spot where you had fallen asleep the night before. He didn't get it, what had gone wrong?

Sure, it was only your second date. However, he thought the two of you had something different, especially after last night. The thought of you made him instantly giddy. You were gorgeous, smart, and witty...

He was utterly obsessed with you.

But you had left.

Lando managed to drag himself out of bed, he wasn't usually a coffee drinker but today he felt like he needed one. He pulled on a pair of sweats over his boxers and shuffled his way to the kitchen. As the coffee brewed his mind went back to spiraling.

Did you assume that he wanted you gone?

Was that where his reputation had led him?

He had most seriously just fumbled the girl of his dreams.

He opened the fridge and hauled the jug of milk over to the counter, pouring a splash into his mug. Picking up the mug he sighed, over to the living room he walked, with coffee in hand. He sat down on the couc-

"Ow!"

Lando jumped, "OWWIE!"

Hot, sizzling coffee dripped down his chest as he sprang up off the couch, "You scared the shit out of me!"

"You sat on me!" you countered, emerging from the blanket you had been hiding under and rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

"What are you doing here?" he asked still in shock.

"Oh, um- sorry I can leave. I didn't realize how late it was," you mumbled, flushing embarrassed.

Shit. "No, no, no don't leave!" Lando waved his hand frantically, walking to place his mug on the coffee table. "I uh-" his voice trailed off into the kitchen and you followed. "I just meant what are you doing on the couch?"

You looked at him, attempting to wipe the coffee from his clothes, "You snore."

He stared at you blankly, relief flooding through his body that you were still here. Standing right in front of him. He giggled, "Oh, sorry bout' that."

"No worries, I punched you to try and make you roll over-"

"That's why my shoulder hurts-"

"Yeah..."

He stared at you and chuckled sheepishly, "I was actually disappointed when I woke up, I thought you had left. Happy I sat on you..."

You rolled your eyes, walking towards the fridge, "Saying you wanna keep me around Norris?"

"Definitely. Oh, I wouldn't open that-"

You stared into the almost-empty fridge, all that lined the shelves was a carton of milk and pre-prepped meals in plastic containers.

"Huh. I didn't strike you as the type to be on the meal-planning-mom side of TikTok,"

"Shut up," he chuckled, striding over to you.

You sniffed the contents of an already open bottle, "What is this? Crack?"

"Protein shake, I know boring-"

"Snooze fest," you mumbled in agreement.

"Well, no point in just staring at it any longer," He slammed the fridge shut and kissed your temple, "C'mon! Get dressed and we can go get something to eat. Maybe stop at the convenience store..."

"What do you need to get at the convenience store?" you asked as he walked toward his bedroom.

"Earplugs!"

[splashshelving]

Green Collapsible Vegetable Basket

[lilacgaby]

˗ˏˋexcuses, excuses ✩

pairing: thirdyear->prohero!katsuki x reader

synopsisꨄ: katsuki had left you, overwhelmed by the situation you two were now tied to. now, when he finally reaches his dreams, he realizes victory doesn't taste as sweet without you.

katsuki and you were dating for as long as you could remember.

he had asked you out by stuffing a handmade card into an all might trading card pack, you pulled it out and gasped at how cute it was. the card showing you two going on a date at a picnic, the stats under showing how strong you'd be together, as a couple.

it had really set the tone for the sunshine and rainbows relationship you two had so far.

you two always had a habit of going too far though. sleeping in too late and getting caught by mr. aizawa in rooms you weren't supposed to be in, him feeding you his spicy food that honestly should not be allowed on shelves, staying out way past curfew training and getting detention together,

oh. and getting you pregnant on your anniversary as third years.

you were throwing up an obscene amount the whole week, you were randomly craving pickles, and everyone was pissing you off. you knew something was up, so you took a test not really expecting anything more than having weird mood swings.

but your eyes dropped as the two lines formed, clear as day. you rubbed your eyes and splashed water on your face, trying to tell if you were dreaming or not. but no, the two tests that you'd taken were reading the same. but it was only because they were the cheap ones right?

so you threw them in the garbage and ran to get a 40 dollar one, internally crying at how expensive it was. the result was the same though, pregnant now being spelled out for you. making you externally cry.

you had to tell him, you had to tell him now. you called him after a while of pacing around your room and sobbing. dialing his number, he picked it up on the first ring. “yo?”

“katsuki, come to my room right now.” he could hear your sniffles on the other side of the line, could practically hear the frown on your face. “goin’.” was all he said before declining.

you paced around your room, holding the stick in your hand. he bursted in, little regard to your dorm neighbors as he shut the door behind him and walked in. “babe? what's wrong?” he grabbed your face with his hands, making you look at him.

the look in his face made the tears come back full force, barely able to get a sentence out as you showed him the test.

he took it out of your hands, examining it thoroughly. your sobs started to subside, but he had a look on his face that made you feel sick.

“is it mine?”

your face scrunched up in a mix of emotions. embarrassment, horror, anger. you think you would've killed him in that moment if you weren't so out of it.

“what?”

“fuck– i didn't mean it like that.”

“how else could you mean it?” you glared at him, your heart aching as you felt the tears burn the tips of your eyes again.

“i'll.. i'll be right back. okay?”

he left you, scared and alone. betrayed and upset. and he left you a liar.

your prom was far from a dream, you deciding to not even go because the dress you had chosen matched his.

your graduation was horrific, you couldn't walk up the stage because you were two months pregnant, slow and irritable. always exhausted.

you ignored him like the plague. the girls in the class knew what had happened, you guessed mina would let it slip one day. not like you cared, you were gone and working at an agency. they wanted you for your quirk, but liked you so much they'd wait a year until you were healed and ready.

—

two years. your son was a year old already, you were a hero who climbed the charts quickly because of your charms, and you'd assimilated to your job easily.

that didn't mean you didn't take joy in going out day to day though, deciding to go out grocery shopping after picking your baby up from daycare.

he was, annoyingly enough, the spitting image of his dad. anyone with eyes would notice. he had your skin color, your hair texture, your nose and lips, but his eyes and hair color were reminiscent of the bakugo's.

as you were grabbing the baby popcorn, a familiar voice caught your attention, and made your baby boy babble in confusion.

“[name]? is that you?” it was.. mitski, katsuki’s mom who had adored you back when you started dating. “ah, ms. mitski, it's nice to see you.” your shocked expression did not go unnoticed by your son, who immediately mocked you.

“you're really grown up dear. i'm so proud of you for getting so high, and so fast too!” you kept her eyes locked on you, until moving and landing her eyes on him. “ and who is thi–” her voice was caught in her throat as she looked over your son.

her eyes went wide. “he's not–”

“thank you so much mitski, wish you the best and i still love you, but i'll be going now!” you muttered quickly before you rushed out the store, grabbing your son as your groceries were now forgotten. he giggled unknowingly, babbling a couple words from the conversation as you ran to your car. you buckled him in to the car seat and dipped.

meanwhile, katsuki, had been yelled at called by his mother to go visit her asap. he relented, having the afternoon off. he drove over to the residence, knocking on the door and being greeted by his dad, who was surprised at his presence.

“ah, katsuki? what a surprise!” he let him in, where his mother was sitting with a pissed off aura at the dining table.

“brat. sit down.” she was oddly calm, this was worse than her yelling at him.

he sat down in front of her, eyes squinted as he tried to read her to no avail. “what is it hag? todays my day off and i don't want to spend it arguing with you.”

“why didn't you tell me i have a grandchild?”

the room went so silent you could hear his father's gasp. katsuki swore she could hear his quickening heartbeat, as she pushed on him even further. “you told me that she cheated on you, that she had left you. was all that just a lie then? don't lie to me again katsuki bakugo or so help me–”

“fine! yes. it was a lie. i lied to you and i left her, are you happy now?” he stood up to match the offensive nature of her position, both of them glaring at one another.

“you are going to go over to her, and you will apologize katsuki bakugo. and you will mean it!”

“don't tell me what to do!”

“i think i will, especially since i didn't know i raised a fuck up!”

he slumped back into the seat, knowing she was right. he did fuck up, he was an absent father and a horrible boyfriend. it still didn't even feel right to call you an ex. he dragged his hand down his face in frustration, all the feelings he'd wrangled to the back of his mind for two years resurfacing now.

“does.. how does the baby look like?” he whispered, being vulnerable for the first time in a while.

“look in a mirror, kid.”

that was all he needed, the final push he got to get off his ass and beg for you. as he wandered down the streets, getting your address from mina who babysits for you often.

it was selfish, he knew that, to waltz into your life when he pleased. after not messaging or calling for the entirety of your pregnancy, for the year of life your son had gone through already.

at the doorbell, you'd assumed it was the guy you paid to get take out and groceries. you, with your son crawling slowly behind you like a baby duck to its mother, walked up lazily.

“hel–lo.” your eyes dropped as you saw who was at the door, the new number one hero dynamite, roses in his hand. “hey.. [name].” he said softly, a stark difference than the last time he'd spoke to you.

“what are you doing here?” you asked, your eyes wide and panicked. “how do you know– why'd you even come?”

he felt awkward under your gaze, a hand behind his head. “i um.. got it from mina. and my mom saw you earlier so–”

“so you just– just come to me like nothing happened? like you didn't leave me willingly?”

“[name]. it was complicated.”

you sucked in a deep breath. “you don't think i know that??” you stuck an accusing finger in his chest, “you don't think i had to give up everything for this? whatever issues you thought you had, I had ten times worse katsuki.”

your eyes were welling up with tears. he felt the urge to comfort you, but he had no right. he knew that. “can.. can i come in?”

you looked at your son, who was now holding your leg and back up at the man in front of you. sure, it'd be fair to not let him see his kid, but it wouldn't be fair to your son. “...fine.” you leaned over and picked him up,

he followed you inside, looking over your house. it was cute, small, cozy. decorated exactly how you liked, how you told him your shared house would be one day. if only he hadn't ruined everything.

“it's pretty here.”

“hm..? oh. thanks.” he saw you sigh, then hand over your– his son. one that he shoudve never doubted, because he was almost his spitting image. “he's a year old, his birthday was back in november.” he held him close to his chest, seeing the way his eyes brightened at the sight of him. “he's.. adorable.” he whispered, regretting the time he'd missed away from this bundle of joy you'd made together.

he sat down on the couch, taking care of him as you took a nap. it was eleven at night when you awoke, groggily walking to the living room to see the two cuddled together, peacefully asleep.

you sighed. he was going to flip your life around again.

the next morning, you woke him up with a poke to the cheek. “katsuki? hellooo?” he grumped as he awoke, the sight of your still feeling like a dream. “wake up sleeping beauty. we have to talk.”

oh. so it wasn't a dream.

he continued holding your son as you sighed, “listen. i'm not going to keep you from seeing him, but know that if you leave again i'll actually kill you this time. got it?”

he agreed, his apologies stuck in his throats next to the confessions of love. he said nothing, instead only looking down at the life you two had brought into the world.

he wouldn't mess this up.

it was like he wouldn't leave your house. practically everyday he hung out with your son, at least you didn't have to pay for day care anymore.

your son started to reflect him more and more, it was cutely infuriating. you and katsuki were cordial, but you still didn't realize how much he loved you. how he yearned to be a family again.

and some moments it felt like it, when you'd hang out as three. laughing along, hands grazing against each other, playfully slapping his arms like you used to do all the time.

yeah, he was down horrendous again.

it was his second birthday when he asked you to move in with him. he'd get down on his knees and beg if he had to, he just wanted to be a family. “please [name].” he started.

“i just want what's best for us all, and i.. i'm in love you. i want us to be a family, to live together, to spend everyday with you.”

he took your hands and held it close to his heart, “please?”

you agreed. it was for your baby.. purely for him. that's what you said and tried to convince yourself, though you chose to sleep in katsuki’s room most nights.

you didn't need that excuse anymore though, it wouldn't work even if you were the most delusional person on the planet. because you were laying in his arms, a ring on your hand as you slept through the morning together.

maybe one excuse wouldn't hurt.

[knifebucket]

they don't make charm school for cats so does anyone want to take mine for just a little bit and teach him not to break my things or cause a ruckus while I'm trying to sleep

[laligraves]

say you're sorry

priest!joel miller x fem!reader

[18+] | wc: ~2k summary: You ask Father Miller for forgiveness. masterlist | AO3

warnings: HBO Joel, TLOU AU, mean!Joel, power imbalance (since Joel is a priest), some proofreading, reader has hair that Joel can grab, no use of y/n or too many details on reader's appearance, daddy kink, references to catholicism, oral (m! receiving), some gagging, spanking, lap sitting/riding, unprotected sex, creampie, some very light cum eating

a/n: this is a different priest joel and a different reader from my other priest fic :)

His office is big, airy, smelling of incense and cologne. Theology books and bibles in a few different languages are organized on the wooden shelves. A cross complete with a sorrowful looking Jesus hangs on the wall behind his desk. 

“These figs are divine,” Father Miller groans, “your mother gave me some cuttins’ but I’ve never been able to grow a tree myself.” 

He bites into the fruit and moans at the splash of sweet juice that soaks his tongue. 

“Here, take a bite,” he offers. 

His hands tighten in your hair and he pulls your mouth away from his spit-covered cock. You whimper at the loss but he shushes you with a stern bite, and you quickly comply.  

“Reminds me of somethin’ else that’s sweet,” he whispers as he watches your throat move in a swallow. 

“Please, daddy,” you moan, “I wasn’t done.” 

Father Miller gives you a soft pat on your cheek, trailing his fingers down to tug at the rosary that hangs between your breasts, before pushing your head back onto his cock. 

He spreads his knees wider in his desk chair. 

“What a beautiful way to ask for forgiveness. Figs and your mouth on my cock.” 

If his big dick wasn’t in your mouth, you’d cringe from embarrassment. Your own selfish and jealous actions led to his disappointment and your need to ask for forgiveness. 

“Envy is a sin. You choose to have these emotions and these moments of insecurities,” Father Miller murmurs in that tone that makes you squeeze your thighs. 

“When those thoughts begin, it’s your responsibility to come to confession. You have to talk to me so I can help.”

Father Miller does it again, yanking you back from his cock and tilting up your chin with his finger.

“Did you hear what I just said?” 

“Ye–yes–” 

“Repeat it to me,” he interrupts. 

“I need to–to ask you for help when I’m feeling jealous,” you choke out. 

His hand tightens in your hair and he pushes himself deeper into your mouth. You gag, tears pooling on your waterline from the burn in your throat. 

“Good girl.” 

You want to run your hands down his strong thighs and feel the clench of his muscles, but they’re bound behind your back with your soaked panties. Aside from the rosary, the panties around your wrists are the only clothes you wear. 

You massage your tongue on the thick vein that spans underneath his cock. Spit dribbles down your chin as he begins to move your head up and down. 

“Fuck, just like that, honey,” he groans. “Got such a perfect mouth.”

You moan at the praise. Honey, the name he’s reserved just for you. Even at bible study on Wednesdays and at Mass on Sundays, he’ll call you honey, no matter who's around. 

“Those other women who come here, they seek advice. I can’t turn them away.” 

You let the tears fall from your eyes, partly from the cock spearing down your throat and also from the fact that he’s right. It’s his responsibility to listen to his congregation. 

Even if you know the women stare at him with dreamy eyes and fantasize about his broad shoulders, Father Miller must give them individual attention. 

He clenches his teeth the moment your nose hits the curly hair at his base. You swallow and fight through the burn, sucking at the salty taste of his skin. You clench your thighs again, hoping for any type of stimulation. 

“Aww,” he coos, “what does my poor little sinner need?” 

You whimper on his cock, wanting to move your head away so you can tell him how much you want him, but his hand keeps you in place.

“Nothin’ to say?” he mocks, “You don’t want me to eat your little cunt, honey? Make you cum on my tongue? Just want to keep suckin’ daddy’s cock?” 

Slick drips from your pussy. Mean, mean, mean, you chant in your head. You’re sure you look like a pathetic mess; shivering and crying hard enough to ruin your makeup. 

Father Miller laughs and wipes the tears from your eyes. 

“Alright, that’s enough.” 

You’re roughly pushed off, a string of spit connecting your mouth to his dick. You continue to sob as he yanks you up by your arms and bends you over his desk.  

“I said enough,” he snaps, landing a hard spank to your ass. “I won’t repeat myself.” 

Your shiver as your tits make contact with the cool surface of the desk. The rosary presses to your chest, indenting the soft skin.

“Such a beautiful cunt for a sinner,” he whispers. 

His hands massage your ass and he pulls apart your cheeks to stare at the puffy mess between your thighs. You try to move out of his grasp, embarrassed at how he can see every delicate inch of you, but he spanks you again. 

“Can’t seem to stay still,” he growls, “after everythin’ you’ve done, you still wanna disappoint me?” 

“N–no, daddy. I’m sorry, I’ll–I’ll stay still.” 

His leather shoe pushes on your ankle and you spread your thighs wide. He runs the tip of his length up your slit, ghosting over your sensitive button. You push your hips back and try to sink onto his cock, but he presses down on your lower back to keep you still. 

“Little sinner,” Father Miller scolds, “instead of trusting me, you accuse me of sleeping with other women. After the oath I gave to this church?” 

“I was wrong! I’m sorry,” you cry, hot tears rolling down and landing on the desk. 

“Don’t worry, honey. I’ll help you repent. Count f’me.” 

He moves slightly to the side and uses a large hand to spank you hard on your right cheek. You yelp, immediately choking out a one before feeling his hand massage your other. 

You push up on your tiptoes, presenting your ass to him, hungry for his touch. He starts off soft, slow, squeezing the plump curve of your ass. His palm lands harsher and you welcome the sting of each slap, pushing back into him, heart beating faster with each number. 

Once he gets to fifteen, he lands it right on your pussy. You push up on the desk in surprise and try to beg for more, daddy, please–I’m so close. 

“No more, baby,” he coos, “did so well with your spankin’.” 

“Please, daddy,” you whimper, “please give me your cock. Please fuck me.” 

His hand tugs on your hair and he makes you stand to your full height. 

“This is punishment, honey,” he whispers in your ear, “you’re gonna have to work for my forgiveness.” 

You’re not sure what else he could possibly make you do but he spins you around and you watch as he sits down in his desk chair. 

“C’mere,” he growls. 

His hands wrap around your waist and you're pulled into his lap. You’re unbalanced, still unable to use your hands but he reaches around you to keep you steady.

With his other hand, he teases the fat tip to your entrance.

“You’re gonna ride me. Maybe after I’ll forgive ya’.” 

“Yes, yes,” you chant, slowly sinking down on his cock. 

His strong hands slide to grip your waist and his fingers dig into your soft skin. You throw your head back and stare at the ceiling with blurry eyes, your teeth digging into your bottom lip with each inch that’s stuffed inside of you. 

“That’s it, honey,” he murmurs, “take my cock, take it.” 

You can’t speak, can’t ask for more from your daddy. The angle is new, something you two have never tried before, a stretch that makes you dizzy and the air in your throat stutter. 

He helps you with the last few inches, praising you for having such a perfect cunt, feel so good wrapped around me–made just for me, honey. 

Father Miller gives you time to adjust, kissing your chin, nipping your neck, running his lips over the rosary that sways between your breasts. 

His tongue lashes over your nipples and he sucks as much of your tit as he can get, into his mouth. He’s mean, leaving indents of his teeth on your skin. It’s exactly what you want–what you need. 

He knows right when it’ll become too rough, too much for you, and he’ll kiss, swipe his tongue over the hurt, rain praises on your skin. 

The both of you fit awkwardly on the big chair but you make it work, digging your knees into the leather and bracketing his thighs to grind slowly in his lap.

“Look so pretty on my cock, honey.” 

He’s taken you from behind, bent over his desk with your hands clawing at the wood. He’s taken you in the tiny confessional, your body folded in half while he stares into your eyes as he finishes inside of you. 

Not like this, though. Not with your hands behind your back and his on your waist, helping you bounce and grind on him. 

You tremble in his hold, feel each kiss of his fat cockhead to the syrupy end of you. 

“Ne–need to c–cum,” you choke out, remembering you can use more than just whines and whimpers to talk. 

His cheeks are red, his hair is in disarray, and you notice sweat on his neck, peppering along his clerical collar. His thighs shift underneath you and he plants his feet more firmly on the ground. 

“Wantcha’ to cum on my cock,” he demands. 

Father Miller uses you like a toy, moving your body how he wants it, burning the memory of his cock into your pussy. His lips find yours in a sloppy kiss when you tilt forward, almost falling from how fast he’s using you. 

He’s so big, buried deep in your pussy, splitting you open. Your clit brushes on the curly hair at his base with each rock of his hips and you're there–cumming on Father Miller’s cock, opening your mouth in a silent scream while you shake in his hold. 

You soak his cock and the front of his dress pants with your slick. He’s groaning at each pulse and flutter of your pussy. Take it so well, honey he murmurs around your nipple. Milkin' my cock, baby. 

He moves you up once, twice, and keeps you pressed to him, spilling his seed in your cunt. Without even trying it knocks another orgasm from you, just as you were coming down from the first. 

Father Miller bites at your mouth, bringing up his hand to squeeze your neck and accept his kisses. His cock twitches slightly inside of you as he spills, marking you deep. 

He yanks off your panties and you immediately move your hands into his hair, tugging through the strands and pressing your body even closer to his. Your breathless, shivering in his hold from the two orgasms that were shocked out of your body. 

Just as quickly as it happens, he pushes you off of his lap. You land in a limp heap on the floor, eye level to his soaked cock. It’s covered in the both of you. 

“Give it a kiss, and say you’re sorry.” 

You happily follow his command, pressing a kiss to the tip, licking away the stickiness from your lips and give him a I’m so sorry, daddy. 

He smiles at you before reaching to take the rosary off from your neck and placing it in your hands. You stare up in confusion and watch as he rises to his full height. 

“Now, I want you to kneel here,” he says, grabbing you by your upper arm and dragging your naked body right in front of the cross, “and do two Hail Marys and three Our Fathers.” 

Your thighs shake from the exertion but you do as he says and kneel in perfect form. You bow your head in prayer and begin, hearing him zip up his dress pants and walk out of his office. His cum slowly drips out of your swollen pussy and onto the hardwood floor. 

[draconic-desire]

A Dance With the Dragon II — Mates

Yandere Neuvillette x Reader

[Part I] [Part II — You are here] [Part III] [Part IV]

Neuvillette brings you to your new “home”, which also comes with new challenges.

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, forced imprisonment, Neuvillette accidentally goes a little feral here, brief non-con at the end

One of the first things Neuvillette did was move you from the apartment at the Palais Mermonia (your prison for the past four centuries) to his personal residence. Securing his palms to your waist, he teleported you directly into the foyer of the massive home.

The interior was splashed with blues and whites that matched the Chief Justice’s own color palette. The upper walls were decorated with friezes depicting various marine creatures, from floating otters (how ironic) to bobbing seahorses. A grand spiral staircase led to the upper floor, while a set of double French doors connected the foyer to a massive living room adorned with plush love seats and armchairs, tasteful artwork of Fontainian landscapes, and enormous windows that overlooked the sea. It appeared the house was set into a cliffside, with the waves battering the rocks far beneath you.

You paced into the living room, running your hand along the blue silk couch cushions. To your left, a door led out to what appeared to be an inclosed courtyard with a miniature fountain. To the right was a closed door, a familiar dragon carved into its exterior. Your arm burned in resonance.

Though you were loathe to admit it, the place was beautiful.

“Do you like it?”

Shifting your gaze to him, it was clear that Neuvillette was desperate for your approval. Ever since he let you outside to discover the true length of your imprisonment, you had rarely spoken a word to him. Clearly, your silence had done a number on him, as the normally composed man was fidgeting nervously.

When you kept quiet, Neuvillette cleared his throat. “I admit, part of why things took so long was due to my insistence that everything be perfect for your arrival. I rearranged our bedroom perhaps a dozen times, and I couldn’t for the life of me decide what your personal room should entail.” When you glanced out towards the fountain, he coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, that was a…sentimental addition. It makes me think of how we met.”

You’d never forget that Archons-damned fountain. If only you hadn’t been so naive. Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, go away.

Neuvillette extended his palm towards you in what appeared to be both a peace offering and an order. “Shall I give you a tour?”

Suddenly your feet appeared very interesting. What were you supposed to say? This technically was your home now, like it or not. You’d become painstakingly familiar with it with time. Although you weren’t imprisoned within the Palais as before, your new life still promised shackles nonetheless.

“Could you just show me my personal room?” You sighed. “I’d prefer to just rest after that.”

Neuvillette smiled softly, relishing the sound of your voice. “Of course.”

Twisting his fingers through your own, he led you towards the dragon door. Once again, your hidden tattoo pulsed with energy. It felt like a pull forward, a welcoming embrace. You realized then that there must be some sort of warding spell on this room, likely meaning only you and your captor could enter.

Marvelous.

Pushing the door open, Neuvillette swept his arm gracefully through the entrance. “After you, my love.”

You stepped in and immediately went still.

For in every direction around you was rows upon shelves upon stories of books.

Neuvillette had build you your own personal library.

And not just that. You noticed that entire sections pertained to your personal interests—marine biology, photography, even your personal favorite genres of novels. A separate door labeled Dark Room promised an avenue for you to pick up photography again. Similar couches and chairs as the living room were arranged around a huge coffee table, and a cracking hearth added to the cozy atmosphere.

Your throat bobbed. You had always dreamed of owning a room like this, a place where all your passions converged. But to have it under these circumstances…you didn’t know how to react, torn between frustration and a grateful little voice in the back of your head that you buried at once. No, I didn’t earn this. I don’t want this. It was forced on me.

All you could choke out was, “This is…mine?”

“Down to the last book.” You could hear the pride in his voice. “I spent the most time on this room. Over a century to get it right.”

You startled. A century? Your heart stumbled, but your hands fisted by your sides. So much given, yet what had it cost you?

Shaking your head, you simply said, “I’d like to be alone.” Connecting your eyes with his, you could see his hurt, the expectation of a grand reaction on your part that you refused to indulge.

However, the look was quickly wiped from his face, for he must have seen something broken in your facade. A muscle in his jaw feathered as he approached you, a gloved hand stroking your cheek. “I understand you must be overwhelmed. I’ll leave you to explore,” Neuvillette said, placing a kiss on your forehead before heading for the exit.

“Neuvillette?”

Said man turned back towards you, a hopeful look in his eyes.

“Why me?” You grabbed your arm where the shadow of your draconic tattoo hid. “Why…all this?”

His gaze immediately softened. “My dear, we have centuries for me to show you.”

~*~

It was times when Neuvillette was vulnerable that it was hardest to hate him.

He had returned home after a long day at court to find you sitting in the courtyard on the edge of the fountain, peering up at the night sky as if the stars held some answers. Moonlight bathed you in an ethereal glow, and if he didn’t already think you a goddess, he would have pledged himself to you then and there.

You hadn’t noticed him yet, too involved in your own thoughts. True to his word, Neuvillette had given you time and space to enjoy your new (cage) home. You had to admit, it was a major upgrade from the Palais, and you knew the Iudex would continue to let you explore Fontaine, if you tolerated his presence beside you. However, you knew this dance wouldn’t last—it was only a matter of time before Neuvillette expected something in return. It was abundantly clear that he desired your affections, but how far would he go in order to sway you? To fully make you his?

A sea breeze whipped around you, eliciting an involuntary shiver to rip up your spine.

A sudden warmth enveloping your form brought you back to reality. Blinking in surprise, you peered up to see the Chief Justice smiling softly at you, his purple irises sparking with longing and care. His elaborate attire was gone, leaving only his pale undershirt.

He’d given you this coat.

“I…thank you,” you mumbled, averting your eyes from the man.

“Do my ears deceive me? Did my dear (Y/n) actually acknowledge me?”

Your grip on his robes tightened. “Don’t mistake my words for kindness. I haven’t forgotten what you are.”

A sigh. “Despite what you may believe, I’m not a monster.”

You deadpanned. “You’re quite literally the Hydro dragon.”

“Archons above,” Neuvillette whispered, glancing up at the sky as if it held the key to winning your heart. “I was referring to a monster in the definition you humans use.”

“What? You mean like a man who would kidnap and imprison an innocent person—”

“Considering you are not in the Fortress of Meropide, I’d hardly consider this imprisonment.”

“What, have I offended you?” A scoff left escaped you. “If you want to play house, at least own up to your actions. Don’t pretend you’re some sort of gentleman.”

Neuvillette was silent for a beat, his mouth a thin line. Unexpectedly, his muscles relaxed as he released his tension. He lowered his large frame, taking a seat next to you. “You’re right.”

You sketched a brow in surprise.

Neuvillette trained his eyes on his palms, facing upwards in his lap. “I understand neither what it means to be human, nor what it means to be a god. I was given this duty to protect and uphold the laws of Fontaine, and yet I cannot save those who need it most.” His fingers formed fists, and his lids closed solemnly. “Carole, Vautrin…all of the others I have failed…”

You worried your lower lip. Although he had already informed you of his friends’ fate in your absence, it was still a raw wound for the both of you. Yet the anguish in Neuvillette’s eyes twisted your heart. How could a man be so duplicitous, so capable of both justice and blind obsession?

As if sensing your conflict, Neuvillette gently took your face in his hands, tilting your chin so that your eyes locked once again. His eyes danced with silver sparks of emotion, like cracks of lighting across a dark sea. A thumb brushed away a tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“So if I can protect but one thing, one person, I will do it.”

~.~

You often noticed that Neuvillette’s horns got stuck in his robes.

Honestly, it was kind of humorous. In the beginning, watching him struggle gave you a sick sense of satisfaction. You’d take any circumstance that inconvenienced him, however petty that might be.

But today, seeing the Chief Justice pouring over a case regarding the protection of Fontaine’s sea life at an ungodly hour, head propped on a fist to keep him awake, you couldn’t help but feel sympathetic when he emitted a low hiss as his horns tangled into the ornamentation of his attire once again. “Damned human attire,” he cursed.

Neuvillette wasn’t an inherently bad man. In fact, your own case aside, he had invoked significant and positive change in Fontaine’s legal system. He judged cases fairly and prudently, working himself ragged each day to ensure the nation’s safety. It would have been admirable to you in any other circumstance.

You didn’t know what possessed you when you stepped behind him and carefully untangled his twin blue horns.

At your touch, Neuvillette immediately froze. His heart rate skyrocketed and his mind went blank because you were touching him.

And not just anywhere, but his horns. Unbeknownst to you, a dragon’s horns were the most sensitive part of its body, only to be handled by itself or its mate. One brush was akin to a lovers embrace, the whisper of a kiss, the hot breath shared between partners in the thralls of passion. Not only was the touch intensely intimate, it was also an acknowledgement—an acceptance of the male’s advances onto his partner.

Oh, if only you knew how many times he had fantasized about this, your acknowledgement of him and his love for you. Although his rational, human side knew your touch as unintentional, the dragon within Neuvillette reared and roared against his skin, demanding to be set free upon its mate.

“Your horns were caught,” was all you said as you settled back into the sofa, flipping to the marked page of your novel.

If you had looked up, you would have witnessed the Iudex gently touching his horns in awe. He swore he could still feel the brush of your palm against him, shivering delightfully at the mere memory of your touch.

Little did you know that your simple act of kindness would unleash the storm.

~*~

The one unfortunate deviation of your current accommodations from the Palais Mermonia was Neuvillette’s unyielding insistence on sharing a bed.

You had foolishly thought escaping him, even if just within the confines of your shared home, would be simple. You believed the library, what he even referred to as your room, would be your bedroom as well. Despite the lack of an actual bed, the plush couches and ever-lit fire provided more than enough comfort to lull you to sleep.

But when you had opened your eyes, you were mere inches away from Neuvillette’s shirtless, sleeping form.

You had assumed it was due to the draconic symbol guarding the room; perhaps it linked you to him more than you had thought. So, the next night, you decided to sleep in the parlor instead.

Only for your hopes to be shattered the next morning when you awoke not only in bed with your captor, but with your limbs entwined.

Anger, shame, and a touch of something you couldn’t quite place—something not entirely unpleasant—flooded you as you tore yourself out of his embrace. How was he doing this? Was it magic, or would he physically carry you to bed each night?

This pattern repeated itself. You would pick various places around the huge house to retire for the night. However, you would wake up in bed next to Neuvillette each morning without fail.

You had even reverted to your previous stubbornness and slept on the ground a few nights, but to no avail. It seemed you were bound to his bed.

Tonight, you decided to face the issue head-on. You stormed up the stairway and into the spacious bedroom, ignoring the pain in your lower back due to all the errant surfaces you had tried to sleep on. The downy pillows and lush, cream comforter practically begged you to surrender to the king-sized bed and its occupant.

Instead, you halted at the foot of the bed and crossed your arms. “You have to stop this.”

Neuvillette immediately looked up from the tome in his lap, his reading glasses slipping down his nose. He hadn’t yet changed out of his white dress shirt, and the buttons revealed a hint of his toned chest as he set the book down. “And what exactly are you demanding I stop?”

You huffed a laugh. “I wish I could say all of this,” you waved your hands around, as if that would convey the entirety of the situation, “but I mean putting me in your bed each morning.”

“Our bed,” he corrected, as if that were the issue.

“No, your bed. Are you really telling me that with all this space, you can’t just let me sleep alone?”

He removed his glasses with a sigh, setting them on the nightstand. “I could, but I don’t want to.”

You seethed. “Well, I do.”

Neuvillette’s violet gaze pinned you with something like hurt. “Have I truly done something to upset you? It seemed as if you were settling into our new home quite nicely. Our conversation and touches were…” His throat bobbed. “Pleasant.”

You narrowed your eyes and bit out, “Don’t take any of that as complacency. You’re still a monster.”

Neuvillette flinched in response and, for just a moment, you felt a piece your heart falter. That is, until he whispered, “Mates don’t sleep apart.”

The room went utterly still.

Your voice came out as a breath of air, but the words were clear: “I am not your mate.”

It was then that you noticed the claws emerging from his fingertips, piercing into the sheets under his form. His eyes flashed silver, dangerous as knives. You could have sworn you saw a pair of elongated canines as he grit his teeth. “You have no idea how difficult it has been,” he breathed, voice tight, desperate.

On instinct, you took a pace back. You suddenly felt like a cornered animal, unable to avert your gaze from those claws that looked ready to tear into you. Clearly you had misjudged the situation—the Hydro Dragon was a starved, deadly predator, and you were practically served on a silver platter as its next meal.

Icy panic raced through your veins. You’ve never seen him like this, so out of control and inhuman. Trying to mediate the situation, you put your hands up in surrender. “Neuvillette, listen to me. Just calm down.”

You had hoped that saying his name would do just that, but it seemed to only rile him up further. The Chief Justice of Fontaine actually growled in response. You couldn’t tell if it was a warning or a plea. “You deny your mate, and now you’re telling me to simply calm down?”

Another step back. Just put out the fire and deal with the consequences later. “I apologize for being confrontational. I think it’s best if I just go—”

Before you could react, Neuvillette pounced forward and grabbed you by the shoulders, pulling you onto the bed. You released a cry and tried to scramble away, but he spun you around and pinned your back against the mattress with his muscular frame. He loomed above you on all fours, his hands gripping your arms and applying just enough pressure to hold you still without hurting you. The glint in his eyes, however, promised pain that was yet to come. You were the prey about to get its throat torn out.

“Wh-what are you doing?” You struggled, heart skyrocketing at the feel of his arousal pressing against your core.

"Something I’ve needed to do for four hundred years," he growled huskily, his breath fanning your lips moments before they slammed against yours.

The kiss was hungry, predatory. Obsessive. You could feel the release of each year, each century, as his mouth devoured yours. You arched your back in an attempt to get away, but Neuvillette was quicker. He lifted your form easily and slammed your back against the bed once again. At your gasp of shock, he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

You fumbled around for something, anything that you could take purchase of. Your arms were pinned, but you were just barely able to grab onto the first thing and tug: his horns.

Neuvillette moaned, a deep, throaty sound that sent heat flooding through you.

It was in that moment you realized your mistake. You recalled how some marine animals with horns had millions of nerves within them, making these appendages a source of sensory stimulation. When you had started adjusting his horns after they were getting stuck, it must have been like touching his—

Oh, fuck.

Neuvillette released you arms, grinding against your thigh. “Do that again,” he begged, though it came out as more of a growled order.

“Neuvillette, stop—” An involuntary whine escaped your lips.

Your lewd noises only instigated him. His movements became more erratic as he slid a clawed hand up your leg and to your core, which was protected by only a nightgown. You jerked as his finger pinched your clit, eliciting another whine.

Neuvillette’s eyes sparked with heat, dual purple flames that devoured your form. “That’s it, my dear. Let me take care of you.” He bit down on your neck, causing you to cry out. He was marking you before he took you fully.

“Tonight, you become more than my wife. You become my mate.”

~*~

You laid there limply in Neuvillette’s arms. He peppered you with kisses and whispered words of protecting you and lofty dreams of your future together, but it fell on deaf ears. None of it made you forget about the bites along your neck or your throbbing core.

You couldn’t believe you had let his kindness fool you for even a second.

You had to escape this prison.