#all that hair is very thin guard hairs

[doomspaniels]

What are you doing with all that hair? You are a working line, what could you possibly need with those luscious locks?

... are you smuggling toys in your skirts?

[earthtooz]

x : LUNCH BREAK :*+ﾟ

in which: you don't visit wriothesley during his lunch break after last night's argument, so he goes to the court of fontaine just to see you.

warnings: approx. 1.9k words, PURE FLUFF, gn!reader x pathetic and soppy and lovesick wriothesley, canon setting, reader works at the court of fontaine, post-argument so very minimal angst, probs not in character LOL

a/n: there's not a lot of content regarding fontaine or wriothesley rn so i apologise if this isn't completely in character. what i do not apologise for, however, is the urge to make him as lovesick as possible.

There is a notable tension in the Fortress of Meropide, and although a prison isn’t a place for rainbows and sunshine, today it feels especially devastating. It seems that the lord of the prison is the one responsible for it.

Brooding at his desk, Wriothesley glances occasionally at the clock on his desk, growing more and more impatient with each document he has to read through. He is waiting for something: a knock on his door. He is waiting for the call of his name, the reason for their interruption, then your name will reach his ears and an unmatched excitement will bloom in his chest. Then you’ll slip through the doors with lunch for two, he’ll pull out a chair for you right beside him, and mask professionalism that betrays the eagerness your presence always brings out. 

Your absence must be because of the argument that happened last night. One that remained unresolved because he went to bed before you, too furious to try to talk it out. Yet, when Wriothesley woke in the morning, a wave of guilt washed over him when you weren’t pressed against him like usual. Instead, you were on the other side of the mattress, further than an arm’s length away whilst turned away from him and Fontaine’s chilly mornings had never felt colder.

If he didn’t need to go to work much earlier than you, he would have waited until you had woken up to leave, but being the lord of the Fortress of Meropide meant that his presence was demanded. So, with a lingering kiss to your cheek and then your temple, he leaves into the dewy mornings of Fontaine, looking forward to his lunch break that the two of you often share together.

Except now, lunch is almost over and there hasn’t been a knock on his door. No one has called his name- not people he cared about, at least. You haven’t slipped through the heavy set of doors. You haven’t come down from the Court of Fontaine to visit him, and Wriothesley’s patience is thinning.

His fingers itch with the need to hold you, to tuck you close to his chest and just keep you there for a few moments as time pass by. Especially after last night, Wriothesley needs you now more than ever. 

By the time there’s only one hour left in the work day, he snaps. Stands up from his seat with an unmatched sense of fervour because of the unnervingly quiet day and snatches his coat from the hanger, leaving documents unread as he makes a beeline for the exit of the prison. The guards listen attentively to Wriothesley’s final commands for the day in his absence and once the information is cemented, the dark-haired is off without another second wasted.

You, on the other hand, sit in your office drowned in piles upon piles of papers. Wriothesley is a passing thought every now and then, the memories of last night’s harsh argument settling like weights in your stomach. You miss Wriothesley, very dearly, and all you want is to settle things with him. However, the image of his furious eyes and clenched jaw terrifies you beyond belief, you’re not even sure if he’ll be calmer by the time you get home, so for the first time ever, you dread the idea of going home. 

What you are completely unaware of, however, is your lover that is storming your way, desperate to receive the medicine that will cure his moodiness and irritation. 

The knock on your door distracts you from the piles of papers on your desk. 

“Who is it?” you call out, voice reverberating around the spaciousness of your office.

“It’s Wriothesley, can I come in?” His tone is sharp and leaves no room for you to reject him, but the mere sound of his voice causes you to stiffen, grip on your pen tightening as the papers before you lay forgotten. 

What is Wriothesley doing here? He normally never comes up to the Court of Fontaine just to see you because leaving the prison would be far too neglectful. There was also half an hour before he was done for the day, so could there be official business that needs to be discussed? Something urgent, perhaps? 

If it was urgent, then why come to you and not Monsieur Neuvillette- or even Lady Furina?

“Yeah- yes, you can come in,” you mutter.

When the door clicks open, Wriothesley practically barges through, door shutting behind him as he marches towards you. Getting up from your chair, you’re frightened with anticipation due to  how intense his stance is. 

“Is something the matter?” You begin, panic seeping into your voice as he pauses before you, determination setting his eyes ablaze as he eyes you down like prey. “Wriothesley, you’re scaring me, did something happen at the prison-”

“Where were you at lunch?” He demands.

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“Why didn’t you come visit?” 

“Is… is why you came up here? To ask why I didn’t visit you during lunch?”

He nods, expression stern as usual save for a small pout.

“I was swamped with work,” you half-lie, gesturing to the desk behind you and although there is clear evidence on your table through the form of stacked folders and paper, a storm of uncertainty brews in his blue eyes. “I couldn’t visit if I wanted to get these done, I apologise.”

The dark-haired frowns. “Is that it?”

“Yes. That’s all.” His eyebrows furrow, creating crease marks in his forehead that you want to kiss away, alleviating his worries, but you hold yourself back from doing so in fear that Wriothesley does not want you touching him. 

However, a switch is flicked when Wriothesley’s stern expression softens, melting into one resembling a kicked dog. “So you’re not upset with me?” 

“Oh, is that also on your mind?”

“Of course, I don’t like it when you’re upset with me,” your lover mutters, looking away bashfully to conceal the reddening of his cheeks. “You aren’t though, right?”

“No, not upset. Scared, maybe, but definitely not upset.” 

His eyes are glossy when he looks back at you. “Scared, why are you scared?” 

“W-we didn’t end on a good note last night,” you rub your wrist nervously. “I didn’t know if you would be happy with seeing me. On top of that, you can be really intimidating sometimes, so admittedly, I was a little scared to come see you just in case that you did not want me there.”

Wriothesley visually deflates with your last statement, shoulders dropping and eyes glistening as he murmurs a small, pathetic, “is that so?”

He wonders what part about him ever made it seem like he never wants you beside him, and the thought that he had frightened you enough to prevent you visiting him is an upsetting one. You must see it in his eyes with the way you frantically begin to explain yourself. 

“Oh no, darling, I didn’t mean it like that-”

He turns his head away again, disappointed in himself. It’s one thing for his prisoners to consider him intimidating but it’s another for you, his own lover, to think so as well, and the thought that he had scared you creates insurmountable shame to swell within him. Yet, his whirlwind of anxieties ceases when your hand goes to cup his cheek, gently prompting him to look at you. Then, a kiss is pressed to the corner of his lips, and his heart skips a beat at the sensation, love blocking his airways when you pull away to smile up at him. 

“As scary as you might be, oh great lord of the Fortress of Meropide, I also know you will never hurt me,” you reassure. “Rather, I feel safest when I’m around you, please never doubt that.”

Wriothesley sighs, hand snaking up to grip your waist and pull you closer to him. “Thank you, my love. But I beg, even if you assume I am upset with you, please keep visiting my office during lunch, it is the part of the day I look forward to most.”

“If that is your request then maybe you just need to be good and listen to me instead of arguing until your head pops off,” you tease, patting his face twice and he huffs before muttering an ‘understood’. Anything to see you. “Is there something else you need from my office?”

“No, just wanted to see you,” he looks at the brown paper bag in his hands. “I brought you lunch, just in case you didn’t eat.” 

“Wriothesley,” you melt, “how thoughtful of you. I’ll make sure to eat it when I finish reading those contracts.”

“You should eat now, though. Don’t drown yourself in work, it’s not healthy.”

“I wish it were that easy, but these piles were dumped on my desk this morning and were assigned to be done by the end of the week.”

The hand that was on your waist comes up to gently hover over your cheek and Wriothesley studies you, icy eyes hardening due to the fatigue present in your expression. You grab his wrist, trying to diverge his attention, but you should know better than assuming that your wellbeing isn’t of utmost importance to him. “Unacceptable, I should have a word with your supervisor-”

“-no, no, Wriothesley! I insist, this is manageable.”

He frowns, deep and serious before surrendering to your pleas. “Fine, but if it doesn’t get better by the end of the week, then I will be interfering.”

“If you do so, my supervisor will be too scared to come in for a month,” you squeeze his wrist and gently guide it away from your face, ignorant to how your neglect for your own health hurts Wriothesley as well. He knows you love your job, but he still thinks that you deserve to live life carefree, that you should get everything you want without ever lifting a finger. “It’s alright, dear, you mustn’t worry about me when your work is a thousand times more stressful.”

“Impossible.” He worries about you every second of the day. Telling Wriothesley to stop fretting over you would be like telling him to stop breathing. “Now eat.” 

You yelp when he pulls you towards your chair, sitting you down. From the paper bag, he takes out a sandwich, one that you recognise is from one of fontaine’s favourite cafés, and he carefully unwraps it before raising it to your mouth.

“Wriothesley… this is a little embarrassing,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around yourself.

He doesn’t say anything, just persistently stares at you, gaze intense enough for you to give in. As you lean in to take the first bite, you are bashfully looking away from your lover, who wears a pleased expression, satisfied with the fact that you’re letting him take care of you. 

The tension from last night’s dispute hasn’t completely melted away, there are still things that need to be discussed calmly, but as you keep trying to push his hand away and battle Wriothesley’s indestructible stubbornness, he knows it will work out in the end. You love him and he loves you, and if you ever forget to visit him during lunch break again, then he’ll have to tear himself away from the prison and come up, just to meet you.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[wantonlywindswept]

another trope inversion of GAR/Guard interactions:

the GAR is entirely aware that Coruscant is a shit posting.

they're not blind; they can see all the anti-clone sentiment when they're on leave. even when they're deployed, it's not like they're cut off from all news - they know how many times bills for clone rights have gone to the Senate floor and been ruthlessly voted down. they can see how even their Jedi are restrained by the Senate dragging its feet and making bad choices and handling the war like it's a game of dejarik since it will never affect them personally.

very few politicians have the respect of the clones.

but the Guard still have to work with the spoiled, self-centered bastards, and the GAR knows that they're not being treated well. but what can they do? they have no rights, the Jedi are as trapped under the Senate's thumb as they are, and it's not like they can get regular citizens to do anything.

so they offer their support as much as they can. any Guard, any Corrie who needs help, all they have to do is find one of their brothers and it will be offered without any questions.

you'd think that crime rate would go up when battle-traumatized soldiers are given leave on a city-planet like Coruscant, but it actually goes down.

way down.

the thing criminals come to realize is that if you are being chased by one of the Guard, if ANY other clone catches sight of you, it is ON SIGHT. clones in casual clothes carrying food and drinks have dropped everything to immediately join a Guard's hunt, throwing themselves into the pursuit with glee and an energy that the usually-exhausted Guards often lack. (some of them howl. those, the criminal underground agrees, are the worst.) 

and with hundreds or thousands of clones wandering around during battalions' leave, it's possible to run into one of them anywhere. and they usually travel in packs.

best just to lay low for a while.

when it leaks that the Guard regularly run low on supplies, all sorts of things start to go missing on the venators. just a box or a crate here or there, ration packs or bacta patches or cold-weather gear. there are millions of clones and thousands of ships; it's not like every little thing can be tracked by the quartermasters. 

(rex realizes that, for whatever reason, his battalion is always prioritized for resupply, and rarely any questions are asked about their requisitions. rex takes immediate and shameless advantage of this. rex manages, somehow, to lose two entire bacta tanks, along with the bacta to fill them.)

and ofc the idea that started this whole ramble - when a shiny Corrie stumbles somewhere where some of the 501st are shooting the shit, causing everything to immediately come to a halt. the kid is clutching his helmet and one of his pauldrons to his chest; his hair is mussed up and there are tears on his cheeks and bruises on his face and unadulterated panic in his eyes. 

there's an angry call in the corridor.

the shiny flinches.

fives grabs him, hears him squeak, snaps out orders. echo yanks off his bucket and his upper armor; jesse lunges for a blanket. they hustle the kid into a chair, drape the blanket over his lower body, hastily swap his upper armor and helmet for echo's. fives shoves the armor somewhere, doesn't matter, it's out of sight with the telltale red, and they all barely have enough time to drop themselves back into the chairs arranged around the table and pick up their cards before some natborn stomps into the room.

anything we can do for you, sir? sorry, no, the Guard didn't stop in here. we saw him head back down toward the rotunda, though. yes, sir. have a nice day, sir.

they close and lock the door. fives goes back to the shiny. fives was instantly prepared to help a fellow clone in need.

fives was not prepared for tears.

the kid gets snot all over the inside of echo's helmet. they take him back to Guard HQ. fox is painfully, desperately relieved to see him. fox looks too-thin and too-tired but there is a fresh GAR-issued bacta patch covering a slash across the side of his cheek. he thanks them for saving the shiny, like that's something that ever needs gratitude, but is swept away before any of them can say that. 

fives doesn't think that misplaced bacta and pilfered rations are enough support for the Guard anymore.

thankfully, rex and the rest of the GAR agree.

[luveline]

bombshell!reader getting caught sleeping over at spencer's before making their established relationship public & the team still thinks spencer is uncomfortable with r's approaches. 🤭

Spencer bought you pyjamas. You're sick with secret pleasure at the fact, staring at yourself in every passing window and reflective surface. They're simple skinny knitted sweatpants and a matching hoodie, and it's not necessarily something you'd buy for yourself, but why would you ever complain? Spencer got you new clothes as a gift with no occasion or motive; you'd marry him now if you thought he'd say yes. 

Too bad he's still sleeping. 

You turn away from his kitchen window back to your cooking, an oiled frying pan sizzling hot on the stove, eggs browning at the edges as Spencer likes. Two twin mugs of hot coffee steam on the counter next to two plates of crispy bacon and toasted english muffins, deconstructed breakfast sandwiches. You're ninety percent sure he likes breakfast sandwiches. 

It's odd knowing enough about Spencer to fancy yourself in love with him, but being in a relationship that's so new that there are a thousand gaps. You know how he likes his eggs but not his bacon. Does he like melted cheese? Does he drink orange juice this early?

You'll have to ask him. If he's brave enough to ask you to stay the night, you can ask him about breakfast. 

It's getting way too hot in the kitchen. The opened window isn't cutting it. You hook your elbow into the hem of your hoodie and pull it over your head before folding them to set neatly aside. You feel cooler in your vest, if a little exposed. Good thing it's just you and Spence—

A knock rattles the door. "Reid, you home?" 

Well, I brought that on myself, you think with a laugh. You take the eggs off of the heat and wipe your oily fingers clean on a dish towel as you meander to the door. It's too early for running. 

"Hello, Derek," you say, opening the door with a put upon casualness. He blinks at you. He's wearing gym clothes, a sleeveless t-shirt and tight sweatpants. You wolf whistle before he can say hello himself. "Looking good. Early run?" 

"You're kidding," he says. 

"Am I ever? You look great! Did you want to come in– woah!" 

Deft-fingered hands pull you out of the doorway and firmly behind it. Spencer steps into your place, closing the door to a slit. "Hi, Morgan." 

"Reid. You're both kidding." 

"I don't know what you mean." Spencer rakes a hand through his sleep mussed hair. You try to ignore how much you enjoyed him moving you around. 

"Reid, I just saw her!" Morgan laughs more happily than incredulously. You can't see him but you can picture his smile and his slightly slouched posture, his arms crossed over his chest. "Since when do you guys bunk up? You're a jerk, you know that? I'm always telling her to stop bothering you, but now I'm thinking you like being bothered." 

"I never asked you to do that," Spencer says weakly. 

You nudge Spencer aside gently, popping your head back into Morgan's view. "My AC broke, my apartment's a hot hell. Reid let me come over." 

"Oh yeah?" Morgan asks, rolling his eyes. "That why he tried to hide you? What's so secret about broken AC?" 

"He's a genius, he's not perfect. I'm sure he was just trying to protect my decency. I'm not dressed for company." You put a more than friendly hand on Spencer's back, the dip of it like a tempting line under his thin sleep shirt. You want more than anything to dig under his shirt and feel along the curve of it. You'd pictured it this morning, eating eggs and drinking coffee under his arm, your fingertips tracing the short wall of stretch marks he has just above his coccyx.  

Spencer rolls with your lie as well as he's able to, which, having been caught off guard, is not very well at all. "Right. She's not wearing a bra." 

You snort. Morgan laughs and almost turns around to walk away. 

"Did you want breakfast?" Spencer asks weakly. He sounds resigned to his fate. Skewed, he uses the hand furthest away from you to reach behind his back and squeeze your hand in a swift apology. 

"I'll pass, man." Morgan pulls his cap down a touch. "Sounds like you're having breakfast fit for two." 

[youryanderedaddy]

Yandere! Crazy ex boyfriend

tw: female reader, non - con, heavy degradation, slut-shaming, abuse/violence, mockery of depression, suicidal ideation, obsessive behavior, death threats, dark

It's 2 a.m. and you can't sleep - you keep turning and burying your head into the soft, warm pillow, but something is off. The moon is too bright, coming in from the gap between your heavy curtains. The crickets outside are too loud, playing around and singing the same old melody over and over again. The static silence of the old radio tucked under the drawers is too repetitive, too predictable. All in all, you can feel it in your bones; something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

You hear the steps next. That sinister laughter - getting louder and louder, someone screaming at the top of their lungs, the echo flooding through the thin walls of your small shared flat. Someone's fist is gripping the lock with uneccessary cruelty as if trying to knock it out of the handle. The key falls down in one sharp motion, and your heart stops completely once the door opens with a squeaky, familiar bang - it still makes you jump even after all those months.

"Aww, baby!" The man exclaims, leaning against the door. You're not sure if you are hallucinating due to the countless hours of lost sleep, or there is actually smoke coming out of his old black trenchcoat. You're not even sure if he's trully here, or if this is yet another nightmare. "You didn't bother with locks this time!" He continues, smiling with childlike glee - but you know him too well. He's never peaceful. He's never cheerful. Any indication of happiness the monster exhibits is meant to confuse and trick his prey, and you're not falling for his tricks again. You already got burnt one too many times.

"Does that mean you missed me?" He tilts his head, almost pouting at you. He's all disheveled - a total wreck. The curly, unruly hair you once loved to caress and play with now just seems shaggy and unkept, sticking out like an explosion. His eyes are dark, well, darker, bloodshot, barely recognizable from the warm pots of honey that used to make you melt against him. He's lost weight, yet weirdly enough seems to have gained some muscle. You can't help, but think that it simply looks weird, unnatural even. Adam, the one you remember, was never strong - he was never threatening, never even raised his voice at you. But that was years ago in the sweet, distant dreams of the past, and that boy had died the moment you two moved in together. That's when your hell trully began.

"Were you trying to give me easy access, baby? Hm?" He smirks, interrupting your stream of consciousness. If you were unsure of his physicallity, of his existence, it's bright clear now - because you can never mistake that taunting, humiliating curve to his voice, the one he only uses when he's mad. Really, really mad. "Knew I would be back?"

You take a deep breath, slowly nodding along - maybe if you play nice, he'd just go away. Maybe this time you won't end up in cuts and bruises, all memories, good or bad, completely wiped off your drugged out hazy brain.

"Of course you did." Your ex boyfriend humms in satisfaction, taking a single step towards you - and it makes you tremble all over, no matter how much you wish you could remain calm and collected at the face of Death himself. "Because I told you so, no?" He clenches his teeth, raising his head so his eyes would meet yours. You feel like a deer caught before a trigger guard with an unstable trigger, one second away from being shot in the heart. "I told you-" He steps closer. "That I'll be back-" Another step. "Didn't I, princess?"

You nod again, unable to produce a sound. You almost wish he brought his gun so this little torture session would end quicker. Almost.

"Aww, look at you trying so hard to please me. It's adorable, baby." The man coos, his knee sliding across the edge of your bed. Fear takes a hold of your lungs, squeezing them in until you feel like you're seeing stars - and then Adam climbs on top of you. It all happens so quickly - one moment he's far away, and then he's towering over you, his hot breath ghosting over your sweaty neck, baby hairs sticking out with shivers. You can't shake the terrifying, unescapable feeling that you've been here before. That you somehow always end up underneath him, begging for your life - for mercy he won't ever grant you.

"I wonder where all that enthusiasm was when you decided to run on me." The white part of his eyes suddenly illuminates, brows raised together - he looks deranged. "Huh?" He looks at you, expecting an answer, yet you can't think of one. Your brain is turning to mush, consumed by raw panic - but why does it matter? Whatever you say he'll find a way to use against you. "Answer me, you fucking bitch!" He hisses, voice dropping to a diabolical whisper as his fist snaps around your throat like a metal collar. This seems to break off your stupor, and you open your mouth, ready to yell at whoever is still awake.

"Don't you dare fucking scream, cunt." Adam grips your jaw with one hand, crushing your cheeks into each other. "If I hear a single word come out of that filthy little mouth of yours, I am going to slit your fucking throat." His lips twist in a big sadistic grin you would have wanted to punch had you had the strength to move your arm around. Instead you whimper, defeated. Even after everything, your stupid self preservation instinct won't let you die - so it sacrifices the only thing you have left, your dignity. "And then in the morning your little friends will find you drowning in your own blood." He lowers his face, cold dead lips tracing the rough lines of your collarbone.

"A pretty picture for sure." He bites his lower lip, imagining it for just a second. "Bu-ut I know that even a depressed, suicidal little attention whore like you wouldn't want her friends to be sad." The man adds teasingly, and you can feel the bile back up into your stomach, burning and acidic. You may actually throw up all over him if you're not careful. And then he'd kill you for sure. "I mean, you seem to care for these pesky bugs oh-so much. It'd be a pity to force them to clean up your remains-"

"N-no, that's not true. I don't care about them, I only care about you!" You lie through your teeth, hot, salty tears pricking your eyes as you deny the love you have for the only people who care about you - the ones who basically saved you from a life of abuse and suffering. But apparently nothing good lasts, not when it comes to you. "Adam, I only love y-"

He backhands you - the slap echoes through the roof. Ouch.

"Don't say-" Your ex boyfriend grunts, roughly shoving you down. You take a shallow breath, letting the sting settle in. It's going to leave a red ugly handprint all over your cheek - and yet you stupidly thought your little confession was going to make him happy. Your anchors, the straws that used to buy you time, howerer rare and far in between, are all gone now. You used them up. You've run out of time, out of trick, out of will to keep fighting.

But you know he'll never make good on his threats. He'd never actually kill you - he doesn't love you enough to rid you of this miserable obsession that ties you together. And yet you tremble every time you feel the graze of his knife against your skin - you cower whenever he raises his hand. And you break down when he holds you close, hoping, praying that this time his embrace would prove just suffocating enough for you to stop breathing all together. It never does.

"Don't say you love me. You don't love me." Adam hisses in your ear, venom dripping off each word. "And I don't even care if you love me." He turns you around, pushing your face into your pillow - muffling your cries into weak, hiccuping sobs. "You're nothing." He swallows, averting his gaze to your lower body - yanking your shorts down with little concern as to whether they'd rip or not. "You amount to nothing, you're lower than dirt. You're just a fucked up little bitch." The man keeps mouthing off, and you can't decide what hurts more - his nails digging into your hips, or the razor sharp insults. " I never want you to forget that you deserve everything I give you."

You cry out as his massive length enters you with absolutely no preparation. It hurts - you're dry and it chaffs against your walls with nothing to make it slide freely, bruising your cervix. Your muscles are trying to push the foregin object out, but it keeps pushing in and out of you in forceful uniform thrusts. Between the waves of sharp and stinging-hot pain you manage to form a coherent thought - and you're surprised. Surprised that the man is even able to stay hard when all he feels right now is anger. Not love or affection, not even lust. Just anger. Surprised your body is still going even after your mind has given up. Surprised that, even despite all your protests and agony, you are growing used to this.

"I gave you everything." Adam start off again, picking up the pace of his thrusts. "Everything - but you're too much of a selfish whore to see." He pulls your hair back so you'd face him from beneath - then he slaps you with all force. "I want to mess up that pretty little face of yours." His hand connects to your cheek once again. You know you'll wake up all puffy and blue tomorrow morning - if you even wake up. "I want you so goddamn ugly no one wants you anymore." He pulls you in by your shirt, smashing his lips against yours with a brutal force - as if he's trying to become one with you, and break your face at the same time. "I want you so ruined-" He kisses you again, teeth running into teeth - yet he's the one to bite you first. "And lonely that you have no one else to turn to."

"I want you broken." He pulls away just to stare into your empty eyes, voice now back to a whisper. "As broken as me."

[hazbin-writings-and-musings]

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader Romance Headcanons

Some very random and very silly little headcanons about being in a relationship with the King of Hell, and likely the beginning of many more as I learn how to write for this darling cartoon that has consumed my entire brain.

- He's one of the greatest flirts of all time, but with one enormous caveat: he has no ability to consciously flirt with anyone he's interested in. Quips and charming smiles come easy when he wants to banter with friends or taunt a foe, but when he starts to get feelings for you and actually attempts to be smooth, everything falls apart. All traces of his grace, power, and quick wit evaporate the instant he pulls his first move, and it only worsens the more flustered he becomes. His first attempt goes so badly that by the end more than a few things are on fire, and neither of you is entirely sure how. Thankfully, your receptiveness despite the disasters will build his confidence; and while he's never quite as smooth as when he's not trying, he does learn to make use of his charms whenever the moment calls for it.

- While at first he'll keep your relationship on the extreme down low, to the point of avoiding public dates and shows of affection, this is only so he can take the time to be sure you know and can fully agree to what you're getting into. Dating Lucifer Morningstar comes with a great many risks that don't ever go away, and he needs you to understand that while he'll do anything to keep you safe, your life will change forever once word gets out. The people of Hell are going to want to know all about their King's new lover, and he has more than a few enemies on multiple planes of existence you'll have to be wary of. As soon as he's convinced you're aware of the risks and accept them regardless, be prepared for him to make up for lost time and then some. He wants to take you on dates to Hell's most premier establishments, to have you on his arm for every single public appearance, and to proudly and boldly declare you to be his love whenever the opportunity presents itself.

- Genuine compliments go a long way with this man. Though he's got a very healthy sense of pride, he still very much enjoys praise, to the point of nearly giddy delight if he gets it from someone he's crushing on. This goes double if you catch him off guard. Expressing your awe when he unceremoniously summons a mundane item out of thin air will fluster him far more readily than even the most lascivious of flirtations, and he'll be riding the emotional high for the better part of a week. Praising his appearance has an even greater impact, and nothing puts a spring in his step quite like hearing how much you like his hair.

- Touch is one of his preferred love languages, second only to gifts and song. He likes to give as much as he does to receive, but as he's a little starved for affection, you'll find him very disproportionately affected by even the most chaste contact. The first time you try looping your arm through his, laying a hand on his shoulder, and even brushing up to his side he'll be deliriously happy. Once the gates are open, however, you can expect him to start initiating and upping the ante quite rapidly. He'll start taking your hand when it's available, cupping the small of your back as you walk at his side, and even pulling you in with his wings for a feathery embrace, and he doesn't stop there. Eventually, if you're amicable, he'll gladly offer his lap anytime you need a seat. This goes double if you're in public.

- Giving gifts is one of his favorite ways to express affection, but he doesn't just do so willy nilly, even if anything you could ask for will be provided in a heartbeat. Rather, he likes to surprise you by gifting something that you didn't even know you needed, and will spend a great deal of time noting what you need help with and drafting ideas to meet that need until he has the perfect solution. Being a craftsman with eons of experience and angelic powers means he can construct anything in the realm of imagination, and he'll use his skills to tune his creation to your particular tastes. All of this is done in secret to ensure you're surprised when he finally presents his creation. No matter how many hours he spends laboring over these gifts, your surprise and joy always makes it all worth it in the end.

[punkshort]

to have and to hold

A The Way We Were/Look What We've Become one-shot

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader (established relationship)

Summary: You and Joel enjoy a quiet morning together the day after your wedding.

Warnings: language, fluff, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, brief mention of oral (m!receiving), an absurd amount of happiness and love.

WC: 2.2K

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Was it what you always envisioned for your wedding day?

Certainly not.

No, you definitely didn't imagine finding the love of your life, who also happened to be your extremely intimidating boss, right before the apocalypse. You didn't think you would spend a year traveling across the country together, fighting for your lives and keeping one another safe while doing your best to deny your feelings for him, and he for you.

Yet somehow, it all worked out. After enduring unspeakable things in that year, you found sanctuary in Jackson, Wyoming, with Joel's brother. Tommy had a very different experience in that first year. He managed to find Maria, his wife, and create a beautiful community. The walls around the town were still being constructed when they found you both on the side of the road, on your way to Yellowstone to settle down together someplace safe. They took you in and you acclimated nicely, although it took a long time for you both to feel safe, to let go of that nagging feeling in the back of your head that said stay alert, keep one eye open, stay awake. But you did, and you each finally found peace.

Sure, it wasn't all easy. Old fears cropped back up when Joel mentioned starting a family and getting married. You said all the wrong things, anxiety driving you instead of your heart and it nearly destroyed you both. But with time, you managed to work through your fears and you came out on the other end stronger than ever.

And now you were married. Devoted to one another forever, said the words with tears in your eyes and smiles on your faces in front of your friends and family. Ellie never called you mom and dad, but you took on the roles for her, anyway. You fed her, taught her, kept her safe, kept her secret. She was just as much family as Tommy and Maria, who also stood by your sides as you exchanged vows.

As silly as it was, Joel still insisted on keeping the hair tie you had given him that night wrapped tightly around his wrist. It was a makeshift ring, a symbol more than anything of your love and devotion to him, and even though you had since found a thin gold band for him to wear one day not too far outside the walls under Tommy's guard, Joel still never took off that hair tie.

It was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes the day after your wedding. Your cheek was pressed against his bare chest, his right arm wrapped possessively around your middle and his left hand resting on his stomach. The way the sun beamed in through your bedroom curtains made the gold band around his finger practically sparkle, or maybe you were just imagining it. Either way, it made you smile and nuzzle into his warmth even more, inhaling his natural, comforting scent.

He took a deep breath, his chest rising underneath your cheek, then you heard him grunt softly before his fingers twitched then left his stomach in favor of scratching his beard.

"'S'late," he yawned, voice thick and gravelly. The way it sent a wave of arousal through you, you would have thought he said the most filthy, depraved thing known to man.

"We were up late," you reminded him, biting your lip when you saw the slow smile spread across his face.

"Oh, I remember," he teased before his hands found your hips and shifted you so you were lying on top of him. You pressed a slow, lazy kiss against the center of his chest and you could feel his heart fluttering under your lips.

"What do you want to do today?" you asked him sleepily.

He hummed and you got your answer before he even had a chance to respond when you felt a familiar twitch against your leg.

"I planned on stayin' in bed with my wife all damn day," he said, making you giggle.

"I like the sound of that."

With Ellie at a sleepover, which was at her own insistence to give you some space on your wedding night, a gesture both thoughtful and embarrassing in nature, you knew you had at least a few more hours to yourselves.

"C'mere," he murmured, his chest rumbling underneath you. With a grin, you propped yourself on your elbows so you could reach his mouth. Pressing your lips together gently, you each sighed, feeling yourself relax even more in his arms.

His tongue swiped along your bottom lip and you dropped your jaw, allowing your tongues to lazily reunite. One of his hands delicately traced your spine while the other cupped your cheek, cradling it like you were made of glass. You leaned your face into the palm of his hand, letting him hold you close. It felt like he had you completely surrounded, like your body was just melting right into his, and you couldn't be any happier.

Well, that wasn't exactly true. Turned out, you could be a little happier. That became rather clear when your kisses grew heated, your hands began to roam and your hips started to shift. You didn't even bother to ask, you just pushed yourself up so your legs were straddling him on either side and reached between both your bodies, angling his cock so it lined up with your opening and slowly, oh so slowly, you sunk down. You watched through heavy lidded eyes as his face went slack and his brow furrowed, taking great pride in the way you made this broad, strong, beast of a man all pliant and soft underneath you. How you and you alone with one touch or look could stop him dead in his tracks.

"Yeah, sweetheart, that's it," he growled when you started to move. He pressed his head back into his pillow and groaned, watching as the evidence of your arousal smeared between you both with each rock of your hips. His hands gripped your waist, one set of fingertips brushing up against the shiny, but faded, scars on your ribs. His eyes focused on them for a moment, allowing his ego to inflate just a bit when he recalled what you would be willing to do for him. It was the same he would be willing to do, and have done, for you: kill anyone who dared try to do you harm.

His hands drifted over your stomach, rough palms gliding over smooth skin, until he reached your breasts. He squeezed one, then the other, then drew small circles over your nipples, flicking his nail against the hardening bud and making you whine.

It didn't take much convincing. Just one hand pressing lightly on your back made you fall forward, planting a hand on either side of his head so he could take your nipple into his mouth while you continued to ride him at a pace you seemed to enjoy best.

"Feel so good," you practically slurred, your mind growing numb as your pleasure built. He released your breast with a smack to his lips and pushed you back so you were upright once again. His eyes looked black when he met your gaze and he clenched his jaw before he muttered lowly, "fuckin' take it. C'mon, lemme see you work for it."

You took a deep breath and stabilized your palms against his chest before tilting your hips up and dropping them down quickly, over and over in a steady, fast rhythm that had your skin slapping together obscenely in the otherwise quiet house.

"Yeah, that's it. Fuck, what a good girl," he murmured. You could see the shift in his face now and it fucking thrilled you. Gone were the sweet, loving looks and chaste, gentle kisses. Now that his own pleasure was mounting low in his stomach, his cock throbbing and begging for release deep within you, he was growing impatient. He bared his teeth while you kept up your fast, tight pace, eyes flashing up at you hungrily, heat flushing his chest and neck and you briefly thought he looked not unlike an animal, the thought only spurring you on more.

"Keep fuckin' yourself on my cock, sweetheart," he gritted out. "Look so pretty like this, all stuffed full of me. My beautiful wife," he added, his voice dropping to an adoring whisper with his last words. It had you tipping you head with a deep moan, your gaze locking onto the ceiling while you continued to ride him as best you could with trembling legs.

And he could feel it. He could feel your legs shake, he could hear your breath stutter and he knew you were growing weak but fuck if you didn't try to push through it just to please him. The mere thought practically short circuited his brain, his senses dulling at the idea of someone as perfect as you wanting to do what he asked. But he knew you were tired and sore from the previous night. He hardly let you rest once you finally tore away from the festivities to be alone for the first time as husband and wife, but you both knew the desire was double sided. You couldn't keep your hands off him, either. After all, it was you who dropped to your knees in your beautiful fucking dress right on the other side of your front door, barely making it inside, to take his cock down your throat.

So he decided to help. His hands found their place on your hips, thumbs pressing into the crease of your thighs, and he bucked up into you, each movement paired with a deep grunt that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your fingernails digging into his chest.

When your body shuddered and your jaw hung open, a sharp gasp the only sound to leave your lips, he smirked because he knew what would happen next. Your perfect fucking pussy clenched around him so deliciously, squeezing and relaxing over and over again while each wave of your orgasm ripped through you. The sight and feel was unlike anything else, the experience simply incomparable.

He lifted you off him quickly, making you yelp in surprise, and rolled you over so you were on your back. He knelt between your legs and furiously tugged at his cock, his eyes fixated on your spent cunt. He groaned loudly and fell forward onto one hand as he came, painting your stomach with his release, and you watched in a daze as you continued to catch your breath.

"Christ," he gasped when he was finally finished, then collapsed next to you with a tired groan. "Gonna kill me one day."

You giggled and tossed your forearm across your eyes, and he grinned before reaching toward the ground for something to clean you up.

"Why don't I make you breakfast?" he offered softly as he wiped the rag over your belly. You hummed and dropped your arm to your side with a smile.

"I think Julia baked us muffins as a wedding present. The basket should be downstairs somewhere."

He was surprised his stomach didn't growl on command.

"You stay here, I'll be right back," he said before kissing the tip of your nose and lifting himself up with a grunt. He slid on his boxers, not fully convinced that Ellie wouldn't come bounding through the front door unannounced, before heading down the steps. While the coffee brewed, he rubbed his lower back with a wince. The last twelve hours wore him out, but he wouldn't ever let you see it. But by the time he got back upstairs with a tray full of muffins, coffee and apples, he could tell you were just as exhausted as him. You had hardly moved from the spot where he left you, but he couldn't deny you looked completely relaxed.

You ate in a comfortable silence, picking at baked goods and feeding each other pieces of apple until you were full. Afterwards, you took his left hand in both of yours and admired the way it now looked adorned with a gold band, marking him as yours forever.

"Looks good on you," you murmured. He smiled and cupped your jaw with his other hand, kissing your lips so tenderly it took your breath away.

"What do we do now?" he asked, nuzzling the side of your face.

"What we promised we would do," you said with a sigh. You leaned into him, head coming to rest on his shoulder while his arms circled your waist, holding you as close as he could.

It took him a moment, but he understood what you meant.

I promise to love and cherish you. To remain faithful, to protect you, to laugh and cry with you. To grow together and lean on one another. Until my very last breath, this I swear.

His chest swelled at the memory and he felt so happy in that moment, he thought he could float away.

He took a deep breath and kissed the top of your head before replying.

"Okay."

[totalswag]

worthy of love — RAFE CAMERON

authors note something short and cute for you guys. also, rafe deserves to be treated with the love that he desires. he just wants to be understood yall.

paring mean!rafe x soft!reader

summary soft!reader wants to show mean!rafe that he's worthy of love but he pushes reader away until one day he finally knows what love truly feel like.

warnings neglect, feeling unworthy of love, ward being a shitty father, and a lovely happy ending.

Rafe Cameron believed he would never be capable of love in his life.

Raised in a family where love was a rare commodity, Rafe grew up believing that affection, vulnerability was a weakness that should be avoided at all costs. But little did he know that someone was about to turn his life upside down and teach him the true meaning of love.

You.

His father, Ward Cameron, is part of the reason Rafe is the way he is. Ward tells him to man up rather than express his feelings and be vulnerable. Overall, his father has never treated him with the proper care compared to his two younger sisters. This sent Rafe into a downward spiral, leading to a darker path in his life. Rafe held his guard up.

You entered his world like a breath of fresh air, bringing with you a warmth and tenderness he had never felt before. Rafe first rejected your presence, pushing you away with his harsh remarks and cold demeanor. But you saw through his strong facade, understanding the agony and vulnerability that lay underneath the surface.

"Why do you treat me like this? I’m not someone that deserves to be loved." 

Rafe was initially perplexed as to why, of all the people on the island, someone as kind and gentle as you would want to be with him. 

One of the many things Rafe would tell you when you tried to show him that he’s capable of being loved by someone, he would shut you out immediately when you tried showing him.

People said you were crazy for pursuing Rafe Cameron. His reputation in Kildare is immense. You just chose to ignore what other people had to say because you felt Rafe deserved love.

The first time you heard those words come out of his mouth, your heart broke into a million pieces. Behind all of the roughness, coldness, and unpredictable behavior, he is someone who wants to be loved.

Rafe continued to push you away for the longest time, hoping you would get the hint. Finally, giving in after protracted arguments. For far too long, he had kept his guard up to protect himself. He did not want to feel weak for expressing himself. Rafe noticed how long you stayed by his side.

You gradually began to break down the walls Rafe had placed around his heart. You showed patience and understanding by refusing to give up on him, even when he tried to push you away. Rafe became increasingly drawn to you as time passed, yearning for the love and acceptance that had always escaped him.

Rafe started to trust again as your relationship deepened. He progressively exposed a gentler, softer side of himself, something he had never seen before. He realized there are individuals out there, like you, who care passionately and will be by his side through thick and thin.

All he ever wanted was to feel fully understood and seen. You came into his life when he was in the deepest pain and saved him. You showed he’s worthy of love, compassion, gratitude, and vulnerability are truly like, and there is nothing wrong with it. He transformed into a very different person than anyone could have predicted.

"You're the most amazing person I've ever laid eyes on, baby," Rafe said with a lovely smile on his lips, sliding the front strand of your hair behind your ear as you moved your body closer to his and closed your eyes.

“I love you so much rafey” kissing his bare shoulder a few times.

“And I love you more,”

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[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two Three

“Ow, not so hard man.” Eddie seems to be absolutely fascinated with Steve’s leg hair. Which, okay, Steve kind of understands, Eddie has neither legs nor leg hair, so he gets why it would be weird. He kind of wishes Eddie wouldn’t tug quite so hard though.

Eddie’s just demolished a big bowl of green things, and Steve’s sitting on the edge, legs dangling in the water where Eddie’s hovering, touching Steve’s skin with his slightly warmer than pool water temperature fingers. He’s scratching a little too, but it’s only a tiny bit, very gently, so Steve doesn’t mind. Eddie clearly doesn’t intend to harm him, and seems more fascinated with the thin white lines he’s leaving on Steve’s tanned skin.

Eddie gives a particularly vicious tug, Steve jerks, “Ow! Fuck. No, no more. Finished.” He sits up, pulling his legs clear of the water, waving Eddie away.

“Inied?”

“Yeah, finished. Ow. It hurts. You hurt me.”

Eddie tilts his head, swimming closer, “Steeee. Ow.”

Steve sighs, “Yes, ow. I’ll be back later.”

“I’m sure. Steve is the only one who feeds him, right?”

Steve and Robin both nod.

“Right, so, from his point of view, if he interpreted that as Robin trying to like, harm Steve, then his food supply would be jeopardized. He's just, resource guarding or whatever.”

“So...no play fighting within Eddie flopping distance?”

Dustin nods, “pretty much yeah, anything that could be interpreted as risk to Steve, I guess. Or, when Robin is here, she takes Eddie his food. Or anyone really, anytime anyone else is here. That way Eddie will start to see Steve isn’t his only resource.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s probably a good idea anyway,” Steve easily agrees, the now bare patches on his shins are still kind of stinging.

Robin returns with her bowl still full of veg, “he just won’t touch it. There’s still peas floating in the pool from last time.”

Steve sighs, “I really don’t know why he’s being like this.”

“Maybe he’s just pissed at me,” she shoves the bowl at Dustin, “you try.”

They all watch through the window as Dustin heads to the pool. They can tell from how he’s standing that Eddie’s at the end furthest away. Dustin kneels, tries offering things. It’s not long before he quits and comes back.

“How long did it take before he would eat? Maybe we just need to persevere?”

Robin disagrees, “once we figured what he would eat, it was pretty much straight away he was taking stuff from Steve.”

“Okay, so maybe it’s like, a trust thing, so if we stick this out long enough, eventually he will get hungry enough to give in, right?”

“We’re not doing that,” it just immediately strikes Steve as cruel, “he’s not put on enough weight yet for us to be fucking with his food supply.”

“Okay...okay yeah.”

Steve blinks awake. He’s not sure what woke him, but he’s almost certain he just heard something. He lies still straining to listen and yeah, he definitely heard something. Something or someone moving around downstairs. Steve quietly shifts, groping for the nail bat leaning against the wall as he slides out of bed, his heart feels like it's crawling up into his throat. He almost hopes it's a regular old burglary and not, like, monsters.

He creeps downstairs, luckily he was already sleeping in a tank top and shorts. He’s nearly to the bottom of the stairs when he hears it; a clunking noise and then, “Steee.”

He carefully puts the bat down immediately; figures Eddie got into the house somehow. Steve allows himself a moment to calm down, breathe deep and slow for a minute even as, in his head, he's calling Dustin a little shithead and blaming him for leaving the back door unlocked.

At the bottom of the stairs he can peer around the corner to see Eddie sitting in the hall. It’s light enough for Steve to make out that Eddie’s sitting quite tall, his tail curled into an ‘s’ shape underneath him. He has the phone from the hall side table held carefully next to his head, exactly like...well...like a regular person on the phone would, and while Steve is there, he says, “Steee,” uncertainly into the receiver.

For a moment, Steve is tempted to sneak up to the phone in his parents room and lift the receiver so he can answer Eddie, but quickly dismisses it; Eddie’s limited vocabulary makes it kind of pointless, anyway.

“Hey Eddie,” Steve steps off the bottom step.

“Stee!” Eddie turns to Steve, it's almost strange to see him without his sunglasses on now, and his eyes reflect what little light there is in a strange, silvery flash. He seems to remember then that he's holding something, forgotten for a second with the clear excitement of finding Steve, and he replaces the receiver on the cradle with surprising care; Steve wonders vaguely if he was just listening to the dial tone.

Eddie moves through the house, walking on his hands and using a unexpectedly efficient twist of his tail to push him along; he’s much more comfortable on land than Steve would have given him credit for. He stops and looks back, clearly waiting for Steve to follow him. Steve does. Dutifully following Eddie through the house, and it’s not until Steve’s at the door that he realizes it's not Dustin's fault at all – the spare key is in the lock. He doesn’t keep one out front – that’s just asking for trouble – but he keeps one out back. One that is only for absolute emergencies only, and it’s very specifically under the third plant pot along. Eddie must have seen Robin or one of the kids let themselves in and then just...worked it out for himself.

Well, huh, Steve thinks as he follows Eddie out into the yard and across the grass, past the pool and along to the tree line.

Steve wonders vaguely if Eddie actually does this often, getting out of the pool and exploring at night; he doesn’t seem to struggle, and he clearly knows where he’s going, passing through the tree line at the bottom of the yard and then a little further in.

Eddie comes to a stop, and when Steve gets there he sees what Eddie is looking at. It’s a bird. A pigeon probably, like a wood pigeon or something, if Steve’s very limited knowledge of birds is to be believed. It’s lying on the grass, clearly dead.

Steve crouches and watches as Eddie, very gently strokes the fluffy breast feathers of the bird, “Ow. Inied.”

Steve sighs he guesses finished is one way to put it, “yeah, yeah buddy. Uhm. Dead,” Steve pulls Eddie’s hand away, “dead. Don’t touch it. It’s dead.”

“Dead,” Eddie cocks his head.

“Yeah,” Steve yawns, getting sleepy again now the adrenaline’s died down and there’s clearly no danger, “come on, back to bed. Or, you know, the pool.”

Eddie’s reluctant to move at first, but then does when Steve gestures, sliding soundlessly back into the water.

“See you tomorrow buddy.”

“Budidy. Edidie.”

“Yeah, near enough.”

“Do you think he killed the bird?”

“Nah, there wasn’t any obvious like, injury or anything. And you should have seen how gentle he was with it Robs...it was like he felt bad, you know.”

She hums in agreement, “he must have seen someone at the lab use a phone, do you think?”

Steve figured the same, once he’d finished his night’s sleep and actually pondered on it. “Pretty sure he doesn’t know how to actually use it, he was just copying. But the fact that he worked out they were using it to talk to other people, that’s pretty smart, right?”

“Maybe we can teach him to use it?” Robin eats more waffle with her fingers, smearing the broken up bits through the cream. They’re sitting out on the pool chairs for breakfast.

“Dunno, numbers and stuff. A walkie though? I think he might be able to-”

“Steee! Steeee!” Eddie calls him from the water, arms resting on the sides. He’s smiling, looking happy, shades firmly in place today.

“What buddy?”

Eddie points confidently at the sky, “dead!”

Steve looks up; birds. There’s birds flying over.

“Oh no- birds. Eddie those are birds.”

He looks so confused, but Steve suddenly has an idea, “where you going dingus?”

“Be right back a second,” Steve heads into the lounge and runs his fingers along the lowest shelf of books, easily finding the thick children's encyclopedia he got for his birthday one year when he was little. He’s never even opened it, thought it was a shit present, but it’ll do for this.

He opens it on his way back to the pool, finding a page with a big colorful picture of loads of birds on it, sitting by the side of the pool where Eddie can see, “bird.”

“Buurd,” Eddie drags the word out, definitely making it more than a ‘u’ than an ‘i’ sound, but it’s definitely near enough.

“Yeah that’s right,” Steve lays the book out on the edge of the pool, “don’t get it too wet.”

Eddie tilts his head, “et.”

Steve slaps the water, “wet. Uhm.” Tapping the book, Steve says, “finished.”

Eddie looks at his hands, frowning.

“Right, wait,” Steve goes and grabs a towel, left forgotten on a pool chair, and brings it to the edge, “here,” Eddie’s close enough for Steve to take his hands easily, “wet,” after a moment of ruffling Eddie’s hands with the towel, Steve tells him, “dry.” Then he taps the book, “dry. Wet finished.”

He waits to see what Eddie will do, but he holds his hands carefully out of the water before he lifts himself to touch the book.

Steve turns to a page at random, showing Eddie a page with all sorts of big cats on it, lions and tigers and stuff like that, “go on, you do it.”

Steve gestures at Eddie, and, cautiously as he lets his elbows take his weight, Eddie carefully turns the page.

Part five

[harmonysanreads]

Idée Fixe

yandere!lyney x reader

cw(s) : yandere, lyney, written before fontaine release

wc : 2.6k+

two dorks psychoanalyze each other. might kiss out of spite.

“For as many hearts as you steal, how many do you keep?”

The smooth texture from designed cards is felt across the tips of your fingers, your eyes capture the patterns printed on them through the filter of silvery moonlight and the sound of steps falling in sync with yours assure you of the verity of this encounter.

You don't even need to look up to picture the twinkling amethysts, the widening curve of lips that never convey anything concrete and a sudden bounce in the magician's steps ; the visage painted in your subconscious like the motifs on the cards your fingers fiddle with in intrigue.

The chilly night breeze are but twirls of playful edge,“You make it sound like something else,”

If you cared to look up, you would've noticed the subtle dance of his brows. Lyney begins to walk a step ahead of you in the midst of his short speech, through prolonged scrutiny that'd rival that of the most skilled jeweler's ; you've associated this change of pace to either be in preparation for his usual trickery — or, in the few sparse occasions that go as soon as they come, a casual introduction of another subject to eliminate the previous one. While one could accuse you of reading too much into things, you've long since learned that when it concerns the eccentric magician, the tell-tale details will reveal what he will not.

“Oh really? Perhaps it's your mind imagining insinuations that do not exist, you do have a creative brain.”

“Ouch, only you could insult and praise me in the same sentence.” Lyney places a hand over his heart to cradle it from the jab, though his choice of words should indicate offense, the delivery makes it clear he wouldn't have it any other way.

“Why, thank you, though you're gravely mistaken if you think that will change the subject.” with a swivel of his cape, Lyney spins to walk facing you, his strides (albeit backwards) unchanging in confidence and only when your lift your head to lock eyes, does his expression lighten.

“Well, to answer your question, the ones that are worth keeping, of course.”

The magician chuckles at your eye-roll, “Don't play coy, you know precisely how I meant that question.”

Lyney hums in pretend contemplation, gaze still fixated on your moonlit form, the beat of both of your steps grazing against the pavement and making it seem like a strange parade. Your question holds substance unknown to the rest of the world, but translucent to the magician.

It is both his frustration and delight that you're never bent by his charming words and theatrics. Your firm stare and insistence on the topic confirm his suspicions that you're searching for something particular, something uprooted from the very depths of his soul and he could bet his entire career that you won't stop until you've wrung it out. The answer you seek is nothing he can't give, it'd be simple as well, but precisely due to this knowledge the magician opts instead to test the limitations of your patience.

Truth be told, Lyney never likes it easy and neither do you.

For a miniscule lapse in the boundless confines of time, it's as though both of your world has separated from the existing one. For an amount that'd otherwise be uncomfortable, all exchange is made through your locked eyes. Like a secret shared between no other soul — despite your better judgement, the realization sends a jolt of thrill through your veins and you cannot help but wonder if the magician feels the same.

Seemingly out of thin air, Lyney twirls his magic wand in a wanton pattern, small sparks of light clash with the moon's glow before waltzing past your hair — you pause for not a second, knowing their goal lies in catching you off-guard. If Lyney was given the chance, he'd spend the rest of the night in determining whether you looking back to the cards in your hands was merely an expression of boredom or a brag of how accustomed you are to his theatrics.

Lyney dabbles between the lines of reality and illusion as a profession, blurring them without his audience's notice to make them believe a miracle. It's a simple trick he's succeeded in transforming into an art, so he was confident you'd be privy to the delusion as well. Whether it's due to you doing the same as him or the opposite entirely, Lyney's persistence in solving the puzzle piece named you only grows more tenacious day-by-day.

Sensing the magician's uncharacteristic quietude, you abandon the cards to his backwards marching form and the cheeky grin plastered on his face has you wishing you hadn't at all.

“Ah, but you see, the information you seek is confidential and I fear for prying ears. How about you come a little closer, and I'll tell you the amount?”

Lyney's face is a perfect replica of the grin-malkin cat he adores using as prop, a cloud obscures the moon's vision from seeing the act down earth and the shimmer of Lyney's eyes become pronounced in contrast to the shadow. In comparison, your visage that'd scream ‘preposterous!’ if it could looks nothing short of a circus.

Your steps come to a halt in unison, a breathy chuckle echoes throughout the dead of the night, “Aw, why that face? I don't bite~”

You blink in surprise and suddenly the magician's presence is way too closer than you recall ; he bows down to your ear and the heat of his breath almost makes a shiver run down your spine.

“... but, I might nibble.”

You catch his impish smirk from the corner of your eye and if Lyney notices how you choke in the formation of words, he could snag an award for acting like he didn't.

“Are you that fixated on creating a scandal? Must you always be so shameless?”

At that, Lyney leans away with a pout, hands folded behind his back and swaying back and forth on the heels of his shoes like a reprimanded child.

“Come on now, don't be such a killjoy. I went through all that trouble to whisk you from that boring party and this is how I'm thanked?”

The magician's words are a drawl, each one competing to be more irritating than the last. You have to take a deep breath and hold your tongue from reminding him that the escapade had been without your choice. The world places limitations on all sorts of things and you're not morbidly curious enough tonight to know the extent of the magician's good graces. A beat of tense silence passes, Lyney takes note of your averted gaze and it positively irks him.

Lack of eye-contact means a number of things ; nervousness, insecurity, hesitancy, guilt. For a performer like him whose pride resides in keeping his audience's eyes hooked on his every move, such a gesture is bitter tasting. But when it concerns you, it pricks and wounds his very soul. Lyney's sigh is one of weight and it inclines you to raise your head.

“By asking how many hearts I keep, you hope to know how many matters to me.”

The magician takes his hat off and moves forward to place it atop your head, his speech is not an assumption, nor an inquiry, but a statement. You straighten your posture when you notice the absence of a smile on his face, the sight so alien it has you on edge. While his gesture may be plain to an inexperienced eye, you know that he does it as an extension of his affection. For all the valued items he keeps dangling by the rim of that hat, he surrenders it all to you in a heartbeat.

But you still hold your breath and as expected, the solemn expression of his proves to be transient. Just before the hat grazes your locks, he tips it back, gives the vacancy of its inside an inspecting look and does an emptying gesture as if to prove its.. well, emptiness. There's a flicker in his eyes you're not given the time to catch as he brings his hat just above your head and does the same depleting motion again ; the scent of fresh roses engulf your senses as a thousand petals cascade down from the hat. As if on cue, the winds pick up and waltz them down upon your form.

Here's the thing ; while you may pride yourself in being experienced in discerning Lyney's tricks, it becomes a task to maintain a straight face as he never repeats his previous sleight of hand. What you can try to do instead is search for patterns, patterns reveal genres and genres reveal intentions. Lyney is a celebrated magician of the Court, his capabilities lie far from simple card tricks, so for him to resort to elementary jugglery instead of some grand spectacle, it can only mean he's trying to distract you yet again.

You feel the weight of his hat on your head at last, shifting all the cards on your left hand, you raise your right to adjust its position slightly.

Your encouragement for him to elaborate comes in the form of confirmation, “That'd be correct,”

The magician's lips curve up in fondness, a playful hum escapes him as you resume your walk, him returning to stride facing you again. It's a skill he's mastered in the duration of your acquaintance, for the purpose of stunts apparently. You have your suspicions — but then again, who doesn't when it concerns Lyney?

“Very well. You accuse me of being such a thief, yet, I think you are the guiltier one between us two.” the errant strands of the magician's hair sway, his eyes keep you captive.

He takes the inquisitive tilt of your head as incentive to conclude, “On the topic of hearts and all, I must ask first, when do you intend to return mine?”

The night winds pause, your brain processes Lyney's question until it blanks upon realization. Your eyes dart across his face that is void of all teasing cues, his eyes glazed over and you can tell he's holding his breath. Any consideration of his behavior aligning with trickery is eliminated just as quickly, because if anyone were to want to understand Lyney as intricately as you, they'd first need to learn to be able to distinguish his flirtation from fact.

“... Do I have to?”

You find yourself half concerned and half entertained as the magician narrowly avoids being hit by a pole, him having to maneuver to regain his footing. Both of your steps come to a halt as your laugh echoes throughout the dead of the night. Lyney sheepishly places a hand on the back of his neck but that sight is all too evanescent. The signature smirk of his returns with enthusiasm.

“Not at all,” he purrs, eyes flickering towards your restless ones that have settled on his magic cards again.

“In fact, mold it to your will, toss it to your whim and hold it captive as though it's a supplement of your own, if you may.”

Your ears hang onto each of Lyney's words but your eyes find no courage to look at the mirth that you're certain is plastered on his face, you take the moment to properly inspect the motifs on the cards with some distraction from the shadows of the night : the grin-malkin cat, a miniature Lyney sticking out his tongue, a tea cup, a penguin and—

You're left stupified as the card is abruptly snatched from your grasp, Lyney bounces back a few steps and confirms to be the culprit. You brisk walk to reach the magician and that turns out to be your biggest mistake.

The card is at first held between two of Lyney's fingers, him shaking it left and right in provocation and in the spur of the moment, you take a leap. You feel the wind of the card being propelled upward, the magician holding it out of your reach. Your desire to obtain the piece of paper exceeds your awareness of the sudden decrease in proximity between you both. You shift to your tiptoes and feel the surface of the card, one look through your peripheral at the magician's smile and you realize a little too late that you've fallen right into his trap.

“Now, let's see, the question that started this all : the number of hearts this magician holds dear is the answer to this riddle—”

You expected Lyney to make the card disappear or shift higher if possible, but instead his hand wraps around yours and you find yourself twirled a full circle. The motion catches you off-guard but the magician stabilizes you by placing a firm hand on your waist and pulling you to his eye-level. You find yourself out-of-breath and unable to look away as the moon shines its light on you two again.

“—Placed above, it makes greater things small. Placed beside, it makes small things greater. ” the magician tilts your chin up in his preferred angle with the card, the cool temperature of its margin contradicting the heat of your skin.

“In matters that count, it always comes first.”

The faint rustle of your garbs against his is resounding, your own reflection stares back through amethyst lenses.

Lyney's voice is but a whisper against your cheek as he concludes, “Where others increase, it keeps all things the same. What is it?”

Your frenzied mind momentarily dreads the scenario wherein someone catches you two in the midst of this rendezvous, from incipiency to this apparent climax ; it's built up to be nothing short of scandalous. But the magician has no care for that outcome, inching closer, closer and closer. As if sensing the new wave of worries that fill your mind, he halts but makes no attempt to lean back, his eyes regain their usual shine.

“Quite easy, don't you think? But, if you believe it to be so, you'll be mislead. After all, that is how the simplest magic bewilders the audience. Blink, and you might miss it.”

The magician dives in and your breath hitches. Your eyes are forced open when you feel yourself stumble forward. The first second is wasted with no action, the second one you register that you have the card in your hand — pressed to your lips, on the third you notice the absence of Lyney's presence and the forth brings down all the embarrassment crashing down on your poor heart.

You pull away the condemned card from your lips, heavens know what anyone would think if they saw you kissing a piece of paper in the middle of nowhere. Your face flushes in the lovely shades of pink, heart hammering against your ribcage.

I could've sworn that I felt...!

The magic card crumbles slightly by the edges because of your grip, the prickle of its corners remind you to take deep breaths and calm your raging thoughts. You shake your head with vigour, but you're unsure if it's to recollect the memory or to brush it off. You're left alone to ruminate the aftermath of the bizarre encounter in the cold winds of midnight and you almost want to drown yourself in the darkest depths of the sea as recollections of your reactions rapidly pass through your mind — you can practically hear Lyney's snickers in your head.

Your attention is then grabbed by the catalyst of your current predicament, you turn over the card and finally inspect the motif printed on the card ; two hearts, bounded by a shackle and a lock. You trace your thumb across the hearts and your mind retraces Lyney's cryptic words. If all interactions, encounters and memories you share with the eccentric magician of Fontaine would form a pinnacle for you to see the truth from ; you'd know that behind the veneer of charisma and humor, Lyney hides something far less innocent. And yet, regardless of the foreboding creeping up your spine, you find yourself unable to snap the tether of connection.

Because as it is, that which is mysterious, captivates us all.

may all lyney wanters be lyney havers<3

[eupheme]

— below the belt [into the fire, part iv]

part i | part ii | part iii | masterlist

cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 4k

tags: dubcon, power dynamics, vault dweller!reader, bounty hunting, sex for favors, sub/dom elements, brief somno, fingering, light degradation, oral (f & m), light ass play, hair pulling, swallowing, miscommunication, cooper is a diiiccckk, canon-typical violence and death

a/n: just a small warning there’s very brief references about pregnancy and infertility in this, in reference to reader’s vault (in regards to other members)

“I don’t think I‘ve ever been more desperate. Told myself I’d do anything to make sure they didn’t find me.” A small smile, then - as you remember, "But then I found you, and..."

As you turn, you notice he's gone still. Hat tipped down low, a guarded look as the pink of his tongue slips across his teeth.

"Huh. Should've known." He muses - voice slow and rough, "Think I'm startin’ to put things together."

(Or - you open up, and things don’t go as planned)

There’s a pressure at your hips. Something nudging your thighs apart, strong and solid. The ghost of fingertips at the hem of your shirt, pushing the fabric up.

You stir in your sleep, the dark room swimming. Jerking awake at the press of something against your core - a hand splayed across your lower back, pinning you down.

A snarl in your throat, as you try to twist away.

“Easy there, you lil’ yao guai.” The Ghoul’s voice cuts through the dark, and with it - you feel your muscles start to ease.

“What are you doing?” You croak sleepily.

“Takin’,” He husks - teeth biting into the leather of his gloves, tearing them from his fingers.

Cupping you, the heel of his palm pressing against your clothed cunt. Fingers sliding beneath the thin fabric of your underwear, as your thighs nudge wider.

Back arching, as you stretch out on your belly. A rough hum as you fill his palm. Warm against his fingers, as the tip of one rubs at your clit.

“Was just gonna sleep.” It’s quiet. You don’t know if it’s early or late - the room still bathed in moonlight, “But seeing all this skin, the way you’re offering up your pussy on a silver platter…”

He tugs at your underwear, ripping it down your thighs, “Makes a man wanna take a bite.”

Teeth sink into the soft curve of your ass - a yelp as you jerk beneath him. Glaring at him from over your shoulder, from beneath heavy eyelids.

He’d been gone all day. Something about needing to check the next place out. Not wanting you slowing him down.

There had been a spike of something in your stomach at his words. Fear. Unease.

Condescension dripping in his tone, in his “You best stay put, or I’ll make you stay put.”

Funny how after all this time, it’s him being apartfrom you that had you pacing. Checking out the battered windows, ready to dart back down to the basement. Fighting the nausea of the RadAway still that lingers in your system as the radiation purges itself, after the days before.

Busying yourself with more scavenging. Scrubbing the grime and dust from your clothes in a bucket of radiated water, your pants still hanging off the back of a chair to dry.

The hours slowly ticking by, until the sun dipped under the horizon. The thin blanket pulled up to your chin, as you waited - until finally, you drifted off.

You’re not ready to unpack that. Or the fluttering in your belly now. The relief.

His features are even more skull-like in the darkness, his hat discarded on a nearby table. Faint shadows cast across his face by the still-buzzing static of the television. Dark hollows carved out at his nose, the set of his eyes.

A smear of red against his cheekbone. Flaking off the leather of his discarded gloves. Adrenaline slowly leeching from his system, from an unexpectedly rough afternoon. Unable to resist the urge to sink into something soft and wanting.

There’s a low sound of amusement as he nudges at you, urging you onto your knees. Your back still arched, shirt riding up to where your tits still press into the bed, your face now buried in the crook of an arm.

“Ain’t this a sight.” His hands grasp at your hips, fingers denting flesh as he spreads you open. Baring all of you to him.

Spit pools on his tongue. The dip of his head as his lips part - letting it drip down, warm and wet against your holes.

It makes you gasp, clenching down around nothing. He must see it, how you string tight, with the rough exhale he makes.

Your fingers curl against the mattress. Holding you breath - waiting for the press of his cock, the sharp stretch that you know will follow. Waiting for whatever he gives you.

Not expecting the brush of his tongue, as it flattens against your folds. Languid when it flicks up to your entrance. The sound you make is ragged, thighs pressing together.

They’re caught by his hands. Wrapping around the crook of your knees, forcing them apart again.

“No you don’t.” He hums, feeling your muscles flex in his grip, “You best keep these nice and spread for me.”

Another exploratory lick, tasting you - a muffled groan as he discovers how wet you are when he parts you.

He’s never touched you like this. Your mind is still caught on the kiss, his tongue against your tits, knuckles bruised by the bite of his teeth. Never expecting to know the feeling of his mouth anywhere else.

You don’t want him to stop. Arching more, using your leverage on the mattress to hike yourself higher for him.

“That’s more like it, sweetheart.” He rasps, “You learn fast, I’ll give you that.”

You keen, as he teases at your clit. Tight flicks of his tongue that have you rocking against him. Smearing his spit and your slick across your skin, before his lips are following.

Devouring you. Groaning at your taste.

“Been dyin’ for another taste,” It’s almost a coo, with the syrupy drawl of his words - muffled against your cunt, “Sweeter than stolen honey.”

Marveling at how wet you are, for him - in this dry and dead desert landscape. Nothing but sand and death for miles but you’re here, soft and slick against his mouth, biting back a muffled whine for more.

His tongue dips into your tight heat. Feeling the tight clench of you as he presses close, unhindered by the bulk of a nose.

Your hips rock against his face. Fully awake now, eyes tightly shut. Soft sounds melding with the suck of his mouth, thigh muscles tight and trembling.

“S’good,” It’s rough from sleep. Quiet, as if afraid he’ll stop if you reveal just how good he feels, “Feels so fucking good.”

A whine when his mouth does leave you.

“Yeah?” His voice is low, as his hand leave your legs. Thumbs finding the curve of your thigh, pressing into the meat of your ass, “Like getting tongue-fucked by a Ghoul?”

Opening you up, his thumb ghosting across your clit. Your answer is half-moan, half-sound, as he pinches the tight bud.

“Only if it’s yours.”

He makes a low, rough sound at that. Palming himself from his position behind you.

“Still talkin’. Sounds like you need a little more.” It’s your only warning before two of his fingers nudge against your opening.

Your gasp rings out, turning soft when they press deep to fill you. The nudge of his thumb with each plunge of his fingers bringing you ever closer. Unable to help the rock of your hips, as his fingers curl inside you.

Each breath is a pushed from you. Ragged and high-pitched, as your fingers pinch tighter. The slight plateau spiking again as he strokes against a spot his cock had found.

Fingers twisting, as the pleasure climbs higher. A third fitting into you, one knuckle at a time. It’s almost too much, your legs pressing flush against his, knees locking as heat pools in your belly.

“Look at these tight little holes. Always takin’ what I give you,” He admires, as feels the way you clench down around him.

The tip of his thumb sweeping up. Following the path of slick and spit, until it rubs against your tight rim, “Good girl like you gonna let me in here, too?”

It shocks you. His words, that hint of praise. How unexpected his touch is. Your focus narrows to the pad of his thumb, the steady pump of his fingers. His groan rough as he feels you tighten around his fingers.

“Fuck. Filthy little thing.” He grins, adding the slightest pressure.

Your own moan is wanton, loud and needy in the near-silent room. So close you can almost reach out and taste it - ready to sink your teeth into the ripe flesh.

“I’m gonna-” You manage, but it peters off, slipping into a moan.

“What? You gonna come?” He mocks, but it’s ragged. Losing its edge with his own need - too focused the wet squelch of his fingers, how your hips buck against his palm.

The mattress is rough against your cheek as you nod. Words are all but stolen from you now, leaving unable to answer. Nothing left but the ache for your release, everything inside you winding tight.

With your soft sighs, his neck bends - another lick against your pussy, where his fingers still pound.

The next slick brush is against your clit. The tilt of his head so his tongue can flick at the tight bud. Again and again - and with the third, you feel yourself shatter.

You wail, as he rips it from you. A bright pulse that radiates inside you - your release dripping from you with the clench of your cunt. A low hum as he feels how hard you come around his fingers, against his tongue.

Eyes closed so tightly that stars spark behind your lids. There’s the rough cadence of his voice, but everything is muted except the pleasure that sends your nerves alight.

Not noticing the panting whines are coming from you, until you drift back down.

Softening, when his fingers ease from you. A hiss when he leaves you empty, already missing the heavy fullness.

“Flip over,” The Ghoul growls, as he leans back on his heels.

Your muscles tight in the best way from the bend of your knees, the pounding of his fingers. A soft groan as you shift, your back pressing into the mattress as your thighs open for him.

His eyes already there, seeing the slick shine between your legs, the pretty gape where he’s worked you open. There’s the clink of his belts, as he works himself free, achingly hard in his palm.

Anticipation swelling as you wait for him to hike your legs around his waist and bury himself in you.

That heavy gaze flicks up, instead. Bare skin, the pushed-up tangle of your shirt. The cock-drunk haze of your eyes. Your soft, parted lips as you catch your breath.

He’s like a shadow as he crawls up you. Tattered coat licking at your legs, lean thighs spreading as they bracket your ribs.

A hand plants next to your head as he arcs over you. The other wrapping around his cock - where it hangs heavy, brushing your chest.

Your eyes are wide, focused on the thick shine of him as he works your slick over his cock - how the flushed head disappears with the stoke of his fingers. Lips already parted in anticipation.

His hand unwrapping, fingers slipping against your bottom lip. Hooking around your teeth, as your tongue licks at his knuckles.

A sharp inhale, when you close around and suck.

“Gonna use this mouth,” He husks, “The way it ought to be used.”

Pressure against your jaw, until you’re opening. He leans back, thighs spreading wider. The hand by your ear leaving to curl around his base.

Eyes dark as he feeds himself into your mouth. You can’t help but moan when he hits your tongue - the musky taste of you that clings to him.

Fingers slipping free, but his eyes stay fixed as he inches between your lips. How quick you are to close around him - watching the grit of his jaw. Licking over the rough and uneven flesh, swollen and leaking against your tongue.

He eclipses everything else, with how he fills your vision. A hand slipping beneath your head to angle you, so you can take him deeper.

A shallow thrust that inches towards the back of your throat, constricting around him as you moan.

Intention in the way you slide your hands up for him. Fingers wrapped around the straps of the pack you were using as a pillow. His knees framing your tits, as he rocks into your mouth.

A silent submission that he does not miss. The curl of his lip and the shine of teeth, as you let him decide how much you can take.

His weight presses into your chest, keeping you pinned. Unable to go deep at this angle, but content with the hot suck of your mouth, the wet swirl of your tongue. Finding his rhythm, the clink of his spurs as his knees dig into the ground with each thrust.

There’s an unsteady buck of his hips, and his shaft scrapes against your teeth. You go still - eyes rounding with a jolt of fear - but all he does is let loose a rough groan, chin jutting as his teeth click together.

His hand still cradles the back of your head. Fingers twisting in the hair at the nape of your neck, but not enough to hurt. Almost as if grounding himself, as he pumps into your mouth.

“Goddamn.” He growls, “Should thank whoever taught you to suck cock. Gonna make me come, sweetheart-”

Your eyes do close then, resisting the urge to let your hands drift. To slide up his thighs, across his vest, aching to slip beneath. They curl instead, grasping at the straps.

Air rushing into your lungs, as he pulls from you. Eyes fluttering open to catch the way he strokes himself, angling the tip towards your parted and glossy lips.

“You gonna take it?” He rasps, and you nod - letting your tongue peek out for him.

His hand tugs at your hair, his chin tipping down to watch, “Wanna hear you say it. You gonna let me fill your pretty mouth?”

You don’t know when use became let, but if he wants your permission - he has it. It’s always been his, even when it’s been wrapped tightly around you. Tied up in a bow.

“Yeah,” Your eyes are on his when you say it. Focusing on the grit of his jaw, the dark shine of his eyes, “I wanna taste you.”

His fingers tighten, brow pinching. A jerk of his hips into his fist - something bitten back between his teeth, caught in the heave of his chest.

“Open.” The Ghoul groans, and it’s all the warning you get before he’s coming - spilling across your lips, and then into the wet heat of your mouth.

Your eyes flicking up to watch again, though you’re torn. Tempted to watch the rough jerk of his fist, all that exposed skin. But it’s nothing compared to the way he looks at you as you take him. The weight of his gaze, the baring of teeth that has nothing to do with anger.

The Ghoul still tastes like a man should, as the salt of him as it floods your tongue. The kick of his length between your lips with each throb, his eyes rolling shut as he milks himself into your mouth.

His thumb smears across your lower lip, before it sinks inside to join his cock. A ragged breath, when he feels you swallow around both. Your tongue flicking across your lips when he eases from you, the tips of your fingers wiping away the rest.

“Fuckin’ Christ.” It’s a low exhale, a held tension gone from his shoulders. Fingers finally loosening from your hair, though you would have kept your heady steady for him without them.

He flops down on the mattresses, where they are pushed together. Stretching out beside you, the long hours finally catching up to him.

A lift of his hips as he tucks himself away, as you reach down to find the twist of fabric around your knees - tugging your underwear back into place.

Your mind is blissfully quiet - drowsy again, in the late hour and your post-orgasmic haze. Warm, as you roll on your side, studying him from under half-lidded eyes.

He’s close. Enough you can see the rough cut of his cheekbones, the straight line of his teeth. A second as you wonder, not for the first time, what he might have looked like before.

Your cheek grazes his shoulder, as a dark eye flicks your way. An arm splayed out, still tucked beneath your neck from where he had angled your head.

The phantom pinch of his fingers still lingers. The taste of him on your tongue when you lick against your teeth.

“What?” He grouses - as he does, when he can’t read you. When you manage to surprise him.

“Nothing.” You murmur, sleepily, “Just glad you made it back.”

It’s easy then, for your head to tilt without thinking. For your lips to ghost against his throat, where his pulse flutters beneath rough skin.

A ragged breath rattles in his chest, when you press another kiss lazily against his jaw. He stiffens beside you, fingers curled in the fabric of your shirt.

Before he’s pushing - rolling you over. Tucking you between him and the old basement wall, his back to the locked door.

“Yeah, yeah.” He grunts. All bark now, with the way his bare fingers splay across your skin, where your shirt has ridden up.

“Get some sleep. Long walk tomorrow.”

The morning dawns, and there’s something about it that seems more clear.

Or maybe it’s just you, your mind drifting back to the night before. How you woke up with the heavy press of him against you.

It hadn’t lasted long - a rough groan against your ear. Nothing said as the hat fixed itself back where it belongs. A silent tilt of his head towards to door, indicating the departure.

He still follows behind you, but you think just a bit of that gap between you has closed. A silent corner being turned, somewhere between dusk and dawn.

Only thing shared is that he’s narrowed the bounty down to a settlement, six miles from here. Deeper into the desert, instead of the crop of trees you had been hoping to head towards. Shade would be a welcome improvement, to the miles on empty road.

Maybe before, you would have been disappointed. But somehow - today - you don’t mind.

"Yesterday." The Ghoul’s voice comes from behind you - some time later, "You didn't want to stay alone."

It's not a question, but you can hear the way his words trail off. A second as you pick through your thoughts, settling on something you’ve been carrying since the beginning.

"Didn't want to be found." The wind carries your words back to him.

A few more steps pass, before he's asking, "What'd a thing like you do to get a bounty?"

Your steps slow, until he's beside you. A sideways look sent his way, catching his eye.

"You took it." It's the first real time it's been addressed, after your init meeting, "Wouldn't you know?"

He could outpace you if he wanted, with those long legs. Content enough at the moment, to stick by your side, "I know what I know. Wanna hear your side."

You hum, contemplating. Wondering how to explain. If it would make sense to a man like him. If he’d think you were weak.

"Our Overseer had a… god complex," You start slowly - never having to explain it out loud, trying to find the words, "Had it coded in the beginning that only his direct, patrilineal bloodline could work the Vault. Everything went through him."

Food. Water. Power. Everything locked under codes and keys. Thumbprints and DNA, the role of Overseer shared across the current generation.

"All his sons, then their sons, and so on... they all got married off to other families in the Vault. Or they’d find a way to bring in new blood from the outside.” Your mother had been a Wastelander, carrying you when she had been traded. You had never seen the sun until a few weeks ago.

“If you couldn't produce a male heir, you disappeared. If you tried to leave, they'd bring you back, and then you'd disappear. Been like that a long time."

A whispered secret that many knew. Followed, because the security of control and safety outweighed the horrors of the unknown. The knowledge that whether you left or not, your bones would stay in the Vault.

"So what? Didn't want to play the role of broodmare in your utopia?" He sneers, and it's not the first time you've picked up on his distaste of the Vaults, of Vault Dwellers like you.

“Seems like a goddamn picnic compared to the shit you see up here."

“You asked.” Your arms cross over your chest, as you scowl at him.

A few weeks ago and you would have gone silent. Now, you’re starting to her used to his gruff comments, the sharp bristle. Waiting, until his eyes tear away, a small jerk of his chin to continue.

"My name got drawn. Was supposed to marry one. But… in the last five years he's gone through three wives. Not a single child." You can feel the weight of his gaze on your face, the pinch of his brow.

A beat, as you start off again, "Told you, I worked as a chemist. I saw his vitals. It wasn't them, but  for it."

"So you left." His words comes reluctantly, as he fits the pieces together, "I take it they weren't happy about that."

"Wasn't gonna let it be me next." You nod, "But no, they weren't. Like I said, no one truly leaves, but I was dead either way, right?”

A beat, as you take a breath to steady yourself. Stuck in the fear from that day and the ones that followed, afraid of your own shadow.

“I don’t think I‘ve ever been more desperate. Told myself I’d do anything to make sure they didn’t find me.” A small smile, then - as you remember, "But then I found you, and..."

As you turn, you notice he's gone still. Hat tipped down low, a guarded look as the pink of his tongue slips across his teeth.

"Huh. Should've known." He muses - voice slow and rough, "Think I'm startin’ to put things together."

"What are you talking about?" You ask with a frown, thrown off by the change in pace.

"I think you know." He presses, your eyes flicking down to watch the way his wrist reflexively presses against the butt of his revolver, where it juts from his holster.

Scowling now, stalking closer, "Not a bad plan, Vaultie. Was gonna have to fuck someone either way, right? Might as well pick the man with the biggest gun. That what you thought?”

There's venom in his tone, biting into you. The first time his fury has fully been directing at you, freezing you in place.

A shake of your head, your voice sounding small, "It's-, it’s not like that."

You haven’t been using him. Not like he thinks, though you don’t know why he’s so angry. He’s treated almost everything like a transaction - keeping you at arms length.

You’ve been the one that’s falling, not him.

"Christ, you really had me going. You're a damn good liar, you know that?" He spits, with a low shake of his head. A scoff, as his eyes narrow, "Been wondering why you’ve been offerin’ yourself up so eagerly to me."

It makes your head spin, as you try to make sense of his words. Another small shake, the words caught in your throat.

You don't know how to explain that your desperation in the beginning did have its roots in self-preservation. But in all the days and moments that have passed - that surely, surely he couldn’t still think so.

“I know how it sounds but, I-” Your words cut off, as a hand reaches out, wrapping around your bicep. Yanking you closer until you stumble.

"You do, huh? Let me tell you, all you did was trade one devil for another.” The words ground out, snarled between clenched teeth, “You're a goddamn fool if you think I hadn’t been planning on turnin' you in the first chance I get."

His words chip away at your heart. With an effort you try to wrench your arm away - a shove against his chest that does nothing, as your own fury boils inside you.

"How can you say that? You found me, asshole." You snarl, "I haven't lied about anything. I could have left, but I stayed because I wanted to. Didn’t last night mean anything to you?”

“It was just business.” He growls, “Ain’t that right?”

The look he gives you is the final piece that shatters you, as his fingers pinch harder against your skin.

He never cared after all.

Your throat aches. The urge to fight, to make him understand, slips through your fingers. Another shove, harder this time, right into his gut. A ragged breath as his grip loosens, and it's all you can do to twist on your heel.

Shooting him a venomous glance from over your shoulder, "If you're going to take me in, then fucking do it."

You don’t care anymore. Waiting for the rope to lasso around your waist. Bind tightly around your throat, until it chokes you.

But, it doesn't.

You don't look back.

Tears prick your eyes, as you hoist your pack higher on your shoulder. One of the few things that has made the journey with you - so much shed over the miles.

You had endured enough. Had thought something had changed, since those first days together. That maybe, as the days had passed, he had softened. That maybe you weren’t alone in your feelings. That offer just a mask, to act on them. 

All you did was trade one devil for another.

A foolish thought. It makes your jaw grit, an angry shake of your head. You wouldn't cry over him, not after everything you've been through.

The edge of the abandoned town passes, fuzzy with the way your eyes fix ahead.

Blinded to the rest of the world, as you set off for the unknown.

Small pieces forming a loose semblance of a plan. Something about another settlement, a while down the road, into the forest. No bounty there, but you didn’t give a shit anymore.

With the food in your pack, you might be able to trade for some caps. Find some work - maybe stick around, if it's safe.

If not, it's not like you're not used to sleeping on the ground.

Sand leads to dirt paths, then to grass. Brushing your ankles as you weave through the barren forest, the bark stripped bare and bleached by the sun.

The weight of him follows you, though you do not turn around. A hand held loosely on your holster by habit more than anything, as you pick your way across fallen branches.

You didn't need him. Right now you tell yourself you didn't even want him.

But, you’ve never been a good liar.

There's the snap of a branch, then. A metallic creak.

It's cruel, how your heart leaps. How you look for him, breath held with the swivel of your head.

Only to feel like you are falling, when it's not the Ghoul. When a figure steps out from the trees. Two more from an outcropping of rock.

Your body freezes on its own, when you see them. All familiar.

The two from the town, those days ago. Springing to your mind now, as you had peered from over his shoulder at the bounty board. The amateurs - the man with the scar, and his partner.

And the other. All that blue - encased in padded leather armor. He is the one that makes your blood run cold, your fingers curling into fists.

Baine. He was from your Vault. Someone they sent out to bring people back, and every time they came home battered - left to you to patch up, if they lived that long.

"Took a bit you find you," He smiles, though it does not reach his eyes, "Had to enlist in some local help. Thought you'd never split off from that creature."

Your head whips to the side, as they shift - trying to box you in. Fear and fury licks in you, as you grit out, "He's not a creature."

He scoffs, "You keep strange company, but you'll be back where you belong soon enough. I am sure the Overseer will be... forgiving, if you come quietly."

The man with the scar lunges - reaching for your arm. At the same time, you remember yourself. Just able to get your fingers around the butt of your gun, drawing it out.

There's a snarl but you're firing - downing him just before he reaches you, his body careening over the edge of the rock. Your aim twitches towards Baine, but he's faster.

His hand wrapping around your wrist, twisting until you cry out - fingers opening. A sharp pain in your chest, as his fist slams into it.

Fingers unfurling to reveal the syringe, slipped between your ribs. The plunger flush with the base - whatever was inside, already flooding through you.

"Should've gone quietly, girl." It's faded, as if you're in a tunnel. The world tilting on an axis, as your legs give out.

You cry out, for him - the broken noise sounding like it comes from a thousand miles away.

And then… there's nothing.

(someone got their feelings hurt 👀) thank you so much for reading!! 💖 I have really loved writing this and them, really appreciate all the love!!

[dcxdpdabbles]

hello hello! After a few posts of this premise I just had to say something and because you just make them come to life I just had to ask :) anyway, Danny let’s say in seriously injured by the giw or even his parents but he is reverting to his core and he goes to Clockwork to help since he’s the one he’s the most closest ghost to and kinda his guardian ghost, Clockwork sees that he himself will not be able to help forever and finds a different solution. He takes Danny’s core and makes a magic safe guard and puts his core inside in the guise of a doll like this one:

But with Danny’s coloration! He sends Danny to Gotham and ends up being picked up by Robin!Jason who thinks he’s cute and gets attached, Danny is weak but trying to gather ectoplasm but sends a sense of gratefulness to Jason who feels it but is a bit confused but happy he saved a doll. He brings it with him everywhere and takes it with him everywhere but when Jason dies and buried Danny is sat at his grave and he wakes up a little earlier with Danny and brings with him. He gets a strange attachment and feeling of safety with the doll and then is able to talk to it and Danny and him become closer and when he eventually reunites with everyone and things smooth over he feels it’s fine to bring Danny the doll to the mansion and the others realize that Jason has a haunted fucking doll and with the already thin trust they can’t do hair when Danny messes with them with moving their stuff, appearing out of nowhere, and being all around creepy but he helps Alfred so Jason has no issues and finds it funny. There are probably times where they try to dispose of it anyways but comes back completely fine and they become even warier but Danny is just having the time of his life while eating his ectoplasm while helping them with cases and finding things and such and Alfred even defends him when they try to talk Jason around about the creepy doll and is like “Did you stay at my grave 24/7 in all weather? That’s what I thought.” When Tim tries to get evidence he takes a picture of the doll all he sees is a boy around the age Jason died with pale soft blue eyes staring back with a soft smile that even if it wasn’t really creepy he still felt a chill down his spine

First of all, the photo almost gave me a heart attack. Haunted dolls terrify me (ironically, I fear ghosts.) But honestly, I love the prompt, so here you go!

Jason moves back into the manor- sort of. He's still in the middle of his hostile takeover of Crime Alley, but things are a little less stressful between the family. Maybe it was because Jason's Pit Madness was slowly disappearing, thanks to his friend Danny.

Danny was a great listener and always willing to help Jason sort through his feelings and thoughts. He was the reason that Jason chose to try to talk things out with Bruce before going through his insane idea of attacking Tim at the Titian Tower.

Which, you know, Tim was grateful he didn't actually go through with it after finding the plans in some of Jason's stuff while helping him move. The fact he wanted to wear his old Robin outfit- which would not fit on his body now- would have been beyond traumatizing enough, thank you very much.

"I know." Jason laughed as the rest of the family crowded around the plans. Even Damian seemed a bit disturbed by what was written. "Danny made me realize I didn't have the skinny legs to pull off the outfit."

Tim has never met Danny, but he has heard about him. Jason spoke about him when he followed Bruce and Jason around with his camera, which was enough for him to know Danny was likely a childhood friend.

Of course, Danny went by the code "Doll" in those days. Personally, Tim had always assumed that Jason and Danny shared a relationship that went beyond friends.

It had been another reason that Jason was his favorite Robin. If Robin could like boys, then Tim could too, and the knowledge that one of his literal heroes was like him helped Tim accept himself faster.

He never brought it up, even as Jason slowly gained control over Crime Alley as a Crime Lord- one that didn't kill because it would make Danny sad, which was another point in his secret boyfriend checkbox list.

Everything was fine- until Bruce found out about Danny.

"Jason, I thought you outgrew Danny," Bruce uttered hesitantly as Jason explained how Danny had fallen over himself when describing his Titain Tower plan.

Jason's eyes flashed green at once, and everyone in the cave grew tense.

"I will never outgrow Danny!" The second oldest barked, his neck muscles straining.

Now Tim knew that Danny was a secret, so he never brought him up despite the burning need to ask every question under the sun about him. Jason wasn't out to the rest of the family- detectives or not- that was up to Jason to decide when they would know.

He just always assumed Bruce knew since, you know, his son called his best friend Doll back when he was fourteen and running around in green spandex.

How could he not know? Did he want Jason to change his cape out for a rainbow and sing musicals at the top of his lungs on Wayne Tower?

Actually.....Jason did sing in musicals at his drama club. Honestly, Bruce was in denial.

Jason may not be out, but Tim wouldn't let Bruce bully him about his lover!

"Jason can have whatever friends he wants! And feel whatever he feels about them!" Tim snares, and that causes Dick, Damian, and Steph to bristle. They stand beside a huffing Jason, slowly coming down from his rage at the sight of support.

Cass and Alfred watch from the Batcomputer, a tension around their eyes the only sign that they, too. Bruce intelligently raises his hands in a placating manner.

"I did not mean anything wrong by that, Jason. I'm just surprised Danny still has such a strong hold on you." Bruce starts, his eyes never leaving his boy's face, even with all his other children flocking around him. "I thought Danny was lost when you died."

There is a long pause where Tim considers the words. It's a fair assumption. After all, Danny thought Jason had died and been buried. Why would he wait around after that?

Even the Bats still didn't know what caused Jason to come back. How would a civilian possibly begin to consider his boyfriend returning from the grave- or Tim assumes to be a civilian since Danny had never joined them on the field? He had to be in the know for Jason to tell him the plans comfortably.

"He waited every day, twenty-four seven at my grave," Jason tells Bruce, puffing up his chest. "He was with me when I was in a coma and when I was practically brain-dead on the streets. Hell, he was even there when the League of Assiasns brainwashed me!"

Damian jerks in surprise. He always gets taken aback by how casually Jason admits being part of the organization of his upbringing, no matter how briefly. Not even Bruce does that. "I....was unaware Daniel had been with you. I never saw him."

"Talia allowed me to have him with me just as long as I kept him tied up in my closet so he wouldn't be spotted."

Everyone but Alfred and Bruce step back, staring in horror at Jason. Tim can figure out by their reactions alone that everyone in the Bats had come to the same conclusion as he did about Danny being Jason's lover then.

After all, it's hard to hide that kind of thing from the family of detectives.

How could I have missed this? Tim thinks in dismay. Quickly, his brain runs through every time Jason has so much as hinted at Danny, trying to spot the signs that apparently his brother was abusive and honestly psychotic towards his boyfriend.

"Jason," Dick began in the same casual tone he usually used on hostile witnesses. "Where is Danny now?"

" Upstairs in my closet. He kept trying to escape, so I had to switch to chains." The responses are as easy as they are casual. Tim's stomach drops.

Quickly, he makes eye contact with Steph, who very quickly lowers her chin at him, and then his eyes flicker to the others. Damian's hands have curled, while Dick moves casually to stand behind Jason, which will make it easier to restrain him.

How long had Danny been up there? How many days and nights did he spend held against his will in the one place that should have been the safest of Gotham?

They all tense their muscles, ready to strike-

"Danny is a doll," Bruce suddenly speaks up, his eyes flickering to all of the gathered children with a wild, alarmed look. Ah, he caught on to the fact they were about to take Jason down. "A doll that Jason found in Crime Alley. Made of porcelain and fabric. Not a person."

The Bats are still eyeing their father with sharp, trained eyes, but Alfred's agreeing nod has them relaxing. Oh, thank the gods!

"Of course, Danny isn't a person," Jason replies mystified. He is unaware of how close he came to being jumped. As it were, the Bats stepped away from him as he looked around, confused. "Why would I have a person chained up in my closet?"

Bruce gets a strange, sad smile on his face. "Yes, Chum, why would you."

Tim isn't following. "If Danny is a toy-"

"A doll." Jason cuts in with a hard edge to his voice.

"Right, sorry, if Danny is a doll, why must you chain him up?"

Jason smiles. "Cause Danny runs the first chance he gets."

What?

"Danny is a haunted doll," Bruce starts, only to have Jason huff.

"No, he isn't! Danny is not haunted; he's just curious." Jason rolls his eyes. "Yeah, he never stays still, and okay, sometimes things disappear around the house, but that doesn't necessarily mean a haunting!"

"Master Jason, might I remind you that while you and Mister Danny were first living here, I caught the vacuum moving by itself?" Alfred calls. "I also remember that Mister Danny's head turned to me and followed my movement as I dusted."

"He just wanted to help you clean," Jason defends in a rather childish manner that Tim never thought he would see from someone his age. Maybe that's why Bruce was worried Danny was still around. "He's not a ghost."

"Chum, I hear laughter from your room even when you are not home." Bruce starts. "The laughing started the day you brought Danny home."

"He can tell great jokes!"

"Wait, tells jokes? Jason, does Danny talk to you? " Steph questioned, looking a tiny bit spooked. Oh yeah, she hates ghosts. Tim forgot her fear of them after living so close to the Gotham cemetery and all the nasty ghost stories surrounding it.

Jason blinks down at her, likely forgetting they were present, before considering the question. He moves his hand in a so-and-son motion. "He tries, but it sounds like fast past whispers. I have to strain to hear him."

"Jason," Dick says with an easy-going smile that belies the worry in his eyes. "That's haunting one-oh-one. You're haunted."

"No, a haunting implies that Danny is dead, which he is not. Danny is just resting until his body can reform. I think he's an alien." Jason taps his chin. "He told me before that his species are the conscious manifestation of ectoplasm but that their souls are within a small core, they can retreat to when badly injured. Danny was really hurt, so he's taking a while to reform."

Bruce's strained smile becomes tighter. "We can have Zatanna or Consitine take a look at him. They might-"

"I'll blow your fucking head off if you try it, old man" Jason's eyes were a bright green, an animistic sneer at his lips, and bloodlust was thick in the air. The abrupt change makes Tim wonder if he has passed out and missed the trigger.

Bruce sighs. "Of course, Jason. Why don't you show everyone, Danny? I think it's time they meet him."

Jason beams, shooting up the stairs to go get his doll. Everyone watches him go, and until they are sure he can not hear them, they burst into conversation.

"Jason is definitely haunted!" Dick despairs, throwing himself dramatically on a nearby chair. "We need to do something! Get it away from him."

"We will do no such thing," Alfred huffs. "Mister Danny is a fine young ghost who helps Master Jason. It would be unwise to separate them."

"As much as I hate to admit it, even Dinah claims that the two are good for each other." Bruce says, likely unhappy that Black Canary used her therapy license against him, "Apparently, Danny is Jason's support doll."

Before anyone can say anything else, Jason races down the stairs with a broad smile. In his hands is a beautiful porcelain doll with black fabric hair, a fine little king suit made from expensive material, and a pretty painted face.

Its green glass eyes- colored to seem almost watery- seemed to stare into everyone's soul as Jason held him up for the room to see. Danny had no facial expression- not even a smile, just a soft, relaxed neural set of features that were popular in the era he was likely made in, but the eyes held emotions.

There was definitely something intelligent and aware in them.

Tim shuddered.

"Oh, Tim, can you take our picture? It's Danny's first time in the cave, and I want to commemorate the date!" Jason suddenly asks, rocking on his heels like he used to do as Robin. Tim wonders if Danny was doing that to him- reverting him to a child-like mind.

If so, was that a good thing? Should he let it keep happening?

"Sure, Jason," He says, instead picking up his camera that he had taken on patrol. He aims his lends, trying to find the perfect lighting as his older brother quickly holds the doll up in his arms, allowing it' head to be at the same level as his face.

Tim snaps the picture, but when he looks at the screen, a shiver runs down his spine, and it takes all his training not to scream.

Jason's smirk is not out of place for his hulky form. He takes up most of the frame, but where Danny the doll is, there is a faint outline of another person. A teenager, maybe a year younger than Jason, with pretty features, a copy of the beauty in Jason's arms, but much more human, yet not human, is smiling at the camera.

He's about a head shorter than Jason, but even with the softness of his smile, Tim has never been more creeped out in his life.

Jason is definitely haunted.

"How did it come out?" Jason asks as Danny's doll head turns to look at Damian. The younger boy imminently moved back, hiding behind Bruce. The doll's eyes followed him, almost amused by the boy's actions.

"G-good." Tim stammers. Steph is already racing for the safety of Bruce's cape, joining Damian. "Danny is beautiful."

Jason pauses, tilting his head as if hearing something, eyes flickering down to his right where the teenager ghost stood for the picture, and then grins.

"Of course he means it." Jason's ears turn pink as he admits, "I also think you're the most gorgeous person I've ever met."

Okay, Jason is definitely being haunted by someone he might have a crush on. That's....something Bruce has to deal with because Tim is the younger brother, not the dad, and thank god for that.

He might be wrong, but he gets the sense that the doll is blushing even though nothing changes.

It's not my circus and will never be my monkies. Tim thinks racing to Bruce's cape is a good idea as well. He is scared to be out here in the open like Dick and Cass.

Those two might be okay with being haunted, but Tim isn't. Just in case, he'll have to steer clear of the manor for a few days.

[urfavleo777]

Warnings: SMUT18+, high sex, oral (m receiving), hair pulling, strong language.

A successful concert was the perfect reason to plonk down on the couch and smoke a joint. That was the first thing Joost did when he opened the door to his living room, holding you continuously in his arms. He gently placed you on the soft cushions, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he settled beside you, taking a slow drag from the joint between his fingers. The first tendrils of smoke curled between you, filling the air with a musky, herbal scent.

“I can feel you lookin at me, y’know,” you giggled with eyes closed, a sweet moan escaped your lips as he sat you on his lap, not shying away from the physical contact.

“Can you blame me?” He asked softly, his breath warm on your skin as his lips ghosted over your shoulder. “I was up there on stage, and all I could think about was you.” He took another deep inhale, the smoke settling in his lungs before he exhaled it slowly, the plume of grey fog swirling and dancing around you. “God, I needed that,” he sighed, his shoulders relaxing as he slouched back against the couch. His head turned to face you, his gaze lazily roaming over your body. “You wanna try?” he offered, his hand finding its way to your thigh, gently stroking it.

You nodded, your eyes tracking the way his lips wrapped around the joint, taking another slow draw. Joost held the smoke in his lungs for a moment, and then leaned towards you, his lips hovering close to yours. “Open.”

You opened your mouth slightly, curiosity mixing with a hint of nervousness as his head dipped lower. Joost exhaled slowly, and you felt the warm, spicy smoke fill your mouth as his lips pressed against yours in a soft, languid kiss. He pulled away slowly, eyes watching as you exhaled the smoke in a thin, curling stream, your heartbeat picking up speed in your chest. You hadn't mentioned it to him before, but it was the first time you had been exposed to any kind of stimulants, although it was rather obvious from your sour face, which you were clumsily trying to hide. Joost couldn't help but chuckle at the contorted expression, his hand gently tilting your chin up so that you looked at him. “You’re cute when you’re stoned,” he teased, his finger tracing the contour of your face. “Your eyes get all lazy and heavy-lidded.”

You stumbled slightly, the room spinning a bit as the weed took effect. Joost steadied you with a firm grip on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin slightly. “Careful,” he murmured, his lips close to your ear. “Don’t want you falling off my lap just yet.”

“It's just... getting very hot here.” You managed to mumble, rubbing against his crotch. Joost let out a soft gasp, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. He turned to place the joint on the coffee table, needing two free hands to take care of you properly. Your actions had caught him off guard, and his hand tightened on your thigh, his fingers digging into your flesh.

“Jesus, you're not wasting any time,” he muttered, his gaze darkening as he looked down at you. He moved suddenly, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you onto his lap so that you were straddling him. His hands slid up your sides slowly, his palms splaying against your bare skin as he pushed your shirt up, exposing your midriff. “Much better,” he murmured, his eyes sweeping over your bare torso appreciatively. “I like having you like this, on my lap. You look good on me, you know that?”

“I want you,” you moaned, moving your mouth to his ear. “I want you so bad it's driving me crazy.” A low groan escaped Joost's lips as your words hit his ears, his fingers flexing against your hips. As you moved again on his lap, you felt a bulge forming beneath you, giving you goosebumps.

“Undo my belt, schatje,” you were a little surprised by the harshness in his voice, but the use of the dutch pet name sent a shiver down your spine, making your heart flutter in your chest. You reached up, your fingers trembling slightly as you fumbled with the buckle of his belt. When you finally undid it, Joost's hand captured your wrist, holding it firmly. “Just keep them there,” he whispered, his voice low and commanding.

You swallowed hard, your heart beating faster in your chest as you nodded. Joost's gaze held yours for a moment, his eyes flickering with a combination of desire and something darker, more intense.

Then, he let go of your wrist, his hands moving to his jeans.

He quickly unbuttoned them, the sound loud in the silence of the room. The zip was undone next, and then he pushed them down, kicking them off. Your eyes dropped to his lap instinctively, and you had to bite your lip to keep from moaning. Joost chuckled softly, noticing the direction of your gaze. “See something you like?” he teased, voice low and velvety.

At this point you couldn't wait any longer. In the blink of an eye, you found yourself on the floor, kneeling in front of him. He looked down at you, a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, his gaze roaming over your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and parted lips.

Joost was a different person when he was under the influence; he was more calm, but the way he fucked you made you think you did something wrong to him.

“Go ahead.” He encouraged, “I hope you’re better at this than you are at smoking a joint.”

Otherwise, this comment would make you feel offended, but not then. You nodded obediently, taking him into your mouth eagerly. He moaned when he felt your tongue swirling circles over his tip and his eyes flutter closed. Meanwhile, he took one last drag on the joint, tilting his head back. “That’s it, pretty girl.”

Your pace quickened, sucking and stroking him with a new hunger, pulling off of him to spit on his tip before taking him back into your mouth. Joost's hands tangled themselves in your hair, pulling softly on the strands as he lost himself in the rhythm. You wanted to take your time with him at first, but Joost was not a patient man; he grabbed your head and held it into place before he began to fuck your mouth. “Fuck, look a’ you. Takin’ me so fuckin well.” He continued to praise you as your mouth worked him up, moaning into the darkness of his living room. The more you heard his pretty voice and his sincere compliments, the more you wanted to please him.

Joost studied your face for a moment, a mixture of amusement and desire in his eyes. “Such a good-fucking-girl. Fuck, baby, I'm so close.”

His hips stuttered and his thighs shook slightly on either side of you, waves of pleasure rolling through his body and he finally released thick, white strands of cum onto your tongue. Joost swore he was on fire and was melting beneath you.

You coughed a bit, regaining a bit of composure before Joost grabbed a handful of your hair and brought you into a kiss.

The kiss was hungry, almost desperate, as if he was drinking you in, devouring you. He gently tugged on your hair, sitting you back on his lap. His tongue teased against your lips, silently demanding entrance, and he groaned softly as you granted it, his hand tightening in your hair. He pulled you against him, impossibly close, his body a firm press of warm, hard muscle and coiled tension. “My baby, you have no idea how much I couldn’t wait to get off that stage,” he murmured against your skin, his soothing tone almost making you cry. “I wanted you in my arms, where you belong.”

[kitscutie]

omg if you’re still wanting requests for coryo, maybe sm like he’s mentoring reader instead of lucy gray (she is safe and sound in 12 dw!) and they get reunited after r wins the games? maybe by some kind of fluke? i’ll leave it up to you bc i love everything you write babes <3

money, power, glory (coriolanus snow x fem!reader)

pairing: coriolanus snow x reader

warnings: none!

summary: coriolanus snow is your mentor, unlike the others he has a drive for your survival - it quickly becomes clear your bond goes above mentor and tribute.

a/n: this is not part of the snow and roses series but part two is coming very soon -hope you enjoy! also thank you so much to this anon - you're a cutie!

word count: 3.6k

join my taglist here!

The train ride to the Capitol was dark and lonely. It felt as though everybody had already found friends or were close to their fellow District tribute, yours wanted nothing to do with you.

Seeing as you were from twelve you were thin and weak, you knew that, you could feel it in the way your stomach rumbled on a loop every day or the way your head spun when you stood up but you never thought one of your own would turn their back on you.

You didn't think you stood a chance, simply another pawn in the Capitols game but still you had hope.

When the train stopped it jolted, tipping you over had you been stood up like Thornton your fellow Twelve tribute. He wasn't muscly but more so burly, it was clear his family was among the wealthier back home but compared to the Capitol it was nothing.

You stood up from your small corner, cowering away from the sunlight which blinded you upon the doors opening. You heard yells, presumably from your fellow tributes or even the 'peace keepers' as they tried to calm the crowds.

Below you, you saw a flash of red which stood out from the white uniforms and wall to floor grey cement.

Upon closer inspection snow white hair lay atop his head, prominent and proud.

Thornton jumped out of the box on his own accord, not prompted by the guards, nor the boy below you, simply motivated to get into the Hunger Games.

Your head slowly peered out from the box and that's when his eyes met yours, strikingly blue they seemed out of place in such a colourless setting.

"Welcome to the Capitol." He stuttered out, holding a rose which matched his hair out to you, it was beautiful, nothing you had ever seen back home.

"Thank you. Could you-." You began to ask for his help out of the train which staggered above the ground just below half of your height, though he realised quickly, holding your waist as he gently placed you on the ground in front of him.

Finally out of your cage you took the rose from his calloused fingers, admiring it in all it's beauty. It reminded you of him, soft and subtle yet powerful as it stood tall on it's stalk.

"This is beautiful." You said, it came out in something similar to a whisper, your body still adjusting to the new setting. "You look different," You said as you glanced around at the tributes in dirty hand me downs and the guards in plaster white uniforms. "Who are you?" You asked.

"I'm your mentor." He smiled charmingly, it seemed second nature to him.

"Where are the other mentors?" You once again asked, unsure if this was new or simply something you had missed as you sat watching the games between your fingers.

"Well, I'm not supposed to be here but, I'm sure greeting you falls in my line of duty." He said. "Taking care of you." He added which sent butterflies wild in your stomach. He was doing his job you reminded yourself but nobody back home was quite this attractive nor this attentive. You had never been taken care of. Always independent to survive.

You said nothing more, taking in all of his glorious features until a peacekeeper grabbed you arm, taking you with the rest of the tributes into an armoured van. You were once again alone.

You watched in surprise as just moments later your mentor jumped in behind you, standing against the back wall as if to not be seen in a packed and confined space.

"Hi." He said, realising he stood out like a sore thumb. It almost made you chuckle - his blatant fear but then you realised you should be much more scared.

"What's the matter pretty boy, you in the wrong cage?" Said Reaper. He was a tribute you admired, he was brave and strong and seemingly had a deep care for his friend Dill.

"No. This cage is delightful." He smiled. You were impressed by his natural appeal, well to you at least. Every word which came out of his pale lips had you hanging on by a thread.

With that Reaper had had enough, slamming him against the wall with power. "I'll kill you." He said convincingly.

"He'll do it too. He killed a Peacekeeper back in Eleven." Dill spoke as she stared into nothingness.

"I say we all kill him." Added Bobbin as he now stood up too, the other Tributes speaking out in agreement. You began to panic, he was your only source of companionship, of opportunity to leave the Capitol in one piece and here he was about to be ripped to shreds before the Games even begun.

"He's my mentor, could you please not kill him?" You asked pathetically as you attempted to stand between him and Reaper. A feeble attempt though an attempt none the less.

"How come you get a mender?" Said Coral, dirty gaze set now upon you.

"Mentor." He corrected her. "You each get one." He finished, hoping this would calm them in their attempt to kill him.

"And we'll all just believe you, huh? Why does Twelve here get special treatment." Coral replied, now out of her seat and very much in your face as she squished your cheeks between her grimy fingers.

"I'm not special, just lucky I suppose." You shrugged feeling heavily intimidated and under scrutiny by all of their hungry gazes. Eager to pull blood from you in this very moment.

The room went silent and at first you didn't realise why, until you felt your cage begin to shake, slowly tilting towards the ground. Your mentor's hands once again wrapped around your waist though this time from behind you and your own reached down to hold onto his wrists, having no stability.

You all screamed as you fell down onto hard wood chips and damp mud. Eyes were once again blinded by the harsh sunlight as you adjusted to wherever you now were.

A mans voice echoed around your new cage - how kind of them to give you multiple in such little time - seemingly introducing himself to the crowd around you before he spotted the red uniform.

"Excuse me, yes you sir, in the red! Who are you and why are you in there with them, we are live!" He asked, hair gelled to perfection to one side.

You grabbed your mentors hand as he stood frozen in his spot clearly unsure what to do, you however saw an opportunity, an opportunity to stand out.

"May I introduce you to my neighbours?" He asked sarcastically as though he really hated the people filming you like you wanted to be here.

With that the pair of you walked over, but not before he took the rose from your free hand and tucked it behind your ear. It burned under the warmth of his skin, not having had any form of physical touch for as long as you can remember.

"Hi. How do you do, my name is Coriolanus Snow, and this here is my tribute Y/N L/N from District Twelve." He said partly for the cameras partly introducing himself to you and you to him. He already knew your name. He had watched the reaping's, seen you cry in weakness.

"Hello." You mumbled partly shuffling to hide behind his body. Not used to such attention.

He focused his attention on you, firing questions at you over and over again until you had had enough. "More on my mentor, seemed he's the only one who bothered to show up." You said and the boy that you now knew to be Coriolanus rubbed his thumb back and forth over your hand as he sensed your discomfort being Infront of so many prying eyes.

"Well I would love to ask him some questions but it seems as though he's about to be whisked away." Lucky said and as soon as the words came out Peacekeepers appeared behind the pair of you grabbing him by the biceps and beginning to drag him away.

"Hey." You held onto him for one second longer. "Thank you for everything Coriolanus Snow. But uh, could you please bring me some food? I can feel my bones turning into dust as we speak." You said. He slightly chuckled at this but no less nodded.

With that, you were once again alone.

"Y/N!" You heard your name from behind the rock you sat against, instantly recognizing the voice to be Coriolanus Snow.

"That for me?" You asked as he pulled out a few pieces of food wrapped in tissue in front of you. He handed it to you through gaps in the fence, wordlessly answering your question. "Thank you." You said as you eagerly stuffed your face, this being the first meal you had eaten in days, no weeks.

"They not feed you back in Twelve?" He asked, concerned.

"No. We don't exactly get that luxury." His question surprised you, you assumed it was common knowledge that food was few and far between in the outer Districts yet here he was, surprised. "Seems your friend already knows that." You added as you watched a girl in a matching uniform to his teasing Brandy.

"She is not my friend she is poison with perfect teeth." He answered and yet again it sounded so perfect. He knew just what to say to please you, comfort your mind as you wondered at what point he would turn on you. "Listen, you can't share this with anyone. This is my only chance to help you and they-" He said discreetly pointing to the tributes scattered around you, "Are only going to use you."

"Not like I've got anyone to share with. Don't think I'm very popular." You said, defeated. You supposed that out of anyone, you didn't want to befriend the people who would shortly be wishing death upon you but instead the man before you who would hold your hand until the moment you walked through that door.

"Maybe not with them but out here you have a chance. I've made some suggestions, I might be able to get the audience to send you gifts. Food and water. You just need to play into their game, win them over." He said, face against the fence as he wished to keep this information between the two of you. An advantage.

"I don't want to play their game, the same game that got me here in the first place? I don't think charming anyone is my forte anyway." You once again deprived yourself of any credit, picking at the skin around your nails.

"You're more charming than you think Y/N. I'd bet on it." He said, gaze digging deep into your soul. No one had ever complimented you before never mind in such a blatant way. You knelt down, tired of standing and he went with you continuing your conversation.

"Dill reminds me of my sister, before she passed. So sick and weak, I hate to think of her in a place like this." You shared, feeling vulnerable to him in such a short time.

"I'm sorry." He said genuinely.

"You seem like a good man Coriolanus. Would've been nice to meet you outside of this cage." You said, tapping on the metal bars before letting it settle there.

"Mhm." He agreed, tilting his head sympathetically and after moment of what must have been deliberation he wrapped his own hand around yours. It warmed your skin, chilled by the cold iron beneath your palm.

Your sweet moment was cut off by Arachne's scream as Brandy had enough of her teasing, smashing the bottle and using it to slice her neck.

You stared in horror, this was what you were up against in that arena, you stood no chance.

Coriolanus leaped into action, comforting the bleeding girl while Peacekeepers shot Brandy down. In all of your years alive you had never witnessed such violence and it left you shaking, even more so as the bullets narrowly missed Coriolanus' head.

The Peacekeepers grabbed his arm, once again pulling him away from you, your heart beating in his direction.

The next day you were all placed in a large circular room. You and your fellow tributes shackled to a table while the mentors sat proudly, postures straight before you.

You were allowed to discuss game plans for the main event but also for a televised special where the Capitol could get to know you. Nut it wouldn't really be you, just a shell of your former self.

"I'm sorry about your friend." You sympathised, he was clearly upset, scared you weren't sure but his energy was different to his hopeful exterior from yesterday.

"Thank you. Are you doing okay?" He deflected, though his care seemed and was genuine. He cared about you more than the way a mentor cares for the tribute. Your connection went deeper.

"I'm scared Coriolanus. You saw what those tributes can do yesterday. I'm nothing compared to them! I've never even killed a spider." You cried out in desperation, hands shaking where they were tied to the table.

"I'm scared for you, Y/N. I don't want to lose you in there, so I guess that makes two of us." He replied, soothing you. "But no matter how scared you are you have to perform for them in the interviews later. Pretend to be someone else or be yourself it doesn't matter but this is the last chance to make them like you. Didn't take much for you to win me over." He added.

"I- I just can't Coriolanus. I'm no performer. I'm no different to them just weaker and a character in their entertainment." You answered, slowly admitting defeat.

"You have to be brave, Y/N. For me, okay?" He begged, once again placing his hand over your own.

"I'll try." You decided. You either died of embarrassment or an axe to the face and you knew which you proffered.

"Snow. Let's go!" Shouted Casca, the creator of the games. A man you loathed.

"You'll be okay." He said before he left his chair leaving you to sit in the large room as the other debated their strategies.

Later on once you were allowed to view the arena he returned. Instantly walking in stride beside you as if he never left.

The arena was void of light except the red beams which pointed out the entrance. It was eerie and honestly a fabrication of your worst nightmares.

This time in your fear you felt no hesitation to grab onto his hand, and he grabbed your back, linking you fingers with a squeeze which said to you 'it's okay' without saying anything at all.

Seeing the cameras you released it, not wanting unnecessary attention upon yourselves.

The gates closed behind you with a loud clang, leaving you in the darkness and you stumbled back into his chest, the only thing keeping you from a breakdown being the steady beat of his heart beneath his chest.

Shutters on each wall began to rise letting in the natural sunlight outside but yet you were still very much in another cage.

While the other tributes decided their alliances you stuck by Coriolanus' side and he had no objections. "Coriolanus you can't met me die in here. I've got so much left to do." You begged, clutching the opening of his red suit.

"I wont let you die, Y/N. Even if it's the last thing I do." He replied, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. His words were laced with truth, knowing his plans to bend the rules in order to keep you alive.

The moment was short lived as the centre of the arena exploded, rubble and smoke flying everywhere including into your forehead as you felt blood trickle into your eye.

Both you and Coriolanus ran, though he was seconds too slow as a pillar fell onto his leg trapping him against the floor. While the other tributes ran having little regard for their mentors you ran back, pulling it off of him with every last ounce of power in your body.

Your heart ached hearing his cried but also with the pain that this was most likely the last time you would see him before the games as the Peacekeepers found you and dragged you back to the 'zoo' before you could attempt escape like the others.

"Y/N." You heard your name whispered into the darkness of the night. You hadn't slept, not since the thought of Coriolanus being dead crossed your mind and so it hadn't taken much to catch your attention.

"You're alive, thank god." You cried. Seeing his face untouched calmed your racing heart.

"The bombs, they changed everything. I've been in there, you can hide, the floors gone. You can hide until it's safe. Run when it starts and don't come out until it's safe, please Y/N. Don't go for the weapons." He begged to you. You had planned to hide in the first place but his desperation for your survival warmed your heart.

"Thank you Coriolanus snow. For taking care of me. Just like you promised." You said to him, tears beginning to fall from your eyes, the same tears you hadn't let fall since the train arrived in the Capitol.

"Just like I promised." He smiled. "You saved my life in there Y/N." He added.

"I'm sorry." You said as you couldn't hold back your desperate tears anymore. You were sorry you wouldn't succeed for him, sorry this was the last time you would see him, sorry that your heart ached for him.

"It's okay, It's okay." He soothed you. Wiping your tears with his embroidered handkerchief. "I'm gonna get you out of there. I promised after all, right?" He repeated his earlier declaration of promise, it meant everything to you and yet nothing. At the end of the day your survival came down to you and you didn't know if you could handle blood on your hands.

"Is this all real? Between you and me, do you really-" You began to ask, though he cut you off.

"I care about you, Y/N. Really. No amount of money could make me do this for you, risk it all. The things you wanted to do, wanted to live for? I want to do them with you. I want to give you the life you deserve." He said and that was all the confirmation you needed, the feelings you were having were real. Not part of the game, not faked for the cameras.

He was here in the middle of the night to help you.

"We are gonna win this, Y/N. We are gonna win this together."

It had now been fifty four days and counting since you had last seen him. The games had come and gone, what you thought was luck leaving you a victor.

Days had been boring since Coriolanus Snow left your life. You returned to what you had left behind in District Twelve, friends, no family and a wooden shack you called a home.

Your heart longed to see him, more than anything in this world you wished to feel his hand in yours one more time. Hear his reassuring words one more time though now you needed them to comfort your nightmares.

Today was the same as every day had been. Get up, bathe in a bucket, eat vegetables you found in the forest and then read the same books you had for the past eighteen years. It was all you had but now more than ever it felt good to be stuck in that cycle instead of stuck in a cage of people who called for your death.

A knock at your door at mid-day startled you. It was unusual to get visitors in District Twelve - everybody keeping to themselves and yet something dragged you to answer.

Opening the door you saw a figment of your dreams. White hair, blue eyes and pale skin, yet they were too real and close to be something your brain created.

"Y/N L/N, you are a sight for sore eyes." He said, his voice like butter in your ears.

"Coriolanus?" You asked before he tackled you into a hug, hands gripping you like you would slip through his fingers at any moment in time. "How- what." You began to ask.

"I was sent to Eight to be a Peacekeeper but I used my last cents to get sent here instead, then I just asked around to find you. Find my girl." He said as he held your face between his hands, checking you over for injuries. The last time he was you you were injured and cowering in the arena, begging to be set free.

"You found me." You whispered, diving in to kiss him. He responded immediately, wasting no time in curling his lips into yours. You fought for dominance but ultimately you let him take over, needing to let go for once.

"I missed you so much." You whimpered in both pleasure and pain as he kissed and nibbled on your neck. Dream becoming reality. "I begged with every last but of luck within me that I'd see you again." You confessed, bringing his face up to kiss you once more.

"And here I am." He smiled, staring into your eyes, breathing the same air as you.

"I thought my life ended that day, in that arena. Losing myself, then losing you." You admitted, eyes similar to the last time you saw him, glassy.

"Y/N, Y/N." He chuckled, "Our life has only just begun."

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[youryanderedaddy]

Summary: You're a princess locked in a tower and guarded by a big, scary dragon. But is he as scary as it seems? tw: female reader, deceit, manipulation, murder (not reader), stockholm syndrome(?) My ko - fi <3

As the youngest princess, you'd always known you would end up like this. In some far off land with little to your name other than some jewels, stuck in a tower just like your mother had been before she got married to a foreign lord, and finally allowed to re-join society. It was such a cliche it was funny at first, but now you just felt like screaming at the top of your lungs from boredom.

At first you didn't feel the unknown presence. The tall man was lurking in the shadows, as if part of the ancient building. You could smell the herbs in the air around him - the minthy fragrance trailing long after he had retired to his chambers. Then little by little you started to recognise him - in certain shades of sunlight, in the back of mirrors, in the tiny lizards crawling at the corners of the stone walls. But nothing could prepare you for that first morning when you saw him - really saw him.

You had woken up early, startled by noise reminiscent of that a bird makes during flight - but multiplied tenfold. You had looked through the window with a weak, fluttering heart. And then you saw his true form - massive yellow wings covered in what looked like pure gold burning brightly in the sky. Long, hard body made of sun - kissed flakes; so sharp they could be used as arrows. And a thin, curled tail drawing circles around your tower.

One of his empty moonlit eyes turned towards you, and it was all over. He immediately dissapeared into thin air, the only evidence of his existence being miles of thick gray smoke. But you weren't going to let the only living creature around run away so easily.

"I saw you!" You screamed long before you could even begin thinking of proper etiquette. Ladylike behavior be damned, you were dying of loneliness in this stupid tower. "Please..." You begged, voice hoarse and desperate from weeks of forced silence. "Come here." You continued ruefully, playing with your hair, chest riddled with anxiety - after all you hadn't spoken to a human being in so long.

You heard a long, almost pained sigh, which made you turn around. You were greeted by a tall brooding figure. It wore the face of a man, but its long golden hair and broad, muscular shoulders pointed to something a lot less human and a lot more devine. He must have been twice your size - trully intimating in all his shining glory. Even in his human form his skin seemed to glow just like his sharp almond - shaped black orbs, constricted in his yellow pupils.

"I'm always here, Your Highness." You remember his exact words simply because you were taken aback by how soft his voice was - just like fine silk. It wasn't the voice of a dragon, but the voice of an angel. "You just never see me." He added with what you then assumed was a hint of playfulness, but now recognised as annoyance. With that he leaned against the wall, crossing his hands together.

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

Many months passed since that fateful day. You slowly got to know your new companion - or perhaps, guardian. You learnt that many called him Cain after the fallen son* - once a strong soldier of the Lohemian Kingdom, his injuries had made it impossible to keep fighting. That's how your father found him - abandoned by his brothers, lying in a mudded puddle of his own blood. The rest was history.

He didn't speak very much - but he never left your questions unanswered.

"Cain..." You'd call out with practised uncertainty. Even so far removed from your peers, you still couldn't escape the twisted societal ideals of propriety. You could never be too eager to speak to a man - even if he wasn't fully human. "Is that your real name?" You wondered, genuinely curious. You slowly looked away from the book you were holding and towards your friend, the book long forgotten. The dragon was sitting in the other corner of the room. Despite all the time you had spent together so far, he was still hesitant to come near you. There was a certain stiffness in his strong shoulders - as well as his jaw.

"Princess..." The man mumbled softly, your heart aching by the sheer tenderness of the term. Usually you'd pay it no mind as it was your right from birth, your title - but titles didn't matter here. There was no place for status or riches between those four intimate walls that always felt small despite the spacious squares. "Don't you know curiousity got the cat's tongue?" He responded with a crooked smile that didn't quite reach his eyes - even his smiles were serious and stoic.

"You have it all wrong." You huffed, standing up from your comfortable chair just to make a big, dramatic gesture with your hands. "It's curiosity killed the cat." You stated confidently, waving your finger at the dragon. He let out a soundless chuckle and averted his gaze away from you. He still couldn't get over the fact that you weren't afraid of him.

"Whatever my Princess says, goes." Cain teased, eyes narrowing further - now they looked like two pitch black slits. He tuck one disobedient lock of gold behind his pointy ear, making the glass beads of his earring jingle in tone. "Just don't say I didn't warn you." He whispered with slight condescension, toying with the dancing little crystals. "My name is Kaajin, if you must know. I doubt you can spell it. It's in Lohemian." He suddenly stared at you as if in a challenge. "Does this change anything? Anything at all."

You shook your head - of course no. There was little your protector could do to make your feelings change; not when you had been so terribly alone without him. Not when he looked at you as if you were precious - breakable, yet precious.

************************************************************************

The days went by slowly. There was nothing there to help pass the time - just your voice and his voice blending together in the echo of the tower. Again and again and again.

"Entertain me." You asked authoritatively, looking at your friend from down below while you were sitting on the ground. You were bored - so very bored. "I don't remember ever signing up to be your personal jester, my Princess." Cain, no, Kaajin replied succinctly, showing off two pointy fangs - and you couldn't help recalling the story of the Sleeping Beauty and the spindle that sent her into deep, eternal slubmer. You wondered how his teeth would feel against your finger - and your throat. Whether they'd tire you or save you with the kiss of true love.

"Please?" You asked sweetly, just the way he liked - just like you had done that cold winter day in December when you first met face to face. It seemed to work, because soon after that you could feel him move through the room with a tired step - ever so dramatic, closing in on you. "Sure." The dragon breathed in your ear, enjoying the way the flesh quickly reddened with emotion. He reached behind the sensitive shell and slowly waved his fingers just short of your nose. In his hand just milimeters from you was hanging a thin silver chain with a little red rose dangling down. "Here. Have fun." He let it slip past his slender fingers and you swiftly reached to catch it before it could break in thousand pieces.

"What am I supposed to do with it?" You asked, puzzled - still looking at the delicate bracelet and the way it seemed to come alive under direct sunlight. "I am not a child." You suddenly puffed, stuffing it into the pocket of your long skirts. Kaajin only clicked his tongue, gently tugging at your wrist until you took it out of your pocket. "Don't be so ungrateful." His strict yet plush voice took you out of your little outburst, and you finally looked up. His eyes were measuring you up, scanning for any hidden movement - any secret emotion. "I am a dragon, remember? We tend to be awfuly protective of our things."

Your eyes filled with curiosity once again. "You mean your jewels?" He nodded rhytmically, trying to keep his composure at the mention of his old, forgotten customs. "I've read some stories about dragon kings stealing piles of golden coins and locking them away for all eternity. "You chuckled to yourself. "Like they could ever use them." Even after all those years you still found the thought amusing. Humans spent their youth slaving away so they could waste the money gained once they were old and wise. Dragons, on the other hand, were satisfied with holding onto wealth and jewels and all those shiny human things - with little understanding of the subejctive value they held in the human world.

"Yes. It's true indeed. Dragons-" Your guard nodded yet again, now somewhat uneasy. "We take good care of our..." He averted his eyes far away from you. "treasures." He finished stiffly, gaze basically burning the ground. "So you shouldn't take my gift lightly. You should wear it with pride. And perhaps in time you'd find another use for it, too." The man explained, a slight blush spreading across his usually high, cold cheeks.

You smiled gingerly, kissing your fingers around the chain before pressing it to your chest - close to your heart.

"I shall cherish it forever, then." You exclaimed, feeling warm inside. You were uncertain as to why, but your stomach was spinning wildly, as if filled with bubbles. "But you still owe me some fun." You giggled, running to start the old phonograph in the corner of the room. It was your favourite thing in the whole world - which didn't mean a lot up here, but it was enough to make your legs move on their own.

As you danced to Vaarlen's famous spring waltz, the air seemed lighter and the cramped hall just slightly more grandiose. It was easier to breathe. You extended your hand towards your dragon, asking him to join.

"You know I don't dance, princess." He grunted, his mood souring. He never told you why he hated it so much, but the man was never too fond of music. Still, you decided to try again. "Oh, come on. Just this once." He didn't seem convinced. "Let me teach you as a thank you gift. I'm serious." You tapped your chest playfully. The man rolled his eyes, then gently took your hand in his. You almost broke into a giddy giggle - for the first time since your family locked you up in the rotten tower you felt happy.

And he always gave into you.

So you two danced, both lost to the music and your own racing thoughts. Kaajin kept his distance, but his hold was strong onto your wrist - unrelenting, like he never wanted to let go. Your body twisted and turned, perfectly synced to the chords, blind to the pass of time. You only realized it had become evening once your back hit the window - it was dark outside. Yet another day gone. Yet another day lost.

"Kaajin..." You could feel the tears burning at your wet lashes before you could stop yourself. You had promised yourself not to think about it anymore - not today, or ever for that matter, but it was impossible once you were faced with the Creator of All. The Master of everything, of everyone - time. How could you ever pretend otherwise?

"Do you think-" You bit the inside of your cheek, your hands fighting the guilt as you let go of his. "Do you think my father would ever let me go into the outside world?"

The guard gulped dry, taking a step back to give you space.

"I-" He took a deep breath, gaining the courage to look at you. "I don't know. The war is still going. Your kingdom has lost many brave men and women. Even the strongest soldiers are starting to capitulate." He couldn't bear to look at your pretty face all messed up by the pain and sorrow, but it was for the best.

"I understand." You muttered, turning your back to him - curling back into yourself. You felt his arms wrap around you, and you remained quiet - neither fighting it, nor embracing it. "Don't cry, my princess." The man whispered. "No matter what happens, I will always be by your side." He meant it. You knew it by now, and that only made it all the more tragic. "I swear on my life." You believed him, you had no reason not to - he was the only one you had left.

As for your father, he couldn't really give a proper order now, Kaajin thought. After all, dead men tell no tales.

[jarofstyles]

Put Your Records On

This is a little thing I came up with at 2 am and kept writing till 5 lol. It's pop star y/n x rock star H. I don't do a lot of canon H and some things are changed/ don't fit into the real one but that's on purpose. Part two will be up very soon!

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WC- 4.2k

Warnings- dirty talk, mention of bullying (Brief)

She saw him from across the room- well, more like felt him. The room had a buzz in it that it hadn’t before.

It was common knowledge that he was going to be there. One of his best friends was hosting the after party for the BRIT awards, and she had been lucky enough to be invited considering her manager had been friends with the group for a while. Actually, it was a bit shocking that she’d never met the man considering how close their circles ran. She’d met a lot of his management and production team, even a few members of his band- but never the man himself. 

It was her second year after making it big on the music scene but her entire life, she’d been working towards this. School musicals, voice lessons, guitar and piano lessons, music had become her flesh and blood and she was determined to make it her bread and fucking butter. She’d been blessed with her voice and a talent like hers wasn’t one to waste, that’s what her parents had said as she grew up- and it had all paid off. She went home with Best New Artist and was coming down on the buzzing high of another huge accomplishment of her career. 

Harry was infamous, at the top of the damn world and everyone knew his name. He was just about to hop back on tour, one Y/N had been invited to attend by his manager himself. It seemed like today was the day they would finally meet in person, and judging by the recognition in his eye, he had heard about her too. 

God, that made her want to vomit. Growing up she’d been a casual fan of his band, been to a few shows even after scraping together enough money for a ticket along with her best friend. Said friend was lost somewhere in the room and Y/N knew she had a knack for awful timing, but as the man got closer to her she felt her insides begin to bubble. She wasn’t one to get starstruck super easily, thank god, but it was hard not to feel intimidated as he approached her. A black blazer with a very sheer pink blouse underneath, pants tight on the thighs and flared at the calves, necklaces hanging in a thatch of thin chest hair, she’d felt her mouth dry as his smile was given directly to her. Someone she’d grown up singing to in her bedroom, right into her hairbrush, was grinning at her like she was someone important. 

“So we finally meet.” Harry reached his hand out to shake hers. Clunky rings covered the digits as her own took them, shaking his warm hand with her own smile on her face. She’d been on stage in front of tens of thousands of people, and yet he was a bit more intimidating. Still she was going to do her best to use her brief acting skills and pretend her heart wasn’t in her throat. “I’ve heard so much about you- your album’s fucking brilliant.”

He was tipsy, she could see that much. His eyes were slightly hooded and he had a looser demeanor than he had seated at the table ahead of her at the awards show. Good for him. It wasn’t likely that he did this too much. It was well known that he wasn’t much for drinking during his working season and he’d won two awards! That called for drinks all around. 

What took her off guard, though, was the fact that he’d listened to her album. He listened and he had said it was good? Her cheeks heated as she realized he was still holding her hand, gently letting it fall as he took a step closer. It was a little loud out there but not too bad if you were close enough. “You think so? I’m hoping it’s all good things.” She let out a laugh she hoped sounded natural, adjusting her hair. The girl had always been one to fuss with her clothes when she was nervous but hopefully he didn’t realize that. “So is yours. Got quite a few on my playlists.” 

“Yeah?” His smile grew bigger. “Which ones?” Y/N felt the lump in her throat as she tried not to think about how good he smelled. It was so creepy, noticing that. There was a faint hint of tobacco and the tiniest bit of alcohol, but he smelled really warm. Cuddly, in a way. It made sense in her brain, but she was also a drink in at this point. 

“Mmm, I have a few from other albums but from the latest? Satellite, that’s the go to for the gym for me… Late Night Talking, very relatable for me. Erm… Boyfriends, unfortunately.” She saw him give a playful wince. “Yeah, men are shit- no offence. And then I’d say Daydreaming is a personal favorite. As It Was was brilliant, obviously, but Daydreaming is my favorite.” It felt like maybe she word-vomited a little but he’d listened to every word, seeming pleased with her answers. 

“Daydreaming isn’t one I hear of being a favorite, usually. M’chuffed that it’s yours.” He genuinely seemed happy about it. “I really liked the closing track of your album- it’s so rare to find albums that tell a story, that are thoughtfully laid out, at least at this point in time. I love to listen from front to back and it was laid out perfectly. Usually m’a bit of a snob and would have some critiques but you nailed it.” 

Y/N preened. It wasn’t a compliment she got often and it shocked her because that meant he’d really listened. Really paid attention to her music and took time with her album. It was extremely flattering. Surreal, really. Who could have told 15 year old Y/N that Harry would be a fan of her fucking music? She’d probably pass the fuck out. “I’m shocked you got that, but thank you. Yeah, I did the same thing growing up. It was my favorite part of music I’d find, seeing how stuff flowed together. Top to bottom and then bottom to top, then I can shuffle.” It was said in a slightly joking tone but she was fully serious. 

“You get it, Y/N.” He reached out to nudge her shoulder. “I’ve been trying to meet you for a bit but my schedule’s been hectic. Thought it wouldn’t be since we’ve been going for a bit now but tour prep… can be brutal, y’know?” 

Y/N did know, but on a minuscule scale compared to what his tour probably entailed. He was doing stadiums, for god’s sake! Y/N’s arena tour sold out quickly, but there was a huge size difference in where they were. Hopefully she’d reach his level one day. “I do, I do. It’s not a big deal, I didn’t think you were avoiding me or anything.” For a bit she did, but that was wiped away when she’d realized he released the tour dates. It had been months of almost meetings but she had faith in the universe. When it was meant to happen, it would. 

“God no, I was excited to. Did y’want to come sit with us over there?” He motioned to the private area she was allowed into but not been brave enough to venture to quite yet. 

“Sure, that would be nice.” Y/N hadn’t expected to be invited to sit with him personally, let alone feel his hand on her back as he led them through the crowd of people in the room. The star said hellos as he walked through but somehow had mastered the art of saying hi without being caught into a conversation without seeming rude. That was a skill she sure as hell was envious of.

His hand was really fucking warm. She could feel slight calluses on his fingertips, in true musician fashion, but they weren’t as rough as one would originally expect. Her backless dress did her no favors in hiding the warmth and how nice and comforting his touch felt, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to thank or scowl at her stylist. It wasn’t half as uncomfortable as the dress they’d pulled for the carpet, thankfully this dress was a slinky, emerald green one with room for her legs to actually move. Her updo had been taken down to a mess of curls that nearly reached where his hands were- the power of extensions. As heavy as her head felt, she couldn’t deny that she felt exceptionally beautiful. Thank god the universe had chosen today to meet Harry. 

“Finally!” Sarah sighed. “I’ve been waiting for you two to meet for ages. Come sit.” The woman had always been very sweet, even more sweet with a few drinks in her. Saying her hellos to the familiar people, she felt Harry sit himself next to her in the booth and immediately drinks were brought over. So this is why it was VIP. It was a lemon drop, something Y/N did happen to like. Harry handing her one before taking his own was unexpected but very appreciated, a gentle thank you exchanged as he settled back next to her. 

It was unreal to be here. To be sat at a table of friendly but insanely successful people, feel like part of the ‘in’ crowd, it had completely blindsided her. This was the sort of thing that she’d always thought about when she was in her bed at home as a teenager, hoping one day to rub elbows with the people she once admired so much they had space on her bedroom wall, and here it was. Someone who’s face was on her favorite bedtime tee shirt (Those merch shirts were expensive and she wasn’t about to get rid of it because a member was now in her circle). 

“Y/N, did you know that H added some of your songs to the preshow playlist in his dressing room?” Sarah hummed. 

“You did?” The girl gasped as she looked at him. If she didn’t know better, she could have sworn she saw a bit of a pink glint to his cheeks. Maybe it was the alcohol. 

“He did, and he’s been raving about it to Mitch. Sometimes he’s singing it when we pass, that one song about the… what’s it called? The Raven? Some sort of bird.” 

“I think you’ve had enough to drink.” Mitch had to laugh at her airing a bit of Harry’s business, but she was a chatterbox when she was drunk. 

“That’s so nice!” Y/N said shyly. “You’re on mine too, actually. The dressing room for me and the one the fans listen to, I can hear them sing it from backstage.”

Harry’s leg was pressed into hers so she didn’t have to turn far to look at him, watching him finish his drink as he nodded. “I do, yeah. Told you I liked your music. I meant it.”

“Yeah, if he didn’t he wouldn’t mention it. That’s why when he met that girl earlier he just said it was nice to meet-” Sarah was cut off by her husband asking her if she wanted to see something on his phone, putting Harry out of his misery. 

“M’not an ass.” He groaned. “I just didn’t vibe with the album, y’know? I won’t say things I don’t mean but that doesn’t mean I can’t be polite.”

“Agree, 100%. It’s easy when it’s just a taste thing, but I’ve found it harder with people I’ve seen or heard talk bad about me and it’s confirmed. Dunno how you’re able to do that.” Y/N struggled to not show her nerves or distaste of people sometimes and it was something she was constantly working on. Her best friend often had to tell her to adjust her facial expressions and she’d even gone viral once for a ‘stink face’ she’d made at someone. It was accidental of course, but it’d also caused one of her first big waves of hate. 

“It’s not easy, and anyone who says so is lying.” Harry confirmed. “It’s taken me years. Said something about pussy on tv not realizing the cameras could see, so It’s trial and error.” The joke had the both of them laughing, Y/N not divulging that she indeed already knew that. “I think it’s important to just remember they’re humans and probably just as nervous t’see you. It’s just a short interaction and you can move on quickly. I also think working out, yoga, all of that helps a lot with my inner calm. It isn’t easy, like I said, but you’re also in the beginnings of your career in this sort of light. I’ve got no doubt that you’ll be able to have a good poker face by the end of the year.”

“God, I love that song.” Y/N sighed. “Poker face, loved that one I mean. But thank you. I really do appreciate the advice. I was terrified coming tonight. The award shows are much scarier than your own gigs.” 

“Oh, definitely.” Harry whistled, taking another drink from the tray and handing a fresh one to her. “S’like, you know the people who go to your shows are there for you. It’s like a little family get together, it’s safer. Those people love you enough t’buy a ticket, travel got knows how long, wears a shirt with your face on it. It’s mental to think about but incredible. These things?” He motioned around the room. “All marketing and partying, but more drama. S’crazy how many people have slept with each other in this room.” Harry realized a bit too late that he’d said too much but thankfully Y/N just giggled in agreement. “You seem to take to it quite well though. Not to sound weird but I saw you accept your awards and socialize a bit here, you’ve probably got the whole room fooled.”

That was a relief and a compliment in her opinion. The goal was to make sure no one sensed the weakness. Unfortunately she’d learned early on that these people could sniff it out like a shark in bloodied water. “That’s the goal.” She replied, leaning back into the seat. Her back was killing her from the bloody heels on her feet and how tight her other dress was, so it was a relief to have this reprieve from them sitting here. 

“So tell me about your tour then. What’s going on with that?”

—-----------

Y/N was drunk. Certifiably hammered. She had one too many lemon drops and apparently, so did Harry. Some of the people had vacated the booth and it left them alone as they talked amongst themselves. With the aid of the liquid courage, she wasn’t losing her mind over how close they were. Sure, her heart was still going a million miles a minute, but that was due to his fingers fiddling with the strap of her dress. Harry was, evidently, a touchy drunk. Clingy. He’d even followed her to the bathroom and waited for her outside before they’d returned. 

In all honesty, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t believe all of this in the morning. That Harry had ignored everyone else in favor of talking to her, tucked away in VIP at a round table, his body closer than it needed to be considering the space. They’d talked about a lot of industry things, but more so the fun and personal. She told him about her collection of band tee shirts and admitting to not having listened to all the bands she wore, but he didn’t judge her for it. Said he went through a phase of doing the same while in the band. She told him about her cat, a Siamese named Simon and he’d cooed over photos on her phone about how cute he’d looked with his collar that had a little flower on it. So many topics were covered, so many things discussed in the last two hours that she felt like she was getting a handle on who he was. 

Though this many drinks, it was bleeding into oversharing.

“Your ex was at the awards?” He asked, eyes slightly red but widening as she dropped the tidbit.

“Yep.” The p in the word was exaggerated with a pop of her lips and an eye roll. “Note to you for the future, don’t fuck anyone involved in your production team. Makes for a nasty breakup and a lot of rude ‘inside sources’ with the press.” Her lips flattened. “And he couldn’t even make me finish, so. Fuck him.”

Harry’s eyes widened further before he groaned, his head dropping to the side onto the leather booth seat. “No, not that, Y/N. C’mon.” He seemed a bit distraught. “It’s always those guys that make your life hell, isn’t it? I’m sorry. I did learn that a bit early on.” He seemed to remember it but she didn’t ask. If he didn’t divulge it, she wasn’t going to pry. “You got the shit end of the stick. It’s one of my embarrassments being a male. Y’don’t have to be a rocket scientist to learn how to pleasure a woman.”

“You’d think.” She scoffed. “Swear, men in LA don’t know how to use any of their appendages. Used like a human fleshlight so I stopped hooking up with people. It got discouraging after the fifth time I left. Not a single one know where the clit is.” It was an unfortunate truth. Maybe she was looking in the wrong places or had a string of bad luck, but she’d been voluntarily celibate because of it. “Doubt you know what m’talking about, Mr Watermelon Sugar.”

Y/N realized her internal thought had become an external one when he broke out into his own giggles, her face heating. She’d definitely not meant for that to be said out loud, but thankfully he didn’t seem offended. It was the truth anyways, any man who loved pleasuring a woman so much that he wrote a whole song about it had to know what he was doing.

As his giggles came down, he replied. “Well, I’d like t’think I do. I…” He swallowed. “Know we just met, but overshare?” Scooting closer, he watched her nod. “I think I get off more on getting other people off, if that makes sense. Like, making someone feel good. I dunno if it’s some sort of ego thing, but I enjoy it a lot. Being the cause of pleasure. Think it probably ties in to a bit of a praise kink I’ve got, but it’s the truth.” 

Y/N had never thought she’d get into this sort of conversation with the man, let alone in a dark corner at the BRITs afterparty, but she wasn’t about to complain. “So it’s true then?” She rose an eyebrow. “You really love eating pussy?” Drunk Y/N had officially taken over. A bit of a drunk, horny Y/N she’d been trying to repress. In the morning she would be mortified that she asked that, but right now she was genuinely curious. 

“I do.” He smirked. “I dunno there’s just something about it. Being the one to make someone gasp. When it feels so good they try and push and pull you at the same time. Love the taste, love t’hear the noises. Maybe it’s a little arrogant of me but your name sounds better when it’s said with pleasure, don’t you think?” 

Y/N should have known better than to ask. Harry was a very attractive, alluring man, he was close to her and smelled so fucking good and god damn it, she was already horny. Her cunt throbbed and she knew she was going to have a wet patch in her thong when she left, but she was a glutton for punishment. “I do. I like giving for the same reason.” She admitted. “I’ve always had a lack of gag reflex so, it’s made it easier for me than other people probably have it.”

Harry’s interest seemed to be stroked, fingers brushing over her bare neck as she spoke. It was hard to concentrate here, with him so close. But Y/N always did like to be a bit of a tease, brushing the tip of her foot over the back of his leg. Maybe they were playing a dangerous game talking about this, but no one else was around. She didn’t fall back when his head dipped slightly, getting closer than necessary. “Look at us then. What a pair.” 

“I know. You’re just bold enough to write a whole song about it.” Her finger poked him playfully in the chest. 

“M’not apologetic about it. A woman’s pleasure is important and often overlooked. Makes me sad that no one’s made you feel good in that long. I hope you’re taking care of yourself at the very least.” Oh, she was. And she would be when she got back to her hotel tonight. Thank god for the suction vibrators. 

“I do, but it’s not the same as having someone else do it for you.” Her drunk self told her it as a good idea to pout, trying not to breath too hard as his fingers caressed the nape of her neck. “Sometimes I just miss the touch of another human, you know? Even innocent touches but, there’s nothing like being fucked so hard you feel it the next day. Feels like it’s impossible to find it anymore.” 

“It’s not.” He replied. Eyes were staring into her own. “You’re fucking stunning. Especially tonight, you could pull anyone in the room.” Gaze dipped down to her cleavage, not hiding that he was looking. Heat that had been bubbling in her stomach spread through the rest of her body, his touch igniting a bit of a spark. 

“Anyone?” Her head tilted to the side. The tension had been growing a bit with the two of them but now it was thick in the air. There was no denying that there was an attraction between them but it was palpable now. “So if I wanted to, I could pull you?” Y/N had no idea if he was even available for anything right now. It wasn't’ a smart idea considering how closely they worked near each other, but right now all she could think about was the fact that she had full confidence that Harry could give her the feelings that she wanted- the fuck she needed. 

“Absolutely. M’hanging on by a thread here.” His voice deepened, face far closer to hers than should be appropriate for two people who just met. “I’ve been trying to be a gentleman all night. M’a bit of a slut sometimes but hookups aren’t usually my thing. Was trying to figure out a way to ask you out but, I’ve been a little nervous.” Fingers curled around the back of her neck as their noses brushed. ‘But fuck it, right?” Warm breaths puffed against each others, leaving the ball in Y/N’s court. 

“Fuck it.” 

Harry took that and ran. Lips pressed against hers as he cradled her neck, angling her how he wanted while he slowly kissed her. It was shockingly intimate despite the setting, smooth, soft lips sucking lightly against hers. There was no sign of stopping as her mouth opened for him, letting their tongue brush and the heat rise between them. His body angled slightly to cover hers from view, he let out a low groan in his throat as her hand raised to his hair. It was soft and a bit long for him as of late, but it felt good between her fingers. His other hand held the side of her face, so gentle but solid that she knew she’d give into any of his demands. 

The party raged on behind them but they got lost in the kisses, one turning to three, turning to ten and they hardly came up for air. There was no doubt her makeup was going to be fucked up, that her lipstick was done for, but there was no better way to ruin it. “Y’taste so sweet.” Harry’s words were whispered against her swelling lips. “And you smell so good. Been driving me a bit crazy. Wanted to meet you for ages cause I knew we’d get on… but didn’t think we’d get on this well.” He chuckled into the kiss, squeezing the back of her neck and making her melt slightly into him. “Hoped for it, though.” 

“You did?” Her own voice was breathless as she tried to catch up to his kisses.. It was hard not to get butterflies when he hummed in agreement. Harry had been excited to meet her. “Had a little crush, did you?” The statement was fully meant to be a tease, but he agreed. 

“Suppose I did.”