#everyone to questions or asks others to question get ignored or swiped away

[nutmeggery]

there was no true "phone bad message"

the people live in their own personal bubble, choosing who to interact with, who listen to, they refuse to look outside their bubble, they take directions from their personal bubble, even their city is in a bubble! a 'pure' society. It's about the racism, the colonialism, the indoctrination of the new generation to uphold the beliefs of their society.

[bitchimasnake-sss]

☆ trophy wife!

synopsis: you and oliver aiku were married — had been for what felt like ages now. everyone knew it: the media, his fans, his teammates — everyone. but what they didn't know was that... it was a marriage of convenience and that you were nothing more than a trophy wife. but then, why — after three years of ignoring you — was oliver aiku backing you into the wall and telling you he needed you? pairing: afab!reader x oliver aiku [aged up.] wc: 5.7k cw: NOT PROOFREAD. dual pov. loads of mutual pining. idiots to lovers pairing. both of them are pretty pathetic, i swear. marriage of convenience trope. i'll write smut if anyone wants it mwuah mwuah. m.list

.࣪ ִֶ☾. part 01: through her eyes.

30th of june, 2:33 a.m. incident: AITA for freaking out when my husband tried to kiss me on his birthday?

you were well-prepared. you knew what was to come. there was absolutely nothing that could throw you off - other than this.

"a-aiku..?" your breath hitched, eyes widening as the man backed you into the same room you both has chastely slept in for the past 3 years.

the lights were off, the city right outside your window was buzzing, and you swore you felt like you were losing you mind as aiku drew out his long steps towards you.

thump! the back of your knees made contact with the wooden frame of the bed.

having nowhere to hide anymore, you stared at him — all but going insane, "hey."

"need you."

"aiku, listen—" you tried again, words laden with apprehension, eyes jittery as if one look away from him and he'd disappear, "you're drunk."

"no." his heterochrome eyes fell to your red-hued face, and he brought up a thumb up to swipe up at your bottom lip. as the tip of his finger made contact with the soft pout, he almost hissed, "'m not."

"you are." you repeated, deflecting his hand with a careful hit, "you're drunk."

but the man persisted, annoyingly again bringing up his hand up to your cheek and planting it there. his voice was soft, the question so innocent, "so what?"

"you'd—" your eyes met his, lips wobbling as he bent towards you all so greedily slow, "you'd regret... this."

"so what?"

so... what?

how could he ask you that knowing very well that he was breaking rule number 04 of your agreement?

━━━━━━━☆⭒⭒☆━

three years ago, you and your husband spent your entire wedding night setting down rules.

you clad in a white dress that had wrinkled by the time the filtered sunlight had streamed through your window, and him in an expensive suit he didn't give a shit about — his heterochrome eyes had met yours in a careful dance.

"i know you didn't want this. me neither." your legal husband sighed, a broad hand sifting through his dual toned hair as regret interwove into his low decibles, "and i know i cannot make it any better but—"

he sled the piece of paper that you both had spent hours perfecting towards you. the white sheet against the mahogany table, such a striking contrast — and, there was fine-print with two blanks for yours and his signs at the very bottom.

"so this is... final?" dragging the sheet towards yourself with your index, your gaze ran across the rules that you both had thought would make this 'marriage' thing work.

"hm." he nodded, "technically, this is a legally binding document."

your eyes shifted over the words, taking in the phrases you were to consider your holy commands from now on.

there were four simple rules, to be specific:

1. don't interfere in each other's sex lives. 2. don't get caught up in any scandals. be careful. have affairs in private. 3. pretend to be the most perfect couple on camera. no matter what it takes — lies, pr, more lies. whatever. 4. kiss, kiss, don't fall in love!

your brows knitted together, a frown across your painted lips as you read the sheet again and again, and then, once more for good measure. "you want me to be nothing more than a trophy wife, right..?"

"yes," the ex-captain huffed, looking from you to the sheet he had co-authored, "and i promise to be nothing more than your legal husband."

"I'll do my part, you do yours." oliver gave you a re-assuring smile, the kind that made your stomach coil inwards at it's polite implications, "and none of us fall in love with the other."

hopefully.

━━━━━━━☆⭒⭒☆━

being the only daughter of a high-ranking national sports committee member, the starstruck fans and fame-hungry reporters had chalked up your and aiku's pairing to the fates.

"the pro-player and the daughter of the sports committee member," they had discussed in loud whispers, "no wonder they're getting married. so romantic!"

"he was such a womanizer before he met her, you know? who knows what he's like now? probably the same." one school-girl probably had scoffed on the subway, and another had retorted, "that's because it's true love, idiot. people change for love."

"how did they never get caught, though?" others had asked, "it's like their marriage came out of the blue. but well, i guess — when it's fate, then, it's fate!"

well, what they all didn't know was that 'fate' was your father and aiku signing a bunch of paperwork in an office a few days before your wedding ceremony, binding you both to this twisted relationship. not so romantic now, is it?

but eitherways, both of you did your part diligently — that's how this had worked out for so long. this arrangement had worked more than well enough for the past three years.

during his matches, you were dressed in his jersey, his number, cheering his — no, yours — family name as loud as you could. after the same match, aiku would come running upto you and hug you till you felt his tensed muscle slacken against yours like he wanted to hug you. you didn't quite miss the way he whispered against you, "sorry for making you do this, ma."

in the interviews afterwards, he would call you his lucky charm. he would laugh, the sweat beads trailing down the planes of his handsome, perspired face, "what can i say? it's probably my girl that makes my game."

'his' girl? right.

when on a pre-planned date night, he would catch your smaller palms in his, and hover his lips over your skin — fooling the world into believing his lips ever touched yours. next morning, you'd find your faces plastered in the morning tabloids.

oliver aiku was such a good actor, it was sickening.

during every red carpet, you and him were dressed in complimentary suits and dresses, smiling up at each other as if you weren't stuck in whatever the fuck this relationship was.

and when the interviewers would ask him one fine evening, "mr. oliver, you're presenting the award this time, we've heard."

"hah, yes but have you seen my wife yet?" he would gush expertly — somehow even turning his nose and ear tips appear red on command, a pro liar. "i am afraid i wouldn't be able to remember my lines on the stage if i look at her."

and you would look on from the side-line, amazed, because how could that man lie so easily? lie to everyone — the media, his friends, to himself? how could this man tell the cameras you were the very thing he adored, and then go home just to fall asleep after a simple goodnight?

most importantly, how could you ever trust such a big liar? a liar who could even make you believe for a fleeting second that he loved you (even though, according to rule number #4, that was prohibited.)

how, oh how, did oliver aiku make you feel so utterly stupid? how did he even fool you into thinking he may love you?

━━━━━━━☆⭒⭒☆━

3rd of december, 1:06 a.m. incident: my husband comes back from a long night.

"aiku..?" a soft sigh of his name tumbled past your lips, your eyes narrowing at the figure standing at your shared bedroom door in the middle of the night.

it was one in the morning, and you were sure under that once-crisp linen shirt lay foreign lipstick stains and faint whispers of feminine perfume. it was normal — this was normal — your husband getting home late at night after being with another woman. this was normal. and according to rule number 01, you weren't supposed to care about it.

and yet, your mouth grew drier as the same husband walked into the room in the dark — agile footing easily navigating through the learned pathways.

"aiku?" you tried again, this time a bit louder as you sat up on your shared bed. the fabric shifted under your hips, your eyes trying to trace out his outline in the comfortable darkness.

at the sudden sound, the man jumped. flicking on a light with a quick click of his finger, he stared at you all wide-eyed, "you're still up..?"

you nodded and the man cocked an eyebrow, nimble fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt, "why so late?"

well, who was supposed to tell aiku that it was the third anniversary of your 'marriage' — or rather, the contract? who was supposed to tell him that you had stupidly cooked a meal and thought you two could celebrate this utterly dogshit arrangement of yours? who was supposed to tell him? definitely not you.

after all — according to rule number 03 — you didn't need to behave like the perfect wife when the cameras weren't rolling. and according to rule number 04 — no falling in love.

so instead, you pressed your lips into a thin line, "jus' couldn't sleep." forcing your lips into a smile, you asked, "you were out late. had fun tonight..?"

aiku shrugged, "eh, nothing special."

and despite rule number 01 still in effect, you bit out a meek, "jessica?"

you had heard the name slip past his lips once late night and immediately associated the name with a beautiful, striking woman — a woman aiku could possibly love. not you.

"nah..." aiku hesitated for just a second, and some selfish part within you wondered if he was about to lie just to keep your heart. if he was about to say 'i saw nobody' just to make you feel like you meant something to him — but the man crushed whatever hope you had under his boot, turning it to ash and soot. "it was crystal, actually."

crystal..?

pulling his closet door open, he didn't even bother turning to look at you, "'m gonna shower and then sleep, kay? you should go to bed."

crystal...?

"yeah, right." at his casual demeanour, at his absolute nonchalance at whichever woman he was currently seeing — you brought your knees up to your chest, a disgusting pang in your ribcage that traveled down your spine and to your toes, "well, i made some pasta if you're hungry."

"oh?" shimmying off his shirt, you watched your husband flex his well-trained muscles involuntarily as he searched for another shirt in his closet, "you cooked? something special tonight, ma?"

"no."

aiku glanced back, the muscles in his shoulders shifting at the action, his eyes narrowing just a little bit, "sure?"

"mhm." you nodded, trying to take your position back on your usual side of the bed, "anyways, eat up if you get hungry. i'm... off to bed. goodnight."

"g'nite."

this was normal.

and according to the rules you both had set, oliver wasn't breaking any. then, why did you have that death grip on your sheets as you heard him close the door to the shower? why did you still cling onto the name 'crystal' like it was your very last thought before death?

23rd of december, 6:54 p.m. incident: my husband's busy (again.)

"'m not sure if green is my colour." you confessed as you gawked up your own reflection in the humongous fitting room.

"oh no! you worry too much, madam." the manager of the clothing studio grinned, fanning a hand at you as if it would make your worries disappear, "you look phenomenal!"

still looking at your reflection in the mirror, your brain tried to scramble helplessly for any excuse for you to not go to the charity ball tomorrow. flimsily searching for your salvation, your eyes drifted to the man seated on the sofa behind you — busy sifting through his phone, unbothered to your very presence.

he didn't care for you — he never did — but maybe, he could validate that green wasn't your colour. maybe he could give you an excuse to not go to that charity ball... because it hurt to see your husband pretend he loved you in front of the cameras, it hurt to know that he could love you that way if he wanted to and he just didn't want you.

biting down whatever traces of self-esteem left within your system, you called out for him, "does this look... okay?"

at the mention of his name, he lifted his gaze from his phone to you. taking in your figure once, twice — he nodded satisfied, "yeah, you look good, ma. don't worry."

a soft ping! of his notifications drew his gaze back to his phone screen. your fist tightened, nails digging into the soft skin as you went back to being ignored. there goes your excuse to skip tomorrow night.

it would always be some event — a charity ball, a reunion, a sports meet, a fucking conference or whatever — and you had to doll up just to smile up at him. it didn't matter if you didn't feel like going, or if it was a pain, or if that shade of green didn't go well on you.

it didn't matter, as stated by rule number 03.

"—and not to mention that green is really mr. oliver's colour." the same manager prattled on, cashmere words as she tried to persuade you.

your eyes still bore against the man as if the staring at him would be enough for him to understand your grievances and bail you out from this hell. but ofcourse, oliver aiku was only the perfect husband on camera.

the woman concluded with a well-practiced, corporate smile, "—and you both have to match, right?"

ofcourse, you both had to fucking match — courtesy of rule number 03 yet again.

even after moments of heating staring, your husband was more busy on his phone than you.

"i guess if he likes it." you finally shrugged, losing your resolve to the 2v1 match going on in the fitting room right now, "we'd take this, then."

"wonderful choice, madam!" and with that the woman clapped, happily guiding you to a private room so that you could take the dress off.

as you followed her, you looked back at oliver once more — as if you'd catch him staring or something equivalently stupid. instead, the man stayed engrossed on his phone — furiously typing.

probably texting jessica, or crystal, or whoever was interesting enough for oliver aiku to fuck into rented hotel sheets — whoever it was that wasn't you.

9th of january, 7.23 p.m. incident: WAG duties.

here you were, sitting in the same spot in the VIP seating area as you had for three years.

his jersey number proudly flashing on your back, you brought your hands up to your mouth to cheer and clap as oliver defended yet another goal, "go, baby! you're doing so well!"

you knew the camera was on you — it was half of the time. the audience ate up every crumb of your relationship online. so, you just smiled, clapping proudly.

honestly, it wasn't hard to fake the genuine enthusiasm every time he skillfully stole the ball from the opposing team — you were proud of him. after all, three years of being someone's greatest supporter eventually becomes a habit, not a chore.

"didn't you get super lucky with oliver?" someone next to you mumbled.

snapping your head towards the sound of the voice, you saw a pretty redhead — oh, chigiri hyoma's sister.

you frequently ran into the woman on and off the field, and had struck up some semblance of friendship with her.

"hah, nice seeing you here, koyuki." you hoped that the laugh didn't sound as strained as if felt in the back of your throat. chasing the pathetic laugh with a practiced smile, "sure did get lucky, but why do you ask?"

"ah, nothing." the redhead grinned, a teasing lilt to her carefree voice, "just that it's been three years and aiku still tries to catch a glimpse of you whenever he defends. if that isn't love, i don't know what is."

love? love?? LOVE???

"oh?" eyebrows bunching together, perhaps you were taken aback with what a good actor oliver was. you were always so caught up in giving the right reactions for the camera, that maybe you didn't see how well he played his side of the loverman role.

but even as koyuki pointed it out, you were too hesitant to actually check for yourself. what if she was wrong? what if you actually saw him looking at you? what if you fell for the elaborate act like a fool yet again..?

so, still focused on the woman in front of you, you spluttered out a pathetic script, "i mea—mean, yeah he just absolutely spoils me."

"i can see that." the woman laughed, "but you're always there to support him too, so I'm sure you spoil him back just as much."

"m-yeah..?"

you spoiled him? no, obviously not. because that wasn't mentioned in any of the rules, was it?

at the stutter in your words, koyuki jutted her bottom lip out, a sorry expression on her face, "oh come on now, don't give all the credit for your marriage to aiku. it takes two to make it work."

"hah," you nodded, coughing up yet another laugh to mask your half-baked lies, "yeah, i guess it does—"

"—i just really, really hope," the redhead cut you off, clasping her nimble fingers together, "that someday I can find a love as adorable as yours."

and at her words, you couldn't help the slight waver in your smile, couldn't help as your eyes drained themselves of any tangible emotion, "o-of course, you will. don't you worry."

"a love as pure as yours"? funny. cause you were yet to find that kind of love three years down the line.

━━━━━━━☆⭒⭒☆━

࣪ ִֶָ☾. part 02: through his eyes.

3rd of december, 1:03 a.m. incident: shit, my wife's still up.

oliver aiku had made the genius decision to avoid you the entire day before, even going out of his way to make sure he didn't step inside your shared apartment before the clock struck twelve.

a simple man may question his actions and ask 'why?' and the answer was as simple as it came: oliver aiku knew it was your — technically, his too — anniversary.

oliver had woken up by the reminder on his phone that read "anniversary.", he had driven and got you a bouquet of flowers, he had even contemplated asking you out for dinner. and then, he had chickened the fuck out. oliver aiku had chickened out for the third time in the row.

see, the first year, he avoided doing anything because it was the first year. the next year, it felt even more awkward cause he hadn't even wished you on the first anniversary so why on the second? he had planned for the third, and that... also went to shit.

truth be told, oliver didn't want to seem like the fool who was holding onto a fake relationship by remembering or bringing up pointless things like this. cause that was just pathetic, right?

so, of course, he did the smartest thing a man could do — avoided you like you were the fucking plague. even if it meant sitting the entire night away in his car and waiting for the perfect time to return back home.

"aiku?" at your sudden chirp, oliver almost felt a wayward shiver run down his spine. flipping on the switch with a practiced flick, he found you sitting up in your shared bed, "you're still... up?"

and though oliver knew there was no way you knew he had been waiting in his car, his heart genuinely caught up a wicked pace. trying to distract himself — and perhaps, you — he undid the buttons of his shirt, "why so late?"

as you gave him a smile, the man knew something was off. shit.

you spoke so softly, looking so beautiful even in the absolute middle of the night, "jus' couldn't sleep... you were out late, have fun tonight?"

"eh," aiku tried his best to appear nonchalant, trying to be truthful amid the chaos of his mind, "nothing special."

he hoped, he stupidly hoped that you'd say goodnight and go to sleep. instead, you further enquired, "jessica?"

and despite being a sharp man who could lie to god while looking in his eyes, aiku turned his back to you — scared he may fumble in front of you that he hadn't seen another woman for the past three years. he started softly, "nah..."

opening the door to his closet, he tried to think of another name — any name. oh, what was that thing sendou was talking about a few days ago? crystal chandeliers? crystal? cry—

"—stal, actually." the pro-player lied through his teeth. rummaging through his closet, he tried to distract you, "'m gonna shower and then sleep, kay? you should go to bed."

"yeah, right." and oliver aiku almost confessed all his sins just at that 'right'. but instead of further grilling him, you just said, "well, i made some pasta if you're hungry."

"oh?" peeling the familiar shirt off of his body, for a moment, the man believed that you knew what yesterday was. but how could you? you had never been more than what he had asked of you — you had never been more than a contract, a trophy wife.

eitherways, he asked — to confirm. "you cooked? something special tonight, ma?"

but your answer was swift. a straight, sweet blow: "no."

and despite the answer, oliver allowed himself to glance back just this once, "sure?"

"mhm. anyways, eat up if you feel hungry." you nodded, shifting to go to sleep, "I'm off to bed. goodnight."

oliver turned his face back to the closet door, mumbling out, "g'nite."

as the man closed the door to the shower, he clenched his fist and unclenched it. what was he even so frustrated about? he had set the rules with you, didn't he? and you weren't breaking any of them.

you were the most perfect trophy wife, after all, weren't you?

23rd of december, 6:54 p.m. incident: my wife's dad sucks.

oliver aiku was sure he could rip his hair out right now.

aiku: listen, she has nothing to do with it. aiku: i said i don't feel like taking her to the charity ball. dad 2: Why not? Did she say she doesn't wanna go? aiku: for the last time, i said i don't wanna take her. dad 2: Did she do something to trouble you Mr. Oliver?

jesus fucking christ. oliver aiku could really rip his hair out right now.

as dense as he'd like to believe he was as behaving like an actual husband, aiku could still see that you truly did not want to go to that stupid charity ball. the entire ride to the fitting, you had been sitting far too still in your seat — asking him questions like, "is it important for me to go?"

you never asked for anything from him.

each game, you showed up. each event, you dressed to the nines and put on that painfully pretty yet fake smile. each day, you put up with him. and however bad of a husband aiku may be, he didn't want to discomfort his own wife for the sake of some stupid rule, or the sake of that old man who happened to be your dad.

you distant voice kissed his ears, "'m not sure if this shade of green is my colour."

your statement was followed by some candied prattle by the saleswoman, but aiku was too busy re-reading your father's heinous texts to actually look up and check for himself.

dad 2: If she has inconvenienced you in any such way, please let me know.

"—aiku?" and the soft sigh of his name past your heavenly lips, oliver's gaze immediately shot up. you met his eyes in the reflection of the mirror, "does this look okay?"

'okay'? you were beautiful beyond words.

hair hastily tied up, makeup not yet glam enough, dress not fitted to your measurements, only held up by clips — and yet, aiku almost lost his breath when looking at you.

thumb still hovering over the virtual keyboard, he took in your figure once, twice and nodded — all but dazed, "yeah, you look good, ma. don't worry."

he was about to say something more when another stupid ping! brought his attention back to his phone.

dad 2: Or you can reprimand her yourself, if you'd like. We have no objections to it.

'reprimand'?? what the actual fuck did that old geezer mean by that?

aiku felt his fingers gliding furiously across the keyboard, words nothing if not laced with the absolute venom in his system — because nobody talked about his wife like that.

aiku: listen here. aiku: i don't need your input on how to treat my own fucking wife. so, if i hear one more word out of you, just know that i will make you regret it. aiku: that's all. take care, dad.

aiku shut his phone, tearing his gaze away from the screen to where you were standing only to find you already gone.

he was late, like always.

9th of january, 7.23 p.m. incident: scatterbrained on the field.

oliver aiku knew nothing more than the adrenaline rushing through his veins, the blood that roared in his eardrum, the thoughts that bolted through his brain, the overhead lightings that blinded him when he jumped up to defend the incoming attack — oliver aiku knew nothing more than the ball and the field in front of him.

atleast that's what he had always felt when he played. keyword: had.

but lately, his brain was scattered — thoughts a jumbled incoherent tune that only sung to rhythms of your name. every time he closed his eyes, every strained breath, every involuntary flex of his muscles — you were there. you were there in the very fiber of his being.

so, ofcourse, when he defended yet another goal and the ball was expertly deflected off-field, he didn't care about the cheers of his name, didn't care about the teammates that whooped and ran to their spots, didn't care about anyone or anything that wasn't you.

lifting his gaze straight at the VIP box, his eyes frantically searched for you. and there you were — wearing the jersey that he had brought for you, smiling so wide as you clapped and aiku swore for a second, he froze.

no, ofcourse, his body kept moving — muscled thighs sprinting across the field like it was second-nature and eyes scanning for constant threats, oliver aiku was still in the game physically. but mentally? my god, weren't you the prettiest thing he had laid his eyes on?

stealing scarce glances away from the soccer ball, the man found you talking to a familiar redhead. you laughed at something she said, and oliver felt a feverish pang run it's course through his chest. did you ever smile at him like that? or at all, for that matter? did he—

"—AIKU. WHERE'S YOUR FUCKING FOCUS?" his teammate yelled, and the ex-captain's gaze tore back into the field instantly. his teammate ran across the field, chasing the opposing team as they brought the ball into oliver's side of the court, "AIKU, DEFEND. FOCUS."

focus..? focus?? what was that?

because even as the man shielded the defense line with his hulking body and fast-paced thoughts, he couldn't help but steal a glance at your still-conversing self.

what was a fucking match when compared to his wife, anyways?

30th of june, 2.23 a.m. incident: AITA for kissing my wife on my birthday?

oliver aiku was about to lie through his fucking teeth, and it was about to be as pathetic as he could get. but fuck it, how many more years of heartache should he have to endure without giving it a shot?

"a-aiku..?" your voice was so soft, that aiku couldn't help but walk onwards, backing you into the room even despite his clenched fist and trembling calves.

a soft thump! indicated the back of your legs hitting the bed — or wait, was that the sound of his heart dropping into his stomach..?

another soft hiss past your lips, "hey..?"

"need you."

frankly, aiku himself didn't know what the fuck he was on about. thank god, you cut him off.

"—aiku, listen." your eyes were frenzied, and aiku swore he saw your gulping harshly in the darkness, "you're drunk."

he was not... but he was pretending.

oliver aiku had come up with the most perfect plan. he would pretend to be drunk on his birthday and kiss you. if you slapped him, or threatened to divorce him, he could always blame the alcohol.

"no." he purposefully slurred, using his hazed state to bring up a careful thumb to your bottom lip. under his soft swipe, your lips wobbled and aiku felt his knees almost give up whole. keeping up the act, he pathetically worded, "'m not."

"you are." you pushed his hand away and aiku found himself yearning for your touch — even if was to push him away. you repeated, "you're drunk."

you sounded so scared, and aiku almost forgot his well-rehearsed script. as he stared at you, he started considering that perhaps this wasn't the smartest of ideas. but well, he didn't come this far to only come this far, so, instead he brought up the hand to your cheeks daringly.

you didn't slap his hand away, or flinch. so, he softly planted his calloused hand against your soft cheek and bet his sanity on a losing match, "so what?"

okay... maybe he did come this far only to come this far.

"you'd—" your words fell down in sordid syllables, and he took the soft parting of your lips as an invitation to bend forward. your eyes widened at his action but fuck it. here goes nothing. yolo or whatever. "you'd regret... this."

"so what?"

and he truly meant it. if kissing you once meant he would have to give up his sanity — oliver aiku was ready to trade. he was ready to go ahead and trade everything unholy and sinful he was for you. he was ready.

drawing closer, your warm breath fanned against his face and the man couldn't hold back physically. bringing up another hand to your waist, kneading the skin under the luxurious silk dress you had wore for his party, the man delved in to devour you.

his lips against yours in a lewd dance, and oliver almost fucking gasped from how sweet you were. despite dreaming on and on about this exact scene, he could have never assumed how fucking sweet you'd be. how he'd be able to taste the flavour of your gloss, how he'd be able to sync up his ragged breathing to yours, and how instead of pushing him or kicking him in the family jewels — you'd kiss back.

࣪ ִֶָ☾. part 03: through their eyes.

wrapping your shaking hands around oliver's neck, you found yourself pressing your body against his muscled ones. tongue against his, eyes clenched shut at the taste of whiskey in your mouth and his large palm on your skin.

the man pressed against you harder, his body heat almost setting you ablaze — and you let him, pressing against him with just as much fervour.

"a-aiku..." your serrated words got lodged in the back of your throat as the man kissed down your jaw— his actions so primal, unrelenting. you gasped at the soft nip of his teeth against the column of your throat — the action so dangerously intimate. straining, you repeated his name, "aiku...?"

"keep sayin' my name." his heterochrome eyes flicked up to yours, and the man lost all cognitive senses to come back and kiss you on the lips again. his actions were rough — depraved. and even when his lungs ached for oxygen, he used up the last in his body to utter out, "say my name."

"mmph— aiku..!" your kiss-bitten lips against his, the strings of saliva between you two. you repeated, chanting the word like a mantra, "aiku, aiku, a-aiku—"

"—fuck." his broad palm pulled up your dress, bunching up the fabric at your waist to expose your naked thigh.

what was happening? all you could feel and touch and know happened to be oliver aiku.

were you actually kissing him? was he actually kissing you? or was this another stupid plan of his... were there paps to catch this and post about it tomorrow?

at the absurd thought, you pushed him away.

the man looked far-gone. his pupils blown wide, cherry-red lips swollen, and spit drabbling down his jaw — in fact, oliver looked at you as if you had committed blasphemy. his words wobbled, "w-what?"

"why are you kissing me?" and you're sure you meant it genuinely, but the words came out so horrified. wiping your lips frantically, your unsteady gaze scanned the room, "why...? i-is there someone in the room?"

"huh?!" oliver's jaw slacked open at your question. were you drunk? he spluttered, "what..?"

"why are y-you... kissing me, aiku?" you asked, words tattered and confidence lost, "have you lost your mind?"

"i—" he stepped back, horrified he may have done something wrong. his tongue felt thick in his mouth, voice uneven, "di-should i not have kissed you?"

"the rules." your eyes widened, "we... you're not supposed to kiss me."

"but i just did."

"that's what i'm asking," your voice shot up a note, gaze growing hazy at the implications of him toying with your heart yet again, "why did you?"

"we are married." and you swore, you heard the tiniest twinge of disappointment woven into his fact-like statement.

"we are pretending to be married." you bit back, eyes clenching shut at his flimsy excuse.

"s-still married."

"still pretending." your eyes shot opened, the whites now tinted red, you spit, "i'm just your trophy wife, right?"

and at the phrase, aiku sifted his palms through his already tousled hair. eyes frantic, words maddened, "what... what if i don't want that anymore? what if i-i... want you."

what? how drunk was he?

"i want you." he repeated, and you couldn't decide whether the phrase was a curse or a blessing. he stepped closer, if that was even physically possible — hysterical, "i want you."

he wanted... you?

the same man that had ignored you for the past three year wanted you?

a/n: my fucking god, I LOVEEEE pathetic men hahaha. no smut in this one guys cause i was too consumed writing the mutual pining. tagging: @heartbingers @moodswing101 @isabellalovesyou @adollsdarkdiary [just tagging the people on my last oliver post.]

[suksatoru]

satoru gojo drabble ୭🥡✧˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

╰┈➤ husband!gojo x wife!reader ೃ⁀➷

ೄྀ ࿐ fluff, established relationship ˊˎ

HUSBAND SATORU, who is always showing you off with the cheesiest smile on his face - proud to walk around and let everyone know that he belonged to an absolute gem. He never failed to let it be known exactly who he was so deeply in love with - finding so many ways to make a conversation about you whenever he was getting bored with someone

HUSBAND SATORU, who is always making sure to get your order corrected when an employee messes it up. He's ignoring your protests to ignore the small mistake as his voice catches the attention of everyone in the cafe. His demanding demeanor calling out a stern "Hey! My wife asked for no pickles in her sandwich!" , only causing you to slump in your seat as you shake your head with a laugh, ensuring the people near your table that you had no idea who that insane man was.

HUSBAND SATORU, who loves spending time simply cuddling with you. It was his favorite thing in the world - where the two of you would talk about anything and everything in each others embrace - from baby names to which one of you could stuff the most marshmallows in your mouths - spoiler alert, he won this competition with an alarming record of 11 marshmallows.

HUSBAND SATORU, who spoils you crazy. He'll bring back more presents that he can carry when returning from missions, the two of you staying up till midnight and satisfying your sweet tooth's with the delicious treats he'd bought for you guys. From diamonds to paper hearts, he always brings home something for you. It wasn't the gifts you loved the most - it was Satoru's excited smile as he presented them to you.

"Oh I know you're going to love this one." He teased, pushing his blindfold from his eyes to reveal the playful gleam in his eyes "Ok, ok. Show me, Toru!" You laughed, leaning forward with anticipation dancing in your eyes as he pulled a doll out - one sporting a very familiar face... You immediately cover your smile with your perfectly manicured fingers (the one's he'd insisted you get, his card swiping and paying for them right after you were done, the color of your nails matching the exact shade of his eyes) "Toru, did you get me a doll with your face on it?" You questioned, looking at the doll with a breathtaking smile that made Satoru swoon at the mere sight "Sure did, princess. Just a little thing to remind you of me when I'm away." He said, carefully placing the doll in your hands as you cradled it with a laugh that had his eye's crinkling with laughter and love.

HUSBAND SATORU, who can only let his guard down around you, his strong facade crumbling when he find's your arms wrapping around him. Your encouragement and loving words being the thing to give him the strength he needs to stay standing. You were his solace, his home and love that simply could not be replaced. Your love was rooted so deeply inside of him, your heart practically imprinted onto his.

[tojisun]

“shopping for your brother?”

you trip at hearing the question, your lips parting in surprise as you whip to look at the clerk. she blinks at you amidst her own shock before turning her eyes down to your hands where a faux fatigued boonie dangled between your pinched fingers.

you watch as she glances back at you before shooting a look towards simon, having seen the two of you walk in together. he’s standing on the far side of the shop, attracting electric looks from everyone – you couldn’t even blame them because even your mouth is watering at the sight that he makes.

still, the insinuation that you couldn’t possibly be simon’s partner stung. forgotten insecurities are rising once again, rippling against the quiet elation that once filled you up.

“um,” you begin, clearing your throat at hearing your voice brokenly taper off. “it’s for, uh, my boyfriend.”

the clerk stares at you for a second before her cheeks fill up with red, the blush descending from her forehead to her neck.

“bloody hell,” she utters. “i’m so sorry.” she scurries away after that, disappearing into their storage room where you think she’s going to stay until you and simon leave.

and you’re willing to do just that. you drop the boonie and walk towards simon, trying to ignore the bitterness that is stinging in the back of your throat. simon uncrosses his arms – tattoos and muscles obscured by the expanse of paper bags that he insisted he pay and carry for you – and holds his hand out for you to take. you look at it, hesitating, before you shake your head and walk out on your own.

you can’t hear him follow you but you know he is there, quiet in his assessment of both the surroundings and of what happened to make you upset. you blink the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, trying to hide your distress as much as you can.

but it is futile because the next thing you know, simon’s pulling you away from the busy stretch of the mall and into an obscured exit point with dim lights and narrow halls. he drops the bags onto the floor before tugging on your wrists with firm gentleness.

“what happened?” his voice is gruff but worry is evident in his tone.

“it’s nothing,” you say, sniffing. “just tired.”

he hums, and you know that he doesn’t believe you. you sigh, turning away from him as you mutter, “i dunno why you like me.” you chew on your words, hoping he wouldn’t understand. but you feel him stiffen before you, his back tensing like he is preparing for a fight.

you know he is angry – not at you. never at you. and seeing his protective nature spark up just at the mere mention of your insecurity makes your lips wobble, your eyes blurring as tears pool once again.

you hear him let out a sharp curse before he’s pulling you in his embrace, tucking your head under his chin and engulfing you in his arms. he’s so big and all muscles, but he’s so, so warm. you nuzzle your cheek on his chest, letting out a content sigh when you feel his lips press on the top of your head.

“you know that i love you, don’t you, sweetheart?” simon asks, thinly-veiled desperation curling at his words.

you nod, shy all of sudden. he clicks his tongue.

“use y’r words, love.”

you peer up at him, your pouty lips quivering into a small smile at meeting his intense gaze, his beautiful eyes tracking the details of your face like he can’t get enough of you.

you see simon’s reverence and feel your heart melt.

“yeah,” you finally reply, swiping your tongue on your chapped lips and feeling your cheeks warm up at the way his eyes zeroed in on the action. “i know it well, si.”

he grunts before he is bending forward to press his lips over yours, your eyes fluttering close to savour the kiss. he is gentle as he guides you through it, prompting you to part your lips just enough for him to deepen the kiss – tongues swiping against each other and soft moans being engulfed by both of you.

you are panting by the time he pulls away, his eyes dilated in pleasure. you wonder if you look just as debauched, just as desperate for more.

“wanna take this somewhere else?” simon murmurs, just the sound of his grave voice already making you tremble.

you scramble to say yes, your words lilting together in your excitement. simon chuckles and presses a quick kiss on your lips before he’s picking up the shopping bags and herding the two of you out.

[slaymitchabernathy]

The Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, lots of creatures were stirring, aside from a mouse.

Coriolanus peeks his head out of his study when he hears little feet running by and catches a glimpse of one of his children rounding the corner. He shakes his head, he's told them countless times not to run in the house, they have neighbors below them who he'd like to remain on good terms with.

"Ceraphina darling, let's fix your hair," Soarynn calls from down the hall.

Coriolanus readies himself this time, standing in the doorway when his oldest daughter runs by him and he reaches out, grabbing her and scooping her up. "Daddy!" She shrieks, kicking her feet in the air, "Daddy, put me down!"

Coriolanus chuckles, pressing a kiss to the side of her head, "What have I told you about running hmm? We don't want to upset the Dolittles sweetheart." Ceraphina at least has the decency to look guilty at being caught red-handed and rests a hand on his shoulder, "I won't ever do it again," she promises even though they both know she will.

He hums, gently setting her back down on the floor, "I'll hold you to that, now go find your mother so you can get ready for the show."

Coriolanus bought tickets to the ballet for tonight, the night before Christmas, and as expected, the children are very excited. The girls are the most excited since this is a chance to see the pretty ballerines in their costumes. For Caspian, it simply means getting to stay up past his bedtime which is a treat in itself.

Ceraphina makes a big show of slowly walking down the hallway to find her mother and Coriolanus goes back into his study, he ought to start getting ready himself. He puts his work away, neatly stacking his papers and putting away his pens when he hears a meow. He looks down at the floor and finds Petunia looking up at him.

Petunia is...well she's...Petunia is Soarynn's cat. There, that's the perfect way to explain his relationship with Petunia, she belongs to his wife which has led to them having to form something of a relationship. Most days they ignore each other but it's moments like this when everyone is busy that she seeks him out to bother him.

Coriolanus is not impressed when she rolls onto her back, paws in the air and a tilt to her head, "Go away," he tells the feline, closing the drawer to his desk, "or go find Soarynn." Petunia swipes at his shoes but he dodges her attack, after living with her for a good six years, he knows how she operates.

"Daddy look!"

He turns back to the doorway and sees that his youngest daughter is ready for tonight. Her hair has been pulled away from her face into a ponytail and he can see the big red bow Soarynn tied around it. Celeste is wearing a cute green dress with white tights and shiny black shoes with a little strap going across them. She looks adorable.

"Well, don't you look pretty? Do a twirl for me princess," he says, smiling when Celeste holds out her arms and spins around, almost falling over in the process but he reaches out and steadies her. "Was I just like the ballerinas Daddy?"

Coriolanus warily eyes Petunia who has now rolled back onto her feet and is slowly approaching him and Celeste. She's so sweet with the children which means that she purposely goes out of her way to be rude to him and only him.

"Yes you were darling," he answers, taking a step back, "why don't you and Petunia go find your mother hmm?"

"But I just saw Mommy, she said I was ready."

Petunia is getting ready to lunge and Coriolanus is getting ready to run, "Well, go see her again, and take Petunia with you please."

Celeste gives him a curious look but the four-year-old asks no questions and picks Petunia up, groaning at the small weight she has to carry, "C'mon Petunia, let's go find Mommy."

Petunia glares at Coriolanus before she's carried away and he smirks, she'll be subjected to cuddles and pets, what a terrible life to live. She probably thought that she had him cornered with Celeste in the room but he's quicker than that.

And Snow always lands on top.

꧁ ꧂

Thirty minutes later, Coriolanus is ready for dinner and a show.

He looks rather dashing in his red suit with a heavy red coat to match. They get cold winters in the Capitol with the mountains so close by and he knows better than to underestimate the weather.

He's putting on his gloves when Ceraphina and Celeste come into his closet, both wearing their sweetest smiles, "Come look at how pretty Mommy looks," Celeste says, tugging on his coat. Coriolanus slips his wallet into his pocket before complying with their wishes and following them out into the bedroom.

Soarynn had gotten all three children dressed and ready for the ballet in the time it took him to get one child ready, once again solidifying that he truly married the perfect woman. And he almost loses his breath when he sees how stunning she looks tonight.

While all three of their children are dressed in green, it seems that she tore a page out of his book and wore red. Her dress clings to her figure, showing off her curves in all the right places. It's long-sleeved and the sleeves have intricate beaded patterns sewn into them, truly making this dress a piece of art. The neckline goes straight across her neck, showing off her collarbones while still remaining tasteful.

He's at a loss for words.

"Doesn't Mommy look pretty?"

Coriolanus manages to nod and pick his jaw off the floor, "She looks very pretty," he agrees, deciding that tonight will end with that dress on the floor.

Soarynn smiles so sweetly at his compliment and comes over to him, fussing with his tie and the lapels of his suit, "Well you look very handsome Coryo," she purrs, doing nothing to help his growing desire for her. He rests his hands on her waist, almost wishing the children weren't present but he still leans in and pecks her lips.

The girls sigh like they always do whenever witnessing something they consider romantic. They'll love the ballet since there's bound to be some romance. "Momma, bring Lenny please," Caspian says, tugging on her dress and breaking their kiss. Soarynn gives him a sad smile and shakes her head, "Lenny can't come, darling," she explains, crouching down to be at their son's level, "he has to stay home."

Caspian pouts and Coriolanus can see that his son is already on the verge of tears which they cannot afford if they plan on making it out the door on time. "You know, Cecil will be there tonight Cas," he reminds his son, "so you'll have lots of company."

The Snows will be joining the Creeds at the ballet tonight and Festus phoned him just this morning to tell him that their son Cecil would be in attendance. Caspian and Cecil are two months apart in age and love to toddle around together whenever the families get together.

Sure enough, Caspian lights up at the idea of seeing his friend at the ballet, and the tears are kept at bay. Soarynn whispers a few more encouraging words to their youngest child before kissing his cheek. While the girls have Coriolanus wrapped around their fingers, Caspian has Soarynn in the palm of his hand.

Soarynn always denies such claims, arguing that boys should be raised with a very involved mother so they grow up into proper gentlemen but Coriolanus knows that she's only telling half the truth. The other half is that she simply adores Caspian, her only son and last child. He's a spitting image of Coriolanus with his bright blue eyes and golden curls and Soarynn can't help but dote on him.

Caspian allows her to pick him up and Coriolanus turns back to the girls, "Are we ready to go then?" They both nod, bouncing on their toes, "Yes!"

Soarynn dressed both the girls in the same outfit and they look nearly identical. Ceraphina looks more like Soarynn with her wavy hair and blue-gray eyes and Celeste seems to be a mix of her parents with her blond curls and blue eyes. They're so close in age that people often have trouble telling them apart.

"Alright," he says, "I expect you girls to be on your best behavior," he warns, "no fighting, no fussing, no arguing. Or Santa won't come and bring you any presents."

Their eyes widen at the threat and Soarynn nudges him with her elbow, "Really?" She whispers, not looking too pleased with the threat, "I've just secured us perfect behavior for tonight darling," he insists, resting his hand on her back, "now let's go enjoy the ballet."

꧁ ꧂

They arrive at the theater with ten minutes to spare.

While they made it out of the door on time, Coriolanus hadn't anticipated the traffic that Christmas Eve would bring. But they made it and that's all that matters. The Snow family follows an usher down the lavishly decorated hallway to their private box and the girls are teeming with excitement.

"Here you are Mr. Snow, please don't hesitate to ask for assistance should you need any," the young man says to Coriolanus, bowing at the waist. Coriolanus grunts and Soarynn gives the man a kind smile, "Thank you," she says, "and Merry Christmas."

Coriolanus opens the door to their box and the Creeds are already seated. "Look who finally showed up," Festus jokes, rising from his seat. Coriolanus rolls his eyes, stepping to the side so the rest of his family can come inside. The girls walk in first, amazed at all the ornate details and light fixtures.

"Hello Mr. Creed," Ceraphina says once she tears her focus away from the opulence that comes with being a Snow. Coriolanus is more than pleased with how polite his children are at such a young age and watches them shake his good friend's hand before making their way over to his wife, Persephone.

"Oh, Festus, you look so handsome," Soarynn says, the last to enter the small room, "we're so glad you all could join us tonight." Festus smiles and greets Soarynn with the expected kiss on the cheek and gives Caspian a wink, "It took some convincing to get Persephone out of the house but we made it," he says with a sigh.

Coriolanus knows exactly why it's been so hard to get Persephone out of the house the past month, it's because she's pregnant and is at the stage where everything is uncomfortable and too loud. But she seems to be in good spirits when he looks over at her talking to the girls.

"Well, I'm sure she's ready for your second baby boy to be here," Soarynn replies, a fond look in her eyes while holding Caspian. "Cecil," is all Caspian says, looking around for his own friend.

"Cecil is right over there," Festus points at his wife, "he keeps trying to sit in his mother's lap but his little brother takes up quite a bit of room." Soarynn sighs and Coriolanus can see her remembering what it was like being pregnant. Unlike some women, Soarynn loved being pregnant, she would've carried Persephone's baby if she could've.

She gives Coriolanus a hopeful look and he's quick to shake his head, "Absolutely not," he tells her before she can start planning for a fourth child, "we are three and done."

Festus chuckles and pats Coriolanus on the back, "That's what I told Persephone, one and done and now look at us."

Soarynn goes over to her good friend and Coriolanus doesn't feel any better when he sees Soarynn rest a hand on her protruding baby bump, "We don't need any more children," Coriolanus says, more to himself than to Festus. They really don't. Soarynn has given him three perfect children, why have another and ruin their odds?

He's always had a healthy fear of pregnancy, more so the birth since his own mother tragically died giving birth to his little sister who also died. Watching Soarynn push all three of their children out was terrifying even though she did it tremendously well.

He can't risk losing her.

"I suppose it's up to fate really, now why don't we order a drink and sit down," Festus suggests. Coriolanus nods in agreement, a drink is just what he needs right now. The two men place an order for two glasses of bourbon before going to their seats where Coriolanus properly greets Persephone and Cecil who is in fact, trying to sit in her lap.

"He's soaking in his last days as an only child," Persephone explains, rubbing her stomach, "and his days are numbered."

Ceraphina rests her hands on the edge of the balcony, peering down at the stage and the other people who will be watching the show, "Was I an only child Daddy?"

Coriolanus rests a hand on Soarynn's knee, leaning back into his seat, "You were sweetheart," he answers, "but only for a little while." Ceraphina and Celeste are barely a year apart due to how quickly Soarynn got pregnant after giving birth to Ceraphina. She was far too young to understand what was going on around her before her little sister arrived.

"Ceraphina darling, come sit down," Soarynn says, patting the empty seat next to her. Ceraphina does as she's told and sits down next to Soarynn with Celeste to her left. Coriolanus looks to his right where Festus is sitting and then Persephone and a struggling Cecil who's determined to sit in his mother's lap.

Festus shake his head at the sight, "He's a bit of a slow learner."

Coriolanus is glad that Caspian is a quiet toddler who doesn't ever put up much of a fuss. He looks very content in Soarynn's lap, his head resting on her chest. Soarynn dressed him in a little green suit and even slicked back his curls the same way Coriolanus does to his own curls.

The lights finally dim and a hush falls over the room. The girls whisper to each other, on the edge of their seats for the show to start. "Here are your drinks," an attendant says quietly from behind them. Coriolanus turns and gladly takes both glasses of bourbon and hands on to Festus who grins, "To a happy holiday," Festus whispers. Coriolanus taps his glass against his, "And to many more," he whispers back.

He looks at Soarynn who seems so content with this life they've created, Caspian in her lap while she holds Ceraphina's hand.

Yes, he decides, bringing the glass to his lips, to many more moments like this.

꧁ ꧂

The girls chatter about the ballet the whole time during dinner as if everyone wasn't just there to witness it.

But Coriolanus doesn't mind, he's simply pleased with their good behavior and proper manners. Caspian has behaved exceptionally well tonight too, not putting up any fuss despite staying up past his bedtime. Both little boys are sitting in their parent's laps, keeping themselves occupied by playing with the napkins.

"I honestly can't wait for him to start going to school," Festus admits, running a hand over Cecil's curls. With Persephone carrying a child already, Cecil landed in his father's lap and it's quite amusing to see Festus Creed with a child in his lap, especially after seeing him make a fool of himself when they were younger.

Coriolanus thinks back to his own days at the Academy, he was a stellar student and that's where he met Soarynn. She was in his art class and he was tragically doomed when it came to being creative. Soarynn had so sweetly offered to help and Coriolanus was also tragically doomed to fall in love with her. He asked her out on a date and the rest was history.

He wishes he could go back in time and tell his younger self that everything worked out in the end, they married the girl, had three children, and were more successful than ever.

"I like school," Ceraphina chimes in, finally talking about something else rather than the ballet. Soarynn nods and smiles, "Yes you do darling, and next year Celeste will join you."

Celeste perks up at the mention of her attending the Academy next year. The Academy is the most prestigious school in the Capitol. If you want your children to have a successful future then you'll pay the whopping tuition and send them there for the next twelve years or so.

The Snows will obviously be sending all three of their children there but Coriolanus knows how much Soarynn will miss her days filled with arts and crafts and reading stories. No wonder she wants another baby.

"Tuition has gone up hasn't it?" Persephone asks and Coriolanus grunts, reaching for his glass of wine if he's going to have to talk about money, "It certainly has," he confirms, "it goes up every year."

Soarynn places her hand on top of his, giving it a squeeze, "But we're paying for a proper education for all three of our children," she sweetly reminds him. She has a point but it doesn't change the fact that Coriolanus will at some point be paying for three tuitions, not to mention sports, extracurricular activities, uniforms, and who knows what else. And they always make donations on top of that.

Soarynn has always insisted on donating to the school, as if they don't already run him dry but he supposes that it sounds like a great idea when she's not the one working every day.

"I can get a job to help," Ceraphina quickly offers, "I'm good at counting." All the adults chuckle at her naive way of thinking, so innocent and sweet, "That won't be necessary darling," Coriolanus assures her, "we can afford all the tuitions in the world."

Persephone changes the topic to a possible trip to District Four but Coriolanus keeps his focus on Soarynn who's holding a now-sleeping Caspian in her lap. He might make jokes about being the sole breadwinner in their family but after all she's given him, he wouldn't have it any other way.

Soarynn has given him something that money could never buy. She gave him a family, a legacy, a purpose.

If she were a gift then she'd be priceless.

꧁ ꧂

"Let's put the cookies over here girls."

Coriolanus watches Soarynn and the girls carry a plate of cookies into the living room where their Christmas tree is, getting ready for Santa to visit their penthouse.

"Will Santa be able to get in our apartment?" Celeste asks, sticking her head into their fireplace that Coriolanus hasn't used in about ten years. Soarynn decorated it with stockings and garlands but Celeste looks skeptical about how Santa will be getting into their penthouse tonight.

"Of course, he will," Coriolanus answers, "Santa finds a way to get into everyone's house."

There are many things that one can never prepare for when becoming a parent but Coriolanus was never prepared for Santa. It started when Ceraphina was two and actually was able to grasp the concept of Christmas and Santa and they've kept it up ever since.

"Now we leave these here for Santa to eat when he comes later tonight," Soarynn explains to the children, "then in the morning, we can wake up and open our presents." Caspian bounces on his toes, gripping the coffee table for support, "Santa comes now!"

Soarynn grins and pushes the plate in the middle of the table, "He only comes once you're sleeping Cas," she reminds their son, "so we all have to go to sleep now."

Coriolanus knows that the girls won't be able to sleep a wink tonight but Caspian can sleep through anything, a trait he inherited from his mother. The Capitol could be bombed and Soarynn would still sleep through it.

Coriolanus on the other hand wakes up at the slightest noise. Soarynn teases him about it all the time, claiming that he's paranoid but he sees it as being protective. He would never forgive himself if something were to happen to any of his children while he was asleep.

"Yes, let's go to bed," Coriolanus says, holding a hand out to Celeste who gingerly takes it, glancing back at their twinkling Christmas tree. The children love getting to decorate it and Soarynn always does such a good job at decorating their entire apartment.

They all make their way to the children's respective bedrooms and the girls manage to swindle Coriolanus into letting them sleep together. "It's so we can sleep better," Ceraphina explains, climbing into her canopy bed. Celeste nods and grunts, having to use a little more effort to climb onto the bed, "Yep, we've gotta sleep together 'cause we'll fall asleep quicker Daddy."

Coriolanus gives her a boost and a knowing look, "Really? Well, Santa will know if you're not asleep," he reminds them, "and he won't come unless everyone is sleeping."

The girls get under the covers and look up at him with wide eyes, hanging onto his every word, "We'll go to sleep," Celeste promises, "and then we'll come wake you and Mommy up in the morning!"

Coriolanus does his best to look excited about the early wakeup call he'll be getting at the crack of dawn from his children. The girls normally sleep until either he or Soarynn wakes them up but Christmas calls for a special occasion.

"We'll be looking forward to that. Now close your eyes and go to sleep hmm?"

Coriolanus leans down, pressing a kiss to each of their foreheads the way he does every night, "Goodnight Daddy."

Coriolanus smiles, smoothing down Ceraphina's hair, "Goodnight my princesses, I'll see you in the morning."

After making sure that they're all tucked in, Coriolanus quietly pads to the doors and turns off the light, looking back to make sure that they're actually asleep and not pretending. He fell for that before and he's never going to fall for it again.

Soarynn appears in the doorway just as he's about to leave and she peeks into their room, a fond look in her eyes, "Goodnight girls," she whispers, blowing them a kiss, "we'll see you in the morning."

Coriolanus wraps an arm around her waist and leads them out into the hallway, closing the doors behind them, "Caspian is asleep?" He asks while nuzzling her cheek with his nose, making her giggle, "Yes," she says, wrapping her arms around his neck, "not a creature is stirring except for us."

Coriolanus slides his other hand down her dress, stopping when he reaches the small of her waist, "You know, we could be really naughty tonight," he whispers, kissing her cheek. Soarynn leans into his touch, fully trusting him to hold her, "But we've been so good this year," she counters, teasing him while scratching the back of his neck.

Coriolanus groans, she's always known his weak spots and is so pesky when she takes advantage of them

"Santa won't mind," he promises, moving his lips to her soft ones, kissing her deeply. Soarynn instantly responds to his touch and moans when his hand slides a little further down, squeezing her ass, "Our bedroom," she whispers urgently and Coriolanus is happy to take her to their sacred space.

Most nights that end like this are considered perfect in his mind. But this night is more special than most.

It's the night before Christmas.

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[intothemultifandom]

Auld Lang Syne || Chapter Two

<< Previous Chapter

Chapter Two

"Don't tell Ms. Park."

Gyeong-Su watches you rummage through the drawers in the infirmary, torn between confusion and an odd sense of fascination as you swipe bandages, creams and other loose items into your bag.

"Assuming whatever is wrong with Hyeon-Ju can't be spread, I'll return everything to Ms. Kim later and apologise. And I'll take complete responsibility if anyone asks," you explain in a hushed voice.

"Not that I'm hoping things will go bad, but I think it'd be good to have some supplies on hand just in case, you know?"

Gyeong-Su bites down his grin when you look over your shoulder with an almost sheepish expression. As if suddenly struck by your nervous rambling.

Your cheeks are flushed, and your nose is crinkled and everything happening is so unlike you but still so cute that Gyeong-Su reminds himself to thank Bare-Su for shoving him after you when he did. Even if he's now involved in whatever this is.

Truth be told, if it were anyone else raiding the infirmary just now, Gyeong-Su would've intervened right away. Told them to stop what they were doing before alerting Ms. Park or Ms. Kim once she was back, but it's you.

You wouldn't be Vice President if you didn't have everyones' best interest at heart and didn't think things through.

And if what happened this morning with Hyeon-Ju has you rattled enough to gather some supplies for your class, just in case, than who is Gyeong-Su to stop you?

You said you'd return it later anyway and apologise to both the school nurse and your homeroom teacher, and maybe Gyeong-Su's a little biased, but you're not exactly the deceitful type.

Besides being smart and sensible, you're honest, kind and so very pret–

"–Don't worry VP., your secret is safe with me," he says finally, saddling up to your side and, daringly, plucking the tube of anti-sceptic cream from your hand to shove into his pocket. A show of camaraderie in this odd endeavour of yours.

"Still never thought I'd catch you stealing from school, though," he can't help but tease. "How scandalous."

Ms. Kim wasn't in here when you arrived, and neither was Hyeon-Ju.

You'd seen her loaded into the back of an ambulance, Ms. Kim likely helping her. So call it a split second decision, but you figured now was as good a time as any to get some supplies while you had the chance.

You were just lucky Gyeong-Su, somehow following after you, was the kind of person to trust first and then ask questions later.

"Is it stealing when I said I'd return it later?" you retaliate, lip beginning to curl.

"And since you're here, hiding some cream in your pocket, doesn't that make you an accomplice? If I'm stealing, what are you doing, huh?"

Gyeong-su swallows down the laughter that catches in his chest, surprised by the teasing lilt in your tone.

He doesn't argue back, though.

He's too fixated by the small, relieved, smile you flash his way as you resume your search.

When you slide back into your seat, Nam-Ra doesn't point out that you've come back with no cleaning supplies nor does she comment about how much heavier your bag is when you hook it back onto your side.

Instead, your very kind and very merciful Class President arches a brow that says I hope you know what you're doing before she turns back to her work, deciding not to bother.

It's expected of her, really, and for the first time since you've set out to befriend her, you're glad for it.

Because you're not sure how to explain what you did in the infirmary.

On the other side of the room, your accomplice doesn't say anything about the first aid supplies in your bag and in his pockets either when he settles back into his seat.

Gyeong-Su doesn't even tell Cheong-San, whose eyes flit between the two of you with an almost delighted glint in them which you firmly ignore, thinking over the risky gamble you just took.

You hope, if the supplies aren't necessary after all that you can apologise to your homeroom teacher and the school nurse in private.

Because if someone like Joon-Yeong or Dae-Su found out what you'd done, caught a whiff of the irrational fear behind your actions than you wouldn't hear the end of it.

You may be our Vice-President, you can imagine Joon-Yeong chiding you. But this is ridiculous!

Fortunately for you, Ms. Park isn't in class when you return so there was no need to explain where you'd gone off too.

In fact, when she returns (which is a lot later than you were expecting), she doesn't question why everyone is huddled in the groups that they're in or why most of the class is congregated around I-Sak.

If anything, she's more focused on grabbing the locked box containing all your phones, something not everyone notices.

"Can I have my phone back?" Na-Yeon asks, eyes beginning to narrow as she picks at her chipped nail polish.

Immediately, all eyes are back on her, but Ms. Park wouldn't be a teacher if she didn't know how to remain undaunted by the weight of your stares because she presses her lips into a thin line, clutching the box even tighter.

"I'll be deciding on whether to return your phones after lunch," she says finally, after a moment.

"I'll be meeting with the rest of the faculty to discuss what's happened, but given the delicate nature of this morning–it would be best for the school to address this situation first before I give you back your phones. This is so you don't prematurely give out the wrong information."

You understand her reasoning, of course, but you don't like it. And judging from the frowns from a few others, you're not the only one. But Ms. Park is the teacher, so what else can you do?

Slowly, your eyes drift from your teacher back over to Gyeong-Su who seems to be ignoring an inquisitive Cheong-San, and you find that if there's any consolation, it's that you don't have to hand in the supplies you're both carrying just yet.

Of course, it seems your luck has run its course because just when he turns back to meet your gaze, eyes sparkling in that see? I haven't told kinda way, Ms. Park calls out to you and Dae-Su as the bell begins to the ring.

"Can you two find something to clean up Hyeon-Ju's blood, please?" she asks, turning out the door before you can object.

Nam-Ra laughs lowly by your side as you splutter, because she's sadistic like that. In fact, you take what you said earlier back. Your Class President isn't kind or merciful. And you hope she can read it just as well on your face as you flick her ear when you pass her by.

Dae-Su waves you over to his table with a grin as you join him, laughing at the sour face you're making before you leave together.

And going on this unplanned excursion would've been fine, you think, if not for the fact that by the time you and Dae-Su do find the nearest custodian closet, that's when the screaming starts.

[pandorasfavorite]

Maneater Part 3

AN: yall its finals week so its gonna be hard to post for a bit

You should've made him beg longer, but Dominik was getting ahold of you. No matter how hard you tried to stay away from him; he only drew you in further. So you joined the Judgement Day after weeks of him asking and pleading with you. The final blow was Dominik sinking to his knees with his wide eyes, begging you to join him.

Though now you had to cope with other people telling you what to do for the group. That is what you would hate most; you are independent and no one is supposed to hold any power over you. A man most of all, but Dominik is climbing that ladder quickly. So as you both are walking down the hallway you once again remind yourself to not let him win so easily; in other words, 'don't let Dominik get too close'. You were stuck in your own head; unintentionally ignoring Dominik, but you guessed that played to your advantage anyway because he was huffing and annoyed at your silence.

His fingers just barely brush over yours and you stop walking to look at him. Your look is so intense and fiery, Dominik all of a sudden felt stuck in his spot just barely choking out a feeble, "You look good". You feel your lips twitch into a smile, but any other time you wouldn't be impressed with the weak compliment. "That's all you had to tell me?", you put a hand on your hip while giving him that unimpressed look he has grown to hate. Nonetheless, he smiles and looks down at you; quick to give you a witty comeback, "You wouldn't want to hear everything I'm thinking" he looks you up and down. You scrunch your nose in distaste at his admission...you could listen to him talk for hours.

You shove a finger into his chest and you look up at him angrily, "Making decisions for me already?". He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip and tries to not make his racing heart rate obvious, "You'd hate that wouldn't you?". You grab his face to pull him down closer to you; wanting to look him in the eye, "More than anything baby". You had let go of him but he still hovered near. Dominik's face went up in flames but he wiped a hand down his mouth and stopped before you could see the smile. He tried to play it cool and give you a serious look; you blew him a kiss. He dropped the straight face and smiled, a laugh fell from his mouth all the same.

"Alright, love birds keep moving!" someone you didn't care to look at yelled at you both. You shrugged and moved on; walking forward with Dominik a step behind you. The Judgement Day walked out towards the ring. You stood behind Dominik with a hood covering your face, with new all-black and purple gear on for the occasion. You heard the boom of questions in the crowd, most people guessing wrong, but the loyal fans knew it was you by the shiny black and pink high boots. Though getting in the ring was the best, Dominik stood an inch behind you; just barely brushing against you.

And when the spotlights were on you, you finally felt the feeling of power. Dominik took off your hood and the screams of fans could be heard from miles away from the stadium. Spotlights were directly on you just like everyone's attention, you know you looked good the cheers only made it better. You felt as if you were on the highest pedestal. As if Dominik could feel the pride radiating off of you, he rested his chin on the side of your shoulder from behind you. "You like that Hermosa?', he whispered just for you to hear, his breath feeling like ice on your skin. "More than anything baby", you said again and Dominik's smile against your skin was the most memorable moment of the night. Well apart from being the main pin point of everyone's attention.

After your 3 minutes of fame, a bitch had to ruin it; like bitches do. Santo Escobar's group came out to congratulate The Judgement Day for whatever reason, to you it seemed like something way different. But what really pissed you off was that Elektra Lopez skipped over you and went straight over to Dominik, laying a hand on his chest and giving him a cheesy smile. Dominik just watched her, but his eyes flickered over to your angry ones. One thing a maneater is would be possessive. Not a great trait but one you have, either way, Dominik was your's the moment he got on his knees and begged for you. Your hands shook and a smile graced your face at the violent thought. You stormed over to her Dominik's eyes shot open like you were going to murder him instead.

You grabbed Elektra by the back of her gear, and she started to put her hands behind her back to stop you. You didn't hit her but you slung her back, her ass hit the floor and she looked up at you with shock. "Touch him again I dare you bitch", you put your hands down on your knees and got down on her level. She flipped her hair dramatically, "I didn't know". You shrugged and flipped your hair more obnoxiously, "Now you do". You walked towards Dominik and grabbed him by the collar of his black gear. Finn was sitting on the ropes already knowing you were going to drag Dominik away. You pull Dominik with you and you both go under the ropes and backstage.

[suhjihanma]

Burn with you.

Pairing: College!AU Gojo Satoru / Female Reader Content Warning: Use of marijuana, slight mentions use of unscripted drugs, pussy eating, altered-state of reader, characters under the influence, drug intoxication, light OOC moments, light dubious content, mentions of drug sneaking, name-calling. Author's Note: Happy 4/20 to everyone (I'm almost open to 4/20 thirsts in my inbox). I'm high right now, and I literally done this writing piece while blasted so, apologies if some sentences have grammar mistakes. I know this is not the best but, I hope you guys like it. Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated. Minors, age-less blogs do not interact. Thank you.

The drowning of your senses could feed on your ignorance. A body heightened in a relaxed state would be the least of your worries, then again sometimes those worries get the best of you. 

The beams of the sunset had plastered around the living room as an exhale left your slightly quivering lips. Droplets of perspired sweat rolled down your temples as you squirmed away from a familiar force. This was the same force that had relentlessly taken over every orgasm in your body.  The whispering pleas fall on deaf ears as you forcefully grip his hair, urging the man to break away from the minuscule stream that overflows underneath your shaking thighs. 

You wanted him to stop. Rather, you would like to share a bowl with him and discuss the endless matters of the world, yet this man wanted to pique his interest in something else. A familiar taste known for the male palate. Secretions made up of lust, along with other emotions that formed you, drove a man like Satoru towards the point of insanity. Losing the sense of oneself while lost between a woman’s thighs was more than enough to make Satoru slowly grunt in frustration, making a gurgled cry come from your moaning lips. 

Damn him, to use his vocal sounds for an advantage. College-aged men like Satoru were known to use cunning motives in making women fall to their knees. Even more so when offering weed to this simple, yet complex equation. Nothing was wrong with using a harmless drug in leisure, yet woman’s intuition made its presence known, scolding your impulses of horniness, damning you by releasing soft banters as another orgasm cruises towards its peak.

Fuck, his tongue felt like absolute heaven.

“Does smoking weed make you get more wet?” Satoru grunted out a question before the tip of his tongue traced along the outside of your puffed clitoris. “Maybe I should sneak some droplets in between.” Satoru laughed at himself before swiping his tongue around the dampened entrance. 

“Just kidding.” 

The rough hands that were once mysteriously restraining your soft arms now found themselves caressing thighs covered in sweat. The roughness of his hands sent you almost to the edge as you begged him not to tease you, out of mercy with wanting the release that ached deep within your core. 

“I asked you a question, so I want you to make out an answer.” His front teeth slightly traced again over the sensitive organ as you cried out in frustration. For what reason the frustration came out, a mind doped in euphoria couldn’t comprehend. 

“Are you that stupid, or too high?”

You tried to voice out an answer out of anger until Satoru talked over your pleading. “Then again, with how many times you hit the blunt earlier, I might not expect you to make a full sentence.” An airy laugh came from his chest as he caressed your thighs, feeling the thickness that were grasped inside the palm of his hands. Another whimper of annoyance escaped agape lips as you looked over Satoru with furrowed eyebrows. Eyes glistening with the decorations of snow now pierced your soul, a shade of a familiar pink danced carefully around both eyes of sclera.  His attention with you never went away. The fixation of drowning deep in your pussy while elevated on drugs merely became a fantasy shifted towards reality. Thoughts and sounds didn’t make any sense, but the suckling, wet sounds grew to sound more appeasing.

Every nerve in your body was singing for bliss, yet they became overwhelmed with Satoru’s endless rambling, continuing his lapping across salted lips.

“Then again, your pussy always tastes better high.”

[anemoarchonhoe]

Commissioned by @udretlnea

Request: I'm thinking slice of life, second person, and it takes place in Mondstadt. The reader is well known and liked by practically everyone; they are currently there to observe the Alchemy Event going on right now- This is just set-up. I imagine Venti is there waiting w/ Diona for their potion order; then he sees Reader and he gets intrigued so he surprises them. The two walk out of earshot and have a pleasant chat about what's been going on- Since the fic is only 1k, I'd prefer to keep it short between them. Reader mentions how they're adjusting to their role as "Overseer of Teyvat" (implying this is a Creator!Sagau); they offhandedly mention how Khaenri'ah's been working on dimension hopping tech before Diona drags Venti away. And the fic ends with Reader feeling uneasy about opening Teyvat up, but they choose to ignore it to go and experience the event.

Thanks for commissioning me!

It is convenient; the fact that you obtained godlike power as soon as you stepped foot unto the soil of Teyvat. It had been a tremendous help in navigating these new lands you'd been transmigrated into and made life easier. Just like this time. It didn't really take long until you reached the venue where the Alchemy Event organized by the Knights of Favonius is, all due to your ability to teleport long distances. You shook your head to get out of your musings and began to look around your surroundings.

It was a modest event focused solely on alchemy. Unfamiliar faces from both Mondstadt and outside of it flocked the booths, tents and stands full of test tubes and questionably multicolored smoke to see what was happening. It soothes you to be normal for a few minutes… until people noticed you standing amongst them and bowed in your presence. The scene made you squirm a little where you stand, not totally uncomfortable but still unused to the attention. You raised a hand, as if blessing them, nodding your head to signal that they can resume the event. Which they do, but some approached you to either ask for a blessing, for guidance in their life's path, or simply to greet you. You are liked, perhaps not as loved as the archons despite ranking higher, but you prefer it that way. It's less expectations, after all.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the Overseer of the world."

"Heya, Your Grace!"

You carefully made your way past the crowd to reach the two people who called out your name. You smiled in relief; finally, people you know! Venti was looking at you with a bright smile with both hands on his hips and Diona is enthusiastically waving at you. You pat Diona, which the bartender swiped at with a playful hiss.

"Venti, Diona, hi!" You greeted them. "What a surprise to see you here. This is the last place I imagined you to hang around in."

"I understand you for thinking that way, but curiosity had gotten the best of me." Venti answered, and then assumed a serious thinking pose. You rolled your eyes playfully with a thinly veiled smile. He's going to ask something ridiculous, isn't he? "If alchemy has the power to transform matter, I wonder if it could also be used to turn water into wine?"

There it is. Diona fumed, but you cover her mouth with your hand and answered. "I could turn water into wine. Easy."

Venti's eyes widened. His smile as bright as the sun above. "Really?!"

"No." You're not sure. You probably could, if you tried.

"My hopes and dreams…" Venti fake-cried and pouted, but he immediately gets over it and smiles. "Anyway, what brought you here, Overseer?" He gestures for you to walk with him, so you follow, steps falling in line with his.

"Oh, you know," you vaguely wave your hand, trying to make sense of what you were feeling. "Just looking around. I got curious myself about alchemy so I came."

"Ah, I see," Venti nodded. You mentioned to him and the other archons on one of the traditional divine get togethers — brought back by Venti and Zhongli — that your world once studied alchemy. Turns out your alchemy is a sham and couldn't turn stuff to gold, but it did make way for the study of chemistry. "I hope you are enjoying yourself."

"Don't worry, I am. Especially since I'm with you."

Venti gave you a soft look."Aww. I'm honored, truly."

You laughed and gave him a push, your cheeks feeling a little warm from the attention. He snorted and retaliated by send a gentle breeze your way to mess your hair.

A companionable silence briefly falls over the two of you like a cozy blanket as you sit down on a bench with the perfect view of the event. A tiny explosion from some failed alchemical experiment echoed somewhere and you thought you heard the Traveler's surprised yelp and Paimon screeching from the same direction. You both ignored it.

"You seem busy these days, Overseer," The Anemo Archon finally broke the silence. "What have you been up to?"

"The usual. Making sure the Irminsul is healthy through checking with Nahida, keeping the Abyss Order in check, rebuilding Khaenri'ah- ah, since we're talking about the place, I should also mention that they're working on some advanced technology. Something about travelling through another dimension."

Venti nodded, but his face looks a little troubled. "Are you sure that's a great idea? With Celestia gone, there's nothing that can stop Khaenri'ah from fulfilling their dreams. However…"

There's just way too many risks. You can hear his unspoken words in your head. As far as you are aware, they're "digging" through time and space to get to the world where you came from. While interdimensional trade can certainly be advantageous for this world in both technological advancement and knowledge, you're afraid of the repercussions of messing around with wormholes and potential war that can erupt due to disputes borne of different culture and lust for more territory.

Humans are greedy creatures, after all.

But before you could answer, Diona is already running towards where you were both seated. She pants and places both hands on her knees. The girl huffs one last time and looks at the green-clad bard, irritated. "Where in Teyvat have you been?! Your potion is complete so come get it already!"

"Okay," he replied, standing up. "I hate to cut this conversation short, dear friend, but I must leave. I hope you enjoy the rest of the event."

You nodded with a tired smile, watching Venti follow Diona, who's doing her best to keep walking ahead of the bard in spite of her shorter legs. You feel a little uneasy about the future, your heart being seized with fear for this world you swore to protect.

For now, however, you want to enjoy this peaceful day. Perhaps you'll go greet the Traveller.

Word count: 1,000

Character count: 5,692

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

i have a request! can u write a fic where r just feels like crap like she has no motivation to do any work or study for uni and maybe steve just helps her out? ly <33

i’ve been in these similar situations where depression or a funk is soooooo bad i just rotted in bed in the dark. if you’re ever feeling alone you could always come into my inbox/dms to talk.

steve harrington x gn!reader

masterlist

everything feels drab. draining. grey. there’s not an ounce of energy in your body to even lift your head from your pillow. the little shimmers of light filtering through your shut blinds felt blinding on your heavy eyes.

work sucks, taking every single piece of your soul everyday. school is stressful, having a breakdown after a three hour study session in the library. you want to drop out, you want to be unemployed- you just want to barely exist.

there was a gentle knock on your bedroom door, you couldn’t even mange a simple hum or “come in”, you just stayed silent. a faint creak of hinges signaled that your guest was peeking into your room.

“honey?” it was steve. his tone was soft, not wanting to disturb, “you awake?” you just did a light shuffle, moving your head from under your blanket. a nonverbal invitation to enter further.

steve closed the door behind him and made his way to your curled in side, the bed dipping with his weight. his palm rested on your covered hip, a comforting back and forth swiping. “how we feeling today?” a question steve asked when you were in a funk.

left cheek pressed into your pillow caused your lips to pucker and butcher your answer. steve leans in closer, asking for you to repeat yourself. even that felt like too much work.

“empty.” the one word pushed from your mouth, heavy on your tongue. eyes staring a hole into your wall, smile and laughing faces mocking you.

steve rubbed a line over your hip, “okay.” said in a tone a sad mother uses on their kid. you felt like you just disappointed steve. it’s not like you want to be down, it just happens and is a bitch to deal with.

a blur started to cover your sight, “i’m sorry.” throat getting choked by the oncoming tears. you wanted to bury yourself away.

“hey, no, no. it’s okay to feel this way. everyone feels this way at times.” hand leaving your hip to caress at your cheek, wiping away the few tears beginning to drop.

“it’s- it’s different.” “i now.” you both know that’s not the whole truth.

steve tucked a few greasy hair strands behind your ear, “why don’t we get a bath? feeling clean is always a nice step for a better mind. i could change your bedding as well, also make a snack to eat. what you say?” his thumb a simple weight on your cheek, his fingers pressing lightly into your neck.

a bath does sound nice. you were starting to feel the oil clogging your pores and you had a inkling that your room was starting to develop a smell that you were ignoring. you know what they say, a clean space helps a clean mind, or something like that.

“that… that sounds nice.” making eye contact with steve for the first time today.

his smile was beautiful. “okay, i’ll get it ready then come back.” before leaving he pressed a love filled kiss to your forehead and another before walking to the bathroom down the hall.

less than five minutes later steve reappears in your doorframe, a new glow following him. “your bath, ma’lady.” standing before you with a hand stretched out in waiting.

“will you stay with me?” pushing your comforter away and swinging your feet to the floor. steve took your hand, holding you delicately like glass. “for a little. i gotta do my other stuff. i can wash your hair if you want.”

“please?” already feeling your shoulders loosen at the feel of steve’s fingers messaging your scalp. he smiled, sickly sweet before presenting a kiss into your crown, “anything for you.”

[sastielsfandom]

Sam leaned on the Impala, opening a piece of gum and popping it into his mouth, squinting at the sun. Castiel was watching him carefully, "What is that?"

"Gum," Sam said, taking another stick out, "want a piece?"

"It's not food, is it?" Castiel questioned, taking the wrapped stick of gum, smelling it and frowning. 

"Not quite." Sam said, laughing through his nose, "You just chew it."

Castiel opened it, tilting his head, continuing his inspection, "And then what?"

"And then you spit it out when you're done with it." Sam said, and waited for Castiel to try it, but the angel was more focused on the wrapper than the gum.

"Here," Sam said, taking it out of the wrapper, tucking that bit into Castiel's trench coat, "just try it."

Castiel slowly brought it to their mouth, and mimicked Sam by throwing it into their mouth. Just as quickly as it went it, it went out, landing on the ground, "That was disgusting."

Sam tried to refrain from laughing, instead cleared his throat, "Um, most people chew it before they get to that part, and I guess I should've specified you throw it away in the trash. Not the floor."

"Do you like your gum?" Castiel asked, watching Sam chew. 

Sam raised an eyebrow and shrugged, "Yeah, I guess-" Castiel pulled Sam down into a kiss, swiping the gum from his mouth, and chewed it just as Sam did. 

"I prefer the gum like this," Castiel said, nodding, looking at the gum that had landed on the floor, "not like that."

Sam's face was beyond red, he rubbed the back of his neck, and turned the other way, "Um, yeah, uh, if you chewed it enough, it would've done the same thing."

Castiel frowned at Sam's reaction, "Do you want it back?"

"You keep it, Cas." Sam reassured, and relieved as Dean came out of the gas station, even though he was waving around beef jerky, again. 

---------

Sam had just returned from the convenience store, two bags full of everyone's weird lists, Dean had taken both bags out of Sam's hands, digging into them, "Sam, you just got gum,  have you been chewing your toenails again?"

"No, is that something you do often, Dean?" Sam shot back, as Dean tossed it to him, Sam tossed it to Castiel. 

Castiel smiled, holding it to their chest, "Thank you."

"Why'd you get Cas gum?" Dean asked, rummaging through the bag that was most likely Sam's, but he was intrigued, "That's the benefit of having an angel around, no extra expenses."

"It came from my money, not yours, so shut up." Sam said, taking the bag back and shoving Dean's towards him. Bobby already got his stuff, because Sam knew Dean. And so did Bobby. 

"Bobby!" Dean called in a whiny tone. 

Bobby wanted to ignore him, but that tone told him to just answer, "What?"

"Sam told me to shut up!" Bobby rolled his eyes, "So why are you still yapping?" He got no answer, and was quite satisfied with that. 

Dean turned to face a smug Sam, and shook his head, and pointed at him, "Wow, just turning them all against me, Sammy."

"Uh-huh, clearly that's what I'm doing." Sam said.

"It is," Dean said, nodding, and Sam could see his brain turning, "it's your masterplan."

"Yeah, you got me," Sam shrugged, "I'm sure when Dad said to watch out for me this is what he meant. Do we wait until I give him a lollipop and then bring out the shotgun or is this crime enough?"

"That's not funny," Dean said, which made Sam laugh, "It's a little funny."

"What's a lollipop?" Castiel asked, and before Sam could answer Dean jumped in, "Do not give Castiel lollipops."

"I won't." Sam said, unconvincingly, but Dean took his bag, and did the universal, I'm watching you sign, which Sam ignored as he waited for him to walk away fully. 

Once he disappeared around the corner, Sam pulled out a bag that may or may have not nothing but lollipops... Just as he handed it to Castiel, Dean popped back out, "A big bag, really?"

Sam tried looking empathetic but his mischief shone right through, "So is it my gun or yours?"

"Sam!" Dean shouted, and the two were off running, Sam laughing loudly as he ran outside. 

Bobby walked in, hearing the chaos existing the house, "Do I want to know?" He asked Castiel. 

Castiel had no idea if Bobby did, but decided to answer anyway, "Sam gave me gum and lollipops, Dean disapproves, and now Sam is asking if Dean should kill him. I can't tell if it's a yes or no."

Bobby looked outside and back at the angel and the bag he was currently holding, "They'll tire themselves out. What flavors you got?" Castiel lifted up the bag and Bobby grabbed the treats before he went outside to watch the show. Might as well get some entertainment out of it.

[farity]

Obsession, part 5

"Leaving is easy," she said harshly, her voice shaky with anger.

He searched for something, anything, to show her that he not only wanted her, but that he wanted more. "Ask me anything," he said, finally.

She pulled back at that, "and?" she asked.

"I will tell you anything you wish to know," he replied, "unless that knowledge puts someone in danger."

She gave him a look, swiping a hand across her cheek, where the tear had left its track. "Isn't that just about everything to do with your family?"

He could only look at her, and she took a breath, closing her eyes for a second. "Fine. Who cut your face?"

Straight to the heart of things, he thought, and nodded. He could do this. He could relive the hell that had taken his eye and damned him to everyone. "My nephew, Luke."

Her eyes went wide. "What the fuck?"

"It's a long story." Thank the Seven for small favors.

She scrutinized him for a moment, weighing and considering, before she stepped back. "Then get comfortable, and I'll get some wine."

* * * * *

Aemond was offering honesty and you prized that. You'd push him, seeing how far his loyalty to the family went versus his attraction to you. And then you'd see.

You took a sip of the red wine you usually kept on hand and opened a package of striped fudge cookies. Wine and chocolate. Nothing better for a heart to heart.

"My father was married before. His first wife had a daughter, Rhaenyra, but he wanted a son."

Of course he did.

He was sitting on the sofa, facing you at the other end, where you'd draped one of the throws you kept around over your legs. "She lost a couple of pregnancies and then finally got pregnant with a boy. Then she died during birth, and the baby died a day later."

You couldn't help but close your eyes. "That's awful."

He nodded. "Mom had the four of us, but-"

"Four?"

"My brother Daeron is the youngest, he is studying near my mom's family so he lives with them for now."

He'd asked her for some water along with the wine she'd poured for both of them, and drank some. "Anyway, Rhaenyra always did as she wanted, while we had to go by the rules. She married the guy dad chose for her, but then had three kids who all suspiciously looked like her bodyguard."

Bitterness had started to peek through in his posture, his voice, the tension in his shoulders. You knew this wasn't getting any better any time soon.

"Dad decided she'd take over for him when he retired, and thought throwing her kids in with us would make us all like each other."

He pressed his lips together, shook his head. "It didn't work. They hated us, we hated them. Dad thought he'd just ignore everything. Until one day there was a fight, like many before, but this time, Luke had a knife."

"How old were you?"

"I was ten."

You looked at him, "and Luke?"

"Seven, eight?"

The kind, empathic part of you wanted to reach out, to touch him. Like you wanted to befriend Helaena. But you kept your hands where they were and listened.

"I called them bastards," Aemond smirked for a moment, "and then Luke slashed my face." He looked down at the couch, at the space between you, as if seeing it happen all over again.

"I am sorry," you whispered. "I can't imagine."

He looked up, and you nearly pushed back at the anger in his gaze. "And nothing was done about it."

"Wait, what do you-"

"Luke wasn't punished. In fact Rhaenyra wanted me 'sharply questioned' for saying her kids were bastards."

"But your father-"

"Did nothing." He had leaned forward, one hand on the cushion between you. "My mother tried, demanded one of Luke's eyes be cut out. Father just wanted it all swept under the rug."

Against your better instinct, and tired of the strain of holding back, you closed the distance and wrapped yourself around him. He didn't move, stayed still while you felt the tears begin to fall again.

"Do not pity me."

You pushed away from him. "I don't." You felt rage, incandescent and liquid, flowing freely through you. "I want to murder someone."

"You can't."

You grabbed your wine glass and downed the rest of it in one go. "Why not?"

"Because when I'm done telling the story, you may change your mind."

"Okay, then. Continue."

He drank more of his water. "Years later, I was moving to one of the houses on the property, taking some of my stuff in my truck, and I saw Luke, driving his convertible, top down, not a fucking care in the world."

His eye landed on you and one eyebrow went up. "I started chasing him. Just to scare him. He'd barely gotten his license a few days before, and his mother had bought him the red car of his dreams."

You felt your pulse quicken, anticipating how things were going to end.

"I lost control of the truck during a turn, overcompensated, the truck was loaded with furniture. Luke's little red car didn't have a chance."

Your hands had gone cold, fingertips icy. "Did anyone believe you had lost control of the truck?"

He blinked, as if surprised at your train of thought. "No. Aegon threw me a party. Father raged at me no matter what I said, mother said nothing, never has."

* * * * *

He didn't tell her that in his family, to be called a Kinslayer was the worst kind of insult. He didn't tell her that the only one who had held him when he finally broke down, had been Helaena, who caressed his hair while he wept and told him all about the insects she loved. He'd woken up at dawn with his head still resting on her leg, and she'd fallen asleep sitting against the wall.

"Did he die immediately?"

"Yes."

She looked at him and he felt his heart go still. She was going to tell him to go now, now that she knew, because she could tell that some part of him had wanted Luke dead.

"Too bad."

She poured herself more wine. "I wish he'd suffered. You're not going to drink your wine, are you?" she reached over and grabbed a cookie from the table, bit into it.

When he was finally convinced she didn't quite hate him for everything he'd told her, he spoke again. "It was war for a few months. Several things happened, people were hurt. All because of me."

"Fuck that," she snapped.

"That's how everyone saw it. Things are different now. I got into computers, security, and I became the best."

She grabbed another cookie, snapped it in half, extended one piece to him.

Aemond looked from her face to her hand, and leaned in, taking the cookie from her fingers, then pulling it into his mouth. She placed the other half in her mouth, looking away from him, her face flushed.

After washing it down with some more wine, she looked back at him. "It's like you were set up to end up like this," she mused, then looked around her living room, "I sure hope this place isn't bugged."

"It isn't."

"In that case," she smiled softly, "your dad fucking sucks."

Aemond looked down for a long time. "Thank you for listening."

"I asked the question," she shrugged, "I owed it to you to listen to the answer." She grabbed his untouched glass of wine, downed that as well. "I have one more, if you're willing."

He looked up, "I'll answer as many as I can."

"What does 'calling the banners' mean?"

He couldn't help but smile. She remembered. "It means that you have asked your allies to join you in some kind of enterprise."

"Enterprise."

"An attack, or retribution. Or war."

She tilted her head slightly. "Retribution. For Helaena?"

He nodded, then rubbed his face, mindful of not moving the eye patch. "It has to be done."

"Do you know who it is?"

"Yes."

"Will knowing put me in danger?"

"Not just you."

"Will you be okay?"

He felt a small frisson of delight at her question. "Are you worried for me?"

She blushed and looked away from him, her fingers playing with the edge of the blanket on her lap.

"I know this world isn't for everyone," he added quietly, "but I will not ignore the fact that I want you, or that I know that you want me."

"It's not that easy, Aemond. I don't belong to your-"

"The only people who get to decide if you belong with me, are you and me," he said sharply. "And I've already made my decision."

When she looked up, eyebrows raised, he stood. "But now, I have to go." He rubbed the back of his neck as he walked to the door and she reached him just before he opened the door, her small, cold fingers grabbing his, and he pulled her against him, bringing her hand to his lips. "Your hands are cold," he said, kissing across her knuckles.

"I am."

"What?"

"Worried for you." Her cheeks turned pink again. "I think-"

He stopped listening and wrapped his arms around her, his mouth now on hers, her little gasp letting him slip his tongue in her mouth as he pressed her against the wall next to the door.

He felt her other hand reach up to cup the back of his neck, her short fingernails raking across his skin and he almost moaned because it felt so fucking good. She was kissing him back, her tongue sliding alongside his. He could feel her breasts as she shamelessly pushed them against his chest, could imagine tasting them, scraping his teeth across the tender flesh. He could sink to his knees, pull her leggings down and spread her legs open, and he'd bury his face between her thighs, taste even more precious flesh, make her come on his tongue before he fucked her for hours on her bed.

The stupid vibration on his watch broke him out of his thoughts, and he pushed back. Her mouth was swollen from his kisses, her hands on his arms as she steadied herself.

There was business to take care of, and so he took a deep breath and let go of her. "I have to go," he said again, annoyed that she could push him to lose control like this. "Let me know when you make your decision."

Without waiting for her to reply, he left and closed the door behind him, ignoring her parted lips and flushed cheeks.

* * * * *

I stood against that wall for half an hour because I wasn't quite sure my legs could support me if I tried to walk.

Holy hell, the man can kiss. I'm sure there are other things he's good at, too.

I finally make it back to the sofa and finish off the bottle of wine, stuffing my face with cookies for the next hour.

What kind of father sees his kid get his goddamn eye cut out and does nothing to punish the little shit who did it? I don't trust myself to be nice to Viserys Targaryen if I am ever in the same room with him. And the wife, she's like the Mafia version of Lady Macbeth.

I have no business getting involved with Aemond. Absolutely none. I have my quiet, boring life, my quiet, boring job, my quiet, boring place. And compared to what goes on in his family, it feels like paradise.

The thought of not seeing Aemond again, and I know that if I tell him I've decided I don't want to be with him, he would respect that and I would never, ever see him again, makes my head hurt. So I reach for more cookies and pretend it's just another boring night at home.

* * * * *

"He'll kill me if I tell you."

Aemond leaned in. "Oh no. I'm going to kill you. Your only choice is whether it will be a quick, painless death, or days of being hacked to death, one inch at a time, starting with your feet."

The man, tied to the chair, let out a sob. "I was just studying, and this guy asks me to let him know when she comes in. See if it's the same time, asks me to flirt with her so she'll want to come back. His email is in my phone, the bank app has the deposit info. I didn't touch her or anything."

Aemond smiled gently, "thank you. You have been very helpful." He stood and pulled out a gun as the man screamed for mercy, aimed and sent a bullet through his forehead. There was a red mist as it exited the back of his head.

He'd already found the emails and the financial stuff, although he expected it to lead nowhere. He nodded to the two guys to clean up the place and left with the phone in his gloved hand, ready to go home and work through the night.

* * * * *

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[xtaketwox]

I'm Betting It All On You

Summary: Lucien is tired of living in limbo. He has a proposition for Elain. One kiss and if she still doesn't want him, he'll leave her alone forever.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: None

Read on AO3

@elucienweekofficial

“I have a proposition.”

Elain looked up from the rosebush she was pruning, a basket of flowers at her feet. Her heart—the traitor—sped up at the sound of his voice, the familiar swooping sensation hitting her stomach the moment she looked at him. He took a stepped closer when she held his gaze, and her breath caught as the sunlight glinted off his hair.

“A proposition?” she asked, ignoring her body’s response to her mate.

Lucien took another step towards her, and if she hadn’t seen him clench and unclench his fist, she might have thought he was perfectly at ease. 

“I—we can’t continue to live in limbo like this.” Lucien stopped two feet away, forcing Elain to tilt her head up. “We need to settle our bond, one way or the other.”

She froze, shock beating like a pulse through her body. In the years since the bond had snapped, they had both abided by an unspoken agreement to pretend the bond didn’t exist. Lucien had stopped giving her gifts, had stopped seeking her out at all. Elain didn’t know what prompted his hesitancy to get to know her, and she hadn’t questioned it. Out of all the bad luck their bond had brought her, at least Lucien had felt as disinclined to pursue her as she was to pursue him. She couldn’t fathom what would prompt him to disregard that unspoken agreement now. 

“What are you proposing?” It was all she could think to say, though she was already prepared to turn down whatever suggestion Lucien made. She wasn’t being intentionally cruel by neither accepting nor breaking the bond; she might not want Lucien, but that didn’t mean she wanted to risk him going insane from a broken bond. 

Lucien’s gaze dropped to her lips for a prolonged moment, stealing the breath from her chest.

“We kiss.” 

Whatever Elain had expected him to say, it hadn’t been that. 

“No.”

Lucien sighed, as if she had reacted exactly as he expected. “It will help us decide if we’re even compatible.”

“I already know we are,” Elain said, crossing her arms and looking away. It was Lucien’s turn to be surprised, reeling back as if she had slapped him. “Everyone knows mating bonds manipulate people, making people who don’t even like each other unable to keep their hands to themselves. A kiss between us would do nothing.”

Lucien mirrored her stance, crossing his arms, his lips pressed into a firm line. “If the bond manipulated people, then we wouldn’t have spent years ignoring each other. Your logic is flawed.” He tilted his head, considering her. “Or are you afraid?”

Irritation burned hot in her chest, and by the gleam in his eye, Lucien knew it. She refused to rise to the bait, clasping her hands in front of her. “I’m not afraid. I only know that kissing won’t prove anything.”

Lucien took yet another step toward her, hardly a foot separating them. She tilted her head back further, but her wide-brimmed hat kept her from seeing his eyes. Lucien reached up and pulled the hat from her head, letting it drop into the ground beside them. Elain started to reach for it, but Lucien grasped her wrist to stop her. 

It was all she could do not to shudder at the feel of his skin against the sensitive underside of her wrist. The bob of his throat signaled Lucien was equally affected. When he spoke, his deep voice was hushed.

“If we kiss and you still don’t want anything to do with me, I’ll leave you alone forever.”

Elain’s mouth popped up as she sucked in a breath. She could hear how quickly Lucien’s heart was beating. He was gambling big on a single kiss. 

“Forever?” 

Lucien’s thumb swiped over her wrist, sending goosebumps up her arm. “For as long as you never want to see me, you won’t. I’ll refuse all of Feyre’s holiday invitations, report to Rhysand in the Illyrian Steppes, and you’ll never have to feel me again. You can even reject the bond if you choose.”

The thought of never seeing Lucien again immediately filled Elain with dread, but she forced the feelings down, sure that it was just the bond’s emotional manipulation. She wanted to make decisions about her own life and who she loved. She didn’t want a bond telling her who she was supposed to love. If it were known that she and Lucien had decided to reject their bond, perhaps she could still find love some day. As it stood, the fae held too much respect for mating bonds to agree to courting a mated female. 

Elain lifted her chin. “Very well.”

The corners of Lucien’s mouth drew up in a cheshire grin, prompting Elain to put a hand on his chest to stop his immediate descent. 

“Wait. We need to establish the rules.”

Lucien’s eyebrows rose. “What are you suggesting.”

Elain took a deep breath, immediately regretting it when the scent of spiced apples and cypress nearly overwhelmed her. Her face heated at having to speak so frankly about kissing, but she wanted to make sure Lucien took no liberties. 

“Closed-mouth only and your hands do not stray off my waist.”

Lucien snorted. “No.” At her affronted look, he clarified. “I will keep my hands from straying, but I refuse to agree to nothing more than a chaste kiss.”

“Why?” She stepped back, trying to remove his tantalizing scent from her nose. She needed to keep a clear head.

“A peck on the lips isn’t going to accomplish anything.”

Elain crossed her arms, her suspicions confirmed. “Accomplish? I thought this was purely educational, but it seems you came with an agenda.”

Fire burned behind Lucien’s eye. “Yes, I did. I came to prove to you and me both that we’re meant to be. I’m tired of living my life not knowing if or when this bond will be resolved, and if I’m going to spend the rest of my miserable existence without my mate, then I’m going to at least know what she tastes like.”

Suddenly the sun felt too hot, her clothes too tight. As if he could see the effect his words had on her, Lucien stepped back into her space. “I’ll keep my hands to myself, but if you truly want to convince yourself of your indifference, then you’ll let me kiss you how I’ve been dreaming of it.”

Elain knew he was mocking her, but again, she refused to rise to the bait. Let him think what he wanted. If it accomplished a lifetime free of this bond, then she could ignore her baser urges for a few moments.

“Fine.”

Lucien blinked, clearly not expecting her to agree. 

“If you keep your hands on my waist—”

“Or your face.”

Elain huffed. “What?”

Lucien raised his hand and cupped her jaw, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone. “I want to be able to touch your face.”

Elain’s breath caught, her gut clenching as desire nearly overwhelmed her at his soft touch. 

“Fine,” she rasped. “You keep your hands on my waist or face and I’ll agree to let you kiss me—on the lips—however you want.”

Lucien’s eye gleamed as he nodded, lowering his mouth to hers. “Agreed,” he murmured, just before brushing his lips against hers. 

Elain knew it was a mistake at that first touch. She nearly moaned, her breath catching as warmth spread through her, sending a pulse straight down between her thighs. Lucien used his hand to tilt her head, his other hand grasping her waist to pull her closer as his tongue brushed against the seam of her mouth. Elain opened for him, nearly melting into him at the first swipe of his tongue into her mouth. 

This was nothing like kissing Graysen. There had been love between them, and even a modicum of passion, but it paled in comparison to the raging inferno that now tore through Elain, chanting for her to grab the front of Lucien’s shirt and press herself closer. 

Lucien groaned, the sound vibrating through her, telling her he was just as affected as she was. This knowledge drove her even closer to the brink of insanity and she did fist his shirt and press herself fully against him. Lucien’s hand slid from her jaw into her hair, and Elain was so focused on what his tongue was doing that she didn’t even realize he had already broken the rules. His other hand slid to her lower back as he deepened the kiss, pulling a groan out of Elain. 

She should have realized that a male who had been alive for centuries would know how to kiss. She should have remembered Lucien was known for his cunning. He had known his experience far outweighed hers, had probably known he could sway her with a kiss. 

She should have insisted it remain chaste. 

When Lucien pulled back, Elain whimpered and tried to follow, her eyes widening in horror when she realized what she was doing. Lucien smirked down at her. 

“Well?” His voice was low and gravelly, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Am I spending the rest of my life alone?”

Elain closed her eyes, trying to keep herself from staring at Lucien’s face while she gathered her thoughts. The scent of spiced apples and cypress were heady in her nose, her nostrils flaring with each inhale. She heard two hearts racing and was unable to distinguish hers from his. 

Gods, that had been better than she could have imagined. All she wanted was to keep going, but she didn’t trust herself to know whether she truly wanted it or if the bond was forcing her to feel things. She didn’t want regrets in the morning. 

Without opening her eyes, she whispered, “How do I know it’s real? What if it’s just the bond?”

Lucien’s hand slid back to her jaw, his thumb brushing her lips. “I suppose there isn’t a way, but I think you’re misinformed over how mating bonds work.”

Elain opened her eyes, confused. 

Lucien’s gaze was on her lips as he spoke. “A bond can’t manufacture feelings. It can perhaps push people into feeling sexual attraction, but I think you’re forgetting that the bond is woven into the fabric of who we are. We’ve been mates since before you were born. I had to wait, but the bond was always there. It doesn’t appear out of thin air. Just because it snapped after you were Made, doesn’t mean that’s when it was created.”

Elain could only blink at him as she digested this information. He waited patiently, though his stare grew more heated as time went on. Finally, Elain grasped his wrist, pulling his hand from her face and taking several steps back.

“This isn’t a no, but I would like time to think about what you said and decide what I’m feeling.”

Disappointment and a sadness that tugged at Elain’s heart flashed through Lucien’s face, but he nodded. “Of course.”

He turned to leave, but Elain grabbed his arm to halt him. When he looked back, she said, “I’ll meet you tomorrow at your apartment here in Velaris for dinner.” She phrased it as a statement, but there was a question in her tone.

Lucien nodded, his relief palpable that she wasn’t going to make him wait indefinitely. “Very well.”

Elain dropped his wrist, ignoring her desire to stop him from leaving as she watched him walk away. She would spend the next twenty-four hours thinking about what she wanted, and one way or another, tomorrow things would be settled.

* * *

It took Elain twice as long as it should have to reach Lucien’s apartment the following evening. She had changed her mind halfway there several times and then again on her way back to the river house. 

She had slept very little the night before. Lucien’s words played on a loop in her mind and when she did finally sleep, her dreams had followed that kiss to an erotic conclusion. She had woken both exhausted and body throbbing. It had taken only a few swipes of her fingers for an orgasm to shatter through her. Then she had made sure to scrub every inch of herself thoroughly in the bath, well aware that everyone would be able to scent her arousal. 

Standing in front of Lucien’s door, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and knocked. The door opened immediately, as if he had been waiting right beside it. 

“Hello,” Elain said, nerves making her voice breathy. 

Lucien stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. “Please come in.” 

Elain twisted her fingers together as she stepped through the door into the space. She had never been—though she had always known where Lucien’s apartment was located—and looked around, impressed with the space. She followed Lucien into the living room, the kitchen overlooking the room. It wasn’t large, but it had a cozy feel to it. She couldn’t help but notice the Autumn influences throughout the space, decorated in shades of orange, brown, and green. 

A small table, just big enough for two, stood in the space between the kitchen and living room. There were two place settings and as she noticed them, the scents from the kitchen hit her nose.

“You cook?” Elain asked.

Lucien huffed a laugh. “No. Not well anyway. I picked up something from a restaurant near here. I hope you like fish.” 

It struck Elain then how little they knew about one another. “I love fish.”

Lucien’s shoulders sagged in obvious relief and Elain realized then how nervous he was to have her here. 

“Would you like to talk before or after dinner?”

Elain forced herself to stop fidgeting as she squared her shoulders. “I think it’s best to get it over with.”

Lucien froze, horror dawning on his face. Elain immediately took a step forward, reaching for him. “My answer is yes.”

His mouth parted and he blinked several times at her, as if needing a moment to process. “…yes?”

Elain took yet another step towards him, tilting her chin up. “After you left yesterday, I requested information on mating bonds from Nesta’s friend Gwyn. I also talked to Rhys. I would have talked to Feyre as well, but I didn’t want her to get her hopes up.”

Lucien was hardly breathing. “What did you discover?”

Elain shrugged. “More or less what you told me. I’m not one hundred percent sure I agree that mating bonds aren’t manipulative, but it’s also not quite as mindless as I assumed. Rhys also pointed out that strong sexual attraction happens to people without mating bonds.” 

Lucien closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring. When he opened them again, his gaze was so hot that Elain’s stomach flipped. 

“What do you want to do then?” he asked. 

Elain dropped her gaze to his mouth. “I think…I’d like to kiss you again.”

Lucien immediately yanked on her hand, pulling her flush against him as he dipped his head, pressing his lips hungrily against hers. He dropped her hand, sliding his hand to the small of her back, his other hand tilting her jaw.

Elain whimpered as he slid his tongue into her mouth. Without realizing what she even planned to do, she reached under his shirt, needing to feel his skin against her hands. 

Lucien shuddered, breaking the kiss and leaning his head against hers to whisper, “Fuck.”

Elain couldn’t help but agree in her head as her fingers climbed the ridges of his abdomen. “Kiss me,” she whispered, needing his mouth on her again. 

Lucien complied, and Elain gasped when he placed his hands on her waist and walked her backward until her back hit the wall, his tongue doing delicious things in her mouth as he did so. 

Elain thought she might spontaneously combust. Lucien brushed his thumbs along her ribs, but kept his hands from straying anywhere else, per their agreement the previous day. 

Elain broke the kiss only long enough to say, “Please touch me.”

Lucien growled into her mouth as his hands slid up, gently squeezing her breasts through her dress. Her knees nearly gave out, a jolt of arousal hitting her clit at the contact. She could feel his smirk against her lips as he wrapped an arm around her waist to hold her upright. 

Gods, he barely touched her and she was about to lose her mind. 

Elain slid her hands under his shirt again, raking her nails lightly down his stomach and then around and up his spine. Lucien groaned, pulling Elain closer so that she could feel the hard length of him against her stomach. He kissed his way from her mouth, along her jaw, to her ear. 

“What are you doing to me?” he whispered, his voice sending shivers down her spine. 

He continued kissing a trail down her throat and across her collar bone, sucking gently. Elain felt feverish, her clothes suddenly too tight. Lucien kissed the tops of her breasts and she wanted to scream at him to hurry up. 

As if he had heard her plea, he pulled the fabric of her dress down. He leaned back, his gaze hungry as he stared at her breasts. Just when Elain was contemplating shoving his face against her, he lowered his head, his tongue laving across one nipple before sucking it into his mouth. 

Elain gasped, her knees actually giving out now. Lucien deftly caught her, scooping her into his arms and walking toward his bedroom, dinner forgotten. Elain plunged both hands into his hair, grasping tightly as she kissed him again. 

Lucien set her on his bed and laid between her spread legs, immediately returning his mouth to her breast. He knew what he was doing, every touch sending jolts of arousal south, until Elain thought she might combust. 

Now that he had her in his bed, Lucien seemed in no hurry, his mouth teasing its way from one breast to the other. His hands dropped to her legs, bunching the material of her skirt before slowly pushing it up. Elain shivered when his fingers skimmed across her hips. He pulled back long enough for her to sit up so he could undo the buttons of her dress and pull it over her head. 

Lucien’s pupil blew wide at the sight of her in nothing but underwear, his breath ragged. Elain grasped the edge of his shirt and pulled up. Lucien helped her, pulling it off and tossing it away. Elain’s mouth watered as she took in his bronzed torso, the dips and valleys of his abdomen begging for her tongue.

Before she could act on that desire, Lucien gently pushed her back down. He towered over her, his eyes moving rapidly over her, as if he didn’t know where to look first. Elain, not used to being so on display, crossed her arms over her chest.

Lucien shook his head, gently grabbing her wrists. 

“Please let me look at you,” he breathed. He waited until her soft nod before pulling her arms away. His breath caught and she watched, fascinated, as he shuddered above her. 

“You’re so beautiful.” His voice was so low, she wondered if he had meant to say the words out loud. 

She didn’t know how to respond, so she simply said, “So are you.” 

His eye snapped to hers, and she smiled at the shock on his face. “Surely, you’ve been told before how beautiful you are.”

Something that looked like grief crossed his expression before he shook his head. “Not often since I lost my eye.” 

Elain sat up, Lucien leaning back to give her space. She reached up to caress his face, brushing her fingers lightly over the scars running from his brow to his jaw. He closed his eyes, his hands grasping her waist, as if he needed something to steady himself. 

“I didn’t know you before,” she said, glancing towards his good eye, “but the moment I first saw you, I thought you were the most handsome man or fae I had ever seen.” Lucien swallowed, seeming unable to talk, so Elain continued, tracing the scars up and down his face. “It scared me, how much I wanted you, especially—” she cut off, not wanting to mar the moment with the reminder of her ex-fiance. She grabbed both sides of his face. “I need you to know, I didn’t stay away because I wasn’t attracted to you.” His breathing grew more rapid. “I stayed away because I couldn’t stand to be around you and not touch you. I…I didn’t trust that what I wanted was real, but I always wanted you, Lucien.”

Lucien immediately pulled her close, crushing his lips to hers. This kiss was like a firestorm, full of heat and a swirl of emotions flowing through the bond. Elain wasn’t sure which were her own and which belonged to Lucien. They had occasionally felt each other’s emotions through the bond, but had both learned to build a wall to their mind. Now, it would seem those walls had been crumbled to dust. 

Elain pulled away with a gasp, Lucien trailing kisses back down her jaw, neck, across her collar bone. He laid her back as he kissed and sucked his way down the valley of her breasts. She fisted the sheets at her side and shoved her chest up, silently begging him to show her breasts attention. Lucien smiled against her skin as he ignored the silent plea and continued kissing lower. 

Elain’s dream from that morning flashed briefly through her head, and her whole body jerked at the memory. Just when he was almost where she needed him, he pulled back, a feral grin on his face when she whined in protest. 

He skimmed his fingers down her leg, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake, lifting her ankle and pressing a kiss on it. He trailed kisses up her calf, the inside of her knee, gently sucking as he did so. Elain started shaking when he reached the inside of her thigh, silently begging him to give her relief. 

Once again, he pulled away before reaching where Elain wanted him. He pulled her underwear down, tossing it aside and pulling her leg over his shoulder before shimming his fingers down the other leg and repeating the process. By the time he was sucking on the inside of her thigh, Elain felt taut as a bowstring, her legs already shaking. 

She was just about to resort to begging when he finally lowered his mouth, swiping his tongue up through her folds and sucking her clit in his mouth. Elain bowed off the bed, releasing the sheets in favor of gripping Lucien’s hair to hold him in place. He placed a hand on her abdomen to hold her down as he licked and sucked. 

It took almost no time before Elain pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle her scream as she came, stars bursting behind her closed eyes. Lucien pulled her hand away, kissing her though her orgasm. She didn’t know how he knew that’s what she needed, but she immediately gripped his hair to hold him there. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. 

It wasn’t close enough. Elain wrapped her legs around his waist, irritated when she realized Lucien still wore his pants. He pulled away without her having to ask, shoving his pants and underwear down and kicking them away before laying back between her legs. 

Elain immediately wrapped her legs around his waist, a satisfied sound leaving her as she felt the length of him against her skin. 

“I need you,” she whispered, kissing him desperately. “I want all of you.”

Lucien shuddered, pulling away just far enough to line himself up before slowly pushing in. 

Elain gasped at the stretch, closing her eyes. Lucien stilled, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “Let me know if I hurt you.” 

Elain shook her head, unable to form the words to tell him it felt wonderful, right, like this was how they were meant to be. “Go,” was all she managed to say.

Lucien kissed her again as he pushed further in, going too slowly. Elain wrapped her legs around him, pushing her heels into his ass and tilting her hips to drive him completely in. He cursed and Elain smiled at the wave of satisfaction that coursed through her. 

Fire stared at her from Lucien’s eye as he ghosted his lips against her and whispered, “You’ll pay for that.”

“I certainly hope so,” she whispered back with a boldness she didn’t realize she possessed. 

Lucien crushed his lips back to hers as he snapped his hips, swallowing Elain’s gasp. He was everywhere, his mouth on hers, his hands roaming over her skin, his hips snapping a fiery pace. Just like his kissing, Lucien’s centuries of experience were evident, and rather than jealousy at the thought of females of the past, Elain wanted to find them all and thank them for their service. 

She had never felt so unhinged, her emotions completely unbridled. The bond hummed between them, emotions flying back and forth so quickly that it was impossible to distinguish who was feeling what, or if they were both feeling exactly the same thing. 

He shifted his angle and Elain cried out as he hit a spot inside that made her vision blur. She felt another orgasm coiling in her stomach, drawing tighter with every thrust, until she thought she might snap in two. She whimpered when Lucien changed angles again, leaving her on the precipice. 

He leaned down, his breath hot on her ear as he whispered, “What do you want, Elain?”

She struggled to form words, her brain too full of the sensations he was dragging out of her. 

He kissed right below her ear and his voice sounded strained. “Tell me what you need.”

“More,” she finally managed to say, her own hands roaming over his skin, wanted to be closer still, wanting to fuse their bodies together. 

Lucien obliged, skimming his hand from her face down between them, lightly circling her clit. 

It wasn’t enough. “More,” she gasped.

Lucien smiled as he sped up his fingers, pressing harder. Elain began shaking again, every muscle in her body pulling tight as he wound her higher and higher, his hips snapping in time with the swipes of his fingers. Just when she thought her muscles might snap, Lucien hit that spot inside her and she screamed, her orgasm rolled over her. 

She just barely registered Lucien’s own scream as he went rigid above her before he collapsed, only barely managing to keep himself from crushing her. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her close, his head on her chest. 

They laid in silence, both gasping for breath, Elain still twitching from her orgasm. She idly ran her fingers through his hair while his arms squeezed her close almost to the point of pain. 

“I—that’s never happened before.”

Lucien raised his head, his eyes wide as he stared at her. She almost laughed when his mechanical eye started whirring.

“What do you mean?” she asked. She marveled at how comfortable, how right she felt. There was no post-sex awkwardness, no self-conscious desire to cover back up now that the act was over. Instead, she felt like she might never want to move, to spend the rest of her days doing nothing but comb her fingers through her mate’s ruby-colored hair. 

“It’s never been that intense, that—good.”

Elain couldn’t help her smile at hearing that. “Oh?”

Lucien laughed at the look of pride on her face, reaching up to flick her nose. Her smile dropped, replaced by awe.

“What?” Lucien asked, his gaze traveling between her eyes frantically. 

“I’ve never heard you laugh before,” she said. 

Palpable relief swept over him and he chuckled, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. 

“When I was around you, I was usually too busy trying to give you space to hear anything anyone said to me.” He flashed a grin. “I’m actually quite charming.”

Elain rolled her eyes, biting her lip against her return grin. 

She panicked when he pulled away, but relaxed when he lay on his back and pulled her half on top of him. She laid her head on his chest, wrapping her arms around his chest. He slid his leg between hers, one hand resting on her hip as the other gently skimmed up and down her back. She wondered if he needed the closeness as much as she did. 

They lay there silently, soaking up the silence and each other’s presence. Eventually, Elain sat up, biting her lip as she looked down at Lucien. 

“Now what?”

Lucien raised his eyebrows. “You’ll have to be a little more specific.”

“What are we?” she replied. “Does this mean we accepted the bond? Are we courting? Are we going to remain apart and occasionally sleep together?”

Lucien snarled at that last remark, and something in Elain’s chest eased. She watched him swallow, noting the way he tensed up, as if preparing for her rejection. 

“We can be whatever you like.” 

She watched him through narrow eyes. “What would you like?”

He was unable to hide the panic in his expression fast enough. Elain cupped his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere. I just want to know what you want.”

His gaze felt like it was peering into her soul, trying to figure out if she was telling the truth. “I want everything,” he finally whispered. “I want to be where you are or have you where I am. I want a mating ceremony. I want a wedding if that’s what you want. I want a house to call our own. I want—” he stopped short, deciding against whatever he had planned to say. 

Elain smiled. “I want children someday too.” 

His eyes widened at her response. “You—”

Elain kissed his peck, setting her chin on his chest. “I want all of it. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”

Lucien’s breath whooshed out and before she knew what was happening, he had her on her back. “You’re going to pay for that.”

Elain grinned as a thrill of excitement made her shiver. 

“Do your worst, mate.”

Lucien’s answering grin was feline.

[namorslutfanfiction]

Tenoch plays with you in a room full of people and enjoys every minute of it.

I sweat all you anons are horny as hell

Summary: He bought you a new toy and really wanted to see how you could handle it. Who cares if this was an important dinner?

Dripping Smut

You were trying to keep your cool as you sat at the table. You nodded along to the conversation at hand, barely registering the words being spoken. Tenoch had his arm slung over the back of your chair and the other was hiding beneath the table, subtly swiping at his phone screen.

The dinner included some of the producers as well as directors involved with the diversity project you were both part of. It was a casual dinner with very important people. But you were focused on the toy between your legs, muffled by your underwear, that was buzzing away at the command of the Mexican actor next to you.

You nudged him with your elbow, as you answered a question that was posed to you. But that just made him turn up the intensity. You covered your moan with a coughing fit, which backfired a little as you clenched down. You covered your mouth and turned into Tenoch.

"Babe, are you okay? Drink some water," Tenoch feigned ignorance and concern, grabbing a glass of water from the table and encouraging you to take it.

You shot him a glare as you sipped the water. He had turned the intensity down for now but you knew he wasn't done playing with you, "Thank you, mi amor. I'm fine. Must be something in the air."

The dinner continued as usual, at least from the outside. Beneath the table you had a death grip on Tenoch's thigh, digging your nails into him whenever he flicked the toy to a higher setting. You were a puddle, quite literally from the dampness of your underwear. If you didn't do something, you would get your dress wet and that would be embarrassing enough without having to explain yourself.

"If you'll excuse me, I'm going to the restroom," You announced to the table, standing up gingerly while trying not to appear like a wobbling lamb. Tenoch smirked at you as he turned back to the table.

As you made your way across the bustling restaurant, Tenoch started turning the intensity up and down in a rhythmic pattern that made you stumble and catch yourself on an empty chair. One of the women from your table that had also excused herself to go to the restroom, rushed over to your side.

"Y/n, are you alright?" She asked, taking your arm and helping steady you. You glanced back at the table, waving everyone off with a smile. Tenoch was covering his laughter behind his fist.

"I'm fine, it might have been the 3 glasses of wine, or maybe these damn heels," You joked as you made your way to the restrooms with the woman.

Once in the bathroom you found the farthest stall. You sat on the toilet, muffling your moans as Tenoch put the toy through its paces. You covered your mouth with both hands as you came hard. You bit your hand to distract yourself from the pleasure while pulling your phone from your purse.

YN: I came already. Please turn it down.

The toy turned down in intensity almost immediately; now a low hum that you could barely feel after the overstimulation of your orgasm. Your phone chimed with a notification.

TH: Don't take it out. I'll let you rest for now. :)

Part of you was thrilled by this ridiculous display but also frustrated with how he had to choose tonight of all nights to play with you. Well if you were going to be frustrated so was he. You pulled your underwear down your legs and shoved it into your purse. You cleaned up the evidence of your arousal, hoping that a somewhat clean slate would protect you from ruining your dress. You contemplating taking the toy out and throwing it into your purse but you decided against it. He was right, it was thrilling to play so publicly.

Once your dress was righted you made your way back to the table. The woman you were with earlier had already found her seat again.

Tenoch greeted you, "There you are. I thought you fell in the toilet."

You smacked his shoulder lightly, "Oh shut up, you."

Once seated you set your purse down between you, covered by the high table. You engaged into the conversation while guiding Tenoch's hand to your purse and closing it around your damp underwear. You saw the corner of his mouth upturn, and his eyes darken as he glanced at you.

The night continued and it was a battle of wills. You had pulled Tenoch's hand between your legs. Barely touching your bare pussy. He had tried to play with the toy more, but the loss of your underwear made the buzzing noise a little too loud for him to risk turning up the intensity. Then the toy died and you felt triumphant. Under the table, as you continued to laugh and joke with your peers, you guided Tenoch's hand to remove the toy from your pussy.

The sensation of him removing it was enough to make you turn into his shoulder and feign laughter, as you forced back a moan. He dropped the toy into your purse and tried to reach between your legs again, but you had snapped them shut, pulling your dress back down toward you knees. His eyes held a question but you just smirked at him, wiggling in the seat to get comfortable.

Tenoch said something to the table about how lucky he was to have you, taking your hand and kissing it. It didn't escape your notice that he sniffed at your joined hands, his being the one that had just been teasing between your legs. He pulled your hand into his lap, holding the back of it to rub against his crotch where you could feel his arousal.

Tenoch did not falter in his enthusiastic conversation with the table as he pressed your hand firmly against his crotch. It seemed that the actor was the one frustrated and needing some release. You smirked to yourself as you wriggled your hand out of his grip. His jaw clenched slightly as he relinquished his hold.

When the dinner finally died down and everyone went their separate ways, you found yourself sitting in Tenoch's passenger seat as he drove one handed. His free hand was between your thighs, thrusting his fingers into your wet pussy. You were moaning into your hand, as he easily and quickly drove you to orgasm.

When you got to a stop light, he pulled his hand away and turned to you with a charming and lascivious smirk. "Come here,"

He quickly undid his pants and released his hard on. His tip glistened with precum as you shifted and moved your head into his lap. Once you found a comfortable position you took his cock into your mouth. The actor held his hand to the back of your head guiding you as he continued driving.

"Fuck," Tenoch cursed under his breath as you devoured him. His hips thrusted lightly as you gave him road head. "If this is what happens when I tease you all night, I might have to do it more often."

You moaned around him in response then bared down deeper, feeling his tip hit the back of your throat. The actor let out a strangled moan at the sensation. You felt the car turn and Tenoch squeezed your shoulder. "Get up, baby."

You sat up and Tenoch lost no time as he shifted the car into park and pulled the parking break.

"Stay right there," He ordered as he pulled you in for a passionate and rough kiss. Before you could respond he was making his way to your passenger door and pulled it open. "Turn around for me."

You did as he said, seeing that he meant to take you here in the driveway. It excited you to learn that he was just as eager as you were. You felt him flip up the skirt of your dress, pulled your hips back and then thrust inside of you, balls deep. You let out a yelp at how suddenly he took you, but you were more than prepared for him.

You glanced back as he started to pound into you. He had his hands braced on the door frame as his hips moved furiously. You thanked god that your house was down a long driveway, and an acre in each direction to the nearest neighbor. The sounds of your hips slamming into each other was loud enough, coupled with both of your wanton moans of pleasure was practically a cacophony of eroticism.

Tenoch leaned forward and gripped your shoulders as he drove his hips into yours. You reached between your legs to rub at your clit, chasing the orgasm that was nudging at your peripheries.

"Tenoch," You moaned, turning back to him to watch his pleasured face. He had his head thrown back, his suit disheveled, and his eyes closed in ecstasy while keeping his punishing pace. He moaned your name as his movements grew more erratic. The sound of his voice tipped you over the edge and you felt your self clench down on him as the orgasm ripped through your body.

The guttural groan he released as he hit his peak with you was primal and deafening. The slapping of your hips as he spilled inside of you were like thunderclaps. Tenoch slowed to a stop, panting and leaning his head against the door frame of the car. You were equally out of breath, practically collapsed against the center console.

Tenoch pulled away from you and righted his clothes. He flipped your skirt back down and pulled you up into his arms. The actor cupped your face and kissed your cheeks as you looked up at him with a lazy and contented smile. The man chuckled as he gazed at you, "And you said it wouldn't be as fun as I said it would be."

You pushed your lip out in a pout, still unwilling to fully admit that he had made you submit to your lust for him. Tenoch just smiled his boyish smile and nipped at your lip. "Come on baby. Let's get you inside and cleaned up. You deserve a nice bath and a massage after playing along with me so nicely."

You let him lead you away from the car and toward the front door.

```

SO that was another fiery one. Yall are relentless.

[prouvaireafterdark]

Practical Ethics || Chapter Three

In which Armand offers Lestat an olive branch and Lestat proceeds to light it on fire.

| One | Two |

Also on AO3! (you may want to check the tags btw)

***

As Armand steps inside the small lecture hall the following day for Louis’ class, he finds Lestat already in his seat, leaning casually against its cushioned back. His usual veneer of coolness, however, is ruined slightly by the nervous way he’s biting his manicured nails, the black polish already chipped at the edges. 

Armand finds his own seat beside him, and once his papers and his iPad are arranged to his liking, he reaches into his pocket and takes out Lestat’s gold lighter. 

“I think you misplaced this yesterday,” he says as he turns to Lestat, the lighter held loosely between his fingers. After weeks of sniping back and forth at each other, it’s the closest thing to an olive branch Armand can think to offer.

He isn’t sure what he expects Lestat’s response to be. To thank him, maybe, for returning his property or perhaps to prove to him in some small way that their interactions don’t have to be so unilaterally unpleasant.

What he certainly isn’t expecting is for Lestat to yell at him.

“You took it?!” Lestat asks, sitting up so quickly his sunglasses fall back down over his eyes from their precarious perch atop his head. “Give it back, thief.”

“I found it,” Armand clarifies, bristling at the implication and feeling eyes on the back of his head. “After you threw it halfway across the quad.”

Lestat tries to swipe the lighter out of his hand, but Armand pulls it out of his reach before he can, petty anger getting the better of him.

“Give it back,” Lestat demands again, pushing his sunglasses back up so he can glare at him properly. His piercing blue eyes look particularly stormy.

“I will,” Armand replies, mimicking his tone, before a wicked smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he gets an idea and he adds, “After you say please and thank you, of course.” 

Armand momentarily delights in the shade of red Lestat turns at his request, a little thrill going through him at the reaction he’s gotten out of him. If Lestat is going to accuse him of being a thief, he may as well be a bastard too. 

“Armand,” Lestat snaps, his voice rough, his open hand expectantly outstretched. 

“It’s four little words, Lestat,” he says, unmoved. “I think even you can manage that much.”

Lestat curls his fingers into a tight fist before he looks away to collect himself, a myriad of emotions passing over his face. He looks back at him a moment later, a hard, determined look in his eyes.

“Please,” he says at last, the simple word taking so much effort you would think Armand had just raked him over a bed of hot coals. The sound of it is so desperate and pathetic that Armand takes pity on him.

“There,” Armand sighs and extends the lighter once more. “Was that so hard?”

Lestat ignores the question and snatches the lighter from his fingers instantly, unwilling to be parted with the trinket for a moment longer. 

Armand tracks the movement of Lestat’s thumb as he smooths it almost reverently over the engraving. Whatever that series of letters and numbers mean, they clearly hold great sentimental value to him.

“Thank you,” Lestat says as his eyes stay fixed on the lighter, so quietly Armand thinks he may have imagined it entirely.

“You shouldn’t throw away the things that mean something to you, you know,” Armand tells him in flawless French. “I may not always be so willing to give them back to you.”

Armand watches Lestat’s jaw drop in surprise as he speaks to him in French, looking up at him as if seeing him for the first time. A moment later, a veritable cackle bursts forth from his mouth, a loud and jarring sound that has everyone in the lecture hall looking right at them. It goes on and on and on, as if uncontrollable, each passing second making Armand regret his choices more and more.

“What is wrong with you?” he asks, in English this time, but it only sends Lestat into another fit of laughter that has tears spilling over his cheeks.

If spite had not already glued Armand to this seat, he would move to sit somewhere else. 

Just as he’s considering it, Louis walks in the door carrying a thick stack of papers.

“You doing alright there, Lestat?” Louis asks, eyeing him curiously as he sets the papers down onto the podium at the front of the room.

“Oui, Louis,” Lestat chuckles, wiping the tears from his eyes. “I am simply so thrilled to be here that I can hardly contain myself.”

“Sure you are,” Louis says in a dry tone, predictably unconvinced, before he grabs a piece of chalk and begins to write something on the board. 

What is a power differential? Armand reads as Louis steps back to the podium. 

His brow creases in confusion. According to Louis’ syllabus, they were meant to be discussing Utilitarianism today. He’d read over fifty pages of theory on the subject for homework last night.

He turns to Lestat and opens his mouth, about to ask whether he’d somehow made a mistake with the homework last night, but then realizes who he’s speaking to and thinks better of it. If anyone in this room knows what’s going on with their course schedule it is most assuredly not Lestat. He sets his sights on Louis instead.

Armand maneuvers carefully out of his seat so as not to disturb his annotated articles and walks over to Louis where he’s now organizing the papers he’d carried with him into smaller stacks so they’re easier to pass around.

“Excuse me?” Armand asks as he approaches, causing Louis to look up at him. “I thought we were talking about the Utilitarianism readings today. Did I read the syllabus incorrectly?”

“No,” Louis assures him. “We’re taking a detour for the day. We’ll be discussing the readings you prepared for today next class, though, don’t worry.”

A detour? Louis has been rigidly faithful to his course schedule thus far. He wonders what’s changed.

“Oh… okay,” Armand says, and makes his way slowly back to his seat, confused, but intrigued.

Louis begins his lecture the way he always does—by giving his students a few minutes to journal a preliminary answer to his question for the day while he takes attendance. 

A power differential is when one party has inherently more power and authority than another, Armand writes, wondering how exactly all this fits in with the discussion they were meant to have this week.

It isn’t until he begins reading the case study Louis hands him next after their initial think-pair-share activity to discuss the power differential question that he realizes it doesn’t have anything to do with what they were meant to learn this week. 

It does, however, have something to do with the discussion he’d had with Louis yesterday.

Ellen is a new graduate student in the History department. She is thrilled to hear that she has been assigned to serve as a teaching assistant to Dr. Pierce, a top scholar in the field. 

In the first few weeks, Dr. Pierce is very friendly, even offering to take Ellen out to lunch to welcome her to the department. Over time, though, invitations to lunch become invitations to dinner and drinks at a local bar, which makes Ellen uncomfortable. When Ellen politely declines, Dr. Pierce becomes angry, insisting Ellen should not turn down opportunities for networking this early in her career.

What should Ellen do?

Armand flips through the packet to read the second one.

Matthew, a 2nd year MA student, finds a member of his cohort, Sarah, crying in the library. When he stops to comfort her, she confides in him that she was rejected by all the PhD programs she applied to except the one at their current institution, which is very far from her home. She is convinced that one of her professors sabotaged her application to keep her there because she has heard rumors of this sort of thing happening before.  

What should Matthew do? What should Sarah do?

He finds another one.

Annalise, an ABD PhD student, is running late for a very important meeting with her advisor when she sees a member of her cohort forcefully grab the arm of an undergraduate student to keep him from walking away. The undergraduate student seems distressed, but if Annalise is late for this meeting, her advisor might be upset with her.

What should Annalise do?

The examples go on, but Armand stops reading them. He is silent for a while, his mind blank as the class moves around him, dutifully discussing each scenario Louis has provided. 

To anyone else, this must be nothing more than an innocuous thought exercise meant to stimulate discussion on how unequal power dynamics complicate a graduate student’s life and make their pursuit of ethical relationships—personal and professional—difficult at times. 

To Armand, however… their subjects and the reminders they bring hit a little too close to home.

He sits there for a long moment, paralyzed by a sudden presence he feels looming behind him. He knows, distantly, that there’s no one there, that Marius is in his office, hard at work on his new book on the cult of the emperor Hadrian’s young male lover Antinous. 

Nevertheless, he swears he sees a flash of red fabric out of the corner of his eye, and the terrible weight of dread sinks into his stomach. 

He manages to pull himself free of his thoughts eventually, and when he does, he notices that even Lestat is reading the packet and jotting down his own answers to the prompts, for once motivated to actually apply himself to something in this class. 

His classmates soon begin to discuss these scenarios with their typical voracity, eager to show Louis their understanding and find ethical solutions to problems they themselves might one day be faced with. Armand absorbs these arguments and suggestions with a sense of careful detachment, shutting Marius out of his mind as much as he can, but does not move to offer his own insights. 

Louis seems to notice this, his eyes passing over him every now and then as if expecting him to break his uncharacteristic silence and volunteer his thoughts. 

Armand avoids his gaze, pretending to take notes on his iPad, until he registers movement to his left. He turns to see Lestat quietly raising his hand.

Armand blinks at the sight. It’s been well over two months of this class and Armand has barely seen that man move a muscle except to twirl his pen between his fingers.

“Lestat?” Louis calls on him.

“I have a question for you, professor,” Lestat announces, as if that were not plainly obvious from the fact that he had been raising his hand. “A philosophical conundrum, you might say.”

“Alright,” Louis says, his tone as surprised as it is suspicious. “What’s your question?”

“You have established that relationships between professors and students are unethical because of this ‘unequal power dynamic,’” Lestat says, making scare quotes with his fingers as he stretches his long legs out before him and crosses them delicately at the ankle, “but is such a thing always the case? Are there no circumstances that might change this?”

“How do you mean?” Louis asks, and it might be Armand’s imagination, but he thinks Louis’ voice sounds almost cautious.

A smile begins to overtake Lestat’s mouth, but he manages to reign in the full force of it before he speaks. 

“Well there can be exchanges of power in sexual encounters, can there not?” Lestat begins, his voice somehow sounding even deeper than usual. “One party may gladly cede their control to the other, joyful in their act of submission.”

Louis shifts from one foot to the other. “I’m not sure I see the relevance of that.”

“Well, it is as you say—teachers have power over their students,” Lestat continues. “But what if a teacher was to submit himself to his student in such a way? Assuming all parties are consenting adults, would the reversal of their usual professional dynamic in their sexual relationship negate the power differential?”

A murmur runs through the crowd of students. Louis is silent for the briefest moment, choosing his words carefully.

“No, the teacher taking on a submissive role would not negate the power differential,” Louis tells him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Other factors ought to be considered. You’ve already brought up the main one, which is the consent of all involved. The real question, though, is whether the student is actually able to freely consent or if there are pressures such as grades or letters of recommendation influencing their decision. These complications are exactly why our institution forbids romantic and sexual relationships between professors and their current students.”

“What if I begged you for it?” Lestat asks in French. “Would it be ethical then?”

An involuntary shiver runs down Armand’s spine at the low, seductive pitch of his voice, and if he was drinking his water, he surely would have choked on it. He categorically ignores his own body’s reaction and looks at Lestat in disbelief, utterly floored that he would be so bold as to say that to his professor, but Lestat only has eyes for Louis.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Louis snaps, pulling Armand’s attention away from Lestat. He notices with fascination that Louis’ cheeks are darkening with a blush. “See me after class, Mr. de Lioncourt.”

“Of course, professor,” Lestat purrs, his mouth widening with his smile.

Class ends shortly after that—a few minutes early, in fact, which never happens if Louis doesn’t have an assignment to hand back—and Armand is quick to pack up his things, eager to get some distance between himself and the thoughts this class has provoked in him. Perhaps Daniel won’t mind him visiting the paper’s cramped office space if he brings him that expensive coffee he pretends not to like. 

Louis seems to have other plans for him, however.

“Armand, could you stick around a minute?” he asks just as he’s about to leave.

“Of course,” Armand pauses, halfway between his seat and the door.

Lestat is already standing in front of Louis, and when he sees Armand isn’t leaving just yet, Louis turns back to face him.

“If you want to continue sitting in on my class,” Louis says, his tone quite serious, “you need to show me some respect.”

Lestat seems to pantomime contrition, the authenticity of the gesture ruined by the way he’s holding his hands behind his back like a guilty child feigning innocence. “Of course, professor.”

“I mean it, Lestat,” Louis says firmly.

Lestat sighs, his arms dropping to his side. “Alright. I’m sorry, Louis,” he says, and Armand is surprised to hear he sounds genuine about it. “You know how I get carried away sometimes. It won’t happen again.”

Louis’ eyes soften, his fingers twitching at his side.

“Alright,” he says quietly. “I’ll see you—” His eyes dart back to Armand. “—next class.”

An odd smile breaks out onto Lestat’s face as he nods. “Yes,” he says. “Next class.”

Lestat meets Armand’s blatant stare as he turns to leave and winks before he slings his bag over his shoulder and heads out of the room.

What the fuck was that? Armand wonders, his head spinning from the trajectory this afternoon has taken.

He doesn’t have long to ponder it, however, as Louis is now beckoning him closer.

“Are you alright?” Louis asks him as he steps up to the podium.

“I’m fine,” Armand replies. “Why do you ask?”

“You seemed much quieter than usual today,” Louis says, looking him over carefully. “I just wanted to check in with you.”

“Oh,” Armand says, forcing his expression into his best approximation of an easy smile. “As I said, I’m fine. Just not feeling very well today. I apologize that my participation was not up to my usual standard. Next time I will—”

“No apology necessary,” Louis cuts him off, his own smile a little thin around the edges. He stares at Armand for a second before he adds, “Just take care of yourself, alright? And let me know if you have any questions about the lecture.”

“Of course,” Armand assures him. “I’ll see you next week.”

Armand does see him next week—and the week after that, and the week after that—in class, in office hours to talk about their upcoming paper, even at the campus Starbucks once waiting in line behind Lestat of all people.

But no matter how much time passes, no matter how positive his interactions with Louis are, he still hasn’t found the right moment to broach the subject of working with him next semester—or even figured out how to do so without revealing more than he’s comfortable with about his situation with Marius. His attempts to learn more about Louis’ current research have also been less than fruitful, which Armand finds strange given he’s just been on sabbatical, presumably to write a book. 

There must be something else I can do to get close to him…

“What’s wrong?” 

Armand looks down between his thighs at where Daniel is looking up at him, his brown curls askew from the fingers Armand had run through them, his lips attractively pink and slick with saliva where they hover above Armand’s half-hard cock.

“Nothing,” Armand dismisses automatically. 

“Are you sure?” Daniel presses, his bright green eyes searching. “You seem—“ 

Armand cuts him off with a hand in his hair, pulling firmly on his curls the way he sometimes likes.

“The only thing I’m sure of is that you ask too many questions,” Armand tells him, though his tone is not unkind.

“Occupational hazard,” Daniel retorts, his voice strained. He reaches up to wrap a hand around Armand’s wrist, wordlessly urging him to let him go. 

Armand does as he asks, loosening his hold on Daniel’s curls so he can cup his cheek instead. He hasn’t shaved today and a thick blanket of stubble scratches Armand’s skin where he touches him. 

“But come on,” Daniel continues. “I’m not gonna keep sucking your dick when you look like you’re a thousand miles away so either tell me what’s wrong so we can talk about it or I’m going back to my dorm.”

Armand lets out a long, resigned sigh. “Come here.”

Daniel crawls up the length of Armand’s body until he’s lying in the cradle of his thighs. Armand guides Daniel’s head to his neck and wraps his arms around him, enjoying the way Daniel sinks into him, eager for any warmth and affection Armand is willing to give him.

It’s easier to speak this way, with the weight of Daniel’s body tethering him to his own, his head tucked under Armand’s chin so he doesn’t have to meet his eyes. 

He thinks back to his recent conversations with Louis, the concern he saw in his expression—Not quite the admiration and respect he’s been after these last few months.

“I need him to want me,” Armand says at last, giving voice to the thought that’s been dominating his mind of late. 

Daniel goes very still on top of him, the gentle tracing of his fingers over his skin ceasing altogether.

“Dr. du Lac, I mean,” Armand clarifies hastily. “As a research assistant.”

Daniel relaxes, letting out a slow breath.

“To get away from de Romanus,” he spits the name like poison from his mouth.

“Yes,” Armand confirms, his voice scarcely above a whisper. 

The silence between them is deafening as Armand braces for the inevitable.

“I still don’t get why you won’t let me write an exposé on that creepy fucker,” Daniel complains. “I’m a goddamn journalism major and the editor of the school paper for fuck’s sake. It’s literally what I’m trained to do.”

There it is.

“We’ve been over this, Daniel,” Armand sighs, exhausted from this conversation already.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, he’s an important scholar, he has tenure, you don’t want to rock the boat since you’re new to the department, I get it,” he says, agitation clear in his voice as he leans up so he can see Armand’s face. “But he shouldn’t be allowed to pull the shit he’s pulled with you with no consequences. I mean, shit, you had bruises on your arm the last time we hooked up and I know you didn’t get them from falling into a doorknob.”

“You were high,” Armand shoots back, almost automatically. “You don’t know what you remember.” 

He regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth.

Daniel sits up abruptly, tearing himself out of Armand’s embrace. 

“Don’t do that,” he snaps, glaring down at Armand with betrayal in his eyes. “Don’t try to fuckin’ gaslight me just ‘cause you don’t want me to be right. I know what I saw. He’s hurting you.”

Armand’s heart clenches painfully in his chest, at both the reminder of his fraught encounter with Marius and seeing Daniel so upset about it. He sits up, pulling his knees to his chest so he can wrap his arms protectively around them. He feels like an insect, suddenly—a fly hopelessly caught in Marius’ web—and as he looks at the hurt in Daniel’s eyes, it feels pointless to deny it.

“You’re right,” Armand tells him finally, looking up at him with wide, sad eyes. “That was an unkind thing to say, I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?”

He watches Daniel’s shoulders sag as his resolve melts to nothing. He feels the tender brush of Daniel’s hand against his ankle next, the closest part of him he can touch. 

“Of course I can,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting upward ever so slightly. 

Armand reaches for Daniel then, wordlessly extending his hand. The younger man lets himself be pulled back into Armand’s arms, the two of them falling back against the mattress, side by side this time. 

Armand leans away from him just long enough to pull the blanket which had been kicked to the end of the bed over them both, creating a cocoon of warmth that Daniel sinks gratefully into. They lie there for a moment, sharing a pillow as they stare at each other, faces so close Armand’s vision begins to blur.

“So what are we gonna do about this?” Daniel asks him, the arm he has wrapped firmly around Armand’s waist pulling him that little bit closer.

A soft smile breaks across Armand’s face. Daniel is so sweet when he wants to be, naive in a way that Armand finds endlessly charming.

“We are not going to do anything, beautiful boy,” Armand tells him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I am going to get close to Louis. If I can get him to take an interest in me and my work, perhaps I can extricate myself from Marius without causing any scandals for the department.”

“How are you gonna do that?” Daniel asks skeptically. 

“Well, you’re the one who interviewed him for his faculty spotlight,” Armand points out. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call that an interview,” Daniel grumbles. It isn’t hard to figure out why—Daniel has been complaining about this assignment for months since one of his column writers unexpectedly quit over winter break and he’d been left holding the bag. Writing university-approved puff pieces about notable faculty achievements was not exactly how he’d imagined spending his final semester of his undergraduate career and he hasn’t been shy about letting Armand know it. “He evaded nearly every question I asked him about his sabbatical and just kept diverting the conversation with pretentious philosophical observations about the nature of mankind. I didn’t even end up publishing it. Short of breaking into his office and snooping through his stuff, I don’t know how you’re gonna get more out of him than that.”

Well. That’s certainly an idea.

Daniel must sense his plotting in the silence that follows because he suddenly lifts his head from the pillow to look down at him.

“Armand, no,” Daniel groans. “That was a joke.”

“Not your worst idea, though,” Armand tells him.

“Wh—“ Daniel begins, but Armand interrupts him with a kiss, one hand cradling the back of his neck to keep him still. He’s grown weary of the conversation and prefers to divert Daniel’s attention lest they end up spending the whole night bickering back and forth about a matter Armand has already settled.

Daniel melts into the kiss as he always does, weak for the pleasure of Armand’s touch. Some possessive piece of Armand’s heart rejoices at this, at how easily Daniel yields to him, his mouth parting under the first stroke of Armand’s tongue against the seam of his lips. He finds the taste of himself lingering on Daniel’s tongue as he deepens the kiss, and he feels his cock begin to stir once more where it lies trapped between their bellies.

Armand rolls him onto his back, smiling into their kiss at the way Daniel’s legs fall open to make space for him to settle there. He does, and gladly swallows the moan Daniel makes as he lifts his hips to grind against him and get some friction on his cock.

“This conversation isn’t over,” Daniel argues, his voice shaking with desire as Armand breaks away from his mouth and begins pressing hot, wet kisses along the column of his throat.

“Of course not,” Armand placates him, sucking the beginnings of a bruise into his flushed skin.

There isn’t much talking after that, and Armand is content to let his troubles fade from his mind as he focuses instead on the warmth of Daniel’s body beneath him and the tender touch of his mouth against his skin.

[duhragonball]

Now that you pretty much wrapped up the Baby Saga, I have to ask a question. During your original Dragon Ball GT Retrospective in 2019, you said that Baby is actually a good villain once you ignore that nonsense with the Machine Mutants and the Luud Cult and it seems like you changed your mind on that. Is Baby really a good villain or is he only a good villain in comparison to the other GT villains?

Let me put it like this: Baby is a good villain in the sense that he's thoroughly evil, and he has a consistent motivation to do evil things, and he also represents the opposite of what the hero represents.

I mean, he basically hijacks the whole world, and turns everyone into a population of slaves who adore him. He takes Goku's relationship with the Earth and flips it on its head. Now Baby is the Earth's hero and Goku has to fight against his adopted planet to defeat him. Baby doesn't train to get stronger. Instead he uses the strengths of others, like how he took over Vegeta's body and used the others' powers Bulma's scientific genius to enhance it.

There's also no depth that he won't stoop to. He fights dirty. He picks on defenseless enemies like Pan. He attacks, betrays, and abandons his own followers without a second thought. Baby is either a perversion of everything the Tuffles stood for, or he's actually what the Tuffles stood for, which is pretty chilling to consider.

And he's basically in a position where he has to be this vile, despicable menace. The Tuffles created him to take revenge and Tuffleize the universe. He can't just blow that off and become a farmer. He has to control other people's bodies and infect people with his eggs, because that's the only way he can achieve his goals. The closest he ever comes to doing anything noble is when he decides to kill Goku face-to-face, instead of taking over his body like he did to the others. And that turns out to be a huge mistake, since it allows Goku the opportunity to defeat him.

So he's a solid villain. He is not one of these mythical "good ideas" that GT apologists like to talk about. Baby's whole deal is just a mashup of past Dragon Ball villains.

He's a Tuffle doomsday weapon, like Hatchiyack.

He mind controls the entire population of Earth like Garlic Junior.

He's a Saiyan-hating autocrat, like Frieza.

He was created in some sort of incubation tank, and had to develop into his "perfect form", like Cell.

He uses Vegeta to achieve his goals, like Babidi

He uses the Oozaru form to turn the tables on Goku, like Vegeta.

He absorbs the powers of others to get stronger, like Majin Buu.

A lot of the Machine Mutant stuff is very reminiscent of Meta Cooler from Movie 6.

Again, it's not a sin to re-use ideas from other characters. I'm a firm believer in "Talent borrows; genius steals." The trick, though, is that you have to repurpose the ideas you take and disguise them like something original.

For example, the Androids Saga in DBZ was heavily inspired by the Terminator films. That's no secret; one look at Trunks' haircut and 16's everything should give it away. What makes it unique, however, is that Toriyama didn't just do a shot-for-shot retelling of the Terminator movies. His villains were created by a human scientist (Dr. Gero) instead of a supercomputer (Skynet). While the Terminators were relentless killing machines skilled in infiltration, most of Gero's assassins weren't even interested in killing their target, and they didn't even try to be subtle. All 17 wants to do is joyride in an ice cream truck.

Then you have Cell, who seems like he has more to do with Cronenberg movies than the Terminator franchise. He's an unexpected bad guy from an alternate future, kind of like Biff Tannen in "Back to the Future II," but he has all the powers of strong characters from the past, kind of like Serpentor from G.I. Joe. Did Toriyama swipe ideas from those stories as well? Maybe, but somewhere along the way, he ended up combining so many things together that he wound up with something original. The parallels are still there for critics to notice, but no one's filing lawsuits over 17 and Cell, because it's understood that they're distinct, unique characters, even if they were inspired by other works.

Baby's problem is that his creators just swiped ideas from just one property: Dragon Ball. And that's a terrible way to go about it, because the target audience is already familiar with Dragon Ball, so every time Baby does anything, the viewer is going to recognize it as something they've seen before in the same show. It makes Baby look rather authentic. You see him do stuff and he looks like he belongs in this franchise, because it's consistent with what you've seen before. But none of it is innovative because he's not doing anything new.

Now, if they had cast a wider net, and been a little more clever about it, Baby could have turned into something truly special. Suppose the writers had borrowed ideas from the 90's Batman movies, or "Knight Rider" or literally anything else. You'd have to do a lot of tinkering just to make it fit in to a series like GT, and that's where the creativity comes from. Then, when Baby does something, it's not going to be exactly like a time Frieza or Vegeta did something similar. He'd bring his own unique flavor to it. He'd whip out a gadget from his talking utility belt, and it'd be totally fresh.

I think this is why I like the concept of the Tuffles in general a lot more than I like Baby specifically. When I saw Kamin and Oren in Super Dragon Ball Heroes, I was thrilled, because it looked like someone had taken the Baby IP and done something genuinely fun with it. I think there's a mission in one of the games where Kami and Oren Tuffleize the planet Sadala in Universe 6, and you have to fight all the mind-controlled Saiyans to liberate the planet. It's basically the Baby Saga on a different location, but it still sounds a lot more appealing, because it's not saddled with Baby himself.

I sometimes think of trying to do stuff with the Tuffles in my fanfic, but I've never been able to come up with a good angle for it. There's a good story to be had from the Baby lore, but it's not the Baby Saga itself, because I just finished watching it, and it's a mess.

And I guess that's the trouble with Baby. Is he a good villain? Yeah, I think he clears the bar. Is he a great villain? I don't know if I'd go that far. But good? Sure, especially if you separate him from all the bullshit before his debut. But he's a good villain based on unoriginal ideas, and the execution was thoroughly botched. It's like if Tommy Wiseau put Dracula in "The Room". It doesn't matter how good a villain Dracula is, he's not going to come across well.