#headers bound by the past

[emjayewrites]

Private Landing (Lewis Hamilton) (10/15)

SUMMARY: In the high-speed world of Formula One, Lewis Hamilton subtly introduces a mysterious partner via Instagram after a slight mishap during an interview. Sparking media intrigue, everyone wants to know: who is the enigmatic figure that calls herself Mrs. Hamilton?

INSPO: this post

PAIRINGS: Sir Lewis Hamilton x Aurora "Rorie" Phillips-Hamilton (faceclaim is Justine Skye)

WARNINGS: drama, angst, sexual content, formula one b.s., pre-established relationship (with flashbacks). RATED M (18+)

TAGLIST: @queenshikongo3 @cocobutterqwueen @mauvecherie-writes @a-moment-captured @yeea-nah @lovebittenbyevans @alika-4466 @saintslewis @cherry2stems @liamundi @trinitoldyouso @scorpiobleue @certifiedlesbianbaddie @httpsserene @motheroffae @perfecttrashface @xoscar03 @saturnville @weetjy @pinkcatcus @lewlewlemon44 @cranberryjulce @chaoticcoffeequeen @vile-harlot @periodjosh @melanin-queen369 @destinyg237 @niahxo @purplelewlew

A/N: Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist. The headers/dividers are by @inklore

CHAPTER 10: The Hills

The Colorado mountains loomed in the distance as Lewis's car wound its way up the private road to their secluded home. Exhaustion from the Las Vegas race and recent events weighed heavily on him, but the anticipation of seeing his family pushed it all to the back of his mind.

With only two and a half days at home before he had to leave for Abu Dhabi for the season's final race, the Hamilton family had decided to celebrate an early Thanksgiving. It was a chance to gather everyone together before the hectic end to the Formula 1 season and the upcoming holidays.

As Lewis pulled up to the house, he could already hear the muffled sounds of activity inside. A wreath hung on the front door, and the scent of pine and cinnamon greeted him as he stepped out of the car.

Before he could even reach for his bags, the front door burst open. Roscoe's excited barks filled the air as the bulldog bounded towards him, tail wagging furiously. Close behind, a blur of motion that could only be Lyric toddled out, arms outstretched.

"Dada! Dada!" Lyric called out, his face beaming with joy.

Lewis scooped up his son, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Hey, little man! I missed you so much."

As he carried Lyric inside, with Roscoe circling his legs, Lewis took in the scene before him. The house filled with people, everyone pitching in to prepare for the early celebration.

In the kitchen, he spotted Rorie and his mother, Carmen, working side by side at the counter, flour dusting their aprons as they prepared what looked like pie crusts. His father, Anthony, and stepmother, Linda, were in the living room with Rorie's parents, arranging decorations and setting up extra chairs.

"Look who's here!" Lewis called out, unable to keep the smile from his face.

Rorie looked up, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him. She quickly wiped her hands on her apron and rushed over, enveloping both Lewis and Lyric in a tight hug.

"Welcome home," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

As the family gathered around, exchanging hugs and greetings, Lewis felt the tension of the past few days begin to melt away. Here, surrounded by the love of his family, he could almost forget the challenges that awaited them.

But as he caught Rorie's eye over the heads of their excited family members, he saw the shadow of worry there. They had much to discuss, decisions to make. But for now, for these precious two and a half days before he had to leave for the crucial race in Abu Dhabi, they would celebrate. They would be thankful for what they had – each other, their families, and the strength to face whatever came next.

"So," Lewis said, bouncing Lyric on his hip, "what can I do to help with this early Thanksgiving?"

The room erupted in laughter and a chorus of suggestions, and Lewis dove right in, grateful for this moment of normalcy amidst the chaos of their lives.

The family bustled around, preparing for the early Thanksgiving celebration, and Lewis found himself alone in the living room with his father, Anthony. The older man's face was etched with concern as he helped hang a string of lights.

"Son," Anthony began, his voice low, "we need to talk about what happened in Vegas."

Lewis tensed, knowing this conversation was coming. "Dad, I–"

"I saw the TMZ video," Anthony cut in, his tone stern. "That woman, Deja... she seemed pretty convinced about your history. What's that all about?"

Lewis sighed, running a hand over his face. "Honestly, Dad, I don't remember meeting her. It was All-Star weekend in 2017, I was partying a lot back then."

Anthony shook his head, disappointment evident in his eyes. "Lewis, you know better than to let situations like this escalate in public. What were you thinking, engaging with her like that?"

"I wasn't thinking," Lewis admitted. "It caught me off guard. I never expected–"

"That's the problem, isn't it?" Anthony interrupted. "You always need to expect the unexpected, especially with your profile. This could have serious consequences for you and Rorie."

Just then, Rorie entered the room. She sensed the tension immediately. "Everything okay in here?"

Lewis looked at her, guilt washing over him. "We were just discussing the Deja situation."

Rorie's face fell slightly, but she squared her shoulders. "We're in this together, Lewis. Whatever happened in the past, we'll face it as a team."

Anthony nodded approvingly at Rorie's words. "That's the right attitude. But Lewis, you need to be more careful. This woman's claims, whether true or not, could affect your reputation, your career."

"I know, Dad," Lewis said, feeling like a chastised teenager again. "We're working with our legal team to handle it."

Rorie moved to stand beside Lewis, taking his hand. "We also need to discuss the situation with Luisa," she said softly.

Anthony's eyebrows shot up. "Luisa? Your housekeeper? What's she got to do with this?"

Lewis and Rorie exchanged a look before Lewis spoke. "It turns out she's been the one leaking information to Deja and possibly the press."

"Good Lord," Anthony muttered. "It never rains but it pours, does it?"

Just then, Lyric ran into the room, breaking the tension. "Dada, play!" he demanded, tugging on Lewis's pant leg.

Lewis scooped him up, grateful for the interruption. "Sure thing, little man. Let's go see what trouble we can get into."

As Lewis left with Lyric, Rorie and Anthony shared a concerned look.

"We'll get through this," Rorie said, her voice firm. "We always do."

Anthony nodded, patting her shoulder. "That you do, my dear. That you do." He paused, his eyes softening as he looked at Rorie. "You know, you're the best thing that's ever happened to Lewis. He's grown so much since being with you."

Rorie smiled, touched by his words. "Thank you, Anthony. That means a lot."

"But," Anthony continued, his tone turning serious, "his past... it's not all pretty. Are you prepared for it all to come out? There might be things even you don't know about."

Rorie met his gaze steadily. "I know about what happened in his life before me, Anthony. We've been open with each other from the start."

Anthony raised an eyebrow. "Even what happened with Nicole?"

Rorie nodded. "Even Nicole. And his mistakes in their relationship. We worked through it in counseling a long time ago, and he even apologized to Nicole for cheating." She took a deep breath. "I've got this, Anthony. Trust me. Nothing is coming between me and my husband. Whatever Deja is saying is nothing we can't handle."

Anthony studied her for a moment, then broke into a warm smile. "You're a strong woman, Rorie. Lewis is lucky to have you."

"We're lucky to have each other," Rorie corrected gently. "And we're lucky to have such a supportive family. Now, come on. Let's get back to these decorations before my mom comes looking for us."

_______________________________________________

As the afternoon wore on, the doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of more guests. Tia, Ayesha, and Britt bustled in, arms laden with bags of food and gifts, their laughter filling the entryway.

"We're here!" Tia called out, shaking snow from her boots. "And we brought reinforcements!"

Behind them, KiKi entered more hesitantly, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. As Lewis came to greet them, there was a palpable tension between him and KiKi.

After a moment's hesitation, Lewis pulled KiKi into a hug. "We need to talk later," he whispered in her ear.

As they pulled apart, KiKi glanced at Rorie, who gave a subtle nod. "Sure," KiKi muttered, her voice unsteady.

The group dispersed, with the women heading to the kitchen to help with dinner preparations while the men, led by Lewis and Anthony, began setting up the expansive dining room table and arranging the bar area.

In the kitchen, Rorie was carefully preparing Lewis's vegan meal alongside the traditional Thanksgiving fare. The aroma of herbs and roasted vegetables mingled with the rich scent of turkey still cooking in the oven.

"So," Ayesha said, sidling up to KiKi as she chopped vegetables, "when were you going to tell us about Khalil?"

KiKi's knife paused mid-chop. "What are you talking about?"

Tia joined them, her voice gentle but firm. "We know you've been seeing him again, Ki."

Rorie turned from the stove, wiping her hands on her apron. "We're worried about you, that's all."

KiKi's shoulders slumped. "It's not what you think. He's changed, he–"

"Girl, please," Ayesha interrupted. "That man has more lines than a geometry textbook."

"What about Miles?" Britt asked softly. "He really cares about you, Ki."

KiKi's eyes darted between her friends. "Miles is... he's great, but–"

"But nothing," Rorie said, moving closer to the group. "Miles is a good man who treats you right. Khalil? He's shown you who he is time and time again."

"Miles is actually on his way here," Tia added. "He should be arriving soon."

KiKi's eyes widened. "What? Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Because we wanted to talk to you first," Rorie explained. "KiKi, you deserve someone who values you, who's ready for the same things you are. Give Miles a real chance."

KiKi was quiet for a moment, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'm scared," she admitted finally. "What if I'm not good enough for him?"

The three friends enveloped KiKi in a group hug. "You are more than good enough," Rorie assured her. "Just be yourself. That's who Miles fell for in the first place."

As they broke apart, KiKi managed a small smile. "Okay, okay. I'll talk to him when he gets here."

"That's our girl," Tia grinned, playfully bumping KiKi's hip.

The kitchen buzzed with renewed energy as they continued their preparations, the air filled with the warmth of friendship and the promise of new beginnings. Outside, the sound of another car pulling up signaled Miles's arrival, and a fresh wave of anticipation swept through the house.

As Miles made his way inside, greeting everyone with warm hugs and handshakes, the women put the finishing touches on the meal. Rorie and Carmen carefully transferred the golden-brown turkey to a serving platter, while Tia and Britt arranged side dishes on the expansive dining table. KiKi, with a newfound determination in her eyes, volunteered to pour the wine, stealing glances at Miles as he chatted with Lewis and Anthony.

Soon, the dining room was filled with the enticing aromas of the feast and the soft glow of candles. As everyone settled into their seats, the room resonated with laughter and the clinking of cutlery. Miles had slid into the seat next to KiKi, offering her a warm smile that she tentatively returned.

Greg raised his glass, proposing a toast to family, friends, and new beginnings. As glasses clinked and the meal began in earnest, the room filled with animated conversation and the warmth of togetherness. Lewis eventually caught KiKi's eye and nodded towards the kitchen. Excusing themselves, they stepped away from the bustling dining room.

In the relative quiet of the kitchen, Lewis turned to KiKi, his expression serious. "KiKi, I owe you an apology. I was wrong to suspect you of talking to The Sun. I'm sorry for doubting you."

KiKi's shoulders relaxed slightly. "It's okay, Lewis. I understand why you might have thought that, given everything that's been going on."

Lewis nodded, relieved. "Still, I should have known better. You've always had our backs."

KiKi took a deep breath. "Actually, there's something I need to tell you. I was... kind of involved, but not in the way you think."

Lewis's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Deja invited me out to lunch one day," KiKi explained. "When I got there, she started talking shit about Rorie. I left immediately, but... well, let's just say I handled it."

Lewis's eyes widened. "KiKi, what did you do?"

KiKi took a sip of her wine, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Let's just say the bitch knows better than to open her mouth again."

Lewis couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head. "You're wild, you know that? But seriously, what did you do?"

KiKi just shrugged, a haunting smile playing on her lips. "Some things are better left unsaid, Lewis. Just know that I've always got your back – you and Rorie both."

Lewis studied her for a moment, then broke into a grin. "You really are a ride-or-die friend, aren't you?"

"You know it," KiKi winked. "Now, can we get back to dinner? I've got a fine ass man waiting for me out there."

As they rejoined the dinner party, Lewis couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for the fierce loyalty of their friends. Whatever challenges lay ahead, he knew they had a strong support system to lean on.

Back at the table, Rorie caught Lewis's eye, raising an eyebrow in silent question. He gave her a reassuring smile, mouthing "Later" before diving back into the lively conversation around him. For now, he was content to enjoy this moment of warmth and togetherness with their extended family, savoring every bite of the lovingly prepared meal and every moment of laughter.

On a sunny afternoon in California, Rorie stood outside Luisa's modest home in the Valley. The streets were lined with deciduous trees, their leaves a mix of golden yellows and deep reds, a reminder that even in sunny California, autumn had arrived. With Lewis still in Abu Dhabi preparing for his final race of the season, Rorie knew he and Julian would have a conniption if they knew she was there, but she needed answers.

Rorie adjusted the basket of toys and gifts in her arms, filled with items for Luisa's daughters - Isabella, now a vivacious 7-year-old, and Catalina, a precocious 9-year-old. She thought back to all the times she'd visited this house, the laughter and warmth that had always greeted her. Luisa had been more than just a housekeeper; she'd become family over the years.

Taking a deep breath, Rorie knocked. When Luisa opened the door, surprise and fear flashed across her face.

"Por favor, Luisa," Rorie pleaded, her Spanish much improved from their years together. "Necesitamos hablar."

A small smile cracked Luisa's stern expression. "Your Spanish gets better every time," she said softly.

"I had the best teacher," Rorie replied, her voice warm with affection.

After a moment's hesitation, Luisa stepped aside, allowing Rorie to enter. The familiar scent of coffee filled the air, mingling with the aroma of something savory simmering on the stove - perhaps Luisa's famous pozole, perfect for the cooler weather. It reminded Rorie of countless afternoons spent in this kitchen, chatting and laughing as Luisa taught her to make traditional Mexican dishes.

"Where are the girls?" Rorie asked, looking around the cozy living room, noticing the fall-themed decorations.

"With their abuelita at the park," Luisa replied, her voice softer now. "Mamá is visiting for the month."

Rorie's face lit up. "Oh, I've missed your mother! Her stories always make me laugh."

Luisa's tension eased slightly. "She misses you too. She asked about you just this morning."

They settled at the small kitchen table, soft autumn light filtering through the lace curtains Rorie had helped Luisa pick out last year.

"I'm so sorry, Rorie," she began, tears welling in her eyes. "I never wanted to hurt you or your family."

"Then why, Luisa? Why did you help Deja?"

Luisa took a shaky breath. "Alexander... he promised to help Miguel. He said he had connections at the embassy." She explained about Miguel being held up in Mexico after a short visit to see his parents and border patrol agents noting him missing certain documents claiming his resident status in the U.S. "But it's not true. They're just being difficult."

Rorie was stunned. "Luisa, why didn't you come to us? We could have helped Miguel!"

Luisa broke down, sobbing. "You've done so much for us already. I couldn't ask for more."

Rorie felt a mix of hurt and frustration. "Luisa, I love you like a sister. We would have helped in a heartbeat."

"I know that now," Luisa whispered. "I was scared and desperate."

Rorie reached across the table, taking Luisa's hand. "I understand. But we can fix this. I'll talk to Julian about not pressing charges and I’ll see what I can do about helping Miguel."

Luisa looked up, hope in her eyes. "Really?"

Rorie nodded. "But we need your help with our lawsuit against Deja. Maybe you could meet with her again?"

Luisa squeezed Rorie's hand. "Anything. I'll do anything to make this right."

After their emotional conversation, Rorie and Luisa spent some time catching up on lighter topics, the familiar rhythm of their friendship slowly returning. As they chatted, the front door burst open, and Isabella and Catalina rushed in, followed by their abuelita.

"Tía Rorie!" the girls squealed, throwing themselves into Rorie's arms.

Rorie hugged them tightly. She exchanged warm greetings with Luisa's mother, promising to visit again soon for a proper catch-up.

As Rorie prepared to leave, Luisa walked her to the door. "Thank you for coming, Rorie. For listening and understanding."

Rorie squeezed her hand. "We're family, Luisa. We'll get through this together."

On the drive back to Malibu, Rorie's mind wandered to her conversation with Lewis about KiKi. KiKi's ominous words about handling Deja worried her. While she appreciated KiKi's loyalty, they needed to ensure their case against The Sun and Deja was solid and above board. They couldn't afford any complications.

Arriving home, Rorie headed straight to the office area. As she settled in, Nina knocked softly on the door frame, Lyric balanced on her hip.

"Look who's up from his nap," Nina said with a smile.

Lyric's face lit up at the sight of Rorie. "Mama!" he squealed, reaching for her.

Rorie scooped him up, peppering his face with kisses. "Hello, my sweet boy. Did you have a good nap?"

Lyric nodded enthusiastically. "Play now?"

"In a little bit, baby," Rorie promised. "Mama has some important calls first. But after that, we'll have some playtime, okay?"

Lyric considered this for a moment before nodding. "Okay, Mama."

As Nina took Lyric back, Rorie called out, "Thanks, Nina. I should be done in about an hour."

"No problem," Nina replied. "We'll be in the playroom when you're ready."

Taking a deep breath, Rorie logged into Zoom for her interviews with potential personal assistants. Yael and Penni had screened several candidates, narrowing it down to two promising options.

The first candidate, Zoe, appeared on screen. She was a Black woman in her late twenties, with box braids pulled into a neat bun and warm, intelligent eyes. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Hamilton," she began confidently. "I'm excited to discuss how I can support you and your family."

Rorie was impressed by Zoe's organization and attention to detail as they discussed the role. "How would you handle a situation where the media is pressuring for a statement on a sensitive family matter?" Rorie asked.

Zoe's response was measured and thoughtful, demonstrating a good understanding of media management.

The second candidate, Olivia, was a white woman in her early thirties with auburn hair and an air of calm competence. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hamilton," she said. "I understand the unique challenges of your position and I'm prepared to handle them discreetly and efficiently."

As they talked, Olivia demonstrated a solid understanding of crisis management. "In my previous role, I dealt with several high-profile situations," she explained. "Discretion and quick thinking are key."

By the end of the interviews, Rorie had a lot to consider. Both candidates had their strengths, but she knew she needed someone who could navigate the complexities of her life with grace and discretion.

As she ended the calls, Rorie made notes to discuss with Yael later. They had a tough decision ahead, but having a capable assistant would be crucial in managing her increasingly complicated life.

True to her word, an hour later, Rorie found herself in the playroom with Lyric, their laughter echoing through the house as they built towers with colorful blocks, the weight of the day's events temporarily forgotten in the joy of these precious moments with her son.

As the 2023 F1 season officially came to a close, Lewis felt the familiar mix of fatigue and relief. After wrapping up his final promotional duties with his sponsors, he was more than ready for some quality family time. And boy, was it needed. Between the bullshit with Deja and The Sun, Rorie's impromptu visit to Luisa's home, and the scrap metal of a car he drove this season, he wanted nothing more than to relax. He'd wish that his wife would've gone over her plan before visiting their housekeeper, but he was happy to know that Luisa wanted to make it up to them.

Thank God for small miracles.

Lewis, Rorie, and Lyric made their way inside SoFi Stadium for the Denver Broncos vs. Los Angeles Chargers game. As part of the Broncos ownership group, they bypassed the main crowds, a discreet security detail ushering them towards a private elevator. Rorie couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement - no matter how many games they attended, the experience never got old.

The elevator doors opened to reveal a corridor of luxury suites, but theirs was special. At the end of the hall, a door marked with the Broncos logo slid open, revealing a space that was more akin to a high-end apartment than a typical stadium box.

Floor-to-ceiling windows led out to a private balcony that hung over the field, offering an unobstructed view of the action below. The players looked like action figures from this height, but the roar of the crowd was crystal clear.

"Wow," Rorie breathed, stepping out onto the balcony. The rush of being so close yet so far above the field still amazed her.

Lewis set Lyric down, the toddler immediately racing to the balcony railing, securely designed with little ones in mind.

"Mama, up!" Lyric demanded, his eyes wide with excitement at the bustling stadium below.

She chuckled, scooping up her son. "What do you think, sweetie? Pretty cool, huh?"

As they settled in, a staff member approached. "Mr. Hamilton, Mrs. Hamilton, is there anything special you'd like prepared for today's game?"

This was just one of the many perks they enjoyed - personalized service that catered to their every whim. As Lewis discussed some vegan options with the attendant, Rorie sank into one of the plush outdoor seats, Lyric clambering onto her lap.

She couldn't help but marvel at how far they'd come. From watching games on TV in Lewis's bachelor pad to owning a piece of an NFL team and enjoying this incredible view - life had certainly taken some unexpected turns. They were soon joined by other members of the ownership group, including Melody Hobson, a successful businesswoman and friend.

"Lewis, Rorie! So good to see you," Melody greeted them warmly. "And look how big Lyric's getting!"

As kickoff approached, Lewis found himself explaining the basics of American football to Lyric, who was more interested in the colorful uniforms and the massive screens around the stadium.

"See that, Lyric? Those are our guys in the orange," Lewis pointed out.

The game was a nail-biter, with both teams trading leads throughout. In between plays, Lewis chatted with fellow owners about potential team strategies and upcoming decisions. Rorie, meanwhile, was deep in conversation with Melody about balancing career and family life.

As the fourth quarter wound down, the Broncos managed to pull ahead with a last-minute touchdown. The box erupted in cheers, with Lyric joining in, more excited by the adults' reactions than the game itself.

"We won, little man!" Lewis exclaimed. "Can you say 'Go Broncos'?"

"Go Boncos!" Lyric attempted, causing Rorie to laugh.

"Close enough, baby," she said, ruffling his braids.

As the excitement settled, Melody approached them. "Great game, wasn't it? Lewis, have you given any thought to that youth program we discussed?"

Lewis nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely. I think it's a fantastic idea. Maybe we can set up a meeting in the new year to flesh out the details?"

"Sounds perfect," Melody agreed. "Enjoy your family time. You've earned it after this season."

As they prepared to leave, Rorie spotted Ciara and Russell Wilson making their way over.

"Rorie! Lewis!" Ciara called out, embracing them both. "It's been too long."

Russell shook Lewis's hand warmly. "Congrats on a good season, man. And thanks for bringing that energy over to us."

They chatted for a few minutes, catching up on family life and recent events.

"We're heading out for pizza," Lewis mentioned. "Care to join us?"

Russell glanced at Ciara, who nodded. "We'd love to, but we've got an early flight tomorrow. Rain check?"

"Absolutely," Rorie agreed. "We'll set something up when we're back from Brazil."

After saying their goodbyes, Lewis, Rorie, and Lyric made their way to their favorite vegan pizza place in L.A. As they settled into a cozy booth, Lyric coloring contentedly, Lewis and Rorie finally had a moment to discuss their upcoming trip.

"So, Brazil," Lewis began, a smile playing on his lips. "I was thinking we could start in Rio, spend a few days there before heading to that secluded beach house in Bahia."

Rorie's eyes lit up. "That sounds perfect. Lyric will love the beach."

"Beach!" Lyric chimed in, clearly recognizing the word.

Lewis chuckled. "That's right, buddy. Lots of sand and waves for you to play in."

As their pizza arrived, they continued to plan their trip, discussing potential activities and places to visit.

"Oh, and I was thinking," Lewis added, lowering his voice slightly, "maybe we could have a few days just to ourselves? I'm sure your parents wouldn't mind watching Lyric for a bit."

Rorie raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Sir Hamilton, are you suggesting we sneak away for a romantic getaway?"

"Maybe," Lewis grinned. "After the year we've had, I think we deserve it, don't you?"

Rorie leaned in, kissing him softly. "I couldn't agree more."

"Is that right?" he whispered against her lips, being mindful of their impressionable toddler just a few feet away. "Are you going to f-u-c-k me like that one time during our honeymoon?"

Rorie’s eyes widened in recollection as they parted. "Oh, you mean with the ‘cuffs?" Her husband bit his bottom lip, nodding vigorously. "Maybe…as long as I can bring the new toy we’ve yet to use."

"You mean the–"

"Yes, exactly that and something else I bought just for you. Something with leather…"

Lewis’ mouth tilted into a mischievous grin. "I love winter break so much."

As they continued to enjoy their meal, the conversation flowed easily from travel plans to reflections on the past year and hopes for the future. The stress of the F1 season, the drama with Deja, and the challenges they'd faced seemed to melt away in the warmth of family time.

Later, as they drove home with a sleepy Lyric in the back seat, Lewis reached over and took Rorie's hand.

"Thank you," he said softly.

"For what?" Rorie asked, squeezing his hand.

"For everything. For being my rock, for giving me this beautiful family, for just... being you."

Rorie smiled, her eyes glistening slightly in the dim light. "Always, babe. We're in this together, remember?" Her eyes softened as she looked at her husband. "And speaking of being in this together... I've been thinking about what Dr. Chen said. About trying for another baby through IVF."

Lewis's breath caught slightly. "You have?"

"Yeah," Rorie said, her voice gentle. "I know it's been tough, but I think we're ready. If you are, that is."

Lewis was quiet for a moment, his thumb tracing circles on Rorie's hand. "I think I am," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe... maybe we could start the process after we get back from Brazil?"

Rorie smiled, bringing his hand to her lips for a soft kiss. "I think that sounds perfect."

Lewis nodded, a mix of emotions playing across his face. "It won't be easy, but we've faced tougher challenges together."

"We have," Rorie agreed. "And just think, this time next year, we could be celebrating the holidays with a new addition to our family."

They got out of the car, carefully lifting a sleeping Lyric from his car seat. Lewis cradled Lyric close to his chest, feeling the weight of their decision.

"You know," he said softly, "no matter what happens, you and Lyric are more than enough. You're everything to me."

"And you're everything to us," she whispered back.

A few days later, Rorie found herself in the heart of downtown Los Angeles, stepping out of a sleek black car onto the red carpet of a FWRD event. The evening air was crisp, and the city lights twinkled against the darkening sky.

Rorie smoothed down her outfit - a stunning, form-fitting black dress from the latest FWRD collection, paired with strappy heels and minimalist jewelry. Her hair was swept into an elegant bun, and her makeup was flawless, emphasizing her natural beauty.

As she made her way down the carpet, camera flashes erupted around her. Rorie smiled and posed, years of experience allowing her to navigate the media gauntlet with grace.

"Rorie! Over here!"

"Mrs. Hamilton, a moment please!"

"Rorie, who are you wearing tonight?"

She answered a few quick questions, her responses polished and warm. "I'm excited to be here supporting FWRD and their incredible new collection," she said to one reporter. "Fashion has always been a passion of mine, and FWRD continues to push boundaries in the industry."

Inside the venue, the atmosphere was electric. The space had been transformed into a chic, modern wonderland, with avant-garde installations showcasing the latest FWRD pieces. Rorie mingled with other celebrities, fashion insiders, and influencers, her natural charisma shining through in every interaction.

As she sipped on a glass of champagne, Rorie caught sight of her reflection in a nearby mirror. She looked every inch the successful, confident woman she was, but her mind couldn't help but wander to Lewis and Lyric at home, and the possibility of expanding their family. It was a balancing act, this life of glamour and domesticity, but one she navigated with increasing skill and appreciation.

The event began to wind down, and Rorie found herself reflecting on the night's significance. This was their last big event before heading off to Brazil for their family vacation. The excitement of their upcoming trip mingled with the lingering buzz of the fashion world.

Saying her goodbyes, Rorie stepped out into the cool night air. In the back of her town car, she kicked off her heels with a sigh of relief. She pulled out her phone, smiling at a text from Lewis:

Hope you had a great night. Can't wait to see you.

As the car wound its way through the LA streets, Rorie's mind drifted to their impending lawsuit, set for April of next year. It felt far away, yet ever-present in her thoughts. She made a mental note to touch base with Julian before they left for Brazil.

Arriving home, Rorie quietly made her way upstairs. She peeked into Lyric's room, her heart swelling at the sight of her peacefully sleeping son. Then, she slipped into her own bedroom, where Lewis was still awake, scrolling through his phone.

"Hey, beautiful," he said, looking up with a smile. "How was the event?"

Rorie sat on the edge of the bed, starting to remove her jewelry. "It was great. Lots of networking, and Kendall even mentioned a potential capsule collection with FWRD."

Lewis's eyes lit up. "That's fantastic, babe. You deserve it."

As Rorie unzipped her dress, she added, "I was thinking about the lawsuit on the way home. Should we check in with Julian before we leave?"

Lewis nodded, his expression turning serious. "Good idea. We can give him a call tomorrow. But for now," he patted the bed beside him, "let's focus on us. I miss you."

Rorie tossed her dress onto the chair, a playful glint in her eye as she caught Lewis's gaze. "Oh, you miss me, huh?" she teased, stepping closer to the bed in nothing but her lingerie. The way Lewis’s eyes darkened with desire made her feel powerful, and she decided to make the most of it.

Lewis leaned back against the pillows, his grin widening as he watched her. "You know I do," he replied, his voice low and smooth, filled with anticipation.

Rorie moved slowly, deliberately, letting the moment build. She unclasped her bra and let it slip from her shoulders, tossing it aside with a mischievous smile. "Maybe I miss you too," she said, her voice soft and teasing, as she slid under the covers next to him.

Lewis's hands were on her the moment she was within reach, his touch firm yet gentle as he pulled her closer. "Is that so?" he murmured against her ear, his breath warm on her skin.

Rorie giggled softly, her fingers tracing the lines of his jaw as she straddled him. "Mmhmm," she hummed, leaning down to brush her lips against his in a feather-light kiss. She loved the way he looked at her, as if she were the only person in the world, and she intended to make him feel the same way tonight.

Their kisses deepened, growing more intense as Lewis's hands roamed over her body, tracing the lines of her curves with fervent desire. Rorie felt a familiar heat building between them, her skin tingling at every touch and caress.

Lewis flipped them over effortlessly, his strong arms easily pinning her beneath him as he continued to kiss her deeply. "I've been going crazy thinking about you all night," he whispered against her lips, his voice rough and eager.

A smile tugged at the corners of Rorie's mouth as she ran her hands down his back, feeling the muscles tense under her touch. "Then why are we still wasting time talking?"

Without hesitation, Lewis shed his own clothing before returning to hover over her, their bodies pressed together in perfect synchronization. Agonizingly slow, Lewis positioned himself between her legs and gradually entered her, eliciting a low moan from Rorie's throat. Every inch of their bodies melded together now, their movements becoming more frantic and frenzied with each passing moment.

Her nails dug into Lewis's back, leaving faint red marks as she urged him on. She couldn't get enough of him, her body craving his touch again and again. Lewis's movements became more urgent, his hips thrusting harder and faster as he neared his release. Rorie's moans grew louder, her body arching up to meet his every move. She was close too, her skin flushed and her eyes half-lidded with desire.

"Just like that, don't stop, baby," she gasped, her voice filled with need and desire. "I'm so close."

"Fuck, baby," Lewis groaned, his fingers digging into Rorie's hips as he increased his pace. He was so close now, and he could feel Rorie trembling beneath him.

With one final thrust, they both reached their climax together, their bodies shuddering and crashing against each other in waves of ecstasy. Lewis collapsed onto the bed next to Rorie, both of them panting and trying to catch their breath.

"That was..." Rorie trailed off, unable to find the words to describe how amazing it felt.

"Unbelievable," Lewis finished for her with a satisfied grin. He rolled onto his side, pulling Rorie closer to him as they lay there in a blissful haze.

Rorie nuzzled her face into Lewis's chest, feeling content and happy in this moment with him. She loved these quiet moments after they made love, when they were just together without any distractions or obligations.

Lewis kissed the top of Rorie's head before pulling away slightly to look at her. "I love you so much," he said softly.

"I love you too," Rorie replied with a smile before leaning up to kiss him again.

They touched down in Rio de Janeiro, where the city’s vibrant energy welcomed them like an old friend. Over the next few days, they immersed themselves in the rhythm of the city, exploring iconic sights and soaking up the atmosphere. They visited the breathtaking Corcovado Mountain, where the towering Christ the Redeemer statue watched over them, and spent time wandering through the colorful steps of Escadaria Selarón. Everywhere they went, the city buzzed with life, providing the perfect backdrop for their family adventures.

Lyric was utterly fascinated by the beaches of Copacabana and Ipanema. His little legs carried him excitedly across the warm sand, chasing after seagulls and marveling at the endless expanse of ocean. Lewis and Rorie took turns running after him, their laughter mingling with the sounds of the surf and the chatter of beachgoers. It was a carefree time, a brief escape from the pressures of the lawsuit and their next phase in expanding their family.

After their time in Rio, they traveled to a secluded beach house in Bahia. Here, the true relaxation began. The private stretch of coastline became their sanctuary, a place where they could unwind and reconnect as a family. Mornings were spent building sandcastles with Lyric, who giggled as the waves knocked them down, and afternoons were for lounging under the sun, the gentle breeze carrying away their worries.

That night, after putting Lyric to bed, Rorie and Lewis found themselves alone in the serene quiet of their beach house. The soft sound of waves crashing outside mixed with the gentle rustle of the warm night breeze filtering through the open windows. Moonlight poured into the room, casting a silvery glow that bathed everything in a soft, intimate light.

Rorie stood before Lewis, her naked body still glistening from the water droplets that clung to her skin after their shared bath. The steam from the bathroom still lingered in the air, carrying with it the faint scent of lavender. Her braids, damp and curly, cascaded over her shoulders, framing her face in a way that made Lewis's breath catch in his throat. She was breathtaking, and in that moment, she was all his.

Without a word, Rorie moved closer to him, her hips swaying slightly with each step. Lewis was already seated at the edge of the bed, his eyes dark with desire, following her every movement. His hands rested on his thighs, fingers twitching with anticipation. As she straddled him, her legs on either side of his, he reached out, his hands finding their place on her hips, pulling her closer until their bodies were pressed together.

Rorie leaned in, her lips brushing against his in a soft, teasing kiss. Lewis groaned softly, his hands gliding up her back, feeling the smoothness of her skin under his fingertips. She could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tensed as he held himself back, savoring the moment.

She kissed him again, deeper this time, her tongue slipping past his lips in a slow, sensual dance. Lewis responded eagerly, his hands roaming over her body, exploring every curve, every inch of her that he could touch. His lips trailed down her neck, pressing kisses along her collarbone, tasting the faint saltiness of her skin.

Rorie moaned softly, her body arching into his touch, the heat between them building with each passing second. She could feel him hard beneath her, the evidence of his desire pressing against her thigh. She moved her hips slightly, teasing him, eliciting a low growl from deep within his chest.

"You're going to be the death of me," Lewis murmured against her skin, his voice thick with need.

Rorie smiled, her hands cupping his face, bringing his lips back to hers. "Then let me bring you to life," she whispered, her words a promise.

With a gentle push, she guided him to lie back on the bed, her body following his down until she was atop him, their bodies perfectly aligned. She could feel the heat of him between her legs, the ache of desire that pulsed through her, begging for release. Slowly, she lowered herself onto him, taking him in inch by inch, a soft gasp escaping her lips as he filled her completely.

"Jesus Christ, baby." Lewis's hands gripped her hips, guiding her as she began to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm that drove them both wild. "Yes, ride this dick, baby. Fuck…"

Rorie's head fell back, her long bohemian knotless braids spilling down her back as she rode him, the pleasure building with each thrust. The feel of him inside her, the way his hands caressed her body, sent shivers down her spine. "Shit, Lewis....mmhmmm..."

Their movements became more urgent, the rhythm faster, more desperate. The bed creaked beneath them, the sound mingling with their heavy breathing, the soft moans and gasps that escaped them both. Rorie leaned forward, her hands braced against his chest, her lips finding his once more as they moved together, their bodies in perfect sync.

But just as their passion reached its peak, they heard a tiny voice at the door. "Mama? Dada?"

They froze, their eyes widening in surprise. Lyric stood in the doorway, clutching his stuffed bunny, looking at them with innocent curiosity.

Rorie quickly covered herself, biting back a laugh. "Oh, sweetie, what are you doing up?"

Lyric toddled over to the bed, his eyes wide as he tried to climb up. "Bunny fell," he said simply, holding up the toy.

Lewis couldn’t help but chuckle as he rolled off the bed to put on a pair of boxers. He then scooped up their son, settling him on his hip. "Well, looks like we’ll have to continue this later," he said, giving Rorie a knowing look.

Rorie sighed, glancing at Lyric with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "My parents cannot come fast enough," she muttered, though she couldn’t help but smile at the way Lyric snuggled beside Lewis, oblivious to what he had interrupted.

Lewis grinned, pulling Lyric closer. "We’ll have our time. I’m going to put him back to bed."

As Lewis carried Lyric back to his room, Rorie slipped on a silk robe and followed them. She leaned against the doorframe, watching as Lewis gently tucked their son back into bed.

"There you go, little man," Lewis said softly, placing the bunny next to Lyric. "Bunny's all safe now. Time for sleep, okay?"

Lyric nodded sleepily, his eyes already drooping. "Night, Dada. Night, Mama," he mumbled.

Rorie stepped forward, pressing a soft kiss to Lyric's forehead. "Goodnight, baby. Sweet dreams."

They quietly left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. In the hallway, Lewis pulled Rorie close, his arms wrapping around her waist.

"Now, where were we?" he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear.

Rorie chuckled softly, placing a hand on his chest. "Hold that thought. We should probably make sure he's actually asleep this time."

Lewis groaned playfully but nodded in agreement. They retreated to their bedroom, leaving their door open to listen for any more midnight wanderings from their son.

As they settled back onto the bed, Rorie curled up next to Lewis, her head resting on his chest. "You know," she said, tracing patterns on his skin, "as much as I'm looking forward to some alone time with you, I'm going to miss him when my parents take him for those few days."

Lewis nodded, running his fingers through her hair. "I know what you mean. But it'll be good for us to have that time together, especially before we start the IVF process."

Rorie looked up at him, her eyes soft in the dim light. "Are you nervous about it? The IVF, I mean."

Lewis was quiet for a moment, considering. "A little," he admitted. "But mostly, I'm excited. The thought of giving Lyric a sibling, of expanding our family… it feels right."

Rorie smiled, leaning up to kiss him softly. "It does, doesn't it?"

As they lay there, talking softly about their hopes and plans, the interruption from earlier faded into just another cherished moment of parenthood. The night stretched on, filled with quiet laughter and tender touches, a perfect prelude to the adventures that awaited them in the days to come.

_______________________________________________

A few days later, Rorie's parents, Marian and Greg, arrived at the beach house. The Hamiltons welcomed them warmly, grateful for the extra hands with Lyric and the chance to catch up.

One afternoon, as they lounged on the patio enjoying the ocean breeze and some fresh fruit, Marian decided to broach the subject of recent events back home.

"So," Marian began, running a hand through Lyric’s braids, "any news about Martin? Has he tried to contact you guys again?"

Rorie nodded, her expression concerned. "He called a few times last week. Keeps saying he wants to talk to me, to explain himself. What’s happening back at home?"

Greg added, "The paparazzi situation hasn't improved much. They're still camped out near the house most days."

Rorie sighed. "I'm so sorry you're dealing with all this because of me."

"Don't you dare apologize," Marian said firmly. "We're family. We handle these things together."

Lewis reached over and squeezed Rorie's hand. "Your mom's right. And we'll figure out how to deal with Martin and the media. We're not letting them ruin our time here."

As they continued to discuss the challenges ahead, Lyric, perched on Marian's lap, happily munched on a piece of mango, oblivious to the adult concerns.

"So, sweetie," Marian cooed at her grandson, changing the subject, "what have you been up to with Mama and Dada?"

Lyric's face lit up. "Mama Dada hug!" he exclaimed, his limited vocabulary conveying the essence of what he'd seen a few nights ago. "A lot!"

Rorie and Lewis exchanged a quick, embarrassed glance. Greg raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"Is that so?" Greg chuckled. "Lots of hugging going on, eh?"

Rorie felt her cheeks flush. "Dad, please," she mumbled, while Lewis suddenly became very interested in his drink.

Marian laughed softly, bouncing Lyric on her knee. "Oh, leave them be, Greg. They're young and in love."

Eager to change the subject again, Lewis cleared his throat. "Actually, I've got some news. My 2025 contract with Ferrari is through. I just need to sign to make it official."

The family erupted in excited congratulations, the mood lifting instantly.

"That's fantastic news, Lewis!" Greg exclaimed, clapping him on the back. "Ferrari, huh? That's quite a change."

Marian beamed, "We're so proud of you, dear. Both of you," she added, smiling at Rorie.

"Thanks," Lewis grinned, visibly relaxed now that the news was out. "It's a big move, but I'm ready for the challenge."

Rorie squeezed his hand, her eyes shining with pride. "He's been working so hard for this. I can't wait to see him in that red suit."

"Red! Like Elmo!" Lyric chimed in, making everyone laugh.

"That's right, buddy," Lewis chuckled, ruffling his son's hair. "Daddy's going to be like Elmo."

Greg stood up, stretching. "Well, I think this calls for a celebration. How about we fire up the grill? We've got that fresh fish in the fridge, and I picked up some plantains earlier."

"Ooh, yes!" Rorie agreed enthusiastically. "And I can make that mango salsa you love, Mom."

"Perfect," Marian nodded. "Lewis, why don't you and Greg handle the grill? I know you're vegan, sweetie, but could you grill some vegetables for yourself?"

"Of course," Lewis smiled. "I saw some great-looking bell peppers and zucchini in the kitchen."

As they all moved to start preparing the impromptu celebratory dinner, Lewis scooped up Lyric. "Come on, little man. Want to help Daddy and Grandpa with the grill?"

"Yes! Help!" Lyric clapped his hands excitedly.

The patio soon buzzed with activity. Greg and Lewis stood by the grill, with Greg seasoning the fish and Lewis preparing his vegetables. Lyric "helped" by handing them utensils and watching in fascination as Greg sliced the plantains. In the kitchen, Rorie and Marian chopped fruits and vegetables for the salsa and side dishes, the rhythmic sound of their knives punctuated by laughter as they shared stories.

The afternoon stretched into evening, filled with delicious food, flowing conversation, and the warmth of family. As they sat around the table, enjoying their meal under the starry sky, the worries of paparazzi and complicated family dynamics seemed far away. For now, they were simply a family, celebrating good news and cherishing their time together.

______________________________________

As New Year's Eve approached, Rorie and Lewis prepared for their night out in Salvador. They said goodbye to Lyric, leaving him in the capable hands of his grandparents.

"You two have fun," Marian said, shooing them out the door. "We've got everything under control here."

"Thanks, Mom," Rorie said, giving her a quick hug. "We'll see you next year," she added with a wink.

Rorie and Lewis headed towards the city, and the excitement of the coming celebrations and the promise of new beginnings filled the air. They found themselves in the heart of the historic Pelourinho district, surrounded by music, laughter, and the infectious spirit of Bahia.

Rorie, dressed in a flowing green lace dress that caught the warm breeze, swayed to the rhythm of the samba playing in the square. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, enhanced by the few caipirinhas she'd enjoyed throughout the evening.

"Come on, babe!" she called to Lewis, grabbing his hand and pulling him closer. "Dance with me!"

Lewis, sober but caught up in the festive atmosphere, laughed as he allowed Rorie to guide him in the dance. Though he wasn't as fluid as the locals, he moved with the natural grace of an athlete.

"You're getting better at this," Rorie teased, her arms draped around his neck.

Lewis grinned, his hands on her waist. "I've got a good teacher."

As midnight approached, they made their way to the beach where thousands had gathered to watch the fireworks. The crowd was a sea of white, following the Brazilian tradition for good luck in the new year.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!" The countdown began, and Lewis pulled Rorie close.

"Seven! Six! Five!" Rorie's eyes met Lewis's, full of love and anticipation.

"Four! Three! Two! One! Feliz Ano Novo!"

The sky erupted in a dazzling display of fireworks, but Lewis and Rorie were lost in their own world as they shared a deep, passionate kiss.

"Happy New Year, love," Lewis murmured against her lips.

Rorie smiled, her forehead resting against his. "Happy New Year. Here's to new beginnings."

As the celebration continued around them, they stood there on the beach, arms wrapped around each other, watching the fireworks paint the sky. The promise of the year ahead - with all its potential joys and challenges - stretched out before them, but in that moment, they were content to simply be together, savoring the magic of a new year's beginning in this beautiful corner of the world.

"You know," Rorie said, her voice slightly slurred from the drinks, "I think this might be my favorite New Year's Eve ever."

Lewis chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Even better than the one in Aspen?"

Rorie pretended to think for a moment. "Okay, maybe it's a tie. But this one definitely has better weather."

The fireworks faded and the crowd began to disperse, and Lewis and Rorie decided to take a moonlit walk along the beach before heading back to their hotel. The warm sand beneath their feet and the sound of the waves created a perfect end to their night of celebration.

"We should properly celebrate," Rorie murmured, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Especially since we don't have to worry about being interrupted."

Lewis grinned, understanding her meaning immediately, and his hands found their way to her ass. "I like the way you think, Mrs. Hamilton."

Rorie laughed and playfully swatted at his hand. "Not here," she whispered, glancing around to make sure no one was nearby. "You gotta wait until we’re back at the hotel."

When they finally reached the privacy of their hotel room, the door had barely clicked shut behind them before Lewis had Rorie pressed against it, his lips crashing down onto hers in a searing kiss. She responded eagerly, her hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer as their bodies pressed together.

Lewis's hands roamed over her curves, squeezing her ass as he deepened the kiss. His tongue teased hers, exploring the warmth of her mouth with a skillful rhythm that left her breathless. Rorie moaned softly against his lips, her body tingling with anticipation as her hands worked to unbutton his shirt, revealing the hard planes of his chest.

Breaking the kiss, she pushed him back just enough to give herself some space, her hands trailing down his torso, appreciating the firm muscles beneath her fingertips. "Get on the bed," she commanded softly, her voice laced with desire.

Lewis grinned, his eyes dark with lust as he obeyed, quickly shedding the rest of his clothes before lying back on the bed. Rorie followed, slowly stripping out of her own clothes, letting each piece drop to the floor in a deliberate, tantalizing manner. She could feel his eyes on her, drinking in every inch of her as she revealed herself to him.

Once she was completely naked, Rorie reached for the small duffle bag they’d packed for the trip, her fingers brushing against the new toy she’d brought along for their special night. She pulled it out—a sleek, remote-controlled clitoral vibrator. The look on Lewis’s face when he saw it made her smile with satisfaction.

Rorie crawled onto the bed, straddling Lewis's thighs as she held up the toy, her eyes locking onto his. "I thought we could finally try this new toy," she said, her voice sultry as she flicked the vibrator on, the soft hum filling the room.

Lewis’s breath hitched, his eyes narrowing with a mix of curiosity and arousal. "You’re full of surprises tonight," he murmured, his hands sliding up her thighs, gripping her hips as he watched her intently.

Rorie leaned down, kissing him deeply as she guided the toy between her legs, pressing it against her clit. She gasped at the sensation, the gentle vibrations sending pleasure coursing through her body. Lewis groaned against her mouth, clearly enjoying the way she was responding.

She pulled back slightly, her hands gripping his shoulders as she began to ride him, the vibrator nestled between them, heightening the sensation with each movement. Lewis’s hands moved to her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her taut nipples as he thrust up to meet her movements, each motion sending waves of pleasure through her.

The combination of the toy and the feel of Lewis inside her was intoxicating. Rorie’s head fell back, her moans growing louder as she moved faster, her body trembling with the intensity of her arousal. She could feel herself getting closer, the pleasure building to a point where it was almost too much to bear.

"Fuck, you’re amazing," Lewis groaned, his grip on her tightening as he thrust up harder, his dick hitting that perfect spot inside her over and over again. "Come for me, baby. I want to feel you come all over this dick."

"Lewis!" she gasped, her hands clutching his shoulders as the pleasure wracked her body. "Oh, God, I’m coming so hard!"

Rorie finally shattered, her body convulsing as she came, the pleasure washing over her in waves. The vibrator fell to the side as she clung to Lewis, riding out her orgasm until she was spent.

But Lewis wasn’t done. He flipped them over, pinning her beneath him as he thrust into her, his pace relentless as he chased his own release. Rorie could feel him, still rock hard inside her, and the aftershocks of her orgasm made her even more sensitive, every thrust sending sparks of pleasure through her.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, her nails digging into his back as he drove them both toward the edge once more. His name was a mantra on her lips, each moan urging him on.

"Fuck, yes," Lewis groaned, thrusting into her one last time before his own release took over, spilling himself deep inside her with a guttural moan. "Rorie, oh fuck…"

They stayed tangled together, their bodies slick with sweat and the remnants of their passion. Lewis pulled Rorie into his arms and held her close as they both caught their breath.

"Holy shit, woman," he murmured against her hair, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Rorie smiled, still feeling the afterglow of their lovemaking. "Worth the wait?" she teased, snuggling closer to him.

"Absolutely," Lewis replied, his voice filled with warmth and affection. "But next time, I’m not waiting until we get back to the hotel. I’m just gonna fuck you on the beach."

Rorie laughed softly, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. "You’re insatiable."

"For you, always," he said, his hand gently caressing her back as they drifted off to sleep, their hearts full and their bond stronger than ever.

As the first day of January dawned, Deja stood before her bathroom mirror, examining the fading bruises on her body. The assault in late November had left its mark, both physically and emotionally. While the acute pain had subsided, a dull ache remained, a constant reminder of the attack.

Her fingers traced a yellowing bruise on her ribcage as her mind drifted back to that fateful night in New Orleans during the 2017 All-Star weekend. The memories were vivid, almost taunting in their clarity.

The pulsing beat of the club, the electric atmosphere of celebrity and excitement. She remembered the way Lewis had looked at her, or at least how she thought he had looked at her. His smile, the warmth of his hand on her lower back as they danced, the intoxicating mix of his cologne and the whiskey on his breath.

"You're special," she thought she heard him say, the words barely audible over the music. But had he really said it? Or was it just what she wanted to hear?

Deja shook her head, forcing herself back to the present. The attack had thrown a wrench in her plans, forcing her to cancel appearances and partnership deals to focus on healing. It had also planted a seed of paranoia. Who was responsible? The attacker had robbed her, yes, but the beating felt personal. A nagging suspicion that Rorie might be involved refused to leave her mind, though she had no proof. She picked up her phone, scrolling through recent photos of Lewis and Rorie at public events. Their happiness felt like a personal affront, fueling the bitterness that had driven her actions.

The alliance with The Sun and Alexander had seemed like the perfect revenge, a way to shatter the perfect image of the Hamilton family. But now, as she sat alone in her apartment, nursing her injuries and haunted by memories, Deja couldn't help but question her choices.

Her phone buzzed - another message from Alexander, demanding more information. She ignored it at first, the weight of her decisions pressing down on her. The revenge she had sought was leaving a bitter taste in her mouth, and the collateral damage to people like Luisa was weighing heavily on her conscience.

But pride and stubbornness kept her from backing down. She had come too far to turn back now. Steeling herself to respond to Alexander, Deja couldn't shake the feeling that she was on a path that would only lead to more pain - for everyone involved.

TO BE CONTINUED…..

[strawberrystepmom]

pairing: Kenjaku x F!Reader, past Geto Suguru x F!Reader

word count: 3.6k

about: you become kenjaku's captive to ensure that he will not miss his opportunity to fight the strongest after his return from the prison realm. the temptation of being this close to the last remaining earthly fragment of the man you once loved, suguru, proves too much to resist and you give into your desires despite the hole they're bound to leave.

contents: NSFW - MINORS DNI. DARK CONTENT WARNING, MAJOR MANGA SPOILERS FOR CH 236 AND BEYOND | dubcon, manipulation, violence against reader, asphyxiation, kidnapping | reader is a sorcerer and went to school with geto and they had mutual feelings for one another, mentions of religion and references to god, kenjaku retained some of geto's memories and knows reader through them, reader has breasts and descriptions of vaginal anatomy are given, rough piv sex with little prep, reader is referred to as "girl", major character death (off screen).

notes: i've uh....been going through some things lately LMAO tbh i started this awhile back before thanksgiving but have felt weird about posting it and it very nearly stayed in the "between me and god" folder so i held back but today i said fuck it. if you read, thanks and i hope you enjoy!!!

header art is by jenny holzer and divider is by @/cafekitsune ♡

“The old occupant of this vessel was very fond of you, you know?”

How dare Kenjaku mention Suguru so casually, as if he were a tenant to his own flesh and bone instead of its rightful owner? 

“You know nothing about him,” The words are full of venom, flying from your mouth not unlike the way you spat at the curse user’s face two days prior to now. He chuckled when the fluid hit his cheek, wiping it off without a second thought. “Or me.” 

You felt so guilty for spitting at his face, the face of a man you once believed that you loved, that you wept until you began to dry heave atop the futon mattress in the room that has been designated as yours. It’s the same bed you rest on now, duvet over your knees that are hiked to your chest. It’s a means to protect yourself from any vulnerability but it’s truly no use. If Kenjaku wants to harm you, he will.

He has insisted your accommodations be comfortable since arriving three days ago given you are collateral and not a captive, his own clever wording for the situation, but you’re more than aware that if you were to attempt to escape from the cage that you’d hit the window just as all birds hungry for a taste of freedom do. There are no cuffs, chains, or bars but your freedom is no longer yours. It is a prize to be won pending the defeat of the man standing across from you in the doorway, shoji door open beside him, flowing hair as dark as the midnight sky brushing the backs of his elbows.

For years you wondered what you’d do if faced with Suguru again. Would you strike him, insisting he deserved it for all the hurt left in his wake? Ask him why in a scream so powerful your shoulders would shake with the weight of your fury? Perhaps you’d forgive him, as you’d been taught and encouraged to do your entire life, and those mumbled prayers cast to the God you believe in above you would be true for the first time since they’ve left your treacherous lips. 

“I forgive him, I hope you can, too.” You have begged God aloud and silently since sixteen years old. You have always been devout in your faith despite abandoning most of the tenets that make someone a believer, your lack of devotion not enough to deter you from selfishly asking for absolution for a man who you know deserves none.

God’s answer is clear when faced with the fact that this is not Geto standing in front of you. There is no less mercy a person can be shown than their body being used as a sick prop after their death.

The space where his thoughts and dreams and hopes used to lie is occupied by something far worse than just visions of a world purified through means of violence, a place where people like you could live without the threat of death and sacrifice to keep others safe. Granted, that wasn’t exactly a noble purpose either, but at least it didn’t threaten your life the way that whatever lives inside of his skull does now.

“I know more about both of you than you think.” 

Kenjaku’s words drip with smugness and your stomach flips. The natural responses of your body to a man who looks and sounds just like Suguru make you sick but you cannot focus on fighting them off and keeping yourself protected at the same time, you have to simply make peace with the butterflies in your stomach that feels like something is punching you in the gut over and over again. He dares enter the room and you scoot further up the futon, hitting the wall behind you and leveling a glare in his direction.

Suguru’s body reacts to you, as well, something that Kenjaku planned long ago to use to his advantage. It started with hazy dreams, a face he recognized as yours drifting through them, your thighs and your lips and your skirt. It’s a version of you a little younger, a little warmer - less edgy than you are now. You are sharp and finely tuned to harm while the version of you that lived in Geto’s mind will forever stay soft, a freshly unfurled rose.

“All you’ve done is vandalize him,” you accuse and he shrugs, dressed in a cotton yukata rather than the robes he stole in addition to the body they dressed. It’s easy to imagine another life where this is Suguru and you are you and he’s coming to your shared bedside, kneeling on the ground the same way Kenjaku is now while he invites himself to the only space you currently have as your own.

“You’re a smart girl, don’t play dumb.” Your glance moves from the doorway to him, disgusted by how brave he is getting this close to you. “Perhaps I’m simply using the power this body holds in the way he was too cowardly to attempt.”

Despite your current state of sitting in nothing but a yukata yourself, you are physically strong from spending the last decade of your life as nothing more than a glorified weapon to use in the fight against evil. Even if your Cursed Technique would be unlikely to have any effect on the man, you could be a difficult problem for him if you wanted to be, yet you sit and do nothing but wait and refuse to respond to his words. He chuckles at your stubbornness and reaches across the bed and your body to grab your chin between his thumb and index finger. He shifts your head until you’re staring directly at him and a smile crosses his lips.

You do not fight him off.

“Tell me, sorcerer,” he starts and you swallow, bottom lip quivering. You want to reach out and slap him away, to scream and kick but your body stays still, the only place blood is pooling between your legs and in the heat of your face. “Where are those teeth and claws you were so eager to show me on your first night here?”

He reaches his thumb upward and presses it against your mouth, stopping the shake with a single touch - your body’s natural reaction to a man you are now certain you loved, given it’s the only explanation for your behavior. It’s a form of trust, the muscle memory of a kiss he gave you in your dorm room at the school you once shared. The first night you were spitting and hissing, now you’re so placid.

“Nothing to say for yourself?”

Stubbornly, you shake your head and Kenjaku chuckles again, pulling his thumb away from your lip but maintaining the grip on your chin. You know this is not Suguru, it’s as clear as the stitches across the forehead of the practically empty vessel that further closes in on you. He moves silently until he’s mere inches away from you, his head hovering over your knees that are still pulled against your chest. You watch him with narrowed eyes, tucking against yourself tighter than you ever have as a means of comfort, but it does nothing to stop him from lingering.

“I could just make you speak if I wanted to,” he warns. The power in this situation belongs to him.

“What’s the point of fighting you? You’re going to do whatever you want with me anyway.” You admit, defeated. Whatever fight you had left in you was smothered weeks ago during the attack on Shibuya. Even the release of Gojo is not enough to fill you with hope for the future. It’s pointless to keep fighting when the only outcome is going to be loss.

The shaky sound of your voice makes the curse user move closer to you and you shut your eyes tightly, refusing to look at him lest your body continue with these inexplicable natural responses. Heart pounding against your chest, it’s inexplicably frustrating that it cannot seem to separate what your brain knows is true from what your body wants to believe.

It isn’t him, you scream within the confines of your own mind but it does not prevent your palms from feeling clammy and the squeeze of your inner thighs against each other to provide some relief against the heat in your core.

It isn’t him. It isn’t him. It isn’t him…

Chanting the words internally, you open your eyes and are met with a pair of golden ones staring directly at you. They’re the same that stared at you in a dorm room a decade ago although they’re missing the warmth they had back then, dripping honey sweetness hidden in the irises turned to tar. 

“You’re right, I can.” He nods and dark hair falls over his eyes, catching your eye. Your stomach turns when you spot the stitches across his forehead but your gaze returns to his so quickly you can hardly think about it. “But will it be what I want or is it what this body desires, I wonder?”

This piques your interest and Kenjaku tilts his head to the side inquisitively, dark hair sweeping over your knees and around your body. It feels like a curtain, a veil like the ones you are so used to using to keep people safe and ignorant and outside of your world of sorcery.

“What do you mean?”

A smirk is the response you are granted and he moves closer to you, one of his hands reaching for the duvet you’re using to cover you. Pulling it back gently, your robe covered body coming into view and once again, you make no effort to fight. With this barrier removed, he runs his palm over the outside of your thigh. Muffling your whimper at the touch, you attempt to hide your face in your shoulder but he stops you, still grasping onto your chin and still holding your gaze.

“Interesting.” 

His hand travels from the outside of your thigh to the insides and you gently spread them to allow him access before realizing what he’s searching for. Attempting to cut off his access by closing your legs, he holds your thigh in place and lets his fingers dip lower along the soft skin. You quiver and shake beneath him like a leaf clinging to the branches of a tree in winter, desperate for somewhere to remain, and those fingers inch closer and closer to your core. He stops when he feels the coarse hair covering your mound and dares to dip a single fingertip between your folds, raising his eyebrows when he feels the arousal seeping from you. 

“I knew it,” he whispers so low you wonder if you were even meant to hear it but the way he gazes at you, like that of a man starved, tells you that the words were meant for no one but you.

Your hand shakes as much as the rest of you when you finally lift it from your side, reaching out to him and taking a strand of hair between your fingers. It feels just as you imagined it would, silk between your digits, and a breathy sigh leaves you before you begin to cry. Dropping the small strand, you choose to reach out toward his forehead and use your hand to block the stitches covering it.

“Suguru.”

You babble the name like it is precious, your lip quivering just as it did before, and the evil man shakes his head, capturing your wrist with the hand he just removed from your chin. He lowers your hand enough that you can see the stitches unobscured.

“Kenjaku, actually.” 

He lowers your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles, amused when you squirm where you sit, practically delirious with lust and confusion. You do not want this, at least that’s what you tell yourself while parting your legs further and panting, chest heaving with every breath.

Wordlessly, he uses his free hand to untie your robe and it falls off of your shoulders, exposing you to him fully before he can blink. This is something he remembers seeing in one of those dreams but you look different than whatever the imagination of a man who was infatuated with you was able to come up with during his loneliest hours. It amuses Kenjaku that he is the one to see you like this, bare and willing. 

Tracing down your belly and lower, he stops between your legs which makes you whimper. You’re so desperate to be touched, to pretend he is someone you’ll never have the opportunity to love as properly as you could have if you’d both lived a different life, that your hips actually arch off of the bed eagerly. It should embarrass you but you are past the point of humiliation, willing to be fucked by evil incarnate just for the sake of a taste of Suguru Geto.

“Pathetic little thing,” he coos and you say nothing in return. You’re well aware of your failings as a sorcerer and a human being as his fingers spread your labia to get a glance at what you have to offer. For a moment, you consider praying for Suguru again; to selfishly beg God to make sense of your own actions but you know that he no longer has mercy for an ill behaved member of his flock. You will simply accept the consequences, whatever they will be.

His thumb brushes your clit and you moan, tipping your head back and toward the ceiling. You wait for the sensation of pleasure to climb through you again but it doesn’t come until you look downward again, eyes fluttering open.

“Eyes on me or you get nothing.”

Too afraid to look away lest it keep you from the only good thing you’ve felt in who knows how long, you keep your eyes glued to Kenjaku’s face while his hand works between your legs, spreading the slick from your cunt toward your clit and back down. If you could just shut your eyes, you could pretend, but they’re open and glued between your legs, watching every feathery stroke of his fingers through your folds.

Kenjaku’s cock hardens against your thigh and for a moment you dare to feel powerful knowing you aren’t the only one surrendering to the most base of your needs. He drops your hand and reaches for the tie of his robe, opening it and giving you the only look you’ve ever been lucky enough to get of Suguru’s bare body.

Scarred, honed, a tool - just like yours. If you weren’t so lost in the moment, the lifetimes you have imagined for years would be playing through your mind.

You gasp and knit your brows together, bucking against the increasing pressure of Kenjaku’s fingers while he brings you back to him and out of your head. Whatever you’re thinking about doesn’t matter when he inserts a finger inside of you, only testing how wet you are with no intention of preparing you for his cock. 

When he’s satisfied with how wet you are, he withdraws his finger and you whine. The sound is the most he has heard from you since the first night and it makes his eyes widen in interest. He shifts until he is standing between your spread knees and the realization that this is really happening hits you at once, your face flaming with desire.

“You’re so impatient.” 

The curse user tuts at you with a roll of his eyes and spreads your legs as wide as they can go to accommodate the width of his body. He’s broad in shoulder and hip and you bite your lower lip when he runs the head of his cock through your folds, following the same pattern of his fingers. You expect the teasing to last longer but it stops abruptly. Before you can take a breath to prepare yourself, his cock is buried to the hilt inside of you, and you gasp with wide eyes, shocked. 

“As good as you imagined?”

Words come to your mind but do not form enough to leave your mouth while he thrusts roughly, your body jerking violently against his. It’s painful, the size of him with little prep in conjunction with how he uses your body as nothing more than a glorified place to take his aggression out, but all of the numbness within you thaws and for the first time since you realized Geto was no longer Geto in Shibuya, you feel. 

It’s hard to name all the emotions you are experiencing because they blur into something barely comprehensible. Pleasure and pain and bone chilling sorrow, the kind that makes tears silently drip down your face while he takes what he wants from you. He doesn’t bother to play with your clit and there is no need to, the joy you’re taking simply from being used by Suguru’s body enough that the knot inside of you is slowly beginning to unravel. 

Skin on skin punctuated by his low grunts and your whines fill the small room and you are so lost, you lift yourself halfway up to meet Kenjaku and consider kissing him. Would it be close enough to kissing Suguru that you could eventually justify it or would it just sully the one good memory you have of him? 

You don’t have long to think about it before you are pushed back down to the bed, one of his hands caging your throat and keeping you pinned to the bed below. A reminder that this is for his pleasure and not yours although you feel yourself coming closer to the edge than you were just moments prior, shutting your eyes tightly. All of the motion inside of you stops, the hard thrusts of his cock ending, and your eyes shoot open.

“Remember what I said. Eyes on me or you get nothing.”

Nodding, you keep them open and he begins again, pace rougher than before. You can do nothing but grunt and struggle to breathe, his cock carving out space inside of you that didn’t exist until he entered you. Every kiss of his tip against your insides knocks the breath out of you and finally you cum in a strangled moan, walls quivering around his length. 

His hand inches further up your throat and squeezes experimentally. As expected, you do not fight back and he takes his indulgence with a grin, choking you with varying degrees of pressure and feeling your cunt spasm around him when he surprises you by tightening his grip. 

You like this. You want this.

He leans forward and shifts his weight to his arm and hand, finally spilling inside of you with a deep moan. Warmth fills every inch of you and you wish that you felt as full in your heart as you do in your cunt but a void remains.

Kenjaku’s other hand slides up your body and wraps around your neck, both of his palms resting on either side of your neck and fingers splaying over your throat. It’s dangerous to let him have this much access to any part of you that he could possibly crush but you do not move, tearfully looking up at him and sniffling. He increases his pressure, not enough to harm you, but enough to make you work hard and you realize how easily he could just…end this.

“Please kill me,” you beg while struggling to breathe, realizing what you’ve done now that the afterglow of orgasm can no longer protect you from the cold hard truth. 

You are a betrayer. You slept with the enemy to sate your own selfish desires and death seems almost too kind to beg for, yet you do.

“Kill me.”

Your face turns in shade and your vision is dotted with darkness, a miserable end to a miserable life you consider, but at least it will be over. The pressure of Kenjaku’s hands around your neck continues to increase until you are certain you are taking your last breath, lungs aching until he abruptly stops. He glances down from where he rests above you, half swollen cock softening and letting his cum leak out around the tip of it that is still inside of you and onto the sheets below. 

“I will not give you the satisfaction of death until you give me the satisfaction of watching you fight for it.” 

Removing his hands from around your throat completely, he glances down at the pressure indentions of his fingers with a smile. Your eyes flutter shut, you’ve passed out from lack of air, and he admires the heap he has left you in, reaching for your robe and wiping the remnants of his release and yours on the corner of it.

Nobody is coming to save you, a secret Kenjaku knows that you are not yet aware of. Satoru Gojo is dead, defeated at the hands of Sukuna. The news broke this morning and he was preparing to come to your room to let you know until this little distraction occurred. He had an inkling you were susceptible to Suguru Geto’s charms even from beyond the grave but he had no idea it would be this easy, your slumped form resting on the futon beside him. He pats your head as one would a treasured dog, long and loving strokes that do not stir you, your bare breasts swaying slightly with every breath you take.

The new world is on the horizon and he may keep you around as a plaything for a little longer than he originally intended.

[jinnie-ret]

anti-hero

poly bang chan x hero!lee felix x villain!reader | superhero au

genre: superhero au, fluff, angst

content warnings: implied past bullying, implied anxiety, it's fluffy as well though I promise

word count: 3.6k

summary: their paths were destined to meet one way or another. it just so happens it all goes down in a way chan least expected.

header by @writingforstraykids thanks for making this my love!!

for @miuracha I hope you enjoy my lovely :)

this was part of the make miu smile event which you can find here

MAIN MASTERLIST

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The villain of the city, it was fun for you until it wasn't. You yearned to wreak havoc upon those who always judged you, made you feel like a monster, to those who managed to pierce your heart with their disgusting words that had been thrown at you with such ease. That, was your origin story. Maybe in another life you'd be living in a small cottage outside the busy day to day life of a place which was filled with cars, buildings, noise, and more cars. You wouldn't have to fret over public appearances, despite your masked form, the 'Shadow' that haunted Seoul. You wouldn't have to pretend anymore to fight against your lover, the hero who had made everyone feel safe again, feel safe just because you purely existed.

Lee Felix. A ball of sunshine. No, literally, he could blind any foes with his bright, burning orbs, torching their skin, destroying their vision, with indefinite permanence. The 'Blaze' that could never be outshined by anybody.

Oddly enough, such darkness and lightness coexisting meant that the two of you were bound to meet, bound to fight, bound to be fated together.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

News reporters from several different channels were immediately sent out in their vans once they caught word of another fight between Shadow and Blaze happening in the center of the city. And soon enough they were met with quite a rewarding sight for their careers.

Shadow was sprinting as fast as possible, slipping into dark alleyways and cursing Blaze in her mind when he managed to invade her spots and shine light from his scarred hands in order to 'catch' her.

Not long ago, she had trapped some men in a bubble of darkness before she sweeped the streets and did the same to a woman around her age. Of course, citizens of Seoul were terrified, hoping not to face that same choking, suffering and horrifying feeling of being unable to move and left to hear all of their own thoughts. Her darkness was one that nobody would want to experience.

Enter Blaze, here to save the day. Per usual, he threw on his big smile and reassured scared crowds of people that they were safe when he was there, a slight sadness in his voice that went undetected.

There to capture the chase across the city, were helicopters filming from above, the whirring of the vehicles making Shadow smirk from beneath her black veil. What an amazing show they were creating. She skidded round the corner, her shoes leaving tracks of obsidian. Small pieces of tarmac flew up, scraping the backs of her legs. Blaze was only a few feet behind her. He was running at the speed of light, perks of the job. Keeping up the act, Blaze had freed the trembling victims of Shadow's wrath, and directed emergency services towards them. They'd be fine, in all due course.

Shadow panted as she came to a hault, finding herself in a dead end of the road, construction equipment and barriers up, stopping her in her path.

"End this now, Shadow," Blaze righteously spoke, projecting his voice so that everyone could hear him.

"End what? It's such a lovely day, is it not, my dear ray of sunshine?" Shadow cackled, dark storm clouds threatening to cloak the city in its grey, velvety blanket of gloom.

"You've caused enough chaos around here!" Blaze boomed in his deep voice, cutting through the clouds and letting spires from the sun creep through and soothe the dull of the city.

"Not quite," Shadow smirked, before moving her hands round in circular motions.

She summoned decaying vines, uprooting the concrete nature of man made civilisation, and introducing it to the lives that inhabited it. There were screams of terror as people got wrapped tightly, like they were being swallowed up by the grip of a cobra's coil. Fallen. Shaking.

"Not this again, she said she wouldn't do this anymore," Blaze sighed, before boosting his form up from the ground and propelling small flames towards the vines, breaking them apart and releasing more and more people from their encaged nightmares.

"Oldest trick in the book, sweetie," Shadow grinned widely, a black tongue sticking out past her lips as she teased the villain once more.

Oh how he wished she wouldn't tease him so much, but she knew he could handle it, he supposed, and he knew she'd be able to handle the actions he was about to take.

"Shadow!" Felix projected his voice once more, "you have terrorised this city one too many times!"

And with that, he blasted her a few streets away, making sure she had wrapped herself up in her elusive, shimmering cloak before he did so.

Screams of joys and cheers erupted around the city, people gathering around Blaze and praising him before he saluted them and vanished before their very eyes. He found where Shadow was immediately, hidden around an abandoned street where they knew nobody would see them. Or so it seemed.

"Y/Nnie, you ok love?" Felix approached the dark spot quickly, a grin appearing on his face when he saw the exhausted smile of his lover.

"That was quite the show," Y/N applauded her boyfriend before they embraced for a moment, her cloak slightly slipping off of her shoulders.

"You're telling me that? You trapped more people than normal in those dark bubbles, making me work harder you are," Felix chuckled and poked her cheek.

"Gotta switch it up?" Y/N shrugged, relishing the physical contact she had with Felix, appreciating his presence. It soothed something inside of her, made her calm.

"Who was it this time?" Felix prompted, wanting to know why she had trapped those certain people. Y/N always had a reason for these things, despite what the public view was. No one would believe that the villain thought carefully about who she targeted, why would they? They saw her as a reckless heathen who didn't belong anywhere.

"Well first, there was this group of perverted guys creeping on some teenage girls," Y/N began, her fingers stroking delicately over Felix's hands. He watched her explain with full attention.

"Mm, fair, ok, and what about that girl, she was like the same age as you, I swear," Felix wondered.

"Oh, her, ugh," Y/N rolled her eyes.

"You know her, love?" Felix tilted her chin up so she'd look up at him.

"Stacey Arnold, locked me in the cleaning cupboard at high school..." Y/N trailed off with a sigh. Black smoke lifted from her her hands covered in the same colour as she reflected on those torturous years.

"And...?" Felix rose an eyebrow, subtly switching the grips of their hands so that he could eradicate the air of her stygian darkness.

"Why does there have to be an and?" Y/N grumbled, still hesitant sometimes to reveal what had happened in her past. Hesitant to reveal what made her feel like a shameful being, a monster on the hill.

"There always is," Felix sang lowly, pressing his forehead against hers.

"She cut off a chunk of my hair," Y/N grumbled, kicking some stones.

"Oh no I love your hair," Felix pouted, pulling away to touch her hair and admire it.

"I'm starting to think my hair is so dry because of the heat from your hands when you're grabbing it," Y/N joked, teasing Felix about when he'd get all hot and bothered, like now, even when he was blushing.

"Wanna test that theory?" Felix leaned closer, brushing his lips against hers in the beginning of a much needed make out session.

Unbeknownst to them, was a man only slightly older than them, traipsing the streets of Seoul after the huge fight that had happened.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

Enter, Chan. He had been walking with a blue notepad in hand, pen balancing on his ear which held the weight of his clear lens glasses. Fluffy brown hair sat atop his head, a frown formed on his face as he began to think would a story of his ever get published?

Well, now he had a story alright, the city's superhero Blaze and Villain, Shadow, caught in a steamy situation.

That is, if his boss would ever believe it. He hadn't progressed as far in his career as he would have liked to, always being undermined as an apprentice despite his allegiance to the Seoul Life company for six years. Six years and he was miserable. The newspaper wasn't very popular anyways, the only way they'd catch attention would be with a controversial headline, one that sparked distasteful rumours. Well, at least he had one that would be telling the truth this time. He just hoped and prayed it would get accepted. His other articles hadn't been before.

"No, Chan, no one cares about these supposed musical injustices of artists having no rights over their own music!" his boss slammed down the typed out copy of Chan's story down on his desk in the head office. Deep wrinkles set on the man's forehead.

"People care! I care!" Chan insisted, a look of desperation on his face.

"I'm scrapping it, you need some sort of better story," his boss leant back in his chair, rolling his eyes.

"No, sir! Please don't! I really think it could-"

"Watch this, and learn," his boss's voice pierced through his apprentice's words, as he he promptly fed the shredder beside him with Chan's hard work.

"I'm sorry," Chan looked down, feeling guilty that he once again had not created a successful report for the company. He didn't even know why they kept him around anymore, probably just to collect the coffees and do the printing.

But upon this day, he headed to the top floor of the building and knocked excitedly on his boss's door.

"Yes? What is it?!" his boss called out, seemingly in a good mood until he saw Chan and frowned.

"I got you your coffee. And I've got an amazing story to go with it," Chan was firm with his words, determination and adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"This better be good..."

"Another fight just happened with Blaze and Shadow-"

"I know this Chan, that's why I sent out the competent writers of this company to go and report," his boss sighed, sipping his coffee and hissing when it was still too hot on his tongue.

"Well I bet they didn't see the arch enemies of the city making out in a back alley," Chan grinned, raising his eyebrows up.

"Out of all the things I have heard..." his boss pinched the bridge of his nose.

"It's true! Look I managed to grab a photo!" Chan pulled out his phone and showed evidence, causing his boss's eyes to widen.

"Well I never... I tell you what boy, we'll publish this, if you can get this story done in 1 hour we'll send it out straight away! We'll publish it online before the other companies can even think about speculating this sort of story. I think you could have us earning some good money here!" his boss, for the first time ever, smiled in front of him. And that was all the motivation Chan needed, all the motivation he needed to prove himself.

It had been 2 days since the article had been published. 2 days, since chaos erupted. Online, hateful comments were sent Chan's way, claiming he was some sick fantasist who conjured up some fictional idea that two prominent figures, although one of them very hated, were engaging in such interactions.

He felt like his life was over. And the company did nothing to defend his name, despite the fact that his boss had been so enthusiastic about the idea and what profit and benefits would come from it. Sure, they caught a lot of attention, but not the right kind. So much so, that they publicly fired Chan, and stated that he was no longer working with them.

For the first time since the publication, Chan dared to venture into the city for a bite to eat, a treat to ease his stress. It seemed, it was only more stressful for him than he could have imagined. It wasn't so bad at first, but then people started recognising him and soon enough he was swarmed in a vicious crowd of people hurling insults at him.

"You sicko!"

"This man thought he could make us read a fanfiction?!"

"What a disgrace to our country!"

"Blaze would never do that!"

"Get him!"

He was spiraling, wishing that the ground would swallow him up, or that he could go back to before he made that article and live the dull normal life he lived before. Anything better than all of this attention on him.

"Stop... stop... I'm sorry... I wasn't lying... please..." Chan cried. He begged. He needed saving.

Good thing this city has a hero.

Before he knew it, he was encompassed by a warm soothing light, blaze, you could say. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Then peace and quiet. His heartbeat that was racing slowed down, and all he could hear was the deep rumbling of someone's voice trying to calm him, and the sizzling of food frying in a pan. It smelt delicious. Perhaps this would be the bite to eat he had attempted to get.

"It's ok, hey, you're safe, don't worry, no one will know where you are, I've got you," the deep voice soothed Chan out of his trance, warm hands cradling his face and he opened his eyes to see a handsome, freckled man in front of him.

Holy shit. It was Blaze. It was Blaze that saved him?!

"Take a seat, I know, it's shocking, I'll sign your autograph later, yeah?" Blaze giggled, sitting Chan down on a creaky sofa, and wrapping him in a black blanket.

"Stop being so cocky, Felix!" a female voice called out from behind him, echoing across the room in the direction of where that divine smell was coming from.

"Give me a moment," 'Blaze', or Felix, whispered to Chan, stroking his hair gently before comically marching away. "Hey! It's not my fault people get starstruck around me!"

"Yeah, yeah! Just give the poor man some food, he's shaken up," Shadow laughed.

Wow. Her laugh was much different to when he had heard her before. It was sweet even. Who would have thought...

"Right, umm, sorry, here, eat up!" Felix fumbled over his words before handing Chan a steaming plate of ramen.

"Ow!" Chan sucked air through his teeth, wincing at how hot it was.

"Shit! Sorry! I forget how you normies are with hot things," Felix rushed, "here, use the blanket to cover the sides, won't be so hot that way."

And that's what Chan did. He used the dark blanket that had been wrapped around him to cover the bowl from scalding his hands, and took a bite of the ramen, doing a happy little wiggle at the taste.

"Told you my ramen was the best," Shadow smirked, arms folded as she leant against the wall in front of Chan, boasting at her lover.

"Never said it was bad," Felix shook his head, before turning to grab a plate of his own.

This was oddly domestic, Chan thought. No one would ever really think about the hero and the villain of the city cooking together, or having this playful, teasing bickering. It was sweet, endearing, and he longed to have that.

"Hey is that my cloak?!" Shadow put her hands on her hips, glaring at Chan and therefore sending shivers down his spine.

"Felix... Ummm, B-blaze gave it to me... I think... I'm not sure... It was all a blur to be honest... I-"

"Y/N, leave him alone. The poor guy was just calming down and now you've gone and freaked him out," Felix tutted, making Y/N realise her mistake and she dropped her intimidating look.

"Sorry... Hmm, well, I guess I'll let you get away with it, you're pretty cute," Y/N shrugged it off, making Felix smirk at her knowingly.

"Uhh, thanks? Umm thank you for the food! It's really nice! And, umm, thank you for, umm, saving me," Chan rushed out his words, making sure his appreciation was hung in the air for the couple in front of him to see.

"That's ok, Mr Journalist," Felix grinned back, taking a bite of his own lunch.

"Ah so this is the one who tried to expose us, hmm?" Y/N's face lit up in recognition.

"Ah yeah, that's me. I'm sorry, I just wanted to get a good story out," Chan rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly before pushing his glasses up.

"It's fine, and to be fair, I can't even get mad at you, at least you were truthful," Y/N nodded in understanding.

She really had a much warmer heart than Chan could have ever anticipated. She was being so kind to him, so was Felix. He didn't expect it, and so, he put that down to the reason why tears welled up in his gorgeous brown eyes.

"Hey, it's ok, really, don't get upset," Felix put down his food to stroke Chan's back.

"It's just... things will never be normal again, everyone hates me," Chan sniffled.

At that moment, Felix glanced at Y/N to help out.

"Oh sure, I'll help, I can relate," Y/N nodded, hyping herself up to comfort Chan as she sat on his other side and took his hand in hers.

"I-i don't know what to do," Chan's voice cracked

"You can stay with us. No-one will be able to seek you out, ok? And soon you'll be able to return to normal everyday living, people will forget about it, I'm sure. You've got us now, ok?" Y/N spoke softly, hushing Chan's cries.

"Really? I-i can stay here?" he was astonished at the idea but he had no other choice. Plus, they had been so welcoming so far.

"You can. I mean it. As long as you don't spill food on my cape again," Y/N wrinkled her nose and rubbed away at the mark.

"Oh sorry! Umm, well, please, I'd like that," Chan nodded, and Felix wrapped an arm around him to offer further comfort.

"We've got you," Felix spread warmth around Chan's body, creating this fuzzy, happy feeling.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

1 year later, and Chan was still living with the couple. But things had changed, quite massively. Not long after he had began living with them he noticed many different things, ever so observant as a past journalist. The lingering hands, the kisses on the head when they thought he had fallen asleep, the invitations to cuddle them in their bed.

When he confronted them about it, after gathering the courage to, both Felix and Y/N were very frank about their feelings, despite the latter being slightly embarrassed that she had been caught out in her tender actions. After all, Y/N had quite the reputation to be cold and unloving, but Chan knew that very day be met her, that she was the complete opposite. And to him, Felix was different from his heroic persona too. Sure, he had his arrogant moments, but it was only ever said in a joking tone, and that warmth that he had seen in news broadcast footage, translated emotionally too. They were his support. His lifeline. And he'd be ever so thankful that he found them. They even helped him find his new hobby, one he was excited to make money about.

"We're back!" Felix and Y/N called out as they entered the apartment, both of them panting. From staging another fight scene, not anything else, you pervs.

"In here!" Chan yelled out happily, sat in front of his computer.

"Hard at work I see," Y/N kissed him on the forehead, resting her own head on his shoulder to snoop at what he had been working on this time.

"Wow, you've written quite the story there, love," Felix stroked Chan's hair as he squinted his eyes to see what was on the screen.

"Yeah, well, someone paid me ₩200,000 for a commission! Insane I know!" Chan breathed out a laugh, happy that his new job could bring money into their home together.

"What's it about this time?" Felix queried with genuine curiosity.

"Well, ok, so they wanted me to write an imagine where Blaze and Shadow were best friends at school but got separated after moving different countries. So it's got this friends to lovers, reunited trope going on," Chan danced in his seat happily as he explained to his boyfriend and girlfriend about what he was writing.

"You and your fanfiction, ey?" Y/N laughed fondly, rubbing Chan's arms.

"Well, if you can't beat them join them," Chan laughed back, "plus it's fun writing these made up scenarios, especially when people want to insert themselves into the story. I know I've got the real thing. I'm so lucky," he rambled on.

"Yeah, and soppy," Y/N pulled his chair away from the computer.

"Hey! I like the compliments, tell me more!" Felix sat on Chan's lap, dragging Y/N on top of him awkwardly as they shared giggles, stories and kisses about how their days had gone.

It certainly wasn't how Chan expected his life to go. But he wouldn't exchange it for anything now that he got a taste of love, and pure compassion.

Felix was the light that shone down upon him and saved him that very day. And Y/N was the shadow that was always there for him, no matter what. It made sense didn't it? After all, such darkness and lightness coexisting meant that there had to be a third in between the two, otherwise one would feel lonely without the other.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @kpopmenace143 @sakufilms @kai-lee08 @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky @his-angell @turtledove824 @2minstan @royal-shinigami @yangbbokari @skzoologist @crabrangoongirl25 @lixie-phoria

[toms-cherry-trees]

"Lessons" || Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: When your husband's attempts at tutoring you fail, he is forced to seek less orthodox ways

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Innuendo, teasing, edging and denial, thigh riding, overstimulation, ass slapping, titty slapping, titty succin, fingering, p in v sex, degradation, breeding kink if you squint, bad teaching techniques

Author’s note: No excuses here. Credits to Sarah @aemondsbabe for the HORN and massive thanks to Miranda @solisarium for the beta read! Requested tag: @marthawrites

Header by the beautiful lovely @ewanmitchellcrumbs

Your desperate whimpers and heavy gasps disrupt the silence of the chamber, mixed with the crackling of the logs in the hearth and the rhythmic drumming of your husband’s fingers against the armrest of his seat. He looks so smug and relaxed, leaning back on the chair, his feet well planted on the floor; a heavy, leather bound tome rests on the table beside him, open in the same page it has been for over a fortnight now.

His index taps three times on the book, pointing at a fairly simple written word, but in your brain it reads like the most complex of riddles. Endless hours your husband has devoted to educate you in the beauty and magic of the Valyrian tongue. There would be no greater pride for him than to have his perfect little wife speak the words of his forefathers, to hear the ancient language roll effortlessly out of her beautiful mouth and whisper before others words only for her to comprehend. Yet you quickly proved to be as thick as you are beautiful, and no effort nor technique could get you past the most basics of vocables. This forced him to seek new methods of instruction, which he implemented with utmost enthusiasm and methodic dedication.

You currently are the perfect image of depravity. Your smallclothes lay in a careless heap at his feet, hair free of the intricate style and flowing freely, flyaway strands sticking to your damp forehead and temple. Your robe hangs loosely from your shoulders, giving you a weak resemblance of modesty. The skirt of the nightgown is rucked above your hips, allowing Aemond a prime view as you drag your soaked folds along his clothed thigh, desperately seeking a climax he knows all too well you cannot achieve like that. He knows your thighs tire too soon, he knows you can’t ever get the angle right. But this is the only touch you are allowed until you learn your lessons.

His questions don’t make it to your ears, unable to hear anything above your own broken moans. The first days you tried to comply and learn, to give in your best to please him in that way. But your best efforts melted into naught when he teased you night after night, trailing touches along your skin that ignited fire in your lower belly, only to cruelly deny you while he sought his release in the warmth of your mouth instead of where you needed him the most. 

The motion of your hips stutters as your thighs begin to burn from exertion. Your fingers dig on the flesh of his arms for support, legs shifting just enough to seek a new angle, to find the right pressure you need. But you cannot fool yourself; you need his help.

“Please. Husband, I need you.” Your words are pleading, desire and desperation lacing your tone; your eyes wide and innocent, batting your eyelashes. But your helplessness only amuses Aemond, the corner of his mouth raised on a half smirk. Warm and calloused hands slip the robe off your shoulders and the nightgown away from your frame, leaving you bare before his heated gaze.

“Say it like I taught you, ābrazȳrītsos, and I may consider giving you a little reward.” His thumb brushes across the peaks of your breasts, nipples stiffening immediately at the gentle stimulation. Your nerves are frayed and every gesture pushes you closer to the edge. He rolls the hardened buds between index and thumb, drawing another mewl from your sweet lips, back arching to offer more of your bosom to his touch. Your core throbs in sync with your heart, arousal coating your inner thighs and having left a damp patch in the fabric of his breeches. You rack your brain to find the words he wishes to hear, but it seems your head has been emptied of all thought and logic, leaving only raw and primal desire, an almost animalistic instinct to sate your hunger.

Aemond is quick to pick up the almost dazed look in your eyes, chuckling in delight at your inability to form a coherent thought, all because of him. He brushes his thumb alongside the plushness of your bottom lip, pushing inside your mouth just enough for you to wrap your lips around it and suck dutifully, swirling your tongue around like you had his manhood in you.

“My pretty little wife, so needy for her husband's cock she can't even answer one simple question. Humping and sucking like a wanton whore.”

You whimper around his digit, his words fanning the fire between your legs into a raging inferno. He withdraws his thumb from your mouth, slowly sliding it down your body, leaving behind a shining trail of your saliva. His hand halts just above your mound, darkened eye watching in satisfaction the slight and involuntary buck of your hips, seeking his touch anywhere you can get it. A light swat to your thigh makes you yelp, but the sting is easily forgotten as Aemond’s lips trace the line of your collarbone, settling on the juncture between shoulder and neck and gently sucking at the skin.

With unsurprising ease, Aemond shifts your body until your knees rest on both sides of his legs, your drenched cunt hovering above the tight bulge straining his breeches, almost feeling the heat radiating from it. You swallow thickly, whining loudly as he undoes the lacings and frees his thick cock from the confines of the garments. Fingers wrapped around his girth, he teases the head through your slick folds a few times. Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, entire body tense and trembling with the effort to not grind against him. You know better than to test your luck when he is being so generous. 

“Ñuhus litses ābrazȳrītsos, so wanton and needy for aōhe valzȳrys. Can’t get that beautiful head of yours to work until I fix that problem between your delicious thighs.”

His free hand sneaks between your legs, tracing agonisingly slow circles around your throbbing pearl, making you shudder. You see how much your easily triggered reactions entertain him, the fair lilac of his eye darkened to a purple hue. You are desperate for him, but he is equally delirious for you, that much you can tell when he brings his fingers to his mouth to taste your arousal, his cock twitching in response. You can only hope his need is enough to give in to you.

Two fingers shallowly breach your entrance up to the first knuckle, his thumb pressing down firmly on your pearl while he gauges your reaction. Your eyes squeeze shut and your head falls back, nails digging in your palms, lips parting to elicit a breathy moan. Another question comes to you, but the words never register, and incoherent babbling is all you can gather as a reply. The sharp smack delivered against the supple flesh of your arse snaps you back to your senses, feeling the light sting spread across your skin.

“Eyes on me, kēlītsos. Until I get what I want from those pretty lips of yours, you do as I say. You don’t get to escape me.”

He pelts you with question after question you cannot answer, each failure punished with sharp slaps on your ass, breasts and thighs; some gentle like a caress, others strong enough to make you hiss through your teeth. In between smacks he continues the sweet torture, his touch on you so tender and featherlight it feels like it is just in your imagination. Every time he senses you getting too worked up, he pinches your clit tightly, pulling sharp cries from you intertwined with pleas for mercy.

“Please, husband, please. I can’t hold it anymore. Please,,” You sob, your fingers digging into his shoulders to emphasise your words, and you make a tentative roll of your hips against his hand, hoping he will take pity on your pathetic current state.

He clicks his tongue, the back of his hand dabbing at some tears you hadn’t noticed pooling at the corners of your eyes. Large hands cup your cheeks, thumbs caressing your cheekbones; you lean into his touch instinctively, eyes fluttering close as you take slow breaths to try and regain some control over yourself.

“Dumb little lady you are. So beautiful and so silly. Your head is filled with nothing but flowers and filth.” The slight degradation should sting and wound your pride, but all it does is send a fresh wave of arousal straight to your cunt. “Can’t write Valyrian, can’t read it, not even say the simplest of words without getting all tongue tied. All you are good for is to take Valyrian seed deep in your womb and help spread my bloodline. You would like that, ilībītsos, having my seed take root inside you and grow round and heavy with my children, your breasts full of milk for my heirs. All you know how to do, no?”

You can’t help it, you nod eagerly at his words, hoping this means he will finally relent and allow you release. And it seems all your prayers will be answered when you feel him line the tip of his cock with your awaiting entrance, meeting no resistance as he sinks into you, stopping halfway and delivering yet another smack upon your arse to spur you on like a stubborn mare.

“Ride me.”

You swallow at the command. Your legs are aching still and your energies are weaning, but the promise of putting an end to this most delicious misery is enough to fuel you. You do nothing to stifle your moans as you rock your hips, feeling in you will not last. The hot coil tightens in your belly at a dizzying speed, so taut you feel ready to snap. Wet sounds fill the chamber and your walls flutter around him, breaths coming in short pants. It is so close you can taste it, the one thing you have been so cruelly denied and so ravenously crave. His hand caresses the length of your spine, from the curve of your ass up to between your shoulders. He cradles the back of your neck and pushes your head forward so your forehead rests on his shoulder and his lips are against your ear.

“Stop.”

Aemond’s voice cuts through you like a sword, eyes shooting open and a broken sob coming from your lips. Every nerve urges you to ignore his command and chase your climax, but you don’t. You do as you’re told, letting your body rest in his lap. He questions you again, but you don’t even try to find an answer. You only shake your head, tears beading in your eyelashes while you press tender kisses on the skin of his collarbone. He waits until he feels your body relax, your grip on him loosening.

“Continue.” 

Again you try your best, ignoring the cramps of your muscles and the dull pain of your knees against the chair. And once more, Aemond commands you to stop every time he feels you clenching around him. Each time it is harder to stop, but you do it nevertheless. Not once he tries to restrain you himself, because he knows his good girl does as she is told. Even as the tears run freely down your cheeks and pitiful sobs are the only sound you are capable of. 

“Please.” The quiet, barely audible plea is muffled against his neck, your face burrowed there as exhaustion threatens to overcome you. Your body feels tense like a bowstring, waiting for the smallest of gestures to let go. Your cunt throbs around him, his length and your thighs coated in warm slick. You remain denied yet your pearl is so overworked it feels almost painful to the touch. All ruined for him, without having been allowed a single peak.

“Daor.” He purrs against your neck, nibbling at the skin as he takes hold of your hips, thrusting into you tantalisingly slowly, burying himself to the hilt in your warm heat and withdrawing until only the head remains, making you feel every inch of him. He steadily picks up the pace, alternating between long strokes and shallow thrust, fast and then slow again. He roams your body, kneading your thighs and squeezing your ass, fingertips tracing the dip of your waist and the curve of the hips. His lips capture a nipple, rolling it between his teeth and sucking with gentle pressure, lapping at the pebbled nub.

You are absolutely overwhelmed, losing control of your bearings as the pleasure comes and goes in powerful waves, barely letting you catch breath before threatening to drown you again, never taking you to one extreme or the other. For moments you want it to stop, but you are sure to die if it does. You no longer remember what brought you to this moment. But amidst the fog clouding your mind you manage to scramble out a single word.

“Kostilus.”

His movements come to a halt, and you can practically feel the wicked smirk against the flesh of your breast. He takes his time to leave a trail of open mouthed kisses round your breast and up your chest, trailing the line of your collarbone to your neck, finally settling on your ear. Aemond gives the earlobe a quick nip, while one hand slowly snakes between your conjoined bodies to circle your pearl once more.

“Sȳz riña.”

Your body slackens against him as he picks up speed, already teetering on the edge. It takes no more than a couple powerful thrusts for you to peak, sinking your teeth into his flesh as you scream your release into him, whole body spasming as the waves of blinding pleasure wash over you, filling your veins with a fuzzy feeling you cannot explain, but is as if your soul has elevated to the heavens and left your body behind. It seems you black out for a moment, for when you regain your surroundings once more Aemond has you cradled against his chest, your robe thrown over you to keep you warm. He caresses your back, the soothing motion lulling you back to sleep. Through the grogginess you hear him whisper in your ear

“This is but the first lesson.”

~

ābrazȳrītsos - little wife

Ñuhus litses ābrazȳrītsos - my pretty little wife

aōhe valzȳrys - your husband

kēlītsos - little kitten

ilibitsos - little slut

daor - no

kostilus - please

Syz riña - good girl

[bluejayblueskies]

ten thousand flowers in spring | bluejayblueskies

[ID: Three photos of a hand-bound book from different angles that show the front, side, and back respectively. The book has dark green bookcloth, a decorative red and gold ribbon along the front cover and a black ribbon along the back cover, and a gold painted cherry blossom design on the front and back covers. The title and author name are also in gold on the front cover and spine and read, "Ten Thousand Flowers in Spring" and "bluejayblueskies." /End ID]

Last November, I got a Silhouette cutting machine for Black Friday. This weekend, I finally got the chance to use it for a bookbinding project! I bound my fic ten thousand flowers in spring as part of one of my Fandom Trumps Hate typesetting gifts, and I had a lot of fun going all-out with the flower iconography.

[ID: Two photos of the interior of the book. The first is the title page spread of the book, showing a pastel-colored painting of a cherry blossom-scattered hill with sheep and a shepherd that spans both pages. On the right page, there is the title "Ten Thousand Flowers in Spring" and the author name "bluejayblueskies" in a sans serif font. The second is the colophon (left) and table of contents (right) of the book. The colophon has details about the binder, the original fic, and the fonts and image sources used in the book. The table of contents has each chapter title and corresponding page number listed in a grid format with flower icons above each chapter title. /End ID]

Each chapter is titled after a flower that has a specific meaning that ties into the chapter content. I decided to style this bind after old botany books. Along with the cover, which is inspired by the covers of old botany books, each chapter header has an image of the titular flower pulled from public domain botany book scans, along with the flower's name and meaning below it.

[ID: The inside of the book, showing a page of text on the left and the chapter header on the right. The chapter header has an old-style image of blue salvia on it, with the name "blue salvia" and the meaning "friendship, family, thoughtful gestures, thinking of you" beneath it. /End ID]

Each chapter also begins with a faux-excerpt from the book Jon is writing throughout the fic:

[ID: The inside of the book, showing the introductory faux book excerpt on the left and the beginning chapter text on the right. The faux book text has an image of a flower beneath it; the beginning chapter text has a drop cap with a floral design at the beginning of it. /End ID]

Some more notes and pictures on process are below the cut!

The binding style of this fic is sewn boards binding, which I like for thinner books as the spine is much less fiddly to work with. It's also a really nice binding style in general because it eliminates my least-favorite part of the binding process: casing in. When casing in a regular case-bound book, you construct the entire case separately from the text block and then attach the case to the text block via the endpapers. Inevitably, I always end up just a little bit crooked, and because my brain currently refuses to let me try using paste instead of PVA, it's very hard to fix once the endpapers are pasted down.

With sewn boards binding, the boards are attached to the text block via an extra signature of folded cardstock on the ends of the text block. The case is then constructed directly onto the text block, and glueing the endpapers down is very, very easy and near-impossible to mess up.

The ends of the boards do end up exposed with this binding style. The first time I did it, I covered them with paper. This time, I painted them gold to match the cover:

[ID: A side view of the book, showing off the exposed boards near the spine which are painted gold. The front cover of the book can also be seen at an angle. /End ID]

I plan to experiment more in the future with potentially adding endbands to this binding style, as that's one thing I wish this book had that it does not.

For the cover design, I first cut out the stencils using my Silhouette:

[ID: A cutting mat with white vinyl stuck to it that has been cut and weeded to expose the backlit cherry blossom design. The title "Ten Thousand Flowers in Spring" and author name "bluejayblueskies" can be seen in the designs for the front cover and spine. /End ID]

I'd heard a lot of things about weeding, positive and negative, but I actually enjoyed doing the weeding on this 😂 it was like doing a puzzle in a way. I think I would like it less if I had to keep all of the tiny little pieces and make sure they looked nice, but as it was, all I had to do was remove them and it didn't matter if they got bent in the process.

The fabric paint I have dries very quickly, so I got very little bleed on my stencil and was able to remove it almost right away:

[ID: The back cover of the book with the vinyl stencil stuck to it, painted over somewhat messily with gold fabric paint. /End ID]

Overall, I was very happy with the stenciling process and will probably continue to do stencils as opposed to heat transfer vinyl unless I want to do some bigger, blockier designs in the future.

[seelestia]

— 𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄?

SUMMARY. zhongli never lies; he always says the truth as it is, even if it is a hard pill to swallow. or in which you realize you are not his greatest love and that is alright... right? (3.3k+ words)

CHARACTERS. zhongli.

GENRE. major angst, hurt with little to no comfort (sort of?).

CW. insecurities to a partner's past love and gradual acceptance (?), zhongli's past love is implied to be guizhong and uses she/her pronouns, use of pet names, possible sappiness. + read the alt text on zhongli's header for an extra summary!

THOUGHTS. i haven't written angst in a vv long time, so my sincerest apologies if i've become rusty! but i tried my best and writing zhongli always gets me sniffling <//3

EXTRA THOUGHTS. a gift for @medeaheartly! so, do you remember the "special privilege" request you sent me in this ask?? hehe, tadaaaa. happy birthday, jae! <3

✰ main masterlist. // series masterlist.

THE VERY FIRST TIME you asked him that question was on a day like every other. In fact, there was barely anything special about that day that could've brought rise to such a forward question. Liyue was as calm as the ocean breezes from the direction of Guyun Stone Forest, the same as ever. You were sitting across from the man of your dreams with delicacies laid out on the table at Third-Round Knockout, the same as ever.

But it was no compulsion, no forcefulness either, just a need to reaffirm. For it still felt like a dream that you were here right now, sitting across from him.

"ZHONGLI, do you love me?" You asked.

He was a man of respectable virtue, a man whose knowledge knew no bounds, a man of perfectly sculpted features that you had to rub your eyes in a daze when you met him for the first time. Nothing could begin to describe how honored you felt to have him call you his lover and him yours after all those years of admiring him from afar.

Even now, it still felt surreal. So, so surreal that he chose you, just like how you'd choose him over any other on this land — but, you needed a confirmation, a reassurance that this was all true. And so, that was why you just had to ask.

But love might've been too strong a word for a mutual connection that had only sparked so recently. Maybe he, too, thought the same because Zhongli turned to look at you with an expression that spoke of surprise. For a moment, you felt conscious underneath his questioning gaze.

Goodness, why did you say that? Why did you act so impulsive? It was as if your mouth had a mind of its own and for a moment, you wanted to bury your face in your hands and never look up.

Perhaps, you should just take back that question—

"Let me put my thoughts into words," he hummed in response, the slight shock on his face subtly dissolving into gentleness. By doing so, your thoughts were grounded to a halt as he rested a hand on top of yours. Its warmth was familiar and you had to stop a bashful smile from blooming like a flower on your lips.

Zhongli was actually humoring you and your silly question, you realized.

"Well... oftentimes, I find myself staring at Silk Flowers, knowing that they remind me of your soft gaze and that I'd want to give them to you as a gift. Although, at times, that plan is unable to come to fruition if I forgot to bring a pouch of Mora with me," he mused, eyes closed.

You stifle a mirthful laugh with your hand at the last part, even more when you noticed that he was stating it matter-of-factly rather than saying it as a joke.

"And when I sit down to watch Ms. Yun's performance, there are times where a voice in my mind echoes to me, 'they would've loved this' as I listen. Slowly but surely, you begin to occupy my mind so naturally, as natural as the cycle of the sun and the moon," he added.

You were hanging onto his every word, his melodious voice, his beautiful amber irises, his everything. You knew why; because he was never the type to sweeten his words with sugar or honey, never with the intention to entice you into falling harder for him with speech. No, rather, it was because Zhongli was always honest. As if his words were gospel to your ears; anything he said, he meant it and this time was no exception.

If there was ever a moment that you wished you could capture and replay over and over again like a broken record, it would have surely been this one. It was only when his previously serious tone morphed into a fit of chuckles was how you realized you were spacing out. His eyes crinkled even more beautifully than the crescent in the night sky as he said, "Well, is that enough or shall I tell you more?"

"N-no, that's enough," you tried to hide your face behind your unoccupied hand, albeit horribly failing because Zhongli only seemed to laugh harder. His voice echoed like music in your ears and Archons, you just fell more and more for him.

He said it himself; that he was yours, yours, yours, finally yours.

(But at the time, you were yet to be made aware of the stories from the past.)

─ ⊹ ⊱ ・・・・・・☆・・・・・・・⊰ ⊹ ─

THE SECOND TIME you asked him that question was when you discovered that Zhongli, once, had a lover. At first, it wasn't surprising to you because almost everyone had a love that either wasn't meant to be or lost itself to time. In his case, it was the latter, or so you heard from the whispers of passersby.

"There is a tavern that puts a vase of Glaze Lilies on their tables when they open at nighttime and when the gentleman from Wangsheng Funeral Parlor visits, he stares at the flowers longingly while he sits. I think the flowers remind him of someone."

"Maybe it's Mx. [Y/N] he is thinking about?"

But you knew better, Zhongli said it to you himself; Silk Flowers were what reminded him of you, not Glaze Lilies. A trivial detail to some, but it meant a lot to you. You weren't mad nor angry but instead, you felt rather curious.

You never heard any of the stories from Zhongli himself, although you supposed you already knew why. It was either he never brought it up to shelter your feelings, or maybe even his own. They said curiosity was what killed the cat, but you still held on to this curiosity, whether that be for better or for worse.

When you finally came to the decision that you'd gather the courage to ask him about her someday, it was a time when the both of you were resting from the mundane routines of the day. Your head was on his lap and his fingers were tangled in your hair, courtesy of being gently pulled onto his lap after you complained about a headache quietly.

The desire to ask Zhongli about his previous lover was constantly knocking in the back of your mind, the words of it lost somewhere on your tongue. Was this a good decision? Why did you become so inquisitive as of late? But you finally managed to gulp down the boulder of hesitation caught in your throat.

"...What kind of person was she? The one before me?"

Your tone was doubtful, your question was vague — but still, his fingers that were just carding through your hair stopped. Halted in its tracks so abruptly that you felt an instant rush of worry coursing through you, you sat up from your position with a concerned frown.

"'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"No," the man shook his head, his voice meeker than the usual certainty that you had grown used to. Your heart sank, had you crossed the line? As if your thoughts were written across your forehead, Zhongli placed his hands on your shoulders and laid you back onto his lap. "It's alright," he smiled.

You wondered if that smile was just a front to comfort you, but his gentle gesture was too hard to resist and you found staring up at his face with your head on his thigh. His gaze didn't meet yours, however; he wasn't trying to avoid you but rather, he was looking into the distance.

Looking at something, looking at a memory.

"She was wonderful," he uttered, a delayed answer to the question you asked him. The image of a fond smile had seemed to sew itself tight on his lips, you couldn't help but gape in awe at his beauty. Oblivious to your adoring gaze, he continued his story, "We used to chatter into the night, she more than I, about the present and future of Liyue with cups of Osmanthus Wine in our hands."

His fingers made themselves at home in between your locks again, smoothing out and counting the strands idly. You managed to note a familiar detail in his words as you hummed, "Osmanthus Wine? Like the one you brought home for us the other day?"

"Yes, dear, like the one I brought home for us that day," Zhongli chuckled at the sudden way your sharp memory decided to make itself apparent. "I used to drink the wine with her and my old friends," he added. Zhongli always had a fondness for that drink and only now, had he told you why.

But it invoked an unnamed feeling inside your chest, knowing that mellow yet sweet drink you once shared with your lover was actually a token from the past he used to share with another. ...Was this jealousy? No, you shouldn't. You felt guilty, terrible for feeling this way when he was speaking of nostalgic memories so beautifully.

"You must've loved her greatly," you tried to muster a smile, one that looked sweet from the outside but came from a bitter place deep down. "Yes, I did," Zhongli smiled too and the genuineness in that smile only hurt you even more.

Will he ever speak of you that way too? Will you be able to replicate the happiness that came with his previous lover and his old friends?

"Do you—" Before you knew it, you had already begun to ask yet another question that seemed to bubble up without a second thought. Your lips were dry as you carried on your sentence, "Do you love me too?"

As much as her? More than her? Less than her? Words unspoken.

All you knew was that you craved an answer from him. You didn't want reassurance, you just wanted the truth. But was it hypocrisy if you said that deep down, you were expecting yourself to be more special in his eyes? No, expecting wasn't the right word, it was hoping.

"Yes, I loved her and I love you," Zhongli smiled again, wistful. His voice was loving and his answer was said so clearly — but somehow, it only left you feeling even emptier than before.

You didn't know why, but something was just missing. Unsettled, an uneasy feeling that'd make your stomach churn like realizing that you left the door open or forgot something important at the tip of your tongue.

(Or maybe, you really were a hypocrite, after all.)

─ ⊹ ⊱ ・・・・・・☆・・・・・・・⊰ ⊹ ─

For the past two times, you realized that you had been asking Zhongli the same question, merely presented in different shades. First, it was: "Do you love me?" An innocence that was meant to be a confirmation that your dream to be his finally came true. Second, it was: "Do you love me too?" A question that derived from the insecurity of knowing that he once had a lover who clearly outshone you in every way.

It was only during THE THIRD TIME you asked him that question were you finally able to pinpoint that hidden void in your chest from last time — and it just so happened that this revelation descended as the two of you stood in front of an unnamed grave.

But the bouquet of Glaze Lilies in Zhongli's hands was already telling of whom the place of resting belonged to. The sheer longing in his gaze was a telling indication too, as painful as it was for you to admit.

For these past few days, Zhongli was kind enough to tell you stories about his former lover; of her bright mind, of her delightful demeanor, of her connection to a field of Glaze Lilies in his mind, of her memorable presence in his life. Even in this moment, he invited you to come alongside him to visit her grave, an intimate and precious place that he never disclosed to anyone before. But you knew that he made sure that your comfort was his priority, never speaking or telling too much unless you specifically asked.

"It's growing dark," the sigh that came with his words drifted away to become one with the wind. You assumed if it weren't for the time, the both of you could've lingered for a little bit longer here. Zhongli kneeled on one knee to place the bouquet on top of the grave, you watched silently as a sign of respect. There were a few moments of nostalgic silence as he stood up. He rested his hands on the back of his waist, a little habit of his, and he tore his gaze away from the grave to you.

"I must thank you for accompanying me here today," Zhongli regarded you with a sweet smile but somehow, this smile was much more feeble than usual.

"Before, I was only able to cherish memories of her alone by myself," he stated as he stared into the darkening skies above that was beginning to make way for the moon to shine. But he wanted to look at you in the eyes as he spoke, so the male pivoted aside to face you properly. "You've given me the opportunity to speak of her legacy. I know that this topic might not be the easiest for you to hear, so I just want to thank you. For understanding and for listening." The smile on his face as he spoke was growing wider this time, more earnest.

Words failed you, all you could manage was to return his smile with your own. Zhongli was kind, too kind, really... which only made the guilt upon your shoulders grow heavier, for you had one last question to ask of him.

"Let's go home, dear," he held out a hand towards you, fully expecting you to grab onto it so the two of you can make your journey back to Liyue Harbor — and you did, you grabbed onto his hand but you didn't move from your position.

Your feet were firmly planted on the ground at the very same spot. Your chest felt heavier than any metal bladesmiths could ever hope to get their hands on, but you told yourself multiple things: one, that this question will be the last one and two, that his answer will not change anything between you.

You just needed to know, was all.

"Zhongli," you croaked out his name. His amber eyes crinkled at the corners with concern as he replied, "Yes?" Archons, you couldn't bear the reality that you were the one causing him to feel that way, but you managed to force the words out of your mouth before you put this off any longer.

"...Do you love her most?"

Zhongli froze, just like the very first time you mentioned her name to him that day. His mouth opened then closed again, thinking of the right words to respond. What was happening?

He was always known for his ability to be straightforward and honest. Yes, that was what he'd normally do, but that was one of the concepts about love. Love makes you do strange things, love makes you stray from your usual self before it has yet to course through your veins, love is strange — and for the first time in forever, Zhongli hesitated.

You searched for his eyes for an answer and you couldn't help, but wonder: why was he hesitating now? "Tell me the truth, tell it as it is like how you always do. But if you don't wish to answer, I understand," you squeezed his head reassuringly.

You weren't forceful, you gave him a chance to refuse, but that look in your eyes; just how much you needed to know, just how much you needed an answer. Was this the matter that bothered you all this time? Finally, he was able to figure out why such a forlornly aura had begun following you ever since the day you asked him about her.

He'll do it, he'll give you an answer. Zhongli is never one to lie and this time, he wouldn't either. He repeated your question to himself in his mind: Does he love her the most? And the answer that trickled out of his mouth in a quiet whisper was... "Yes," he said.

Your eyes widened. Not in disappointment, not in expectation, but in disbelief upon finally receiving the answer to the fog that had engulfed you for so long.

"I would cross the ocean for her, I would sacrifice my last breath for her, I would wait a lifetime of solitude for her. Even until now, that has not changed," he murmured.

"I see," you smiled ruefully, but it didn't reach your ears. You weren't able to meet her, but just through witnessing the utter loyalty the man you loved had for her, she must've been as wonderful as he described her to be. Of course, she was his greatest love and that's alright. He had all the rights to love someone that wasn't you, that's alright too. At least, the truth was finally revealed, right? That was all you wanted, right?

Right, [Y/N]?

"Please do not cry."

Zhongli spoke after what felt like an eternity of silence where you were left consumed by your own thoughts. You didn't even notice the tears that were rolling down your cheeks until he pointed it out — the warmth of Zhongli's fingers as he tried to wipe away at the pearly liquids on your face was careful, but that gesture only seemed to bring forward more of them.

He averted his gaze, "It was not my intention to make you cry..." Here came that unfamiliar hesitation again, rendering his tongue into a jumbled mess. But Zhongli decided to push through, there was something he wanted you to know; "I've never lied to you," he said, his voice and gaze were firm.

"When I told you that looking at Silk Flowers reminds me of your gaze and I want to give them to you. When I told you that I loved her and I love you. When I said that I love her the most."

By now, your tears had stopped and the only traces left of them were the drying streaks on your face. The times where you had asked him all those questions came rushing back in an instant as he listed them amidst his musing.

"Those things, they are not lies," Zhongli encased your trembling hand with both of his own, causing your blurry eyes to look at him. "I love you. This is not a lie either," he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand.

You were silent and he could feel the worry swirling inside his chest. It was only several seconds after that your mouth began to move, yet he couldn't make out what you had said. With a frown, the tall brown-haired male leaned closer and only then did he hear the words falling from your lips: "I never doubted that at all," you whispered in between sniffles.

"That wasn't a lie either, in case you're wondering," you chipped in. He chuckled, mused that you used his words against him so quickly, endeared by your very existence before him. But most importantly, his voice was rid of the sadness that he had upon seeing your tear-stricken face prior.

"Let's go home, my love," Zhongli said those words softly, as soft as the way he tucked back a stray strand of your hair that fell from its original position.

You nodded.

It was during that fateful dusk where you learnt that you were not his greatest love and that's alright. It'll take time to fully register itself in your heart and that's alright too.

(After all, he said that he loves you — and Zhongli is anything but a liar. Everything is alright, right?)

─ ⊹ ⊱ ・・・・・・☆・・・・・・・⊰ ⊹ ─

✰ TAGLIST: @meimeimeirin @tsuk4sa-yug1 @catcze @semi-orangeapple @yuuki4646 @d-a-r-k-s-w-a-n @daisydkj @omgscaramouche @coquettemaiden @herdrops @lleoll — [ bolded names are unable to be tagged + register here to be a part of my taglist! ]

© SEELESTIA, dec 2022. do not repost, plagiarize, translate nor claim as your own. happy birthday, jae!

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Weltschmerz is a German word that describes a feeling of sadness, weariness, or hopelessness about the world. It's made up of the words Welt, meaning "world", and Schmerz, meaning "pain".

[Thanks Ellen Geller]

* * * *

Put one foot in front of the other. Repeat.

November 16, 2024

Robert B. Hubbell

It was a tough week—on the heels of an even tougher week. A few Democrats are revved up and ready to jump back in the fight. But if my inbox is a reliable indicator, many (most?) people are still reeling from the losses on Election Day. They are bewildered, exhausted, tapped out emotionally and financially, and angry. You wouldn’t be human if you did not feel those emotions in some measure. Hopes were high, and the loss was unexpected. The disappointment was exacerbated by PTSD.

The president-elect has a feral sense that many Democrats are emotionally vulnerable. His cabinet picks are designed to rub salt in our wounds and deepen our sense of bewilderment. We must recognize that the ludicrous nominations over the past week are part of a strategy to dispirit and weaken Democrats—in hopes of reducing their resolve to resist his dark plans.

We cannot give in to the president-elect’s transparent ploy. Although I am not a fan of the Godfather movie franchise (no hate mail, please!), every American knows the line, “‘It’s not personal, Sonny. It’s strictly business.”

Trump’s bizarre, anti-government nominations are not personal. They are strictly business—to Trump and to us. He is using them as an emotional cudgel against Democrats and a test of loyalty for incredulous Republicans. Our job is to defeat as many of the nominations as possible—thereby demonstrating that Trump is vulnerable and weak after his narrow win.

It is possible that Trump will resort to unilateral recess appointments by forcing an adjournment of Congress for ten days so that he can cram his unqualified, anti-establishment choices on the American people.

Doing so would be a mistake and would overplay Trump's hand. The officers would be branded as illegitimate leaders who could not make it through a Senate confirmation. More importantly, such a move would instantly convert Trump into America’s first (and last) dictator.

No other president has forced an adjournment of Congress, much less for the anti-democratic purpose of evading the Senate’s “advice and consent” role under the Constitution. Although lawsuits would challenge the recess appointments unilaterally engineered by Trump, the bigger point is that the move would drop all pretense of a president bound by the rule of law.

Whatever the Framers thought they were doing with the recess appointments and the adjournment clause, none of them believed those clauses could be manipulated to strip the Senate of its constitutional obligation to review presidential nominations.

If Trump manages to remove the Senate’s advice and consent role from the Constitution, he will sow the seeds of his quick undoing.

As I write, it appears that the nominations of Matt Gaetz, Pete Hegseth, and Robert Kennedy are in trouble—at least if they go through the Senate confirmation process.

We can help keep up the pressure by notifying our Senators and Representatives that we oppose the nominations of Gaetz, Hegseth, Kennedy, and Gabbard. See Jessica Craven’s Chop Wood Carry Water for a word script and link to phone numbers. Chop Wood, Carry Water 11/14.

There are two other themes that deserve mention as we head into the weekend.

The first is the stand-alone injury to women across America who hoped that the 2024 election would be a major step to re-establishing their status as equal citizens under the Constitution. Few opinion writers or journalists have mentioned that the re-election of Trump has dashed those hopes—at least for another four years.

Mother Jones has addressed the issue of the election’s impact on women in its article, Of Misogyny, Musk, and Men by Clara Jeffrey. The article runs under the sub-header “Women are not okay. We’re furious.”  

For all of the punditry analyzing the reason for Democrats’ loss on November 5, almost none of them mention the Trump campaign’s explicit appeal to sexism among young men. Any pundit who purports to analyze the reasons for Kamala Harris’s loss and does not list misogyny among the top three reasons is running cover for Trump—whether they intend to or not.

The second issue is the unrelenting tidal wave of pundit analyses that seek to assign blame for the Democratic loss. Spoiler alert: The reason is (allegedly) that Democrats are “liberal elitists” who ignored the working class.

The above analysis is both wrong and lazy. But even if it were accurate, it beggars belief that journalists and pundits are wasting their time assigning blame at the very moment that Trump “is slouching toward Bethlehem” in the manner of the “rough beast” in The Second Coming.1

If the above metaphor is too obscure for a Saturday morning, here is another: Imagine that we are on an oil drilling platform in the North Sea. A fire has started in the galley and threatens to engulf the entire platform. What is the better course of action? To argue over who is responsible for starting the fire in the galley or to work on extinguishing the fire?

It is appropriate and necessary to understand how and why Democrats fell short in 2024. But to do so at a time when we are stranded on a burning platform is suicidal. Assigning blame may fill column inches but it corrodes unity. The legacy media is failing us.

And yet, readers cannot resist the temptation to forward articles to me with the thesis, “Democrats are liberal elitists who got what they deserved.” I get a dozen such emails a day (often multiple duplicates of the latest from NYT or WaPo). I have received hundreds since November 5.

Amplifying such articles merely compounds the journalistic malpractice of the legacy media. We should not give them oxygen. They invite disputation and discord. They are inimical to our prime objective: Resist the efforts of the Trump administration to erode the rule of law.

Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter

[little-diable]

Kinktober Day 22 - Tom Riddle

Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

🩶 Day 22 🩶 BDSM

Warnings: 18+, oral (m), bondage, choking, blindfolding, pain kink, Tom being Tom

Tom Riddle x fem!reader (900 words)

header by @deathofpeaceofmind

My Kinktober Masterlist

“But I want to see you.” Her quiet words filled the room, forcing a dark, raspy chuckle out of the man who towered over her, naked upper body on full display. (Y/n) was kneeling for him, completely naked, with her wrists tied to her ankles. He tightened his grip on the blindfold he was holding, only shaking his head before he covered her eyes with the silky fabric. 

“You know the rules, you don’t get to speak, you don’t get to make any orders, you’re here for my pleasure, that’s all you’ll ever be, my toy, mine.” The possessiveness lacing the “mine” rolling off Tom’s tongue made her walls clench around nothing, keeping her mouth shut. (Y/n) had to focus on her senses, on what she could hear, what she could feel, what she could smell. The scent of the candles burning in the room crawled up her nostrils like Death’s own harbinger, knowing that Tom could get rid of her with a snap of his fingers. 

“I have to say, I like you like that, ready for me to use. I should keep you around all day, have you whenever I want you.” A “Yes, please” wanted to leave her, but (y/n) knew better than to speak up, keeping quiet as she listened to Tom undoing his trousers, freeing his cock. Without any warnings leaving the tall man, he forced his cock past her lips, making her gasp in surprise. 

Her hands ached to touch him, fighting against the rope slowly cutting into her soft skin, forcing her to hold still as her tongue got to trace his veins, exploring the skin she knew like the back of her hand. Tom and her had been doing their back and forth for months, finding shelter in the dark shadows others tried to escape from, giving into their longings like pleasure-drunken addicts. 

Tom’s deep moans reverberated through the room, eyes staring down on her kneeling frame, letting his eyes wander over her exposed skin, over the features that were partly hidden by the blindfold, the hair he reached for with his pale hand, guiding the bobbing motion of her head. She was his all, his toy, the one he longed for – a longing he’d never put into words she could understand. 

“Fuck, I should choke you with my cock, make you pass out with your lips still wrapped around me. And yet you’d still want me to fuck you, to stuff you full, wouldn’t you?” (Y/n) could only hum around him, silently cursing him for taking her eyesight, wanting to watch the pleasure tugging on his features, desperate to watch him come undone, all because of her. 

The bobbing motion grew faster with every passing moment, guided by Tom’s impatience, forcing her to pick up her speed with his fingertips digging into the soft skin of her scalp. He was marking her up in every way imaginable, his to own, his to use. His cock twitched in her mouth, tip grazing the back of her throat whenever her eagerness took over, letting her tears soak the fabric of the blindfold. 

She was desperate for some friction, wanting to be touched, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t shuffle around on her aching knees, all thanks to the tight rope that forced her to hold still. And yet she’d endure it all for him. (Y/n) could tell that he was close, breaths growing shallow, ripping through him like a spell only Tom could pronounce. 

But before he could cum down her throat, he pulled away, leaving her confused. A shriek clawed through (y/n) as she felt one of his hands around her throat, while the other loosened the rope. Tom manhandled her onto his mattress, keeping her wrists still bound together behind her back, making her hiss in pain as she laid on them. And yet the pain filled her with a sick satisfaction, feeling her arousal seep out of her tightness. It was a sick and twisted game they were playing, but neither of them dared to even think of stopping. 

Tom shuffled around on the bed, hand finding her throat once again, cutting off her airway for a few seconds. With her heart picking up its beat, she felt him rip the blindfold from her eyes, making her blink a few times before she could adjust to the darkness. Without needing him to speak up, (y/n) knew what Tom was about to do, he wanted to paint her skin white, wanted to relieve himself on her naked chest, forcing her to watch.

His pale hands pumped his cock, making both groan in anticipation, watching his cock twitch in his grasp. A moan left Tom as he was pushed over the edge, cum meeting her breasts, staining the body he owned, very well knowing that this wasn't the only way he’d mark her up tonight. She watched him fall apart, watched him give in with her teeth sunk into her lower lip, drawing blood from the thin skin. 

“Don’t think of moving, I am not done with you yet, pet. This was only the beginning.”

[navybrat817]

Soiled

Pairing: Motocross!Curtis Everett x Female Reader Summary: Curtis can't stand you. At least, that's what he tells himself. Word Count: Over 820 Warnings: Very mild eventual enemies to lovers, quick judgement, light banter, Curtis doesn't want to admit he wants you. Motocross!Curtis Everett (he's a warning, okay?) A/N: Meet Rusty and Princess! My first time writing for Curtis. Excited to dive into their eventual romance. Thanks to @drabblewithfrannybarnes for looking this over, @buckyownsmylife for the Rusty nickname, and @nocturne-pisces for previous discussions. Any and all mistakes are my own. Header by yours truly, banner by the amazing @sgt-seabass and divider by the talented @saradika . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated! ❤️

Curtis Everett couldn’t stand you from the moment he laid eyes on you.

When he wasn’t racing or practicing, he worked at the salvage yard that your father owned. He didn’t mind the work and the pay was decent.

Between his job and the tracks, he was bound to be surrounded by dirt and grime.

While he enjoyed working for your dad, who showed time and again that he was a hard worker who respected his employees, you were a different story.

The first time he spotted you at the yard, you walked toward the office with a casual sort of haughtiness that made him sneer.

Your purse likely cost more than his entire paycheck, as did the rest of your outfit.

Glancing at your manicured nails as you stopped walking, he wondered if you ever worked a day in your life.

A princess amongst peasants. He knew the type all too well.

“Excuse me,” you said, sliding your sunglasses down to stare at him with a cool, assessing gaze when he didn’t say anything. “Excuse me.”

“What do you want?” Curtis asked, thankful that it wasn’t his customer service skills he was paid for.

“You’re kind of standing in front of the door and I’d like to go inside.”

“Please, tell me you’re not applying for a job here,” he said before he could stop himself, looking you up and down. “You’re a little overdressed.”

He did not sweep his gaze over you because he found you attractive.

You lifted your chin with a grin. “I have a job, thanks. I’m actually here to see my dad.”

Curtis glanced at the door over his shoulder before looking back at you. “Your dad?”

“Yeah, my dad,” you said, taking a cautious step forward, like you were afraid you’d scuff your shoe. “He owns this place.”

Looking you over again, he couldn’t imagine you as the boss's daughter.

Your blue collar father who tore it up on the track before he stopped racing years ago didn’t seem like the type to raise a spoiled brat.

To be fair, Curtis didn’t actually know if you were a brat. He knew better than to judge a book by its cover.

But he already placed you in the “first class” section of his mind.

Too good for someone like him.

“So, may I please go inside?” you asked, sliding your sunglasses back up. “You’re still standing in front of the door.”

“By all means, princess,” he said, taking a bow before he stepped to the side.

You scoffed as you brushed past him, the sweet scent of your perfume lingering in the air. “Aww, if I’m a princess, does that make you my brave knight?”

“Not a chance,” he muttered, torn between purposely bumping into you to get your clothes dirty or shoving you against the door and kissing you.

No, he was not going to think of how your lips would taste. He refused.

“That’s too bad,” you said over your shoulder. “So nice to meet you, Rusty.”

“My name is Curtis,” he said through his teeth, wondering why he bothered correcting you.

“Tell that to the name on your shirt and the dirt on your face. Bye, Rusty!” you said, shutting the door behind you.

"It's Curtis!" he shouted, snatching the hat off his head and almost throwing it in frustration.

He vented later that day to Daisy, one of his only female friends.

“Just because she dresses well doesn’t mean she’s stuck up. Maybe she just likes to look nice."

"No, she's a stuck up pretty princess," he argued.

"You just called her pretty."

"When are you gonna ask Steve out?" he asked, changing the subject because he refused to focus on the fact that you were pretty.

No, he already made his mind up about you.

It didn’t matter that you started stopping by the yard more to bring your dad and the crew food, which he grudgingly accepted after Edgar gave him a hard time.

"She's just sucking up," Curtis said, wiping his hands before he grabbed a sandwich.

"It's working," Edgar said with a mouthful of food.

It never once got under his skin that you still called him “Rusty” with a smirk whenever he called you "Princess".

"You know my name, Princess. Watch where you're stepping."

"Careful, Rusty," you teased. "I'll start to think you care if I get dirty."

And it didn't mean a thing when you stepped into the office late one night to help sort your dad's paperwork when he had to leave early.

Which was the first time he saw you look less than perfect when he caught you wiping a stray tear away as you headed back to your car.

He thought of calling after you to see if you were okay, but he didn't. He was probably seeing things.

Besides, it wasn't any of his business. You weren't his girl.

A princess like you never would be.

What do we think, lovelies? And, yes, Daisy is another reader who is totally crushing on Steve Rogers. Curtis approves. Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Dialed In Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[fruitcoops]

Bedsheets and Broomsticks

Day 7: the journey continues! Characters inspired by @lumosinlove's Sweater Weather, header by @noots-fic-fests.

Halloween movie #6: Jennifer's Body (2009), because who wouldn't want to hear Finn drop the "I go both ways" line next?

“It makes no sense.” Lily knelt and laid the map out, smoothing the creases with a few careful passes of her hands. The new angle did nothing. Patterns, clues…mystery, inked in dark lines.

The floor creaked beside her. “I dunno,” Remus said nervously. “Maybe that’s the point.”

The middling green of his shirt made him look sickly in the dank, low light of the house. James was still traipsing about the attic above them, no doubt. She had outright refused to even look at the ramshackle stairs leading up. The living room would be just fine, even if wool and tiny hardwood splinters threatened her knees through her thick stockings. She didn’t want to think about how long it had been since this carpet was cleaned.

The map was some sort of parchment, thin and brittle. Remus crouched beside her; Lily drew the candlestick closer, though she was hesitant to bring it near enough to risk any damage.

“I’m just not seeing it,” she murmured. Defeat was bitter and dry in her mouth. “There has to be something I’m missing.”

“The front door is here.” Remus tapped his index finger on the line-break closest to them. “And we’re here.”

“There’s no basement, just the second floor and the attic.”

“And the attic’s marked on the back,” he confirmed, finally sitting with a huff of breath. His knees and elbows cast spider-shadows on the far wall. The cuffs of his khakis were ragged and stained from trudging through the overgrown yard, where tall grass snuck in through the empty first-floor windows.

Lily chewed the inside of her cheek and pushed her headband back to clear her periphery. “Right. Okay. We’re missing the second floor, then.”

“Mhm.”

“So it’s lost.”

Something shifted. A faint mist of plaster puffed down from the ceiling, too close to be movement from the attic. Remus swallowed thickly. “Or it got taken.”

A shout split the gentle groaning of the house.

Lily flinched herself to standing, already reaching for Remus with both hands by the time the first drop of beeswax hit the map’s east corner and bled over the ink. “James!” Remus called as he backpedaled toward the front door. Footsteps pounded overhead—Lily dove for the map, abandoning the candle to its dead wick and wax oozing into the carpet’s tassels.

“Holy shit!” James’ voice echoed down the stairs. He was coming closer, closer, and Sirius was right behind him paws pattering bodies hitting the old walls they were running, coming full tilt at Lily and Remus.

“What is it?” Lily couldn’t breathe, could hardly speak. They tore through the house in a tumbling pile, through the dining room and kitchen and a parlor that stank of water damage.

“I don’t know!” James answered, equally frantic. “Something—it was white, it was near the stairs!”

“I told you not to go up there!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

His eyes were massive and blown dark behind his glasses. His hair was a mess. Lily let him grip her elbow and pull her down the hall after the others, past closets and the pitch-black sunroom.

The front door was still open. They just had to make it there.

In and around and out and down—she hopped over miniature staircases that she hadn’t even known were there, over thresholds to rooms that blurred into one another until it felt as if they were running in circles. Secret passages that would have fascinated her an hour ago only sent plaguing terror into her belly. She kept ahold of Remus’ knobbly wrist and tore after them, cursing the light heel of her shoes.

“The yard!” Remus hollered over his shoulder. The dark shadow of Sirius bounded ahead in two long strides, shoving a fallen chair out of their path with a scrabble of paws and a push from one massive shoulder.

The dog vanished out the door, cutting a path through the overgrowth with his body. Lily’s pulse muted any other sound but the one-two-one-two-one-two of her feet searching for purchase on the slanting floor of this endless hall.

One-two-one-two-one-two—

One. Two. Onetwoonetwoonetwoonetwo.

Sirius barked. Her heart tripped over itself. Footsteps, growing loud and close.

Lily planted her heel and wheeled around, already reaching out. For what, she didn’t know.

James was right—the thing was white.

And cottony, when she grabbed it by the face and yanked with every ounce of her strength.

The sheet billowed outward with a startled yelp and a burst of dust. Lily wanted to choke on it, but her lungs refused to do anything but suck in desperate gulps of air.

Severus’ grab for the sheet was futile. He froze. Lily stared.

“Lily!” he wheezed. “It was a joke, I’m sorry, I—”

She dropped the fabric and swung.

Severus hit the ground harder and faster than his stupid fucking bedsheet.

Sirius was sitting in the doorway when she turned again, his head cocked to the side and ears pricked up. He was the perfect height for Remus to bury both hands deep in the dark fur around his neck and hang on against his shock-wobbled legs. Lily narrowed her eyes at him. He blinked big silver eyes at her and whined softly. “Aren’t you supposed to be able to smell the difference between a ghost and a human?”

“You’re amazing,” James breathed.

Lily gave him a quick up-and-down look. “Nice costume, Potter. What are you going as? A dusty corner?”

James’ lopsided smile made her chest tight all over again. “Maybe.”

“You have cobwebs in your hair.”

“Sure.”

“And dust on your nose.”

“Whatever you say, Evans.”

He was ridiculous. And warm, when she threw her arms around his neck and let him dip her back for a kiss that stole her breath away more than any false ghost or skipped step. She twisted one hand in the front of his thick white sweater and the other in the orange cloth tied around his neck. He tilted his chin; the kiss deepened. Lily sighed and let herself melt.

--

Far away, curled up in her bed, Lily rolled onto her other side and buried her nose in the soft place of her husband’s jaw. No dreams could hurt her here.

[sophiethewitch1]

1K CELEBRATION EVENT OPEN! CLOSED!

Hello, welcome! This event is going to celebrate my first thousand followers :D!! It's as the header says, a yandere alphabet, but with my special brand of soft yandere. Please feel free to send in letters for whoever you'd like, there's no limit, I might just pick and choose if you request a lot of letters. Thank you so much for following, I'm so happy you're here! Let's keep having lots of fun together <3 <3

ACCEPTING A-Z REQUESTS FOR:

The batboys (Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Duke) The batgirls (Barbara, Steph, Cass) My OCs (Silvan, Daire, etc.) MAYBE for most DC characters, blue lock characters, bnha characters

Alphabet made by @/jaydenchip404 tysm for making this!

List below the cut!

A = Affection (Is Their Love All-consuming, Expressed Through Possessive Gestures and Overwhelming Intensity With No Bounds?):

B = Blood (How Messy Are They Willing to Get in Pursuit of Their Darling? Would They Embrace Chaos and Revel in the Crimson Tableau Painted by Their Actions?):

C = Cruelty (Once Abducted, How is Their Treatment Marked by a Twisted Sense of Devotion? Does Mockery Become a Dark Form of Endearment?):

D = Darling (Beyond Morality, is Any Act Justified in Their Pursuit of Their Darling? Is Consent Merely an Obstacle to Be Overcome?):

E = Exposed (To What Extent Do They Bare Their Heart to Their Darling? How Vulnerable Are They When It Comes to Their Obsession?):

F = Fight (Does Resistance Only Fuel Their Passion? Do They Find Thrill in the Chase and the Challenge of Subduing Their Darling?):

G = Game (Is Every Move Meticulously Orchestrated, Turning the Pursuit Into a Twisted Game? Do They Derive Pleasure From Watching Their Darling Attempt Escape?):

H = Hell (How Carefully Crafted is Their Darling's Worst Experience, Designed to Break the Spirit While Strengthening the Bonds of Possession?):

I = Ideals (Does Their Envisioned Future Solely Revolve Around the Union With Their Darling? Is Their Love the Only Guiding Force?):

J = Jealousy (Does Jealousy Course Through Their Veins, Leading to Possessive Outbursts and a Relentless Need to Eliminate Perceived Threats?):

K = Kisses (Are Their Acts of Affection Both Tender and Suffocating? Do Their Kisses Blend Love and Possession, Leaving No Room for Escape?):

L = Love Letters (Is Courting an Intricate Dance Marked by Obsessive Letters and Gestures That Blur the Line Between Devotion and Insanity?):

M = Mask (How Drastic is the Difference Between Their Public Facade and True Self? Is the World Seeing a Mask, While Their Darling Witnesses Unfiltered Madness?):

N = Naughty (Is Punishment a Dark Art, a Methodical Infliction of Pain Designed to Correct Perceived Transgressions and Reinforce Control?):

O = Oppression (How Many Rights Are They Willing to Take Away From Their Darling, Molding Their World Into a Prison of Their Design?):

P = Patience (Is Their Patience a Calculated Facade, Concealing the Storm Brewing Beneath the Surface? Is It a Waiting Game for the Perfect Moment?):

Q = Quit (Is Moving on an Alien Concept for Them? Would the Death, Departure, or Escape of Their Darling Shatter Their World, Leaving Behind an Irreparable Void?):

R = Regret (Would Guilt Ever Be a Foreign Emotion, Overridden by the Conviction That Their Actions Are Justified? Is the Idea of Letting Their Darling Go Inconceivable?):

S = Stigma (Can the Roots of Their Obsession Be Traced to a Dark Past, a Blend of Childhood Trauma, Twisted Curiosity, and a Skewed Perception of Love?):

T = Tears (Does the Sight of Their Darling's Suffering Evoke a Twisted Pleasure, a Morbid Satisfaction Reinforcing Their Control?):

U = Unique (Do They Defy the Classic Yandere Archetype, Adding Layers of Complexity That Make Them Unpredictable and More Unnerving?):

V = Vice (Do Exploitable Weaknesses Exist, and is Discovering Them a Perilous Endeavor? Does Their Darling Tread on a Thin Line Between Manipulation and Survival?):

W = Wit's End (Is Hurting Their Darling a Dark Possibility, a Consequence of Their Unraveling Sanity When Faced With the Threat of Loss?):

X = Xoanon (Does Their Reverence for Their Darling Border on Worship, Reaching Extreme Lengths to Prove Their Devotion and Ensure Unwavering Loyalty?):

Y = Yearn (Is the Pining Relentless, an Insatiable Hunger That Consumes Their Every Waking Moment Until It Inevitably Snaps Into Obsession?):

Z = Zenith (Is Breaking Their Darling a Twisted Fantasy, the Ultimate Expression of Possession and the Culmination of Their Demented Love?):

[saiyanprincessswanie]

SaiyanPrincessSwanie Reading List Week 221 & 222

A/N: I want to apologize that my list is short this week. I’ve been dealing with a lot of mental health issues lately. Hopefully my next list will be longer.

Thank you again to those who recommended fanfics or tagged me. 💜 This week had me reading 15 fics. Absolutely amazing fics here. This has been so much fun for me and I hope you enjoy my reading lists.

As always these will be listed in no particular order. None of these stories are mine. I’m just signal-boosting them. The author is listed next to the title. My goal is to signal boost writers and spread positivity in the community.  💜💜

Click HERE to see what I will or won’t read. This is very important.

Click HERE for past reading lists.

For my Masterlist click HERE.

Please make sure you’re reading the warnings on every story. They range from dark to fluff. Do Not Read if you are under 18 years old. These stories are meant for adults only. You’re responsible for your own media consumption.

Header by @fictional-affairs

Page-break by @whimsicalrogers

If you can, please reblog these lists so they can reach more people on Tumblr.

I love you 3000 💜 Missy

What do you Desire - (Ari x Reader) - @saiyanprincessswanie

The Brooklyn Boys Series - 2 - (Steve x Reader) - @buckets-and-trees

Cold hearted - Chp 7 - (Multi Pairings) - @missvelvetsstuff

A Hunter's Promise - (Sam Winchester x Reader) - @b3autyfuld1sast3r

Besotted - (Andy x Reader) - @mercurial-chuckles

Birthday Blues - (Thor x Reader) - @caplanbuckybarnes

Love to Love You - (Bucky x Reader) - @jobean12-blog

Vanilla Frosting - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817

Shifting Tides Pt. 2 - (Ari x Reader) - @labella420

Warmth - (Steve x Reader) - @stellar-solar-flare

Mysterious calls - (X-Men x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan

Favorite scary movie - (Brock x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan

Fuck or treat - (Steve x Reader x Brock) - @nekoannie-chan

Bound & Brockened - Chp 1 - (Brock x Reader) - @talia-rumlow

Peering In My Hollow Core - (Steve x Reader) - @buckets-and-trees

[bl00dst41ned]

*.·:·.✦ baby tears ✦.·:·.*

pairing: trent alexander-arnold x female oc (named her Astrid)

summary: in which having a child can be hard but with the help of someone it may feel better

author's note: @l4vines asked for some fluffy dad Trent so here is my attempt to deliver. also i need to change these headers i despise them now. as usual, not proofread.

warnings: mentions of postpartum anxiety/depression, baby blues (I’ll try to approach the subject as carefully as I can)

word count: 937

The small lamp on the nightstand lightened the wide master bedroom. Light snores resonated from Trent’s mouth as he slept peacefully. At his side sat his longtime girlfriend, Astrid, legs folded with their newborn son, Elijah, lying on them and eating his milk out of his bottle. She looked at his face, beams of light showcasing his lips’ movements. His eyes remained closed as his fingers gesticulated, trying to grip his bottle.

Elijah was born two months ago, after nine long eventful months. Astrid had to be bed-bounded for the last three months of her pregnancy, which left her very frustrated.

After his birth, she felt relieved to be alive and mostly to have a healthy son. Though Astrid tried to give him all the care he needed, it still didn’t feel right. She would feel the urge to cry anytime she interacted with Elijah. Even if she did everything right, she could not stop doubting herself. And now was no different.

Small tears rolled down her cheeks as she watched Elijah eat slowly. The mix of her sniffs and the baby’s whimpers woke Trent up. He slowly moved around on the bed before turning to face his small family. He held a little smile on his face but it soon turned into a frown once he realised his partner crying. Again.

Trent knew this kind of episode happened to her, and they became even more frequent the past week. In a talk with his mom, she taught him about postpartum and how it was not always an easy and happy moment for the woman. After a few researches on his own, Trent feared she would suffer from postpartum depression or something close to it. He didn’t know how to talk to her about it but he could not bear seeing her that way anymore.

“Azzy” He called her by her childhood nickname.

She quickly wiped her cheeks in an attempt to hide her emotions from her boyfriend. He sat up, leaning on the headboard. Since he could not properly hold her, he simply left a kiss on her temple as tears uncontrollably rolled down her face.

“I can’t seem to get over this” Astrid sobbed, her head on his chest and her eyes glued on Elijah’s face. “He deserves so much better and I just don’t know how to give it to him”

“You already do. You handle Elijah with as much care as you can give him, despite doubting yourself. No matter how you feel, you’re always there for him” His words definitely comforted her and soothed an inner wound that desperately needed it. “Elijah trusts you, now you need to trust yourself and know how much of a good mother you are”

“Thank you so much, Trent. Genuinely.” She put the baby bottle away about to place Elijah on her shoulder for him to burp “You don’t know how much it means to me”

“That’s what I’m here for. Get some sleep Az, I got him” He grabbed Elijah out of her hold placing him on his shoulder as Astrid laid back down under the covers, trying to doze off.

A few minutes later, she felt Trent get back into the bed, instantly wrapping his arms around her waist.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

In the following weeks, Trent made sure to be as supportive as he could of Astrid. He made sure to uplift her every day and compliment her so that she felt better not only about her parenting but also about herself. Slowly but surely, she gained more and more confidence as a woman and also as a mother.

“Give me the wipes,” Astrid asked as she lifted Elijah’s lower body up to change him.

Trent did as asked watching her eyebrows knit from her concentration. He observed her movements, and how soft she was whenever she touched him. He also listened to how she talked him through the process even though the newborn did not understand one bit. She was the best mother ever in his eyes, now it was her turn to see it.

Astrid finished dressing Elijah back up before giving him to Trent while she put the products away. She came back to the living room to a cute interaction between the two men of her life: Trent kissing their son’s face repeatedly, earning a smile and what could be a laugh from the newborn.

She joined them on the couch, sitting on her right leg as she smiled, looking at them.

“You’re good?”

She knew he didn’t mean it as of today but in general.

“Yeah, better since that night we talked. And I would not feel that way if it was not for you. You really helped me a lot”

“That’s what I’m here for” 

And he meant it. The moment he decided to get into a relationship with her three years ago, he accepted having to deal with anything she went through by her side. Even more, now that they had become a family.

“You’re ready for tomorrow?” He turned to face her but she broke eye contact.

“Not really. But it’s a step at getting better.”

They both decided that it could be good for Astrid to see a therapist, just to let her feelings out and receive some guidance. Trent even offered to go with her but she emphasized wanting these sessions to be for her only, where she was free to vent, with nobody she knew around her.

“You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met, don’t forget it” Trent spoke truthfully, her face blushing from his comment.

“I love you, Azzy”

“I love you too, Trent”

like, repost and suggest (closing on september 1st) (hope you enjoyed it)

masterlist for more

[whats-she-gonna-post-next]

So I just finished binding Trust Life by the absolutely amazing @chaiandsage (Hello, I am ready to be perceived now, I hope that I have done your story even the slightest bit of justice) and I just wanted to make a post both showing it off, and going through what I learned doing this bind because I did a few new things here and want to talk about it.

Also I'm not going to subject you all to this, so most everything but the final product here is going to be below the cut.

(Also so sorry that the photos aren't the best. I am... Very bad at photography, lmao)

Ok, so let's start off with some of the cool things I learned during this bind. Or, maybe not necessarily cool, but they are things I learned and I think that learning is cool!

First off, I learned how to download and add fonts to Microsoft Word, which while not interesting, does open up a whole world of fonts for future binds. Is it a little late in the game to have found this? Probably. But it is what it is. I actually downloaded a pretty good chunk of different ones, but the fonts I actually used were MF Love Dings for the heart motif dividers, which was a new download, and then a few standard fonts - Edwardian Script ITC for the title pages, Baskerville Old Face for the chapter headers, Book Antiqua for the chapter titles, and good old Garamond for the actual text of the novel.

Here is the divider and the title fonts. I just think they are neat.

Another thing I learned was how to make book cloth! I found these squares of white cotton fabric at a dollar tree and decided to give it a go. The way I did mine was by painting them first (a task in and of itself, and as you can see on the cover, did not turn out super even, but I love them nonetheless) and then I glued down a layer of tissue paper to give it a little stiffness and make it stick to the chipboard easier, it was a super cool process and I look forward to trying it again in the future now that I have done it once and have a better idea of how I can improve in the future

And now onto some of the other cooler parts of the process!

So I had a lot of fun doing the formatting, it's my favourite part of any binding process, I cannot tell you how many fics I have formated that I have yet to print out and actually bind because I enjoy the process so much (the answer is actually 5 that are completely formatted and ready to go, 3 that I am actively in the middle of formatting, 4 projects completed - including this one, which... may technically count as 3, granted 2 of them were gifts for other people - and 3 that I am planning on doing that I haven't gotten to start on yet. Oh, and a 5 part series that I have printed out but haven't actually bound yet. I have a problem, lmao.) As I mentioned, I downloaded a few fonts for this but it just ended up looking so good in the end. Here is what some of the inner formatting looks like (I did just take the screenshots from word, I thought it was easier than getting the pages in the book)

Something else! This was the first time I actually broke a single fic into multiple parts, and I do not regret it. Each section is fairly large on its own, so it would have been a monster all together. I gave them basically the same title pages and such, just used the main stories summary for all of them and copy pasted everything - work smarter, not harder - and kept the same format for the chapters and such. There were 2 obvious spots (at least imo) for breaking things up, those being at the end of chapter 24, and then again at the end of 57, if you know, you know. However, that made the divide be 24 chapter, 33 chapter, 9 chapters. I was a little worried about how that divide to affect the look of the books, but I was pleasantly surprised how well it worked out. Book 2 there is quite obviously the largest part (it's basically double the length of book 1) but book 3 was surprisingly long for being only 9 chapters and I think they look fairly cohesive together. I didn't realize how long the last nine chapters themselves were. The first and third ones are actually about the same size together as book two, which is pretty cool!

When it came time to put together the actual books, I stuck with my tried and true french link stitch, as I find it to be a sturdy stitch, and then used green, yellow, and red card stock for the end pages, I felt it thematic.

I'm super excited to have this as a physical book now, thank again to chaiandsage for allowing me to bind this amazing story and just for writing it in the first place! I read it like twice in the span of a month, and I swear I have read chapter 57 and 58 themselves way too many times to count. Not even going to mention the amount of times I read the last 6 chapters because I just love a good happy ending.

But yeah, I'm really happy how this bind turned out, I still have to put an actual cover in these - which I plan on doing, I have a friend who is going to help me with the cover design when they are free, so there will be an update at some point.

[something-tofightfor]

Just Too Good To Be Gone Masterlist

(Joel Miller x female reader insert)

UPDATED 12/7/2023

(Header made by the incredibly talented @stealyourblorbos​)

Just Too Good To Be Gone Playlist:

Listen on Spotify

Detailed info/warnings on individual update pages

Tag list sign up link in bio

While I’m imagining Pedro Pascal as the Joel in these stories, I’m sticking with a few game-canon things.

The outbreak takes place in 2013.

Joel was 29 in 2013, and so in the “present” (when he’s with Reader), he’s 49-50

This series was started BEFORE the Remake came out. Joel’s canonical birthday according to that is 9/26/1981 - HOWEVER I am keeping that he was born in 1984 (like we all thought for almost a decade) just because I’ve gone too far to change it now.

While she isn’t explicitly given a birthday or any physical characteristics, the reader insert was 22-23 at the time of the outbreak - so it’s a 6-7 year age difference between her and Joel.

There will be spoilers from both games in this series.

Story is listed in chronological order on this masterlist, BUT I am still filling things in as I go - so it is not complete.

NSFW/Smut will be marked with an *

- Spring/Summer 2034: 

A Detour in Your New Life - Coming Soon

Still Chasing For That Feeling  (2.1k)

Waiting For This Sky To Fall (11.1k)

Everything’s Changing Now

Part 1: Let It In  (‘Cause I Want You So) (10.3k)

Part 2: We Could Live Like Kings (If We Take A Risk)* (12.5k)

Harder To Find What’s Right (5.2k)

Promise Not To Stop When I Say When (11.3k)

- Autumn 2034

Help Me Get Away From Myself

The Cabins / The Whiskey - (small batch)

Part 1: You Let Me Complicate You (7.9k)

Part 2: The Only Thing That Works For Me* (14.7k)

Everybody’s Waiting For The Next Surprise

Part 1: Take A Chance And Roll The Dice (11.9k) Part 2: This is Halloween* (15.6k)

- Winter 2034/2035

Your Eyes Outshine The Town (9.6k)

- Spring 2035 

You’re Tellin’ Me Something Real (6.3k)

Can’t Swallow What I’m Thinkin’ (5.3k)

Found My Place in The Sun (936 words)

- Summer 2035

Some Things Are Meant To Be (7.8k)

Lessons You Learn From A Past You Can’t Change

Part 1: Constants Like Gravity, Heartbreak and Shame (10.1k)

Part 2: Nothing To Lose Is A Path You Can Choose* (10.6k)

 - Autumn 2035

We’ll Feel It All Tonight * (16.3k)

No One Sings Like You Anymore - Coming Soon

- Winter 2035

More Than You Could Ever Know (5.3k)

- Spring 2036

Make This Old Heart Give In* (14.7k)

Joel at the wedding (art by @/stealyourblorbos)

Summer 2036

Burdened Black Heart - Coming Soon

 - Summer 2037

The Colors I See* (3.8k)

Spring 2038

All I Ever Needed* (12.3k)

Astoria Hot Springs

Men Who Are Fighting To Be Warm (Joel Miller NSFW Alphabet)* (11.8k)

Extras:

Trick or Treat Joel Commission from @valkblue​

Bound to the Smuggler - a birthday surprise by @stealyourblorbos​

Joel and Reader’s love languages (answered ask!)

Joel and JJ (And Ellie and Dina) (answer based on picture ask)

Joel and flower crowns (answered ask!)

Just Too Good To Be Gone Banners (all made by @stealyourblorbos and they are too pretty to not show off!)

Original / Alternate A / Alternate B /

[bluejayblueskies]

De Tocht Der Koeien \\ The Journey of Cows | MxCaptain

[ID: A hand-bound book shown from the front. There is gray bookcloth along the spine and black bookcloth on the front pasted on top of silver and black marbled paper. The title in both English (The Journey of Cows) and Dutch (De Tocht Der Koeien) is painted onto the cover in silver fabric paint, as well as the author name MxCaptain and a graphic of grass. /End ID]

As another gift as part of Fandom Trumps Hate 2023, I did a bind of MxCaptain's fic De Tocht Der Koeien and its English translation The Journey of Cows! Both fics are contained within this volume, one after the other.

[ID: A hand-bound book shown from the spine. The front cover can also be seen from an angle. There is gray bookcloth along the spine. The name in Dutch (De Tocht Der Koeien) and the author name, MxCaptain, are on the spine in silver fabric paint. /End ID]

The cover and spine are both stenciled with silver fabric paint, and the cover has black bookcloth glued atop black-and-gray hand-marbled paper (not marbled by myself). This is, like my previous book, a sewn board binding, and the ends of the boards are painted black.

[ID: Two images of the interior title pages of the book. The first shows the half-title page, which has both titles De Tocht Der Koeien and The Journey of Cows separated by a line and the author name, MxCaptain, beneath a graphic of a cabin. The second shows a two-page spread with a watercolor painting of a pine-tree-covered hill with some highland cows on it. The same titles can be seen on the righthand page, as well as the same author name. /End ID]

The half-title page precedes the title spread, which has a full-spread painting. The edges have been trimmed (very carefully, using a utility knife, which I only attempt with thin books like this one because it is generally very perilous to trim this way) to bring the book down to A6 size and to get the white space away from the edges of the spread.

[ID: Two images of interior pages of the book. The first image shows the front matter on the left and the summary page on the right. The front matter has QR codes with links to the fics, the Blue Skies Books logo with a bluejay, the Renegade Publishing logo with a bookpress, and information about the book. The summary page has the summary in Dutch and English as well as sketches of cows. The second image shows the chapter header on the righthand side. The chapter header has the English title, The Journey of Cows, encased within a woodcut print of cows, with the text of the fic beneath it. /End ID]

The summary page and chapter headers have some more public domain cow images from rawpixel, and I'm especially pleased with the chapter headers, which I think are very cute!