#i deviated slightly from the prompt

[luxaofhesperides]

Danny accidentally appearing out of Duke's shadow. And doing it purposely every time after that. ; requested by @kyrianclawraith! (deviated from your original prompt a bit, sorry! the ghostlights brainworms got away from me)

Traveling through shadows has become second nature for Duke after using them so extensively over the years. He even uses them as a civilian, hopping between shadows when he’s running late to class so he doesn’t have to stress out over traffic. 

Not even Batman’s scoldings can stop him from making it on time to his classes. Risks need to be taken for the sake of his education!

The shadows are comforting. They hide him from sight, get him to where he needs to go, and gives him the alone time he needs when he’s been around people for too long and desperately needs some quiet to recharge. Duke would say that he’s well versed in the shadows at this point, no longer stumbling out into the light.

Even with all his practice and confidence, he still can’t prepare himself for tripping over someone in the shadows while he’s trying to escape some of The Riddler’s goons. 

They both go tumbling out of the shadows, landing in a corner hidden by storage shelves. The poor tripping hazard of a person is under him, groaning lightly as he reaches up to press a hand to the back of his head, where he hit the concrete floor. 

“Oh, shit,” Duke whispers, “I’m so sorry. What are you doing here? How are you here?”

“I was hiding,” the guy hisses back at him. “I wanted to get out of the rain and dozed off and when I woke up, guns were being shot! I was up in the rafters, so excuse me for thinking no one would find me up there!”

Another gunshot rings out, alarmingly close to where they are.

Duke curses under his breath, then picks up the guy and hauls him over his shoulder. “Time to go!” And then he’s disappearing into the shadows again, following the line of them outside the warehouse and down the street. 

As soon as they’re safely away from the goons, Duke steps out of the shadows and carefully sets the civilian back onto his feet.

“So sorry about that,” he says, “But I need to get back and deal with them. Stay safe!”

He’s gone before the civilian can say anything else, and though it’s embarrassing that he tripped over someone while shadow hopping, at least it ended relatively well. It’s not like it’ll happen again.

Duke, sweet, naive Duke, doesn’t think much of the civilian again. He’s a busy guy with a busy life! Lots of things to do! Lots of embarrassing moments to keep secret from the other Bats! No one has mentioned it at all, so he thinks he’s safe from being teased about it.

That is, up until he’s training with Dick and a hand pops up out of his shadow.

“Um,” Dick says, backflipping away from Duke’s punch. He lowers his escrima sticks and squints at the space behind Duke. “Are you… trying something new with your powers?”

“...No? I’m not using my powers right now.”

Dick looks more and more alarmed. He won’t look away from the space behind Duke, and it’s making him nervous. He doesn't want to look, but he knows he has to. 

Steeling himself, Duke takes a deep breath, then turns slightly to see what’s behind him.

Nothing. 

His gaze goes down, and he sees a pale hand sticking out of his shadow, moving back and forth. It then comes out some more, up to the elbow, and the hand pats the ground Duke’s shadow lays on, a stiff mat perfect for sparring.

Behind him, Dick turns on his escrima sticks, the electricity crackling through the air.

The hand disappears for a moment. 

Then two hands appear and grab the ground, hauling up a body from Duke’s shadow.

Duke is very well versed in shadows. He travels through them almost daily. He thinks he would know if there was some strange netherworld hidden in the shadows where other beings could pop out of shadows like portals. This is alarming, to say the least.

“Don’t move, Duke,” Dick warns, creeping closer, ready to attack.

A head pops out of his shadow. Whatever it is glows and their white hair moves softly as if underwater. They’re facing away from him, so he can’t see their face, but he can see the black, skin-tight suit their wearing as they float up from his shadow, no longer needing their hands to pull themself out. 

“Huh,” they say, looking up at the ceiling.

Dick grabs Duke’s arm and pulls him back, shielding him with his body. “Who are you?” he demands, voice cold. 

The creature/person startles and whips around to stare at them with wide green eyes. His gaze darts down to the electrified escrima sticks, then back up again, visibly nervous.

“Um, hi! Sorry, I didn’t know anyone would be here. Wherever this is.”

“How did you get here?”

“I was practicing a new portalling method. I found a ghost to teach me how to move through shadows, since my usual portals are very bright and noticeable. Not great when you’re trying to be stealthy! I did not mean to end up here.”

Duke stares at him. “You came out of my shadow.”

“Sorry,” the guy repeats. Then he squints at Duke. “Hey, didn’t you save me the other day? From the warehouse?”

It’s been a while since Duke’s saved anyone from a warehouse. Criminals and goons have moved on to condemned apartment complexes and the back rooms of bars. The only person he’s saved is the tripping hazard…

“Man, what is up with you and getting caught in my shadows?”

“This is your fault!” the guy insists. “I associate shadows too strongly with you! That’s why I’m here! Probably. I don’t actually know how this works.”

“You don’t know how it works but you did it anyways.”

“It sounds bad when you say it like that.” The guy floats down to the ground and offers Duke a hand. “I’m Phantom, by the way! Figured I should introduce myself because this will happen again.”

Duke considers introducing himself as the Signal, but Danny is looking directly at his bare face, so it’s lost cause. Talk about an unexpected security breach. “Duke. You looked a little different when we first met.”

“Yeah, that was my human form. This is my ghost form.” A watch on his wrist, some clunky looking thing that looks like it came from the early 2000s, beeps and Phantom frowns at it. “Shoot, I need to go. I’ll see you later!” And he dives right back into Duke’s shadow, disappearing.

Duke blinks at the empty space where Phantom used to be, still reeling from the shock of it. He’s so busy processing the last few minutes that he doesn’t hear the escrima sticks turn off until Dick is dropping a heavy arm around his shoulders, holding him in place. There’s a smile on his face, but it’s not happy; it’s a warning that he’s at his limit and is barely hanging on to niceties.

“So,” he says as Duke cringes, “Looks like we need to have a talk about the things you’ve been hiding from us, Duke.”

He can’t do anything but resign himself to his fate.

After that conversation, he’s instructed to let them know when Phantom pops up. Which is fine until he realizes that Phantom really did mean it when he said that it’ll happen again. 

Phantom pops up constantly. Most of the time, Duke is lucky enough to be at home, or in the Manor, or in the Batcave away from the public where no one will freak out about a glowing boy popping out of his shadow. Sometimes, he’s in the middle of the street as a civilian and has to sprint away, ducking into the first empty alley he can find in order to climb up onto the rooftop where no one will see him.

It’s stressful and confusing and he wishes he could be more upset about it, but Phantom is fun. He’s funny and charming and tells the craziest stories about ghost fights that Duke can’t help but hang onto every word.

He dutifully updates his Phantom Log, noting each time he’s portaled through Duke’s shadow, any information he’s revealed, and an injury count after Duke noticed a concerning pattern of Phantom often showing up after he’s been in a fight.

Duke begins to get a feel for when Phantom is about to show up. A shiver runs down his spine and his awareness of the shadows around him grows. Sometimes, he could swear he could feel something tear apart in his shadow. He feels it then, a tear that stitches itself up almost instantly, a ripple in the shadow, before that familiar hand pops up again and Duke grabs hold of it to haul Phantom out into his bedroom. 

He is, once again injured. There’s a large gash running down the length of his other arm, bleeding a toxic, glowing green. 

“Dude,” Duke says, unable to keep the judgment out of his voice.

“You should see the other guy,” Phantom snorts. “I slammed him through five streets, then ripped his limbs off.

“Dude…”

“Just to be clear, they weren’t his real limbs. He has a robot suit he uses like a body because he’s like a tiny little bean.”

“Yeah, I don’t know how to take that. Anyways, have you still not figured out how to open portals that aren’t connected to my shadow?”

Phantom shrugs. “Nope. And I’m not really trying to figure it out. I like hanging out with you. Plus, it’s nice to see a friendly face after a fight.”

“Can’t you like, go home and have your family take care of you first.”

“Uh, better not,” Phantom laughs nervously. “They’d probably kill me for real if they saw me like this.”

Duke quietly notes to himself to add that statement to the Alarming Things Phantom Says list. 

“Does it… bother you? Me always coming to you?” There’s a smallness to his voice, a fragility that makes Duke want to beat himself up for making Phantom feel like that.

“No! No, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t keeping you from anyone else.”

Phantom brightens. “Oh! Well, no need to worry about that. No one’s worried, back home. They know I disappear sometimes.”

…Another concerning thing. Duke is considering bribing Phantom into staying in Gotham forever, living in his shadow, just so he can take care of him. Just to be sure Phantom’s safe. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asks, eyes flickering down to Phantom’s bleeding wound.

Phantom futilely tries to hide the wound with a hand. The green blood leaks out from between his fingers, and he applies more pressure to the wound with a faint wince. “Nope! All good here. I’ll heal in no time, honest.”

“Then, do you want to just hang out? I really don’t know why you’d chose to keep coming to me.”

“You’re good company, dude. Very chill. Very fun. And you’re a hero! That’s so cool. Why wouldn’t I keep coming back?”

Duke shrugs, not sure how to put his insecurities into words. He’s already starting to get the Bat-specific inability to communicate emotions, which is definitely a problem. He’ll need to spend time with other people to be normal again. 

As if sensing that Duke’s mood is falling, Phantom launches into another tale, complaining about people who bother him, teachers who are terrible at teaching, having snark-fights with the embodiment of Time itself, and so on. He always has the craziest stories, and he tells them so casually that Duke has to second guess himself, wondering if he’s overreacting when he’s shocked by what Phantom tells him. 

He starts telling his own stories as well, mostly fun civilian interactions he’s had since they last spoke, villain fights, the ever changing theories on the ‘Who is Batman Sleeping With Now?’ shared document all the other Bats have. By the time an hour passes, Phantom’s arm is fully healed and he’s flying in lazy circles above Duke.

His watch beeps again in the middle of him recounting the insane drama happening at his school. Phantom sighs and sinks back to the floor, hovering just above Duke’s shadow.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” he says, voice warm.

Duke shrugs. “You’re good company. I like when you visit.”

A slow, soft smile spreads across Phantom’s cheeks, making him glow even brighter. “Sweet talker,” he accuses fondly, then flies in for a quick, tight hug. He pulls back before Duke can reciprocate, and salutes him with a cheeky, “See you soon!” and is gone, flying into Duke’s shadow before he can respond.

Shaking his head fondly, Duke falls back against his bed.

Despite how unconventional their friendship is, he is glad Phantom keeps coming back. He hopes he’ll get to see Phantom’s human form again.

…And get more used to the horror movie scene that is Phantom clawing his way out of his shadow. No matter how many times he sees it, the sight still makes him jump.

Not that he’s ever going to admit that.

If Phantom thinks he’s cool, he’s going to do whatever he can to keep that impression from changing. It’s only reasonable, really.

(“Shut up, Dick,” he says later when he recounts this encounter with Phantom. Dick just keeps laughing, endlessly amused that Duke got ‘jumpscared into a crush’ as he phrased it. That’s definitely not what happened.

Next time, he’s definitely convincing Phantom to scare Dick with him. 

Revenge will be his.) . . .

[send me ghostlights prompts! one day left before they close on 11/17]

[moonsaver]

I’m just imagining the arranged marriage thing but this time it’s Sunday who is head over heels for reader (maybe he was the one who set this up in the first place! This could also tie into reader being higher status but Sunday does something to make them fall and then saves them by entering a relationship with the head of the oak family) but reader doesn’t like him or is into someone else, the angst….i feel like Sunday would do everything to make them love him but it just won’t work so in the end he just begs them to at least pretend they love him and that’ll be enough. A happier prompt on this could be he does actually succeed in getting some of their genuine love in the end. Anyway just thought of this after seeing a clip of Aqua and Akane from oshi no ko. Don’t judge me.

Okay, tons of possibilities here so lets go turn by turn because i really like this idea and unfortunately let it marinate for way too long

And it might have become unintentionally yandere, so i might redo it lol + there's not much fluff.

1 . Sunday arranging the marriage himself because he really likes reader – normal au

Sunday would definitely do this if he was pushed to his wits’ end. If his feelings for you not only disintegrate, but instead worsen and delve deeper, and on top of that, if he senses you yourself are drifting away from him. The added pressure of not reaching you in time after a conclusion to his own feelings is scary to him. In his desperation, he might as well pull some or the other reason out of his ass to marry you, even going as far as to even bribe your parents/guardians or anyone who has the power to object on your behalf.

Negotiations, contract handling, etc.. are all planned by him, so if you have a problem or you want to object, you can only do it by directly confronting Sunday himself. The added intimidation of his knowing, mysterious smile when he stands before you, almost irking you to continue in silence when you hesitate at wanting to object is something he almost relishes. Any problem you might have, has to be directly communicated to Sunday.

In the actual marriage? He's much easier on you. The hard part of coercing you into the marriage was over. He allows you more freedom in the marriage than he does outside of it.

He allows you separate rooms, reigns in any affections for you until you're comfortable, and even openly lets you know you two won't have to immediately consummate your marriage. He'll generally make sure you're comfortable in your marriage.

Of course, deviations and exceptions occur if you happen to still have lingering feelings for.. some nobody. He's bitter about it, so so bitter you can feel the tension in the air when his smile slightly falters at even the mention of their name. Sunday might try to hasten the process of you getting “comfortable” and perhaps even start forcing a few affections on you, such as kissing or holding your hand, brushing your hair in the morning and before bed, lingering his eyes on your lips. He might even not so subtly try to pressurise you, by telling you things like “at this rate, many might not even think we are married, my dear”. 

He plays slightly dirty, but there's so many moments of clarity that he hesitates still. He doesn't want to force you to love him - he wants it to happen on it's own. He's often so loving to you from afar in hopes you'll notice and maybe even return them, but when you look away in anxiousness or discomfort, Sunday's smile falters into a resigned, solemn expression. It hurts, deeply.

2. Sunday arranges the marriage with a reader of higher rank

Its similar, but you'll find the process is hastier. Perhaps it even causes a few slip ups in the middle.

Sunday would be practically tearing at his own hair before he finds the key to catalyze the negotiations of your marriage with him. If it's something that happens to knock you down or push you into unfavourable circumstances, he hesitates. But if you happen to like someone else? All that hesitation vaporises in an instant. He's practically over the moon when you have no one to turn to, his hand is almost shaking from excitement when he reaches it out to you. 

He's much more.. smothering if it makes sense, but he's not outright/direct about it. He always wants to be wherever you are, sometimes stands too close for comfort beside you, and even puts you in circumstances where you won't necessarily be able to push back in the case you damage your already fragile image or so. He's so elated, it's almost creepy. If you don't seem to be driving the relationship, or remain stagnant, his suspicions will grow immensely regarding your feelings for anyone else. Whenever you aren't present, he probably rifles through your belongings, scours for any possibility of traces of that nobody in your life.

He insists on spending the night with you – a familiar knock at the exact same time almost every night on your room's door. He stays with you, talking until it's late at night and you're too tired to shoo him away. But he'd never think himself superior than you, rather he almost takes advantage of it. He's constantly telling you how much incharge of the relationship you are. He disguises choices he wants to make on your behalf as something you can decide on. “Would you like a separate room for us both, or would you like us to have connected doorways?” , “shall I spend the morning with you, or the night?” , or so on. Not doing anything with him makes him sour, but he hides it with a smile. Sooner or later your plans are sabotaged, and in the end he joins you in “fixing” them anyway, and well.. since he's already been here for so long, it won't hurt to have him stick by until the end of it, right?

In some extreme cases, maybe one where the reader is desperately trying to leave the marriage or push back against anything that solidifies it, Sunday might even insist that you two consummate as fast as possible, regarding it as something necessary or even vital. He's so persistent about what he wants from you, like a dog begging and whimpering, that you're practically coerced into giving it to him.

He often poses himself on his knees to you, and stares so tenderly at you, you might crack. It hurts to not give him what he wants. There's times where begging words almost slip out of his mouth when he has to pull you closer. He wants your love so desperately it hurts.

[cryptidghostgirl]

HII this is the first time I ask one of this request and I would love if you could write this idea that’s been on my mind:3 and sorry if it is too specific but I was thinking of an Alastor x reader inspired on the chapter masquerade from dangerously yours??(only if you know it of course I don’t want to bother you😭)

basically the reader is an angel undercover to spy on the guys of the hotel and their plan for the extermination and the only one who knew this was alastor, but he didn’t say anything since he found her interesting and knew she wouldn’t be a threat if he had her under his watch!! but this changes when they started talking, getting closer to each other to the point he almost forgets why she’s here and what she really is,, but they’re so in love and doesn’t doubt of the feelings she has for him either to care😭

BUT when she(the reader) discovers he knew it all along she doesn’t have another choice but to kill him with an angelic weapon, and Alastor starts rambling about how she wouldn’t do it because she loves him and that kkwjzkxbdk

sorry if it’s too confusing english its not my first language so I tried my best😭😭 feel free to ignore it if you want to!!

A/N I am not sure what Dangerously yours is but I liked this idea and did something with it anyways. I hope that is okay :) Also I know I deviated from the prompt a bit, if you want I can do another.

Masquerade (Alastor x Angel!Exorcist!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Adam. Angst. I think that is it, please correct me if I am wrong.

Word Count: 1,616

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Alastor Master List

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

"I want you down there."

Adam was picking at his teeth with the nail of his pinky finger, not even bothering to look at Y/n as he spoke.

"You what?" she shook her head, aghast at the idea, "Sir, do you really think that is such a good idea?"

"Yeah, that's why I am ordering you to do it?" Adam raised his eyebrows, his eyes meeting Y/n's as he leaned slightly across the table towards her, "I want everything: their plans, their intel, their... fuck, I don't know, their deepest darkest secrets. Just bring me whatever bullshit you're able to find."

"But sir, what if they find out? What if I get caught?"

"Then I'll send someone else to replace you."

His words sent a shiver down her spine. This was the life of an exorcist. Hardened, because they had to be. Afraid because there was no chance of beating their leader. Utterly disposable because there were thousands more of them to be had.

"But sir... I've really never been a good liar and... and..."

"And.. And..." Adam mocked, rolling his eyes, "Get over yourself, bitch! Pack your bags, you leave in ten."

That was how Y/n ended up where she was now, in disguise as a guest at the Hazbin Hotel. It had been scary at first. All she knew about demons was what she had been told, that they were vile, that they were filth. It came as a surprise when she also learned how kind they could be.

Alastor had known from the first moment he met her. It was the defensiveness that did it. That, and that she positively reeked of purity. When Y/n had come knocking on the door to the hotel, there hadn't been a single doubt in his mind about her true nature. Always on the hunt for a good show, he had decided to let it lie. He figured any trouble that would come of this was something he could deal with, that he would keep an eye on the little potential trouble maker. There was a certain pride that rose in his chest at the self proclaimed role of protector, he took the oath very seriously.

At first, Y/n had been reticent, suspicious. She seemed to be in a constant state of running in to Alastor and that set her on edge. He always played it off, was always kind and polite but with the years of learned behavior at her back, Y/n was slow to trust.

It happened that as she grew more comfortable at the hotel and its ragtag group of inhabitants, she also became more comfortable with Alastor. What had started off as little more than formality soon turned into her stopping to talk to him when their paths crossed, even bringing him treats she baked when he wasn't down in the kitchen to enjoy them with the rest of the crew.

It wasn't on purpose. Alastor didn't do a lot that wasn't on purpose. The more time he spent with the angel in disguise, the more he fell victim to her innocent charms. She was excitable, she looked at the world through new eyes. When he walked the well worn streets of Pentagram City by her side, it nearly felt like he was experiencing them for the first time again. There was something desirable in her sense of wonder.

Slowly distrust became friendship and friendship became something else. It was an unspoken bond of shared glances and secret smiles. No one ever talked about the way they would be looking everywhere around the hotel for one of the pair only to find them holed up together in some discrete corner listening to music and chattering away. The worst kept secret in all of Hell. Everyone saw how close they stood, how their hands brushed lightly when they walked side by side.

Y/n knew it was wrong, could feel it in her gut. The guilt ate away at her and still, she was unable to keep herself from indulging. He was magnetic, kinder than she ever could have expected and with an eye for the dramatic which she just adored. On that first night he kissed her, on the balcony beneath the false stars, she felt her divinity begin to slip.

It was a careful dance, a well strategized game of chance. They never said the words, they didn't need to. They both knew the truth, Alastor from Y/n's inability to be anything other than genuine in her joy and Y/n through the fact that Alastor seemed to avoid all forms of intimacy - emotional or otherwise - with anyone save her. She felt like she was drowning but she didn't care. She relished the embrace, the first true kindness she had felt since being forced into the ranks of Adam's army all those years before.

The weight of the lie was heavy on her shoulders, bearing down on her more and more with each passing day. With every soft smile, every hand hold, she felt the mask crack a bit more. Secrets had never been an issue for Alastor on the other hand. He expected to find joy in her slipping facade, some sense of satisfaction in the idea that while his remained strong her's was slipping. Instead, there was only worry. That was when he realized it wasn't a game anymore, it was reality and he was done for.

The line of the tightrope was thin, they both clung to it. Nothing good lasts forever and both knew, eventually, they were doomed to fall.

It happened by accident. Alastor had figured he had at least until the next extermination to make a plan, as did Y/n. Fate had other plans.

"My dear!" Alastor hummed jovially as he materialized in Y/n's room, "Your fellow guests are waiting in the lobby."

It wasn't out of the ordinary for him to just appear, Y/n was used to it by now. He was a man of routine and she knew his schedule, worked her own reports in carefully around it. She should have been suspicious of how well things were going, should have seen the doomed end creeping closer by the minute.

She froze, the portal open before her spinning gold sparks into the room as it framed Adam's face. His eyes flicked to Alastor and then to Y/n. Her eyes stayed stuck on the Radio Demon, grief winding its way through her lashes.

"Oops!" Adam laughed, "Wrong place wrong time, dick for brains."

Either way, it was a lose lose situation. Both Y/n and Alastor saw it. He killed her, she killed him, she didn't kill him and was ousted from heaven or killed by Adam, he didn't kill her and Charlie lost all trust in him. There was one faint future, glimmering with potential, where everything worked out. Y/n saw it in the idea of tricking Adam into having gotten Alastor on her side working against the hotel. Alastor saw it in Y/n falling and the perpetually kind hearted princess of Hell, Charlie, taking her in.

Y/n's sharp intake of breath sent shiver's down Alastor's spine. He watched her carefully, microphone in hand.

"Well?" Adam groaned in irritation, "Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna kill him?"

Her gaze shifted to Adam momentarily, her mask gone and her expression conflicted. She was looking to him for an option, for a way out. Adam gave no such reprieve and she returned to Alastor, her eyes widening in sudden realization of the essence of their situation.

The man in question had made no move to attack. It revealed everything, she took a trembling step towards him.

"You knew?"

The question was soft as rose petals, quiet enough so Adam couldn't quite make out what she had said. Alastor gave a subtle nod.

"God, Lute was right. You are a pathetic little brat, aren't you. Finish. The. Job."

Another furtive glance thrown between the two men and Y/n transformed. Wings sprouted from her back, her demon features fading into nothing as a black halo materialized above her head. Spear in hand, breaths shallow and constant, she turned her anxious eyes and spear to Alastor.

He was blinded, she was beautiful. Alastor had always found her attractive but something about seeing this true nature of hers, the face behind the mask, made him breathless. His mind reeled, he felt only he should return the favor but feared she would mistake it as aggression.

Please.

Her lips formed the word though no voice left her chest.

Run.

Alastor shook his head the slightest bit. Tears began to well in Y/n's vibrant eyes. Stuck between Heaven and Hell, divinity and desolation, love and war. She took a step forward. Y/n's wings splayed out behind her, a fitting backdrop to her inhuman beauty of the moment.

"Get it over with." Adam spat.

She begged him with everything but words. She wanted to do anything. To run, to hide, to lash out, to kill her instead. Alastor just stood there. He let his microphone disintegrate into the air.

He couldn't comprehend what he was doing, what force was driving him to look his much avoided double death head on without fear. Regardless of his confusion, he was undeterred. He spread his arms slightly to the sides, feeling his second form begging for control. He could feel the horns sprouting, the heat from the aiming light of the gun on his brow.

Y/n's expression only became more pained. Taking a deep, stuttering breath, she drew her weapon back.

"I'm so sorry."

----

Tags:

@willowshadenox @i-love-jafar @elfyeet @reader3 @lazygirlfanfic0-0 @kahlan170

[cambion-companion]

The Devil's Bard

Thank you again for this prompt @superfunething :) Raphael is all-too-eager to have his ego stroked.

Raphael x reader (gn) | drabble

You strummed your lute, having sequestered yourself into a private corner of the Last Light Inn. You began tentatively tuning the old instrument, an heirloom of your family. The ashen wood glistened from the flickering firelight, the warmth of the hearth seeping cozily into the wool of your clothes.

It'd been too long since you'd had time and solitude enough to compose a new song. Since you had collaborated with Alfira, in fact. The itch was there, yet your creative mind had been held captive by none other than a fiend. A cambion. Raphael.

The image of his transformation inside that "House of Hope" where he'd whisked you. His promises spoken in a decadent low voice, rough yet soft. Those eyes, both human brown and devil yellow, staring right through all your outward bluster and bravado.

Wood creaked as you shifted your weight in the mahogany armchair, a discordant noise rose up while you strummed your lute in mild frustration.

Anything else. You would rather create your art around anything else. Flowers, the night sky, the Underdark even. Yet the only thoughts pervading your restless inspiration were those of cherry skin, musky fragrance and a sharp knowing smile.

You whispered the words at first, haltingly and quiet, not wanting to draw attention.

"False hope arrived on hidden wing.

To manor cold and haunted bring,

the weary, wandering and spent.

Those carrying a writhing tenant."

You sighed heavily. Now to create music for your lyrics. You began slow, building the base chords and singing the first verse more confidently after a few rounds. For a moment the world and your troubles melted into the background, your focus a blissfully familiar spotlight upon your work.

You felt sudden pressure as a firm hand gripped your shoulder.

"Hello, my lark." Raphael spoke from behind where you sat, the weight of his gaze upon your head. "As irresistible as the harpy's song, so I too had to investigate what music you were weaving."

He moved around you. Careful measured steps, till he looked down upon you and you up at him. His warm brown eyes caught the glow of firelight as he measured your blushing cheeks and the way you gripped your instrument.

Raphael tilted his head, in an amused air. "Those lyrics rang so familiar." He smiled, that knowing smile you remembered so well. "Almost as though I am the muse behind your making, but that would be presumptuous."

You grimaced. "Speak of the devil."

"Ah, so your little song is about me." Raphael seemed genuinely tickled by this and he chuckled and clapped his hands together once. He took the seat opposite you and slung one of his legs over his other thigh. "Do, please, go on! I so enjoy the extolling arts, especially when revolving around myself."

"What are you doing here, Raphael?" You raised a brow and glanced over your shoulder just in time to see little Mol look away.

"Business, as usual." Raphael leaned forward slightly, his own gaze never deviating from your firelit face. "The richest bounties can be found in the most desperate little havens. But you've learned that already." He smiled, a little sharply. "My most illustrious client. You've sent many souls skittering directly to my door."

"Maybe I should compose a song of warning to stay away from strange men wearing frilly collars." You bit out, your eyes narrowing as you tried again to see where Mol had disappeared to.

"That's the spirit!" Raphael chortled again and gestured graciously to your lute. "Spirit you have in such brilliant abundance, little lark. I find you ever more delightfully ebullient."

"A compliment, were it not for your nature." You said, a little terse of tongue now, growing uncomfortable with how attracted to this fiend you were becoming.

"Does it keep you up at night?" Raphael frowned, a hint of mockery in his cadence. "Tossing and turning upon that cold, hard ground. Desperate to dwell upon anything but the devil in your corner. Oh, come now." His hand found your knee and pressed you back down as you shifted to stand up. "Indulge me! We are friends. After all, what else are little birds for? Sing me your sweet song while I devise for you a safe, gilded cage."

[multifanhoe99]

Kinktober Day 4- Masturbation

This one was a wonderful suggestion by a lovely Anon! I hope you enjoy it and that it meets your expectations.

Pairings: Non-Idol!Hyunjae w/ mentions pining for his neighbor.

Warnings: Slight perv!Hyunjae, window-watching, solo male action, fantasizes about his neighbor he's been crushing on.

=Let me know if there are any that I missed=

PROMPT LIST

MASTERLIST

18+ MDNI

Every day it was the same thing. He knew your schedule like clockwork. He wasn't trying to be creepy but it just so happened that his bedroom window happened to line up perfectly with yours and your curtains were really see-through. It's been a few years that you two have lived across from each other and the more he got to know you and you have become friends the more he realized that he liked you. He's been wanting to tell you for a while now but just hasn't found the right moment. Although becoming aware of his feelings for you has made certain things very difficult for him.

Before whenever he would see you start to change or get ready for a shower he would close his curtains until he was sure that you were done and fully clothed again. He wasn't even sure that you were aware he could see inside your room but he wanted to be polite. That started changing one day. He wouldn't close the curtains every time claiming to himself that he just wouldn't look or that he was so busy with something else that he didn't notice, but he did. Sometimes he would even go as far as to pretend he was doing work on his laptop but really he was watching you. He wasn't trying to be creepy but god you were so attractive that once he started he couldn't look away. At night after your lights went out and he was sure you were asleep he would stay awake gripping his cock tightly and stroking himself to the thoughts of what he'd like to do to you. He wondered what your skin would feel like under his touch. He wondered what you would sound like moaning his name. Every time he thought about that it would make him so unbelievably hard he would just have to touch himself to get some relief.

Something was different about today though. The weather was warm so he had his window open slightly and when you came home instead of your normal routine you went to your own window to open the curtains and crack the window open. You could see him now and gave him a little wave. He waved back and looked back at the blank docs page he had open on his laptop so that he could continue pretending to be working on something. You had just come back from the gym and he knew that you were probably going to go shower soon but instead of getting ready for a shower, you had another deviation in your usual ritual. Honestly, he thought he was making it up but when you continued he knew he wasn't. There you stood in the middle of your room touching and groping yourself letting out the sweetest of moans. They were better than he could ever have imagined. Then, you started taking off your clothes layer by layer until you were fully naked in front of him. He wasn't sure if you were doing this on purpose but he wasn't going to complain. The longer he watched you the harder he got. He knew it would give it away that he was watching you pleasure yourself but his lust-flooded mind didn't care. He needed to touch himself right now so he closed his laptop and moved it to the side. He reaches down and squeezes his cock over the shorts he was wearing and lets out a long moan himself. He knew you could hear him but he didn't care though he missed the subtle way you smiled knowing that your plan was working and you were in fact doing this on purpose.

After a few strokes over his clothes, he moves his shorts and underwear down revealing his swollen cock. He was so hard he probably could've cum just from listening to your moans but he was determined to make this last as long as possible. He grips his cock letting out a moan at the slight relief and follows the rhythm you have set up for yourself. You both listened to and watched each other both feeding off the other the pleasure clouding your minds. You let slip a moan of Hyunjae's name and that alone almost threw him over the edge. He once again thought that maybe he had made it up until he heard you again, "Y-yes Hyunjae right there please make me cum I am so close." With that, he lost it pumping his fist faster until his cum shot out of his cock covering his hand and shirt. When he finally returns to reality he sees you now wearing a robe to cover yourself and leaning out your window.

"So, did you enjoy the show," you ask with a sly smile.

"Oh most definitely," he says tucking himself away and deciding to clean up later. Then he looks up again, "Would now be a bad time to ask you on a date?"

You laughed and said, "Clean yourself up and pick me up at 8." He should have thought of this a long time ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I had so much fun writing this one honestly. Thank you to everyone who is helping me out with their requests these are really fun. Just letting you all know I am also taking requests for things that are not kinktober related so send in your asks if you got them.

[lost-sunset-canine]

Angeltober 2023 Day 19 - Basilisk

Knowing a basilisk usually is the combination of a chicken aka rooster with a lizard of some sorts, i wanted to deviate slightly from that and instead choose a bearded vulture as the bird part, and the lizard part making it more dragon-like in this case instead of just attaching the lizardtale adn do leathery wings since i wanted to keep the feathery wings here :) I love how it turned out, although i didn't have such a stunning idea for the background, just tryign to make it appear as if it is in a forest with broken statues at its victim :p -dairiem

prompt by @ultrainfinitepit

[tulipe-rose]

My contribution to the Dazai week 2024→ Day 1

"A good night's sleep isn't so bad sometimes..."

TW: Dazai typical suicide mentions, and sleep deprivation

This will include hcs, a little theory, and a little bit of platonic KuniZai. I deviated a little from the main point for the majority of the fic, but I tried ig TvT

Prologue

Dazai, and sleep.

Their relationship has been strained for as long as he could remember, and while it might not be saying much due to his usually awful memory, it was one of the things he had absolute certainty over when it came to himself.

He had always been a light sleeper, his body refusing to sleep anywhere with a fraction of light, feeling too vulnerable, and exposed, which prompted him to take an abandoned shipping container stationed at the Yokohama docks as a sleeping quarters. His Boss, Mōri Ōgai, tried to offer him a befitting apartment on numerous occasions, but Dazai always turned him down bluntly. Dazai preferred loathed the solitary atmosphere of the container, and found himself leaning towards not owning many material possessions; his suicidal tendancies came hand in hand with a minimalistic nature, since he believed his life would end up falling short in the end. This mindset carried over with him to later years, his current apartment, and over all lifestyle as proof.

Dazai's sleep schedule was mostly controlled by his mood, and assigned missions back in the day, usually dropping himself face first into his pillow after a mission that dragged out for too long, and he was absolutely beat; his naps never exceeded four hours because of either discomfort, or notice of another mission.

During the two year gap between his defection, and employment at the agency, Dazai's paranoia demon haunted him for days on end which prevented him from resting well, further worsening his mentality, and physical health; he ended up collapsing on the spot one day, so he started forcing himself into a sleeping state for just about long enough to keep himself alive.

Finally out of hiding he is, which leads us to now, where Dazai is a new hire at the armed detective agency, a very annoying loveable one to a dear co-worker amongst others at that, bringing his terrible relationship with this body necessity along with him as it presists.

____________________________________

It's been a few weeks since Dazai was hired at the armed detective agency, and since the azure apostle case was resolved. It is another tedious day on the job, or as tedious as it could get in their line of work, and as per usual Dazai is lounging about, doing anything but his job. He is humming tunes to his favorite song, he is reading his suicide hand book, and serving as an ever torturous pain to his co-worker, Kunikida Doppo, and his schedule.

Kunikida, and Dazai have fallen into a routinely set of arguments over the past few weeks that mostly entailed Kunikida punching sense into Dazai that didn't seem to ever reach into him, and the latter throwing back teasing remarks at the bespectacled man, laughing away at his partner's reaction.

Today the agency doesn't have any investigations sent it's way this far, so Dazai, and Kunikida were instead assigned to run a few errands that were pushed aside in favour of more urgent matters this week. The president entrusted them to get them done by the end of today, and Kunikida decided that he isn't going to disappoint, taking it upon himself to whip Dazai into not being a flaming disapointment for once by extension.

Dazai on the other hand was feeling exceptionally drowsy, not really caring much for the task, sleep was too hard these past few days; it was terrible to the point where he couldn't even force it– the blinds weren't enough to block out that detestable bright sign set up by their neighbors across the street. His eyes are droopier than usual, and his eye bags are slightly heavier, which went unnoticed by his colleague, for now. Dazai being himself managed to put up his usual playful, and teasing demeanor despite himself, already plotting ways to take down that wretched banner. Until then, he'll keep himself composed enough around his co-workers until office hours are over, won't be that hard.

After a verbal match between the two, Kunikida managed to get Dazai to finally leave the office.

“Kunikidaaa-kuuun!! I want to stop by the Cafeeee I heard they hired a beautiful waitress there! I need to ask her to a double suicide before someone beats me to it! I have a feeling she's the one~~”

“Have some decency, and stop harassing people!”

“But Kunikidaaa-kuun! It's not harassment!”

“Your definition of harassment is definitely distorted then!”

Dazai continued to give out a series of exaggerated complaints as they walked down the street, loudly crying about how unfair his partner is to him before pausing for a moment to let out a long yawn, much to Kunikida's already peaking irritation.

“Stop causing such noise pollution to your surroundings!! Your complaining is slowing us down, we're already a whole minute off schedule. We need to focus on our next destination–”

“The Cafe?”

“The post office." He gritted out “The president needed us to compose a letter to one of our clients, but she refuses to use technological means, so we'll have it sent the traditional way.”

They got through this errand fairly quickly, even with Dazai's background chatter being headache inducing. Kunikida's veins were a small shot away from popping.

Speaking of, Kunikida noticed something strange about his coworker, how overly chatty he was throughout the day, how back at the office, he'd been spacing out a little longer than usual before they left for their errand run. Kunikida wouldn't have paid it much mind if it weren't for those little moments when Dazai shut up, he was slightly swaying in his steps. Kunikida started observing him closely, noticing a slight change in his complexion, with it written all over his face I didn't sleep for over a week with his eyes being puffier than usual, and other obvious signs of lack of sleep.

Dazai shot him a teasing comment, something about his captivating face, which came out a little lower, and groggier than what he wished for; he exhausted too much energy into keeping himself awake, and it's backfiring on him now. He'd been pressing down the screams of fatigue that were killing him, begging him to just sit down somewhere, and maybe drop dead then, and there. With every step Dazai took, his brain threatened to shut down at any second. He pushed himself to keep it together since they were almost done, and didn't realize that he was falling moments later until it happened.

Kunikida reacted quickly, dropping the documents in his hands to catch Dazai's collapsing figure; his concerns were well placed after all. He pulled him onto his back adjusting the documents under his armpit, walking in a steady pace towards the agency, formulating an explanation in his head, along with plans to postpone the remaining work to tomorrow.

The sun has officially set on arriving at the agency dorms, with Kunikida passing by Dazai's apartment, and realizing he didn't have the key, in favour of not waking him up, the man of ideals headed towards his own home, planning to tend to his colleague, possibily letting him stay the night if he slept in, nothing but concern behind his actions.

Dazai woke up hours later, two hours before midnight, in a dark room, finding himself laying in an unfamiliar futon, an unfamiliar pillow below his head, and an unfamiliar blanket on top of him. He sat up feeling quite stiff, and dizzy, yet miles better from his condition prior to his collapse. His coat was neatly folded at his side, which prompted a small smile on his face. He went to the door, and found it unlocked as expected. He stepped out, and headed towards the living room to find his idealist colleague sitting at the sofa with a small book in his hands.

Kunikida acknowledged Dazai's presence, and looked up at him with a seriously concerned look on his face.

“If you hadn't been feeling well, you could've said something, you idiot. I got sensei to look at you, and she said you'll be fine after some good sleep.”

Dazai smiled sheepishly, and it felt near genuine.

“Would my dear colleague mind hosting me for the night then?”

“Is there something wrong with your apartment? You don't seem to have slept for a good while.”

Dazai was silent for a moment, contemplating his next words, ultimately deciding that the truth wouldn't hurt. He'd be honest this one time because the man in front of him, with his manner of speech right now reminded him far too much of an old friend, but he wouldn't admit it.

“The sign across the street was pretty irritating, I couldn't sleep well because the light kept getting in my eyes.”

“Then I'll see what we can do, you can stay until then I suppose. Don't do anything stupid.”

“Yessir! No promises though.” With a soldier-like salute, and a robotic march to the room.

Kunikida sighed as he watched the man retreat to the bedroom, then picking up his notebook to add discuss the sign situation with the store across the street to his schedule for tomorrow, praying that Dazai would be cooperative since it concerned him.

Dazai meanwhile rested his head onto the comfortable pillow, the darkness surrounding him, the strangely reassuring presence of his colleague, and the comforting quiet lulled him to sleep like a lullaby sung to a baby. The next morning rolled around like nothing, and for the first time in years, Dazai felt refreshed.

“A good night's sleep isn't so bad sometimes...”

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

Sjjdjwdjwb it's finally doneeeee I would've written a mini epilogue/bonus part if it weren't for how freaking late I am. I've never written Kunikida, and I'm bad at writing Dazai, but this mackerel deserves his bday presents. I'm excited to write the romance prompt 🤭.

[toxictoad]

The Geometry Anomaly twins from Route 5!

I was mostly joking when I said it was just the parent trap. The only real similarity is that they're twins that both go with one parent respectively.

Slightly more in-depth explanation of this Route under the cut :D

(Also @acerobot suggested that Juno have a princess scepter and that was such a good idea that it's what prompted me to draw this lol)

Nicknaming this route the division AU because I think I'm clever.

After the Breakup™️ Bill takes Juno with him to the Nightmare Realm. Ford keeps Quentin and is holding him when he gets portal-ed.

Canon progresses otherwise as normal, with the twins and their weird aging making them teenagers by the time Weirdmaggedon happens.

This Route gives me an AWESOME opportunity to contrast Bill and Ford's "parenting" styles.

Juno grows up getting basically everything she wants whenever she wants, as long as she also does what Bill tells her to. It's basically golden handcuffs as a parenting style. She's his little princess! His darling daughter who can do absolutely nothing wrong! Unless she tells him no. Juno grows up being told that Ford (and by extension Quentin) betrayed them, and that they need to use force to make them a "real family" again. She feeds on approval and outside validation, and cannot take genuine criticism at all. To Bill she's just an extension of himself, and so any deviation she makes is treated just as harshly as he would treat himself for it.

Quentin grows up being dragged across the multiverse with Ford, and while he's an objectively much better parent than Bill, he isn't... great. Quentin grows up less being parented and more being ordered around. He needs to listen to what his father tells him because they're trying to survive. He's just an addition to Ford's single-minded quest to defeat Bill and take Juno back. Chin up, soldier. We don't have time to be afraid when there's work to be done. He loves his son, but also he subscribes to the method of Emotional Repression™️. So Quentin doesn't value his emotions, and is even more stoic than he is in the other routes. He's convinced that if he just does everything right then people will love him, and nothing bad will happen (Of course he's wrong about this).

The thing about this route is that it's the only one where the twins aren't together, so they can't temper each other the way they usually would. Juno can't speak up for Quentin when he's being quiet, and Quentin can't calm down Juno when she's mad. They're both alone with one parent who is doing their best (Debatably, in Bill's case) and they feel like they're missing something without their twin. Juno can kind of check in on Ford and Quentin, but she's explicitly forbidden from contact with them. Quentin only knows about his sister from what Ford can tell him- which isn't much, considering that he hasn't seen her since she was less than a year old- and news about Bill and the Henchmaniacs, which obviously doesn't spark much optimism.

When Weirdmaggedon finally happens they end up on opposite sides. Quentin doesn't get captured with Ford, so Bill sends Juno to hunt him down.

They definitely fight, and Quentin wins, and tries to sway his sister over to their side. Now, I don't think this would go too well, but I do think that she would go along with it at first.

Cue a faux-redemption arc where Juno pretends to be a good person, and then actually becomes a good person. And then during the showdown in the Fearamid... there is a choice to be made. And she either has to save the rest of her family... or side with the demon who raised her.

And she chooses her family.

[cha-melodius]

A ship of your choice firstprince, please!

A location—(Although I dare someone to send the White House or Kensington, I WILL make it into an AU. I have ideas.) Also if you want a particular historical setting, you can feel free to include a time period too. GO NUTS, please.

Well sheesh, with that kind of tease, I suggest both the White House and Kensington Palace, circa the year 2068.

I look forward to seeing what you choose to do with this! I am certain to enjoy it, whatever it is ❤️

(This was such an intriguing prompt, and I hope you enjoy what I did with it. Also happiest of birthdays to @dumbpeachjuice, who's incredible fic "make me your god" inspired this one.)

The Impossible Soul

(M, 7.2k, read it below or on AO3)

“I shouldn’t let you do this for me,” Henry tells him in the moments before.

“You should know by now that you’re not letting me do anything, sweetheart,” Alex returns. “Anyway, I’m doing this for us.”

“Even though we still won’t be able to be together?”

“I told you, it’s only temporary. Once my mom’s no longer in office, I won’t be in the spotlight. But I can’t leave you trapped here for another four years. I won’t.” Alex cups Henry’s cheek with his hand and brushes a thumb against the corner of his perfect mouth. “Besides, what if I left you here and you forgot about me?”

Henry covers Alex’s hand with his, warm and soft. “Never.”

~~~~~

One Year Earlier

Alex didn’t think he could be surprised by AIDEs at this point, but the ones populating Kensington are really something else.

“It’s a pleasure to have you here,” Prince Henry says, his blue eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as he shakes Alex’s hand.

Alex can’t help but stare. The eyes are the hardest part, or so Nora says. All the Secret Service agents’ eyes have a kind of strange metallic glint behind them. Often it’s not even noticeable, but if you look too closely, it becomes obvious. Prince Henry’s eyes are flawless, though. Just endless, perfect blue. Really, the only flaw Alex can see in this model is that they made him inhumanly beautiful. No real person has lips like that.

Henry’s hand is warm in his, his grip firm but not too tight. Alex forces himself to let go.

“Yeah, thanks,” he says, looking around rather than staying trapped in Henry’s piercing gaze.

Palace servants flit about, attending to all of the gala guests’ needs along with those of the princes and princess. Apparently, it’s a perfect recreation of the palace’s operations from the turn of the century, back before the monarchy was abolished. Now they just keep fake royalty here, like they can’t quite let go of the idea. Alex has never understood it, and visiting hasn’t really helped. Of all the things he’s had to do on this goodwill trip, this is by far the strangest, pretending to hobnob with royalty at a fancy ball like anyone does this shit anymore. Then again, maybe showing off is the whole point, same as it ever was.

It’s not like Alex isn’t used to interacting with AIDEs. The use of Artificially Intelligent Dynamic Entities is still limited more broadly, but they’re common in dangerous or sensitive jobs. The entire Secret Service was replaced by them two administrations ago; their loyalty is never in question, nor their willingness to protect their charges at all costs. Use of AIDEs for entertainment purposes is growing in popularity too, like the Kensington ones. They play the role they’re programmed to without deviation, they don’t need to eat or sleep (though they usually do, to better mimic humanity), they can be abused or even killed without repercussion and, most importantly, they don’t need to be paid.

“I hope your visit to London has been pleasant?” Prince Henry asks with perfectly-tuned amiability. It makes Alex want to push a little, though he knows Nora would tell him it’s a futile exercise.

“Mostly I’ve been spending it in lots of meetings,” Alex says. “Kinda wish I had time to go out and see more of the city.”

“I can understand that,” Henry replies, glancing toward the doors in a way that Alex would call wistful if he didn’t know better.

Can he? Do they let them leave the palace? Probably not. Does Henry want to, though? That would be a weird thing to program into an AIDE that’s supposed to stay in one place.

“I guess you probably don’t get out much, huh?” Alex asks.

Henry smiles indulgently at his bad joke. “Not so much, no. Makes it ever-so-difficult to meet people, you know.”

Alex laughs despite himself. He’s never met an AIDE that was so self-aware. If he tries to joke with Cash about taking a day off, the agent just stares at Alex blankly. “You must talk with a lot of visitors to the palace, though.”

“I do,” Henry allows, taking a sip of his champagne. “Most of them aren’t very interesting, though. All they do is ask what it’s like to be a prince.”

“And? What’s it like?”

Henry smirks a little. “Bloody boring. Not that I can tell them that, you understand.”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees, a little lost for words. Henry is nothing like what he was expecting. “So, what do you want to talk about, then?”

In response, Henry takes a step closer. He smells like fancy cologne, like linens and fresh grass, and something inside him seems to tug Alex closer. “Can I show you something? Still inside the palace, of course.”

Alex’s eyes flick over to June and Nora, chatting with someone he doesn’t recognize—AIDE or government official, he can’t tell—and the Secret Service agents linger at the periphery of the ballroom. He knows shouldn’t leave the event, but honestly chances are no one would notice he was gone. Plus, his curiosity is through the roof.

Henry takes him to a library. There are barricades set up to keep the visiting public to certain areas, but Henry slips past them and Alex follows him. Watches as Henry walks down the rows with a small, private smile curving his lips, trailing a finger along the spines. He pauses and plucks a book off the shelf—Pride and Prejudice, Alex can just make out—and smooths a hand lovingly over the cover.

“I love to read,” Henry says, almost to himself. His eyes flick up to Alex’s, shining brightly in the low light. “All those worlds… They’re incredible, don’t you think?”

Alex doesn’t know what to say. AIDEs don’t read. They don’t dream of other worlds.

“The rest of your… family,” Alex says, diplomatically. “Are they like you? I mean, with the reading.”

Henry laughs quietly and shakes his head. “No. No one’s like me.”

Alex is rapidly coming to that same conclusion.

~~~~~

“There’s nothing special about the Kensington AIDEs,” Nora tells him, sounding more beleaguered than necessary. “We talked to Princess Beatrice for like an hour, it was the same as any other AIDE. Pleasant, but a little vacant. The eyes are a neat trick, though.”

“I’m telling you, Henry is different,” Alex insists. “We talked all night. He’s aware of what he is. He reads and he thinks and he feels. Fuck, Nora, he dreams when he sleeps.”

“AIDEs don’t sleep. Not really.”

“Henry does.”

“Someone just got a little creative with the programming,” Nora says dismissively. “He’s supposed to say those things to make him seem more real. If you went back, he probably wouldn’t even remember you.”

“And what if he did?”

“Alex—”

“What if he did remember me? What if all of it really is real?” Alex presses.

Nora frowns at him. “Then there are some major ethical implications that current AI laws are frankly not prepared to deal with,” she says bluntly. “Look, it’s just not possible. They don’t have feelings, period. He’s just a fancy computer.”

“Fine. Whatever you say,” Alex huffs, mostly because he doesn’t want to have this argument anymore. She’s not going to change his mind, and clearly he’s not going to change hers.

“Promise me you’ll leave this alone. We can’t afford some kind of diplomatic incident because you got a crush on the prince AIDE.”

Alex glares at her. It’s not a crush. “I’ll leave it.”

He absolutely will not.

~~~~~

Cash doesn’t blink—literally—when Alex tells him that he’ll be visiting Kensington Palace again rather than the scheduled afternoon tea with some MP he couldn’t care less about. He sends his apologies with an excuse that he’s not feeling well and heads to the main entrance with the rest of the tourists. He has no idea where Henry might be, but AIDEs don’t take days off, so it stands to reason that he’ll be somewhere acting princely, or whatever he does all day.

Unfortunately, he gets stuck on a tour led by an AIDE with a dirty blonde bob and green eyes who most definitely shows none of Henry’s spark. It’s boring as fuck, and he almost bails more than once, but this place is huge and he’d probably get lost forever before he found Henry. They go past a few rooms Alex recognizes, but there’s no sign of the ‘royal family’ anywhere, and Alex starts to worry. Maybe they only trot them out for big events. Maybe you have to buy a special tour package. Ugh, his mom is going to kill him if he ditches any more events.

“Next, we’ll visit the palace library,” the guide says, and Alex perks up.

This has got to be his chance. Henry had said they were basically allowed free run of the palace so long as they remained in areas where they’d run into visitors during operating hours, and Alex knows there’s nowhere Henry would rather be than the library. Sure enough, he’s reading in a massive armchair by one of the windows, though he gets up when the tour group enters and comes over to talk to them. His face is fixed in a pleasant, bland smile as he looks over the group, until his eyes land on Alex. The flash of recognition is clear, even if he recovers quickly, and Alex’s heart thuds a little harder in his chest.

He lingers toward the back as the rest of the visitors ask Henry about living in the palace and being a prince—exactly as he said they would. He answers graciously, of course, the words so bland and scripted that Alex almost wonders if maybe he hadn’t been drinking too much champagne during the gala. But he hangs back when everyone else files out, and as soon as Henry turns to him, his eyes practically light up.

“You came back,” Henry says, his voice soft with something like wonder.

“Of course I did,” Alex replies. “We didn’t finish our conversation.”

Henry ducks his head, blond hair falling alluringly over his forehead as his cheeks turn pink. The way their bodies mimic human physiology is astounding sometimes. “I suppose we didn’t. Would you care to walk with me in the gardens? It’s a lovely day.”

“Can we do that?”

“Ironically, you’re allowed so long as you have one of us with you, and I’m allowed so long as I’m with a guest,” Henry explains. “Plus, you’re a foreign dignitary. No one will bother us.”

“Sure you wanna be seen with me? My sister would say I’m the furthest thing from dignified,” Alex says, grinning probably a little too broadly.

Henry’s smile slants mischievous as he steps close enough for Alex to get a noseful of linen and fresh grass again. “Maybe I like that about you.”

~~~~

“Have you ever been outside the palace?” Alex asks on his next visit. Nora had given him a look like she knew exactly what he’s been up to when he’d begged off from an official tour of the British Museum, even though he hasn’t brought up Henry again. The fact that she’d found him down a rabbit hole of academic papers about AIDE psychology probably hadn’t helped anything.

“Not that I remember,” Henry answers. It’s rainy today, so they’re ensconced in some kind of parlor with ornate, uncomfortable furniture. The fact that Henry only knows this life is outrageous. Has he ever truly been comfortable? Does anyone even care? “They gave me a basic knowledge of London as a background. I’m supposed to be fond of the Victoria & Albert Museum, but I’ve never seen it myself.”

“That’s fucked up,” Alex blurts.

Henry shrugs. “It’s just how it is.”

“How does none of this ever seem to bother you?”

“It can’t bother me, Alex. My entire existence has been—and will be—only this, and if I allowed any of it to bother me, I’d go mad.”

This does not, in fact, make Alex feel any better about the situation. “Guess I’ll just have to be angry for the both of us, then.”

“I’d rather you weren’t,” Henry says mildly. “It’s no use being upset about my life. Nothing can be changed.”

“Bad idea to tell me something can’t be changed, sweetheart. I fucking love a challenge,” Alex returns. He’s not joking, but Henry laughs anyway. “I’m serious, Henry. You deserve to get things you want, too.”

“What if I said I wanted you not to worry about it? That I want you to be happy?”

“Because you’re programmed to?” Alex counters, letting more bitterness than he means to slip into his voice.

Henry reaches out and slides a hand over Alex’s fist where it’s curled on his thigh. “Because I like you, Alex.”

~~~~

On the last visit he can manage before he leaves London, Alex brings Henry a cell phone.

“What’s this for?” Henry asks when Alex hands it to him. It’s a cheap smartphone, pay as you go, something that Alex can renew the data and minutes on remotely.

Alex frowns at him. He would have figured Henry would be familiar with the concept of phones, but maybe they purposefully programmed him to not recognize it. “It’s for communication. Audio, text, video—”

“I know what a phone is, Alex,” Henry says wryly, interrupting him before Alex can make a fool of himself. “I mean why are you giving it to me?”

“I’d like to keep talking to you after I go home,” Alex tells him, feeling oddly exposed by the question. “If that’s something you’d like, too.”

Henry smiles, almost bashfully. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“I assume you’re not allowed to have that,” Alex says with a nod at the phone.

“I don’t think anyone would consider it a possibility that we might,” Henry muses, “but I’ll keep it hidden nonetheless.”

“Good plan.”

“I’m going to miss your visits, Alex,” Henry says earnestly. “I’ll miss you.”

AIDEs can’t miss things, Alex’s brain supplies, an oft-repeated truism. He feels vaguely sick, leaving Henry here like this.

“Yeah,” Alex croaks, unable to quite meet Henry’s bright blue eyes. “I’ll miss you too.”

~~~~~

“How would you get a site-locked AIDE off the premises?” Alex casually asks Nora one late night at the Residence, when they’re deep in the weeds of polls and projections.

The campaign has been rough; rougher than the first one. Or maybe it’s just that Alex is far more involved in the filthy underbelly of it this time around. The experience has definitely made him question his resolve to go into politics. Then again, sometimes it feels like his only option to make a difference in the way he wants to. These days he frequently gets into arguments about the need for more protections for AIDEs, though right now it feels like a losing battle. They’re not supposed to need protections, that’s the point of them, and no one believes him when he suggests that they might have more in common with humans than previously believed.

It’s been months. Months of texting, and phone calls, and occasional video chats. Months of getting to know Henry—the real him, beyond his programmed backstory. For his part, Henry has seemingly blossomed further with access to the internet. Alex was admittedly not certain that was a great idea, but Henry seems to stay off the darker parts. He watches a lot of Bake Off, apparently. He’s obsessed with some cute beagle account on Instagram. He reads travel blogs and insists that just knowing that these wonderful places exist is enough for him.

Alex doesn’t believe him. Well, he believes Henry believes that, but that doesn’t stop Alex from yearning to show Henry some of them in person. Even something in London would be worth it. Hence, the question.

Nora looks at him like she knows exactly what he’s on about. He’s kept his correspondence with Henry a secret from everyone, but he’s pretty sure she suspects something is up. Him broaching this topic all but confirms that, but he needs the help.

“Permanently, or short-term?” she asks.

“Let’s go with short-term to start.”

Another capital-L Look. “Well,” she says eventually, “I would probably hack into the control system and override the barrier protocols. These systems are self-healing, though. You’d have a couple of hours at most.”

“And what happens if the AIDE was off-site when the system kicked back on?” Alex asks.

“Depends on the program. Possibly just an alarm or something. Most of the time it’s full deactivation though.”

“They kill them?”

“AIDEs aren’t alive, Alejandro,” Nora says pointedly. Alex bites his tongue. “But yes, in a manner of speaking.”

“Fuck,” Alex breathes, wiping his hands over his face. “And to permanently get him out?”

It’s a slip. He’s not dumb enough to think she missed it, though she doesn’t show it.

“Not entirely sure,” she admits. “I’d need one of the tablets they use to control them so I could go into the AIDE’s code. And good luck with that; the companies that make them have some of the tightest security out there.”

“Yeah, of course.”

She turns back to her laptop, and Alex half-expects the conversation is done, at least for now. But then, as she’s typing, she says, “I assume this isn’t idle curiosity.”

Alex sighs. “No.”

~~~~~

It takes nine months from their first meeting for Alex to find a reason to visit London. His mother offhandedly mentions sending someone to some conference he doesn’t really care about, and he jumps at the chance. All he can think about is Henry. Being in the same city as him again. Seeing him. Touching him.

Alex has had time to come to terms with his desire for Henry. Honestly, the bisexuality was easy compared to the AIDE aspect of it. Nora is fond of pointing out that they’re literally designed to be desirable, even the ones not populating what basically pass for sexy amusement parks, but Alex doesn’t just want Henry physically. He wants to spend time with him, to make him laugh and see the crinkle of his eyes not through a phone screen.

Frankly, he also wouldn’t mind a little clarity on the whole situation. To either get incontrovertible proof that Henry is fundamentally the same as a person, or else be reminded that he isn’t, that Alex has deluded himself into believing Henry was more than a machine (a possibility that Nora regularly reminds him of).

On the flight over, Alex finds himself watching Cash, not for the first time. He’s doing a sudoku puzzle, which can’t really be much of a challenge for him. Still, he works on them religiously. Did someone program that into him? Or does Cash actually enjoy doing them?

“Do you like your job, Cash?” Alex asks.

Cash looks up at him, setting his ballpoint pen down—he does the puzzles in pen because he never makes a mistake. He’s got an expression on like he doesn’t really understand Alex’s question, even though it should be straightforward. “It’s my job,” he finally says.

“Yeah, but do you like it?” Alex pushes. “Do you find it fulfilling?”

The tip of his head means Cash is analyzing Alex’s body language. After another moment, he says, “Yes.”

Alex can’t quite hold back a sigh. The answer is predictable. Cash is only saying that because he thinks Alex wants to hear it. That’s what AIDEs do, they anticipate your needs and wants.

“Is that not the right answer?” Cash asks, frowning.

“Don’t worry about it,” Alex says.

He knows Cash won’t.

~~~~~

Henry is understandably nervous about the plan. It is, after all, his life on the line.

“The control system will go down at the very end of the visiting day, so we can slip out with the exiting crowds,” Alex tells him. “It’s gonna look like maintenance, which shouldn’t set off any red flags right away. Between that and the roadblocks Nora’s set up, we should have five hours.”

“For what?” Henry asks.

Alex just grins. “It’s a surprise, sweetheart.”

Henry looks even more human in Alex’s Longhorns baseball cap and hoodie. Soft. Dangerously so. It makes Alex want to do reckless things. Instead, he sets his watch for four and a half hours and reminds himself how high the stakes are. He’s arranged everything just so tonight. No surprises.

The escape goes off without a hitch, and Alex breathes a sigh of relief once they’re making their way through the crowded city streets. Out here, the two of them are completely unremarkable, even with Cash trailing a few steps behind them. Henry seems to take it all in stride, though Alex doesn’t miss the quiet looks of awe that steal over his face as he takes in the city. They stop and get falafel at a food truck. Henry asks to pet every dog they come across. He looks indescribably happy in a way that makes Alex’s heart clench in his chest.

At the back entrance to the museum, Alex pays off the night guard—not an AIDE, thank god, they’re nearly impossible to bribe—and they slip inside, leaving Cash by the door. It doesn’t take long for Henry to catch on.

“You brought me to the V&A,” Henry breathes as he looks around.

It had seemed like the obvious choice, after what Henry had told him. “I’ve never actually been here,” Alex admits.

“That’s all right, love,” Henry says, grinning now. “I know my way around.”

Alex has never been so enraptured by someone telling him about art, but it’s impossible not to be taken in by the passion with which Henry speaks about the sculptures. He tells Alex about Tipu’s Tiger, about Giambologna, about Narcissus and Zephyr and Pluto rendered exquisitely in marble. His programming hadn’t bothered to give him anything more than a general interest; all of Henry’s knowledge comes from reading in the palace library—and now on the phone Alex gave him—and he’s apparently done a lot of it. His programming also has nothing to do with the wonder and emotion in his voice, with the tears that glitter in his eyes when he gets overwhelmed by the experience.

Machines don’t cry over art. They just don’t. Art is supposed to be a fundamentally human experience, which is proof enough to Alex that, whatever he was designed as, Henry is just as human as Alex is now.

~~~~~

In the Santa Chiara chapel, Henry finally pauses and turns his awe on Alex.

“I’ve dreamed of this,” he murmurs, closing the space between them until only inches remain. Alex has to tip his head up to meet Henry’s bright gaze, and his heart thuds hard in his chest. “You risked so much to give this moment to me. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You deserve it,” Alex tells him, meaning every word of it. “You deserve the entire world.”

“Alex,” Henry breathes.

Alex doesn’t think; he leans up and presses their lips together, a fleeting thing, over before he can convince himself it was a mistake. Except it was, because now he knows the softness of Henry’s lips against his, and he’ll never be satisfied with anything else. Henry’s eyes are wide when he pulls back, his lips slightly parted, and all at once Alex curses his impulsivity. What if Henry thinks that’s what he wants in return, that he owes Alex part of himself for this, when the last thing Alex wants is to take advantage of his programmed desire to please?

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

But Henry presses a hand against his face and pulls him in again, slides their lips together with intention, leaves Alex breathless when he pulls away again.

“You don’t have to do that,” Alex breathes into the silence afterward. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I want to,” Henry says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I want you, Alex.”

“You’re not just saying that because you think I want you to?”

Henry laughs a little, shaking his head. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you,” he confesses. “I can assure you, that wasn’t programmed. And neither is this.”

This time, when Henry kisses him, Alex can’t help but smile into it.

~~~~~

They go off-plan. There are two hours left when Alex takes Henry back to his hotel room and presses him back into the bed. Peels away their clothes and kisses across warm skin that feels no different from his own under his lips. Henry gasps and twitches under him as Alex takes him in hand; for an AIDE that was only supposed to staff a museum, whoever designed him really went all out on the anatomy.

“Have you ever done this?” Alex murmurs into the crease of his hip, breathing in the scent of him. Linen and fresh grass and something else, musky and heady.

Henry shakes his head, and relief floods through Alex. It isn’t some virginity kink, ok? He’s just heard stories of how some people treat AIDEs no matter what their jobs are, like they’re free for the taking because they never say no, and he’s glad Henry’s never been in that situation.

“And you’re sure you want to with me?”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Henry nearly growls. He drags Alex up from between his legs and kisses him hard, then rolls them over so he’s on top, straddling Alex’s waist. Slides back until Alex’s cock is pressing into the cleft of his ass and rocks his hips in a way that makes them both moan. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

Alex is pretty sure he sees God when Henry lowers himself onto his cock, sitting upright with one hand behind him gripping Alex’s thigh and the other splayed over Alex’s chest. Or maybe it’s just that Henry looks like a god, like one of the mythical marble sculptures in the V&A, muscles rippling beneath his skin, but warm and yielding and vibrant and alive.

You’re unreal, Alex almost says, but that’s not quite it. Henry like this is very, very real. Impossible might be a better word.

Henry is impossible, and Alex is impossibly in love with him.

~~~~~

“Do you think you could steal one of the tablets they use to access your code?” Alex asks as they lie together in the darkness. His ear is pressed to Henry’s chest, listening to the steady thud of his circulatory pump—not quite a heart, but not not one either.

Henry’s hand cards through his hair, idly twirling Alex’s curls around his fingers. “What are you planning, love?”

Alex tips his face up to look at him. “Can you?”

“I doubt I can,” Henry answers after a pause, “but the technician responsible for us… he may be willing to help.”

“And you trust him?”

“He’s protected me before. I think he knows about my… differences.”

Alex hums. “How do we contact him?”

~~~~~

What Shaan Srivastava is not willing to do is speak over any sort of electronic form of communication, which Alex honestly takes as a good sign. They meet in a cafe on the other side of London, the day before Alex is set to leave.

“I want to get him out,” Alex tells him plainly. “For good.”

“Mountchristen Technologies puts numerous failsafes into the AIDEs they build,” Shaan tells him. “Trackers. Latent viruses. Kill switches.”

“Can they be disabled?”

Shaan takes a sip of his tea. “I have an idea, but I have no way of implementing it. I’m just responsible for keeping them in good working order. I’m not a coder.”

The hope that flares up in Alex’s chest is dangerous but oh-so-seductive. “I think I know someone who could help with that.”

~~~~~

“This is insane,” Nora tells him. “You honestly think it’s a good idea to pull off some kind of heist from the world’s biggest tech company a month before the election?”

“No,” Alex says reasonably. “That’s why we’re waiting until after. I convinced mom to let me take a trip to London between New Years and the inauguration.”

Nora shakes her head, every movement like a knife in Alex’s gut. “I can’t do this. I won’t. I never should have helped you on that little excursion in the first place, but this is a whole ‘nother level. We could both go to jail for who knows how long. And for what? Because you fucked an AIDE and now you want him for yourself?”

“Fuck you,” Alex nearly shouts. “I love him, asshole! I can’t let him stay a— a slave in that fucking palace.”

“He’s a machine! That’s what he was designed for, Alex!”

“Maybe he was, but that doesn’t mean that’s what he is now,” Alex insists. He holds out the tablet that she has yet to take from him. “Just look at his code. Even I can tell it isn’t like anything else out there.”

Finally, she snatches the tablet from him and jabs at it a few times. Her frown gets deeper. “There’s something wrong with this tablet,” she says eventually. “It’s not displaying things properly.”

“It is.”

“It can’t be, this level of complexity is impossible—”

“He’s writing his own fucking code, Nora,” Alex interrupts. Shaan had explained his theory on Henry’s code as best he was able before Alex left London. “With every one of the choices he was never supposed to be able to make. That’s why it looks like that.”

Heavy silence stretches between them as Nora stares at the tablet, occasionally swiping around and tapping. She chews on her lip. “It shouldn’t be possible,” she mutters, half to herself.

“But it is. He is. Please, Nora,” Alex pleads, not caring how desperate he sounds. “I’ll do anything.”

“Yeah, well. Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

~~~~~

“You need to understand that the changes to his code means that accessing the safeguards is much more difficult.”

“Ok.”

“And I can’t guarantee that this will work. We can’t test it out. Once we shut him down, there’s no way to know exactly what will happen when we boot him back up again. He might come back the same as he is now, but he also might undergo some kind of reset. Even if he retains his free will, he might not remember his life before. He might not remember you.”

Alex swallows hard. “I understand.”

“Does he?”

~~~~~

It takes Alex a month to work up the nerve to broach the topic with Henry. On video call not long after the election, he explains Nora’s plan, how they need to do a full shutdown so she can extract the safeguards like a surgeon. He makes himself explain the risks even though his first impulse is to downplay them. Henry deserves to know, deserves to make the decision for himself. Alex would be a huge fucking hypocrite to take that away from him.

That doesn’t mean he’s required to like Henry’s reaction, though.

“It’s too much risk,” Henry says, a stubborn look on his face that Alex is very familiar with by now. “Things are fine now.”

“They’re really not,” Alex argues. “You’re no better than a prisoner there, Henry. Your freedom is worth the risk.”

“It’s not.”

“Of course it fucking is!” Alex snaps, rapidly becoming frustrated by this argument.

“Not when it could mean losing you!” Henry bites out. He presses his lips together and looks away from the camera, but Alex can see the tears shining in his eyes. “My memories of you—of the museum, of us,” he says eventually, his voice unsteady, “are the only things I have that are truly mine. And you tell me I could lose them… I can’t do it. I’d rather stay here forever.”

“Don’t you understand?” Alex pleads. He wants to reach through the screen and grab him, turn his face and make Henry look at him. “I’m trying to give you the world, baby.”

“I don’t want the world,” Henry says miserably. “Please, Alex. It’s better this way. You may think this is worth it now, but one day you’ll change your mind when you realize that having a secret AIDE lover isn’t exactly compatible with a political career. You’ll want to be with a real person. Someone whose affection you can be certain isn’t just programming. Just… leave me here with my memories.”

Then Henry hangs up on him.

~~~~~

Henry doesn’t answer his calls or reply to his texts, and Alex couldn’t be more miserable. He doesn’t eat and sleeps only fitfully, which confuses his family. Everyone’s still riding a high from winning the election. They think Alex is seriously ill and try to bring in a doctor, but nothing’s physically wrong with him. He can’t tell them he’s suffering from a broken heart like some pining Victorian maiden.

On the fifth day, Nora comes storming into his bedroom in the White House and throws a duffle bag at his chest.

“Pack your shit, we’re going to London,” she says bluntly. “Also take a shower. You reek.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“It’s Henry.” She waves the tablet in the air, which is still linked to Henry’s code in real time. “Someone’s trying to make changes to his code.”

Alex flops back down onto his bed and stares at the ceiling. “It’s probably just him deciding he’s done with me.”

“God, you’re pathetic,” she huffs, now rummaging through his dresser. “It’s not him. Looks like someone else is poking around, and that can’t be a good thing.”

That’s enough to make him rocket straight out of bed, an icy spike of dread shooting down his spine. “Have you gotten in contact with Shaan?”

Nora shakes her head. “No. He’s radio silent.”

“Fuck.”

“I booked us tickets with your credit card on a flight that leaves in two hours, so hurry the fuck up.”

“Nora, is he—” Alex starts before his voice clips off as his throat closes. He forces out, “Can you tell… is he ok?”

Her expression softens, and she puts a hand on his forearm and squeezes. “For now.”

~~~~~

The good thing about Kensington being a museum is that no one can stop him from just buying a ticket and going in. He’s been here enough times to know his way to the library, at least, which is where he goes first, barely aware that Nora’s following hot on his heels. All he can think about is Henry.

Henry’s not in the library, though, nor in any of the surrounding rooms. Alex stops a palace attendant and asks for directions to Prince Henry’s apartments, which she helpfully provides. It’s a part of the palace that’s not on any tours, but that doesn’t seem to matter. A palace attendant’s directive to be helpful to humans is off the charts, even for an AIDE.

Somehow he’s not expecting Shaan to answer the door when he knocks. Alex immediately shoulders his way into the room, anger and fear an unholy cocktail in his veins.

“Where is he? What going on here?” he demands, frantically looking around. “Henry, baby, where are you?”

“Mr. Claremont-Diaz—”

“Henry!” There’s no answer, and Alex rounds on Shaan again. “Are you doing this to him?”

Shaan sighs, and it forces Alex to look closer, to take in the bags under his eyes and the grim set to his face. “I told you, I’m not a coder, Mr. Claremont-Diaz. I have, however, been doing my best to slow their progress.”

“What’s happening?” Alex demands.

“Someone higher in the company noticed Henry’s unusual code. I’m not sure how. A standard review of the AIDEs in the palace, I suppose. Or your trip out of Kensington was less secret than you hoped.”

Fuck. None of that is good. Alex scrubs a hand over his face, forces himself to take steady breaths and not descend into a panic attack. “Ok, ok. Is he all right?”

“Alex?”

Alex’s head whips around so fast he nearly strains his neck. Henry’s standing in the doorway, dressed in his usual slacks and button-down with a blue v-neck sweater over it. He looks… normal, and Alex nearly sobs in relief.

“Baby,” he breathes, practically throwing himself across the room and into Henry’s arms. He buries his face in Henry’s neck and breathes deeply, and the barbed wire wrapped tightly around his heart loosens a little.

“What are you doing here?” Henry asks, his strong arms wrapping automatically around Alex’s body.

Alex yanks his head back and looks askance at Shaan. “Does he not know?” He stares up at Henry. “Your code is under attack.”

“Ah, yes,” Henry says carefully. “It’s not the first time.”

“This has happened to you before?” Nora asks, and Henry looks at her in shock, like he hadn’t realized she was in the room.

“You must be Nora,” he surmises. “Yes, it has. I might have thought you’d have noticed the effects in my code.”

A look of understanding dawns over Nora’s face, and she nods. “They’re like scars. Fuck. How many times?”

“It’s not important,” Henry says in a way that suggests he’s been doing this for a long time. “The main point is that I can handle them.”

“Fuck that,” Alex spits out. “I’m not letting them scar you anymore.”

Henry closes his eyes and sighs wearily as he extracts himself from Alex’s grip. “Alex, love, you shouldn’t be here—”

“No, you listen, asshole,” Alex snaps, his terror giving way to fury. “You can’t fucking hang up on me this time.”

“I told you my decision, Alex—”

“And what about what I want? Doesn’t that mean anything?”

“Fine,” Henry says shortly, his own temper flaring. “You know as well as I that we can’t be together as long as your mother’s in office and the public’s eyes are on you. So if you still want me in four years, come back and we’ll talk then. You know where I’ll be.”

He says it with a humorless slant to his lips that’s probably supposed to pass as a wry grin, like it’s a joke. Alex wants to fucking scream.

“And let them keep on trying to chip away at what makes you you? Take the chance that they’ll just get rid of you?” he retorts instead. “Fat fucking chance! I’m not leaving the man I love in captivity for four fucking years!”

It takes Henry’s eyes going wide and his mouth falling open for Alex to realize what he’s said. “Alex, you can’t—”

“What, love you? Because I do,” Alex says defiantly. “And I think you love me too.”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you AIDEs can’t love?” Henry says, his voice wavering as he stares at the floor.

Alex steps close, forcing Henry to look up at him, until their noses are almost brushing. “Yeah, well, I know better,” he says, low and heated. “I also know I’m not gonna want anyone else, ‘real person’ or not. You’re a real person to me, Henry, and that’s what matters.” He raises a hand to Henry’s cheek and swipes his thumb through the tear track streaking it. “You’re it for me, sweetheart. I’m never gonna love anyone like I love you, and no one can take that away. Plus,” he adds, for the first time letting a corner of his mouth tug upward, “you know how annoyingly persistent I am. If you forget me, I’ll just make you fall in love with me all over again.”

Henry lets out a wet laugh and covers Alex’s hand with his. “It won’t take long.”

~~~~~

Seeing Henry shut down is wrong. He doesn’t even look dead, he just looks… not there. There’s no light in his eyes. Alex hates it. Can’t make himself watch as Nora works furiously.

It takes longer than he expected, but eventually she takes a deep breath and mutters, “Here goes nothing,” then taps a big green button on the tablet.

Henry’s eyelashes flutter as he wakes up. He looks around the room, eyes landing in turn on Shaan, Nora, and Alex. He holds Alex’s gaze and Alex stares back as if he could make Henry remember him through sheer force of will.

“Hello,” Henry says pleasantly. “I don’t believe we’ve met?”

~~~~~

Five Years Later

Alex stands at the end of the long driveway that leads to a small bungalow by the sea on a tiny island in the middle of the Caribbean. He’s got a bouquet of flowers clutched in one hand, which feels silly now. Maybe this was a mistake.

He’s kept tabs on Henry and his life after leaving Kensington. From what he can tell, Henry seems happy. He visits the markets and restaurants, knows the locals, and spends lots of time writing. He’s never taken a lover, but Alex doesn’t let himself believe that’s because of him.

It seemed easier, if they were going to have to be apart, to not fill Henry in on their history at first. At least one of them could weather the years without heartache. Alex threw himself into law school, letting nothing distract him. Graduated at the top of his class, got the job of his dreams working for a firm specializing in civil rights litigation, one of the few considering cases related to AIDE protections. He lives a pretty quiet life. No one really cares about what the former FSOTUS is up to these days. And now he’s here, half a decade later, with little more than hope.

Hope, and a wilting bouquet of flowers.

In his darker moments, he’s wondered if it wouldn’t be kinder to Henry to leave him be. Let him live his life. After all, Alex will get old and die, and Henry… won’t. No one really knows how AIDEs might break down over time—their organic-based bodies must, eventually—but their lifespans will surely be much longer than a human’s. In that context, coming back and hoping Henry will fall in love with him again seems nothing but selfish.

Still, he made a promise, and he owes it to Henry to tell him, if nothing else. Maybe Henry will decide that he’s happy as he is, that he doesn’t want the eventual heartache. He owes it to Henry to let him choose.

The gravel of Henry’s driveway crunches loudly under his shoes as he walks toward the bungalow, announcing his arrival as well as any doorbell. When he gets closer, he catches sight of Henry sitting on the porch that faces the beach, a notebook on his lap and a drink on the table next to him. They’d dyed his hair brown after fleeing Kensington, and brown it has remained. He’s still as pale as ever, though; AIDEs don’t tan or get sunburned.

He doesn’t turn at the sound of Alex’s approach, just stares fixedly out at the ocean until Alex stops at the bottom of the two steps that lead up to the porch. Alex’s heart is in his throat when Henry finally gets up and walks to the top of the steps. The smile on his face is warm, fond. Nothing like what he’d left Alex with when they’d parted.

It shouldn’t be possible… but then again, Henry is the very embodiment of the impossible.

He holds out his hand, and Alex climbs up to take it, letting Henry pull him in.

“Hello, love,” Henry says, raising a warm hand to his cheek. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

[scifimedic]

Episode 2 of SciFiMedic Explains: How do I write broken ribs with primitive field surgery for a collapsed lung?

Original prompt submitted by @lancedoncrimsonwings.

“Character has broken ribs on one side, then fell from a horse (landing on the injured side and dislocating their shoulder by trying to brace to protect their ribs). Is it likely the fall would worsen the break, and if a rib punctured their lung, how would someone with them first aid that in the wilderness? (Medieval times, generally). They have access to water, a dagger, a form of herbal ish pain relief/sedative made from poppies, and reeds. Survivable or nay?”

This is a fun scenario!

Falling from a horse may seem fairly mundane, but many life threatening injuries can happen, especially if the horse steps on you. To end up with a dislocated shoulder, they would most likely land on their outstretched arm.

The instinct to fling out an arm when falling is stronger than the instinct to pull in and brace broken ribs. The shoulder would most likely dislocate anteriorly from this kind of injury. 

Source

Here’s a step by step guide on reducing a shoulder via the Hennepin technique: 

Lie down. Flat on their back with no pillow. 

The person who’s helping them should gently grab the injured arm by the wrist and bend the elbow to 90 degrees. Support the elbow with one hand, hold the wrist with the other. You can also hold their hand. 

Gently press the elbow to their side. 

Keeping the elbow near their side at all time, gently pull their wrist away from their body, externally rotating their shoulder away. This should go extremely slow, at least 10 minutes to allow muscles to relax. 

The shoulder will make an audible “pop” when it slides back into it’s socket. The pain goes away immediately, but is replaced with a dull throb a few hours later. You want to bind the arm to the chest to prevent movement of the joint as it heals. 

Source: Merck Manuals 

Now… it sounds like a dislocated shoulder isn’t the worst of their problems. Whoever is helping them may be more concerned about their obviously injured shoulder and focus on treating that first, while completely missing the fact that they’re showing symptoms of a pneumothorax, which is what happens if a rib punctures a lung. 

There are two ways you can play this. 

Option 1: Closed-Simple Pneumothorax

This can happpen when a broken rib pops a hole in the lung. This can be a tiny little nick, or a larger hole. Because it’s simple, that means that the air that’s coming into the pleural space (the area between the outside of the lungs and the inside of the chest, normall filled with slick fluid) is able to get back into the lungs again. There is a slight pressure build up, and the lung is slightly compressed, but you can have a simple pneumothorax and not notice it for literal months. The treatment is simple, let it heal on its own. There’s not much you can do, even with modern surgical practices. It’s better for everyone to leave it be. 

Option 2: Closed-Tension Pneumothorax 

Based on the supplies you’ve given me, this is probably what you’re thinking. A tension pneumothorax happens when that air coming into the pleural space isn’t able to get out. With each breath, more air is forced around the lung, collapsing it. The only way to relieve this pressure is to manually release the air by poking a hole in the chest wall. Before you do that however, we have to make sure they actually have a collapsed lung. Here’s the signs & symptoms: 

Decreased breath sounds on the bad side

Sharp pain in the chest

Panting

Fast heartbeat

Jugular Vein Distension (photo)

Tracheal deviation away from injured side (photo) 

Blue lips and fingernails

Jugular Vein Distention

Source

Tracheal Deviation

Source

While this is not a pneumothorax case, I could correctly diagnose a right-side tension pneumothoarx from this picture and listening to breath sounds. 

Alright, you’re sure it’s a pneumothorax? Fantastic. Now it’s time for the fun part. Here’s a step-by-step guide using the supplies (and time period) you’ve given me. 

Step 1: Identify the site you’re going to poke a hole. Refer to handy-dandy diagram for reference.

Source: PlumCast

Step 2: Clean as best you can. If you have strong alcohol, use that. If you have soap and water, use that next. Failing all else, use the cleanest cloth you have with some clean water to wipe off any dirt. The level you’re able to clean will determine the likelihood your character will survive. If you have alcohol, they’re more likely to pull through.  

You should be cleaning the chest, the daggar, and the tiny, hollow reed. 

Step 3: No time for pain medication, it’s not going to kick in anyways. DO NOT give them alcohol to drink for the pain. Use the smallest blade you have to make a small hole in the chest wall right between the 4th and 5th ribs. They only need to go about an inch if the patient is skinny. Most EMS units today use 3” needles, but not the whole needle is inserted. You probably won’t hear any air movement until you pull the dagger out, so it may take a few tries to get deep enough.

Step 4: Pull the blade out and insert the reed. Once the reed enters the pleural space, air and blood should come rushing out. Relief will be immediate, and the JVD and tracheal displacement should fix themselves in less than a hour. 

Step 5: Secure and prevent reoccurrence. That reed needs to stay in place. Use bandages or whatever you have to keep it there. You also need to create a one-way valve to prevent the air from just being sucked right back into the chest cavity through the convient hole you just made. Get a clean rag, soak it in lard, oil, or water if you have to and secure it loosely over the reed. The idea is that when they exhale, the free air in the chest is allowed to escape, but when they inhale, the cloth snaps shut over the reed and prevents air from entering. 

Step 6: And now it’s up to their body. The reed should be changed every 12 hours minimum to prevent infection, the one way valve as well. It’s important to note that if you’re using water on the cloth for your one-way valve, you’ll need to keep that wet. Now is the time for pain medication as well, boil the poppy seeds in clean water to make a tea. Poppy contains a similar chemical to morphine, so they will get some relief from this. It’s really hard to drink when lying flat on your back, so drip a washcloth in the tea and let them suck on it. 

Complications

Your biggest enemy is going to be infection obviously. There are several things you can do to prevent it. 

Clean the site. Alcohol or soap and water every 12 hours minimum (do it with the reed change). Make sure you’re cleaning the open wound, but don’t scrub into the chest wall, that’s going to push bacteria further into the wound. The signs of a local infection are: 

Red streaks coming from the wound

Pus

Warmth

Swelling

Green or yellow pus

Pain

If infection starts to develop, increase the cleaning to 4 hour rotations, and continue to replace the reed at that time. Signs of a developing system-wide infection: 

Fever

Nausea

Vomiting

Chills

Cold sweat

Fast heartbeat

Both honey and garlic have been clinically proven to have antibacterial properties . Apply crushed garlic and honey to the wound. Garlic also appears to be effective if consumed as well, honey is just topical. 

Sources:

Honey: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3609166/

Garlic: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4458355/

i can’t make this shit up

Pneumonia is a serious complication. Honestly, if they get pneumonia, they’re dead. They will have a high fever, start coughing, and die fairly quickly with a primitive chest tube in place. Sorry. :( 

Sepsis is also a death sentence. It’s a system-wide blood infection charterised by a high fever, low blood pressure, then sudden system shutdown and organ death. There’s not a lot you can do without real antibiotics, so avoid this if possible. 

Thankfully, the line between a bad local infection and sepsis is not easily identifiable without a hospital (a blood pressure cuff, really) so you can have quite a bit of angst around this and still have them pull through in the end. 

 What about the broken ribs? Leave them. There’s nothing you can do. Trying to manipulate them with your hands will only make it worse if you’re doing it blind (without X-Ray guidance.) 

It’s been awhile… now what? Normally, this patient would be rushed into the OR to repair the hole in the lung. Since you don’t have that, here are a few long-term options. 

The lung heals itself neatly. This is totally possible. You’re looking at at least two months though… and it’s a stretch. This character better have plot armor. Note: if you have pierced ears, you know that a hole in the body eventually seals itself off and doesn’t ever heal shut. Same with your makeshift chest tube. Once the lung has healed and it’s time to remove the reed, you may need to scrape the skin of the hole down a little to encourage healing. That’s another few weeks of healing. The lung can regain full capacity, and free air in the pleura will be absorbed into the bloodstream.

The lung heals poorly. As long at the hole in the lung is closed, the body will take care of the rest and absorb the free air. Same scraping for the chest tube site. They may lose use of the damaged lung- some people can learn to live without sections of their lungs but will never be able to do what they used to. It’s important to remember that the broken ribs may have healed in a place where they permanently damage lung function. 

The lung never heals. This means a permanent chest tube. The infection will eventually catch up to them, and they’ll die. 

Best case scenario survival odds: 60% 

Worst case scenario survival odds: 0%

Essentially, if you want them to survive, you can write it in a way it’s medically possible. But they have to fight hard, be strong, and have a healthy body with good fat stores before the accident. 

Disclaimer: Although I’m in school to become a medical professional, I’m not one yet. Please don’t sue. Can you even do that from a Tumblr post? I don’t know. All mistakes are mine, and I’m always open to discussion.

‘crimson, thanks for the detailed question. I had so much fun researching this stuff. Hope this helps, and feel free to ask clarifying questions. (Tension pneumo stuff can be really confusing.)

[moonflvver]

So prompt part 1: Angst! May I request some headcanons for a reader who ends up in danger due to Diluc's actions as the Darknight Hero? (Because the brain and Abyss ends up making connections when reader is often seen at Dawn Winery, and coincidentally around the areas where the Darknight ends up appearing. Lol)

character: Diluc Ragvindr x reader

warnings: angst mixed with comfort, mild violence but nothing too serious.

a/n: writing diluc angst is one of my favorite activities so thank you for sending me this <3 (I turned this into a drabble because diluc deserves it)

w/c: 863

Diluc feels like he’s going to be sick. His mouth is dry. He never thought it would come to this. He never thought that the Abyss would be so bold as to kidnap you and take you hostage. And right now he needs to think. He needs to move. He needs to do anything at all. And he’s trying so hard to will his feet to move from the ground but they seem to be cemented to the spot where he’s standing. His entire body feels frozen, a stark contrast to the fire that usually simmers just beneath his skin. The entire point of him being the dark knight was to keep people safe, and yet he couldn’t even manage to keep you, the one person who actually mattered to him safe. This wasn’t supposed to be happening at all. But he should’ve realized that with all the time you spent coming and going from the Dawn Winery someone was bound to pick up on the significance of your relationship with him.

He was naive to think that he could keep you safe. He had been lulled into a false sense of safety by the Abyss order and they had taken advantage of his lack of foresight. His breathing felt mechanical at this point; it was almost as if he had to remind his lungs to inhale and exhale. He was still gripping his claymore, staring at the desperation on your face. A silent plea for him to save you. But then he sees the Abyss mage grip your throat tighter, fingers curling around your neck. Forcing your windpipe to close up even further, his name comes out of your mouth just barely. It sounds broken and he swears he’s never felt so angry in his life. Both at himself and at the bastards that would dare to hurt you. But finally he’s able to move so he springs into action. Running at the Abyss mage and bringing his sword down on its arm, cutting it clean off.

You drop to the ground still clutching your throat. You’re hurt but you’re alive and once he sees that you’re okay he turns to face the mage and his pyro vision activates. Wild flames are spilling out of his arm and his sword, a byproduct of the built up fear and rage. Diluc is seeing red and his movements are sloppy. They deviate from his usual well placed and well controlled strikes. The way he moves his sword is an expression of anger, he’s slashing wildly until the damage he has dealt finally takes down the mage. His breath is short and uneven, he’s gasping for air. But before he can stop to rest, his body is moving all on its own and it’s running towards you.

He’s scanning you for injuries, he can already see purple blooming on your neck where the mage was digging into your skin with its fingers. His hands ghost over your neck and you wince, pulling away slightly, causing his chest to ache. Once again his vision fogs up with red and he wants nothing more than to hunt down every member of the Abyss order and make them regret ever going after you. But that will have to wait, first he needs to take care of you. Tears are falling down your face and he cups your cheek with a gloved hand. “Archons forgive me. I’m so sorry. I'm so, so sorry.” He whispers as you silently cry in front of him. “Luc I was so scared. I thought- I thought that I’d never see you again. I really thought that this was it for me.” You say through broken sobs. And he swears that in this moment he can feel his heart breaking into a million pieces.

“I should’ve realized that they’d do this. I should’ve been more cautious. This is all my fault.” He mumbles, the desperation seeping through his voice. He should’ve been faster, he should’ve been better. Better at keeping you safe, better at playing his role as the dark knight. His thoughts are running around in circles. And it’s evident in his demeanor. You know that he gets lost in his own head sometimes, so you pull him out. “Diluc.” You say softly, causing his attention to snap back to you. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known that this was going to happen.”

He stays silent for a moment and then he starts, “But I should’ve-” and before he can finish his sentence you cut him off. “You don’t need to be perfect, that’s not what I want from you. You saved me regardless. And you’re here now. That’s all I could ever ask for.” You say, smiling up at him as his thumb strokes your cheek absentmindedly. How is it possible for you to be so forgiving, to be so loving? He’s not sure that he deserves any of it. But you’re right. It’s enough just in this moment for him to be able to be here with you. So he pulls you into his chest and wraps his arms around you. A silent promise that this will never happen again.

[ellitx]

Just A Little Bit | Heizou x Reader

You’re in a hurry for brunch with your friend but your husband decided to make you stay a bit longer with him. 

my second heizou bday fic. i know im late but whatever. i crave for domestic husband heizou stories 

warnings: fem!reader, established relationship, nsfw content

word count: 5.9k

Vigorously blinking once then twice, the sleep was shaken loose from your eyelashes in fine, golden specks of dust. Shapes before you were still molten into a hazy blur, emphasized by fulgent beams of Sunday morning light that flooded through the bathroom door and propped open halfway.

It's as though your brain had woken up shortly before your vision got the chance to and now it had some catching up to do. Your silhouette was presented to you— weary and lightly slouched in the mirror, circling a toothbrush within your mouth at a reluctant pace.

Shrouded in post-sleep delirium, you realize you've forgotten to wet it before you squeezed the toothpaste upon it, where you're reminded by the dryness of the sharper-than-usual mint taste on your tongue.

Without paying much mind to it, you exude a groan through gritted teeth, proceeding to brush them.

Mentally, you browbeat yourself for having gotten up this early on a damned Sunday, let alone freed yourself from your sleeping husband’s firm, love-infused grasp you found yourself encased in upon waking up. However, to your own demise, you almost forgot the plans you had made for this day.

And judging by the claim of the clock adorning the wall that you checked mere minutes prior, you were dealing with the better part of an hour to get ready in order to make it there in time. Considering your drowsy composition, you would have to make each minute count.

Once your surroundings swim into view more or less clearly, you're suddenly taken aback by the state you're in. A succession of marks bloomed upon the side of your neck, trailing down to your collarbone and disappearing beneath the crisp white cotton of one of Heizou’s button-ups you're enveloped in.

Each one of them deviated from the rest in color ever so slightly, gleaming at you in different shades of dark purples and reds.

You cannot deny your awe. It doesn't look bad per se, but the hints of a possible attack having gone down are there. Though there wasn't one; not in a way one would think, anyway.

Whenever frustration has built up within Heizou to a point that diminished him to nothing but a huffing, grumbling mess when he’s at a dead end of finding clues, he would almost become primal in nature. You, of course, secretly wallowed in these particular occasions— the roughness of his touch and pace, the hoarseness of his voice drilling into your ear, the sharpness of his teeth each time they'd sink into your flesh.

Catching yourself dwindling away into a lustful daydream, you forced your thighs together and squirmed restlessly, meaning to ease the tension that has flourished between them. This action forced you to focus upon the knife-like soreness tugging at your lower abdomen, left there the night before— also by your husband, also feverishly, also in an act of passion.

You want to be sort of mad at him, but it's difficult to be. Instead of falling victim to displeasure, your stomach flutters again.

Fuck, you're done for.

Clearing your mind— and the least attempting to— you bend towards the sink and spit out the toothpaste, consecutively rinsing your mouth with a cup of water. You're stirred to alertness by the brisk sound of the bathroom door clicking shut to your left, which prompted you that you're no longer alone here.

Originating from the same direction, faint footsteps crept up to your side. Having splashed a handful of frigid water upon your face, you surged back into the air. To nobody's surprise, Heizou has settled behind you, close enough for his body heat to merge with yours being palpable, but not close enough to make actual physical contact.

He's donned nothing but his trousers, which seemed to be clinging onto his hips for dear life. Not only were you able to follow his happy trail with your eyes, but almost caught a glimpse of the base of his shaft. The outline of which, just by the way, is more than emphasized to you on behalf of the drab fabric. You gulped, the minty freshness on your palate inducing a numbing tremor.

Heizou’s forlorn eyes took a clumsy, yet amiable guess and plateau upon where he assumed your face was, beaming widely. That dark maroon hair of his was all sorts of tousled, sticking out in ten different directions and all four cardinal points.

You were sure he followed your heartbeat here and was currently stalling so as to make use of the silence in order to register its spike, justified by his sudden appearance. It flattered him thus he delights in a hearty chortle.

“Good morning,” you crooned, cutting his glory short. Intent on continuing to dream for at least a little while longer, you studied his charming features in the mirror.

“Morning, sweet,” Heizou retorted through a smile, using his voice for the first time this morning, which was prompted to you by the profound rasp of it that tugged at your heartstrings in an alluring fashion.

He finally made the decision to grasp onto you, his palms wandering beneath the cotton of his shirt that you're wearing, taking hold of your bare hips beneath it. His fingertips pranced upon your skin, and he allowed your bodies to collide by pushing up on you from behind. This was when his arms wholly twined around your figure, pulling you into the soft curve of his slightly bent frame.

His torso was firm and placid against your back, and you were debating whether or not to falter in his grip. He's so pleasantly warm, and though you've only left your shared bed a few minutes ago, you've already grown to miss that signature fervor of his that you know to be the most comforting quality on earth.

Once you shut your eyes, if only for a fraction of a second, it's as though you're still entangled in him, obscured by silk sheets, drifting in and out of sleep as one tends to on a lazy day.

Soon enough, you snapped out of it by forcing your eyes open and repeatedly batting your eyelashes— Heizou heard it, or at least that's what the slight twitch of his head told you.

The reason was simple: You have matters to attend to.

Reaching for a scrub on the right-hand side of the sink, you grabbed the tub and screwed it open. Your hypersensitive husband lightly hummed at the sudden whiff of pomegranate it exuded, theatrically exhaling and thus fanning his lukewarm breath over the back of your head. He then freed one of his hands from around you, using it to peel back the neat collar of the button-up you're wearing, attaching his hot lips to the nape of your neck.

Heizou’s palm consequently snaked underneath your breasts, though loosely, applying the slightest bit of pressure that was nevertheless enough to send your mind down a frenetic spiral.

In contrast with the languid kisses placed upon the back of your neck, he sent sensations tumbling down your back that provoked your nipples to stiffen in an instant and a faint yelp to tear free from your depths.

In response, he merely smirked against your skin, pressing more wet kisses upon it. As though on command, you slanted your head to the side, firmly believing the motion will enhance the sensations you're granted.

Your perception might be manipulated by the placebo effect, but for all you know, it's working just fine. Heizou proceeded to slowly pull away, abandoning the spot upon the nape of your neck that's practically aching for attention now; fluttering and tingling from the ticklish play of your husband’s breath.

Soon, he proceeded to sweep your hair out of the way from the crook of your neck, letting it cascade down your spine. There's care obscured in his motions that you've never encountered with anyone before him, and it left you breathless.

“Why're you up so early, hm?” he questioned in a gravelly tone, and you're suddenly swallowed by the tart wave of regret.

You know you can never get away with fleeing him or his bed, nor is he capable of sleeping well without you, anyway, prone to waking up with the merest stir you caused. He deserved that rest you cheated him out of— with all the work he's been taking on lately, let alone the nightly endeavors he partakes in every now and again, sleep should be his top priority.

Guilt has nagged away at your intestines. You almost find yourself apologizing, but then Heizou lodged his face in the space he just cleared for himself and the steady contact his breath made with your sensitive skin sent an icy shiver racing down your frame; it's refreshing, though frustrating.

If he continues like this, you'll not only be late but exhausted and possibly more marked-up than you already are. Had the situation been different, you wouldn't catch yourself complaining in a million years, but you've been putting off meetings with Sango for as long as you can remember— with half of the excuses to be traced back to Heizou— and don't want to leave her hanging this time around.

Thus, you ignored your husband’s affection and the numbing effect it has on your mind as you dipped your fingers into the scrub and scooped some of it out.

“I'm meeting Sango for brunch, remember?”

You reminded him, only to receive an affirmative hum in return. You started working the scrub between your fingers, lending it warmth before you decided to apply it.

“I already feel terrible after blowing her off so many times. I can't possibly be late.”

“Not even a little late?” Heizou mumbled, sucking greedy kisses onto your neck. His lips dallied along your heated flesh, and every now and again, he flashed his tongue to slide it over the outlines of the marks he's given you last night.

He knew exactly where they are too— the tease he is— it must be the burst of your system and the blood that drained away from them he was smelling. You cannot help but lean into him— it's an instinctive reaction you fail to prevent.

Your body was guilty of naturally responding to his touch, which your brain sheepishly convicted.

“A little bit— just for me?”

His right hand released your breast then it slid downward. It proceeded to loom around the center of your chest, coming to a halt just a breath of a touch over your nipples, where he traced the maroon stains littering the skin stretched over your clavicles.

His calloused thumb caressed the surface, and in combination with the barely noticeable sting of the mark, you're left to endure pleasure so bittersweet it caused your insides to churn.

“Heizou—!”

You choked out, caging a moan that was about to erupt within your mouth. He's kissing your neck in a way that reminds you of all similarly sensual encounters you've shared with him, which, in its turn, caused ardent arousal to pool between your legs.

Since Heizou sniffed away at the air a little more forcefully than normal, you assumed he must've noticed. Having thrown a glance at the mirror, you find it harder and harder to contain yourself. The sight of you captured in his arms, his entire attention focused on your body and your body alone, your eyes hooded and skin ablaze, is nothing short of debaucherous.

Your frame fitted into his so perfectly, the back of your thigh translating the luscious feeling of him gradually hardening against you. His breath was less controlled now, and you delighted in his agitation for a split second. However, you're not one to talk. You're practically melting into his embrace.

“I can taste you off the air, [Name],” he groaned in between planting sloppy kisses upon your neck. His tone is dark, though breathy.

“My wife’s so sweet, so delicious. Can't I make you feel good? Can't I please you, sweetheart? You took me so well last night, I have to express my gratitude.” You whimpered at the sole obscenity of his words, your stomach wringing and twisting at the spilled praise.

He's irresistible, and fuck, you don't want to dismiss the pleasure you know he can bestow upon you. Not when he's offering it to you so gallantly.

With your judgment clouded and all senses heightened, you gasped.

“Hmn! J-just a little bit…”

You failed to recognize where the desperate aspect of your response finds its origin, but you cannot take it back now. Heizou’s lips stretched into a grin against your flesh, and he shifted them to gently nip at your jawline.

“That's it, darling,” he uttered. His left hand gifted your hip an approving squeeze and his voice grazed your ear, coating it in a layer of calidity.

“I'll be quick, I promise. I’ll make my sweet wife cum like I know she loves to.”

The hand that was teasing your sensitive nipple and circling the marks bedecking your chest gradually drifted downward. His fingertips scattered bursts of fervor over your skin, and you stertorously watched the coarse scenario unfold before you in the mirror.

It's a leg-trembling sight, and Heizou knows you're delighting in it, which to his surprise, merely stung him with the prick of jealousy.

The shirt you're wearing is only buttoned halfway, wherefore it peels aside further than would be considered modest, revealing the better part of your left breast. His palm captured the tender mound as your breath hitched treacherously, and kneaded it ever so slightly, enough for the heat between your legs to graduate to a fire.

You issued a whine, needy and hoarse, which signaled him to keep going. After all, you're on a schedule here.

His palm wandered lower, sweeping aside the cotton of his shirt, thus revealing the smoky-pink lace of the underwear you slipped into this morning.

At first, he curiously slid his fingertips along the fabric, just to acquaint himself with it. By now, he's learned all of your lingerie by heart, has his preferences set in stone, and this piece happens to be one he's especially fond of. This realization elicits a groan from him, and in no time—whilst his lips are still gently glued to your jawline— his fingers pushed aside the hem and sneak into your panties.

You shuddered, where his free hand stabilized you, and he comfortingly shushed into your ear. That doesn't help with your agitation, whatsoever.

Heizou started off slowly, first sliding his fingers along your slit and coating them in the slick that's gathered there.

“Man alive… so wet for me. Always so good and wet for me,” he mused, more to himself than to you, partaking in a few more gentle caresses along your core. In response to his teasing, you whimpered, bucking your hips towards the hand that was buried in your underwear.

Soon enough, your husband’s joint middle and ring finger grazed your clit, which they consecutively started rubbing. This is where the first proper moan erupted from your mouth, and you reclined into his frame, one hand clutching onto the bathroom counter for support, the other stumbling upon his free hand to settle on. You don't care that your fingertips are stained with scrub— if only, Heizou welcomed the scratchy sensation on his skin.

His fingers kept their pace, nice and quick, causing white-hot pressure to swell in the pit of your stomach, that you know only Heizou and only him can diffuse. You issued successions of mellow moans and dared to glare at the mirror – and fuck, you're in shambles.

Your mouth was pried open, knuckles were tense from grasping whatever was in your reach, flesh was practically scorching hot, and Heizou’s strong and firm arm was twined around you and steadily working your core. His fully hardened cock urged against you from behind, building piquant friction as you rock in his grip.

It's blissful enough to break out crying, you thought until his fingers rearranged and two of them plunged inside you, his thumb taking over the focus on your clit.

“H-Heizou!”

And suddenly, your entire understanding of pleasure is redefined. His digits curled within you, and you're convinced you won't last much longer like this. Your heart is going haywire beyond your ribs, threatening to crack them. It seems to be the only thing Heizou could hear aside from the array of sounds you gifted him, and he's set on nudging you over the edge right here, right now.

“‘m close…” you rasped, though he was already more than aware of the fact. You used the outcry as an excuse to dilute your moans with at least one coherent word— to not seem as frenzied, at least a little sane, maybe.

Heizou’s voice was low and spread heat across the shell of your ear.

“Let go for me, darling.”

His order was one you cannot disobey, and with another “C'mon, give it to me” falling from his lips, your cunt throbbed and spasmed as you came undone at the merciless pumping of his fingers.

Your legs gave out beneath your weight, your figure suddenly too hefty to hold up, and Heizou was forced to bend his knee for stability as you slumped into him. The whines fleeing you echoed across the bathroom walls, and while you reveled in the bliss your orgasm brought on, he led you through it to the best of his ability.

When the pleasure promptly faded, your eyes fluttered open. You're too ashamed to look at yourself in the mirror, anticipating a picture that'll figuratively cripple you more than you already are. Instead, you panted your pent-up agitation out, clawing at the dissolving remnants of your discharge.

Once your heart lulled, Heizou teasingly dragged his fingers out with a delicious smack, bringing them up to his face and placing them into his mouth to suck on. His tongue swirled along each curve to collect all of the slicks he gathered.

This you cannot disregard, marveling at the reflection of him doing it, still folded into his grip. Your stare burned into him, and his flushed face was suddenly adorned with a smirk. The desolate emerald eyes you love so much ghosted over the mirror once more, and the realization that he's at least trying to find you enchanted you.

Your temple was covered by a glistening film of sweat, hair was unkempt and in sure need of getting taken care of soon.

“I need a shower,” you declared, breathless. The reason you voiced your intention was the realization he'll request to stick around for it, and there's nothing you wish for more. After all, there's still time left. You finally allowed yourself to be a little late, however little persuasion it took.

“That can be done,” he responded as he rested his palms upon your hips. This statement of his meant he was joining you— you hear it in the lingering lustful tone and see it in the curve of his lips. He promptly twirled you around to face him, and after a quick peck on the tip of your nose, lifted you onto the bathroom counter.

You shifted around, getting comfortable and propping yourself up by grasping onto the edges with your hands. Your husband knelt before you, clutching onto your heel and lifting one of your legs into the air.

He kissed a long, ardent trail along it, eliciting some needy panting from you until he was greeted by the much softer and more sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. The overwhelming smell of your pooled slick has overtaken his nose entirely, and God, what on Teyvat he wouldn't do to put his mouth on you and nuzzle into your pleading heat right now?

Nevertheless, he suppressed the urge by detaching his lips from your skin and tangling his finger in the lace of your panties. One second later, he's sliding them down your legs. Once you're freed, they're discarded onto the tiled floor. Soon thereafter, he rose back into the air, slotting himself between your legs and starting to glide his hands over the shirt you're wearing.

It's the same one he came home in last night and the very same one he swathed your glistening, sweaty body in once he was done with you. The recollection caused him to clench his jaw, and he could barely conduct his fingers upon the buttons from the balmy arousal blooming within him. The fact he's painfully hard, straining against his trousers, wasn’t helping either.

Once the button-up was undone, Heizou guided it off your shoulders. By doing so, he released a waft of your scent to come flooding his senses – it cost him a mellow groan.

You shed the shirt completely, nipples perked by the cold of your sudden bareness. As you leaned forward and hooked your fingers in the waistband of his trousers, you absent-mindedly captured your lip between your teeth. Once you slid them down his thighs, his hardened cock sprung out, flushed and upright against his toned stomach— veins defined as ever, leaking at the tip, and flushed from all the blood urging it on.

You cannot lie, the sight was an enticing one to have, which is why you leaped from the counter and dropped onto your knees before him, colliding with the fuzzy rug covering the floor.

Before you get the chance to take any action, though, be it by wrapping your hands around him or even opening your mouth, Heizou caught your chin.

“Not so fast, sweetheart. Today's about you. Plus, didn't you say you were in a hurry? We're showering together and have you get you ready, hm?”

Oh, now he's playing that game. Backing out after finally convincing you to give in to him. You want to hate him and you really try to, but fuck, with his cock hard and rouge on eye-level with you, you're fully convinced you could never find yourself hating Shikanoin Heizou.

Annoyed, you surged upward with a small pout; having taken his hand, you led him towards the shower, where you opened the door and tugged him inside after entering yourself. In his turn, your husband switched on the water, and it came splashing down onto the two of you, gradually heating up.

Still, you're fucking aching for him. Despite having come for him just minutes prior. Despite having him all to yourself for years. Despite having plans to attend in less time than you expect. He can't possibly be teasing you this way after igniting your potent flame.

You gently nudged his taller figure against the wall, lacing your fingers through his damp hair and joining your lips. His palms adhered to your waist, pulling you closer. You veered your body against his erection, meaning to wind him up so he yielded to you at last.

He reciprocated by gasping into your mouth, water leaking into the kiss after dribbling down your faces. For a moment, it appeared as though you'd stolen his composure, but he regained it shortly before you could pride yourself on that achievement.

He trudged forth and pinned you against the tiled wall right across from where you had captured him prior. Once again, he nipped at the skin of your neck, though more vigorously, and this time around introduced his teeth. His lascivious biting has punched the remaining air out of your lungs, which you made noticeable by gulping for it.

This is where his hands set off on a roam across your body, exploring every patch as though he's never touched you before, never made you his before, never ruined this perfect skin of yours before.

He tapped his fingers along the curve of your waist, pads prancing upon its damp, balmy surface. Each minuscule collision elicited a hitched breath from you, and you sent your own hands swerving over his lean, though tender-skinned chest.

Heizou, however, changed course and slowly but surely traveled up to cup your breasts. He palmed the tender mounds, digits toying with your hardened nipples captured between them. You whimpered, the sensation penetrating you to your core.

“My wife’s so beautiful,” he uttered into your flesh with a sated groan, gradually directing his hands back down.

“So perfect,” he sighed, exasperated, and added a breathy All mine. Soon enough, his palms glided towards the tenderness of your thighs, where they squeezed and kneaded and massaged them, whilst his mouth mumbled incoherent chants against your skin.

Whatever it was he's crooning, you understand it's nothing short of delirious – in a way that prompted you he's wholeheartedly in love with you. And as his fingers strayed along your figure, you gifted him alluring successions of deep, grateful whimpers.

Heizou has your body memorized – each stretch, each bend, each sweet spot that could send you down a pathos-filled spiral.

Not much later, his lips caught yours, nipping at them like he was starved for your taste. Even you can sense how flustered he's become, how much desperation he's driven by, how badly he's out to please you.

“Archon, you drive me insane...” he hissed into your mouth, the rapid pace of your heart aligning with his husky breathing. You maintained him pressed flush against you by his shoulders with zero intention to ever let go— the effect his previous statement had upon you was colossal; each limb of yours was buzzing with excitement and your pulse was transcending the realm of health. You could die right here, and it wouldn't be a half-bad way to go.

For a little while, you kissed him back. Soon enough, though, it becomes unbearable to tiptoe around the lechery in this manner— thus, you spoke your mind. Or, more accurately, whined your mind.

“Can't you fuck me? Please, Heizou?” The sheer rashness you filled his name with flustered you, and you struggled to comprehend he was capable of turning you into a pleading, begging, whimpering, faltering, pathetic mess. But then again, you're fully used to it.

The groan your husband issued in response was deep and worked-up. He yearned, more than anything, to grab you by your damp hips and slam you down his length at a pace that'll bruise you from the inside, swallow each outcry you give him, and keep it sacred in his lungs. Stimulate you until your hot tears leak into the shower water racing down the curve of your cheek, but he digested that yearning.

Today, he wanted to be gentle with you. He means to worship the body that's offered up to him so generously whenever you unite in acts of intimacy. He wished to deify you— to prove to you how pure of a goddess you truly are to him.

“I'm afraid that if I fuck you,” Heizou let out a stuttered groan, his dick hardening between your thighs. “We won't be leaving this shower until noon.” He panted and you know he's telling you the truth. If this had been going down on any other day, you'd have gladly accepted that offer. “So, no. However...”

He lowered himself upon his knees, snaking his palms around the backsides of your thighs. In no time, he flung your legs over his shoulders with zero difficulty, keeping you pressed against the cool wall and readjusting his position in order to gain better access to your sex.

In response, your hands dug into his burgundy hair, seeking support in this position he placed you in. His fingers sprawled out over your hips for stability, and he aligned his mouth with your sopping, aching cunt.

Wasting no more time, his tongue made electrifying contact with your heat and parted your folds. A yelp slipped from your mouth, and you're overwhelmed by the friction he's spreading across your center. It roused a stirring within the pit of your stomach that you cannot, by any means, allay.

First, he merely glided his tongue along your slit to prep and work you open, yet soon enough, his lips hungrily closed around your sensitive clit. Once he started sucking upon that sensitive bud, you tilted your head back, launching it against the wall and lightly rutting your hips against Heizou’s mouth with all sorts of whines and moans escaping you.

It should be forbidden to feel this fucking good, you pondered since you've come closer to heaven more than you can count with your husband. There was just something about him— something that transcended your ability to comprehend but lured you in magnetically, nonetheless.

His tongue swept and worked your clit like it was the only thing it knows how to do, and you reveled in the sensations branching out throughout your frame. Your eyelids fluttered, your mouth gaped with threads of sighs of pleasure leaking out of it, and your torso and arms erupted in beady goosebumps— even though the water pouring down upon you was a degree shy of scorching.

You're heaving all over and struggling to claw onto the last shreds of sanity you're left with. Heizou withdrew them from you with each forceful flick of his tongue. His mind was dimmed with the taste of you that filled it, gathered in a thick, tangy cloud, causing his hardened cock to give helpless twitches at each moan and spasm you awarded him with.

You're close to the point where you'd offer your life up in exchange for the incoming orgasm, the raging fervor buried within your depths setting your body ablaze. Heizou was more than aware of how close you'd grown to him. Your heart has sold you out to him so brashly, and as your thighs clasped shut around his head with agitated anticipation, he channeled a guttural groan into your heat.

It did you more favors than you expected it to, bliss bursting in the pit of your stomach at once as he continued bobbing his head and simultaneously lapping away at your clit to lead you through the sudden orgasm. Your muscles tensed up, your core pulsating against your husband’s skillful mouth.

He swallowed each throb, each flutter, each thump, and God, does it sate him. If it were up to him, he'd have you coming on his face until the end of time. It could seriously send him over the edge alone— and before he knew it himself, it did.

Once you're clambering down your overwhelming high, he desperately spilled onto his own stomach, siphoning broken-up moans into your heat, his eyes closed taking in every drop of your white fluid.

Your thighs were stiffly clenched as his fingertips twitched upon them with the dawn of his orgasm, nails digging into your sensitive flesh. His chest swelled with force. Words fail to describe the shock you're taken over by, however arousing the situation translated to.

Hands still securely tangled in his hair, you massaged his scalp. “Ohh, Heizou...” you whispered your husband’s name, starstruck.

You're not sure you can come up with a better response to the ongoing, thus you simply marveled at the aroused detective: flushed, exhausted, wallowing in his high whilst still nuzzled against you. Once his orgasm started wearing off, the groaning against your center ceased, but it's nevertheless obvious that he was trying to savor every last bit of bliss he could get before it slipped away from him entirely.

At the same time, you're elevated to a degree of astonishment that robbed you of all ability to respond to the outer world, and at this moment, all you knew was you and him. And the fact he just came from solely eating you out.

In no time, Heizou gently lifted your thighs from his shoulders, setting you down on the wet ground with utmost care. His knees yielded to a crackle as he stood up, pain briskly dashing through his frame. He ignored it.

Instead, he rose to your level, cupped your hot face, and invited you into a soft, loving kiss. Your flavor played on his tongue so fervently, and he shared it with you— an offer you cannot ever refuse. He kissed you deeply, cordially, sweetly.

You’re loved, and what's more, loved by him.

But you're also late. And still need to shower.

Therefore, your palms landed flat upon his chest. You proceeded to gently push him away, and unfortunately break the kiss much to his disappointment.

“Now I really need to get ready.” you panted, a blush playing on your face. Even though Heizou couldn’t see it, he filtered it through your tone. By now, you've already taken hold of your body wash and spurted some of it into your hand.

Once you began spreading it over your glistening skin in languid, thorough motions, he delivered you his usual mischievous expression.

“Need any help with that?” he inquired and who are you to say no?

The next few minutes were spent with Heizou posing somewhat of a help, rendering assistance with washing your body, but also diluting the deed with tender kisses and not-so-innocent caresses.

You were definitely late to brunch by the time you were out of the shower, and the very moment you haphazardly wrapped a fuzzy mint towel around your figure— which soaked in the soapy droplets of water trickling down your body— you're already racing across the house towards the ringing telephone.

It laid upon the front counter of the kitchen, and as you took the handset, you were faced with an enraged Sango.

Fuck.

You cursed in your mind, preparing for the worse.

Sango’s voice spilled out of the speaker at once, calling out your name with a harsh undertone. You're stung by guilt the second you hear it, toying with excuse variations within your head as her words flew on in that grainy fashion everyone's familiar with.

“[Name], where are you? Look if anything happened, emergency or not, you have to call me immediately. I’m worried sick if something might have happened to you! You know what, I should drop by your house.”

“W-wait no! I’m fine really! I’m going to be a bit late so you don’t have to come here.” You assured, but Sango wasn’t taking any of it.

“Look, if Shikanoin— er, Heizou’s doing horrible things to you, I won’t let him get away with it! He’s—“

The call was cut off and you felt a presence ghosting behind you, and it didn’t take you too long to notice the handheld in your palm had disappeared. Once it came to a conclusion, you spun around, only to perceive him standing before you, a towel loosely tied around his hips and wet strips of hair dropping into his beautiful face.

What's more: Your husband was taking your call with a smirk on his face.

“Mrs. Shikanoin is unable to attend your brunch today. Hm? She’s sick, that's why she woke up late.” He glanced at you and seeing your disbelief reaction was enough to gauge out a chuckle from him. “Now now, I’m being a caring husband, that's all. I don’t want to see my wife pass out and get hurt when she’s out sick.”

He felt no remorse at all. That smirk was enough to say everything. The cocky, rapacious asshole Heizou sometimes is...

Heizou ended the call and the termination of plans with someone you care about pained you. You don’t know how you would face Sango and explain everything to her.

“Well, then,” your husband dragged the words out with mischief smoldering in his voice, “guess you're all mine for today, hm?”

[alpineshift]

I know I owe YOU an answer but I’m running to your inbox…

You know why I’m here…

Fixer 2.0

<33333333

welcome BACK ruthless!jack!! as I was going thru this one I feel like I've Icarus'd too close to the sun with the OG because I can't think of proper title. It's just the fixer. Jack is the fixer. what else can it be!!

I'm using a prev prompt fill as my base for this continuation! there will probably be deviations tho 😇 this directly follows the first installation (nothing to do w the spinoff) and this snippet is from the Malta vacation scene.

Nico props himself up along the ledge, elbows up over the smooth white tiles, and shakes his wet hair out of his eyes. Water laps up against his back and shoulders and gently drains away at the sides. Ripples pass over the glassy surface from the wind, and goosebumps form over his exposed arm in spite of the hot afternoon sun.

He looks up as Jack walks over, wearing only his swim trunks, skin already glowing and tanning under the golden light.

“How’s the water?”

“It’s great,” Nico says honestly, because it is.

+ (also) +

“Jack?”

It’s hard to see him with the sun backlit like that, but Nico can still make out the shape of his best friend leaning over him in the pool. Jack shifts so that his shadow blocks out the sun, and Nico blinks away the afterimages flashing over his vision.

Jack’s fingers brush a wayward strand of hair out of his eyes, and then he reaches down and cups Nico’s chin with the palm of his hand.

He’s so warm. His hand is so big. Nico feels the thud of his pulse against the cradle of Jack’s fingers and a jolt of heat that’s completely unrelated to the Mediterranean climate hit him square in the chest, going straight down to his stomach. Nico gulps, and feels his Adam’s apple bob against Jack’s hand, feels the pad of Jack’s thumb resting just under his lower lip.

“J-Jack?”

Jack hums. He shifts his hand forward very slightly, just enough to tilt Nico’s head back by a scant degree, but the internal reaction Nico gets feels intensely disproportional. The goosebumps that erupt on his arms have nothing to do with the wind now. He wants to melt right into this pool and he can’t pinpoint why. His heart rate is going crazy—and Jack must feel it. He must, because Nico thinks it sounds like a snare beat pounding away beneath the skin of his throat. 

“You’re smiling more,” Jack finally says. The corner of his mouth tugs up, but there’s something unreadable in his blue eyes. “I like it. I’m glad you’re happy right now.”

And then he gets up and strides away, heading to the showers tucked away under the awning around the villa, leaving Nico to gape after him.

[deadgirlwalking91]

oh lmao it’s fine! i’m sry for ruining the surprise tho..istg i didn’t mean to.

u can totally make it up by writing some other kind of scenario if u want to, u can choose whatever u want and i mean it! i love the way u writ you’re fantastic 😭✋

Hey Anon,

Absolutely no issue at all! More than happy to even let some more info slip - it'll be called, 'I Don't Dance' and was inspired by the ask that was sent earlier in the week re Adam and Lute dancing at a club. But! Also more than happy to whip up a little scene, so here you are (and thank you for the compliment, too!). Enjoy! PS - @a-dose-of-comatose gave me the prompt for this because I couldn't think of one, but I've deviated slightly 😂 sorryyyyyy

Touching back down in Heaven after an Extermination was a sensation that Lute would never grow tired of.

Sure, ramming her sword through the throats of the shitbags that littered the streets of Hell was satisfying, and perhaps the gratification she got from seeing their insides splatter against the pavement was a little…much, but nothing beat flying back through that portal and setting foot on Holy land, where she belonged.

Glancing around at the surrounding Exorcists who had congregated in the barracks showers, she sheathed her sword before placing her hands either side of her helmet and lifted it off her head. She tucked it under her arm and ran a wet, blood-soaked hand through her hair, leaving streaks of red in its wake.

“Hey, great job taking down that loan shark today, Lute!” Layla had already stripped down to her underwear and sports bra, uniform dutifully discarded into the giant hamper that housed all their soiled tunics, gloves and leggings. Some poor fucker – usually one of the newer recruits – would be responsible for sorting through and washing them all over the coming days.

“Thanks,” Lute grinned, bumping her fist against Layla’s outstretched one. “Did you see how fucking desperate he was to get away?”

“Yeah, but you took care of that right away!” Cinnamon laughed as she headed towards the shower cubicles. “That sorry cunt never stood a chance against you!”

Cinnamon was right. No Sinner that dared to lock eyes with Lute ever lived to tell the tale. She made damn sure of that.

“How many did you manage this year, Lieutenant?” a short, brunette Exorcist emerging from the showers asked.

“Two hundred and fifty one, Coco. You?”

“A hundred and three, ma’am.”

“Not a bad effort for your second year. Keep it up. You might crack one-fifty next year.”

Lute glanced down at her watch. Five-thirty. The only downside to returning to Heaven after an Extermination meant that her working day wasn’t over; she and Adam were responsible for filling out all the initial report that needed to be submitted to Sera by midnight that same day. She had half an hour before she needed to be back in the office, ready for their debrief.

Or at least, that’s what she told her sisters-in-arms.

Realising she was still holding her helmet, Lute quickly slipped out of the bathroom to return it to the arsenal. Another unlucky Exorcist would be tasked with cleaning and polishing all of them, before another, more tech-savvy soldier would perform yearly maintenance on them.

It was easy enough to find her helmet’s spot in the armoury. It was in prime position to the very left of the doorway, right beside Adam’s. Surprisingly, his was already racked away; normally he’d take it home with him as he wore it most of the time, even outside of Extermination season. She set it down gently.

“How fucking long did you wanna take, bitch?”

Lute screamed and whirled around; despite knowing exactly who that voice belonged to, it didn’t change the fact that it startled her completely. Adam stood, leaning against one of the walls.

“Sir,” she gasped, holding a hand to her bloodied chest. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Next time, keep your guard up and you won’t have to worry about being scared.” Adam said as he slowly advanced towards her. Lute felt her pulse quicken with each step, until he stopped just short of arms’ reach. She was sure her heart was going to burst through her chest.

“Did anybody follow you here?”

“No,” she breathed, looking up into his face. “They’ve all hit the showers. Nobody suspects a thing. They probably think I’m on my way to do paperwork.”

“Paperwork,” he laughed, snaking a hand around her waist. “Who the fuck does more work after a fucking Extermination?”

“Us, apparently,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to lace her arms around his neck. “I’m not sure if I should be offended that they believe that lie so easily.”

“I’m fucking offended,” Adam said, “you shouldn’t be, considering you love paperwork and all that shit.”

“I do,” Lute agreed, “but there’s only one thing I’m interested in doing post-Extermination.”

“Oh yeah babe, and what’s that? Besides taking a shower, by the way. You fucking reek.”

She smirked and pulled his head down to hers, pausing just long enough so she could whisper, “You”, before kissing him utterly senseless.

[sunwarmed-ash]

I love you, friend! 💕

A couple of my headcanons for your amusement:

1) Connor likes to spend his free time playing video games (esp. farming sims) because they trigger the Mission Successful reward system in his brain

2) Gavin has quite the collection of fantasy dildos 😈

first off i love BOTH OF THESE. Very canon to me imo, I wrote the second one first, I hope you enjoy!

*NSFW warning*

Secret Box

This thing, between the three of them, that started small and innocently enough, turned into something so much bigger, stronger, and honestly sexier than any of them initially intended. So much so they closed on a three bedroom house last week and Hank, Sumo, Connor, and Gavin are moving in together. 

But moving is also greuling, at least to the two humans who complained about aches and pains every free moment they could. It's why Connor offered to bring everything in in the first place. Connor would not get tired. He was specifically designed for advanced stamina. But Hank and Gavin were two of the most prideful and stubborn men Connor has ever met. 

It took them a while to agree, but after Hank’s back popped in a way that was more bad than good, he threw the white flag and thanked Connor for his help before going to pass out on the couch. 

Gavin lasted a little longer, but once he and Connor carried their king sized mattress up two flights of stairs, he threw the flag too.  

There aren't too many more boxes, under half a dozen, and most of them headed for the same floor. He should be done and ready to lay down with his exhausted humans in about 15 minutes. 

Connor moves another large wardrobe box containing some of Hank’s old suits exposing a time faded blue, 15x15x10 box that he doesn't remember packing on the truck. Or seeing before honestly. 

Written all across the slightly yellowing cardboard is handwriting that matches Gavin’s, the words, 

DO NOT OPEN UNLESS YOU ARE GAVIN

I MEAN IT DICKHEADS

MY STUFF, HANDS OFF! *

Over almost every surface. 

A padlock opened in Connors vision and a prompt to 

Open the box? 

Had him biting into his lip so hard it bled, in strain to do the right thing. 

Because, well it's not his stuff. It’s very obviously Gavin’s. But whatever is in there, it's obvious he wants to keep it a secret. Under plenty of warfare in fact. 

What's the phrase Hank always says to him, curiosity killed the cat? 

Well, Connor isn't a cat, he’s an android. But he’s also not an idiot. He won’t open it down here, in plain view of everything and everyone. He will take it upstairs, into their shared master bedroom and open it there. 

~

Connor hasn't felt a choice impact him this strongly since he deviated. It's weird. It's just a box, he shouldn't be afraid of the damn thing. But it wasn't necessarily the box that was scary. It was the potential of everything that could be in there. 

What could be in there that Gavin didn't want Hank and him to see?

Maybe it was something super rare. Like the world's only albino guinea pig. 

Or maybe Gavin’s a master jewel thief and it's full of diamonds… 

Or maybe Gavin’s a deranged maniac who keeps his victims severed heads in a box!

Or worse….

What if its an embarassing snapshot of Connor from the DPD Christmas party?!??!

His fans whirring in his obvious anxiety attack has him shaking his head and clearing all of the ridiculous thoughts he just had. It’s just a box. And he knows Gavin better than he knows most people in the world after nearly 2 years. 

But once he opens the lid of the long traveled box, he instantly wished he hadn’t. 

Mostly, because in that moment, someone had come into the room behind him, exposing his crime. And even worse, that person was Gavin. 

“Hey! What are you doing!”

“I'm sorry!!” Connor panics, slapping the lid back onto the box so hard its sides folded under his force. He didn't even get a chance to look at everything inside, he was too scared of Gavin’s much deserved, wrath. 

“Ey, easy!! Those aren't cheap you know!” Gavin says, genuine worry in his tone and Connor’s hands pulls off the box and steps back. 

Hank and Sumo are on Gavin’s heels, barging sleepily into the room to add to his humiliation. 

“What’s- oh shit. Ha! I see you found Gavin’s collection.”

Connor and Gavin’s cheeks boths flushed in embarrassment.

“Hank!” Gavin scolds at the same time Connor asks, 

“What are they?”

“What do you mean what are they? They’re fucking dildos” Gavin says hotly, temperature matching the blood boiling under his cheeks. 

Connor looks at the box with the busted lid again, though he doesn't need to. He has the video feed already saved, he can bring up every inch of his first glimpse in high graphic detail. 

“But, they don’t, look like our other ones,” Connor says carefully, reading Gavins stress levels and adjusting his particular phrasing. 

“Cuz they’re not modeled after human dicks,” Gavin says again, and Connor thinks about the one on top. The one that didn't look like a dick at all. More like a tongue, easily as long as Hank’s cock but curved and shaped drastically different. 

“And that feels good?” there wasn't any judgment in Connor’s voice, just genuine curiosity. He thinks that's what really gives him the upper hand and reduces some of Gavin’s stress. 

“It feels phcking incredible. All of them do.”

“Some of those are big Gavin.”

“I’m well aware.”

Connor’s eyes glazed over, imagining Hank using any of them on Gavin, or vice versa. It was enough motivation for Connor to then ask, with the biggest, softest eyes he can, if he can fuck Gavin with one. 

~

Gavin’s knees shake as he struggles to take the ninth irregularly bulging inch, but he begged for it deeper, his cock still stiff and spitting fluid all down the shaft.

“Phck,” he can’t keep the pant back as much as he wants to. It hurts, but in the way he loves, and the fact that Hank and Connor are both so obviously getting off to it only adds to it. 

“You’re doing so good Gavin,” Hank praises, and Gavin feels more fluid fall off the tip of his cock onto their mattress below. He felt like he was about to lose his mind, so he’s glad at least it looks more polished than he feels. 

“Con, don’t stop, please.” 

Connor’s hand squeezes his hip before twisting the bulging dildo in his ass. 

The pleasure that rocketed through Gavin’s body at that particular action knocks out his knees and Gavin is barely holding his face off the mattress by his elbows. “Oh my god.”

“It’s actually Connor, but I appreciate the compliment,” the robot sasses and if Gavin wasn’t so desprate for an orgasm, he might have shot something back. Instead he shuddered, and pulled his tired legs back to their original position. It lined one of the bumps of the dildo up with his prostate and Gavin was putty in Connor’s hands. 

“Are you gonna cum?” Hank asks, sitting on the bed beside him, running his warm hand across Gavin's face to get the sweat out of his eyes. 

Gavin nods in Hank’s hand, and then Connor’s thrusts becomes relentless. It doesn't take much at all, and then Gavin is screaming through a painfully strong orgasm. 

~

AN: I'm sorry for the minor crack, but I just had to with the spongebob reference. It really wrote itself. You can blame Daddy Clancy for the melding of fandoms in my brain. 

As for the sex toys, use your imagination or alt the links I got the inspo from 1. 2.

* do I have a box just like this? Wouldn't you like to know weather boy.

[mayhems-cannon]

Hi king, you keep apologizing on nearly every single post. You don't have to. You're making hot art, for free, not inconveniencing anyone with it, and above all this is your blog which you are the godking of, with full rights to post Whatever You Want. It feels awkward too, to request banger art and see "sorry" in the tags and whatnot like there's some shortcoming to be made up for. Thank you for making all of it! Exist and post unapologetically, you deserve to feel like an awesome artist! 🫡

argh, every time i find myself in a situation where i'm told i'm overly apologetic i never know how to respond, but i always remember a moment in Tales of Symphonia 2 where Emile, the main character, gets told he apologizes too much for everything, to which the keeps apologizing. i find myself in this situation weirdly often, but if i have to explain it in a slightly lenghty way:

when i ask you guys to send in requests, it's like i am the one requesting topics and prompts, not you asking for something. since you are the ones providing me with the prompts, it feels as if my ideas only matter as long as they follow the prompt as closely as possible, and any deviation from it can/will be a source of disappointment for you. since i am the one asking for the requests, i am the one who should listen to you. you are the "providers", patrons even, and i should listen as closely as i can to make you happy.

i've been taught to be modest and shit, to be polite and to listen to requests, orders and do any task that i was told and do it in the way the person asking wants. even if i am the godking of this blog, i still feel like i need to listen as closely as i can, since the fear of disappointment is rooted in me like a hundred year old sequoia tree, and i keep apologizing when i think i mde a mistake or deviated too much because i'm afraid i might've disappointed the person who requested the idea.

i don't know, basically when you're taught to offer stuff for free because you can and that not delivering it in due time/properly is a moral failing it just grows on you, and eventually you syart apologizing for things you don't even know if people would notice. the two cakes analogy may be right, but the doubt still run deep.

still, thank you for the encouraging words!! it's something i need to work on and i am glad you guys enjoy this. i hope i'll be able to get better about it eventually.