#i shall not elaborate yet

[weedsmokingmacca]

the beatles playing the saturday club, december 1963

lord…

[cheeeeseburger]

B-a-b-y, baby

Fernando Alonso x Reader

Masterlist

A/N: This was almost called "Put a baby in me one more time", like the Britney Spears song lmao. Also, this was inspired by that one interview where he is asked about not having children. Anyway, English is not my first language, apologies for the mistakes, enjoy!

Cooking was your love language. It’s true that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, because that’s how you got your husband, Fernando Alonso. You had cooked him his favourite dish and he had fallen right into your arms. On the other hand, baking was your way to relieve stress. The night before your wedding, you were up late baking a pie.

Today, you were both filled with love and stress, and that’s why you ended up with your large dinner table buried under elaborate dishes and delicious desserts. There was enough food to feed an army. The entire F1 grid could’ve gone for seconds or thirds and there would still be enough for leftovers.

The reason for all of this? You had taken a pregnancy test, and it was positive. While this was wonderful news, you had yet to tell your husband.

“Princesa?” Your husband called out for you as he entered your home.

“In here!” Your stomach was doing cartwheels.

It’s not like he wouldn’t be happy. He had always wanted to be a dad, but as he got older, his dream of having his own children slowly started to fade away. You also wanted to have children, and although you were still young, you had yet to meet the man you imagined getting you pregnant. Luckily for you two, you found each other.

“Mi amor, are we having guests tonight?” Fernando asked when he saw the table full of food. As usual, he gave you a quick kiss.

You let out a nervous laugh. “No, no, it’s just us tonight. Why don’t you sit down?”

“Which bottle of wine shall I open for tonight? What will go well with all this wonderful food you have cooked?” Oh no. Wine was definitely out of the picture.

“I made lemonade, we don’t need wine! Please sit down my love, I don’t want the food to get cold.” He looked at you, noticing your odd behaviour, but he did not pick up on it.

“Alright princesa, if you insist.”

The meal went fine, but you had not yet found the courage to tell him the news. You didn’t know if it was because of all the sugar, the nervousness or the baby, but you felt like throwing up. At least, he seemed to really enjoy the food.

“Mi amor, I’m not going to fit in my race suit because of you!” He patted his stomach, and you knew it was your moment.

“Actually, I’m not going to fit in my clothes either. I’m going to be eating for two.” You got up to go behind his chair, and you kissed him on the top of his head.

“What do you mean?” Bless his heart. He had no idea what was coming. You put your arms around him and leaned down to whisper in his ear: “We’re going to have a baby.”

“¡Dios mios, princesa!” He got up from his chair and immediately pulled you in his arms. “Is this for real? I’m going to be a father?” The joy in his eyes was too much for you.

With tears in your eyes, you answered: “Yes, my love. You’re going to be a father. In fact, you’re going to be the greatest father there ever was.” He lifted you off the ground and made you spin in your dining room.

He put you down and gave you a big kiss full of love. “How did this happen?” He patted your stomach.

You smirked. “Well, I know how it happened.” You put on your best imitation of Fernando: “Please, princesa. Can I put a baby in you? I want to get you pregnant so bad, princesa.” He laughed at your poor attempt at a Spanish accent.

“I remember now.” You laughed, and he wiped your smirk and your tears away with a kiss. “You’ve made my dreams come true, mi amor. I didn’t think it was possible, but I love you even more now.” He hugged you tightly.

“I love you too, baby. I hope you’ll still love me when I ask you to go buy my pregnancy craving a two AM.” Fernando chuckled and tenderly brushed your hair with his finger.

“Lucky you, princesa. I drive fast. You won’t have to wait long for your food. And it will only make me love you more.”

You made a mental note to buy a cookbook about baby food.

。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜

You and Fernando, like any other new parents, stared in adoration at the crib in which your baby boy was sleeping. Although it was hard to believe, your son was now nearly a year old.

“He looks so much like you. I’m kind of insulted. I carried him for nine months!” You whispered at your husband. He laughed quietly.

“Let’s hope he has your brain, then. With your intelligence and my looks, he is sure to make a great F1 driver. My legacy will be secured!” You lightly smacked him on the arm.

“I’m never letting him go in an F1 car ever! I’m already on my knees praying that you be safe at every race, I’m not signing up for another 20 years of that!” You whispered-shouted at Fernando. You were kidding, but also not.

“It must be very hard, since I also make you go on your knees after every race and more.” He chuckled at his own joke. You smacked him again, harder this time. Forget the lightly. He continued: “Are you going to be very mad if I tell you that I have already bought him a kart?” Your eyes were big as saucers.

“Fernando!” You shouted a little too loud for your liking. Your son babbled in his sleep. “He’s not even one year old yet!” He faked looking sheepish, but really, he was proud of his scheming. You were not actually mad either, you were only pretending to toy with him. He grabbed your hands and kissed you. All his wrongdoing (that was not actually wrong) was suddenly forgiven.

“I’m sorry, princesa. But you can’t blame me for wanting to show him what I do.” You fake-pouted at him, but that did not last long because he looked too adorable.

“Alright, I get it. You will have to buy a second one, though.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Another one? Why, princesa? Are you planning on starting karting soon?” You put his hands on your stomach. Just like the first time, you were full of nerves, but also happiness. You cupped his face with your hands.

“No, my love. But the baby in my belly might.” You flashed your biggest smile at him. It was true that pregnancy made you glow because you lit up the whole darkened room.

“What?!” He shouted, and that effectively woke up your son from his sleep. Laughing, you picked him up from his crib.

“You’re going to be a big brother!” you exclaimed to your son, who giggled in return. Fernando was still in shock. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his disbelief. Finally, he returned to his senses.

“Princesa! I’m going to be a father!” He pulled you and your baby in a big hug. You laughed against his shoulder, as tears of joys were running your cheeks.

“You already are, my love. You are the greatest father there ever was.”

。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜

Fernando was an extraordinary father. He was so good to you and your two sons, who were now celebrities around the paddock. Alonso 1 and Alonso 2, they were called. When your husband approached you with the idea of having another baby, it was a no-brainer. How could you ever say no to the opportunity to give an already amazing father a chance to be an even better one?

And you loved being a mother. You loved cooking for your family and seeing them all enjoy it together at the dinner table. After you made a particularly good tiramisu, you got pregnant for the third time. Turns out that your tiramisu was so good that it made you get pregnant with twins.

That’s how you ended up walking around the paddock, pregnant with twin girls. Actually, it was more of a waddle than a walk. Your belly was huge, and you were holding your youngest son in your arms while the oldest tugged on your dress to keep you close.

“Princesa, what are you doing? You should be sitting down!” Fernando trailed down after you and immediately took your youngest in his arms, which made the people around you laugh. He really was the cliché of the overprotective father and husband, but it was cute. Still, you rolled your eyes at him. It was the children he was supposed to scold, not his wife!

“Fernando, I’m fine. I don’t want to sit down, it’s all I do these days. The girls and I, we want to have to have some fun.” You pointed to your belly, full of two little girls.

He gave you a kiss and he put his hand that was not holding your son to your belly. “I’m glad you’re here, princesa, but maybe use the stroller next time, yes? And you, tete, you were supposed to be watching your momma!” Your youngest son pouted at his dad and laughed when Fernando ruffled his hair.

“There’s just so many people here, I can’t pass with the stroller,” you whined, pointing to everyone around. Fernando raised an eyebrow at you.

“No, we can’t have that, can we, princesa? Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you have all the space you need, mi amor. All the best for my family.” He gave you a small slap on your ass and put his hand around your waist. He led you so confidently around the paddock that honestly it was a turn on.

You blushed and whispered to his ear so your children could not hear: “You’re making me feel hot. Maybe I’ll give you triplets next time, huh?” He gave a you a devilish grin while you made your way around, you holding your oldest son’s hand and your other hand resting on your full belly while Fernando had an arm around your waist and your youngest in the other.

Move over, everyone. The Alonsos are here.

。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜

You were resting on the sand of the private beach attached to your villa in Spain. Your twin girls were napping peacefully next to you, in the shade. You were trying to imitate them, but falling asleep next to the view you had was impossible.

Fernando was playing in the water with your two boys. Shirtless, the sun of his home country made him shine. Every time you had his back in your sight, you swooned at his tattoo. You wanted to fill it with kisses. It should be illegal to look this good.

Him playing with your children shouldn’t be that attractive, but being a father really did make him glow. His eyes lit up with joy when he was around his family.

“Boys, come here, you need to reapply sunscreen!” You shouted at the three most important men of your life. They all came running to you. You had trained your husband and children well, apparently.

“How are my girls doing?” Fernando leaned down and kissed you. You started to apply sunscreen on one boy while your husband did the same for your other son.

“They are doing well, my love. You’re giving me quite the show.” He smirked at you.

“You like the view, princesa?” He played cocky and showed off his body. You chuckled. What a show off. Thank God he was a show off.

It was his turn to get the sunscreen. Your boys played in the sand near their baby sisters. “Absolutely, baby. I’m hot all over, and it’s not because of the sun,” you answered while putting sunscreen on his back. He laughed, but you could tell he was pleased at your words.

“Oh really?” Fernando raised an eyebrow at you. You nodded, acting innocently.

“Yeah, baby. In fact, I kind of want you to put a baby in me right now.” His eyes got big, but he quickly came back to earth.

He threw you over his shoulder and spun you around. You were laughing hysterically. He exclaimed to your boys and your girls who were now awake because of the noise: “Do you hear that? Mamma wants another baby! You’re going to have another brother or sister!” His voice was full of joy. Your children were all laughing and screaming, clearly amused by the fact that mommy was on daddy’s shoulder.

Fernando untied the string around your neck holding your swimsuit top in place and put you down, laughing. “Fernando!” you yelled as you tried holding your top. He was already gone, too busy chasing your boys on the beach. The twins were doing a mix of laughing and cute baby noises. In revenge, you flashed your husband, to which he replied with a wink.

Oh yeah, you were getting that fifth baby. Tonight.

。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜

The room was silent, except for the faint sound of the heart monitor in the hospital room.

“Oh Fernando, he’s so perfect. I think we’ve outdone ourselves.” Fernando laughed softly. You were sitting against his back on the hospital bed, holding your newborn son.

“Princesa, you say this every single time.” You smiled at him.

“But it’s true, my love. All of our children are perfect. We are so lucky.” He kissed the top of your head.

“Yes, we are. I love you, mi vida.”

“I love you too.” At the same moment, your four other children came running into the room, all whispering-shouting when they saw their newest brother.

The love in this room could be observed from a fifty miles radius. Fernando looked around at the room, and he nearly choked up. A few years ago, he had nearly given up on his dream of having his own family, yet here he was, husband to a perfect wife and father to wonderful kids.

After a few minutes, your kids left to go back home with Fernando’s parents. You were perfectly happy, yet something was wrong, but neither of you wanted to mention it first.

Fernando finally broke up the silence: “You know, mi amor, I don’t really like odd numbers…” He softly brushed your hair with his fingers while you did the same to your baby boy.

“Me neither, baby!” you exclaimed, happy to see he was thinking the same thing as you. “And, you know, I think it’s not fair if we don’t give this precious little baby a friend! We would be failing as parents.” He laughed and added to your comment: “Oh yes, definitely. We would be bad parents. Horrible, even.” You nodded solemnly.

“Absolutely, baby.” He kissed your shoulder. “What’s one more?”

Yeah, what’s one more?

This man wanted children? He would be getting them.

。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜

Fernando had just done really well in a race, even landing a place on the podium. You and your six kids were all cheering for him, all dressed up in his merch. He waved at you from the podium, and all your kids started jumping and screaming for their father. You blew your husband a kiss, and he felt as if he had just won another championship.

“A question for Alonso. You had a great performance today, even landing on the podium. Tell us, Fernando. What made you perform so well today? Is it the changes on the car?” asked and interviewer during the post-race interview.

“The car is good, yes, but I got on the podium today because of my family, definitely. My wife and my children are always the reason why I succeed.” Fernando winked at you, and everyone in the room laughed as you turned beet red. You felt like the luckiest girl in the world, and you were.

Okay, another baby wouldn’t be so bad, right?

[cinammonelles]

I can't be the only one who sees it

[benedictscanvas]

hey love! im sorry your request box hasnt been what you were looking for but maybe this will work! can i request a ball with benedict bridgerton where feelings are only realized when one of them dances with someone else? i dont really mind if its reader or benedict but i just think it would be cute!! hope you’re doing well <3 <3

hello my lovely. you're the sweetest, thank you so much for such a gorgeous request. I've got a pretty similar fic where Benedict realises his feelings, so I was super excited to do the other way around, I hope you enjoy <3 <3 | 1.5k words, fem!reader

There is a woman in Benedict’s arms and it isn’t you and you think you might throw your lemonade at her. Accidentally, of course.

You don’t know her, and if the reasonable side of your brain was in charge, you’d probably think she looks quite lovely. Her hair is adorned in elaborate braids and her smile is demure but still a little goofy - she isn’t shrouded in the fake humility that she finds so many ladies of the ton carry around with them. 

But still you find yourself fantasising about a large lemonade stain painting the front of her dress, the poor girl hurrying away in her shock and distress.

Away from Benedict. Who’s now laughing. At something the girl has said, no less. Why, you’d never seen him laugh at any lady of the ton who wasn’t either his sister or, once, Lady Danbury.

And yourself, of course, but you didn’t count.

At least, you didn’t think you counted. You didn’t think you wanted to count, content to while away the balls and the promenades by Benedict’s side, sometimes Eloise’s, whispering about so-and-so’s hat or whats-his-name’s hair. He’d never asked you to dance, although you’d never wanted him to before. Now that he was dancing with someone for the first time you could recall, however, you could feel that changing very swiftly.

”You know, looking vexed in the corner isn’t likely to win you many adoring suitors, Miss Y/L/N.”

Eloise always knows just when to get on your nerves and she’s grinning at you slyly when you turn to face her, finally breaking the spell that Benedict and his new dance partner had placed on you.

”Since when have you believed that was my endeavour, dear Eloise?”

”Since you’ve spent the entire night glaring at pretty young Miss Pennyforth. It’s making you look rather jealous, to the untrained eye.”

You turn away from her, fixing your eyes on her brother yet again. They’re not talking anymore, just staring at each other as he twirls her again and again. Maybe it was better when they spoke after all, because now your stomach is twisting into something that does indeed feel a lot like jealousy.

”Yes, well, you know better than to think I’m jealous. Though I do seem to be in a foul mood.”

Eloise nods exaggeratedly, a pretend-sympathetic pout on her lips.

”Yes, you poor thing. And it obviously has nothing to do with the brother of mine that you can’t take your eyes off.”

You pointedly look at her again but she just dissolves into giggles at the look on your face.

”If you have a point, Eloise, I suggest you make it.”

”Oh, no point at all. Only that the one ball where Benedict decides not to stand with you and ruin his prospects all night, you seem to be very dour indeed. With no correlation, of course.”

You glower at her as best you can. You have the irritable feeling crawling out of your stomach through your throat that you might be about to cry, and you refuse to do so here, or to allow Eloise to think it’s her fault if you do.

”You run along and find Penelope or I shall tell your mother there’s a gentleman asking after you.”

She gaped at you, quite genuinely.

”You wouldn’t,” she murmured, but then promptly hurried away when you fixed her with a look that told her you most certainly would. It was a lie, because you could never bring yourself to do that to your friend, but it was a ruse that allowed to slip away from the ballroom.

You cast one last glance over your shoulder at Benedict to see him kissing the back of Miss Penny-something’s hand and your eyes began to sting.

- - -

There was a little bench hidden away to the left of the grand entrance, just dark enough to not be spotted by those near the carriages. You managed to shed a few tears in private, silent silly things, and you wiped them away angrily.

It was only Benedict. Quiet, mischievous, generous Benedict. He was creative and caring and could come up with the most brilliant insults you’d ever heard. Obviously, he also had a beautiful face, but you’d never given it much thought. All the Bridgertons were beautiful, it felt like a requirement.

”Did Lord Tennesby try to talk to you again?”

You sighed deeply, closing your eyes with your head bowed. Of course he’d find you. If anyone was likely to be looking for a quiet spot for a moment’s reprieve, it was him.

You wiped at your face in vain before looking up at him with what you hoped was a convincing smile. 

“I’d be halfway back home if that was the case. What are you doing out here?”

Why aren’t you with Pennyfuzzy? was the unspoken second question that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to ask, knowing how spiteful it would come out. You wished you had realised you might want more from Benedict in the comfort of your own home, where you could take a week to process those feelings and prepare for how to deal with them.

Instead, you’d just have to see what happened in this conversation and go from there. Sounded promising.

”I was going to ask you the same thing. Have you…been crying?”

”I think it’s the flowers,” you point over at the hyacinths in the nearby flowerbed, “They often get the best of me this time of year.”

”Daphne’s ball last year was filled with hyacinths and you didn’t so much as sniffle.”

You frowned at him.

“I probably sniffled.”

“You didn’t. I would have noticed. I would have offered you a handkerchief like the dashing young gentleman I am.”

It was enough to pull up your frown at the corners, which in turn propelled him to take a seat beside you on the bench. You busied yourself with a crease in your dress when you talked to him.

“Maybe you’re not as dashing as you think.”

“I’m incredibly dashing,” he argued, pointing his chin upwards in that silly, mighty way you always giggled at, “I swept Miss Pennyforth off her feet just moments ago.”

Like an ice cold bucket of water poured right over you. You almost shivered.

“Ah, Miss Pennyforth. Has someone finally captured your wayward attention, Mister Bridgerton?”

You looked up at him and tried not to sniffle or snuffle or anything else that might give you away. He was just looking puzzled.

“What? No, I meant I quite literally swept her off her feet. I got the steps wrong, according to Eloise, who helped me up once she had a hold of her laughter.”

You blinked at him.

“You fell?”

“Into quite the heap. Miss Pennyforth was a good sport about it all but she did end up with a rather unfortunate lemonade stain all down the front of her dress. I think she was a little embarrassed.”

He had the decency to look a little embarrassed himself. There you had been, ready to hurl the contents of your cup at the girl and Benedict had solved your predicament for you. A twinge of guilt tugged at you.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” you said honestly, face overtaken by a wry smirk since Benedict had not sat down singing her praises. Still you had to be sure, “She was looking a very good dancer before I left, I was afraid she might steal away my conversation partner.”

It ended up sounding far more transparent in your intentions than you’d hoped. But you held his eye contact defiantly when he grinned.

“I knew you missed me,” he said, smug, “I took one look at your face and I could see it plain as day. Really, you should have hidden it better.”

“I don’t enjoy these events and you know it, Benedict.”

Back to his first name and by the light in his eyes, he’d noticed the switch. He stood up and held out his arm for you.

“I know. I’m very grateful for it. Now come along, I’ve done my duty to my mother dancing with that girl and now I would like to do my duty to myself.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, not moving a muscle.

“I would like to make fun of the Featheringtons with my most cherished friend. Would you do me the honour?”

Something skipped inside your chest. Light and airy again, no longer weighed down and chained to something churning your stomach. His most cherished friend. Despite the evening’s revelations, that sounded heavenly.

“Is Eloise inside waiting for you then?” you can’t help but tease and he promptly puts his arm back by his side with a huff.

“You are intolerable. I’m going without you.”

“No - wait!” you laughed, following after him gleefully as he turned away from you and started walking. You managed to catch him on the stairs, threading your hand into the crook of his elbow with ease as you did.

The smile he sent you would take at least the next week to contemplate but you had time. You could be a very brilliant 'most cherished friend' for now.

(and you were far more cherished than you knew, of course, but he wasn't quite ready to tell you yet)

---

if you'd like to request something of your own, please see this post for characters I write for and two super brief guidelines. thank you for reading, sunflower <3

[cambion-companion]

A Marriage Contract

Eyo...I had an idea LOL what a world!

The scenario of Raphael x reader (gn) being forced into some sort of marriage agreement has been bugging me ALL day! Hopefully some of you lovely folks are as depraved as I am and enjoy this!

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”  

You were sitting opposite Raphael, the firelight flickering orange across his scarlet visage. You watched with bemused interest as, with a black quill, he scratched ink across a sheaf of yellowed parchment.

The cambion took little heed to your agitated words. His posture was relaxed, one long leg stretched out between your own, his tail tapping idly against your thigh where it rested.

“Raphael.”  You leaned forward, catching a glimpse of the words he now wrote in that elegant script of his. “…Hey, I did not agree to doing that every day with you.”

A peeved hiss escaped Raphael’s sharp teeth as he removed quill from paper and sat back, his yellow eyes finally moving to your tense face. “This arrangement is at the behest of one I cannot yet deny.” His long fingers drummed a pattern against the cherrywood table. “Don’t complain too much, pet.  I may begin to think you’re getting cold feet.”

“Not in this sweltering house.”  You quipped back.  Then you pointed again to the sentence he’d scrawled detailing what lurid acts he expected from you. “I will not be doing that.”

“Might I remind you, this is a contract of marriage.”  

“Believe me, I am well aware.”

“You would receive such pleasures in kind.”

This gave you pause, your brow arched in disbelief. “From you?”

Raphael chuckled dryly. “Yes, from me.  Master of the House, your doting husband.”

Your skin prickled. “There’d better be a clause in there for an annulment once all this is over.”

“It’s possible for such a loophole to be penned in.”  Raphael tilted his horned head diplomatically, though his eyes remained hard. “For you to take advantage of should the fires burn too hot.  However, you will always be mine.”

“How romantic.”  You deadpanned.

“I certainly try.”  Raphael rolled his broad shoulders and stretched his neck side to side.  “Now, shall I rescind these latest conditions or are you now more amenable?”

You hesitated, scooting your chair closer so you could better read the script without getting a crick in your neck. “Hmm…yes, alright. You can get rid of the ‘submits to my will in all infernal matters’ bit.”

With a smooth motion Raphael struck a line through the offending words. “Would ‘heeds my counsel in all the doings of my domain’ better suit your tender palate?”

“Rewording the same sentiment isn’t going to get passed me, love.”  You kissed his cheek, teasing.

Sharp claws pierced the flesh of your jaw as, quick as a viper, Raphael grabbed your face with one hand and held you very still.  His face turned and your noses brushed. You felt his warm breath and his hot skin.

The air between the two of you grew tense, riddled with the frustration at your situation and the desire you’d had for one another since meeting. The lust to dominate and own from him and your need to be wanted and no longer alone.

“This marriage contract is forever binding, little mouse. Much more so than those fragile slips of paper from your insipid mortal world. There is not a clause in your wildest imaginings that will free you from me once you sign yourself over.”

You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks, his strong hand still holding your head firmly. “We have little choice.”

Raphael’s grip tightened and he brought his lips against yours, just enough to leave you craving more. “What a quaint notion, to believe I have no power to deny or evade.”

He did not elaborate, but his message was clear.  Raphael wanted this. The thought didn’t leave you feeling warm and fuzzy.

There was an evident dynamic here that you didn’t have the capacity to fully understand.  It gave you a sense of dread yet sent a thrill through your body.

You gave Raphael a smile bordering on playful. “Your signature mysterious and vaguely threatening answers won’t exactly breed a relationship of trust.”

“You and I have very different concepts of what a marriage should look like.”  Raphael released your jaw and took both your hands, pulling you with one strong movement onto his lap.  His tail wrapped around your waist, securing you against him. “Speaking of ‘breeding’, I have an excellent idea.”

Your retort was silenced as a long tongue and sharp teeth claimed your mouth and drank down your following noises.

[tswhiisftteedr]

Hiya!! I was wondering if I could ask for some nsfw fem reader x husk (hazbin hotel) where husk basically just eating reader out, face sitting etc.

Also keep up the good writing!! I love your writing from what I’ve seen and i hope you do well with your other requests too!!

Don’t worry, I’m right here with you. ☆ Oneshot

Soft Dom!Husk x Sub!Hotel Resident!Fem!Reader:

After spending quite sometimes getting to know each other, you and husk finally begin dating. Anyways, today Lucifer came to the hotel for the first time and that was a super, but it wasn’t the main event of yours and husk’s days. So after an altercation with Alastor, husk seek solace in you for comfort, which you give, and he decides to thank you in his own special way for it.

Warnings: Mature Content, Not Proofread, Drinking, that scene where alastor uses husk soul chain and threatens him, Unspecified Vices, Mutual Pinning, Cunnilingus, Fingering, Soft Husk, Sorta Bad Written Comfort.

Words: 10567

Note: There is smut, BUT, beside the intro which is just suggestive, the smut will be at the end, so If you don’t want smut and just fluff you can just not read it. It’s the same with my last Zestial work, it’s like 3/4 sfw and 1/5 smut. Btw Antonio Esfandiar aka "The Magician" is a professional poker player and former professional magician, known for his elaborate chip tricks. That’s the only reason I mentioned him if you were curious about that lol.

☆ more under the cut. ☆

Honestly, you had attempted to question how things had ended up like that—

“Ah, fuck, Husk, it's too much!” You cried out in overstimulation.

“Shh, it's okay, baby, I know you can handle it,” he reassured, softly stroking the underside of your right thigh to offer comfort.

— But truthfully, every train of thought you’d tried to start would derail quicker than the previous one. Without doubt, that man, Husk— he would be the end of you.

Yet, no need for worry as, I, your illustrious ‘historian,’ am here to recount the tale of how you found yourself in this predicament; as you're obviously too preoccupied getting your brains fucked out by Antonio Esfandiari over there to form any sort of recollection, or even a coherent thought for that matter.

Now, let’s backpedal four months ago, shall we?

You had been in the infernal realm for a little while, precisely half a year. You managed to secure a job and a place to stay, but ‘living’ down here was anything but easy.

To survive, you had to stretch your earnings, rationing food and water to make them last longer than they should, leaving you hungry more than once.

And when you were really desperate for cash—well, let's just say you had to resort to some unsavory means to get your hands on it.

Additionally, it had been a month since Princess Morningstar introduced her hotel to the public of the hell on 666 news. As expected, the masses of sinners inhabiting the pride ring ridiculed the princess and her redemption-themed endeavors.

Initially, the idea seemed far-fetched, as if redemption were truly an option — Why hadn't anybody else proposed it before?

That's what you and your friends had agreed upon when first watching the interview. But as time passed, you began to reconsider your friend group's shared consensus. Perhaps, just maybe, ‘redemption wasn't such a crazy concept after all.’

That's why you now found yourself standing in front of the princess's Hazbin Hotel, formerly known as Happy Hotel, nervous and with slightly sweaty palms.

Summoning all the courage you could muster, you knocked on the large, stained glass-filled windows, as ‘it was now or never’.

After waiting patiently for about five minutes, just as you were about to turn away—possibly never to return—as the building seemed vacant. The large doors swung open, revealing the princess herself standing before you.

"Um, is this the redemption hotel from the news?" you inquired, even though it was plain as day from the building's illuminated 'Hazbin Hotel' sign and the fact that the princess, the one who pitched the hotel on 666 news, was literally standing in front of you.

With the brightest and most joyful smile you'd seen down here, she opened her mouth to speak. "Oh mygod!Ohmygod!Ohmygod!Areyousomeonewho’sactuallyinterestedinthehotel???likeyougenuinelywanttotryandgiveredemptionashot???!!!Holyshit,thisisthehotel’sgreatestsinceSirPentioushasjoined!!!!" Princess Morningstar blurted out in a rush, as if she didn't deliver the information fast enough, you would leave.

As you tried to make sense of her rapid jumble of words—something about 'actually wanting to be redeemed' and someone named 'Sir Righteous' or was it 'Sir Delicious'?—you also noticed a crowd of individuals walking closer to the doors.

The group consisted of six people: A woman with an X over her eye, wielding an angelic weapon—'Delightful,' you sarcastically thought.

A grumpy tuxedo cat man with a red bow, his fur acting as some sort of substitute for his lack of shirt; he was also 'sort of handsome, y'know?'.

Then there was a snake man that screamed steampunk; he seemed sort of familiar, but you didn’t remember where you’d seen his slithery mug before.

There was also a tiny woman with one eye; she seemed full of energy and sorta stabby.

Then, second to last, we had—Unholy hell! It’s the porn actor Angel Dust! You remembered the princess mentioning him as a patron here, but you hadn’t expected to encounter him in the flesh and fur.

He seemed to notice the starstruck gaze in your eyes caused by his presence, so he shot you a wink. With a bit of internal fangirling along the way, you finally managed to get your heart rate to go back down.

You then shift your attention back to the rest of the crowd and notice the final person standing there, and HOLY SHIT, THE RADIO DEMON IS THERE—!

Your heart rate shoots back up, and you take a step back in fear, causing you to stumble over a pebble and fall on your ass. You curse yourself for being too engrossed in the sight of a celebrity to ignore the immense danger that is literally right there in front of you.

"Why, hello there, and who might you be, you wayward soul? It’s not often that we see sinners seeking out redemption." the Radio Demon inquired, accompanied by what you could only assume was his ‘iconic smile’.

You obviously didn’t know firsthand, as, for one, you hadn’t met the demon before, and for another, he was apparently in the sixth year and a half of his seven-year getaway when you manifested.

But you had heard the stories, and they were enough to make you absolutely petrified at the sight of that grin plastered on his face.

He seemed to rather enjoy your pitiful display, while you only grew more terrified.

“Oh no, are you okay? Didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” The princess asked, breaking you away from your scared state and extending her hand.

With a bit of hesitation, you took it. “Uh, no. No, I’m okay, it was just a little fall.” you told her.

“Oh, okay, I’m glad it was nothing. Anyways, welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, we are so glad to have you here!” She said as she began to lead you inside, and the others followed, each finding their place within the hotel;

The cat man heading to the bar, Angel Dust lounging on one of the couches, the little woman chasing bugs around, and both the radio demon and the spear-wielding woman following you and Charlie.

Once she had you comfortably seated on one of the lounge's couches, she began to introduce herself and everyone present. “Sooo, hi. I’m Charlie, the owner and founder of this hotel.”

“I think she already knows who you are, princess” the cat man interjected. “Oh, right,” she realized.

While all you could think upon hearing him speak was, 'Fuck. Even his voice is sexy.'

“Anywho, this is Alastor, our gracious facility manager.” Charlie said, pointing at the Radio Demon. “Your pleasure to meet.” he told you.

“And this is Vaggie, the co-founder and my girlfriend.” Charlie continued. Vaggie approached you, and you shook hands. “Nice to meet you.” she said. “Likewise.” you responded.

“Next up, we have Husk, our bartender, and Niffty, our cleaning staff.” she gestures towards the bar. “Nice to meet you.” Husk offers, while Niffty chimes in with a big, eccentric “Hello!”

“And lastly, we have our residents and your potential fellow guests if you decide to stay.” she adds with a slightly unsure chuckle. “Angel and Sir Pentious!”

“No offense, Charls, but the broad probably knew who I was, no need for an intro.” Angel quips teasingly before approaching you. “But anyways, it’s good to see a new face around here, so welcome, toots.” he says, extending his hand, which you shake. “Thanks for your hospitality.” you reply.

Feeling a little less on edge, you approach the final resident. “Sir Pentious, right? It’s nice to meet you.” you say, extending your hand. “Oh, no, darling, the pleasurrre izzz all mine.” he replies, shaking your hand. Just as you finish, you hear a small gasp from Charlie.

You turn to look at her, and she says apologetically, "I totally forgot to ask you for your name! I am so sorry for that." With a comforting smile, you tell her, "It’s no worries, really. I’m Y/N, Y/N L/N. Nice to meet you again, I guess."

“Nice to meet you again too, Y/N,” she says with a giggle. Then she adds, “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you, what brought you to the hotel? I mean, what led you our way?”

“I saw your interview on 666 news with Katie Killjoy a month ago.” you tell her.

“Oh, you did? Um, did you see alllll of it?” Charlie asks, momentarily shocked and a little nervous afterward, but you understood why.

“If you’re talking about the fist fight and the news anchor on fire, yes, I did. It’s probably the thing most people remember from that news segment.” you answer her, confirming her assumptions.

“Oh, right.” Charlie says, a little embarrassed.

“Well, if you saw that, then why are you here? Are you trying to mock us in person?” Vaggie asks you, getting slightly defensive as the interview was not the best display of the hotel.

“No, nothing like that.” you reassure at first. Then you continue, “Well, actually, at first when I saw it on the news, I definitely laughed at the idea of a redemption hotel. So did my friends. Actually, I think everyone did. I heard from one of my imp friends that even in the other rings, people were making fun of it.” You say, deflating Charlie further and further with each word.

"But," you begin once more, bringing back some sort of hope to her,

"The more I thought about it, the less crazy stupid it all seemed. I mean, at first, I was like, 'If it's such a good idea, why didn't anyone think of it before?'.

Then, with more reflection, I realized that even if someone had pitched something like it before, there wouldn't be a big trace of it anyways.

I mean, you saw how people reacted when you presented it; it was made fun of and forgotten by most.

Also, considering the fact that the powerhouses of our ring profit from the fact that there are people down here to exploit, even if someone had the same idea and people to back them up, it would definitely have been shut down and covered up.

Because if people get redeemed and get out of hell, the big fishes don’t make as much profit anymore." You explain, and this seemed to reason with Charlie and the others around.

“Honestly, I think the only reason you don’t have people directly targeting you and your hotel is because you’re the princess. I mean, sure, people can make fun of you, but actually attacking you, well, that’s a no-go territory,” you add on.

And everyone, even Charlie, who seemed to like staying in the delusion that ‘in every demon there is a rainbow,’ couldn’t help but agree. If she wasn’t the princess, there was sure to be some people coming by and hurting everyone here, ‘just because.’

“Anyways, when I made peace with the concept, I thought, why not me when it came to redemption. I mean, sure, I did some unsavory things to end up down here, but I wasn’t some serial killer or sex trafficker either,” you explain further.

“Plus, I have all eternity, well, unless an exorcist’s blade or some Carmine weapon-wielding freak comes my way—“ you slightly deviate but remember to get back on track,

“Anyways, the point is if I can do whatever for ‘basically forever,’ why not give redemption a shot. I mean, worst-case scenario, I just avoid doing bad stuff for nothing, but at least that simultaneously keeps me out of trouble, so it’s not ‘that bad,’ you know?” You finish your explanation and look back at Charlie to see the immense joy in her eyes caused by someone actually taking a full interest in being part of her project.

“Well, I am so glad you think that way, Y/N. And the fact that you decided to come here even though your entourage still thinks, well, that the hotel is a joke, was very brave of you.

Also, just letting you know, as you may not be aware since it was not mentioned during the interview you watched, but here at the Hazbin Hotel, we offer free rooms, food, electricity, and if you're feeling like it, from time to time alcohol, though moderation is more than encouraged.” she informed.

“Well, that’s great. I mean, I didn’t really think about the fact that you may have asked for cash for staying here, but as it is some sort of a ‘nonprofit,’ it does make sense that you don’t.” you tell her in a relieved manner.

“Of course, we want to help people here. It wouldn’t be fair for us to ask money from our guests. Anyways, why don’t I go over what would be your weekly schedule, hotel-wise, as a resident, and then I can show you to your room?” she asked.

“That would be wonderful.” you tell her.

It had been a couple of weeks since you joined the hotel, and you would say that things have been going ‘alright.’

I mean, Charlie’s ‘activities’ were more often silly than not, but they didn’t necessarily do any harm. The hardest part was staying away from your vices—‘that was the real kicker’.

Which brings us to why you were currently seated on a bar stool, gradually drowning yourself in alcohol as Husk poured drink after drink at your request.

"You know, if you keep pushing away your vices but then return here every time instead, you're just fostering a dependence on booze," Husk cautioned, sliding your fifth Midori Sour over to you. "And when you finally have to cut out drinking altogether, you'll likely revert to your old habits. You're turning this ‘rehabilitation thing’ into a sort of yo-yo diet, if you ask me.”

You stared at the drink after finishing your previous one.

— You had first tasted something like it when you went out for your first legal drink at 21, asking for something sweet with a bit of a kick alcohol-wise.

The bartender had recommended it to you, then as you drank it, he went on a rant about how it was "made with Midori melon liqueur, lemon juice, and simple syrup" and that "It's sweet, refreshing, and has a medium alcoholic content" — the “perfect drink for you”.

He was good-looking, like the current bartender in front of you, so you had let him talk—just like you let Husk talk.

Sure, having spent a considerable amount of time down here and living well beyond his twenties, you could acknowledge that Husk did have some wisdom to himself.

However, there were moments — particularly when he embarked on his tangents about how "you won’t find your answers at the bottom of a bottle,"— then, you simply wanted to shut him up.

Whether it was by pointing out that while he might be correct in his assessment, he failed to offer real advice on how to find those answers. Saying shit like "don’t do that, there are better ways to deal with your issues" yet always neglecting to explain what those "other ways" might be — frankly, it was all quite frustrating.

But each time it occurred, you chose to keep your mouth shut to avoid any conflict. After all, from what you had observed, you genuinely liked Husk as a person and didn’t want any tension between the two of you.

Nevertheless, despite your growing frustration with the men, your mind couldn’t help but entertain the other option that would allow you to ‘catch the cat’s tongue’; wondering how quickly he would stop talking if you pressed your lips to his.

Yet, ultimately, it remained a mere fantasy, something confined to the realm of imagination, one never to enter reality. —

“Thanks, Husk,” was all you said as you took the glass and downed your goddamn Midori Sour.

Several hours had passed since your fifth drink, and more than one other had entered your system by now. You and Husk were now discussing on a more personal level.

“It’s all so weird, you know. It’s not like my soul is trapped in a contract like yours or Angel’s,” Husk’s face slightly winced at the reminder that he, in fact, didn’t own his own soul. However, he stayed quiet and let you talk without interjecting, as he respected you and you were pouring your heart out. “Yet, I can’t help but feel like it is,” you told him. “I try to be better, I really do, but it’s so, so hard not to do the bad things I’m not supposed to do when they all feel so fun and right to me in the moment. I mean, I do regret them afterward, but I keep wanting to do them anyway.”

You take a sip of your drink, and Husk follows suit. “You know, you would think the moment I feel the most trapped is right after I’ve done what I wasn’t supposed to,” you muse, contemplating the complexities of your situation. “I had my fun, and as I suffer the consequences, I feel encaged. But it’s not. It’s actually right before I even do it. I feel it in my whole body—a feeling that this is the only way for me, that I can never let go of this high.

No matter how hard I push myself to get better, to be better, I’m not really leaving the cage. I’m just pacing around in circles, pretending that the loop isn’t there and I’m actually getting away.

I just want to run, but I’m afraid that if I actually try, I’ll probably just hit my head against the cage’s bars,” you confess, tears of anxiety welling in your eyes as you begin to sniffle.

With that, Husk grabs your hand and begins to rub soothing circles on it with his thumb, offering comfort in his touch as he speaks up. “Listen, I can’t say that everything will be alright. That's bullshit, and that saying has always been bullshit, but it’s even more full of holes down here,” he pauses to take another sip of his drink, collecting his thoughts. “And I personally know firsthand how it feels to be where you are right now. And I mean it, even without the whole Alastor thing, though it is a big part of it.”

Pausing once more, then taking a big breath, “You know, I used to be an overlord once,” he reveals, capturing your attention even further. “Yeah, and it was nice to have that power. But when you’re dealing with souls while also being a gambler, the stakes are pretty high. And losing a few hands can be more than a little dangerous. So when you’re down on your luck, you turn to anything to keep you afloat, even making deals yourself.”

Husk continued his story, delving into his past life before he was sent to the underworld. “But even before that shit show, I had another for me up there. Back when I was alive, I was a magician, a pretty big one at that. But at some point, I got into booze. It wasn’t a big issue at first, but it soon spiraled out of control after some other bad choices.

You see, a buddy of mine, another magician, had a gig at Caesars Palace. Being the good friend he was, he invited me along to party with him after his show. And party we did. It was one wild night—we drank, got plastered, enjoyed the company of some lovely ladies and fellas, and, most importantly, we played games.

That night marked my first taste of gambling, and it was exhilarating. I decided to play it safe and not bet too much, but it turned out Lady Luck was on my side. I won big, about two thousand dollars, while only betting twenty bucks.”

Husk paused, reflecting on those memories. “After that, I couldn’t help but come back the next day. Call it beginner's luck or whatever, but I was on a roll. In the span of two weeks, I had made enough money to last me two lifetimes.

But back then, it didn’t satisfy me, and it still didn’t when I first got down here either. Anyways, even after hitting such a big jackpot, I didn’t stop. I actually stopped magic altogether and fully transitioned to being a full-time gambler.

And for a while, it worked. But money wasn’t the only thing I got greedy with.

The amount of alcohol became too much for my body to take, and one day, I just dropped dead. A cardiac arrest was all it took to end me, while at the time it happened, I was convinced I was on top of the world.

Then I ended up down here. So, after spending quite some time just drowning myself in alcohol, only to make my alcoholism worse, I sort of got back on my feet. I became powerful and an overlord, but you already know how that went.

The both times I thought I was indestructible were also the both times when I was the reason behind why I got destroyed.”

You took hold of Husk's hand back, no longer content to simply let him hold yours.

“So now, every time I'm about to take a swig or play a game, while I may be confident in my skills, I can't shake the feeling that if I wanted to seek something else out, a different career path or way of life, I just couldn’t — that I've already burned those bridges for myself for all of eternity.

I feel trapped by my own actions and technically am too, but the worst part is that I don’t know if I’ll ever break free. But you, as you said, still have your soul. So maybe, even if it feels insurmountable right now, you can find the key to your cage and finally step out of it. And maybe, if you’re feeling generous, you can come by and try to find mine with me.”

Husk's way of speaking offered a different kind of comfort compared to Charlie's approach. Yet, it somehow brought you closure. It was honest and reliable, two things hard to find down here.

You gently squeeze his hand in a gesture of support before speaking up, "If I manage to find that key and finally step out of my cage, I promise you'll be the first person I’ll help find theirs, Husk." Your words are accompanied by a warm smile, which he reciprocates.

"Well, if you're the type to make empty promises, then I'm afraid to tell you but you're stuck with that one now, sweetheart. I'll hold you to it.” he teasingly responds, lightening the mood. "You wouldn't back out after giving a poor old soul like myself hope, now would you?"

"Never!" you assure him, the tears now long gone.

Following that evening, you and Husk grew closer, engaging in deeper conversations with each other than with the other residents.

It proved surprisingly effortless to open up to him once he shed his ‘old wise bartender’ persona. Despite the decades that separated you, both of you felt understood by the other.

Thus, when you began suggesting to Husk that you hang out together outside of the hotel, it didn't take much persuasion to get him on board. You believed it would be beneficial for him to step outside the confines of the hotel, considering it was in some part the physical manifestation entrapment.

Additionally, you planned to avoid places like casinos or bars to help both of you steer clear of your vices.

You envisioned a delightful day filled with laughter and happiness, far from anything that could potentially cause harm to either of you.

That's why you found yourselves in the fourth clothing store of the day. While you had picked up a few items from each previous store after some browsing, Husk had merely glanced around without finding anything to pique his interest.

As you perused the winter section, you stumbled upon the perfect ensemble: a charming white knitted skirt adorned with two small fluffy pompons, complemented by a matching top and a white bubble coat trimmed with fur.

Knowing you already had the perfect shoes to complete the look at home, you approached Husk with the outfit in hand.

"Soooo, what do you think of this one?" you inquired, prompting him to turn away from whatever had captured his attention to inspect your find.

"Hmm, well, it doesn't seem like it covers much. Are you sure you found it in the ‘winter section’? You'd probably freeze your ass off wearing that in the winter cold," he teased with a playful comment.

With an exaggerated sigh and a playful hip pop, you quip, "You just don’t understand, it's all about the 'aesthetic'," adding a fake tone of disdain that prompts both of you to burst into laughter at your absurdity.

Returning to a more serious tone, you inquire, "But really, aside from the fact that it's not exactly suitable for cold weather, what do you think of it?"

"Well, if we overlook the fact that you'd freeze solid walking outside in this, I have to admit the outfit is pretty nice. I think it would suit you," he replies earnestly before adding with a teasing voice, "and your aesthetic," eliciting more laughter from both of you.

You then notice something in his hands and ask, "Anywho, what do you have there?"

"Oh, it's nothing, just a little trinket that caught my eye. I probably won't buy it, though," he says, showing you the item—a watch with a roulette pattern on it. It was a bit pricey, but not overly extravagant. It looked cute and suited him well.

"It looks really nice. It would suit you very nicely," you tell him, and he smiles sheepishly in response.

"You think so? Thanks. Well, I'm going to put it back. You seem to be done with this store, so I shouldn't keep it in my hands. Wouldn't want to walk out of the store with it without paying," he says, trying to act nonchalant, but it's obvious he's a bit disappointed.

As you consider his situation, you realize that the hotel doesn't really pay Husk to work there, and all the money he used to make was based on gambling.

By staying away from it, he's basically broke now. With that realization, you make up your mind;

"Oh, wait. If you're not going to buy it, you won't mind if I do," you tell him, the gears turning in your head.

"Oh, yeah, no problem," he says as he passes the watch in its box to you.

You then proceed to the checkout and pay your dues. You ask for a separate bag for the watch, which earns you a slightly confused glance from Husk, but you don't mind. As you step out of the store, you suggest going out for ice cream to finish your outing, and he has no problem with it.

As you both enjoy your dessert, you pause to retrieve the bag containing the watch. "Here, this is for you," you tell him, offering the gift.

"Gosh, Y/N, I can't accept that. It's a very nice gift and all, but I can't just take it for nothing. I really appreciate it, really, but I don't deserve it," he rambles to you. Before he could delve further into why he possibly 'didn't deserve it,' you stop him.

"Listen, Husk, it's no problem. I have the money, so it's no big deal for me. Plus, you've become a dear friend of mine by now. Is it that bad for me to want my friends to have nice things?" you ask him.

"No, but I don't think such pricey things should be handed out to anybody just because 'you have the money,'" he states.

"But Husk, you're not just anybody, you're someone dear to me, someone I care about. When I saw the watch, I could only picture it on your wrist. I bought that watch for you and you only.

Also, before you mention returns, that store has a no-return policy.

And lastly, if you feel that bad about it, telling yourself you don’t deserve it, which is not true, you’re a wonderful man who deserves to have nice things— anyways, I interjected, my point is if you feel bad just take it as; this is a gift from me to you, for spending the day shopping around with me even though you weren’t interested in the stores we were going to,” you tell him kindly. As you see him still hesitating, you add one more thing, “Also, you can just not keep it and sell it if you really don’t want it that badly.” That breaks him away from the self-loathing he was internally building.

“Of course not, I’m not going to sell it. It’s a gift from you, a very nice gift at that, and I would never think of selling it,” he tells you, a bit protective of the gift now, which is what you wanted.

“So, looks like you’re keeping it after all.” you tell him, noticing a slight pout on his face as he realizes his words, but then he playfully rolls his eyes and now has a grin on his face. ‘Looks like he has finally accepted the gift.’

"Anyway, thanks for the watch. I’ll make sure to start wearing it as soon as we get to the hotel.” he tells you with that charming smile of his.

"I told you it was no problem." you reply, your face mirroring his.

"Also, if you're comfortable with buying me watches out of the blue, does that mean you would be into being my full-time sugar mommy—" he jokes, which you quickly shut down with a "Not even in your dreams." making both of you laugh once more.

Hangouts like this one continued, ranging from outings to different venues like theaters and restaurants to engaging in activities at the hotel.

For instance, Husk took it upon himself to teach you poker once you mentioned your lack of knowledge in the game.

It was a fun experience, filled with laughter. Turns out, you were quite good at it, although never as skilled as Husk, which occasionally led to moments of rage on your part. However, these instances always ended in laughter.

Currently, you were enjoying a drink with both Husk and Angel at the lounge’s bar;

“You’d think with all that money, he would be able to buy prescription glasses that looked like his current sunglasses,” you commented after Angel mentioned his boss, Valentino's poor eyesight.

“That's what I said! Like, if you're going to be a horrible piece of shit who literally built his empire off being one, you could at least get custom glasses so you could stop looking like an absolute moron when you read or count money. He quite literally spent half an hour counting three bills! How ridiculous is that?” Angel exclaimed, his voice fluctuating in pitch due to the alcohol.

In fact, all of you were a bit tipsy. Each of you displayed it differently—Angel was very excitable and giggly, you felt more sleepy, inclined to lie down, and Husk was more tactile, currently holding one of your hands while using the other to pet your head between sips of his drink.

That last part finally seemed to dawn on Angel, and he couldn’t help but point it out to both of you.

“So, did y’all fuck?” The effeminate fellow inquired.

“What?” You and Husk asked simultaneously, both of you pulling away from each other, visibly flustered.

“I mean, you’ve been getting cozy since we sat down, and I get that you two are ‘friends,’” Angel sarcastically emphasized the word 'friends' with air quotes, “but honestly, every time we get together and drink, you two are always holding each other. Sure, you're not openly cuddling and all, but I can’t remember the last time you weren’t holding hands when drinking. So, I think it’s reasonable for me to ask if you two are fucking” Angel explained his logic, leaving both you and Husk to face the current situation.

Despite Husk initiating the physical contact himself and you allowing it, as well as both of you holding hands, neither of you were aware of how intimate your actions appeared until Angel mentioned it.

It seems somewhat unbelievable, but it’s true.

Neither of you were consciously planning it; your bodies simply expressed your subconscious desire to be close to each other without either of you realizing it.

“Um, no, we didn’t,” you tell Angel, your voice quieter than before out of embarrassment.

“Yeah, we haven’t done anything like that,” Husk admits, matching your tone. Usually, even when talking to Angel, who was a dear friend to both of you, Husk would be more closed off about the sexual or romantic aspect of his afterlife. But the alcohol and the close proximity to you—his comfort person—seemed to have helped him be more open.

Taking a gulp of his drink and finishing it, Angel then speaks up once more. “Then do y’all wanna hook up?” he asks nonchalantly, to which both of you reply with a simultaneous “Angel!”

"Okay, okay, I'll stop," he says, accompanied by a laugh. The conversation is dropped, yet both you and Husk couldn't help but still glance at one another throughout the night, sometimes even making eye contact, which left both of you further flustered.

After Angel's comment, the next few days between you and Husk were awkward as both of you became more aware of each other's thoughts.

Neither of you outright rejected the idea of sexual attraction, and to be honest, you both had a feeling that the other felt similarly when it came to romance.

It was just awkward to actually express it, so for about a week or so, you avoided each other.

But soon the awkward tension began to dissipate. You were just more aware of each other's and your own actions, so if someone did something that crossed the lines of just being friendly, both of you would be aware of it being intentional.

For example, just like now as Husk is teaching you how to play pool;

There's nothing wrong or inappropriate about teaching your friend pool. Even when your friend corrects your form, it's still an innocent action to help you enjoy the game further as you learn the proper way to play.

However, Husk didn’t just show you how to score and watched what you did then correct your flawed form.

No, no, no, Mr. Husk over there didn’t even bother showing you beforehand how to score. He just directly positioned himself behind you, grabbed your hands, and guided you to grab the cue stick, all the while softly whispering in your ear as he directed your movements, explaining what he was doing and how it affects gameplay.

As to why Husk became so bold after a week of avoiding each other, you weren’t sure. And truth be told, he was just tired of burying his feelings deep down to avoid ruining your friendship, especially now that he knew you felt the same way he did.

That day, when you first opened up about your struggles, he felt a deep connection to you.

And when you bought him the watch, it struck a chord with him. Although he wasn’t usually one to focus on material possessions, the fact that you had spent so much on him so effortlessly meant a lot.

Especially when you insisted on him keeping it, expressing that you wanted him to have something nice.

In that moment, he felt deeply cared for, his heart racing as you assured him he deserved it and that he was dear to you.

So today, he decided to take matters into his own hands. If he had misinterpreted your signals and you rejected him, at least he would have tried, rather than spending eternity wondering ‘what if?’

"Then you do it like this," he says as he guides your hands through the motion, and you score. "You’re doing so good.” he murmurs softly near your ear. You'd like to think about the fact that praise wasn't necessary since he was literally guiding your movements, but all you could think about now is; how nice it feels to be so close to Husk. The warmth of his body against yours, how good his voice sounded so close to your ear—it's overwhelming.

Feeling like you might lose yourself if you don't act, you release the pool cue and turn to face him. Well, by facing him, I mean doing so while nearly touching faces due to how close you were to begin with. It stuns both of you for a moment, but you refuse to back down.

Leaning against the pool table for support, you muster the courage to address Husk. "Husk, um, you're really close right now..." you start, but instead of moving away, he questions, "Do you not like it?"

Feeling even more nervous, you realize lying won't work. You couldn't keep up a falsehood when it would be so obviously untruthful, and you didn't want him to get the wrong idea. "No, I like it," you admit.

"Is that all you like?" he probes further, his boldness surprising you. Before you can formulate a response, he adds, "Because I not only like being this close to you, but I also absolutely adore you." simultaneously softly caressing your cheek.

You're left breathless, muttering a quiet "fuck.." because what else could you say in this moment, besides confessing the to the man you've been attracted to since day one of meeting each other and felled in love with only a couple of months into knowing him.

But before Husk could misinterpret your use of a swear as you not being into him, you summoned all your courage and spoke out, "I also like you, Husk. Like, a lot. I found you hot since I first saw you, and soon after, I started falling for you, it’s an ‘in love-type’ of like you."

"Shit," he exclaimed, covering his mouth in disbelief. "I've also found you attractive since day one, and I think I've been in love with you since you gave me that watch," he continued, lifting the arm wearing it to showcase it. "More specifically, how you were acting towards me when you did it."

You paused for a moment, unsure of what to do next. "So, what do you want to do now?" you asked him.

"Honestly, I'm not sure. Right now, all I want is to be as close as possible to you, which is far from my usual way of behaving; I'm usually more planned and collected, but when I'm with you now, I feel like I've lost my compass. Yet instead of being anxious, I feel safe and comfortable. Isn't that weird?" he mused.

"I'm not sure if it is, but if it were, would it be weirder if I felt the same way?" you asked him, to which he chuckled.

"No, I don't think it would be weirder," he replied, his hand still resting on your cheek, which you leaned into it, almost resting your head's weight completely on it.

You gazed longingly at each other for about a minute or two until you broke the silence. "So, do you want to make out?" you asked, with ‘that’ slight goofiness in your voice that Husk had come to love.

"Fuck yeah!" Husk exclaimed, mirroring your tone of voice.

His hands transitioned from holding your face and the cue stick to one of them softly gripping your hair from the back of your head —pulling you in— while the other rested on the small of your back for support.

Then your lips finally connected:

As your lips met, you felt an explosion of passion and chemistry that you had never experienced before. Your heart raced, and your pulse pounded in your ears as your mouths danced.

You couldn't believe this was happening. Husk, the gruff and often apathetic demon you befriended, was kissing you with so much intensity and desire. It was as if all his pent-up emotions and feelings were released in that single moment.

His grip on your hair tightened slightly, pulling you even closer to him, and you could feel his heart beating just as fast as mine. You kissed hungrily like your (after)lives depended on it, your tongues entwining in a dance that made you shiver — especially the texture of your companion’s.

His tongue was in between one of a human and one of cat, it wasn’t unpleasant, quite the opposite actually. It did make you wonder how it would feel on other areas of your body. Also, something else to note was that he tasted like whiskey and smoke and honestly —you couldn't get enough.

Continuing on your movements, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, wanting every inch of him. He groaned softly against your lips at that, breaking the kiss for a moment, and you could see the ‘need’ and ‘want’ in his eyes. They were filled with passion and affection, just like yours. He moved to kiss your jawline, trailing kisses down your neck, and you gasped softly, feeling his warm breath against your skin.

After a quick swipe at your collarbones, Husk's lips returned to yours, this time with even more fervor.

His kiss was deep and intense, as if he was trying to consume every part of you.

Your hands slid down his back, feeling his soft fur under your fingers. You could feel his muscles through it, and you loved the feeling. His hands shifted from the small of your back to my waist, pulling you closer to him, your bodies pressed tightly together.

The heat from your bodies mingled, creating an intoxicating warmth between you — a warmth you never wanted to ever quit.

As the intensity of the kiss lessened, your lips started to meet in smaller, delicate pecks. These little kisses were just as passionate as the previous ones, but they carried a different kind of emotion—endearment and love.

Each kiss was more intimate and loving than the last, sealing your connection in a way that words could never explain. Your hands still roamed each other, exploring, but with a gentleness to them.

Husk's hands moved from your waist to your sides, and you could feel his thumbs softly tracing circles on your waist. One of your hand still rested on his back, stroking softly, feeling every muscle, while the other was somewhat on his shoulder.

Finally, breaking the sweet pecks, you pulled away slightly, both panting and slightly out of breath. Your eyes locked, filled with a feelings so profound it was evident you had fallen hard for each other.

Husk gently grabbed the hand that was in his shoulder, pressing it to his lips with a soft kiss. His gaze met yours once again, and you could see the love and adoration shining in his eyes.

"You're so beautiful." Husk whispered, reaching out and gently cupping your face once more.

"Thanks, Husk. You're quite handsome yourself," you tell him with a smile. Then you add, "Anywho, does that mean we're dating now?"

"I'd like that, if you'll have me," he responds.

"There isn't anybody else I'd rather be with." you assure him.

After placing one last kiss on your lips, Husk says, "Same here."

It had been around two weeks since your mutual confession of feelings. Initially, you attempted to keep things low-key by staying in your separate rooms.

However, the amount of time spent together and the display of affection made it evident to everyone in the hotel that you were now a couple.

So, after just a week of attempting to maintain the facade, you both gave up and you moved into Husk's room.

Fast forward to today, the morning had been bustling with preparations for the arrival of Charlie's father, Lucifer, the King of Hell, after she received a call from him.

You pitched in with baking cookies and tidying up, alongside the other residents, to ensure the hotel looked presentable.

Unfortunately, given the hotel's initial state, it wasn't entirely surprising when the chandelier unexpectedly crashed from the ceiling.

What did caught you off guard was the sudden musical performance by the King of Hell, which Alastor swiftly joined, leading to an impromptu song battle between them. Though, the outcome remained undecided, as the duel was interrupted by Mimzy —apparently one of Alastor’s acquaintance— as she introduced herself.

Later down the road, after bothering your boyfriend at the bar, calling him ‘whiskers’, etc., Mimzy then engaged Angel, Pentious, and you in conversation about Alastor and her relationship with him.

But you found yourself more focused on your boyfriend slipping away than on her anecdotes. Consequently, instead of remaining there to listen to her babble, you decided to discreetly follow your boyfriend.

And now, you found yourself hiding around the corner, eavesdropping on the ongoing conversations;

"So once we have proof of redemption as possible, this whole hotel will be full of demons wanting to check out into heaven. We just need a little more time to prove it," you overhear Charlie say, but the voices grow distant, making it hard to catch the rest.

What you do clearly hear is a "Hey boss" from Husk, followed by a questioning hum from Alastor. Then Husk adds, "Can I have a word?"

"What is it?" Alastor responds.

"You and I both know Mimzy only shows up when she needs something, that bitch is trouble. And who knows what kind of demon she fucked with to come running into you this time." Husk points out.

"It's nothing I can't handle. Don't worry, Husker. Who in their right mind would cross me?" Alastor replies.

"I mean, you've been gone a while, and it's not like anybody knows why," Husk states.

"They don't need to know, and don't you worry your fuzzy head about it," Alastor dismisses.

"You may own my soul, but I ain’t your pet," Husk asserts.

Following a giggle, Alastor tells Husk, "But you are."

You're about to jump out to defend Husk, but after husk retorted with “Big talk for someone who is also on a leash.“, the atmosphere shifts, with lights flickering, leaving you petrified, especially after hearing a threatening "What did you say?"

You hear the sounds of chains and a thud, and you can only assume Alastor has dragged Husk to the floor.

"Nothing, I, um," your heart sinks at the panic in his voice, but it drops deeper once you hear Alastor's venomous words: "If you ever say that again, I will tear your soul apart and broadcast your screams for every other disrespectful wretch who dares to question me."

Husk lets out a very quiet "Understood," and Alastor replies, "Lovely," then some subdued show tunes music starts playing, then Alastor added a "Good talk, my good man. Always nice to catch up."

After the radio demon's steps fade into silence, you finally step out of your hiding spot and rush to a trembling Husk on the floor. The first thing you do is give him a tight hug and whisper softly, "It’s going to be okay, baby. I’m here with you, Husk."

In that moment, you feel a plethora of emotions—concern and worry for Husk, fear because of Alastor, and guilt due to the fact you had stayed hidden while Husk faced Alastor alone, which makes you feel really shitty. But before guilt can consume you, you focus on getting Husk to somewhere secured, like your shared room. Once he's in a safe place, you can apologize.

With your help, Husk manages to stand up, but he's still too shaken up to walk alone. You guide him to the room, and once inside, you help him onto the bed, both of you holding each other tightly.

You softly stroked the back of his head while placing gentle kisses on his forehead. As you do, you can hear him slightly sniffle, holding back tears. It's obvious he's scared, and it's completely understandable.

You kiss his closed eyelids, and finally, the dam broke. He buries his face into your chest, and by the sounds and the wet feeling of your top, you can tell he's crying. He usually handles Alastor’s antics well, but having his soul threatened like that was just too much for him. You squeeze him tighter, whispering sweet nothings and comforting words.

“You’re going to be okay. I know it was terrifying, what you had to face. It would be for anyone. But it’s going to be okay,” you assure him, stroking his fur. Then you speak out once more, “I am so, so sorry, my love. I should have faced him with you, but I was too much of a coward to do so, so I just stayed hidden.” you apologize, and for the first time since burying himself in your chest, Husk peeks his head out. His face looks puffy from the tears, but what stands out is the empathetic look in his eyes.

“It’s… it’s okay, Y/N. Alastor—that guy, he’s terrifying. I don’t blame you for not jumping in when he got all crazy like that.” he reassures, but you can't rid yourself of the remorse.

“But I should have! That's my duty as your partner, to stand by you! What if he had snapped, and… and,” you say, strong but full of guilt. As you reach the last part, you start to stutter as thoughts rush into your head, and quieter you say, “and he had acted out on those threats.”

As Husk listened to you apologize, he couldn't help but pull you closer, his heart aching for the pain you knew you felt. His fingers traced gently along your soft skin, trying to soothe the distress within you. "Y/N, it's alright... I understand why you didn't intervene," He whispered, trying to make you feel better. His gaze fell upon your damp eyes, and he felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him. "Alastor has a way of intimidating even the strongest of us, and you're no exception."

"I've been dealing with him for years, and it's taken a toll on me," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t expect you do anything in that moment, it would have potentially put you in harms way if you did. But know this, I appreciate that you came to comfort me when I needed it most." He could feel your heart pounding against his, and he held you tighter, hoping to ease your anxiety.

"I won’t get into that creepy smiling freak’s way, so he won’t do anything to me, I promise," Husk added, offering a small smile.

As you and him embraced, you felt your hearts beat in sync. Your love for each other was strong, and you knew that together, you could weather any storm.

"Mm, I guess you’re right, Husk," you said softly, your hand stroking his back in a comforting motion. "Despite my guilt, I know we’re both doing the best we can, and I'll always support you no matter what." Your words filled him with a sense of security, knowing that you were there for him through thick and thin.

"I'm glad we're in this together," he replied, his tone soft and grateful. "Even if I wasn't there for you when you needed me today, remember that I'll always have your back, no matter what Alastor throws your and our way." You tell him.

Slowly, you began to ease the tension between us by changing the subject. "Hey, do you remember that time we went to that haunted carnival in the outskirts of Hell for one of Charlie’s activity? And we got stuck on that horribly broken down Ferris wheel?" you chuckled, thinking back to the ridiculous adventure we embarked on. "We were both terrified, but we laughed our asses off, eventually.”

As he recalled the haunted carnival adventure, a soft smile formed on his face, and you couldn't help but join in his laughter. "Oh, that was a nightmare! The way we clung to each other while trying to escape that damned Ferris wheel, and we still ended up covered in cotton candy," he said, shaking his head in amusement. "I thought we'd never make it out alive."

"And don't forget about the ghostly fortune teller who told us we would be together forever," he added, giggling. "I mean, look at us now – ‘living’ proof that she was right!"

Your shared memories brought a warmth to your hearts, and tou continued to laugh about your past misadventures, pushing away the shadows of your current worries. Together, you found solace in the lightness of laughter and the strength of your bond. As you reminisced, he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, his heart overflowing with gratitude for this moment.

"You know, Y/N," he said, my voice warm and filled with love, "I wouldn't want to face any challenge with anyone else by my side.”

The warmth of his words washed over you, and he knew that he wanted to show you how much he appreciated your unwavering support. Leaning in, he whispered softly, "I'm glad you were here to comfort me. To show my appreciation, I want to give you something in return – a little treat for being there when I needed it most."

“Husk, baby, you know I didn’t do it for a reward.” You argue

“But I want to.” He tells you, with a look full of passion, his eyes drifted lower, taking in the sight of your delicate shorts, and he knew what he wanted to do next. And that made you weak, and you sorta blanked.

Gently, he untangled the fabric from your legs, revealing your soft, inviting skin. "Please, let me make you feel loved and appreciated too," he said, his voice low and full of desire.

As he next removed your underwear, he could feel your protests beginning to fade under the intensity of my gaze. With a determined smile, he leaned in close, pressing his lips to your skin. "I want to reward you, Y/N," he explained, his breath warm against your sensitive flesh. "Let me show you how much your support means to me."

Husk, typically recognized for his gruff exterior, revealed a tender side as he concentrated on satisfying you. His lips delicately trailed along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, eliciting shivers down your spine.

Understanding the necessity of getting your mind off things if you wanted to get better —as dwelling only exacerbates the pain— he found solace in showering his beloved girlfriend with feelings of desire and appreciation. In his view, it was a mutually beneficial arrangement, serving to uplift both of your spirits, a win-win per say;

Gently, folding your legs and pushing on your thighs to stabilize you, Husk then parted your folds with his free hand, his eyes locked on the sight before him. He took a deep breath, inhaling your sweet scent, which only intensified his desire. With a purposeful hunger, he removed his hand and opted to substitute it with his tongue.

He leaned in and licked you, his tongue exploring every inch of your folds, the sensation was supreme, especially with that unusual tongue of his. As the wet muscle adventures further in your nether’s, its odd texture only becomes more pleasurable.

Especially when he would suck at your clit and let the tip of his tongue dance around it as he did. Every stroke, every caress; they spoke volumes of his appreciation for your unwavering support.

Your breath hitched as pleasure slowlybegin to build into something bigger. The intensity of Husk's actions were overwhelming, and you couldn't help but moan in response.

"Husk, I..." you murmured, uncertain if you should continue, your voice trembling with a mix of lust, love, and ‘the obvious fact that he was making you feel too good to speak normally’. But before you could protest or anything like that, he silenced you with another expert stroke of his tongue, his eyes meeting yours with determination and love.

As Husk continued to pleasure you, he knew his actions were doing more than just giving you physical gratification; they were conveying his appreciation for your presence in his life—and that sentiment was mutually understood. And he loved that he could do it that way and you would both comprehend it.

Bringing back his hand into the mix , his skilled fingers—carefully used not to scratch you— and tongue worked in harmony, driving you towards a climax that mirrored the depth of his feelings. Your moans grew louder, filling the room with the sound of your pleasure, and he couldn’t help but relish in ‘those lovely noises of yours’.

With a final flick of his tongue, Husk drew you to the edge, your body arching in response. "That's it, baby" he whispered, his voice low and seductive, yet still comforting. "Let go for me, let me see you shine."

In that moment, you surrendered to the sensations coursing through you, your body trembling and your last scream of pleasure echoing in the room. Husk watched as you reached your peak, his heart swelling with pride…

As you begin to come down from your high but not quite over it yet, Husk couldn't help but marvel at the beautiful state your real ease had caused. His heart continued to race as he regained steady breathing after momentarily being out of air while devouring you, he couldn’t help but want to experience it again. Softly, he lifted your legs and placed them on his shoulders, giving himself better access to your glistening hole and folds.

“Wait, husk I-“ you begin after realizing the change in position but you were promptly cut off as husk begin to lap at your essence directly from the source.

"You deserve this, my love," he whispered, his voice hoarse with lust. "I want to make you feel good, as much as you've made me feel supported."

With renewed vigor, Husk dove in once more, his tongue tracing familiar paths and exploring new ones. Your breath jiggered, and your back arched as he took you on another sensual journey that started in overstimulation. His grip on your thighs tightened, his fingers digging into your skin, taking full control—you couldn’t run even if you want to.

He aims directly at your weak spot, and way he was sucking at your clit was just driving you absolutely mad. You gripped at his head, still unsure if you wanted to pull him away or bring him closer. He was precise and targeting but there was some hungry sloppiness to his technique.

As your second climax approached, Husk could feel your body tense, and he knew that he was about to witness something truly beautiful once more. Your cries of pleasure grew louder, and just as promised, the way your body convulsed and your face contorted was marvellous, what was not expected but still welcome was the fact that you had squirted, causing your arousal to coat his face and chest.

His eyes widened in awe, and he couldn't help but smirk at the sight. "Damn, you're something else." he said, his voice filled with want but also a little teasing tone to it.

Even as you settled back onto the bed flat, Husk couldn't shake off the image of squirting. His eyes locked on your glistening skin, and he knew that he wanted to see it again. His hand travel to your face, thumb brushing lips sensually, a longing look in his eyes "One more, my love," he whispered, his voice filled with determination. "I want to taste you again and see that beauty of yours unfold once more."

With a hunger that rivalled the one he had when bringing you to your first two climaxes, Husk dove in for the third time, his tongue seeking out your sensitive spots.

He craved the taste of your essence, the sound of your cries, and the sight of your strong release. You soon begin to trembled beneath him, quicker than previously but it was understandable, two orgasm in a row was about to make extra sensitive.

“Ah, fuck, Husk, it's too much!” You cried out in overstimulation.

“Shh, it's okay, baby, I know you can handle it,” he reassured, softly stroking the underside of your right thigh to offer comfort before getting his strong grip back on it.

As Husk continued to stimulate you, drawing you closer to nirvana, you found yourself liberated from all worries. In that moment, there was nowhere else you'd rather be.

As your third orgasm of the night peaked, you let out a final cry, your body convulsing with overwhelming euphoria. Once more, you squirted, coating Husk's face with your essence. This time, however, he caught most of your fluid in his moth and swallowed them, and the drops that didn’t make, he licked them off of you, his eyes close for an instances as he savoured your liquid arousal, then his eyes locked back on you.

"Oh, Husk," you breathed, your voice ragged with pleasure and emotion. "That was incredible."

He wiped the remaining droplets from his face with a satisfied grin and licked at it to make sure he gotten everything, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he said, his voice filled with love and satisfaction.

As you lay there, breathless and spent, Husk pulled you into his arms, his heart beating in his chest. Regaining back some of your sense, this scenery confused you a bit:

“What about you?” You inquired as he had yet to get release himself.

“Honestly the emotions and the time I spent between those sexy thighs of yours got me to tired to want anything more than to cuddle you right now.” he admired with a tired smile, which made giggle.

Your bodies still entwined, Husk leaned in and pressed his lips gently against yours. The kiss was soft, filled with love and appreciation, and it left you both feeling even more connected than before. Right here and there, you knew that despite the challenges you faced further down the road, you were in this together.

Slowly, Husk wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to his chest. The warmth of his embrace enveloped you, and you felt safe and loved in his arms. "Thank you, Y/N," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "The cuddling, reassuring words, and this; they really help me calm down and feel better. I know I can rely on you when you do these things, and I strongly hope you can on me."

You nestled your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Of course I do, and don’t forget—I'll always be here for you, Husk," you promised, your voice filled with reassurance. "No matter what comes our way, I'll have your back, just like you do for me."

As the two cuddled and basking in the afterglow of your shared euphoria, you knew that your bond had grown stronger. Nothing could bother the two of you right now—except perhaps the fact that you would have to get up to bathe and change the sheets soon, but that was a problem for the ‘30 minutes to one hour future yous.’

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a battered light (can only burn so bright) | sunday x reader

summary: it truly was only a matter of time before he burnt himself out, wasn't it? pairing: sunday x reader word count: 4.5k (help me) notes: the self-indulgent brain worms influenced me i am so sorry. you give sunday a wing massage and he clearly has Mixed Feelings about it all. is he yearning? is he just stubborn? the world may never know.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

A blanket of starlight had wrapped itself around the Dewlight Pavilion, the ethereal glow illuminated ever brighter by the governing moon.

On such peaceful nights like this, solace for the fatigued was all too simple to acquire for those who sought it, yet even still, there remained those who did not yet allow themselves the luxury of rest whenever daylight grew dim.

It was just such a terrible pity that the Head of the Oak Family was one of them—a conclusion strengthened by the restless, focused, and very much still awake Halovian displayed before you.

“Mr. Sunday,” you called for him as you balanced a silver tray in your arms, hoping to garner his attention.

Your hopes were soon drowned out by the clatter of footsteps as they treaded to-and-fro against wooden floorboards, a pace that hardly ever changed in stride and never once dared to cease.

The sight laid before your eyes was a troubling one; Sunday was in the midst of sizing up his miniscule-scale model of the Golden Hour, his weary eyes roaming over the elaborate diorama as he muttered words that fell upon your ears like muddled verses of a foreign poem.

It was also a sight that you, unfortunately, were growing all too familiar with.

When the two birds of a feather had been reunited by the scarred hands of dormancy days prior, you quite naturally—and quite foolishly—had believed they had snatched away the tension that rested upon Sunday's shoulders in exchange.

It hadn't.

The scattered plumes of both deep purple and white, the likes of which were now haphazardly skirting themselves beneath the premises of the table Sunday paced around, had already given that away, after all.

Wordlessly, you avoided trampling any of the fallen feathers by the grace of your careful footing, and you settled the tray that carried both a cup of tea and a small plate of freshly cut strawberries—Robin had let it slip that he was fond of them once before—upon his desk in the room above, before descending the stairs and continuing to observe the madness before you.

Once you decided you could no longer bear the burden of playing a helpless bystander for much longer, you took a step forward and gently tapped Sunday upon his shoulder.

Sunday's feathers bristled in reaction to the abrupt touch, but his gaze softened once he turned around to face the source.

“Ah, do forgive me, please,” he began with a cordial, apologetic smile, his eyes tearing away from the model to glance at the tray. “I must've forgotten about this evening's tea.”

“If it clears your conscience any, I nearly forgot to start brewing it.” you admitted.

“Is that so?” Sunday hummed in response, nearly bewildered by your confession. “Hm, perhaps I should allow for a bit more leniency in the schedule...”

You frowned at the self-deprecating chuckle that left his lips, but you resisted making a remark. Without a further word spoken, you sat down in the chair that he had graciously pulled out for you, planted right next to his desk.

Peeking over at the files he was so adamantly focused upon, a small smile graced your lips at the underlined and emboldened heading, proudly declaring the parchment's title of ’Charmony Festival Preparations’.

“I can see why your memory slipped,” you mused, hoping to stave off any suffocating silence. “It’s an exciting thing to be in charge of something so memorable, isn’t it?”

Sunday tensed, a flicker of something unreadable dimming the usual poised gleam of his golden eyes.

“It... most certainly will be a festival one shall never forget.” Sunday finally replied.

You decided against inquiring as to why his wings had betrayed him, a subtle twitch disrupting their perfectly mundane flutter.

You also decided against dwelling upon the pitiful sight of gaps between his feathers.

As Sunday picked up his pen to scribble something upon the documents, a frown crossed your lips as you noted the way his eyes, with their appearance already marred by the evidence of lack of proper rest, had their corners crinkled from overexertion.

The remnants of a dying flame lingered upon the nearby candelabra’s wick, before extinguishing itself with a forlorn puff of smoke. As the light diminished further within the room, Sunday’s eyes squinted.

With a frown creasing your lips, you finally decided to speak up.

“Sir, if you’d like, I could relight the candle?”

Sunday paused to look up at you, shaking his head in light of your concern. “You really needn’t go through the trouble.” As your unwavering gaze met his, the visible extent of your worry piercing through his obstinate resolve, Sunday promptly faltered. “...but, of course, if you’re so insistent, I won't stop you.”

You nodded before getting up to scour his office for a matchstick, acquiring one with relative ease. As you struck the match against the igniter, you waited for the head to mingle with the worn-down wick with a steady hand.

Your focus soon fell upon Sunday’s weary countenance.

He was much akin to his candle, you reckoned—meant to burn bright for all to see, yet the burdens of his extensive obligations had weighed his benevolent, ever-giving wick down to a charred stub; whenever he had wavered, so, too, did his light.

And, much like a moth enraptured by a kindled flame, you, like most any other Dreamscape denizen, had clung to the luster he meticulously weaved from the luminance of his candle. Nonetheless, his elevated status hadn’t hidden that he was as helplessly human as those he served, and that even he, too, needed a lamppost to sturdy himself upon.

You wondered if he ever allowed himself to acknowledge such logic.

Once the match finally ignited the wick, you silenced your internal musing with a sigh, snuffing the lingering embers upon the wooden stick with a flick of your wrist.

As you set the candelabra back down onto his desk, it was then that you noted the still untouched cup of tea.

“Your tea must be getting cold by now...”

Sunday’s attention drifted away from his paperwork, and he glanced over at the cup. “Ah, right...” he hummed in acknowledgment, studying it carefully. “It’s chamomile, I presume?”

“As evident by the pigment, yes.”

“And the bitter leaves have been amplified by a squeezed lemon, correct?”

“Of course.”

“Thoroughly stirred, though not too harshly?”

“Only the gentlest of stirrings for you, sir.”

“That’s my wonderful assistant,” Sunday mused with a tired smile, lifting the drink up to his lips and taking a small sip from it, before setting it back down. “Life is quite more convenient when everything is coordinated as it should be, isn’t it?”

You nodded at his observation, all too familiar with the principles he's uttered before in the past. “It does have its perks.”

Sunday stirred the spoon in his cup around in slow circles, his expression growing unreadable.

“So, it truly is a shame whenever something disrupts how things ought to be...”

“You’ve... mentioned that before, yes.” you replied, hesitantly clinging onto his every word.

Sunday hummed as he took another sip. As he refreshed the tea against his palate, his eyebrows narrowed in concentration, prompting his lips to form a frown.

“I’ve noticed the sugar you've been sprinkling in.”

“And I’ve noticed that you've begun to molt.” you quickly retorted without much thought. It was childish, yes, you knew, but perhaps your hasty tongue had a point.

The Halovian stiffened at your remark.

“I beg your pardon?”

Your confidence wavered as Sunday’s eyebrows furrowed, yet your shame was outweighed by your concern.

“The floor is littered with proof, and as pristine as you keep your appearance, it’s hard to cover up unevenness caused by fallen feathers," you paused, your focus drifting from the wings near his temples to fall upon his paperwork. “And, given the stress that normally accompanies festival preparations...”

Sunday’s tongue clicked in frustration at the implication.

“Whether or not I was stressed—or even molting, for that matter—my feathers should hardly be any of your concern,” he replied, his voice trailing off as he eyed your approaching hands.

In a swift motion, he pinned your wrists down against the desk, a counteraction made in desperation to prevent them from reaching their destination.

“...and I would appreciate it if you kindly refrained from touching them.”

You tried your best to recoil one of your hands away, but they wouldn't move—how could they, when they now sought the mercy of his restrictive grasp?

Even as Sunday’s palms cordially arranged for your wrists to be wed to the wooden surface, however, you didn't budge. “Were this over anything else, I would gladly listen, but given the fact that you’ll need someone to help you safely-”

Sunday’s eyes squeezed themselves shut in frustration.

“Beloved assistant of mine, please do not be so obstinate.”

As the Halovian's hold upon your wrists gradually softened, you snatched them back to your sides.

“I learn from the worst.” you murmured.

Sunday let out a soft sigh in response before returning to his paperwork. A part of you wondered why you even dared to bother vocalizing your concern.

Nonetheless, in the ever-growing silence, it was only then that you realized how truly worn out the Halovian had appeared. The dark circles underneath his eyes and the missing feathers had been telltale signs, but even his countenance had changed; beneath his layers of practiced, superficial perfection, you could sense that he was exhausted beyond both your unwavering understanding and his intentional ignorance.

Your heart sunk to the pit of your stomach as your eyes caught themselves on the sight of dried blood in the center of one of the gaps in his feathers, before they reluctantly tore themselves away. It was hardly like him to ignore his appearance to such an extent.

A sigh crossed your lips as you focused upon a droplet of heated wax, witnessing it roll off the surface of the pitiful candle and onto the table.

You couldn’t hold your tongue for much longer.

“Sir, you really should examine your wings.”

“I hardly have the luxury of time on my side,” Sunday countered swiftly. “Were it not for the preparations, I would've already-”

“Then, please, at least let me try?” you interjected without second thought.

Sunday’s gaze tore away from his desk to stare at you, unblinking, as if you had just uttered the most irrational thing possible, and perhaps you indeed had—an offer made in haste could surely be considered as such, couldn't it?

“Did I not already beg you not to do so?”

“You did, but as your assistant, I’ve known you long enough to be certain you’ll just prioritize perfecting the festival over your own well-being, so...” you stared at the spot once more before glancing back at him. “Please.”

Sunday shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he pondered your offer, his wings twitching from what you assumed was contemplation. He parted his lips to speak, only to draw out a mere reluctant sigh.

Slowly, Sunday opened one of the drawers to his desk, pulling out a cloth and a spray bottle, before holding out his hand with the two items bundled together within his grasp. As he motioned for you to take the items with a nudge of his hand, you noted that his eyes never once met yours.

“Thank you.” you said with a soft smile.

Recalling the multiple occasions you had witnessed him clean his wings, as well as the knowledge you secretly procured from handbooks on Halovian biology, you spritzed the water upon the cloth and held it a few inches away from Sunday’s wing, all memories of the least intrusive methods coming to mind.

As you pressed the cloth against the surface, a sharp breath had made you halt.

“Forgive me.” Sunday muttered. “As you can tell, it’s... been a while.”

You nodded, all questions dying upon your tongue for the sake of his comfort, before gently dabbing the cloth against the spot, wiping away the bloody inequity and restoring his pristine visage.

Setting the cloth down on the desk, you smiled. “And... done.”

“Ah, thank you kindly.”

A small portion of your worry had ebbed away at in light of the relief in his voice, but returned with a vengeance once you remembered the sight of the disastrous floor from moments prior. As your gaze trailed away from him and towards the dark purple feathers that dotted the floor right next to those of cloudy white, Sunday’s gaze had soon followed.

Inquiries regarding their condition formulated themselves without much prompting within your mind, but you couldn’t dare speak them out loud.

Not when he had already been so stubborn over his first set of wings.

Not when he had already faltered so strongly in his breathing, a pattern you associated with immense discomfort.

In the absence of all conversation, you both tirelessly danced around the inevitable before something finally had to give.

“The festival has been, admittedly, more of a... project than I could’ve ever expected,” Sunday began, droning off with an awkward, tensed chuckle. “...and I suppose that, perhaps, amidst the madness of it all, the matter of my wings’ upkeep must’ve slipped my mind...”

“I... I see.” you acknowledged his words with a soft hum, accepting his unlikely-to-be-true excuse without further prompting.

Sunday sighed as his hands absentmindedly fidgeted with his gloves to smooth out an invisible crease, before he finally continued.

“The upkeep of a Halovian’s wings just hardly isn’t a thing to entrust so lightly to another being, you see, and I just, I...” his voice trailed off. 

The eyes that were once so keenly intent on scrutinizing the floor beneath his feet soon met yours.

Had you of been anyone else, you would've surely melted under his weary gaze, but no, quite frankly you couldn't and most definitely shouldn't, for you were merely his assistant, and such feelings must not be stoked by any such foolish thing-

“If I absolutely must trust another soul with such a hefty responsibility, I suppose it would indeed be you.” Sunday finally murmured.

You were startled, to say the least. Hurriedly, you gleaned for any signs of hesitance upon his features, finding nothing except a softness in his eyes that you prayed was not drawn from reverence.

“And you're sure of this, sir?”

Sunday hesitated, his expression unreadable before finally, he nodded.

As Sunday arose from his chair to stretch his stagnant muscles, intent on ridding himself of his white coat, he had reached for his shoulder with a barely-suppressed wince. Without thinking, you rushed over to his side, cupping the top of his shoulder with your palm, attempting to gently work off the sleeveless coat for him.

Seemingly frightened by the abrupt touch, Sunday breathed in sharply, hastily brushing your hand off of his shoulder before his picture-perfect poise could shatter.

“Please,” he murmured tersely, his hand still protectively grasping his clothing. “I believe I can handle doing this part myself.”

You nodded as you slowly stepped back, resting your treacherous hands at your sides.

As Sunday worked the snow-colored coat off of his shoulders, he grabbed the discarded garment and folded it into a neat square before putting it up on his desk, then focused on the silvery blazer that had laid beneath.

After a few moments spent fumbling with his multiple layers, Sunday was now stripped down to his dark turtleneck.

Your eyes fell upon the sight of the dark blue, wing-like vest that wrapped itself around his waist, and just as you were about to ask if they were yet another layer he had to remove, you froze once the ‘vest’ had shifted and twitched.

“Are those...?”

Sunday noted your confusion and shook his head, his fingers working diligently to unwrap the clinging, restrictive article of clothing.

What had twitched underneath the vest was a pair of deep purple wings, their plumes matching the pigments of what was strewn beneath you. As beautiful as the appendages were, the difference between their standard of upkeep compared the likes of which rested above his temples were like night and day.

A part of you wondered if, for whatever unspoken reason, he was ashamed of them.

The Halovian tensed under the weight of your prying gaze, trying to relax to force the dormant plumage awake as he averted his sight. “I know what you must be thinking,” he whispered, his voice taut from the effort. “...but I beg of you, please do not pry.”

Your heart ached at the way he struggled with the furled appendages.

“Do you... require assistance?”

“I...” Sunday fussed with the tight wrap once more, before reluctantly nodding. “I suppose.”

Your hands were quick to approach the wings, intent on massaging the tension out of their pinions so that they'd might unfurl.

The very moment a disgruntled, screechy craw from a raven rung from above, however, Sunday had faltered and hastily smoothened his garments back down, urging your hands to shy away.

You turned to face the direction of the sudden disruption, before tilting your head at Sunday, wondering why he seemed so distraught by the avian's call.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Yes, there is something wrong!” Sunday snapped, before his tone softened. “This... this is improper ! To have convinced myself to allow you to touch my primary wings was one thing, but this...” his voice broke off as he glanced down at his unsightly feathers. “...this... I truly never should've...”

A frown etched itself upon your lips at his sudden change of heart.

“I’m sorry, sir. I know a Halovian's wings are...” you hesitated, vividly recalling the multiple times he had recoiled at your touch. “...sensitive. I’ve studied handbooks once before, and-”

Surprise briefly flashed in his eyes at your admission, before his face hardened into a disapproving scowl the moment he interrupted you.

“You mean to tell me that you’ve studied handbooks upon such a topic, and yet still, you allow yourself to willingly fall victim to the whims of compliance over my foolish fallacies?” he sputtered, his tone abrasive. “You should've stopped me, for heaven’s sake!”

Irked by the criticism, you, too, began to bristle.

“If this truly is so wrong in your eyes, then did you really ever wish for my assistance?”

Startled by the bite in your words, Sunday bit back any further protests, swallowing down his anxious ire. Loneliness had been his home for so long, and your touch was nearly a dangerous siren's call—he couldn't truly bear the thought of losing such a privilege.

The puffed up, bristling feathers of Sunday’s higher wings smoothened themselves back down as he steadied himself, flexing his fingers against his palms.

“Please, just get on with it.”

“Thank you.” you whispered before leaning forward, your hands delicately palming the fragile cartilage of his wings as you tried to help them unbind themselves. Reluctantly, Sunday flexed them against your touch, trying to encourage them to spread.

“Still, this is all so... terribly insolent,” Sunday muttered through gritted teeth.

You stilled your efforts, desperately wishing you knew why he was so resistant to your assistance.

“Are you absolutely certain you want me to do this?”

Sunday winced from the loss of motion, the loss of blissful touch against the very surface that yearned for it, no less, and he was far too quick to nod his head.

“Yes, of course. Loathe as I am to confess such a thing, this... truly is a process that must be done,” he replied, his breath wavering. “It’s hardly your fault that I’ve been so... neglectful.”

As your hands tenderly helped work the cartilage to awaken, massaging the spots you figured must’ve been sore, it only took moments later for them to finally loosen from their protective stance.

Dark, raven-like wings, pigmented like the glimmering skies of midnight, had blossomed forth from Sunday’s sides and splayed themselves before you. Battered and bristled as they were, they were nonetheless a breathtaking view.

As the deep purple plumages fanned themselves out like curtains, you gaped with pity at the sight of the clipped plumes, the multiple defects marring an otherwise symmetrical pair of wings. A remark formulated itself upon your tongue, but died upon your lips once Sunday acknowledged your staring with a slight grimace, as if he could guess what you were nearly about to say.

You continued to stare at his fragile feathers with unwavering wonder.

“Your wings are truly beautiful, sir.” you whispered adoringly.

Sunday turned around to bare his back before you instead, swift enough to conceal the rush of both shame and bashfulness that had abruptly invaded his features.

Gently, you reached your hand forth and tentatively brushed against his plumage.

“Careful.” Sunday reminded you with a slight wince.

You nodded at his warning and reached for the cloth with your other hand, dabbing the damp material against any dried spots of blood where his plumes had fallen out, before placing it back down after you finished tending to them.

Your touch was light, delicate, as your fingertips mapped a path forged by concern against the surface of his wings, seeking out any broken feathers as you sought to soothe as many of his aches as you could.

Unbeknownst to you, your very touch was both a soothing balm for Sunday’s miseries and a temptatious instigator for a stirring within his very core.

Brushing past a sore spot located at the starting muscles of his wings had ripped a soft gasp from Sunday’s throat, and quickly, you stopped.

“Does it hurt?” you asked quietly.

“No, no, just...” he breathed out, distracting himself by how heavenly your hands had felt. “If you would just kindly massage them, that'd be-”

Before he could finish his sentence, you worked your thumbs carefully against the cartilage's base, inadvertently rendering him silent, save for a few tender, wavering breaths.

Your hands worked practical miracles against the bothersome likes of his tension, snuffing them out by the source as they brushed up and down the entirety of his wingspan, your body pressed close to his for better grounds.

As your breath cascaded upon the back of his neck, your fingers delved deeper against his muscles. “I hope this is enough...”

Sunday swallowed thickly at your closeness. “Oh, dearest assistant, you...” he paused, clearing his throat. “You haven’t the faintest idea how much of a blessing this is to me.”

Slowly but surely, Sunday’s ever faithful front of ‘perfection’ had bared its frayed threads before you and unraveled itself by its fragile seams, leaving the fate of his precious, oft-concealed vulnerability within your tender hands.

Every trembling breath at each pass of your hands, along with every visible tremor of his bones in wake of your care, had clawed further at your heart, constricting its cage with concern.

Weathered down by his responsibilities and blemished by the expectations placed upon his shoulders as he was, it was clear that he was blind to how thin he had worn down the wick of his perseverance—the very structure of his charitable soul.

Finally satisfied with the sight of relaxed feathers displayed before your very eyes, your hands had retreated back to your sides, and as sudden awareness of your close proximity washed over you like a rebuking flood, you hastily moved yourself away.

Sunday had turned around to face you, his pale skin flushed as he shifted his weight from side to side. The moonlight that filtered through the Pavilion's windows seemed to enhance his ethereal beauty, the glow of the evening catching upon his halo and permitting it to shimmer like an ever-glittering star.

“I must ask,” Sunday began quietly, his gaze fleeting about the room, from the candle, to the barely-sipped cup of tea, even to the untouched plate of strawberries. “Why did you do this all for me? Surely, there must be something you need in exchange...”

You shook your head and frowned at his words. Why did he believe an act of goodwill had such a price to pay?

With so many words you wanted to say and a plethora of woes over his wellbeing you wanted to profess, you held your tongue and swallowed down the bitter medley of trepidation, fearful of shattering the tenderness that graced this rare moment of solitude.

Surely, one day, there would come an opportunity where you could properly formulate all of your thoughts, but this night was far from being that night.

“It’s just that you’ve been working tirelessly these past few days in preparation for the Charmony Festival,” you began, eying the stack of paperwork that laid in a neat pile upon his desk, before turning back to him. “...and it seems to be my obligation to at least try to remind you to take a break.”

“I’m sure I would’ve remembered to take one eventually...” Sunday protested weakly, as if he himself hadn't believed his words.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Perhaps, once you’ve finally burnt yourself out.”

Sunday’s head wings lowered themselves with a meek display of shame upon being put under such conviction.

As his eyes flitted away from yours, far too sheepish to meet your perceptive gaze, you took a step forward and, without much thought behind your all too forward actions, you wrapped your arms delicately around his waist.

Feeling your familiar touch snake around his sides as it enveloped him into a warm, blissful embrace, Sunday stiffened.

You gulped as he tensed against your grasp.

“Forgive me,” you whispered an apology against his chest, careful to not overwhelm him with any further skin contact. “...you just looked as if you needed one.”

Sunday took a few moments to steady his breathing before responding. “I... suppose I did.”

You watched as, with trembling footsteps, Sunday dragged you both backwards, before stopping to allow himself to sit back down in his chair.

His gloved hands clenched at his sides before finding purchase on the tops of your shoulders, pushing you down so that you'd settle against his lap—adjusting you accordingly so it wouldn't look conspicuous—before finally reciprocating the hug.

Completely unsure of what to do with his hands, Sunday had freed one of them to lift your head up with a shaky palm, his cold glove a soothing touch against your chin.

With ever-softening glances being exchanged, the weight of so many unspoken confessions had hung in the balance of the room's silence, but to your surprise, you hardly minded at all. Sunday’s eyes were briefly drawn to your lips before he forced himself out of his stupor, resisting the deafening call of the tender temptation with a soft clearance of his throat.

It was for the best, however—you really weren't sure if you could've resisted the notion of leaning forward yourself.

You were startled as the top of Sunday's head brushed against the underside of your chin, leaning his face down so he could rest the side of his cheek against your chest, breathing softly as he melded himself close to you, cocooning you both together within the vast expanse of his wings.

“I... I truly thank the heavens upon every moment I remember that you're in my life,” Sunday murmured fondly.

Ignoring the abrupt, intrusive flutter in your chest, your arms strengthened the secure hold they possessed against his form.

“I feel much the same, Sunday.”

In the silence of the night, you held each other close, the beat of your own synchronized hearts as you clung to one another the only melody worth dwelling upon.

Even if you couldn't outright plead for him to be more mindful of his limits and capabilities—that his singular light was not enough to shoulder the burdens he subjected himself to, let alone be strong enough illuminate the entire sky—you were grateful that in your arms, he could find his ever-fleeting, redeeming solace.

In that moment, it was enough.

It had to be enough.

[clericofgale]

I was planning on writing something serious about Gale...but this came out instead. I have no idea why I'm posting something so unhinged. It's only Gale that make me this way. I sincerely believe Gale is a switch at heart, but since I've seen many wonderful treatises on bottom Gale I think I'll do the other side.

In this post I shall prove why Gale would make a great Dom/top and what I think he'd enjoy. NSFW.

This man is compassionate, open-minded, empathetic, and interested in your pleasure. He is a consent god. All traits of a S-tier dom. He'd be the supportive yet firm type. It's not only Halsin that exudes that energy, I think Gale does too! In my experience types like Gale are usually very good at it. Being a good top requires a good base of knowledge of the human psyche and anatomy. You're basically a sex nerd hacking brain chemicals while doing elaborate roleplay, and Gale is no stranger to research, and taking notes. You need good empathy to gain insight on your partner and feel what they might be feeling. It's very important for knowing when to stop. Being interested in your pleasure means he won't be purely taking. Good play to me is all about swapping and blending each other's energy and being a two-way street.

You always liked the idea of being worshipped. Adored. Obeyed...

This is a line from origin Gale that the player can choose. This man wants to be a god. He wants to be worshipped, and if he can't get that in the form of godhood I don't see why that can't be indulged elsewhere...

Speaking of indulging, when you tell Gale you prefer him naked at the party, he'll reply "I'll be sure to indulge you when you get home." with a smirk. And the teasing kiss where you are denied until Gale reciprocates is prime control material. He would enjoy teasing and denial.

He's a giver because he wants you to come undone and into a puddle of mess. He wishes to find your limits, what makes you tick and what doesn't. He will study every reaction, every weakness...and use it against you. He is an artist and your sounds of pleasure his notes in his newest piece. Gale would enjoy using his oratory talents to overstimulate you to tears, hands gripping your legs tight so you can't escape. You'll be teetering on the edge of wanting him to stop, but he never crests over the limit.

Look at the astral scene! He didn't lose concentration the whole time. Gale would love long elaborate scenes involving illusions. He enjoys showing you the wonders and limits of magic, things you've never seen before. The reassuring way he tells you to not be afraid because he's here with you during the boat scene is the exact tone he'd use while blowing your mind. Imagine the tools he will have at his disposal. Evrad's black tentacles? Mage hand? Simalcrum?

He's a teacher at heart, and have you heard the way he says "very good" during the weave teaching scene?? This man will be using praise and encouragements when you're most vulnerable. Gale enjoys positive reinforcement to get you to submit. Why use harsh words and punishments to get things done, when he can make you kneel all on your own? His buffing lines includes things like "Go on, excel" and "make me proud", and you do so very want to make him proud.

You just know he's great at aftercare. He's the only one to even think of bedding while bedding you, after all. He will always have reassuring words, or a fun joke to break the tension, and plenty of fluffy blankets on a warm bed.

In conclusion, Gale (especially postgame mortal Gale) would be great as a dom and thank you for coming to my unhinged Ted talk. *Bows*

[novaursa]

Flames in the West

- Summary: During the royal hunt in honor of Aegon's second nameday, you insult a lion and gain his attention.

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: for better or worse

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The day of Aegon’s second nameday dawned with the bright promise of revelry and spectacle. The sprawling woods outside the king’s hunting pavilion were alive with the sounds of horns, the bark of hounds, and the murmur of lords and ladies dressed in their finery. You stood at the edge of the gathering with Ser Gwayne Hightower, your reluctant escort for the day, though his easy demeanor made him bearable company.

Your sister, Rhaenyra, had stalked off toward her horse earlier, muttering darkly about the endless flattery and sycophancy that came with these events. You suspected she wouldn’t stay long before riding off into the woods on her own—leaving you to observe the spectacle.

It was then that you noticed him: Lord Jason Lannister, his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight as he approached Rhaenyra with a swagger that could rival a peacock. His crimson-and-gold doublet was immaculate, embroidered with lions rampant that caught the light with every movement. Even from a distance, you could see the self-assured smirk on his face as he stepped into your sister’s path.

“Is he…?” you murmured, your lips curving in a bemused smile.

“About to make a fool of himself?” Gwayne supplied with a smirk of his own. “Most certainly.”

You leaned forward slightly, ears straining to catch the words exchanged between them. Jason was in the midst of an elaborate speech about Casterly Rock, the grandeur of the West, and how “a future queen deserves a home as magnificent as her station.” Rhaenyra’s expression shifted from polite disinterest to outright disdain.

“I have no need for Casterly Rock, my lord,” she said icily, cutting through his rehearsed charm. “And even less need for a husband chosen for his wealth.”

Jason faltered, but only briefly. “But surely, Princess, you would consider—”

“No.” Rhaenyra’s reply was final, leaving Jason standing there, stunned, as she brushed past him and disappeared into the crowd.

You couldn’t help it. A laugh bubbled up in your throat, and before you could stop yourself, you remarked loudly enough for Jason to hear, “Well, that was a rather pathetic display for the Lord of Casterly Rock.”

Jason turned on his heel, his eyes narrowing as they landed on you. “I beg your pardon?” he said, his voice tight with indignation.

“Oh, don’t mind her, my lord,” Gwayne interjected, though his grin betrayed his amusement. “She’s just an avid observer of courtly theatrics.”

You raised an eyebrow, meeting Jason’s glare with a smirk. “If you’re going to woo a dragon, my lord, you might consider bringing more than your… oversized ego.”

Jason’s lips pressed into a thin line, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—amusement, perhaps? “And what would you suggest, Princess? Shall I compose a sonnet or slay a dragon for her favor?”

“Considering you’ve already wounded her ears with your drivel, a heroic feat might be a welcome change,” you shot back.

Gwayne chuckled openly now, clearly enjoying the exchange. Jason, however, took a step closer, his broad shoulders squared and his gaze unwavering. “I’ll have you know, Princess, that I am perfectly capable of charming anyone I set my sights on.”

You tilted your head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Anyone, you say? And yet here you are, rejected by one sister and attempting to defend your honor to the other. Perhaps you should aim lower, my lord. The kennel master’s daughter might appreciate your… charms.”

Jason laughed, the sound surprising you with its warmth. “Ah, so you’ve claws as sharp as your sister’s tongue. Tell me, do all Targaryen women delight in tormenting men, or is it just the two of you?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Gwayne stepped in, raising a hand. “My lord, if you value your pride, I suggest you retreat now. She’s only warming up.”

Jason gave Gwayne a pointed look but then turned back to you, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I think I enjoy the challenge.”

Before you could muster a retort, Gwayne gently took your arm. “Come, Princess. Let’s leave the lion to lick his wounds.”

As the two of you walked away, Gwayne leaned in conspiratorially. “You do realize he enjoyed every moment of that, don’t you?”

You glanced over your shoulder to see Jason watching you, his smile still lingering. “If that’s what he considers enjoyable,” you muttered, shaking your head, “the man must lead a very dull life.”

“And yet,” Gwayne said, grinning, “he’s still watching you.”

You refused to turn around again, though the faintest blush colored your cheeks. “Perhaps he’s hoping for another lesson in humility.”

“Or perhaps,” Gwayne said, his voice teasing, “he’s already planning his next move.”

The thought unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

The royal pavilion was an elaborate affair of black-and-red drapery, with King Viserys seated at its heart, a goblet of wine in one hand and a faint scowl on his face. He leaned back in his chair, the weight of the day pressing heavily on his shoulders. Around him, lords and attendants bustled, speaking in low tones or presenting trifles meant to curry favor.

Lord Jason Lannister strode in with the kind of confidence that only a man from the richest house in Westeros could muster. His polished boots clicked against the floorboards as he carried a gleaming spear in both hands, its shaft carved from rare duskwood and tipped with gold. The weapon practically gleamed with opulence.

“Your Grace,” Jason began, bowing low as he approached. “A small token to commemorate Prince Aegon’s nameday and the hunt. Forged in the Golden Gallery by the finest smiths of the Rock.”

Viserys straightened slightly, his eyes appraising the craftsmanship of the spear. It was magnificent, he had to admit, and he gave a slow nod of approval. “Impressive work, Lord Jason. My son will no doubt treasure it—assuming he doesn’t poke someone’s eye out first.”

A ripple of polite laughter passed through the tent, but Jason’s expression remained serious. He placed the spear on a stand near the king, then clasped his hands behind his back. “Your Grace, if I may, there is another matter I wish to discuss.”

Viserys’s groan was barely concealed. “If this is about my daughter Rhaenyra, I’ll save us both the trouble and tell you what I’ve told every other lord who’s come sniffing around her skirts: she will choose when the time comes. Until then, my answer is no.”

Jason blinked, caught off guard, before recovering with a polite smile. “Ah, Your Grace, I fear there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m not here to petition for the hand of Princess Rhaenyra.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Lord Lyonel Strong, who stood quietly by his side. “You’re not?” he asked, suspicion creeping into his tone.

“No, Your Grace,” Jason clarified, a flicker of nervousness breaking through his usual confidence. “My petition concerns your younger daughter, Princess Y/N.”

There was a beat of stunned silence in the pavilion. Viserys froze mid-sip of his wine, his goblet hovering in the air as if he hadn’t heard correctly. Beside him, Lyonel’s bushy brows climbed so high they nearly vanished into his hairline.

“My… youngest daughter?” Viserys repeated slowly, as though Jason had just declared his intention to marry a dragon.

Jason nodded firmly. “Yes, Your Grace. Princess Y/N.”

Viserys blinked, leaning forward in his chair. “Are you certain? Because if memory serves, my youngest daughter stood beside her sister not two hours ago, calling you”—he paused, as though recalling the exact phrasing—“ah yes, an ‘overdressed peacock with the wit of a trout.’”

A murmur of stifled laughter rippled through the pavilion, and even Lyonel coughed into his hand to mask a grin. Jason, however, didn’t so much as flinch.

“She did, Your Grace,” Jason admitted, his expression resolute. “And yet, I find myself more determined than ever.”

Viserys stared at him, utterly baffled. “Are you a glutton for punishment, Lord Jason? Because I can assure you, my youngest daughter is no more likely to flatter your ego than her sister.”

Jason offered a crooked smile, his usual bravado tinged with surprising sincerity. “It is not flattery I seek, Your Grace. Your younger daughter possesses a sharp wit and a keen mind, traits I’ve come to admire. I am quite serious in my intentions.”

Viserys leaned back in his chair, gesturing vaguely toward Lyonel. “Do you hear this, Lord Strong? The man brings me a spear, not for Rhaenyra, not even for Aegon, but to chase after a girl who just insulted him to his face.”

Lyonel cleared his throat, his expression carefully neutral. “It is… bold, Your Grace.”

“Bold is one word for it,” Viserys muttered, shaking his head. “Mad, perhaps, is another.”

Jason, undeterred, stepped forward. “I am prepared to prove my worth, Your Grace. If the princess wishes to insult me again, I will accept it gladly. But my resolve will not waver.”

Viserys rubbed his temples, sighing deeply. “You are either the bravest or the most foolish man in Westeros, Lord Jason.”

“Perhaps both, Your Grace,” Jason replied with a self-deprecating chuckle.

The king exchanged another look with Lyonel, who shrugged as if to say, Well, stranger things have happened. Finally, Viserys waved a hand. “Fine. I’ll not stop you from trying, but don’t come crying to me when she brands you an imbecile and sends you packing.”

Jason bowed low, his grin returning. “Thank you, Your Grace. I assure you, I am up to the challenge.”

As Jason left the tent, Lyonel turned to Viserys with a raised eyebrow. “Do you think he’ll survive?”

Viserys snorted into his wine. “If he does, it’ll be a miracle. Or perhaps I’ll need to have Maesters on hand for the bruises to his pride.”

The day was alive with the energy of the hunt: the baying of hounds, the sharp trill of horns, and the crunch of boots and hooves on the forest floor. The air was crisp and carried the faint smell of pine and damp earth. You strode alongside your father, King Viserys, as you always did during royal hunts, clad in a practical riding outfit that allowed for movement but still bore the Targaryen sigil embroidered on your chest. A bow was slung over your shoulder, and you carried yourself with ease, ignoring the glances from the courtiers trailing behind.

Ahead of you, Viserys chatted animatedly with Otto Hightower, who appeared more interested in keeping pace than engaging in the conversation. Behind you, Lord Jason Lannister loomed, his usual swagger muted as he kept his eyes firmly on you.

“Forgive me, Princess,” Jason began, his tone overly polite as he fell into step beside you, “but I must say, it’s unusual for a lady—let alone a princess—to partake in something as… rough as a hunt.”

You turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “Unusual, perhaps, to someone who knows only boring ladies.”

Jason blinked, caught off guard by your quick retort, but he recovered swiftly. “I wouldn’t call them boring, Princess. Simply more… traditional.”

You snorted, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Traditional? You mean they sit around embroidering lions and gossiping about who wore the finest gown at the last feast?”

Jason opened his mouth to respond, but you cut him off. “I assure you, Lord Jason, I would rather face a charging boar than suffer through another discussion about the texture of Dornish silks.”

Ahead of you, Viserys glanced over his shoulder, clearly enjoying the exchange. “You’ve done it now, Lord Jason,” he called back, a grin tugging at his lips. “You’ve given her an opening.”

Otto smirked faintly but said nothing, his sharp eyes flicking between you and the Lannister lord. Jason cleared his throat, determined to press on. “I only meant that it’s rare to find a princess with such… unconventional tastes.”

“Unconventional?” you echoed, your tone laced with mock offense. “Is it unconventional to enjoy the thrill of a hunt, or are you implying that princesses should stick to sipping wine and giggling behind fans?”

Jason hesitated, visibly choosing his words with care. “I would never suggest such a thing. Only that—well, most ladies of your station prefer less hazardous pastimes.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, though a smirk played on your lips. “Ah, so you think me incapable of handling the hazards? Shall I remind you, my lord, that I have participated in hunts since I was a child? Or would you like a demonstration?”

Jason’s lips twitched into a smile, despite himself. “I’ve no doubt of your skill, Princess. But surely there are better ways to spend one’s time?”

“Better than this?” you asked, gesturing to the sprawling woods around you. “And what would you suggest, Lord Jason? Lounging in a gilded hall while you regale me with tales of Casterly Rock’s grandeur?”

Viserys let out a bark of laughter, clapping Otto on the shoulder. “I told you, Otto. She’s got her mother’s fire. Poor lad doesn’t stand a chance.”

Otto hummed thoughtfully, his amusement plain. “It seems the Lannisters are as persistent as they are wealthy.”

Jason straightened, clearly aware of the audience but unwilling to back down. “Perhaps persistence is exactly what’s needed to win a Targaryen’s favor.”

You tilted your head, feigning contemplation. “Perhaps. Though persistence without substance is just a louder way to waste my time.”

That earned a round of chuckles from the hunters nearby, and even Viserys shook his head in mock pity. Jason, to his credit, took the jibe in stride, his smile unwavering. “Then perhaps you’d allow me to prove my substance, Princess.”

You glanced at him sidelong, your smirk growing. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll try, my lord. Whether you succeed is another matter.”

Jason opened his mouth to reply, but the horns blew again, signaling the sighting of prey. Viserys raised his hand to quiet the group, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “Enough banter, you two. Let’s see if we can bring down something worthy of my son’s feast.”

As the group moved forward, Jason lingered just a step behind you. “You’ve a sharp tongue, Princess,” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear. “I quite like it.”

You glanced at him, your expression unreadable. “Careful, my lord,” you said lightly. “You might cut yourself.”

Jason laughed softly, shaking his head, and fell silent. For now.

The feasting tent was alive with laughter, clinking goblets, and the aroma of roasted meats. Lords and ladies were seated in clusters, exchanging pleasantries and gossip as the servants flitted about, filling cups and replenishing platters. At the table reserved for House Lannister, Lord Jason Lannister had finally taken his seat next to his twin brother, Tyland, who had arrived earlier and was already halfway through his goblet of wine.

Jason dropped into his chair with a theatrical sigh, grabbing his goblet and draining half of it in one go. Tyland arched an eyebrow at his brother, clearly intrigued.

“Well, you look like you’ve fought a battle,” Tyland observed, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “I take it your courtship of the youngest princess didn’t go as planned?”

Jason straightened in his seat, brushing imaginary dust from his doublet. “It went fine. Better than fine, actually. Remarkably well.”

Tyland snorted, taking another sip of wine. “Is that so? Because the way I heard it, she called you something along the lines of…” He tapped a finger against his chin, pretending to think. “Ah yes, an ‘overgrown lion cub with more mane than brains.’”

Jason paused mid-drink, lowering his goblet as he mulled that over. “Did she actually say that?”

Tyland’s smirk widened. “Word travels fast, dear brother. You’re the talk of the hunt.”

Jason chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll admit, she’s sharp-tongued, but it’s all part of the charm.”

Tyland gave him a long, incredulous look. “The charm? Jason, she’s insulted you three times today. Once in front of the king.”

Jason leaned in, resting his elbows on the table, a slow grin spreading across his face. “And wasn’t it magnificent?”

Tyland nearly choked on his wine. “Magnificent? Have you gone mad? Most men would’ve turned tail after the first barb.”

Jason shrugged, his grin not faltering. “Most men don’t have the spine for a real challenge. But the princess? She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. Clever, bold, utterly fearless.”

Tyland tilted his head, studying his brother as though he were a foreign creature. “Are you sure you’re feeling well? You sound like a lovesick minstrel.”

Jason laughed, gesturing for a servant to refill his goblet. “I’ve never been better, Tyland. And mark my words, I’m not giving up.”

Tyland sighed, rubbing his temples as though the very idea gave him a headache. “Jason, you do realize she’s as likely to throw that goblet at your head as she is to accept your advances?”

Jason grinned, raising his refilled goblet. “Then I’ll duck and try again.”

Tyland let out an exasperated laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

Jason leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “No, Tyland. I’m in love.”

Tyland stared at him for a moment, his expression a mix of amusement and disbelief. “You’ve spent all of one day bickering with her, and you’re calling it love?”

Jason shrugged again, completely unbothered. “It’s the beginning of something. I can feel it.”

Tyland sighed, raising his goblet in a mock toast. “To your perseverance, brother. And to the princess’s patience—she’ll need it.”

Jason clinked his goblet against Tyland’s with a laugh, his mind already racing with plans for his next move. Tyland, meanwhile, settled back into his seat, muttering under his breath, “Overgrown lion cub indeed.”

The royal hunt had concluded in success—or what could loosely be called success. King Viserys had driven his spear into a fine stag, though the beast was brown, not the white hart they had hoped for. Still, the king’s mood was jovial as the procession returned to camp, the deer tied to a cart and the hounds trotting proudly alongside.

You dismounted from your horse, smoothing your riding attire and dusting off your gloves. The camp bustled with activity, and you were eager to slip away and check on your sister, who had yet to return. But as you turned to leave, you were intercepted by none other than Jason Lannister.

“Princess,” he began, his tone as smooth as polished gold, “a moment of your time.”

You sighed inwardly but forced a polite smile. “Lord Jason. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jason fell into step beside you as you walked toward the campfires, his confident grin firmly in place. “I merely wished to offer my congratulations on the hunt. Though, truth be told, I suspect you would’ve done just as well, had you been given the chance.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, unsure whether to interpret his words as flattery or a subtle dig. “A kind sentiment, my lord, though I doubt the stag would agree.”

Jason chuckled, unperturbed. “No doubt. But, Princess, I must say, there’s something quite striking about a woman who defies convention. It’s… refreshing.”

“Refreshing,” you echoed, your voice dry. “Like a cold bath in the middle of winter.”

He grinned at your sarcasm. “Exactly. Though I imagine even the coldest waters would be warmed by your presence.”

You stopped walking, turning to face him with an arched brow. “Lord Jason, is there a point to this conversation, or are you simply practicing your flowery speeches?”

Jason hesitated for only a fraction of a second before recovering, his grin widening. “Perhaps both. But more importantly, I wanted to speak to you about my earlier… proposal.”

You opened your mouth to respond—no doubt with a scathing remark—but the sound of hoofbeats interrupted you. Turning toward the commotion, you spotted Rhaenyra riding into camp, her white hair streaked with mud and blood, and a triumphant gleam in her eyes. Behind her rode Ser Criston Cole, his expression impassive but his armor smeared with evidence of their kill. A massive boar was strapped across the back of their horse, its tusks gleaming in the fading light.

“Excuse me, my lord,” you said quickly, seizing the opportunity to escape. “I must go and greet my sister.”

Jason stepped in front of you, holding up a hand. “Wait. Just a moment longer.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Lord Jason, whatever it is, make it quick.”

He straightened, his expression uncharacteristically earnest. “I understand you may think me arrogant—or, as you so eloquently put it earlier, an ‘overgrown lion cub.’ But I am sincere in my intentions, Princess. Casterly Rock is a grand place, a fitting home for a woman as remarkable as yourself. All I ask is that you reconsider.”

You stared at him, caught between exasperation and surprise. “You truly don’t give up, do you?”

Jason smiled, the hint of a boyish charm breaking through his usual bravado. “Never.”

Letting out a long breath, you gave a small shrug. “Fine. I’ll reconsider.”

Jason blinked, as though he hadn’t heard correctly. “You will?”

“Yes,” you said, sidestepping him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to speak with my sister before she starts skinning that boar.”

Jason remained frozen for a moment, processing your words. Then, realization dawned on his face, and his grin returned in full force. “You said yes.”

You turned back briefly, giving him a flat look. “I said I’d reconsider, Lord Jason. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

But Jason was already beaming, his chest puffed out like a victorious knight. “Still, it’s progress.”

Shaking your head, you hurried toward Rhaenyra, who was dismounting her horse with Ser Criston’s help. As you approached, you could hear Jason’s triumphant declaration behind you:

“Tyland! She didn’t call me an insult this time!”

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow at you, her lips twitching in amusement. “What was that about?”

You rolled your eyes, brushing off the question. “Nothing worth discussing. Now, tell me—how does one kill a boar and look like they’ve wrestled a dragon in the process?”

Rhaenyra laughed, shaking her head. “Perhaps I’ll teach you one day—assuming you survive Lord Lannister’s wooing.”

And despite yourself, you couldn’t help but laugh as well.

The end of the celebrations marked a flurry of activity in the royal camp. Servants bustled about, packing away tents and preparing carriages, while lords and ladies exchanged pleasantries before departing for their respective holds. You stood near your father’s retinue, helping to secure the last of your belongings while your sister Rhaenyra leaned casually against her horse, a faint smirk playing on her lips.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” she remarked, her tone laced with amusement.

“I’ve had a long few days,” you replied, brushing dust from your gloves.

“Hmm,” she mused, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain lion, would it?”

You shot her a warning glance, but before you could reply, the subject of her teasing appeared. Jason Lannister strode across the camp, his crimson-and-gold cloak billowing dramatically behind him, his golden mane practically glowing in the morning light. He looked as though he had stepped straight out of a bard’s tale, which only made his approach all the more exasperating.

“Princess,” he called, his voice carrying easily over the bustle. “A word, if you please.”

Rhaenyra straightened, her smirk widening. “This should be entertaining,” she murmured, stepping back to watch.

You turned to face him, sighing softly. “Lord Jason, if this is about—”

“Your answer,” he interrupted, his grin as confident as ever. “The celebrations are over, and I must know where we stand.”

Before you could respond, King Viserys appeared, his crown slightly askew as he cradled a goblet of wine. Behind him, Queen Alicent stood holding Prince Aegon, her expression carefully neutral, though her eyes flicked curiously between you and Jason.

“Jason,” Viserys said, his tone weary but good-natured. “Still lingering, are you?”

Jason bowed deeply. “Your Grace. Forgive my persistence, but I wished to speak with the princess before her departure.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, looking between you and Jason. “Ah. This again.”

He turned to you, rubbing his temples as though the matter was giving him a headache. “Well, daughter? What’s your answer? I leave the choice to you.”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of every pair of eyes on you. Rhaenyra looked thoroughly entertained, while Alicent’s expression betrayed nothing. Jason, of course, was grinning like a boy about to win a prize.

Finally, you let out a long, theatrical sigh. “I suppose… I’ll accept.”

Jason’s grin widened, though he looked momentarily stunned, as if he hadn’t actually expected you to agree. “You will?”

“Yes,” you said, your tone almost resigned. “If only to stop your endless pestering.”

Rhaenyra laughed outright, covering her mouth with her hand as Viserys gave you a long, bemused look. “Well,” he muttered, scratching his beard. “Congratulations, I suppose.”

Jason straightened, clearly taking this as a full endorsement. “Thank you, Your Grace. I assure you, the princess will be treated like a queen at Casterly Rock.”

Viserys glanced at you again, his expression skeptical. “Let’s hope she doesn’t regret it.”

Jason turned back to you, his grin still firmly in place. “You won’t regret this, Princess. I’ll ensure you have everything you could ever want.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Including peace and quiet?”

Jason laughed, utterly undeterred. “If that’s what you desire, then yes.”

Viserys groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Enough. If you’re going to spend the rest of your days bickering, at least do it somewhere I don’t have to hear it.”

Rhaenyra, still chuckling, mounted her horse and gave you a sly look. “Safe travels, sister. And do try not to murder him before you reach Casterly Rock.”

You shot her a glare but couldn’t suppress a small smile. As Jason turned to escort you toward your own horse, you muttered under your breath, “What have I gotten myself into?”

Jason, ever the optimist, leaned in with a grin. “The adventure of a lifetime, Princess.”

And with that, the two of you joined the departing procession, your father still muttering behind you, “The Seven save us all.”

[theanimeroom]

I think shinichiro, wakasa and mikey (maybe baji) are fans of making a mess with their cum

let’s elaborate on this a little bit shall we 👁️🫦👁️

shinichiro definitely is our residential come dump. not only does he come a bare minimum of 2-3 times, there’s also so fucking much of it. if he’s not filling you up to the brim then he’s covering your stomach, chest, and face. yes, it covers the whole area. he doesn’t even bother cleaning it up before he’s shoving himself back in, another load already tight and ready in his balls. each time he comes he just smears it across your skin, the head of his cock and your lower tummy shiny with his release. as messy as it all is though he can’t stop the way his cock twitches, shaft already plumping back up for yet another round.

wakasa. wakasa wakasa wakasa. this man is a walking porno i swear. despite his height (i will NOT tolerate any slander about my short king 😤🫶🏽), he’s an ass man. he knows how much you love it when he comes in you, and he hates to break your heart, but the sight of your ass littered in his release does something to the man, what can he say. so what does he do? he pulls out the moment he feels the band in him snap. he quickly tugs on the shaft of his cock as he watches your skin get painted in white, the slight whine and shake of your hips only making his unrelenting cock even harder. he’s the type to massage his cum into your skin, kneading the globes with a sticky slap followed by a sadistic grin.

mikey wants to breed you, point blank period. if it’s not in you, he’s not coming. he thinks you look so cute wrapped around him, cunt pulsating as he made you come for the umpteenth time, so why wouldn’t he want to fill you with every drop of his come? the thought makes his balls tighten, slamming into your cunt with everything he’s got until your walls are painted in white yet again, a broken whimper falling from your lips. when he pulled out there was a glob of white following close behind, your hole clenching around air as it forced the release from inside of you. your pussy was slick and shiny with yours and his releases, mikey bringing two fingers down to spread your lips apart. the way it glistened in the bedroom light made him groan, watching as it spilled onto the sheets below, only adding to the list of things you’d need to clean after tonight.

and personally? i don’t know if it’s because i’m a whore for him or not, but baji is the messiest of them all. not only is he messy with his come, he’s messy with EVERYTHING. this man has immaculate stamina, so i imagine that he could easily crank out 3-4 orgasms in no time, but he never picks the same place to do it twice. once he’ll land on your ass, then the next your tits. he’ll fuck your face for a while before staining your pretty eyelashes with a little more, only to end off with him jerking his cock until he releases once more, this time on your cunt. it only mixed with the endless amounts of saliva he used as lubricant earlier while eating you out, even though you were more than wet enough to go without it. and don’t get me started on if you actually used lube, the man would turn it into a game of slip and slide before the night was over. at the end of it all you’d be sweaty and covered in come, body sticky and limbs weak as he leans over you, pressing at your bottom lip with his thumb to drop a little glob of spit in your mouth as a present <3

[transformativeworks]

I'm not sure if this is the place to ask. I am in a bit of a trouble as I wrote a 8k word chapter. I am wondering if this is just too long. Cutting it in half wouldn't be satisfactory, but doable. Would it be better to cut it or leave it that long? I might be able to cut some things from the story and come down to 7k. I need advice.

Hey Nonnie -

I am merely a tumblr mod, so this advice is coming from an avid fic reader and not the OTW hivemind (if there is one, I have not yet been invited to that groupchat)

Do what brings you joy. Writing fic is supposed to be fun. It is a labor of love that you send out into the void because your passion cannot be contained.

There is not a specific wordcount that makes a chapter Correct. I (personally) have never in my days noticed how long a chapter was, since I always click on Entire Work.

I probably would have sent a private reply, but instead we shall ask the tumblr community -

~ Mod Remi

[sleepythoma]

A mi me gustan mayores | Neuvillette drabble

Character: Neuvillette x reader smut drabble

Notes: age gap (not the fetish, Idk how to explain but it’s just that Neuvi is older than you—no dynamics like daddy and little girl), fem anatomy mentioned (cunt) but no specific gender mentioned but idk what to mark this, marking/bites/hickeys

A/N: I am so freaking rusty with writing but Neuvillette is the reason I got back into Genshin 🫶 been saving up for him for a while and I’m a happy C1 Neuvi haver. This came to me in the middle of a grocery shop spree when Becky G’s song ‘mayores’ played. And my brain went to how much Neuvillette is such a gentleman but my god would he take care of you so well :,)

enjoy this little drabble. as always lmk what you think. don’t repost my content. mdni pls and thank you :)

•

To anyone in Fontaine it would seem that the two of you are the epitome of romance. The ever stoic Iudex showing up at your workplace with a bouquet and a gentle kiss to your hand, his piercing gaze just for you. You would blush and hold his arm as you go for an afternoon stroll.

“Isn’t he…he’s a bit on the older side, no?” A girl whispered at you, flushed at such a topic, yet you simply smiled.

“Oh? What can I say?” You would sip your tea before simply stating, “he’s such a gentleman.”

A gentleman indeed. Such a man of prestige and power.

Oh, if they only knew.

(nsfw under the cut)

•The way his body encased yours as you laid on the expensive silk sheets, his mouth enveloping yours with kisses hot enough to dull your mind. His big and warm palm holding your hip while the other groped your ass, pushing your hips flush against each other.

“Don’t worry about the sheets, I shall pair no expense for you, my sweet.”

•The way he easily folds your legs and thrusts relentlessly, your broken cries and moans mixed in with the thumping and creaking of the headboard, the harsh and wet sounds of skin hitting skin.

•The way his breath falters with his thrusts, grunting and moaning lowly at how warm your cunt is, how tight it is around him.

•The way his hand grabs yours and holds your wrists above your head, chuckling at your whine of protest.

•The way he plays with you while whispering sweet nothings akin to sinful poetry so seamlessly to your ears, his hot breath making you tremble and pant.

•He may walk so regally but under that elaborate outfit are the marks of your kisses and bites, the marks of your nails on his pretty skin a beautiful contrast. The thought makes him purr, desire stirring within him to have you again and again. And while his mind may be filling up with carnal wishes, to anyone it would seem their esteemed Iudex was just focused on his paperwork.

[dragon-ascent]

The Conspiracist

Someone claims Rex Lapis has returned, and tries to con you and Zhongli into giving offerings…obviously, it doesn’t work.

★彡 just you and zhongli low-key bullying a scammer

It’s meant to be a normal evening, just you and your husband Zhongli shopping for incense for your home, when a mousey-looking man traipsing along the marketplace holding out an offering basket draws your attention. Zhongli, ever the curious man when it comes to affairs of his nation, suggests approaching him to see what his deal is. You oblige, but almost immediately regret it.

“Rex Lapis has returned to us!” the man says, firmly shaking his fist up in the air.

For a moment you wonder if Zhongli’s secret has finally been found out, but when you turn to him you see your husband smiling warmly. “Could you please elaborate, good sir?”

He wastes no time in doing so. “Rex Lapis has re-descended from Celestia, reborn! He is currently taking some rest within a cavern deep in the Chasm, and hopes that his people will worship Him with more fervour than before!” Ah. A conspiracist.

“Yeah, well it’s more likely that I spend every night in bed with Rex Lapis,” you retort with an eye-roll, and you just faintly hear the chuckle that escapes Zhongli’s lips.

The conspiracist, however, draws in a sharp gasp. “Excuse me!” he exclaims, “that’s utter — utter blasphemy! Rex Lapis would punish you for saying such a thing!”

“What kind of punishment?” you ask, grinning, and beside you Zhongli clamps a hand over his mouth so as not to laugh even more.

Looking even more scandalised, the conspiracist quickly shakes his head, muttering under his breath. “At any rate, I will ask Him to keep you and your husband safe – as long as you drop some offerings into this basket here.” He holds out the basket, rattling it impatiently.

Zhongli, having composed himself once more, ignores the basket and rubs his chin thoughtfully. “But if Rex Lapis has truly returned, how have we not been informed of this matter?”

The conspiracist puffs his chest out authoritatively. “He has personally selected myself as His humble messenger of truth and prosperity.” Once more, he rattles the basket. “I accept - I mean, He accepts both items and Mora.”

“Might you kindly take us to Him?” Zhongli asks, still not caring about the basket. “I would love to converse with Him face to face.”

“He wishes not to be seen by many mortal eyes just yet!” cries the conspiracist, his moustache twitching. “And besides, the road to His cavern is dangerous and can only be crossed by those blessed by Him!”

Zhongli holds up his Geo vision, a small twinkle of amusement in his eye. “Then it would please you to know that we are allogenes of the very element he holds reign over.”

Now it’s your turn to giggle as you see the mousy man’s face redden like a Jueyun chili. He stumbles back. “Would you look at that, the moon is rising!” he says hurriedly, “I must return to His side lest He lose patience with me.”

“Ah. A shame. Well then, give my regards to Rex Lapis.” Not even bothered with hiding his smile, Zhongli also peers into the so-called offering basket. “Ah, and let it be known that He prefers Cor Lapis over Noctilucous Jade. Also, seafood is a definite no-go, unless you plan on finely chopping the fish.”

Casting a glare, the conspiracist declares that perhaps Zhongli must know nothing about the Geo Archon, and with a huff, he struts off – perhaps on his way to swindle someone more malleable to his tastes.

You snicker, looping your arm with Zhongli’s as you two return home for the day. “So, apparently you don’t know anything about the Geo Archon?”

Zhongli chuckles in return as he pulls you closer. “Oh dear, it appears so. How unfortunate. Whatever will I do now?”

“Let’s wallow in our misery all evening with a nice book and our new sandalwood and jasmine incense,” you bemoan mockingly.

“And after that, you shall lay in bed with Rex Lapis, hm?” He only laughs as you playfully punch his arm, all of a sudden feeling slightly bashful in front of your own husband.

[lilicmoonlight]

SO!

As I promised I'm going to be elaborating about my "Ultraman Rising birthing imagery" post. And right now you either are going "Moony, what the fuck are you even talking about?" Or "How could you say something so controversial yet so brave?"

Well my friend, find out under the cut!

Let's roll the clip shall we?

This is the scene in question

First and foremost, Ken's entrance;

As you may have guessed these shots are supposed to symbolize the water breaking. Don't see it yet? Don't worry we're not done.

Secondly, these shots;

The way Ken is laying down, trembling and holding the baby close to his chest is very reminiscent of a person who just gave birth holding their baby close to their chest, for reference;

BUT IS NOT JUST THE POSE! It's the audio too! If you re-watch the videos you can hear Ken is audibly shivering and breathing heavily like he just did a lot of physical exercise. I know I know, it's because he was just swimming, but please keep in mind that all these factors, combined with Emi being just born, it makes the scene LOOK like he just gave birth.

Thirdly, Mina's medical analysis;

When you watch this scene, you quickly come to the realization that it is supposed to be a literal doctor checking on a baby right after they were born. In this case, Mina has no idea what a baby Kaiju should be like, but still makes an effort to help Emi and Ken.

Fourthly, the part where Emi is biting the collar timer;

Now if you go and rewatch the video (again) you can hear how Emi is making suckling noises. Now, I know this because I have been close to babies while they nurse, and they do make noises, not as exaggerated as in the movie, but they do. There's even a little "pop" sound when Ken pulls her away.

And that's about it! If you have something to add, please please please do! I'll be delighted to read your thoughts. And also it would make me look less insane lol.

+Bonus

See how Ken's hands close around new born Emi? 🥹

[pinchofhoney]

perfectly flawed

benedict bridgerton x princess!reader

word count: 2.7k

warning: hurt without comfort, it might be suggestive but there's nothing inappropriate about it (friends with benefits but without any details)

summary: Finding love as a princess comes with its challenges, but becoming a mistress was never part of the plan.

a/n: two things; one, over these few months i forgot what it's like to write something that isn't an academic paper. two, in the process of writing it i forgot that i was supposed to write it based on a song. i suppose i'm already a different person than i was just the week ago when i asked you for your opinion, but regardless, feel welcome to read this,, thing<33

pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

London, 18th April 1814

Dearest Readers,

The Season has barely begun, yet the glittering ballrooms of London are already abuzz with whispers and speculation. The cause of this fervour? None other than the captivating niece of Her Majesty. The fairy-like young lady, whose arrival in London coincided with the Season’s beginning, has ignited a flurry of theories.

Is she a princess, a countess, or perhaps a secret agent on a mission? The whispers echo through the salons, each speculation more imaginative than the last. Her regal bearing and the way she holds her fan hint at noble lineage, but her eyes hold secrets that defy easy classification. Could she be a pawn in a political game, or does her purpose lie closer to matters of the heart? Suitors line up, eager to claim her hand, but our debutante remains an unknown figure, casting doubt upon the intentions behind her smile.

Gentlemen of distinction have flocked to her side, vying for her attention. Lord Pembroke, the dashing heir to a vast estate, has been seen trailing her like a devoted puppy. The Duke of Ashford, brooding and aloof, has deigned to engage her in conversation. And then there is Captain Sinclair, whose sea-green eyes promise both danger and adventure.

At Lady Featherington's soirée, our young lady engaged in spirited conversation with none other than Miss Eloise Bridgerton. Their conversation delved into matters of politics—a most unconventional choice. Is our French princess a revolutionary sympathizer, or does she simply relish the thrill of intellectual sparring?

Rest assured, dear readers, that Lady Whistledown shall be your faithful guide through the twists and turns of this unfolding narrative. Prepare your fans and polish your silver spoons, for the London Season has just begun, and in the shadow of the Queen's niece, our world is poised to be turned upside down. Society must brace itself for a whirlwind of speculation, as we stand on the brink of a most intriguing chapter.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown

‎

At the very core of the French Empire, you were raised as the epitome of grace and subtlety. With royal blood coursing through your veins, you were groomed to be the perfect lady, the jewel of the imperial court. Every step you took, every word you said, was a careful composition, painting the portrait of an eminent lineage.

From a young age, you were taught the art of etiquette, your days filled with lessons on poise, embroidery, and the subtle language of the fan. Your attire, always impeccable, was the evidence of your status and breeding. The world perceived you as the embodiment of perfection, a delicate blossom requiring protection from the harsh realities beyond the palace walls.

Yet, behind the facade of the devoted princess, a secreted truth blossomed. Beneath the tangled layers of silk and lace, your spirit, unyielding and untamed, stood in defiance of the expectations of courtly life. The allure of royal grandeur held little sway over you, and the burden of societal obligations felt like a daily donning of a suffocating corset.

The shimmering balls and elaborate rituals became stifling, making your heart to ache for those fleeting moments of genuine connection, uncontrolled laughter, and a subtle taste of the forbidden. Although French suitors eagerly fought for your attention and the allure of your family's wealth, your soul yearned for a partner who would daringly challenge the scripted norms, infusing romance with a breath of spontaneous authenticity.

And thus, to address your reluctance to accept the prearranged path, your mother came up with a plan. Sending you to the splendour of London under the watchful eye of the Queen, your beloved aunt, she hoped this change of scenery would guide you towards a dutiful marriage, in line with the expectations befitting your royal lineage. What slipped out of her seemingly perfect idea, however, was the playful nature of fate, particularly when guided by those who avoid predictability. So, your journey to the bustling heart of British metropolis grew with an outcome greatly different from your mother's expectations.

Your aunt, holding the most esteemed position in the United Kingdom, was admired for her wisdom and understanding. But the hours of lessons imparted to you from an early age, combined with your ability to conceal your rebellious nature from the public eye, had transformed you into a pretty great actress. And your performance, crafted over the years, was so convincing that even someone as sharp as the Queen herself failed to see through the carefully constructed act.

But perhaps, this time, you've got too close to the edge, because in the blink of an eye, you found yourself entangled in a situation that, if exposed, would not only scandalize all of England but also cast a shadow over France, where your family hopefully awaited news of your impending marriage.

And how did it all start?

The beginning of your tale remains in the memories of that fateful debutante ball, where a single innocent look changed the course of your luck. It was a brief moment, a shared exchange of glimpse between you and Benedict Bridgerton, that seemed to stretch time itself. In the glimmer of that ballroom, his bright eyes locked onto yours from across the room, and the world around you seemed to slow, as if giving space for something beyond a mere glance.

You had no idea what captivated you about the man who didn't really stand out among the other attendees, but most likely it was this quiet strength of his gaze. The gaze without the typical fascination you'd grown used to as a princess of the French Empire or the usual envy that flickered in the eyes of those desperate to secure a partner who determined their life's worth. Benedict's gaze was just different. It held no trace of the thought that you were merely a silly princess with a title. It carried the feeling that you were a masterpiece, a creation worthy of admiration. And it stirred a yearning within you, an insatiable thirst for freedom and authenticity that your heart had craved for so long.

A brief exchange of words with Benedict at the ball opened your eyes, making you believe that not every man who sought your company was doing so only for your family's wealth. As you danced together, his touch ignited a spark, a fleeting moment of intimacy that lingered long after the music faded into the night, and each stolen glance exchanged across the crowded ballroom carried the weight of unspoken desires. It felt as though the connection that binds soulmates was about to disappear when your paths crossed, signalling that you had, finally, found one another.

And so, it began. A secret affair that grew under the cloak of darkness, far from the prying eyes of nosy socialites waiting to catch a glimpse of scandal. In the hidden corners of London, where shadows whispered secrets and the night sky painted a canvas of stars, you found comfort in the arms of Benedict, a man not necessarily burdened by the weight of societal expectations, yet bound by his own hesitation to commit to anything beyond the present moment.

As the inappropriate meetings became routine, you assumed the role of a mistress, a position you never imagined yourself in, and the only rule you committed to follow during your secret dates was the lack of romantic feelings. Yet, despite your best efforts to maintain a facade of emotional distance, your heart had a way of defying logic. With each stolen moment spent in Benedict's company, you found yourself drawn deeper into the labyrinth of emotions, a labyrinth fraught with longing and desire. What started as a simple agreement, devoid of romantic sentiments, soon evolved into something far more sincere.

And it genuinely scared you.

You walked nervously around the place of your every rendezvous with Benedict, your fingers nervously picking the cuticles near your nail—a gesture unsuitable for the lady you were expected to be. But in the fuss of events that have happened in London so far, such a thing seemed a minor violation. Not only did the task of slipping unnoticed from the royal palace grew increasingly difficult, but the relentless fluttering in your heart at the mere thought of Bridgerton haunted your sleepless nights.

Throughout your life, you had yearned for a love different from the one you had observed in French society. And now, when the opportunity to live your fairy tale presented itself, reality proved to be just an unrequited feeling. While you were happy to see Benedict and yearned for his presence, it seemed he may only crave your body, not the depths of your soul.

You wanted today's meeting to be the last one, a meeting where nothing would happen. Or so you convinced yourself. The purpose was clear: to say goodbye to Benedict and to draw the curtain on a relationship built on fleeting glances and secret meetings. And even though probably the best choice would have been to just stop showing up on these encounters and withdrawing from public spaces where you might cross paths, you didn't want to just pretend that nothing had ever happened between you two. The social season was still around you, and avoiding the consequences of your actions would only complicate everything. Maybe not for Benedict, but for you, for sure.

And then, the silence broken every second by your anxious heartbeat was completely shattered by the sound of footsteps. Turning, you were met with the sight of Benedict Bridgerton approaching with firm strides, and his presence seemed to overshadow your plans to say goodbye when, for a moment, the world seemed to pause as you lost yourself in the intensity of his gaze.

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around your waist, and his touch sent pleasant shivers down your spine. The warmth of his embrace, coupled with the subtle brush of his breath against your skin, stirred conflicting emotions within you. Your heart quickened its pace, betraying the reason you came for this final meeting.

“I've been thinking about you all day,” Benedict whispered, and his breath caressed your delicate skin. But as much as the desire for intimacy flickered within, you held steadfast to the resolution you had set for this meeting.

With a gentle pull, you extricated yourself from his embrace, creating a safe distance between the two of you. The tingling sensation stayed on your skin, as a remaining echo of his touch that resonated through every fibre of your being. “We need to talk,” you said, your voice steadier than your racing heart. Benedict's eyes, once filled with a yearning, now searched yours for an answer to an as yet unspoken question.

“Talk?” he asked, his voice laced with a hint of playful intrigue as he arched one of his eyebrows with his signature smile dancing upon his lips. “About what?” he pressed, and with an air of casual confidence, he crossed his arms over his chest as he ambled a few steps to the side. “You're not going to tell me you've fallen in love, are you, princess?”

A nervous laugh bubbled up from within, escaping between your lips before you could hold it back. In an attempt to mirror Benedict's movements, you crossed your arms over your chest, your head shaking with feigned amusement. “Fall in love?” you repeated his words, adopting a tone of playful dismissal. “Don't be ridiculous, of course not,” you declared, adding a scoff at the end, as if to fortify the illusion of light-hearted banter. Hoping to shield your true feelings, now concealed beneath a facade of amusement, you met Benedict's gaze with a look of mock disbelief.

“We should end this relationship,” the words spilled from your lips, hoping your voice wouldn't betray how fast your heart was beating at that moment. “I did not come to London to become just another woman in the arms of the Viscount's son. If my mother were to find out, she'd blame herself for raising me poorly, and that's not the truth,” you began to rationalize, your words flowing as an attempt to justify the decision you had set before both of you. “I have obligations to fulfil, a path to follow, and I won't achieve that by sleeping with you.”

Benedict watched you in silence, not knowing if you were serious. His gaze bore into you, seeking answers within the depths of your eyes.

“Now you're the one being ridiculous,” he retorted, his tone carrying a gentle scolding. Leaning against a nearby counter, he looked at you with a combination of disbelief. “Since when have you cared so deeply about living up to your mother's expectations?”

“I've come to understand that my mother wants what she believes is best for me. As a princess of the French Empire, there are certain expectations I must meet, whether I appreciate them or not,” you said, closing the physical distance between yourself and Benedict. Self-control was what kept your hands from reaching out as you stopped just in front of him. “Think about what would happen if our secret were to be exposed. It would be the end for both of us, and the scandal would echo across the entire continent. The Queen herself would likely seek our demise.” You emphasized your words by pointing a finger at yourself. “I cannot ruin the honour of the entire royal family for a fleeting moment of pleasure.”

Benedict met your gaze with a silent acknowledgment of the truth in your words, yet beneath the veneer of understanding, a flicker of defiance danced in his eyes. “So, what are you saying? You're suddenly prepared to sacrifice your entire life for the expectations of your family that would see you married and bearing children with some man who would likely make you miserable?” he asked, a trace of frustration evident in his voice.

A moment of silence ensued as you fixed your gaze on Benedict. Finally, a disbelieving scoff escaped your lips, and you shook your head. Taking a few steps away, you placed your hands on your hips, a gesture mirroring the internal conflict within you. “Perhaps you haven't noticed yet, Benedict, but I am a woman. And in a world dictated by the whims of men, the role assigned to women is often reduced to that of an obedient wife, tasked with bringing some affluent man's heir into the world. It's not about what I want; it's about what everyone else around me expects.”

As Benedict made a move to step closer, a surge of urgency propelled you to speak before he could interject. “I should be going now. The palace servants are growing increasingly suspicious.”

Despite the assertiveness in your tone, Benedict, keen to the nuances of unspoken emotions, closed the physical gap between you, and his touch went through the delicate fabric of your glove as he gently took your hand. “We can at least end this in a better way,” he suggested, his voice tinged with a suggestive undertone as he met your gaze.

A resolute “No” escaped your lips, infused with an overt firmness born out of the fear that another moment in his gaze might make you give in to your heart's desires. You couldn't afford the risk of surrendering to the tempting pull of his lips once again, the very lips you yearned for. “That's all I wanted to tell you today,” you continued, gently squeezing his hand as if to punctuate your resolve. Purposefully avoiding his gaze, you added, “It's over, but know that every meeting with you has been a pleasure, Mr. Bridgerton. Goodbye.” Articulated so, you withdrew your hand from Benedict's grasp, leaving only the delicate glove in his hold.

With a swift spin, you turned away and your hurried footsteps carrying you out into the rain-soaked streets of London. A quick glance confirmed the absence of prying eyes, making you hasten your pace, putting distance between yourself and the building that housed your shattered heart. As you took each step, the words exchanged at that moment of parting reverberated in your mind. The relation between you and Benedict had ignited sparks of passion and left a sweet ache of longing. Now, the path ahead led you towards the marriage your family desired, a hopeful step to fill the void left by thoughts of Bridgerton.

[heathersdesk]

2 Ne 9:11

I only went to Girl's Camp for one year, as a YCL. It was a stake year and we were at a camp ground with cabins for leaders and the younger girls, with tents and such for the older girls.

We had some flag raising ceremony thing every morning where we'd have a prayer, a spiritual thought, then go to breakfast. The spiritual thought would usually just be a scripture and maybe a couple sentences. Nothing extravagant.

So tell me where the tiny girl, who didn't even look like she was old enough for girl's camp yet, found the audacity to shout at the top of her lungs "WO UNTO THE LIAR, FOR SHE SHALL BE THRUST DOWN TO HELL." She snapped the book shut affirmatively and didn't elaborate in the slightest.

Me and the other YCLs nearly lost it, it was so funny. But of course we couldn't laugh. There was some serious beef behind whatever that was about. We couldn't encourage it.

Now whenever I roll past that scripture, even decades later, I can only hear it in the caterwaul of a twelve year old girl.

I don't know who pissed in your Cheerios, young one. But wherever you are, I hope you are thriving and no one lies to you ever again.