#i should draw him with the cane more

[askthe-iii-shipchildren]

Little Radio doodle

He's such a cutie

Silly billy even

[vieramars]

I love this wet bedraggled cat of a man with all my heart

[todayisafridaynight]

see the sawashiro fight is SLIGHTLY worse than the tendo fight in my humble opinion and my basis for this opinion is that i stayed up twenty minutes after saying i was going to sleep staring at my ceiling and debating this with myself

[camping-with-monsters]

Yeah that sounds like a normal conversation to have.

Original meme inspo under the cut

[mysticfoxdesigns]

As a cane user, I approve

henlo

So we know canonically Morocco uses a cane sometimes right? I like to think he needs a cane all the time but is too prideful to use it until he needs his Chamber of Youth.

Like this man is constantly a six in pain that's why he rarely walks outside.

(I like to HC he has complex regional pain syndrome in one of his ankles like I do, but I forgot which side he uses his cane on so IDK which ankle.)

Hope you don't mind my disabled hcs in your inbox if you do I'll stop /genuine

Sorry this took forever to get to

I cant believe I have to say this BUT TYSM for a NORMAL morroco ask ( u dont wanna know )

But I loved reading this , Tysm for the ask ! I love your disabled morroco hc !! 💛

[ckret2]

Chapter 64 of human Bill Cipher being 50% the prisoner & 50% the weird guest of the Mystery Shack:

Soos makes a deeply significant moral decision. To redecorate!

If you're seeing this picture, it's because I either didn't have enough time to draw a better one before the queue spat out this chapter, or I decided that nothing else I could draw would be half as funny.

####

Whenever Soos faced something difficult, he talked to Abuelita. And Bill was nothing if not something difficult.

Soos laid out the situation to her in the living room as she watched her telenovelas—she didn't mind the distraction, she far preferred real life drama over anything they put on TV. He told her about the confiscated canes, the daily injuries, the bargaining for food, the threat of forced showers, the bruises and burns and blood Bill said nothing about. He told her about Bill's door trick and how he'd only used it to talk to a teen about life and tuck a kid into bed. Once he'd told Abuelita all his thoughts, she nodded slowly, eyes still fixed to the TV screen; and for the moment, said nothing.

The doctor on TV confirmed the tearful new mother's suspicions that her husband had cheated (DNA tests confirmed the baby was another woman's), and Abuelita muted the show as it went to a commercial break. Soos waited as she collected her thoughts to render her judgment.

"I have been talking to Mr. Cipher for the last month or so. He keeps me company while I cook so I do not poison him again," she said. "I think he is ruthless, manipulative, and self-centered."

Soos winced, but nodded. "That's true."

Abuelita went on, "I like him. He is self-confident. He's blunt in a way you only get when you're old and cynical. I think he is a bad person; but, many bad people are good company."

"That's also true." Soos nodded again thoughtfully. Like whenever a comic book had a young idealistic superhero team up with an old jaded ex-villain who played by his own rules, and they ended up best friends, in spite of their glaring ethical and political differences.

"But, more importantly than whether he is a good person or a bad person," Abuelita said, "he is a person. And if you do not like a person, there are three ways you can deal with him." She counted off on her fingers, "You can kill him; you can avoid him; or you can set your feelings aside, and treat him with decency. Yes, get rid of the people who are bad for you—but no matter how terrible a person is, you must treat him like a person."

Soos's eyes lit up. "Oh, like with grandpa!"

Abuelita nodded slowly. "Yes. Just like grandpa."

"Yeah but—what if treating him decently is, you know... dangerous? Like if he uses any privileges we give him to do bad stuff? The Pines think he will. And I think he might be secretly talking to his cultists or whatever? Who miiight wanna destroy the world? But what if they can't destroy the world actually, and if I tell about the people he's talking to, he gets treated even worse..."

"Without his devil powers, he couldn't destroy a bookclub," Abuelita said. "But, if he is so dangerous, are you going to kill him?"

"No. I actually don't think we can anymore?"

"Are you going to avoid him?"

Soos let out a heavy sigh. "I can't as long as he lives here."

Abuelita shrugged, as if to say there you have it. "You are a good, kind man, mijo. I am sure you will figure out the right thing to do."

####

He took Melody out for lunch. They went through a drive-thru so they could park and talk privately in the truck.

She took a firmer stance on it than Abuelita. "I do not want to be stuck with Bill forever," she said. "I could put up with it this long because I thought the Pines would get rid of him as soon as possible! Now that he's staying here indefinitely...?" She shook her head. "I really don't like it, Soos."

Soos wasn't surprised. "Do... you think they should have 'gotten rid' of him?"

Melody paused, then shook her head again. "This whole thing is such a bizarre situation. Like, I can get why it makes sense to execute the guy that can end the world, but... I just don't think that's a decision two random guys with a big gun should be allowed to make," she said. "Honestly? I think we should call some federal agency and put him in jail somewhere. You know I've been iffy on Ford's 'only we can contain Bill' thing from the start."

"Yeah. I know." Soos agreed with Ford—he was the Bill expert, he would know—but he couldn't say Melody was wrong, either.

"Our wedding's scheduled for the end of summer," Melody said. "And... I'm sorry, Soos, but I just can't live under the same roof as the guy that turned me into a statue. We'll still get married—"

"—Oh, phew, almost had a heart attack there—"

"—pff, sorry. But if Bill's still in the shack after the summer, then... then I'll keep staying with my aunt, or we could move into your old house and just visit the shack for work, or something... but I can't move into the shack permanently until he moves out."

"Okay. I accept that." Even if the rest of them had sorta gotten used to living with Bill, Soos thought not wanting to live with a former torturer/conqueror/dictator was a pretty reasonable boundary. "I dunno what we'll do long-term just yet, but—we'll decide on something before the wedding."

Melody let out a long, nervous sigh. "Okay," she said. "Okay. Thanks, Soos." She reached across the truck's center console.

Soos took her hand. "But, how do you think we should handle Bill until then?"

Melody stared out the window at the gray sky. The rain had dried up before dawn, but the sky was still hazy. "If we keep guarding him ourselves instead of getting law enforcement involved... personally? I wouldn't give him any kind of special treatment at all. He tried to end the world! He stuck the whole town in a throne! He can just keep sleeping on the floor and being miserable, and I'd be fine with it."

Soos winced. "I see."

Melody squeezed his hand. "But—the fact that you're kinder than that is one of the things I love about you. Even when the creep you're being kind to doesn't deserve it." She gave him a resigned smile. "Do whatever you feel is right."

He considered that. Then he nodded. "I will."

####

Bill kept Soos's Abuelita company while she cooked, and gossiped with her in Spanish better than Soos's about people Bill had never even met. Bill liked watching cartoons, sports where people got hurt, and weirdly intellectual movies Soos didn't get, and he heckled historical documentaries and the news. Bill was offended by white rice and had incredibly strong opinions about salsas for a guy who'd only started eating them a month ago. Bill hadn't taken his friendship bracelet off once since Mabel gave it to him. Bill might not have been a human; but he was a person.

It was high time they start treating him like one.

####

Soos came home late in the afternoon with his truck laden down with supplies. Stan's car was gone, and when Soos came in with an armload of wooden boards he didn't see anybody around except Abuelita, napping in the living room, and Dipper, laying on the living room floor watching TV. "Hey dude," Soos whispered. "Where's everybody else?"

Dipper whispered back, "Hey Soos. Stan and Ford are at McGucket's mansion." He didn't look up from the TV. He was watching a rerun of Ghost Harassers on mute. "Mabel's with Bill in the floor room. He's in a bad mood about something so they've been doing karaoke all day."

"Huh." Soos could faintly hear someone playing his electric piano. It sounded like it was on the organ setting. "I didn't know he plays piano."

"He's alright," Dipper said. "His singing's terrible, though."

Soos shuddered. He could imagine.

Well, at least it meant Bill was out of the way. Soos began his first of many trips upstairs.

####

"What's all this racket?" Stan trudged upstairs to inspect Soos's noises—and abruptly stopped at the top of the stairs as he almost ran into a wooden beam. "What the—?"

"Oh, hey Mr. Pines!" Soos hooked his hammer on his tool belt. He'd put up wall framing to section off the corner of the attic floor that included the window seat.

Stan circled around the framing, inspecting it in bafflement. "Soos, what the heck is this?"

"So, remember at the beginning of summer, when I said that me and Melody were thinking about putting in a gaming room-slash-guest room in the attic? And Ford said not to bother until Bill was gone because he wouldn't be here long enough for me to finish? Welp! Sounds like he's gonna be here long enough for me to finish now! So I thought, hey, might as well, right? No reason not to!" He shrugged. "By the way, do you think I should put the door in front of the stairs, or on the long side of the room opposite the window? If it's in front of the stairs, you can just walk right in the room when you come up, and we'd be able to put a big screen on the long wall; but when you're walking out of the room it'd be really easy to forget the stairs are there and fall, and uh, we already have enough of a problem with that—"

Stan finally got his dropped jaw working again. "But this is where the demon sleeps! Where are we supposed to put him now?!"

"Oh, it's fine! Bill can keep sleeping in here. I'll put up a curtain instead of a door for now. This way the room's ready for gaming once Bill's gone." Soos planted his hands on his hips and surveyed his handiwork with pride.

"Are you crazy? You're giving Bill his own room?! No way! He could do anything in private. We can't trust him with that—"

"Listen." Soos gave Stan a serious look. "Mr. Pines, I respect you, and I love you like the dad I never had except technically I do have a dad but he's off being a deadbeat in Florida or something so he doesn't count."

He pointed at the floor. "But this is my house now. My name might not be on the deed, but my butt is in the master bedroom! And nobody under my roof is living like—like—like some kind of starving hobo sleeping on a bench under a newspaper, you know what I'm talking about? The Mystery Shack is a happy place! Where people come to see dreams come true and have their imaginations expanded! And I won't see it turned into some sad one-man prison!"

Stan stared at Soos, speechless.

"So." Soos took a deep breath. "With all due respect—I'm building a gaming room, and it'll have walls, and Bill gets to sleep in it. Because he's a person! And we're gonna treat him like one!"

Stan slowly looked from Soos to the wall framing, to the boxes of supplies he'd bought for the room and pushed against a wall to wait—to the pathetic couch cushion bed still sitting on the floor in front of the window. "All right. That's—that's fine. I'll let Ford know."

Soos's shoulders relaxed. "Thanks, Mr. Pines."

Stan clapped a hand on Soos's shoulder; looked for a moment like he wanted to say something; then just shook his head and said instead, "Knock off the hammering before the kids go to bed, all right?"

"No problem! I've gotta set up some furniture and stuff in here anyway." He got back to work as Stan went downstairs.

####

Soos paused his work when he overheard Bill's voice: "Hey Stanford. Figured out the kitchen situation yet?"

Soos had to strain to hear Ford (jeez, Bill was loud) as he said, "We haven't had a chance yet. For now, we can at least leave one of the counter cabinets open."

"Huh." It didn't sound like an impressed huh. "And will this open cabinet have any of the foods you put in the cabinet to hide from me? Or just more of the junk I've already been scavenging."

Ford was silent long enough to provide the answer.

"Right."

"I went by the grocery store," Ford offered. "I got avocados."

"Uh huh."

"And several pepper varieties."

"Ooh." Bill sounded intrigued in spite of himself.

"And protein drinks. They're nutritious, at least," Ford said. "But—I know that's not adequate. Stan and I will have something permanent figured out by the end of the week."

"I guess it's fine as an emergency measure," Bill said, "but you know how the phrase goes! Give a triangle a protein drink, and it'll eat for a day. Teach a triangle to open the fridge, and it'll eat for the rest of its life. If you lift that curse..."

"We'll talk. But don't get your hopes up. Neither of us likes the thought of giving you the power to come in our bedroom and smother us in our sleep the next time we have an argument."

"Fine." Bill's voice had hardened again. "You've got to the end of the week. But don't forget! If I don't like your offer, I don't have to take it! You can't keep me in this rickety barn anymore."

"I haven't forgotten."

The conversation seemed to be over and Soos didn't hear anyone coming up the stairs. He got back to work.

He felt good. He was doing the right thing.

####

When Mabel came up to bed, she stared in confusion at the modified attic floor, squealed in excitement when she realized what she was looking at, surprised Soos with a hug, and gushed about how great it was; and then she let Soos know Dipper and Ford were out tonight investigating weird stuff and went on to bed herself.

The first notification Soos had that Bill had come upstairs was a flat, offended, "What."

"Oh, hey!" Soos ducked out of the opening he'd left for the doorway—which he'd ultimately decided to put straight across from the window, to let a little light back into the attic. (He'd have to add more lighting in the main attic now that the window was blocked off.) Bill was standing at the corner of the new room, surveying the work with an expression of deep suspicion.

Soos said, "I was just getting started on this gaming room Melody and me wanted to put in—it's okay though, you can keep using it, we'll just turn it into a gaming room, uhhh... lllater. Whenever, it's cool!"

Bill turned his suspicious look on Soos; but when Soos gestured for Bill to follow him into the room, he reluctantly followed.

"Yeah, I got up the framing," Soos said, "but I couldn't get to the drywall today, so I just stapled up some tarps to be walls for now. But, look!" He gestured grandly. "I brought up the old orange sofa and chaise thingy that used to be in Abuelita's room! They've been in storage for like a year. I bet we could sit, like, six people on it for game nights. It turns out the sofa's a daybed, so we can use it as an extra guest bed for visitors, we do not have enough beds for visitors in the shack, haha. And, check it—" Soos flipped up the lid on a chest he'd placed in front of the right end of the sofa like a footrest. "I put in one of those top-down chest fridges for gaming snacks! It uh, the top of it swings up, that makes it a lid instead of a door, right? Sooo I guess you can use it too, right? You can just, put whatever you want on the weekly grocery list, and we'll put it in here. Oh, and!" He pointed at the ancient TV console table he'd hauled up from the cellar, "I set up a hot plate here, too! So you can cook stuff in the attic! For—for normal legitimate gaming room purposes."

Bill's gaze followed where Soos pointed, from the ancient orange sofa to the fridge chest to the hot plate. He didn't say anything. His expression was completely unreadable.

Soos swallowed. "Oh, and, by the way, speaking of home improvements, I took out the doorknob on the main bathroom, and put in one of those, like, little slidy dealies like public bathroom stalls? Plus I gave the door those swinging hinges—like the kind on saloon doors in the movies, o-or, say, the door into the gift shop—"

Bill whipped around to face Soos.

Soos jumped. He laughed nervously and tried to remember what point he was making. "S-so, um... there's no latch now, so it doesn't latch, which means there's no way to accidentally get locked in—or out, of the bathroom, and... and I don't actually know how much of that you understood, due to the whole curse thing? Just forget everything I just said, I guess, the important thing is you can use that bathroom without asking someone else now! Cool, right?"

He had to turn away from Bill's intense gaze, pointing back at the gaming room's doorway. "Anyway since the room isn't finished yet and you're probably gonna use it for a while, I hung up a curtain instead of a door. And I added that cool zodiac spell blanket thing Mabel gave me inside the curtain! Since you said you liked it so much when you first got here. And like... having it in our room kinda creeps Melody out, I think it might be giving her nightmares? So I thought you might like it better. Anyway I've still gotta do some other stuff, like add power outlets in here, and air conditioning, and... a-and..." He petered out weakly.

Bill was giving Soos the most venomous look he'd ever seen. 

"Sure. Terrific." Bill crossed his arms, seething. "I've slept on the floor, I can cope with sleeping in the middle of a construction zone too. No big deal! I'll make do."

"Oh," Soos said. "Uh... if it bothers you, I could try to get the walls finished tomorrow? Shack's closed tomorrow too, so, I was already planning to keep—"

Teeth grit, Bill snarled, "Don't put yourself out on my behalf."

Soos froze. "Oookay! Uh... well, I'll be getting ready for bed if you need... yeah, no, you—you probably don't need anything. Bye." He ducked out into the attic, letting out a whoosh of a sigh as soon as the curtain swung shut behind him.

Bill had looked like he was two seconds from ripping out Soos's throat. Why? Had he liked sleeping on the floor? He'd never seemed like he had. Maybe he'd preferred the attic's open flooring? Maybe he hated extremely 70's orange upholstery? Was this a mistake...?

Bill watched through the tarp until Soos was down the stairs. Then he lunged over the sofa, hanging over the back by his waist, to reach the attic window seat. He groped for the corner of the seat cushion where he'd hidden Journal 4.

He sighed in relief when he felt the familiar rectangular block in the cushion. He pulled it free: there was Journal 4, along with his two stubby crayons. As well as two marker pens, black and red, with a sticky note wrapped around them that said, "Thought these might be useful, dude!"

Bill's hands trembled with fury.

####

Soos was brushing his teeth when someone pounded on the bathroom door, making him drop his brush. The door swung open a couple of inches; Soos heard Bill mutter a confused, "What?" before it swung shut again.

Soos opened the door. "Bill? What's..."

Bill's face was completely flushed. It was hauntingly reminiscent of the look he'd had last year right before trying to murder Soos and the kids in Stan's mind. His rage had shot past "apoplectic" and landed on "apocalyptic." Soos understood how Pompeii had felt when the rumbling began. He took a few steps back.

Bill stalked into the bathroom.

He slapped the red pen down on the counter.

And, avoiding eye contact, he muttered, "Fine-tip yellow highlighter would be better. If you've got it."

"Oh," Soos said. "Sure, I... I think I have some skinny highlighters in my office. Just... lemme finish brushing my teeth."

####

Bill leaned in the office doorway, arms crossed tight, waiting. As Soos rummaged through his desk supplies, back to the door, he got the uneasy feeling that maybe Bill had lured him here to stab him in the back or something. He seemed mad enough. And the office was narrow; if Bill came up right behind him, there'd be nowhere for Soos to dodge...

When he found a new highlighter and turned around, Bill was glowering inches behind him.

Soos jumped. "Dude! You freaked me out."

Bill didn't condescend to respond. He just snatched the highlighter out of Soos's hand and stormed from the room. A moment later, Soos could hear him stomping up the stairs (and stumbling on one step. Soos really needed to figure out how to make the stairs more safe). 

For the life of him, Soos didn't know how he'd offended Bill.

####

The contraband supplies Bill had hidden behind a loose board in the wall still appeared to be undisturbed. He could only hope Soos hadn't found them during his snooping. For tonight, he could hide Journal 4 there; tomorrow he'd have to find a new, more secure hiding spot that kept it close enough to where Bill slept.

He turned around the hanging zodiac blanket and curtain so Bill's watchful triangular face was guarding the new attic hallway rather than staring into the room.

He surveyed his atrocious new sofa. If he'd known he would be plagued with this thing in the future, he would have found a way to make Ford get rid of it thirty years ago. Would Ford have thrown it out if his blessed Muse had told him it looked hideous? Maybe, but that would've put a ding in Bill's benevolent image. He could've said the sofa would lead Ford to doom? No, too implausible. Ford had always wanted a nice set of leather furniture; maybe if Bill had claimed the cost of leather furniture was about to skyrocket, and if Ford ever wanted to build his dream sophisticated gentleman's den then he should buy as soon as possible—maybe sell his current sofa to recoup costs and free up space... Yeah, Ford would've eaten that up, he'd have been so grateful Bill was thoughtful enough to care about his silly little life dreams and look out for his financial future. He shoulda done that. Hindsight.

So. What did he have here? A daybed; personal fridge; mini-stove; walls (tarp); two pillows; throw blanket; two markers; a lamp (unplugged); a clock radio (unplugged); a low console table with two shelves, onto which Soos had emptied the contents of Bill's cardboard box of clothes; and an implicit promise to keep a pile of secrets.

How humiliating.

He considered sleeping on the bare floor in protest; but, his back still hurt. Once again, subject to the tyranny of an organic body. He sighed, pulled his bedsheet from the console table, and curled up on the sofa.

The moment he lay down, a scent soaked into the seat cushion made his heart leap into his throat. He was sure he could smell home. Familiar and comforting and right—and for a moment the evidence of his other six senses didn't matter: he had his power back, he was in his kingdom, and all was right with the world. It took a moment to figure out what about the scent had so strongly disoriented him: he was smelling the atmosphere of the Nightmare Realm.

And then took another moment to work out that it wasn't really the Nightmare Realm, but a very similar scent—sulfurous, organic, burning. Burnt hair.

The cushion still smelled like Ford.

Bill groaned in frustration, rolled off the sofa, and flopped to the floor.

After permitting himself a moment of rage at the injustices of the multiverse, Bill crawled up onto the chaise lounge on the left end of the sofa, avoiding the part of the sofa where Ford used to sleep.

The chaise was smaller than his floor cushion bed used to be; but he'd make do.

####

(I know we're all busy going insane over the website but i'd love a comment when y'all read this chapter lol)

[hazbn-oneshots]

Bathtime Headcanons

Just a few headcanons for sharing a bubble bath with the main characters. Enjoy!

Charlie:

oddly enough Charlie doesn’t partake in full baths as much as she favors showers.

She’s busy dealing with the hotel and along with ruling as the Princess of Hell so she much prefers a quick warm spray.

On the occasion, however, she finds herself tired enough that you might just be able to convince her to indulge with you. 

You make a point of dredging up any kind of bubble bath, bath bomb, lotion, anything you can find to ensure that you can provide the best bubble bath possible.

Music plays softly over a small speaker, but it’s drowned out the hushed whispers of words of love as you meticulously wash and condition her hair.

Conditioning is your favorite step. Charlie didn’t need it often as her hair somehow stayed so silky, so every now and then when you got to run a soft brush through her hair, twisting it gently to pin atop her head.

She tries to wash you in return but you always push her hand away, insisting on pampering her after a hard day.

Usually ends with you drying her off and carrying her to bed when she inevitably passes out.

Vaggie:

Vaggie loves baths but she’s hard pressed to admit it. Nothing feels better on sore muscles than a nice soak, ideally with lavender. She loves lavender.

The two of you had been dating for about 6 months before she even entertained the idea of going to you with such a request. 

She was too embarrassed to ask.

-in the end, how she broaches the subject is by surprising you one night when you return home. A few candles lined the edge of the bathtub that was filled nearly to the brim with bubbles.

”I just thought it would be nice, you’ve been gone all day” And you know better to react calmly should you risk spooking the flustered angel with the scarlet red face.

She’s the one that drags it out in the end. She’d wrap her arms just a little tighter around your waist and mutter about how the water would stay warm for just a little longer.

Vaggie gives sweet towel hugs.

Alastor:

Listen, Alastor takes pride in his hygiene. He takes the utmost care to keep himself and his dress in immaculate condition. 

He’ll invest in facial creams, hair creams, body creams, oils, lotions, you name it and he’s used it. 

But baths? No. Absolutely not.

You’ve only attempted to convince Alastor to take a bath with you and neither occasion ended particularly well. The radio demon wouldn’t speak to you for a week after the first failed attempt and had all but removed himself from your life with the second so you couldn’t say you were in any hurry for a third.

However, the two of you have come to a happy compromise. Whenever you found yourself in the mood to draw a bath you would sometimes find Alastor pulling a chair up next to the tub with a book tucked under his arm. So would begin a lovely tradition between the both of you.

More than once you’ve found yourself dozing to the soft static of the Alastor’s voice, and in response the demon would lightly tap his cane against the edge of the tub to rouse you.

Don’t fall asleep though, three strikes and he’ll leave you in the tub. No he doesn’t.

Husk:

Not. A. Fan. Considering his entire being consists of fur and feathers, Husk can and will do everything within his power to avoid bathing if he can. Look, it’s just not his idea of a fun night to sit down with a hairdryer and attempt to wring himself out as best he can.

Inevitably he’d miss a spot and end up with stale wet cat smell and no one likes that, especially not our resident grump.

He won’t make a fuss if you want to bathe with him though. What he will do is laugh while patting your shoulder. “I’ll wait for ya in the room”

The more comfortable he gets, however, you’ll start to see that eventually Husk begins to find reasons just to ‘wander’ into the bathroom with you. He misses you, you know it, but it’s still sweet to see him making the excuse of looking for his lucky pair of boxers.

”The water’s always warm darlin”

You better get the blow dryer ready, the only way you can convince him is if you’ll deal with it. You don’t mind though, the purrs are worth it

Angel Dust:

You and Angel take turns picking which bath bombs and bubble baths that you’ll throw into whichever potion you’ll be brewing up tonight.

Bathtime with Angel was always a favorite for you, you couldn’t think of anything better than getting to curl up with your cuddle bug in your arms. Although things never really stay that way for long.

It’s hard not to tease while washing each other. A slip of the hand here, just a little rough touch of loofah there, just a sweet little taste of what could be but the restraint comes easy in the relaxed atmosphere. Just in times like these Angel will be patient enough to wait until you can actually make it to the bed. 

Angel won’t let you wash his hair. You don’t know why he’s so particular about it but if you interrupt his routine of products then his entire night is ruined so you choose the peaceful route and leave the man be. That doesn’t mean he won’t wash your hair for you if you ask though, those four hands of his do wonders at massaging the scalp.

Angel will 10/10 let you towel dry him every single time and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t use it as an opportunity to make a show at bending this way and that, making sure to get every inch of him.

He looks like a fluffy mess afterwards but hey, he’s your fluffy mess.

Requests open!!

[vaaaaaiolet]

It's the RPD's annual Secret Santa, and Leon's at his wit's end finding the perfect gift for his work crush. No competition, of course, except for the part where you make him promise not to bring something lame. Leon's got a week. He can do this. Right?

gn / m, fluff, romance, humor, leon is a SWEETHEART, you guys work at the RPD but you're leon's senior and also love reading??, no outbreak, inspired by the teapot episode of The Office lol, tw: claustrophobia

word count: 1.5k // read on ao3

a/n: vivi try not to mention christmas challenge go!!! @k1ssaphobe this one's for you <3 literally the ugliest effing banner i've ever made i'm SO SORRY but this completely destroyed my writer's block. i had so much fun <3

It’s all been downhill since Leon plucked your name out of a glass jar last week. Shit. Multiply that times three, rain down a couple red and green sprinkles for holiday spirit, and you have a great representation of how prepared Leon feels about being assigned the most crippling crush he’s had since high school for the RPD’s annual Secret Santa: you. 

Shit, indeed.

His hands shake like tremolo as he rereads your name printed on his little slip of paper, and Leon decides right then and there that the best way to go about this is to not go about it at all. Plain and simple. 

“Aren’t you excited?” you gush after your turn to draw from the jar. Poor you, you’d taken his jittery hands as enthusiasm. 

Leon grins tightly. “For sure, yeah, I um… I love Christmas. Really excited. You get who you wanted?” 

“Hey, no cheating. Not even with me, rookie.” You scrunch your face, clutching your paper to your chest. “Secret Santa’s secret. But it’s no secret that you’ve got to give it your all, so no lousy gifts allowed, got it?”

Well, there’s that plan gone. It’s back to police academy basics: Keep It Simple, Stupid. 

There’s nothing to overthink about making a good impression as the newest RPD recruit, Leon gaslights himself while haunting the Target holiday aisle on Monday night. You routinely save him from Irons’ infamous wrath, so it’s only natural that Leon spends all of Tuesday in a stupor at his desk, definitely not thinking of how he could never pay you back the favor with a silly Secret Santa gift. 

Wednesday rolls by and his coffee from yesterday sits in the break room, cold and overstirred next to today’s breakfast crumbs. How many times has Leon watched you sip tea at your desk? Five, six? 

Your eyes sparkle over the rim of your cup when he asks you about your weekend. Really, he doesn’t get the hate for small talk. There’s nothing small about the smile that bunches up your cheeks when he cracks a stupid joke about the weather, and more often than not, Leon finds himself waterboarding his notes app with the names of all the novels you drop mid-conversation so he can binge their Sparknotes over the weekend. So it goes, according to Kurt Vonnegut.

Ugh, he should have paid more attention in English. What the hell is an allegory anyway? Leon spends all of Thursday browsing your Goodreads profile and wracking his head over the hefty price tags attached to your TBR list. His wallet makes for a terrible wingman. 

But really, finding the perfect gift is no sweat at all. Leon is absolutely nonplussed (according to his 50th vocabulary-related Google search) when he steps into the RPD elevator on Friday morning with a clumsily wrapped, candy cane-striped bundle in his arms. 

“Hold it plea- Leon!”  

Liar, liar, pants on fire – he’s totally shitting his pants when you barely make it inside before the doors snap shut. 

“Thanks,” you gasp. 

Leon nods stiffly, his cheeks growing warm, and jams the second-floor button with his knuckle.

As the elevator starts its maddeningly slow climb, you hum, rocking back and forth in your snow boots. You’re cradling a package of your own, something four-cornered and fairly small. Leon, however, feels like he’s holding a bomb, the object of his affections standing less than three feet from his radius of destruction. How are you so carefree right now? You’ve probably got this gifting thing in the bag and he most definitely doesn’t. 

Leon can see everything unfold the moment he enters the office. You’ve had your gift planned months beforehand, his gift is going to be horrifically lame when you open it, everyone’s going to clap politely but you’re going to hate him forev-

And then the elevator plunges into pitch black.

“Oh my god!” 

Who screamed louder, Leon doesn’t want to find out.

The elevator shudders to a complete stop. Leon’s mental spiral of doom helpfully supplies him with an image of you two dangling in midair, suspended on wires. Maybe this is the universe saving him from delivering the worst Secret Santa gift of his life.

Leon blinks in the darkness, waiting for your unflappable voice to cut through the silence and figure a way out, headstrong as always, except you don’t, and Leon strains his ears to hear what’s surely not what he thinks it is, a whisper that sounds an awful lot like: “Leon, I don’t want to die.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna die,” you whimper. “I don’t wanna die.”

Your voice floats up from a lot lower than he remembers your head being, so he crouches down to find you with your arms hugged to your chest. You’re huddled against the wall, breathing all shallow. The package in your arms lies forgotten somewhere in the abyss.

“Hey, hey, nobody’s dying.” Leon reaches out to find your hand. “What’s the matter?”

“I have, cl-clau-”

“Claustrophobia?” He remembers that one well. Wishes he didn’t. 

You nod fitfully.

“The dark doesn’t help either, huh?” he whispers, craning his head to look at the busted bulb on the ceiling. “Damn.”

Your palm grows colder and clammier in his hand by the minute, and the shakiness in your breathing is starting to worry him. Your head pops above your knees when you hear rustling in the shadows, and then the telltale Christmastime cacophony of wrapping paper being torn to shreds. 

“What are you…?”

“Being resourceful,” Leon grits, tearing his Secret Santa gift open. He fumbles with its contents for a second, slipping something into a plastic compartment. “It’s not the best, but…”

The elevator blooms with soft, golden light.

“...it’ll do.”

“What’s this?” you murmur in awe, cupping your hands around the tiny book light Leon holds. 

“My Secret Santa gift,” he chuckles sheepishly. “I kind of, um, blanked. I’m also really bad at giving gifts, so there’s also this,” he says, pulling out a mug from the heap of trashed wrapping paper.

When I Think About Books, I Touch My Shelf, it announces with impunity. 

Leon blushes when you giggle at the inscription. Things always look better online than in person, rookie mistake. But at least you’re breathing better now. 

“This is amazing,” you laugh, cradling the cup like there’s warmth inside. 

“Not so amazing now that I’ve opened all the packaging.”

“Your Secret Santa won’t mind at all, trust me, not with a gift like this- ‘touch my shelf’, you’re unbelievable! Tell me where you got it.”

He shakes his head. 

“Leon Scott Kennedy, if you don’t stop gatekeeping this incredible mug and this super useful book light, by the way, I’m going to tell Irons you spilled coffee all over his desk. I can be very convincing, y’know.” You cross your arms decidedly, waiting. 

“There’s no need for all that!” he protests. 

“That was a promise, Leon, not a threat.”

“C’mon, be reasonable here.”

“You’re still not telling me.” 

“It’s for you, silly.” Leon tilts his head, face heating up faster than the book light bulb, “You’re my Secret Santa.” 

He must be hallucinating the pink in your cheeks.

“Oh,” you breathe. 

“Yes, oh,” Leon teases, scooching to sit next to you. “I couldn’t think of anything,” he confesses, “so I just went with the basics. I know you read and I know you really miss your old tea mug, the one that broke, right? You’re my gifting competition and I got nervy from how sure you were about your person’s gift. So, um, I played safe.” Leon finishes lamely and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping the light doesn’t also illuminate the shame radiating from his body. 

And then he feels the press of an unbelievably soft kiss on his cheek.  

“It’s much better than what I’ve got,” he hears. 

His eyes fly open. Words don’t form right in his throat when you reach out for the package you dropped when the lights went out. Wrapping paper falls apart neatly in your hands (what don’t you do perfectly?) and you unveil a mini waffle iron, proportioned perfectly for somebody always running late without breakfast. Somebody like Leon.

“You keep missing breakfast and Irons is on my ass about saving you food all the time, so I guess took the practical route too,” you shuffle your feet, bashful all of a sudden. “And um, my gift’s kind of useless if we never make it out. Sorry.”

He fingers the tag in wonder. 

Merry Christmas, Leon! There’s a timer so you don’t burn them :) xoxo, your Secret Santa!

You’re so goddamn sweet. You’re perfect and thoughtful and it’s all your fault that Leon didn’t have the faintest clue what to give you. Think, Leon, think. He knows he’s not this stupid. What do you give to somebody who has everything? 

A kiss. One that’s all smiles and just as sweet as the way you kiss him back, because screw Secret Santa.

It’s hard to keep secrets when you’re Leon’s favorite one.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[rooksamoris]

💞 — 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

💞 — in which you try to unionize the mostro lounge, but the boss, azul, just happens to be your boyfriend.

💞 — azul ashengrotto x reader

💞 — warnings: just a little suggestive, not explicit.

💞 — 1.6k words.

“No, you guys—we need to fight for our rights. By any means necessary,” 

Jade and Floyd looked at you in amusement and annoyance, respectively. You could not be seriously trying to unionize the Mostro Lounge. Azul was probably the most pro-capitalist/anti-union guy on campus. He had justified roping you, his beloved, into working overtime with the excuse of “it's for the profit motive, sweetheart” and yet you still stupidly thought you could manage to unionize his establishment? It was cute.

The more sneaky of the twins laughed, politely hiding his grin behind his immaculately gloved hand, “And you plan to do this how?” he asked.

A blush of embarrassment trailed up your neck and to your ears. You had very little experience with grassroots organizing—which meant you were drawing a blank, “Uhm—I don’t know. We… uh… we should make demands and find a cool name for our union,”

“Unions schmunions—let's just not come to work,” whined Floyd.

You shook your head, “We need a union before we try going on strike… uhm, how about ‘Night Raven Labor Organization’? It rhymes and would look good on a flyer,” you suggested, placing your fist in your palm. You were embarrassingly desperate at this point. Your boyfriend was constantly tricking you into working sickeningly long hours for him, claiming it was fine since you guys were dating and he helped you pass alchemy—but still.

Jade was entertained, so he indulged in your theatrics, “Oh, that sounds wonderful. Do not worry yourself over the flyers, I… I will handle that,” he said, purposefully pausing just to watch the suspicion creep into your mind.

Before you could reject him, Floyd stood and lazily draped his arms over your shoulders, “You know, you’re gonna break Azul’s heart, being against him like this,” he said, a sudden toothy grin coming over his features at the thought of what chaos could come from your silly plan, “Standing against your ‘sweet Zuzu’ for the working class,” 

You frowned at him, “We–well, something needs to be done, even if it means his feelings are mildly hurt.”

The plan was in motion. You had already gone ahead and spoken with the other employees at the lounge, and while most were apprehensive—fear of Azul was pretty common—some still believed that you could convince your boyfriend to be kinder to his workers. Jade had told you he made flyers, and you were heading over to the lounge to go check them out, and then meet up with the others for the meeting. 

But the moment you walked in, Floyd shoved you towards the office with a giddy grin, “Shrimpy’s in trouble…” he whispered.

You stiffened, “Huh? What do you mean? Floyd—”

“Azul wants to talk to you,” he told you, knocking on the office door before scurrying off, leaving you to gulp and adjust your necktie.

Azul opened the door with a suave grin, gently wrapping his arm around you, his hand lingering at the small of your back, “Ah, sweetheart,” he said, affectionately kissing your temple. He pulled you inside, shutting the door with his foot before guiding you towards one of the sofas in his office, “You’re looking as gorgeous as ever,” he added, pouring you a glass of fruit cordial before taking his seat across from you, his hands folded on his cane and his legs crossed.

You always hated how smooth he was, “Ahaha…” he laughed awkwardly, “Uhm… you wanted to talk?”

One of his brows raised, “Do I need an excuse to see my beloved?”

“O–Oh, no, of course not—I just mean—”

His laugh cut you off. Sevens, how you loved that laugh, “You’re so nervous…” he trailed off, his bluish-purple eyes tracing over the ceiling before making their way towards your eyes, a single brow raised.

You were nervous. Hell, this was the most bizarre experience ever. You were unionizing your boyfriend’s establishment—you spent the night in his dorm room, just for you to wake up the next day and have secret meetings with his employees. You were ashamed, but not enough to quit the union. Azul had been abusing his power for too long now. Your lips had parted to speak, but you were cut off when he slammed two papers on the coffee table.

One was a flyer with a pig-like depiction of the bourgeoisie, dressed in a fancy suit and surrounded by money, and the second was the union demands which you were supposed to go over with the other employees today.

“Azul—I… I can explain—”

“How cute.” Azul gently tapped his foot as he watched your face fill with horror at being caught too early, “For a union organizer, you’re pretty disorganized. You trusted Jade with the flyers? The fact that you trusted Jade with anything is just hilarious,” he said, letting his cane lean against the sofa. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward.

“Listen, Azul…” you started, before he cut you off, with a mere raise of the hand. That bastard Jade—

He cleared his throat before picking up the page of demands, “‘We members of the Night Raven Labor Organization…’ did you come up with the name, love? It’s nice. It rhymes, seems you do pay attention to my marketing rambles. Anyways, ‘We members of the Night Raven Labor Organization are proposing a chance of bargaining before any attempts of protest or striking,’ ooh, look at you, threatening me. How adorable,” he said, grinning at your embarrassed face. 

You hid your face behind your hands, groaning softly as your face started to feel extremely hot. You peeked at your boyfriend through your fingers, seeing that smug smile on his face, “Azul… this was a last resort,” you tried to explain, but he only set the page down and stood up again.

It was not like you did anything wrong. He was overworking his employees—he’s lucky you did not go Karl Marx on the guy and encourage the workers to arm themselves against him. When you met his eyes again, he was standing in front of you, gazing down at your seated form with a neutral expression. 

He was thinking of how to proceed. On one hand, you were the love of his life, and on the other hand, you were working against him. When he first heard of it, he was hurt, but after some reflection, he knew he could make you give up on this.

With a gloved hand, Azul traced over your face, enjoying the way you looked when you sat in front of him, gazing up as he stood. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb lazily tracing over your bottom lip. His pale skin was covered with a little blush over how your breath hitched, “You wouldn’t want to hurt me, would you?” he asked, leaning closer.

You shook your head as much as you could while in his grasp, “No, Azul… it's just—well, uhm, you know,” he stammered.

He played up a soft frown on his lips, and he felt your eyes trail to the beauty mark beneath his lip, “But, angel… when I saw that you were unionizing behind my back,” he paused, and sighed, brows furrowing slightly. He played you like a fiddle, “I was just so hurt,” he confessed. In reality, Azul did not care enough to be brokenhearted over your union attempts.

“I’m sorry, Azul,” you told him, and you were about to protest again, but he shook his head.

“If you had concerns, you could have just told me,” You bit your tongue, despite how you wanted to tell him that you had tried to complain to him and he put the profit motive above everything else. Instead, you just pouted and nodded to his words. You couldn’t help it. All you wanted to do now was kiss him since he got so close.

Azul’s hand remained on your face as he glanced back at the flyer, “And a fat rich man, angel? Really?”

“I didn’t make the flyers,” you blurted.

His gaze softened. He had you right where he wanted you, nodding to your words to make you relax before he leaned down and kissed your head. And then he bent down a bit to meet your lips, kissing you like you wanted. Azul’s hand slipped from your jaw to your shoulder, while his other hand rested at the backrest of the sofa so that he could lean down. 

Your hands immediately darted to grab him closer, tugging on his uniform blazer as your lips parted for breath, “Azul….”

He was blushing too, lips parted as he panted to catch his breath, “I thought I was an evil capitalist—what happened to your union?” he asked, teasing you.

Your brows furrowed softly and just pulled him in again, capturing his lips once again and groaning against his lips as you took the chance to take control, pulling him down on the sofa with you.

Azul’s eyes widened in surprise, his hat slipping off and his glasses nearly joining if he hadn’t held them up in time.

You showed up to the union meeting late, with your clothes all disheveled and your hair a mess.

“My, my,” chuckled Jade, as he took in your appearance with his piercing eyes. He knew that this would all end up like this, with you being too quick to bend to the will of his boss, and his boss being manipulative enough to get you to forget about your ambitious goals.

Floyd frowned, “Does this mean we’re not getting guns to threaten the capitalist class??”

Sevens, what a major fail.

©rooksamoris 2024. do not steal or translate my work!

[prettytoxicrevolver]

Jacket | Seth Jarvis

wc. 1.6k

Jarvy sees you in the wags playoff jacket for the first time

(not my best writing tbh. im sorry!)

Growing up, you never had an affinity for fashion. 

Your mom was the one who always dressed you and middle school was always that awkward fashion era of everyone’s lives. In high school the different outfits everyone wore had started to pique your interest, wanting to finally find your own style and make yourself feel more confident overall. 

By college you had hit your stride and everyone in your life was incredibly confused when you decided to major in fashion business. Your dad was over the moon that you added the business side of it, being a finance director himself, and while your mom was still confused, she enjoyed the new fashion advice from her daughter. 

You grew up in North Carolina, heading to FIT in New York for your undergrad before returning home. You spent that summer trying your best to figure out what to do with this new degree, when your life intertwined with Seth Jarvis. Through a mess of awkward run ins, late nights, and a final first date that sealed the deal, you were quick to realize that Seth was it for you. Three years later and you and Seth were closer than ever. He was on his way to another playoff run while you had been living your dream job for a couple of years now. 

As April loomed near and the season was coming to an end, the wag groupchat had started to pick up. The girls were discussing playoff chances and who should be planning the wag jackets this year and you were voted the number one choice. You tried to get out of it, worried that what you made wouldn’t be good enough but the girls shut you down quickly, knowing whatever you make would be iconic. 

You found yourself dreaming up ideas in the middle of meetings, doodling in the corners of your notebooks, looking up colors and fabrics, and finally caving to create a full fledged design when Seth had come bounding home with the news of a playoff clinch. 

The drawing you come up with is a high school varsity style jacket in black, the front saying Carolina in uppercase bold red letters, with the words cause above one pocket and chaos on the other side. One sleeve has the previous cup win dates while the other sleeve has the boy’s number and the original canes logo underneath it. Lastly, the bottom hem of the jacket is decorated with the storm warning flags similar to the boys jerseys and classic name and number on the back in the same color and font as the Carolina. 

Ever since finalizing the design, you instantly headed to the store and grabbed a blank black varsity jacket and started your work. You had fallen so deep into the job, focusing on each tiny detail for your prototype that you didn’t even hear Seth coming home. You had just finished on the front when you heard the door of your office creak open and you turn to see Seth with a tired smile on his lips. 

“Hey there pretty girl,” he says, sauntering his way into the room and your heart skips at the sight of him. You’re distracted for a moment just at the sight of him, but when you notice his eyes flicker over to your current project you flinch and get up. 

“No!” you screech, taking quick steps towards your boyfriend and covering his eyes with your hand. Seth freezes against you, concerned in his movements but when he hears a breathy laugh escape from your lips he knows everything is okay. 

“Uh why can’t I look?” 

“It’s bad luck!” you squeal, nudging your boyfriend out of your office and Seth rolls his eyes, his lashes fluttering lightly against your hand. 

“I’m sorry did I propose and forget or something?” he asks when you finally drop your hand from his eyes and shut your office door behind you. 

“No but if you are going to propose I’d wait till off season,” you respond cheekily and Seth grins. 

“I was making the wag jackets,” you tell him, slinging your arms around his neck and bringing him closer to you. 

“Mmm were you?” 

Seth leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your neck, trailing one up to your cheek and then finally on your lips, his hips pushing you back against the door so you’re caged in his embrace. 

“Mhm,” you murmur against his lips and you feel his grin, the scruff of his beard scratching against your skin. “And you need to go so I can finish them.” 

“Or we could do this,” he says and before you know it, Seth has grabbed you around the waist, throwing you over his shoulder and marching his way towards your shared bedroom, your protests of work and prototypes deaf to his ears. 

The week leading up to the first playoff game was complete chaos. You hadn’t seen Seth at all, occasionally when he was slipping out of bed and you were just slipping in, bumping into each other when he was out the door and you were coming in and so on. 

You were finalizing all of the wag jackets, making sure the matching shoes had arrived and were in good condition as well. You had decided to add a pair of nikes with the players last name on the side to match the jackets and you couldn’t wait to see how each girl would style their outfit. One by one as each girl received their jacket you would be on the other end of a million texts and several facetime calls of the girls freaking out about the job you did. You couldn’t help it, you started to feel good about your work too after being praised so much. 

Unfortunately due to both your schedules, you couldn’t see Seth before the playoff game but promised to make it in time for warmups. You and a few of the girls head out together, taking pictures both at your place and when you get to the arena. You head straight for the front, your nerves getting the best of you and you’re bouncing up and down on your heels waiting for Seth to come out on the ice. 

Somehow even with the nerves you miss his initial entrance onto the ice. Normally Seth is all serious mode when he starts warmups, only deciding to relax and goof off towards the end of them but when he sees you first, he’s a complete goner. 

You’re facing away from the glass but Seth could spot you from miles away in a crowded area, it truly didn’t matter. Your hair was pulled up and out of the way so everyone could see his last name and jersey number plastered on the back of the black varsity jacket. Your smile is wide and he knows you’ve been nervously fidgeting by the way you twist and bounce as you stand. 

His heart is pounding twice as hard now, not even registering the world around him as he sees you in your heavenly state with his name on your back. His. His jacket. The one that claims you’re his. God, how did he get so lucky? 

He doesn’t know when he stopped paying attention to the movements he was making on his skates until he’s smacking embarrassingly into the glass just before you, startling both you and everyone around. You look up, Seth with an unreadable expression on the other side of the glass and you can’t help the shy smile that creeps onto your lips. 

Seth tries to regain some kind of confidence again, shooting a wink in your direction and mischievous grin before taking off on the ice again. 

You swear your face hurts from smiling and your throat is no doubt sore from the screaming you had done all of game 1. You and the girls make your way down to the tunnel and talk about the events of the game while you wait for the boys. One by one each girl disappears in the arms of her man, you smiling and bidding goodbyes while you impatiently wait for Seth. 

“Is that the future Mrs. Jarvis?” you hear from behind you and you turn to see Jarvy smiling like he just won the damn lottery. 

You rush forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing kisses anywhere you can reach. You exclaim your praise between each kiss and Seth grins shyly against you. 

“You did amazing,” you say leaning back to finally look into your boyfriend's big brown eyes and they shine with pride at your words. 

“Thank you baby,” he says, pressing a kiss to your lips before pulling back and staring at you, his eyes roaming your figure, his fingers tracing the outline of his number on your shoulder and his name on your back. 

“What’s up lover boy?” you ask, nervous under his gaze. 

“You look damn good with my last name,” he murmurs and your face flushes further. 

What Seth doesn’t tell you is that from the first day, he’s known you were the one from him. He doesn’t say that since you had your first date he knew you’d be married one day. He doesn’t say how he wants to spoil his proposal right now and just ask you to marry him because he can’t go another second without having you share his name. 

He doesn’t tell you that one piece of clothing has made him imagine the next 50 years of his life in the matter of seconds. 

But you don’t need to know that. Not yet at least. So Seth settles for another searing kiss to your lips before slinging an arm around your shoulder and leading you home so he can take that jacket off of you and love you properly.

[rqnvindr]

fountain of tears

pairing: neuvilette x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff/comfort

word count: 1.8k

synopsis: neuvilette finds you standing by the fountain, alone the rain after an argument. his hidden turmoil can only be solved by hearing your voice again, tender, and unfiltered.

warnings: archon quest spoilers, arguments

a/n: I HAVEN'T POSTED ANY WRITING IN AGES BUT I HAD TO WRITE SOMETHING FOR MY OTTER HUBBY! enjoy!!

--

"this is pointless. i'm out."

your words wound neuvilette, the pain shooting deep into his bones. they ring over and over again in his conscious, louder than any vibration that had ever emanated from his cane to resume order during a trial. he sits in his office trying to work, but his thoughts don't subside, not one bit.

he ponders, staring at the stacks of papers in front of him, documents regarding cases that needed to be reviewed in due time. but not today. the amount of time he had in between today's working hours and the next trial reassured him that he could hyper-fixate on the last thing you said to him before storming out the door.

it's strange that he isn't worried for your safety as much as he is over the feelings rooted in your actions. the chief justice knows that humans are more fragile than those who have lived for eons. those who have experienced centuries of change were capable of adapting to different and unexpected circumstances through changing forms, and bestowing ancient powers of the past that contained the wisdoms and strength needed to guide them. he should be more concerned for where you could've possibly have gone within the last day. but he knows that you are also acquainted with a certain traveler that had recently arrived in fontaine and caused an uproar with the hydro archon in court already, everyone was. there's no way they could've left now, taking you with them on their travels. they still had unanswered questions left for lady furina. it is still a possibility though that you're at least staying with them, since you two were in good graces.

you weren't from fontaine though, and the image of you packing your bags and going home by yourself made him shiver. you did say you were heading "out" after all. he had to consider all of the possibilities.

neuvilette was new to human relationships. how long did it take for humans to draw the line? it varies for everyone, since they are given the freedom to dictate their personal connections to others to a certain degree. but how much was too much for you? when it came to you, he not only wanted to understand humans more, but also just you. he wanted to delve into all of your laughter, all of your worries, all of the sighs that escaped your pretty lips. to grasp it and memorize it all, was his greatest desire.

without you, he would basically lose his purpose for inserting himself into the realm of mortality. you already got him this far, and on top of that, he concluded that you were causing him to feel foreign emotions from removing yourself from his sight. even if it hurt, this was a test included in his journey that he had to endure.

but neuvilette does not want to face the predicament without a resolution. instead of wallowing, he decides to leave his office. he was already working overtime anyway, hoping to just drown in reading the same pages over and over again to keep himself grounded. was he always this sensitive? in his mind, he imagined the beings of the past looking down on him.

it's pouring rain when neuvilette steps outside. ah right. he doesn't need another reminder that his sorrows inconvenience the ordinary citizens of fontaine, who are just trying to make it to work on time, rush their loved ones to the doctor, and just go about their lives without the weather impeding on them. people barely carry umbrellas though, they're all accustomed to this and it's too unpredictable (at least for them it is).

he decides to start backwards, far away from the court of fontaine. he heads to the opera house first, and he finds you on the first try. how could he ever mistake you for someone else? you're the only person he has eyes for. especially when you're standing by the fountain of lucine, and carrying a distinct umbrella in a small crowd of people, most of whom appear to be flocked around the opera house's entrance, probably catching magic shows and other performances.

neuvilette is uneasy when he notices how close you're standing to the fountain. you're inevitably drawn to the grand structure that welcomes audiences from within the borders of the land and beyond to the renowned location. the spectacle that delivers the arts and the law all the same. but beneath its beauty lies danger that erases those who get too close. many fontainians had lost their lives from seeking the wonders of what lay beneath the waters that decorate and surround the hydro region itself. by wanting to delve deeper into it, they subsequently drowned, their lifeforce dissipating into the shackles of the streams. both the knowns and the unknowns of the primordial sea were sufficient reasons to express caution towards the lands waters, even if one was not a native who was subject to becoming one with their origins.

if you were to become the next victim, the rain would proceed to crash down and become one with the fountain in a continuous flow of precipitation. and then fontaine would be known as "the land of storms" rather than "the land of justice".

as he approaches the fountain, neuvilette's desire to pull you away and drag you back to him with no hesitation stirs. yet, it immediately dissipates when you turn your head, and give him what he guesses is a contemplative look. the white-haired man chooses his words carefully. giving you a lecture about the rumored dangers of the fountain's ability to dissolve human beings would only alarm you. he should use the rain as an excuse to find somewhere safer, if you still weren't ready to return to your shared residence.

"it-"

"i know. you're going to ask why i'm standing out here as if it isn't pouring rain." neuvilette barely gets a syllable out before you take the words right out of his mouth. you guys always had a habit of finishing each other's sentences, and even in a moment as anxiety-inducing as trying to make amends when you were mad at him, his heart melts. goodness, why did you have to be so lovely?

"if i were to let the rain impede everything, i guess i'd be a shut-in." you shrug. "it's been raining non-stop for the past couple of days. and no one seems to question it, so i just go along with it as if it's completely normal for it to be bright and sunny one day, and then cloudy and rainy the next day."

when you finish your thoughts, neuvilette still waits for you to continue. he was somewhat relieved that you were able to talk to him normally, but knew that there had to be more you had to say. were you going to officially end things between you two? say that you needed more time to think about the state of your relationship? he wasn't going to talk you out of anything, or start a debate. he respected your decision no matter what, even if it were to sting, he had to hear it. and the conversation had to go somewhere if he also wanted to deliver his side as well.

"i have heard some of the locals say though, that whenever it rains in fontaine, it is because the hydro dragon is crying." you say, as you gaze up at the sky. "i don't know if you have ever heard of it, but if such a tale were to be true, then i wonder what he could be going through for it to be pouring rain every other day."

neuvilette hopes he hid how quickly he blinked. normally he was good at hiding his reactions to hearing this "legend". although he never wanted to hide anything from you, the truth behind the mysterious precipitation was something he hadn't had the best opportunity to tell you about.

"yes, this is an old legend indeed. i often hear parents and caretakers telling this to children, whenever it's too wet to play outside." this was as much as the chief justice could water it down. he really did not want to lie before approaching a sensitive topic.

"as much as i would love to continue hearing the knowledge you have extracted from your time here, i have come here with another objective." neuvilette says. "i wanted to apologize for upsetting you. i have also been worried about you for the past few days. you do not have to disclose your whereabouts from the period in which we were apart, but i am happy that you're safe."

"it's alright, really." you reply calmly. "i was also in the wrong for storming out like that and not communicating with you. i was pretty upset, yeah, but i should've just told you that. i'm sorry for being immature and leaving you in the dark."

neuvilette notices tears streaming down your eyes. as your head tilts downward, they drop to the ground and blend in with the rain droplets. instead of offering you his handkerchief, he gently caresses both sides of your face with his gloved hands. you lean into his touch more, until you're wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace, letting your umbrella drop to the ground. he reciprocates, stiffly at first, but then holds you with no intentions of letting you go.

you're no longer choking back sobs, and then the sky clears up as the rain comes to a stop. you pull away from the hug to observe the sky, staying connected with your hands intertwined this time.

"wow...the hydro dragon must have been distraught watching us as if we were his new favorite play or something." you laugh.

neuvilette chuckles, knowing that you would of course find the occurrence to be a mere coincidence. "it seems that he must be quite fond of you, my dear."

"well, i'm already taken so i guess he will have to stick to me being his favorite character." you shrug obliviously with a smile.

as your lover, neuvilette has adjusted to being more vulnerable with you. you had seen the good and the bad sides of him, the latter especially during the latest argument that the two of you had now cleared up. and even then, you still let him back in. he doesn't have to worry about baring his entire soul to you now, and will slowly navigate you through his past and identity as the hydro dragon, who entered human society as the iudex. the vulnerable figure whose emotions affect the weather, and struggles to connect with others. you're the one worthy of knowing the truth though, and he makes a promise to himself to never hide anything from you from here on out.

[thehistoriangirl]

Since ur doing blurbs too👀 TRICK OR TREAT! SURPRISE ME🤍🩶🖤

Yesssss, okay bestie, this is ur trick and treat :3

Hope you like it!

The Sweeter Trick

Viktor x gn!Reader----626 words---SFW

Summary: You have more than one trick under your sleeve to convince Viktor to go to bed.

Tags: Established Relationship | Domestic Fluff |

The clock had chimed midnight by now, its ticking the only company Viktor had while working on his new project.

Between the scribble of his pencil dragging among calculations and messy blueprints filled with fragments of eraser, Viktor heard the muffled rhythm of your feet against the wooden floor of the hallway. 

“Vitya…” you said, voice groggy; your figure almost shapeless with the oversized fluffy robe of your pajamas, almost like a cloak.

Viktor hummed turning to fully see you after settling his pen down, still comparing two equations to localize where the calculation had gone wrong. “Yes, my love?”

You sat in the armrest of the couch, leaning your body against the outline of the couch to rest your head against his. “Can you stay with me until I fall asleep?” you uttered, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “I’m scared.”

He sighed, pretending to be annoyed for the interruption, though you could hear the smile in his voice. “I told you not to watch that horror movie at night, dove.”

“But today’s the day to watch them!”

“It was,” he pointed out, always the smarty-pants. “It’s past midnight now. You should be in bed.”

“Please, Vikky, Vikky,” you said, pouting and giving him your best puppy eyes. "I'll fall asleep quick."

You saw his eyes flickering as he pondered his options; for once, the crouched position in the couch had given him a sore back, though he also wanted to keep going with his project before any idea could slip off his mind.

“I suppose I can take a small break,” he said, his muscles protesting when he stood up, a groan accompanying his stretches. 

He took the cane, pushing the four empty coffee cups at the center of the table to not knock them over as he passed from the living room to where you were standing in the middle of the dim hallway.

“Come, my love, let’s get you to bed,” he said, going straight to the bedroom where you had already prepared the bed in case Viktor went to sleep with you in his own will, unsuccessfully. Until now, that is.

Your boyfriend tucked you into bed, using your reflexes before he could scoop away, pulling him by the lapel of his shirt so he had no choice but to lay next to you with a sigh. 

Viktor called your name, almost naggingly. Though the sound stopped when you hugged him, making him the little spoon.

“Alright, you have your teddy bear, now go to sleep,” you heard him mumble, his breath drawing goosebumps in the crook of your neck. 

“A very handsome teddy bear,” you said, and he chuckled. 

“Goodnight, my love,” Viktor answered, his lips brushing your neck though his tone was more like a memorandum about you falling asleep than a proper goodbye. 

You looked down at him, his pale skin from days to not have gone to a walk outside, the purple eyebags under those striking golden eyes. 

Taking in his scent, of coffee and ink and citric, you kissed his forehead, bathing him in your warmth and dimming the lamp so the room was barely lit enough to see the pale skin peeking under his baggy night shirt, the hollow ends of his hipbone under the hem of his pajamas. 

When you finished taking him in, you heard Viktor’s snores filling the room, his chest moving a soothing and even motion. 

Smiling that your tactic worked, you slipped one hand toward the end of the blanket, wrapping it around his body as he scooped closer to you, his right leg climbing to rest in your thigh. 

“Goodnight, my love,” you said against his hair, nuzzling into his presence as you too, fell asleep. 

[penvisions]

gone to the dogs {chapter 5}

Pairing: Boston QZ! Joel Miller x Reader ; brief mentions of Boston QZ! Joel Miller x Tess Servopoulos

Summary: Joel dwells on the new facet he's been witness to, internally overthinking over everything his had become and what it once was.

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, canon typical gore, outbreak fic, age gap (only by about ten years), angst, mean joel miller, joel miller is uptight, degrading language, sexual language, sexual proposition, violence, heated interactions, adult language, fighting, argumentative language, mutual disdain, sexual content, implication of sex work, unprotected piv, sexual acts, reader is snarky, reader gets violent, minor injuries, reader meets joel toe-to-toe with insults and it's amazing, both reader and joel pov, lemme know if there are any i missed!

A/N: aaaaaand i'm back. please lemme know what you think?

ao3 link || series masterlist || joel miller masterlist || ko-fi

It’s confusing, the way that he feels about you.

There are warning bells sounding inside his mind, even before the trip to Lincoln to meet with Bill and Frank. While that had helped to establish another partner for trade with a different set of goods, it also allowed him a glimpse into the person you had once been. It had made him begin to think of who you had been and the things the world had done to make you into who he knew you as.

He had been as genuine as he was able to when he approached you in the shower you had indulged in his growing attraction of you. The way you had seemed almost welcoming of him even as you stood naked underneath the stream of water and the whisper of his harsh words from the night before between you. You had allowed him in, had talked with him quietly, none of the biting words you both typically shared.

And then they came back, tinging the air and attitudes flaring the closer you got to the zone.

He doesn’t understand the pull he feels to align in your orbit, the way his appetite could only be sated should you provide toward it.

But he’s all too aware of it that morning as he groans and rolls over to find the bed empty. Tess is at the table, watching him with a detached look on her face. He had started out on the couch, unsure of when he had fallen into her orbit much like he’s used to, much like he’s realizing he’s doing with you.

“Cane dropped off some deliveries for you. I’m going to work, laying low for a while.”

He grunts, pushing himself off the bed. His head hangs between his shoulders as he scrubs aching hands over his face. The hush of his facial hair loud in the silence.

“Didn’t mean to kick you out of the bed.”

“You didn’t. You stayed on your side the entire night.”

“Still.”

“Look, you’re the one who put up the boundary, I’m not gonna push it. We can share a bed without it meaning anything. It’s just sleep.” She’s not upset, at least not that he can sense of her knowing her tells and tones, but she’s not happy either. More…reserved and resigned, willing to play along with the things he had confessed to her as they lay in a furnished house, in a nice bed, with blankets and covers that weren’t matted with dirt no matter how hard they scrubbed them in the sink.

“Gotcha.”

She was out the door before he could finish turning to look at her over his shoulder. He could hear you moving about in your space next door, the slow way your steps move atop the aged hardwood and threadbare carpet with such little sound. So light on your feet, like always. He’s seen it more times than he could count, the way you tip toe up landings of stairs ahead of him, feet light and steps quiet to not draw any attention to you. Always covering your tracks, minimizing the impact you have on your surroundings. Human or otherwise.

‘He can’t sleep, it’s too quiet. He keeps hearing the creak of floorboards, the soft voices of others through thin walls, vehicles patrolling the streets. His mind won’t quiet like the phantom sounds he hears that tell of life in the zone. He’s struggling with being away though he can’t stand to be there in the first place.

It’s an odd feeling, like he doesn’t belong. Anywhere.

The older men have ‘welcomed’ them into their home, albeit he’s sure their hospitality is more of an extension from their fondness of you and Frank’s delight in Tess. Not for him, never for him. A dangerous thing. A dangerous man. Someone to keep an eye on, to tread carefully and cautiously around. He thinks of how he’s had to use his hands, shut off parts of his brain while others shut down on their own in the wake of everything he’s been through, the things he’s done in the name of survival and protection.

And while he regrets, he also revels. In the things he didn’t know he was ever capable of. The things he never wanted to be capable of. He sees in in everyone, the potential. It’s instinct at this point, he sees in himself, in Tess, in you, in Bill and Frank, everyone he interacts with. It makes him a cautious man, exactly the same at the two who had offered him room and board for the night.

Though he doesn’t know if he would’ve done the same, if he had been in their position.

Maybe to Tess, maybe to you. But not another man. It’s hard to tell what they carry in themselves, hard to tell what he carries still and what he’s forced out of his mind.

He doesn’t startle when a soft hand begins to wander over his side, gently holding to his waist.

“What’s got you breathing so heavy?”

“Nothin’,” Is his immediate response, even in the cover of darkness he doesn’t want to open up his mind to the woman beside him. He can’t, she has her own history that plagues her. He knows about some of it, some of it he doesn’t. Some of it may be his fault, some of it is his fault, and he doesn’t…can’t handle hearing the confirmation even if he already knows. Already senses that his lack of willingness to talk, to put voice to things, the way they’ve lived dwells on Tess’s mind far too much. Especially now…

“Joel…” A sigh of her own fills the air, he can feel it on the back of his neck where she’s leaning into his space, arms wrapping around him as they always do. Cradling him, allowing him a moment to feel and not be the one providing, protecting, defending. She allows him that, the chance to just be. Even if he rarely feels like he needs to, even if he feels the need to far more often than he’d like to admit.

Her hand snakes lower, thumb hooking in between the worn leather of his belt and the waistband of his jeans. He had refused to change out of his clothes, while she had willingly and quickly shucked off her own clothing for the set of soft pajamas neatly folded on the bed when they had retired for the night. A finger dangles lower, feeling for him beneath the rough fabric and his mind short circuits.

He….he doesn’t want to. Even as the familiar flare of pleasure roils deep in his body.

“Tess, no.”

“Are you sure? Could help you to relax, actually get a decent night’s sleep for once.” She doesn’t move her hand lower or more firmly, she doesn’t lean into him more, but her words tell of her own willingness and something in him freezes.

“I said no,” He rumbles, feeling at odds with the way pleasure begins to unfurl in his nerves. A natural response to the woman beside him, the only woman he’s known in such a way for over two decades. A lie, his mind decides to betray him, he’d had you just the other day. In a way he’d never anticipated and it had set his nerves on fire and stalled his mind, his bravado crumbling the second your body responded and you touched him in return. It had been electrifying, the way your sounds

“I don’t, I can’t. It’s…it’s not fair to you.” It’s not that he doesn’t feel anything for her, on the contrary, she’s stuck by him for years. Knows him as well as he knows himself, or maybe even more at this point as he’s lost so much of who he used to be. Who he used to think was a good person, a good neighbor, a good brother…a good father. A thoughtful person who watched out for his own, protected and provided for his own as best he could with the hand he had been dealt.

“Don’t you dare make this about me, Joel.” Her voice betrays her, eyes searching his own as he rolls to face her head on, to face his decision and any consequences head on. She’s beautiful, his heart laments.

Her hair is smooth and shiny from a shower she had been allowed to indulge in, with actual hot water and products that he had recognized from his many trips to the store to try and find something to tame tighter curls than his own. Her face is more relaxed than he has seen in- ever, he thinks.

And of course, he would ruin the first real moment she’s had to herself in years. Since before the end of the world, probably.

Joel Miller, a failure once again.'

He shakes the memory from his mind, hoping that today can begin the new page he's intent on beginning.

“I keep forgetting y’all are relatively new here. But the way it happened was, she came outta nowhere, no one knew who she was. Barely recognizable among the mules used for trade to avoid suspicion when the zone first started changing.” The guy is surprisingly willing to talk with his drinking companions, unaware of Joel listening intently as he nurses his own glass.  The room muggy and the air stale as the underground cellar is all but turned into a speak easy. “But then one day the man guy who came from the free lands beyond the walls was found dead with his throat ripped out. Teeth marks and a bloody fingerprints stamped on his forehead. Then all of a sudden, she’s in the middle or in charge of every trade, of every product coming in or out of the zone.”

“She was a mule?” The incredulous statement is just that, a statement. A matter of fact that Joel can feel even in the absurdity of the words uttered by a stranger. A theory he’s had since Frank had checked on you, one on one. The worry and anxiety he had expressed at the way you two had been separated spoke more than the story he was sure to never hear the entirety of. It would explain how you knew so much, every small gap in the fence. Every officer to work with, which ones to avoid. The camaraderie he’s sensed between you and some of them even if your face falls the second you turn away from them. How some of them, how some people of the zone, flock to you.

There are no more mules, no more women who are used to trade. Everything done between willing participants, the use of those unwilling eradicated by someone who had been in their place once. He can almost picture it, even if he doesn’t want to. A younger version of you, terrified but cunning. Biding the time until you could take your power back.

“That’s the rumor, she didn’t even come into the zone proper or get registered, FEDRA turns an eye on her because they benefit from her supplies. Some of them fall at their feet for the chance to interact with her.”

“Shit, she’s really got everyone wrapped around her little finger.”

“People tried to report her, rat her out to soldiers because of how much she was charging but she never got caught and then the next day whoever tried to do it would show up dead. The only person who didn’t was her brother, who watched after her like a damn guard dog, day and night. Those damn little paw print stamps were on everything from that point on, the same ones used now.”

Everything froze in the room as the sound of thunder boomed overhead, the heavy sound of tanks rumbling down the road up above following the sound of rain falling heavy.

“You mean to tell me, some little girl who was being used as a mule ended up being in charge of the entire smuggling scene?” The young woman refilling drinks and taking ration cards couldn’t quell her curiosity, the talk of you buzzing all around the room. It was only natural, you were a woman holding control over something, she was but a server working out a debt in the underground bar.

“She ain’t no little girl anymore. Bitch is fit to tear people apart if she even so much as senses they’re thinking of turning her in or ambushing her. Things got a little different after she turned her own brother in, claiming he used her as a mule too to save her ass from getting caught. But no one really bought the lie when the scene didn’t change after his death. She’s always alone though, no one was looking after her until Miller showed up. But damn if she wasn’t hard to find, kept to the shadows and had soldiers doing most of the trading for her.”

The woman glanced over at Joel, not lifting her eyes to meet his as he placed a card on the table to signal he wanted another pour. She did so, his gruff nod of acknowledgement catching her off guard when he didn’t reach for her in a move she was far too used to at this point. When she pocketed the card, he reached out and slipped another few into her hand directly.

She didn’t say anything and neither did he. Draining his glass, he stood and exited the seedy basement.

He stands outside in the alley, letting the rain sprinkle on his face and neck, reveling in the cool feel of it as it sobers him up. He’s still coming down, the day had been long as he realized just how much he had taken. The events of last night play over his head, the snarl of your lips, the heft of your words, the feeling of the cut off fingers thudding into his chest as you pinned him down. His neck stings as the salt in the rain touches the thin cut on his neck and he thinks over the words of the other patrons.

He feels something swell in his chest, a mixture of emotions knows is tainted by dangerous ones. Like desire.

You had been a mule. Not even legal when the outbreak happened, forced into working the underground scene. Separated from the only person who you had known, forcefully from the way he recalls the conversation between you and Frank. But yet…you had flourished. Grown thick skin, a pelt of protection, a snarl to your lips, and threat to your words. A mirror of who he had turned into, the thought heady as it swirls around his mind.

You had made something of the situation, taking it over and blossoming into someone who had the power instead of being controlled by it. There was no doubt you were behind the ransacking of the apartments once they had returned to the zone. He wondered why for a moment, before he realized that it didn’t matter. He and Tess would fall in line, rather be a part of it and work with you than find themselves on the other side of the line and working against you or competing with you.

It was…admirable, he had to admit. Even if he couldn’t stand the air you sometimes adapted around him. Matching his comments, his attitude, his undermining and authority when he put his foot down. He sees it for what it truly is now, a match to his energy. To hide your own meanings and intentions by butting heads with him. Not at all a false notion, as he’s seen real annoyance and frustration flare to life in your eyes more than once. Now that he’s seen another facet of who you are…

He wonders if…if he were to calm down, would you do the same? He’s tired, the days dragging on and the circumstances getting more dire. He didn’t want to waste energy he didn’t have.

He must’ve been standing there for longer than he realized, because the young girl who had been serving steps out, steps faltering as she sees his shadow close to the door.

“Oh! I’m…you startled me.” He sees that same sparkle of fear he had in your own face, though it’s more apparent, more glaring in this scenario. She doesn’t quickly hide it, gloss over it like you had. She’s innocent, she’s doing her best with what she’s got. But it’s not enough, it will never be enough. For either of you. For him.

“Didn’t mean to.”

“Thank- thank you, for the cards.” She takes a deep breath, as if stealing herself. “Do you want-“

“Don’t wanna see you in there again, you hear me?” Joel cuts her off, aware of his drawl encompassing his words more than usual. The gruff way he shoves the sentiment from deep within his chest, thoughts of a younger version of you in his mind, of his own daughter being forced into the same situation. Of how unfair and disgusting it is, the way women are treated in the end of the world, like just another possession to control and seek after. If he can prevent it in this case, then he would.

“You go home and you stay home, do the work organized by the zone. Only the work organized by the zone.” He catches her eyes, dipping his head in order to do so. She’s frightened, unsure of what is going ton, but she’s remained quiet. A nod of her head is all the answer he gets. “You need anything, you come to me. Food, water, clothing, a place to hide away. No strings or favors attached.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

And then he’s shrugging off from his spot against the wall, shoulders of his jacket damp just as his curls begin to feel the weight of the rain collected on them. It isn’t much, but it’s something. He’s tired of wasting energy in an endless fight for hierarchy, he just wants to feel like a person again. You allow him the space to, your hesitant revelations of late letting him know that there’s a yearning to feel normal that lives in you too.  

The tear of your skin from the barbs is hidden by the pelting rain much like the scream you suppress into a huff of breath, the snag of it pulling a slight whimper in the base of your throat. Muscles tensing, you continue to haul yourself over the top of the fence, the barbs dragging further as you move over them and allow yourself to fall on the other side. Rolling, you try to minimize the impact, your feet finding purchase and you take off down the dim street as search lights continue to search the part of the city you just escaped.

Steps quiet, the adrenaline coursing through your veins spurs you forward, jacket intact but shirt beneath it torn and you hold a hand tight to your middle with a hiss.

The rain comes down in heavy sheets now, just a sparse sprinkle when it had first started. But now thunder and lightning accompany it. The sky lighting up with every deafening boom and you tried to stick to the shadows of the buildings, using them as hideaways as you made your way back to your building.

You barely plopped down into the chair when you heard the muffled voices of your partners next door.

Shrugging from your jacket, you pulled your hair up out of the way before you began to pull the saturated shirt from your upper body. A hiss fell from your lips when the torn fabric stuck to the still bleeding cuts on your middle. Holding your breath, you carefully removed it and tossed the thing to crumble into a heap on the floor. The bite of your belt buckle into your stomach was ignored as you took a healthy drink from the bottle of amber liquid beside you on the table.

“Fuck,” You whispered to the empty apartment as you began to open the sterile packs assembled on the tabletop.

You’re barely on the second pinch of your skin at the needle’s end when the hinges on the door creak. A lucky thing that you recognize the man walking through it, having blanked out on locking it in your haste.

“Hey, I’ve got those credits you-“ Joel trails off when the door opens easily and he’s privy to the scene of you trying to stitch yourself up. Hands trembling slightly and head craned at an awkward angel to best see the spot that needs tending low on your stomach.

“Just set them on the table.” You don’t look up from where you pierce your skin with the needle, silver medical wire catching the light as you pull it as taut as you safely could, blood seeping through the wound at the action. Twin drops of it trailing down your skin to sink into the fabric of your undone waist band pulled to the side, undone belt clinking with the motion of you reaching for another swig of liquid courage.

“Let me,” Joel’s voice is quiet, nearly soft in the way it lacks the gruff edges normally adorning his words.

He’s scooting another chair closer to you, his hands wiped clean on the abandoned cleansing cloth you used among the supplies. His thick fingers carefully extract the needle from your own, mindful to not pull at the work you’ve already managed. His other hand replaces yours where you had been holding the wound closed, eyes narrowing when he could hear the sharp inhale you took and the faint whimper that sounded out on your exhale.

“Does this mean I’ve got a hunt tomorrow?”

“Unless you plan on beating the shit out of a fence,” You try to joke, but the words get caught in your throat when the sting of the thread moving in your skin causes you to shudder. “Hold on, let me-“

“I gotcha, won’t move until you give me the go ahead.”

Ignoring how close he is to you, kneeled before you with his hands so warm against your middle, you reach for the dime bag stamped with your mark and down the four pills inside with another swig of the amber liquid.

“Okay,” You grit your teeth against the unsavory taste, the feel of the pills slipping down your throat. It was what he was waiting for, before picking the task up again.

The shabby apartment is quiet save for the harsh pattering of rain, distant booms of thunder and the even breathing of you both. The air is tense, if only just a bit, neither willing to break almost peaceful spell that had befallen after such a hectic few days and tense weeks. A crux, almost, that you found yourself teetering on with the man. One path that would lead to continuous arguing, violence and second guessing each other or one path that would lead to a better understanding of each other and allow for things to flow more smoothly.

Joel’s wiping away the blood smeared into your skin as best he can now, the end of the stitches tied neatly off and knotted so they remain secure and do their job well. Eight of them, all in all. The cut a harsh line in the soft spot of your belly, the pudge that had begun to form and stubbornly refuse to burn off even after long days of trekking and working despite a lack of nourishing food. It reminds you of how you looked before, when you were able to be the person who you had always wanted to be. But the end of the world had laid ruin to a lot, including the full shape your body had once been.

“Any others?” Joels fingers are wrapping around the bottle of whiskey, a full swig taken followed by another. You can’t help but watch as his throat bobs with the action, your body feeling the narcotics begin to kick in. Tingling sensations skating across your skin and chasing away the pain of the day, of the night, of survival. If only for a moment.

“Dunno, body feels like one big bruise.”

He sighs, shaking his head slightly as he regards the supplies sprawled on the table. Then the tremble of your left hand, the way your palm is inflamed and the cuts there you either don’t register or are ignoring.

“Let’s start with your hand then…” He’s silently thankful when you allow him to grasp it lightly and pull it into his space to look over.

It’s late, sleep evading you the second the pills began to wear off and the pain of your injury flared.

Pulled you up from the depths of your induced sleep. From the shower Joel had helped you to take, to the inspection he had done for anymore injuries. His quiet voice, the deep rasp of it had lulled you as he laid you down once the drugs and exhaustion took over.

You’re pacing in the little free space of your bedroom, in front of the window. The rain is still falling, though the storm seems to have passed. You’ve got one of the small stamps that had been molded and carved out from a bit of rubber. Tumbling the item in your good hand when you hear the floorboards groan underneath someone’s foot.

Spinning around, you see the dark outline of Joel in the doorway, filling the frame as he simply watches you. And it’s unnerving how at ease you feel seeing him there in the middle of the night, when he’s never been in your apartment longer than a few hours to discuss runs or plans. To help with rationing cards, food, or portioning out contraband.

“Y’need to rest. Antibiotics are gonna take it out of you when they kick in.” He’s quiet, voice low as he stands in his spot.

“Pain woke me up, took another pill to even it out.” You keep your voice low, not wanting to break whatever spell is still cast over your apartment. The one that allowed for you both to see each other as people, as equals. No overly harsh words spit at each other. It’s allowing you to glimpse at who he is in his own moments, in the quiet of the evening, in the dead of night when there’s no one to perform for, no one to front for.

“C’mon, lay down. Pacing is just gonna irritate the stitches.”

“You don’t control me.” You can’t help but breathe out heavily, the heft of your body and the pain throbbing in your middle making you irritable despite the atmosphere.

“Not tryna control you, tryna take care of you,” Joel is moving toward you, his frame towering over your slightly hunched over one. He’s all shadows in the darkness of the room, the streetlamps are out on your block. When you take a step back and tighten the grip around the stamp in your hand, he sighs. “Even though I know you don’t need it, least of all from me.”

“I don’t.” You can’t help but rebut. The paranoid part of your brain thinking this was all just some sort of game, some con he was pulling on you. Always on the lookout, always on alert. And it’s tiring, just as much as it is rewarding.

“Tess does, sometimes.” He tries to reason, tries to appeal to you. “I do, too.”

You think back to the way he stalls in moments beyond the walls, when he thinks no one is looking. How he bumps a fist to the center of his chest as if to dislodge something. The pressure of the world and this life settling sharp and heavy in his chest, making it hard to breathe sometimes. Your eyes linger on the scar about his temple, those on his knuckles, the cracks of his knees as he takes big steps up or around something. The palm he holds to his back and the swagger you know he doesn’t deliberately put into his steps as he treads down the hallway at the end of a shift.

“Only had my brother to take care of me. And it was only for a little while.” You confess, heart seizing at the memories of your brother. His last smile to you. You blink back to reality when there’s a tug of your hand. Joel is unfolding your fingers from around the stamp, thick fingers gently prodding at the skin beneath the gauze wrapped there.

Huh. You had been unconsciously pushing into the wound with it, mind relishing in the sting.

“Gonna tear it even deeper, doin’ that.” He’s pocketing the stamp, and you think to argue against it but as you part your lips to do so he’s swooping down to brush his nose against yours. “Lemme distract you another way, yeah?”

“You’re seriously propositioning me right now?” Your words fall short when you don’t step back from him any further. Body already shimmering at the mere suggestion of his moving against it.

“Only if you’re willing.” It’s an honest response, a genuine one. There’s no teasing.  

“What’s the point?”

“The point?” He’s pressing his forehead to yours. “The point is for you to see me, for you to know that I see you. To see that I’m tryna meet you in the middle.”

“But…why?” You whisper, unable to quell the almost giddy sensation of curiosity as you realize he’s being completely open with you right now. That he’s not playing games or trying to manipulate you, nor is he trying to prove a point like he had been the first time around.

“Because I’m tired, Cane.” He admits, “Tired of fightin’.”

“Fighting is half the fun of being paired up, get to rile you up.”

“Fun? Girl, you gotta twisted notion of fun.”

“You don’t even know the half of it.” You smirk, sure he could feel the corner of your mouth pressed to his cheek as you whisper into his ear. But you match the tone of the energy still flowing about the room, the energy flowing between you and press your lips to his in a kiss.

It’s soft, the way his lips move against yours. No nipping teeth or forceful tongue. His hands snake around your waist and pull you to him, body warm and overwhelming as you feel the way he’s already hard.

The kisses turn deeper as clothing is removed, pressed to lips, to shoulders, to the bare skin of your breasts as they are revealed to the cool air. Nipping now, against peaked nubs and exposed thighs, just as your nails leave faint marks of their own on his back, on the front of his stomach where hairs trail down to his weeping cock.

The world stills as he enters you, bodies in tune to each other and your mind blanks as he nestles himself deep and stills. Twin groans of appreciation echo in the air, loud and sharp. His lips find yours in a chaste peck, tasting the soft groan of reverence as it sounds from between them.

“Look at that, little pup just needed something nice and big to fill her up, huh?” He grinds his hips into yours, the coarse hairs surrounding him tingling where they rub at sensitive skin. “To help her calm down and quiet those thoughts in her head.”

“Sh-shut up.” Your words don’t carry any heat behind them, as your eyes clench shut and your body sings in tune with his. Your hips buck, your walls clench, and your breathing heaves. He’s got you exactly where he wants you and he knows it. You know it too, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to submit. Not completely at least, there was no fun in that. But you know that, just under the surface of newfound acquiescence, that the man reveled in the banter you shared. Because you did too.

You trail your hands down from his neck to his shoulders, unclasping them from behind him to push him up. He’s moving with you, willingly, even as you crowd against him and shift him to his back. His eyes are blown wide, pupils taken over as you glimpse them in a strike of lightning that brightens the sky.

“Gonna show me whose boss?” He taunts, even as you can feel the rapid beat of his heart where you hand rests over his chest. Grounding you as you lower yourself back onto him, the glide of him easy as his slick and your own scent the air. “Cause tha’s mighty fine with me.”

“You sure? Didn’t seem to like it all that much the other day.” You gasp as the head of his cock catches deep inside you, sending a bolt of pleasure through you body as thunder booms overhead.

“I was high outta my mind, ain’t my fault.” He grunts out as you settle flush against him. Leaning forward to press your face into the crook of his neck. Your teeth sink into the skin there, tongue tasting the salt of his sweat as you place open mouthed kisses up to his good ear.

“Everything is your fault.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is. But you seem to like this outcome, I sure as fuck do.” He circles his hips, meeting your own swivel, twitching deep inside you as he grips tightly to your hips. His fingers will leave marks, but you think for a moment that it might be glance them in the mirror until they fade. They tighten, gripping to steady you as he begins to thrust up, punching the breath from your lungs with each delicious drag of his length.

“Just this once.” You moan out, voice rounding out as you begin to flutter around him, your stomach tightening as heat and pleasure burn through you. You lean back and rest your palms on his thighs. Hips circling and grinding at a fast pace. The pad of his thumb is pressing to you, jolting you forward and breaking your rhythm momentarily. Your body sings, pleasure cresting and washing over you in waves that could drown. But you catch your breath and ride them out, eyes beginning to droop even as you feel the hot spurts of Joel’s own release paint your insides.  

It’s early, the sun barely showing signs of nearing the horizon. The deep, velvet blue of night lightening in pinks and oranges that begin to color the room and allow you to see the man you felt in your bed the entire night.

Joel is still naked, the thin sheets and coverlet covering only his lower half, allowing you a full view of him beside you. He’s breathing evenly, deeply. You had ended up with your large shirt back on, to help keep the stitches a little cleaner once you had been cleaned with a dampened rag. Something you hadn’t expected of the man, even with this new…shift in the air.

It was peaceful, the night taking a turn you hadn’t expected. And your mind ticks and tocks with the possibilities of now having a somewhat more willing Joel by your side. A guard dog that is sworn to you, should you allow him to. A person who wants to appease you and ensure your safety, in all aspects of your life now, not just as a benefit to their own.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Joel’s sudden voice catches your own even breathing, taking you off guard.

“Like what, Miller?” Recovering quickly from your introspection, you roll your eyes; sure he can feel the motion even with his back still turned to you on the other side of the bed. Of course, he had felt you admiring the muscles of his broad back, the way his shoulders were dusted with faint freckles and dotted with dark moles, much like his strong neck and arms. The narrowing of his waist down to his hips, the dimples he had there just above his firm and shapely ass. He was beautiful, though you wouldn’t admit it to him aloud. “You’re not even facing me.”

“You know what.” He rumbles, voice impossible deep and devastating with sleep that clings to him, refuses to let him go even as he begins to stir in the early hour. A shiver runs down your spine, filthy words from last night

“You’re conceited, you know that?”

“Didn’t seem to mind it last night,” He’s smirking as he rolls over to finally reveal his waking face to you. Eyes softer than you’d ever seen them, relaxed almost as he begins to come back to himself and the world. His curls are a bit wild from his sleep, from the night before when you had run your fingers through the tresses, tangled them and pulled them tight. “Tellin’ me how good I felt, how big I was. Gave me a reason to be conceited, darlin’.”

“Oh no, don’t you start with that. You may have a big dick but it don’t mean you gotta act like one.”

“Like what?” He parrots, teeth glinting as he brandishes a wolfish grin at you. You feel the corners of your mouth twitch, a smile fighting to flourish, and you purse your lips so he can’t see it. Brows furrowing, you lean up and

“You know what.” You parrot back, dodging his ducking head as he prepares to nip at you again. It’s a slow roll away and out from under him, but he allows the movement, leaning back onto his knees more to make space. “We got a trek today, want to check out the hotel and then the old bunker underneath the west end hospital.”

“Long trek.”

“Old man, if I can handle it so can you.” You slowly stand to your full height, stomach pulling as the stitches are moved about slightly. Hands over in front of you as you gauge the slight blossom of discomfort.

“Let this old man into your bed.” His hands are hovering over you, ready to catch you should you fall, ready to do whatever they could to help should you need it, should you ask him to.

“Yeah, well, figured he needed something sweet to keep him in line. What’s sweeter than a pretty little thing than me, hmm?”

“God damn, you’re insufferable.” He huffs, the bed springs groaning as he disappears from his spot behind you. You look over your shoulder to see him pulling his ragged jeans back on. He’s turned away from you but that doesn’t stop you from watching him as he does so.

“You too, Miller.” You’re shoving him toward to the kitchen, intent on him starting a serving of coffee before the day truly begins, the sun beginning to shine through the broken blinds and thin curtains as it rises above the towering wall that surrounds the zone. “Now go make some coffee, yeah?”

“Only because you asked so nicely.” He let’s the momentum of your push carry him across the threshold into the rest of the apartment. He’s smirking, you can tell by the tone of his voice but you don’t let it simmer in your chest for too long before you’re focusing on cleaning the wound and replacing the bandage over it. Dressing for another long day, but at least you’ve got a more willing guard dog by your side to accompany you outside the walls now.

Everything seems to be falling into place, tempers easing, and your power no longer being questioned but accepted. You try to shake the feeling that something bigger is wavering on the horizon, now that you and Joel have found common ground and somewhat of an understanding.

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[preet-01]

Since we're getting into fall weather here, I've been watching period pieces. So here's part one of a maxiel renaissance au with artist max

note: I have very little idea of how money worked in renaissance rome so some suspension of belief is needed for that. though it is a very interesting topic to study based on the little research I did - there were so many types of coins in Italy's history and vary based on the duchy

cw: dubious consent, prostitution

word count: 3287

part one ||| part two

Daniel sighs as he looks at the pouch of coins – ten florins and five grossi. It wouldn’t be enough to get groceries, medicine for Mark, and supplies for Oscar’s apprenticeship.

He would need to ration, Mark’s medicine was a necessity. For all Mark says his leg doesn’t pain him, the doctor had been clear that if they wanted Mark to heal properly then the medicine was necessary. It would take four florins to get all the medicine and bandages – leaving him with six florins and five grossi. 

Five florins would get him the supplies for Oscar’s apprenticeship. Signor Cordiani provides most of the materials Oscar needs, but he would need to get his own paper and drawing materials. It also meant that they would need to continue buying the materials as Oscar runs out of them, which left him with one florin and five grossi. 

He could get some vegetables and hopefully, he’d be able to make a stew with the few ingredients they had at home. That should last them a few days. They would have two grossi left which Daniel could give to Oscar just in case he would need to buy snacks whilst at his apprenticeship during the day. 

The journey from the market to their small home is quick. Neighbors greet him with smiles as they have seen him grow from babe in his mother’s belly to the man he now is. Girls giggle and wave, while men either avert their gazes or leer. Though the girls will do no more than giggle and wave, he is handsome, yes, but he has no money. Or at least not enough to entice any girl into marriage with him. And certainly not when he’s dedicated much of his adulthood so far to taking care of his brothers – marrying him would mean helping him take care of a younger brother who was being apprenticed and an older, bedridden brother. 

Oscar is already home when Daniel gets there. Busy mending his cloak, he doesn’t notice Daniel until the door shuts. Scraps of fabric and thread rest on the table next to Oscar, Daniel will need to buy stronger thread and warmer fabric soon as the warm sunny days become cold dark nights sooner and sooner with each passing day. 

“I’m sorry,” Oscar mumbles when he looks at the meager groceries and abundant supplies for his apprenticeship with Signor Cordiani.

“Don’t be,” Daniel says. He tries to smile at his little brother so he may reassure him that everything is fine and they are not extremely tight on money at the moment. He needed to be the strong one among the three of them, he needed to take care of his brothers. Mark’s injury kept him chained to the bed with only a few moments of walking every day and Oscar was yet young but the only one of the three of them who had the potential to make a name for himself. So he needed to be strong and work whatever jobs he got to provide for his brothers. “Signora Carini will be giving me an advance on my monthly wages soon,” he lies. It won’t be an advance on anything since Daniel does not have a set wage, he gets paid based on how many clients he has, on how many jobs he takes. “Could you go get water from the well? It was not on my way here,” he asks. 

Oscar nods and goes to get some water. Meanwhile, Daniel heads to Mark’s room with the medicine and bandages in hand. Mark is where he had been when Daniel went to work in the morning. Though able to walk a few steps with a cane, the pain in his leg kept him stuck on the bed. 

“You didn’t need to buy that. My leg barely even hurts anymore,” Mark grumbles when he sees the items in Daniel’s hands, “the coin could’ve been spent on something else.” Daniel simply raises his brow when Mark winces as he tries to sit up on the bed. Mark had turned to metal work instead of becoming a vendor when their parents were still alive – metalworkers made more money than vendors. 

The accident happened a few months ago. 

A scalding pot filled with liquid metal had fallen on Mark’s leg. Though the liquid metal hadn’t touched his skin, the heaviness of the pot had broken Mark’s leg and it had burned his skin. The healing process, the doctor has told them, would be slow. Their household had gone from two incomes to one at possibly the worst time ever, not that Daniel would say such a thing to his brothers. 

He couldn’t bear to witness their guilty looks or have Oscar not follow his dreams to help Daniel. 

Without another word, Daniel peels back the bandages he had done in the morning with the little bit of medicine they had left. Slowly, he cleans the wounds, trying his best to not hurt Mark or worsen the injury. “I spoke to Lucia,” Daniel brings up.

“Hmh?” 

“Oscar’s apprenticeship starts soon and you will need someone to help with your leg,” Daniel says, “she’s agreed to come by once every day to check in and make sure you do your daily walk.” 

“Daniel-” 

“Please, just go along with it for my sake? I worry,” Daniel cuts him off. Mark sighs but nods. Daniel knows that Mark isn’t happy about it, but for Daniel’s sake will do it. 

________

Daniel had wanted to explore. 

With a desire for adventure and a wish to see the world, Daniel spent much of his younger years studying cartography. He had been good at it. 

He’d been sixteen when their parents died. It had started as a fever spreading through the city. They’d all gotten it at one point or another, but while they pulled through, their parents hadn’t. Mother was the first to die and his father’s will to survive had lessened until he joined her. 

All hopes of his dreams and aspirations died along with them. There really was no other option. 

Oscar was just a child, barely eight years old and unable to understand what had happened to their parents. Mark, while older, had to work even more than he previously did. With longer hours and more time spent working, he couldn’t raise Oscar. Nor could they afford to pay someone to look after Oscar. 

So Daniel stowed his maps in a chest. Hiding them out of sight but unable to part from something he had loved so much. He’d suppressed his wanderlust and turned his attention to raising his little brother. 

He took menial jobs while Oscar was at lessons with other children in their neighborhood. Three to five-hour jobs with little stability so he could earn some money to lessen Mark’s stress and take care of food expenses. He’d done that until he landed on the doorstep of Signora Carini’s artists’ workshop. 

It’d started innocently. Signora Carini needed a male model for her workshop and he fit the ideal description. Classes at the workshop only lasted a few hours and there was stability. A consistent flow of coins helped them save money for Oscar’s tuition as he grew older. They couldn’t afford anything extravagant, but life was comfortable. 

Everything was okay until Mark’s accident. Daniel had thought about returning to his cartography and contacting his old tutor. He’d started to dream again of leaving the streets of Rome to see the world beyond what he knew. 

But leaving Rome was not in Daniel’s destiny. He was never going to escape the streets he grew up in. Not anymore. He knew that now. 

“Artists are romantics,” Signora Carini had told him when he went to her after Mark’s accident, “and you, my dear, are very pretty.” 

She had caressed his cheek like his mother used to do when he was younger and led him into a private room some artists rented out when they wanted to work without all the noise. 

Ophelia, one of the other models, was in the room. Moans and the smell of sex filled the room as Matteo, one of the regular artists at the workshop, fucked Ophelia. “What?” Signora Carini kept him there as Matteo fucked Ophelia and left her there with five florins — three more than they earned for being models. 

Matteo was the first to take him. Unlike there had been with Ophelia, there were no pretenses about what would happen when they were in the private room. The canvas went untouched as Matteo painted Daniel’s bare skin with bruises and cum. 

At least Matteo was handsome. Daniel could pretend that it was just another dalliance he had — no different from the men Daniel slept with before. 

Others were not so handsome. Nor did they let Daniel pretend like it was just another casual fuck. They wanted more control. They wanted him to smile prettily and let them move his limbs all under the guise of setting him in the perfect pose for a painting that would take thrice the time it should to be finished. 

“You’re much prettier than the girls the Signora has,” the man, Lorenzo, says between grunts. Daniel doesn’t say anything, just fakes a moan as he thinks of all he would need to do once he gets home. Mark should be taking his evening nap and Oscar off at his apprenticeship, giving Daniel enough time to bathe and wipe away any evidence of the things he’d done. If he was fast enough, he’d be able to have dinner on the table before Oscar got home. 

Thankfully the man doesn’t finish inside of him. Most did not listen to that request, too lost in taking their own pleasure. “Same time next week,” the man says when he’s leaving. Five florins rest on the table next to Daniel when he finally has the wherewithal to get up and wipe himself clean for the time being. 

Depositing the coins in his pouch, he goes about cleaning the room and storing the half-complete sketch for next week. 

Daniel is setting up the easel when his next client is let in. “No need for pretenses,” the man says, stopping him. “How many clients have you had today?” He questions. 

“Four already, Master Alberto,” Daniel answers. 

“Oh Daniel, my brightest pupil,” Alberto says, reaching forward to caress his cheek before pushing off the robe. “You would have made an excellent cartographer, but being a whore is your true calling,” he continues. 

Daniel doesn’t moan this time around. Just lays there as the man once meant to teach him the ways of cartography now charts a course of bruises and bites on his skin. He had never liked Daniel making much noise — not when Daniel was his student and certainly not now that he’s his favorite whore. 

Master Alberto always liked to enter Daniel when he was on his back, wanting to see the moment his cock breached the most private part of Daniel. He’d keep Daniel on his back for a few thrusts as his arousal grew at the sight of his once star pupil taking his cock. But sooner than later, he’d take Daniel like a dog takes a bitch in heat, pounding into him with little care about anything other than reaching his completion. 

Sometimes — when Daniel had taken many clients beforehand — he’d reach his peak quickly. Daniel hated those days. Not because he wanted his former tutor fucking him for longer. Rooms were rented based on hours, not orgasms. 

On those days, he’d have Daniel warm his cock. He’d keep it in Daniel’s mouth until he was hard again and then fuck Daniel again. So Daniel hated those days and prayed that Master Alberto would run out of his time. 

Daniel had wanted to explore the world. He had wanted to make maps and find new places. He had been good at it. The best student of Master Alberto — sixteen and filled with so much promise. 

________

Daniel would model for one of the workshop classes at the start of every week. It was the one day that Signora Carini wouldn’t schedule any private modelings for him. 

That is always Daniel’s favorite day. He’s not always naked on those days and the artists are there to perfect their craft, not have an excuse to fuck him without suspicions of being sodomists. 

One artist from the British Isles would always tell him a story of some far-off place he’d visited before coming to Rome. Stories of exotic people in the east and the vast seas in the west filled the classes. 

At the end, he’d always thank Daniel and say his goodbyes. Never once had he requested a private session or touched Daniel in any manner that wasn’t respectable. 

Daniel had always liked him best, just as he liked the start of the week best. 

“But I have the workshop?” Daniel asks, confused by Signora Carini guiding him toward the private room. He doesn’t earn more than two florins, but he likes earning those two florins. He likes starting the week with the handsome man from the British Isles who tells him stories and is kind. 

“Signor Verstappen is paying a lot and he requested you,” she tells him, “Ophelia will model for today’s workshop.” 

Inside the room, Signora Carini orders him to strip and put on the robe most of the models wear for private sessions. “Be good for him Daniel, he may be Dutch but he is very wealthy.” 

Daniel is tying the robe tightly across his waist when a blond-haired man steps into the room carrying his own canvas and paints. 

Handsome and foreign. Daniel could do this. He just needed to smile prettily and moan. 

“Ah, you must be Daniel. I’m Max Verstappen” the man, Signor Verstappen, says with a thick accent that makes his name sound unfamiliar. “Lewis spoke wonderfully about you,” he continues. 

Daniel had many clients ever since Mark’s accident, but he doesn’t remember any Lewis. There was Matteo, Alberto, Lorenzo, Cosimo, and Alexander, just to name a few of them. But no Lewis. 

“Lewis?” Daniel asks, wondering if one of the men has given a false name. He wouldn’t be surprised, some of the things they liked doing with him could ruin lives if even rumors spread of them.

Lewis, Max tells him, is the man from the British Isles who would tell Daniel tales of his travels. Max just keeps talking as he sets up his canvas and supplies. Daniel isn’t entirely sure of what he is saying, but Daniel just nods along. None of the other clients cared much about conversation unless it was to tell him how he’s prettier than some of the girls they’ve seen or how to pose to capture the light just right. 

“You are, of course, perfect for this,” Max says as Daniel zones back into the conversation. 

“Huh?” Daniel questions. 

“For Bacchus,” Max replies, “oh good, there’s oil.” The vial of oil rests on the table where artists would leave coins for him. 

For the next three hours, Daniel has his oddest day of work. 

Max doesn’t fuck him. Doesn’t touch him in any manner that would be considered blasphemous by the Church. Doesn’t make any comments about how pretty he is or how good he would look with a cock in him. 

Nothing. 

Absolutely nothing except sketching his pose on the canvas. He talks and talks and talks, but all of it concerns the painting or how different Rome is from Amsterdam. 

The same happens the next day. Daniel goes to the workshop and Signora Carini leads him to the private room where a robe and fruits are laid out on the bed. Wine and a laurel wreath rest on the table with the vial of oil. Pillows and draperies are nearby in a basket. And at the center of it all is Max Verstappen setting up his canvas and paints. 

Nothing happens, except Max spreads the oil across his chest and moves his limbs in the perfect position. He places the grapes and other fruits around Daniel, covering Daniel’s bare and oiled skin. 

For three hours Max paints him. 

“Do you like being a model?” Max questions. 

“It is a job,” Daniel says noncommittally. It’s not exactly what he had wanted, but it helps provide for his family and allows Oscar to achieve his dreams. If there was another option, he wouldn’t choose this, but this was his only option as he had never been able to hone his skills in any other line of work due to stopping everything when he was sixteen. All he had was his face and body – two things a lot of people wanted to pay a lot for. 

Max makes jokes more often than not. He makes his jokes and looks at Daniel from where he’s sat behind the canvas, and then doesn’t laugh until Daniel laughs. He asks questions about Daniel’s brothers – gives Dutch pain remedies when Daniel talks about Mark’s injury and listens intently as Daniel talks of how talented Oscar is. Max talks a lot about his painting and how he had searched everywhere for the perfect muse, the perfect model to embody Bacchus. 

It goes like that. Max asks him random questions while Daniel wonders when the other man would get it over with. Wondering when the other shoe would drop and Daniel would need to fulfill Max’s desires. Everything seems too normal. It makes him feel not like the whore his usual clients sought, but an actual artist’s model and muse he’d thought he would be when he first stepped through the doors of Signora Carini’s workshop. 

He breaks on the eighth day. After seven days, a week, of laying on the small bed with fresh fruits adorning his naked body, a glass of wine in hand, and oil on his chest instead of coating his hole, Daniel finally asks Max when he’ll fuck him so they could get it over with. 

“Wha-What??” Max sputters, his typically steady hand wavering as he holds the paintbrush just centimeters away from the nearly completed canvas. “Why would- what???” 

“You’re not here to fuck me?” Daniel questions, the grapes resting on his crotch falling as Daniel sits up. “Just to paint?” He grimaces when he sees traces of grape juice staining his skin. 

“Of course, I am here to paint. It is a workshop,” Max replies. 

Daniel just looks at him. Artists didn’t take private rooms to just paint. They didn’t fondle models and request oil to be on all the tables just to paint. They didn’t spend a fortune in the workshop almost every week just to paint. Daniel had seen more than his fair share of painting that would never be completed because the so called artists would rather fuck the models than hone their craft. 

Artist’s workshop was just another name for a brothel, only this way they didn’t have to worry about it impacting the lives they lived outside of these four walls.

He was not the crazy one for asking why Max just kept painting him instead of doing what every other man did. He wasn’t. 

“I have to go,” Daniel says. Rushing to get up, he feels the juice of all the fruits squeezing and oozing underneath his limbs, but he does not get up. He needs to be away from here and from Max who doesn’t want to fuck him and just wants to paint him. People don’t want to paint him, they want to fuck him. He’s not a muse or anything like that, just the favorite whore. 

“Daniel-” Max starts to say, but Daniel doesn’t wait around to hear it. 

_______

Part 2 (Max POV) will be posted in about a week

[lunarcrossingart]

Free Use Peri Design

Something I love to do is think deeply about characters! I don't plan on using this design or drawing Peri much, so you're free to yonk it and do whatever you want with it

*side note: His suspenders work to hold his pants up so he doesn't step on the hem of his slacks :3

You're free to ask me questions on his design but please note that I am not a cane user.

Text Description under cut

A Way To Make Cane Use More Visible As A Fairy (box). Image description: A picture of Peri in his fairy form is shown leaning his right hand on his cane while his other hand gestures outward. Notes: -Lean all of Peri's weight towards cane - *Wings down* show he's relying on cane clearer - (left) leg at rest - this (right) leg should be ready to move - round (end) works better for a flying creature's grip - cane is at lowest point to show weight (End of notes)

Fairly Bad Days (box). Image description: Peri is resting his head on the ball of the cane with his hands under his chin. He is curled up tightly with wings down and his crown dim and deflated as he looks. Notes: - curl him up tight with all weight on cane to visibly show he's tired - Dim the crown + limp to show fatigue (end of notes) Image description: An arrow points to a new pose where Peri lifts his wand high over his head and flared out his wings in a pained expression. Notes 2: - granting wishes while fatigue(d) should be painful! He's out of spoons but must grant wishes! Or he dies - Over extend cane + wings to show he's pushing himself. (End of notes 2) Image description: A new pose is placed under the strained poses. Peri collapses face first into the ground and loses his dimmed crown as well as his wand which is rolling away. Notes 3: - Him fainting from over extension should happen - provides a good opportunity to talk about disability and doing what you are able to do (end of notes 3)

Human Notes (box). Image description: Peri, as a human, poses with right hand on his tripod cane, and his left gestured outwards. His right leg stays stiff, parallel to his cane, and his left leg is relaxed. Differences in this form include a split collar, a sweater over his shirt, rolled sleeves, a medical bracelet on his left hand, his right holds a customized cane with stickers, and leather mule shoes with socks. Notes: - Fairies are very clumsy at the whole walking thing. He's cane should have a tripod base to help with stability - bend arm (using cane) - stickers :3 He's a fun godparent after all! - (having a mobility device) also allows him to keep his wand out - (left leg) can be bent or at rest - mule shoes to match parents (sandals in human form) (end Notes)

Medical Bracelet (box). Image description: Still the same image describe in number prior. The medical band is secured by a little star button. Notes: - (it) reads "I wish this person was at his parents house and I don't remember this wish." For emergencies (end notes)

Nope (box). Image description: A small doodle of Peri lifts his cane angrily, which shows the tripods sharp star base. Notes: - Peri doesn't like help, he can AND should push people away with his cane (end notes)

No Title. Image description: Peri poofs into existence on his parents couch in fairy world. He is half hazardly strewn across the couch, groaning face down against the arm of the chair. One of his shoes falls off and his wand rolls away. Wanda is in the corner of the picture, in fairy form, and happily asks her son "Peri! Want some tea, sprout?". Notes: - His parents have a human-sized couch just for him

Mobile is hard to type on!!

[circeyoru]

{Demonic Companion} Something's wrong with your lover + Angst moments over love

First spin-off! This request can be found in {Demonic Companion _ Part 2}

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@writer-girl993d

Maybe after reader gets a lover, they’re ranting about the lover to Alastor and realizes something’s wrong. Or before lover boy gets involved and we get the angst over what Alastor “likes” Mimzy over? I have more ideas but I don’t want to flood the comments with them but let me know if you want more?

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**For the sake of it, I’ll just call the lover as ‘L’ cause I don’t know if you prefer female or male lovers. 

What if you realize there’s something wrong with your relationship with L while ranting to Alastor?

The likelihood of you realizing something wrong is slim, but with more obvious hints, you’ll notice. Especially since you’re comparing L with Alastor to prove to yourself that it was a ‘good’ or ‘safe’ choice as you do love Alastor still but gave up since he has crush on a demon that you don’t think you can compare with

To realize something wrong would be something along the lines of L having red flag, being abusive or manipulative or anything like that. How you realize is thanks to Alastor. Before you and the Overlord were all buddy-buddy, he did try to rope you into signing a contract with him and it was your persistence that got him to give up (hence why Alastor wanted you romantically now)

But because Alastor changed for you, you think the same would happen with L. Now a cruical element in that change is whether L is geuninently in love with you. If not, you can bet that you will break things off since you can tell fake from true. If so, you’d be more patient. It wasn’t like Alastor also changed by the next visit

Overall, you’re seeing Alastor in L, that was why L was your crush and lover to begin with. L was your reminder of what would be a happy end for you two if Alastor didn’t express his distance to you and his crush to Mimzy

You would have fought back and tried to win Alastor’s heart, but you weren’t the type of person to selfishly want your own happiness to sacrifice others’. Why did you think your childhood friends didn’t listen to you when they were doing that demon summoning?

Angst Moments Over What Alastor ‘Likes’ About Mimzy

*Fair warning, this would be set before you express your crush and still pursuing Alastor’s heart but he’s in denial and pushing you away strongly. Alastor firmly drawing the line that you two were merely friends and you should be grateful that he didn’t do anything bad to you

“Oh, the gal should can dance! Back in the days, you should have seen her, she can dance throughout the night and until the sun comes up! Ha! No one but I can keep up with her. There were rumours going around that we were an item. Oh, how I wish it so.” Alastor sighed as he played with his cane childishly while his eyes looked so distant

You shouldn’t have asked, you shouldn’t have been curious. They say ignorant is bliss, but now that you know. You can’t forget it. You scrolled on your phone, hugging your soft toy tighter. You could hear your heart shattering with every praise and admiration that rolled off his tongue, you wanted to put in your earplug or tell Alastor off so you could bury your head in your pillow and sob the night away

You can’t help but be smitten with the charming demon, not that he was powerful and handsome and well, charming. But he had been the only one in your life that stayed by your side. Whether it was being brutally honest or poking fun at you to make you stronger. It was always him and he didn’t leave you

Giving him your soul wasn’t the answer because then your life would be cut short and you want your freedom and pride still. As much as you know that was what Alastor want from you

You tried taking dancing lessons, train your public speaking, work part-time at a cafe, all those things Alastor told you about Mimzy. It was out of your comfort zone, but if it gets Alastor to see you as something more than a potential contracted soul or a friend, it was worth it

But you got the worst wake up call

“My dear, are you trying to be like Mimzy?” Alastor’s words taunted you, making you brush in embarrassment for being found out. His condescending laughter didn’t comfort you. “You mortal soul, can never be like Mimzy, you’d never be on your level! No matter how hard you’d try, you can never be like the one I love and care for. So, do give up and save yourself the money, energy, and time spent on these wasteful efforts of yours.”

It was a wonder you didn’t break down on the spot and cry

Unlike Mimzy, you weren’t successful, nor can you dance like crazy. You didn’t know Alastor from his time period, you didn’t bond with him as much. You didn’t know Alastor as much as Mimzy, you’d still fear his demonic form whereas Mimzy cheers him on. You’re not Mimzy. Alastor likes Mimzy

Right, you wake up from then on. Alastor doesn’t love you like he would to Mimzy. You were merely an entertainment on Earth that he graciously gives his time and energy to. How many can say that a demon stayed by their side and not torment them for the rest of their mortal life? You might be the only one

So you smiled, your eyes closed and your lips curved into the widest smile you can manage. You didn’t catch the way Alastor freeze and his smile faltering when you spoke those words that changed everything from then on, “Right, sorry. I thought I could learn a thing or two from Mimzy since you hold her in such high regard. I was silly. Can you please give me some time to think things through? Maybe a week or so. I’ll be back to normal by then.”

Alastor shouldn’t have agreed. He shouldn’t have ignored and brush off the way you were so stiff and in such disbelief of his words. He was harsh, he saw that now. He shouldn’t have given you space. But what was he to do? He didn’t even know why he said and did what he did

The next time Alastor returned to your side, you have already been directing your attention to a crush of yours from school and your intimate care to him was all missing its warmth

Note: The second spin-off for this series is coming soon~ It's a bit of a sample to let you see what the requests would be written as. Obviously it's going to be as long as your and my ideas combined, but not long enough to be a one-shot

Circe Y.