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hisnumber1 · 10 months ago

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Devil's Embrace

Paring: Lucifer Morningstar x reader

Summery: (Y/n) had found herself at the hazbin hotel. She never thought of redemption but she got a free room while she does her work. (Y/n) made outfits and tailored for people if they pay enough. She loves trying to make unique dresses for balls or for higher class. Keeping her name in the high class of hell, she tailored for the king of hell himself. Finding herself tailoring for him in the hotel of his daughter is an interesting situation.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Genre: fluff, slowburn, close proximity.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

I find myself leaning back in my seat, sighing. Watching AngleDust flirt with Husker and he growls in response. Charlie is putting more stuff on her board as she tries to figure out how to make the hotel work. I jump back on feet, strolling down the hallway ways to get to my room. I walk into my room filled with drawing and projects I've worked on. I fall flat on my face into my bed, I turn my head, looking at my recent project of a dress.

The dress was a long ballroom dress, with a long v going down the chest. The sleeves were mesh, and at the top it came off the shoulder. The skirt came out and poofed out, with the back covered in a long black mesh. The dress was white, with highlights of red, all of the mesh was black, giving it a dark energy.

Something just seems off, I don't know what it is but it just does. I hear a ping come from across the room. Lifting up my head and seeing my phone light up, I groan as I pull myself up. Walking to my table, I grab my phone and sit on the table. I read the notification, it was an email. I tapped on it, scanning over the text.

"Dear Ms. (L/n),

I hope this email finds you well. I recently purchased a suit, while I am pleased with the quality and style, I find that it is slightly larger than my measurements. Therefore, I am writing to inquire about the possibility of having it tailored to a smaller size.

The suit in question is a white Shawl Lapel with red highlights, the fabrics are jacquard and velvet, and I purchased it about a week ago. I have attached a copy of the receipt for your reference.

I would greatly appreciate it if you could provide me with information on the process and cost involved in resizing the suit. Additionally, if you require any further measurements or details, please do not hesitate to let me know.

I am eager to have the suit adjusted so that it fits perfectly, and I trust your expertise in handling this matter. I am available to schedule an appointment at your earliest convenience.

Thank you for your attention to this request. I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Warm regards,

Lucifer Morningstar"

I sigh as I look at the photos he sent. It is a beautiful suit, but if I did it, the style would be better, but it is not mine. Thinking of what the price is, I need to get his exact measurements to tailor it correctly. Pressing the reply button, I started typing out my reply.

'Dear Mr. Morningstar,

Thank you for reaching out and for providing the details regarding your suit purchase. I appreciate your trust in our tailoring services.

I will be more than happy to assist you with resizing your suit to ensure a perfect fit. Before proceeding, could you please bring the suit to my studio for a fitting session? This will allow me to accurately assess the alterations needed and provide you with a precise cost estimate.

Once I have examined the suit, we will discuss the adjustments required and provide you with a timeline for completion.

Please let us know a convenient time for you to visit our store, and we will schedule an appointment accordingly. Feel free to contact us if you have any further questions or concerns.

Looking forward to seeing you soon and assisting you with your tailoring needs.

Best regards,

(Y/n) (L/n)'

I read over the email before hitting send. 'Wait, isn't Charlie his daughter?' I thought as I look back over his name. I press another reply button and put the the address, letting him know where he could meet me. Tossing my phone onto my bed, I walk out into the lobby again, sitting on the bar stool. "A shot of anything strong." I grumbled at Husk, he was cleaning a glass when he heard me. "What's the occasion?" He asked grabbing a shot glass before pouring some. "Work." I groan with my head on the bar, keeping my eyes shut, my headache gets worse with light.

"Ever thought of getting anything for those migraines?" Husk asked when he placed down the shot, I look up, grabbing the shot and downing it. "Another please. I've looked into it, but I don't need to, I'll just deal with it." Sighing as I push the shot towards Husk. He shakes his head as he pours another one, pushing it towards me. Taking the glass and downing it again.

I hear Charlie in the lobby talking to Vaggie about something, I turn to her. "Hey Charlie. Your dad is gonna come in a few days." I slur out, catching her attention she turned me wide eyed. "What?" She asked as she walked closer. "I'm tailoring a suit of his, I told him I need to take measurements cause he could have grown in the last year." I replied to her. "So he's coming to the hotel?" "Yeah, I think so." Replying to her she chuckled a but before pacing back and forth. "He's only gonna be in my room, just to get measured. He's one my highest paying customers." I chuckle, feeling the alcohol get to my system.

"He emailed me a few minutes ago about getting a suit tailored. I told him that I needed for take his measurements and then I would come up with the price." I explain to her. Charlie's pacing got faster, but she's stops when Vaggie puts her hand on her shoulder. "When would he be here?" Vaggie asked me and I shrugged.

"I can go see if he answered if you would like?" I got up from my seat, walking to my room. Opening my door, I walk to my bed, grabbing my phone. I look at the notifications, seeing a email. I walk out to the lobby, opening the email.

"Dear Ms. (L/n),

Thank you for your prompt response and for offering to assist with resizing my suit. I appreciate your attention to detail and professionalism in addressing my tailoring needs.

I will certainly bring the suit to your studio for a fitting session. I propose scheduling the appointment for this Friday afternoon around 2:00 PM. Please let me know if this time works for you, or if an alternative time would be more convenient.

I look forward to meeting with you and discussing the necessary alterations. Thank you once again for your assistance, and I am confident in your expertise to ensure a perfect fit for my suit.

Best regards,

Mr. Morningstar"

I read out loud. Charlie pauses and starts pacing again. "He can't come. We don't even know if this works. If he comes he'll know I failed." Charlie said lowly, Vaggie hugs her and kisses her cheek. "It'll be fine love." She said as she pulled away from the hug. Vaggie looked over at me and sighed. "He'll be here in two days, just make sure he is only here for that a not going anywhere else. Charlie isn't ready to face him at the moment." She said as she looked up at the clock to check the time.

I nod, I grab the shot glass and down the last one before walking to my room. Falling onto my bed, a breath left my lungs as I hit the bed. I turn over and pick up my phone, unlocking it and looking at the photo of the suit. Thinking for a second, it looks a lot like the dress. Looking between my phone and the dress on the lay figure, they would look together.

Standing up from my bed, I tiptoe to the sewing mannequin. I run my finger across it, looking back at the photo and then back at the dress. A light bulb lit up and I ran to my desk, grabbing safety pins. Taking out my sewing needles, turning on my machine, grabbing buttons. I pull the mannequin next to the desk, sketching out the idea in my head.

A bang woke me from my slumber, I jerk up and look around. Standing in my door way is AngleDust, he looks out of breath. "(Y/n)! My shirt is ruined!" He said as he walked closer with his torn shirt. I groan and put my head back on the desk. "You alright toots?" He asks as he puts his arm on my shoulder. "I'm fine, I finally figured out what was wrong with the dress, and I fixed it. There is a problem though, Lucifer is gonna be here tomorrow and he's kinda matching with his suit." A groan left my mouth, Angle walks over to dress. "It's gorgeous. I mean it's always been." He said as he looked over it.

Sighing as I felt my eyes closing. I stayed up all night working on it, adding new fabrics, adding the details. I felt myself falling asleep again as Angle looked over the dress.

My eyes slowly open, I groan as I sit up. "My back hurts like hell." Groaning as I stood up. It looked dark out, I must have slept all day. Walking out of my room into the lobby, the lights were still on so someone was awake. Yawning as I walk to the bar, my eyes saw Alastor, he was sitting on the couch as he read a newspaper. "Morning Al." I yawn as I pour myself something to drink.

His head perked up at my voice. "Morning, you know it's in the late afternoon right?" He asked as he placed his newspaper down.

"Yeah, I didn't sleep last night. So I slept all day." Yawning as I walk over to the couch, sitting next to Alastor. "Why didn't you sleep?" He asked as he sipped his drink. "Working on that dress." I groan. He hummed in response. I downed the rest of my drink before standing up. "Well Lucifer is coming over tomorrow, so I need to sleep. Night Al." "Oh goodnight (Y/n)." He grinned.

I step into my room, closing the door behind me. Sighing as I walk over to my bed, sitting on the edge before falling backwards. Grunting at the sudden stop, I throw my arm over my eyes, slowly drifting off to sleep.

Waking up to my alarm, I groan. I slowly sit up and turn off my phone. I whimper as the sun hits my eyes, I have to get ready and clean up for the appointment. I pick up my phone reading the time, but I saw that I had a email.

'Dear Ms. (Y/n),

Hello, I hope this email finds you in good health. I wanted to make an appointment to have a meeting. I want some new clothes by your hand. If you have the time for a meeting please contact me.

Love,

Valentino <3'

I read over the email before putting my phone down. I really don't want to deal with him right now, I sighed as I went to my drawers. Pulling out some presentable clothes, then walking to my restroom to take a shower. I turn the knob letting the water start, after I pull my clothes off of me, letting it hit the floor. Pulling my undergarments off before sliding into the shower. The hot water hitting my skin and wetting every inch of my body.

I put shampoo in my hair and scrub it in, soap going down my body as I rinse my hair out. Grabbing the bottle for conditioner, letting my hair run under water. Pouring some into my hand before scrubbing it into my scalp. I let the conditioner soak, I wash my body before rinsing off everything. Turning off the water, I grab a towel and put it around my body.

Walking into my room, striding to my bed, where I put my clothes. Taking the towel and drying off my hair before dressing myself. After wards I look at the time, it read 12:47 pm. I sigh, I still have almost two hours before he gets here. I look around the room, seeing my room is a mess, knowing us have to clean it sooner or later.

Cleaning up my room, putting everything in place before he gets here and picking up trash and dirty laundry. I organized everything and I looked at the time, it was 1:36 pm. My eyes widen as I look at the time. "Shit he'll be here soon!" I yelled at myself and I got a new mannequin out for the suit, making sure I knew where everything I needs was. Keeping track of time, I brushed my hair and put on light makeup, so I didn't look like I was dying.

Getting myself mentally prepared to see the sin of pride. He was cocky everytime you saw him, not a bad cocky but like 'he knows he's hot and he's not afraid to show it off' cocky. The man was hot, I can't denie that.

I walk to the lobby waiting for the knock, not a second later I hear it. Walking to the door, slowly opening it to reveal Lucifer. "(Y/n), it's been to long." He grinned as walked in to the hotel, his eyes shifted all over the lobby. "We will be working in a room back here, just follow me." I say as I lead the way to my room. He gladly follows along behind me, still looking everywhere. We make it to my room and I close the door after he walks in.

"Now if you would please stand here." I ask him to stand on a X mark on the floor. He looked down and nods with a smile. "So how have you been (Y/n)? I haven't seen you in about a year." He asked as he gave me the suit. "Eh, tired. I have been working on a new dress over that year, I finally finished it the day before yesterday." I reply, setting the suit on the mannequin.

"Yeah? May I see it?" He asked as he looked around my room. I nodded and I walked into my other room, I have to rooms attached to each other for my bed room and my studio. Rolling the mannequin out, the jewels sparkled in the sun light.

"That is gorgeous." Lucifer said as he walked over, feeling the fabric. "It looks a little familiar." He said as he put his hand on his chin. His eyes caught on the suit and he gasped. "It's like a set! The dress and my suit." Lucifer stated as his eyes light up. I chuckled and nodded. "I noticed that when you sent me the photos."

"I would love to buy it." He said as he looked at it. I stopped in my tracks. "What?" I asked with a chuckle. "How much, I could gift it to my daughter." He stated as he started pulling out his wallet. "I'm not selling it right now. I actually made it for myself, kinda a dream dress." I chuckled nervously.

You could practly hear his face light up. "I've never seen you wear a dress." He said surprised. "Well yeah, I don't like wearing them." "You should put it on." He said. "No." I said flatly.

"Oh come on (Y/n). You even match with the king if hell, why not put it on?" He asked. "Lucifer, I need to start measurements, please stand where you were." I said with no tone. He was a persistent man. "Come on, I would love to see you in it." He purred out. "Lucifer arms up." I said with a measuring tape in my hands. "Come on." He whined out.

As he is begging me to put on the dress, I just ignore him and measure his body. As I measuring his bust to his groan there was blast and the hotel shaked. Causing Lucifer to tumble over and fall on me.

I closed my eyes at feeling of the rumbling, so I didn't know how close he was to me. "Well hello gorgeous." I hear Lucifer say, I open my eyes to see his face a few inches away from mine. "Oh you're wearing makeup, it looks good on you." He complemented me. "Lucifer get up." I say as I start pushing him. "I am darling." He chuckled. Standing up, he offered me a hand, which I gladly took.

"Well that didn't sound good." He stated as he dusted himself off, I nodded in agreement. "I actually finished measuring you, I would probably charge you about $230." I said as I looked over my notebook, adding the measurements. "Always straight to business. That's what I liked about you." He chuckled. Taking money from his wallet, handing it over to me, before I pull away he takes my hand, bringing it to his lips. Kissing my knuckles for a moment before pulling away. "Well I'll see myself out, and you should probably check what that sound was." Lucifer said as he started walking out of my room.

Watching him walk off, I felt the heat leave my face. When did that happen? When did my face get so hot? I asked myself, but just blew it off as me just getting hot. Placing down my money on the table, and I hear another bang. Groaning as more rubble falls down in my room. "Ughhh! What is that!?" I yelled out.

A/n: My first story on here and I plan to write more. Sorry if I update slow but I'll get around to doing it!

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer magne x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #Alastor #charlie morningstar #angle dust #husker hazbin hotel #vaggie #hisnumber1

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velarisbynight · 4 months ago

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Call Me By My Name

Rhysand x Feyre

For day 4 of @acotar-omegaverse-week — Getting Knotty: …you really didn’t think we’d have omegaverse week without a whole day for knots, did you :)

a/n: I was wary about writing for these two but I actually enjoyed their dynamic lot! Will definitely try to write more for them!

warnings: sexuality; smut; knots; overstimulation; oral (Feyre receiving)

word count: 1.9k~

~~~~~~~~

“You’re insatiable,” Feyre huffs as her mate noses up the length of her throat, broad palms that have been long-since flecked with discoloured skin from scars and rubbed rough from callouses sliding from her waist, to her hips, to her legs. Fingers trail up the tops of her thighs, a shiver of pleasure zipping up Feyre’s spine when his thumbs hook around the narrow, black lace at her hips.

“And you’re incredibly provocative,” Rhysand whispers, hot lips graze the shell of her ear, sharp canines nipping at the point before trailing down to lazily tug on the lobe. “You’re incredibly provokable,” Feyre counters, biting on her lower lip, tilting her hips so the curve of her ass is rubbing against the seam of his trousers.

A hot, strained chuckle rumbles through her back and it doesn’t take much to imagine the wicked smirk on the High Lord’s mouth. How his pupils might be expanding, swallowing that beautiful ring of starlit violet. “I’m incredibly provokable?” The pads of his fingers graze across her abdomen, ticklishly raising a prickle of goosebumps in their wake. His mouth lowers to her jaw, pushing small, soft kisses to a spot he knows makes her weak. “I so much as look at you differently and you’re hauling me away into a spare room.”

“Mhmm. Like I did just now, High Lord?”

Rhysand’s groan morphs into a chuckle, silky blue-black hair brushing Feyre’s collar bones as he lays his brow to her shoulder, a smile on his mouth, “That, was an exception.”

“I’m pretty sure you were the one doing the hauling there, or was that all my imagination?”

“Was I supposed to leave you be after you lifted your top?” Rhysand drawls, his hand dipping further between her thighs, not yet slipping beneath her underwear but cupping her clothed sex, fingers poised to prod and push. “What sort of alpha would that make me if I left my darling omega unattended?”

“Uh-huh, that’s the reason why you hauled me in here.”

The High Lord pulls away, standing to his full height and turning his mate by her hips so they’re chest to chest. “Should I stop?” He whispers, a glint in his dark eyes.

“Could you stop?” Feyre counters breathily, fingers raising to tip the black, lacy strap over the curve of her shoulder. The first one falls, and the second follows after. Violet eyes track each movement, his tongue wetting his lips, “I could do anything if you asked it of me.”

“So charming, High Lord.”

“So wicked, High Lady.”

Feyre tilts her head upward, light brown hair tickling further down her spine and Rhys lowers his mouth to meet her, lips pressing together. A mixture of a moan and a hum warms the High Lord’s mouth as Feyre’s hands greedily rise over his chest, her fingertips teasingly tracing up the notch lapels of his finery before tangling in his raven locks of hair. Broad palms return to her hips and Feyre moves with him as he walks her back to their bed, the backs of her thighs brushing the rouge and gold jacquard patterned sheets.

Rhysand is the first to pull away, his hold tightening around Feyre’s waist as he keeps his mouth within kissing distance. “I’m hungry, High Lady.”

“You’re always hungry, High Lord.”

“Call me by my name,” he whispers, breath tickling her mouth as shivers of tingling pleasure skitter through her abdomen. “Only if you call me by mine.”

A low, strained chuckle drags from the back of his throat and the next thing Feyre knows is she’s being hoisted from the floor and carefully set back in the bed, the rouge and gold rayon fabric teasingly scraping against exposed skin. Her hair scatters across the sheets, framing her perfect features as cool, watercolour-blue eyes gaze up at her High Lord. Her alpha. Her mate.

“Come here, Rhys.” The male in question doesn’t attempt to hide the effect her husky voice has on him, nor does he show even the slightest amount of embarrassment as his tongue flicks out over his lips and he palms himself through his trousers. “Shall I be on top of you, tonight?” He questions in a silky drawl, removing the clothing from his upper body seamlessly, a few swift movements and skilfully tailored fabric is discarded, “Or would you prefer to take the lead?”

“And make your mate do all the work?” Feyre questions as she parts her thighs, legs curving at the knee to make room for him as he prowls forward. A wicked smirk appears on his soft mouth, “You love it.”

“Then I’ll leave the choice up to you, since apparently I was the one who got you in to this state. Does that sound fair?”

“You’ll let me decide what I do to you, Feyre?”

Heat flutters between her legs, arousal infusing into the air, dampening the black lace covering her sex. “I’ll let you decide what you do to me,” she breathes, curving one leg around his hip, glancing with interest down to his mouth, “Rhys.” The High Lord releases a sound between a groan and a laugh, then he’s allowing the rough pads of his fingers to settle over her diaphragm, slowly, tenderly, coasting their way up her sternum, gliding between her breasts until they’re pausing over a fluttering pulse.

“I’ll take my time then, shall I?”

~~~~

Feyre’s spine arches from the mattress as the orgasm barrels through her sensitive body, those deft, cruelly skilled fingers continuing to curl and rub against that spot while his tongue flickers over her clit.

His name has been repeating in her mouth for what must have been hours—there’s no way he could make her feel this good in anything less than that, even knowing how talented that silver-tipped tongue of his is. The flimsy black lace that had been covering her breasts has long-since been pushed away, though she’s still clasped within its confines. Just like with her underwear. Rhys had simply pushed it to the side, keeping her under that self-imposed containment she wishes he would simply tear right off. She wouldn’t even be mad if he did.

What she is mad about, is the leisurely curl of his fingers, the idle strokes of his tongue as it caresses the tip of her puffy, aching clit. “Rhys…” She whines, hands gripping the sheets, the covers long-since tossed to the side. Violet eyes flick up from between her thighs and she tightens around his fingers as he emerges from where he had been applying himself, a silvery strand of arousal connecting from his lower lip to her cunt. “Hmm? I thought you wanted a break?”

Feyre shoots him a glare before melting back into the bed. “You want the same thing I do,” she huffs, shifting her hips but it only causes his fingers to again push against that spot. “I do?” Rhys muses, lowering his head just enough to deliver a teasing lap to her clit. “And what is that?” Blue-grey eyes darken with hunger, turning the colour of stormy coastal skies. A dusky red colours her cheeks, the pink of her lips looking fuller than usual from teethmarks, “you know what.”

“I want you to ask for it,” Rhys breathes, muscles flexing in his powerful shoulders as he lifts on to his arms, prowling up Feyre’s body until his lips are grazing the valley of her breasts. “Ask me to give it to you.”

Feyre snorts. “You have a giving kink.”

Fingers pluck at one of her nipples and she gasps. “Aren’t you lucky to have such a generous alpha as your mate?”

“So generous,” Feyre fixes, a glint in her eyes as her fingers dance over the muscles in his broad shoulders. She lifts her smiling face from the pillows, just so their lips are brushing, “and so arrogant.”

“It’s well-earned,” he protests, but Feyre doesn’t seem to bother with his reply, wrapping her legs around his hips. “I want your knot, Rhys.”

The High Lord groans, shifting so each movement, every breath adds to the delicious pressure between them. “Ask me again.”

The High Lady rolls her eyes, a playful smirk on her lips, but adheres. “I want your knot. Will you give it to me?”

“How could I ever refuse?” He murmurs causing Feyre to laugh, her blueish eyes twinkling as he presses one more kiss to her mouth. “Since you asked so nicely.” Another kiss. “I’m willing to indulge.”

“How generous you are.”

Rhys chuckles before righting himself, fingers skimming down the underside of Feyre’s thighs then looping beneath the black lace, “Lift up for me, Feyre.” The High Lady complies, happy to finally be shimmying free of the sopping underwear, legs parting to bear herself to her alpha. Rhys can’t help himself, running his middle and forth finger up through her centre, parting her until he reaches the tip of her swollen clit. How tempting it is to take her in his mouth again. But instead he wraps himself in his hand, guiding the tip to her entrance.

Maybe he rubs his cock against her sex a few more times than he needs, just to work her up a bit more, bumping into her clit while precum leaks down his head.

Feyre’s rosey lips part on a throaty moan as he pushes in, so easy for him to slide home by the amount of slick wetting her thighs and soaking the sheets below. “Greedy thing,” Rhys comments lowly when her legs squeeze his hips, making sure he’s flush with her cunt, “this is the fourth time this night you’re taking it.”

“I’m not greedy.” Feyre tilts her hips, pushing the head of his cock to rub upward against her walls. “Is it greedy to want to have my mate inside of me?”

Rhys drops a kiss to her lips, “not compared to your usual hunger.”

“Your usual hunger.”

“No? You don’t ever find yourself hungry for me, Feyre?”

Feyre huffs a laugh, her eyes twinkling. “Maybe sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?”

“Frequently.”

Rhys smirks, drawing back his hips then pushing straight back in as if he can’t bear to be away from his omega for more than a second. Feyre’s moans grow incrementally in volume as the pace increases, already beginning to feel the skin at the base of him flaring, a sure sign he’s as hungry for her as she is for him. And with how much pleasure has already been raised to their surfaces it doesn’t take long for things to click into place.

Legs wrap tight around the High Lord’s waist as they lock together, pleasure thrumming like something physical between them, smothering the air and turning their visions hazy. His knot presses against her inner walls, triggering pulses of pure ecstasy to sweep through both of them as the high is reached, a peak shared through the bond that joins them.

Feyre’s back arcs, and Rhys allows his lips to press to the pulse point in her throat, feeling that heavy stutter beneath his mouth, taking a deep inhale of the scent that’s practically rolling from his divine mate in waves.

Gods, he doesn’t want her to ever come off his knot.

What heaven it would be to have his darling Feyre wrapped around him, laying with him, holding him for as long as they could last.

#feysand smut #acotaromegaverse2024 #call me by my name #rhysand x feyre #alpha! rhysand x omega! feyre #rhysand x feyre smut

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cowboyemeritus · 1 month ago

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Day 16

Prompt: Corsetry

Pairing: Copia/Reader

Tags: corsetry, insecurity, a tiny bit of toxic masculinity

Notes: writing is great because i can put that man in a situation (a corset)

He’s nervous, heart thumping in his chest as he hooks the final clasp together. Already, he feels short of breath, the garment constricting him like a snake. It’s hard to relax with the boning keeping his back straight, so he remains standing while he pulls on the panties — your panties — and stockings. He stumbles as he does so, head slightly spinning from the lack of oxygen. Copia curses loudly when he bumps into the counter, hitting his elbow hard enough that he’s sure there will be a nice bruise tomorrow.

How you can do this, he’ll never know.

“Are you okay, babe?” You ask through the bathroom door. Rubbing the tender spot, he takes as deep a breath as he can in a weak attempt to steady himself.

“Y-yes.” He cringes at the tremble in his voice. “Just-“ He sighs. “I need a second.” This was a horrible idea, and Copia curses his sex-addled brain for even suggesting it. His mind wanders to strange places when he’s inside you, and somehow, this time he just had to open his big mouth and give his thoughts substance. In that moment, the way you’d spasmed around him had been all the encouragement he needed. Now, it makes his chest tighten, worse than the corset crushing his lungs.

He doesn’t want to disappoint you.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to anymore,” you reassure him. “Don’t force it if you’re not comfortable.” Oh, his darling, his sweetheart. How he loves you so.

“No,” he says, steeling himself. He wants to do this, for both of you. “I’m alright. Just wait for me, okay?”

“Okay.” There’s a pause. “Ti amo.” He’s never doubted that for a second. You’ve never given him the chance.

“Anch’io ti amo, tesorina.” Once the padding of your feet fades away, he dares to look at himself in the mirror. The sight stirs up a strange mix of feelings.

It’s a nice fucking corset; black jacquard silk with ornate silver clasps down the front. The edges are lined with dainty lace that just barely tickles the skin under his arms. Cut off under the bust, it hugs him tight, bringing in his chest just enough to give him a more slight, feminine silhouette. Combined with the black lace panties and stockings, Copia looks like something straight out of Cabaret. All he needs is a feather boa.

He looks good, but feels a little ridiculous, cheeks flushing as he takes in the sight of himself. Still, he can’t ignore how his cock gives an interested twitch, beginning to fill out against the confines of the borrowed underwear.

It’s the 21st century, he thinks. This is nothing to be ashamed about.

Taking another steadying breath, he looks himself up and down one more time, wipes away a smear of black eye paint, and then heads for the door. Another wave of anxiety bubbles up in his chest and for a moment, he hesitates, hand on the knob. The worst thing that could happen is that you’re not into it, and that’s… okay. That’s fine. You’re entitled to your feelings and desires and if this doesn’t do it for you, he definitely won’t feel like some silly old pervert for suggesting it in the first place. Definitely not.

Swallowing down the remaining fear, Copia opens the door just enough to slip through. The bedroom is dimly lit, which he’s rather grateful for. You’re sprawled out on the bed in just your panties, scrolling absentmindedly on your phone. The moment you hear the door creak you turn in his direction. At the sight of him your eyes widen, your hands clapping over your mouth. He can’t tell if that’s a good or bad sign.

“W-what do you think?” He asks, trying to lean against the door sexily. Relief instantly washes over him when your hands drop into your lap, revealing an impish grin plastered across your face.

“Get over here,” you demand, crooking a finger towards him. He obliges immediately, any nervousness he once had replaced by excitement and throbbing arousal. “Get the fuck-“ Once he’s close enough you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him onto the bed. Before he knows what’s happening you’re on top of him, peppering his neck with kisses and love bites. Your core grinds against his hard cock, the obscene amount of slick evident even through your combined undergarments. “You’re gonna be shooting blanks by the time I’m done with you, pretty boy.”

Actually, this was an amazing idea.

#my writing #the band ghost #the band ghost x reader #the band ghost fanfiction #papa emeritus iv x reader #frater imperator x reader #copia x reader #ghostober 2024 #i was originally gonna have reader wear the corset but decided that'd be kinda lame... glad i went with this >:)#day 17 will be kinda crazy

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roboticchibitan · 9 months ago

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I finished my gf's winter lights shawl at 3:30pm on the day of her birthday (This was supposed to be a Yule gift btw) but hey, that counts as finishing it in time. The 700ish stitch icord bind off took 4.5 hours and there were 40 ends to weave in but by the gods I finished. It needs blocked but we're moving some stuff around so I'll use our bed to block it tomorrow. There's one major mistake in there I'm really hoping will block out.

Now I'm going to dye some alpaca lace yarn "hot fuchsia" (that's the name of the Jacquard dye I am using) and look at the beads situation because I think I'm going to make another Sapphira shawl if I have enough beads. The last one was fueled by spite and trauma. This one will be fueled by joy and flamboyance.

#v's fiber arts tag #knitting #winter lights shawl #stephen west (pattern designer)

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medici-collar · 1 year ago

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Day dress consisting of a jacket bodice and skirt of Jacquard-woven silk, possibly made by Mrs Francis, Great Britain, ca. 1885

This elegant bustle dress displays a dense pattern of violets springing from a bed of vine leaves. The design would have been woven by a powered jacquard loom and is an example of good commercially produced fabric. The floral design complements the construction of this dress, accentuating the closely fitted lines of the bodice and drapery on the front of the skirt. It also flows in sweeping folds over the bustle, which by the mid-1880s jutted out almost at right angles from behind. Bustles were often a separate structure attached around the waist and included crinolettes made of steel half-hoops, down-filled pads and wire mesh structures. By 1885 the bustle was often incorporated into the back of the foundation skirt itself in the form of a small pad attached to the waistband and horizontal rows of steel which could be pulled into a curved shape. This dress has a foundation skirt of grey denim that is cut straight in front and gathered and pleated at the back to follow the lines of the separate bustle worn underneath.

#historical fashion #fashion history #19th century fashion #19th century #victorian fashion #1880s fashion

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legend-of-thyme · 1 year ago

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Today is @ikaishere 's birthday (at least in my time zone, and I know I'm barely squeaking it in here) and tomorrow is mine. I borrowed the modern AU boys to write some sibling fluff and GrooZeLink. Hope you had a great birthday!!!

---------

“What do you guys think? The feather earrings or the swords?” Sky turns his head side to side critically eyeing his reflection in the mirror.

“Personally I think you should worry more about finding some pants first,” drawls Wars from where he’s sprawled over bed without even looking up from his phone. “Sun and Groose might not mind your ratty old pajama shorts, but the restaurant will probably have some objections”.

Sky flops backwards into a pile of laundry with a groan earning himself an indignant squeak from Wind.

“Sky!” he complains, snatching up one of his hands before he can run it through his hair. “You’re going to ruin my masterpiece”

“Sorry, sorry,” he replies, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “At least my nails will look nice even if I have to go dressed in a burlap sack”. Wind beams and he can’t help but smile. The kid did a good job on the nails, even forgoing his usual favorite neon oranges for a softer shade of blue coated in white crackle.

Warrior’s eye roll is nearly audible. “Don’t be dramatic. Didn’t you buy a skirt for tonight just last week?”

“That was before I knew we were going indoor skydiving between the escape room and dinner! I have to bring a change of clothes and if I put it in my bag it will get all horrible and wrinkly.”

Wind pokes through one of the discarded piles of shirts, picking things up to examine them before tossing them to the side. “Just wear your date jeans. It’s your birthday. Shouldn’t you just wear what you like?”

Sky pouts. Wind is right of course, but it’s the principle of the thing. He has plenty of clothes that hit the sweet spot of being comfortable while also making him feel confident and attractive, but he’s hoping for more tonight. Something to really wow his partners. There’s a warmth that curls through his chest whenever Groose gives him a slow once over and a low whistle, or when Sun reaches out to trace the pattern of his shirt or play with a bit of lace or tassel that he would bottle and keep forever if he could. And maybe War’s is right and he is being a little dramatic, but that warmth is going to be his birthday present to himself if he has to turn his closet inside out to get it.

A balled up sock hits him in the head, breaking him from his thoughts. He looks around in time to seek Wars drop his phone on the bedside table and swing to his feet.

“Do you trust me?,” he asks, smiling.

“A terrifying question,” Wind mutters under his breath and Sky can’t help snorting a laugh into his fist as Warriors sticks his tongue out at their youngest brother, dignity forgotten.

“I would trust Wild at this point if it gets me to my date on time”.

“All right then,” Wars cracks his knuckles with a grin. “Grab your date jeans. We’ll pair them with Sun’s old band shirt she did that diy fringe on”.

“The ‘without music life would B♭’ one? Are you sure?” Sky frowns as Wind begins searching.

“Very. The stupid pun makes you smile and it shows a little skin,” Wars nods and circles him slowly as he pulls on the clothes. “The purple silk scarf would make a cute belt and if you promise not to scuff them I’ll lend you my jacquard docs”. He nods, satisfied. “It’s going to get cold tonight so you should top it off with Groose’s old leather jacket you stole when he wanted to get rid of it”.

Sky spins slowly, getting a feel for the outfit and letting Wars examine his work before turning to the mirror. It’s comfortable and easy to move in and the shoes and belt make it feel special enough for a date outfit. Wind clambers up onto the bed behind him and swiftly does up the clasp to a necklace before jumping down to hug onto his side. He reaches up and smiles softly as he feels the familiar iris brooch.

“There,” Wars returns his smile and ruffles Wind’s hair. “Now you look perfect”.

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

“Sky!” Sun calls, rushing across the parking lot to pull him down for a kiss before leaning her head on his shoulder and tangling her fingers in the beaded tassels of his shirt. “We were starting to worry you’d fallen asleep or something.”

He sticks his tongue out at her and hugs her tighter, admiring the way she looks with his old fuzzy green sweater hanging off one shoulder. “And miss my perfect birthday date? Never. I bet Legend we could beat the escape room’s record time”.

Butterflies erupt in his stomach even as he teases her, reminding him of the early days of his crush.

“Well, well, well,” Groose saunters more slowly across the lot, hands shoved in his pockets. “I never thought I’d see the day, but I think you wear that jacket better than I ever did”. He pulls Sky in to kiss him, once on the lips and once on the forehead, before holding him at arms length and whistling slowly. “I like the different earrings”.

The different– Sky’s hands fly to his ears and, sure enough, he’s still wearing one feather earring and one sword. “Yeah,” he says, doing his best to sound casual and knowing he’s failing, “I wanted to try something new”.

Groose smiles down at him knowingly as Sun bursts into laughter. He can feel his cheeks reddening and desperately searches for a change in subject. “What about you?” he asks Groose, gesturing at his too tight plaid shirt. “You look like you’re about to burst out of that thing? Where did you even get–”

He cuts himself off and looks at the shirt again. “Wait. That’s my shirt.” He looks between them, baffled as Sun begins to grin and Groose looks sheepish and almost nervous. “Are you both wearing my clothes?”

“We thought it might be fun to match,” Groose admits, embarrassed. “You’re wearing our things”.

“It was Groose’s idea,” Sun nods enthusiastically. “And I told Wars to text us what you picked out. Did you really change your outfit six times?”

Warmth blazes through Sky’s chest as he looks at his partners. It’s such a fun idea and the sort of thing he would normally suggest. The sort of thing other people had teased him for in the past. They put so much effort into today and they did it all for him. His mouth opens and closes and he finds himself at a loss for what to say. What words could possibly be enough?

Sky swallows the lump in his throat and beams at them as hard as he can. “I really love you guys, you know?”.

#ika's modern au #lu sky #lu wind #lu warriors #lu sun #lu groose #groozelink #you always seem to have so much fashion fun #drawing isn't really my thing #but i thought id try writing some

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universitypenguin · 2 years ago

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Part XII of “The Princess & the Lawyer”

Summary: Lloyd notices Princess’ rising stress but he’s distracted by some unexpected news. Lloyd gives Mr. Bishop his impressions of Nguyen and Princess meets Detective Roth, who reveals a shocking development in the case.

Masterlist

Word Count: 8,481

Warnings: Smut. Sexually explicit writing, erotica level heat. Mention of domestic violence, murder, legal proceedings, stalking, violence, and discussion of criminal behavior. Minor foul language. Only appropriate for 18+ readers. No minors.

The Princess and the Lawyer - Part 12

“Careful!”

Lloyd caught your elbow and steadied you. After traveling for twenty hours straight, waves of exhaustion were crashing down. First, the weariness had made your head swim. Now it was disturbing your usually good sense of balance.

“Mmmmhhh.”

“You’re asleep on your feet,” Lloyd said.

You leaned into him and blinked, trying to focus.

“Uh-huh…”

You felt drunk. Even navigating the familiar layout of Lloyd’s front hall was a challenge. He guided you around the corner, to the stairs leading to his bedroom.

As you climbed them, his hand never left your waist. When the bed came into view, the sight of it turned your knees weak. Excitement and relief propelled you the last few feet before you dropped face first onto the mattress. Lloyd chuckled as you buried yourself in the green jacquard duvet, savoring the feeling of the cool fabric. With effort, you dragged yourself up the bed and then sorted through pillows until you’d found the right combination.

The moment your eyes shut, you were asleep.

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

Lloyd smiled at the sound of the deep, rhythmic breathing that signaled your unconscious. He slipped off your shoes and socks, and when that didn’t rouse you, he unbuttoned your pants and tugged them down. Trusting the effects of jet lag, he removed your shirt and bra, then dressed you in one of his button-ups. You didn’t stir during the entire process.

He tucked the sheet under your chin and watched the gentle rise and fall of your breath. Seeing you look so serene in his bed gave him a curious sort of satisfaction. The feeling turned his heart warm and soft, as if a ray of sunshine had shone directly into his chest, and melted it.

You were stressed out about something.

He’d felt you tossing and turning all night yesterday, and knew your sudden collapse wasn’t strictly due to jet lag. The emotion had become visible in the same moment you’d learned the bad weather had cleared. He watched it build and was mildly put off that you hadn’t shared the cause of your feelings with him. Not yet, at least.

Comforting you was impossible when he didn’t understand the problem. He’d held you last night, but it hadn’t settled your racing pulse. Your heart had pumped so hard and fast, he could feel the beat of it vibrate through you and invade his own body. All night he’d felt it thundering, like drums shaking the walls of a concert venue. This morning at the airport he’d asked if you were feeling okay. Your denial was unconvincing, but he’d marked it down to the public setting. He knew something had gotten your tail in a twist. It was only a matter of time before he found out what it was.

Since this was hardly an appropriate time for that conversation, Lloyd headed downstairs. He reset the alarm system and collected the luggage. Unless he threw in a load of laundry tonight, you’d have to go home and change in the morning.

He unpacked and sorted your laundry with his, making sure to inspect the tags for special instructions. Then he put a load on quick cycle and went to check the mail. He was standing in the kitchen sorting it when his phone buzzed.

The screen showed a 208 area code. He didn’t recognize the rest of the number, but picked up the call anyway.

“Hello?”

“Hello. I’d like to speak with Lloyd Hansen, if he’s available?”

“Speaking.”

“My name is Abigail Essex. I’m calling from St. Benedict’s Hospital in Ketchum. Before we continue, can you please confirm the nature of your relationship to Joe Hansen?”

Ice formed in his chest and slid down to settle in the pit of his stomach.

“Joe Hansen is my father.”

“Thank you. I’m a nurse in the medical ICU. Your father was admitted a few days ago for generalized weakness and nausea. His condition took a turn for the worse today.”

She paused. Lloyd stared at the glossy white wall. The message was straightforward, but his typically agile brain struggled to comprehend it.

“I’m sorry to be blunt, Mr. Hansen, but your father’s condition is quite serious. He’s suffering from viral influenza which is complicated by his existing liver failure. From the medical records, it looks like his general physician diagnosed him six years ago. The illness was already so advanced that his treatment options were limited.”

Limited treatment options. That meant terminal, didn’t it?

Abigail cleared her throat. “Mr. Hansen? Lloyd?”

“I’m here. How long?”

“Hours, maybe days. His condition is deteriorating. There’s a note in his file that Joe is estranged from his children. However, during end-of-life care we always try to reach out to the family. Social work searched for next of kin, but only found your records. If you’d like, I can contact your siblings and-”

He cut her off. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Okay. We have his POLST on file, so there’s no need for you to make decisions.”

“POLST?”

“I’m sorry. A POLST is short for physician’s orders of life-sustaining treatment. It’s a form filed with the state to express final wishes. Joe already documented his refusal of invasive life support, which is what our next steps would be. You don’t need to decide. Like I said, it’s standard practice to contact family members when we initiate palliative care, in case they’d like to pay their final respects. This call is strictly a notification.”

His lip curled, and rage tightened his belly. Final respects.

“As far as I’m concerned, you can unplug him.”

Shocked silence filled the line.

Lloyd’s eyes turned to the mirror in the dining room. He had his father’s bone structure and his thick, dark hair. They stood at exactly the same height and shared a powerful, athletic build. Most days he hated their resemblance, but he was eternally grateful for the last two traits. After puberty his body easily developed and retained muscle, giving him a priceless advantage on the football field. He’d turned it into a ticket to the Ivy Leagues, then to freedom.

There were other differences between them, but only on a superficial level. Where Joe Hansen’s eyes were jet black, Lloyd’s were cobalt blue. Joe’s skin was a medium olive that browned quickly in the sun. His own skin repelled sunlight and what little melanin he could develop in the summer vanished before Labor Day. The contrast in coloring was the starkest difference between him and his old man. Except for that, they were almost clones.

The fair skin and blue eyes were gifts from his mother. Those recessive Norwegian genes that caused the divergence seemed most readily passed from mother to son. Without them, he’d begin each morning staring at the face of a monster as he shaved. Thank God for small favors.

“Is there anything further?” Lloyd asked.

“Would you like to be notified when he passes?”

“Call if you want, I don’t care. He’s been dead to me for years.”

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

The alarm went off at 4:30 a.m.

Lloyd hit snooze with enough force to send the clock skittering across the nightstand. You curled into your pillow and groaned. He stretched and climbed out the bed to open the curtains.

On Mondays, he usually jogged the five-mile loop from Old Town to Belle Haven. He shoved back the drapes and saw the sky was ink black and the sky was spitting rain. The humidity would be a bitch and even the light rain would soak him to the bone in minutes. Blankets rustled faintly behind him as you rolled over. He glanced back and smiled. There were other forms of cardio, which were just as effective, and he’d stay warm and dry doing them.

Lloyd sat down by the cocoon of blankets you’d coiled into during the night. He ran his hand over your back and lightly scratched between your shoulders. You made a noise, something halfway between a hiss and a moan, like a cranky kitten.

“It’s Monday morning, Princess. Time to rise and shine.”

“No…”

“C’mere,” Lloyd purred.

You whined as he dragged you into his arms, trying to grab for the pillow. Because you hadn’t opened your eyes, you missed it by a mile and flailed in protest as he hauled you into his lap. He kissed your cheek and rubbed the bridge of his nose against your jaw. Instantly, you softened. He took advantage and kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Lloyd. I’m tired.”

“You’ve slept ten hours, you need to stretch your muscles.”

“Go away! I’m not going jogging! Self-respecting humans don’t run at this hour of morning.”

He pretended to be hurt. “You don’t want to come keep me safe? What if I get mugged?”

“Muggers don’t get up at this hour.”

Lloyd chuckled. “Because they’re such nice, polite, self-respecting humans?”

“Yes. You have a screw loose, Hansen.”

“Several,” he agreed. “What if I did my cardio here? Would that repair your impression of my respectability?”

“Mmmmhhh. Okay.”

You were falling asleep again. He could hear it in your voice and feel you relaxing in his arms. Lloyd pushed off the remaining blankets and undid the dress shirt’s buttons. You stirred as he drew apart the sides of the garment to expose your chest. Kissing a feather-light pathway from your ear, down your neck, to the swell of your breast, he took his time.

You arched and lifted your arms over your head, an offer he couldn’t refuse. The rise and fall of your chest quickened as he explored the sides of each breast and nibbled on the delicate swells of their undersides. He kissed your sternum, making sure his mustache tickled your skin.

You squirmed and giggled.

The sound made him smile, even as heat throbbed in his groin. He returned to your lips for another taste. You kissed him with feverish demand, your fingers delving into his hair as you tilted your head back. The innate submission of the movement cracked his control. He growled and his tongue flicked into your mouth as he teased your nipples with his fingertips. You moaned when he cupped the soft flesh and stroked the tender buds. They were rock hard, biting into his hand like pebbles. Every little whimper you made inflamed his desire.

Your nails raked the back of his neck, sending a bolt of lightning straight to his cock. When your hands moved from his shoulders, down to stroke his chest, he inhaled sharply. The caressing exploration made him groan. Your touch felt almost innocent, as if you were still fascinated by his body, despite your increased experience. You traced the swirl of a cowlick in his chest hair. Then your nails scraped, and he hissed at the flash of pleasure.

He lunged, attacking your neck with his lips and teeth, eager to retake the upper hand. Lloyd pinned you to the bed, easily countering your half-hearted attempts to squirm away. Then he bit your neck, and the startled cry it elicited from you went straight to his groin. He licked the mark he’d left and savored the taste of your sweat. When he took a deep breath, and scented the tang of your arousal, hanging thick in the air, it shattered the last of his control.

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

All the pleasure you’d experienced at Lloyd’s hands paled compared to this. It was like he was everywhere at once. Your lips, neck, and cheeks buzzed with heat. A bead of sweat rolled between your breasts - Lloyd licked it up. His eyes flashed to yours and he purred, the sound dripping with satisfaction.

During the week in Qatar, you’d done nothing more than cuddle. His experiences there haunted him and you understood the lack of desire was nothing personal. It seemed this morning he’d shaken off the ghosts and was making up for lost time.

His kisses were dominating, and his touch was tinged with a new sense of property. He was focused on your physical reactions and the caution he’d shown with you in the past was nowhere to be found. His tongue drove into your mouth and your teeth clashed against his. He restrained your wrists above your head without a second of hesitation. Excitement bubbled up at the realization that the flash of dominance he’d shown in Qatar had come out to play again. Your fingers tangled in his hair as you threw yourself into the kiss, matching his feverish assault with equal heat.

He broke the kiss to return his attention to your breasts, and you whined at the loss. Lloyd chuckled, low and warm. His teeth scraped over the pounding pulse in your throat. He nipped at your collarbone and across the mound of your breast. The brush of his mustache as he nuzzled the side, a spot you’d never known could be so sensitive, made you shiver. When his lips finally closed around an aching nipple, the sensation made your back bow.

Fire licked over your skin and raced to your core. The sensitive walls of your sex convulsed, frustrated by unmet need. You felt the wetness soaking your panties as desire built and your body prepared to be filled. Lloyd took his time, lavishing attention on your breasts. He seemed to take pleasure in foiling your attempts to gain control and drew out the foreplay as long as possible. When he finally eased back, you were sobbing and quivering at each brush of his lips against your hyper-sensitive nipples.

Tears glazed your eyes. The pulsating heat in your core was nearly painful. The intense desire rippling through your muscles had turned them weak. Hunger throbbed in your blood and sweat soaked your skin. It was unclear what portion of it was yours and what amount Lloyd had contributed. His body was feverishly hot against yours and his eyes burned with the same hunger that had you writhing helplessly against him.

Finally, he settled over you, peeling off the damp lace covering your sex and shoving it down your legs. He lifted the panties to his face and breathed in the scent. His eyes flashed to yours and their cobalt depths radiated victorious heat.

He growled. The authenticity of the sound stole your breath. It rumbled from his chest, raising the hair on the back of your neck at the barely restrained violence it contained. His fingers delved into your pussy and he groaned, flexing his digits and stretching your inner walls. The searing heat building in your channel turned molten as his fingers expertly stroked and teased. You cried out, sensation rippling from your womb, down your thighs, up your spine, until it crested and you bucked against his hand.

“Lloyd!”

He grunted, then his thumb swiped over your clit, eliciting a scream. The ecstasy made your whole body shudder.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go.”

His fingers kept moving, plunging in and out, teasing your sweet spot, and caressing your pulsing clit. You trembled on the cusp of orgasm, wanting the release, but not quite able to reach it. Lloyd captured the peak of your breast between his lips. You screamed and shattered. Your body surged, hips canting off the bed as you convulsed. Lloyd continued to draw the pleasure out of you, moving steadily even as your powerful inner muscles seized on wave after wave of climax. His thumb teased your clit, even when you tried to jerk away and twisted, trying to dislodge the tormenting stimulation.

“No, no, keep going. Come on, Princess. Give me one more.”

Your shoulder blades pulled together, clenching, as his coaxing words triggered fresh spasms of climax. Right on the heels of the first orgasm, a second wave dragged you into mindless rapture and knocked everything out of your head. Lloyd sucked your nipples, using the strength of his arm to increase the roughness of his ministrations. The change pushed your orgasm to new heights. You keened, thrashing, clutching the sheets for purchase, and wailing as the pleasure refused to let up.

Several minutes later he eased his drenched fingers from your channel. You could only hear the blood pounding in your head and the ragged sound of your breath. Every muscle was shaking. There was no way to count how many orgasms he’d taken from you, or if they’d been separate, because after the second, they’d all blended together. The final tremors of climax lingered in the shaking muscles of your thighs and clenching sex. It felt endless and overwhelming. Despite that, a deep ache inside of you demanded something more. It needed a more complete pleasure to be slaked than his hands alone could give.

He settled between your legs, stretching over you. Lloyd tilted your face up and when your lips met, his kiss was surprisingly gentle. He gently teased your swollen lips before his tongue darted into your mouth. You wrapped your arms around his waist and kissed him with fervor.

“Good girl,” Lloyd praised. “Slide down for me.”

He guided you lower, tugging your hips, pulling you away from the headboard. His hands went under your legs and he pushed your knees up, then widened your thighs as far as possible. A tremor ran through you as he dipped his fingers into your sticky folds. He explored around your clit without touching it directly. Just that was enough to make you shake. Lloyd groaned.

“Such a responsive little thing. You’re so fucking tight, Princess.”

The head of his cock rubbed your slit, teasing you with the promise of relief. You whimpered at the slow, cautious breach of his cock sliding into your sex. Lloyd’s eyes fastened on your face. His girth burned, but the discomfort only made your sex flutter harder. The delicate channel beat with a welcome pulse as it struggled to draw him deeper. You groaned at the delightful stretch as he worked himself into you inch by inch. When he was halfway there, he drew back, and with a powerful thrust, drove home. You shrieked when the throbbing spot, deep in your body, that inferno that had demanded relief, was struck hard by the crown of his cock. A blinding surge of pleasure made you thrash, toss your head and claw at his back.

Lloyd snarled. His hips pistoned forward, triggering another blinding surge of pleasure. He rocked again, then set a brutal pace that electrified your spine, making your pliant muscles undulate with a new intensity. Your hands were weak as they grasped his biceps, clinging to him for security.

“Look at me.”

His rough command made your eyes open.

“Say it…”

Your hormone addled brain stuttered, unable to process the demand. He pounded into you harder at your speechlessness, eyes flashing.

“Princess, I wanna hear you.”

He jerked his hips, impaling you deeper than you’d ever felt him. The devastating flood of pleasure made your toes curl, eliciting a scream as tremors became convulsions and you unraveled.

“Say it!”

“Lloyd! Aaaahhh…”

His fingers found your clit and rubbed, quick and hard. You jackknifed at the unexpected pleasure.

“Oh, fuck, Lloyd!”

“Yeah, that’s it. Say my name!”

The pace of the thrusts increased as his control slipped. You recognized the signs of his orgasm and whined in anticipation. His hands tightened on your hips and he lifted you slightly to pound into you at a deeper angle. It brought on another orgasm. This one was fast, sharper than the first. He put his weight behind the thrusts, driving impossibly deep. You screamed.

“Lloyd! Uuhhh…”

The climax felt unending. A groan rose in your throat, low and reverberating, as an entirely different kind of pleasure sent you reeling. The depth of his penetration caused the waves of climax to spread, up into the muscles of your belly, and down your quivering thighs. He teased your clit mercilessly, even as you sobbed. Ripples of pleasure caused your legs to jerk, seizing around Lloyd’s hips as they stripped you of your senses. You shuddered helplessly, crying, whimpering, consumed by a delirium of passion.

His thrusts grew quicker, turning harder and shorter, before his seed flooded you. Lloyd gasped, moaned and then collapsed. In your post-orgasm stupor, all you could manage was to curl one arm around his back. The other was limp, along with the rest of your body. You felt disconnected, so much so that even the pressure of Lloyd’s crushing weight was a distant echo.

This couldn’t be normal. How could so much emotion pour out during something so profoundly physical? You weren’t built to handle this kind of intensity. It had been like the first time, when the sheer excitement of being with him had short-circuited your brain. Except today there had been more. More power. More raw, unbridled passion.

Was it because of the foreplay? Or the brief period of abstinence last week in Qatar? Or was it just the especially potent chemistry between you and Lloyd?

He moved first, rising to his elbows. His eyes were glassy and the emotions in them mirrored exactly what you felt. Recognizing it calmed your racing thoughts. You brushed back his hair and kissed him. His arms flexed around your waist and you felt another pulse of release splash against your womb. Then you realized your bodies were still joined, and you were sticky with more than just sweat.

“I need a shower. We both do, actually.”

He grunted. “Can you move?”

“Probably not. I feel boneless.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

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

Lloyd’s eyes skimmed your figure appreciatively as you walked ahead of him, entering the lobby of Bishop & Howard.

“No ogling before 10:30, Counselor.”

“If you don’t want to be ogled, don’t wear skirts that make your legs look so tasty.”

“When did I say that I didn’t want to be ogled? I only said it had to be after 10:30.”

“10:30 p.m. came and went nine hours ago.”

“I hate lawyers.”

He followed you to the elevator car and leaned against the wall, his eyes still tracing your curves.

“You look good enough to eat.”

“And you look like a troll that woke up on the wrong side of the bridge. Are you jet lagged?”

“Maybe. I couldn’t sleep last night.”

The car arrived with a chime and you stepped in. Lloyd tapped the button for the fifth floor.

“All that cardio this morning probably didn’t help. Why don’t you take a catnap on your sofa? I can cover for you.”

“No. I need to see Bishop.”

Your humor faded. “You’re going to tell him?”

“There’s no point in waiting.”

“Alright. Just make sure he’s caffeinated.”

Lloyd snorted. “I do have some sense of self-preservation.”

The elevator doors opened to the unexpected sight of Bishop, waiting for you. He had a take-away carrier of coffees balanced in his left hand.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, you’re safe. I already had two cups.”

You assembled in Lloyd’s office, and everyone fell into the same places you’d taken on the day the case was introduced. Bishop settled into one of the armchairs while you and Lloyd shared the couch.

“How was Singapore?”

“The interrogation went smoothly. Nguyen wasn’t forthright, but he wasn’t as hostile as he could’ve been,” Lloyd said.

Bishop considered. “Age could do that, but so could twenty years of living with a guilty conscience.”

“I wouldn’t say the good doctor has an overdeveloped conscience,” Lloyd said.

“I’d concur. Did you learn anything new?”

Lloyd leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. He laced his fingers together loosely and met Bishop’s gaze.

“I don’t think he did it.”

“That’s ridiculous. I know my prosecution didn’t have the strongest evidence, but I stand by that verdict.”

“There are significant inconsistencies in the case.”

“Nguyen’s history, and his obvious motive, were evidence enough.”

“He had a motive for Julia’s murder. But there’s no solid connection between him and the missing women. In the best cases all there was is circumstantial evidence and in the worst cases, it’s pure conjecture.”

Bishop waved his hand as if wiping away the claim.

“He had opportunities and he’s the only person directly connected to all the victims. When his girlfriend turned up dead, we knew. But the real nail in his coffin is that when he was prosecuted, the disappearances stopped.”

“Roth sent us the files on the other suspects. I’d hardly call those ‘investigations’ thorough,” Lloyd said.

“When your list of suspects is the whole town, it’s hard to be thorough,” Bishop fired back.

“Fine. But this is an instance where the simplest explanation was molded to fit the public’s theory and calm the community.”

“Don’t chase zebras, Lloyd. You spoke with the man, you’re an astute judge of character. It takes all of five minutes to know what he is.”

“Emotionally unstable. Intelligent. Manipulative enough to identify emotions but cold enough not to feel them. His sense of empathy is strictly cognitive - he can understand why people have emotions, but I suspect he doesn’t feel much more than pleasure, excitement, anger, frustration, and disgust. He’s pretty high up on the spectrum of psychopaths. But he’s not excited by violence.”

“How could you tell?”

“His reactions. He feels, or at least pretends to feel, a sense of shame for how he treated Julia. The investigation scares him. But what really made him react was hearing about the second body. He knows more than he’s saying. It’s probably why he didn’t fight the charges harder. He knew he was safer in prison.”

“Who’s your suspect?” Bishop asked.

Lloyd snorted. “Everyone in town, unfortunately.”

“The media has dragged this story through the mud, and back again, several times. They’d whipped the locals into a lather long before Dr. Nguyen’s name entered the investigation, and they’re fixing to do it again.”

“I expect it will be a challenge, but that’s why you brought me in. Roth provided the original case files. The kindest way I can phrase my opinion is to say that their investigation never really got both oars in the water.”

Bishop’s hand covered the joint of the ankle that rested on his left knee. He tilted his head back in what most people would have taken for arrogance, but knowing him, you pegged it as discomfort.

“The state police took one look at Julia’s case and immediately decided it fit the pattern of the disappearances. Nguyen wasn’t just a convenient suspect, he was their only suspect. Extrapolating from a solitary murder, one that occurred within the setting of a domestic violence situation, to a broader accusation doesn’t track.”

“What tracks is that after he went to prison, the disappearances stopped.”

“Nguyen is an emotionally unstable, deeply insecure, coward of a man with an unquenchable need for control. Beating on his woman gave it to him. Why seek other outlets for his anger, when he had a perfectly good punching bag waiting at home?”

“I’m not a psychiatrist. Why he committed his crimes isn’t my concern. My concern was that women stopped disappearing in Harmony once they locked him up.”

“Why were Julia’s remains so easily found? If Nguyen had the means to dispose of numerous other victims before her without leaving a trace, why wasn’t he as careful getting rid of his own girlfriend?” Lloyd asked.

“Dumb luck. Son of Sam was caught because of a parking ticket. Israel Keyes used a credit card from one of his victims. Anyone can get sloppy - even serial killers. When they do, it’s a lucky day for the justice system.”

“Murdering your girlfriend is one type of crazy. Serial killing is another. It’s no stretch to imagine Nguyen in the first category, but the second? He doesn’t have the patience, the emotional control, or the guts.”

“He had connections with all the missing women,” Bishop said.

“Shocking, isn’t it? Given that Harmony’s such a bustling metropolis, and considering Nguyen was a local doctor who treated hundreds of patients a year. Most of those so-called ‘connections’ were pretty thin.”

“Well, along with being connected to all the victims, he lied to investigators and showed guilty knowledge about the circumstances of Julia’s death. He also had a documented history of violence against women and no alibi.”

“He showed guilty knowledge of Julia’s death. That’s one point we can wholeheartedly agree on. The problem is that they distorted his domestic violence into a generalized violence towards women. When the two separate concepts are blended into one, it’s easy to jump to conclusions.”

“I’m not seeing the distinction,” Bishop said.

“Nguyen had a personal attachment to Julia, and he was violent toward her. However, I suspect anyone who got too close with him would be at risk. Dominating someone else, taking away their control, that’s how he relieves anxiety. It’s a feedback loop, one that only works when there’s an emotional bond between him and the victim.”

“That’s interesting. But the fact stands: locking Nguyen away precipitated the end of the abductions in Harmony. Twenty years have gone by without another case.”

“Coincidence.”

Bishop bristled at Lloyd’s dismissive tone. “No more victims equals no more offender.”

“That’s a non sequitur. No more kidnappings equals no more kidnappings; drawing any other conclusion is bending the facts to fit a theory.”

“I disagree, but common sense isn’t a flower that grows in everyone’s garden.”

Lloyd snickered. Just like that, the thick layer of tension hanging over the room evaporated.

“You asked my opinion, and went to a lot of trouble arranging the interview, because you knew I wouldn’t be anything less than candid.”

“You’re a blunt instrument, Hansen,” Bishop sighed.

“Always have been, always will be.”

“I considered sending Zach to interview Nguyen. The trouble is, my objectivity in this case took a hike long ago and whoever went to Singapore…”

He trailed off, cheeks flushing with embarrassed color.

“Whoever went to Singapore had to come back and pull the thorn out of the lion’s paw,” Lloyd said, filling in the rest of the thought.

“I needed an unfiltered perspective on Nguyen from someone I trusted. You’re the only person I respect who’d be irreverent enough to speak your mind, regardless of it pissing me off.”

“Irreverence is a speciality of mine.”

Bishop laughed, then sighed. “It’s difficult to re-investigate a cold case under the best circumstances. When the media learns there are new victims, and where they were found, they’ll descend like a plague of locusts.”

“No doubt,” Lloyd agreed.

“When I met with Roth, he mentioned reporters had already come sniffing around. Nguyen probably contacted them himself.”

“I can handle the media,” Lloyd said.

“Uh-huh.” Bishop glanced at you.

“I’ll keep him away from reporters,” you promised.

“Just try your best. Even reformed, he’s damn near ungovernable.”

“They ask me stupid questions, I’ll give them stupid answers,” Lloyd said.

“No, you won’t. If they call, you forward it to me. If you’re approached in person, the only acceptable answer- even to stupid questions - is ‘no comment.’ Under no circumstances will you say anything else.”

“She loves to cramp my style,” Lloyd said to Bishop.

“I know… my peace of mind often relies on it.”

A tap sounded on the door frame, and three sets of eyes swung to the noise.

“Visitors for you, Mr. Hansen.”

The receptionist stepped aside, revealing a uniformed police officer. Beside him was a man you’d have guessed was his partner, if he’d worn the same navy blue. Instead of a uniform the second guest was dressed in slacks and a blazer. The jacket was the most hideous shade of burnt orange you’d ever seen. It should be a crime to dye perfectly good fabric such an ugly color.

“I’m here to see Mr. Hansen,” the officer said.

“That would be me.”

“May we come in?”

Bishop moved to the couch, directing the newcomers to the matching armchairs on the far side of the conversation area. You slid to the middle seat and let him take the end.

There was a grimness in the officer’s features that suggested this wasn’t a casual visit, or a pleasant one. Bishop frowned, apparently picking up the same vibe. Lloyd, on the other hand, seemed unperturbed by the apprehension the guests carried into the room.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

“I’m Officer Audley, of the D.C. Metro Police. This,” he gestured to the man in the hideous jacket, “is Morgan Lopez, our community coordinator.”

Audley paused and scanned Lloyd’s face.

“I have some bad news, Mr. Hansen. Your father was admitted to the hospital in Ketchum, Idaho last week. He had chronic liver disease, which was complicated by a bout of influenza. I’m sorry to tell you he died earlier this morning.”

The statement hung in the air, wiping everything away with its finality. Lloyd’s father was dead. Your heart twisted unpleasantly. Your father was your rock, the steadiest, most reliable man you knew. In Lloyd’s position, you’d be devastated.

“Alright. Thanks for stopping by.”

Officer Audley blinked, and Mr. Lopez’s eyebrows lifted. Even knowing Lloyd like you did, his reaction was unsettling. He noted their response and gave a tight smile.

“Look, there isn’t much to say. My father and I haven’t spoken in almost 25 years.”

Audley’s expression shifted, recovering its professional mask. “I understand. The Blaine County Sheriff asked us to pass on some information.”

He waited for Lloyd to nod, then flipped open a small notebook.

“According to the sheriff, your father had downsized his cattle ranching operation but the… uh…” Audley squinted to read his writing. “Brand inspector?”

“That’s right. I take it there are cattle to be dealt with?”

“367 of them according to the Brand Inspector’s records. They’ve contacted the feed store and some local cowboys will take care of things for a couple days.”

Audley’s tone was tinged with disbelief as if he found discussing the day-to-day operations of a cattle ranch utterly bizarre.

“Was anyone available?” Lloyd asked.

“Just for the next two days. Sheriff Holbrook said he’d put out some feelers to see if anyone was available for temporary hire, but all the cowboys are employed, or busy rodeoing.”

“I’ll make some calls,” Lloyd said. He looked at Bishop.

“Go. Take care of your family matters.”

“The case-”

“Zach will take the lead and Princess can keep you in the loop. If you’d like to be in the loop, that is.”

“I do. I want regular updates.”

“Then it’s settled. Don’t spare a thought for the investigation, just take care of what you need to. Your team can handle things.”

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

You closed the door behind Officer Audley with a quiet sigh of relief.

Lloyd’s complete lack of reaction made enduring the rest of their visit hard. It was difficult not to comfort him. It was even harder to sit there quietly, aware of his pain bubbling up, as the shock wore off. Bishop had charmed the visitors and skillfully ended the visit by escorting them to the elevators. You felt like an eon had passed before he’d led them away.

Lloyd stood by the desk, his hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the items lining the edge. You stood with your back to the door and braced for the crash of him shoving everything off the desk. Even with therapy his strongest displays of emotion leaned toward volcanic.

A minute passed and the crash didn’t come.

“Lloyd?”

You stepped closer and when he didn’t react, approached him. Making sure he saw it coming, you touched his shoulder.

“What are you thinking?”

“It’s easier for a father to have children than for children to have a father.”

You stroked his arm, observing the quick rise and fall of his chest. The increase in respirations was the only visible sign of distress.

“I didn’t come up with that,” Lloyd said.

His tone was remote, as he stared sightlessly at his desk. The vacant expression called to mind the pictures of shell-shocked soldiers from the First World War. After seeing them in your third-grade history textbook, those photos had given you nightmares for months.

“Some dead Pope came up with that saying. My father, he grew up Catholic… he repeated that phrase. Repeated it a lot. When I was a kid I thought it was nonsensical. Then one day the meaning of it hit me, and I realized he knew exactly what a shitty excuse of a father he was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

His voice prickled with defensiveness, the kind that always reared up after he revealed something painful about his past. You usually eased away when he signaled discomfort, because comfort was something he despised, especially when he was the one who needed it. Today you couldn’t offer him that space. Your arms went around him and you slid between his body and the desk, cuddling into his broad chest.

Lloyd’s arms banded around your waist, loosely at first. Then they tightened into a fierce hug.

“I got a call last night. His nurse asked about end-of-life care and I told her it was fine by me if they unplugged him. But he’d already put his last wishes on file. No life saving measures. He stole the only chance I could’ve had to legally kill him. That pisses me off.”

His voice was gravelly with a hurt that ran deeper than anger ever could. You could feel the sorrow welling up in him. After a minute he lifted you to sit on the desk and buried his face in your neck. You spread your legs as far as your tight skirt allowed, drawing him close.

“I thought I’d feel relieved.”

You combed your fingers through his hair, listening to his ragged breathing. After a while, you felt dampness on your shoulder. It didn’t surprise you that his tears came, or that they fell silently.

“How do you feel?”

“Angry. Cheated. Full of regret. Confused. Which is stupid. There’s nothing to be confused about. The bastard finally drank himself to death, and the world is a better place.”

But he was still your father.

You didn’t say it, because it wouldn’t do any good. It wouldn’t comfort him or lighten the weight of his grief. The fact was, nothing could break that primal tie between a child and a parent. That was the cruel nature of heritage - it endured, no matter how hard a person tried to break away.

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

Trying to be subtle, you glanced up and down the hall. When you were sure you were alone, you ducked into the stairwell for a secret meeting on the fifth floor landing.

Jake was already there, with Landon McAnanny.

“Have you talked to Lloyd?” Jake asked.

“I couldn’t, something came up.”

“What the hell came up?!”

“His father died!”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Lloyd’s father is alive?”

“He was until this morning.”

“Uh… he’s never mentioned his father before.”

“He’s going to Idaho to settle his affairs.”

“He’s leaving today?” Landon asked.

“Yeah.”

“That’s not good.”

You cringed at the concern in his eyes. Seeing his reaction fanned the anxiety you’d been fighting back for days.

“I’ll tell him as soon as he gets back.”

Landon eased a half step closer. “Look, reaching out to Aiden’s father was a good start, but he can’t control his son for long. The anger is escalating and there’s a subtext of entitlement in the latest messages. It stinks of trouble.”

Jake nodded emphatically as Landon continued.

“You’ve already documented everything. It’s more than enough to file a complaint.”

You were shaking your head before Landon finished.

“They can’t do anything. Aiden’s texts are anonymous and he’s been careful not to be spotted.”

Landon’s right eye twitched. “I know. But reporting your suspicions-”

“Will be little more than an exercise in humiliation.”

The men exchanged a sidelong glance. You sighed, knowing they probably didn’t share your distrust of the police, especially not in a matter like this.

“Look, cops are notoriously bad at handling stalkers. A lot of it comes down to the fact that anti-stalking laws have to be balanced against the bill of rights. Using other avenues to resolve this is a much better option.”

“Mr. LeDoux is a cop, and he said he would help with that,” Jake pointed out.

You sighed. Having Mr. LeDoux’s support behind your complaint would count for a lot in a town like D.C.

“With the amount of evidence you have, they’d be completely negligent to ignore you,” Landon said.

Someone coughed. You looked up and froze at the sight of Bishop on the sixth floor landing.

“I apologize for eavesdropping, but if I can interject…”

“Please do,” Jake invited.

Bishop came down the steps and joined you on the lower level.

“From what I gathered, your ex is making a problem of himself, Lloyd doesn’t know, and the situation is escalating.”

“Yeah.”

“How bad are the messages?” Bishop asked Landon.

“Bad. He’s gone from annoying and sadistic to action-oriented threats. The past three days he’s been sending pictures of her building like he’s staking it out.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“It started when I was in Singapore. I contacted his father already, and he holds the purse strings, which should help, but so far…”

Bishop nodded. “Uh-huh. Legally speaking, it would be beneficial to start a record with the police sooner, rather than later.”

“I’m coming around to that… slowly. I’m going to tell Lloyd, just not right now. I can’t add to his stress.”

“You’re working in the field with Zach this week,” Bishop said. “Stick close to him. Outside of work, you’re going to be house-sitting for Lloyd while he’s out of town, correct?”

“Yeah.”

The thought of Lloyd’s security system brightened your mood. Your top priority was not returning to your apartment for the foreseeable future. Not when Aiden might be sulking around.

“What about telling Zach?” Jake asked.

“How do you think Lloyd would feel if I told Zach before him?”

“You told me, and I told Landon. What’s the difference?”

“It’s different. Zach is his best friend.”

Bishop frowned. “Under the circumstances, I think he’d understand.”

“Can she work from our offices?” Landon asked. “The rent-a-cops down in the lobby aren’t much more than window dressing.”

“You can work from home, Zach’s offices, even the State Police building if Detective Roth allows it. Until Lloyd can be here with you, our building has too much foot traffic for safety,” Bishop said.

“Weston might not be thrilled with that.”

Bishop sighed at the mention of your supervisor. “He’s still annoying you about time cards?”

“He called me in Singapore to inform me that my card from last week is wrong.”

“You’ve never had an issue before, so I’m sure it’s nothing. Have Jen approve your card and tell Weston it’s resolved.”

“Thanks.”

Bishop opened his phone and typed out a message. Your phone chimed, and you saw he’d shared a contact card.

“That’s the information of a detective I’m acquainted with on the Robbery-Homicide squad at Metro. He’s in the second district office. Just in case you feel the need to speak with someone, keep his number handy. You’re going over to Fairfax with Zach, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll text Lloyd and stop by to pick up the keys, learn the alarm system.”

“Stick close to Zach. Between Lloyd’s security system and him, you should be okay for a few days.”

“And file a police report. Tonight,” Landon said.

You scanned the serious faces of the three men and gave in.

“Okay. I will. Tonight.”

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

You arrived at Lloyd’s finding his luggage packed and sitting by the front door. From the back of the house, a door slammed, and you followed the sound to the kitchen where Lloyd was re-lining the trash can.

“Hey.”

“I just finished cleaning out the fridge. You might need to pick up some groceries. There’s $300 cash in the cookie jar, don’t waste your own money.”

“How are you feeling?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel real.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“You’re already doing it.”

You hugged him and he propped his chin on top of your head as he returned the embrace.

“We hadn’t spoken in decades, so I don’t know why this feels different. But it does. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“It’s okay to be confused. And you don’t owe me any explanations,” you said, rubbing his back.

“I can’t understand how I can hate him so much and still feel grief.”

“Feelings aren’t required to make sense. They get to be complicated, and if you don’t want to unravel them right now, that’s okay. Just don’t feel like you’re alone. Whenever you need to talk, or just be with someone, I’m here.”

“I’m glad you’ll be staying here while I’m gone.”

So were you, but for entirely different reasons.

“Call me when you land, okay?”

“I will. Text me about the meeting. Even if it won’t get through until I’ve landed, I want an update.”

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

At the state police headquarters in Fairfax, you met Zach in the parking lot.

He peppered you with questions about Lloyd’s reaction to his father’s death. You realized he knew far more about their relationship than you did and traded bits of information for the scant details he could offer about the late Mr. Hansen.

A young female officer escorted you to a conference room, where Detective Roth was waiting. Having spoken with him on the phone, you’d formed an image of how he looked, which was completely wrong. He wasn’t in his mid-thirties with sandy brown hair as you’d expected.

Instead of hair, he had a shaved head. At first glance his eyebrows appeared blond but when the sunlight caught them, you saw he was actually a redhead. Most surprising was that he wore rimless glasses, the kind Steve Jobs was famous for, though his were more oval than round. When he stood, he towered over you. Even Zach, who wasn’t short by any means, had to look up at him.

“Good afternoon,” Roth greeted.

There was a hint of a Georgia drawl in his vowels and his eyes were arctic blue. The icy gaze carefully examined both his visitors before he invited you to sit.

He opened the meeting with the usual pleasantries and you noted his manners matched the Southern drawl. His relaxed posture didn’t hide the cunning intelligence in his pale eyes and within a minute you recognized that he was every bit as dangerous as Lloyd or Zach. Questions flowed naturally into the conversation, like slippery eels, and his nonchalant mannerisms disguised the intense scrutiny behind them. Roth took his time, thoroughly analyzing you and Zach, before he addressed the elephant in the room.

“Given Bishop’s history with this case, I’m not comfortable with his people involving themselves in my investigation.”

“We’re here to help, nothing more,” Zach said.

He’d been trying to connect with Roth, using the good old boy affability he wore like a veneer when he was trying to be personable. It wasn’t working, not even a little.

“Help,” Roth repeated.

His tone was bland, despite the twinge of annoyance you caught around his eyes. He pinned Zach with a hard look.

“You’re here to help, alright. And to keep your boss informed. He’s already been down and given me his version of the charm offensive. To be honest, Mr. Hightower, I liked his style more than yours. But I didn’t answer his questions and I’m hesitant to share anything further, knowing he’d like to influence my work.”

Zach smirked. “I don’t work for Bishop.”

“Employee or not, he pays you. That’s working for him in my book.”

You jumped in before Zach could dig a deeper hole.

“Detective, we understand your concerns. Trust won’t grow overnight, but we’re here. What can we do that would be most helpful to assist your work?”

“I have a nightmarish list of records to locate, if they even exist, and organize. That’s priority number one.”

“I had a thought about that the other day,” you said.

“Creating a database of publicly available records from that time would streamline the research process significantly. With some help from the Harmony library and the courthouse, I can get started. Once we’ve logged our own copies of everything, it will save a lot of time cross-referencing later.”

“That could be useful.”

Zach cleared his throat. "Speaking of useful, can we get access to the recent labs?”

“No. But if you file a request with the front desk, they’ll get back to you.”

“File a request? Are you kidding me?”

“Does the look on my face suggest that I’m joking?”

You had to smother your laughter. Roth’s face didn’t suggest anything. He might be the most closed-book person you’d ever met. You especially appreciated the way he pushed Zach’s buttons.

“Have you had any media attention on the case lately?” you asked.

“Fortunately, no. But my luck won’t hold for long. Any help managing that shit storm would be much appreciated.”

“I’ll leave you my card.”

“And I guess I’ll go file my request with the front desk,” Zach said.

The tiniest smile curved Roth’s thin lips. He waited until Zach began to unfurl himself from the chair, then reached for a folder.

“Here’s the DNA results.”

He turned it over, so the print side was down, and slid it across the table. Zach picked it up and held it so you could both read. Your eyes scanned the page quickly. As you took in the meaning, you bent forward to check that you’d read it correctly.

“They’re sure this is accurate?” Zach asked.

“Yeah. We were surprised, too. Not by the first result, but the third comparison they did was a heck of a plot twist.”

You studied the results. “The first test established that the woman in the recently discovered slab is the mother of the child found with her. But what about the DNA sample labeled X? Who is that from?”

“A relative. We do that a lot in cases like this, trying to identify a family tree. DNA from mother and daughter matched with a known sample in CODIS.”

“50% match with the mother and a 25% match with the daughter. You found a grandparent?” Zach asked.

“We identified a full-blooded sister of the mother,” Roth said.

“Who is sample X from?” you asked.

“Julia Xiarong.”

“Holy shit,” Zach murmured, staring at the report.

“That wasn’t the strangest part. Now, I’ve confirmed this next piece of information five different ways, trying to wrap my head around it. By all records, and from interviews with people in China who knew Julia as a child… Everyone confirms the same thing. She didn’t have a sister.”

You struggled to absorb the revelation. Roth pushed his glasses up and rubbed the bridge of his nose where they’d rested. A disbelieving smile twisted his thin mouth.

“There’s no record of Julia Xiarong ever having a sister.”

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

Next - Part XIII

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

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Taglist:

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215 notes · View notes

roosterforme · 2 years ago

Text

THANK YOU to everyone who sent in a headcanon request for Bradley and Baby Girl! I had so much fun with this! Please comment or reblog and let me know how you feel about some of these. And if you can think of any other details you'd like to know more about, let me know!

1. Why does Rooster only fly solo?

Rooster prefers not to have a backseater, because then he only has to be responsible for himself. After what happened to Maverick and Goose, Bradley has had a hard time flying a two-seater with a WSO. He even once told Phoenix that she is so much braver than he is, and Nat completely agreed.

2. Is Rooster scared BG isn't actually going to be there when he gets back from a deployment?

The thought has crossed Bradley's mind more than once that being in a relationship with him is holding her back. He knows it's harder on her than him, because even though he's away from her too, he's working at a fast pace under a unique set of parameters. He hates leaving her behind, and he has considered the possibility that she might want to call it quits with him. But, when Rooster came home to find that she had packed a bag and was prepared to leave after Josh attacked her, he knew he'd work twice as hard to keep her.

3. Cock warming when he gets back because he needs to feel close to her?

They both certainly enjoyed it when they were in the hotel in La Jolla. She occasionally warms his cock when she can tell he's feeling a little antsy, which is usually just before he leaves for a deployment or just after he gets home.

4. Rooster finding BG "playing" with her favorite toy.

Rooster has seen all of her toys and enjoyed playing with most of them with her. But she's got a favorite, and now she calls it Rooster Junior... One day when he was supposed to be working late, you got that vibrator out and started a little solo action. When he arrived home and heard those familiar moans and ran to the bedroom, he found you naked, splayed out on the bed with the toy. He stood in the doorway until you noticed him, and then you yelped, kind of embarrassed. But he just gestured for you to keep going and then unzipped his uniform pants and started stroking himself. Bradley got himself more and more worked up until you came with the toy inside you. Then he joined you in bed, gently removing the toy and replacing it with his mouth and then his cock. He gave you a better orgasm than Rooster Junior, and you told him he was such a good boy.

5. Do they have a welcome mat?

They have a welcome mat on their front porch that she bought, and it matches the "Home Sweet San Diego" sign that she got him for Christmas, which hangs just inside their front door.

6. Two sinks in the bathroom?

Yes, they have two sinks. Hers is surrounded by all of her makeup, facewash, electric toothbrush, contacts cases, and skin care products. He just has his toothbrush next to his sink, and his shaving gear is all tucked away in the cabinet.

7. What color is their bedding?

They have light gray and white jacquard bedding that she picked out for their king sized bed. He told her to pick out whatever she wanted, and she tried to tease him by sending him a link to a US Army camo set and pretending she ordered it.

8. What side of the bed do they sleep on?

Standing at the foot of the bed and looking at the headboard... Bradley sleeps on the left and she sleeps on the right. But they can even share a twin bed successfully, because she mostly sleeps draped halfway on top of him.

9. What are date nights like?

Date nights are usually nothing too fancy. They both work hard and appreciate that the other one gets tired. When Bradley can tell she doesn't want to expend her energy on making dinner, he will take her out, occasionally driving to where they had their first date. They do a lot of sunset picnics at the beach, go to see movies together, and listen to live music in the park with Tramp.

10. It's movie night, what movie do they pick?

Bradley likes musicals, and he's not afraid to admit it. He likes to sing along, and now that he has his own piano, he plays along too. His favorite is The Music Man. She has to pretty much limit him to one musical per week, so she can have a little bit of quiet in the house. She likes a variety of movie genres, but they both laugh over the fact that her favorites are a heartwarming romance (Roman Holiday (peep the main character named Joe BRADLEY)) and a psychological thriller (Get Out).

11. What’s their sleeping position?

Bradley on his back with his hands wrapped around her where she lays chest to chest on him with her head nestled on his shoulder. Their legs are usually tangled together as well. Sometimes they sleep where he is the big spoon, usually when she has her period and wants to curl up because of the cramps. Then he sleeps with his lips and mustache just close enough to kiss her neck.

12. Any bad habits that they have?

Bradley is a bit of a neat freak. He can't stand it when she tosses her shoes in the general direction of the closet instead of neatly placing them in there. So he has the bad habit of getting a little passive aggressive. On the other hand, she has a bad habit of overworking. In the past, she has been one to stay on base late or work weekends when she is very absorbed with a project. Bradley has helped her break that habit a bit, because she loves being at home with him after work. But when he's deployed, she tends to overdo it a bit so she has something to keep her occupied.

13. Their most embarrassing moment together?

Take your pick.... When Bradley told Mav they broke the bed? When they had sex in her office and Coyote, Phoenix and Hangman clearly knew it? When she had her hand down Bradley's pants in the rec room and poor Jake walked in? They can't keep it in their pants around each other, and Bradley can't keep his mouth shut when she wishes he would.

14. Favorite sexual positions?

She likes riding him. Whether he's sitting or laying down, she loves being on his lap. She loves setting the pace and watching him get ruined. She also loves cock warming him when he seems a little anxious, this is something he has come to love too. Bradley finds a lot of pleasure in protecting her and kind of marking his territory. He likes taking her from behind. Getting her on all fours makes him feral. He's also particularly fond of fucking her from behind while they are both standing. This gives him the opportunity to power himself into the spots that get her off, and he can also wrap his hands around to the front of her body.

15. Does BG or Rooster have a paralyzing fear of something so they need their loving partner to help them every time that fear comes up when they are together?

In an effort not to get too much into Bradley's crippling fear or rejection and losing the people he loves (things that she tries to reassure him about, constantly telling him she loves him and isn't going anywhere), he is terrified of dolls. Like the creepy ceramic dolls with eyes that follow your every move. He can't stand them, and hates antique shops as a result. She is afraid of spiders. Bradley pretends to kill them for her, but he actually just takes them outside.

16. What would happen if they were ever right in the middle of sex or foreplay and she just suddenly loses the mood because something from work or something popped in her head?

First of all, consent is key, and he knows and appreciates it. Also, he's not going to enjoy getting off if she's not enjoying herself too. Bradley would immediately freeze, because he would know something was wrong.... "What happened, Sweetheart?" he asked softly. "Nothing, I just had a bad day and I can't stop thinking about it.... and I'm not really in the mood now...." You turned your face away from him, and Bradley stopped what he was doing. "Oh, okay. No problem." He dropped down on the bed next to you, and you curled up and let him rub your back as you told him what was bothering you.

17. What songs play as their ringtones for each other?

When Bradley calls her phone, What A Man by Linda Lyndell is the ringtone for him. When she calls Bradley's phone, Whatever You Like by T.I. is the ringtone for her.

18. Would they ever get another dog or a cat?

Bradley couldn't say no to Tramp's puppy eyes, so there is no doubt that another stray animal would end up in their family.

19. What is Bradley’s favorite part of BG’s body? And What is BG’s favorite part of Bradley’s body?

She really loves his neck. She loves his scars and finds comfort in kissing him there. She also goes a little crazy for his hands, and loves how big they feel when they wrap around her waist and grab her thighs. Bradley loves her smile. He really lost his mind the first time he saw her face, and she was smiling and laughing at the time. He also loves her legs and her butt.

20. How did he end up calling her Baby Girl for her nickname? What else do they call each other?

"Baby Girl" just kind of slipped out for the first time when they were on opposite teams playing football at the beach! He scooped her up and she had her arms around him, and that's what he called her. And he's been calling her that ever since. He called her Sweetheart before that, when she smacked him in the chest with his own phone and sent the other girls packing at the Hard Deck! She mostly calls him Roo, and his heart absolutely melts when she says it. The first couple times she said it before they were dating, he was absolute putty in her hands. They also both use the pet name "My Love". BG approves of all of these, as she tries not to let him get too soppy with the pet names.

21. We know how BG reacted when Bradley was in an accident. How would he react if something happened to her?

She tends to silently spiral. She gets in her own head and tries to blame herself when something goes wrong with him. Bradley on the other hand would be in absolute hysterics. He would try to rush in and help no matter where she was.

22. How would Bradley deal with BG being deployed?

Bradley would be a lot more pathetic and mopey than she is. She tends to throw herself into work projects when she needs to take her mind off of something, but he doesn't do that. He would be quite lonely and lovesick.

23. Bradley loves lingerie, and they love a bit of the risk of getting caught. But what are some other kinks of theirs that haven't made it into the story yet?

Bradley has a praise kink. You don't get to be a top tier aviator without collecting that along the way. He is also going to have a bit of a rank kink when he outranks Baby Girl. He likes role playing too, which we saw a bit of in Take Me To Neverland. But he's truly down to do almost anything that would make her happy in the bedroom. She also enjoys the fantasy aspect of role playing. Bradley's breeding kink would absolutely take over if he was actively trying to get her pregnant, and she would probably like that a lot more than she anticipated.

24. What was her motivation for joining the Navy, and does she plan on retiring from it or getting out earlier?

She's a lifer. Wants to be an admiral. Wants to run her own research lab on base in North Island. She is originally from Maryland, not too far from Annapolis, so she grew up knowing about the Naval Academy. When she qualified to go there for free, knowing she would also be training to be an officer, she decided to go for it. It ended up being a great decision, and she is even still friends with Cam from back in the first year students' dormitory.

25. In an argument where they both think they are right, who apologizes first even though they still think they are right?

Bradley, for sure. He can't stand feeling cut off from her, so he will crack after a day or two just so they can get back to normal. That being said, if he's obviously in the right and she's obviously in the wrong, she will have no problem admitting it.

26. The 3rd amendment states “no military person can stay in a house without the consent of the owner”. Do you think that BG has ever kicked Bradley out of the house (for fun or in a fight) with the 3rd amendment?

She would be too apprehensive to even try it, since technically he owns the house, and because she is also a military officer. But the thought has definitely occurred to her. And if her name ever gets added to the deed... watch out Rooster.

27. How would Bradley react if BG went up to the bar to get them drinks, and another guy was chatting with her and told Penny to put BG's drinks on his tab? How would Bradley react to another guy buying her and technically him drinks?

Bradley would be annoyed that the other guy was obviously flirting with her, so he would make his way up to the bar....

You tried not to laugh at Luke as he told Penny to put your beers on his tab. He was about to buy a drink for your boyfriend, so you just nodded at him and said, "Thanks."

He grinned at you and asked for your phone number, right as Bradley draped an arm around your shoulders and kissed your neck, clearly marking his territory in front of this stranger.

"Here you go, Bradley. Luke here was kind enough to put these on his tab for me." You watched your boyfriend's jaw clench as he stood to his maximum height, and then he smiled and nodded at the other guy.

"Thanks, man. That's so kind of you," Bradley said as he took a sip of the beer, arm still draped around you. "If you still want a phone number, I'd be more than happy to give you mine."

28. What is Rooster's aftercare routine for Baby Girl?

Rooster is an aftercare king. He loves taking care of her after they have sex, so much so that it's kind of part of the act itself. His lips and mustache are simply all over her skin for a few minutes while they both catch their breath. Then more often than not, he's getting a bubble bath ready for her in their enormous tub. Sometimes he joins her and sits behind her while one of their playlists is on, kissing her neck and soothing her skin. Sometimes he sits on the mat next to the tub and they have a quiet conversation. Sometimes he will do a chore while she relaxes.

29. What was the first impression they each had about the other?

I LIKED THIS ONE SO MUCH, I SAVED IT FOR LAST... and I might write a little prequel fic about it... This happened just before Is It Working For You?

It was Monday morning, and you stood at attention in a preflight classroom filled with Admirals, Captains and even your own boss. You were anchored between your friends Maria and Cam, and you couldn't help but think about how badly you wanted all of those Admiral pins on your khaki uniform someday so you could spend hours rambling on about nothing and force everyone to stand and listen to you. Once you were finally dismissed to be seated, it was ten o'clock. You'd been standing for a full hour pretending to pay attention. You just wanted to get to work, but when you sat down facing all of the aviators, you noticed one in particular. And he was already looking at you. Maybe you had something on your face? Or maybe he was in a daze after listening to Admiral Simpson for so long? Either way, he was really cute. Chocolatey brown eyes, wavy hair and a mustache that should have looked ridiculous, but did not. Not at all. You couldn't help but smile at him, and when you did, he immediately looked away.

It was Monday morning at 8:56 am, and Bradley's steps came to a halt as soon as he walked into the classroom. You weren't even looking directly at him, but your smiling face was so stunning, he already felt like he might not be the same again after this moment.

THANKS AGAIN! Hope you had as much fun as I did! Check my masterlist for all of the B&BG content!

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#b&bg headcanons #don't forget to read dd20 #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #rooster x reader

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