#please ask me about my oc’s please please please please please

[juniperskye]

You’re…intimidating.

Based on the following ask: For Hotch x reader, could I please request charming witty reader who Hotch has an obvioussss crush on and he's trying to flirt but he's out of practice and she's pretty extroverted, confident so she just doesn't register he's interested and he's getting grief from the team for being all puppy dog eyes at her? Pref non-BAU reader but maybe she works in a different FBI dept or she's a lawyer/consultant they work with often and Hotch is always the first to suggest working with her so he's not being subtle in wanting to spend time with her lol. Feel free to adapt!! Thanks!! ❤️Okay pookie!!! I’ve been thinking about this one and it might end up pretty self-indulgent and for that I am sorry – girlie works for cybercrimes (but transfers to the BAU – sorry it felt right) and she’s the best of the best like Penelope worships her…she’s a little alternative so Hotch admires her from afar because she’s not his usual type just PURE FLUFF

Aaron Hotchner x FBI! Fem Reader

Fluff

Word count: 2674

Not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Aaron is 45), some explicit language, not an OC but reader is described to have some tattoos and piercings (nothing specific though), reader works for cybercrimes and is SUPER tech savvy, idiots in love, Hotch pining hard, tooth rotting fluff, canon typical violence, mentions of hacking and breaking laws, reader is an extroverted introvert, Reader is called “Agent Z” or “Z” because she is a gen z, let me know if I missed any

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

“Hotchner, this is the third time this month you’ve requested her. I’m beginning to think we should be offering her a spot in the BAU.” Director Cruz teased.

“If she’d be willing, I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.” Hotch shrugged.

“I’ll put in the consultation request and maybe I’ll bring up the idea of a transfer to her.”

Hotch stood and returned to the sixth floor, promptly running into Penelope, as she was making her way back to the Batcave.

“So, I heard I might be getting some assistance on our next case! You know if you keep inviting Agent Z to join us, I’m going to get used to having her around.”

“Would that be so bad?” Hotch asked.

“No, it definitely wouldn’t…unless she stops coming around.” Penelope retorted.

The look on Hotch’s face gave him away, there was a brief flash of disappointment at the suggestion of you not coming around anymore. He couldn’t bear the thought…which made him even more nervous than you did. Speaking of…

“Hey Hotch!” You called effectively startling him.

“Hello! I uh – I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

“Ah well, Cruz emailed the request over and I got the notification, so I figured there was no time to waste.” You shrugged.

“Well, we might as well debrief the team then.” Aaron offered, gesturing toward the conference room.

--

Here’s the deal, Aaron had feelings for you, you had captivated him the first time he saw you. It was a Tuesday in July, the weather had been unforgiving…hot and humid, not ideal for the business attire of FBI agents.

As he made his way into the building, he’d taken note of how nearly everyone had their suit jackets or blazers slung over their arms, their sleeves rolled up as they hurried into the air-conditioned building.

But then there was you. You were wearing these chunky black loafers and black trousers, your top had been a simple black tank, it was hugging your skin in a way that made Aaron’s mouth go dry. You had a checkered cardigan tossed over your forearm that you had clearly removed. It allowed Aaron a view of the tattoos that adorned your arms.

He couldn’t explain the pull he felt…you had been so different from any woman he’d ever had any interest in before, but maybe that’s why things never worked out with them. Maybe the others were too stiff, too proper. Maybe he needed a little chaos in his life.

--

During the debriefing, Aaron had made sure you were sat next to him. He let Penelope present the case as usual and allowed time for theories. While Derek and Emily were talking back and forth about the possible age and gender of the unsub, Aaron’s eyes were trained on you. He could see your mind running a mile a minute.

“What is it?” Aaron asked, tapping your arm gently.

“Oh, no. I was just thinking. There’s something about the photo’s that were left at the crime scene…it feels familiar.” You shrugged.

“Have you seen another case like this?”

“I think so…” You pulled open your laptop and began searching through old case files and evidence you’d logged over the years. “Here! Hotch, look at this!”

Aaron leaned over, leaving hardly any space between the two of you. His gaze shifted from your profile to your computer screen, taking in the images before him. On your screen were photos that were nearly identical to those in the file the team had just reviewed.

It seemed as though this unsub took photos to document their work. Leaving some behind at the crime scenes, taunting law enforcement.

“We didn’t have very many leads back when this came across my desk, but I have new programs I can use to run these photos through now and with Penelope’s help, I think we could finally get this guy.” You explained.

“Alright, why don’t you travel with us so you can access the physicals of the photos.” Aaron suggested.

“Okay!”

“Alright then, wheels up in thirty.” Aaron commanded.

--

“Hey Agent Z! You joining us again?” Derek nudged you gently.

“Not this time, I was just asked to come and consult on a case.” You replied.

 “Oh, I see. Bossman calling in his favorite once again.”

“Stop! It’s not like that Derek.”

“Girl…you and I both know that it is.” Derek laughed and walked off.

You made your way to Aaron’s office, knocking on the door. When he calls out for you to enter, you go straight for the chair in front of his desk, plopping into it with a huff.

“You alright?” Aaron asks, concern lacing his tone. “We could do this later if you’re not up for it.”

“No! I’m happy to help! I’ve just got a decision to make, and I don’t know what to do.” You sighed. “Let’s talk about this case!”

Aaron and you went through the case that had been sent in from the NYPD. You were confused as to why he’d called you in to consult, the case had seemed pretty cut and dry…something Aaron would typically delegate to Derek or Dave. The tech aspect to this case was so minute, it was common sense…but you didn’t want to call him out on it.

--

“Thanks again for your help, hopefully the NYPD can close that case pretty quickly now.” Aaron walked you over toward the elevators.

“Any time. I like working with you and the BAU.” You smiled cheerfully.

“So um, what was that decision you have to make?” He inquired.

“Oh, uh…well, Cruz asked me if I wanted to transfer from Cybercrimes over to the BAU actually.”

“That’s great! I mean – I uh. Do you think you’ll do it?”

“I’m thinking about it for sure! It’s just, I’ve been with Cybercrimes for so long, I’d feel bad leaving them…ya know?”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

You said your goodbyes and you headed back to your office on the eighth floor. Aaron stood there for a bit, looking after you as you made your exit. He stood there a beat longer before turning and heading back to his office. Only he didn’t get that far. Upon walking through the glass doors, he was met with the whole team standing there waiting for him.

“You’re down bad Hotch.” Emily said.

“Yeah, that was almost painful to watch.” JJ agreed.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.” Hotch shook his head and made his way back to his office.

--

Agreeing with the director to have you transferred was, quite possibly, the dumbest decision that Aaron could have ever made. He already struggled just being near you when you’d come and assist, but the thought of having you around all the time…what was he meant to do?

Subject: Agent Transfer – Effective immediately Good afternoon, This email is being sent to inform both the CCU and BAU of the immediate transfer of Agent Z. In discussing this transfer, she assured me that should the CCU need her assistance in a case, she’d happily help. She does, however, know that the agents on the team are more than capable of handling things. As for the BAU, given her expertise and background, she will travel with you as needed. I just want to remind you that Agent Z has a background in hacking, computer forensics, criminal justice, psychology, behavior analysis, amongst others. Utilize her skills – I believe she will make an incredible contribution to the BAU. Hotchner – her file was delivered to your office this morning. Also, she needs firearms training, please ensure she completes this before travelling with the team. Let me know if you have any questions. Mateo Cruz - Section Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit

Aaron read the email four times. You would be starting with the team today…he needs to get you scheduled for your firearms training and qualification exam. He figured he could do that while you get settled in the office adjacent to Penelope’s.

--

“Hey Hotch.” Your fingers rapped against the doorframe.

“Hi-Hello. Can I uh, show you to your office?” He asked.

“Penelope already beat you to it.” You teased. “But if you want to help me bring the last of my boxes down, that would be awesome.”

“Oh, I um-I…can-”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to! You’re a busy man, and I can ask Spence or Derek!”

“No, I’d love to help.” Aaron recovered.

“Okay.” You smiled.

Aaron led the two of you over to the elevator, allowing you to enter first, then following suit and pressing the button for the eighth floor. It slowly lifted before signaling your arrival on the CCU floor.

You guided Aaron to your old office where the last two boxes remained. There was an IT guy loading your monitors onto a cart, getting ready to move them for you. You looked around at the now empty space…it felt empty now, like it no longer belonged to you, and you supposed it didn’t anymore. Aaron couldn’t help but notice the slight sadness that took over your features.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“Oh, yeah, I’m okay. It’s just odd, having had this office for the last four years, and now it’s empty…it’s not mine anymore.” Your gaze shifted downward. “It feels like the end of a chapter. While the feeling isn’t bad, because I’m really excited to be joining the BAU, it just feels kind of sad.”

“I know what you mean. I felt that same way when I left the law firm I worked at.” Aaron looked over at you.

You met his gaze, and he offered a small smile. You returned it, feeling this sense of comfort. He’d always brought up that feeling in you though. It was like this glowing warmth that spread its way through your entire being…but that flame only burned in you when he was around.

--

“And hold it just like that, good!” Aaron praised.

You fired three consecutive shots at the target, forming a neat cluster in the outlines chest. Pride bloomed in Aaron’s chest, and you squealed with excitement, throwing your arms around him!

“Thank you so much for helping me! There was no way I was going to pass this exam without you!”

“I’m not sure how you’ve been with the bureau this long and not had to get your firearm qualification.” Aaron shook his head with a laugh.

“Hey! I have been confined to the eighth floor for the last five-ish years, I haven’t needed to carry one.”

Aaron took note of the freckles that dusted your nose, and the way the light reflected in your eyes. He thought for a moment about how close you were, and how easy it would be to just lean in the last few inches and capture your lips in a kiss. But he had to shake the thought away.

--

“I PASSED!” You shouted, running your way through the BAU bullpen.

“Good lord, what are you yelling about?” Dave asked, coming out of his office.

“I PASSED! I PASSED!” You waved your firearms certificate in the air, making your way over to Aaron’s office.

He exited his office to see what the commotion was all about, seeing you shaking your hand, waving a piece of paper around like a mad woman. He was mesmerized by you. You were 100% yourself and he admired you for it, you weren’t worried about how others perceived you. You only worried about your own opinion; you wanted to be the best version of yourself always.

“HOTCHHH, I PASSED!” You ran over to him and jumped into his arms, wrapping your own around his neck.

Aaron held you tight, lifting you off the ground for just a moment before noticing the look on Dave’s face. He placed you down and quietly congratulated you. He couldn’t help but feel embarrassed at getting caught by Dave. He knew that he had done nothing wrong…but he also knew that Dave could read him better than anyone else.

--

“Okay, when are you going to ask that girl out?” Dave huffed, sitting in the chair across from Aaron.

“Dave.” Aaron scolded. “It’s inappropriate.”

“Aaron…you deserve it. Happiness I mean. So, are you going to let it pass you by or are you going to seize the moment?”

“Sir, I don’t mean to interrupt, but we have a case.” Penelope informed. “It’s a child abduction.”

“Let everyone know we’re leaving now – we will brief on the plane.” Aaron commanded.

“Is Z going with you?” Penelope asked.

“Yes!” Dave answered for Aaron.

--

Aaron always sat next to you on the plane. It had been purely accidental, you’d sat in his usual seat and though Aaron wouldn’t say anything, Spencer did. So, you moved over into the adjacent window seat and Aaron slid in next to you. Since then, you’d always sat there.

Like now for example, the BAU was headed home after a two-week long case. The unsub had been way too good at covering his tracks, he’d had the entire team stumped. Thankfully you’d found his slipup in a dark web chatroom. He’d posted video of him torturing his latest victim in a chatroom used by very sick people. It was flagged once you’d turned on notifications for keywords and certain video content. After receiving the notification, Penelope and you were able to track an IP address and narrow down the location.

It had been exhausting honestly, running around, back and forth, interviewing people, going through evidence, just going until you found this guy…and now that was finally catching up to you. Your head had been bobbing off to the side as you fought the throws of sleep. As you began dozing off once more, Aaron reached over and led your head to rest on his shoulder. You finally settled and snuggled a bit further into his side, and for once he leaned back and let himself rest on the flight home.

Emily pointed JJ and Derek’s attention over to the two of you and then giggled. Derek quickly snapped a picture and sent it in their group chat. Penelope was quick to reply with the happy tears emojis and saying “finally”.

--

Things had shifted slightly after that. And while the team still teased Aaron about his very obvious crush on you, he finally allowed himself to be more confident in his interactions with you. He realized that Dave was right…maybe he did deserve happiness.

He’d invited you to get lunch with him a few times during work and he’d brought you coffee. He thought he was making his affection for you more obvious…but you still didn’t budge. He was beginning to worry that you didn't feel the same.

But it all came to a head when he decided he needed to be direct. Not on his own…Emily and JJ had to confront him and then convince him that you did like him, you just didn’t think he liked you.

--

You walked into the elevator, just about to click the button to the sixth floor when an arm reached in to stop the door from closing.

“Oh! Good morning Hotch.” You greeted. “Sorry, if I had seen you coming I’d have held the door.”

“No worries.” He forgave. “Do you um – do you have any plans tonight?”

“No, I was thinking of ordering a pizza and watching an episode of The Great British Bake Off. What about you?”

You’re reply had been so innocent and sweet. Just a simple response to his question, not reading into what he was truly asking you.

“Sweetheart, though your plans sound wonderful…will you go to dinner with me tonight?” He asked.

Your jaw dropped, only for a moment as you worked to regain your composure. Had you really been that blind? The girls had told you time and time again that he was interested, and you’d brushed it off, not wanting to get your hopes up…but here he is now, asking you out.

“I would love to.” You smiled.

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust

[rookinthecrownest]

Then i’ll stretch, maybe sketch, take a climb

Sew a dress!

Let’s be real chat this was just an excuse to draw Tiny!Spite (@/psin314) in a dress.

[trippiexlove]

Heart of a Woman

Author Note: Based on the song Heart of A Woman by Summer Walker. Y'all chose it! I hope you enjoy. If you want to leave a song request for a one shot please comment on this post. Check out my master list for other one shots / stories.

Warning: Smut, Angst, P in V, Oral (f! receiving), Profanity, Praise, Toxic Relationship

Pairing: Zilla Fatu x Black OC

Word Count: 3,210

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Only thing that saving you...

Is a Heart of a Woman…

Indya leaned over the large island in the kitchen of the house she shared with her boyfriend of three years, Isayah. 

Pissed wasn't even the word. She was livid. 

Moments ago she received a random message from an unknown number. It was a message every woman dreads to get. 

A coming to you as a woman message. 

Normally she would ignore it, majority of the time it was just women trying to ruin their relationship. She knew how popular Isayah has become in the last year. His wrestling career really taking off this past year. She knew groupies came with this lifestyle. She had trusted him. But this was a constant cycle they went through. 

But this message was different. It had actual concrete proof. Pictures, screenshots and screen recordings of multiple messages and FaceTime calls.

She couldn't help but to feel the hurt and betrayal. Most of all she was more upset with herself. Knowing that this wasn't the first time, but continuously keep giving him second chances. 

She was so focused on the messages. Continuously scrolling through them, in denial, trying to find something that didn't make this true. The more she kept looking it the more she became upset. Indya was so focused on the messages until the familiar ringtone, signaling an incoming FaceTime from Isayah, came to her phone.  

When she answered the phone she could see he was outside somewhere. Seem like he was talking to someone beside before his focus turned to the phone. "What's up ma, you good?"

"I'm coo'" she was very short with him. Her attitude evident as he furrowed his brows together. She walked into the living room, propping the phone on the table before sitting on the couch. 

Isayah could sense her energy through the phone. "You sure? Yo' tone says otherwise" concern laced in his voice. 

"Who's Erica?" She didn't waste any time, crossing her arms waiting for an answer. 

Isayah scrunched up his eyebrow, a look of confusion on his face "What'chu talkin' about?"

She rolled her eyes before continuing to speak. "I won't ask again Isayah," she stated pointedly "who is Erica?"

He looked away briefly before looking down into the phone "I don't know what'chu talkin' bout Indy"

"So we're going down the route of acting like we're dumb" she nodded her head. She grabbed her phone off the table, going to the message thread. Once she pulled it up she sent all the messages and screen recordings to him. 

Isayah phone dinged from the other end. She watched his face as he read through the messages. He kissed his teeth, exiting out the thread. "Indya that's someone I used to deal with a long time ago. Haven't seen that girl in years"

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" Indya frowned. "You must take me as a dumb bitch if you think I'ma just let you sit here and lie to me when there's fucking proof!" she raised her voice. Getting more and more upset. 

"You just gon' believe her over what I'm tellin' you. I'm yo' man right?" Isayah voice rising with every word. 

"Are you my man though?" Indya lifted an eyebrow. She stared right back at him as he shot dagger through the screen. 

"Indya, stop fuckin' playin' with me. I told you I ain't seen that girl in years, the fuck you trippin' for?" Indya was token back from his words, before nodding her head.

"You know what since you wanna play dumb, I'll act fucking stupid. Go be with that bitch and stay the fuck away from me. You're single, fuck you!" Indya hung up before he could get another word in. She threw her phone down, before placing her head in her hands. She felt the tears that have been threatening to fall for a while. The constant ringing of her phone, as Isayah kept calling and texting, sounded throughout the living room. 

After a while, she wiped her eyes before grabbing her phone and blocking his number. Heading upstairs to sleep the night off. 

[Few Days Later]

Indya was out on a girl's day with her best friends, Sabrina and Tara. They got her out the house to take her mind off the fight she had a few days ago with Isayah. Refusing to let their friend to wallow in her feelings. 

They spent the day shopping, getting their nails done, and were currently at their favorite restaurant to have lunch. 

After placing their order with their server, Sabrina looked over at Indya. "We've been avoiding this conversation all day, but I think it's time to address it" Tara nodded knowing what Sabrina was getting into. "How are you feeling Indy?"

Indya sighed, throwing her head back slightly "I think I am just more mad at myself for continuing to keep taking him back."

"You can't be upset with yourself about that," Tara grabbed Indya's hand "It is not your fault that he can't grow up and see what an amazing woman he has and to treat you accordingly"

Sabrina nodded in agreement before adding in her two cents "You have been nothing but great towards him and will literally drop everything just to make sure he's ok. We all make mistakes but it's just how we learn from it"

Indya nodded. Taking in her best friends words. "It's just so hard because I really do love him." she sniffled a bit, wiping the tear that fell. 

"We understand girl," Tara sympathize with her best friend "but sometimes love isn't worth the hurt he's causing you" 

"What do you plan on doing now?" Sabrina asked as she leaned back in her chair. 

Indya sat in silence for a moment, she knew what she had to do. The decision didn't come so lightly "I'm done and forreal this time. I can't keep doing this"

"We your girls, we love you and will support you" Sabrina smiled grabbing her other hand. Tara nodding in agreement.

Indya blinked back more tears smiling at both her best friends. Truly appreciative of them. "Thanks I love y'all"

Soon the server brought over their food and the conversation shifted to something lighter. For the first time in a last few days Indya felt a weight lifted off her shoulders. Forgetting about the drama and enjoying the rest of the time with her best friends.

They paid the bill once they were done. Hopping into Sabrina's car, she started heading towards Indya's house. When the pulled up Indya sighed when she noticed Isayah's car in the driveway. 

He was back after being gone for a week due to having shows and appearances. Sabrina looked over at Indya, a certain look in her eye. "Do you need us to come in with you?"

Indya shook her head as she grabbed her keys out her purse "It's fine"

"You sure?" Tara leaned up from the front seat "We can just go in and beat his ass real quick and get your stuff"

Indya softly laughed at her friends "I promise I'll be fine. I'll text y'all"

"Ok," Sabrina said unsure "you better text us"

Indya promised she would text them as she got out, Tara taking her place in the passenger seat. She waved bye to them before walking up to the front door. She blew out a breathe before unlocking the door going inside. 

When she walked in Isayah was standing in the middle of the living room. She turned to the door locking it. 

"Where you been?" Isayah questioned, watching her every movement. Indya ignored him, throwing her keys in the bowl by the door. Walking right by him. He furrowed his eye brow as he watched her walk towards the stairs.

With quick movements he grabbed upper arm, making her turn towards him. "You hear me talkin' to you" 

"Unless you're here to admit to what the fuck you did, we don't have shit to talk about" she tried ripping her arm away from him. This caused him to grip tighter. 

"I keep telling' yo' ass that ain't shit happen between me and that girl" His frown deepened looking her dead in the eyes. 

"She literally sent me screenshots of y'all messages!" Indya felt her temper slowly increase the longer he held her arm. She was beginning to become frustrated.

"Her ass could've faked those messages and yo' goofy ass sitting here believin' them!" He raised his voice slightly. 

Indya widen her eyes in shock. In disbelief of what he said. She pushed on his chest, finally releasing herself from his grip. "Explain the pictures and videos of y'all on FaceTime then Isayah! Do you think I'm dumb?!"

"Indya tread lightly on how you speakin' to me. This is your warnin'" He squinted his eyes her direction. This only fueled the petty side of her. No longer caring how she was making him feel. 

"I don't give a fuck, you ain't scaring shit over here. You can go be with that bitch and y'all both can be hoes together!" She turned to go up the stairs, but before she could, she was pulled back. 

Isayah wrapped a hand around the based of her throat, pulled her close which made her look up his towering frame. She slightly shuddered at the the look in his eyes. His eyes going completely dark, a mix of anger and lust lingering inside them.

"I done let'chu get fly at the mouth one too many times. Now it's time for you to listen to me" Indya was getting upset with herself for just how quick she submits to him. Knowing that this was the issue in the ever ending cycle of their relationship. 

First their good, then she catches him cheating, he uses his manipulative ways, he dicks her down and then the cycle starts over. 

He could see the wheels turning in her head. Knowing she was going to try to resist he quickly scooped her up, making his way up the stairs to their shared room. 

He plopped her on the bed, hovering over her. Placing both hands on the sides of her head. He leaned down placing kisses along her neck and behind her ear. 

Indya didn't want to fall into the same old pattern again. She took her hands, pushing against his chest. "Isayah we can-" her breathe hitched as he sucked on the spot right below her ear. 

Surely leaving a mark, he took one of his hands trialing down her sides til he reached the hem of the shorts she was wearing. His hands found their way in, brushing against her wet folds. 

Indya softly moaned, arching more into his touch. He entered one finger in her, groaning at how wet and tight she was. He leaned up to look her in the eyes, entering another finger. Indya moaning out as he quickened his movements. 

"What were you sayin' baby?" Indya couldn't make up any coherent sentences, as her core tightened. "You want me to stop?" When he didn't get a response he slowed down "Do you want me to stop?" his voice deepened. Indya eyes popped open looking at him.

She whined as she moved her hips, desperate for any type of friction. Isayah took his other hand, placing them on her hips to still her movements. "No I don't want you to stop" completely submitting to him.

Satisfied with her answer he pulled her shorts and underwear off, leaving her lower half completely bare. He removed his shirt, throwing it across the room.

He left wet kisses trailing down her chest and stomach til he was leveled with her intimate area. 

He skipped all the teasing, quickly latching on to her sensitive bundle on nerves, switching from flicking his tongue across it and slightly sucking on it. His fingers entered her once more. 

Indya loudly moaned at the double stimulation. She grabbed at the sheets on the bed, trying to ground herself. "F-fuck Isayah .. I'm cumming" 

Isayah sped up the strokes of his fingers. Hitting her spot continuously, Indya reaching her climax soon afterwards. 

Isayah sat up, cupping her chin with his hands "open up for me baby" Indya stuck out her tongue, knowing exactly what he wanted. He stuck his fingers in her mouth, letting her lick off all her juices off his fingers. Once she was done he brought her into a searing kiss, tasting her sweet essence. 

He pulled away looking her deep in her eyes. "Face down. Ass up. You better arch how I like it"  he stated in a commanding tone.

Indya wasted time doing exactly what he said. Arching her back just how he liked. Isayah let out a groan of approval, sending a smack to her backside. 

As Indya waiting in anticipation, she heard the soft sound of a zipper, as Isayah shredded the last bit of clothing, coming up right behind her. She felt Isayah glide the tip between her wet folds. 

He slowly pushed in, Indya moaning out as he stretched her out. He stilled for few moments to allow her time to adjust. "Fuck, you're so tight for me ma" 

Craving more, Indya moved her hips back. Isayah taking it as a sign, picking up his rhythm quickly. Indya screamed out as he practically fucked her into the bed. 

She brought her back against his abdomen, trying to slow him down. He quickly grabbed her wrist, pinning it against her back. "Ain't no running. You been talkin' yo' shit, talk it now" 

Indya couldn't think, her brain clouded by the immense pleasure he was giving her. 

"I-Isayah I can't!" she moaned out loud. Feeling that familiar burn in the pit of her stomach. 

"Shut the fuck up and take it. This what'chu wanted right" Indya moaned loudly, Isayah groaned as he felt her clench around his length. He knew she was getting close and stopped all movements causing Indya to whimper. "You don't get to cum til I tell you to"

Isayah grabbed her other arm, holding both in one hand. He rammed back into her, causing Indya to gasp loudly. Isayah's strokes were relentless. 

The only sounds throughout the room were their skin slapping together, "Fuck, look at'chu takin' it for daddy so well" He sent a smack to her backside, Indya moaning at the stinging sensation. 

"Baby I can't hold it," she let out a breathy moan, her climax being so close "I need to cum please" she begged desperately. 

Once again Isayah stopped his strokes abruptly, pulling out of her. He laid down, pulling her on top of him. "You want yo' nut, you gotta earn it" 

Indya straddled his waist, reaching back grabbing a whole of his length. She slowly slid down, both groaning at the contact. He took a hold of her hips, bringing her down more, engulfing all of him.  "S-shit"

Indya placed one hand on his chest as she slowly went up and down. She moaned at the new angle she was in. Isayah hitting a new spot. Indya threw her head back as she picked up the pace. 

"Who pussy is it" Isayah wrapped his hand around her throat "hmm, tell daddy who pussy this is"

Indya gasped, feeling that burn in the stomach "Fuck daddy it's yours"

She rotated her hips, earning a deep guttural groan from Isayah. "Fuck, you ain't leaving' me." He moaned out again, feeling his release brewing "Damn, you feel so good baby keep it right there." 

She smiled inwardly. Feeling a little motivated sped up her movement, the grip he had on her hips tightened. "Isayah I'm cumming" she whined out. 

Isayah felt her movements slow down, he sent another smack to her backside causing her to whimper. "Keep goin' and you better not fuckin' stop, daddy cummin' wit'chu" 

With his hands wrapped around her waist he assisted by moving her faster up and down. Indya let out a drawn out moan as she released.

Her released triggering Isayah's own, pulling her into a searing kiss as they both came down from their euphoric high. 

Indya woke up, feeling extremely groggy and sore from the events earlier. She groaned as she turned over, seeing Isayah still sleep. She heart feeling heavy, remembering everything that happened. 

She reached for her phone seeing she had multiple missed calls and messages from Sabrina and Tara. 

Bri🔥: Indya are you good? Bri🔥: I swear if something happened I will sliced tf out of that big ass Samoan idc Tara❤️: Girl you need to call us back. Tara❤️: Bri is going crazy over here. You better call soon or we're pulling up.

Indya quickly texted them both back, telling them that she was ok and that she would explain in a little bit. She noticed it was a quarter after midnight. She quickly but quietly got up, throwing her clothes from earlier back on. 

When she looked back at Isayah, she felt rage start to build inside of her. Many thoughts were going through her mind. Then an idea clicked. She acted quickly, going into the closet and started grabbing his clothes. 

She moved quietly, not wanting to wake him up. She walked outside going over to Isayah's Mercedes, stuffing the clothes in there. She repeated this process about 3 more times. She grabbed the keys, backing the car away from the house. 

She went back inside grabbing the bags she had already packed, putting them in her car. Turning towards Isaiah's car once more, she took a lighter out of her pocket, flicking it on. 

She hovered the flame over a piece of clothing til it caught the flame. Quickly spreading to other article of clothing. 

Indya stood there for a moment, staring at the flame. Feeling it burn away all the hurt Isayah has cause her, feeling a sense of calm. She was quickly token out of her trance when she heard noise come from the house. Knowing it was Isayah coming, she quickly got in her car, starting it. 

When she started backing up she saw him run out the house with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. 

He saw his car in-flamed, his eyes widening in shock and rage "Indya what the fuck?!"

"Have fun with that bitch!" She quickly pulled off as he tried running towards the car. 

Indya couldn't help but laugh but also cry as she felt the overwhelming feeling of freedom and her shoulders feeling lighter. 

She didn't know how she did it but she found herself pulling in to Sabrina's house. Grabbing her things, she walked up the short walk way, knocking on the door. 

The wait wasn't long, as Sabrina quickly opened up the door, staring at her friend. Eyes drifting to the bags beside her. Without saying a word she grabbed a bag, leading Indya in the house and to the guest bedroom. 

She turned towards Indya, stood in the middle of the room. Silently crying. She brought her into hug as Indya began sobbing on her shoulder. 

"I am here for you. I am so proud of you, finally choosing yourself" She let her cry on her shoulder for a while til she stopped. She pulled out the hug, wiping her friend's tears. "Get some sleep and we'll talk in the morning" leaving the room. 

Indya sighed, going into one of the bags, changing into a pajama set. She crawled in the bed, engulfing herself with the pillows and blankets, sleep finding her quickly. 

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Crushing On The Nerdy Guy At Work 2.0

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Tim Drake x Reader

Synopsis: You finally got your wish and spent the night with the adorably awkward tech genius. Too bad he thinks you used him and no longer trusts you because of it. Even worse, you two still work together.

Tags: NSFW, characters are in their twenties, coworkers to lovers, oposites attract, nerd/popular, she fell first, virgin hero, first time, one-sided pining (reader has a massive crush on Tim), Angst, betrayal, protective Tim, batfam, love confessions, drunk confessions,

TW: stalking (by an oc) - Tim handles it.

After clocking out, Tim met Jason at a bar. The two planned to grab dinner before patrol.

The place was loud, busy, and packed with people out for happy hour, but Tim wasn't worried, especially when the waitress placed his burger in front of him.

Munching on a fry, Jason leaned back against his booth and gave a soft whistle. "Damn, look at that one."

Tim glanced up and did a double take.

You sat with some of your coworkers at a booth nearby, engaged in an animated conversation.

Tim began to regret suggesting a place so close to work, but he was starving after having forgotten to eat lunch again, so he sent Jason the location without thinking twice.

The same outfit you wore to work - a preppy skirt, knee-high boots, and a white cardigan - made you look soft and feminine among the suits and jackets at the establishment. His eyes lingered on you as you were deep in conversation with Rose and another team member. The same two who were gossiping about yourself and Tim the other day when he found out you'd kissed him on a dare.

Perfectly manicured hands wrapped around a martini glass as you raised it to your red lips. You looked like you belonged on the cover of the fashion magazine. He's seen you read so often... "Vague" or something.

Rose clocked him first. She mouthed something to you that made you pause. Then you turned and locked eyes with him across the room.

Tim tore his gaze away. "She’s my coworker." he told Jason

Jason smirked, popping another french fry into his mouth. "Your coworker just looked at you like you were dessert."

"No she didn't-"

You cleared your throat behind him, making both of the men turn around to face you. At some point, you had made your way over to the booth.

The man sitting next to Tim leaned back in his seat, watching you with amusement.

Ignoring him, you spoke. "Hey, Tim…"

"Hey," Tim gave you a tight-lipped smile, before gesturing to his companion. "Um, this is my brother, Jason. Jason, Y/N."

"Hey, Y/N…" Jason gave you a long once-over. You would have noticed if you weren’t so laser-focused on your co-worker.

"Hi," you waved to Jason mindlessly, still looking at Tim. "So…" Trying to look nonchalant, you flipped your hair in a signature move that usually garnered you mouthwatering looks. "How was your day?"

Damn it! What was it about him that made you act so... childish?

Tim's answer was stiff, guarded. "Busy."

You hated that he still thought you’d betrayed him. It wasn't fair, and he didn't even give you the chance to explain how you truly felt! You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt. "Do you… maybe want to get coffee sometime?"

Rose and Violet, who have slowly made their way over to you with their belongings in hand, were now giving you funny sideways glances.

Oh, please, you thought, like they’ve never been down bad before.

Tim’s perpetually analytical blue eyes studied yours behind smudged lenses of his glasses. "My schedule’s tight."

Wow. He really didn't wanna talk to you.

Disappointed, you huffedan half-hearted, "Forget it." Before retreating.

Behind you, Rose not-so-subtly slipped Jason a note, mouthing the words "Call me" before turning to Tim. "Genius boy, I don't know what you're going through but hurry up and snap out of it. Steven, from Legal, asked her out today." Her tone was at the same time playful yet serious. Without further information, she turned and followed you out.

After you girls left, Jason turned to his little brother, grinning. "You’re the dumbest man I’ve ever met."

Tim scowled through a mouthful of burger. He muffled out a, "What?"

Jason gestured toward your retreating figure. "She’s a goddamn ten, Timmy, foaming at the mouth through her chanel lipstick for you."

Tim didn't want to correct his brother that the lipstic he's usually seen you wear was called "Dior." Instead, he said, "You don’t know what your-"

"Timmy," Jason shook his head. "She was practically kneeling at your feet ready to give you head right here and now-"

"Jason!" Tim looked around nervously, hoping no one heard his brother. "She only kissed me because of a dare."

Jason’s eyebrows shot up. "Wait, shit. I didn't know that! So you got moves!" He clapped Tim on the shoulder.

"I dont 'got anything'". Tim shrugged, not feeling nearly as smug as someone in his position typically would. "But, we… yeah. I dont know."

"Oh, scored?"

"Jay-" Tim rubbed the bridge of his nose. Sometimes, his brother could be so vulgar.

Jason immediately smacked Tim upside the head. "So?"

Tim glared, rubbing his temple. "So nothing! It wasn’t real. I told you, it was just a dumb game for her.”

"Oh god, this is so fucking high school." Jason snorted. “Let me get this straight. She was dared to kiss you. Not to spend the night, right?"

"... as far as we know."

"Not to look at you like you the way she just did. Like you hung the fucking moon, right?"

Tim swallowed hard, taking another bite of his burger. "I... I guess."

Jason shook his head, bringing his beer to his lips. "You're so stupid..."

As he went on, Tim considered the facts.

It had only been a few days since he learned about the dare that led to your night together. It was easier to be mad at you, but really, he was mad at himself.

You were gorgeous, constantly surrounded by friends and admirers, while he was a loner. A nerd who preferred the company of gadgets and puzzles to that of real people (save for his family).

The nerd only got the prom queen in movies. Tim hated that he had let himself be fooled. He had just been a joke to you. That was it.

Damian’s fist collided with his face before Tim had the chance to react. The punch was sharp, sending the third Robin reeling back before he regained his balance. "Ow!"

"Oh, I’m sorry," his younger brother drawled, feigning concern. "I was under the impression we were sparring."

Tim wiped at the blood seeping from his lip. "We are, brat."

"One of us is," Damian muttered. "Stand ready, Drake."

"Can’t. I have to be at the office in ten minutes," Tim grumbled, stepping off the mat and wiping his sweat off with his shirt. In the window his saw his reflection. He needed to stop forgetting his meals. His stomach was beginning to look flat, save for muscle - it didn't look healthy. Then his eyes landed on his reflections mouth, stained in blood. "And now I have a flashy new injury to explain to everyone who asks."

"Next time, dodge." Damian shrugged, not hiding his amusement. "And I saw your calendar. You don’t start work until nine today."

Tim raised a brow. "...Did you hack my phone?"

"I’ve been practicing. Your lessons paid off." Damian looked proud of himself, tilting his head. "Speaking of, manicure at seven-thirty today? Really?"

Tim didn’t even blink. "Did you see that I’m also taking part in a pie-eating competition this Sunday?"

"Oh yeah." Damian snickered. Still not catching onto what Tim was hinting at.

"Hm, what about my Wonder Woman fanfic collection?" Tim trued again, leading him on.

"Hey, everyone’s into something." Damian shrugged. "At least it’s not some weird shit."

"You're a little slow today, kiddo." Tim tapped his head with his index finger, grinning. "That’s not my account you hacked."

Damian’s smirk faltered. "...What?"

Growing up with Batman, Tim had taken precautions long ago to redirect any hacking attempts to lead to the account of another Timothy Drake - a forty-year-old, blue collar father of two from Middletown, Ohio. No one in his family knew anything about his personal life - except Alfred. He trusted that man with everything.

"Anyway, I gotta go." Tim patted Damian’s shoulder. "Enjoy stalking a middle-aged man from Ohio."

"Damn it, Drake!" Damian growled. "Thats disgusting!"

"Hey, everyone’s into something." Tim echoed his brother’s earlier words before shutting the door behind him.

"No." Tim’s response was clipped as his leg began its usual anxious bounce. The the untied lace of his sneakers brushed against the floor of Commissioner Gordon’s office.

"Funny," Jim Gordon chuckled behind his coffee mug. "You seem to think that was a question. Let me make myself clear - it wasn’t. This is the bust of the decade! You’re doing the damn press conference."

"Commissioner - " Tim ran his hands through his hair, already feeling his nerves spike. "You don’t want - "

"What happened to your lip?" Gordon interrupted eyeing the fresh cut.

Tim self-consciously ran his finger over the cut from Damian. "I fell."

"Again?"

Tim wasn’t stupid. He was top of his class in the academy, and Gordon knew perfectly well he was capable of defending himself. Right now, Gordon was trying to change the subject. "Sir, you really don’t want me babbling into a mic in front of a crowd of journalists."

"Theres nothing i want more." Gordon smirked. "I find the idea to be well-deserved. You solved the riddle, son, you caught the Phantom. Gotham deserves to know who saved her. Better iron out that shirt and get a clean shave, because you’re going to be on camera tomorrow."

"But-" Tim swallowed, getting his points in order. "What if I mess up and disclose something I shouldn’t - confidential information!"

"That’s why we have a PR associate," Gordon said, raising a brow. "In fact, she should be waiting for you in the conference room right about now."

Oh no. As if he hadn’t been humiliated enough lately. Now you were going to watch him sweat through his clothes and trip over himself during press conferences? "I have my daily scrum in ten minutes." Was his final attempt.

"You’re excused." Gordon took another sip of his coffee. "Your scrum was with me anyway. And I already know your schedule."

Tim was out of arguments. "Yes, sir."

On the way to the conference room, he was stopped by Stanley, the department’s IT manager.

"Drake, can I borrow you for on-call?"

“Sorry, Stan, now’s a bad time.” Tim brushed past him, then paused. "And once again, I’m not IT."

"I know!" Stanley groaned. “But we’re swamped with tickets, and you’re the best with computers! Steven from Legal just downloaded a virus - it’s probably a quick fix."

Tim rolled his eyes. If he had a dime…

"Look," he began. "I have a meeting in five-"

Then he saw it. Tim narrowed his eyes to look over Stan's shoulder.

Steven from Legal was leaning against the wall of your cubicle, making major googly eyes at you.

You sat there, effortlessly put together as always. Plaid skirt hugging your waist, crisp white blouse tucked in neatly beneath a fitted blazer, knee-high boots that made your legs look unfairly long. And a damn bow in your hair. Delicate. Feminine. Perfect. Tim hated how it made his stomach twist.

Steven from legal reached up to tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear and you flinched at the sudden movement.

Tim clenched his teeth. He didn't like this. The young detective cleared his throat. "Yeah, I’ll help Steve."

Stan grinned. "Oh, thank you, man! You’re a godsend-"

Tim was already walking past him.

After begrudgingly fixing Steven from legal's computer, Tim arrived at his first media training session, dreading being on camera.

You entered a minute after he did, balancing your laptop in one hand and a coffee in the other.

"Good morning," you greeted in an unsure tone as you took your seat across from him.

Tim pushed up his glasses and folded his arms. "Morning."

You slid a neatly organized, color-coded packet across the table. "I prepared a media package for you over the weekend. It was approved by the Commissioner. It includes a script that should make it easy for you to answer most questions."

Tim skimmed through the pages, raising a brow at how meticulous it was. He thrived in chaos while you, he learned, thrived in order. A smirk threatened to break out when he saw you align your pen to your notebook. The smirk faltered when a thought came to mind. "Was the press conference your idea?"

"...what?" You blinked.

"The press conference." Tim gestured around the two of you. "Was this your way of getting me alone so that we could talk?"

Your expression changed into that of disbelief. You felt your teeth clench and nostrils flare as you huffed. "Press conferences are a routine procedure after any worthy development occurs in any government sector. No, I did not orchestrate a media frenzy to trap you into spending time with me, Tim. Were both doing our jobs."

Swallowing. Tim cast his gaze down, feeling like a bad student in trouble with a teacher. "Youre right. I'm sorry."

"Its fine." Luckily, you dropped the subject. "In the next few hours, we’ll go over wardrobe and behavior," you continued. "Keep your answers short and to the point. No rambling."

Tim scoffed. "I don’t ramble."

You arched a perfectly styled brow.

His jaw tightened. "…Fine."

He was in your world now. Public speaking was hard. Terrifying. But you had good tips and feedback, and he found himself growing less and less nervous with each question he practiced, having memorized your script helped out tremendously.

And you were all business - professional, not flirty like he was used to. It threw him off at first, but even through his bitterness, he found himself impressed.

You also kept to a strict schedule, so the days you two spent leading up to the conference you ate together - which resulted in him never skipping meals. He liked what he saw in the mirror. He was still lean and on the thinner side, but he'd bulked up a bit.

You, meanwhile, tried to stay professional, but Tim was making it hard.

His sleeves were always rolled up just enough to show the lean muscle of his forearms, veins visible when he typed, wrote, or did something with his hands. His posture had changed too - broader, more confident because of your lessons, less of the lanky boy you remembered.

He was still always adjusting his glasses - pushing them up his nose with his index finger - and you were way too aware of how that same finger gripped your wrists only a week ago. When he looked at you, even briefly mid-conversation, those gorgeous ocean eyes felt like a magnifying glass boring into your soul.

You cleared your throat. "Tim, remember to keep your hands still when speaking-"

"Yeah. Got it."

Short, clipped. But his voice was deep. He was just speaking, trying his best to work together, but his low rasp reminded you of the way he whispered, "Does that feel good?" In your ear a mere few nights ago.

And the worst part? He had a five o’clock shadow now. That jawline, a little rougher, made you ache to feel it against your skin.

Tim was already so goddamned irresistible to you. Close proximity tested your sanity, and you were afraid you were failing.

"Detective Drake, Tamara Lane from the Gotham Gazette." One of the journalists raised her mic to him. "Are the rumors true that you and your PR associate are dating?"

The room fell silent.

Tim froze.

You gripped your phone nervously behind the stage.

Tim blinked once. Then, with an arched brow, he leaned toward the mic. "Since when does the Gotham Gazette run a gossip column?"

The room burst with chuckles, tension easing. But you caught the way his jaw tightened. The way his fingers twitched at his sides.

"First of all," Tim continued, straightening, "I’m here to talk about the Phantom case and trial. If you have any questions about that, I’ll happily answer. But don’t waste everyone’s time with melodrama, please. No, we are not dating.” He finished, choosing not to chastize the journalists further.

"I'm afraid that's all the time we have today." The moderator spoke into her mic. "Thank you detective. The city owes you."

Tim shook his head. "Thank you, but the city owes me nothing. As one of Gothams citizens, I was doing my responsibility to the same streets I grew up in."

That got him a room full of claps. You were so proud. He handled it like a pro. Physical distance was a killer when all you wanted was to run over there and praise him for doing a good job.

"So y/n," An aggressive male journalist made a few steps towards you, invading your personal space. "That bite on Drake’s lip. That your doing?" He winked, backing you against a wall.

"I - " You felt yourself stumble, the tension knotting your stomach. "No, it's not. Can you please back up, Darren?"

This wasnt your first time meeting him. Darren was a tool back in college, when you were both in the journalism program. More than once that he'd attributed your success to your looks alone, with not so subtle implications that you had slept your way to the top.

You were hoping that leaving your previous big shot corporation and getting a job in public services would get him off your back. It didnt.

"Sure can, gorgeous." Darren smirked. "Just as soon as you tell me it was you who gave him that love bite - "

"That's close enough." Tim was there in an instant. His hand shot out, shoving Darren back effortlessly while pulling you behind him, his grip firm, but careful on your arm. You let out a sigh of relief, squeezing his hand in gratitude as the nosey journalist shrank back.

Tim turned to you, eyes searching for any sign of distress. "Are you alright?"

You nodded. "Yeah, thanks."

You were still clearly shaken. He eyed you for a moment, as if waiting for you to contradict yourself.

That's when a thought had occurred to him. You were a beautiful girl, never lacking male attention and always having your fair selection of admirers. But...

But how much of that attention was actually wanted?

Right now, you looked extremely uncomfortable. If the women in his life were faced with such behavior, Tim pondered. If Barbara, Steph, or Cassie were backed into a corner by a man they'd take one clean punch to knock the guy's lights out.

But you weren't like his sisters. You were all smiles and sweetness. You were innocent... vulnerable.

The thought made something stir within him... his fists clenched at his sides as he turned to glare at the retreating journalist.

He and you addressed each other by name. This wasn't your first time meeting.

It took five minutes to bypass Darren's security and get root access to his computer - where Tim found a disturbing amount of pictures of you. Some were with your higher-ups, others with professors, TAs, all taken without your knowledge.

Tim cringed reading the notes Darren had attached to each one - sexualizing and objectifying you to justify your successes in life.

Tim made quick work of adding screenshits to a secure folder, which he sent anonymously to Dick's work email.

Tim’s phone chimed in under a minute. Dick’s name flashing on screen on the wayne family's private texting platform. "Timmy, You should be asleep on your night off."

Tim couldn't help but grin as he typed back. "How'd you know it was me?"

"Who else sends anonymous emails containing incriminating evidence At 3 in the morning?"

Tim glanced at his watch, confirming he's really been up that late.

"Touche" he wrote back.

"Whose this creep?"

"Some guy who's been harassing a-" he paused, before typing. "-friend at work."

"Jesus, christ there's so many files."

"Tell me about it. Need my help with anything?"

"Nah, I'll get a permit and look into it."

"Great,"

Before finishing up, Tim made sure to leave Darren a clear message his screen so that when he opened his laptop the next day, he'd be met with the words: "Journalism is not the same as stalking. Learn the difference, asshole." Capitalized on his desktop wallpaper.

5 Months Later

"Hey!" Tim picked up your call after the first ring.

You shivered outside the nightclub in nothing but your dress (that looked more like a nightgown as your roommate said) and puffy jacket. You were out with your roommate again, but a few glasses of wine told you it was a good idea to call him.

Holding the phone to your mouth, you spoke. "I have something to say to you, Tim Drake.”

His voice shook as he said. "... Okay?" As if he was laughing.

"Just... dont hang up." You took a deep breath. "I need you to hear this."

"Go ahead," you heard laughter on the other end of the call.

"I LIKE YOU. TIM DRAKE." You yelled into your phone. "I have liked you for a LONG time. Way before rose and the dare and the bar. And because I am an idiot, I screwed it up -"

"Where are you?"

"You promised you wouldn't interrupt!" You accused.

"I said no such thing, sweetheart. Where are you?" He insisted. "You're definitely drunk and shouldn't be alone right now."

"Im just fine, thankyouverymuch!" You slurred. "And I don't - *hiccup* - wanna be seen in the state im in right now... especially by you. Anyway, can you focus?"

You then proceeded to list every tiny thing you’ve noticed about him over the months of knowing him: "I like how you get so into work that you forget to eat, even though it drives me crazy."

"And I like that you’re so damn smart, but you can’t take a compliment to save your life." You snickered as you spoke.

"I like that you don’t realize how many people actually admire you.”

"…And I like that you kissed me back that night, even though you were surprised."

"Ahem," someone cleared their throat beside you.

You turned to look who it was, and your eyes landed on him. Your mouth dropped, and you blinked at him blankly. You were in disbelief. Had you manifested him out of thin air?

After placing his jacket around you, Tim crossed his arms, watching you intently as you fidgetted under his gaze as he waited for you to continue. His blue eyes crincled at the sides with barely suppressed laughter. They seemed to say, "You wanted to do this, so do it."

"I..." You took a deep breath, still not believing he was here. "... Okay, I’m just gonna say it."

Tim raised an eyebrow.

"That night we spent together? I wasn’t faking anything." You shifted, suddenly feeling very warm. "I mean, you were just... so good. Like, ridiculously good."

Tim blinked, pursing his lips and looking like he was trying hard not to laugh.

You continued in a rush, "And not just in a ‘this guy knows what he’s doing’ type of way, but in a ‘no one has ever made me feel like that’ way, and it’s been messing with my head because now every time I see you, I just-" You cut yourself off, mortified. Why are you saying all of this? Oh, right, the wine.

Tim stared at you. Processing. Then, very slowly, he smirked, taking a step closer. "… you haven’t stopped thinking about it, huh?"

Shivering, you made a strangled noise. "I-That’s not the point!"

"No, no, I think it is." His smirk grew, and he stepped closer still, pulling you into his arms. You welcomed the warmth of his body, feeling small in his big frame. He exhuded a sudden confidence you hadn't seen in him before when he said, "Go on, prom queen. Elaborate."

You groan, covering your face. "I hate you."

"Do you?"

"Whatever." You suddenly lost confidence, facing away from him. "That’s it. That’s all I wanted to say."

You turned to go step back, but Tim grabbed your waist, pulled you back toward him, and kissed you breathless. "I like you too, prom queen. Now I need you to answer an important question."

You gasped against his lips, feeling elated that he had basically confessed he liked you back. Your breath hitched when you said. "Anything."

He smiled down at you. "How many drinks did you have before you forgot I was your boyfriend?"

Your eyes fluttered open to soft kisses peppering your face.

"Morning." Tim rasped against your ear before nipping at it, making your skin rise along with your hitching breath.

There was a new bruise forming on his back, you ran your fingers over it but didn't ask any questions. He had his personal life and you had yours and you respected whatever he had to do to take out stress in his life.

"Morning-" your voice was soft and sleepy as Tim left a bite mark right on your pulse before licking over the mark he left. "How was patrol?"

"Nothing interesting. I missed you, though. And you definitely missed me." He emphasized the last words, his fingers reaching for your bare pussy under your nightgown.

"Nothing interesting?" You squeaked. You were so wet that his fingers glided over your slit with ease. That was good, interesting, in Tims case usually implied danger. You worried less on the nights that he came back home bored.

He tilted his head to the side as if considering something. "Well, actually, the end of the night was pretty entertaining. Thanks to you."

"Really?" You asked, grinning. "What happened?"

He took your breasts in his hands and softly rolled your nipples between his index and thumbs over your pastel pink nightgown. Sensitive, you let out a wimper, arching against the mattress and pushing your breasts into his hands. "Mhmm, maybe I shouldn’t say."

Each swipe of his finger over your responsive peaks sent a shiver down your body straight to your sex. Your head rolled back against the soft pillow, hair spralked all around you.

"Please tell me?" You begged, now starting to get nervous. Last night was girls' night. You knew Tim would be on patrol, so you met your girlfriends at the bar. Come to think of it... you don't really recall what happened.

He kissed down your body to the top of your inner thighs. Where you were ticklish. "Let's just say i got a cute phone call at four in the morning."

Gasping, you bolted up to a sitting position on the bed. "No!"

"Oh yes," at his place between your thighs, Tim met your gaze and let out a sinister, evil laugh. The vibration of his laughter made his tongue rub deliciously against your slit, making you moan and arch your back.

You fought to stay focused. "What did I say to you?"

"Idunno," he hummed, closing his eyes as his toungue mapping out your clit in small circles.

"Tim- ah-" your fingers grasped at his messy hair as the stimulation against your clit began to build up. Oh god, he'd gotten so good at that. Your breathing grew quicker as his tongue continued its assault. "Mhnnn, what did I say?" You whined.

Veiny hands squeezed your thighs before coming back up to push you back onto the bed. The material of your nightgown split at the front, baring and exposing your breasts to be tormented by his hands once more.

He continued toying with you for a long time. The delicious stimulation grew stronger and stronger until you weren't able to hold back anymore. Panting, you came all over his mouth, and he lapped at your spilling juices.

"Good girl," he cooed, running his hands over you.

"I-" you panted, kegs shaking as he gathered you in his arms. "Tim. P-please, how bad was it?"

"What do I get if I tell you," He asked with amusement while his thumb rose to tease your clit again.

Overstimukated, you squealed, wrapping your arms around his neck as he picked you up and carried you to the bathroom. "I'll... I'll kiss you?"

"Well, alright." He snickered while turning on the shower handle, letting the water fall over the both of you, still in your clothes. He lowered you to the ground, keeping his lips a breath apart from yours, and whispered. "You got so drunk you kinda forgot we were dating."

Your hads rose to cover your mouth as you shook your head in horror. "No,"

He nodded. "Im afraid so, prom queen. And you called me, screaming about how you had a crush on me-"

"Stop," your hands covered your eyes.

"-and how I rocked your world -"

"Oh god."

"-really, the 'best you've ever had'. Your words, not mine."

"I'm never touching alcohol again!" You moaned, gently baging your head against his chest.

Tim's hands came to cup your face, brushing your hair behind your ears. "I love you, prom queen."

You smiled back, shily. "I love you too."

Tim's grin only widened.

[elodieunderglass]

elodie! i am still excited to read your big fanfic works BUT i have also had SO much fun watching you develop your delightful OCs. i hope you are having fun with them too!!

Oh my goodness SO everyone who is mildly roasting me because they’re like “Killie the jockey OC is quite short and wretched and horrid, 🧐 much like Chilchuck. Is this a thing? Do you have a type?” is right and please don’t tell my husband that he’s horrid he’s actually quite sweet is putting their finger on the reason why I’ve sort of resurrected him and his worse brother Charlie in my subconscious.

Before writing Weasel Heart in Defiance I thought: I am about to embark on writing a novel that could 💯 be an original, standalone novel. And being a coward, I turned to my idiot OC Charlie, an imaginary friend since childhood, and asked:

Me: Charlie would you be able to be a protagonist of an original novel? because I’m scared?

Charlie: I have read the brief and am completely ineligible. I think you are only saying this out of fear, and because our initials are the same, and because I am short. Actually, the more I think about it, the more that is a microaggression (racism against short people), so no. No, and fuck you, and also -

Me: I was actually thinking of Killie -

Charlie: Killie would not take on any job that has so few horses in it.

Me: oh no -

Charlie: and you’re kind of committed to calling the story some variation of “weasel heart” and neither of us would have a weasel daemon. That’s kind of load-bearing, isn’t it.

Me: oh shit.

Charlie: like, and even if you sand the serial numbers off the rest of it, the whole point is -

Me: the weasel daemon, yeah.

Charlie: my daemon would be a potoo.

Me: it would NOT, you lying son of a bitch. It would be something backstabbing and horrible, with a core of utter ruthlessness. Like a poisonous spider.

(Charlie, hilariously, in a move that normal childhood imaginary friends/OCs do not normally pull off, briefly materialised as a hallucination while I was labouring in the drug-free, physically rather challenging delivery of a real human baby in order to laugh his ass off at me. He was presumably intended to materialise to give me courage. Instead he simply provided spite. I have longstanding Charlie beef.)

Charlie: Killie is a nice bloke in an awful way, if you like nice blokes who aren’t nice at all, but is too much of a mess to carry any sort of plot, and besides, his daemon is either something portable or a straight-up horse -

Me: probably a kestrel -

Charlie: Probably, as you say, a kestrel. God, there’s nothing between his ears at all. Elevator music. Lo-fi girl beats and the sound of the wind, overlaid over transparent montages of horses. Zero emotional life to Killie. He simply exists to ride alongside your parents’ car when driving, and to get shitmixed when he falls off, and to live up to mentally when you need to be stoic.

Me: he’s such a good ragdoll.

Charlie: he deserves it. It’s the punchable face.

Me and Charlie:… he needs a boyfriend.

[honeybummer]

NO SAINTS HERE - on A03 Pairing: Spawn Astarion x Fem!OC/Tav

Summary/Setting: Tav cheats on Wyll with Astarion when Wyll cannot satisfy her needs

Word count - 6k

Rating: EXPLICIT

The camp was silent, the night air crisp.

Tav stormed out of her tent, her footsteps heavy against the cool earth. She wrapped her arms around herself, pacing before glaring up at the stars, as if they were somehow to blame. 

Frustration boiled in her chest. Six weeks on the road with the group. Four of them with Wyll. Four weeks, and he—

“You’ll have a trench dug by sunrise at this rate,” came a familiar, silken voice.

Tav jumped, spinning to see Astarion lounging by the fire, a book in his lap, eyes glinting in the flickering light. His silver hair curled effortlessly behind his ears.

“I didn’t think anyone else was awake,” she said, trying to steady her breath.

“And yet, here I am. Vampires aren’t much for sleep, darling.” He studied her. “Now, what’s got our fearless leader storming about like a bull?”

She shook her head and resumed pacing. “It’s nothing. Go back to your scheming.”

“Darling, my scheming can wait. You look about ready to burst into flames.” He snapped his book shut, leaning in with a smirk. “Go on, then. Misery does adore an audience.”

Tav huffed and started toward the forest, hoping the cool air might clear her head. Maybe a walk, or a dip in the lake—

“Let me guess,” Astarion drawled from behind her, lazily amused. “Our ever-gallant warlock has done something to ruffle your feathers. Am I close?”

“Just forget it,” she muttered, picking up her pace.

Then he was in front of her, hands clasped neatly behind his back, eyes glinting. “You’re practically humming with frustration. Unmet needs, perhaps?”

Her cheeks burned. “I’m not—this isn’t—” 

How could he know?

Astarion circled her. “You’re practically radiating unfulfilled desires.”

Tav turned away, embarrassed. “Astarion, please.” She didn’t want to discuss this with him—or anyone.

“Please?” He smirked, leaning in closer. “Please stop? Or please keep going?”

Tav nearly clamped her hands over his mouth. “Keep your voice down!”

Then, just as smoothly, his grin softened, voice dipping into something almost kind. “Oh, don’t pout. I’m only teasing. If you need a willing ear, I’m right here.”

Tav sighed, the fight seeping out of her. She retreated and sank onto a log near the fire, accepting the bottle of wine he offered. The first swig was long, the burn grounding her.

“It’s nothing,” she muttered, wiping her mouth. “Just me being selfish.”

Astarion settled beside her with a lazy elegance. “You? Selfish? Hardly. Though, I suppose spending too much time with him might have that effect.”

She shot him a glare, unamused. Astarion didn’t like Wyll, but he didn’t like anyone , really—maybe her, on rare occasions.

“He just…ugh, I can’t talk to you about this.”

Astarion lifted the wine to her lips again, and she took another sip. And another.

“How often does he leave you wanting?” he asked, voice soft, almost conspiratorial.

“How did you know?”

His smile was sharp, predatory. “You keep fidgeting. If he’d made you come once or twice like a normal partner, you wouldn’t be this tense.”

He took the wine back and Tav groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.”

Astarion arched a brow. “Does he leave you wanting often?”

Tav swallowed, the guilt curling in her stomach. 

She exhaled sharply. “He…he fell asleep.”

Astarion’s laughter was rich and delighted.

Tav snatched the wine back, taking a long swig. “You better not tell anyone.”

“Oh, please.” He waved a dismissive hand, still grinning. “This is too delicious to share. But really—our gallant Wyll, falling asleep midway? Tragic.”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s wonderful in so many ways, but when it comes to intimacy…he just doesn’t get it.”

The warmth of Wyll’s kindness was something she couldn’t ignore. When he’d asked her to dance after a night of drinking, she’d accepted. And when he’d asked for a kiss, she’d given it. But when things went too far, she hesitated. Yet, when he looked so sad at the rejection, she relented. 

The next night, he’d asked her on a proper date, and she hadn’t the heart to refuse. Not when the nights were so lonely.

The first time he touched her, it had felt nice—at first. It had been so long since she had felt anyone’s hands on her that even the smallest touch had sent sparks through her veins. But then his rhythm faltered, his thrusts erratic. Her body had cooled, and she had lost the tempo.

And then he had finished—and fallen asleep.

He hadn’t even asked if she had come.

The next time he tried, he had pressed his fingers against her, clumsy and hopeful. It hadn’t worked. It never worked.

And she never faked it, either.

But what boiled her blood was the fact that Wyll knew . He knew she hadn’t finished, and still, he had simply gone to sleep . Like it didn’t matter.

She would never do that to him. Never take her own pleasure and leave him wanting.

Astarion’s voice cut through her thoughts. “How unfortunate.”

Tav snorted and drank more wine.

“Perhaps…I could be of some assistance?”

Tav looked at him, stunned. “What?”

Astarion leaned in, eyes glinting with intent.She was reminded how earth-shatteringly gorgeous he was. “You need release. I need something to occupy my time. And I do have an impressive repertoire…”

Her breath caught.

Astarion grinned—lazy, confident. “Unless you’d rather trudge back to your tent and spend another night wanting?”

Tav looked away. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am.” He took a long look at her, up and down. “Such a shame to let you go to waste.”

She shook her head. “I…I’m with Wyll.”

Astarion only watched her.

“I could never do that to him. He’s too…good.”

He shrugged, utterly unconcerned. “Yes, yes, the noble Blade of Frontiers—so devoted, so honorable. But tell me, darling, how devoted can he be if he leaves you wanting?”

Tav inhaled sharply, gripping the wine bottle too tightly. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh, but it is.” He shifted closer, his thigh brushing hers, voice dipping, silk and sin. “Why should you suffer for his shortcomings?” His lips curled, firelight casting sharp shadows over his face, making him look almost… dangerous. “You deserve better.”

She clenched her jaw, willing herself not to react. But Astarion saw it all—the flicker of hesitation, the breath she swallowed down.

“Tell me, darling,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Have you ever been worshiped?”

Her breath hitched. She turned away, but his voice curled around her like smoke, thick and intoxicating.

“I mean properly worshiped.” His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “The kind that leaves you trembling, moaning my name.”

Tav squeezed her thighs together.

Astarion hummed, catching the movement, his grin sharpening. “No? Tsk—what a tragedy.” His fingers ghosted over her arm, sending a shiver down her spine. “I could teach you, you know. Show you what it’s like to be devoured.”

She swallowed hard. “Oh, please.” Her voice was shaky. “You don’t even like me.”

Astarion laughed, soft and indulgent. “Oh, my sweet girl,” he murmured, shaking his head. “You really think that matters?”

He leaned in, just enough for his lips to ghost over her jaw, not quite touching, but so close. “Liking you isn’t the point,” he whispered. “ Wanting you is.”

His fingers brushed her collarbone, barely there, his touch sending a shiver through her. “And gods , do I want you.”

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. “So tell me, darling,” he drawled, smirking as he tipped her chin up with a finger. “Would you really rather go back to your tent, aching and unsatisfied, all because of some foolish notion that I need to like you first?”

Tav knew parts of his backstory, how he was trained in the art of desire. How he could get anyone into his bed. She shouldn’t fall for it.

“Imagine it, love. My hands on your body, my lips on your skin—making you feel everything you’ve been denied.” His eyes darkened. “Wouldn’t that be… delicious?”

But.

Heat pooled low in her stomach.

“I—” She exhaled shakily, grasping for something solid, something real. “I shouldn’t—”

“Oh, darling.” His fingers curled under her chin, tilting her face to his. “Why shouldn’t you?”

She met his gaze and drowned in it. Red eyes, deep and endless, full of promises she shouldn’t want.

“Tell me,” he whispered, lips just shy of hers. “Do you want me to stop?”

Tav’s heart thundered.

She should say yes.

She should.

The fire crackled, but it wasn’t what made her burn. It was him—his scent, his nearness, the coolness of his skin against her heat.

“I could make it easy for you,” he murmured. His lips nearly brushed hers, teasing, coaxing. “I wouldn’t make you do a damn thing, darling.”

Tav’s fingers twitched. Her breath shook.

“All you would have to do…” he breathed. “Is spread those pretty, little legs for me…”

She shuddered violently..

“Just like back…and let me…”

Tav bit her lip.

“ Have you.”

And then—

She cracked.

With a frustrated noise, she grabbed his collar and crushed her lips to his.

Astarion groaned low in his throat, as if he had been starving for this. His hands were on her in an instant—one threading into her hair, the other gripping her waist and yanking her against him.

Gods. He devoured her.

His lips were soft, insistent, his mouth moving against hers with a desperate sort of hunger. His fangs scraped her lower lip, sending a bolt of heat down her spine, and she whimpered—actually whimpered.

Astarion growled.

In a swift motion, he had her beneath him, the firelight flickering across his pale skin as he loomed over her. “Now, that’s more like it,” he murmured, his breath ragged, lips already red and swollen from kissing her.

Tav barely had time to process before his mouth was on hers again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against hers, his hands everywhere —her waist, her back, her thighs.

And gods help her, she was burning.

His cool fingers trailed under the hem of her shirt, barely touching her skin, and yet it sent a full-body shiver through her.

“Cold, darling?” he murmured against her lips, but his grin was wicked, knowing. “Or is it something else?”

She shivered again, and his fingers dug into her waist, his hips pressing against hers just enough to make her feel—

A gasp tore from her throat, and he chuckled, the sound dark and delighted. “Oh, my sweet thing,” he purred, his lips ghosting down her jaw. “I can’t wait to feel your heat.”

Tav squeezed her eyes shut, trying—failing—to remember why this was a bad idea.

But with Astarion’s mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, his hands exploring her like she was something to be devoured—

She found she didn’t care at all.

Except. 

There was a rustling nearby. 

Tav scrambled out from under Astarion and got up. She stood there, panting, while her worst fears came true. 

The flap of Wyll’s tent rustled and he came into view. He looked around and then spotted them on the far side of camp, by the fire.

“Tav?” he asked, rubbing his eyes and walking closer.

She wiped at her swollen lips, trying to look composed. Astarion, on the other hand, remained utterly unruffled, lounging back on his elbows with an infuriating smirk.

“Tav?” Wyll repeated, stepping forward, brow furrowed. “What are you doing up? I heard something.”

She swallowed hard, panic twisting in her gut. But then—relief. His expression wasn’t one of suspicion, just sleepy confusion. He didn’t see. He didn’t hear.

Before she could string together a response, Astarion beat her to it.

“I woke her.” His voice was smooth, nonchalant, as if nothing had just happened. He shifted up, stretching lazily before giving Wyll an almost bored look. “I needed to feed.”

Wyll’s brow furrowed deeper, his gaze flickering between them.

“She offered, of course,” Astarion continued smoothly, waving a dismissive hand. “And I’d hate to refuse such a generous donation.” He grinned, showing just the hint of fangs. “We were just about to get started.”

Tav nearly choked.

Wyll’s lips pressed into a thin line. “She needs her sleep. It’s late and I—”

“Oh, no need for that,” Astarion cut in, voice silken with amusement. “Tav was very eager to help.” He leaned closer, resting a hand on her shoulder. Casual, but his fingers pressed just enough for her to feel him. “And you know how these things go. Could take a while.”

Tav clenched her jaw, trying not to react.

Wyll sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Just… be careful, alright?” He looked at Tav, something soft in his expression. “Don’t let him take too much.”

Astarion placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “What do you take me for? A savage?”

Wyll didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he exhaled heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright. I’ll see you in a bit, then. I’ll probably be asleep, so just wake me when you get back.”

Tav forced a nod as Wyll turned and disappeared back into his tent.

The moment he was gone, she whipped toward Astarion.

“What the hell was that?” she hissed.

Astarion grinned, utterly unrepentant. “That, my dear, was me getting us out of trouble.”

Her pulse pounded. “By implying we were busy?”

He gave an elegant shrug. “Well, weren’t we?”

Tav opened her mouth to argue—only to close it again when she realized she didn’t have a damn thing to say to that.

Astarion leaned in, voice dropping to something dark and wicked. “Now then. We should put on a little show, don’t you think?” His fingers ghosted over the pulse in her neck.

“This is what you offered, after all.”

“Fine,” she muttered, rolling her neck for him. 

But he didn’t lean in. 

“I say I bought us some time. Come on.” He grabbed her arm and led her deeper into the forest, away from camp. 

“Where are we going?”

Astarion said nothing as he pulled her through the trees. The deeper they went, the thicker the shadows grew, moonlight slicing in jagged slivers through the canopy.

They passed the nearby waterfall, the sound making her uncomfortable. She couldn’t hear if someone or something approached.

Tav’s heart pounded—not from fear, not from the dark, but from him.

“Astarion,” she tried again, breathless. “Where—”

But before she could finish, he spun her, pressing her back against the rough bark of an ancient oak. He leaned in, his hands braced on either side of her head.

“I thought you wanted to be fed on?” he teased, his voice a silken purr..

“I…” she started, but Astarion was already moving, brushing his nose along the curve of her jaw, lips hovering over her pulse.

He dragged his lips down the column of her throat, slow, indulgent.

“I could take my time with you,” he mused, voice barely above a whisper. “Taste you properly. Make you feel it.”

Tav’s breath hitched, her hands curling into fists against the bark.

He chuckled. “Oh, my sweet girl.” His tongue flicked out, just the faintest brush against her pulse, and her knees buckled.

Astarion caught her, hands sliding down to grip her waist.

“Careful now,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t want you collapsing before we even start.”

And then—he kissed her.

Not teasing. Not playful.

Hungry.

Tav gasped against his lips as he pulled her flush against him, the sharp edges of his body a contrast to the softness of his mouth. His hands tightened on her waist, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss.

Heat flooded her, spiraling down her spine, pooling in her stomach. She shouldn’t be doing this—she really shouldn’t—but gods, she wanted him.

Astarion nipped at her lower lip, then soothed it with his tongue. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered. “And I will.”

Tav dug her fingers into his shoulders, her breath coming fast.

She didn’t say a word.

His mouth trailed down her neck and brushed against her collarbones. His quick fingers began loosening the ties to her pants and she let him. 

Astarion hummed in approval as her body melted against him, his fingers making quick work of the ties at her waist. “That’s it, darling,” he murmured against her skin. “Let me take care of you.”

His hands slid beneath the waistband of her pants, the coolness of his touch making her gasp, her skin prickling with heat as he grazed the edge of her undergarments.

“Now, tell me: Am I allowed to touch you?”

Tav could hardly speak, but she managed a breathy, “Yes.”

Her head tipped back against the rough bark as his hands slipped beneath the fabric, skimming over bare skin. She sucked in a breath.

He chuckled, low and wicked. “So responsive. I do love that about you.”

His fingers dipped lower, and Tav gasped, her hips jerking into his touch. He grinned against her throat, his free hand sliding up her ribs.

“You poor thing,” he murmured, lips tracing the shell of her ear. “He never even tried to take care of you, did he?”

His thumb swept over that bundle of sensitive nerves and she squeezed her eyes shut, breathing quick. 

Astarion’s other hand slid under her shirt and palmed her breast. 

Tav squeezed her eyes shut tighter, heat flooding her face. She shouldn’t be doing this. She should stop. But then Astarion’s fingers pressed just right, and all thoughts of Wyll, of guilt, of anything beyond him dissolved.

Wetness flooded past his fingers as he continued to rub against her.

He kissed her again, swallowing the whimper that slipped past her lips. His body pressed fully against hers, trapping her between him and the tree, and gods, she could feel him.

“You’re exquisite like this,” he whispered against her lips, his fingers still working her open, still teasing, still keeping her just on the edge. “Soft, pliant, desperate .” He smirked, nipping at her jaw. “Would you like me to finish what I started, darling?”

Tav nodded. 

Astarion’s lips were at her ear, nipping as his expert fingers circled her again and again and again. 

Just right. 

Tight, little circles. 

She gasped in a breath to say ‘faster’, but he already knew. 

And then she was clutching his arms, legs weak as she tried to keep herself up. The warmth curled and curled, the pleasure so close to breaking and—

Astarion pulled away. 

Tav gasped out a horrendous whine and looked up at him. He smiled.

“Oh darling, I almost got you there, didn’t I? And, oh, how easy it was. I had you falling apart with your clothes still on.”

Tav huffed, suddenly angry. He was making fun of her. He probably never wanted to sleep with her at all. Just to laugh at her. 

But then Astarion was lifting her shirt over her head and grabbing her waist. 

And then she was on her back, the cool forest floor shocking her as Astarion loomed above. His lips found her neck first, before drifting lower—across her collarbone, down the slope of her sternum.

When his tongue flicked against her navel, she jolted, hips bucking instinctively against him. He only laughed, a dark, pleased hum.

"So eager," he mused. His fingers hooked into the waistband of her pants, pulling just enough to tease.

“Will you be quiet for me darling?” he asked. 

She shook her head, there was no way she could keep quiet. 

Astarion groaned, low and pleased, and then—her pants were gone.

His hands were everywhere, mapping every inch of newly exposed skin. His mouth followed, trailing heat in its wake, and when his lips finally—finally—settled between her thighs, she lost any hope of staying quiet.

The first lick was like the rapture.

Tav's back arched off the forest floor, her hands gripping into Astarion's shoulders as a moan ripped from her throat. 

She writhed beneath him, her hands clenching the grass under them. His tongue licked up her center and then lazily stroked around her clit. 

Tav's hips bucked, desperate for more. "Astarion, please," she begged, her voice shaking with need. "Don't stop."

His finger sought her entrance, sliding easily inside her. Her hands dug into his hair when he curled that finger inside her just right. And when he added another, she was moaning loudly, shaking. 

He pumped his fingers, curling them expertly. The pleasure erupted.

And then she wasn’t breathing—only writhing, shaking, and spasming against him until the waves of pleasure finally subsided. 

Then she gasped for air, body falling back against the forest floor—limp.

And…it was easy to get there. So easy. 

Astarion was seductive, attentive, and it made it all so easy.

It made her think… 

“I never thought your cunt would taste as good as your blood,” he said, smiling. “But it does.”

Tav opened her eyes to see Astarion licking his lips, the shine of her arousal on his chin. 

She could see the straining of his pants, the evidence of how aroused he was. She sat up quickly, feeling her head spin, and reached for him. 

“Lie back,” she said.

Tav wanted him to feel as good as she did. She had to repay him. 

Astarion hesitated for a moment, his eyes boring into hers with an unreadable expression. Then, he lay back, resting on his elbows, his eyes never leaving her face as she straddled him. 

She loosened his stays, releasing him from his confines. 

Astarion’s cock was imposing, long and thick, pale and smooth. Her hand wrapped around its girth, a shiver running through her body as she gripped it.

He was far larger than Wyll. 

The second she touched him, Astarion's eyes widened with hunger, his breathing quickening as she stroked him. He reached up, brushing his fingers through her hair. 

"I thought I was meant to take care of you,” he said. 

“You did.”

His cock was like velvet in her hands, the hardest velvet she had ever felt. She stroked him a couple of times, and he shuddered. She was captivated by the way his pale skin moved over his glistening head. The head of his cock was so swollen with blood it looked purple. 

She ran her thumb over his head, licking her lips, wishing she could taste him. Gods, he would fill her mouth completely. She could hardly imagine how he would fit inside her. 

“Tav,” Astarion gritted out. 

She pumped him again in her hand, squeezing harder. 

Astarion’s hands found her waist. “If you do not mount me, I will fuck you myself.”

She grinned, feeling like she was in power. She stroked him several more times before Astarion shifted, bucking his hips and lifting her until she hovered over him. 

Scrambling, Tav placed her hands on his shoulders and shifted her weight on her knees so she was more in control, but Astarion yanked her down. 

Her legs trembled as his tip brushed against her glistening folds. “Wait—”

Astarion leaned in and nipped at her neck. “I am a man of my word, Tav. Now sit.”

Tav swallowed and lowered herself gently. There was pressure as his head pushed against her. His thick cock bowed slightly at the pressure, and then it slid inside. Just an inch.

Immediately she felt that burning stretch. 

She had felt it once. One night, when she wasn’t very aroused, Wyll had pushed himself inside her while she was still dry.

But she wasn’t dry this time. She was dripping wet, and Astarion still stretched her. 

The vampire’s eyes locked onto hers, his expression unguarded as he watched her struggle—watching her intently as she slowly, slowly descended onto him.

Tav's body trembled, every nerve ending on fire as she tried to ease herself down. Astarion's girth stretched her, filling her in a way she had never experienced before. 

She bit her lip against a scream, and for a moment, she froze.

Astarion's hand left her hip to thread through her hair, stroking the strands gently as he whispered soothing words in her ear.

"That's it, darling..." he murmured, "Just relax and let me in... I won't hurt you."

Tav's breath hitched, her body slowly relaxing at the sound of his voice. She took a deep breath and lowered herself further, trying to focus on his words as more of him filled her until she was seated fully upon him. She was unbearably full. 

Her eyes watered from the intensity of it all.

"You see, darling?" Astarion sighed against her neck. "I told you it wouldn't hurt."

She let out a noise.

“Yet,” he hissed, bucking up into her once. 

She let out a guttural moan and gripped his shoulders tightly. She leaned forward, making it easier for her to control the movements and she began to ride him. Up…and…down. 

Slowly.

It was all she could take.

Astarion's hands gripped her waist tightly as he matched her pace, his hips rising to meet each of her thrusts. 

Her forehead met his as they continued, skin glistening, bodies tightening. 

“Fuck,” she muttered, breathing heavily as she clutched him tightly. He felt incredible, so fucking incredible. She had never felt like this. 

Astarion sat up more, using one arm to wrap around her waist so he could better control the movements, and she knew he knew what he was doing. 

He was a master at it. 

So, when he angled himself differently against her, hitting a sensitive spot, Tav whined so loud she was sure the camp might hear. 

Tav’s head tipped back, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as she rode Astarion. His hands were firm, guiding her, coaxing her deeper into pleasure with every movement. His mouth was everywhere—her neck, her collarbone, the tops of her breasts, teeth scraping just enough to make her shudder.

And then—

“Tav?”

The voice cut through the night.

Astarion went still beneath her.

Wyll.

A sickening wave of realization crashed over her. What was she doing ?

Wyll was kind. Wyll was good . And he didn’t deserve this.

She scrambled off Astarion, nearly toppling over in her rush. He let out a soft, amused tsk but didn’t try to stop her. Her pulse was a frantic drum against her ribs.

The crunch of boots on leaves sent a fresh jolt of panic through her. Wyll was walking nearby.

Tav ducked low, crouching behind a thick patch of brush just as his silhouette came into view. He was holding up a lantern, its warm glow slicing through the trees, illuminating the furrow in his brow.

He was several feet away.

“Where did you go…?” he muttered to himself, turning his head from side to side. His expression was wary but not suspicious. Not yet.

Tav willed herself to stay silent. Through the gaps in the foliage, she watched as Wyll turned the other way, his lantern swinging slightly. He scanned the forest. 

A hand clutched her ankle and yanked her back, her breasts flattening on the cold dirt. Before she could yelp in surprise, a cold hand clamped over her mouth, quieting her.

“Hush, darling. We wouldn’t want your sweet, ignorant beau to see you being ridden by a dangerous vampire,” he whispered.

What was he…?

His body climbed over hers, his knee spreading her thighs. Her heart pounded as she saw Wyll slightly turn his head in their direction. 

Astarion’s hand was still clamped over her mouth, his body a solid weight against her back. His lips brushed against her ear, his voice a whisper of silk and sin.

“He’s so close,” Astarion murmured, his hips shifting against her in a slow, deliberate grind. “Do you think he’d hear you if I made you moan?”

Tav squeezed her eyes shut, her breath escaping in a ragged exhale against his palm. He was insane . Reckless.

The lantern light wavered, flickering through the brush.

Tav felt undeniable pressure against her backside, and then Astarion exhaled in her ear as he slipped inside of her again. His hand muffled her gasp as he pushed himself deeper. 

His other hand was braced on the dirt, the veins in his hand raised as his hips pressed against hers. 

Astarion was larger than Tav, and heavier. She tried to raise her torso, to better see, but Astarion’s weight held her down. 

“Shhhhh,” he whispered in her ear, his voice so sweet and silky. 

Tav swallowed hard, her pulse hammering against her ribs. She could feel Astarion’s amusement in the way he held her, in the way his fingers dug into the earth beside her. He was enjoying this—the thrill of being on the precipice, the sharp edge of danger just a breath away.

Wyll’s lantern swung closer. Tav could see the gleam of his boots through the underbrush. He was only steps away.

They were lucky the waterfall hid some of the noise, but there was no way Wyll wouldn’t hear the sound of skin slapping against skin. 

Astarion’s lips moved again, his breath hot against her skin. “Do you think he’d be angry, pet?” he mused. “If he found you like this? Would he be heartbroken?” He punctuated his words with a strong thrust of his hips. “Or simply humiliated?”

Another deep thrust.

Tav clenched her jaw, willing her body to stay still, to not tremble beneath the weight of him. She should be ashamed. She was ashamed. But gods, it was hard to think when Astarion was like this—when he made her feel so alive.

When his cock was sliding through her and it felt electric .

He began to pick up the pace and Tav dug her fingers into the earth,nails biting into pebbles. 

No, no, no. They were making too much noise. 

Wyll was going to hear. 

Through the brush he swung his lantern and walked a few steps to the thicker side of the bushes. 

Astarion grinned wickedly, his eyes locked on Wyll's movement. "He might hear you, darling," he whispered, thrusting more forcefully now. 

He was fucking her into the earth, just like how a vampire might.

Tav bit her lip. She had to stay calm, focus on keeping quiet. But her walls were clenching, her arousal growing higher and higher. 

She had never felt an ascent this intense. 

She was going to erupt.

Tav felt Astarion begin to speed up, his movements growing more urgent and desperate. Her name was whispered over and over again from his lips as he plunged deeper into her with every thrust.

A twig snapped to the far side of the forest and Wyll turned his head, and began to walk farther away. 

“Finally,” Astarion grunted, and began pounding Tav into the dirt, hand still over her mouth. The slap against skin was audible now. There was no way Wyll couldn’t hear it, even as he was walking away. 

Astarion let out a groan, his rhythm faltering for a moment, before picking back up. His pinky caressed her bottom lip, and she could feel the slickness between them as he pushed himself closer, deeper. 

“You know, pet. I said I was going to feed. We have to keep up appearances, don’t we?”

His mouth grazed the back of her shoulder, then up her neck. “Should I bite your scruff while I fuck you in front of your boyfriend? Like a wild beast?”

The shame of it all mingled with the dirty delight that coursed through her veins. Astarion was right; she had never felt anything like this before. The devilish thrill of being caught, the illicit nature of their encounter in front of Wyll... It was too much, too intense.

The pleasure was building, her body coiling tighter and tighter. 

Wyll turned around and began walking back toward them. 

Her panic flared and she writhed.

Astarion’s hand clamped down harder against her mouth. “Shush darling,” he whispered tightly in her ear. “Can you keep quiet while I bite you?”

They were going to get caught. 

She might as well give up.

Her head fell against the floor as her body coiled tighter and tighter and tighter. 

Astarion’s teeth sank into the side of her neck, biting part of the muscle in her shoulder. The pain was more intense than when he first bit her all those nights ago. 

She bit his own hand, body shaking. 

Wyll had stopped moving. The light from his lantern flickered in the darkness, casting eerie shadows over the forest floor. Tav could almost feel the glow of the lantern, and she knew that any moment he might see them.

The thought was almost too much for her to bear. 

In that moment, Astarion gave a deep thrust, and she felt his cock swell slightly, and his seed erupted inside her. 

The heat was unlike anything she had felt before, the pressure of his come making her walls flutter and clench. 

Her body reached its peak, the pleasure came in beautiful, powerful waves, and she cried out in spite of herself. 

Astarion’s hand instantly tightened on her mouth.

The sound was small, muffled, but it was there.

As if on cue, Wyll whirled around. Astarion stopped moving completely, but his cock was still spasming, and her walls clenched again and again, making her breath in quick gasps through her nose. 

Astarion pinched her nose, as well as covering her mouth, so that no noise came from her.

His mouth was still on her skin, and she felt a trickle of blood leak down the side of her neck. 

The shine of Wyll’s boots was a few inches away, right on the other side of the bush. And Astarion was as still as stone on top of her. 

Her lungs were burning. 

The lantern was almost illuminating them. Any second now Wyll would yell at them. 

“Where the fuck is she?” Wyll mumbled, and stepped back. 

And back. 

And back.

And then finally, the glow of his lantern disappeared as he walked deeper into the forest. 

Astarion removed his hand and Tav gasped in a breath, chest heaving in gulps of air.

Astarion licked up the thin line of escaped blood, savoring it as he slowly withdrew from her. She winced at the pressure, her body still thrumming from what they had done.

She let out a shaky breath. Her limbs felt weak, her heart still hammering in her chest. Gods . What had she just done?

Her fingers reached up and brushed over her throat, where his fangs had sunk in moments before. She could still feel the ghost of his touch—his hands gripping her, his lips at her skin, the heat pooling between them. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to glance over her shoulder at him.

He was brushing dirt off his thighs.

Tav slowly pushed herself up from the ground. She knew she must look disheveled. Hair a mess. Eyes glazed. Face flushed. 

Astarion stood there, utterly at ease, a lazy smile curling his lips as he extended a hand to help her up. His fingers lingered at her hips before he let go.

He then pressed her bundle of clothes into her hands. Tav accepted them, her fingers trembling slightly as she clutched the fabric to her chest.

She bit the inside of her cheek, shaking her head at herself. Reckless. Stupid. She had let herself get carried away—let him carry her away.

Astarion pulled his pants up and over his glistening cock. Tav couldn’t help but stare. 

His seed slipped down her thigh.

Astarion walked up and slid his hand gently against her skin, catching his seed, before plunging his fingers inside her, forcing her to take all of him. To keep him inside her.

Tav gasped and clutched onto his arm.

He laughed, low and knowing. “Oh, darling,” he whispered. “We’re going to have so much fun together.” 

Astarion sucked at his fingers when he withdrew them from her trembling sex.

He patted her bare bum, smirking as she sucked in a breath, and then, just like that, he turned and strolled back toward camp.

[factual-fantasy]

27 Asks! Thank you! :}} 💞

@peaspods

I might not be understanding, but I'm imagining this as people opening up commissions so people can give them money and they can turn around and donate that money to me..

I fear that this would create the opportunity to scam people.. "I'm taking commissions on behalf of Factual Fantasy! They're very sick so please commission me!" only for them to run away with the money they make..

I've been thinking a lot about setting up some kind of commission/donation thing because I'm starting to kind'a need the money.. but idk, I'm just kind'a run down and need some time to keep thinking about it. Thank you very much though <:)))

@zecromgen5

Thank you very much! :) And I've been hanging in there.. there hasn't been much improvement to my health or my mental state. The fact that in April it will officially been over a year since my health started to decline, and the fact that I'm going to spend my birthday at home collapsed on the couch has made me feel very sad <:( But I'm doing my best to work on it.. I'm hoping this new advice from my doctor helps me feel better <:)

And something good HAS happened actually, I got my tablet/FireAlpaca to work again! :))

XDD SJKFJSH AWW! THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :DDD

I've only seen a bit of it from Markiplier. So far I'm 50/50. Somethings I like and others I don't care for 😅

@neo-metalscottic

Thank you so much! :D 'm glad you've liked my recent artwork!! :}}}}

Also for Homes eyes, that was just meant to represent its oppressive presence and the fact that its watching them in that moment.. 👁️👁️

And I don't have any plans for any of the neighbors or Wally to figure out the house is alive. My AU is more like "a day in the life of" thing. Having someone discover Home is alive would move the plot forward. Which I don't feel like doing <XDD

Now communication... Home understands the concept, but he has no way of communicating other than creaking the floorboards and slamming doors..

I've heard about the well. That could work for Cliffjumper and Breakdown maybe.. and the twins perhaps.? But wouldn't they have to have Tailgates body in order to revive him? Hmmm.. idk actually,,

I've watched the bayverse movies, most of Prime and a few other things here and there. I didn't mind the bayverse movies that much, but I can see why a lot of people don't like them <XD

I just imaging trying to consume more than one Transformers media would be a lot to take on.. and I also don't like the animation styles of most other transformers shows 😅

(That's actually how I decided to watch Prime. I took a look at all the shows and went "this one looks ugly, this one looks ugly,, this one looks REALLY ugly.. Oh, this one doesn't look half bad. TFP it is then!")

@acreaturecalledkyfa

I've watched Markipliers first video on it. So far I'm not sure how I feel about those two 😅

The way I immediately opened YouTube and went looking for it XDD

@fandomcenteral (Link in ask)

Thank you so much! :DD This will come in handy!

@mason-gaylord

Aw! Thank you so much!! 🥰🥰

@im-nice-but-i-dont-like-you

Jangles would be a helicopter probably, Gerald would be a tank, Cici would be a Miata and Bibi would be a slightly raised up Miata XDD

Aw, I'm honored that you miss them <:}} Though I don't know if I'll draw them anytime soon.. I'm really not into inserted OCs anymore <:(

I'm waiting on Markiplier to release more videos on it <XD

@fadlingartisanfreakwinner

I like to imagine that Pokémon can learn dozens of moves. But 4 is the limit for official Pokémon battles. So any wild Pokémon in my comics can use/learn as many as they want :0

And yeah, they had that chat eventually. I just never got around to drawing it 😅

@wolfie-777

Nah nah its just iced tea XDDD

@whereismycupofcoffee

:DDD Thank you so much!! :}}}}

AAAA THANKYOU SO MCUHH!! :DDDD

@nuggybee

Yeahh,, Sky has its ups and downs. I'm currently in one of its downs. It seems like I'm let down by everything they're releasing 😓

@smithanonsworld

I feel like I've never seen a rabbit that color... its so cute 😭💞💞💞

@heaventhehedgi3

That sounds like me! Though I don't draw Octonauts anymore 😅

I'll keep it in mind! :0

🥹🥹🥹Aw... that's so sweet! Thank you so much!! 😭💞💞

@captain-skyler1987

You made an account just to follow me? :DD Aw that's so sweet! :) Thank you!

Also I'm sorry to hear you got the flu :(( I hope you're better by now!

I also have not played Dandy's world 😅

@stargirldrawsx3

The first thing that came to mind was very anxious all the time 😅

@network-warrior-01

Ah, that was an April fools post. <XD There is no drawing

[on-wine-dark-seas]

The Invitation

Dedicated to the little Black girl who wanted to be all things when the world told her she was nothing. You are everything. 🍯

🪧 Summary: 1050 AD, Heian Era. One full moon, Sukuna meets a dancing storyteller at the Hida Harvest Festival. But after a tragically violent evening robs her of everything, she winds up in a strange alliance with the King of Curses as his guest. 📚 Series: Sonder 🔞 Rating: Explicit ⚠️️ Warning[s]: Rape/Non-Con [not from Sukuna don't worry], blood, gore, description of wounds and dead bodies, cannibalism, recreational drug use [ganja, psilocybin, opium], slow-ish burn, hurt/comfort, PTSD, revenge, catharsis, eventual romance, eventual smut, Ryōmen Sukuna is his own warning. 💋 Pairing[s]: Sukuna x The Writer [⛩️🍯] 🎧 Playlist: [ the invitation ]

⛩️ AO3 𑁍 Parallax OCs 𑁍 Sonder OCs ⛩️

🍯 III. 無夢 Without Dreams

     “Smell that, Uraume?” Sukuna asks. “Winter is soon. And look, we’re damn near finished, just as I said we would be.” He glares down the line of one of his arms, weltered with blood and gore. The corpse attached to his massive fist is slumped in death, the face—what’s left of it—slacked in horror and shock. With one sharp jerk, he flings the body away and heaves a long, satisfied sigh. Behind him, ice crackles as Uraume’s footsteps carry them across the ruin of the battlefield.

     “It is as you say, my lord,” they affirm. “Still, we cut it rather close. Did you really need to indulge those performers the other night?”

     Sukuna laughs and stretches, opening all four of his arms toward the cold, muted light of the sun hidden in cloud cover.

     “Ah, are you still miffed about that, Ume? They were entertaining! Aside, there was the girl to consider. You saw what I saw, did you not?”

     “I did,” Uraume agrees. “Still, do you think it wise to invite them to the shrine? If she’s—”

     Sukuna waves his hand. “You worry too much. There is no one in this land who can contend with me, save Sugawara himself, and he’s hiding behind the capital’s forces like the pampered palace brat he is.”

     Sukuna glances over his shoulder down at his companion.

     “It’s going to be a bitter winter, Ume, and our meat stores are low. If they displease me, I’ll just eat them. Will that please you?”

     Uraume huffs an annoyed sigh and shrugs.

     “As always, you will do as you see fit, and I trust your judgement. Perhaps we should head out, now, if we are to meet them at the shrine tonight.”

     Sukuna scratches one of his ears idly, groaning in relief as the itch subsides.

     “You’re right, of course,” he says. “Where’s my horse? Damn beast’s probably wandered off to graze somewhere…though I can’t imagine where.”

     They find his steed, a massive warhorse bred to steel itself in the face of the atrocities Sukuna commits almost daily. Unlike every other living thing, it is happy to see him.

     “Akechi,” Sukuna croons. “Always at the ready, eh?”

     He swings into the saddle with the ease of one born to it. Akechi is a valuable steed, being one of the largest he’s ever seen, and thus able to accommodate him. He pulls Uraume up to sit in front of him. Unfortunately, their own horse was slain in the initial fighting by some lucky bastard with a naginata. Uraume froze the man’s head in a block of ice and tore it off in retaliation.

     Still, they’d liked that horse.

     Leaving a smoldering battlefield in his wake, Sukuna rides south, toward home as if he himself is a war hero, and not the scourge of the Fujiwara in the north. They beat a quick path, his cursed energy spilling over the land like a cloud of sickness. Lesser curses scatter into the shadows, and those not dead shiver in their homes and know not why, only that it is safer to be inside when Ryōmen Sukuna is on the loose.

     The mountains of the north gentle into the hills of the south as they ride, and the moon creeps into the sky by the time the familiar path to his shrine comes into the distance, marked by the thickening crowds of trees and the cawing of ever-present crows, knowing that Sukuna will keep them fed on true carrion. He is a creature of meat, and so too are they. They watch him as he rides through the forest.

     Sukuna sniffs the air, frowning.

     “Something’s burning,” he mutters, and feels the prick of what could only be anticipation in his blood. A potential scrap before home? Ah, he may not have to hunt after all.

     They make their way into the forest path and come upon a shocking discovery.

     “My lord…!” Uraume gasps. Sukuna’s mouth opens and then shuts. He recognizes the wagon, which is now set ablaze. He also recognizes the bodies strewn on the ground. He’s out of the saddle before he realizes it, cursed energy gathering around him like a storm cloud. With a swipe of his hand, he guides the flames of the wagon, starving them of oxygen and snuffing them out. The wagon is a blackened, smoking husk, and Sukuna can tell this fire is recent. He can smell the coppery stench of blood, recently spilled. He can also see residuals of cursed technique usage.

     Their assailants had been sorcerers.

     “My lord!” Uraume calls. “Look!”

     Sukuna is by their side immediately, inspecting what they’ve discovered. His eyes go wide when he sees her, curled in the dirt like some beaten, half-dead creature; a crown of kings bloodied by overthrow. He reaches down, brushes aside the dirt and leaves in her braided hair, barely touching the ugly, swollen bruise on her cheek. He takes in her torn and bloodied clothing, sees the blood and seed slick between her thighs, and knows what has happened here.

     Her throat was cut, he can see the wound, but he can also barely make out her breath. She’s still alive. Barely holding on, but her soul is there.

     “Will you not heal her, my lord?” Uraume asks. Sukuna does not answer. Instead, he keeps his eyes on her, his face as impassive as a god’s. He waits.

     Come on. He thinks, wondering why he feels so desperate. Do it. I know you can. I saw it the night I watched you dance.

A pulse. Faint but deep.

     Sukuna tries not to hold his breath.

     Another pulse, and her fingers move in an imperceptible twitch.

     Sukuna dares to take a deep, steadying breath.

     Šetû’s body convulses and jerks in a pained, desperate gasp. Her cursed energy folds in on itself again and again, doubling over until it shifts. The wound on her throat closes, flesh knitting anew. Her eyes flutter open.

     And she screams once before collapsing, unconscious from the exertion.

     I knew it.

     But Sukuna is pleased with what he’s seen, and Uraume understands now why he chose not to heal her.

     “Salvage what you can,” he tells them, then looks at the other corpses. Her brother, her twin cousins. Sukuna’s eyes narrow. Where is the other? The one with the sour face and terrible beard? He snorts. Like as not he too is dead in the forest somewhere. If the sorcerers who did this didn’t kill him, the curses that linger in these woods certainly will.

     “What of the bodies, my lord?” Uraume asks. Sukuna looks down at Šetû, scooping her into his lower arms. He could take the corpses and butcher them for later. She didn’t have to know, and it would be a damn sight less cumbersome than trying to burn them all and go through the ceremony of a funeral. Hm.

     “Bring them as well,” he says at last. “We’ll store them in the icehouse and figure out what to do with them later.”

     Uraume looks slightly nonplussed at the decision. Normally, Sukuna is so decisive about what to do with a human body. It’s free meat, and it’s his favorite kind of meat. He doesn’t usually waver on decisions concerning food.

     “As you wish, Lord Sukuna,” they affirm and set out to do his bidding. It is not their place to question, although they do prod from time to time. Sukuna sets Šetû atop his horse, lashing her to the saddle. He lashes the corpses of her family as well. Akechi does naught but flick his tail in annoyance at the combined weight but sets into an easy walk as Sukuna leads him by the reins, Uraume joining his side as always.

     The shrine’s massive torii looms like an ill omen as the master returns past its threshold. A pair of hitodama blaze atop the torii like twin lanterns, casting a sickly, violet glow over the entrance. They pass by in silence, and Sukuna’s cursed energy settles over the area, scattering curses that dared creep too close in his absence. The lanterns of the shrine are lit, and attendants are there to greet him. Only a few: a stable hand, and two older priestesses that chose to serve rather than die like their brethren. Sukuna keeps them only because they are useful.

     “Welcome home, Lord Sukuna,” they greet, bowing low. Sukuna tosses the reins to his stable hand, and gestures to Šetû, once more gathered in his arms.

     “Attend to this one,” he says curtly, and they startle when they see her, mindful not to draw his ire. Years of working for him and neither will risk triggering his capricious temperament. They obey with alacrity, taking the girl in their strong arms and heading inside to tend to her. Sukuna watches them go, something agitating his spirit again. Uraume directs the stable hand to assist them in storing the additional bodies in the icehouse. Sukuna catches a glimpse of Amadou’s corpse in his lower eyes. A pity. The boy had been kind and noble hearted.

     He thinks about the residuals he saw at the site, and the bridge of his nose wrinkles like a tiger’s muzzle.

     Not agitation, then. Anger.

     Someone had dared come close to his home and had spilled blood of those he had invited as guests. It is a direct insult, he surmises, it can be naught else. There would have been no reason to harm these foreigners otherwise. That means, it was someone at the harvest festival; someone who had seen them perform, and someone who had seen Sukuna in their camp hours later.

     He exhales through his nose, the heat of his own curses in his belly building.

     They had humiliated and violated Asiri, murdered her family, and burned up their lives all for the crime of showing him idle kindness. They had welcomed him where others would have shunned out of fear and superstition, and their kindness had been repaid like this. Even Sukuna had to admit this was particularly heinous.

     And cowardly. That was what really got under his skin. Someone was too afraid to face him directly, and so they would try to punish him by denying him even the barest crumb of amicable human interaction.

     “Uraume,” Sukuna says as they head inside. Uraume is at their side in an instant.

     “Yes, my lord?”

     “Let me know as soon as the girl wakes up. I would speak with her and get to the truth of who has done this thing.”

     Uraume nods firmly, divining their master’s will as the shrine doors shut behind them.

     The next few days are spent unwinding. Sukuna takes tribute from those seeking his aid and favor, and usually that provides the meat he craves when any who dare cross his threshold displease him, but his mind is distracted.

     He’s thinking of her.

     She’s been in that room since he brought her to the shrine, attended by Okoi and Oboro, who are gifted in the healing arts and medicine pertaining to womenfolk. Sukuna does not ask for the details, but they report to him that Asiri was given a medicinal contraceptive to prevent any seed from taking root and was being kept sedated with a steady supply of opium pellets and valerian root tea. She slept mostly, but the valerian was to keep down the screaming.

     Sukuna is puzzled at this. Screaming?

     He hears it one night, the forlorn and anguished moans of a woman plagued by true nightmares. And then the screams. Twice, he is startled to wakefulness, only to find her in her bed, thrashing, swiping at ghosts that aren’t cold enough to be buried in her psyche yet. Fresh and feeding from her terror and grief.

     Okoi and Oboro do their best to keep her quiet, and Sukuna threatens to eat their fingers if they don’t keep the girl calm.

     The screams stop after a few days, but Sukuna knows it will be some time before her nightmares are well and truly behind her.

     She sleeps.

     And when the first snow of winter begins to fall, she wakes.

     For a stretch of time that feels unending, she is curled in on herself. The darkness around her is amniotic in its warmth and consistency, and she feels buoyed by the viscous shadows around her. She keeps her eyes closed tightly, hugs her knees to her chest, and remains still.

     Something is pulling at her, however, trying to nudge her back to the light.

     Leave me alone. Comes her tired protest, husk-hollow and bone-weary. She flinches when the thing tugs on her again. Had she wings this thing would have pulled them off by now to prevent her escape.

     She wishes she had wings. She would never touch the ground again.

     The darkness begins to recede like a great wave, and she hugs herself tighter, trying not to weep. No more, please. No more.

     And all at once she is shoved into the light, eyes opening wide as she gasps into wakefulness, immediately squinting against the brightness in the room she’s in.

     She blinks, her eyes squinting to adjust to the light. She breathes in, catches a whiff of something earthy and musk-like.

     Sandalwood.

     She sits up, pushing her upper body upright on trembling arms. She feels weaker than a newborn kitten, and there’s a lingering soreness in her face. She reaches up with a trembling hand to touch her cheek. Tender, bruised, almost as if—

     Her stomach roils and she clamps her hand over her mouth to force the bile back down.

     The door to the room she’s in slides open and she startles at the sight of an older woman with graying hair bearing a tray. She’s wearing the robes of a shrine priestess, and Šetû makes the connection that she must in Sukuna’s residence.

     “Oh,” the older woman says, smiling at her with kind and sympathetic eyes. “You’re finally awake and lucid. This is good news. Lord Sukuna will be pleased to hear it.”

     Šetû says nothing, uncertain of what words she can possibly say at this moment. Silence feels safer, and so she remains reticent as the older woman sweeps in on silent footsteps to set the tray on the low bedside table. There is an assortment of food items Šetû recognizes from her travels, and there is hot tea, still steaming in the little tea pot. She pours herself a cup. Her tongue feels dry and swollen in her mouth, her throat feels raw and sore, like she’s been screaming.

     Or weeping.

     She freezes before the cup touches her lips as her memories jerk and flicker before her mind’s eye, reminding her that what happened to her was no nightmare, but real.

     She sets the cup down as her heart races, her hands tremble, and tears blur her vision. The older woman, who is tidying up the modest room, looks over and her brows knit in concern.

     “Please, lady, you must eat,” she says, her voice gentle but insistent. “It is the only way to regain your strength, and Lord Sukuna will not abide weakness in his home.”

     Lord Sukuna. Of course. Šetû stares at the tray. She cannot shun the man’s hospitality. She would have died out there had he not taken her in.

     She wishes she had.

     Šetû regards the thought with subtle horror.

     She forces herself to eat, but the food might as well be ashes in her mouth. Still, it is sustenance, and little by little, in slow drips, she feels her body’s weakness ease into a tired species of despair and exhaustion. She drinks the tea, lets it warm her belly, but she can’t taste that either. She doesn’t care. The older woman waits until she clears her plates before collecting the tray, nodding in approval. Šetû opens her mouth to speak, then closes it. She does not see the point in speaking…or much of anything, really.

     The woman leaves, the door sliding shut behind her, and Šetû is alone.

     Quietly, carefully, she lets herself get out of bed, climbing to her feet. She notices she’s dressed in a plain robe, likely by the older woman charged with her care. She glances around the room, seeking anything familiar. She sees a trunk at the far corner of the room, albeit burned, but she recognizes it. She goes to open it, and sees all of her clothing and jewelry inside, untouched by the flames of her assailants in the wake of her—

     She shuts the trunk abruptly.

     Sunlight pours through the lattice window, and she slides open the door to find a small engawa affording her a view of what should have been a lush, green garden. Right now, it is blanketed in a thick, unblemished carpet of snow. Her breath fogs in front of her face, and the cold nips at her toes. She slides the door shut and turns instead to the other door; the one leading into the shrine itself.

     She glances at her burnt trunk, and then she leaves the room.

     Out in the halls, the shrine is silent, almost serene. There is a contemplative silence about the place that makes her feel as if it is abandoned, and she pads silently on bare feet toward wherever her curiosity draws her.

     All over the shrine are signs of a familiar religion: Buddhism. Šetû remembers the motifs and iconography from her travels on the continent proper. She and her brother had spent a great deal of time in India. It had been warm—

     She whips around when she hears whispers and looks around frantically for somewhere to hide. She finds a door, slides it open, and slips inside. On the other side, the voices pass by, whispering and chattering too fast for her to understand, but they do not notice her. Šetû breathes a sigh of relief.

     The smell of sandalwood is stronger in this room; fresher. She turns, sees an elegantly appointed bedchamber. On a raised dais, a bed much larger than any bed she has ever seen in her life, heaped with pillows and down-stuffed blankets. A large brazier burns in the room, keeping it pleasantly warm. In the far corner there’s a desk, heaped with parchments, scrolls, and bound books. She hesitates, then ventures further in.

     Like her own modest room, there is a sliding door leading to a much larger engawa, only instead of a garden is a sequestered hot spring. Steam curls from the natural spring, surrounded by a picturesque view of the snowy landscape. She wonders if Lord Sukuna would mind if she took a dip. Some springs are said to have healing properties, and her body needs it. The cold nips at her again, and she decides against it, sliding the door shut. If this is his private bedchamber then she should leave before he comes back.

     Back in the hall, she wanders again, seeking other rooms. She follows the scent of cooking, instead, her body—now fully awake—seeking greater sustenance. Something more nourishing and fulfilling than broth.

     She finds the kitchen, of course, and it’s already occupied by Uraume. She remembers them from the night of the festival. Their back is to her, but occasionally they bark out orders to the kitchen staff, strange, masked creatures that leap to do their bidding. Uraume brandishes a large knife, stained with blood.

     Chop!

The heavy thud of steel meeting flesh, shearing through bone to hit the butcher block beneath makes Šetû leap in her own skin, and she suddenly has no appetite, backing away from the kitchens to explore elsewhere.

     Out in the main hall, she finds a large set of double doors, firmly shut. She presses her ear against it, straining to hear any sound from the other side, but the iron-banded wood is thick, and there’s no way she can open these doors in her current state. She sighs and decides she will return to her rooms.

     She realizes after several moments and turns, that she is lost.

     “Fuck,” she croaks out, her first word in what feels like ages.

     Frustration and fear settle in, making her scalp prickle. She’s not sure if she’s allowed to be out of her room, and she isn’t sure what will happen when someone finds her. She can’t linger in the hallway like some dazed, madwoman.

     Are you not a dazed madwoman, though? A voice whispers, and she almost laughs at herself, knifing her hands through her braids and taking a deep, hissing breath in an attempt to calm her suddenly frayed nerves.

     Yes. Yes, she is. A madwoman. Dazed. Lost.

     Wounded beyond what she thought possible.

     Her mind shies from the memories of that night, but she sees them all the same.

     It’s only fair.

Bile rises in her throat, and she claps a hand over her mouth, leaning against the wall as her breathing comes labored, her forehead and temples damp with sweat.

     “Lady Asiri?” Šetû startles at the voice, whirling around to find the older woman from earlier. Her dark eyes are soft with concern, a wrinkle in her straight and proud brows. She calms immediately.

     “You shouldn’t be out and about so soon,” the woman says. “Lord Sukuna would not like you getting sick in his halls. Come with me.”

     Šetû nods, and the woman turns smoothly setting off down the hall at a smooth glide. She follows.

     “What is your name?” She asks, padding after the older woman.

     “Oboro,” the woman replies. “And the other is my sister, Okoi. We are the priestesses of this temple.”

     Šetû’s brows go up. “So, Lord Sukuna really is a deity? I thought…”

     Oboro’s shoulders stiffen slightly at the words, imperceptible, but Šetû sees it. No, not a god then. That is the reaction of resentment.

     “He is a powerful sorcerer of great renown,” Oboro replies and Šetû knows a rehearsed line when she hears it. She is afraid of Lord Sukuna, she resents him, and likely this temple was not his originally. It does not take much to deduce. “It is my pleasure to serve him.”

     Tch. Šetû doubts that, but she nods.

     “I see,” she says. “Thank you, Oboro-san. I think…I would like to speak with Lord Sukuna myself and thank him for his hospitality.”

     Oboro’s shoulders grow tense again, as if she can’t believe anyone would want to thank Sukuna for anything or associate him with hospitality at all. Šetû reserves her judgement. She will speak with Sukuna herself, with no pretense between them.

     They reach her room, and Oboro slides the door open, standing aside as Šetû entered. For some reason, being in the room she woke up in brings her a measure of comfort. She returns to the bed to sit down. She’s about to open her mouth to ask more questions when every fine hair on her body immediately stands on end.

     Oboro folds into an obeisant kneel.

     “My lord,” she greets with reverence that makes Šetû wonder at this woman’s motives for lingering here. Sukuna’s voice is deep and resonant.

     “You are dismissed, Oboro,” he says, his massive frame filling up the doorway. “I would have words with our guest.”

     Šetû pulls her robe tighter and steels her courage as Sukuna steps into the room, ducking to avoid the top of the doorframe as he fills up the space not only physically, but spiritually. Šetû folds herself into a kneel, forehead pressed to the floor. Sukuna gestures for her to rise, seemingly annoyed with the honorifics and frippery. Here, in this private room, he does not care for it.

     The door slides shut behind him.

     Šetû sits back on her heels, trying to keep her breaths even. Sukuna is so much larger than she remembers him being. Seeing him in the cold light of day is different. He is massive and there’s an energy about him that makes her shiver down to the marrow. He can see this, and he does not seem to care. As if it is a common occurrence.

     “Why didn’t you mention you are a sorcerer?” Sukuna asks bluntly.

     She blinks several times, brows raising.

     “I—” She hesitates but Sukuna’s expression is impassive and unyielding. He wants an answer, and he wants the truth.

     “I’m not a sorcerer,” she says. “And quite frankly, I don’t even know what that means! I’m just a…”

     “A what?” Sukuna asks, lip curling. “A dancer? An entertainer? I saw you that night you danced, your cursed energy bloomed like a flower of fire to rival a storm. Everyone felt it. When I sat by the fire with you, it licked at mine like—”

     She stares at him, uncomprehending. Sukuna stares back and for a while there is only silence. Then, the tension in him eases and he shuts his main eyes, chuckling darkly. His lower eyes never leave hers, though.

     “I see,” he says, opening his eyes again. “You didn’t know. Of course.”

     Šetû’s brows furrow. “What…what do you mean I am a sorcerer? The ones who—” She hesitates. “Those men said I was a sorcerer in allegiance with you. As if…”

     Sukuna’s lips curl into a cruel smirk.

     “They thought you were mine, did they? How foolish. You may not be aware of your power, but you are not strong enough to contend with the likes of me.”

     Šetû rises to her feet, her expression hard and indignant.

     “I am not weak,” she says fiercely and doesn’t know why his smug smirk galls her. “I just…I don’t know what all this is about. We were on our way to you before…”

     Sukuna’s eyes narrow. Every time she seems poised to tell him what happened, something stops her. He sees the visible recoil in her, her mind shying away from what was doubtless the worst night of her life. He should be cruel to her, he thinks; cauterize the wound before she lets it fester. But wounds of the soul are not so easily mended, and hers is fresh…and unfathomably deep.

     “Thank you,” she says instead. Sukuna raises a brow. “For healing me.”

     “I didn’t heal you.” He says curtly and then turns to leave. Šetû is even more confused than before. If he hadn’t healed her, who had?

     “Was it Oboro-san?” She asks. “Or her sister? Perhaps I should thank them instead.”

     Sukuna glances over his shoulder, says nothing, and leaves the room. Šetû frowns. What is his problem? Has she offended him somehow? Or was he always like this and she just caught him on a good night? She huffs out a heavy sigh. At least…at least she is safe.

     Until she sleeps.

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Prada You Chapter 22

Summary:

In the summer of 1998, sparks fly between Nyeya and Jey.

Nyeya is an 18-year-old around the way girl. Jey is older, paid, and fine. He is also the leader of the infamous Prada Bois alongside his twin brother Jimmy.  The two have chemistry. However, Nyeya has plans outside of her attraction. With a birthday around the corner and dreams of living a good life, Nyeya sets her sights on enjoying the perks of Jey's money and hood celebrity.

But baby girl has no clue what it takes to really be down. Nyeya is about to learn some hard life lessons at the expense of her 'Prada' priced dreams.

Pairing: Jey Uso x Nyeya (Nye) Green (OC)

Author’s Note: This story is happening in an alternative universe. It features the current and original Bloodline members along with other WWE stars. So, the characters are themselves, but some things are switched around for the stories sake. This was originally written with all original characters, but I think it could work better this way. Hope you guys enjoy it and I actually finish it...

Warning: Please be advised that this chapter contains harsh/foul language, mentions of murder, age gap relationships, underage drinking, and mentions of roughness.

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story (if any). All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Chapter 22: Redemption

August 17th 1998

The house was still, the only sound being the steady drip of water as I lay in the bathtub, sinking deeper into the warmth. I needed this. Needed a moment where my thoughts weren’t drowning me. The steam curled around my face, but it did nothing to clear my mind.

Jey wanted me to move in with him. Jey expected me to move in with him. That was the problem. He didn’t ask. He decided. And I knew better than to think I had much of a choice. But did I really want this?

Damian’s warning was still ringing in my ears, his voice low, dark, edged with something I couldn’t place.

“You need to get out while you still can before you end up in too deep. Unable to walk away.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and forced the thought away. I wasn’t leaving Jey. I loved him. We belonged together. That was the truth. Wasn’t it? Deep down I knew no matter what the truth was, Jey wasn’t letting me leave.

The bath was growing cold when I finally stepped out, wrapping myself in a towel. I dried off quickly, slipping into a pair of shorts and a tank top before crawling into bed. Maybe sleep would silence the war in my head.

Then—

A round of knocks came.

From the front door. My breath stalled. Nobody knocked on our door this late unless it was bad news. Mama was at work. Michael was spending the night with one of his friends. For a second, I didn’t move. My heart slammed against my ribs as I slowly pushed back my covers, creeping toward the door. I didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to see who it was. But I forced myself to.

And when I did, my stomach dropped. Damian. His broad frame filled my doorway, and under the dim glow of the porch light, I saw it—blood. So much blood.

I yanked the door open, yanking him inside before anybody saw him. “Damian, what the hell? Why are you covered in blood?”

His chest rose and fell, his jaw tight as he looked down at himself. His white tee was soaked in red, streaks of it smeared along his arms and hands.

I slammed the door shut behind him. “Whose blood is that? Are you hurt?”

My eyes roamed for his head to his feet trying to understand what I was seeing.

His eyes lifted to mine, dark and unreadable. “It’s not mine, Nyeya.”

A lump formed in my throat. “Then whose is it?”

Damian exhaled through his nose, his fingers flexing at his sides. “The dude who put his hands on you. The one who pushed you down at the lounge.”

My body went cold. “What? Did you kill him?”

What he was saying wasn’t registering at the moment. Dude was dead and Damian most likely did it. I shook my head trying to come to terms with that.

“I couldn’t let that slide,” he said simply. “He couldn’t live after that..”

The room tilted for a second. I gripped the wall, my head spinning. I knew that’s what happened in the streets but this was different. Damian had killed for me. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. He did something for me I didn’t ask for, something that couldn't be undone.

But I didn’t feel scared. I should’ve. Instead, I felt something else. Something dangerous. Something I wouldn’t acknowledge.

Instead of telling him to leave, instead of screaming, instead of doing what I knew I should’ve done—I asked, “What do you need me to do?”

He had come here for a reason so any help I could offer was the least I could do.

Damian’s eyes flickered. “ A shower, mami. I gotta wash this off. I can’t drive around like this. I have a change of clothes in the car.”

A lump formed in my throat. “Jey—”

What the hell would Jey think about this? I froze. My thoughts sat on my tongue as I was afraid to say what I knew was true.

“He wouldn’t want me here,” Damian finished. “I know. He won’t know though. This stays between me and you.”

We stared at each other, a thick silence stretching between us. I hated that I wasn’t telling him to go. Hated that I was letting him in. But I couldn’t send him back into the night like this. I wouldn’t let Jey drive through the city like that either.

Wordlessly, I motioned for him to follow me. I led him down the hall, my legs weak beneath me. When we reached my room, I went straight to the bathroom, twisting the shower knob until steam filled the space. I placed clean towels on the sink's countertop.

I turned back just in time to see Damian already pulling his shirt over his head.

I spun around. “Damn, you can’t do that in the bathroom?”

A quiet chuckle left him. “My bad but it ain’t like you ain’t seen it before.”

Now was not the time for this. I rolled my eyes, ignoring the comment. “Where are your keys? I’ll go grab your bag.”

Damian dug into his pocket and tossed them on the bed. Without another word, I slipped out of the room, my nerves burning. What the hell was I doing?

Outside, I moved quickly, popping the trunk and grabbing his backpack. My eyes darted around; paranoid someone would see me near his car. I silently prayed nobody saw anything.

When I got back inside, I hesitated before pushing my bedroom door open. Damian was sitting on my bed, damp from the shower, wearing only a towel around his waist. I gulped as my eyes raked over the tattoos that covered his upper body.

Heat filled my cheeks as I shoved the backpack at him. “Here. Get dressed.”

Damian smirked but said nothing, disappearing back into the bathroom. I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my temples. If Jey ever found out about this… No, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. I needed no more shit popping off before my party.

Damian returned fully dressed. An awkward silence settled between us, thick and suffocating. I was the first to break it. “T-Thank you. You didn’t have to do what you did. When I put my hands on him, I accepted the consequences that would come.”

Damian stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “If I didn’t, Jey would have.”

I stiffened. “What?”

“Yea, he had plans to do it himself. But he already got heat on him. I took care of it so he wouldn’t have to,” he paused, his eyes saying something he refused to say aloud. “He gotta be there for your party, right?”

I inhaled sharply, my pulse thundering. What I was feeling from his admission left me speechless.

Damian stepped in front of me, his fingers grazing my chin, tilting it up so I had no choice but to look at him. “I did it for you too, you know. Nobody will harm you if I can stop it, mami.”

My breath hitched. A strange feeling blossomed in my belly as we stared into each other’s eyes.

He didn’t give me time to respond. He bent down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to my forehead before pulling back. “I gotta go. I appreciate you, Nye.”

I swallowed; my voice small. “You need anything else before you go?”

Damian’s gaze darkened, his lips parting slightly before he exhaled sharply. His voice was low, almost painful. “You. But Jey already got you.”

My heart cracked open. Something broke inside me. Before I could say anything, before I could let the weight of his words settle between us, Damian made his way down the hall and slipped out the front door, disappearing into the night.

I locked the door behind him and collapsed onto the floor, my back against the wood. For the first time in a long time, I let the tears spill over. Because I didn’t know what I wanted anymore. And that was dangerous place to be.

---

August 20th 1998

It was Thursday night, and the soft hum of the fan and the radio fill the room as I took my braids down. The strands of my hair felt lighter without the extra weight, but my thoughts felt heavier. The cell phone Jey gave me started to ring. The vibration rattled against the wooden nightstand, my stomach twisting at the name flashing on the screen.

Jey.

I hesitated before answering. "Yeah?"

Jey had been calling like normal, but I was still on edge. Dread lingered as I didn’t know if one day he would call after someone told them they saw Damian here. I still felt like he had somebody watching me even though I couldn’t prove it.

His voice was smooth, low. "Meet me downstairs in an hour."

I swallowed. "Alright."

The line went dead. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, gripping my knees to keep from falling apart. Does he know?

My mind raced back to Monday night. To Damian standing in my doorway, his white shirt soaked in blood. To the way he kissed my forehead, the way his words still lingered too close to my heart. I push the memory down, forcing myself to move through the motions.

I washed my hair, blow dried it, and styled it into a sleek low bun, the familiar routine kept my hands from shaking. The hour crawled by slower than ever, every second stretching into something unbearable. Then the phone vibrated again. Jey calling back to tell me he was outside.

---

The summer air was thick with humidity as I stepped outside, spotting his car parked at the curb. The headlights cut through the darkness, the faint sound of an R&B song drifting through the open windows.

Jey popped the passenger door open for me, watching as I slid in. The second the door shut he leaned in, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against my lips. His touch lingered, his grip firm, as if searching for something in me.

I tried not to flinch, wondering what he knew that I didn’t. I couldn’t take him going off on me again unexpectedly. When he pulled back, he looked me in the eyes, his gaze unreadable. For a while, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the soft croon of 112’s "Cupid" playing in the background.

Jey reached into the center console, pulling out a blunt. He lit it, inhaling slow, before blowing the smoke toward the cracked window. Something in me wanted me to open my mouth, confess, ready to take whatever consequences came with it because he was taking too long to get to the point of this late-night pop-up. But Jey eventually started talking.

"Damian told me what you did for him the other night."

My heart stopped. Everything inside me went still. I stared at him, my stomach twisting so tight I thought I might be sick. Damian said he wouldn’t tell. He said it would stay between us.

My throat burned. "Jey, I—"

"Nah." Jey cut in, taking another slow pull before passing me the blunt. His voice was calm. Too calm. "You did good."

My breath hitched in my lungs. "What?"

He had flipped the script on me. I had not been expecting that kind of response.

Jey smirked, his dark eyes flashing with something menacing. "You held it down. I’m proud of you for sticking to the code."

I grip the blunt tighter, my pulse thundering. "Wait. You not mad?"

Jey exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Nah, Damian told me everything. I get it. He’s my brother, I know he wouldn’t cross no boundaries. I trust him."

My stomach flopped. Damian hadn’t told him everything though. Just about Monday. Jey still didn’t know about the past. And for that I was thankful. But why did Damian change his mind? Did he feel guilty? Was this his way of protecting me? Protecting himself?

I took a slow pull from the blunt, needing something to steady myself.

Jey watched me, his fingers lightly grazing my knee. "We throwing a kickback for Damian on Saturday. Just something small to show love for what he did for Prada. And I want you there, right by my side."

I nodded before I even processed what I was agreeing to.

Jey’s voice was softer when he spoke again. "We celebrating you too, you know."

I blinked. "Why?"

He smirked, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. "For you being down for the cause. Holding me down. Holding my brothers down. Proving you built for this life."

My mouth went dry. I wasn’t built for this. I was just surviving ‘cause it seemed like I had no other options other than to get with it or get run over. Jey reached for me, his fingers curling around the side of my neck, tilting my chin up so I had no choice but to look at him.

"I’m really proud of you, baby." His grip tightened slightly. "But don’t do it again."

The warmth from his palm contrasted with the cold warning in his voice. A shiver ran down my spine.

"Next time, it won’t be a celebration." He leaned in closer, his lips brushing mine. "It’ll be a problem, you hear me."

My throat was too tight to swallow. I nodded, because what else could I do? I let him kiss me, let him mark me with his approval, let his hand linger around my neck like a silent reminder of who I belonged to.

When he finally pulled away, he grinned like everything was fine, like he hadn’t just issued a threat wrapped in praise.

"Go inside. Get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow."

I nodded, slipping out of the car, my legs feeling like jelly as I walked up the steps. When I finally made it to my room, I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. The radio softly played in the background. Mary J. Blige’s "Not Gon’ Cry."

I swallow, sliding down the side of my bed as the lyrics wrapped around me.

"Well, I'm not gon' cry... I'm not gon' cry... I'm not gon' shed no tears..."

Tears blurred my vision anyway. Because I knew better. I knew I was gonna cry. I knew that no matter how much I told myself otherwise…

---

August 21st 1998

The Friday sun hung low in the sky as I followed Kiyah, Nataya, and Natasha into a high-end dress shop downtown. The place smelled like fresh fabric and expensive perfume, racks of shimmering gowns lining the walls like a promise of something magical. The girls were buzzing with excitement, their energy infectious as they flipped through the racks, holding up dresses and twirling in front of the mirrors.

The twins seemed to have patched things up since last Saturday when Natasha found out about Nataya’s pregnancy. They moved like they had before—whispering, laughing, finishing each other’s sentences. Kiyah was in full party mode, pulling dresses off hangers and holding them up against her body with a smirk.

I tried to match their energy, but I felt like I was moving through mud.

Sixteen days.

Sixteen days until my party. Sixteen days until Jey’s carefully curated event, the one he had planned to the smallest detail. A nightclub rented, the Prada Bois all set to be there, an entire night dedicated to celebrating me—Jey’s girl. His Prada Girl.

And yet, standing in the middle of the shop, surrounded by glittering gowns and my friends’ laughter, all I could think about was how life was a trip.

I ran my hands over the delicate fabric of a dress, barely seeing it. My chest felt tight, like something was pressing against it, suffocating me.

"Alright, girl," Kiyah said, tossing a slinky black dress over her arm before turning toward me. "What’s up with you? You been moping since we got in here."

My head snapped up. "I ain’t moping," I said, forcing a small smile.

"Yes, you are," Natasha added, giving me a knowing look. "You’re usually all over this kinda thing, but today, you look like somebody just snatched your puppy."

Nataya studied me quietly, her brows pulling together. "Something on your mind?"

I hesitated, my eyes darting between them. I had been holding so much in—too much. My secrets were piling up like bricks in my chest, threatening to collapse at any moment. I wasn’t sure where to start or if I should even say anything.

The girls already knew Jey could be intense, overbearing. They understood the Prada Bois and the world that came with them, but still, what I had been keeping inside felt bigger than all of us.

Kiyah arched an eyebrow, waiting.

I inhaled slowly, my fingers tightening around the fabric in my hands. "Damian handled that dude from the lounge that put his hands on me," I finally admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

The weight of those words settled over us like a storm cloud.

Nataya’s face darkened. "What do you mean ‘handled’?" she asked, even though she already knew.

I exhaled. "He’s dead."

Kiyah muttered something under her breath, shaking her head. Natasha, however, just shrugged. "That’s what they do," she said simply.

Nataya turned to her twin, eyes wide. "So, they just… kill people they don’t like?"

"Basically," Natasha said, her tone unreadable.

The store felt too bright, too polished, for the kind of conversation we were having. I felt out of place standing there in the midst of satin and sequins, talking about death like it was just another part of life.

I licked my lips, suddenly feeling the urge to tell them everything. "That ain’t even the worst of it," I murmured.

They all turned to me, their eyes expectant.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. "The Prada Bois killed Melo."

Silence.

The only sound was the soft hum of the store’s music playing in the background.

Nataya exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Jimmy already told me," she admitted. "I told Natasha."

"And Jacob told me," Kiyah added. "Once I told him I was his girl, he stopped sugarcoating shit."

Natasha crossed her arms. "I mean, we already kinda knew, but what I don’t get is why." She looked at me, her expression serious. "What kind of disrespect did Melo show?"

My chest felt like it was caving in. I had been holding onto a sliver of hope—hope that maybe, just maybe, it hadn’t been Jey who made that call.

But then Nataya said, "Jimmy told me it was Jey who put out that hit."

It hit me like a punch to the gut. I didn’t react outwardly, but inside, I was falling apart. I had known, deep down, but knowing and hearing it confirmed were two different things. Jey hadn’t just been involved. He had made the decision. He had been the one to call the hit.

I felt sick.

Jey, the same man who had kissed me just last night, who had told me he was proud of me for proving I was built for this life—he had ordered the murder of a man I had once called my friend.

I wanted to throw up.

The girls kept talking, their voices blending together, but I wasn’t really hearing them anymore. I nodded when I was supposed to, made small sounds of agreement, but my mind was elsewhere.

Jey had killed Carmelo even if he hadn't pulled the trigger.

The thought replayed in my mind over and over again, like a scratched-up record. At some point, Kiyah pulled me toward a mirror, holding up a red strapless gown against my body. "This is it," she said, her eyes shining. "This dress is made for the girlfriend of the Head Prada Boi."

The dress was breathtaking—clear gems and beadwork decorating the bodice, the fabric flowing like water down to the floor. It was everything a girl like me should have wanted.

I forced a smile, nodding. "Yeah," I said, my voice hollow. "It’s perfect."

But inside, I knew the truth. No matter how expensive the dress was, no matter how many diamonds Jey wrapped around my wrist, there was no dressing up what I had become.

---

August 22nd 1998

Saturday rolled around, and I found myself curled up in my mama’s bed, wrapped in the warmth of her arms like I was a little girl again. The comfort of her embrace, the steady rise and fall of her breathing, the way she gently rubbed my back—it was the only peace I had felt in days. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to think. I just wanted to exist in this small moment, where nothing outside of these walls could touch me.

My mama’s voice was soft, full of that knowing concern only mothers have. “What’s going on, baby? You been quiet all week.”

I didn’t know how to answer. What could I say? That I had been drowning in my own thoughts? That the man I loved had taken another man’s life like it was nothing? That I had sat in a dress shop the other day pretending to be excited about my birthday while my heart shattered into pieces I wasn’t sure I could ever put back together?

I settled on something safer. “I just needed to be loved on,” I murmured, pressing my face into her shoulder.

She sighed, pulling me closer. “I always got you, baby. Always.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing her in, wishing I could stay like this forever. But reality was waiting for me outside. And it had Jey’s name written all over it.

Later that night, Jey picked me up in his car, and I barely said two words to him as we drove to Tonga’s house. The air between us was thick with unspoken tension. The only sound was the faint hum of the radio and the occasional tap of his fingers against the steering wheel.

He kept glancing over at me, clearly noticing my mood, but he didn’t press me about it. Instead, he tried to lighten the silence, cracking small jokes, reaching over to squeeze my thigh like he always did. I forced a small smile, but it didn’t reach my eyes.

By the time we pulled up to the house, the party was already in full swing. Music blared through the open doors, the bass shaking the pavement. Laughter and conversation mixed with the scent of food and liquor. People were everywhere—sprawled across the porch, huddled in groups, bodies moving to the rhythm of the music. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with smoke and the low murmur of voices. The Prada Bois were posted up in their usual corners, surrounded by women who hung onto them like ornaments. I spotted Kiyah and Natasha near the drink table, laughing about something, but my gaze kept drifting elsewhere.

I didn’t want to be here.

I didn’t want to be near Jey.

And I definitely didn’t want to see Damian. But my eyes found him anyway.

He was sitting back in a chair, a drink in one hand, and her in the other. Dulce. She was practically draped over him, her manicured fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. She laughed at something he whispered to her, the sound grating against my ears. I shouldn’t have cared. I had no right to care. But something about the way he touched her, the way she looked at him, made something hot and bitter rise in my chest.

Did he treat her like Jey treated me? Did he control her? Did he press his hand around her throat, not as a lover, but as a warning? Did she ever wonder if she was truly free, or if she was just another piece in someone else’s game?

I drowned the thoughts with another drink, tilting my head back and swallowing the burn before it could settle too deep. Before I could think too much.

Jey’s voice cut through the noise, loud and commanding, demanding everyone’s attention. “Ayo! Everybody, listen up!”

The crowd quieted, heads turning. I barely had time to react before I felt Jey’s arm snake around my waist, pulling me flush against his side. I stiffened, the warmth of his grip feeling suffocating, but I forced a small smile as all eyes landed on us.

“We here to celebrate my brother,” Jey continued, nodding toward Damian. “For being a real one, for holdin’ shit down. And also—” his grip on me tightened— “my baby, Nyeya. Who been holdin’ it down like she supposed to.”

A cheer went up, glasses raised, voices blending together in approval. But my ears were ringing. My skin was burning where Jey held me. I barely remembered the rest of the toast. I barely heard whatever else was said. All I knew was that when Jey turned to kiss me, I couldn’t do it. I twisted my head at the last second, his lips barely grazing my cheek.

His grip on my waist tightened. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I turned and walked away, pushing through the crowd, heading straight for the car. I needed air. I needed out. I barely made it to the driveway before I felt his fingers wrap around my wrist, yanking me back so hard I stumbled.

His eyes were dark, his face shadowed under the glow of the streetlights. “I asked you a question, Nyeya.”

I yanked my arm away. “You killed Melo,” I said, my voice low but firm. “You had him killed.”

Jey’s expression didn’t change. Didn’t falter.

I shoved him, my hands trembling with rage. “Say something!”

He tilted his head, his jaw clenching. Then, finally, he spoke. “Yeah.”

My stomach dropped.

“I did,” he said, his voice eerily calm. “And I don’t regret that shit.”

I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

“I told yo’ ass to get over it,” he muttered, turning away like the conversation was over. Like what he had just admitted didn’t change everything.

I grabbed his arm, yanking him back. “Tell me why you would fucking do that, Jey. Huh? Why?”

Jey’s dark eyes bore into mine, something unreadable flickering in their depths. And then he said it.

“Melo died because of you.”

The words shattered something inside me.

Jey took a step closer, his voice dropping into something final. “You shouldn’t have let him have access to you that night at the skating rink. And he thought he could play with what’s mine… in my face.”

A sharp, ugly noise escaped me. Mine. He said it like I was a thing, like I was an object to be possessed.

“So that’s it?” I choked out, my voice rising. “You had him killed because you think I’m a fucking doll on a display?”

Jey’s gaze flickered with something darker. “You let him get too close,” he muttered. “You should’ve known better. This your fault.”

I should’ve known better. A sharp, painful laugh bubbled up in my throat. “So, I guess you’re gonna kill every man that breathes near me, huh? That’s your plan? You gonna take out every person who looks my way?”

Jey didn’t answer.

I shook my head, disgusted. “You so fucking foul. You foul as fuck.”

His face twisted, his anger finally rising. “You wouldn’t even be in this life if it wasn’t for me, Nyeya,” he snapped. “You think you got options? You think you can just walk away from me? I told yo’ ass ain’t no leaving. Get that through your head.”

I swallowed hard, forcing down the fear, forcing myself to stand firm.

Jey’s expression darkened. “You mine,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “The moment you said ya’ lil ass could handle me, you became mine. Ain’t no changing yo’ damn mind now.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I looked down at the bracelet on my wrist, the one that had once felt like a promise but now felt like a shackle. My hands trembled as I unclasped it, my heart shattering into pieces.

Then, before I could think twice, I ripped it off and threw it at him. Jey caught it with ease, his fingers curling around the metal, his face blank.

“I ain’t for Prada no more,” I whispered, my voice breaking.

Jey’s entire body stiffened, his nostrils flaring, his grip on the bracelet tightening like he wanted to crush it.

I turned on my heel, my vision blurred with unshed tears, my chest feeling like it was caving in. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t look back. I wasn’t built for this.

---

Want to read from the beginning? Click Here

If you wanna join the taglist for this story, just let me know! Taglist: @theusotwinzcom @nbanenefrmdao @queeny23 @punksyeet @partypoison00 @justazzi @southernpree

[vanya-evergreen]

Writing for Commissions to help pay for next college term!

Hello, I am trying to save up for my next college term so I am opening commissions for any fandom related writing!

I will Write HCs, blurbs, scenarios, concepts, and full blown fanfics!

For reference to my work please feel free to check out. My previously posted works on my masterlist

Masterlist

Will Writing- X readers (platonic and Romantic), Characters × Charcters (platonic, and romantic), *OC × characters, found family, I'm willing to do almost any Fanfic trope, just ask me about it! including yandere**

Will not write- Child/Adult (romantic), Zoophilia, Noncon.

* a basic character sheet for the OC is necessary, will accept written character sheets, drawing aren't necessary.

**any yandere work will require a more extensive conversation just to make sure that you get what you want!

Rates-

Hc, blurbs, scenarios: $6-7 depending on requested length.

Concepts- $8-10 depending on length

Fanfic- $10 per 1000 words,

anything below 1000 words I considered to be a scenario!

Payment is for now only accepted Via Zelle and PayPal. (feel free to inform me about other payment Options)

[fangdokja]

Hiya! Is it okay to ask who your favorite OC is so far? I'm just so curious, that's all! God Bless ^^!!!

((also unrelated:was I hallucinating or did you have Ichiya from variable baricade as a header before??? He's one of my fave otome guys, I genuinely love his pathetic meow meow vibes, especially that crying CG—))

— Lear

WARNING: Prepare for unstructured (OOC?) Fang Dokja rambling. Because I'm exposing myself in excitement again nuuuu. ALSO SPOILERS. Basically rare times of me posting being weird.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss. No questions. That man can choke and kill me and I'd let him. Joke. My husband would kill me whahahahaha.

Above all, my husband is ALWAYS my favorite of course. Always will be, and nobody can compare. Technically in "Her Hell, His Heaven." I'm writing it with my husband and I in mind, so my favorite is obviously that. But for existing Yandere! OC's?

Anyways, I would say there are two ways to answer this. As a READER, my top 3 are:

♡ Main Story. 🔞"I trusted you, wife, and now I'll teach you what betrayal feels like."

#1: Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss - Daddy Dom who can and will kill you. Yes. Please choke and desecrate me Daddy. Yes.

Also there's good reason why I made the banner one of my favorite manga story + art style of all time = Brutal: Satsujin Kansatsukan No Kokuhaku. I don't simp for Hiroki Dan but he's both relatable and incredibly funny to me. Also plot is plotting. Fav arc and punishment was the woman gang rape + assault + date drugging arc. Second arc. Graphic and realistic, also the punishments are always satisfying. One of the manga I reread regularly until today.

Yes, I love unhinged + unapologetic + black flags + sadistic men who will hurt and kill you. Yummmyyyy. Why? Reminds me of my husband. Don't ask. *sweats*

Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor

♡ Sub Story. In the world of the dead, he was the only thing keeping you alive—and tearing you apart.

Headcanons 1 : Flesh and Fetish (General)

In a world where only the strongest survive, he’s the monster you can't escape.

#2: Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor

I love morally grey men who love to make people suffer. Yes, even if it's with the one he loves. I'm weird I know. Hm... I do like the worldbuilding since I've always loved zombie apocalypse stories and worlds. But, he's ayt.

Yandere! Marine Corps & Good Girl

Oneshots

He crushed a man’s skull beneath his boot and turned to you with a smile.

"You’ll never escape me—not when I’m the only one keeping you alive."

#3: Yandere! Marine Corps

Basically me picking what reminds me of my husband. Don't really have anything that reminds me solely of him tbh.

For numbers 2-3, I can't pick anything else tbh. A lot of the characters I write can have my husband's qualities, but I never write my husband so... I can only find certain parts I can see; but a lot of times, I don't write my husband because that's weird haha.

As a WRITER (OK THIS HAS MORE ANALYSIS). Meaning it's about the way I constructed these characters especially, their behavior as yanderes + psychological horror-thriller content:

Yandere! Author

Headcanons 1 : Fate’s Final Draft (General)

He’s the hero in his own story… and you’re his latest toy.

🔞"You like happy endings? Too bad. I don’t write those."

#1: Yandere! Author - Not to be weird and all, but I based him off on both Scar from Wuthering Waves and myself.

For me, I wrote it because I genuinely like making characters suffer. Yes, I admit it. No one is safe. It's why I love writing grimdark stories. To me, in all honesty? Happiness is not relatable to me, especially fluff and slice-of-life (but I can read and enjoy it). It's suffering and hardships that I relate to most. So, I wrote a character that I based off my writing style in essence.

Haven't fully captured personality, but attempted and inspired by Scar.

Now for the Scar part: Personality wise we're nothing alike. But I love Scar's personality and eccentric actions + theatrics, ever since I saw him. Like seriously. He's chaotic, unapologetic and honestly I love moral dilemmas. ALSO HIS FACE IS SO EXPRESSIVE, he's theatrical. I love it.

The story he gave when talking to Rover, well, I really loved it. Relatable and psychological. YES. I AM HARDCORE SCAR MAIN. WHERE IS HIS BANNER FUDGE. Like there's this new pirate blue haired guy that gives ENTP vibes. WHERE IS SCAR. WHERE IS HIS BANNER COMING. WUWAAAAAA.

Am I a simp? Fudge no. I don't simp for him. But I relate hardcore to him. He's one of my top tier I-relate-to-so-much characters. Yeah, I wouldn't say I'm like him personality wise. Definitely not. But morally wise? Like I just love it. I really liked the storyline of WuWa, not sure how it's going but FREAKING SO MANY RELATABLE MALE CHARACTERS.

I don't simp for any WuWa males. But.... I relate: Jiyan, Geshu Lin, Scar, Xiangli Yao, Rover. YES I RELATE TO ALL OF THEM. FREAKING I FOUND JIYAN'S STORY SO SAD AND RELATABLE LIKE WWATTTT. Xiangli Yao's story is also sad but for me JIYAN STORY TOP TIER. ALSO YES, I REALLY LOVE THE DYSTOPIAN VIBES OF WUWA.

I LITERALLY READ ACTUAL LORE LIKE THE NOTEBOOKS YOU FIND????? or papers and shiz? I READ. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. OF IT. YES. EVEN THE SIDE QUESTS AND EVENTS. I don't do that when gaming. So you can tell I really loved the story of WuWa. For others, it's crap. But for me, I hardcore related to it and I enjoyed it.

Me to myself: tryard.

Me: Shut up.

Me: SHIZ. you're making me want to get back into WuWa. *cries in no Scar banner* Though I do love the pirate vibes.

Hopefully story hasn't gone downhill.... anyways.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss

Headcanons 1 : The Bride of Blood (General)

To him, you're perfect. To you, he's just a mission.

🔞"I don't need your love, I need your submission."

#2: Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss - Up next, torture simulator.

I made Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss + Yandere! Spanish! Pirate Captain + Yandere! Alpha! Hybrid Wolf around the same time. When making each story, I basically thought....

"How much can I make the protagonist suffer?"

Literally my thoughts. How far can I take this? It's also one of the reasons why making the sequels are a challenge. I am making all of the sequels, since a lot of people requested. But, it's a challenge because I wrote every one of these stories as original standalones. I was literally like ".... wait. You want more???"

But I welcomed the challenge. Difficult but still doable.

Anyways, I enjoyed writing his most because his torture scenes are peak quality among all my works so far. I think that's the main reason why. Personality wise? He's still emotional to me. Not like my husband. BRUH, sorry, my husband is like really....really, REALLY, like uhhh, I don't know, but Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss is still emotional in general.

When I mean emotional, I don't mean he's stupid or reckless. He's still methodical and loyal even, but he's also driven by a need to prove something and to claim control again.

But, I wouldn't say I like him emotionally, more of the way I made the torture. Yes. Simply. That's it. ahhahahaa

Now for third, I don't really have an all-time favorite, but one I do remember off the bat that impacted me was because of how I wrote and ended the story:

Yandere! Stepfather & Stepdaughter

Novella 1 : Paternal Privilege

He’s your family, but he doesn’t act like it.

🔞Pleasure in every strike, pain in every kiss.

🔞In the end, love is both their salvation and their damnation.

🔞His love is suffocating, but she’s forgotten how to breathe without it.

🔞Love shouldn’t feel like drowning, but he’s the only one who can save her.

She fell, but not by accident. He made sure of it.

#3: Yandere! Stepfather - For this, sure, Daddy's hot. But, it's not just that. What I enjoyed when writing this story was the plot itself. Especially the ENDING.

What I was thinking of when making this is basically, "Let's distract the Readers with so much sex that they don't notice what's happening underneath. Use sex and erotica as the red herring!"

And it worked pretty well actually hahahaha, based on a lot of comments thus far.

Hm, yeah, not really much right now, but what I enjoyed for this is mostly plot, not fully the characters all the way. I prefer ones with extreme or actual gore and horror. This series was more on the subtle manipulative side, even with the sex.

...

Yes. I still have a type. wahahhaahha

ADDITIONAL INFO + Yandere Male Recommendations (AND SPOILERS FOR THE GAME):

YES, I played Variable Barricade a long time ago and I enjoyed it a lot. Actually, the picture was not Ichiya, it was the bad ending with the twin. I came for the pink-haired guy, Taiga. Reminded me most of my husband's infuriating demeanor with me before we officially dated and stuff. Literally. INFURIATING.

And what happened? Played the routes, both Taiga and Ichiya's. Found myself seeing the twin and doing the bad ending last. I was like "Shiz this guy's the one most like my husband ahhhhhhh". Not yandere, just a jerk, tbh, but it's more of the, ....uhhh. IDK It's hard to explain! But LITERALLY I FOUND MYSELF RELATING CRAZY TO THE BAD ENDING MOST THAN ANYTHING. CRAZYYY ahhhh

That smirk does things to me. LOLLLLL AHHAHAHAH

This was my banner image before, since when I see it, reminds of my husband and I. GAH, I relate more to bad endings than good ones sometimes tbh (or maybe all the time.... does that say something about myself? Yes it does, haha).

Also this is the scene Anon was talking about. If you like crying yanderes, here. For you all who love your pathetic crying men:

ALSO PEOPLE SAID THERE IS NO YANDERE IN THIS GAME.

ICHIYA IS YANDERE. He's an ENFJ YANDERE that is the "If you can't be with me, then let's die together." kind of vibes. It's been a while, can't remember, but yeah.

WDYM THERE IS NO YANDERE. I was shocked because I was just chillin' then I found that ending scene. So guys, yandere reccs for youuu alll. And this is a good game in general, liked it.

ALSO I LOVE THE SONG. Still listen to it. Just listened to it actually.

ALSO THE ART IS AMAZING. JUST LOOK AT IT. The mini endings were oddly satisfying. IDK I related to it a lot, not for the characters, but it just reminded me a bit of how my own personal love story went. Definitely not as dark, but still. My all-time favorite otome. LEGIT.

Other notes, I found the MC relatable at that time, and also the friends. I usually get annoyed with females. Not being sexist. But it's more of a lot of bland breads around. It's also why I always make sure the female OC's I release have substance in them, like all my characters.

Ok, I'm sorry if I'm wrong but will I refer it to you as "Lear" then? I don't know why I thought of Lurker, but yeah. If I'm mistaken, feel free to inform me or to ask for a name change, no worries. Thank you so much for asking me this, and being comfortable enough to ask :))

Anyways, I'll note down your name then as my first named Anon ever, "Lear." Thank you! God bless too :)) Literally exposed my excited self, but oh well.

Also I'm a naturally curious person, no worries, Lear. For Readers, don't be afraid to ask or something, as long you obey the RULES, like the usual proper human respect and decorum, then all is chill.

[alli-ily]

navigation/get to know me! [still in progress]

i. allily || intp || 19 || she/her

• announcements!!

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• +etc

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• tags navigation ⋆. 𐙚 ˚:

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©alli-ily ♡ please do not copy, repost on other sites, or use AI/AI training on my works.

reblogs and likes are very much appreciated ♡ all rights reserved @2025.

[tired0artist]

Hi! I’m taking requests for some Mouthwashing art, since I wanna draw stuff but I don’t have an idea. So if you have an idea that you’d like to see drawn, let me know!

I can draw your mouthwashing OC’s as well! Just put some details about them and I’ll do my best to bring them to life !

So send me an ask! (anonymous questions are enabled)

NOTE: please understand that i might not be feeling comfortable with some stuff. the lobotomy au, or some of the ships are a bit of a no for me. you can still send the request, but there’s a chance that i just won’t do it.

[peekofhistory]

Hi! I really like your blog for the historical facts and the really nice statues and paintings of hanfus! I literally come back here whenever I'm designing outfits for my OCs and I just really really like learning about the ancient Chinese world. I really wanted to ask where these pictures and maybe the information on the timeline of the hanfu's come from. Any book or website is fine.

Also, how did most maids in waiting to a noble person dress?

Hi!!

Thank you for your kind message, I'm very happy that the information here can help you 😃❤️❤️ I love getting to share Hanfu with others who also appreciate its beauty!!

For maids in waiting, China differed a lot from the west. From what I understand (and if this is wrong please let me know), maids/ladies in waiting were often from nobility themselves, or had some family background, sent to assist the Queen or someone of a high rank. Historically in China, maids (either to the royal family, to nobility, or just to a rich family) are sold into this role so they themselves come from no/very low family background. Of course, in a complicated system like royal court there would be ranks in the servants as well, but they would not bring in a daughter of the nobility to serve the Queen or Princess.

As for their outfits, this would depend on the time period and who exactly they're serving. For example, maids in the court would dress differently than maids to a nobility. Here are some murals I found that depicts maids/servants. Overall their outfits and hairstyles are simpler than their masters:

For the photos in my posts I find them all over the internet 😃 Once I decide which garment(s) I'm going to be focusing on for the post, I Google/Baidu (Chinese search engine) search for images of the garment on unearthed artefacts. Then I go looking for where the artefact was found and where it's located now (some ppl don't label it, and then I have to play detective T__T). Sometimes I'll also search on Red Note (Chinese app/website) or Bilibili (Chinese youtube) for information as well.

For the timeline, I'm not sure which information you're referring to. The dynasties? I kind of just...know the dynasties from learning about Chinese history ^^;; You can also find it on Wikipedia, Wiki has a general overview of all the dynasties if you're interested 😃

As for books, the main book I'm using right now is this one:

中国历代风流服饰

It touches on some of the main garments in each dynasty and is a nice starting point for anyone just starting to learn about historical Hanfu. Unfortunately it's only available in Chinese.

I also got these two books a while ago that are also very helpful (but also only available in Chinese, there's a lack of any English books regarding Hanfu T__T).

[nauti-ca]

my stormlight oc, lore, and her mistspren, khiteas, in his lance form

she’s an iriali truthwatcher and a woman in stem :-)

[skiaskai]

Realising the other half of your situationship is more creature than you thought

more world building for my weird little elves

more about Tuhr Jåhn under the cut!