#while i was typing this this young man jumped on me and then jumped off which sent my phone toppling to the ground…….

[mushruvi]

oh my god he has stolen every single persons liver ever….. this now means there is Nothing left to conjugate bilirubin…… his master plan…. he is unconjugated and just FLOWING through the bloodstream building up to toxic levels…. You are now Yellow due to serve jaundice.

[chithereader]

stir crazy / aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader

word count: 2k

genre: fluff/angst if you squint

cw: omniscient pov, hotch being vulnerable

“My agent has been asking me for the manuscript but it’s just not ready yet. And I’ve still got my day job that keeps me busy enough,” It’s a quiet day at the BAU. No urgent cases or serial killers, just a few feet worth of case files. Leaning against Reid’s desk, Rossi, Emily and boy genius himself have been talking about the next big David Rossi book.

“Oh c’mon, I see you typing away in your office and writing in that little notebook of yours– which I know is for your drafts by the way,” Emily teases. Rossi shrugs it off with a soft smirk and looks to the boy genius who has been uncharacteristically quiet for the past few minutes. 

“Nothing to say, kid?” lowering his head to catch the young man’s preoccupied eye but Reid’s sight is incredibly glued far away. 

It took Reid a good 6 seconds to realize he’s kid before he shakes himself out of the trance and answers, “Well, considering the hours he’s spent typing on his personal laptop as opposed to the office computer and adding the minutes he allots on the jet to jot down on his writing notebook– assuming he’s writing in a similar format to his previous books–  I’d say….you’re actually well into the third chapter of your manuscript.” 

Still with his eyes trained on whatever caught his attention in the first place, Reid unsurprisingly impresses Rossi again because he is indeed a little over halfway into the third chapter.

But Rossi and Emily instantly become interested with what or who Reid has been staring at for the past minute, noticing that even when going off on his boy-genius tangent, his stare had been focused somewhere else. 

Reid jumps in his seat a little as the two level their heads on either side of his to see where his gaze has been glued. He had been so focused on figuring out the worrying sight and what caused it that he hadn’t noticed how much of him wasn’t aware of his surroundings. 

To their surprise, they’re met with a seemingly everyday sight: Hotch, in the pantry, stirring his coffee. And by everyday, they mean that to any passerby they’d think this is incredibly normal. Nothing at all out of place or out of character. 

But to the trained eye- to profilers who also spend almost everyday with the man, they slowly see what Reid must have seen. 

Hotch is stirring his coffee. But he doesn’t even put sugar or creamer in his always black coffee. 

He’s doing it absentmindedly. Literally looking lost in his head. Hotch is a busy guy, a busy boss guy, with millions of things to think about, but Hotch is never absent. His movements are always purposeful, precise, and calculated. Never lacking and never excess. 

Hotch has his head tilted down and to the side. Like a perpetually confused puppy. One of the things that make Hotch Hotch is his posture. His rigid, firm posture. Back always so straight, hands always clenched, jaw always tight– Hotch is never just there, his presence alone is commanding. 

And worst of all, Hotch’s hair is neat. Too neat. Okay, Hotch’s habit of being neat -with his pressed suits and shined shoes no matter where he is- naturally extends to how he styles his hair. Over the years, he’s learned to gel it out of his face for both convenience and aesthetic. But this neat- this neat looks a little too flat and ruffled at the same time. Like he’s run his hand through it a hundred times in a matter of minutes. 

So Rossi and Emily finally understand. The two share a look of understanding, while Reid looks up at them with curiosity and a little worry. 

“Do you guys think he’s.. okay?” Reid asks quietly with a little grimace. He looks between the two, trying to figure out what they’re thinking, “I mean it has been exactly 12 minutes that he’s been stirring nothing into his coffee.” 

“12?!” If Emily had any sort of drink in her mouth, she surely would have spat it out all over Reid–for which he is silently thankful she doesn’t because as much as he adores Emily, he’s just not mentally prepared for… well that. 

Finally, there’s movement in the pantry. Unaware of his colleagues now watching his every move, Hotch wakes up from the trance he was trapped in and quickly retreats back into his office with his now-cold cup of coffee. 

Knowing that Rossi’s the only one to easily get through to Hotch, Emily and Reid turn to look at him, wordlessly nudging him to check on the poor man who spent 12 minutes stirring his painfully plain black coffee. 

Raising both his hands as he stands from where he was leaning, Rossi surrenders “Alright alright! But I am not telling you rascals what he tells me in confidence.” pointing at the doe-eyed pair. 

Rossi lets the possibilities run through his head as he walks up the stairs to Aaron’s office. Maybe Jack’s having trouble with that one kid again– what’s his name? Or maybe Jack’s having trouble with Mothers’ Day coming up. That’s never been easy. But the stirring and staring into space and the hair? What could possibly– Knock knock. 

Rossi doesn’t even wait to hear Aaron’s voice. He pushes the door open to be greeted with the sight of Aaron finally looking a little more him: writing on his desk knee-deep in case files. 

Aaron looks up for a second and continues writing reports, “What can I help you with, Dave?” Putting extra pressure on penning that last period before closing the case file and grabbing another to open. 

Dave stays quiet for a bit and takes in the sight. Looks fine to me. But his silence halts Aaron’s writing and he looks up to Dave who’s just studying him by the door. 

“You know you can sit right?” Aaron stoically jokes. 

And a joke?! Dave finally cracks and sits down to say, “Boy genius just watched you stir your coffee for 12 minutes which we all know is black. Your hair’s messy and too fixed at the same time, you were standing in the pantry just minutes ago glaring into nothing. And you were slouching with your head tilted to the side.” 

“Honestly whatever it is, it’s none of my business but you just scared two members of your team and I think this may be the seed of doubt in your leadership skills because you’re finally not a robot.” It was obvious that Dave was trying to play it cool, masking concern with humor and sarcasm. 

But Aaron is a painfully private guy. He’d think it over for days before he decides to open up or seek advice from a close friend. Only he has thought about it for days and not saying anything’s been driving him insane he genuinely feels like he could implode at any second. 

Aaron takes one big breath and through clenched teeth he grumbles out, “It’s a she.” Finally staring Dave straight in the eyes, he clarifies, “the it in whatever it is is a she.” 

Realization and more worry hits Dave at the same time which Aaron clearly sees on his face. But Rossi quickly recovers and gives Aaron a soft, comforting smile, “Well what’s so bad about your she that’s got you so shaken up?” 

In Dave’s head, he’s already preparing responses for the worst: 

She doesn’t approve of my job. Well she can suck it. This is who you are. 

Jack doesn’t like her. Aaron, the one thing I like about kids is that they give it to you straight. I think you should take that as a sign

She’s not comfortable with the age gap. She’s way older. She’s way younger. I’m scarred in more ways than one. I’m not sure I still know how to– 

Aaron could see the increasing concern in Dave’s face, “I just–” he started. 

Dave’s thoughts were cut short by Aaron’s voice, thankfully because his mind was starting to reach the point of no return. Anticipating Aaron’s explanation, he leaned forward in his seat trying to read Aaron’s expression. 

“A few months ago, I’d stay here. After a case, when I know my son’s fast asleep and Jessica’s with him- I’d stay here.” Dave kept quiet, intently listening and trying to piece together where this could possibly go. 

“I would choose to stay here and finish reports, make a dent in the never-ending pile of case files because when I’m focused on helping others, I don’t have time to think of how alone I am.”

Before Dave could try and quell this ‘alone’ sentiment, Aaron quickly follows it up “I love my son. And he’s always been more than enough. And I have the team but… you guys have people to come home to. Arms to fall into at the end of a grueling day.” 

“For the longest time, since Haley.. I haven’t allowed myself to feel. To want. And if I’ve just been honest then it’d be known, I want to be loved. All that I carry, I drop all of it at the door and then there’s just this exhaustion that hits me. And all I want is for someone to hold me.” 

Dave takes all of this in, feeling an immense amount of love and sadness for his friend who deserves nothing but happiness but hasn’t for the longest time allowed himself the one thing that can give him that. 

“I know you think that getting into a relationship makes you a bad father, splitting the only time you have left with someone else instead of your son. But the truth is Aaron, Jack’s growing up. He has his sleepovers, camps, and football now. Soon he’ll leave for parties and college, and as much as he adores you he’ll have his own family.”

“I know. And then I’ll be alone.” Aaron’s voice starts to sound rough. Like this fact’s caught in his throat and he can’t speak. Dave studies Aaron and considers all the things he knows are holding Aaron back.

“So give it a shot.” Dave insists. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. Just set a date, and show up.” 

Aaron looks at Dave pointedly, “You make it sound easy–” “You make it sound hard.” 

Aaron appears to recover. He smoothes a hand over his tie and straightens his back yet again. In an instant, he’s back to looking stoic and stern with brows furrowed and eyes glaring.

He’s not used to being vulnerable, even in the privacy of his own office. Feeling like an open book for others to read makes goosebumps trail up his spine- in a bad way. Dave quickly reads this and decides to lighten the mood. 

“So…. when will we meet her?” Dave asks smugly. 

“Funny.”

“I understand.. your concerns. But I don’t think you’d be so worried about it if you weren’t already serious about her. So, what’s really going on with her?” 

Aaron thought he could get away without revealing much about her. He’s uncomfortable enough talking about himself, and all the more protective he is when it comes to you. Especially as someone who wants to keep your little world away from the harshness of everything else–

He sighs. He knows Dave is relentless and as payback for his concern, he decides he has to give Dave something. 

“I don’t know. Really. I don’t– I told you one day I’m tiring myself out so I don’t have to come home and process my empty bed as empty..”

“Now I’m tiptoeing in my own kitchen so as to not disturb this crazy singing person washing my dishes while my kid wipes the plates. And I watch them for god knows how long, instead of going up to my office to attend to case files whose deadlines are a bit too close for my liking.” 

“I don’t know,” Aaron shrugs. A soft, weak smile grows on his lips at the memory of you.

Dave stands from the seat, a knowing smirk on his face, “Hmm.” Teasing Aaron as he walks to the door and grabs the handle. 

“I think you’ll be just fine, Aaron. Just fine.” 

[hederasgarden]

On the Horizon (1/?)

Summary: You've been pining over your coworker for a while now. He might not have realized but someone has.  Pairing:Tyler Owens x F!Reader (with minor Scott x F!Reader) Word Count: 2.5K  Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Angst, flirting, and asshole!Scott. Future chapters will be smutty. Not all themes are tagged. A/N: Thanks to @writercole for the summary and @ryebecca @mermaidxatxhear @clairewritesandrambles and @a-reader-and-a-writer for their beta help. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Masterlist ♡ Glen Powell Character Masterlist

It’s sweltering in the midday sun and you wipe the sweat from your brow as you surreptitiously watch Scott work beside you. He doesn't seem bothered by the heat, typing away on his computer despite the stagnant air. It makes you yearn for the cool, controlled environment of the labs you used to work in before Javi recruited you. Although he'd likely tell you this weather was perfect for a storm, you're miserable. Meteorology isn’t even your specialty; you’re here for your engineering skills to manage the specialized equipment the team relies on for their data collection.

Perched on the tailgate of the Storm Par truck, you have a clear view of the other storm chasers clustering around Tyler Owens' red truck. The man in question emerges with a brilliant smile, and beside you, Scott scoffs, annoyed. He hates Tyler, and you're pretty sure the feeling is mutual. 

"Ass," Scott mutters, returning his attention to his computer.

When you look up again, you catch Tyler watching the two of you. You know he’s more than likely looking for a chance to provoke Scott, but to your surprise, he offers you a wink and pulls down the brim of his hat in acknowledgment. Before you can react, he's turned to speak to one of the young women on his team, giving her his full attention. A hand rests casually on her shoulder.

You wish Scott would acknowledge you like that. You thought things would be different after the night you shared weeks ago, but he quickly dashed those hopes the next morning, ignoring you completely. He only seemed to look at you when he needed your tech skills or when you made a mistake. Your cheeks still burn from his last reprimand in front of the team, the sting of his criticism lingering.

Clearing your throat, Scott’s eyes briefly land on you before returning to the computer screen. 

"What?" he demands.

"I was going to get something to eat. Do you want anything?”

"Yeah, you know what I like," he says dismissively. 

When it's clear that's all you're getting from him, you push off the truck onto the dusty road with a soft exhale and head into the gas station. The air conditioning inside practically makes you groan with relief, and you take a moment to appreciate the cool air. 

"You're not melting on us, are you, city girl?" You jump at the unexpected voice, surprised to see it belongs to Tyler. "MIT got you all wound up, huh?” He questions, amused. 

"What?"

"Your boss," he clarifies. 

"Oh, he's um...he's not my boss. Javi is."

"No?" he asks, brows raised. "Well, he certainly barks at you like he is."

Heat rushes to your face as you realize Tyler must have overheard Scott reprimand you yesterday after you miscalibrated one of the sensors.

"If you worked with my team, I'd be a lot nicer," he says.

You stare at him, unsure how to react to his comment and the suggestive tone. Before today, you’d barely spoken to him, although you get the impression that his flirtatious nature is just a normal part of his outgoing personality. Thankfully, you’re spared from having to figure out how to respond when the doorbell jingles and someone calls your name.

It’s Scott. 

"Owens," he bites out. 

Your lips part in a surprised inhale as he places a hand on your shoulder and stands so close that you can feel the fabric of his shirt brushing against your arm. Tyler's gaze drops briefly to your mouth before returning to your face with a knowing smile. 

 "Well, I enjoyed our chat," he tells you, not bothering to acknowledge Scott. "We should do this again, sweetheart."

Once he’s gone, Scott moves to stand in front of you "What did he want?" he demands.

"Oh, nothing. Just...saying hi."

Scott tenses, and he steps into your space, cupping your elbow. "You shouldn't talk to him," he advises.

When he tilts his head to stare down at you, something flickers in his blue eyes that looks an awful lot like jealousy. You glance over your shoulder at Tyler, only to have Scott say your name again, more forcefully. Turning back, you find his intense dark blue eyes locked onto yours. For the first time since that night in the hotel room, you realize you have Scott’s full attention and that sends a thrill of excitement through you.

You bite your lip, the beginning of an idea coming together.

An opportunity arises to put your plan into motion later that night. Nearly everyone has descended on the only motel in town, but no one seems interested in staying in their rooms. Music pumps from Tyler’s red truck and another group grill burgers nearby. Alcohol is flowing freely as different teams mingle.

You spot Scott busy inside the Storm Par command van, completely absorbed in his work. From experience, you know any attempt to pull him away would be pointless, but spending time with Tyler just might. You linger at the edge of the parking lot, trying to muster the courage to approach the Tornado Wrangler crew. They’re sharing beers and laughing, but when you look closer you realize a lot of them are still working in some way or another. Lily has the inner workings of her drone exposed, tinkering while Dani and Tyler look like they’re securing something to the side of his truck.

Suddenly what felt like a great idea earlier now seems silly. So does your sundress and the time you spent making yourself look nice. Any attempt to enact your plan would mean intruding on their little bubble. Besides, you’re not even sure this hairbrained idea would even work on Scott a second time. 

You turn to head back to your room when Tyler calls out, “Hey city girl, you want a beer?”

You freeze, eyes closing briefly as you realize there’s no turning back now. You’ve been spotted. When you face him again Tyler is watching you with a casual, expectant smile. He leans against the hood of his truck with one arm draped over it.

“Come on, we don’t bite,” he encourages. 

“Not unless you ask us to,” Boone chimes in, earning a collective groan and playful slap to the back of his head from Dani.

Someone tosses you a beer, and you fumble to catch it. It’s icy and slippery. Tyler watches you with a raised eyebrow as a slow, amused smile spreads across his face. You’ve never felt less cool in your life and you end up looking anywhere but him. 

“Hey…you’re an engineer right?” Lily calls out. “You wanna take a look at the wing here? She’s giving me some trouble.”

You glance at the Storm Par van, half expecting Scott to come to scold you for even considering helping the enemy, but he’s still inside. 

“Tin Man seems pretty tied up with his work,” Tyler observes. “I think you’re safe to join us, Dorothy.”

You blink, both surprised and a bit embarrassed to realize just how obvious you must be. “Uh, yeah, I can take a look,” you tell Lily.

She grins, shifting back on her heels. You follow her over to the truck to examine the drone. Lily talks you through everything she’s already tried so far with Cairo and you ask her a few questions in return. After a bit of trial and error, you identify the issue. Thankfully it's a quick fix. 

Boone lets out a low whistle, impressed. “You know, if things don’t pan out with the corporate overlords, I bet Ty would offer you a spot on our team.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you reply, watching Tyler round the truck and draw closer to you.

“I’m a much nicer boss than Scout,” he promises.

“He’s not my boss,” you remind Tyler. “And his name is Scott.”

“Oh, I know, sweetheart,” he intones, holding your gaze with an intensity that makes it hard to focus on anything but the way he’s looking at you.

You let out a nervous little chuckle, realizing that you hadn’t actually planned for anything beyond capturing Tyler’s attention. Glancing down at the beer in your hands, you fiddle with the label until Tyler takes the bottle. He twists off the cap and hands it back without a word.

You offer him a quick, “thanks,” and take a sip. The lukewarm, hoppy flavor tingles on your tongue. You make a face.

“Not a beer girl?” Tyler asks, drawing back to give you a thoughtful once-over. He hums consideringly. “No, you strike me as a rosé-all-day type.”

“Actually, I’m a whisky girl,” you lie, grinning at the surprised blink you get in response.

“I must be losing my touch,” he confesses, leaning into your space and letting you catch the faint scent of his cologne or deodorant—something sharp and clean like the ozone that lingers in the air after a storm. “Unless, of course, you’re just messing with me,” he continues. “But you wouldn’t do something like that, would you, city girl?”

The way he stares at you suggests that he’s not just talking about your choice of drink. Before you can stop yourself, you look over his shoulder, searching for Scott. Tyler doesn’t turn to see what has your attention. He doesn’t need to, you realize.

“A lesser man might take that as a blow to his ego.” His tone is teasing as he uses two fingers under your chin to gently guide your gaze back to him. “Lucky for you, darlin’, I’m a big boy.”

A prickling warmth spreads across your body, and your jaw muscles tingle with a mix of embarrassment and anxiety. You must have been horribly transparent in your attempt, you realize.

“I’m not…I didn’t,” you stumble over your words as Tyler’s smile grows.

“The decent thing to do is ask,” he encourages. He cranes his neck behind him and you see Scott’s finally noticed the two of you together. “Better make it quick, he’s on his way over here now.” 

“What?”

“You know what,” he replies, tapping your nose.

Panic settles in, your reluctance to admit what you were trying to do warring with your desire to get Scott’s attention. “Okay, okay, fine,” you relent. “I’m trying to make Scott jealous.”

You can see Scott over Tyler’s shoulder now, his expression dark. He’s second away from being in hearing range. “Tyler. Please.”

“Well since you said the magic word.” 

He turns and in one smooth motion throws his arm over your shoulder to draw you in close. That seems to surprise Scott whose pace slows as he approaches. Your heart flutters wildly in your chest as you gaze up at him, acutely aware of Tyler’s body pressed firmly against your side.

“Hey, Scooter,” Tyler greets. “Want a beer?”

Scott’s cheek ripples in annoyance. “No,” he says curtly. 

“Suit yourself.” Tyler shrugs. He grabs the bottle in your hand and takes a long drink from it before handing it back to you. “Nothing better than a cold one after a day of chasing storms.”

Scott’s nostrils flare and he utters your name in a clipped tone. 

“Uh, I better go,” you tell Tyler. “Thanks for the beer.”

“Well, I hope to see more of you later, sweetheart,” he replies with a wink. 

The second you’re within reach, Scott’s hand is on your upper back and quickly moves to rest at the base of your neck. You feel a little like an errant school child with the way he guides you past the rest of Tyler’s crew, whose goodbyes are decidedly less enthusiastic than their welcome. Boone glances between you and Scott, making a face that you can’t quite decipher.

“I thought you were headed to bed early,” Scott accuses as soon as you’re out of earshot of the crew. He’s tense beside you, fingers flexing against your skin. 

“I was but then the Wrangler crew invited me to join them for a beer.” He doesn’t need to know you sought them out for your ill-conceived plan. 

Scott scoffs, moving in front of you. He stares down at you. “You shouldn’t be wasting your time with those hillbillies.” 

“They aren’t so bad,” you defend until he pins you with a quelling look. You know Scott well enough by now to drop the topic, even if his words don’t sit quite right with you. Tyler and his friends were nothing but kind to you tonight.

“Storm Par can’t be seen spending time with those amateurs. It’s bad for business. You should know better.”

You realize, with a sinking feeling, that he’s not jealous — he’s just angry. He’d probably be just as upset if another member of your team was seen mingling with the so-called enemy. How could you have been stupid enough to think talking to Tyler would make him want you again? 

“Come on,” Scott urges, seemingly intent on walking you back to your hotel room. 

At the door, you wave the card over the keypad and shoulder the old, warped door open. Before you can turn to bid Scott a good night a hand on your hips pushes you forward and he follows you inside. The door shuts and he plucks the keycard from your hands, thoughtlessly tossing it on the bedside table.

His mouth is on yours before you can speak, his hands grabbing at the hem of your sundress. The shift in his mood is enough to disorient you and you don’t resist when his tongue invades your mouth. The back of your knees hit the bed and then he’s on top of you, warm and solid. He pulls roughly at the strap of your dress, his teeth nipping at the exposed skin. When you feel his hand land on your inner thigh you push at his chest. 

“Wait, Scott,” you breathe. This feels nothing like your last time together. 

He pulls back, a tick in his jaw as he stares down at you. “It's been a long day,” he says, “and we both know you want this.”

You do want him, more than anything, but there’s something about his tone and words that dredge up an uncomfortable feeling in your chest. It makes your skin prickle, and you avert your gaze, suddenly uncertain. Above you, Scott sighs, and you feel his fingertips gently touch your jaw. You think of Tyler suddenly, his teasing tone and the amusement in his green eyes. When you look back at Scott, his unreadable blue eyes meet yours. 

The bed creaks as he shifts back. “I can just go,” he offers.

“No, please don’t.” The words escape your lips before you even realize you’ve spoken. This is what you wanted, you remind yourself. Scott’s the kind of man you always dreamed about, handsome and intelligent – one of those Ivy League boys who never looked twice at you in college. 

“Good answer,” he says with a smile.

You pull him closer, and as his lips find yours once more, the lingering discomfort fades away. You’re finally getting what you’ve wanted.

 Aren’t you?

Part 2

♡

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[annwrites]

⸻ a call to arms. part three. ⸻

· pairing: jacaerys velaryon x dragonseed!reader · type: part of a series · summary: jace takes you on your first flying lesson. · word count: 5,645

He'd already woken up in a sour mood at the prospect of having to waste his day at your side, yet again, while he teaches you how to ride something you've no business having in the first place.

He'd swallowed it down, however, with specific plans in mind for this afternoon.

He would show you first how it's done, soaring through the skies with ease atop Vermax. His dragon would breathe great plumes of fire, which he'd then swoop directly through without an ounce of fear.

Once he landed, you would look at him with awe and reverence, begging him to take you up next.

He'd intended for today to be less of a headache. The two of you would not spend it arguing.

It would, instead, be similar in nature to how you'd ended the night last: calmly, Jacaerys kindly teaching you Valyrian terms he assumes you may have interest in knowing, and with a gentle touch. Or mayhaps a few...

Instead, when he'd sent for you, you'd not been in your chambers.

You'd, apparently, gone out to walk along the beach with your guard, as if this is all some sort of holiday away from home.

His ire had been promptly stoked, and had turned to seething rage as he watched from the castle's walkway as the two of you conversed and touched one another.

You, placing a hand upon the man's chest, and he upon your arm, your lower back, your waist. You merely smiled like an empty-headed idiot all the while.

As if you are unfamiliar with the ways of wanton men.

He should have the knight's hands cut off for such an offense. For touching that which he is not meant to have.

Not that you are spoken for—Jace has had few words with his own betrothed the last few days, always claiming to be otherwise occupied—but your priorities lie elsewhere now. Not in taking long walks on beaches with...rough-handed men.

He shall begin the day by teaching both of you a lesson then.

Jacaerys clenches his jaw, tightening his grip around the pommel of his sword as he comes ever-closer, gritting his teeth at the sound of you laughing contentedly at what he's sure is an ignorant joke the knight has just told you to earn your approval.

And then he does it again: touches your back, sliding his palm along it, keeping you somewhat close to his side.

Too close.

Jacaerys plants his booted feet firmly in damp sand, settles his arms behind his back, and clears his throat.

You jump in surprise.

"Ser Myles," he says, glancing to the knight's arm, before meeting his eyes once more. "Is that any way to treat the young woman you've been tasked with the protection of?"

His hand suddenly falls away, and your brows furrow.

"Forgive me, My Prince, I meant no harm by the gesture."

Jacaerys takes a step forward. "No, I think you meant something entirely different."

Your eyes flit between the two men, while your heart begins to pound in your chest at the boy's insinuation.

Myles remains silent, so Jacaerys shrugs dramatically. "What? Nothing to say for yourself, then? You are given the duty of keeping her safe, and she's here not even a week, and already you are being untoward. How should I see such an action? Hm?"

You step in front of Myles, putting yourself between the two of them. "He was merely keeping me company while I collected shells. He's done nothing wrong."

Jacaerys stares you down. "You will address me properly, and you will hold your tongue. You speak only when spoken to, is that understood?"

You ball your hands into fists before crossing your arms.

Jacaerys settles his gaze upon Myles then, loathing him all the more for his handsome smattering of dark facial hair, his tanned face, his broad form.

As if he'd not already felt insecure enough, day-by-day he wishes more and more to crawl out of his own skin. This one is no different, and he'd so prayed it would be.

Myles speaks. "I assure you, My Prince, no disrespect was intended toward Y/N. We were only—"

Jace raises his brows incredulously.

"You seem on quite comfortable terms with my—" He pauses, but only for the briefest of moments. "One of my mother's dragonseeds."

"How else is he meant to address me?" You ask, interrupting once again.

Jacaerys steps closer to you, forcing you to lean your head back to meet his eyes. "You will be silent."

He looks to Ser Myles, jerking his head toward Dragonstone. "You are dismissed."

The man bows his head, glancing to you for but a moment while you give him a sympathetic look in return, before he steps away.

Your eyes are full of fire when they meet Jacaerys' once more. "That was entirely uncalled for."

He grabs you roughly by the arm, glaring at you.

"My Prince," he hisses.

You yank your arm from his grip, sneering at him—and, as you've finally had it with his insufferable ways; his condescending, haughty attitude, you tell him what you really think.

"Royal arsehole!" You shout, stomping away.

His jaw drops, his mind going blank at your display of sheer disrespect.

"W—What did you just call me?!" He yells shrilly.

He races to catch up to you, repeating himself.

"What did you just call me?!" He shouts, his voice echoing across the water.

You pay him no mind as you throw a lock of hair over your shoulder, holding your head high as you continue swiftly walking away in the other direction.

His patience now at its end, he grabs you by the wrist, and begins pulling you back toward the castle. "You insolent little harlot! You'll pay for that! I could have your tongue for such—"

You try to yank yourself away again, but he holds firm, turning back to you with flared nostrils and a set jaw.

"You want to know what I think?!"

"No! I don't think I particularly do! But what I know—" he says, stalking toward you while you shuffle your feet to get away, desperate for him to release you. "Is that this behavior ceases—today!"

He shoves you into a narrow alcove, putting the two of you out-of-sight.

He pushes you into the side of the cavern, and you dare to push him back—shoving against his chest, once, twice—before finally raising a hand to him, which he quickly catches in his strong grip.

He pins you against a damp stone wall, his face mere inches from your own as his warm breath fans over you—combating the cold of the sea while he holds your hands above your head.

"If you ever raise a hand to me again," he says lowly—quietly—his body now flush against your own. "I will take it. What you just did is treason."

He positions his lips next to your ear. "Go on, then. Try me. See how far I let you get after such a stunt. You think me weak? Easy to strong-arm?"

He squeezes your wrists painfully.

"I doubt it. You've no idea who you're testing. I am your future king," he spits. "And you will obey me, you little bitch."

He pulls back, his brown eyes boring into your own. "You think your comely looks make you special? Think they're all you need, so as to easily fool and take advantage of men? To get your way?"

He leans in closer. "I am not so easily corrupted."

Your lip twitches and he curls his own in response.

"What do you think are laughing at?" He barks.

You glance down, to where his erection is firmly pressed against your stomach, then back into his eyes. "I was going to tell you that I think you jealous."

You glower at him. "And merely a green boy who has no idea what in Seven Hells he's doing."

He looks down then as well, and his face goes starch-white.

He stutters, desperately grasping for words, for explanation, for any feeling that isn't utter mortification, before he looks at you again.

You raise a brow, a bored expression now having overtaken your features as you wait for him to decide what he wants to do with you.

You're sure you already know.

Finally, he growls. slamming your arms against stone one last time before releasing you, adjusting himself, then stalking away, leaving you alone...and trembling.

It's some time before you return to the castle.

You'd wished to cool down first, so you'd waded through the sea for awhile—only up to your ankles in the cool saltwater—as you gathered further shells for your sister. But no pearls, quite expectantly.

You're unsure that you regret what occurred with the prince this morn.

Regret for his sake? Never. For your own? Were you not a dragonrider...you would already be dead by now.

You need be far more careful in the future. Your pride is not worth more than your life. Not when you have others depending upon you to make it home to them. To look after them once you have.

Wish that you could remain out here all evening, but, before long, you catch a chill and begin heading inside so as to get warm again in front of the fire.

What had the royal pain in your arse even wanted in the first place, anyway? Had he really come all the way outside and across the beach just to chastise another man for touching you?

You throw yourself back on your bed, not much caring.

He is a child playing at being a man. Nothing more.

Even if those same...manly parts had stirred something inside of you.

As if he is your usual type.

No. He is insufferable.

Jacaerys rubs feverishly at his throbbing erection, his eyes closed—free hand firmly gripping the wall as he works desperately toward his release.

He imagines you bent over his lap as he wails against your backside until it is lovely shades of blood-red and purple, while you beg either for more, or for his mercy.

My Prince, Gods, My Prince...

His lip twitches, turning into a pleased grin as you beg for him.

I will obey, I swear it by the Seven, you whine.

None else shall touch me, you whisper.

Only you, you moan, making him a solemn vow.

He struggles to picture what the rest of you might look like. Your breasts are not much of a quandary for him—he has seen wet-nurses tending to his younger brothers—but rather between your legs.

He is still yet...unaware.

And you had read him like a book on that, hadn't you? More than once. It is humiliating: for you, a girl, to know more than he. About anything.

He imagines you pinned to that wall again, your dress—one of soft grey and pearlescent white he'd chosen for you—in tatters at your feet as you stroke and please him...with your mouth.

That is certainly one way to earn your silence, he muses.

And he much enjoys it.

"Gods, Y/N," he whispers heatedly, wanting you in here with him instead.

He—fuck—he needs you. Needs you on your back, on your knees, on your belly, in every which way. Wants...wants you to teach him. To pleasure him. To allow him to pleasure you. To—to...

"Oh, Gods, yeeees," he drawls, his hot, thick cum spurting out of the tip of his weeping, purple cock as he fills with relief.

His strokes eventually slow, before ceasing altogether, a long tendril of cum hanging from his erection, which he rubs his thumb over.

His body feels hot all over, his cheeks are flushed, and his heart is hammering away in his chest, but Gods, could he use yet another round.

Apparently three had not been nearly enough...

But he knows the day is still young, and you still need him to teach you how to ride Silverwing.

That is what he needs, he thinks, as he cleans himself up. To ride the skies. It will get him out of his head. Will cool him down. Will distract him.

He knows what he truly wants, however...

Something which he will never admit.

Even if the evidence lies plainly before him on an old rag...

There is a knock at your door, interrupting you from your current task of washing off your sister's shells.

You pad toward the door, then blank when you open it, to find Prince Jacaerys standing on the other side.

He tosses you a bundle of clothes, which you barely manage to catch within your arms.

"Put these on," he commands, shoving past you, shutting the door firmly behind himself.

You turn, watching as he pours himself a glass of water, which he drinks down greedily before pouring another, seating himself at your dining table.

"W—what?"

He looks at you with a bored expression. "Are you deaf?"

You look at the clothes—which are all leather and thick velvet, with light fur—then back to him. "What're these for?"

He shrugs a shoulder lightly. "You'll see."

He nods toward your changing screen. "Now, put them on. I won't ask again. We don't have all day."

You briefly consider telling him that, without his little outburst, perhaps whatever new lessons you're about to be given could've been started sooner, but refrain.

You'll need bite your tongue more often from now own, lest you lose it altogether. And then how will you command Silverwing in battle?

In truth, you'd rather not think on the issue too long.

Every day that passes where you are not forced back into the dragonpit to finally learn how to ride her is a great relief. Even if it leaves you on the edge of your seat, waiting with dread for when you're finally summoned to do so.

You shift on your feet, clutching the clothing to your chest. "I need privacy."

He rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his water. "There is a screen, and I hardly intend to look. Now, do as your prince commands."

Royal prick, you think, walking behind the sheer screen, setting your new garments down.

You know looking is precisely what he means to do. Elsewise, he would not still be in here.

Boys.

Jacaerys, to his credit, tries to look out the window instead, but staring at a pane of glass is not why he'd come. It's like he can't fucking help himself. And he feels shameful for it. Nevertheless, he does it anyway.

He watches.

Watches as a candle casts your form in a soft shadow against the screen.

Watches as you remove your gown, and then your smallclothes, leaving you bare—Jace only having his imagination to picture what is on the other side.

There is the soft swell of your breasts, a tuft of hair above your pelvis, your round backside that he'd pictured in his mind's eye but a few minutes earlier as he spanked it raw. Your supple thighs, the feminine curve of your waist.

He glances nervously to the doorway.

If he were to be caught with you like this... He does not want to imagine the fallout that would ensue between not just he and Baela, but between his mother and her father.

And he knows he's enough of a coward that he would place the blame entirely at your feet.

He wants to convince himself he would do otherwise, but doubt clouds such convictions.

He looks back, watching as you pull on your new riding pants, and he adjusts himself over his own, his cock filling with blood...again.

He shakes his head, standing, stepping across the room to stare outside.

He needs to throw himself into the sea for awhile. A long while.

Finally, you clear your throat, interrupting the silence.

Jacaerys turns back to you, pleased that it all seems to fit. It'd been a measure his mother had ordered from their servants: to have you fit for new garments once you'd claimed Silverwing.

He comes toward you. "How does it feel? Are the boots too snug?"

You walk in a few small circles and his lip twitches at the sight, before you come to a stop, looking at him.

You shake your head. "I think they're fine."

He gently tugs against the hem of your tunic before circling you, looking you over—every inch.

When he's standing before you once more, he gives you a small nod. "Follow me."

Your eyes widen in terror as Jacaerys leads you toward the dragonpit.

"W—where're we—what're we—going—doing?"

Jacaerys keeps on, growing nearer and nearer to that familiar set of large double-doors. "Today, you will learn how to fly your new mount. You needn't worry, I will be on Vermax and—"

You stop in your tracks, fighting back tears. "I—I don't want to."

He barely looks at you as he grabs you by the forearm, dragging you forward, closer to those doors.

Doors you thought you'd never walk out of. Doors that had trapped you and dozens of others inside a dark room while two blood-thirsty beasts feasted upon them.

You can still hear the screams.

Can smell the fire—the thick, black plumes of smoke which had threatened to choke the life from you.

You see their flesh falling from their bones.

Can hear one man crying for his mother.

Another girl crying for her baby.

When those same doors close behind you, you panic.

You wrench your arm away from him and run in the opposite direction. You're not thinking. Or you are, but only of survival.

He yells after you, but you hardly hear it. All you do is the screams. The roars of the dragons. Death rattles.

You hide yourself away in a dark corner, clamping your hands over your ears, rocking back and forth, willing it to be over.

It will all be over soon...

You squeeze your eyes shut, making yourself as small as possible.

You want your father.

Your mother.

Your little girl. You want to hold her one last time. Please, Gods, please.

"Look at me!"

It is only once he has pulled your hands away from your ears that you realize you're screaming.

Jacaerys takes your tear-stricken face between his palms, his eyes searching your own. "You're safe! She won't hurt you, you have my word!"

"Please!" You beg him as you choke on your tears. "P—Please, My Prince, I beg of you! Gods, I'm so sorry! Y—You're right: I'll be obedient! A good little girl—your whore—whatever you wish! I'll obey you, I swear it! Please, please, I have to leave!"

His heart breaks at the sight of your crumpled face—your violently shaking body—the words you offer him. You'd do anything he says in this moment, you're that frightened of what his mother had subjected you to.

And to think that he'd sniggered at the idea of feeding you to Vermax...

How could he have?

"My little girl! I want my little girl!" You cry, trying to push past him, your eyes set on those large doors, until he pulls you against his chest—the two of you collapsing in a tangle of limbs as he holds onto you with all his might.

He shooshes you, smooths your hair with his hand, rocks you gently.

"You're safe, you're safe," he repeats so many times that he quickly loses count of just how many.

"She is your dragon now," he tells you with wide eyes, "She will obey you. She means you no harm. She chose you. Wants you to be her rider, the sole body who commands her. You can trust her, I swear this to you."

You shake your head, not wishing to listen.

"I am here!" He shouts. "I won't allow any harm to befall you, you have my word, Y/N! As long as you are with me, you are safe!"

You break into a fit of sobs, clutching at his chest.

"So sorry, so sorry, so—"

He cradles the back of your head, tears stinging his own eyes.

His mother had stood there and watched. Had watched like it was some marvelous spectacle, instead of dozens of people fighting for their lives after coming to offer her their aid.

And he had been grateful for their deaths. All those people. They'd...they'd had families, too. They'd been unaware of what they were walking into.

He is a monster, he realizes, feeling ill.

After some time, you begin to quiet, your sobs turning into quiet hiccups, your body drained.

"I don't..." You trail off, unsure what you even want to say.

He tightens his arms around you.

"You...you did not say... That you have children."

He is not pleased by it, but also not entirely surprised. So, you've a bastard child with a man who chose to leave you both behind. He is not sure if that says more about you, or he.

Your brows furrow.

"What?" You ask quietly.

"You kept begging...for your little girl."

You slump against him.

"My little sister," you explain.

"My father died when I was young. And after...my mother became a ghost of herself. It became my responsibly to look after us all. No matter that I was still a child myself. There was this night..."

You grow quiet for a moment before continuing.

"I was reading to my sister in bed. She...she called me 'mama'. I didn't...know what to do with that. So, I let it go. Until she did it again. My mother didn't even care. I tried, gently, to explain to her not to refer to me by that term, but she didn't seem to grasp the things I was telling her. Why she shouldn't."

Jace rests his cheek against the crown of your head.

"Somewhere along the way, I began to think of her as my daughter. Maybe she is now. I don't know. I just... I miss her more than I can bear. I feel like a piece of my chest is missing now. I want to be back with her."

Jace swallows down the lump in his throat. "My younger brother, Luke... Aemond killed him. I did not...act as a father to him, necessarily, but I looked after him. Tried to teach him. I miss him every day."

You gingerly take one of his hands in your own.

"I heard about that... Storm's End?"

He nods.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

He presses a kiss to your hair. "Me as well."

A beat of silence.

"I know you do not wish to, but you have to learn."

You stir in his arms, so he holds you close yet still.

"I will ride with you. On Silverwing. I promise you—I swear to you—that she will bring you no harm. Dragons bond with their riders. You'll feel it before long. It's...difficult to explain. But if the day came when she needed give her life for yours," he says, pulling away, cupping your cheek. "She will. That is what you mean to her now."

Your chin wobbles. "I don't want her."

"She wants you. Has chosen you."

"How...how do we let someone else claim her instead?"

He shakes his head. "That isn't how it works. A dragon may only take a new rider once its previous one has passed. That is the only way the bond is broken."

Your heart sinks. "Oh."

A tear slips from your eye, sliding down your cheek. "I don't want to die."

He frowns.

"I know. None do. But..." What is he supposed to tell you? A dragon was never what you'd come here for. He has no words of comfort for you, and it makes him feel all the worse for it.

"I wonder if Maisily would like her."

You smile slightly.

"I'd like to think she'd be braver than I."

He presses a kiss to your forehead. "After what you endured...you're not a coward. I'm...sorry. That you must live with it now. Truly."

Your eyes meet his again. "Do we truly have to?"

He nods slowly. "I'm afraid so. But, as I said, I will be with you the entire time."

You clutch at the material of his soft tunic. "Were you scared...the first time?"

He tips your chin up with his index finger, grinning. "Terrified."

That makes you feel somewhat better.

Finally, he stands, taking your hand within his own, lacing your fingers together. "Come, I think it is time for a proper introduction."

You practically cling to Jace's side as the two of you stand at the edge of the platform which overlooks the dragonpit.

Your body shakes violently, while tears well in your eyes. You fear you may vomit all over him.

"Call her," he tells you gently.

You stare up at him, your nose red and eyes bloodshot, and shake your head.

He slides his hand down your arm, lacing his fingers between your own for comfort. He squeezes your hand securely.

"Call to her. I'm right here. No harm will come to you, I promise."

Reluctantly, you tear your gaze away from him, looking out at that black, bottomless pit, afraid of what is to be found in the looming darkness.

You hide yourself half-behind his arm.

"Silverwing," you call quietly.

He frowns. "Tell her 'Māzīs, Silverwing'."

You grip his sleeve tightly.

"It means come," he explains.

"M—" You shut your mouth, humming with fear.

"Try again," he encourages.

In truth, he doesn't entirely mind you taking so long to accomplish this one simple task. The more time it takes you, the longer you'll cling to him for safety.

He much likes that you do in the first place.

That you see him as a protector in this way.

"Māzīs, Silverwing," you call, a few octaves louder, to no response.

"With conviction," he explains.

You squeeze his hand so tightly it hurts, but he says nothing of it.

"Māzīs, Silverwing!" You shout.

And then there is a deep rumbling, and something shifting in the dark.

You squeak, stepping behind Jace entirely, fisting the material of his tunic in your hands as you hold yourself against him.

You shut your eyes, burying your face in the middle of his back.

His lip twitches, eventually turning into a full-blown contented smirk at the feel of you so very close to him.

"Tell her to sit."

"You do it," you mumble.

He rolls his eyes. "She is your mount, not mine. She needs answer to you alone. Elsewise, she will grow confused. It would not do well to have her responding to other riders while in battle."

"Then we won't go to battle. We'll stay here. Where it's safe."

He nearly snorts.

"Demās," he whispers. "Sit."

You peak out from behind him, then blanch when you see your dragon already staring at you.

Her blue and silver scales shimmer against the light of the lit braziers which surround you. At least she's pretty to look at... If not also terrifying.

"She's waiting for you," he presses.

"Demās, Silverwing."

There is a resounding thump, and then a soft clicking coming from her.

"Good, now you may mount her."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

He turns, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. "I will show you how it's done."

You watch nervously as Jacaerys climbs onto your dragon with ease, seating himself comfortably before looking down to you, beckoning you up with his hand.

You shift on your feet, glancing to the doorway, then back to him.

"I will be with you the entire time. Just come. Please."

You take a small step forward, and then another and another, shoving down the urge to run screaming in the other direction all the while as you plant your feet against her side, your hands gripping her slippery scales while you stare up at him.

Jacaerys gives you an encouraging smile. "Good, just like that. Now climb."

You frown, but obey nonetheless, knowing you've no other choice.

You struggle—losing your footing every few steps, but you hold firm, eventually taking Jacaery's outstretched hand, and he pulls you up, and you fall into his chest.

You flush. "Sorry."

He shakes his head, smoothing hair away from your face.

"No harm done. Now," he nods toward the saddle. "Sit, so I can adjust your restraints."

"What...what about you?"

He grins. "I've been at this for some time. I'll be perfectly well."

"You're not...you're not afraid of falling off?"

"Not at all."

You wait patiently—silently—as Jacaerys pulls tight a large leather strap across your waist.

"How does that feel?"

You tug against it, and are pleased to find it doesn't budge. "Good. It feels secure. I think..."

He nods, sliding closer until his chest is flush against your back. He wraps an arm around your waist while his other hand comes to rest atop your thigh.

"Tell her to stand."

You stare ahead dumbly, your mind blank. You don't want her to stand. Don't want her to fly. You want to go back to your room.

"Maybe...maybe tomorrow we could—"

"No, today."

You swallow thickly.

He pulls a lock of hair away from your shoulder, bringing his lips close to your ear. "I won't allow any harm to come to you. Neither will she. She is your protector now."

He pauses. "As am I. For...for today, that is."

Tears fills your eyes.

You want to get down.

You want your little girl.

"Can you hold my hand again?" You whisper.

He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, twining his fingers between yours once more.

"Now, stand."

You chew your lip. "That's the one you were mean to me over, right? You said..."

You trail off. You can't remember the word now. Only that he called you a simpleton when he told you to say it, and you'd not known what word to supply him with in return.

"Iōrātās."

You nod. "Silverwing, iōrātās!"

She begins to rise and your eyes go wide, your heart jumping into your throat.

"Oh—oh Gods. I don't—"

The two of you rock from side to side before leveling again.

"Tell her to go forward."

A beat of silence.

"Naejot, Silverwing!"

 She begins heading toward a doorway, which begins to slowly open.

Jacaerys had arranged for the dragonkeepers to at least do that much.

He was irritable enough when he went to them to make arrangements for this afternoon. If they'd refused his orders...

It is once Jacaerys can see clearly outside that he speaks again. "Tell her to fly."

"I—I can't do that. We need to get down now, I think."

He cups your cheek, leaning in close to your ear. "All is well, I promise. Trust me. Just this once."

You keep your mouth shut, refusing to give her the order.

"Sōvēs," he tells you.

You remain silent.

He sighs. "Do you think she enjoys being trapped in here all hours of the day? Do you know how long it's been since someone has ridden her? Let her show you the skies. Allow her that privilege."

You fill with guilt then.

You drag your fingertips lightly along her scales.

You've a dragon... What a ridiculous thing for someone like you to possess.

It will not last.

It does not matter if Jacaerys believes otherwise. She chose wrong. And you will prove it to him.

"Silverwing, sōvēs!" You shout with confidence.

And immediately fill with regret, your dragon instead proving you wrong.

She takes off, practically running toward the open doors, flapping her wings, and you shriek in terror, doubling over and hiding your face in your hands.

Jace holds you tightly, encouraging you to look, but you refuse, instead waiting for it to all be over.

You know you are airborne when everything becomes weightless and she steadies beneath you.

"Look, Y/N. Open your eyes!"

You shake your head. "No! We—You should tell her to land. I got her to fly like you said!"

He reaches forward, prying your hands away from your eyes—finding you to be stronger than you look, but you are, nevertheless, no match for him.

You keep your eyelids closed tight, refusing to give him what he wants.

"Open! That is an order from your prince!"

He says it with a grin, and with a playful tone, so as not to frighten you further, but you still whimper in fear.

He gives you another soft kiss upon your silver hair—loose strands of which lash against his face, tickling him.

"I want us to experience this together," he tells you lowly, his hand sliding along your stomach, fingers curling inward.

"You are a dragonrider now, you should see...what sorts of pleasure it may bring you."

Just then, you feel something long and hard pressing into your lower back and your eyes pop open in surprise. You turn back to him, only to find him smirking in contentment. "I see you've finally chosen to properly join me."

You give him a look of disbelief before turning back round.

And then you gasp in amazement—at the large, endless expanse of clear blue sky that surrounds you. It, and a handful of fluffy white clouds are all which remain in all the world from up here.

"I'm—"

He wraps his arms around your upper body, pulling you back against him.

"I'm flying!"

His eyes flutter closed, a smile settling upon his lips to hear you so pleased.

"I'm flying, Jace!"

He beams at you addressing him by a shortened, more familiar version of his name; that you did not so much as hesitate to do so.

"We're flying," he replies as you soar through the skies together.

[bones4thecats]

Adopting Their Fallen Enemy's Child (PT.1) ~ RoR/SnV x Child! Reader

Type of Writing: Poll Result Characters: Thor, Shiva, & Child! Reader Name: Adopting Their Fallen Enemy's Child (PT.1) Original Poll Link: Here Other Parts: (PT.2)

A/N: I actually really liked this idea on the poll I made, and I hope it turned out as good as I imagined it! Enjoy!!

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🌩️ Your father was the Lü Bu, the Flying General himself, and when you heard from the Valkyrie named Brunhilde that he was set to fight in the first match of Ragnarok, you gave him the best support he could’ve asked for

🌩️ You sat alongside his army, with his strategist, Chen Gong, sitting next to you, trying to keep you from jumping down and attacking the God of Thunder yourself

🌩️ When Chen Gong and the others sacrificed themselves, stating their loyalty to you father, you stood there in shock and tear-filled eyes as Thor looked at you, seeing a child without anyone left

🌩️ He felt guilty, but this was what they wanted, they wanted to join their lord, and while he initially wanted to just leave the area, he walked up to you and shocked the Gods and Humans as he kneeled down and hugged you

🌩️ After that day, you stayed by Thor’s side, he reminded you so much of your father it would make you cry

🌩️ Thor may not be the best person when it comes to comforting, but he tries his best when it comes to you, Lü Bu was the one person who could stand a fight against him, and because of this, he would try training you to be just as strong as your father and him

🌩️ He honors your father with you. Every day on his birthday, and on the days of each of his soldiers, including Chen Gong, you would walk into a field in the forest located in the Chinese section of Valhalla, you would both hand off flowers and lay them on the graves you and him had made

🌩️ The words he said to you when he comforted you that day are words that you will never forget

“ Your father was an honorable man, I hope you know that. And because of the honor he possessed, I will take you in as my own. I believe it is something that your father would’ve wanted. “

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🪩 He believed that Raiden was the one opponent he would remember the rest of his life, and when he saw the now-deceased rikishi stare at a young child with the two Valkyries, he froze

🪩 The man was a father, just like him

🪩 But while his child could handle loss of someone easily, you appeared to be around a young teen, this must’ve been one of the hardest things you ever had to witness

🪩 Shiva looked at you and back at the crumbling Raiden Tameemon, guilt filled his heart, which was something he hadn’t felt for such a long time, why did he feel guilty? He just won and brought honor to his pantheon!

🪩 Watching as you ran down and tried hugging the remaining pieces of your father just got him staring back at his wives and son, and when he saw how saddened their eyes were then they looked at you

🪩 The God of Destruction walked up to you and you jumped back when his one arm reached out to you, and that action made the Humans cry out for him to not hurt you

🪩 He kneeled down and since he was just on fire, the heat that radiated off of him made you hold your head away from him

“ Look at me, young one. “

🪩 You looked up at him and saw how his eyes shimmered with guilt, making you look at where your father once stood and back at the man who caused his demise

🪩 Shiva held is one arm back as you tried helping him stay standing when he slumped over in pain, after all, losing three arms doesn't exactly make anyone, including Gods, feel very good

🪩 Once you came to visit him with his wives and son, he saw how you carried yourself around him, not with resentment or fear, but with care and gentleness, making him smile

🪩 Whenever he rested, you laid next to him, you were like another child of his, and when he offered to take care of you in the Hindu Pantheon, it made you jump up and down and hug him and his wives as they agreed to taking you in as their own

“ Your father was one of the best fighters I have ever met in my thousands of years of life. And… seeing you look so painfully at where your father once stood, I just, I knew you had to have someone there for you. Would you do me, and my wives, the honor of joining our family? ”

[corrodedcoffins-blog]

Meetings On Window Sills

masterlist

note: I fucking love 60s-70s music so there's a lot of it mentioned, and also remus is a full blown music nerd so why would i not make them bond over music?? also this was inspired by 2007s Jump In! starring my first crush: corbin bleu lol

warnings: didn't edit (don't care), little tiny bit of angst between remus and his dad, smoking, remus having back problems since 11 and a city boy, reader has hair long enough to put in a claw clip

word count: 3.8 k

♡ summary: Many don't know that during summer, Remus goes home to a muggle girl, and he spends more time on his fire escape than in his room some days

♡ Remus Lupin x fem!muggle!reader

request ✗

1971

He’d known her his whole life, well since he was 6 months old. Their mums had both gone to the same ‘mommy and me’ class and hit it off when they both took a smoke break. Since then their mums had noticed they didn’t have much in common and grew apart, not after buying apartments in the same building.

Remus stretched his back, hands on his waist while leaning back, just having done all his folding, getting ready to organize in his trunk. As he stood from the small single bed in the corner he heard the soft hum of music coming from outside, the young boy lifted his widow, needing much more force than when it was made. 

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” 

Remus looks to her widow, seeing the record player playing on her desk while she reads, not seeming to be doing a whole lot of that though. From his view it looks to be Little Women, which he had read and which he would never tell her, but he had been bored on a visit to his grandparents before they died and that was the only book in his moms childhood room, so he read it and enjoyed it enough to finish and not have much of a critic.

“You always sing that song much louder than the rest.” 

His sudden voice caused the girl to jump in her seat, putting the book down and turning down the record she looked at to him, slightly embarrassed at him catching her. 

“It’s my favourite.” She said moving to sit on her window seat. Remus of course noticed this as a sign that she wanted to continue the conversation, he also noticed the way she played with the bottom button of her cardigan. The boy exited his window onto the fire escape to sit on the window sill.

“It’s The Beatles?” “Yeah, my mum got it for me for Christmas last year. Along with George Harrison’s solo album, ‘cause he’s my favourite Beatle- he actually wrote the song I was singing.” She knew she went on a little too long but Remus wouldn’t stop her, that was the type of person he was, kind hearted. When he listened to her, he really listened, he heard every word and took it in.

“Because he wrote your favourite song?” “Not just that, but I guess that’s where it started then I looked through all my albums and all my favourite songs he wrote.” She briefly pointed behind her and he saw the self of records behind her.

“What ones?” He asked, getting more comfortable by leaning his back on one side of the window frame.

“Umm, I’m happy just to dance with you, and of course here comes the sun.” “That’s me mum's favourite, tells me every time it’s on the radio.” 

The conversation stalls, to avoid awkward stares Remus looks down to the street and watches a man with a yellow jacket cross the street, it glowing in the yellow street lights. His stare only breaks when he hears her voice ask, “What’re you packing for?”

“Oh- That..” Her brows furrow at the nervous tone, he wasn’t sure how to tell her, it wasn’t like they were best friends, they talked once in a while like how they are now and would see eachother at school, “I wasn’t sure how to tell people, I’m going to a different school next year.” “Where?” “It’s a boarding school up in Scotland.” “Why are they making you go?” 

Remus would be lying to say that didn’t surprise him, she sounded like she would miss him a little more than he thought she would, and that deeply confused him.

“My father went so-” It’s interesting how much truth he could say while withholding the biggest piece of information from her.

“That sucks. Aren’t you going to miss your friends.” “I never had many friends.” Overstatement. He had no friends, never really did, kids at school made fun of his scars, or for being a nerd, or for having second hand clothes that his mother still had to sew to be wearable; take your pick really. 

“Not many people like me.” “I like you.” Remus’s head lifted from its stare at his swinging legs, “As- as a friend of course.” “Of course, I like you as a friend too.” 

-

1973 

As soon as he walked through the door, Remus set on the way to his window, leaving his trunk at the door. 

“Hun! Where’re you going so fast?” His mum asked, placing the keys in the bowl by the door, and putting her hands on her hips. His father made his way past her to the kitchen.

“I missed my room!” He yelled, never slowing down the hall. Once they believed he was out of ear shot, he heard his father say, “He wants to see Jen’s girl.” 

As he got closer to her window he saw the girls laying on her back legs up resting on the wall while she read. Her head snapped to the window after the first knock, a large grin making its way to her face. She rolled off her bed and opened the window for him and he heard the tune of Bowie flowing through the room.

She crawled half out the window to hug him, her arms going around his neck and he held her back, his hands felt warm, his embrace felt safe. He wore a thin jumper that felt soft on her skin.

“I’m so happy you’re back.” “Me too.” They say, pulling back and getting comfortable on the window sill. She was still smiling at him, and him at her, before Remus felt he had to look away or he would explode. He took the moment to look at her room and it had changed quite a bit since last summer; bed against a new wall, something she did when she felt she needed a change. He noticed her vinyl collection had grown.

“You finally got Ziggy Stardust!” “Oh yeah!” She jumped off the ledge they sat on and made her way to put it on. 

“I went with some friends to London and we got to go to a huge record shop. Remus you wouldn’t believe the stuff they had there- they had Bob Dylan’s first album so my collection of his is complete.” “Brilliant.” Remus sat down on her window seat bench and grabbed the album from her shelf to get a closer look. With the Bowie record set up, she nudged the volume dial up before returning next to the boy. She hit his leg to get his attention, “Listen to this first one it’s my favourite.” 

He put the Bob Dylan album down to give his full attention to the music. 

Many hours later, the two were still perfectly content listening to album after album, pausing their conversation when a particularly good verse came. They were now on the floor of her room, the girl laid out on her carpet flooring, looking just as carefree and stunning as ever. 

“Joni next?” She said as the album playing came to a close, before he could respond they heard a knock on the window, it was his dad.

“Bit late, innit? ‘S past one, Remus.” “Sorry, Mr. Lupin, we lost track of time.” “‘S alright, dear, but come to bed Remus.” “Okay.” 

His father went back through the window and waited. Remus stood the floor and stretched his back, the girl stood as well, “Tomorrow?” “Yeah.” “G’night, Rem.” “G’night.” 

He joined his dad out on the fire escape as they made their way back to his room, once they got inside and closed the window his father broke the silence. “I know you like that girl, but you’ve ‘ot to keep her out of this world, especially with what you are.” 

And just like, an otherwise perfect night, ruined by one comment by his father. 

“I know.” “Alright. G’night, son.” The door shut behind him, and when he heard that click he let the tear drop.

He knew from his friends that  some people don’t care, they found out this past school year and he still hasn’t told his parents that fact. But for all his life he’s heard otherwise, and he can’t help but think one day the boy’s will come to their senses and leave him all alone again. Y/n though, a muggle, if he ever told her he can imagine that  best case scenario is him having to use obliviate.

-

1975 

Remus retreated to his room after dinner, wanting to sleep or read or something that didn’t involve more people, it had been a long day even before he got on the train home for the summer. As he grabbed the book on his desk he saw a trail of smoke leading to a certain girl’s bedroom, he leaned forward to see her with her glasses on, smoking a cigarette, and wearing mismatching pajamas.

He lifted the window with ease, causing the girl to flick her eyes back to him, “You're back.” “Same time every year.” Both shared a look with smiles on their faces, the girl broke eye contact to grab her pack of cigarettes, and overing him with one.

“Yeah.” He climbs out the window and comes to now sit on her window sill and takes his own cigarette, she grabs the light from behind her and he lets her light his. Her fingertips brushing against his check as she blocks the blooming flame from the soft summer breeze.

He takes the chance to gaze at her lips, wrapped around the cigarette, residue of lipstick left behind, a soft red. She never needed the makeup, but sometimes if he woke up early he could watch her put it on. A moment that he found she looked the most beautiful, practiced movements, mouthing the words to whatever song she was listening to, and the funny faces she made made him smile. 

“I missed you.” “Yeah?” A smile creeped on his face as he looked into her eyes. “Yeah.” “I missed you too. I always do.”

The girl looks away, a smile on her face, unaware that Remus continues his stare looking from her eyes to her smile and the way her hair falls in its clip. She wore a thin olive green tank top, he could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra so he moved his eyes to the clouds she was looking at. 

“How’re your friends?” Sometimes she felt as though she knew the boys, with how much Remus talked about them, her mind began to wonder if they knew as much about her as she knew about them.

“They’re just the same pricks they’ve always been.” “James got any farther with Lily?” She muttered, flicking off her cigarette and taking another puff, she looked so beautiful and natural. She had glasses that fell down her nose, messy hair that she liked that way, and a laugh like no other.

“Lils would like me to say ‘no’, but I think she likes him a lot more than she cares to share.” “That’s the way it always goes.” She trailed off, to look at him and he was already looking at her.

It was second year Remus became friends with Lily, they were paired up for a project together and became close. At first she was jealous of the girl, she felt that Lily was going to take her spot in Remus’ life, it weirdly enough was when she heard of James’ fondness for the ginger girl that she no longer worried. Well that and the fact that Remus never did anything to insinuate that he was any less friends with her because of Lily. 

And what she didn’t know was that half of the time he was with Lily, he ended up bringing up her.

-

1977 

Y/n was waiting all day for Remus to come home, she never left her room the whole day in waiting. Looking to his window every ten minutes in hope she would see her lanky boy crawling out his window.

It was late in the evening when she came back from the bathroom and immediately went to check, she almost didn’t believe her eyes when she saw the lamp beside his bed on. The girl shrugged on her cardigan that was lying across her desk chair, and crawled out the window.

Remus had just gotten back from a nice dinner with his parents, this was his last summer as a kid and they wanted to make it special from the beginning, especially since next week he was going to spend a month at the Potter’s. 

He was interrupted from changing by a knock on his window, he turned on his heels to see the girl he’s been waiting all year to see. Her smile lights up his face, she looks away and it takes him a moment to realize it’s because he isn’t wearing a shirt, clad in nothing but pajama pants gifted to him by Peter. He quickly slips on a jumper before he opens the window and she stumbles into his room. 

“Hey.” “Hi.” They each silently take this moment to get a look at eachother, the girl noticed that she could see that scar on his chest end just where his jumper begins, it’s surprising that she could know him since they were babies yet doesn’t know when he got that scar. To be honest she never asked about them, she could tell he was insecure about the way he looked, though in her mind there was no need to be.

During this Remus is having his own thoughts about her looks, she was wearing that cardigan she’s had since she was ten, underneath was a tank top like she commonly wore. Her hair was up in a clip, the same ones Mary always wore, small pieces of hair falling out. She was beautiful.

“Urm.. How have you been?” The boy asked justering for her to sit as he took a seat on his bed. She joined him, leaning against the wall and pulled a carton of cigarettes out of her cardigan pocket. 

“Good, yeah I’m good. You?” She replied, feeling around her pockets, “No lighter.” He stood from the bed and went to his dresser drawer, retrieving the pink lighter and throwing it to the girl, she caught it with ease yet didn’t begin to light.

“Is this the lighter I gave you?” 

When they were fifteen, they first smoked weed together, at a nearby park in order to not get caught by their parents. And Y/n, high, had given Remus her lighter when they had climbed back up the fire escape to their windows and told him, “This is my favourite lighter. I don’t know why? I think ‘cause it’s pink, so that means it’s lucky- ‘cause the lighter is lucky it’s pink and not some boring lighter like yours- No, you know what Remus? You should take this one, ‘cause it’s luckier and prettier than yours. But keep it safe, it’s my favourite.” 

That night Remus put it in his sock drawer to keep safe, he never wanted to use it or worse lose it, so he kept it safe just as she asked.

“Um, yeah.” He mumbled, a little embarrassed at the amount of sentiment he put into that cheap lighter. 

“You kept it?” “Yeah, you told me to.” 

He becomes even more embarrassed when she chuckles. She looks down at it in her hands, her chuckle dying down and smile slips. There's a moment of silence as Remus doesn’t know what to say so he just returns to his spot on the bed next to her. She doesn’t look up at him still as she asks, “Why did you keep it?” 

Truthfully Remus does know why he kept it, it was just because she gave it to him, but if that sounds lame in his head it will most definitely sound lame if he says it to the girl he likes, no love, he’s always known he loved her. So once again he’ll chicken out and doesn’t respond.

She waits for his answer, and when it never comes, “Is it.. For the reason I think?” She boldly asks, looking at the side of his face as he has not looked away from the spot on the wall in front of them. 

Another moment, and the beautiful girl tries to get his attention by leaning her face in his line of vision. His gaze is unnerved, he’s too consumed by the thoughts running in his mind, until they all go silent.

She presses a kiss to the side of his mouth and says, “I like you too.”

Head snaps to look at her, eye to eye, nose to nose, and finally lips to lips as Remus presses a hard kiss right on her lips. She immediately begins kissing back, and trying to take control but to her surprise Remus is a lot more comfortable in his actions now and is the one leading the kiss and pushing his tongue between her soft lips, which she gladly accepts.

The girl trails her hand up the inside of his thigh before skipping up to hold his jaw, Remus at the same time grabs her hips and squeezes, causing Y/n to swing one leg over his and straddle the boy’s lap. Her hands fall from his jaw, to his neck, to his chest and pushes him away lightly.

Both slowly allow their eyes to open and look at eachother, smiles mirroring each other. 

“So-” “Boyfriend girlfriend?” “Yeah, that’s cool.”

-

1977

“I’ll get the Bowie album, then we can listen to it when you get back.” “When’s it coming out?” “October.”

The girl replied, her head lying on his bicep as she played with his hand, drawing shapes and tracing his veins. In his other hand, resting on her stomach, Remus held the book he and Lily decided to read over the break for their informal book club. 

Y/n thought about asking what she’s been wanting to ask since they’ve gotten together, “Are you going to come home for Christmas?” The last time he did was fifth year, last year he had gone to his friend James’ house. And from what he told her, he had the best time, so you can see she was a little worried he would do that again and she wouldn’t get to see her boyfriend till next summer.

What she didn’t know was that Remus was hoping to avoid this at any cost, it was a full moon this christmas. So even if he did come home, he wouldn’t even get to see her much.

“I haven’t thought about it.” “Oh.” Damn, wrong thing to say. She thought about it. She asked him. She wanted him there.

“I mean- I would love to come home and see you! I just- I don’t know if-” “What?” 

She saw the hurt in his face, she knew whatever he was thinking about he was trying to push down and resist it, she sat up and sat crisscrossed facing him. She leaned down and grabbed his hands, gently taking the book out of his hands and marking the page by folding the corner.

“What’s wrong, Remus?... You can tell me.” “That’s just it- I can’t, or rather I shouldn’t.” “Okay, now I’m confused.” She scoffed, shaking her head and standing up to get some space, “What can you not tell me. I tell you everything.” 

Remus sat up, leaning against the wall on his bed, head in his hands, thinking about everything. Everything he ‘couldn’t’ tell her, if he couldn’t trust her he believed he couldn’t trust anyone ever again.

“Okay, you have to believe me though, and it’s going to sound like I’ve gone mad. So just remember that I know how absolutely insane I sound, and that I’m still telling you because I trust you. More than anyone.” Met with slight hesitance, Y/n replies, “Okay.”

“I’m a wizard.” He waits for the big reaction that never comes, he stares at the confused face of his girlfriend before he stands and goes to his bottom desk drawer and grabs his wand.

“Levioso.” The boy says, pointing at his record player and directing it as it levitates, before ultimately placing it back in the same spot on his dresser. When he looked back at the girl, her jaw opened in shock. 

“Holy fucking SHIT!... That just- in air! You are!” “A wizard? Yes.” “How? I mean- you- what?” 

Remus came to her side, guiding her to sit with him on his bed, “I know this is a lot to take in, but I’ve got more.” “MORE?” She looked towards him, concerned for what was to come.

“Yes. Okay, I’m also a werewolf.” “If I didn’t know you, or see that pissing record player float- God, I’d think you were too far gone.” Her words were a relief, causing Remus to chuckle, but truthfully a weight lifted off his chest, to have the most important person in his life to not judge him, “You have no idea how much that means to me- I’m the same Remus you knew, you just know everything now.” 

-

1977

“So I werewolves are real, what about vampires?” “Yes.” “What?! Am I going to have to worry about them?” “Don’t visit Romania.” “That’s not funny.”

They laid together, well Remus laid done while his girl moved every few moments, very excited about the new world she was learning about, at this moment she sat on the boy’s thighs with her legs straddling them on either side.

“What’s your favourite subject in school? For real, now that I know you don’t actually take English.” “Defence against the dark arts.” “That’s a class?” “Yes, a very important one.” He replied, moving his hands up the girl's thighs, from her knees to grasping her hips. He keeps his hands there, squeezing when he feels like it.

“What’s your least favourite?” “Flying. But I haven’t taken that since first year.” “WHY would you hate flying? That’s the dream.” “I don’t like heights.” “But you’re FLYING! Through the air!” “Really? Well, now I’ve got to rethink things.” “Oh, shut up.” 

Remus was laughing now, and he could tell she was trying hard not to. He pulled her down to him, keeping her there with his hands on her back as he attacked her cheek with kisses, “Ah!” 

The small scream falls on deaf ears as Remus continues kissing her cheeks to her jaw and burrows his head to the crook of her neck. He mumbles something she can’t quite hear, but she can just barely make out the word ‘love’. But still continues to fight him off, “Ah! Rem- tickles!” “Don’t care.”

[vxnuslogy]

— the angel who lived. ft sunday

— warnings: f!reader (referred to as mother) but still uses "you/they" pronouns, angst, mentions and themes of death, brief mentions of blood, very lengthy/word vomit (~8k words), not proofread that much so apologies for any grammatical errors

— author's note: this is more of a character study on sunday and how i think he'll come to learn that escapism isn't really the way go about things but overall, i'm really happy with how this turned out. i hope you guys enjoy :p

death doesn't have a requirement. regardless of age, gender, or race, it will eventually reach everyone at the right moment.

sunday has always remembered the words - or rather the rumors the dreamchasers spoke of - that when death comes knocking at their door, they'll be clad in purple and a trusty crow perched on their shoulder for a companion. sunday wasn't the type of man to believe such rumors, but now, after waking up from what seemed to be an endless dream, he was forced to believe their words.

“can the angel walk?” you spoke. emphasizing the way you called him angel made sunday furrowed his brows in contempt. you were mocking him. with a huff of his breath, he slowly rose from his  position and walked with you.

“where are we?” he asks. you looked at him from the corner of your eyes before replying. “death's waiting room.” sunday felt his blood run cold. “you'll be staying here with me and the rest until your time is up.” he wanted to question you more. press you for answers on when and where death will take him.

but he never had the chance to. not when children of all ages came rushing towards you, all with bright smiles on their faces. he stood in shock, mind boggled at the thought. they were hugging death. did they not feel any ounce of fear?

one of the many children that surrounds you took notice of his presence. she had long brown hair kept in two low pigtails and bright green eyes that remind him of the garden he and robin used to play in when they were just their age. she waved him over and you urged him to walk up the steps of the giant house that stood in front of him.

“you'll be staying here with us until your time runs out. do be an angel and help me around with the chores, alright?”

and so for an indefinite amount of time — and against his will — helped you around the “orphanage”. 

the younger children were all unruly and liked to cause trouble. every morning he'd wake up to a young child jumping on his bed and would be subsequently dragged into his bathroom to get ready. they'd tug at his hand with an iron grip - it really wasn't, sunday could easily pry his hand away but choose not to hurt the child’s feelings - leading him to the main kitchen where you and one of the oldest girls, elenaor he learned, cooked everyone breakfast.

“woke up on the wrong side of the bed, i presume?” your voice laced with amusement made sunday sigh. putting on the apron elanaor had given him, he reluctantly stood by your side and waited for you to hand him a few ingredients to chop. “it was more of woken up by a gremlin and getting dragged all the way here.” your and elanaor’s snickers of amusement never failed to make heat rise up to his cheeks. he had to fight the urge to hide behind his wings, if he did, you'll tease him relentlessly. this wasn't how he would normally act under any circumstances. he had a reputation to keep, but here, in what you call “death's waiting room”, no one knew him. so he was free to act how he wished.

“you've been here for a while,” turning off the tap, you pat your hands dry and walk towards a pot on the opposite side of where he was. “you'll get used to it.”

“i don't think seeing “death” act like a mother towards soon to be dead children is something i’ll ever get used to.”

the halovian bit his tongue the moment his words stumbled out of his mouth. he could still hear you moving around the kitchen but you had made no effort to respond. sunday was ready to issue an apology but you had beat him to it.

“it's something i’ve never really gotten used to.” the sound of chopping ceased from his station. the sound of water boiling echoed between the two of you - he hadn't realized that elanaor had left to escape the tense atmosphere - he turned to stare at your back, watching you dutifully stir the pot. something that reminded him of his mother. he wonders then, did you also take his mother here to this very orphanage. did she also chop ingredients as you stirred soup?

“i find that quite hard to believe…” his voice is uncharacteristically quiet and unsure. so unlike the voice of the head of the oak family.

you turn to him with a raised brow. “and why is that?” he walks to your station, chopped vegetables in his hand as he dumped them into the pots before putting the lid back on. “you look at home here. is this your home, death?”

you close your eyes and smile. “for a while, yes, yes it is.” 

sunday didn't question you further. the two of you quietly set the plates on the multiple tables in the dining room. he would often take glances at you, soaking in the black off shoulder top you wore under that frilly apron; the long muted purple skirt that swayed with your movement like it was your dance partner for years; and the most eye catching of them all, the black gloves you never took off. all of the sudden, sunday remembered this one particular rumor about you.

“they say before death became death, they carried life in their steps; but their fingertips eventually caused everything they touched to wither away.”

sunday wonders if that particular rumor is actually true.

elanaor came back with wary eyes flickering between him and you. with a small smile from you, the girl started taking the utensils from the cabinet and started laying them on either side of the plates. sunday will never get used to this almost domestic scene unfolding in front of him.

“breakfast is ready!” you cup your hand beside your lips as your voice echoed throughout the house. it wasn't long before little feet dragged against the wooden floor and started to pile in the dining room. “be sure to wash your hands first.” your gentle reminder was met with a chorus of ‘we remember!’. 

sunday stood idly in one of the corners, hands crossed over his chest as he started to remind himself of the next chores he'd be doing. sighing to himself, he pushed through his messy hair as his wings fluttered. without another word, he left the dining room and made his way to the backyard where there were piles of wet clothes waiting to be hung dry.

“oh! good morning, mr. sunday!” said a young boy with blonde hair and matching blue eye - the other covered with a black eye patch. “good morning, louis.” he replied with a smile before starting to take a few pieces of clothing and helping the boy with his chores.

“breakfast is ready,” sunday reminded. “i’ll take it from here.” louis shook his head and continued his actions. the older man didn't bother to urge him to get breakfast further. if there was one thing he learned by being here, it's that the children had adopted your stubborn and independent nature.

after hanging all the clothes, sunday bid louis to get breakfast - scolding him for trying to skip eating - and quietly made his way back to his room and plopping rather ungraciously on his bed with a sigh. his arm came to cover his eyes as he pondered, “when will death come to me?”

“not now, that's for sure.” 

sunday quickly sat up from his position to see you come inside his room, a tray with plated food in your hands.

“it's rather rude to enter someone's room without knocking first.” he barked. you only rolled your eyes at him and placed the tray on the small table in the middle of his room. “i did, but the angel seemed too lost in his thoughts to notice.” 

“be sure to finish everything. once your finished, bring them downstairs so i can clean them.”

and without another word, you exited his room. sunday sighed for the nth time today and made his way to the table, pulling a nearby chair and said his prayers before digging in.

he didn't want to admit it, but you were a good cook. every dish that you served him tasted like home; as if you had dug around his mind to take all of his nostalgic feelings and poured them all in the soup he was eating now. for “death's waiting room” it was ironically peaceful. sure the children would get into scuffles here and there, but without a fail, you'd come just in the nick of time and quell the burning banters.

but today you seemed distracted. sunday was an observant person by nature; he reads through people's emotion by the frequency they create and interpret them through the halo behind his head. recently, your usual soft yet peculiar frequency was replaced by something erratic; something that couldn't sit still. in the back of his mind, sunday wonders if it's related to the crow that's been following you like a shadow recently.

taking the tray in his hands, he made his way back downstairs to help you wash the dishes. on the way the children greeted him with bright smiles as they haul one another to play in your reading room, eager to pick out the bedtime story he or you would read later tonight despite it not being even noon. sunday didn't fight the small smile that crept up his face as some of the older kids tried to take the tray away from his hands, urging him to rest while they wash his plates.

“it's nothing to worry about.” he would reassure them with a pat on the head. “a few plates won't be the death of me.” 

by the time he was back in the kitchen, his chest began to feel heavy as you and elanaor talked. both your backs facing him but judging from the heavy and somber frequency you created, he could only assume you're talking about something sorrowful.

“angel?” you're voice snapped him out of his stupor. “apologies, i zoned out.” he avoided your eyes as he set the down his dirty plates to the side and pulled his sleeves up to his elbows.

“you alright?” you question him, a brow quirked up in wonder. he looked to elanaor who was already looking at him with worry, “i should be the one asking that, but i’m alright.” you only hummed as you wiped your hands on the spare cloth and took off your apron.

“i have something i need to do.” 

elanaor's frequency spiked making sunday’s heart skip a few beats. 

“ely, angel, can you keep an eye on the children? i’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

“mother, wait!”

sunday felt his eyes widen as elanaor called you “mother”, dropping the plates she held on the sink and instead came to grip at your arm. her head hanging low as her hands curled into fists.

“does he need to go…?” she asks, voice below a whisper.

golden eyes met yours. sunday was trying to decipher how, or rather, why, your frequency suddenly flatlined, like how a heart would when someone passed. you were the first to break eye contact. leaning down to whisper something in elanaor's ear that broke the girl’s heart.

“angel.” your voice felt off too. it made his ears ring uncomfortably. it sounded like an untuned violin trying to play a complicated piece to impress the audience. “keep the children entertained while i’m absent.”

sunday didn't like you; he hated you. but right now, as you left the poor girl trying to harshly rub away the obvious tears spilling from her eyes, not bothering to turn back as you walked away, he decided he hated you even more.

—

“i understand. we’ll proceed like usual.”

your office was off limits to certain people for various reasons, but sunday and elanaor were exceptions. without turning to look back, you heard elanaor's voice from the other side of the door as you put the telephone down.

“come in.” you called out. the creak of the door always unnerved girl, you said you'd get it fixed but after the angel’s arrival you hadn't found any time to do so. “do you need something?”

“the children are asking for you.” this time it was the angel who spoke. his voice like a river flowing endlessly in a creak, you were distinctly aware that his kind had a natural affinity to having captivating voices. 

“i’ll be down in a—”

you were cut off as a crow started cawing and scratching at your window. from its reflection you see elanaor look down and sunday staring at you with a narrowed gaze. with a sigh, you circled around your desk and opened the window. the crow situated itself on your shoulder, a piece of paper tied around one of its foot.

“the two of you go ahead of me.” you spoke, taking the piece of paper from the bird. “i still need to finish this.”

from the corner of your eyes, you see elanaor leave but sunday didn't budge from his spot.

“something the matter, angel?”

“enough with the mind games, death.” 

he barged in your office, closing the door on his way and standing face to face with you. an angry fog clouding his eyes that reminded you of molten gold and sweet dreams.

“what's going on?”

“nothing is going on.”

“you're a terrible liar.” he snapped. you quirked a brow at him with a tilt of your head that made him even more furious. 

“so the angel can feel angry. that's good to know.” you turn your back on him and open up the piece of paper in your hand despite already having guessed it's content.

gaining back his composure, you heard him take a deep breath before trying to calmly question you further.

“what did you whisper to elanaor this morning?”

“i believe that's none of your business.”

“you—!”

sunday was ready to snap again but reigned himself in just in time for you to walk past him.

“if you're so curious,” you opened your office door and paused to turn back on him. “why don't you join us later tonight?”

“join you for what?” he didn't like where this one was going. the air felt heavy, it's as if the entire world were resting on his shoulders. it didn't helpt that you gave him a bitter closed eyed smiled as you left the room.

“one of our boys will be leaving soon.”

—

“and so, they all lived happily ever after…”

by the time you and sunday reached the reading room, children of all ages were all huddled into a cozy circle with elenaor in the middle. in her lap was an old storybook you had found in one of your travels.

you placed blankets on each and every children sleeping on their makeshift fortress of scattered pillows and stuffed animals.  brushing some of their hairs away from their eyes, letting your gloved hand linger on their faces for a while longer. all the while, sunday kept his gaze on you as elenaor stood by his side, storybook in her hands with an iron grip.

after tucking in everyone, you joined the two of them. you were the last one to exit the room. turning off the lights and letting your gaze loiter around the many sleeping faces in the now dark room.

“let's go.” you uttered with a sigh. taking the storybook from elanaor's hand and tucking it under your arms. “where are we going?” sunday asked who was a few paces behind you.

“we'll be bidding farewell to one of the older boys here.”

he didn't question you further like you had imagined, but you were grateful nonetheless. on the way you stopped by your office to take a candlestick and lit it up to serve as your guide through the dark house.

after climbing up a few steps, you stopped in front of an old rusting door. turning back to elanaor and sunday, you asked, “are you sure you want to be here?”

sunday was the first to answer. 

“you were the one to invite me.” he crossed his arms over his chest. he kept his eyes closed to hide the anxiety he felt, but the wings behind his ears betrayed him as they came to try and hide away half of his face.

you turn to elanaor who only nodded solemnly.

“death doesn't have a requirement..” you mutter as you open the door and enter the room. the two followed you inside and heard elenaor choking back on her tears. “it will eventually come to everyone, regardless of their age, gender, race.”

“death will find us all.”

in the cold and lonely room stood a bed, a boy with deadly pale skin laid there as he looked at you with a knowing look on his face.

“it's good to see you again, mother.”

sunday was at a loss for words as you sat down on the edge of the bed as you took off the gloves you wore and placed them on the bedside table along with the candlestick. the crow that was perched on your shoulder came to rest on the boy's bedframe instead.

“it's good to see you again too, corvy.” the sickly boy reached out his hand to pet the crow’s head but heaved a cough in the middle of the action.

the sound of his coughing urged elenaor to leave his side and run towards that other side of the bed opposite to yours. she gripped the sheets in a tight fist, sunday feared her palms would begin to bleed if she gripped any tighter.

“everyone's time eventually runs out…” you mutter as a strange red chord appeared in your hands the moment you touched the boy's forehead. “it's only a matter of when and how you're time runs out.”

“did you enjoy your stay here, michael?”

the boy named michael smiled with content. his boney hand holding yours that rested on his cheek.

“i did, mother.” you smiled at his response. the same smile you would greet the children with once they have woken up; the same smile the children would close their eyes to whenever you finished reading them a bedtime story. 

“that's good. i’m reassured that i did my job just fine.”

“you've always done a good job, mother.”

sunday couldn't believe his eyes. he didn't want to believe his eyes as your tears slowly cascaded down your face as you leaned down to press a kiss to the boy's forehead. elanaor jumping over to your side and hugging you tightly as her tears soaked your shirt.

your other hand came to hold the red string that was tied around the boy's sickly figure on the bed. you motioned your hand in a weird way and suddenly a pair of black scissors appeared. sunday felt his blood run cold as sweat dribbled down to his chin. 

“may destruction have mercy on you.” you whisper to him, forehead resting against his. “leading your journey in the afterlife, forever peaceful.”

“may this be the end of your painful dreams.”

and in the blink of an eye, the cord was cut and the boy closed his eyes.

sunday read the way his lips moved and felt his heart break in sympathy.

“may you have peaceful dreams, too, mother.”

—

you carried destruction — death — in your fingertips. ever since that night, sunday had kept his distance from you. he always kept his distance with you, but now, you would never catch him standing near your vicinity. 

the children found it strange. the two of you, without a fail, would always banter back and forth until the halovian had to leave to do other chores. some would turn to elenaor and ask what had happened between the two of you, but girl would only smiled with her eyes closed, pat them on the head and say “it's alright, they'll come around.”

but sunday thought otherwise.

how could death, shed any tears? it didn't make any sense. you were an emanator of destruction - he deduced from your words that night - death itself, so how come you brought life to the very house he and the soon be deceased children here?

they all considered you a mother. a mother. a parental figure they could go to to share their sorrows and woes. 

you couldn't possibly be the death he's come to know and fear, but at the same time you were. 

he wanted to hate you. hating you would be easier. it is easier. but his mind kept reminding him of the multiple times you would treat these children with the utmost gentleness. because you knew that one wrong touch could end their dreams.

“mr. sunday,” he looked up from his downcast position to look at elenaor. she'd been crying, sunday concluded. her eyes were red around the corners and she would sniffle from time to time. “will you be joining us for lunch?”

“ah…” he awkwardly turned his head away to hide the scratch that one of younger girls had accidentally given him. if she were to notice, elenaor would come bursting into your office to inform of his injury. “i’m feeling rather full as of now. I'm afraid i’ll have to decline.”

“i… see…” she only gave him a closed eyed smile. “well, goodbye then, mr. sunday.”

he waved goodbye to the girl who ran back inside the orphanage and sighed. hand coming to graze the cut on his left cheek and wincing as he did so.

“it'll get infected if you don't get that treated soon.”

sunday visibly froze, much to his dismay, as your figure emurged from his side. speak of the devil and they'll arrive, he thought.

“it's a scratch.” he weakly argued to which you only just hummed.

he kept his eyes on his hand playing with the grass as a shadow was cast over him. sunday flinched back when a gloved hand came to reach for his face, making him back up more to the tree he had been leaning on all morning. his actions startled you making you recoil your hand, all the while your hair obscured your eyes. but sunday swore he saw a flash of hurt in them. he felt guilty.

against his better judgement, his free hand came to hold yours in his. 

“sunday?!” you said in shock trying to pull your hand away.

your hand was warm. he wondered if they ever got sweaty and uncomfortable when the heat reached its peak, wearing black under the scorching sun didn't seem too appealing.

“you said my name.” sunday replied, making you furrow your brows. of all the things he took note of, it was the way you said his name. slowly, he let go of your hand and let it fall back to your side. you held such a strange expression on your face, but who was he to talk. he did something strange too.

with a sigh, you pinch the bridge of your nose. “come on, let's get that scratch of yours a bandaid.” 

sunday walked quietly with you as you navigated to the house’s makeshift infirmary. on the way there, children looked at the two of you with wide eyes and quickly rushed to each other's side to have hushed conversations.

“sit down.” you command and he followed.

the following minutes were spent in silence. you scavenging for a bandaid and some disinfectant, while he sat on the bed watching you move from one place to another.

“look to the right for me, angel.” your voice instructed him. this time, it wasn't your usual soft tone, nor was it the mellow and somber one on that night. it was more monotone this time around but still held some semblance of what he assumed was “fondness”.

your fingers carefully dabbed the cotton on his scratch before placing a bandaid over it. sunday noticed you didn't let your touch linger on his face like how you would when you patched up some of the kids when they got their own injuries.

“do you sing?” sunday asked on a whim, making you pause as you put away your tools. “what brought this on?” you question with a tilt of your head.

“louis and i heard someone humming the other day.” his finger grazed the fresh bandaid on his face. gold eyes never leaving your figure as you turned to look at him. “he told me you often hummed some of the children to sleep.”

“there's your answer then.”

sunday wanted to throw a pillow to your face. with an aggravated sigh, he stood up and followed you out the door.

“would it kill you to try and answer directly?”

“maybe.”

before you could step out of the infirmary, a pecking noise came from one of the windows, stopping sunday and you in your tracks.

you left his side and opened the window and let the crow inside the room. like the first time, it sat on your shoulder as you unraveled the piece of paper it handed you.

“will another child be leaving?” he mumbled. you walk towards him again and the both of you walk out of the infirmary. “everyone in this orphanage will leave.” your eyes met his and sunday pondered on what was going on in your mind.

“including you?”

“yes.” your answer was unexpected. “including me.”

“how so?”

“i’m no exception, angel.” there you were again, calling him by that blasted pet name. he couldn't fight the urge to roll his eyes as he followed you to the library. “i may bring death, but death will eventually come for me one day.”

“will someone replace you once you're gone?” 

you only nod your head in agreement. hands grazing the many spines of the books that make up your library.

“ely would probably replace me.”

sunday pressed his lips to a firm line. in his mind, it made sense. elanoar was undeniably the closest child to you. she even accompanied you and him when michael departed, and he could only imagine how many children she's seen leave this orphanage in that room.

“they aren't really children, you know.”

the gray haired man furrowed his brows in confusion. “what do you mean?”

“you know what dreamscapes are, right?” he nods and follows you to sit down on one of many seats in the library beside the window. “people sleep and enter this fantastical world created by your predecessors. this place is similar. the reason why i call it “death's waiting room”, is because it's actually a waiting room.”

“do you mean…” sunday paused, trying to connect all the pieces you've given him. “these… children… they probably aren't children. they're people who've fallen asleep and are waiting for death.”

“exactly.” you flip through the pages of the book you had taken from one of the shelves. every page was filled with different words in elegant cursive handwriting. “right now, you're in a dream. waiting for your time to run out. waiting for death to come to you.”

“then, if that's the case, when will you cut the cord of my life?”

“even i don't know the answer to that.”

“is my name not written on the paper your companion gave you?”

you shook your head. “then how do you know when someone's time is up?” you take a few minutes to organize your thoughts, trying to think of a way to explain it, but in the end you couldn't.

“i don't know.”

“you don't know?!” sunday snapped. hands crashing on the wooden table as he stood up. his eyes were furious at you, making you sigh. “i’m not a god, angel.” you snap the book shut in hand. the sound echoing in the empty library as sunday sat back down. 

“i may bring death to everyone i touch, but i am no more than a pawn in the grander schemes of things.”

“even i don't know why death comes to take the lives of us humans.”

sunday was speechless as he looked at you. you looked tired — absolutely exhausted — just like how his sister would describe him whenever he refused to leave his office back in penacony.

“i… apologize..” he bowed his head in shame. “i don't normally lose my composure like this.”

“it's fine.” he heard you sigh. “everyone grows on edge when death is waiting outside their door.”

“do you have to cut the cord?” 

what a silly question, you must've thought. but sunday wanted to know even if what he was asking was inevitable.

you only smiled bitterly in response.

“even i fear the consequences of death, angel. i have to.”

sunday felt sick in the stomach when dinner approached. his ears ringed with your response, that you too, will eventually meet your end. it made him sick, and he didn't want to admit it. 

he didn't come down to the dining room as usual. he expected elenaor to knock on his door, carrying a tray of food, something she's been doing after michael’s departure. but this time, when he opened the door, he had to stop you from stumbling inside his room as elenaor kept pushing you inside even with her hands occupied.

“elenaor..?!” you both whisper yell to the girl.

“you two need to talk!” she said with a huff. you winced when she dropped the tray of food on his table. “everyone's been worried about you two, y'know.” you both look away, sunday scratching his cheek while you were blatantly ignoring the girl as she put her hands on her hips.

“mother,” she called out to you but you pretended to not hear. “mother!” she said a little louder, now standing in front of you as she tugged and whined for you to acknowledge her. “you're so mean, mother!”

sunday’s wings hid the growing smile and laughter that was bubbling in his chest at the comical sight. 

your cold facade was cracking with the way your lips were curving upwards; eyes pooling with mirth as the girl continued to scold you for some odd reason.

“and you!” elenaor pointed at sunday with her finger. he saw you snicker under your breath, fist in front of your lips, a futile attempt to hide your amusement. “you're supposed to be the more mature one between the two of you!”

“i am?” he points to himself with a tilt of his head. “yes!” she replied with a huff. elanaor made her way to the door, but not without giving the two of you another half attempt to glare. “by tomorrow, the two of you should be back to normal!” and for good measure, she slammed the door shut on the both of you.

the room was quiet, that is until, your giggles filled the room. your poor attempt in stopping your laughter made sunday's eyes go wide in shock, though he didn't know why. you always laughed in the house. be it from the teasing you always do to him and the other kids or by something else, you were always a giggly person.

but this was different. sunday just knew this was different. the way your eyes crinkled and shaped itself into little crescent moons and how tears of pure joy would escape every now and then. and your smile, aeons your smile. that smile didn't belong to death, it belonged to you.

sunday's laugh rang like church bells, you had to double check if what you were hearing was real. the two of you shared a moment of silence before erupting into fits of giggles again. the sound reminded you both of children running around the orphanage, playing kings and queens, monsters and knights, and the laughter that came after all the playing.

“what a strange girl she is.” sunday said after coughing into his fist. he had to reign himself in when you laughed in reply. “she is. but she's my strange girl.” 

your eyes lingered on the door the younger girl had slammed. they held such fondness, sunday wouldn't have guessed the “death” he's always been afraid of would be so loving.

“well, now that's done.” you wipe away any stray tears left and motion sunday to his food. “eat. louis told me you hadn't eaten lunch. you must be starving.”

sunday sat down on the chair while you sat on the edge of his bed. smoothing out any creases on his blanket as he ate his food. every once in a while, he'd look at you between bites and still see that smile present on your face. 

“you should smile more.” he said before wiping his lips on the towel elanaor had kindly prepared his food with.

“i could say the same to you, angel.” you look back at him. the same soft smile still on your lips as the streams of moonlight in this beautiful dream started to fill in the gaps of the window in the room, bathing you in a glow that made you look divine. “you look more handsome when you smile.”

he coughed into his fist as you laughed. wings coming to try and cover his face and hide his flustered state. 

“i never… took you one for compliments.”

you tilt your head curiously, “do i not look like the type to give compliments.” sunday shook his head. hair and wings following his movement that made you swoon inside, it was nothing short of adorable. seeing the always composed mr. sunday stuff his face with the food you cooked for him.  

this wasn't good. but you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

“you're wrong then.” you say as you let yourself fall onto his bed.

“are you fond of children?”

“well, i wouldn't have gone through all this trouble by creating this dream if i wasn't.”

“just answer me directly, death.”

you laugh again in response. how strange it was, that the name “death” the halovian would always use to describe you no longer sounded hostile.

“yes.” you said softly. “i’m very fond of them.”

“why?” he questions. you hear the sound of plates and utensils move around and it wasn't long before another weight made the bed dip from the other side. “everyone dreams of having their own family, angel. i’m no exception.”

you closed your eyes for a moment before they open again in bewilderment as you looked to your side.

your right hand, still with it's glove on, was being held by sunday's own hands. his thumbs and index finger would tug at your fingers before his palm settled in your own. 

you could hear the way your heart was beating in your ears. “do you not fear death, angel?” you ask as you let the man play with your hand like a child.

“i do.” he answered. you felt the bed dip and shift as he turned to lay on his side. “but recently, i've come to know them very well.”

you close your eyes again. letting the feeling of sunday tracing shapes in your palms lull you into a momentary sleep.

“what is death like, if you've gotten to know them very well.”

“death is a scary thing.” he paused, making sure you were listening. “i tiptoed around it back at home, like how two siblings would've tried to hide from their father when they played hide and seek.” 

“i didn't believe death existed until it took something - someone - very important away from me. it was the first time in a while did i felt the fear and fury of it all being poured into my body.”

“do you hate death, angel?” you ask, still not opening your eyes.

“i do.” he answered with no hesitation, making you scoff. “death is impatient, not waiting for me to finish my explanation before jumping to conclusions.”

alright, you admit, he got you there.

“i hate death. i don't ever want to experience it anytime soon. it takes and it takes, and i don't want it to take anything important away from me ever again.” you felt sunday weave your fingers together as he spoke. “but i learned that death, also gives.”

“death is a lot kinder than i imagined. they didn't snarl or bite - but they did tease and scoff - at me. they're fond of children, much to my surprise. treating them with the utmost care and gentleness, even i believe i don't possess.”

“death, though not intentionally, showed me that even beautiful dreams can cause suffering. something i've refused to believe — to acknowledge — for the longest time.”

“are you scared?” you ask. opening your eyes to turn to lay on your side as well. not letting sunday's hand slip away from yours.

“no, not anymore.” somehow, you could almost see the smile his handsome face wore. “because death is gentle when someone's time is up.”

“what if they aren't gentle with you?”

“well,” he only chuckles. “death is gentle with me right now, are they not?”

ah, he got you again.

—

sunday, from a very young age, was taught that dreams were one of the many ways that the gods used to convey their intentions to mankind.

all his life, sunday had seen the ugliest side of humanity and yet he wished nothing but the best for them. he dreamed of creating a paradise where humanity no longer had to fight for survival; the strong wouldn't grow stronger nor will the weak grow weaker. everyone would be equal. 

sunday's existence was to be everyone's savior; their saving grace in this perpetually cruel world. he would willingly spend the rest of eternity in solitude if it meant that others could live in a paradise, free from all misery and suffering.

he's never seen anything wrong with wanting to escape; taking the easy way out. who would want to be in pain after all.

you would.

why does life slumber? he always asks — he wanted to ask you but never got that chance to. 

“we slumber because we don't want to wake up. we do not wish to see a painful and unfair tomorrow. we want to hold on to this beautiful dream where everything is alright. because we fear the future, we don't wish to wake up. the future is not kind, not to everyone. we will lose everything.”

“but we still have to.”

jolting awake, sunday pressed his hand over his chest where his heart was beating erratically, its sound ringing uncomfortably in his ears. no longer was he in the orphanage he'd grown accustomed to. now, he was all alone, in a damp, cold, and dark room.

“can the angel walk?”

twisting his head to the side, there you sat. the same black off shoulder top, muted purple skirt, and your companion perched on your shoulder as you close the book in your grasp.

you smiled at him. “so the angel can wake up, good to know.” your words ring in his ears. it feels nostalgic, a sudden sense of deja vu, but it left him with a feeling of doom as you walked to stretch a hand to him.

sunday took it with a moment of hesitation. he let himself be pulled up with your help and let you lead him somewhere else.

“where are we?” he asks.

“in reality.”

his eyes narrowed in a confused glare. 

“what happened to the orphanage?” he didn't like the quietness of everything. he couldn't read your emotions, frequency practically nonexistent. “gone. everyone left.”

the ground shook along with his heart. he couldn't properly process the way you took hold of his hand and began to run straight into the darkness.

he was scared. he was so uncontrollably scared with what you've done because why…. why was he still alive?

“pick up the pace angel.” you turn your head to him. a teasing smile on your lips trying to hide the panic and terror in your eyes. “don't tell me the angel forgot how to run?”

“what's going on…”

“nothing's going on.” there you were again, avoiding the question; leaving him guessing in the dark.

against his instincts — the nagging voice in his mind to follow you and run — he pried his hand away from yours and skid to a stop. 

“angel?!” you shout in confusion. your panic doubled as the ground shook more and more.

“you can't just keep me in the dark, death.” his hands balled up into fists at his sides. the look of foreboding did not suit you, he much preferred your easy going natured smile. “i’m not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on.”

what a stubborn child, your mind replayed. eyes fogging up with an unreadable emotion.

“alright,” you say calmly. “how about a game then?”

sunday looked confused but stayed patient with you. something you're not used to.

“let's play a round of tag. you're it. if you tag me, i’ll tell you everything.”

“this isn't a game, death.”

sunday had come to the forlorn conclusion that he didn't even know your name.

“all is fair in love and war.” your voice matched your somber eyes. 

what did you mean in love and war? what love? what war?

“come on now, angel, can't you just play one game with me?”

his adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed his fears down along with his hesitation.

“okay.” he said. “let's play, but just one game.”

you smiled in thanks. “on my count, we run.”

.

“three.”

.

“two.”

.

“one.”

.

“RUN!”

and so the both of you did. you ran with such vigor, sunday felt that he'd lose here. lose the chance of finally knowing the truth.

“don't give up on me now, angel. we're almost there!”

your laughter echoed in the dim lit corridors of this nightmare that seemed to never end. but the way a crown of light bathed you, sunday felt his feet push further and further until they burned from the pain.

you kept smiling back at him. the childish smile he'd always see on the faces of the many children back in the when they also played tag. you would always be “it” and tagged one child to another, leaving you the victor by the end of it all.

but this time, sunday would rise victorious.

“brother!”

sunday skid to a stop as a body slammed on his own, nearly making him stumble down. a warm embrace enveloped him, the same embrace that woke him from his dreams of order back in penacony.

“it's mr. sunday!”

“are you alright?”

everything was too fast. one moment he was playing tag with death and now he's reunited with his sister and the astral express crew.

“robin…” he quietly murmured. arms snaking to hug his sister tightly as tears pricked the corner of his eyes. “i’m here, brother.”

sunday let a smile break out of his face as he let robin check up on him. laughing at the way she weakly punched him on the chest.

“it's a good thing you're unharmed, mr. sunday.” welt said, fixing his glasses. “it took us quite a while to find you, but i’m glad our efforts weren't in vain.”

sunday furrowed his brows. “what do you mean?”

“after your disappearance in penacony, me and the astral express crew had joined forces to track you down.” robin explained.

“i… see…” sunday pondered if the reason they weren't able to find him was because he was inside your dream.

wait.

“death?!” he shouted into the space but no one answered. he was sure that everyone was looking at him weirdly as he lightly pushed robin to the side to try and look for you.

“death?!” the pink haired girl exclaimed. “what's going on mr. sunday?!”

before sunday could respond, another tremor broke out.

“brother!”

something flashed in sunday’s mind for a quick moment. his mind replayed the first time he arrived at “death's waiting room”, how he was forced to do chores and help around, tell the children bedtime stories and tuck them in for bed. how the first night he witnessed death made his stomach swirl with uncontrollably fear and how “death” itself cried for the departed.

he remembered how elanaor barged into his temporary room and pushed you in. how he ate his dinner in silence as you smooth out the creases on his bed. how, against his own judgement, came to lay on the bed and hold your hand that he couldn't believe brought upon ruin to someone's dream.

“it's time to wake up, sunday.”

sunday felt a body hug him tightly before he was pushed out of the way. in a quick flash, a red cord wrapped around him and death before it snapped.

the loud clamor of a giant gate dropping made his ears ring. sunday felt his breath quicken as he ran to the metal gate and slammed his fist against it in a poor attempt to get it to open.

“death!” another slam of his fist. “death you said you'd explain!” and another. “don't leave me in the dark!”

sunday felt his breath becoming shorter and shorter.

and how his heart dropped when crimson started to slip through the cracks of the metal gate.

“you didn't tag me, so i still win.”

“no…” another slam of his fist, louder than ever. “no! death hang on, we can save you!”

“you can't.”

“you don't know that!”

the trailblazer came to pry him away from the gate but he persisted.

“i know death better than anyone else, angel.”

“you…!” sunday felt his legs give out on him. he could only gaze at the way your blood pooled at the floor. “what did you do…”

you chuckled. “i never thought i’d die for someone else, you know.” sunday's caught wind of the cawing noises on the other side of the gate.

“no…”

“who would've guessed i would die for your sins.”

“the papers…” and you only hummed to confirm his suspicion.

there was one thing that sunday noticed whenever s child needed to depart: your companion will always bring you a piece of paper with their name written on it.

“my name…” he weakly muttered. “i was supposed to die…”

“you were.”

were. you didn't kill him.

the papers that started to pile in your office and the way your companion never once left your side; they way that never - not even once - have you taken off your gloves off whenever you fondly brushed his bangs away from his eyes or the way you let him hold your hands.

you didn't kill him.

the room shook again, this time stronger than the previous ones.

“we need to leave, now!” the navigator shouted.

sunday felt his body being supported as the trailblazer slung one his arms over his shoulder.

“fly. fly far, far, away from here sunday; you're free now.”

how ironic it was, that you, “death” itself, would die for a man who tried to go against the principles of the aeon he claimed to follow.

you brought the head of the oak family to your waiting room, waiting for the moment when his name would be delivered to you so could cut the cord of his life. but you never did.

“you're no longer guilty, your sins have been cleansed.”

you didn't want to let him go, as he did with you when he held your hand that night.

“i’m sorry i couldn't be gentle like you hoped for. but this was the only way.”

“i hope you finally understand that human suffering is inevitable. that even when we're in pain we still find a way to value our lives.”

“we are not gods, angel, we don't get a say in what happens to humankind. but i hope you'll come around to accept that it's what makes us all human. remember us — me — with fondness in mind.”

sunday will never come to know death, because death died for him and his sins.

“i hope you enjoyed your time with death, sunday.”

© vxnuslogy 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.

[alexa-yukiyu]

Just imagining cat child being a zoan cat type she loves napping in the sun(or cuddling against ace or marco) she would rather die than admit that she loves head pats.

When the crew gets to rowdy she just goes to nap next to pops.

Whenever they run into trouble on islands Ace is grinning before letting yn go and attack, because she's so tiny. She just bites the ankles

I think she'd get the nickname "ankle bitter"

Apawling Cattitude (Whitebeard pirates x f!Cat!child Reader)

A/N See what I did there 🐈 im so funny and goofy, anyhow I COOKED HERE, just pure cooked down below, especially on that ankle biter part 😎

Here Reader is replaced by Dokucha as place holder which stands for reader in japanese

Dividers by @/saradika

“Brother Marco, are you done yet?” the young child groans, lounging in one of his examining tables

“Not yet; there are still a few things I need to finish up,” Marco responds without even turning his head around

“I’m cold,” she whines

“There’s a storm outside, so I can’t warm up in the sun, and Ace fell asleep while eating again; you're the only source of heat around.”

He sighs, turning around on his chair and picking up the child from the table, putting them on his lap, and turning back around to his paper

“There, now will you let me finish these papers?”

She smiles, cuddling up to him and closing her eyes, basking in warmth

“You’re so warm, Brother Marco.”

“Yes, yes, I know, but you aren’t making my job easier.��� He says as he works on finishing his papers, his actions betraying his words as he begins petting her head, scratching behind her ears

She hums, letting a loud purring sound at the sensation, leaning closer to him

He lets out a snicker at the sound

“Why are you laughing?” She mumbles

“Nothing.” He mumbles before continuing to scratch behind her ears

“I just remembered a conversation in which you said you did not fold at being petted,” he said with a chuckle

“Ten minutes ago, to be specific, if I am not mistaken.”

She jumps up at that, a frown on her young face

“I’ll have you know you are mistaken! I do not fold at something such as pets; I am not some stray cat!”

He raises his eyebrow

“Then, could you explain the purring I heard just a moment ago?”

“Yeah, you need to get your hearing checked.”

“Did you forget about my devil fruit?”

“Must be malfunctioning 'cause there is something wrong with em.”

“You’re such a brat; just admit you enjoy being petted.”

“Hmph,” she scoffed, jumping off his lap

“I'm going to go see if Brother Ace woke up; maybe his ears will be working better than yours, Brother Marco.”

He smiles, watching the child go, leaning his head on his hand

“Do come back if you want more,” he calls out

“Shut up!”

He snickers under his breath but says nothing else as she storms off

Tiny footsteps could be heard hitting against the boards of the Moby dick as Dokucha hurriedly made it to the mess hall, looking for her freckled brother, spotting the rambunctious man over in one of the tables

“Brother Ace, you’re up!” She hollered

Ace, sitting down in one of the tables with the rest of the brothers, quickly wolfs down his food at the sound of the voice

“What’s up?” He asks as he sees his sister approaching, raising an eyebrow

She stretches her hands towards him, opening and closing her hands

He chuckles at the motion before grabbing her and picking her up, placing her on his lap

“What is it, kitty cat?” He teases

“Nothing,” she smiles, cuddling up to him and his heightened warmth

“Sure.” He chuckles, rubbing her ears gently as they are on his hands

“Then why the sudden rush to see me?”

“Brother Marco was being mean, and I was cold,” she mumbles

He chuckles at the small girls voice

“Oh was he? You mean your kitty purr didn’t work on him?”

“I don’t purr!” She said once again, jumping up, glaring at him

“Hah, really?!” he gasps in fake surprise

“Could have sworn I heard it, din’t you, Thatch?” he asked with a grin, looking at his brother, who was putting some plates down on the table

Thatch chuckles, shaking his head with a grin

“I did hear a small purr, yes.”

She pouts about to tell them off when one of the tables when up in an uproar; by the look of it, one of her brothers had started a drinking competition once again

She sighed, jumping off Ace’s lap and continuing on her way to find a place to nap in peace

Whitebeard hums as he hears soft knocking at the door of his chambers

“Come in.”

“Papaw!” She whines, climbing her way into his bed

He chuckles as she climbs all over his bed

“Gurararara” he laughs scratching her head.

“What is it? Is there something you need?”

“Mess hall is too noisy; I wanna nap,” she said, cuddling into his chest with a smile, sighing in relief

“There,There .” He said strokinb her hair as she cuddles into his chest, his own soft smile growing as he looks down at his little one

“Sleep here for now, brats know to keep it down around here”

“Thank you, Papaw”

“Make sure to sleep well.”

Dokucha now sat on top of ace’s shoulders, leaning her face and hands on top of his head as they walked

“What are we looking for again?”

“Izou left ahead of us to intercept the guys we were after; we are his backup,” he answered as he briskly walked through the grassy field

“I see him. Okay, ankle biter, you’re up,” he said, grabbing the girl from his shoulders and putting her on the ground, kneeling down on the ground next to her

“See the guy with the red shirt? He’s a long-distance sniper; I need you to take him out while I go help Izou with the melee fighters.”

She grins, her two incisors poking out of her mouth as she did

“Bite?” she said, looking at her brother, waiting for permission

“Yes, you can bite; go get ’em.”

She grins, shifting into her cat form and running closer to the guy; once close enough, she began prowling, silently approaching the guy until she was right next to them, at which point she pounced on them, making quick work of them, removing their going and easily gaining a surrender

She shifted into her human form, grinning as she kneeled on the now fainted man, chuckling as she watched her brothers make quick work of the rest of the enemies

“Impressive.” Izou praised her, approaching the girl, Ace following behind him, looking down at the man she had incapacitated.

“You’re getting better at that,” he grins, rubbing her head

She gives him a toothy grin in response, purring at the affection

As a reward for her hard work, Izou decided not to comment on the very obvious purring coming out from her as he continued rubbing her head , her ears tilting and twitching as she enjoyed her hard-earned pampering

That scene where Dokucha was kneeling on top of the guy, I was thinking of that one scene where young shanks was doing the same, eating chocolate (?)

Shanks really be stealing hearts since back then, I ‘ll take 1000 chapters on Roger pirates, Thank you < 3

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

[strayflowersstarsandlove]

Scooby-Doo (bangchan)

random author's note: idk bangchan has been bias wrecking me so hard lately and i had this whole scenario in my head for weeks help like man's so fucking sweet and fine ugh

WARNING: heaps of soft!chan content ahead proceed with caution ok bye

"Y/n...I don't -i don't think this is right?". Entirely too cute for his own good, Chan sits across from you, his legs spread apart on the floor as he stubbornly tries to piece together a festive banner made of crepe paper, struggling quite a bit with how much it's creasing and ripping at the edges. 

He holds up a scraggly piece of paper and looks confusedly at you while you try your best not to laugh at him. 

It's a late afternoon, only one day ahead of the charity event that's going to be held at the café you work at. Your manager had kindly asked you to help her out with decorations but considering how cramped and cold the staff backroom is at the place, you decided to bring a few arts and crafts materials at home.

And Chan being Chan he wanted to help because of course he did.

The whole project is meant to raise awareness and funds for young kids with disabilities, the main charity organisation had reached out to your manager just the other day and you loved her for jumping at the chance to help out and let them host an event at the café, you really did.

What you loved a little less was how crazy it was driving you trying to make the decorations from scratch. Perhaps you had overestimated just how capable you are. Just an itty bitty tiny little bit.

"Can you believe we've been sitting here for over 2 hours and only got like ... 3 banners done? We're screwed", you chuckle, readjusting your uncomfortable bum on the confetti and shiny paper covered floor all around you, multiple coloured markers and scissors and glitter jars scattered all over, along with failed prototypes of various types of decorations.

"Mmh ... we're the dream team aren't we?", Chan giggles embarassed, looping a string through the more intact piece of another banner, finally succeeding without it falling apart: "look!! It worked! Finally!", he exclaims enthusiastically, looking so proud of himself.

How fucking cute is he! Your heart literally melts at the sight, a soft thrumming against your chest in seeing this beautiful man being so hyped over arts and crafts. 

He didn't even have to come and help. He had so little free time you felt so bad for occupying his sparse nights off with this project but he had insisted on helping you so much you just couldn't refuse. Besides, him tackling you to the ground in a fit of tickles and giggles really didn't give you much of an option to say no.

You sigh contentedly, just looking at his progress and his satisfied little face as he tries to proceed onto the next banner, "hey do we have blue glitter? I kind of want to add some to this one", he asks, perusing his perimeter in search of the blue glitter glue tube, which you locate at the corner of the couch and pass it over to him, "ah there it is, thanks baby", he mumbles, still concentrated on his task but grateful enough to you that he kisses your hand once before taking the glue.

Endeared, awash in warmth deep within your belly, you tilt your head to the side and smile softly at him: "Channie ... make love to me".

Pursing those bratz doll lips in a pout, Chan looks at you stupefied, "I'm sorry what?", he says in just a murmur, blinking at you confusedly. You giggle lightly, struggling to hide the blush you know is forming atop the apples of your cheeks, though you are resolute. Utterly convinced you just made the right call.

And so you reteirate, staring straight into his kind eyes: "I want you to make love to me, if that's alright with you".

It shouldn't come as the biggest surprise, really. You had been dating for a little while and had been intimate before, just not to the fullest extent. He knew you weren't experienced in the slightest and he never NEVER pushed you beyond your limits. Always respectful and continuosly asking for permission he had slowly taken your hand and guided you through intimacy up until the extent you felt comfortable to each time.

You distintictly remember confessing you had never had sex with a guy in your very few mild, fleeting past relationships, you can still clearly conjure up the soft look on his face, the acceptance in knowing you were a little shy and a lot scared, mostly you were afraid he was going to give up on you cause you weren't willing to just experience your first time so casually and he'd get impatient and insufferable like the person you were dating previously.

But Chan was ...well he was just Chan. He was your best friend before he was your boyfriend, he already knew how fragile your heart was and how you needed alllll the reassurance and safety and stability before going all in.

"You have nothing to worry about, I'm not going anywhere whether you want to eventually have sex with me or not. If and when you want to, then I'll be just so honoured and grateful you trusted me enough".

Slow, baby steps. A natural progression in your relationship that bloomed and flourished into something so beautiful and safe, loving him came as easy as breathing.

You had given him no timeline and down the road he just gauged your reactions to him and how far you were willing to go each and everytime either of you initiated anything, the more comfortable you grew the more you felt like your confidence in both yourself and this relationship grew along with it. 

Chan's whole incredolous face lights up in the biggest, most endeared smile, eyes squinting, perfect teeth on full show and those dimples to die for digging at his cheeks, "are you ... oh my god out of nowhere? are you .. are you sure? like one hundred percent?", he inquires and you nod in agreement, your heartbeat feeling both very steady and erratic at the same time.

A brief moment of silence falls upon you and Chan just looks so ridiculously elated and gobsmacked he just starts giggling adorably, "oh gosh c'me here, let me give you a hug, I need to hold you", he exclaims all smiley amd gushy which only makes you weak in the knees.

Therefore you crawl.

Across the floor and then in his lap, his arms enveloping your whole body the second you wrap yourself around him, arms lacing around his neck, legs around his torso, your flushed cheeks buried in his neck.

"Ooh you're blushing, how cute", Chan coos, nuzzling his nose into your cheek, tickling your skin, his hands roaming on your back in gentle caresses, "are you positive you really want to?", he asks one more time, clearly trying to assess if it was a spur of the moment thing or if you're actually sure about your decision, "yeah, yeah I promise I am", you reassure, swallowing the slight nervousness down your throat.

Chan cups your cheeks very gently and kisses you in between both of your guys' smiles, he holds your face and your neck delicately as he kisses you more and more, those gorgeous soft lips melting into your mouth again and again, sweet sighs escaping him when you reach for his hair, tangling the longer, curlier ends at the nape of his neck in between your fingers, unconsciously straddling him in the process, which does provoke a tension in his pants.

"Baby-", Chan breathes in, still a whisper away from your lips, "i'm getting so hot", he chuckles, the tips of his ears going redder and redder, "I'm going to take off my shirt okay?", you nod briefly and detach yourself from him just enough so he can remove his t-shirt.

He's statuary. That much you already knew. You love looking at his bare skin, taking in the hard work he consistently put into sculpting his chest and his abs, your fingers already twitching to reach out and run all over him.

You also really appreciate how he subtly still asked for your consent and proceeded to take one layer off first, putting himself in a more vulnerable position first so you didn't have to.

Eyes sparkling while looking at you looking at him, he guides you right back to his chest so you can press yourself up to him and kiss and pat and tickle his exposed skin, which obviously has him in shambles and giggles in no time: "hahaha that's so tickly help haha", he squeaks and oh my god you could not  love him more right now. So silly and cute and lovable, diffusing your nervousness without even realising that.

You kiss some more,a little more sloppily, now his hands tentatively sneak up the back of your shirt, resting warmly on your spine, fingertips brushing against the clasp of your bra, and the second you shiver from his touch he stops, making it a point to look at you in your seemingly drunken eyes: "you know you can stop me anytime right? no actually ...it's not that you can ...you have to", he speaks solemnly, seriousness downing on his face.

"I think we should have a safe word. Something that either of us can use at any point and that'll make us snap right out of it", he continues, looking intently at you, "oh? s-sure?", you agree, continuosly pleasantly surprised at just how caring and mature he is, "of course you can just say hey Chan stop right now but if it makes it easier I reckon we should come up with something immediate that can be used whenever no questions asked, like I don't know ...you say apples and we stop. No matter what, we stop".

The corners of your lips stuck into a genuine, bright smile, you nod enthusiastically, "apples! I like the sound of that!", you comment, reassurance seeping in inside your veins. Chan leans in to kiss you once more, absolutely loving the way your body is warm and so close to his his heart might just leap out of his chest and smack against yours. 

He hums pensively, hands crawling up your bra straps, "actually ...perhaps not apples. Let's find something else, please ...", he says slowly, "why not apples? You don't like fruit?", you tease jokingly and he giggles in response, though he frowns too, in a joking matter as well: "I love fruit! But it's not going to work ... you've got apples there ...my brain might just short circuit", he whines in a pout, gesturing at the general direction of your chest.

The laugh bursting out of you is potent and stress relieving to no end, you physically double down on him, laughing his ass out as well, arms barely holding you from the vibration. It takes you both a little bit to fully calm down, the smitten smiles stay though, as if permanently etched onto your faces.

"Alright alright ...what about ...Scooby doo? Is it outlandish enough?", you offer along with an encouraging nod, immediately reflected by Chan who vigorously agrees, "Scooby doo! I love that. Yes let's go with that!" he declares, promptly peppering your face with kisses until you're a giggly mess again.

Truly the silliness of it all makes your heart feel so light, this is so like Chan, you think to yourself, to make you feel so at ease and comforted, to turn something serious and important like communication  and make it fun and spontaneous and nice.

You only start to fully someber up once Chan starts kissing your neck a little more feverishly, you slowly realise he also cupping your bra, fondling very gently, and that's fine with you, you've been here before.

With a quick move you take off your shirt and straighten out your back, those thin, calloused fingers of his immediately skimming the notches of your spine and then brushing the flesh of your sides and lower back. 

Choking a bit on air, you shift into Chan's lap some more, the friction there making it so he's just getting harder and harder in his pants, lips dragging over your jaw and your jugular and then down the exposed skin on your upper chest, a soft groan resounding in the room as he feels your half naked body against his, "should we-should we go upstairs in your room?", he offers beneath his breath, dark but shining orbs looking at your reddened face.

It feels a lot like one of those teenage movies you used to watch and fantasize about, him lifting you right up into his arms, picking you up like a baby and climbing up the stairs while still kissing you passionately. It's real. It really is real. Your heart now thrumming faster, you close your eyes for a second, fully immersing yourself in the moment.

Chan carefully lays you down on your bed and spreads out your legs just enough so he can position his one knee in between as he hovers over you, lips full and dark pink, eager to kiss you more and more.

And you let him, of course you do.

So lost in the kiss and the delicate scent of his cologne it takes you a second to realise he's fumbling with the straps of your bra again, "is this okay? can we take this off?".

Your face now a several different degrees of hot from the intimacy of this all, you sit up just barely, the garment easily sliding down your shoulders, with little  to no help.

A grunt escapes his lips, eyes growing big and dark, Chan takes in your sight and then attacks your chest with fluttery kisses all over, his hands coming up to fully undo the clasp and finally remove the garment.

Oh he knows what he's doing. There's a veil of hunger in his eyes, along with a certain savviness, like an expertise of sorts as he buries his face in your chest, that warm soft mouth of his kissing every goosebump and curve and birthmark while he gently fondles and squishes your flesh.

You're electrified by his touch but also soothed by it at the same time, blood surging fast to your heart but somehow quietening it down. It occurs to you that you haven't been doing much on your part, you wonder if you're supposed to do more than just run your hands down his smooth, muscular back, if you're supposed to pull at his hair, considering you genuinely wish to. Both for his and your own satisfaction.

Scooting just a little closer to him so he has easier access to you, you trail your hands down to his crotch, the fabric of his pants stretched for dear life around his very obvious boner: "that's you... that's all you", Chan mumbles a little flustered, a nervous giggle following suit that has you chuckling in disbelief. 

Carefully you move your hands around the bulge, looking up at him with uncertainty, "may I...?", you ask timidly and he cups your cheek with one hand, "of course, you can touch me as much as you want".

Your hands trembling just a tad bit, you reach out to undo the button of his pants, struggling not to let it slip in between your fingers. Your boyfriend towering over you, feeling exponentially soft, melty on the inside and hard for you in the outside at the same times.

He chuckles and grabs both your hands just so he can bring them up to his lips and kiss them, distracting you from your task, "I got you, I got you", he whispers, now unbottoning his own pants, sliding them down his legs and then kicking them off. 

You start stroking him through his light blue boxers,enough to feel him warming up and twitching slightly in your palms, Chan sticks his tongue against the inside of his cheek, looking absolutely marvelous while doing that, breathing heavy, arousal written all over his face despite the calmness in his attitude.

"Humpf...ooh ..s-shit", Chan tilts his head back, his Adam apple prominent and exposed, you can't help but plant a kiss right there, earnig a delighted whimper in response.

A firm but not painful grip to your aching wrist, Chan slows down your motion after a little while, just when you feel dampness in your palms, his still clothed skin becoming boiling hot, "I oof ...I'm going to need you to stop here or I might just ...not last", he admits through a ragged breath.He's holding back, trying to restrain himself as long as he can, you can tell by the beads of sweat on his face and his chest, the veins in his neck thickening by the second.

Still he remains astoundingly present and focused. On you. Only you. Thin fingers trailing down your torso, cupping your breasts and your face and your tummy and your arms, eager to kiss you all over too, "oh GOD your skin is so soft, you are so soft", he rasps in a daze.

You want to laugh and cry and scream at just how good this feels, all the soft touches and praise and the heat of his body pressing down on you. When his fingers eventually find their path down the front of your crotch, despite your heart rising up in your throat, you nod enthusiastically before he even gets the chance to speak, for you're fairly sure he's about to ask for your permission.

Eyes literally sparkling, Chan pinches your chin between his fingers, "I need your explicit vocal consent to touch you down there", he says solemnly, "you have it", you reply just as seriously, undoing the button of your jeans and sliding them down past your hips, letting him do the rest.

Just at the sight of you in your lilac frilly underwear where a darker patch is expanding has his mouth water, you can hear him cussing under his breath incomprehensibly one minute and then rubbing his fingers against your pulsating nub the next.Yeah your scars and stretchmarks and hair and skin bumps on the inside of your thighs are on full show for him, and admittedly they make you feel a little self conscious but if Chan notices them, he doesn't seem to mind at all.

He starts with just two fingers at first, rubbing back and forth, teasing your still clothed entrance a few times before he switches to pressing down his whole palm on you. Your head sinking into the pillow beneath you, you shut your eyes and bite down on your bottom lip harshly, your body going tense in the best way, cheeks warming up, your breathing coming up short as Chan works fast but thoroughly.

You're so concentrated on the building feeling in your lower tummy you barely hiss when the halfway soaked material of your knickers slides down your legs.Full lips tracing the contour of your folds, rough finger pads tapping ad rubbing and tapping again until you're spasming, "hol-ly ssh-shit" , you breathe out, rutting your hips up and up towards Chan who smirks and grunts and keeps his pace steady so you don't lose momentum.

Your temples pulsating, the oxygen seemingly abandoning your lungs, you choke out a moan that has Chan go jelly in the knees, watching you climax by his hand is making him wanting you impossibly more.

"I'm going to grab a condom...", he whispers on your lips, kissing them sweetly, momentarily bringing you back down on earth where you can stick your hand in his slightly matted hair and pull him for one more kiss, or two: "can you kiss me just a little longer?", you plead, feeling your eyelid heavy on your eyes, blissfullness and peace trying to take over the remaining nerves bubbling up in your stomach.

Chan chuckles and carefully lays down on top of you, slotting himself right in between your thighs, his boxers riding down in the process,"of course sweet girl, you get all the kisses you need". He looks at you with adoring eyes, eager to kiss you just as much you are to kiss him. He lets you roam his body with your hands, caress his arms and his back as you get lost on his tongue, your fingers softly pulling at the ends of his hair.

When you're both finally out if breath you help him out of his boxers, silently gasping at the sight of him and just how ... sizable he is. You try to mentally prepare yourself for what's to come while he slips on a condom, your heart a few seconds away from exploding from how fast it's beating. 

Chan hovers you once more, the flex in his arms muscles so prominent you want to clamp them down and squeeze so bad just to relieve some tension: "are we-are we sure you're gonna ...fit? like are the laws of  physics a thing?" you blurt out so candidly and your boyfriend quite literally doubles over in loud giggles.

Oh my god you could not love him more. He's giggling and squeaking and he's oh so hard for you and he's blushing up to the tip of his ears so endearingly and he's looking at you so softly so lovingly your love for him just shoots through the roof.

"I promise it's going to fit, I'm not going to break you, y/n", he reassures you, bending down to kiss you slowly, "you're in control yeah? we can stop anytime, just say the word", he continues, gently lowering himself down until he's almost fully aligned in between your thighs, not before making sure you're nodding your approval, smiling weakly, "actually ..do you want to be on top? Would that make you feel more comfortable? you can easily se the pace while you're on top of me", he offers, placing a soft peck on your cheek.

He looks so beautiful from down here. You can feel his whole body touching yours, the warmth of it, the smoothness and roughness of it too. And you can look straight into his eyes and run your fingers through hi hair.

There something so reassuring and calming in being encaged underneath him, it's oddly making you feel calmer despite how nervous you are deep dow: "I'd rather stay right here if that's okay, I feel safe".

Smiling widely, Chan holds your face, brushing your cheeks with his thumbs, gentle strokes tracing the outline of your smile lines and your nose. This close up you can see the few little faint, light coloured freckles on his nose and his cheeks, the single individual sparse hair of his eyebrows, the tenderness in the lines of his full lips.

You embrace him, wanting nothing more than feel all of him, and you're so focused on that handsome face of his you register he's adjusting himself inside of you only a second later when the air is temporarily sucked out of your chest.

It doesn't hurt, contrary to what you thought your whole life so far, perhaps because of how tender and sleek you were already, but it just feels a bit uncomfortable , a bit new at first. But not painful at all.

He starts moving ever so slowly, slipping in and out of you as he holds your waist and then your hips and then your overall frame once he realises you're both adjusting to one another bodies.

You instinctively lace your arms around his neck, inadvertently pulling him closer to you just as he begins to move a little faster, a whimper leaving his lips, making your head spin, "oh my ... fuck you feel amazing ...", he purrs.

Something primal, instinctual is set off in you. Sure, it's still not the most comfortable you've ever been but the sheer adrenaline and intense affection you feel for him is spreading all over your body, and it is enough to overpower the discomfort.

To be fair you start to even like it, that slight edge. It's quickly turning into a blindingly pleasant friction.

Heart palpitating, you tighten your grip around him, your hips moving in synchro with him as he goes in and out of you, now starting to sweat profusely and getting red and splotchy all over his torso, looking ridiculously hot, the feverish kissess and hisses and soft grunts you exchange making it all the more arousing, you belong to this man, you think. And it feels great.

Chan slows down just a bit, eyes dark but bright with genuine awe at you, holding him like that, like you never want to let him go, seemingly enjoying yourself judging from the sounds you're making, the way that you're moving.

It's just the erratic breathing that's concerning, reason why he now breaks his fast pace considerably, not deflating into softness yet but definitely delaying his own pleasure: "are you alright love? you're breathing funny" he chokes out.

You hurriedly scramble to push yourself up and wrap around him like a koala, kissing his neck repeatedly, "I'm good, I'm good I love you I'm good, don't stop please don't stop", it almost comes out on a whine but your heart hurts in the best way for just how insanely sweet and attentive he is.

Chan looks immensely relieved, he chuckles lowly, biting down his bottom lip, "you're doing so well, taking me so well, baby. But are you sure you're good? you can always invoke Scooby Doo".  

Tension cut with the umpteenth outburst of giggles at how silly this sounds, it takes you a minute to fully regain your composure and kiss him in reassurance once again, "I'm perfectly fine, no need to call him". Chan smashes his lips into yours, his hands climbing up your body to squeeze and stroke and trace invisible patterns that he then wets with kissess.

The bed rocking with the commotion you two are causing, you squeeze your now weak thighs around him again and again he thrusts into you a few more times until the veins in his neck start popping out and the beads of sweat on his forehead roll down his cheeks. 

His face contrite with excersion, he grinds his teeth and breathes out loudly, "fuck -fuck I love you -AH -fuck", he twitches and writhes, and visibly holds off his release for as long as he can, going all in with tapping motions on your clit while still pushing in and out a little slower, your vision getting progressively more blurry from the double intense stimulation.

That until he can no more and just climaxes hard: oh he's loud. 

Louder than he has ever been before, not even in a vulgar way, just in a very exhausted very pleased way.

But Chan's is a pleaser, and he likes to give more than he likes to take: though still panting and puffing air out, he makes sure you get your release too. All over him and your white linen sheets beneath your bum.

You slowly let go of him and spread your arms out on the mattress, tired out of your mind but in  complete utter bliss too as you close your eyes and inhale and exhale rapidly.

Out of the corner of your eyes you see him roll off of you and throw away the condom, he grabs something from your bathroom and returns to you with a stupid grin on his face, "let's get you all cleaned up sweetheart", he says gently, proceeding to dab around your body with what you can only presume is a towel. 

You smile timidly and let him do his thing, way too comfortable and meek and relaxed to move an inch to help him, you barely stroke the hair away from his forehead and observe how fast your chest is rising and falling, "I-ve -I've got wet wipes in the second drawer", you murmur, and Chan promptly retrieves them from the nightstand you just pointed at, doing his best to clean the both of your dampened, slightly sticky bodies.

Afterglow. You never knew the true meaning of the term until this very moment as you observe Chan's serene expression, he rests peacefully on the other side of the bed, his hands lazily tracing your spine up and down while you listen to his heartbeat, your blushed cheek pressing down on his chest.

He suddenly starts sniffing your head, humming contently underneath his breath,"how do you manage to smell like fresh roses right now, I don't understand", he whines softly , kissing your hair and then the tip of your nose, breaking the comfortable silence you had fallen in in the sweetest way possible.

Your lips inevitably stretching into a smile just for him, you turn your face and look up at him to peck his lips, "your cleanliness might have rubbed off on me too, who knows. You never smell bad either".

Chan giggles at your cute response and nudges you closer to him, "I have to confess I got a bit self conscious when I started to sweat badly. You were laying there underneath me, naked and fucking beautiful, and I was like yeah I'm Korean I don't really smell when I sweat but I was so nervous and afraid I was going to hurt you I thought my stress levels were going to mess with my own chemicals haha".

It sounds light hearted and not that serious at all cause he's laughing and playing it off but you know this man so well you instantly recognise it actually takes him a lot of courage to be this vulnerable and honest, your heart swelling up at just hearing him talk like that. 

"I'm so sorry you were stressed. If it helps at all I didn't really notice to be honest. You seemed so confident and assured, I genuinely felt like you knew how to take care of me. And you didn't hurt me in the slightest, I feel like you were actually so gentle", you admit sincerely, brushing your hands over his pectorals, and he hums almost timidly in response, as per usual, way too humble to accept compliments.

"Did you hold back, at all?", you ask after a little while, the seed of suspicioun settling in your heart, not out of malice but out of the care you know Chan is unable not to extend to you, "I didn't. Not intentionally anyway. I tried to be gentle and not overwhelm you since it was your first time but other than that I wouldn't have done anything differently even if we were causally having sex on a random night. I'm glad you didn't feel the need to call Scooby-Doo ehehe".

You both giggle and bash in the profound intimacy that is embracing each other like this, naked and happy. "Like I said, you were so careful and caring I was quite alright the whole time. Sorry for the silly jokes though, I was trying to be funny to drown out the nervousness. And also you're actually bigger than I thought I swear I was unprepared".

Chan starts to laugh so loudly he shakes and vibrates and you think he's going to choke any minute now. So you laugh with him too, obviously, while still having to actively hold on to the sheets or you know you're going to roll off the bed.

"You are the silliest cutest girl, never apologise for being you, please I love you so much it hurts" he chuckles happily, kissing you over and over, joyfulness bursting out of him.

[charliemwrites]

A reader x Simon commission piece I just recently finished for my sweet bean N.W. I had a lot of fun writing a little scenario I never would have thought up on my own!

(Reader is described with FAB anatomy, but no gendered pronouns are used. No sensitive content warnings, just spice.)

It’s a perfect day.

The sun is a bright golden marble in a perfect jewel sky, toasting the sand into a powdery bed. There are only wisps of flossy cloud to interrupt the light, a feathery salt-soaked breeze to soften the edge of heat. The water is nothing but lazy ripples, foamy waves crawling up the coastline before slithering back.

And your coworker is soaking wet.

When you first signed on as a lifeguard, you didn’t expect more than some extra pocket money. A little financial cushion while you finished working through your master’s program. A chance to get some sunshine instead of holing up in your room. Maybe the occasional bit of eye candy while you fished children out of the shallows and fussed at families for littering around the barbecue grills.

You didn’t expect Simon “Walking Wet Dream” Riley. (Okay, that’s not his actual nickname – apparently it’s “Ghost.” Because of course it is.) You didn’t expect his big, fuck-off muscles, or his perfect sun-bleached hair, or the dark ink of his tattoos, or…

Well.

You got more than just eye candy when Mister Price hired you. Simon is a whole damn feast. Especially when he’s fresh from a cool-down swim, red trunks weighed down by water and tides, revealing the tantalizing curves of his hips. Droplets skittering over the bulges and divots of his body, sparkling in the sun…

“Excuse me?”

You try not to jolt, head jerking to the guy that hopefully hasn’t been standing there too long. He looks about your age, maybe a bit older. Wavy, chin-length brown hair and eyes nearly as blue as the water. Pretty, in a young Instagram prince kind of way. Maybe your type in another time – the time Before Simon.

“Hi,” you say quickly, “did you need something?”

“Do you have any plasters?” he asks. “My little brother scraped his knee.”

You glance at the kid shuffling just behind him, his knees dirtied and one red with a bit of blood. Nothing serious, you determine, but could use some first aid.

“Oh, poor thing!” you say. “C’mon, we have some bandages in the shack.”

You wave to get Simon’s attention, make the quick hand-sign indicating you’ll be gone for a moment. He notices you, the two boys, then nods and makes his way back to his usual lookout spot.

The shack is a quiet, cool oasis away from the heat. You’ve dozed off next to the mist fan more times than you care to admit, only to be woken by Simon pressing a cold water bottle to your cheek. It used to annoy you, but now you appreciate the reminder to hydrate.

There’s a robust first aid kit in one of the cabinets, though you groan a bit when you see how high Simon’s stashed it this time. Damned tall man; you could swear he does it on purpose. You try to reach it on your toes, but when that doesn’t work, you jump a bit. Still no luck. You’re going to have to get the stepstool at this rate.

“Here, I’ve got it.”

You jump a bit as Insta-Prince comes up behind you, sliding in close before you can scoot out of the way. He stretches his arm over your head, tugging the kit down from the shelf. When you glance up – concerned about something falling on you – you find him smirking down at you.

“Thanks,” you say trying not to snatch it out of his hands.

“Seems like an… inconvenient place to put that,” he muses.

You sit the younger brother on a plastic chair near the door and kneel, kit open on the floor. “We usually keep it lower… I think Simon forgets I’m shorter than him.”

The kid winces a bit at the sting of wound wash but puts on a brave face when you smile at him.

“Seems pretty rude. Is he hard to work with?” Insta-Prince asks.

You hesitate, trying to think of how to respond. Simon was intimidating, at first. Dark eyes and stoic expression, he was difficult to read. Always within a stone’s throw, you used to feel like he was hovering. Like he didn’t think you could do your job right.

Over the months, though, that insecurity has bridged into a tentative friendship. Even if he’s not talkative himself, he lets you chat to your heart’s content. Keeps you hydrated, reminds you to eat snacks and apply sunscreen. Even handles the rowdier beachgoers when they break rules, his bigger stature and sharp glare enough to cow even the most entitled people.

“No, he’s—”

“What’s the hold up?”

You glance up at Simon’s broad form angled in the shack’s doorway. His eyes aren’t on you or the kid, though. They’re on Insta-Prince – standing a little close to you, now that you’re not focused on the younger brother.

“Just finishing up,” you answer, smoothing a waterproof bandage over the scrape. “You did great, buddy, high five!”

That earns you a little smile and the requested high-five as the kid hops out of the chair. When you stand, Simon’s eyes flick to you. Darker than deep water, something swimming within that you can discern from the surface. It makes you fidgety, like you’ve been caught out doing something you shouldn’t.

“Remember to log it,” he rumbles.

“On it!” You lean over the wooden counter to pluck the clipboard from the wall on the other side, relieved that someone put the pen back for once.

“So, you have to write down all the injuries people get?” Insta-Prince asks, trying for casual conversation. The air feels oddly stifling, and gets worse when he settles closer, peeking around to see the sheet.

“Just if we use medical supplies,” you answer, scribbling quickly.

“Lifeguards only in the shack, kid,” Simon interrupts. “Get moving.”

You try not to snort in amusement. While Simon might tolerate you, he’s got a general disdain for most beachgoers – ironic considering how adamant he is about safety. But he seems to find the average person a nuisance to be constantly monitored and herded away from trouble. Like a shepherd with a flock of particularly stupid sheep.

“My brother was hurt, man, give me a break,” Insta-Prince protests, annoyed.

“And now he’s not,” Simon replies. “You should catch up with him. Kids need to be watched, isn’t that right, sunshine?”

You hum absently in agreement, signing off on the injury log with your initials. There’s a beat of silence that itches at the back of your mind. When you look up, Simon’s arching an eyebrow at the guy, thick arms crossed across his barrel chest.

Sir, firearms are not allowed on the beach, you think, before wrenching your eyes from Simon’s biceps.

“Did you need anything else?” you ask Insta-Prince.

“Just what time you get off work,” he replies, giving you big, soft, hopeful eyes.

You blink, a bit shocked. Flirting happens rarely for you, except maybe platonically with Soap or Gaz. To be fair, you’re not exactly the female lifeguard idol that most people would fantasize about. Half the time you jog around in shorts and a rash-guard, more comfortable in unisex swimwear and keeping the worst of the sun off yourself. Helpful to avoid wardrobe malfunctions if a panicking swimmer grabs at you.

Besides, you’re not really looking to get hit on. Hard to keep an eye out for emergencies if someone’s chatting your ear off for a shag by the restrooms. (You didn’t think people really did that until Farah groaned about it at the bonfire when you first hired.) Still, now that it’s happening… you don’t hate it. This guy is objectively attractive, apparently cares about his younger sibling enough to get him first-aid, and is weathering Simon’s increasingly annoyed scowl.

You figure there’s no harm. Not like someone else is showing a similar interest.

“At sunset,” you answer. “So, uh…”

“6:30,” Simon offers.

You shoot him a grateful look as the kid begins scooting for the door, skirting around Simon’s wider, thicker frame. Christ, the difference is stark. You tug at the front of your rash-guard to relieve some of the sudden heat.

“Maybe I’ll see you then,” he says before disappearing around the corner.

You stare after him for a second. He didn’t even ask for your name. “Huh.”

“The hell was that, sunshine?” Simon grouses.

You turn to him and shrug. “No idea.”

“Really now?” he scoffs.

You shake your head, already agitated by the whole thing for no reason you can pinpoint. Lean over the counter again to hang up the clipboard. “Really.”

“This isn’t a place for your silly summer fantasies and little meet-cutes,” he growls. “This is a real job, with real lives on the line.”

You twist around, brows furrowed as your mouth drops open in offense. “I know that.”

“Do you? Then why the fuck were you in here flirting?”

“I was helping the kid,” you argue, “you saw him!”

“Real convenient, that. When the older one’s been eye-fucking you all damn day.”

Any snappy retorts drown in the shock of his crass language and the accusation. All day? That guy? And Simon noticed? Never mind all that – Simon would seriously think you’d use a kid’s injury as an excuse to… what? Get cozy with an attractive stranger while on duty?

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” you huff, “but I need to get back out there.”

As you pass, a big, rough hand snaps out and catches your elbow. You come up short, half-turning towards him, face hot. Equal parts angry and ashamed for some reason. Summer romance your ass.

“Get it together,” he orders.

You click your tongue at him. “Same to you.”

You wrench your arm back and storm out onto the sand, snatching your floatie from the shack railing along the way. Don’t know what jellyfish stung his ass, but you hope he figures it out. Don’t think your self-esteem can take another round of… whatever that was.

The rest of the day passes tense and slow. Without Simon to talk to, and the beach relatively peaceful, you’re left to fixate on the incident in the shack. What was that about? You thought for sure you’d grown on Simon a bit. Sure, you’re one of the younger lifeguards, which is why Price assigned you to Simon’s post, but you’ve worked hard. You thought you’d proven yourself.

Checking your watch, you find that it’s nearly 6:30. The sun doesn’t seem that low yet, but the beach got empty while you were idly keeping watch. Might as well pack it in, you figure.

Not even thinking of Insta-Prince when you hop up the little wooden steps to the shack. Simon isn’t back from wherever he’s monitoring yet, and you’d like to be clear before that changes. Just in case he’s still in a bad mood.

You shed your blue swim-shorts and rash-guard on the counter, leaving you in the more standard one-piece. Roll your shoulders a bit uncomfortably, itching to squeeze into your binder after a day with tits-out. You’ve gotten accustomed to the sensation of leaving it off for the job, but you’d still prefer to wear it when safe.

You flop onto the counter, reaching over the side to fish your bag out from its cubby. Of course, that’s the exact moment that you hear Simon’s heavy step on that creaky board by the doorway.

“Bloody hell,” you think you hear him mutter.

“I’m just about to head out,” you assure him.

“Meeting up with that knob?”

Your temper flares. You abandon your bag and land on your feet, spinning around. Come up (very) short when Simon’s right there, not enough room to breathe without your chests brushing. But you don’t allow yourself to be deterred.

“So, what if I am?” you challenge.

His eyes darken, then narrow. “This isn’t a game you want to play, sunshine.”

“Maybe I do,” you insist, planting your hands on your hips.

He exhales slow and heavy, boxes you in against the counter with hands on either side of you. Your stupid, traitorous heart skips a beat, then trips into double time. Normally he wears a rash-guard too, but not today. No, today it’s swathes of tanned, scarred skin. And it’s so, so close to yours.

“You won’t win,” he warns.

Your tongue feels heavy and clumsy, maybe because your thoughts feel the same way. Now, you’re not always the most aware of “signals,” but there aren’t many other ways to interpret someone near-pinning you to a counter with smoldering eyes.

You scramble to review the earlier confrontation through a new lens. The way Simon glared at Insta-Prince, not you – until you seemed open to his interest. Oh. Ohhhh.

You wet your lips; the way his eyes lock onto the movement bolsters your courage.

“What if… I don’t want to win?” you ask.

His eyes dart up to yours, something a little sharper than longing when he whispers, “I’d make you a sore loser.”

An unexpected laugh bursts out of you; his teeth flash in a crooked smile as he scoops you up so easily. He sits you on edge of the counter and steps between your thighs, pelvis bumping against yours. You gasp, head dropping to stare wide-eyed at the frankly monstrous bulge in his trunks.

“W-wow,” you mumble faintly, thighs squeezing around his hips.

“C’mere, sunshine,” he growls, cupping your jaw.

You tilt your face up, sigh softly as his mouth slots over yours. He tastes like blue powerade and sea salt, tongue curling against yours when you grant him enthusiastic access.

Your hands make scattered, eager work of exploring him, unsure where you want to touch first, just that you have to. He’s as solid as you always expected, densely packed muscle under healthy, hydrated layers of fat. Sun-warm beneath your palms, shudders as your skim them dangerously close low on his twitching abdomen.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, tugging gently at the shoulder strap of your swimsuit.

“Yeah,” you mumble, wriggling closer.

He huffs in amusement, peeling the elastic material over your arms and down your chest while you scatter kisses over his jaw and neck. You gasp into his peck when his calloused thumbs brush your hard nipples. Just a small touch, yet electricity is racing up and down your spine.

“This alright?” he checks.

You hum the affirmative, pressing into his touch as he pinches and rolls the sensitive peaks, slow searching. Reclaims your mouth to swallow each and every little mewl and moan that spills off your tongue. You can’t help rocking against him, hot and hard through the thin layers of swimwear.

“Simon,” you whine against his mouth, “c’mon.”

“Impatient,” he teases, nipping your bottom lip.

“You’ve kept me waiting long enough,” you complain, tugging at his trunks.

“I know, sunshine,” he coos, “just wait a bit longer.”

He takes the tiniest step back, fingers hooking in your swimsuit again to roll it the rest of the way off. You lift your hips to help, nearly squirming as strings of slick web between the fabric and your pussy. But Simon seems hypnotized, snapping the strands with his fingers and following them back to your swollen cunt.

“Fuck, all this for me, baby?” he rasps.

You make an embarrassed noise – which quickly graduates into an alarmed squeal when he drops to his knees.

“Simon, wait, I’ve been working all day and—”

“Don’ give a fuck,” he growls, “I’ve been dying to taste you for weeks.”

He yanks your thighs over his big, strong shoulders and dives in. It’s messy and obscenely loud, filling up the tiny shack and all the empty space in your head. Would be embarrassing if you had any room for something so frivolous. Instead, you’re gone on the way he sucks your clit and laps thirstily at your entrance. Utterly obsessed with the deep, throaty groans that leave you throbbing.

It's been a while, true, but you know he’d have you on edge so fast regardless. And he does, rushing up on it like a building, rolling wave. The devastating kind that’ll drown you in unyielding currents.

“Wait, wait,” you squeak, tugging at his coarse hair.

To his credit, he stops instantly, though he sounds absolutely gutted about it. Pulls back licking his lips like a cat with cream, chin practically dripping.

“Alright?” he asks, voice shredded to ribbons.

“I just,” you pant, “I just w-wasn’t ready to – to… I wanna cum on your cock. Please, Si?”

“Fuckin’ hell.” He surges up, pressing you down flat to kiss you stupid(er) and senseless. The taste of you isn’t as offensive as you expected, not coming from his tongue. “You’ll get anything you want if you keep talking like that.”

“Just want you.”

He helps you off the counter, drags you by the wrist to the plastic chair by the doorway. You’re about to protest – no way can that chair support someone his size, never mind both of you. But then he’s spinning you around, crushing you to his chest, and yanking you down into his lap. Any such nonsense as good sense dissolves like a sandcastle.

You can feel the length of him pressing hot and a little wet against your spine. (So, so high up your spine, good god). When he freed himself from his swim-trunks, you’re not sure, nor do you care at this moment. Your priorities narrow down to one absolute necessity: getting him inside you now, now, now.

“Easy now, baby, don’t hurt yourself,” he purrs in your ear. “Let me help.”

He curls big hands around your hips, tight enough that you relish the bruises that may bloom there later. Supports your weight as if it’s nothing to him, propping you over his lap as you line up his cock, dragging the flushed head through your pooling wetness. He curses low and rough, sinking you down until the tip catches on your entrance.

“There we are,” he grits, hands flexing in your soft flesh. “Nice and slow now, sunshine.”

If you had your way, he’d already be balls deep in your aching pussy. But his grip is firm and unrelenting, lowering you inch by thick inch down his shaft. You back and squeeze around him, encouraging him deeper, faster, helpless little noises escaping from your gaping mouth.

“That’s it, halfway there,” he breathes. “Doing so well.”

You choke. Halfway?! You already feel stuffed, walls gripping every contour of his cock like you were made for him.

He twitches inside you, bulbous, leaking head grinding deliciously, and your resolve cracks right down the middle. You dig your nails into his thighs and slam your hips down, crying out as he buries deep inside. Can feel him nudging your cervix, stretching your silky walls, all the way down to where your opening is sealed tight around the base of him.

“Fuck,” he snarls.

“F-feels so good,” you whimper, head falling forward as you clench around him.

Oh, you are definitely going to be so perfectly sore after this. You can’t fucking wait.

“If you’re that impatient to be ruined,” he chuckles breathlessly, “best brace yourself, lovie.”

You barely manage to get your feet planted before he’s fucking up into you, hard and mean. Just what you want, what you need. Your head falls back to cry your pleasure to the shack roof as you bounce. Rocking your hips each time he bottoms out, grinding him against that spongy bundle of nerves inside you. It’s mind-numbing; you’re leaking around him, know it must be dripping onto the floor at this point.

He snakes a hand around to your front. Brushes where the two of you are connected, the strange and dangerous sensation making tears prick at your eyes. Then his fingers skip up to your needy, oversensitive clit. You almost want to stop him, already so overwhelmed with pleasure. But again, anything like coherent thought is ripped away on a tide of ecstasy when he begins rubbing quick, tight circles.

Your rhythm faulters at the new stimulation, but Simon just widens his stance. It changes the angle, drags the head so perfectly against your g-spot. With the hand still on your hip, he starts jerking you down to meet each thrust. It’s slightly slower, but so much sweeter, combined with the rhythm he’s strumming on your clit.

Your orgasm rises like a tsunami, higher and higher, a devastating force building up inside.

“Simon,” you keen, “Simon, I’m gonna – right there…”

“That’s it, sunshine. Get me nice and wet with your cum.”

That voice, saying such filth in your ear, sends you over the edge. You nearly convulse, eyes rolling back in your head as you scream. Back arching, writhing and gripping crescents into his thighs. And you can feel yourself gushing all over him, onto the floor.

“Yes, yes, fuck, just like that.”

You’re near limp as he keeps hammering into you, practically using you like a toy to get himself off. The thought alone makes you squeeze around him again, a powerful aftershock bringing another flood of wetness. Your head lolls back against his shoulder, crying into his ear, begging him to cum inside you, fill you up…

He crashes his mouth into yours as he cums, groaning into your lax mouth, jerking violently into your overstimulated pussy. You swear you can feel him spurting inside you, thick and white-hot. It feels… it feels…

You break the kiss to suck in a deep breath, lightheaded and still squeaky with pleasure. Simon trails soothing kisses over your shoulder, grip easing up to caress over the forming finger marks. You hum softly, voice husky. Flutter your eyes open and blink at the pink sky out the window.

“Is it… is it just now sunset?” you ask.

Simon chuckles against your ear. “Looks like I was about thirty minutes off. Whoops.”

[sakur4ii]

Yan!Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader

It's a night like any other. You had just arrived at your apartment after spending the day in your studio, doing different types of photo sessions. Today, you had been hired for a wedding. You're excited—it's the first time you've been hired for something so important since opening your studio.

You love photography. To you, everything the eyes capture is art and deserves to be preserved forever. Since your eyes can't take pictures, you use a camera. You have to admit that sometimes people might think you're a bit odd—taking pictures of strangers or things that, at first glance, don’t seem worthy of framing. People don’t see the world the way you do.

So, of course, you're observant, and of course, you've noticed the guy whose apartment is right across from yours. You always see him at night with his balcony light on. You like to sit on your couch and watch his shadow through the curtains. More than anything, you like taking pictures of his shadow—or sometimes of him when he peeks out. Though you fear getting caught, so you pretend to be watching TV.

You have a little crush on this stranger, someone you've never met but who owns a significant part of your camera’s memory. The little you know about him is that he's a young man, probably around your age. He also seems to work out—judging by his muscles—and he's very attractive, or at least that's what you notice when you zoom in. Once, you took a picture of his shadow doing a handstand. A gymnast, perhaps?

Unfortunately, tonight, the balcony light is off, which means the guy isn't home. But there's a silhouette on the rooftop of the building. A silhouette that is instantly recognizable if you watch the news. It's Nightwing, looking out over the horizon.

You quickly grab your camera and snap a picture of the moment. But the flash, combined with the shutter sound, gives you away. Shit.

Nightwing hears the sound of your camera. It’s a quiet night in an even quieter area, so of course, he notices the only sound that isn't a car engine. He turns with curiosity and notices your lit balcony. Oh, of course—the photographer girl.

He's known about you for a while. His balcony is directly across from yours, and at night, you usually leave it open until it's time for bed. He couldn't help but observe you—especially when you think he's not home and you’re engrossed in a book or the TV. Though, he also enjoys that you take pictures of him. Sometimes, he even poses for you. He wonders if you've noticed.

You're adorable and amusing. You're embarrassed because he's looking at you from the rooftop, and he can’t help but smile at the sight. And then, an idea comes to him

Approaching you as Dick Grayson feels strange. He never finds the right moment, and he doesn’t know how to force an encounter without making it weird. But as Nightwing? Well... you just took a picture of him without his consent. He can use that as an excuse to confront you—and hear your voice for the first time.

He can also be bold—very bold. He can flirt with you and feel no shame because he's Nightwing. If you don’t like Nightwing, then he’ll know exactly what not to do when you meet Dick Grayson.

When you glance back at the rooftop, you notice the vigilante is gone. Did you scare him off? What a bad first impression.

You jump in surprise when someone lands on your balcony.

"Oops… I didn't mean to scare you." Nightwing himself says with a mischievous smile, absorbing every micro-expression or gesture through his eyes, hidden behind his domino mask.

Your face shows nothing but shock, but your eyes also reveal a hint of curiosity. That’s good for Nightwing.

"I noticed you took a picture of me. Can I see it?"

That simple question was all it took to start a kind of friendship.

Over the next few weeks, Nightwing would land on your balcony, sit on your couch, and look through your photos. Each week, he sat a little closer. And over time, he started coming into your apartment to talk about his adventures and listen to you talk about your life. Sometimes, he even stayed for dinner, waiting until you fell asleep before returning to his apartment.

Nightwing had become your best friend. But Dick Grayson was still the unknown neighbor you loved to photograph. And he wanted to change that.

One normal day at your studio, a tall man with black hair and blue eyes walks through the door, asking if you could take photos for his driver's license. You tell him of course, and that you have an open slot right now. So, you take him to the white backdrop. The photo-taking part was quick. It was the printing process that took longer—giving the man plenty of time to start a conversation.

"You live near that street? Haha, what a coincidence, so do I. We might be neighbors," he jokes

The guy—Dick, if you remembered correctly—turned out to be right. (Of course, nothing about the conversation he had with you was accidental.) After that session, you started seeing him more often. When you bought bread, when you left early for the studio…

One day, he asked for your number. And later that same day, you discovered that he was, in fact, the neighbor who occupied most of your camera’s memory. The other part, of course, was occupied by Nightwing.

So now, you had made two friends who loved your passion for photography. They made the same jokes and loved to flirt with you. It didn’t take you long to realize they weren’t different people—but the same person.

Dick was happy that you figured it out on your own. But you were afraid to tell him about your discovery. Aww, no need to worry.

Another normal night. Dick Grayson lands on your balcony, scaring you—just like he did when he first appeared as Nightwing months ago.

He knows that you know, but he doesn’t address it. He simply acts like it’s the normal routine you’ve both grown used to. And you have no choice but to play along.

He gets closer—closer in every way you can think of. Dick Grayson becomes a constant in your life. You see him everywhere. He’s in your home almost all the time. Now, he even stays the night, leaving clothes behind so he doesn’t have to go back to his apartment after patrols. (Even though his apartment is literally next to yours—clearly just an excuse to stay with you.)

You admit it—you enjoy his company. You enjoy his attention. And most of all, you enjoy his obsession.

You’re the first one to kiss him. And he’s thrilled—because this means you love him just as much as he loves you.

If the secret photos hadn’t already given it away—you were just as obsessed with him as he was with you.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I hope the ending doesn't look too rushed, I was trying to finish this and out of nowhere I stopped listening out of my left ear so I tried to finish it while panicking lmao.

[lookingformoondrop]

+ Yandere Andy (for my previous request for suggestive themes with a fem reader and him :33)

Yandere!Andrew Graves x f!reader - Drabble thing

TW: TOXIC ANDY, Yandere themes, obsession, possession, manipulative Andy, suggestive themes, foul language, Andy can't keep his hands to himself, threats & intimidation, Andy calls Reader dumb bunny, not proofread.

♥︎Notes: I think out of all the yandere content ive ever written, this is the most toxic. Please readers, if your irl relationship mirrors any of this behavior, LEAVE THEM. Andy is extremely toxic, and if given the chancs hed lock up his bunny for only him to see. I dont condon any of this behavior, but i support Andrew's rights and wrongs. Hope this meets your expectations <3.♥︎

When dating Andy, there are certain types of rules you must follow.

They're silent rules, sure, never spoken outloud, but you've been with Andy long enough to know that if you break them... there are consequences.

♡

Rule No. 1 : Never dare speak to another man

You can still remember this rule vividly.

It was sometime in April, and you had practically begged Andy to drive you to the mall for new spring dresses.

When he finally agreed, you both drove to the mall and walked around for an hour, just window shopping all the sweet spring deals.

You found a lovely dress and went to try it on. Unfortunately, you realized the size was too small, so you asked Andy to browse the store for something bigger.

This is when the incident happened...

When you finally finished changing, you walked out of the clothing booth with a couple of other items and one adorable shirt that lacked a price.

You searched for a store employee and spotted a young man.

"Excuse me, but is there any way you can find the price of this shirt? I can't seem to find it," you handed the shirt to the employee, and his cheeks turned a dusted pink

"W- Well sure. I can just ask my co-worker to-"

"Fuck off."

You jumped at the cold voice beside you and noticed a very pissed off Andrew. His hand was suddenly on your hip, squeezing your flesh very aggressively.

"I- I'm sorry, sir, but I was talking to this young lady, not you," the young worker looked nervous.

But Andrew was having none of it, "fuck off before I forcibly make you." His eyes narrowed on the man, as he pushed you against his chest.

The employee retreated for the employee back door, his tail practically in between his legs, leaving you absolutely dumbfounded.

You pushed at Andy's chest, "Andrew what the fuck?! He wasn't doing anything wrong, he was literally just helping me find the price tag for some-"

"Do you like pissing me off? I disappeared for not even 5 minutes, and you're letting men drool over you? "

His grip on your hip got tighter, assuring that it would leave a mark for later.

At a loss of words, Andrew leaned in and whispered into your ear,

"You're making me sad, Y/N... Do you honestly want another man?"

His voice sent shivers down your spine, making that spot between your legs ache, and that chilling feel graze your skin with goosebumps.

"Andrew, I don't want anyone else! Please don't be sad, I'm sorry for misleading you," Your eyes got glossy from the guilt that weighed down on you.

He sighed, disappointed. He gripped your wrist, using the hand that was on your hip to rip the clothes you had out of your hand and onto a random display table.

"You're not a very good girlfriend. But I love you anyway."

He walked towards the exit, caressing your hand while he did.

You quickly leaned that Andrew was not going to tolerate any sort of social interaction with other men, and if you broke this rule, he'd be very, very disappointed in you. Simple as that.

♡

Rule No. 2 : Where you're going, what you're doing, who you're with, and why is all of Andy's business.

A year into your relationship, you decided to take a spontaneous girls trip with your friends to a different state.

You'd only be gone for a couple of days, and since Andrew was always busy working, you figured that he wouldn't mind.

Thinking this, you texted Andrew.

Andy

I'm sorry I haven't texted you. How was your day? **

You

It was good! I'm actually packing right now for a trip. **

Andy

.... **

Andy

What trip? **

You

A girls' trip. I figured since you're busy all the time, I could take this weekend to vacation! **

Andy

.... Where will you be going? **

You

My friends cabin**

Andy

Who will you be going with?**

You

My friends? **

Andy

Whose Cabin? Which friends? Whats their number? How can I contact them? How many nights are you staying? What's the wi-fi situation like? How far away, is it? What's the exact location? Who knows about this trip? When will you be coming back? Will there be any men there? Is it just girls? Will you be changing in front of them? Will you be sleeping separately? Whose car are you taking? How will you get there? By what transportation? Do your friends have boyfriends? Are there any wild animals?**

You

I... Andrew, how could I answer all these questions? I dont... I dont know.**

Andy

Then you shouldn't be going. **

Andy

It's in a location I've never been to nor seen before. So many things can happen to you, my dummy bunny. It may be a cabin, but I know you can't handle being alone for so long. Save me the trouble, Y/N, you're not going. **

Andy

I'm only looking out for you. You're the love of my life. How could i possibly live with myself if something happened to you? Y/N, you're the air that I breathe, the food i consume, the blood i need to pump my heart. Are you trying to run away from me? **

You

No! Andy I swear I'm not! I won't go if it makes you uncomfortable. I just thought... **

Andy

You don't think many things through, dummy. You're such a headache sometimes. **

Andy

So, what's for dinner? I'm hungry. *

♡

Rule No. 3 : You belong to Andy, and only Andy.

"Hey Andy! Guess what I found?!" You walked up to Andy who was lounging on the coach watching some shitty news.

"What's that, Y/N?" He lazily turned his head towards you.

In your hand was an old photograph of you and an old prom date, taken long before you ever met Andrew.

You were cleaning your bedroom and found a couple of old boxes underneath your bed. Once of which, held many old memories of your youth.

"It's all the prom pictures my mom took of me! Don't I look cute?" You leaned your upper body over the coach back and showed Andy the dusty photos.

You expected a snort, a grin, maybe some mockery for your cheesy dress but instead Andrew tensed up his jaw, his eyes narrowing.

He grabbed the photos from your hand and slowly looked through them.

"You are very pretty, Y/N...." his hand squeezed the photos, to the point of crinkling them.

"Andrew, the photos are being!-"

Suddenly Andrew stood up and quickly crossed the distance between you two, letting the photos be dropped to the floor.

You gasped as Andrew smashed his lips against yours.

He grabbed onto your face, pressing his body into yours.

His lips were warm and slightly chapped, the brief smell of mint and cigarettes overpowering your head.

He broke the kiss, a strange hunger dancing in his eyes as he looked at you.

"You're so beautiful... You're so beautiful being mine, and mine alone. Mine, mine, mine, and mine, until the world comes crashing and burning. " He grinned at you, a dark shadow crossing his face.

"Andrew! I- I know im yours, but the photos are being stepped on-" You tried protesting, but instead, you felt Andrew kiss you again, this time going deeper. His hand squeezed your cheeks, attempting to make your jaw open, in a way asking for entrance.

You couldn't help but open your mouth wider, a victim to the rose colored glasses he always placed on you.

Your eyes closed, while Andrews' opened.

He stared at you with a strange intensity.

You, of course, could never hear his thoughts, but if his words were spoken outloud he would scream how much he wanted to rip that prom date to shreds.

Watch him bleed out of your hardwood floors until it stained from that fuckers punishment.

You belonged to HIM.

You were HIS.

And darling, he would go to heaven and drag you back to hell with him if he had to.

He broke the kiss and squeezed you into a hug,

"Promise you wont ever leave me, okay?" Andrew rested his head on your shoulder. You breathed heavily, wiping the saliva from your chin.

You nodded in a daze, the ache between your legs overpowering any kind of hesitancy you had.

Andrew smiled into your neck, reaching his hands under your ass to prop you up around his waist.

"Come on... I want to continue this in the bedroom. I want to see more of you..." He said in just above a whisper.

"Only you..."

Thank you for the ask (and patience)!<3

[shootingstarwritings]

A Beta makes, an Alpha takes

TW: homophobic slurs

Eduardo Garcia was a content creator who, like many others in his field, lived in the SolCal area. He was a self-described ladies man and an amateur pick-up artist. Most of his videos and livestreams focused on giving life advice for men. That night was the same as it always was, with Ed saying his catchphrase, “A beta makes, an alpha takes,” to his impressionable audience.

Once the stream ended and he counted his donations, Ed made his way to the bar. It didn’t take long for him to find another girl to screw. His type was always the same: eager young women new to town and looking for something deep and steady.

After a long and sensual session, the girl whose name he forgot asked if what Ed wanted for breakfast that morning. She had wanted to cuddle, but Ed’s protests kept her at bay. Ed pretended to think for a while before saying, “I’ll treat ya. It’ll be a surprise,” before kissing her.

Around five the following morning, Ed snuck out of her apartment having lost zero winks of sleep that night. ‘Not my fault there’s so many suckers in this town,’ he thought to himself, grinning the whole way back to his apartment. ‘They wouldn’t fall for fellas like me if they had a lick of common sense. I just do what I do. If they don’t wise up then it’s on them.’

That morning should’ve been like all the other ones for Ed. He was in a fantastic mood to grab a quick bite and then spend some time in the gym after scoring as hard as he did the night before. However, just as he reached the floor his apartment was on, he caught sight of his neighbor standing unusually still.

Carlos was exactly everything that Ed hated about the SolCal area. They were in the same field as influencers, but Carlos focused more on “Affirmations of the self,” and “Queer rights,” and other stuff Ed had long-since forgotten about. Carlos had gone to great detail to explain, but Ed had mostly tuned out whatever didn’t relate to Carlos’ follower count or the cash he was making. Knowing the two would never get along, Ed preferred to avoid Carlos altogether, even if he did secretly wish the two would collab so that Ed’s follower count would grow.

Yet, on that morning, Ed couldn’t take his eyes off of Carlos. He stood in front of his apartment door, staring blankly ahead. A few moments passed, but the man didn’t even blink. Ed knew he should just leave him along and mind his own business, but a nosy part of him urged him forward.

“Hey man,” Ed called out, “You okay? You’ve been standing there for like an hour or something.”

Carlos’ head immediately snapped towards the direction of Ed’s voice, causing the latter to nearly jump out of his skin. “I was unable to court another female,” said Carlos in a stilted, unnatural tone. “I was reviewing what I did wrong. Forgive the intrusion.”

‘Court another female. So the fag’s trying to get with chicks, now?’ thought Ed before being struck by a genius business idea. “Good on ya, man!” Any prior concerns about Carlos’ odd behavior were discarded to the wind as Ed wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. “Good to see ya swinging for the right team. ‘bout time you dropped all that fag shit,” he said, pointing a thumb to the pride flag hanging on Carlos’ door.

“Fag shit…?” echoed Carlos, but he didn’t offer any resistance as he was guided to Ed’s apartment.

“You came to the right place, my friend. Nobody knows how to pick up the ladies quite like this lady-killer.”

“You kill them?”

“Ha-ha! Aw, ya crack me up, big guy. C’mon, I’ll give ya a few pointers.” For Ed, giving Carlos several of his lessons and even showing him the streaming setup was an investment. He was gaining much money from doing this, but all he needed was to win Carlos’ trust over and he’d be swimming in new subs and a brand new market to sell. There just had to be guys who played for both teams on Carlos’ faggy audience, he assured himself.

After about half an hour of coaching, Carlos repeated Ed’s lessons like a college student cramming for a final. “A beta makes, an alpha takes.” For whatever reason Carlos seemed particularly fond of that phrase.

“We’re the men. The providers! That’s why we gotta remind this pussified society who’s really in charge. The alphas,” said Ed, flexing his bicep to punctuate his point. His body was one of the few things he had worked honestly for. Steroids and diets were a frequent topics in his online rants. To Ed, if one couldn’t get a body like his naturally, then they couldn’t call themselves a real man.

“And this has worked to acquire mates?”

“Mates? Bro, I’m swimming in pussy. And soon you will too,” said Ed. He lightly tapped Carlos’ chest. “With a bod like this? It’ll be even easier. Stick with me and I’ll get you laid. Just, uh, don’t forget ‘bout that collab I mentioned.”

Carlos, after what seemed like an eternity of stone-cold stoicism, finally cracked a smile. “Yes, I would love to collaborate with you.”

“Awesome! Lemme get something to celebrate.” It was still early in the morning, but it was always five o’clock somewhere, right? Ed made hi way over to his fridge and pulled some of the quality beer. The cheap stuff was reserved for those rare moments he had a girl over. “We gotta celebrate this new friendship of ours, my man. I got--!”

Carlos tackled Ed as he walked back to the living room. The two crashed onto one of his couches in a mess of struggling limbs. “Yo, what the fuck, man?!” cried Ed. He tried to push Carlos off, but froze as he saw Carlos’ body convulsing and his eyes rolling up, showing the whites. Seizure? Stroke?

Before Ed could reach for his phone in his pocket, Carlos leaned forward and locked lips with him. As soon as the two made contact, a slimy creature flowed from Carlos’ mouth into Ed. Once the substance made contact with Ed, his body began unresponsive. He tried to struggle and push Carlos off of him, but his arms remained heavy and limp. More and more of the slime pumped into Ed until Carlos’ body, unconscious yet still convulsing rolled off of the couch.

Ed couldn’t move but he could still feel a chilling sensation spread throughout his body, filling him up. The slime crawled down his throat and began to expand inside of him. Most of it traveled down his esophagus and began to assimilate his core, arms, legs, and toes. Each limb seized and shook as it became corrupted by the invader.

Ed tried to scream as it fell the creature fill his head and coating his brain, yet he could do nothing but endure the sickening yet pleasurable feeling. It was filling him up, and for whatever reason, Ed couldn’t help but enjoy the way the creature dominated him. His body, still unresponsive to his pleas for help, merely humped the air and sensually moan as it was taken over.

Eventually, Ed blacked out. The last thing he perceived was his hands touching his face and his own laughter.

~~~

‘Please, give me my body back,’ whined Ed.

“Give it a rest, Ed,” the creature possessing Ed said, grinning to himself. “Thank you for providing this impressive specimen, by the way. I quite enjoyed the takeover.” He tilted his head as he read the magazine. “Hmm, you are well-endowed, indeed. Perfect for my mission.”

A few days had passed since the creature slithered into Ed’s body. Ed had woken up to see his body piloted by some kind of foreign invader. Despite Ed’s pleads, it refused to give up control, saying, “I’ve been needing a strong and virile specimen to breed and spread.”

‘You can’t fucking do this to me! It’s not right,’ Ed begged from the recesses of his own mind. ‘I’m a human being. I don’t deserve this!’

“Your mind is intact, is that not enough for you?” the creature said as he jerked Ed’s cock in the couch. “You could have ended up like my previous experiment. Right, Carlos?”

“Right you are, my alpha,” said the thing inside of Carlos. Ed tried to look away from Carlos’ naked and puppeted body, but the creature didn’t have the decency to give him that.

Carlos was not the creature’s first victim, but it was the first that didn’t suffer massive brain damage from the creature’s invasive efforts. However, the creature still hadn’t quite managed to access Carlos’ memories and personality. It had managed to figure out the basics and just needed one more attempt to do a proper possession. Ed was the creature’s first success, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“What else do you wish, my master?” said Carlos as he eagerly marched over to Ed, swaying his hips and sticking his ass out as he spoke. “Do you want to breed me once more? Fill me up with more of your spawn so I may go and spread?”

While Carlos hadn’t suffered brain damage, but the trauma of the invasion caused him to become catatonic. To remedy this, Carlos was the first one to received the creature’s spawn. The creature, riding high thanks to Ed’s disgust at the homosexual act, fucked Carlos’ body and let one of its children pilot the still-living husk.

“Please, act a bit more like your host would. Keep reviewing the videos.” Ed mentally screamed to himself as his invader forced him to say that. Even if the creatures had little idea as to how to blend in society, the sheer amount of content that Carlos and he made would guarantee that they had plenty of references for impersonating them. “Later, I’ll pump you full. I just… need to explore this body of mine a bit more.”

Carlos cleared his throat before giving a sweet, nonchalant smile. “No prob, my man. Later we should go out, though. Get familiar with the area.” He winked and said, “Later,” just as Carlos always did.

‘Please, let me go,’ Ed tried once more. The idea of the creature doing this to his friends and family, acting like him the whole time, was a hell he couldn’t bear. ‘I-I’ll even hook you up with another better. Better bodies, just please let me go…’ Ed internally sobbed.

“You’re quite pathetic,” the creature sneered as it violated Ed’s body once more. “Where’s your bravado, Eddie~? You were swimming in pussy just a few days ago. Now you’re pounding men and craving cock.” Ed’s body let out a malicious laugh as ropes of cum erupted from his stolen dick. “It’s like you always said. A beta makes, an alpha takes.”

[mybworlds]

Part of your world

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Warnings: use of you, you’re a mermaid, I won't give any details except for nice long legs and very long hair, nudity, violence (a little?), use of both pov. If I missed smt please let me know.

Summary: Marcus Acacius and you meet. You immediately catch his attention, including Geta's.

Masterlist

A/N Thank you so much for the amount of love and support, it means a lot. It's a very long chapter, sorry, guys so take your time 🙏🏼 Likes, comments and reblogs are not mandatory, but very appreciated! ❤️

follow @mybworlds and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Taglist @harriedandharassed; @orcasoul; @blazeflays; @ijustlovemensm; @duck-duck-goose2; @blacksnape123

Thx for the dividers @saradika-graphics.

That night Marcus lies on his side with one hand under his cheek, staring out of his bedroom window at the star-filled sky. He didn't sleep a wink. He tossed and turned in bed several times, but the god of sleep wasn't on his side that night.

Tired of not being able to sleep, at the first light of dawn, Marcus puts on his tunic again and sneaks off to the beach. Luckily none of his servants are awake yet or else at least a couple would have run to his side preventing him from being alone for a while.

The sand is still cold at that hour, the wind barely ruffles his hair and dress, the sea is barely choppy. It's a picture of heaven and Marcus needs something like this to help him relax and keep the anxiety and fear in the pit of his stomach at bay.

The man thinks back to the previous evening. It went well, but inevitably he and Lucilla discussed their future union. She accepts it, but with rules. She wants to be able to continue being who she is, she wants to enjoy her birth privileges and she wants to be able to defend her ideas, whatever they may be. She knows that theirs is only a political union and that there will certainly never be any kind of emotional involvement between them and that they will probably not see each other except during the first night of their wedding, then everyone will do their part certainly, but without any other type of obligation. Marcus then told her that the two emperors suspect she is conspiring against them, but he did so with the intent of warning her not to expose herself too much. The woman maintained a composed calm, telling him that she would do everything discreetly and that he had no reason to fear for her or for himself as her husband.

Marcus can't help but feel forced to endure all of this. The truth is that he doesn't care about politics, marriage and all that. He just wants to be free and fight for his ideals of freedom and justice, but no one seems to care about these values. Everyone seems to have forgotten them and this always makes him feel out of place.

He sighs sadly when something, or rather someone, catches his attention: it's a girl, she's lying on her side, her hair falls partly on her face, on her shoulders, along her back covering her nakedness. She is still partly hidden among the waves of the sea that wet her exposed skin and make some locks of her hair wave. He quickly approaches, lifting her into his arms and carrying her a little further from the shore.

When they are far enough away, he sits on his knees in the wet sand, brushes her hair away from her face, and recognizes you. Anyone could have understood his astonishment at seeing the same girl from Sicily, the girl he himself had tried in vain to find when he was still there, the young woman who had saved him from the fury of the sea and then disappeared, now close to his home.

“Hey,” He shakes you gently before placing his cloak over your body “can you hear me? Wake up,” he asks brushing your hair away from your face and taking a long moment to gaze at you as if bewitched by your beauty.

You open and close your eyes over and over again, finally managing to keep them open and almost jump when you realize you're in his arms. You look scared.

“Hey, hey, calm down. It’s okay,” Acacius tells you, holding you against him “How did you find me? Did you... Did you follow me or something?” he asks you, then reminds you that you don’t understand him. “Oh, yeah, sorry, you and I don’t understand each other. Um, maybe I can try asking one of my servants if he can make himself understood by you or…”

“It's not necessary,” you mutter and Acacius frowns even more. So, you pretended not to understand? Why?

You sit down, moving slightly away from him and with your gaze you search for something, it's an old vial full of encrusted algae and with a strange liquid inside. You immediately grab it, holding it in your hands as if it were a precious treasure.

“So, can you talk?” he asks you using a surprised and suspicious tone. You nod, “Why didn’t you talk to me when we first met?” he asks you.

You look down for a moment, then look up again, “I was scared.” You whisper, “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no. Don't be.” You and him remain silent for a while, he doesn't mind staying in your company even if it's silent, then he remembers that you're naked and that you're probably freezing “Oh, forgive me. I'm such a fool. Come inside. I'll have you draw a hot bath and then you'll tell me how you got here." he adds, standing up and offering you his hand to help you to get up. You grab his hand, but after a few moments you pull it back and look at him scared, “What is it?” he asks you.

“N — nothing.” he sees you swallow and then look into his eyes, you seem worried and agitated by who knows what. Maybe you don't want to tell him how you found him or you don't trust him enough to do so.

“If you don't want to tell me how you got here, that's fine. Don't worry. I'll listen to you whenever you want. Okay?” You nod, relaxing your shoulders and he also finds himself nodding his head and then make your way to his villa.

He sees you squeeze the bottle, who knows what it is! Maybe when you feel more at ease you'll tell him about it.

As you get closer to his villa, you do nothing but walk with your chin up, your eyes wide open and a big smile on your lips. It's Marcus who invites you to be careful where you put your feet, to climb this step now or not to put your feet in the ground when you are in the peristylium. It seems like you've never seen anything because you keep running from one corner of the house to another, touching the marble columns, jumping when you set your feet on the tiles.

“You have a beautiful house.” you tell him turning around and observing the splendid inlays and busts on the sides “Why do you have heads in the garden?” you ask him, frowning.

Marcus smiles, “They’re busts of my ancestors. They’re statues, they’re not real,” he explains.

“Oh,” you say in a whisper. You look into his eyes and your gaze seems to almost want to read him inside. He, who has seen so much, met and crossed so many glances, can barely stand yours.

“Have you never seen one?” he asks, his gaze wandering from you to a bust of a distant ancestor of his.

You shake your head, “I saw some drawings though,” you say, running a finger along the outline of the sculpture.

Marcus starts walking again and you follow him, turning your head from one side to the other as if you don't want to miss even a single detail of what you see.

“Are you hungry?” he asks you. “After your bath I’ll have a big meal prepared for you, if you wish.”

You don't answer him, you're a few steps behind and you're as if enraptured by what you see. You seem incredulous and so absorbed, you have such a beautiful and unique look that you almost seem like a creature from another world.

“Are you okay?” he asks, reaching out to you and moving his gaze in the direction your gaze is directed. The man immediately understands what has intrigued you and perhaps even scared you a little: it’s a statue of him.

He doesn't like it at all. He doesn't recognize himself in that representation, too pompous and proud. If it had been up to him, he would have let it sink into the abyss, but it's a gift from the emperors and doing so would mean causing them a grave offence, so Marcus keeps it there in his villa.

“I don’t like it. That’s not me,” Acacius confesses to you with a sad sigh.

“Instead, it’s beautiful. I mean, you are beautiful, not the statue. The statue is an object. You are here and you are real.” You tell him, catching his attention and making him smile slightly. You are sincere and this is a rare and unique quality.

“Thank you for your words. It means a lot to me.” he tells you, making to take your hand in a completely spontaneous gesture, but you pull away almost scared and so he desists, clearing his throat “Sorry.”

You shake slowly, “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to be rude, but...” you say, tightening your cloak.

“Don’t worry. I’ll call my servant now who will help you take a hot bath, help you dry off, and then help you find a dress that fits you,” the man informs you.

“Maybe I can do it myself,” you suggest as the man starts walking again. “I don’t want to disturb you or anyone else.”

Marcus smiles. Again.

“It’s a joy to help you and even if I don’t agree, slaves are there for this, to do what we don’t do.”

“If you don’t share, why don’t you free them?” you ask, tilting your head to the side as you pause in the hallway.

“It’s complicated. Wait here. I’ll send someone to help you.” He says, giving you one last look. “See you later.”

You didn't think that potion would hurt you so much, your throat felt like it was closing up, you almost felt like you were suffocating, then your legs started to shake, you did everything you could to resist and not give in, in the end the pain got the better of you and you fainted.

Finding Marcus, the man for whom you did all this, fills you with joy when you wake up, even if you haven't been able to express it as you would have liked.

You immediately felt overwhelmed by a myriad of emotions, enthusiasm and fear at the same time, his hands are so warm, calloused, big, you can feel them full of cuts, who knows if they were inflicted in battle... just as you are thinking this, a terrifying image appears before your eyes, he’s covered in blood, there’s a large cut right next to one eyebrow from which blood is gushing, he has in his hands a sword also stained with blood. He’s lying on the ground on what looks like sand, you see him breathing heavily and then that terrible scene disappears as it appeared. The General looks at you perplexed, while you are shaken by the shivers and fear of what you have just seen.

He’s so kind, so hospitable, it seems impossible to reconcile his sweetness with the violent image that has just appeared before your eyes or those you have seen previously.

His servants are very polite and curious, they insistently ask you where you are from as your accent is unknown to them. You procrastinate, asking now about this, now about that. As they explain to you the various things that surround you and their usefulness, you realize that what you have read or your aunt's words have not fully conveyed what you are seeing and feeling. It's all much more.

A maid insists on braiding your hair into a high bun, but you protest so much and avoid that thing she calls a comb that in the end you give up and leave it loose. She also wanted to make you wear a dress that was the color of the sea, but instead you were struck by another one that was white like sea foam.

When you're finally alone, you walk over to your bed and sink into it. Oh, it's so soft and warm. Your bed at home was a giant oyster, it was nice and cozy, but this on earth is much better!

You open and close your eyes several times, you feel exhausted, but happy. You are under his roof, you have spoken to him, he knows you exist. These are already steps forward. You smile, sighing and relaxing completely, when you open your eyes again the light coming from the candles is very dim, you have fallen into a deep sleep.

You've never slept so much, you wonder if this isn't also an effect of your aunt Mira's potion. You sit down placing your hands on your thighs and then your knees, you have no pain and this is also a sign that the potion is working. Not that you doubted it, but it all still seems so incredible to you!

You look out of one of the many windows in your room, you pull aside the delicate curtain and observe the moon and the many stars that surround it, you are as if enraptured by it, at least until you realize that your room looks out onto the gardens of General Acacius' villa where the statue dedicated to him dominates.

You turn and look at the vial prepared by your aunt and drink a few drops of the potion, as per her instructions, then you decide to hide the vial under the bed in a hidden corner between the wall and the bed so that no one can find it.

Once this is done, you decide to go out and let yourself be caressed by the light wind of that evening, you feel light and yet your heart is heavy as if gripped by a strange sensation. Probably the images that first appeared before your eyes just disturbed you a lot.

You hear footsteps, fast, a very small child with blond curls crying runs in your direction, immediately behind him you see what you imagine is his mother followed by three other women behind them still Acacius.

“Hi,” you greet the red-faced, crying-eyed boy. He stops and looks at you, and you kneel down in front of him, “you’re beautiful, you know? What’s your name?”

“Fas - us,” the little one barks.

You raise your head towards the woman behind the little boy, the woman must be a few years older than you. She has brown hair tied in a braid and the clothes of someone who works in the kitchen judging by the stains, “My lady,” she says to you softly, “his name is Faustus, he's small and cannot yet say it clearly.”

You nod and then smile at the little one, “You really have a beautiful name. Why are you crying?”

“My lady,” the woman intervenes again, “he misses his father.”

“Oh.” you say in a sad whisper “Come here,” you say to the little one, gently holding his little body to yours, “you know, when I was little, I didn't have a dad either. I only had my mother, then when I grew up he came back.” you tell him, while the little one rubs his eyes “Do you want to hear a little song my mother always sang to me when I was little?”

He nods.

You smile and the sweet words, full of hope, love, happiness of your mother's song float in the air enchanting the little one for about a couple of minutes, when you look up, you notice how everyone was fascinated and speechless when they heard that melody. Acacius has a strange light in his eyes, but you don't feel danger or threat, but rather dying to know you, curiosity. His lips then curve upwards and you smile sweetly back.

Little Faustus unexpectedly throws his arms around your neck and for a moment you are paralyzed before returning his sweet embrace.

“My lady,” the woman says, “forgive him, he’s not usually this open with strangers.” She apologizes.

“Oh, no, it’s okay. He's beautiful,” you say, placing a hand on the baby’s little back and closing your eyes, relaxing against his little body.

After a few minutes the baby's breathing normalizes until he moves away from you, you dry a couple of tears that are still wetting his little face and smile at him, he smiles back showing you his tiny teeth making your smile wider.

“My lady, thank you for what you have done,” the woman says, placing her hands on her son’s shoulders. “Faustus, say thank you.”

“Tk you.” he says making you smile.

“Anytime, sweetheart.” you say getting up, while the mother takes the little one by the hand and they walk away followed by the other two women.

You followed them with your gaze, turning in their direction, then you heard a sad sigh behind you and Marcus' slow footsteps approaching you.

“It's a sad story about Faustus and his mother,” the man reveals to you, appearing at your side and keeping his gaze towards the corridor where the group has headed.

“What story?” you ask, your gaze wandering from the man to the hallway.

He hums sadly and then turns his gaze to you, observes your face for a few seconds and then with a serious look he answers you, “I don’t want to disturb your first night, um… You didn’t tell me your name yet.”

You tell him and he repeats it with such sweetness that it seems like music to your ears. You smile at each other.

“Do you want something to eat? Not knowing what you like, I had you prepare meat, fish, fruit, wine... in short, I hope you'll like something.” he tells you, slightly raising his shoulders as if he felt uncomfortable.

You nod, slightly raising the corners of your mouth upwards.

“Okay, let’s go,” he says, pointing to a door behind him with his open palm in a gesture as if to say ladies first.

Marcus can't help but look at your face, your curious eyes zigzagging from one corner to another of the many rooms you pass through until you reach the triclinium, your hands caress and touch everything around you with curiosity. Your eyes seem to see so many things only now for the first time and your beauty touches the divine.

Where do you come from?

Such is your beauty that Marcus can't help but think that you are as beautiful, perfect and unattainable as the gods.

Yes, you must be a goddess sent there by him to enchant and conquer him and he's very happy to be enchanted by your beauty, your voice and the sweetness that shines through in your ways and gestures, as sweet as they are innocent.

“You have a beautiful voice, I've never heard anyone sing like that,” Marcus tells you, as you turn an apple over in your hands curiously, then smell it and smile “It’s an apple,” he adds as if wanting to help you.

You smile sweetly at him, placing the apple back in the basket you took it from, “I know, but I’ve never smelled it before.”

He hums, “I know nothing about you.” The man begins, sitting down on the triclinium “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself?”

“I don’t even know where to start,” you say and from the look on your face and your suddenly downcast eyes, Acacius can tell that you really don’t know what to say to him. You are not lying or stalling for time on how to answer him.

“You told the little one first that you grew up with your mother and then your father came back, is that a true story?” he asks you looking at your face and when you look up he sees them full of a veiled sadness.

“No, or rather that’s how I would have liked it to be. I mean, my mother died when I was about six of your age…” Acacius frowns “I meant six years, I’m tired, sorry.” He nods although he remains perplexed by your statement.

Is it possible that you really are what he saw: a sea creature? He has read about the existence of such creatures, but... No, that's impossible!

He shakes his head as if to rid himself of this absurd thought, “I'm sorry. What about your father?”

You tsk, you shake your head, “He was and still is an overprotective father. He has prevented me from doing so many things in my life.” you say in a bitter tone, then you frown and he follows your gaze, you are looking almost with disgust or perhaps sadness at the prawns or blue fish placed in beautiful ceramic bowls garnished with spices.

“What is it?” he asks you, not understanding your expression.

"Why are you doing this?"

Acacius is perplexed, “Do what?”

“Kill fish, they are defenseless creatures. They did not harm you.” you reply looking him in the eye with disappointment.

“Um, we have to feed ourselves. We would die.” he answers you in a matter-of-fact tone “We don’t do it for fun. Well, some people kill deer or other animals for fun, but mostly to survive.”

You look down, pressing your lips into a straight line, for a few minutes you don't speak, then you speak again, “I’m sorry, I overreacted. Um, you’re… very kind and… it’s so hard for me to reconcile this sweet version of you with the General I saw a while back.”

Marcus sighs, “I don't always like being the General, but I am. And I have duties to perform, sometimes I do things I'm not proud of at all. You know, sometimes it really costs me to be that way.” he confides in you, lowering his head and putting aside the armor he has always used to shield himself during all these years of his life. When he raises his head, he sees you sit down next to him and, in such a sweet and spontaneous gesture, rest your head on his shoulder.

No one had ever done it. No one had ever dared to be so close to him, everyone - he knows it well - fears him, not as much as they fear the Emperors, but he knows that his often hard gaze and his piercing eyes tend to keep everyone away.

“You’re such a sweet creature.” The words come from his heart. Marcus turns his head, “You know, I never get around anyone more than necessary.” he confesses to you by sticking his nose in your hair and inhaling your scent which - perhaps it's just his suggestion - smells of iodine and other perfumes he's never smelled before.

“It’s because you’re a contradictory human,” you reply. “You want someone by your side, but at the same time you keep everyone away.” you just move away from him “You’re scared. Even if you hide it well.”

The man misses a beat when he hears those words and in front of your gaze that seems to read him so deeply, almost scaring him, he who has faced armies and peoples with courage, he who stands up to Emperors albeit politely, is afraid. He doesn't know if it's you or what you were able to bring to light in a few hours, revealing it to his own eyes and intuiting it while spending such a short time with him.

“You are… um, amazing. Yes, I think that’s the right word,” he says, smiling slowly at you. “No one has ever spoken to me like that. Not even my own subordinates.”

“Well, I’m not your subordinate, Marcus,” you reply, smiling at him.

“Do I seem bold to you, if... well, if I tell you that you are beautiful?” your expression changes, but you don't lose your smile, you shake your head slowly, “I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman like you.” You lower your gaze in a split section. “Intuitive, sweet, captivating.” Acacius sighs, “You must be starving, while I look like… well, I want to hit on you.”

You frown, “Hit on me? What does that mean?”

The man smiles as if touched by your innocence, “You don't know anything at all, do you?”

After eating and saying a few words here and there about what this or what that thing is, Marcus — not at all tired or annoyed by your presence, on the contrary more and more curious by your originality — offers you a walk along the seashore.

The sun's rays are getting weaker, the sand is cool at your feet and Marcus for the first time in years and years indulges himself in the luxury of being able to take off that armor that he always wore it with pride, but which from time to time weighs like a millstone. He tells you about himself like he never did before, he even finds himself confiding in you about episodes of his childhood and early adolescence and you smile at him, in that light your eyes seem to shine with pure magic.

Being with you makes him feel lighter. And he likes it. Until then, being with others had been limited to when someone gave him orders or when he himself ordered others to carry out what had been planned for the conquest of this or that land. You're not asking him for anything, you don't want anything. He still hasn't understood why you're there and why with someone like him, but for the first time he chooses not to ask questions, but to accept your mysterious presence as a gift.

You answer a few more of his questions, not because he doesn't have any, but because after so much time he can finally speak freely and not about politics, not about interests, not about the Empire, but about himself and Rome never gives space to all this. You do it and you're a breath of fresh air in his life.

“Marcus?” you say. “Can I ask you something?”

If you look at him that way, you can ask for anything and he will give it to you.

“Tell me.”

“What’s the story of Faustus?” you ask him.

He sighs sadly, “As I told you before, his is a sad story. His mother, Iulia, and her mother were slaves and served the Emperor Septimius Severus. He also treated them well all in all, Iulia grew up knowing what her role was and therefore she learned to stay in her place. In short, she’s a slave and then women... have no freedom of speech or thought.”

“Why?” you ask him and he looks at you.

You are not really a creature of this world!

“Unfortunately, this is how our society works. Men are in charge.”

“And you agree?” you ask him.

He watches the ripples of the sea, “Come let's sit here.” he says to you, stopping not far from the entrance of his villa and sitting on the now completely cold sand. Marcus watches the light summer wind caress your long hair and move it slightly, he then watches the now dark horizon “No. I don't agree at all. You women are everything to this society, you make such an important contribution and not only for the most obvious reason, but you are intelligent, charismatic, and sometimes gifted with an unrivaled wit.”

Marcus really thinks it, he's not just saying it, he really believes it.

“Returning to Iulia, well.. her mother died shortly after the death of the Emperor, he was succeeded by the current Emperors Caracalla and Geta.” Marcus takes a break “They reign according to their own rules and according to their own personal enjoyment, as to this last aspect, well the young Iulia became the object of desire of the young Caracalla and one evening...” Marcus feels his throat tighten as he tells this story out loud, but you asked what the story of the boy you just met is and so he decides to tell you the whole story “he raped her and she got pregnant.” he hears you holding your breath “His brother Geta covered up what his brother had done and so he entrusted young Iulia to me, taking her away from his brother.”

“And the boy?” you ask him. “Does he know that...?”

“Of course not! His mother told him that his father is away and will return one day, but of course that will never happen.” he explains it to you again and then takes a long, very long break.

“Don’t you like them?” you ask him naively.

“Quiet, sweet girl!” he admonishes you looking around with a worried expression and you imitate his looking around and then find yourself eye to eye with him again “Never, and I mean never, speak ill of them.”

You frown, “What would happen?”

He holds his breath, “You’d die. Whoever opposes them, dies. One way or another.” he replies and your eyes widen in disbelief or probably scared to learn this “I serve them whether I want to or not. I have no say in the matter.” You frown without taking your eyes off his contrite face “Did you think it was different for men?”

“I thought that since you were a General you could do whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted,” you admit with a shrug.

He smiles, “It's not that simple,” he's about to take your hand, but then thinks better of it, he doesn't know if you'd like such a touch from him “We men, although we are certainly freer than you women, are still part of Rome and Rome sometimes sucks you in, eats you alive day after day and then spits you out if you are no longer useful.” he sees you swallow and slowly bring your legs closer to your chest “Sometimes I feel like that. Eaten up and then spat out like I don't even have a heart or feelings.” he adds in a murmur.

“Marcus, oh Marcus.” you say and he turns around looking at your saddened face “Why don’t you go away?”

He chuckles, but it's not a happy chuckle, on the contrary. “You know,” he says, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, “with you I'm breathing again after a long, long time and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for reminding me that I am a person before a General.” you smile at him, but he senses that it's an embarrassed smile from this contact so he moves his hand away and places it on his lap “This is who I am. I can neither fight it nor escape from this role.”

You nod and then fearfully place a hand on his, “I wish I could do more for you,” you say, your breath shaking. It's like you're afraid to touch him... why?

“You do, you're already doing it, you know?”

“Really?”

Marcus nods, “You really are the sweetest creature in the world.” He pauses. “I wonder why you chose me, why you're here.” The man sees your skin crease. “Are you cold?”

You shake your head, moving your hand away from him and placing it on your thigh with your head down.

“There's something you're not telling me, right?” You look up and stare into his dark eyes for a long moment before slowly nodding “I already knew that.” You swallow “But, whatever it is,” Marcus gently strokes your arm, “it’s fine with me. You make me human.” your smile widens as if you find what he just said funny “Seriously,” the man insists, “and thank you for listening to me. Your sweetness warms my heart for the first time. You know,” he starts staring at the now completely dark horizon again “the Emperors want me to get married.” he confides in you “I’m not afraid, but I’m forced to do what I don’t want. That’s why, as I told you, you are never completely free even though you are a man.”

You, unexpectedly again, rest your head on his shoulder and this time make an extra gesture that on one hand stops him for a moment, but on the other hand it makes his heart beat so fast, you reach out a hand towards his and squeeze it, intertwining your fingers with his.

If Marcus could, he would marry you.

The next day, you are awakened by the cawing of seagulls and a soft light that filters through the thin curtains that flutter in the summer wind.

You stretch with a smile, sitting in the center of the bed, placing a hand on your legs in a gesture as if to check that they are still there and that you are not dreaming of having them.

So, you wake up humming to yourself ready to live this new day. You don't know what to expect or if Marcus will be there by your side.

Marcus... you think about how sad and lonely his life has been, he has glory and power, but he’s completely alone. No one really rejoices with him, no one talks to him.

For him to confide in you, who have been in his life for less than a day, means that he desperately needed to talk and be heard by someone, anyone, you.

There's a knock at the door, you turn around to see the door open and Iulia enters the room, “Oh, my lady, are you already up?!” she exclaims surprise holding in her hands a tray full of fruit and bread with a strange semi-shiny substance spread on it.

“Iulia?” you call her.

“My lady?”

“Don’t call me that, it makes me uncomfortable,” you tell her, shrugging and revealing your name. She looks at you sympathetically as she places the tray on a table in the center of your room.

“I’m not allowed to do that. The General was very clear,” she replies softly.

You nod, “He treats you well.” It's not a question, it's a statement, she looks at you almost scared “Don't be afraid.” You reassure her by moving closer to her and placing a hand on her shoulder as a sign of understanding and affection and at that moment a series of violent images appear before your eyes: it's Iulia, she's younger, she cries, she's the victim of increasingly cruel pranks by two blond boys, then another cruel and terrifying image appears before your eyes, she’s held tightly by the wrists and then you see a young man with blond curly hair leaning over her, she screams, then the image disappears and another image appears before your eyes of one of the two young blond boys rudely handing over Iulia to a younger Acacius.

You jump, “Are you all right, my lady?” Iulia asks you, noticing your shocked expression. “Do you want a hot bath? You're shaking.” she adds worriedly.

“No. No. I'm fine. Thank you.” You reply, shaking your head as if to erase those images. You don't dare to imagine what it was like to actually live those scenes.

Poor Iulia...

“Come, I'll help you undress, my lady.” Iulia insists, walking towards your bed. You let her take off your nightgown, “You have beautiful skin, if I can dare, my lady.” You smile, but you don’t know what to say to her.

You think about how much she suffered in undergoing what she experienced, but above all in having to also raise a child who is kid out of...

You sigh, maybe your father is right about one thing: humans are strange creatures and some are truly dangerous.

“My lady, did you rest well?” she asks you again kindly.

You give a small smile, “Yes, thank you. I don't think I've ever slept so soundly.”

Iulia helps you clean up before getting ready for the bath. The water smells wonderful, “What is that smell?” you ask curiously.

“It’s lavender, my lady. Do you like it?” she asks as she helps you not to slip while getting into the tub.

“Yes,” you hum closing your eyes.

“Today is a beautiful day. The sun is high in the sky, thanking the god Apollo.” she claims moving away just enough to give you some privacy, but remaining in the same room as you.

In this sudden pleasant silence that envelops you and the woman, you hear a sudden hubbub under your window, then horses in the distance and finally Marcus' deep voice echoing in the peristylium.

Iulia is the first to slowly approach the window, you hear her footsteps and then you almost feel her holding her breath. You turn in her direction and notice the paleness on her face, “Are you okay, Iulia?” you ask her worriedly.

“Oh, yes,” she says hastily. “Come on, I’ll help you.” she adds, offering her hands to help you get out without any problems. She wraps you in a soft towel and pats you dry, “Let me do it.” she adds again when you do the same to dry your skin from the water.

“What’s wrong?” you ask her as she gently massages away the excess water. “Why has your skin turned so white?” you ask her still not understanding what happened.

“Nothing, my lady.” she says, but from the tone of her voice you understand that something that is troubling her must have happened, even if you don't know what it is yet “Come, I'll help you get dressed.” she adds in a sad whisper. She helps you cover your breasts and womanhood with some bands, then she makes you wear a dress as thin as seaweed, light as you and your sisters and all the mermaids and newts when you swim down there in the depths of the sea.

“You are enchanting, my lady.” She adds again with a small smile that curves her lips upwards, but it’s not a happy smile, her head is still lost in who knows what thought. She combs your hair and then lets it fall loose over your shoulders and down your back, “Why don’t you eat something before you go to the General?” she suggests.

“I’m not hungry,” you reply, shrugging.

“But my lady, you need to eat a little.” She insists, holding out the tray and looking at you with hopeful eyes that you will listen to her.

“You're a good person, Iulia. Thank you. I'll eat later.” You insist, sticking to your opinion about wanting to reach the man and let this new day begin.

You put on some strange shoes that are very comfortable, then you head towards the door, opening it and going out. The air is quite warm that day and you feel it too even though your body temperature is not the same as humans, but it doesn't matter.

As you pass by, you notice other servants busy doing their household chores, stopping to half bow and say my lady. You feel uncomfortable, no one, not even at the bottom of the sea, has ever shown you such respect. And yet, your father is the king of the sea!

Who knows if he has found out where you are and what he is doing, who knows if your sisters are thinking of you and wondering why you made this decision! You miss them, but you don't regret your choice.

When you reach the room that Marcus called triclinium, you hear two voices talking animatedly. One is the General, the other you don't know who belongs to. You hide behind a thick marble column and listen to what they say. You lean forward just enough to give a face to the second voice as well and you immediately recognize the face you saw when you touched Iulia: it's one of the two Emperors, the one who entrusted the young slave to Acacius. His features are not unpleasant, but there is something in his gaze and a glint in his eyes that unsettles you to the core, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I know that Augusta Lucilla was your guest recently,” says the Emperor.

“Yes, that’s right,” Acacius confirms, his tone extremely cold and controlled, so different from the one he used with you just a few hours earlier.

“So? Have you discussed the terms of your union?”

Acacius swallows and his dark eyes seem to grow even darker like the stormy sea, “Yes.”

“And?” asks the young man again, sitting on one of the triclinia with an impatient air to know who knows what details of the matter.

“We will be husband and wife, with this union everything will be under control.” Marcus answers hastily keeping his head down as if feeling uncomfortable with all these questions.

“Good.” the boy comments again, then adds “There's someone spying on us!” You hide behind a column feeling caught red-handed “I don't like people who spy on me.” he adds again, but his tone of voice seems amused, then silence follows and finally you are surrounded on one side by Marcus who looks at you surprised and also a little annoyed and on the other side there is the Emperor who lets his gaze wander from your face then along your figure and then states “You have a new slave, Acacius! She’s beautiful.”

You swallow, seeking Marcus's eyes, who gives you a silent look before answering the ruler, “She’s my guest. She is not a slave.”

“Oh, right! She's too beautiful to be a slave." he notes with a little grimace "So, why did you keep her from me? She could have joined us. If nothing else, she would have been much more pleasant to look at than you!” he exclaims with a smirk. “Where does this beautiful creature come from?” he asks, looking at you, but waiting for an answer from the General.

You hope with all your heart that the man would lie about how you met, you are not sure that the boy in front of you can accept an answer as the truth that you came from the sea.

“From the East.” Acacius lies. You look into his eyes again, feeling relieved by this lie.

“Oh, I see.” he comments “That's why you're delaying the wedding, now I got it!” he exclaims smiling mischievously “It was worth it, I hope” he adds without taking his eyes off you “I'd like to hang out with her too.” He chuckles, hinting at who knows what.

Acacius is now visibly tense. His features are hard, his expression is cold and tense, his jaw clenched and his chest puffed out. You didn't quite understand what the Emperor was referring to, but Marcus did and he must not have liked it.

“Are you doubting my honor and integrity?” Marcus asks, clenching his jaw tighter.

“Oh no, come on General, I don't think it's appropriate to react like this!” exclaims the emperor smiling at him, but Marcus doesn't smile back, “Oh, you’re so boring!” he adds, huffing, then smiling at you.

“I beg your pardon, the gods gave you and your brother the wisdom to know when it is time to be serious or not.” Marcus replies through his teeth with a sarcastic smile.

You try to hold back your emotions by masking them by looking down at your feet. Then you look up again, observing Marcus' features that have become so hard and cold and the softer ones of the Emperor who has lost his smile upon hearing the General's words.

“I hope your guest is at least more inclined to smile.” You look at the man’s dark eyes. “And I hope your beautiful guest has a name, too.”

“She is…” Marcus is about to answer for you, but the Emperor silences him.

“I want to hear her voice. She can speak, right?”

You have to say something since the two men's eyes are fixed on you, you nod, “Of course.”

The boy clenches his jaw slightly, lifting his chin slightly upwards, “Your voice is enchanting and your beauty overshadows your insolence.” he smiles “I am Geta. One of the two emperors of Rome.” he finally introduces himself “I'm sure we'll get along great, um.. what's your name, my lady?”

You respond by telling him your name and he repeats it before licking his lower lip in a slow motion as if he were about to taste the most succulent of dishes. This man — Geta — makes you feel uncomfortable just with a look, it seems like a curious and innocent look, but deep down you feel that he’s not as innocent as he wants you to believe.

“I'd be happy to have a word with your guest, General. If that's okay with you.” He wants to sound sweet and hospitable, but the light in his eyes seems anything but innocent.

Marcus gives you the look of someone who wants to say something, but can't do anything.

“Oh, and General Acacius have wine and food brought for your beautiful guest too so she can celebrate your union with Augusta Lucilla. Has our beloved General told you about his impending wedding?” he asks, looking at your eyes as if wanting to notice any reactions of displeasure on your part.

You just nod with a hint of a smile, “Yeah, I was just surprised to hear that marriage isn’t based on love.” Geta gives you a surprised and intrigued look. “So, isn’t marriage based on this?” you ask, your gaze wandering from the Emperor’s curious face to the General’s much more tense one.

"Yours is a very interesting guest." comments the first "To answer your question, no. Not always. Mostly unions are unions of interest, politics. And the wedding of our brave General is one of them.” he concludes by patting Marcus on the shoulder who shrugs his shoulders assuming an expression so hard that it almost scares you, but it doesn't discourage or inspire fear in the Emperor who instead seems amused by this reaction "I must leave you now, I have other matters to attend to. I await further communication from you, General. Once this matter is settled, Rome will need to expand further. I want everything to be perfectly under control.”

Acacius clenches his jaw and simply places his fist at chest height and bows his head in respect and greeting towards the young man who, after giving him one last look, turns to you taking your hand and you jump when at that moment some images appear to you in which the Emperor has a lot of make-up on his eyes, he shouts something towards a noisy audience and there, in the middle of what looks like an arena, Acacius, bleeding and wounded, prepares to face some heavily armed men, then another image where Geta is among men dressed in white sitting on chairs, he speaks with great passion of betrayal, then in a last vision there is you, you are in what seems to be a prison and you are wearing a half-torn white dress, you are scared, you can feel your own fear and pain, you are turning into a mermaid again.

You pull your hand away in fear, “I apologize, I don’t feel well. Um, I’m going to my rooms,” you announce, leaving both men behind, who are surely still watching you.

When you are sure that Geta is gone, you leave your rooms and head to a cliff behind the villa. The wind has become stronger and the smell of the sea more intense. You wonder if the images you saw are real or if it is your own fear that others might discover the truth that is showing them to you so vividly.

“You’re here.” You hear Marcus’ warm, husky voice. “I thought you were asleep.”

You shake your head without turning in his direction, “No.”

He reaches you and comes alongside, for a while neither you nor he say anything, there is the incessant sound of the sea in the background. You think back to the fate that awaits the General, a union without love.. then you think back to when you saw him bloodied and fighting so ferociously just to survive.

“I’m sorry if the emperor upset you. He’s… that’s the way he is. He enjoys upsetting others, he takes this strange pleasure.”

You nod, “Your world is quite complicated. I thought you were exaggerating, but…” a shiver runs down your spine “The Emperor, Geta, has something in his gaze that has horrified me to the core.” you confide “He is so superficial, so devoid of humanity and he hides it behind that seraphic appearance that the gods have given him.” you add in a barely audible whisper to Acacius.

You feel something covering your shoulders and you almost jump, it's just Marcus placing his cloak on your shoulders. You look at him with a grateful but also sad look, “Why does he want you to marry at all costs? What does he gain from it?”

Marcus lifts one corner of his mouth in a small smirk, “He... well, um no I have to tell you everything from the start.” You listen to every word the man says and the more you listen the more the emperor seems absolutely crazy, you roll your eyes several times and you find yourself opening your mouth in shock.

When he finishes you look down and clutch his cloak, “I’m sorry I upset you. Again.” he says in a sorry and bitter tone, “But all that glitters is not gold.”

You shake your head slowly, “No, I’m glad you confided in me.” You look at him, “You’re a wonderful person, Marcus.” This time it’s his turn to lower his head. How you wish you could lift him out of all this, you wish he was happy! “How I wish your life was simple and happy!” you tell him and this time he looks up exchanging a knowing smile with you.

“Tonight, do you want to come with me to Rome? I want you to see more than just my life. I can’t guarantee that you’ll like everything you see, but you’ll certainly have a broader vision.”

“If I’m with you, that’s fine,” you reply.

He gives you such a sweet smile that warms your heart and makes it beat.

The magnificence of Rome envelops, conquers and scares every time. Marcus can't help but observe the amazement in your eyes, the smile that appears when you notice something special or extravagant.

You are in front of him, your hands on the cart to hold yourself up. He is right behind you, holding the reins of the horse. Every now and then you look up at him and ask him what this or that is and he answers your ear giving a name to everything you see as you pass by.

When the chariot stops, he gets out first, then gives you his hands to get out, you get out with a little hop, observing first the man and then what is around you.

The people have prepared huge bonfires around which they prepare food, some dance and others sing hymns to Hades so that he can help them always have food and with the hope that one day they or their descendants will enjoy some of the wealth enjoyed by the upper classes.

Acacius has always participated in these events, he tried to do everything he could for the people by sharing that little bit of wealth that he himself enjoyed and for this he’s much loved by all the people. In fact, he's one of the few men who is not frowned upon or thrown rotten food as he passes by; rather, they bless him and thank him. This evening is no exception.

Marcus immediately receives a glass of wine which he offers to you as a sign of gallantry, then takes another. You both drink, smiling at each other, and in the firelight your eyes and your smile bewitch him. Your joy, your dance, your laughter, your dragging him into those dances envelop him and ensnare him until he forgets, at least for those hours, his role and the burden that weighs on his shoulders.

You brought so much joy and lightness into his heart, you brought serenity and enthusiasm into a difficult and heavy life like his, you brought the love that was missing in his life.

[bones4thecats]

Hello, if it's not a problem, I would like to make a request to Leona and Jamil, (my favorite boys) with a female reader who is a princess from a kingdom on the moon (and technically a divine being) and even though she had several suitors, she chose him as her boyfriend please

Type of Writing: Request Characters: Leona Kingscholar and Jamil Viper Name: {Character} with Princess! Reader That Chooses Them Over Others Requester: @marinahavik

A/N: Oh, this is so cute! I honestly think that having a person choosing them over someone else would warm their hearts, since they were always put behind others, Falena for Leona and Kalim for Jamil. Honestly it's so sad😢

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🦁 As a princess and heir to a thrown, you had a bunch of pressure on yourself, from being 'picture perfect' to having the 'best man' be yours, it was something that many went through and eventually accepted, but you did not just lay down

🦁 You had turned down man after man, most of whom all laid out their intentions behind a front of gentlemanly, and that pissed you off

🦁 Instead of keeping it to yourself and staying home, you ran to your parents and requested to be transported to Night Raven College, saying you wished to take a break and hang with your best friend, Leona Kingscholar

🦁 The beastman was not someone many could picture ruling, due to his lazy and deadbeat persona, but, you cared for him beyond everything

🦁 Though, you did not know how far he cared about you, he wanted to be your one and only, but, he did not know how to exactly lay that out to his parents, since they obviously feared your family slightly

🦁 You were divine beings, a cross between human and fae, with the ability to have extended lives with a ritual with a special gem found on the moon while still appearing completely human, with a few exceptions

🦁 Your appearance and role paled far lighter in comparison to his, but your differences drew him in, and when he felt you jump on his back as he walked around Savanaclaw, he chuckled and hugged you from the front, teasing you with that smirk of his

" Marry me! " " Huh? "

🦁 Now you had him shocked. You wanted to marry him? What about all of the other men that had come to earn your heart, did they not match with you right? Did he have to kick some ass?!

🦁 Okay, he'll put his anger behind him, for now

" Y/N? What exactly do you mean by, 'marry me'? You want to marry me for something, don't you? " " No! Those guys who have tried themselves for my heart did nothing, but you, Leona Kingscholar, you have wrapped my heart around your finger without any effort! Please, marry me and become my one and only Prince. "

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🐍 Jamil only knew you because of the meetings he had heard about from Kalim growing up, how fun you were and how amazingly calm you were with his younger siblings

🐍 When you came to Night Raven College monthly to visit Kalim for a week at a time, Jamil got to know you a lot better. And, while your future subjects may frown upon it, you grew to adore the young man

🐍 He had a bunch of hobbies that he had to push aside to do his main objectives in life, take care and protect Kalim from any danger

🐍 You knew he hated it, but there wasn't much you could do, because you lived on a whole different piece of floating rock, and besides, you people didn't exactly have the best relationship with humans, you were basically the same as the fae and humans, constant fights and battles

🐍 Jamil eventually became fond of you, since you would tell him to take a break as you asked one of your helpers to do something for him while you gave him a well-needed break

🐍 He and you basically became better friends than he and Kalim were, since you looked past everything that he put up as a front of patience and no-calamity, while inside he was the opposite at times

🐍 Hearing from Kalim that you were being held back for a couple months to go through suitors, his heart sunk to his stomach, you had to choose a suitor? You were still so young, barely even a young adult!

🐍 He pushed his own, and in his eyes, selfish feelings, behind and sent you a letter from him and Kalim stating their wishes of luck for you and whomever you chose to spend the rest of your life with, ruling a kingdom and all

🐍 But, when the doors slammed open and you ran in with your personal guard by your side, the two jumped and looked at you in surprise, tears falling down your face as you softly cried before smiling at Jamil

" Jamil Viper, do me the pleasure of becoming my future king. " " WHAT?! "

🐍 He was definitely surprised you would ask him that, he was a mere servant for a noble family, why would you choose him over the endless list of royalty you had laying on their knees for you

🐍 Kalim smiled and pulled your guard out of the room, stating you guys needed privacy for such a large decision and all

🐍 Jamil looked down into your eyes, which reflected the darkness of the night sky and he smiled, stating how he would love to, but he was a low-rank man from a nothing family and he couldn't possibly marry you, no matter how much his heart yearned for it

" I already spoke to my parents, 'ya snake! They said they wanted me to do what my heart wanted, and y'know what my heart wants? It wants you, and only you. Please, listen to your heart and not your brain for once. "

🐍 The male closed his eyes and let his brain go blank, freeing itself of it's constant prying of being the perfect man to help Kalim, and his heart spoke for itself for once in a very long time

" If it makes you happy, your majesty, I will be happy to wed you. I cannot wait to see Kalim's reaction, and my family's. "

🐍 Smiling at him, your tears stopped falling as wave of joy replaced the one of depression and anxiety of him turning you down once more, and while you looked into his eyes, Jamil chuckled as he leaned in for your first kiss

" Jamil! The stove! " " Oh sh- "

[leonslutkennedeeznuts]

Afternoon Delight | Leon x Fem!Reader

Leon wanted to say something smooth, a pickup line to really seal in the deal but instead he said “I think I’m too old for you actually. I’m sorry about all this.”

You didn’t seem fazed, almost amused by him even. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable at all, Leon,” you admitted. You leaned down, your breasts almost exposed to him now in your teeny tiny bikini top.

“Actually,” you continued, taking in the sight of him, his blond locks, that gorgeous half smirk on his face, “I really like older men.” (AO3)

Leon was resting in the hammock, eyes closed behind his shades, drink in hand as he idly swayed. His first vacation in almost two years and Leon couldn’t believe his luck. The room not only had its own private pool but a hot tub as well with views of the ocean. If only he had someone to share it all with, he thought to himself almost bitterly. No, he refused to let his mind go there. He was 100% officially done with all the games and the chase. This was his first vacation as a single man. Leon was going to make the most of it.

When the idea of having amazing sex on vacation first crossed his mind, he shook it off. He was a relationship guy, he reasoned to himself, despite all the very attractive scantily clad women eyeing him at his every turn. It was only his first night. If the opportunity presented itself, Leon wouldn’t say no but the odds of a woman making the first move was slim to none, he reasoned.

That’s when you came along. He was walking past the swim up pool bar when it happened. Like a lion watching its prey, Leon couldn’t take his eyes off of your wet taunt body splashing around as you waited for whatever fruity drink the bartender offered to create just for you. Hey, he couldn’t blame you- endless drinks was the main reason he gave in when Hunnigan offered him this getaway.

Your bikini should’ve been illegal. It was downright sinful. Leon had vaguely heard of a g-string bikini but had never seen one in action. Nothing was covered back there it seemed. If someone had told him that your bikini bottoms were made with colored floss, he’d have believed it. You were gorgeous, full of laughter and soon to be full of the rainbow colored liquor you were sipping on.

Almost frozen in place, Leon felt like a coward. He’d done this song and dance before, for years actually, so he knew how to approach a woman (one very specific woman). The only problem was that he’d only been with one woman. Picking up a stranger at a bar, at a resort and fucking like rabbits- he wasn’t that type of guy but damn you made him want to be.

He was kind of hungry actually, but now Leon had a newfound hunger for something else- you. He felt like a pervert. You couldn’t be more than 23 years old. Young, beautiful, at the prime of your life with no idea he was going to be stroking himself later to this visual. Leon could be a gentleman and ask you to accompany him to dinner. Sure, the food was free too but it was the thought that counted.

The resort had an upscale steakhouse- he could wine and dine you the way he was raised to treat a woman but his cock was starting to get hard the more you jumped around in the pool, your breasts almost threatening to spill out in front of everyone. Leon had to get out of there before he came in his pants.

Yeah, it had been a while since he’d gotten some and apparently he was too much of a coward to just approach you. What if you thought he was a dirty old man?

Leon sipped his watered down whiskey on the rocks and started to walk away before he caught a glimpse of you getting out of the water. You locked eyes with him and the world stood still. From the look on your face you didn’t seem disgusted at his obvious gawking. He even saw you lick your lips and wink at him before grabbing a beach towel and lightly dabbing at your skin, making no real effort to dry off.

“Hey,” he heard your voice call out. Leon looked around to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “Yeah, you over there!” You sauntered over to him seated at his lounge chair. Your smile made it very clear that you were on to him.

His cheeks couldn’t get more red. “Look, I was just staring off into space. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” She’s probably going to call security and complain about the gross old man lusting after her, he thought. “I’m Leon, by the way.”

You reached out to shake his hand as you introduced yourself to him. “I’m Y/N. What are you up to later, Leon? I’m here all week.”

All week. He had the chance to see you and possibly be with you and inside you all week.

Leon wanted to say something smooth, a pickup line to really seal in the deal but instead he said “I think I’m too old for you actually. I’m sorry about all this.”

You didn’t seem fazed, almost amused by him even. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable at all, Leon,” you admitted. You leaned down, your breasts almost exposed to him now in your teeny tiny bikini top.

“Actually,” you continued, taking in the sight of him, his blond locks, that gorgeous half smirk on his face, “I really like older men.”

—-----------

After your bold statement, Leon had awkwardly laughed before blurting out “I’d feel less awkward if you’d let me take you to dinner,” fully intending to be a gentleman and make a reservation at the steakhouse. You had agreed and made plans to meetup at his hotel suite. Leon was sitting on the edge of his bed wrapped in a towel not believing his luck. Day 1 of vacation and he was almost guaranteed to get laid.

He’d never been with a younger woman before, never really dated anyone in the true, honest sense.

“Just make it through dinner,” he whispered to himself. “What if she thinks I’m some sugar daddy type,” he thought to himself out loud. He totally would be for you.

The knocking on the door brought Leon out of his thoughts. You were here. You were going to go to dinner together, talk, potentially get along great and let nature take its course so he could feel like less of a cradle robber.

“Y/N, you’re here early,” he remarked, gesturing to the towel wrapped around his waist. “I haven’t gotten dressed yet, is something the matter?”

At first he’d been confused as to why you’d shown up in just the robe included in your room, convinced that you’d changed your mind and was here to tell him off. It was only after you removed your robe that he realized what was happening.

If he thought your bikini was sinful, this dress was the actual sin. It was a sexy red mesh that left nothing to the imagination. And he had imagined you naked and crying his name in the shower just a few minutes before.

“I was thinking we’d skip right to dessert.”

He had you naked and on your back within seconds.

—- “Oh, fuck Leon, fuck me,” you moaned as you put both hands on the back of his head, refusing to let him come up for air as he devoured your pussy.

Leon felt like a virgin all over again. He was amazed at how your body moved, the way you moaned and called out his name without abandon, grinding your pussy into his eager mouth, hands going from gripping the sheets to gripping his hair.

It was almost like his first time- his first one night stand or summer fling. He didn’t know what the future held but right now in this moment, you grinding into his mouth, he swore he could die happy.

You were bossy, demanding and bratty. Your mouth was filthy. He loved it. He couldn’t wait to see you unravel as you came on his tongue. Leon made that his mission, his eyes fixated on your face (what he could see of it from this angle), to make you cum hard screaming and thrashing in his bed.

“Uh huh, eat my fucking pussy, yes just like tha-” Your back arched and instead of licking at your clit, Leon started sucking it as your cum covered his mouth, his chin and jaw. “I’m cumming, Leon,” you brokenly screamed.

He felt you pulling at his hair then trying to push him away but he grabbed your thighs and kept them apart as they quivered near his ears. “Mhmm, that’s right, eat my cum, daddy.

Leon almost came right then and there. He’d never been called ‘Daddy’ before, never thought he’d be into it but he felt powerful hearing it roll off your tongue in your blissed out haze. He couldn’t wait to feel you hot, wet and pulsating around his cock calling him ‘Daddy’ as he made you squirt.

“Daddy, hmm,” he teasingly inquired, finally coming up for air. His cock was achingly hard. Thank God he’d jacked off earlier or he’d have cum the second you started stroking him.

The moment he had the back of your knees on his shoulders, sliding into you inch by inch, memorizing the look on your face as your eyes rolled back into your head- he’d never see anything else in his wet dreams for as long as he lived.

“Harder,” you ordered him, already feeling fucked out and close to cumming. “Fuck me harder, Daddy.”

Your neon pink painted nails dug into Leon’s ass, trying to force him even deeper. You couldn’t get enough of his thick cock stretching you so deliciously. You made a mental note to attempt deep throating him later.

Leon kept pounding into you like his life depended on it. He wanted, no, he needed to make you cum on his dick. To prove to himself mostly that as he was getting up in age that he still had it, that he could move on, still have amazing sex and be attractive to other women after all the bullshit he'd dealt with before.

Okay so maybe he was getting insecure about being in his late 30s, 36 to be exact, but the way you were milking his dick with your tight pussy more than eased his doubts.

“Yes, yes, Leon, make me cum please.”

Your voice brought him back to the reality that he had a very willing, horny and attractive young woman about to squirt in his bed, begging him to fuck her.

“Cum for me, baby, be a good girl for Daddy,” he grunted out before your squeals turned into heavy breathing and panting as your nails scratched up and down his back, his ass and shoulders. “Fuck, Y/N, you’re gorgeous.”

You had brought out the animal in him, satiated his sexual appetite like never before. Now he was back to kissing you all over, your soft lips, your neck and your amazing breasts that he definitely wanted to do a titty fuck with.

“God, I don’t think I can walk after that,” you quipped after he’d cleaned you both up after his cum had started to ooze out of your swollen pussy, a view Leon clearly enjoyed. “I feel like I’m about to pass out,” you said before yawning, snuggling into his embrace.

He was hot, older (a huge plus for you), had a nice cock and made you cum harder than you ever had as evidenced by the wet spot you left behind. You felt beyond lucky.

Leon gave you another kiss, this time slipping his tongue into your mouth letting you taste yourself.

“Mmm, me too,” he admitted. Leon found himself idly stroking your arms as you cuddled into him. It had been too long since he’d had a moment like this and he wanted to savor it. “We can take a shower together afterwards and still make it to dinner later, if you want to, Y/N.”

You gave him a quick peck and pulled the comforter up, the A/C kicking on at just the right time.

“I’d love that, Leon.”

This was going to be a very good vacation, the both of you thought before drifting off to sleep.