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reiderwriter · 14 days

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Isn't She Pretty, Daddy?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Teacher f!Reader

Summary: You're a little bit worried about one of your brightest students recently, so you call her Dad to come in for a meeting. Her absolutely adorable - and single - Dad.

Warnings: the birds and the bees as explained by a kindergardener. Some angst about being a single parent.

A/N: Here's another entry for @imagining-in-the-margins Kid Fic Challenge! Dad Spencer has my heart, and I've been in a really fluff forward mood this weekend, evidently! I think I have one more Kid Fic left to go before the end of the challenge, but we'll see what the will of the fanfiction gods is...

Masterlist

If you were to be asked what the hardest part of being a teacher was, you would, without question or even a second to think, have an answer. Parents. The worst part of teaching is talking to parents.

Little kids were easy to talk to. They asked questions if they didn't understand things clearly, and they didn't typically say things they didn't mean. Adults were the opposite, and it just so happened that all of your kids' parents were adults.

Including your most recent problem child.

You were used to the kids in your class having some behavior issues - for one, they were kids, it was to be expected that their little bodies couldn't quite handle all of the emotions they were feeling at once. But you were doubly struck by your school area being close to Quantico, meaning half the kids in your care had families with law enforcement backgrounds.

Absent parents plus growing bodies plus normal kid stress equalled attachment issues, and your problem child Harper Reid was one of your more worrying cases.

You really hoped everything was okay in the Reid household, so you'd called the little girls parents. She was lovely - honest to god - one of the sweetest little kids you'd ever met.

Every day she came to school with some older kids and their mom, carpooling on the way in, so you had yet to meet her parents, but you thought that anyone who could produce something that sweet and cute and brilliant couldn't possibly be a bad person.

You didn't know what to expect, so when her little pigtails peaked around the corner and she came running in, you were momentarily filled with anxiety.

“MOMMY!” The little girl yelled, launching herself into your arms as soon as she spotted you behind your desk.

“Hi, Harper! Hi, you must be, Mr. Reid-”

“Doctor, actually, um, but that doesn't really matter. I'm so sorry about this, Harper doesn't usually tackle people.”

The 3ft tall ball of energy had managed to crawl into your lap and wrap her arms around your neck, so you had to pick her up when you stood to greet her dad.

“Will your wife be joining us for the meeting today?” You asked, already used to Harper's hugs and general closeness.

“Oh, no. No, she's not coming. She, uh, doesn't exist. Single father.”

“Oh my god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to assume, it's just not on my files-”

“It's okay, it's a …bit complicated.”

You took your seat at the desk and gestured to the man to do the same. Finally, looking at him for the first time now that some of your anxiety had died down, you couldn't help but think that Doctor Reid was incredibly attractive. It wasn't one part of his face that stuck out to you as being particularly pretty, just the entire ensemble of it together that took your breath away. Either that of Harper was gripping you so tight she was restricting your ability to breathe, and considering a five year old is not a boa constrictor, this was all dad's fault.

“So, you said on the phone Harper's been having some problems at school?”

You snapped your attention back to the issue at hand, searching for the relevant files and pictures you wanted to show the man. Harper turned herself around in your lap and looped her arms around your arm, pulling it in close to use as a pillow.

“Isn't Miss Y/N so pretty, Daddy?” You froze and flushed in an instant, suddenly so aware of the man's eyes on you. You weren't sure if you were thankful or even more embarrassed that Harper's dad seemed to be even more flushed than you.

“Daddy? Isn't she pretty?” Harper insisted, and you realized that you both weren't going to get out of this without him answering.

“Yes, angel. Miss Y/N is very pretty.” The little girl smiled in triumph and nuzzled into your arm even more, happily curled up into your lap like a cat.

“Hey, Harper. We got a new puzzle delivered yesterday. It's got My Melody and Cinnamaroll on it. They're your favorites, right?”

The little girl nodded in glee, eyes shining as she hung on your every word.

“How about you go over to the play area and get it started, and then me and your daddy will come over and help you finish it?”

In a flash, she'd hopped up out of your lap and wriggled away, shouting a quick “You promised, right?” behind her as she went.

“I'm so sorry about that, I don't know what's gotten into her, she's usually very shy and-”

“Doctor Reid, it's fine. That's just why I called you in today. Teachers and parents are a team, right, we work together to make sure the kids grow up well, you don't need to apologize to me for that.”

The man seemed to take a deep breath and nod, to regain his wits about him for a second.

“Is she… this attached in her regular classes?”

“Well honestly, she was a bit like that at the beginning of the semester, but she grew out of it after a while. In the last week or so, she fell back into it, and now she's calling me ‘Mommy,’ too. I was wondering if anything happened recently at home that could've led her in this direction, or…”

The man looked a little bashful, but there was a twinge of sadness in his expression that you recognised all too well.

“Harper, uh, doesn't have a Mom. I adopted her, and it's a long story, but... She's been asking me to get her one recently, because she doesn't really understand all that well? I'm sorry, I didn't know she'd do something like this. I should've done a better job at home-”

“Doctor Reid, raising a child is hard. It's so hard that humans usually do it in communities, or at least in couples. You're doing it alone, and Harper is already one of the smartest and most empathetic little girls I know. You're doing your job as Dad just fine.”

The man smiled at you and looked down, quickly wiping away a tear as you gave him a moment of privacy.

“So. If nothing at home set Harper off, we should probably go and ask her why she's calling me mommy, right?”

You stood, and he stood with you, leaving his satchel next to his chair and unbuttoning his jacket.

“Great. Sure, let's go see.”

Walking to the back of the room, you both smiled quietly, looking at the small girl. The 100 piece puzzle you'd guided her to was neatly arranged on the desk, pieces split into edges and centre pieces as she slowly looked at each one with a quietly focused face. Each time she found the piece she was looking for, her smile was bright as she connected it to the small part she was working on.

“Mommy! Daddy! I can't find the melody's face, can you help me?”

“Sure, Harper, we'll help you.” You moved to sit beside her at the tiny desks, giggling when the older Reid on Harper's other side struggled to fit himself in the toddler sized chairs.

Harper assigned you roles, and you all started quietly doing your jobs, waiting for Harper to focus again so you could ask her questions without agitating her.

“Harper, can you tell your Daddy why you call me Mommy?”

“Sure! You're Mommy because I want you to marry with Daddy.”

If you weren't already still flushed from her earlier comments, you certainly were lightheaded with embarrassment now.

“Harper, that's not how it works-”

“Yes, it is, Daddy! Henry said so. He said his mommy and daddy were sad one day, but then they were together again and they had a big party called a wedding and now they're happy, and that's why we have Michael.” You didn't quite follow from all the names and the story events, but it was evident that Reid did, so you waited quietly for his explanation.

“My friend. Her son was at her wedding a few years back. They have another son who is a couple years older than Harper, they come to school together?”

Your mouth made a small ‘o’ as you slowly filled in the blanks.

“Harper, you want daddy to have a wedding so he isn't sad anymore?”

The little girl gave a big nod and a smile, like she was so happy that she was finally being understood.

“Miss Y/N should marry daddy because he thinks she's pretty. Henry said that was important for a wedding, your mommy has to look beautiful.” You made eye contact with Doctor Reid awkwardly as she spoke, both of you looking away for fear of seeing the embarrassment on each others faces.

“And Miss Y/N wants a baby. So I will be Miss Y/N's baby, so everyone can be happy!” Harper's kid logic was a little hard to find fault with, but you still had to push back a little.

“Harper, why do you think I want a baby?”

“Angie asked you, and you said," the girl pouted, almost frustrated woth habing to answer all these silly questions.

"She asked you why you don't have a baby, and you said that you can only have a baby if you're married and that you wanted to have a baby when you were married. So marry my dad, and I'll be your baby!”

Harper's smile was so happy and content that you really didn't want to spoil her dream just yet. You continued putting the puzzle together for a few minutes in silence, the full picture nearly being complete now. Harper seemed to fidget a little in her seat next to you, pushing closer and closer to you before tugging on your sleeve.

You leaned down and she whispered in your ear - though you didn't doubt that her dad heard every word.

“If you really want, I'm sure we can get another baby like Henry got Michael. I'll ask my dad, but I think it's allowed.”

The poor man on the other side of the desk had to cover his face with his hands to stop the blush from showing, devolving to just straight up resting his head on the desk when his daughter kept going.

“A boy is okay, but my dad doesn't really know about boy stuff. Uncle Derek says that my daddy is just a pretty boy with a book brain. We should get another girl, so daddy can be not worry.”

The more you listened to Harper's adorable family plan, the more you just wanted to squeeze her tight and say yes and give her everything she wanted.

“Miss Y/N, once again, I'm so sorry for everything, I'll talk with Harper at home about this.”

“It's okay, I actually find it all very sweet,” you laughed a little and smiled back at him.

“No, I'm sure your boyfriend would be so uncomfortable if he knew that she was trying to marry you off-”

“Doctor Reid, are you trying to ask me if I'm single?”

The small grin that quirked his lips up was nothing if not unfair. He really was a very pretty boy.

“It was that obvious?”

“Yep.” You made sure the ‘p’ popped a lot as you both shared a small laugh. Harper looked up between you and smiled, too.

“So, can you get married now? Henry said you can do it really quickly, like in Grandpa Rossi's garden, and then you can go and do the secret part at home while Auntie Penny looks after me.”

“Secret part?”

“To make the other baby, silly!”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid kid fic

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spacedace · 8 months

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Reluctant War AU Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

More of the brain worm that has taken me over, gonna probably post it to Ao3 here before too long. Already got another part started and so many ideas for additional stuff, someone please send help I've been consumed by this thing lol

Sorry if Waller seems out of character, outside of fandom I'm mostly familiar with her through Justice League the animated show & Justice League: Unlimited and her vibe there has always struck me as "deeply incredibly unlikable character that also kind of has a point but also has done so much fucked up shit in the name of her goals that you don't really care about her point anymore." So you know, complicated lol. If she's completely unrecognizable let me know, but I'm hoping she feels at least somewhat like Waller.

Forgot to say this in the last update, but still feel free to use all this as an overly long prompt if yall want. Literally anything I throw out to the void should be treated as a prompt lol If there's anything at all interesting to you in any of this nonsense go for it <3 <3 <3

---

Amanda Waller was someone who did what needed to be done.

Ruthless, heartless, vicious, cruel.

She’d been called it all. Wore the words thrown as insults as a badges of pride and valor. Because at the end of the day, when it came to the problems she was given to face, the issues she was meant to solve, those words meant she’d done what others had been too squeamish or cowardly to do. Life was a never ending slog of trolley problems and she the only one unshakable enough to pull the levers that needed pulling.

It wasn’t so simple as a matter of greater good.

Greater good was what the weak willed muttered to themselves after having feelings over doing the bare minimum. A justification used by people on all sides to do what they wanted with fractured, faulty logic thrown around like truth was a thing immutable. To assuage their guilt when they were forced to make a call they didn’t want to.

It wasn’t a matter of greater good. It was a matter of preservation. Of protection. Of digging through the filth to find the threats skittering beneath and crush them with ruthless abandon. Of facing a god and not blinking because if you did it could cost the world.

Of doing what needed to be done, no matter how underhanded or atrocious it was.

Hands dirty.

Hands red.

Hands wrapped tight around the throat of something that could threaten to destroy it all.

When the Ghost Investigation Ward had been shoved her way with it’s sucking wound of a budget, it’s bloated incompetent staff, its asinine methods she’d seen a rotted limb in need of hacking off. It hadn’t been until she’d been conducting her inspection, digging through the trash for a few pearls of effective agents she could snatch up and put to work elsewhere, that she’d truly seen what they were working on. The potential.

Potential to better arm themselves with in the forms of the strange new weapons being created.

Potential for threats far greater than anything even she had thought possible before.

The GIW as it had been when she’d first come across it was a fetid waste of time and resources. A laughing stock agency only secret because no one took them seriously enough to look. Made stupid and useless with its own conceited delusions of importance it didn’t actually have. Yet.

She went to work on it. Hacking away as she’d originally intended, but this time with a different goal in mind. She ripped out the weeds with bare, calloused hands and planted proficiency and loyalty in their place. She took over as director herself, tossing the self-aggrandizing fool that had been running the place into the ground to the dogs as the culprit for misappropriate spendings, saving the agency by tweaking things until their ballooning budget was pinned neatly onto the former director as an embezzling charge.

Then she got to work.

The Fentons were brilliant, if entirely insane. But Amanda could work with that. She’d reigned Harley Quinn in - more or less - she could do the same to the two deranged scientists that so eagerly wanted to be apart of the fight against the dead. Especially when the benefit came in the form of the inventions they threw together so easily, especially when those inventions were weapons.

It took very little to get them on board with her plans for the GIW. Keeping their focus could be a chore, at times, but she didn’t even have to really do much in the way of pressing to get them back where she wanted them. They craved knowledge and understanding nearly as much as they craved the eradication of the entities themselves. Letting them have the first look at a new subject here, free reign over a vivisection there, it took so little to fuel their fervor and keep them busy working on the projects she set for them.

Things had been going smoothly.

For a time at least.

Until Phantom.

He’d been the main focus of the previous director’s attention, the big fish he’d so desperately wanted to catch and put up on his wall. Amanda wouldn’t lie and say it wasn’t a tempting prospect, but not one she’d put above the other projects she had set in motion since taking over. No, Phantom was powerful, enough to be a real problem one day, but she could the awkward youth in the way he held himself, the inexperience in how he handled situations. She had time to get everything else in order before focusing on getting Amity Park’s would-be hero brought to heel.

And he would be brought to heel. One way or another.

Hands dirty.

Hands red.

Hands wrapped tight around the Core of a fledgling god and bending him to her will.

An artifact, old an powerful, recovered with some effort. A means of controlling specters, of chaining them to the will of the artifact’s wielder. Dangerous in the wrong hands. Dangerous in the right hands.

It was shattered, and even whole and functional Phantom was resistant to its power. But Amanda Waller prided herself in her ability to see the potential in things. It could be repaired, be made better. Even gods could be bound, be made to kneel, with the right pieces, with the right application of force.

It was just a matter of time to gather everything needed.

Phantom didn’t know he could single handedly destroy every last member of the Justice League. The baby fat, the innocent eyes, the split-second hesitations when he fought. He knew enough to be confident in fighting the usual ghosts that haunted Amity Park, but he still very much saw himself as a little fish. Maybe it was the part of him that was still Daniel Fenton, gangly teenager not quite sure what he was truly capable of yet.

She had time before the Fenton’s son truly became an issue. Time to judge if his parents’ obsessiveness would overcome their - rather shoddy, by Amanda’s estimation - parental instincts and continue to hunt him once they knew the truth. Time to get as much out of them as she could before hand, should they falter at the idea of attacking their own son. Time for the staff to be repaired and returned to working order, to get the other items needed for the truly big fish hidden on the other side of the veil between worlds.

She had time.

Until she didn’t.

Pariah Dark had not been something she thought she’d have to account for - not yet, at least.

If he wasn’t already dead, she’d ring the Ghost King’s neck with her bare hands. His arrival had opened Phantom’s eyes to what he was capable of, of just how big of a fish he was. Worse still, Phantom’s defeat of the war mongering King changed the state of play. Phantom was no longer an impressively powerful half dead teenager.

He was King Infinite.

He was an Ancient.

He was getting on her last damn nerves.

Phantom’s rogue gallery were now firmly under the boy’s control. Still distinct nuisances around Amity Park, but no longer considered true concerns. They were loyal to their boy king, delighting in ruffling his feathers but never crossing the line into treason or attempted regicide. Which meant that the GIW was the only thing that held his attention.

Amanda took the time to send a care package to the former GIW director in his tiny, dank prison cell. As thanks for his carelessness in revealing to the entire town - both living and dead - of the agency’s existence and their intentions. Had he stuck to standard protocol, Phantom would have been none the wiser to their presence. Would have scratched his head and shrugged his shoulders at the ghost that went missing upon occasion. Would have been boredly uninterested in the people his parents had begun working with. Would have been taken by surprise when they finally came for him.

But no.

No that self-obsessed, fame chasing imbecile had to go and announce to everyone and their dead mother that the GIW existed and exactly what it was they were in Amity Park to do.

Phantom knew what they were there to do.

They could only count on his naive certainty that he could broker peace with them for so long.

Peace. As if he and his people weren’t the invading force, the monsters slipping in through the cracks between worlds, the latest threat that had to be accounted for. As if he himself hadn’t rent their world asunder himself in another world, another time. No. Peace was not something they could hash out with this baby-faced monarch with his too-big crown. Peace was the assurance of safety, security. Of control of the situation.

There could be no peace.

The higher ups were somehow surprised when Phantom took that to mean there would be war.

Amanda Waller was not.

The Fentons, as suspected, took the right side when all was revealed. Steady hands and flinty eyes as they crafted the weapons that would be needed for the coming fight. Minds even sharper in their maddened grief, hearts set on revenge for the son lost and the entity that stole his face and friends and sister in his garish pretense at humanity. They were blinded to the reality of the situation in its entirety, the potential in what their son truly was, but at the end of the day it didn’t really matter. They did what she needed them to do, they could believe whatever it was they wanted so long as they did.

By the time the boy king and his armies marched upon the Amity park facility, preparations had been put into place. The base in Amity had been stripped back to bare essentials, everything of importance moved to more secured locations.

The weapons labs.

The artifact.

The girl.

All tucked well away from the front lines where Phantom and his motley crew could not reach. Their time to be put in play would come, but not yet. First she needed to gauge what Phantom and his people were capable of, what they were willing to do in the name of what they wanted. Amity Park was a pawn well sacrificed on that front. As were the other facilities she’d left easy to find.

The problem with making children gods, with giving them crowns and calling them King and giving them armies to play with, was that they thought there should be rules. That even in the trenches tearing apart their enemies, there was a certain level of playing fair that everyone was held to. They thought there was a way the world worked, of how things should be that blinded them to more effective options even as time stretched on and desperation set in.

It was the Dead’s problem though, not hers.

She reached out to the Justice League. Sour faced, unhappy, bitterly reluctant to accept that she needed their help. Stone faced and barely containing their rage at what little they knew of the situation, they agreed to a meeting.

She didn’t let herself smile until she was well and truly alone in her office.

Greater good. A lie people told themselves. A fairytale told to children. A means of convincing the weaker willed that they had no choice, that they had a noble duty to bend to. A belief that could be wielded like a weapon if the fantasy of the idea had dug in deep enough. And there were few it had dug into so deep as the members of the Justice League.

Amanda Waller was someone who did what needed to be done.

Hands dirty.

Hands red.

Hands clenched tight on a victory long in the making.

---

Part Four

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #danny fenton #amanda waller #GIW #ghost investigation ward #Jack Fenton #Maddie Fenton #bad parents jack & maddie fenton #cause none of this is angsty enough yet lol #tw references to vivisection #tw references to death #waller out here playing 3d chess #of course she wasn't surprised by the inevitable war she was just hoping she'd have her secret weapon ready before it actually kicked off #oh well she still has plans B - J to get through #and all the variations for each #gonna take care of her ghost problem and her justice league problem in one fell swoop if she gets her way #just throw some GIW agents into the meat grinder for a bit while she gets stuff in order & so she can see just what Danny is willing to do #anyway wonder what Elle is up to during all this #i'm sure she's fine and there's nothing to worry about #waller playing the long con yall

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hheckk · 3 months

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Deep Dive into Alastor's Situation

So we all remember this bit in Finale, where Alastor has a breakdown about his situation and deal correct? He wants to find a loophole so he can be back in control.

I've seen a lot of theories regarding how Alastor is feeling in this moment and what his deal could involve, but thus far they've all sort of missed something crucial. Alastor's power.

Alastor is highly disturbed by the fact that he almost died, let alone dying to protect people. He is freaked out that the deal has made him do this, whether as part of the deal itself or as a means to get back some semblance of control he had before the deal was struck.

Either way, based on what he says in this moment about wanting to find a loophole in order to unclip his wings

: "The constraints of my deal surely have a back door. Once I figure out how to unclip my wings, guess who will be pulling all the strings"

We can hazard a guess and say that this deal, despite us initially believing gave him power, has probably actually taken it away. Having one's wings clipped usually entails that someone is on a leash and cannot fully extend themselves.

This means that Alastor, as well as being forced into helping the hotel, has had his power taken away.

Now I do not say this lightly, I also think that this is the case because of Alastor's fight with Adam.

We all know Alastor likes to be in control, and in order to be in control, one must not overestimate another without the possibility of the loss of that control. Now, you could say that is exactly what happened in his fight with Adam, but that wouldn't necessarily warrant the reaction toward his deal the way he does in the song. If that were the case, Alastor would likely be more angry at himself than be panicked about his deal.

Therefore, we can guess that Alastor did not overestimate Adam, but rather himself. This means that at some point, he quite possibly did have the power to take out an angel but does not anymore. The fact that he is so surprised that Adam broke his mic that we can hear his true voice means that he expected to be able to block that attack.

This all comes back to the idea that Alastor has lost power through whatever deal he made. Which in turn makes us ask the question:

What did Alastor get in return?

If he lost enough power to the point he thought he could beat Adam and couldn't, what did he want so badly that he felt the need to sell his soul and power away?

I have no idea

BUT, I have thoughts.

I have seen theories saying that perhaps Alastor made this deal while he was alive, and he sold his soul to gain power while living. This, while possible, doesn't necessarily match up with what we know about his character.

Alastor is conniving. He's brilliant. He's a serial killer. He knows and understands nuance like the back of his hand. With how much time he spent in hell (he died in the 30s and according to the wiki, Katie Killjoy died in 1992 ((Helluva Boss also takes place in the 21st century but we don't know yet if Helluva Boss is canon to Amazon's Hazbin Hotel)) Alastor would have had ample time to figure out loopholes in his deal.

No, his deal definitely happened at some point during his seven-year absence, likely near the end for the same reason as the previous. Which, again, all connects back to Lillith, which means our likely culprit for this deal is Lillith OR the person responsible for Lillith's disappearance if not Lillith herself.

This all brings us back to two questions:

What deal did Alastor make?

What did he gain from it?

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel spoilers #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor #radio demon #alastor theories #llew speaks #cinema theories #hazbin hotel theory #i could not sleep #i had to get this all out #it has been in my brain since the finale and I could not stop thinking about it #i am fucking vibrating

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meowzfordayz · 1 year

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gifting them a handmade sweater — hashira men

Author’s Note: tried to write these a lil silly, a tad awkward, and very sweet. 🥰

gifting them a handmade sweater — hashira men

Word Count: ~1,700

CW: explicit language, mild sexual content

Emergency Request Fulfilled: This may be a silly request. I decided to knit my boyfriend a sweater and like I tried my best but when I gave it to him he thought I bought it and went on about how I should return it because it looked awful and was laughing. I didn’t have the heart to say I did it and it shattered my heart 🥲Is it possible you could write a lil something of how the hashira men react to an f reader giving them a sweater they made for them? I feel silly requesting something so dorky.

~faqs~

Will it fit? is Gyomei’s first concern as his fingers peruse the fuzzy material shoved shyly into his awaiting hands

—HEHEHE 😏

—Will it fit? 😏😏

—Why do I always get struck by Horny Cupid™ whenever I hc for Gyomei? 🥲

—The man’s a stud 😏😏😏

—That’s why 😌

—Anyway

He doesn’t recall you asking to take his measurements

But then he remembers how often you borrow his clothes

#you don’t need to ask

#it’s OUR closet tyvm 😃

“What’s the occasion?” he questions softly, slipping off his current shirt in favor of trying on his new sweater

—HELLO ABS 😳🫠

—Nothing wrong w/ your partner undressing in front of you, nothing at all 🫢

“Y’know you can wear it over a shirt, right?”

So sue you if you’re suddenly a tad breathless 😅

Gyomei smirks at the hitch in your voice

He’s onto us you 😵‍💫

“I thought you’d be more appreciative of my method.” 😎

—Hrr 🥵

“Does it fit?”

“You tell me,” he chuckles, “Does it look okay? I’m not bursting at the seams?”

*cue unapologetic glance downward*

“N-nope, not bursting at the seams.” 🙃

“I’ll wear it,” he promptly answers your silently hovering question, “I’m honored by the time and effort you put into this gift. Thank you.”

“How honored?” you squeak

“Extremely,” as he reaches for your face, his mouth curving into a gentle smile as you settle your jaw into his cupped palms, “You are simply the best.”

He kisses your nose knowing it’ll make you giggle ☺️

“I can’t accept this.”

Help this man

Obanai is already a tomato 🍅

Say something nice, and he might just squirt 😃

“What is that supposed to mean?” you huff, eyes narrowed at his immediate rejection of your hard work

“I don’t deserve it!” ☹️

“The hell you don’t deserve? Is my effort not worthy of your wear? Am I not worthy of you?”

You don’t mean to play dirty or harshly, but c’mon

Immediate rejection of a gift stings, yanno? 😕

“No, no, no, your effort is more than worthy! Too worthy! I just-”

Obanai shuts up, grabs the sweater, and tugs it over his head in one only slightly tangled motion

“CnIhvesumhep?” comes his garbled voice from somewhere inside the sweater

Rolling your eyes, you guide the collar around the top of his head, exasperated smile tugging at the corner of your mouth when his head finally pops through

“I graciously accept your gift,” he mumbles 😅

“Yeah?” you smirk, arms crossing, “That was so gracious of you.”

Pouting, he flicks your forehead faster than you can step back, cheeks dusted rose as he murmurs, “I’m working on it.” 🥺

You vow then and there to shower your sheepish, brilliant man in more gifts, more often

Nothing like a lil exposure therapy to quicken his progress 😇

(ofc, you don’t go too overboard, bc respecting his boundaries and comfort is foremost)

“I love it!” Kyojuro declares, dazzling grin on his face, eyes wide with delight as he hugs the sweater to his chest ❤️‍🔥

“You haven’t even tried it on!” you giggle, shoving playfully at his bicep, “If it doesn’t fit, then I can make adjustments.”

“If it is too small for me, then you are welcome to keep it for yourself, and I will commission you to make me a bigger, matching one!”

You blink once, twice

He really likes it that much?

“Is this you being generous, or sincere?” you ask, not unkindly

“I am being both!”

Damn his beautiful, brain-slowing smile 😭

What were you about to say? 🙃

“What if it’s too big?”

“Then I will be all the more cozy, and I will still commission you to make yourself a matching, oversized sweater!”

“If you’re so interested in wearing matching clothes, then you could just say so,” you snort, cheeks warming at the sight of Kyojuro’s skin peeking out from under his shirt 🫢

(bc he did the whole arms-raising-to-put-on-the-sweater-and-oop-there’s-his-sexy-midriff thing)

“I am interested in supporting you and your creative ventures!” striking a pose, “This might be the most comfortable sweater I have ever owned!” 🤗

“You’re exaggerating.” 🥴

“Perhaps,” he admits, closing the gap between your skepticism and his enthusiasm, lips planted firmly on your forehead, “But I meant it when I said I love it, and it fits perfectly fine.” 🥰

“Is this homemade?” he demands

… 😬

“Yes, Sanemi.”

“I can tell.”

Oof 🥲

But he puts it on faster than your embarrassment can react

“It fits,” in his typical gruff-w/-hint-of-pride/affection tone

—Truth be told, he didn’t expect it to fit 💀

He makes sure to wear it at least once a week

Informs you about all the compliments it receives

(you can trust he isn’t lying bc he gets flustered and grumpy)

Doesn’t tell you about how he ~mildly threatens anyone who dares to even glance at it oddly 😃

Maybe it’s not his favorite sweater, but you’re his favorite person 💞

Sanemi’d never tell you this lest you took advantage, but: he’d swap out his entire wardrobe (and that includes his expensive items) for clothes handmade by you and only you 🥺

If you so desired to make him an entire new wardrobe, that is 😆

#he’d pay you, ofc #and he’d only miss his grey sweatpants ~a lil 😏 #emphasis on grey sweatpants 😏

—I need help

“I have a gift for you too,” Muichiro smiles, ears pink, nose crinkled happily

“Oh?”

“It’s not much,” as he wiggles into the sweater, “But it reminded me of you,” rushing off to fetch his present

“Tada!” he returns moments later, a mug cradled carefully against his chest, “I found it at a thrift shop.” 😁

Its coloring reminds you of the ocean after a storm, large and tall with a thick handle, textured sides providing dimension and uniqueness 🌊

“I thought you said we didn’t need more mugs,” you manage to mumble, cheeks already beginning to hurt from how widely you’re smiling 🥺🥰

“We don’t,” he shrugs, entirely unbothered, “But I’ll always need your happiness, and this makes you happy.”

It does 💓

—As a mug hoarder, Muichiro’s hcs are only ~very self indulgent of me 🤪

“You haven’t told me what you think about my gift to you!”

“It’s a bit tight around the shoulders, but the overall construction is phenomenal.” 👌

“I can adjust it.” 😅

“Yes please. I’ll wear it plenty if it fits properly.” 👍

Forwardness may not feel uber romantic, but well meaning honesty warms your heart all the same 😌

“It’s not holiday season,” Giyuu tilts his head, brow furrowed 🤨

“Are you calling it ugly?” you scowl, lips pursed, “Sweaters aren’t specifically for the holidays, Giyuu, they’re good for layering and style,” eyes narrowing, “Although perhaps the issue here is your overall lack of style?” 😐

“I’m not calling it ugly,” he deadpans, lump in his throat when he notices how shiny your eyes are, “Are you going to cry?” 😳

“NO.” 😖😢

“I’m not calling it ugly!” more urgent now, his expression softening as cool fingers brush gently against your cheek, “I suppose I do lack… style,” gruff tone coaxing a watery smile from you, “Will I regret asking for your expertise?” 😶🫶

“Maaaybe,” you finally crack an exuberant grin, turning your head to press a tender kiss into his palm, “There are a lot of rules.” 😃

“A lot of…” doing his best to conceal his noticeable grimace, “Rules?”

“There’re three main facets of fashion: comfort, utility, and just because.”

“Just because?” 🤔

—Confused Giyuu is my fave Giyuu teehee 😇

—Also: take my fashion ~advice w/ a grain of salt

—My main concern is color coordination

—Beyond that, I’m (almost) as oblivious/do-not-care as Giyuu 😂

“Sweatshirt and sweatpants combo? Comfort. Raincoat and rain boots when it’s raining? Utility. Athletic gear while working out? Utility. The incredible sweater I painstakingly made for you? Comfort and just because.”

Amusement flickers in his gaze as understanding slowly dawns 👀

“And what about pajamas?”

“Comfort and utility.”

“And,” his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, “Nude?” 🫢

“All three,” you wink, “Especially if it involves both of us in bed.”

Giyuu may lack style, but he does not lack the ability to end up in bed—nude—w/ you 😵‍💫😈😉

Tengen: Does it light up? 🧐

Suma: It’s gorgeous! 😍 *squeals excitedly*

You: Excuse me? 😐

Tengen: *pondering* Can you add glitter? 🤔

Hina: Tengen… 😕

Tengen: Don’t get me wrong! I love the design, and the fit is comfortable, but-

Makio: Did you not notice the interwoven tinsel yarn?

Tengen: *huffs* Is that what’s so itchy? 😒

You: TENGEN. 😑

Tengen: *pouts* I have sensitive breasts. 😞

You: *scowling* So wear a damn shirt underneath it.

Tengen: *wistful sigh* But then your love and affection won’t directly touch my skin. 🥺

Suma: Ooh babe, could you make me one next? ☺️ *bambi eyes*

Makio: Hold up, ME next! 😁 *gripping your hand*

Hina: *patiently* I’d love one too, please and thank you. 😇

Tengen: One of you could have mine, and then I could get a new one that doesn’t irritate my br-

Everyone sans Tengen: TENGEN! 😡

Hina: Be grateful, not greedy!

Makio: Shut up about your breasts.

Suma: I’ll take yours, and give it the appreciation and attention it deserves!

Tengen: *thoroughly berated* Thank you [y/n], I apologize for my insensitivity and selfishness. 😓

You: *amused* *Makio is tucked into your left side* *Suma into your right* Is it truly that itchy?

Tengen: *quietly* No.

You: I’ll make sweaters as your birthday gifts, does that seem fair enough? 💝

Makio: *thinking hard* Fine.

Suma: *wetly smooches your cheek* Perfect! Thank you!

Hina: If you wouldn’t mind teaching me, then I’d be content to make my own. *eyeing Makio, Suma, and Tengen* You already have your hands full, after all. 😝

You: *giggling* *meanwhile, the aforementioned trio glare @ Hina* It’d be my pleasure. 🫶

Tengen: Alright, alright, group hug! 😤

You: *cooing* Aww, do you feel left o-

Tengen: *proceeds to squish you, Hina, Makio, and Suma into a gigantic hug* *aka he most certainly does feel left out* 🙄💗

#hashira x reader #headcanons #modern au #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #himejima gyomei #gyomei x reader #iguro obanai #obanai x reader #rengoku kyojuro #kyojuro x reader #shinazugawa sanemi #sanemi x reader #tokito muichiro #muichiro x reader #tomioka giyuu #giyuu x reader #uzui tengen #tengen x reader

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deathbxnny · 1 year

Text

☆《True Power. (Yanqing x HoT!Reader)》☆

-----♡

A/N: This is another request from the dear Yanqing Anon again! I thank them very much for this brilliant idea and hope, that this is good enough!<33

Summary: You are the Herrscher of thunder, that somehow found herself in the hsr world. You were taken in by Jing Yuan and eventually got together with Yanqing during it. You never had any reason to show off the extent of your powers... until you did.

Content: some angst, established relationship, Herrscher reader and her pet dragon, fluff, mentions of violence/fighting, sfw

Reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns!

((Not fully proofread, sorry for any mistakes!))

-----♡

The day started out like all days did.

You woke up, got dressed and met your master and boyfriend in the dining room for some breakfast, before everyone had to leave for another long work day. You peacefully ate your bread, listening into the conversation the two men were having. Yanqing sat next to you, his hand holding onto your thigh absently, as he excitedly talked to Jing Yuan about his most recent sword addition in his collection.

You smiled, happy to see your boyfriend in such good spirits as usual. But that unfortunately didn't last long, when the news of a Mara-struck outbreak came in, making you three hastily make your way to the generals main office so Jing Yuan could assess the situation better. The entire ship was in pure chaos, guards running around to evacuate citizens, whilst researchers ran around gathering their research.

You quickly trailed after Yanqing, his hand tightly holding onto yours protectively. "Stay close." He said to you, his eyes focused on his surroundings in case of a monster suddenly appearing. You just nodded, knowing that you'd be safe anyways. Not only because of Yanqing, but also because of the little secret you kept about your existence.

You don't know how you did it, but one day, you just suddenly woke up on the Xianzhou Luofu, in a completely different world and timeline from your original one. You were the Herrscher of Thunder and extremely powerful at that. When you met Jing Yuan and Yanqing, you tried vaguely explaining to them what you were and whilst they didn't fully understand it, they knew it had to be kept a secret, in case someone dangerous tries using you for their own gain.

And so, you were taken in by the general and instructed to not use your abilities, unless absolutely necessary. You didn't mind, as you never had a reason to use them anymore here anyways... but you had a feeling, that that may change sooner than you thought.

Eventually, you found yourself outside of the realm keeping commission with your boyfriend, patiently waiting on further orders on the situation. "... Are you worried, that the outbreak might spread further?" You quietly ask Yanqing, sitting down on some steps. "Hm, not really at the moment... but we should be aware of the dangers and possibilities... we can't let our guard down." He said thoughtfully, seemingly trying to also comfort you a little. But it was hard, when things were so uncertain and chaotic. The commission was scrambling to get everything under control and with the escape of a certain stellaron hunter, things were just getting worse and worse.

You nodded your head, about to say something else, when someone suddenly tapped your shoulder. "Uhm hey! Sorry to bother you... but is the commission somewhere nearby? We're kind of lost." A pink haired girl said to you nearly nervously, pointing at the older man and grey haired girl behind her with a defeated smile. Yanqing glanced at the three, noting that they were definitely foreigners. "Ah actually, it's right behind us." You say politely, making the girl blush in embarrassment.

"Oh... oops, so we were close after all, haha...!" She laughed, making the older man shake his head with a sigh. He looked over at you and stopped for a moment, his eyes narrowing. "... Are you perhaps apart of the commission?" He asked, making Yanqing quickly answer for you. "Not directly! I'm a lieutenant of the cloud knights and Retainer to general Jing Yuan. My girlfriend over here is my assistant." He clarified, guessing that the foreigners were asked to come here by someone on the ship.

You quickly found out more about the three guests after some quick mutual introductions. It was your first time hearing of the Astral Express and it intrigued you. Though Welt seemed oddly suspicious of you for some reason... you couldn't dwell on it much though, when a guard suddenly approached you in panic.

Turns out, that your worries and fears had come true. There was a mob of strong Mara-struck nearing the Exalting Santum and quickly at that. "I'll handle it. Report this to the generals immideatly." Yanqing said sternly to the guard, before turning to you and the trio behind you. "You should stay here-" "-I'm coming with you, whether you like it or not." You cut him off, stubbornly crossing your arms. "We'll join in too!" March said determinedly, as the other two deadpanned lightly at being dragged into this, yet decided to just agree and go along with it.

Yanqing stared at you four for a moment, before sighing in pure defeat. There was no time to argue back.

"Very well... but stay close and get ready for a tough fight. I have a feeling, that this won't go smoothly..."

And Yanqing was unfortunately right.

The Mara-struck were much stronger than you had anticipated and it was beginning to become impossible to keep them back. They were constantly regenerating their life energy and it was wearing you all out. You realised, that the only way to end this, was by using your abilities. And Welt seemed to think the same.

"I know what you are... do it and I'll have your back." The older man hummed, as he pushed up his glasses and gripped his cane. You sighed, before nodding and stepping infront of everyone. "(Y/N), stay back! What are you-" "-It's okay, I'll handle it." You said determinedly and in a flash, you took on your form as the Herrscher of thunder.

You opened your eyes, squinting a little in discomfort from how unfamiliar this felt. It's been a long time, since you've actually used your abilities like this. But you knew, that not even your sword could help much in this situation, which meant that you'll also have to call on some backup. You hoped, that your dear old "pet" still listened to you, after so long.

Most of your companions were staring at you in complete awe, never having seen someone like you before. Especially Yanqing, who's eyes trailed over the Blade in excitement. He didn't know, that you possessed it and now that he did, he'll definitely ask you to let him look at it closer later. But for now, he was intrigued to see how your abilities worked.

You crossed your arms infront of your chest, as your large mechanical arms swung down with the massive Katana and cut several monsters in half. It was much more effective, but even with your katana slashing through several enemies, there were still too many coming in. Deciding that it was time to call in your backup, you closed your eyes and focused on summoning your dragon ally.

The ground began shaking, the sky split in half, the clouds turning dark and black, as thunder roared through the sky. And much to your delight, your dear dragon Kurikara had indeed heard you and has come to the rescue. You smiled, as you looked up at it approaching you through a portal in the sky, practically racing to your aid loyally. It gave you an ache in your heart, remembering your old world always did that to you.

But you shook the emotions away, as Kurikara landed infront of you. "W-woah! Is that a new fragmentum monster or something?!" March yelled in slight fear, as the others got ready for a seemingly much stronger "enemy" now. Welt just hummed, recognising the dragon with ease, yet he said nothing. You'd explain everything on due time.

Yanqing frowned, stepping forward to protect you, as he gripped his sword in his hand. Yet he was stopped by Stelle, who was telling him to wait it out to see what happens. And he was glad he did, when you mounted Kurikara in the next moment and flew up into the dark sky. You looked down at the monsters with confidence, a small smile gracing your face.

"Let's do this, Kurikara. Like old times." You said and so the dragon unhinged it's large mouth and shot a laser beam right down onto your enemies. They were pulverised in an instant and those that did survive it, quickly retreated in fear of being next, which successfully eliminated the threat. You chuckled, your hand reaching down to pat the dragon absently.

It was nice, to feel this strong again.

"Sooo... you have a pet dragon? That's super cool!" March gasped in excitement, as she patted the dragon happily with your permission. You hummed and nodded, having explained that your dear companion was indeed no threat and in fact a friend of yours. Stelle decided not to question it, whilst Welt gave you a knowing look, that confirmed to you, that he knew more than he let on.

But if he didn't mention it, then you wouldn't either.

Yanqing on the otherhand just took your hands in his with sparkling eyes. He was unbearably proud of having you as a lover and was absolutely honoured too. "Thank you for stopping the threat, my crane... but I do have a request..." He trailed off and you couldn't help but smile at that. You knew what he wanted. "Once we get back and report to the general, I'll let you have a look at my blade." You promised him gently, smiling at the excited look he gave you. He pulled your hands to his lips and kissed them softly, his eyes radiating with warmth, as the sky returned back to normal, an orange hue enveloping you all.

"I love you." "I love you too, Yanqing."

-----♡

A/N: I hope this was okay and not all over the place or confusing! Thank you again dear Yanqing Anon for the request!<33

#honkai star rail fanfic #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x you #yanqing x reader #hsr yanqing

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mothwingwritings · 8 months

Note

R & Y for baki please <3 it can be mixed

Thank yooou! Here's some love for our titular boy loool <3

Warnings: Mentions of confinement, being held against your will, and one sided affection

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

In moments of lucidity, Baki would feel very guilty. What right did he have to pluck you up off the street and hold you against your will? He’s forced you into confinement like you were some kind of criminal, turning your life upside down. It was selfish, it was cruel, and it robbed you of everything and everyone you loved in your life. He was your world now, and even though he earnestly felt that was for the best and knew he loved you more than any other human possibly could, he also knew how lonely this confinement made you. Every time he saw that sad look in your eyes, your body slumped over in dejection and fear as you sat in the corner of his barren room refusing to speak with him, it broke his heart. You were his shining, vibrant, brilliant love and he alone had made you lose your luster.

Deep down he knew he just was chasing after a phantom feeling of affection, the dream of having a loving and doting partner by his side spurring him to do something outrageous. He was disappointed in himself, disgusted for having betrayed your trust. Any positive bond he had formed with you was certainly destroyed at this point, any actual love you felt for him has gone clear out the window. When he gets into these guilt-ridden spirals he wonders if it was all worth it, if potentially demolishing the once natural attachment you shared with him was something that was truly necessary or desired by him. It eats him up more than he will ever let on, he never wanted to be the villain in your life.

However, it’s only a matter of time before he reverts to his default mindset and realizes that there is no reason to be beating himself up over all this. You may be upset or momentarily hurt, but in the end he did this for your own benefit. He is protecting you and providing for you in ways no one else can, he’ll never let any misfortune befall you as long as you are at his side. True, maybe his home isn’t the most spacious or as clean as it could be, but its world’s better then leaving you to fend for yourself on the outside. He’ll always strive to make your life better, even if you can’t necessarily see that that’s what is happening.

He loves you with all that he is, so even if it hurts or confuses you in the process, it will all be worth it in the end. When you finally realize how well off you are none of the grievances of the present will matter any longer. Your future with him is bright and full of happiness, how can it not be when he is pouring so much of himself into providing you an ideal life?

He just has to keep telling himself that until that day arrives.

As far as letting you go, I think after a lot of time and discussion Baki would be willing to let you go once he truly understands it’s in your best interest. When it comes down to it, he really does love you and want your happiness, so after an extended amount of time if his methods continue to not work, or make you actively worse, he will bite the bullet and do what’s best for you. It will be the hardest choice he has ever had to make, but he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if you lost yourself entirely due to his greed and infatuation. He’ll always cling on to hope though, saving himself for you so that one day in the future you may come back ready to give him another chance, this time of your own accord.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Your relationship with Baki actually starts off pretty normal. You met, became good acquaintances, which led to friendship and then blossomed into him becoming one of your best friends. At some point in that time frame, it struck him that while he loved your companionship and affection as his close confidant and buddy, he wanted, or rather needed something much more than that with you.

Baki is a pretty patient person, but the moment he realizes his feelings for you run deeper than just mere friendship, it’s over. The second he comes to terms with just how deeply he cares for you he becomes obsessed with making you aware of it, unable to contain his unbridled excitement over the revelation. It’s all so exhilarating and intoxicating, and he just knows the instant he tells you you’ll be thrilled too. He loves you so deeply, so fully, how did he not realize this sooner? You two are meant to be together, literally made for each other, he was blind not to see what was before him! You were veritable soul mates, and that thought flooded his chest with butterflies, made his stomach do flips. Maybe he was the only one out of the loop, he wondered if you had long since realized this and were just patiently waiting for Baki to make a move? How embarrassing, he’ll have to make it up tenfold as soon as he sees you.

So he rushes to you and wastes no time confessing, ardent feelings gushing from within him as he bares his heart for you in a torrent of flowery words, barely able to catch his breath as he goes on and on, making sure to leave nothing unsaid. He’s expecting you to respond with a smile, or maybe even happy tears or an embarrassed little blush, but you just… stare at him. There’s no pleased grin that lights up your face, no playful chiding over how long it took him to catch on and confess, no enveloping hug as you leap into his arms in sheer joy. You just looked at him blankly until you eventually avert your gaze, awkwardly focusing anywhere but him as you apologize, telling him you only saw him as your dear friend and nothing more.

Oh.

THIS is the only time he truly pines.

He tried to accept it, really he did, but damned if it wasn’t hard. And things were so… weird after his confession. You kept your distance, dodging any physical contact Baki tried to give you. You didn’t smile at him like you used to, or joke around with him till the wee hours of the morning. You always loved his hugs, but now you shrank away from them, denying him the pleasure of feeling your warm, inviting body against his own. And as more time passed, he saw less and less of you overall, his hang out requests always responded to with convenient flimsy excuses.

He ached for you. His body, his soul, every part of him yearned for you, desperately craving your attention and affection. Your absence was profound and painful and after a solid three weeks had passed without any response to him or you reaching out once, he knew he had to take matters into his own hands.

Baki didn’t blame you for your behavior. How he went about his confession was all wrong, and in the end, it ended up unnerving you a bit. He just got too excited and worked up over the thought of becoming official with you, but he realized now how he was far too eager in his execution. Just like how your bond formed originally, you needed time to get used to him not just as Baki your friend, but Baki your lover. And the best way to do that was to give you plenty of time alone together, with no outside distractions to interrupt you.

He spent a long time getting his home ready for your arrival. Your favorite snacks filled his pantry, a new toothbrush ready and waiting for you in the bathroom. He even bought you some new clothes he knows will look adorable on you (as well as some underwear/lingerie he’s very much looking forward to seeing you in) and some books/magazines/games to keep you entertained. It’s going to be great-just the two of you hanging out, getting to know each other in a whole new light, which will grant you the time to realize your true feelings. Spending so much time together in such close corners is a sure fire way to ignite the flames of passion within you, right? There’s no way your dormant feelings of love won’t be aroused by your new living situation.

Just thinking about it was getting him excited all over again.

#ty anon I had fun writing for the youngest Hanma!#I always feel like his father and bro get more love so this was nice :)#yandere baki x reader #baki reader insert #baki the grappler x reader #baki the grappler #yandere baki the grappler #baki x reader #yandere x reader #baki x y/n #baki hanma x reader #baki hanma x y/n #yandere baki hanma x reader #yander baki hanma x y/n #yandere alphabet #baki the grappler reader insert #mothwingswritings

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eldritch-spouse · 1 year

Text

[Part 4 of Gifted. Fem reader.]

Previous poll winner: " I think I'll... Thank the chef, yes. " (37.1%)

TW: Violence; Descriptions of cannibalism; Slight gore; Knife play; Extremely dubious consent.

New choice! [VOTE]

" I think I'll... Thank the chef, yes. "

Do you really have a choice anyway?

You recall him, his voice mostly. A southern drawl that sounded almost goofy, but imposing. Which is fitting, you suppose, he's an intimidating cinder block of a monster. A mushroom monster, you've seen one or two of those before, they're generally quite pretty in your opinion. The chef in particular struck you, the dotted patterns on his arms glowing faintly in the cavernous dark of Sybastian's mouth when he reached in for you.

In truth, you're not too sure how to feel about him. And that insecurity manifests when you purse your lips, possibly regretting your cooperation regarding these two's lascivious suggestions.

" My my, she really is tame. " Vesper fans himself. " Oh how I regret handing her over! You and I would have had so much fun back in Lust, honey. "

You shudder, believing every word he says. Maybe a bit of fear here is healthy, you can only imagine what kind of animal you'd become in his hands.

" Well then, go! " The Icon urges, facing away from you and Santi dramatically. " I won't let myself stare a second longer, lest I ruin this game. " This guy is such a theater dork, you can't believe you sucked him off. And so happily too.

Nevertheless, Santi takes the warning to heart, ushering you up as soon as you have a couple more forkfuls, not enough to last you long. It's a waste of perfect cuisine, frankly. The incubus walks you through the crowd, hand locked with yours, ever determined to soothe you via gentle touches. You appreciate that about him, this demon's been very kind to you so far, for whatever reason. Maybe because you chose him... Well, it was a good choice, you reckon.

Speaking of choices, you're still not too sure about this last one. Every step through the crowd makes your heart beat a bit harder, a bit faster. Will things work out here too?

" You're so tense, love. Is it butterflies? " Santi teases. " Don't worry, keep up this precious attitude and everything will be fine. "

Encouraging...? Not really.

The doors to the kitchen are tall, a brilliant white, and although there's supposed to be windows in each one of them, the glass there is obscured, meaning the inside is a mystery to you. You can hear the sounds however. Nothing too suspicious, chatter and clinking, mostly.

When the two of you reach those doors, your back is basically glued to Santi's front, fear and dread keeping you stock still. The demon is unbothered, simply pushing the large doors apart and edging you inwards.

Now this... This is what you call a real kitchen.

It's absolutely massive. Then again, that's a theme here. You do understand why things need to be larger in general, after all, many of the monsters here are bigger than humans by a considerable amount, their comfort must be catered to- However, this place tends to exaggerate in the dimensions of its overall floors. This entire kitchen is like a house, it's furnished with all sorts of equipment, reminding you of a world-renowned establishment. The brightness hurts your eyes a little, but you suppose it's necessary. How come you've never even once heard of this location?

The first thing your adrenaline-sharpened mind notes is the blood.

On what you very clearly recognize to be some modernized chopping block. On the ground, like something bleeding and squirming was dragged from said block to another huge set of doors, leading lord knows where. A large scarlet handprint you can only guess belongs to the chef on one of those doors. Then there's that cleaver, a scary-looking thing, embedded in the cutting block, some form of viscera and tissue still clinging to it. So he's not just a chef, yes, he's definitely also a butcher. And yet... You know, deep in your soul, whatever creature possibly lost its life here was likely human.

God help you.

That's not all though. As soon as your gradually panicking mind looks at anything but the trails of red present, it quickly finds ambulating creatures. Small. Smaller than the waiter, totally black but reflecting some sort of pigment, their heads floating as they work, each one clad in white kitchen garbs with varying designs. The first thing that crosses your mind nearly makes you vomit. Children?! You blink several times. No. No, they can't be, just because they're small doesn't mean they're infants, you haven't seen a single child here. Besides, you're fairly certain these aren't monsters, whatever the Hell they could be, they all look the same physically speaking, only their color accents and facial expressions distinguish them. This is some sort of clone fest. What are you looking at?! What is this?!

" S- Santi?... " Are you going insane?

" Oh right, you've never seen one of those before. " The demon reminds himself, chuckling at his own antics. You don't question why he's okay with the shady blood stains. " Those things are called bobbles. They're made here, sweetie, think of them as extra helpers. "

Things... They're things. Uhuh.

You watch silently for a couple of seconds. Most of them appear to be absorbed in their own tasks, moving efficiently between each other. Cutting vegetables, passing utensils, cleaning dishes, shouting for ingredients. Some of them occasionally glance at you two, the gray-colored ones completely neutral, the blue ones with a hint of trepidation. They're a bit cute, you'll admit, if you don't question the logic of their mere existence too much. You wouldn't mind having one of these. After a minute or two of watching these "bobbles" work in fast-paced harmony, you relax enough to detach from Santi, standing by his side warily.

Soon, one of the things, with a tall hat and slightly ripped garb, stomps over to you two. Its eyes narrow over pink-freckled cheeks, and he frowns at Santi specifically. A wooden spoon is slapped onto the demon's stomach.

" Ya hav'ta knock! Sir doesn't like it when people don' knock! " It drawls at the snickering incubus, who merely takes the hits without flinching.

" Whoopsie... Can you find it in you to forgive me? "

You muffle an amused noise as well, watching the small critter's face puff in annoyance for a couple of tense seconds. How can anyone take them seriously, with that adorable look? Finally, it gives Santi a bright smile.

" Okay! " Big pink eyes settle on you, after a concerning pause- Like it genuinely hadn't seen you all this time. " Ooh! Ya brought a piggy, sir's gonna like her! "

The bobble grabs your hand with its four-fingered one and starts trying to lead you somewhere, but you stand your ground. Santi's eyes widen and he flicks that intrusive limb away.

" Hey-! "

" No no Turnip, this one's not for the warehouse. " The look on his pale face is serious, making the bobble tilt its perfectly round head. " This one's for sir. He knows her. "

" Ooooohh... " The pink and black bobble waves its hands excitedly. " Special piggy! "

Wait, hold on- It's name is literally Turnip? What.

" Yes, exactly, I need you to get Morell for me, okay? "

" Yessir! "

Funny, didn't Grimbly say that too? Irregardless, the small being trots away, pushing past those heavy-looking doors with great effort and disappearing from sight entirely. You couldn't get a good look at what lies beyond, which is disconcerting.

The incubus begins looking around, and though you can't really tell what he's after, you don't struggle too much when he beckons you over to an empty marbled counter, and sits you atop it. O-Okay. Satisfied, he goes back to waiting, some form of excitement in his gaze, although it mixes with something else, dampening it.

" Am I... " You start quietly, some of the adrenaline crashing, permeated by uncertainty. " Going to be alright? "

The demon faces you, reading into your expression with a carefully neutral one as he ponders. You don't like that he hesitates, that he's thinking about his answer. That in itself should be telling enough. When you look away, defeated, he grabs your hand, a much smoother smile on those handsome features.

" You're tough. " He begins. " I can tell. Trust in your sixth sense and keep it up. "

He meant to be motivating, but truth of the matter is that was neither a confirmation nor a denial. You can see through it, he doesn't know, but the probably doesn't want to scare you either. Fuck.

The humdrum of the kitchen workers chattering to each other and utensils clinking around becomes an indistinct buzz while you recess into the confines of your mind, adrenaline diminishing in the face of relative inactivity. What is the world outside these walls up to, right now? With you missing, your responsibilities unaccounted for, has your family noticed your absence? Is anyone coming for you? Do they even know how you got here? Will you ever see th-

A sudden woosh snaps you back into alertness, the bloodstained doors leading to who knows where parting smoothly. And he powers in. Him being, of course, the chef.

While not nearly as large as monsters like Vesper, he's towering in his own right. You've never been one to realize how much body language matters, but looking at... Santi called him "Morell", you think- You feel more on edge than you ever did around the massive demonic lord. It's his stance. Shoulders always squared, always flexed and tense, he constantly looks as if moments away from lunging towards something or someone. The few minutes of indirect interaction you've had with this monster were enough to transmit an idea of volatility, as if violence is always just one blink too late away.

The white garb he dons can no longer be called white by any stretch of the imagination, coated in splatters featuring varying shades of red. He looks mildly tired, and angry. You're not sure if he's shining from sweat or some differing condensation- The breeze you felt as soon as those doors parted suggests what lies beyond is cold. Like a fridge room.

A crimson-stained towel hanging from his shoulder is used to wipe bloodied hands rather poorly, before the thing is tossed away, a bobble catching it before it can hit the floor.

" This better be worth mah fuckin' time demon, ah'm two seconds away from- "

As soon as those curious cyan hues bounce up to regard the demon, they instantly dart to you, and he stills. Oh yes, he definitely recognizes you. You're being stared down.

" Well then... " The way bold bright teeth poke above that chunky scarf doesn't bode well with you.

" I take it this is worth your 'fuckin' time'? " Santi jabs.

The large mushroom crosses his arms over his chest, not moving from his spot. " Wha's this all 'bout? " Although he makes an effort to glare at the incubus, he keeps looking back to your figure on his counter. You wonder if he might be mad that you're sitting on it.

" Oh relax, I just brought the minx here to see you. " Santi does a placating gesture with his palms, though you feel a slight sting of betrayal when he opens his mouth again. " See, we just had dinner. Our present here loved your work sooo much she said she'd like to personally give her regards to the chef, and who am I to stop her, hm? "

Morell looks straight at you. Nerves force you to gulp, scratching at your arm and face lightly, better to stay silent than say something even more embarrassing.

Eventually, he relaxes slightly. It's a minuscule change is demeanor, but you don't miss it. " ... That so? "

When the demon doesn't reply, you realize it's a cue. What are you supposed to say here? You did agree to it. Besides, if not him, then they'll just toss you at someone else. There's no easy win, might as well do what's kept you alive thus far- Being polite.

" Y- Yes. " You look him in those cyan eyes, oddly shrunk pupils swimming in a sea of black. He seems like the type of guy that values eye contact.

Slow, evaluating seconds pass.

" Aight... Tha piggy can stay with me. " He says it with a chuckle, looking a lot brighter than he did not even a minute ago.

Santi nods, then quickly turns to you, rubbing a clawed hand on your cheek. His face betrays sadness, a little bit of resignation, disappointment. " Sweetness, it looks as if this is where we part. " He leans down, nibbling softly at your bottom lip, before brushing through your hair and taking several steps away. As if forcing himself. " For now, of course. " You can't really tell if that's good or bad.

" Ya done? " A decidedly not amused voice rings. For such a large man, Morell moved quietly, having closed some of the distance between you. " Git tha fuck out already. "

Santi only chuckles, making his way out to the main restaurant area. " Have a great time, love. " One last cheeky wink is all you get, before the demon is out of your sight.

For the first time in a while today, you feel truly alone. Santi had given you a sense of security up until now, even if said sense was erroneous. Here however, you're entirely on your own, feeling hunted, feeling cornered. There's no telling what this monster might want from you.

Keep calm. Breathe. Smile a little.

You'll make it through this.

Morell stares at you intently.

You seem to be faring well for someone who got thrown to the wolves, all things considered. No longer encased in lace, sporting clothes he swears he's seen before, not trembling in fear with your tail tucked between your legs like earlier. Tsk, Santi's been treating you too well, you ought to have some fear if you're staying here for a while. Fear keeps you alive, keeps you sharp.

Point being, you're clearly the clever type, you wouldn't have made it this far in such an intact condition if you pushed the wrong buttons with the demon. Sure, the shroom's certain you had to pay some sort of price to acquire these accommodations, but you probably knew that prior. He can tell you're not like most of the pigs he gets here, the kind that squeal and kick as soon as he nears them. No, it's in your eyes, you're so much smarter than that.

Doesn't matter, you're about to sing to a different tune with Morell now.

The monster moves once Santi leaves the premises, to the sink only a small distance away from the counter you're perched on. Though his back is mostly turned to you, Morell is confident you wouldn't try to bolt out. You know that you can't, know that without the staff's protection you're just mince meat for the crowd. His hands are rinsed and the towel atop his shoulder is wrung dry of the last pig's blood. He's glad to be rid of that one, they were troublemakers since the time they got dragged in to the very last breath- But you gotta appreciate the consistency, at least. If it was a calmer day, he'd play around with them some more before bringing down the hatchet, so to speak.

Ridiculous, here he is saying he's so busy, about to damn it all just so he can fuck with you. But how can he not? Look at you, just politely sitting on his counter with that fat fucking ass. Looking around, occasionally smiling briefly at his bobbles' antics. It's like you fit here already.

" Well pumpkin- " He starts, giddy that your spine straightens immediately. " 'S a pleasure ta have ya 'ere in mah lil' kitchen. "

The mushroom turns then, wiping his hands, cracking his knuckles. " Ya like tha food? "

You study his face for a moment, confused by the hint of mirth there, but eventually deem it correct to nod. Morell doesn't really care, he knows his food is good. Though he's a little upset you didn't get to try the best parts. When Grimbly dashed into the kitchen, the waiter told him everything. You, tangled between Vesper and Santi- To think that you've gotten an Icon of Hell's attention this soon! What kind of honey is up your ass?! Santi specifically requested something without human, and now he knows why.

Out of genuine fondness. Because really, you don't know what human tastes like. His dishes can oftentimes make that meat blend into other types, visually. If he arranges it well enough, you'd deem it a regular old steak, eat it, and call it delicious. All the incubus had to do is stay quiet. But he went the extra length to make sure you didn't obliviously consume your own kind, the sap.

" Good... Tha's good. " He says, after a pause. " Stop by whenever yer hungry. Ah'll get'cha somethin'. " Something worth eating.

" O- Okay. " Yeah, you're starting to click some things together by now, aren't you?

" Y'know, I'm real hurt, piglet. "

You blink, likely wondering if "piglet" was meant to address you -It was- Unsure where he's taking this. The chef paces several steps your way, ending up looming by your side, enjoying the way you immediately cast your gaze to your lap. He twirls locks of your hair idly.

" Mah memory's blankin', who got ya outta that mimic's jaws again? "

Looking up, searching his face for clues you won't find, you answer hesitantly but truthfully. " It was you? "

Morell snickers. " Yeah, sounds right. After all, who knows what could'a been o' you by now if ah hadn't? "

A sour expression crosses over your smooth features. Yes, think about it. Linger.

" An' still, ya pick the fuckin' demon. " The chef shakes his head, ruffling your hair. You shiver beneath him, likely realizing, just as most others do, that there's a great deal of strength behind his spongy-looking hide. " Ya can't make this shit up. "

" ... But- " What could've been an attempt to defend your incorrect choice is swiftly ignored.

" But what, sweetie? I was tha only one who could'a freed ya there! " The shroom points to himself, as if it was obvious.

Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't, you don't need to know that. Morell stands and watches a myriad of expression race on your complexion. Fear, confusion, dread. " I'm... I'm sorry? "

Hah, oh that's so cute!

His guffawing nearly shakes the kitchen walls, rocking his chest. You're adorable, he'll give you that much. Is this your attempt at placating him?

" 'S not a big deal anymore. " He waves, eventually stopping his fit of laughter. " C'mere. "

You hesitate a healthy amount, he can understand it. Though eventually, when Morell makes it clear he's not going to drop it, and that his patience isn't limitless, you plop down from the counter, taking careful steps his way.

" Closer. " He beckons when you refuse to stand in front of him. " Ya spooked? " Of course you are, he's been around your kind for so long, you're all like mindless gazelles, deers in headlights, pigs squealing to the skies and running around in circles.

It's when the chef places a heavy palm on the counter, and it rattles, that you zing to action and get just as suffocatingly close to the monster as he was hoping. " There we are, was it hard? " It was rhetorical, but he's delighted that you shake your head anyway. " Thought so. "

Morell takes a moment to appreciate the sight of you.

All humans are petite, and although there's something dainty about your demeanor right now, he can see your muscles tense like coiled springs, ready to snap, ready to run. Fight or flight is a beautiful look on you. You have a good amount of meat on your bones, he can tell with a couple of hearty gropes to those bare thighs. Hmm yes, fine cuts, good stuff. His fingers knead at you like dough, and Morell feels a sick little twitch in his pants when you start trembling.

" S- What are- "

" Sshh, quiet naw. " He warns, letting full hands roam around. The chef thrills himself with your obedience, going from calves to back of the thighs, gripping your ass firmly and snickering at your choked noise.

You're a lovely little thing, the kind he feels sorry for when he butchers, because they could last so much longer. Demand here is crazy, which is good for his pockets, but also saddening at times. Morell doesn't get to fool around with the pigs as much as he'd like to anymore. Especially not tonight! When his hands move to your front, palping at your belly, he shakes his head, clicking his tongue.

Practically empty. As he suspected. You haven't eaten anything properly yet, certainly not with those sluts, they probably think feeding you jizz will work out just fine, typical. They don't know how to care for a piglet at all! And to think you willingly chose him, how dim are you? You wince when he grabs at you more firmly, and it's enough for Morell to give it a rest.

" You don' look so full, piggy. " The chef tuts, patting your abdomen. " Knowin' them types, you prolly didn' get ta eat much since ye got here. "

He watches you squirm briefly, either tickled by the softer touch or wanting to stop it. " I'm... It's okay, I'm not that hungry. "

Liar. You're small and weak, you should be eating anything you can in this environment. So dumb, so naïve, it's a wonder luck has been on your side thus far. " Ya sure? " He squints.

" Y-Yep, thank you. "

Cute.

" Welp, in that case- " Morell lets some of his anticipation show, shrugging and moving to be mere inches away from your form. " We can skip right to tha good stuff. "

The whites of your eyes widen and you give him this puzzled, anxious look. Oh come now, don't play dumb. " Ya wanted ta thank me, right? " The shroom grabs your tiny hand in his and puts it to his chest, a lidded, much more playful and relaxed expression on his face. " Don' lemme stop ya, sweetie. "

Oh, the gradually rising panic in your face is just precious. He's a lot, not to toot his own horn, but Morell gets your nervousness. He's been called "an absolute unit" a couple of times and it strokes his ego. Speaking of, you need to be stroking something else right now. He's been pent up these last couple of days, preparing for this event hasn't been kind to Mori's libido.

The chef is starting to think he's going to have to do things the hard way until you finally move. While your palm shakily slides down his chest, feeling slightly excited breathing, he busies himself with untying the long sash around his waist. Much to his disappointment, you don't grope, not that he expected you to anyway. Chuckling, Morell corners you further against the counter, spotted arms on each side corralling your body. His cock jumps in his pants when you give him a doe-eyed look full of uncertainty. You're purposely lingering on his abdomen, avoiding what lies beneath. The chef responds to this by flexing slightly, allowing you to feel his well-built constitution. Yeah sure, he's showing off, let him have this.

You don't look him in the eyes when you eventually relent, fingers sliding down. He's impatient however, roughly grabbing your hand. He reaches for one of the torn sleeves of his white smock and parts it, shrugs off the other one, letting the outfit fall to the floor, kicked aside by heavy-looking boots. You're apparently fascinated, studying his upper body openly, visibly flustered. Morell smiles when you focus on a particularly dark mark on his arm, stare all you want. He rips you back into focus by firmly smoothing your hand over the raging hard-on tenting his black pants, unable to conceal his laughter when you audibly gasp. Aw, don't flatter him like that.

When Morell drops his grip, your fingers remain static, and he rolls his eyes. " C'mon, ya scared? " He parrots.

Scared is an understatement.

This guy puts you off. Plus, he's packing heat.

At the risk of sounding filthy, you'll admit he's not the biggest you've seen, that title now falls squarely onto Vesper. The Icon's size didn't strike you as something note-worthy- He's already gigantic in comparison to you, of course his junk would be appropriately huge as well. Not to mention your mind was a little clogged at the time. Morell is a whole other story, you might very well have to take him, and he's bigger than Santi for sure. It's cause for some alarm, but then again, this whole situation is.

He seems to have taken your shock as a compliment, though it's very clear the monster's patience is waning the longer you stall.

Shakily inhaling, you give the chef what he wants, stroking generously through the fabric and occasionally squeezing at him. It... It doesn't feel like he has anything on beneath these pants. Your efforts get the monster to sigh in pleasure, looming over you and adjusting, giving you more to work with. There's nothing left to the imagination, the shape imprinted on his clothes lets you know exactly what you're dealing with. And frankly, a part of you is oddly flattered by how much he appears to be getting into it, pressing back against your hand, throbbing, humming lowly.

He seems frustrated, stressed maybe. You don't know how much of a good idea it was to let those two basically nudge you into this.

" Mmf, they teach ya some or are you jus' excited fer me already? " Morell drawls.

Declining to answer, you merely keep going. Part of you was worried he'd call you out, as you're very clearly trying to rile him up so he'll settle for a sloppy clothed grind- As if.

The ring of a zipper coming down is predictable to you, a flushed blue cock already stained by its own precum bouncing free. Fuck, he's really not packing lightly. The look on the chef's face says you better resume, so you opt not to test his patience too much. He's heavy. To be fair, you don't doubt he's dense in general, but the warmth of his member on your hands has you gulping for what might come next. Nevertheless, you try not to look at your own motions while you work him, gaze scanning the kitchen instead.

It's incredible. All this time, the group of bobbles hastily working hasn't casted a single glance at you two. It's as if... This is normal to them. Like they know better than to gawk. You can only wonder what types of obscenities go down here.

You're still staring by the time Morell groans, reaching for your top. The surprise of slightly cold fingers edging up the hem of said cloth has your motions faltering, resigning yourself to letting the cook remove that oversized shirt. What's the alternative? Make him angry? You agreed to this, might as well try to get into it.

Nipples pebble in the cold air near immediately, and the chef laughs quietly to himself at the sight of your breasts, a discolored tongue wetting his teeth. " Everythin' about ya is jus' tha cutest, ain't it? " He grins. " Lookit 'em... "

Big palms frame your tits, and it's only now that the expression "baker hands" takes on a whole new meaning. Morell kneads at your chest in a confident and strong manner that has your breath catching. You're ashamed to admit no one's given your tits this type of attention before, feeling goosebumps rise in the wake of your unexpected pleasure. A high-pitched noise escapes when he plucks at one bud, and you realize your hand has been merely wrapped around him all this time when the monster thrusts impatiently.

" Oh? Did'ja like that? "

" N- No. " Yeah, super believable.

" Lyin' piglet. " The soft scolding is quickly followed by him bending to kiss and lick shamelessly around your tits. You can't help gulping when teeth glide and catch slightly on skin. Fuck's sake, if he actually- He nibbles slightly, spare hand forcing the one around his dripping shaft to work faster. When you look down, seeing a teal shade on his dark cheeks and most of your breast in his blunt-toothed maw, you almost panic.

" D- Don't-! " Did he just fucking throb in your hand? " Please- Don't bite! "

That bright flush intensifies, hot puffs of air wetting your skin as he all but steams, teeth flirting with your pain tolerance, forcing a frightened keen out of you, before he peels back, panting.

" Fuck yeah, yer a good catch. " Morell groans, zipping his pants back up in a vaguely uncomfortably manner. " Don' move a muscle, ya hear me piggy? "

When you don't answer immediately, he gives you an "are you testing me?" glance that installs the fear of meeting the maker into your bones.

" Y- Yes, Morell. "

Why did you say his name? You didn't need to that, you just added a personal touch into this. God damn it. Perhaps it's for the best, because the chef seems appreciative, smiling before hastily cramming himself through the bloodied doors he came from.

You have no idea what he's doing, what he'll return with. And frankly, part of you doesn't really want to know. When Morell's footsteps become distant, instincts beckon you to look towards the opposite direction, to the second pair of tall doors, the one you entered from. It's only a matter of putting on your shirt... Where is it? Who took it?! You look around frantically, but the thing has apparently vanished. Fuck's sake...

Regardless, you can just step outside the kitchen, maybe take your chances... It would be risky, but if you get in that fucking elevator! You know that's the ticket to leave this dump. You just have to figure out which floor leads to the ground level, it's that simple.

You don't even realize you're walking towards the exit.

One of the bobbles, a blue one with a shorter hat, stops next to you, some others giving you side-glances. Although she doesn't utter a word, you can see the silent warning in her face. A cautious shake of the head is all you're given, and then the doors part. Not the ones in front of you though.

" ... Where d'ya think yer going? "

It's as if your lungs collapse for a moment, air refusing to fill them. " No- Nowhere, nowhere, I- "

" And 'ere I thought ya'd behave. Tsk. "

When you zip around, you get to see the large mushroom power towards you, a sturdy-looking rope on his hands. Of course, the thing is adorned with aged red marks. There's a sadistic sort of glee on his dark face, making you take several steps back. His chest puffs, the monster bellowing out.

" Hah! Try it, piggy. " Morell taunts. " Ya take a single fuckin' step outta those doors an' ah'll hunt ya fer sport, pertty baby. "

You don't doubt him.

All you can do is gulp and hope for the best, feet rooted to the tiled ground in spite of the screaming voice that begs you to haul ass. The monster's still snickering to himself when he reaches you. You're no longer spared a hint of gentleness, as the chef grabs your arm tight and drags you to the center of the kitchen, towards one of the horrid, blood-stained chopping blocks.

You're flipped around and slammed face-first onto the wood, assaulted by the sensation of residual, cold viscera on your face. The metallic scent mingles with a woody aftertaste and you start to panic under his hand, very aware a huge cleaver lies only centimeters away from your person. Is this it? Is this the end? Is he going to cut your fucking head off?

" I'm- I'm sorry, please God- "

Your flailing, although definitely amusing to the cook, is halted when he squeezes exceptionally hard on your arm. Your limb grows numb from the sheer force, he's cutting off blood flow. A little more and he'll break your humerus, you can feel it. Getting the message, you go entirely limp, near hyperventilating.

" Easy piggy, easy- " There's a condescending pat to your head. " I'mma jus' tie ya up, 'kay? Don' make me hurt ya. " You can feel the weight of him poised on your back for a moment. " 'Cause ah'll fuckin' love it if I hav'ta. "

You whimper.

" Gonna be good for me? " He tests, already nudging your arms onto your back. You can feel the rope being weaved between them in certain patterns, movements rushed but expertly practiced. You nod rapidly, full of fear, and he hums while tying knots behind your back. One. Two. Three?! Oh, you're not making it out of this one on your own. For sure.

When the chef lets go of your bound limbs, not too tight but not too lax, you give them a test, making the shroom chuckle. " Mm, fine work if ah do say so myself. Good ta know I still got it. "

When fat fingers tug at the hem of your shorts, you can only try to focus on your breathing, shivering when the fabric is dragged down to barely hang by your knees. You still ooze remnants of your slick from prior activities, and Morell doesn't seem to miss that either, because he uses it as lube to jam a digit into you. The insertion is sudden enough to have you jump, leg jerking.

" Ey naw, don' buck at me. " The monster snorts, curling his finger and testing the waters.

You don't know why, or how, but your body warms regardless of the circumstances, walls tightening around that sole digit as if to encourage the chef. And all you can say to yourself is that it's a result of Vesper and Santi's influence. Residual effects, probably. It must be! You wouldn't be into this otherwise, right? You wouldn't find it hot that you're helpless, being molested by a gross butcher on his own filthy chopping block. No... God please no, you don't think you can face yourself after this.

The mushroom monster, oblivious or uncaring of your inner turmoil, simply forces a second finger in, without much resistance. Fuck him and his deliciously thick hands, the familiar stretching sensation sends sparks flying behind your eyelids and you close them. You're not the only one enjoying themselves it seems.

" Damn piglet, lookit that, ya needy girl. " The chef starts eagerly fingerfucking you, giggling and moaning quietly to himself when you reflexively tighten. " The Hell were you tryin' ta run if ya needed me this bad, hm? Too much pride in that lil' noggin'... " He teases, panting.

Unfortunately, no matter how hard you may want to will it into reality, closing your eyes won't simply make this unrequited pleasure fade away. It won't make you any less wet and inviting for the chef, it won't quiet down the shlick of his lurid fingerfucking that somehow manages to ring louder than the humdrum of the constant cooking around you. All that effort is rendered moot when you let out a fevered moan and flex hard around the cook's hand, wanting more.

" Hhn- Fuck yeah. "

Far too jarringly, your cunt is emptied, there's some frantic rustling behind you, a ziiiiip, you know exactly what it is that slaps onto your ass. He doesn't seem very calm.

" M- Morell. " You hope using his name will sweeten your request. " Please be gentle, please. "

" Aww. " He chuckles, stray hand reaching to tickle under your chin, the tip of his member lines up perfectly against you. There's a gentle push, and you do your best to relax, glad he's at least doing that much for you.

Tickling becomes a solid hold of your neck.

" You'd like that, wouldn' ya? "

Morell slams home with a brute strength that not only knocks the wind out of your lungs, it feels like he's shoved your guts up to your throat. It's such an intense feeling that you believe you're sick for a moment, vision blurring as you sob out a mangled cry. For a couple of seconds, you just gasp, pussy spasming and legs shaking erratically, staring straight ahead at the grayish wall.

The chef grunts and sighs loudly, canting his hips to make sure he's fully sheathed inside you, his balls tighten and he shudders in total bliss. " Fuuck, ya wanna milk me dry, don'tcha piggy? "

You really don't care for his taunts, but it's hard not to squeal when a palm strikes across your left asscheek with the fury of a thousand suns. He amuses himself with this, it appears, stroking over the sore spot while he rocks back and forth inside your pulsing walls. He seems to struggle with your tightness, and you struggle with his girth as well, the two of you locked until he thinks to torture your poor clit. " Real fuckin' tight fer someone who's been foolin' 'round with demons. "

He won't let you squirm your way out of his hard rolls, continuing the torture until you're sufficiently relaxed for Morell to establish a slow back and forth, every thrust making you dig your nails into the flesh of your own arms. " Ya oughta stay 'ere fer a while longer. This cute an' this hot? Ah can't jus' let ya out. "

You're just trying to adapt to the cook's size, but he's far too eager, not giving you enough time to adjust before he's speeding up, jostling you. A tongue tries to wet dehydrated lips, tasting nothing but smeared blood while the scent of exotic spices clogs your nostrils and his lewd panting rattles your ears.

You're sure you must have paled like the cauliflower he has laying around when the monster stops to yank that gruesome cleaver out of its groove in the wood you currently lay on. You're not sure whether to cry, scream or simply accept things as they are. Morell grabs a firm handful of your hair, pulls your head back, and allows the blunt end of the blade to flirt with your throat.

" Naw then, do me a favor- " The blade flips, pressing dangerously against frail skin as Morell starts drilling into your small figure. " An' oink fer me, piglet! "

Oh you do.

Even if you wanted to be quiet, you couldn't.

It's everything at once. The absolutely merciless pounding into your pussy, reaching deeper than it should -Why doesn't it hurt?- Dragging hellish waves of bliss through your poor overworked brain, the terror of that cleaver possibly sinking into your body, slitting your throat open so you bleed out while he happily fucks you till your dying breath, becoming nothing more than yet another ambiguous red stain in this morbid kitchen. Nothing could ever prepare you for this, so you moan, whimper and squeal like the animal he wants you to be, doing your best to hang onto anything, tears and drool cascading down your face.

You can't tell left from right anymore, shivering at every bestial noise Morell makes above, feeling his balls slap against you with every hard piston, it's really no wonder your confused body couldn't keep up, and you truly screech in the wake of your jarring orgasm, seeing dots swimming in your vision.

" Atta girl! Nice an' sloppy... "

In spite of his confident tone, Morell's rhythm falters at your clenching. And, much to your relief, he lets the cleaver fall to your side, focusing instead on using both hands to frame your head while he bends to be flush against your back. It's a humiliating position, but you've long since stopped giving a shit about dignity here. In fact, you just want to make it out of this hellish kitchen mostly in one piece.

There's not much room for thinking when he grunts like a bull into your eardrums, gasps turning into silent gasps the second he starts slamming home deep and hard. One, two, three, four and-

His deep growl shakes you from head to toe, legs kicking instinctively as his cock flexes and he fills you like an obscene bucket. It's an uncomfortable sensation that applies too much pressure everywhere, and even if you can't be sure, you think you came again from it, very briefly. The sound of cum splattering to the floor rings in your mind while you simply wait for Morell to milk the last of his orgasm so you can come down.

" Hm, didn' have this much fun in a while, piggy. " He finally mutters, massaging your hips calmly as he rises. " Gotta say, I'm real glad ya chose ta gimme your 'regards'. "

You just groan senselessly. Your legs feel like melting jelly.

You're not sure what he's about to do next, and neither of you get to know anyway, because a group of short pitch black bodies scram in through the front doors.

" Sir! Sir please, you have to help! "

" It's serious! "

" The giant snake woman swallowed Alfredo!! "

... What?

Staring vapidly at the creatures, nothing happens for a couple of static seconds. Then the cook sighs, exasperated, before sliding out of you slowly. He shushes you when you wince, patting your sore thighs before fully laying you onto the large chopping block. You can't muster the energy to care, merely laying there and hissing at the increasing discomfort from having your arms tied this long.

" Ah'll be right back, pumpkin', promise. "

The last thing you hear is stressed murmuring, a zipper sliding up and boots stomping away, another woosh signaling the doors have closed and you're now mostly alone.

Yes, finally, some peace... A smile of relief almost makes its way to your lips before your consciousness fades entirely.

...

" So this is where she's been all this time... "

" Geez, can you believe it? I bet they just threw her in here to fend for herself. "

" In all honesty, I am appalled she has lived this long. "

" She's special, can't you tell Nebul? "

" You're much too prone to theatrics. "

Distant voices lull you back to reality, tired eyes blinking open, adjusting to the lights in the kitchen once more, before appraising the two studying your curled up form. One being the waiter, and the other that guy wearing a cloak, with the strange-looking head.

" Oh here she is, hi! " The smaller one waves, smiling bright.

" You cannot stay here for long. " The other warns. " If you intend to live, that is. This floor has fallen to total calamity. "

Yeah, you bet.

" I'll take care of this, you can go back up! " Grimbly hastily cuts in.

" You misunderstand, I'm not leaving without the human. " Although monotone, even you can sense the warning implied. Not that his coworker seems to care.

" Yeah right, like that's happening. Who knows what you'll do to this poor girl, you freak. "

" It would certainly be better than becoming an impulsive vampyre's bloodbag. "

The waiter's eye twitches. " ... How fucking dare you. "

Alright, back to square one it is. You need to leave before Morell comes back, and these two don't seem like they'll reach an agreement anytime soon.

You'll have to pick again.

Sighing, exasperated,

#Morell oc #Santi oc #Nebul oc #Grimbly oc #monsterfucker #terato #terat0philliac #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #monster x reader #monster smut #monster boyfriend #minors dni #not sfw

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13eyond13 · 2 months

Note

What headcannons do you have on B during his career (for a lack of a better word) as a serial killer? To me, he's like one of the funniest characters but also the most pathetic in the most poetic try-hard way. Why do you think he's such a try-hard? He's coping but what is he coping from?

OMG B!!! Haven't thought about my favourite stupid son B enough lately, so thank you for this ask....

So he's a try-hard because he is probably VERY INSECURE, to be blunt. He probably has very little sense of self-worth or a concrete sense of identity outside of trying to one-up L, and he takes that to the extreme in a highly comical way. He's also no doubt traumatized from his insane childhood as a shinigami hybrid who watched many people (including both his parents) die while knowing they were going to die / was also raised very weirdly and abusively/experimentally at Wammy's and made to feel like he was only worth something if he could be as smart and talented as the legendary L. In his mind he decided that creating his own destiny would be better and rebelled against that expectation by being like, "why be the next L when instead I could DEFEAT L by creating a brilliant crime that he can't possibly solve?"

ANYWAY there's a reason he is the most creepypasta villain / emo boi / dark academia darling of the fandom, and that highly melodramatic backstory is a huge part of it - which I DO love dearly in its own mid 2000s way, even though I also sometimes sigh at it because of the extra villainous cartoony edge it adds to L's backstory, and don't always want to take it very seriously as part of L's characterization in the manga plot...

So on my most recent re-read of the LABB novel, I feel I was a bit struck by just how... Not Good B's impression of L actually is? And this was kind of hilarious to me to think about. I feel like when I was younger and really into shipping LxB I read it just as "clearly B has a massive crush on L and is doing his best to imitate him perfectly because he hero worships him and sincerely wants to be him so bad!" HOWEVER this time around I remember thinking something along the lines of "wow, this feels almost like B just googled how to cosplay L and then lazily threw something together 5 minutes before crawling under the bed", hahaha. So he either just kinda sucks at imitating L (and maybe so, but he also managed to trick the families of the victims into letting him investigate the crime scenes, so he's probably not THAT bad at acting when he wants to be?) or maybe he's intentionally trying to make a mockery of L. It is ALSO FASCINATING from a psychological POV to imagine he's just being a troll about it all and trying to make fun of L with how he behaves! Like! Was he intentionally mocking L with his impression of him to somebody who would never even get the stupid joke in the first place? If that's the case, it's excruciatingly cringy to me that nobody even gets his joke the entire time, hahaha.... poor Naomi suffered more than Jesus at some points during that investigation, I swear...

B trying to do a scathing impression of L to somebody who has never even met him before:

ANYWAYS. I think that whatever the case, he PROBABLY hoped/expected L himself was going to show up to the crime scene to confront him, at any rate. And so therefore he probably initially dressed up as L not to genuinely pass to anybody as L, but maybe expecting to do some ominous dark mirror/ arch-nemesis big reveal shit to L?? Perhaps once he realized that Naomi was the only one coming / was working for L he just changed gears a bit and decided he'd just lead her through the clues as best he could while trying out this cosplay of the guy that he wants to offend most, but this is in my mind pretty much how it must have gone.

One of my fave headcanons about him is that he re-read that crossword puzzle he made / that the police threw out without solving SO MANY times while he was sweating off his makeup under the bed, as well... that's why he had to show it to Naomi as soon as he got out... he was like "I PUT A LOT OF WORK INTO THIS DAMMIT, and SOMEBODY is going to appreciate it" hahahaha. Ohhh, B....

#like i LOVE B #but i also think he sucks ass as a person #but i love that he's written kind of so melodramatically and cartoonishly that i can still just laugh at him and not feel too bad about it #even though his life is sad and clearly sucked ass #idk he's my 3rd fave just because he's such a funny sad shitty guy #and weirdly complex to contemplate despite how much of a creepypasta villain he also is #beyond birthday #p #death note

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gamergirl-niffler · 1 year

Note

number 7, please write it with no one else but Keigo Takami ♥

Niffler's note: OoooOOooooOOOO! Painting together! With Hawks! As someone who likes to paint... I say YES!

Am I An Artist? || Keigo Takami x fem!reader

Taking your easel and painting equipment out onto the balcony was the first thing you did this morning.

You weren't given much opportunity to paint beautiful landscapes living in the city, but observing life below gave you ideas for new paintings. Particularly today, when the weather was nice and sunny, which meant more people came out.

In your little chair, you sat absorbed in thoughts, looking at the world around you.

Within minutes, you felt a weight resting on your shoulders, upper back, and head.

Keigo sighed, placing his head on top of yours. "You left me alone," he muttered. He had a rare day off, and you left him alone? He was all alone in the big bed! How could you do that? Another dramatic sigh escaped Keigo, and soon his tired, golden eyes landed on the still empty canvas. It made more sense now, whenever the weather was good enough, you loved to paint. He smiled and hugged you. "Any interesting ideas?”

Putting your palms on his arms, you shook your head. "Not yet. Sometimes it takes time."

Keigo nodded and yawned, stretching his wings lazily. "Yeah, right."

You stayed like this for a while. While you were deep in your imagination, he was basically lying on top of you, enjoying your presence and the warm sun kissing his wings.

In an instant, he was struck by a brilliant idea. It's probably the finest one ever. "Hey! I have a great idea! Let's paint together."

You looked up at him with astonishment as you blinked at the sudden idea. "Excuse me?" It's not like you thought the idea was bad, but he has never shown much interest in your hobby. It's true, he liked to watch you work and often complimented your paintings and hobby, but he never said anything more than that. That was quite a surprise.

As soon as you looked at Hawks, he smiled. "Like a couple spending some pleasant time together. Just us, doing something original. My little feather is already a pro at painting."

You eagerly nodded and hurried to gather your things as soon as possible. "We can go to my workshop! There is an additional easel, as well as more canvas."

Keigo watched you run back to the flat after collecting your stuff. As he followed you, he chuckled to himself and shook his head.

There was already a little workshop set up and ready for two people. As you waited for him, you sat in front of the empty canvas set on the wooden easel.

He sat down next to you and looked at the empty canvas. "I was wondering what we could paint," Keigo hummed.

You shook your head and smiled at him. "Maybe we should paint whatever we want, and then we can discuss it?"

He nodded, agreeing to the idea after considering it.

At the beginning, you painted whatever came into your head, while Keigo worked hard on his own masterpiece.

As he focused on his own masterpiece, you could see him painting with his tongue sticking out just a little - it was the cutest thing you've ever seen.

Despite working for at least an hour, you didn't paint anything interesting, just a random cat you spotted on the street. You couldn't focus and make better paintings when your beloved boyfriend distracted you, even if he wasn't aware he did.

You loved the faces he made while working and how eagerly he played with the paints. It was oh so cute!

“I'm done!” Keigo exclaimed happily and looked at your painting. “Wow! My work isn't as good as yours, but I'm so proud of it. Come see it!"

Standing right next to him, you tilted your head, watching the many colors. It was hard to tell what it was.

"Don't tell me you don't recognize that face," he sighed as you shook your head. "That's Endeavor, isn't that obvious?"

Despite not seeing it at first, you made an oh sound and nodded. Could it be that you needed to look closer? Ultimately, it didn't matter, he did an amazing job and you both enjoyed this activity and quiet time spent together.

As soon as Keigo returned home after another assignment, both paintings hung on the wall in the living room, framed in wooden frames that you had bought and painted yourself to match the paintings. As a result, he was even prouder of himself.

As a matter of fact, you were proud of him as well, since he had discovered his creative side that had been hidden for too long.

#Nifflerswriting #hawks fluff #hawks x y/n #bnha hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x you #hawks #mha fluff #hawks imagine #mha oneshot #keigo takami fluff #keigo takami x reader #keigo x y/n #keigo takami x y/n #my hero academia x reader #writers on tumblr #keigo takami blurb #mha blurb #hawks blurb

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ao719 · 1 year

Text

Best Kept Secrets

Best Kept Secrets - Nothing’s For Sure (Chapter 9)

Characters belong to Pixelberry.

Summary: An unforeseen encounter with the past proves that even the best-kept secrets eventually make their way into the light.

Title inspiration: Our Story - Graham Colton

Book/Pairing: TRR; Liam x F!OC

A/N: Not beta’d. Please excuse any errors.

Rating: M • Warning: This series will contain NSFW material. If you read, you acknowledge you are 18+

Catch up here

Taking in a deep breath, Liam stretched the sleep from his body as he shifted to his side in the bed. The faint scent of wild blackberry and orchid filled his senses, and his eyes slowly fluttered open, revealing her long brown hair splayed against the crisp white pillow; his eyes traveled down the expanse of her bare back to where the sheet was draped over her hip, covering her lower half. He let out a quiet breath as flashes from the night before began to replay in his head: her lips on his, her silky skin under his touch, the sounds she made, the way his name dripped from her lips in pleas, falling asleep with her in his arms.

If he could, Liam would relive that night a thousand times over.

Seeing her begin to stir, his gaze traveled back up, and she started to turn toward him; his eyes fell on her face as hers began to flutter. Liam met Amara’s blue-eyed gaze a moment later, and he softly smiled. “Hi …”

Amara pulled the sheet up. “Hi.”

Liam smiled softly as he drank her in. “How is it possible for you to wake up looking this beautiful?”

“A charmer first thing in the morning, huh?” Amara chuckled sleepily. “And it isn’t possible, you’re just half asleep still.”

“Well, in that case, I like this dream,” Liam smiled as he reached over, brushing the wisps of hair away from her face. “Did you sleep ok?”

Amara couldn’t help but be slightly amused at the casualness of his question. “Yeah, I did. You?”

“Better than I have in a long time.”

Earning another smile from her, Liam pulled her to him before closing the small space and pressing his lips to hers; she eagerly returned the gesture as her hand gently curled around the back of his neck. As the kiss deepened, their bodies began to shift in the bed, limbs entangling beneath the sheets as they quickly became lost in that moment. His hand outlined the curve of her body, stopping on her thigh; he pulled her leg up to his waist, smiling into the kiss when a whisper of a moan escaped her.

However, as much as Amara didn’t want to stop, they had to talk. “Liam,” she whispered against his lips.

Liam drew back to look at her. “Yeah?”

“What … what does this mean? Last night? … Right now?”

“I …” Liam let out a soft breath. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. He searched her eyes, getting lost in their brilliant blue. “I do know that after last night … whatever this may be … I don’t want it to stop.”

Amara stared up at him. After that first taste of him last night, she didn’t want it to stop either, but she didn’t know how this was going to continue considering their — his — circumstances. The fact of the matter was that Amara was free to do what she wanted; Liam was not. Not only was he married, but also a King, who had eyes on him at all times.

Then something struck her, something he had mentioned during their first real conversation in the garden maze.

“I don’t want it to stop either,” Amara whispered.

“Good,” Liam smiled before brushing his lips against hers, but she stopped him before he could kiss her.

“So you’ll have to speak with Madeleine?” Amara questioned.

Liam furrowed his brows in confusion as to why she would want him to speak to his wife. “What?”

“Isn’t that your … deal?” Amara asked. “That you two discuss any … arrangements you may have?”

“Oh, uh …” Liam trailed off for a moment before slowly nodding. “Right.”

“And that … that’s what this would be between us … just … an arrangement of sorts …” Amara ignored the unexplainable pang in her chest at her own words.

Never would she have thought she’d willingly be someone’s secret. Yet here she was, asking for it.

Liam stared at her, remaining quiet for a moment. This went beyond just an arrangement, at least for him. He had feelings for Amara, very strong feelings that had been building for a while now. They were feelings that had only strengthened after the night they spent together. He wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about him; he knew there was something there on her end, evident by her saying she didn’t want whatever this was between them to stop, but to what extent, he didn’t know. Regardless, it didn’t change how he felt about her. He and Madeleine never discussed that topic; they never talked about what it would mean or what would happen if feelings were to ever get involved in any arrangements. He supposed it was an unspoken rule that didn’t need an explanation.

Arrangements were supposed to be casual; feelings could cause things to get complicated and chaotic. Keeping it casual ensured that time spent together would always be brief and to the point; it drew a line in the sand. Feelings could create problems … for more reasons than one.

Liam needed Madeleine’s permission to continue in an arrangement just as he had given his permission to her. Things would be discussed between them regarding who it was, how often they expected to see them, non-disclosure agreements being signed, and so on. If Madeleine knew of his growing feelings for Amara — something he wasn’t sure he would be able to hide from her, at least not well — and if she thought that Amara may return those feelings, he wasn’t so sure she would agree to it, not without a fight anyway. He didn’t want to fight, but he didn’t want to stop seeing Amara either.

“Liam …?” Amara whispered, pulling him from his thoughts.

“I’ll talk to her,” Liam said.

“Today? Once she gets here?”

“Yeah,” Liam assured her. He looked over at the clock on the nightstand; it was almost 8 am. Madeleine would be expected in Valtoria within the next hour or so. “But until then …” He trailed off as he looked back at her, catching a glimpse of her smile before he captured her lips again.

Taking in a slow breath, Amara arched her back to stretch the sleep from her body; she felt an arm slightly tighten around her, pulling her closer. Her eyes snapped open as the aquatic nuances of his cologne filled her senses and his soft breath rustled her hair; she was nestled into his side with her head on his chest. She closed her eyes as flashes from the night before filled her head: the library, the passion and desperation, his lips and teeth marking her, his strong hands everywhere, and coming back to his room to spend half the night seemingly trying to make up for lost time.

Amara’s eyes opened and she could feel the anxiety start to slowly creep up inside her as her gaze shifted upward to Liam’s face; he was still asleep beside her.

There was no turning back from this now, not after last night. Everything that Amara had been trying to bury regarding her feelings for Liam had now been laid bare. She was still in love with him, and he knew it. No, they hadn’t had some in-depth conversation about it, too preoccupied with one another to do so, but he knew because he knew she wouldn’t have crossed that line otherwise. He knew because he knew her; he’d always been able to so easily slip into the cracks of the deepest parts of her that she tried to keep hidden and pull out every raw truth.

All but one.

A breath escaped Amara as her mind wandered to the lingering secrets between them, one in particular. Now that they were here, what was she going to do? It was something she’d struggled with since first arriving back in Cordonia and seeing Liam again for the first time in two years.

It was … delicate.

It wasn’t something that Amara could continue to keep from him, nor was it something that could simply be blurted out. And once Liam knew … things were going to change. Everything was going to change. It was something that could go a myriad of different ways, but she was certain that he was never going to look at her the same … and that terrified her.

“Hi,” she heard Liam’s raspy voice.

Amara lifted her gaze to see him looking at her, and she swallowed thickly. “Hi …”

Liam leaned forward. “Sleep ok?” he murmured against her forehead before placing a kiss there.

“Yeah … you?”

Taking in a slow, contented breath, Liam nodded. “I did.” His fingertips ran languidly up and down the length of her spine as they stared at one another; he could sense her thoughts were jumbled. “Are you ok?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Amara answered. She wasn’t sure if it was the truth or a lie.

“You look like you have something on your mind …”

Amara let out a breath. “I have a lot of something’s on my mind, Liam.”

“Do you want to talk about them?”

“No,” Amara shook her head before tilting it away from him. “Not right at the moment.”

Liam’s finger scooped under her chin, gently lifting her gaze back to his; his hand shifted, settling on the side of her neck as he leaned closer. “You know you can talk to me,” he whispered, brushing his nose against her cheek. “About anything.”

Amara’s heart slowly dropped. “I know.”

Drawing back just enough to meet her gaze, Liam searched Amara’s eyes for a moment. He knew there was something on her mind, something she wanted to talk to him about, but he also knew that pressing her on the matter wouldn’t achieve anything. Whatever it was, he didn’t think it was anything consequential that he needed to pry out of her; she would talk to him when she was ready.

Right now, he just wanted to be with her without worrying about anything else.

Liam leaned in and captured her lips in his, and she returned the kiss eagerly. Without breaking away, he rolled to his back, pulling her on top of him; he kissed her slowly as if they had all the time in the world.

To him, they did.

Happy didn’t begin to describe how Liam was feeling about where things between them had ended up going the night before. For the first time since her arrival back in Cordonia, he knew how Amara felt; he saw it in her eyes and the way she looked at him, he felt it in her kiss and the way she touched him, and he watched that veil finally drop away, solidifying it all.

It left him feeling hopeful.

Knowing they both still held onto those feelings from their past, Liam couldn’t help but feel like this was a second chance for them, one he’d spent the last two years believing he’d never get; when Amara left, he never thought he’d see her again, and he knew she thought the same of him.

Unlike last time, however, they had a real chance at making it work because nothing was standing in their way.

Drawing back for a breath, Liam looked up at Amara as he combed her hair away from her face. “Stay with me today.”

“Liam—”

Liam silenced her with another kiss. “Please,” he whispered against her lips. “Everyone is leaving …” He kissed her again. “My schedule is clear today. We can stay here … have the whole place to ourselves.”

“I can’t …” Amara replied. “I have to get back to the hotel. I have … things I have to check on and take care of and work to do.”

“You can do your work here,” Liam said before kissing her again.

“We both know I wouldn’t be doing much work,” Amara jested in return. “And none of my stuff is here anyway.”

“I can have it brought here for you.”

“I … I can’t, Liam,” Amara shook her head. “I have to get back. I’ve already been gone all night.”

“What’s that matter?” Liam questioned playfully. “I’m sure Daniel got by just fine without you for one night.”

Amara smiled despite the pang she felt in her chest. “Be that as it may … I still can’t stay.”

Liam let out a soft breath as he dropped his head back on the pillow and looked up at her. “Can I ask you something?” When she nodded, he reached up, tucking her hair behind her ear. “This … last night … what does it mean?”

The weight of his question was heavy. Amara knew what she wanted it to mean — what she hoped it could mean — but there was so much riding on the unknown. At that exact moment, Liam was blissfully unaware of how things would inevitably change. She rested her chin on her hands that were folded across his chest, staring at him for a long moment. “I … I don’t know,” she answered quietly.

“I haven’t said everything I’ve wanted to aloud … trying to give you space and hoping that my actions have shown enough for you to know how I still feel about you, but in case there were any doubts … Amara, I—” Liam stopped when she placed a finger over his lips.

“Don’t,” Amara shook her head. “Don’t say it … not yet.” When he furrowed his brows, she let out a breath. “We don’t know what’s going to happen and I — I don’t …” She trailed off. “Just don’t say it yet …” Of course she knew — and she felt the same — but him saying it aloud made it more real … and would be sure to make things more difficult.

Liam stared at her for a moment; he supposed a part of him understood where she was coming from, but the other part of him still wanted to say it. He loved her. He never stopped. And although they both knew it, he wanted her to hear it so there could be no doubts. He simply nodded instead, however, respecting her wish. “Ok. But this … being with you again … I don’t want it to stop. There are no obstacles this time. It’s not like before, Amara. And I just … I feel like this is a second chance for us … and I don’t want it to end here.”

Amara held her breath, feeling her heart momentarily stop at his words. “There are no obstacles this time.” Though he didn’t know it, everything he was saying was only making things harder. “We just … have things we need to figure out. You say there are no obstacles … but it’s not that cut and dried, Liam.”

Liam let out a soft laugh. “You mean because of the divorce and making the statement?” No, that was only but a small part of it, but she nodded anyway. “I don’t mind keeping things between us for now until that’s figured out … but we can still explore this. We can take things day by day … I just want to know we’re on the same page.”

Amara chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment. “Day by day … we’ll see what happens.”

Liam smiled as he pulled her back to him and kissed her again. “And you’re sure you can’t stay?” he whispered against her lips.

“Liam—”

Cutting off her protest with another kiss, Liam shifted to roll her onto her back. As the kiss deepened, his thigh pressed between her legs, and she arched into him as she let out a quiet moan against his lips. He smiled as he slowly drew back. “Not so eager to leave now, are you?” he quipped in a whisper.

Amara stared up at him, amazed at how easily he could get her to surrender; she curled her hands around the back of his neck, drawing his lips back to hers, but before they could meet, they were interrupted by the sound of Liam’s phone ringing. A sigh mixed with a disapproving grumble escaped him as he rolled away from her and reached for his phone on the nightstand.

As Liam answered his call, Amara took it as her cue; she sat up on the edge of the bed, pulling the sheet around her. Hearing her move, Liam glanced over, watching her rise from the bed to gather her discarded gown from the floor before disappearing into the bathroom.

A few moments later, Amara reappeared just as Liam ended his call. He sighed as he rolled to his side and propped himself up on his arm. “That was Rashad. My day was supposed to be free, but it seems the council wants to have a meeting.”

Amara nodded. “Ok.”

Standing and holding the blanket around his hips with one hand, Liam’s other hand curled around her waist. “Thank you for deciding to come up for the festival … I’m really glad you did.”

Amara smiled halfheartedly. “Me too …”

Liam leaned down, kissing her. “What’s your schedule like this week?”

“I’m not sure,” Amara shrugged.

“I want to make plans to see you,” Liam said with a coy smile.

“Liam, you haven’t made the announcement. We still need to be careful …”

“I know. And we will be,” Liam nodded before kissing her again. “I’ll give you a call later and we can figure something out?”

Amara stared at him for a moment before letting out a quiet breath. “Ok,” she nodded.

Liam leaned down, kissing her once more before she turned and headed for the door; he watched her open it and cautiously peer out before slipping into the hallway, closing the door behind her. He flopped back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as his mind began to fill with thoughts. He was unable to contain his smile as he let out a breath.

It seemed things might finally be falling into place.

****

After arriving back at the hotel, Amara stared at the floor as she rode the elevator up to the penthouse suite. When it came to a stop, the ding as the doors slid open pulled her from her daze; she let out a breath before stepping into the hallway.

When Amara entered the suite, she furrowed her brows when she was met with silence. “Imogen?” she called out as she shut the door. She dropped her bag to the floor and looked around. “Imogen?” she called louder. When there was still no answer, panic washed over her as she rushed down the hall; she peered into one of the guest rooms to find it empty before moving to the other, which was also empty. Amara ran back down the hall towards the other. “Imogen?” she shouted.

Suddenly, Daniel appeared as he stepped out of the bathroom. “Hey! You’re back.”

Amara continued to look around. “Where is she? Where’s Imogen?”

“Went for some fresh air. I was going to go too, but I figured I’d wait here for you.” Daniel knitted his brows as he took in the worry in the sound of her voice and the look on her face. “What’s wrong?”

Amara let out a shuddered breath as she dropped her head into her hand. Without warning, tears began to fall.

“Whoa, what the hell happened?” Daniel asked as he rushed toward her; he guided her to the sofa and lowered them both down. Amara shook her head as she took in a breath, attempting to calm herself. “Something happened with you two last night …”

Closing her eyes, Amara hesitated for a moment before she nodded. She didn’t need to go into detail; he knew. “He thinks … it’s a second chance for us,” she said through a hitched breath.

“Well … maybe it can be.”

Amara looked at him. “How? He’s not … he’ll never …” She trailed off as she dropped his gaze, pressing her palms against her temples. “What am I going to do?” she whispered.

“You need to talk to him, buttercup. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You’re falling apart at the seams, and now you’re becoming paranoid,” Daniel said, referring to her panic just moments before. “This isn’t fair to either of you … but particularly him. The sooner you talk to him, especially now, the better.”

Amara shook her head. “I don’t … know how,” she choked out. “I don’t even know … how to bring it up.”

“I can’t tell you how to do that,” Daniel said. “All I can tell you is that you’re not doing yourself or him any favors by continuing to put it off. No, it’s probably not going to be easy, but I don’t think there is any right way to go about it … you just need to do it.” She knew he was right. The problem was that it was so much easier said than done. She took in another breath and slowly let it out as she wiped her cheeks. “Are you alright?”

Amara rubbed her eyes. “I don’t know …” She looked at him again. “I need to get in the shower, but can you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Call Imogen and tell her to come back. I want to take today … and just …” Amara sighed.

“I get it,” Daniel nodded. “I’ll call her.”

****

After spending the remainder of the day having some very much-needed quality time that helped put her at ease, Amara walked inside her bedroom and changed into her pajamas. She sat on her bed and opened her laptop, checking her email. In the middle of typing out a reply to one, her phone rang with an incoming video call.

It was Liam.

Amara took a breath before answering. When his face popped up on the screen, he smiled. “Hey, you.”

“Hi,” Amara responded.

“What are you up to?”

“Replying to some emails. What about you?”

“Relaxing.”

“How’d your meeting go?” Amara asked.

“Well, that’s one of the reasons I’m calling. I have to meet with Rashad again tomorrow because the council wants a plan in place to announce the divorce …”

Amara’s brows furrowed. “That has nothing to do with me.”

“It kind of does. I want you to be there.”

“Liam, not only do I not need to be there, I can’t be there,” Amara shook her head.

“Yes, you can.”

“There’s a reason I asked Daniel to take the lead on that for you,” Amara countered. “Set aside the obvious conflict of interest—”

“That only you and I know about,” Liam interrupted with a subtle smirk. “Well, and Daniel, Drake, and Riley, but we don’t have to worry about them saying anything.”

Amara gave him a look. “I can’t be a part of that when I’m working for Auvernal.”

“Which is exactly why I want you there,” Liam said. “You’re working directly with Bradshaw, which gives you insight that I don’t have. I know this is going to have him reeling because it’s going to put a damper on the whole betrothal idea.”

Amara subtly stiffened. “I … I thought … you said you didn’t want that.”

“I don’t,” Liam stated. “Perhaps you can speak with him in the morning … feel him out to see how important that aspect of his terms truly is since that’s where his issue is going to be; no marriage means no heir, which means no betrothal. If it’s really a deal breaker for him or he’s not willing to make some kind of compromise, then there’s really no need to continue the alliance talks and no reason for me to be tip-toeing around making this announcement for the sake of not upsetting mister manchild. Personally, the sooner I can make the announcement, the better.”

“Well, is there even a point in me talking to him?” Amara asked.

Liam’s brows knitted. “What do you mean?”

“Are you still on the fence about the alliance in general? Because if you’re not truly considering it, what’s the point of me potentially riling Bradshaw up with a conversation regarding his stipulations?”

“Truthfully … I’m still up in the air.” Liam sighed. “I still don’t know if I can trust them, Amara … regardless of their terms.” He could see a bit of hesitation in her expression as she dropped his gaze and nodded. “Listen, you did your part in getting the people to see Auvernal differently. The rest is up to me. If this falls through, I’ll make sure he knows that you did the job he asked you to do. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I’m not worried about that.”

“Then what is bothering you?” Liam asked.

Everything. “Nothing … we just … we both said that we think he might know something about our past and that’s why he may have hired me,” Amara said. It was a valid concern, just not anywhere near the top of her list; she was only using it as an excuse to not say what was really bothering her. “I just don’t want to make him more suspicious.”

Liam shook his head. “First, I still don’t think he knows anything concrete because as I said before, he would have played his cards already if he did. Second, even if he did, so what? Is that really something we need to worry about now?” he asked rhetorically. “Once the announcement is made, our past is not going to matter.”

Amara closed her eyes; if she didn’t know better, the conviction in his voice would make her believe him. But Liam had no idea how wrong he was.

“Ok?”

Opening her eyes, Amara met his gaze again. You need to tell him. Just tell him. She swallowed thickly … then nodded. “Ok,” she whispered, feeling herself deflate inside at her lie. She couldn’t do this over the phone.

“So … will you come tomorrow with Daniel?”

Amara let out a quiet breath. “… I’ll be there,” she nodded.

“Thank you,” Liam smiled.

A noise from down the hall pulled her attention, and she glanced up before looking back at the screen. “I, uh … I don’t mean to cut this short, but I have to finish going through these emails.”

Liam nodded. “What time should I expect you and Daniel so I can let Rashad know?”

“I’ll let you know for sure after I call Bradshaw, but probably early afternoon.”

“Ok,” Liam smiled. “And … maybe we can make some plans for after?”

“We’ll, uh … we’ll see …”

“I promise, I’ll make it worth your while,” Liam chuckled with a wink.

A sad smile played on Amara’s lips as she stared at him through the screen; he seemed so happy, and he was being so open with her about his intentions and what he wanted … but she wasn’t doing the same. “I’ll see you tomorrow …”

“Goodnight,” Liam smiled.

“G’night.”

*******

The following morning, after spending 45 minutes after breakfast trying to clear her thoughts for her forthcoming conversation, Amara sat on the bed in her room. Taking in a deep breath, she slowly exhaled as she tapped the name in her contacts before placing the call on speaker.

“Ms. Onasis,” Bradshaw answered after only one ring.

“King Bradshaw.”

“How is your time in Cordonia faring?”

“It’s … good.” Amara cleared her throat. “I wanted to let you know that I have a meeting later today with King Liam and a member of his council to discuss … Auvernal’s bid for the alliance.”

“Oh?” Bradshaw questioned. “And how is the bid looking?”

“Well, your approval ratings with the Cordonian people have taken a turn for the better.”

“I knew hiring you was a good move,” Bradshaw said proudly. “Is that all you wanted to tell me? I have a golf game to prepare for.”

Amara rolled her eyes. “No. I had some … questions before going into this meeting.”

“What questions?”

“Pertaining to the alliance … and your terms.”

A brief silence settled between them on the phone. “Is King Liam using you to try and get information out of me?” he asked, sounding almost amused.

“No,” Amara lied, trying to think quickly. “I only ask because … of rumors regarding one particular aspect.”

“What rumors?” Bradshaw grumbled.

“I’ve heard through whispers that the Cordonian people, while feeling differently toward Auvernal, are having … concerns regarding rumors they’ve heard of a possible betrothal condition in the terms.”

A sardonic laugh escaped Bradshaw. “And why would they concern themselves with that?”

“They feel … that it’s archaic and unnecessary.”

“Yes, well, I wouldn’t expect feebleminded commoners to understand the importance of such a thing.”

“You can’t call these people feebleminded if you want them to put their trust in you, Bradshaw,” Amara ground out.

“It’s not as if they’re going to hear me say it,” Bradshaw scoffed. “And regarding their concerns, again, I wouldn’t expect them to understand the importance of such a tradition. Betrothals between kingdoms have been happening for centuries. And I’m sure King Liam was expecting those particular provisions.”

“And … what if King Liam wasn’t too keen on the idea?”

Bradshaw let out a breath. “And what exactly do you know about that, Ms. Onasis?”

“Nothing,” Amara lied. “I’m just thinking that he doesn’t … they don’t even have an heir to go into such an agreement with … so I could understand if they felt that particular stipulation wasn’t necessary to have in the terms.”

“They don’t have one yet. It is Liam’s duty to his country to produce at least one heir to his throne. It’ll only be a matter of time.”

“Ok, but—”

“Enough,” Bradshaw bit out. “The terms, which will stay exactly as they are, are none of your damn concern and have absolutely nothing to do with what you were hired for. Stick to your expertise, and I’ll stick to mine. And Ms. Onasis …”

Amara clenched her jaw. “Yes?”

“Do not try to cross me to get information for King Liam again.” Without another word, he abruptly ended the call.

****

Later that afternoon, Amara walked inside the palace with Daniel for their meeting; they followed Bastien up the grand staircase and down the hall toward Liam’s study. When they approached the door, Bastien opened it, gesturing for them to go inside. “He’s on a call. He’ll be with you shortly,” he smiled.

“Thank you, Bastien,” Amara nodded.

As the door shut, Daniel plopped onto the sofa in the seating area of Liam’s study as Amara glanced around. After their night together, the pieces of their past that she had been trying to force herself not to think about had been erupting to the surface. Since her arrival back in Cordonia, she had nothing but bouts of déjà vu, feeling as though, in some ways, she was reliving her story with Liam all over again. And what they shared in Valtoria the other night was exactly how things had begun before, making it even more difficult to continue to keep those memories locked away.

Amara’s eyes fell on the King’s desk; she approached it, running her fingers along its mahogany surface.

As Constantine and the other members of Liam’s council bid their goodbyes to one another after their meeting had come to an end, Amara and Liam subtly locked eyes. She dropped his gaze when she saw his lips start to quirk up in a smile, feeling her own form.

In the few weeks since their first night together in Valtoria, the two couldn’t seem to get enough of each other. They shared moments during the day anywhere they could: his study, staterooms, and offices. They snuck off from events to coat closets and bathrooms, even the SUVs when they found themselves alone in one. And at night, they were tangled in the sheets inside her hotel room or his chambers.

They found themselves enraptured with one another, never satiated, always wanting more. Neither one realized how deep they were truly falling. They already had feelings going into it, but those feelings were flourishing into something neither one imagined, cloaking every rational thought.

“Well, things have really taken a turn for the better,” Constantine spoke, pulling both their attention to him as the others filed out of the room.

Liam grinned. “They’ve been going well.”

“That’s an understatement,” Constantine smiled. “Your approval ratings have skyrocketed, Liam.” He turned to Amara. “Hiring you couldn’t have been a smarter move on our part.”

“Just doing my job, sir,” Amara smiled.

“You’ve gone above and beyond. Liam has a lot to thank you for.”

Amara could see Liam in her peripheral vision, rubbing his hand over his mouth to stop his laugh, and she suppressed her own, knowing exactly what he was thinking: he was thanking her in more ways than anyone knew. “I appreciate that, sir,” she nodded.

Constantine’s eyes dropped to the charm on her necklace when he noticed her fidgeting with it. “I always see you wearing that,” he smiled. “What is it?”

“Oh, uh …” Amara glanced down, resting the charm on her thumb so he could see. “A compass, sir.”

“Very nice,” Constantine nodded. “Well, I suppose I should get going. I have to meet Regina for lunch.”

Liam followed his father to the door as Amara lingered behind; she watched as he bid him goodbye, and when Constantine exited the study, Liam shut and locked the door before turning to face her with a playful smirk. He approached her and curled his hands around her waist as he leaned down, capturing her lips in his. “I’ve been wanting to do that for the past hour and a half.”

“Like you didn’t get enough last night,” Amara quipped.

Liam shook his head with an impish smile. “It’s never enough,” he whispered before kissing her again, more insistently this time.

Amara drew back. “You have a meeting to prepare for.”

“I have 15 minutes,” Liam countered before his lips were back on hers. As their tongues curled together, he walked her backward toward his desk; when he sat in his chair, he pulled her down so she was straddling his lap.

One of Liam’s hands tangled in her hair as the other disappeared underneath the skirt of her dress. He let out a low, mischievous laugh against her lips when his hand dipped beneath the thin piece of lace, effortlessly sliding his finger against her. “Been thinking about me?” he teased through a husky whisper.

“Liam …” Amara softly gasped before she kissed him again. As he continued to tease her, her fingers fumbled against the buttons of his shirt before peeling it open. She ran her hands across his taut chest before they dropped to his belt; a moment later, he raised his hips, sliding both his pants and boxers down as she pulled her dress off and dropped it to the floor.

As Liam lowered himself back into the chair, he let out a groan when he felt her hand wrap around him, feeling himself swell even more in her grasp; he drew her mouth back to his, kissing her fervently as she stroked him. A moment later, what little patience he had was gone, and he slightly raised her hips, pulling the lace fabric to the side before shifting her forward; she moved her hands, gripping his shoulders as she lowered herself down, drawing a moan from both of them as he filled her.

“Fuck,” Liam hissed.

Amara rocked against him as he caressed her body. His one hand slid up to her hair and he tugged her head back; he leaned forward, trailing his lips and teeth down the exposed column of her neck, being careful not to leave any marks.

As their whispered moans grew louder and their breaths mingled, both nearing the edge of release, Amara suddenly slowed her pace when Liam’s desk phone began to ring. He pressed his hands into the small of her back, pulling her forward and urging her to continue as he ignored the phone until it stopped ringing, but it began again almost immediately after.

Liam leaned forward, picking up the receiver as Amara stilled. “Yes?” As Bastien spoke on the other end, an impish grin crossed Liam’s lips; he shifted Amara forward as he bucked his hips, pressing her face into his neck to keep her quiet, and clenching his jaw to silence himself. “Thanks,” he quickly spoke before hanging up.

Amara began to laugh as she looked at him in surprise. “You can’t do that!” she admonished.

“Do what?” Liam feigned innocence with a playful smile. He stood from his chair, lifting her with him before laying her back across the desk as his hands gripped her waist. “They arrived for the meeting early, but I plan to finish you off first,” he smirked before driving back into her, ripping a moan from her throat as her back arched.

“Amara?” At the sound of Liam’s voice, she turned; he noticed the flush on her neck and cheeks as she met his gaze. “Are you alright?”

Seeing Liam staring at her, and feeling Daniel and Rashad’s curious eyes on her as well, Amara let out a breath and cleared her throat. “Uh, yeah …” she nodded as she stared at him. “I’m fine.”

Liam gestured for the seating area, and as Amara walked by him, he placed his hand on the small of her back. The subtle affectionate gesture caught her off guard; he never did that in the past in front of others because they had to keep what they were doing a secret, but he didn’t seem to feel that way now, doing it with both Daniel and Rashad there.

“How did your talk with Bradshaw go?” Liam asked as they all sat down.

Amara scoffed. “Well, he hung up on me if that tells you anything.” She looked at Liam, seeing his brows raised in surprise. “He’s not going to change his mind regarding the betrothal. He said as much. And he told me the provisions of the alliance were none of my business and that it was between you and him.”

Liam nodded, seemingly unfazed. “Well, I think that tells me everything I need to know.” He glanced at Rashad, who nodded in understanding and agreement. “Any alliance talks with Auvernal are officially off the table.”

“What?” Amara questioned, taken aback. “Just like that?”

“Yes,” Liam answered calmly. “I told you it was something I didn’t want, and I meant it. If he’s not willing to compromise, there’s no sense in wasting anyone’s time.”

As Liam and Rashad began discussing speaking to the rest of the council about the decision he just came to, Amara glanced over at Daniel; he gave her a subtle look, knowing what she was thinking.

With the alliance talks abruptly ending, her job was officially done. She was free to go home … but she knew she couldn’t.

“So, knowing this announcement has no bearing on anything between Cordonia and Auvernal, we need to figure out the next steps,” Liam said, pulling Amara’s attention back to him.

“The council is hoping to go about it … gently, so to speak,” Rashad explained. “They’re more concerned about the reaction from the people and they’re worried about the monarchy being seen as unstable.”

Amara glanced at Daniel, and he met her gaze, imperceptibly nodding in an understanding of the look on her face before looking at Liam. “I think your best bet would be to go into making the announcement with Madeleine at your side. You’ve shown over the last couple of years that the two of you are a united front, and although your marriage may be ending, that still needs to be the case. You need to show that this was a choice that wasn’t made lightly, one that you came to together, and that things between you are amicable.”

“Well, that won’t be difficult,” Liam said. “We did come to the decision together and we have nothing but respect for each other. I have no doubts that she would agree to be there with me to make the announcement.”

“You and Madeleine will have to get together and write up a statement to give,” Daniel suggested.

Liam nodded. “That will be no problem.”

“And you and Madeleine both need to be clear in letting them know that this does not affect your ability as their monarch,” Daniel added. “That your priority will always be your country and your people and they have nothing to worry about in regards to that, that Cordonia can still thrive regardless of your marital status. Just … level with them as much as you can. Address any concerns you know they will have, and allow time for them to ask questions if they want that you and Madeleine will answer together.”

“Is …” Amara trailed off as they all looked at her; she glanced at Daniel who gave her a nod to ask whatever she was about to. “Is Madeleine planning to stay on as some sort of council to you?” she asked as she looked at Liam.

“We’ve discussed some options for her,” Liam nodded. “But nothing is set in stone yet.”

“That would be something worth mentioning,” Daniel said, offering Amara a thankful smile for bringing it up. “Despite the divorce, that will show her support for you as a friend and monarch going forward. That you’re still somewhat of a team even though your relationship has changed.”

Liam nodded. “I’ll reach out to her tomorrow about all of this.”

“Once you have the statement ready, just let me know, and I’ll make the arrangements for a press conference,” Daniel said.

Liam smiled, tapping his thigh with his hand as he nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

Amara couldn’t help but notice Liam’s eagerness to get this announcement over with. He didn’t seem worried at all about any reactions he may get; he looked almost elated. He only seemed focused on getting it done and moving forward. For her, the more it sunk in that he was making the announcement sooner rather than later, the more nervous she felt.

“Well, I think that’s all for me,” Rashad smiled as he stood. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again,” he said to Daniel as he extended his hand and shook his. “Liam,” he gave a nod as he clapped him on the shoulder. “Amara,” he smiled, kissing her cheek.

They all started toward the door, and once Rashad disappeared into the hallway, Liam stopped Amara. “Can you stay for a bit …”

Hearing the question, Daniel turned to look at her. He met his gaze, giving him a long look; he wasn’t sure if it was a silent plea for help or advice. “I’ll meet you back at the hotel,” he smiled before stepping out and shutting the door behind him.

Daniel went with advice; Amara needed to talk to Liam, and if that meant forcing her hand to be alone with him, then so be it.

Amara stared at the wooden door, taking a breath before turning to face Liam; his hands were in his pockets as she met his gaze. They stared at one another for a long, silent moment, and she could feel that familiar pull towards him no matter how much she told herself to fight it. He offered a subtle smile as he walked towards her, lifting his arm; his hand pressed against the door behind her, and she looked up at him. She felt herself falling right back into that place they were two years ago, unable to get enough despite knowing there was so much more at stake.

When Liam leaned down, he paused a hairsbreadth from her lips, searching her eyes as he waited, seeking permission. Amara instinctively tilted her head and closed the distance between them, capturing his lips in hers as his other hand dropped down, locking the door.

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litfanatic · 3 months

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UNDONE -An Elucien Oneshot

Read on AO3

Author: Litfanatic

Words: 2,794

Summary:The Prince of Day was undone by her, those were his words, but what he needed to know was that she was even more so undone by him.

A dreamless night.

She’d longed for one, and now she had more than she could ever imagine.

The brisk morning breeze sent a shiver over her leg that had escaped the warm cocoon—it was nearing winter, after all.

That was the only part of her susceptible to the cold. The rest of her was bathed in warmth. Her mate’s glorious form was pressed against hers, his arms wrapped around her body. Even in sleep, Lucien clutched at her, as if he was afraid that he would lose her.

Guilt pricked at her mind as she thought about how she’d treated him over the years.

Elain could imagine what he would say if he knew her thoughts.

You did nothing wrong.

It was always your choice.

Elain knew that it was always her choice, but it didn’t take away from the fact that she treated him poorly. How she ignored him and avoided him. The least she could have done was be friendly.

But you didn’t owe me anything, he would insist. That was the kind of male she had.

Instead, she had been on the verge of rejecting the bond. Rejecting that tie between them without fully understanding what it was.

Her family would have supported her decision—mostly.

Nesta was never a fan of Lucien, loathing his part in Feyre’s Spring court suffering (as if they treated their sister much better when they were humans) and hating those quiet words that spilled from him during their making. Elain was the only one who knew what he felt as he said those words.

The wonder, the confusion, the grief at what their bond meant for his past.

But she was content to let them think that he had tried to claim her. Anyone who knew Lucien’s past would never truly believe that. He was nothing like his named father.

Feyre’s relationship with Lucien was complicated. There was a part of her sister that was still bitter towards him, but Elain had also seen what Feyre had done to him, how she had used him. Sometimes when her younger sister set her mind to something, she found justification for those caught in the crossfire.

Cassian didn’t say anything, but Elain could see something in his eyes. Perhaps he once had thought himself to be on the verge of a rejected bond so he could sympathize with the male.

Even after the mistake, she saw the hope in Azriel’s eyes, but Gwyn still wore her necklace and his shadows still danced for the priestess.

Elain realized what he hadn’t, and even if she was to still pursue that relationship, a small part of her knew that her future wouldn’t be that different from when she was human.

She wanted to be free to travel, to have her own adventure. To perhaps see the different courts that she’d secretly read about. To not be used as a pawn as Nesta was. To not be brought to heel.

But the High Lord of Night was a strategist—as brilliant as he was handsome. Those violet eyes wanted to know what she knew, but he wouldn’t dare enter her mind, not for fear of upsetting his mate. Yet, Elain knew that one day she could speak up, and one day he would. For the sake of his court and his family.

Was she not both?

Rhys listened tensely as she spoke about possibly rejecting the bond. His face spoke of understanding, but if she had seen his mind she would have known better.

Her Sight showed her a few days later.

A vision of him questioning his emissary about the possibilities, and it struck Elain like a swift blade to the gut. She was already a pawn.

The way their voices carried when Lucien visited.

“Perhaps if you came by later, she would be back from the shops.”

“Oh you’re just about to miss her. Mor’s taking her for lunch in the Rainbow, but she’ll be back for dinner.”

“You have to come to Solstice, Lucien. What about Elain’s gift?”

On and on and on, they strung him along.

Over and over and over, he came.

Many might have called him a fool, but in the midst of a world that had been unfair to him—unfair to them all, Lucien carried the rarest magic. Hope.

That was her Lucien—through and through. Hopeful. Though he dare not utter his wants. Patient and Waiting.

And he was so full of patience, but Elain couldn’t help but feel that it was partially curated from a sense not being chosen—of being an after thought.

She had almost done that again to him with Azriel, and Elain still shuddered at the thought of how different her life could have been. She would have made a mistake.

Elain reached out to brush her fingers against to copper strands of her mate’s hair. Her cheeks flushed at the thought of the previous night as she frantically pulled at his stubborn braid in an attempt to feel him closer—to feel him deeper.

The cocky male had teasingly preened at her want for him, but that smile had slipped away an hour later as she was a top him and he became undone by her.

Undone. By. Her.

Those were his words.

Sweet Elain. Shy Elain. Pretty Elain.

The undoing of the Prince of Day.

The undoing of a future High Lord.

She couldn’t deny that it stroked her ego.

No one had ever made her feel like Lucien did.

She felt truly seen. Not the version that he wanted or expected. When those mismatched eyes gaze upon her—he saw everything.

What lay within. What she wanted. What she could be.

He asked nothing—required nothing of her. All he hoped was that she would love him as fiercely as he loved her.

They were equals in everything but that.

Elain was sure that she didn’t love Lucien as much as he loved her.

Within her heart of hearts, she knew that it wasn’t the same.

Elain loved him more.

She’d known how deep, how all-consuming, how all-encompassing her love was for him when it caused her to do the unexpected. When it caused her to almost be banished from the Night Court, and when it caused her to hold a knife to the throat of the High Lord of Spring.

That rage that caused her to drive the blade into the neck of Hybern reappeared at any threat to her mate.

He was not someone to cruelly jest about, which the Inner Circle has now learnt, for fear of learning any sordid futures. There was a cruel appreciation from her brother-in-law at her hypocrisy.

Elain didn’t care—though she felt terrible after.

Even the beast of Spring knew better than to charge at what belonged to her, but Lucien didn’t need her to fight his battles. The sly fox with hidden powers.

But she would fight.

Over and over and over again.

For him. Always. She’d give anything to hear that steady heartbeat which she once loathed. Elain would give anything to see the fire flare in his russet eye. To hear the mechanical whirring of his gold one.

Her goal was to ensure that Lucien was happy and content with the flash of his sharp canines directed at her.

She loved nothing more than to see the look of contentment with a mixture of disbelief when they had dinner with his family.

The ones who loved him, all together under one roof.

Despite ribbed comments and sharp words, she saw his eye glisten when Eris gruffly presented him with one of his beloved pups for his birthday. Elain knew how precious that gift was, not only to Lucien. There was no one in the world that Eris Vanserra loved more than his brother. And now he could finally show it.

Elain smiled at the memory as she tugged at his loose braid, mildly surprise that he hadn’t stirred. Her smile grew wider at the fact that she had worn him out that much. It had taken her a while to match his fire because Autumn males...

Most times, she barely could, but if she caught him after a long day of council meetings, there was a higher chance.

She knew how restless his sleep could be. Sometimes, he was plagued by nightmares of the past. The animal in her still struggled when he uttered the name Jesminda, but Elain knew that it wasn’t under happy circumstances. Not when his body writhed in anguish and great drops of sweat dotted his face.

She would clutch him tighter in those moments, murmuring words of comfort, placing kisses along his face, just as he did for her.

To see him at peace was her peace.

The world was wrought with too many wars, both physically and within. Now it was time for the sun to shine.

She tugged harder, wanting—no needing, to see the molten river flowing across his back.

With the braid mostly loosened, Elain suddenly halted her movements.

He wore a shirt. Loose and wrinkled.

Her brows furrowed.

Where did it come from?

Yes, it had taken him a while to adapt to the Day Court attire, but he wore it. The expanse of his chest on display beneath the chiton-like garb, but somehow looped and wrapped to cover enough of his back.

This shirt that he wore was not present last evening. Elain would’ve remembered tearing it off of him.

He must have pulled it on in the early hours of the morning.

Again.

Why?

There was no way that he was cold. Lucien was heat. He was the sun itself.

There was one other reason that she could think of. Why a shirt appeared after almost every time they made love. Why he constantly angled his back away from her.

Sometimes she wanted to wake him by kissing along the broadness of his shoulders. Sometimes she wanted to encircle him as they lay soaking in the tub after a tedious day.

But Lucien didn’t want her to see his back.

Even after all this time, he was ashamed of his scars. Ashamed of the uneven fleshmarks. Like misshapen rows of a ploughed field. Given to him by someone that didn’t deserve him, yet Lucien held on to hope and love for his friend.

That was what Elain really wanted to protect—Lucien’s heart. Not only because he had offered it to her, but because it would set him apart from all other High Lords. Lucien’s heart—his ability to look beyond tradition, to love humans, to dismiss classism—would unite Pythian in a way that no one else could.

But he needed to see himself the way others saw him. Elain knew that he thought the scar across his eye was a testament to being a naive young fae who didn’t know how to hold his tongue. Some called him foolish, but most thought him brave to speak against her, consequences be damned.

He was so much more than he saw himself. Lucien saw it in her—brought it out of her, and she wished to do the same for him.

Elain reached for that glowing thread between them, caressed it gently, soothingly. She brushed the foot that had escaped him along his calf, raising it higher and higher.

Skip.

Her heart skipped a beat. No—not hers, his. But it was still hers.

“I know you’re not sleeping,” she murmured lovingly to the head that was buried in her hair, to the mouth that was pressed against her neck.

His hand tightened around her, and the softest kisses began to trail lower.

“Am I not?” Lucien asked huskily, the remnants of sleep in his voice.

“I can feel every inch of you, my lord,” her tone lowered to match his.

The assault on her neck ceased as he pulled back to look at her. She saw everything in his eyes. Love and desire and love.

And she had to kiss him.

She had to show him, had to make him feel everything. To remind him that he was everything.

“Lucien…Lucien,” Elain pleaded as she struggled to remove the offending garment. Five times she tried to remove it, each time she got distracted by full lips.

“Stop.”

The words escaped her softly, yet firmly.

She meant it, but also didn’t, not with how his heat flickered across her her body, straight to her core, but of course, he ceased his ministrations.

“Is something—

Elain cupped his face, her thumbs gently brushing his cheeks.

“Take off your shirt.”

Lucien froze, his eyes filled with sorrow and resignation.

“Let me see them, Lucien,” she insisted, gently pushing him away as she scrambled out from under him. Immediately, she missed him, and Elain was sorry for the look of despair that he wore. The last thing that she wanted to do was hurt him, but he had to see—he had to know that he didn’t have to hide from her. That no part of her was ashamed of him.

His eyes darted away from hers as he sat up. Lucien turned his body so that his face was away from her. Elain sat on her knees as she watched the fabric glide off his back and pool on the bed.

A gasp escaped her as her hands flew to her mouth. She saw Lucien’s body tense at the noise that escaped her. His head dipped as he hunched over, his hair now a curtain hiding his face from her.

Pain bloomed in her chest. Sorrow and shame filled the space beneath her rib.

“No,” she breathed as her fingers reached out. Lucien fought a flinch as she touched him. Elain moved closer to him.

There were so many. Too many. An innumerable amount of scars in every direction.

She already hated Amarantha, but now it was ten-fold. She deserved a death worse than she received. Despite, Lucien’s mild forgiveness of Tamlin, this—this, Elain could not see past. At least, not anytime soon.

She had seen flashes of Under the mountain, but the reality of it in front of her was unnerving.

Elain leaned her head forward and brushed a kiss across his back.

Then another and another and another until his tension washed away.

She hated that he had them, but every scar was a part of Lucien, every scar told a story of his survival, and she would be loathed to make him feel less than he was.

She maneuvered around him and off the bed. He still hadn’t looked up at her. Elain moved to stand between his legs, her nakedness on full display before him. To show that it was okay to be vulnerable, especially with her. She reached to tilt his chin upwards. He was so tall that even when sitting, they were nearly at eye level.

“Look at me, love,” she encouraged earnestly. He slowly looked up, and her heart clenched at the silver sheen in his eye, at what she had caused.

Elain leaned down to press a kiss against his mouth, extending her feelings along the bond.

“Not from me, Lucien.”

Kiss.

“You never have to hide from me.” She brushed his hair over his shoulders.

“I love you.” She placed a palm over his heart. “Your scars do not make you less. Your vulnerabilities do not make you weak. Your kindness does not make you foolish.”

“All of these—her fingers traced the ones along his cheeks—and the ones we can’t see are a testament to who you are. What you’ve stood for. Who you’ve stood against.”

A kiss upon his scarred brow.

“And I—her voice broke—I love every part of you, Lucien. I know I ran from the bond for so long, and I saw you as part of it, as something being thrust upon me. But once I got to know you…Once I saw your beautiful heart, how could I—how could I not…”

“You are my sun…my light...my freedom and adventure.”

Another kiss.

Elain brushed a tear that fell down his cheek. She looked into his beautiful eyes, the mechanical one seeing more than the other. She hoped that it saw her truth. That it saw the truth in her words. She sent added reassurance along the golden tether between them then stepped back.

“So rise, mate. Rise, my Prince of Day and Autumn. Rise, my heart. Stand tall and strong because you are that and more. So much more, and I am completely undone by you.”

When he kissed her, she felt it within her soul. How he welcomed her words, and it was a start to him accepting them.

#elucien fanfiction #elucien fic #elain x lucien #lucien vanserra #pro elucien #pro elain archeron #lucien acotar #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #elucien #ao3 fanfic #elain archeron

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unicyclehippo · 6 months

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Bedazzled

Standing outside Laudna's office was a cluster of students, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old, in neat blue-and-white uniforms and texting away on their bedazzled phones or whatever they had these days. Stickers? Holograms? Probably not holograms. One of the children was younger than the others--advanced placement, maybe?--and wore a pair of red cat ears, which poked up above her tousled black hair. She clutched a big red folder to her chest and seemed to be buzzing with excitement, looking eagerly down the hallway to Laudna's closed door.

When Imogen approached, the girl spoke.

'Hello! Are you here for Doctor Bradbury?'

Imogen froze mid-step. For a second, a single thought filled her mind--was it possible that Laudna had a kid? It wasn't that she looked so much like Laudna; there was a faint likeness, both being pale and dark-haired and tall, but it was the voice that struck her. Beyond the accent they both shared, the crisp and proper tones of northern Tal'Dorei, there was a musicality that Imogen had never heard before, not until Laudna, and it plucked at something in her mind and heart and she found herself smiling down at the girl. Who was honestly irritatingly tall for a, like, ten year old kid.

The girl's smile wavered. 'Miss?' she prompted.

'Sorry - sorry. Uh, yes. I'm here for Laud--Doctor Bradbury, I mean.' She glanced over the group again. 'Are you here for her as well?'

The girl beamed, rocking forward onto the balls of her feet. 'Yes! Doctor Bradbury is taking us on a tour!'

'Oh, she is?'

'Yes!'

One of the older kids laid a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder, which paused her excited bouncing for a few seconds. To Imogen, they said, 'We're here on a school trip, miss. Doctor Bradbury runs tours for us every few months on different topics. Today, we're learning about the SaOrdian Era--'

'Did you know they had aqueducts that carried water all throughout the Rumedam Desert?' the girl cut in, eyes bright, tone breathlessly excited. 'And their monarchs all had the same name for six hundred years? And that Emon is older but Ank'Harel is bigger? And that they invented brume way before anyone else?'

Imogen grinned. 'What the heck d'you need a tour for? Sounds like you know everything already.'

Despite being shorter, the girl managed to look down her nose at Imogen. 'There's always more to learn,' she said in an arch tone.

'Quite right, Gwendolyn, quite right. Couldn't have said it better myself,' Laudna agreed absently as she stepped out of her office, tapping one-fingered at the buttons on her mobile phone. 'Won't be a moment, children--just have to send off a quick message--'

'What is that, doc? You need to get a new phone.'

'We'll pitch in if it's the government salary stopping you.'

'It's embarrassing, it's a relic, miss!'

Laudna ignored their comments, only pausing to say primly, 'It's vintage!' of her ancient pager-like phone. 'It sends and receives messages. What more could I want?'

'Social media,' one of the kids muttered, to everyone's boos.

'The whole collection of human knowledge at your fingertips,' another suggested. 'Whatever's not locked behind a paywall, anyway.'

Laudna dismissed that with a scoff. 'I do have a computer, thank you, JB.'

'Bet it takes up the whole wall of your office like one of those spacecraft computers.' That made them all laugh, Laudna included.

Through the noise, Gwendolyn piped up. 'You have a guest, Doctor Bradbury.'

'Oh?' Laudna glanced up from her phone, finally, to see Imogen, who waved. 'Oh! Imogen! How fortuitous--it was you I was trying to message, I'm dreadfully sorry, I double booked our lunch.' She looked cornered all of a sudden, striken. 'I can fix this,' she insisted, sinkingly soft like a bruised plum, all give.

Imogen shrugged. 'Nothin' to fix. We'll just reschedule.'

'You could come with us,' Gwendolyn said. 'And learn something.'

Everything soft in Laudna became sharp all at once, bright and dangerous and brilliant, and she looked at Imogen over the top of Gwendolyn's head and said, eyes glittering, 'What a marvellous idea. Perhaps you could learn something about the SaOrdian Era.'

Imogen's eyes narrowed. Through gritted teeth, she said, 'That would be fun.'

'If you don't mind.'

'Not at all.'

'Then it's settled,' Laudna said, very pleased. 'My friend Imogen shall join us for the tour.'

'Oh, is she your good friend, Doctor?' one of the kids teased, sharing a sly smile with their friend.

Laudna mustn't hear the innuendo in their words because she only smiled and nodded. 'Indeed! Oh, introductions! Everyone, this is my dear friend Doctor Temult! Doctor Temult, this is a selection of bright and curious minds from the Whitestone School of Excellence--my old school! Gwendolyn, Trisha, Simon, JB, Byron, and Melanie. Where is Jarrett?'

'Car trouble,' Byron said. 'He's gonna be late.'

'Well it's quite illegal for me to take you anywhere without a teacher or supervisor. But it's not illegal for me to answer any questions you might have. Perhaps about our last tour? I know some people,' Laudna tilted her head unsubtly toward JB, 'were very curious about the Library of Molaesmyr.'

#you can ignore this #museum au #imodna my beloveds #prompt fill #tagging my stories

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holdoncallfailed · 3 months

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would you recommend todd haynes’ documentary on the velvet underground? if have you seen it

yes!!!!!!!!! i would definitely recommend it, i've seen it many times and cried every time lol. i can understand why it didn't appeal to some people because it's not really a definitive account of the band's whole career and it bucks a lot of "music documentary" conventions. it's really more about their first album and the context (both literal and ideological) in which it was made, i.e. the nyc arts scene and andy warhol & co. but my questions to critics of the documentary would be "what could you possibly say about the velvet underground that hasn't already been said? what would a full and comprehensive and perfect documentary about this band actually look like on a practical level? who among us on this earth could create a movie that would even come close to capturing them???"

i think the thing that struck me especially seeing it in a cinema was the sequences of images all tiled across the screen, or the chelsea girls-esque splitscreen model throughout most of the film, was the EXCESS of imagery, something that really didn't exist until more recently but warhol managed to presage (like so many other things). and i think what was so remarkable about the velvets was that same excess—of sound—and how it always teetered on the edge of too much, of genuinely uncomfortable or even physically painful to listen to while also seemingly coming from inscrutable sources, some unknown unseen elsewhere (jonathan richman talks about this in the doc and also says it very plainly in his song about vu: "you can look at that band and wonder where / all that sound was coming from with just four people there"). so i think reflecting that in the collage-like chaos of archival footage and warhol's screen tests and random tv ads and photographs and everything else that haynes chopped and screwed and sprinkled all over the screen is so brilliant. because there really is no visual equivalent to their sound. what else could you possibly ask for????

i just think the whole thing is so EXCITING it just leaves me in raptures which is exactly how it feels to hear venus in furs or heroin for the first time when you're a teenager and you feel like your head is going to pop clean off your neck. like there isn't a body strong enough to hold all that sound.

#Anonymous #sry i'm still doing fuck off february but i had to take the opportunity to wax rhapsodic about this film lol #also it's not like it's haynes' fault that doug yule didn't want to work on the movie!!!! obviously he had to shift the narrative to reflec #john and maureen's willingness to participate in the project and not yule's

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betheckart · 6 months

Text

The Prewett case.

Wow, second publication, who would have thought ?

Today I'll talk about yet another controversial figure.

Leander Prewett.

For many, he is just a pitiful character who's far too proud, given his abilities. I wouldn't deny that I think much the same. He's way too haughty for his current abilities, we are talking about a boy who was almost crushed by some dragon's skull because he did not know how to correctly deflect his opponent's attack. In short, we're not going to rite a full thesis on this piece of detail of his character. Nope. Looking a little bit closer at dear Prewett, though, something struck me!

You ready ?

The resemblance is striking, isn't it?

The question here is ... are they from the same lineage … or not? So I searched everywhere and came across a detail concerning the grandfather of the Weasley children, it states that he had an imposing nose. We can only see that Leander is not left out at the nasal level. I think it's a genetic inheritance that he could very well have passed onto his descendants because according to my calculations, he would have been seventy-five years old when Molly was born, which seems a bit too old to me – so that is quite unlikely. It is more reasonable to consider him as Percy's great-grandfather. Apart from this physical aspect we cannot neglect one point concerning Leander, he's one hardworking fellow.

He certainly is boastful but in his description, it is implied that he works hard trying to live up to his house, even more so when we understand that his older brother was brilliant during his education although a bit of a cheater. A bit of trouble, if you may. This specific point is reminiscent of the complexes that Ronald Weasley would harbor a century later.

Perhaps like the latter, he would have an incompatibility with his wand which would reduce his magical abilities. Let's not forget that Percy's character is not foreign to what we can see quite clearly in Leander : this Gryffindor pride.

So theoretically it would look something like this:

Ultimately this is only speculation, but it has been pointed out that during the war against Lord Voldemort, the Prewett line died out, including their last male heirs: Gideon and Fabian. We can therefore assume that Leander's brother would only have had daughters, that if Leander had had another child, they would have been daughters as well. And finally concerning Ignatius Prewett, it is specified that he and Lucretia Black never had any child, so it makes the theory entirely possible.

What do you think ?

#leander prewett #percy weasley #weasley family #hogwarts legacy

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joandfriedrich · 1 day

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What do you think happened between Minna Bhaer and Franz's and Emil's father? I often think about it.

I have a headcanon that they worked in a newspaper in Berlin. She followed him and they traveled to America, but he left her and then she became ill and Fritz found her and the boys from the poor house.

That is the puzzle of the ages, at least in the Little Women fandom. In order to answer this properly, I had to dig a little deeper into what was historically happening at the time when Minna would have met and went to America with her husband. Going by your timeline, which I trust completely, Franz was born in 1859 and Emil 1861, so his parents would have had to have met during the 1850s.

All that we know of Minna’s husband/Mr. Hoffmann is that he is American, and is not in the picture by the time Friedrich comes over to America. Things that I inferred from the text is that Mr. Hoffmann isn’t a sore spot for Friedrich or the boys (could be possible for the boys to not remember much of their father), but I personally think that the Hoffmann’s were just a simple family that had fallen on hard times and tragedy struck the parents down. I don’t believe that Friedrich, being the family man that he is, would allow his sister to go and marry some man that he hasn’t met or felt he could trust, given their history of their own father abandoning them. But before I go into that, let’s take a look at the history that was surrounding Germany and America at this time.

Germany during the 1850s had political issues, religious turmoil, and economic struggles, and according to the research I did, it was during this time that a huge number of Germans had travelled over to America, as mainly due to there was hardly any place that would welcome German immigrants. Between 1845-1855 alone, more than a million Germans came to America, and in 1854, it was recorded that 215,000 Germans came over. America took advantage of this influx of immigrants and hired them to work in some of the most labor-intensive jobs, like building canals and railroads.

You suggest that perhaps they were journalists in Berlin and possibly in America. For anyone that is wondering, there was indeed a German language magazine in New York City, known as “New Yorker Staats-Zeitung” founded in the 1830s. It was established by German-American business men, and it was incredibly popular and profitable all the way into the 1960s. While I think it is intriguing to think that they became journalists in America, there is something that throws doubt in my mind.

Friedrich was a highly thought of and brilliant professor in Germany, with qualifications that would be ideal for any university, and yet, he was unable to get that kind of job, and was stuck being a tutor in the Kirke boarding house. The sad reality of this time is that, regardless of what skills and education you may have had in your homeland, it was hardly appreciated in America. While Germans had established their own communities and were a respected immigrant group, they too faced prejudice in the work force, especially by the American born citizens who disliked immigrants taking jobs away from them. It took Friedrich years and the luck of his wife inheriting a large house turned school, to become a teacher, and in much later in life a president of a school, so I can’t imagine that finding a high profile and paying job like that would have come easy.

Also, I think it is highly unlikely that Minna would have been a journalist in Berlin, because during the 1850s, it was against the law for women to be a part of political events, or be associated with anything that deals with politics, and newspapers/magazines did such that. She wouldn’t have had the experience to be able to do that and transfer that knowledge to America, and women’s rights would have become common in Germany in the 1870s, long after she had moved to America and had passed away. As much as it is an interesting background, I don’t feel confident that she would have worked for a newspaper company.

There is something interesting to note about the name Hoffmann, something that could give a clue into Mr. Hoffmann’s background. It is of German origin, but it is also a common name for anyone of Jewish origin. During the 1850s, there were many German Jews living at this time, just as much as there were German Christians, and I wonder if there may be a possibility of Mr. Hoffmann being Jewish. We know the Bhaers are Christian, but as we see with Friedrich, are not prejudice towards them. This unlocks a new avenue of possibilities that could be explored and explain more about the mysterious Mr. Hoffmann.

If we do believe him to be of Jewish origin, it can answer a question that I had for the longest time. Why didn’t Minna ask any of Mr. Hoffmann’s family to raise her boys after she died if she was dedicated to having them raised in America? Most likely because they were unhappy at their son, a Jewish man, married to a Christian woman and disowned him. With no American in-laws to help, who else can Minna turned to, other than her only living relative and one she trusts utterly, her own brother.

Here is my personal headcanon of the mysterious Mr. Hoffmann and his relationship with Minna:

Mr. Hoffmann’s parents came to America to avoid the discriminatory and heavy laws that were put against Jews during that time in Germany. Along with some other Jewish families, the Hoffmann’s helped to establish a bank in New York City, allowing them to earn money to raise their family in a middle class setting. He was raised with care, went to good schools, wore fine clothes, and was given opportunities to have interests, one he deeply loved was music, but still faced prejudice due to his Jewish background. While his parents were progressive in thoughts of women’s rights, abolition, and sex education, they are old fashioned when it comes to one thing, religion; people ought to marry within their own religion, and after everything they had gone through, they had a great distrust in Christians.

Because they encouraged him to be interested in social and political matters, Mr. Hoffmann attends meetings and reads newspapers that not only express ideals he was brought up in, but helps to broaden his knowledge of things his parents wouldn’t normally talk about, and has friends from all different kinds of backgrounds. To him, America is the melting pot of cultures and the hope for a more unified world, which is something his parents disagree, thinking each culture ought to stay with their own, especially as an effort to preserve it. He got the best education he was afforded, and was expected to have a place in his father’s bank, but wanting to do something on his own merit, he used his money to buy a little music store and has managed it with great success. His parents see this as a hobby, which saddens him that they don’t seem to understand that he likes managing the store, but he lets it go for the time.

Once he became a young man, he decided to travel back to Germany to see what his parents’ homeland was like, wondering if things had changed then, and that was how he managed to meet Minna. He got lost and was trying to find his old home, when he asked a young lady to help him, and they hit it off wonderfully. Minna Bhaer is a kind and bright young woman, and shows him around the city, answering his questions, and when he commends her for how bright she is, she blushes and says that credit goes to her brother who is a great teacher. Inviting him to dinner, she introduces him to Friedrich, who was very welcoming to the young man, and they listened to the tales of America, just as they shared how Germany has become the country it is now since his parents left. They talk about music, philosophy, religion, and progressive ideas, which Mr. Hoffmann is grateful to meet like minded people as him.

Mr. Hoffmann had planned to stay only for at most a month, but he found that the warmth of the Bhaer home was too wonderful to leave so soon, especially of the company of the young Minna. One month turned to two, two to four, and it was very clear to Friedrich that a romance is blossoming between the two. While he has no objections against his religion or taking her to America, he does grill him in how Mr. Hoffmann will take care of his bride, not only financially, but emotionally. Minna had told Mr. Hoffmann about how their father walked out of the family, and while she was too young to remember him and care that much, she shares that Friedrich still carries that wound, and he understands Friedrich’s concern of a possibility of Minna being abandoned by both a father and husband.

Mr. Hoffmann knew that there was a good chance that they would not accept her, may even disown him, but he loved Minna very much and explained that he had a store of his own that was doing well and would provide for them both, and whatever children they will have. Friedrich, satisfied that Minna would be taken care of, gives his blessings to the pair, and they marry in a civil ceremony in Germany before travelling back to America.

When Mr. Hoffmann tells his parents of his marriage, they are enraged that he would marry a Christian, when it’s his duty to marry a good Jewish woman. Because Jews go by the lineage of their mothers, not their fathers, they are upset that their children will not be “real Jews”, no matter what Minna tries to say or do to make it the whole thing fair to everyone. They cut him off, explain that he is dead to them and he never hears from them again. While he is upset his parents aren’t accepting of his choice, he doesn’t regret loving Minna, and they work hard the next year to make their store a success, and find that they are expecting.

First came Franz in 1859, named after their favorite composer Franz Shubert, then in 1961 Emil, a name shared by both of their grandfathers. Mr. Hoffmann sent letters telling his parents of each son’s birth, but received no reply and expected no visit, which did hurt him though it wasn’t unexpected. Despite his parent’s rejection, and Friedrich being on a different continent (that doesn’t stop him from sending gifts to the boys on their birthdays), the Hoffmann family was happy and proved that their love was stronger than everyone’s prejudice. After discussing how to raise the boys, Mr. Hoffmann insisted that they were raised Christian, as he felt it would make their life easier, but Minna assured that she would not let the boys forget that their father was Jewish, and if that they are free to make the choice as they grow up which they would rather be.

The nation becomes divided until ultimately a civil war breaks out, and because he finds the idea of slavery abhorrent and unable to stand by and watch injustice happen before his eyes, he joins the Union army. While Minna is scared to death he’ll die, she knows she has to be strong and admires him for his conviction. He’ll serve in the war for three years before he is killed in battle, and the news devastates Minna, who is now all alone. If it wasn’t bad enough that she lost husband, she was unable to say goodbye to him as he was buried with the other fallen soldiers in a hurry, and, because of a stipulation in the deed, it means the store and their apartment above now belonged to his parents, which meant they turned Minna and her boys out in the cold without a second thought.

Minna takes her boys to a small and broken down apartment, which was all she could afford, finds a job that pays very little, just enough to take care of her boys, sacrificing her own wellbeing to make sure they stay healthy. This comes back to bit her as she feels greatly ill, making her write to Friedrich, telling him of everything that has happened and expresses her wish that should she die, her boys should be raised by him in America, like their father died. Friedrich hurried over to America, and is with her for a month trying to take care of her before she passes away. Now, with two young boys in his charge and new to America, Friedrich must do what he can to raise them well, and finds luck in the Kirke’s boarding house, where not only does he find lodging that is significantly better than where his sister was living at previously, but they offered him a job as a tutor to help take care of them.

I'll admit, I wasn't expecting this outcome, but the more of the deep dive I did of history, this backstory just came to me naturally. What do you guys think?

#little women #friedrich bhaer #minna hoffmann #franz hoffman #emil hoffman

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