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ikaroux · 1 year

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How are they with their pregnant companion? Capitano, Kaveh + Bonus.

Synopsis: Pregnant, your husband/partner is over the moon. But how would he take care of you during pregnancy?

Style: Cute, fluffy, female reader.

Bonus NSFW (18+) I remind minors to avoid reading this kind of content.

Alert: May contain story spoilers for some characters.

Characters: Capitano, Kaveh + 1 Bonus rewrite.

Note: Did you notice that with this series, I work by paragraph? I try to make a maximum of 14 paragraphs per character and 4 or 5 for the NSFW part. Did you know that a pregnant woman's sexual appetite actually decreases during pregnancy? But I assume that this is not the case for all women, and our genshin men are so sexy, how could we resist them?

Since I now have an AO3 account, I decided to rewrite the first versions of this series to post them on it. I hope you'll still enjoy them.

Part 1 Diluc, Zhongli, Kaeya, Xiao, Venti, Albedo, Kazuha, Childe.

Part 2 Scaramouche, Dainsleif, Thomas.

Part 3 Dottore, Pantalone, Alhaitham.

Part 4 Cyno, Ayato.

Part 5 Tighnari.

"No one is allowed to enter ma'am."

The Fatui guards blocked your way, preventing you from reaching your companion. "I must see Capitano, it's important." You tried your luck again, trying to force your way through, but the two men, clearly stronger than you, pushed you back as if you weighed nothing. One of them wrapped his hand around your arm, the iron grip he put on it making you wince in pain. "Our captain is not seeing anyone today." And he shoved you violently backwards, causing you to fall. "You brute! Let me in! I'm his fiancé!" The two men looked at each other for a few seconds before a loud laugh escaped from them. You looked at them with bewildered eyes, pondering what was funny about what you had said. The larger of the two was the first to calm down, stepping forward calmly before bending down to grab your already sore arm. He lifted you up violently, pulling you towards the exit. "Enough joking, get out where I should show more… Firmness." You were ready to scream in order to alert your lover, until a squeak from his colleague got your attention. The man manhandling you was stopped by a strong hand on his shoulder and when he turned around, he could only see that his captain, your fiancé, was standing behind him, a menacing aura emanating from him. "Lo-Lord Capitano, this woman she-" Capitano's hand came down on his subordinate's wrist, applying a force to it that forced the soldier to release you. "Silence, wait for me here. We'll discuss what just happened later." The man shuddered, stepping aside to let Capitano pass as he gallantly guided you to his office. Once the two of you were alone, you threw yourself into his arms, thanking him for helping you. The man returned your embrace, caressing your back with great gentleness. "I'm sorry for what just happened. What are you doing here my sweet? You should have told me you were coming to see me." You smiled at him as you pulled away from his embrace. Taking his hands in yours, you placed them on your stomach with a bright smile on your face… "You'll be a father soon…" Capitano remained silent for a long time, his masked face still turned to his hands. O Tsaritsa, he was going to have to be much more cruel to the one who had abused you in front of his door. Capitano slowly removed his mask, exposing his battle-scarred features, and then lifted you off the floor, placing you on his incredibly tidy desk. He leaned in, placing kiss after kiss on your lips…

Capitano didn't want a child. War, fighting, the cruelty of this world and death were part of his daily life. But you changed his world. With you, he discovered love, the warmth of a home and the happiness of a family. He quickly imagined himself with his baby in his arms, although an illogical fear was born in his heart. It would be so small compared to him. Did his hands, covered in blood, have the right to touch such a frail and defenseless being? Fortunately, you were by his side to reassure him and guide him toward the future that awaited you both.

Unfortunately, your beloved captain often had to leave for missions entrusted to him by the Tsaritsa. He was never reluctant to leave to accomplish his duty, even if he had to go away from you… He missed you, no doubt, but Capitano was a committed man, faithful to the justice he believed in. But now that you were pregnant, every time he had to leave, his heart was heavy with sorrow. What if something happened to you while he was away? He would ask his superior, Pierro, to watch over you, even from a distance, so that he could leave with peace of mind.

Capitano was already very protective of you. Pregnancy has only strengthened this affectionate side that he usually hid from the world. Believe it or not, you don't want to know what he can do to those who want to hurt you…

When you both sleep, you have taken the habit of curling up against him. Capitano is a light sleeper, and the slightest movement puts him on alert. By the time sleep takes over, he will look at you for a long time, wrapping an arm around your waist and then touching your stomach. He could see that it had become slightly rounded. A peaceful smile spread across his face as he kissed your head resting on his chest with a sigh of contentment.

As soon as he has some time to himself, Capitano will gladly agree to do some shopping with you for the birth of the child. This tall man with an impressive build tended to stand out in the stores, especially since he refused to go out without his mask. However, you kept your cheerful nature, presenting baby clothes with a big smile on your face to your companion who stood beside you, one hand resting tenderly on your lower back, admiring your every move.

Capitano likes to position himself behind you to put his big hands on your belly. He may be content to stay that way, looking over your shoulder while you go about your business. Tender kisses on your neck and jaw will make you smile with amusement and tenderness as he caresses your lower belly, feeling at times the movements of his child…

A little habit that you both have developed: the bath. A privileged moment between the two of you, allowing you to enjoy the warmth and contact of your companion while Capitano savored the sight of your body transforming little by little. He was probably the one who enjoyed this intimacy the most, knowing full well that no one would come and disturb you. His tender and loving side came out wonderfully as he held you in his arms.

Capitano does not want to talk about you and his unborn child with other Harbingers. Other than Pierro, he doesn't trust others enough to keep you safe. He was not fooled about Pulcinella, the man hiding dark ambitions. Arlecchino was a manipulator with a heart of ice, a form of madness eating away at her. The rest of the executors were no better… Perhaps he could make an exception with the eleventh? He had never spoken to him, but he thought Tartaglia would probably be good advice with the children…

Your companion had a very soft, calm and steady voice. Every time he talked to you, you could feel the baby react to the sound of his voice. When you told him, Capitano just smiled, looking away from you. Was it a blush you could see on his ears?

Capitano will be less stingy with his tender words when he's alone with you. Your pregnancy seems to have softened him up a lot and he'll find it much easier to express his feelings towards you. Every "I love you" or "I missed you" he says will be a real treasure for you.

Capitano will be a strict but loving father. He will dedicate his life to his child and of course to you. He will do his best not to be a burden to his son/daughter, as his reputation as the strongest man in all of Teyvat may weigh down such small shoulders.

NSFW Bonus

Capitano would keep his distance from you to prevent his carnal needs from doing you more harm than good. He knew he was rough and sometimes a little mean when he couldn't control himself. Yet it was you who came to him, confessing that you needed him, that you wanted him. How could he resist you?

The doors of his office were still locked by one of you, leaving the field free for your fiancé to lie down on his desk, abruptly pushing on the floor anything that could have hurt you. Taking care to remove his mask before starting anything, his lips would find your mouth as soon as he was free of it. His hands greedily roamed your body, removing the clothes that were in his way. His eyes landed on your belly, which had quickly taken on a few curves, causing a glint of excitement to shine in his pupils. His hands slid tenderly over it, admiring the way your belly was inflating with each breath. It was his child growing inside you. He was the one who had made you pregnant. It made his member harder and harder every time he thought about it. Pulling gently on your legs, Capitano pressed himself against you, making you moan with anticipation as you felt the hardness in his pants against your you. He wanted to make you scream with pleasure, to let the guards outside his door know what he was doing to you and that you were his. No one would dare laugh at you again when you said you were his fiancé or that you were carrying his child.

Capitano wished he had been gentler with you, for fear of hurting his child. But his instincts told him otherwise… Still, he had asked a Fatui doctor for advice about your sexual relations. He was reassured when it was explained that there was no risk to the baby and that sex could even be beneficial in easing the delivery.

While his long fingers took their time preparing you to receive him, Capitano stood straight in front of you, watching your every reaction. Seeing you squirm on his desk, red and moaning at his ministrations made his member more painful than ever. He waited to make you cum on his fingers before slowly removing his sex from its fetters, his eyes never leaving your breathless form. Positioning himself at your entrance, Capitano took your knees between his hands, spreading your legs further apart before he began to thrust. He knew he was big, but you had always taken him without complaint. As soon as he felt your walls give way to his invasion, he immediately began to pound you with force, making his desk creak. Your screams of pleasure made him smile as he heard the murmurs of the guards behind his door. Ceasing to keep his distance from your lips, Capitano let go of your legs to bend toward you, careful not to crush your belly as he used his forearms to lean on the wood of the desk. With a muffled grunt, he kissed you, enjoying the feel of your hands pulling his ebony hair.

Capitano rarely moaned, but when he felt your orgasm tightening his member like a vise, he couldn't stop the pleasure he felt from vibrating his vocal cords. Instead of going slow to follow you, his thrusts became rougher, a dull growl escaping his throat each time he hit your hips. He clenched his fists as he felt his orgasm pouring into you. God, if you weren't already pregnant, he wouldn't have hesitated to do it again… But you were exhausted, the pregnancy taking all your energy. Capitano withdrew, taking the time to kiss your belly before lifting you up in his arms to lie on his couch. Covered by his long coat, you looked at him with loving eyes. You drew him to you, demanding his caresses and kisses. Capitano sighed against your lips, his heart beating with adoration for you.

"Pregnant!"

Kaveh inadvertently shouted through the streets of Sumeru, startling a few passersby as they went about their business. The architect inhaled sharply, grabbing your wrist to take you to a quieter place. Once out of sight, he took your face in his hands, plunging his beautiful gaze into yours. "Are you pregnant?" You smiled at him, tenderly wrapping a hand around his wrist before placing a light kiss on it. Kaveh couldn't believe his ears, his heart drumming in his chest as he seemed about to burst with happiness. Gently, he brought his face closer, pressing his forehead against yours, exhaling a shaky breath from his mouth. As he closed his eyes, a dreamy smile stretching his lips, Kaveh wondered how he had managed to survive so many years without you by his side. You were a blessing in his life, an angel fallen from heaven who offered him love and home. "Thank you my love. Thank you." Simple words in his mouth, yet loaded with emotion. You embraced him, celebrating your happiness to come.

Kaveh had moved in with you, leaving the hell of collocation with Alhaitham for boundless happiness with you. Although his shoulders were still weighed down by the astronomical debt of his latest masterpiece, Kaveh kept his head high, continuing to work hard on numerous projects to clear his debt. He didn't want his problems to cause you stress, especially during pregnancy…

Kaveh took care of everything at home. He would let you rest, especially when he heard you getting up at night to vomit… He would stay with you, holding your hair and helping you clean up afterwards. As soon as you returned to bed to go back to sleep, your companion would encourage you to lie down in his arms, stroking your forehead and hair until your eyes grew heavy.

Since Kaveh couldn't really afford to buy anything for you and your child, he decided to use his architectural skills. He will design and build with the help of Tighnari and Collei a crib and rocking chair and a whole lot of beautiful furniture for the baby's room.

As your belly gets rounder, Kaveh will make it a habit every morning to kiss your belly, saying a sweet "Hello" to his baby before getting up and kissing you tenderly.

Your partner will often offer you afternoons on your terrace. Comfortably seated on cushions, Kaveh would hold you between his legs, one hand on your belly while he read you the book of your choice. You could also just listen to him humming a Sumeru tune, savoring his lips on your scalp.

Alhaitham and Kaveh were "friends". Sure, it was a strange friendship, but the two supported each other in their own way. That's why you weren't surprised when Alhaitham knocked on your door, his face expressionless, holding a teddy bear in his arms… Kaveh looked at his friend with a strange grimace on his face and you couldn't help but laugh at the sight. It was over tea that you were able to chat with Kaveh's friend, sharing with him your wishes for your child.

Arguments were rare in your relationship, but sometimes you felt like your hormones were getting the best of you. You could go from pure anger to tears of sadness after an argument. Kaveh understood your problem and always made sure to hug you, whispering in your ear that he was sorry and that he loved you…

The first time you called Kaveh to put his hand on your belly, the man was speechless as he felt his little one moving around inside. The following times, your companion could not help but tell his baby about his day or even complain about Alhaitham and the wise men or his mom who had gently scolded her for nonsense. With your ear pressed against you, your arms wrapped around your hips, you stroked his hair, rolling your eyes with an amused smile as you listened to your companion confess to your child.

Kaveh often told you that he wished it was a girl. He knew that little girls had a stronger bond with their fathers, especially at a young age. Of course, if you gave birth to a boy, he would spoil and cherish him just as much.

Every outing you took, Kaveh would stand by your side, protecting you from crowds and careless passersby who might inadvertently punch you in the stomach. If someone dared to push you around, the anger in Kaveh's voice and the strength he used to push the person away shocked you every time. Yet you were the one who calmed him down, reassuring him of your health by taking his hand and placing it on your stomach. "You see, our baby is fine." You said to yourself as your child was having fun doing somersaults. Kaveh sighed, calming his nerves before smiling and kissing your forehead apologetically. "I rather think he wants to defend his mother, like his father…" You laughed at his comment.

Between the two of you, Kaveh was definitely the one who was dreading the delivery the most. The closer the date got, the more the fear that the delivery would go wrong invaded his mind. He didn't want to lose you or the baby. His fear could be contagious, fortunately, it was your friends who reassured you. Alhaitham, Tighnari, Collei, Nilou, Layla and even Cyno. All of them promised you that everything would go well and that the doctors who would take care of you were used to deliver even the most difficult babies. This will not stop Kaveh from cuddling you every day, enjoying your closeness and warmth until the big day.

Kaveh will be a very loving and devoted father to his child. He loves to hold his baby in his arms, showing others how perfect his child was. He loves to kiss his chubby cheeks.

NSFW Bonus

Kaveh was the kind of man who was into romance. Whenever he wanted you, he made it clear in a roundabout way. Soft kisses on your lips, sensually running down your neck. Or soft words whispered in your ear as he slowly led you to your room decorated with flowers and some lit candles… But you were the opposite of him.

The first time you felt the irresistible urge to feel him inside you, you pulled him to your room, kissing him fiercely, drawing a surprised moan from his throat. Not having the time to grab your hips to avoid falling, you pushed him onto the bed, spreading him out beneath you. His shocked eyes stared at you as you straddled him, bending towards him to claim his mouth again. Kaveh felt like his body was boiling from the inside out as you wrapped your tongue around his, rubbing your hips against his pelvis. He could feel his member hardening at the sight of you, his eyelids closing sharply at the sudden invasion of desire. Was he allowed to have you while you were pregnant? In doubt, he gently pulled you away from him, slowly catching his breath before asking, "W-Wait, isn't this going to be dangerous for the baby?" He shuddered as you rolled your eyes before smiling at him, your hands clutching at your top to slowly remove it. Kaveh's eyes couldn't turn away from you as he admired your bare body. Hesitantly, he raised his hands to you, first caressing your round belly before moving higher, kneading your breasts free of your bra. He grunted when you moved your hips again…

Kaveh let you undress him, welcoming you into his arms once you were done. He liked to see you sitting on top of him, stroking his member against yours to coat it with your arousal. Kaveh closed his eyes tightly as he felt you slide down his member, his hands coming to rest on your hips to help you get off him. As soon as he opened his eyelids again, he felt his cheeks heat up sharply at the sight of your flushed face, his eyes closed by the feeling of pure happiness that overwhelmed you. To see you in this state, with his member buried in you and the round belly of his child made him mad with desire.

Kaveh took you by surprise when he tightened his grip on your hips, using his feet as a fulcrum to start penetrating you hard. It was not in his habit to behave like this, usually preferring gentle sex. But his sudden brutality made you scream with excitement. Kaveh had never felt this way. Desire was running through his head as he concentrated on the pleasure he was feeling as he pounded into you with force. The noises you were making were making him dizzy and when you called out his name, begging for more, Kaveh knew he was lost. Turning suddenly, careful that nothing hurt your stomach, your lover grabbed your knees, pinning them in the crook of his arms. Despite the haze of desire that prevented him from thinking properly, Kaveh was still careful that the position was not uncomfortable for either you or the baby. As soon as he got your go-ahead, he started pounding you again with rigor.

Kaveh never held back his moans, openly expressing the pleasure he felt when he made love to you. He knew it turned you on to hear him moan your name, your own voice getting louder every time he panted in your ear. He whispered to you how good it felt, how much he loved you and how happy you made him. Sweating, Kaveh slowly felt his end approaching as your walls began to tighten around him. As your screams became more and more high pitched, he applied more force in his thrusts to help you reach your orgasm. Your name came out of his mouth in a final moan as he felt himself coming at the same time as you. His hips slowed their rhythm until they stopped completely. Kaveh slowly separated from you, falling down beside you, out of breath and exhausted… Gradually regaining his senses, he started to sit up to see how you were doing before being interrupted by your hand pushing him back against the bed. A smile was frozen on his lips as he watched you straddle him again, a smug expression on his face. God, you were insatiable and terribly sexy as he watched your hand slowly caress your belly until it fell on his member… He felt that the next few months of pregnancy were going to be a real physical ordeal for him…

"Diluc I… I'm pregnant."

Diluc dropped the quill he used for signing several contracts with Fontaine's clients, staining the papers beneath. His round eyes stared at you as he kept his mouth slightly open. You could see his hands trembling as he backed up in his chair, clearly frightened by your admission. He could feel the world spinning around him, dizziness clouding his ability to think. He didn't understand how this could have happened, knowing that you were both protecting each other. You were everything to him, his life, his heart, his world, and now you were giving him a child. He was happy but also so scared… Yes, Diluc was afraid. Scared of losing you. Scared of hurting you. Scared of… Not being a good father. He had never known his mother, who died at birth, and his father, whose sudden and violent death left him with deep scars in his heart. What if the same thing happened to you as to his mother? Or if Diluc suffered the same fate as his father? He couldn't bear it… He would never forgive himself, even in death. Your lover gasped when he felt your fingers gently caress his cheek, taking him away from the dark thoughts that were invading his mind. "Diluc, darling calm down." - You cuddled his cheekbones, then his ear, before tangling your fingers in his hair and pressing his forehead against yours. The gentleness in your eyes calmed his doubt-ridden heart and he finally allowed himself to breathe peacefully. - "You will be wonderful. You always have been." - His hands had stopped shaking as he took yours in his. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. The fear had left him. Happiness was right there in front of his eyes, he loved you so much and he will love this little being that you both had created just as much.

Diluc has always been very considerate and gentle with you. And he was even more so since your pregnancy. Every word, every caress he offered you made you feel like you were falling in love with him all over again.

During your seventh week of pregnancy, the problems associated with it became more and more complicated to bear, often forcing you to lie in your marital bed with a cold cloth over your eyes. The pain pounding in your head and nausea were especially bad in the morning. Although Diluc had a lot of work to do, he stayed by your side, moving your head to his thighs to massage your temples and forehead. He hated seeing you in so much pain and not being able to do anything about it. So he asked some friends what could help you with your nausea. Lisa advised him to make you a ginger drink, which was well within Diluc's capabilities.

Your companion has always been a protective man. Too protective. You knew he had deep-seated fears about you, and the thought of anything happening to you while he was away terrified him. Of course, you weren't going to complain about spending more time with him, but you didn't want him to put aside his business or nightly duties for you. So you gently scolded him, reminding him that you weren't made of sugar, just pregnant. With a tender smile, you kissed him, promising him that you would take care of yourself while he was away.

You stopped counting the number of times Diluc put his hands on your belly, savoring the curves that were gradually taking shape. He loved to caress it while he held you close. It was a warm and intimate moment, taking advantage of the private time between you to bury his face in your neck and kiss you. Most of the time he kept his eyes closed, imagining your life when the baby was born. That reality took on a clearer shape in his brain when he felt his baby move against his hands for the first time. Tears welled up in his eyes, wondering if it was possible for him to be happier.

As soon as sleep came, Diluc, who tended to fall asleep later, would lie down next to your belly, placing tender kisses on it before whispering sweet nothings to his baby. "I'll protect you and mom.", "I love you both so much." His baby would respond positively to his voice, pressing against your belly to form a small bump. Diluc would smile, responding to his child by stroking that spot.

Diluc had gotten into the habit of helping you support the weight of your belly when you went out. He could see that it was getting harder and harder for you to stand, so whenever he could, Diluc would go behind your back, resting his chin on your shoulder and wrapping his arms around your hips. His large hands would reach under your belly, helping you support the baby's weight. Who cares if people looked at him, didn't he have the right to support his wife? Plus, it made it easier for him to kiss you, his lips brushing your shoulder, neck and jaw with tenderness before whispering his love for you.

Your husband was an excellent cook, and although Adelinde was the one who did most of the cooking, Diluc wanted to prepare it for you personally. He insisted on using only the best produce, even going so far as to have the fruits and vegetables he needed planted in the estate gardens. This man loved to shower you with affection, which is why he would bring you a beautifully flowered tray to bed every morning, with a dish he had specially prepared on top.

Diluc didn't care if his child was a boy or a girl, he only cared that it was healthy and safe. The fear of childbirth had never left him, and as the due date approached, the fear gripped his heart. He vowed to stay by your side and hold your hand during the birth, making sure to call on the best doctors and midwives in all of Mondstadt to accompany you through this ordeal.

When you reached the eighth month of pregnancy, Diluc caught you looking at yourself half-naked in front of the mirror, studying your round belly as he slowly ran a hand over it, his lips stretched by your sweet smile. Diluc admired the scene, his eyes shining with love. The baby would be here soon and he thought, seeing you like this, that you would be an incredible mother. Diluc silently approached, coming up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and placing his hands on yours. His eyes stayed on your reflection as he felt you melt further into his embrace. Diluc sighed, happy and content.

Upon learning of your pregnancy, Kaeya had decided to spend more time at the Dawn Winery, trying to ease Diluc's shoulders by being with you. This was difficult at first, as there was always an icy coldness between them. But as the weeks went by, the two men began to speak cordially to each other. You could sometimes see them smiling at each other as they talked about the baby and how Kaeya would be the best uncle in Teyvat. The gifts he gave for your child always ended up in the baby's future room. A stuffed animal that resembled an owl would wait warmly in the crib for the arrival of the Ragnvindr offspring.

Sometimes Diluc was forced to leave the manor late because a source told him of abyssal mages, Fatui, or bandits lurking around his lands. For your safety, Diluc would put on his Darknight hero outfit and go hunting. Even though you were asleep most of the time, Diluc would always offer you and the baby a kiss and an "I love you both" before he left. He would do so as quickly as possible, reluctant to leave you alone in the manor with only a few maids unable to defend you in case of attack. Fortunately, and Diluc knew this, the source of his information, specifically Kaeya, was keeping a close eye on the Dawn Winery.

Diluc would be a very gentle and loving father. His heart warmed every time he held his baby close. It was a little being that seemed so fragile in his arms. The first time he held him, tears welled up in his eyes as he looked at him in silence, becoming more emotional as his baby's tiny hand wrapped around his finger. He vowed inwardly to do everything he could to protect his family.

Bonus NSFW:

Diluc was amazed at how much you'd been craving sex since you were pregnant. Even though your sex life had always been full, with Diluc satisfying your needs to perfection, you now sometimes went to him more than once during the day to ask for his help, pulling his tie to lure him into your bedroom. His cheeks were flushed with excitement as he obediently allowed himself to be dragged along by you. Once in the privacy of your room, Diluc locked the door, pinning you against it. His lips, eager for you, crushed against your mouth with desperate force, while his hands grabbed your knees to lift you up. Wrapping your legs around his hips, Diluc took advantage of having his hands free to grab your ass, allowing him to press his growing erection against your folds. Moaning against his lips, you savored the languid movements of his hips against you…

Diluc thought back to the first time you'd made love since you were pregnant. He had been so afraid of hurting you that he had just made you cum on his fingers and tongue, completely ignoring his needs. The second time, you reassured him that the baby was safe, that he could enter you without any problems. You didn't have to say it twice. Now there he was, holding you against the door, struggling to get your clothes off. Archon, he felt so insatiable! Already this morning he had woken you up with his mouth and fingers, waiting patiently for your eyes to open and asking for more…

At first, Diluc went slowly with you, treating you like glass that would shatter at the touch of his fingers. His back and forth was sensual as his fingers happily caressed your belly. He can't help but kiss you, his tongue wrapping around yours. His hands roamed your body with passion, enjoying the softness of your skin against his palms.

Now that your clothes were on the ground, he didn't bother to remove his own, simply unzipping the front of his pants and then pulling down his underwear to free his member. Lord, you were already ready for him, he didn't even have to prepare you with his fingers. Was it the pregnancy that made you like this? He'd never admit it, but he loved feeling you so in love with him as he was with you. With one of his arms still holding you firmly in place, Diluc used his free hand to position his sex at your entrance, penetrating the tip first before slowly working his way in. His gentle back and forth movements made you see the stars and as soon as he hit bottom, his movements stopped, probably waiting for his breathing to calm down. The pleasure was so great that his body trembled against you. His soft grunts against your ear drove you wild with excitement as you felt Diluc press you closer to him, melting you into his embrace. He left no space between the two of you, allowing himself to feel your little round belly against his abs. His shirt prevented him from fully feeling your body against his, and he cursed himself inwardly for his impatience. Slowly, his hips began to roll against you, making you moan his name against his ear. Diluc kept his jaw firmly clenched, occasionally hissing with pleasure as he felt your walls tighten around him. It felt so good that he had to hold back hard to keep from cumming immediately. He hadn't even begun to come properly… As he languidly rolled his hips against you, his face hidden in your hair, he heard your pleas against his ear. Faster. Harder. This is what you wanted. Well, then he would grant your wishes. Grabbing your buttocks more firmly, Diluc began to penetrate you hard and fast, making you scream his name. Archon, he could feel your nails scratching at his back, and despite the pain, it excited him more. The door creaked with his pounding and he was sure all his employees were aware of your lovemaking. But he would have time to worry about that later, continuing to pound you, being careful not to hit your belly. He rarely got to a point where he couldn't control his own sounds, but it was when he felt completely lost in you that his moans got louder, more ferocious with each swing of his hips. His sex ached as he quickened the pace of his thrusts, feeling your orgasm approaching. He let a loud grunt escape him as your walls tightened around him.

He savored the feel of your hands on his shoulder blades, on his neck and in his hair, feeling the love and passion of your actions. He came inside you, again and again, going straight back to the assault when he was done. Since you were pregnant, the urges he once managed to control were now overpowering his reason. He wanted you and your lustful looks didn't encourage him to calm down. He was going to satisfy you in the best way possible, as many times as necessary and for as long as you would let him.

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formosusiniquis · 1 year

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inspired by this post by @ruelogy

ao3

Eddie knows he got to Hawkins a little later than everyone else. He wasn't born and raised in the six miles of town with the same eight people his whole life. There was a whole social services kerfuffle that meant he didn't land in this small town hell hole until he was the ancient age of thirteen. He knows he's destined to forever be the freaky new kid with the shaved head and the group home eyes who joined in the eighth grade. But even without all that he is fucking positive that there was no Henderson in any of his three graduating classes.

Yet here Henderson the supposed younger sits painting him a mystery week after week. Steve said this, Steve did that, Steve may very well be a delusion if the way the others giggle and sigh every time he gets brought up is any indication. Cause it goes like this: Henderson comma Dustin is a fellow Hawkins transplant. Son of a single mother -- divorced or widowed, Eddie knows enough now to be sure that fueled the Hawkins gossip mill for weeks -- who brought her young son with her. Son, singular. Dustin joined the first grade class of Michael Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair, and William Byers and that is as they say history. If there had been sons, plural, this mysterious older brother should have by all of Eddie's figurings joined Hawkins junior high right around the same time as a miserable Eddie. There should have been whispers about two new kids, there should have been someone for him to commiserate with, befriend.

Yet week after week young Dustin sits at Hellfire spinning yarns of a brother who was, what, homeschooled? Sent to a private military academy? Boarding school? Stayed at home with the mysterious father that Dustin doesn't mention -- and Eddie knows enough about fathers that go unmentioned not to break the silence -- but suddenly decided after he graduated to come join his mother and brother in Hawkins? Cause the thing is, Hawkins isn't that big. If pressed he's pretty sure he could name at least 90% of both of the classes he was supposed to graduate with and at least 75% of the group he's stuck with this year. He'd at the very least recognize them on sight, and not just cause he's dealt to the greater portion of the high school. Eddie pays attention, there are only like 400 students at the high school at any time, he should by all accounts be able to say, "Oh yeah that scrawny, bespectacled loser is Steve Henderson."

Except maybe there is no Steve Henderson, he's already faintly sure there's no Suzie so what's one more fictional friend from Dustin Henderson. Maybe this Steve is just the product of a fractured mind brought on by too much hands on parenting. Eddie knows people think all of his bad behavior is the product of underparenting, but if the opposite causes imaginary siblings he'll take the hand he got thank you very much.

Cause, sure he's doing his best to be third time lucky with this whole high school thing. He does know that compared to the should be starry eyed, but actually unsettlingly wary freshmen he is an ancient being of chaos. Yes, he feels every ounce of the five year gap between 19 and 14 when he speaks to them. But beyond all of that, he is still young. Still capable of swooning now and then; and the now is when Dustin describes his big brother and the then was all the other times Henderson the older has been detailed.

"Well that's cause I'm not really sorry, Mike," Henderson is on a tear already when he makes it to Hellfire, "I told you I have plans already."

"It's not that big a deal," Lucas placates, "we can do it another day."

"My parents won't be out of town another day," Mike sneers, "Will, you wouldn't ditch out on an all night Nintendo marathon for a date with Steve would you?" He says it like Will is the voice of the populace or something.

Maybe he is, and going by the way Will flushes a bright pink up to his bowlcut the voice of the people would in fact rather go out with Steve Henderson than hang out in a basement playing video games.

"It's not a date, he's my brother, and yeah dude I'm gonna skip out on watching you scream at Mario to go to an all night Stephen King movie marathon." Dustin says.

And swoon. That sounds like a dream.

"Like Steve would ever do something that cool, you can just say your mom won't let you come over cause my parents aren't gonna be home." Mike is surlier than usual, a trait he has noticed happens a lot when Henderson the elder gets broached. Eddie's theories range from misplaced sibling jealousy to repressed queer crush on Steve.

"C'mon kiddies save the tantrums for your mommies," he doesn't have a taste for it regardless of the answer, puberty is a bitch he's glad to be seeing the back of and Wheeler can go from being an angel to the kind of brat you do want to narc on just a little. "The rest of us have hoards to slay, maidens to save, things that don't involve listening to your play date fall apart."

He desperately wants to ask Henderson where they're movie night is taking place, because it sounds amazing and not at all because he wants to finally see this mysterious brother.

“It wasn’t even mine!” Henderson is moaning by the time Eddie makes it from O’Donnells to the cafeteria. He wasn’t that late, five minutes to plead his case for his grade at most, but Henderson could monologue with the best of them and it took about as much to get the kid going as it did Eddie, which was saying something.

“And you and Erica made fun of what was under my bed.” Lucas says with a smirk and a roll of his eyes.

“What was under your bed?” Will asks.

“We are not going to let Dustin get out of the fact that his Mom found his Star Trek porn that easily,” Mike shrieks, he sounds like he’s trying to mind his volume but it’s still too loud for a public venue, “You gave me shit for weeks about that Penthouse you found under my bed.”

“We gave you shit because you stole it from your dad,” Lucas corrects, not that anyone but Eddie hears it.

Cause as Lucas speaks Dustin is shouting, “It wasn’t fucking mine! It has to be Steve’s but try telling my mom anything about her favorite son.”

Three sets of disbeliving eyes look over at Dustin, but it’s Mike who says, “There’s no fucking way anyone is gonna believe it was Steve’s dude, just give it up.”

“I don’t even like Star Trek that much!”

Eddie has been having dreams of a mystery boy with a gorgeous head of hair and Dustin’s sweet smile. He likes horror but will pretend to get scared so he has a reason to hide his face in Eddie’s neck, and when he gets there he’s a biter. “Now, now Henderson, what kind of self-respecting nerd doesn’t enjoy the dulcet tones of Mr. Spock.”

Henderson wrinkles his little nose, what a twerp or maybe he’s thinking of his brother’s zine again, “It’s okay, but who goes to sci-fi for philosophy when you could watch space battles and deathstars.”

Eddie spares a prayer for Dustin’s English grade. “Well at least one Henderson has taste.”

He’s never had a younger sibling in Hellfire before, Gareth and Joey are only children and Jeff is way older than his miracle baby sister, so it is a treat to watch the way Henderson goes red, white, and then green as he cycles through a series of emotions surrounding his brother so fast it gives Eddie a headache.

“Dude, he probably bought it for you not knowing what it was,” Mike says, “it’s not like Steve is watching Star Trek.”

"You didn't see it."

"Maybe it was a prank?"

Eddie tunes them out, returning to the Steve in his imagination. They're slipping out of the movie they just finished, the one they bought tickets for, Steve giggles -- Eddie thinks he'd have a nice laugh, thinks he makes his brother laugh a lot -- and tugs him into The Voyage Home. "You gonna think of your favorite captain while we hide in the back row, Stevie?"

"Kirk is an Admiral now, he has been for three movies. Some fan you are."

He wonders if it’s creepy, this mental file he’s compiling on Henderson’s brother. It’s not like he knows the guy, truly a backwards fucking miracle in this two stoplight nothing of a town, but Eddies’ always liked something that he can sink his teeth into and pull apart. That’s what Steve Henderson feels like to him, like if a rubix cube was also a steak. He’s lost track of the metaphor in his own head, it’s whatever.

Cause Steve Henderson loves horror movies, but watches sappy romance flicks with his mom when they both have the same day off. Steve Henderson’s favorite color is yellow, but he only wears it on days that he can barely get out of bed; Dustin says that like it’s a warning sign for the others “Steve has his yellow sweater on today,” explaining away his absence at the arcade that afternoon. Steve Henderson could have any girl he wants -- this factoid Eddie takes with a salt, lime, and tequila -- but he never goes on dates anymore and only hangs out with his best friend and coworker. Steve Henderson baked a brownie so good Jeff moaned in the middle of Hellfire but can only over or undercook pasta when he tries.

Dustin loves his brother. Dustin thinks he’s the worst person to ever grace this side of the planet.

That Eddie thinks is at least typical for siblings, barring the Byers who seem to be so close knit they’d put the Bradys to shame.

“Henderson, my man, why the long face? We’re about to begin the most dangerous leg of your quest yet!” Hellfire was getting a delayed start -- the drama club was actually using their prop closet, go figure -- it was just him and Henderson lurking outside so Eddie did have to find his fun where he could get it.

“Steve and Robin went up to Indianapolis and they’re gonna be gone the whole weekend.” And yeah, he probably could have guessed it was about big brother Henderson. Dusty has the cutest case of hero worship when he wasn’t wishing big brother dead. “They say they aren’t dating, and it’s just for her birthday, but a weekend trip seriously it screams romance.”

“And you’re mad they didn’t bring you?”

“I could have been out of the way! Do you know the kind of specialty tech shops they have up there? I need some things you can't get in Hawkins to improve Cerebro and it's twice as much to get them mail order. I could make myself scarce for a couple hours so they can get it on.

He smacks the bill of Dustin’s cap, knocking it down over his eyes, but nobly refrains from giving him a noogie, “Dusty if you ever want to pop your little Mormon girl’s cherry, maybe don’t say shit like ‘get it on.’”

“Suzie is an angel, don’t be crude, man.” Dustin’s hands are quick as they smack him away, that must be another little brother trait.

“An angel, huh, another point in the ‘girlfriend isn’t real’ category. How many imaginary friends do you have, kid? A girlfriend in Utah and a brother that no one but your party has seen.”

The rest of Hellfire starts to trickle in, having used their time waiting for their table more wisely than Eddie has. Dustin’s comment is delayed only momentarily as he says hi to the rest of the freshmen that he definitely saw only a few minutes ago. “For the record, Suzie is very real. And you…” It’s the way he trails off that makes Eddie nervous, the way a light goes on in his eyes that sets the hair at the back of his neck on end. His danger instincts are finely honed and that's the same, 'I'm smarter than you look' Henderson was wearing when he managed to sniff out half the traps Eddie had laid out last session. "You should meet Steve, I bet I could get him to pick us up next week instead of Nancy."

He thinks this must be what the raccoons behind the trailer park feel like. The obvious trap of the shiny silver cage that's been baited so sweet it's hard to resist walking in anyway. "Sure, Henderson, tell the mysterious brother to stop by. Have him bring one of those zines that definitely belongs to him."

Dustin is especially vicious as dispatches with every creature that Eddie throws at him that day. It’s hard to be that upset, he’s feeling pretty fat and happy sitting in whatever animal control rodent trap Henderson thinks he’s got him in.

The next week’s session comes in a haze of vague daydreams and intense session prep. He’s had Steve Henderson on the brain for so long that he all but forgot about his little tête-à-tête with Dustin the week before. Forgot if not for the way that Baby Henderson is vibrating at the Hellfire lunch table when Eddie arrives.

“Steve is coming to get us from Hellfire today!” Eddie personally thinks this doesn’t quite deserve the level of reaction that it’s getting, but Henderson is so worked up no one even needs to prompt him to keep him going. “He had to leave right after his weekend trip to go deal with lawyers and shit.”

“Are they still..?” Lucas trails off, he’s clearly concerned but for all that Eddie hates that the kid is looking down the barrel of jock life he is extremely emotionally adept.

“Mom and Steve both said it was handled now. They won’t answer me when I ask any questions.”

Ominous, everything about Steve Henderson was so fucking weird. A kid who didn’t exist all through high school, that he’s never seen in town, who has lawyers now?

“Maybe Hop could,” the kid started to ask, hopeful.

“Mom says that it’s Steve’s business and we should all stay out of it unless he asks for our help.” Will responds by rote, something he’s clearly already tried before.

“So the infamous Steve Henderson is going to grace us with his presence today?” Eddie knows the answer already, but like most of his vices he can't resist indulging.

"He's taking us all out for ice cream after," Dustin agrees, "you could come too Eddie, I'm sure Steve wouldn't mind!"

"Steve minds everything," Mike grouses.

"Steve always buys your triple scoop sundae."

Eddie thinks Steve Henderson would have elegant fingers. He thinks about how they might toy with the straw of his milkshake while he smiles, coy and teasing, at Eddie, who he's charmed by. This Steve lets Eddie snatch the cherry from his drink, blushes when he gets his stem returned tied in a knot by Eddie's tongue.

"Well if Steve is buying, who am I to refuse an invitation?"

He does not end Hellfire early because Steve Henderson is coming.

He does, by pure coincidence, need to piss 15 minutes before things are set to wrap up. If that gives him enough time to clean himself up a bit that's just luck. This isn't for Steve Henderson.

His bathroom break, and definitely not pre-date primp session, puts him at the back of the pack when Steve Harrington's maroon beemer pulls into the lot. It feels a little bit like sophomore year again. When his hair was in another awkward stage of growing out and curled around his ears, he didn't have his mom to help him with the curls anymore and he didn't know what to do with them now that they seemed to twist and turn in new directions post-buzz. He caught the sweetest looking boy with puppy dog eyes staring and he'd been so embarrassed about getting caught he'd touched his own locks. Hairsprayed into oblivion and locked firmly into place the touch was ripped away and a shy, 'what can you do' smile was shared between the two of them. It feels a bit like junior year when Steve Harrington broke the keg stand record as a sophomore. Rounding the corner from tipsy into drunk or maybe bypassing it altogether for blackout, he wandered over into Eddie's domain. He had that same shy little wave, but a stronger confidence. He sidled up to Eddie and wrapped a curl around a finger. He tugged, just a bit, the way kids do when they want to see if it'll bounce back. "Yknow you'd be pretty if you were a girl." The slip slide of his definitely drunk tone didn't take Eddie out at the knees any less.

The car curves up closer to the front steps and Henderson is shaking like a rocket leaving Canaveral. He actually starts to take a step toward the still moving car when four hands clamp down on him saving Steve last-name-to-be-determined from a vehicular manslaughter charge. Eddie is the last to release him when he hears that car slide into park. The engine has barely had time to rumble to a stop before Steve Harrington is out of it. A toothy smile splits his face and, hidden behind Byers and Wheeler, Eddie watches as Steve Harrington proceeds to engage in the nerdiest fucking handshake he's ever seen. Steve Harrington finishes dying by what seems to be lethal lightsaber disembowelment and waves at the other three teens.

"Alright let's rock n roll if you twerps want ice cream before I drop you off. Joyce will kill me if you're late."

"Steve, can Eddie come with us?"

As Henderson asks Eddie now sees the exact size and shape of the trap he is in. The actually dweeby, dungeon master and drug dealer forced to watch the hot, once cool older brother bow to the obligation of Midwestern courtesy now that he's been ambushed with Eddie's existence. Or worse he'll have to stand there and pretend to be unbothered while King Steve shoots both Hendersons hopes and Eddie's dreams in the face with one curled lip.

He never could have imagined the furrow of confusion between his brows. The way lips wrap themselves around his name, tasting it. He hadn't, in his many fantasies, pictured golden brown eyes though he often thought of them snapping up to him like they were now.

A rosy blush blooms across Steve's face. He has the same shy finger wave he did as a freshman. "Depends, Dust, are you gonna give up your shotgun dibs or are you gonna make your troop leader sit in the back with the rest of the Party.”

He watches as if in slow motion as Henderson lunges for Steve, the elder is laughing as the younger wraps his arms around his neck. There is something very intensely attractive about the lingering jock of it all. How Steve is still upright even as his teenage brother dangles from his neck. “You know it’s Dungeon Master, you get it right with Erica!”

“I have a lot of respect for Erica, the things she does with goblins and kobolds is masterful. You asked me about the lead up to a trap so obvious it felt like an eagle scout showing his little cubbies poison ivy." It's bitchy and nerdy in all the best ways, and then Steve H- Steve looks up at him and winks, "No offense, Munson."

"None taken, Stevie." That seems to catch them both by surprise, the lack of a certain last name to fall back to -- and weeks of imagining what it might be like to interact with the guy who is and isn't right in front of him -- has Eddie overly familiar. "I drove here though." His van stands like a monolith alone in the middle of an empty parking lot.

"Oh."

"But I could meet you there? Are you going to the Dairy Queen by the library or the haunted one?"

"It's not actually haunted," Byers pipes in with frightening sincerity.

"But yeah, the haunted one," Steve says with a boy next door grin.

"Then I will meet you and your charges there Sir Henderson." He bows and only immediately regrets it, now that the once Harrington lord of the school is out of his line of sight. His brain feels like it could short out, faulty wires sparking against memories and daydreams and general hormones.

A sheepie he saved from the slaughter snorts, another - probably Mike - whispers "Gross." There's a grunt that Eddie hopes is the traitor catching an elbow from one of the others.

But it doesn't. fucking. matter because Steve Whatever laughs, practically giggles at Eddie and his antics.

And Dustin's rocket has come in for a rough landing, "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

Steve's hand envelopes the top of Dustin's head, he nearly palms it. It's not quite a noogie, more like he shakes his head for him. "Dusty-bun, why would you regret introducing me to your Dork Mother?"

"I'm gonna tell Ma you're being a bitch again."

"She won't believe you, I'm her favorite." He shoots another wink toward Eddie, a joke he's being allowed in on.

Level headed Dustin Henderson, who explained to him, in depth, how getting overly emotional impairs higher level critical thinking, stomps his foot. "You're so full of shit."

"I am. She chose me, she got stuck with you."

"Steve!"

He laughs at the despair he's caused, ruffling cap covered hair again until Dustin stomps out of reaching distance to climb in the Beemer with the other boys. Brown eyes are bright with mischief when he looks to Eddie, and he's struck by a thought. He was right, he hadn't ever met Steve Henderson before today. This is not the same boy who sat in the cafeteria with a closed mouth smile listening to Tommy H. and Carol. "Let me walk you to your car?" He asks.

"It's right there, Stevie, and do you really want to leave that band of miscreants alone with your car?" He's playing with fire, but the fear of getting burned has never stopped him before. He leans in close, whispers, "They might steal it."

Steve pales, a haunted look in his eye. He shakes it off, squeezing his eyes shut tight, and that soft smile slips across his face again. "Let me watch you leave then." That smile slides into a smirk, as he looks Eddie up and down.

He was right about getting burned, his face feels like it's on fire as he flees the scene. His tail is definitely not tucked between his legs because Steve is absolutely staring at his ass right now. He doesn't remember how walking is supposed to feel, but it's probably not like this. It would be embarrassing, the fact that he probably looks like a baby deer discovering he has knees for the first time, if it weren't more important that he makes sure each foot is planted so he doesn't acquaint himself with the ground below him. Safely encased in the van, he chances a look through the windshield and confirms that Steve is watching him.

He waves, and yeah it is gratifying to see the guy who at one point had half the girls in school fawning over him duck his head like he's embarrassed at getting caught staring. Sinclair leans up from the back seat, Eddie watches him clap Steve on the shoulder and make a comment on… something, probably him. It makes the rest of the car laugh and Steve thunk his head down on the steering wheel. The horn sounds, an echoing burst of noise that cuts off just as quickly as it starts when Steve jumps in his seat. The seat belt stops his jump short, and he sends another flustered wave Eddie's way when he notices him still watching.

Maybe he'll mention this to Little Red, his new neighbor has mentioned stealing young Henderson's brother and making him a Mayfield instead. A joke that makes a little more sense now. Sinclair has been making moon eyes at her and baby Hopper at lunch for the last week. That will be a better punishment than anything Eddie could do to him at the table.

He waves back at Steve, gives him his most winning smile -- the one he practiced in the mirror for charming pretty boys if he ever got out of the armpit of Indiana. Mimes driving like he's in a bad movie. Across twenty feet and two windows, he can't hear Steve laugh, needs to get to somewhere where he can. He can see the smile though, the dorky thumbs up.

He lets the Beemer pull out in front of him, watches it for just a moment as reality sets in. Reality. He's going to meet Steve Henderson for soft serve. It's a dream come true.

Arwen shifts into gear, and he slides out behind Steve and the sheepies. A whole new world of daydreaming unlocked.

Maybe next week Steve Henderson will let Nancy pick the kids up next week. He'll slip in the back doors of the school, unnoticed by everyone. Stealth bonus obscene for a fighter class. Eddie is moving slow as he moves minis and graph paper maps into the tackle box Wayne gave him, back to the door he misses his rogue slip through the door until he's already grappled.

"Was it a good game, Munson? You win?"

"It's not like one of your sports, Henderson, the wins aren't as clear cut."

Hands start to wander, "Isn't any time you pull one over on the Party kind of a victory?"

"In which case I do stand victorious, your sweet baby brother lost his brand new axe to a mimic."

"Hmm, you know what we used to do after a victory in my 'sports?'"

A hand has migrated to an especially interesting place. "What?"

"We'd hit the showers."

Eddie shakes himself out of the daydream, easing just the smallest bit harder onto the accelerator. He needs something to cool himself off with. He also really wants to see Steve again, to make up for lost time.

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #steve henderson #eddie munson #ruelogy #inspired by another amazing tumblr ficlet #it put worms in my brain and then this happened

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tanoraqui · 1 month

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In Which Space Orcs are Men

[AO3] A "what if humans are space orcs" take on Dagor Dagorath. (Aka the prophecied apocalypse of Middle Earth. Scifi story accessible to non-LotR nerds!)

Elves weren't really supposed to leave Earth. That's what they told us—the Elves, that is, told people thousands of years ago, when Elves could still be found here and there. When I was born, elves were nearly as much a fairy tale as they’d been on Ancient Earth.

Elves weren't supposed to leave Earth, the Elves said in the fairy tales, and in a few old scraps of records scattered around known space. They literally weren't made for it. They could only do it if they brought Earth with them—Arda they called it, leaves or dirt, water or a rare bubble of air, perfectly preserved in a white crystal. There are tons of tales about Elves losing their lifeline jewels—their hearts, their silimirs—and roping people into epic quests to get them back before they—the Elf—faded to nothingness.

Even the jewels weren't enough, though. That's why there are also stories about Elves who fell in love with a person or a place and stayed there until they faded, or Elves who charmed someone into following them back to Fairyland on Earth...because whatever they said, Elves didn't really live on Earth. Humans have maintained their home planet as a monitored nature reserve since like the 40th century, open only to vetted research teams and serious Human religious pilgrimages. The most confirmed accounts of Elves that exist are of their ships appearing out of nowhere, with no trace of any tech that would enable it, at random, always-changing points within 100 miles or so of Earth.

Nobody ever came back from trying to follow Elves home. Mostly Elves tried to dissuade people from trying. But there are always crazy and curious people—and Elves usually attracted those, because any Elf who left the home they were "made" for was usually crazy and curious themselves.

Those were the stories I grew up with. There was a cave near the orphans' creche which was supposed to be haunted by a faded Elf. I didn't really believe it—like I said, the last confirmed Elf was last seen like 5,000 years ago, and not even on my planet. People have met two dozen new sentient races since then. We've discovered that reincarnation is probably real (just functionally untrackable), prompting the Pan-Religious Reform Wars. The last person to see a live Elf was still traveling via natural wormholes—they literally didn't know that you could loop pi.

When the Human natal sun started to turn really red, it wasn’t that big a deal at first. It’s a very important, very sad event for any species, but it happens to everyone eventually. It happened to the Hectort just after we invented interstellar flight. There were some unusual gravatic waves around Earth’s Sol, but nothing worth noting to anyone who didn’t already care for personal reasons.

Then the Elves sent us a message.

The local Parks Service picked it up, of course. I bet the Humans meant to hush it up at first—though the Centaurian government still won’t admit anything—but someone leaked it immediately on the intergalactic net. It should’ve only been famous as a joke of a hoax, but…

It was basically just a metal box with rudimentary fire-thrusters soldered on the sides. It contained two things. The first was a recording/replaying device so antiquated that the only way they got it working is that it was already playing on loop, and didn’t stop until someone disconnected it from its power source.

The message was in Ancient Bouban, which some folklorist soon announced is the latest language an Elf could know, since the last known Elf went back to “Arda.” The voice somehow sounded melodic to every species with a concept of music, from the screeching Vesarians to the deep-sea sub-sonic Thinkers, even when translated through cheap, staticky speakers. And to most species, the speaker was audibly distraught.

They said,

This is the final message from the Firstborn of Eru to the Secondborn, and everyone else. The Battle of Battles has come, and we…are losing. If there are any who remember the ancient love and loyalty which bound our peoples, if there are any heirs remaining of Thargalax the Magnificent, of Nine-Fingered Frodo, of the noble Houses of Haleth, Hador and Beor—

The speaker drew a sharp breath, there.

—by great oaths and greater friendship I bid you now to raise your swords and ride to our aid. Ride as swiftly as you can!

We will hold for another year. We will, they said determinedly. After that, it is unlikely that…

Another, shakier breath. A smile forced into a voice which would rather weep.

Fëanáro and Nienna believe there is a way to destroy the Straight Road. If we must, if it comes to it, we will do so, and trap the First Enemy here in this dying world with us. Though I don’t know about—

Hair-aristocrat! a more distant, slightly less perfectly melodious voice called, in a language so dead that they needed computers to decode it. The walls are falling, we need to go!

If you never hear from us again, and no sudden discord arises among you, you will know we succeeded, the first speaker said quickly. If otherwise…I am sorry. Either way, I bid you all only, remember us! Oh beautiful flames, remember us, as we have ever remembered y—

There was a sudden screech of tearing metal, a defiant, musical battle-cry, and a jarring silence. Then the message restarted.

And that wasn’t even the strangest thing in the box. The strangest thing was the recorder’s power source, which was powering the whole tiny rocket mechanism as well. It was an Elf-jewel right out of a fairy tale, a fist-sized, translucent not-quite-diamond—but instead of rock or water or a much-loved scrap of plant, the only thing it held was light.

...Kind of. It isn’t normal light. It arguably isn’t light at all, as we know it—scientists now think it’s technically some sort of plasmoid aether, except it only acts like a plasmoid aether about half the time.

It has no detectable source within the jewel. It fully illuminates whatever space it’s in, no matter how big. Its visible radiation is a frequency, the scientists say, that matches a hyper-accelerated version of what the universe must’ve sounded like in the split second after the Big Bang.

It makes people remember things, when they see it in person or sometimes even across a holo. Some remember a similar light in a strange traveler’s eyes. Others, dreamily enchanted valleys where spring never faded, or tall castles, bright swords, and stern and glorious lords and ladies. And some of us got hit with a whole lifetime of memories in one go: an identical gem on the brow of a sober forest king, friends who slipped through trees like shadows save for their merry laughter, an impossibly beautiful gold-haired maiden dancing in a glittering cavern...

(And all the pain and loss that came with them.)

And some people just remember the sight of a distant star—in another world, in another lifetime.

Reincarnation was provable but untraceable…until now.

The Thinker ambassador on Astrolax Station 5 was the first to kick up a fuss. Most Thinkers never leave their home planet, they're too huge and aquatic. But like I said, there's always crazy and curious people. The ambassador started bellowing the second che heard the message, without even seeing the light, because, "I know him! My Wisdom! We must send aid!" That made some news, and random other people shared their own, less dramatic revelations, and soon a compilation swept the net with timestamps showing that most of them were organically independent, not just jumping on the bandwagon….

Even that might've gotten written off intergalactically. The Thinkers are big in reincarnationist circles, on account of how they claim that deep in their planetary ocean they can hear echoes of their past lives. But being mostly planet-bound means they're not really influential on a big political level. Or it would've sparked another surge of the Reform Wars, and everybody would've remembered the rock, but not the recording. Or there would’ve been a fight over this potentially infinite energy source (though that is so last giga-annum)….

But first it was shown in person to the current Director of the Admiralty of the Astral Alliance, President of the X-ee Empire and Matron of the House of S,sh, Ch’ees/i’i S,sh. I was actually there—I was Captain of her ceremonial Alliance guards, in a last-ditch attempt to salvage my career after Zanzibus. Very ceremonial, considering the X-eee have laser-proof shells and pincers and I have, what, opposable thumbs? Vestigial tusks?

I wasn’t paying attention at first, too busy being suddenly assaulted by all my own memories. So I missed the President freezing mid-step and gasping (in X-eee), “Mother.” I also missed her rising alarm call of an attempt to speak Ancient Elvish without an Elvish tongue or lips.

I sure didn’t miss her snap back to X-eee for a sharp call to attention, and everything that followed: the call to arms! The rousing of the Alliance! A tour of the galaxy, to find anyone and everyone else in whom the Light could awaken ancient memories! And for the love of X'eeh, why had nobody figured out how to get back to Fairyland with this thing yet, and every warship in the quadrant?!

If I believed in the One Behind, or in any other creator god or gods—I'm not saying I do, but if I did, if there really is something out there all-powerful and all-kind—then it'd be because out of every soul in the entire universe, the probably one in the best position to act on the Elves' message turned out to have, from a past life, two parents and a much-loved twin still in Fairyland. Like, that's insane, right?

I stayed with the Director's ceremonial guards for the whole tour, actually more than ceremonial for once—it was the weirdest mission of my life, and I've been on a lot of weird missions. Or supposedly routine missions that got weird (and usually disastrous). My friends joke that I'm cursed. S,sh requisitioned an Inquiry-class ship, so the science boffins could study the Light and jewel along the way, and we started wormholing at weft speed, hitting a new planet every week. Sometimes every day. In each major spaceport and ground-city, S,sh stood with the jewel on the highest available point and gave a recruitment speech for going to save the Elves and fight the oldest enemy of all reality.

Honestly, it seemed a little redundant? The Astral Alliance was made for this sort of rescue mission (and for escorting trade convoys). But I was...if not happy, then sure as hell more self-certain with my ancient memories restored, and most people who joined up seemed to agree. It was mostly people who remembered, when exposed to the Light, who joined—so before long, we had a whole tag-along trail of mostly civilian ships, trying to get up to Alliance Fleet standard on the road in less than a year.

Three different religious sects tried to kill S,sh for "profaning the mysteries." Five others tried to steal the jewel because we were apparently appropriating a holy object. The boffins announced that, bar the can't-prove-a-negative possibility, the evidently sourceless Light should be counted as an infinite energy source, and at least seven different groups, ruthless financiers and sustainability idealists, immediately tried to steal it for that. And I still don't know what the rival thief-queens of Likkiliani were about, except that I got tied up upside-down from a palmdar tree for two hours trying to stop one, the other paid me 700 cron then threw me off a cliff, and in the end they recognized each other from past lives and just made out on worldwide live-holo before joining our growing fleet.

It turned out they were the Director's past life's great-grandparents, and a Canid pop princess was her niece. The Thinker ambassador was some sort of ancestor, too. Crazy extended family.

Most people who remember just remember the sight of a star in the sky. A buddy of mine from Fleet Academy remembered looking up at it as a Human sailor. The historians—and you’d better bet we picked up some Earther historians on this mission as well!—say this jewel or one like it was probably astrologically conflated with the planet Venus by early Humans.

(The more time I spent around the jewel, the Silmaril, the more I remembered, of my first life and more. Lifetime after lifetime with bad luck dogging my steps, killing loved ones in my arms, destroying cities I was supposed to save… One restless, haunted night, I met a Rigilic in the cafeteria who’d been awake with some of the same nightmares, who’d been my dead older sister once.)

The tour was cut short when word came from the Earth system that there was a black hole growing in the center of their reddening sun.

No, the sun wasn’t compressing into a black hole millennia ahead of schedule—one had just spontaneously manifested within it, like it’d teleported in. No, not literally—that was impossible. We were pretty sure. No, the sun wasn’t falling into it…somehow. Yet. The black hole was only 17 quectometers wide, but it was growing at an erratic but unceasing rate. If their best estimation of the pattern held, it would consume the sun 2 months before the Elves’ deadline, and the Earth 4 to 950 minutes later.

We pulled back to Earth—well, to the dwarf planet Eros, on the edges of Earth’s star system. That’s where the nearest shipyard of any note was, and we were gathering the whole Astral Alliance. This is exactly the sort of thing the Alliance is for.

I was released back to ship duty. Zanzibus was still a black mark on my record, as was Jorab, and really everything on the AAS Endeavor…and that thing in third year of Fleet Academy… But no matter how bad my curse, I was an experienced captain and one of the best pilots in the Alliance. For this, we needed all the best.

The boffins had pretty quickly mastered limited manipulation of the Light, using modified aetheric resonators, and every day they came up with something new for us to test. They focused the Light into a laser cannon like no one has seen before. They laced it through plasma shields until a fully shielded ship glowed like a distant star. They managed to nearly replicate the Silmaril’s crystalline structure, so they could make “copies” that shone like the original for first a few hours; then, with refinement, a full week…

The one thing they couldn’t pin down with any real confidence was how to get to Fairyland. The frequency of the Light resonated with large bodies of Earther saltwater in a particular way, and models suggested that if the Light source moved horizontally along the water within a certain range of distance and velocity, the resonance would create a wormhole-like ripple in space—but wormhole-like, was the key word, and models suggested. The closest anyone had seen to that spatial distortion was in a logbook of dubious veracity from the Delta Quadrant, four hundred years ago. Alteia, my Academy buddy who’d been a Human sailor, took the Silmaril in an M-wing on a series of highly monitored test flights above the Atlantic Ocean, and space did repeatedly start to hollow in front of bom—so bo had to stop every time, rather than risk vanishing with our single, maybe-one-way ticket.

Then Earth’s moon stopped shining in the sky. Its albedo just dropped nearly to zero, from one night to the next. There was nothing wrong that anyone could figure out—nothing with the orbit, nothing with the surface rock, nothing with the artificial atmosphere. Inhabitants reported feeling colder by several degrees, but no measuring equipment recorded anything.

The black hole slightly off-center in the middle of Sol was now 844.9 zeptometers, and growing more steadily.

We didn’t have time to keep testing. We needed to raise our swords and make our ride, even if we only got one shot at it.

I was given command, for seniority, skill, and because I was the one who managed to talk S,sh out of leading the fleet herself. (If my lives had taught me anything, it was the importance of having someone, anyone, ready to be emergency backup.) Ironically, I was back on the Endeavor, with most of my old crew—though we got permission to rename the ship, in honor of the mission. A lot of people did. Alteia was now commanding the AAS Elendil on my right flank, star-friend in Ancient Elvish. That Canid pop princess had taken over a hospital ship and renamed it Rivendell. An Earth Park Ranger, of all things, remembered being my dad—briefly—and he was leading the Rangers plus my Rigilic drinking buddy on the EPSS Elfsheen.

We weren’t sure if any ship but the one with the Silmaril would get through. The fleet numbered in the hundreds in battleships alone, not counting scouts and scuttlers. Twelve races had sent ships on top of their typical Alliance Fleet tithe, and S,sh had brought about half the full force of the X-ee Empire. We all just locked tractor beams and hoped.

I was piloting as well as captaining, with the Silmaril between my forehorns. It was held in place by about a dozen wires and other connectors to the ship, like an old-timey pilot’s headset. We took off in orbit around Earth, as close as possible to the surface—not very close, in warships of Class S and higher, but within range of the oceanic resonance. A Likkilianian thief-queen stood at my shoulder, ready to advise if anything “Musical” started to happen.

Think about what you’re trying to get to, and why, the boffins had advised, so I did—bright-eyed kings and dancing maidens; lost friends, families, cities, planets and all. The jewel got warmer against my skin and shone brighter with every pulse of the engine, brighter than we should’ve been able to see through.

The silver-gold Light twisted and diffused as space did around us. But there was no familiar rippling wormhole boundary—instead, spacetime thinned to a curtain like driving rain, like Vesarian silver-glass.

A ghost appeared next to me. She looked like the oldest, grumpiest writing teacher at the crèche, though I knew that was only in my head.

“There you are,” she said, impatient and relieved like I’d been hiding in the sandbox again, rather than coming to class on time. Her sewing scissors went snip snip snip as she darted them around my body—and a chain on my soul faded into guiding threads.

Before she’d even disappeared again, I punched the engine and blasted through the silver-glass curtain.

Fairy tales said there’d be a peerlessly beautiful land on the other side, green with eternal spring, full of endless light and laughter. They said there’d be sunlit shores and shimmering waves, with welcoming docks for sea-ships, sky-ships and space-ships all…

We flew into the worst battlefield I’d ever seen, in any lifetime. It was more desperately vicious than Jerusalem V at the height of the Reform Wars, more ruined than Glaurung’s wake, more desolate than Zanzibus after the nuclears fell.

Either a massive supercontinent or a small moon had been shattered, leaving nothing but a roiling debris field. The brand-new meteoroids ranged from pebbles to rocks the size of a small space station, and included space-frozen corpses, forests, and what might have once been city blocks.

I gave the helm back to my Pilot Officer—zer had, I can admit, slightly better reflexes for dodging debris—and focused on captaining.

Most of the life signs were clinging to the larger rocks. There shouldn’t have been atmosphere for them, but walls of thunderstorm wrapped around every shard with even a single life sign—wind and water desperately hand in hand to safeguard the last of the Elves. The only thing visible through the impossible storms was the Light of a second Silmaril, on a meteoroid shaped like half a broken eggshell.

A corpse lay at the epicenter of the explosion—what might’ve been a corpse, if it wasn’t also shattered. The broken pieces of a massive stone humanoid, taller than my ship if it’d stood beside her, still bleeding lava so hot that it burned even in frozen space. Another titan knelt at the shards of its head, a figure of towering bark and leaves, wailing with grief even worse than the end of the world.

A slimmer tree-woman stood with one hand on her shoulder, comforting, and the other wielding a skyscraper-sized club spiked with incandescent wildflowers. Guarding her sister’s heartbreak, she fended off a swarm of bat-sized monsters with wings of darkness and whips of flame.

Bat-sized relative to the gods of Elves and ancient Humans. About the size of an M-wing, in flight.

Countless more of the bat-things flung themselves at the storm-bubbles, like carnivores chasing the prey hidden inside. They were fended off by an equal army of creatures with wings of light and swords of lightning, led by a towering figure who seemed to dance from one bloody battle to the next.

The biggest battle by far was the farthest away, over where the sun had been. In this dimension of stories over science, Sol was another woman-shape, smaller than the others but burning just as brightly as her star. Also just as blood-red. The light was centered on a fist she kept clenched at her chest, and instead of containing the black hole, the unseeable thing that it was here surrounded her, striking at her with a thousand hungry jaws and grasping legs, and she had only a one-handed whip of a solar flare to fend it off—

But she didn’t fight alone. A warrior tore at the Darkness’s spidery limbs with his fists, image on the cameras flickering impossibly between every hero I’d ever heard of. A snarling figure bit at it with jagged teeth, gored it with horns, shredded it with claws and talons, and generally made every ancient prey-instinct in me scream. And a queen with a crown of stars, a shield like the night sky and a sword like a streaking comet, stood dauntlessly at the sun-holder’s side.

With all that, and with the speed of even her most exhausted strikes, I thought the sun-holder could probably have gotten away if she’d tried. But I knew how a person fought when they weren’t willing to leave a friend, and a smaller, silver figure lay at her feet, unmoving and drained of light.

But even the battle for the sun wasn’t what grabbed my eye. No—all my attention, all my guiding threads of fate and the quick temper that always used to get me in trouble, before (and sometimes after) I learned to leash it in an Alliance uniform— All of that took me straight to the fight happening orthogonal to the stone giant’s corpse.

It was another one-versus-many. Morgoth, the First Enemy of Elves and Men— Master of Lies, Maker of Chains, Sonofabitch Curser of Bloodlines—towered over even his fellow gods. His shape changed constantly, sickeningly, but it was always black-armored with eyes like dying stars that hated you personally. His maul dripped with lava and every other kind of blood.

He fought against three great gray figures who moved as one. The tallest wielded a star-studded scythe with swift, efficient strokes, and wore the dark gray of corpse-shrouds. The shortest shimmered with more colors than even a Stamotapadon could dream of, and his weapon shifted likewise. The third was the clear, clean gray of skies after rain or tears run dry, and fought with only a shield—and hit harder with it than either of her brothers.

Around their heads darted the only Elves on the battlefield, in small fliers more like sea-ships than aircraft. But they moved fluidly, pestering the Dark Lord like flies, pricking his skin and threatening his burning eyes.

Until Morgoth swung his maul with a roar of fury that traveled even though soundless space. My ship and heart both shuddered. The gray gods all staggered back, and the Elves fell from the no-longer-sky—all but their leader, more fire than flesh, who wore the third Silmaril. Morgoth caught him in one massive black hand and with sharp claws plucked the jewel away, as easily as a ripe berry from a tree—

“All power to fore-cannon and fire,” I ordered—and the jewel on my brow shone bright again as several stored months’ worth of infinite Silmaril-Light slammed into Morgoth’s chest with all the force that the best scientists in the Astral Alliance could engineer.

He stumbled. He dropped both the jewel and the elf-king (who’d been trying to bite him). The Lady of Mercy tossed her shield to catch them, staying low and out of sight—though she needn’t have bothered. The so-called “Lord of All” had already found his next enemy.

“All ships, move forward and join shields,” I ordered, and met his burning stare though the viewscreen. “Then broadcast me on all external frequencies.”

The wires on my forehead shimmered as we shifted Light-flow to the shields—and to my right, so did the Elendil, and to my left, the Cosmian Blade, and all around us the Minas Tirith, the Elfsheen, the Muse, the Rivendell, the Heart of Zanzi, the Longbottom Leaf… They were still soaring out of the silvery distortion behind me, tractor- and Silmaril-towed: sleek Rigilic eels-of-prey and Centaurian cruisers full of Humans eager to fight for their homeworld, Betan mine-ships and Canid X-M-wings and my own Hectoan starlighters, a full third of the X-ee navy with their X-eee–shaped six-engine dreadnoughts, and hundreds more.

“This is Captain Pel Cinia, once Túrin Turambar, of the Astral Alliance ship Gurthang,” I said. My words were broadcast from every ship on every frequency in every language that the people of Arda might know, as the Fleet assembled from forty-plus different worlds flew into position. Our Light-infused shields blazed and locked together, until we formed a seamless wall right in the Enemy’s face, with the Elves and their other allies safely behind us.

I’ve never felt more proud to recite the most cliché line in the Fleet:

“We got your distress call. We’re here to help.”

#the silmarillion #science fiction #humans are space orcs #fanfiction #my fic #dagor dagorath #not tagging characters bc spoilers (they're listed at the end of the ao3 though)

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slytherintrikru · 7 months

Text

— || Revenge is Sweet || —

Pairing: Lucius Malfoy x gryffindor!muggleborn!reader (SHE’S OF AGE)

Word count: 6224

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 16+, fingering, clit rubbing, cock in Vigina, male and female, adult content, adult language, cuss words, clit licking, degrading, fluff if you squint, pet names, anguish, cheating, heartbreak, revenge, crying, Lucius comforting Y/N?, aftercare, praise, daddy kink, cum swallowing, fluff, out of character Lucius, 2 almost 3 years after the 2nd wizarding war, younger woman with older man, first time together, heated make out session, kissing, hickeys, love bites, SFW if you squint. (SHE IS OF AGE)

Summary: Y/N wanted to surprise Draco by visiting him at the Malfoy Manor but ended up catching him cheating instead. While leaving she bumps into Lucius Malfoy and things get kinda heated. (SHE’S OF AGE)

Requested: by no one this is my idea

A/N: Hello, my fellow Dreamers, hope you like this. Please give me your feedback. BTW I also already posted this on my AO3 account @ slytherintrikru.

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Y/N navigated her way up the meandering, earthy path that led to the formidable gates of the Malfoy Manor. These gates, a grand testament to the opulence within, were adorned with wrought-iron craftsmanship that gleamed even in the muted light of dusk. Beyond the gates, a long, majestic driveway, flanked by a procession of ancient trees, guided her toward the mansion's imposing facade. Standing before her, the Malfoy Manor exuded an aura of architectural splendor. Its stately stone walls rose gracefully, adorned with intricate details that whispered of centuries past. Tall, narrow windows punctuated the facade, their panes seeming to conceal secrets within, bestowing upon the house an air of sinister allure.

The estate on which the manor resided was vast and mysterious. A dark forest encroached upon the edges of the property, casting eerie shadows that played hide-and-seek with the waning daylight. In stark contrast to this enigmatic woodland, a lush and meticulously cultivated garden graced the manor's rear, a testament to the Malfoy family's penchant for grandeur and elegance.

With each deliberate step, Y/N's heartbeat quickened. Her trembling hand reached out to rap upon the massive, wooden double doors that guarded the entrance. She couldn't have fathomed that she would ever find herself returning to this nightmarish place, where the echoes of her torment at the hands of Voldemort and his fanatical followers still reverberated in the depths of her memory. It had been two agonizing years since that fateful day when Fenrir Greyback had dragged her through those very doors, her hair pulled viciously as she struggled to match the monstrous pace set by her captor. The same mansion had borne witness to her harrowing encounter with the Dark Lord himself, the malevolent figure who had imprinted the dreaded Death Eater mark upon her left arm—a mark she had desperately sought to eradicate for almost three long years.

The reason for her presence here, despite the haunting memories, was her enduring love for Draco. Three years had passed since the inception of their clandestine relationship, but their bond remained unshaken. Draco's parents, however, were a formidable obstacle in their path. They looked down upon her as a 'filthy Mudblood,' a fact that had never deterred her resolve, so long as Draco stood by her side. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy had resorted to devious tactics, attempting to buy her loyalty, attempting to pry her away from their son. Their efforts had met with stubborn resistance, leaving them fuming with frustration. On countless occasions, they subjected her to scathing tirades, especially Narcissa, whose cruelty knew no bounds. After a week, Lucius resigned to a sullen silence, but Narcissa's venomous words and occasionally physical aggression persisted as a daily ordeal that Y/N endured with steely determination.

Y/N flinched as the manor door creaked open, her reaction akin to that of someone stumbling into a jinx. Her startled gaze dropped to the floor, where a familiar figure stood. It was Rue, the endearing house elf, a cherished presence in Y/N's life.

"What can Rue do for Draco's lovely girlfriend?" Rue inquired, her lips curving into a warm, welcoming smile.

Y/N couldn't help but smile in return; Rue had always held a special place in her heart. With her bright blue eyes and those endearing pointy ears, Rue exuded an unmistakable charm. Not only did she anticipate Y/N's every need, but she also prepared food and drinks precisely to Y/N's liking. Since the law against elf brutality had been enacted, Y/N had taken it upon herself to ensure Rue's comfort, providing her with clothing. Over the months, Rue had transformed, shedding the weight of servitude to become a happier, more carefree presence.

"I'd like to see Draco, please, Rue," Y/N replied, her voice gentle and careful not to startle the petite house elf.

Rue's smile widened, and with a tiny, reassuring grip on Y/N's hand, she led her inside. As the door closed softly behind them, Rue spoke again, her voice filled with an eagerness to assist. "Master Draco is in his room. Rue will take you."

Y/N hesitated for a moment, a playful idea forming in her mind. "No, no, it's fine. I can go myself. I want to surprise him."

The adorable house elf nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. With a snap of her fingers, she vanished from sight, leaving Y/N to navigate the winding corridors of the Malfoy Manor alone.

Y/N couldn't help but grin at the thought of Rue experiencing a moment of personal indulgence, wondering if the house elf was trying to savor the pleasures she had missed in her life of servitude. With that pleasant thought, Y/N embarked on her ascent up the many flights of wooden stairs that led to the upper reaches of the manor. Her footsteps echoed softly through the hallway as she made her way toward Draco's room.

As she arrived at her destination, Y/N came to an abrupt halt, her senses keenly attuned to an unexpected sound emanating from behind Draco's door. She strained her ears, desperately hoping it wasn't a case of accidentally stumbling upon an intimate moment between Lucius and Narcissa. A glance at the door's label confirmed it was indeed Draco's room, and then she heard it again.

Moans.

Specifically, the unmistakable sounds of male and female moans. Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she leaned closer to the door, attempting to confirm what she dreaded most. She heard his name, Draco's name, whimpered from a female voice within, a voice that sent shockwaves through her.

Her blood ran cold, her heart rate spiked, and tears welled up in her eyes. Y/N prayed it wasn't true, that Draco wasn't betraying her. She cautiously pushed the door open, her movements silent as she observed the heart-wrenching scene before her. Draco, lost in passion, buried his face in Astoria Greengrass's neck, his vigorous thrusts filling the room.

Their eyes met, Y/N's and Astoria's, in a moment of cruel recognition. Astoria's smirk seemed to taunt Y/N, as if declaring, 'He's mine now, you filthy Mudblood.' With a heavy heart, Y/N gently closed the door, tears streaming down her face. She turned and fled down the hallway, down the stairs, without a care for her surroundings or the possibility of colliding with someone.

Tears flowed freely as Y/N reached the bottom of the stairs, her heart shattering into a million pieces. Her cries escaped in a heartbreaking crescendo, echoing through the manor's grandeur. In her distraught state, she collided with an unexpected presence, teetering dangerously on the brink of falling backward. However, strong arms enveloped her, steadying her in her moment of despair.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing, girl?" The voice, dripping with disdain, hissed through the tense air. Y/N's heart lurched at the sound, her gut telling her it was all too familiar. As her tear-blurred gaze lifted, she was met with the sight of a thoroughly baffled and irate Lucius Malfoy, his aristocratic features etched with a mix of anger and confusion. Her own expressive eyes, a mesmerizing shade of E/C, locked onto his cold, steely gray ones.

Blinking away the tears that blurred her vision, she stared at the formidable pureblood wizard who stood before her. Their eye contact held an unspoken tension, a connection fraught with history and complex emotions. It was in that moment that Y/N noticed something she hadn't expected in Lucius – concern. The realization was like a jolt, sending a shiver down her spine.

Concern?

It couldn't be right, could it? Why on earth would Lucius Malfoy, of all people, be concerned about her well-being? Y/N hesitated, her hand instinctively rising to wipe her eyes once more, as if questioning her own senses, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks on her. But the look in Lucius's eyes remained, a glimmer of unexpected humanity in the formidable man who had long been an enigma to her.

"Are you going to speak, or just stand there like a dumb-witted Mudblood?" Lucius's words, laced with venom, cut through the heavy silence. Y/N turned away from him, hurt etched in her eyes, his cruel words piercing her heart. In that moment, the gap between them seemed insurmountable.

Lucius, however, couldn't ignore the pain he had inadvertently caused, and for a fleeting second, remorse tugged at his conscience. Yet, his pride prevailed, and instead of apologizing, he pressed further, his tone demanding answers. "What's wrong with you, girl?"

Y/N pulled herself away from him, a mixture of emotions welling up inside her. She hesitated for a moment, then her voice trembled as she questioned him, "W-Why do y-you care?"

The unexpected vulnerability in her voice caught Lucius off guard, and a flicker of something uncharacteristic passed through his stormy gray eyes. He blocked her path as she attempted to move past him, their proximity intensifying the tension between them. "Just because we got off to the wrong foot when we first met doesn't mean I'm the same person I was before," he hissed, a rare hint of vulnerability seeping into his words. "Now tell me what's wrong, or I'll use Legilimency on you."

Her defenses crumbling, Y/N couldn't hold back the flood of emotion any longer. The words tumbled out of her, her voice wavering as she confessed, "Your son cheated on me with Astoria, that's what happened." She glanced away, bracing herself for the judgment she anticipated. "You're probably happy that he's not with a filthy Mudblood like me anymore. I'll just—"

"He did what?!" Lucius's voice reverberated through the manor, his anger palpable as it resounded against the walls. Y/N glanced at him, a puzzled expression on her face. She couldn't comprehend why he would be so furious that his son, Draco, had cheated on her—a Mudblood—with a pureblood. Lucius Malfoy had never harbored any warmth toward Y/N, so this sudden outburst was baffling. She had always assumed that Draco's parents would be delighted if something like this were to happen.

Lucius's voice, filled with indignation, interrupted her thoughts once more. "How dare that boy break someone's heart instead of just telling you that he wants to end the relationship. I raised him to treat women with respect. Even if the girl is a filthy Mudblood!"

Y/N frowned, her gaze drifting downward to her feet, unable to meet Lucius's eyes. His words were laden with a complex mixture of anger, disappointment, and something she couldn't quite fathom.

"Why would you care anyway? You should be happy that he cheated on me. Now he can go marry a pureblood who's more beautiful than me," she muttered bitterly, her self-esteem shattered.

In an unexpected turn of events, the cold metal of the snake handle of Lucius's cane lifted her chin. She blinked in surprise as he swiftly pulled his cane away and grasped her chin roughly with his hand, forcing her to hold eye contact with him.

"Don't ever say those words again. Am. I. Understand, Y/N?" Lucius's voice, though stern, held a strange mixture of concern. She nodded in response, but it seemed that wasn't sufficient for him. He demanded more. "I expect you to answer when I ask you something!"

"Y-Yes, Sir!" she squeaked, her gaze locked onto his features. She couldn't help but notice the commanding presence he exuded, the sharp lines of his jaw, the strength evident in his angular face. His long, platinum blonde hair cascaded gracefully past his shoulders, framing his striking countenance. The blueish-gray eyes that held an air of authority seemed to peer directly into her soul. Y/N's cheeks flushed inexplicably as she found herself momentarily entranced by his striking appearance. ‘He's handsome’, she thought, a realization that seemed to take her by surprise.

Y/N's unspoken admiration for Lucius had been a well-guarded secret, a silent confession her heart made each time she crossed the threshold of the Malfoy Manor. Her heart would do a subtle dance of anticipation whenever she knew she'd encounter him, and a flush would steal across her cheeks, like a clandestine tribute to his striking presence. It was an irrational reaction, one she couldn't quite understand, given that Lucius had never hidden his disdain for her—well, at least, he hadn't before.

Lucius's trademark smirk played on his lips, but there was a curious shift in his demeanor. Gone was the initial cockiness, replaced by genuine amusement as he surveyed Y/N's puzzled expression. Her blush intensified, a shade that rivaled the crimson and gold of the Gryffindor house colors.

"You really think I'm handsome?" he probed, his tone now laced with curiosity. He leaned in closer, the proximity between them causing a subtle flutter in Y/N's heart. Lucius's eyes sparkled with a newfound charm as he awaited her response.

"I—what? I didn't—" she stammered, but her words were abruptly silenced.

"Legilimens, my darling girl," Lucius smoothly interrupted. His smirk remained, but it was tinged with a magnetic confidence that left her feeling exposed. He leaned even closer, his lips brushing against her ear, and he whispered softly, his voice a provocative caress, "Ah, yes. It appears you've conveniently forgotten that I possess the ability to delve into your mind. You see, I heard every thought you've had about me. Like your secret desire for me to pin you down on my bed, to make you forget how to walk."

Y/N's eyes widened, her cheeks aflame with embarrassment. Her heart raced, and she felt a shiver of vulnerability wash over her. Lucius's audacious revelation had unraveled a new layer of intrigue and desire, transforming their dynamic into something far more intricate and captivating.

She gasped, disbelief coursing through her. Could he truly have been privy to her every innermost thought? It felt surreal, like a dream she was unable to awaken from. In an attempt to regain her composure, she instinctively retreated a step, allowing her gaze to lock with his. His eyes held the same intense emotion she had noticed earlier – a smoldering, undeniable lust that sent a tingle down her spine. He leaned closer, his body almost brushing against hers, and she could feel the heat radiating from him.

"That's the very reason I've maintained my distance from you all these months," he admitted, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability beneath its low, seductive tone. "After my ex-wife and I discovered the truth about you and my son's relationship, I tried to keep my demeanor cold. Yet every night, unable to control my desires, I found myself lost in fantasies of you," he confessed, his words a hushed, intimate secret shared between them.

A blush painted her cheeks once more as his voice whispered sensually into her ear, sending shivers coursing down her spine. His hands found their way to her sides, exerting a gentle, yet possessive squeeze. She couldn't help but shudder at his touch.

"My son is a fool for betraying such a beautiful, enchanting nymph like you," he purred, his lips grazing the tender skin just below her earlobe. His kisses left a fiery trail down her neck, only to ascend slowly back towards her lips. When their mouths met, it was as though a swarm of butterflies took flight in her stomach, fluttering wildly. She didn't respond immediately, her brain struggling to catch up with the whirlwind of sensations. Gradually, she inhaled his intoxicating scent, responding to his kisses with a growing hunger of her own.

Y/N's moans of desire seemed to echo within the cavernous expanse of Lucius's opulent mansion. Every step she took away from the memory of Draco's betrayal and closer to Lucius felt like a transgressive leap into the unknown. The kiss, fueled by a volatile mix of guilt and longing, deepened with each passing second. It was a magnetic force pulling them closer together, their lips becoming the epicenter of their shared need.

Her fingers wove themselves deeper into Lucius's long, platinum blonde hair, the strands silky and cool to the touch. He couldn't help but groan in response, the sound a testament to the intensity of their connection. His powerful hands, previously residing at her sides, ventured boldly downward, reaching her shapely derrière. With a delicate yet firm touch, he squeezed, sending exhilarating waves of sensation through her body.

With a sudden surge of passion, Lucius lifted Y/N off her feet, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist to maintain their electrifying kiss. The sensation of being carried by him, the firmness of his grip, and the heat of his body against hers were intoxicating. They ascended the grand staircase, their rhythmic ascent echoing through the mansion's ornate halls.

As they turned down the dimly lit hallway, the portraits of stern-faced ancestors bore witness to their clandestine rendezvous. The anticipation was palpable, each step a deliberate stride toward the unknown. The soft glow of moonlight spilled through heavy, brocade curtains, casting intricate patterns on the Persian rugs that lined the floor.

With an audacious display of strength and desire, Lucius kicked open the door to his lavishly appointed bedroom. The door swung wide with a creak, revealing a chamber bathed in shadows. The grandeur of the room was nothing short of breathtaking, with its sumptuous canopy bed, antique furnishings, and gilded accents. The room exuded an air of timeless elegance, a stark contrast to the illicit passion that had led them there. Yet, with another commanding kick, he shut the door behind them, sealing their secret within the confines of the room's opulent embrace.

In the opulent chamber, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtered through heavy curtains, he guided her towards his bed with a gentleness that belied the intense desire simmering between them. The sumptuous sheets, adorned with intricate patterns, awaited their embrace, a testament to the luxury that surrounded them. With a feather-light touch, he laid her down, the mattress conforming to the curves of her body like a lover's caress.

Desire surged between them, an irresistible force pulling them closer together. She eagerly wound her legs around him, her longing palpable. A deep, resonant chuckle rumbled from his chest, a seductive reverberation that filled the room. It was a sound that resonated with promise, the promise of what was to come.

His lips embarked on a slow descent down the delicate curve of her neck, leaving a trail of searing kisses in their wake. His teeth grazed her skin, eliciting sharp gasps and urgent moans from her trembling lips. Y/N's moans danced in harmony with the hushed symphony of their passion, their clandestine desires woven into every sound.

With a masterful touch, his hands began their sensual exploration, fingers tracing the contours of her body. He reached for the fabric of her shirt, the anticipation of their impending intimacy electrifying the air. But as he made to unveil her, he paused, gazing into her eyes with a mixture of tenderness and raw desire. His voice, a sultry whisper, hung in the air like an unspoken invitation, "Do you want to continue this?"

Her heart swelled with a heady blend of love and desire at his considerate question. It wasn't just about the act itself; it was about the connection they shared, the intimacy that extended beyond the physical. Her eyes met his, and she nodded in fervent agreement, but his gaze turned insistent, demanding more than a mere gesture.

She acquiesced, her voice a soft, breathless confession. "Yes, I want to continue."

With the patience of a man intoxicated by her presence, he lifted her shirt, revealing her in all her vulnerability and desire. Each moment was a deliberate act of unveiling, an exploration of the secrets they had kept hidden for too long. Her whimpers of longing grew more pronounced, a sweet symphony of passion that ignited the room.

Their discarded shirts lay scattered, forgotten remnants of the world they had left behind. Their lips collided once more, a fervent clash of desires. His hands, strong and gentle, cradled her face, deepening the kiss into a consuming blaze of longing. In this stolen moment, their connection transcended the physical, binding them together in a fiery embrace that defied the boundaries of reason and restraint.

In the cocoon of their desires, time seemed to slow, allowing them to savor every tantalizing moment. The room, adorned with rich, heavy curtains that filtered the moon's soft glow, bathed them in an otherworldly ambiance. They paused briefly to remove the remaining garments that clung to their heated bodies, leaving a trail of discarded clothing scattered haphazardly across the floor.

With a profound longing etched upon their faces, they surrendered to the pull of their desires. He took the initiative, his lips blazing a path of fiery kisses down her form. Every inch of her skin he touched seemed to ignite with desire, his teeth delicately grazing, and his mouth fervently claiming her.

One of his hands, large and commanding, found its place on her breast, the fingers expertly working her sensitive flesh. The other sought solace on her hip, the grip possessive yet tender. Y/N's response was immediate, her back arching sensually as she pressed herself closer to him. The room bore witness to her unrestrained passion, shadows playing tricks on their entangled figures.

The dimly lit room provided an intimate backdrop to their stolen moment, amplifying the intensity of their connection. She gasped, unable to stifle the whirlwind of sensations coursing through her body. Her longing and need reached a fevered pitch as his lips moved relentlessly over her skin.

This sensation was unlike anything she had ever encountered, not even with Draco. It was a heady concoction of raw desire and an emotional connection that left her feeling utterly exposed and vulnerable, yet simultaneously empowered and alive.

His lips reluctantly abandoned her chest, tracing a searing path downward, inching closer to the epicenter of her desire. Her hips reacted instinctively, a silent plea for more, a plea for him to satiate the burgeoning hunger that consumed her. In response, he chuckled darkly, a knowing grin playing upon his lips.

"So, so greedy for me, aren't you?" he purred, his voice a sultry whisper that sent shivers down her spine. "I've barely even started, my little nymph, and you're already squirming."

Her moans grew in volume, punctuating the charged atmosphere. Her hips continued their rhythmic dance, a wordless invitation for him to delve deeper into her desires. Just as hope began to wane, he boldly ventured between her legs. His thumb found her eager clit, tracing slow, electrifying circles that sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body. She couldn't help but gasp loudly, her moans intensifying as her body surrendered to his skillful touch.

“L-Lucius!” Y/N's fervent whimper hung in the air, a plea for more that only fueled Lucius's desire to push her further into the depths of pleasure. He reveled in the sound, a wicked grin playing upon his lips as he continued to work his magic. His fingers, slick with her arousal, glided effortlessly inside her, seeking out her g-spot with uncanny precision. The sensation of his touch sent electric jolts of pleasure coursing through her, her moans becoming a chorus of surrender.

The room seemed to close in around them, the ambiance heavy with the heady scent of their desire. Shadows danced seductively across the walls, an intimate audience to their clandestine tryst. Every subtle movement, every trembling breath, was magnified in the dim light, intensifying the eroticism of the moment.

Lucius's voice, a velvet caress of dominance, lured her deeper into submission. "That's right, my little slut," he whispered huskily, his words both an affirmation and a command. "Feel how good I'm making you. Did he ever make you feel like this? Did he know all the right spots to please you?"

She struggled to form coherent words, the pleasure he evoked rendering her speechless. Her response was a breathless admission of truth, punctuated by her moans of ecstasy. "N-No... aahh-"

Lucius's eyes bore into her with an intensity that left her feeling exposed and vulnerable, yet utterly consumed by desire. His fingers continued their relentless assault on her g-spot, her body quivering in response. Her pussy clenched around him, a physical manifestation of her escalating pleasure, and he couldn't help but grunt with satisfaction.

"My little slut," he growled, his voice dripping with unrestrained lust, "you've never felt this kind of pleasure before, have you? Well, let's make sure you're fully satisfied, my dear."

With each word, he propelled her further into the abyss of desire, his fingers dancing with a masterful touch that promised to fulfill her every longing. In the dimly lit room, their forbidden encounter continued, a symphony of passion and submission that echoed through the night.

Lucius's descent towards her quivering core was an agonizingly slow and tantalizing journey. His head moved lower, inch by tantalizing inch, until his mouth hovered just above her dripping wet pussy. The room, bathed in the soft, dim light of concealed passion, seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of the forbidden act about to unfold.

Y/N's body was a live wire, tingling with desire as his warm breath caressed her sensitive flesh. Her back arched in a primal response, a silent plea for him to continue, to grant her the pleasure she craved. The air was thick with tension, the electrifying atmosphere heightened by the palpable anticipation of what was to come.

With a deliberate, torturous slowness, his tongue made its first sensuous contact with her throbbing clit. Y/N's response was immediate and intense; she arched her back, a breathless gasp escaping her lips. Waves of desire surged through her, her hips rising to meet his mouth in a fervent demand for more. His tongue traced lazy circles around her clit, each pass a teasing caress that left her trembling with need.

Her hips moved in rhythmic desperation, bucking into his mouth as she sought to intensify the pleasure. Lucius, the master of seduction, had her in a hypnotic trance, his tongue shifting tactics to move from side to side, skillfully exploring every sensitive inch of her. He returned to her clit, sucking with a purposeful hunger that sent shivers coursing through her body. Her moans grew in intensity, a symphony of ecstasy that filled the room.

As if orchestrating a symphony of pleasure, his fingers joined the sensual dance, slick with her arousal. They thrust in and out with a relentless rhythm, each penetration hitting her g-spot with pinpoint accuracy. Y/N's body was a trembling instrument of desire, her moans and whimpers filling the room like a seductive melody.

A familiar sensation began to coil within her abdomen, growing in intensity with each tantalizing moment. Her pussy clenched around his fingers as the waves of pleasure overtook her. With a gasp that shattered the air, she climaxed, her body trembling in the throes of ecstasy.

Lucius's voice, thick with desire and dominance, broke through her post-orgasmic haze. "Good girl, my good girl," he murmured, his words both a praise and a command. Her cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and satisfaction. He withdrew his hand from her quivering pussy, his fingers glistening with her essence. With forceful insistence, he grasped her jaw, parting her lips and presenting his cum-covered fingers to her mouth. "Taste yourself, whore!" he demanded, his voice a potent blend of authority and lust, igniting a primal hunger within her.

The room, cloaked in shadows, seemed to hold its breath as Y/N's lips encircled Lucius's fingers, moving with an almost hypnotic rhythm as she licked and sucked them clean. Her tongue, eager and tantalizing, left no trace of her essence behind, and Lucius watched her with a predatory hunger that mirrored her own desire. With an excruciating slowness, he withdrew his fingers from her mouth, his grip shifting to encircle her delicate throat, a possessive hold that sent a jolt of excitement through her.

A deep, throaty chuckle resonated from Lucius, a dark sound that underscored his mastery over her. It was a symphony of submission, her whimper in response to his control weaving through the charged air. His other hand, which had been on her jaw, descended with purposeful intent to his throbbing cock. With tantalizing deliberation, he began to stroke himself, each languid movement of his hand a seductive overture to the impending climax of their desires.

Y/N grappled with a myriad of emotions. She knew she should be overwhelmed with guilt, entangled in an illicit affair with her ex-boyfriend's father. Yet, beneath the layers of her moral reservations, a burning desire and a thirst for revenge surged within her. She yearned to make her ex-boyfriend pay for his betrayal, to mend her shattered heart by indulging in the very act that had caused her so much pain.

Her internal turmoil was momentarily eclipsed as she felt the firm tip of his cock teasing her wet, throbbing pussy. The exquisite friction sent a shiver of anticipation coursing through her, and her moans and whimpers filled the room like a seductive aria. Her body was a symphony of need, the sultry dance of his cock against her clit driving her to the brink of ecstasy.

Lucius's voice, dripping with dominance and desire, anchored her in the present moment. "My little mudblood," he taunted, his words laden with a derogatory term that should have stung. Instead, the sultry timbre of his voice rendered her helpless, a willing captive to his seduction. "Is this what you've desired all this time? For a real man to fuck you, to slide his cock deep inside you and make you feel good?"

Despite the term, her moans and whimpers betrayed her true desires, her voice trembling with need. "Y-Yes, Daddy," she whimpered, her plea echoing through the room, a fervent entreaty for the fulfillment of her deepest, most forbidden fantasies. “ Please, fuck me!”

"Daddy? Hmm?" Lucius questioned, his voice dripping with irresistible seduction that hung in the air like a sultry promise. A low, dark chuckle followed, resonating with a wicked allure as his eyes sparkled with mischief and a hint of malevolence. It was a look that promised a thrilling journey into forbidden desires, an intoxicating blend of pleasure and danger.

The room, cloaked in shadows and secrecy, bore witness to their clandestine rendezvous—a sensual dance of dominance and submission that unfolded in hushed gasps and fervent touches. Lucius reveled in her surrender, delighting in the way the derogatory term slipped off his tongue, and, to his surprise, she seemed to share in that twisted pleasure. "My little mudblood is filthy, isn't she?" he continued, his words dripping with desire and a touch of cruelty. In their intimate connection, the term had evolved into an oddly cherished secret, symbolizing her eager willingness to plunge into the irresistible depths of their forbidden passions. "I like that."

With deliberate intent, Lucius poised himself at the edge of her ecstasy, the air thick with anticipation. He surged into her abruptly, a powerful thrust that drew an electrified whimper from Y/N. Her body responded instinctively, arching in response to the sudden intrusion, a wordless plea for more. Lucius groaned in satisfaction, luxuriating in the exquisite sensation of her tight, wet heat enveloping him.

"Daddy!" Y/N's moan, fervent and desperate, reverberated through the room, echoing the intensity of her longing and submission.

Lucius wasted no time in unleashing the primal depths of his desire, setting a relentless pace that sent tremors through the bed beneath them. Pleasure and pain intertwined as Y/N's body stretched to accommodate him, her moans and gasps forming a seductive symphony that filled the room. Each powerful thrust propelled her closer to the precipice of ecstasy, the headboard bearing witness to the fervor of their illicit union.

"F-Fuck," Lucius hissed, his voice a symphony of unquenchable desire as he intensified his rhythm. His hips surged against her with unrestrained lust, each collision sending waves of pleasure coursing through her. The room resounded with their shared passion, an intoxicating rhythm that reverberated through the air and ignited an inferno of sensations. “You’re so tight and wet, aaah- I’m going to have so much fun destroying this tight little hole of yours.”

The hand that encircled her throat tightened incrementally, a gesture of dominance that sent a thrill of arousal coursing through Y/N. Her fingers tangled in Lucius's long, platinum blonde hair, tugging gently as she sought to draw him closer. His primal groans and moans in response only served to deepen her desire, each intoxicating sound forging an unbreakable connection between them in the hidden world they had created.

Their moans, like an intricate duet, melded into an intoxicating symphony of desire, echoing through the dimly lit room. With each primal thrust, he plunged deeper and faster into her, igniting a passionate crescendo that left them both gasping for breath. Her heart raced in response to the electrifying pleasure coursing through her veins.

"Lucius—Lucius! Aaaahhh—fuck! Daddy!" Her words, a fervent chant of need and submission, spilled from her lips in breathless abandon. Her hips responded in kind, moving in a seductive rhythm that matched his powerful thrusts, a dance of desire that transcended the bounds of their forbidden liaison.

"So damn good! Aahh—yes! Oh fuck, my little mudblood knows how to please me," he growled with unapologetic desire, his voice a seductive purr that sent shivers cascading down her spine. His hips quickened their relentless pace, pounding into her with an unyielding urgency that caused the bed to groan and creak beneath them, a testament to the fierce intensity of their union. “Tell me how good I’m making you feel, slut!

Her moans swelled, a wild symphony of ecstasy and surrender that reverberated through the room like a siren's call. She clawed at the sheets beneath her, her fingers desperately seeking purchase in the soft fabric as waves of pleasure crashed over her. It was an exquisite torment, a tantalizing whirlwind of sensations that threatened to consume her entirely.

"Daddy, you—ahh—feel so good," she gasped, her voice trembling with a potent mix of longing and desperation. Her nails traced feverish patterns over his heated skin, leaving trails of tingling sensation in their wake. Her silent entreaty was clear: she yearned for him to take her harder, to claim her completely in the tempest of their shared passion. “You make me feel so good! You’re fucking me so much better than him.”

Amid the dimly lit room, their passionate entwining continued, each feverish moment adding a new layer to their shared desire. Lucius, a commanding figure, maintained his relentless thrusts, his dominance evident in every movement. Her fervent responses wove a tapestry of longing and ecstasy, their chemistry igniting the air around them.

"I know, my little nymph," he purred, his voice an intoxicating blend of pleasure and command. His grip on her tightened possessively, fingers leaving tantalizing imprints on her heated skin. "Cum for me, slut. Show me how good I make you feel." His words hung in the air like a seductive spell, sending electrifying shivers throughout her body.

With each powerful thrust, the tip of his cock skillfully teased her cervix, intensifying the delicious ache in the pit of her stomach. Their bodies moved in perfect unison, a dance that seemed to transcend the boundaries of time and reason, an intricate symphony of passion that left them breathless.

Lucius, releasing his hold on her throat, replaced it with his mouth, his lips and teeth marking her skin as he continued to slam into her with primal urgency. Love bites and passionate kisses adorned her flesh, evidence of their unrestrained fervor. They moved together, bodies melding into one, a force of nature that defied control. In a rapturous climax, they reached the pinnacle of their desire, their voices rising in unison, filling the room with their unrestrained passion.

As Lucius withdrew from her, a plaintive whimper escaped her lips, a testament to the aching desire that still clung to her. His triumphant smirk hinted at the pleasure he derived from her desperate longing. As he made his way to the bathroom to cleanse himself, her eyes remained fixed on the vacant space he had occupied, her body still tingling with the fading echoes of their intense union.

Upon his return, a damp cloth in hand, he approached her with eyes that held both tenderness and desire. Every stroke of the cloth was a gentle caress, an unspoken declaration of their strange intimacy. The discarded rag landed carelessly beside them, a forgotten relic of their fervent encounter.

"Go to sleep, my little nymph," he whispered, his arms enveloping her in a protective embrace. "I'll be here when you wake." His words were a soothing promise, lulling her into a cocoon of security and contentment that belied the complexity of their relationship.

She nestled against him, her heart aflutter with emotions that defied easy categorization. Despite the impending repercussions of their actions, she couldn't deny the profound satisfaction she felt. As her eyes fluttered closed, the only thought that remained was that revenge, in its twisted and tumultuous way, could be intoxicatingly sweet.

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kiwisbell · 4 months

Text

darling, so it goes [javier peña]

She glows.

read las mañanas here! | my masterlist

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags/warnings: pregnancy, pregnant sex, wife guy!javi, extremely protective!javi, girl dad!javi, javi is an overprotective dad and the baby isn't even born yet, fluff, married life, a sprinkle of texas!javi, smut, oral sex (m and f receiving), rough sex, unprotected piv (i mean she's not gonna get more pregnant), a bit of papi kink, slight degradation, she pronoun used throughout

word count: ~ 14k (i know, my bad)

read on ao3!

a/n: this is another re-upload from my ao3 account, and part of my siempre series! if you'd like to read the first instalment, las mañanas, it's linked above next to my masterlist!! ! i love you all so much, thank you for your patience 💋 xoxo kiwi

MONTH 3

She calls him crying.

Javier picks up the telephone and tucks it against his shoulder as he rushes to close the door. Feistl and Van Ness are taking respective phone calls, tossing a ball of wadded-up paper between them. “Peña.”

“Javi,” she sniffles, her sweet voice so weary. His heart beats a little faster, grows a little bigger in his chest. It's a swelling, heavy feeling, to hear someone’s voice and fall in love.

“You sad, baby?” he coos. “What can I do, huh?”

“I just miss you.” Another sniffle, and he knows she's curled up on her good side, clutching the receiver.

Javier can't help the grin that splits his face. “Company here isn't good, either, bonita. I’ll be home soon.” He knows that isn't the only reason she's calling. “Dime que está mal.”

“Everything hurts, I need to pee every ten minutes, and we're out of hot sauce.”

There it is.

Her third month of pregnancy has been riddled with emotion. A day rarely goes by when he doesn't see her cry at least twice. It'll be the question of what they'll eat for dinner, or it'll be the fact that there's a baby growing inside her and she doesn't know what to do with all the emotion she carries. Sometimes, it'll be both, and more.

On top of that, her cravings have been giving him whiplash. Two weeks ago, she would fall asleep with a jar of pickles on the bedside table, and now she can hardly stand to smell them before she’s rushing to the bathroom to heave into the toilet. Last week, Javier came home to her curled up on the floor in the kitchen, tear tracks on her face, digging a spoon into a plate of instant rice slathered in hot sauce.

“Hi, Javi,” she chirped.

“Hey, baby.” Javier lowered himself to the floor next to her and wiped the salty tears off her face with a washcloth nearby. Kissing her left his lips tingling. “This is new.”

She shrugged. “I really wanted hot sauce. Couldn’t really eat it by itself, so I put some rice in the microwave. But then I started to cry because the rice was taking a long time.” She lifted the spoon and lifted her brows. “Want some?”

Javier likes spicy food. He’s indifferent to rice. Together, they didn’t sound especially thrilling. But it was the way her eyes went wide and expecting, the way her brow furrowed in anticipation of sharing her new obsession with him. He took the spoonful into his mouth.

Although it was exactly how he expected—bland, chewy, and mostly tasting of hot sauce—she grinned, leaning in to put her lips to his cheek, and he wanted to eat the entire plate if it made her this happy. “I love you,” she said.

“There’s another bottle in the cupboard, querida,” he tells her. “You want me to run a bath when I get home?”

The happy little sigh that leaves her tells him she’s not crying anymore. “Will you join me?”

“You know I can’t say no to getting in the bath with you, baby. Estaré en casa pronto.”

“Javi?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

There’s a new round of sniffles on the other end of the line. “I’m gonna be a mom,” she cries.

This is the second time she’s called him today.

MONTH 4

“Más despacio, baby. Let me help you.”

“Javi, I love you, but if you don’t let me get out of this car by myself, I’m going to choke you out.”

Okay. He knows. He knows he's smothering. Javier waits for her to step down out of the truck (he demanded the DEA give him one after he found out how much they both hated the fucking Cooper they wanted him to drive). “See?” she says proudly. “Still spry.”

He splays a hand over her belly: already a force of habit. The bump there has only just begun to show, but he's been putting his hand to her abdomen, imagining he can feel his baby’s heartbeat, since the day they knew she was pregnant. Now that he can see the slight curve to her belly, it feels so real, so immediate.

Javier was a grump before. He’s become somewhat of a monster when it comes to his wife. His pregnant wife.

“¿Estás bien?” he asks her.

They’ve known each other for over a decade. The way Javier looks at her still knocks the breath out of her. He wields those wide brown eyes like a weapon, gentle but incisive, staring deep, past where words exist and into the very soul of her. He can pull her thoughts and her feelings from her head just by looking at her. Yes, he’s been smothering her with closeness since they found out about the baby. Yes, he’s a thorough grump. She’s never loved someone more in her entire life.

“Javier,” she says softly, lightly tugging on his belt loop.

His eyes search her face for discomfort, but he won’t find it. “Cielito.”

“Kiss me, please.”

He’s learned not to compromise, raise his voice, or oppose. So, he cradles the back of her head and ducks down to kiss her, his hand still firm at her swelling belly. Another new habit: he doesn't let her stand on her toes anymore to kiss him. He started to bring himself down to her level, and now he won't stop. It was unconscious, just another instinctual desire to make his wife do as little work as possible.

Javier nudges his nose against hers. “I’m about to ask again.”

She places her hand on his chest. “Javi, don’t—”

“Are you sure you want to go back?”

Reparations on the university are still underway, but most of the infrastructure of the peripheral buildings affected by the blast are intact. Classes resumed last week, but Javier’s been reluctant to let go of his wife’s hand and watch her disappear inside the building where she nearly died two months ago.

She bunches up the material of his suit jacket in her fist and giggles. “You're a fool, Agent Peña. You and your… your sexy suits and your sexy pout.”

“Did that bomb give you a concussion we didn't know about, baby?”

“I just love you.” She cups his face in her hands. She can't choose which eye to look at, so she searches between them for the answer. “I love you. So much. I’m gonna be okay, Javi. I am okay.”

He wraps his hands around her forearms and strokes her skin with his thumbs. “You say something like that and expect me to let you go?” he grumbles.

“I know you worry,” she says, “but we've gotten this far. I'll be right here when you come to pick me up, and we’ll go home.”

He's still pouting when he presses his lips to her temple. “Have a good day at work, amor.”

“Don't work too hard,” she tells him, pushing his sunglasses back onto his nose. “I have plans for you when you get home.”

“Yeah?” He lifts his brows behind those aviators. “What kinda plans?”

She rolls her eyes and gives him a gentle shove toward his truck. “You'll have to wait and see, vaquero.”

Javier steals one more kiss before he's backing away to his truck with his hands in the air like he's in a stickup. “Sure you don't want me to walk you up the stairs—”

“Go. To. Work.”

“Feistl.” Javier peeks his head out of his office. “You and Van Ness find the fucker who planted the bomb?”

Feistl tucks his pen between his teeth as he hurries toward Javier’s office with a stuffed manila folder in hand. “Think so,” he says, his voice garbled by the pen. He jerks it out of his mouth as if he forgot it was there. “Alvaro Diaz made a call to his girlfriend the morning of the… well, you know. Told her he had an important job to do.”

“Diaz works for Pacho Herrera.”

“Got that right. After the bombing, he disappeared. May have been him.”

“You're saying the president of the school was involved in something Cali didn't like?” Javier frowns. “We would've known about that.”

Feistl snorts, slapping the folder down on Javier’s desk. “Yeah. We're always one step ahead, sir.”

Javier lets the attitude slide when he opens the folder. “Puta.”

He doesn't love the smug look on Feistl’s face. “The president’s son partied with North Valley just before the attack.”

“Jesus. He transported coke for them?” Javier flips through the file, lingering on images of the president’s mangled body, then the recovered cocaine from the operation.

“All the way to Panama.”

“How dutiful.”

“Yeah, well, like a good little soldier, he lost one of the duffels on the trip. North Valley wanted money to compensate, and the president offered to pay it. Looks like Cali wanted the world to see what happens when you get in with the wrong cartel. Fucking over North Valley on some money might have helped Herrera sleep better, too, I guess.”

Javier only breaks his intensive eye contact with the folder to pin a glare on Feistl. “Do I wanna know how you got this intel?”

“I have informants, sir.” Feistl chews on his retort for a moment before he decides it's worth saying. “You used to have those, too.”

“As I so love being reminded,” grumbles Javier. “Okay. Fine. Thank you. Where’s the kid now?”

“Turn a couple pages and you'll see that the prodigal son decided to pay his dad a visit the day of the attack.”

Jesus. The kid’s bloodied body greets Javier, and he closes the folder. Something nips at him. “Cali’s M.O. isn't bombs. It's not public attacks. They get by on threats, not action.”

Feistl scrubs at his jaw with his hand. He looks like he hasn't shaved in a while. “My informant overheard a conversation between Pacho and one of Cali’s sicarios. He mentioned a lost bag of money.”

“And your informant is close to Herrera?”

“In a way.”

Javier’s getting a headache. He rubs two fingers over his lips, squinting faintly at the folder. He should've worn his glasses. “Okay. Keep looking. We know who was behind the bombing, right? So we raid manufacturing houses in Cali to get some of those bombs off the streets. And look for Diaz.”

Feistl slaps his hand on the doorframe—his typical way of saying roger that—and moves to leave. “Oh, shit. One more thing. Your wife called while you were out. I answered your phone for you.”

Javier grits his teeth and tries not to reach for a cigarette. “Keep looking for Diaz.”

Before Feistl can back out of his office all the way, Javier has the telephone to his ear. “Hey, cielito,” comes his boss’s gentle rasp. Chris doesn't hear much more than that, closing the door behind him, but it makes him smile a little. Peña’s got one hell of a heart; he just lets it beat louder for her.

When she finally appears through the front doors, Javier finally breathes. He doesn’t realise he's been holding his breath until he sees her take the steps down to meet him in the pickup zone.

“Bonita,” he murmurs, crowding and kissing her before he even bothers to open the door for her. She laughs into his mouth at his tenacity but kisses him back just as eagerly. Her back meets the truck door and it's the sound of a horn honking that forces him away from her. He glares at the car waiting for him to move out of the way even though he's in the wrong.

She waves at the driver in apology and climbs up into the truck. Javier turns out of the pickup zone and grabs her hand.

“Fucking…” He huffs, bringing her knuckles to his lips. “Fuckin’ missed you. Jesus Christ, these assholes are trying to kill me.”

She beams at her grumpy husband and places their joined hands on her belly. “We missed you, too.”

Javier is lucky the drive home is so brief. His blood is humming with the need to be close to her, his bones weary with the weight of stress. He hoists her up and wraps her legs around his hips before they've even made it through their door. She buries her face in his neck and kisses everywhere she can reach. “Gotta give you your present, vaquero. Slow down.”

He pulls away and gives her a look that melts her. The fucking look. He’s staring up at her with those brown, begging eyes, a hopeful gleam in his smile. “Gonna tell me now?”

“Gonna set me down?”

He pats her thigh before he sets her on the floor. She wraps her hand around his tie and pulls him to the sofa. “Sit,” she says softly, kissing him on the cheek.

He's a little too eager when he obeys her command, adjusting himself on the sofa and spreading his thighs wide. She bites her lip, salivating at the sight of his strong body, so receptive to her. He's already hardening in his jeans, visibly straining against his zipper, and it only worsens when she hooks her thumbs in the waistline of her long skirt and pulls it down with her panties.

“Jesus.” Javier’s eyes are glued to her body as she reveals it to him, from her glistening cunt to her swelling breasts as she lifts her shirt over her head and unclips her bra. His hand flies to his length, squeezing it over his jeans. “Fuck, baby. Fuck, I wanna touch you.”

She steps closer, her legs bracketing one of his thighs, and removes his hand from his cock. She lifts it to her mouth and sucks on two of his fingers, swirling her tongue around them. His lips part, unconsciously, shifting in his seat and awaiting her permission to touch her. Her bump is more pronounced in this light: the shadows arch over it and bathe it in the soft orange low from the lamp beside the couch.

“You want to touch me?” she says, whisper-soft, bringing his wet fingers to her pussy and pressing them against her clit. Her eyes flutter, and Javier doesn't know if it's possible to be harder than he is right now.

“Fuck,” he rasps, swallowing hard. “Baby, please…”

She bends her knees until she's straddling his thigh on the cushions, her wet pussy darkening the fabric of his jeans. Her breath shudders out of her. “You can watch,” she says, gliding her hips experimentally, letting out a moan that makes his entire body convulse with shivers.

“Fuck!” His head tips back until he stops himself, desperate to watch her grind on him. He keeps his hands dutifully by his sides and fixated on her face as her brow furrows in pleasure, her eyes struggling to focus on him, her hands lifting to her tits and squeezing.

He's going to die. He cannot refrain from touching her. He needs her more than he needs air right now, and he'll suffocate happily inside her body. But Christ, he wants to watch her fall apart like this.

“Feels so good,” she gasps, rocking on his thigh, the friction against her clit sending jolts of pleasure ricocheting off each nerve. “Oh, fuck, yes. You're so good to me, Javi. So strong, always keeping me safe. Putting your baby in me.”

She's always been vocal during sex, but this is something else. This is making him leak precum into his pants, his mind going dizzy and lolling with lust. He squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again, but it does nothing to help him clear his head. “Fuck. Fuck. You like that? Like getting yourself off?”

Her moan breaks into a whine as she picks up her pace, her hands clutching his broad shoulders to keep herself from listing. Javier can't hold back anymore, not when her tits press up against him in her desperation to come. He holds onto her hips, squeezing her soft flesh as she stiffens, crying out his name. She soaks his jeans, falling into him, her face buried in his neck. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs, kissing her temple, his fingers gently tracing up and down her sides. “Fuckin’ great present.”

She giggles, drunkenly nipping at his throat. “Not done yet.”

He gently urges her away from him so he can look her in the eye, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. “There’s more? Jesus, bonita, go easy on me.”

“You need to feel good,” she purrs, squeezing his cock over his jeans.

He hisses. “Fuck. I feel good. I feel real good already.”

Her lips chase his, and he ends it happily, cradling the back of her head as his tongue explores her mouth. She shifts so she's straddling his hips, sitting right atop his cock. “Tell me where you want me.”

He's so lightheaded he can barely process her words, let alone speak. Javier drops his face into her neck this time, breathing in her scent. She's fresh air and rippling water and hormones, and she's popping open the button of his jeans and pulling out his cock. It taps against his stomach as he makes his decision. “Turn around, baby. Sit on my cock; I’ll take care of you. ¿Claro?”

She does so with an excited smile, shuffling around so his cock rests between her asscheeks. Javier holds onto her and shifts down the couch so she can lift up and sink herself down perfectly on him. He works her open, gently guiding her to rest against his chest. She turns her head to meet his eyes, clouded with desire. Her laugh is breathless when he bottoms out inside her. “I'm supposed to be taking care of you,” she mutters, lazily nosing her way along his cheek until she finds his mouth.

“You are.” Javier rolls his hips, thick and heavy inside her, and nibbles her earlobe. His arm is around her belly like a seatbelt, keeping her snug against his chest as he drags his cock in and out, in and out—

“Javi!” she moans, her thighs trembling around a particularly deep stroke. It makes him feel good, really fucking good, making her clamp down on him like this, her changing body supple and seeking his touch. She's all his to hold this way. She's his to touch forever. Her hair drapes over his own shoulder, soft and rich with her shampoo, and Javier eases her thighs open to keep her firmly on his cock.

“Who makes you feel this good, hmm?” he coos into her ear. It wrecks her, her sweet drunken eyes trying to focus on him. He grunts when he prods at her cervix, so fucking deep inside her hot, wet body that he's having trouble seeing straight, too. “Who gets to give you a baby? Say it, sweetheart.” He nips her jaw. “Dime.”

She gasps, grasping at his wrists, her eyes rolling back in her head. It's the very picture of eroticism: she's writhing and frowning and trying to stave off her orgasm, make it last. She never wants to lift herself off his delicious cock.

“Ohhh, you. It's you, Ja—vi!” He presses two fingers to her clit and makes her squeal, hips rocking up against them. He soothes her back against him, keeping himself nice and warm with her body. “It's you, amor, it’s you. You're the one who fucks me this good. You gave me a baby. You're gonna be a daddy. Fuck, it feels so good, Javi, oh!”

“That's right, baby.” His balls draw up at the sound of her babbling for him, his fingers rubbing circles into her clit. Her orgasm is intense when it crashes down on her, but he's got her, he always does. “Easy, easy,” he whispers into her ear, watching her jerk and writhe on top of him, her cunt soaking his cock. “Fuck,” he grits out, tucking his cock all the way inside her warmth. “Jesus. I’m gonna—”

His words crumble to groans when he comes, the pleasure crackling up his spine. He bites down on her shoulder as her pussy milks him, his cock drowning her in hot cum. They both collapse backward on the sofa, Javier’s mouth still attached to her skin, pressing gentle kisses around the bite mark.

“Fuck. Sorry,” he grumbles. “Does it hurt?”

She just giggles, high-pitched and somewhat delirious. He loves her afterglow; she smells of sex and her, and she always laughs. It's never felt emasculating. “You could never hurt me, vampiro.”

“That…” He huffs his way back to her face, turning her face toward him with his finger, and kissing her softly. “… was a good surprise.”

“Mmm. Maybe I don't fuck you enough,” she says, kissing him back. “Shouldn't have been that big a surprise.”

“Honey. You fuck me plenty.” He laughs into her mouth this time. Her post-sex giggles have their way of infecting him. “I’m an old man, remember?”

She laces their fingers together and places their hands on her belly. “Our little baby,” she says softly, playing with his fingers, “is gonna be so safe and happy with their papá.”

Javier’s entire body feels like it's swelling with the choking, lurching feeling of love for this woman. He slants his mouth over hers, caressing her jaw with his thumb, taking his time with the kiss and relishing the sweetness of her mouth. He'll never forget the first time he tasted her. And here, draped in the body of his pregnant wife, inside their dim little orange-lit home, Javier wants to forget every day before her.

MONTH 5

Most days, his job is thankless. Not that he welcomes the praise; in fact, he'd rather sit at home and talk in whispers with his wife while they share dinner. She knows what to say. She knows when he doesn't need her to say anything. The world doesn't know, and they never seem to learn.

Javier likes his smoke breaks. He doesn't like the actual smoking. He feels like an asshole, a failure, every time he puts a cigarette between his lips, remembering his promise to her that he'd quit.

I had a smoke today. Hands on her body, caressing the smooth skin up and down her sides, the only tonic that exists. It was a confession he'd wanted to smother until he suppressed the urge again and quit, for real this time. But he knows what happens when he keeps things from her: he knows the self-hatred that festers, black flesh in a wound, when he lets the silence stretch between them. He knows how it feels to push her away. He never wants to feel that shit again.

I don't know if you know this about yourself, she said, resting her chin on his chest and looking up at him in the darkness, but your job is stressful. And you've always been a smoker.

I tried, baby. It was an excuse. A shitty one. But he wanted her to know. He really did try.

She lifted her hand to his face and traced his lips with her fingers. I know you did. Do you think that makes me love you any less? She lowered her fingers only to grip his chin. Because you'd be real estúpido to think something like that.

Jesus, he doesn't know how she does it. How she loves him the way she does.

His fifteen-minute smoke break is the time he carves out for being alone. It's the bright, languid sky as the clouds roll across it. It's the whorls of smoke lifting to join them. It's the bustling of suits between buildings and the sheer lack of anyone approaching to pester him. He's found the perfect spot behind the wall to sequester himself. He manages to get half his cigarette smoked down before someone decides to fuck over his plan to be alone for a fraction of his day.

“Agente Peña. ¿Puedo decir algo? (May I have a word?)”

Javier glances over at the man who's intruded on his mandated fifteen minutes. Obviously a reporter, carrying a tiny tape recorder with a belt clip. Javier lifts a brow—does he carry that thing on his jeans in the off-chance he can ambush a DEA agent for a story?

“You can have two,” he grunts. “Smoke break.”

The reporter doesn't give up, which doesn't surprise Javier. “I’m from The Bogotá Post. Would you care to comment on the DEA’s failed raid in search of Miguel Rodríguez?”

He certainly would not fucking prefer to reminisce on that.

“No comment.”

“And the sicarios who planted the bomb in the attack against President Gomez? Have they been apprehended?”

Apprehended? No. They've done an impressive amount of guesswork into who's involved, sure, but Alvaro Diaz has fled the country, for all they know. As for Cali’s involvement… They haven't spoken a word about it, nor will they. They'll let some other small, hopeful cartel take the credit. It's not their way of doing things: planting bombs and killing civilians. But if their rivals in North Valley were involved, they may have thought it worth it just to fuck them over a little, send a message to potential allies.

Either way, someone planted a bomb at a school. And nearly killed Javier’s pregnant wife.

He takes his time puffing at his cigarette. “No comment.”

The reporter clears his throat. “Agent Peña, can you confirm the rumours of escalating rivalry between the Cali Cartel and North Valley?”

Javier taps out some ash. “No comment.”

“Your wife was a victim in the bombing, isn't that right?”

Javier grinds his teeth and almost bites through his cigarette. His wife isn't a fucking victim. She's alive. She's healthy and safe and he's going to break this asshole’s jaw if he keeps trying to toe his way into Javier’s personal life.

“I hear your wife is pregnant, Agent Peña.”

One… two… three…

“Did the incident harm the baby?”

The smoke stops curling from Javier’s cigarette. He plucks it from his mouth, turns slowly toward the reporter, and presses the butt of the smouldering cigarette to his chest.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

The reporter backs away until his spine slams against the wall, smacking away the ash on his shirt. “I…”

Javier can't clear the red mist. “Ask me again,” he says, stalking toward the man and sizing him up. “You want an answer, right? So ask me again.”

“I won't print it,” he says frantically.

“No, you won’t.” Javier looks down his nose at the reporter. “You don’t ask questions about my life. You don't ask or say or print a fucking word about my wife. If you want a story, ask the guys in the mail room. They’ll pick something out of the trash for you.”

He turns and heads back inside, nostrils flaring, slamming doors and drawing worried glances. More than glances, he figures, when the whispers. What's angered the boss so much? That's just him. No, someone definitely pissed him off.

“Don't you all have work to do,” he grumbles under his breath, charging through the bullpen. “Where’s Ramirez?”

“On lunch, sir,” says Cindy.

“Tell him nobody in the fuckin’ building talks to a single reporter who wants to target my family for their stories.” Javier shuts the door behind him, locking himself inside his office before anyone else can make the choice to bother him. He loosens his tie and picks up his phone.

In the bullpen, Cindy and the others exchange brief, knowing glances.

He’s rushing up the stairs to their apartment, fumbling for the keys, nearly falling over himself to burst through the door, and searching for his wife through the tunnel that suffocates the edges of his vision.

There she is, in the bedroom, shrugging out of her blouse and exposing her beautiful, soft, swelling belly to him. “Hi, baby,” she says, beaming up at him. “Sara drove me home. I hope things weren't too—mmmph!”

Javier cups her face in his hands and kisses her. She stumbles backward with the force of it, but he guides her toward the wall and gently balances her against it. He needs her. He needs this. Her blouse hangs off her shoulders, her swollen tits heavy against his chest, her body emanating hormones and jasmine and the perfume he bought for her birthday.

Javier presses closer, crowding her, her rounded belly an ever-present reminder against his abdomen. He gave her that. She's pregnant with his baby. Javier groans into her mouth, sliding his tongue across the seam of her lips for permission. She grants it, letting his tongue enter her mouth, letting him devour her the way he needs to. His hand slips down to her open shirt and squeezes her tits, then slides underneath the fabric, fingers splaying over her lower back.

She tastes so good, so sweet. There's citrus on her tongue from an orange she ate earlier. He tastes like smoke and wood fire. “You never… told me… what happened at… mmm, work,” she manages to gasp through his assault, winding her arms up around his neck.

“Need you,” he rasps. If he disconnects from her body now, if he loses the warmth of her skin, he'll die. He knows it.

“You have me. You have me.” She breathes it into him, telegraphs it onto his skin as her fingers fall to his chest, shoving off his jacket and trembling in their effort to unbutton his shirt. She pouts and it's so cute, so impatient, that he takes pity, trapping her hands in his and helping her shed his shirt.

“You next,” he says once he's shirtless, sliding the blouse off her shoulders and unclasping her bra. He growls at the sight of her tits and hoists her up onto his hips, lowering her gently onto the bed. She giggles at his overzealous attitude, but it pitches up into a whine when he lies over her and takes a nipple into his mouth, shucking down her skirt at the same time.

“Javi!” she gasps, her hand flying to his hair, fingers curling at the crown of his head. “Insaciable. What's gotten into you?”

He grunts, lavishing her nipple with his tongue, tugging it between his teeth and sucking hard. She moans, her head falling back against the mattress. He alternates between each nipple as his hand snakes between their bodies, dipping beneath the waistband of her panties to wet his fingers in her slit.

His eyes flicker up to meet hers, black pools that eclipse the sweet, rich brown, his lips still attached to her nipple. She whimpers at the sight: her husband so hungry for her, his tongue flicking and tasting her swollen tits like he’s the one that will be feeding from them. “Fuck,” she croaks, sparks of arousal crackling up and down her spine, a closed circuit.

He’s gone nonverbal, devoting all his body and mind to worshipping her body, sensitive and needy in her altered state. Javier wets her sternum with his tongue, her belly, pressing kisses to the little life growing in there, at last reaching her panties. He hums in satisfaction when he finds them soaked with arousal, peeling them away from her glistening cunt. His wife whimpers his name. “Please… Please, my love.”

He knows. He’s halfway to pleading, too. Javier flattens his tongue between her folds and grunts at the taste of her, bucking his hips into the mattress. He’s leaking into his fucking pants, looking up at her face, scrunched in pleasure, over the bump on her belly.

He laps at her clit, drenching his chin in her wetness as he buries his face deeper, licking and sucking at her clit, her hole, her entire fucking pussy until he’s making out with it. The sounds of his ministrations echo throughout the bedroom, mingled with the slick noises of her cunt and her soft moans.

Eating his wife out may be his favourite activity. The cacophony in his head quiets to a dull roar as he devours her, the hairs of his moustache creating the perfect friction against her clit, his groans of pleasure drowned by her cry as she bursts on his tongue.

He doesn’t relent while she rides out her high. If anything, he’s spurred on by it, swallowing down everything she gives him and spreading her cum around her pussy, lathering her clit with his soaking tongue.

“I… I can’t… papi…” She’s wrecked, her mascara dribbling down her cheeks in black tears. Javier moans at the nickname, his cock relentlessly twitching and beading precum into his briefs. He delves deeper, pressing his tongue into her hole. She screams his name but it comes out raw and used. “¡Papi! No puedo, no puedo—gonna come… gonna come again!”

And she does. Fuck, she soaks him, her thighs quivering around his head and her cunt pulsating around his tongue as she spills onto his tongue. Javier grunts, holding onto her thighs to keep her grounded, taking every drop she gives him and swallowing. For the first time since he got her naked, he speaks. “That’s it, bonita,” he coos, licking through her slit one last time and watching her twitch.

“Fuck.” She covers her face with her hands. “Fuck, Javi.”

Javier kisses his way back up her body until his clothed cock rests on her hip. “‘M sorry, baby,” he mumbles into her neck.

“For what?” she sighs, scratching her nails along his scalp. His cock twitches. He wonders if there’s anything she could do that wouldn’t make him horny. “For making me come twice? Malo.” She clicks her tongue. “You know that’s not allowed.”

She giggles when his pleading eyes meet hers, her handsome puppy dog, nipping at her jaw. “Can I fuck you?” he asks.

She pulls his face toward him and kisses him. “You’d better.”

Her eyes transcribe the meaning of her words. Fuck me until you can breathe again. Javier shuffles off the bed and almost trips over himself in his rush to get his pants off. His cock slaps up against his stomach, already dripping precum into his pubic hair, and he crawls over her body again. Keeping a hand on her bump, he slides inside her and bottoms out in one deep stroke.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to come like a fucking teenager, settling inside her even as she huffs and puffs like the hormonal, impatient siren she is. “I know, baby,” he says gruffly. “I need you, too. Need you so fuckin’ bad.”

“Then fuck me,” she pleads, rolling her hips.

Javier bares his teeth when he picks up his rhythm, the one that gets her gushing around him. “Spoiled,” he groans. “You want my dick real bad, huh, honey?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, nodding frantically. “I'm spoiled, I love you too much, love your big cock.”

The praise makes him double over, twitching inside her. His thighs nudge hers until they're sitting up against his hips and his free hand locks around the crook of her knee. He keeps her spread open for him as he fucks her, giving it to his spoiled little wife exactly how she wants it.

She knows it, too: that he'll give her everything she wants even if he tells her to beg for it through a façade that he won't. Sometimes, though, he knows it's okay to beg himself.

“Say it like you mean it,” he grits out, thrusting deep and hard and making her eyes roll back in her skull. “Mírame,” he demands. Eyes glassy and ringed with black, she tries to focus on his face and mostly succeeds. “Say it for me, baby. Fuck, wanna hear you. Please.”

She knows exactly what he needs. Her hands slip around her thighs and pull them toward her chest as best as she can with the bump in her belly, opening herself up wider so Javier can watch his cock disappear repeatedly inside the tight seal of her cunt. It makes him a little more wild, his head spinning with desire, her slick clinging to his length and his thighs. Every slap of his hips against her thighs, every wet suck of her pussy, make obscene noises that echo throughout their bedroom.

“Fuck!” she moans. “You fuck me so good, Javi. You're so big. Baby, it feels so go—od!”

He moulds his hands to her hips and lifts them slightly, deepening the angle and making her sob with pleasure. Javier hisses, his cock twitching inside her. “Yeah? Like that?” he manages to say between breaths. “Taking me so well. Good fuckin’ girl. You close?”

She cries out when his thumb presses into her clit. “Ohhhhh, Jav, honey, I need to come. Wanna come on your cock.”

But he's not quite done yet. He pulls out of her and urges her gently onto her side, sidling up behind her as he plants sloppy kisses up her spine. Tasting her skin at her shoulder, Javier grasps his cock and slides it through her folds. He shudders at how soaking wet she is. “Muy hermosa,” he whispers into her body. “Too pretty for me. Gonna kill me someday.”

“I will if you don't put your dick inside me,” she huffs.

“Shh, bonita,” he coos, notching his leaking head at her hole. “Be patient.”

“Fuck patience,” she gasps, pushing her ass back against him. “Take me. Take me, Javi. I’m yours.”

He slips in easily, her walls sucking him in and squeezing his length without abandon. He grunts into her neck, and she gasps at the first short thrust, her hand flying backward to grab a handful of his hair. His hand snakes around to warm her belly while he nudges his leg between her thighs and keeps her spread wide. He can't reach her mouth like this, and he doesn't want to make her expend any more effort, so he sucks bruising kisses into her neck.

“Oh, shit,” she gasps. Her nails are scratching at his scalp, but it only makes him groan, and she knows it. He likes the delicious sparks of pain.

He fucks her hard but slow in this position, his cock pressing up against her front wall and making her lips part, her head collapsing into the pillow and foregoing her mission to kiss him. He guides her through it, nudging his nose against her cheek as he kisses her jawline, her throat, the corner of her mouth.

His fingers find her clit again, teasing the oversensitive bundle. She jerks in his grasp, pushing out soft whimpers. “Can’t… Can’t come again…”

“Please.” His voice sounds pathetic, his thrusts growing sloppy as his hips and stomach begin to pinch with his imminent orgasm. “Need to feel you come, baby. Please.”

“Javi, fuck, I can’t… need—” Her head turns, seeking his mouth, and he leans over her farther to slant his lips over hers. He slips his tongue along hers, tasting her, groaning into her mouth when he feels his balls pull up.

“C’mon, mamá. Give it to me.” He keeps rubbing her clit until he feels her body stiffen underneath him, losing control of her own movements, a telltale gush of warmth soaking his cock and thighs.

“Mmmm.” She keeps kissing him, getting messier, their noses bumping and his moustache tickling her upper lip. He fucks her hard, his cock throbbing with the need to fill her up with everything he has. “Dámelo, papi,” she whispers.

His grunts pitch up when he comes until they become whines. “Fuck. Fuck.” His mouth slips from hers, so he puts it on her shoulder instead, biting down. He pumps hot cum into her cunt with every twitch of his cock, puffing air over her skin and shuddering from his spine to his feet. He's pretty sure he whimpered a couple times when he came, but he doesn't care.

He keeps himself tucked inside her for longer than he should, her sweet body so warm, her scent so enticing. He rests his head next to hers and messily ties up her hair so he won't lie on it. She's immobile but smiling, her eyes fluttering shut as sleep pulls at her. Since her pregnancy, she's liable to fall asleep at any given moment—especially after three orgasms.

Still, she tangles her fingers with his, resting over her baby bump. “Tell me,” she says softly.

“What, baby?” He’s a little distracted by the soft skin of her throat, nosing his way to her ear and nibbling.

“What happened at work?”

He grunts unhappily. “Fucking reporter. Asking me questions.”

She giggles. “That's their job, Jav.”

“He was asking questions about you, mi amor.” He rubs their joined hands over her abdomen. “About our baby.”

That gets her attention. “What the fuck business does he think he has asking questions about our baby?”

Javier’s blood is thrilled by the beautiful, terrifying tone in the voice of the woman curled up in his arms. “Tranquila, mamá bear. I told him to fuck off. Nobody touches our baby.”

In fact, the thought alone is enough to summon the beast that lives in his bloodstream. It has claws and teeth and it dwarfs the sun. Nobody touches her. Nobody touches the baby inside her. He and the monster will ensure it.

“Javi. Javi, wake up.”

He's become a light sleeper since her pregnancy began, finely-tuned to any sounds of distress that come from her side of the bed. She's sitting up in bed, one hand on her belly and another grasping his wrist.

Panic strikes him like the chime of midnight. He sits bolt upright and places his hand over hers. “Baby, what's wrong?”

But her eyes are soft and buttery, still half-asleep. He feels wide awake, terror-stricken at the thought that something’s gone awry. “Feel,” she whispers, slipping her hand out from beneath his so his palm is flush with her belly.

He waits, watching her stomach with a frown, until the jolt happens. It's small, concentrated, the minuscule undulating movement that makes him blink up at her through the darkness. “Holy shit.”

She begins to laugh, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. “Holy shit,” she sniffles.

Javier crawls up next to her, his hand still firm on her belly, feeling the flip and turn of his baby inside her. “Mi amor,” he whispers, pressing his lips to the salty tears on her face.

Their hands remain there well into the morning.

MONTH 6

They're both late for work today because Javier wanted to fuck his wife before breakfast.

It's not that he's any more insatiable than he was before her pregnancy: it just seems he likes to take his time with it, take his time with her. Kiss every square inch of her body and admire it from above or below as they connect, puzzle pieces in the darkness or the morning glow. Hold onto her afterward and soothe her. Make her feel worshipped. By the time he's through with the worship, though, it usually means they're scrambling not to get chewed out by their respective bosses. Thankfully, hers is a lot more forgiving.

He drives her to work and kisses her good-bye on the steps. He makes sure she gets inside safely and drives to the Embassy. He buries his nose in paperwork and wants to shred it all to scraps. He catches air of the word Stechner and sincerely hopes he isn't in the building. He takes a smoke break in his usual spot, thanks to Ramirez sending word to the reporters that like to linger around the Embassy about Agent Peña’s nasty attitude. It's nice and quiet.

He calls her at lunch and listens peacefully as she talks about her day, her coworkers, the excitable kicking of the baby inside her. She puts the phone to her belly and Javier whispers into the receiver.

“Te amo, pequeño. Take it easy on mamá. She's keeping you safe in there.”

She laughs. “Don't scold our baby before it’s born, gruñón. How's work?”

“A miracle I haven't gone blind.”

“Are you wearing your glasses?” she asks sweetly.

He isn't. “Are you?”

She clicks her tongue. “Answering a question with another question is an admission of guilt, my love.”

“Yeah? Who told you that?”

“You,” she says. “And I’m not the one who spends all day reading files in the dark. Put on your glasses, vaquero, and I’ll be real nice to you tonight.”

Javier scrambles to tuck the phone between his ear and shoulder, digging around in his jacket pocket. He slips his glasses onto his face.

“That's my boy,” she says teasingly. “Now take a look in your wallet. You’ll need your glasses to examine it properly.”

Javier frowns. “You put something in my wallet?”

“Just look, sweetheart.”

He flips open his wallet and finds the edge of a Polaroid picture peeking out. He plucks it out and nearly slips off his chair.

His eyes flick upward to make sure his door is locked before he fixes his eyes back on the image. Nobody else gets to see this: his wife, scantily-dressed in his favourite baby blue lace, taking the picture of herself from above as she displays her body on their bed. One leg is bent and the other stretching out, a hand resting just beneath the curve of the bump on her belly, her tits spilling out of the lacy bra. She's got that wicked smile on her face, and Javier drops the picture abruptly on the desk to frantically adjust his hardening cock in his trousers. The phone tips off his shoulder, and he has to scramble to pick it up.

“Jesus Christ, baby. Jesus.” He can hear her laughing as he fixes the phone back to his ear. “When did you take this?”

“You were working late a couple nights ago. Thought I’d make the next time a bit more enjoyable.”

There's rustling outside his door, and he swipes the picture off the desk. “Holy shit. You expect me to get back to work now? Fuckin’ fox.”

“Just think of it like motivation,” she says, oh-so innocently. He pictures her twirling the telephone cord around her finger, and it doesn't help his new erection. “It’ll make you want to come home that much faster.”

“Yeah. Got that right.” He winces as he squeezes his shaft over his pants again. “Playing with fire, bonita. I’ll have to shoot anyone who tries to take my wallet in the fucking head.”

“Aw, honey.” She drops her voice to a whisper. “You can take one next time.”

He huffs. She's trying to kill him. “Of me or you?”

“Why not both?”

“Sir, we've got a likely location for Alvaro Diaz.”

Javier’s head shoots up and his neck twinges. Feistl stands in his doorway. Apparently, Javier forgot to lock it. “Jesus, Feistl. Knock.”

He seems to recognise that he's intruded on what the bullpen has dubbed Agent Peña’s wife time and cringes. “Sorry, sir.”

He shakes his head and says into the phone: “I gotta go, baby.”

“Don't work too hard,” she purrs. “Say hi to Chris for me.”

Javier’s mood turns sour the second he hangs up. “Where’s Diaz?”

Feistl is smart not to apologise again or linger. “Safe house outside Cali. There aren't phones in the house, but he made a call to his girlfriend from a pay phone down the street. It was the only house nearby registered as abandoned, but satellite confirms they've been keeping up with the gardening.”

The news is thrilling. “Shit. Your informant was right.”

Feistl shakes his head. “That's the thing,” he says. “My informant is a male escort who Pacho paid pretty handsomely. They were seeing each other regularly, but apparently North Valley was paying him a lot more to approach a DEA agent and pin the bombing on Cali.”

Javier doesn't know if he can frown any deeper. His wife would probably insist that he's capable of anything.

“North Valley wanted the school president dead? What, because his kid fucked up the coke delivery?”

“They've been known to get violent when people don't pay their dues. It checks out.” Javier has to admit he agrees. Cali’s involvement in the bombing makes little sense given their dedication to politics for getting what they want. Feistl continues, “Seems likely they also paid Diaz to plant the bomb so it would look convincing.”

“Explains why he's on the run.”

“Bingo.” Feistl folds his arms over his chest and says, “My guy’s got a lot riding on my promise to get him out of the country.”

“So why come to you with the truth?” Javier points out. “He could run away with North Valley’s money.”

“Not if Herrera finds out. Cali’s not publicly violent, but that doesn't stop them from avenging betrayal in private.” Feistl shrugs. “He knows we're the only ones that can get him out—safely.”

Javier pins Feistl with a glare. “You gotta be sure about this, Chris. Dead fucking sure. Especially if you want to apply for a visa.”

“I’m sure,” he replies. “This guy’s scared for his life. He wants no more part of their money. He just wants to get out.”

Javier rubs his jaw. “Okay. Good.”

Feistl pats the doorframe. “Team’s setting up to raid Diaz’s safe house. He won't see it coming. If he's there, we’ll get him.”

“Feistl.” The agent turns around in the doorway, and Javier sets his jaw. “By the book.”

“You got it, sir.”

Javier looks down at the picture on his desk. It’s a rare occasion he allows a photograph of himself, but he's happy to get behind the camera to document his wife’s beauty. This one is a memory from their honeymoon. The sun makes her squint and there's sand in her wind-blown hair, and she's laughing at something he said, though he doesn't remember what it was. She's wearing a flowing dress and carrying a pair of sandals in one hand, the other shielding her face from the sunlight. It's his favourite picture of her.

Second favourite.

“One more thing.”

He's doing things by the book this time around. He won't get entangled in the spidery webs of conspiracy again. He's got a family to stay alive and healthy for… as healthy as one can be in a life like this. But he stops Feistl anyway.

“When you bring in Alvaro Diaz,” says Javier, “I want to be the first to talk to him.”

Feistl’s brows shoot up. “Just talk, sir?”

He remembers the terror of that day: the brief seconds he thought his wife was gone forever.

“What else?” says Javier.

Feistl leaves without another word.

When she slides into the passenger’s seat, Javier leans in, grabs her chin, and kisses her like usual. But she doesn't relent once he begins to drive. Her mouth travels from his lips to his jaw to his ear, where she sucks and nibbles. Javier grunts, his hand flying to her thigh.

“Baby,” he rasps. “Fuck. Más despacio.”

“Javi,” she whines into his ear, her hand on his chest, indulging in the strong body of her husband as she traces his pecs, his stomach, the hardness in his lap. “Wanna suck your cock. Want to make you feel good. Let me? Please?”

He inhales sharply. He wants to. So badly it makes his throbbing cock twitch in his pants. She sees it, fondly squeezing his length with a hum. But he blinks hard and focuses on driving. “We can't, baby,” he says, swallowing the pang of self-loathing in his chest for refusing her, even for something so small. “Too crowded in here. Don't want you to get hurt.”

“You never used to care about that,” she teases, licking a stripe up his throat.

“This—shit, this fuckin’ truck,” he grunts, hips bucking up into her hand. “Too small. You gotta be comfortable.”

“You'll take good care of me.” She caresses his thighs and nuzzles her face into his neck. “I'll take care of you, too, Javier. You know I will. Please let me, honey.”

She really is spoiled. And Javier is nothing if not accommodating to his girl. He pulls into their driveway after a short but agonising drive and swiftly parks in the garage between two empty cars. She sidles up next to him on the bench and pulls him toward her for a kiss.

He cradles the back of her head and she cups his cheek. It's slow to begin, bending to his own whims as he takes his time tasting her. Her mouth opens for him and he plunders her mouth with his tongue. “Did you… like my… mmm, present?” she asks when he gives her room to breathe.

“Are you kidding me?” He pushes his hips up into her wandering hand to let her feel his aching erection. “Been hard all fucking day.”

She grins wickedly. “Want to know something?” she says, pulling back and perching with her legs folded underneath her. Her fingers slip buttons out of each hole on her blouse, slowly revealing her blue lace bra to him. “I changed before we left for work. Thought you'd like it.”

Javier lurches toward her and places his hands on her swollen tits. “Love these,” he murmurs, tracing his fingertips over the lace at the swell of her breasts. “My beautiful girl. Take it off.”

She slips the blouse off her shoulders and he can see her protruding belly, her blue panties peeking out from the waistband of her skirt. She's a picture. Prettier than even the little thing he keeps in his wallet. “Are you going to stare,” she says, “or will you take those stupid pants off?”

He unzips his dress pants and she yanks them down to his thighs, taking his briefs with them. Her mouth waters at the sight of his leaking head tapping against the hairs on his stomach. She shuffles backward until she has enough room to bend over him, pressing a flutter of kisses down his belly, up his twitching length, to its tip.

Javier’s head thunks against the driver’s window. His wife is on her knees in the fucking parking garage, on the bench of his truck, her ass arching up in the air as she wraps her lips around the head of his cock. He chokes on his own tongue. “Jesus… fuck.” His hand finds the crown of her head, resting comfortably, grounding himself in her soft hair. She suckles on the tip for a while, taking her time with him, hungry and hormonal and fucking dripping for him. “Fuck. That’s it. Doing so well. Fucking love you.”

He speaks in broken sentences, but it’s all right, because she can only moan around him as she begins to take him deeper. The hand that isn’t supporting her own weight shifts to fondle his balls, and he goes blind, bucking up into her throat without warning. She gags, and he’s ready to pull out, already muttering apologies, but the gaze she pins on him tells him she’s okay. She wants this. They’ve known each other for so long that even a fleeting glance will tell a story.

She sinks down until her nose is buried in his pubic hair, tears collecting in the corners of her eyes. Javier reaches out and swipes them away with his thumb.

When she swallows around him, he thinks he goes cross-eyed. Then she begins a rhythm, bobbing her head up and down, and it’s so overwhelming that he forgets to breathe for a moment, schooling himself to relax his tense muscles and just feel.

And he feels. Every slow drag of his length along the walls of her hot, wet throat shakes loose his very soul and makes all of him tremble. The song of it is filthy and obscene, and its melody clings to the ceiling of his brain. It’s a clawing, high feeling he cannot rein in. It’s cloying and hazy. The window fogs with his breath when his head lolls, unable to remember his fucking name. Where is he, what is he, it’s her on her knees and it’s all he knows—

He can't even speak when he comes, when her mouth seals tight around him and her tongue wiggles along the vein on his shaft and her hand squeezes his balls. He just feels his face screw up, his brows pinching, and he unleashes a vaguely pitchy grunt, only half of which is clear through the rasp in his voice. He can’t even remember a curse word.

When she slides off his cock and swipes a drop of cum off his length, bringing it to her lips, he’s still recovering his vision. “Told you I’d be extra nice to you,” she says with a grin, tucking him back inside his pants and kissing him so sweetly that he’s dizzy with the shift.

“Come here,” he croaks, tugging her gently onto his lap. His hand rests on her belly like it usually does. Her lips are swollen, her makeup smeared, and he tucks her into his chest, folding her precious heart up inside his ribs so nobody will ever touch it again.

“Javi.”

“Mmm.”

“I think it’s a girl.”

MONTH 7

She's been staring at the little picture in her hand since they got home. Actually, she stared at it throughout the whole drive back, too. When he closes the door behind them and sits with her at the kitchen table, he looks at the picture, too.

They’re both so busy fawning over the little square image that they forget to make dinner until ten o’clock. As they lounge on the couch, a record crackling out Vicente Fernández, Javier plays with her fingers as he rests his head on her lap, humming along to the music into her growing belly.

“She’s gonna need a name,” he murmurs.

She hums, using her free fingers to toy with his hair. She’s exhausted, slipping in and out of dreamland, their daughter having kicked up a storm inside her today. “Our little butterfly. Little star. I’m fresh out of ideas, Javi,” she says groggily.

“We’ll figure it out, amor.” Javier presses his lips to the bump peeking out from beneath his button-up. It’s all she’s wearing, so his head is nice and warm on her thighs.

She giggles, her head falling back against the sofa. “I’m gonna have a little baby girl. Is it bad that I can’t wait?”

“I wanna hold her so bad it’s killing me,” says Javier. “But I still get to hold you.” He squeezes her hand.

“Casanova,” she mumbles, her eyes fluttering. Sleep is pulling at her.

“C’mon,” he urges softly, standing up so he can help her off the couch. “Gotta get you to bed, cariño.”

She protests with her mouth only, but her body is pliant and willing to go. Once they’re in bed, it’s minutes before her breathing slows and her lips part in blissful sleep. He watches her for a moment. His best friend. He used to pine over her like a puppy and wish he was the one who got to marry her over her shitty ex-husband. Here she is, his ring on her finger, and here they both are. Older, maybe wiser, but happier than they both were the first day he slipped into that nondescript little café and befriended the pretty girl behind the counter.

The pretty girl who’s carrying his little star.

“Hey, baby girl,” he murmurs, placing his hand atop the bump on his wife’s belly. She remains asleep, content and warm in his arms. He's falling asleep, too, his eyelids dragging. But he feels compelled to say this. “Soy tu papá. You're inside your mamá right now, but we're gonna meet you soon.”

His eyes close, but he still faintly hears himself speak. “I'm gonna keep you safe, mi mariposa.”

On the bedside table lies the picture of the sonogram.

They round up Alvaro Diaz at the safe house, and he confesses to every crime. When Feistl and Van Ness escort him to the van, Javier is already inside it.

The kid is short, mousy, and won't meet Javier’s eye. “Alvaro Diaz,” he says. “You've got a real fuckin’ set on you, I’ll give you that. How much did they pay you, huh?”

“I…” Diaz shakes his head. “They didn't give me a choice. They threatened my girl.”

How very funny. Javier doesn't have a scrap of sympathy. The beast inside him is rearing up with its teeth snapping. “Yeah? Your girlfriend? She get away unscathed?”

Diaz nods meekly.

“How much did they pay you?”

“I… want a l—lawyer.”

Javier lifts a brow. “Did you enjoy it?”

“What?”

“Did you like it? Putting that bomb together and blowing up the president?”

Diaz’s hands are white-knuckling his own knees. “It wasn't personal,” he squeaks.

Even fucking funnier.

Javier leans forward and drowns Diaz in his black gaze. “You made it personal when your bomb almost killed my wife. You're lucky you're still alive to get a goddamn lawyer.”

“I'm resigning,” he tells her one night.

She lifts her head and frowns at him. “What? You're sure?”

“I’m sure.” He caresses her spine with his fingers. “I’m done, baby. I’m tired, I’m smoking, and I want to go home. Real home. I want to raise our baby somewhere safe and quiet, and I want you to be safe. I could never guarantee that here, and you still came with me.”

“You should know by now that I’ll follow you anywhere, Javier.” She smiles, kissing him deep and slow. And that's it. The end of it.

Next week, on a random Tuesday, a reporter presses a button on a tape recorder, and Javier throws his entire career away.

Crosby is furious, of course. On Javier’s desk sits an already-packed box of effects, a picture of her on top.

“Any aspirations you had for your career just got dragged behind the barn and shot.”

Javier thinks of his wife and the baby girl he gets to meet oh-so soon. This world, this building, and the people inside it seem so small in comparison.

“My aspirations have changed,” he tells Crosby. “I resigned from the DEA this morning.”

They're a little worried about getting to the airport only to get told she can't fly in her condition. But when the airline lets her on with no questions, Javier is a little worried about the lax security in this place. What kind of company lets a seven-month-pregnant woman fly cross-continent without so much as a medical once-over? She kisses his cheek as they settle in their seats and holds his hand. “I’m okay,” she tells him, because of course she knows what he's thinking.

When they touch down in Texas, Javier pulls along all the luggage until he notices her stop dead in her tracks. He's by her side immediately; he's been monitoring her Braxton Hicks contractions, they've both been counting the flutters and kicks to her belly, and nothing has been out of place. They see their doctor every two weeks, although now they'll need to consult a new physician in Laredo. If there's something wrong, he should be prepared to note it, take care of it. It doesn’t help the terror that strikes him.

But she's looking at a television inside the duty-free shop. BREAKING NEWS, it emblazons in red across the screen. He's seen so much breaking news in the past ten years that it hardly fazes him.

Then he reads it.

Universidad Nacional de Colombia bomber found dead in cell, suspected suicide.

Her hand flies to her belly and she sways a little on her feet. Javier steadies her, a hand steadfast on her back, guiding her to a nearby chair. “Baby,” he says softly, brushing her hair behind her ear and kneeling in front of her.

There are tears in her eyes. “I’m here,” she whispers. His hand covers hers: two thumbs rub circles on her belly, soothing the excitable baby inside. “We're here.”

He senses the conflict inside her. She's a loving soul, and a soul like that often aches for others more than herself. Sometimes she gets afraid to feel too happy. But they're home, together, so close to bringing their little butterfly into the world.

“I know, sweetheart.” Javier kisses her cheek. “I know.”

She smiles at him through her tears and brushes a knuckle across his chin. “Let's go home, Javi.”

MONTH 8

Javier has a problem.

It's two o’clock in the morning. They've left the window open for the past week because she complains about overheating in the night. Javier, who runs hot in his sleep, doesn't mind. That isn't his problem.

As his wife lies sleeping next to him, Javier stares up at the ceiling and tries to soothe his deep, thrumming arousal. It comes from the hormonal scent of her, belly round and lips parted in serenity, that banks off every wall in Javier’s head and rattles his brain against his skull. The hard line of his cock is visible, tenting the sheets, and he can't seem to conjure a single thought, no matter how dark or abhorrent, that will ease the ache of desire.

He can't wake her up. He won't. She's so peaceful in her sleep, the moon brushing her cheeks with silvery light, her lashes fluttering in the small movements of her eyes behind their lids. Her round belly peeks out beneath his button-up, which she insists on wearing to bed because it smells like him.

He wants to bury his body inside hers until they become one. He wants to possess her. He wants to sidle up right next to her and support her bump under his hands, breathe in the scent of her hair and the taste of her skin. He wants to slide his leaking cock inside her and fuck her deep, drawing those sleepy, buttery noises from her throat. But she's soft and still and he is certain he will become the world’s shittiest husband if he wakes his pregnant wife to take care of him.

He tries to shift slowly off the bed, but a little whine puffs out of her mouth. She's got one leg hitched up over one of his, her hand over his chest, and her calf flexes to keep him close. Javier’s heart is pounding wildly to keep pace with the love he has, the need he has. “I’m here,” he whispers to her, though he’s almost sure she’s still asleep. “I’m not leaving, baby. Just going to the bathroom.”

Her nose traces a lazy path from his collarbone to his jawline. “Can I go with you?” she mumbles. Her sleepy words ignite a candle in his chest, one that melts the wax of his sensibilities.

Is it possible to fall in love a million times with one person?

He puts his forehead to hers. Her eyes haven’t opened once. “You need to sleep, vaquera.”

“‘M pregnant,” is her nonsensical reply.

“That’s right, baby. Gotta get your sleep.”

“Mmm-mmm,” she protests. “Means I get what I want.”

Oh, she has him there. Javier chuckles, and her eyes finally peel open. Her sleepy grin makes him lean down and attack her lips for a kiss. She barely reciprocates, merely humming happily, but he doesn’t mind. She lets him slip out of bed and follows him, a little waddle in her step with her belly in the way. Her back has been aching so badly for the past month, and he can see her weary face pinch a little in pain when she first stands up. Since he sleeps naked, she spots his aggressive hardness instantly, tapping his stomach and leaking into his pubic hair. She bites her lip. “Oh, honey.”

“Tell me about it,” he grumbles.

When he guides her to the bathroom, he crowds her up against the vanity and laces his fingers underneath her belly. When he lifts the weight of the bump, she audibly moans, her head falling back onto his shoulder. He nips her earlobe, certain she feels the hardness of him at her ass.

“Thought you had to pee,” she sighs, a little giggle slipping out from the sheer relief of him taking the weight of her baby in his arms.

He’s so busy burying his face in her neck and inhaling her scent that he forgets to respond for a moment. “Need to jerk off,” he groans. “Didn’t want to wake you up.”

She hums. Every little noise she makes sends sparks crackling down his spine. “Thinking about me?” she asks, gazing at him in the mirror through her heavy-lidded eyes.

“Mmm. So soft.” He kisses her neck, her shoulders, toying with the collar of his shirt draped over her. “So beautiful. You smell so fucking good. Carrying my baby.”

“Don’t have to jerk off,” she says, turning her head and seeking his lips. He slots his mouth over hers and traps her in a soft kiss. He’s leaking onto the back of the shirt she wears, and she reaches backward to grasp his shaft. Her hands are warm and soft and so much gentler than he would be. He grits his teeth against her cheek. “Let me do it, Javi.”

He huffs. “You shouldn’t… fuck, shouldn’t have to—”

“I want to.” She squeezes the head of his cock and his chin falls onto her shoulder.

“Fuck. I love you. I love you.” He whispers it like a prayer into her ear as she swipes her thumb through the precum at his tip and begins to slowly jerk him off.

It’s slightly awkward in this position: his arms around her, holding up her belly, one of her hands twisted and tucked between their bodies. But it feels so fucking good to have some relief—for both of them. His mouth falls open and his brow furrows when she establishes a quick rhythm, his nose crushed in the crook of her neck. He needs to breathe air that's touched with her scent or he’ll suffocate and drop dead.

She rests her head against his, the tension in her back loosening, the coils that tighten between the knobs of her spine untying as her husband holds her swollen belly.

Even half-conscious, she knows she's making him feel good. His precum lubes him up enough that she can stroke him easily, and she whispers things into the darkness of the bathroom as his breathing warms her throat and his heaving chest pushes against her back.

So hard. Breathe, Javi, I’ve got you. You always take good care of me. Let me make you feel good.

She likes when he whines. It makes her feel strong, capable, sexy. Her mere touch sucks the breath out of him in fast, punching groans—ones that pitch upward into whimpering croaks of her name.

She coos at him through the din, the thick hazy air that tugs at her senses with the desire to sleep. It doesn’t take long for him to come. He really does huff out a whine when the pleasure racks his body, jerking his hips up into her hand and spilling hot cum all over her back, her ass, his own stomach. It’s a mess, and it isn’t the most earth-shattering orgasm he’s ever had—it certainly doesn’t compare to being inside her—but she’s oh-so tired, and sex with Javier is more often than not a doubly exertive sport. Besides, coming by her hand is infinitely more pleasurable than his own. He winds down by breathing into her skin, kissing her jaw and her cheek and her shoulders and murmuring soft thank-yous.

He cleans her up and brings her back to bed after they both use the bathroom, and Javier can sleep better. When he wakes up, his fingers are entangled with hers, and his mouth has somehow found his favourite spot on her back. Their wedding rings glimmer in the golden Texas sun.

She loves the barn cats.

Because she knows Javier won't let her lift a finger, not even to help carry a bucket of slop for the pigs, she's settled into a chair near the haylofts where the stray cats love to roll and lounge. She has a parenting book in her hand, but there's one particular calico who's taken a liking to her and keeps bumping his nose into the novel. She coos at the old, one-eyed feline and abandons her book to gather him up in her arms.

He settles in happily, nudging his furry forehead against her baby bump and curling on her lap. She introduces herself to the cat as if he can understand her, and Javier watches her with a surprising jolt of jealousy. Jealous of a goddamn cat. He huffs to himself and continues to saddle up the brown-and-white paint horse Cowboy.

“I wish I could ride,” she tells him while the calico licks her fingertips.

“You will, baby.” Javier saunters over once he’s got Cowboy in his saddle and she tips her head down to look at him over her sunglasses. He’s a different man in Texas. She rarely saw him out of a suit in Colombia, which was fine and dandy, but here, he wears those tight fucking jeans and those boots and those flannel button-ups. He keeps his moustache trimmed as usual, and he’s the same Javier she’s always been in love with, but there’s something about the way he carries himself here.

It makes her beam a little. Sometimes, she gets overwhelmed by the sheer joy she feels at having him in her life. Joy that he’s alive, safe, and healthy. Joy that she gets to wake up married to her best friend every day.

Javier lifts his eyebrows suggestively. “Just gonna have to ride a different cowboy in the meantime.”

She snorts. “My very own poet.”

They’ve taken up residence in the guest house on the ranch to make sure they don’t impede on Chucho’s territory, even though he’s repeatedly told them he’s overjoyed to have them back in Laredo. She loves Javier’s father, and he loves her like a daughter, but it’s nice not to share guilty looks when Chucho teases them about their late-night activities over breakfast.

He was ecstatic when they told him she was having a girl. I can’t wait to meet my first-ever nieta, he gushed. When they touched down in Texas, Chucho was waiting to pick them up at the airport with a surprise in the backseat: a tiny pink onesie. She burst into tears and wouldn’t release Chucho from their embrace, but he didn’t mind. Javier had to discreetly wipe a tear aside under his sunglasses.

The calico hops dutifully off her lap when she pats his bum to signal she needs to stand up. “He’s beautiful,” she remarks, accepting Javier’s hand. He holds onto it as they greet Cowboy once again. She lets him sniff her hand and he nuzzles into her palm. She grins up at him. “Hey, stud. You’re the one carrying my husband around here, huh?”

Cowboy snorts in accordance. Javier pats his snout. “C’mon, old man. Let’s round up those sheep before it gets dark.”

“Two real vaqueros,” she muses. “You gotta wear your hat, baby. Please.”

Javier reaches around a post and plucks a cowboy hat off a hook. She practically squeals in excitement, but he sets it on top of her head first. He assesses her, that cute little maternity dress underneath one of his flannel shirts, complete with his hat that dips down over her brows. “Yeah. Looks a hell of a lot better on you.”

She schools her face to look somewhat stern. “Stick ‘em up, partner.”

Javier pats her ass. He decides to make her wear that the next time she rides him. For now, he finds another hat and secures it on his own head, guiding Cowboy out of his pen and toward the sheep pens. Out in the sunshine, the horse bends his head and gently brushes his snout against her swollen belly, his ears flicking with curiosity. Javier clicks his tongue with a warning of, “Careful, boy,” but she smiles and rubs Cowboy’s snout.

“My baby girl is in here,” she tells the horse. “Can you feel her?”

Javier grins, and he looks good enough to eat in that hat, his moustache and his crooked smile and his dimples striking her deep in her gut. She hopes their little girl will get that smile, those dimples, those eyes. “He can. Animals are like that.”

“So many new friends.” She steps back and watches fondly as Javier swings himself up onto Cowboy’s back. “I like it here, Jav. I really do.”

Javier’s chest swells with a pride that fills him up all the way to his throat. He swallows. This is where he grew up. His childhood ranch. In the main house, Chucho cooks for their twice-weekly family dinner. The home runs over with memories, all the way from the front porch to the outskirts of the property where he would sneak out to watch the stars at night or drink beers with his friends. It’s where he watched his mother and father navigate their lives so deeply in love, and it’s where he now gets to live with the love of his life. The sun is beginning to set and he can’t help but wish his mother were here to meet the incredible woman next to him.

While he rounds up the sheep into their pens, his wife takes a walk around the property, never straying too far at his request. She greets the sheepdogs and bides her time cuddling up with another stray cat until Javier is hopping down from Cowboy’s back and heading across the field to join her.

A spark of panic rises in him when she turns toward the river.

Javier calls her name suddenly. “Don’t go near the water.”

She looks back over her shoulder with a frown. “Is it deep?”

There’s some tension in his jaw that he rubs away as he approaches her. “The boats,” he tells her.

She takes a step backward until she bumps into his chest. “Shit,” she mutters, reaching for his hand. “I’m sorry, Javi. Let’s go back.”

His gaze lingers a little on the river, void of a soul even as he pictures the motor churning up the water, and shakes his head. She squeezes his hand. “Whatever you’re about to say,” she says softly, “don’t. They’re still here, and they always will be. But you…” Her fingers at his temple, brushing aside stray hairs, soothe the erratic heartbeat in his chest. “… saved so many lives. Stopped so much evil. Don’t you dare say a word about it being for nothing. Those people that didn’t die because of you would disagree. Me included.”

Javier places his hand on her belly. “Mi mariposa,” he says, whisper-quiet. “Your mamá always knows what to say.”

There’s a little porch swing outside the Peña home. It’s a nice wraparound porch, the kind she wants when they find a place of their own. It’s long after dinnertime, and Chucho is in bed. Husband and wife swing idly on the bench.

“I can’t wait to look at her, Javi,” she tells him, resting her head on his shoulder.

He knows the feeling. He’s pictured her a hundred times: whether she’ll have her mother’s eyes or his, her nose or his. Nothing will compare to really knowing.

They stare up at the stars together. Of all the blinking lights in the galaxy and the planets that may or may not house life, he got to exist on this one, with the one person who erases that sensation of feeling so utterly small in such a big universe.

MONTH 9

She’s angry.

Javier senses it when he closes the door softly behind him. She’s sitting at the table with two plates of steaming food atop it. She meets his eye and stands up abruptly, despite the swaying she gets from the adjustment of her big belly. He rushes to steady her, but she smacks his hand away.

“You're late,” she says plainly, her eyes brimming with tears. It’s only five o’clock. An early finish on the ranch.

He knows his wife better than she does. She's his best friend. Her moods are like the lines on his palm, traceable and legible. It's how he knows what is wrong before he even says a word.

“Sit,” he says. “On the couch. Go on.”

She storms—well, waddles—toward the sofa without another word. When she settles slowly onto the cushions, her brow pinched with a permanent tension as she glares at him, Javier tilts his head to the side. “You got an attitude problem today, huh, baby?”

“Don’t call me sweet names,” she snaps. “I missed you.”

The vertigo from one statement to the next should be dizzying, but it’s been par for the course over the last few weeks. Javier pouts, sinking to his knees in front of her. “You don’t want me to be sweet?” he grunts, yanking down her panties and popping open all the buttons on the flannel she stole from his closet today. It’s rare he sees her in her own clothes nowadays. It awakens some sort of caveman inside him, prideful and beastly at the sight of his pregnant wife in his shirts.

She’s very, very pregnant. Pregnant and hormonal and so horny that it’s become an impediment in her day-to-day. She wants him all the time, more than he can keep up with, and she knows it no matter how much she pouts. Javier is right: she’s spoiled, but it isn’t her fault he gives her everything she wants.

“You gonna beg me for it, or are you gonna be mean?” Javier blows cool air straight onto her glistening cunt. She’s already wet and writhing; his poor girl must have been waiting for hours to get her fill of him.

“Fuck you,” she gasps.

It sends all his blood rushing to his cock. “Mean, then.” His fingers part her folds and his tongue flattens against her clit. She cries out, hand fisting in her hair. She’s not in the mood for sweet. She’s in pain from bearing the weight of her baby for so long, she’s slow and waddling and swollen, and she doesn’t want to think. She wants to feel, and she wants it rough.

Javier is eager to indulge, because he always is. Her commanding side thrills him, just as her whimpering, needy side does. It’s all her. His tongue wiggles against her clit before flicking at it, two fingers sinking into her hole until they’re knuckle-deep. One of her legs kicks out, so he wraps an arm around her thigh and spreads her open wider. If she wants to be demanding, so will he. He’ll take every drop of wetness he wants from her pussy and she’ll cry his name.

His fingers curl inside her and his mouth plunders her, his tongue lapping up her slick and his nose bumping against her clit. “Fuck,” she groans, “make me come. Please. Please.”

Javier smacks the thigh he’s holding onto and her head falls back against the couch. “Begging,” he says smugly.

“Cocky bastard—” When he takes her clit between his teeth, she does sob, letting her tension snap. “Fuck!”

He keeps suckling on her clit between his lips and his fingers inside her as she writhes under him, coming hard and fast. He doesn’t relent even as she pushes at his head, his tongue delving into her hole next to his fingers and tasting the slick she produces. It's fucking heaven. Sweet and tangy and just as warm as the rest of her. He will die buried inside her body, he decides.

He only allows one kiss to the bump on her belly before he pins her with a stare. “Hands and knees.”

Feeling defiant, she pouts down at him. Javier stands up and wraps his hand around a section of her hair. “You want to get fucked?” he asks.

“If you don't get inside me right now, I will—”

He clicks his tongue. “Kill me and you don't get fucked. Hands and knees, baby.”

She shifts, her swollen belly beneath her as she arches her ass up in the air and presses it back against his clothed cock once he’s positioned behind her. He hastily pulls himself from his jeans and slaps the head against her asscheek. “Gonna beg?”

“Fucking fuck me,” she huffs. “Fuck this baby out of me, Javier. Fuck me, please, just fuck me—”

It's easy to slip inside her with how wet she is. “Nngh, fuck,” she groans.

“You like me balls-deep,” he grunts, pulling out until only the tip throbs inside her, then thrusting hard and sure. It's what she needs: hard, rough, fast. “Don't you?”

“Mmmm.” Her lips part and drool clicks in her throat as he begins a punishing pace, his hips slapping against her ass. “Don't get fucking proud about it—shit, Javi, oh, shit!”

Christ, he likes to hear her get mad only to crumble when he fucks her this good. His hand fists her hair again, pulling her back up, flush against his chest, sitting back on his haunches so he can fuck her without mercy. She screams his name and he's never felt so fucking proud in his life.

“Such a fuckin’ slut for it.” His hand shifts from her belly to her clit. “So mean to the only man who can make you feel better.”

She mewls at the pressure of his fingers against her clit. “Javi… Fuck, it's so good, I—I need your cum. Please,” she whines. “I’ll be nice. I’ll be—”

“Say it.” He's grunting into her ear, unrestrained and wild. “Fucking say it. You want me so bad, then say it.”

“Papi,” she whines, her head falling back onto his shoulder.

He ruts into her harder, baring his teeth against her jaw. “Louder. Mean it, baby. Gotta mean it.”

A devastating thrust prods against her g-spot and she screams. “¡Papi! Fuck! Ohhhhh, my—”

She holds onto his wrist to ground herself as she gushes around him, moaning long and low and collapsing onto the cushions.

He does his best to make sure she doesn't hurt herself as her orgasm positively wrecks her, but it's difficult to see through the haze in eyes when he grinds deep and spills his cum inside her, puffing out her name and keeping her ass flush against his hips. He wants all of him to stay inside her and never drip out. It seems impossible with how much he seems to come whenever he's buried in her, but he makes a valiant effort.

He adjusts their positions so her back is nestled against his chest as they both catch their breath. “Javi,” she says weakly.

“Yeah, honey?”

“I'm sorry I’m so… pregnant.”

She sniffles, and it breaks his heart into halves. He hopes she can feel him give her the other piece when he shushes her, nudging her cheek with his nose. “Never,” he murmurs. “Never say that. Think I don’t like you mad as much as I like you happy? Mala.”

He can see the edges of a growing smile, and it makes him grin into her cheek. “I want another baby,” she tells him, toying with the ring on his left hand.

“Let's get this one out of you,” he says, “and I’ll give you all the babies you want.”

Her eyes flutter shut. “Okay.”

That's that.

“Javier.”

Her voice is a whisper in his ear, awakening him from a deep sleep, the kind he can only get when she's this close to him. It's a voice that's too soft, too restrained, to be anything but an attempt to keep him calm.

It doesn't work. The moment he hears, “My water just broke,” nothing will ease the terror, the excitement, the tremor in his fingers as he helps her out of bed.

From this moment, his life cleaves in two. Everything after this will change him.

He doesn't remember what he says to her. She doesn't remember her reply.

The nurses begin to urge her to push, push, push, and it occurs to them both that this eclipses any words language can give them.

Love like this isn't tangible. It flees from explanation and cowers behind the wall of reason. It's a love that erupts screaming and writhing into the world, unrestrained, beautiful.

It's all he can think when he takes her into his arms for the first time. She's beautiful.

follow @kiwisbellupdates and turn on notifications if you want to be notified the next time i post a fic!

#kiwisbell's fics #siempre series #javier peña x you #javier peña fluff #javier peña smut #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fic #javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier peña x f!reader #narcos #narcos fic

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vidding · 7 months

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The Best Vidding Safe Haven?

Forgive the "read bait" meme above but if you are reading these words right now that means it worked. If you are a vidding fan then it was worth it. Vidders.net was born July 19, 2010. It is a Vidder-friendly AO3 Embed Certified Vid hosting & streaming site with over 18K vids. Its growth benefited from You Tube's increased use of content ID and the closing of Imeem. It was mentioned in the "Vidding: A History" book by Francesca Coppa. Its members (most who host some great vids there) include:

Luminosity

Lim

Laura Shapiro

Lithiumdoll

Obsessive24

Clucking Bells

Charmax

Bradcpu

thedothatgirl

kiki miserychic

Milly

Hollywoodgrrl

bop radar

Loki (secretlytodream)

Condsdmlk

newkidfan

NCISMelanie

Shoopdancer

Absolute Destiny

SD Wolfpup

Arefadedaway

camelia1986

adfproductions

Astarte

Such Heights

Mithoborien

mresundance

Just to name a few. You may not recognize these names but if you do you know these vidders literally made a name for themselves with the quality of their work during that time. At least in my opinion. The site is a time capsule of awesome vids even if some of the vidders listed are no longer active. Additionally, it hosts vids no longer available on You Tube like "Boom Boom Ba" by Charmax (a classic Xena vid). And yet it can still host new content without the issues faced on some other vid hosting options.

How much does it cost to host and stream all those vids? Well, that is one of the reasons for this post. The assumption I'm making is that if there is a Vidding "community" it's more likely than not that members of it would see a post like this and/or share it with fellow members of the community. Is it worth it to keep a site like this around? It's mostly been a solo operation for these past 13 years but now I am starting to wonder after such a long time.

I'll spare you the obligation of filling out a poll or survey. I'll make it simple. We have a Patreon account at patreon.com/vidding. If you don't feel it's worth keeping up. Nothing to do. Thank you for reading this far. If you feel there is some value based on what was mentioned earlier, then a minimum level of support at the Patreon is $1 a month. You'll not only be supporting the Vidders.net but other projects like the recent purchase of the Vidding.com domain name and more. The OTW October fundraiser drive begins in October and is on track to raise about 250k. Rasing even 1 percent of that amount would be more than adequate. After all Vids on AO3 make up less than 1 percent of the content on there anyway. I've been told by a fellow fan that I should keep it running but if it's not even supported by a community, it's a personal expense at my expense I am on the hook for. Again, there is no survey or poll to take but if you have questions that may help you determine your willingness to support just contact me. If you find value in preserving the site just visit Patreon.com/vidding or get your questions answered. This form of funding is more sustainable than occasional stop and start donation efforts we've done in the past. If you prefer another form of funding let us know.

I will check in by the end of October to see where things are. I am not going to do anything drastic. It's just that it's been 13 years and I started to wonder especially with my current financial situation but didn't want to do anything without communicating the situation. The site costs about $720 a year to run. At about $60 a month to run so it should be doable.

Boom Boom Ba by Charmax

If you liked this post you might like this:

The YouTube Vid Purge of 2021

#fanvid #vidding #vidders

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wispscribbles · 7 months

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Hi! About time I make an introduction post 🫡

I’m Wisp, they/them, born in 2000. I write and draw, and I’m currently latched onto ghostsoap with a death grip.

Some of my art: 1 2 3

Some of my fics: 1 2 3

I also have accounts on AO3, TikTok (and an inactive Twitter), all under @/wispscribbles

Always feel free to send a message or an ask my way. I don’t bite, I’m just socially inept 👍

#don’t mind me just making a pinned post #hope this is how u do these #ghostsoap artist #ghostsoap writer #intro post

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loveforsatoru · 4 months

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Masterlist

My ao3 account-> ao3

Our Blue Spring Series:

Who would've known that you would become Satoru Gojo's entire world only to walk out of his life without explanation? That day forever haunts him and he hasn't moved on even after 7 years. He wants answers. Why'd you leave? Why have you never called? Did you forget about him? These thoughts keep him awake at night. He wishes he could see you again even just one more time. But what will he do when that moment finally comes and he's face to face with you once again? Will you let him back into your life or will you run away like before?

Chapter 1- You're All I Need

Chapter 2- Leaving

Chapter 3- Camera/Memories

Chapter 4- To Get Over You

Chapter 5- Once More To See You

Chapter 6- Christmas Eve Party

Chapter 7- Reconnecting

Chapter 8- Familiarity

Loved You Then, Love You Now Series:

After being born into the Zenin Clan, you were given another shot at life when you enrolled into Jujutsu Tech. There, you meet 3 people who will change your life for better or for worse. But a certain white haired boy catches your eye from the moment you step foot on campus. Love blossoms like flowers and the best spring of your life is spent with him. You never would've expected that he would disappear from you in the blink of an eye. As time goes on, you still think about him, but fall into the arms of his best friend who has been waiting for the opportunity to be with you. It doesn't feel the same, it doesn't feel right, but you've learned that life may never be the same without Satoru Gojo by your side, until your 18th birthday, a red string around your pinky connects you to your soulmate, and it just so happens to be the one who broke your heart a year prior.

Chapter 1- Zenin Clan/Meeting Chapter 2- Moonlight

Chapter 3- Kisses

Chapter 4- Shooting Star

Chapter 5- Contract

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x you #gojo fanfic #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x y/n #i love gojo

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seireiteihellbutterfly · 7 days

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Second Chance Sorcerer Chapter 2

Summary: After surviving Mahito's Idle Transfiguration in the Shibuya Incident, Nanami finds himself in an unknown realm between life and death. Will he escape?

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Fem! reader

A/N: Chapter 2 is here! So we come to the world of the living where reader is grieving Nanami's death. Reader-centric chapter, but Nanami is brought up heavily. Originally made with my OC, to read that version, check out my AO3 account, but it's in Y/n format here.

Banner by the lovely @actuallysaiyan

Search/follow along using #secondchancesorcerer

Chapter 1 | Nanami masterlist

There’s an incessant knocking at the door and it takes all of your energy to not scream at whoever it is to go away. You felt like someone had hit you with a sledgehammer, your sleep disturbed and restless. Why was everyone so determined to give you company when all you wanted to do was be left alone?

No one understood the hollow feeling in your chest, how you woke up every night screaming, remembering Mahito’s disgusting grin of triumph as he had murdered Nanami in cold blood. How you had begged Nanami to let you take him out of Shibuya station along with Maki, the burns on his body looking so raw and painful. He had fixed you with the same look he would give you when you was hesitating to take a shot at him during hand-to-hand combat training sessions. That stern expression of disapproval, despite his own pain and exhaustion.

“Take Maki-san and leave. I’ll be fine Y/n-san. I can’t leave. Not yet.” And you had been helpless to argue against him. you never could. There was a hypnotic quality to the way Nanami instructed you, said with a finality that you could never disobey. The man had a death wish, you knew that, and you had foolishly believed securing him with a protective charm would drive away the shadow of demise that seemed to hover over him all the time. You should have knocked him unconscious and dragged his ass out with Maki. Shoko was on site. She could have healed him, and he would be here, grieving their other losses instead of…

Your heart constricted painfully, remembering how you had held onto Yuji as hard as you could, your ears bleeding from his hysterical screaming as he swore his revenge on Mahito. Nanami’s loss hung heavily in the air. Although most of the Jujutsu community was more invested in Gojo being sealed, it was Nanami’s death that affected you the most. Nanami your mentor, your dour, unwilling mission partner, your whole heart…now gone. Like he had never existed, no trace of him left.

“Y/n-san?” The knocking continues and with a snarl, you roll off the bed, your hair a dreadful mess, not caring that you’re still in pajamas, and yank open the door only to see Ino and Yuji standing there, Yuji carrying a takeout container. Your ire washes away only to be replaced by a dull ache as you see them. “Oh. it’s you two.” You slink back to the bed and disappear under the covers.

“We haven’t seen you for two days now Y/n-san.” Ino shuts the door as Yuji sets the takeout container on the table. “You can’t just lock yourself away. We’re a team. Team Nanami, remember?” Ino gives you a wan smile which you don’t have the energy to return. Yuji settles down on a chair and says nothing.

Your heart aches for the boy, so young, a teenager, looking so weary and serious, shouldering the weight of a much older man. “I haven’t been in a mood to see anyone. Everything that happened at Shibuya…I can’t.”

Your voice trembles, threatening to spill out all the unspent grief you’re carrying. You hadn't explicitly told anyone about your feelings for Nanami, believing it was pointless. You were his apprentice after all, a title almost similar to being his student, and it was a boundary you hadn’t been willing to cross. Nanami had helped craft your abilities after all, abilities you had been terrified of using, abilities that had plagued your entire life, that you wished you hadn’t been born with; until he had shown you how to use them for a higher purpose.

It was an astonishing experience, developing a cursed technique, needing much hands-on instruction. Literally. Nanami would constantly adjust your hands, your stance, and your combat positions, tutting at you impatiently. You had felt like you were in a ballet academy under the care of a rigorous instructor, the type that would raise their student’s arms and chin and adjust their posture using the end of a cane.

He had started you off the same way that Gojo had done for Yuji, by channeling cursed energy into one of Principal Yaga’s creepy cursed dolls. The doll had given you a black eye that day, but you secretly blamed Nanami for that; you had been watching movies as instructed, the doll in your lap when he had come down to check on you. His deep gravelly voice cutting through the room unexpectedly had caused you to yelp, grip loosening on the doll, which had wasted no time in delivering a blow to your eye.

It was humiliating, feeling like you had failed him on this simple task but he made you nervous. He always gave off an aura of needing perfection and his short, clipped way of giving instruction made you feel inadequate. Everything had been a blur of confusion as you leaned against the sofa, covering your eye and moaning in pain, hearing rapid shuffling footsteps, before Nanami had caught hold of the doll and shoved it into a containment box.

“Let me see.” With your good eye, you saw him leaning over you to check your face. You knew you were blushing but hoped it came off as embarrassment for being punched by the doll rather than the fact that your mentor - your unbelievably attractive mentor- was peering into your face at such close proximity.

You had slowly removed your hand, the area around the eye swollen and tender. Nanami’s expression was strange, almost like he was trying not to laugh as he delicately laid his fingers at the edges of the starting bruise. “I did warn you not to lose concentration,” he said in an even tone, although it betrayed a wisp of amusement. “Go see Ieiri-San. I’m afraid you’ll be sporting a bruise for a while, but her reverse curse technique will take away the pain so at least you won’t feel it.”

Your good eye had glared at him reproachfully. “I was doing fine until you startled me. I didn’t even hear you come in. We should put a bell around your neck.”

You thought you saw the corners of his mouth twitch slightly, almost like he was biting back the urge to smile. “Are you under the impression that curses wear bells around their necks, Y/n-San? Because if this is all it takes to startle you…you wouldn’t last a minute on a solo mission.”

His words had brought you back to the reality of the situation, the fuzzy feeling of being near him vanishing in an instant. Always teaching survival tactics, always telling you to run, always putting himself in the line of fire. It had driven you insane, how little self-preservation he had for himself.

“Isn’t there anything that you would like to live for?” you had asked him one morning as you ate breakfast together before catching the train home, having finished a mission the previous night. He fixed you with a scrutinizing stare, whiskey-colored eyes narrowing as though puzzled by your question.

“Like what?”

His response left you stumped. Did the man have no aspirations, no dreams, or wishes he wanted to be fulfilled?

“Like what?” You had parroted back to him, an incredulous look on your face. “There are so many wonderful things about life! Don’t you have a survival bucket list?”

His lip was definitely curling now. Nanami never smiled completely, but the corners of his eyes would crinkle when something amused him, and you could see the lines deepening as he regarded your question, but his tone felt like an adult indulging a child. It was maddeningly patronizing, considering he was just three years older than you, yet he assumed himself to be too mature and aged for such whimsical questions.

“A survival bucket list?” he practically scoffed.

“Yes,” you said trying not to lose your patience with him, crossing your arms over your chest. “You know, a list of things you’d like to do if you ever had the time.”

“Do you have one?”

“Of course I have one! Most of us have one! Something to keep us going when all we see is death and destruction on a daily basis.”

The thought seemed to intrigue him but you couldn’t shake off the feeling like you were being snubbed. Which was why you were taken aback when he asked, “What’s on your survival bucket list?”

“Oh ah…” you tried to gather your thoughts as you spoke, not expecting that he would ask you. “Take a tour of Europe. Go on an African safari. Take scuba diving lessons. Try different pastries and sweets from all over the world.” You lists some of your top activities, then frown as Nanami in a rare moment, flashes you a grin, his teeth showing for a brief second before his face returns to its usual stoic state.

“What?” You had asked almost impatiently. “Is my bucket list funny in some way?”

The blond man shakes his head no before speaking. “It’s not funny at all Y/n-san. I think it’s nice that you have these personal goals.” He says calmly, his voice carrying an unfamiliar lilt you had never heard before.

Your irritation died down when you realized he hadn’t answered you yet. “Do you have one or not?”

He looked thoughtfully at you before replying. “I used to. But it’s not as great as wanting to learn how to scuba dive or trying all the sweets in the world.” His tone changed into something wistful and nostalgic and it played with your heartstrings as you waited for him to continue. “My survival bucket list, if I can call it that, has only one goal. And that is to live long enough to retire.”

Your breath had caught and you waited for him to say more, hoping he wouldn’t shut off. Nanami rarely ever spoke more than what was necessary, but you longed to see more of this side of him, the parts of him that had nothing to do with sorcery.

“Retirement isn’t something a lot of sorcerers get to experience. Most of them die young, and the ones that do survive have so many disabilities that doing anything later in life becomes impossible. If life is favorable to me, and I have all my limbs and mental health by that age, I would love to retire and spend the rest of my days in peace.”

“What does peace look like to you?” you had asked him in a hushed voice, feeling ecstatic about finding out these little details about him.

“A beach, in a country with a low cost of living. Perhaps I’ll live right on the sand, a book in hand, and just take in all the sunshine.” His eyes had taken on a faraway quality, the whiskey color becoming more honeyed, little flecks of gold visible in his irises as though whatever he was thinking of had lit a candle inside him, illuminating his whole being. You could only stare, unable to comprehend how beautiful, how vulnerably human, he looked in that fleeting moment before it vanished behind an impenetrable curtain of indifference. “But that future is a very slim possibility. I don’t like building castles of air.”

The warmth that had settled in your chest dissipated, and you were left with the man you had grown used to; contained, jaded, pessimistic.

“But what if it does happen?” you couldn’t stop yourself from asking.

He let out a sound that could have been interpreted as a disbelieving chuckle. “Then I’d better think about using something more solid than air to build my castle.”

“Y/n-san?”

You’re jolted back to reality as Yuji hands you a tissue. You hadn’t even been aware that you were crying, tears rolling down your cheeks, eyes puffy and red.

“I’m sorry guys.” You dabbed at the tears. “Got lost in thought.”

“We all miss him, Y/n-san,” Yuji says comfortingly, but his voice trembles. “He was more than a teacher to all of us.”

“And we’re still a team despite him being gone,” Ino says assertively and presses the takeout container into your hands. “Eat. You need to.”

you open it to reveal a breakfast sandwich, and although you don’t have much of an appetite, the thoughtfulness of the boys is so sweet that you don’t feel like setting it aside for later. Taking a bite, you try to distract yourself from your own feelings.

“So they weren’t able to recover Gojo from the prison realm?” you ask, trying to get off the topic of their deceased mentor.

Ino shakes his head no, and you are relieved to see that most of his wounds from his fight with Ogami have healed, almost imperceptible to the eyes of a non-sorcerer, although there was a scar running down the left side of his face now.

“They’re doing a recovery throughout Shibuya station, but it’s mostly to pull items belonging to the people who died. You know, to return to their families.” Ino sighs and rests against the wall of your room. “They haven’t found Nanami-san’s blade yet.”

This bit of information is unexpected, and you look at him, then at Yuji who is also listening intently.

“I mean…it probably got lost underneath all the rubble, right? It’ll turn up eventually.” You swallow, hoping the weapon wasn’t lost to the destruction of Shibuya Station.

“I hope so. I’d imagine Nanami-san would want me to have it.” Ino sits down on the edge of your bed. Yuji however, gives him a look of disapproval.

“Why do you get Nanamin’s weapon? I was his student too.”

“Yeah, but I trained under him the longest. By that right, it should come to me.”

“What if he has family? Wouldn’t it go them?” Yuji countered, trying to think of a reasonable argument for why Ino couldn’t simply lay claim to the blade.

“He didn’t have any family,” you say quietly, not really invested in the conversation. Ino and Yuji continued to debate, their conversation becoming indistinct buzzing to you as you finished your sandwich.

“He was your teacher too Y/n-san,” Ino interjects suddenly, with a touch of surprise. “Why aren’t you more interested in who his blade goes to?”

“Because I knew how much he hated using it.”

Your words carry an intensity that makes them both quiet down instantly. As powerful and wonderful as his blade was, you knew your mentor’s distaste for using it. To him, it was a means to an end, no different than using a rifle or an axe. He used it for the sake of exorcising curses, but the blade itself carried no personal meaning to him.

“Nanamin hated his blade?” Yuji asks in a small voice. The disappointment in his eyes had you quickly backpedaling.

“Not the blade itself. I think more so, what it represented for him. A life as a sorcerer. Of facing death every day, knowing this was his duty and he couldn’t escape it.”

Silence follows your words and you wish you hadn’t spoken. You hadn’t meant to put a damper on the boys’ spirits but you couldn't keep quiet either. They were young, in awe of their late teacher who must’ve seemed like a much older man, dispensing wisdom. But knowing how small your age gap was, and how much he hated this line of work, you found yourself compelled to make sure they knew what you knew; that Nanami Kento was a hard-working man, but he never found any joy in using his now legendary weapon at all.

And unknown to them, You had already scavenged Shibuya Station after the emergency evacuation orders were put through. You hadn’t expected to find much, but somehow, through a stroke of luck, had found his tie, the obnoxiously yellow, polka-dotted tie, peeking through the broken cement and glass, stained with blood. His blood.

You had yanked it out quickly and stuffed it into your pocket, a little secret you had been carrying around the last few days. It now lay under your pillow; you worried people would judge you for keeping it, for not washing it but somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. At night, you’d run the tie through your fingers, feeling the material slip smoothly through, the faint scent of his cologne still on it. You knew you would never be able to wash it until the last vestiges of that scent faded away. It was the only thing that brought you comfort, that and remembering the day you found out the history of the odd color and print of the tie.

The 4 four of you had been out at the amusement park, Ino and Yuji energetically running around from one ride to the next while you and Nanami had waited in line to grab food for everyone. As you sat waiting for the boys to come back, you had gathered courage and asked him a question that had been in the back of your mind since you became his apprentice.

“Nanami-san?”

“Hmm?” He had turned his focus towards you and you hoped he wouldn’t see the rising color in your cheeks.

“Why do you wear that tie? It just doesn’t match the rest of your outfit.” You held you breath hoping the question wasn’t too personal. But the tie somehow paradoxically brought his outfit together and also threw it out of style.

His expression had changed almost imperceptibly. If you hadn’t spent as much time as you did with him, you might not have noticed it. He rested his elbows on the picnic table, as though conflicted to admit what was going through his mind. Then with a sigh, he said, “It’s to remember an old friend.”

“An old friend?”

“A late friend, to be precise.”

Your heart tightened in your chest. A late friend? He had lost someone close to him?

“It’s a funny story.” Nanami paused as though considering if he should tell you more, then continued. “My favorite show growing up as a child was The Flintstones.”

You stared at him, but you couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped you which you suppressed immediately. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to say something like that.”

“Well, it was.” Nanami’s lips had twitched. “And my friend knew this. As a joke, he got me a tie that matched Fred Flintstone’s outfit.” Another pause, another sigh, as though the next part was difficult for him to say. “I never wore it until after his death. Now I always do, in remembrance.”

“I’m so sorry,” you had said in a low voice. “I didn’t mean to bring up such a sad memory for you.”

Nanami shook his head and looked away towards the Ferris wheel, where the boys had disappeared off to. “It was a while ago. I try not to dwell on it for too long.”

“Thank you for telling me,” you’d murmured. His face had softened as he looked at you, the rest of the world blurring from your vision until all that remained in focus was him, the sharp eyes, the high cheekbones, the straight nose, and the chiseled jawline. Barely 30, yet looking like even a few years of sleep wouldn’t wash away the exhaustion that emanated from his bones.

“Even if Nanami-san disliked his weapon, it’s still useful to have.” Ino and Yuji were back to debating about the blade.

You were about to reiterate that you wouldn’t fight them over the blade when suddenly a pale sea foam green light began to glow from underneath your pillow. Both the boys stop bickering, awestruck at the sight. With a trembling hand, you move the pillow, revealing the tie, and making Ino and Yuji draw closer in curiosity. The polka dots on the blood-stained tie were glowing, emanating a warm aura accompanied by a curious scent of lingering coffee.

“What…” You watch with fascination, then look up at Yuji and Ino, who are watching the scene unfold, wide-eyed and filled with wonderment.

“Is that Nanamin’s tie?” Yuji gets closer to the bed, unable to take his eyes away.

“Yeah…I’ve been holding onto it.”

“Is it cursed? Did Nanami-san leave some residual cursed energy when he…?” Ino eyes the tie warily but also speaks in a hushed tone of disbelief.

You shake your head, the aura not feeling sinister to you. Rather, it felt familiar, like you had experienced it before, in those brief moments when Nanami’s eyes would crinkle from amusement…

You gasp and scramble off the bed as the dots begin to lift off the tie, a vignette of sea foam green surrounding each one. They float ethereally in the air, then, one by one start floating out of your room.

“Wait!” Not caring that you’re in pajamas or that you’d been in bed for nearly two days, you chase after the dots, bolting out of the room barefoot, Ino and Yuji hot on your heels. People stared at you as you ran. You knew the group must look quite eccentric, the two boys fully clothed and decent looking, while you looked ratty and deranged, hair flying everywhere as you tracked the dots barefoot, not wanting to lose sight of them.

Finally, the dots make their way into the large courtyard where Nanami would brief you about upcoming missions. They slow down and the trio halts, panting and out of breath. The light surrounding the polka dots brightens before they start arranging themselves into a fixed pattern, you, Ino, and Yuji watching perplexedly.

“Fred Flintstone”

“What?” Yuji looks bewildered. “Who’s that?”

“Isn’t that a cartoon character?” Ino asks, his generation just shy of the classic cartoons millennials had grown up on.

You cover your mouth, trying not to jump to conclusions. “The Flintstones…”

Could it be? Was he…? You let out a strangled laugh of disbelief but yet, what else could it be?

“It’s Nanami-san!” you whisper, and as you do, the energy signature from the polka dots seems to envelop you, and you feel every small little detail you have ever memorized about him; the little marks that formed on the bridge of his nose when he took his glasses off after a mission, how he enjoyed a fresh pot of coffee in the morning, that little sigh of satisfaction he’d make after completing his daily crossword puzzle.

Yuji and Ino look at you incredulously, but you have never been more sure of anything in your life. You look at them in the face, tears in your eyes, not from grief, but at how achingly comforting it was to be bathed in the glow of those polka dots.

“Nanami-san is alive!”

Animated lines and support banner by @cafekitsune

@that-goth-bisexual @buttercupbitches @jadedjane @hunnie-lily

@starsinmylatte @soft--cherry @estarlias @that-goth-bisexual

@daswanj @connorsui @kentosgirlie @dreaming-about-seireitei @byul9158

@darkstarlight82 @whatshernameis @beneathstarryskies

@Mangiswig @bleachbrainrotbro @illusionaryennui @harlekin6

@pernesophe

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scribblestatic · 15 days

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Because I like to make stuff up just from the most vague of associations, I recently talked about COTL and I'm writing an SVSSS fic on my other AO3 account, so now, we have Sheep Yuan.

Basically, Shen Yuan transmigrates and is gonna get put into Shen Qingqiu at an earlier time, but Shen Qingqiu's soul is a tenacious motherfucker, so it doesn't give up despite his qi deviation. Without a good vessel to put Shen Yuan's soul in, the system finds the nearest body that can accommodate him.

It ends up being in the body of a spirit sheep on Xin Ya (fan-made) Peak with all the rest of the beasties being studied and/or eaten (they do animal husbandry and farming, too).

Sheep Yuan doesn't quite remember his past life at first because yeah, the little lamb brain needs time to process human thought. Like, sheep are smart, but not quite able to compute to the same level as humans, so the sheep body's gonna have to adapt. So, he kinda follows through the usual sheep things after he manages to stand up, not realizing he'd been a stillborn lamb just a few moments ago.

He also doesn't immediately realize that his "mother" in this world died during childbirth until later because he was supposed to be a twin. But he and his twin got impacted and the spirit sheep couldn't handle it. All three had died, but somehow, he survived. So, now, he gets hand-fed. Despite the peak lord of Xin Ya telling the disciples not to name the animals or get too attached since they provide food for many of the peaks, one disciple does start calling him Shēng Huán (生还 = To Survive).

He's being raised and monitored on Xin Ya like other farmed spirit animals, and he's alright as long as he gets his food and has a nice place to sleep. Despite spirit sheep being herding creatures, he's not the most popular amongst his peers, so he tends to dwell around the humans more. But as he becomes more aware, he realizes that some of the lambs and sheep have gone missing, and because he's not only a sheep, he puts two-and-two together and realizes he's on the menu.

So, he starts trying to escape, despite the fact he's not even fully weaned off his milk yet. When he can't manage to escape, he tries acting cute so no one thinks about eating him just yet.

Also, as a spirit sheep with more intelligence, he figures out how to cultivate, which is something most spirit and demonic creatures figure out naturally. Since he was born a spirit sheep, he got a head start rather than a mortal cat or dog or something. So, he starts cultivating to try and acquire a human body to avoid getting eaten.

One day, he's finally put on the roster for slaughter because of a larger meat order (Dammit Bai Zhan!! Stop eating so much meat!!!). In his panic as he's led to the slaughter room, he uses qi and manages to escape, fleeing the mountain as quickly as possible.

The problem now, though, is that he's terribly lost and he's not sure he got away from Cang Qiong. In fact, he's almost certain he's still on the mountain somewhere because the qi is still quite dense! He has to escape before he's put on someone's plate!

What he doesn't realize is that he fled to Qing Jing Peak.

The grass there is tasty, so he gets a bit distracted while eating it. But then he hears a scuffle and, despite being a prey animal, goes to see what's going on. There, he sees a fluffy-haired boy getting beaten up by a bunch of older kids while a younger girl cries out beside him.

I'm sorry, human girl, but I'm sure this "A'Luo" whose name you're calling out would very much appreciate it if you did something other than that! Maybe throw a punch or a kick or something!

Anyway, he sees the boy get pretty beat up and watches as the group leaves, satisfied. The boy and girl talk, and he only kind of understands human language--he's still learning, okay? He's looking for some sort of jade guanyin? There's so much greenery around, how is this A'Luo supposed to find that?

But, well, 'Yuan,' as he calls himself (not sure why he insists on that...hmm) decides to help. With his superior animal senses + cultivation combo, he sees the guanyin hanging off a branch. He's not sure how to get it down, though...

Well, he has horns, so maybe he could knock it down!

Once the children head off, he starts knocking his head against the tree. And, yikes, it kinda hurts a bit, but good thing he's got a thick skull and nice curved horns growing in! So he smacks the tree until he manages to use qi through his horns and crack the trunk. The branches shake, and finally, the jade guanyin falls!

...Now, how is he supposed to get it to that A'Luo? And why does he even care that much? Sure, the kid looked so cute and sad, like a little bun, but he's a prey animal and those children are predators that could eat him!!

Still...just the thought of leaving the fluffy black sheep without the guanyin made his little heart hurt. Maybe he felt kinship toward that fluffy little boy.

Following the boy's scent as he trailed through the bamboo and forest, he found it strongest at a woodshed of all places. How strange...he must go there often. It's almost night time, so he likely wouldn't return. Anyway, he'd just leave the guanyin on the ground in front of the door and--

Luo Binghe returned to the woodshed with his unhealed bruises and ruddy eyes, having spent some more time searching for his guanyin. But he stopped, seeing a sheep on the mountain. Different animals went around the peaks as they pleased, but there definitely weren't any spirit sheep on the peak. So why was--

But his thoughts stopped when he saw the guanyin in the sheep's mouth.

Caught in the act, Yuan gives up and slowly approaches the boy, keeping his head low and legs ready in case he needed to run away. The boy felt...strong somehow, and it made him feel cautious.

Feeling too afraid to get too much closer, Yuan put the guanyin on the ground and backed up. Of course, the boy practically pounced on the jade, making Yuan stumble back and almost bolt. But he managed to wait, watching as the boy sobs profusely over the guanyin and thanking him.

Yuan stared at him for a bit, then his nerves get to be too much, and he fled. He needed to find his way off the mountain, after all.

#why am i like this...#eh it's at least fun #svsss au #svsss #shen yuan #luo binghe #static drabbles #errr...let's call this...#sheepzun au #au post 1

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kusagrasskusa · 6 months

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Eye for an Eye, ‘Til the World goes Blind

Masky X Reader, Hoodie X Reader, Ticci Toby X Reader

Hello my loves <3 I’m planning on something I haven’t done in a veryyyy long time. This will be a chapter story that I have been wanting to make for a little bit, but I aleays get kinda pressured by one shots I suppose. And here is the introduction! I will link my AO3 account as well as my Wattpad (god rest its soul), where you can also find this story if it’s more convinient. But, I do want to say that the tags on AO3 are knd of dark because this story will be DARK. It’s gonna have some dark romance lol.

Wattpad - AO3: AnotherBloodyMaryOnACross

Intro, Cha1, Cha2, Cha 3, Cha 4, (All other chapters!)

It wasn’t the first time she did this to Y/N, but this was the worst. It was pretty often that she would leave her stepdaughter in the car during the summer, winter, or just bad weather, to go play or take her son somewhere. It’s understandable why Martha would be so angry- after all, her husband cheated on her and had a daughter with a prostitute that now she has to raise. But it wasn’t Y/N’s fault for being born into the world, or that her father was unfaithful. Y/N had flirted with death in locked cars many times during summer when Martha would take Mateo to a playground, forcing Y/N to only be able to watch and be jealous. If only the kids’ father wasn’t at work as much, he’d noticed the abuse for himself.

But this time, as it snowed heavily, Mateo and Martha were together at a nearby playground; Martha helping him snow-glide and make snowmen with the other kids. Y/N sat in the freezing car for an hour at this point and the frostbite nipping at her little purple fingers felt miserable alongside the constant shivering and the cold nipping away at her flesh. She was only six years old, with fuzzy boots and thin pajamas- nothing suitable for the cold.

“M-Martha…” she chattered her teeth as she mumbled, cuddling herself in the back car seat. It hurt too much to talk at this point.

A sudden gush of wind hit her legs out of nowhere, making her gasp and shiver more. Her eyes darted to where it came from- the windows were closed, so where did the wind come from? She furrowed her eyebrows as she sat up on her seat, hugging her arms to her chest as she looked at the now-opened window. Who opened the door and how did she not hear it?

“Mateo..? Martha?” She whimpered as she slowly slid off the car seat and down onto the snow-filled ground. The sound of screaming and laughing of kids could be heard from behind her in the distance, where the entrance of the snow park was. But the way Y/N faced was the direction of the thick woods, covered in thick snow and untouched. But what stood out the most to her was the bright, little wood cabin that was tucked neatly in the woods. Why hadn’t she seen it before?

There was a random buzzing in her head, causing her to grab off her frostbitten ears in pain.

“Come. It’s warm in here.”

The voice came from her head, making her squint her eyes and shake off the buzziness. As she opened her eyes and looked up, she gasped at the sudden tall figure in front of her. There was a tall man, dressed in all black and with skin as white as the snow. But most importantly, he didn’t have a face. He bent over in front of her, extending his hand in her direction.

“Come. Do not be afraid.”

There was fear written all over the little six-year-old’s face as she took a step away from the monstrous man. Her eyes were wide as she pulled herself away. The man slowly cocked his head, before taking his hand back to his side.

“Well. If you wish to freeze to death, there is nothing I can do to stop you.” His voice rang loudly in her head, making her whimper. He stood up from his spot, taller than anyone else she’d ever seen before, and turned to walk away.

“W-Wait..!” She weakly said, holding her hand out. The man stopped in his tracks and cocked his head in her direction. She pouted her lip, making a sad face. “I-I just… Martha will be mad if I leave the car. And I-I don’t want to get in trouble.”

Although expressionless, there was a look of pity on the man’s face as he crouched down once more in front of her. “My dear,” his voice rang, “come with me. I can show you a way to make sure you will never have to worry about Martha or people like her ever again.”

Mixed feelings sprouted on the young girl’s worried face. But ultimately, she nodded her head and reached for his hand, to which he held her’s the same way that her loving dad did. It was comforting and drained her worries instantaneously as the two began walking towards the cabin. “H-Hey, mister…”

“Please, call me The Operator, Y/N,” his voice rang in her head. She furrowed her eyebrows, confused by that kind of name, and nodded her head.

“How are you going to stop Martha from making me in trouble?” the little girl asked, before a sly smile came onto her face. “And… hey, how did you know my name?”

The man opened the cabin door for her, allowing her to step inside and feel the lovely warmth of the giant fireplace and the smell of a warm soup in the kitchen. The girl smiled happily as she let go of his hand and ran to the fireplace. “It’s so nice in here!”

“Why the FUCK did you leave her in there alone!”

“Sir, I’m gonna need you to calm down!”

“If you never went and slept with that bitch, this never would have happened!”

“Mom! Where’s Y/N!”

“Get the kid.”

“Hey, little man, my name is Officer Lindsey and I’m gonna take you to a warm car with hot chocolate, okay?”

“Don’t take my son!”

“Ma’am, you’re under arrest for child endangerment…”

“Cheif, they found the little girl!”

Eyes turned towards the officer as he held out his little radio. “They found her in an abandoned cabin almost 5 miles out. The same cabin the Charleson family died in. There’s no footprints so they don’t know how she could’ve gotten that far on her own, and she won’t say how she got there. She said there was no one else with her there either.”

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florenceafternoon · 5 months

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━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

These fics are set in the wizarding world but aren’t necessarily canon complaints.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries on ao3.

I ain’t missing you at all (requires an ao3 account) by @blitheringmcgonagall

Set post first wizarding war. "Lily Evans disappeared just when the war with Voldemort ended. Nobody knows why she left. James Potter doesn't care. He hasn't missed her at all."

It reads like a character study. All of the repressed emotions are so well-portrayed that I could picture all their facial expressions and body language. The dynamic between Lily and the marauders really illustrated how she wasn't just James' girlfriend - she was their friend too. I just wanted to give them all a hug.

Up In Arms by @mppmaraudergirl

When Lily jokingly tells her owl to deliver a letter to "the love of her life", i.e. Marlene McKinnon, her owl misinterprets the directive and, to her horror, her ode to James Potter’s arms lands squarely in his lap.

The banter in this one is so good that it made my friend fall back in love with jily's dynamic and read fics again

Evergreen and Pine by @tinyluminaryzombie

Lily Evans is stuck in a closet with Sirius. All Sirius wants to talk about is exactly what she's trying not to think about: James Potter.

Or: A seven minutes in heaven that's more like seven minutes of sweet sweet interegation ft. Lily and Sirius.

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes by @jfleamont

Lily's an overthinker, but fear not, James knows exactly what to say to cheer her up.

Because Lily being a stress smoker is canon (to me)

All The Things I Would Do also by @/ jfleamont

Lily can't stop thinking about James' hands.

Anything Leda writes is great so do yourself a favour and go read her works

I’ve Got My Hate to Keep Me Warm by @dizzy–bird

When a mission for the Order goes badly wrong, Lily Evans must spend the holidays lying low in the middle of nowhere. The rules: no magic, no visitors, and absolutely no Christmas cheer.

And the kicker? She’s sharing the safe house with Order darling – and rival – James Potter, who just happens to be the reason she’s in this mess in the first place.

Kat's poem from 10 Things I Hate About You

Hemispheres by @ohmygodshesinsane

James Potter and Lily Evans have set aside their schoolyard animosities for the sake of the Order of the Phoenix, but when they are enlisted to race Lord Voldemort across the world to prevent him from corrupting the very nature of death, tensions run high. In all manners.

Lily's characterisation in this one is so good

No One Knows Us by @annasghosts

As Fifth Year begins, Lily Evans is certain of a few things: she’s proud to be a Muggle-born witch, despite what Petunia might think; Severus Snape is still a loyal friend and whatever confusing feelings she has as she watches James Potter strut around the castle must be squashed because he’s nothing, but an arrogant toerag.

In which Lily gets the dynamic character treatment that she deserves.

51 Minutes to Change Your Mind by @sosohh

When Muggle-Born Oliver Wood becomes an extremely successful cyclist for the British Cycling team, both muggle and magical ministries have to come up with a plan to make sure all is fair. Enter James Potter and Lily Evans.

The Art of Self-Defense by cgner (on ao3)

Gilmore Girls AU in which "after seventeen years of single parenting, she now has to manage a persistent James, nosy villagers, and a son who's all too interested in joining the Order."

#for everyone tired of lily getting sidelined #this one is for you #jily #jily fic rec #jple #lily evans #james potter

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sketchedspiders · 1 month

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Cotag actually breaks my fucking heart knowing the reality of their relationship and the fact that they could never be able to truly love each other.

1. Their workplace literally steals their mind, body, and soul so they can just become machines that don’t think of or take interest in anything else.

2. It’s the 1970s and they’re both guys; being gay wasn’t allowed anywhere back then.

[Full analysis under the cut + Spoilers]

[Keep in mind some of this is my own interpretations, but it still goes off canon)

Normal Guy literally tells Protag this when he tells him that Coworker was a great help and they got along well.

He gets frustrated by this fact and worries that Coworker is a distraction for Protag. He doesn’t want them to form a relationship of any kind because it would distract them from their work. Immediately after Normal Guy tells him that, he goes on to ask this:

Maybe I’m reaching right now because this question comes up no matter what, but for this it’s important. There’s multiple reasons and aspects as to why he asked this question, but one of them could be the fact that if Protag did feel anything around Coworker, then Normal Guy would know. It’s hard to explain, but think about a racing heart for example. People’s heart rate increases when they’ve infatuated by somebody, and when they see that person do even the tiniest things it makes them flustered. If they become nervous around that person, their breathing may become weird; which is why it brings us to this question. If Normal Guy finds an abnormality in Protag’s body that would prevent him from working, he would wanna know the reason, and if that reason is Coworker, then it pushes him to think their relationship is even more of a distraction to the both of them.

Normal Guy wants all his employees to dedicate their entire lives to the company. He doesn’t want them forming any sort of relationship that’s not entirely business related. If Protag’s heart is in something else, then that would create a multitude of problems. Not even his organs belong to him anymore, so neither of them even get the option to be together fully.

I think it’s also important to note that if you do choose the option to tell Normal Guy that Protag and Coworker did get along, this can lead you to get the bad ending where he literally erases Protag’s entire identity and makes him a different person. It’s wrong for them to be together no matter the circumstance, and their entire lives would be erased, along with their original relationship.

However, if the company did allow them to have a full on relationship, it wouldn’t have worked anyways. They’d be a gay couple in the 1970s, and homophobia was not only rampant back then but it was illegal. People would get arrested, sent to conversion therapy, or even lobotomized for being homosexual.

I’ve been wanting to talk about this for a LONG time, and this is also what pushed me to write “I wish you were born a girl” (yes hi I’m destroymeiloveyou on ao3 I’m exposing my identity for a moment here and if you don’t know wtf I’m talking about then ignore this).

They could be together in private theoretically, but with them being gay and also working at a company that doesn’t even want their employees to have a life outside of work, it’d be near impossible. Both of them would be at a constant risk of losing everything. Although, they already have given up so much for their work, would it even be worth it?

Coworker is already a closeted person with his feelings and such. He puts up a narcissistic front because of how insecure he is. His title means everything to him because he doesn’t have much else. It gives him a sense of security, and he wants somebody else to recognize that because he wants to feel loved. That’s a whole other analysis for later, but taking this into account with everything else, would he be willing to give up the little that he has to give him security for a relationship that was doomed from the beginning?

With how desperate he tries to impress others (especially Protag), and how attached he is to his title as well as his nepotism, his life being turned upside down just like that would be a nightmare. Everybody would turn against him, and no longer would he be the star employee at the company. In reality, he would be just as in denial about his feelings as Protag would be.

Also. ALSO!!! Speaking of Protag, it is heavily implied and agreed upon that Protag has religious trauma because of floor 4. If he did grow up in a strict, christian household, he would definitely have internalized homophobia.

The sight of a cross makes him nervous, meaning he’s probably no longer christian, but it has left a longterm effect on him.

This means that despite how he left his christian past behind, the things he was taught as a kid has never left him.

If his parents wanted him to be a “good kid” and follow God, I think they would’ve taught him that homosexuality is a sin. That’s one of the lessons that have also never left him, and he still stands by it even if hiding his identity makes him miserable.

Although, no matter how hard he tries, it’ll be obvious his heart will never be in the company or christian values. He’s gonna end up hurt and hurting whether he hides his feelings or not, which is just as tragic. He’d feel terrible once he recognizes how he feels about Coworker and I don’t think he’d ever confess. Protag would just suppress his feelings and they would both suffer silently.

If either of them did end up confessing, they still wouldn’t ever be able to truly get together anyways.

So, cotag could be in love, but they would never actually be able to be romantically together or express their feelings at all. They can do the littlest acts, like spending time with each other on breaks, but it’ll never be enough.

It’s not even right person, wrong time; it’s wrong person, wrong time.

I would write WAY more and I’ll probably yap about this later too because I’ve been keeping this to myself for so long, but I have to cut this short for now.

I probably sound like matpat right now with how im reaching with some of this stuff but I don’t care I need everybody to suffer along with me LMFAOO

I hope you enjoyed this and expect way more soon once I have the time because I also wanna write a notag analysis (although it will be just as tragic) and also write analyses on the songs in my cotag playlist

I would add a funny image here but I’ve reached the limit. Anyways if you have any questions PLEASE let me know I love yapping about my cotag interpretations and theories

#cotag #coworker elevator hitch #protag elevator hitch #elevator hitch #neptune yaps #people reading this being like did we play the same hour long game where two dudes are trapped in an elevator #yes. i’m just insane #i love tragic doomed elevator yaoi

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baby-jaguar · 1 month

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Lust by Nature {Part 1}

Masterlist, Part 2, Part 3

Read on ao3

Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, (eventual) slightly dubious consent, (eventual) Somno, he wants you but is stubborn, violence, succubus reader, sexual tension, reader is given a callsign, minimal descriptions of reader, will update tags as I go

Word Count: 4,015

Summary: A demon by nature; a succubus. Now finally designated to a team, you’re a pilot in how demons and hybrid creatures alike can change the war. However, your previous commanders didn't account for a man too stubborn for his own good. Captain Price stands firm in his morals and ethics, developed by his hardened years in the SAS. You, a lustful little devil, will put him to the test.

And maybe along the way, he’ll put your nature to the test.

A/N: For my own logistics, reader was born seemingly human but the traits and magic did not solidify until reaching adult years, making you appear youthful while stuck in that age. This was originally going to be PWP but I sit here 20k words later... I hope ye enjoy!

Being a far descendant of a fallen angel, you could laugh at the pitiful life you’ve led yourself into.

You’re a pretty thing- beautiful, really. Full of allure and a natural aura of sin that draws others in with a simple look. The blood that pumps and fuels your magic has been alive for a long, long time.

Boredom is a constant in the life of the soulless and damned. It’s agonizingly blurry if you don't set a task or just choose to meander around the world but fortunately for you, you’ve got quite the life ahead of you.

Coming from a state-of-the-art high-security prison base, you’re technically a super soldier with a special drawback. Needing humans to fuel your power; you suck the life out of them, literally, and take energy from their sexual desires and touch.

It’s almost the brunt of the joke when you answer the question of what you are, feeling each time such an expectant shame and laugh to be cast upon you like heavy stones.

A succubus.

Long-acting jester of the demons taken for a lust-driven fool.

Being detained early on in your young lifespan, you were trained to be used as a weapon. Not of mass destruction, but rather something to make these stupid games of war go by so much easier. Not having to slay countless bodies for information and getting a damn good meal from the lives you stole (maybe a few quickies when your superiors weren’t looking), it’s a considerably content life compared to others.

Graduating from training after a few decades was quite the celebration for you and the officials who have been overseeing you for a plethora of years. The military had found a suitable team for you, and you were designated to be put under the supervision of an elite task force.

Supernatural beings were not uncommon in the military, as a large amount were free to live their lives if docile. In the lands of gods and monsters, the humans still held supreme reign over the controlled populations. However, beings similar to you were quick to be captured and either trained or distributed- the world turning a blind eye to what you were capable of achieving in the good and the bad.

John Price. The name stuck to your tongue like you were thirsty and you had a thick paste in your mouth.

No, not semen. At least not yet.

Being appointed to Task Force 141 was exciting. It’s your first time with this much trust, but you know you’d never fuck around too much to land you back to your containment. Captain Price had steely eyes locked onto your form the moment you stepped out of the convoy; high-security cuffs around your wrists and a large band of metal wrapped around your torso. The assumption is to keep you from shapeshifting or lashing out at anyone now that you’re out from the heavy locks and fences.

To everyone else, you looked human. Nothing amiss besides the heavy security detail on your body.

“Captain Price.” Your General’s voice rings out for you, greeting him with a firm handshake.

“General, pleasure.” His eyes dart away from you to greet the man, and you take a small dissatisfaction at the notion, your eyes traversing the expanse of him, already ruminating and calculating his presence.

He’s strong. His energy is sturdy; A cement wall that has cracks laced upon itself, layers of bonding to cover them up and just barely sanded over to appear brand new. His physical appearance leaves your internal senses giddy with the sense of a new adventure. If you’d release your glamour illusion, your tail would be swaying slowly.

The contract was simple; Your powers would be used in specific operations under Price’s command. You were his, and his only, not being allowed to act under any other authority. Behave well and you’ll be integrated more into society by his terms, but the worse you were, the worse your containment.

Your payment? Being able to form a bond with Price, one that will satisfy your demon, while being sure to keep you useful.

The etymology humans created portrayed a slew of differing conditions for succubi contracts, most being a damning thing to land humans a hot spot in hell. Being able to create this tie meant that they’d be your selected mate while they’d bear your mark to ward off any other demons. Under this, it barricaded you from killing said person. Instead, the feeding would come from sexual desire, touch, and yes, semen.

Watching Price, the flames of your creation begin to already yearn for his touch.

It's with a simple handoff of your file, a thick manilla envelope, that gets passed off to Price with no other words spoken, and you can’t help but marvel at how they treat your ownership like a back alley drug. The General nods towards you, speaking your name before the simple “But we just call her Little Devil.” A small twitch of Price's mouth makes you wonder if he disapproves.

“She may be a demon but keep her well-kept, Price. Your trial run in this program is going to do more than change war tactics.”

Shifting the envelope in his hands, Price takes a survey of how much documentation they have on just your captive existence. There could be some good and some bad, maybe all bad but the chance of letting a temperamental half-demon could cause serious repercussions to both sides. Hypothetically.

“We’ll be in touch.” Price responds, the forced-looking grin making the blue of his eyes slightly disappear for a moment. A nod of his head, then attention back on you while judging how to best go about this.

“You speak…?”

It sets a bristle off inside you with an internal scoff. The chance to insult him for accusing you of being either incompetent or something of the silent type settles, but your probation period keeps you inside the lines of behavior. “Yes, Captain.”

When he hears your voice; It sounds ethereal. Like the crisp jingle bells while the sound is eclipsed if not swallowed by soft and red velvet.

A small tick of his right eyebrow was the only movement accompanying a hum in acknowledgment. “Right, well. Let’s get you settled in then.”

With the queue of acceptance, the General brings a small key from a pocket unbeknownst to you, moving to unlock the cuffs. There’s humor in watching you, the new operator being uncuffed while accepted onto base- and hey, maybe you could ponder the religious message it brings forward too.

But there’s not enough time for that notion.

Walking off the tarmac and into the nearby administrative building brings steady heed of stares. “So… Your previous situation. Was told it was more of a containment type of thing. Would you mind speaking on that?” Price’s toned-down voice comes out after more than a few paces into the building, leading you towards a stairwell into the third floor.

“The best way to describe it in normalcy would be similar to what you human soldiers do here- the barracks. Just imagine its very high security.” It takes a moment to draw up the answer, having expected the man to be as nitwitted as the normal “A sex demon, huh?” question asked in every new encounter.

“You’ve always been in that situation?”

The clicking of both sets of feet confidently strikes the ground. A sense louder than the random soldiers milling around you and the lack thereof as others stop and stare in bewilderment.

“No. Not sure if you’re making small talk or haven’t read my file yet, but my demonic integration did not start manifesting until I was in my early adult years. Got turned in when I was walking around the streets in full form. No control whatsoever on shifting.”

A broken-off hum leaves the man, sensing the almost frazzled static around him as he works to keep walking while maintaining an eye on you. “I have. Just wanted to hear it from you.” Truthfully, if you were in his place with an unshackled demon that had years of military experience walking alongside you, you’d have some sense of fear too. “And how long ago was that? When you matured?”

Eyeing him for a moment, he looks mid-40s if anything. Handsome, worn down from war so possibly a bit younger. “Quite some time ago. I’d say when your parents were born, Captain.”

He stops in a mid-step, balances perfectly set before turning to whirr his head at you. Eyes give an up-down motion on you before ticking his jaw. “Huh.”

He pushes his way through a wall of soldiers to an office door before opening it. “And how old-”

“Body stopped aging when all the changes settled. A second sense of puberty that I’m locked into.” The small upturn of your lips doesn’t pass him. All he can do is nod in response.

He makes his way to the desk against the back corner of his office room; The space is a good size, Having enough for his L-shaped desk with two chairs in front of it. A worn-in leather couch on an adjacent wall while a few framed documents hang on the wall, military in nature with medals attached to them while undusted fake plants serve as accents in the corners.

“Very well,” He gives a soft grunt when adjusting himself in his seat before opening up the large manilla folder. “You, are going to be judged based on your nature and human interaction during your uncontained enlistment. Ability to perform assignments, be of aid, and see what your specific capabilities can put forward with us.”

Head nodding in check with each item listed, “Understood, Captain.”

His blue eyes leave the documents for a moment to find your gaze already on him. “You’ve got a good rapport with every previous task, but your previous COs still didn’t state trust as a key factor. Why would that be?”

For a moment, you get lost in the focus of his body language; Price folds his arms over the table, holding his elbows as the pages become spread over his desk. The way he purses his lips after a question that holds an answer he will depend on. His lips make a small smack in the action, and it's cute in the way he’s so human.

“I didn’t trust them.”

An eyebrow arches at the vague response prompting you to continue. “Kept me like a lab animal, fed me or let me feed when deemed easy for them to write off in the report. That’s not how you treat a demon when expecting to use their powers, sir.”

“And this feeding… There’s multiple ways listed here but to be frank- I’ve still yet to get my head wrapped around it. You’re a sex demon, yeah?”

Ah. There it is.

His eyes dart down to the few pages that cover your needs and methods of survival, studying the paragraphs of information. A how to keep your demon alive handbook if you will.

“The premise of everything I need stems from what is deemed as life force, or just called energy. Sex is easy, and feels the most satisfying.” A breath before continuing. “ But relying on just energy wont last me long, yet its easier in some situations. Those barely alive are easy to take from.”

He knows there's more to be had with you. A temptress trained well with a pedigree in what you were made for. But he can only hypothesize. “And what are you expecting from being here?”

A look of surprise flashes in the widening of your eyes, not used to someone asking in consideration. “I’m expecting more hostiles, interrogations, or kills that I could take to feed myself. And sex too.”

“Oh-” A half cough leaves him before looking to the side. Surely he should have known, it's stereotypical but at least true.

“If you want me at full strength, I’m going to need the energy. I’m sure you could understand that, Sir?” The small tilt of your head, almost an aloof look sends alarm bells into his mind. They wouldn’t have sent a succubus in here without some sort of plan already being formed, some procedure and measure being used to-

“I am expecting to form a relationship with you, Captain.”

And at that, a full choked sound leaves him. He deserves doubled pension for this.

“And in what right mind, was that established in, hm?” He grounds out, opening a desk drawer to pull out a cigar before taking a cutter to the end of it. You measure the time it takes for him to light it and take a first steady puff.

“Well, the way I see it- and having discussed it with my previous superiors, this is supposed to mirror a real dynamic. This is the only point of contact to report on my behavior. I don’t think engaging in what I need would go over well if I went wild with other operators or soldiers around the base. Confirm or deny?”

Price’s eyes narrow as you speak, dragging his gaze away to stare at his locked computer screen. A grunt in the back of his throat sounds before taking another inhale of his cigar. For a man who has been fighting on the front lines for countless years, he keeps the smoke in for a steady amount of time. Healthy lungs. Good for him.

You haven’t tried a cigar, only have gotten a whiff of the burning tobacco coming from superiors. This smell is the lingering one you picked up on Price even when standing on the tarmac. Sweet, vanille and tobacco leaves.

“You said your previous company spoke on this with you.” He starts with a swift movement to rifle through the pages on his desk. “This in writing or are you taking the piss now?” He speaks in a deep grumble, holding the burning cigar between his lips.

An internal groan rattles your mind, already sensing this may be more of a struggle than ease of getting what you were promised. “Last few pages. It’s all in writing.” He seemed like a sensible man in the way that if a warm and inviting body was laid out to him while asking for himself, he’d take it.

“Commanding officer is to set an established and cohesive exchange, herein the succubus will be fed from a relationship in physical and sexual natures while in exchange not damaging or harming the officer.” His accent slides in a bit more thickly than you’ve heard up until now, eyebrows scrunched while he mumbles the page to himself. “And why in the bloody hell, was this not communicated to me beforehand?”

You can’t control the wry smirk that steals your lips while looking at him, trying not to laugh. “They thought it would be a no-brainer.” A pause, “Sir.”

Plucking the cigar out of his mouth, Price sighs while leaning back in his chair seemingly defeated. “You sufficed well without any previous relation in the company, there’s no evidence that this will turn out well.” His eyes now land on you in a quick movement.

“As I mentioned-” He cuts you off with a wave of his hand.

“No. I’m not going to sleep with my subordinate, less so one that can kill me if so pleases.” The uptick of his chin bleeds with firmness, a decision that screams arrogance of finality.

Settling down in a way that almost matches his, your jaw ticks. “Yes, sir.”

And truthfully it's all you can say. Agree and accept to stay here and be the guinea pig for others like you. You can warn all you want but by the devil himself, humans won’t learn until their wrongs meet them in their face.

“If I could so much as advise you, Captain;” Your chin dipping, licking the front of your teeth, and feeling the small prick of your dormant fangs. He nods for you to continue, “If you want me at my full capacity, I will need every ounce of energy I can get. You’re going to need to keep that in the back of your head. It’s not simple like a meal you eat. It’s a life I take or the sex I make.”

Now, a quick smile flashes over him only disappearing when he takes a long, longer drag of the cigar. “I’ll keep that in mind, Demon.” Sitting up straighter, leaning on the desk again.

“But whether or not you are a good girl, depends on what ethics I choose to apply.” The smoke puffs out in small bursts as he speaks, tendrils leading up toward heaven before it stills in limbo at the weight of it.

—

The men- your teammates, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap, each greeted you with somewhat seasoned restraint and respect by holding their tongues yet their eyes spoke their curiosity while roaming over you.

You could see the disappointment in their eyes. Being met with a seemingly normal human was not what they had been briefed on. Having let their imagination run wild at the title of a succubus, you’d guess they would have wanted to see every aspect of what kind of mystical enchantress you would be. Once the disappointment of not seeing such things the churches pray against, the view of your human form set in.

Lords above you were the finest piece of-

It felt like a surefire version of winning the lottery to have you assigned to them. Banking on the fact that you’d be their little guard dog and they yours, Gaz already having to scare recruits away at PT while you stared on with a coy smile. Training was as you’d have expected. Executions of strategies, questioning of tactics, and scoring your shooting were all within the long hours of the day. What you hadn’t expected was the lack of insults thrown your way in passing when you met their standards. No degrading words of being a a demon, or a slut by association of your breed.

It was two weeks before you were allowed to come on an assignment with them; The mission in the bitter snow of the Russian Tundra.

12 hours in and having stormed a bunker with countless bodies already strewn across, blood stains the polished cement and a flicker of sinister delusion makes you wish the snow was this color.

Tattered remains of your shirt sleeves show the color of your skin underneath, but miraculously no wounds present themselves even as your kevlar has obvious points of damage. The sight of you standing, gun raised and firing quick bursts of succession as the last body falls to the ground. It’s like a scene out of a soldier's bible.

Your chest heaves, mouth opens to lick your teeth as the adrenaline slows its production in your blood. Price is sure that if he put a body cam on you, it would be a haze of movements, a shadow clouding up the corners of the screen and filled with static. He’s still not sure what to think of you in the short amount of time you’ve been here. Quiet and speaking only when spoken to. And it’s not what he was prepared for; The thick dossier of yours being filled with reprimands, complaints, and classified lines that hid your after-action reports with details on your kill count.

From the first meeting, he knew you were spoiled rotten in that compound, save the punishments given on your worst days. You knew how to get what you wanted. Bitting time and time again to still be fed. Yet, now all he can see is you biting at others if only to protect your men.

“Saint.” The spur of Price’s voice makes you jump, the scene of death halting, eyes darting to a stack of crates where he lays. His squinted eyes lock onto your form, trailing up and down for a moment before he tries to adjust himself with a grunt.

“Who?” You ask while taking a secondary cautious sweep of the room before moving to him in a quick few steps.

“You, sweetheart. Saint.”

His grunt of pain doesn’t faze you, instead focusing the whiff of a sweeter metallic smell hits you. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

Ghost, Gaz, and Soap have the outside perimeter locked down with getaway snowmobiles at Price’s word. He touches the side of his com to activate it, roughly alerting them you both had cleared the floor and will need to medevac in the next coming moments.

“Let me get that for you.” It was a severe contrast to the inhumane growling and yelling from moments before as you tore into the enemies, ones that had you in a blind rage for landing a shot on Price.

Shaking his head, he reaches out his hand to stop you. “‘M fine, just need a quick patch. We need to leave.” He grounds out, leaning forward while covering the wound on his thigh.

Common knowledge brought the understanding that succubi had a level of regenerative power, but most not having been raised in military secrecy or being able to develop themselves into having control.

“Stop. Just-” A breath settles in your lungs, measuring itself and the expanse of what you could do- how you could help and be useful. The previous rage and fight instincts transform with concentration and the swirling of conjuration. “I need a little…” You trail off, eyes sweeping upwards to his.

There’s a shame that humans hold. You blame it on them being entirely born of boring flesh, but that would be hypocritical to an extent. Taking his vest in hand, you pull yourself forward to lean in.

“What the bloody-” Price jerks back but can't even finish as you sush him, giving him a deep stare that almost sedates him. He stills and quiets at the same time, now holding your gaze that he swears he saw the current color be flooded by a deep red.

He blinks for a moment, already trying to fight the small calming waves you push into him but the sudden feeling of long talons priking into his shirt makes him freeze. Like an animal with food aggression, you keep him there while moving in to bring your lips together.

You can taste a bit of blood, and the saltiness of his sweat, while trying not to groan at just how good he feels against you. His lips are surprisingly plump, probably from being irritated due to the cold, but it adds a level of eroticness to feel his wet lips slide over yours.

“Stay still for me.” You pause the kiss that he’s surprisingly reciprocating eagerly, breathing into each other's mouths. The soft plea drives his heart rate up and you can feel the sense of adrenaline spiking. He’s going to sleep like a fucking brick tonight.

He shudders when you come back together with more force, purposefully dragging the tip of your fangs against his bottom lip as you crowd him.

There.

There is the sickly sweet thrum of arousal in his body that makes his mind stir, what you could give in a bastardized excuse of lust right now.

“Mmm, give me a minute.” Comes your wet slurred speech when pulling away, eyebrows furrowing as you focus on on his bullet wound.

The sight of you could be his glory to fight. Tattered from battle, your lips are tinted red, clothes dirty from the gunpowder floating in the air, looking as if so carelessly lethal while your presence is a magnet to him. He's already caught himself wondering why you were chosen to represent a being that fell so far from heaven when your instincts screamed the opposite in small moments.

Looking down to be sure he’s healed just enough, you miss the look of blatant shock he gives when the pink and unmarred flesh greets his eyes. “A right fuckin’ saint you are.” He murmurs, watching you call the boys for exfil, no longer medevac.

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