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draconic-desire · 3 months

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A Dance With the Dragon II — Mates

Yandere Neuvillette x Reader

[Part I] [Part II — You are here] [Part III]

Neuvillette brings you to your new “home”, which also comes with new challenges.

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, forced imprisonment, Neuvillette accidentally goes a little feral here, brief non-con at the end

One of the first things Neuvillette did was move you from the apartment at the Palais Mermonia (your prison for the past four centuries) to his personal residence. Securing his palms to your waist, he teleported you directly into the foyer of the massive home.

The interior was splashed with blues and whites that matched the Chief Justice’s own color palette. The upper walls were decorated with friezes depicting various marine creatures, from floating otters (how ironic) to bobbing seahorses. A grand spiral staircase led to the upper floor, while a set of double French doors connected the foyer to a massive living room adorned with plush love seats and armchairs, tasteful artwork of Fontainian landscapes, and enormous windows that overlooked the sea. It appeared the house was set into a cliffside, with the waves battering the rocks far beneath you.

You paced into the living room, running your hand along the blue silk couch cushions. To your left, a door led out to what appeared to be an inclosed courtyard with a miniature fountain. To the right was a closed door, a familiar dragon carved into its exterior. Your arm burned in resonance.

Though you were loathe to admit it, the place was beautiful.

“Do you like it?”

Shifting your gaze to him, it was clear that Neuvillette was desperate for your approval. Ever since he let you outside to discover the true length of your imprisonment, you had rarely spoken a word to him. Clearly, your silence had done a number on him, as the normally composed man was fidgeting nervously.

When you kept quiet, Neuvillette cleared his throat. “I admit, part of why things took so long was due to my insistence that everything be perfect for your arrival. I rearranged our bedroom perhaps a dozen times, and I couldn’t for the life of me decide what your personal room should entail.” When you glanced out towards the fountain, he coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, that was a…sentimental addition. It makes me think of how we met.”

You’d never forget that Archons-damned fountain. If only you hadn’t been so naive. Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, go away.

Neuvillette extended his palm towards you in what appeared to be both a peace offering and an order. “Shall I give you a tour?”

Suddenly your feet appeared very interesting. What were you supposed to say? This technically was your home now, like it or not. You’d become painstakingly familiar with it with time. Although you weren’t imprisoned within the Palais as before, your new life still promised shackles nonetheless.

“Could you just show me my personal room?” You sighed. “I’d prefer to just rest after that.”

Neuvillette smiled softly, relishing the sound of your voice. “Of course.”

Twisting his fingers through your own, he led you towards the dragon door. Once again, your hidden tattoo pulsed with energy. It felt like a pull forward, a welcoming embrace. You realized then that there must be some sort of warding spell on this room, likely meaning only you and your captor could enter.

Marvelous.

Pushing the door open, Neuvillette swept his arm gracefully through the entrance. “After you, my love.”

You stepped in and immediately went still.

For in every direction around you was rows upon shelves upon stories of books.

Neuvillette had build you your own personal library.

And not just that. You noticed that entire sections pertained to your personal interests—marine biology, photography, even your personal favorite genres of novels. A separate door labeled Dark Room promised an avenue for you to pick up photography again. Similar couches and chairs as the living room were arranged around a huge coffee table, and a cracking hearth added to the cozy atmosphere.

Your throat bobbed. You had always dreamed of owning a room like this, a place where all your passions converged. But to have it under these circumstances…you didn’t know how to react, torn between frustration and a grateful little voice in the back of your head that you buried at once. No, I didn’t earn this. I don’t want this. It was forced on me.

All you could choke out was, “This is…mine?”

“Down to the last book.” You could hear the pride in his voice. “I spent the most time on this room. Over a century to get it right.”

You startled. A century? Your heart stumbled, but your hands fisted by your sides. So much given, yet what had it cost you?

Shaking your head, you simply said, “I’d like to be alone.” Connecting your eyes with his, you could see his hurt, the expectation of a grand reaction on your part that you refused to indulge.

However, the look was quickly wiped from his face, for he must have seen something broken in your facade. A muscle in his jaw feathered as he approached you, a gloved hand stroking your cheek. “I understand you must be overwhelmed. I’ll leave you to explore,” Neuvillette said, placing a kiss on your forehead before heading for the exit.

“Neuvillette?”

Said man turned back towards you, a hopeful look in his eyes.

“Why me?” You grabbed your arm where the shadow of your draconic tattoo hid. “Why…all this?”

His gaze immediately softened. “My dear, we have centuries for me to show you.”

~*~

It was times when Neuvillette was vulnerable that it was hardest to hate him.

He had returned home after a long day at court to find you sitting in the courtyard on the edge of the fountain, peering up at the night sky as if the stars held some answers. Moonlight bathed you in an ethereal glow, and if he didn’t already think you a goddess, he would have pledged himself to you then and there.

You hadn’t noticed him yet, too involved in your own thoughts. True to his word, Neuvillette had given you time and space to enjoy your new (cage) home. You had to admit, it was a major upgrade from the Palais, and you knew the Iudex would continue to let you explore Fontaine, if you tolerated his presence beside you. However, you knew this dance wouldn’t last—it was only a matter of time before Neuvillette expected something in return. It was abundantly clear that he desired your affections, but how far would he go in order to sway you? To fully make you his?

A sea breeze whipped around you, eliciting an involuntary shiver to rip up your spine.

A sudden warmth enveloping your form brought you back to reality. Blinking in surprise, you peered up to see the Chief Justice smiling softly at you, his purple irises sparking with longing and care. His elaborate attire was gone, leaving only his pale undershirt.

He’d given you this coat.

“I…thank you,” you mumbled, averting your eyes from the man.

“Do my ears deceive me? Did my dear (Y/n) actually acknowledge me?”

Your grip on his robes tightened. “Don’t mistake my words for kindness. I haven’t forgotten what you are.”

A sigh. “Despite what you may believe, I’m not a monster.”

You deadpanned. “You’re quite literally the Hydro dragon.”

“Archons above,” Neuvillette whispered, glancing up at the sky as if it held the key to winning your heart. “I was referring to a monster in the definition you humans use.”

“What? You mean like a man who would kidnap and imprison an innocent person—”

“Considering you are not in the Fortress of Meropide, I’d hardly consider this imprisonment.”

“What, have I offended you?” A scoff left escaped you. “If you want to play house, at least own up to your actions. Don’t pretend you’re some sort of gentleman.”

Neuvillette was silent for a beat, his mouth a thin line. Unexpectedly, his muscles relaxed as he released his tension. He lowered his large frame, taking a seat next to you. “You’re right.”

You sketched a brow in surprise.

Neuvillette trained his eyes on his palms, facing upwards in his lap. “I understand neither what it means to be human, nor what it means to be a god. I was given this duty to protect and uphold the laws of Fontaine, and yet I cannot save those who need it most.” His fingers formed fists, and his lids closed solemnly. “Carole, Vautrin…all of the others I have failed…”

You worried your lower lip. Although he had already informed you of his friends’ fate in your absence, it was still a raw wound for the both of you. Yet the anguish in Neuvillette’s eyes twisted your heart. How could a man be so duplicitous, so capable of both justice and blind obsession?

As if sensing your conflict, Neuvillette gently took your face in his hands, tilting your chin so that your eyes locked once again. His eyes danced with silver sparks of emotion, like cracks of lighting across a dark sea. A thumb brushed away a tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“So if I can protect but one thing, one person, I will do it.”

~.~

You often noticed that Neuvillette’s horns got stuck in his robes.

Honestly, it was kind of humorous. In the beginning, watching him struggle gave you a sick sense of satisfaction. You’d take any circumstance that inconvenienced him, however petty that might be.

But today, seeing the Chief Justice pouring over a case regarding the protection of Fontaine’s sea life at an ungodly hour, head propped on a fist to keep him awake, you couldn’t help but feel sympathetic when he emitted a low hiss as his horns tangled into the ornamentation of his attire once again. “Damned human attire,” he cursed.

Neuvillette wasn’t an inherently bad man. In fact, your own case aside, he had invoked significant and positive change in Fontaine’s legal system. He judged cases fairly and prudently, working himself ragged each day to ensure the nation’s safety. It would have been admirable to you in any other circumstance.

You didn’t know what possessed you when you stepped behind him and carefully untangled his twin blue horns.

At your touch, Neuvillette immediately froze. His heart rate skyrocketed and his mind went blank because you were touching him.

And not just anywhere, but his horns. Unbeknownst to you, a dragon’s horns were the most sensitive part of its body, only to be handled by itself or its mate. One brush was akin to a lovers embrace, the whisper of a kiss, the hot breath shared between partners in the thralls of passion. Not only was the touch intensely intimate, it was also an acknowledgement—an acceptance of the male’s advances onto his partner.

Oh, if only you knew how many times he had fantasized about this, your acknowledgement of him and his love for you. Although his rational, human side knew your touch as unintentional, the dragon within Neuvillette reared and roared against his skin, demanding to be set free upon its mate.

“Your horns were caught,” was all you said as you settled back into the sofa, flipping to the marked page of your novel.

If you had looked up, you would have witnessed the Iudex gently touching his horns in awe. He swore he could still feel the brush of your palm against him, shivering delightfully at the mere memory of your touch.

Little did you know that your simple act of kindness would unleash the storm.

~*~

The one unfortunate deviation of your current accommodations from the Palais Mermonia was Neuvillette’s unyielding insistence on sharing a bed.

You had foolishly thought escaping him, even if just within the confines of your shared home, would be simple. You believed the library, what he even referred to as your room, would be your bedroom as well. Despite the lack of an actual bed, the plush couches and ever-lit fire provided more than enough comfort to lull you to sleep.

But when you had opened your eyes, you were mere inches away from Neuvillette’s shirtless, sleeping form.

You had assumed it was due to the draconic symbol guarding the room; perhaps it linked you to him more than you had thought. So, the next night, you decided to sleep in the parlor instead.

Only for your hopes to be shattered the next morning when you awoke not only in bed with your captor, but with your limbs entwined.

Anger, shame, and a touch of something you couldn’t quite place—something not entirely unpleasant—flooded you as you tore yourself out of his embrace. How was he doing this? Was it magic, or would he physically carry you to bed each night?

This pattern repeated itself. You would pick various places around the huge house to retire for the night. However, you would wake up in bed next to Neuvillette each morning without fail.

You had even reverted to your previous stubbornness and slept on the ground a few nights, but to no avail. It seemed you were bound to his bed.

Tonight, you decided to face the issue head-on. You stormed up the stairway and into the spacious bedroom, ignoring the pain in your lower back due to all the errant surfaces you had tried to sleep on. The downy pillows and lush, cream comforter practically begged you to surrender to the king-sized bed and its occupant.

Instead, you halted at the foot of the bed and crossed your arms. “You have to stop this.”

Neuvillette immediately looked up from the tome in his lap, his reading glasses slipping down his nose. He hadn’t yet changed out of his white dress shirt, and the buttons revealed a hint of his toned chest as he set the book down. “And what exactly are you demanding I stop?”

You huffed a laugh. “I wish I could say all of this,” you waved your hands around, as if that would convey the entirety of the situation, “but I mean putting me in your bed each morning.”

“Our bed,” he corrected, as if that were the issue.

“No, your bed. Are you really telling me that with all this space, you can’t just let me sleep alone?”

He removed his glasses with a sigh, setting them on the nightstand. “I could, but I don’t want to.”

You seethed. “Well, I do.”

Neuvillette’s violet gaze pinned you with something like hurt. “Have I truly done something to upset you? It seemed as if you were settling into our new home quite nicely. Our conversation and touches were…” His throat bobbed. “Pleasant.”

You narrowed your eyes and bit out, “Don’t take any of that as complacency. You’re still a monster.”

Neuvillette flinched in response and, for just a moment, you felt a piece your heart falter. That is, until he whispered, “Mates don’t sleep apart.”

The room went utterly still.

Your voice came out as a breath of air, but the words were clear: “I am not your mate.”

It was then that you noticed the claws emerging from his fingertips, piercing into the sheets under his form. His eyes flashed silver, dangerous as knives. You could have sworn you saw a pair of elongated canines as he grit his teeth. “You have no idea how difficult it has been,” he breathed, voice tight, desperate.

On instinct, you took a pace back. You suddenly felt like a cornered animal, unable to avert your gaze from those claws that looked ready to tear into you. Clearly you had misjudged the situation—the Hydro Dragon was a starved, deadly predator, and you were practically served on a silver platter as its next meal.

Icy panic raced through your veins. You’ve never seen him like this, so out of control and inhuman. Trying to mediate the situation, you put your hands up in surrender. “Neuvillette, listen to me. Just calm down.”

You had hoped that saying his name would do just that, but it seemed to only rile him up further. The Chief Justice of Fontaine actually growled in response. You couldn’t tell if it was a warning or a plea. “You deny your mate, and now you’re telling me to simply calm down?”

Another step back. Just put out the fire and deal with the consequences later. “I apologize for being confrontational. I think it’s best if I just go—”

Before you could react, Neuvillette pounced forward and grabbed you by the shoulders, pulling you onto the bed. You released a cry and tried to scramble away, but he spun you around and pinned your back against the mattress with his muscular frame. He loomed above you on all fours, his hands gripping your arms and applying just enough pressure to hold you still without hurting you. The glint in his eyes, however, promised pain that was yet to come. You were the prey about to get its throat torn out.

“Wh-what are you doing?” You struggled, heart skyrocketing at the feel of his arousal pressing against your core.

"Something I’ve needed to do for four hundred years," he growled huskily, his breath fanning your lips moments before they slammed against yours.

The kiss was hungry, predatory. Obsessive. You could feel the release of each year, each century, as his mouth devoured yours. You arched your back in an attempt to get away, but Neuvillette was quicker. He lifted your form easily and slammed your back against the bed once again. At your gasp of shock, he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

You fumbled around for something, anything that you could take purchase of. Your arms were pinned, but you were just barely able to grab onto the first thing and tug: his horns.

Neuvillette moaned, a deep, throaty sound that sent heat flooding through you.

It was in that moment you realized your mistake. You recalled how some marine animals with horns had millions of nerves within them, making these appendages a source of sensory stimulation. When you had started adjusting his horns after they were getting stuck, it must have been like touching his—

Oh, fuck.

Neuvillette released you arms, grinding against your thigh. “Do that again,” he begged, though it came out as more of a growled order.

“Neuvillette, stop—” An involuntary whine escaped your lips.

Your lewd noises only instigated him. His movements became more erratic as he slid a clawed hand up your leg and to your core, which was protected by only a nightgown. You jerked as his finger pinched your clit, eliciting another whine.

Neuvillette’s eyes sparked with heat, dual purple flames that devoured your form. “That’s it, my dear. Let me take care of you.” He bit down on your neck, causing you to cry out. He was marking you before he took you fully.

“Tonight, you become more than my wife. You become my mate.”

~*~

You laid there limply in Neuvillette’s arms. He peppered you with kisses and whispered words of protecting you and lofty dreams of your future together, but it fell on deaf ears. None of it made you forget about the bites along your neck or your throbbing core.

You couldn’t believe you had let his kindness fool you for even a second.

You had to escape this prison.

#yandere #yandere neuvillette #yandere neuvillette x reader #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #dragon #obsessive love #tw kidnapping #tw noncon touching #neuvillette doesn’t understand the concept of personal space #neuvillette is down bad #mates

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matryosika · 1 year

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𝗛𝘆𝘂𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲: 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀.

Wordcount — 1,026 words

Includes — afab!reader, penetrative sex, mention of sexual positions, a few dirty dialogues here and there.

Author's note — to be honest this is just me trying to ease my writer's block by working on some headcanons! I think each position suits them, so I had fun writing this. Please remember that english is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes in advance.

Bang Chan

Mating press

He needs the romance that the position of the missionary entails, added to the dominance and power that the mating press can provide. Chan is all about making contact with you —visually and vocally. He needs to be as close to you as possible, to feel every inch of his cock entering and meeting the deepest spots inside you —overtime, he has learned that no other sexual position can grant him the gratification that this specific one does.

Plus, the arrangement of said position sometimes arises spontaneously —it is well known he is the kind to go sort of animalistic and primal during sex, so it is no surprise that he ends up rutting into you mercilessly with such strength.

Sometimes, he goes as far as wrapping your neck with both hands and using it for support —he is always careful not to squeeze it too hard, but just enough. He doesn't necessarily thrive on restricting your breathing, but the feeling of your accelerated pulse underneath his touch riles him up in ways he can't begin to explain.

“Look at me when I come,” he tells you, words coming out as groans, “I want to see your face when I’m filling you up”.

Lee Minho

Doggy style

Don’t get him wrong —he loves to see your face during sex. If there’s one thing that never fails to push him to the edge is the way your lips fall open, your eyes roll to the back of your head and your nails dig in the flesh of his arms, or back, or even thighs.

Ironically enough, his favorite position is doggy style. However, and contrary to popular belief, fucking you while you’re on all fours doesn’t mean you can't see each other at all —he has learned to master the position fairly well. With the help of a mirror, or a strong grip on your hair, Minho always manages to catch a glimpse of your face.

He is an ass man, that much we know. Along with how much he enjoys the grimaces of pleasure in your face, looking at the way your holes suck in his cock from such an angle is heavenly. The position allows him to set the pace and depth of his thrusts, plus he gets to grab and spank your ass as much as he wants, making your whole body jolt.

He likes having you on all fours with your ass in the air and your pussy spread; more often than not, though, the position changes when you lose the strength in your arms —you end up with your face and chest against the mattress, trembling hands trying to get back up while your body’s support relies on your knees.

“What’s wrong?” he mocks you when your upper body suddenly falls into the bed, hands gripping the sheets, “is my cock making you lose control of your own body?”

Seo Changbin

G-whiz

Oh, how he loves to see your legs shaking when you’re coming —this position is what really gets Changbin going. I feel like he is the kind of man who has a thing for legs, the kind to leave wet pecks all along them while he ruthlessly fucks you into oblivion, fingers digging into your flesh with his strong arms holding your legs in place.

Eye contact is a must with him —if you have your eyes closed, he will ask you to open them just so he can feel proud of all the things he’s making you feel.

But besides all that, Changbin utterly adores touching your body at all times —legs, tits, tummy and face, this man can’t get his hands off of you, groping and playing with all of you as he fucks you.

And when he knows you’re close, he lifts your hips from the mattress and starts fucking you mercilessly, using all of his strength to make sure he is satisfying you just right —the angle, combined with his sharp and deep thrusts, always makes you come faster than you’d expect.

Overall, Changbin loves to see you and to show himself off too —the way he lifts your lower body up so easily, and the way he wraps his arms around your legs and his muscles tense never fails to arouse you.

Of course he knows that, and he always uses it to his advantage.

“Like what you see?” he asks you between groans, sweaty muscles contracting and relaxing while he pounds you. “Why don’t you show me how much you like my body?”

Hwang Hyunjin

Rocking horse

I see him as an experimentalist, and one that adapts to everything —when it comes to sex, Hyunjin thrives on exploring his and your preferences. From missionary to standing sex, there are a couple of position he likes over many others —he likes to be comfortable at all times because that can assure him (and you) the greatest time; not only that but he adores intimate, carnal sex.

Having you on top of him, kneeling with your arms wrapped around his neck, your breasts pressed against his chest and your hips moving sensually against his it’s what Hyunjin likes best —from time to time it’s gratifying to have your body under his, him hovering over you because he loves the vulnerability of it. However, he can’t deny this position is, by far, his favorite.

The thing he likes about it the most is how close he feels to you. How intimate it feels to hug you while he is inside you, and how beautiful you look grinding and bouncing on his cock.

Sex with him is always dirty, in a way that he utterly adores the messiness it implies —from sloppy kisses, to his tongue trailing the skin of your neck or chest, Hyunjin loves to have his lips all over you while he is inside you, leaving your skin wet and bruised.

“Fuck, just like that,” he murmurs in between kisses with his lips pressed against yours, words coming out a bit muffled. “You’re clenching so fucking hard around me. Do you like the way I taste this much?”

#stray kids smut #skz smut #kpop smut #bang chan smut #hyunjin smut #lee know smut #changbin smut

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ghouljams · 10 months

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God i love moon so much. Cowboy soap too. There’s no question to this ask, i just- ah i fucking love those two. Moon is seriously fighting their way to be my favorite darling. Just the concept of them, their dialogue, their behaviors- *chiefs kiss*

Love me some moon n’ soap.

Now give us Birde and Gaz, this is a threat. /j

Hope ur having a good day Ghoul! Always good to read ur blog -Lurk 👁️

Would you settle for 1870z Birdie and Gaz?

You think it’s sort of silly to keep you in the hold overnight, you’re barely drunk and you didn’t hit the gunslinger that hard. You’re sure you’ll hear about it when you see the kids on Monday. Bad gas travels fast in a small town and all that. At least the company is good. You like the deputy well enough, though you’ve only seen him around. Never had much reason to interact with him before tonight.

“I’ve got me a ranger with the prettiest eyes, he’s sure a straight shooter even when he lies, but give him a horse and he’ll race out that door, leavin’ me cryin’ like a penniless whore.”

“Teachers shouldn’t say whore,” Gaz tells you with a smile, you wave a hand at him from behind the iron bars.

“You didn’t like the drinking songs, I’m improvising,” You hum a few more bars, trying to think through your usual catalog. You’re not really an entertainer, but you’ve never had so many complaints about your singing.

“What’s your name again?”

“Kyle,” His smile could light up a cave, you’ve never seen eyes sparkle like that.

“Come in, come in, my love Kyle,” He laughs, you take a moment to enjoy it before continuing, “stay with my this night, you shall have both ale and coal, my fire burning bright.” You hum filling in for the usual guitar. The cell isn’t cold, but there’s a nice chill from the night air. You close your eyes, lean your head back against the wall of the cell. “Well I won’t come in, I can’t come in, I won’t come in at all, there’s a lady ten times fair than you, waitin’ in lord barnets hall-”

“I don’t buy that,” Kyle cuts in, you blink open your eyes to look at him.

“What?”

“I don’t buy it,” He drags his chair closer to the cell.

“Which part?”

“Never seen anyone half as pretty as you, but ten times?” He shakes his head, rests his elbows on his knees as he leans forward, “That’d have to be an act of God.” You let out a breath, jerk your head to the side so you stop looking at his sincerity. Lord this man is making your cheeks hot. You press the back of your hand to your face to try and cool it down.

“D’you flirt with all your prisoners?”

“Only the pretty ones," he sounds far too genuine for you to keep pretending he's joking.

“You think I’m pretty now, you should see me without the drunk and disorderly charge.” You joke.

“I have,” He says, “seen you, I mean. You’re a fuckin’ miracle, like walkin’ sunshine.” See that's just unfair. You aren't supposed to be sweet talked by the man that pulled you out of a bar fight just shy of an hour ago. You'd think that should've scared him off of thinking you're heaven sent.

"You're not supposed to keep thinkin' that after you see me fight," you can't explain the way your voice quiets, or the rush of your pulse in your ears. You think maybe you're embarrassed, weird you don't usually get embarrassed by this sort of thing.

"Probably not, but that isn't gonna stop me," Kyle leans close to the bars of the cell, reaches a hand to brush his knuckles against your cheek, "Don't get shy on me now, Teach, I still wanna know where you got that right hook."

"Birdie," you grab his hand, lace your fingers together, "my friends call me Birdie."

"What do I call you if I don't wanna be friends?" His thumb strokes the back of your hand, his eyes warm as they stare into yours. You hardly notice the bars between you, too focused on his smile, the crease of his cheeks and the little scar under his eye. You wonder how he got that, and if he'd tell you if you asked.

"I don't know," You hum, glancing around the cell, and the sheriff's office, "but I suppose we've got all night to figure it out."

Price stares down at you and Gaz asleep in the holding cell. Passed out on the bench and cuddled close as can be. He pinches the bridge of his nose, tries not to be angry at this. He knew Gaz was pining after you but this is just ridiculous.

"Either of you mind explainin' how this happened?" He asks the room at large. Gaz at least has the decency to sit bolt upright at the sound of his voice, knocking your head off his chest and onto the wood seat. He keeps his hands on your hips, protective, to keep you from falling off the bench and onto your ass.

You grumble something and push yourself up onto your hands to wipe the sleep out of your eyes. Price raises his brows and fixes Gaz with his glaring, since he's the only one he has any real control over. You don't even have the decency to look embarrassed, untangling your legs from Gaz's so you can sit properly and soothing your hands over your skirt. You stand and try to scoot past him with a "Sheriff." He scruffy you and drags you back to sit back on the bench.

"Believe I asked you two a question, and I don't like repeatin' myself," he presses.

"Is Goose boarding a gunslinger?" You ask, blatantly trying to change the subject. Price points a finger at you, then brings it to his lips. You shut your mouth quickly. He points at Gaz.

"Broke up a bar fight, met my wife, must've passed out while we were talkin'." He rattles off, you turn to look at him and mouth:

"Wife?" Gaz gives you a small smile and a shrug. You turn to look back at Price and nod. Price sucks in a breath, and lets it out in a hiss before nodding.

"Alright, out, before word gets out and you don't have a class come Monday." You scramble to your feet, and slip past him to get out of the cell. You give Gaz a small wave which he eagerly returns before Price hears the office door open and shut. "Since when are you two chummy?" Price asks when he's sure you're gone.

"Since she nearly knocked Ghost's lights out and I had to carry her back here kickin'." Gaz runs a hand over his head, scratches his neck, a lovesick look in his eye.

"Mean right hook on that one," Price nods. Gaz hums, staring at the door past him. Price rolls his eyes and smacks his shoulder, "Alright, go after her. Can't have you moping around here all day when we've got work that needs doing."

Gaz grins and wastes no time shouldering past him and out into the bright Texas sun.

#kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick mw2 #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick #gaz x reader #gaz x oc #x oc #oc: birdie #in which birdie gets to sing and Gaz gets the girl hes been watching since he got to town #you know she caught him staring a couple times and brushed it off #oh also birdie punched Ghost for touching Goose #but Price doesnt need to know that #deputy!Gaz #1870s!cowboy #lurk #👁️ anon #i love moon and Soap's dialogue too theyre so fun to write

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mercutio-the-velaryon · 7 months

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Hello stranger, I saw you asking about gen v supe names so I come bearing offerings:

For Marie, the best I've heard so far is Heartstring (which I think would work especially well if we're imagining vought's influence, and trying to push Marie as the new Starlight) I also like Heartstopper and Queen of Hearts, but I think those lean more towards villain names

For Emma, she could keep Cricket, but I like the idea of her picking something to do with her giant form, so: Giantess, or Colossa, or Titania

For Jordan, (now realistically vought would chew them up and give them the most cliche, cringy name possible, but ignoring that) my personal favorite is Pulse or Pulsar.

For Cate, I've seen Push as a good option, but I also like Siren, Whisper, or Piper (as in like the pied piper)

For Andre, I hate to say it but I think he'd just take up Polaris. Though I also think Magneta, (I know it sounds like magneto but TB universe doesn't know that) or Steel would work, I could also see Vulcan (the Roman god of metal) being cool but that might be too niche. (Metallo would be my first choice but it's been used sadly)

For Sam, tbh Sam's powers are pretty stock, so he could probably pick anything he wants. I could see him taking up something that follows the same format as his brother, so: _____ boy (ironically the first choice that I think would come to Sam's mind is superboy, but that is of course off limits, though personally, I'd find it hilarious) maybe Ultra Boy or Power Boy, or the Strong Man (who am I kidding these are all terrible, I've got nothing for Sam... Super Sam?)

Really though when you look at naming conventions (both in the boys and in superhero tradition overall) a lot of heroes' names don't have a ton to do with their powers and are either: highly generic (Superman, Mr. Fantastic, Captain Marvel, Wondee Woman etc) or have to do with a gimic that isn't necessarily related to their powers, so there's actually quite a bit of wiggle room, to just pick whatever sounds good.

Omggg these are great, I wanted to write an au set in the near future, where the cast had their superhero names so thank you for this if you would kindly allow me to steal these names for that purpose 👀👀

Heartstring is so good, it fits Marie so perfectly I gasped because yes exactly. I was thinking Emma should have a name change to kind of symbolise her regaining her autonomy from her mother with how she was forced to portray herself, I'm feeling Titania tbh. I really really like Pulse for Jordan simple effective love love love. Siren for Cate is insane cause not only does it encompass the nature of her powers but it also speaks to how she's used them, how she's lulled her friends into a false sense of security then caused them harm (wiped their memories) like yesssssssss. Ugh this is such a good listttt. Andre I think would change his name from the one he'd inherit from his dad, I was workshopping something like Silver Bandit, Heavy Metal or Ironclad (already in marvel lmao fml) or Steel Knight to pay homage to his rebel without a cause energy. I wanted just Steele but that's already a version of superman I think, John Irons I believe holds that mantle. I think even just Ultra would work as a name for Sam. Or maybe just The Boy like how Kimiko's The Female idk.

Thank you this is so helpful!!!!!

#gen v #gen v amazon #gen v spoilers #marie moreau #jordan li #the boys #cate dunlap #andre anderson #emma meyer #sam riordan

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thunderwavesolveseverything · 2 months

Text

The Devil's Call

[Astarion x Named Tav]

Raphael began to circle Phayelynn, his movements deliberate, almost predatory. Each step was measured, the soft sound of his footsteps counteracting the racing of her heart. His voice was a low hum when he spoke, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the air. “You wish to prove your worth, to be the savior rather than the saved,” He leaned in, lifting her chin with a finger, compelling her to meet his gaze. His breath was warm against her ear. “You are not the sum of their doubts. You have a fire within, a light that can blaze through the darkness. Let them see that fire, let it burn bright and clear.”

Okay, honestly, I think this chapter was my favorite to write so far. I really REALLY like writing Raphael- also, hey, Raphael is here! I hope you all like this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it....this chapter really starts to set up Phay's 'companion quest,' lol.

Let me know what you think, or if you just wanna say hi down in the comments 💜😊

(word count: 2,525)

Read on AO3 or below :)

Masterlist

Leave me a like and a comment 💜

The Devil's Call

Phayelynn’s footsteps hesitated at the threshold of Gut’s room. The air was thick and heavy with the scent of iron and blood, eluding her to the room’s true purpose. She could taste the metallic tang on her tongue and, beneath it, the musty odor of decay and other, less identifiable, vile things that made her stomach churn.

Gut urged her into the room before closing the door behind them.

The room was a grotesque sanctuary of the Absolute. Candles flickered in their sconces, casting an unholy glow on the stone walls. The shadows they threw writhed like specters, and the air seemed to pulse with a silent chant only the devout-or the damned-could hear.

In the center stood an altar, its surface slick with forest blood that dripped to the floor in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Phayelynn’s gaze was drawn to the figure sprawled upon it, a lifeless follower once filled with zeal for the Absolute. Around the room, bones lay scattered without care, remnants of rituals past, and a banner with the Abosulute’s mark loomed like a silent witness to the chapel’s dark deeds.

A shudder ran through her as she took it all in, the reality of her situation settling like a weight in her chest.

“What the hells am I doing?” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the pounding in her heart. Doubt gnawed at her, and a sense of foreboding crept up her spine like cold fingers.

The priestess seemingly didn’t hear her.

“Ready to clear your head?” Gut’s voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of something indefinable in her tone.

Phayelynn eyed her warily. She scanned the room uncomfortably before returning her gaze to Gut. “What exactly are you going to do?”

“Whatever the Absolute tells me to,” Gut replied with a reverence that bordered on zealotry. “Don’t worry about that pretty ‘ittle head of yours—she loves you. I can tell.”

Phayleynn squirmed.

Gut’s next words were a gentle command, “Now, open your mind—open yourself to the Absolute, and I’ll do the rest.”

Before Phayelynn could protest, she felt every probing tendril of Gut trying to gain access to her mind. It was like icy drafts slipping through the cracks, searching for a way inside, cold and calculating. She could almost hear the creak of her mental defenses straining under the pressure, the intrusion insistent and unyielding.

“It’s all slippery in there. What are you hiding?” Gut’s voice was a distant echo, her words laced with a mix of curiosity and an unsettling eagerness.

Phayelynn’s breath came in sharp gasps as she fought to maintain control, to keep her secrets locked away. She envisioned her thoughts as a series of doors slamming shut, one after another, but Gut worked like smoke, seeping through keyholes and under doorways.

Phayelynn focused on the infection, the dark spot in her mind where the mind flayer’s presence lingered like a shadow. The image of the creature was vivid, its tentacles reaching out, and she could feel Gut recoil, then redouble her efforts, pushing against her with renewed force.

“Hells.” Gut’s voice was urgent, a note of genuine concern breaking through, “We need to fish that thing out before it eats any of the important bits of ya’ brain.”

Phayelynn sighed in relief when Gut retracted. Her retort was half-hearted; her attention spilled between the conversation and recovering from the intrusion. “I’m pretty sure one of these things is squirming in your head, too.”

Gut’s chuckle was a low rumble, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes, “No, that thing’s got your mind in knots. You’re seeing things—probably hearing voices too, yeah?”

As Gut’s hand lunged forward, Phayelynn recoiled, her stance rigid with resolve. “Don’t touch me,” she snapped, her voice a mix of defiance and warning.

Gut’s grin widened, a predator amused by its prey. “Oh, you think ya’ just going to walk out of here?” She scoffed, her amusement souring into determination. “Ya’ ain’t going nowhere ‘til we get to the bottom of this,” She insisted, her eyes narrowing as she took another step closer.

Phayelynn retorted swiftly: “You can’t keep me here.” She glanced at the door, where the others waited on the other side.

Her mind raced with the consequences of calling for aid—exposure, a battle they were ill-prepared to face, the potential ruin of everything they had worked for.

“I guess we’re doing this the hard way then,” Gut muttered, reaching for her club and shield.

But before she could grab them, Phayelynn’s hand was quicker, darting to her side to grasp the hilt of her dagger. She swiped at Gut, but the goblin dodged, slicing her blade through the air. Gut grunted, a sound cut short as she extended her hands, flames flickering at her fingertips, ready to unleash a spell of burning hands upon her.

Phayelynn winced, bracing for impact, but before the spell could manifest, a puff of red maic burst behind Gut.

Korilla appeared as if conjured from the very air. With a swift and deadly motion, she plunged her blade into Gut’s back and twisted. The goblin hardly let out a gasp as the internal blade pierced her flesh. She fell, the life extinguished from her in an instant.

Korilla looked up to Phayelynn, her expression unreadable-like always. Phayelynn’s heart skipped a beat. Raphael, the devil she knew all too well, had intervened.

“Korilla-”

The warlock held up a hand to silence Phayelynn before she could finish her thought. “You need to watch your back,” Korilla warned with a twitch to her brow. “Raphael can’t always be around to save you. But for now, he would like to speak with you.”

Fear coiled in Phayelynn’s stomach. She looked back to the door but knew better not to run. There was no escaping the devil’s call.

The air shifted in the room, quivering as if in anticipation. A heavy scent of brimstone heralded his arrival. Raphael materialized, his presence commanding yet enigmatic. With a glance, Korrilla vanished, her departure marked by a swirl of crimson smoke.

Phayelynn’s eyes searched Raphael’s face for any indication of his thoughts— his disappointment in her.

“Ah, Phayelynn, my cunning little mouse,” Raphael’s voice was a caress, both comforting and disquieting. “What a tangled web you’ve woven. A path to redemption or a descent into damnation? The tale has been captivating, nonetheless.”

“You’ve been watching?” Phayelynn’s voice faltered, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Indeed, since your escapades in Baldur’s Gate,” he confirmed with a nod, his gaze taking in the squalor of the chapel with a subtle wrinkle of his nose.

“Raphael, I… I failed you,” Phayelynn’s confession was cut short by his dismissive gesture.

“You made it out alive, which is sufficient,” Raphael reassured her, his tone lightening. “I am here, after all, to help. However, our discourse requires discretion… and a touch more elegance than these dreary surroundings can offer.” With a graceful motion, Raphael offered his hand. “Shall we?”

Phayelynn hesitated, her gaze flickering to the door.

“Fear not. Time will scarcely pass for them,” Raphael assured, noting her reluctance.

With a resigned nod, Phayelynn placed her hand in his.

The world around them bent and twisted, whisking them away to the infernal landscape of Avernus.

----

In Raphael’s study, flickering flames cast a dance of shadows and light across the walls. The firelight caressed the spines of timeworn scrolls and leather-bound tomes, each whispering tales of arcane secrets and forbidden knowledge—a place Phayelynn had come to familiarize herself with.

The soft crackling of embers brought a sense of release, and Phayelynn realized she could no longer feel the presence of the mind flayer inside her skull.

“You cured me!” she exclaimed, her hands clasping her head as if to affirm her newfound freedom.

Raphael let out a wistful sigh, the corners of his mouth turning down ever so slightly. “If only it were that simple, my dear,” he lamented. “Here, within the House of Hope, you are shielded from harm. But beyond these walls, your journey must continue. This haven is but a temporary respite, your quest remains unfinished.”

His gaze upon her was piercing, eyes like twin abysses filled with the mysteries of the cosmos. They held a curiosity that seemed to reach into her very being, searching, probing, yet there was a flicker of something else—a shadow of mirth or perhaps the glint of a darker purpose.

Phayelynn’s brow furrowed in concern. “But why? We’re so close to finding the druid…”

Raphael’s lips curled into a sly grin as he performed an airy gesture with his hand. “Consider it a ‘ninth sense,’ my dear,” he teased. “You stand at a crossroads. One skull, two tenants, and no clear path forward. Yes, seek out the druid by all means, but brace yourself—for he may offer you more questions than resolutions. Oh, my dear Phayelynn, into what a web have you woven yourself?”

Raphael’s presence filled the room, a comforting yet dominant force as he approached Phayelynn. His hand rested gently on her shoulder, a seemingly tender gesture from a being of his stature.

“It has been quite the journey, hasn’t it?” he mused, his voice a melody of warmth and hidden depths. “From the dank crypt, where the shadows clung to the walls like your desperate secret, to the wild encounters with those orcs, your life flashing before your very eyes.”

Phayelynn’s eyes, brimming with tears, met his. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Everything—I’m so tired… I don’t know what to do,” she confessed, her voice breaking.

Raphael’s chuckle was soft as he wiped a stray tear away. “Ah, yet you’ve survived, Phayelynn. By the skin of your teeth, perhaps, but you’ve endured. And let’s not forget the little sparks of joy, hm? That blooming desire for your vampire—such a sweet, fragile hope amidst the thorns.”

He leaned in closer, his eyes gleaming with an allure that was hard to resist. “My compassion is boundless, dear one. I can offer solace, a balm for your weary soul. But remember, even the most fragrant roses have their thorns, and I am no simple gardener.”

Phayelynn’s skin tingled where his fingers traced, a warmth that seeped into her marrow. Yet, in the quiet corners of her mind, a voice of caution whispered, persistent and unsettling. Raphael was many things, but above all, he was a master of the game, and she was but a piece on his board.

“You want something out of this?” she asked, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“Nothing but your safety, your victorious return, and your success,” Raphael responded, his grip firm yet reassuring.

“And what is it that you gain?” Phayelynn pressed, her thoughts drifting to Wyll’s pact with Mizora. Deals with devils were never without their cost, and yet…

Raphael’s voice was smooth, a velvet cloak disguising the steel beneath. “I’ve never desired recompense from you,” he proclaimed, “I assist those I call friends.”

But Phayelynn’s mind was not at ease. She pondered the strange constancy of Raphael’s presence throughout her life, his guidance that never seemed to demand payment. It was an anomaly, a deviation from the tales of contracts and bargains she had heard whispered in shadowed corners.

“And you have…you’ve helped me a lot. More than anyone.” Phayelynn confirmed. She thought back to her companions, her gaze now clouded by unshed tears. “They see me as useless. I’m always the one being saved,” she admitted, her shoulders slumping. “I don’t want them to see me that way. I want to be useful. ”

“To accept help is not a weakness,” Raphael said, his hand gentle on her shoulder, his touch light but filled with an unspoken promise of strength.

“But if you help us, I’m just… relying on someone else again,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You wish to prove your worth, to be the savior rather than the saved,” He leaned in, lifting her chin with a finger, compelling her to meet his gaze.

His breath was warm against her ear.

Phayelynn’s breath caught in her throat as she felt his presence behind her, the heat of him a stark contrast to the chill of doubt that had settled in her bones.

“You are not the sum of their doubts. You have a fire within, a light that can blaze through the darkness. Let them see that fire, let it burn bright and clear.”

He stood before her, his assurance a salve to her soul, but the promise that followed sent a shiver down her spine.

“Continue to write this story on your own. Save the druid. exhaust every avenue, chase every hope until it frays to nothing. When all seems lost, when all paths have dwindled to dust, and hope is but a dying ember… I will be there. To extend my hand once more in the hour of your greatest need.”

Phayelynn took a few moments to take in his words.

Gripping her hands into fists down at her sides, she nodded, her agreement laced with screaming doubts that she fought to silence. “Save the druid, find a cure- I can do that.” She nodded again to herself.

Raphael’s smile was a crescent moon in the dark sky of his face, both reassuring and ominous. “Remember, Phayelynn, every hero’s journey is fraught with trials. Trust in your strength, and when the time comes, you’ll know what to do,” he assured her.

With a wave of his hand, the world around Phayelynn began to blur, the edges of Avernus fading into the mists of her eyes. “Go now. Your friends await, and your story unfolds. We’ll meet again when the final page is ready to be turned.”

Phayelynn blinked rapidly as the familiar yet unwelcome sight of the chapel swam into focus. Her head spun. As her gaze fell upon Gut’s lifeless form, a single, eloquent thought crossed her mind: “Shit.”

With a cautious approach, she edged toward the door, cracking it open just enough to peer through. Gale, Shadowheart, and Astarion were there, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity—with Astarion’s smirk suggesting he found the situation more entertaining than alarming.

“What happened? You were gone for ages. Are you alright?” Shadowheart’s voice was laced with concern, her brows furrowed.

Phayelynn’s eyes darted between her friends, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Can you… help me hide a body?”

The silence that followed was palpable. Gale’s eyes widened, the color draining from his face, while Shadowheart let out an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes at the absurdity of the request.

And then, there was Astarion, who couldn’t contain a burst of laughter, the sound rich and unapologetically delighted. “Well, this is more like it!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together with glee as he strode forward, eager to partake in the macabre mischief.

#astarion x tav #astarion x oc #tav bg3 #astarion #astarion x mc #raphael x tav #astarion x reader

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lukkiiii · 1 year

Text

so i have no idea what this app is abt or what to post abt to here’s some oc ideas i’ve held onto and most of them i’ve scrapped!

1) half Praying mantis half human, meant for a rp as a second character as i typically like having up to 2 or 3 characters per rp/au. This oc was gonna be called Dahia and is very energetic, sporty, athletic, and agile, which all those words are almost synonyms but i do not care<3 never got far with this oc but i did make one drawing of it.

2) this was one of my several superhuman characters named simone (non binary pog) they’re able to essentially control anything to do with wind or air for that matter. they can control wind gusts, make tornadoes, ruin a kids day by throwing all the leaf piles into the air as soon as the kid is about to fall in them, etc ! :)

i’ll only do one more dw i won’t make this a long post 🙌

3) third one is one of my favorites !!! She’s a robot called chrea, full name chreachar. she has a device on her forearm that creates a pulse formed power that forms and grows stronger the more damage she takes. The metal on her body is made with an extremely rare type of steel found in only certain caves where she’s from. The steel is made specifically to endure many hits at once, heavy or light attacks. if she gets hit enough, she can transfer half the pulse energy into her other hand and use both, or stay in one hand. I think it’s rlly obvious why i scratched this one. this description sounds really familiar besides the pulse part eh? iron man. exactly. this is why i didn’t make this official even tho i loved it so muchhh

i think i could’ve worked on it better. oh well !!

ok that’s it ty for reading continue on with ur day drink lots of wawa ily<3

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mistressoftheelderitchwhorehouse · 1 year

Text

Shift (Kunikida x Black!Reader)

Just a little Kunikida x Reader for the Black plus sized girlies. Thought of this while lazing around, ironically enough. Moments of sweet indulgence are my favorite.

Trigger Warnings: None

______________________________

Kunikida lived his life by his ideals. All written out on crisp, white paper and with blod, black ink. Inside he had detailed a beautiful Japanese beauty that he had faith exsisted. He also had faith that this beauty would fall for him, and the two would begin walking down their structured path hand in hand.

However, that had changed on an early morning chasing Dazai around Uzumaki Cafe. With the gentle ring of a bell, you had walked in with a grin on your lips as you chatted with the woman next to you.

You were not a Japanese beauty. In fact, you were very clearly a foreigner with your dark skin, curls arranged in an afro, and your body shape being far curvier and plush than the majority of people he saw on a daily basis.

Dazai dropped the pen he had snatched from Kunikida, and twisted around fully to smile at you both.

"Good afternoon, ladies! First timers to this establishment?"

The Japanese woman flushed dark red and nodded, while you raised an eyebrow. "I take it you are a regular?"

"That I am." He hopped up and took you hand, turned it over, and pressed a kiss to your pulse point. "My name is Osamu Dazai. And clearly you must be the Nightshade come to choke me to my wonderful end-ACK!"

Kunikida snatched Dazai back by his neck and squeezed down until he felt the idiot begin to choke. "I apologize for his behavior, Ladies. He has a condition called stupidity."

"Maybe you should turn him on then off again?"

"He tries. Constantly."

"I'm still here you know!"

The Japanese girl shook her head and tugged on your arm. "Sweetheart, I'm starving."

"Oh, sorry darling." You gave another grin, and went over to a booth.

Kunikida sighed and dragged Dazai back to the counter, scolding him the entire time. When Dazai, maybe out of boredom, made a point about the case they were working on Kunikida easily shifted back into his groove. Evidence examination, scrambling through files, and consuming more coffee than what was probably good for his heart.

Yet, every so often your laugh would ring through the store and he couldn't help but look at you. Pink nails traced what he gathered was your girlfriend's hand, your eyes sparkled with joy, and you spoke animatedly in your mother tongue.

"Well look at that." Dazai said. "Now who's the distracted one?"

Kunikida looked away from whip cream covered face, you and the cream puff apparently had a misunderstanding, and back to an amused Dazai.

I am not distracted. You told me to give you a minute."

"Which passed forty two seconds ago."

"Dazai, you know as well as anyone else that it is an expression and not to be taken literally."

"And yet that has never stopped you before." Kunikida opened his mouth, but Dazai cut him off. "I didn't think you could even have a crush on a foreigner to be honest. Not with your ideals in your pocket. Did you leave your notebook at home today?"

"She clearly has a partner-"

"And? The heart wants what the heart wants." Dazai smirked as he glanced at you again. Your face was clean, and you were looking into a compact while you reapplied the plum purple lipstick. The Japanese girl had switched to Japanese and was saying something rather quietly. "The President always says that oppertunities are part of our own hard work, but also that of fate giving her assistance."

"And what does that supposed to mean?"

Dazai didn't respond as he turned back to the files on the counter. "So, this tiger is causing more damage than we thought."

"You say something as bleak and mysterious as that, and then you want to go back to the case!"

"It's important." The Japanese girl walked past them, and Dazai reached out and stopped her. She flushed red and twisted the strap of her bag. "Careful on the road tonight, ma'am."

"Of course! Thank you for the warning."

Kunikida rolled his eyes, but when he went to turn back to his work, he could hear you sniffling. He peaked a glance at you, and was surprised to see what had once been a face full of sunshine, now full of tears. The makeup you had just fixed only half an hour ago, was now running down your face.

"Oppertunities, huh?"

He stood up, and pulled out a crisp, white handkerchief. He held it out to you without looking at your face. You took it without a ward, but that soft hand brushed his own and he felt something inside him shift.

Suddenly his ideal was a woman with dark skin, an interesting sense of humor, and a smile like the sun...

#kunikida x y/n #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd #doppo x reader #Doppo Kunikida x reader #black is beautiful #fem reader

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artificialqueens · 2 years

Text

Will You Make Me Believe? 6/? (Bitney) - Candy Cane and Veronica

A/N: a massive MASSIVE thank you to V for collaborating on this chapter with me! its a long chapter, but i hope you guys manage to stick through it bc it really is a labor of love from both of us. its my favorite chapter so far, and absolutely wouldnt be possible without Veronica's help. and thank you to Grinder too for the helpful beta'ing and cheerleading!! <3

Chapter Summary: How it all started, all through the eyes of Courtney Act.

15 Years Ago New York City, N.Y.

The night sky sparkled above her.

Headlights of cars wooshed by a dozen stories below her.

Cold, wrought iron railing bit into her hips.

Courtney gripped the worn railing on the balcony of the hotel room, mesmerized by the colors and dizzying lights of the traffic that seemed so far away and yet so close. It was a massive blur of various shades of neon that reflected off the tall buildings surrounding her. She leaned over the metal rail, tipping herself as far as she could in her clear platform heels while her blonde curls dangled over her bare shoulders.

The chilly night air made goosebumps rise on her skin, though she didn’t really care. Maybe it was the alcohol in her veins, or maybe it was the thrill of being in New York, but she felt more reckless than she had in months. She felt as if she had finally achieved a form of freedom that was completely unattainable before. Where L.A. felt like coming home, New York felt like a brand new adventure awaiting her.

Giggling to herself, Courtney pulled herself up onto the railing and sat on the edge of it, and though her legs were still on the balcony side of the railing the danger of it all made her breath catch in her throat. Half her body now dangled over the city below her, the fear of what could happen made her heart pound wildly. Deciding to tempt fate even further, she reached one hand out as far as she could, admiring how her nails sparkled in the city lights.

A cold, thin hand grabbed her shoulder, Courtney shrieked and thrashed wildly, tipping forward and nearly falling off the railing she was precariously sitting on.

A woman that Courtney hardly recognized grabbed her with both hands and pulled her off the railing.

Courtney stumbled to her feet, nearly tripping over her massive heels, and grabbed her desperately, her head spinning from the heart-pounding thrill of nearly falling off a fucking skyscraper. She took several deep breaths as she tried to steady herself, still clutching the other woman tightly. The woman was babbling frantically, apologizing over and over for scaring her.

Courtney looked up at her, and even though her vision was swimming, she could still see how beautiful the woman was, with glowing tanned skin and honey-colored eyes accentuated by pink glitter. She should’ve felt bad for not remembering her name, especially since the hotel room belonged to her, but Courtney had gotten used to living wildly. Sometimes that meant forgetting names.

“I’m so sorry,” the woman said for what must be the hundredth time, “I didn’t mean to scare you-”

“I know, I know,” Courtney said breathlessly, the thrill still pulsing through her veins. She looked up at the woman, enraptured by her pretty face, then leaned forward and pressed their lips together.

The woman quickly deepened the kiss and the adrenaline in Courtney’s veins faded as she tangled her hands in wavy brown hair.

Hours later, the alarm on Courtney’s phone started blaring throughout the hotel room. It was a loud, but not unwelcome reminder, of why she was in New York at all. Courtney groaned as she sat up with a pounding headache and turned off her alarm, then spared a glance at the woman laying beside her, who hadn’t stirred once. She was beautiful, and Courtney wasn’t likely to completely forget her.

Quietly, Courtney got out of bed and got dressed, heading downstairs to go find a taxi to get to the recording studio.

Courtney was young, maybe too young, but she was learning to love life. There had always been something about America, something about the tabloids and Hollywood that she just couldn’t resist, that made her want to be as much a star in America as she was back home. Being well-known in Australia was one thing, but the opportunity to share her story internationally? She couldn’t pass it up. Hence what brought her all the way to New York.

She had only been living in L.A. for a year when the label she had signed with asked her to go to New York to record her album. Breaking into the music industry had been a big deal, all things considered. It wasn’t every day that young transwomen were writing and recording their own music to share with the world.

Courtney was proud of herself, she had every right to be. She recognized that she had it much easier than most trans people, her parents were very supportive of her from a young age. She was modeling by the time she was sixteen, which then turned into being a part-time influencer. Then by nineteen, she was a full-time influencer with agencies all over trying to get her to move somewhere more convenient for them.

She loved living in L.A., it was so much different than what she had expected it to be. Every person she met was so beautiful and had a beautiful story to match. She never got bored, since there was always something new to discover. Courtney was grateful for the chance to live in that special city. Sunshine all the time, nearby beaches, and lots of events, what wasn’t there to love?

But as sad as she was to miss three weeks of parties in L.A., she knew she was beyond lucky to be recording an album of her own songs at the age of twenty-two. Courtney was not about to take that for granted. So, she went to New York with little complaint and a lot of excitement.

So far, her time in the grand city of New York had been ripped from the pages of a Hollywood blockbuster. The early spring air was crisp and all of the towering buildings and the busy streets made her feel breathless. It was much faster-paced than laid-back L.A.; it was more intense, and that’s why Courtney liked it so much. She liked how different it was from everything she had experienced before.

She spent most of her day at the recording studio, setting things up with producers and working on audio checks. Even though the real recording wouldn’t start until the next day, Courtney still listened to everything that the recording team had to say. Many of them had been in the industry for years, so she was surprised when they fully incorporated her ideas and opinions. She felt like they heard her, which made her want to do the same with them.

Courtney was almost surprised by how generous everyone was being with her, although maybe she should’ve expected it considering how great the label had been. They were super supportive of her active social life, and even insisted that having a fun image would help sell music. She wasn’t about to argue with that, which is why she gladly accepted a flier for a burlesque show later that night from one of the team members.

It was a pretty flier that immediately caught her interest with bright colors and images of sexy women. The guy who gave it to her winked when she grinned at him, but she intended to go alone and make her own fun.

A few hours later, she curiously entered the dimly lit, crowded bar. People were gathered in the front, near the stage. Courtney thought maybe that the dancers would perform, so she ordered herself a cocktail, something strong and fruity, then made her to the very front. She hoped to catch the attention of the dancers, and eagerly awaited the show to start.

Instead of scantily clad women coming out to perform on the small stage, a petite woman with a microphone walked out, dressed in a baby blue romper, grinning and waving at the crowd, who had erupted into cheers the second she appeared. Courtney clapped along politely, although she couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed. She was there to see stripping, not talking.

“Good evening, cunts! For those of you that came in looking for the hot topless girls… Well, sorry, you're gonna have to wait a few more minutes. I'm Bianca Del Rio, and I will be keeping all of my clothes on, because...well, my father loves me! Anyway..."

As Courtney took in Bianca’s dimpled grin and dark flashing eyes, she found herself getting a bit charmed, in spite of herself. Okay, maybe she wasn’t the statuesque exotic dancer covered in rhinestones and feathers that she’d been fantasizing about on the way there, but she was certainly funny and cute. Sexy, even, the way she commanded the attention of the entire room.

“Just a bit about me to start, I’m from the deep South and I’m a raging lesbian. Don’t worry, it was confusing for me too. So, where are my fellow dykes tonight?”

Courtney suddenly felt right at home and whistled and cheered with everyone else. The more she looked at Bianca, the more Courtney found that she liked…the full red lips, the sultry voice, long shapely legs with thighs that Courtney certainly wouldn’t mind pressed against her ears.

“Thank God. I’m a little drunk so y’all are kinda blurry,” Bianca continued, squinting some as she peered at the crowd before her, “But very relieved to know you’re family.”

Bianca held up her drink in a toast, and Courtney did the same with hers, cheering out once again. Then, Courtney realized Bianca was looking right at her. Bianca tilted her head and pointed at Courtney, and she couldn’t keep the blush off her cheeks for being singled out.

“Okay, I need to call bullshit, because you, princess, are not a dyke,” Bianca said with all the certainty of someone who graduated from the University of Locating Lesbians.

“Yes, I am!” Courtney giggled anyways, interested in seeing Bianca’s response.

Bianca rolled her eyes and began narrating into her microphone, “For those of you who can’t see this bitch, she looks like Malibu Barbie. Lashes on, hooker heels, fucking tits out, a dress that looks like it was sized for a literal Barbie doll. The word ‘dyke’ doesn’t mean that you kissed another sorority girl once for attention, cupcake.”

It was bold, insulting, and the most fascinating thing Courtney had heard from a woman in a very long time. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she locked eyes with Bianca.

“Actually-” Courtney started to say, wanting to defend herself and maybe flirt with her too.

“Did you just say ‘actually’ to me?” Bianca demanded, cutting her off.

Courtney giggled again, now feeling more nervous, “Well, yeah, but-”

“You realize I’m working here, right? This is my job. Don’t say ‘actually’ to a person with a microphone! I don’t come to your corner and knock the dicks out of your mouth,” Bianca laughed, then took a sip of her drink, “So since you claim to be a dyke, tell me something. What about you signals to me, someone who’s been at this dyke game for quite a while, that you’re a lesbian? Huh? Where’s your mullet? Your nose ring? Your Doc Martens, your carabiner of keys? Where’s your blue hair, your—show me your nails.”

With a cheeky smile Courtney holds up her hands, sparkling stiletto nails she had glued on in the airport a couple of days ago.

Bianca scoffed at her though, “This is what I’m talking about! Those are not lesbian nails!”

“They’re just press-ons,” Courtney shrugged.

“Listen to me. This is free advice. Do you know why lesbians do all that shit? The blue hair, the fuckin leather pants, the docs?”

Courtney hummed, “Cause it’s comfortable?”

“No! Have you ever walked around the city all day in Docs? They aren’t fucking comfortable. They’re not as bad as those torture devices you have on your feet, but that’s not why. And leather pants! If it was about comfort, we’d all be wearing fucking Sketchers and sweats. No, we do this as a signal to each other, that we are doing whatever we can to repel men. So tell me, princess, what about you is even remotely lesbian? Huh?”

Courtney smirked, remembering all the late nights she had had in L.A. with a variety of gorgeous women, “Well-”

“I’m waiting!” Bianca barked at her.

“Well, I eat pussy like a legend.”

“You-” Bianca’s jaw dropped in total shock.

It was as if Courtney had caught her off guard, and judging by the expression on her face, that didn’t happen often. Bianca’s face totally broke, her gruffness melted away as she laughed, a delightful cackle, full-throated, her head thrown back.

Then, she reached down to toast Courtney with her drink, “Cheers, bitch, you got me there.”

“Cheers,” Courtney replied, a smug grin on her face.

Bianca muttered something to herself that Courtney couldn’t quite catch, then quickly composed herself and spoke back into her mic, “You eat pussy like a legend? Is that so? A fucking legend?”

Courtney nodded along, smiling as flirtatiously as she knew how, “Literally.”

“Tell you what, come find me after the show and we’ll test that claim.”

“You got it,” Courtney said, winking as she did.

Bianca chuckled again, and that was when Courtney knew she’d be looking for Bianca later, “Alright…now….uh…we’ve got a great show for you tonight!”

Even though her set only lasted for ten minutes, it was almost an hour before Courtney saw her again. For whatever reason, this comedian was much more interesting than any burlesque dancer. Bianca was leaning against the bar, waiting for the bartender to finish up with someone. Courtney grinned and approached her, twirling her hair and batting her lashes as she did.

She leaned against the bar the same way Bianca was, totally mimicking her and only inches away, “Hi.”

Bianca looked a little apprehensive, but returned her smile nonetheless, “Hi.”

“Your show was great,” Courtney said earnestly. It was, that was one thing Courtney wanted Bianca to know.

Bianca glanced away for a second, almost shyly, “Thanks for being a good sport. Let me get you a drink.”

Courtney giggled, glad to know they were on the same page, “I was gonna offer to get you a drink.”

“Is that so?” Bianca raised an eyebrow and Courtney’s heart beat just a little faster.

“Well, I mean, you did tell me to find you after the show, right?” Courtney reminded her, inching a little closer and glancing Bianca up and down.

“That was a joke, princess. Not a proposal,” Bianca said, shaking her head a bit.

Undeterred, Courtney gave a coy smile and placed her hand on the bar, drumming her fingers on the lacquered surface. She’d lost the glittery nails during the show, and wanted to make sure Bianca saw. Just as she was about to try another flirty comment, Bianca got the bartender’s attention.

“Chad, can I get a madras, please? And whatever my friend here wants-”

“What’s in a madras again?” Chad muttered, scratching his head.

Bianca pursed her lips, obviously irritated, “It’s vodka cran with orange juice.”

“What’s the ratio of-”

“I don’t care, Chad. Whatever looks right to you,” she snapped at him, and suddenly Bianca became even more attractive to her.

“And for you, miss?” Chad asked Courtney.

“Vodka tonic. And put a splash of hers in mine,” Courtney smirked.

“Kinky,” Bianca muttered, and Courtney couldn’t help but flash her a flirty smile.

Courtney turned to Chad, “Can you put both on my tab, please? Courtney Act.”

“Sure thing.”

Courtney looked back to Bianca, feeling quite pleased with herself. Bianca shook her head slightly but didn’t look away. Courtney was well aware of how charming she could be, and was glad to see that she was chipping away at this beautiful woman’s barriers.

Without breaking eye contact, Courtney took one more step and added, “And Chad? Please close the tab.”

Bianca sighed, “Alright, listen…”

“Yeah?”

“Um…”

That was all Bianca had to say and Courtney knew how this night was going to end.

~*~

13 Years Ago West Hollywood, C.A.

Courtney was tangled up in the bedsheets of her home, the morning light was streaming in through the window, and Bianca was beside her in bed. They were pressed against each other, bare skin save for their panties, and Courtney thought maybe her life was finally perfect. Falling in love with Bianca was easy; convincing her to at least try a relationship had been the hard part.

For the three weeks that she had been in New York that first time, Courtney spoke to Bianca every day and saw her as much as possible. Bianca was always so hesitant, so nervous, but Courtney was persistent. Even after she left New York, they continued to text and call. Courtney couldn’t get Bianca out of her head no matter how hard she tried. But Bianca had insisted their relationship was nothing more than sex, so Courtney had backed off.

The second time Courtney was in New York, Bianca admitted to wanting something more. Courtney was relieved.

Two years later, they were so much more than Courtney had ever hoped for. Bianca was the night sky to her sunny morning, Bianca was laughter and hope, Bianca was her everything.

Courtney admired how the light gleamed on her skin and leaned forward to kiss a sun patch, giggling when Bianca’s eyes fluttered open.

“Good morning,” Courtney murmured.

Bianca rolled her eyes, “Were you watching me sleep?”

“Of course,” Courtney smiled, nuzzling Bianca’s cheek.

“God, you’re sappy,” Bianca complained, though there was no real heat to it.

Courtney hummed, “You love it.”

“I do,” Bianca agreed, sighing happily.

Courtney curled into Bianca’s side, happy to have a moment of peace with her girlfriend before she had to go back to New York. They had landed on a pattern of visiting each other every other weekend, taking turns of who would visit who.

“Do you think one day we won’t have to travel to see each other?” Courtney asked softly, closing her eyes and listening to Bianca’s heartbeat.

Bianca was quiet for a moment, “What… do you mean?”

“Like, maybe one day we can live in the same city, or the same… apartment,” Courtney explained, letting her mind wander to a world where they woke up in the same bed every day.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” Bianca said thoughtfully, “You know, with how the economy is going we may as well get married while we’re at it.”

Courtney laughed, but sat up to look down at Bianca, her golden hair falling over her shoulder, “Really? Do you mean it?”

Bianca smiled up at her, “We should. One day we should.”

“One day,” Courtney repeated, her heart full to bursting at just the idea of being with this woman for the rest of her life.

She bent down to capture Bianca’s full, soft lips in a deep kiss, and for a moment everything was perfect.

Bianca pulled away from her, mischief glimmering in her deep brown eyes, “What if that one day was today?”

“What?” Courtney grinned, confused by the question.

“What if you came back to New York with me,” Bianca said, then nervously started to ramble, “You can do your job from anywhere, right? And I know my place is small, but with the market right now, you could probably get an amazing deal once you sell this place-"

“Okay,” Courtney interrupted her. She loved L.A., but she loved Bianca more.

“Okay?” Bianca whispered, looking up at her with reverence that made Courtney shiver.

Courtney nodded, then leaned down to kiss Bianca again. She could kiss Bianca forever and ever and ever… Maybe now she would actually have the chance to. Maybe now they could start their own definition of ‘forever.’ It was all Courtney wanted, and now Bianca was offering it to her.

~*~

12 Years Ago Journey to Toronto, Canada

A few months ago, they had officially gotten engaged. Courtney thought it was the happiest day of her life, though Bianca’s timing was disastrous. The engagement happened just a couple of months before three major Supreme Court cases. The first was to overturn Obergefell v. Hodges, revoking the right to same-sex marriages. Then two more quickly followed, essentially making same-sex marriage illegal in all fifty states, dashing their hopes of a backyard wedding like her parents had had.

A small handful of states, including New York, still recognized same-sex marriage licenses from other countries. Unfortunately, a flight to Australia wasn’t in the cards with the exchange rate being what it was. In the days leading up to Supreme Court rulings, courthouses all over America were filled with people desperately trying to submit marriage licenses before the rulings could be made.

The panic made it too difficult to try and get through to the courthouse, so they made a plan to do the next best thing. Take a train to Rochester, then ferry over to Toronto, where they could get married and be back to N.Y.C. in time for the Pride protests planned for the 25th.

Courtney knew that Bianca was only humoring her about the protests, that she would be just as happy keeping her head down and waiting for this shit to pass. But Courtney wanted to fight back, she couldn’t imagine doing anything else. She considered herself lucky that Bianca understood that much.

On the train, there was an elderly straight couple sitting across from them. The woman’s beady gray eyes made Courtney nervous, not to mention the silver cross around her neck. Then, the man picked up a newspaper and opened it, flashing a giant headline across the front that read ‘THE TRANSGENDER MENACE.’

Courtney let out an audible gasp and Bianca reached over to put a hand on her thigh. She swallowed, gripped Bianca’s fingers, and stared out the window, bouncing her leg nervously.

“So, where are you girls headed?” the woman asked, faux sweetness coating her voice.

Courtney turned back to her, “Um…Toronto.”

“A little girls’ trip? What fun.”

Courtney’s pulse quickened, “Actually-”

“Actually, more of a necessity than fun, you know?” Bianca cut in, shooting Courtney a very pointed look, “Gotta get away from the husbands and kids once in a while, amiright?”

The woman looked back and forth between them, “Mm.”

Courtney tried to breathe in and out slowly through her nose in a last-ditch attempt to calm herself. It didn’t work.

The woman glanced toward her husband, catching a glimpse of the headline. She frowned disapprovingly at it.

“Oh dear,” she said, shaking her head, “What a shame...”

For a moment, a lovely, preposterous moment, Courtney thought that maybe, just maybe, they’d found an ally. An unlikely ally of a sweet elderly lady who just wanted people to be able to live their lives.

…Bianca always did call her a dreamer.

“Those boys saying they’re girls, and worse! Grown men trying to invade our dressing rooms and-” she let out a disgusted noise, “It’s just horrific, actually. All the prayer in the world can’t save some sick, lost souls…but I still do pray for them.”

Courtney’s blood boiled beneath her skin, fire pulsed through her veins, her muscles tightened and she glared at the woman with all the fear filling her bones. Her grip on Bianca’s hand was probably about to cut off her circulation, but she couldn’t help it.

They had spent way too long in their safe, queer little bubble in the West Village. Way too long surrounding themselves with only people who uplifted them and supported them.

“That’s not the worst of it,” the man cut in, shaking his head sadly, “Some of ‘em are trying to trick our boys, trap ‘em into marriage. That’s the sickest part of all.”

“I don’t actually understand, though. I mean, can’t the boys tell the difference? I certainly can,” the woman said with pursed lips.

“Oh?” Courtney managed to choke out, “Can you?”

“Absolutely, from a mile away. They always have the same kind of voice, just…makes my skin crawl.”

“You know…” Courtney began, and she felt Bianca tense up beside her.

Bianca released her hand and jumped to her feet, looking down at Courtney with panic, “Hey Courtney, will you come with me to the bathroom?”

“What?” Courtney said, shocked out of her moment by Bianca’s suddenness.

“You know, guard the door in case some man in a dress tries to break in?” Bianca said, an edge to her voice that was a cross between anger and fear.

Courtney wasn’t used to that from her, at least not so blatantly. She looked up to Bianca, absolutely livid, but before she could say anything else, Courtney was yanked out of her seat and practically dragged into the next train car.

Bianca turned to her with blazing eyes, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Wrong with me?!” Courtney gasped, “Are you kidding?”

“No. I’m not. I know you, I know you were about to out yourself to those assholes, and that’s just…are you out of your mind? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?!” Bianca hissed, stress all over her face.

“It’s dangerous for me to fucking breathe at the moment,” Courtney spat, “To even exist.”

“No, you’re wrong. You’re…you have an Australian passport that says F on it. Okay? You’ll be safe as long as you don’t-”

“Are you high? I’m safe?! Why, because they’re not gonna start demanding medical records?!”

“When…when did you hear that? That’s not…there’s no law about-” Bianca stuttered as the horror of their reality started to sink in.

“I’m not talking about the laws, today, Bianca! I’m talking about what’s fucking coming, what anyone with their eyes open could see coming, clear as day! And I’m just wondering, exactly how bad it has to fucking get before you’re gonna be willing to fight for me!” Courtney gasped for every little breath by the end of her rant, tears welled in her eyes and she just hoped that Bianca could understand.

Bianca stared at her for a minute, blinking. Courtney wished she knew what she was thinking.

“You don’t think I would fight for you?” Bianca asked quietly, darkly.

“I think…” Courtney sniffled, brushed away the tears she didn’t know had fallen and wrapped her arms around herself, “I think that you’d rather just pretend this isn’t happening. But it is. And I don’t want to wait until it’s too late to fight back.”

Bianca nodded, once and sharp, “Okay.”

“Okay… what?” Courtney asked, tilting her head to the side.

“Okay, I’ll fight.”

Bianca walked back to their seats, anger and confidence in every step. A combination of fear and sick excitement welled up in Courtney, and she wondered at the beast that had been let out of her fiancée.

“Bianca, what are you going to-Bianca!” she called, trailing after her.

“Hey!” Bianca said to their seat-mates, and the couple both looked up at her sharp tone, “Your transphobic bullshit is making my fiancée uncomfortable.”

“Your fian- ” the woman’s eyes bulged and she flung her hand to her heart.

Bianca nodded, “That’s right. So I suggest you shut the fuck up, because we’re on our way to get married, and it’s supposed to be a special day, and if you ruin it for her, then I’ll have to ruin your day, and I really don’t think you want to find out how I’d do that.”

Bianca cracked her knuckles and Courtney fell just a little more in love with her.

“Well I never…” the woman sneered.

“And put that trash rag away, too!” Bianca barked at the man, who, upon closer inspection, looked a bit feeble, folding the paper with shaking hands.

“I knew it,” the woman said as she pointed at Bianca.

“You knew what?” Bianca said, quirking a brow.

“I knew there was something about you. You’re one of them! One of those men disguised as women! I knew it!” she cried out.

Bianca let out a dry snort of a laugh, “Ya got me.”

“Come on, Arnold, we’re changing seats,” she said, prodding the man with her elbow. She stood from their seat and marched away. The man rolled his eyes and got up tiredly.

“I don’t understand.” he grumbled, trying to collect their things and then shuffling after her, “If he wants a wife, why not just stay a man?”

“Because it’s better with a dildo!” Bianca shouted after him, before flopping down into her seat.

Courtney sat beside her, lips pressed together for a few moments before a laugh slipped out.

“What?” Bianca muttered, “That’s what you wanted, right?”

“It’s just that…you basically threatened to beat up two old people,” Courtney snickered.

“Yeah, and I would’ve gone through with it too,” Bianca crossed her arms, pouting.

“And they thought you were trans,” Courtney couldn’t help the giggles now, which kept coming.

Bianca turned to her, a smirk on her face, “Big dick energy.”

“You’re nuts.”

“Still wanna marry me?”

“More than ever,” Courtney said, taking her hand.

That was the moment that Courtney knew—Bianca wasn’t just humoring her. She was in the fight with her, would be beside her no matter what.

At the protest the next weekend, there Bianca was. Yelling herself hoarse, the loudest voice in the crowd. That was her wife, whether they had the papers for it or not.

They would wonder, occasionally, whether they’d made the right decision to come back. Should they have just stayed in Canada, when they could? But whenever Courtney felt any doubt, she would look at her wife by her side and feel confident—unstoppable, even. They could win this fight. They would win this fight.

~*~

11 Years Ago New York City, N.Y.

After they got married, there was a lot of debate about if and when to leave the United States. Canada was always a possibility, but after a while, things there started to look a bit insecure as well. Australia seemed like the safest choice, especially once they began to aggressively issue visas for asylum, taking people in as fast as they could be processed, even ramping up the infrastructure to do so. (It didn’t hurt their economy, either. She knew a guy back home in construction and he was cleaning up with all the new housing projects.)

All they would have to do was show up at the airport with Courtney’s passport and their marriage license and they’d jump the queue. So, they decided to wait and let people who were in more immediate danger go first. They’d stay and fight while they could, and if they got a whiff of real trouble, they’d go.

Her parents were proud of her for fighting, and maybe that was part of the reason she wanted to stay, to show them that she’d heard everything they’d taught her about justice, about standing up for the most vulnerable. Although, she hoped to reunite with them soon.

One afternoon, they were with their friends at a pizza place after a protest, where they’d narrowly avoided arrest by the skin of their teeth. There was a general atmosphere of victory and celebration, and Courtney allowed herself to relish in it. Just as they sat down, Courtney saw a bunch of missed calls from her parents, even a few from her half-sisters, which was unusual. As she opened her text messages to see a flood—some from people she hadn’t spoken to in years. She suddenly felt nauseous.

The last one was from her mum.

Mum: I love you darling

She stood, a bit unsteady on her feet, and began making her way to the door. She pushed it open, and the rush of hot summer air made her dizzy. Courtney leaned against the hot brick of the building as panic and fear slowly started to fill her.

“What’s wrong?” Bianca asked, following her outside.

“I-I don’t know.” Courtney swallowed, attempting to call her mum back. As it dialed, she asked shakily, “Can you…check the news? See if something’s happened in Australia?”

She listened closer, realizing that the ringing was a noise unlike any she’d ever heard. She tried her father next—same noise. By the time she was trying her sister, she was in full panic mode, Bianca looking at her phone with a furrowed brow.

“I’m not finding anything,” Bianca said, shaking her head, “Maybe it’s a weather thing? Knocked out a cell tower, or-”

“Something…something’s going on.”

“I’m gonna try a VPN,” she said, reaching out to squeeze Courtney’s hand.

“Okay. Thanks.” Courtney lifted the phone to her ear, praying she would get through to her sister in Sydney, but only getting that same terrible sound again.

“Fuck,” Bianca whispered, and Courtney’s stomach dropped to her feet.

It wasn’t until watching the news later that night they learned what happened. It was surreal. The American government had used her country as a fucking test site. Every city with more than 50 people was flattened in minutes. Practically everyone she’d ever known and loved wiped off the face of the earth in under an hour. Courtney felt absolutely numb as she wiped a single tear from her cheek, clinging to Bianca’s hand. The only family she had left.

It was reported as secondary news. A 30-second story. Because of course, it wasn’t for them. It was for the rest of the world: a warning.

To show, not only what the military could do, but that they would.

New Zealand stopped issuing asylum visas after that. So did Iceland, Cuba, and Switzerland of all places. Even sent back the American refugees still living there out of an abundance of caution.

It didn’t really hit Courtney until a week later. She was walking home from the grocery store and she stopped, setting her bags down in the middle of the sidewalk. A plane was passing by overhead and she wondered, just for a moment, if her mum and dad had seen a plane before the bombs began to fall. She wondered if they were together, at least. She would never know.

Emotion welled up in her chest and choked her. She fell to her knees, burying her head in her hands, and began to sob. Big, helpless, body-wracking sobs that were closer to wails than anything else. Her cries of pain echoed through the street. People heard her, and no one cared. Because they all knew.

That’s how Bianca found her—she didn’t know how long she was out there, only that several apples had rolled out of her bags and into the street, crushed by passing cars, and a container of mocha almond fudge ice cream had begun melting, a puddle forming brown swirls on the pavement and down the cracks of the sidewalk.

Her fingers had been gripping the rough concrete when two warm hands were suddenly cupping her face.

She looked up at Bianca, vision blurry with the river of tears that wouldn’t stop, gasping out, “Th-They’re gone. They’re all…all gone.”

Bianca pressed their foreheads together and held her close, her own voice trembling, “I know. I know, baby.”

Somehow, Bianca got her home and into bed, brought her a cup of tea, which she couldn’t drink, and ended up just holding her and rocking her for hours and hours, stroking her hair, telling her it would be okay. Lying that it would be okay. It didn’t matter how or how often Bianca said it, Courtney knew she would never truly be okay again.

They stopped talking about leaving, about where and when and if to go. After all, they didn’t have a choice anymore. And even if they did, Courtney wasn’t certain she’d have wanted to—citizen or not, this always felt like her fight. Now more than ever, it was.

~*~

10 Years, 9 Months Ago New York City, N.Y.

Courtney laid in her bed under a blanket her mother had made for her years ago. Numbness had spread from her heart throughout every limb. She was so tired these days. Pain filled every action, every thought, every word that left her mouth… Courtney wanted nothing more than for all of this to be a bad dream. But it wasn’t. This was her reality.

Everything was crumbling to pieces around them. Australia was gone, New Zealand was gone, and American laws got stricter every day that passed. Courtney hated it, it made her angry. These days, she felt pain, anger, or numbness. She missed feeling hopeful, or happy, or loved.

Courtney curled up tighter under the blanket. She wished it still smelled like home. This was hell.

There was a knock on the bedroom door, and she raised her head to look at it. She could see Bianca in the doorway, the door itself open a few inches. Her wife looked a wreck, with dark bags under her eyes and her hair just a little too messed up. She couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Yes?” Courtney asked quietly. Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears.

Bianca pushed the door open wider and leaned against the door frame, “I made dinner. Well, made is a strong word. I cooked a frozen pizza.”

Courtney closed her eyes and relaxed back into her pillow, “I’m fine.”

“You’ve hardly eaten anything lately,” Bianca argued, taking a few steps into the room.

“I don’t care,” Courtney mumbled.

Bianca sat down on the edge of the bed, the sheets creasing under her, “I do.”

Courtney bit back a sob. She didn’t care what Bianca thought, or anyone thought for that matter. She was in so much pain yet so numb all at once. There would be days on end where she would think she was finally fine, and then her awful reality would come crashing back down on her and she’d be back at square one. Living without her parents or her sisters or her friends was like living in hell.

Courtney wondered how she hadn’t just keeled over and died yet from the suffocating aching in her soul. Everything hurt all of the time. Cold, hard, striking pain had become so familiar she had forgotten how to live without it. Pain that rendered her physically useless because she couldn’t move without screaming. It felt like limbs had been cut off and never reattached, and her blood just kept pouring out.

But did it matter? Did anything truly matter? Her childhood had been blown up. Everything she had ever known, everyone she had ever had certainty in was gone. That wouldn’t be enough for this world, though. She knew she would never stop losing. She was still alive, which meant there was more to take from her.

And that’s what happened. The American military had taken her fucking family from her. They had taken her lifeblood from her. No more phone calls. No more vacations. No more family dinners. No more gardening with her mother, cooking with her dad, singing with her sisters, or shopping with her friends. No more of anything. If it weren’t for Bianca, she would be all alone in this cold, angry world.

Courtney looked up at Bianca with tears in her eyes, a strange mix of bitterness and thankfulness rising up in the back of her throat and choking her. Bianca was all she had left. She should be grateful, happy, to at least have someone. But that thought made her angry. This should never have happened.

Bianca gently laid her hand on Courtney’s shoulder, “...Please.”

Courtney pushed herself up in bed and leaned against the headboard, then stared at her hands resting in her lap. There was silence between them, a tension they were both so unfamiliar with. Something between them had changed, but neither could place their finger on what.

Courtney finally looked back at Bianca. There were tears running down her cheeks black from mascara.

“I don’t… I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this,” Courtney finally admitted, her voice soft enough to betray the fear in her heart.

“You don’t have to do it alone. That’s why I’m here,” Bianca reminded her.

Courtney shook her head, “But what are you supposed to do? How are you supposed to fix a mess created by people playing God? How are you supposed to hold me together when I can’t even get out of bed? You’re not a therapist, you’re not a magician, you’re not-”

“I’m your wife,” Bianca said, as if that legal document gave her superpowers, “I know you better than I know myself. I will do whatever it takes, Courtney. Because you’re my reason to get up every day. So… tell me. Tell me what you need and I’ll fucking do it. Even if that means fighting the government myself.”

Courtney breathed in slowly and let Bianca’s words wash over her, “Do… Do you mean it?”

Bianca nodded and cupped her hand around Courtney’s jaw, “Yes, yes, of course I mean it. For you… Yes.”

Courtney looked into Bianca’s eyes and saw desperation and devotion. It struck something within her, something she hadn’t felt in months.

“Then do it,” Courtney whispered like it was a dark secret, “Fight with me. Let’s take them down.”

Bianca blinked once, twice, “...Okay. But we have to do one other thing first.”

“Hm?”

“Eat that fucking pizza before it gets cold.”

Courtney smiled for what felt like the first time in years and even chuckled. Somehow, Bianca always knew what to say.

~*~

10 Years Ago New York City, N.Y.

Courtney was cooking pasta and Bianca was wiping down their kitchen table. They had the TV on in the background, it was on some public station playing sitcom reruns. Just mindless noise to fill the space while they waited on their new roommates to get home. Peppermint had started living with them a couple of months ago, and she fit into their daily routine so easily that it felt like she was always meant to be a part of their home. Sasha was still finding her place in their small group, but she was creative and endearing. Courtney had a special connection to both of them already, what with having met through a transgender support group.

It was supposed to be a normal evening, with a family dinner and some poster making for the next protest. Then, without warning, the TV switched over to the news and red started to flash across the screen. Courtney glanced over at Bianca and their eyes locked together. Barely remembering to turn off the stove, she ran to turn up the volume on the TV.

One of the news crew members, a pale woman with platinum blonde hair and a nasally voice, was saying something about L.A. and bombs. Pictures and video clips played across the screen and it looked like something out of the kind of movie she always hated.

There was helicopter footage of buildings smoking as they crumbled, people flooded the streets, and bombs continued to go off, taking away everything around them. Los Angeles, her city, a city of hope and dreams turned to dust right before her eyes.

Courtney was frozen as she watched the screen. Her knees locked and she crumbled to the couch, and within seconds Bianca was right beside her. Bianca wrapped an arm around her shoulders and they held each other close, completely helpless to the tragedy.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. They were supposed to save everyone. They were going to figure out a way to keep everyone alive. Somehow, someway they were going to do it. But it was too late. Now millions were dead at the hands of those who were supposed to protect them.

How much more loss would they have to take? How many more people would have to die before these demons were happy? She felt dizzy. It was all so much, it was all too much… First their rights, then Australia, now this?

Would it ever fucking end?

#rpdr fanfiction #courtney act #bianca del rio #bitney #lesbian au #post apocalypse au #dark fic #romance #hurt/comfort #angst #will you make me believe #candy cane #veronica #tw violence #tw dark imagery #concrit welcome

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spontaneous-human-combustion · 5 months

Text

E.B.E.

11.30.2023

merits:

writing:

EBE is such a good episode because of the vibes. Does the plot make sense? Uhhhh...I don't even remember. But it doesn't matter, because the vibes. I enjoy the callbacks to the pilot, Deep Throat, Fallen Angel, & other episodes, with the car engines going out in dead zones, the flying crafts covered up by the military/government, Mulder and Scully doing sketchy shit or going rogue...So I'm giving it a 9 for Vibes. Plus, the Lone Gunmen are introduced!

characterization/development:

It's ironic how Mulder constantly diatribes about trusting no one, yet so easily trusts the first person who reinforces his beliefs and ideas -- without real evidence. Scully tells him the photo is a fake and he immediately goes into denial -- which is a trait he will continue to demonstrate. Scully meanwhile professes that she is in this with him, searching for the truth, but they can't afford to jump at every hoax in the hopes of might be real. They have to interrogate their sources closely. She more than Mulder takes trust no one seriously. And somehow, the dynamic really works.

Asides: there are little strokes of characterization that I really like. For example, Scully asks Mulder if they've had a close encounter -- as if she accepts such a thing as fact. Or Mulder, the anti-authoritarian, propping his leg on the table. 10.

emotion: Because Mulder feels he got so close, because he goes rogue to pursue what he believes could change everything, could bring all those secrets to light, the letdown is all the more disappointing. However, it's sweet to see Scully go ride-or-for for him, even as she attempts to reign in his extremes. 8.

antagonist/monster:

With the early mytharc-adjacent episodes, before CSM really comes into the picture, there's not necessarily a clear enemy. We are told "They" are enacting things behind the scenes, obscuring the truth, etc. This can be done well or badly. I must admit, I got pretty tired of CSM. But the vague, threatening ~Shadow government~ could kind of seem like a cop-out at times. In this episode, it's done pretty well, enough to hold my attention. It's not incredible, but it's serviceable as far as antagonists go. 6.

on set:

Love the minimal backgrounds in use, like the sparse interrogation room, or the fog obscuring details of the set.

The red and blue lighting in Mulder's dim apartment was wonderfully atmospheric, as was the use of his reflection against the glass where the EBE was kept.

Other observations: Loved the UFO near the beginning, thought the wreck in the dead zone was cut very effectively, and adored the set where Mulder confronts Deep Throat at the end.

Scully had some hits with her wardrobe in this episode. The olive pinstriped blazer, maroon suit with the white ribbed tee, her little heels and her black trench and boots... even black gloves to fit the vibe.

Mulder rocks a loud mandala tie. 10.

music:

The score stuck out to me in this one. We've got a slow pulsing string synth. Clanging synthesizer for tension, and a low slow gong and ominous hum. Mysterious piano arpeggios and a sort of yawning whistle. 7.

demerits:

boringness: 0

ccwfl (chris carter wankfest level): Hmm. So here we go on mytharc bullshit... but the vibes are so good I'm letting them off easy this time. 1.

bonus points:

They take a bus to the case location. Point for public transportation.

Mulder falls asleep in the car with his mouth open.

Mulder wipes out face-first during the chase scene.

Scully and Mulder are in cahoots and go on a road trip :3

totals:

merits total: 50 (double check)

demerits total: 1

bonus points: 4

episode total: 53/60

favorites:

"Swamp gas. Happens to me when I eat dodger dogs."

"Some of their ideas are downright spookyyy."

The most heinous and evil power of the 20th century." "Barney?"

"That's why we like you; your ideas are weirder than ours."

MUFON/NICAP mentioned! "Welcome, space brothers!"

"I think it's remotely plausible that someone might think you're hot."

"Mulder, you're the only one I trust."

"Mulder, this photograph is a fake." "What."

"The truth is out there, but so are lies."

Naturally, Langley doesn't turn the tape off.

Love when Mulder makes a break for it, and Scully tries to block the security guard to no avail, giving a disgusted look.

"Secrets must remain secret." "Who are you to decide that for anyone?"

"It won't end as long as men like you decide what is truth"

#1.17

0 notes

since0202 · 2 years

Text

Taking Time—Forty Four

In over your head

Do you ever feel like a slingshot? Because I feel like one a lot lately. The thing about slingshots is they’re useful, right up until they're not. But the thing I identify with most is the potential of a slingshot. Its inherent use is obvious whether it’s being pulled taut, loaded with something to launch, or sitting empty somewhere. But lately, I feel like the latter version. I feel empty, but built with so much potential and care that it seems like such a waste. How do I shake this feeling? How do I reclaim the version of myself that feels most useful? Ready to launch and exceed my own expectation of how far I can make things go. Pulled tight, and overstretched but so fantastically full with purpose and determination. I don’t know, I suppose that might sound a little weird, but it makes sense to me. I’m a slingshot, I’ve just got to find that missing piece of me.

Maya made it through her last final by the skin of her teeth. The last few weeks of the semester had been a blur after her scare in the infirmary and if she was being honest with herself, she’d never really been able to shake it off. She had successfully been able to quell Paul’s concerns when she lied and said she thought she had strep, brought on by the unrelenting stress of finals. He had conceded and the next day, a care package had shown up at her dorm filled with vitamin C packets, a heated blanket, weighted neck pillow, her favorite snacks, and a carefully carved wolf figurine. That one had made her smile. And then the smile had faltered and Maya had felt nauseous all over again.

Something still hadn’t sat right with Maya over lying to Paul about the pregnancy scare, but she knew she didn’t want to tell him over the phone where she wouldn't be able to read his face. If she was being honest, she’d even say she was a little embarrassed by all of this, but couldn’t fully pinpoint the reason why. She’s sure it had to do with the fact that this was entirely ironic. What if she had gotten a positive test result back? What then? She knew Becks would never say a word against her, but still, Maya felt a little ashamed with how she had reacted to Becks’ pregnancy and she had almost been put in the line of fire herself. And then there was…a confusing air of disappointment.

Maya had pushed that feeling so far down so as not to have to deal with its confusing effects during her finals, but now, as she packed her suitcases and filled some boxes with the bits she’d gathered during her semester, it began to bubble up again.

Why in the world should she feel disappointment? The thought raged in her head as she tried to focus on folding and pressing her t-shirts into her suitcase. It’s not like she wanted to be pregnant—far from it. Maya knew she wasn’t ready for that and she still had dreams and things she wanted to do first. They were on the same page about that. But still..it left a tiny dime sized hole in the pit of her stomach, and the ache that usually pulsed as a reminder of her imprint squeezed around that empty feeling until her head would start to ache.

Maya brought a hand to her forehead and checked for a fever. Maybe she was just getting sick and this feeling was merely a delusion of that. She felt relatively cool, but how she was to know. Her phone buzzed in her back pocket and Maya slipped it out and quickly opened the email notification from Paul with her flight details. She smiled at the short note in the email from him:

Can’t wait to have you back with me.

She sent a quick reply of “Can’t wait to be back with you,” before adding the notification of her early morning flight to her calendar and packing in earnest now. This feeling would ebb and she would feel whole again once she was back home and with Paul, she knew it. Beez was already out ferrying her stuff to the mailroom to ship back home, so when Maya heard a quick succession of knocks on her dorm room door, she raised an eyebrow in confusion.

When she pulled it open, she had no time to react before a bright, warm body was hurtling into her arms with a squeal.

“KEYE?!” Maya yelled as she inhaled the familiar scent of her friend’s shampoo and wrapped her arms around her. “What the fuck are you doing here?!” Keye was laughing and swinging Maya from side to side. When she pulled back to look at her, her eyes were bright with excitement and Maya immediately felt that empty hole shrink. Keye was a bit of home.

“Surprise! I thought I’d come celebrate the end of your laborious finals with you!” she replied with a sound of delight as she clapped her hands together.

“But what..how did you? But you have school!” Maya nearly scolded. She was so happy Keye was here and her own excitement was plain on her face as she held onto her friend's hand. Keye shrugged.

“UW let out a few days ago and I was just putzing around the rez, so! HERE I AM! In the big apple and ready to party, bitch!” Keye walked deeper into Maya’s dorm scanning the contents of the room with a discerning eye. Her eyes landed on the stack of boxes in the corner and she shook her head.

“But how did you get here?” Maya continued, coming to stand beside her friend.

“Psh, what do you think?” She replied, hands on her hips and mirroring Maya’s posture just moments before. “Paul.” She said simply. “He texted me a couple of days ago and asked if I wanted to go out and see you, help bring you back. Said you had been so stressed with finals that you’d nearly made yourself sick,” at this she wagged her finger at Maya disapprovingly before continuing, “And thought I’d be a great little treat for you. So sweet,” she concluded with a knowing grin. Maya rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the rush of warmth that filled her now. It’s like he’d known she was missing a piece and he’d tried to fill it the best way he could.

Maya smiled and nodded. “Very sweet,” she confirmed as she looked at her boxes.

“What the fuck are we supposed to do with all of this then?” Keye blurted out. Maya laughed, thoroughly glad for the company.

“That’s the last one,” Keye said as she huffed and heaved another box up onto the mailroom counter. It had taken them two trips with the dolly to get all of Maya’s things here and both girls were completely out of breath at this point. Yeah, next semester, she was not bringing this much stuff. Which wouldn’t be too hard to do, she thought, because she had the option of living off campus or in the sophomore suites next year. Maya hadn’t quite decided what she wanted yet. Paul was obviously keen on the idea of her living off campus where he could come and stay with her whenever he liked, but Maya still thought being close to her cohort would be the best while she was out here on her own.

She shrugged off the thought for now, not needing to dwell on it for the next couple of months at least and smiled at the student attendants behind the counter.

“Where to?” A befreckled boy asked, as he poised his pen over the clipboard.

“La Push, Washington,” Maya said, her voice drenched in contentment.

After filling out the postage for each box and sliding her black card to pay for the exorbitant shipping fee, Maya and Keye walked arm and arm into the fresh spring air that was mingling with the teasing warmth of summer. They were all smiles, giggling at nothing and everything as they talked, making their way across campus.

Maya could almost feel the weight of this semester roll off her shoulders under the pleasing May sun and as they sauntered across the quad, Keye asked, “So, what do we do for our last night as free women in this big ole city? Because I think—”

“HEY! MAYA!” Maya’s head shot up and she watched with a smile as Noah jogged toward them with an equally pleased smile.

“Oh…my,” Keye said with a hungry edge to her voice.

“What?” Maya asked, confused, but it was too late to confer as Noah was already in front of them, all smiles and giving off a sweet musk mixed with an earthier cologne that made Maya raise an eyebrow.

“Hey, you all packed?” He asked between breaths. Keye was definitely staring. Maya had never thought Noah was exceedingly handsome, not like Paul, but she could see the appeal now with Keye giving him an appreciative look.

“Uh, yeah, just dropped it off at the mailroom. This is Keye, she’s my best friend from La Push,” Maya motioned to Keye who had already unthreaded her arm and was running a hand through her chopped hair and putting on her megawatt smile. Noah turned to Keye as if noticing her for the first time and beamed back holding out his hand.

“Noah,” he said confidently. When Keye took his hand he said, “Wow, the genetics running around La Push are gorgeous. Someone should really do a study.” Keye laughed at this as she continued to shake his hand. Maya bit her lip and had to stifle a laugh. Was Keye really interested in him? Well, Keye was interested in everyone to be fair. “So, when do you head out?” Noah said, finally letting Keye’s hand fall and turning his interest back to Maya.

“Early,” Maya sighed, “Tomorrow morning.”

“So you have one last night of debauched fun, then,” He said with almost a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Keye whooped and turned to Maya with an eager smile. Maya groaned but she realized she was smiling.

“I guess,” she bemoaned sarcastically as her smile stretched wider across her face.

“YES! But first, I was promised the most delicious deli sandwich ever.” Keye fist pumped the air and slotted her hand into Noah’s tugging him toward the quad and he followed her eagerly.

Maya, Keye, and Beez were chatting loudly as they ascended the stairs from the subway station into the warm night air. They were greeted at the top by some other friends from Maya’s cohort, as well as Noah, who gave her a warm smile and tugged her into a quick hug. Keye looked bemused at them before they all quickly conferred on their first stop that evening and headed down the sidewalk. A pack of engineering and math students now free of the shackles of the semester were ready to welcome summer with open arms. Maya couldn’t remember the last time she could breathe this easy.

With most of her outfit choices packed away and sent home, Maya had opted for her tightest pair of jeans that hugged her ass perfectly and a cropped black top that dipped so low in the front that the top of her black lace bralette was easily on display. She’d taken some extra time to do her hair that evening and it shimmered under the lamplights in soft, silky waves down her back. She’d even let Keye line and fill in her lips so that they looked more pouted than usual, finishing it off with an expert, delicate winged eyeliner and a touch of mascara.

The night held promise—the promise of summer, the promise of a good time, and even the promise of a neat end, tied up into a bow and ready to blow Maya back to the west coast. She was ready to lose herself in the laughter and chat of her friends tonight, letting the first year of college sink into her completely and color her into something new and experienced before heading back to the undoubtedly drama-filled summer that La Push would certainly deliver.

But for now, the night was new and the lights and sounds of this city that Maya had come to love and claim as her own settled and hummed against her skin. As they poured through the doors of their first bar that evening, the music shaking the walls and the lights strobing off the center of a dance floor, she was greeted with the vibrant voices of her friends yelling:

“Shots! Shots!”

Keye squealed with delight and tugged Maya toward the bar before everything dimmed deliciously around her and almost faded completely into black.

Maya slowly opened her eyes to the sound of rough grinding construction ringing out of the cracked window to her left. The room was swathed in bright light around her as she put a hand to her throbbing forehead, letting out a long breath trying to quell the pounding ache that was building around her temples.

Birds chirped animatedly between the hammering and clanging of the construction outside and Maya opened her mouth as if to call out to Paul and tell him to keep it down. It was way too early for him to be carrying on like that and she wasn’t even entirely sure how he could make that much noise in his small workshop. The sound of concrete drill rattled to life against some pavement and Maya’s eyes sprang open, focusing on the ceiling above her.

Not home. Her mind confirmed quickly.

Suddenly, Maya felt the shift of an arm underneath the pillow she laid on and she turned her head to see Noah asleep a couple feet from her on his back, one arm slung over his eyes and the other tucked under the pillow beneath her head. Maya’s breathing picked up. She was at Noah’s. Why was she at Noah’s? She lifted her head to look down at herself expecting the worst but she was fully clothed and upon second glance, so was Noah.

Maya lifted her head to see Keye tucked between her and Noah, her head at the foot of the bed and her mouth gently parted in sleep. Her eyes shot around the room as she sat up, trying to recall the night that had led to her and Keye ending up here.

Somewhere between their third and fourth bar is when she lost track of the evening. She recalled at one point hopping onto Noah’s back after stumbling so much that he insisted he carry her. As she clung to him piggyback style down the streets of New York, he had planted his hands firmly beneath her thighs as she leaned her head back and drank in the cool night air as their friends ping ponged around them. But when had they come back here? The sharp shrill of birds chirping made Maya’s eyes go wide as realization dawned on her.

What time is it?! Maya scrambled for her phone in the bed to the groggy groans of Keye and Noah. She found it on the nightstand next to her, but when she attempted to turn it on, it was , of course, dead. Maya sprang from the bed against the protesting of her head and searched for Noah’s phone charger frantically as Keye moaned painfully.

“Keye, get up!” Maya snapped. She found the end to Noah’s charger plugged in on his side of the bed and shoved it hastily into her phone waiting for it to boot up.

“Fi’ more mins,” Keye groaned as she tried to cover her head. Noah was rubbing his face and yawning nonchalantly.

“Please, please, please,” Maya whispered as she waited for her phone to finally open.

9:02 a.m.

“Fuck,” she whispered. They’d missed their flight back to La Push that had been slated to leave at 7 a.m. that morning. Just as her brain was starting to switch into overdrive, a volley of delayed text notifications, voicemails, and missed calls popped up. Maya gave an exasperated groan.

Before she even opened the missed texts, mostly from Paul she assumed, she quickly opened a new text to Michael to get him working on booking her and Keye the next flight home. But just as she began typing, her phone sprang to life with Paul’s face.

“Fuck,” Maya squeaked louder this time. She looked at his face for a solid two seconds before hastily answering the phone. “Paul I’m—”

He cut her off: “My!? Jesus, where are you?” There was a tinge of irritation in his voice but mostly he sounded concerned. That was promising.

“I—I’m so sorry, babe. I was just texting Michael to get our flights changed. We…we overslept,” she admitted, holding onto her head and looking up at Noah who was watching her carefully.

“You overslept?” He asked, confusion coloring his voice. Maya held her breath and shut her eyes tight. She felt so many things right now: embarrassment, annoyance, hung over, and a tinge of sadness. If she hadn’t missed her flight, she’d be almost halfway to him by now.

“Yes,” she said simply trying to hide the tremble in her voice as she fought back tears. “My phone died and we overslept,” Maya realized she was still kneeling next to Noah’s bed and she stood up suddenly with her hand on her hip.

“What the fuck, Maya?” Paul said, his voice slightly raised and the anger ebbing out. Maya let out a huff of breath and turned to see Keye with her hands over her eyes.

“I know, I… I just messed up, I’m sorry. We all went out last night and my phone died and—”

“What the fuck is going on?” Paul asked, anger coloring his tone.

“Nothing, Paul,” Maya said, her annoyance creeping out, “We just overslept. It’s not a big deal. I’ll get Michael to book us on the next flight out of here. Calm down, please.”

What was his deal? She thought this reaction was a little over the top for her accidentally missing her flight home but there was an edge of desperation and worry in his tone and she suddenly felt guilty for a simple mistake.

“I said I was sorry,” she said, getting upset now.

“Oh, you will be,” he said ominously. Maya’s eyes widened momentarily and then she shook her head. He was upset, she understood that but this was almost too much. “Just get home.” He said in a quipped tone.

“Whatever,” Maya replied dismissively before hanging up and grabbing Keye’s arm, shaking it roughly. “Get up! We gotta go!” She scrolled to Michael’s name and pressed the call button before looking over at Noah.

“Maya,” he said slowly, apologetically. Maya held up her hand to him as Michael answered on the other line.

“Michael, hey, it’s Maya. Look, me and Keye missed our flights. Can you book us on the next one out ASAP? Paul nearly had a coronary.”

“Of course. I’ll send you an updated itinerary as soon as it’s booked,” he said.

“Thanks Michael,” Maya said, holding her hand to her forehead.

“Anytime.” Maya hung up the phone and started looking for her things.

“Keye! Let’s go! Airport! Now!” she barked in response to Keye's continued groaning.

Two and half hours later, Keye and Maya were tucked onto their flight back to Washington.

Maya had only forwarded her flight details to Paul via text, but he hadn’t responded. She knew she had clearly upset him but at the end of the day, she hadn’t done it on purpose. Which was why his reaction had seemed so off base. Was he really that upset with her? Or was it something else? Knowing Paul it had to be something else. Maya had clearly looked lost in thought as she gazed across Keye out the plane window because she abruptly asked:

“Are you gonna tell him?” Maya snapped from her reverie, smoothing the worried look that hand scrunched across her brow a moment earlier.

“Huh?” She replied.

“Paul,” Keye said expectantly.

“What about him?” Maya asked, confused still. Keye raised her eyebrows in surprise at Maya.

“Are you gonna tell him about us sleeping at Noah’s?” That thought honestly hadn’t even crossed Maya’s mind but now that Keye had said it…

“Uuuuhh,” she stalled.

“Oh damn,” Keye breathed out with an amused laugh at the end.

“What?!” Maya asked with a lick of accusation in her voice. Keye shook her head, the incredulous look not quite wiped from her features yet.

“Nothing just…Damn, Maya. Didn’t realize you were a cold player,” she was clearly joking but Maya stung a little at that.

“What are you talking about? We passed out at Noah’s, so what?” Maya looked down at her hands and started fiddling with the zipper on the front of her sweatshirt.

“Noah is into you,” Keye quipped. Maya scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“So, I’ve heard.”

“Yeah, and uh, I’ve never had a massively possessive—”

“Paul’s not—” Maya tried to interject.

“Fine, ‘protective’. I’ve never had as crazy of a protective boyfriend as you have, but I’m pretty sure he would not be super siked to hear that you passed out in Noah’s bed, next to him, after letting him get buddy buddy all night.” Keye wasn’t accusing her, nor was her tone hurtful. She just stated it matter of factly and Maya faltered.

“Buddy buddy?” she clarified with an edge to her voice, glancing at Keye.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Keye pushed back, “My, you know what you do to dudes. Paul included.”

“I do not,” Maya said, truly at a loss. Keye was the one to roll her eyes this time.

“Don’t do that. Don’t play that oblivious pretty girl bit,” Keye said, her tone sharp, but sincere.

“I don’t know what the hell that means but if I tell Paul I slept in a bed with Noah, he might very well lose his mind. So, no. I’m not going to tell him. But I do not encourage Noah, Keye. You’ve got that wrong,” Maya shot back. Keye shrugged her shoulders and started pulling out her headphones.

“Okay, just want to get our story straight.”

“There’s nothing to get straight. Nothing happened. We partied too late last night and I slept through my alarm like an idiot. And that just happened to royally piss my boyfriend off. Case closed,” Maya folded her arms across her chest and glanced out the window again. “Keye?” she tried to confirm. Keye poised her headphones over her ears and shook her head.

“My, it’s not a big deal. You know I don’t care what you do. All I’m saying is, if Paul was there last night, you would have not done the things you did,” Keye slotted her earphones in and finished with, “Just be careful.”

Maya tried to determine what could have happened the night before to make Keye think that she had been ‘buddy buddy’ with Noah. But nothing came to mind. She hadn’t held his hand or hung on him. She was never the kind of girl to do that, in fact she was considered the rez prude for most of her life before dating Paul. She had accepted a piggy back ride from Noah to their last bar of the night. That wasn’t leading him on though, was it?

She thought about what Keye said—about how if Paul had been around last night, she wouldn’t have done half the things she did. But what had she done? Hung out with friends? Joked? Accepted a drink from Noah or Ben? But if Keye had seen something she hadn’t then maybe she was saying or doing things without realizing. Maya shook her head, trying to banish the thought. Whatever it was she had or hadn’t done last night didn’t matter.

She was going home for the summer, resuming her life with Paul and being present for her best friend who was about to have her baby. And she wasn’t going to tell Paul because it wasn’t information he needed to know. Not when he was already pissed at her.

It would be fine.

“Fine,” Maya breathed out.

Paul leaned his head back beneath the shower head and let the water rush down over his face and neck. Showers were never the same after he had phased, not as warm, not as relaxing, but today… Paul let out a low groan as water ran rivulets down his hard chest to his legs. He looked down at the girl on her knees taking him deep into her throat and bobbing her head expertly. He threaded his fingers through her hair at the back of her head and gave a harsh huff as he held her face to him for just a few brief seconds, her lips pressed against his hilt.

“My, fuck!” he shuddered as he released her and she continued to take him in earnest now, edging him closer. She gazed up at him around her lashes and smiled around his length, nearly sending him. She knew what she was doing to him.

He had been so mad at her this morning when she had called and nonchalantly admitted on the other end that she had missed her flight. The worry and ache that had been his constant companion since April had exploded in that instant and he had gripped his phone so tightly it had almost cracked in two. But the second she had walked over the threshold of that front door, dropped her bags, and gave him that warm, all encompassing smile, he felt the tension and anger ebb from his shoulders and he soaked up that radiating pleasure she gave off.

The imprint would never let him stay mad at her for long, nor would Maya. That’s how she had ended up on her knees in the shower, her mouth stuffed full of him, eagerly swallowing him down. Paul braced his forearm against the shower wall and leaned his head forward, letting the water hit his back and blocking it from raining down on Maya’s face. She braced her hands on his broad thighs now, taking long, sweet pulls on him before dipping him down and to the back of her throat making him groan. She had him.

“My, I’m gonna–” he grunted and in response Maya quickly pushed him down to the back of her throat, letting him settle there. Paul’s eyes went wide and he held onto her head as he pumped forward into her mouth, fucking her face gently a few times before spilling down her throat. His breathing came in fast, powerful huffs as he slowly pulled her off of him and she swallowed what was left in her mouth before smiling serenely up at him.

“Jesus, My,” he said with a huff of laughter. She stayed on her knees for a moment, smiling up at him and he brought his hand to her face, cupping her cheek and running his thumb across her full lower lip.

As she stood and leaned against his chest, the top of her head not quite meeting his shoulder line, she hummed her appreciation. Maya gazed up at him with that heart-squeezing smile and Paul felt that tug that urged her closer. He wrapped an arm down around her back, resting on her ass as he brought his lips to her forehead. Maya wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into it, letting the relief of the imprint pulse between them.

“Am I forgiven yet?” Maya asked, pressing her lips across his throat as the water poured down and over his shoulders. Paul chuckled and kissed the top of her head.

“Almost,” he teased. “But I want to show you something.” Maya looked up at him curiously and he couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s a good thing.”

Paul shut the door to his forerunner and came around the front of the car where Maya stood, slotting her hand into his. The clearing that had once been blank space backed with evergreens that led deeper into the forest was now filled with a prominent two-story, sleek, dark navy home with modern white trim. The graveled drive was still being curved in and dotted with low garden lights, and the ground was freshly tilled and waiting for landscaping, but the house looked nearly done.

Maya let her eyes wander across the damp concrete of the freshly poured porch that wrapped around the right side of the house. The large white paned windows shone in the easy afternoon light and Paul felt Maya squeeze his hand and tug him forward.

“Paul,” she said, nearly breathless. Paul had to admit it, the work they had accomplished in just five short months was pretty impressive. The outside of the house was almost completed and only needed a few finishing touches (lights installed, porch railing sealed, and numbers affixed to the door). Inside would take a little bit longer, but Jacob had asked to wait for Becks so that she could decide the things she wanted like paint color, floor stain, light fixtures, and even window trim. He was going all out for his imprint, but Paul understood why. This family and this life meant everything to him. It was what he had been seeking when he first met Bella and what he fruitlessly tried to achieve when he followed her. Now, not even a year after mysteriously returning—a reason he still hadn’t shared with his brothers—he had an imprint and a baby on the way. It made sense why he pushed all the way down on the gas to jumpstart his new life.

And Paul had jumped at the chance to help.

“Has she seen it yet?” Maya asked, turning to look at him as she ascended the porch steps, her eyes bright and wide and eager. Paul’s heart stuttered in his chest and he let go of her hand to grip her ribcage and hold her in place before him. She was just a little taller than him standing on the second porch step and he stepped forward to close the small gap between them to kiss her. She responded instantly, arching her back and pressing into him, her arms coming up to rest over his shoulders. Paul felt that sensation of being grounded firmly to the earth, that swell and release of joy as he pressed her just a little closer and gently squeezed her ribcage beneath his large hands. He felt invigorated and clear, like the brightness was turned up on his entire world. When he released her, she steadied herself against his chest, laying her palms flat against his pecks.

He gave her an awry smile, “Not quite yet,” he said. “But Jacob wanted to get as much done as possible before the big reveal. We’re way ahead of schedule. But I—,” he paused, watching her carefully, not sure how to proceed, “I wanted to tell you something.”

She raised her eyebrow and looked at him curiously, humor etched plainly across her face. “Oh?” she offered and he couldn’t help but let out a short laugh.

“Yeah, uh,” he began looking away and then feeling the need to stare at her again. “I took some time off from completing commissions this spring. Kind of like a hiatus, so I could help Jacob do this. I haven’t been working at all,” he admitted. For some reason, Paul had felt too nervous to tell Maya this at the beginning of her semester. Her eyes were wide again, but Paul couldn’t place the emotion. Was she disappointed? He hurriedly carried on, “It’s not a big deal really. It gave me more time to work on some side projects in town, make the council happy without having to impregnate my girlfriend,” Maya laughed at that, a tinge of annoyance on the end of that sparkling sound, “It doesn’t really cut into us at all though, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Paul,” Maya said again, bringing her hand to his cheek. There was that look he loved so much from her. Pure adoration. If it was the work of the imprint, he didn’t care. He just wanted Maya to keep looking at him like that for the rest of his life. “This is amazing. You are amazing. For doing all of this?” she gestured around her as she stood still, held firmly in place by Paul’s hands. “Of course it’s okay. It’s more than okay. And I don’t care about it cutting into us, whatever that means.” She leaned forward and kissed him again, soft and sweet this time. “This is absolutely incredible and so are you.”

He beamed at her and then pressed his forehead against hers—something he couldn’t do typically when she was standing next to him.

“I just want to make sure I’m telling you these things,” he said, gently tucking some hair behind her ear. Maya’s face dropped momentarily and her eyes shot through with something unspoken. His interest piqued at that but he let it go when her face changed into one of pleased softness, “You’re a part of all these things and a part of me.” Something inside him thrummed with content. She slotted so easily against him, a perfect fit, molded to him and he ached for more. Later, he told himself. “Let me show you the rest,” he said as he took a step back and placed his hand around hers before pulling her up the rest of the short porch steps and to the front door.

Hungry. That’s how Paul felt. Hungry to start this summer with Maya and spend as much time with her as possible. He was constantly surprised by the fact that their imprint was over a year old, and the length of their relationship almost the same. Paul was hungry to take the next step with Maya, but he was never sure what that next step was. He was worried about putting too much pressure on her.

Their relationship was so different from those of the other imprints. His brother’s imprints were eager, overjoyed even to get married, settle down, and start their lives on the rez. Maya though…was a wild card. No imprint had ever traveled so far off the rez without their partner before Maya and Becks. But Becks was more tethered now with the baby due in just two short months.

His Maya was determined to chase what she wanted and he loved that, admired it. Still, he wanted to make things even more solid, even if just to satiate that itch. She had been adamant that she wanted the same things as him—kids, marriage, their life together, she wanted it all. But the answer of when still hung in the air. He could be patient for all of those things, but he wanted to take at least one step toward that endgame this summer. When and what he did toward that goal was key though.

Once they had returned from the walkthrough of Becks and Jacob’s new house, Maya had said she was going upstairs to take a nap, citing some residual jet lag and the late night she and Keye had had before that caused them to miss their flight. Paul had settled at the kitchen table with his laptop, touching base with Michael about re-establishing his project timelines in July and answering some emails in the meantime. But his eyes continued to stray to the darkened stairs.

Hungry.

Would he ever not feel that predestined pull toward her? The one that begged him to cover every inch of her in every inch of him? She’d been resting for a little over an hour at this point, but Paul’s hands were beginning to itch to touch her. Just to be near her. He’d felt a version of this feeling from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her at that bonfire. A tug, a sharp pull that cinched around his heart and squeezed and that kept his gaze focused on her at all times. It was terrifying if not a little exhausting at times. But when he’d relinquish his control and give into the pull, he was always rewarded by the imprint.

From the moment he had imprinted on Maya, he would listen to every change in her breathing, watch enraptured as the goosebumps sprouted on her arm when he touched her, and finally, when she had let him, he would watch her face devolve into pure bliss the first time he pressed into her. Nothing could top that sight.

He glanced back to the half finished email and swallowed thickly. He could be patient. The rumbling of thunder sounded just off the beach and if Paul trained his ears, he could hear the soft patter of rainfall beginning down on the water. In just a few minutes, the rain began to fall in earnest, creating a soft thrum of noise within the house as it darkened outside. Paul ran a hand down his face and tried to refocus on the email in front of him. Something about refurbishing a mantel in an historic building in Chicago. But his mind was elsewhere.

The time away from her this semester had almost been too much. He’d delayed getting a place in New York once Jacob had hurried his plans along on the house, and the time away from Maya had been nearly unbearable.

Now, as he sat in the kitchen, listening to the rain, with her asleep just upstairs from him, he realized how ridiculous it was that he was anywhere other than beside her at this moment. He’d spent nearly four months without his imprint, he wasn’t going to waste any more time just sitting here when she was just upstairs. That was all he needed to convince himself to close his laptop and take the stairs two at a time before opening the door quietly and peering in. She was there, stretched out on his side of the bed with his t-shirt and some black sleep shorts on with just a knitted throw slung over her lower half. Her breathing came slow and easy. He entered the room, leaving the door barely cracked behind him before pulling off his shirt and sliding silently out of his jeans.

He didn’t wake her as he climbed into bed beside her, pressing his chest up against her back and wrapping his arm around her stomach to gently tug and slot her against him. She breathed out a sweet sigh and Paul leaned down to kiss gently against her neck and shoulder for a moment. He’d let her sleep, but he wanted a moment to breathe in that heady soft aroma that was so distinctly her.

He placed his lips at the crook of her neck and took some slow deep breaths, absently kissing and gently nipping at that delicate spot to revel in her. Maya made a soft sound, mingled with a sleepy groan that made him ache. Paul told himself he’d let her be after just a few more inhales, one more trail of soft kisses from her shoulder to behind her ear. But his control always slipped with Maya, especially when she began to roll her hips back against him. He let out a low groan in her ear when she pressed back against him and felt himself harden. Paul slipped his hand under the shirt that she wore and squeezed her waist.

“You miss me?” she said barely above a whisper in that sleepy, sweet tone. Paul nipped at her shoulder in response and smiled against her ear. She hummed her appreciation and placed her hand over his as he stroked back and forth over her stomach. “I was napping you know,” she teased gently.

“You’ve been napping for awhile,” he said, rolling her gently onto her back, “Plus, I have a better idea.” She was beaming up at him and that heart squeezing feeling pulsed through him again. She brought her hands up to cup either side of his face and he leaned down between them to kiss her softly, letting his hands knead the soft flesh on her hips as he slid his knee up between her thighs. She gifted him with a giggle that sent his heart racing and with a wide grin he dipped his head down to her neck again before swiftly pulling the shirt up and over her head.

“Aaah,” he let out a satisfied sigh at the sight of her. Paul could hear her heart quicken and tried to slow his pace so that he could enjoy every moment with her before devouring her. He dove down to her breasts, pulling one tight nipple between his lips and teasing it with his tongue. The breathy moans he pulled from her were enough to send him, but he held tight to her, relishing in the stiff peaks her tits formed when he let each nipple go from his mouth with a pop. With one hand on her waist, he used his other hand to pull the sleep shorts down her legs and flung them off the bed. He knew she’d be wet before he even dipped his index finger inside her and swiped along her seam, causing her to whimper. Internally, he growled. Whenever she made that sweet, simple whimper his mind darkened and he clutched onto the edge of his control.

Paul kissed along the line of her hips as she tangled her hands in his hair, begging him to go lower. But Paul was determined to take his time. With his hands grasped firmly on her waist and his lips pressing a line across the top of her delicate V, he propped himself up on his forearms to let his eyes cascade up and down her body.

Maya’s chest heaved in anticipation, her eyes trained to his waiting for him to dive in, to pull her under, and press her into the mattress. But instead, Paul let his eyes trace across each line and soft curve of her body, over the swell of her breasts, to the dip at her collarbone, ending in a rich well at the base of her throat. Her mouth hung slack as she watched him, her finger tracing the line of his brow.

This frustrating, sweet, eager, pliant, stubborn woman was his. His perfect little imprint splayed out just for him and still, Paul couldn’t help but be amazed each time she opened herself to him. The bond that tied them together tightened in his stomach and she squirmed in response. The things he would do to her, for her, were unending. He dipped his head to breathe in her scent again—it was intoxicating, making his brain fuzzy and loosening his control just enough.

“Paul?” she breathed out. That wanton stare, her face flush with lust made him snap.

In one sharp move, he wrenched her off the bed and flipped their positions so he was on his back and Maya was sitting straddled across his abs. Paul held tightly to her ass as he yanked her up and with a yelp, Maya settled over his face as she braced herself on the headboard.

“Paul! What—” but her protest dissolved into a solid moan as Paul pulled her down firmly on his face and began to suck at her core, letting his tongue dart in and out of her opening before swiping up between her swollen petals and pressing on the bead of her clit. “Paul, I-I…” she stuttered and stopped, trying to lift her frame off of his face but he held her tightly. She whined in response to his continued assault between her legs and when she threw her head back to let the sound flow freely from her throat now, he knew he had her. With the flat of his palm, Paul gave a swift slap to her left ass cheek and she yelped in delight. After a few more flurried spanks, Maya took her cue and started to grind her hips over his face, deliciously riding him. Paul let out a groan of appreciation that vibrated through her and made her respond in kind.

With another quick slap, Maya picked up her pace, her eyes closing as she clutched onto the bed frame. Paul let one hand travel up her torso and expertly pinched and pulled at one nipple. She was grinding faster, her breathing coming erratically and when she careened, her voice pitched high and her core tightened around his darting tongue, he felt a soft warmth flood over him as he sucked at all she gave him.

She was still twitching and making soft, gasping moans as he lapped at her, but before she could deflate completely, he pulled her off of him and came down on top of her. Her eyes were half opened in slits of bliss as she smiled up at him. This was his favorite part.

Paul pulled his briefs down enough to pull himself out and pressed into her opening. Maya’s mouth fell open in a silent moan as her eyes opened a little more to stare into his as he entered her.

“Fuck,” he groaned as he slid neatly between her legs and pressed to his hilt in one fast snap of his hips. Maya sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden intrusion but stayed open and pliant. He watched the quick tension relax into eagerness. Paul started to pump easily, her channel slick from his workings earlier, and closed his eyes to let the sound of her stuttering small moans wash over him as he stretched her.

Caught up in moments like this with Maya always seemed to bring Paul to a better version of himself. He felt the most like himself just like this with Maya. She had been right all those months ago when they had fought—they were very good at this. But it was more than just the physical bond between them. The imprint lit up every sensation, every heartstring and every deep stirring desire and he wanted it all with her.

He was rocking into her faster now and leaned his head forward to press his forehead to hers. She held onto the back of his neck, her legs wrapped up around his hips as he rubbed his hand up and down her thigh, slamming into her.

“N-nee-need you d-deeper,” she huffed. Oh, she knew what she was doing to him. Paul let that mischievous grin stretch across his face and the little smirk she returned did him in.

“Uh huh, I just bet baby. You’re taking me so good like this though, you sure you want more?” he said. Paul knew when he took her from behind that it felt almost too intense for her. Still, she nodded sweetly, toying with a look of feigned innocence that had him leaning down to bite her bottom lip that she puckered out at him. “If you insist,” he growled before quickly pulling out to her startled gasp, and turning her onto her stomach quickly.

He fully removed his briefs now and sat up on his knees behind her. He laid another harsh slap to her ass before grabbing her hips and snapping them up to meet his.

“Spread wide for me, baby,” he coaxed her as he rubbed his hand over the red print he left on her cheek. Maya let out a quick breath before letting her knees slide wide on the bed. Paul rubbed the globes of her ass before firmly planting his hands on her hips. He stroked along her slit with the head of his cock, pulling it up between her ass and then back down to her weeping opening. Maya’s breathing picked up in anticipation and when Paul slipped back inside of her, he couldn’t help himself from groaning, “Good girl,” as she let out a low whine and clutched the sheets.

So much for taking his time. Paul sank into her and let out a sharp breath when he bottomed out. Maya was breathing fast now, but her stillness as she adjusted to him turned into an eager rocking of her hips as she moved over him. Paul let his hands rest lightly on her hips and watched as she took all of him in. The feeling of her clenching around him was beginning to be too much already and when he was this deep, all he could think about was making a mess inside of her. Still, he held onto his control for as long as he could, letting her bob up and down on his length. When his resolve finally snapped, he gripped her hips tightly to still her before he began to snap his hips roughly against hers. Maya’s small moans ballooned into wails as she cinched and shuddered around him. She was spiraling and he wasn’t far behind. With a few more quick slaps against her hips Paul buried himself as deep as he could and spilled inside of her. His entire body sagged with relief and bliss as she sank down onto the bed. His cock sprang free of her and he watched with satisfaction as he dripped out of her.

Wanting to savor this moment, he lowered himself over her back, making sure to prop himself up on his elbows so as not to put too much of his weight on her, before pressing himself back into her. She groaned in what he could only ascertain as weak protest but with a peppering of kisses across her shoulders she quieted.

She wiggled a little beneath him, overstimulated and feeling his cock twitch in her, but she knew to let him stay inside. Paul would absently thrust into her every so often to coax one of her sweet moans from her, but mostly he just reveled in the sensation of keeping her stuffed full, of her soft body beneath his.

A little while later, they were wrapped in each other, the low light of the afternoon filtering around the storm clouds that continued to gently rain outside. Paul was just beginning to drift off when he heard her:

“I want to tell you things too,” She murmured in the deepening dark.

“Mmm?” he responded sleepily. Paul could hear Maya’s heart beat faster in her chest now. She rolled onto her stomach next to him, placing a hand on his chest.

“That night when I was at the infirmary and said I had strep?” Maya began. Paul looked at her confused, not entirely sure where this was going. When he didn’t respond she continued, tucking her hair behind her ear, “I thought I was pregnant. So I went to the campus infirmary to get a test.” Paul breathed in deeply, keeping his eyes focused on her. Why didn’t she say anything? As if answering his silent question, Maya said, “At first, I thought it was nothing and then I really wanted it to be nothing. And if I told you before I knew for certain, I know there would be nothing in the world that would stop you from getting to me.”

For a moment, the image of Maya being pregnant washed over Paul and he got lost in the quiet joy that flooded his chest. She would look so beautiful—round belly and warm cheeks as she smiled at him with that overwhelming look of happiness that he knew only he made her feel, that the bond made her feel. He itched to see her that way, full with his child and ready to take on their future together and start a family. He could see it so clearly, how the ring he’d bought her would glitter on her left hand as she placed it on the top of her swollen stomach and hummed sweetly hoping their baby could hear her.

But he knew she wasn’t ready. Not yet. And he could wait because that future held so much promise for them. It would still be there when they were ready. So, he let that image of Maya slip from him as his eyes refocused on the beautiful, naked, young woman propped up on his side.

“What?” She smoothed her hand over his chest and he let his look morph into one of light amusement.

“Nothing. Strep, huh?” he teased. Maya rolled her eyes and leaned down to kiss his chest. A nervousness overtook her now and Paul stroked her arm as he waited for her to speak.

“And I was late and overslept because Keye and I went out. I just felt like I needed to…feel like me and not quite so…well,” she ducked her head and looked back up at him. He was watching her carefully, a measured look of calmness on his face and Maya felt the need to tread softly. “We slept over at Noah’s.”

His jaw ticked dangerously and Maya hurriedly continued, “Nothing happened. Nothing will ever, ever happen…. But—”

Paul sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes darkening with that visceral anger she only saw once before right before he phased in front of her for the first time. Still, she was in it now and she pressed on because she had to tell him. Maya laid her hand flat on his chest and pressed against the rising heartbeat.

“We all fell asleep in bed together. Totally innocent, we just passed out, but I just wanted to tell you so—”

“So it didn’t come up later? Or slip out when Keye is just having a good time and pokes fun at my girlfriend sleeping in bed with another guy in front of everyone?” He was getting mad, and could feel the heat rising in his chest.

“Paul, this isn’t a big deal,” Maya breathed. Oh, that was the wrong thing to say. His nostrils flared and he sat up in bed quickly bucking her back and causing her to sit up on her knees facing him, still naked. She hastily grabbed a pillow and held it against her.

“No, Maya, it’s not a big fucking deal to you. But it is to me,” he ran a hand through his tangled hair and shook his head trying to clear it. “He’s into you.”

“So?” Maya said.

“You’re mine!” Paul snapped. Maya jumped at the sound but then her eyes narrowed, slowly simmering with anger.

“It’s not like anything would ever happen Paul, it was an accident, we fell asleep! You’re being crazy about this,” Maya’s voice was raising now too. Paul was grateful that Jacob and Becks weren’t here for once because he was fuming.

“Maya, I need you to operate with a little more common fucking sense, especially when I’m not around. Because—”

“Nothing. Fucking. Happened!”

“Listen to me,” he said through gritted teeth. Maya rolled her eyes and placed her hand to her forehead. “You need to be more careful and more fucking respectful—”

“Respectful?!” Maya interrupted, a look of amused shock on her face. Paul kept going though.

“Yes, respectful of this imprint, of this bond, of our fucking relationship! We are in a relationship, Maya, unless you forgot.” He held up his hand to display the ring on his finger that she had given him at Christmas.

“I know we are! For fuck’s sake, Paul. It was an accident, it wasn’t like I was begging to get into bed with him just to piss you off. We were drunk, we were tired, we passed out, that’s it. What was I supposed to do? Sleep on the floor?”

“You were supposed to go home. To your dorm. Anywhere but a guy’s bed who is very much into you and makes it known, Maya.” Paul was furious.

“You’re overreacting. How am I supposed to tell you stuff if you react like this?” Maya accused.

“God. Grow up, Maya.” He said, shaking his head and getting out of bed to pull on some sweats. Maya made a strangled noise in her throat and stood up on her knees letting the pillow drop from her body.

“Grow up!? Me!? Fuck you, Paul! You grow up!” she shouted. Paul was looking at her sideways by the door as he pulled on a shirt. Even now, he felt distracted by the curve of her body, the shape of her mouth. The hold she had on him was equal parts wonderful and terrifying. He chuckled, annoyed and shook his head.

“Jesus, maybe I should have gotten you pregnant. Might have tempered whatever rebellious teenage bullshit this is,” he motioned to her with a vague wave of his hand and even as the words came out of his mouth, he knew they were wrong. They tasted bitter and made him swallow thickly.

Maya’s face was crestfallen, temporarily suspended in disbelief before it switched to one of sweeping anger. Paul set his mouth in a hard line and when she let out a shout that sounded like a growl and chucked the pillow across the room at him, he ignored it and stomped down the stairs.

One more minute and he was out the door and into the cool night air. Paul didn’t want to phase and let his thoughts that were currently running rampant flood his brothers’ minds. So instead, he hurried over to his forerunner and piled inside before slamming the door with more force than was necessary.

As he drove away from their home, his hands tightened on the steering wheel and regret poured over him.

“Fuck me!” he yelled to no one as he coasted toward the highway in the dark.

#maya and paul #twilight #twilight fanfiction #paul lahote #paul lahote pairing #taking time #jacob black #paul lahote x oc #twilight fanfic #twilightfanfiction #paul lahotexoc #chapter 44 #paul lahote smut #twilight saga #the twilight saga #the wolfpack

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loserchildhotpants · 2 years

Text

@paneerlajwanti requested a destiel drabble; ‘honey!cas taking dean to a garden’ (also, i’m new to spn and destiel and stuff so go easy on me and also i’ve been calling ‘honey!cas’ ‘scrombled!cas’ in my descriptions to my friends lol i didn’t realize fandom had a name for him fffff)

The forget-me-nots are ironic, maybe.

Castiel insisted on taking him to his ‘thinking place,’ which left Dean worried that he’s made this place for the specific task of thinking and has otherwise given up the habit.

As far as bad omens go, though, it’s beautiful.

The lot is off the side of the road, past an old, rusted No Trespassing sign that hasn’t been enforced in at least thirty years.

Before Cas touched the land, it was barren, just weeds and uncut grass, but now it’s a dizzying watercolor of every perceivable hue and shade, overwhelmed by blossoms, bees, and butterflies.

Dean’s not really one for flowers, but he knows the basics - tulips, roses, sunflowers, daisies, forget-me-nots, but there’s so much more here than what he knows. He’s not entirely sure how there are so many different kinds of flowers growing out of the same soil - it doesn’t look to make a lick of sense.

There’s no way Cas did this by hand, the human way, it’s way too expansive, and realizing it’s probably another wonky miracle-on-the-fritz, Dean clears his throat and says placatingly, “it’s nice, Cas,” hoping that might get them out of here sooner.

Not that he hates it, or anything like that, but not-quite-right-miracles make Dean sort of antsy, like it might all implode if he sticks around too long.

Tilting his head toward the sky with the sunflowers, Cas shuts his eyes, breathes in deeply, and replies, “it is good to be alive.”

“Yeah,” Dean mutters half-heartedly, staring at Cas’ profile, draped in light, “hey, buddy - you, uh, know how you made this? Like, should I be worried there’s rosebushes growing in the city pipes or anything?”

“I remembered you.”

“What?”

Those stunning, bright blue eyes turn to him, lucid, but soft and shining, “I tried to tell the bees about you, and in describing you - well.”

“Well, what?” Dean asks, looking around at the flowers that were at his ankles when he arrived, now inching toward his thighs, “I made you do this?”

“I think of you, Dean, and -”

The garden shivers and shifts, spreads and grows until velvety petals are whispering against Dean’s fingertips, reaching for him.

Dean looks up from under his brow at Cas, but Cas looks sort of embarrassed, and won’t meet his eyes.

“Sorry.”

“Uh,” Dean utters eloquently, “just... that’s good, right?”

“I don’t know,” Cas answers honestly, wondering at a vine that comes to kiss his palm, two fluttery little butterflies dance near his head, “it could be a treacherous thing, but it’s my favorite part of being alive.”

Dean’s face gets very hot, and nervously, he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. He has no idea what to do with them, which hasn’t been a problem for him since the first time he kissed a girl, so.

One sizable butterfly comes close to Dean’s face, but redirects itself and lands on Cas’ shoulder, and he turns his face more toward it.

Dean watches a humble smile tickle Cas’ lips, and then hears him mutter, “isn’t he?”

His heart bumps hard, his face flushes hot, and he goes to tell Cas not to fuckin’ gossip about him with butterflies - or to at least have shame enough to not do it while he’s standing right there - but then Cas’ eyes slide to him again, and he finds himself unable to speak.

Stomach tightening up nervously, hands flexing in his pockets, sweaty like he’s on a stage, and breath kind of stuttering, his heart bumps weirdly again, and the garden pulses and grows a little.

For a second, staring into Cas’ eyes, he thinks that one might’ve been him.

#destiel #deancas #prompt fic #melanie writes #fluff #pre-slash #sugary sweet #hope this rots ur teeth lol

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amorousadepti · 3 years

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❈ flood in my heart (childe x reader)

another belated birthday fic, this time for dear rat boy (*￣▽￣)b honestly did not expect to fall so hard for this bastard but here we are!! he’s an absolute fave and im not ashamed. actually Would have gotten this one out at the right time but my internet decided to quit on me so :^) sorry

summary: childe has plans for you on his birthday. you have plans of your own. the day takes a turn neither of you expect, but you’re not complaining (gn!reader, no pronouns or anatomy descriptions)

warnings: loosely-described fight scene, vague violence, childe being childe

length: 2.7k

The letter is delivered first thing in the morning, sitting on your tray of breakfast and propped against your steaming teacup.

You take your time before opening it. When your belly is pleasantly full with crab roe tofu and you're sipping from your third cup, you finally deign to lift the plain envelope from the tray, studying it intently. Though it bears no name, you already have an idea of the sender; you'd never admit it, but you've been anticipating this day for a while.

Your suspicions are proved correct when you slit the envelope and find a letter written in Childe's familiar chicken-scratch scrawl. It no longer occurs to you to wonder how he knew where you were staying - by now, you know that if Childe wants to find you, he will. Munching idly on a crisp lotus flower, you consider the invitation.

If you have no special plans, how about you swing by my place?

Was it just wishful thinking, or was he—

You shake the thought from your head, taking another emphatic bite of lotus crisp. The day is still young. You have plenty of time to bathe, dress, and then make your way to Liuli Pavilion.

(And if you spend just a little more time than usual on your appearance, making sure to spray the perfume he'd once impulsively bought you on each pulse point - well, that's no one's business but yours.)

"Comrade!" Comes the customary greeting once you finally wander into the Pavilion. Childe bounds up to you with a vibrant grin, sweeping you into an embrace that lifts you onto the tips of your boots. "I was hoping you would come!"

You hum, leaning into his embrace and desperately fighting the instincts that tell you to bury your face in the crook of his neck and breathe deep in his familiar scent - saltwater and cold iron and the warm musk of his skin. You allow yourself to indulge only for a few seconds, then step back to a respectful distance (though Childe, disregarding the memo, follows and keeps an arm linked with yours.)

"Happy birthday, Chi—"

"Ah, ah, ah!" He wags a finger at you, a cheeky smile playing on his lips. "It's my birthday, comrade - the least you can do is call me by my name, no?"

"Happy birthday, Ajax." You squeeze his hand, his fingers moving to twine with yours. "And many happy returns."

Childe beams at you, a faint glimmer in the usually dull blue of his eyes as he starts to pull you after him. "Now, I did say I have some plans for you—"

"You don't want your gift first?" The way he whirls on his heel, clearly thrilled at the prospect of being lavished with gifts, is... endearing. You raise the bag in your free hand, wiggling it tantalizingly. "It comes in a few parts, actually."

"You spoil me, comrade," he simpers, unsubtly trying to swipe for your bundle of treasures and pouting when you withdraw. You roll your eyes in fond exasperation, pulling out the first part of your gift: a small white box that fits in your palm, bound with a delicate blue ribbon.

"Open this first." You don't even need to tell him, really - he's quick to snatch the little box from your hand, though you notice he takes surprising care in untangling the ribbon. His expression softens when he holds your gift in his palm, rolling the little white whale between his fingers as he studies every intricately carved detail.

"It's made from a whale's tooth, too," you blurt, suddenly desperate to fill the silence. "It's from Inazuma - the merchant said she only had a few left, managed to snag them before the border closed. I thought of you when I saw it. Thought maybe it could be a good luck charm or something."

"Coming from you, it has to be lucky," Childe says, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. He tucks the carving into a little pocket (just over his heart) and pats the spot where it rests gently, his smile small but honest. "Thank you. I'll take good care of this."

You clear your throat, averting your eyes as you thrust the rest of the bag at him. "These, too."

He peers inside, and you watch his brow furrow as he studies your prizes: an array of shackles and chaos cores and a few jars of slime concentrate to boot. The fruits of many battles, compiled over the past two months. Comprehension dawns quickly, his hands clenching into fists around the rucksack as he glances up to meet your eyes.

"That bow of yours could use an upgrade, right? Especially if you want any chance of beating me today," you say demurely, a faint smile pulling at your lips. "Once you're done, meet me at the Golden House. But don't expect me to take it easy on you just because it's your birthday."

The smile that curls his lips is nothing short of bloodthirsty. It makes your heart flutter. "I wouldn't dream of it, Comrade!"

The sound of his laughter follows you through the streets, spurring you onward. Sneaking past the Millelith is easy enough - this is far from your first time, after all. Honestly, you're pretty sure none of them are willing to deal with the hassle of you and your Fatui opponent. You slip through the great door with only the faintest creak, stretching to loosen up your muscles as you amble down the sloping stairs to the center of the floor. Your favorite battlefield.

You're still stretching casually when the hair on the back of your neck prickles, carefully honed instincts suddenly crying danger! You call your sword as you stand straight, rising just in time to bat away the Hydro arrow that would have caught you in the right shoulder. Droplets of water splatter your face, a cool spray that sets your nerves ablaze with anticipation. Your blood pumps quick as Childe steps into view, Vision glowing at his hip.

"Oh, comrade," he sighs, almost dreamily. "You really do know just what I like!"

His voice is drowned beneath a cacophony of water as he launches himself at you, barely giving you enough time to raise your shield before he crashes into it with a splash. Your muscles strain, a fine tremble in your limbs betraying the force of his blow. Your heart pounds with excitement, a grin twisting your lips in answer to his eager smile.

He leaps back, dodging a slash from your dagger, and knocks you off balance with a Hydro attack to your knees that sends you staggering back. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to cook you a hearty meal after I beat you."

"Don't get cocky, now," you huff, finding your feet. You move together in a predatory circle, each waiting for the other to strike. "You haven't beaten me yet."

"True! Which will make my victory today all the more special," he chirps, bouncing a little on his heels with glee. "Do I get another gift if I win?"

"So greedy, Ajax," you breathe, digging your heels in as you weather another rapid onslaught of arrows. "The pleasure of my company isn't enough for you?"

"I can think of more ways to indulge in your company, dear comrade," he purrs when your blade locks with a ridge of his bow, leaning close over your crossed weapons. His tongue, hot and quick, licks a trail across your cheekbone.

You lash out with a sloppy swing of your blade, striking only air as the Harbinger leaps back with a gleeful cackle, twisting on his feet so he can fire another shot at you. You roll nimbly out of its path, grimacing as you scrub at your cheek with the back of your hand.

Oh, you definitely won't be making this easy for him.

It's impossible to tell how much time passes in the Golden House; whenever you're here with him, it's like the world reduces to only you and Childe, the clash and tangle of your bodies across the hallowed floor. It could be hours or only minutes. Whatever the case, you're both panting, dripping sweat, and sore by the time you see an opening in his guard, launching yourself towards him for the decisive blow.

Except—

His bow clatters to the ground, discarded from limp fingers. Childe stands still and quiet, arms hanging at his sides, and the expression on his face as he watches you charge, blade-first, is like nothing you've ever seen from him before.

You lower your sword, your boots skidding on the floor - but not fast enough to stop your collision, and you faceplant into Childe's chest with a grunt. One arm wraps around your waist, holding you close; the other finds the wrist of your sword arm, extended carefully behind you. For a moment, it feels like an embrace, just as warm and affectionate as the one you'd shared with him earlier.

Then he twists your arm hard enough that you cry out, your sword falling to the ground with a clang, and the next thing you know, you're flat on your back, Childe's hands encircling your wrists to pin you in place.

The puff of each exhale fans over your lips, his narrow chest heaving as the two of you catch your breath. You test his grip and find it unyielding, strong as shackles. Childe watches you writhe beneath him with a quiet intensity that both unsettles and thrills you, something about the glint in his eyes making your heart turn over in your chest. Somehow, it feels as though you've lost much more than a friendly spar.

"My," he chuckles finally, though his grasp on your wrists remains like iron. "I have to be honest, I wasn't sure whether you would stop!"

You toss your head, glaring up at him without much heat. "That was a dirty trick."

"I know," he says, releasing one arm to tenderly brush the hair away from your sweat-slick forehead. You don't take advantage of the moment of weakness. He does not apologize. That's good - you think you'd be more annoyed if he said sorry without meaning it. "But it seems that it's my win, comrade."

You sigh through your nose, exasperated but unwilling to fight. "That it is."

He hums quietly, still studying you with that strange look - you feel oddly naked, pinned beneath his gaze. The hand that remains around your wrist squeezes gently, gloved thumb grazing your pulse point; you try to restrain a shudder, but from the way his eyes sharpen, you doubt you succeed.

"Now, now..." He sighs in a show of exaggerated thoughtfulness. "What should my next gift be?"

You grumble something vaguely along the lines of not having agreed to another gift. Childe ignores you steadfastly, snapping his fingers in realization. "How about a kiss?"

You snort, prepared to brush the request off as another bit of harmless flirting, but the look in his eyes is not one of jesting. Your mouth suddenly feels dry, and you wet your lips with your tongue before you speak again. The way his cobalt eyes flicker to watch your mouth does nothing to help your focus. "Seriously?"

"Why not?" He says, shrugging as though he hasn't just knocked your world off-kilter. Your mouth opens, but before you can speak, you feel his fingers caress your jaw, his thumb resting on the pad of your lower lip. The leather is blessedly cool; you feel feverish in comparison. He's looking at you like he could swallow you whole, and you think you would let him. "A kiss from my most beloved comrade... now that's a gift I would really treasure."

You inhale, a ragged, gasping thing that sounds more post-coital than post-battle, and lay still beneath his hand. The thought that you have yet to actually respond fails to occur to your fogged brain - until suddenly the contact is gone, the loss of his touch echoing in your chest, and something in Childe's expression wavers before he's sitting up, a smile that doesn't reach his eyes on his lips. He's shutting himself off from you. Again.

"Ah, well, it was only a jo—mmph!"

Huh. If you'd known a kiss was all it took to stop his rambling, you might've given into your desires earlier.

His lips are a bit chapped but pleasantly warm against yours, and his breath smells surprisingly sweet - it seems you weren't the only one indulging in Liyue's traditional snacks today. He hadn't been prepared for you to pull him down, and for a breathless moment his full weight rests upon you; there's a guilty exhilaration in feeling the length of him pressed against you, his long legs tangled with yours and strands of his hair tickling your cheeks. Your fingers knot tightly in his red scarf, holding him so close you think you can feel the pounding of his heart in your own chest. When your tongue flicks against the plush of his bottom lip, he moans sweetly, a shudder wracking his lithe frame as he opens for you, a gloved hand cupping your cheek. You taste blood in his mouth and can't tell whether it's yours or his. The thought excites you, your heart hammering as your blood grows hot.

A strand of saliva, tinted pink with blood, connects your mouths when Childe pulls away with a ragged gasp. His lips are swollen from your kiss, a deep flush coloring his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and his eyes are wide and startled. They almost—

Shine.

"Comrade!" Childe exclaims, reeling back on his heels. You've never seen him so... off-balanced, his hands twitching helplessly in the air. You decide you like him this way. "H-How bold of you!"

You blink, lazily propping yourself up on your elbows. "You were the one that asked for a kiss in the first place."

He seems to fluster even more at the reminder, hiding his mouth behind his wrist. "I didn't think you'd actually do it!"

"Aw, Ajax," you coo. Much to your delight, the blush on Childe's cheeks grows even darker, a red glow creeping down his neck. "Is the big bad Harbinger flustered all because of a little kiss? What would Scara say if he saw you like this?"

Childe grimaces. "Don't mention him right now, please."

You laugh, loudly, until Childe's hands clamp down on your shoulders, pinning you to the ground once again. Your breath stutters as you look up at him, finding him watching you intently; that same strange, searching look as before, but mixed with something darker.

Hungrier.

"You should be more careful, offering a gift like that so freely," he murmurs - a breathless purr like you've never heard before, the promise of danger in his voice making your thighs clench. One hand moves to gently nudge the band of your shirt off your shoulder, the brush of his fingers against your bared skin sending your nerves sparking. "I might want you to give me even more."

The words spill from your lips easily, without thinking. "Then take more."

Childe stares down at you wordlessly. He's barely breathing, lashes fluttering when you reach out and catch his hand, slipping your fingers under the tight line of his glove until you can peel it off his fingers. He says your name, soft and wondering.

"You said that this was a gift you'd treasure..." You guide him to the tie of your blouse. Unprompted, his fingers curl around the loose knot. "So make sure to take good care of me, Ajax."

Your blouse falls open with a gentle tug, and Childe falls upon you, locking your lips in a messy kiss as his hands roam your body wildly, seeking out every scrap of bare skin he can find. You're pulled onto your knees to straddle his lap as he sits back and pulls you atop him, breaking from your mouth to trail bruising bites down the length of your throat. The force of his desire crashes down upon you like a wave, filling your lungs with only him.

You're glad to drown.

#genshin impact x reader #childe x reader #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin scenarios #sfw #birthday fic

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chidoroki · 3 years

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Isabella - 73584

I had a serious debate with myself over whether or not I wanted to sit down and spend my weekend writing another one of these praise posts. I was content with just doing one for each of the Fullscore Trio kids and ending it there.. but apparently I love this woman too much to just ignore her on her birthday. So here were are on September 9th with a list of all her best and my personal favorite moments as to why I believe she’s such a great character, antagonist and mother (yeah you heard me right). Considering she only shows up in the beginning and very end of the story, this post ended up longer than I originally anticipated, which just goes to show how many thoughts I really have about this woman. (for real, this rivals Ray’s post in terms of points but there’s far more words)

Since she also has some backstory and certain events differ between manga and anime (thanks to the second season), I’ll try to go in chronological order between both timelines instead of chapter by chapter, which might be a bit confusing as we’ll jump around the story a lot but just to bear with me as I try to makes sense of it all.

(spoilers for the entirety of The Promised Neverland & ch181.7, so if you haven’t read/completed the manga yet, consider this your first warning, because I’m literally going from start to finish with this one last time. I promise.)

- I’m not sure how well she compares to Emma when it comes to athleticism, but Isabella seemed to have no trouble climbing up and down trees when she was younger.

- Not only that, but she managed to scale the wall by herself using a method that requires a fairly impressive jump. It’s also implied that this is how she climbs the wall again so many years later when chasing the soon-to-be escapees, which helps prove that even at an older age, she hasn’t lost her touch.

- Was chosen to undergo training to become a Mom, which required high test scores and the current mother’s recommendation. She accepted the offer in order to keep living and survive as human the demons couldn’t eat.

- Based on Sienna’s comment, is it fair to say Isabella is on par with the full score trio? I mean, the woman is basically flawless.

- She was practically untouchable during her time at headquarters while training too apparently. Mom positions are scarce so the environment where these ladies fight (physically/mentally/emotionally) to even snag that job is highly competitive, and yet Isabella never let anyone deter her from her goal of becoming a Mom, which probably led to the “Iron Lady” nickname she received now that I think about it.

- She was the youngest ever to be granted the Mom position at..what, 19? 20? Somewhere around there, but impressive nonetheless considering they’re forced to have a child, build up a strong, emotionless exterior and endure so much fear. (but my goodness, the woman doesn’t age at all. she looks just as good when the story actually starts as she did her when she was a bit younger)

- It became common knowledge among the Sisters that she was also very successful in the way she raised her children.

- Her success greatly benefited the farm, as she offered up countless high quality goods, which sounds terrible, I know, but believe me when I say she gave her best effort for her children. Even though she held the Mom position, the amount of power she actually had in this system was pretty minimal, especially with how much she valued her own life. She couldn’t afford to make any mistakes or risky changes, so she settled with doing the most with what she was capable of. She provided her children with a normal lifestyle, not only to keep up the orphanage facade, but knowing that their lives would all be cut shorter than they anticipate. She gave them love in hopes that no one would ever have to feel the dread she felt after Leslie’s death and/or finding out the truth. She tried to delay that horrific fate by encouraging them to learn all they can (like teaching the trio about strategy and chess) so they could achieve higher tests scores and (unknowingly to them) add a couple more months or years onto their lives. Yes it was her job to raise these children to such high standards but she excelled at it for their sake too.

- And I know y’all will just throw Ray in my face like, “oh but he was her actual child and she treated him horribly/different.” Okay but deep down I don’t think she actually wanted to? When they both realized they were truly mother and son, Isabella couldn’t just dote on him and start treating him as such. I’m sure Ray wasn’t too fond of Isabella at this point in his life either, knowing that she sent several of his siblings away to get killed. They probably would’ve gotten along just fine in a perfect world, but since they were both aware of the hell they’re trapped living in, they emotionally distanced themselves and formed a business-like relationship as a result of Ray’s deal, which benefited them both in different ways. For Ray, it was more practical, with the obvious notion of living as long as possible along with obtaining various rewards and knowledge of the outside world. For Isabella, it helped emotionally by simply just ignoring their true relation. I believe if she clung to that realization, it would break the orphanage illusion and eventually wear down her “Iron Lady” exterior that she relies so heavily on.

- Like can you imagine how much you would have to harden your heart in order to quite literally walk children to their death every couple months for years on end and just move on like it’s completely normal? Now imagine how earth shattering it must be to think about doing the same to your actual child. All those years spent perfecting a fake smile and emotionless exterior like she was trained to have and her son shatters it in an instant. She becomes completely terrified about how he’s actually alive and in front of her right now and there’s nothing she can do to truly save him.. and yet she still recovers so damn quickly I can’t even comprehend it! But there’s still some sadness in those eyes. You can’t tell me otherwise. That one moment of weakness speaks volumes to me.

- So now with her general backstory FINALLY out of the way, we can finally start with ch01/ep01 and how her laugh is sweet and innocent. I say that because (all hidden emotions and motives aside) that’s exactly how she’s supposed to sound in this moment, not only to us but to the children as well.

- She of course checks Emma’s tracker a moment later but other than that I still think it’s a pretty genuine moment between the two.

- As previously stated, her ability to raise high quality children is unmatched, which is clear as day thanks to the fullscore trio.

- Despite their crazy level of intelligence, the trio has yet to win a simple game of chess against Isabella, even when teamed up.

- She treasures everything about the kids.

- She really cares about them, even when it’s time to send them off with a smile, which we know is thanks to her strong facade.

- But mother dearest isn’t really fine. She doesn’t like walking kids to their death, especially so young. But she can’t let them (or even herself) know that. She can’t show weakness, so she hums Leslie’s song, which is a tool she’s used for years in order to give herself strength.

- Don’t worry, I disliked her this moment happened too, just as the story intended. And here’s where her fantastic antagonist role begins for all the world to see.

- A true champ at jump scares.

- Acts completely calm the night after a couple of kids found out the secret of the farm.

- She uses the tracker in plain sight, sending whomever went to the gate last night a threatening but silent message.

- Correct Norman, that’s the “Iron Lady” for ya. Also the name of ch03 for us. Well, “The Iron Woman” but same difference.

- She switches from calculating and manipulative breeder to sweet and pleasant mother so quickly and effortlessly it’s incredible. Isabella even checked Emma’s pulse in this scene to see if she was acting normal.

- At this point she still had no idea who went to the gate (Ray didn’t tip her off yet, at least I don’t think so) but her guess couldn’t have been more precise. The level of fear she drives into both Emma and Norman was great too, but then again her presence is enough in any scene to give us chills.

- Notices her watchdog isn’t at his usual post and starts to get suspicious.

- Not only of him, Emma and Norman, but Don and Gilda as well, thus giving the five extra chores to finish in an attempt to slow down any escape planning, such as cleaning vacant rooms, organizing the pantry and inspecting spare linen.

- While the trio believes Isabella was being too soft and patient in finding her targets, she effectively catches them off guard by bringing in Krone for assistance. The trio soon realize they were actually preparing the sister’s new room and those mundane chores were just an excuse to buy time.

- Look at her, all smug. Checkmate indeed. (and totally not important, but her eyes are such pretty shades of purple)

- The sass and her no nonsense attitude.

- Immediately puts Krone in her place the moment she even thinks about shipping out the targets. Of course holding off on shipping the targets would benefit the farm, as it would produce higher quality merchandise as time passes, but plant 3 is run by Isabella and she’ll be damned if an assistant thinks they could waltz right in and decide her children’s fate.

- She check’s Emma tracker again despite her claim of knowing exactly who the targets might be. You can never be too careful.

- Her precious children managed to win a game of tag against Krone, which is still impressive considering the kind of training the sister has gone through, so kudos to her teachings.

- Knows right away that Krone was trying to take advantage, which allows Krone to realize that the opening she had to learn more about the children was all planned by Isabella herself. Her intimidating nature is enough to scare adults too.

- Reveals that Krone was mostly summoned in order to keep Ray in check after his failure.

- Despite the trust issue, Isabella still keeps up her end of the deal by requesting the items Ray asked for, thanks to the odd perks she had under Grandma Sarah which allowed her to order goods that weren’t on the supply list.

- This hug between her and Phil is just too cute not to mention.

- I imagine she makes this comment because she knows exactly how long a rope must be based off her own almost-escape.

- It’s just something about how this scene is framed alongside this dialogue that makes me think “oh, like mother, like son.”

- I blame her very thoughtful planning for my first big freak out when I watched season 1 blind, like ma’am that’s my favorite boy, please don’t.

- She conspires with Grandma Sarah in order to get rid of Krone for good, which renders the evidence sister just found out about the children’s escape completely useless. Sarah believes there might be some truth to it, but ultimately ignores it and puts her faith in Isabella’s ability of controlling the children & the situation.

- She then cuts Ray off and ends their six-year long deal, opting to control the situation herself from now on. Also, how she wanted to keep him around until the very end is kinda bittersweet. Does she mean as merchandise? Or because she wanted him to live as long as possible? Ah such a tricky little comment.

- She also tosses him across the room like a rag doll.

- Thank god for this panel existing and actually being adapted into the anime so I could hear it because I had absolutely no memory of her laughing in this moment.

- “She says it so nonchalantly,” Norman said once upon a time, and it’s still so frightening.

- As insane as her ideals seem given the circumstances, nothing she says here is really a lie.

- She has the strength to quite literally break a leg and that cracking noise still haunts me to this day.

- It wasn’t even a spur of the moment thing either. Isabella came fully prepared with bandages to fix up any injury she was willing to inflict and that thought alone is terrifying.

- Not only that, but she broke it so cleanly that Emma’s leg does indeed heal perfectly in the exact time frame she estimates. This entire moment is so unfairly impressive, like ma’am how dare you do this to Emma of all people.. like why couldn’t you at least use that kind of force to snap Peter’s neck instead or something?

- To make matters worse, she then reveals Norman’s shipment date. And it’s the following day, which sends the kids into a very understandable panic.

- Needless to say, November 2nd, 2045 was a very successful day in the life of Isabella. Woman was putting everyone in checkmate in ep08 and my anger on full blast.

- This sly smile she sends Ray’s way after announcing Norman’s shipment to the younger kids is so cruel.. it’s perfect.

- I can only imagine she asked about Ray’s whereabouts because she knew the boys were close friends and she hoped they would at least say goodbye to one another, but that’s just me.

- Puts an end to Norman’s parting words in such a simple and chilling matter.

- The way she just openly threatens Emma with others just out of earshot.

- Norman out here asking the real questions. If anything, I say she’s more “content” rather than happy. I don’t think she’s ever really thought about her own happiness, at least not often enough, hence the slight pause. This entire time she’s been focusing on how to make her children’s lives perfect, but for herself she just wants to survive in this hellish world they’re all living in.

- I’m honestly still not sure who’s final decision it is to send people to Lambda, either Isabella, Peter or someone else (honestly never bothered to check), but whether or not Isabella had any say in the matter, I’m sure she’s at least a little glad that Norman gets to live a bit longer? Perhaps that’s a stretch, but I’m putting the idea here anyway.

- I say this because I believe that’s part of the reason why she offered Emma a Mom recommendation, not only because our girl’s high test scores, but in hopes that she could live a longer life.

- Although she really stresses in an intimidation fashion how pointless Emma’s efforts are now that Norman’s “dead,” the cliff remains a major hazard and her leg is still bandaged up, Isabella still tries so hard to convince her to give up, like Ray has, in order for Emma to end her own suffering. It was the first instance during my blind watch-through were I started to get the hint that Isabella might actually care about her kids, and of course I know now it’s because she didn’t want Emma to experience the same pain she did after Leslie’s death.

- With Emma and Ray both broken, things went by rather smoothly for Isabella those last two months, though she continued to keep a close eye on them.

- Her humming is so soothing. And why it took me this long to bring up “Isabella’s Lullaby” is beyond me, but oh my god, that song and any other soundtrack that uses its melody is absolute perfection.

- Had enough sense to not let her guard down the final night, even though her efforts were ultimately unsuccessful, but the idea counts.

- Though her caretaker side is focused on more during the fire, some motherly instincts do kick in as she instructs Gilda to get the babies from her room and lead everyone outside to safety. She was also concerned for Emma’s well being, hoping all the smoke didn’t get to her when the girl vanished. (i know you can argue “she’s only worried because they’re merchandise” which is fair but c’mon, i swear she’s not completely heartless)

- Took a hot minute (ahha) but Isabella eventually realized that the kids were actually escaping solely based on what they were wearing on their feet. I’m sure Emma’s discarded left ear was a big tip off too but to come to that conclusion by noticing the shoes they had on during all that chaos is surprising.

- She looks completely insane here but I always thought this shot of her was nicely animated with all the fire (or embers? sparks? whatever they are) flying around. The laugh she does before this is also a nice bonus. Oh, and she somehow managed to secure a radio from the room Don had locked.

- Figured the fifteen kids would head towards the bridge and called in headquarters to block it off.

- But when the children didn’t appear at the bridge, she just happened to know exactly where else they might try to cross the cliff.

- In the anime’s case, Isabella climbed the wall and ran there quick enough to engage in a stare down with Emma before she finally slid down.

- The moment I knew I was doomed.

- After the 15 kids successfully escaped, Isabella admits defeat, for she couldn’t really see how much her children have grown to outsmart her.

- This iconic quote, which conveys so much truth and sincerity. There were multiple occasions where she had to distance and restrain herself due to the system that controlled her, but the love she was able to show the children was genuine. If she wasn’t held back by the strict rules enforced by Mom position, I don’t doubt she would’ve treated Ray better or became far more emotional whenever a child had to leave for good or seriously injured, instead of donning a fake smile and being closed off.

- She realizes with this unspeakable loss in merchandise, the reputation she worked so hard to build up is meaningless now and that the farm no longer has any use for such an incompetent caretaker. She figures she’s as good as dead anyway now, so she wastes no time in actually helping the escapees by reclaiming the ropes to hide their exact method and route of escape, if only to grant the kids some extra time before the pursuers really locate them.

- She doesn’t act bitter as a result of her loss, instead choosing to wish the escapees luck with the future they grasped for themselves and care for the children that were left behind.

- She’s just so pretty y’all. Thank you anime.

- She was named “Best Antagonist” (and rightfully so!) back during the 2020 Crunchyroll Anime Awards, winning over Askeladd (Vinland Saga), Overhaul, (My Hero Academia), Garoua (One Punch Man,) & others.

(Post-season 1 spoilers ahead, even though the anime is completely finished at this point, but will be touching upon her special chapter more as well.)

- Completely owns up to her mistakes that caused the farm a massive loss in profitable goods and is ready to received whatever punishment necessary, which she expects to be death.

- Only.. she’s not being killed, she’s actually being promoted to Grandma. Though Isabella was directly responsible for the children’s escape, the blame ultimately falls on Sarah who couldn’t correctly control Isabella, thus leading the old lady to be shipped out in place of the goods Isabella lost.

- Peter also notes that the farm found more worth in Isabella than Sarah, so her past merits also played a part in sparing her life, as having a woman like Isabella in charge would surely produce the level of quality the farm needs.

- Isabella eventually accepts the promotion, though she can’t help but feel hesitant and shocked about the whole deal. This woman was ready to embrace death and finally be free from this cruel world, but now she has to witness not only more kids being shipped off, but moms and sisters in training as well (yay old chapter reviews coming in clutch).

- She could have very well just refused Peter’s offer, but we all know how much Isabella originally wanted to survive, so she doesn’t just accept because this man dangled a sense of freedom in her face, she also agreed so she could have the opportunity to help her children in any way her newfound power would allow her.

- Of course, her transition to Grandma happens a bit differently in the second season, but I will give some bittersweet thanks to the anime once more for the obvious but curse them for also having this entire scene dark as hell. Let me see her beauty darn it! I can only fix the lighting so much until it looks overexposed and bad again.

Anyways, Sarah is still alive at this point and taunts Isabella with the escapee’s lives just to see how she would react, which gave her a small sense of hope. Then some demons pay a visit later on and also ask if she would want to see the children one last time, but Isabella tells them that not only would she be too ashamed to face them but that they would manage to survive Grandma’s capture plan, which involved several men blowing up their shelter. It’s now clear to the demons that these children are special, and while Isabella agrees, it’s not for the same reason the demons think so. The demons believe the kids are special because of how they were raised to such a high quality. Isabella calls them special simply because they’re her children, just as any mother would.

- In the anime, it’s the demons who offer Isabella the Grandma deal if Sarah’s current plan were to fail (which it does) and she takes it and the freedom from Grace Field House without question. Do I still believe she had similar intentions to help out the children like she did in manga at this point? Of course.

- Not even a full month into her new job did she start preparing to help Emma & the others by considering who from the current Sisters she wanted to recruit to personally assist her destroy the farm entirely.

- A month later and Isabella had already decreased the number of shipments that took place at Grace Field, which obviously helps raise the quality of the children by default, but it also means less death and gives those kids a chance to live longer.

- She completely anticipated that Matilda, Jessica, Sienna & Scarlet were conspiring against her and caught them quite easily, as they were among the top scorers.

- Each had a fair chance at becoming Moms but with those positions limited, it was obvious to figure out they were trying to force Isabella’s seat open by creating some suspicious activity to place on her almost perfect record. Unfortunately for the girls, our new Grandma is too smart for her own good and I love it.

- The four women are apprehensive to join her insane plan to go against the farm, but Isabella assures them there’s no freedom if they follow the system’s rules and betray her. The harsh reality they’re all living in will continue unless they stop competing with one another and combine forces to defeat the true enemy.

- To persuade them further, Isabella mentions the children they all gave birth to are still alive, bringing out an array of emotions from the women that they each thought they had buried deep down.

- THIS! Just all of this is wonderful and shows just how much Isabella learned from her children who once defeated her.

- To fully gain the women’s trust, she gives them Ray’s farewell note that he originally left in order to bait Krone, as proof she won’t double-cross them at any point.

- I love the fact that she kept the note close to her because it acts just like all the other various toys and items she saved in her secret room back at plant 3. The original owners were all precious to her so she kept a piece of them behind to remember them in a place only she knew about. As I said before when mentioning her “I wish I could have just loved them normally” quote, all the love she had for her children had to be suppressed when she was under the system’s control, but that doesn’t mean she never cared. Because she did, and if I haven’t made at least that clear by now then I’m failing.

- Can her intentions and love for her children be any more clear? (possibly, i’m not done with this darn post yet. how you guys holding up? i’m going a little insane at this point.)

- Anyways! Second season didn’t make the rest of the story easy so apologies for any timeline mishaps as I switch between both anime and manga events from here on out.. like how in manga Isabella is informed of the escapee’s return to Grace Field via Peter, while the in the anime it’s her who helps lures them back with a fake transmission via the radio they stole.

- Just before Emma & the others do return to Grace Field on November 13, Isabella finally reaches out to the farm’s many other Sisters to recruit them. She waited until the right moment to inform them of her crazy takeover plan so Peter wouldn’t become suspicious from all of headquarters acting/thinking differently (you know, like how Emma kept the jailbreak plan under wraps until the night of). These ladies also feel a bit wary and even think of Isabella’s offer as a joke, but with some real, heartfelt encouragement, she manages to win over every single woman to her side.

- The moment when it was first revealed to us that she was not only still alive but was also promoted to Grandma is still so powerful.

- She snaps Nat’s finger back into place after Peter broke it. (and considering emma’s group infiltrates the farm right after this, i’m pretty sure that ch170 with rallying the sisters took place before this..i think?)

- Gave me a minor heart attack.

- *CLAPS FRANTICALLY!!!* The moment she truly won me over. 

- While her betrayal against Peter in the manga is fantastic and quite possibly one of my favorite moments, the anime did give us a little something too. It shows Peter spewing utter nonsense to Emma about how she’s destined to fail, only for best girl to bite back with such a fantastic quote, and then Isabella drops the act and switches sides. While I agree Emma’s comeback is “wonderful,” it’s the English dub that completely wins me over in this scene by having Isabella comment “Now that’s my girl” instead, like bro.. hearing that makes me so happy.

- For real dude, you have several highly skilled women pointing guns at you, I think her betrayal is crystal clear.

- This is like the perfect example of how she had to conceal her feelings while bound by the system. She just misses these kids so much y’all but she can’t let her true emotions show yet.

- Having her call Peter a boy is beyond hilarious to me. Also, how she disagrees with him on so many levels is excellent, like how he believes in experimenting on kids and having the right to call yourself their parent just because you created them, while Isabella believes in raising and loving children normally and that you earn that parent title by actually being part of their lives. To be fair they both inflicted pain on kids (Nat’s finger/Emma’s leg) but Peter’s action was a mistake in itself. Isabella got frustrated back when Krone even threatened to ship out the kids who discovered the secret, so you can bet she’s probably pissed off at this boy for harming one of her kids on purpose.

- The best mother-daughter moment ever! It’s such a shame it never got truly animated since the second season decided not to give the children guns, but we get to see a small smile from Isabella after Emma decided to still call her “mom.”

- The anime never gave Peter the chance to run away, like he (somehow) managed to do in manga, so we had the chance to see someone actually shoot at him. Well, in his general direction at least. Isabella lands a perfect shot not even a full second after he pulls out that disc. Accuracy on point.

- Said this once or twice in the past in manga so I’m glad the anime brought it back.

- Remains cautious and keeps her gun raised at Peter when Emma approaches him and rightfully so considering he still had his knife hidden at this point.

- Refuses Emma’s offer to join the kids in the human world at first because she knows that her (& the sister’s) actions shouldn’t be forgiven so easily, but with some rather blunt sympathy from Ray and encouragement from her other children, she finally gives in.

- This entire post summed up in one image.

- She apologizes even though distancing herself from her kids and preparing them for death were just required of her role as a caretaker. She wouldn’t have done any of that in a normal world. (do i sound like a broken record yet? probably)

- The emotion you hear in her voice during this entire dub scene hits my heart in all the right places.

- She still thinks of Leslie after all this time and I think that’s real cute.

- Her protective nature is on full display when she protects Emma from this bastard of a demon. A truly surprising and heartbreaking moment, considering this is the woman who’s survival used to be her top and only priority in the past, but now doesn’t hesitate to give her life in order to save her kid (and by extension that small girl emma saved. also, major heart attack for me).

- Despite being critically injured, this woman still possess enough strength to hold back a demon twice her size. She doesn’t even pay any mind to its nonsense. Like the demon, people often think this is when redemption arc starts but I believe it started way back in ch37 when Isabella retrieved and hid the ropes the kids used to escape. Ever since she admitted defeat on the wall that night, she threw caution to the wind and began cheating the system in hopes to one day assist the kids achieve a brighter future. Despite all the work she’s done behind the scenes, Isabella believes there’s still so much more she can do to atone, so even though she’s already received the children’s forgiveness, she continues to assist them by jumping in and saving them directly from demons for once in her life.

- Ma’am it’s sweet you’re so concerned with their safety, but we should be asking you that question ya know? (but then again emma was the same way after she woke up from her coma).

- Knows that just apologizing and saving Emma isn’t enough to suddenly forgive all her actions and wants to do so much more for the children as a result. Even though I already acknowledged all her subtle and hidden moments, I wish we got to see her care for them more openly.

- I simply can not read through ch177 and not get emotional. No matter how hard I try, I always feel tears start to form in my eyes. Oh my god, how cruel that death can be this beautiful. It’s so unfair.

- *uses old chapter review because I’m too upset right now* “She apologizes for everything. For not treating him right and loving him as a mother normally would her own son. For making him despise his life so much and enduring so much pain that he thought the only escape was suicide.”

- “She leaves him with one last wish to protect everyone, and that completely breaks me because you know exactly how much they both care for their family. Not only would they literally die for their family, but they would live for them too if someone asked. Truly like mother, like son.” (aaaaaahhhhh)

- Her, umm.. ghost (along with Conny’s & Yuugo’s) help Ray reunite with Emma in 2049.

- All my tears aside, the anime did something right by actually keeping her ALIVE!

- Have you ever seen something so GODDAMN BEAUTIFUL in all your life?? This image is so powerful it literally tossed aside any salty feelings I had that night with how the second season ended. Seeing her like this grants me so much happiness y’all, it’s truly unbelievable. I still can’t get over it and hopefully I never will.

Okay, now I’m done, thank god. Sorry this is like ridiculously long, especially since she’s absent for sooo many chapters. Also find it so hilarious how drastic my opinion of her changed from the beginning to now, from “bitch” to “oh my god I love her so much.” I know people will always have opposing opinions whether she’s actually a good mother or not and that’s totally fine. Wasn’t trying to convince y’all of that either because yes, some of her actions are real unforgivable, but she was suffering under the farm system too and just followed through with what she was trained to do in order to survive, but while other Sisters fought to climb ranks and help themselves survive, Isabella ultimately wanted the best for her children. The more power she gained, the more risks she took and once the system crashed so did her facade.

An absolute queen.

#the promised neverland #mother isabella #tpn isabella #tpn manga #tpn anime #chidoroki used chatter

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lazywonderlvnd · 4 years

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Imagine Harry learning to play the guitar after the war and Draco finds out when they start dating and is obv a slut for it. Anyway what I'm here to beg for is sexy-guitar-player-Harry smut please and thank

first of all nonners I’m so sorry this took me lit rally 59 years to answer!!!! when I saw it in my inbox last week I was abt to answer n be like yes. this. And then realized it needed to be written and got sidetracked w the first himbo harry installment but here it is now and let me just SAY this trope is my new FAVORITE thing in the world oh my goddddd when I tell u the way I’ve been yelling to glows and cielia abt it 👁👄👁

highly recommend listening to wonderwall when it comes up to Complete the Experience. hope u enjoy ❤️

“I’m sorry, he what?”

“Yeah, he’s really good,” said Weasley. He nodded towards the acoustic guitar hanging on the wall; Draco had taken notice of it the first time he’d seen Harry’s flat but never paid it much mind after that, taking it for decoration, or perhaps an unused gift. “He’ll play if you ask him. He doesn’t like showing off.”

“Which is silly,” Granger said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve told him, just because he’s good at it doesn’t make it showing off. I wish he’d play for people more often.”

“He has literally never mentioned this to me.” He felt utterly stunned and completely cheated. He tried to picture it and couldn’t. “How long’s he been playing?”

“Picked it up after the war. It was kind of funny, actually --” Weasley started saying, but Harry came back into the room -- still pulling his shirt on -- and he broke off, giving Draco a significant look that told him to bring it up.

“Harry,” said Draco imperiously, to which he received two raised eyebrows as Harry fell into his favourite armchair and pushed a hand through his still-damp curls. Draco matched his expression and glanced at the guitar. Harry followed his gaze, looking genuinely confused.

“What, what is it?”

“When were you going to tell me you play?”

“What, guitar?”

“Yes, guitar.”

He shrugged and grabbed for one of the beers on the table, wandlessly magicking the cap off. “I dunno. When it came up, I guess.”

“The way your friends tell it you’re quite good.”

Harry gave Weasley and then Granger a sour look; both of them gave it right back to him, which was, admittedly, amusing.

“I can play all right,” he said vaguely, and took a swig of his drink. It did make some sort of sense, now Draco thought about it -- the tips of Harry’s fingers were far, far too calloused to have been just from casual Quidditch and Auror training.

“You know, Harry, it actually comes off as more pretentious when you act like this,” said Granger. Weasley snorted. Harry glared at her. “Just play for him, won’t you? And us too -- it’s been ages.”

“Yeah, what’s that Muggle song you play sometimes that I like?” said Weasley.

“I dunno, I’ve played a lot of Muggle songs.”

“He means Wonderwall, Harry,” said Granger, grinning. Harry finally smiled too, and although their little Muggle joke was lost on Weasley and himself he was glad to see that it had apparently been the prodding Harry needed to give in. He set his beer back down and went to get the guitar; something about the way he threw the thin and fraying strap over his head, the way his hands went effortlessly to their places, was unexpectedly attractive. The left one curled easily around the neck of the instrument, heavily-roughened fingers finding their odd positions on the strings, something Draco had always thought looked very painful.

He plucked a few chords and then began fiddling with the knobs at the head of the guitar, tuning it in what was clearly the Muggle fashion, which against his will left Draco completely fascinated. Having no musical inclination himself, he could make nothing of the process except that Harry apparently heard the discordant notes in there well enough to be able to fix them, and finally when he brought his thumb down across all six strings it sounded as sweet and clear as if it had been done by magic.

“Course he likes Wonderwall,” Harry said to Granger even as he began playing, fingers shifting and moving and contorting to create the notes while he strummed softly, effortlessly, and the music crawled over Draco’s skin and inside of him. “I remember Dudley listening to it, like, what … summer before sixth year? On the radio constantly.”

“Sounds about right,” said Granger.

Draco had stopped paying attention to what they were saying, though. Either because the music itself had something haunting about its melody or because it was Harry playing it, or perhaps a combination of both, Draco felt a pit of emotion form in his chest to round off the edges of his growing arousal.

And then he started singing, and Draco swallowed very hard. Granger dropped a head onto Weasley’s shoulder and watched with a tender expression, Weasley similarly enamored. Harry had his eyes on his hands for the most part, closing them a few times throughout, looking as comfortable now as he did on a broomstick.

Only three months of official dating had not prepared Draco for the flood of emotions he now felt, yet the most pressing matter had become the semi trapped uncomfortably in his trousers. He wanted those talented fingers in his mouth, to feel the callouses on his tongue and taste Harry on them; he wanted to feel them on the sensitive skin of his inner thighs and hip bones, to have them buried so deeply in his arse that he forgot where he ended and Harry began.

Of course, he had to keep this to himself for the next hour, until he was able to get Granger and Weasley out of the flat. And once he did, he didn’t bother dragging Harry to his bedroom -- Draco pushed him up against the front door that had just closed behind his friends and hauled him into a kiss that he felt Harry grinning into.

“I thought you seemed tetchy,” he muttered, hands dropping to Draco’s hips. “Oasis really does it for you, huh?”

“What the hell is oasis?”

“The band who does the song.”

“Yeah, I don’t think it’s the band who does it for me.” He kissed Harry again, maybe a little too hungrily, and dug a fist into his side when he started laughing. “Shut up, why the hell didn’t you ever tell me you played?”

Harry pulled his head back, looking at Draco with an arched brow and an infuriating smirk.

“What do you mean, ever? We’ve only been together three months, it didn’t come up.”

“God,” Draco muttered, and now he reached down and pressed his palm against Harry’s cock, pleased to feel how hard he was in spite of his ruthless teasing. “You’re so annoying.”

“Well if I’d known how randy it would make you I might’ve played for you a long time ago.”

Having had quite enough of Harry’s particularly sarcastic brand of wit, he ignored this last and reached for one of his hands, removing it from his own hip and bringing it to his lips. It was extremely satisfying to watch the smirk disappear from Harry’s face when he sucked one of his fingers into his mouth.

“Bit fetish-y, isn’t this?” Harry said breathily, eyes wide as he watched, looking half amused and half awed. In retaliation, Draco took another finger into his mouth and slid his tongue between them, tasting soap and salt, feeling the callouses on the tips of his fingers and letting that sensation grip his insides like an iron fist. “Jesus Christ,” Harry groaned; his free hand went to Draco’s jaw, holding him steady, and with a truly outstanding audacity began fucking Draco’s mouth with his fingers.

They dipped bluntly past his uvula, scraping the back of his throat so he gagged around their intrusion. Saliva built with an excessive speed that had it drooling out of the corners of his lips and coating Harry’s knuckles. Draco closed his eyes and let it happen, opening his throat against the relentless assault and curling his hands in Harry’s shirt just to steady himself.

They were gone too soon and Harry’s mouth replaced them, much gentler but still with a tangible sense of urgency about it.

When he broke away, he said against Draco’s lips, “Like my fingers, do you?”

Draco merely nodded, feeling their wetness against his cheek.

“Then turn around,” said Harry, “and I’ll fuck you with them.”

Draco let out a soft, embarrassing whimper and let Harry spin them around and press him against the door, cheek-first. He undid his flies himself and Harry tugged them down his legs and off his feet, allowing Draco to spread them slightly. Harry’s fingers were there immediately, sliding slick between his cheeks and over his hole. The memory of Harry’s hands on the guitar was still so fresh, his fingers changing chords effortlessly, sacrificing them to blisters and callouses and roughened skin for the music they created, and Draco closed his eyes against a fresh wave of arousal and another pang of emotion.

“You really are incredible,” said Draco, biting back a moan as two of those dexterous fingers slipped inside of him. Harry fucked him with them slowly, carefully, seeking out his prostate and angling for it each time once he’d found it. Draco turned his face to press his forehead against the door, eyes still closed, nails scraping wood. “And I like that song.”

“It’s a good one,” Harry agreed. His hot breath caressed the back of Draco’s neck, fingers pumping, his other hand back at Draco’s waist. “I have a million more I’d love to show you.”

Draco didn’t bother trying to find his voice again: instead he pushed back against Harry’s driving fingers, everything that wasn’t the relentless stabbing against his prostate driven from his mind. His neglected cock slapped against the door with every thrust, the red and irritated head dripping pre-come against the wood. Only half conscious of the decision to do so, he wrapped his hand around it and pulled and squeezed and zeroed in on the bursts of pleasure radiating outwards from inside his body until it all spilled over and he came in great pulses, gasping for breath while Harry kept at it.

The fingers slowed as he reached his peak and began coming down but they didn’t stop, nor was his prostate given much of a break. Harry reinforced his grip on Draco’s waist and kept pumping, a steadier rhythm that nevertheless rubbed and prodded at that little bundle, making his nerves tingle and fizzle and scream out their overstimulation.

“Harry,” he said weakly, knees buckling. “Please …”

It could have been comical the way Harry followed his movement as he slid down the door to the ground, except it wasn’t. It was infuriating, actually, and felt at once like more than he could possibly handle and exactly what he needed. His forehead and his hands went back to the wood, bracing himself as Harry, kneeling behind him, continued fucking his beautiful, merciless fingers and stimulating Draco’s overworked prostate.

He pushed a third one in alongside the other two and Draco was shocked to feel a hot tear leak out of the corner of his eye. Harry crooked them expertly, with all the confidence and surety of someone who had done this a million times, could do it in their sleep, as if it was not the guitar strings but Draco’s body he was strumming now, an instrument fine-tuned to his own particular cadence and rhythm, which he and no one else could play quite right.

Lips parted, hot breath echoing off the door and back into his face, Draco allowed himself to be taken apart with the same ferocious intensity he’d seen Harry use on the guitar. Each stroke brought him back to full hardness, each stab against his prostate made his nerves sing a tormented chorus, drowning out the pain of the wooden floor against his bare knees.

“Shit,” Draco choked out, “I’m gonna come again …”

“Well that’s the idea,” said Harry. His voice was full of that same witty and well-meaning sarcasm Draco liked so much, even when it made him feel like punching him. Snatches of the song came back to him, Harry’s voice when he sang it, the expert shifting of his fingers where they pressed and plucked at the strings like he was making love to them. It was all so very much.

He came a second time without even bothering to touch his cock, because he just didn’t fucking need it. His body thrummed and vibrated like a snapped rubber band while Harry coaxed him along his high and back down again. When he finally pulled his fingers out he leant forward over Draco’s back and kissed the side of his neck, then the corner of his jaw.

“You know you make much lovelier sounds than the guitar, just so we’re clear,” he said, and Draco, with what strength he had left, shoved Harry and watched him fall sideways laughing.

#anna writes #I LOVE THIS TROPE 🗣🗣🗣#drabble #drarry fic

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