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definitelysel · 4 months

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Running fingers through their hair 🤍

ft. wriothesley, alhaitham and neuvillette.

synopsis : you convince them into playing with their hair and you end up taking undue advantage of it.

warnings : implied fem!reader, pet names, mention of murder and suicide (neuvillette – no there is no angst here.).

a/n : fluff but seriously hair is so floof in genshin and i love me some domesticated content.

ALHAITHAM 🌱

"No." He crossed his arms in disapproval at your request.

"Haitham! Come on!" You begged your husband to let you run your fingers through his hair in hopes to help him unwind and relax but he was adamant not letting you.

"I am sorry [Name], but I have a meeting due in an hour with the Dendro Archon about some administrative changes and as much as I would love to catch a break, I can't as of now." He exasperated, voice laced with annoyance.

Ever since becoming the Acting Grand Sage, Alhaitham had gotten just a tad bit more whinier. You weren't complaining since Alhaitham had the emotional quotient of a rock.

"Oh come on! It's still an hour away. C'mere." You patted your lap. He sighed but agreed. You found yourself combing your nifty fingers through his grey locks. They felt soft to touch. Who are you kidding, he was a well groomed gentleman despite his emotionally constipated personality.

His eyes were focused on a book he was reading, his eyes scanning the pages but his expression was relaxed. He won't admit it but he liked it. This was a simple yet intimate gesture.

You on the other hand, stared outside of the window, fingers still running through his hair. The scenery of Sumeru city stretched out far and wide for your eyes to see. The sky was beaming with light, birds were chit chatting on the tree branches and–

Snore.

Your focus gets redirected back at Alhaitham who now had the book resting on his face, his chest rising rhythmically as you heard him breathing softly.

You chuckled at the sight. He really did fall asleep. He looked so carefree when a moment ago he was complaining about meetings and work. How amusing. An idea bubbled up in your head.

When Alhaitham woke up, he realised that he had fallen asleep and hurried out of the room to meet up with Nahida in the Sanctuary of Surasthana.

"Good evening Acting Grand Sage, I was just waiting on you- pfft!" Nahida's cheeks puffed up and the little Archon started giggling.

"I am sorry for being late- wait, why are you laughing?" He tilted his expression in confusion. Could his late timing be a matter of amusement for his Archon?

"Who made two tiny ponytails in your hair using sparkly pink pyro slime hairties!" Nahida chuckled more, unable to hold her laughter.

"..." he reached up to feel the two tiny fountains of hair made by tying them up. Who could've done such a— you.

Needles to say, Alhaitham image of a big mighty serious guy in front of Nahida had now been ruined.

NEUVILLETTE 🌊

"Ma Chérie, what do you think of this case?" Neuvillette leaned back into his chair, papers spread out on his table. You picked up one of the documents and examined them.

What made you and Neuvillette a match made in heaven was that you were one of Fontaine's best lawyers and Neuvillette was the Ludex. You both would brainstorm cases together though Neuvillette always tended to quote how he is unbiased as it is his duty as the Chief Justice to not let personal feelings get in the way.

Still, you catch him staring at you during court proceedings, expression twisting and turning based on the situation out of his instinctive concern for you.

"Well, I think this is a classic murder which is being displayed to the common eye like a suicide." You sighed and put the paper back on the table, stretching your back from fatigue.

"I must say, that's quite a possibility. I'd suggest you investigate futher and seek the truth." He pondered, his gloved hand resting on his chin.

"Neuvi, can we take a break? I am tired." You slumped down in the chair across him, exhausting from the repetitive task at hand.

"Indeed. Repetition tends to tire out the mortal brain. Let's continue this after lunch." He nodded and started to sort the papers according to there designated folders.

"Can I play with your hair till you get the sorting papers thing done?" You asked him and he seemed amused at the idea. Neuvillette was never reluctant from trying out new things and gave into your small pleasures if they made you happy. "Sure."

You ran your fingers through his white locks. Honestly his hair were so beautiful, it would put women's hair to shame. Neuvillette took good care of them. You started using this opportunity to experiment different hairstyles on him.

Neuvillette glanced up, only to see his hair in a braid from his reflection in the mirror with a black ribbon in them. He stared at the braid for a good minute, "Hmm simple, practical and elegant. It's quite nice." He mused.

You were proud of yourself before Neuvillette asked if he could try hairstyles on you.

An afternoon spent with chuckles, smiles, whacky and pretty hairstyles.

WRIOTHESLEY 🧊

You watched as Wriothesley worked like a machine.

Step 1 : Grab the paperwork

Step 2 : Read and Sign it

Step 3 : Put in the "done" pile

The sounds of paper swiping and pen scribbling filled the room. You tried to entertain yourself with some novel but you could hear wriothesley grunted and groaning in annoyance.

"Y'know, the best thing is to simply not to do the work if you don't feel like it, wrio." You suggested, flipping to the next page in the novel.

"You're right. I'll settle for a nap, drink tea after I get up and then continue doing this..." he grumbled before getting up and making his way to his bed upstairs. You afte a few minutes got up and followed him.

You both laid beside eachother, under the blankets, soaking in eachother's warmth. "You joinin' me on a nap, sweetheart?" A smile crawled onto his face as he looked at you with his icy hues.

"No, I am simply here to take care of you, silly." You kissed his nose as he took your palm firmly in his and kissed the back of it, endearingly. You peppered his face with feather kisses, tousling his soft black locks earning a relaxed hum of content from him.

Wriothesley was a man of limited needs and such small moments with you were his saving grace from the buttload of prison paper work. His arm snaked around your waist as he kissed the top of your forehead before his hand rested on your cheeks, his eyes fluttering shut.

He yawned and made himself comfortable before drifting off into his well deserved nap.

But..

"Oh my god, you are associated with Sigewinne in this??" He baffled at the sight of his face covered in stickers. Melusines loved to play pranks but his own lover? Now that was some serious betrayal.

"First my back and now my face?" He stared at you, jaw dropped, wanting an explanation. You simply stifled a laugh before hearing a click.

"Sigewinne, did you just take a picture of me?? HEY! Don't run away!? [Name]! Sigewinne! You guys better delete that picture!" He chased after you two as you ran with Sigewinne in your arms. It was a moment of solace and perhaps another moment added in your archive of memories.

a/n : to say i am obsessed with domesticated genres and tropes is an understatement.

don't steal, copy, plagarize.

©definitelysel

not proof read.

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comicaurora · 7 months

Note

Hello!

I’ve been following OSP for a few years now, and your content is always entertaining and fun! I’ve read Aurora off and on, but recently binged the series and am hoping to follow it live!

I had a question regarding the design choice of Falst’s ears. As someone who grew up in the early 2010’s and saw many a catboy with feline ears on the top of their head (and definitely drew them myself), Falst’s ears replacing his human ones as well as being more fleshy is very refreshing!

Was there a deep conscious choice to go against that design trope, a world-building consistency choice, or one of those spur of the moment design choices where once you drew him as he appears you just liked it?

The design was absolutely intentional because I have overthought this way too much. The funny thing about putting ears anywhere but Where Ears Go is it means there is absolutely no good answer for what to put Where Ears Go instead. Smooth flesh? Horrifying! Big floof? Simply obscuring the horror, and the unknown is far more terrifying. Human ears still? Even worse! The only solution is to base the ears Where Ears Go and go from there.

#asks #aurora

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syneilesis · 2 months

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[fic] Pampertime

Pampertime

Love and Deepspace | Xavier (Shen Xinghui) x Main-Character!Reader | Explicit | 6.7k words | ao3 link

Butler Rule No. 1: From the moment you accept the role, be prepared to obey your lady’s every command. The bunny butler outfit makes a grand return. In bed.

Content tags: Established Relationship, PWP, Roleplay, Bunny Butler Xavier, Dom/sub elements, Sub!Xavier, Strip Tease, Hand Jobs, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Cunnilingus, Face-Sitting, Cowgirl Position, Riding, PIV sex, Creampie

A/N: My contribution to the bunny butler Xavier train. Only gave a cursory edit once, so any mistakes still my fault. I'm just glad I'm done, whatever. Divider by @/saradika

One bright and sunny afternoon, Xavier texts you: Emergency can U come up here to help me?

You're in the middle of cleaning your living room, after weeks of neglecting your household responsibilities due to the sudden influx of Wanderers in the neighboring city. The Hunters Association had been scrambling to send out their hunters due to the sudden invasion of Wanderers that resembled bafflingly like corgis—which was both a blessing and a curse, if one were to be asked. Blessing because, well, they were a breed that incited cute aggression and fluffiness, and civilian evacuation had resulted in minimal problems, if one ignores the influx of people into doglike Wanderers. A curse, because—well, they did look like corgis—fluffy like a bread with a cute butt, the kind that you would expect to see in the plushie line sold at Twinkle Toys Store. They're irresistible to drag your hand across their soft coat. A not-inconsiderable number of hunters realized the error of their ways in overlooking the fact that these floof of creatures were still Wanderers, and as a consequence, Linkon hospitals suddenly found themselves busier for a week or two.

Regardless, the corgi Wanderers were easy to take care of, once you saw past their clever ruse. The difficulty lay in the numbers. Like a relentless tsunami flooding the city, they undulate in droves, shaking their butts and bouncing around and generally making an oxymoronically cute menace of themselves.

As one of the hunters dispatched to the area, you valiantly resisted the siren cute-call and eliminated as many as you could. It took you and your team more than a week, and it would have been shorter than that, had Xavier been in the fray. But he had been sent in another region the week before, and was unable to join you in your fluff-filled resistance.

But now it seems that he's back and is in need of your assistance. Flashback to that time when his oven exploded due to his attempt at baking tarts, and you drop everything you're doing and fly outside, towards the elevator, fueled by fear and sheer panic.

When you burst into his apartment, using the spare key he left you, you cry out, “Xavier! Sitrep!”

A cursory survey of the area indicate neither fire nor flood, and his apartment seems undamaged. Fear subsiding, you finally take stock of the situation.

Perhaps it's not a kitchen emergency after all? There’s no smell of something burning, thank heavens for that. You do not want to apologize to his neighbors in his place again.

You call once more, “Xavier?”

“In here.”

His voice is coming from the bedroom, and that makes you waver. Why is he still in his bedroom? Maybe he's stuck in bed? Did he sleep for three days and wake up in an unusual position and in need of assistance to set back his limbs again? Weirder and weirder thoughts spiral in your head, and your lack of response prompts him to speak once more.

“You can go in, if that's what stops you.”

“Why can't you just go out?”

“I ... can't.”

The hesitation captures your attention. Xavier is probably entangled in the bed. You may as well help him.

“All right, I'm coming in then.”

When you open the door, you're expecting some sort of layers and layers of blankets, a sea of them, not just on the bed but also on the floor and other furniture. Xavier might be underneath in any of those blankets, and it's your duty to locate him and fish him out. You're ready to swim against these blankets, fight your way into it. Do your utmost duty as a combat partner.

Except.

Except it's not a sea of blankets that welcome you once you enter the room. It's—different.

So different.

So utterly different that you drop your phone. It clatters muffled against the carpeted floor, where it slightly nudges a gift-wrapped box. And that gift-wrapped box sits next to another gift-wrapped box, and another. And another. Until you lift your widening gaze to see that Xavier's bedroom is littered with a lot of them. And Xavier—

He's on the bed, all right. But he's—

He grins lightly, leaning back from his sprawled position. The pillows behind him sink under his weight.

“Kjalfjdsj?” you say, eloquently.

“I'm glad you came ...” A pregnant pause, before he drops the bomb. “My lady.”

Your brain short-circuits.

Xavier is sprawled on the bed, bunny ears on his head, waistcoat and tie, and—you just know, you can feel it in your bones—bunny tail on behind. It's exactly what he wore when you had your couple's photos back then. The fact that he's wearing it and, judging by the sudden change of interior design of his room, that he's replicated the decoration of the studio—actually, you don't know what you can glean from those points, because you're too busy picking up the remains of your brain matter to form a coherent thought.

He drops another bomb: “Why are you just standing there, my lady?” he says, and going by the quirk of his lips he knows the effect he has on you. Compared with the first time it happened, the shy reluctance is no longer present. “This bunny butler is ready to serve, just say the word.”

Your brain melts.

“Wha—I mean—um, guh—” You studiously reacquaint yourself with the concept of words. “I just—what is going on?”

Xavier blinks, and the bunny ears on top of his head twitch as if they are truly connected to his head. Your fingers twitch themselves in response, that urge to touch and feel them again.

“I just thought,” he begins, slowly at first as if testing the waters, “that you need to relax and get pampered after that difficult mission you've just had.”

The words percolate in your mind and you scrabble for an appropriate reply to that. To be fair to the man, Xavier is sweet thinking of your well-being like that. Or maybe he's guilty that he wasn't there to help during that corgipocalypse of a week. Regardless of his intent, you have to ask:

“You thought I need to relax and your solution is to dress up as a bunny butler?”

He has the gall to think about it at length. “Yes, my lady.”

You don't miss the way he spreads his legs a little wider at that.

And really—you're only human, with wants and needs and desires. It just so happens that the common denominator of those three aspects point to the ridiculous man before you, in that ridiculous bunny butler getup that you secretly love and hope to see again. Which—yeah, it's definitely the perfect solution.

Stomping your hesitation and pride, you stride towards the bed, and Xavier, watching your every step, reclines further, giving you space for you to place your knee on the soft mattress, between his legs.

The bedfoam dips, and he shifts to avoid sinking down the indent your knee makes. Your other knee follows, and you move towards him until the heat of his inner thighs touch the outer sides of yours.

At the proximity between the two of you, Xavier tips forward, and in spite of your positions he doesn't need to tilt his head much upward to meet your deliberating gaze. An anticipatory sharpness falls on his expression and, oh, you realize, he must've wanted this too.

Which is all that you need to fall into this completely.

And it's a transformation: a reshifting of limbs and the straightening of spine, something like a lock unlatching.

“Mr. Bunny Butler,” you begin, low and relishing and shy of being predatory, “bow your head.”

Xavier's nostrils flare at that. After a couple of seconds he complies, and seeing the sliver of his exposed nape opens something within you.

Against your shoulder the bunny ears snag, their length not allowing to fall along Xavier's pose. You bring one hand up to trace an invisible line across an ear, the fur short and soft. Xavier's quiet beneath you, but you can feel him stiffening at your every move. Braced a little behind his sides, his hands clench tightly.

“Can you feel it?” you ask, pinching the colored tip of the ear, pushing it back to observe its make. It's well-made, and you wonder if this one costs more than you'd expect.

Xavier shakes his head. You want to hear him, however, so you tap the back of his head in warning. He exhales loudly; breathes out, “No ...” and then tacking on: “Master.”

Your eyes narrow in pleasure, the flesh of your cheeks bunching from how wide your smile is. “That's my good bunny,” you praise him, caressing the curve of his head. He shivers—whether from the praise or the touch or both, you don't know.

To see him like this—a formidable hunter with centuries of experience, the force of stars pulsing underneath his skin, ready to rupture at his command—head bent low before you, hands closed in restrained fists, the lines of his body intersecting into a show of surrender. Yielding. It heats the core of your belly and your blood, and you can't help but bite your lip as you savor the image.

Leaning back and sitting on your calves, you catch Xavier's downcast stare. His brows furrowed as if concentrating, and when he notices you trained on him, his eyes do something that reminds you of the existence of the concept of puppy dog eyes.

Every time he does that, you think, you want to gobble him up.

Closing in on his face, you raise your left hand and cradle his jaw, tipping it up, gazes never leaving each other. Then you draw nearer, and nearer, until your lips almost brush against his. The sharp sound of his inhale is deafening in this lack of distance. Your eyes never leave his, but his drop down, nearly crossing, as he's distracted by your lips. His breaths are hot on your skin, and finally you aim at the corner of his mouth, and open your own to say:

“Don't move.”

And then you descend, trailing butterfly kisses along the edge of his lips, his cheek, his temple. Xavier goes spine-rigid at the first contact, forgetting to breathe for a second, before slowly exhaling, as if trying to hold himself together. His brows knit again and his eyes flutter closed, the line of his lips sloping downward.

He's controlling himself. And that delights you so much that you shift to kiss his earlobe and tug it once, then whispering directly to his ear, “That's my obedient bunny. Keep this up and I'll reward you.”

You stop to wait, and when nothing happens, you tug his jaw and take a bite at the shell of his ear—he gasps—and continue:

“What do you say?”

Xavier's shoulders lurch. He breathes once, twice, before answering.

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Good boy.”

The first reward: a kiss on the lips. A quick, initial press before you pry him open with tongue, and he welcomes you eagerly from the way he surges to meet you. The hand on his face holds him back, but his own hands fly to your hips and plant themselves there.

You slap them away, he resists. You break the kiss, and he makes a disappointed sound, chasing you, and then realizes what he's done.

“I'm sorry—my lady,” he stumbles, putting his hands back in their previous position. He looks so properly chastised, you love it.

Outwardly, you sigh in disappointment, and he whips his head up, stricken. “After I said that you're obedient, you do this. What shall we do, Mr. Bunny Butler?”

“What—” He swallows. “What do you want me to do, my lady?”

In all the times you've tried to fluster him, Xavier doesn't really redden. At best his skin produces a soft sheen of pink across his cheeks that linger over his ears. Never tomato-red though.

But now, his face glows bright pink that gradiates to a noticeable crimson, ending at the tips of his ears. This is good development, you decide, something that you want more of. So you push further.

“Are you truly sorry, Mr. Bunny Butler?”

He nods meekly.

“Then”—a finger pokes at the center of his forehead and pushes, his head docilely tilting back, exposing his slender, beautiful neck—“don't move this time.”

You slip two fingers under his tie and pull it loose. The unobstructed slide of the silken fabric echoes around the room, punctuated by the hitch of his breath. The bunny ears jerk. To his credit, he's still as a statue, and the giddiness that you've been feeling for a while now mounts to a dull yet insistent ache that pools between your legs.

Then you unbutton his collar, which reveals more of that pretty neck. An alarmed sound forms in his throat, and you call his name in warning. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows whatever he's about to say.

And that Adam's apple becomes your next target: your mouth molds around it, sucking, and Xavier gives a full-body shudder. A groan bursts out of him. He's trembling, his hands—leather-gloved and creaking at the strain of his fists—his thighs, his shoulders. You can see how he wants to turn his head, to retreat from your hot mouth, but thinks himself the better of it.

You place your left hand under his head and kiss him under the angle of his left jaw.

“Ah—”

With your free hand, you trace down the outline of his neck to shoulder. His breath catches, he jolts away, his eyes shoot you a betrayed look.

“My lady—”

You plant another kiss in the dip of his collarbone. “What does Mr. Bunny Butler want?” you ask against his moist skin.

He releases a shuttered exhale. Behind you, his legs move in a way that comes across as avoidant, as if he's hiding something from you. You glance down and realize the reason for his discomfort.

Saliva pools in your mouth.

But you swallow the surging desire ignited by the image of his arousal. It isn't time yet; you want to draw this out as long as you can.

Head still tipped back, Xavier doesn't see your discovery of his want, his eyes half-mast and his focus directed on reining himself in. If you remove yourself from the scene and study him from head to toe, you'd find Xavier the perfect picture of temptation, restrained, controlled on the surface but a collapsing star underneath, gravity pulling you to him and there's no way to escape.

Not that you'd like to escape in the first place.

You repeat your question, this time against his Adam's apple: “What does Mr. Bunny Butler want?”

“My la—” He chokes. Tries again. “Whatever my lady wants.”

Ah. Such a good bunny.

Your hands drift down to the next closed button. His tie is loosened enough that you can remove it in one hard tug. And isn't that a nice thought: one strong pull and he's dragged along by the force, his lips inevitably landing on your lips, a welcome collision.

But you don't follow that path; instead, your hands drop lower, to the last button of his waistcoat. The sides of your hands brush against the seam of his pants, dangerously close to his already obvious bulge, and it dawns on Xavier that you're already aware of his worldly response, if the widening of his eyes is an indication. He whips his head to shoot you a meaningful look, as if begging you to ignore his lapse of control—as if that is an unwelcome development.

Sometimes, you think, Xavier wants to show you a side of him that only exudes assurance, a sharp blade and sturdy shield that envelop you in sidereal protection. Be it from outside forces and his own—and even yours. Physical dangers, most especially, but curiously enough: information. Knowledge. The matters of the past. The matters of the heart. The both of you may have confessed that day, the words of your promises embedded in your heart like an oath under the stars, but there are times when a shadow passes through Xavier's expression, and he seems so far away. Light-years away.

But right now, that thought isn't at the forefront of your mind: it is the way the redness climbs up his neck, his face, his cheeks, painting him a beautiful hue that reminds you of a recently blossomed rose. He truly is gorgeous this way.

One of his hands encloses around yours, stopping your ministrations. Minute tremors hum under his callused palm.

“I'm—” A quick breath. “I'm supposed to serve you, my lady.”

Ah. Truly such a good bunny.

You capitulate, hands retreating from the button of his pants, but not before caressing his trembling hand and squeezing it once. An indulgent smile unfurls in the line of your lips, and you make a snap decision.

The second reward: freedom. Xavier has expressed his desire to serve, to please, and you'll give him the freedom to choose how to enact it—

Under a specific instruction, of course.

“Yes, of course,” you say, tapping his warm cheek fondly with your index finger. “Serve me, then, Mr. Bunny Butler. Strip for me. Slowly.”

He catches that finger quickly with his mouth, bites it lightly, like it's a warning—or a promise. You let him nibble and lick your finger for a couple of seconds, the wetness sending electricity down your spine, and you can't stop the shiver that echoes throughout your body. Xavier narrows his eyes in satisfaction at your response, hints of a smirk around his lips, and that's insubordination if you saw one. So you snatch your finger away from him, and punish him by dragging your wet finger along the column of his neck.

He jumps at the sensation.

“Strip, Xavier,” you repeat firmly. “Make sure it's a good show.”

It just proves how dedicated he is at this roleplay: by this point he should have already ended this little act and would have taken over, but he's holding your critical gaze as his hands settle over the topmost button of his vest.

“I'll try, my lady.” His voice drops to a low, husky murmur, one that summons pinpricks down your nape and the back of your shoulders, crawling in a slow, deliberate tease.

He does try, indeed. He moves back, affording you space to see his torso without having to change your position. One hand to brace his weight, the other deftly maneuvering each button at a comfortable pace. For every button opened, he takes a deep breath, gives you a confident smile, albeit awkward at the edges. But the rhythm of it lulls you, and you find yourself playing with his bunny ears again—a right decision, because he makes a surprised sound, which morphs into a moan.

The returned proximity grants you the ghostly brushes of his knuckles against your clothed stomach when he opens another button. Because of this, the way your stomach contracts every time he brushes you becomes known to him, and Xavier huffs a laugh, and proceeds to be more purposeful with it.

You tug at his bunny ear, hard. “Mr. Bunny Butler,” you warn.

His shrugs his vest off as his reply.

Now, only left with shirt and tie, Xavier stares down at them, thinking about what to do next. You help him by pushing yourself flush against him, making sure that your thigh grazes his cock. He judders, shoving his face on the crook of your neck and groaning. Idly, you continue playing with the furred ears.

“My lady, my lady,” he mutters, and you feel him sighing, “don't tease me.”

You hum. “Then put more effort in your show.”

He peeks up at you under those pretty yet underhanded lashes of his, and you spy hints of a smirk in that mouth.

But before you can question him about it, a hand grabs yours and guides it to his tie, wraps it around the silk fabric, and pulls. Slowly, carefully. From this angle more skin is revealed under your wandering gaze—the tease of a nipple, flashing beneath that white shirt—and you gulp at the flutter in your belly.

Once the necktie is completely off him, he takes it from your hand and, indeed like a show, re-ties it around his neck, a ribboned gift. At this point you're ready to combust—and he's not even naked.

“Do you like it, my lady?”

“Yes,” you rasp, suddenly off-kilter, “very much.”

“Then ...” He resumes undressing, the buttons of his shirt easily extricated, his movements economical, and bit by bit his bare torso opens before your anticipatory eyes.

He stops at the tucked-in part of the shirt. Glances at you, bites his lip, and goes back to pull the front off so the shirt opens just below his shoulders, presenting you such a gorgeous view.

Xavier sinks into the propped-up pillows—and you unconsciously follow—and smiles. “All yours, Master.”

He knows—that little shit—the allure of incomplete nakedness. The gap, the gape, the patches of exposed skin surrounded by fabric. Xavier's using it to his utmost advantage.

By now you could have clawed his clothes away from his body, but somehow, this tastes more delicious, the promise of a tease, the prolonged heat-pulse that thrums in your core, and you're pretty sure, if Xavier's shallow breaths are an indication, that he's into this too.

Well. May as well take advantage of this luxurious present.

One hand descends on the side of his neck, and you see him tamp down the surprised jolt. This hand, light in its touch, ghostly, virtual, traces the edges of the necktie. You can hear Xavier's bated breath, waiting for your next step.

Then down, down, down to his collarbone, the dip of it, your index finger making laps twice, end to end.

Then further: his chest. And this time, it's not only your hand that wants to participate. You brace yourself on his shoulder and bend down to kiss the center of his chest. Xavier lets out a sound, and inhales sharply.

Next: his left nipple, with an additional teasing nip. His hips buck from the sensation.

You stay where you are, lifting your gaze to ascertain his expression. His head is turned away, hiding his face, a hand covering half of it. But it's useless for him to hide, because his ear is in your direct line of vision, and it's a glaring red.

This propels you to indulge more: the hand on his shoulder slides down to pay his other nipple attention. His legs shift, restless. The sounds of his gasps and moans occupy the room. You feast on him, laying your tongue flat on him and dragging it wetly until you hear him stutter your name.

“M-My lady—I—”

You surge forward, and the force topples the stack of pillows behind him. In the midst of this, you reposition your legs so that you're finally straddling Xavier, your skirt bunching up just below your waist, and—teasingly—grind against his straining cock.

He jerks, grabbing at your hips, attempting at more friction, but you remind him who's in charge, and he eventually relents, taking deep breaths to calm himself.

“Sorry about that, my lady. I'm—I'm good now.”

“That's my good bunny.” Then you continue exploring his body with your tongue.

He tastes faintly of sweat but also the scent-taste of his body wash. He's showered just before calling you up. And for some reason, that does you: you rise to kiss him again, and your free hand sneaks itself under him—and grabs his bunny tail.

Xavier yelps, scarlet, shocked at the action, gaping at you and your smug face.

You squeeze the fluffy ball of a tail in response.

“M-My lady...!” he blurts.

“Shame that I didn't get to play with this last time,” you muse, feeling up the soft thing. It twitches under your curious touch. Delighted, you shift around Xavier's torso to lift his hips and study and poke at the tail repeatedly, entranced at the bounce and fuzziness of it. “A wasted opportunity, don't you think so?”

When you check Xavier's reaction, you have to hold back your laugh. He's clearly uncomfortable, but the discomfort is brought upon by embarrassment, as evidenced by his squirming and the persistence of his blush.

Words have left him, so he just averts your leery gaze, bury his face into the nearest pillow, and groans.

Taking pity on him, you release his tail—but not without giving it one last flick; he jolts—and slide your hands around the waistband of his pants. You're fumbling for the button and then the zipper when two gloved hands hinder your actions.

Xavier's face is rearranged into an indulgent yet mischievous smile. “My lady can enjoy me as long as you like. There's no need to hurry.”

But that's the thing, isn't it? You have already enjoyed him so much and enough that at one point things are bound to snap. He as your focal point of your want, the desire that thrums alongside your veins, almost like blood.

“But Mr. Bunny Butler,” you start, adopting a light, airy voice and tilting your head up at him, “there are a lot of things to enjoy from you. I'm not sure if one evening would do.”

Before Xavier can even get a word edgewise, you tear his pants open and yank his boxers down, freeing his cock.

“My la—”

His cock is a firm, solid weight on your hand, and Xavier bucks at the first contact, a halfway gasp ripping out of him. You watch his reactions as you stroke him slowly—painfully slowly, tantalizingly slowly—as your other hand crawl up his waist, flat palm spanning his side.

You know, intellectually and objectively, that Xavier is pretty. Gunmetal-grey hair that shimmers under the starry night sky. His smooth, unlined skin that you're harboring unholy envy for, soft under your curious fingers, almost pristine, untouched all his life. The column of his neck, strong bones underneath the layer of skin and muscle, the prominence of his Adam's apple. The outline of his body—even and proportioned, balanced like a finely crafted sword. And most of all: his eyes, the most expressive part of all of him. The color of an unperturbed sky, always clear and never lost. A steady glister in the darkness.

Right now, though, he's different altogether. Almost otherworldly in the way he's unraveling under your clever fingers. A shift of pressure and he's biting down the meat of his hand in a poor attempt to muffle his groans. A fleeting trail across the slit of his cock and his eyes flutter shut, his hips jumping off the mattress. He thrashes in chase of the pressure and pleasure you're providing him in crumbs, your need to see him lose that frustrating control of his. You keep stroking him and watching him blossom before you, petal by petal, limb by limb, nerve by nerve.

“My lady—” He's panting, running out of breath, his voice gaining that frenzied quality. It's music to your ears. “Master—Master, haa—”

He's coming, you can feel it. You can see it through his quickening breaths, the flush of his skin all over his body, the white-knuckled fist of his hands, the throb of his cock.

“My lady, I'm co—”

You release him, and the slow transformation of his face is such a fascinating phenomenon. From the crunch of pleasure, then crumpling into confusion. He raises his head to see you leaning back, hands away from him, his hazy eyes taking in what's happening—or its lack of. Then they widen, his mouth dropping open to release a sound of distress, round and full and cracking.

“Why did you ...”

You tug at the ends of the ribbon-necktie. He clicks his mouth shut.

“You said I can enjoy you as long as I like. There's no need to hurry.”

His gaze finally clears, and he gulps, nodding. Near your hips, Xavier's cock leaks.

“Then ...” You lay on top of him, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, your belly pressing against his pulsing cock (he freezes at this, and then continues to freeze), and place your arms on the sides of his head so your hands can reach the bunny ears. They still react delightfully under your roaming touch. “I'm going to enjoy these a little more. Don't move too much, okay?”

The room becomes pinched with quiet, and while you're intent on the furry ears atop Xavier's head, you can sense in your periphery his eyes on you. He's careful not to jostle you, the air he breathes catching on your skin, and you feel his arms snaking around your waist, settling on the small of your back.

“You really like the costume that much, huh.”

You hum in acknowledgment, rubbing the area where accessory meets scalp. You scratch it with your light fingernails, and Xavier sighs at the feeling.

When you leave the ears, you turn your attention to Xavier's expression next. He's still observing you, his flush now pale but enduringly distinct across his cheeks, and that entices you to meet his lips in a slow, patient kiss.

“It's nice, seeing you go through such effort to make me happy,” you answer him after you separate, punctuating the statement with a pleased, narrow-eyed smile.

A thought takes over Xavier, with the way his brows knit. Moments pass, you regard him, until he finally opens his mouth to articulate whatever has occupied him.

“My lady,” he begins, hesitant at first, but each word gains confidence, “there's something I want to do for you.”

“Speak.”

“I want you to”—and here his stare morphs into that puppy dog eyes again—“sit on my face. Please.”

You're stunned. The room continues to be quiet, and you're stunned. Xavier doesn't add anything after that; just waiting for your response. He's probably not sensing how you've finally shut down. You, felled by nine words, the last one an imperative period that brooked no refusal.

When he calls you, his face and his voice are tinted with uncertainty.

“Stars, Xavier.” You scramble up to reposition yourselves in accordance to his request. During this transitory moment, Xavier removes his gloves with his teeth. Now bare, both his hands come up to hold your thighs from behind, adjusting their spread and angle. You want to whine self-consciously, but glimpsing Xavier's eager expression as you move towards his head, you stamp that part in your mind. “Okay down there?”

He doesn't reply—instead he just goes for it.

Your hands shoot for the headboard, a surprised cry shocked out of you. Is this Xavier's way of revenge for denying his orgasm earlier? The way he confronts you is not unlike a battle, with his single-minded focus on his goal and his preciseness. He parts your folds with his tongue, pays attention to your clit first: sucks it lightly before dialing it up. You convulse, your hips digging down, and he moans, the vibration thrumming your flesh.

“Xavier,” you sob, “Xavier. Xavier.”

He laps around your clit like a thirsty man, hands kneading your thighs. He must've been thinking about this for a while now, with how methodical he's going by it, strategized to push you into becoming a complete and utter wreck. He kisses your clit then mouths it, moves his tongue in lateral glides that have you thrashing on your position. You grind against him, and he welcomes it wholeheartedly, and behind you his hips thrust helplessly in air, his stubbornly hard cock drooling with pre-come.

One hand nudges you forward and you follow, until his tongue enters inside you—you gasp and shiver at the slick intrusion—drinks you with such loudness that you wouldn't be surprised if his neighbors overhear what the two of you have been doing.

He knows how to prolong the barrage of pleasure, that heat and swell around your core, your undulating hips, sustained until you buckle and collapse from the force of it, your orgasm torrential like a storm.

When Xavier emerges between your legs, his face shines from your slick and his saliva. A fond smile slips out of you, and a finger traces the length of his lips; then your entire hand, cupping the side of his face, a tender caress. A smile of his own appears and he nuzzles your hand, kisses the center of your palm, eyes closed and sated.

“Good boy,” you praise, and he sighs happily. “So good for me. Have to reward you, don't I?”

The third reward: release. You move back to pull his pants and boxers off him completely, and Xavier just watches you with anticipation, breaths in quick bursts.

“You know the drill: don't move.” You underline this order with a tease of his cock, a line-trail from the tip to the base and then a quick squeeze of his balls.

When you align yourself above him and begin to sink down, Xavier goes rigid-stiff, daring not to breathe, careful not to move. You pause from your progress, and send him a worried look.

“Xavier?”

“I—I'm—” He bites his lip, exhales through his nose. “I'm okay, I just. I'm just trying not to react too much.”

“Why?”

He casts you a helpless gaze. “Because, my lady, I'm afraid that my control would slip, and I would have my selfish way with you.”

You falter at that. To be honest that's not such a bad idea at all, but Xavier knows that this is for you and your needs, and what you need right now—and what you want, if one were to ask—is him under you, at your mercy. Just as he is right now.

So you move lower, feeling the head of his cock open you up, slowly. And you can hear the hitching breaths unwittingly made by him, his eyes shut and his whole expression folded inward, as if he couldn't handle the pleasure descending over him.

A groan tumbles out of his lips, low at first, quick and fleeting, but as you inch lower and lower, the feel of his cock molding you inside, the wanton sounds he makes lengthens, gets louder, until he parts those glistening lips and vocalizes his satisfaction.

“My lady—you feel so—”

“Good, I hope.”

He doesn't wait until you bottom out; he bucks his hips to sheathe himself inside you completely in one smooth motion. You cry out from his action, his cock pulsing against your walls, and the feeling of him pulls you in further bliss that your eyes flutter closed and your back arches as the pleasure spreads throughout your body.

“The best, my lady.”

He gasps when you clench around him, your wetness dripping between your joined bodies.

You really think the best position Xavier has ever been is here right now: underneath you, helpless to your demands, seized by pleasure that you're giving him and taking from him. The way his face doesn't know what to do in the undulating waves of pressure as you begin to move above him, your hips lifting and then slamming back down; the film of sweat coating his skin all over, moistening the sheets beneath the two of you. The severe grip of his hands, bunching up the blankets in their deathly clutch. His rapid heartbeat under your palm as you support your weight by bracing yourself on his chest. His moans, his filthy, filthy moans—his moans that you will remember until your dying day because they are so far out of his cultivated normalcy—open-mouthed, slack-jawed moans that come from the core of his abdomen, surging upwards, frantic, crazed, melodiously and sublimely wanton.

“Look at you, Xavier,” you pant, and one of Xavier's legs kicks out. “Look at my bunny butler.”

“Master—Master—”

“What do you want, darling?” you ask, shakily tracing the side of his face. When your fingers near his mouth he turns his head to place a kiss at your fingertips, then drags his tongue out to lick at their length. Your index and middle fingers press flat at his tongue, and he groans around them. His puffs of breath beat in time with the movement of your hips.

One hand crawls towards your thigh, haltingly slides upwards, up to the junction of your hips, where it disappears under the spill of your skirt. Then it reaches behind to squeeze at the meat of your ass, and you gasp, stuttering your pace.

You take out your fingers so he can answer you, but Xavier grabs your wrist with his other hand and brings it back to his lips, trails kisses on each finger, murmurs nonsensical things against your saliva-coated skin until, louder, he tells you—

“Everything you can give me, my lovely Master.”

And, oh, isn't that a wonderful thing to hear? That readiness of his—be it in battle or in bed, he rolls with everything you throw at him, as though there's nothing that can taint you in his eyes, no betrayal to feel forsaken by. As though all that he's done, all that he's doing, is in service to you.

And it's because of this that you use the same hand to cup at his jaw and jerk it in your direction, bowing down to kiss him, bite his lower lip, thrust your tongue inside, lick the roof of his mouth, suck his own tongue—devour him fully and utterly.

He meets your intent with his own, just as intense, just as parched and hungry as you are for him. Every exhale is accompanied by a soft sigh, and you swallow his every sound—that lovely and soothing voice that lingers in your mind and haunts the edges of your dreams. His reaction just drives you to speed up your pace.

He's trembling all over, and tries to shift the angle from which you're riding him. Doing so affords his cock to hit something inside you, lighting up your body, starburst behind your eyelids, and you jolt, a whimper tearing out of your throat that Xavier drinks greedily. His hand on your ass traverses to your clit and plays with it, intensifying the blast of sensations on your lower body.

Obstructed by your mouth, Xavier tries: “My lady, I think—I'm close.”

“Me too, I'm—don't hold back—”

He doesn't. And he doubles his efforts in relentlessly stroking your clit and pounding up inside you, and the pleasure crests and crests and crests until you pulse and clench and come, sobbing at the white-hot crash flooding your nerves, collapsing on top of Xavier, mouths still connected.

And he doesn't stop. This time both his hands bracket your hips; grinds you down as he pushes deeper and deeper inside you. You're oversensitive but you don't stop him, just clinging to him and whimpering, and he begins to assail your ear, his panting tangible and hot against your skin.

“My lady, my lady,” he chants, voice shattering like glass. “My lady—Master—”

His orgasm feels like an echo of your own release, his spend filling inside you. Xavier gives a few more thrusts before slowing down and stopping. A self-satisfied sigh ripples over his relaxed body, and his hands climb to your back, guide you to pillow your head on his chest, embracing you as you melt on top of him.

Minutes pass, and his breathing evens; you expected him to fall asleep after, but when you look up his eyes are emphatically open.

“Aren't you sleeping?”

He glances down at you. Quirks a smile. “No, not yet.”

“Oh ...”

“We're not finished, my lady.”

“Huh?”

“You've had your fill, Master.” He smirks. Then flips you over, reversing your positions so he's now on top of you. He starts unbuttoning your shirt. “Now let me have mine.”

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #LaD fic #love and deepspace smut #LaD smut #love and deepspace xavier #LaD x reader #love and deepspace x reader #LaD xavier #nsft #fic #my fic #shen xinghui my beloved

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slythereen · 6 months

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i want to discuss how charles is allegedly only 1.5cm shorter than max yet in the photos of them talking to that f4 driver (and on many other occasions), max looks so much taller and broader?? i know charles is a professional athlete and he’s not tiny at all but why does he make himself smaller like that all the time. like what is going on there. just a lot to unpack there psychologically.

i mean ... okay, with max leaning like he is, i guess an argument can be made for him looking taller. idk about much taller. i was actually just thinking about this recently when i saw something on twitter and now i'm going to go on a wild goose chase trying to remember which exact photo it was about, probably

but in the meantime! since we have so much content to study !!

charles has his chin tilted up a little bit here, but he actually looks marginally taller. i think, based on google's profiles at least, they're allegedly both 180. i do think max might actually be a wee bit taller, as suggested by evidence #2 (where max is, predictably, leaning again). onwards!

if you look at this other photo from the same moment as evidence #2...

max looks much taller again, but you can see that charles is learning / has his weight shifted.

a lot of messy angles here and charles is sitting down/leaning over for some of it, BUT, that lower left hand corner where they are both mostly standing straight and the ✨pretty handshake✨ are both suggesting much closer in height.

these two mess with me because they look fairly equal in height here... in both. despite max slouching impressively in the second. i can only conclude that charles is slouching more than it looks like he is, bc otherwise idk how to explain the science of that.

okay so max slouches and charles leans. and then max straightens and charles slouches. ????

mirroring each other's horrendous posture. okay. still looking roughly the same height. pls straighten up.

this seems better. max still has a knee bent a bit, so may be slouching a little. charles looks like he's standing straight, finally. max a smidge taller?

obligatory padel date, because they are conveniently next to each other. both leaning embarrassingly, charles actually looks a bit taller??? but also looks like he is leaning slightly less than max, which would explain it. additional hair floof may also contribute.

okay but charles is leaning significantly more than max, who looks like he is standing straight. and they appear to be the same height here. which... would mean charles is actually a smidge taller, minus the lean? math is not mathing.

conclusion: this information is simply information the world does not want us to have. charles isn't as short as people make it seem, i think, he just... slouches? or something??? like i swear sometimes it looks like he's standing straight but i'll see him next to someone i know he is as tall as / taller than (based on other photos) and be like wait. he must he slouching or something.

lbr there is one undisputed fact and it's that max is broader. like... charles isn't really the delicate slender that he gets characterized as, but he is leaner than max methinks. this is clearly important research.

#and why does charles slouch so much??#make himself seem smaller??#idk but max actually slouches just as badly #max and his classic ducking his whole ass head forward to hear someone better #like a dork #lestappen #charles leclerc #max verstappen #f1 #*oracles

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comingyourlugubriousness · 6 months

Text

Ramshackle Gang: Please take care of us!

CROWLEY: Yes, the Ramshackle Prefects will be joining the group as attendants. GRIM: Hehe~! We'll be taggin' along and takin' care of you guys. GRIM: Which means partying down, gettin' fawned over, and eatin' everything in sight! Nyaha~! AZUL: I see. You used the prefects as a pretext to get Grim off your back. JAMIL: Some headmage we have. IDIA: I don't see the problem! Now we got fuzzy companionship AND valuable emotional support! Bring on the floof!

One of my fav moments from the event, heres my silly lil interpretation with me and @bunnwich canon story.

I have other arts in the works so please look forward to more nerd content! Hopefully, before Halloween starts!

#oc x canon #twisted wonderland #twst oc #idia shroud #disney twisted wonderland #yume ume #q #yuusona #canon x oc #nightlight and starshine #myart #traditional art #pumpkinart #yuuta is yumes brother #yuuta midori #yuuhi is also yumes brother

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anika-ann · 4 months

Text

Underneath the Christmas Tree (A.B.)

Type: one-shot, drabble-ish, floof

Pairing: Andy Barber x reader WC: 1100

Summary: Your Christmas might not be perfect, but the person you celebrate with is.

Warnings: 18+, nsfw for allusions to smut, clichés and huge amount of fluff, mentions of insecurity in reader, celebrating Christmas

A/N: a little something to raise the holiday spirits, in the honour of @stargazingfangirl18 who slipped into many inboxes to spread the hoeliday cheer 💕I hope she and all of you can profit from a sweet moment with one mister B🎄// divider by @firefly-graphics

“You’re being a grinch,” he teased you lightly, thick arm wrapping around your waist from behind to keep you flush to his front.

You only frowned harder as you placed the single box under your Christmas tree. It looked absurd among the five boxes from your lovely devoted irritating fiancé – of course you’d be a little grinchy about it.

This Christmas was supposed to be perfect – because Andy Barber was and he deserved nothing less than that in return. You had prepared three presents for Andy in total – or you had tried so. Until the most important one, one you ordered and had custom-made took longer than expected. You ordered two months in advance, so proud of yourself for figuring out the gift for the man who stole your heart without intention of ever giving it back… and then came December, than half of it went, and then the day before Christmas Day arrived, ten a.m., three p.m., eight p.m. and since the clock was about to struck midnight, something told you your package wasn’t about to arrive in time. All your insecurities about deserving the wonderful man momentarily soothing you in his generous embrace resurfaced, making you feel inadequate and just… not enough.

So yeah, you were scowling a little. Especially since Andy was maybe not laughing at your misery, but was definitely at least slightly amused by the way you were expressing it.

“It was supposed to be perfect,” you echoed your thoughts wearily, feeling the stupid tears gather in your eyes. Dammit.

It was just… Andy truly was your Prince Charming. Your one. A kind, caring man with the biggest heart you had ever encountered, a bit dorky, but with maturity most men at any age couldn’t even dream of, and with sweet, almost gentlemanly ways that went out of the window once the door of your bedroom closed behind you. Assuming you’d make it as far as the bedroom. Or even into your house.

He deserved everything that was good in this world and more and there were times when you doubted you were the one able to give it to him.

You felt him smile against your cheek as he pressed a soft kiss there, pulling you back from your thoughts – and to fall on your ass – to sit between his legs on the floor with a tiny yelp on your part.

“It is. ‘cause you are, sweetheart,” he whispered to your ear, causing you to side-glance him at his sappy ways.

A soft smile was playing on his lips indeed, serene face illuminated by the warm lights on your Christmas tree, eyes shining with contentment.

Your heart fluttered in your chest, suddenly at peace. Damn, he was gorgeous. Ruffled hair, pretty lips framed by his perfectly trimmed beard, white tee and simple grey sweats, like a god of domesticity and happiness in the most ordinary moments. How could you protest, how could you doubt anything at all when he was like that?

“I love you,” you said instead, earning a soft peck to your lips, a whispered declaration in return. “I just… I was really excited to give you the present you deserve.”

Andy’s plush lips stayed but a breath away, closing the distance again at your admission, last remnants of your gloomy mood evaporating as he kissed you again, this time slowly, deeply, loving.

Then, he inched away, your eyes fluttering open only to meet the mischievous sparkle in his eye.

Your heart skipped a beat. Ah-oh.

“What-“ He reached for the single gift you had placed under the three, pulling at the bow and stealing it for himself. “Andy!”

He laughed at your scandalized expression, taking your left hand – the one adorned by a charming ring he had placed there barely a month ago – and swiftly wrapped the ribbon around your wrist, tying another perfect bow.

Your shoulders sagged, your face probably revealing as much of your exasperation as adoration.

“Here. My perfect gift, in all its glory.”

“You, mister, are an old sap.”

He grinned. “And yet, you agreed to marry me.”

Your gaze flicked between the bow and the gorgeous diamond on your finger, the widest of smiles tugging at your lips. “Yeah, what was I even thinking-“

“Hey!” he protested, deft fingers sneaking under your silky bathrobe in a vicious attack at your most ticklish spots, having you try to squirm from his hold – only accomplishing changing your positions until he trapped you under him lied flat on the fluffy carpet, his weight on you as warm as his gaze.

“See? My perfect gift, now even lying under the Christmas tree, all mine to unwrap. I’m a lucky man, aren’t I?”

His fingers sneaked lower, brushing over your hips and to your thigh, his hand freezing. The sweet warm gaze turned heated, drawn to your lips as your tongue peeked out to wet them. You felt your face flush with heat, even as your chest puffed with pride.

Cat got his tongue now, did it?

“Sweetheart?”

“There’s… I thought we might cheat a little. I didn’t wrap this one,” you admitted, a little disappointed when his weight disappeared and he only straddled your thighs – but the feeling was quickly replaced by satisfaction when Andy tugged, peeling your robe off, eyes feasting on your body adorned with the new lingerie you had bought, your nipples instantly hardening under the see-though material under his appreciative gaze.

“So…” you hummed innocently, fully aware of the way his sweats barely hid his growing arousal, just like your excuse of panties couldn’t hope to hide the growing wetness of your core, “what do you think?”

Andy’s lip curled in a smirk that had you stomach somersault, his eyes dark as coal, soft fingertips trailing over the soft curve of your breast, brushing your nipple with clear intent.

“Well, sweetheart, I think you just almost made it to the naughty list,” he mused, his other hand toying with the little ribbons on the side of your panties, lightly puling on it until fell apart smoothly.

Your breath caught in your throat, heat pooling in your belly as his fingertips followed the pattern of lace above your mound.

“Almost?”

Andy’s smirk was positively devious as he leaned down to press a kiss to your cleavage, dextrous fingers undoing the bow on your other hip as well, baring you to his greedy touch.

“But when I’m done with all the things I want to do you, sweetheart, when you let me do every filthy thing I have on my mind now… I promise you that’s you’ll be right on the top it.”

And Andy Barber was a true gentleman; when he made a promise, he always always delivered on it.

Misc characters masterlist

Full masterlist

Again, many thanks to Siri - and happy peaceful holidays to us all 💕

Thank you for reading 🥰

#andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #andy barber imagine #andy barber fluff #andy barber fanfic #andy barber fanfiction #defending jacob au #andy barber #underneath the christmas tree #anika ann

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bangtanficsforyou · 8 months

Text

Home Sweet Home (JJK)

Pairing: (Bunny hybrid) Jungkook x Reader.

Genre: floof

Word count: 1.5K

Warnings: curse words ig?

Au: established relationship au.

Based on this request.

If you enjoy my writing consider supporting my patreon!

You're oddly surprised when a warm body doesn't collide with yours upon your arrival. Looking around the living room you find no trace of the man that regularly greets you with a wide bunny grin and warm bear hugs.

He must be asleep, you deduce and decide to head over to his room.

When you swing the door open, your previous thought is proved right when you notice him peacefully sleeping with blankets wrapped all around him.

You walk inside the room without making a sound and for a few moments, silently observe his features. He looks so cute and precious sleeping like this, without a worry about the world. You only wish to keep him this content as long as he will allow you to.

Without even realising what you're doing, your hand gently brushes a few strands of his hair from his face. However, when the body moves suddenly to cover their head with the blanket, you're taken by surprise and yelp, not having expected the sudden movement.

Is he not asleep?

"Jungkook?" You call his name out and recieve a grunt in response, confirming your suspicions. "Hey baby, are you not feeling well?"

Jungkook doesn't answer and only tightens the blanket around him, which makes you frown in concern.

"Baby, are you okay?" When he still refuses to answer, you shake his body softly urging him to respond.

Jungkook grunts once again to show his displeasure. "You do not have to worry about me. You can stay at office all you want."

Your hands pause when you register his words. So this is what it is about. He hasn't been asleep at all. If anything, he had probably made his way to bed when he had heard your foot steps approaching.

You snicker silently at the thought of him doing that to show his protest. Just when you think he cannot get any cuter.

"The very least you could do is to not laugh," Jungkook's muffled voice greets your ears, immediately halting your laughter.

Sometimes, you tend to forget that he's a hybrid which means he can hear even the slightest of sounds, your silent laughter not being an exception.

"I'm sorry," you apologise, genuinely feeling bad for laughing. "What can I do to earn your forgiveness?"

Jungkook remains quiet for a few moments and maybe you know him a little too well to know that he isn't actually mad, he never actually is, when it comes to you. He only ever decides to be a little bit dramatic when he feels like you haven't been giving him enough attention.

"Kookieee," whining his name you tickle him over the blankets. Despite the thick layer of protection, Jungkook squirms and soon scoots away from you.

You huff. "Fine, I will sit here as long as you don't talk to me."

Saying so you take a seat on the now empty side of bed.

A few moments later a pair of hands make their way out and he peeks at you with only his eyes and the messy mop of his curls visible.

"You can make up to me by getting under the blanket, right now," he grumbles cutely.

Fighting off the urge to smile, you remove your jacket and get rid of your belt to be more comfortable. Jungkook loosens the blanket enough so that you can get in and the moment you do, you're instantly pulled closer by a pair of limbs.

"Much better," he whispers, his nose skimming gently across your cheek.

You chuckle at his actions and wrap your arm around his torso. "I'm still in my work clothes."

Jungkook looks at you for a second before breaking into a wide grin, no longer pretending to be angry. "I couldn't care less about anything with you in my arms like this."

"Such a drama king you are," you mumble softly, placing a small kiss at the juncture of his neck.

"Sometimes you gotta be like that if the love of your life isn't giving you enough attention," whining cutely, he complains and places several kisses on any expanse of skin he has access to.

You giggle and squirm at the tickling sensation but it only causes Jungkook to hold you tighter.

"Stop squirming," he nibbles at your neck causing you to laugh even more.

"I can't help it, it tickles."

His actions slow down and he simply buries his face in the crook of your neck, "this feels nice."

"I know," you hum. "I'm sorry I have been busy lately and that we have barely got any time to spend."

You feel him softly smile against your skin. "It's okay. I missed you but now that you're here, it's all okay."

You're aware that Jungkook knows how heavy the workload has recently been. You're grateful that he understands and is always so willing to do whatever it is to make things easier for you. But you won't lie, sometimes you too wish you could work from home like Jungkook does and be in his presence more. Admittedly, these feelings only ever occur to you when your work simply doesn't allow you to make time for anyone or anything else, like the last few days.

"I missed you too," you mumble into his hair, the soft smell of his shampoo enveloping you in immense amounts of comfort.

"Lies," he scoffs. "If you had missed me, you'd have smothered me with kisses by now to express exactly how much you missed me."

You scoff right back at him. "You know you can just ask if you want me to kiss you."

"But where's the fun in that?"

"You're such a brat, you know?" Laughing in disbelief, you run your fingers through his hair.

"Yeah? Want me to teach a lesson or something?" His body shakes with waves of soft laughter and warm puffs of breath hit your skin.

"Maybe, I should," you say in a thoughtful manner, taking his words into consideration. "Maybe I won't kiss you, that should sure teach you a lesson."

Jungkook's laughter stops immediately and he looks up at you with offence written all over his face. "You do not mean that."

"Maybe I do," you shrug softly, trying to hold yourself back from smiling.

Jungkook levels his face with yours and looks at you as if he were a sad kicked puppy. "You really won't kiss me?"

"Nope," you pop the 'p' and watch in amusement as his face contorts into pure disbelief.

"Heyyyyyy," he whines and somehow you know this time he isn't being dramatic. He really doesn't like the idea of you not giving him kisses. "This is not fair."

"What isn't?"

"You not kissing me," he complains. "I was waiting the whole day for you to come back home and this is what I get? No kisses?"

You chew on your bottom lip to hold yourself back from kissing him right at that very moment. Jungkook is adorable, he always is. But there's nothing more tempting to you then when his plump lips protrude to form a pout.

"Baby, my sweet girl, darling of mine," he presses his lips against your cheek and gradually, almost as if magnetically he inches closer to your lips. Pressing a soft kiss at the corner of your mouth, he retreats. "Kiss me. Please."

You wanted to continue teasing him a little longer. But you should have known better. With Jungkook looking at you like that and with his lips hovering over yours, nothing in the world could stop you from closing the gap.

The moment your lips meet his, Jungkook sighs in relief. His lips mold against yours and he matches your pace with one of his hands now resting on your hips.

You place your palm on his face and your fingers gently rub across the skin of his cheek. Jungkook is gentle, soft, sweet and everything nice. You kiss him with a tenderness that is delicate yet one which sets his soul on fire. He isn't sure what is it that you do but everytime you kiss him, his soul feels a little more alive, he feels a little more like himself and he feels love in a way that makes him want to drown in it.

He spends most of his day in the apartment doing his work on his laptop. It's absurd but to him this place without your presence is just that to him, an apartment. It's only when you are with him, that it feels like home. You're home. You're his home.

"I love you," he whispers, a little breathless but not from the kissing, rather from the warmth that's flowing through his veins.

"I love you too, baby," you smile and place a small peck on his lips. "Now let me get changed and take a shower."

"Five more minutes," he says and doesn't give you the chance to protest for the next thing you know he's laying with his head on your chest, enjoying the soft thumping of your heartbeat.

You close your eyes and relax because when have you ever been able to say no to him.

#jungkook x reader #Jungkook fluff #Jungkook drabble #bunny hybrid koo #Bunny hybrid Jungkook #Established relationship au #Fic: home sweet home #Requests

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amusingmusie · 2 months

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lingering on the thought of nel being in the hazbin hotel with alastor for more than five seconds tickles me so much because all i can think about is just How she got there

because it does seem to me she has no interest in being there so the conclusion my head comes to is that right after the pilot alastor immediately just rockets across the whole city at mac 20 to drag a Very Disoriented Nel back to the hotel

all the while yapping her ear off about some Fascinating New Project he has so Graciously lent his Services to.

None of which actually registers in poor nel's mind at first because it just so happened that she got whisked away while she was in the middle of giving her lunch order to a particularly hard of hearing waiter

the prospect just tickles me so much theyr so silly

THIS IS FOR FUN ONLY AND NOT CANON TO YOURS TRULY

Strained Introductions

It’s going to be so amusing to watch this ridiculous hotel go up in flames.

Alastor smiles smugly to himself, tapping his claws along the head of his trusty microphone as he studies the chaos surrounding him. After a sound lunch of his mother’s classic jambalaya, he’s content to sit back and watch the others face the aftermath of today’s immense excitement.

The princess and her little attack dog are exchanging shushed words in the corner of the lobby, foolishly believing that he can’t hear a word about their argument concerning his freshly established presence in the building. Husker has already drunk himself under the bar much to the disappointment of that rather womanly spider who’s been adjusting his pectoral floof and preparing for incessant flirtations. Niffty, darling Niffty, is the only one doing anything slightly useful; she’s been speedily scooping debris and rubble into a trash bag for easy disposal.

A trash bag.

Of course- oh, he’s forgotten something terribly important! How could he be so foolish? With a crackle of static that draws all eyes to him, Alastor adjusts his bowtie and pats down his hair to ensure it’s perfect as always. A quick twirl of his staff and he taps over to the front door, giving a quick, parting bow.

“Excuse me, but I have an errand of utmost importance to run- I’ll return shortly!”

The royal guard, Vaggie as she insists on being called, glares at him. “No vuelvas, pendejo.”

“How sweet.” A faded, crackling laugh track punctuates his statement. “Try your best not to miss me while I’m gone. Ta-ta, chums!”

Shadows encircle him and swallow his spindly form whole, leaving no trace of the Radio Demon behind.

////

“I said cherry.”

“This is cherry.”

“No, it’s not.” Nel pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs deeply in exasperation. “I’ve been telling you for ten minutes that it’s fucking strawberry, and I do not want the strawberry. I’m asking for cherry.”

“Whatever, Karen.”

“What? What the fuck does that mean?” she snaps at the exhausted worker, only barely keeping her temper in check.

When he flips her off and disappears from behind the bakery counter into a backroom, she clenches her fists with a pissy growl, not giving two shits if her talons threaten to slice into her palms. Nel promptly decides fuck it, stomps around the counter, and snatches up a slice of cherry pie for herself.

She still throws a few bills down on the counter, though. Old habits die hard.

The buzzing begins first. Nel’s skin crawls as the sensation of pinpricks washes over her, an unfortunately familiar fuzzy hum growing louder and louder in her ears shortly afterwards. The flashing smiles come next, along with distant whispers, full body chills, and a tug on her heart.

Goddammit.

She glares at the bakery door right as Alastor manifests in front of it with an accompanying audience cheer.

“Hello, sweetheart!” He wastes no time in snatching her up around her waist and squishing her dangerously near his less than fresh smelling armpit. “We must be off! I have the most hilarious, pathetic thing to show you!”

“Your picture?”

The loud boo doesn’t deter her from smirking. The shadowy tendril that snatches up her pie does.

“No, my gangrenous toe, the Hazbin Hotel! We have front row seats to its inevitable demise. Think of all the failures we’ll get to witness! The struggling souls clinging to the foolhardy idea of redemption, their inevitable fall back into the pit of despair- ah, it’ll be great fun!”

“Wait, Alastor, did you get your ass involved with that goddamn, idiotic scam? You just came back-”

“Ah ah, we are involved!”

“What? WHAT? No the hell we are not-!”

The bakery is ripped away and replaced by fading carpet, peeling wallpaper, and five idiots staring at the swirl of shadows occupying the center of the hotel lobby. Once the darkness fades, Alastor stands alone with a giddy grin on his gray face. There’s a beat, and then Nel falls in from the fleeting shadows, landing flat on her face with her wings awkwardly flattened around her.

Angel Dust peeks over, mutters, “Eh, it’s a chick. Fat ass though,” then returns to scrolling on his phone.

“Alastor, who the fuck is this?” Vaggie doesn’t waste a moment on beginning her tirade, temper flaring now that another uninvited addition to the hotel has appeared.

“Nobody who is overly important! Sweetheart, mind your manners and say hello.”

Nel grunts and picks her head up off of the floor. “Shut your ugly mouth.”

That less than kind response has Vaggie starting up again as Charlie desperately tries to calm her down. Nel doesn’t interrupt; for all she cares, this girl can bite Alastor’s head off and she won’t stop her. The blonde one- the princess, she remembers- tries to say something to her, but chooses to play damage control instead when a spear is held to Al’s throat.

A little skitter reaches Nel’s attention, and she sits up, turning to the side to face Niffty.

“Hiya, Nelly! Killed any good bugs lately?”

“No.”

“Aw.” Her red eye expands eerily and her smile grows. “Read any real good steamy stories lately?”

“...Come find me later, Niff. We’ll bump gums.”

“‘Kay!” Niffty skitters off as Nel chooses to continue to block out the ranting at her side. Well, if Alastor has Niffty running around this dump, then that means one of his other favorite unfortunates to torment can’t be too far away.

“Husk?”

A single clawed middle finger raises from over the top of the bar.

“Yeah, fuck you too, asshole.”

Finally, finally, Princess Charlotte manages to extend a hand out to her. Apprehensively, Nel takes it, not quite able to remain as pissy as usual in the face of this obvious kindness.

“Welcome to the Happy- uh, Hazbin Hotel!” she chirps, beaming widely and so genuinely that it has Nel’s anger withering even further. “We are so excited to have you join us and begin your path to redemption! Okay, so, right now we only have Angel Dust staying as a resident here, so we have a ton of empty rooms, fully customizable-!”

Nel holds up a hand, and sighs. “Sorry, but I’m not interested in checking in.”

“Oh, well, um, if you’re a worker of Alastor’s, then we can-”

“Worker? Please, he wishes.”

“Then what are you-?”

“Don’t fret about it!” Alastor interrupts, butting in by physically shoving himself between the two women as Vaggie settles next to her girlfriend. “Nelly is here with me under my protection, and that is that! She’ll stay by my side, and handle my business.”

Talk about her personal circle of Hell.

“Ah, I almost forgot!” Alastor snaps his fingers, and the abandoned piece of pie lands neatly on Nel’s curly head, splattering her with red filling. “There we are.”

Nel reaches up, sticks her finger into the pie, then brings it to her nose to smell. Strawberry.

What a great start to her waking nightmare.

#my asks #a drabble!#the pookies #okay I think I have officially written for everyone in the main cast now #I realize they all are a mixture of their pilot and season one selves

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