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thestuffedalligator · 1 year

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The goblin looked at the orc. The orc looked at the goblin. They both looked down at the crumpled shape of the Overlord, His Unholy Majesty, in his obsidian armor.

His final spasms had been mesmerizingly acrobatic. The fall down the steps leading up to his iron throne had pretzelled his body quite impressively, both arms folded behind his back and one leg bent at a jaunty angle.

The goblin looked at the orc. The orc looked at the goblin.

"Shit," said the goblin.

"Shit," said the orc.

"We're likely to get blamed for this," the goblin said. She walked over to the head of the glittering mangled heap and started pulling the helmet off.

"It's not our fault," the orc said. "It's hard to help someone choking when they wear two-hundred pounds of spiked armor at all times."

"Yeah, well," the goblin grunted. The helmet came free, and the bald head of the Overlord bounced on the stone with a hollow, coconut noise. "You know how it is in this bloody country - thieves get their heads cut off so they can't think about thieving, and all that." She fished in the Overlord's mouth with a finger and pulled out the obstructing olive on the end of her claw.

She popped it into her mouth and chewed. "What do you reckon they do for a regicide?" she said.

"We should run," the orc said. She had started bouncing her leg. "I hear that there's some places in the Alliance where they just kill you and let you stay dead. That's got to be nicer than what'll happen if we stay here."

The goblin started to nod - and then her gaze fell on the helmet.

It looked like a pineapple designed by a deranged blacksmith. It was all thorns and spikes and hard edges, as though the maker had been very determined to not let pigeons roost on it. The only bits that weren't solid iron were eyeholes. Nobody had ever seen the Overlord's face.

She held up the helmet and squinted from it to the orc. One of the thorns had been bent badly in the fall.

Nobody had ever seen the Overlord's face...

"Right," she muttered. "Right. Could work - or."

The orc had a sudden vision of the immediate future. "No," she said.

"I mean you're about his height-"

"No."

"It would just be for a-"

"Absolutely not."

"Just hear me out," the goblin said. "Outside of this room are two-thousand men and orcs and goblins who are absolutely gonzo about this man, and there's a whole country of them outside of the castle, and at any moment someone's going to walk in that door and see one dead tit in black armor and two unbelievably dead idiots next to him.

"Or." She tossed the helmet up like a basketball to the orc, who fumbled and tried to find somewhere to hold it that wasn't a knife's edge. "We chuck him out the window now, walk out the door in the armor, and ditch the armor as soon as nobody sees us."

The orc had started bouncing her leg again. "They'll know something's up the second I walk out of the room."

"No worries," said the goblin. "Leave that to me."

---

It had been a very strange year for the Empire.

Change had rolled across the land as slow and inevitable as a glacier. Roads and bridges carved the gray, blasted wildlands, and a number of social reforms had made the country a place where you could be miserable, yes, but miserable in comfort and safety, and that was an improvement.

Barely anyone got boiled alive in molten metal, and even if the disgusted sun never rose to light the Empire, at least you had a roof over your head to protect yourself from the acid rain.

"Your empire flourishes, Your Unholy Majesty," the magician said over her wine glass. She looked down from the tower's balcony over the gleaming stone battlements. Some work had been done to line the castle and surrounding city with sizzling, crackling alchemical lights at night. The whole thing glowed like something dangerously radioactive.

The suit of armor waved a languid, glittering gauntlet over to the goblin, who bowed.

"His Abominable Gloriousness Thanks You," the goblin recited. "The Prosperity Of His Empire Can Only Be Achieved Through The Prosperity Of His People."

"If I may be so bold, I am quite pleased that you had chosen to take my counsel under consideration," said the magician. "We have accomplished many things together."

Another wave. Another bow. "The Overlord, May His Presence Swallow The Sun And Stars, Thanks You As Well."

"It was quite gratifying to see you change your mind, after so many centuries of denial." The wine was swirled. "Tell me, what was it that finally gave you cause to listen to me?"

There was the slightest hesitation. The goblin's eyes flicked to the armor, then to the magician. She puffed out her chest. "Do you question the wisdom of His Austere Lugubriousness?" she asked.

The magician looked at the goblin. She looked at the armor. She tipped her head back and drank the wine too quickly.

She looked back at the armor. "I know you're the orc, you moron," she said.

The room went deathly still. An alchemical light fizzled.

The orc pulled off the helmet, sending long, untied hair down tangling, and said: "How could you possibly-"

"Because you're both idiots!" the magician said. The goblin jumped. The orc jumped with a noise like a dropped stove. "What kind of a plan was this?! If it wasn't for me, you would have been turned into fertilizer months ago."

She closed her eyes. She took a long, dramatic breath. She set the wine glass down on the balcony rail.

"How did the Overlord die?" she asked when she seemed like she had gotten a hold over herself.

"Choked on an olive," said the goblin.

"Threw his body out the window," said the orc.

"You don't have to mention the window," said the goblin.

"Right," said the orc. "Sorry."

The magician looked out over the city, hand curled thoughtfully under her nose. "Who knows about this?"

"Just us. And, uh. You. Apparently."

"And why did you accept my counsel?"

The orc blinked. "Sorry?"

"Why did you accept my counsel?" the magician repeated.

"Well," the orc said. "Well - you seemed like you had good ideas-"

"Great ideas!" the goblin said with an edge of desperation. "Don't know why the old bastard didn't listen to you!"

"Right - right," said the orc. "And when we figured we were stuck doing this - well, it just made sense, really."

The magician seemed to absorb this. She nodded. "All right," she said, striding between the two and grabbing the crystal decanter.

"Um," said the orc. "Sorry. What happens now?"

"What happens is that you two will continue to serve as Overlord," said the magician. "You will continue to take my counsel. We will continue to reform this bloody country, and gods willing, we will turn it into the crown jewel of the world by next Midwinter."

The orc looked at the goblin. The goblin looked at the orc.

"Really?" the goblin asked.

"Oh yes," said the magician. "I've worked hard to be counsel to the Overlord, and I have no reason to stop now. And besides-"

She looked the orc up and down with a deliberate slowness, poring over every microscopic detail, eyes tracing over every jagged line, and grinned like a panther.

"You look much better in the armor than he ever did," she said. Dark robes swirled like a becleavaged thundercloud, and she strode out through the high iron doors, decanter in hand.

The goblin looked at the orc. The orc looked at the goblin.

"Shit," said the goblin.

"Shit," said the orc.

#short story #fantasy writing #narrativia #10k

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neckromantics · 5 months

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You find that now Astarion’s able to feed regularly on “quality” blood, the stronger he becomes, and with that strength comes certain abilities he didn’t know he could possess.

In 5e, vampire spawn are supposed to be pretty strong and fast. (As well as possessing regenerative powers, and spider climb among a few other things.) So, what if Astarion’s lack of super strength and other such things is due to the way he was kept weakened under Cazador’s control?

Like maybe he’s recently fed and he feels especially great this time. Neither of you really think much of it. (You’re just happy he feels good. Happy to see the flush of pink at the tips of his ears and apples of his cheeks.) Maybe you’re in the middle of a fight and you get careless. You hear the swish of a blade at your back, but never feel an impact. You turn to see that Astarion’s saved your ass the only way vampire instinct knew how in that moment, which was to just reach out and grab your attacker’s sword before it could spill any of your precious blood. By the blade.

If he wasn’t wearing those special armored gloves you’d found a few days before he’d probably have lost a few fingers. The steel bends back in his grip as if it’s made of rubber, and there’s a very comical split second where your heads snap toward one another to share matching looks of “what the fuck??” Before the fighting continues.

MAYBE one day you watch the guy get stabbed. Like, impaled in a way that should have meant Withers is about to be dragged out here by his dusty ass robes to perform some quick resurrecting or else. It takes longer than you’d like to get free enough to make a break for him, but when you do you nearly knock poor Shadowheart on her ass in your hurry to pass. Every millisecond feels like an hour. Your heart pounds in your ears so loudly that you can’t hear the scream of the creature before him as you take it down with a single blow.

In hindsight, you must have looked ridiculous. Overdramatic, even, considering you don’t have time to fuss over him as he lie bleeding like you assumed he would be. Your hands tremble in front of you as you watch him stand up from his crouched position. His pretty face is screwed up in a way that you first assumed meant great pain, but now you realize he’s just ? Surprised? Well, that makes two of you at least.

Astarion’s leather armor hits the dirt with a dull thud. With pursed lips and a bit of a hum, he’s lifting up the hem of his bloodied tunic. Pale fingers swipe thick crimson away from his belly to reveal the soft, unmarred skin that lay beneath. You nearly faint right then and there, and that asshole just laughs. Positively elated.

After a moment, a long moment, you start to laugh alongside him. It’s shaky with relief. Disbelief.

He plants a quick, cheeky kiss to the side of your head for your heroic efforts, anyway. You just learn to roll with it.

Maybe one day you walk into your room at the Elfsong, and nearly jump out of your skin when you find him sitting cross-legged on the ceiling. Just full on chilling, looking pleased as punch to have found something else he didn’t know was possible for him. You obviously just stand there and stare at him like ??? for a while. It’s endearing how happy he looks with that smug little smirk, pale curls wild and clothes sitting odd on his frame from the change in gravity.

When you ask, all he can really say is that it just kind of happened? That he very suddenly felt like being up, and logically that meant he should try crawling up the wall to satisfy that craving. He’d been up there for a couple hours before you showed up- even took a little bit of a rest to pass the time. You wish you were there to see his face when he found out- to hear the mad little giggles that spilled from his lips when he stood up from his scuttling and just hung upside down in disbelief because why in the hells didn’t he find out about this one sooner?

(Maybe if you ask nicely, he’ll bring you up there with him on his back just so you can see how strange everything looks from high up on the ceiling. Maybe you’ll use it as an opportunity to scare the ((figurative)) pants off of Gale when he eventually comes looking for you. Endless entertainment.)

Anyway, you feed the guy regular enough and I imagine there is so much to discover about him that the two of you will be entertained for years to come. Who knows, maybe one day you’ll wake up to a fluffy white bat flying circles around the ceiling of your bedroom, and at that point it won’t even be a real surprise to you.

#bg3 #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion headcanons #bg3 tav #astarion blurb #astarion fluff #astarion fic

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greenglowinspooks · 7 months

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(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent

—

Tw: vivisection mention (not in detail), bad Fenton parents

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 2 here) (Pt. 3 here)

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

It was a dark, cold, miserable night, and Scarecrow, Jonathan Crane, wanted nothing more than to be home, covered in blankets with the heater set to max as he worked on his most recent strain of fear toxin.

Instead he was at the docks, standing in as backup for the Penguin as he made a deal with some sleaze-bag smugglers. Something about some sort of body armor for his hired help. Crane hadn’t really paid much attention to the Penguin’s words, only caring enough to show up because of the reward.

But honestly, he couldn’t care less about the money at this point.

He was cold, and miserable, and his leg hurt something fierce (he’d had chronic pains ever since being mauled by Killer Croc some time ago), and he was so, so close to a breakthrough with his new toxin, and he really couldn’t stand the Penguin anyways. The only thing keeping him there was his reputation as a rogue.

Just as Crane was deciding that the whole ordeal wasn’t worth it, he heard the sound of a chase a few blocks down. With a deep, heavy sigh, he moved from the wall he had been leaning against, looming in the alleyway as he waited for the potential threat to reveal itself.

A few moments later, a boy came careening into the alleyway, sliding to a stop when he noticed the Scarecrow, his eyes growing impossibly wide. Beneath the mask, Jonathan grinned.

The boy swore, loudly, glancing between Scarecrow and the exit of the alleyway. As the echoing sound of footsteps grew closer, he chose to face the way he came, turning his back to Scarecrow.

What an idiotic way to get killed. Either the boy was a complete and utter fool, or there was something out there worse (to him, at least) than the Scarecrow.

Jonathan Crane tilted his head slowly, considering. He could just cut his losses and leave, Penguin be damned, or he could stay and see what had the boy so spooked.

Eventually, unfortunately enough, his curiosity won out. He shifted, bringing a hand to his side where he kept several canisters of fear toxin.

Crane had to bite back a groan when the boy’s pursuers entered the alleyway.

It was those damned idiots in white suits.

They had been tailing him for weeks now. They were easy enough to fight, but they were annoyingly persistent, and always seemed to have a way to find him. (Not to mention, the Riddler had strong opinions on their outfits, and if he had to hear the white-suit-in-Gotham rant one more time he was going to throttle him.)

Led by the men in white was a woman in a teal hazmat suit. Jonathan had seen her around, too, though less frequently than the others. He had honestly assumed that she was just a new C-tier rogue and avoided her like the plague.

Her eyes went wide as saucers when she saw Jonathan standing a few feet from the boy. No one moved a muscle.

“Danny,” the woman spoke softly. The boy, Danny, flinched, glancing between her and Scarecrow, “come on, we can talk about this. Your father and I only want to help you.”

He was running from his mother?

Scarecrow paused after that revelation, choosing to fully take in the boy’s appearance.

He was lean, almost gaunt, and wearing clothes several sizes too big for him, probably stolen. His entire body shook, from fear and cold both, and he clutched his stomach with one hand. At first, Scarecrow assumed that it was due to being out of breath, but as he looked closer he could see blood staining the dark fabric of the boy’s shirt.

He was injured, underweight, and running from his parents.

Something that felt a lot like rage swelled in Jonathan’s heart.

“Danny, you don’t get it! We’re so close now. We can fix you, and then we can go home, and everything can go back to normal,” she said, smiling in a way that was clearly supposed to be reassuring. She took a few steps forward, the men behind her clearly readying their weapons.

The boy backed away from his mother, inadvertently coming closer to Scarecrow.

He glanced up at Crane again, his blue eyes shining in fear, but not of him.

Sickening. Sickening.

In one fluid motion, Jonathan grabbed the boy by the wrist, pulling him behind him, and threw a large canister of fear gas into the group who had been chasing him.

The liquid in the container turned to gas as soon as it broke open, billowing out and filling half of the alleyway with a thick yellow smog.

The boy gasped, pulling his shirt over his face in a pathetic attempt to filter out the toxin. It would have to do, though, Scarecrow thought, rushing forward to force the boy’s aggressors to breathe in the gas.

The fight that the men put up was pitiful. The few individuals who didn’t breathe in the toxin immediately were clearly unused to fighting hand-to-hand, and dropped like flies in Scarecrow’s wake.

Just as the men began to spasm and shout in their terror, as if on cue, the familiar wail of police sirens reached the Scarecrow’s ears.

He heaved a heavy, irritated sigh, fingers twitching for a cigarette. He was trying to quit as of late, but he felt that after today, he might deserve one.

Though now was not the time to be thinking of cigarettes.

Jonathan approached the boy, mindful of any signs he might run off.

The boy didn’t seem to notice his approach in the slightest, just staring at the woman in the jumpsuit as she writhed on the ground.

Right. That would most likely be traumatic for a child to see, wouldn’t it?

Scarecrow moved in front of the boy, blocking his line of sight. The boy looked up at him now, his face completely blank.

“The police are on their way,” Scarecrow spoke, his voice low. The boy didn’t acknowledge him in any way.

“You don’t want to be here when they arrive, do you?”

After several moments pause, the boy shook his head slowly. He looked numb.

Dissociation, most likely.

“You’ll come with me, then.”

It was a statement, not a question, but he waited for the boy’s response regardless. As soon as he nodded in agreement, Jonathan lifted him up, carrying him out of the cold, miserable alleyway.

Scarecrow paused briefly to warn the Penguin of the incoming officers through the comm he had been given, and then he was off, weaving through the streets and alleyways towards his getaway car.

…

The drive back to his safe house was quiet. The boy didn’t look over at him once, instead opting to stare out ahead of him.

…

Luckily, they were able to make it back without detection. Jonathan ushered the boy into his small apartment, sitting him down on the dingy couch that had come with the lease.

“Wait here, alright?” Jonathan said, the boy nodding once in response.

With that, he retreated into the small kitchen, looking for some sort of warm beverage.

It was nearly three in the morning now, so coffee was out of the question. He was completely out of the hot chocolate he had bought for whenever Eddie or Harley came over for a visit, so that was out too.

He supposed the only option was his chamomile tea. Did teenagers like tea? He supposed it didn’t really matter, the kid was on the run from his parents in the house of a Gotham rogue. Surely he had bigger things to worry about.

Jonathan made the drinks quickly, leaving the kitchen with two mugs in hand. He gave one to the boy, who looked up at him in surprise, before settling into his own seat.

It was an incredibly comfortable old leather armchair that he had gotten some years ago and stubbornly held onto ever since. He usually had one of the rogues he was at least somewhat friendly with pick it up when he entered Arkham.

Whenever Eddie and Harley were over, they would call it his old man chair, and he would tell them to leave.

The two of them sat quietly for a while, drinking their tea slowly. It was clear that the boy was leaving whatever headspace he had slipped into, becoming more alert (and uncomfortable) by the second.

“So,” Crane began, pausing before speaking more quietly when he saw the boy flinch, “you knew them.”

It was not a question.

The boy nodded, curling in on himself. He held the mug close to his chest, no doubt soothed by the warmth.

“They’ve been following me around for some time now,” Crane continued, “and you’re going to tell me why.”

The boy looked up at him, a pained expression written all over his face.

“You won’t believe me,” he murmured, curling up even further.

His clothes were soaked. Jonathan should have put down a towel before letting him sit down.

“Sure I will,” he said, ignoring the blood and water seeping into his furniture.

The landlord would not be happy.

“It’s gonna sound crazy.”

“I’ve been to Arkham.”

The boy paused, before mumbling something quietly.

“Again? I couldn’t hear you.”

“I said,” the boy huffed, quickly changing his tone when he remembered who he was talking to, “they…think you’re a ghost.”

“A ghost,” Crane repeated flatly.

“I told you it was gonna sound crazy!” The boy protested, before wrapping his arms around himself.

“Well,” Jonathan hummed, “it’s not the strangest thing I’ve heard in Gotham. Explain it to me.”

The boy paused, glancing up at his face, no doubt looking for some sign of mockery. He found none.

Then, he opened his mouth, and explained everything he could.

Ghosts, the portal to another world, the GiW, his parents. It was all incredibly far-fetched, but also far too consistent to be made up on the spot, and Crane could tell that the boy genuinely believed what he was saying.

“…but, if you don’t believe me, fine. I know it probably sounds stupid and fake,” he mumbled, looking away.

“I’ll believe you for now,” Crane said. The boy whipped his head up, staring at him in shock.

“If I do trust that what you’re saying is true, though, then why do I show up on their equipment as a ghost? I’m not dead, and never have been.”

“Um,” the boy hummed, looking somewhat nervous. Understandable, really.

“Well, have you by any chance been involved in any lab accidents recently..?”

Jonathan Crane froze, his face dropping. The boy noticed his change in demeanor, flinching slightly.

“Penguin,” he hissed out, his voice slightly inhuman. “Cobblepot, that motherfucker.”

“Wait—calm down! The angrier you get, the easier you’ll show up on the radar!”

Crane glared down at the boy, seething with rage. He once again flinched, looking away from him. With an extraordinary amount of effort, Jonathan slumped back down in his chair, breathing deeply in an effort to calm himself.

When he cracked his eyes back open, the boy was openly staring at him, curiosity written all over his face.

As soon as he noticed Crane looking back at him, he glanced away, straightening in his seat.

“Well, you’ve given me a lot to think about. In the morning, we’re going to discuss this in a lot more detail,” he said, standing up with slow movements. The boy stood as well, hands clasped together.

“For now, though, you’re going to let me take a look at that wound of yours, and then you’re going to take a shower and go to bed.”

The rest of the night went rather quickly.

The boy was rather hesitant to show him his wound, instead assuring him that it had been properly sewn up and that he was fine. Crane was having none of it, though, and gave him a once-over just in case.

It was, very clearly, the kind of cut used during an autopsy. Danny didn’t offer any information, so Crane had to assume that he was either back from the dead, or he had been vivisected. Either was possible in Gotham.

At the very least, Danny hadn’t lied about the stitches, and the wound was already beginning to heal.

With that, Danny showered quickly (he leapt out with a shriek the moment the hot water ran out), and went to bed in borrowed clothes without much complaint.

Thus, Jonathan was left with cold water for his shower, and slept on the still-damp couch so that the boy could have a bed to sleep in. Somehow, he found that he didn’t mind as much as he thought he would.

#dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp fic #liminal scarecrow #AWWAWAW IM DONE #FINALLY #this was super fun to write btw #edited while I was sick in bed so if the paving’s still bad there’s not much I can do about it HDKFNSJDJF #*pacing

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cats-obsessions · 6 months

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If Durge Could Recruit Gortash Headcanons:

Once agreeing to ally with Gortash, Durge can convince him to join the party, but only if they agree to kill Raphael. If Karlach is in the party, this may be done in exchange for Gortash to fix her heart if Durge can pass the persuasion roll on Karlach.

• Upon joining the party, Gortash shows up in a more practical armor set, still gold and black but not as decorated as his robe. There’s scrapes and dents on parts of it, clearly having been worn before. Durge can ask him about it in conversation and discover he has chosen to wear the same armor as he did when they robbed Mephistopheles Vault. He never repaired it and can tell a story for each scratch.

• He does a lot to try to jog Durge’s memories, and it works a some degree. We hear little stories around the city, some more suggestive than others.

• Old habits never die. He’s constantly touching Durge, always walks next to them, has a lot of strong opinions but will only concede to Durge.

• Durge persuasion rolls on Gortash are DC10 and under. Anyone else it’s DC30.

• He absolutely compliments Durge a little too much. And he’s always the first at Durge’s side after the fighting ends. Grumbles if he has to rez anyone else but dotes on Durge.

• Gets along well enough with Astarion, Shadowheart, and Laezel. Respects Minthara and Gale, sees them both as potential allies if they know their places. Absolute bitch to Wyll. Actively the number one Ravengard hater.

• If Durge can convince Karlach to stick around, she will only be in the same party as Gortash once or twice. She’ll confront Durge about it after and either has to be kept separate or leaves the party.

• If taken to Astarion and Shadowhearts’ personal quests, he’ll be surprisingly respectful, and will tell them they’d make good Banites, particularly if Shadowheart resists Shar. (Kinda think he would tell Astarion not to Ascend but for his own advantage of not having to deal with an Ascended Vampire and not wanting the hells to gain power from 7,000 souls)

• Random gifts pop up in Durge’s inventory. He says nothing about them. One is definitely the hand of an enemy.

• When in the House of Hope, Gortash will only allow Durge to enter the prison with him until the warden is dead. He’ll tell them everything, but won’t let the others see it.

• Killing Raphael is very emotional. He’s proud, happy, relieved, but being there shakes him up. Durge can hug him in private when they talk about it.

• If Durge chooses to save Hope, she tries to hug ‘little Enver, all grown up’ before they leave. He does not like it, but part of him is happy to see her free.

• Durgetash romance can initiate after Raphael is dead. Sceleritas is so fuckin' pissed. Like, he kinda ships it, but he CANNOT handle Durge getting labotomized again for this Banite fool.

• He has random little personal quests and pop-up events like his formal coronation celebration ball, taking Durge to a fancy dinner, dealing with fans, and assassinating a rude journalist who called him not-so-young-and-handsome.

• If taken to Lady Jannath's estate, she flirts with him. Durge has an option to stab her for this- just once. Just a little. She'll be fine! Gortash approves. He apologizes to her, but he's absolutely into it.

• His two allied pathways at the end are to remain fully evil and control the brain/Faerun with Durge or absolutely still be, ya know, Gortash but destroy the brain and become archduke without the tadpoles' help as he’s now viewed as the city’s hero. This is his least evil option and requires a Durge romance or at least a Durge that will remain by his side regardless and saving Hope as pivotal moments.

• Durge's alliance or resistance of Bhaal would significantly influence this. Resisting Bhaal lowers the DC on any persuasion. Failing the duel with Orin would block any option except controlling the brain with Gortash as he sees it as the only way to protect Durge. Because controlling the absolute would offer them a large enough following to grant them literal ascension to godhood, freeing Durge from Bhaal's control. Plus, you know killing a god would only inflate Gortash's ego more, and that would be his new goal.

#This got so long but I have so many thoughts #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #durgetash #the dark urge #dark urge #durge #enver gortash #lord enver gortash #headcanon #cats thoughts #honestly think hed be down for most quests #but like for the sake of order rather than helping people #like if they let a hag ruin their life thats on them #but he cant have a hag in HIS city #Saverok and Orin would throw SUCH a fit if you brought him to the temple #it would be delicious

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sweatervest-obsessed · 5 months

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Hangovers and Hickeys

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: no idea rn lmao probably like 700

A/N: some Spence content before the new year (on the western calendar). Hope you all get to enjoy the day!

“Good morning sunshine.”

You winced at the sheer volume of his voice. “If I could, id shove you off of the roof Derek Morgan.”

“Fun night?”

You snorted and finally lifted your head off of the desk. “You should be a profiler.”

That caused Derek to laugh, which made you wince and close your eyes. The sunglasses perched on your nose were supposed to be helping. They weren’t.

“That’s a nice hickey you got there.”

You grunted in response and tried to adjust your sweater collar so it would cover the hickey you missed this morning when you didn’t look in the mirror. You had basically rolled out of bed, and into your car to make sure you got to work on time.

“Who gave it to you?” “Why don’t you use your super duper profiling skills to deduce it or whatever Sherlock shit you wanna do.”

Derek snorted and shook his head. ”or you could just….tell me.”

“Don’t worry about it Derek.” You grumbled.

When Derek realized he wasn’t going to get any answers out of you about it, he decided he was going to change tactics.

“Moving on from Boy Wonder?” It was no secret that you had a crush on a certain nerdy doctor. And so Derek tried to use this knowledge to his advantage.

You crossed your arms and just raised your eyebrows. “I’m not dignifying that with a response,”

“Pretty sure that was my answer.” He chuckled, sitting down in his chair and swiveling to look at you.

When you decided to just ignore Derek, and face your desk, he piped up again. “Where is he anyways?” “No idea.”

It was like he was waiting for his cue from you. Spencer pushed open the doors to the bull pen and strolled in. He had his purple scarf around his neck, over his new coat that Henry (JJ) had gotten him for Christmas. It was a beautiful grey pea coat that kept him warm during these freezing winter months. Spender was carrying a tray with two coffees on it and what seemed like a bag from McDonalds, which seemed to be for you, since he was headed in your direction.

The smell of the food caused you to groan with joy and smile at the man walking towards you.

“My knight in shining armor.” You muttered as he placed the whole tray in front of you. You placed a kiss on his cheek hasilty, causing him to blush a little.

“I got hashbrowns from both McDonald’s and Dunkin’, a little smorgasbord of grease for your pallet.” He whispered before taking one of the cups out of the tray.

“I’m going to marry you Doctor Spencer Reid.” You muttered, digging into the bag and pulling out one of the McDonald’s hash browns and biting into it. The groan you let out leaned a little on the pornographic side, which made Derek raise his eyebrows at the sound you let out, and then at tinge of pink on Spencer’s cheeks.

You continued eating, clueless about the silent interrogation happening to your left, enjoying every single bite and sip of your hangover cure.

“Derek I can hear you thinking and it’s making my head throb.”

Derek’s eyes snapped back to you, as your figure swiveled in the chair to face him, casually munching on some of the fries, in a completely different mood then from two minutes ago before Spencer had walked in the room.

“Sorry your highness. I’m just curious as to why Boy Genius here is bringing you hangover cures.”

“Well it’s his fault I’m this fucked up so he owes me.” You grumbled, swiveling around in your chair to face your desk. You pulled your lap top out of your canvas bag and started to set up for your work day.

“Wha-how is it his fault.”

That’s when Spencer turned bright red and tried to change the conversation, or at least get out of it. “I—well it’s not…I….hotch is…”

Spencer basically ran across the bullpen and up the stairs to Hotch’s office, avoiding the conversation he almost just had.

“I don’t think you wanna know.” You smirked and bit into the muffin from Dunks that Spencer had got you, not looking at the man behind you.

“I’m starting to think that too.” His eyes narrowed and he looked between where Spencer had run off to, and you.

Something was going on between the two of you, and Derek Morgan was going to figure it out.

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eyebagshawty · 5 months

Note

Hello! May I request Lae’zel, Karlach, and whoever else you want to write being washed by the reader. I find the idea of bathing and taking care of someone to be really sweet.

Headcanons + Blurbs for Being Taken Care of/Washed by Tav

A/N: Hello! Sorry for just getting around to requests and other things now, the end of the semester got pretty crazy (at least I passed everything !) and now I’m finally able to focus and get out of this rut. Thank you for your patience and I hope you like it!

Characters: Lae’zel, Karlach, Shadowheart, Wyll, Gale, Astarion, Halsin

Part 2

Lae’zel

• When you first offer to wash up with Lae’zel she’s mostly confused and kind of annoyed - there’s already a tadpole in her head, and that’s enough lack of privacy.

• “Chk. At my crèche these things are normal. However, you istiks insist on attaching emotional meaning to such things… no.”

• However the more she thinks about it… you two have shared a bed more than once. She respects you more than the others; when she tells you to speak she also makes sure you know she will listen. She supposes that maybe connection wouldn’t be so bad with you of all people.

• She just walks up to your tent, grabs your hand, and says “Fine.”

You meet her at the waterfront and- is she nervous? Her gaze wavers between you and the night sky, feet firmly planted into the ground and arms across her armored chest. You get most of your armor off, but that last clasp just has to give you trouble. “Lae’zel, could you help me out with this?” It’s silent for a tension filled moment, and you’re about to ask again.

“Chk.” She walks over and with ease undoes the clasp. She’s back to feet firmly planted and arms crossed, only looking at the sky. You unfurl your hair from its practical braid and keep your eyes on her. “I wish I could show you the Tears.” Your eyes widen when you think about the first night she invited you to her bunk, how hard getting used to this unusual plane must be for her. You place your hand on her shoulder and she tenses, but relaxes after she’s brought back to the moment.

“I wish I could see them.” You whisper to her. You ‘help’ her out of her armor (she’s just letting you at this point, she could’ve been out of it in 30 seconds flat) and you both hiss as you enter the cold water. After a soft and asking touch, she allows you to undo her hair and wash it. You gather her hair gently into your hands and have her lean back to the water. As she does, you can see that she clearly hasn’t been this vulnerable in maybe ever. You give a soothing stroke to her scalp and she hums. As you lather the looted soap into her hair and scratch your nails lightly, you hear her sniffle.

“Lae’zel… are you alright?” You stop your ministrations but keep a hand cupped at the back of her neck.

“My-my queen is false. I will never ascend. Tsk’va, I’m an enemy to my kin. I don’t want to be on this plane anymore… I miss the astral. I must fight but I do not know how to keep going.” She quickly wipes her tears and looks at you. “Speak, source of my bruises. I will always listen.”

With her hair looking clean, you slowly move the bar between her shoulder blades and move it in soothing circles. You kiss her temple. “My love, this situation is quite a mess. Tadpoles in our heads, endless injuries, and I cannot imagine what this world must be like for someone who has never been in it. We will get through this. I’m here. I’m yours.” With that she shows an inkling of a smile as she stares into the water in thought. You continue to bathe her with soft kisses in between every swipe of soap along with words of reassurance. You are hers, the source of her bruises.

Karlach

•Once Karlach is able to touch people again, she is ecstatic to wash up with you. She’s barely been able to keep her hands off of you since, so when you offer she squeals.

• “Of fucking course soldier! Who knows, we might even be able to turn that river into a hot spring.” Her eyebrows waggle and your face goes beet red.

• When you meet her she definitely cannonballs into the water and complains when it’s shallow

• “Aw hells, that’s gonna be a kink to work out in the morning.”

• You guys don’t bathe for a good 15 minutes, she’s just kissing you and rubbing your sides and it’s so SWEET

She breaks away from the kiss and wades further into the water. You grab the soap from the grass and follow after, settling your arms around her neck and wrapping your legs around her waist. Her fingers come up to pinch your nose and she flops backwards into the water, leaving both of you sopping wet when she comes back up. “Gods Karlach you’re gonna kill me,” you sputter as you cough out the bit of water that got in your mouth. She pats your back and lets out a full bellied laugh.

“That’s right soldier get it all out,” she grins. You shoot her a playful glare. When your collective giggles finally die down, you bring the bar of soap up to her hair and begin lathering and spreading it with your fingers. Her eyes close with a serene smile. You make sure to get the area around her horns, and she kisses your cheeks as you take care of them. “You know… after Gortash. After… Avernus. Nobody has taken care of me like this in so long. So fucking long.” She sighs as you bring the bar to her neck and chest, taking away the near pints of blood the party had spilled earlier.

“I’ll make sure it never is that way again. I love you, and no matter what happens you deserve to be free from all of this.” You meet her gaze as the bar moves to her shoulders, and you see fear.

“Tav… my heart.” She lets out a choked sob and a tear streams down her cheek that you immediately wipe away. “I finally have you after so godsdamn long, and I don’t want to lose what’s most important. Not again. I’m just so scared.” She breaks down into tears and her skin heats up warmly under your skin. You crush her into your chest and she buries her face into your neck, where you rub soothing circles into her scalp along with kisses.

“You won’t lose me. Whether it be in Baldurs Gate or Avernus, I’ll be here.” She lifts her head and you kiss her nose, where a little flame sparks and then snuffs out. She lets out a soft chuckle as her mood cools. “I promise to you we’re gonna kill that pathetic little fucker and anyone who helped him.” Her lips meet yours and you kiss back with eager passion. As you pull away you go back to soothingly rubbing the bar across the planes of her back.

“Wait- didn’t you grab this soap off a dead guy?! GROSS soldier!”

Shadowheart

•She immediately says no

•Not because she doesn’t trust you, she just can’t swim and finds it a bit embarrassing for her powerful presence

•After you finally convince her it’ll only be where she can stand, she agrees.

• “A bottle of wine, my lover, and a nice grassy beach? It’ll do,” she gives a sarcastic but playful smile.

•You two get plastered on Chultan Fireswill before you hop in

After one last swig from the bottle Shadowheart takes your hand and leads you into the water. You stop at around three feet deep and get to your knees. Her braid whips around her shoulder as she serenely begins to scrub away blood with the soap bar. “I love this silver color so much. It illuminates you as some would say,” you utter softly, and she chuckles. She slowly takes her hair out of the braid’s confines and your jaw drops at how long and pretty it is as it flows down her back. You look pointedly to the bar of soap. “May I?”

She squints at you in playful suspicion then smiles. “You may.” You lather the soap into her hair and she lays her head back into your chest as you scratch lovingly at her scalp. She brings her hand up to your cheek behind her and whispers, “The moon looks beautiful tonight.” As soon as the words leave her lips the wound in her hand opens. She hisses and sits back up. As she looks back to you, her gaze looks broken. “After everything I’ve been through with the dark lady, I don’t think this will ever go away.”

You inch your hand closer to hers, placing your pinkies over each other. “It’s horrible… what she did to you.” She grins bitterly but moves to interlace your fingers, rubbing the back of your hand with her thumb.

“I just wish I could remember any of that horrible stuff. I want to be angry. But mostly I’m only numb. She was… she was everything to me. And although it is horrible yes, it’s all so new. Being away from her.”

She nods in confirmation as you move the bar of soap to her chest, the motions soothing her and making her eyes soften as she watches you. “I understand,” you whisper as you lean up to kiss the shell of her pointed ear. That’s all that needs to be said, Shadowheart thinks to herself. You’ve become more than her greatest companion in her eyes, she trusts you’ll be there through thick and thin. “We’ll just have to make new memories,” you smile, and as you finish rubbing the soap across her body you throw it back to the grass, pulling her into a loving kiss as she wraps her arms around your neck.

Wyll

•When you offer to wash up with Wyll a MASSIVE blush runs across his cheeks

• “Are you sure? ImsurethehornsfreakyououtandtheresbumpsinotherstrangeplacesIdontwantyou-“ he basically starts talking at a mile a minute about how it might be awkward for you

• “Wyll honey, I can just meet you there while you’re already in if that’s more comfortable for you” and you give him a sweet smile and his face goes red AGAIN

By the time you get to the waterfront, you see Wyll propped against a rock, the water resting at waist level with his arms propping him up. You throw him a shy smile. He has a sly grin and nods your way, beckoning you towards him. You twirl your finger and mouth, “Turn around!” He lets out a silent chuckle and turns his head towards the mountains beyond the lake.

You slide out of your evening clothes and grab the soap bar laying on top of your towel. As you wade further into the water you let out a shriek — it wasn’t winter right? Wyll turns around and laughs at the sight; you’re rubbing your arms with chattering teeth. “It is quite frigid tonight, huh? I think I’ve got a cantrip in me for a special someone.”

You look around, bemused, as to how spells could possibly help you out here. Wyll shoots a fireball into the depths of the water, your skin instantly warming up. However, it doesn’t last long as the lake cools back down to freezing. You swim at the speed of light over to Wyll and wrap your arms around his neck. “Sorry, I just need something. By the nine hells you think a blizzard would be rolling through,” you laugh. When you’ve warmed up enough, you take the bar of soap and gingerly begin to wash and lather his hair and horns, kissing the scars across his face.

Wyll looks down at you, surprise slathered across his face as you finish up with his head and move to his broad shoulders, kissing everything infernal you can find. “Tav…you like this?” He brings up a hand to your cheek as you continue your ministrations. You cup water in your hands and gently rinse away the soap on his chest.

“Of course I do, Mizora could make you look fully cambion and I would still have the strongest of feelings for you. You’ll always be my dashing, strong, Blade of Frontiers,” you peck his neck with each last word, and he laughs, kissing your forehead with a soft cherishing smile.

Gale

• When you offer to Gale, he gives you the most devious look you’ve ever seen

• He hasn’t been around others for so long till now, much less bathing with anyone, and he’s grown pretty strong feelings for you so he love love loves this idea

• “My dear Tav I would love to! You know how I enjoy your body after a battle, all the sweat covering your skin and the flush of your cheeks”

• He’s not your quietest companion so everybody does hear this and everybody does let out an exasperated groan

• Your face flushes even further than when you asked him and you squeak out an okay and run to your tent

When you meet up with Gale at the waterfront, his tunic is already off, showing his surprisingly wonderful muscles. He kisses you upon greeting, and helps you out of your evening clothes with a soft caress here and there on every part of your body. You grab your soap and lead him into the water, the water being just warm enough for your plans.

He gathers you into his lap, his cheeks a light red as he grins up at you. You lather the soap and scrub it into his hair, listening to his groans and praises as you work. You kiss his cheeks as you move to his chest, and he finally opens his eyes again, looking up at you with those big round puppy eyes.

“This is surprisingly wonderful. I remember doing things like this for her, running water through her hair and lathering the finest oils onto her skin, but she never once did anything for me.” You stop your work, looking up to his eyes with an expression of shock and sadness. His eyes bore just as strongly into yours, and his thumbs rub circles into your hips.

“Gale… you are worthy of being loved. What she did to you wasn’t right — it never was, even from the beginning if I’m getting my facts straight. She isolated and took from you. I never want you to feel like that with me.” You kiss his cheeks and his hairline, and his lips follow yours, chasing to press them together.

They finally do, and his kiss is filled with eager passion, pouring every thought he’s had about you into you. When you pull away he lets out a soft whine, bringing his hand to your neck. “I’m in love with you, darling. And I know and trust that you feel the same, any need of the tadpole be damned.” You smile and begin to continue rubbing the soap into his stomach, but he stops you. He brings his lips to yours once more, and he rolls you over onto your back in the water, letting you prove how loved he is.

Astarion

• His eyes go soft and round when you ask him

• “Really?? Little old me??” Even after the graveyard and all your reassurances, he’s still moving towards actual coupley things

• “You’ve never wanted a luxurious meal and bath together my love?” You take his hand stroke his fingers with care

• If he could blush he would, but he just sputters with the goblet of wine he has

• He collects himself back into charming mode, “Well then, I thought you’d never ask. Come find me when you’re ready.” He kisses your cheeks and literally just walks off into the woods, leaving you standing at the entrance to your shared tent looking absolutely befuddled

When you find him at the hot spring the camp had discovered last night, he’s already in the water with his eyes closed angling his head towards the night sky. His ears twitch as he hears you begin to take off your evening clothes, and his eyes open to look at you with a rakish smile. “Why hello, my treasure. The water feels amazing.” You smile, grab your soap and head in. Immediately you groan with relief, the hot water soothing the aches from your nasty fight with some undead earlier.

Astarion moves closer to you, taking the most warmth he can get. You bring your arms around his neck and just stay there for a minute. He hugs you back, burying his face into the crook in your shoulder. You fingers lightly stroke against his raised scars in a loving motion, and after his breath hitches he melts into your touch, practically purring as you lavish him with affection. When you pull away his loss of heat is devastating. However, he calms down when you begin to wash his hair, scratching at his scalp and running the hot water over his curls.

“I don’t think I’ve ever let anyone touch my hair like this,” he mumbles. You kiss his cheek and move the bar to his chest and shoulders, working out any aches and pains he might have.

“Well, now you have me my love,” you whisper, kissing the tip of his ear.

“I just can’t believe that after everything you want to stay. The sky is beautiful tonight, but it is all I will ever know once this mindflayer business is said and done with.” His words are bitter, almost as if he is angry with himself.

“It is all we will know my love. And I’m actually quite the night owl. As much as I love our ragtag group, I’m quite introverted around most of society. Everything is fine,” you kiss his bite marks, the hollows of his cheeks, and finally his lips. He kisses you back fervently, pouring care he was never able to show for anyone else previously. You pull away and finish gently washing the rest of his body in silence. As you prop your neck to the side for him, he looks at you with an expression akin to great offense.

“Darling! I thought you knew me well enough to know the bath is never over after only soap.” He waves his hand over to the small crate of oils he’d brought to the spring. “Now, I’m feeling lavender tonight. How about you my love?”

You give him a beaming smile, wading out of the spring to retrieve it. “Sounds wonderful, my heart.”

Halsin

• You don’t even really have to ask him, he’s just joined you most of the time to protect you

• He doesn’t like you venturing out in to the woods by yourself, because Silvanus help him a lot of people are after you guys

• “Of course my heart — Scratch is licking at his paw a bit so I need to inspect that, but I will join you in just a couple of minutes.”

• With an encouraging woof from Scratch, you caress his shoulder and go to collect your things

You’ve stuffed all the stuff needed for the bath into two large bags, your arms making you crouch downward with the weight. As Halsin walks to meet you he sees this, chuckles, and wild shapes into his bear form. He takes the bag handles into his mouth and nudges your leg with his snout. You pet his head and hop onto his back, him letting you ride on it as you both make your way to the water.

On arrival, you hop off and he drops the items into the grass. As his bear form is used most in combat, you grab out a bottle of soap you’d nicked off of that crazy dog handler in Rivington. You drizzle it all over his fur and gather some of the river water into a bucket. You begin scrubbing the soap into his fur, and he lets out cute little groans and growls. When you finish you dump the bucket of water onto him, and he lets out a noise of surprise. He turns back into regular Halsin, his hair soaked down against his head with playful exasperation.

“My heart, you did not need to release the full power of a waterfall onto me I assure you.” You laugh and beckon him into the water. He wades in and smothers you with kisses.

“Halsin please! I need to breathe!” You giggle, pushing at his chest. He finally settles down, pulling you into his lap.

“Thank you for helping me with the shadow curse. Thaniel he… he needed us. He needed you.” He settles into a somber smile, nuzzling his nose against your temple.

You trace your fingers across his chest, leaving kisses that follow. “I knew the lands needed our help, and I’m glad he’s free from the curse. All we have left is this elder brain, and we can go back to the grove and live in peace.”

He tilts your chin up with his hand, and looks tenderly into your eyes. “I would be blessed by Silvanus to spend my thousands of years with you.” He crashes his lips into yours, one of many you’ll share over the passage of time.

#astarion x reader #baldurs gate 3 #fanfic #astarion ancunin #bg3 #lae’zel x reader #lae'zel #karlach x reader #karlach #shadowheart x reader #Shadowheart #wyll x reader #wyll ravengard #gale x reader #gale dekarios #halsin x reader #halsin #bg3 romance

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gremlingottoosilly · 6 months

Text

That Unwanted Animal [COD Fantasy AU] CursedKnight!Ghost x fem!Reader

Ghost was cursed ever since his king helped him get back to life from his grave. A stench of death, strong and inescapable, renders him unable to find a woman who will be willing to bed him. What will happen when he finally finds a perfect mate? CW and Tags: Dub-con, power imbalance, Medieval Fantasy AU, knight!Ghost, servant!Reader, sex work, brothels, dub-con kissing and touching, obsessive Ghost, dark Ghost, basically Ghost finds a girl and forces her to be his, Ghost is a half-dead resurrected knight, soft reader, submissive Reader.

AO3 Word Count: 2209

“I won’t go to him, he smells!”

“Drop the act, princess, not even half of our guests reek of anything more than their drinks and foul meat.”

“You know how he smells, Katherine. You know what he is.” “What he is, is a client. Rich one. Do you wish to moan under the belly of another failing merchant? Or a peasant’s dick is more to your liking?” “I bring this place more than half of its earnings! I won’t bed a man who has barely got out of his grave and should be put back!” Ghost sighs, his head pressed against the wooden wall. For a brothel, this place has remarkably thin walls. For a brothel, girls out here have remarkably potent noses – and acquired tastes for anything that doesn’t taste like a man who was brought back to life with dead souls still clinging onto every inch of his very being.

For a man of his regals – the blessed knight, the cursed knight, the kiss-your-enemies-goodnight, the spill-your-blood-he might, he has a particular choice in the brothel he tried to entertain himself with. Not like any willing woman would bed him without a sum of gold enough to feed a family for months – and not like he stood low enough to force himself on poor servants of his castle, bringing his dignity and family name down with each handmaiden he tried to grope while on meeting with the king.

“Do you think he is really dead?” “Dead man wouldn’t need a cunt to drown himself in. He had to have something working.” “Maybe he likes to watch? Or to hurt.” “Maybe, we can’t afford to turn him down, princess. Drop your act before he is willing to burn us down for refusing him.” “Well, I heard he went through every brothel in town. Not a single soul bedded him!” “I heard he doesn’t even like girls. Has his royal knight by his side all day.” “He came alone.” “He will be coming alone for the rest of his life with a smell like this!” “Dark magic. King should have known to not trust the Empire and their lurkings.” “Having a blessed knight is good, no? We’re not at war.” “Cursed knight is good in your army, not your bed. But if you are so willing…”

He hears women – from the madam of this fine place, a woman of fine manners, exquisite figure, and the way of looking at him that almost convinces that she doesn’t want to press her fingers against her nose, blocking the smell of death that follows him ever since he became…that. He hears girls of not-so-fine manners, with fine bodies and perfect pretty faces, gentle hands that don’t know about the trials of war. He remembers the way they looked at him – the way they always looked at him.

Scary, horrendous, dangerous. A skull mask and dark tendrils of smoke follow his body, the Grim Reaper himself embedded in his dark armor. No matter how many perfumes he uses, no matter how many washes per day he forces himself onto, nothing can hide the stench of death. He thought he’d be fine with it as long as his battle brothers were with him – as long as he was with them.

Then he got lonely.

Finding a lay in the brothel would be a scandal for a man of his status – but Simon Riley is no man. Not anymore, at least.

“I bet he wears a mask because he is hideous.” “Maybe he is just wounded?” “What kind of wound would make him hide his face while not being hideous?” “Maybe, he just doesn’t want to show his face here.” “No use. By the dawn, all women in the capital will know about great lord Riley, refuced at every brothel.” “What if he kills us?” “What if he burns us?” “What if he…” “Let the servant bring him tea. Make her useful.” Before he could react – as if eavesdropping on a bunch of whores was something of a pleasant chore he was dealing with – a door to his room had opened. Girl, in much simpler clothes than the ones that courtesans were wearing. With a tea tray in her shaky hands, grabbing the poor thing like there was no tomorrow. Huh. Perhaps, with a mug like his as her client, there is no tomorrow for a poor girl.

Ghost sits on the bed, large, muscular legs spread, his dick swaying with attention the longer he is looking at your face. He can’t be picky, not in his state as a not-dead not-man, but he has to admit that you’re pretty. Without all the mannerisms of a prostitute, you look like a poor deer stuck in the predator’s den. Your hands are shaking – but he looks at your face, having no shame in drinking up your expression like a vampire – and he didn’t once saw you wince at the smell. Hm. Must be potent tea you’re serving.

— I didn’t ask for the tea.

Rude, as always – he didn’t come here to be ridiculed by poor attempts at pleasing him without a girl under him, getting her pretty legs open for his cock. He didn’t intend to come here and listen to all of the workers laughing at him like he was a monster – yet, he can’t leave now, his wounded ego grows into something ugly.

— Most of our clients prefer to drink this before the…act. It makes them more potent, as they say.

His cock didn’t have any warm body to dump his semen in years. He doesn’t need tea to make him hard – he sees the glimpse of your skin under those simple robes of yours, and he can already feel it stir, standing up for attention.

— You don’t sound too certain. Your client must not drink it then.

— I…I am not a prostitute, sir. Merely a servant.

He knows already – your makeup is too plain, your manners are off, your clothes are simple grey wool with not a dash of color. If you were his – as a prostitute, a wife, a lover – he would bring you something much brighter and skimpier. You’d look good in silks, he thinks.

Not like you’d allow him to bring you home – not willingly, at least.

— So I figured, love. You’re pretty enough to be one, that’s clear.

“You’re pretty enough to be a prostitute” is a compliment that only sounds good in the head of a man who hasn’t talked sweetly to a woman in ages. His whole life, perhaps, exchanging the embrace of a lady with tight hugs of the war.

— You’re flattering me, sir.

— Bloody hell, woman. Not a flattery if that’s the truth.

— If you say so.

You shift under his gaze like a rabbit in front of an apex predator. Ghost doesn’t want to force any woman to sleep with him – but he looks at the sway of your chest, at the softness of your hips, at the way you tug and scratch on the rough fabric of your skirt as you’re too nervous to look at him…

He must contain himself.

— Why you work as a servant?

— I…tried to be a prostitute, sir. Most clients here don’t like it when you’re not…

He slowly rocks his body closer to you, his head almost laying on your shoulder. He saw the way you looked at him as he leaned to you – you’re surprised, scared, but not disgusted. your nose didn’t twitch a single time, and he is sure that no tea would ever make you this blind to the stench of death lingering on your shoulder now.

There must be something wrong with you – and he wants to save you like a rare treasure because of it.

— Most clients here don’t like what, luv?

— I…have damage, sir.

So he figured. Just didn’t exactly know what you have.

— What is it?

— A…after a bad cold, my sense of smell…never returned. Not for the last three years.

— You don’t smell anythin’? Must be bloody hard.

— It is. But…I manage. As much as I can.

He slowly drapes his hand over your shoulder – you wince at the touch. He thinks of the madam of your fine establishment. The woman didn’t seem the type to beat her girls, but you had such a shy, scared expression as he started to touch you, he can’t wait to burn this fucking place to the ground. Maybe spare a few of your friends if you’d ask him nicely. You won’t be working here again, ever – that much he can be sure of.

— Doin’ a good job, love.

— I hope so, sir.

He drags his hand on your face, squeezing the soft skin of your cheek. You’re adorable – servants shouldn’t be so pretty, it makes him feel bad, it makes him sinful. He should try to hit on the girls who actually work here – not the poor soul that as sent here to bring him here, as a little lam sacrificed to a vicious god.

— You don’t smell me, then?

— I don’t smell anything, my lord.

He chuckles, but your pained expression only makes him chuckle more. Poor thing, living in a place like this without a sense of smell – he can’t believe how you could survive without the smell of heavy incense and creams that all of the whores were using. He loves it when a pretty girl is making herself even prettier – makeup, all of those little elixirs they are putting on their faces, the flowery smells that make his rotting existence a bit easier. It never worked on him, on his disintegrating skin and stench that followed him everywhere – but then it dawned on him.

You have such an adorable, shy smile and a small posture, playing with the edges of your clothes like a girl who is extremely embarrassed to be in a room with a man of his position. But women aren’t shy in his presence, not anymore – they are disgusted, horrified, they want to put their noses into little candy boxes and smell roses just to get rid of the smell.

But you, adorable creature, aren’t disgusted. Hell, how he missed a pretty girl being so shy around him.

Ghost kisses you before he can think of anything else. Before he could give you space to escape, to come to your senses and understand what kind of man he is. Broken, wounded, pushed to the cage, and locked with a key dangling from the side – god knows, Simon Riley isn’t a good man, never tried to be. Devil knows, he will drag you to the grave with him.

Your lips are soft, untouched, you smell of cleaning supplies and sweet tea. Your hair smells like roses and dust, your hands are covered in little scabs – probably from the days spent cleaning and doing the hard work. He will make sure you will never have to work again, not with your hands, at least – he will kiss your callouses and nourish the skin into something delicate, fragile, to the smell of home he lost long ago.

Your mouth tastes like heaven, and Ghost isn’t a man who deserves to push this angel further, isn’t a man who deserves to have a pretty girl moaning under him. He makes you cry, he terrifies you, he kisses you relentlessly and can feel the way your skin burns, tears streaming down your face. If he was a better man, he would oblige to your hands, pushing him away, your mouth is trying to cry for help.

Simon Riley isn’t a good man, and he pushes you on your back, firms hands on your back, on your hips, touching, groping, feeling the skin of a somewhat willing woman. You’re scared, but you should know the kind of job girls here are doing – he didn’t pay all of this money for charity projects, after all. As much as he would pay even more gold just to take you away, to push your legs apart in a scenery much nicer than a room in a brothel. You deserve a real bed, a nice dress that he can rip away from you,

All you get is his hands on your body, ripping your simple skirt apart because he can’t wait to get to the soft skin underneath. He looks at you, precious girl, as adorable as you are, and can’t resist kissing you, stealing breath from your skin. When he finally hears you moan, when his hand goes to grab the softness between your legs – moist, prepared, smelling of roses and arousal, of all things sweet and sinful – all of his sense of self-control shatters.

He will take you on the floor of this room – over and over, claim you as his little maiden, his favorite girl, until he is sure his cursed, rotten seed has filled you to the brim. He will take you away, bringing as much money to your madam as he can manage, buying you all for himself – taking you as his prized possession for the new castle he was ordered to as a lord knight.

Ghost will make you his, hells and heaven be damned.

You cry, but he knows you’ll come around. And he can be very, very patient.

#cod #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #yandere cod #ghost x reader #yandere ghost #simon ghost riley #ghost #dark ghost #dark cod #fantasy #yandere male #male yandere

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suugarbabe · 10 months

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Softer Side

Pairing: Mattheo Ridde x Ravenclaw y/n

Warning: Fluff

When others asked, you told them you weren’t sure when it happened. You weren’t sure when you stopped thinking Mattheo was just an ignorant prick and instead started defending him when others brought up his name in conversation. But you knew exactly when it happened, and you wanted to keep it to yourself. You liked being one of the only ones to see the soft side of Mattheo.

You’d seen him straighten up the Slytherin table after the rest of his friends left for class, stacking plates and straightening goblets when he thought no one else was paying attention. You saw him help Madam Pince in the library a few times as well. You swore it was a detention until you heard her thanking him for volunteering his time again at the end of the week. However your favorite soft Mattheo moment was the first time you witnessed it. Whether it was his actions in the moment, or your interaction with him afterwards was an internal debate you continued to have with yourself to this day.

The first was purely on accident. You were cutting through the courtyard to get to transfiguration on time. You were already running late and McGonagall was not going to go easy on you if you showed up after her again. You noticed two students in the corner of the courtyard, a male seemingly having a female pinned against one of the pillars.

As you got closer, you noticed none other than Adrian Pucey trapping a poor third year, whispering in her ear. Her face was contorted in disgust as she tried to squirm away from him. You were about to shout at him to leave her alone when he was suddenly shoved to the ground. You stopped dead in your tracks and watched as Mattheo knelt down next to Pucey, a hand on his throat as he threatened the boy through gritted teeth. “Guys like you are the scum of the fucking earth, Pucey,” he spat. “If I ever see you trap another girl like that again, you’re fucking done for, ya hear me?”

Pucey nodded his head the best he could as Mattheo’s hand was still on his throat, holding him to the ground. Mattheo released him and Pucey quickly got up and scurried away down the nearest corridor. Mattheo stood up, straightening his robes before turning back to the young girl. “Are you okay, darling, did he hurt you?” You had never seen him speak so softly and reassuring to someone before. You had to blink a few times to make sure you were still seeing the same man before you. The girl shook her head no in response before Mattheo patted her shoulder and encouraged her to head to class.

“Well, that was interesting,” you spoke up, slight smirk on your face. Mattheo’s head whipped around at your voice, you could’ve sworn his cheeks were slightly pink as well. He stood still as you walked closer to him. “Who knew big bad Mattheo Riddle would save strangers like a knight in shining armor,” you said, patting his chest mockingly. Mattheo rolled his eyes, “Pucey is walking dragon shit, everyone knows it.” You laughed lightly, nodding in agreement, starting to walk past him but he followed, quickly keeping pace with you as you walked down the corridor.

“Were you at least impressed by my heroic efforts, y/n?” He threw his arm around your shoulder as he walked. It was your turn to roll your eyes, “Oh, yes, Mattheo, I just loved watching you choke out the slimiest member of your house.” You playfully pushed his arm off you as you turned the corner leading to your classroom. He quickly grabbed your hand, spinning you back around to face him, your chests a mere few inches apart.

As you opened your mouth to protest, Mattheo leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Yannow I never pegged Ravenclaws to be into choking, but if you wanna explore that fantasy I can give you my common room password.” Your breath hitched in your throat for a moment before pushing him back. Mattheo just chucked lightly before giving you a wink and a Cheshire grin, disappearing behind the corner.

#mattheo riddle #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle x reader #Mattheo riddle x y/n #harry potter #slytherclaw #slytherin #ravenclaw

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mysterystarz · 13 days

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haikyuu boys asking for a kiss

ft: atsumu miya, osamu miya, oikawa tooru, iwaizumi hajime

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ ATSUMU MIYA

atsumu is snuggled up to you on the couch while you frantically type away at your laptop. on the tv in front of you are all the highlights of the recent volleyball tournament — a far cry from the pages and pages of information that you kept adding to.

your classes had finals this week, and in the midst of putting all the final touches on your papers, you’d barely had time to give your boyfriend any of the affectionate love you always treated him to (and it was showing).

atsumu wrapped his arm tighter around yours, brown eyes fluttering up from beneath his lashes to meet yours.

“angelllll” he whined, gently pushing your laptop to the nearby cushion, “give me a kiss. ya’ haven’t given me anythin’ in so long.”

“just a minute,” you sigh, gently running your finger across his cheek. “can i at least put the last sentence on this paper.”

he pouts huffily, and so enamored by your boyfriend, you lean in to press your lips to his. they were soft and comforting in the way that they always were and you felt better instantly.

atsumu smiles cheekily after you pull away.

“another one please.”

“tsumu!”

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹OSAMU MIYA

osamu was teaching you how to bake after you’d admitted that you needed a lot more practice using an oven before you’d ever feel comfortable cooking in front of others.

luckily, he was there, your apron clad knight in shining armor (a chefs hat) to cheesily teach you the ropes of one of his favorite pasttimes.

“okay, now what?” you asked, hands dusted in flour as you looked to the bowl in front of you. you’d done a great job getting the ingredients into the bowl, but some of the batter had splattered slightly onto the countertop while mixing.

osamu smirks smugly, casing you in against the countertop and leaning in just inches from your face.

“look at that. yer givin’ me such a mess to clean up.” he smiles and you think you might just melt from how warm the look in his eyes is. “this requires a price.”

you gulped nervously, all too cognizant of how close he was. “anything.”

“give me a kiss,” he whispers, and your lips are on his almost instantly. he pulls you close and you taste the faintest dusting of sugar on his lips. you pull him even closer, until you hear a thud.

“what was that?” you asked, pulling away.

osamu laughs, pointing to your feet. “the flour! ya’ knocked it over klutz. guess i must be that good of a kisser.”

“shut up,” you grin.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ OIKAWA TOORU

oikawa tooru is on his way to a sports banquet and you’re his date. he stands nervously at your doorstep, looking dapper in a tux that he took days deciding on. he’s picked a tie that compliments the rosiness of his skin, and taps his foot nervously.

you open the door to greet him with a wide smile, and oikawa thinks that his heart is about to jump out of his chest. you look perfect. the outfit you chose complimented your features perfectly, and for a moment, oikawa is so stunned that he can’t even speak.

“tooru,” you beam at him with your widest smile, and he thinks he’s going to become a puddle on the floor. he enters your place, hands nervously shaking around the index cards he’s prepared for todays speech and the fact that he was lucky enough to score you as his date.

“are you nervous?” you ask, catching the shakiness of his hands. however handsome and composed he seemed on the outside, you could always tell when he needed some reassurance.

“a bit,” he confessed. “i have to be the best speech giver for people to pay attention. i’m just not sure if i can.”

you stride over to him, adjusting his tie a bit and patting his cheek affectionately. “you’re magnetic tooru. you’ll be just fine.”

he looks at you earnestly, brown eyes filled with fondness. “can i kiss the jitters out?”

you nod with a laugh and press your lips to his, enveloped in his passionate embrace. his lips keep finding yours over and over, and he pulls away to gasp for air.

“feel better?” you asked, lips a tad swollen from his kiss.

“i could use another one,” he smirks.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ IWAIZUMI HAJIME

iwaizumi hajime had invited you out on an impromptu picnic. the weather at your university had just gotten so much better, and in the spirit of enjoying nature, he’d invited you outside (promising you could bounce any questions off of him if you needed to study).

you found yourself under a beautiful tree, filled with flowers that were soft to the touch. hajime filled a basket with all your favorite snacks and drinks.

it was the perfect excursion, and with the sun warming the air around you and the brisk breeze, you could almost say that it was the perfect day.

iwaizumi pulls you into his side, and the two of you look out into the field together. his arm is wrapped around your waist and you can feel the warmth of him seeping through your shirt.

“this is nice,” you sigh contently, feeding iwaizumi a strawberry. he smiles genuinely, and you think your heart will burst.

“you know what would make this better? a kiss.” he jokes cheekily, only to have you nodding eagerly to press your lips to his.

it’s sweet and juicy from that strawberry, and you can feel his happiness radiate through the way he holds you close. when you pull away, he’s grinning like you strung the stars.

too enamored by the handsome boy in front of you, you lean in to kiss him again.

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seph-ic · 1 year

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My favorite thing ever?

Nico has a service dog

Because after Mr. D diagnoses him with PTSD he feels kind of hopeless and overwhelmed (especially after her hears that it can’t be easily fixed with magic or anything)

So Mr D. Suggests that he get a service animal.

Nico argues that animals hate him because he ‘smells like death’. Mr. D Points out that Mrs O’Leary doesn’t hate him.

They both go talk to Hades who jumps at the excuse to win back his son by buying him more stuff.

The dog ends up being a hellhound mix (don’t ask how.)

The mix is mostly so she is a bit smaller for convenience (so she can fit in places.)

I'd assume she looks something like a Burmese mountain dog mix.

Her names Penelope (Penny) and Nico loves her.

Nico and Her spend a couple of months doing service dog training with Artemis and the hunters (dogs are one of her patron animals.)

the time he spends with them also gives him a bit of closure and helps him process what happened to his sister.

soon enough she's graduated their honorary service dog school and is fully trained.

She goes with Nico everywhere. Since she is half hellhound she can assist with shadow travel and make it easier for Nico. (To Wills relief)

She helps Nico with panic attacks and nightmares.

She grabs things for him (KitKats, sword, water, pillows.)

she can even open the fridge in the big house.

If Nico is having a really bad episode or a flashback he can’t come out of or if he’s in any physical danger, she knows to go get Will Chiron or MR D. In a heartbeat.

Again a shadow traveling dog being useful.

Will makes extra sure that everyone at camp is aware of how service animals work.

He teaches all the campers about what Penny's job is and why they’re not allowed to distract her.

On occasion when she isn't working she'll play fetch or get pets from some of the kids.

All Nicos freind's and family love her.

Like everyone wants to be a part of this dogs life, Nico has literally never been more popular.

Hazel buys her a sweater for the holidays.

Rachel helps Nico also dye part of her tail at one point (to keep her identifiable) and they give it a cool design.

Annabeth asks if she can make her a cool dog house.

Piper insists that they take her to the groomer and buys her little bandannas.

Percy helps Nico teach her how to swim.

She will also grabs medical supplies for Will sometimes.

Grover also knows how to talk to her and regularly lets her know how Nico is doing (not that she doesn't already know.)

Nico finds it easier to eat with Penelope.

It kind of forces him to eat on a schedule, since Penny has to be fed three times a day and the two of them can eat at the same time.

Nico also gives her little scraps off his plate sometimes which makes them both happy.

She gets absolutely spoiled.

At one point Nico gets worried that she might get hurt fighting a monster. Hades assured him she won’t but Leo makes her some extra cool dog armor just in case

She also has a little bag attached to her vest for carrying supplies on quests and long journeys. (list of things these bags might contain: Ambrosia, Dog treats, Water/kitkats, extra weapons, drachmas.)

Nico connects so well with this fucking dog.

Like he always struggled with people and he never really even considered being an animal person.

But he absolutely adores Penny.

He talks to her about things that worry him and just finds her presence so unbelievably comforting.

Will solace (who I think personally would become a vet sooner than a doctor) Has this dog on the best fucking diet you could imagine

you have never seen a more medically healthy dog.

And she ADORES Will

Partially because of how calmer Nico is with him, and partially because he keeps a treat jar in the infirmary now.

The best part! she cannot die (from old age at least) Immortal service dog!

Having a huge fluffy head is great for pressure therapy.

Nico (neurodivergent) likes the texture of her fur and stims by petting her or playing with her ears.

#the best girl ever #pjo #percy jackson #nico di angelo #hoo #percy jackon and the olympians #solangelo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #percy jackson fanart #nico di angelo fanart #pjo hcs #nico pjo #toa #nico service dog au

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yandere-sins · 7 months

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Today, I was thinking about Kar'niss the drider, who—mad and confused—stumbles over a nearly dead darling in the Shadowlands.

You're already as good as gone, life sapped out of you mercilessly by the shadows gnawing at you. They burn your skin and dig into your very soul while strangling you slowly, agonizingly to death, trying to take over your body and make you into one of the lifeless puppets wandering around unprotected. It's your own fault for getting into this mess, yet you prayed and wished for nothing more than to be released from the torture.

Perhaps that's why it's so surprising when instead of eternal, restless death, your body is enveloped in a gentle light, bright and freeing you of the shadows that quickly retreat. You gasp and wheeze as you jolt back to life, coughing and contorting until you finally get your own mind back.

It hurts to look, yet you cannot help but stare into the blinding light, trying to determine where it's coming from. Only now can you make out faint noises coming from it, the shadows having wrecked your hearing badly enough so that you didn't notice it before. Metal clanking and a voice. It almost makes you believe in a god again, as you mistake the light to be talking to you.

Imagine the shock, the ice-cold shiver that runs through you when your eyes finally adjust. When the real monster behind the voice comes into the light, mumbling and yelling nonsensical phrases about 'feeding the shadows' and 'her majesty's will'. Half of its body resembles a man, the other half is spider through and through. His skin seems more leathery and armored, and his fingertips are contorted into claws. What you thought were dark jewels adorning his face turn out to be eyes, and you choke on a scream as they blink, their focus suddenly shifts entirely on you.

"Who are you? What are you doing, feeding the shadows?! It's not right, it's not...! Ah, yes, your majesty! Your light guides us, protects us. We are eternally grateful!"

As if almost dying and being rescued by a drider isn't bad enough, madness seems to be dripping off of him the moment he notices you through his hazy mind. You can tell that there is no reasoning with your savior, no last bit of sanity to appeal to, your instincts tell you. He leans down, and you cower, trying to get away. But the moment you leave the lantern's glow, you feel the shadows reaching for you again. You have no idea what's going on as the drider makes another step forward, the light enveloping you again, but you start to listen to his rambles, the way he calls out to some queen, reverently so.

And your blood runs cold when, in his mumbles, you hear him call you a gift.

"My queen, are you giving them to me? Is this my reward? I will not complain about this most generous gift, majesty!"

Your arm is caught by him quicker than you can get away, though his grip only tightens when you struggle, his skin feeling wrong against yours. Appalling. But when you stop thrashing like a fly caught in a spiderweb, he gently pulls you to a stand, waiting for you to regain your strength before he starts walking, tugging you with him. The shadows want to reach for you, pull you back, and you fearfully step closer to the drider, making him chuckle.

There's nothing you can do, his grip on you firm and the shadows being the only alternative to walking with him. He keeps blubbering and laughing about his thoughts, conversing with someone you can't see but who he seems to revere. But at the same time, you feel at least one pair of eyes fixating on you in every moment of your journey, even if you don't know which one is looking. Everything about him is freaking you out, but when you reach a massive building with people walking around, you can't help but feel thankful to the drider for bringing you back to civilization.

That is, until someone tries to talk to you. He does not like that.

Letting go of your arm, he snatches you by your waist instead, your feet dangling above the ground while you feel the air being forced out of your lungs from the pressure he puts you against his chest with. It's all so unnatural, and you can't help but struggle in fear when, suddenly, his bellowing voice makes you freeze.

"NO! This is my gift! Our Queen has gifted them to me! They are not for you to take! You are not worthy!"

And just like that, after baring his fangs and driving away the people you thought were going to help you, his anger disappears almost immediately as he cradles you, cooing much softer words in your direction than to the others. "It's alright, sweet gift. They'll not take you from me. We'll be together, as has our Queen decided."

With that, you feel like your body is flying through the air, clutched against him, as his many legs are swiftly put into motion. When you force yourself to look over his shoulder, you are already far up in the air, watching the ground distance itself more and more. All you can do is cling onto him in fear of falling to your death, and he breathes you in deeply before you two reach the top, his lips contorted into a smile when you finally meet his eyes again.

"Mine, all mine. My sweet little gift."

NSFW-ish below

I'd like to think he has taken one of the free towers that are more or less empty and spun a pretty web for his darling inside. Kar'niss takes care of you, rarely letting you outside (only if you convinced him over the span of days that you'd so like to take a stroll with him) because he really doesn't want anyone else to see, touch, or talk to what is his, even when he needs to go and guide souls to the tower. You will probably go as insane as he is, listening to his rambling and trying to appease him when you accidentally say something to send him into a fit of rage.

There are so many ways to punish you, too. Simply leaving you in the darkness after your almost death reverts you into a crying, sobbing mess that Kar'niss will love to soothe you, dedicating himself to cuddling and cradling you in his arms and lolling around in the web with you while he tells you he and the grace of her majesty are always with you.

He's also just painful to be around, especially when he's so irrational, and you cannot move out of the way of his fangs, claws, and legs. Everything about him feels strange, giving you no comfort, but he can hurt you so easily it makes you paranoid. When you ask him to, or he's currently obsessing over you, his touch can be gentle, and Kar'niss has proven his soft caresses to you many times. But if a leg or his hands accidentally swipes you, you bleed. It's just how things are.

Also, suppose you displease him by speaking against his queen or setting him off by denying him the pleasure of being with you. In that case, he'll just stop caring for you, sitting outside the tower where he keeps you, and sulks. (The Absolute is probably telling him to go back, so he's also bickering a bit with her. Kind of an impressive achievement on your side.) He listens to you and waits until you start begging and pleading for him (or anyone) to come back and help you, to not leave you there to rot like this. Yet, Kar'niss makes you suffer for a while longer to punish you while ensuring no one comes near you.

But it does excite him when he goes back, and you cry and call to him and apologize for what you did, swearing you won't do it again. Excites him a lot. You do love him too, don't you? Of course you do... his queen would not have given you to him if that wasn't the case. You are meant for each other, after all. So he can forgive you this time.

Once he realizes you're in need of a parasite, he'll probably start connecting his disturbed mind with yours, giving you severe brain damage as you are flooded with his thoughts. But it'll finally give him the chance to show you exactly what he wants. Force you to believe in the Absolute like him by torturing you with his devotion and admiration until you break. Now, you'll finally understand your purpose as his mate, too. Accept him. Share his love for you and his majesty.

And since he has a new deity talking to him that isn't Lolth, who knows he cannot have children, Kar'niss might be convinced that he's supposed to make babies for the Absolute. He can't, technically (and maybe you can't either), but that doesn't stop him from talking about how he'll give his majesty new worshippers and how the two of you will be so worthy of her and have Absolute-babies. Kar'niss gets so excited at the idea of you being full and round from his offspring he almost drools, unable to wait any longer once the seed has been planted in his shattered mind.

So all you can do is ask him nicely to prepare you, to make sure he doesn't rip something or is gentle with those sharp claws and teeth no matter how eager he is. Just imagine how happy he'd be when you tell him that you could possibly be pregnant after all the orgasms he gave you—a lie, but you just really need him to stop. He'll be enraged if he finds out that you are not, but hey, he can always try again. And maybe someone will come to help him with his plan. Maybe Araj Oblodra could be convinced to offer a child or spider eggs to quench the Drider's baby frenzy, or the Absolute will give him a child like she gave him a darling.

Either way, until he dies, you're not getting out of this. And even then, someone would have to find you first and rescue you.

If they don't deem you too far gone already.

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im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 7 months

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Halloween prompts year 2 day 28

Thomas stared down at Bruce-no- Danny as he led him by the hand toward what he had dubbed as his "Secret Lair" which was just an old fall out shelter in the woods that had been well hidden and forgotten about. The door to it was old and still buried under years of dirt and plant growth, requiring Danny to phase them into it which made Thomas wonder how his grandson had found it in the first place.

Inside was surprisingly high tech. "You have a secret lair filled with all this equipment but don't have any weapons or armor?" Thomas asked, making mental preparations to fix that.

Danny sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck and explained his only allies were two other 14 year olds who were also untrained, unarmed, unarmored, and unsuper-powered which would explain why Danny was so excited to be working with an adult vigilante who at least knew what they were doing.

The kid didn't even mind when some of his more evil or harmful rogues "stopped showing up" thankfully no one would really question the reclusive Vlad Masters "going back to Wisconsin" only to never be seen again. No one saw much of him before coming to Amity Park, it made since he would become a hermit again once he had his fill of human interaction.

And if hes later found dead in his cheese castle? Well, the body had decomposed too much to really say what killed him. His will left everything to a Daniel James Fenton/Daniel James Masters which visibly infuriated Danny. Thomas mentally patted himself on the back. It was a good call to get rid of that one. The will was a surprise, though one that can only benefit Thomas in his crusade of protecting his grandson. Its not like he can return to a timeline that no longer exists anyway.

Unfortunately this doesn't stop the bats from hearing about "Batman" operating in a city in Illinois for the past few months...

#halloween prompts #dpxdc #thomas wayne #batman #thomas wayne as batman #phantom is being the Robin to Thomas Waynes Batman and its a blend of happy fluff and broody angst #danny phantom #danny fenton #fanfiction prompts #prompts #danny knows about the killings but is willing to turn a blind eye so long as it doesnt go too far or become unreasonable #skulker and vlad both kinda deserve it tbh #skulker is a self proclaimed serial killer who sometimes skins his victims alive...kinda and you cant tell me Vlad who has canonically #kidnapped tortured expirimented on ect on danny hasnt done this before when he seems so comfortable and familiar with doing it #thomas will not speak about of the things he saw at vlads mansions and secret hideouts #lets just say there was a lot of book burnings #imagine when the batfam learn about this #damian: You have our grandfather >:(#danny: you have out dad* catmom* knifemom* all our siblings* AND alfred. i get to keep gramps!#danny: *hugs grampa batman protectively*

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the-scandalorian · 2 months

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Pairing: Din Djarin x female sex worker!reader Rating: E, 18+ Word Count: 3.1k Content Warnings: touch-starved Din; reader is blindfolded; smut Summary: Mando makes regular visits to the healing baths. Note: A big thank you to @frannyzooey for always enabling my depravity and finding the dope ass images for my header ❤︎

He always waits for you inside the door.

“It’s the least I can do,” he says, when you’re surprised by the unexpected touch the first time. A light hand cups your elbow, guiding you to the middle of the room, until you can feel the smooth tiles that mark the edge of the sunken pool with your bare toes.

The marble is slick with condensation, heated by the same geothermal source that warms the spring water. The air is steamy and humid, braided with the rich scents of cardamom and argan oil, of rose from the petals you know are strewn across the surface of the bath. Candles flicker languidly in the shadowy corners of the room, but you can’t detect any of their light.

When you lower yourself to the floor—carefully, blindly—he checks the tightness of the black silk wrapped around your eyes with gentle fingers. He reassures himself it’s secure, that you can’t see a thing through the fabric in the dark, hazy room. A reassurance he needs every time.

You come to expect it. To expect him.

He’s consistent. He’s hesitant.

It takes dozens of visits before he lets you join him in the bath. You always offer; he always refuses—politely, always so politely: a no, thank you, eventually paired with a fleeting touch. A warm hand placed over yours. Two fingers stroked down the red silk of your dress. If you’re lucky, a squeeze to the thick of your thigh or a graze of your cheek. His denial is so soft, so warm—so regretful—that you ask every time just to hear him want it.

When he inevitably says no, you sit behind him on a velvet cushion on the edge of the pool instead, swathed in the inky blackness of your blindfold, your feet dangling in the warm water, and work scented oils into his skin and tension out of his shoulders, his neck, his arms, his back, his chest. Your existence is reduced to tactile information, your world narrowed to the sensations in your hands—the textures at the tips of your fingers. The taut muscles of his shoulders, the raised scars that litter his arms and chest, the hair dusted over his pectorals, the callouses on his palms. All slick with water, slippery with massage oil.

The helmet stays on for the first handful of visits. You know by the modulated sound of his voice, by the brush of beskar against your wrist when you work a knuckle into the base of his stiff neck. It disappears somewhere around the tenth visit. When he meets you at the door, your name sounds markedly different. You don’t mention it, don’t draw attention to it, but you do enjoy the unfiltered, raw quality of his voice from then on.

The noises he makes when you touch him are always better than you remember. Their tone and cadence mark a gradual progression from high strung and uneasy to mellow and sedate as the tension coiled in his muscles dissipates under your hands. The harsh exhales devolve into low groans, quiet grunts. Sounds of pleasure waited too long to be had, of physical release so desperately needed. Every once in a while, when you work out a particularly stubborn knot, he murmurs a hushed, rumbling oh, fuck.

Once, when you earn a delicious moan paired with a strained, needy fuck, just like that, he bites off the last word so harshly that you know it was involuntary.

It turns you on more than the touch of any client ever has.

Even with the blindfold, you can feel the burn of his eyes on your skin. Its weight is familiar from the start, when you meet him at the entrance to the baths, the echoing stone entry hall with its gilded fixtures and branches of guttering candles. A balled fist rested on the counter, he nods at you in all his armored glory, a cordial gesture that seems to gain gravity and intimacy each time he offers it. The black visor follows your walk down the long hallway to your rooms, dips to your hips when he thinks you’re not looking. Heavy, substantial. Pressure that could be measured, harsh enough to leave an imprint in its wake.

It stays on you until you shut the door between you, leaving you in the antechamber to tie on your blindfold and him in the main room to undress.

When you knock and enter, you can still track his gaze despite the layers of black silk—the feeling of it like a searing brand. Settled on your face when you smile up at him. Dragged over the curves of your breasts when you shamelessly tip forward to trail fingers through the water and they just barely begin to spill over the low cut of your dress. Trained on the movement of your tongue when you part your lips and lick a slow, gratuitous line over the bottom one. Riveted to the dark space between your legs when you spread your knees unnecessarily wide and the fabric of your thin, short dress rides up your thighs.

You tell yourself not to hope for more.

Then one day he shows up, and you can tell something is off. His usual steady, controlled energy has been replaced with a pent-up buzz. He’s worked up. You can hear it in his clipped words, feel it in the extra touches. The hand on your lower back guides you to the pool almost hurriedly.

His shoulders are even tighter than usual when you get your hands on them, his back a series of stony knots. He groans when you work at the tension in his neck, your thumbs digging into the tautness at the base of his skull. And when you offer yourself this time, feeling optimistic that you’ll get your most reluctant no yet, a strong hand guides you slowly and wordlessly down the smooth stone steps to join him in the water.

Reflexively, you pull your dress up and over your head, tossing it behind you before the hem can catch in the water. You lose his touch in the process, but a path of goosebumps down your body echoes the course of his gaze as it pulls along your curves. You can feel his attention, his captivation at your nakedness in the fervent tension that snaps taut between you.

His invitation is so unexpected, though, that once you’re standing in the hot, waist-deep water, you’re stunned motionless. Disoriented. You don’t know where he is for a moment; you feel his hot gaze everywhere, all at once. You never actually thought you’d get this far with him, and now it feels daunting—the darkness of blindfold, the ever-changing line of his limits and preferences. You feel untethered.

Until the water shifts and he touches you.

“Beautiful,” he says, damp fingers following the curve of your cheek so lightly you can only just feel them.

You take his hand in both of yours and kiss his palm, soft lips brushing over rough skin. He catches you under your chin, and one fingertip traces your lips, his other hand settling on your waist, flexing.

You don’t want to push him too fast, and you also want to take full advantage of this opportunity while you finally have it.

You part your lips, and his fingers still.

You let your tongue peek out to circle the pad of one finger, inviting. To your delight, he responds by carefully pushing two fingers into your mouth. When you close your lips around them and suck, he lets out a broken, pained sound, pressing down on your tongue lightly before he eases them back out and drags a wet line down your chin to settle his hand around your throat.

You smile up at him, unseeing, as you trail fingers down his chest, the soft give of his stomach, dipping below the water as you reach the ridge of his hipbone. Moving slowly, always slowly, so he can stop you if he wants to.

Sure enough, his hand finds yours, trapping it against his skin. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to," you interrupt. "I want to touch you.”

It’s an understatement. There isn’t enough time to share all the myriad ways you’ve fantasized about touching him.

“I’ve thought about this since the first time I saw you walk in here in your armor,” you say, letting your voice pitch low. “What you’d feel like under all that metal.”

His hand disappears, and yours slips further down the v of his hips to wrap around the base of his cock. Hard, thick, big like you knew it would be.

“I think about it every time I work my way down your chest. How easy it would be to slip my hands lower...to see if you enjoy having my hands on your body as much as I do.”

He breathes out slowly, but his whole body is rigid as you drag your other hand over his shoulder, down his chest, a granite statue under your touch even as you start to work him over in long, luxurious strokes.

“I’ve been dying to know, Mando.”

His cock twitches in your hand, his skin hot and slick as it pulls over his hard length. He isn’t relaxing into your touch like he usually does, and this white-knuckled, shallow-breath, penitent version of pleasure is not at all what you’d intended for him, what he deserves.

You tip your face up toward his. “I need you to relax for me. Can you do that?”

A rough exhalation. Noncommittal, a little wry.

You step closer, gingerly moving into his space. He lets you. The water shifts around you as you move into him, close enough that your breasts brush his warm body and you can place a soft kiss on his chest. His ribs expand in a rapid, deep inhale, a rough hitching breath, and his hand comes up to cup the back of your neck.

You press him backward with a palm to his sternum, and he resists reflexively, his feet planted firmly. A man not so easily moved. Who is used to doing the telling, not being told.

“Sit for me?”

He relents with a hum, going pliant for you as you back him up to sit on the submerged marble bench. He helps you climb up, strong hands guiding your movements, settling you onto your knees in a straddle over his lap.

You dip your head to find the crook of his neck and lavish open-mouthed kisses on his throat, below his ear, automatically respecting the limits of where his helmet would be, as you move your hand between your bodies. You’ve never touched above his neck and won’t change that now, even though you’re dying to trace the contours of his face, to fit your lips to his.

Perched over him, you can feel his body gradually relax under your attention, his posture softening, his breath dropping into a more natural cadence. His hands find your hips, your thighs, slide back to grip your ass, as you begin to increase the pace of your stroke.

“Have you, Mando? Have you thought about this?”

You feel him nod once against the side of your head. Jerky, frantic.

“Good,” you purr into his skin, letting your teeth drag over his collarbone.

He groans, his hips lifting off the bench to push himself into your grip harder. The heat that always simmers in your core when you’re around him grows and spreads. It’s overwhelming—so much of his bare skin on your bare skin, after so long with so little. Almost feverish as you move together in the hot water.

Your hand pauses mid-stroke; his hands tighten in protest, sliding you a tiny bit closer on his tense thighs. “Do you think about me?”

His ragged breathing stalls. He nods again. “All the time.”

You hum, pleased, and resume the tight pull of your fist. Your own arousal is approaching a blistering point, so hot and bright, and he’s barely touching you—one hand on your ass, the other dragged up your body to palm your breast, his strong thighs pressed to the inside of yours. He rolls your nipple between two fingers, and you gasp.

“Feel so good,” he rasps, the heavy weight of his hands reverent as they catalog the slopes and rises of your body. “Just like I imagined.”

You can’t help but think about how easily you could sit on his cock right now. All it would take is a slight shift and tilt of your hips and you could catch the blunt head at your entrance. He’d stretch you so deliciously—that girth and length—but your wetness would let you work yourself down onto his lap until he was filling you completely. You’d fuck an orgasm out of him, riding him until he found his release in the tight clutch of your body, milking his cock until he shuddered from the oversensitivity.

One day. Maybe.

He’s close—you can tell by the strain in his voice, by his ragged breath, by the way his hands tighten on your ass. By the way he wraps one large hand around yours on his cock, tightening your grip.

“Just like that.”

You’d give anything to see his face when you feel the urgent flex of his hips as he fucks into your joined hands, the jerk and shudder of his large frame as it curves over you, his forehead dropping to rest heavily on your shoulder as he moans brokenly through the pleasure. It’s the most intimate part of all of this—so human, so trusting. So tempting to reach up and touch his face, to put detail to what you’ve imagined so many times.

You regret that your hand is submerged in water, that you can’t feel his hot release slide over the dips and swells of your knuckles. That you won't be able to lick it off your fingers—to taste it, for your own pleasure and for his. To listen to the sounds he’d make as he watched you eat his come.

Instead, when it’s over, when he’s finished, the weight of his forehead lifts from your shoulder and his touch abandons your body. You resist the urge to search it out, to ask for it back.

You imagine how he looks unwound underneath you, his head tipped back against the edge of the pool, muscles slack. His body finally truly relaxed.

Your part is done.

He’s never spent this long here, and you imagine he’s hyperaware of that. Always on a timeline. Some small part of you thought maybe—hoped—this time would be different, that maybe he’d linger, that maybe he’d want to touch you. You slide backward off his lap to take your leave reluctantly, but when you reach blindly for the edge of the pool, there’s the sound of quick movement through the water and he closes a hand around your wrist.

Relief courses through your veins.

He doesn’t say anything, just guides you. You can’t tell what his aim is until he arranges your body over his just so—just the way he wants you. He has you straddle his lap backwards this time, your back flush to his chest, your knees opened wide by the spread of his legs between yours.

You think about what he does for work, the command and skill it requires. Those capable hands and sure grip have wrestled so many bounties into submission—into handcuffs, into rope bindings, into his carbonite chamber—and here they are exerting their power and ability for the sake of your pleasure. Blunt instrument, suddenly fine.

His breath is hot by your ear, his heavy hand settling meaningfully on your inner thigh. “Can I—?”

“Yes. Fuck, please—”

You guide his hand between your legs, desperate, and his mouth finds the back of your neck. His mouth. Stubble scrapes across your skin, soft lips molding to the contour of your shoulder. The heat that’s been building in your body, that started as a low smolder in your core, has been growing to a rolling boil the whole time you were touching him. And his mouth on your body? Like striking a match to gasoline.

The reality of the situation, the surprise of this touch, ratchets your arousal to a precipitous height. It’s the sheer brazenness of it—the unflinching way he’s taking such a huge step. In the name of your pleasure, of his desire to taste you.

The offering of such intimacy, a secret shared.

A warm tongue blazes a lazy trail from the notch of your vertebra to your nape as two fingers slip into the slit of your sex, beginning a slow massage of your clit. Your mind goes blank.

It’s almost embarrassing how easily he makes you come, how little time it takes with his hand between your legs and his lips on your skin. He fucks you with two thick fingers, another swirling over your clit, and you wonder vaguely how he knows how to curl the two inside you just right against your g-spot.

You reach behind you to grip the back of his neck as you arch, your hips circling. He hooks his chin over your shoulder and you go molten at the thought that he’s watching himself finger-fuck you to climax.

“Are you going to—?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Good.”

It's said through clenched teeth, a gritted jaw. He’s deriving so much pleasure from your pleasure, it's dizzying.

Teeth close over your shoulder and he bites down as you begin shudder and shake, as you clench and spasm around the thrust of his fingers—as you listen to his voice break on a groan as he feels it and draws it out—until the pleasure wanes and you melt back against him, boneless and sated, his strong body an anchor underneath you in the water.

You pant together, your head tipped back to rest on his shoulder, and all you can think about is how fucking close his lips are to yours. You could turn your face and kiss his jaw. He could angle your head and push his tongue into your mouth so easily. You’re so pliant; you want it so badly.

You consider asking. And then you consider the fact that he’s likely thinking about the same thing—your closeness is palpable, the tension a live, shivering thing—and he isn’t doing anything about it. He isn’t fitting a hand to your cheek to maneuver you just so.

You won’t ask for something he isn’t ready to offer.

When he finally does let you go, this visit that was so different from the others ends the same. He guides you back to the exit and hands you the robe that hangs by the door. As he helps you shoulder it on, he murmurs a sincere thank you, accompanied by a rumble of your name.

There’s one notable difference: as you're walking through the doorway, he catches your hand and squeezes it fleetingly before letting it drop.

The door shuts behind you with a click.

As always, a stack of credits far too high will be left in the room for you, and just like every other time, you’ll wait impatiently for his return.

#din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #mando x you #din djarin x f!reader #mando x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin x female reader #mando x female reader #the mandalorian x female reader

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cursedhaglette · 4 months

Text

Thrice Before Dawn

She thought he was having a nightmare, so naturally, she thought she was helping. Opening the tent flap, she's surprised to find something entirely unexpected.

Rating: E Word Count: 2,900 Content: 18+, oral sex, PIV sex, male masturbation, squirting

[ao3 link]

Halia takes last watch, preparing to guard over the camp until dawn breaks over the horizon, sketchbook in hand. It’s been ages since she’d been able to take the time to draw or journal, either tied up in other things that needed doing while she kept watch or simply too exhausted to do anything but stare off into the darkness.

She opens the book to where she’d left off, finding the page she’d marked to be the one she’d filled with sketches of Astarion. She can’t help her cringe as she looks over her work. It’s not bad by any means, as far as her ruined mind can tell, but since they’d spent the night together out in the forest a tenday ago, things between them had grown strange and tense.

Gone was the playful flirtation, the long, charged stares, and the touches that lingered just a bit longer than could be called casual. She kept telling herself it was fine, he wasn’t obligated to want her just because they’d slept together. Though, truth be told, she very much wanted to repeat the experience - she wanted him to like her, to want her, more than she felt she should.

Blasted, handsome vampire.

Sighing to herself, she turns the page, trying to think if anything notable had occurred in the last couple days that might be worth jotting down. The same thing day after day, fights and hiking and threats of death or the end of the world. At least they were almost to the creche, which might prove interesting or different.

Across camp, she hears a muffled groan and she snaps up at the sound. Scanning the tents surrounding the dying embers of the campfire, she tries to make out if anything is out there - hunting them in the darkness..

There is…nothing to be seen though. Only darkness and then - a grunt followed by something almost like a muffled whimper.

Halia stands, tip-toeing across camp and approaching each tent, praying that without her usual armor and robes she can stay quiet enough to catch whatever had snuck up on them before it caught onto her. At least everyone was nearby to aid her, should it be something truly deadly.

She doesn’t hear anything again until she finds herself before the last tent - Astarion’s. Then there’s rustling sounds, and another groan almost like he might be…dreaming? Or rather, having a nightmare, she guessed. It wouldn’t be the first time hearing him toss and turn, tortured by the memories of his awful past even while trancing.

Is it appropriate to check on him? They’ve gotten to know each other well enough and she hardly wants him to suffer through whatever was going on in his trance, but she knows he can sensitive to such vulnerabilities.

Biting her lip and bouncing on her heels, she tries to decide what she ought to do, and then there’s another muffled groan and acts.

The tent flap swings wide, held open by her hand, and time seems to slow. It wasn’t what she’d expected to find - Astarion tortured by a nightmare, curled on his side and whimpering for her to wake him from the horrors.

He lays flat on his back, one hand pressing into his forehead and something in his mouth, an attempt to muffle the noise he was making, if Halia had to guess. His shirt was pulled up enough to reveal part of his chiseled torso, but her eyes didn’t linger there.

He was fucking up into his hand, his hips thrusting eagerly and cock weeping pre-cum that glistened in the low light creeping in through the open tent flap. She’s seen it before but like this, Gods, it was like a work of art.

He’s suckling on a rag, which Halia realizes quickly was bloody and - Gods, was that what she’d used to clean up her bloody wound from the fight earlier in the day? How had he…?

She can't move - entirely transfixed as she watches his muscles flexing into another hip thrust, the curve of his glutes visibly working even in the low light. Her breath catches in her throat and she’s trying to process the immediate want that heats her blood at the sight before her, catches his attention and finally, Astarion turns to look.

His ruby eyes widen as he looks over his favorite warlock, and then he smirks, studying how she blushes while he lazily strokes his cock once more - holding her gaze as he works his precum around his shaft.

“Fuck, oh Gods, I’m so sorry,” Halia mumbles, finally turning away before she can stare any longer, and manages to shut the tent flap with all the urgency she could muster before hurrying away. She wants to stay, of course she does. She wants to watch and taste and touch and moan with him. But if he wants that, she knows she would have been invited.

“Leaving so soon?”

Halia half turns at the question, already several paces from his tent and thinking of a million ways to apologize for her intrusion but coming up short. He catches her quickly and holds his loose trousers up in one hand, the other snaking around her middle and holding her fast against him. His cold hand sends a chill through her skin, still warm from the fire and encouraging that blazing want that’s settled in her core at the sight of him so unguarded - alone, whimpering, eager.

“Didn’t enjoy the show, darling?” The question is pressed into her neck, and she knows he delights in the goosebumps that immediately appear under his cool breath.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers without turning to face him. “I thought you might be having a nightmare or…I don’t know. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“And you didn’t think to wait and make sure I was alright?” He tuts in her ear, his mouth so close she can feel the way it curls into a smile. “So cruel.”

She took in a deep inhale of breath, unsure of what to do with herself as his hand tightened around her waist, tugging her closer to him. He’s still hard, despite his cock being stowed in his trousers, and Halia has to resist the wanton urge to grind against him in the middle of the still sleeping camp.

“Perhaps you’d like to come help me…get back to sleep,” he murmurs before taking one earlobe between his teeth and nipping gently. His hand crests lower, teasing the waistline of her loose camp pants and moving so slowly towards where he knows she wants him.

“Only -” she pauses as he kisses her neck, humming in approval as his hand dips lower, finally touching at her core. She knows she’s already soaked, the sight of him fucking into his own hand, cock glistening with precum, had immediately drenched her. Now Astarion knows it too.

“Only if you want me,” Halia stammers, biting her lip as a single, cold finger dances across her clit.

“Oh my dear, I believe you’ve already seen how badly I want you tonight,” a second finger joins the first, rubbing agonizingly slow circles against her. Astarion huffs a smug laugh as she bites her lip, holding back a whimper of desperation and pleasure. “Come with me.”

And then, Astarion’s hands are gone - a hollow ache left where he’d been. She can’t help but follow him back to his tent, called by the pleasure she knows can be found within. The mess of blankets and open books welcome her, as does the smell of him - earth and spice and whatever perfumed oil he uses to make his skin smell like heaven made flesh.

The flap drops behind Astarion as he moves and kneels before her, and the space goes dark, but she doesn't need any light as his hands move to the laces of her pants. He makes quick work of them and then her legs are bare and he’s teasing, and Halia knows it - knows he wants her to beg for more, for his touch or his tongue.

“My golden, little bird,” he purrs as he nears her center, finally calling out how soaked she’s been for him since the first touch. “Look at you, such a mess. Is this all for me? All from your spying?”

Halia has to force herself not to give in to her nerves, not to wrap her arms around her waist or cover her face to hide her slowly growing blush - knowing it will only make him more smug. He likes her shameless, knowing he can pull that side of her out with each touch as she grows more desperate.

“I wasn’t -” he presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh, humming in approval when she gasps in response, her argument lost at the feeling of his lips drifting higher and higher.

He pulls her panties down finally, one swift movement freeing her pussy for him, but he continues teasing along the edge of where real pleasure would be found and Gods if he doesn’t touch her again soon, she’s going to be reduced to begging.

And she really doesn’t want to have to beg, it will only mean far too much smugness to deal with tomorrow if she does.

“Lay down,” he commands. When Halia does, he finally descends upon her, ready to feast.

Astarion draws the flat his tongue up her core slowly at first, and once he reaches her clit, he pauses to softly suck and kiss at the swollen bud before licking up her again. It’s simultaneously everything and not enough, her hips rolling up as she seeks more from his practiced, wicked mouth. Each soft kiss has her whimpering, and finally he indulges her fully, sucking herr pulsing, ready clit into his mouth and plunging two fingers inside, spreading and filling her.

She desperately wants to fuck herself on his fingers, but his other hand holds fast to her hips to keep her in place while his hand continues slowly, testing how she stretches around him while his tongue dances up and down along her folds.

“If I’d known how greedy you’d be for me, I’d have you like this every night,” Halia hears in her mind, his voice echoing through the tadpole so he can taunt and tease without removing his mouth from her cunt. “I’m going to have you begging for more before I finally take you.”

“Oh Gods,” she moans, his words adding to the intensity building in her core. She can feel it building, his tongue the spark to the kindling of her want.

Astarion huffs a laugh against her soaked cunt as he curls his fingers inside her, finding a spot she’s never had stroked before and immediately makes her squirm. Halia’s legs twitch, wanting to close at the intensity of the sensation, but Astarion’s broad shoulders keep her from moving too far.

“Keep these spread,” he chides, picking up speed. And then she’s lost in her release, covering her mouth with one hand to stifle the primal, desperate moan that tears through her chest as her body clenches around his hand. A gush comes as she rides out her climax, soaking his wicked mouth and the blankets below her.

She’s never experienced such intense pleasure, never been so wet, but cumming so hard for him only leaves her mindless and unable to be bashful about what’s just happened. Her body just wants more, aching for the stretch of his cock and to feel the heat of his pleasure inside her.

“Good girl,” he tells her, pulling his mouth away. He wipes away the shine of her squirting release with one hand, the other firmly in place as his thumb circles her sensitive clit and fingers continue to work inside. “Can you give me a little more? Can you soak my hand again before I fuck you?”

“I want you to fuck me now,” Halia pleads, her voice thick with want and almost whining for him, every trace of resolve not to act desperate for him gone in the wake of her climax.

“Then cum for me again, sweet thing, and you can have your fill of me.”

His thumb presses into her harder and she sees stars, the intensity of the feeling earning him a deep, guttural moan that he chuckles at. His fingers keep working inside her, and Halia can only watch as he reaches for the rag he’d used to muffle his moans and presses it into her mouth.

“Bite down on this, love, we don’t want you waking up the whole camp, do we? I don’t intend to share your pleasure with anyone else.”

Before Halia can protest, his fingers find the rhythm she needs and her body crashes again, soaking him just as he’d asked while he continues to finger her through the peak of her pleasure. He only pulls his hand away once she’s finished clenching around him, trying to catch her breath and watching as he lifts his soaked fingers to his mouth.

He sucks her cum off himself as he undoes his pants with his other hand, groaning around the taste of her while his cock springs free. It’s still desperately hard, soaked in precum and actively leaking more. Any other night, she might have asked to taste it - to lick every drop of his precum clean and have him fuck into her mouth with abandon.She wants his hips rolling into her throat just like she’d seen him fucking into his hand.

“Now, what was it you wanted?” he asks smugly, nudging her legs apart further and smiling at the mess he’s made. He rolls the sheath of his cock, smearing the precum as he prepared himself to fuck her.

“I warn you, darling, I was close before you showed up the first time so I don’t know how long I’ll -” his words are quickly cut off by his own groan as the head of his heavy cock finally begins to stretch her, and Halia’s warmth welcomes him wholly.

They whimper together as he finally pushes inside, and she watches as his eyes close in pleasure, her body working to take him while he slowly presses into her. He pulls away once, twice, and then slides home, burying himself to the hilt - both of them gasping in unison at the feeling.

Lewd, soaked sounds filled the tent with each thrust of his cock within her warm walls, hands roughly guiding her hips and core along his cock. He rips the rag from between her teeth, replacing it with a deep, bruising kiss before taking her tongue in his mouth and sucking on it.

“Fuck, Halia, it’s like you were made to take me,” Astarion says, pulling away from her lips but reaching forward to take one nipple between his fingers and twisting enough to make her clench around him, earning her a satisfied huff.

“Please,” she whines, closer to oblivion with every passing moment that he spends inside her, “please, more, more -”

His hips roll harder, each slam driving deeper into her and she sees stars, unsure if she’ll be able to walk again after he’s done with her. She knows she isn’t technically his, but if he asked her in that moment, she’d give him everything - entirely undone by the pleasure he’s offered her.

“So greedy for me,” he repeats with a moan, still trying to play the rake though so close to the edge himself. “My good girl, my sweet Halia, my -”

He spills inside her with a grunt before he can finish his last thought, and the abrupt warmth of him filling her is enough to send her shuddering into one final, blissful climax - milking the last few seconds of his spend deeper within her.

She pants for a moment and he nearly collapses on her, shifting to one side before reaching for the rag. He doesn’t look as he wipes at what remains of their joining on his skin, and ruby eyes meet hers in a contended gaze she’s only seen a handful of times. If her heart weren’t already racing, it would be the moment he looked at her that way.

Dawn is on the horizon by the time Halia makes her way from the soaked bedroll and the perfect lover within, and she desperately works to calm her still thundering heart. Her knees wobble and she’s going to be sore all day, but by the Gods does she feel alive.

She’s going to fall for him if she’s not careful - throw herself headlong into something she knows he won’t want. Even still, she can’t bring herself to regret what they’d done. She’s going to fall into the trap that is Astarion and it’s going to tear her apart and then he’s going to have her begging for more, just because he can.

And then footsteps sound behind her and he’s there, kissing her cheek softly.

“Come on, we should clean up before anyone wakes up,” Astarion says quietly, and she spots his blanket under his arm.

“That was…nice,” Halia says simply, smiling at him. “Fun.”

“It’s hard not to have fun with you,” he says in return, and there’s no performance in his words. Just honesty.

It’s the first time Halia ends her watch feeling so content.

In fact, it might be one of the best mornings she can remember.

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