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targaryenrealnessdarling · 4 months

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'Til the Sky Burns

21/12: Sunset & Orgasm Control - Tom Bennett Word Count: 1.9k~ | Warnings: p in v sex, edging, fingering, orgasm control, Tom being a bit of a prick (what's new) A/N: sorry this is kinda similar to the last one oops sue me

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

She's quiet, he notes, and fiddling with her hands like she's nervous. Her pumps click rhythmically with each step, the biting, winter cold slipping beneath their clothes.

Tom is cocky, mean sometimes, but never usually cruel, like he is being now.

But he figures he should make her sweat a bit, wondering why he's acting the twat that he is, while her pretty little head whirs around with possibilities at why he might be angry with her.

Even he can admit to himself, it's a silly reason.

He'd been looking forward to seeing her for weeks. With every letter exchanged, every glance at her photo from the pocket of his uniform, he couldn't wait to touch her again, to breathe in her perfume and feel her warm body against his.

He'd remembered his words to her before left.

"I could stay here, between your pretty thighs, all day love."

She had rolled her eyes, and told him that she was more than willing to let him try.

And after hours of grueling travel, crossing waters and land to see her, the first thing he saw when he stepped off the train to the platform was her talking to someone else.

To the twat down the road no less, who for one couldn't take no for an answer, and secondly, had been discharged from service on bullshit medical grounds, in reality too much of a coward to face real war.

Not that Tom could compare, he'd picked the Navy as a way of distancing himself as much as possible. But he didn't say he was perfect.

He remembered watching her for a good few seconds. It was midday, but she'd made the effort and dressed up all pretty, done her hair, to make herself look good to meet him off the train.

And he had to admit, she did look absolutely gorgeous, just as he'd remembered.

But there was a rancid taste in his mouth left over as he narrowed his eyes at them as they talked. She was clearly uncomfortable, but forced a smile to her face out of sheer politeness. And everytime he reached out to touch her arm, she took a baby step back.

Even that wasn't enough to pull him out of his now foul mood.

She smiled and nodded, grimacing as she stepped away from him and turned suddenly to see Tom, the man she had come to see, a smile lifting to her face in relief.

To be met with Tom's expression, stoic and seething, had her face fall.

She knew that look well enough.

So he walked with her silently to her flat on the edge of town, the usual few minutes stretching into an eternity. She's stuffed her hands in her pockets, eyes downcast, as if she was wondering what she'd done to upset him but dare not ask yet.

At least until they were in the comfort of her flat.

The warm wall hit Tom as he entered her living room with a deep sigh. Through his annoyance, the familiar smell of her had his chest all tight, but was much too proud to even break his mood.

He shucked his bag onto the floor, bending to sit at the dining table, his hat scrunched tight in one fist.

Tom watched her as she pulled her coat off, able now to see the dress she'd picked. His favourite one of hers.

It almost made him feel bad, being this much of a twat when he saw how much effort she'd put into looking nice for him so eagerly.

“Tea?” She asks, raising her gaze briefly to him. And when all he gives is a curt nod, she sighs softly and puts the kettle on the stove, lighting the gas and waiting.

Any second now, he thinks, his finger tapping on the wood surface of the table, leg bouncing impatiently.

“Have I done something?” She asks, so quietly and kindly that it nearly, nearly breaks him. Makes him want to rip all her clothes off and let her know who she belongs to, after all his time at sea, the idea is all the more tempting.

His jaw tightens, “Don't know what you mean.”

“I think you do, Tom. You've not said a word to me. Come on, please.”

He sighs. It's a mistake looking at her. She gives him those eyes.

When he stands, she is reminded of his sheer size, his height, the broadness of his shoulders all but accentuated by the boxy uniform he wears. The early afternoon sun pours through the single glazing onto one side of his face, in such an amber glow that one might expect it to be setting already.

The winter sun looked good on Tom Bennett’s lazy stubble that coated his chiselled jawline.

She swallowed over the lump in her throat as he leaned over her, using his arms either side of her to cage her in against the kitchen counter. His usual mischief in his blue eyes is all but gone, and he bites his lip in annoyance, making the muscle of his jaw twitch.

“You get all nice and dressed up for him, hm?”

Her wide-eyed, terrified expression was too fucking adorable, he nearly let a smirk slip by.

“Who?”

He scoffed quietly, “That prick on the platform you were talking to so eagerly.”

He knew it was a lie, but it was too tempting to tease her. Knowing she’d flounder.

“What on earth are you-”

“Trying to impress him, are ya?” Tom was only human, and at the thought he was flustering her, he grinned.

“Tom, I was just being nice!”

He scoffed, showing his teeth as he smiled, “bit over the top though, wasn't it love?”

“What do you want me to do? Bat away every man who speaks to me?”

“That'd be a start, yeah.”

“See, now you're just being-” she started, but was swiftly interrupted with Tom surging forwards to her, his chest bumping against hers, his lips parting hers with ease and sliding his tongue against hers.

His motions were quick and calculated, one hand grabbing her waist, while the other worked swiftly to pull the hem of her dress up, his two long, slender fingers stealing between her thighs to feel how aroused she was.

He was pleased at what he found.

“Miss me, did ya?”

He saw her grip on the counter behind her tighten as he teased her through the thin fabric that separated their flesh.

Months and months of separation was pouring out of him into his actions on her.

She shook her head at him with a smile, breathing elevating by the second as his deft fingers slid down the front of her underwear, “you're such a-”

“Hm?” He smirked, sinking two of his fingers into her warm agonisingly slowly, curving upwards towards the top of her walls to massage that spot he knew so well.

He didn't need her to finish the sentence. He knew he was a cheeky bastard.

Tom was never one for soft touches, gentle kisses or words of utter devotion. Usually, anyway. He was much too proud for that.

He showed his possessiveness over her in many different ways. With a quirk of his lips, the grip of his fingers on her thigh and with incessant and brutal lovemaking.

Time slid by slowly after they'd returned to her flat, all of their actions drunkenly merging into one long moment of heavy breaths and their skin pressing against each other hotly.

Tom was quite impressed he'd managed to stay between her legs for hours, all without giving her the luxury of an orgasm.

It felt cruel doing it. But he was, in his own way, punishing her.

He held his hands against either side of her waist, shallowly pushing his hips against her backside with a lazy, languid pace. Hitting her sweet spot, but at the same time, lacking the intensity for it to really build into anything.

Her curls had fallen into waves with the exertion of the past few hours, and she was tired, her cheeks all flushed both with exhaustion, and all's frustration at being denied what she really wanted.

Her grip was tight on the windowsill in front of her, the winter sun almost touching the horizon.

“Christ, if anyone walked by right now, love.” He smirked, his thumbs sitting in the dimples above her backside, looking down between them at the way his length was slick with her arousal between rapid thrusts.

He nearly lost it when her walls fluttered around him, nearly sending him over the edge as well. The idea of anyone walking by the window, despite being on the first floor, was still exciting.

“Tom, please…”

“Ah, you'd like that, would ya?” He asked lowly, leaning over her and whispering against the shell of her ear, “who knew you were such a dirty girl, hm?”

He heard and felt the telltale signs she was close again. She inadvertently tightened around him, her breaths coming all quick and her voice strained.

“Tommy…” she whimpered, turning slightly to try and capture his lips, groaning in frustration as he pulled away with a smug smile.

“Stop whinging, now. Sun's not set yet.”

She opened her bleary eyes to the horizon. The sun, annoyingly, had only just touched the skyline. And the repeated feeling of Tom stretching and filling her impossibly was beginning to crest without effort.

She moaned as Tom's full lips parted and bit at her neck, “If he could see you now. Fucking soaked and eager for me.”

Humiliation burned in her blood with every word he said, his pace never faltering even once. She wondered, briefly, how Tom was able to go on this long. But he was pent up and enjoying watching her teeter on the precipice of falling apart.

And it was just too tempting for him to even think about stopping.

Tom glanced up though, and saw the sun was slowly beginning to set, agonisingly slow, and a smirk split across his face.

His hand made its way around her face, gently pulling her face up to the amber glow of the sunset, “come on then, love. Let go for me.”

Tom delighted in the reaction he got from her, her whole body wracked with pleasure. All at once, heat flooded her limbs, making them tremble, and the sheer sound she lets out is enough in itself to make Tom fall apart right after her.

But it's her tightening around him that gets him in the end.

His face contorts as the pleasure burns in his veins, pulling out of her quickly, his dog tag necklace feels cool to the touch against his bare chest as he breathes, fisting his length and letting a shuddered groan slip as he paints the soft skin of her backside with his release.

If it feels like this for him, having been close to orgasm for hours, he can't imagine how it feels for her.

He pulls her up against his chest, his lips leaving lazy, open-mouthed kisses on her neck as their breaths and hearts slowly return to normal.

“You're not angry?...”, she managed between laboured breaths.

Tom chuckled lightly, his breath running hot over her neck, “Don't fret, love. I was only pulling ya leg.”

She smacked his arm playfully, both of them looking out onto the sky as the setting sun set it alight briefly before the darkness chased it away.

“You're a cheeky bastard, Tom Bennett.” She mused softly, in a way which made it clear she was smiling.

He tightened his arms around her, resting his chin on the crown of her head, “tell me something I don't know, darlin’.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess

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mrsrookhunt · 7 months

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♟ Monster Rook Hunt 🪦

Rooktober part three! Tempting @v-anrouge in again lmaooo

Three classic monsters, one extra-extra double pickles Rook.

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Vampire!Rook

Congratulations on winning your way into this man's heart and onto his dinner table.

You're so gorgeous to him.. you make him blush, you make him stutter and gasp, you make him feel his heart flutter and his mouth water.

Absolutely thinks you're more like a creature he can't hunt, a full meal he can only have a snack from, and it is vaguely annoying to him. It's like gardening, but with the extra requirement of cuddling the plant after picking the fruit from it.

But Rook is nothing if not a man dictated wholly by his not beating heart.

Depending on whether he was born a vampire or turned, how he treats you will be different.

If he was born as a vampire: You're a snack, that's all he's been taught. He may treat you kindly but he won't fully understand human needs and love. He'll probably attempt to love you the way other vampires show love. Enjoy those blood bags he set in front of you with wide eyes and a besotted smile, waiting for you to make the first move on your shared meal.

If he was turned a vampire:

"MY LOVE, MY LOVE, I HAVE BROUGHT YOU A GIFTTTTT" and it's a 4-course meal of all his favorite foods as a human he hopes you can enjoy the same.

So extremely and extraordinarily attentive. You may be his meal, but you're also his lover, and he treats you with every bit of love and affection he's been preparing for 350 years to give.

And he's also definitely turning you into a vampire. Don't worry, he'll keep an eternity filled with his antics.

Werewolf!Rook

Very in-touch with his wild side (what's new).

You may or may not have met him at a gas station in the woods when you threw an apple core into the wooded area next to the pump, and a shaggy golden wolf came bounding back to you with wide eyes, a wagging tail, and the apple core in his mouth. Your first game of fetch. Call it a date; that's what he did anways.

Your idea of cuddles is different to his. You may like to lay on his chest and watch a movie. He may like to completely tangle all of your limbs together and bury your face in the crook of his neck, because, Rook. Don't worry maybe you can hear the movie playing.

All of your meals are hand-hunted by your one and only. In human form, he's out hunting, a good thing, since otherwise he's harassing you with incessant French. In wolf form, he just wants to lie down on the bed and be docile. Is it a show so you're not afraid of him? Maybe. I guess it's an excuse for you to stay with him for a few years forever to find out.

He would love if you were into gardening. He takes pride in hunting food for you, and would be thrilled to use some home-grown herbs to make a meal you could both be proud of.

He's very rugged. It's a fight to make him wear nice clothes. If it's not practical ripped up and some hand me down from GOD KNOWS where, he doesn't want it.

Also, shaving. I hope you enjoy stubble because he will not be getting a clean shave. He can tell you he's 'just shaved', but you wonder how many nanometers of hair he even took off.

More like a golden retriever than a wolf. If it weren't for his superb hunting skills he'd be a disgrace to the werewolf community altogether.

And we could talk about how many kids he wants but let's keep this PG

Mummy!Rook

Snuggles? Snuggles.

Rook can't speak very well like this. But he can certainly show you the depths of his affection with body language alone.

You should be honored he came back from the dead just for you. You should probably be less honored that the museum has warrants out for your arrest now because, apparently, you can't take a mummy home, even with his consent.

Have you eaten? Have you?? He keeps trying to shovel food in your mouth with every passing moment that he's allowed in your fridge. Something about 'eating like royalty'. You don't know, honestly. The gauze makes it hard to hear him.

From what you've gathered, he was a highly-revered huntsman in his time. Not high enough to be buried in a pyramid, but high enough to be buried with great respect to his body.

You're not sure what brought him back, honestly, his love for you, your being unsure of whether he was a real mummy or a replica, some cheesy artifact bringing him to life ...we'll never know. His desire to prove you wrong may or may not have been at 100%

Did I mention he loves snuggles?

Do NOT try to remove the wrap. It's not for security reasons. It will not harm him to remove it. HOWEVER HE WOULD RATHER NOT UNDRESS UNTIL MARRIAGE THANK YOU.

Try suggesting he put on clothes over his wrap. It's not comfortable. It's like when you have long sleeves and you try to out a jacket over them. But if it's comfortable for him... just buy two sizes larger and try to ignore it.

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Part two coming soon!

Suggestions for monsters are more than welcome!

-Oct. 16th, 2023

-Kaori

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theonewiththefanfics · 5 months

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Dare to Hope, Dare to Dream (Part 2/?)

Synopsys: For three years now, Astarion and his love have been relegated to living in the shadows as he lost his ability to walk in the sun. But one day hope is reignited, and the vampire can't help but reminisce how he got where he is now.

Pairing: Astarion x fem!Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, SMUT

Warnings: violence, abuse, talks of SA, character death, SMUT (if there is anything else that should be tagged, please do let me know)

Word count: 5830

A/N: I have not played Baldur's Gate 3 (I don't own a PS or a PC where to play it. all of this is based on the info gathered online and through Neil's own gameplay etc. Please be kind :) )

Part 1

The composing of the letter was quick work, as excitement thrummed through their veins, but every passing day diminished the accumulating hope.

It was agonising, waiting for Gale to respond. Where usually Astarion’s mind was preoccupied with Y/N, now it was occupied by that damned tome and that damned fucking page he couldn’t read.

There was a huge possibility it could be nothing but a simple song or a poem. It could be a curse for all he knew, but something in his still heart screamed it could be the thing that set him free from living in eternal darkness and making his love live like that too.

He’d give anything, pay any price for Y/N to be able to walk in the sun again, and if his hand was in hers, wrapped around her waist or tucked against his chest as they enjoyed the wonders of the world in colour, not the perpetual greys of night, he would beg on his knees if he had to.

His love didn’t seem to be fairing any better. She was fidgety all the time, where she used to be able to sit and watch Astarion patching up a shirt of hers or adding gorgeous swirls of gold and silver, now she organised and cleaned his whole tailoring room over and over again. Y/N cooked almost obsessively, way too much food for just one of them to eat, and it almost drove him mad how restless she’d become during sleep as well.

Worry ate at him that Y/N hadn’t gotten proper rest in days, all because of that damned book. Would it be worth it? Would her losing sleep be worth it in the end? Nothing that hurt her was, not in Astarion’s mind, but whenever he asked her to leave something be, said that he’d pick it up, she’d simply shrug and say, “No time like the present.”

Taking into account his feedings as well, his heart twisted at the thought that all of this was weighing on her shoulders, but luckily at least some of the burden of wait was lifted when Gale’s answer came.

To their relief, the wizard gave them good news and apologies, as he’d travelled beyond the Sword Coast with his grandfather, but would be taking the first available ship to Baldur’s Gate. It would take at least three weeks of travelling, but he would waste no time beyond that and go straight to their home, and that left the two anxious lovers to occupy their time however they could.

Y/N had already rearranged the whole library twice by then, half in search of figuring out where this mysterious book had come from, half in absolute boredom, while Astarion had taken to sowing and stitching dresses and tunics and shirts and trousers and even a gorgeous set if not a scandalous one of lingerie for Y/N (which he had promptly ripped to shreds that same morning she’d donned it to go to bed).

She’d admonished him through a desperate moan, as his tongue had skimmed against her neck, lace scraps still around her ribs and hips, nothing more left of the intricate design he’d so patiently made. Not that it’d covered much in the first place.

“I’ll make you hundreds more just to rip all of it off again,” Astarion groaned as her hips ground up against him, delicious friction causing him to respond in kind.

“But it was so beautiful!” Y/N whined when Astarion took her wrists in one of his hands and held them in a tight grip above their heads.

“Nothing is as beautiful as you completely bare and uncovered for me. So… delectable…”

Let’s just say neither of them could get out of bed after the sun had set, as their legs wobbled at the lightest touch to the ground, leading them to another day of sleeping in, and a night of passionate debauchery.

However, as much as Astarion wished to stay like that with Y/N, both of them naked and twined in bed, other things had to be done around the house, and at that moment, he’d asked Y/N to model a dress for her.

He didn’t dare say the cut was based on a sketch hidden deep in his drawers, and originally it was made of white lace with an accompanying veil, not the jade colour he’d cut it in now.

“Do you think we’re harbouring false hope?” she asked, colour-coding his threads and placing the box neatly back on the table after Astarion allowed her to redress and was happy with how the skirt flew around her hips.

“In what way, my dear?”

“I just,” Y/N huffed, sitting down on the arm of the chair next to him, watching how his quick fingers stilled their needlework so as to not poke her accidentally. “I don’t want you to be disappointed if this… if this isn’t what we think it is. I know how much you miss the sun.” Y/N gently threaded her fingers through his moon-white locks. “I know how guilty you feel for me having to forego it. You don’t have to say anything,” she interrupted whatever was on Astarion’s tongue. “I can see it on your face.”

He looked down at the green gown’s hem he was embellishing. He’d tried so hard to hide the guilt seeping through his veins. He didn’t want her to know that; he already burdened her life as is.

“I can’t say it wouldn’t hurt if what we hope doesn’t come true.” Astarion put the needle and dress on the table, turning to Y/N and pulling her into his lap. “I wish I could give you the world, but I can barely give you half… if even that much. You deserve so much more than what you’ve deemed enough. I just want to… give you more…”

“My Star, please don’t even think you’re not enough for me.” Y/N brushed a pale curl behind his ear.

He gave her a rueful smile. “A little mind-reader you are, aren’t you?”

She simply shrugged, melting against his chest, his undead heart beating just a tad stronger at how much comfort she got from simply being held by him. “It’s not so hard nowadays when you’ve become an open book to me.”

Astarion had nothing to respond to that because he knew he had, at least with Y/N. He might not voice it out loud, but his heart was open. Yes, fear still lingered in bleeding gashes around the edges, but he knew, she’d always be there to dab at the pained spots and heal them with a kiss.

“I’m not leaving,” she mumbled, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Not now, not ever. Not when the sun sets or rises. An army would have to come in and tie me up before dragging me away from you. And even then, I’d be kicking and screaming, biting my way out to get home.”

Astarion’s breath stuttered, but he didn’t mention what the words of her referring to him as her home did to him. “I just want if only a minute to stand in the sun with you. If that’s all I’m given for the rest of eternity, it’s what I’ll take. Just a moment with you in the sun.”

Y/N took his chin between her thumb and pointer finger, tilting his head up so their eyes could meet – his scarlet ones brimming with unshed tears, her own Y/E/C ones filled with nothing but sure-fire determination. “Whatever is in that book, spell or no, we’ll figure it out. But one day, I know, you will be able to walk in the sun again. I’ll make sure of it. Even if I have to raise all nine hells, I’ll find a way.”

“I know you will.” Astraion sighed, letting the tears roll down his cheeks. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Y/N’s laughter was the most gorgeous symphony to his ears. She gave a light kiss to the very tip of his right one, a shiver of pleasure rushing down his spine. “We’ll figure it out, my Star.”

That morning, just a couple of hours after their conversation, as Y/N was closing all the shutters to their home so as to not let in the sun of the new day, Astarion slid his palm into hers, tugging her to their bed while kissing every inch of her skin he could get to.

He needed to be close to her, he needed to sink into her and fuse together, become as close to one body as possible, otherwise, it was like he was going to combust from the love unless he could bathe her in it.

“I need you,” Astarion whispered against her cheek, as Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck.

“You have me,” she responded in kind. “All of me is yours if you want it.”

A shudder went through his body as he swiftly, but tenderly rid both of them of their clothes, gentle hands running over Y/N’s hips and sides, as she lightly squirmed away from him when he playfully dug his fingers against her ribs, before trailing their way to her stomach, where a jagged scar stood slightly raised against the rest of her body.

“And I’m yours. Body and soul,” Astarion said, still looking at that scar while he slowly slipped his frame to rest atop, his cock sliding through her already slick folds, lightly nudging his tip against her clit in a teasing manner.

“Mine,” Y/N sighed out dreamily, as he filled her, her legs locking around his hips, ankles crossed over the small of his back to pull him deeper until their hips rested flush against one another.

A slight whimper escaped him as he affirmed. “Yours… just yours, my love.”

He’d never thought that such a word as “mine” would bring him such feelings of love and adoration.

Astarion had always wanted to belong. He’d always wanted a family, friends or a true lover to build his life with, but for a horribly long time, all because of Cazador, that wish was locked away in a tomb just like him. And after a while of pain and misery, he just gave up on the idea as a whole. Belonging to someone became a despised thing, a notion he had no free will. He was a pet, a thing to be had and done with as his master pleased.

But then that Nautiloid ship happened, and he gained allies. Who morphed into friends, and then Y/N, the oddest one of their group, became so much more than that.

That night when he’d offered himself to her, he’d been ready to use his body as coin, as he’d been taught, if it granted him food, shelter and protection. Astarion was used to whoring himself out, but that wouldn’t be the worst he’d done. At least Y/N was nice to look at. She included him in conversations during the day and asked for his opinion. It would most certainly be lovelier than the other times.

Yet she’d surprised him and said no. She still offered him all the things he asked for, even her neck if he needed to feed, but Y/N was adamant she would not take sex as payment for such things.

Astarion took a surprised step back. “Am I – do I not appeal to you?”

Why did it sting? Why did the thought of the answer being “yes” hurt so much?

“No,” she shook her head. “It’s just that you don’t have to ask for those things and sleep with me as payment.”

“Oh.” That stumped him truly. His mind reeled at her words. “Then what is it that you want?” A cheeky comment was right there for him to spit out, but he refrained.

Y/N shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe patch a hole in a shirt, if it gets too ruined? Help me carry part of my loot if it gets too heavy? We’re friends, or at least good travel companions, I’d like to think.”

That moment had changed everything for Astarion. It had changed how he looked at himself and what he could ask of the world. She’d helped him learn he could say no.

When Y/N had been close to decapitating that vile Drow Araj after she looked at him like he was a puppet for Y/N to use, Astarion had confessed that night – his whole plan of seducing her, securing his safety and getting in her good graces so he always had someone to have his back if suddenly the rest of their party decided to turn against him.

The kiss they’d shared, initiated by Astarion himself, felt like the first kiss of his life. He was jittering like a youth as Y/N’s lips pressed to his. And for the first time in ages, he thought maybe he had someone, to be with not belong to.

When she cried out in ecstasy as Astarion started to move, slowly dragging his hips back and forth, allowing her to feel every ridge and dip and immersing himself in the warm, wet feeling surrounding him, his thoughts couldn’t help but wander to that moment in the Szarr Palace when Y/N had cried in pain instead as Cazador’s knife dug deep into her gut.

She’d gone in for an attack in an attempt at freeing Astarion from the grasp of the Ascension ritual, and she had almost gotten Cazador, had the vampire not moved in the last second, twisting away from her sword and delivering the critical hit himself.

Someone screamed so loud, the sound verged on popping Astarion’s eardrums. It was only when his throat went raw he realised it was him screaming.

Cazador didn’t even bother to pull the knife out, letting Y/N drop to the ground in a heap, her blood trickling out of her wound and pooling around her body, staining the tiles a deep red.

Astarion wanted to retch at the sight.

“Pathetic,” Cazador spat. “Both of you.”

Nothing but white-hot rage coursed through Astarion’s veins as he watched his master walk around Y/N’s crumpled form, nudging her with his foot as if she were nothing more than a worm.

“I cannot deny,” Cazador mussed. “For a brief second, I did consider turning her into a new addition to our family. It would have been fitting – my prodigal son, returning and bringing the last piece I need. A fitting punishment, for your disobedience, Astarion, wouldn’t you agree? You’ve broken pretty much all of my rules, and someone has to pay.”

Cazador turned his back on Y/N, obscuring Astarion's view of her. “And how poetic would have it been, had it been you draining her, taking every last drop of her blood, only for me to sire. I think I would have enjoyed your screaming immensely, but no matter. It would only be a waste of time.” The vampire master smirked at a struggling Astarion. “Tell me – was her blood sweet? It smells absolutely delectable. Maybe I should have a little taste.”

“Fuck you!” Astarion roared. “Damn you to all nine hells!”

Cazador only chuckled. “Maybe a couple of decades in that tomb of yours will do you good. Remind you of manners. Or maybe I will let Godey -,” but he didn’t manage to finish whatever horrors he was already painting in his mind as he choked on the words.

The vampire’s dark brows furrowed as he slowly glanced down and saw a blade protruding from his stomach, the hilt buried deep against his spine.

Surprise, anger and confusion all flashed across the immortal’s face as Y/N yanked the dagger out. Cazador slowly turned and found Y/N standing before him, a hand clutching against her stomach.

“That,” she gasped. “Is for what you did to me and this,” she thrust her hand again, this time letting the blade go clean through Cazador’s neck, “is for what you did to Astarion.”

She left the blade there, taking a few steps back on swaying feet, but it was enough of a distraction to break Cazador’s concentration and Astarion dropped free.

He was on his feet in an instant, pulling the knife Y/N had plunged back out and then smashing it deep into Cazador’s gut over and over and over again until there was nothing left of him but a mangled, almost cut-in-two, corpse.

Astarion dropped to his knees, chest heaving with exertion, his whole body covered in blood, all of it Cazador’s. Who was dead.

Cazador was dead.

His master, his torturer, the one who robbed him of his life and choices was finally gone.

Relief rolled through him like a tidal wave, his body slowly but surely wracked by sobs as catharsis set in. Two hundred years of pain and misery, two hundred years of not owning his body or mind, and now he was suddenly free.

He didn’t know how to process such a realisation. It seemed almost easier to live his life in fear, to constantly look over his shoulder and go to bed with the thought his miracle of a chance at life could be taken away at any moment. In that way, he didn’t have to create friendships or relationships, he didn’t need to get close to anyone and risk losing them. He could just always keep peeking through the tiny slit from the boarded-up window, instead of poking his head through the crack in the door.

So what was he to do now, when that door had been blasted wide open?

“Y/N,” Astarion whispered her name, his head snapping up and scanning the hall, quickly landing on her body.

She’d collapsed about fifteen feet away from Cazador, but it took him less than five seconds to be by her side. With trembling hands, he took her by the shoulder and turned her on her back, so he could see her face.

A sob raked through him. “Please,” Astarion begged, pulling her head to rest on his thighs. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Star,” his name was a moan of pain from Y/N’s lips. And he hated it.

It was supposed to be a sigh of pleasure as his tongue lapped against her sweetest spot, a groan of delight when he sank into her, his hands holding hers, lips pressed together in a reassuring kiss. It was supposed to be a laugh between hiccups as he joked and snarked. It was supposed to be anything but this.

Her body was covered in so much blood, and had it been Cazador’s he would have been fine, but he knew it wasn’t. It was her own, that sweet and tantalizing scent of it running up his nose. Usually, the tiniest drop of it, could turn him feral, but all it did now was make bile rise in his throat as more and more of it coated his hands and the floor around them.

“I’ll complete the ritual,” he choked, brushing a strand of matted-down hair away from Y/N’s face. “And then I’ll save you.”

“Don’t,” she gasped, begging him. “Please don’t.”

“I can’t let you die,” he could barely manage the words, but she still heard them and shook her head.

“And I will not let you kill innocents just to save my life.” Y/N clutched at his arm as tightly as she could with all her remaining strength that was weaning with every passing second. “If you do this, I will never forgive you. You’ll become just like Cazador. And I know you are so – so much more than that. Than him. Don’t let Cazador win. You – you fought so hard,” she sobbed out, half at the implication of what he’d overcome, half at Astarion pressing down on her wound as he attempted to staunch the bleeding, but to no avail. “Don’t throw all of it away. Not for this.”

Astarion swivelled his head around desperately as if a response on what to do could be found in the room, yet nothing but Cazador’s mangled body and the pool of blood it’d created answered.

“Please,” he whispered, leaning down and pressing his forehead to Y/N’s and once again repeated. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” her response was barely a puff of air. “I will always be right here with you, Star. To the very end.”

Y/N placed her palm right where his undead heart broke into pieces, and when she closed her eyes, the only sound left was the echoes of his screams.

He might’ve been screaming for ages, Astarion didn’t know nor did he care. All he knew was that his love, his sun, his reason for living was gone.

The sound of the door being broken down invaded his mind, as many pairs of footsteps entered, but Astarion paid no mind to his friends. They could all go to the nine hells with Cazador for his sake, as long as he got to stay with Y/N.

He heard Karlach, the gentle giant of their group gasp out Y/N's name, and even Lae’Zel’s hiss of surprise was unmistakable, the scene before them rendering the rest speechless.

“She almost looks like she’s sleeping,” Astarion muttered, tracing his knuckles against Y/N’s cold skin. So close to his own temperature he didn’t feel the difference. A tear splashed against her cheek, rolling down her temple and disappearing into her hairline.

“Astarion, Shadowheart can help,” Wyll said, stepping closer, but the pale elf just shook his head.

“No,” he muttered, tracing her unmoving features with his thumb. “No one will hurt her. Not anymore.”

“Astarion, she won’t hurt Y/N,” Gale piped up. “We can bring her back.”

But he wasn’t listening anymore. He didn’t care what they were saying. No one else would ever touch her. No one would ever dare hurt her again. He’d set the world on fire if they so much as touched a hair on her head.

His friends however had different ideas. With apologies on their lips, they grabbed him, ripping him away from Y/N, her body unceremoniously dropping to the ground from where her head had been resting against his thighs.

“I’ll kill all of you!” Astarion screamed, trying to bite and scratch as he was pulled further and further away from Y/N. “Some friends you are!”

It took Karalch physically ripping him away from Y/N’s dead body, Lae’Zel and Wyll helping her pin him to the ground as Shadowheart and Gale crouched beside his love, while Astarion trashed against their hold.

“He took her,” Astarion wailed and roared, his pain echoing in the chamber around them. “He took her!"

There was no need for elaboration. Not even Lae’Zel, always so quick to show her disdain against emotion, spoke. Instead, she moved a bit to the side, so Astarion could at least be granted the gift of seeing Y/N’s face as Shadowheart and Gale hovered over her dead body.

“He killed her, and I could do nothing about it,” Astarion whimpered, eyes focused on the serene look his lover had in death. He only hoped she felt at peace wherever she was.

A pale blue light glowed from Shadowheart’s hands, Gale’s power feeding hers.

“It won’t work.” He let the tears fall freely from his eyes. “She’s gone.”

It was a resigned statement from someone who was completely exhausted. He’d prepared for never leaving the Szarr palace, for dying, if he had to, but he’d never prepared himself for losing Y/N. She had become such a staple, such a sure thing in his life, he no longer could imagine how a single day without her smile could go. But now she was gone and –

His brows furrowed. It had to be a trick of his mind, a hallucination his grief-stricken heart was conjuring up, but there it was – the sweetest sound in the world he never thought to hear again – Y/N’s heartbeat.

A ragged intake of breath shattered through the hall, and he watched as her lashes fluttered. Her lungs stuttered as if they needed a minute to reconnect with her brain before they levelled out and remembered how to breathe.

Karalch, Wyll and Lae’Zel released their hold, and Astarion slowly sat up on his forearms. When Y/N took in her first full steady breath, Shadowheart slumped over, Gale already having expected it, dropping into a crouch and allowing her to lean on his side.

He couldn’t believe it. Y/N had died in his arms, he’d watched her life’s blood seep across his hands, and yet there she was – on the ground, her heart beating and lungs dragging in short breaths, barely but still.

“She needs rest,” Shadowheart said, running a soothing hand down her friend’s cheek. “As do I.”

“Let’s get back to the inn.” Wyll approached and helped the exhausted cleric, as he wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted her up, without much of a fuss. Lae’Zel and Gale hovered over Y/N until Astarion was capable of getting to his feet, knees trembling like a fawn's. Whether they were there for him or her, Astarion didn’t know but appreciated nonetheless.

“Would you like me to carry her?” Gale offered, a gentle look on his face, nothing but concern evident, but Astarion shook his head.

“I’ll do it.” His voice was raw from the screaming and crying, but he didn’t care to clear it as he gently lifted her up.

Y/N’s head lolled to rest against his chest as if on instinct and he had to push down a sob as he felt her warm, alive body curl into his own, like so many times before now.

Karlach laid a leather jacket across Astarion’s naked shoulders, but all he could concentrate on were the shallow breaths entering Y/N’s lungs, her slow but steadily beating heart and the way her fingers curled against where his still one rested.

The whole trek back to the lodgings they’d procured previously, Astarion was numb, completely and utterly numb save for the incessant need to check if Y/N was breathing. He was struggling to figure out his emotions.

As he laid her down in the bed, Karlach lighted a fire and Gale promised to bring a cloth and some warm water for Astarion to clean Y/N up, he couldn’t help but grieve Cazador.

He didn’t stray from his love’s bedside not even for a second, keeping vigil day and night, but most importantly watching her chest rise and fall with deep, even breaths, yet some part of him mourned his master as well.

Three days after the events of the Szarr Palace, Astarion had reluctantly agreed to have a quick wash while Karlach watched over Y/N. He regretted that decision more than anything because sometime during the ten minutes he allowed himself to get rid of the crusted blood, she had awoken.

When he re-entered the bedroom, Astarion almost fainted at the sight of her beautiful Y/E/C eyes boring into his scarlet ones.

“Hello, Star,” she croaked through a smile, and he almost crumbled then and there by the doorway, had it not been for the tight grip on the knob.

Karlach made a quick exit, but not before placing a warm palm against his shoulder, giving him a slight nudge in Y/N’s direction, though he didn’t need one. It was like she had a magical pull, making him stumble across the room before his knees gave out with a hard thud and his hand desperately sought out Y/N’s. When their fingers entwined in a tight hold, he swore to himself to never let go of her again.

“I thought I lost you,” his voice broke. “I – I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I’m sorry,” her own tone was quiet, barely a whisper. “But I couldn’t just let him hurt you more.”

“I know. I know you… I just…” He huffed, brows furrowing as he searched for the correct words. “I thought when I got my freedom back, you would be there by my side, but instead you were the cost of it.” Astarion choked on the word “cost”. “But at the same time, I couldn’t help but mourn the loss of him.” He didn’t say his name, he’d decided Cazador wasn’t worth having the honour of a name spoken aloud.

“And it felt disgusting. He hurt you. He took you from me, and yet… I didn’t even have him left after your… your… heart stopped,” Astarion took a shaky intake of breath. “I was completely and utterly alone. When Shadowheart appeared, I was almost tempted to ask her to revive him just so I could kill him again for what he did to you… and maybe, just so I wasn’t alone.”

Astarion lifted his gaze, resting his cheek against the palm Y/N had untwined from his, so her soft thumb could brush away the rivers of tears spilling down his face. “Please don’t leave me again. I’m – I’m not strong enough to go through it once more.”

“You are, my Star,” Y/N kissed his forehead. “You are so strong.”

“Let me rephrase that then – I don’t want to go through anything in life. Not without you by my side.”

“I promise,” she muttered and leaned forward pulling Astarion to lay next to her, sealing the vow with a kiss.

And though he still struggled with nightmares of that fight, though he still woke up breathless at times, arms desperately searching for the warm body that always occupied the other side of the bed, the deepest reassurance he could ever have that everything was alright, that Y/N was safe and sound, were moments like these when her body melted against his, where she was panting and gasping and so full of life, especially as Astarion hit that one spot that made Y/N throw her head back in a moan of pleasure.

Her nails dug into his shoulders with such a delicious taste of pain, never drawing blood though, but always leaving crescent imprints he wanted to keep on his body forever. Like Y/N’s touch could erase everything Cazador had left on him.

Y/N’s back arched, and Astarion used the moment to slip his hands underneath and pull her upwards from the bed so that she was resting in his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, chest to chest, and him buried so deep, it made both their eyes roll to the backs of their heads in pleasure.

She’d taught him sex could be wonderful. It could be meaningful and lovely, instead of a means to an end or a bargaining chip to be used. It had taken a while for Astarion to grow comfortable with even the thought of her touching him, but nowadays, he became quite the grump if he ever awoke not in Y/N’s arms, even if it was for such a simple reason as nature calling her.

Her touch was the balm on sunburnt skin, her kiss was a reassurance that it needn’t go further than that and he could always say no and would be listened to. But in moments like these, all Astation wanted was more. He wanted to feel her squeeze around him, to hear her breath choke at the back of her throat, he craved to feel her pulse race as she climbed higher and higher, closer and closer to her orgasm with every thrust of his hips.

Sex had been something repulsive and vile to him. Now it was the most beautiful thing he felt blessed to participate in, all because of the woman moaning his name above him.

“I’m so close,” she whispered in his ear as Astarion kissed her neck, heart thundering in her chest.

“Let go,” he muttered, a shiver rolling down Y/N’s spine at the pleading tone of his words, making her grip his back tighter, and dig in her nails more. “Let go, I got you.”

She whimpered at his coaxing words and tightened so much around his cock, it became almost impossible for Astarion to keep pumping in and out, so he slid a hand down across her chest to her clit, just to push her over that edge she was teetering on.

Two deft fingers circled around the swollen bud, once, twice and that was it for Y/N to break. With a sigh of his name, she came, hard, taking him along as well, the orgasm surprising Astarion with its intensity and how quickly it’d crept upon him.

Bliss exploded through his veins, and his nails dug into the small of Y/N’s back, always careful to not hurt her, but deep enough to leave moon-shaped marks on her body, the same ones she no doubt had left along his back and shoulders as they both succumbed to euphoria.

A moan got stuck in his throat before slipping past his lips as Y/N ground down one final time, before stilling her hips and relishing how he filled her until the mix of their pleasure ran down their thighs and stained the sheets below. Never mind that though. It was a problem for future Astarion and Y/N.

They both were trembling as, slowly, the orgasmic wave subsided, and as they came down from their highs, Astarion couldn’t help but place a cheeky kiss on Y/N’s neck, letting his fangs skim along her skin and feel her pulse spike at that.

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, her hands slowly skimming up and down his spine, body still rocked by pleasure. “If you want a snack, you know all you have to do is ask.”

“I’m fine,” Astarion mumbled, burying his nose in the crook of her neck. “I just… I just love you. That’s all.”

At least that’s what he said, but underneath laid a thousand other words – I need to feel your heart beating. I have to feel your skin against mine. I need to hear you breathing and know that you’re alive and here with me. That he wasn’t imagining it as some sort of a hallucination and wouldn’t wake up back under Cazador’s control with her body lying dead on the ground by his feet.

Y/N hummed in content, pressing a kiss to Astarion’s chest. “I love you too. So much.”

A smile bloomed on his lips as he pulled away just a bit so he could cup Y/N’s face between his hands. “I don’t know what I may have done in my previous life, and I certainly don’t know what I did in this one to ever deserve someone like you, but whatever it was… I’m glad I did.”

The way her eyes shone would have brought Astarion to his knees, had he already not been kneeling on the bed. Y/N was just about to pull him in for a deep kiss when their moment was disturbed by the bell of their house ringing.

They knew it was daytime. And only one person would ring it then.

Astarion looked at Y/N.

She lifted a brow. “Ready to figure out what’s in that book?”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “With you, I’m ready for anything.”

Tags:

Everything tags: @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @m-a-t-91 @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @lestersglitterglue @im-squished @strangersstranger

Astarion tags: @spacebarbarianweird

A/N: I am in love with pixels on a screen...

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inoshibi1 · 1 year

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-Yandere! Doma X Escaped!Reader-

⚠️warning⚠️mentions of obsessive/aggressive behaviour and taunting.

Fandom: Demon Slayer. Character(s): Doma [upper rank 2 demon]

A/N: I’m sorry if this isn’t very good. Please tell me if there are typos in it, I didn’t have a chance to re-read it♡♡

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It wasn't that you didn't enjoy being with Doma. He took care of you in the Eternal Paradise Cult and made sure that you felt loved and safe. More than anyone else had ever done.

But after so long, an undeniable truth did arise—you were bored.

A person could only stay cooped up in a room for so long. And while you did have plenty of entertainment, the need for something a little more exciting had taken root in your being.

So, it was how you found yourself in this predicament.

It didn't take much running to stumble upon an abandoned village. Dashing through and behind the buildings, you fell down running inside a small home. There were large wooden crates, you utilising them as an opportunity for a hiding spot. To secure your position, you pulled a piece of plywood overtop of the boxes, creating a concealed little nook.

And so you waited.

You knew Doma had followed you here, because you only got about thirty feet away from his home before you heard him calling out to you. And while you recognized that distinct teasing in his voice, telling you that he knew you weren't seriously trying to leave him, he still managed to instill a certain enticing fear in you.

Whether you actually lost him as you entered the abandoned village, or if he was just holding back was beyond you. It didn't matter, when the door to the room you were holed up in was unceremoniously kicked open.

Shoes sounded against the concrete floor, a clear identifier to who had made their entrance. Of course, his smug voice bouncing off the walls served the same purpose.

"Come on out my sweet Y/N. I know you're in here."

You heard his footsteps delve deeper into the room. Slowly.

Menacingly.

The deep baritone of his voice sent chills down your spine, amplified by the echo given off by the fairly empty area. "Y'know, if you wanted to play with me so desperately, you could've just said so."

He wasn't wrong, but you had a strange desire to push the demon's buttons. That, and you didn't know if he'd let you do something this risky if you asked. Still, you kept silent, a hand clamped over your mouth in an attempt to stifle any noise.

It sounded like he was pushing things to the side. Searching every crevice, the noise of wood scraping against the floor meeting your ears.

"If you come out now, I'll go easy on you when we get home....maybe." Doma snickered to himself menacingly , knowing full well how in for it you were the second he got his hands on you.

You could tell he was getting close, the rummaging nearing your position as he swept the room for your hiding spot.

Doma was nothing if not dramatic at times like these.

The furniture to your right were kicked over, the brittleness in the wood causing them to crumple under the impact. The commotion earned a frightened squeak from you, and the second it escaped your lips, you knew you had lost.

"Hm, what's this?"

You didn't have to be looking at Doma to know that there was absolutely demonic grin plastered across his face. The thumping of your heartbeat picked up, anticipating what was to come.

Aside from his shoes colliding with the concrete, a deafening silence overtook the room―until the low and threatening sound of his voice filled that void.

"Could it be...."

His footsteps came to a halt right next to your hiding place. The plywood was ripped from its spot.

"...a little mouse?"

Your gaze shot up, and they were met with Doma leaning imposingly over your crumpled form on the floor. Wild rainbow coloured eyes pierced yours, holding nothing but danger.

Not a second went by before you were scrambling away, dead set on making a break for it. Or at least, that was until an arm snaked around your waist, pulling you close to him.

"Where do you think you're going, my dear?"

Your legs kicked around, unable to connect with anything while you were suspended.

It was a split second decision when you lifted your head up to capture his lips, pouring all the emotion you possibly could into the act in an attempt to appeal to whatever amount of entertainment remained in his body.

His reaction was almost immediate.

He let out a noise somewhere between a possessive growl and a hum of approval as he kissed you back harder than ever before.

From how aggressively you were squirming in Douma’s grasp, you began to see him become more disheveled each time he let you up for air.

He had the faintest blush of pink across his cheeks, a few of the shorter strands of his hair were falling in front of his face - which would occasionally be caught in the kiss, not that he cared. He wasn't out of breath, but his breathing was heavy. He had transferred both your hands to one of his own in order to stop your squirming.

And the look on his face... The pure hunger that was there before he started was gone. Although he was still remaining somewhat civil, There was no denying that he was positively ravenous now.

After what felt like an eternity, Doma pulled back very suddenly, the sheen of sweat that had been shared between your two bodies leaving you unexpectedly cold and confused

It wasn’t until you completely caught your breath when a fit of uncontrollable giggles escaped you as he playfully spun in a circle with you in his arms.

"Noooo, let me go!"

He laughed at your demand, the taunting lilt to it making you shiver. "I'm sorry my dear but I can't. You're in big trouble after this."

In mere seconds, Doma had maneuvered you to be slung over his shoulder, surprising you once again with how strong he really was.

"H-hey! It's your fault for not taking me anywhere fun, I mean you could've at least—"

You yelped when a hand came down on your ass to silence you, prompting you to squirm fruitlessly in his surprisingly iron-like hold.

Doma began heading for the exit of the abandoned home as he spoke. "My dear, we've been over this, you've got everything you need back with me in the cults paradise." He shifted you so that he could pin your still struggling legs down before continuing. "And maybe if you didn’t keep up with that misbehaving attitude of yours, I'd actually be able to take you somewhere nice for a change."

You perked up at the notion—not knowing that Doma had ever actually considered letting you roam a little more freely. "Wait—really?"

He chuckled at your disbelief, pushing the front doors open. The cool air of the night hit your body, causing you to pull yourself closer to the heat radiating off of him.

"Yes, but before I let any of that happen, someone's gotta learn their lesson on what happens when they are disobedient."

Unconsciously, you tensed at the notion, knowing his methods of reprimand would have you in for a long night. It wasn't that Doma would intentionally hurt you, it was just that he would take advantage of all your little weaknesses he'd come to observe. And you knew that he'd make you betray yourself in all the best ways, and somehow get you to enjoy it at the same time.

Sensing your bubbling anticipation, Doma satisfyingly smiled to himself. He made his way through the deserted back streets, not bothering to put you down for fear of any more shenanigans.

Your fate was determined. You'd never be able to get away from Doma, and really, you didn't want to.

"...Now, shall we go back home, my dear?"

#demon slayer x reader #demon slayer #demon slayer x gender neutral reader #demon slayer x y/n #tw yandere #kny douma #yandere douma #douma x y/n #lord douma #douma x reader #demon slayer douma #upper two #tw obsessive behavior #yandere x darling #tw obsessive love

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captainjacklyn · 7 months

Text

Love, Love, Love Part 2-ish

A/N : continuation of this and this, hope you liked the first part because I'm on an absolute roll. To all those waiting for a continuation of many of my series, I am so sorry. I'm serious guys pls forgive me I know it's been a really long time since and I still need to finish other requests I started.

Context : Rollo gets transferred to NRC for a few months, The Headmaster decides that he would be staying at Ramshackle Dorm much to Malleus' dismay (along with grim and the first years who are aware of the truth). Yuu doesn't find it nice either but with time they allow the third year to open up to them, eventually growing mutual respect for one another, perhaps some friendship..and a bit more.

Warning(s) : fluff, mostly crack, hints of rollo liking Yuu, this is a continuation of some sort to my joke so pls understand that it isn't from the beginning, Rollo might be OOC he's just scared of Yuu, they/them pronouns for Prefect, the first years who weren't present in glorious masquerade find out and try to push rollo away. (it doesn't work) is this stolen from peter rabbit ? Yes. Most. but not all of it.

The story starts...now ?

Something suspicious was stirring around the 'relationship' between Yuu and the strange newcomer. At least it looked like it to their close friends who were already bitter about the idea of that religious trauma-induced student coming but even more so when that horrible influence hung around their prefect.

It wasn't as if they didn't trust Yuu, they didn't trust him ! He was being all close with their mom friend pal, knowing what he did, they weren't going to stand around and do nothing. They're gonna do something about it, about him.

It all began the day the Adeuce duo and Epel witnessed Yuu casually speaking with grey haired priest and HE WAS SMILING?! OH HELL NAH GET YOUR EYEBALLS OFF OF THEM- but truly they misunderstood, for now at least, since most of the resident's interactions regarded around Yuu, threatening Flamm..Of ripping his guts out.

"Ace, Deuce!" Grim shouted through the halls as he ran towards them, the both of them turned around to see the raccoon panting and wheezing from his sprint. "Hey there Grim- Woah what was that?~ You trynna imitate being a cheetah now?" Ace teased, his remark making the fire cat retort with a 'hey!' before Deuce stepped in to ask the obvious question. "What's wrong?" forgetting his comeback, Grim immediately switched back to panic mode.

"My Henchman! A-A-And that weird suspicious dude! They're SPENDING TIME TOGETHER AND BEING ALL WEIRD MUSHY LOOKING!" He exclaimed, his revelation shocking the two freshmen who's eyes widened in horror. "What- How?! Didn't prefect say they hated that guy?" Ace sputtered as he tried making sense of the situation, he was a bit confused as to why he was reacting this way but with the amount of braincells left he couldn't care anymore.

"That's what I thought! But this morning I found them- laughing and talking to each other!" he added more fuel to the fire, ace and deuce exchanged concerned glances and spoke in unison. "We gotta get the others."

"Yes !" Grim smiled as he threw a fist in the air. It took a good second for him to realize they didn't say what he thought they would.

"...Wait what- AH!" But he didn't have time to argue as they grabbed him by the neck and made their way to find the others.

Passing through Savannaclaw, Pomefiore and Diasomnia almost felt like an eternity to fetch Jack, Epel and Sebek. Especially the half-fae as he was persistent on the idea of staying by his future king's side during the entire duration of Rollo's stay. After sharing the news, they all bolted to Ramshackle dorm, and there they saw it.

Yuu was having a conversation with the same young man that dropped them down a trap door when they came around for a celebration. The same young man who tried to erase magic forever. And they were speaking like they've been friends for years.

The group of first years were hiding behind a tree, in between the gates of the not-so-abandoned dorm. All of their heads comically poking out to take a peek at the flabbergasting sight. "That's a lot of smiling." Epel commented as he watched the prefect supposedly laugh at something Rollo said. (They weren't, they quite literally started to laugh because of Rollo's genuinely terrified face) "More than before even." he continued, Ace added on with another remark, "They're showing a lot of teeth."

Then, Jack made a very bold statement which earned collective noises of disgust from the rest of the team. "Do you think they like him?" Sebek's face morphed into horror, Grim started gagging, Deuce looked like he was going through fifty existential crisis all at the same time, meanwhile Ace was debating on what he should express. Either way they were all mortified.

"They don't like him, they're just being nice! Yuu is nice all the time, they always smile at us!" the grey monster retorted, denying any further supposition. "Well..not like that." They flipped their heads towards the pair, and Yuu's hand rested on Rollo's shoulder as he chuckled nervously.

"Could you imagine? You trying to take over the world again? What a joke ! I would bury you alive honestly!" the non-magic student exclaimed as they broke into another loud laughter. Rollo could only nod along a little offended but mostly nervous, "Right yes no that would- that won't ever happen." "Yes because I will actually force-feed you the flowers you tried killing us with."

"😨"

"😄"

Yay. Part 3 coming up soon.

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sunnysidewrites · 1 month

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Demon prince!Seungcheol

Inspired by this prompt: “I’m a demon, not a hot water bottle. Stop cuddling me.” “But you’re so warm.” “Like hell. Fire, brimstone, eternal burning.” It had absolutely no effect whatsoever, and the demon sighed, wrapping one arm around the other. This is my re-debut (although not sure if this counts as a re-debut or if it's just a one-time thing) after nearly a 6-year hiatus and needless to say I am extremely nervous and excited!!! (talking in idol terms luv that) I am hoping that also means my writing quality has matured as well (I think??? or not but guess we will find out)! This is for everyone who knew me back then and is still around to see this play out! sorry if it's not the best i am EXTREMELY rusty but hope you enjoy lovelies <3333

wow omg it’s great to dive into writing after so long im getting emotional

you know the drill folks let’s get to it!!

Humans and demons have lived in co-existence for centuries and it’s more or less a chaotic neutral environment given the unique circumstances of these 2 different… races?

It can be difficult to distinguish the demons with the humans since they try to blend in seamlessly for their own sense of peace and security

Despite a big chunk of demons integrating with humans, there are still parts around the world, albeit small, where they have their own territory to control

They usually operate in more traditional political systems, such as still maintaining kings and queens

Humans can live there as well, but it is predominantly demons who are seen as the norm and the former as commoners/lower class

You happen to be one of the lowly commoners who have been working as a maid in the castle since you were young

you and Seungcheol, the Crown Prince, were actually kinda close as kids!!

you could tell all he wanted to do was let loose and have fun but was forced to follow the rules and take everything seriously 24/7

even as a 5 y/o you could see how much he yearned to be a regular kid but duty calls :”((

there were many times you hung out together in secrecy since you as a lowly maid could not be caught DEAD associating yourself with someone of such a high status

and add being human on top of that!! <3

But Seungcheol didn’t care you were literally his first and only friend at the time

Any time a guard looked for him, he and you would duck somewhere to hide together, stifling your smol little giggles im dead

As he grew up and more burdens were placed on his shoulders, you could no longer keep the same innocent, playful friendship between the two of you

Your interactions with him went from running around in the garden to stealing quick looks at each other when you passed by him in the hallways

He went from a happy lil child to a very assertive, stoic man who always picked his kingdom over anything

Despite his new persona, he would occasionally still show you very rare displays of fondness??

You would sometimes randomly find gifts on your bed with a note and well it doesn’t take a genius to know who it’s from

“I swiped the last cookie for you before Penny stole it and I know you would become a demon yourself if someone took your sweets”

“I noticed your uniform was ragged and a little ripped so here’s a new set. be more careful or our next encounter won’t be as pleasant”

“Here’s an extra blanket loser don’t freeze to death on me”

Your heart feels warm knowing that he still shows you his softer side to you while he’s practically a statue to everyone else

Now you were both in your mid-twenties and he’s been busier than ever with political meetings and social gatherings

You were his main maid since out of all of the staff, you were the only one who could really put up with his absurd requests and got along with him in a manner no other maid could, even the older ladies

There were times he summoned you to his headquarters for the sole reason of wanting some company

He would bring up some dumb question and you would be like no offense but this is kinda useless

But little did you know he would do that intentionally to see you crack a little smile, maybe even a laugh in there since he’s been seeing you look more despondent lately

“Even though we can’t run around the palace like how we did as kids, I’m still here. I’m the same Seungcheol – well, actually not really but I still look out for your wellbeing”

“Thanks, not-the-same-Seungcheol”

It’s rumored that the Crown Prince is coming of age to take over the throne soon, but before doing so he needs to find a bride yes it’s one of those tropes ok deal with it

You’re cleaning the hallways one day with some other maids and you can’t help but overhear their gossip

“Did you hear Prince Seungcheol is now engaged??? I think it was just last week”

Your ears perk up and your scrubbing slows down slightly so you can focus on their conversation

“Yeah, I heard the woman is a princess from some neighboring kingdom… It’s really hitting soon that he’ll be the new king”

“I don’t know how long she is going to last… he’s so cold and doesn’t seem to care about anyone. but what can you expect from a demon?”

They both giggle and move to another room to continue cleaning and you can’t help but feel fired up from the way they were talking about him as if they knew anything about him

Sure, he was not really the friendliest and was very brutally honest with his curt words but it didn’t make him a bad person

Your heart aches after hearing the news and you recall a past talk you had with Seungcheol when you were younger

“Do you believe in love?” you asked him, the both of you lying down on the grass while looking up at the vibrantly blue sky

“Pshh, not really. Father always said marriage is for the people, not for love”

“But shouldn’t you love someone in order to marry them? you will be spending the rest of your life with them”

“I don’t think that is what he wants from me. I would be letting him down”

“Is that what you really want, though? to be stuck with someone you have no feelings for?”

he sighs deeply and looks down. “Well, I guess not… I do care a lot for someone”

your heart dropped. guess he already has his eyes set on someone else. “o-oh, well that wouldn’t be fair to you or to them right?”

he shakes his head, quickly glancing at you before looking away. “but it wouldn’t work out anyway. I wouldn’t want to drag them into the mess of my world. I want them to be free of what I go through. I just hope they know I’ll always care for them from afar.”

You shake your head out of a daze, painfully reminded of how raw that moment still feels

I wonder if he still cares for that person he mentioned, you think to yourself as you continue scrubbing the tiles. But what does it matter now that his future is sealed with someone else?

Shortly after that day, it was formally announced to the kingdom that the Crown Prince and the soon-to-be Crown Princess will be holding a wedding ceremony in just a short few weeks

On the outside, you smile politely and clap your hands but it takes every fiber of your being to not want to fling the door to your cramped bedroom and collapse on your bed and spill the tears you were desperately attempting to hold in

As you stared at him and his fiancee out the balcony waving to everyone, you swear you thought you saw him give you a forlorn look that lasted for a millisecond before he returned to his usual expressionless state

From that moment on, you barely saw Seungcheol at all

This man was constantly getting pulled in all different directions, especially with the royal wedding around the corner

The night before his big day, he summons you to his room again and your mind is buzzing with loads of thoughts of what he could possibly want to talk to you about

You cautiously enter and close the door slowly before turning back towards him

He looks more disheveled than usual, his hair tousled, his usual prince attire crinkled and slightly unbuttoned

“You look stressed, what's wrong??”

He closes his eyes and sighs for a moment before slowly opening them again and says while still not making eye contact with you, “I… I feel like I’ll have so many regrets once tomorrow comes”

You’re like why is that??

“Do you remember me mentioning I cared a lot about someone back then?”

Your heart drops to your stomach. “Yes… why?” thanks for the reminder

“I keep thinking about them… and all of these what-ifs. I know I can’t do anything about it, but–”

“Of course you can do something about it! I know you’re a stickler for the rules, but if the cost is your happiness, is it really well worth it?”

He shakes his head, looking even more troubled than before. “I can’t risk putting them in that position. Yet I… I want to,” he articulates slowly, as if it’s only dawning on him now that he’s finally learned what he truly feels

You feel as if the waves of heartache and anguish are drowning you but you try to be strong for him and present a smile if not for him, then for yourself

“I think you know what you need to do, Seungcheol”

And with those words, you quietly bow out and make your way to your room

The next morning, you wake up with puffy eyes from crying all night and begrudgingly get out of bed to get ready for the busy day ahead

After a hectic morning and afternoon, the ceremony finally begins

The moment we’re all waiting for is “Speak now or forever hold your peace”

And the most baffling thing happens because it’s not you who speaks up, not some secret lover, not some random citizen in the audience

but it’s Seungcheol himself

“Wait – I don’t think I can go through with this”

SCANDALOUSSSS

That’s right, he causes a whole uproar and everyone is like what tf is he talking about?!?!?

You are unfazed to a certain degree due to the conversation you had with him last night but you’re still confused on where this is going to go

Never in a million years would you have imagined for him to say his next words

“I’m in love with someone else: Y/N”

And all the maids around you gasp like WHAT. IS. HE. TALKING. ABOUT.

You aren’t sure whether to feel mortified or happy but whatever it is, all eyes are now on you

The current King is like MISTER?? WITH A H U M A N????

“I know it’s never been done before, having a demon and a human marry each other. but I’m tired of always having to do the right thing and for once, I want to do something that is right but for myself”

You’re looking at him in complete bewilderment and disbelief like you were talking about me this whole time??!!

“If we can prove that humans and demons can come together, it’ll be a huge stepping stone politically for everyone involved. I can’t change how I feel about her but I can change our worlds with her by my side”

He makes his way towards you and grabs your hand and this time he does not break eye contact even once

“I want to be with y/n, and no one else”

You’re melting like putty in his arms it’s honestly really sweet!!!

The King eventually caves in although he’s obviously not happy with all of their efforts wasted but he’s cool enough to welcome in this new change

Everyone’s reactions are pretty mixed understandably but they don’t seem like they hate it which is probably the best reaction you’re gonna get

“You’re not asking for my hand in marriage are you?? bc that’s a little too quick on a first date”

He shrugs and nonchalantly says, “Not until you’re ready” JESUSLFSJDS

The rest of the day is a whirlwind of crazy events that you get caught up in as the Crown Prince’s new lover now

By the time it’s time for bed, he summons you for the last time as you being a maid and not as a Girlfriend

Well turns out he’s actually a big baby and the whole time he tried to conceal his feelings for you all he wanted was for you to be by his side pshh lame amiright

“You sure move fast with wanting me to be in your bed already and we haven’t even gone on an actual date yet”

“Shut up and just lay beside me”

After you turn off the lights and get under the covers, you can’t help but notice he’s extremely hot (literally and physically) and considering it’s 20 degrees you’re taking all of that warmth

Of course, Seungcheol tries to make it a big deal and get you off of him even tho he secretly enjoys it

“I’m a demon, not a hot water bottle. Stop cuddling me.”

“But you’re so warm.”

“Like hell. Fire, brimstone, eternal burning”

Like that was gonna stop you who does he think he is for putting you through all of this and at the very least not giving you some cuddles???

He sighs and wraps one arm around the other after he notices your breathing slowing down

“I don’t have to care about you from afar anymore,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face before also slowly losing consciousness

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thatone-brightstar · 11 months

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The Bear & The Fox (Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 11: Collateral Damage

Words: 5.8k

Summary: It's been a month since your breakup with Carmy and Syd wouldn't ask for your help unless they were absolutely slammed.

a/n: 1 more chapter + epilogue to go and I don't know what to do with myselffff!!!!

Thank you for sticking around thus far and commenting is always appreciated!

Heartbreak is a funny little thing. You can walk a delicate line all your life to avoid feeling it, but one way or another it’ll find you. It’s the eternal debate: To avoid all and spare yourself from hurt, but live a life of emptiness and quiet; or to welcome the pain like an old friend, at peace and knowing you never stopped trying. Everyone chooses a side at some point, but you’re never really spared from it.

You’ve always hated the part of you that feels too deeply. The one that created stories out of strangers, wonder struck by microseconds of eye contact, then shattered when they step off the train. The one that no matter how many times was dolefully blown into the ground, it still believes in good grace and happy endings.

“So yeah… That’s basically it since the last time I saw you.” You say, twirling the small ring with the aquamarine stone that you had stopped wearing long ago. You look up to the woman sitting across from you and ask “What? You asked me how I was.”

“And I wasn’t expecting a two hour monologue.”

“Well what did you expect? Haven’t seen you in months, I needed to vent…” You fight back.

You can hear the soft scribbles of her pen for a couple minutes and you make yourself comfortable against the soft pillows that fill up most of her couch.

“So, how long has it been?” She speaks again.

“Bout a month…” You sigh.

“And have either of you tried reaching out?”

“No, I-” You take a breath and ponder over the question, the single unanswered text weighing heavy on your phone. “I wouldn’t know what to say. Besides, I’ve been too busy with my paintings and helping out with the auction. I don’t really have time for… anything else. I-I guess he’s been busy too.”

“But you still know what he’s up to?” She asks with raised brows.

You shrug with a single shoulder and chew at your thumbnail with slight nerves. “Syd talks about work sometimes, when we go out. But I think she kinda feels guilty for bringing him up. I told her it’s fine.” The woman looks at you skeptically through the small circular glasses. “I’m fine.” You half lie. “I am, it's just… The auction is this weekend and they’re catering so… I don’t really know how I’m supposed to feel…”

“Because you’ll see him again?”

“...Yeah.”

The woman calls your name again and you rip your eyes from the ring on your finger, heavy inside your own head to hear her question.

“So, is your set finished?” She asks to change the conversation.

“Mhm. It only took me a couple weeks to finish but -” Your smile curls slowly at the edge of your lips. “I'm really proud of them.”

“That’s great to hear.” She whispers with a genuine smile. “You know, heartbreak can also be a beautiful thing. It’s painful, yes, but it also gives a vulnerability we don’t regularly allow ourselves. It lets us create wonderful things. It’s all part of the human experience. It truly is nice to know you’re doing better, even after going MIA for months.” She says with a practiced tone mothers use to scold you.

She schedules you in for the next month and you promise to not bail this time, then walking out the office with your bag over your shoulder and a lightweight heart. The prospect of seeing him at the auction is still heavy on your mind as you make your way to the train station and the simple thought fills your chest like a crisp breath of air. ‘He could just send Syd’ you think and you try to not engage too much with the idea in fear that it may sour your good mood. Instead you focus on your steady steps and people watching, ‘whatever happens, happens.’ you mumble under your breath.

**********

Syd’s call had pulled you from the comfort of your home before the sun was even visible over the horizon. Her worried tone had you waking up instantly and darting frantically around your darkened room in search of anything that could shield you from the increasing cold, then out the door and in the dreaded direction of The Beef.

It’s been a month since you last spoke with Carmy and even though in the grand scheme of time, it’s only a mere speck of dust, to you it had felt eternal. Small snippets blur together into one long strenuous day, piggy-backing off your grief and pushing your shoulders deeper into the ground. You had called him a few days after in hopes that you could talk things over, but it went straight to voicemail. So you left a text that you anxiously waited an answer for the following days. All of a sudden, one week turned into two, then three and before you knew it, a month had gone by without a response. You kept busy picking up most of the planning to avoid any crossing thought of him, only allowing yourself to break with your canvas in front and acrylics to spear.

You had done enough to convince yourself you were fine, that even if he were to show up tomorrow and not send Syd on his behalf, you'd be fine.

Fine. Fine. Fucking fine.

Everything was fucking fine until this morning when Syd had called to ask for help at the restaurant. Richie had been arrested, the place was a mess and they were behind on prep for the event tomorrow because they were lacking hands. Protesting would only lose you time that they did not have, so in place of that you settle to ignore the treacherous wormhole vacuuming out the few remains of confidence you had saved for tomorrow as you wait for the train that’ll leave you on River North Station.

Twenty three minutes later, you're walking at a brisk pace through the streets with a thick knot for a stomach and a growing unease. You push through the door and stop in your tracks at the shock and disarray of the place.

“What the fuck? Ugh-”

The potent smell of alcohol is the first thing that invades your nose, along with the stickiness of the floor the deeper you walk into the room. There’s solo cups scattered everywhere and half working Christmas lights hanging loosely over the walls. Some frames from the front wall lay broken, spewing shards of glass all around the tiles.

“Mi amor, qué sorpresa!” You hear Tina’s voice from behind the counter and you slowly walk towards her, the small pieces shattering under the weight of your boots.

She hugs you tight and kisses your cheek. “Tina, what the hell happened in here?! It smells like the fuckin’ Hangover…”

“Ay baby, don’t even get me started with these knuckleheads-”

You take another woeful look around, then follow her inside as she recounts the little information Sydney gave them from the frantic phone call she had with Carmen. How they rented out The Beef for a bachelor’s and Richie had knocked out some drunk while defending Carmen’s ass. It’s strange to you, the pair’s relationship. How they were always ready to rip each other to pieces, but would jump to save the other without a second thought. They said they couldn’t stand one another, but you’re sure they’re something either can’t live without.

“So what, he’s in for aggravated assault?” You ask.

“Only if the guy wakes up.” Marcus answers with a broom in hand, sweeping away remnants of glitter and tinsel.

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Could be 5 to 25 for accidental manslaughter…” Sweeps chimes in while carrying a full trash bag to the back.

Your throat closes up and behind your concern, you hear Marcus ask Sweeps how he knows so much about the matter. ‘Bro, I told you. I went to Harvard Law…’ ‘Oh yeah…’

You breathe in deep while maintaining the possibility of his release still in your mind and you head to Syd’s side, pulling your hair up into a ponytail automatically.

“Alright, brigade’s here. What d’you need?” You say after a quick hug hello.

“Guess you know more about it than I do…”

She’s flipping through the binder with all the recipes and images of the canapes they’d be serving, the one you helped Carmy assemble all those months back. Despite a few scribbles and notes at the foot of some recipes, it’s practically the same. You bend the corner lightly on the last page to find the miniature ‘C’ surrounded by purile hearts and your morning coffee grows knotty in your gut.

“Is he…” You try asking, but the sentence loses power half way through.

Syd seems to catch your drift. “No, no. He’s been down at the station since dawn.”

You nod absentmindedly with your eyes glued to the page.

“Okay, um. Marcus left the sourdough for the tapas rising all night yesterday, so we have a good start on that-” Syd began and you pull all your attention to the task at hand. “Beef’s already bracing in the oven but it’ll take a couple more hours. You can start with the ginger- tangerine compote. That’ll go on the brie.” She says, handing you one of the blue aprons.

“Alright, heard.” The words feel unnatural rolling off your tongue after being away from a kitchen for so long.

She leaves you in search of Fak, urging him to finish fixing the backed up sink in the Steward section. You drown out the bicker and hastily make your way into the walk-in, throwing the apron over your head and tying the back securely around your waist. It’s almost as if the familiar pressure unveils a dormant sensation and you soon find yourself navigating with ease through the skills you thought forgotten. The knife feels at home under your palm -heftier than a paint brush but still requires the same level of concentration- as you separate the tangerine supremes and add them to the pot holding clarified butter, sugar and rosemary leaves. Everyone works in a rhythmic but comfortable silence, a stark difference from the frantic, unmeasured mess they seemed to thrive in when you still worked here.

“Yo chef?” Marcus calls from your left.

You lift your head to him while you finish peeling the ginger. “What's up?”

“Mind tasting this for me? It’s for the gig but somethin’ bout the filling don’t feel right…”

You nod and wipe your hands on your rag, then take a bite into the miniature stuffed doughnut that doesn’t seem bigger than an Oreo. The flavors are too thick to tell them apart but the softness of the dough allows it to almost melt in your mouth.

“The dough’s perfect-“ You say between bites, the compliment blooming over his face into a grin. “How bout a different filling though, there’s a lot going on and you can’t really enjoy the texture.”

“Right!? See, that’s what I was thinkin’. Got anything in mind?”

“Mmm, you could try a chai cream filling.”

“Just milk and cinnamon, then?”

“Yes and also no” You answer with a smile. “Try to steep some black tea in milk with cinnamon and ginger. Then instead of sugar, add honey to your crème and the chai milk. It should be a little bit more runny so when it cools it doesn’t get that jelly-like consistency from the egg.” You finish then turn back to peeling off the skin of the ginger with your spoon.

Marcus is still standing beside you with a pleased smile. “You really know your stuff, huh? Thought you was burnt out.” and you lightly hit him over the arm with the back of your spoon.

“Oh, I can totally smoke your ass baker boy..” You grin.

Before he can fight back, a sudden commotion by the entrance has you lifting your head above the second level of the table and searching for the noise. The slick handle of the spoon almost slips past your hand when your eyes capture the image of two very sleep deprived Carmen and Richie walking through the staff door. You can see everyone showering them with attention, how Tina hugs Richie tight then smacks him hard over the head, but the loud ringing in your ears and the sudden rush of cold blood prevent you from moving any closer. Not that you’d want to anyway. You try to pull yourself together, wiping your clammy hands for the tenth time and watching them advance deeper into the room. Richie’s the first to spot you and true to his nature, he lets the whole room know that he’s seen you, with outstretched palms in your direction.

“Oh, shit! This a fuckin’ family reunion?!” His hand falls heavily over the crown of your head and you swat it away with a smack.

“How’s prison?”

“Oh, y'know…free food, can’t complain.”

“D’you get yourself a bitch?” You tease.

“Yeah, brought ‘em home, actually-” He says pointing back to Carmy, causing the forming grin on your face to fall when you see he’s been watching you. You pull your eyes from him and back to your cutting board. “Oh right, my bad…”

You shake your head, mumbling a sharp ‘asshole’ through gritted teeth. Richie takes off to the back and you’re finally left at peace.

You fall into a pronounced balance of chopping and continuously stirring the compote, until it reaches the needed consistency and you pull it off the fire to cool. You check it off Syd’s thoroughly organized list and scroll down to find the next task, then make your way back into the walk-in. With a bowl resting on your hip, you pick out a few pears you’ll need, then hear the creak of the metal door open and you assume it’s Syd coming in to take a breather from the frenetic kitchen.

“Yo, I’m gonna start poaching the pears. You’re out of red wine but I can run to the corner store and try to flirt with the clerk to knock a few bucks off a bottle-”

The slick bowl almost slips from your grip when your eyes catch his. A chill slithers from your neck, down your spine and wraps around your knees, rendering them uselessly immobile as Carmy just stares you down through tired lids. The room grows uncomfortably smaller with the two of you locked inside and you're afraid that he can hear the irregular tempo in your quickening pulse. You wonder if the slight shock in his brows is due to not knowing you were in there. It only flashes for a second, then his features conceal behind a curtain of indifference, making your stand straighter.

“H-hey.” He says with a feign coolness as he wraps his own apron around his waist and moves deeper into the room, as if it’s the most natural thing to find you between the inventory of his restaurant.

You turn back to the shelf so he doesn’t notice the multiple quivery inhales it takes for your voice to sound somewhat even. “Syd asked me for help, that’s why I’m here I-”

“No- yeah, I get it- I wasn’t-” He cuts himself off and takes a breath that has your wavering stare slowly inching towards him. “Thank you…”

You finally turn to him, only holding his stare for a second, then give him a tight smile and wrap both arms securely around the bowl that wants to slip from your clammy palms. His lips part and you wait for anything else to leave his mouth, maybe a ‘How’ve you been?’ or a ‘Can we talk?’. But nothing does and you try to not let it sting as much as it normally does when you get your hopes up. You take a reluctant step towards the door, then another and another, only stopping when your name vibrates in the concealed room.

“Yeah…?” You turn with a full chest.

He holds an unopened bottle of wine in your direction, face blank. “Bottom left shelf.” He says, shrugging.

“Oh. Right.” You take it without meeting his stare so he doesn’t see the grief slapped across it and quickly push yourself out the space.

You spend the better part of half an hour peeling the thin skin off the pears and letting the simmering wine and spices fill the kitchen with a strong sweetness. Carmy’s presence looms around the room as he checks in with every station on their progress, but doesn’t stop with you. All you get is a soft ‘Behind’ and the tingling sensation of his touch on your lower back as he passes by. You don’t know if it’s on purpose or not, although it doesn't really matter to the breath that stops in your throat when he does it. ‘Just finish this and you can leave.’ you repeat to yourself. Though you know you won’t, at least not until they’re up to schedule, even if every second sharing the same space withers at your soul.

You do your best to focus on your task, only talking to Tina when she gently squeezes your forearm to ask if you're okay, because your brows are glued into that permanent scowl that only displays your irritation outward.

“Yeah I, um- just got a lot on my plate.” You tell her and try to not let it trigger the tears you’ve hoarded in the back of your throat.

“No te hará sentir mejor-” She whispers to your side.

“-Probably not-”

“-pero él está igual de miserable que tú. Really baby, you should have a talk with him, y’know, straighten things out.”

“T, ni siquiera me ve a la cara…” You whisper back. “How am I supposed to straighten anything out if he won’t even look at me?”

“Ay, baby I know. But I’ve known that stubborn boy all his life and let me tell you, since he came back from Madison Square Park -or wherever the fuck-, he was all different and… bitchy. And it wasn’t ‘till you came along that he finally felt like the Carmy we all knew before… pues ya tu sabes.” She says in reference to his brother.

“You two are good for each other, but you’re both stubborn as hell… talk it out, okay? Don’t lose somethin’ good ‘cause you're stubborn.” Tina rubs your shoulder reassuringly then with a final smile. she turns yelling ‘Corner!’ and disappears behind the tall stands.

You swallow down the aching knot and distract yourself with the slippery fruit in your hands.

“Can I..?” You see his hands before hearing his voice, as he lightly places a white cutting board a few feet away from you. You eye the curves of discoloring letters above his knuckles, then force your stare back to your own working hands and shrug.

“Sure… your kitchen.”

He only nods, from your side view you see how his eyes linger on you for a few moments then fall back down. The air between you feels thick despite the music playing from the hoarse stereo and a light layer of conversation from the staff. There’s a heavy pressure over your chest that only seems to expand with every silent minute passing between you.

Then Carmy clears his throat. “How’s-uhm- your set.. for the auction?”

Confusion and irritation brew in synchronicity with your wine and you try to hide the annoyance his question brings you. He acts as if he’s just seen you the day before, as if things had ended with a friendly handshake and a mutual agreement, not with him breaking up with you and completely vanishing from your life.

“It’s fine.” You turn to the burners and stir the pot slowly to keep it from burning and also to avoid his heavy gaze.

You taste it to make sure the flavors are correct then turn back to finally finish peeling the last of your pears. Carmy stares at you like he wants to say something else, but just contemplates the seriousness of your features and the flow of your hands as you move the peeler in a frenzy. Each stroke grows closer to your skin and he just feels the need to warn you.

“Careful you’re gonna-”

“Mierda!” You hiss, dropping the handle immediately and cradling your palm under the injured one. “Hijo de puta!”

He’s by your side in a second, with his clean towel hovering under your hands and taking the fruit that you crushed involuntarily when the pain closed your fist.

“It’s fine- I’m fine.”

“No you’re not, you’re bleeding-”

“I said I’m fine!” You pry your hand hard enough to hear a slight pop from your wrist.

Carmy’s hands fall to his sides and you divert your gaze to the floor walking to the nearest sink to clean your wound. You hiss again when the warm water hits your palm and a gash at the bottom of it is finally visible. Fucking perfect. You scrub remnants of puree and blood off, until the water runs a light pink and you're relieved to see it won’t need stitches. A gauze and some tape will suffice, so you wrap it in some paper towels to avoid dripping and march to the small office where you find the kit. The quicker you move, the faster you’ll be out of the confined space that makes you feel like a vulnerable prey. But your fingers tremble from the light sting and the edge of the wrapper isn’t cooperating with your dull nails. Tiny droplets of blood pool in the center of your palm, the frustration grows too quickly and you slam the unopened gauze flat on the desk.

“Fuck!”

‘It’s fine, you’re fine.’ The voice in your head circles through the same phrase, pretending that the sudden proximity of him didn’t unearth something you have tried so hard to bury down for the last month. You thought you could be mature enough to ignore the crushing weight settling over you with every stare, but the wisps of frigid indifference that radiated off him wrapped a tightening noose around your neck and you weren’t sure how long you had until it finally killed you.

A soft click pulls your attention from the crimson in your hand. Carmy stands with raised palms, inching slowly towards your intense glare, then reaches out a hand as if trying to help a wounded animal. Which in a way, you are and the joke forming in your mind about the bear helping a fox would be rather funny if you weren’t so immensely upset with him.

With a ragged sigh, you turn in the small space and stretch out your hand to him, eyes locking on a painting on the wall to evade his stare. You ignore the furor of goosebumps that invade your skin the second his touch is on you. Carmen’s hand holds you in the cocoon of his fist, thumb rubbing delicate circles beside the battered spot while he uses the paper towel to soak up all the blood. You reprimand your wayward beats for their reaction to his innocent touch and you have to constantly pull your wandering gaze from reaching the dangerous borders of his tightened jaw. His deep exhales fan the baby hairs resting at the bottom of your neck, his attention fixed on the small imperfection. His movements are slow, asking each muscle for permission to move the next, because having you this close after so long is a luxury he does not want to rush through, not if he’s never getting it again.

Carmy understood your anger. He could feel it radiating off you in waves that bounced in the small space, but he also understood that he’s never had enough words to properly express the turmoil of everythingness swirling constantly inside his head. He wanted to let you know how hard it had been for him too. Confess the unhealthy amount of time he was spending at the restaurant- only going home to shower then leaving again- because he was afraid of the scent of your perfume and how it lingered on every breathable space in his home… apartment- not home- at least not since you had gone.

He focuses on swabbing the sanitizing wipe tenderly in hopes that his actions can transmit what he can’t say. The alcohol makes you hiss again and his eyes flicker to your frowned brows, mumbling a soft ‘sorry’.

He only lets go to tear open the gauze and some tape, then takes you in his grasp again to wrap your palm up safely. You expect him to let go once he’s done. To create as much needed space to fit the betrayal he portrayed the last time you saw him, this would only explain why he never called back. But he doesn’t. And he doesn’t look up at you either. Your stares meet on the flesh where his thumb still brushes over the blood-stained pit, your chest raises in slow puffs and the uninjured hand grips tightly over the edge hitting behind you. This is all too familiar again, right down to the brewing anxiety trickling heat into your overworked veins. You can't help but to foolishly crawl your pupils over the navy blue of his apron, past the strained tendons of his neck, the sharpness of his nose and to the beautiful blue you had missed so much.

Neither of you notice how the space has reduced to mere inches between you until his eyes flicker to yours and every single speck is bright and visible for your admiration. He swallows down hard, the Adam's apple bouncing in his throat portrays his nerves openly to you. The last reasonable, minute voice in his head tells him to pull away, but the way you’re staring up at him has his body tilting in your direction instead. Eyes wide and glossy dance around the freckles dusting his cheeks, causing his hand to float from your wrist to the dip of your waist and his forehead finally falls against yours.

You gasp in softly when his fingers dig into the center of your spine while his nose brushes along yours longingly. You can feel his sultry exhales ghost over the curve of your parted lips with doubt still present in his movements.

“Carmy…” The voice is above a whisper and you’re not sure you even have the strength to utter the sentence that’s formed in your head.

Your voice seems to trigger something in him. His jaw hardens, his fingers bunch up your shirt in a light fist and just as quickly, his grip on you loses strength and his hand falls to rest beside your fisted one. Then a grave sigh parts his chest and he takes a painful step back, unwilling to lift his eyes from the ground.

It takes a minute for you to react, then the butterflies in your stomach turn to wasps swarming in dangerous circles, unable to fly out due to the knot blocking your throat. He’s eerily silent, eyes glued to the floor to ignore your fiery glare.

“Sorry, I…”

You scoff and shake your head, blinking rapidly to pull back the tears threatening to spill with your anger.

“Screw you, Carmen.” You untie the apron as quickly as you can with your injured hand and throw it at his desk before walking out of the small room.

With strong footsteps, you take your bag from above the lockers and escape out the back. The door slams hard as you push yourself out, Carmen following behind but by the time he calls your name you’re already a couple steps ahead.

“Fox!” He yells and you spin in his direction with nothing but anger over your face.

“Listen, I’m sor-”

“No-fuck you- you don’t get to talk, alright?! It’s my turn.” He takes a step back before crashing into you, jaw locked tight and regardless of the deafening ring in your ears, you refuse to bite your tongue again.

“Look Carmy, I am truly sorry that I didn’t tell you earlier and I’m so sorry that I’m here instead of your brother- but that does not mean you get a fuck-it-all free card and get to pull shit like that!” Tears of anger trickle down your heated skin and tickle the curve of your trembling lips.

“I called you Carmy…” The words burn as they force themselves to spill out. “I called you, and I texted you and I waited cause I knew you were pissed - and you have every fuckin’ right to be- but it doesn’t give you the right to kick me out of your life one second, then act as if everything’s fine the next, cause it’s not!”

The sounds of the city have grown mute between your heavy breaths and the erratic beating in your skull. You don’t expect him to answer and he doesn’t seem to have anything to say. He simply stands before you, eyes glossy and brows knitted as you bare all that you kept since the last time you saw him.

“I know you’re scared. And I know you’re angry and whatever this is-was-” You say pointing between you. “I know it didn’t come at a right time. But I meant what I said, Bear, I do love you. So fucking much. But that doesn’t mean it’s fair of you to take it out on me cause you’re angry at him… I refuse to be collateral damage for whatever the fuck you got going on.”

The weight over your chest might have shrunk, but it didn’t make you feel any less better than before, especially not with the way he’s looking at you. You want nothing more than to run to his side and kiss away the few stray drops that nest in the corner of his red rimmed eyes. You want to hug him tight until the loose pieces of his brokenness stick back together into one whole man, but the last of logic inside you knows that it would only serve as a temporary band-aid. So instead you offer a speck of a smile, just a soft curve that doesn’t reach your teary eyes.

“I love you, Carmy. So I dunno, give me a call when you sort it out- I know it’s more of a ‘when’ than an ‘if’ situation-… I think I’m stupid enough to answer.”

Carmen watches from his frozen position as you rub the tears away with the back of your hand, then the gravel crunches under your boots and in a few seconds you disappear around the corner.

He has enough energy to slump over the crates by the wall and pull the crushed package of smokes from his back pocket. While the wisp of smoke swirls in the wind around him, he rubs his eyes until the image of your tear-soaked face blurs away behind the darkness. The gravel creeks again, heavy steps move from his left then settle with a groan beside him.

“I’m not in the mood, alright?” He says, eyes focused on the street at the end of the alley.

Richie doesn’t say anything, only takes out his own cigarette and joins his cousin in silence.

“Is there, um-” His voice is thick and wavering, barely holding on to controlled breaths. “Is there a name for… when you’re afraid of somethin’ good happening cause you think somethin’ bad’s gonna happen? ”

His thumb rubs anxiously over the same spot on his palm as he waits for Richie’s response.

“Fuck it, I dunno… life?” He takes a long drag, letting the exhale occupy the empty space in front of them. “That bad, huh?”

“Yeah…” Then the silence falls over them again.

When his cigarette burns out, Carmy reaches for another, but before he can settle the lighter back down, Richie pulls out a small envelope from the pocket of his jacket and hands it to him. Carmy’s reluctant to take it, his eyes flicker between his cousin and the piece of paper, then he slowly reaches out.

“What’s this?”

“It’s from your asshole brother… R.I.P and whatnot.” Is all he says.

His hand trembles again, his breath short circuits and a new wave of dread nips at the back of his neck. He swallows hard and breathes in deep, bracing himself, before turning it over. ‘This day just keeps getting better…’

Chapter 12.

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne, @beebslebobs, @harrysmatcha, @yum-yahgurt, @pussy-f41ry, @kirakombat and that’s it lmao

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battydora · 8 months

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nsfw, sub. urogi, dom. reader, adult reader!!, gn. reader (cock mentioned, can be a strap or not), pet play, praise kink, handjobs, anal sex, restraints, cnc (safe word agreed before narrative), ruined orgasm, absolute filthy smut

urogi is so cute when he's being fucked, he's such a lovely pet.

he's playful, he's always smiling and cracking small comments through the act, but most of the time because he faces how flustered he actually is by being goofy. his laughter comes out brokenly from his mouth when you tell him he's being such a good pet for you, his cheeks darken and his stomach flutters at the praise.

urogi is also restless, he does not stay still for a moment, he always feels and listens to his body so he can't stop his hips from swinging while giving him head or handjobs, from fluttering his wings excitedly, from digging his claws onto the matress and ripping the fabric, from kicking his feet when he's close, even shivering and getting goosebumps from your hand only running along his back.

don't be surprised if he gets louder as you go on, he is most likely to scream if you make him feel too good. but dear mercy, the real problem is when he moves too much, he kicks his feet and swings his hips so much more when he's approaching orgasm. you get to play with this sometimes, by giving him a punishment.

he cries so loudly when he can't feel himself fully, he gets desperate as you torture him by having him all tied up to a chair, no movements allowed, no freedom at all. his upper taloons are tied behind his back, lower ones tied to the chair's legs and wings closed restrained with chains. he suffers even more when you're giving him a handjob and his orgasm approaches, restraints never letting him rock around, feeling desperate and uncomfortable in his own body. pretty tears rolling down his cheeks at his ruined orgasm, whining "noo..! stop it, please, untie me (y/n) please!"

his complaints go unaddressed as you tighten your grip on his cock with both hands and begin to jerk him off harder and faster, making him shout at the overstimulation on his sensitive and swollen tip "don't be so scandalous, be a good pet and take it".

he can't break free from the ropes and so he begins to beg again "no! no! stop!! nghah! i c-can't!! i can't take it! make it s-stop! please please!!" he cries out, his body desperately fighting against your restrictions trying to escape your merciless torture "fuck, fuck, fuck!!" more tears falling off his eyes as he shut them close.

it only takes him a few moments to loosen and fall exhausted on the chair, his body no longer capable of enduring his punishment, dry dark red cheeks and yellow eyes begging to rest. his chest goes up and down trying to recover but he's so tired, he just wants now an eternal nap, he, the so hyperactive urogi, wants nothing more than rest.

but the fun only just begins for you, now that he endured his punishment all the way, it is time to reward him, just when he gets to control his breath and recover just a little bit, you untie all of his extremities and carry him to the futon, making him lay on his tummy for you. he knows what you are doing but he's so ruined and sore to even speak. "my little pet took the punishment so well, it shall receive a reward for being so strong~" he barely jolts at your thumb rubbing his entrance before sliding two fingers in, his cheeks go darker and his mouth twists into a grimace, he feels he could almost cry for being praised so lovingly after a torture that felt like hours.

you succesfully manage to make urogi stay still while you fuck him without any restraints. you fuck his ass surprisingly lovingly, slow hip movements allowing you to dig deeper inside of him and making him moan the sweetest noises you ever heard. he enjoys this slow fucking, especially after being used mercilessly by you minutes ago.

"my baby, i was so rough to you, you like being fucked like this? yeah? mmh, of course, you're my good pet, you deserve no less" you say as you slam your hips a little bit faster against him.

your praises only help him feel more dizzy and cock-drunk. he just loves how good your dick feels inside of him and how gently you treat him, he is too tired to have his body responding to you so he just mumbles and moans nonsense until he comes again, as a prize this time.

masterlist | pinned post | rules

thanks for reading!

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notti-stellate · 4 months

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James Potter Fluff ABC's

a/n: I started this thinking it was a good way to get back into writing but boy was I wrong, this took me like three hours so I was like ready to be done by the end. I really hope you guys like it though! 🌌

A- Attracted (What does he find attractive about you)

James is obsessed with absolutely everything about you but if he had to pick one thing it would be your laugh. There’s practically nothing he wouldn’t do just to hear you laugh, especially when it’s because of him (you’re just fueling his ego here babes)

B- Body (What is his favorite part of your body…not like that you nasties)

James absolutely loves your lips, the way they fit so perfectly against his or the way they curve upwards when he does something impossibly stupid just to see you smile. His favorite part of himself is probably his hair or his hands, it’s honestly just whatever your favorite is.

C- Cuddles (how much of a cuddler is he)

There is nothing he loves more than to have you in his arms, it doesn’t matter who is holding who to him as long as he has you pressed against him for eternity. Definitely a 9/10 on the cuddler scale.

D- Dates (how often do you go on dates)

It depends mostly on what time of year it is, for example near quidditch season he doesn’t have much time between classes and practice so as much as he wishes he could take you on dates every day he just doesn’t have the time. After quidditch season though he generally will have a date every week, even going as far as to assign a certain day as date night.

E- Ego (how big is his ego, does it get in the way of the relationship)

He 100% has an ego, but it’s definitely well deserved. He’s the captain of the quidditch team, comes from very wealthy parents, and is famous around the school. Even with his ego he’s a kind and humble person, always willing to help others (except for Snape, nothing could make him help Snape). His ego could get in the way at first but after he sees it’s hurt you he’d swear to never let it happen again.

F- Fights (how often do you fight, how does he handle it)

Fights are rare between you two, James is so in love he’d take your side on most things just to make you happy. When they do happen though (maybe because he was stressed or one of you were just simply not thinking clearly) he tries to keep a level head, having seen things escalate quickly from someone being dramatic *cough* Sirius *cough*. God forbid he ever makes you cry, he might just rip out his own heart right then and there. Safe to say fights aren’t much of a problem in your relationship.

G- Gifts (Does he get you gifts, what kinds of gifts does he give you)

He sees getting gifts as an essential part of your relationship. It’s not always big extravagant gifts (although he does love to give you those too) he prefers the small things, like flowers when he picks you up for a date or your favorite candy when he sees it in the store. Please for the love of everything get the boy some flowers and tell him they reminded you of him, it may cause him to be reduced to a puddle though so be prepared.

H- Happy (what kinds of things make him happy)

I think the better question would be what doesn’t make him happy. One of the biggest things that make him happy though is you and his friends (of course). He adores all of you so if you can become friends with them too he’d probably never stop smiling.

I- Injury (how would he act if their loved one got hurt, how would he be if he was hurt)

James is very protective of you so depending on how you got hurt someone may be getting to the hospital wing with you. He’d be very doting, almost never leaving your side unless you needed something. If he gets hurt he’ll act all tough around his friends but the second you’re alone he’s acting as if he’s on death's doorstep, you should expect to have to baby him for at least a few days even after the injury has healed.

J- Jealousy (how jealous is he)

He’s not that jealous, sure he has his moments but he’s typically pretty sure of your love for him. It’s one thing if someone is just talking to you but if they touch you, that’s when he has a problem.

K- Kisses (how does he kiss you)

Your kisses are like heaven to him, if his paradise is your lips on his forever he’d be content to die right then and there. He leaves his own kisses everywhere, his favorites being on your lips but mostly your neck and shoulders. It’s become a part of his routine to kiss you before he leaves any room or space, and you better believe he expects you to do the same.

L- Love language (how does he show his love)

He has a mix of everything but he mostly loves quality time and physical touch. His favorite times with you have been when you’re just lounging around with him, not doing anything but being in each other’s presence and arms.

M- Mornings (what are mornings like)

He typically gets up rather early, whether it’s to go to practice or workout, he’s up and out the door bright and early. But on weekends he loves to lay in bed with you in the mornings, eventually getting up to make breakfast together.

N- Nights (how are nights with him)

Because James gets up so early on weekdays he doesn’t stay up super late, valuing his sleep but always waiting to go to bed until you’re coming with him. On the weekends though he usually drags you out with him and the gang, or you all spend time at someone’s place (You and James’ or Sirius and Remus’). Sometimes though he’s content to just spend the night with you, watching movies and getting take-out.

O- Open (when would he open himself up to you, how much does he open up)

Once he trusts you, James is glad to open up with you and values the time he gets to be vulnerable with you. That being said, he sometimes refrains from opening up because he doesn’t want to burden you. If you ever betray his trust it’s likely he will forgive you but he won’t open up anymore.

P- PDA (is he comfortable with PDA, how often will it happen)

He absolutely loves PDA, he’ll take any chance he gets to show off his girl to the world. If you don’t like PDA he’ll try his hardest to keep it to a minimum but there’s no promises.

Q- idk babes

R- Romance (how romantic is he)

Have you ever watched a hallmark movie, that’s how cheesy and romantic he is. He tries his best to be as romantic as possible, trying to replicate all the books Marlene and Lily have told him about. He’s not always the best at it though, but at least he tries.

S- Safe (how much does he value your safety, how is ti compared to his own)

Your safety is his first priority, it goes hand in hand with his protectiveness). He would gladly sacrifice his own safety for your own, no matter the circumstances or how many times you try to fight him on it.

T- Talking (how often does he talk about you)

Honey you’re all he talks about, it’s driving Sirius insane. You can’t blame him though, he just loves his girl/boy. He tells practically everyone about you, he even goes as far as keeping a picture of you on him at all times to show people.

U- Understanding (how understanding his he)

He’s learned to be very understanding from having Sirius as his best friend, so you can imagine he’s gotten pretty good at it. There’s somethings he doesn’t always understand but he’ll always give it his best, you’ve just got to help him sometimes.

V- idk again

W- Whole (does he feel whole without you)

The short answer, absolutely not. James’ two biggest love languages involve being in close proximity to each other, so much to Sirius’ dismay he has trouble staying away from you. The longest he’s gone away from you was five days and by the end he was sure he was gonna die if he couldn’t see you soon.

X- Xoxo (how affectionate is he)

I’m sure you can guess from what I said before but James is an extremely affectionate person. Even with his friends being affectionate is just how he shows he cares, giving them a hug when they win something or throwing his arm around Sirius’ shoulders.

Y- I was gonna do yearning but you can just reread the W section for that.

Z- Zzz (how does he sleep)

He’s typically a heavy sleeper, especially when he feels safe like when he’s around you. He can sometimes lose sleep over little things though like if you get in a fight or if you aren’t home yet. If you aren’t home when he gets to bed he’ll try to occupy himself with other things, knowing he can’t sleep if you aren’t with him.

#james potter x reader #james potter #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #marauders x reader #marauders #hp marauders #marauders imagine #the marauders #marauders era #james potter fluff

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crossdressingdeath · 6 months

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Narrator: *For the first time in over a century, silence falls over the Bhaal Temple. No chants, no screams, no prayers.* Narrator: *In the end, your own death brought you more joy than any you wrought on this land. You are slipping into peaceful oblivion.* Narrator: *But your journey is not over.* Withers: Thou hast defied Bhaal, thy liege and father, and in doing so hast earned a place among champions and heroes. Withers: But, alas, thy courage was in opposition to the divine cosmology that bound thee to the Lord of Murder. Withers: Thou art now faithless - godless - and doomed to wander the Fugue Plane for eternity. Withers: I will not permit that, though all the powers of life and death dictate that it should be so. Withers: I, too, still hold some power, and I invest a portion of it in thee, who hath challenged the gods and now liveth to tell of it. Withers: Thy fight is not over, and it is thy fight, for one who can look upon Bhaal and oppose him can survive any crisis. Withers: So rise, Challenger of Gods, and prepare for battle once more. Death will not claim thee whilst I endure.

Not gonna lie: this sounds like whether or not Durge was immortal before, they sure as hell are now. I mean, "Death will not claim thee whilst I endure"? Sounds to me like they aren't going to be dying any time soon. Durge's relationship with death has been upgraded from "I'll have to ask my dad (he says no)" to "I'll have to ask my granddad (he says absolutely not under any circumstances)." Benefits (or curse) of coming from a family of death gods, I guess.

I love the imagery of a hush falling over the temple as all of this is happening. Like... based on Withers's dialogue this shouldn't be happening. Durge shouldn't be defying their father and Withers definitely shouldn't be bringing them back afterwards. From the moment Durge says no everything's gone off-script. It's also interesting that Withers says Durge defying Bhaal is in opposition to divine cosmology; keeping in mind I haven't played the first two games, I get the sense that while Bhaalspawn defying Bhaal isn't the norm it's not all that unheard of. There are two whole games about Bhaalspawn doing exactly that, actually. Then again Durge's situation is unique; possibly it's something like... as they were made from Bhaal's own gore Durge literally shouldn't be able to refuse him like that, which raises some fun questions about their life pre-amnesia. The suggestion that Durge kind of broke cosmology in defying Bhaal is very good and I'd love more details on that.

The suggestion that Durge is now entirely without a god to claim their soul on their death and will wander the Fugue Plane for eternity now that Bhaal doesn't want them is very interesting, considering that you can be a cleric and so bound to a god other than Bhaal (unless the dialogue is different under those circumstances). I guess Bhaal took priority as their father and maybe since Durge died as a direct result of him abandoning them no one else had the chance to stake a claim? But if this is just the way of things for them now and their soul can't be claimed by a god that's. not good. But then again I guess technically Jergal has it. It's fine! I really like him walking into this situation and saying "No, they don't deserve this and they're too important to this fight, I'm not letting them die like this (or at all)."

Based on what Bhaal says prior to this Durge dies less because he directly killed them and more because his divine essence was their life force, so when he ripped it out of them they had nothing to keep them going? So then what Withers is doing seems to be replacing that portion of Bhaal's divine essence with his own, giving Durge a new life force in the process (hence why they'll now endure as long as he does, since presumably if he dies that new life force will die with him). Durge may or may not thank him for that (that bit about Durge's death bringing them more joy than any they've caused hits hard, and even harder when you consider that the deaths they've caused include Ketheric and Orin and potentially include people who hurt their companions like Cazador, Gortash, Viconia...), but it seems like the divine equivalent of a heart transplant or something similar.

#bg3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 withers #durge

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total-dxmure · 1 year

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✦MATCHING →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】

pairing: modern!ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: ellie and her girlfriend are getting ready for pride. the reader decides to buy matching shirts. . . and a little something for joel, who’s tagging along, too.

warnings: just absolutely heart melting domesticity, this is for my delulu girlies who want to live in their fantasy of ellie being in love with you, joel is the best dad ever, “i love my lesbian daughter”, no use of y/n

“You can’t wear that.” You propped a hand on your hip, giving your fiance a once over.

She stopped dead in her tracks, slowly looking down at her outfit. She was wearing one of her usual casual outfits. You’d never told her to change before, not even when she took you to that one nice restaurant. She rocked back on the heels of her boots, pulling at the blue flannel button up that she had thrown over a perfectly good black tank top.

“You like this flannel. You called me ‘cute’ when I wore it last Thursday.” She remembered every time you called her cute, but especially when you did it in public.

An old man had turned around on the sidewalk just to gawk at the two of you, trying to decide if you were just really close friends or actually dating. That was usually the case with the older generation though. The poor fools still couldn’t grasp the fact that lesbians weren’t burned at the stake and labeled as witches anymore.

“No, no. You are cute, but I got us matching shirts that I want us to wear for pride.” You said happily, practically skipping over to a target bag that you had somehow snuck into the house when Ellie wasn’t looking.

She pointed at it, raising an eyebrow, but you decided to ignore the incredulous look she gave you. You sighed, rolling your eyes in that delicious way that she couldn’t help but stare at. She loved it when you acted bratty. It gave her a reason to punish you, that way you couldn’t playfully complain when she was a little rough with you.

“Look, I haven’t been to Target in a week.”

“It’s been four days. Not a week.” She made sure to point out.

“Four days is an eternity. Besides, I knew that their Pride collection would be slim pickings if I didn’t go yesterday.” You pulled out two t-shirts, flashing her a wide smile as her jaw dropped.

“Uh. . . They sure are bright.” Her lips pulled up into a nervous smile before she began nervously itching at the back of her neck.

“I saw them and thought they’d be super adorable to wear for the parade. Look, I even got Joel a rainbow bracelet.” You reached back into the bag, pulling it out.

That made Ellie chuckle, and she sauntered over to you, taking the bracelet from your hands. She turned it over a few times, then fell into another fit of laughter.

“I love my lesbian daughter?” She read outloud.

“I’m sure we could guilt him into wearing it. Or we could lie and tell him that straight people have to wear rainbow to get in?” You leaned against the back of the couch, unable to wipe the smile off of your face as she snapped and pointed at you.

“You’re a genius. An evil little genius.” She stuffed the bracelet into her back pocket, but her eyes fell back on the shirts that you were still toting around.

“Will it make you happy?” She sighed, reaching out for the cream colored shirt, a brightly colored rainbow wrapping around both the front and back. She didn’t have many colorful items in her closet. She mostly stuck with more. . . muted pieces.

“Ecstatic.” You answered smugly, already ripping the tag off of yours so that you could throw it on.

“Alright, I’ll wear it,” She told you, doing the same. You pumped your fist in silent victory. “Under one condition.”

Ah, you should have known. You half expected her to ask you to do the dishes after dinner. Or maybe bathe Charlie, which was a feat for you all in itself. Your golden retriever was a little escape artist, and was just about as strong as you were. Ellie was the only one with enough muscle to hold him down in the tub.

“While we’re changing, you gotta take your top off real slow-” She was cut off as the doorbell rang. “Of fuckin’ course.” She muttered under her breath, but made sure to give your ass a sound slap as you jogged past her to open the door.

Charlie was barking from the kitchen, already running down the hall to visit with Joel.

“Grandpa’s here.” Ellie riled him up, scratching behind his ears as he came to stand beside her, his tail slapping the back of her knees all the while.

You unlocked the door, opening it wide for the aging man. He was shielding his eyes from the bright summer sun, squinting against the rays.

“Are we goin’ in my car or yours?” He asked, in a hurry to get there before the parade started.

In perfect dad fashion, the man was already trying to wrangle up the kids. He hadn’t even stepped into the house yet. Ellie let go of the grip she had on Charlie’s collar, the dog bounding over to Joel, who bent down on his knee to give him his required attention.

“Our trucks are going to be too big to park seeing as all the nice spaces are already taken. We’ll go in her car.” Ellie pointed her thumb at you, her new shirt slung over her shoulder.

“Ah, a’course. We wouldn’t want to miss out on the opportunity to use your new eco-car.” Joel teased, flashing you a small wink.

You shook your head, wagging a finger at him. “You talk all that shit about my Prius, but I’ll be the one laughing all the way to the bank when it saves me hundreds on gas.” You retorted, moving to the stairs so that you could quickly change into your planned outfit.

“Come on in, Joel. We just have to change our shirts, and then we can head out.” Ellie said, getting ready to follow you, but paused as she remembered what she had in her pocket.

“A gift. From the happy couple.” She teased, pulling out the rubber bracelet to hand to him.

His eyebrows furrowed as he turned it over in his hand.

“I love my lesbian daughter.” He read outloud, much like Ellie had done just a few minutes ago.

“Damn right you do.” She called out to him before turning on her heels, already halfway up the stairs before he could complain.

✦ wanna know exactly when i post? message me about being put on the taglist!

@viswifetotallyreal @lillysbigwilly @overtrred28 @corpsebridenightamare @gimalo135 @erikaar @i-love-milfs2 @lllijeu @softieciubs

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vindikaetion · 6 months

Note

Trick or treat!! 🍬🐜…🐜…🐜….

Hehe you get TREAT! :)

I've had this in my google docs for a a few months while I work on a few other projects, so thought I might share. This is for @alkalinefrog 's Spiderman AU, which you can find here! <3 (Go check it out rn the art is SO GOOD)

"How good are your reflexes?!" Hiccup suddenly shouted, cutting off the weird sort of stand-off between Spiderman and Hiccup's kidnapper.

The white eyes of Spiderman's mask squinted. "Superhuman?" he replied in confusion.

Okay, that somewhat alleviated some of Hiccup's concern over his absolutely batshit insane plan. Somewhat, being the key-word, because he was about to place his life in the hands of the quipping superhero who Hiccup's boss thought was a menace.

"No funny business," the man growled, tightening his fist. Hiccup let out a choked grunt as all the air in his lungs was forcibly pushed out, but he mustered all his strength and coherency to keep his hands covering the exposed circuitry. "Unless you want to meet the pavement face-to-face."

"Counting on it," Hiccup wheezed. Before the man could have a chance to prod him, Hiccup ripped out one of the many wires that programmed the suit to keep him hanging.

If anyone were to ask after the harrowing experience, Hiccup would tell them that he had very bravely kept his voice calm and even. The truth was, the moment gravity took hold and he went plunging to the ground, Hiccup shrieked;

"You better catch me!"

A beat passed, then two. Hiccup kept his eyes shut, every inch of his body tense. It would do little to help if Spiderman was unable to catch him, but human instincts cared little for realistics.

Hiccup had one other near death experience in his life. It was the same brush with death that had claimed his leg, and it oddly felt a lot like this. Weightless, with every sense focussed and sharp. As if an eternity decided to stand still in this very moment, with the sounds of sirens and shrieks in the air. Though it lacked the sound of honking and metal crashing, it was startlingly similar.

Except this time, instead of a solid impact sending his world into utter darkness, a firm yet soft body collided into his.

Hiccup's stomach lurched as the world suddenly swooped, forcing another shriek past his lips. Arms tightened around him.

Someone laughed beside his ear. "You're seriously crazy, but can't say I don't respect it."

Hiccup could hear the twipping of Spiderman's webs shooting between buildings and the relief in his voice. The most prominent sound was the wind whipping past their cheeks, but he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes.

"Thanks," he squeaked. He chanced opening his eyes, just to let out a rather embarrassing sound. All his pride went out the window, cinging to Spiderman with as much strength as he could muster in his scrawny body, eyeing the rapidly approaching ground in alarm. "Can't say I ever want to do this again, though."

"Great!" Spiderman said joyfully. "That makes two of us."

#hijack #spiderman au #httyd #rotg #hiccup horrendous haddock iii #jack frost #my writing

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asa-do-your-thing · 1 year

Text

Headaches

aegon x f!reader

fluff / cockiness / aegon will be aegon / Aaaaaand smut of course. Minors DNI, as usual.

"There she is, the greatest maid of all time." Aegon was, regrettably, in a feisty mood this evening. You were Helaena's closest lady in waiting so him calling you 'maid' was a bit humiliating.

Rolling your eyes, you poured him some more wine and sat down on the edge of his bed, kicking off your ornately embroidered slippers. You knew exactly why he had asked for you to tend to his 'headache' instead of a maester. "What an honour, my Prince. I had almost thought you would call me a whore after all of our drunken ... encounters."

Grinning, he lifted his chalice and winked. "Well, you'd be a whore if I paid you." Shaking your head, you reached for your own glass of wine and took a big gulp. "Can we just change the subject, please." Resignation tainted your otherwise cheerful voice. "I'd do anything for you, Aegon. Don't... Please don't show me that you only feel lust when you see me."

Raising a silver eyebrow, he finished his cup and sauntered over to you, nonchalantly pushing you onto his bed. "That is for me to decide, my beauty", he growled and pushed up your nightgown. Heat rose into your cheeks. Was that the wine or the fact that you actually enjoyed getting absolutely ripped to pieces by him?

He tucked his unkempt hair behind his ears and, as if to check if everything was still in place, pinched your nipple. Your little shriek made him chuckle and to your utmost surprise, he fell onto his knees and pulled your hips up to the edge of the bed.

"You're soaking wet", he whispered and gently kissed your thighs. "Everything... for... you...", You managed to stutter, fisting the sheets beneath you. He was unusually gentle and astonishingly, he actually played with you, instead of just drunkenly hammering his seed into your cunt.

"You know,", he said quietly, his finger circling your clit, " I was wrong to call you a whore. Or a maid." You gulped, trying your hardest not to make a sound. On the one hand you already felt as though you could cum in any second and on the other it was rare that he would talk to you without both of you being paralyzed by your drinks.

"You are the best mistress one could have", he breathed out, licking your juice off his finger and pulling of his pants. You nervously looked at him, trying your hardest not to pull him down on top of you. "I... Thank you, Aegon." He placed a finger over your lips and positioned his cock, pushing it gently into you.

Smiling at your flustered, blushing face, he gave you a small kiss on the cheek. "Let me show you how you deserve to be fucked", he mumbled against your burning skin and gave you the softest thrusts. It felt magical and you gave him a small smile in between your moans. He didn't slap you or fold you in an awkward position, he didn't ask you to swallow his spit - he just gently made love to you until he grunted and collapsed on top of your twitching body.

Clinging to each other, it felt like half an eternity had passed before he cleared his throat. "Why do you do what you do? Is it because Mother asked you to do so?", He whispered in your ear. You furrowed your brows. "Aegon, whatever do you mean?" He shakily pushed himself up and gave you a sad look. "You listen to me. You make sure that I know that you are there for me simply as Aegon, and not as the future King. You... You make me feel loved and accepted."

Without a second thought, you gently put a hand on the back of his head and pulled him into a kiss. "Because I care for you. I love you, Aegon." Smiling, he pecked your head and pushed himself up, quickly picking up his pants. "So, mistress it is then. Mistress, fill up my chalice please, I think I am getting sober again."

#fanfiction #asdfghjkl #house of the dragon #i am dyiiiiing #hotd aegon #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #king aegon #prince aemond #hotd x reader #aegon fanfic #aegon fluff

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ohtobemare · 4 months

Note

*running into the room, skidding to a stop*

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MARE!!! I absolutely LOVE you and I hope you have the best birthday!!! 🥳🎁🎉🎊🍾🥂

For the celebration, could I have Slider with "you remembered?!" "what kind of question is that? of course I did!" and taking a bid of icing off the cake and putting it on their cheek

Fighter, love. I adapted this a little from the OG ask, but I think it turned out okay. Actually got away from me, but, I don't think I'm complaining? Hopefully you enjoy it, and thanks for asking!

Something Dangerous

“Don’t forget the brownies, Ronnie!”

Of all the things to be doing, running late to a volleyball game in the middle of scathing San Diego afternoon was not topping anyone’s list, especially on one of the hottest days of summer. And most especially when the air in your boyfriend’s car wasn’t functioning. Even more especially when you’re approximately three degrees south of absolutely terrible—hair’s a wreck, your feet throb from wedge heels, and that sunburn from all-day yesterday on the sand was starting to smart.

Hustling across the cracked pavement of the military housing unit’s apron, you stop and rest a hip against the offending vehicle in question. Ron’s K1500 looks exhausted, sitting under open sky and pristine blue skies. And if the thing could cry, you know she would—sagging on worn suspension, the front passenger tire needs air. Cracked rubber checkered with snaking crags across RADIAL lettering, most of her V6 and 4x4 badging either missing, sun-faded or busted in half. Tucked away in the bowels of your closet, Daddy had wrangled some replacement badges from a local junkyard back in Tulsa—he’d mailed them earlier in the year. Ron being the nosy one of your relationship, you’d socked them away for Christmas.

The most adorable powder blue, most of the clear-coat is spotty and peeling in all the wrong places. Almost 20 years old, the first time you’d seen Baby, as Slider affectionately named her, you’d assumed she’d survived the war. Or, at the very least, some nuclear fallout the world forgot to remember.

Stepbars aside, you can barely wrangle in and out of the thing—Kerner had lifted Baby himself, put her on some fat rubber. Relished in his ability to all but Frank Sinatra himself in and out of the thing. Perfect for a Gorgon-sized backseat RIO, but not a pocket-sized girlfriend. Five feet almost exactly, plunking your ass in Baby’s front pass seat took effort. It was like tight-wiring at the circus, precariously dangling over whatever terrain you found yourself in. Today it was the driveway, later the beach. Tomorrow would be church’s parking lot. Next week—wide open Tulsa interstate, hot pavement stretching for eternities.

Baby’s fender is ripping hot, sunlight glinting off this-is-the-best-it-gets polished chrome enough to make you squint. Hissing at the heat against your thigh, you reflectively pull away. Readjust to rest your knee against the warm rubber of the tire, strap of your purse dropping off your shoulder as a hand dives into the knockoff Vuitton for keys. Halfheartedly and early in your relationship you’d exchanged spare keys as a couple—the key to Baby tinked right alongside the key to your Land Rover, and vice versa. Two years had all but worn the painted NAVY off your leather keychain.

Muttering under your breath, your fingers brush the allusive keychain at the bottom of your bag. Snagging the keyring with your finger, you snatch them out of the bag before dumping it to the truck’s hood, moving to pop the latch on the door. With a rough tug, the hinge all but slips open—and if you hadn’t helped Slider wipe away the WD-40 drips left behind after lubing the doors, they’d take all the credit. Huffing a breath, you balance a wedge on the stepbar, grab the handle assist, and rest a knee on the seat to lean over the column and insert the key. With a flick, she turns over, stutters for a moment in the cradle. Rips to life with a throaty roar, body shaking a little beneath your feet. A satisfied little smirk at the radio has you slipping back down to the driveway apron, nudging the door lighting with your hip. Turning, you angle the side mirror to check your makeup and your hair—curls clipped back, you’d opted for simple makeup. Base and SPF didn’t mix, and the slight red on your nose from yesterday is testament to it.

Flipping up the collar of one of Ron’s shirts, a hot sunburn simmers beneath the light material—he’d all but insisted you cover. Compliance had left you irritated, Mr. Bronze Adonis didn’t even need SPF. He could bar on-base all day ass-naked as the day he was born and not even pink. Kerner’s tan was almost as dark as the eyeshadow you’d opted for—a bronzy thing you didn’t even remember the name of, but set off the flecks of gold in your eyes. The way you knew he liked, the way you liked.

Pinching your cheeks for extra color, movement in the reflection over your shoulder catches your eye. Here comes Kerner, gliding out the front door on long legs that are effortless, all but ripping out of too-tight light wash Wranglers. Dogtags thrown over his bare shoulder, he’s wedged a t-shirt into his back pocket.

Balancing effortlessly in his flattened palm is the pan of aforementioned chocolate walnut brownies, the other split between his keyring and two six packs of Budweiser bottles that, even from across the lawn, clack together in the most beautiful sound a weekend could offer. Barefooted, sunglasses poised on the end of his nose, Ron toes the screen door back into place easily before hustling off the front step and across the offensively dead lawn.

Meeting him at the edge of the apron, you gesure for the pan of brownies. You’d lovingly made them at his request for this picnic volleyball game—all the girlfriends were bringing food. A phone call to the roster later; Charlie (and thus, Maverick) was bringing macaroni salad, Carole and Goose were bringing condiments and drinks, Hollywood had all but threatened violence toward anyone who dared bring meat he wasn’t responsible for; Wolf had been instructed to bring paper products, and Kazansky had already secured pineapple and vegetables, because healthfood.

That left dessert. And Ron was an absolute slut for anything chocolate, and he’d almost died when you’d whipped together your stepmother’s chocolate walnut recipe last year for his birthday. Groaning sinfully, he’d devoured almost the entire thing himself before you’d leaned across his finely-toned abs, reaching for the pan of dessert he’d dared to hold just beyond short stack reach. Successful in ripping them away, Slider earning brownie privileges had been entertaining to say the least.

You still hadn’t replaced the broken headboard. “These are safe?” Pulling back the cheesecloth pulling overtime to protect all-but glistening chocolate icing from the elements, you peek into the pan as Ron’s now-empty hand falls to brush your lower back.

“Ha ha,” the drill reply is all but eye-rolling as he steps up to the pavement. “We ready to rock and roll or what?” Moving to the driver’s door, he pops it open, deposits the beer to the floorboards, and rolls down the window before peeling at the gauges. “Shit, she’s warm already. It’s hot.”

Finding the brownies satisfactory and fully intact from their escort, you gently work the cheesecloth back into place. Watching him step up halfway on the bar, it takes effort not to notice the ripple of hewn muscle in his arm as he grips the open door. Instead your eyes cut to his feet, brows lifting behind your own sunglasses for a moment.

“Where are your shoes?” Like talking to a child, you balance the pan of brownies against your palm, other hand planting at your cocked hip. “I had them out, right next to your jeans. Ron. You need shoes.”

“Do not,” he challenges with a lopsided chuckle, leaning through the open window. Fingers drumming against the powder blue paint, his smile twists up, smirking. “It’s a day on the sand, babygirl. Who needs shoes? Let these dogs bark.” Nose wrinkling with a chuckle, he reaches to push his shades into place with a knuckle. His gaze casts over you quickly. “And you’re wearing heels.” Wolf-whistling, his brows bounce.

Ron loves when you wear heels, it’s a near-constant request every time you go out. It’s the long line of your legs, the light tick on the right service. Mostly, though, you assume it’s the added height benefit. Ron alone has contributed to your shoe collection more than probably necessary, you sometimes worry it’s more of a passtime for him than not.

Because, while Kerner isn’t exactly rolling in the dough (thanks so much Uncle Sam) you’d never know it with how he spends money. On you. Despising the fact that you’d just as soon shop Salvation Army or the clearance rack at Bloomingdales, he insisted on new clothes. New designer shit that neither of you could afford. And shoes alone, well–whether or not it could be called a fetish is neither here nor there. He’s obsessed with watching you try on shoes, how they look in your closet he’d single-handedly remodeled.

The first Naval ball you’d attended Ron had all but seized when you suggested borrowing shoes from Carole Bradshaw, since you were the same size and she lived right next door. Scooping you up like nothing short of a farm sack, he’d tossed you over his shoulder, smacked your ass, and plunked you in the front seat of his truck. To go shopping.

And Slider knew shopping—he had two sisters. Two sisters and a mother that was an attorney. Not only did his stamina for the urban jungle know no bounds, he knew the game. Understood brands. And he knew your shoe size from peeking around your closet, had dropped your ass in a chair and plucked selections from shelves like some possessed thing from a retail version of the Shining.

His credit card was practically on fire before you’d left the mall with Jimmy Choos, Calvin Kline, Valinto. The dress alone was hundreds of dollars you were pretty sure he was still making payments on, but Slider never seemed to mind. He just grinned, wagged those brows while his tongue traced his bottom lip with a snide, But you can wear it anytime I ask you to, which was, apparently, entirely the point. You hadn’t worn the thing since the naval ball, but, you regularly checked on it in the back of your closet.

Your cheeks dust pink at the way he tips his head to peer over his sunglasses at you. Dogtags all but glistening in the sweat that’s pearling in the curls of hair on his chest, you take a leveling breath. Chest opening a little, your shoulders roll back as your toes curl a little in your shoes. Pan of brownies warm in your palm, you pluck your own sunglasses from the top of your hair and slide them into your place.

“Your funeral,” you chime in a cheeky, sing-song tone at the mental image of his feet hitting the blacktop of the parking lot. Ron, for his size, tends to whine about pain. Unless it’s pumping iron and working out, then he’s steady as an oak. Any other time pain is involved, he’s as weak as a newborn foal. “Don’t cry to me when your feet fry like an egg on the blacktop, Ronnie. It’s a heckuva walk from the parking lot to the beach,” head canting to the side, you lazily twist the ball of your shoe against the concrete apron. On purpose, teasingly. “Ice is the toughest sonuvabitch I know and even he wears sandals, baby.”

Slider’s mouth purses into a tight o, and he whistles a little low. “Listen to you,” he reaches through the open window for your arm, but you step back sharply to evade the grab, “does Kazansky know you talk about him with that mouth?” You giggle when his fingers brush your arm, but you twist away. Slider grins brightly as he slips from the truck to dodge around the door, cutting off your escape.

“You never talk about me that way,” his rough hand successfully snatches your arm at the exact moment you tuck the pan of brownies against your chest for protection. Feet skitching against the pavement, you’re in Ron’s thick arms, pressed against his rippling chest before your heart can even skip a beat. “I love it when you talk filthy.” His tongue skates his bottom lip, his palm smoothing your hair tenderly. Even behind shades, you can see his eyes sweeping over the features of your face. “Why don’t you ever talk filthy about me?”

Face wrinkling into a less than serious pout, his lips twist into a fake turndown that stabs between your ribs. The snort escapes you before you can even track it, and you arch back a little from his chest, over the strong arms pinning you in place. He’s sweating and smells like SPF, but in the best way. Nerves alrighty aflame with inferno light that skips through your blood, you very quickly can’t feel past the way his heart seems to leap at his ribs for yours.

And before you can even think about it, “You keep track of how I talk about Ice?” has slipped from your pretty pink lips like blades laced with poison. Cutting through the thick air that ripples between the two of you, the look that settles on Slider’s face is, at first, unreadable—for seconds, maybe. Within a heartbeat his lips are curling into quicksilver that slices through your facade of confidence. It grabs your spine with chilled fingers, and like smoke in the air, you aren’t able to process past the way he’s looking at you behind dark lenses.

Breathless for all of a few seconds, your brain stops functioning. Fritzes like a static TV. And before either of you can respond, your eyes cut to the tray of brownies resting between your chest and his. Biting the corner of your lip turns into restless gnawing on the inside of your cheek, and for a few seconds you don’t know what happens—except your finger skips along the smooth frosting of brownies. Reaches up with a mind of its own and bleps it on the tip of his nose.

For a few bleeding moments, nothing happens. Until the brown splot on his nose is so glaringly staring back at you that it snaps you like a rubber band back into reality. Eyes flicking from his nose to the pan of now effectively destroyed, brownies, the hinge of your jaw fails. Lips parting into a sweet little o, your face flames redder than it already is with recycled sunburn painting your skin, and you look back up at him.

“Oh.” Your bottom lips rolls beneath your top teeth.

His brows have all but taken flight off his face. Clearing his throat, his posture tightens. His chest opens, shifting the pan of brownies enough that your hand moves to stabilize it. Blowing out a breath from between his lips with gusto, he blinks a few times as he pushes his sunglasses up into his hair. With a finger, he points to his nose.

“Oh,” he mocks, making a face that immediately rips a giggle from the back of your mouth. More bubbles up your throat as he continues to mock your tone, over and over, until he wrinkles his frosting-tipped nose and moves in for a nose-to-nose kiss that only means trouble.

“Ron, no,” you try to sound serious, but it fractures under your fissure of giggles, “Slider, stop it! The brownies—the brownies!” Never mind the fact you’ll be late to the game if this keeps up–time is all but a construct beyond his arms, the way he holds you. How he looks at you so adoringly. Since the minute you’d laid eyes on him at the South Bay Drive In, you are Icarus flying into his too-close sunlight. The fact that he picked you is so Hollywood, the stuff of cinematic masterpieces and Shakespearean dreamscapes. Sometimes it doesn’t even feel real.

“‘Oh, Sli, the brownies!’—I’m not the one who went and wrecked the goods, sweetheart,” you lean back enough that it fractures his arms from their hold around your middle, allowing you to backstep away from him. But Slider is all about the chase, the game—the cat and mouse that sends the two of you round and round, like always. “Now what are you gonna tell everyone when it comes time to cut your birthday brownies?” His voice drops to an uncharacteristic low, like he’s putting on airs.

It’s not the bedroom low you’ve come to adore from him, but it’s something else entirely—like the very accusation has roused an entirely new character from within his veins, one that is dark and tortured just by the very thought of that emerald monster. Halting your retreat from him him, your hold on the brownies against your chest tightens a little, almost to white-knuckle. His words echo through your brain like he’s spoken into some grand chasm, the words reverberating through your very bones. Birthday. He’d said birthday, you’re pretty sure. Willing to bet good Vegas cash on it.

“You remembered,” blinking like a complete idiot, your mouth ticks up into a pleased grin.

“Of course I remembered,” his fisted hands land on either of his hips, disbelievingly. Shooting him a deadpan look, his cheeks darken. Which isn’t like Ron. He’s never bashful, is rarely the butt end of anything. “Oh come on.”

“Last year you forgot,” you correct, cocking a hip. “Tom help you remember this time? Is that what this game is about?” After all, Ron is the one who insisted on a weekend volleyball game and picnic. His idea, his coordinating the details. He hadn’t uttered a word about anything birthday related, and you’d been fine just keeping it lowkey. Had fully planned to have a night-in; cook some pasta, enjoy Wheel of Fortune. Maybe play some naked cribbage.

Slider not remembering your birthday last year wasn’t a big deal. He’d made it out to be more than it was, but you turning twenty-nine was not something worth fretting about this time around the sun. But you suspected, with the way he was babysitting this entire thing, that it was all for you. Not saying anything, you’d let it slide—but now, the way he was looking at you. All dangerous and suntanned and sweating in the sexiest way?

You just couldn’t not.

His brows lift again, teasingly. “For someone who’s supposed to belong to me, you sure talk about Ice a lot.” And he rushes you before you can even counter, but it isn’t fast enough. Skirting around the corner of the truck to put Baby between the two of you, Slider eases up to make the corner. You’re already scrambling up into Baby’s front passenger, tossing the pan of brownies up on the dash with a sharp thunk!, baking pan colliding with the windshield.

You're halfway into the cab when both of Slider’s big hands grab either of your hips, “Not so fast,” pulls you off the stepbar. Shoulders flush to his chest, your head falls back to rest against his shoulder, the toes of your wedge heels skimming the pavement just so that you know it’s gonna leave marks.

Dipping to brush his nose against the soft flesh of your neck. Slider brushes aside the collar of his shirt to nip at your collarbone. His hands at either of your hips dip you back harder against his frame, and the heat of his chest flares to life against the sunburn flaming on your back. Hissing, you wriggle a little uncomfortably, until his hand slips up the curve of your frame and fondles your tit, lovingly.

“Sli,” it’s more of a plea than anything else, and you hate how he’s reduced you to little more than a flailing pile of goo. He hums against your skin, his hand moving from your breast, up the valley of your tits, to firmly latch around the column of your throat. Delightful pressure, but nothing that hurts—just the way you love it. “We shouldn’t—”

“Why not,” He’s chuckling, now. It’s not a question. Instead, simmers low in his chest, like bubbling magma. You can feel it between your shoulders. It lights up your sunburn, stirs the churning pot of your sex like you can’t believe. Seconds and he’s rendered you both incoherent and stupid, two things you are notoriously not. Other hand slipping from your hip to dip beneath the ruffle of your skirt, his fingers brush the apex between your legs. And he chortles, like the devil. Because he is.

“Look at you,” he whispers it into your ear, hot breath chasing across your cheek in a way that sends you keening. Preening at the praise, his hand moves to curl fingers into the meat of your thigh. It burns, deliciously, sending volcanic heat to that delicious little spot between your legs that is throbbing. Achingly empty. Desperate for more, anemic like the starving. “Sensitive, aren’t you, baby?”

Your mewl is lewd. Sinful. Traitorous, even. “Ron—”

With a pleased chuckle, the world flips in a blur of movement as Slider spins you around. Chest-to-chest, he slants his mouth over yours thick and hot, milking a slow little whine from the back of your throat the way he likes it. Licking into your mouth, there’s nothing for you to grab now that the world is rocking, spinning as your senses light up like a control panel. World spinning, reality shattering like it always does every time he kisses you this hard, this deep, you yelp at the sudden cold of him being ripped away. His absence, the daylight between you as he hoists you up, into Baby’s front passenger seat.

And before you can even breathe, he’s spreading your legs apart. Heels planted in the door jamb and on the frame, you’re dizzier than you first thought when his lips curl into a cocksure smirk from between your legs. Core on fire from supporting yourself half-cocked, his big hand comes to rest on your belly, and adds pressure. It’s an unspoken ask, and you flop back to the seat with a desperate whimper, gnawing on your bottom lip as Slider places hot, light kisses to your inner thighs.

His nose brushes your apex as he hums, curiously. “I was gonna save this for later,” his chuckle is devilish. Burns like silver that’s been melted into another state altogether, waiting for the mold of something beautiful. Something dangerous. “But I guess you could talk me into giving you your present early, babygirl.”

Back arching off the seat, your fingers pull at the hem of his shirt that feels little more than a straightjacket on your flaming, searing skin. Eyes pinched closed, that want in the base of your gut may as well be a rabid thing, clawing for release. Desperate for satisfaction. Hungry, your toes curl against the base of your shoes, the straps all but cutting into your flesh. Propping up on an elbow, you reach for his head of curls. With a flick of your wrist, tip his head back.

He’s grinning at you, goofily. “You’re such a cocksucker,” and he is, really. Or, rather, is inches from. His eyes jump with a brightness that makes your heart stutter a little behind your ribs, and you try not to smile. Instead, you bite your bottom lip, noting that it’s still swollen from where he’s kissed you so damn fully. “You want me to beg, hm? On my birthday, Ron?”

“Now’s a good a time as any,” his brows bounce, “so how ‘bout it, hm? Gonna be a good girl and beg for Slider on your birthday?”

He didn’t really have to ask.

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